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It came as less of a surprise to Grantaire than it might have had seven years ago when he was asked to take his brother to London.
There was purpose to it, of course, he was not simply taking his brother on holiday though he had certainly requested doing so before. It was in order to have him kitted out for his beginning of school, purchasing a uniform and books and all that. Still, as banal a task as this still would not have reached Grantaire’s most distant imaginations, if it had been something he would have ever had the opportunity to imagine, when he had first chosen to stay those years ago. It had taken that entire duration of Grantaire being consistently present, of taking on responsibility where the younger Grantaire was concerned, to be trusted even this much. It was of course still more limited trust than it might seem, his father still would not leave the grounds in Grantaire’s hands in order to do the errand himself, did not trust him with the management and collection of rent from their tenants, but Grantaire had proved himself nothing if not reliable in the case of his younger brother. For this reason, the role was given to him.
Grantaire knew there was more to why he had been given the task, should he think on it more. A disinterest in the activity, and his son, from their father was in part at play. Grantaire had been given money for the boy’s supplies, and a date by which to deposit Jean at the school, but their father had been less than tearful in their goodbyes. It was always down to the practical exchange, not the emotional one, so while Jean sobbed and protested, his father had straightened Jean’s jacket and sent him away. He said nothing at all to Grantaire, but that was better than the doubtful demands he fulfill his set duty. The silence was preferred.
Grantaire had always considered it callous to send sons away so young. It had not been done to him, but there was the expectation of Jean to turn out better than Grantaire had, to be more gentlemanly. Grantaire would hardly think those separated from their family turned out better than those that weren’t, but he could at least trust in the fact that he was to be frequently in London should he be needed. It may even benefit Jean, to be educated in the city in this early stage. It would give him a more varied society than that of their stifled household, more influences than their father and the tutors he might hire. He could only hope the impact that institution had was not even worse.
No expenses had been wasted on the comfort of journey, that much was sure. Walking had always been Grantaire’s preferred mode of travel, and while it was rather unrealistic to consider going to London on foot, he was still certain he would have enjoyed it more than the cramped public coach they were making their way on instead. The proximity it demanded, the sitting face to face with strangers, the violent jostling that sent shoulders and knees into one another. It was intolerable at first, and annoying still after hours of adjustment. Hackney coaches were one of the more unpleasant modes of travel, Grantaire was convinced. He could only help a better one was soon created, like those new railroads Combeferre had written him on. Travelling at ungodly speeds over metal wires sounded infinitely better than his current conditions.
For the most part, he held his gaze firmly out the window, when he was not pressured into closing the curtains, and tried to entertain himself with the passing scenery. That only did so much, as even the changing views could become repetitive in their cycles of sheep, farmland and town. There was no use drawing either, the path too uneven, and the woman across from him had been rather unfriendly, so conversation was not much of an option either. His fingers tapped anxiously on his other forearm, trying to add to his sense stimulation. He had long since traced every detail of the interior with his eyes. Long journeys were never enjoyable.
Worse than him was his brother, Jean, who shared his restlessness but did not have the years of tolerance to temper it. He had been unhappy in their travelling, and had insisted on changing places more than once with graceless climbing efforts. At the start he had been by a window, then in between Grantaire and the nurse that had accompanied them. For a while, and to everyone in the compartment’s relief, he had managed to be asleep, head on Grantaire’s lap and body in a rather haphazard position due to the limited space. That had hardly lasted long, only causing him to return with more energy than before. Jean was young, and a Grantaire along with that. The irritability he felt after so long sat down in one place was intimately familiar to Grantaire, and while the other strangers sharing the carriage were less than appreciative, Grantaire felt no great frustration towards it. He too would likely want to throw a bit of a tantrum, if he could get away with it.
Madame, or Mother as she much preferred to be called, Hucheloup had made valiant and largely successful efforts to engage both Grantaires throughout the journey, keeping both their aggravations in check. She had been a new addition to their household, once Jean had weaned, and while Grantaire had adjusted slowly to the new face, they had gotten on well from the start. She was fiercely protective of her charge, which of course endeared her to Grantaire quickly, and while she remained more formal with him than Musichetta ever had, she did not fear conversing with him. Under normal circumstance, he might have disliked being sent with accompaniment, but was grateful it could at least be someone he enjoyed the company of. It was more tolerable than any the spies Enjolras had lived with, back in the day, and Grantaire was still fairly certain she liked him more than his father. It was a low bar, but one Grantaire easily passed.
“Look at those great big chimneys.” Jean’s voice was too loud for the small space, earning a glare from one of the strangers. He had pressed his face up against the window opposite to Grantaire, peering outward. “Look!” He insisted, when Mrs. Hucheloup did not immediately obey.
“I see them, little sir, what a sight they are.” Her voice was a quiet, exaggerated whisper, a gentle correction to Jean’s own volume. She tried to pull his attention inward, in hopes that he would settle back down into his seat. “Maybe even taller than your big brother here, see?”
Jean looked over his shoulder to survey Grantaire, before nodding sagely to confirm him as a valid form of measurement. He did not, however, make any move to pull away from the window, nor to stop talking. The insatiable curiosity of children was not so easily distracted, and Mrs. Hucheloup had gone through most of her strategies during this venture already. They had lost their effect.
“Why are they so tall?” He asked, looking to both adults for an answer. Mrs. Hucheloup also turned to Grantaire, who was left with two curious minds to relieve.
Grantaire had always been partial to answering any of the boy’s questions as truthfully as he could, partly because John Locke had encouraged doing so, and many of his friends had assured him he was a trustworthy if dated perspective, and partly because it always reminded him of Enjolras. Not that Enjolras would ask after chimneys, of course, but just in the way they were asked. Genuine, curious, never doubting that they will be answered fully and truthfully. It had made Grantaire more patient with it than most, more endeared. “The native and untaught Suggestions of inquisitive Children do often offer things that may set a considering Man’s Thoughts on work.” It challenged him, too, to see things differently, to make them understandable even where he lacked understanding. Grantaire could not understand those who would encourage silence over this.
“Those are factories.” He offered. “They are making something, and they need big fires to do so.”
“What do you make with fire?” Jean asked, voice taking the tone it always did when he scrunched his nose in confusion. Even at seven years of age, he understood that fire was in most cases a destroyer, having watched enough fireplaces and leaf burnings to know. It was not the most easy connection of logic.
Grantaire looked out his window, seeing that smokestacks had now appeared on his side as well. It was hard from just their distant exteriors for Grantaire to in any way identify their purpose. All that could be seen was brick and stone and smoke. His first guess would be textiles, as he was certain the vast majority of them were, but it had been over a season since he had come through last, for all he knew the industry had switched entirely around in that time. It seemed to do so very quickly as of late.
“I do not know, but I am sure we will find someone in the city who can tell us.” It was an unsatisfying answer, but thankfully Jean accepted itt.
The outskirts of London had changed a great deal in the few years that Grantaire had been making frequent journeys through it. Every year he felt as if the city was entered sooner, its fingers reaching further and further out into the countryside to meet him. The factories and their chimneys certainly were big. He could not be surprised that they had caught his brother’s attention, exhaling great clouds of smoke from their peaks that then blended into the dark cover over the city as they were. Many of them were new, dragons having slinked here to hoard wealth and breathe fire out into the sky. London was always changing, it was one of the things Grantaire loved about it, but even he could sometimes be overwhelmed by its developing existence. It was a new beast, constantly growing out and up in ways that the world had not yet seen. Not even the sky, the heavens, could be kept from changing, turning black with the ash thrown up into them.
By the final leg of their journey, Jean had resorted to a frustrated swinging of his legs, making dull thumps against the wood between the two strangers across when he could reach it with the momentum. The sound was mostly hidden by the general clamour of the horses ahead and road below, but Grantaire was certain their companions would be more than grateful to be free of it. As the streets around them grew more crowded and the noise louder, he seemed to try kicking even harder to gain attention. It was perhaps a relief to all of them when the carriage pulled to a stop, the driver’s voice making loud calls to the horses that were nearly lost in the sounds of the city.
