Chapter 1: Despair
Grantaire really wasn’t as bothered about being in prison as one might have thought he would be. What did it matter really when soon enough his friends, his Apollo, would be dead? He could see plainly what the outcome of their attempt revolution would be and yet he was powerless to stop them. They would not heed his attempts at reasonable discourse, branding him a cynic and a drunk. They were not wrong, it was a drunken brawl that led him to be here after all.
His musings were interrupted by the sound of voices approaching the cell where he was being held.
“-swear, sir, it’s that drunkard who’s always hanging around la café Musain with the revolutionaries.” The two men had arrived at the door of Grantaire’s cell and both observed him intently. Grantaire did not bother to acknowledge them.
“You there,” said the most senior of the men, lifting his chin towards Grantaire. “Is what my colleague says true? You are a companion of Les Amis de l’ABC?” Grantaire did not respond.
“Come now,” resumed the man, “I see that you are. You would have questioned what I meant if not.”
“What of it?” replied Grantaire scathingly, seeing no benefit in remaining silent now.
“You seem to have found yourself in quite a scrape.”
“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”
“You could help yourself out of it.”
“Indeed?” Grantaire was sceptical to say the least.
“Look here, I’m told you don’t believe a word of the pretty lies that come out of your leader's mouth. You know how their attempt at a coup will end; they will all die. Do not be amongst them. Watch them for us, report their plans, and you will be cleared of all charges against you.” An idea was forming in Grantaire’s head. If he could but ensure… but no! It was wrong, even he, low as he was, was not a man to betray his friends. However, if he could but save the one who mattered above all else…
“That is within your power?”
“Indeed, my good man, I am the Prefecture of Police.”
“But I, Monsieur le préfecture, am not one who would betray his friends to save himself. There is one more thing you must give me.”
“If it is reasonable.” Grantaire already knew he disliked this man and his pretence of cordiality.
“The leader of the group, he will be spared. Ensure that he will not be imprisoned or executed and I will do all that you ask. Give me your word on this or you shall have no help from me.” This was a gamble. The Prefecture obviously needed intelligence on Les Amis but with this request Grantaire understood that he was asking a great deal.
“That is impossible, such a man cannot simply be allowed to wander free. He is too dangerous! He would ignite more rebellion.”
“Then I will not spy for you.” The Prefecture seemed stricken at seeing his chance at inside intelligence slipping away. He took a breath, seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then carried on with resolution.
“Such a man could not be allowed free reign of the streets, and you will not allow him to be imprisoned here,” Grantaire was immediately on guard at the implication of that word here. “Perhaps we can then come to a compromise that he will not be imprisoned by us but he will be… kept watch over by you.”
“What do you mean?” replied Grantaire, suspicious.
“If you wish him to not be imprisoned he will remain in your charge, you will watch over him, and if he is found in the streets he will be executed.”
This was too much. It was at once everything he had ever wished for and something that he could not bear. Grantaire would be near Enjolras, would be living with Enjolras, would be taking care of Enjolras! Yet at the same time he would have betrayed him, would be imprisoning him. He would never be forgiven and yet, there was no other way. The revolution would fail even if he chose to rot here in jail and Enjolras would die. He could not allow that to happen, he could not bear it. As much as Enjolras would hate him, he had to save him.
Grantaire rose and made his way resignedly to the bars of the cell.
“Very well, Monsieur le préfecture, you have a deal.” He held his hand though the bars for the man to shake.
“Very good,” he said, grasping Grantaire’s hand.
“You will report here to me at the end of each day.” He turned to the man next to him.
“Well, release him then!” He turned to go but then stopped and said to Grantaire, “What is the name the leader, the man you want saving? And what does he look like?”
“Come now, it wouldn’t do to have him accidentally harmed would it? Besides, you ought to get used to providing us with information anyhow.”
“Enjolras,” Grantaire choked out, feeling like the lowest, vilest creature on the earth, “His name is Enjolras, he has blonde hair that shines like sunlight and eyes as blue as the sky.”
So began Grantaire’s unwilling treachery. He would go to meetings, listen to the speeches, take note of the plans, and desperately try to convince his friends to cease their plans, to give up their foolish dreams, to live. He did not succeed. If anything his demoralisation only made them more fervent.
After the meetings he would go to the Prefecture and report it all and he would hate himself. He despised himself for betraying his friends, in effect signing their death warrants, just because he selfishly could not live without Enjolras also being alive. He could not bear the thought of a man who already all but despised him being dead.
He began to prepare for after. He knew he could not hope to keep Enjolras in the tiny dishevelled apartment that was his current lodging. Not only did Enjolras deserve so much better, he would escape within a day and if he were found on the streets then he would be executed. Grantaire would have to find somewhere more secure where he could hold Enjolras. His main problem in this aspect was lack of funds. He did not have the money to buy a house suitable for the situation. He had considered trying to renegotiate his deal with the Prefecture but he realised that it would be futile. The Prefecture did not care whether Enjolras lived or died, so long as he was no more trouble. If Grantaire lost Enjolras he would be just as happy to execute him and have the whole thing over with. Grantaire would have to find some other way to obtain the necessary funds.
As Grantaire made his way to the Prefecture that evening to make his report he was consumed by gloomy thoughts of the future. Even though Enjolras would survive, his other friends would die and he would have had a hand in making it happen.
He arrived at the police station and was let in by the guards, who recognised him well enough by now. As he made his way through the station he ignored the scorn he felt directed at him by the men there and continued on to the Prefecture.
He knew that these men hated him. If there is one thing that the brothers in a watch house understand, it is kinship. To see that betrayed, even for their gain, cast loathing upon the betrayer, upon Grantaire. He took their contempt quietly, bowed his head to their hate-filled comments. It was no more than he deserved after all.
He made his way into the Prefecture’s office and told what he had to report; Les Amis would outreach and try to gain the support of other groups within the city but that they could not hope to reach them all with so few men.
“Good,” responded the Prefecture, smiling at him. “This gives us an opportunity. You will offer to go rouse one of the groups, and you will fail.” At this announcement Grantaire sensed another opportunity for gain. He could not achieve the funds he needed through pleading with the man he knew, but it could be possible through bargaining.
“No.” stated Grantaire quite adamantly.
“Excuse me?” asked the Prefecture.
“No, I agreed to spy for you. This is not spying. This is sabotage.”
“It hardly matters. You know they will lose in the end regardless.”
“It matters to me. That is a betrayal too far. I will not do it.”
“Perhaps we can come to another agreement?”
Grantaire hesitated once more. He knew that he wanted the achieve here, what he must achieve, however he hesitated before the extent of his betrayal. This was not simply providing information. This was actively taking action to ensure that his friends would fail, that all but one of them would die. But it was for Enjolras…
“Five thousand francs immediately. After that a further one hundred francs a month in perpetuum.”
“I’m afraid that is impossible-”
“I will not negotiate. You may think me without morals and willing to sell out my friends but even I have limits. This is my price, either agree or make do with only information from me.”
“The monthly payments will have to be accounted for.”
“I will open a bank account. Pay it in there for reasons of ‘services to the state’.” said Grantaire, thoroughly unimpressed with the man’s attempts. It was easy to see the Prefecture was getting angry now. He had a colder look in his eyes as he laid aside his previous attempts at joviality.
“Very well. I will give you what you wish but you must give me what I wish in return.”
“I am already giving you what you wish. I will sabotage my friends efforts for you.”
“Something more than that,” said the Prefecture, standing. “I see your purpose here. You need the money to look after the man you would save. This Enjolras.” The man was taking off his jacket now and advancing on Grantaire.
“It’s quite obvious that your interest in him goes beyond the platonic,” the man continued as he proceeded to undress.
“You would do all this for him and now you demand this money, no doubt so that you can give him some measure of comfortable lifestyle. As if that will make him forgive you, as if he could ever return your affection, because it’s quite clear from what you’ve told me that he does not.” He had backed Grantaire into the wall and now seized his shoulders and gripped them harshly.
“To be clear, what you require of me is…” Grantaire’s voice broke and he could not continue the sentence.
“Is than you remove your clothes, bend over my desk, and stay as still as possible.” Grantaire began to struggle and would have been able to push the man away if it had not been for the words he continued to hiss into his ear.
“Do this- do this and you can take your love, take your money, and live out the rest of both your lives with him in perfect comfort. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to be able to give him anything he wants?”
Grantaire stilled, his shoulders slumped in defeat, and he silently began to undress. He could do this, for Enjolras. He kept that thought in mind as he did as he was bid and bent over the desk. He thought of Enjolras, how he could possibly one day earn his forgiveness if he could make him happy enough, when he felt himself entered. He though of the time that he would get to spend with Enjolras as the Prefecture moved inside him and as the man spent inside him he gave up thinking on specifics and just thought of Enjolras’ golden hair, his face, his rare smiles.
The Prefecture released him and he dressed quickly and went to leave, fighting through the pain, eager to leave as soon as possible. He was stopped at the door by the Prefecture’s voice.
“I expect your report of how you undertook one of these groups and failed to convince them tomorrow. You shall have your 5000 francs then.” Grantaire nodded his head in acknowledgement and then left.
This is how Grantaire came to offer himself to go to the Barrière du Maine, knowing he would fail, knowing that the incident would only make Enjolras distain him more.
His only consolation was that he now had the funds to purchase a house that was suitable for Enjolras and the cost… well, there was nothing he would not suffer for his love. It was best forgotten. He spent days looking at houses in Paris, for it would truly be better to stay where he knew, he could easily get what he needed on a day to day basis and minimise time spent away from Enjolras. Partly so that Enjolras would not escape, as he would surely try to in the beginning. (He would come round though Grantaire promised himself, he would.) Partly because Grantaire had no interest in spending time anywhere that Enjolras wasn’t when he didn’t have to. Yes, it would have to be Paris. Besides, no one pays attention to abnormal behaviour in Paris.
He looked at dozens of houses with owners desperately trying to sell every good quality and ignore all of the bad. They were all very nice houses but none of them were good enough. If Enjolras was going to reside in it then Grantaire wanted it to be perfect. In the end he had to settle for the best of them as his friends had begun to notice that he was not spending all day drinking in the Musain as was his wont. The house was pretty enough, he supposed. It had cost him four thousand francs which meant that he had a thousand left over to spruce the place up. Its main attraction was a walled garden, with good sturdy walls too high to climb over, that had a single gate which permitted entrance. The house itself was not overly large; it had a kitchen, dining room, parlour, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. The latter three rooms were located upstairs. The kitchen was in a mild state of disrepair that did not make it unusable and the rest of the house was perfectly sound. Having the kitchen fixed up to his exacting standards took a reasonable amount of effort but he would accept no less for Enjolras. Grantaire also took great pains in having the larger bedroom redone. He made sure that every single detail was perfect, down to the colour of the curtains (red, of course) and the material of the bedding (silk). When it was finished the room had attained a level of luxury that one would be hard pressed to find outside of the estates of the most affluent families in France. The parlour, with it’s mahogany furniture, tall Biedermeier bookcases, and heavy velvet curtains, was perhaps only a step behind in luxury. There was no need to have a lock installed on the bedroom door as one was already fitted. He did have them fitted to the latches on the windows however, just simple padlocks to go through the latches. As a precaution he had this done in all the other rooms and claimed a fear of burglars to justify it to the workman. He acquired a chain and padlock for the gate as well as various books that he had heard Enjolras mention and thought himself as prepared as he could reasonably be.
At last the time of revolution came and it was decided that it would take place at Lemarque’s funeral. As Grantaire reported this to the Prefecture he felt both relief and trepidation. He was relieved that this would all be over and that he could stop lying. He also knew that he would be the direct cause of his friends deaths. As he was about to leave the Prefecture grabbed his arm to detain him. Grantaire shuddered at that man touching him again.
“The guards that will go to the barricade at the Musain have been informed of our arrangement,” the Prefecture assured. “I will keep my word.”
“How honourable of you.” replied Grantaire scathingly.
“Are you not happy? You will have your love by the end of the week.”
“For than I thank you but by the end of the week all my friends will be dead and I will be, at least in part, the cause.” The man nodded and Grantaire hated him, hated his pretend understanding and his insincere sympathy.
“Your Enjolras will be subdued and you will both be brought here. You will then give me the details of the bank account into which the one hundred francs are to be deposited every month. Then we can part, on cordial terms, our deal concluded.” Grantaire held his tongue and nodded. He knew how precarious his position was now that he had told the Prefecture everything he needed. He could not afford to disagree with him. His arm was released and he fled the room and the station, thankful that he would only have to return there once more.
