Grantaire can hardly believe it when Enjolras stammers out an excuse and goes into the bedroom. He’s in there for a long time, but Grantaire doesn’t get up to check on him. Let Enjolras decide what he’s comfortable with – Grantaire’s got a book to keep him busy, though he’s got no illusions about reading any of it. He’s been reading plenty of other things this week, after their continued use of the gag Enjolras has grown so attached to.
He likes it much more than Grantaire had initially realised, and after the website he bought it from sent him a follow-up email containing lots of other restraining items, Grantaire was more than a little intrigued.
So he’s been looking at those items online, and reading Wikipedia articles about bondage and domination, and thinking about Enjolras. Enjolras, who lashes out until Grantaire retaliates, and clearly revels in it when he does. Enjolras snaps when Grantaire manhandles him, but never pushes back. As soon as the gag is in his mouth a layer of pride slips away and he lets himself make those incredible noises, manoeuvres himself to be in submissive positions at the last second, and seems so reluctant afterwards to return to normality.
Grantaire’s been having more and more ideas about making it more normal. The underwear is his first attempt, and so far, so good.
Enjolras sidles back into the room, flushed. It deepens when he meets Grantaire’s eyes for a second and sees Grantaire’s satisfied smile, and he quickly busies himself with cleaning. Grantaire keeps his book open in his hands, but his eyes never leave Enjolras.
It’s quiet, so he can hear every sound Enjolras makes. When his shirt shifts across his back, Grantaire can see the tell-tale line of the bra strap underneath, and he presses the spine of his book into his crotch to stop himself getting any ideas.
Enjolras is really wearing it. He crouches to wipe along the skirting board, and Grantaire can see a wince of discomfort as well as the edges of the panties peeking above his jeans. They must be tight, maybe a little uncomfortable. Grantaire hadn’t really lingered over buying them, a little embarrassed to be buying them at all. Perhaps he should’ve gotten a larger size, but…he imagines the fabric stretched tight over Enjolras’ skin and can’t bring himself to regret a thing. Enjolras certainly isn’t complaining.
There’s a part of Grantaire that insists he should get up and offer to help instead of sitting here like a lazy shit, just watching. But Enjolras said he didn’t want Grantaire’s help when he first brought this up, and there’s something about the power play here that definitely has Enjolras on edge. What would he do if Grantaire asked him (ordered him?) to bring him a drink? Either spit in his face or blush and obey, but Grantaire’s not quite familiar enough with this to be sure which, so he keeps his silence the way Enjolras is keeping his.
Enjolras works his way around the room, and there’s a moment when he’s wiping down the coffee table right in front of Grantaire, kneeling on the floor with his head bowed. He’s close enough to touch, and Grantaire has to tighten his grip on the book to resist the impulse to tug that ridiculous headscarf off Enjolras’ head and pull him between his legs. Would Enjolras like that? He likes being pushed around, but that might be too much.
Enjolras glances up at him when he’s done and Grantaire makes a point of smirking, dragging his gaze from Enjolras’ knees to his eyes, and by the time he gets to the top, Enjolras is holding his breath, cheeks pink. Grantaire grins, and Enjolras swallows and gets up, turning away.
Grantaire leans forward to keep as much an eye on him as he can when he moves into the kitchen, not wanting to leave Enjolras unobserved for a single moment. He adjusts himself when he thinks Grantaire can’t see, and Grantaire huffs out a quiet breath, surprised at how hot it is. Even here, where he thinks Grantaire’s out of the way, Enjolras is jittery. He closes his eyes a couple of times, shivers once, and that blush never really fades. The lingerie is a constant presence, clearly, but not an unwelcome one if the way Enjolras bites his lip is any indication.
He slows to a stop in his cleaning for a good twenty seconds, hands shaking, and Grantaire starts to whistle, bringing him back to the surface. It’s not enough, he realises a minute later when Enjolras is cleaning the fridge. He gets up to go and look and observes Enjolras’ jerky movements, the way he shifts and pulls at his jeans. Grantaire waits until he’s almost done, then comes up behind him and presses their bodies together. Enjolras goes stiff against him, and Grantaire keeps him there with an arm around his waist, drinking some juice because his throat is dry, and there’s an insistent heat between his legs that demands attention.
