Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a pretty fucked up symbolisim going on there, he knew. But Enjolras couldn’t care less at the moment.

He barely needed to close his eyes to bring back to his memory Grantaire’s words at his ear, the heat of his breath on his neck, the sweat of his hand on his shoulder. That hoarse voice that never failed to go straight to his insides and make them churn.

“There might be a stick so far up your ass you can choke on it, but us regular mortals need to seek pleasant company to scratch that itch. I’m sure your mistress would understand it if one day you needed to as well.”

Just a seed, that’s all he planted. And it had bloomed into that desperated itch that only grew bigger at the vision of the bottle he had left by the fireplace when he returned home. There was no way to scratch it, not a satisfactory one, so his hand had to be enough.

And there he was, on the floor, dick in hand, not ready to close his eyes and fantasize with the artist scratching the itch he himslef had caused. Not yet. That would be like losing to him, and he was not ready, not yet.

Not when that desperate want was all his fault, but he could never know.

He raised his eyes up to the map of France hanging over the fireplace and mumbled a silent apology. Working. He should be working. He should be not thinking about a hoarse voice and a breathe tinged with alcohol and coarse hands he wanted around his waist, keeping him in place as he continued to touch himself...

“What’s the matter, Apollo? Are you afraid of the pleasures of the flesh and the terrifying realization that humans have needs too and you might, in fact, be one of them?”

In the intimacy of his living room, Enjorlas groaned. A twist of his wrist and the memory of Grantaire’s hand on his shoulder made him spill on his own carpet.

Goddamnit. He would deal with that later. For now, all he wanted was a sip of that wine, so he could hold on to the unwanted memory of the artist for a little longer.

Chapter Text

“Come on, R. I want to hear you”.

Grantaire moaned and Enjolras’ fingers tugged harder at his curls. Grantaire’s neck gave in, leaning back. The strain on his throat was almost unbearable. Another moan left his lips.

“P-please, Ange, I need...”

“Yes? What do you need, Grantaire?”

“I-I need you to touch me, please, please, I need to...”

“No. I want to keep using you for a bit. So you be good and let me have you.”

Grantaire groaned, too weak to reply. Enjolras dug his teeth on his shoulder, and he felt his knees about to give in; only the leader’s arm around his waist held him in place.

Enjolras had been fucking him for what felt like hours, to the point that Grantaire felt raw, and pained, and weak, and about to burst because, damnit, Enjolras wouldn’t fucking touch him.

“Please- ,” he tried again.

But Enjolras wouldn’t have it. He thrusted harder, and the fabric of his trousers against his already sore ass made him whine. The artist tugged at the ropes that binded his hands together. They wouldn’t give in, he knew, he knew Enjolras’ knots, they never gave in. But maybe this time, if he tried hard enough, if he wished it hard enough, it would happen and he could touch himself before he exploded from frustration.

At his back, Enjolras laughed when he realized what he was doing. Then bit his neck again.

Grantaire’s whole body was on fire. Or maybe it was Enjolras’ fire what ran through his veins at this point, maybe he was stealing his strenght with every kiss. His wrists hurt, his ass hurt, his dick hurt, his legs felt like jelly. There was a fireball in his guts about to explode that begged for release, begged to be let out, but there was no way to let go, and every thrust by Enjolras did nothing but making it bigger, harder to bear, and he needed – he needed... 

“Please!,” he cried.

Enjoras just dug his fingers on his skin and gave him a deep, hard thrust.

And suddenly it was enough. All that pressure that had been bubbling up on his stomach suddenly found a way out, and the fire scorched him as it came out, but it brought white bliss with it, and pushed him over that edge that he had been toeing for hours. Grantaire stared like an idiot as his throbbing dick came untouched, and forgot to cling to the relief until it was too late and it was over, gone as suddenly as it has arrived.

“Well,” he could hear Enjolras’ smile at his neck, his breath tickling on his sweaty sking, his hands finally stroking his sore dick, if only to tease at the top and make him shudder. “That was... Unexpected. Didn’t know I could make you do that. You know what? I want to see if I can make you do that again.”

Enjolras started thrusting again, and Grantaire couldn’t but whine. But he stood in place, and let Enjolras take him. How could he ever deny Enjolras what he wanted, after all? Even if what Enjolras wanted would eventually drive him crazy. It would be worth it.

Chapter Text

It had been a mistake, truly.

Enjolras had never thought they would agree. Had never dared to imagine it. They had proposed it to Grantaire purely out of frustration, but more of a sarcastic remark than an actual petition. They hadn’t expected their boyfriend to agree. They had expected even less for him to go to Combeferre after next meeting and ask him under his breath if he wanted to go home with them.

Nothing in the world could have prepared them for the possibility of their best friend saying yes.

It was awkward, at first. Should they take Grantaire’s hand as they walked home as they usually did? Should they offer Combeferre a drink or say something about it? It was their best friend, for fuck’s sake, and they could barely look him in the eye. Why had they proposed that stupid idea? What if it ruined everything, with Combeferre, with Grantaire? What if he lost them both for their greed?

Then Grantaire had pressed a hand on their knee and gave them a reassuring smile, as if he knew. He had kissed them, drowning their nervousness with his lips. Then he kissed Combeferre, and suddenly everything was fine.

It had felt natural to see their boyfriend and their best friend kissing, although a bit lonely. Not entirely right. But then Grantaire’s hands were on them, stripping them of their clothes as he dragged them to bed, while Combeferre pressed gentle kisses on their naked shoulders and followed them, and their last worries dissipated from their mind.

“Relax, Ange,” Grantaire mumbled with a knowing smile. He couldn’t know, Enjolras thought. He couldn’t. How could he have agreed otherwise? “We got you.” And then he added to Combeferre: “They get overwhelmed sometimes.”

Combeferre, behind them, nodded in silence. He wrapped his arms around their waist and Enjolras felt like choking. Why the lie? Why were they unable to breathe, when they were in the arms of the two people they loved the most in the world?

“What... What do you want from this?” Ferre asked. He sounded weak. Nervous. Like he was also having troubles thinking straight. Knowing him, Enjolras would have bet he was reciting the list of prime numbers to calm himself down.

Grantaire kneeled up to reach for Combeferre, without minding Enjolras being sandwiched between the two of them. He started unbuttoning his friends’ shirt, slowly, almost making a show out of it. Enjolras could feel Ferre’s hardness against their hip, and they couldn’t bite back a groan. They were rewarded with Combeferre digging his fingers deeper in the tender flesh of their waist.

“I want...” Grantaire teased, as he also stripped Combeferre, “I want to fuck them as you make out with them. And then I want you to fuck them until they’re exhausted and pliant like they never are if they don’t exhaust me. And I want to watch. Are you amenable to that?”

“Very amenable.” Once again, Ferre sounded deep, low, like he was barely restraining himself.

“And I don’t get a say in the matter?” they weakly protested.

“Not today, Ange. Today, you’re ours.”

They heard Combeferre’s breath hitch at that, but soon Grantaire’s lips were on theirs, and his hands on their ass, and they couldn’t pay any more attention to it.

Between Grantaire and Combeferre, they lay them down on the bed. Then Combeferre stripped down Grantaire, while the artists’ hands teasingly stroked Enjolras’ dick. From there they moved to their entrance, gently pressing a finger in, then two. Enjolras was already a panting mess.

And finally, Combeferre’s lips were on theirs.

It felt reverential. Sacred. Forbidden. They were kissing their best friend. They were kissing their best friend, and he tasted of black coffee and tobacco, and he smelled of ink and hospital, and he was warm an soft and gentle, and they should have kissed him ages ago, centuries ago.

Grantaire’s fingers torn a moan out of him, and Combeferre drank it at and moaned back. He was shivering as Enjolras tangled their fingers in his hair and pulled gently, and he didn’t stop kissing them for a second, not even when Grantaire traded his fingers for his dick and Enjolras arched in pleasure and shock and pulled tighter on Ferre’s hair, not when the artist started thrusting, his hand tightly wrapped around their dick, and the leader melted down in a thousand moans. He kept kissing, gentle and soft and warm, his hands roaming all over Enjolras’ body like it was the first and last time he saw it and he wanted to learn it by heart. He was hard, Enjolras could feel it, could touch it for a second, before Ferre grabbed their wrists together and held them over their head, forcing him to keep still and let both of them have them.

They felt like floating. Like they had died and gone to heaven, because this was for certain too good to be true.

Grantaire fucked them into exhaustion, hitting exactly where he knew they liked it, digging his fingers into their waist. Enjolras loved the way Grantaire always fucked them, rough and hard and fast, yet lovingly, like he still couldn’t believe it was happening and needed to make the most of it while he could. He made them come with a loud moan that Combeferre’s lips muffled, but kept fucking them for a few minutes until he came himself and Enjolras was sore and tired and oversensitive. Grantaire got away, panting, and pulled Combeferre in for a kiss, granting his boyfriend a few seconds to catch their breath.

“Your turn, wise man,” he winked.

Enjolras shuddered at the thought. They couldn’t- the possibly couldn’t - “Wait - ‘Taire – Kiss me. Please.”

Grantaire was happy to oblige. He tasted like alcohol and cigarettes, and smelled of paint and sweat and Enjolras, like they were slowly becoming one, and the leader loved it, loved the evidence that their love could leave such a physical mark. They sighed.

Grantaire hugged them to help them kneel up; Enjolras pretty much collapsed into his arms. He laughed, tugging one of their blond curls out of his face.

“You good, sunshine?” Enjolras nodded, and Grantaire pressed a kiss against their temple. “Ready to go on?”

Enjolras felt sweaty, sticky, dirty. Exhausted. They couldn't wait to have Ferre as well. They nodded.

Combeferre's hands on their waist burnt. It was a hesitant touch, like he wasn't sure he had the right, but oh, how it lit them on fire. Grantaire kissed them to make them forget about the burning, but there was no way they could ignore his best friend's touch on them, when they had been craving it for so long.

“Enjolras...”

“Ferre - come on - come on, I want you.”

He could not imagine how true that statement was.

Combeferre's touch became firmer. He wasted no time to guide his dick into Enjolras' wet and eager entrance. They moaned. Their legs shook; if Grantaire hadn't been holding them, they would have fallen to the bed.

“It's okay, Ange. I got you. Just enjoy.”

“Fuck, Enjolras...”

Combeferre moved tentatively. It was enough to make them moan and fall again. Grantaire helped him down on his hands, and let them go for a second to exchange a wet, sloppy kiss with Combeferre.

“Fuck them good,” he winked.

Combeferre grunted. Then he got to it.

He fucked them slowly, gently but deeply, like they were the most delicate thing on the planet and any sudden move could make them break. Enjolras was already oversensitive, and every thrust torn a loud moan out of them, each one louder, and louder.

Suddenly there was an intrusion in their mouth. It took them a few seconds to recognize Grantaire's thick fingers, pressing into them. They grunted, glaring at their lover.

“What? Can't have you waking up the neighbors again, can I?”

