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Grantaire awoke to an oppressive pounding in his head that seemed determined to knock him back out. If his memory served him correct, it was the result of a long, intoxicated New Years Eve.
He was slow to take in his surroundings, thoughts fogged by sleep and booze. This… was not his room. It was far too tidy, walls adorned with neatly organized bookshelves and a notable lack of paint spills. Grantaire sat up, cradling his head in his hands to block out the sun. An ache crawled up his back as he adjusted, the familiar soreness settling in his muscles. That was not a result of his drinking. The blanket fell from his shoulders and gave way to bare skin, which bristled in the cool air. Ah. He was beginning to put the context clues together. It wasn’t his first time waking up naked in a stranger’s bed, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.
Curiosity ate at him now -- he needed to see just who he slept with. Man or woman? Were they somewhat attractive? It took a moment for his eyes to tolerate the light streaming in, further enraging the ever-persistent aching in his head. With eyes squinted, his vision fuzzy, he observed the man beside him. Or rather, the man's back. From what he could tell, it was a lovely back. Slim, but fairly defined with lean muscles and a smattering of moles. His partner had a headful of golden curls, eerily similar to Enjolras’s. His usual preference, then. He had a questionable habit of seeking out partners that resembled Enjolras.
Grantaire leaned in, vying for a better view of his face, when the man shifted and rolled over. A strange, exuberant dread flooded him. There was no mistaking that the man lying next to him was Enjolras. Not a lookalike, but the genuine article.
At a glance, Enjolras did not seem to be wearing anything either. There was no need for further inspection. The gentle rise and fall of his bare chest transfixed Grantaire, sat dumbly like a deer in headlights whilst his better judgement begged him to flee. But Enjolras was next to him, golden hair strewn about, cheeks gently flushed, oblivious in his slumber. And there, at the base of his neck, was a hickey.
Lips graze his cheek, breath hot and ragged. Grantaire leans into the touch, the warm body flush against his own. He can’t think, can hardly hold himself up, but he presses his mouth to the soft neck before him. The neck vibrates with an approving moan as Grantaire adorns it with kisses, each more desperate than the last.
Grantaire averted his gaze. It felt wrong, dirty, to watch Enjolras sleep. He didn’t dare linger on his muddled memory.
He couldn't just sit there, he had to do something, but the proper social etiquette for such a situation escaped him. Was there any positive outcome to this? He could flee, hold onto the delusion that nothing out of the ordinary happened. If Enjolras didn’t remember anything, things would return to normal. But if Enjolras did remember… he couldn’t leave it unresolved.
He could pretend to be asleep, leave it to Enjolras to sort the whole thing out. But that felt dishonest. (Well, that and he was a shit actor.)
Then there was the option of waking him. With a nudge? A ‘good morning sunshine’? A blowjob? With a start, Grantaire realized his gaze had drifted downward, and he was filled with shame. Definitely not. Now was not the time for dirty jokes. This whole situation was fucking with his head -- the flashes of resurfacing memories, the naked adonis next to him.
His fingers fumble with the button, unable to keep hold of it long enough to slip it through the hole. Since when did buttons become so difficult? A hand brushes against his own, stilling him. Though trembling, these hands have more success undoing the button, and before they can pull away Grantaire is tugging the pants down and bringing his face ever closer to the erection in front of him.
He buried his burning face in his hands, unmistakable arousal sparked within him, simmering. So long as it didn’t reach a boil, he could manage.
“Grantaire?” It was so faint he nearly missed it. The rasp of Enjolras's voice was warm and gentle. Confused, but not accusatory.
“Ah, good morning, Enj.” He wanted to draw the blanket up, shield his bare chest from Enjolras’s gaze, but moving the blanket could mean uncovering more of Enjolras. Enjolras, who stared at him, eyes drifting downward, his jaw slack.
“What, uh, happened to your chest?”
