Chapter Text
It was mid-July and the weather was unbearable.
Paris groaned as the overbearing heat beat its back relentlessly. Hospitals became overcrowded, water shortages were announced, the sale of ice cream shot up higher than the Eifel Tower and Feuilly’s non-profit fan making business saw a massive increase in profit. The news announced it to be the hottest summer in Parisian history, and Eponine was having none of it.
Work had been cancelled, if such a thing was even possible. Her boss had called her from the cafe, stating that it was simply too hot for anyone to be working, and to take paid leave. She would have been thrilled at the chance to receive wage for no work, except the stagnant warmth that appeared to seep into every pore of her body refused to let her enjoy her time off. It was too hot to be outside, so instead she lay down on the floor of her cramped apartment with an icepack on her head and waited for death.
Okay, perhaps she was being a little melodramatic, but she’d run out of alcohol the day before and the shops were closed on government command (drinking copious amounts of alcohol was a sure-fire way to fast track oneself to the nearest ER with dehydration) and the only form of cold beverage she had in her small fridge-freezer was week old milk. After calling Grantaire (he was in the ER with dehydration, Combeferre was looking after him) she’d given up the search for booze and retreated to the floor.
She was, she felt, well within her rights to lie back and bemoan the horrid heat in peace.
Cosette, it appeared, had not received the memo about leaving Eponine well enough alone (it was actually a sluggishly typed-out text, sent to all Les Amis, claiming that anyone who came to further her suffering would pay with their life) and didn’t bother knocking as she entered the small apartment.
“Hello, ‘Ponine!” There was a groan from the floor. A pillow was yanked off a couch and thrown in her general direction, though it missed by a good few centimetres. “I’ve brought ice cream – homemade, of course, there was nothing left in the supermarket – and a few litres of water in case you forget to drink some. Oh, and I brought Moulin Rouge, I love that film, don’t you?”
As Cosette nattered away cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to the burning heat, Eponine dragged herself up into a sitting position to glare at the preppy songbird with as much energy as she could muster. The girl in question was busy spinning around the kitchen, getting out bowls and glasses, opening an expensive looking cool bag and taking out fluffy looking ice cream. She proceeded to ladle generous amounts into the bowls before dancing over to a scruffy, sweaty looking Eponine and handing her a bowl.
Cosette, in contrast to Eponine, positively glowed in the baking heat. Where Eponine wearing a flimsy vest top and the thinnest, shortest pyjama shorts she could find, Cosette was in a pristine yellow summer dress and had perfectly coiffed hair. She didn’t look like the heat was affecting her at all, and Eponine hated her a little bit for it.
The hatred was short-lived, however, when Cosette shoved a spoonful of ice cream into Eponine’s mouth. Initially furious, Eponine’s surprised and irritated expression quickly evolved into one of pleasure as she moaned around the spoon. The ice cream was – to put it bluntly – like eating clouds. Cold clouds. Orgasm-inducing cold clouds. Fluffy and sweet and just right, Cosette’s ice cream was a delight.
Without looking at her friend, Eponine quickly began shovelling the softening ice cream into her mouth, not looking up until her bowl was licked clean. It was only when she met Cosette’s wide gaze that she realised she’d been making obscene noises whilst she ate. Sex noises, to be frank. And then she’d licked the bowl clean.
A furious blush crept up Eponine’s already heated cheeks as Cosette’s eyes stayed locked on hers, her own ice cream forgotten as she stared at the darker haired girl. Suddenly the hot air seemed even more unbearable, as though some unkind god had taken the opportunity to increase the temperature by a few more degrees. She opened her mouth, trying to think of something to say, when Cosette lunged forward and kissed her.
The kiss was hot and messy, their open mouths clashing desperately as though stopping was illegal. There was a little too much teeth involved, so Eponine angled her mouth and pressed forward, licking her tongue inside Cosette’s mouth. The moan elicited from that simple action spurned her on and, feeling the heat between her legs, Eponine tangled her hands in Cosette’s hair and pushed her back so that she was on the floor. Quickly, Eponine manoeuvred herself so that her legs were firmly clamped around Cosette’s hips, effectively straddling her. Cosette let out a high whine, canting her hips upwards, and Eponine suddenly became aware of what they were doing.
Pulling back so that she was looking down at a thoroughly debauched looking Cosette, Eponine looked uncertain. As the blonde panted beneath her, their cores separated by only a couple of flimsy layers of fabric, she tried to regain some semblance of calm.
“Cosette,” she started, but a finger pressed to her lips effectively cut off her question. Cosette’s finger traced her lips slowly before coming to rest behind her head and pulling her back down so that their lips were millimetres apart. Eponine’s breath hitched, and she looked into Cosette’s eyes warily. God, this was everything she hadn’t known she’d wanted, and it felt good.
“Fucking kiss me.” Eponine groaned as Cosette’s hips shifted, rubbing up against her crotch, and she shook her head.
“What about Marius?” Cosette’s fingers tangled in Eponine’s hair, her eyes wild. When she replied, her tongue flicked out and licked Eponine’s lips.
“Fuck Marius. We broke up weeks ago. Over you, in case you were wondering.”
Cosette barely had time to smirk before Eponine was kissing her.