They day of the funeral had arrived, the flame had been ignited, and now they all sat behind the barricade, waiting for a second attack. Grantaire looked around at these men, the first real friends he’d ever had, and realised that they will be gone by morning. Joly, Bahorel, Bossuet, Jehan Prouvaire, Feuilly, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Marius. These are the names that he knows he will carry with him from this day on and he wishes that he could simply confess everything to them. That he could fall to his knees and beg for their forgiveness because the worst thing- the worst thing is that these men will die thinking him a friend. They will die never knowing of his treachery. They will die thinking him one of them and that is the though that haunts him. He doesn’t deserve to live in their last thoughts as a friend but rather as an enemy. Someone to be hated, despised.
He’d already seen one spy being dealt with and he wishes that he would be treated the same because in the end it will make no difference to the outcome but instead will allow them to treat him as he deserves instead of offering affectionate smiles and fraternal grasps. He can’t risk anything that might compromise his deal though so he holds his peace and watches as his internal torment rages.
He saw an older man in a National Guard’s uniform being allowed over the barricade but could not stir himself to go and investigate what was happening. Enjolras was no fool, he wouldn’t let a National Guardsman over for no reason. Even as he was thinking these thoughts he saw his friends turn their guns on the man and disarm him. A whispered and fervent conversation passed between the man and Enjolras; Enjolras seemed to be becoming more and more furious with each word that passed. Finally, he turned around violently and called Grantaire over. Grantaire of course hurried to his side swiftly, with all the eagerness of a dog heeding its master’s call. He could not bring himself to be ashamed of that; he knew exactly how Enjolras owned every inch of his being and had long since accepted it.
“Grantaire,” said Enjolras, seething with fury. Grantaire was not sure if it was directed at him or the man who was still held at gunpoint. “This man claims that he is not a National Guardsman. That he is in fact a volunteer. He offers as proof of his earnestness that he heard the Guardsmen laughing and jesting about a spy in our midst. One who has been spying on us for months and who reported to the Prefecture. He claims that he heard them say that this spy was the drunkard who spends his days at the Musain, who passes his time with our society though not a revolutionary himself. In short, Grantaire, he claims that this spy is you. I trust that there is no truth to this?”
He didn’t believe it, Grantaire could see. He looked around at his friends and saw that with one denial from him they were prepared to take this man and place him with the other prisoner, and look upon the truth as no more than a vicious attempt to break their ranks with slander. He gazed and beheld all of this and yet he could not bring himself to deny it now that he had been presented with an opportunity to tell the truth without jeopardising his deal.
“Yes,” admitted Grantaire, bowing his head dejectedly and falling to his knees at Enjolras’ feet. “It is true.” For a moment Enjolras seemed stunned into silence. In any other situation Grantaire would have marvelled at such a thing actually being possible. Now however, he felt too wretched to do anything but stare dejectedly at the ground. Finally Enjolras managed to compose himself enough to utter one choked word.
“For you.” Grantaire murmured, finally mustering the courage to lift his head and look into the other man’s eyes. What he saw there was rage so intense that he cringed under its fervour.
“Me?” This was hissed and Grantaire could feel within it the weight of the fury that Enjolras was barely holding in check.
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry, yes,” Grantaire was speaking quickly now, needing to confess. “That is the deal. I spied for him and you will live. You will be safe after the barricade falls.”
“The barricade will not fall!”
“It will, I’m sorry Enjolras but it will.” Enjolras seemed to be about to hit him and Grantaire would have welcomed it, would have welcomed any small chance to be punished for his betrayal but Enjolras restrained himself and merely delivered his edict.
“You will be judged for your crimes by the people of the Republic. Until such time you will be restrained.”
“Very well.” said Grantaire, knowing no such thing would ever happen.
“Put him with the other spy.”
Grantaire was taken into the café and bound to one of the posts so that he was sitting against it and if his friends were unnecessarily rough with him, well, he could hardly blame them.
They all came to see him that night, after the other spy had been taken out and killed and he was left in the room alone. Most came with harsh words but some were not satisfied with that. Bahorel gave him a blow to the stomach when he had finished his tirade, while Combeferre and Courfeyrac decided that he did not deserve to sit, and retied him standing with a rope around his neck so that if he did not stand on the very balls of his feet he would begin to choke. Feuilly spat on his face before he left. Grantaire took all these torments meekly and with a sense of relief. They knew what he was. They would not go to their graves thinking him a loyal friend. They could gain some measure of satisfaction from giving him what he deserved.
Eventually it became clear to Grantaire that the barricade was under attack again. He watched in a sort of daze as Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Joly, Bousset, and Feuilly ran upstairs while Enjolras pulled the steps out and climbed up after them. He supposed that the rest must be dead. He felt curiously numb as that thought occurred, and he thought that the room might be spinning. He was vaguely aware of soldiers entering the café, and of gunshots, and of a shout of:
“Not that one, he’s to be taken to the Prefecture along with the one tied up downstairs.”
There seemed to be a ringing sound in his ear. Then someone was untying him and leading him along to a carriage at the end of the street. Inside he found Enjolras, bleeding from a head wound, not moving, with his hands tied behind his back. The thrill of panicked fear that he felt cleared his mind rather abruptly and he rushed forwards, crying Enjolras’ name, trying to gain some response from the man.
“He’s alright,” said the man who had lead him to the carriage. “He’s only unconscious. We had to knock him out; he wouldn’t stop fighting.” He wanted to tear apart these men who’d hurt Enjolras but he knew that it would be better for the both of them in the long run if he got in the carriage and saw his deal with the Prefecture completed. Then he could take Enjolras home and keep him safe and make him happy and make sure that no one would ever hurt him again.
It was not a long journey from the barricade to the police station and Grantaire spent the entire time anxiously watching Enjolras’ face, checking for any sign of awareness or discomfort.
When they reach the station Enjolras was carried in by Grantaire, who refused to allow anyone else to touch him. There were blatant stares from the watchmen as they travelled the corridors and Grantaire supposed that they must make quite a sight. Him the ugly, bedraggled, unappealing betrayer whom they all hate, carrying an unconscious man who looks as if he is a god come to earth to bless mere mortals with his presence.
When he reached the Prefecture’s office he was greeted by the man with a jovial smile, as if they were old friends.
“Grantaire, my good man! How nice it is to finally see the man who caused all this trouble and who you went through no small amount of trouble for. Well not to worry about that, he’s yours now. How pretty he is!” Grantaire wanted to curl around Enjolras and protect his from this man’s poisonous gaze.
“He is not mine! He does not belong to me!” growled Grantaire, indignant at the implication. If anything it was Grantaire who was owned, body and soul, by Enjolras.
“No, no, of course not. Now if you will give me the details of your bank account you may leave and our deal will be concluded.”
Grantaire laid Enjolras down tenderly in the chair opposite the desk and proceeded to write the details of his bank account on the piece of paper that was offered to him. That done he offered the page to the Prefecture and took Enjolras up in his arms once more.
“Very good,” said the Prefecture. “The carriage which brought you here will take you anywhere you wish to go. I bid you farewell.” Grantaire was about to leave but was called back with a final warning.
“And remember, if he is found on the streets he will be executed, so do be sure to keep him… secure.”
Grantaire nodded his head and departed as swiftly as he was able, burdened down as he was with Enjolras’ unresponsive form. He carefully laid Enjolras in the carriage and told the driver where to go. As they pulled away from the station he was glad to think that he would never return there. He sat with Enjolras’ head in his lap, gazing at his almost painfully beautiful face, wishing he could run his hands through his golden hair but not daring to go so far while his love was unconscious.
As they drove on Grantaire was struck with the thought that they were heading towards their home. Their home. His and Enjolras’. Enjolras would live with him. Would stay with him, and be cared for by him, and would be made happy by him. He had Enjolras now, and he never had to let him go.
Chapter 2: Desire
So did I mention this whole work was originally only supposed to be 2000 words long and a single chapter at first? Then it was supposed to finish with this chapter. *laughs hysterically* It's taking over my life! Anyway, if anyone is wondering why it took so long, that is why. I was trying to find a way to finish it. Then I gave up and admitted that there is going to be at least another chapter. So, enjoy...
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Grantaire had Enjolras situated in his bed and it had to be admitted that he looked very well there. He had to take a moment to admire him. He felt a tension he had been carrying in his shoulders since the barricade release now that he had Enjolras safe and secure. Now that he could be sure that his love would not be harmed. But really, Grantaire didn’t have time for this self-indulgent appreciation; he had preparations to make to be ready for when Enjolras awoke.
The first thing he did was to secure the windows and doors of the house as well as the gate which lead out on to the street. He was not delusional; he knew that Enjolras would be angry when he awoke, that he would want to escape. He would come to be happy here Grantaire hoped. After all, he only had to ask for something and Grantaire would do his best to provide it.
Secondly, he went to attend to Enjolras. The revolutionary had a wound on his forehead from where he had been knocked unconscious which Grantaire took great care in cleaning and bandaging. As he unbound Enjolras’ wrists he saw that they had been chafed raw by the rough rope that had been used and Grantaire felt sick in his stomach as he repeated the same process of cleaning and bandaging. Besides these injuries Enjolras had faired rather well considering the vicious fighting that had taken place.
After having cleaned up the water and bandages Grantaire was caught in a dilemma. Enjolras would surely be hungry when he awoke and Grantaire wished to have something to offer him. However, in order to prepare something he would have to leave his Apollo alone. Grantaire did not want to do that as he would surely be disorientated when he awoke and he did not wish for him to be alarmed or even frightened. He compromised by simply taking some bread and cheese from the kitchen and bringing it up to the master bedroom. He wished that he had something better to offer but he could not spare the time. He relocked the bedroom door before he settled into a chair by the bed to wait and fell to contemplating the divine visage before him.
It was sometime before Enjolras showed signs of stirring. His forehead crumpled only slightly but Grantaire caught the movement immediately and moved to grasp Enjolras’ hand.
“Enjolras? Enjolras, can you heard me? Are you well?” Enjolras’ eyes flickered open and after a moment focused on Grantaire. He tried to speak but could not manage more than a dry croak.
“Of course, you require water. Forgive me, mon ange, I ought to have realised.” Grantaire fumbled for the tumbler and jug set on the bedside table and shakily pour the water. He found he was very nervous now that he was confronted with actually facing Enjolras. Still he offered the cup to Enjolras carefully, tenderly, helping him to drink, careful not to tip the cup too far and spill water over him or make him choke. When Enjolras had drunk his fill he took the cup away and place it on the side.
“Grantaire, what…?” Enjolras trailed off, still looking confused.
“Shhh, it’s alright, you’re safe now. Don’t worry, I have taken care of everything.”
At this Enjolras’ eyes suddenly regained their habitual clarity and he recognised in them the same fury he had seen at the barricade.
“You bastard. You traitor! You-!” Enjolras did not restrain himself as he had when first discovering his treachery at the barricade and launched himself at Grantaire, scratching and hitting anywhere he could reach. Grantaire feared that he would aggravate his head injury if he continued to move so violently and begged him to stop lest he harm himself.
“Please Enjolras, you will hurt yourself, please-” However, he made no move to restrain him, despite the physical ease with which he could do so.
His pleas were cut off when Enjolras pushed him backwards violently and he fell to the ground. He gazed up at his Apollo from where he had fallen and realised with a pang of anguish that Enjolras was crying.
“Dead,” he sobbed, looking no less vicious in tears. “They’re all dead because of you. Our friends are dead because of you!” Enjolras gave a cry that was in equal parts rage and sadness and marched towards the door, barely slowing when he reached it and starting in surprise when he found it locked. He slowly turned to Grantaire and looked upon him with livid eyes.
“Open the door Grantaire.” This was uttered quietly, almost as if Enjolras’ rage had surpassed the violence of shouting and was now concentrated into one small sentence which threatened to explode once again with the slightest provocation.
“No, forgive me. I cannot.” said Grantaire, cringing at Enjolras’ anger even as he pulled himself to his feet.
“You cannot.” It was both a statement and a question, still spoken in that terribly level tone.
“No, I’m sorry Enjolras, truly I am. You cannot leave here, it would mean your death. If you are found you will be executed. I will not allow that to happen.” This was, it seemed, the trigger that was necessary to set Enjolras back to shouting.
“You will not! You will not allow it! How dare you! What right have you to decide such a thing for me? What right have you to deny me my freedom? None! You have none! I demand that you release me this instant! I would rather risk death than remain your prisoner!” Grantaire had been slowly folding in on himself under the weight on Enjolras’ tirade but at this last proclamation he rushed forward and grasped Enjolras’ hands gently.
“No, you are not a prisoner Enjolras. Never! You have freedom of the house and garden and you may do whatever you wish. If you have need of or wish for anything you need only ask for it. Truly Enjolras, anything at all. I only wish to make you happy.”
“Will you forcibly stop me if I attempt to leave?”
“I’m sorry; I must. You cannot die.”
“Then I am a prisoner.”
