Chapter 1: The Cynic meets the Revolutionary
Enjolras liked to consider himself an open minded and accepting person when it came to meeting people, but he made exceptions. One of those exceptions was the man that stumbled into Les Amis in a drunk stupor at three in the afternoon. Not only was Enjolras interrupted in the middle of his speech, the stranger looked as though he were about to hurl in the cramped back room. Enjolras paused, glancing over the man once more. He had thick, tangled hair that could only be described as a birds nest, and it looked as though he had forgotten to shave the past week due to the scraggly stubble littering his chin. The man himself was muscular, but pale; clearly he hadn’t spent much time outdoors in the recent months. Not only that, he reeked of booze and smelled like he hadn’t bathed for quite some time. His clothes were wrinkled and stained, his shirt untucked and his vest half buttoned.
Enjolras immediately assumed the man must be homeless, and pushed any judgement aside as he addressed the man. “Hello sir, would you care to take a seat?” Enjolras asked, approaching him cautiously.
The man smirked, setting his bottle down on a nearby table and whistling. “Well hey there yourself,” he finally answered, nearly falling on his face but grabbing the table just in time, spilling his bottle over the floor. “Whoops,” the man mumbled, taking a step back and apologizing faintly.
“Can I help you? Do you need a taxi home? That is, do you have a home?” Enjolras asked, steadying the man and lowering him into a chair. Several of the others were helping clean up his spill while Enjolras tried to communicate with the dead drunk stranger.
“I’ve got an- uh, apartment…” hiccup, “I’m.. not drunk,” the man said with a smile as he leaned back in the chair.
“Right, of course,” Enjolras agreed, glancing to his friends for help.
“Would you like to go to your apartment?” Feuilly asked the man, grabbing his hand gently. “What’s your name and address? Is there anyone we can call?”
The man shrugged Feuilly off, turning back to Enjolras. “Nope, I wanna talk to Apollo, not, uh, hipster man,” the drunk said, eyes half shut. “I’m Gravy… no, um, Grantaire—people call me R,” he then said directly to Enjolras, trying to wink but shutting both eyes clumsily. “You single?”
Enjolras laughed awkwardly, scooting away from ‘Grantaire.’ “Let’s get him out of here.”
“Wait, I’m, uh, where is this?” Grantaire asked, standing up suddenly.
“This is Les Amis, an organization in the back room of the Musain, we fight for equal rights,” Enjolras answered slowly so that Grantaire could comprehend. He was surprised when the man laughed.
“This is Les Amis? That A-B-C equal rights group?” Grantaire cackled, holding his gut. “You guys actually believe in all that bull? That the world can change?”
“Um, what?” Enjolras asked with a hint of irritation in his voice, “Is there a problem with acceptance and equality?”
Grantaire shrugged, still smiling. “It’s just so stupid! And that’s coming from an artist!” Grantaire answered with a sort of arrogance Enjolras couldn’t comprehend. They had been welcoming and helpful, and here Grantaire was laughing out them and their cause.
“Well forget your ride home, bum,” Enjolras said with a tremble, on the verge of shouting.
“Enjolras, he’s drunk, we can’t just send him off to get hurt or hurt someone else!” Eponine said awkwardly, blocking his exit. “You should drive him home and apologize, we don’t know what he’s been through.”
“Did you hear him? Not only does he barge in on a private meeting, he insults us and laughs at us? And you expect me to just wave it off? I’ve put up with enough of him, he clearly doesn’t want our charity!”
“That doesn’t mean we refuse to give it. Besides, if anyone can change his mind, it’s you.” Combeferre chimed in, looking hopeful. Grantaire scoffed at him comment.
“We still have thirty minutes left.” Enjolras said stubbornly, refusing to give this guy a second chance. On most occasions, he would. Heck, he’d give Trump a ride home to prove how accepting he was. There was something about Grantaire that he couldn’t seem to accept, though. Perhaps it was how he didn’t even pretend to be polite, or maybe it was the fact that he was kinda hot underneath the gross, drunk outer layer. Enjolras wasn’t blind to the defined jaw line and soulful eyes covered by the over grown hair and dirt. But of course, Enjolras wasn’t acknowledging any one that. Grantaire was infuriating because of his rude behavior despite just meeting them, and that was downright unacceptable.
“I think you’re overreacting,” Courfeyrac said, patting his back and propelling him towards Grantaire. “He’s done nothing wrong… er, merely expressed his own opinion, which is what Les Amis is all about!”