He needs to find out somehow if Enjolras wants more. Tease him to make Enjolras snap back, what he wants hidden under the harsh tone. The way they first did it with the gag, when he told Enjolras he needed shutting up and Enjolras had dared him to do so.
He presses juice-chilled lips to Enjolras’ neck while he thinks, and grins when Enjolras arches back against him, sliding a hand between his thighs and laughing when he feels the bulge there. Enjolras is definitely into this, and Grantaire gives him an opening, smirking, “Fidgety,” into his ear.
Enjolras’ breathing shakes, but his voice is steady when he replies. “Keep me still then.”
“A challenge,” Grantaire grins, inordinately pleased. He squeezes Enjolras’ waist and bites his shoulder, finding the bra strap and laughing again. “How shall I do it? Shall we go to bed?” He pauses to give Enjolras time to object, and bites his shoulder when he doesn’t. “Let’s leave the cleaning for later then. Come on.” He leads Enjolras from the kitchen, and stretches out to grab his backpack as they pass the sofa.
“Let’s,” Enjolras snorts, derision at odds with the eager way he goes with Grantaire. “As if you’ve been helping.”
“You told me to stay well away, remember?” Grantaire pulls him round to face him and gives him a deep, bruising kiss. As soon as Enjolras’ hands go to his sides, Grantaire grabs his wrists and shoves him back, pushes until Enjolras is sitting on the bed. “I’ve got an idea,” Grantaire tells him, and Enjolras rolls his eyes.
“Save me from your ideas.”
“You’re wearing the last one,” Grantaire points out, smug, and sniggers when Enjolras opens his mouth and gives no reply, blushing again. Grantaire grabs his back and pulls out his second purchase, chosen from the items in the follow-up email. A bundle of red cotton rope, twenty-five feet long. He holds it up and smirks, pretending to be unconcerned. “How about this idea?”
Enjolras’ jaw drops further, eyes wide. Grantaire thought he’d stared hard at the panties when he’d pulled them out, but Enjolras isn’t even breathing right now. He unravels a bit of the rope and runs it through his hands. “It’s pretty soft,” he says, conversational. “And I won’t lie, I did pick this out because of the colour. But if you think I should be keeping you still, well.” He smirks, and Enjolras closes his mouth with a click, swallows, and gives a tiny nod.
Grantaire raises his eyebrows and comes over, standing between Enjolras legs and letting the rope dangle between their chests. “You sure? I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” The key is to keep his tone light and teasing. Too serious, and he’ll scare Enjolras off. His tactics pay off. Enjolras rolls his eyes and curls his lip.
“You won’t hurt me.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Grantaire agrees, and pokes Enjolras’ chest. “Shuffle up then.”
Enjolras scoots obediently up the bed, eyes wide and dark when Grantaire follows and lets the rope fall onto the duvet so he can pull his shirt off. He ducks down to kiss Enjolras before reaching for the hem of his, and Enjolras lets himself be stripped of it with no objections. When he leans back and remembers what he’s wearing underneath though, his arms move to cover his stomach, not quite rising to cover his chest where the bra is. Grantaire laughs and taps his wrist.
“Trying to cover yourself up, darling? How modest.”
Enjolras scowls, cheeks burning, and Grantaire pushes him back to lie down before he can say anything, taking his hands and placing them above his head. “Reckon you can keep your sarcasm out of the bed for five minutes?” he grins, squinting as he starts to wind the rope around Enjolras’ wrists. He’s watched a few tutorials and practiced on his ankles, and he’s determined not to fuck this up.
“Sarcastic? Me?” Enjolras clears his throat, shifting against the bed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you don’t. You’re not sarcastic at all, and definitely not into getting tied to your own bed.”
“I…shut up.” Enjolras’ throat works, the blush spreading down his neck and chest. Grantaire can’t wait to play with him, peel back those layers of dignity and restraint, but he forces himself to take his time on the rope, counting the number of times he winds it around and slipping his fingers underneath to check the tightness. Enjolras flexes his fingers and takes a breath, trying to regain his composure. “It doesn’t feel very tight,” he mutters.
