The Cynic's Word Book

An ancient philosopher, expounding his conviction that life is no better than death, was asked by a disciple why, then, he did not die. "Because," he replied, "death is no better than life. It is longer."

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'Really? Jehan never showed you around?' Her shoes are quickly kicked off and under her desk while she occupies her hands by making some effort to knock a few empty cans into the trash and toss the clothes draped over the desk chair onto her bed, on the off chance Enjolras wanted to sit somewhere not covered in paints stains or paper scraps.

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"No," Enjolras admitted.  She bit her lip.  Maybe she should.  

Fuck it, she was going to.  ”Grantaire?” she asked, trying to get her attention.

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Grantaire continues to anxiously shuffle around and accomplish nothing, an attempt at an easy grin having worked its way onto her face. She glances at Enjolras in acknowledgement and replies, 'Hm? Yeah?'

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Grantaire only hisses ‘what?!’ into the phone in greeting, followed quickly by an emphatic ‘/nothing!/’ before she makes a long exasperated ‘ugh’ noise and promptly hangs up on Jehan.

It takes a moment for Grantaire to build her courage up to slide off the bed and face Enjolras again- no way is her luck good enough for her to have left- shuffling awkwardly in the same spot two feet from the door.

'Sorry, that was just Jehan, nothing important. I- um-' She licks her lips nervously and glances around their haphazardly arranged room, completely blanking on options. 'Do you wanna come in?' And of course, blurts out the worst one.

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"Yeah, sure."  Enjolras smiled a little at that.  

She stepped into the room and looked around.  ”You know, I don’t think I”ve ever been in here before.”

[homocynicouniversalis]

'Really? Jehan never showed you around?' Her shoes are quickly kicked off and under her desk while she occupies her hands by making some effort to knock a few empty cans into the trash and toss the clothes draped over the desk chair onto her bed, on the off chance Enjolras wanted to sit somewhere not covered in paints stains or paper scraps.

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[homocynicouniversalis]

'Uh, yeah. Right.' Grantaire nods her head automatically, still struggling with the reality of that file, especially with Enjolras' specifying 'us'. Part of her is still sure there must be some other reason, some explanation, and it keeps her from surging forward to hug Enjolras with all she's got.

But a tinny rendition of ‘flight of the bumblebee’ blasts from the direction of her bed and jolts Grantaire out of her thoughts, she scrambles backward to dig up her phone and tell Jehan a thing or two about really bad timing.

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Enjolras stays where she is, waiting for Grantaire to finish her conversation with Jehan.  Biting her lip, she considers just asking.  Most people do, she reminded herself.  Powerpoints weren’t usually part of the ‘asking someone out’ process, from what she knew of it.

Maybe she should just ask.  Maybe.  But she’s terrified that she’ll mess it up somehow.

[homocynicouniversalis]

Grantaire only hisses 'what?!' into the phone in greeting, followed quickly by an emphatic '/nothing!/' before she makes a long exasperated 'ugh' noise and promptly hangs up on Jehan.

It takes a moment for Grantaire to build her courage up to slide off the bed and face Enjolras again- no way is her luck good enough for her to have left- shuffling awkwardly in the same spot two feet from the door.

'Sorry, that was just Jehan, nothing important. I- um-' She licks her lips nervously and glances around their haphazardly arranged room, completely blanking on options. 'Do you wanna come in?' And of course, blurts out the worst one.

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Grantaire gnaws at her lip in frustration and climbs up off the floor to step carefully over and open the door a crack, her face a complicated mess of apologetic and nervous while trying to look entirely collected. ‘Sorry, there’s nothing to get worried about, seriously. I just fell off the bed, kind of embarrassing.’

Of course she’d forgotten to take off her wet shoes and keeps them hidden behind the door.

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"Okay…" Enjolras murmurs, not quite buying it.  "You also seemed really nervous when we ran into each other.  If something’s up you know you can come to any of us about it, right?"

If she wanted Grantaire to come specifically to her, well, she wasn’t going to say that out loud.  Because that was weird and overstepping boundaries, probably.

[homocynicouniversalis]

'Uh, yeah. Right.' Grantaire nods her head automatically, still struggling with the reality of that file, especially with Enjolras' specifying 'us'. Part of her is still sure there must be some other reason, some explanation, and it keeps her from surging forward to hug Enjolras with all she's got.

But a tinny rendition of 'flight of the bumblebee' blasts from the direction of her bed and jolts Grantaire out of her thoughts, she scrambles backward to dig up her phone and tell Jehan a thing or two about really bad timing.

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Grantaire peeks around the corner of the bed to eye the door warily.

She blurts out ‘…No I’m not.’ before cringing and letting her head fall back onto the floor face first.