Enjolras groaned, but sucked wantonly on the fingers. In revenge, they tugged at Grantaire's dick; they were rewarded with a sharp gasp. If they were going down again, they were taking their lover with them.

It felt like bliss, being filled so wholely by the two people they loved the most. They lost the sense of time, being fucked by Ferre, sucking on Grantaire as they touched him. Their own desperation subdued to the want of giving them both pleasure, of being good for them.

“Enjolras - I'm - I'm gonna...”

Enjolras moaned in desperation, and rutted faster against Ferre. Their friend seemed to get the clue, and fastened the pace and the grip around their hips. It burnt, it scorched, it was too much, too much, they groaned... 

“I-I got you, Enj. I got you.”

Combeferre wrapped his hands around their dick, wanking them at the pace of his thrusts. His movements became erratic, though; he soon broke down in a deep moan that sounded suspiciously like “Enjolras” and stilled for a second. He had come, Enjolras guessed, as he collapsed over their back, but his hand didn’t stop. They still felt so filled, and Combeferre’s hand brought them closer and closer. Grantaire pushed his fingers deeper, Combeferre fastened his movements.

Enjolras came again with a cry. Grantaire followed soon after.

The three of them collapsed on the bed in a tangled mess of limbs and fluids, panting.

“That was...” Combeferre started, tentatively. 

“Fucking amazing?” Grantaire laughed. “Incredible? Something to repeat?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s the word.” Enjolras agreed. “Amazing.” They took a deep breath. “I love you both so much.” 

Maybe one day, they would be brave enough to tell them both how much that meant.

Chapter Text

“Fuck - Grantaire - touch me, fuck...”

He shouldn't be there. He really, really, shouldn't be there. He should be leaving. Now.

“Shhh, Ange. You wouldn't want your friends to hear you all needy and horny like this, would you?”

“Fuck you - just - touch me, asshole!”

Combeferre pressed his fist against his mouth and closed his eyes, as if trying to disappear. What on earth was he supposed to do?

The meeting had finished early, and everyone was leaving, except for Enjolras, as usual, who used to stay at the Musain working until late. And Grantaire, who lately have picked up the habit of staying with them to walk them home. Combeferre had left earlier with Prouvaire and Bahorel; he still didn't feel comfortable staying around the two of them after what they'd done. It was only halfway through the way home he realized he had forgotten his wallet in the cafe. He bid goodbye to his friends, and came back for it.

He wasn't expecting to find the door closed, and moans from a voice he knew all too well coming from behind it.

“Fuck - just - just touch me, you asshole!”

There was a slap, and a sharp gasp. The moans stopped.

“Careful, angel. Maybe you should keep in mind whose dick is buried deep inside you. If you want to ask for something, you better do it nicely.”

Enjolras let out a high pitched whine and Combeferre felt something burn deep inside his guts. He let himself rest against the door. He needed to go in. He couldn't go in. He couldn't leave.

Oh, how he wished Enjolras would sound like that for him...

“Please, please, Grantaire...”

Combeferre couldn't help it. It was stronger than him; he needed to see Enjolras shivering in ecstasy, if only just once more. He opened the door, just a little bit, just enough to take a quick peek.

Grantaire was standing just in the middle of his field of view, his back to the door, his curls more disheveled than usual. He was still entirely dressed, only his sleeves slightly up, and his tattooed hands rested over Enjolras' perfect marble thighs. And Enjolras... Enjolras sat on the table, legs naked, shirt half open, their beautiful neck arched back in a perfect curve, their golden mane falling down like a waterfall of sunlight. They had their eyes closed, their lips half open in a silent moan; legs tangled around Grantaire's waist, hands clenching the table so hard they were turning white. They were so beautiful Combeferre ached with want and jealousy. Oh, what he wouldn't give to dig his teeth on that marble neck...

“Yeah - yeah, like that, Ange, come on, show me how much you want it...”

Enjolras wrapped their arms around Grantaire's neck and started moving frantically, fucking themself on Grantaire's dick. Combeferre couldn't see the artist's face, but he could perfectly imagine his enraptured expression, the adoration in his eyes, the pleasure on his lips. He had to bite down a moan. It was too much. He let go of the door, and leaned against the wall, biting his lip. He could feel his own erection painfully strained in his trousers and hated himself for it.

“Yeah - come on, Ange, fuck yourself like you did with him.” A loud whimper. Combeferre opened his eyes in surprise and came back to the door. “Yes - like that. You've thought about him, haven't you? The way he grabbed your waist and fucked you from behind like the bitch you are, the way he held your hands and pinned you down...” More whines. Combeferre's heart beat so fast he was sure they could hear it above their moans. “I know, I know. You can't take him out of your mind. You know what? Admit it, and I might touch you.”

“I don't... know what you're talking a-about...”

Another slap. It was Grantaire, smacking that perfect ass as best as he could. Enjolras cried.

“Oh, don't lie to yourself, Apollo, and don't lie to me. I'm not jealous, you know? Hell, it's almost funny to see you deny yourself what you want when you complain so much when it's me who does so...”

“I- I don't...”

Grantaire fucked them harder, pulling their golden curls to make them arch even more. Their neck was so tempting... Combeferre could feel himself go harder just by the sight of it. Or probably by the way Enjolras' moans hitched. They looked so far gone, so desperate, and Combeferre almost combusted on the spot remembering the last and only time he'd seen them like that.

It was extremely hard not to touch himself. Or to close the door and run away.

“So? What do you want, Apollo?” He could almost hear the smirk on Grantaire's lips.

“I... Ferre! Okay? I want Ferre! I-I want his hands on me again and his lips and-Ah!”

Suddenly Grantaire's hand was on their dick, and his teeth digging on their neck. Enjolras whined, unable to open their eyes.

“Good boy,” mumbled Grantaire.

Then he looked over his shoulder, straight to the door, and winked.

Combeferre almost fell down on his ass. He couldn't... He couldn't possibly know he was there, he couldn't have made Enjolras say all of that if he knew he was there, it was...

It was too much. He couldn't take it. Fuck his wallet. He closed the door in a hurry, and ran down the stairs. He couldn't think straight.

He needed a cold shower, a nap, and to take that whole scene out of his mind. It would do them no good to keep thinking about it.

Chapter Text

“Please, please, Enjolras - I can't...”

“Yes, you can. Come on, darling. You're doing so well. Just a little more.”

“I can't - I can't -”

The wax fell hot, burning, over his shoulder, making him cry out. Grantaire didn't know what burned the most, if the wax on his back or the tears on his face.

“Please, Enjolras, it hurts...”

Enjolras ran their fingers around his face, cupping it gently, sweeping off his tears. Then the hand got into his hair, which they tugged at.

“Maybe I want you to hurt. If you could see yourself, you'll understand. You look absolutely gorgeous like this. Keep suffering for me, darling. It only makes you hotter.”

Grantaire whined. Enjolras could be so terrible when they wanted to. He loved it, but sometimes it was absolutely the worst. He was not safewording, though. If Enjolras thought he could suffer a bit more, they probably knew better. He could give them some more tears.

Another droplet of wax fell on his back. He cried. It was too hot. Enjolras was making it drip from so close to his skin, it was so hot, if felt like his whole body was on fire. It hurt, a stingy, burning red kind of pain he couldn't scape from, and knew it was going to continue hurting for so long.

“Oh, you are so pretty...”

Enjolras tugged at his curls. Then they dropped one, two, three, four, five droplets of wax in a row, on his shoulders, his ass, his lower back. Grantaire yelled; tears ran now down his cheeks uncontrollably.

“Enjolras, I can't, please, I can't...”

He suddenly choked on Enjolras' fingers. They smiled, and pushed them deeper. Out of pure instinct, Grantaire sucked on them with a pained moan. He loved Enjolras' fingers, and they distracted him from the burning pain on his back.

“Now, let's try this again, shall we? Without that many complaints this time.”

Any comments that Grantaire could have had got muffled by the fingers in his mouth. He groaned.

A new droplet landed at the base of his neck. He bit down a cry, and readied himself to suffer.

This wouldn't end until Enjolras decided it. He just needed to take it, and keep suffering for them.

It was simple. He could do it.

If he ended up in flames, he knew Enjolras would be there to bring him back to life afterwards.

Chapter Text

“This is not what I expected when you asked for a rooftop date...”

“No?” Enjolras took a hand to his cheek, caressing it gently. It made him shiver. Or maybe it was the wind. “What did you expect, then?”

“I don’t know, m-maybe some flowers, some cheese... Definitely some wine, a blanket...” 

“Hey. I got you flowers.”

“Yes, and then you ripped them off my hands so you could assa- ah- Ange!” 

Enjolras laughed against his neck, that mischievous, tinkling laugh they always let out when they were about to mess with him, and Grantaire knew he was fucked. They nibbled harder at his neck, probably leaving yet another mark, while unbuttoning his trousers in a rush. They took them down with a quick pull; Grantaire felt the cold October wind caressing his legs and shivered.

“Seriously, tho, what’s gotten into you? Not that I’m c-complaining, well, my neck certainly will, probably, but I thought you were tired and just wanted a nice dinner and semi decent company...”

“Maybe you are just that hot.” Enjolras licked their hand in a way that was too obscene to be real. Grantaire shivered.They should be illegal, truly.

“... Jesus fucking Christ, Spikey, you should be in prison...”

“AND you know how much a little crime turns me on,” Enjolras interrupted him, as they pushed a first finger inside of him. Grantaire arched back with a laugh that turned into a groan.

“I-I don’t think climbing some rooftops qualifies as a little crime...”

“It does to me. Shut up”

Grantaire laughed. The roof was cold under his back, and it only made it more exciting. God, the entirety of Paris at their feet, its golden lights in the dusk, the setting sun tinging the sky in orange, red, vibrant purple, the most beautiful sight he could imagine, and Enjolras still decided to look at him instead, to focus on him like there was nothing else around and bath him in kisses (well, more like bites) and caresses. It was enough to make stronger men melt, and Grantaire had never claimed to be anything if not weak.

Enjolras added a second finger. It was dry, rough, it hurt a little, but Grantaire loved it. He loved to ache with them, and loved to find the memory of them in the pain in his muscles. Maybe it was a little bit fucked up. So what? He never pretended to be otherwise.

“C-come on, Ange, Ange, I want you...”

“Oh, look who’s horny now...”

“How could I NOT?” He grumbled, taking his hands up Enjolras’ arms. He pricked himself with the spikes on the shoulders of their battle jacket, and groaned. He couldn’t say it was entirely in pain. “Come on, please, please...” 

“Needy,” Enjolras teased. But they were not naked, getting cold by the wind and their fingers being the only source of heat, they couldn’t understand. Then they smirked, and something told him they totally understood. At least, they added a third finger, and Grantaire half whined, half moaned. It hurt, but it hurt so good.

“C-come here. Let me kiss you.”

Enjolras looked happy to oblige. They pressed their lips against his, and the cold from the wind, the noise of the city at their feet, the lights in the distance, everything dissapeared. Only Enjolras mattered, Enjolras and their soft lips that tasted like coffee and olives, Enjolras and their gentle hands, Enjolras and the spikes on their shoulders and the gold of their hair falling over his face...

