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Images of the battlefield ran through Enjolras' head. Everything hurt and he felt confused, his mind a big messy mixture of present and past brought together by the nausea that that rotten smell in the air was provoking him.
He was somewhere dark, a hard surface beneath him. He was cold, too cold, his clothes were wet and clinging to his body, he could feel his teeth shaking. His hands and
his arms were tightly held in place by an unknown force. He groaned.
An instinctive fear tried to take over him when he heard voices coming from a nerby chamber. He swallowed it down and listened carefully.
"The prisioner woke up. Do we tell Javert?" said one voice with a northern accent. Enjolras heard steps aproaching.
"Eh, boy! Are you thirsty? Wanna beer?" A mocking voice called through a small opening. He didn't answer.
"Give him a rest, Montparnasse, he can't even talk. If we give him to Javert like that he'll leave him half dead."
"It's not my problem, R. This is boring as hell, I'm calling the boss. Stop feeling sorry for a prisioner." He heard steps going through what sounded like a long empty hall and it went quiet again.
After a while there was a loud thump and a string of light began to enter the chamber where Enjolras was. He tensed up, trying to overlook the way his head felt like it was being hammered when the torch's brightness reached his eyes.
A man entered. Enjolras tried to see his face but his eyes couldn't adjust properly or tell if he was tall or short. He had a black mass of curly hair and his presence wasn't intimidating if one overlooked the fact that Enjolras was absolutely defenseless at the moment. He expected the worst anyway.
From the conversation he'd heard they were intending to torture him. He remembered the name Javert, it was the infamous inquisitor in the northern city. He had the reputation of merciless and inflexible executioner. Enjolras was not eager to confirm this first hand but as things were going it was likely he would. He kept shaking slightly and was still dizzy but his mind was sharper than it was expected given his situation. He just needed to endure it and follow the plan.
The man seemed hesitant to approach him, he had an indistinguishable object in his other hand.
Enjolras swallowed, trying to clear his throat, and said in commanding tone "Stop where you are." He felt releaved when he didn't stutter. Guards usually responded better to an authoritative voice. That or it made them angry, half the times it was that. Either way it worked. The man stopped on the spot, surprised by the strength coming from the man he thought agonizing. It was clearly not the case. He huffed a laugh.
"A little bossy for a man tied down don't you think?" He said, staying in place anyway. "I'm not here to pull the ropes. At least I hope not. Last time I had nightmares for weeks." He made a displeased gesture at the memory and lifted a mug, offering it to Enjolras, mutely asking for permission to move forward so he could let him drink from it, Enjolras nodded, and the guard did, carefully pouring the bitter liquid between his lips. It was a cheap liquor but it helped with the quivering.
Upon closer inspection the guard's face wasn't threatening either with an indifferent expression looking right through him, not meeting his eyes once. He wasn't sure if it was due to the darkness or a conscious attempt to avoid sympathizing with him.
The drink made Enjolras relax for a moment before the other man's words from before registered completely.
"Pulling what ropes?" he ventured to ask.
"You don't know where you are, do you?" he said, leaving the torch in the holder. He leaned on the wall in a conversational mood, apparently, but looking at the floor. It annoyed Enjolras, but a chatty disposition could be useful.
"I am in the northern city's castle. I was captured in battle during a mission to bring down the impostor king and will likely be executed for it after being tortured for information and a fake confession of heresy that will justify a public display, a burning in the stake seems likely, while the town continues to suffer the abuses of a villain. But I knew all that before I was brought here, the details of the whole thing may vary." said Enjolras plainly, not missing a beat . Better move past that already, Javert had to be on his way there so there wasn't much time to waste.
"Good. At least you know what you're being accused of, many of the others here don't get that privilege." said the guard, not looking at all bothered by the prospect of a public burning. He must've been used to the horrors of the northern dungeons by then. Enjolras wondered what it would be like having to witness time and again the things that he saw in a place like that and of which Enjolras had only heard of and even then they filled him with rage. The guard continued. "But what I was asking is if you have any idea of what's holding your legs and has your arms above your head so you can barely feel them. Have you stopped to think about that?"
Enjolras frowned at this. He made a tentative effort to pull. But why would he care what kind of chains-
Oh. Not chains but rope. He felt a shock if panic go through his entire body at the realization.
"So, now you know." Said the guard, in a failed mocking tone.
