Never Be Satisfied

by torakowalski

Summary:

Enjolras clears her throat. “Sorry. I’m being ridiculous. It’s just that I thought it might work this time. I thought I might actually get to - ”

Come, Grantaire supplies for her after a pause where she tries to fill that gap with any other possibility. She can’t find one. Enjolras has never come.

Notes:

• For novembersmith.

Happy (belated) birthday to lovely lovely Novembersmith! I'm sorry this is so late. Hopefully ALL THE ORGASMS will make up for it? :D?

With huge thanks to themoononastick for above and beyond beta duty and to Moog for reading EVERY WORD of this as it slowly came into existence <3

“Is this it?” Enjolras asks, looking around the room. For some reason, she’s chosen to sit in the seat next to Grantaire. Grantaire wishes she wouldn’t do that; it makes her want to touch, to flick her arm or pull her hair, or otherwise make an unwanted nuisance of herself.

“Are we not good enough for you, princess?” Grantaire asks, grinning, when Enjolras turns to glare at her.

“It’s not a bad turn out, at all,” Combeferre says, talking smoothly over whatever reply Enjolras is about to make. “Almost everyone is back from last year, and we have two new members.”

He waves at a small, shy boy and at Azelma, who’s sitting stiffly next to Eponine, looking around the room curiously. As far as Grantaire knows, Azelma’s straight, but this is the sort of LGBTAQ club that loves welcoming straight people.

(“The A stands for ally,” That Arsehole Montparnasse declared at his last meeting, last year.

“It really doesn’t,” Combeferre told him flatly. That Arsehole Montparnasse was never seen at an ABC meeting, again. In fact, Grantaire isn’t sure he’s seen him anywhere since, although that’s probably a coincidence. Combeferre’s scary but not that scary.)

“But still,” Enjolras says, “I thought there’d be a few more first years. They all seemed so enthusiastic when we were giving out flyers.”

Grantaire remembers when Enjolras was a first year, just as angry as she is now, but also adorably nervous, dragged along halfway through her first term by a determined Combeferre, and an excited Courfeyrac.

“Of course they were enthusiastic,” Grantaire says, swinging her feet up onto the table. “You were giving out free condoms and dental dams in those bags. They’re all off getting laid.”

Enjolras glares at Grantaire’s scuffed ankle boots as if they’ve personally offended her. (They probably have; Enjolras’s shoes are always clean and shiny.)

“I would have thought this was a little more important than sex,” she says. Sometimes Grantaire wonders if she listens to the words that come out of her mouth.

“What the fuck is more important than sex?” Grantaire demands. She leans into Enjolras’s side. “Go on, tell me.”

Enjolras elbows her swiftly, and Grantaire sits up again, pointedly rubbing her arm. “Embracing their identities,” Enjolras tells her, blue eyes sparkling the way they get when she really means something. “Finding a safe space.”

Grantaire feels a little flutter of something in her chest, wondering if - hoping that - they’ve been that for Enjolras.

Obviously, she can’t ask. Obviously, she has to open her mouth and say, “They are embracing their identities. Also kissing their identities, probably fucking their identities,” instead.

“Sex isn’t the be-all and end-all of the student experience,” Enjolras says, even snottier than Enjolras usually is when Grantaire starts deliberately baiting her.

Grantaire rolls her eyes. “Well duh,” she says, “but sex is nice.” She waves a hand at Combeferre and then at Feuilly, their asexual representatives. “Unless you don’t think sex is nice, obviously, but what I’m saying is that if you like sex and you want to have sex, then having sex is a fun thing to do with your time.”

Enjolras’s pretty, pretty jaw clenches prettily. “Do you have an actual point?”

To be fair, Grantaire can’t remember, but that’s never stopped her before. “My point is that the baby queers are having fun fucking around and who are we to judge them?” She flutters her eyelashes at Enjolras. “Don’t you remember the heady days of your youth? The first fumbled touch, the first taste of a lady’s - ”

“Grantaire,” Cosette says mildly. She flicks her eyes at Marius, who has gone very red.

Poor Marius. For someone dating two very bisexual ladies, he’s just so very straight.

“We’re so far off the point of this meeting that it’s laughable,” Enjolras says, with a sigh. “Grantaire, do you sit at home thinking up ways to derail our conversations?”

“No, it just comes naturally,” Grantaire tells her with wide eyes and her most earnest tone. “I think you inspire me, Athena.” She nudges Enjolras’s pale elbow with the tip of one blunt, paint covered fingernail. “Come on, tell me about your first time. Were there rose petals? Did you see fireworks? Did Zeus approve?”

“Grantaire,” Combeferre says.

Grantaire throws her hands up into the air. “We’re supposed to be friends,” she says. “Friends tell each other about their hookups.” She doesn’t add how badly she wants to be friends with Enjolras, but she’s pretty sure that’s obvious, anyway.

Well, not to Enjolras, but to everyone else on the fucking planet who happens to have eyeballs.

Probably some who don’t.

Enjolras drums her fingers on the table. “There’s not much to tell,” she says.

Grantaire sinks back into her chair, tired and defeated. “Okay, fine,” she says, and picks up her sharpie.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, but Grantaire ignores her. Enjolras doesn’t want to be friends? Fucking fine with Grantaire, just the finest.

She turns to her left, where Jehan is sitting, and picks up his arm, interrupting the ridiculous thing he’s been doing where he inches his hand closer and closer to Courfeyrac’s while Courfeyrac pretends not to notice.

“Tigers or bats?” she asks him.

“Bats,” Jehan says, immediately, laying his arm down flat on the table for her. “Can they be riding motorcycles?”

“Fuck yes,” Grantaire says, and starts to draw on his skin.

***

They go out dancing after the meeting, because sometimes it’s nice to be a cliche.

Grantaire loves to dance, and she especially loves it when she has her boys with her, Jehan spinning her around and Bossuet trying to jive with her, while Joly sits on the nearest table and drums out a beat on the floor with his cane.

“Was I too mean to Enjolras?” Grantaire asks, wrapping her arms around Jehan’s neck and attempting to grind on him.

He laughs and squirms away, before he dips her, bending her almost all the way backwards. “No,” he says, “but I think you take what she says too personally.”

“Too personally?” Grantaire grabs his shoulders, just about keeping her feet. “Shit, Jehan, I’m not that bendy.”

“You are,” Jehan says, but he straightens them both up, and smoothes down her baggy vest-top as an apology. He looks over her shoulder and his eyes widen. “Speaking of.”

She turns automatically, looking where he’s looking, and finds herself staring straight at Enjolras.

Enjolras does not usually come out dancing. In fact, Grantaire didn’t know Enjolras was capable of doing anything except going to lectures and campaigning angrily for some things and against other things.

To be fair, she currently looks very much like someone who never comes out dancing. She’s standing next to Courfeyrac - who’s bobbing up and down on his toes - and looking supremely uncomfortable.

“Aw, let’s go and rescue them,” Jehan says, grabbing Grantaire’s hand and tugging her across the dance floor.

Courfeyrac definitely does not need rescuing, but Grantaire doesn’t point that out. Maybe tonight, Jehan will finally make his move. Or failing that, maybe Courfeyrac will just grab him and lay one on him. He’s been getting the look of a man approaching that stage of desperation for a while, now.

“Jehan, my brightest star!” Courfeyrac yells over the music, as soon as they’re close enough to actually hear each other. “I’m trying to convince Enjolras to dance with me, but she won’t.”

Enjolras crosses long, pale arms across her chest. She’s wearing the short, knitted white dress she wore to the meeting, which at least doesn’t look as out of place as some of her other outfits would. Her favourite pencil skirts, for example, always make her look as though she’s getting ready for some kinky secretary role play.

“I don’t need a pity dance,” Enjolras says tightly. “I’ll be fine here.”

“You’ll be bored here,” Courfeyrac corrects, “and then you’ll go home and leave me here all alone and - And, hang on, what the fuck is a pity dance?”

“You know what I mean,” Enjolras says. She keeps glancing around as though she expects to be set on by marauding young people, at any moment. It’s particularly hilarious, since Grantaire knows Enjolras can have fun. She has this amazing silent laugh that shakes her whole body, sometimes.

“Aw, leave her alone,” says Jehan, ever worried about other people’s feelings. He holds his hand out to Courfeyrac, hesitant as though he expects to be turned down. “I’ll dance with you?”

“You will?” Courfeyrac asks. It’s much less confidently self-assured than he usually sounds. Really, it’s more a squeak.

Jehan nods. Courfeyrac takes his hand. They seem to forget anyone else is there, just drift toward the dance floor, hand in hand and staring at each other. Sickening, really.

“I’ll keep you company, if you want,” Grantaire hears herself offer. She leans against Enjolras’s arm. “Want a drink?”

Belatedly, Enjolras looks at her. “No, thank you,” she says, then, “should you be ordering drinks?”

“I can buy other people's drinks,” Grantaire says, scoffing as though that’s not a hard-won victory.

Enjolras finally seems to focus on her face, to actually see her for the first time tonight. She smiles slightly. “Still,” she says. “No, thank you. I’d like some water though, if there’s any?”

If there’s any. Grantaire womanfully doesn’t mock her for that. She’d like a medal. “Coming right up, princess,” she says and throws herself into the melee around the bar, before Enjolras can protest the nickname.

By the time Grantaire returns with two bottles of water and three telephone numbers scrawled on her arm, Enjolras has retreated to an empty wall in a darker part of the club.

“I thought you’d forgotten me,” she says, taking one of the bottles with a nod.

“As if I could,” Grantaire laughs. She holds out her left arm for Enjolras to see. “I was very popular with the barfly crowd.”

“Apparently,” Enjolras says, frowning at her skin. She touches her palm against the back of Grantaire’s arm, so she can hold it still and study the numbers with much more focus than is necessary. She clears her throat. “Are you going to call any of them?”

“Nah.” Grantaire takes her own water bottle and rolls it down her arm, the heavy condensation smudging and blurring the numbers immediately.

An odd expression crosses Enjolras’s face. It isn’t disapproval. It might actually be… why would it be smugness? Grantaire thinks it’s smugness. “Why accept the numbers in the first place, then?”

Grantaire shrugs. “Politeness. Also, you know, if I got horny enough, I could probably make at least one of these out, still.”

“Because sex is fun,” Enjolras says quietly. It takes Grantaire a moment to realise she’s being quoted.

She screws the top back onto her bottle and shoves it in the pocket of her shorts. “Yes?” she says. She turns toward Enjolras, leaning one elbow against the wall. It brings them closer together, her chest very close to Enjolras’s arm, both of them sweaty enough from the heat of the club that their clothes are sticking to them. “Don’t you like sex?”