Jean had to be caught quickly by the arm as he attempted to flee into the crowd at first instinct. He was excited at this sudden change of environment, which Grantaire could understand, but he was grateful for the stress Mrs. Hucheloup’s fast instincts likely spared them. Grantaire was able to turn away, knowing his brother was accounted for, and pull down their luggage with the assistance of the driver. They shuffled out of the way as best they could before depositing everything on the ground so Grantaire could best arrange it for carry. They would be walking the rest of the way, which meant he needed to properly distribute everything. This was not one of his greater skills.
It was ungentlemanly, but he risked the damage to his trousers and reputation by kneeling one leg to the ground for better accessibility. There were some ties he needed to make between some of the bags, to limit separate movement. He did not think anyone was likely to pay him notice, regardless. The street was busy, and this position also gave him a better viewpoint should any stranger make a grab for any of their possessions. The benefits far outweighed the worries. Additionally, this position made it so he noticed immediately when someone stepped close, weaving through their bags. Normally Grantaire would have reacted quickly, attempted to chase him off, but Grantaire was confident enough in his recognition to instead wait for the hand that came down to take the bag out of his and help him up.
“How long did you wait?” Grantaire asked, letting the exchange of their fingers linger a moment longer than strictly necessary. They had agreed on meeting at his apartment, but Grantaire supposed he should have expected this.
“A few months.” Enjolras looked remarkably self satisfied with his own cheeky reply. “I am glad to see you earlier this year.”
“Eager enough to shorten that time by a few minutes,, if you could.” Grantaire teased.
Enjolras was the picture of a well established gentleman. It was so very clear how he thrived here. Enjolras did not have any of the signs of wealth or fashion that the city might encourage, only a dark brown coat and top hat as markers more of practicality than anything, but Grantaire could sense how London breathed with him. The sky may have been a murky gray, but Enjolras shined brighter than any sun it might need. He was happy here, and happier yet to see Grantaire. There was a glimpse of a vibrant red under his coat, hidden but slightly hinted to Grantaire’s close view, just like the deeper emotions behind his felicity.
“It is good to see you.” Grantaire said, now completely genuine. His very bones ached with the relief at their reunion, as they had every single time. They both met the stare evenly, communicating what could not be said aloud.
Yet another thump, like those in the coach, pulled Grantaire and Enjolras’s attention away from one another. Jean had kicked at one of the cases, annoyed that he had once again been confined to immobility. Mrs. Hucheloup attempted to distract him, clearly embarrassed by the misbehavior, but Jean gave a look that said he very well would do it again if so provoked. As sweet as Jean could be, he had just undergone a very boring journey, and had some residual anger because of it. It was no easy thing travelling with young children. Grantaire realized again why this job had been so easily handed over to him. He looked back in time to see the enthusiastic expression on Enjolras’s face.
“R, it would seem some introductions are necessary.” He said.
“Yes it would.” This was something they had also both been waiting for. They were two of the most important figures in his life, it felt odd for them to so long be in separate spheres. Grantaire gestured Jean over, with Mrs. Hucheloup following. “Mr. Enjolras, I am happy to introduce my brother, Jean Grantaire, as well as Mrs. Hucheloup.”
Enjolras greeted both of them, but it was no illusion who his focus rested on. Grantaire had told him numerous stories about Jean, so it made sense that he would be eager to meet him. Grantaire could only hope it did not come off as dismissive to Mrs. Hucheloup, as he knew Enjolras would feel deeply guilty if it did. Enjolras still disliked close interactions with strangers, and Grantaire knew he had for the most part given that role back over to Courfeyrac once they were able to work together again. It meant that he had not much improved the skill, though he likely wished to. She was rather sidelined in his attentions, even if it was not by intention.
“Mr. Grantaire, can I entrust you with a mission?” It was momentarily confusing for Grantaire to realize it was his brother, not himself, that Enjolras was addressing,. He had so long been the only Grantaire said so softly by Enjolras’s lips that it took some reorientation.
“If I want to do it.” Jean answered, looking Enjolras up and down. Their father would likely be horrified at the impoliteness.
“A fair stipulation.” Enjolras removed his hat, holding it out to him. “The day is rather windy, can you make sure to keep this secure until we are inside? It is very important. ”
Jean was obviously interested in the task, though he did not quite want to admit it. That contrarian nature was something he had gotten from Grantaire as well. He stared dubiously at the offering, hovering close to Grantaire’s trouser leg, before snatching the hat and retreating. He said nothing to confirm his responsibility to Enjolras, nor did he even look at him, instead focused on the new object in his hands. Enjolras looked happy at his success in providing Jean with entertainment, even if slightly disappointed that the interest had not been more closely tied to himself..
“He is still in an ill temper, give him some time.” Grantaire comforted. “Soon he will have a hundred questions for you, all of which you’ll be forced to answer.”
“A taste of my own medicine, I suppose.” Enjolras smiled at him, though clearly downhearted still. “I look forward to it.”
With Enjolras’s help, the journey was made less difficult than Grantaire expected. Soon enough, they were before a familiar door, and Enjolras was opening it with mindless, habitual motions. There was a lion knocker on the front, which Grantaire knew to be rather poor at its job in causing sound to travel. One would have better luck in shouting to be let in than using that snarling, ineffectual maw. The decorate effect it gave was quite distinguished, at least, complying with the rest of the structure. The building looked overall grander from the outside than it necessarily was, Enjolras only residing in half of it, and he could see Jean looking up at the number of windows in awe. Not all of them were real, of course, many nothing more than a facade to avoid window taxes after construction, but it was still an impressive visual of external presentability.
Once Enjolras’s parents had given up on retrieving him, he had been allowed to settle in the city as he wished on a reasonable allowance. He had completed his degree, and was working as a lawyer to some extent to please them, but it was certainly not the greater part of his focus. Enjolras likely would have gone for more modest lodgings if he could, as resistance to his parents if nothing more, but it had been necessary to choose an apartment with room enough for Grantaire to frequently stay without suspicion. Residing with a wealthy friend in the city for months on end was no odd thing, but to stay close in a small apartment would quickly become a different matter. This grand disguise was a carefully planned one.
But it was socially suitable in appearances only, of course. Enjolras still made things simpler where he could, though likely nicer than anything Grantaire would have had for himself. The interior was a pleasant, homely space, with very little of it left unused. There were few staff, and all were individuals Enjolras had chosen himself. There was none of his parent’s household in his, and Enjolras could easily exist as himself under no supervision but his own. Grantaire knew he was still frequently bothered with marriage prospects, but it was easier to leave a letter ignored than to have it constantly said to his face. It was a comfortable sort of haven, and one Grantaire always felt welcomed by.
“There is not much guest space, but I can place you in one of the empty servants quarters, if that would suit you.” Enjolras told Mrs. Hucheloup as they were taking the luggage up the stairs. Grantaire was made slightly breathless by the heaving efforts, hands becoming clammy with the exertion.
“It would suit my station, sir.” Mrs. Hucheloup answered curtly, causing Grantaire to look back over his shoulder in concern.
It was clear she had not taken any fast liking to Enjolras, remaining overly professional and stiff in a way that Grantaire had not heard from her since their first meeting. Enjolras’s ignoring her must have set the tone Grantaire had feared. If he was to guess, he would think she doubted Enjolras’s words based on the sight of the building from the front, and thought that he simply did not want to get one of the grander rooms set up for her. It was not an entirely unfounded concern, though Enjoras was certainly the last man to consider her in any way inferior, many others would. He could see Enjolras notice this tension, looking unhappy with the realization.
“Better yet, the room on the south side.” He corrected, making quick eye contact with Grantaire for affirmation. It was the room he usually used to pass as his own during visits, but he had no great emotional attachment to it. The greater purpose was that of a studio, after all. He expressed his permission in the small nod of his head. Mrs. Hucheloup was already ahead of them, despite this attempt at discrete communication.
“It is of no worry, sir. I am only staying for a few nights, no need to make any great accommodations.” She resolutely dismissed Enjolras’s offer, but Grantaire could tell she was already in a better mood. Enjolras would charm her eventually, it was only a matter of time.