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"Yes you are," Enjolras says.  "Please let me in?  I’m worried now."

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Grantaire gnaws at her lip in frustration and climbs up off the floor to step carefully over and open the door a crack, her face a complicated mess of apologetic and nervous while trying to look entirely collected. 'Sorry, there's nothing to get worried about, seriously. I just fell off the bed, kind of embarrassing.'

Of course she'd forgotten to take off her wet shoes and keeps them hidden behind the door.

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Grantaire did not sound fine, and Enjolras bit her lip as she watched her go.  She did a quick cleanup of the mishap — no reason to make the custodial staff’s jobs harder — and then followed Grantaire to her room.

Biting her lip again, she knocked.  ”Grantaire?  Are you all right in there?”

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The only reply she gets is a loud thump and a muffled swear, Grantaire had been lying on her back on her bed after a minute of frantically texting Bahorel, Musichetta, and Jehan, in that order.

Bahorel had wholeheartedly backed the ‘escaping out of the second floor window idea, but Musichetta had shot it down and told her to stop hiding and acting like a ‘giant self sabotaging dork’. Jehan insisted on being told what happened after cooing poetically about the modern romance of it all and was little help, so Grantaire ended up tossing back a mini bar bottle of vodka from her desk drawer and collapsing dramatically onto her bed to wait until the world made sense again. Enjolras had evidently decided to show up first.

Grantaire wondered if she laid there silently she’d luck out and Enjolras would think it was just Jehan reciting lines and accidentally emoting too enthusiastically again.

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"Grantaire, I know you’re in there," she said, just loud enough to be heard.  "I’m worried about you."

If Grantaire seemed that afraid of something, it was probably something important, and Enjolras couldn’t help but want to know.

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Grantaire peeks around the corner of the bed to eye the door warily.

She blurts out '...No I'm not.' before cringing and letting her head fall back onto the floor face first.

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'I'm fine!' Grantaire practically squawks back, even though her sneakers are soggy with the remains of her ramen broth. She scrambles out of Enjolras' grip to snatch up the empty container and holds it up like it's a perfect example of how totally fine and not freaked out she is. 'It's fine! I'm- um- I'm just gonna, this. Take care of this. In my room. Don't worry about it.'

She smiles, or does some kind of smiling approximation with a beet red blush across her face, and abandons her can of tea in favor of somehow managing to slide out from between Enjolras and the doorway and speed walk back to her room faster than she’s ever ran in her life.

Once inside she actually starts to breathe again and vaguely contemplates trying to escape out of the second story window.

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Grantaire did not sound fine, and Enjolras bit her lip as she watched her go.  She did a quick cleanup of the mishap — no reason to make the custodial staff’s jobs harder — and then followed Grantaire to her room.

Biting her lip again, she knocked.  ”Grantaire?  Are you all right in there?”

[homocynicouniversalis]

The only reply she gets is a loud thump and a muffled swear, Grantaire had been lying on her back on her bed after a minute of frantically texting Bahorel, Musichetta, and Jehan, in that order.

Bahorel had wholeheartedly backed the 'escaping out of the second floor window idea, but Musichetta had shot it down and told her to stop hiding and acting like a 'giant self sabotaging dork'. Jehan insisted on being told what happened after cooing poetically about the modern romance of it all and was little help, so Grantaire ended up tossing back a mini bar bottle of vodka from her desk drawer and collapsing dramatically onto her bed to wait until the world made sense again. Enjolras had evidently decided to show up first.

Grantaire wondered if she laid there silently she'd luck out and Enjolras would think it was just Jehan reciting lines and accidentally emoting too enthusiastically again.

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It took three consecutive days spent cooped up in the art department, accidentally sanding the side of her hand, and several layers of paint stains for Jehan to hunt Grantaire down and insist she shower and eat in the daylight. That’s how she ends up in lounge with...

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'I'm fine!' Grantaire practically squawks back, even though her sneakers are soggy with the remains of her ramen broth. She scrambles out of Enjolras' grip to snatch up the empty container and holds it up like it's a perfect example of how totally fine and not freaked out she is. 'It's fine! I'm- um- I'm just gonna, this. Take care of this. In my room. Don't worry about it.'

She smiles, or does some kind of smiling approximation with a beet red blush across her face, and abandons her can of tea in favor of somehow managing to slide out from between Enjolras and the doorway and speed walk back to her room faster than she's ever ran in her life.

Once inside she actually starts to breathe again and vaguely contemplates trying to escape out of the second story window.

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Finals week was always Enjolras’s least favorite week of the semester. It was hard to gather her friends for meetings, Combeferre would often go forty-eight hours at a time without sleeping, etc.

And ever since she’d started having…feelings…for Grantaire, she had that to deal with on top of this...