Enjolras rolled his eyes, sucking in a deep breath and turning to Grantaire. “I would like to apologize for my outburst. Would you like a ride home?”
Grantaire’s eyes opened wider and a delirious smile spread across his face, “I’d like a lot more than that from you, Apollo, but I’ll settle for a ride.”
Enjolras felt his face turning red as he gestured his anger towards the rest of Les Amis, who shrugged and did their best not to laugh. “Follow me, then, R,” Enjolras said forcefully, glaring at Eponine. She shrugged, covering up her smile as she waved bye.
“Is this your car?” Grantaire asked when they reached Enjolras’ fifteen year old Buick, “It’s a piece of shit!”
Enjolras clenched his jaw as he unlocked the passenger door, disregarding the comment. “Where’s your apartment?” He asked, fidgeting with the key until the door unlocked.
“I know,” Grantaire assured, bumping his head as he tried to get into the car. “It’s on that one road, y’know the one… tree?”
Enjolras sighed, slamming the door once Grantaire was inside and getting into the driver’s seat. He was grateful his car started on the first try, he’d hate to see Grantaire’s reaction to that. “Maple? Spruce? What tree are you talking about?”
Grantaire shrugged, focusing on buckling his seat belt but missing the buckle every time he tried to secure it. Enjolras gave up and ended up grabbing it from Grantaire’s shaking hands, buckling the drunk in himself and pulling out of the parking lot. “Just tell me if you recognize something or remember where you live. Drink some water too.” Enjolras handed him the half empty water bottle from the cup holder, then began driving through town and looking for any noticeable trees.
“Do you live on Pine Lane?” Enjolras asked, noticing the road and hoping to no avail.
“Nuh uh,” Grantaire answered, hiccupping some more. “You know, I don’t get it. You seem like a bright guy, young n’ stuff, potential. Why’d you go an become a.. a revolutionary?”
“We’re not discussing this now, we’re finding your apartment.”
“K, got it. So, single?” Grantaire asked, changing the subject again.
“Not interested,” Enjolras answered, his knuckles turning white from clutching the steering wheel so hard.
“Not a homo, that’s too bad,” Grantaire moped, gazing at Enjolras.
Enjolras felt his gaze burning into his side, and refused to return the look. “I didn’t say I wasn’t gay, I said I wasn’t interested. Now please do your best to direct me to your apartment.”
Grantaire sighed, looking away. “Twin Oaks Apartments,” he said, slurred but discernable.
“That’s where you live? You remembered the whole time?” Enjolras asked, just a bit infuriated by the whole matter.
“No, I didn’t,” the drunk muttered, rolling over to gaze out the window in silence.
Soon they arrived to a rundown apartment building with overgrown grass and fallen limbs littering the yard. “Here we are, now please go home and sleep off whatever booze you drank.” Grantaire fiddled with the handle for a minute before getting it to open, waving good bye and trying to flirt with him one last time. Enjolras hoped he wouldn’t see Grantaire again, gazing in disdain as the man stumbled up the steps and stood at his door for a minute struggling with the key. Once he was inside, Enjolras drove back to the Musain and tried not to think about the man’s rude behavior, or his insulting comments, or his handsome face, or his toned arms, or… Enjolras nearly rear-ended the car in front of him in his daze, receiving several car horns and middle fingers. He sighed, glancing back in the direction he came from and cursing under his breath.
Sure enough, next week when Enjolras entered the Musain there was a new member amongst his friends. “Apollo!” Grantaire greeted, this time freshly shaven with clean clothes and a haircut, “Thanks so much for last week!” Enjolras choked, stumbling into a chair and gaping at Grantaire. In his mind, he was screaming, because Grantaire was attractive underneath the layer of drunkenness he wore last week. Out loud, he was also screaming, but shorter, and quitter, in fact it was more of a dramatic gasp.
“Grantaire,” He smiled uncomfortably, “so nice to see you again.”
Grantaire smiled back, a genuine smile, and followed the rest of Les Amis into their back room with a sketchbook in hand rather than a beer bottle. The whole meeting, Enjolras could feel the intensity of Grantaire’s gaze, and each time he returned the look, Grantaire ended up looking away and cracking some immature joke. Grantaire didn’t scorn their efforts as notably as before, but it was evident he didn’t believe a word Enjolras spoke. So why was he even there? To torment him?
After the meeting, Grantaire seemed to be in a good humor, chatting to the members of Les Amis, but Enjolras was not. Each time he heard the deep rumble of Grantaire’s laugh he felt his hair stand on end, disgust filling his entire being. All the while, he sat a good distance from the rest and angrily jot down his thoughts for the next rally.
