Chapter Text
It’s crowded in the apartment, with thirteen people crammed into Feuilly and Bahorel’s tiny one-bedroom, but given that none of them can remember the last time they were all together outside of the Musain, no one is complaining. There’s music and board games and plenty of alcohol to go around, and everyone’s spirits are much lighter now that protests and rallies aren’t the only things on their minds.
Combeferre and Courfeyrac have commandeered the only sofa, which is far too large for the two of them; it’s just that no one wants to sit close enough to them to watch their cutesy couple routine. For once, however, one of them has their attention on somebody else.
Combeferre looks up from where he’s been checking his email on his phone and tries to follow his boyfriend’s eyeline across the room. He concludes that what Courfeyrac is staring at is Enjolras, who’s gingerly licking salt off the side of his hand in preparation for a tequila shot. Given the face that he makes when he actually downs it, it may be his first ever.
Even after Enjolras moves on, still grimacing, Courfeyrac’s attention remains with him. “Hey,” Combeferre says. “Where’s your mind at?”
“Would you fuck Enjolras?” Courfeyrac answers. His eyes are a bit glassy when he turns to face Combeferre, but his words aren’t slurred at all.
“You know I have.” It’s not a secret among them that Enjolras was the first person Combeferre had sex with.
“Yeah, but would you do it again?”
“I don’t know,” Combeferre says, taken aback. “Would you?”
“Yes,” Courfeyrac answers quickly. The surety of his tone reveals that this thought is neither new or random.
“Do you want to?” Combeferre asks. Courfeyrac perks at the question, and then tries to downplay it.
“What?”
“You have my blessing, if you want to try.”
“Really?”
Combeferre shrugs.
“Without you? Is that fair?”
“You’re the one who wants it, Courf.”
“Well, true. So how about you fuck someone else, too, then?”
Combeferre frowns. “Who would that be?”
“There must be someone you’d want to have sex with.”
Combeferre looks around them, allowing himself to analyze his friends in a way he hasn’t before, or at least not in a long time. When his eyes find Grantaire, he tilts his head in consideration.
“Oh my god, that’s just perfect,” Courfeyrac’s voice trembles with excitement, following his gaze. “Are you sure about this?” He checks with Combeferre, just to be safe. They have been together for two years, and they have been exclusive the entire time. In fact, they had been exclusive long before they started dating, too busy pining for each other to date anyone else.
“As long as it’s just sex, I don’t see the problem.”
Courfeyrac holds Combeferre’s face in his hands and looks him straight in the eye.
“I love you. I have loved you for years, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop. Our sex life is incredible and fulfilling and I honestly don’t need anyone but you. So if we do this, we do it for fun, and what we have doesn’t change. Deal?”
Combeferre smiles between Courfeyrac’s warm hands.
“Deal.”
*
Courfeyrac is nervously pacing the hallway when Enjolras opens the door.
“I thought I heard you out here,” Enjolras says. Courfeyrac has been already been there for five minutes, trying to psych himself up to knock.
“I was on the phone,” he replies, though his phone is quite clearly not in his hands. If Enjolras notices, he doesn’t say anything. He opens the door wider, and Courfeyrac follows him inside.
“How was class today?” Courfeyrac asks, as Enjolras puts a bag of popcorn in the microwave. It’s movie night, or it’s supposed to be, anyway.
Enjolras answers. At least, Courfeyrac thinks he does. He could be talking about whaling for all Courfeyrac knows, because he’s not listening to any of it. He feels shy, something that almost never happens to him, at the thought of what he’s going to ask for.
Enjolras has stopped talking and is looking at him strangely now.
“You look nice tonight,” Courfeyrac says, for lack of something better. It’s true, anyway.
Enjolras furrows his brow. “I look how I always look,” he says.
Courfeyrac shrugs. The microwave beeps, saving him, and he escapes to the couch on the other side of the room. Enjolras joins him with the popcorn and the TV remote, sitting down either too close or too far away. Courfeyrac can’t tell which.
“What do you want to watch?” Enjolras asks.
“It’s your turn to pick.”
“No, it’s not.” Courfeyrac knows this.