She doesn’t add a nickname. She’s serious. She really wants to know.

Enjolras looks down and away. “I don’t dislike it,” she says. She’s blushing. Her cheeks go from heat-flushed to embarrassment-flooded. “But I don’t… I’ve never found it to be earth shattering.”

Grantaire feels her eyes widen without her permission. She reaches out and curls a hand around Enjolras’s bare forearm. “Then you’ve been having some bad sex,” she says, earnestly.

Enjolras still doesn’t look at her. She makes a soft noise and tries to pull her arm away.

Grantaire clings on. “No, seriously. I know I give you shit, but I’m serious right now. If you’re, you know, into sex, then it should be good.”

Enjolras screws up her pretty nose. It makes her cheeks look a little hamster-like. Grantaire is suddenly incredibly angry that no one has ever shown her a good time. “I’ve always found it rather boring.”

Grantaire gasps. It’s only partly for show. “Oh my god,” she says, pressing a hand to her face. “Boring. Athena, my princess, real talk time. Do you get yourself off?”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, glancing around as though anyone could have heard, or would care if they did. When she apparently decides that everyone else is suitably far enough away, she nods. “Yes.”

Grantaire spreads her hands. “And?”

“And?” Enjolras asks blankly.

Grantaire sighs. She doesn’t know how this conversation is still happening, how Enjolras is telling her these things, which she’s sure Enjolras doesn’t usually tell people. But it is happening and she wants to get it right. “Is that better?”

“It’s quicker,” Enjolras offers. “I can stop it when it gets too annoying without having to string it out.” She twists her water bottle around in her hands. It isn’t usual to see her this awkward. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Grantaire realises she’s still holding onto Enjolras’s arm. She makes use of that to stroke her thumb over the fine hairs on Enjolras’s forearm, trying her best to be reassuring.

“Nothing,” Grantaire says. This isn’t any of her business; she and Enjolras aren’t real friends, not close friends. But she wanted Enjolras to confide in her earlier, and now she is. Careful what you wish for, R. “I don’t want you to say anything, but I’m, you know, I’m glad you have? Can I help?”

Enjolras chokes, which is weird, since she wasn’t drinking anything. “Help?” she asks, through her coughs.

Grantaire shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah, you know. Advice? Pointers? Um, do you have any sex toys?”

“Oh,” Enjolras says, after a tiny pause. She nods to herself. “Help, of course. And no, I don’t have any sex toys. I tried a vibrator once, but it wasn’t for me.”

“Like a dildo?” Grantaire asks.

It’s fascinating what embarrasses Enjolras. Saying vibrator didn’t bother her, but Grantaire saying dildo makes her flush again.

She nods.

“Yeah,” Grantaire agrees. “Those don’t work for me, either. I’ve got this great new one, though, that… Actually, you know what, you want to borrow it?”

“Borrow your sex toy?” Enjolras asks, sounding more than a little strangled.

Grantaire scratches the back of her neck, suddenly realising that, if Enjolras says yes, she’s going to put something between her legs that’s been between Grantaire’s legs. Shit.

“I mean, if you don’t think that’d be hygienic, I’d understand,” she adds, trying to give herself an out as much as Enjolras.

“No,” Enjolras says slowly. “No, I’d… Thank you. That’s kind.”

Kind! Grantaire thinks hysterically. It won’t be kind, not when she’s frantically bringing herself off, imagining what Enjolras is doing with her vibrator.

“No problem,” she manages.

Enjolras turns her arm within Grantaire’s grip, wrapping her long fingers around Grantaire’s wrist. “Shall we go, then?”

Grantaire frowns. “Now?” she asks. “You want… now?” She’d imagined she’d just sneak it into their next meeting, slide it across the table to Enjolras with a wink and a lewd comment. She’d been planning to work out a good lewd comment as the week went on.

“Friday is my masturbation night,” Enjolras says. “Combeferre works nights and Courfeyrac is usually out.” Of course she has a masturbation night. Of course.

“Well, then,” Grantaire says faintly. “Let’s go, I guess.”

***

Luckily, before she came out tonight, Grantaire tidied her flat a little. Admittedly, that was because she was hoping to pick up, rather than because she thought there was any chance of bringing Enjolras home with her.

Either way, it means they can walk from the front door to her bedroom, rather than having to skip over the usual collection of shoes and books and laundry and rollerblades and cats.

Well, the cats are still there, both of them purring around Enjolras’s legs with interest.

“Sorry about them,” Grantaire says, trying to hide her smirk as Enjolras says, “Oh hello,” to the cats as though she’s greeting old and important political allies.

“No, it’s fine,” Enjolras says. “Can I touch them?”

“Of course,” Grantaire says, “they’re already touching you.” She leans against her bedroom door and watches as Enjolras cautiously kneels down and holds out her hand to Cézanne.

Cézanne presses her nose to Enjolras’s fingers, while Manet ducks under her arm, wrapping his tail around her elbow.

“They like you,” Grantaire says, which is the kind of dumb thing she usually says to ladies she wants to charm. There’s no point trying to charm Enjolras. They are so far past that.

Still, Enjolras smiles, looking pleased. Her eyes are warm, when she looks up at Grantaire. “I didn’t know you had cats.”

“It was an accident,” Grantaire says, shrugging. She turns away, shoving open her bedroom door. “They just sort of followed me home.”

Speaking of following, Enjolras does, appearing at Grantaire’s back a second later. She watches as Grantaire crawls around under her bed, searching for the particular box she’s looking for.

The cats, of course, feel the need to help. They always do. Grantaire’s pretty sure that’s the reason why Jehan decided they were keeping them, so she’d have something to distract her during her recovery.

“Here,” she says eventually, rocking back on her heels. There’s dust up her nose and her hair’s in her eyes. If she’d wanted to look attractive in front of Enjolras, that ship has sadly sailed.

She holds out a black and pink box, rolling her eyes when Enjolras looks at it but doesn’t take it from her.

Grantaire rattles it a little from side to side. “I promise it won’t bite,” she says.

“No, but it’s private,” Enjolras says, then laughs at herself. “I am aware that’s ridiculous, if it helps.”

“It does,” Grantaire says. She doesn’t trust herself to say anything else. If she tries, she might end up telling Enjolras how lovely she is, and that won’t end well for either of them. “Okay, come and sit down on the floor with me.”

She waits until Enjolras is sitting opposite her, long legs stretched out in front of her, before she opens the box and pulls out her little wonder toy. It’s a little pink rabbit, about the size of Grantaire’s palm, nothing extravagant.

Enjolras leans forward to get a better look. “How does that work?” she asks.

“Hold out your hand,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras does with surprisingly little hesitation, which leaves Grantaire no choice but to take hold of her fingers and hold them still. She fits the little rubber ears of the vibrator on either side of Enjolras’s index finger then waggles her eyebrows.

“Ready?” she asks.

“Yes, get on with it,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire still waits another moment, just long enough to make Enjolras bite her lip in anticipation, then turns it on.

On its lowest setting, the vibrations still roll through Grantaire’s hand, down her wrist to her elbow. On the other end of the vibrator, Enjolras jumps and makes a startled noise.

“Oh,” she says, sounding fascinated.

Grantaire turns it up.

“Oh,” Enjolras says again. She’s laughing very softly. “And that goes, um.”

“Your clit goes where your finger currently is,” Grantaire says. She turns it off and shows Enjolras how the controls work. “See?”

“I do,” Enjolras says. She takes the whole thing from Grantaire, turning it over in her hands. “And that’s good?”

“It’s so good,” Grantaire says, dragging the words out, just to see if she can make Enjolras blush again. It turns out she can.

“Okay,” Enjolras says. “Um, thank you.”

Grantaire laughs and shakes her head. “You’re welcome,” she says. “Now off you go, go home and have fun.” She waves her hands toward the door, resolutely not wondering what Enjolras will look like when she uses it. Will she bite her lip again? Does she turn red, when she comes?

“Thank you,” Enjolras says again. She stands up and slides the vibrator into her pocket, then she holds out her hand to Grantaire.

Grantaire doesn’t need help getting up off the floor, but she still accepts it, just so she can feel Enjolras’s hand in hers for a moment. Yes, she’s just that pathetic.

“Well, good night,” Enjolras says. She squeezes Grantaire’s hand, before she lets go.

“You have a good night,” Grantaire says. She makes sure to leer, trying to break the oddly comfortable mood that’s sprung up between them. It doesn’t work. Enjolras actually ducks her head and gives Grantaire’s shoulder a friendly little shove.

She bends down to say goodbye to the cats on her way out and then she’s gone, hand stuffed into the pocket where she put the vibrator. Probably sensible, she doesn’t live far away, but it would be awkward, if that fell out on the walk home.

Well, Enjolras would find it awkward. Grantaire would find it fucking hilarious.

Grantaire shuts the door firmly, and makes herself walk away. She’s not going to chase Enjolras down and offer herself in place of the vibrator. She’s not.

“I’m not,” she tells the cats and heads for the shower, instead.

***

Grantaire wishes she could say she was a good enough person not to fantasise about Enjolras in the shower. She’d be lying, but she wishes she could say it.

By the time she finally gets out of the bathroom, Jehan is home, giggling with Courfeyrac in the kitchen, and there are three missed calls from Enjolras on her phone.

Frowning, Grantaire unlocks her phone. She frowns harder, when she sees Enjolras left her a voicemail, each time.

The first is a brisk and slightly peremptory, “Grantaire, it’s Enjolras. Call me back, please?”

The second comes five minutes later and is much tenser. “Grantaire, please if you’re there, could you call me? I’m having a little trouble… Well I can’t quite… Could you just call me?”

The last was only two minutes before Grantaire picked up her phone. “R. I’m sorry, I think I’ve broken it. I’ll buy you a new one, of course. There’s no need to call me back.”

Grantaire starts to grin, thinking of all the jokes she can make about Enjolras breaking a vibrator, but when she plays the message back again, she realises that Enjolras doesn’t sound satisfied, Enjolras sounds defeated.

Also, it’s possible she hasn’t actually broken it, per se.

Shit, sorry, I forgot to check it was fully charged, Grantaire texts, fingers flying across the keyboard. She won’t call anyone unless she absolutely has to, while Enjolras rarely does anything else. She types another sentence, deletes it, types it again, then hits send before she can third-guess herself: I’ll be there with the charger in ten.

She pulls on clothes, shoves the charger lead into her pocket, and sticks her head around the kitchen door. Jehan and Courfeyrac are kissing up against the fridge.

