Fluff prompts!!! Cuddles. Just cuddles of any type- any pairing, any context, you get to chose! Or, if you want something more specific (these don't have to be in the same story if you want, you can just chose one), clingy Enj and a slightly confused (yet thrilled) R.
I cannot tell you how much fun I had writing this
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If there was anything Grantaire could trust his friends to do, other than continually struggle towards the doomed goal that is liberty, it was to have an unreasonable amount of completely unnecessary get togethers.
Although, when Courfeyrac had texted on the groupchat sleepover at ours, be there or I’m calling your mommy Grantaire expected less music.
The thrumming of pop music and the fact that Jehan had gone around unscrewing the light bulbs until the room was sufficiently dim made it almost seem like a party. Almost, that is. Grantaire was comfortable, sitting on the massive, plush couch as Bossuet and Joly slow danced to a song that you definitely were not meant to slow dance to.
He had never felt comfortable at parties.
“Please, Courf,” he heard Enjolras whisper-yell from where the drinks were set up.
Grantaire felt a pang go through him. The cut on his head was healing nicely. The easy smile on his face made him think of the Hi! You wanna get coffee together before the meeting? from two days ago that he still hadn’t opened.
Enjolras was draped over Feuilly, who was holding him upright. Across from him, Courfeyrac was doing a very bad job trying not to laugh at him as he pouted. He touched the tip of Enjolras’ nose, mixing a drink and handing it to him.
“Last one, okay?” Courfeyrac said, making Enjolras nod vigorously, hitting Feuilly in the chin.
Feuilly yelped and let go of Enjolras to clutch at his chin, making Enjolras make a delighted sound and make a beeline towards him. Feuilly wasn’t holding Enjolras upright, Grantaire realized, he was holding him back.
Courfeyrac was following him, arms outstretched as if to catch him. Grantaire was well aware that Courfeyrac had no intention of actually catching him. If there was chaos to be caused, Courfeyrac would cause it, and Enjolras certainly looked like he was about to do something unhinged.
“You,” Enjolras said, with the confidence of a scholar in front of a small child, poking a finger in Grantaire’s chest, “You didn’t reply to my message.”
Grantaire shifted his gaze to Courfeyrac, who had his lips pressed together and looked like he was going to explode.
“Uh,” Grantaire said.
“Meanie,” Enjolras said.
Grantaire sat, stunned. His diction was perfect, even though he had an almost cartoonish frown on his face. Of course he doesn’t slur his speech even when he’s plastered, Grantaire thought, idly.
Enjolras sat down beside him, looping the hand that wasn’t holding a glass through his and laying his head on his shoulder. Grantaire pinched his own thigh. It didn’t hurt to check if he was dreaming when the love of his life decides to snuggle up to him with no warning.
“I’m going to take this away from you, I think you’ve had a little too much,” Grantaire said, taking the glass out of his hand and giving it an experimental sip.
“This is fucking disgusting, Courf, what’s in it?”
“Oh you know, some rum, some orange juice, some mustard.”
Grantaire looked at him with what he hoped was a mixture of horror and confusion.
“I was trying to get him to stop drinking. Does he look like he needs any more?” Courfeyrac pointed to Enjolras with a flourish.
Enjolras had responded to his drink being confiscated by ducking under Grantaire’s arm to wrap both arms around his middle, making Grantaire’s hand rest on his back. Naturally, he raised both his hands in a What the Fuck gesture, mainly aimed at Combeferre who was keenly watching and also the most likely to able to explain Enjolras’s behavior.
Enjolras whined petulantly at the loss of contact, lightly head butting his chin. Grantaire helplessly wrapped his arm around him, still glaring incredulously at Combeferre, who was wearing the most controlled expression he had ever seen.
Enjolras rubbed his cheek against Grantaire’s chest, making him feel like someone had placed a live wire directly on his spine.
“I’m very mad at you,” Enjolras mumbled into his shirt.
Grantaire looked at the soft frown on his face, and the way his bottom lip was, in fact, jutting out like a child.
“Are you sure about that, Apollo?”
Enjolras squeezed his waist, but he didn’t have much of grip when he was sober, let alone when he was drunk enough to be trying to cuddle him.
“I was sad,” he said, “I was scared. I thought you were angry with me.”
Grantaire felt a pang of guilt, Enjolras’ mouth was downturned and trembling.
“Why didn’t you text me back?”
Grantaire bit the pathetic whine he wanted to make back. He pushed Enjolras’ hair out of his face. “Because I was being very dumb. I’m sorry, love.”
Enjolras gave him a short smile. “I like it when you call me that.”
Grantaire laughed, surprised and a little disbelieving. But Enjolras said that like he said everything else, completely earnest. Except he was yawning. God, Grantaire was not sure what he had done in life to deserve to have Enjolras tucking himself into his side, rubbing his cheek with one hand and yawning, but he was grateful for it anyway.
“Apollo, hey, you should get to bed before you fall asleep here.”
“No,” Enjolras said, tightening his grip around his waist.
He could hear Courfeyrac and Bahorel laughing.
That should not have surprised him. Enjolras always was bad at doing mundane, everyday, life-sustaining activities like sleeping. He was, however, impossibly caring when it came to his friends’ wellbeing. He decided to change his tactics.
“Enjolras,” he said, making him blink sleepily at him, “I want to lie down.”
Enjolras watched him with wide eyes, cheeks a little red.
Quietly, almost unsure, he said, “Can I lie with you?”
Grantaire shut his eyes, almost entirely convinced that he was actually dead, or that some mystical being would pop and tell him this was a prison inside his consciousness, or Gavroche would throw water in his face and laugh, saying he was calling out for Enjolras in his sleep.
But when he opened his eyes, Enjolras was still there, looking at him through his lashes, his eyes hazy but painfully earnest. Grantaire couldn’t help but cup his cheek, feeling his hair between his fingers.
“Of course, love. Of course you can.”
“You’re so fucking whipped, R,” Joly called from all the way across the room.
Grantaire flipped him off, wondering if all his friends had paused their activity to watch this go down.
But when he turned Enjolras was beaming, completely unguarded, sitting up so Grantaire could slip his shoes off and lie down on the couch. Enjolras had his arms braced on either side of Grantaire’s head. Grantaire could feel his face heating up.
Enjolras reached up and tugged at a curl behind his ear. He smiled.
“Pretty.”
Grantaire knew that if he was any fairer, he would be bright red. He could hear Courfeyrac laughing the loudest.
“Go to sleep, Apollo,” he muttered, letting Enjolras settle on his chest, arms around him, legs tangled together.
When he dumped the disgusting contents of Enjolras’ glass on Courfeyrac, who had fallen over, laughing, he still hadn’t stopped smiling.
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full series here
