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making Victor Hugo turn in his grave since 1885

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The Les Mis Anon Kink Meme, Round 4
party like it's 1789
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 4 here.) Everything has been backed up there. The LJ kinkmeme will stay up, but is now closed to new comments.

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Enjolras/Grantaire, dark au

Enjolras wins the revolution, somehow. Like, the entire damn French Revolution.

And then Enjolras takes over France, and sits on the crumbling thrones of the kings of old, and becomes a sort of tyrannical, insane king who kills people who oppose him but will give food to anyone who's starving, pretty much at a whim. And the Amis become his police and officers and lords.

And Enjolras has won, so he no longer has to be pure and concentrated only on France. Which means that he finally allows Grantaire by his side, as his alcoholic sex kitten/consort, who sits on his lap while Enjolras makes arbitrary decisions on who gets to live or die, or sucks Enjolras's cock while he has important meetings.

(Not going to lie, this entire prompt really boils down to insane/dark!Enjolras having his way with a worshipful, delighted Grantaire on a throne in a crumbling palace while a bunch of people watch uncomfortably)

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Re: Enjolras/Grantaire, dark au

dark tyrannical Enjolras and drunken sex kitten Grantaire? This prompt is literally everything I never knew I wanted oh my god

//aggressively pitches tent
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Re: Enjolras/Grantaire, dark au

*crawls into tent and starts building a shrine to this prompt*

*... also tentatively claims*
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Better Kings (1/3)

Ever since Enjolras freed the French people from the tyranny of monarchy and taken them in hand as their benevolent patriarch, Grantaire’s life had become nothing but bliss. What else could it be, for Enjolras had bestowed upon him the honor of being by his side and looking into the glory of his eyes every single day. When Enjolras sat on the ruined throne of the Kings of old, Grantaire was there, kneeling on the dais with a bowl of rich wine. He wore a shirt with no buttons, so that it was open at the front, because Enjolras enjoyed seeing his nipples harden and peak in the cold air; he wore no trousers or undergarments, because Enjolras wished him to be accessible at all times. As though it was possible for Grantaire not to be.

He wore a heavy collar around his neck, as well. It was made of soft leather and lined with warm fur and buckled at his throat, though sometimes, when Grantaire displeased Enjolras, it was replaced by a collar made of steel and locked with a heavy padlock to which Enjolras held the only key. But this was rare, because Grantaire was good and Enjolras knew it. He said it often enough: How beautiful Grantaire looked by his throne, how sweet his mouth was around his hardened flesh, how tight his hole was (virginal, almost, even despite the days-weeks-months-years of rough treatment). It was all Grantaire had ever wanted.

Today, Enjolras was holding audience with his people. He would hear their grievances and dispense justice or mercy as he saw fit. Grantaire had a soft pillow to kneel on, and his wine-bowl never ran dry. A man Grantaire was sure had been a friend once (in another life, before the gold crown rested upon his Adonis’ golden head) refilled it, so that Grantaire could continue to lower his head and lap at the sweet liquid. Before the first petitioner could kneel, Grantaire’s mind was already floating, and he could think of nothing else but his need to place his head in the lap of his King.

Enjolras turned and smiled at him. This was another thing that Grantaire loved about his master--Enjolras could always seem to read his thoughts. He gave a short tug at the chain connected to Grantaire’s collar, and he found himself crawling the short distance to Enjolras’ throne.

The petitioner was saying something about a cow and a thief, or perhaps a cow-shaped thief. It was all terribly boring, and aside from how it allowed the people to see how good and gracious their King was, Grantaire could not understand why Enjolras bothered with the audiences. There were far more interesting things he could be doing, such as partaking of Grantaire’s body.

He shifted his head in Enjolras’ lap, just enough so that he could mouth at the bulge in his trousers. Enjolras’ hand tightened in Grantaire’s hair and dragged his mouth away. Grantaire’s breath caught in his throat, and he felt tears pricking at his eyes. He wanted so desperately to please his King, to see Enjolras smile upon him, to hear soft praises in the heavenly choir of his voice.
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Better Kings (2/3)

He almost didn’t notice when Enjolras began undoing the laces of his trousers.

