Work Text:
“Oh fuuuck…” groaned Montparnasse brokenly, his hand scrabbling against the kitchen counter for support as his knees threatened to give out underneath him.
Jehan hummed in mischievous approval of his boyfriend’s reaction, the taller man already writhing under Jehan’s expert touch. Keeping up the rhythm his mouth had set on Montparnasse’s cock, he slyly coated a finger in lube with a tiny bottle hidden in his pocket specifically for such a purpose. Distracting Montparnasse with a roll of his tongue over the sensitive head he slid his other hand up between the dandy’s legs and pushed suddenly inside him with one finger. The sensation made Montparnasse yell and buck his hips harshly into Jehan’s mouth, but the poet had been expecting as much and he grinned wickedly as Montparnasse shuddered above him, moaning incoherently.
“Jehan… Oh fuck! Just like- Shit! Oh my fucking god, your mouth. Fuck, I love you, I love you, fuck!”
Jehan smirked as much as he was able to with his boyfriend’s cock stretching his lips wide and slowly added another finger, the heat of Montparnasse grasping him, pulling him greedily in.
“Oh fuck, I’m gonna, Jehan, I’m-”
But he never finished the sentence, because Jehan crooked his two fingers and stroked firmly over that spot while simultaneously taking Montparnasse as deeply into his throat as he was able to without choking. Unusually, Montparnasse came almost in silence, his eyes widening briefly then snapping shut in a grimace of pleasure as a long, low moan escaped him, the noise inarticulate but infinitely expressive.
Satisfied that his work was done, Jehan slowly removed his fingers and pulled his mouth off Montparnasse’s twitching cock, smiling coquettishly up at his wrecked boyfriend.
“You…” grinned Montparnasse tiredly at him, “I love you, little one.”
“I love you too,” smiled Jehan, climbing to his feet. He was about to remove his floral skinny jeans and take care of his own need when he felt his phone vibrate in the pocket. Seeing that Montparnasse might need another minute or two to recover himself fully, Jehan pulled out the phone and read the text;
Enjolras:
I think I fucked things up with
R. Please help.
In truth, Jehan had been waiting for this. Any relationship between Enjolras and Grantaire clearly had the potential to become violently incendiary, a matter which was not helped by Enjolras’ determined idealism and lack of any romantic experience, nor by Grantaire’s determined self-hatred and absolute Romanticism-with-a-capital-R.
Jehan:
Come over whenever you want,
we’ll work it out xxx
He placed his phone on the counter where he could see it then stripped neatly, his impossibly tight jeans coming off with a practised flourish before being hung lovingly over the back of a chair. His shirt was already long gone, so he simply looked expectantly at Montparnasse, all delicate bones, freckled shoulders, and sparkling eyes.
Montparnasse looked wolfishly back at him for a moment, his eyes drawn to Jehan’s hard cock but also appraising the rest of his lithe form almost reverently. Then he darted forward and grabbed the little poet around the waist, lifting him easily and slinging him over his shoulder.
Jehan squealed in delight as he was carried toward the bedroom, legs kicking the air and hands lightly slapping Montparnasse’s back as he choked out laughter. The dandy’s hand landed flatly and firmly on his ass, just once, the impact making Jehan yelp happily again as Montparnasse chuckled deeply, “Come on little bird, I’ve caught you and you’re mine now!”
Twenty minutes later the unlikely couple lay sprawled in bed, the flowery duvet crumpled on the floor and a plume of cigarette smoke rising above them. Montparnasse leaned casually against the headboard, careful not to ash on the sheets, while Jehan rested his head against the dandy’s chest, enjoying the rise and fall of his breath as he felt his own heart rate gradually returning to normal. They were jerked out of their pleasurable haze by a knock at the front door, and Jehan scrambled off the bed, hastily pulling on a pair of pyjama pants to greet his friend.
“Am I interrupting?” asked Enjolras, at once taking in Jehan’s state of half-dress and the lurking shadow of Montparnasse in the background of the flat.
“No, come in,” smiled Jehan, his warmth so sincere that Enjolras allowed himself to be led inside and ushered onto the chintzy sofa.
“Tea, coffee? Something stronger?”
“No thank you, I’m fine.”
Enjolras sat stiff and straight-backed while Jehan flopped down beside him, smiling gently as he said, “Okay. So Grantaire..?”
Enjolras exhaled slowly, “We had a fight…” and he narrated the tale to his friend, beginning with Combeferre’ suggestion, moving on to the confrontation in the park, and ending at Grantaire’s flat the previous night.
“I see,” nodded Jehan sagely, “Enjolras, why are you so set on having him move in with you? He said no, but it’s not a big deal, it’s not the end of the relationship, he just feels it’s too early for that sort of commitment.”
“But I want commitment,” burst out Enjolras angrily, the words surprising himself as they tumbled out; Jehan was the only one of his friends he could speak to like this, without thinking, just feeling; “I want to be with him all the time. It’s ridiculous, I know it is, it makes me sound like a small child desperate for attention, but I need him with me. I feel physically ill when we’re apart. I- I love him.”
If the revelation surprised Jehan he gave no indication of it. Instead he said calmly, “And he loves you. But Grantaire has a lot of… issues. A lot of pent up negative feelings that he often doesn’t know what to do with, mostly directed towards himself. Obviously you’re aware of all this, you’ve seen his drinking and you’ve heard the way he constantly talks down about himself. Being with you, while it helps in a lot of respects by giving him hope and happiness, it also gives him something to doubt. He is so happy with you, and for someone who has had a life like Grantaire has that’s frightening; every time he’s ever been happy it’s been taken away from him, leaving him miserable and alone.”