“I don’t really care.”
Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he says. He puts on some documentary about Watergate. Courfeyrac tries and fails to pay attention.
Ten minutes in, Enjolras pauses the movie and turns to face Courfeyrac. “Okay, tell me what’s going on.” His tone is demanding.
Courfeyrac’s a good actor, but he’s not a good liar, so it’s obvious from his flailing and searching for words that he’s got something to hide.
Enjolras’s expression grows sterner by the second, and Courfeyrac breaks quickly. After all, as nervous as he is, this is what he wants.
“Okay,” Courfeyrac starts. “Okay. Okay, so, this is going to sound really strange. Ferre and I were talking, and we thought – no, I thought, um—”
“Courfeyrac,” Enjolras interrupts. He’s never been patient. “Just spit it out.”
“I want you,” Courfeyrac says frantically. “I want to, um, be intimate with you, and I told Combeferre that, and he said it was okay with him if we did. So, um, I don’t know if that’s something that you’d be interested in?” His voice pitches higher and higher by the word.
“Did you just say you wanted to cheat on Combeferre with me?” Enjolras says, pressing the bridge of his nose. “Because if that’s actually what you said, Courf—”
“It’s not cheating,” Courfeyrac says quickly. “He agreed to it. He said that we had his blessing.”
Enjolras isn’t appeased. “This all sounds completely ridiculous. Why would he let us do that?”
Courfeyrac doesn’t miss the ‘us’, but he answers the question. “Because he’s going to do it with someone else, too.”
“I’m gonna text him,” Enjolras says, thinking it’s a threat. “I’m going to give you five seconds to take back everything you’ve said, and if you don’t, I’m gonna text Combeferre and tell him all of it.”
Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. “Go right ahead,” he says. “Even if nothing comes of this, I’m annoyed that you trust me so little.”
Enjolras still looks scandalized as he types out a long text to Combeferre, tapping too hard on the screen.
“I’m not lying, you know,” Courfeyrac says.
“We’ll see.”
Combeferre takes a few minutes to reply, leaving the two of them in awkward silence. Finally, the text comes through, followed by two more, if Courfeyrac counts the vibrations right. Enjolras says nothing, just stares at the screen with an intensity that either means he’s taking this very seriously or that he can’t read very well without his glasses.
After what feels like millennia, he looks up.
“Sorry for saying you were cheating and calling you a liar,” he says bluntly. Courfeyrac wonders what the texts said, but he doesn’t ask.
“You didn’t actually call me one, though now I know you were thinking it,” he replies instead.
“Sorry,” Enjolras says again.
This feels like the point where Enjolras should address the second part of his proposition, but he stays quiet, so Courfeyrac stands up.
“I’ve probably made you really uncomfortable, which wasn’t my intention at all,” he says. He memorized this part earlier so he’d remember to say it, even after a rejection. “I think I should probably go now, but if you’re okay with it, I don’t want this to be awk—”
“Courf, sit down.”
He does.
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” Enjolras says. His expression is softer than before. “Just please give me a minute to collect my thoughts about this before I answer, okay?”
Courfeyrac nods. What else can he do?
“Okay,” Enjolras says, not ten seconds later. He gathered those thoughts up pretty quickly, Courfeyrac notices. “I think I just don’t get it? I don’t understand why you’d want to do – that – with me when you have Combeferre?”
Courfeyrac gives him a tiny smile. “Because it’s you,” he says. “And I love you. Not like I love Combeferre, not at all, but not in a completely platonic way either. And I just thought… I don’t know. Am I completely off the mark in thinking you’d ever want something like that with me?”
Enjolras shakes his head. “No,” he says quietly.
“No?”
“I mean, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it,” he said, and, yes, there it is, Courfeyrac has made Enjolras blush. “But, I mean, I can’t just agree to have sex with you like some kind of contract when we’ve never even kissed or anything.”
“Of course not.”
“So, what, then?”
Courfeyrac considers. “Would it be okay if we pretended like we were on a date for the rest of the night? Like, it doesn’t have to be all awkward, like, tell-me-your-likes-and-dislikes stuff, but we could just, I don’t know, ease into it? And see where it goes?”
