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The Les Mis Anon Kink Meme, Round 8
and I am winterborn
10littlebullets wrote in makinghugospin
Since LJ seems to have finally capitulated to the Russian government and is now subject to Russian anti-obscenity laws, I'm not going to take a chance on sudden deletions. The Les Mis kinkmeme now lives at https://lesmiskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/. (Round 8 here.) Everything has been backed up there. The LJ kinkmeme will stay up, but is now closed to new comments.

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Fill 8/9

“Look at me, whore,” Combeferre orders, his voice rough.

Grantaire does as he’s told. He’s not sure, at this point, whether he’s capable of doing anything else.

“They’ve been easy on you. I won’t be.”


Combeferre slaps him again, harder this time. “You’re not to speak to me. You’re not to make a single sound. Your mouth is for sucking cock, not for speaking.”

Grantaire nods.

“Good. You’re learning, faster than I’d expect from a stupid slut. I’m going to be kind enough to explain what will happen to you, as I can see you’re eager to please- even if you’re clearly too useless to do it properly. I’m going to slap your face and pinch your nipples and hurt you, hurt you so badly you won’t be able to move it. If you’re a good little hole and you stay nice and still and silent while I make you cry, you’ll be allowed to suck my cock. Is that clear?”

Grantaire nods again, swallowing hard. He likes pain—in mild doses. But he’s deeper in subspace at this moment than he’s ever been before. He knows he can take whatever’s asked of him.

“What’s your safeword?”

“Red,” Grantaire answers. “Sir.”

“Good. Use it if you don’t want this any more. I’m only interested in hurting sluts so filthy that they ache for it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good slave. Now, be silent and still and take your pain.” Abruptly, Combeferre grinds his booted down hard against Grantaire’s naked thigh. The pain is shocking in its intensity, and Grantaire has to physically bite his lip to stop a pained whimper from escaping.

Then Combeferre kicks him, hard, in the stomach. The strike is precise—some dim part of Grantaire’s mind registers that he must be focusing on a safe area for such a hard blow. Then another kick comes, and another, and all he can think about is when he’ll be able to get a breath.

The kicking doesn’t hurt all that much, but it’s so humiliating, to be kneeling on the floor, kicked like a disobedient dog.

Combeferre’s hand tangles in his hair, forcing him up off his knees and into an awkward crouch—a better angle for Combeferre to reach down and slap his face, again and again and again, until he’s seeing stars and the skin of his cheek is burning.

He drags his fingers across Grantaire’s chest, leaving raised marks, and then slaps him again. Pinches a nipple, and then slaps him. Kicks him, hard, in the sensitive skin of his exposed inner thigh, nearly knocking him off-balance, and then slaps him again. The rhythm becomes almost soothing, and then it stops for a long second.

Combeferre reaches down, twisting one of his nipples viciously, at the same time as his other hand pulls Grantaire’s hair back, making him look up at Combeferre, as he starts to cry.

Combeferre releases him instantly, letting him slump back onto the floor.

“Good. You can have my cock now, worthless.”

It’s hardly the poetic humiliaiton Jehan had treated him to, but Grantaire’s delighted nonetheless to hear the words. He takes Combeferre’s cock deep into his throat, sucking eagerly, as Combeferre goes back to hurting him.

There’s less he can do, obviously, as Grantaire works his mouth on Combeferre’s cock. He’s clearly creative, though. He pinches Grantaire’s nipples and pulls his hair, but also presses his clever doctor’s fingers into all sorts of sensitive places. He tugs and flicks Grantaire’s ears, and then presses his finger deliberately and carefully under Grantaire’s jaw, finding a pressure point that makes him gasp.

As Combeferre gets closer, his methods get less refined. It’s just a rough hand tugging Grantaire’s hair almost to the point of pulling it out, and Combeferre’s boots digging agonizingly into his bare thighs.

Grantaire is crying the whole way through. He was already overwhelmed and in pain when he got to Combeferre’s feet, and now he’s so far past the point of trying to hide his reactions. Besides, Combeferre seems to be getting off on it- at least, he’s clearly determined to hurt Grantaire the entire way through receiving his blowjob. He doesn’t fuck Grantaire’s mouth, just hurts him with his hands and his boots as Grantaire works. Combeferre hardly makes a sound as he comes, but Grantaire feels his cock jerk in his mouth, tastes the saltiness of his come, and knows, with an elemental satisfaction, that he’s done his job well.
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Re: Fill 8/9

