sex break | an it’s for you fic
enjolras/grantaire, background jehan/courfeyrac, joly/bossuet, and feuilly/bahorel
and now he has grantaire. so he’s really not that sexually frustrated anymore.
not really sure what happened here. it started with a conversation i was having with chesh about how ridiculously repressed ‘it’s for you’ enjolras was in high school and became back alley sexyteims.
this is…eight or so months into enjolras’ and grantaire’s relationship? something like that.
nsfw content under the cut.
It didn’t occur to Enjolras that he wanted to have sex with Grantaire until the cynic was yelling and crying and accusing him of hating him. A part of his mind shouted back, saying, “Of course I don’t fucking hate you, I want to run my tongue down the line of your throat!” and oh.
That certainly explained a lot.
Enjolras has never been good with sex or emotions. In high school, he was so repressed he used to scorn and deny the part of him that had sexual wants altogether. Which had only managed to make him ridiculously self righteous and sexually frustrated and it was really no wonder Combeferre was his only friend back then.
He’s changed, since then. Knowing Combeferre for the past seven years has managed to mellow him out considerably. And he’s still who he’s always been — and he’s still pretty self righteous — but at least he knows it now. And at least now he tries.
And now he has Grantaire. So he’s really not that sexually frustrated anymore.
And whenever he starts to feel like he is, Grantaire is usually more than happy to help him out with that.
Like today. When, halfway through a meeting, Grantaire is just sort of half-stretched over one of the tables, one hand in his own hair, keeping it out of his eyes, and the other idly sketching in a notebook, and Enjolras just feels like he could devour his boyfriend whole with his dark, unruly curls and his day-old scruff and the way his eyes focus on his drawing. So he sends one text under the table (Make an excuse and leave) and waits for Grantaire to glance at his phone and then obey its contents, before slipping out after him.
Courfeyrac laughs as Enjolras disappears. “I guess it’s time for a sex break,” he says cheerily, passing behind Jehan’s chair and yanking him out of it — eliciting a surprised but delighted yelp — to kiss him soundly and slip his hands into the back pockets of Jehan’s jeans.
Combeferre crosses from the other side of the room and whacks them both with the stack of pamphlets he’s been passing around. “Not for you,” he says and Jehan breaks away to stick his tongue out at him while Courfeyrac ducks to suck on Jehan’s neck and Feuilly tries not to look at Bahorel, who’s smirking suggestively at him.
“Do they really think we don’t know what they’re doing?” Bossuet laughs (Joly is sitting in his lap and lovingly stroking his head).
“Oh, Grantaire totally knows we all know,” Courfeyrac emerges from Jehan’s collarbone to say. “After he got the text, he winked at me.”
Combeferre hits him again. Ignoring the indignant “Ow!” this evokes. “But Enjolras likes to keep these things private,” he says pointedly, looking around at all of them. “So we’re all going to pretend like we don’t know. Yes?”
Everyone sort of reluctantly agrees, but then Courfeyrac and Jehan go back to sucking each other’s faces and Joly squirms in Bossuet’s lap and Bahorel starts chuckling as Feuilly goes red and Combeferre sighs in exasperation.
“For fuck’s sake,” he moans, “why is everyone so horny today?”
Outside, Enjolras has just caught up to Grantaire and is spinning him around to slam their mouths together. Grantaire chuckles and starts rucking Enjolras’ shirt up to get his hands on bare skin underneath.
“God, I love you,” he murmurs between kisses as Enjolras actually growls and rolls his hips against Grantaire’s.
“Put your hands in my pants,” Enjolras orders roughly, then swallows Grantaire’s ensuing gasp with a bruising kiss.
Grantaire hums into his mouth. “We’re in public,” he reminds his boyfriend a little reluctantly.
“There’s an alley behind the café,” Enjolras answers, raising his eyebrows.
Grantaire is really glad Enjolras’ arms are so firm around him because right now he’s not sure he’d be standing without them. “Fuck,” he breathes and Enjolras smirks.
“That’s the idea.”
Well, it really doesn’t take more than that to get Grantaire back behind the café and down on his knees in front of Enjolras, who’s pressed up back against the wall with his impossibly tight jeans pooled around his ankles and one hand fisted tight in Grantaire’s curls.
As Grantaire’s fingernails skid up the back of his thighs, warm mouth and talented tongue put to beautiful use, Enjolras bites down on the heel of his hand to keep from screaming. Grantaire’s mouth curls into a smile around him and he’s so fucking smug but his mouth is so hot, his tongue so lithe, Enjolras can’t even manage to be annoyed. His head falls back against the wall and his bitten hand reaches up over his head to clutch at the wall behind him, clinging for stability, and Grantaire’s name comes tumbling violently out of his mouth as he arches into that mouth.
Grantaire grins up at Enjolras when he sits back on his heels, licking his lips smugly. Enjolras just gazes down at him with something like wonder, breathing heavily and clutching at the wall and at Grantaire’s hair still.
Grantaire tilts his head a little, smirking. “Did that help?” he asks smugly.
“Shut the fuck up,” Enjolras pants, and Grantaire laughs.
Tenderly, he pulls Enjolras pants back up, doing them up and laying a gentle kiss to Enjolras’ hip before standing and being drawn in to kiss his mouth.
As Enjolras tilts forward to lean weakly against Grantaire’s shoulder, Grantaire murmurs in his ear, “Say it back.”
It’s probably supposed to sound like a command, but there’s a question lifting at the end, and when Enjolras turns to press his lips to the soft skin of Grantaire’s neck, he shivers.
Enjolras breathes in his scent and then lifts his head to look Grantaire directly in the eye as he whispers, “I love you, too.”
Grantaire’s grin could break the sun.
It’s another few minutes of heated, consuming kisses before they find their way, hands entwined and grasping at each other, back into the café and the back room.
One look from Enjolras silences any snickering or comments from the others, but as his eyes scan over the group, he notices a lack.
“Where are Courfeyrac and Jehan?” he asks Combeferre, who huffs a sigh.
“They, um, went to the bathroom,” he answers.
Enjolras rolls his eyes. Bahorel bursts out laughing.