“Is that allowed? With Ferre?” Enjolras asks. He’s much more gentle asking this time, probably trying to make up for calling Courfeyrac a liar before.
Courfeyrac actually isn’t sure it it’s allowed, but it’s a bit too late to figure that out now. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s fine.”
Enjolras shrugs. “Okay, then,” he says simply. Then he unpauses the movie.
It all seems a little too good to be true, Courfeyrac thinks, but that’s not going to stop him from getting what he wants, now that he has the chance. He counts to one hundred in his head, then leans over and rests an arm across Enjolras’s shoulders, burying his fingers in his friend’s blond curls. Enjolras is still for a moment, then relaxes into the touch. He rolls his neck, meeting Courfeyrac’s eye line as he does so, and the two of them exchange nervous smiles.
After twenty minutes of cautious glances, ever more daring touches, and one almost-spilled bowl of popcorn, Enjolras is climbing into Courfeyrac’s lap. The narrator on the TV still droning on about Nixon while Courfeyrac slides his hands up Enjolras’s thighs, their mouths pressed together, open.
It’s amazing, Courfeyrac thinks, that the two of them, normally so vocal, can shut up for this long to kiss each other. The quiet lasts about five minutes, until Courfeyrac licks up the middle of Enjolras’s lips, and Enjolras lets out a ragged moan.
Courfeyrac is so, so glad that Enjolras is enjoying this just as much as he is. He throws himself into the kiss even more fervently than before. The thought that he should maybe feel guilty about this crosses his mind for a split second, but then Enjolras moves to suck at Courfeyrac’s neck and his hands start to wander and Courfeyrac forgets the idea altogether.
Four hickeys later, Enjolras stops to take a breath.
“Are you still having fun?” he asks, teasing.
Courfeyrac grinds his hips up into Enjolras’s as an answer, his breath catching when their erections press together through their jeans. He nods his head, trying to regain his composure.
“If you want,” Enjolras says, “we can go to my bedroom. And to my bed.”
“You’re sure you’re okay with that?” Courfeyrac asks, his hands on Enjolras’s hips. Enjolras stands up, pulling Courfeyrac by the hand.
Courfeyrac has been in Enjolras’s bedroom dozens of times, but the change in context hangs palpably in the air. Enjolras continues dragging him until they’re in bed, under the covers.
They keep making out, both of them losing their shirts in the process. Neither of them tries to push things further yet. In fact, as time passes, their kisses become slower and lazier, both of them letting go of any remaining inhibitions and easing into each other.
They soon turn their focus to words instead.
“You’re a good kisser,” Enjolras says, almost timidly. This is a side of him that Courfeyrac has never seen before, beneath the usual blazing fire. This close together, Courfeyrac can make out every individual freckle on his face.
“So are you,” Courfeyrac says softly. They kiss again, briefly. “And I know I give you compliments all the time, because I give everybody compliments all the time, but I think you are really sexy.”
Enjolras goes red at the accolade, and the flush spreads all the way down his chest. Courfeyrac feels the need to follow it with his tongue, which has Enjolras writhing against him again in seconds.
“Is that why you wanted to do this?” Enjolras asks between breaths. “Because you think I’m… good-looking?”
“Sexy,” Courfeyrac repeats, into Enjolras’s open mouth this time. “And that’s not the only reason.”
“I thought that we would be really good together,” Courfeyrac continues. He rolls on top of Enjolras, placing his knees on either side of him, not letting their bodies touch yet. “We’re such good friends – best friends – but we argue a lot, too. If there was any word that I would use to describe our relationship, it would be ‘passionate’. And I knew that we’d be just as passionate like this.”
Enjolras smiles beneath him, and that reminds Courfeyrac of the other reason he wanted this. “And I wanted to do it because I like seeing you happy,” he says. “And I thought that I could make you happy…”
“I want to do this with you,” Enjolras says suddenly. Courfeyrac can tell from one look at his face that his mind is made up.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Courfeyrac thinks of about ten snappy responses, but in the end, he just starts working at the zipper of Enjolras’s pants instead. They’ve done enough talking already.