“You okay?” Combeferre asked, sitting down next to Enjolras with a troubled look on his face. “You’re usually not this stubborn, what’s up?”
Enjolras grumbled, dropping his pencil and turning towards the other man. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, that man is just… so aggravating! Why is he even here? He’s not contributing anything!”
Combeferre nodded, clearly agreeing with Enjolras’ concerns. “You’re not wrong, but this has never been a problem before. You’ve got to give him a chance, I think he looks up to you.”
“No, he wants to hook up with me. I think he made that clear, and I do not take kindly to sexualizing people against their whims.”
Combeferre frowned, looking towards Grantaire. “Even if that is the case, we need to give him a chance. If not, we’d be hypocrites. As you always say, you can never judge a person when you don’t know what they’ve been through. Maybe he recently lost someone and he doesn’t know how to behave. We should be there for him if he asks, I know you’d do the same for anyone else. You need to get over this childish behavior.” With that, Combeferre returned to the group, saying his goodbyes. Enjolras frowned, pondering over Grantaire.
“Fine, I’ll be nice,” He muttered, waltzing over the bid farewell to the rest of Les Amis and Grantaire.
Chapter 2: College Dropout
A little bit of context for why Grantaire was drunk at three in the afternoon, as well as vague swooning over the one and only Enjolras.
Grantaire's POV: I might do the next few from his POV, but I'll continue switching back and forth throughout the story.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
“Is there anything I can do to pull up my grade?” Grantaire asked his professor, practically begged, but was met with a stern frown.
“I’m sorry, I do not offer extra credit. You’ll have to retake the course next semester if you wish to get a degree in art,” He said, adjusting his glasses and grinning faintly. “You are dismissed.”
Grantaire stared in desperation, his palms sweating as he heard himself continue to speak: “I attended every lecture! I completed all of the homework! Why am I flunking?” He sounded angry, enraged even, as he bellowed out his questions. “There has to be a way to improve my grade!”
His professor turned towards him, no longer hiding the smile. “There is a way to boost your grade a few extra points,” he said, standing up slowly and setting his papers aside. “How would you feel about a… special extra credit assignment?”
His voice rumbled, sending nervous chills down Grantaire’s back. His professor seemed different, predatory, as he approached Grantaire. “What do you mean? You said you didn’t offer extra credit,” Grantaire said, his voice shaking. His professor noted his fear, his eyes lighting up.
“I can make exceptions,” His professor answered, slowly approaching the shorter man, “I’m sure you’ll exceed my expectations in the assignment.”
Grantaire did his best to swallow his fear, willing to hear his professor out despite the odd aura he was putting off. “Okay, what do I have to do?” He asked, his fists clenched at his sides.
“I think you know,” the professor purred, caressing Grantaire’s back and trailing lower than he would have preferred.
“You don’t mean…” Grantaire started, but stopped when his professor shoved him against the desk. “Wait, wait,” Grantaire mumbled, trying to slip away.
“You want to pass, don’t you?” His professor asked, running his fingers through Grantaire’s unruly dark hair.
“Not like this,” Grantaire choked out, his heart racing as he forced his professor off of him and stepped away from the desk. Grantaire held his arms up in defense, fear written across his face as his professor scowled at him.
“I didn’t expect you to be so prude, Grantaire. Come on, think about your options. Fail with a clear conscience, or pass with no harm done. I promise I use protection.”
Grantaire was backing away slowly, reaching for the doorknob and holding back tears. “You can’t blackmail me, I know I shouldn’t be failing, if I talk to the college they’ll--”
“They’ll what? Fire me? Who would believe you over me? I’ve been teaching for thirty years, and I’ve never been reported. Not once. As for you, you’ve had your fair share of troubles, haven’t you? Think about this, Grantaire, it isn’t a hard choice.” His professor dangled the option in front of him, teasing him, the smirk on his face still present.
“No!” Grantaire barked, sounded offended and hurt and betrayed and broken. He knew he couldn’t afford to retake the class. He knew when his parents found out, he was over. No more support, nothing. Yet with all of this information, he still couldn’t bring himself to sleep with his professor, his crusty old professor, to fix an unjust grade. “I’ll fail.”
His professor looked disappointed, but did nothing to stop him from storming out the room. Surely Grantaire could talk to the head of the college, report his professor for sexual harassment, and fix his grade.
“These allegations against your professor are unwarranted and false.” The stern eyed woman slammed a file down in front of Grantaire, looking disgusted. “It is incredibly immature of you to accuse a senior professor, one with a wife and children and even grandchildren, of such things. It is a very serious allegation, and nothing to joke about to fix your grade.”