Grantaire backs away, grabs a piece of paper and scribbles Jehan a note, instead. She doubts he’ll remember she exists for a while, anyway, probably not until long after she’s back.

Enjolras and her boys live about fifteen minutes’ walk away from Grantaire and Jehan, in a nicer part of the département, in a very large flat that Courfeyrac bought with his family’s money. He never talks about his parents, but he likes to splash their cash around on things he knows they’ll hate.

Grantaire gets there in ten minutes, slightly out of breath and wishing she’d remembered that midnight is cold in October. Her favourite green hoodie isn’t really designed for warmth.

When Enjolras opens the door, she’s wrapped in a red cotton robe, her long, blonde hair a tangled mess across one shoulder.

Grantaire opens her mouth to make a sex joke, then takes a closer look at her face. Her mouth snaps closed.

“You’ve been crying,” she blurts out, before she can think better of it.

“No. I haven’t. Don’t be ridiculous,” Enjolras says, clipped. She steps back a little, into the dimly lit hallway, so Grantaire can’t see her face so clearly. She knows what she saw though.

“Enjolras - ”

“Don’t,” Enjolras says. She’s holding onto the door as though she’d dearly like to close it in Grantaire’s face. “There was no need for you to come all this way.”

Grantaire pulls the charger out of her pocket and thrusts it at Enjolras. “You’re welcome,” she says, flatly.

“R,” Enjolras says, before Grantaire can flounce away, annoyed with herself for trying to do something nice. “Wait.”

Grantaire turns back around. “What?”

Enjolras steps out after her. Her arms are folded, which is a fairly standard position for her. What’s unusual is the way she’s using them to hug herself. “It didn’t work,” she says softly.

“I know?” Grantaire says. “The battery ran out.”

Enjolras shakes her head sharply. “No. It didn’t work.” She waves a hand below her belt. “I didn’t work.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says, which she thinks is an incredibly helpful and not-at-all-awkward response. “Did you try - ?”

“Everything, I’ve tried everything,” Enjolras interrupts. She looks away and swallows hard. She’s definitely been crying, although Grantaire would put money on it being frustrated, angry tears rather than sorry-for-herself sobbing.

“Hey,” Grantaire says softly. If this were any other of their friends, she’d be hugging them by now, but she can’t hug Enjolras. There’s no way she’d be allowed.

Enjolras clears her throat. “Sorry. I’m being ridiculous. It’s just that I thought it might work this time. I thought I might actually get to - ”

Come, Grantaire supplies for her after a pause where she tries to fill that gap with any other possibility. She can’t find one. Enjolras has never come.

“I can help,” Grantaire says impulsively. “If you’ll let me?”

Enjolras frowns. “How?” she asks.

What the fuck is Grantaire doing? This is such a terrible plan. But Enjolras has never had an orgasm and that’s a goddamn tragedy. Grantaire can’t just walk away.

She touches Enjolras’s arm. “Come on, princess. Let’s step inside your castle.”

***

“I do wish you’d stop calling me a princess,” Enjolras says, very belatedly. She’s sitting on the end of her bed, watching as Grantaire plugs the vibrator in to charge.

“I know,” Grantaire says. She looks up and catches her eye, trying for a smile that Enjolras doesn’t return. “But it’s been far too many years now, and I’m afraid it’s stuck.”

Enjolras sighs but she doesn’t carry on the argument. She always carries on their arguments. Once, when she broke her arm at a protest and had to have surgery, she argued with Grantaire instead of counting down to ten like the anesthetist asked.

“You said you could help,” Enjolras says, eyes on Grantaire’s hand, which is casually holding the vibrator. (The vibrator that’s been up between Enjolras’s legs. Fuck.)

“Yeah, I had an idea,” Grantaire says. “You can say if you hate it - obviously you’ll say, when don’t you? - but I was thinking, okay, I was thinking that you could show me what you’ve been doing and I could, you know, give you some pointers.”

She holds her breath. It’s such a stupid idea. Let me see you naked, she might as well be saying. Let me see you try to get off.

“You’d… do that?” Enjolras asks. At least she isn’t disgusted. That’s something.

“Of course I’d do it,” Grantaire says, laughing. She wishes Enjolras wouldn’t make it sound like Grantaire is doing some great service here. It makes her feel like even more of an opportunistic creep than just suggesting it has.

Enjolras bites her lip. She always does that when she’s thinking. “Thank you,” she says at last. When she looks up at Grantaire, her cheeks are very pink. “Now?”

Why the fuck not? If Grantaire is going to make terrible mistakes, she might as well make them quickly. “If you’re feeling up to giving it another go,” she says, with what she thinks is pretty selfless consideration for Enjolras’s nethers.

Enjolras sets her chin, every inch of her radiating determination. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, I am.”

Yes, she is. Okay, then. Okay, well. Looks like Grantaire is going to be giving a sex lesson, then. This is fine. This is great.

Grantaire stands up, puts the vibrator down on the edge of the bed, and kicks off her shoes. “Get comfy then,” she says, waving at Enjolras and then the bed.

Still looking tremendously determined, Enjolras stands up too. She puts her hands on the thin red tie around her robe. “You’re sure?” she asks, one more time.

“Come the fuck on,” Grantaire snaps. “Your breasts aren’t going to blind me, I promise.”

Enjolras glares at her, yanks open the tie, and pulls her robe open.

It’s possible Grantaire spoke too soon. She does feel a little blinded.

Enjolras is tall and willowy, and oddly fragile-looking without her clothes on, even though she’s anything but, in reality. She has small breasts and pale skin and a thatch of blonde hair between her legs that’s several shades darker than the hair on her head.

“I could make a comment about you being a natural blonde, right now,” Grantaire says, the first thing that comes into her head that isn’t fuck.

“You could,” Enjolras says dangerously. She drops her robe on the ground and sits back down on the bed. She reaches for the vibrator then hesitates. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Grantaire agrees. She looks around, trying to work out where exactly to put herself, so she can watch Enjolras masturbate. Eventually, she settles on an ottoman thing that’s a couple of feet away from the end of the bed, sitting down on it and swinging her legs.

Like this, she and Enjolras are out of touching distance, but they’re still facing each other. Grantaire is still looking Enjolras in the eyes and Enjolras is still looking back.

“What should I do, first?” Enjolras asks. She has one hand curled around the still-charging vibrator and the other is white-knuckled against her thigh.

“Whatever.” Grantaire swallows, when her voice comes out too dry. “Whatever you’d normally do first. Pretend I’m not here.”

Enjolras makes a soft sound at that, but doesn’t comment. She nods, shifts around on the bed, glances at Grantaire again, then eventually lies down on her back.

It gives Grantaire a perfect view of her long legs, the twin mounds of her breasts, swelling up from her ribs like sexy little hills. She could look at the shadowed place between Enjolras’s thighs - will be looking at it soon, presumably - but she feels like she shouldn’t just jump straight in there. So to speak.

Enjolras, apparently, has no such compunction, because she takes the vibrator, sticks it between her legs, and turns it on.

“Oh,” she says, high and startled, even though this can’t be the first time she’s felt that, tonight.

Grantaire leans forward. “Does that feel good?” she asks, doubtfully.

Enjolras’s toes are clenching and unclenching against the duvet cover. Her toenail polish is red and chipped; Grantaire hadn’t expected that.

“Yes, of course,” Enjolras says, clipped.

Grantaire frowns. “No, it doesn’t,” she says. “You’re just saying that, because you think it ought to.”

Enjolras moves her hand a little and makes another punched out sound. “I think I should know whether it feels good or not.”

“And I think you shouldn’t be able to sound that composed with a vibrator on your clit, but maybe that’s just me.” Grantaire mimes zipping her lips shut, more to remind herself than because Enjolras can see.

Stubbornly, Enjolras keeps going for another couple of minutes, making occasional sharp noises, while her toes curl tighter and tighter, turning white under the strain.

“Fuck,” she snaps, and it doesn’t sound like a good exclamation. She pulls the vibrator away and slaps it down onto the bed, belatedly turning it off. “Fuck, okay you’re right.”

“Right about what, exactly?” Grantaire asks. She instantly regrets being a dick, when Enjolras turns her head away, legs snapping closed.

“I didn’t really like it,” Enjolras admits quietly, staring at the far wall. “It felt… I could tell it was supposed to feel good, but it didn’t, really.”

“Sorry,” Grantaire says. She stands up then makes herself stop, wondering what exactly she was planning to do next. “Can I - ?”

“You said you’d help,” Enjolras says, still without looking at her.

“Yeah.” Grantaire moves from the ottoman to the edge of the bed, sitting down on the far corner and tucking her hands under her thighs, so she won’t try to touch. “Maybe try building up to it? Like, don’t just stick it between your legs and hope, tease yourself a little first.”

“Tease?” Enjolras asks. She finally looks around at Grantaire. She’s frowning again, but at least she looks like she’s forgotten to be upset.

Grantaire grins sharply. “Come on, princess, you know what teasing means.” You tease me with your existence daily.

Enjolras makes an annoyed sound. “I just don’t see the point. I’m trying to get off, not deny myself.”

“Look,” Grantaire says, forcing her smile to stay in place. “You want my advice? That’s it. Take your time. Build up to the main event. Look, just turn it on again, okay?”

With a suspicious look, Enjolras does. She starts to move the vibrator back toward her clit, but Grantaire cuts her off with a tsk and a shake of her head.

“Put it on your stomach,” Grantaire says. “Yes, there, by your belly button.”

Enjolras does as she’s told, the tiny frown flickering to life between her eyes again. It seems more assessing than annoyed, this time.

“Good?” Grantaire asks.

“Odd,” Enjolras says. She presses down a little, holding the vibrator deeper against her skin and gasps. “Oh. That does feel nice.”

Grantaire grins a little smugly. “See? Now, I want you to move it up toward your tits, okay?”

“Up?” Enjolras asks, sounding a cross between confused and annoyed.

“Unless you’ve started keeping your tits somewhere else,” Grantaire laughs. “Yep, that’s good, roll it over them for me.” She bites her lip on that last bit. She didn’t mean to say for me. This isn’t for her. This is for Enjolras.

For someone who only Combeferre can rein back in public, Enjolras is surprisingly good at following orders in private. She rubs it under her breasts, exactly where Grantaire would have directed her, if she hadn’t got there first.

Her eyes fall closed and she bites her lip. She’s quiet now, no longer making noises like she thinks she should.

“Try it on your nipples,” Grantaire murmurs.

