Work Text:
Enjolras first noticed it about a month after he and Grantaire had gotten together. Falling into a relationship had been remarkably easy, as had the adjustment to his new (and frankly, sometimes quite alarming) sexuality. Enjolras remained a virgin by technicality, but little by little Grantaire had been initiating him into the world of sex, starting with kissing, then steamier make out sessions, and working their way up to frotting and dry humping. He was beginning to see why other people enjoyed it so much, but more than anything he enjoyed the effect he had on Grantaire, the way he could leave the other boy gasping and pleading for more with just a flick of his tongue over swollen lips or the caress of gentle fingers across over-heated skin; Enjolras enjoyed the empowerment that came with sex.
One night Enjolras and Combeferre had been indulging in a movie marathon, both having just got their perfect exam results back, when Enjolras’ phone beeped with an incoming text.
R:
What you up to?
Enjolras:
Watching films with Combeferre.
Want to join?
Combeferre and the others had been doing their best to encourage the burgeoning relationship, knowing how badly Grantaire had wanted it (and for how long), and seeing the positive changes it had wrought in Enjolras already; he was less snappy at meetings, even when Grantaire sniped at his speeches, and he was easier to be around somehow, more open, less tense…
R:
Be there in ten
A quarter of an hour later there was a knock at the unlocked front door and Grantaire entered the living room, making a face at Enjolras’ choice of film (Erin Brockovich – really?). There was plenty of room on the immense L-shaped sofa between Enjolras and Combeferre – room enough for two Grantaires in fact, if they sat shoulder to shoulder – plus the two seater to the right of the occupied monstrosity. However Grantaire elected to sit on the floor, settling himself at Enjolras’ feet and resting his head against the blonde’s knee.
Enjolras was a little confused, but when Grantaire leaned his head back and looked up at the student he couldn’t help but feel a flutter of passion for the beautiful artist smiling up at him. Combeferre raised an eyebrow but tactfully said nothing, and turned his attention back to the screen.
It happened again a couple of weeks later when the couple were at Grantaire’s flat, Éponine and Enjolras seated at opposite ends of the battered and stained sofa with an adequate space in between them for Grantaire. Instead the artist chose to sit on the floor, nestling himself between Enjolras’ spread legs and resting his head lightly against the student’s thigh. Éponine continued blithely talking as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and Enjolras kept up the conversation, informing her of Gavroche’s rights while he was held in a juvenile detention institute, and what Éponine’s options were when the boy was released. Grantaire stayed silent on the floor, occasionally brushing a light kiss against Enjolras’ knee.
Eventually Éponine heaved a deep, regretful sigh, stretched, and got up saying, “Well I gotta go make a living and all that… You boys have fun,” and she left for her shift at the club.
When they were alone Grantaire made no move to take his place on the sofa beside Enjolras, so the student wound his fingers lightly through the dark curls and tugged Grantaire’s head around to face him, “Why are you on the floor?”
Grantaire’s cheeks pinkened inexplicably, “I… like it down here?”
“Why?”
“Because I like to look up at you.”
Enjolras felt a rush of equal parts embarrassment and unexpected pleasure at Grantaire’s pronouncement. But he managed to keep his voice steady as he asked, “Is it a sexual thing?”
Grantaire’s flush deepened, “Um… A little? I mean, I’m not getting hard from it or anything, but I just kinda like being… beneath you? I don’t really know how to put it into words,” he tailed off, looking apprehensive, then mumbled, “Is that okay?”
Enjolras nodded, “It’s okay, I get it. I think I like it as well.”
Grantaire grinned gratefully up at him then rested his head back against Enjolras’ knee. A few minutes later when the student was absorbed in his book and he reached down to stroke an absent hand through Grantaire’s curls it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
Grantaire never did it in public of course, no one would ever catch him simpering at Enjolras’ feet in the Musain while the student delivered an impassioned speech about something or other (no matter how much he’d like to), but it became commonplace when they were alone, or just casually hanging out at each other’s homes.
One evening found most of the group assembled in the student house and Enjolras had a sudden idea. He was sitting in his usual central spot on the couch with Grantaire on the floor between his splayed legs, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac on either side of him. Marius was sitting to Courfeyrac’s left with Cosette perched on his lap, the blonde exchanging cheeky winks and whispers with Courfeyrac as Marius tried desperately to keep her attention on him. Bossuet, Joly, and Musichetta were all entwined together on the short arm of the L-shaped sofa, and Feuilly was laying half across Bahorel on the two seater with his freckled arm around the larger man’s neck in a ‘headlock’ that fooled no one.
A huge bowl of popcorn was being passed around in a nod to the film that no one was really watching. Enjolras had passed the bowl down to Grantaire a few times, but this time when it reached him Enjolras took a few pieces of popcorn in his hand and held them out to Grantaire. The artist looked up, murky green eyes meeting bright blues cautiously before he carefully took the proffered food from Enjolras’ hand with his mouth, never once breaking eye contact as he ate.
Enjolras suppressed a shudder of bizarre pleasure as Grantaire ate from his hand like some kind of docile pet, even while the others sat all around them. It was so trusting, so devoted, so submissive… He’d never been treated with such reverence by another human being, and much to his horror he liked it.
Grantaire seemed to enjoy it as well, and when he was done eating he pressed a kiss to the tip of Enjolras’ forefinger and sucked the digit lightly into his mouth.
Enjolras continued to handfeed Grantaire throughout the remainder of the film, until Bossuet accidentally upended the popcorn bowl and Musichetta smirkingly instigated a food fight which ended in two black eyes, one broken bottle (empty, thankfully), a few bruised egos, and Courfeyrac straddling Marius on the floor while loudly whispering a not-so-subtle proposition into the freckle-faced student’s brightly blushing ear.