They had the other two settled first, as it was the polite thing to do. Jean quickly engaged himself with the view of the street below through a securely latched window, and Mrs. Hucheloup took a moment to herself in the room and waved Enjolras and Grantaire on, so it was only Enjolras that came with him to his own room, carrying half the bags in silence. There were still some covered canvases against the familiar blue walls, a couple dead flowers in one of the vases that he had long abandoned, but Grantaire did not waste much time in observation before pulling Enjolras into his arms. The curtains were tightly closed, so there was no danger in it.
“I missed you.” Grantaire said into Enjolras’s shoulder. He had wanted to do this since they had first seen each other in the street, and his uneven voice likely portrayed the deep respite he found in the position.
“And I you.” Enjolras sounded equally cathartic. One of his hands was spread wide between Grantaire’s shoulder blades, warm and solid through the layers of his clothing.
The kiss was a move both of their bodies anticipated, changing position at the same time and pressing so hard against one another as if it would keep them from ever separating again. It had not become easier, these gaps, no matter how many times they had survived them. The loneliness they both felt, the trust in the other and their feelings that they had to extend, it was exhausting in its demands. But as hard as this was, it was moments like these that reminded Grantaire of the worth of their patience.
Kissing Enjolras was a sensation that had not lost any of its wonder over the years. Heated or chaste, Grantaire could hardly choose which he preferred when both had Enjolras in his arms. This example was certainly not the latter, instead being an outpour of frustration and adoration, making Grantaire’s cheeks flush and his feet rock upwards as to deepen it. They were both always particularly passionate after a long time apart, as if to make up for lost chances.
“You have more luggage than usual.” Enjolras observed after finally releasing him for enough time to do so. He did not go far.
“If you have a question to ask, I will answer it.” Grantaire bit at Enjolras’s lip playfully, which always caused his partner to smile just a bit. Enjolras still did not engage quite to the same extent as he had a moment before, leaving space for words but not saying any. It hardly mattered, as Grantaire could see what Enjolras wanted to ask well enough in his eyes. He had kept himself from asking every year before this, but it was always there.
“I am staying.” He answered, thumb tracing small circles against the fabric over Enjolras’s hip. The ridges of each thread were small, but still noticeable under his hand. He would rather they still be kissing, but he supposed it was important enough to say. “Jean could use someone in London, and it has been long enough. I do not think I could leave you again, I am not strong enough for it.”
“You certainly are,” Enjolras knocked their foreheads together gently, his smile small and soft, for them only. “But I am elated to hear it. I love you, R.”
“And I love you, Enjolras.” Some yellow hairs tickled at Grantaire’s face with their proximity. “Whatever strength I may or may not have, I will not need it. I am staying.”
This fulfilment of his promise had been long awaited, and they pulled each other’s mouths back together to seal it. Enjolras took Grantaire by the lapels of his waistcoat to lead him to the bed, something Grantaire would gladly follow with or without being pulled. Their journey down to the covers was inelegant, made awkward by the limited movement of their clothing, but Grantaire was happy to ignore both in favor of the sensation of Enjolras under him. There were few better pleasures that Grantaire had ever encountered in all his debauched explorations.
He leaned back a moment, to appreciate the sight of Enjolras with his hair spread across the pillows in all its glory. Grantaire would never tire of it, and as fondly as he looked back on their first time, he had certainly grown fonder of the kindness of a mattress and oils. Enjolras smirked up at him, having followed the progression of his thoughts, and used his long fingers to pull at the knot around Grantaire’s throat. It was a green paisley, one of Grantaire’s favorites, but at this point he would much agree with Enjolras’s preference for it being removed.
He caught Enjolras’s hand instead of letting him continue to untie it, having thought of a better occupation. Grantaire pressed a kiss to each of his fingers, his palm, his wrist, pushing Enjolras’s sleeve farther and farther up his arm to reveal new targets. Enjolras watched him, expression lazy and content, but with a spark of anticipation underlying it. They were impassioned, but not rushed. They had half a lifetime to live together, after all, what was the hurry? Once Grantaire reached far enough up his arm, Enjolras was able to bend it around Grantaire’s neck and pull him back down against him. He was then able to use the momentum to switch their positions, careful not to role all the way off the bed, and putting Enjolras above Grantaire. It slightly knocked the wind out of both of them, but Grantaire was happy to breathlessly be pushed down into the sheets.
There was a faint sound of knocking that Grantaire chose to ignore, the sensation of Enjolras’s mouth opening against his being far more interesting. The sound repeated again, closer, accompanied now by a voice calling out as well. It came yet again, closer still, now entirely impossible of going unheard by either of them. They both paused, opening their eyes to look at once another in growing resignation. The sound of Grantaire’s name echoed through the hallway, giving it an eerie, ghost-like quality, and he sighed deeply. Jean was unlikely to stop until he had found where Grantaire was, considering it some sort of unintended hide and seek. He would reach this door soon enough.
Enjolras figured the same, climbing off him to offer them both an opportunity to straighten themselves out. Enjolras reached over to properly arrange Grantaire’s collar as they, pushing his chin to the side for a better view. Once he had finished, he took Grantaire’s chin again, gently guiding him into a chaste kiss before moving away in time for Jean’s arrival. Enjolras was quite proud of his relatively new skill in dressing himself, as it had given them far more freedom, and was rather fond of extending the action to Grantaire. It felt caring each time he did, covering up marks he had left on Grantaire’s body as if to confirm they were some privileged thing between them. Grantaire, reversley, wished that he could flaunt them carelessly, and Enjolras as well. He wished to have had him stay there by his side when he opened the door, not to have to hide such loving gestures and to be able to hold his hand at least. But such things were not possible.
Grantaire timed the opening of the door to just before Jean would knock, letting his brother be caught in a gleeful surprise. He jumped forward, colliding with Grantaire roughly as a sort of embrace that left them both unbalanced. Jean’s mood was certainly improved, having been given space to wander. Grantaire would not be surprised if he had explored the entire place already, having managed to lose Mrs. Hucheloup in the process of speedily running up stairs and through doors. Grantaire had been much the same as a child, and indeed still was. There were so many great uses to wandering, and he certainly learned the way about a place much better through walking it than he could by any map. Cities, fields, or houses, it made no difference.
“Can we go out?” Jean asked. “Can we?”
“It is quite late in the day already.” Grantaire did not want to refuse him, but it was not as if they could get any of their errands done. The shops would be closed or closing by now. They would reach nightfall soon enough, and while Grantaire thrived in the after dark life of this city, it was less supportive of sightseeing or anything one with a child might do. Enjolras interjected before Jean’s expression fell too greatly.
“I have a meeting tonight, you could bring Jean? There would be other children there, so he would not be bored.”
“You bring children into your group?” Grantaire turned to his lover with a look of accusation. Enjolras was immediately defensive.
“Of course not, but there are several street gamin, children affected by many of the things we discuss, who have made themselves very hard to get rid of. We did not bring them in, Gavroche appeared himself, and has brought more than one friend with him on occasion.” Grantaire’s memory stirred.
“Gavroche, you have mentioned him before.”
He had been, in the context of a messenger. Someone who knew news as soon as it happened and could carry it quickly, and had done so to aid Enjolras and their friends on more than one occasion. Grantaire was unsure the age had ever been mentioned, as he was uncomfortable with the idea of children being involved in Enjolras’s causes. Grantaire did not worry so much for himself as collateral, he at least knew what he was getting into, and while he always worried for his friends, they too made all their actions out of some sense of idealistic reality that they believed. Just because a child was a victim of something did not mean that they should then be turned into a soldier against it, not at least until they understood what that meant.
“We take care of him where we can, all of us, though he champions independence and often refuses anything we offer.” Enjolras’s eyes had gone soft, like they had when he was first speaking with Jean, though they quickly focused again. “We do not involve him in anything dangerous.”
“Being involved with any of you is already dangerous, and I am sure he has found his way in regardless.”