Enjolras was indeed given free reign of the house, although admittedly he was not permitted out into the garden without Grantaire to watch over him, despite the locked gate and high walls. He used this freedom to avoid Grantaire as much as he possibly could. To achieve this end he usually remained in his bedroom, which Grantaire would never enter without Enjolras’ permission now that he was conscious to give it. Occasionally though he would come and sit in the parlour or would venture out into the garden, saying that the room was stifling him. The moments when he was allowed in Enjolras’ presence were like heaven to the young man. He would take care not to disturb Enjolras’ by staring at him too openly or being too loud. In fact, whenever he was present Grantaire sat very still and quiet and snuck glances at him whenever he could be sure that Enjolras wouldn’t see and be bothered by it.
That’s not to say that Grantaire was oblivious, however. Even in the midst of the ecstasy created by Enjolras’ presence he could see that the revolutionary was unhappy and this caused Grantaire a great deal of anxiety. He seemed to somehow perpetually exist in a state of both joy and constant worry. Everyday the worry became stronger and the joy weaker. Enjolras would do little more than stare off into space and frown. It was not difficult to see where his thoughts took him. Most days Grantaire could barely convince him to eat some small morsel of food and drink a little water; Enjolras would take nothing stronger.
Grantaire desperately tried offering him more and more appealing dishes and fine wines. He offered books that he knew Enjolras used to enjoy, offered to buy new ones if that was what Enjolras wished. All of his attempts were resolutely ignored. This continued on and on as Grantaire despaired of what to do until one afternoon, an entire month after the barricade had fallen, when Enjolras had situated himself in the parlour having been unable to remain in the bedroom any longer.
It became obvious as Grantaire entered the room with a bowl of onion soup to offer to Enjolras that the revolutionary was painfully thin and clearly unwell. He was seated by the window, staring at the wall without really seeing it. The light that streamed in threw the sharp angles of his face and body into relief, drawing attention to his emaciated state. Grantaire hesitantly approached the chair in which Enjolras had placed himself.
“Enjolras? I have some soup for you. Do you think you could manage to eat it?” Enjolras continued to stare at the wall without acknowledging Grantaire.
“Please, Enjolras. You must eat.”
“Must I?” His voice was listless, as though he could not even bring himself to be angry anymore. Grantaire was horrified. Surely that did not mean… Enjolras could not truly wish to die, at least not this way. Not when dying meant giving up. That could not be the reason so what was it?
“Please.” Grantaire entreated, almost in tears knowing that Enjolras was upset and that he did not know how to help.
“At least tell me why not. Please Enjolras, at least that.”
“Why not?,” Enjolras laughed bitterly. “Because I choose not to. Because that is my choice; it is the only thing I have control over now.” That was… a relief actually. Enjolras did not wish to die and this was something that he could fix. This was a way in which he could make Enjolras happy.
“If you had control again, complete control, would you then eat?”
“Perhaps. Although I fail to see how I could have any control when you refuse to allow me to leave.” Enjolras said scornfully
“Me. Control me.” Grantaire explained meekly.
“Surely you must know that I would do anything you asked of me. Anything that doesn’t bring you harm,” Grantaire amended, realising the first statement was not entirely true. “I propose you do just that. Command me, control me, punish me for my transgressions against you and our friends if you will. I would submit to anything that would make you happy or give you some measure of satisfaction.”
“Do anything? You would follow my orders, obey me? Why? When you have me captive and undoubtedly at your mercy, you would subvert our roles? I do not believe you.”
“I would not harm you; not ever. My entire purpose in this convoluted plot has been to keep you from harm; that I have told you already. But there is more than that. I wish more than anything to please you, to have you be pleased with me. I always have. Did I not offer to black your boots once? I said it as if in jest I know but I knew then that I would be refused had I offered in seriousness, for you had better and brighter lieutenants. But now… now you have a reason to accept; as a reparation, as a chance at dealing out the justice that the law will not give, as a opportunity to regain the control you seem to think you have lost. Even simply because it pleases you to see me submit to your whim. Any of these reasons will suffice but please Enjolras, make use of me. I will beg if I must.”
Enjolras looked upon this picture of contrition and found that in his anger he truly did wish to see the man suffer. He wished to punish him for his betrayal, to seek revenge for the friends he had lost, for the martyrdom taken from him. He internally preached to himself about the rights of man, the right to freedom and equality. What Grantaire was offering would subjugate him and Enjolras should not allow it. Even so, he asked himself, why should he uphold Grantaire’s rights when his own have been taken from him? He had been given to Grantaire as though he were a possession, a reward for Grantaire’s services to the Prefecture. He had been stripped of his own rights so was it not fair that he should do the same to his captor? In that moment he made his decision.
Grantaire obeyed hurriedly, dropping to his knees by Enjolras’ chair without hesitation. He was desperate to prove to Enjolras that he would obey, that he was eager to even.
“Now tell me again why you want this to happen.”
“So that you will eat.”
“So that you have back the control that I have taken from you. So that you can punish me for my betrayal and because it will please you.”
“Very well. You will go out today and get me the things that I require to punish you with. Bring me a pen, ink, and some paper and I will write you a list.”
Grantaire retrieved the requested items from the desk and, after a moment of hesitation, knelt back down beside Enjolras to wait. When the list was completed it was handed back to Grantaire and Enjolras bid him leave.
Grantaire rose and was about to leave the room when he turned back timidly.
“Enjolras?,” He waited for Enjolras to look at him in acknowledgement before continuing. “Will you… that is to say would you… eat now? Please? If the soup is not to your liking I will get something better, only please eat. Please?”
“The soup is fine.” Enjolras picked it up and began to eat, albeit slowly.
“Thank you.” Grantaire sighed relieved and almost grateful. He then left to acquire the items that had been requested but not without first checking the locks on the doors and windows and ensuring that he took the keys with him.
Enjolras spent the hours in which Grantaire was gone in contemplation. As soon as he was alone he had tried both doors and all the windows and found the locks to be solid and unbreakable. There was the option of breaking a window and trying to escape that way but he was unwilling to attempt that having seen the solid lock on the gate and the high, unclimbable walls of the garden. He would only wind up getting himself injured. It seemed he was entrapped here for the time being. Even that fate was beginning to seem more bearable. Yes, he grieved for his friends and the martyrdom that was taken from him, but Grantaire claimed that he was willing to give full control of himself to him. The truth of that remained to be seen but it wasn't entirely out of character for Grantaire, who seemed to be unhealthily fixated on him. However, this afforded him the perfect opportunity to avenge their deaths while at the same time regaining some measure of the control that had been taken from him.
He must admit to himself as well that he had enjoyed the sight of Grantaire on his knees before him. He has never before lied to himself and he will not allow himself to acquire the habit now. There had been something pleasing about seeing the man he had come to hate willingly debase himself before him. He knew that this form of vengeance was not something he would have dreamt of allowing before but now it seemed perfectly justified. What Grantaire had done had not been fair so neither would he be.
He intended to be harsh towards Grantaire, as proven by the implements he had sent him out to get. Such purchases would be difficult to explain he knew and he felt a thrill of pleasure at the though of Grantaire having to purchase them. The picture that presented was quite satisfying: Grantaire humiliated, buying the implements that would later be used to torment him, simultaneously embarrassed over the purchases and picturing the many ways in which they could be put to use.
He settled down to wait for Grantaire with thoughts of all the things he could do with the man once he had returned.
Grantaire had bought all but two of the items on Enjolras’ list with various amounts of difficulty and embarrassment; embarrassment he had only managed to coach himself through with the thought that he was doing this for Enjolras and he must not disappoint him.
The last two items he had to acquire were more difficult and he had left them until last for this very reason. They were not something that he could acquire quickly without arousing suspicion from respectable vendors. Such things were usually made to order. If he was to have them today he would have to see someone much less reputable. Fortunately, he knew such a man. Such unfavourable contacts had been required to provide the guns and ammunition for the barricade.
Bertrand was not difficult to find if one knew where to look for him. It took Grantaire only three attempts to find the right darkened alley.
“Good day, Bertrand.”
“Do you not remember? You sold me a fair amount of guns and powder about a month and a half ago.”
Recognition lit in the mans eyes.
“Go away. I ain’t selling to revolutionaries no more, s’to much bother with the police.”
“Surely illegal arms already puts you in trouble with the police?”
“Yeah but after all that business with the barricade they started askin’ questions ‘round ‘ere, di’nt they? Usually leave me be but after that they started takin’ note.”
“Well, you’re safe with me my friend. It’s not guns I want but something much less deadly. Nor am I a revolutionary anymore, if I ever was.”
That admission still racked him with guilt but he took care not to let it show on his face. Bertrand considered him a moment but evidently found him satisfactory.
“What’s it ya want then?”
“A bullwhip. And a martinet. I need them by today.”
“Got an errant child ‘ave ya? I can get ‘em. It’ll cost extra if ya want ‘em so soon though.”
Grantaire bristled and coloured at the implication. For Enjolras, you are doing this for Enjolras.
“Something like that.”
“Well, come back here in an hour. I’ll ‘ave what ya want. For a considerable sum, o’course.”
“You’ll have your money. Thank you.”
Grantaire departed. With nothing to do for an hour but wander his thought’s turned to Enjolras once more. Being parted from his Apollo, even to do something he had been asked to by him, was making him very anxious. What if Enjolras had need of him and he was not there? What if he found himself in some sort of trouble and Grantaire could not aid him? Such thoughts tormented him. Still, he could not go back having disobeyed. He would stay obtain what Enjolras wished and then fly back to Enjolras’ side as swiftly as he could when he had done so.
As for what awaited him when he returned, well, the items on Enjolras’ list gave him an idea of what to expect. He accepted it as no more than his due and besides, what did his discomfort matter in the face of Enjolras’ wishes? It was, he told himself, discomfort that he felt, that caused his stomach to flutter so. Discomfort and not anticipation. Anticipation would mean that his punishment would turn into something he would enjoy and that might upset Enjolras. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy being punished. So it must be discomfort he is feeling.
He wandered thus until it was time to head back to the alley. Once he had received the whips and had handed over an extortionate amount of money for them, which he could not bring himself to protest since he was anxious to get home, he turned his footsteps back towards his residence. He took care to hide his purchases inside his jacket and not to walk to quickly so as not to draw attention. He would be back with Enjolras soon.
Grantaire returned to find Enjolras still in the same chair he had been when he had left. He found himself uncertain once again as to whether he should approach Enjolras or wait to be acknowledged first. He found himself hesitating in the doorway.
“You’ve returned.” Grantaire made his way into the room at the acknowledgement, thankful the decision had been taken from him.
“Yes. I have what you asked for.”
“Good.” Such a simple word but how it made Grantaire’s heart soar. Good. He done well, Enjolras was pleased. It was hardly a fervent commendation but still, it was more than he’d ever earned from Enjolras before.
“Is there anything else you would have me do?”
“Go to my bedroom, lay them out on the bed. Then take off your clothes and kneel next to it and wait for me.”
Enjolras allowed around ten minutes to pass before he went up to join Grantaire. He was gratified to find Grantaire waiting exactly as he had instructed. He did not acknowledge the man but merely went to inspect the items on the bed. Surprisingly, Grantaire had managed to acquire all that he had asked for. He moved the items into one of the draws in a nearby chest of draws, leaving only the bullwhip and two lengths of rope on the bed.
“Go stand at the end of the bed.” This order was still given without Enjolras actually turning to look at Grantaire and Grantaire burned under his indifference, even while doing as he was told.
The bed was a four-poster one, made of ornately carved mahogany and silk curtains. Enjolras hated it, as he did all indecent displays of wealth. They reminded him of the injustice in the world. That one man could live in such obscene luxury while another starved on the street. He had to admit though, the bed had at least one merit, it was ideally suited to tying someone to.
Enjolras secured Grantaire’s arms above his head, one to each post at the end of the bed, so that his arms were stretched out but his feet were still firmly on the floor.
“You shall have eleven lashes, one for each of our friends who died because of you and one for your imprisonment of me. You will say one of their names for each lash. When you look at the scars I want you to remember how you betrayed them. Do you understand?”
With no further warning Enjolras brought the whip down viciously across Grantaire’s back, immediately drawing blood and making the bound man cry out.
Another lash, another cry.
A strip of white hot pain right across his shoulders.
Two in quick succession, identical diagonal lines crossing over each other.
A blindingly hard strike underneath his ribs now.
Another swiftly administered on the other side to match.
Unexpectedly back at his shoulder, he felt tears on his face now.
Two more harsh strikes dealt together, he could hear Enjolras breathing harshly behind him now.
The last one seemed the hardest somehow, though Enjolras put no more strength behind it than the others.
Enjolras dropped the bullwhip to the floor and stared at the sight before him, mesmerised. It was strangely thrilling to see this and know that he was the cause. To see Grantaire before him bleeding, because he willed it so, and to know that if he decided to continue now Grantaire would let him. Would probably thank him for taking the time to do so. He went to release Grantaire from his bonds and as the man fell back to his knees Enjolras noticed something.