They divest each other of their clothes, moving quicker now that there’s an endgame. Enjolras is thinner, and shorter, and about twenty shades paler than Combeferre, but Courfeyrac isn’t making any comparisons when he sees his friend naked for the first time. Enjolras is the only thing on his mind.
They rut against each other, both of them taking this chance to memorize each other’s bodies. This might be the only time they get to do this, and Courfeyrac wants to remember the raised edges of Enjolras’s hipbones, the light trail of hair on his stomach, and the expression of utter bliss on his face when Courfeyrac takes them both into his hand.
Then Enjolras is handing him lube and a condom, the whole thing already speeding past too fast. Courfeyrac opens Enjolras up and slides the condom onto himself, very aware of how long it’s been since he topped and how much he’s looking forward to it. Enjolras is pliant and panting from the movement of his fingers, and Courfeyrac relishes in it. Then he’s pushing in and Enjolras is crying out and they’re moving together, two hearts of the same mind.
Courfeyrac is pretty sure he’s talking, though he’s not at all positive that what is coming from his mouth are actual words, rather than broken-off moans and cries. He’s aware of every word that Enjolras says, though, every yes and please and harder and Courfeyrac that passes through his lips. When he looks down at him, Courfeyrac sees Enjolras as he knows few others have: with blood-red lips and his hair a tangled mess on the pillow, his eyes wide and shiny and so intense that Courfeyrac needs to look away after a few seconds.
He hitches Enjolras’s legs up around his hips, obeying his demands for it to be harder, harder . Enjolras guides Courfeyrac’s hands to his thighs and requests through demonstration for Courfeyrac to grip him hard enough to bruise. He wonders if they should have negotiated this before, but Enjolras yells in pleasure when he does it, so he grabs him again, on the arm this time. Normally, with Combeferre, Courfeyrac’s on the receiving end of the roughness; he’s surprised by how much he enjoys being the one doing the manhandling.
It’s over fairly quickly, Courfeyrac finishing first and then bringing Enjolras to completion only seconds later. The guilt that he pushed away before comes back stronger post-orgasm, but Courfeyrac ignores it again, opting instead to give Enjolras one last, deep kiss before pulling out.
They clean up, taking turns in the bathroom, and put their underwear and t-shirts back on. Sitting beside Enjolras on the bed, Courfeyrac thinks he should say something, but he can’t figure out what it is. Enjolras speaks up first.
“Are you allowed to stay the night?” he asks.
Courfeyrac honestly doesn’t know; he and Combeferre never discussed it. He thinks that it must be allowed – h ow can sharing a bed with Enjolras, which he does frequently enough anyway, be worse than actually having sex with him?
Still, he’s thinking that maybe he should text Combeferre and ask him when he finally takes a good look at Enjolras. He looks smaller, and younger, than usual, and Courfeyrac can already see purple marks blooming on his arms and legs – he had forgotten in the moment, but he knows that Enjolras bruises like a peach. Courfeyrac could never leave him alone after Enjolras has just given everything to him. And checking with Combeferre is off the table, because while Courfeyrac doesn’t know if it would upset Combeferre to know even the vaguest details of what happened, it would definitely upset Enjolras to even think of him leaving, and there is no way that Courfeyrac is going to hurt him.
“Of course I’ll stay,” Courfeyrac says easily. Then he pulls Enjolras into a tight hug, and adds, “I hope you enjoyed that just as much as I did.”
Enjolras perks up. “I really did,” he says, returning the hug.
Courfeyrac kisses him once, quickly, wondering whether that’s allowed anymore. He decides upon seeing Enjolras’s gentle smile that it has to be.
“So, he says, “do you want to go finish your weird documentary?”
Enjolras laughs. “No. I don’t even really care about it. I only put it on because I knew it would bore you, and I wanted you to tell me what was going on. I’d actually rather not have to learn any more about Richard Nixon than I already know.”
“Well, what do you want to do then?”
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like it if we just lay here and talked for a while. Is that too weird?”
Courfeyrac slid down and pulled the covers up over both of them. “It’s not weird at all.”
