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    Summary

    And the product is good, better than good. Grantaire smokes a tiny bit once they’ve finished the first batch, just a quick hit. He feels fucking spectacular for a few glorious moments until Enjolras emerges from the RV, grabs his shoulder and starts to shake him. Grantaire can feel his fingernails dig into flesh, knows he’ll be left with little crescent shaped red marks in his skin. He’s almost ready to arch into that harsh grasp when—

    “Don’t touch the fucking product,” Enjolras tells him, his voice like barbed wire and concrete. “We sell it; we don’t smoke it. And I won’t let you be high out of your mind when we work together.”

    That wrenches a laugh from Grantaire. What the hell did you expect? Instead, he asks, “Are you sure you majored in poli-sci in college and not chemistry?”

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    5,382
    Chapters:
    2/2
    Comments:
    5
    Kudos:
    91
    Bookmarks:
    19
    Hits:
    1686