“But can we go?” Jean asked, not having followed much beyond that first tempting promise. He looked over to Enjolras for support, who of course sided with him already.
“He would be safe, you know that.” Enjolras encouraged. “And I am sure the others would love to meet him.”
In truth, they would be safe. Enjolras hated to admit it, but the Six Acts had made a far greater detrimental impact on The Cause than he or their other friends had expected. They had been able to meet in the countryside without much notice, but city assemblies had been frequently spied on and raided. Enjolras had achieved near to nothing under the heavy boot of the government, and even now that many of the laws had been repealed, everything was still too quiet. They would eventually recover, Enjolras remained sure, but on the greater part they had no activity. The meetings Grantaire had been able to attend in his visits had rarely been more than a meeting of just their intimate friends, tucked away in some private residence or corner of a pub. Gone were the days of shouting to masses, of a public that believed in their ability to cause change. They would be safe, because even Enjolras was unable to stir up trouble. It was not carelessness or bravery that caused him to be so bold in inviting Jean along, but a somewhat unhappy recognition of reality.
“You would have him radicalized just before being sent off to boarding school, how do you expect him to fare?” Grantaire joked, knowing that he had already lost the argument. He ruffled his hand through Jean’s hair.
“I expect he would turn out a great deal better than most of his classmates.” Enjolras answered seriously. It was clear enough to them both that Grantaire would offer no other protest. He looked down to Jean. “Do you want to come with us?”
“Yes!” Jean answered quickly, crossing over to Enjolras’s side. Enjolras looked to Grantaire in teasing triumph.
“You must respect the man’s free will. He is a rational being, capable of his own choices.” He said, crossing his arms. It would seem he had read Locke as well, and Grantaire resented the cited strength of the argument.
“The both of you have an unfair advantage over me.” Grantaire sighed, sounding far more fond than he intended. “We will all go, Jean I will come with you to find warmer clothes.” He glared at Enjolras without any heat through Jean’s cheers, and herded his brother out of the room.
Mrs. Hucheloup was grateful to have a night to herself, though she strictly reminded Grantaire not to lose sight of his brother. Grantaire agreed, and made sure Jean was dressed in particularly bright colors just for assurance. He also made Jean swear to stay close, though that was hardly much of a promise. He would have preferred it if they were to go to Combeferre’s residence, or somewhere more confined, but the cafe they had chosen would have to do.
Grantaire would admit, stepping out from the apartment that he and Enjolras now shared, into a city he loved, with his brother on one side and his love on the other, was a sort of happiness Grantaire never would have expected himself to have. It felt familial, and right in a way he could not entirely articulate. Jean pulled at one hand like it was a lead, and Enjolras’s knuckles lightly brushed the other. This was the future Grantaire had dreamed of, and while the streets smelled and his clothes itched in ways that he would not have pictured, it was quite near to perfect.
They were noticed as soon as they entered the building, a shout going up from the corner of the room. They barely crossed the floor before they were swarmed, by joyous greeters and people demanding Enjolras’s attention both. The first to reach them was Jehan, wearing a dress of a deep, patterned orange fabric and looking like a warm and friendly fire in it. His friend hugged Grantaire tightly, both of them laughing as Grantaire swayed them out of balance. He was able to see Jehan more often than Enjolras, but these reunions too were always a great source of joy.
“Jean, meet my friend Jean Prouvaire.” He said, having placed his friend’s feet back on the ground. Jean looked up at them both with wide eyes.
“We have the same name.”
“We do,” Jehan agreed. “And a great many more people than us in this world have it as well. It is a good name, is it not? You wear it well.” His brother looked more than a bit confused by Jehan’s words, nose scrunching slightly.
“Thank you.” He replied with practiced politeness, the gentlemanly training presenting itself for the first time today. He squinted at the dress, speaking with careful articulation. “You wear it as well.”
“Grantaire!” Courfeyrac and Combeferre had followed closely behind. Combeferre offered a welcoming smile before facing Enjolras and handing something to him, while Courfeyrac reached up and patted Grantaire’s cheeks. “You look like some wild werewolf, my friend, did Enjolras give you no time to attend to yourself after travelling so long?”
“They got in just this afternoon.” Enjolras defended over his shoulder.
“And I imagine you were indisposed since then.” Courfeyrac said, voice holding just enough of a suggestive tone for Grantaire to smack away his hands. “What? I am only implying that you must have been doing a great deal of unpacking. Clothes moving from one place to another and the like.” He peered at Grantaire more closely. “You are staying, this time, are you not?”
Enjolras had always withheld asking, but that had not stopped their friends. Courfeyrac had been insistent, trying to wish a happy ending on them as early and resolutely as he could. He had told Grantaire once that he did not think he could ever survive having Combeferre out of arm’s reach for so long, as he had never had to. It was not that he did not care for Combeferre enough to not lose interest as soon as he was not directly before him, but he had never truly understood how Enjolras and Grantaire could choose the separation they had. While he never belittled Grantaire’s decision, he eagerly awaited the day it would change, and often tried to hurry it with persuasions. He wanted them both to be happy, Grantaire knew, so he did not resent it. The only other two so invested in that eventuality were Enjolras and Grantaire themselves.
“I am.” Grantaire said, finally giving Courfeyrac the answer he hoped for. He grinned even wider than he had when first spotting Grantaire. The small gap between his front teeth was made noticeable in its width.
“I will drink to that.” Courfeyrac said. “Welcome home.”
With Courfeyrac’s retreat towards the bar, Grantaire had a moment of panic where he realized Jean was no longer by his side. His eyes darted around, heart rate already rising, but was quickly able to calm himself when he found the bright coat at a table not too far away. Many thanks were to be given to his past self for the forethought in that selection, as he was able to quickly weave through the small collection of figures in that direction. Clearly Jean had not felt bound to his word in staying by Grantaire’s side, not when there were more interesting things to be found.
He was stopped once or twice in greeting other individuals as he made his way over, very few being strangers to him. Grantaire may only appear for part of each year, but he was vocal and memorable. He could not spot many unfamiliar faces, save for the two sitting by his brother. The boys were older than Jean, but not by any great lengths, and dressed in great opposition. Despite this, the conversation seemed merry and enjoyed from both ends. It was a strange visual, definitely the sort that belonged in a collection such as this one. Enjolras’s future utopia in action, he supposed, though likely Enjolras would much prefer not to have anyone in rags.
“Hello.” Grantaire greeted, making an uneasy approach. He did not want to interrupt what had so captured Jean’s attention. He did not have much opportunity to speak with others his age.
“And hello to youse.” One of the two said, bobbing his head in a version of a bow. “We were telling him about the factories outside ‘a town.” Seems Jean had gotten impatient with him and sought answers on his own. His brother nodded in agreement, likely mimicking the head movement he saw more than meaning its purpose.
“Are you Gavroche?” Grantaire asked, earning a smile. It was no great leap, he had a fifty percent chance between the only two youths present.
“Yessir. That smooth face been talking about me?” Grantaire laughed, surprised at the odd insult, though immediately understanding who Gavroche must mean.
“Smooth face? He’s a great deal older than you are.” Gavroche shrugged.
“Can’t make me unsay words once they’re said.” He leaned forward. “Unless you’ve got a better name, I’ll trade you for it. Any learned ones you all get from those fancy books of yours?” Grantaire was certainly understanding why Enjolras was so partial to Gavroche, he was fond of him already.
“I have the suspicion that you know far more words of that ilk than I ever will.” The boy had the sort of mischievous, curious glint in his eye as to suggest it.
“I know more of everything than anyone,” He responded modestly, surveying Grantaire. “And I think half the uppity gentlemen from the Universities are taught a great deal more than their minds are fit for.”
“A fair few are educated beyond their intelligence, I would agree.” The sort of well articulated man, trained from infancy to speak well without saying anything. Grantaire had seen it more than once, their condescending nature while they spouted the thoughts of others without thinking any of their own. Perhaps that was hypocrisy, from him, but Grantaire at least knew him to be capable of the opposite. “I would like to think I am not one of them.” He added, realizing that he was in fact being judged.