“Mm,” Enjolras says and does. Her nipples are small and pink and fit perfectly between the vibrating pink ears. One of her legs jerks, her free hand dropping to the duvet and making a fist.

“Turn up the vibrations,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras’s eyes flicker open. They look hazy. “Hm?” she asks.

Grinning, Grantaire leans forward and does it for her, her fingers brushing Enjolras’s, warm against Enjolras’s cool skin.

“Oh my god,” Enjolras says and the sounds of the vibrations suddenly ratchet up. She grabs Grantaire’s hand, when Grantaire would have moved away. “Oh my god.”

“Good, right?” Grantaire asks automatically. Her eyes are transfixed on the hard grip Enjolras has on her fingers. Her skin looks so pink and work-roughened against Enjolras’s perfect bone china.

“Mm,” Enjolras says again. She doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to move on, anymore, twisting the vibrator slightly from side to side and groaning when it pulls on her nipple.

If they were doing this for real, if they were having sex, Grantaire would slip her hand between Enjolras’s legs now. She’s certain she’d find her wet and ready for her fingers.

But they’re not doing it for real, so Grantaire has to clear her throat and say, “I think that’s enough teasing, if you do.”

It takes a minute for Enjolras to understand what she said, but it’s clear as soon as she does, because she blushes and pulls the vibrator away from her chest. “Right, of course,” she says. “Good idea.”

“Leave it on,” Grantaire advises, “and walk it down.”

“Walk it?” Enjolras pulls the vibrating end against her sternum and starts dragging it down her body. She’s watching Grantaire closely, as though she’s waiting for Grantaire to say if she’s doing it right.

“Just like that.” Grantaire nods. “Exactly what I meant.”

Enjolras smiles. She takes some time with the vibrator on her belly button again, as though she really enjoyed that, then starts to move it back to her clit.

“Hang on,” Grantaire says, and uses her free hand to gently nudge Enjolras’s hand to the side. “Run it around a bit, first.”

Frowning curiously, Enjolras runs the vibrator over her hip bone (judging from her expression, she’s not into that) and down the V of her groin (this time, she really seems to be into that).

“Okay?” Enjolras asks, looking at Grantaire. “Can I get on with it, now?” She’s trying to sound impatient, but it doesn’t really work. Grantaire knows her well enough to know that it’s not impatience that’s catching at her throat, but not quite well enough to know what it is, instead.

“Yes, go ahead,” Grantaire says, with a lazy, altruistic wave of her free hand.

Enjolras presses the vibrator between her legs and gasps. It’s a much clearer, more honest sound than earlier.

Grantaire spreads her hand across Enjolras’s thigh. She hadn’t meant to touch, but she finds she can’t help it. “Nice and slow,” she murmurs. “There’s no rush, here.”

“Isn’t there?” Enjolras asks tightly. She sighs and rolls her wrist a little. “Oh.”

“Think you’ve got it?” Grantaire asks. There’s a shamefully insistent pulse between her own legs. “I can leave you to it, if you want.”

“No.” Enjolras’s hand spasms around Grantaire’s. “No. Can you… could you stay?” When Grantaire doesn’t answer fast enough, Enjolras adds, “Please?”

It’s that that undoes Grantaire. Enjolras never says please.

“Sure,” Grantaire says. “How are you doing?”

Enjolras pauses as though she’s thinking about it. Her right leg is trembling under Grantaire’s hand. “It’s good,” she says. She arches her hips up. “I think maybe?”

Grantaire wants to kiss her. Grantaire always wants to kiss her, but right now, it’s almost irresistible. Stately, composed Enjolras lying naked in bed and carefully contemplating whether she’s going to come.

“Good, good, that’s great,” Grantaire babbles, words instead of kisses. “You’re doing great.”

Enjolras moans. She jerks, tilting her hips up and moving her hand again, sliding the vibrator around as though she’s searching for the perfect place.

“Fuck,” she mumbles, “fuck, fuck.” She’s tensing under Grantaire’s hand and Grantaire squeezes reassuringly. She thinks this is probably it. Enjolras is going to come, have her very first orgasm and Grantaire is going to be here to see it.

“Fuck,” Enjolras hisses again. She keeps moving, shoving up, up, bottom lip bitten white between her teeth.

“Come on,” Grantaire says. She’s holding her breath, waiting for Enjolras to get there.

Enjolras gets tenser and tenser, making tiny, sharp noises. Her fingernails dig into Grantaire’s hand and… Nothing happens.

She stays arched for a long minute and then suddenly the fight seems to go out of her. She collapses back onto the bed, flings the vibrator away from her and wrenches her hand free from Grantaire.

She rolls over and presses her face into her pillow. “I can’t do it,” she yells, fractured and frustrated in a way she usually doesn’t let show.

Grantaire hangs back. She’s not sure what to do. She’s not a sex therapist; what if she’s just making this worse? But she remembers the way Enjolras looked when she opened the door. Grantaire doesn’t want her to look like that, again.

“Hey,” Grantaire says. She puts her hand on Enjolras’s shoulder. “Hey, princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” Enjolras grumbles from the depths of her pillow.

Carefully, Grantaire brushes long, wispy blonde fronds of hair off her cheek, tucks it back behind her ear. She wants to kiss Enjolras’s flushed cheek, so she does, a friendly press of reassuring lips.

Enjolras’s breath hitches. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful.”

Grantaire swallows hard, trying not to laugh. She sounds so serious, as though they’re in the middle of a meeting of l’ABC. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it work for you,” Grantaire says, against Enjolras’s cheek. Then, suddenly horribly honest, “I really wanted to.”

Enjolras rolls onto her back. She reaches up and catches Grantaire around the back of her neck, so she can’t move away.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she says. “If anyone was going to make it work, it would have been you.”

Grantaire frowns. “What does that mean?”

Enjolras blushes and looks away. “Nothing, just. Just that. What I said.”

A wild, crazy, terrible idea hits Grantaire. She shouldn’t say it. She should keep her mouth shut and back away and let Enjolras get dressed. Instead, she says, “Will you let me try?”

Enjolras’s eyes go wide. “Pardon?” she asks.

Grantaire swallows. She knows she’s pushing it. There’s altruism and wanting to help a girl out, but then there’s taking advantage of her crush. But Enjolras looks so sad. Grantaire has always been a sucker for Enjolras looking sad.

“Let me try.” She laughs, self-deprecatingly. “I’ve been around the block a lot, I’m sure you’ve heard. Maybe I can get you off.”

Enjolras stares at her and stares at her and stares at her, until Grantaire wants to grab the words back, shove on her shoes and run away. “I can’t ask you to do that,” she says at last.

“You can.” Grantaire’s voice won’t come out louder than a whisper. “Go on. Ask.”

Enjolras licks her bottom lip. “Get me off,” she says. “Please.”

Grantaire kisses her. She doesn’t start off gentle, Enjolras has had enough build up tonight, she doesn’t need gentle. Grantaire bites her bottom lip, slicks her tongue into Enjolras’s mouth, licks the roof of her mouth.

Enjolras gasps, hand tightening on the back of Grantaire’s neck. She kisses back, taking everything Grantaire gives her and asking for more until they’re both breathless and Enjolras is rocking up against her.

“Okay, okay, hang on,” Grantaire laughs. She doesn’t believe this can really be happening, but if it is, she’s going to make it perfect. She pulls away and presses her forehead to Enjolras’s. “What do you want? My hand or my mouth?”

“Oh god,” Enjolras moans. “Your mouth? Can I have your mouth?”

Grantaire was hoping she’d say that. “Without a shadow of a doubt,” she says, pulling away with one more kiss.

She really wants to spend some time nuzzling and licking Enjolras’s breasts, but Enjolras really has already had a lot of foreplay. Instead, she settles for kissing a quick, dedicated path down, down, down until she’s tucked in between Enjolras’s thighs.

Enjolras swings a leg over Grantaire’s shoulder, heel digging into Grantaire’s spine demandingly.

“Hey,” Grantaire teases, snapping her teeth at Enjolras’s thigh. Enjolras shudders all over, which is very interesting.

Ducking her head, Grantaire licks a careful path from Enjolras’s clit to her hole. She’s flushed, swollen from overworking, so Grantaire gentles her touch still further.

“Oh,” Enjolras whispers. “Don’t stop.”

Why would I stop? Grantaire wants to ask. She doesn’t want to ask it enough to lift her head, though. Instead, she settles down, licking and sucking and kissing the places that make Enjolras react the loudest.

She isn’t loud, but she is vocal about what she likes, mumbling and sighing and moaning under her breath in ways that make Grantaire’s body feel alive.

“Can I put my fingers in you?” Grantaire asks, letting her words vibrate across Enjolras’s clit.

Enjolras’s heel presses hard enough to bruise Grantaire’s back as she arches up. “Yes,” she says, so Grantaire does. She starts with one, but that slips inside so easily that she quickly adds a second.

Enjolras is scalding hot inside, loose and so ready.

“Gorgeous,” Grantaire murmurs, kissing it into her skin.

“R,” Enjolras says, when Grantaire twists her fingers, and makes a grab for her head.

“Oooh, no,” Grantaire says, disentangling Enjolras’s hand from the short, spiky strands of her hair. She kisses Enjolras’s fingers. “Sorry, I don’t like that.”

“I do,” Enjolras says, almost conspiratorially, then she makes a cut-off noise as though she hadn’t meant to reveal that. Grantaire almost wishes she hadn’t; she’s never going to be able to forget it.

She lets go of Enjolras’s hand with a final squeeze, and goes back to what she was doing. Enjolras is responsive; that definitely isn’t the problem. She shivers and quivers under Grantaire’s mouth and around her fingers, her breathing getting louder and more desperate, the longer Grantaire works her.

“Please,” Enjolras says, quiet at first then getting louder, saying it over and over and over. Her hand drops down to her clit, getting in Grantaire’s way as she starts to work herself, too hard, too desperate for it to be fun.

Grantaire catches her by the wrist and pulls her hand away, squeezing warningly until all the little bones grind together. “Don’t,” she says.

Enjolras gasps. She goes tight around Grantaire’s fingers, tight enough that it has to mean something. Experimentally, Grantaire squeezes her wrist again.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras gasps, tiny tremors starting to roll across Grantaire’s fingers.

Abruptly, a lot of things click in Grantaire’s brain. She sits up, dragging Enjolras’s hand up with her. She grabs Enjolras’s other hand too and pins them both to the bed.

“What?” Enjolras asks, sounding dazed. She tries to move her hands, but Grantaire has them pinned. All the air goes out of Enjolras’s lungs, choking out of her as though Grantaire punched her.