“Huh?” He glanced down, and instantly Enjolras’ hickey seemed trivial. Love bites covered his own chest like paint splatter, littered along his collar bone dipping down his chest. He looked beyond ravaged. Grantaire lifted his head to meet Enjolras’s eyes, but they did not return his stare. Instead they remained fixed on Grantaire’s chest, utterly shameless in his fascination. “Must’ve been you.”
“What?!” That broke Enjolras out of his daze, eyes darting up to finally meet Grantaire’s. They were wide, panicked, but Grantaire couldn't help noticing his pupils were also blown. Barely a sliver of blue remained.
“I certainly didn’t make ‘em.”
He opened his mouth, only to shut it again, grimacing in some semblance of concentration. As he focused on some distant memory, his face turned bright red, the flush spreading down his chest. Grantaire didn’t know Enjolras could blush like that.
“Do you remember?”
“Bits and pieces. Do you…?”
He lands amongst the throw pillows, sending them tumbling to the floor. Enjolras is on him before he’s settled, straddling his hips and running his hands along his sides and up his chest eagerly. Grantaire lets out a moan as he brushes over his nipples, the feeling sending a pleasurable thrill straight to his groin. Enjolras is practically salivating, rutting against Grantaire desperately whilst he dips his head down to kiss his chest. He ruts against Enjolras in turn. A twinge of pain startles him, and he realizes Enjolras has bit him. A gentle bite, but a bite nonetheless. He suckles the bite, hands still aimlessly caressing Grantaire, going lower, lower, seeking the warmth between his legs.
“Bits and pieces.”
Enjolras looked mortified, no doubt his mind was reeling from whatever he had remembered. Grantaire likely shared a similar expression on his own face.
Well, he supposed the next thing to do was get out of bed and get dressed. No sense sitting around and mulling in the immense discomfort of the situation. Unfortunately, that did mean fully uncovering himself. He was undeniably stark naked in that bed. Which meant most likely, so was Enjolras. Better he get up than Enjolras. He stood before he could second guess himself.
Enjolras made a startled sort of sound that seemed to get caught halfway in his throat. “Oh, you’re — do you want the blanket? Sorry, I didn’t mean to look, I’m not looking, um—”
Surely this wasn’t Enjolras’s first one night stand? No, though rare, he distinctly remembered Courfeyrac gossiping about Enjolras's occasional sexual escapade. He had paid careful attention during those conversations, pleased to hear of his preference for men, as though that meant Grantaire had a chance with him. It had disproved Grantaire's theory that Enjolras was ace -- though he still suspected the man didn’t masturbate. In all truth, that theory had been a poorly veiled attempt at preserving his pride, a way to rationalize Enjolras’s indifference to his flirting and dirty jokes. Enjolras always cut off those conversations quickly.
So why was he behaving so strangely? In all fairness, it would be quite the shock to wake up expecting a handsome stranger in your bed, only to be met with Grantaire. Perhaps that explained the air of discomfort.
If anyone ought to be a blundering mess, it should be Grantaire, not Enjolras. After all, Grantaire was the one that had fostered an unreciprocated love for Enjolras from the moment he first heard him speak, years ago. The one whose eyes trailed after Enjolras when his back was turned. The one who likened Enjolras to Apollo.
“I’m pretty sure you’ve seen it all, Enj.” His eyes swept the floor, quickly spotting his boxers crumpled on the far side of the room. He was relieved to see it was one of his better pairs, free of holes or embarrassing designs. His other clothing items were strewn about, forming a trail out the door. The rest must be in the hall, or perhaps the living room, or, very likely, at the front door, if his memory served correct. But his boxers were in this room, thank goodness. His legs were weak, but he managed his way across the room without them buckling. He didn’t want to give Enjolras a heart attack.
“Let me know when you’re covered.” Enjolras’s eyes were shut tight, and even so his head was turned away. His flush had not dissipated, the smattering of red washed down his face, shoulders, chest, knuckles. Grantaire’s breath caught. Enjolras’s hands pressed down on his groin, a futile attempt to hide the tented erection beneath them.
No good could come from thinking into that. Grantaire pulled his boxers on quickly, clearing his throat before giving Enjolras the all clear. “I can step out if you… need a moment.” He gave a quick nod to Enjolras’s erection, immensely grateful he wasn’t sporting one of his own. That in itself was a miracle of self-control and desperation.
