Heeeeeeey, sorry this took a little while, life…is happening to me.  But! Abuse of the fact that Grantaire is canonically a dancer!  Sexual tension!  Here we go!

“One-two-three, one-two-three, that’s-my-foot, one-two-three, one-two—Enjolras!” Grantaire huffed, doing an awkward sort of two-step to back up without releasing his grip on his partner’s hand and waist.  “There are actually nerve endings in my toes, do you mind?”

“I’m trying, you’re not telling me what to do!”  Enjolras scowled down at the floor, brow furrowed as he tried to place his feet, and tugged his hand out of Grantaire’s.  Grantaire released him without a fight, dropping his hand from Enjolras’ hip and immediately missing the warmth.

“It’s a waltz, not brain surgery,” Grantaire said.  “I told you what to do when we started.  There are literally three steps to this dance.”  Enjolras stopped, his frown deepening until it seemed etched into his face, and Grantaire sighed.  “Come here, we can try again,” he said, holding out his hand again.  “Your hand on my shoulder, the other like this,” he coached, pulling Enjolras in again.  “Come on, Apollo,” he said with an attempt at an encouraging smile, “weren’t you valedictorian in high school?  You can do a waltz.”

“Why am I doing this,” Enjolras muttered, and Grantaire chuckled, nudging Enjolras’ foot into a better position with one of his.

“Because,” Grantaire said, settling his hand back at Enjolras’ waist, “Cosette would kill you if you couldn’t dance at her wedding.  Especially since Marius recruited you as a groomsman.”

“I can dance!”

“I’ve seen what you call dancing,” Grantaire said.  “And let me tell you something, you can’t dance. But I can fix that, if you stop stepping on my feet.”  He took a deep breath, feeling Enjolras’ hand clench on his shoulder, and added, “It’ll help if you relax a little.  The more you think about it, the more trouble you’ll have.” Enjolras took a deep breath—they were so close Grantaire could feel the air stir—and nodded, letting Grantaire steer him in a careful square at about a quarter the correct speed.  They moved in silence, standing a handful of inches apart, and Grantaire took a moment to be grateful that he could waltz in his sleep, because standing so close to Enjolras seemed to be damaging his muscular control.  Enjolras’ living room was, at least, clear of any potential stumbling blocks on the floor, so Grantaire was in no danger of tripping because he was too busy staring at the crease between the blond eyebrows and the thin line of lips.

“I didn’t even know you could dance, R,” Enjolras said after a moment, and Grantaire grinned a little, somewhere between wry and bitter.

“I contain multitudes, my dear man,” Grantaire said, aiming for lighthearted.  It came out tired, and a little frustrated.  “I’ve danced for years, Enjolras.”

“You never mentioned it,” Enjolras said, arching his eyebrows and glancing quickly up from the ground.

“I think it’s come up once or twice,” Grantaire said vaguely. “It doesn’t matter that much, I’m not phenomenal.”  They fell into a beat of awkward silence, Enjolras’ muscles going tighter under his hands, and Grantaire sighed again.  “You’re leading, stop leading.”

“What does that even mean?” Enjolras demanded, barely better than a snarl, and Grantaire hesitated. “Sorry,” Enjolras bit out.  “I’m just.”  He released Grantaire and stepped back, brushing a hand back over his hair.  “I don’t understand why we have to do this now when the wedding’s not until after graduation.”

“Because this was the only time in the next two weeks that you had any free time, because graduation’s in a month, and because it looks like you might take some training.  Anything else?”

Enjolras clenched his teeth, the tendon at the corner of his jaw standing out and the muscles in his neck tense.  The absent thought passed through Grantaire’s mind that he wouldn’t mind seeing what those muscles felt like under his teeth, but he was good at ignoring those thoughts by now.  “We’ve been doing this for an hour and I still can’t manage it.  I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes, you can,” Grantaire said.  “Come on, Enjolras, you’re a genius, and if you can’t at least fake a waltz at the wedding, Cosette is going to steal all my paints and light my canvasses on fire.  Probably with me in the middle.  For me, Apollo, for me.”  He pressed a hand to his chest and tried to look pleading—it probably didn’t work, but Enjolras at least cracked a smile.  “Now I know this might be the first time you’ve ever not been good at something right away, but you do all right when you relax for a second.  So just. Come here, and try not to think so much.”

“I can’t just turn off my brain,” Enjolras complained, and Grantaire huffed a laugh.  “And if I don’t think about where I’m putting my feet, I get it wrong!”

“I’m going to make Cosette pay me double for working photography at the wedding for this,” Grantaire said, whimsical, and Enjolras made a derisive noise.

“You’re doing it for free.”

