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“It would be good for the group. And what is good for the group is good for the mission. And ultimately, and forgive me if I sound grandiose, good for our country.”
“Patria,” he’d murmured.
“Yes, Patria. Do not forget that your Patria is comprised of simple men with very human desires.” Combeferre had then clapped a friendly hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. “Maybe this will even awaken your own human desires, my friend.”
Enjolras had long been aware of Grantaire’s feelings toward him. The other man was hardly subtle, even if his long-winded, half-drunken ramblings often seemed to make little sense. He’d felt the weight of Grantaire’s stare, heavy-lidded and covetous, worshipful and awestruck, on him time and again across the Musain’s backroom.
The others of their main cohort had also known, of course. Joly and Bossuet joked and pressed Grantaire’s suit, laughingly saying in plain language what Grantaire refused to. Courfeyrac and Bahorel teased Grantaire endlessly when they thought Enjolras wasn’t listening. And Jehan, their poet Prouvaire, simply watched Enjolras throughout, dark eyes yearning for some fulfillment that Enjolras did not understand.
It had been a long summer, when the euphoria of hope had so suddenly collapsed into the abyss of shock, of betrayal. The implosion of their dreams, their victory snatched so abruptly that they could still taste it now - the devastation of those days had left them all on edge. Perhaps that was why Combeferre finally decided to approach Enjolras.
Perhaps that was why Enjolras had consented to try Grantaire.
But he’d been unprepared for the reality of what he was assenting to.
Grantaire’s bigger, heavier body pressed him down. Large hands roughly divested him of waistcoat and shirt. Enjolras shivered at the sudden rush of cool air against bared skin. Muddy green eyes found his then, looking down on him with that disconcerting blend of devotion and need and hunger peculiar to Grantaire alone. Enjolras’ mouth opened on instinct, but for perhaps the first time in his life, words failed to come.
Grantaire, perhaps seeing his struggle, spoke up instead. “It’s alright, chief. I’ll take care of you now. Let me take care of you.”
Enjolras wasn’t sure what he meant.
But there was no time to puzzle out Grantaire’s thoughts or meaning, as Enjolras’ trousers were being undone and pulled off. Leaving him completely bare.
Enjolras had never thought much of his own body or nudity, beyond ensuring he kept fit and ready for whatever action Patria required of him. He’d envisioned fighting, the sort of street combat they’d seen this past July, and he’d prepared himself physically and mentally to withstand capture and all that becoming a prisoner of the unjust state entailed.
He’d never imagined this. But, if Combeferre was correct as he always was, this was his body’s best way to serve Patria now.
He gasped aloud when Grantaire kissed a trail down his chest. Grantaire looked up at him from his vantage point by Enjolras’ navel, flashing a surprisingly sweet smile. “Liked that, Chief?”
Unsure exactly what to do, how to best respond, Enjolras nodded brusquely. Pleased, Grantaire returned to his task.
The first time warm, wet lips touched his half-hard cock, Enjolras’ head flew back as his fingers tangled tightly with the bedsheet beneath him. Distantly, he heard Grantaire’s low, affectionate chuckle. And then his whole body seized as he was engulfed in Grantaire’s mouth.
At first, Enjolras wouldn’t call the experience pleasurable. New. Unexpected. Overwhelming. When he could breathe again, he looked down his own body to Grantaire’s dark head bobbing over him. And part of him was repulsed to see another man choosing such an abased position.
But Grantaire’s mouth was soft while his lips were rough, playing over Enjolras’ rapidly hardening length. Soft little licks let the pleasure bloom slowly, and Enjolras began to relax again. His head fell back with a dull thud, and he was oddly, intensely aware of the line of his own exposed throat as he swallowed.
Then an explosion of multicolored lights, like looking into Combeferre’s new kaleidoscope, flashed before his eyes. Grantaire sucked with hollowed cheeks and hungry lips, and Enjolras couldn’t contain his cry. The gentle pleasure from before was swept away, every nerve now on fire.
A little death.
And Grantaire coaxed him through it, while his world shattered and ecstasy that he’d only ever experienced on the barricade before carried him away.
Then it was over. Grantaire’s eyes met his again, looking over his form with naked reverance, and Enjolras mustered up an awkward smile.
“Are you pleased?” he asked, not quite shy.
“I am wild.”