“There, that’s better, right?” Grantaire asks, kissing her. “That’s good?”

“I don’t… I don’t…” Enjolras shakes her head. Her eyes are more black than blue, her lips moving soundlessly.

“You’re going to come,” Grantaire tells her. This is easy. Now she understands the problem, she knows exactly how to fix it. She’ll explore the fact that Enjolras - Enjolras - reacts like this to being topped in bed, later on. “When I tell you to come, you’re going to.”

Enjolras licks her lips. She doesn’t argue, just stares at Grantaire as though she trusts her, which is a shock all by itself. “Am I?” she asks. It’s a little challenging, but mostly it’s hopeful.

Grantaire smiles at her, lets it go honey slow and wicked. “Yes. You are.” She shifts, pressing her knees into Enjolras’s splayed thighs, pinning her down there too. “Okay? How does that feel?”

Enjolras blinks at her. She tries to move her legs, can’t, tries to move her arms, can’t. Grantaire is strong, and for once, she’s making use of it.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire prompts. “Do you feel okay?”

“Okay,” Enjolras echoes.

Apparently that’s as much of an answer as Grantaire’s going to get. She leans forward and kisses her. “Can you keep your hands there by yourself?” Grantaire asks.

“Probably,” Enjolras says, after a considering pause. She tips her head up, chasing another kiss. “But I don’t want to. I want you to do it.”

Grantaire laughs. “Of course you do.” Of course she does. Enjolras couldn’t be helpfully subby. She thinks quickly. “Okay. Stay right there.”

She lets go of Enjolras’s wrists, earning a whine that goes straight to her groin, and picks up the discarded vibrator. Wiping it quickly on the bed, she fits it between Enjolras’s legs, being careful to settle the ears on either side of her clit, resting the curved body above it, within the nest of Enjolras’s pubes.

“Tell me if this is too much,” she says, then turns it onto the lowest setting.

“Too much,” Enjolras says immediately. “Don’t stop.”

“Mixed signals,” Grantaire scolds and crawls up the bed. She still has Enjolras’s legs trapped and now she picks up her wrists again, squeezing and pinning.

Enjolras is making desperate sounds, trying to shift toward the vibrations that Grantaire can feel against her stomach, but unable to move. Her whines are getting louder and louder.

“I’ve got you,” Grantaire promises, sitting back and kissing Enjolras’s breasts. They’re warm and soft under her mouth, her nipples already hard before Grantaire touches her tongue to them.

“Oh fuck,” Enjolras gasps.

Grantaire remembers the way she moaned when she tugged at them earlier. Taking a chance, she bites softly at the tiny, warm bud in her mouth.

Enjolras jerks. She doesn’t get far, but she manages to move a little, just enough that Grantaire has to lift her head and scold, “Stay still.”

“Make me,” Enjolras says, slurs, sounding half-drunk on sensation.

“I am,” Grantaire says, lips curling up. She bites the meat of Enjolras’s breast, sucks a bright, stark hickey onto her sternum, shifts across to suck on her other nipple.

“Oh, fuck,” Enjolras says again. She’s moving constantly under Grantaire now, fingers scrabbling at Grantaire’s wrists with enough desperation that Grantaire relents, takes her hand instead and laces their fingers together. "Fuck, I think, I don’t know, I think I’m going to come.”

“Yes.” Grantaire kisses her way up to Enjolras’s pale throat. “Yes, that’s good, that’s great. You’re doing so well, of course you’re going to come, you deserve to come.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras groans.

“Come on, princess, come for me,” Grantaire says, and bites down on her throat.

Enjolras comes with a loud, startled sob. Her whole body jolts under Grantaire’s like an earthquake, over and over while she cries out.

Grantaire kisses her neck and feels incredibly satisfied.

After long moments, Enjolras goes limp, sinking into the bed and shaking. She makes tiny, helpless noises, until Grantaire reaches down and turns off the vibrator. She leaves it where it is, so Enjolras has something to clench around, if she needs it.

“That was amazing,” Grantaire tells her and pulls her into her arms. She wouldn’t usually presume, not with Enjolras, but she can’t resist.

“Oh my god,” Enjolras whispers. She flops limply against Grantaire’s chest and starts to giggle. “Oh my god. Was that an orgasm?”

Grantaire kisses the top of her head. “That was a fucking great orgasm,” she says. “You were amazing.”

Enjolras hums. She scratches weakly at Grantaire’s sweatshirt, twisting her hands up in the green material. “Thank you,” she says, soft and sincere.

Grantaire wants to make a joke. All Grantaire ever does is joke. She can’t think of one. She can only hug Enjolras closer, press kisses to her hair and hold her for as long as she wants to be held.

***

It’s very late by the time Grantaire can drag herself away from the bed, where Enjolras has fallen fast asleep. She’s still flushed, lips curled into a tiny, satisfied smile. She’s so beautiful; if there were any way Grantaire could rationalise spending the night here, she would.

Instead, she slips out of Enjolras’s bedroom and into the communal bathroom. She’s incredibly turned on, skin sensitive everywhere and her soaked underwear cold and sticky after waiting so long.

She turns on the shower, and starts searching through the medicine cabinet for lube. Enjolras seems like the sort to keep hers in her room, and Grantaire doesn’t know if Combeferre jerks off, but Courfeyrac must have left some around. It’s Courfeyrac.

Grantaire is just checking behind the tallest tower of toilet rolls she has ever seen, when the bathroom door is pushed open.

She straightens up, prepared to pretend that she hadn’t been snooping, expecting it to be Combeferre home early or Courfeyrac home late.

Instead, it’s Enjolras. She’s wrapped herself in her top sheet, wearing it like a toga, and looks barely awake, blinking at Grantaire through the slowly building steam.

“What are you doing?” she asks. Her voice is croaky, either from sleep or shouting her way through orgasm. Grantaire really hopes it’s option number two.

Awkwardly, Grantaire reaches out and switches off the shower. “Just freshening up, before I go home,” she says. “Thought you were sleeping?”

Enjolras shakes her head. She’s frowning. “I woke up,” she says, which is the sort of redundant observation she would usually make fun of. “Why are you going home?”

Grantaire laughs, reaching out and tugging on one of Enjolras’s escaping curls. She can’t help it, she’s never seen Enjolras with bedhead before.

Instead of batting her away, Enjolras leans into her then stops, blinking. She’s swaying a little.

“Okay?” Grantaire asks. Then, when Enjolras doesn’t answer, “Enjolras, do you feel okay?”

“Mm,” Enjolras says belatedly. She looks up at Grantaire and nods. “Yes, of course, I feel fine.” Her eyes are little hazy, not quite focusing on Grantaire’s face.

Grantaire lifts her hands and cups Enjolras’s cheeks and looks at her closely. “Shit,” she says softly. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t realise you went that far under.”

“Far under?” Enjolras echoes, frowning deeper. She leans her cheek against Grantaire’s palm, which is all the confirmation Grantaire needs that she’s right. Enjolras would never do that, on a regular day.

“Yeah,” Grantaire says. She pushes her hands back into Enjolras’s hair and kisses her on the forehead. “Don’t worry, you haven’t done anything wrong. Sit down for me?”

Enjolras looks around vaguely. “Where?” she asks.

Fuck. This is what happens when you start playing around with someone who’s never played before.

“On the side of the bath,” Grantaire says. She makes sure to give Enjolras a real smile, not a fake one, when Enjolras does what she asks. “Yes, just like that.”

She kisses the top of Enjolras’s head, which possibly isn’t a necessary part of aftercare, possibly she just wants to. Then she straightens up and looks around, forcing herself to ignore the quiet noise Enjolras makes when Grantaire stops touching her.

There’s a big, soft-looking blue bath towel draped over the radiator in the corner. Grantaire picks it up, checks it’s dry, finds it’s warm as well, then wraps it around Enjolras’s shoulders.

Enjolras takes hold of it immediately, curling into it as though she was cold. Grantaire is stupidly proud of herself for getting that right. “Why do I need a towel?” Enjolras asks.

“Because you were cold and I didn’t have a blanket,” Grantaire says, shrugging. “Is there anything to drink out of, in here?”

“Under the sink,” Enjolras says. There is, a stack of plastic tumblers, half in pastel colours and half with the tricolore on them.

“Okay, we’re going to talk about this later,” Grantaire promises. For now, she pulls out one of the tumblers, fills it with water and hands it to Enjolras. “Here, for you.”

Enjolras takes the water, still looking curious and slightly confused. She doesn’t argue though, just drinks, and Grantaire finds herself murmuring, “Good girl,” before she can think better of it.

Enjolras’s eyes flare. “You too,” she says, handing the tumbler back.

“Yes, ma’am,” Grantaire says, and obediently drinks some water, herself. Then she drops the tumbler into the sink and holds out her hand for Enjolras. “Come on, back to bed.”

“Aren’t you leaving?” Enjolras asks, letting Grantaire pull her to her feet and back toward the bedroom. She’s lucky she’s so tall; if Grantaire tried walking around in a sheet, she would definitely have fallen over it by now.

“Do you want me to leave?” Grantaire asks. It comes out snippy and defensive, but she makes a cutting motion through the air, before Enjolras can try to answer. “No, sorry, serious question. Do you want me to stay or go? I’ll do which you want.”

Enjolras looks immediately suspicious. “Why?” she asks.

Grantaire squeezes her hand. “I’ll explain in the morning,” she says, then feels a little like her father: you’ll understand when you’re older. It was patronising then and it feels patronising in her mouth, now. “Sorry. It’s just, I don’t think you should be on your own tonight, that’s all.”

They’ve reached the bed. Enjolras looks longingly at it, but stays stubbornly on her feet. “I had an orgasm, not an operation,” she says.

She tries to hold Grantaire’s eyes but ends up dropping her gaze. She curls her free arm around herself and looks hunched and uncertain.

Well, Grantaire is fucking this up. “Okay,” she says, because what the hell, Enjolras is dropping and she just tried to make her make a decision? “We’re getting back in bed. Good? Good. In you get.”

Enjolras gets back onto the bed, then frowns, tugging at the sheet she’s wearing. “Wait, I need to put this back on the bed.”

“Nah.” Grantaire waves her back down. “We’ll do okay with just the duvet. Besides, you look hot in a bedsheet.”

Enjolras tries to give her a withering look but ends up laughing.

Grantaire climbs into bed beside her, silently mourning the loss of her own orgasm. She’s pretty sure it would have been a doozy. “Big spoon or little spoon?” she asks.