“God, Spikey, you should be illegal...”

“Pretty sure I am, right now.” They smiled. Then, with a swift movement, pulled down their trousers and underpants and aligned themself with R’s entrance. God, they were so hard, How have they survived inside their pretty tight jeans? “Now I’m going to fuck you. And you’re going to be good and not moan awake the whole building or attract the pigs. And then maybe we can have that nice romantic dinner and wine. Is that clear?”

Grantaire couldn’t but nod. Truly, how could he refuse? He always loved a little crime, as well. Especially when it was with Enjolras.

Chapter Text

“God, look at you. You are so pretty...”

The praise, whispered against their skin, made a shiver run down their spine all the way to their dick, where it got stuck on that damn ribbon that Grantaire had tied there. Enjolras almost whimpered; they had to try very hard to keep still.

“What’s the problem, Apollo? Frustrated already? Oh, poor thing. You know it’s about to get way worse...”

Something cold tapped on their cheek. It stung, a bit. A crop, maybe? It had felt leathery. Was R only touching them with a crop? The idea, once again, went all the way down and got stuck there. This time, they totally whimpered.

“Is that your crop? Are you beating me up?”

“Aren’t you a curious little thing.” Grantaire’s voice sounded somewhere at their back. The crop, if it was a crop, ran down their cheek, down their chest, making the little chains that covered them tingle, and then snapped their semi hard dick. Enjolras gasped. They could hear Grantaire’s chuckle warm against their neck. “Maybe. I think I’m gonna appreciate you first. You truly look like a Greek deity, Ange, and I want to enjoy that. After all, it’s not every day that a man gets to make a god shiver, isn’t it?” Enjolras whined and threw their head back, looking for him with their lips. That earned them another smack. “Brat,” Grantaire laughed. “Behave. I know you can stay still and let me appreciate you.”

Enjolras whined. They had barely had the time to take a peek of what Grantaire had put them in before he also covered their eyes with a soft, red blindfold decorated with little chains that were heavy under their eyes. It was a gorgeous thing, red leather, like R loved on them, covered in spikes, like R also loved, and decorated with little golden chains hanging over their chest, their arms, their hips. It was unfair, truly, that Grantaire refused to let them see something that pretty. They couldn’t stop feeling it, though, the pressure of the collar around their neck, with a cold ring and chains in the middle that tied it to the front part, a cold line that went down to their hips. It surrounded them, little chains dangling over their hips and tingling with every little move. There were cuffs around their thighs, covered with spikes, as well; they couldn’t close their legs entirely or they would hurt themself on them. There were cuffs around their arms and wrists, also spiked, that Grantaire had tied together. Then he had placed something on their head, like a wreath (did it smell of basil?), tied a bow around their dick, leaving them half hard, aching and trapped with no chance of release.

Everything felt way more intense with their eyes covered. The cold rigidness of the leather, the sharp pain of the spikes on their wrists, the icy weight of the chains, the damn pressure on their dick. The bite of the crop on their cheek again, the breath of their lover on their nape, making them shiver. It was so difficult to stay still.

“Let’s try this again, shall we? Don’t move. I know you can be good for me. Sometimes. Be good now, and I might fuck you.”

“Will you release me then?”

“Oh, Apollo, you are not getting that lucky.”

Enjolras whined. Grantaire took the chance to press the crop on their lower lip and make them open their mouth. The taste of leather overwhelmed them, but they knew what Grantaire wanted. They sucked on the crop; the taste was so strong they were starting to get dizzy. Suddenly R took it away, leaving them panting, and smacked them on the ass. They jumped in surprise; all the chains over their body tingled and spread their coldness around.

“That, Apollo, was definitely not good. I said don’t move.”

The crop was back on their cheek. It was wet and colder now; Enjolras couldn’t help a groan. It patted them on both cheeks, gentle, but stingy, sharp. Then it moved down their jaw, their neck, their chest, leaving a trail of spit behind that quickly cooled down over their skin. Grantaire draw the silhouette of their body with the crop, soft and gentle, a cold caress rather than a punishment. It made them sigh. Then he suddenly snapped their dick. Again. And again. And again.

It was not hard, but it stung like hell. It was horrible, and it was good, and it felt like fire inside them, and they needed some release, but there was no way of getting it, nothing at all. They gasped and doubled over in pain.

That was all that Grantaire needed to pull their hair to force them back in place, with a tut.

“You really are settled on not being good today, hm?”

“That was cheating!”

“Tch, excuses, Apollo? You’re better than that.” He kept pulling at their hair, forcing them to arch their neck. And then he was whispering on their ear, their breath wet and warm and so damn hot. “Okay, then. I’ll tell you what. I’m gonna give you thirty strikes, and I’m not gonna go easy on you. Behave, and I still might fuck you.” 

Before they could even agree, the first strike landed over their ass. It hurt, like a stripe of fire arising in them, it burnt with an almost unbearable sting. They cried, but managed to stay in place.

“Look at that! Good boy. I knew you had it in you.”

The next two smack were so fast Enjolras barely had the time to breathe. Not like it mattered, anyway. They already knew they would not be getting any release today. They might even explode, if R actually fucked them.

Gods, they couldn’t wait for it.

Chapter Text

Enjolras reached down with their hand to scratch the lovely head beneath them. They were rewarded with a deep growl. They snapped the crop against the bars of the cage in response, and the growl turned into a whimper. They smiled, baring their fangs.

“Are you going to growl at me every time I try to pet you? Silly dog. How would you get your scritches then?”

“I’m gonna bite you if you keep babying me, you overgrown leech,” Grantaire grumbled from beneath.

“That’s what you keep saying. Maybe you should remember who is wielding the crop, mutt.”

Enjolras reached down again and pulled hard on his curls. Without looking where they were aiming, they brandished the crop. Going by the hiss that Grantaire let out, they guesses they’d hit his shoulder.

Enjolras loved the days prior to the full moon, really. Grantaire was already all furry and wild, more wolfy the closer to the moon, and they got to play more roughly without having to fear hurting anyone. True, he reeked of wet dog and his blood tasted specially like shit, but at this point it was almost part of his charm. Besides, it had its advantages. Like the way he melted when they scratched between his ears, or how fun it was to tug at his tail, his endless energy for crazy sex, and how eager he was to get in a cage.

Like right now. Grantaire was safely locked in a small cage that forced him to stay on his knees, cuffs around his wrists and ankles (that were almost paws, at this point) that could be tied to the corners of the cage, if they wanted to immobilize him even further, and that lovely collar that Enjolras had gotten him the first time they asked to walk him during a full moon around his neck, nicely locked to the chain whose other end currently rested on Enjolras’ hand. They could look at their trapped puppy for hours, simply resting on the ceiling of the cage while stretching a hand to pet his lovely curls or his furry back, maybe scratch his fluffy ears, but they knew Grantaire was not a fan of softness with the moon so close. What a shame.

They still tugged at his curls once last time, though. Despite his growls, they knew it wasn’t an unwanted touch, because they could hear Grantaire’s tail waving against the floor in excitement.

“Such a stupid, brainless dog. Did no one teach you not to bite the hand that feeds you?”

“It’s hard when such hand reeks of death, you fucking walking corpse.”

Another snap of the crop. This time, it got R on the side. He growled and tried to get away. Enjolras held him tighter by the leash and hit him once, twice, thrice, up to ten times, not caring where the strikes landed. R whined and curled up on the corner of the cell.

“Bad dog. Don’t test me, mutt, or I will fasten those cuffs to the bars and fuck you with the crop. Let’s see how much pleasure you could get out of that.”

Grantaire whined and fell silent, but once again, his tail betrayed him. Enjolras laughed.

“Would you like that? Of course you would like that. You’re a dirty, horny bitch, after all. Maybe I should make you earn it. Suck me off nicely through those bars to show me how much you want it.”

“I’ll bite your dick off if you try, asshole,” Grantaire grumbled once again.

“Really? Well, if that’s how you want to play... I’ll leave you alone so you can think about it. Maybe you’ll be more receptive after a few hours in the cage.”

“No, no, no, don’t you dare, asshole!” The last word was already half a howl, but it didn’t find a listener.

Enjolras dissapeared with a movement of the hand. They didn’t go far, though. How could they, when Grantaire looked so hot and desperate in that tiny cage, ears flopped down in shame, dick hard despite his best efforts? No, they stood nearby, invisible, basking in how beautiful their puppy was and how luck they were that he would let them do those things to him, when they both know he could probably take him down with a paw if he wanted to, which would also be hot as fuck. Maybe for some other time. Now, they had a show to watch, that included Grantaire trying to move in a cage too small for him, looking hard and miserable. Who knew? Maybe if they got bored, they could tormented him with the crop. Despite all his growling and grumbling, they were sure Grantaire would enjoy it.

Chapter Text

There were few things more beautiful than Enjolras. The only one Grantaire could think about, right now, was Enjolras, wrapped in red ropes, hanging upside down, looking absolutely wrecked.

There was just something about how beautifully Enjolras hung upside dong. How their whole body arched, how they frowned trying to fight the dizziness, their eyes half closed, their lips half open without their permission. Their alabaster skin covered in red ropes that followed their pretty lines, their golden mane falling like a waterfall of sunlight. This time, Grantaire had hung them next to the window, and the dying light from the setting sun bathed their marble in gold. They had a tendency to dig their nails in their palms until they bled to release some tension, so Grantaire had given them a piece of red fabric he’d been meaning to turn into a vest for ages to clutch, and it fell graciously behind them, sparkling some red shadows over their bare back. A few red candles illuminated him from below, tearing sparkles out of them.

Yeah. There was nothing on Earth more beautiful than Enjolras.

“How are you holding up, darling?”

Enjolras only grunted in response. They were too far gone to do more.

Grantaire chuckled. He softly touched them, following the lines of the ropes over their chest, around their hips, up to heir knee, then down to the other foot. Yes, it had been a wonderful idea to hang them just from one knee. The other one was shivering; they were struggling to keep it in place. Oh, how they love to see them struggle.

“Words, angel. As much as I’d like, I still can’t read your mind.”

Enjolras visibly struggled. They frowned, bit their lip. They looked indeed beyond words, and it was nice seeing them try just for Grantaire.

“I... Fine. I think. I... Yes. Really fine.”

“Good boy. I knew you could do it.” Grantaire knelt down to caress their face, and Enjolras melted in his touch. It made his insides churn. Really, what had he done to deserve such an angel? “You think you can go a bit longer?” They nodded so eagerly Grantaire feared they’d get dizzy. “Good. Then I’ll leave you here until one of the candles runs out, okay? And then I’ll put you down and maybe fuck you before untying you. Does that sound good?”

Enjolras arched their neck back to look at the candles on the floor. They were still only half burnt. They groaned in complain, but still nodded.

“Good.” Grantaire pressed a kiss against their lips, and Enjolras chased him with a soft groan that made him chuckle. “Now, close your eyes and let go, angel. It will still be a while.”