Enjolras breath fastened. It was certainly one thing to say it and another to find himself at the absolute mercy of his inquisitor already. The ropes were ready to to pull each of his extremities at the first command given in case he refused to cooperate. Probably even if he did. He closed his eyes.
"There were others with me. Can you tell me what was done with them?" he asked, thinking that deep down he wished he hadn't.
"There's one other guy from the west, Prouvaire, that's on this side of the castle, awaiting punishment. The others are yet to receive judgment based on your confession and are in the southern tower."
"Prouvaire is here?" he said, surprised. That wasn't part of the plan. "Why isn't he with the others?"
The guard seemed reluctant to answer the question. "Listen, you should be worrying about your own thing right now. All I can tell you is that it has nothing to do with your little war game out there."
"He's my friend! I can't just ignore his faith like it was nothing!" he shouted. He remembered the reasons that had brough Prouvaire to the west but he said he'd been forgiven, that he'd left to start over. The guard ran to see if anyone was coming through the hall. He returned looking daggers at Enjolras.
"If you know what's good for you you do not tell anyone you're friends with Jean Prouvaire again."
This startled Enjolras. What in the world could a man like Jean have done to renew the ire of the inquisitors?
"He's- more or less fine at the moment." said the guard looking out the door. "In any case you go first. So I recommend you start thinking what you're going to tell Javert when he gets here."
"There's nothing to tell." said Enjolras turning away.
He heard the guard huff like he knew better than to try and persuade him. That was the other man's job after all.
Enjolras did something else instead. A soft stream of words started erupting from his mouth, a prayer.
"That's not necessary." his custodian muttered. He stopped to look at him again, not sure he'd heard him speak. Enjolras asked him what he meant. "It's a tricky situation for you, I'll give you that." the man said. "But not enough to conjure the greater powers up in the sky, I'd say. The Being Up There sure has more pressing matters to attend than this one. Say a hungry child or a sick old woman in her deathbed. A handsome young man that knew what was coming to him hardly counts as a miracle-worthy scena-" he made an odd pause. "Although he IS very pretty." he added in a whisper. "Could it be. a sign of God's favoritism?" he said to himself.
"Stop rambling!" He snapped at him. "I'm not in the mood to deal with nonsense. Leave me alone if you have no way of making yourself useful or at the very least tolerable."
The man stayed, quiet, and Enjolras returned to praying, ignoring him as much as he was able to while feeling the man's gaze on him the entire time. After a while there was the a sound of steps outside. Enjolras froze.
The guard straightened, walked a couple of steps closer to him leaning slightly and whispered only for him to hear "I'll make myself useful, you'll see." and left, taking the torch with him. Enjolras remained, unsure of what to make of that. Perhaps he'd turn out to be helpful in the end but there was a plan and it was vital that he followed it even if it meant going through the worst of faiths.
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Grantaire closed the door on his way out. Just like he thought, Javert and Montparnasse walked in that direction, way too content with themselves if anyone asked him. Javert loved breaking the "infidels", Montparnasse just liked to watch them scream.
"Is the heretic prepared for his punishment?" asked Javert gravely without looking at either of them.
"About that," said Grantaire, trying to divert the attention onto himself by standing between the door and the two men. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Your opinion doesn't interest me in the least." said Javert. "The infidel will confess his crimes and receive God's wrath through me. Step aside unless you'd like to share the man's faith." he threatened him.
Grantaire moved reluctantly. Montparnasse gave him a strange look and he shrugged in return.
This wasn't his businesses, he thought. All he had to do was walk away and forget about it like he always did. The boy had been looking for it. Who in his right mind calls the king of the most powerful region in the land a traitor and actually attacks him with such a pathetic army it only takes a fifth of the men in the castle to capture them in no less than an hour.
That guy did. It didn't make any sense that an ordinary man could convince those around him to follow him so blindly into a lost battle and accepted the punishment without objection.
What if he really was- No.
But still-
Javert's fingers touched the door's handle. "Wait!" Grantaire spoke up, vastly aware of his foolishness but unable to stop himself. The two men stared at him like he had lost his mind, which, Grantaire thought, was proving to be the case. It only got worse for every second he spent staring back not saying anything at all. He cleared his throat, striving to find the words that would bend the will of the avenging archangel.
"What on Earth do you think you're-" Javert started to say impatiently but Grantaire cut him with a word even the fearsome man knew to respect. "P-plague?" he repeated, looking back at the door, retrieving his hand immediately.
"Yes." assured Grantaire, repressing his sudden relief. "I mean, he comes from the west land, my lord,it's not uncommon for them to carry the pest." he explained matter-of-factly. There had been news on it from the south.