Enjolras gets a pinched look again. Apparently even that much of a decision is beyond her. Grantaire really didn’t mean to break her with sex.

Grantaire flops down onto her back and holds out her arms. “Post orgasm cuddles are a tradition,” she says.

“We already cuddled,” Enjolras says, but that doesn’t stop her lying down by Grantaire’s side. She tries to pillow her head on Grantaire’s breast then hums crossly and shifts to her shoulder instead.

“Sorry, they’re not great for sleeping on,” Grantaire says, curling both arms around Enjolras, now she’s settled.

“That was like trying to lie on a waterbed,” Enjolras grumps. She makes a disgruntled noise when Grantaire snorts a laugh, but then she ruins it by looking up, smiling when Grantaire smiles at her.

Grantaire’s breath catches. She wants to kiss Enjolras again really badly. She wishes she knew whether that would be okay.

“How are you feeling?” she asks instead. This isn’t about her and her stupid feelings, this is about making sure Enjolras only has positive memories of today.

“Better,” Enjolras says, turning and stifling a yawn in Grantaire’s neck. “Are you comfortable?”

“Me? Of course, I’m always comfortable,” Grantaire says rather than admitting that this is one of the best things that’s ever happened to her. She’s found her calling. Forget art, she’ll spend her life as Enjolras’s pillow, if she’s allowed to.

Enjolras presses closer. Her breasts are soft against Grantaire’s side, her hair silky and a little fly-away, a few strands sticking to Grantaire’s lips. She lays one arm across Grantaire’s stomach, hand curling questioningly just above her hip.

Reaching down, Grantaire tugs the duvet up so it’s over Enjolras’s bare shoulders and tucks it in around her.

“Think you can sleep?” she asks.

Enjolras yawns again. “I think I am sleeping,” she says. “God, why am I so tired?”

“Busy day,” Grantaire says. “You know, it’s not every day you have your best sex ever.”

“Shut up,” Enjolras says and relaxes with a soft sigh.

“Sleep well, princess,” Grantaire tells her, and settles in for a night of staring at the ceiling.

***

The sleepless night doesn’t happen. One minute, Grantaire has a sleepy ragdoll of an Enjolras slumped across her, the next she’s waking up to morning light filtering through the curtains and insistent lips on her neck.

“Hmph?” she groans intelligently, reaching up to see who’s turned into a vampire in the night.

Enjolras sits back onto Grantaire’s stomach and looks down at her. She’s radiant in the sunlight, and she’s lost the sheet she was wearing last night, the hickeys Grantaire left on her chest bright and obvious.

“Good morning,” she says. “Is this okay?”

Grantaire blinks, sleep-fogged and heavy. “Is… yes?” She has no idea what’s going on, but it seems to involve a lovely view of Enjolras topless, so it must be a good thing.

“Excellent,” Enjolras says, and starts to unbutton Grantaire’s shorts.

“Um,” Grantaire says, “what’s happening?

Enjolras tugs on Grantaire’s waistband until Grantaire lifts her hips and lets her pull them off. It’s only when Enjolras makes a startled noise that she remembers she never told Enjolras about the piercing that it’s probably pretty obvious through her underwear.

“You - ” Enjolras says, lifting a hand as though she’s waiting for permission.

It’s a little silver barbell pierced vertically through Grantaire’s clit hood. She’s been thinking about taking it out for a while, but she’s pleased she hasn’t, if it’s going to get this kind of reaction from Enjolras.

“You can touch it,” she says. Then she wakes up a little more. “But, wait, why are you touching me, at all?”

Enjolras manages to stop staring at Grantaire’s clit and looks up, expression settling into something stubborn. “You got me off, but I didn’t even offer to do anything for you. I’m making things fair.”

“Of course you are,” Grantaire laughs. “Equality in all things, even orgasms?”

“Especially orgasms,” Enjolras says firmly. “Assuming you’re happy with that, of course.”

Grantaire blows out a breath and makes a helpless face at the ceiling. The ceiling shows no pity. “I’m pretty happy with that,” she says, since Enjolras seems to be waiting for an answer.

Enjolras grins, looking immensely satisfied, then lies down between Grantaire’s legs. She doesn’t go straight for the underwear, because apparently she has more patience than Grantaire. Instead, she buries her face in the crease where Grantaire’s thigh ends and breathes in.

Grantaire kind of wishes she’d showered, but Enjolras doesn’t seem to mind.

“Do you always shave?” Enjolras asks, running a curious finger over Grantaire’s bare skin.

“Wax,” Grantaire says. Enjolras’s touch tickles a little and she tries not to squirm. “And no. Bahorel’s adding beauty therapy to his shop, so I let him practice on me.”

“Oh, of course,” Enjolras says. She always keeps up with what their friends are doing. Only Joly has a deeper grasp of everyone’s ups and downs. Grantaire doesn’t know how she finds the time, but she always does.

Apparently that’s the end of the conversation, because she doesn’t say anything else, just flicks her tongue out to lick a slow, meandering path over Grantaire’s underwear.

Grantaire groans, pushing up toward Enjolras’s face, asking for more.

“Do I need to be careful of this?” Enjolras asks, before flicking Grantaire’s piercing with her tongue.

The little metal head brushes Grantaire’s clit and sends a jolt of sensation through her. “Fuck. No. It feels good, that’s all.”

Enjolras hums, as though she’s interested to have learnt that. She licks aside the fabric of Grantaire’s underwear, getting everything even wetter, and flutters her tongue over Grantaire’s folds.

There has been banked warmth waiting low in Grantaire’s belly since last night. It leaps to life at the first touch of Enjolras’s mouth.

“Shit, Enjolras, this isn’t going to take long,” she warns, squeezing her thighs around Enjolras’s shoulders.

Enjolras looks up. She licks her lips, like she’s trying to see if she can find Grantaire’s taste, already. “I don’t mind how long it takes,” she says and pulls Grantaire's underwear off before going back down in earnest.

She’s incredibly good with her tongue. Of course she is, the amount of exercise it gets giving people verbal lashings. But here, now, in bed, she’s different. She’s still focused and dedicated, but she’s playful too, swirling her tongue through Grantaire’s folds, fluttering it just inside her then darting away before Grantaire can really get into it.

Being teased really works for Grantaire, always has, and now that it’s Enjolras. Well, she wasn’t kidding about this being quick. She’s already tensing up, warm all over, when she remembers Enjolras earlier, saying she liked having her hair pulled.

Grantaire’s hands sink into Enjolras’s messy curls, tugging gently at first, to see how Enjolras will take it.

Enjolras gasps, tongue pushing hard against Grantaire’s clit, when before she’d only been giving her butterfly kisses.

“Fuck, do that again?” Grantaire asks. Her back arches, feet scrambling for purchase on the sheets, her fingers tugging on Enjolras’s hair.

Enjolras does as Grantaire asks, working her in earnest now, getting more and more demanding - getting better - every time Grantaire pulls her hair.

Grantaire comes hard, half curled forward toward Enjolras, pushing against her mouth for long moments, before she has to surrender, can’t ring another aftershock out, and she flops back gracelessly onto the bed.

“Fuck,” she tells the ceiling, which has been her constant companion through this very confusing night and morning.

Enjolras sits up and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. She looks messy and a little dazed, which reminds Grantaire that they definitely need to have a conversation.

“Hey,” she says, flopping a blissed-out hand toward Enjolras. “We maybe need to talk about the whole… everything. About what gets you off.”

Enjolras licks her lips and grins, treacle sweet and slow. “Later,” she says, and crawls up the bed, kissing Grantaire hard as soon as she’s in range.

Grantaire kisses back, because she’s not an idiot, wrapping her arms around Enjolras’s bare back and rolling them over. Enjolras presses one long leg between Grantaire’s thighs, and pushes her hands up under Grantaire’s top.

“Take this off?” she asks. “Please?”

Well, shit, Grantaire doesn’t think she’s ever been able to resist a please coming out of Enjolras’s mouth and this is ten times harder.

“Take it off me,” she says, kissing Enjolras until they’re both breathless.

Enjolras rises to the challenge, of course she does, and Grantaire’s bra is undone, her t-shirt half off, by the time they break the kiss. Enjolras makes quick work of getting them the rest of the way off, then leans back to take a look.

The expression of stunned horniness that settles on her face is pretty gratifying.

“You have incredible breasts,” she says, reaching up and cupping one in each hand. Well, trying too, anyway. Grantaire’s tits are pretty big.

“Thanks,” Grantaire says, laughing. “I’d say I grew them especially for you, if there were a chance you’d believe me.”

Enjolras ignores her, which is probably sensible, too busy stroking her thumbs across Grantaire’s nipples. “Incredible,” she says again. “I always thought they would be.”

Grantaire has to kiss her. She wants to ask always? but she’s too scared of the answer.

Enjolras seems happy to kiss as long as she can keep playing with Grantaire’s tits. Grantaire really does not object to this. They wind up making out slowly, leisurely, rocking against each other’s thighs, until Grantaire’s body abruptly decides that yes, it could go again.

“Hey,” she says, breaking the kiss and making herself ignore the way Enjolras tries to chase after her mouth for more. She reluctantly peels herself away from Enjolras’s thigh and guides it gently sideways, so Enjolras’s gorgeous, pale legs are spread for her.

Enjolras watches her, breath hitching and chest heaving, but doesn’t make any comment.

“Any special requests?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras shakes her head, so Grantaire goes back to what she was planning, settling herself between Enjolras’s spread legs, lining them up so they can rub their cunts together. She doesn’t do this much, it’s hard not to feel awkward, but she just wants to touch as much of Enjolras as she can with as much of herself as possible.

Enjolras gasps and swears and wraps her legs around Grantaire, rocking up to meet her when she rocks down.

“That’s it,” Grantaire says, rubbing her smooth skin against Enjolras’s soft curls, nudging her mouth against Enjolras’s mouth. “That’s good. Doesn’t that feel good?”

Enjolras kisses her, opening her mouth for Grantaire’s tongue, the way she did last night, silently asking to be overwhelmed.

Grantaire is so happy to oblige. She fucks Enjolras’s mouth with her tongue, rolls their bodies together from chest to hip, so their skin is quickly slick with sweat, making everything easy and so good.

“R,” Enjolras begs, “R, please, can I come again? Can you make me - ?”

“Yes, shh,” Grantaire says, but it turns out that she’s the one who’s going to come first. Still sensitive from her last orgasm, it barely takes more than the flow of her hips against Enjolras’s that pushes on her piercing in just the right way, the feel of Enjolras still desperately tweaking her nipples, before she shudders out her second.