Grantaire grins and keeps going. “Oh, you want it tighter? You really do want to be pinned down, don’t you? So demanding, I should’ve known you’d be greedy about this as well.”
Enjolras’ hips lift off the bed a little, and Grantaire laughs when he turns his face away, bright red now. When he’s sure Enjolras’ wrists are secure, Grantaire flicks his shoulder. “Too loose for you? Give it a try.”
Enjolras twists his arms obligingly, settling with his wrists crossed, elbows sticking out. It’s a gorgeous look, and Grantaire slides the end of the rope under the top bar of Enjolras’ bedstead and yanks, pulling Enjolras’ wrists up and making his whole body tense, a gasp escaping before he can stop it. There’s enough rope left over to dangle over the side of the bed when Grantaire’s tied it in place, in nice easy reach for when they’re done.
Enjolras’ breathing is shallow and quick as Grantaire slides down his body and undoes his jeans, rubbing his fingertips against the edges of the panties as they appear. Enjolras tilts his head back and avoids looking as Grantaire hums his appreciation, and tuts when he pulls Enjolras’ jeans down to get a proper look. “You’re poking out, look.”
“Not my fault they’re so small,” Enjolras bites out. Grantaire laughs and pulls his jeans off completely, taking his own off as well but leaving his boxers on.
He snaps the elastic of them and grins down at Enjolras, straddling his knees. “I’d almost say we’re equal now…except of course I’m not tied to a bed and wearing lingerie.”
Enjolras’ breath leaves him in a rush, a conflicted expression flitting across his face for a moment before Grantaire squeezes his dick through the panties. That makes him squeeze his eyes shut, gasping when he speaks. “You’re the one who bought them.”
“I’m not the one wearing them. Do they feel good, Enjolras?” Grantaire squeezes him again, the head poking above the elastic, balls not quite fitting under the fabric. Enjolras shakes his head, but doesn’t answer. “I bet they do. Why else would you have put them on and kept them on?” Grantaire rubs his thumb over the head of Enjolras’ cock, loving the way it makes his chest jump. “How did it feel, walking around with these under your clothes?”
“Fuck off,” Enjolras snaps, and bites down hard on his lip when Grantaire smooths both his hands up to the bra. He looks desperate, and the way he keeps trying to hold it back and hide it is both a tragedy and a turn on.
“Now why would I do that?” Grantaire covers the bra cups with his hands and twists, rubbing the material against Enjolras’ skin. “I’m rather enjoying myself. And I think you are too.” He sits down and grinds against Enjolras, laughing when Enjolras thrusts up against him. “See? You’re so into this. Just look at you.” He leans back to admire the view, and Enjolras turns his face against his upper arm, eyes closed.
The urge to call him names pushes at Grantaire’s tongue, but that could kill the mood. He has no idea how Enjolras would react to being called a slut or a whore, being verbally abused. Until he knows, it’s safer to keep it off the table. So he reaches forward and grabs Enjolras’ chin instead. “Look at me.”
Enjolras does, fingers clutching at each other as he fixes wild, frantic eyes on Grantaire. He moans when Grantaire kisses him, tangling a hand in his hair and holding his head up, twisting viciously. “Just look at you,” Grantaire breathes against his lips, and sits back to snap one of the bra straps. Enjolras gasps as it hits his shoulder, and Grantaire doesn’t give him a chance to think before he’s pinching and playing with his nipples, rubbing the lace of the bra down hard against them, rolling them between his fingers, soothing them with gentle circles and flicking them at random moments.
Enjolras’ nipples are sensitive, and like this with the added humiliation of the bra and the sensation of the lace against them, he’s being driven wilder than normal, bucking his hips and gasping helplessly. Without the gag he’s still not letting himself go properly, but Grantaire won’t risk gagging him while he’s tied up as well. And it’s still fun to play with him like this.
“You’re such a prick,” Enjolras breathes, arching his back and kicking his legs. Grantaire pinches one of his nipples as punishment, harder than usual, and Enjolras lets out a thin moan.
“Looks like you’re enjoying it though,” Grantaire teases. “Look at you, Enjolras. All strung out – and all strung up, come to that.” He slows down, traces gentle circles around Enjolras’ nipples until he’s breathing a little easier. “How does the bra feel? Does it scratch? It feels soft enough, but maybe after all this –” He twists a nipple, and Enjolras throws his head back. “– it gets sore. I wouldn’t know.”