“This arouses you?” he asked coldly, with an undercurrent of anger in his tone. Grantaire glanced down at himself and winced before looking back up at Enjolras with pleading eyes.
“I’m sorry, I should be able to control myself better I know, I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t think you should be gaining pleasure from being punished. What, was that why you offered to obey me? To gain some twisted sexual satisfaction? Disgusting.”
“No please, you must believe me. I only want to please you, that is all. Please, let me make amends. I will do anything, please, only don‘t go back to ignoring me, don‘t.” Grantaire’s tears, barely ceased from the whipping, sprang free once more at the thought that he had disgusted Enjolras so much that the man might return to ignoring his presence and refusing food once more.
“You’ll do anything anyway.”
Grantaire did not deny the claim, merely knelt there crying and shaking, gazing up at Enjolras with pleading eyes. Eventually, Enjolras gave in with a sigh.
“Fine. You will not touch yourself though. It would not do for you to gain pleasure or relief from this. You will not touch yourself now, or ever, without my permission.”
“Thank you,” said Grantaire, overcome with relief and gratitude. He leant down and pressed a reverent kiss to Enjolras’ boots. “Thank you, truly.”
He then glanced up at Enjolras shyly and seemed to gather his courage.
“I know I do not deserve it but might I be permitted to bring you some relief?”
“Please? I could be so good for you, I could do it so well.” He nodded his head towards Enjolras’ crotch. He hadn’t realised at all but it seemed that he was just as aroused as Grantaire. What to do about that?
 Image of a bullwhip: http://www.northernwhipco.com/images/4%20Foot%20Red%20LS%20Bullwhip%2016%20plait.JPG
 Image of a martinet, a small whip, often used to punish children in the 19th century : http://images.rapgenius.com/34192756dc65677cbe88cbc582f59eca.400x279x1.jpg
Some feedback on this would be massively appreciated since I switched to both their points of view and would like to know how well that's going down. Also if you have any question feel free to ask because I'm not completely satisfied with how I explained some of what E and R are feeling. Thanks for reading.
Chapter 3: Cruelty
So here’s 5000 words of Enjolras being mean to Grantaire. Literally, that’s all this is. There was going to be plot but then it got too long. Enjoy...
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
This was not an entirely new situation for Enjolras. He had been aroused before, had felt that desperate need for release. Not often, but it was not unknown. However, he had never felt it quite this strongly before. Usually he would take care of such base urges himself, when the need arose, wanting nothing so insignificant as a lover to distract him from his cause. Now though, he had his cause no longer, and here was Grantaire, on his knees and begging to pleasure him. Why should he refuse?
The problem was that he did not want to give Grantaire what he wanted, and he clearly wanted this very much. No, he wanted the man to suffer, not to be rewarded. But why should he deny himself just to punish Grantaire? Hadn’t the drunkard taken enough from him already? A compromise then.
“No, you may not pleasure me. You don’t deserve that, you haven’t earned it.” Grantaire bowed his head but did not protest, despite his disappointment. It was not for him to question his Apollo’s will. He who would always be the lesser, the slave grovelling at his feet, now literally instead of merely figuratively.
“You may watch, however, as I pleasure myself,” Enjolras said, as he walked across the room and took a seat in the armchair by the window. Grantaire’s entire face lit up as if he had been given some great reward. He fixed his attention raptly across the room on Enjolras, while breathing a reverent “thank you” that somehow still made its way to Enjolras’ ears. He barely blinked as Enjolras opened his trousers and began to stroke himself slowly. His eyes were not fixed on that movement though, but on Enjolras’ face, watching every flicker of pleasure that went across it with a delighted expression, as if it were he himself who felt it.
Enjolras, in turn, was focused on Grantaire. He gazed upon his kneeling form with an air of satisfaction. He admired him like one might a prized possession. Thoughts ran across his mind, things he could have Grantaire do. He had no doubt that whatever he ordered, he would be obeyed. But Grantaire seemed to be enjoying this a little too much, so…
“I’ve changed my mind, you are not permitted to watch. Look away.”
Grantaire looked down immediately, with a small, upset expression on his face. He was disappointed not to be allowed to watch anymore, of course, but he was more worried that in his watching he had done something to upset Enjolras, or make this less enjoyable for him. He continued to gaze down at the floor in front of him, his own aching member within his view. But it would do no good to think about that; he’d already disgusted Enjolras enough for one day.
Enjolras saw where his gaze was directed and was inspired.
“Does it make you ache, Grantaire? To know that I am getting relief and you will not? Ah, I can see you throb and twitch even now. Does it excite you, that I am taunting you? Disgusting. You’re worse than the most shameless of streetwalkers, aren’t you? Answer me.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I’m disgusting, I don’t deserve to be in your presence, I’m sorry.” He was frantic, he knew how revolting he was, he always had, but now Enjolras knew it as well. He would surely want nothing to do with him now, would go back to ignoring him.
“Is that what you’re going to be for me, Grantaire? My little whore?” He was stroking faster now, getting excited at the desperation of the man before him.
“Yes, your whore, your slave, the dog grovelling at your feet. Anything you want, Enjolras, anything. I swear it.” He nearly slipped up here, nearly tore his gaze up from the floor, desperate to check Enjolras’ expression, but caught himself in time.
Enjolras was close now, and struck with the perfect idea of what he wanted to do to Grantaire.
“Come here. Crawl,” he ordered. Grantaire scrambled to obey, losing any grace he might have put into his actions in his haste. He knelt at the base of the chair, at Enjolras’ feet, but still did not look up; he did not have permission.
“Look at me,” Enjolras snarled, gripping Grantaire’s hair and the back of his head with his free hand and pulling viciously, so that Grantaire was forced to tilt his head back. They locked eyes.
“I’m going to spend all over your face. Would you like that, whore?”
“Yes, Enjolras. Please,” Grantaire gasped breathlessly.
“Quiet, close your mouth. I said this was going on your face, you don’t get the privilege of tasting it.”
Grantaire closed his mouth with a small whine as Enjolras stroked faster, finally coming to his climax and spending all over Grantaire’s face.
Enjolras released Grantaire’s hair and sat back in the chair, allowing himself a few moments to enjoy the aftermath of his orgasm and to compose himself. Grantaire though that he’d never looked more beautiful, relaxed and more content than he’d been since he had woken up in this house. He would be glad to stay like this forever, just gazing at his Apollo in all his sublime glory. Alas, the moment ended too soon as Enjolras roused himself.
“Clean yourself up and then get out and leave me be.”
The next day Grantaire did not see Enjolras at all. He waited until evening, but Enjolras did not quit his bedroom, leaving Grantaire anxious. He hadn’t eaten all day. Surely things hadn’t gone back to the way they were before? He resolved to go check on Enjolras, to try to get him to eat.
Enjolras felt sick every time he looked over at the stain at the foot of the bed. He spent the entire day in the armchair, placed resolutely facing away from the stain. He fluctuated back and forth in opinion. Was what he had done absolutely right, or were they the actions of a monster? He did not know.
He pictured this happening to any other man and he felt sickened, yet when he remembered last night all that was stirred in him was satisfaction and lust. Perhaps that was were his disquiet stemmed from? The fact that he felt he should feel ashamed, but could not find it in himself to. Yet, if he did not feel ashamed, then surely he had done nothing wrong? He wished he had Combeferre to- No! He would not think of that, he could not. He would break if he did. And there was his answer, wasn’t it? There was no punishment he could dole out, nothing within his many varied imaginings that could make amends for that loss.
There was a knock at his door.
He did not hesitate before going to answer it. He had made his decision. He wrenched the door open and Grantaire faltered.
“Yes? I thought I told you not to bother me.”
“I- You did but-”
“But you thought you’d ignore me.”
“I- I’m sorry. You haven’t eaten today. I made stew, I came to see if you would eat some?”
Enjolras considered and Grantaire wondered if he should start begging, Enjolras seemed to like it when he did that.
“Fine, I will.”
“There’s a stain on the carpet from our evening yesterday,” said Enjolras coldly. “Take care of it.”
Grantaire stepped back as Enjolras walked past him without another word.
It was entirely humiliating, Grantaire thought as he scrubbed the carpet in Enjolras’ bedroom, to be made to scrub ones own blood from the floor. The thought was not unappealing, which was a problem on its own. He was hard again, kneeling there on the floor, and he couldn’t let Enjolras see him in such a state. He’d be so disgusted. The stain seemed to be gone now; it was possible that some still remained but was hidden by the red of the carpet.
“Pathetic.” This came from Enjolras, who was now stood in the doorway.
“Don’t you think? That you’re pathetic that is.” He said it almost casually, as though it were nothing. Which, Grantaire supposed, it was. He already knew how Enjolras viewed him.
“Well? Do you?”
“Yes,” he answered quietly.
“Good, it’s best that you know it.” He glanced down at the patch Grantaire had been scrubbing. “Are you done?”
“Yes, unless you’d have me dry it as well?”
“No. Follow me.” With that he turned and went downstairs, not looking to see if Grantaire followed. He knew he was unable to refuse him anything.
Grantaire found Enjolras in the parlour, sitting in the armchair that Grantaire had come to think of as his. He did not hesitate this time before going to kneel at Enjolras’ feet. He knew what would be expected from him.
“Good.” Grantaire doubted Enjolras knew just what that minuscule bit of praise meant to him. He’d do anything just to earn that.
“You’re aroused again.” There was nothing in Enjolras’ voice to give away how he felt about this, but Grantaire remembered his disgusted reaction yesterday.
“I’m sorry, I’ll try to do better, I promise. I cannot stop my reaction, but I will not pleasure myself unless you allow it, you have my word.”
“Do you think I’ll allow it?”
“No. As you said, I shouldn’t be drawing pleasure from this.”
“So you are content to stay in a state of perpetual sexual frustration because I told you to?”
“Yes Enjolras, surely you must know by now that I would do anything you told me to.”
“Fetch me the book on the desk.”
Grantaire did so, crawling there and back. Unlike last time he moved slowly enough to be graceful, it unsettled Enjolras a little how much he enjoyed watching. He took the book from Grantaire.
“I did not tell you to crawl.”
“No,” said Grantaire, bowing his head, “I thought you might like it. I’m sorry if I displeased.”
He hadn’t, not exactly. If anything he’d pleased too much. He did not know if he should reprimand or not, so he remained silent. Grantaire took this silence to mean that he had indeed displeased, and he felt the weight of sudden anxiety at the thought.
“Is there anything else I can do for you? Please, give me some small task? Anything that would please you. Please?”
“Touch yourself for me.”
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, “I don’t think I heard correctly.”
“I told you to touch yourself, and you heard me perfectly. Don’t waste my time.”
Grantaire was too taken aback to obey.
Enjolras struck him across the face. It didn’t hurt very much, merely stung a little. A trifle after what had been done to him last night. Yet there was something degrading in the casualness of it. Enjolras seemed entirely unaffected yet it left Grantaire with his prick throbbing and desperate for touch. Which it seemed it was being granted.
“I told you not to waste my time. Touch yourself. Now.”
Grantaire complied without comprehending why he was suddenly being allowed this. He took himself out of his trousers and began stroking slowly, his eyes watching Enjolras’ face warily, looking for a sign that this wasn’t the right thing to do. Enjolras simply opened the book that he’d had Grantaire fetch, Le rouge et la noir, and began reading. When he reached the bottom of the first page, as he turned the page he remarked idly:
“I said you could touch yourself; I did not say you could have release. Do not allow yourself to reach climax.” Grantaire felt his prick twitch and throb in his hand at that thought. He was to be left desperate and frustrated then, because it pleased Enjolras for him to be so.
They continued on thus, for what felt like years to Grantaire, stroking on his cock and trying desperately to not let himself release. At one point during this torturous experience he go too close and had needed to let go.
“I did not give you permission to stop,” said Enjolras, idly, not even looking up from his book.
Grantaire let out a shaky breath before taking his cock once more in hand and stroking. It was, perhaps, ten minutes later when Grantaire began to beg. He had been stroking progressively slower and slower, trying desperately to not go over the edge, no matter how much his prick was straining for release. He would not disappoint Enjolras.
“Please Enjolras, please let me stop. I can’t continue, I’m so close. I feel as if I’ll go over with each stroke. Please, have mercy, let me stop.” He was practically sobbing now, but still his hand continued moving, however slowly.
“Perhaps,” said Enjolras leisurely, “perhaps I’ll let you stop. What will you do for me in return?”
“Anything. Enjolras please, you know I’ll always do anything you wish, please.”
“No. Give me specifics, entertain me. What will you do?”
“I’ll- I’ll kiss your feet. Black your boots. I’ll lay down and let- let you whip me, or use me. Please Enjolras, please!”
“You’ll let me, you say. Do you pretend you would take no pleasure from those things?”
“No! I- I would. I would beg for them even without this. Please Enjolras, I know you have no interest in me beyond hurting me, and I deserve it, I know. But if y- you want to know things I wouldn’t enjoy, I can think of nothing. I would enjoy everything simply because I know it pleases you to do it.”