“A few come through here, none of ‘em stay any long.” Gavroche looked him over again. “Enjolras doesn’t mind you, if you stay with ‘im. You must not be awful.”
“What glowing praise.” He did not bother asking how Gavroche knew he stayed with Enjolras, maybe he had followed them, or it had simply been a well planned guess after they arrived together. He extended a hand. “Call me Grantaire.” He said, making no attempt at formality. Gavroche took it, his hand so very small against Grantaire’s, giving one firm shake like it sealed a promise. His companion only now looked up, having been disinterested in the conversation thus far but recognizing the ritual of introduction.
“I’m Navet.” The other boy said. “I only came since he did.”
Navet, despite his lesser enthusiasm, provided great entertainment for Jean while the meeting began. Marbles, or simply stones Grantaire did not look carefully, had been procured from somewhere and were now the source of active interest. Courfeyrac returned as well, offering Grantaire a drink he had fetched for him, before joining the two boys in their game. He switched between which Grantaire he more actively engaged, cheerfully answering questions for both. Grantaire the elder was glad to hear how Marius was faring, having heard less of him and Cosette since they had both relocated to the city. Neither were currently present, which Courfeyrac assured was due to Cosette’s heavy pregnancy. Apparently Marius was disinclined to go anywhere without the presence of his deeply loved wife by his side. Grantaire the younger was more fascinated in asking after the name of each type of horse he remembered seeing on the walk over.
Gavroche remained actively engrossed in the talks, rather than the game going on beside him, an activity Grantaire soon joined him in. They were always interesting to watch, no matter how he may disagree. Gavroche, to his credit, seemed equally dubious of many of the things suggested, and had one or two shockingly clever remarks that nearly sent Grantaire into stitches. It was his intention not to draw too much attention to himself this meeting, it would not do to be so distracted while he had Jean here to look after, so he did his best to hide each laugh as to not encourage him. He was clearly unsuccessful as Gavroche, noticing immediately the similarities in their sense of humor, took it as a challenge. The boy was smart, and not nearly as naive as Grantaire had been worrying, blending his ideas and rationale more successfully than other adult members of the group. He still idealized these men far too much, looking up at Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac and the rest as if they were flawless leaders, despite the insults, as was the degree of childhood wonder. There were promises these men did not even realize they were making to children such as Gavroche, a dangerous kind of hope that they stirred even in people as bitter as Grantaire. Grantaire wondered if Gavroche would grow out of it, turn more towards cynicism as he had. It was not a fate he wished on him.
Once Gavroche, too, was otherwise distracted, Grantaire let himself watch Enjolras unrepentantly. He had gotten more than enough practice over seven years of how to disguise his expression just enough, and it was not as if he was the only one. It made no difference, the small number of Enjolras’s audience, he was just as fierce and bright as he always was. Some of the lethargy of the long journey began to settle in Grantaire’s bones, and his eyelids drooped as he watched. Jean still had that youthful energy to sustain him, for some of it, but even he eventually lost interest in his new friends and climbed into Grantaire’s lap, overexerted. He was too big for it to be very comfortable for either of them, but Jean was unbothered and had fallen asleep before long.
“Well met, Grantaire. Did we go on too long?” Combeferre asked quietly, coming over at the conclusion.
“Would you have shortened it?” Grantaire too kept his voice low, as close as it was to Jean’s ear. Combeferre gestured in general admittance.
“You could have gone home.” He did not mean it unkindly, Grantaire knew, only as a practical suggestion. That was also the second time someone had so resolutely, unquestionably called Enjolras’s apartment his home. He tried to shrug lightly, though the movement caused his brother to fuss around in his sleep.
“We were content here.” He said, even if it was unfair to speak for the boy in his arms. He was fairly certain Jean had enjoyed himself, as he had made no great protest otherwise. Jean was not the type to keep silent on his opinions.
“It is good to have you back with us.” Combeferre said.
He moved to sit beside him in the chair Gavroche had recently vacated, as it was clear that by this point the boy had no hurried plans of return. He was still around somewhere, Grantaire was fairly certain, as he had not announced his departure as Navet had. He seemed an inconsistent, spectral sort of figure with how he could appear and disappear with ease, but Grantaire got the sense that he had not strayed far.
Combeferre looked down in his lap, flipping through a notebook with what must be the minutes for the meeting. Combeferre was often asked to take them, as he was the best listener, but his handwriting was something that could only be deciphered by himself, so they were left to his possession alone. There were some sketches around the margins as well, a familiar sight to Grantaire, but providing a generally disorganized visual. Grantaire was unable to make out a single part of it save for the date, which may have just been a projection of the knowledge he already had.
“Enjolras is happy. He carries himself differently when you are here, as if everything weighs on him less.” He had paused on a page with some incomprehensible lines, as well as a drawing of a house moth. “You do as well, I should think. I am glad you two found each other.” Grantaire smiled to himself.
“His friendship is one I deeply value.” Combeferre knew his true meaning well enough.
Not only had Enjolras coming into his life been a positive change, but it had brought so many other good friends with it. Grantaire was more than glad for those connections. How else would he have had Combeferre for those thoughtful, emotionally contemplative conversations? Even over letters his friend had been a reliable and understanding confidant, one that would be direct without being unkind. He was not the only one that Grantaire could rely on, but the number in no way decreased his importance.
“Have you been able to fully comprehend it yet?” Grantaire made a questioning noise, brought back from his thoughts, in response to which Combeferre continued. “Staying in London, I should mean.”
“I spent part of every year already.” He said, unsure what it was Combeferre was asking.
“It is different to move resolutely, is it not? You had friends in the town, people you have left behind, rather than just for an interval.” His friend clarified.
That much was true. Even if his father had given a wordless dismissal, there had been some tearful farewells had between friends before he had left. Musichetta, Bossuet, and Joly he was unlikely to see again unless he made some effort to visit, which he was unlikely to do until his father’s natural departure. A steward would be in place after that fact as well, and eventually his brother. There was no need for him there, no position. This separation would be longer than any preceding one, indefinite and unsure of its ending.
“I will miss them, but that place was no home to me. I am secure in my decision of moving on, even after all these years.” Grantaire answered. He had settled himself better in the town over seven years, but even before he had first left for the Academy he knew it was not somewhere he belonged. The choices Grantaire had made were the right ones for the greatest number of people, as rare a claim as that was for him to make. Of this he did his best to be sure of. Grantaire narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “Was that a test? Measuring my dedication before Enjolras makes any commitment to living with me?”
“Hardly.” Combeferre closed his notes, the response leaving no room for contradiction, but still gentle. “None of us would doubt that, from either end, I only meant to learn where your thoughts were on everything. London may not be unknown to you, but it is still a move. Our other friends and I are here if you ever need comfort, R.” Jean shifted again, and Grantaire pressed a subconscious kiss to the top of his head to calm him.
He had been so long in a transitory state, moving between here and there, that it was disconcerting to consider the fact that this was a decision, even if it was one he wanted. Seven years of limbo had nearly convinced him this day would never come, despite how secure he had been that he would choose this when he could.
“Thank you.” He said, meaning it sincerely. He was in a room of allies, who he cared for and who cared for him. It was a far friendlier feeling than any time he had been in a crowd in his hometown. That difference was enough to make him sure.
They had been facing Enjolras's general direction the entire time, but it was only after they fell silent that he, sensing eyes on him, lifted his head. Enjolras smiled at them both from where he was speaking to Jehan, earning a nod in response from Combeferre and Grantaire both. He noticed the sleeping Jean just shortly after, eyes dipping down slightly and face changing. He made some final remarks before excusing himself, making a direct line for their sitting position. His coat had been deposited somewhere, shirtsleeves tucked up to avoid the heat created by his wide gestures and showing his vibrant red waistcoat in full view. These sorts of rooms were always the stuffy sort, and Grantaire had felt the heat even in his immobility. As Enjolras neared, he also noticed the strands of hair clinging to his forehead.
“You were rather quiet.” Enjolras noted, pushing those hairs out of his face. He did not look tired, instead pleasantly invigorated.