And he would paint them in the meantime, he decided. It was the least that something as beautiful as them deserved.

Chapter Text

They collapsed against a wall, panting heavily. How long had they been running? Grantaire couldn’t remember, but his lungs burnt. Fuck, he really needed to stop smoking. Or to go back to boxing. Or...

Enjolras groaned under his body; instinctively, Grantaire pressed them closer against the wall and covered their mouth. Not minding their furious stare, he tried to listen to their surroundings. The blue and red lights seemed to be getting away, and the echoes of footsteps in the distance slowly became silent. He sighed, but didn’t uncover Enjolras’ mouth just yet.

“Guess they do let you keep the handcuffs if you run fast enough, uh?” He laughed breathlessly. “I should let Courf know that.”

Enjolras, like the big child they were, tried to bite his hand in response. Grantaire let go before they could actually succeed.

“Very funny. Is it clear? We need to get to Feuilly’s so he can get me out of these as soon as possible.”

Fuck, they were so pretty when they got frustrated. Grantaire guessed that he should be worried, barely having escaped from the cops and Enjolras being handcuffed, but honestly, that was like, the third time it happened and at this point it had become almost routine. Which should be actually the worrisome part, but whatever.

Grantaire peeked his head out of the alley. It looked anything but clear. Sure, the cops had gone down the main street, but there was still too much people around to leave discreetly. Specially with Enjolras in their battle jacket and combat boots. Specially with Enjolras in their battle jacket and combat boots and a bruise on their cheek the size of an apple and fucking handcuffed. So guess waiting it was, until they could figure out a safer escape route.

“I’m afraid not, Spikey. And since my lungs are pretty much asking for their retirement right now, I would strongly suggest we hide for a while.”

Enjolras thumped their head against the wall with a dramatic sigh. Fuck, they were so pretty. Grantaire took their waist in his hand and gently caressed the exposed skin of their stomach, the spikes over their shoulders, the lines of their face. They winced when he grazed their bruise.

“Does it hurt?” Enjolras looked away. Grantaire knew that they would be caught dead before admitting it did, so he cradled their face back to where it was and rubbed their lips gently. “Enjolras, please, I mean it, I need to know how badly I need to worry. Does it hurt?”

Enjolras bit their lip, which only made them wince harder. They finally gave him a small nod.

“A bit. Mostly if I think about it. Don’t worry, I’ve had worst.”

“I have absolutely no doubt about it, but I don’t think that’s a good indication, since you use to get into fights every other weekend.” He covered Enjolras’ mouth again for a second before they could finish denying it. “Not my case here. My case is, Apollo, let me keep you distracted.”

“Distracted?” Enjolras raised an eyebrow. He knew they would be folding their arms if they could. “What did you have in mind?”

Grantaire dropped to his knees immediately and started fumbling with the ridiculously big buckle of Enjolras’ belt. At least this one didn’t have spikes he had to worry about. Enjolras’ breath hitched.

“Grantaire- ”

“Relax, Apollo. You wanted a distraction, right? Let me give you one.”

Enjolras must have been concussed, because, despite the sirens in the distance and the handcuffs on their wrists, they didn’t complain, just leaned back against the wall and raised an eyebrow at him.

Grantaire took it as his sign to start working.

He pulled down their trousers alongside with their underwear and unceremoniously got their dick in his mouth in just one swift movement. Enjolras only let out a quiet moan, which was a miracle, considering how loud they usually were. He bobbed his head a bit, trying to find a good angle, and just focused on devouring them.

Grantaire loved having Enjolras in his mouth. Loved the way they squirmed and bit their lips to stay quiet, loved to taste their excitement and their hardness, loved to quell his thirst with them. Loved to be at their feet, showing them his devotion. And he loved it even more when it was like that, when Enjolras was his, his to devour and savour and enjoy however he pleased. And whereas it was nice to have their hands on his curls, pulling them to make him moan and deny him what he so desperately wanted, it was also so damn great to just be able to take as much as he wanted. He ought to be thankful to those damn cops, really.

Enjolras squirmed. Grantaire opened an eye to look at them, so beautiful and disheveled, so wrecked already, fighting to stay silent. They were struggling against the handcuffs, Grantaire didn’t need to be able to see them to say it. He could hear the links clinking every time they moved, the little moans they let out every time the metal bit their alabaster skin. He was pretty sure it was mostly for the show this time. They loved to pretend to put up a little fight.

So Grantaire gave them what they wanted, and pinned their waist against the wall. This time, they couldn’t help a full moan.

Grantaire let go what he was doing with a shit eating grin.

“Shhh, Ange, you wouldn’t want them to catch you like this...”

“Shut the fuck up and keep going or I will fucking kick you,” they grumbled.

“Gee, who am I to deny you if you ask me so nicely?”

Grantaire laughed. The moment he took them back in his mouth, he could feel them shiver under his hands. It was almost overwhelming, to have them so close, to be so fully filled with them, surrounded by them; their scent all around him making him go crazy, their warmth so close it could make him melt. The soft taste of their skin over his tongue, the salty flavour of their excitement, the little noises they kept failing to muffle that sounded better than any orchestra. Oh, Grantaire loved him. He would suck them for hours if only they let him.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have hours, but that was part of the thrill, wasn’t it? And Grantaire knew how to drive them crazy enough, knew how to make it fast when they needed to. He allowed himself a few moments of adoration, of running his tongue around them gently, outlining them, savouring them, until Enjolras let out an exasperated grunt, which he took as his sign to actually get to it.

He sucked him off fast and relentlessly, and shivered with joy and delight every time Enjolras so much as panted. He was hard as a rock as well, and could only pray they wouldn’t actually get caught, because running away was going to be problematic this time.

“Grantaire- Grantaire, I’m gonna... I’m....”

Grantaire held tighter to their waist and Enjolras spilled with a bit too loud moan. He drank them dry like a man in the middle of the desert finally getting his first sip in days, savoring every last drop of them until there was nothing more than a shivering Enjolras in his hands and footsteps and sirens getting closer and closer.

“Fuck- fuck – Grantaire- ”

“Yes, yes, I know, I know...”

He wiped off his mouth before rushing to put their pants back up and pulling them down the alley, further from the main street. Enjolras seemed pretty far gone to run, and he was in no better state. Somehow, they ended up tripping against a trash container, and falling behind it. Well, he thought with a laugh, it was as good as a hideout as any other.

“I fucking hate you,” Enjolras grumbled.

“No you don’t. How is that bruise going?”

“No I don’t,” they grumbled again. “I fucking love you, you asshole.”

“I know.” He smiled smugly and pressed a kiss against their cheek. “Now, let’s go find Feuilly to get you free before you tempt again, shall we?”

Chapter Text

There was something comforting about being at Enjolras’ feet. Grantaire didn’t need to think, didn’t need to feel, didn’t need to worry about absolutely anything, he just needed to be. That was all.

And it felt so right, to be at Enjolras’ feet. For once in his life, he felt like he belonged there. It made sense, really. Enjolras was radiant, and perfect, and was going to change the world. Where else could he aspire to be other than at his feet?

Besides, at least, from there, he got to look at him. Oh, he was so beautiful, his gold and marble statue, reading so immobile that one could almost take him for one. He almost felt so small next to him, but he loved it.

Enjolras’ foot tapped at his cheek, suddenly pulling him out of his reverie.

“I think you are supposed to be doing something, Grantaire,” he tutted. He didn’t even raise his eyes from the book; his disinterest sent a shiver all the way down Grantaire’s spine.

“Yeah- yes. Yes, sorry. I, uh, got distracted with how ridiculously beautiful you are.”

The boot tapped against his cheek a bit harder.

“And I think you were supposed to keep silent. Now you are distracting me.” Enjolras would still not look at him, but he could see the little smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It made him feel so warm inside he could have melted on the spot.

He was smart enough not to take the bite and apologize again, and the smile in Enjolras’ lips grew bigger.

Grantaire still allowed himself to bask in it for a bit longer, until Enjolras’ kicked him again, a bit harder. It went straight to his dick; he had to bite his lip to avoid a small moan. He knew better than to annoy Enjolras when he was already getting impatient, so he got the rag and got back to work.

It felt like years since that time he had asked him, almost begged him, to let him black his boots, to do anything, just to be allowed by his side. And now, as he kneeled beside his armchair, actually polishing those pretty, tight black boots, as he was allowed to hold Enjolras’ foot and clean the filth of his soles, and he knew he was wanted, and cared for, even loved, no matter how big Enjolras felt beside him, or how little deserving of being there he was, it felt like they had come to a full circle. Like they were always supposed to end up like that.

But he would think about that later. Now, he had a work to do, which was to make Enjolras’ boots shine. Maybe, if he did well enough, he could consider himself just a tiny bit more worthy of being by his side.

Chapter Text

“A-ange, please, please, please...”

“S-shut up. I told you I didn’t want to hear you.”

The little, pathetic whine that Grantaire let out would have made Enjolras melt at any other occasion. That time, it only spurred them into moving faster. It made Grantaire moan again.

“But Ange- please...”

Enjolras tangled their fingers in his curls and yanked hard. Grantaire pretty much cried.

“I said no. You are not allowed to touch me. You are n-not allowed to t-touch yourself. You’re here j-just for me to enjoy, and it would be way n-nicer if you just. Shut. Up.

Grantaire whimpered. Enjolras yanked harder, and they could feel Grantaire shiver beneath them.

It was so hot they could melt, if they could still think rationally. But they were past beyond rationality. How could they not, when they had Grantaire beneath them, aching and wanting and desperate, fucking them with a strap while his own dick leaked crushed beneath it, unattended and hurt? It was a miracle that they were sober enough to talk, when Grantaire was so intoxicating like that.

Grantaire’s hand landed on their thigh, digging his nails deep in their flesh. Enjolras allowed it, if only because they also needed the touch to anchor themself to reality. It also seemed to spur Grantaire; he rocked his hips faster, suddenly hitting the right spot. Enjolras arched back in a moan. It was too much; they couldn’t avoid getting their dick in their own hand and start wanking themself in time with Grantaire’s thrusts.

The artist didn’t seem to like it. He whined miserably.

“Ange – please, please, let me be good, let me do that for you...”

The smile that spread over their face brought Enjolras as much pleasure as his next thrust.

“No. Haven’t you heard me? No. Y-you’re just a dick for me to use today. Nothing else. And, truly, for once I’m thankful you’re good at b-being one.”

Grantaire moaned and snapped his hips harder. It made Enjolras momentarily lose control. With a flick of their wrist, suddenly they were coming, tripping over that edge that they had been toeing for hours.

They collapsed gasping over Grantaire’s chest, still not making any moves to step out of the fake dick while they caught back their breath. Suddenly Grantaire’s hands were all over them, wrapping their waist, exploring their chest, as his lips pressed soft kisses over their bare shoulders. Enjolras chuckled.

They could still see Grantaire’s dick trapped under the strap-on, leaking and aching and definitely not as hard as it should have been after fucking Enjolras like that. They ran their fingers gently around the tip, and Grantaire shuddered.