*
Combeferre enters the art museum resolutely, feeling the paper cups of coffee warm his hands. He makes a beeline to the little store, not giving much thought to the paintings and sculptures he passes by or the people looking at them. He spots Grantaire right away, and feels relief and apprehension in equal measure. Grantaire’s walking to a customer, though, so Combeferre has to wait to approach him. He uses the time to look appraisingly at Grantaire, something he hasn’t done many times before. Of course, he knows he finds Grantaire attractive; he wouldn’t be here otherwise. But before that conversation with Courfeyrac, he had never really given it a thought. Grantaire had always been just a friend, and not even a very close one.
Now, Grantaire is a friend with whom Combeferre might have sex. The thought makes him tremble a little, and he chooses not to examine if it’s a symptom of fear or anticipation.
The customer goes away, and Combeferre observes as Grantaire’s fake smile transforms into a bored expression. Bracing himself, Combeferre approaches.
“Hey!” Grantaire smiles genuinely now, evidently surprised.
“Hello.” Combeferre can’t help but smile back.
Grantaire looks around Combeferre, frowning a little. “Where is Courf?”
“He’s at work. Here, this is for you.” Combeferre extends his arm to offer Grantaire the coffee. When Grantaire raises his eyebrows, Combeferre adds, “I know this is unexpected. I just wanted to have a word with you.”
“Well, you didn’t have to, but it’s nice of you. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Could you step away for a while?”
Grantaire looks at his watch. “I actually have a break in five minutes. Is everything alright?”
“Don’t worry, everything is fine. I’ll just wait for you, then, okay?”
“Sure.”
Combeferre walks around the shop, sipping his coffee and rehearsing his words one thousand times again. The problem is that the place isn’t very big, so he starts feeling nervous, and decides to wait for Grantaire outside the door.
“How did you know how I take my coffee?” Grantaire asks musingly, making Combeferre look up from his phone a few minutes later.
Combeferre shrugs, lips quirking up in satisfaction. “I guessed.” At Grantaire’s disbelieving expression, he laughs and confesses, “I asked Joly.”
Grantaire nods, seeming content with that answer. He starts walking and Combeferre joins him.
“Okay, tell me what’s going on.”
Combeferre adjusts his glasses. “I have a strange offer to make.”
Grantaire eyes him curiously.
“It’s not an offer as much as it is an invitation. You don’t have to answer right away, and if you don’t want to do it, it’s perfectly fine.”
“Right.”
Combeferre sighs. “I’m going to be blunt because I don’t know how else to say it. I’m sorry in advance.”
“Okay.”
“Just so you know, Courfeyrac knows about it and he agreed.”
“Combeferre, will you please just say it?”
“Are you seeing anyone at the moment?”
Grantaire sighs. “Is this another blind date? Because I can’t handle that.”
“No, it’s… it’s me.” So much for rehearsing his words.
“What?” Grantaire frowns at him.
Combeferre looks over his shoulder and says, in a careful voice, “I’m not asking you on a date, for obvious reasons. But, as weird and unprecedented as it sounds, I’m asking you if you want to sleep with me.”
Grantaire gapes at him for a solid minute and then shakes himself. “I really don’t follow.”
“I understand this is abrupt. I don’t even know if you’re attracted to me at all. It’s just that Courfeyrac and I agreed to sleep with other people and… I thought of you.”
“So you two have an open relationship now?” Grantaire wonders. Combeferre notices how he doesn’t take the bait and doesn’t answer the implied question there.
“No, not really. Like I said, it’s not about dating other people. It’s really just about the sex.” Combeferre winces a little at his own words.
Grantaire smirks. “So you won’t even wine and dine me?”
Combeferre blinks a few times in astonishment. “Is that a yes?”
“You said Courfeyrac is okay with it. Everyone knows how much you love each other, so I don’t think you would do it if you were risking hurting him.” Grantaire shrugs.
“But do you want to do it?”
Grantaire gives Combeferre a once over and grins. “How could I turn down such a generous offer?”
Combeferre feels his face burn and bites his lip. “So how about tomorrow? Can I come over?”