“I am a man of responsibility, tonight at least. Good examples must be set.” Enjolras leaned against Grantaire’s side, hand passing lightly through Grantaire’s hair before resting on the wood of the chair’s back. To anyone at the right distance, the movement would seem casual and fluid, Grantaire only leaning into it for the briefest of moments.
“You could have set a better one by having him listen.” Enjolras pointed out, earning raised brows.
“I respected his free will and rationality, did I not? His actions are his own.” Repeating Enjolras’s words always drew a specific sort of annoyance from him and a childish enjoyment from Grantaire, especially in examples as playful as this one. He tilted his head back against Enjolras’s arm, his smile some revolting mix of a smirk and something far more fond. “You contradict yourself, Sir.”
“Your affect, I am sure.”
“This is the time I take my leave, I think.” Combeferre cut in, reminding them both that they had left him completely ignored. Their friend had an unimpressed sort of amusement, long used to how thoroughly Enjolras and Grantaire could distract themselves in their banter, but clearly not feeling the need to subject himself to much more of it. He pressed a hand briefly to Grantaire’s shoulder where it was not covered by Jean’s head. “We will speak later. I still have a book you lent me when you were last in London, I should return it when I see you next.” Grantaire waved him on.
“Say goodnight to Courfeyrac for us, will you? I imagine you will be the last to see him.”
Grantaire took pride in the blush that coloured his usually so collected friend as he elected to refrain from giving any other reaction. He gave a warm farewell to Enjolras, ignoring Grantaire entirely, before retreating back to where Courfeyrac was but growing redder with each step. Courfeyrac would appreciate his work, and he was too much of a weak spot of Combeferre’s for Grantaire to pass up prodding at. He and Enjolras might have made a mess of things back in the day, but they had not needed years to sort it out. The teasing was fair play, in Grantaire’s mind.
“Are you able to carry Jean back?” Enjolras asked, taking Grantaire’s attention away from their embarrassed compatriot. He looked down at his brother, considering the size of him.
“I do not think so.” Grantaire said regretfully. Perhaps in his younger days, or if he had more energy to spare, but this did not seem within his capabilities. Enjolras looked apologetic, equally incapable of that feat.
He did his best to wake Jean gently, rousing the child with bleary, barely open eyes. There were a few hums of protest, as well as a grumpy expression, but for the most part he was silent. When he finally left Grantaire’s lap his legs were left tingling somewhat, having been displeased with the constant weight on them. It still did not seem if Jean was fully conscious, only standing there and swaying somewhat. He took hold of Enjolras’s pants leg as he waited for Grantaire to stand, though Grantaire could not be sure how much of it was a conscious action. The sight warmed his heart nonetheless.
“Can you walk home with us, Jean?” He asked. The boy nodded, rubbing his face, before taking Grantaire’s offered hand. “We will send you to bed as soon as we are there.” He promised. That was, of course, in the hopes that Mrs. Hucheloup did not kill him for keeping his brother out so late.
The city was not any quieter at night, nor was the sound confined to the small parts of illumination around each lamppost. Were Jean more aware of his surroundings, he likely would have been frightened by the sort of looming presences that made their way around them. As it was, he kept a hand fasted in Grantaire’s and another holding Enjolras’s coat, safely bracketed between them but not overly concerned. They were both forced to adjust their natural walking speeds for him, a bigger shift for Enjolras than Grantaire. Enjolras had always walked rather quickly, where Grantaire tended to stroll while engaged in observation, though this slow speed gave him more time to notice details than he often did.
A coin fell from the pocket of someone in the vicinity, making the distinct sounds of impact between metal and stone as it traveled. The glint had caught Grantaire’s eye briefly, but he lost sight of it somewhere between the moving feet. It was not something he cared for too greatly, it was not his money after all, but was surprised when the coin made a reappearance nearer to eye level.”
“Sir, you dropped this, you did.” Gavroche, the picture of sweet innocence, was holding it up to some man just a meter or so from them. Enjolras paused in his step, clearly wanting to watch, so the two Grantaires did the same.
The man huffed, not at all grateful, and snatched the coin from Gavroche’s palm suspiciously. The little gamin did not waver in his expression, even going so far as to bow at the gentleman as he departed. Gavroche quickly pulled himself up onto the banister of one of the buildings, placing him just as tall as Enjolras who then brought them all close. Moving to the side in this way also took them from the main part of movement, as well as the light.
“Lovely evening, my dear.” Gavroche commented loudly from his perch. Enjolras was unimpressed by this address.
“Gavroche, did you steal that man’s purse?” He asked. Gavroche shook his head.
“Did not.”
“Gavroche.” Enjolras repeated, causing the boy crossed his arms petulantly. Even he was clearly not immune to Enjolras’s questioning, caving in rather quickly.
“If I did? He already thought I was a thief, and his boots said he got more to spare.” He nodded his head towards Grantaire. “He thought it was funny.”
Enjolras turned a betrayed glare on Grantaire, despite the fact that he had not said anything. In all fairness, he had been thoroughly amused. The man had deserved it, and the switching of a single coin for an entire purse was a more than comical one. This conclusion likely showed in his face just as easily to Enjolras as it had to Gavroche, and he tried to bite back a smile as his lover turned away again. The boy was observant, how was he to help it?
“Thievery is wrong, Gavroche.”
“They say the same about what you folk do.” Grantaire’s smile dropped, shoulders stiffening and pulling away from Enjolras in reflex. Too observant, it would seem.
“I would ask you not to discuss that.” Enjolras’s voice was far firmer than it had been before.
“Do I look a halfwit? Nobody will hear nothing from me.” The boy said.
Gavroche seemed chastised, tucking up his knees and curling into them. It was a rather pitiful sight, like a kicked dog, a reminder of how small and young this boy was. Grantaire felt instantly pained by it, which may well have been the boy’s intention with this sudden change of demeanor. Enjolras sighed, obviously affected as well. The strict line left his shoulders, no longer making him look a lecturer.
“Why were you following us back? Have you taken me up on my offer?” Gavroche shook his head quickly, springing down from the banister like a cat. All his previous energy seemed to have returned, brought in response to Enjolras’s query.
“Won’t do. Was only making sure the little one got back.” He had retreated out of arm’s length already, nearly gone before he even finished. “I’ll see you when I see you.” He said, before vanishing completely at a scampering run. Grantaire still got the sense that he was close by, though there was no visual evidence of it. Enjolras had them continue on, unphased by the lurking presence he had to be aware of. Grantaire chose not to bother asking quite yet.
The ineffectual knocker welcomed them back first, the warm hallway making a quick second. Before the door quite closed behind them, Grantaire tried to catch a glimpse of Gavroche anywhere in the street, but was unsuccessful in spotting him before the latch clicked. Perhaps he had only been imagining it all, and the gamin had left them just when he said. Grantaire was unused to having a shadow, though Enjolras seemed generally unbothered by it. He supposed one of them was generally more accustomed to the act of being followed.
“What was that offer that chased Gavroche off so quickly?” Grantaire asked now he had waited long enough that Gavroche would no longer hear them, making his chances at an answer better. Grantaire’s voice was light, though he suspected whatever Enjolras had to say likely did not match that.
Enjolras pulled off his coat and hat to hang it in the hallway, jaw flexing unhappily. He was not annoyed with Grantaire, that he had more than enough practice recognizing, but whatever the explanation was he clearly did not enjoy describing it. Grantaire handed over his coat as well, watching as it was hung next to Enjolras’s in the spot that was always reserved for it.
“The way I help all of them is by fighting for the causes I do. That is the logic I must use every time I see an individual in need. I cannot help everyone until we succeed. I would lose the position I have to lobby for these things if I gave all my money away, bring too much attention if I took in every child off the street. It is a horrible thing to place my life above theirs because privilege has, but I am doing so with the intent of saving everyone eventually.”
Grantaire nodded, though Enjolras was not looking at him. These were all parts of Enjolras’s strategy that he knew, even if he did not agree with them. The People rather than people, and all things contained in that. He would risk his life without question, but his position was a more difficult thing. Otherwise he would never have been contained by his parents in the first place. Enjolras sighed unhappily, speaking again after this brief pause.
