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Grantaire's eyelids fluttered open and were suddenly filled with harsh sunlight that was not pleasing to his hangover. He squeezed his eyes shut again and rolled over onto his side.
Grantaire was lying in Enjolras' bed. Enjolras had woken up some hours before Grantaire and was now sitting propped up against the headboard, going through a mess of papers. Grantaire's forehead was pressing gently into Enjolras' thigh - Enjolras had not bothered getting dressed after the sex they'd had the night before. Upon feeling Grantaire's unshaven cheek move against his thigh, Enjolras looked down and lightly ran his fingers through the dark curls on Grantaire's head.
Grantaire braved the sunlight to look up, surprised. This was an oddly affectionate gesture, not to mention in an oddly domestic situation; Enjolras usually fucked him, then allowed him to stay in his bed for the night, but was writing at his desk by the time Grantaire woke up. He had been warming up to Grantaire of late, but usually would not return gentle touches or kisses, brushing them off with a comment such as "You're drunk."
But Enjolras was not looking at Grantaire when the latter looked up. Enjolras had returned to the paper he had been reading, but had not taken his hand out of Grantaire's hair. Grantaire stared at him for a while, but Enjolras did not acknowledge his presence other than the fingers entwining themselves with Grantaire's curls. Grantaire sighed and buried his face in Enjolras' thigh.
After several more minutes Enjolras removed his hand from Grantaire's head, engrossed in whatever it was he was reading. Grantaire sighed more audibly, but Enjolras did not react.
Though he knew he should be thankful for even getting this much attention at this hour of the day, Grantaire was not satisfied. He wanted Enjolras to stop what he was doing and pay attention to him. He wanted Enjolras to respond to him in a way other than casual sex. He wanted at least some affection.
In short, though he'd never admit it to anyone, he wanted Enjolras to love him.
But Enjolras did not. Grantaire knew it. He never would. Grantaire was lucky enough to be in his bed almost every night, but he almost wished this relationship, whatever it was, had never began in the first place. Grantaire felt as though Enjolras' affection was just beyond his reach, and nothing he would ever do would allow him to grasp it.
The air of the room seemed peaceful, but every inch of Grantaire was screaming for attention. The feeling grew with every soft breath that came from the man next to him, who had no way for knowing, and would not care, that Grantaire loved him.
Grantaire raised his head slightly, lifting his eyes to Enjolras, who was concentrating heavily on the papers he was reading. Quickly, as if Enjolras would somehow figure out what he was doing and stop him, Grantaire pressed his lips to Enjolras's thigh.
Enjolras' mouth pinched into a firmer line, but he did not otherwise react. Grantaire continued, lavishing chaste kisses across Enjolras' bare skin. Enjolras seemed to think that if he ignored the situation, it would go away.
Eventually, Grantaire's lips parted, his tongue brushing Enjolras' skin. Enjolras rolled his eyes, but Grantaire did not see this.
Grantaire tentatively lifted his hand, which had been resting at his side before, bringing it up to hover above Enjolras' knee. He lightly touched the other man's leg, his fingers pressing more firmly and becoming more sure as he moved them up Enjolras' thigh.
A strong hand had suddenly grabbed his wrist, and Enjolras finally looked down to meet Grantaire's eyes. "Stop it," he said firmly. He dropped Grantaire's hand, where it fell onto the sheets.
Grantaire sighed the loudest yet and pushed himself up, scooting backward to sit next to Enjolras against the headboard. Enjolras had returned to his oh-so-important papers. Grantaire rested his chin on Enjolras' shoulder. If Enjolras would not pay attention to him, then Grantaire would do his best to annoy him.
Enjolras turned slightly, glaring at Grantaire, who, in reply, smirked and fluttered his eyelashes at him. Enjolras rolled his eyes and went back to reading.
Grantaire moved closer to Enjolras, placing his hand on the other's arm. Enjolras wriggled out of the touch. Grantaire shook his head, then placed a kiss on Enjolras' cheek.
Enjolras, exasperated, turned to scold him, but when he did, he found his mouth covered with Grantaire's lips. He sat stock still, lips pressing into a firm line, denying Grantaire's tongue access to the inside of his mouth. Grantaire's body pressed into Enjolras, his lips working at the one-sided kiss. Enjolras refused to react. Grantaire pulled back, hurt, but keeping the sarcastic look that usually graced his features.
"Come now, Apollo, what's so important about those papers?"
"Nothing I would expect you to understand or care about," Enjolras replied coldly, glaring at Grantaire.
Grantaire was rather taken aback. "What makes you think I wouldn't understand?" The good humor had left his voice, and he was fighting to keep his voice level.
"I know you, Grantaire, and I know that you don't care for our efforts or our cause." Enjolras shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder why I've invited someone who cares so little for my passions into my bed."
Grantaire squared his jaw, seething. "I've been wondering that as well," he snapped. "And I've also been wondering why I agreed to share a bed with one who cares so little for anything but his own selfish goals."
That was too far, and Grantaire knew it. Somewhere, he also knew that Enjolras' efforts were not selfish: they were for the greater good, after all. But Grantaire was too angry to care. Enjolras' eyes widened, burning into Grantaire's as anger lined his face.
Enjolras' lips parted, and he said only two words with a snarl in his voice: "Get out."
Grantaire stood, throwing his clothes on angrily as Enjolras continued to glare at him. Grantaire did not look back when he slammed the door.
As he tore down the street, Grantaire's thoughts were clouded with a fury that almost blinded him, along with the rare tears that he fought to keep from falling down his cheeks. Fine. If Enjolras had only one love, France, then Grantaire would return to his only love: alcohol.
But Grantaire knew that Patria nor the bottle could satisfy either of their sexual needs. He knew that later Enjolras would approach him in the cafe and whisk him away to his bedroom before the night was out. Grantaire would have to be completely smashed in order to agree to that again.
And midmorning was not too early to start.