Apparently Enjolras hadn’t expected Grantaire to notice, judging by the way his mouth gaped like a fish, searching for some explanation that wouldn't come. Grantaire hated how endearing this version of Enjolras was, all polite and bashful, albeit still high strung. He was worlds different from the confident leader Grantaire usually pined for, but that golden heart of his was the same as ever, shining through his discomfort.
“Relax, it’s ok, I get it. Morning wood’s perfectly normal.”
Enjolras kept his hands where they were, but momentarily released some of the tension he had been holding. “Yeah…” But then his brow furrowed and his eyes shifted to the ground, fighting some internal battle Grantaire was not privy to. “I’m so sorry, it’s not morning wood, it’s because of you — well, because of me, I’m not blaming you, but because I saw you, and I shouldn’t have been looking at you like that! It would be wrong to deceive you in this situation….” The words spilled out, shocking Grantaire and Enjolras alike.
Ah, honest to a fault. As per usual. Grantaire could have gone without that knowledge. “Well, that is less normal, but it doesn’t make you a sex offender. You may want to get your head checked, though. As nice as it is to have that effect on you, mentally-sound Enjolras isn’t attracted to me. Could be bad booze.” The door to freedom was mere yards away, and past it his clothes, not to mention his sanity. But as Grantaire turned to flee that direction, Enjolras piped up again, stopping him in his tracks.
“Nice…?”
Wonderful. Enjolras was broken, spitting out one word replies now. Likely due to his elongated arousal. He sighed. A pity, really, that Enjolras’s brain was fried. It had come up with some pretty clever ideas in the past.
Enjolras was still sat upon the bed, blanket pulled up further now to cover more of him. If anything, Grantaire felt like the perv, leering at a nude, cowering Enjolras, hair cascading down his shoulders akin to some virtuous maiden, and Grantaire the wicked onlooker. “What?”
“You said it would be… nice, to have that effect on me? To arouse me?”
Grantaire felt like he was missing some crucial information. “Well, yeah?” The longer he stood in that room, the more self-conscious he became of his lack of clothing. He subconsciously tensed his abs, trying to hide the soft pudge of his stomach. It would be nice to arouse Enjolras, but there was very little of him that would merit that reaction. “What? Don’t look surprised!”
“Well, you can’t just say you’d like to arouse me and expect me to not be confused!”
“How is that any different from how I usually speak to you?”
Enjolras was speechless, finally. As was Grantaire, if he was being honest. That morning was already shocking enough, without Enjolras rambling about Grantaire giving him boners and analyzing Grantaire’s flirtatious jokes, of which he had always reliably ignored. He really ought to leave now, turn tail and get the hell out of there, return to pining safely from a distance. But he was frozen, eyes locked with Enjolras as he turned Grantaire’s words over in his mind, slowly solving the puzzle that had eluded him for so long.
“How long have you been flirting with me?”
He knew Enjolras was always focused on the cause and whatnot, but this level of obliviousness was downright ridiculous; impressive, even. “Enjolras, I’ve — shit, Enj, I’ve always been flirting with you, since we first met. Flirting or arguing, often both, how could you not realize?”
“Always?”
“Yes! It’s a recurring joke in the group? I call you apollo?”
Grantaire is beneath him, cheeks flushed and hair tousled. He’s panting, pleasure etched into his face. “Apollo!” he gasps, hands grasping at Enjolras desperately.
Enjolras willed his mind to banish that memory, but when he met Grantaire’s eyes, he saw that face in ecstasy again, and he cursed his lecherous mind. “The others know?”
“Well, yeah, everyone does, or at least I thought everyone knew. Apparently you didn’t. I’ll stop if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“No!” Enjolras leapt up, realizing too late what that meant for the blanket covering him.
“For fucks sake, Enj!” Grantaire stumbled backwards, averting his eyes out of sheer self-preservation, of which he was surprised he had any left.