“Why don’t you wear it and find out?” Enjolras manages to say. Grantaire laughs and bends down to suck, lace clinging to the nub of flesh his lips find. Enjolras lets out a shaky breath.
“I wouldn’t want to deprive you,” Grantaire murmurs, and bites. Enjolras groans, ragged and desperate, muscles tensing as he twists and flexes.
“You’re such…fuck, God…”
Grantaire tuts and pinches his other nipple, pinches and pinches as tight as he can until Enjolras finally starts to whine, spine completely off the bed as he presses into it. “Needy,” Grantaire taunts, licking at the one under his mouth. “You like this, Enjolras? Spread out like a toy for me to play with?”
Enjolras cries out, thrashing as much as he can and thrusting up against Grantaire wildly. “Fuck, you bastard, you…oh, oh, oh fuck, come on, Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you, why can’t you just get on with it? Grantaire, you…ahhhhh…” He trails off into a frustrated whine as Grantaire fixes his teeth around his nipple and sucks hard, still pinching the other so hard it must be a point of white hot pain by now. But Enjolras doesn’t pull away, just kicks and curses and begs with his body for more.
Grantaire is happy to oblige. He pulls off with a pop and lets go of the other with a final twist that makes Enjolras’ hips jerk. “Aren’t you a pretty sight,” he croons, loving the way it makes Enjolras’ heart beat faster under his hand.
“I’m not,” Enjolras starts, and Grantaire slaps his thigh. Enjolras’ whole body jumps, his eyes flying wide. Too much? Grantaire worries for a second, and rubs the spot he hit with a warm palm.
“Aren’t you?” he says, striving for casual. No more slapping, he decides, not till he’s sure Enjolras would like it. “You look it to me. All dressed up in those frilly knickers and this tiny thing.” He runs a finger under the strap of the bra, and Enjolras shivers, twisting away.
“Asshole, quit the small talk and get on with it.”
Ticklish, Grantaire remembers, and scratches down Enjolras’ ribs instead. It’s one of the reasons Enjolras prefers harder touches, he’s figured out: light ones will only make him squirm, and Enjolras hates being tickled. His nails are better received, Enjolras pressing into it instead of pulling away, and Grantaire smiles.
“You love me talking. Every time I remind you of what you look like you get hotter for it.”
“I do not.” Enjolras scowls, and Grantaire leans down to bite his neck, spends a minute sucking a couple of marks just below his collarbone. As he does, he slips a hand down between them and squeezes Enjolras’ dick, slides it lower and cups his balls. Enjolras moans, clearly trying to hold it back. Grantaire rewards him by reapplying his mouth to his nipples, sliding his hand lower to press against Enjolras’ entrance, pushing the panties aside.
“Lube,” Enjolras says, choked. “In the –”
“I know where it is, Enjolras.” Grantaire grins and sits up again, reaching over to Enjolras’ bedside table. “I just like hearing you ask.”
“No? My mistake.” He sits back and gets up to take the panties off. Enjolras growls when he lingers, digging his nails into his hips and bending down to mouth at his dick through the material.
“For fuck’s sake, Grantaire, would…ah, would you hurry up?”
“Don’t you like this?” Grantaire licks the head of Enjolras’ cock and grins when he twists on the bed. Firm hands on each of his thighs put a stop to that, and Grantaire takes the very end into his mouth and sucks, swirling his tongue and humming in appreciation when it makes Enjolras swear.
“You fucking…fuck, Christ, Grantaire, you infuriating – fuck!” Grantaire flicks his tongue over the frenulum over and over. He’s sucked Enjolras’ cock enough times to know what will really make him desperate, and this is probably the best tease he’s found. Above him, Enjolras is silent apart from his shaky breathing, and when he groans it’s as defeated as it is desperate. “Grantaire!” A good octave high than usual, it’s music to Grantaire’s ears. His thighs are trembling under Grantaire’s hands, hair pulled mostly out of its bun and spread in tangles across the duvet.