“Is this what you want?” he whispered. Grantaire nodded frantically, licking his lips desperately and letting out a small, keening whimper. Enjolras smiled. It was terrible and beautiful and lit up his whole face. “What do you think of this man’s petition, my sweet? Answer, and I will give you a reward.” Enjolras ran his thumb over the head of his cock and Grantaire groaned. His mouth was beginning to water, just imagining being able to kiss the beautiful cock, to feel the weight of it in his mouth and taste it on his tongue and have it shoved so far down his throat he choked.

“Boring,” Grantaire said. “Please, want you.”

Enjolras laughed, high and awful, and Grantaire shuddered. “Did you hear that, sir? My pet says you are boring, and I must agree. Enough of this. Be on your way.”

Grantaire could hear the man struggling to his feet and praising Enjolras’ mercy. He turned to witness the man’s shame, to see the thing that caused such pleasure to cross his master’s face, just in time for a man-who-had-once-been-Friend to bring down his axe. The petitioner’s head rolled a few feet and then stopped. Blood poured onto the red stone floor, staining it anew. Grantaire groaned and pressed his cheek to Enjolras’ cock.

“Please,” he begged. The display was making his own cock ache. The power Enjolras wielded was a better aphrodisiac than even the finest wine.

But Enjolras was merciful as well as terrible, and he smiled and guided Grantaire’s mouth to his prick. Grantaire swallowed it eagerly, lapping at it with long strokes of his tongue. No matter how many times Enjolras had permitted this, Grantaire knew he could never be satisfied--could never wholly memorize the taste or mimic the feel of Enjolras stretching his lips wide to accommodate the considerable girth.

Enjolras began to rock gently into Grantaire’s mouth as he bade the next petitioner forward. This one was a woman, and she requested only a loaf of bread. Her husband had died in the Revolution, had died to make Enjolras king, and now she was alone to care for two growing sons. Enjolras took pity on the woman and sent her away with five loaves of bread and a basket of salted meats. The people rejoiced, and Enjolras began to fuck Grantaire’s mouth in earnest.

He shoved his thick cock right down Grantaire’s throat. At first, Grantaire choked, but quickly relaxed and allowed Enjolras to take what was his. Grantaire’s eyes watered and his tongue worked frantically along the underside, taking what few breaths he was allowed. He swallowed around the head of Enjolras’ cock, trying to force air into his aching lungs.

Finally, Enjolras pulled out and spent himself over Grantaire’s swollen lips and reddened cheeks. Grantaire’s breath came in hitched, desperate sobs, and Enjolras petted his hair until the fit passed. The gentle hand of mercy from his King nearly brought him to tears again.

“Thank you, my Lord,” he whispered. His voice was ruined. Enjolras simply smiled and ran his hand over the mess on Grantaire’s face before offering it to his pet.
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Better Kings (3/3)

Grantaire grasped Enjolras’ wrist and sucked the fingers into his mouth, laving them as he had Enjolras’ cock, and sucking on them even after they had been cleaned. Enjolras’ eyes darkened.

“Bring forth the next petitioner,” he ordered, and lifted Grantaire into his lap.

“My King.” The voice was familiar enough that Grantaire paused in his ministrations, drawing Enjolras’ fingers from his lips and staring out into the crowd.

“Marius Pontmercy. What brings you to court? I understood you and your new wife were pleased with my gift of a manor in the countryside.”

Marius. He was a man-who-had-once-been-Friend. Grantaire remembered him. He had nearly abandoned the Revolution for the love of a girl he’d only just met, and Enjolras had almost been furious until Marius returned and pledged his fealty. When the dust settled and Enjolras wore the crown, Marius and his bride were sent to ensure the loyalty of the southern provinces.

“We are, my King. Very much so,” Marius said. “But my wife Cosette is due to give birth soon, and I cannot trust the country doctors. If you permit it, we would like to come here, just for a few months, so that she may have proper care.”