“Ma’am, that’s the truth, he was going to blackmail me to sleep with him!” Grantaire whimpered, unable to believe what was happening.
“And why would he do that? Please leave, sir, your claim is invalid and not wanted here. Anymore commotion and we will have to expel you from our campus.”
Grantaire should have known to hold his tongue, to leave quietly, but he couldn’t help speaking back. “This is ridiculous! You can’t just let him get away with this!” The president didn’t even look back at him, merely gestured for him to leave. When Grantaire slumped out of the room, his professor was waiting on the other side, a knowing glint in his eyes.
“The offer still stands,” He whispered, making no effort to hide his slow glance over Grantaire’s body. Grantaire couldn’t even comprehend what had happened, and replied in a frustrated sob as he barged out of the building with his expulsion slip in hand.
His parents had gotten word by the next day, calling him up and screaming at him over the weak phone line. “This is ridiculous! Fail art history? Don’t even bother coming home for Christmas, we don’t want to see you until you get your life together, lowlife!” is essentially how the conversation went, his bitter parents giving Grantaire no chance to speak up. He collected his things from his dorm, selling most of them and putting his earnings together to buy a motel room for the night.
The next day, Grantaire reported to work early to ask his boss if he could switch to full time, hoping to start saving for an apartment and maybe find a roommate. Grantaire was hardly surprised when he heard he was being let go. Apparently the company had hit some hard times and several employees were fired. Of course with Grantaire’s luck, he was one of them.
When his car broke down, he wasn’t shocked. Just upset, and void of hope. It sold for a fair amount, that is, for a broken down car, and bought him a months rent in some shabby apartments, sleeping alongside the roaches. He searched for jobs anywhere he could think of, but had no luck. His life had been flipped upside down. He had essentially dropped out of college, and was now jobless and poor.
Grantaire didn’t mean to get shitfaced at three in the afternoon. He truly didn’t, but when he got the call, he found himself heading for the bar. His little sister, only fifteen, was on life support after having been in a car accident. Grantaire didn’t know what to say. The bartender was sympathetic enough, but had to ask him to leave once he began bawling loudly in the middle of the bar.
That’s how he stumbled into the Musain. His mind was numb, and he no longer remembered why he had been upset. His world seemed to swirl, so he flung open the door to what he though was the bathroom to hurl, and realized he was mistaken. There was a gathering of people, all looking at him, wide eyes and shocked faces. The boy in the front of the room stopped, looking puzzled and a slight bit offended. Grantaire felt like he was about to blackout, but was pleasantly surprised when someone offered him a seat. Not just anyone though, Apollo had offered him a seat. Or at least, that’s how his drunken mind comprehended the gorgeous specimen speaking to him.
He was tall, very tall, with wavy blond hair Grantaire wanted to run his hands through. His eyes were the brightest blue Grantaire had ever seen, complimenting his soft pink lips nicely. Grantaire assumed he was dreaming, seeing as there was a glowing sun god right in front of him.
“Hello, sir?” The man bathed in light asked again, his smooth voice pulling him back to reality.
“Well hey there yourself,” Grantaire found himself slurring, spilling his drink and leaning too close to the beautiful man. Apollo recoiled, asking him something else he didn’t quite understand, when others started joining in.
One man asked him where he lived, or something along those lines, steadying him with a firm grip. Grantaire acknowledged the man’s good looks, but referred the glowing model mere inches from him. “So, you single?” He asked in a poor attempt at flirting, only driving the breathtaking man further away.
“Where… am I?” He asked, finally noticing the ragtag team of young adults huddled around him. The golden god responded with some gibberish about rights, which had to be a joke, because Grantaire had had enough experiences demoralizing him and his rights. Nobody supported him when his professor blackmailed him, or when a drunk driver hurt his sister and got off on bail. He began to laugh, the idea so ludicrous to his drunken mind it seemed comical. This angered the gorgeous man, turning him into a powerful, vengeful speaker in the eyes of Grantaire. And it was beautiful.
Grantaire woke up, unsure of how he got home, left with only the faint memory of the beautiful golden man. Then it hit him like a truck. His sister. He grabbed his phone, scanning for updates on her condition.
Amy is in stable condition.
She was alive. His sister was alright. He let out a sigh of relief he hadn’t even realized he was holding in. His situation seemed like Heaven, knowing she was fine. All he had to do was find a stable job, then he’d be fine.