“Did you?” Enjolras asks, then kisses her when Grantaire can only nod. Enjolras wraps her arms around her, strokes the damp skin along Grantaire’s spine. “Did I do that?”

“Fucking hell, Enjolras, of course you did,” Grantaire groans. She almost thinks she could come again, but she wants to concentrate on Enjolras now. “Your turn. Give me your hands.”

Enjolras does, immediately, which is not helping Grantaire’s decorum, any. Grantaire takes one and traces the shape of Enjolras’s long fingers, her soft palms.

“Put them above your head, crossed at the wrists and keep them there,” Grantaire says. “If you move them, I’ll stop.”

It takes Enjolras two tries to make any sound. When she does it’s, “Stop what?”

Grantaire winks down at her. “You’ll see.” She sits back, surveying Enjolras and thinking quickly through all the delicious things she could do to her.

In the end, it’s the almost-translucent quality of her stupidly flawless skin that decides Grantaire.

“Roll over for me,” she says, running a thumb along the solid line of Enjolras’s hip bone.

“How do I roll over without moving my hands?” Enjolras asks, looking serious and just a touch worried. Fuck, but she’s perfect.

“I bet you can do it,” Grantaire says, just to see what she’ll do.

Enjolras narrows her eyes then rolls over smoothly, her wrists turning as she goes, but staying in the same place on the sheets. She glances back over her shoulder and raises an eyebrow.

“Yes?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras’s eyes dip to Grantaire’s mouth then come back up. “I thought you might want to tell me I did that well.”

“Oh you did, did you?” Grantaire runs her palm over Enjolras’s arse, which shivers under her touch. “Tell you what, pull your knees up under you and I’ll tell you you’re brilliant.”

Enjolras does, very determinedly refusing to move her hands. She tucks her knees under her stomach and bows her head, her gorgeous, round arse supported on her heels.

“Good girl,” Grantaire says, deliberately. “That was perfect.”

Enjolras smiles, half hidden in the shadows of her arms. “What are you going to do?” she asks.

Grantaire slaps her once, lightly, on the arsecheek “That,” she says, “but harder. What do you think?”

Enjolras breathes out roughly. “Yes,” she says. “I think… yes?”

Grantaire rubs her fingertips into the skin she just slapped. It’s pink but fading fast. “Safeword is Robespierre,” she says, just to make Enjolras splutter. “What? It’s not like you’re going to accidentally say that in bed.”

“Do I need a safeword?” Enjolras asks. “I doubt you’re going to do anything I don’t enjoy.”

Grantaire squeezes her skin. “Never assume that,” she says. “You always need to negotiate a safeword, okay?”

“Sure,” Enjolras says, pushing back into Grantaire’s hand, impatiently.

This is important though and Grantaire suddenly feels very serious. Now that Enjolras knows what she likes, she’s going to go off and do this with other people. The most Grantaire can do is to make sure she sends her off safely.

“Enjolras,” she says. “Listen to me.”

Enjolras turns her head far enough that they’re looking at each other properly. “I am,” she says and, fuck it, she really looks as though she means it. “If I want you to stop, I say Robespierre. I won’t forget. Now, please.”

“Please, what?” Grantaire asks, partly to be a shit, partly because she wants to hear Enjolras say it.

“Spank me,” Enjolras says, dragging it out, then raises her eyebrows as though to say well?

“Fuck you, you minx,” Grantaire says and brings her hand down firmly.

Enjolras gasps and groans and presses her forehead to the pillow. “Why does that feel so good?” she asks.

“Because you’re letting go,” Grantaire says, never one to miss the chance to answer a rhetorical question. “Now I want you to count for me. One to ten, got it?”

“That doesn’t seem too challenging,” Enjolras says, then chokes on her own words, when Grantaire slaps her other cheek, the one she’s so far been neglecting.

“One,” Grantaire reminds her.

“One,” Enjolras echoes, sounding stunned.

Without giving her time to recover, Grantaire slaps her again. The “Two,” jumps from Enjolras’s lips unprompted, this time.

Grantaire rewards her with three, four and five in quick succession, Enjolras letting out a high, startled gasp each time Grantaire’s hand makes contact.

“Is that good?” Grantaire asks, after Enjolras has managed to force out Five, her tongue tripping as though she can’t quite control it.

“Mm,” Enjolras says, turning her head on her arms to look at Grantaire. She doesn’t blink, eyes big and pupils blown.

Her arse is pink, one side slightly redder than the other. Grantaire lands slap number six on the paler side to even things up.

Enjolras jolts and moans out, “Six,” then bites down on her own forearm.

“No, don’t do that, let me hear you,” Grantaire chides. “I want to hear you.”

Enjolras mumbles something that Grantaire doesn’t catch. She leans in close, fitting her hands around Enjolras’s hips and her chest to Enjolras’s back.

“What did you say?” Grantaire asks, taking the opportunity to kiss Enjolras’s ear.

“I’m too loud,” Enjolras says. “It’s embarrassing.”

“No,” Grantaire says. She’s wrapped around her, so she can squeeze her, warningly. “Never say that. There’s no such thing as too loud. However loud you want to be is how loud you should be. Okay?”

Enjolras nods quickly, but Grantaire isn’t sure she’s agreeing so much as saying yes because Grantaire wants her to say yes. That by itself is a trip. A really hot trip.

Grantaire kisses the back of her neck then sits up. “Loud as you want, remember?” she says and slaps her, right where her arse cheek is reddest.

Enjolras makes a noise like a groan forced out between her teeth. It’s louder, but still not as loud as Grantaire wants her to be. “Seven,” she pants, letting her forehead rest on the bed.

“Louder,” Grantaire says and slaps her again.

“Eight,” Enjolras gasps and, “R, R, R.”

Enjolras’s skin is starting to feel hot under Grantaire’s hand. It’s going to hurt her to sit down tomorrow and Grantaire would feel worse about that, if the idea of it - Enjolras’s skin, rubbing against her knickers and still wearing Grantaire’s hand print - wasn’t hot as hell.

“Yes, that’s right, yell my name,” Grantaire tells her. She reaches along the length of Enjolras’s back and tangles her free hand in Enjolras’s long curls. “Head up.”

Enjolras lifts her head then leans back into Grantaire’s fist, a pretty clear request to keep pulling. That wasn’t actually Grantaire’s plan, but she can change. She’s adaptable.

“Like that?” she asks, pulling harder.

Enjolras tips her head back, then rocks it forward a little, then back again. She lets out a soft, happy noise, apparently really liking how little she can move.

Grantaire gives a short, sharp tug. “Do you like that?” she repeats.

From this angle, Enjolras can just about meet her eyes. “You know I do,” she says. “I told you that.”

“Tell me again,” Grantaire says and gives her another slap. There’s only one more left. Grantaire feels a pang of regret at that.

Enjolras’s eyes fall closed. There’s a red flush on her cheeks, on her neck, on her chest. “Nine. Oh god, R, I like it so much.”

Grantaire leans forward and closes the gap between them. She kisses Enjolras on the mouth, upside down and feeling a little like Peter Parker.

I like you so much, she thinks. She doesn’t say that. She has some self-preservation instincts. Not many, but some.

She kisses Enjolras again then pulls away, kissing her on the tip of her nose and her forehead as she goes. “Last one,” she whispers against Enjolras’s skin. “Ready? Going to be loud for me?”

“Yes,” Enjolras whispers, “yes. I promise, yes. I will, please.”

Grantaire hadn’t been asking for that much begging, but she’ll take it. “Good girl,” she says, “you’re taking to this so well.”

Enjolras smiles dreamily.

Grantaire makes this last slap count. She puts some force behind it, pulls on Enjolras’s hair at the same time, and Enjolras fucking wails.

She’s shaking, they’re both shaking. Grantaire sits back on her heels and pulls Enjolras up and onto her lap immediately, letting her sink back into Grantaire’s chest, her head draping over Grantaire’s shoulder and her legs splayed out on the bed in front of them.

Enjolras turns her head, pressing her face into Grantaire’s neck. “Ten,” she says. Of course she does.

Grantaire kisses her cheek then wraps one arm securely around her middle. “Ten,” she echoes. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

Enjolras pushes up against Grantaire’s hold. “No flattery,” she says, “orgasms. Orgasms, now.”

“Oh, orgasms now?” Grantaire asks, laughing. “I thought I was giving the orders, here. I could teach you a lesson, keep you hanging.”

She could but she won’t. She’d be a sucker for Enjolras, even if she didn’t know how much not being able to come upset her.

She slides a hand down Enjolras’s belly, over her groin and down between her legs. Enjolras shudders and sighs at the first touch of Grantaire’s fingers to her slick, hot folds.

“You’re going to come so quickly for me, aren’t you?” Grantaire says, pressing her face against the side of Enjolras’s, breath mingling. “You’re going to come on my fingers.” She traces her way up to Enjolras’s clit and all around, spreading wetness.

“God, I hope so,” Enjolras says, pushing up into Grantaire’s hand. “Please.”

“It’s not optional,” Grantaire says and pinches Enjolras’s clit, just lightly, just to see if Enjolras likes it. Enjolras shakes all over, jolting against Grantaire’s hand and her restraining arm. “You don’t get to hope. You’re going to come, because I’m asking you to come.”

Enjolras nods frantically, soft, downy cheek brushing back and forth against Grantaire’s. “I’m going to come,” she says, and for once, she actually sounds certain about it.

Grantaire doesn’t stop moving her hand. She’s trying all her best tricks, twisting her fingers around for the perfect angle and ignoring the slight twinge she gets in her wrist. She thinks it might be pretty heroic, getting a sex injury bringing Enjolras off.

All of a sudden, Enjolras yelps, shoving hard against Grantaire’s hand. “Oh fuck, do that again?”

“This?” Grantaire asks, trying to recreate it. She doesn’t think she’d been doing anything special, just a little back and forth over the head of her clit. It’d be too much direct stimulation for Grantaire, but Enjolras likes it, of course she does, Enjolras seems to like anything that would have other people begging for a reprieve.

“Yes, shit, that’s so good.” Enjolras wraps one long arm around Grantaire’s neck, hooking her and pulling her forward so they can kiss.

This is going to be the last time, Grantaire realises. It’s morning, Enjolras is going to get off with her one last time, and then send her home.

Well, she isn’t going without leaving an impression.

Humming against Enjolras’s lips, she slips her tongue into Enjolras’s mouth, kissing her as hard and as good as she can, while she redoubles her efforts at making Enjolras feel amazing.