“It would be my pleasure.” Grantaire winks.
*
In the elevator up to Grantaire’s apartment, Combeferre checks his phone and sees a new text that makes him a lot more nervous than he had been before.
Enjolras: Did you give Courfeyrac your blessing so he could try to sleep with me? Because he just told me that. If it’s true, I’m giving you another chance to reconsider. It doesn’t make any sense. I thought you were happy together! How can you be okay with this? But if it isn’t true, you deserve to know. And please tell me, so I can punch him in the face right now.
Combeferre almost laughs at Enjolras’s unsurprising reaction and decides to ignore his friend’s advice to reconsider.
Combeferre: Please don’t punch him.
Combeferre: It’s true. I know it sounds absurd, but I’m actually going to see someone right now, too.
Combeferre: And, if you decide to say yes, have fun.
There are many other things Combeferre could say to Enjolras, but he settles on that and decides to focus on his own night. It won’t help him to think of Courfeyrac and Enjolras now.
He knocks on Grantaire’s door; it swings open shortly after. Grantaire greets him with a hey and a touch on the shoulder. Combeferre realizes that is probably the most intimate touch they’ve ever shared.
“Can I offer you something to drink?”
Combeferre opens his mouth to answer, then restrains himself. He tries again. “I… do you… maybe we shouldn’t be drunk for this?” He hates how hesitant he sounds, hates how it comes out as a question. Gathering his thoughts, he finishes, “I wouldn’t want any of us to do something we might regret, or to be in a position where we aren’t able to say no.”
Grantaire nods. “Yeah, I understand. I agree. I promise I’m not trying to get you drunk. I just offered because it could help a little with the jitters and whatnot.”
“Oh. I wasn’t implying that!” Combeferre flushes. “I just have a low alcohol tolerance and I might start talking nonsense. Don’t hold it against me if I start rambling in bed about outer space.” He’s startled by Grantaire’s chuckle at that. It’s not like he hasn’t heard him laugh before, he’s actually quite used to the pleasant sound of it, but he doesn’t recall making Grantaire laugh before and this novelty has got him feeling quite brave. “I don’t think one glass will do any harm.”
“Wine, then?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. Take your shoes off, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
Combeferre does as he’s told and sits on the couch, taking in the view of the apartment. The room around him is a somewhat-organized clutter of books, dvds, and paintings — some Combeferre recognizes as Grantaire’s style, the few others that probably aren’t his.
Grantaire rejoins him, handing Combeferre a glass of red wine and sipping his own. He hasn’t brought the bottle with him, Combeferre notices. He doesn’t know to what extent the wine helps, but they do get to the point of very enjoyable and easy conversation. Grantaire is incredibly smart and he can talk effortlessly on just about any subject for a long time. He tells the Greek myth that inspired the lyre tattoo on his forearm and Combeferre finds himself hanging on every word.
Something must change on Combeferre’s face, because Grantaire abruptly stops talking. He looks at Combeferre for a few seconds, then asks, “Why me?”
Combeferre doesn’t dare pretend he doesn’t know what Grantaire means. He thinks about it for a while before replying.
“I can’t say I had given this much thought before the possibility was presented to me, but I looked at you and it just made a lot of sense. You’re compelling.”
Grantaire stares at him wide-eyed, a disbelieving look on his face. Combeferre would like to wipe it off. “You mean I’m easy and emotionally unavailable,” Grantaire smirks, but his self-deprecating humor just won’t do.
Combeferre takes the empty glass out of Grantaire’s hand and puts it alongside his on the coffee table. He slides closer to Grantaire on the couch and pins him down with a look. “You’re intelligent, trustworthy, talented in many different ways, a great friend, and on top of all that, you’re very attractive,” he says earnestly.
Grantaire looks away. He bites his lip, frowning a little, and finally says, “Thank you.”
Satisfied that Grantaire didn’t refuse the compliments, Combeferre closes the space between them, but he can’t bring himself to do anything else. The ease surrounding them just a while ago seems to have vanished, and Combeferre starts worrying again. But then Grantaire finds Combeferre’s eyes. “I’m very flattered you thought of me,” he says, and he seems to mean it.