He didn’t know why, but he returned to the Musain the next week. He hadn’t imaged Apollo, er, Enjolras. He was real. And he really didn’t like him. The others welcomed him, and the group was kind enough despite their ridiculous ideas. It was a good idea to have friends, that way if he couldn’t find a job and needed a place to crash he was covered.
When he listened to Enjolras talk, Grantaire felt himself agreeing with whatever he said, understanding the struggle. Of course, once Enjolras stopped preaching, he snapped out of it, realizing how dumb it sounded, but that didn’t change the passion in Enjolras’ eyes. It was beautiful, and awe inspiring. He felt like he could believe in hope, in a better world. It never lasted.
After the first meeting, Enjolras refused to look in his direction. Grantaire couldn’t blame him, but it hurt. It hurt but it was none of his business. Despite his better judgment, he still attended the meetings, daydreaming while he watched Enjolras speak. Things went well until rent was due for his apartment. He still hadn’t found a job. No one seemed to have a need for a college dropout. So he waited, and hoped, and dreamed of an opportunity. And when one popped up, once more against his better judgment, he gave in.
Thanks so much for reading! Please leave reviews, advice would really help me improve! I hope to upload the next chapter by this weekend, I updated this much sooner than I expected.
Chapter 3: R is a Star
Grantaire gets a job, although it's a bit problematic.
Warning: There is some explicit stuff in here, so if you're not about that, then know to skip the middle section. I'll summarize what happened in the end notes. Also, sorry it took me so long to post this, and sorry its short! I know I said I'd post it a week ago, but school is almost out for the summer and by then I'll be able to post more consistently.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Grantaire really didn’t give it much thought. It was a simple job, and it didn’t disagree with his mentality. He wasn’t prude. He had spotted the ad when he was looking up cheap meal plans, aka where to get the biggest discount deal on ramen noodles. The thing that caught his attention first was the naked dude in the ad. Not 100% naked, but mostly naked, winking at the camera while bright pink text flashed across the picture. “Get paid to be a cam-star!” was what it said, with a link to “auditions” embedded in the photo. At first, Grantaire laughed, and then he thought.
It was harmless, it really was. No real direct interaction, he didn’t need to go out of his way to do the job, and it didn’t seem like it would take too much of his time. With a shrug of his shoulders, he clicked the link, setting his beer aside when the online application popped up. He filled in his name, his age, his email, sexuality, hair color, eye color, and every other crazy question it asked for. Finally, he attached a photo of himself; in the photo Grantaire was about to start a boxing match with his pal Barhol, his hands taped and his hair pulled back to the best of his ability. It was a good picture from several months ago, and though he wasn’t as fit as he had been then, he figured it would be accepted.
He wasn’t expecting to get a response so quickly. In under 30 minutes, he was emailed by some porn website responding to his application. It read: “Thank you for your application, we just have a few more questions: Do you have a cam at home? Do you live alone? How frequently will you be able to stream? Minimum salary starts at $50 an hour and grows with views.”
Grantaire reread the email, eyes lighting up. He hadn’t expected a response, much less an actual job opportunity. Recovering, he quickly replied, answering their questions and asking when he should start. This time the response was quicker, stating that he would stream live from their website using a special access code, and that his salary would be transferred to his PayPal account. Depending on how successful he was, Grantaire would be able to pay off his rent within the week. And for what? Masturbating in front of a camera? Masturbation wasn’t abnormal, and now he would get paid for it.
Suddenly, Grantaire felt disheartened. What was he doing? He refused to prostitute himself out to his teacher for a passing grade, and yet here he was agreeing to make his living from horny middle aged men watching him masturbate. Was that really any better? He sat back and sighed. What would he tell his family about his job? His little sister? Not that they’d ask, thank goodness, but what would they do if they ever found out? If his friends from the Musain found out? Was he really okay with this?
Grantaire reread the email. A minimum of $50 an hour? Screw his morals, there was nothing wrong with being a “cam-star.” It was a living, and something he could do easily.
“Sign me up,” Grantaire mumbled as he finally responded, agreeing to their contract and accepting the livestream code.
He already had a webcam, and spent half an hour trying to position it over his bed, and another hour fixing his bed and the lighting. If he wanted to make this work, he was going to do it well. “Should I get hard before I stream, or after…?” Grantaire wondered, finishing his setup. He glanced over the website, noting other livestreams occurring at that time. Out of curiosity, he opened one, and was mildly shocked when a large, hairy man with a butt plug shoved up his ass gripped his oversized cock and moaned for the camera. Viewers’ comments were flooding in, along with plenty of money or so Grantaire assumed. He quickly exited out, feeling guilty, then continued to think over his plan. He would strip on camera, then get hard, giving viewers time to jump over to his stream by the time he really got down to business.