“Very well, you may stop.”
Grantaire let go of himself with a gasp. His prick twitched and throbbed in the air.
“Thank you,” Grantaire said, bowing his head. “I’m sorry, I should have been able to suffer longer for you. I should not have begged, I have no right to ask anything of you.”
“You do not, but begging is how one asks for something they have no right to ask for. Otherwise they may demand it, if they have the right.”
Grantaire did not know how to answer that. Enjolras was confirming neither that he did right nor wrong.
“Now, I would have release. Since you were so entertaining fighting against your release, I’ll let you use your mouth.”
Grantaire froze, hardly daring to breath. He remained very still and barely managed to utter a whispered confirmation:
“Yes. Get to it, you’re trying my patience,” Enjolras replied sharply.
Grantaire was still unsure, but he was pushed into action by the obvious irritation in Enjolras’ voice. He quickly opened Enjolras’ trousers and pulled his cock out. He glanced up quickly to check that Enjolras hadn’t changed his mind before reverently taking him into his mouth. He could not believe he was being allowed to do this.
He had expected that Enjolras would curl a fist in his hair and use that to control him. He was so forceful of late, it seemed in keeping with that. He ought to have known better. Enjolras had never needed more than his voice to be completely in control of anyone who was listening. Merely the tone of it would be enough that Grantaire could not possibly think of disobeying, even if he had wanted to.
“Take me further in. Surely even you can do better than this?”
Grantaire obeyed, of course. He pushed further down, feeling Enjolras in the back of his throat, which he immediately relaxed. He would not choke. He had to be perfect, Enjolras deserved nothing less.
“Use your tongue.”
He pulled back, swirling his tongue around the tip. This gained a low moan from Enjolras, a sound which sent shivers through Grantaire.
He carried on pleasuring Enjolras according to his exacting standards until Enjolras lost some of his habitual control and fisted his hand in Grantaire’s hair, spending in his mouth.
Grantaire swallowed and continued suckling at Enjolras’ cock until he was pulled off. As Enjolras recovered from his orgasm he was unaware that his hand remained in Grantaire’s hair, reflexively stroking through it. Grantaire thought that he could not remember feeling more content in his entire life. This was all that he had ever wanted, to be allowed to make Enjolras happy, even if it was only for a moment. He ought to thank Enjolras profusely, but not now. Enjolras was enjoying the afterglow of his orgasm and Grantaire would not disturb him.
A while passed before Enjolras stirred himself, removing his hand from Grantaire’s hair and tucking himself back into his trousers. That done he rested his arm on the armrest of the chair and Grantaire, feeling brave, leaned forwards and placed a worshipful kiss on the back of Enjolras’ hand.
“Thank you, Enjolras, truly. That was- I cannot describe it. Thank you.” He spoke in a hushed voice, as if speaking to loudly would break the paradise he seemed to have found himself in.
Enjolras looked down on the man at his feet and felt some strange affection stir in his chest, entirely unsettling him. The earnestness of that thanks moved him in a way he had not felt since before the barricade. He did not want to- No! He would not allow himself to soften towards Grantaire. The man was no better than a murderer; the blood that stained his hands must not be forgotten. And he was certainly a kidnapper. Enjolras could not forget for long that he was Grantaire’s prisoner. That whatever Grantaire might allow him to do was exactly that: something that he was permitted. In reality, Grantaire had complete power over him for as long as he was trapped in this house.
“Be quiet. You may stay here if you are silent, if you can’t accomplish that then go where you can’t bother me.”
Grantaire silently bowed his head in acquiescence. It was not enough, Enjolras needed to reduce Grantaire, to debase him, to show his control.
“Take off your clothes. I see no reason you should not be on display for me. That way I can simply reach over and pull or pinch and hurt you, should the mood strike me. It saves me needlessly expending energy on you. You’ll not wear clothes anymore.”
“Yes, Enjolras,” said Grantaire, quickly taking his clothes off before kneeling back at Enjolras’ feet. Enjolras reached over and viciously twisted one of his nipples.
“I told you to be silent. Can you not do anything right?”
Grantaire bit back a whimper and, when Enjolras let go, he pressed his forehead to the ground in a wordless apology.
They continued thus for a week without incident. Grantaire spent his days at Enjolras feet, and was content with his lot. Enjolras acted out cruelly, seemingly never bored with tormenting Grantaire, with testing his obedience. By far his favourite thing to do was to have Grantaire bring himself to the edge of orgasm and then stop. Enjolras would make him repeat this, over and over again, until he could do nothing but beg for a reprieve. Whether Enjolras took any notice or not was subject to his mood at the time. If he was feeling cruel enough then Grantaire would continue for hours, begging and pleading to be allowed to stop, but not even once contemplating begging for release. He knew Enjolras wished him to be frustrated, so he did not even think to ask for something that was against Enjolras wishes. He already felt horribly guilty when he begged to stop. He felt he should be able to do as he was told without question and yet in this particular torment he knew that if he continued to do as he was told he might well end up going over the edge accidentally and disobeying. There was no good answer, and he was disappointing Enjolras either way. He truly hated it when Enjolras ordered him to edge.
With such relentless torment it was only a matter of time really, before Grantaire slipped up. In fact, Enjolras had been purposely pushing, waiting for it. The fact that it was expected though didn’t lessen the horror that Grantaire felt upon waking covered in his own release. It seemed he couldn’t obey even the most basic of commands, he couldn’t even deny himself this one trifling thing for Enjolras. He was pathetic, disgusting, revolting, and Enjolras was going to be so angry with him. The thought of not telling him didn’t even cross Grantaire’s mind, he had done wrong and he had to be punished for it.
He cleaned himself up and stripped the bed of its sheets so that he could wash them. That done, he went to Enjolras’ door and knelt there to wait for him to wake. He would confess his crime and beg for punishment. He could only hope that he would be forgiven.
He didn’t look up as he heard Enjolras’ door open. He heard his Apollo stop in surprise before asking:
“What are you doing?”
“I orgasmed without permission in the night. I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry Enjolras. Please punish me?”
“Look at me.”
Grantaire complied, his eyes darting up to Enjolras’ face as soon as he was given permission, wanting to see how angry he was.
“What you are saying is that you could not control yourself, even though I told you that you weren’t to have release? That you wilfully went against my wishes when you swore to obey me?”
“I’m sorry, I was asleep, I didn’t mean-”
“And now you are trying to excuse it!” Enjolras talked over him angrily.
“I’m sorry.” Grantaire all but whispered with tears in his eyes.
“You disgust me. Get out of my sight,” he said viciously.
“No, please! Anything but that, anything!” He was really crying now, barely able to get the words out past his tears. Enjolras looked down on this pitiful creature and was moved despite himself.
“Fine. Follow me and be silent.”
Grantaire followed, trying to quieten his tears since it appeared they annoyed Enjolras.
He was lead to the parlour where Enjolras seated himself, not in the armchair like Grantaire expected, but at the desk. Before he could kneel down beside him Enjolras spoke.
“Go to the kitchen and fetch a cup of rice.”
Grantaire complied, a little confused but eager to make up for his mistake all the same.
“Spread it out in the corner and kneel on it. I’ll tell you when you can get up.”
He then proceeded to ignore Grantaire completely, immersing himself in the same book as before.
It hurt. It wasn’t as immediate as the pain of being whipped. It started out as discomfort which progressed further into pain the longer he was left kneeling there. Every time he shifted a little attempting to ease his discomfort only made it hurt more. He did not know how long he had been kneeling, it felt like days. He wanted to beg Enjolras to let him stand up but he wouldn’t. He was being punished and he would not allow himself to disappoint Enjolras again. He would take what he was given and take it gratefully, as Enjolras had already been beyond merciful in not banishing him from his presence earlier. He bit back his pained whimpers whenever he accidentally shifted and tried to remain still and silent for Enjolras, even though he could not see whether the man was watching him or not, facing the corner as he was.
It wasn’t until he could not longer choke back his whimpers that Enjolras paid attention to him once more. He simply turned to watch Grantaire for a few minutes, observing him shifting and wincing, watching how he tried to be as quiet as possible. Finally, he grew bored and turned back to his book saying:
“You may stand.”
Grantaire did, brushing off the rice that stuck to his skin. When he had done he looked uncertainly towards Enjolras, wanting to say something but not wanting to disturb him. Finally Enjolras sighed and looked up at him.
“Thank you for punishing me, Enjolras. I‘m sorry I disappointed you.”
“I don’t care for your apologies, I want to make sure it never happens again. Clean up the rice and then get dressed; you’re going out.”
When he returned downstairs to ask where he was to go and why, he was handed a piece of paper with a roughly drawn diagram and an address on it. It was clear to Grantaire what the device  was: a cage to lock his cock in so that getting hard would be painful, and even then he couldn’t do anything about it if he was hard.
“First go to a jewellers and acquire a chain to go about my neck. Then go to the address written there and have this made. The blacksmith there is discrete, if not tactful. He will wish to measure you; you will allow him to.”
“You have had such a device made before?” Grantaire asked hesitantly.
“No. Courfeyrac had- he-” Enjolras found he could not continue past the constriction in his throat and tears in his eyes. Grantaire saw this and though that the pain in his chest at his Apollo’s tears was worst than anything Enjolras could do to him.
“Forgive me,” he choked out past his own tears. “I should not have inquired.”
“Go,” said Enjolras, unable to regain his composure.
The trip to the jeweller passed uneventfully and Grantaire had acquired a very fine white gold chain for Enjolras. He barely flinched when the jeweller, obviously trying to clinch the sale, had said that his “young lady” was certain to adore it.
The blacksmiths though was an ordeal, undoubtedly. Having found the man and presented him with the drawing, he was forced to admit that the device would be used on him so that it might be sized properly. He then had to suffer through the leers and allusions that the blacksmith made while measuring him. The most humiliating thing was that there was nothing overtly sexual about his taunts. They were focused on humiliating him, not seducing him. Then the man proclaimed that he could come back in a few hours to pick up the device.
He wandered for a while before finding himself at a café he used to frequent. There he sat and drank coffee only. He had not drank wine since the barricade, it would not do to be drunk when Enjolras had need of him. He passed the hours he had to wait there, thinking of the change in his situation since that time. He could not say that he was worse off now. It may be that Enjolras hated him, but at least he was allowed to be close to him. By doing what Enjolras told him to he knew that he was pleasing him. He was contributing in some small way towards Enjolras’ happiness. He sat remembering those few times that Enjolras had told him he’d done well until it was time to go back to the blacksmith’s and get what he’d ordered. After a few more humiliating comments and being presented with the device and key, Grantaire set off home to Enjolras.
It was evening by the time Grantaire arrived back home, and he found Enjolras in much the same position he had been in when Grantaire left this morning. He was at the desk, bent determinedly over the book. He had been forcing himself to read, to avoid unpleasant thoughts. A single candle was all that illuminated the room.
Grantaire immediately went to his side and knelt, presenting the objects he’d acquired.
“Good, well done. Strip.”
Grantaire took his clothes off quickly, practically shining at the praise.
“Stand up, I’m going to put this on you.”
As he stood Grantaire tried not to think about having his cock locked up and out of his control too much. If he did, he’d become aroused and Enjolras wouldn’t be able to put the device on, and then he’d be angry. He felt the cold metal against him and held Enjolras’ eyes as the lock was clicked shut.
“There, now I don’t have to worry about you being unable to control yourself,” said Enjolras, taking the key to the lock and slipping it on the chain, which he then placed around his neck. He though it appropriate, that Grantaire had his locks and keys to control him, and now he had the same in return.
“Go make us both something to eat,” said Enjolras
“Of course, what would you like?”
“I don’t care, something quick.”
They ended up eating boiled chicken and steamed vegetables. As the meal cooked Grantaire went about lighting the rest of the candles so that Enjolras would not strain his eyes while he read. Enjolras continued to pour over the book. Enjolras took his meal at the desk, Grantaire took his kneeling at Enjolras’ feet, his knees recovered from their torment that morning.
When they were finished Enjolras retired to reading on the sofa, while Grantaire went to clean up in the kitchen. After a few moments he heard Enjolras call him.
He returned to the parlour.
“My eyes are sore, come read to me.”
“Of course,” he said, abandoning the cleaning and going to kneel by Enjolras. Enjolras handed him the book and then laid out on the sofa. Grantaire started at having Enjolras’ head so close to his; if he had dared, he could reach out touch Enjolras’ perfect, golden hair. It seemed wrong somehow, to see his Apollo is such a relaxed position.
“Well? Get on with it,” snapped Enjolras.
