Chapter Text
As he watches, Grantaire’s new beau nearly falls off their chair with laughter, and Grantaire gallantly saves them with a strong hand around their waist, pulling them not only back onto the chair but almost entirely into his lap. Their hands fall onto his shoulders, one creeping higher to the back of his neck almost immediately, and the two are suddenly pressed together with seemingly no consideration for the fact that they are in public.
Enjolras scoffs. “Well, that’s excessive,” he says, meanly and aware of it.
“Oh, you mean to say that you don't like someone Grantaire’s seeing? I'm stunned,” Courfeyrac said, an irritatingly dry line.
Enjolras turned his glare on his friend, instead of the pair on the other side of the cafe. “Seeing is putting it strongly, and even you have to admit it’s–”
“I don’t have to admit anything,” Courfeyrac interrupts him with a blithe smile.
Irritated, Enjolras tries to go back to his work, but his eyes drift up and find Grantaire again. “Jesus Christ,” he spits, as he sees Grantaire attempt to get his tongue down his new partner’s throat, his hand gripping their waist. “Do they know where they are?”
“Enj…” Courfeyrac chides him, softly. It’s said with care and understanding, but a clear warning that he is going too far.
“It’s broad daylight!” Enjolras protests. “They’re in a cafe .”
“ Enj ,” Courfeyrac repeats, a touch more forcefully. “They’re in our cafe. And we’re closed .”
Enjolras sighs and picks up his pen. “Yeah, I know,” he says.
He stares at the page and tries to ignore the sound of Grantaire’s partner-of-the-month laughing at whatever it is that Grantaire is so humorously saying. He listens as Courfeyrac’s pen scratches away at the paper, and occasionally flips the pages of the book she’s studying from. He cannot bring himself to write a single word himself, having no coherent thoughts to string together on paper.
He slams his notebook shut and caps his pen more forcefully than necessary, and shoves away from the table, ignoring Courfeyrac’s attempt at calling his name in a soothing manner.
He has to pass Grantaire and his pretty, laughing femme on his way out of the building for some fresh air and a smoke, and it almost makes him seethe more that neither of them even seem to notice him walking past their table. How could they? Grantaire’s mouth is firmly pressed against them, eyes closed.
The late summer sun is actually setting, he realises as he gets outside, and Enjolras stands and watches it go, pre-rolled cig barely leaving his lips at the speed he’s smoking it.
Combeferre shows up just as Enjolras is thinking about having a second and makes him put them away to collect his things so that Combeferre can officially lock up. It’s a pretense they both play out regularly; Enjolras has keys, Courfeyrac has keys, he could lock up whenever, but Combeferre comes by and sends Enjolras and whoever he is with home so that he actually leaves the papers and planning behind for a while and leaves and eats and rests.
He kicks his feet a little, but does follow Combeferre inside, and Combeferre interrupts Grantaire’s little date to clear out the cafe for the night. Enjolras silently packs up his belongings, trying very hard to keep his face straight and clear his mind a little, listening as Combeferre and Grantaire briefly talk about the lesbian dating event Grantaire has been talked into hosting as one of their visibly gender non-comforming lesbians on staff at the cafe and most charismatic members when he tries to be.
Courfeyrac, also overhearing the conversation, jumps to her feet, bag thrown over her shoulder, and hurries over to the lesbian planning, leaving Enjolras to his pointless, sullen pouting. She sweeps Grantaire up in her enthusiasm, and ushers him and his fling out of the cafe, talking his ear off the whole time, not even calling a goodbye to Enjolras or Combeferre as they go.
He packs up the handwritten draft for a blog post about his experience as a teacher who quit after coming out as non-binary that he barely worked on and the rota for the cafe he hasn’t touched and the list of LGBT+ friendly children's books to pass on to Bahorel for the library. Table clear of his belongings, he walks his empty coffee cup through to the kitchen and puts it in the dishwasher along with all the other end-of-day dirties to be washed overnight for the next day.
In his stomach, he can feel the knot of irritation still, remembering Grantaire’s hands, and mouth, and– He pushes open the door back into the main room of the cafe with more force than necessary, and says a quiet sorry to the building immediately after.
“What’s up with you?” Combeferre asks. He has taken a seat at one of the tables while he waits for Enjolras. His long legs stretch out in front of him, parted at the knees and crossed at the ankles. His arm rests on the back of a chair next to him.