Enjolras laughed. “Congratulations, my friend!” he said, and shoved his fingers into Grantaire’s mouth. Grantaire resumed sucking, though he kept his eyes fixed on Marius. “Of course, we would be delighted at your visit. I will have my own personal doctors look after your Cosette, and you can tell me all about the goings-on in the South.”

He glanced around at the rest of his audience. “Well? What are you still doing here? Get out, leave, the audience is ended.”

The people scattered. Within moments, the hall was empty. Enjolras withdrew his fingers and laid a kiss at the corner of Grantaire’s eye.

“Come now,” he said to Marius, and stood. Grantaire fell to his hands and knees at Enjolras’ side. “We have much to discuss, you and I.”

Enjolras and Marius departed, side-by-side, and Grantaire crawled behind his King. Though he pretended to keep his eyes cast down, he did not miss the odd looks Marius sent his way--disgust, loathing, confusion, hunger--and he wondered at Enjolras’ intentions. Would he give Grantaire to Marius? Would he have them both in his bed? Would Marius become envious of the favor Grantaire held with Enjolras and make a play for his place?

One thing was certain, though. Life in the broken palace was about to get a lot more interesting.
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Re: Better Kings (3/3)

yes yes yes yes yes this is a good fic

what a beautiful dystopia

i want to watch it burn <3
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Re: Better Kings (3/3)

holy wow, i think u broke my button
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Re: Better Kings (3/3)

This is so heartbreaking...to see someone reduced to so little...Are you going to write more in this verse? And what happened to Grantaire to break him so completely? I cannot see him falling instantly ton Enjolras's feet, no matter the situation. He had his own thoughts, and ideas, but now...now he has wine. And sex, I suppose.
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Re: Better Kings (3/3) (Anonymous) Expand
Re: Better Kings (3/3) (Anonymous) Expand

Re: Better Kings (3/3)

This is deliciously messed up. Well done!
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Re: Better Kings (3/3)

I LOVE THIS. I hope you write more! I would love to see more stories in this 'verse. It's just so delicious.
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SEQUEL: Service of the King (1/3)

(Contains: More public sex, discussion of servicing of multiple partners, discussion of groupsex, humiliation, objectification, very vague mention of punishment, and sexual slavery-related dubcon. This was intended to be more of a worldbuilding piece, but... ended up being mostly porn. Damn.)

~ * ~

The men-who-were-once-Friends sat at a long, curved table. King Enjolras had a throne, less grand than the one in his audience-room, but no less imposing. Grantaire remembered the day it was brought in, when he still chafed in his chains (though he could not recall why) and there were still whispers that the new King would lose his control over the people. He had been tethered to a spike and forced to kneel on the hard floor rather than on a soft pillow, and he wore nothing—not even the soft shirt Enjolras now allowed him. He remembered he had hurt then, wracked with guilt for some terrible deed, and he thought he must have asked this as his penance because back then, it had certainly felt like it.

Perhaps there had been some moment when Grantaire realized that he enjoyed the simple peace of pleasing his Apollo, but his mind now was a turmoil and he could not bear to recall his past for another moment. Yes; he had suffered then, his knees aching and his back throbbing dully (perhaps from a lash, though he did not recall Enjolras striking him, or perhaps from crouching for too long). He had kept his head down and watched Enjolras stride in, the King's cloak stained with blood and draped over his regal shoulders, and behind him, several Parisians carried a throne. It had been one from a palace in the Loire Valley, and it was cracked down the middle, but when Enjolras sat upon it the flaw became but one more trophy of Enjolras' victory. He had bade them all kneel, then, and bent Grantaire over the arm of the throne and fucked him hard while the men-who-were-once-Friends and the people of Paris watched. Then, as Grantaire licked his seed off the gold-leaf chair, Enjolras had announced the room christened for his King's Council.

Each week, the men-who-were-once-Friends sat around the curved table and brought matters of state to their King's attention. Although the subject was often tedious, Grantaire found himself more often than not looking forward to the meetings. He enjoyed resting his head against his King's knee or his chest and listening to his commanding speeches. The speeches that once had been so full of grating idealism had turned harsh since Enjolras' victory, and while some days Grantaire missed Enjolras' optimism, he could not help but feel a flash of morbid pride at the vicious words. Sometimes, Grantaire would be allowed to perch on Enjolras' knee during the meetings, and Enjolras would play with his cock until Grantaire was gasping and panting and whining for release.