“Please, Ange, let me free now, you’re so damn hot, I need...”

They covered his mouth with a hand before he could continue talking.

“I don’t care. You are going to stay like this. I’m going to drink some water, then you are going to fuck me nicely again. I want to see how many times I can come on your fake dick before you cry. Understood?”

Grantaire whined. Then, very slowly, he nodded. Like Enjolras knew he would.

Just as they knew that it would still be a long while before, despite all his begging, he actually meant to be let out.

Chapter Text

Enjolras loved riding Grantaire. Loved his strong arms around their waist, loved to trace the outlines of his tattoos with their fingertips, loved to see his cocky smile slowly turn into an enraptured moan of pleasure. Loved to look at his beautiful green eyes, and lean down to kiss him (and Grantaire always used the chance to fuck them harder, the bastard), loved to be able to dig their nails at his chest and nibble at his neck and all of that while setting the pace and driving him slightly mad, at least until they themself ran out of patient. Fuck, they loved him.

So they told him so.

“I love you.” They pressed a kiss to his ear. Grantaire chuckled. “I love you.” Another kiss, just above his Adam’s apple. The chuckle turned into a sigh as Grantaire fucked deeper into them. “I love you.” A bite to his neck, hard enough to leave a mark. Grantaire moaned.

Encouraged by the sounds he was making, Enjolras leaned down to give him another bite. As predicted, Grantaire took the chance to grab their ass and fuck them harder. Enjolras didn’t mind. They muffled their moans against Grantaire’s skin, biting and sucking marks all over his neck that would probably stay for days.

“A-are you making me a collar, angel?” he asked with a chuckle. “Afraid I would get lost if I don’t have one?”

“I want you to know you are mine,” they replied, breathless against his skin. “Mine. I want you to look in the mirror and know I was there. To think of me and shudder and remember you are mine. I want everyone to know you are mine.”

Grantaire closed his eyes and groaned, clearly overwhelmed. Enjolras took the chance to bite a mark just at the base of his neck.

“Yours- Ange, yours. You know that, I’m always been yours.”

“Mine.” Enjolras punctuated every word with a movement, fucking him wildly now, the single repetition of the word making their insides churn as much as the sex itself. “Mine to love, and mine to adore, and mind to fuck and- ”

“Yours,” Grantaire agreed, eyes still closed, teeth clenched. Enjolras knew how hard it still was for him to accept that kind of love declarations. They adored him even more for doing it now. “Yours to do whatever you please, angel. Yours to- to even breathe for you.”

Grantaire ran his hands down their arms, caressing them gently, until he took their hands and placed them over his own neck covered in bruises. Enjolras, through the fire burning inside them that threatened with making them go up in flames, understood. Fuck, they loved him.

They wrapped both hands around his neck and pressed gently. They were immediately rewarded with the sharp gasp that left Grantaire’s lips.

“Yeah- Mine to decide when you breathe and when you can only gasp for me.”

Grantaire moaned and gasped for air; Enjolras gave him a kiss instead. And, just like they knew he would do, he kissed back, not minding whether he breathed or not, as long as Enjolras was kissing him, as long as Enjolras was fucking him.

Enjolras let him go momentarily, smiling. Just enough for him to catch some air. And then choked him again. Grantaire gasped for air, and the only thing he got was Enjolras fucking themself on his dick, and teeth pulling on his lower lip. He moaned.

Once again, Enjolras let him catch a bit of air. And then came back to choke him. Oh, they loved him. And they knew that, if they asked, Grantaire would allow them to choke him all night, as long as they kept touching him.

Maybe they would ask. Not yet, though. Right now, they wanted to see how long would it take for Grantaire to moan again, and to understand that he didn’t intend to let him go any time soon.

Chapter Text

“Still with me, sleepyhead?”

Enjolras barely replied with a hum, still buried under a tower of blankets. Only a halo of golden curls peeked out of it. It was adorable, truly. But they probably needed a shower. Grantaire scratched their head.

“Come on, let me get you to the bathtub, darling. You know you're gonna hate yourself later if you don't.”

Enjolras only grumbled. Grantaire smiled.

“Okay, okay. I'll go prepare it while you find the strength to get out of there. You can get five minutes more.”

It was adorable, truly, the way Enjolras pretty much collapsed after sex. They became a little pliant cuddly thing in a matter of seconds. Grantaire was pretty sure that even their brain stopped working. And that was good, because there weren't many occasions where Enjolras' brain wasn't overworking itself. It was nice, being able to overwhelm it from time to time.

He got all the toys on his way to the bathroom. Guess he could deal with them while the bathtub got filled. Hell, he could even light some candles, those with the vanilla scent that Enjolras kept pretending not to like but compulsively buying. He should also probably give them a massage afterwards, he thought as he dealt with that stupidly big dildo he had gotten them as a joke but turned out they both deeply enjoyed (or, more likely, Grantaire enjoyed watching Enjolras take), if they were still sleepy enough to allow it. As needy as Enjolras got after sex, as soon as they were feeling a little better they used to go back to having troubles letting others look after them.

Oh, he should add a bath bomb. Prouvaire had made them one with lavender that he really needed an excuse to try out. And Enjolras would look beautiful with little lavender petals on their hair. Yes, it was decided, they were using the bath bomb. Grantaire added it when the bathtub was almost full, and the water immediately turned blue, sprinkled with little petals. It was pretty.

When he came back to the bedroom, Enjolras hadn't moved an inch. Oh, they were deep into the after sex haze this time. Smiling fondly, Grantaire peeled them out of the blankets caccoon and took them in his arms. Enjolras groaned, covering their eyes with an arm.

“Come on, sweetheart. You'll feel better after a nice bath.”

Enjolras didn't reply. They hid on his chest until he gently put them in the bathtub. They hissed when the hot water touched their sore muscles and their hurt skin, but immediately relaxed into it. Grantaire sat by his side on the edge of the bathtub.

“How are you feeling, angel? And please use your words; no matter how well versed I am in grumble - understanding, I would prefer a verbal check up.”

“Sore.” He could almost see the physical and mental effort Enjolras had to put in that single word. Even their voice sounded cracked, rough. Probably a consequence of all that moaning through a gag. “Tired. Floaty. Don't go far?”

It was adorable, truly, how touch starved they became after subbing. Grantaire ran his fingers through their hair.

“Of course not. Wouldn't dream of it.”

He let his fingers run over the marks the ropes had left over Enjolras' marble skin. All over their chest, then around their arms... The little indentations on the skin looked so good on them, and every time he touched them, Enjolras sighed. If he weren't so tired as well, it would go straight to Grantaire's dick. There was something so intimate about the fact that even now, when the ropes were gone, they were still too present on Enjolras' memory and on their skin, enough to make them shiver.

Grantaire traced all the lines, and then he moved onto the gag marks on Enjolras' face, and then onto the hickey on their neck. He loved to see them covered on his marks, a solid evidence that he had been there. Sometimes it still felt like a miracle.

“You are gorgeous,” he mumbled.

“And you're stalling,” Enjolras cawed back.

“Bossy,” Grantaire laughed, giving their curls a little tug that tore a groan out of Enjolras. “I know, I know. No more stalling. Come here. Let me take care of you.”

Enjolras relaxed entirely into his hands. They let him push them underwater to soak their hair, allowed him to coat their hair in that coconut shampoo that Grantaire really loved, and massage it all over their head. And that was nice. As nice as fucking them raw and beating them to exhaustion was, and it was really, really nice, few things could compare to that silent company, to the softness of their hair between his fingers, the warmth and pliantness of their body beside him. The scent of vanilla candles in the warm air, the blue dry flowers sticking to Enjolras' marble skin. It was perfect.

“How are you feeling now, Enj?”

“Perfect,” they hummed. One of their arms dangled over the bathtub's edge, and it distractedly went over the toys carefully lined up on a towel to dry. “You didn't have to do all the cleaning... I could have helped.”

“Honestly, Ange, I doubt that you can even stand on your own right now, and I take a lot of pride in that. You can help with the cleaning at some other point, darling.”

“But- ”

Grantaire kissed them before they could say anything else. They still tasted of silicone. 

“But nothing. Now relax, will you? And then I'll make some crêpes for dinner and I'll give you a nice massage before we go to bed. How does that sound?”

Enjolras was still probably pretty out of themself, because they only sighed.

“Amazing. But let's stay here for a little longer. It's nice in here.”

Grantaire smiled and pressed a kiss to their temple.

“Of course, my angel. For as long as you want. Always.”

Chapter Text

“This is not a good idea.”

“Why not?” Without turning around, they could almost hear the fucking mischievous smirk on Grantaire's voice. He was sitting on the counter behind them, being a nuissance, as always. “I think it's a brilliant idea. Genius, even. You really need to learn some basic cooking, you can't keep surviving by just knowing how to make coffee. What's wrong with finally getting to it?”

A buzz ran all the way up their spine, making Enjolras groan and bend over. It took their breath away.

“You shouldn't give me a knife if you're gonna do this!”

“What? I’m not doing anything.”

“Oh, you absolute fucking a-aah!” The buzzing changed patterns, suddenly gaining intensity and pressing against Enjolras’ prostate. They had to put the knife down, lean against the counter and take a deep breath. Fuck, they were already getting hard. That was hellish.

“Yes, Ange? You were saying?”

“That is a fucking bad idea doing this while playing with fire and knives!” This time, they almost managed to finish the sentence before Grantaire changed the fucking pattern again and a groan interrupted them.

“Should have thought about it before giving me this little thing,” Grantaire laughed, toying in his hand with the little remote. The remote for the plug that Enjolras was wearing, that was currently making their life pretty complicated. Enjolras flinched at the mere vision.

“You are an asshole,” they grumbled.

“Piece of advice, sunshine.” Enjolras didn’t need to turn around to see that Grantaire was smirking like the little shit he was. “Maybe don’t piss off the guy torturing you. It doesn’t sound clever.”

“So you admit it does count as torture!” they barely had the time to groan before Grantaire changed settings yet again. Oh, this one was horrible, a continuous buzz that slowly grew in intensity and then suddenly stopped. It was horrible, and edging, and there was no way of getting used to it. So of course Grantaire, like the little shit he was, left it there. Enjolras groaned and bit their lip. They had to try very hard not to squirm in place.

“Fine, sure, okay, smartass. Could be considered torture. You are still not the most intelligent guy around. Now, come on. Those sausages are not gonna slice themselves, are they?”

“A-and I’m taking that you won’t h-help?”

“Me? Why would I? You’re the one that needs learning. Besides, I’m very much enjoying the show.”

Grantaire hugged them from behind, pressing himself against their back. They could feel his erection against their back, could feel him tapping on the damn plug over the trousers and making them moan, like a promise. And god, Enjolras hoped it was a promise, because that fucking remote was driving them crazy.

But as soon as he had gotten there, Grantaire left, with a little slap on their ass that torn a groan out of them.

“I hate you,” they grumbled.