He went to the homepage of the website and entered in the code down below, opening up a livestream option. It demanded a title, so he entered his name and hit “stream.” It was odd, seeing himself on his computer as he adjusted himself on his bed. Ping. One viewer. Ping. A comment: “Hey cutie, can’t wait to get you out of those clothes.” Grantaire felt his eyes bulge, then composed himself and smiled at the camera. “H-hey,” He answered, rubbing his neck. Ping. “You new? I haven’t seen you before.” The viewer stated, and two more viewers joined.
“First day—er, night on the job,” Grantaire responded with a chuckle, slowly pulling his shirt off and tossing it off of the bed. He was up to eight viewers, many more commenting. He shimmied out of his pants, tossing them away to and winked at the camera, just for fun. Ping. Ping. Ping. More notifications, more comments. People complimenting him, talking dirty, giving him directions or suggestions. Grantaire began palming his groin, working up an erection before he pushed his underwear out of the way and let his dick out.
“Mnn I want to lick those abs.” “Got any dildos pretty boy?” “What are you waiting for baby?” “Gorgeous cock darling.” The comments distracted him, making him blush and helping his erection out. He ran his hand down his shaft slowly, letting out a low groan. The rumble he emitted died down when his breath caught in his throat, his back arching as his hips thrusted into his hand. “Take it slow honey,” one viewer said, while another urged him to bring out a dildo. Maybe next time, Grantaire mused. Then he realized there was no harm in talking to the people watching him beat his meat.
“I’ll bring out a dildo next week, guest423, no worries.” His voice was deep and raspy, and he gasped when he saw the viewer number. It was steadily growing, now at 48 people. “Wow, thanks for tuning in guys,” He said, getting a happy response from his audience. He continued touching himself, fondling his balls and allowing moans to slip right out of his mouth. He took himself to the edge many times, trying to make it last as long as he could so he could make a good amount of money. Soon viewers were begging him to cum, demanding his orgasm soon before they came as well.
Grantaire laid back more, quickening his speed and finding himself holding his breath in as he felt his muscles contract. Within seconds semen spurted from his cock and all over his bare chest, some landing on his jaw and most of it covering his upper chest. We wasn’t surprised when comments poured in asking him to lick it. Grantaire was rarely disheartened, and gave the camera a seductive grin as he sucked the cum off of each finger. The viewers loved it.
Sure enough, later that evening over $300 was transferred into his PayPal account. He was ecstatic. Enjolras was not ecstatic, however, when Grantaire continued to attend Les Amis. Of course, he didn’t tell anyone about his career. Instead, he spent his time pining over Enjolras in the back corner with his sketchbook. What would Enjolras say if he knew? Grantaire pushed the thought out of his head. Although he was happy with his income, he was ashamed, and most of all, afraid. Afraid of anyone finding out. Grantaire made a silent oath to have his face in frame as little as possible.
“What? No witty comments from you today, Grantaire?” Enjolras practically spat in his direction when they were wrapping up their meeting.
“Oh, you want my contribution, Apollo? I think the plan is absolutely brilliant, how will they ignore you this time? Stupendous, I am in awe.” Grantaire joked sarcastically, gesturing vividly and smiling fondly.
“Never mind,” Enjolras grunted, turning away from him and marching away. Grantaire sighed, watching him walk away longingly. Whatever, he thought, turning away as well and pushing the blonde out of his mind. Tonight he would go home and make another $300, or more, then he would be able to pay off his rent. Who needed Enjolras’ recognition? Not Grantaire, he could care less. He wasn’t going to let the leader in red soil his lucky streak.
For those of you who skipped the explicit part, basically Grantaire gets a job as a "cam-star" aka doing pervy stuff on a live stream for money. He consents 100% although he is sort of pressured by his situation to do it. Disclaimer: Everything about his job from salary to application is 100% fabricated, I have no idea how that stuff actually goes down and my fanfic version of it is probably very inaccurate. Anyway, thanks for reading, and I'll try to upload more regularly! Please leave reviews, I'm still trying to figure out what I plan to do with this!
