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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: Decorum Est 3/6

It was not too late, Enjolras told himself, to walk away. It did not have to matter that Grantaire was lying on his floor like something from one of Enjolras’ filthiest fantasies, all but moaning from Enjolras’ boot on his chest. But then – were the risks truly so great? If Grantaire bragged of his conquest in the morning, would anyone even believe him?

Enjolras made his decision. He was not to be marble tonight it seemed. “If you’re so eager to please me, I’ll give you your chance.” Grantaire scrambled to get up, but Enjolras refused to lift his foot. “Don’t move.” Grantaire froze in place, and Enjolras pushed him back down the rest of the way to the floor. Then he stepped back, and observed with a faint sense of satisfaction that Grantaire could follow the simplest of commands for at least the span of a few seconds.

He removed his vest, and folded it neatly on the table. He could feel Grantaire’s eyes watching his every movement, and he smiled a little.

“What –” Grantaire began. He stopped, swallowed, licked his lips. Enjolras had just undone the top button of his shirt. “What do you wish me to do?” he finally managed.

“I told you,” Enjolras replied in clipped tones. “Don’t move. That will do for a start.” He finished unbuttoning his shirt, and left it folded next to his vest. He moved to the fastening of his breeches. “You said you want to please me. Very well. I permit it. You want to fuck me. Fine. I accept it. If you’re truly so desperate, let’s see if you can do both at once. Personally, I quite doubt it, but I’ll give you your chance none the less.”

Grantaire let out a strangled moan and clenched his hands into fists. “You – you are not serious, I know that, you mock me and I deserve it, I deserve every torment you can give me, but Enjolras, Enjolras-” His name was another moan, and half a prayer. Enjolras pretended not to hear him and finished removing his clothes. He left Grantaire on the floor without a word and went to search his cupboards for the flask of oil he remembered having left there. He found it and returned triumphantly, seeing that Grantaire still remained exactly where he had left him.

Enjolras set himself down on Grantaire, straddling his waist just high enough that Grantaire’s prick couldn’t brush against him through his trouser fabric. He dipped his fingers into the oil and began to work himself open as quickly and efficiently as he could. Even if Enjolras had been given to show – and he was not – this wouldn’t have been the time for it. He was tight and out of practice, and Grantaire was patently eager enough without any added effort. Grantaire was staring at him in disbelief, wonder mixed with stark arousal. He watched him in silence for a moment, eyes fixed on Enjolras’ fingers as they moved in and out, until finally asking, almost shyly, “Could I – I mean to say, would you permit me – to touch you? That is, to assist you?”

“No.” He twisted his fingers viciously inside himself and nearly gasped. “I need it done right. You can’t be trusted.”

“I could, I would, I’d never hurt you, I love you, I-“

Enjolras clamped his free hand over Grantaire’s mouth. “Quiet. I didn’t ask you to speak. You do too much of that. Understand?”

Eyes wide, Grantaire nodded and Enjolras took his hand away. Grantaire stayed silent while Enjolras finished preparing himself, a minor miracle itself. Enjolras could hardly remember a time he’d seen Grantaire silent for longer than it took to take a swig of wine. It was oddly unsettling, and yet – and yet, the unaccustomed sight of Grantaire doing what he’d been told sent a pleasant shiver through him.

He made himself wait a moment more, working his fingers slowly and carefully to remind himself of the importance of control. Then, just as slowly, he traced a hand down Grantaire’s chest and brought it to rest at the hem of his trousers.
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