He could tell Combeferre honestly, but he knows how petty it makes him sound and he isn’t in the mood to talk about his unfair attitude towards Grantaire’s hook-ups. He would rather just have his own.
An arched eyebrow, amused eyes, his best friend patiently waiting for him to stop sulking… That’s all it takes. Enjolras stalks across the room and perches on the table in front of Combeferre, his own legs sliding apart as casually as you like. He leans back on his palms and lifts a taunting chin, eyes fixed firmly on his target.
Combeferre smirks at him. “Done with your temper tantrum?” he asks.
“If people are done getting on my last nerve,” Enjolras replies. “If people are ready to give me what I want,” he then adds, meaningfully.
“And what do you want?” Combeferre asks, knowing full well what it is that Enjolras wants.
Barely having sat down, but knowing that Combeferre won’t come to him, Enjolras slips off the table and takes the few steps it takes to get to him. He leans in over Combeferre, hands on the armrests of the chair, close and intimate, and feels that flare of want when Combeferre doesn’t even lean in towards him. The man sits there, unmoving, even as Enjolras practically throws himself at him. All he does is meet Enjolras’ gaze and raise Enjolras’ heart rate without even trying.
It pisses him off, and Enjolras sucks his teeth at him and pulls away to stand with his arms crossed in front of him. “‘Ferre, I’m coming onto you,” Enjolras says, clearly.
Combeferre grins, sharp teeth and bright eyes. “I know, man,” he says. “I’m making you work for it.”
Enjolras huffs. “Can you just give it to me, instead?” he asks.
“Alright,” Combeferre says, and stands up, towering over him, and pulls him in roughly for a kiss.
It’s fast from there, just like Enjolras needs it to be. Their mouths clash together, teeth bumping before they get their angles right, and Combeferre bites and sucks his lower lip instead as he gets his hands under Enjolras’ thighs and lifts him up onto the table. Enjolras’ legs wrap around Combeferre’s waist, pulling him in so his cock is pressed up against Enjolras’ crotch. He isn’t hard yet, but Enjolras is wet already in his trousers as Combeferre takes a fistful of his hair at the base of his skull where it meets his neck and tilts his head back ruthlessly.
Enjolras rocks his hips against Combeferre’s cock determinedly trying to stimulate him, ready to be fucked on the table, and Combeferre responds by gripping his thigh and pulling him tighter against him.
“Shirt off, get your shirt off,” Enjolras mumbles, fingers fumbling at the buttons. Obligingly, Combeferre lets go of him and Enjolras lets his body fall back onto the table, keeping himself propped up on his elbows to watch as Combeferre unbuttons his shirt.
Enjolras loves Combeferre’s chest. Thick and muscular and covered in dark hair, he can’t help but lift himself back up to touch and kiss him.
Still, they don’t have all the time he would like to worship his body right now. He pushes Combeferre back a few steps and slides off the table, hands going to his belt and unbuckling it. Unbuttoning his trousers, he lets them fall to the ground and leaves them around his ankles as he turns his back on Combeferre and leans over the table.
“Fucking… Christ,” Combeferre groans, and then he’s up against him, pushing his still clothed cock up against Enjolras’ underwear, and Enjolras can feel the wet fabric stick to his cunt. Combeferre is hard now, and the thick weighty feeling of it pressing against him makes Enjolras arch and push back against him.
Combeferre gets one hand on the base of Enjolras’ spine and slides it under Enjolras’ shirt, pushing up until Enjolras’ shirt is up around his chest, back bare for Combeferre to touch and admire.
“Your body is unbelievable,” Combeferre tells him.
Enjolras drops his head down onto his arms to hide his grin. Working his hips backwards, he grinds his aching cunt against Combeferre’s hard cock. “If my body is so good, you should use it,” he says, and twists around to raise his eyebrows at him.
“I should also use that filthy mouth,” Combeferre replies with a biting kiss at a clumsy angle to his lower lip.
“Later,” Enjolras groans. “Fuck me properly first.”
Combeferre’s fingers trail over Enjolras’ underwear and press in when he finds Enjolras’ cunt, only momentarily providing Enjolras with that satisfying promise of being filled before spreading wide and circling away. The wet, stickiness and the pressure of Combeferre’s fingers makes Enjolras shudder.
