Chapter Text
Jehan had not been this drunk in a while. A long while. Maybe not ever.
And the drinks kept coming, usually from Grantaire, amiable slaps on the shoulder accompanying them. Jehan joined in the drunken singing, which was loud, off-key, and almost unintelligible. Enjolras sang the loudest of all, standing on a table, which he seemed to be in danger of falling off of, for even he was that drunk.
Jehan did not know what time it was - late - when a nearly incapacitated Courfeyrac stumbled over to where Jehan sat. He took the chair across from Jehan, regarding the poet with hazy, half-lidded eyes.
"Your hair makes you look like a woman, Jehan," Courfeyrac giggled. It was true; Jehan had not cut his hair for a while.
Jehan replied, in a low voice he would have been too embarrassed to assume had he been more sober: "Do you like it?"
They had been leaning closer to each other ever since Courfeyrac uttered those life-changing words, and, in answer to Jehan's question, Courfeyrac closed the gap and kissed him messily. Courfeyrac's hands reached around Jehan's head to undo the bow that held his fair hair together; casting the ribbon aside, Courfeyrac fanned Jehan's waves across his shoulders. Jehan's tongue pressed urgently between Courfeyrac's lips, the only thought in his head being, why didn't we do this sooner?
Then Courfeyrac's lips were gone, and Jehan, disoriented, looked around to find that he was now standing to the side of where Jehan sat, holding out his hand. Jehan took it, and Courfeyrac, stumbling a bit and making Jehan laugh, led him him out of the cafe.
They laughed drunkenly as they attempted to make their way down the street. Coming to a halt and tugging on Courfeyrac's hand, Jehan pulled him over and captured his lips again, threading his free hand into Courfeyrac's curls. Courfeyrac let go of Jehan's hand to bring both of his hands to Jehan's jaw, lips firm and sure but clearly hindered by his intoxication. Jehan grinded his hips onto Courfeyrac's, something he never would have done in an average state of affairs, as Courfeyrac's hands slid down Jehan's body and encircled his waist.
Again, Courfeyrac pulled away and grabbed Jehan's hand; Jehan's mind was blissfully blank as Courfeyrac led him into a nearby alley. The two had not exchanged a word since they had sat in the cafe, but that was fine by them.
Jehan's erection was pushing painfully against his trousers. Courfeyrac pressed him into the wall and placed his lips at Jehan's neck and his fingers on Jehan's crotch, whispering, "May I?"
"Please," Jehan gasped, not meaning for his voice to sound as desperate as it did. Courfeyrac's fingers fumbled with the buttons on Jehan's trousers; Jehan threw his arms around Courfeyrac's neck, clutching fistfuls of Courfeyrac's jacket in his hands. The lips at Jehan's throat parted, Courfeyrac's tongue grazing the poet's skin.
After what seemed like an eternity to Jehan, Courfeyrac was pushing down his trousers so they were around his knees. Courfeyrac knelt before him, pressing his lips to Jehan's hipbone. "How badly do you want it, Jehan?" he whispered, almost mischievously.
"Badly," panted Jehan, "Please." His fingers tugged at Courfeyrac's curls. Courfeyrac's tongue traced Jehan's protruding hipbone, but did not otherwise acknowledge Jehan's begging. He was busy undoing the buttons on his own trousers, removing his cock from the folds of fabric as carefully as he could. Courfeyrac lifted his hand as high as he could.
"Lick," he ordered. Jehan did as he was told, craning his neck so he could his tongue over the area of Courfeyrac's palm, sucking on each of his fingers individually.
Courfeyrac yanked his hand away, placing it around his own cock; he moaned softly into Jehan's thigh as he stroked. Jehan reached for his own cock, but, Courfeyrac, sensing this, grabbed Jehan's wrist with his free hand and held it back. Jehan groaned in frustration.
Courfeyrac's lips were around Jehan's cock before Jehan had finished his wordless complaint; slowly, agonizingly, he took Jehan's entire length into his mouth, leaving the poet to clutch his dark curls, gasping. Courfeyrac continued slowly, working up to a rythym between his mouth and his hand. He quickened his pace, Jehan's hips moving with him in desperation.
If Jehan's mind was jumbled before, it was nothing compared to that moment: thoughts seemed to race through his brain and crash, a growing, incoherent pile. He was making sounds, but he did not know if they made sense and he did not care to find out. All that mattered was the mouth around his cock and the wall he was pressing into to keep himself standing.
Jehan did not know how much time had passed when he heard a muffled grunt - Courfeyrac came all over the pavement between Jehan's feet. The pace of Courfeyrac's mouth quickened, wrapping his fingers around the back of Jehan's thighs.
Jehan's orgasm ripped through him, almost catching him by surprise, his eyes opening without seeing. His mind went numb and his body tensed and jerked, while Courfeyrac expertly swallowed the come that had filled his mouth.
Courfeyrac stood up fast enough to steady Jehan as his body went slack. Wordlessly, the two men, sobered by what had just unfolded, rebuttoned their trousers. Jehan felt a blush coloring his cheeks, and he made an effort not to meet Courfeyrac's eyes.
But Courfeyrac had other ideas, lifting Jehan's chin and kissing him softly. Jehan flushed more deeply as he realized it was his own come he was tasting on Courfeyrac's lips.
Courfeyrac pulled away - he had a habit of doing that, it seemed, and began to walk out of the alley. "Come with me, Jehan," he said, and Jehan, yawning, followed him.
He followed Courfeyrac through the streets around the cafe before Courfeyrac stopped at a door unfamiliar to Jehan and held it open. Jehan stepped inside. He was tired enough that he could have slept in that tiny, unknown hallway, but Courfeyrac took his hand - making Jehan blush yet again - and led him up the stairs.
Courfeyrac's apartment was modestly yet quaintly furnished, but all Jehan saw was the bed. He looked for permission from Courfeyrac, who smiled, and Jehan fell onto the rumpled white sheets, sighing contentedly. The last thing Jehan remembered was Courfeyrac's body spooning his as the other pressed his lips into Jehan's hair.