Chapter 4: Familiar faces
Enjolras discovers something
Warning: mature content! Proceed with caution.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Enjolras honestly didn’t mean to stumble upon the porn site. He was just browsing upcoming rallies on a poorly organized website when the link popped up. Generally Enjolras didn’t condone pornography in the fear that the porn stars were in a tough spot and basically forced into the job. Despite this, Enjolras was human, and he found his gaze drifting back to the link. It was a website run mostly on donations and live podcasts, primarily for gay men, and far too appealing for Enjolras to pass up. He cautiously looked around, making sure no one was witnessing him click on the ad. Of course, he was in the safety of his own apartment, therefore it was ridiculous to look around, but he did it none the less.
Once the website loaded, Enjolras examined the homepages, noting the notifications of newly started streams. Enjolras found himself becoming hard just glancing over all the different photos, so he decided to join one of the livestreams as “guest479.” The person on his computer screen had their face out of the frame, and was slowly removing his shirt to reveal toned abs that made Enjolras gulp. He noticed other viewers were commenting filthy and encouraging words, to which he could hear the man on the other side of the screen chuckle. “Well thanks,” He said as he unbuttoned his pants, his voice sending shivers down Enjolras’ spine. He sounded familiar somehow, almost like he was impersonating some well-known movie-star or someone else Enjolras knew. He sat at his computer screen puzzled, trying to place the voice but losing focus once the man was nude.
Enjolras’ eyes bulged when the man grasped his dick and began pumping it slowly and letting out teasing moans. He felt his hand reach for his own cock hesitantly, eyes still glued to the screen. Enjolras palmed his groin and turned the volume up a little loader, relishing in the moans coming from the man on his computer screen. After a few minutes of playing with his dick, the man reached out of the frame and returned with a dildo. A massive, red, silicone dildo. Enjolras felt a blush run up his cheeks, his heart racing and his dick throbbing in anticipation.
And then his phone started ringing. Enjolras jumped in surprise, slamming his laptop screen down and frantically looking for the culprit. He grabbed his phone with a sigh, his erection already going down as he answered shakily: “Hello?”
“Hey Enjolras, this is Marius, I just wanted to clarify a few things for the upcoming rally,” The voice rambled on the other end of the phone, making him sigh as he pulled out his notes and answered the younger man’s questions.
Marius’ call took much longer than Enjolras would have preferred, and by the time he got back on his computer the stream was over.
Enjolras did his best to put the website behind him and forget about it. At the next meeting, he gave a speech on political corruption between wealthy corporations and the government, feeling very confident in both himself and the topic. He spoke well, however before he was even able to sit down Grantaire chimed in with some sarcastic joke. Enjolras cringed when he heard the voice—it always seemed to put him on edge. He shot Grantaire a glare and rolled his eyes when the rest of the group chuckled. Grantaire looked much better than usual. He had clean clothes, combed hair, and a freshly shaven face. Despite his nicer appearances, he still held a beer bottle in his hand and remained in the back corner of the room.
“Do you have something else you’d like to say, Grantaire? Maybe give a speech of your own?” Enjolras asked from across the room, gathering everyone’s attention.
“Who, me?” Grantaire asked, smiling nonchalantly. “Anything for you, Apollo.”
Enjolras rolled his eyes at the nickname and huffed, upset Grantaire was playing along with him. He just wanted to see the man shut up for once. Grantaire hobbled up to the front of the room, setting his bottle down and addressing the crowd informally. “Friends, today we are here to solve the world’s shit. Apollo, our stunning leader, says we can change stuff. Can we? Should we? I say nay, if the world is already so corrupt, shouldn’t it be impossible to implement change? Enjolras claims it can be done, so I’ll just sit back and let him do it. He can deal with the shit of the world, and I’ll enjoy what I can. Thank you for your time.” Grantaire did a mock bow and strutted off the stage, sending a wink in Enjolras’ direction.
“Thank you for your contribution, Grantaire, I’m sure that will help,” Enjolras spat, turning away and giving the spotlight to Marius. The rest of the meeting passed rather uneventfully, with only a few more cynical jokes from Grantaire. Enjolras lingered afterwards, wanting to talk to Grantaire, but the other man left before he could get to him. Instead, Enjolras found himself caught in a mini-debate between Courfeyrac and Combeferre about the practical use of GMO’s within corporate takeover and fighting world hunger.
Enjolras politely removed himself from the debate and rushed out the door, hoping to find Grantaire outside. Luckily, the man was within running distance. “Grantaire!” Enjolras called, chasing him down the street, “Can we talk?”
Grantaire turned, looking puzzled. “Um, what do you want?” He asked, looking defensive. Enjolras was panting by the time he reached him, doing his best to catch his breath. He really had to work out more.