“Wait!”
Grantaire was out the door, slamming it shut with a resounding bang. “Put some pants on, underwear, anything, then we’ll talk as much as you like. But not until then.”
On the other side of the door, Grantaire caught his breath, still gripping the door handle. That must’ve been an all time record for nude Enjolras exposure — before today, it had been the beach trip, and all of thirty seconds in the sauna before Grantaire admitted defeat and high-tailed it out of there.
He could still hear Enjolras moving inside, the rustle of clothing only serving as a reminder of his current state of undress. He backed away from the door, releasing his grip on the handle and nearly tripping on the pair of jeans behind him. His jeans. As much as he couldn’t handle looking upon Enjolras’s perfect visage, having Enjolras’s eyes on his own body was just as bad, perhaps worse. The look on his face had been eerily similar to infatuation, and the last thing Grantaire needed was to get his hopes up.
His tank top was just a little further down the hall. He was pulling it over his head when the door opened behind him with a hollow click. He pulled the shirt down swiftly, turning to face a thankfully clothed Enjolras.
“Funny meeting you here.”
“Grantaire, we need to discuss this.”
‘Need to’ was a bit dramatic, but the expression on Enjolras’s face made Grantaire bite back his reply. It wasn’t harsh, or angry, like how he got in meetings; the sincerity in those pale eyes was even more arresting than his anger. Grantaire stilled, realizing he had missed his opportunity to flee the moment Enjolras awoke and laid his eyes on him.
“Ok.”
“We slept together.”
“The evidence would seem to suggest that.”
“We were drunk. Did I… force you?”
“I hardly think you’re capable of that.”
Enjolras breathed a sigh of relief, hands trembling almost imperceptibly if Grantaire’s hadn’t known to look. He had been truly worried.
“Besides, you were drunk too. We were both out of it.”
Enjolras nodded, wringing his hands together. “Of course. I don’t — this doesn’t happen often.”
Grantaire laid a hand on his shoulder, stilling him. “It’s okay. We can pretend this never happened, forget it and go back to normal. I promise you I won’t be weird.”
The words did little to calm Enjolras. He gripped Grantaire’s wrist, holding him in place. “You’ve been flirting with me for a long time.”
“Correct.” The grip on him was unrelenting, but not harsh enough to hurt. The hand on his wrist set his nerves ablaze, all of his focus diverted to that one patch of skin. His palms began to sweat.
“Is it because… you like me?”
His stomach lurched. He couldn’t lie to Enjolras, not now, not here, with his eyes boring into his soul. His wrist burned. His heart raced. He took a shaky breath.
“Yes, Enjolras. It’s because I like you.”
“Romantically?”
Fuck, was he trying to kill Grantaire? “Yes, Enj, romantically.”
“Ah.” His grip loosened.
Grantaire pulled his hand back. “I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, I can take some time off the group if you’d like, but nothing will change, truly. I’ve always liked you, so it really won’t be any different.” He wiped his palms on his jeans.
“Wait!”
He hadn’t been going anywhere. Still, he looked to Enjolras, giving him his full attention. “Yes?”
“Well, it really doesn’t bother me, R, you see, the thing is…” It was jarring to see Enjolras nervous. And it was Grantaire who had made him so uncomfortable.
“Enjolras, it’s okay--”
“I like you too.”
His breath caught in his throat. He distantly registered Enjolras’s words, but they didn’t feel real, as if out of some deceitful dream. Because Enjolras had just told him he liked him. Enjolras, who could hardly stand his interruptions during meetings. Enjolras, who stayed after to tell him why he was wrong. Enjolras, who treated him to obscenely late coffee runs after said meetings. Enjolras, who always asked him how he was doing. Who noticed when he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. Who was genuinely interested in his art. Who truly listened to him.
Enjolras, who approached him at the New Years Eve party.
He's no stranger to drinking, but if not for the table supporting his weight, he would likely be on the floor. He used to think he had no threshold for liquor, but he has outdone himself at this party. No better way to welcome the New Year than to get plastered with the fuckin’ Les Amis.