Combeferre smiles, touching the back of Grantaire’s neck. Grantaire is the one who brings their mouths together, and Combeferre closes his eyes and sighs into the kiss, giving in to the reassuring pressure of Grantaire’s mouth.
Kissing someone other than Courfeyrac after being with him for such a long time is strange. It reminds Combeferre of the feeling of his first-ever kiss, though of course it’s infinitely better; Grantaire asserts an easy confidence in the kiss that he doesn’t show in many other occasions. They learn quickly how to fit together, as Grantaire lays Combeferre down on the couch and holds him down with his weight.
This, too, is different.
Even with his eyes closed, Combeferre notices contrasts between Grantaire and Courfeyrac. Combeferre has long before committed to memory the feeling of his boyfriend’s body against his and he doubts he’ll ever be able to forget it. Even though they are about the same height, Grantaire is heavier than Courfeyrac. He smells and tastes different. His hair is thicker, and he reacts differently when Combeferre cards his fingers through his curls and pulls experimentally — instead of moaning, Grantaire inhales sharply and rocks his hips down. Combeferre finds that he likes the differences, relishes in the way Grantaire presses him into the cushions.
It’s not too long until they are both hard and panting into each other’s mouths. After an especially smooth roll of Grantaire’s hips, the contact is too much even through the layers of clothes between them. Combeferre shudders and bites Grantaire’s lip in response.
“Let’s go to bed,” Grantaire whispers, getting up and offering a hand to help Combeferre stand.
Combeferre follows Grantaire down the hall, but stops him in halfway to the bedroom, pinning him with his hands flat against the wall. He presses open-mouthed kisses to Grantaire’s jaw, down his neck, reaching the piece of skin just above the collar of his shirt. Meanwhile, Grantaire trails his hands under Combeferre’s shirt, soft, lingering touches that make him shiver.
When the teasing is too much for both of them, Combeferre lets himself be guided to Grantaire’s bedroom. They fight against each other to undress so desperately that Combeferre loses track of who is taking whose clothes. When they manage to remove the last pieces, Grantaire shoves Combeferre to the bed and holds his wrists over his head. Combeferre stills in surprise, definitely not used to being in this position.
“Is this okay?” Grantaire asks.
Combeferre nods slowly, looking Grantaire in the eye.
“Fuck, Combeferre, you’re so hot.” Grantaire sounds almost offended as he adjusts himself on top of Combeferre, knees framing his hips, eyes lingering over Combeferre’s body.
He feels like answering with you too won’t be too convincing, but it’s true. In this position, Combeferre can see the dark, fine hair over Grantaire’s defined chest and down his navel, his tan skin inked with black and white dotted renditions of Botticelli and Michelangelo’s paintings, his cock flushed stiff and inviting against his stomach.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” Combeferre manages, less nonchalantly than he hoped.
Grantaire smirks and bends down to kiss him quickly, sliding his hands down Combeferre’s arms.
“I want to fuck you,” Grantaire mutters against his mouth.
It takes Combeferre a moment to process it, and then he weakly asks, “Yeah?”
“Or it can be the other way around,” Grantaire suggests, noticing Combeferre’s obvious hesitance.
The thing is, Combeferre hasn’t bottomed in years. He has tried a few times, but didn’t care much for it. And then he started dating Courfeyrac, who has always been more than glad to let him top. Still, the thought of Grantaire inside him is thrilling for reasons he doesn’t know.
Combeferre surprises both of them by saying, “Do it.” And then, answering Grantaire’s scrutinizing gaze, “Fuck me, Grantaire.”
From this moment on, he lets Grantaire take the lead. Grantaire gets lube and condoms, helps Combeferre adjust to a comfortable position, and settles between his open legs. Combeferre is surprised when Grantaire puts his mouth on him, but quickly enough he’s pressing a slick finger inside. Grantaire opens him up carefully while taking Combeferre’s cock in his mouth as deep as he can. It’s so good that Combeferre forgets to feel the discomfort. He tells him as much; he sings praise to Grantaire in the steadiest voice he can muster, telling him mostly coherently how good he is and how amazing it feels to be touched by him, musing all the wonderfully filthy things he would let Grantaire do to him. Grantaire hums around his cock and Combeferre can feel the vibration; it’s almost enough to take him to the edge.