He’s too clean still, Grantaire decides, and moves up to suck hickeys up Enjolras’ stomach to his chest. It’s difficult on the softer parts, but Enjolras’ moans and breathy gasps are an excellent reward, as are his increasingly frantic demands and insults. When he gets to Enjolras’ ribs, Grantaire starts playing with his nipples again.
He’s never slept with someone with such sensitive, pain-tolerant nipples. Grantaire’s two exes and various flings have either been completely uninterested or willing to put up with a pinch or two before swatting the offending hands away. But Enjolras loves it. Oh, he’ll curse Grantaire out like a sailor while it’s happening, but he arches into it and moans all the same.
It’s easy to get carried away when he’s responsive like this. Even though he’s not gagged, he’s starting to make those obscene noises now. Grunts and whines and needy gasps, sweat shining on his forehead and on his neck. Grantaire resists the urge to take the bra off or push the fabric out of the way, soaking the material with his spit as he licks and sucks and teases with his lips, twisting one nipple cruelly while being unbearably gentle with the other.
“I should get you nipple clamps next,” he breathes, thrusting steadily against Enjolras’ thigh. He almost wishes he’d kept his jeans on – that sort of friction against the lace panties would be awful, so Enjolras would probably love it. “Maybe we could improvise with clothes pegs or something.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” Enjolras’ voice trembles.
“You’re right, they’re nowhere near tight enough for you.” He closes his teeth on the nipple he’s been licking, so, so gently. Enjolras cries out in frustration, bucking up against him.
“Grantaire! Come on, fuck, for God’s sake…” He trails off into another wordless moan. He’d rather make noise than ask for more. Grantaire laughs and kisses his nipple instead, a perverse sort of punishment. “Bastard,” Enjolras chokes.
“That’s me.” Grantaire sits back and smooths his hand down Enjolras’ dick, stroking a finger against his entrance with the lace in the way. Enjolras writhes, eyes screwed shut, and Grantaire grabs a spare pillow to shove under his hips.
“Christ, finally,” Enjolras huffs, pulling his knees up and giving him an expectant glare.
Grantaire grins and shakes his head, and that’s the only warning Enjolras gets before Grantaire gets a bruising grip on his thighs, shoving them wide apart as he gets down to suck a mark there. Enjolras cries out, furious, and Grantaire chuckles as he kisses and bites everywhere but where Enjolras wants, waiting until he’s made eight dark red bruises and Enjolras chest is heaving before applying his tongue to Enjolras’ entrance.
He has to tighten his hold on Enjolras’ thighs to stop himself getting clamped in place, but for the noises Enjolras is making it’s entirely worth it. He’s never rimmed anyone before, and with the panties in the way he’s not even sure if it counts, but he puts it on the list of things to repeat because Enjolras can barely catch his breath. He’s practically wailing, hips twitching as he tries to keep himself still.
“Fuck, Grantaire, Grantaire, come on, if you’re going to do this – oh – ah, at least…at least do it properly!”
Grantaire very carefully works some of the material into his mouth and tugs. “Take these off, you mean?” he mumbles around it.
“Yes! God, you know what I mean!”
“Whine, whine, whine,” Grantaire mocks, drawing back and scratching deep lines up the insides of Enjolras’ thighs. It makes him shiver and spread them further, and Grantaire snorts. “Putting yourself on display for me, are you?” When Enjolras flushes and makes to close them again, Grantaire holds them in place. “No no no, I like the view. You’re leaking all over yourself, making such a pretty mess.”
Enjolras’ cock twitches even as his chin trembles, his breathing high and uneven. It stutters when Grantaire hooks his fingers over the elastic of the panties and nudges Enjolras’ thighs back up so he can finally draw them off, dangling them like a prize when they’re free.
“You can keep the bra on,” he decides, twirling the panties round his finger like a showman. “It suits you.” Enjolras turns his face away, mortified, and Grantaire reaches for the lube while he’s not looking, hurrying to slick up a finger so when he presses in with no warning, it’ll be a surprise.
