I'm Alex, my otp is Klaine, first fandom was the Glambert fandom, I like to draw and sing and play my flute, I'm an obnoxious whore, I cry over anything remotely adorable, and the best way to make me unfollow you is to be a cunt or bash Kurt or Blaine (or Chris of Darren, for that matter).
I wrote this song myself [to the tune of the chorus to "call me maybe"}. It goes: "Hey, how ya doin? yo, what's up king blaine? I was gonna use some real song lyrics, but then I saw the GIF on your HOOOOOOOME page. And now I can't stop, stop staring at it."
Three readers is evidently enough validation for me okay. Dannie, I hope you're happy.
Merely Roommates
Les Misérables fanfic
Pairing: E/R
Rating: PG-13 (ish)
Summary: Grantaire is evicted from his apartment and temporarily moves in with Enjolras.
1,127 words
Some established flirtation. Pretty fluffy, so if you take your E/R with a healthy dose of angst, this may not be for you. :]
Remarkably, they didn’t even touch on that first night. Grantaire was nervous and kept jumping away any time Enjolras got near him. Enjolras pretended not to notice. He showed him the main rooms of his rather small apartment and set up the couch so Grantaire would be comfortable. Grantaire thanked him too many times and wouldn’t meet his eye. It was disconcerting.
They were both out all the next day in classes and then meetings with the rest of Les Amis and when they got home, Enjolras was exhausted. He fell without thinking onto the couch, his hands over his face. Grantaire hesitated by the door for a moment, then took a seat on the floor clear on the other side of the room. It took a minute for anything to register with Enjolras, but at some point he noticed that Grantaire was very far away and he took his hand off his face to look at the other man.
Grantaire thought he must have understood because the expression on his face was kind and patient as he stood up off the couch and approached Grantaire, sitting down on the floor right next to him. It was slow. Excruciatingly so. Enjolras reached out and found Grantaire’s hand, stroking his palm gently as he leaned closer and closer. Slowly. Carefully. Grantaire found himself still and stiff, unable to move. To reciprocate. It was all right. Enjolras came to him.
When their lips met, Grantaire couldn’t be sure he wasn’t dreaming the whole thing. But Enjolras’ mouth was on his, and his fingers brushed against Grantaire’s face. It was as slow as the lead up had been, and as careful, and then it was over far too soon. Enjolras’ lips went from his mouth to his forehead as the blonde whispered a goodnight and then was gone.
It was like that for days. Soft, cautious kisses at unexpected times. When Grantaire was cooking dinner. When Enjolras was looking for his cravat. Suddenly the other would be where he hadn’t been before, and then there would be the gentle press of lips before it was all over. They moved quietly, like they were both afraid they might break something. Like their time alone here was holy.
It couldn’t stay that way for long, the tender touches and stolen glances. Eventually the heat must rise.
The first time they had sex started as an argument. One moment they were yelling at each other about something neither would remember later, and then suddenly it was all mouths and hands, and clothes being violently thrown to the floor. Then it was tangled limbs and sweat and then nothing was ever the same again.
It was hard to keep their hands off of each other for the next several days and Enjolras almost cancelled a meeting on more than one occasion. It was only three or four days later that he shyly invited Grantaire into his bed.
They didn’t even fuck that night. Grantaire was nervous and unsure — he’d never even been in Enjolras’ bedroom until then — and Enjolras had to draw him in slowly, gently. He pulled him lovingly into the bed and softly kissed him over and over. On his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his eyes, his neck. He guided Grantaire down until he was laying on his back and kissed his collarbone, then his wrists, his palms, his fingers.
That was the first night Grantaire could remember sleeping through in years. When he awoke, Enjolras was waiting for him. He never slept on the couch again.
Grantaire waited another three weeks before he told Enjolras that he loved him. He’d first thought it years ago, but he waited because he was scared Enjolras would run. Enjolras didn’t run. He smiled. And he kissed him. He didn’t say it back until eight weeks later, but Grantaire didn’t care. All that mattered was he’d said it.
It was later that month, as they sat on the bed that was now theirs, stealing a moment of quiet solitude together as they reverted back to soft, tender touches, that Enjolras brought up the topic of marriage. It wasn’t romantic, or even a real proposal. It was very Enjolras. Grantaire was surprised and confused, especially as to how exactly they could legally become married when he didn’t know of any religious or governmental figure who would officiate a marriage between two men. Enjolras postulated that they didn’t necessarily need the law to tell them they were married, just each other. Grantaire asked if Enjolras was sure, commenting that he’d never pegged Enjolras as the marrying kind. Enjolras just smiled and kissed him. When he pulled away, he kept Grantaire’s forehead pressed against his own and whispered intensely that he wanted Grantaire forever. That was good enough.
They celebrated their anniversary from the day they first kissed instead of from the day they signed the papers. Papers that no one but Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who had been told only so they could serve as witness and officiate respectively, knew about. Papers that were kept locked in a safe at the bottom of Enjolras’ dresser. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, they were merely roommates. No one ever remarked that their apartment only had one bedroom. They didn’t mind the secrecy for the most part. However hard it was to keep their love secret from the others, it was doubly rewarding just to have each other.
A year to the day after that first tentative kiss, Grantaire was lying on his stomach on their bed, reading the paper Enjolras had already read and discarded, when Enjolras came up behind him and leaned over him, an arm on either side of his love as he pressed a kiss into Grantaire’s hair. Grantaire made a noise of content and Enjolras whispered into his ear that he loved him. It might have taken him longer to say it at first, but Enjolras said it a lot these days.
Grantaire rolled over, allowing Enjolras to climb on top of him and kiss his mouth and play with his hair. This was it for him, he thought as his husband smiled radiantly down at him. This was everything. And if this — this moment — was all he got out of life from now until forever . . . well, he considered himself among the luckiest.