“You. And the meetings. Could you please stop interrupting and joking around? I know you don’t believe in anything, Grantaire, but if you would please let us focus….”
Grantaire gazed up at the taller man, looking distraught. “You think I don’t believe in anything?” Grantaire asked, sounding a lot weaker and a lot smaller than the confident, cynical man he had been mere minutes earlier.
Enjolras shrugged. “I mean, you have absolutely no hope for the future. You don’t believe in anything we talk about in our meetings.” It was now Enjolras’ turn to be confused. Grantaire looked a bit scared, and even more insecure talking to Enjolras by himself.
“I-- never mind,” He mumbled awkwardly with a shrug of his shoulders and a weak grin. Enjolras frowned, trying to make sense of the other man. Before he could respond to Grantaire’s cryptic message, he was gone, jogging down the street and waving goodbye to Enjolras.
What was Grantaire going to say? Enjolras was a mess of emotions and confusion. Had he upset Grantaire? Enjolras shuffled back to the café, getting into his car and driving back to his apartment. Once he had arrived, he made grabbed a beer and sat back on the couch with his laptop on the coffee table.
Enjolras needed to relax. Ever since Grantaire had showed up, the meetings had been much more difficult to manage, and Enjolras hated to admit it, but he also had a lot more pent up sexual tension. An idea popped into his head as he sipped on the beer, and Enjolras pondered it over. The website he was on the other day could help steer away some of the tension and stress he had been feeling. It was only natural, Enjolras rationalized. Everyone did it once in a while. It could even be considered healthy to have a wank to porn every now and then. Honestly, who didn’t?
Enjolras finished off his beer and pulled up his history, looking for the other night and finding the website immediately. Totally normal, he told himself, ignoring any guilt while he browsed through the website. The same man from the night before happened to be streaming, so Enjolras joined as a guest again and visibly relaxed when the man came on the screen.
The man was already naked, fondling himself as his erection grew. Enjolras began continuing what he had been doing the night before, palming his groin and letting out satisfied whimpers. The man ran his hand up and down his dick, letting out moans that came across as low rumbles from the computer speakers. He ran his spare hand down his chest, running it over his nipples and abs. He responded to some of the comments, chuckling or telling them to be patient while he teased himself.
Sure enough, the dildo came back out, and even more comments started flooding in. Enjolras felt himself lean in towards the keyboard, typing two words and hitting send. “You’re gorgeous.” He heard the man chuckle, and was shocked when the man responded directly to his comments.
“Thank you, guest265, I’m glad to hear it.” The voice went straight to his dick, making Enjolras grow red in embarrassment. He unzipped his pants to that his dick had some room to breathe while the man slowly slid the dildo in himself. He let out a grunt, followed by a low moan. After a minute of adjustment, he began to fuck himself on the dildo, his moans becoming loader and dirtier.
“Mnn,” He grunted, leaking precome and letting out a satisfied groan. Enjolras had begun to touch his dick frantically, his breath catching in his throat while the man on the other side of the screen moved the dick in his ass faster and harder. Enjolras felt embarrassed when he felt himself begin to reach his climax, slowing his hand to put it off longer. The man mumbled something else, a name, but he didn’t catch it. He said it a minute later, this time clearer. “Apollo,” The man said with a moan, catching Enjolras by surprise. Enjolras came with a start, shock rippling through him when the man’s face slipped into the frame. Grantaire. He had just masturbated to Grantaire, Grantaire’s body, Grantaire’s voice. Enjolras stared at the screen still shell shocked as Grantaire reached his climax and orgasmed while whimpering his name. Enjolras felt guilty, dirty, and worryingly not disgusted by watching Grantaire in such an intimate position. He quickly closed the tab and cleared his history, panic and confusion jumbling in his head.
“Maybe I just confused him with Grantaire,” Enjolras mused, worry and doubt clouding his common sense. After all, he had said Apollo, and Enjolras didn’t think that was a very common nickname. Which brought in a new topic of concern. “Does Grantaire like me?” Enjolras pondered, face still flushed from his previous activity. “What am I supposed to do? How am I going to face him in next week’s meeting?” Enjolras worried, eyeing the closed laptop. Guilt consumed him with the knowledge that he had just gotten off to Grantaire. Did that make him a bad person? Was he a pervert? Then again, Grantaire had gotten off by thinking of him. Enjolras struggled to fall asleep, now more stressed and confused than when he started.
I meant to read through this before I posted it, so sorry if some parts don't make sense. Once I finish this story I'll read through all of the chapters and fix parts. Please leave feedback, thanks for reading!