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Good boy.” Grantaire rewarded them with another slap and finally, FINALLY, by changing the setting to a continuous low buzzing. For the first time in they didn’t know how long, Enjolras could breathe and think properly. “Now, get to work, darling. I’m starting to get a bit hungry.” 

“If I chop off my finger because of this, I will blame you forever.”

Grantaire didn’t reply. He just grinned. And changed the setting. Enjolras hated him for it. But they had to admit that at least it added something interesting to the idea of finally learning to cook.

Chapter Text

Grantaire had woken up with an urge to serve. It was an itch, a need running through his veins, that only Enjolras could placate. He needed to go down on his knees for them and be good, make them feel loved and cared for, do anything for them, even blacking their boots.

But Enjolras was busy. They didn’t have plans of leaving the house, for they had to work. Cleaning had been done barely two days ago, there were enough leftovers to go for a week (and Enjolras usually forgot to eat we they were working anyway), and they were too busy for anything else. Grantaire had served them breakfast, but that was the extent of it, and the itch refused to go, and Enjolras had been working for hours, and god he needed them, he needed them, he needed them...

“Stop it,” Enjolras grumbled, barely raising their eyes from the laptop.

“What?” Grantaire suddenly realized he had been nervously shaking his leg for hours.

“Looking at me like a kicked puppy. What do you want? I told you I’m busy.”

“I know, but please, please, Enjolras, please, let me be good for you, I need...”

“You always need something. It’s annoying.”

It was fucked up, he knew, but the disdain in Enjolras’ voice went straight to his dick. Grantaire let out a small groan, and he could see a smirk dancing on the corners of Enjolras’ mouth. Oh. Oh, it was like that. Same as Grantaire had woken up with and itch to serve, Enjolras had woken up with an itch to be cruel. But they always had troubles allowing themself to slip into it. So maybe, if Grantaire pushed them a bit, maybe they both could get what they wanted.

“Well, yes, mortal beings such as me are only so strong, and you, oh, divine, sublime Apollo, always above us, are just so tempting, and I never claimed to be a strong man. Yet even you know I can be good, I can make you feel good, so please, allow me to...”

Enjolras closed the laptop with a huff. They looked annoyed. For a second, Grantaire was scared he had actually crossed a line.

“Fine. Since you’re that needy and probably won’t let me work until I’ve given you what you want. Stay there.”

They dissapeared. Grantaire waited in nervous silence, until they finally returned, carrying a wireless keyboard, a mouse and a bottle of lube. Without even throwing a glance in his direction, Enjolras tossed him the lube.

“Strip. Open yourself up. Don’t make it too funny. Or too long. As I keep saying, I’m busy.”

Grantaire swallowed hard. He didn’t dare to look at what Enjolas was doing; instead, he lay on his side on the sofa and did what they had told him. It was a bit humiliating, doing that while Enjolras wasn’t even paying attention to him, but it also made him so impossibly hard. Enjolras wanted him to do it, so truly, what could he do but obeying? It wasn’t particularly pleasant to fuck himself on his own fingers; it was hard to reach, and since Enjolras had also said not to make it funny, there was no pleasure to ebb away the burning pain of the initial stretch. He was only two fingers in when Enjolras came back and grabbed him by the shoulder to force him to stop.

“I hope you’re ready. You’ve derailed me long enough. On your four over the sofa. Now.”

Grantaire was not ready. Not at all. He still let Enjolras pull him up, and went exactly where they wanted him. He got on his knees, rested his forearms on the armrest. Enjolras had dragged closer a table, and left their laptop, connected to a big screen, there. He suddenly felt something cold over his back. The keyboard, he guessed.

“Apollo?”

“Since you’re a needy thing that won’t let me work until I pay attention to you, I’ve figured you could at least be of use. So you are going to keep my cock warm while I work, and be a nice desk for me. Understood?”

Grantaire simply nod. At this point, he knew the question was a trap. After all, desks don’t talk.

He could feel the rough touch of Enjolras’ pants against his bare legs as they kneeled behind him. It made him shiver. He loved it when it was like this, and Enjolras made him strip when they stayed dressed. The air was cold, but their presence was enough to keep him warm.

And then they were inside him, and he could not think of anything else. It hurt, a bit, it burnt, but he had been waiting for this all day and it also made him moan and shiver all over. Enjolras tugged hard at his hair to keep him in place.

“Drop my stuff and I will beat the shit out of you,” they hissed. “And not in a funny way you would like. And don’t you dare turning me on. I’m busy.”

“Now you are just making promises, Apollo...”

Enjolras wouldn’t have his brattiness that evening. They tugged at his hair so hard Grantaire almost cried.

“Behave,” they whispered on his ear. Grantaire thought he could melt in that moment.

There was a part of him that wanted to say “make me”, be a little shit and force Enjolras to actually beat the shit out of him. But they were giving him what he wanted. He had been waiting for this all day, and Enjolras, beautiful, cruel yet merciful Enjolras, was giving it to him. So who cared if his knees already hurt, if his shoulders felt heavy as fuck, if his ass still burnt because Enjolras hadn’t even moved to make both of them more comfortable. They were there, buried deep inside him, making him feel filled, used, whole, and that was all that mattered.

Maybe, if he was good enough, they would actually fuck him when they were over, he thought as the clink clank of the keys filled the room again. He relaxed into the sound and the pain. Oh, everything hurt so much already, and he knew it would only get worse. But he didn’t have to think. All he needed to do was endure it, and it would end when Enjolras wanted to. That was enough.

Chapter Text

It would never stop being fascinating. No matter how rationally Grantaire knew Enjolras could take worse, had seen them take worse, every time it still amazed him.

The first time Grantaire saw that stupid dildo he thought he would faint at the mere idea of having to take it. He had bought it anyway, as a joke, first, because it was red and there was just something about Enjolras in red in the bed, second, because he had spent too many months teasing Enjolras about how much of a size queen they sounded like sometimes, and third, because it was ridiculous and daunting, and Enjolras definitely had something against weird looking sex toys. And of course Enjolras had huffed and frowned at him when they saw it, but after some convincing on Grantaire’s side (or, more like some teasing and daring) they had agreed to try it.

And Grantaire had discovered a new obsession of his.

That was the reason Enjolras was currently lying on their stomach on the bed, hands tied behind their back, legs tied up and forced open by their ankles, nicely exposed for him, and Grantaire was already three fingers deep inside them. They were already panting; they loved this as much as Grantaire did. It was nice to see.

“How are you holding up, Ange?”

“G-great. Or I’d b-be, if someone stopped t-teasing me so much!”

“Impatient. Why don’t you relax and enjoy for once, darling?”

“I’m r-relaxed. I’m relaxed. Just move the fuck on!”

Grantaire laughed. It was nice to see how, even when they were as wrecked as this, panting and shivering and incoherent, Enjolras was still a little impatient, demanding asshole.

“Patience, my love. We’ll get there eventually.”

Enjolras groaned, but it could also have been because Grantaire pushed a fourth finger inside them. He knew they would be fine, he had seen them take his whole fist before, but something in his mind still yelled that it should not be possible. So he was taking his time, drinking from the vision of Enjolras sucking his finger almost up until his knuckles like it was nothing, and moaning uncontrollably. Oh, they were definitely moaning the whole building awake, but Grantaire couldn’t care less.

“Grantaire- Grantaire, please, give it to me, you asshole, please...”

Grantaire withdrew his fingers slowly; he could see Enjolras’ ass clench at the sudden emptiness, as if begging for more as well. It was mesmerizing.

“Really? You think you can take it already?”

“Yes, fuck- please, give it to me, please...”

“Alright, alright. No need to curse me again, angel. Your wish is my command.”

Grantaire had already poured half a bottle of lube in Enjolras, but he still coated the stupidly big dildo in more lube. It was thicker than his arm, after all. He finally pressed it against their entrance; Enjolras let out a sharp gasp.

“Ready?”

“Yes! Please!”

Grantaire was still chuckling at Enjolras impatience when he pushed the big red dildo slightly in. It went in without any trace of resistance; only Enjolras’ quiet moans gave away the size of the thing. It was almost halfway there when Enjolras flinched.

“A-ah! Stop, stop.”

“Too much?” Grantaire froze immediately. “Want it out?”

“No, no. Just – slower. A bit.”

“As you wish, my angel.”

Grantaire then pulled it out a bit and started moving it slowly in circles, trying to make Enjolras used to it. Judging by the little groans they were letting out, that was not all he was doing. When it felt like it had already stretched a bit, he went back to pushing, gently.

It felt never-ending. No matter how much he pushed, there was still a big chunk of the dildo to go in. Enjolras’ legs were shivering, they were melting in gasps. Fuck, they were so beautiful. Grantaire was really going to need to go to the toilet and relief himself after this.

The damn dildo finally bottomed out and Enjolras let out a cry. They were panting loudly, shaking so violently that, if it wasn’t for the ropes, they would already be on the floor. Grantaire felt a shiver down his spine too. They were so beautiful. So full. God, they were incredible.

“Good?”

“Y-yeah. Now, please, please, move it. Fuck me.”

“Oh, darling, I was already planning on that.”

He immediately obeyed, fucking Enjolras as fast as he dared to. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get Enjolras moaning with every moment, crying his name and shaking like they were about to collapse. Grantaire drank every reaction, every sound, every movement. He was addicted to Enjolras like this.

“Grantaire- please – please, touch me, I need...”

Grantaire stopped for a second, just long enough to pull at their hear and speak on their ear.

“Thinking of coming already, angel? Why the rush? After all the trouble we’ve gotten through to get here... Let me enjoy you like this for a bit longer. I know you’ll enjoy it too.”

Enjolras moaned, but didn’t say no. Grantaire loved him a little more for it. Oh, he couldn’t wait to fuck them for hours and see them come appart. He was pretty sure that, after this, Enjolras wouldn’t be able to walk until the morning.

He couldn’t wait to discover it.

Chapter Text

The buzzing seemed to become louder and louder by the minute. It was the only thing Enjolras could hear, although it wasn’t exactly hearing, more like feeling, deep inside them, teasing and edging and so goddamn awful, but also the only evidence that Enjolras actually existed in the outside world, that there was something else beyond that silent darkness in the void.

Which, okay. Rationally, they knew there must be something. They could feel the ropes biting hard around their chest and ankles, but even that feeling was dampened by the rubber that stuck to their body like a second skin. They could feel the cold on their feet and hands, the ropes stroking the naked skin there. But that was the extent of it. Everything else they felt, it came from themself. The cold sweat trapped all over their skin, the ache in their shoulders and knees and neck, the tickle of their hair falling over their cheek. The loud roar of the blood in their head, the dryness in their mouth, the tension of their ass around the plug, and, of course, that damn buzz next to their dick, driving them crazy, almost making them want to cry.