Not gonna lie, I did not see that one coming. I honesty didn't expect Combeferre to be roughest one by far but I am certainly lovig this fill.
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Re: Fill 8/9

hnnnngh this is too hot

really looking forward to Enjolras taking his boy back in the last part.
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Re: Fill 8/9

op here

thank you so much for writing this. it continues to be super hot, and also i'm really impressed by how you've managed to make them all so different! i had no idea what would happen in each new part.

now i'm curious to see what happens at the end with enjolras, the architect of all of this - it seems like the meeting's maybe devolved, but maybe not? i'm excited to see what happens to grantaire, there in the middle of all of them. thanks again! :D
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Re: Fill 8/9

this is sooo hot anon, wow! maybe the next part will have boot kink? he is kneeling, after all ;)
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Fill 9a/10

Combeferre kicks him away when he’s finished with him, one last gesture of brutality, and Grantaire is left driftless for a second until he hears Enjolras’ voice.

“Crawl to my feet,” he says, calm and composed, and it’s so easy and natural for Grantaire to do as he’s told, to end up on the ground with his face inches from Enjolras’ boots, and from there it seems simple to bend down and kiss the toe of his left boot, then his right boot, then the ground between his feet. “Good.”

“Thank you, Master,” Grantaire says, his voice rough from having his throat fucked.

“I think you’ve pleased my friends well. But you need to be reminded who you belong to, isn’t that right?”

“I’d never forget I’m yours,” Grantaire says. “But I would be honored if you would claim me.”

“You’d like it if I laid my claim on you in front of everyone?”


“What if I were to let you climb into my lap and ride my cock? You’d have to face everyone while you did it, so they could see the pretty, desperate little faces you make for me. Would you like that?”

“Please,” Grantaire begs again, not able to think of a single other word than that.

“I’m going to make you cry. Everyone is going to see how easy you go down for me. As much of a whore as you’ve already been today, they’re going to see how much filthier you’re willing to get for me, how you’ll cry to be allowed to have my cock, how badly you want to be used and thrown back on the ground when you’re gone.”

“That’s what I want. Please.”

“All right.” Enjolras withdraws a packet of lube from his pocket and tosses it, without a glance, down at Grantaire. “I have a few more things to say about next week’s meeting. You can shove your fingers in your slutty little hole and spread yourself out so I can use you, since I have more important things to do than get you ready to be fucked.”

Grantaire groans, and Enjolras reaches up with one of his boots, putting the weight of it at the top of Grantaire’s back, just below his neck, so he has to press his face against the floor. Enjolras keeps his boot there, letting Grantaire feel it, feel himself being pushed to the ground beneath his master’s feet, as he reaches for the packet of lube and spreads it out across his fingers.

It’s an awkward angle to finger himself at, pushed face-down and ass up into the floor, unable to see because Enjolras is kicking him down, but Grantaire is too far gone to care. It’s just another challenge. Another way for him to serve. To suffer for the pleasure of others.

Of Enjolras.

This is where he belongs. On the floor, on his knees, his mouth sore and used, his face covered in come and slap marks, his fingers pressing roughly into himself. Making himself a fucktoy, because that’s what he is.

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Fill 9b/10

Enjolras is talking again. Talking about something. It’s probably important, but Grantaire doesn’t have to listen. Doesn’t have to argue, or worry, or do anything but this. There’s nothing he can do except start twisting his two fingers inside himself and enjoy the weight of Enjolras’ boot on him and know that he’s in his place.

He can pick out a few words, though. Words like “freedom,” and “equality,” and “the inherent dignity of man,” beautiful in Enjolras’ perfect mouth as he digs his heel into Grantaire’s back.

Grantaire is there on the floor for a while, fingering himself open thoroughly, trying to avoid his prostate so he doesn’t get any harder than he already is—if that were possible. He loses track of how long, but it feels like a while, enough that he’s very conscious of how sore his knees are. Eventually, Enjolras removes his boot.

“Up,” he orders, undoing his pants just enough that his cock is exposed. That—him being clothed while Grantaire is naked—is just another welcome reminder of how owned Grantaire is.

Enjolras takes a firm hold of Grantaire, guiding him down to sit, straddling Enjolras’ narrower hips, pushing him down, down, down until he’s fully seated on Enjolras’ cock.

He gets a moment to adjust, then, groaning at the pleasurable fullness, and then starts to slightly rock up, bracing his feet against the floor to allow himself to move. He looks down, embarassed at the weight of the stares on him, but Enjolras fists his hair, forces him to look up.

“Watch them watch you,” he orders. “I let them have you, but you’re mine. You’ll always be mine. The only cock you need is mine. Show them all. Show them you’re my own boy.”

