Work Header

Warm Whispers

Work Text:

Snow is falling down around them, catching in Enjolras's hair and on his eyelashes, sparkling in the glow from the street lights in the moments before Grantaire's gloved hands push through his hair and sweep them all away.

Enjolras's mouth is hot on his, his fingers gripping tight through the bulk of Grantaire's coat and Grantaire can't recall how or why the kissing started, just that it's hard to remember how cold it is out with Enjolras warming him up like this.

Eventually they part, because Enjolras shifts his kisses to Grantaire's cheekbone and then draws back, gasping, "Christ, you're frozen."

It's well below freezing out, and Grantaire's cozy wool scarf has been pushed down to give Enjolras room for the kisses and it's true, he does feel rather like one big block of ice without Enjolras's mouth on his to keep him warm.

He doesn't want to stop. But he doesn't want to freeze, either, and the prospect of being able to shed all these cumbersome layers is a tempting one. He reels Enjolras in for another kiss, keeps it brief and says against his mouth, "Let's go home."

Enjolras nods ready agreement and then they're hurrying, gloved hands slipped together, boots sliding on the icy sidewalk as they cover the last few blocks to their apartment building.

Enjolras has the dexterity needed to work the keys so he lets them in, and Grantaire pulls him up the stairs to their door. They go tumbling inside, gripping each other tight and huffing out laughs between kisses as they work at each other's coats, scarves, hats, gloves, stripping off the layers that separate them.

The thermostat's still turned down low because they were going to be out all day, and it's not the sub-freezing temperatures of outside but it's cold enough that gooseflesh breaks out across Grantaire's arms as his sweater comes off.

He grabs onto the front of Enjolras's shirt with fingers that ache from the cold and pulls him into the bedroom. Enjolras follows where he leads, stumbling, reaching one hand out to keep them from crashing into walls or doors until they're inside. He kicks the door closed and Grantaire pulls away, putting two steps between them and maintaining the distance as he pulls his undershirt off over his head. Enjolras likes to undress him, but he likes to take his time about it, and Grantaire's likely to turn into an icicle before he's done. The nip in the air means his undressing is hurried and perfunctory, no tease, just clothes stripped off as fast as he's able so he can crawl under the blankets on their bed and try to warm up.

He's shivering when Enjolras slides in beside him, but trying to fight it. Enjolras's fingers and toes are frigid and he presses them against Grantaire's skin because he's an asshole. Grantaire's yelp makes him stifle a laugh against Grantaire's shoulder. Grantaire rolls him under and retaliates with teeth closed tight around Enjolras's nipple.

Enjolras's laughter slides down an octave to a broken groan. His hands clench on Grantaire's shoulder, and in terms of getting Enjolras to take his icy hands off of him, this was maybe not the most thought-out plan ever. But with Enjolras's skin against his lips and his hungry noises sliding down Grantaire's spine like a caress, he's caring less and less by the minute.

He warms quickly with the two of them beneath the blankets, sharing body heat. His fingers stop aching and his hands regain their dexterity, making it easier for him to slide a touch down Enjolras's stomach and take him in hand. Enjolras tenses at the first clasp of Grantaire's fingers around his cock. His breath comes out on a rush and he presses his face against Grantaire's chest with a shudder.

Grantaire holds himself up on an elbow so he can watch Enjolras's face as he strokes him. With the blankets draped over his shoulders, it allows some of the air outside in, but with the heat already building between them, it's more of a passing discomfort than something that will send them shivering and huddling against one another in desperation.

Grantaire only jerks him off for a moment, until he's hardened completely and Grantaire has had a moment to judge the level of his control, the way his hips twist up off the bed into Grantaire's fist and his legs move restlessly, heels digging in, trying for leverage.

He's squirming more than usual tonight. Grantaire's going to have to hold him down, but that thought just makes him grin. He leaves Enjolras with a kiss on his panting mouth and slides down beneath the covers, where it's dark and warm and it smells of laundry soap and sweat.

There's too many blankets piled on the bed for any light to be able to make its way through them, so Grantaire takes the opportunity to kiss down his body, making his way by feel until he's nuzzling against Enjolras's cock and Enjolras's sharp, needy gasps are muffled by the covers. He spears his hands down underneath them, batting the sheet out of the way until he has his fingers buried in Grantaire's hair, twisted tight and urging him forward.

Grantaire laughs quietly. Enjolras won't hear it, not all the way up there, but he can certainly feel the warm gust of Grantaire's breath against his skin, and it makes his hands tighten, makes him tug as he lifts his hips off the bed in wordless plea.

It's no secret that Grantaire likes it when Enjolras is demanding -- they'd be poorly suited for one another if he didn't -- but he likes it even better like this, when he's desperate enough to ask for what he wants.