“But Gavroche is so close, so young.” They started up the stairs. “It is harder to keep that separation when there is the individual before me.”
“He refused?” Jean was dragging his feet somewhat, pushed far past his limits. For this short distance at least Grantaire was willing to sacrifice the pains of his back, so he took his brother back up into his arms.
“He would not be the exception where others are not. He says he has people that need his aid and his care, so that they can survive as he does.” Enjolras looked over at Grantaire then, at Jean in his hold. “He is not unlike you in that respect.”
“I was never faced with starvation.” Grantaire refuted. Risking, or even choosing to die with someone in that way, that was different than anything Grantaire had ever faced.
Mrs. Hucheloup had clearly taken note of their approach, coming out of her room fully presentable. Grantaire got a stern look for his efforts, though she remained silent on the subject in front of Enjolras, saying nothing but some quiet words to Jean and a goodnight to Enjolras and Grantaire. The two then disappeared into the spare room, presumably to quickly usher Jean to bed. They could at least be sure that he no longer had any restless energy from the long ride. That much had been thoroughly worn out of him.
Grantaire and Enjolras then retreated to Enjolras’s room on the other side of the apartment. Their footsteps were soft, and not a word was said between them as they walked the familiar path. These walls knew them both well, and each creak felt like a greeting. Grantaire traced his fingers lightly along the wallpaper as they moved, releasing no sound save for the faintest of whisps. They let themselves come much closer to one another than they had while walking in the street, pulled near by each other’s gravity.
The room Enjolras called his own was more a library than a bedroom, and likely had been until Enjolras had forsaken all sitting furniture in place of a bed. It allowed him to spend hours in continuous study, dressed comfortably on his bed with a book in hand. Grantaire quite enjoyed that sight when he had it, of a truly domestic Enjolras with no social constraints in place. Enjolras had told him he felt much the same whenever he saw Grantaire in his painting clothes, despite how much a shock they had been on that first visit long before they had understood any of what was between them. It was entertaining to look back on, how flustered they both were by each flash of skin, each touch.
After the door closed, they both went to sit side by side on the bed. It sank under them unevenly, making him unbalanced for a brief moment. Once he had settled, Grantaire leaned over pressed a kiss against the side of Enjolras’s mouth. Enjolras turned into it, but pulled away when Grantaire move further.
“You were tired.” Enjolras reasoned, though looking as if he wished he did not have to.
“Not too tired for this.” Grantaire replied. This statement was in part contradicted by his sudden impulse to yawn.
“I made you come out shortly after a long journey.” Enjolras sounded regretful, looking down at the open space of bedspread between them. “That was shortsighted of me in my excitement, I should let you rest.”
Grantaire reached behind Enjolras’s downturned head, undoing the black ribbon that held his hair back and freeing it around his shoulders. He combed fingers through the curls in a way that Enjolras always enjoyed, before bringing both palms to Enjolras’s cheeks and turning his face back upwards.
“I did nothing I did not want to, nor would I be doing it now.” Enjolras’s hand came up to hold one of Grantaire’s own. “I cast my vote for continuing what we were interrupted in earlier today.”
“I as well.” Enjolras responded, biting his bottom lip before releasing it.The sight was rather distracting, and Grantaire swept over the area with his thumb.
“Well, good sir, the people’s consensus is encouraging.” The space had nearly closed between them, the two dips in the bed now very nearly merging into one.
“If we are in democratic agreement, then who am I to dispute the conclusion?” Grantaire’s hand left Enjolras’s face, tracing down over his still covered throat. The fabric was too thick for him to feel Enjolras’s pulse, but he was certain it was beating just as fast as his own. Even at this languid speed, Grantaire felt none of his earlier somnolence.
“It would take a strange sort of tyrant to overturn your own vote.” He said.
“We have seen governments reject proposals that would even benefit themselves before.” Enjolras said thoughtfully, reaching down and beginning to unbutton Grantaire’s waistcoat. It was a slow process, with his eyes trained on Grantaire’s in the way that always made him somewhat breathless. “It is the sort of illogical reasoning often seen in those in power.”
“I am beginning to lose this analogy, I will confess.” Grantaire said, though the descending nature of Enjolras’s hands made his voice unsteady with anticipation. “While your political point stands, am I to assume you are not currently of that stance?”
“I am not.” Enjolras completed his answer by closing that final gap between their mouths.
Their items of clothing were no easy thing to undo while attempting to kiss at the same time. They solved this issue as best they could by only taking short breaks, or pressing lips to wherever of their partner was available when the face was covered. It became almost a bit of a challenge, Enjolras hurrying to catch one on the center of Grantaire’s sternum, and Grantaire with great success all across Enjolras’s torso. With both of them now responsible for their own dressing and undressing, they had less to fear in leaving marks behind so long as they could be hidden. It was with a gentle ferocity that each bruise was kissed into their skin. More promises added to the great number they had already made to one another.
“This is quite a beautiful fabric.” Enjolras commented, in seeming reference to nothing.
Grantaire released the part of Enjolras’s neck that he had previously been convinced Enjolras was thoroughly enjoying his attention to, if the soft moans in his ear had been any indication. It would seem that, as well as moaning, while his head had been hooked over Grantaire’s shoulder he had also decided to examine Grantaire’s discarded cravat.
“Am I boring you?” Grantaire asked, hands remaining on Enjolras’s hips as he then pulled the fabric to show between them. “Not that I dislike the compliments to my fashion taste, but I had rather thought the intent of this activity was to disregard clothing.”
“Not necessarily.” Enjolras spoke again as soon as Grantaire opened his mouth. “I mean with the clothing. You are not boring me, Grantaire.”
“Forgive my lack of confidence.” Grantaire was not actually hurt in any way, he too had managed to distract himself more than once. Enjolras was a rather unusual case in how intent his focus tended to be, but it was more than pardonable.
“I had a thought, for something we might try.” He reached up to touch the mark Grantaire had left. “It was because of this, if you need further assurance.”
“I am assured.” He promised. “What was your thought?”
Enjolras straightened out the cloth in his hand to make a band, Grantaire’s thumbs making small circles against his hip bone as he did. He had understood Enjolras’s intention before it was finished, and was confirmed when Enjolras raised it slightly in askance. He did not put it over Grantaire’s eyes immediately, still waiting for his response.
“Am I going to execution?” Grantaire laughed through his own spark of nervousness, though Enjolras obviously saw through him.
“I have no desire to make you uncomfortable.” He said, lowering his hands before Grantaire caught them.
“I am not used to the idea, but that does not mean I am against it.” He had no experience, would never have dared do such a thing in his days of anonymity, but he trusted Enjolras. In truth, he found the idea more exciting than frightening, and was further encouraged by Enjolras’s curiosity. “Help me put it on?”
Grantaire moved himself more evenly onto the bed, leaning up slightly so that Enjolras could tie round. The fabric was not very secure, and would be easily pushed off if Grantaire wanted to be free of it. As Enjolras slowly did the knot, Grantaire became distracted by the sensation of each breath on his ear, how it stirred the small hairs there into tickling the skin. His eyes moved around pointlessly under his eyelids, unused to their lack of occupation.
“Lie back.” Enjolras suggested, and Grantaire could tell vaguely that he had moved away.
It was somewhat awkward trying to settle himself, unreasonably paranoid about the edges of the bed that he could not see. He was not uncomfortable with this in its general premise, but he felt overly aware of his surroundings, of being watched by Enjolras and not the reversal. It was a strange sensation. A fold in the bedsheet pressed against his left shoulder blade, not painfully, but he could not help but notice it. He shifted himself nervously again, straightening out the fabric under his back as he did.
He could not be entirely certain of where Enjolras was, as they were not touching in any way. Enjolras was usually so impatient with these things, particularly when he was left to guide them. It was possible that he was simply waiting for Grantaire to adjust comfortably, or was being intentionally slow as to not tire him out. Such were considerations he appreciated, but was not feeling currently partial to.