It was fun, how being so alone like this, floating, deprived of all contact with the real world, was the only thing that quietened their thoughts. As if only when everything was dark, and there was nothing but a giant void around them, their usually frantic mind could come to a short of calm, to a state of emptiness equal to what they felt around them. Grantaire knew, of course, after all that time. That was the reason why, after two hectic weeks of work and worries and les amis urgent stuff and overall consuming anxiety, he had left them there, hanging, who knows for how long, to give them a moment where they didn’t have to listen to any pressing thoughts, or to worry about doing anything. They just needed to be there, floating in the void, outside the material world, and just exist.

Grantaire had done his job well. The rubber suit robbed them from any external sensations. He had placed plugs on their ears, a blindfold over their eyes and a piece of tape over their lips. Then tied them up over the suit and hung them from the ceiling, leaving them there with the plug and a vibrator. Enjolras was completely alone, isolated, deprived of all external stimulous. And that, finally, had silenced their head.

They didn’t know how long it had been. How long they still had ahead. Things like thoughts or time didn’t matter in there. The only thing that mattered was the blood ringing in their ears, the pain of their muscles, and that damn torture in their crotch. So edging, too much to ignore it, but never enough to do more than making them desperate. They couldn’t even whine, with the tape over their lips. They had squirmed, at first, but doing so while hanging had made them dizzy, so they had learnt it was best not to. And now there was nothing they could do but staying, and taking it.

It wouldn’t make a difference to think for how long, so why should they bother? Time didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Not until, at some point, Grantaire wanted them again and let them down, maybe let them blow him before untying them, maybe, if they were lucky enough, he would fuck them before putting an end to the teasing. But that was in the future, and the future didn’t mattered yet. Only the void mattered. Only that peace that nothing could match.

And they were in no rush to break it.

Chapter Text

There was a part of his mind still yelling that that was ridiculous.

Combeferre shushed it down. He took a deep breath, focused on what he could feel. The cold floor under his knees, almost making them hurt already. The chilly air of the bedroom around his naked skin. The faint scent of the incense he had burnt in the living room the night before. The distant honks of the cars down on the street. The guilty knot in his throat. The feather light touch on his neck.

He exhaled slowly. Moved his hand down, over his chest, down to his stomach. No, not his hand, he tried to remind himself. It wouldn't be his hand tonight. And, with that thought, he went from being barely aware of the touch to unable to ignore it as it surrounded him, explored his own chest, teased him. It felt... nice, somehow. Not as good as it had felt back then, but still nice.

He opened his eyes. For a moment, his own, lonely reflection stared back from the mirror. He still felt ridiculous, kneeling on the floor, naked in front of the looking glass, a hand on his chest, the other one still too shy to touch himself. He squeezed his eyes shut hard, then opened them again.

Now it was also Enjolras looking back at him from the mirror. It was Enjolras wrapping themself around his reflection, their perfect marble hand on his chest, bringing him closer to their own body. A body that was not there, but he had felt its warmth before, and could bring it to his memory like it was still there, like it had never left. The memory of Enjolras surrounded him, and Combeferre surrendered himself to it.

He kept his eyes on the mirror at all times, as Enjolras wrapped their arms around him, caressing his hips, his waist, his chest. His neck, then up to his lips, that they stroked so softly it barely felt like a caress. Combeferre would never forget how the touch of those lips had felt, how impossibly soft and warm they kissed him, how they tasted of coffee and cinnamon, how they have moaned against his and how Ferre had drunk from those moans like there was nothing more saciating in the world. Enjolras hadn’t kissed him of their own accord, it had been Grantaire who pushed them into doing so, and yet... Yet they had kissed him with the same barely restrained tension he felt, like it was something sacred, like they had been waiting for it and couldn’t believe it was real. Sometimes, Combeferre still didn’t believe it was real that he had tasted Enjolras’ lips. It felt like a miracle. So he kept tracing the shape of his lips, and, in the mirror, Enjolras did the same. He had thought that maybe, if he pleased them enough, it could happen again, but it had been months and they had never reached out. They had never tried to do it again. So he was stuck with only the memory of them, and their vision in the mirror.

He didn’t look at his own reflection. It was easier if he pretended not to see the tattoo on the arm around his chest. If there was no tattoo, then it could be beautiful Enjolras touching him. 

Without letting go of his chest, Enjolras finally lowered their hand down his belly, until they wrapped it around his dick. Combeferre had to fight the urge to moan a little; he would feel ridiculous. But he still panted when Enjolras started moving with long, gentle strokes. Enjolras hadn’t touch him then, and he could only imagine how their hand would feel, but Combeferre had fucked them, he had been inside them, and it had felt so right, making love to Enjolras like that even though for them it had been just fucking. It had been deep, and slow, and that’s how he touched himself then. He could bring that memory back, in a way.

There was a blurry figure in the mirror behind Enjolras. A tattooed hand he knew very well running its fingers through Enjolras curls, pressing their head against his chest to make them mouth his chest. He shivered.

Combeferre had kissed Grantaire a few times that night. More than a few. Grantaire had pulled him for kisses, had drunk from his lips, had undressed him and touched him. And he was hot, and nice, and had assured him that everything would be okay, and had checked in with him afterwards a few times as well. And sometimes Combeferre still thought of his chipped lips and his wine aftertaste and the way he had winked at him from over his shoulder when he caught them in the Musain, but more as an experience he had enjoyed than as something he longed for. So why was he there? Maybe as a reminder that he could never have Enjolras, that they were already taken? Maybe he couldn’t imagine Enjolras without Grantaire because he couldn’t hope of ever seeing them like that. 

Grantaire winked at him from the mirror. Once again, it went straight to his dick even when it shouldn’t; Combeferre couldn’t help a moan this time. Enjolras fastened their pace, bringing him dangerously close to the edge. And it should be embarrassing, really, how fast they could do it, but how was he expected to last longer, when Enjolras touched him like they had known him since forever (and they had), when their touch was so gentle and relentless, when they were simply there, so beautiful, and their memory was engraved in his mind like a scar?

Combeferre spilled between his legs with a silent moan. He wanted to take a hand to Enjolras cheek, still pressed against his chest, but they dissapeared when he touched them. So did Grantaire.

He was left alone with the evidence of his shame and his longing, aching for something he would never have again, as the bittersweet aftertaste of his saddest orgasm pushed down the tears that threatened with choking him.

Chapter Text

Enjolras really, really loved the days prior the full moon. Specially the morning before, and thank fuck they had never slept a lot, because there were few things in the world better than staying up all day, teasing Grantaire, making him hunt them all around the tiny apartment he called his den, playing with him. Grantaire, soft, fluffy Grantaire, almost more wolf than human at that point, lost most of his rational abilities and was reduced to nothing but his most primitive instincts. Which, lucky them, when Enjolras was around were mostly “mate”. And they didn’t even need to use their thrall! It was amazing, really.

Of course Grantaire never wanted to actually give in to it. He always gave them the same speech (“You should leave before I hurt you; I won’t be able to control myself”), but all they had to do was replying “Hurt me, then” and Grantaire would lose his marbles and chase them down. And it was incredible, to be able to bite him in the midst of everything, to scratch him or not having to remember to be careful and restrain themself because humans were weak and broke so easily, but Grantire could take anything they threw at him, and would even bite back, and Enjolras loved it.

That’s how today had started. Grantaire had tried to make them leave, and Enjolras had bitten him. Fuck, he tasted like shit when he was like that, but Enjolras loved his blood so much they would drink from him even if he were a zombie. But of course that made all of Grantaire’s mutt instincts kick in and hunt them down, and that’s how Enjolras ended up with a very pissed off, very horny stupid boyfriend chasing them.

It was exhilarating. It was such a fresh change to be the prey, for once, to run from something that could potentially hurt them, and maybe they wanted to be hurt, to try the taste of their own pain and revel in it, to feel the fire as Grantaire ripped them apart and...

Grantaire’s growl interrupted their trail of thought. The barely humanoid wolf pounced on them, pinning them down to the ground. Enjolras couldn’t say the moan that escaped their lips was entirely out of pain.

“Stay still,” the wolf growled, baring his fangs just a few inches away from their face. Enjolras had to retain a shiver.

“Make me,” they grinned.

Another growl. And then Grantaire was biting them, digging his teeth deep in their flesh until it bled. And oh, it hurt, it felt like fire spreading from their side, it hurt so badly they could almost cry. It was refreshing. They let out a laugh.

But suddenly Grantaire was crawling away from them, ears down and tail between his legs, whimpering softly. Enjolras kneeled down beside him, offering him a hand to smell. Grantaire only curled up further away.

“Hey. Hey, puppy, it’s okay. What’s wrong?”

“Want you,” Grantaire whimpered, wailing his tail woefully.

“So? Take me.”

“Hurt you.” Grantaire’s snout touched their side, where blood had already ruined their shirt.

Enjolras couldn’t help a smile. They scratched him between his ears, and soon he was waving his tail again.

“Hurt me. I want you to. Don’t hold back on me, doggy. You know I woudn’t want you to.”

“Stop... Calling me dog,” he protested lamely.

“Do something about it, then.”

Grantaire closed his eyes shut, like he was trying to control himself. But soon he growled and pounced back on them.

He was not careful. Not at all. He ripped all their clothes in seconds, so Enjolras matched his enthusiasm by freeing him of the sweat pants and hoodie they were using. And fuck, Grantaire was usually big, but now... Now he could so easily break them in two if he wanted.

Grantaire’s paws roamed over their body, rising fire there where they scratched them. Enjolras could feel the blood running, warm and wet, all over their chest. It was a smell that would usually drive them crazy, but being theirs, it just... didn’t have any effect, and that was also new. It did drive Grantaire crazy, though. He lapped at the blood, drank it, kept biting them to draw more out. Enjolras just laughed. Never in their two centuries of life have they felt overpowered like that. It was new, and it was exciting, and they should be terrified, but Grantaire’s snout was sniffing at their neck, and his tail tickled their legs, and his musk overwhelmed their senses, and all they could do was laughing, because how could they not love being in the paws of their puppy?

“Want you,” Grantaire grumbled again, next to their ear.

“Yes, you’ve said that already, dumb dog. And I said take me. Have you already forgotten?”

“Not. A dog.” Another growl. Claws tearing wounds on their thighs, their chest. More blood running down their legs. Hot, scorching. It made them shiver.

“Yes. My lovely puppy. Come and take me already.”

Clearly there was still have a braincell left in Grantaire. He grabbed them like they weighted nothing and pulled them to the sofa, sitting them in his lap. He had bitten their neck again, and the blood felt heavier over their dead skin.

“Open. Can’t- Not – with this.” He showed them his paws. Each one was as big as their head. Oh, they wished to be chocked on them. “Quick – Before I get impatient.”

“You wouldn’t know what patience is if it hit you in the face,” Enjolras grinned.

But they obeyed. After coating their fingers in the blood that flowed from their neck, they pressed two inside themself, moaning softly. They could feel Grantaire’s snort at the sound, his tail hitting the sofa with impatience. His warm fur under their legs, against his back. His teeth back on their shoulder, tearing a moan out of them.

They opened themself thoroughly, or at least as thoroughly as they could until Grantaire grabbed their arm and put it aside. They whined in complain.

“Bored. Want you. Come here.”