“Five till midnight!” Courfeyrac shouts through his own drunken stupor, raising an empty bottle and falling into Combeferre. They laugh, so does everyone around them, blasted out of their minds.
“You idiot, that’s a two!” Feuilly corrects, slightly more composed. Enough so that when he walks to Grantaire, he only stumbles once. “Hey, man, this is your chance.”
Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “My chance to what, time travel? Is this part of the prophecy?”
“What the fuck? No, man, to kiss Enj, a lil New Years smooch. You got a minute and a half to find him.”
He laughs, scanning the room. Enjolras is across the crowd, sitting third wheel to Marius and Cosette. What a truly horrific fate. He loves the kids, sure, but the whole lovey-dovey thing gets old fast. Suddenly, Enjolras’s eyes meet his, and Grantaire jerks his gaze back to Feuilly. “Come on, you know better than to tempt a poor bachelor’s heart like that!”
“You never know, R, he could dig you. Courf thinks maybe he does. New Years miracle?”
“Never heard of a New Year’s miracle,” Grantaire laughs, but even as he says it, his eyes flit back to Enjolras. He’s gotten up now, and he’s coming his way. Only a minute till midnight.
Feuilly notices his distant look and follows his gaze. “Oh shit, man, oh shit, New Years miracle!” He slaps Grantaire on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over, before scrambling away to clear a path for Enjolras. Grantaire is dizzy, and it’s probably the booze, but the world won’t stop spinning around him and Enjolras won’t stop advancing towards him.
Enjolras stops in front of him. “Grantaire.” He says. 30 seconds.
“Hey, Apollo, killer party, huh? Want me to go grab you a drink?”
Enjolras leans in, his arm bracing against the table behind Grantaire, blocking him in. “I’ve had plenty. Probably too much.” 15 seconds.
“Not like you to drink so much, needed some extra liquid courage tonight, hot stuff?”
Enjolras’s eyes flick down to Grantaire’s lips, then slowly rise back to his eyes. “Yeah.” 5 seconds.
“It’s, uh, nearly midnight, did you want to be with someone—”
“Happy New Years, Grantaire.” Cheers erupt around them with the arrival of the new year, and Enjolras closes the distance. Lips press against his own, burning hot, and it's not just a peck. It's hungry, passionate, bordering on obscene. It’s all Grantaire can do to keep up. He's never felt so desperate. He's never felt so desired. In the chaos of the party, no one notices them slip away.
Enjolras liked him. How had he missed that?
“Shit, really?”
Enjolras laughed, his rigidity giving way as his shoulders shook. “How romantic of you.”
“Well forgive me for wanting to confirm—”
Enjolras’s hands surged forward to grab hold of his own, silencing Grantaire, now acutely aware of how close his face was to Enjolras’s. His lips parted, all the invitation Enjolras needed to surge forward and kiss him. This time was tender, cautious. A hand cupped his face, surprisingly soft and incredibly intimate. Grantaire smiled, laughter bubbling up and disrupting their kiss. “How long’ve you liked me?”
“Well, I first realized a few months ago, but probably the better part of a year,” he answered with a shrug, too bashful to meet his eyes. Despite the fact that he had already confessed, Enjolras was blushing, rubbing the side of his neck and idly thumbing the hickey left by Grantaire.
“Aren’t we clever,” Grantaire teased, placing his hand over Enjolras’s to stop his anxious fiddling. “I suppose we better make up for lost time.”
Enjolras’s eyes danced to a fro, flitting down to his mouth, back to his eyes, then down his scantily clad chest, a breathy smile on his face. “Now?”
Had Enjolras always been this horny? “Let’s have some coffee first, and maybe something for this hangover, yeah? I never realized you were such a Don Juan!”
Enjolras flushed when he realized how forward he had been. "I'm -- um, of course. Yeah, let's do that."
"Don't worry, there'll most definitely be time for that later, Apollo," Grantaire teased, pulling him in for a quick, chaste kiss before headed to the kitchen. Enjolras followed close behind, pulse still racing, in a blissful daze.