“But I don’t understand!” snapped Enjolras in frustration, “If I make him so happy and I’m offering to be with him all the time, then why does he think I’m going anywhere?”
Jehan sighed gently, wrapping delicate fingers around Enjolras’ wrist and stroking soothing circles into his skin as he continued, “Because it isn’t you Grantaire doubts, it’s himself. He thinks he’s going to drive you away by getting too close. All those arguments he threw at you for not moving in together? He was throwing them at himself, forcing himself to believe that he isn’t good enough for you, or for any happy relationship. For lack of a better phrase let’s call it a defence mechanism against happiness, which for Grantaire equates to eventual misery.”
“But how can he think like that? I would never have asked him to move in with me if I wasn’t sure we were ready and I would never hurt him, you know I wouldn’t!”
“I know,” nodded Jehan sympathetically, “And deep down I think Grantaire knows too, but he’s scared. You just have to give him time. Not necessarily space, because right now I think he needs reassurance that you still love him regardless, but he needs time. I know it’s hard for you to do but just let the matter drop for a little while, okay?”
“Okay,” nodded Enjolras, feeling drained, his shoulders slumping in rare defeat, “I just… I need him, Jehan. I need him close to me.”
“I know.”
Grantaire wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up in this position. All he knew was that he’d texted Éponine the night before, drunken tears obscuring his vision as he’d typed.
R:
Enj hates me we fought agsgain
hellp
Ponine:
Hell no. You know I’m away
this weekend. Go talk to
Cosette, she’s good at relationships
So Grantaire was standing nervously on the front doorstep of what was actually the biggest house he’d ever seen up close. Then suddenly he was being enveloped in a flurry of perfume and soft scarves as Cosette bounded into him with an enthusiastic hug. Marius hung back slightly in the doorway, looking like he was wondering whether or not to hug Grantaire as well, then settled for putting a manful arm around the artist’s shoulders as he was steered into an immense living room, all cream carpets and expensive leather sofas.
“Éponine texted me,” explained Cosette, “What happened?”
“Uh, we fought,” admitted Grantaire, feeling very out of place in the plushness of this huge house and already beginning to wish he hadn’t come at all.
Cosette, to her credit, seemed to intuit his discomfort and said gently, “Come on, let’s go upstairs to my room. We’ll be more comfortable.”
She led both boys back into the front hall then up a sweeping double staircase, while Marius tried hard to pretend that he didn’t know exactly where her bedroom was and Grantaire tried hard not to mentally calculate the total worth of the artworks lining the stairway.
“So you argued. What about?” asked Cosette, closing the door behind her and ushering the two boys over to her ridiculously big four-poster bed to sit down. She pulled up a chair for herself from the neat little desk she kept as Marius broke in, “But you guys argue all the time.”
“Yeah, but this was different, this was about, well, us,” sighed Grantaire, his hand raking nervously through his curls, “We usually fight about dumb politics and and rallies and that kind of thing, but this time it was because he asked me to move in with him and… I kinda freaked out and said no.”
Marius looked surprised but Cosette only nodded sympathetically, “Do you want to move in with him?”
“I- Yeah, I guess? I would want to live with him and everything but don’t you think it’s a bad idea? I mean, we’re such different people, I’d drive him crazy and he’d probably end up kicking me out after a week...”
“So you want to, you’re just not sure if you can trust yourself enough?”
“Uh, yeah,” replied Grantaire surprised but grateful that the issue at hand had been identified so readily.
“Why don’t you try some kind of trial period?” put in Marius, “Go on a holiday together, or just stay for a week and see how it goes?”
“That is a brilliant idea my love,” beamed Cosette, reaching over to squeeze Marius’ arm affectionately, “Do you think you’d be willing to try that?” she asked Grantaire.
“I guess? But what if Enjolras doesn’t want- ”
“You’ll never know until you try!” she trilled determinedly, having found a solution to the problem and fixed onto it, “Just ask him if he’d be willing to do a trial period. I don’t know Enjolras as well as you guys do but from what I’ve seen he’s a fairly methodical guy, rigorous research, compiling notes, power point presentations, grades on a curve, all that sort of thing. My bet would be that he’d say yes to an experiment.”
Grantaire smiled properly for the first time in what felt like days; it made so much sense, and it would certainly appeal to Enjolras.
“Yeah, you’re right. Okay, I’m gonna try that. Thanks guys. Marius, you walking home yet?”
“No, I’ll stay for a while,” he smiled shyly at Cosette.
“Okay, well then I gotta run. Thanks for the advice. And apologies in advance for all the drunk phone calls you’re going to be getting from me in future, sobbing about Enjolras and life in general, you’re much better at this than ‘Ponine is!”
“Happy to help,” beamed Cosette, waving delicately as Grantaire let himself out.
“You’re so good,” gushed Marius, springing off the bed to take Cosette’s face in his hands and kiss her lightly on the lips, “You’re so good and I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” she smiled, “Very much. And I’m glad I could help Grantaire. But weren’t we in the middle of something just before he arrived?”
Marius looked like Christmas had come early, “You still want to..? Thank you!”
“Yes,” smiled Cosette with a roll of her eyes, “And you really don’t have to thank me in advance every time sweetie.”
“I know, I just- ”
She silenced him with a press of her lips.