He braces Enjolras's hips against the mattress so he won't choke him and swallows him down, working his throat open to take all of him while Enjolras makes sounds like he's dying and alternates between wrenching at Grantaire's hair and soothing fingertips across his scalp like he's apologizing for the sting.

Grantaire hums around him, because he likes it when Enjolras falls apart beneath him, then pulls off of him when Enjolras hooks an arm around his back and pulls at him. He climbs up the bed slowly, leaving kisses on the skin that passes beneath his lips, and hisses when he sticks his head out from under the blankets and the cold hits him, an unwelcome contrast to the close heat they're building between themselves under the covers.

"Fuck me," Enjolras says, snaking one arm out to reach blindly for their bedside table, and the drawer where they keep their lube, and Grantaire is never going to be the sort of person who can deny him when he asks like that, voice shaky and wrecked, eyes black as the night sky with only the faintest ring of color around the pupils.

Grantaire takes the bottle and squirts the lube into his hand, grimaces when it sits like a little puddle of ice in his palm. Enjolras growls his protest when Grantaire stops to rub the lube between his hands, until Grantaire has to swing a leg over his and sit on him to keep him pinned. "It's freezing. You won't thank me if I start putting my hands all over you without warming it up first."

Enjolras glares, back to being demanding. So Grantaire climbs off of him, nudges his knees apart enough for Grantaire to crouch between them, and grazes two of his slick fingers across Enjolras's entrance.

The lube's warmed up enough by now that it's no longer frigid, but it still makes Enjolras flinch, and Grantaire can feel his muscle clench against Grantaire's fingertips. But Enjolras keeps his legs spread and his hips canted up, eager, so Grantaire figures it must not be cold enough to bother him and starts working him open on his fingers.

He's not patient, not when Enjolras is burning beneath his hands and the air between them is so cold. Enjolras doesn't seem to mind, he whimpers and groans and gasps, grabs onto Grantaire's hand to pull him in deeper when he's decided Grantaire isn't going fast enough. And when he's taken three of Grantaire's fingers, quicker than he usually has because usually they have time for patience and enjoying the moment, Enjolras pushes Grantaire's hand away from him and grabs on hard to his waist, pulling him in. He hooks his legs around Grantaire's hips and knocks the blankets askew, spilling off Grantaire's shoulders. The skin down Grantaire's back prickles in the cold, but Grantaire hardly spares it a thought because Enjolras is splayed out before him, naked and flushed and staring up at him with his expression twisted into an indignant demand.

"Ask me," Grantaire says, grinning down at him. Maybe he's a little bit of an asshole, too, but that's just proof that they're well matched.

Enjolras throws an arm over his face with a groan that already sounds like defeat. "You're impossible."

Grantaire lines the head of his cock up against Enjolras's hole and shifts his weight forward, enough to stretch him open but not to claim him completely. "Ask me."

"Christ." The word bursts out of Enjolras like an explosion. "Please. Fuck me, Grantaire, for God's sake."

That's verging awfully close to a demand, but there's sweat sliding down Grantaire's spine despite the chill and he wants badly enough that he decides to allow it. He leans in, hands bracing in the mattress on either side of Enjolras's shoulders, and watches his face closely as he pushes in, one solid stroke that ends with him buried and Enjolras's head thrown back, his neck a tempting target for the bite of Grantaire's teeth.

The blankets are just getting in the way now. Grantaire pushes them down and takes advantage of the opportunity to take Enjolras in, the long, solid lines of him, the muscles that shudder beneath his skin when Grantaire withdraws only to slide in deep again. Enjolras groans and digs his nails in at the nape of Grantaire's neck, demanding more. Grantaire obeys as best as he's able, setting a driving pace that stokes the fires between them and keeps the cold well at bay.

He comes first, though he tries to hold it off long enough to get Enjolras off. It sweeps over him like a storm, leaves him shaken and spent, his mouth pressed open and panting to Enjolras's shoulder. And Enjolras is still hard against Grantaire's stomach but uncomplaining, seemingly content to loop his arm over Grantaire's back and hold him while he tries to remember how to make his limbs work.

He rouses himself enough to pull a hand down Enjolras's stomach and take hold of his cock, but he must be too replete to set a satisfying pace, because he only manages two strokes before Enjolras covers Grantaire's hand with his own and changes the tempo.

He comes with a sharp grin spread across his face, a look of such satisfaction that Grantaire has no choice but to kiss it off of him, so that he can share in it. The sweat is starting to cool on his skin and it leaves him chilled, so he pulls the blankets up from where they've started to spill onto the floor, wraps them over his shoulders and then wraps himself around Enjolras.

"Warm?" he asks drowsily, and hopes he must be, because Grantaire feels warm and content all the way down to his toes.

"I'm perfect," Enjolras answers, and wraps his arms and legs around him so Grantaire couldn't move if he tried.