“Yes, sorry,” said Grantaire as he opened the book to the page that had been marked. “C'est la violente impression du laid sur une âme faite pour aimer ce qui est beau. ”
Once Grantaire had started reading Enjolras relaxed and closed his eyes and it struck Grantaire how strangely domestic this scene was. Despite the fact that he was naked and kneeling at Enjolras’ feet, this was something that young lovers might do. Not that he would ever presume that he could be such a thing to Enjolras. Still, the strange intimacy of this scene was pleasant, and left him feeling light and a little hopeful inside.
 An image of a cock cage if you don’t know what one looks like: http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51Vj2D5aRxL._SY300_.jpg
 Translation: It is the violent impression of ugliness on a soul made to love that which is beautiful. From La rouge et la noir by Stendhal.
Please leave a comment to let me know what you think. Also, let me know if you spot any mistakes. As thorough as I try to be with proof reading, there are always some mistakes that slip through. I’ve just had to fix some on the last chapter. Thanks for reading.
Chapter 4: Punishment
Only one more chapter after this one now! Once again, it was going to end in this chapter. I was determined it would so I wrote most the ending first so I knew where I was headed to. But then this first bit got really long and so you'll now have two slightly shorter chapters instead of one really long one. One the plus side you got this part quicker than you would have, and most of the next chapter is already written, so that should be coming soon if all is well.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
"Go get the martinet."
There were times when Enjolras was violent. When he acted out viciously with anger. At these times he didn't bother with words; he simply grabbed Grantaire and forced him where he wanted him, (not that Grantaire ever resisted), tied him down, and beat him until he cried and bled. Sometimes, if he was particularly angry, he would continue long after that.
Other times, such as this evening, Enjolras was more controlled. He would have Grantaire fetch the tools for his own torment, would command him into whatever position pleased him, and would keep him there with a coldly uttered "remain still". These times were less Enjolras acting out in anger or punishment, and more that it occurred to him that he might like to see Grantaire in pain today. Grantaire, of course, catered to his whims with obedience and willingness.
After bringing the martinet back to Enjolras in the parlour Grantaire was ordered to lay himself over Enjolras' lap as he sat on the sofa. He felt a shiver run up his spine as placed himself where he'd been ordered; it was a strangely intimate position. It left him feeling very exposed but also extremely close to Enjolras. He could feel the heat coming off of the man’s body, solid and steadying and so much more than he ever thought he'd be permitted to feel.
Enjolras rearranged him a little, so that his torso was on the sofa while his legs hung off of it. He then put one of his own legs over the top of Grantaire’s to hold them down. Finally, he told Grantaire to put his hands behind his back and took hold of them with his left hand.
Being so firmly held down already had Grantaire aroused and subsequently straining painfully against his cock cage. He gave out a whimper that seemed somehow to be in equal parts discomfort and arousal.
"Do you like this?" Enjolras always like to tease him when he got hard, knowing the humiliation only made his arousal worse.
"How long has it been since you had release? Months, hasn't it? I suppose you must be quite desperate by now, mustn't you? What with all the times I had you bring yourself to the edge of climax and then made you stop. Are you getting hard? Is this making your poor little cock hurt, straining against that cage? If only you could just reach down and bring yourself to orgasm. But you can't, can you? No, because you're so pathetic you let me decide when you are allowed release, and I'm not inclined to let you have it."
"Please Enjolras, please! I'm so desperate; it's been so long! Please let me have release, please?" Enjolras always enjoyed hearing him beg. Even if there was little chance of him being allowed an orgasm, at least his desperation pleased Enjolras.
"Do you think you deserve release, Grantaire?"
"No, I know I don't deserve it. I don't deserve mercy or kindness, and certainly not pleasure. I'm a traitor. I'm low and disgusting and I don't deserve to be in your presence. I'm so grateful you permit me to be near you, to serve you. Thank you Enjolras, for allowing me that. I shouldn't be so ungrateful as to ask you for more."
"That's right, you shouldn't. Sometimes I wonder why I even put up with you."
Grantaire felt a fierce stab of panic rush through him at this proclamation. It was all true of course, that he'd been given so much more than he deserved. Enjolras, paragon that he was, allowed Grantaire in his presence. He focused his attention on him occasionally, when he wanted to hurt him. He even at times allowed Grantaire some small intimacy, such as now, when he was laid across Enjolras' lap and held down by him. He been given so much yet he'd had the gall to ask for more and now Enjolras was realising what a burden he was.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Enjolras," he blurted out in his panic. "I shouldn't have asked, I won't ever ask again, I swear. Please don't send me away, please! I'll be so good and obedient for you, I will, I promise!" It was literally his worst fear, that Enjolras would confine himself to his bedroom again, or would tell Grantaire that he wasn't permitted to be in the same room as him anymore. He would obey of course, if that was what Enjolras decided he wanted, but it would hurt so much.
"I suppose I can put up with you if you will remain obedient," Enjolras said, sounding reluctant. "For now, I want you to stop talking, you're irritating me. You may still make noise, but no words." Grantaire felt relief flood through him, he wasn't to be banned from Enjolras' presence.
He was relaxed when the first hit to his exposed backside made contact. It didn't hurt very much, not compared to some of the things Enjolras had made him suffer through. In fact, the pain was almost pleasant. It hurt just enough to make his cock throb as it attempted to fill, but not enough that he wanted it to stop. He managed to stay still and quiet as Enjolras brought the martinet down increasingly harder and harder. He was desperate to feel some sort of touch on his cock, anything at all, but he knew it was unlikely. He would not displease Enjolras further by begging for it.
Enjolras watched, enraptured as Grantaire’s cheeks became progressively redder with each hit he dealt. He felt Grantaire’s hips move with each blow, almost as if he were seeking more rather than trying to get away. The movement was causing Grantaire to rub against Enjolras’ cock, which had been hard since he pulled Grantaire over his lap.
He gave one last hard hit before putting the martinet aside. He rubbed him hand over Grantaire’s reddened cheeks, feeling the heat radiating off of them. Struck by a sudden urge, he began to pinch at the heated skin, revelling in the little whimpers Grantaire made each time he did.
“Get on your knees,” he said, releasing Grantaire’s hands and legs. Grantaire immediately sank down to kneel before Enjolras, wincing at little as his sore backside made contact with his heels.
“Would you like to pleasure me, whore?”
Grantaire shivered at the name.
“How do you ask for what you want?”
“Please, let me. Let me pleasure you, let me serve you. Please, Enjolras. I’ll do it so well, I can make it so good for you. I’ll do it exactly how you say, whatever way you want. Please, let me.”
“You do beg so nicely,” Enjolras said it a thoughtful tone. “I’m tempted to deny you. To just let you keep begging to be allowed to help, while I take care of myself. You’d be so desperate to, wouldn’t you? Since I’m feeling kind though, I’ll allowed you to pleasure me. Only with your hands though, you don’t deserve to be allowed to use your mouth.”
“Thank you, Enjolras,” Grantaire whispered, reverently.
“And do so silently. At least then I might be able to pretend it’s someone more satisfactory.”
Grantaire bowed his head in acquiescence and gently opened Enjolras trousers before taking him in hand. He found him to be already fully hard. He started to stroke slowly, looking up to Enjolras’ expression, trying to see if what he was doing was pleasing or not. He could see that his Apollo had his eyes closed and his head thrown back, but what did that mean? His eyes were more than likely closed so that he could pretend he was someone else, someone worthy of this. The head though, that was not as easy to decipher. Enjolras could have thrown his head back in ecstasy or in apathy. He felt disquieted, what if he was doing badly? He’d promised he’d do this well, that he’d do exactly what Enjolras wanted, but Enjolras wasn’t telling him what he wanted. He might be doing badly, and he didn’t dare ask Enjolras how he could do well. He started to stroke faster, desperation showing on his face. Enjolras did not react.
For Enjolras’ part, he had glanced down and seen Grantaire’s anxiety. He had decided not to relieve it just yet. In fact, he found he liked the idea that Grantaire was so unsettled by the thought that he might not be pleasing Enjolras. It was obviously causing him a great deal of turmoil. It was such an easy way to make him suffer and Enjolras found himself all the more aroused by it. All that it was necessary for him to do was to not react to Grantaire’s ministrations. It would, perhaps, be difficult but he had spent many years ruling himself with an iron grip. He was well practised in restraint.
Grantaire’s desperation was slowly becoming panic. He was crying now, trying to at least quieten his tears so that he wouldn’t bother Enjolras. He’d tried everything, he’d done the best he could. He twisted his wrist, rubbed a thumb over the head after each stroke, and tried squeezing harder. Nothing could get a reaction out of Enjolras. He must be doing terribly. The only thing he could think of now was finishing Enjolras, however unsatisfactorily he might do it, and begging for forgiveness for his failure. He began to stroke faster, ignoring the ache in his arm. Just as he thought that he would lose the fight against sobbing aloud, Enjolras tensed up and released over Grantaire’s hand with a quiet gasp.
Grantaire immediately pressed his forehead to the floor between Enjolras feet and waited to be told he could speak.
“What are you doing?” He supposed that being asked a direct question counted as permission.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I could not please you after I said I would. I swear, I tried to, I did the best I could.”
“Evidently, your best was not good enough,” lied Enjolras.
“I’m sorry. Will you please punish me so that I might make up for my mistake?”
“Oh for goodness sake, sit up.” Enjolras waited until Grantaire had raised his head.
“Punish you? But how? You enjoy pain, I want this punishment to be one you won’t enjoy. So what could I have you do,” he asked, more to himself than Grantaire.
“I could kneel on rice again?” He knew already that would not be good enough. He had enjoyed that, as much as it hurt.
“No, I know you enjoyed that. But that does give me an idea.”
“Anything,” Grantaire swore. “I’ll do anything you wish.”
“When I last had to punish you there was one thing you begged me not to do…”
Grantaire was confused for a moment before realising what Enjolras was referring to.
“No, please! Please, I beg you, not that. Not that, please!”
“Yes, I think that’s an appropriate punishment. Three days, you shall not see me, you shall not speak to me, you will stay out of my presence.”
“Did you not just swear to do anything I asked?”
“I did,” said Grantaire, bowing his head.
“Then you shall leave my presence until this hour in three days’ time. You shall remain in your bedroom. I will bring you food and water.”
Grantaire was horrified by the thought. Enjolras should not be bringing him things, and if Grantaire was confined to the bedroom then Enjolras would have no one to cook for him or serve him. In fact, Enjolras would have to cook for him if he was to bring him food. It was wrong and he felt wretched and ashamed to be the cause of it. Evidently his feelings showed on his face.
“Yes, I know; it will greatly inconvenience me. I hope you are happy with yourself.”
“I’m sorry,” Grantaire whispered, thoroughly ashamed.
It was torture for Grantaire, to be banned from Enjolras’ presence. By the morning of the third day he wanted nothing more than to go to Enjolras, throw himself at his feet and beg him to have mercy. At least then, even if he was refused, he would still have seen Enjolras for a moment. He would not though, for he did not wish to displease Enjolras even more. It was what he was being punished for, after all.
It was difficult, when everyday Enjolras would come up twice to deliver food. The object of his worship was so close, and yet he may as well have been worlds away. He left the food outside Grantaire’s door before knocking on it and leaving swiftly. It had been horrible that first day, when Grantaire did not know what was happening. He had allowed himself to hope when he heard the knock. Perhaps Enjolras had changed his mind, perhaps he would punish him some other way. Grantaire would submit to anything gladly, thankfully, if it meant ending this. His hopes had been crushed and he felt despair when he opened the door to find a plate of burned toast.
That was the worst thing about this punishment though. Not the effect on him but the effect on Enjolras. It was one thing to endure his own punishment, but to think of Enjolras suffering as well, that tormented him. Not that he thought Enjolras missed his company. No, Enjolras was probably glad not to be bothered by him for a while, but he had not one to serve him. He could not go outside, he had to cook for himself, had to fetch things for himself, and he should not have to. Enjolras should have someone to do such menial tasks for him. Not to mention that Enjolras had no skill for cookery. He had been notorious amongst their friends for burning everything he tried to cook. Grantaire supposed he became distracted by higher things and forgot all else. So the worst part of his punishment was that the punishment was not only his but Enjolras’ as well.
Enjolras found that Grantaire’s absence affected him more than he had expected. He had thought that he would not be bothered by Grantaire’s absence, that he might even relish it. This was very much not the case. Besides the obvious practical implications, (he knew he could not cook worth a damn), he found he almost missed the man’s company. The thought unsettled him. That was to be expected, he attempted to rationalise; he’d had constant companionship since he had awoken here. It was merely the change which unsettled him, that was all. It had been months since he’d been alone for this long.
Still, each time he took his attempt at cooking up to Grantaire he found himself pausing before he knocked on the door, wishing to enter to room and tell Grantaire that his punishment was over, perhaps even that he’d been forgiven. He did not allow himself to though. He could not allow himself to soften. In that moment he made his decision; he must leave. Somehow, he must.