It isn’t long before Enjolras can’t kiss, can only whimper and then gasp into Grantaire’s mouth, but Grantaire doesn’t stop kissing her and she doesn’t stop rubbing her off. She releases her grip on Enjolras’s waist and puts that hand on her breasts instead, one then the other, teasing her nipples just to make Enjolras moan more and louder.

“Time to come now, princess,” she says, and switches her fingers for her thumb, sliding her fingers as far into Enjolras as they’ll go and working her clit with her thumb instead.

Enjolras comes as hard as she did last night and manages to look and sound just as shocked, despite this being her second in not many hours.

As she hugs her and rocks her through it, Grantaire finds herself wondering if Enjolras is going to be taken by surprise by orgasms forever. It’s pointless to wish Grantaire could always be there to know, but she still does.

“Mmm,” Grantaire hums, stroking Enjolras’s arm while she shudders. “There you go.” She starts to pull her fingers out of Enjolras, but Enjolras clamps down on them, strong thighs trapping Grantaire’s arm.

“Not, not yet,” she says, as another couple of ripples roll through her, squeezing Grantaire’s fingers. Finally, she sinks back into Grantaire with a sigh. “Thank you.”

Grantaire laughs, kissing Enjolras’s neck. “You’re welcome. May I have my hand back now, your highness?”

“Fuck off,” Enjolras says lazily, rather than her usual, sharp don’t call me that.

She flops sleepily against Grantaire’s side, while Grantaire wipes her fingers off on the sheets, then pushes at her shoulder.

“What?” Grantaire asks. She doesn’t think Enjolras is trying to push her out of bed, but if she is, Grantaire will go.

“Lie down,” Enjolras says. “We can have another nap, before we need to get up.”

“Sex really wipes you out, doesn’t it?” Grantaire asks, completely unable to control the affection that drips from her voice.

Maybe in a million years, she might be able to get used to curling up under the duvet, with Enjolras fucked out and sleepy against her side, but it’s only been one day, and it still makes her heart pound.

“Comfortable?” she asks, making sure the duvet is tucked all the way around Enjolras’s shoulders. She’s not going to accidentally leave Enjolras without her aftercare, this time.

“Mmm,” Enjolras agrees. She curls her around Grantaire’s chest and kisses her on the boob. She laughs. “Sorry. I was aiming for your shoulder.”

“I really don’t mind,” Grantaire promises. She rubs her nose back and forth against the top of Enjolras’s head. “Tell me when you’ve had enough post-coital cuddling and I’ll get you a drink and some cream for your arse.”

“My arse is fine,” Enjolras says, with incredibly sleepy dignity.

Grantaire loves her. This really isn’t getting any better. In fact, let’s face it, it’s definitely getting worse.

“You’ll be mad at me, when you can’t sit down later,” Grantaire says. She doesn’t want to think at least you’ll be thinking about me, but she does think it. She thinks it very clearly.

“We’ll just have to stay in bed all day,” Enjolras says. She stretches and yawns, before curling up to sleep, as though that isn’t the most confusing and devastating thing she could possibly have said.

“What?” Grantaire asks. Or she tries to ask. The word come too quietly for anyone but bats to hear, and Grantaire’s too cowardly to repeat it.

Instead, she just strokes Enjolras’s back, while she dozes and goes back to communing with her old friend, the ceiling.

***

A knock on the door some time later makes Enjolras stir in her sleep and Grantaire instinctively grab at the covers, making sure they’re both covered.

She doesn’t know whether she should say to come in or not, but that turns out not to matter, since the door is already opening.

“Enjolras,” asks Combeferre’s voice, “are you okay? You haven’t - ” Combeferre’s voice is swiftly followed by Combeferre’s body. He breaks off, dark skin flooding even darker. “Oh.”

Enjolras sits up with a yawn and a lot of blinking. She doesn’t seem to remember that she’s naked, until Grantaire squawks and flings some of the duvet at her. By then, Combeferre has definitely got an eyeful.

“Good morning, Combeferre,” Enjolras says, covering her mouth to yawn. Her hair is a tangled nest of curls, there’s a pillow crease down her left cheek and she couldn’t look more well-laid, if she tried, but she still manages to sound supremely dignified.

She doesn’t even sound like she’s faking dignity like Grantaire would have. And she doesn’t seem to mind having been caught in bed with Grantaire nearly as much as Grantaire would have guessed she would.

“Good morning,” Combeferre says. He folds his arms and leans against the side of the door. “Courfeyrac texted me to say he needed, and I quote, ‘a post-sex breakfast for a post-sex champion.’ Should I set two more places?”

Grantaire opens her mouth to say that she isn’t staying, hoping to get in first and save herself from having to hear Enjolras say it. Instead, Enjolras says, “That’d be great, thanks.”

“You don’t need to cook for me,” Grantaire protests even though she and Jehan aren’t very good cooks and Combeferre notoriously is, so she really would like to stay.

Combeferre catches her eye and smiles reassuringly. “It’s honestly no problem,” he says. He clears his throat. “I’ll leave you both to, um, whatever you were doing.”

“Sleeping!” Grantaire says. She’s not sure why this feels so scandalous. She’s definitely told Combeferre about her sexploits, before. She’s told all her friends far more than they’ve wanted to know.

Enjolras rests her chin on her knees and wraps her arms around her legs. She grins at Combeferre, a sort of devilishly smug smile that Grantaire didn’t realise she was capable of.

“I had an orgasm,” she says. “In fact, I had two.”

This is the moment when Grantaire is sure Combeferre will beat a hasty retreat. Instead, he breaks into a wide smile. “I’m really happy for you,” he says. “I’ll leave you to tell Courfeyrac.”

With that, he steps back out into the hall, leaving Grantaire to blink at Enjolras.

“What?” Enjolras asks. Now, finally, she’s starting to look a little uncomfortable. “Why are you look at me like that?”

“You three are weird, you know that?” Grantaire asks. She lets go of her death grip on the duvet, since she doesn’t have any bits or pieces that Enjolras hasn’t already seen.

Enjolras’s attention gets stuck on her boobs for a moment, before she blinks, shakes her head, and answers. “Why, because we talk about sex? You talk about it with Jehan all the time, and with Joly and Bossuet; I’ve heard you.”

“Sure but.” Grantaire flounders then rallies. “It’s just weird, okay? I don’t know, I just expect you and Ferre to discuss the state of the world, not the state of your pants.”

Enjolras huffs and folds her arms. “Perhaps you shouldn’t make assumptions,” she says crossly. “They’re my best friends, of course I’ve talked to them about my, my issue. Combeferre has given me a lot of medical advice and Courfeyrac has even - ” She breaks off, blushing, which is a surefire way to get Grantaire’s interest.

“Courfeyrac has even what?” she asks, leaning forward. She gets right into Enjolras’s space and bops the tip of her nose against Enjolras’s. “Courf has what?”

Enjolras rolls her eyes, but she smiles. “He tried to get me off, once. It was terribly traumatic for both of us, since it turned out that neither of wanted to see each other naked. Plus it didn’t work.”

Grantaire rocks back. “Okay, two things,” she says, delighted. She holds up her first finger. “First, you and Courfeyrac? I bet you did it with your eyes closed.” She holds up a second finger. “And it didn’t work? I’m better at sex than Courfeyrac! I’m going to get that on a t-shirt.”

Enjolras covers her face with a hand but peaks at Grantaire through her fingers. She’s taking the teasing much better than Grantaire would have anticipated. “He’s my friend, he tried to help me,” she says.

“Is - ” Grantaire hesitates, some of her laughter fizzing away. “Is that what we are? What this is, I mean? Because… because, you know, that’s cool and I wouldn’t be averse to being, um, friendly again?”

She makes herself stop there because what she’s said is already bad enough.

“We could,” Enjolras says slowly. She’s frowning. Fuck, now she decides to be tactful?

“It’s fine.” Grantaire stops her casual lean in Enjolras’s direction and turns her back on her, fully intending to get out of bed, grab her clothes, and run home to Jehan, who can pet her hair and tell her about his night.

She’s stopped by Enjolras’s hand on her shoulder. Enjolras has lovely hands. Enjolras has lovely everything. Grantaire really shouldn’t have done this; having her and losing her is going to make being in love with her so much worse.

“R,” Enjolras says. She tucks her chin over Grantaire’s shoulder and slides her arms around her like a seatbelt, effectively trapping her. “Of course we can be friends with benefits, if that’s what you want.”

“Don’t do me any favours,” Grantaire snarls. She gives serious thought to tearing herself out of Enjolras’s arms, even at the risk of hurting her, but obviously she doesn’t go through with it. She’d so much rather let herself get hurt than even come close to hurting Enjolras.

“But,” Enjolras continues, as though Grantaire never interrupted. “I was hoping you’d date me, instead.”

Grantaire freezes. She forgets to breathe and only remembers when her lungs start aching. “What?” she chokes.

Enjolras kisses the corner of her mouth. “Date me,” she says again. She doesn’t wheedle, she’s never had to, but she has a certain tone that’s incredibly convincing.

“Because, because I gave you orgasms?” Grantaire asks. “You don’t need to like, repay me, you know that, right?”

“I know,” Enjolras says. Grantaire is half expecting her to list out the reasons why that’s not what she’s doing or why she wants to date Grantaire or… anything, really, anything to explain what’s going on. She doesn’t.

“I, okay,” Grantaire says. She turns as much as she can in Enjolras’s arms. “Really?”

Enjolras kisses her again, full on the lips, this time. “Really,” she says. “I might not know as much about sex as I wish I did - ”

Grantaire can’t help interrupting. “We can fix that.”

“ - but I know, I know what, who I’m looking for when it comes to finding a partner.” She shrugs one bare, elegant shoulder. “It’s you. Everything I’m looking for is you.”

Maybe Grantaire is dreaming? “God,” she whispers. “Enjolras, I - ” She can’t say any of the things she wants to say. It’s too soon and, anyway, she wouldn’t be able to make herself. Instead, she kisses Enjolras hard, arms sliding around her neck. “I’m going to give you orgasms every day. Twice a day. Three times on Sundays.”

Enjolras laughs and kisses her back. “We’d better get to work then,” she says. With a determined look in her eye, she shoves the duvet out of the way and climbs into Grantaire’s lap.

“Oh really?” Grantaire asks, sliding her fingers through Enjolras’s hair as they kiss. This is my girlfriend, she thinks. It doesn’t feel real, doesn’t feel possible. She’s not going to question it though, she’s just going to thank her lucky stars and take it.

/End

Notes:

Thank you for reading! Comments/kudos are love <3