Still without moving the underwear away, Combeferre presses in again, firmly but only teasingly at Enjolras’ opening, moving to the base of his cunt and pulling slightly, fingertips pushing his soaked underwear inside. One of his fingers slides upwards and brushes over his covered clit for just a moment.
“ ‘Ferre ,” Enjolras says as his body reacts and trembles.
“I know,” Combeferre replies, and his fingers disappear only to then brush against Enjolras’ hips as he pulls his underwear down, agonisingly slowly as he bares Enjolras’ cunt. He goes back to pressing his fingertips inside Enjolras, now with nothing to stop him from sliding all the way in, going straight to two, knowing Enjolras’ body and how wet and open he already is from the tension, the setting, the person behind him.
“Some point soon, I’m going to eat you out again,” Combeferre promises him, as he gently fucks his fingers in and out, opening Enjolras up beautifully and making Enjolras’ legs and arms shake as he tries to hold himself up.
“Work on fucking me for now, and we’ll see what we can do after,” Enjolras instructs in return, and Combeferre answers with a laugh and by finally undoing his trousers and freeing himself from them.
He lets the tip rest against Enjolras’ cunt for a moment and then rubs the length up and down, and Enjolras arches further to let him appreciate the view. When he then slides in, the pause only makes it feel better as Enjolras is finally filled.
His hips thrust against Enjolras’ ass, skin on skin, as he fucks him, finding his rhythm. His hands press into the meat of Enjolras’ hips, gripping him tightly, and then one slides up his back to his shoulder, pushing him down against the table. Enjolras goes, willingly, moaning.
Being fucked by Combeferre is enough to make his knees go weak, and his cunt aches and clenches around Combeferre’s long cock, and his mouth hangs open, panting and drooling onto his arm.
Combeferre tries to get his hand under Enjolras to tease his clit, but the wooden surface of the table has no give, making it uncomfortable for the both of them. “Okay, turn over, turn over,” Combeferre says, suddenly, pulling out of him and trying to roll Enjolras onto his back with impatient hands.
Laughing, Enjolras gets up off the table and turns around, hopping up onto the surface and leaning back on his elbows. One leg hooks up over Combeferre’s shoulder, and the other goes around his waist, pulling him in while Enjolras tilts his head back and enjoys the stretch and the familiar shamelessness of the position.
Combeferre lines himself up and pushes back inside him with a groan and a bitten off sigh of Enjolras’ name. “Your fucking cunt, man…” Combeferre says as he presses in and leans over Enjolras to apply biting kisses to Enjolras’ small tits, making Enjolras so glad he didn't wear a bra today.
Arching his back, Enjolras gives Combeferre the space to take whatever he wants and as Combeferre begins to fuck him in earnest again, his elbow slips out from under him and he crashes down onto the table, forcing him to arch more, to press his hips harder against Combeferre, to rock his body and for the angle to change, causing his eyes to screw up in pleasure as he nearly whites out.
Combeferre’s thumb finds Enjolras’ clit, rubbing mind-numbing circles that make Enjolras’ whole body twitch and cry out for more and less and everything in between. He feels Combeferre’s other hand on his body and thinks about the way he watched Grantaire pull his partner closer to him, all physicality and want.
“Oh, fuck, ‘Aire,” Enjolras moans, helplessly, the name slipping from his lips. “‘ Aire …”
Combeferre groans and thrusts harder and deeper into him. “Yeah,” he encourages, pulling Enjolras closer to him with a strong hand wrapped around his waist and the other pressing down on his lower abdomen.
“Fuck, f–fuck ,” Enjolras cries out, arching his back and rocking as best as he can with what little leverage he has to meet Combeferre’s thrusts.
“Say my name again, moan it for me,” Combeferre says, and Enjolras feels himself flush at his own private betrayal, not knowing how Combeferre doesn't know he was moaning for Grantaire. It's not like Combeferre doesn't know about Enjolras’ feelings.
“‘Ferre,” he moans, obeying. “‘Ferre, ‘ Ferre, mhm, fuck me like that, ‘erre, please, please , ‘F– ‘Aire, ‘Aire …”
Combeferre slips a finger into Enjolras’ mouth, pulling down at his lower lip before pushing it backwards across his tongue, as deep into his mouth as he dares before he risks making Enjolras’ gag, and drawing back only to add another.