Javert pondered, fists clenched and jaw rigid. "You suppose this man is victim if the pestilence. That would mean that God has taken the punishment of this wretched man in his own hands and I have nothing else to do as far as this infidel is concerned." he said, glaring at him.
"It does." agreed Grantaire looking at the floor submissively. "Sinners like him have gained such terrible end to their lives."
"He appears healthy. Why would I take your word for it?"
"I have seen it many times, the devil's signs are on him. It is hard to see for someone of a heart as pure as yours and easier for sinners like myself." He bit his lip in faked distress. "I find myself unwilling to think that it could be any other way than what I'm telling you and, to prevent your virtue from being stained, advise Your Excellence to let me handle this prisioner."
Javert scrutinized Grantaire for a moment. He turned to Montparnasse who watched the door mistrustfully as if he where to caught the illness by standing too close to it. He nodded, turning to walk away.
"I give you three days. If he's not dead by then I'll make you both wish he was. Take him to quarantine." he said and went away.
Montparnasse waited until he was out of sight and said, not completely sceptical "Plague. Really?"
"I just have this sense of- foreboding, you know?" he said, making himself sound as genuinely concerned as he could. "I don't get how this shit works it just does, man. I went in to give him something to drink and there was this- smell, like death in the air. You wouldn't know. I mean you're free to try but-"
"Oh, no. I'm not getting anywhere near that guy until Javert does." said Montparnasse, walking backwards, in a hurry to leave. "Actually, you don't talk to me either in that time. Just don't."
"God rewards those who take care of the sick!" he yelled.
"Good for you!" he yelled back, getting out of sight down some stairs.
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"Why did you do that?" asked Enjolras, his heart beating wild inside his chest only then realizing how scared he'd truly been. He'd heard the exchange outside the door and couldn't believe a word of it, even when the fearsome inquisitor was nowhere to be seen and the same guy returned, as oddly non-hostile as before.
"Why do flowers bloom? Why do the birds sing in the morning?" answered Grantaire calmly, focusing on undoing the restraints at his feet.
"Don't be cryptic!" said Enjolras exasperated. "I was going to-" he gulped "You didn't have any obligation to-" He couldn't find the right words to express his gratitude. He felt light-headed and might've started to laugh or cry at some point had he had the energy to do so. He wondered if the other man would've mocked him for it, maybe that's all it was: a terrible terrible joke. They wanted to brake his spirit as well as his body. He waited for the other to finish in silence.
"There, you're free. Well, freer." Grantaire declared, helping him incorporate. He pulled Enjolras' arm over his shoulder, he turned out to be shorter, and noticed how cold he was. "Shit, I told Montparnasse to at least wait 'til you woke up to soak you, no wonder you're all shaky and cold." He was practically dragging Enjolras to get him out of the room. He was a bit of a dead-weight as soon as his feet touched the floor. "Can you at least try?!" he asked with a strained voice.
"I am trying!" snapped Enjolas giving two wobbly steps on his own. "See?"
"I bet it'd be faster if I carried you on my back." Grantaire said rolling his eyes.
"You can't carry me." He'd rather keep the little dignity he had left.
"You're not that heavy." he countered. They were walking through the long hall scarcely illuminated by the torches along the way. "I might be short but I'm sure I could carry a pretty sack of bones like yourself if I had to."
"I mean I won't allow it." he clarified turning to look at Grantaire when the lights finally made it possible. His eyes called Enjolras attention, his pupils were completely dilated like it was common for someone who spent so much time in the dark. What seemed like a dark abyss for Enjolras surely looked perfectly normal for him.
"You know, I could've cuffed you." he said arching an eyebrow, returning his gaze for a second before looking back to the front. "But you know what? You're like a kitten. A cute baby cat giving it's first steps into the world and I, mother cat, am here to keep you from falling down some stairs and cracking your head like an egg. If I wanted to carry you there'd be little you could do to stop me at the moment."
"Do you realize that if you dare I'll hurt you so much when I can feel my legs again shortly?" He threatened half-heartedly.
"Only that is stopping me." said Grantaire, almost smiling.
------------
They didn't talk for the rest of the walk. They passed a lot of doors; some eerily quiet and others emitting noises that couldn't help but remind Enjolras how close he'd been to be in their place if it hadn't been for the man beside him.