[homocynicouniversalis]

It took three consecutive days spent cooped up in the art department, accidentally sanding the side of her hand, and several layers of paint stains for Jehan to hunt Grantaire down and insist she shower and eat in the daylight. That's how she ends up in lounge with wet, unbraided hair over her shoulder and a can of iced tea under her arm to accompany the jumbo cup of ramen she's cramming into her mouth.

Someone's left their things out in the lounge and Grantaire pays it little mind on her way to curl up in a nearby armchair when she see a picture of /herself/ on the screen and backtracks right up to it. The file is literally named 'grantaire' and clicking back to the beginning she finds it's an entire presentation on why she and /Enjolras/ should date. /Written by Enjolras/, from her point of view.

She speed reads through the presentation in a panic- there's a pro/con list /in her favor/- before reaching the end and realizing, still slumped over the back of the chair in a shocked daze, that Enjolras will walk back in at any moment. That's enough to get her moving and Grantaire scoops up her things before fleeing for the exit nearest her own room.

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Enjolras smiles to himself.  He likes the sound of Grantaire’s voice when he’s like this and he doesn’t precisely know how to describe the rush it gives him.

So he slides his hands around his waist, dipping his fingertips under his waistband.  He’s going to give Grantaire a show, and he’s going to make it good, he decides as his hands come forward and he undoes the button and zip of his fly.

"Do you want it slow or fast?" he asks, looking back over his shoulder at Grantaire.

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Grantaire swallows a stricken groan, dragging his eyes away from the curve of Enjolras' lower back to look him in eye. His reply is certain, firm and low and not unlike his demand that Enjolras remove his jacket, but far more wrecked.

'Slow.'

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Enjolras’s eyes flash at the idea.  ”Oh God, yeah,” he whispers, grinning a little.  He pulls at the hem of his shirt slowly — there’s nothing to reveal at this point, but he can and he will make a show of this, slowly working himself out of the t-shirt.  Slowly, as he pulls, he turns around, stretching so Grantaire gets the full effect of his back and shoulders.

"Is this good?" he asks carefully, popping his hip to the side, arms tangling a little in the shirt.

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Grantaire's lips are parted, still moist from when he'd licked them only a moment before after a sharp inhale, and his hands are still on his thighs, clenched in his jeans. He replies earnestly, ragged, raking his eyes over Enjolras' body.

'Y- Yes. It's good.'

Enjolras' eagerness alone had been a rush, but he shifted and stretched and spun just pulling his shirt off- he was showing off and Grantaire is sure that this is going to be the hottest thing he's ever seen.

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Enjolras shivers, back arching.  He wants Grantaire to touch him far more than this, wants — wants everything, but the words are stopped up in his throat and he doesn’t know how to ask in words.

So instead he begs with his body, hands clasping Grantaire’s hips, his back bending, offering himself up in the only way he knows how.

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Grantaire moans softly watching Enjolras arch his back, taking a moment to appreciate the sight and drag his hands back down, letting the shirt fall, blunt nails lightly grazing skin. His hands find their way back to Enjolras' hips again, 'Hold on,' holding him there while he pulls back and off Enjolras. Grantaire's voice is almost hoarse when he mumbles, 'Come here,' and tugs gently to move Enjolras off the couch and up into a standing position, shifting himself to sit up straight with his legs open wide and pulling Enjolras closer to stand between them.

He tangles their fingers together and kisses the skin of Enjolras' belly with a smile, before leaning back against the couch and laying his hands on his thighs. eyes dark and voice absolutely wrecked, 'Strip for me?'

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Enjolras fumbles to get out of the jacket as fast as he can, because that voice, it brooks for once no argument and Enjolras is entirely willing to obey.  The jacket winds up on the floor next to the couch, and tries not to buck too much into each of Grantaire’s touches.

The kiss itself is heady, and he has the feeling that whatever happens next, it’s going to be amazing.

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His hands are hiking up Enjolras' shirt before his jacket hits the floor, wrapped firmly around either side of his waist with an appreciative groan, and Grantaire would be nipping at the skin of his belly if he wasn't already preoccupied with sucking and nibbling Enjolras' lower lip or gently teasing his tongue with his own. Grantaire shifts his hands after a moment, catching the hem of the shirt with his thumbs and pushing it up and up, leaving his splayed fingers to follow, slowly dragging against Enjolras' sides. He leans back once the shirt is bunched up around Enjolras' collarbones, holding it there while he drinks in the sight of flushed skin, a hint of ribs, and pink nipples, licking his lips without thought. The difference between the milky tan of his own skin and the pale cream of Enjolras' fascinates him, and Grantaire wonders how good Enjolras would look with licks of colorful paint swiped across his skin by Grantaire's fingers.