Enjolras hums around it and sucks hard, eyes slipping closed in pleasure as he fellates Combeferre’s fingers, imagining it is his cock instead. Imagining it is Grantaire’s cock, instead.
The fingers slide to the back of his throat and push a little too hard, and Enjolras’ eyes open slightly as they water, making direct eye contact with Combeferre, who is watching him intently. After the second it takes him to recover, Enjolras moans, and tilts his head back, tongue sliding wetly and desperately over the underside of Combeferre’s fingers, even as his own hand slides down between them to find his clit.
“Good boy,” Combeferre murmurs to him, a tried, tested, and fucking loved phrase between the two of them when they are doing this. It makes Enjolras’ cunt gush and clench tighter, which in turn makes Combeferre pull him harder against him, grinding in and leaning down to bite at his earlobe.
His fingers slip out of Enjolras’ mouth and spread his spit across his chin and cheek as Combeferre grips his jaw to keep him still as he presses biting kisses along the other side.
“Faster,” Enjolras grunts. “Make me cum, come on, come on .” His own hand works harder against his clit, fingers and knuckles bumping against Combeferre’s cock, feeling the need build and build inside of him, and then–
“Woah!” Grantaire cries, and before Combeferre and Enjolras have a chance to react to the door swinging open, Grantaire’s laugh sounds out, more than a tinge of alarm colouring it. “Jesus Christ, sorry, sorry!” Grantaire yells out, and then the door is slamming shut behind him and everything in the world seems to go still.
“ Fuck ,” Enjolras says.
He pushes his hands against Combeferre’s chest, shoving him out and off him with as much force as he can muster. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Get off me, fucking hell.”
However, Combeferre is already away from him, having stumbled back the moment Enjolras had begun to push at him. His hard cock bobs stupidly between his legs and he is staring at Enjolras, caught somewhere between shock and an almost desperate amusement.
In a heartbeat, Enjolras is off the table, pulling his underwear up and fighting to get his jeans back up over his thighs, heart thundering in his chest.
A laugh bursts out of Combeferre and Enjolras turns on him furiously. Combeferre is standing there, shirt hanging off him, trousers still around his ankles, body entirely on display and not at all awkward about it, and he is suddenly laughing helplessly.
“I’m sorry,” Combeferre says, through the laughter. “I’m really not– I’m not laughing at you.”
But his laughter doesn’t subside, and Enjolras seethes as he fastens his belt and begins to collect his belongings with angry, jerky movements.
“I can’t believe– I can’t believe you didn’t lock the fucking door,” Enjolras spits at him. He picks up his lightest, floppiest notebook, and launches it in Combeferre’s direction, making the almost naked man duck, even as he continues to clutch at his sides and laugh.
“ Me ?” Combeferre gasps. “When was I supposed to have done that? You should have locked it before you came onto me!”
“I didn’t know you were going to fuck me here !” Enjolras defends himself, stupidly, knowing that he absolutely knew he wanted Combeferre to fuck him here.
“That’s a damn lie,” Combeferre says, and finally bends over to pull his underwear and trousers up, uncomfortably shoving his still stiff cock inside and carefully zipping his trousers over it. His laughter turns to chuckles and amused glances in Enjolras’ direction.
“It is not ,” Enjolras protests, and considers throwing another notebook, but all his others are either too precious or too solid, and he doesn’t want to actually injure his best friend. “ Fuck, fuck, fuck ,” he curses, settling for profanity and an intentionless kick at a nearby innocent chair leg instead. “It just fucking had to be him ,” Enjolras grits out, and falls into the innocent chair.
That brings another laugh out of Combeferre, but at least now he has the decency to not laugh too hard at Enjolras’ misery. “Maybe he’ll be as jealous of you as you are of him,” Combeferre says, with a sly grin. “Maybe seeing you like that will awaken an attraction.”
“Fuck you,” Enjolras says bitterly.
He isn’t sure what it is that he is feeling – somewhere between embarrassment and heated lust over Grantaire walking in on them, over Grantaire seeing him spread out over a table like that, being fucked and groped in a public space. His head drops into his hands for a moment, while he tries to decide what he needs to do next.
“Wanna go to mine and carry on?” Combeferre asks.
Enjolras sighs heavily and then looks up at him. “Fuck. Yeah,” he says, which only sets Combeferre off laughing again.