His gaze kept coming back at Grantaire, who never looked back but straight ahead. Grantaire, that's how that other guy, Montparnasse had called him. He smelled like that cheap liquor he'd given him back in the chamber. He was holding him against his side, a hand around his hip the other holding his arm, keeping Enjolras steady on his feet while he walked clumsily beside him, not as bad as before but still. He was an enigma to Enjolras. "Why did he save me?" he kept asking himself. It had been either suspicious or extremely kind of him.
Grantaire knew why but it seemed like such a ridiculous notion he felt like hitting himself with a club for even thinking about it. It had been a burst of blind faith like he hadn't experienced one in his life. He had done it before thinking about doing it, mechanically, like he never had a choice to do otherwise.
When he first saw Enjolras, unconscious and beaten, being brought to the cell dragged by two guards, he had thought of an angel.
He had reprehended himself for the thought -this was a criminal!- and tried to let it go but, when he entered the chamber again and saw him tied down, accepting his martyrdom with resolve and an innate divine grace, the thought invaded him twice as strongly.
The arrival of Javert and Montparnasse almost brought him back to his senses. But he lost it a third time when he imagined that divine face contorted in pain. "What if he really was one?" he had dared to consider!
That had been the same man that was clinging to him for support like a drunk coming out of the tavern. He'd never been the composed one before so it was a nice change at least and it helped with the shame.
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They arrived to a tiny cell with only a slit of light illuminating an old wooden bed were Grantaire deposited Enjolras carefully.
"What happened to you?," asked Grantaire, letting go. "You looked like the entire army walked over you when you got here."
"It did." he was leaning against the cold stone wall, too tired of laying on his back. "Some guy, a giant with a horse, knocked me down and brought me pulling from a rope. I banged my head with something, I think, and then I was here."
"Yeah, they do that." said Grantaire, thoughtful. He started looking for something under the bed. It was a long chain with shackles and cuffs. "Wrists." he requested.
It took Enjolras a bit to understand, his eyes darting between Grantaire and the restrains.
Right, this person wasn't his freer or his ally. He was his custodian that happened to have had a little bit of pity for him. He complied. When it was done Enjolras had two long steps worth of movement around the bed.
"Are you hungry?" asked Grantaire.
"No."
"Will you be hungry tomorrow?" Enjolras frowned. "I'm just saying that if you're going to starve yourself, three days might not be enough to kill you. You look well-fed, I bet you were rich in the land you come from, huh?"
Enjolras didn't answer.
"Right." he said, turning to leave.
"Wait!" spoke Enjolras. Grantaire regarded him. "Thank you." he said sincerely.
Grantaire smiled bitterly. "It's only days difference. It will happen in the end."
"It might not."
"No, I'm certain it will happen."
"Someone will save us or we could escape." he countered. Grantaire gaped at him.
"You hit your head really hard, didn't you? It's impossible that someone in their right mind is this optimistic in your situation."
"God will help us, our own king, our men. They will all help us. YOU helped me!" he insisted.
"It's not the same! I was delusional back there." He said moving his hands around his head to emphasize the point.
"I don't understand."he said, scowling.
"Well, that's too bad." he said, closing the door behind him on his way out.
--------------------
So, Enjolras still didn't know "why" but he could deal with that later. He doubted it'd be the last time he'd see the man.
Now he had other things to worry about and the most frightening of them all was the destiny of Jean Prouvaire. He was here and not safe with the others, if they were even safe to begin with. He'd have to get more information out of Grantaire.
It was frustrating. He could see himself losing his mind If he had to spend a long season in this place. Although the actual future ahead wasn't all that promising either.
----------------
"Do you know a Enjolras?" asked Grantaire, when he entered Prouvaire's cell. The guy was laying in the bed, same chain arrangement as Enjolras.
"Would you make my stay more comfortable if I did?" said Prouvaire. He was beaten badly, it wasn't pretty but it had all been done in battle, not yet at the hands of the inquisitors.
"Maybe." conceded Grantaire, nearing some liquid from a bottle to the other's face. " I don't understand. You were banished. Why did you come back?"he whispered.
"To bring down the impostor and free my people." he recited before taking a moment to drink what was offered. Grantaire raised an eyebrow "My mother still lives, I would've liked to see her one more time." he said smiling slightly, flinching because of the broken lip.
"So much you'd risk your own life?"
"So much to risk my life. What can I say, I was homesick. When the news came that the true heir to the throne had been found I was first in line to come."
"Valjean is two cells away, if that interests you. He fasts and prays all the time so nobody can say we're short of martyrs. They don't know what to do with him but Javert's dying to get his hands on the man."