“Grantaire, if you don’t stop, I’m going to come.”
Grantaire licks him up stubbornly one more time before taking his mouth off him, but he keeps pushing his fingers inside Combeferre as he shifts.
“Can you help me with the condom?”
Combeferre sits up to open the wrapping and moves his hand to pull Grantaire closer. He gives Grantaire a few strokes before rolling the condom on.
Grantaire pulls his fingers out of Combeferre. Combeferre lies on his back again, watching hungrily as Grantaire covers himself with lube. Grantaire lies down on his side, so he’s half-spooning Combeferre. Like this, Grantaire can kiss him if Combeferre twists enough, and he does. They kiss lazily as Grantaire holds Combeferre’s leg up and adjusts himself. Grantaire presses in slowly, concentrating so hard that his kisses become messy. Combeferre’s breathing hitches with the feeling.
“Okay?” Grantaire asks. Combeferre opens his eyes briefly to look at him and nods. “You feel so fucking good,” Grantaire mutters, grabbing Combeferre’s cock.
Soon Combeferre adjusts to the sensation and relaxes. He rethinks every decision in his life as Grantaire pounds into him and reaches to touch and kiss every part of Combeferre he can reach. He pulls out and moves on top of Combeferre again, pressing back in and lifting Combeferre’s legs as much as he can without hurting him. The position allows Grantaire to push deeper. He fucks Combeferre hard, bottoming out in almost every thrust. Grantaire mouth works almost absentmindedly as he tells him exactly how it feels, describes the sight of Combeferre under him, says his name like it’s his favorite word. Combeferre moves his hips in sync with Grantaire, uses his hands to grab Grantaire’s ass, scratch his back with blunt nails and then smooth his hands over the skin, grab fistfuls of his hair.
Combeferre knows that Grantaire is close to coming when he loses a bit of his coherence. Trembling and panting, Grantaire strokes Combeferre’s cock. Soon Grantaire reaches his climax, cursing, and makes Combeferre follow, coaxing him with appreciative words and maddening twists of his grip.
Completely burnt-out, Combeferre can only close his eyes and stay limp, sensing Grantaire shifting on the bed. He feels when Grantaire lies close beside him again. The silence hangs heavy over them. He cracks his eyes open; Grantaire is staring at the ceiling, looking lost in thought.
Combeferre clears his throat. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“First door to the left.”
Combeferre picks his shirt and underwear on his way. He locks the door to the bathroom and inspects his face in the mirror. Nothing about his appearance looks different, except for his mouth, swollen and reddened. The rest of him looks the same, and that feels wrong. For some reason, he feels like what he’s done should be visible. Even though Combeferre tries to convince himself that it’s okay, that he did nothing wrong, it still feels like he has cheated on Courfeyrac. It feels like he enjoyed cheating on Courfeyrac, which is a thousand times worse.
He pushes those thoughts aside, makes a quick job of cleaning himself and goes back to Grantaire’s room.
Grantaire has put on his boxers while he was gone. Now he’s lying on his stomach, his face burrowed on his pillow. Combeferre tries, and fails, not to look at his ass, and then he wants to laugh at himself, because would that be any worse than what he already did?
“Are you freaking out?” Grantaire asks knowingly.
“Yes”, Combeferre says, because he has no reason to lie.
“Was it that bad?”
“No, it was too good.”
That makes Grantaire sit up and face him.
“I’m so sorry, but I have to leave,” Combeferre says. Grantaire nods. He waits as Combeferre dresses himself and ushers him to the door. When Combeferre finishes putting his shoes on, he reaches for Grantaire’s shoulder. “Is it too inadequate to say thank you?”
Grantaire smirks. “There isn’t really a rulebook for this.”
“Goodnight, Grantaire.” Combeferre kisses him quickly before he leaves.
*
At three in the morning, he gives up waiting for Courfeyrac to come back.