Other times, when Enjolras was particularly pleased with his Council, Grantaire would be ordered to crawl underneath the table and service them one-by-one. Though many of them were reluctant to partake of Enjolras' generosity, none would risk angering their King by refusing his gift. Some were vicious in their displeasure and some were gentle and some looked upon him with hunger and some with disdain. It didn't matter. By the time Grantaire crawled back to his master, his lips were red and swollen and he was suitably filthy with come and utterly debased and always, always achingly hard.

Enjolras would praise him then, wipe the come from his face and his hair and allow Grantaire to lick it from his fingers while telling him how beautiful he was, how good, how eager to please. And then Enjolras would allow Grantaire to suck his cock, so that he would remember the taste of Enjolras' come and the tug of Enjolras' hands in his hair rather than the hands and cocks of the Council. He would be allowed to rut against Enjolras' leg, to spill all over his shiny black boot. Enjolras would then have him lick it clean. Grantaire, on hands and knees, bare ass in the air, running his tongue over the soft leather, cleaning his mess and worshiping his master's boot.
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SEQUEL: Service of the King (2/3)

Grantaire thought, when Marius arrived and the Council was summoned for an unscheduled conference, that his service would be part of the proceedings. At the very least, he expected that Enjolras would give Grantaire to Marius to make up for all the times he was not there when Grantaire crawled beneath the Council table. But Enjolras did neither; he simply called for an extra chair to be placed at the table, and he sat in his throne, and Grantaire knelt beside him.

“My friends!” Enjolras began. “Our brother Marius has rejoined us from the South.”

Marius rose and bowed at the waist. He began to tell of life in the Southern provinces, and Grantaire tried to listen, but Enjolras tugged at the chain and urged him to his feet. He found himself being draped over Enjolras' lap. His knees dug painfully into Grantaire's stomach and he squirmed, trying to find a more comfortable position. Enjolras' hand came down sharply on the curve of his ass.

Grantaire let out a surprised yelp, stopping Marius mid-word and drawing the attention of the rest of the Council. Enjolras didn't seem to notice, or didn't care, and he waved his hand and urged Marius to continue. As Marius resumed speaking, a slick finger slid into Grantaire's hole, making him gasp. Enjolras always kept a pot of oil handy, and had instructed his guards to carry spares in the event he ran out.

“Eyes open, pet. Watch their faces,” Enjolras whispered. He tangled his free hand in Grantaire's curls and held his head still, facing the Council. Grantaire found he could not look away, even if he wanted to; his gaze was fixed on Marius. Marius, whose eyes kept flicking down to Grantaire; who, Grantaire realized, had not been in Paris in the final days of the Revolution when--

When, among other events, the collar had been fastened around Grantaire's neck.

Doubtless the others had written him and told him of Enjolras' new pet. But knowing was different than seeing, and though he could not remember the last time he felt shy about serving his King in front of an audience, Marius's scrutiny caused his face to flush hotly and a deep sense of shame to overcome him. It made his prick twitch against Enjolras' leg.

Enjolras slid a second finger inside him. He twisted the two, spreading Grantaire's hole. Marius stared at them, and he appeared to fumble for words, and Grantaire groaned.

Above him, Enjolras laughed. “It seems my pet enjoys your attentions, Marius.”

Marius ducked his head. “I apologize, my Lord,” he said. “I had heard of his new... position... but to see it before me—it is not something I am accustomed to.”

“It is no matter,” Enjolras said, waving his hand. “I rather enjoy it. Your attentions shame him, and that is something I quite missed seeing.”

Grantaire tried to bury his head in the soft cushion of the throne, but Enjolras would have none of it. He stood Grantaire up in front of them all and withdrew his hard cock.