"Why haven't they killed him yet? Wouldn't that benefit Thenardier in the end?"
"That's what he wants, but Valjean's friends with a bishop and under the clergy's jurisdiction. Javert might be in charge around here but he has to follow orders."
"How's Enjolras and the others?"
"Better than you."
"Thank God." he breaths, closing his eyes in relief.
"He asked about you. Why you weren't with the others."
"What did you tell him?" asked Prouvaire, not sounding particularly concerned with the answer.
"I figured that was your business." he replied serious.
There was a pause in the conversation where Prouvaire seemed to ponder.
"What do you think of me? Of my sins?" he asked.
"I'm not a judge."
"I can see that. You do not judge me and you talk to me, unlike the other guards. They're all scared of me it seems." he huffed a laugh. "I'm not a very intimidating figure I think."
"No, you're more of a scandalous one." he said smiling.
"You're sweet." he said smiling a bit as well.
"Flattering won't get you out of here, Prouvaire. Although it might earn you some good wine for later."
"Did you come to take me to meet my cruel faith?" he asked, resigned.
He'd had years to prepare himself. Three years before, when he'd counted twenty springs, he'd met a handsome nobleman who doted on him and spoke words of love.
Prouvaire was known in the north as the name of the young beautiful man that had used witchcraft to seduce a rich duke and forced him to commit indecent acts against God.
That's what the man had said to justify his actions to the court. It had also been the same man whom requested his life be forgiven. Grantaire was more than familiar with what a load of shit declarations of being 'under a spell' were. The inquisitors were often too eager to buy them.
"I'm pretty sure I could get you three more days. Your friend Enjolras seems to think you'll be saved in that time by a miracle of some kind." he said softly.
"I hope he's right." he commented, not paying much attention to it. "What do YOU believe will happen to us?"
"I don't believe in anything. What will be will be."
Prouvaire smiled like he knew something Grantaire didn't.
---------------
"I'm not hungry." said Enjolras when Grantaire brought him something to eat the next day. He was sitting in the edge of the bed and in deep thought. Grantaire left the mug and the plate of cold soup next to the bed anyway and stayed there for a moment, as if he wanted to say something. Enjolras waited. Grantaire pursed his lips.
"Are you not going to ask me what happened to Prouvaire and the others?"
"I don't know if I want to know but tell me anyway." he expected the worst.
"Prouvaire also turned out to have the plague and I'll be bringing him here shortly." he said, preening a little.
"You did that?" he said eyes going wide.
"It wasn't difficult, considering the excuse I gave for you it was easy to include the rest. I wouldn't be surprised that all the westerners got sent to exile by tomorrow."
Enjolras did laugh this time looking at him incredulous. Grantaire looked at him, unable to hide the fascination from his eyes.
Grantaire thought the man looked like an angel when he got there and it felt like that again seeing him joyous. He smiled the most undignified smile. Enjolras looked at him curiously, endeared.
"Why are you doing all this for us? You said we were lost and then you saved me twice by saving my friends."
"Jean Prouvaire is a good man and I could easily be in his place one day." Enjolras' regard for him changed slightly.
"And me?" he asked, looking up at Grantaire expectantly.
"You? You are-" he started to say carelessly, sweetness seeping through his eyes. 'My demise, my salvation, my maker' he thought of saying before he realized and gave half a couple of steps back, his expression closing, fear washing over him. "Forgive me." he said instinctively, looking down.
"For what?" asked Enjolras softly. He frowned and stood up. Walking as close to Grantaire as he could with the chains. The cell was extremely small but a step remained between the two men. It was thought to keep the inmates at bay. Enjolras leaned to the side trying to find the other's gaze. "Grantaire." he called in a whisper.
Grantaire closed his eyes overwhelmed by the delectable way that voiced had pronounced his name. He felt like he was trembling underneath his skin. He wanted to apologize again for feeling such things. He turned to look at Enjolras, a bitter smile painting his features.
"Make sure you act like you're in a lot of pain. They will put you all in carts and attempt to take you to an island. It'll be easy to escape before you get there if you have people on the outside I can deliver a letter if you wish. You'll go back home with your friends, live a long happy life and forget about the time some awful prison guard let you escape because he thought you might have been an angel from heaven and it was his mission in life making sure you got out of here alive and safe." His voice had started shaking somewhere along the way, only increasing the feeling of guilt deep inside his chest.