At the appointed hour on the third day Enjolras came for Grantaire. Grantaire all but threw himself to the floor at Enjolras feet and took his hand in both of his, pressing his forehead to it in submission. He whispered over and over again how sorry he was, how he could be better, could be better for Enjolras. He begged for it to be over now, to not have any more time added to the punishment.
Enjolras felt a thrill go through him at the power he held here. He could break Grantaire, he knew, by saying that his punishment was not over yet. Yet he knew Grantaire would still submit to it. Perhaps he should do it. The problem was that he could not bring himself to be quite so cruel, no matter that he’d told himself he would stop softening towards Grantaire.
“It’s over,” he said. He could not allow himself to be kinder than that, nor could he bring himself to be crueller.
“Thank you, thank you,” said Grantaire, placing kiss after kiss on the back of his hand until Enjolras pulled away.
Enjolras had Grantaire make something for them to eat as he sat in the dining room and contemplated what to do with him after. It had been three days since he’d been able to torment him, he’d certainly missed it. It drove him to consider crossing a line he had not done before. It seemed too intimate. If he was to do this then he would have to do so it a way that would not permit intimacy. He stared at the table in front of him as a plan formed in his mind.
After eating what was undoubtedly the only decent meal that either of them had had in the past three days, Enjolras took hold of Grantaire’s hair and wrenched him into a standing position from where he had been kneeling at the foot of Enjolras’ chair. He placed Grantaire bent over the dining room table.
“Don’t move,” he growled into Grantaire’s ear before leaving to go fetch oil from the kitchen. When he returned he found Grantaire exactly as he’d left him. He took a moment to enjoy the view.
He wasted no time teasing before pouring oil over one of his hands and breaching Grantaire with a single finger. The man in front of him tensed and yelped.
“Problem,” Enjolras asked mockingly, not ceasing to move his finger.
“No, forgive me. I was merely surprised.”
“Surprised? Why? Did you think that I would ask for your consent? As though I care what you want.” Enjolras added another finger, not bothering to force it in slowly.
“No,” Grantaire gasped. “You may do whatever- whatever you wish to me, of c-course. I simply thought you intended to- to beat me again. Ah!” Enjolras had moved to three fingers now. He continued for a moment before withdrawing them and undoing his trousers. He paused for an instant.
“Please, Enjolras,” Grantaire begged. “Please fuck me. Let me please you, I beg you.”
“I suppose I should,” said Enjolras, feigning disinterest, “if you’re so desperate for it.”
“Pl- ah!” Grantaire cried out as Enjolras pushed in all at once. He paused for a moment before withdrawing just as swiftly. From then on he gave Grantaire no respite, thrusting viciously, gripping the man’s hips in order to prevent him from moving. Enjolras felt satisfied; there was no intimacy to be found here. This was nothing more than fucking, rutting into the man before him. He watched in satisfaction as he changed his angle slightly, making Grantaire cry out and scrape his fists futilely against the table, trying to find something to hold on to. Evidently he had found the man’s prostate. He continued to pound into it relentlessly as he fucked the man before him. He did not slow until he released into Grantaire, holding the man pressed against him by a bruising grip on his hips. Enjolras found himself pleased with the thought that Grantaire would have marks from this tomorrow.
He let Grantaire go as he fastened his trousers. Grantaire collapsed to the floor before him, looking up with nothing but worship in his eyes. Enjolras ordered him to follow him to the parlour. When they were seated in their habitual positions, Enjolras in his chair and Grantaire kneeling before him, Enjolras removed the chain with the key to Grantaire’s cage on it from around his neck and threw it at Grantaire.
“Unlock yourself,” he ordered. “I want you to edge for me.”
So, there you go. Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought and, as ever, if you spot any typos that got past me, please let me know.
Enjolras had been watching. He'd sent Grantaire out on a multitude of errands, claiming he wanted this book or that delicacy or some trinket or other. Grantaire was always very happy to get him anything he wished. He even seemed overjoyed every time he returned with what had been requested. He watched carefully each time Grantaire had gone out, and had seen the locked box that he kept all the keys in, shut away in a cupboard in the kitchen. The box itself was locked shut by a padlock, the key for which Grantaire kept somewhere in his bedroom. He knew now how to make his escape.
He allowed himself one more night of indulging in Grantaire. The day before he planned to escape, he bent Grantaire over the dining room table after breakfast. He opened him up with his fingers, and put the butt plug in before going to read in the parlour. He didn’t want to be inconvenienced by wait later on.
Being opened up alone had Grantaire straining against his cage, not to mention the tease of being filled all day. Having the plug occasionally just brush his prostate, feeling stretched open, and knowing that Enjolras was most likely going to use him later had Grantaire desperate by the time he was called up to Enjolras’ bedroom that evening.
Grantaire dropped to his knees immediately upon reaching Enjolras’ side and bowed his head. It was strange, Enjolras mused, that those were never things that he’d told Grantaire he expected of him. The man seemed to have some natural instinct towards debasing himself. Still, he could not complain. Such behaviour didn’t exactly present him with an unpleasant sight.
Enjolras took out a riding crop from the drawer and brought it down hard across the scars on Grantaire back without warning.
“What do you remember when you look at these scars?” He wanted Grantaire to remember, when he was gone.
“How I betrayed our friends,” Grantaire answered quietly, his head still lowered.
Another stinging hit, a little further down.
“My friends, you mean. You were never really their friend, were you?” He’d circled around to stand in front of Grantaire’s kneeling form now. He used the riding crop to push Grantaire’s chin up so he was forced to meet his gaze.
“I was,” Grantaire whispered. Enjolras froze.
“What was that,” he hissed.
“I was. I cared for them. I mourn them.”
“You betrayed them!”
“I could not let you die! I could not. I hate myself for doing it but it was wor-” He was cut off by Enjolras kicking him viciously in the stomach.
“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare say that it was worth it! You would belittle their deaths now?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
Enjolras gripped Grantaire by his hair and dragged him to the bed, throwing him to lie face down on it.
He was tied spread out so that he could barely move. Enjolras beat him until he felt his anger abate, long after tears had started running down Grantaire’s face and he could no longer stifle his cries. He was left holding the riding crop, breathing heavily, gazing at the Grantaire’s reddened back and behind stretched out in front of him.
“Enjolras? I truly am sorry,” Grantaire said through his sobs. “I know it makes- makes no difference but I am.”
“Hush,” said Enjolras, not quite comforting, but not as harsh as his usual demands for silence either. “I’m going to use you now. Would you like that?”
“Yes. Please Enjolras, use me, let me serve you.”
Enjolras grasped the end of the plug, pulling it out teasingly slowly. Grantaire let out a whimper at the empty feeling it left behind. He turned his head to watch Enjolras undress, marveling at the perfection of his body. He was pale from all the time spent indoors, with only brief visits to the garden. That only seemed to make him appear more otherworldly than he already had. He seemed to be the marble that Grantaire had always claimed he was.
He felt rather than saw Enjolras kneel over him and slick his cock with oil that he had presumably brought up earlier after plugging Grantaire. He was entered in one long stroke, Enjolras giving him no time to adjust to the intrusion before he began moving. For all he was forceful, his movements weren’t hurried. Enjolras was taking his time now, unlike before. Enjoying him leisurely.
He shifted a little and changed his angle, finding Grantaire’s prostate. Grantaire moaned as Enjolras continued to hit it consistently, reminding him of his cock, as hard as it could get, pushing against the metal of the cage. Enjolras reached his hand down to stroke over it.
“Is this frustrating Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered in his ear. “To be able to feel the lightest, most fleeting touch as I stroke the cage, but being unable to feel anything more than that? How much do you want release right now? Answer me.” Grantaire was bucking his hips desperately now, trying to get a little more stimulation even though he could not have release.
“So much, I want it so badly Enjolras. Pl-” Grantaire cut himself off and snapped his mouth closed.
“That’s right. You remembered you aren’t permitted to beg for release, good. Now be quiet and stay still for me.”
Grantaire complied, holding himself as still as he could as Enjolras picked up speed. Not that he could move much anyway, tied down as tightly as he was. Enjolras’ thrusts stuttered and he stilled as he orgasmed inside Grantaire. He lay across his back for a moment before stirring himself to go get a rag to clean them both up with. That done, he loosened Grantaire’s bonds and laid back down next to him.
Grantaire moved to get up. Enjolras put a hand on his arm and Grantaire froze, half risen from the bed.
“You may stay if you wish.” Grantaire stared in amazement.
“You would permit me to share your bed,” he queried hesitantly.
“Yes. For tonight at least.”
“I would not wish to disturb you,” replied Grantaire, although he wished for nothing more than to stay.
“You will not.”
Grantaire still hesitated.
“I wish you to stay.”
If Enjolras wished it then of course Grantaire would comply. He laid back down.
Enjolras immediately turned to lie on his front, resting his head on Grantaire’s chest and hooking an arm over his stomach. Grantaire very carefully, ready to withdraw at the slightest sign of displeasure from Enjolras, placed his arm around Enjolras’ shoulders.
They passed the night thus. Enjolras slept soundly, better than he ever had in this house. Grantaire did not dare sleep. If he slept he might move and disturb Enjolras, and that would be bad, that would be unforgivable. Besides, why would he want to miss even a moment of this? His god, his Apollo, had deigned to allow him to be close to him, to permit him to touch him. It was ecstasy such as he had never felt before. Not even when Enjolras was inside him did he feel such joy. He would not waste a moment of it.
Enjolras awoke gently, gradually becoming aware of his surroundings. It seemed he had passed the entire night in Grantaire’s embrace. It was evident that the man beneath him was awake; there was a slight tenseness to Grantaire’s form, a rigidity. Almost as though he were afraid to move. He allowed himself a moment enjoy the comfort he felt before raising himself to sit up. Grantaire regarded him warily.
“Why do you look at me so?”
“Are you not angry that I dared pass the night thus? It was arrogant of me, I know, to think I deserved such a boon.”
“I permitted you to.”
“You will not punish me for it?”
“You did nothing wrong.”
Grantaire did not seem to know what to make of this. He slid from the bed and knelt as Enjolras went about dressing.
“You often kneel even though I haven’t told you to,” Enjolras stated. “Why?”
“I’m sorry” said Grantaire hurriedly. “I’ll wait to be tol-”
“It does not displease me. I merely do not understand why you would do such a thing without being told.” Enjolras finished dressing and turned to look at Grantaire.
Grantaire looked thoughtful for a moment.
“I suppose it seems right, to kneel before you. I’m yours, you own me. It feels as though I’m in my place when I’m at your feet.”
“I own you,” Enjolras repeated blandly. He felt a thrill of uneasiness run through him. He did not know what it would do to Grantaire, him leaving. He’d hadn’t considered it in much detail before. It would hurt Grantaire, he’d known that when he’d first happened upon his plan. Now though, he was not certain that Grantaire would survive it. The thought unsettled him, but not as much as the fact that he was unsettled by it at all did. He forced himself to put aside such feelings. He must leave for just this reason. He was softening towards Grantaire and he could not allow himself to.
“Body and soul,” replied Grantaire, unaware of his turmoil. “You always have, whether you knew it or not. I have been yours since the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“Lay down on your back, on the bed.”
“Yes, Enjolras.” Grantaire complied without questioning the sudden change in subject. Enjolras secured his arms and legs to a post each, making sure he could not undo the knots no matter how hard he struggled. He would send a note to the police later, anonymously, so that Grantaire would be freed. He allowed himself to stroke a finger over Grantaire’s face before taking a step back. Grantaire looked startled at the tender gesture. The startled look turned to alarm as Enjolras left the room, but he didn’t dare say anything yet. That was good, Enjolras thought as he went to retrieve the box of keys from the kitchen, it would be much easier for him to leave if Grantaire did not cry out.
As he went back upstairs, he heard a tentative call of “Enjolras?” from Grantaire, who had heard him moving about. He ignored it and began searching for the key to the box in Grantaire’s bedroom. In this respect he was lucky, Grantaire’s room was much smaller than his own, with barely enough space for a simple single bed and a wardrobe. In addition, it was sparsely decorated. It took him mere minutes to find the key underneath the mattress. He unlocked the box and took the keys for the front door and the gate.
As he reached the top of the stairs it occurred to him that he had neither boots nor a coat, both of which were in his bedroom. He did not wish to face Grantaire again but he could not leave without them, he would be too conspicuous and he was still a wanted man. He reluctantly turned towards the bedroom.
Grantaire’s face lit up with relief when Enjolras returned to the room. Relief that soon turned to anxiety as Enjolras put on his boots and took the overcoat that Grantaire had acquired for him so that he might not be cold in the garden in winter.
“What are you doing?”
“I am leaving.” Enjolras was almost at the door now, he did not look at Grantaire.
“You cannot!” Grantaire had begun to struggle now.
“I can. I have the keys.”
“No! No, please! Enjolras, you’ll be killed! You’ll be found and executed!” He was crying now. Enjolras was at the door but he had stopped moving entirely without his noticing.