“Come, pet,” he said. Grantaire found himself hauled backwards, onto Enjolras' cock, so that he was straddling his King's lap while impaled and unable to hide himself from the watchful eyes of the Council. He made an aborted movement to cover himself—an unnatural movement, as he had until now been blissfully single-minded in his efforts to please his master—but Enjolras drew his wrists behind him and bound them. The material was cool and smooth against his skin and Grantaire assumed it must have been Enjolras' cravat.
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SEQUEL: Service of the King (3/3)

“Good boy,” Enjolras murmured into Grantaire's hair. He moved slowly, hips jerking upward in minute thrusts while his hands kept a firm grip on Grantaire's hips. Grantaire dropped his head back onto Enjolras' shoulder. “Don't take your eyes off them,” Enjolras murmured.

Marius had sat down, his report completed, and the one with the beautiful long hair stood. Grantaire could not remember his name, and Enjolras did not speak it so that Grantaire could be reminded; though the syllables still scratched at the back of Grantaire's mind.

While this man spoke, Enjolras began to bounce Grantaire on his lap. Slowly, at first, then picking up speed, so that by the time the long-haired man sat and the dark-haired one beside him stood, Grantaire was being fucked fully and ruthlessly.

He studied the expressions of the entire Council as much as he was able and found them all flat and dull, uncaring or skilled enough at lying to keep their eyes and mouths firmly neutral. All save for Marius, who squirmed in his seat and licked his lips and watched Grantaire as though he wanted in equal parts to claim him and free him and simply flee from the hall.

It did not escape Enjolras' notice, as he had begun to whisper in Grantaire's ear: “You see, darling, he wants you. If you want him as well, you needn't feel ashamed. You have had all of them, many times, except for him. When I am done and you are wet and loose and sloppy with my spend, I will send the others away and give you to him, so that he may rut inside you as well. He has been away from his wife for some time, and a man has needs. And it is your duty to fulfill them.”

There was other filth besides, as Enjolras described all the positions in which he would allow Marius to take Grantaire, and all the ways Enjolras would join them, and how good Grantaire would feel with their cocks filling his filthy hole at once.

It was this last that caused Grantaire to jerk in Enjolras' arms and spill over his own bare chest, dripping onto Enjolras' trousers and the soft throne-cushion.

Enjolras' nails dug into Grantaire's thighs and he whimpered. The Council was silent. Some watched them intently; others were fascinated by the wood-grain of the table. “You know the rules, pet. Did I give you permission to finish?”

“No, master,” Grantaire said, choking back a sob. Enjolras shoved him and Grantaire fell to his hands and knees, crying out as Enjolras' cock was withdrawn harshly. His hole clenched at nothing and he felt painfully, horribly empty.

“Guards, see that my pet is cleaned and taken to my chambers. I will deal with him later.” Grantaire failed to hold back his sob that time, and a pair of tears fell from his eyes. “This Council is adjorned.”

With that, Enjolras' cloak swept over Grantaire and he strode from the hall. The rest of the Council went their separate ways, leaving Grantaire to curl around himself and try to stem the flood of tears. It was not the anticipation of punishment that frightened him, as Enjolras was never cruel, but the knowledge that he had failed his King was agony enough.


Marius was still there. And—and that was Grantaire's nickname, he remembered. He glanced up. Marius crouched before him and his hand wavered above Grantaire's head for a moment before Marius thought better of touching him. Grantaire groaned again—of course, of course he was unworthy of even a comforting touch.

“Oh, R,” Marius sighed, shaking his head. “What a world this is, and what fate has befallen you! How have you come to—to this?”

Grantaire shook his head. “Sometimes I think I know,” he said. Marius's eyes widened, as though he had not expected an answer—and Grantaire felt the same. “But it disappears so fast, and the more I dwell on it... It hurts. To think. To remember.”

Marius looked as though he was about to say something else, but was shoved away as the guards came to drag Grantaire to his feet and escort him to Enjolras' chambers.

They did not say goodbye, but before the heavy doors closed behind him, Grantaire stole one last glance, and saw only a chair flying towards the throne.
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Re: SEQUEL: Service of the King (3/3)

oh I love Marius in this one. I really need more of this, it's wonderful!
I hope it won't leave you alone and makes you write more ;)
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