Enjolras rewards him with a loud cry, eyes flying open and fixing on the ceiling, so tight around Grantaire’s finger he almost pushes him out. “I should fix a mirror up there,” Grantaire remarks, starting to pump in and out, giving Enjolras time to relax around him. “Then you could see what you look like right now. I guess you can see a bit, but the view’s even better from my end, trust me.” Enjolras whimpers, thrusting to meet Grantaire’s finger, and he pauses to work in a second. “I could film it, I suppose,” he muses. That notion gets a high-pitched noise in response, and he laughs. “Oh, you like that idea? You could be a star, Enjolras. A real movie star, spread out like this.” He twists his fingers, bends them, and presses over and over.
Enjolras practically howls, a long, “Ahhhhhhhh, ahhhh –” that he fails to stifle against his arm or the bed. He can’t twist enough, can’t get his face pressed against anything to hide how red and desperate he is, mouth open even when he’s run out of air to moan. Grantaire’s cock throbs, sorely neglected, and he’s so glad he thought to jerk off before he came here, because otherwise he’d be in real trouble. As it is, he takes deep breaths and squeezes the base of his cock, trying to get himself focused even as he relentlessly pushes Enjolras further over the edge.
He’d move up to three fingers but two is better for the fast thrusts he’s making against Enjolras’ prostate, and Enjolras is being so loud. With the gag in he can’t reach this volume unless he screams, and Grantaire drinks up the sounds he makes, the keening, almost-yelling he’s too far gone to care about keeping in, mixed in with his frantic cursing.
“You’re stunning,” Grantaire has to tell him, and Enjolras snarls, thrusting against the air, wrists twisting against the ropes.
“I don’t care, fuck, you bastard, just fuck me already!”
Grantaire slows down instead, and Enjolras lets out the most frustrated noise ever, almost a shout of rage. It trails off into a broken gasp as Grantaire stops thrusting his fingers and scissors them instead, stretching him. And then he gets a foot on the ground and reaches for Enjolras’ bedside drawer, still open. And yes, there it is.
Grantaire holds up the plug with a smug grin. It’s about four inches long, two inches thick in the middle, a pretty pale lilac in colour. “Did you think I wouldn’t find this? You should’ve brought it out before, Enjolras, we could’ve used it.” Enjolras’ eyes are so wide, pupils huge and dark. His throat works, but he doesn’t speak, and Grantaire raises his eyebrows. “Have you even used it before?” Enjolras bites his lip, lets it go, and gives the smallest nod, looking down when Grantaire smirks. It might be demure, if he didn’t look so debauched.
Grantaire sits between Enjolras’ legs and pushes the plug in slowly, one hand firm on Enjolras’ stomach. “Breathe,” he orders, and thrills when Enjolras attempts to obey, his breathing getting more even, if just as shallow. His stomach trembles, his mouth open as Grantaire keeps pushing, pushing, until the plug is completely inside him, the lilac base surprisingly beautiful against his skin. Grantaire taps it and smiles. “It looks good in you.”
Enjolras doesn’t respond, all words and sound apparently punched out of him. Grantaire taps the plug again and laughs. “If I knew I could gag you this way as well, I would’ve done it before.”
Enjolras lets out a long, shaky breath, blinking rapidly, and Grantaire takes the opportunity to kneel up and slick up his fingers again, this time fingering himself open. He’s quick, avoiding his prostate and concentrating hard on not coming. He straddles Enjolras as soon as he thinks he’s ready, and Enjolras gasps when Grantaire strokes lube over his dick, making sure there’s a lot of it. He’s prefers slippery over rough, and when he sinks down onto Enjolras it’s smooth and easy, and Enjolras lets out an incredible guttural moan, fingers white and red where he’s twisted them together.
He’s so, so beautiful. Grantaire has to close his eyes for a second and catch his breath, squeezing the base of his dick again because Enjolras has never looked so hot, and Grantaire wants nothing more than to ride him till he comes.
But Enjolras comes first, literally in this case, so when Grantaire starts to move up and down, he keeps it torturously slow, and after a few thrusts he adjusts to put all his weight on his legs so he can reach forward and flick one of Enjolras’ nipples, making him let out a sharp, high, “Ah!” in response. It’s the catalyst, it seems, and Enjolras starts to fuck upwards until Grantaire shoves him down with a hand on one of his hips and digs his nails in as a warning. “I don’t think so, sweetheart.”