That was all the warning Enjolras had before his paws forced their legs open, their claws leaving red trails on their pale skin. He lifted them, once again like they weighted nothing, and made them fall on his stupidly big cock.

It burnt. No amount of blood and preparation could have readied them for that. It was simply too big, and it kept stretching them further and further, ripping them apart from the inside, hurting. Oh, how it hurt, so deliriously good, enough to cloud their mind and disconnect them from their dead body. They did the only thing they could, and cried.

Grantaire took it as a sign to start moving. Every movement felt like being unraveled from the inside, every thrust made the fire spread further and further. Enjolras cried, and Grantaire bit them, again and again until the scent of the blood, even if it was their own, overwhelmed them and they couldn’t feel anything other than the blood and the pain.

“‘Taire – fuck – I can’t- ”

Grantaire growled, his claws digging possessively on their legs. Moving them to meet his thrusts. Like their body wasn’t theirs anymore, but an extension of Grantaire’s. Only there for Grantaire’s sake.

“Mine,” the wolf howled. “Mine. Mine.”

Enjolras wanted to joke about his lack of braincells or vocabulary. They wanted to deny him. But there was nothing in their brain but his musk, the blood, the pain. The overwhelming feeling, for the first time in more than two hundred years, of danger, of not being the most powerful being in the room. It made them moan.

“Y-yes, yours, silly dog. Y-yours. Yours until the moon rises.”

And Grantaire would take it as a promise. He would fuck them all day, biting and ripping them apart, and Enjolras would drink from him when the pain was too much, and who knows what blood was whose again, and the pain and the pleasure would overwhelm them so much they would even forget the impulse of buring themself in their coffin. And, when the moon rose, it would find them there, curled up on the floor, a full turned wolf and a vampire, too exhausted from their love to even bother with leaving the bed that night.

Chapter Text

“Grantaire. I'm serious. I'm trying to do something important here. Bother me later.”

“Ah, come on, Ange, you're boring. Put those papers away and pay attention to me for a bit, it would be funnier.”

Enjolras snorted like he was very hard trying not to murder him on accident. It never got old, infuriating him, and Grantaire never got tired of seeing it, how that little vein throbbed on his temple, how he clenched his teeth almost to the point of breaking them, how he looked like he was about to combust. Really, sometimes Grantaire just had to go and be a little shit just to contemplate his divine fury, ready to strike him like a lightning. There were few things in life more thrilling than that. Even if it meant being an inconvenient annoyance, like Enjolras called him, once again.

Besides, he missed his boyfriend. Work had been stealing too much of his time lately.

“Why are you here, again? I told you I had to work today.”

“Because I missed you earnestly, dear leader, and I couldn't let you work yourself to exhaustion once again when you've been so far away from me for so long. Come on, put those papers away. Let me entertain you...”

Enjolras did put the papers away with a loud thud. Then grabbed the pistol that had been resting beside them. A shiver ran up Grantaire’s spine. The thrill of danger, maybe. How fucked up was that?

“Grantaire! I mean it! Does all that we do at Les Amis look like a game to you? You know we work with danger at all times! You know we have to be careful! And I can’t have you around, just being annoying and distracting me from what I need to do, and putting us all in danger with it. I told you I had important matters to attend today.”

“Aw, come on, pretty boy, I’m pretty sure those matters can wait until the morning...”

Grantaire was suddenly very glad that glares couldn’t kill, because Enjolras looked ready to murder him at any given moment. It shouldn’t have gone straight to his crotch. However, it went. Enjolras, furious and focusing all that righteous anger on him, was just intoxicating.

“Stop it. Now.”

“Make me,” Grantaire challenged with his biggest shit-eating grin.

He could see the exact moment when Enjolras’ patience broke. Ah, he knew him so well already, and knew exactly what buttons to press to drive him mad. And, as usual, Enjolras took the bait.

He pressed the gun against Grantaire’s forehead. The sky blue of his eyes looked electric, like it would kill him if he got any closer. He looked livid, an avenging archangel in his red vest, curls glowing like a golden halo around his head, marble skin even paler than the usual. Fuck, Grantaire wouldn’t mind to die if that was the last thing he saw.

But, well, he really didn’t want to die that night, not by his boyfriend’s hand, at least. So, once again, he did what Enjolras least expected.

He forced him to lower his hand, just enough that he could reach. Then licked the barrel of the gun.

It tasted like metal, and gunpowder, and the smell was so intense it made his eyes tear up. But it also made Enjolras’ avenging angel facade crack a bit, his eyes widen with surprise, his mouth twitching.

“Grantaire. What on Earth are you doing?”

Grantaire smiled and drew a line with his tongue from the trigger to the tip of the gun. Damn, it tasted awful.

“Distracting you, Apollo. Is it working?”

Enjolras squirmed in place. It was almost imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know him well behind his marble mask, but oh, he was getting distracted. His eyes didn’t spark anymore, and he was even smirking, like he didn’t know what to do with himself and worse, what to do with Grantaire.

“Maybe. Are you enjoying yourself?”

Grantaire didn’t reply. He made eye contact with Enjolras, and took the gun in his mouth. He could see Enjolras’ eyes open even more widely, his hand going down to adjust himself in his trousers. He wanted to smile, but the strong taste of iron and powder was too much, so he just focused on what he was doing.

For a few moments, he sucked on the gun. It was horrible, and cold, and it was about to give him nausea when Enjolras finally grabbed him by the curls to get him to stop and took the gun away. He looked way less composed than when he was furious, and somehow that was even hotter.

“Okay, enough. You’ve won. Happy? Now we’re going to go to bed, and you’re going to do to me what you were doing to that gun. Understood?”

“Your wish is my command, Apollo.”

Grantaire couldn’t help the smirk that spreaded through his face. Once again, he had succedded at Enjolras’ handling.

Chapter Text

Grantaire knew his instincts kept him alive, most of the time. That that little chill at the nape of his neck usually meant someone was potentially dangerous and could hurt him badly, that that growl that sometimes raised at the base of his throat meant that he should keep his distance. So he listened to his instincts, he didn’t mingle with other supernatural creatures, and he kept himself alive.

The problem was, all his instincts yelled in Enjolras’ presence. Sometimes it was a hatred growl, and he wanted to pounce on them and rip their throat off. Sometimes it was a scared whimper, and he felt the urge to run away with his tail between his legs. He knew he should hate them. They were a parasite, a walking corpse, a merciless killer, a nightmare as dark as the night itself. Yet, for all that his instincts told him to run, his heart sang a different song.

Enjolras was also mysterious, and elegant, and clever, and surprisingly funny, and as alluring as the moon. Enjolras, that ancient creature who had seen revolutions spark and fade, that lived at the expense of the lives of others, that shouldn’t be able to feel anything on that dead heart of theirs, loved him, nevertheless. And the scent of that love was enough to cover the stench of blood and dead, and truly, if that beautifully deadly creature wanted him to walk the night beside them, how could a little mortal like Grantaire say no?

It was no like he didn’t love them back. It was just that they should hate each other, and sometimes, being with them meant ignoring all he had been taught and all he had ever learnt to do to survive, and fight the shame and the guilt that came with ignoring said instincts.

Luckily, Enjolras was good at distracting him from the guilt.

“Shhhh, my love, don’t fight it. I got you. You just need to let me take care of you.”

Grantaire groaned. It was easy to surrender to Enjolras’ embrace. To let their hands run over his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, occasionally scratching him. Grantaire wouldn’t be able to say if it was on purpose. Who cared? Enjolras’ hands were on him. Nothing else mattered.

Enjolras wore the shadows as a cloak that night. They crawled around Grantaire, surrounding him, rocking him and pulling him closer into the vampires’ embrace. It was cold in there. Dark. Yet Enjolras, dead, unholy Enjolras, was a warm, golden presence at his back, keeping the shadows at bay and holding him, safe and warm.

“I got you,” they whispered again.

Next thing Grantaire could feel were their fangs, sinking deeply on his neck. The pain startled him every time; it felt like being stabbed with two iced needles, yet it made his whole neck burn. It was painful, despite Enjolras’ expertise and care, at least until the blood started flowing out of him, and then his head felt heavy and his whole body, ethereal, as lighting of pure bliss ran through his veins and Enjolras became the whole universe around him. His knees gave in; only Enjolras’ strong hold prevented him from falling. They were everywhere, and they were everything, and he loved them so much...

A moan escaped from his lips. Enjolras groaned in return. They stopped drinking and ran their tongue over the wound to close it. When Grantaire turned his head over his shoulder to look at him, still dizzy and floating in the haze of Enjolras’ thrall, he saw them lick some droplets of blood from their lips.

“Damn, you are delicious as always. Your blood really is the finest nectar, my dear puppy.”

“I thought you said I tasted like wet dog,” Grantaire managed to grumble.

“And you do.” Enjolras ran their tongue over their fangs. It was unfairly hot. “But you’ve never managed to understand that blood tastes the sweeter the more you want to drink it. And yours? I’ve been dying to try you since I met you, little wolf. You are the sweetest I’ve ever had.”

Grantaire had heard variations of that speech a thousand times already. It never failed to make his knees go weak. Surely Enjolras must be exaggerating. More than two hundred years, he couldn’t be the sweetest they’d ever had. Yet they kept asking for more, and kept insisting he was.

Thank fuck he regenerated fairly quickly.

“May I?” Enjolras asked, pressing a line of bloody kisses up his wounded neck,

“Please,” Grantaire begged.

He knew Enjolras loved it when he begged.

And he was right. Enjolras bit him even more enthusiastically, and the bliss that emanated from their fangs was so intense Grantaire feared he would orgasm just right there and then. He was already hard, had been since he felt Enjolras’ arms around him, their lips on his neck, but at this point he at least had made peace with the visceral reactions the vampire evoked on him every time. He groaned, so loud it almost made the walls of the room tremble.

Enjolras let go of the bite to catch his lips in a messy kiss that tasted like iron. Their fangs pierced his lower lip, and Grantaire tasted his own blood. He could feel the blood running warm over his shoulders, down his chest. He wondered if he could convince Enjolras to lick it from there.

“Ange...”

“Fuck, ‘Taire, I want you. I desire you. I could never be satiated of you. I need you.”

“Here I am. Take me... Take as much of me as you want. I’m yours. Yours...”

Grantaire wasn’t sure if it was the thrall or his own will that made him say those words. In any case, they were entirely true.

“I know. My puppy. My wolf. Mine to love and cherish, mine to play with, mine to walk the night with. Mine. For all eternity, my love.”

Grantaire didn’t have the time to question those words, because Enjolras’ fangs were on his neck again, drawing more blood, making him more floaty, gifting him more bliss. Who needed aphrodisiacs when they acted as such like that? He let go, of all control and consciousness, and surrendered to Enjolras.

“You stil... Will fuck me afterwards, right?” He still managed to mumble.

“Of couse. Now, give in, my love. I got you. You are mine. And I still haven’t had enough of you.”

Grantaire obeyed. Despite all his instincts. After all, what were instincts, before the love of the night itself?