Work Text:
Combeferre has seen Grantaire in some pretty embarrassing positions over the years. These include, but are not limited to- wobbling around on one foot on a miniature plinth trying not to fall and impale himself on a very sharp metal fence, hanging upside-down while Bahorel tried to eat his trousers, and passed out underneath a table at the Café Musain at six in the morning with an impressively anatomically detailed if slightly shaky vagina drawn in Sharpie on his forehead*.
Still, this one has to be at least in the top ten.
‘It’s two in the afternoon.’
Enjolras makes a strangled noise and dives under the covers. Grantaire pulls the bedsheet up to his chin and gathers what scraps of dignity he retains. ‘What do you want?’
‘It’s your turn to do the dishes.’ Combeferre’s eyes rake over the scene, from the discarded boxers on the floor to the lump in the blankets that is Enjolras. ‘Did I mention that it’s two in the afternoon? This cannot be normal.’
‘I’m making a sign. It will say ‘NO ENTRY’, possibly with some hilarious pun on the word ‘entry’. Don’t you ever knock?”
‘I’ll ignore it. The sight of your genitalia means nothing to me, ‘Taire. Incidentally, it’s still your turn to do the dishes.’
‘It means something to me! And to him.’ Enjolras makes a muffled noise of protest from under the covers.
‘It’s been three months. The honeymoon period is long since over, the internet promised.’
Grantaire can’t believe he’s having this conversation, let alone that he’s having it with Enjolras naked and between his legs. ‘You researched-’
‘I have spent the last five nights with Netflix on full volume. With earplugs. I’m running out of things to watch. You are terrible people.’ He starts to leave. ‘Get dressed and downstairs and start washing dishes, or I start taking pictures.’
Grantaire is trying to fish his t-shirt out from behind the dresser when his phone goes off.
Courfeyrac: so Ferre tells me you have a naked Apollo between your legs
Courfeyrac: good work keep it up
Courfeyrac: not that you’ll have any trouble keeping it up
Courfeyrac: nudge nudge wink wink saynomore knowwhatimean
‘Excuse me’, Grantaire says as Enjolras, flushed and rumpled, extracts his head and shoulders from the covers, ‘I’m going to go kill Combeferre.’ He strides shirtless out of the room, his phone pinging all the way.
*Despite many heated debates where accusations are flung every which way (‘Joly's a medical student. He probably dissects them or something. Je t’accuse!’), the identity of the Vagina Artist is never discovered. They do learn other things, however, such as the revelation, courtesy Eponine, that girls (at least, the ones that she knows) do not spend hours daily examining their genitalia. This comes as something of a blow to Courfeyrac, who had assumed that everyone did.