'Fuck, Enjolras, you're gorgeous.'

Grantaire knew that Enjolras was the hottest person he'd ever seen, but this was an entirely different level of attractive. He wasn't just beautiful, he was alluring, he was downright erotic. Enjolras was happily seeking Grantaire's touch and his kisses and that alone ruined him for anyone else, sex would never be as good with anybody as it was with Enjolras, because Grantaire didn't love them like he loved Enjolras.

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Enjolras is needy, and he recognizes this, but it doesn’t stop him from the little gasping noises that escape him when Grantaire makes quick work of his neck and slow, slow work of his jacket.

He’s never done this before, but he’s not nervous — why should he be?  He has Grantaire.

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Grantaire relishes in the noises he elicits from Enjolras, he can't get enough of them or his eagerness, and once he's unzipped the jacket Grantaire teases the bit of pale skin above Enjolras' waistband with calloused fingertips, where his shirt has ridden up. He gathers up the front of the jacket in his hands and sits back, straddling Enjolras' thighs, and tugs him up along the way into a searing kiss. It's intentional, his position, Enjolras is still pinned to the couch this way, but there's no part of Grantaire that his hips can reach. Grantaire's voice is low and more than a little wrecked when he murmurs a command, 'off', and pushes Enjolras' jacket off his shoulders.

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Enjolras relaxes like this, under Grantaire, and keeps one hand tangled in the other man’s hair, and makes soft noises into the kisses they trade.  He gives himself up to Grantaire easily, so easily, and part of him can’t figure out for the life of him how it took him this long to wind up here — because he belongs here, as much as he does up on a podium or in the rush of a rally.

Maybe that should scare him, but he doesn’t care, not right now.  He can worry about it later, when he’s not not burning up with need (after all, there’s nothing he can do about the long slow wonderful ache of the love he feels, but the lust, well, maybe they can take care of that here).  

"Grantaire," he groans softly, and rolls his hips upward, needy.

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He shivers and presses Enjolras' hips back down into the cushion, it's hard not to just grind back against him, anything to hear Enjolras say his name like that again. He's terrified, yes, but refuses to let that fear ruin this if he can, deciding to focus more on Enjolras than himself. Grantaire nudges Enjolras' jaw with his nose instead and sucks at the skin of his neck, laughing softly, almost shyly.

'Needy.'

But Grantaire hardly minds, he smiles against the curve where Enjolras' shoulder meets his neck and slides his hand down from Enjolras' face to unzip his jacket unbearably slow, nipping at a collarbone once they're exposed above the top of his shirt.

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"I — I don’t know," Enjolras whispers back. "There are too many choices and I’ve never so much as kissed with tongue until now."

He blushes, realizing abruptly his vast lack of practical experience. “But I — I want to touch you and I want you to touch me, please.” He buries his face in Grantaire’s neck and rolls his hips a little more insistently, pleading, almost, with his body.

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'Aah- okay, okay.'

Grantaire manages to turn his moan into a response, sliding his hand out of Enjolras' pocket to grasp his hip, before turning them over to the way they'd been positioned before. He pins Enjolras' hip to the couch with the same hand, cupping his face with the other, and kisses him, slow and deep and open-mouthed.

Grantaire is a little surprised that Enjolras hasn't done anything more intimate than kissing and the fact that Enjolras cares for him, trusts him- because Grantaire can't think about the possibility of love, if he does and ends up wrong it would crush him- so much that he wants his first experiences to be with Grantaire, it warms him in a way unlike love that burns him up or the lust sitting hot and heavy in his gut.

It's frightening as well, he wants Enjolras to have the best experience that he can provide, but Grantaire is far too used to fucking things up, and he's terrified of all the unforeseen ways this could go wrong. He's terrified of what Enjolras might think of him, awkward and misshapen and hairy and scarred as he is.

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Enjolras can hardly even breathe through the haze of need he feels, and his hand tightens in Grantaire’s hair as he rubs up against him again. He can’t say anything, really, to describe these feelings roiling through him, or to verbalize what he wants, exactly. He’s not even really sure what he wants, except more.

He slides his hand down Grantaire’s back, running his tongue along the other man’s lips, and plays with the hem of his shirt, hiking it up just a little.

"Is this okay?" he asks gently.

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Grantaire breathes a quiet, thrilled, 'yes' against his mouth, before catching Enjolras' bottom lip between his own and sucking lightly. He keeps his hand firmly slotted in Enjolras' back pocket, but slides the other out of Enjolras' hair and around his shoulders, effectively pressing the length of his body into Grantaire's.

'Tell me what you want, please,' he whispers, slowing their push-and-pull grinding, waiting for an answer with an earnest, loving expression amidst the overwhelming need.