“Asshole,” Enjolras whispers, voice cracking, but he doesn’t resist when Grantaire starts to move again, one hand on Enjolras’ hip, the other dancing across his chest. His nipples must be sore by now, but he presses up into it whenever Grantaire hurts them, pinching and pulling and twisting with no restraint at all. Grantaire lifts himself up so only Enjolras’ head is still inside him, and doesn’t slide down further than halfway, teasing until Enjolras is shaking like a leaf, tossing his head from side to side and making these incredible sobbing sounds.
“You want to come?” Grantaire’s voice isn’t as composed as he’d like – Enjolras isn’t the only one desperate for orgasm right now – but it’s steady enough. Enjolras nods, whimpering, and Grantaire rewards him with a full thrust down that makes him yell, writhing as much as he can. Grantaire waits till he’s settled again before sliding the hand on his hip back and pushing the base of the plug. Enjolras moans and tries thrusting up into Grantaire again. It sends sparks up Grantaire’s spine, so good he gasps and almost loses it then, throwing the plan to the wind and letting Enjolras fuck him till they both get release.
But he has a goal here, so he shoves Enjolras down again and starts being gentle with his nipples, rolling one between his finger and thumb carefully as he tuts. “Not like that, Enjolras.”
“But I want,” Enjolras chokes, desperate, and really Grantaire couldn’t have scripted a better opener.
He leans forward and smirks, waiting until Enjolras’ frenzied eyes meet his. “I want doesn’t get, Enjolras. I want you to ask.”
“What?” Enjolras’ voice is much higher than usual, small and thin, and he looks like Grantaire’s just told him his puppy died. But Grantaire has a goal, so he sits back and starts to tease Enjolras again, never sinking down his cock further than halfway, keeping a steady rhythm that will have his thighs aching for days.
“If you want to come, you have to ask.” He really hopes Enjolras will ask. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up.
Unless he lets himself come and keeps teasing Enjolras. That could work. It would be a deviation from the plan, but it’ll serve as a backup if necessary.
With that in mind he rubs the nipple he’s playing with harder, not quite pinching. It’s this hint at pain that makes Enjolras start crying out again, twisting his legs and trying to buck up. Grantaire has to lean all his weight on the hand keeping Enjolras’ hips on the bed, and he fights the urge to slap him to make him stop. Slapping for later, he reminds himself, if Enjolras is into it. For now, this is like a game, seeing how much he can push Enjolras without breaking the unspoken limits they’ve got in place.
Enjolras’ chest shakes, his whole body in movement, and Grantaire sucks in a sharp breath when he sees the wetness around Enjolras’ eyes and realises that the sobbing noises have become actual sobs now. “Enjolras?” He sinks down (Enjolras gasps) and leans forward touching his cheek. “Enjolras, are you okay?”
Enjolras is crying, really crying, and Grantaire starts to move to get off him and call everything off, fear and horror twisting in his gut when Enjolras nods.
Grantaire pauses. “Are you sure?”
“I want,” Enjolras’ chin wobbles, his breathing coming in little shaky pants. “Keep going, Grantaire, I want…”
“You want to come?” Grantaire leans back and lifts himself up again, breathing a sigh of relief when Enjolras nods frantically. Well the scare’s taken the edge off his arousal, that’s for sure. “You know what you need to do if you want to come, don’t you?” He fucks Enjolras hard for a few brutal seconds, then stops completely, fully seated. Enjolras cries out, trying to move but unable to thrust with Grantaire’s weight pinning him down.
“Grantaire…” He weeps and shudders when Grantaire bends down to suck and bite at his nipple, a free hand reaching back to press insistently at the base of the plug. “Fuck, Grantaire, I need…please, please let me come, please!”
Heat pulses through Grantaire’s whole body, and he barely manages to hold back a groan at how good it feels. He keeps his cool though, presses a kiss to Enjolras’ chest. “What was that?”
“Please!” Enjolras cries loudly, shaking. “Fuck, please, Grantaire, please, please…”
“Good boy.” Grantaire sits up and starts to ride him, really going for it and letting Enjolras have free reign too. He scratches down Enjolras’ chest, nails catching his abused nipples and Enjolras yowls, tears streaking his flushed face as he gives a couple more thrusts and then tenses, high sobs bursting from his throat as he comes. Grantaire starts to jerk himself off at last, and he follows Enjolras over just a few seconds later. Timed like that, it sends aftershocks ripping through Enjolras’ body, and he whimpers as Grantaire curls forward and takes a few moments to breathe, every nerve in his body singing.