Enjolras fixed his gaze on Grantaire's eyes tenderly. The sound of the chains tensing revealing his attempt at coming closer. Grantaire didn't understand. Was he trying to hurt him? He deserved it after all.
"You should come with us." uttered Enjolras. "You'd be a hero. You're smarter than you think and could help us plan our next attack."
"Next at-" The words caught in Grantaire's throat. "You can't be serious!" He said raising his voice. He paced around the room while talking anxiously, hand around his nape "All this should never have happened! You guys thinking you could get somewhere with all this ONCE was insane. And now you want a second?! Why can't you just leave things as they are?"
"There are lives at stake. We will keep trying as long as there's a breath in our lungs." recited Enjolras, not a drop of uncertainty in him. Grantaire stopped to stare at him amazed by the nonsense coming out of the guy's lovely mouth.
"I can't help you destroy yourself."
Enjolras stood in front of him, his chains hitting the floor without any of the tension from before. His face was resolute, the wounds and the sleep depravation making him look like some sort of terrible angelic warrior.
"Then be there to help me stay alive.", he declared, pulling Grantaire against him into a quick but firm kiss. He waited to see what Grantaire would do, both about the kiss and the proposal.
He gaped at him. His eyes darted from the door to Enjolras until they finally remained on the man. He licked his lips.
Hesitant, he lifted his hand and ran light fingertips along Enjolras' jaw. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.
Grantaire felt his heart beating uncontrollably. The beautiful angel was letting him touch him and taste his lips and there were a thousand ways in which Grantaire could ruin it.
His thoughts were all over the place when he felt soft wet skin running along his palm planting kisses. With his hands held together by the cuffs, Enjolras grabbed his arm and moved Grantaire's hand over his cheeks, his neck and chest, urging Grantaire to make his decision.
Grantaire took Enjolras' face between his hands to bring him down and devour his lips, sucking on them softly and fiercely at a time, receiving his tongue like the most sacred of elixirs, the need to taste and swallow twisting his insides. He needed more, so much more. He needed it all, and over it all his hands travelled, drawing lovely breaths from the blond whose movements, restricted, did nothing to satisfy his growing need.
Enjolras bit Grantaire's lower lip trying to keep him still, struggling with the belt until the other took the matter in his hands by getting both their pants out of the way, throwing his on the floor Enjolras' getting stuck at his feet.
Grantaire took him from the hips and pressed their bodies together, their hard members rubbing against each other messily, not satisfactorily enough for either of them.
They had difficulty trying to keep themselves quiet and upright, panting in each others shoulders,their movements out of order moved by pure instinct. Their hands were reaching for every inch of skin.
Enjolras bit a groan into Grantaire's neck and pushed the man into the wooden bed, straddling him as he sat, ankles united by the chain, conscious of how much his knees would be killings him later and not giving a damn. He started grinding on his lap.
Grantaire lifted his hips so skin met skin in the most perfect way, receiving every attention from the other man like the hungry would a banquet. He kissed his neck when the other lifted his head, losing himself in the come and go, he mouthed his chest eager to memorize all the flavors, his hands encouraged the dance of the others hips.
Enjolras pushed Grantaire down on the bed, getting their full lengths between his hands and started fucking his grip on them, spitting on them, smearing precome, anything to intensify the sensation.
Their breathings were ragged and desperate. They were unable to care anymore if they were heard or not by someone passing by.
Grantaire came first, arching his back, gripping Enjolras' hips hard, savoring the way the other fastened his movement before faltering as he spilled himself on his chest with a drawn curse that sounded like a blessing leaving his lips.
Enjolras fell beside him, eyes closed. He resembled a lion sleeping peacefully. Grantaire watched him until he too fell asleep.
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When he woke up, his belt was gone along with his keys and his bedmate. He was also chained to the bed. There was a note written on the wall with some hard object that read: "I took Valjean, Prouvaire and all those that deserve to be free. The fake king will fall."
Grantaire sighed. Of course. It had been too good to be true. It didn't help the feeling gathering inside his chest, a mixture of disappointment and the knowledge of having been used.
He sat on the bed, he'd have to wait until someone noticed his absence and came looking for him to find him lying naked chained with mysterious stains all over his chest. Great.
He stared at the spot where the sneaky angel had pretended to be asleep and he found another note written on in the wood with the same object from the wall.
"It doesn't change what I said before. I hope our paths will cross again. E"
Grantaire smiled. He thought that maybe it would be nice to see his angel again.