Grantaire is gasping, letting out little keening moans as he rocks back and forth on Enjolras’ cock. Enjolras bites savagely into his neck and shoulders, leaving the imprints of his teeth behind. No doubt there will be bruises in the morning, another way Enjolras is laying claim to him.

“Look at you,” Enjolras practically croons into his ear. “Look at you sobbing and gasping for me. Look at how desperate you are to fuck yourself on me. How badly you need to be filled.”

Grantaire is almost sobbing, moving up and down as much as he can while Enjolras’ hands balance him, control him, while all their friends are watching, gazes hungry or content or both.

“Show them all,” Enjolras whispers, breath hot against his ear. “Come for me, spill all over yourself without a hand on your worthless cock. Show them all you don’t need to be touched to get off because the only part of you that’s good for anything is your needy little hole.”

Grantaire’s hips stutter, his body clenches, and Enjolras arches off the chair, driving upwards to thrust into him as he bites down on Grantaire’s ear. Grantaire’s body goes boneless as he comes, his vision whiting out. His head falls back onto Enjolras’ shoulder, and he can feel Enjolras holding him, still fucking up into his pliant body, until he growls and comes as well, and all through it their friends are watching.
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Re: Fill 9b/10

holy shit how does this fill gets better with every part. just HOW? anon, i am in awe
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Re: Fill 9b/10

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Fill 10/10

Grantaire is eased onto the floor afterwards. Enjolras murmurs into his ear, “I can’t hold you up, R, so I’m going to set you down, all right? I’m coming right with you. I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

He manages to nod, but it’s an effort. Everything is an effort. He is exhausted, and the world has gone hazy. But Enjolras is holding him. Enjolras’ arms are around him.

Grantaire is dazed and sore and happy.

“And now?” Combeferre asks.

“R?” Enjolras asks gently. “What do you need from our friends?”

“No more,” Grantaire mumbles. “Tired.”

Enjolras laughs. “I think you’ve worn them out as well. I just mean- would you like them to stay for aftercare, or should that just be the two of us?”

“Just you.”

“But you’re all right?” Jehan asks, the profound concern in his voice so different from his harsh words of earlier.

“I’m good,” Grantaire manages to say. “Tired. Happy. Fucked senseless.” He smiles. “When can we do it again?”

Everyone laughs at that.

“Soon,” Enjolras promises. “Maybe next time I’ll tie you over the table, make you stay nice and still while every one of them fucks your sweet throat. Maybe next time, once won’t be enough- I’ll let them all have a turn at you, and when they’re finished I’ll let them take a break. But not you, because you’ll be taking a good hard beating from me on your lovely ass, until they’re ready for another round with your slutty mouth.”

Grantaire groans. “Ange, stop. You’ll get me all turned on.”

Enjolras kisses his forehead. “I aim to please.”

They stay like that for a while, Enjolras sitting on the floor with Grantaire lying half in his arms, half on his lap. Some of their friends head out- Feuilly has work, and Joly and Bossuet have to get home to entertain their mistress. Combeferre and Courfeyrac, as is their habit, have fallen into friendly debate. Jehan is saying something to Bahorel.

Grantaire is rather insensible to it all. Enjolras has him, safe and sound. Enjolras has his strong arms around him, and he’s pressing gentle kisses to Grantaire’s temple and then murmuring gently in his ear, “You’re mine, ‘Aire. No matter who you touch, who you please, you’ll always belong to me.”

Grantaire is drifting, pleasantly lost in a haze, sore and hurting and high and yet grounded by Enjolras’ touch.

Later Enjolras will carefully help him dress and support him while they get home. He’ll get Grantaire water and food and tuck him into bed. He’ll tell him again and again how good he was and make sure none of his bruises or marks are real injuries.

But for right now, Grantaire doesn’t need that, doesn’t need to be carefully brought back to reality. Enjolras will help him with that, when he needs it. But for right now, he’s here. He’s been used—he’s been useful. He’s been taken and hurt and degraded in all the most filthy, perfect ways possible, and now he’s back with Enjolras, back where he belongs. Back with the wonderful man he belongs to.

“What are you thinking?” Enjolras asks softly.

“Just. That I’m happy. I’m yours.”

“All mine. Mine to play with. Mine to use. Mine to share. But you’ll always come back to me.’

Grantaire hums happily and closes his eyes, relaxing into Enjolras’ arms.
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Re: Fill 10/10

Author!anon, can I like send you flowers or something? You are amazing and this whole thing is so perfect and beautiful.
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Re: Fill 10/10

op here. can i just say thank you? this whole fill is incredible.
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