He barely needed his own hand, he realises giddily. He’d almost come untouched just from the stimulation of watching Enjolras unravel. “Fuck,” he breathes against Enjolras’ sternum. Enjolras doesn’t respond. When Grantaire pushes himself up to check, he’s stopped crying and hit the ugly hiccupping stage, though clearly one nudge could send him right back over in a heartbeat.
Grantaire’s thighs protest loudly as he gets up and grabs the tissues and wet-wipes from Enjolras’ drawer, cleaning up the mess he’s made on Enjolras’ stomach first. There’s a bit of come on the bra as well, but Grantaire leaves that for moment and cleans himself up before sitting between Enjolras’ legs and pulling the plug out gently. Enjolras shivers, and when it finally slides free he sobs again, just once.
“You’re beautiful,” Grantaire murmurs, wiping him clean and dropping a soft kiss to his knee when he’s finished, dumping the used tissues and wipes in the nearby bin. Last of all, he undoes the rope from the bedstead, and unwinds it from around Enjolras’ wrists. It comes off faster than it went on, and as soon as he’s free, Enjolras reaches for him. “Hang on,” Grantaire says, and climbs over carefully to sit at the top of the bed, pushing the duvet back and putting a pillow in his lap just in time for Enjolras to lay his head on it, wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s waist and curling his body as close as he can.
He’s never looked so vulnerable, and Grantaire uses a tissue to dab the tears gently from the side of Enjolras’ face he can see. Enjolras keeps his eyes closed, still hiccupping a little, and when Grantaire pulls the duvet over him he makes a small sound and cuddles closer.
“Hey,” Grantaire says quietly after a minute, untangling Enjolras’ hair with his fingers. “You okay?”
Enjolras sniffs and tightens his grip. “Yes. No.”
“No?” Grantaire hopes he doesn’t sound worried. “Didn’t you like it?”
“You know I did.” Enjolras’ voice breaks, and he hides his face against the pillow for a moment. “And now,” he adds, sniffing again. “It’s…I don’t…it’s embarrassing, like this.” Despite his words, he clings even more, and Grantaire sighs.
“It’s okay to want things, Enjolras. And be turned on by them.” Don’t kinkshame, he almost adds, but figures that might be too much for Enjolras right now. Better safe than sorry.
“Easy for you to say,” Enjolras whispers. “You’re not…like this, you…do you even like doing this?”
“I love it.” The answer comes so effortlessly, even Grantaire’s a little surprised, but he recovers quickly. “I didn’t really think about it before now, but doing this with you is…yeah, I like it. A lot. And I like doing this too,” he adds, softer. “It’s nice taking care of you like this.”
“It’s embarrassing,” Enjolras mutters.
“It’s nice. And it’s not like…” He pauses, gathers the right words in the right order. “You’re much braver than I am, you know.”
“How is this brave?” Enjolras hides his face against the pillow again.
“It’s honest. You know why I act like a dick all the time, right? It’s because I’m such a coward.” The confession comes easily in this moment, in this strange vulnerable space between them. “I’m too scared to be genuine, but you’re not, and that’s…y’know, that’s really brave, and strong.” It’s his turn to blush now, his voice losing volume, but Enjolras is breathing easier and that’s what matters. “I really respect you,” he adds softly. “I love you.”
For a few horrifying seconds, the magnitude of what he’s just admitted blasts through him. He’s a step away from stammering out an apology and hurrying out of the apartment when Enjolras sits up and kisses him. It’s clumsy at first, but then Grantaire steadies him and Enjolras moves to get his legs over Grantaire’s and it’s perfect. Enjolras is kissing him and kissing him, one hand tangled in his hair, then other curled against his jaw.
They fall backwards and kiss until Enjolras starts to drift off, tucked against Grantaire’s side. It’s not an ‘I love you too’, Grantaire knows, but it’s not a rejection, and he’ll take that.