Other little behavioural tics came to Enjolras’ notice over the next few weeks once he began to look for them; the way Grantaire would duck his head sometimes when Enjolras addressed him directly, looking up at the student through hooded eyes half-glazed with some unknown shadow. The way he would allow his gaze to remain for longer than was decent at the crotch of Enjolras’ trousers when he’d had a few drinks, and the subconscious slide of his tongue over dry lips at those moments. Most of all, Enjolras noticed that whenever there was no seating available at a rally or a meeting Grantaire would stand and watch raptly with his feet planted hip-width apart and his hands clasped together in a very specific way. When Grantaire clasped his hands behind his back it was always with his left hand holding tightly to his right wrist, but when his hands were clasped in front of him it was always his callused right hand closed over his left wrist.
Enjolras noticed these things despite how hard he tried to ignore them, ignore the way such tiny, inconsequential, and probably subconscious acts could send those spikes of bizarre, unexpected pleasure and power through him, ignore the thought that Grantaire with his head bowed, eyes fixed on the ground, and hands pulled tight in the small of his back was possibly the singular most erotic thing he had ever permitted himself to imagine.
Enjolras had never been one for self abuse but since meeting Grantaire he had indulged more regularly, and he found himself frequently revisiting that image of Grantaire submissive before him, maybe on his knees, or maybe bent over a table, maybe just pushed up against a wall and… Enjolras tried to ignore the way Grantaire’s little acts of subconscious submission (but were they? How could he not know what he was doing to Enjolras?) made him feel, but eventually he had to address the issue.
“Grantaire?”
“Mmm?” a sleepy little hum from the floor confirmed that Grantaire had been falling asleep where he sat with his head rested against Enjolras’ thigh
“Get up on the couch.”
Maybe it was the fact that he was half-asleep, or maybe it was the tone of command in Enjolras’ voice (or maybe it was because Grantaire had been nonverbally begging Enjolras to order him around for weeks, oh god) but the artist acquiesced immediately, stirring his stiff legs to flop down beside Enjolras on the sofa.
“What are we doing?” Enjolras asked in a careful voice.
“Well… Looks like you’re still stuck halfway through that biography of Charles de Gaulle, and I was halfway through a nap.”
“Why were you on the floor?”
Grantaire’s cheeks coloured, “Because I like to be. Haven’t we already covered this?”
“Yes… But it’s more than that, isn’t it? Sometimes you refuse to look at me, and you stand with your hands behind your back when I speak, like you’re tied up or something, like you want to be tied up, Christ, you eat food from my hands… You want more than to just sit at my feet like a dog.”
Oh. Bad turn of phrase. Enjolras felt a very unwanted rush of blood toward his groin and Grantaire’s blushing cheeks paled immediately.
“Uh, I… I want whatever you want.”
“I want this to be a relationship of equals.”
“I get that. I do too, only it’s just…” Grantaire sighed deeply, then spoke in a rush, as if afraid that the words might escape him if they were not caught and pronounced quickly enough, “You can have an equal relationship where one person is still submissive to the other in a sexual way.”
“Like BDSM?”
Grantaire blinked, not having expected Enjolras to accept his pronouncement so easily, and certainly not expecting the acronym to be something that the virginal blonde was aware of.
This time the student breathed deeply before speaking, “Grantaire, I’ve been doing some research and… Is that what you want?”
“Is what, what I want?” asked Grantaire carefully, feeling like he was walking a very thin line on the way out of Enjolras’ affections.
“You want me to say it?” asked Enjolras ruefully, “Fine. Do you want me to dominate you?”
Grantaire sucked in a breath sharply and hissed, “Yes. If… If that would be something that you would want… I mean, I know you’re new to all this sex stuff but I would really, really like that…”
“Why didn’t you say something?” smiled Enjolras, relieved that they were now both on the same page, “All you had to do was ask.”
“Yeah, but,” Grantaire’s eyes slid automatically to the floor at the student’s feet, “I didn’t know if you’d want it. It’s all new for you and I didn’t want to scare you off by getting all… needy. Is it okay?” His eyes flicked uncertainly back up to Enjolras before sliding back down again.
“Of course it’s okay,” soothed Enjolras, drawing Grantaire’s face up to him with a gentle hand on the artist’s stubbled cheek, “I think it might be something that I would have brought up in a little while anyway. I’ve been, uh, effected by your little hints more than I ever imagined I would be… I like having you at my feet,” and it was Enjolras’ turn to duck his head shamefacedly.
Grantaire’s relief spilled out of him in a nervous laugh, “Really? Wow. Because I could happily sit at your feet all day. As long as you fed me every so often,” he added thoughtfully.
“I would like that,” smiled Enjolras, “But I need you to know that I still want to take things slowly. I’d be honoured to explore this new facet of sexuality with you, but I’m not going to be bending you over and fucking you tonight, or anytime soon. Is that still okay?”
Grantaire gulped thickly, “More than okay. In fact, just that mental image alone is probably enough for now.”
“Good,” smiled Enjolras, “Now, do you want to get back on the floor?”
Grantaire raised a careful eyebrow, “I want whatever you want.”
“Get on the floor.”
Grantaire scrambled to obey, and after ten minutes of kneeling with Enjolras’ boot digging painfully into his side Grantaire had to excuse himself to the bathroom to jerk off. Enjolras smiled fondly as the artist hurried down the hallway and pulled up a new Wikipedia page on his iphone; Negotiation (BDSM).