“I will take my chances. It has been months, people have all but forgotten. The only way I will be found now is if I draw attention to myself.”
“Please don’t leave me.” Grantaire had gone from panicked shouting to a pleading whisper. “Please Enjolras, please just stay. You don’t have to talk to me, or be near me. I’ll leave you alone, I’ll never be in a room you are if you don’t wish it. I’ll do anything, just tell me what you want.” He meant it. Those three day he had been banished from Enjolras’ presence had been torture, but that was infinitely better than not even having the comfort of knowing that Enjolras was near and safe.
“What I want? You wish to know what I want?”
“Yes, please. I’ll ensure you have it, I swear Enjolras.”
“I want freedom! I want to be more than a prisoner! I want to be able to go wherever I wish! That is something you cannot give me!” He turned to go.
“Please.” It was barely audible and filled with such broken desperation that Enjolras was halted once more.
“I cannot stay,” he whispered back.
“Then kill me.”
“What?” Enjolras startled at this unexpected request.
“If you would leave then I beg you to have mercy and kill me, for I surely cannot live without you.”
“Do you not see how unhealthy this is? You say that there is nothing for you in your life but me!”
“I know. I cannot be otherwise. So I beg you Enjolras, either stay or kill me. I’d rather die by your hand than my own.”
Enjolras’ head spun. He did not know what to do. It was one thing to leave Grantaire in misery, but to know that he would be actively ending his life one way or the other if he left was entirely too great a consequence. Yet the thought of spending the rest of his days locked in this house made his stomach roil.
“I cannot stay locked up here. I will go mad.”
Grantaire hesitated a moment, seemingly quieting some internal argument before speaking.
“We can go out. Whenever you wish, wherever you want, so long as I am with you.”
“I do not believe you. You would not allow me that before, why would you start now?”
“It is as you said, it has been months. Few will still remember your face, if you do not draw attention, it is unlikely you will be recognised. It is still a risk I do not like to take, but if the alternative is never seeing you again then it pales in comparison.”
“Swear it. Swear that if I untie you, you won’t simply restrain me, hide the keys, and lock me away in this house again.”
“You have my word, I will not.”
Enjolras approached slowly and untied Grantaire’s arms and legs. He backed off a little as the man sat up, but relaxed as Grantaire sank to his knees and crawled his way towards Enjolras. Once he’d reached him he lent down, placing reverent kisses on Enjolras’ boots and murmuring heartfelt thanks in between. Enjolras allowed it for a while but when Grantaire showed no sign of stopping he had to intervene.
“Stop. Follow me to the parlour, we need to discuss this.”
Once he was situated in his chair he looked down at the man kneeling at his feet with his accustomed severity. He took the keys to the door and the gate out of his pocket.
“I’m going to give these back to you. Not so that you can lock me up once more, but so that you can be certain I won’t go out without you. I don’t want you to do anything drastic. We will go out when I wish. I don’t care if I wake you in the middle of the night and proclaim that I want to go for a walk, you will obey.”
“Of course Enjolras. I’ll always obey you.”
“I want you to take the locks off of the windows as well. They’re dismal and useless now.”
“Forgive me, Enjolras, but-”
“You want to know how you can be sure I won’t run away?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
“Consider that I did not leave today. I doubt there will be another chance as perfect and since my situation will be drastically improving now, I think it fair to say that you can believe I will stay.”
“I do. Will I still be allowed to be in your presence? I meant it, as long as you stay I’ll leave you alone if that is your wish.”
“No. I don’t wish it. There may be times when I will but for now you are permitted to be near me.”
“Thank you,” whispered Grantaire, again. “May I properly show my gratitude that you are staying and permitting me to be in your presence?”
“How would you like to?”
“In whatever way pleases you. I could give you an orgasm. I could worship your boots or your hands. I could rub your feet. Whatever would please you.”
“Hmmm. I think you can start by worshipping my boots. Then you can take them off when I’m bored of seeing you debase yourself in such a way and you can rub my feet. I might even let you kiss my feet if you beg prettily enough. After that, if you’ve been good, if you’ve pleased me, I may let you pleasure me with your mouth.”
Grantaire gazed up at him with nothing short of veneration in his eyes. He started to lower his mouth towards Enjolras’ boots before stopping himself and looking up to see if he had permission to begin.
“Go on,” said Enjolras benevolently.
Grantaire needed no further encouragement and took to his task with enthusiasm, worship evident on his face. It was apparent that this was all Grantaire needed to be happy. Enjolras was surprised though as he looked down on the man at his feet, so fervently worshipping his boots, that he found himself to be content with his lot.
Grantaire laved his tongue over the top of Enjolras’ boot before pressing kisses from the toes going down the side until he reached the heel. He proceeded to lick around it before switching to do the same to the other side of the shoe. He tried to display his devotion with each motion he made. Every so often he would glance up at Enjolras with the worshipful expression that was so common when he looked at Enjolras in his eyes. He continued on with his task, switching to the other shoe when Enjolras nudged the side of his face with it. He did not stop until Enjolras bid him to.
“That’s enough,” he said firmly. “Now take off my shoes and rub my feet.”
There was a strange sort of intimacy to Grantaire removing Enjolras’ shoes. He did so carefully, slowly, lingering over the baring. When he was done he took Enjolras’ feet in his hands and thought that perhaps he ought to feel ashamed. He supposed as an abstract concept that massaging someone’s feet was rather humiliating. However, he’d already debased himself so much before Enjolras that it hardly seemed to matter now. Besides, to rub Enjolras’ feet, to serve him, to please him even a little bit didn’t seem humiliating but rather something to be coveted, begged for. With this in mind, he happily went about his task, determined to do well, to please. Enjolras had been so merciful today, in staying. Grantaire needed to display his gratitude, to be perfect for Enjolras so that Enjolras would never think of leaving ever again.
Enjolras moaned. In the entire time he’d been in that house he’d never allowed himself to be so openly appreciative of Grantaire’s skills. That moan meant more to Grantaire than any word of praise he had ever recieved. Not that Enjolras usually offered him praise.
“Enough,” said Enjolras, kicking Grantaire’s hands away. “Now, is there something you’d like to ask me?”
“Please Enjolras,” Grantaire pleaded, breathing heavily. “Please let me kiss your feet, let me show you my devotion. Please, let me worship you.” Enjolras considered Grantaire for a moment, allowing him to become nervous before relenting.
“Yes, you may.”
“Thank you,” Grantaire breathed reverently before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the top of Enjolras’ left foot. He did not stop, pressing kiss after kiss to every inch of skin on his foot, lingering on each just long enough to display his adoration. He switched to the other foot, doing the same there. Enjolras looked down on him, aroused and not a little touched by this man’s act of submission.
“Stop,” he ordered, when he could take the arousal no more. Grantaire complied and looked up at him beseechingly, not daring to ask for what he wanted out loud.
“Do you want to suck my cock,” Enjolras asked teasingly, taking himself out of his trousers and slowly stroking up and down his length.
“Yes, please,” Grantaire replied breathily, hardly able to say even that through his desperation.
Grantaire wasted no time, immediately taking Enjolras' cock into his mouth, pushing it down into his throat before pulling back and swirling his tongue around the tip as he knew Enjolras liked. He repeated this a few times before simply pushing Enjolras into his throat and back out again repeatedly. Such was his experience with Enjolras now that he didn’t need to be guided anymore. He knew what his Apollo liked, knew how best to please him, and was practised enough to do so perfectly. He felt Enjolras tense beneath him and pushed further down, letting him come down his throat rather than in his mouth, despite how badly he wanted the taste. It would feel better for Enjolras this way.
He knelt silently in front of Enjolras, watching him with wide eyes as he recovered from his orgasm. Enjolras was impossibly beautiful like this. His face was flushed, his hair was tussled, and he look so completely content. Grantaire felt almost as though he should not be allowed to look, yet he was unable to look away. These moments there some of his favourites. When he could be around Enjolras after he had pleased him, could see the physical evidence of it. He always waited thus, silent, careful not to disturb Enjolras, waiting to thank him for allowing him to give him pleasure.
Eventually, Enjolras pulled himself to sit up. Grantaire took this as his cue.
“Thank you for letting me please you, Enjolras.”
“You’re welcome,” Enjolras said, almost indulgently. “Come up here.”
“Y- you want me to-”
“To come sit on my lap,” Enjolras interrupted sternly. “Don’t make me tell you again!”
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” said Grantaire hurriedly. He climbed up, pushed into overcoming his hesitations by the thought of having displeased Enjolras so soon.
“There, that wasn’t so difficult was it?”
No,” whisper Grantaire, pressed into quiet by Enjolras proximity. It seemed that to speak at a normal level was to profane him somehow.
Enjolras took the chain from around his neck and Grantaire though that he might wish him to edge while he watched. Thus, he was taken completely by surprise when, after unlocking him, Enjolras wrapped a hand around his cock.
It took all of his self-control not to orgasm right at that very moment. Only the thought of displeasing Enjolras held him back. Enjolras had never touched his cock before. He began to stroke up and down slowly, teasingly, looking into his eyes all the while with a smirk on his face.
“How desperate to come are you Grantaire? Is it very hard to hold back? I have half a mind to spend the rest of the night teasing you. You’d let me, wouldn’t you? You’d gladly sit there and let me do anything I wanted, isn’t that right? Had we anyone else around, I could order you to let them fuck you and you’d just take it, wouldn’t you? You would want to, not really, but you’d do it because I told you to. Look at how worked up you are, just from my hand on your cock. I wonder how hard it would be for you if it was my mouth? Perhaps another time,” he added after Grantaire stopped breathing for a moment.
Grantaire was becoming more and more desperate as Enjolras continued, moving his hand so so slowly, but firmly and whispering a steady stream of teasing into his ear. He wanted to beg him to stop but he could never ask Enjolras to stop doing something that he wanted to. He wouldn’t. When he’d heard Enjolras talk about using his mouth, he almost hadn’t been able to hold back. He’d had to hold his breath and tense his muscles to stop himself from going over the edge. Finally, after what seemed like hours but in reality was probably only thirty minutes Enjolras sped up his hand and looked Grantaire in the eye seriously.
“I want you to pay attention, and listen to me Grantaire. You are going to listen to what I tell you to do, and then you are going to do it. You will not question me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Enjolras,” he replied, just as seriously.
“I want you to come for me. Now,” ordered Enjolras, moving his hand faster still.
Grantaire didn’t allow himself to think, he simply obeyed, coming over Enjolras’ hand explosively. It was beyond euphoric, having release after so long. When it was over he found himself too weak to sit up by himself. He was slumped down onto Enjolras’ chest. He pushed himself back up in panic.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted quickly, unable to believe he had taken such a liberty.
“Hush, it’s alright,” Enjolras replied, almost kindly.
“Now,” he continued, holding the hand covered in Grantaire’s release up. “Clean your mess up before I lock you back up, slut.”
Grantaire obeyed happily. It was disgusting and wrong and perfect. A way to pay for his orgasm, almost. He licked and sucked at Enjolras’ fingers until they were clean. Enjolras stroked a hand though his hair as he did.
“Good boy,” he whispered.
Grantaire’s eyes held nothing but ecstasy as he released Enjolras’ fingers. Good boy. He’d been good, he’d done well and Enjolras was pleased with him. Enjolras had praised him. He looked up with worship, devotion, and adoration in his eyes. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for this man, nothing he would do to be allow to stay right here, just as they were. He knew that this sudden affection wouldn’t last. That Enjolras would become harsh and angry again later, but that was what Grantaire deserved. He would not allow himself to forget that. But even then, after all the harsh punishment, after the bitter words and the scolding, there was a chance he might earn this again. Might earn praise. That thought made him happier than anything else could.
Enjolras looked down at this man on his lap, so overjoyed with a bit of praise, so eager to please him, and realized that he did not truly wish to leave. This power was intoxicating, and he could not give it up. Grantaire could be built up or broken down at a word from him. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for the slightest chance to earn his favour. Yes, he could not give that up and had no desire to. He was quite content where he was.
So that’s it, it’s finished. Or is it?...
That’s down to you guys to decide. I have some first drafts of some scenes that were taken out of the actual story, either because the chapter was getting too long, or because they contradicted the story later on, or in some cases because they involved kinks that I don’t even have (I think). I couldn’t decide if I was going to polish them up and post them as and ‘outtakes’ sort of thing so I’ve decided not to decide. Is anyone interested in reading those? If there’s interest then I’ll try to redraft and post them. If you'd like a hint, one of the scenes involves Les Amis all punishing Grantaire a little more extensively when they find out he's a spy. Another takes place after the ending, in which Enjolras and Grantaire find Marius when they are out, Enjolras invites him over, and Grantaire spends the night serving both of the. Marius lost his friends too after all...
And as ever, please leave a comment and let me know what you thought (seriously, like even if you’re reading this a year from now, or ten years from now) and please let me know if you spot any typos that got past me.