“You called this your home, earlier.” Enjolras’s voice grounded him, easing a lot of the anxieties that had begun creeping in as he just lay there on the bed undisturbed. A hand came with the words, fingernails running lightly up his thigh. Grantaire shivered in response. “Do you truly feel that way?”
Ah, perhaps this was why Combeferre had broached that subject. It was not Grantaire’s insecurities he was noticing, but Enjolras’s. Grantaire reached out blindly, guided by the warmth to Enjolras’s arm.
“You have a place for my coat, a room for my art. I have friends here whom I feel secure with, those I love.”
“This is not the only place you have those.” Grantaire attempted to smile reassuringly at him, though he could not be certain what direction that was meant to be.
“We must imagine what the difference must be, then.” Lips met his, accompanied by both of Enjolras’s hands coming up to Grantaire’s neck. Now knowing where Enjolras’s head was, he too could place a hand at the base of Enjolras’s. The cravat shifted with the movements of their heads, but still remained resolutely over Grantaire’s eyes. He spoke as well as he could against Enjolras’s mouth. “Why suggest the blindfold now?”
His mouth was freed, though Enjolras’s soon found the space just under his ear to kiss as well. The hands moved down to his shoulders, and he felt Enjolras move to rest on top of him. The sounds of shifting fabric and skin against skin all seemed very loud to Grantaire, filling the silent room whenever they were not.
“I felt selfish for bringing you out tonight, leaving you to watch when you would not even speak.” Enjolras said, biting slightly at Grantaire’s collarbone. Grantaire felt it necessary to immediately refute that argument.
“I chose not to speak.” He clarified, flinching slightly when a hand brushed over somewhere ticklish. “Usually you would not encourage me to disrupt your meetings.”
“I encourage contributions, not disruptions.”
“Two sides of the same coin, my dear.”
The spot on Grantaire’s collarbone was bitten a little harder, causing him to laugh in surprise and at the immaturity of his reaction. All the earlier nervousness had gone, eased with their conversation and closeness. He mourned not having view of Enjolras, knowing that he must be smiling as well, but was still content with the sensation of their bodies against one another. Enjolras slipped down further, his long hair tracing over Grantaire’s chest and his stomach causing a pleasant friction against Grantaire’s body. His hips stuttered slightly, though in this position they had little space to move.
“Still, it is your first night back. I wished to give you my undivided attention, now that I have you in for the evening.” So the reversal of looking had been intentional then. Grantaire was hardly one to complain.
He felt the loss when Enjolras moved away, the space between his legs having already been dampened and made cold to the unrelenting air. He had been slowly strained to attention all throughout, and if his senses had told him anything Enjolras was as well. The skin pulled tight as he shivered, missing the warmth of a body hovering over his, and he could hear Enjolras doing something. The darkness still pressed unrelentingly over his eyes, and Grantaire felt disoriented when he could not place Enjolras exactly. He had nearly forgotten its presence, for a moment, with the comfort of Enjolras against him. Grantaire turned his head toward the noise, just as a dip in the bed told him Enjolras had returned.
“This may be cold.” Enjolras’s disembodied voice warned before a hand wrapped itself around Grantaire’s erection.
Perhaps it was the surprise of that sudden contact, or the chill of the oil mixed with the warmth of Enjolras’s palm, but a gasp tore itself from Grantaire’s throat. It was only a single touch, but with that as his only point of contact beyond the darkness of his blindfold it felt more intense. Enjolras must have bent over him then, as he felt the faint ticklings of hair over his abdomen. Enjolras pulled his fingers up and back down yet again, before recreating the motion more consistently in a slow repetition.
Grantaire was unsure what to do with his hands, where to reach. With some effort, he found where Enjolras had placed a steadying arm and used it to trace his hand up to Enjolras’s face. Enjolras’s hand continued its work, making Grantaire bite back more noises wished to fight their ways out through his teeth. Instead, he used his proximate knowledge of Enjolras’s position to pull his face towards Grantaire’s. Enjolras guided the last steps, giving Grantaire the wet, heated kiss he sought. He adjusted so to take them both in hand, as this new position allowed it, now making small noises of his own into Grantaire’s mouth.
The movements were sharper now, less even and frequently disrupted by the constant movements of their bodies. Enjolras pressed his forehead to Grantaire’s, though the contact was partly blocked by the fabric between them. Grantaire found it frustrating, in that moment, to know the faces Enjolras must be making but be unable to see them. The exhilaration of this reliance on his other sentences no longer seemed worth the cost, and he had committed himself to removing it when he was unexpectedly relieved of the barrier.
“I am sorry,” Enjolras said, Grantaire blinking away at the collection of bright stars that were the candles occupying the room. “I know it was my suggestion, but I do not want to continue this way.”
The cravat had not been removed, only pushed up away from Grantaire’s eyes and nearer to his now wild hair. The lopsided fabric rested unevenly, still almost covering his eye on one side. Enjolras’s face hoverd closely above his, looking relieved to have Grantaire’s eyes meet his. He too must have been uncomfortable with that unintentional divide between them, and while Enjolras had been able to see the rest, Grantaire’s face had been somewhat hidden as well.
“I was tiring of it as well.” Grantaire said. He used Enjolras’s pause in their activity to his advantage, hooking a finger over the fabric and pulling it all the way down back around his neck, retying it in a loose knot. He likely looked ridiculous doing it, but he had Enjolras’s captive interest the entire time. “An improvement?” He asked.
“I am inclined to say so.” Grantaire kissed Enjolras again, burying his hand in Enjolras’s hair as he did. Even this dim illumination was a vast improvement. Enjolras brushed the backs of two fingers below Grantaire’s navel. “Do we continue in this way, or change our method?”
“Change has its enjoyments.”
Enjolras moved away to fetch the oils, though this time Grantaire was able to press a kiss against his hips as he leaned over. He laid back and widened his legs in preparation for Enjolras’s return. They had spent a great deal of time already, so it was unlikely that either of them would last long.
“I love you, Grantaire.” Enjorlas said, settling back between Grantaire’s thighs. He said it with as much seriousness and promise as he always did, despite the unprompted nature of it.
“And I you.” Grantaire replied. They could bind each other in no legal ways, but Grantaire would never doubt they knew each other better than many who had. He could take Enjolras’s left hand in his, wrap their fingers together and press his lips to where a ring would be.
Fingers carefully spread Grantaire enough to be able to accommodate their progression. Enjolras’s hands were well suited to this kind of task, long and slender as they were, and it was nearly a struggle not to become too engaged in this task before getting further along. Less used names were mumbled and said against each other’s skin as they held each other close.
Grantaire had neither the endurance nor the control to last long once Enjolras finally entered him. Once the heat in his stomach had reached an unbearable state, he used his own hand to reach its release. Enjolras came not long after, taking the shape of a few final thrusts of their hips together. It was perhaps anticlimactic, but Grantaire could not tell through the warm glow that always followed. His exhaustion had returned in full force, pulling at his eyes and making each muscle of his body weigh him deeper into the bed.
“Have I now thoroughly fatigued you?” Enjolras asked, his head now on Grantaire’s shoulder. His hand came up to play with the cravat still tied around his throat.
“Let us hope I have the ability to run the necessary errands tomorrow.” His body would have protests, certainly. If he thought too long on it, he would notice the beginnings of them even now.
“I have faith in our abilities.” He curled closer yet.
Grantaire did not have much to thank their fathers for, but he supposed he owed them both this, to some extent. They had been forced together, after all, in the intention of correcting both of their behaviors. How mislead they had been, and how grateful Grantaire was for that fact. He had found this with him just as much in spite of their parents as because of them, had spent happier years together than those relationships had ever seen. He would prefer an insolent happiness, in any circumstance, regardless of the trials it might bring. They had made rather an art of it, after all.
“Stay here tonight.” Enjolras whispered, kissing Grantaire’s jaw. “You can return to your room in the morning.”
Grantaire turned his face into Enjolras’s, eyes slipping closed as he held the hand that had been laid over his heart.
“I am staying.” He replied.