“Yes, yes I am, but I’ll be extracting payment for this somehow. Come here, Apollo, I don’t bite.”  Enjolras—well, if it hadn’t been Enjolras, Grantaire would have described the expression as sulky, but he stepped forward and let Grantaire reel him in again.  “It could be worse,” Grantaire said lightly.  “They could have asked me to teach you how to tango.”

“You do not—you know how to tango?”

“Multitudes, Apollo, multitudes,” Grantaire said with a crooked smile that made the scar high on his cheek pull.  “I also fence, just in case any of your political rivals ever challenge you to a duel.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Enjolras said, lips curving faintly as he settled his hand back on Grantaire’s shoulder.  “So, counting again?”

“Mmmm,” Grantaire said, dragging his eyes away from the line of Enjolras’ lips.  “No. Don’t look at your feet,” he reprimanded almost immediately, and Enjolras’ bright eyes snapped up guiltily.  “Okay, good.  Look at me, not your feet, pretend I have the full text of Locke and Rousseau printed on my forehead.  Tell me about your final for your class on scheming and machinations.”

“It’s not on scheming,” Enjolras snapped, and launched into a rant about the importance of understanding how to construct a political campaign that would stand up to trial by fire—and more importantly, trial by press conference.  Grantaire nodded at all the right times, tapping a finger lightly against the high arch of Enjolras’ hip in three-four time as they moved slowly, and didn’t pay attention to the words, watching the brilliant light in Enjolras’ eyes as he talked.

“There,” Grantaire said quietly when Enjolras started to wind up his tirade, and Enjolras seemed to startle.  “You’re dancing.  I told you you could do it.  No, don’t look down, keep your eyes on me,” he added, and Enjolras raised his eyes to Grantaire’s.  They were shocked and delighted, and when Grantaire hummed a few bars of music to prove that they were, in fact, dancing, Enjolras laughed aloud.

“What, you can sing, too?”

“Sometimes,” Grantaire said, dismissive.  “You’re doing great,” he added when a flicker of uncertainty crossed Enjolras’ face and he stumbled a little.  “Just look at me.”  They danced in silence for a minute, Enjolras’ eyes on Grantaire’s, and if just standing close to him had been bad before, being the single focus of all that intensity was making Grantaire feel short of breath.  It was like standing in front of a fire that was almost too hot to bear, an intangible weight pressing down on his chest.  “Really good,” Grantaire said at last, and his voice sounded weak to his own ears.

“Are you all right?” Enjolras asked, and he seemed genuinely concerned, the way he got after Bousset had turned up with an injury from his perpetual bad luck or when Joly’s leg was acting up especially badly.

“Fine,” Grantaire said, slowing to a stop.  “I think I’ve probably put you through enough today,” he said, looking away, and something he didn’t recognize touched Enjolras’ face. He looked…unhappy, Grantaire decided, and he let Enjolras go, stepping away.  When that didn’t seem to ease the strange expression, he added, “We should probably do a couple more lessons, but I’ll try to make them as quick and painless as possible.  You won’t have to deal with too much of me trying to drag you through a dance, I promise. And I should let you get back to your work.”

“It’s a weekend, Grantaire,” Enjolras pointed out, and Grantaire raised his eyebrows at him in silent skepticism.  They were all familiar with Enjolras’ work schedule, and if Enjolras had taken to lazy weekends Grantaire would give up alcohol forever.  “I mean,” Enjolras said, and for what was quite possibly the first time in their acquaintance, he seemed to be genuinely fumbling for words.  “If you wanted to stay for…coffee?  Or tea?  Or I think Courfeyrac left some penne alla vodka from the last time he made it, if you’re hungry.”

“Are you all right, Apollo?” Grantaire asked.  “You don’t normally ramble.”

“I’m fine,” Enjolras said quickly, and passed a hand back over his hair in a way that meant he’d be raking his fingers through it if it wasn’t neatly tied back.  “I just—fuck,” he muttered, drifting closer to Grantaire with an even stranger look in his eye than before.  “I’m going to do something,” he informed Grantaire.  “It’s on Courfeyrac’s suggestion, so blame him if it’s not a good idea.”

“I generally prefer to blame all bad ideas on Marius,” Grantaire said—or tried to say, rather.  He had only gotten halfway through the sentence when warm lips landed on his and instantly short-circuited whatever handful of brain cells had survived this long. Enjolras rocked back down onto his heels after a moment, leaving Grantaire standing there and blinking, overall feeling like he’d been hit with a two-by-four.

“Sorry,” Enjolras muttered, and this time he did rake a hand through his hair, with no regard for the ponytail holder at the nape of his neck. “I shouldn’t have—you’re probably not interested–”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, and his voice was steady and even—all functions seemed to be on pause, even his heart still inside his chest.  “Please tell me, very seriously, whether you’re fucking with me right now.  Because that would be unimaginably cruel.”

“Whether I’m—of course I’m not fucking with you,” Enjolras said hotly, and Grantaire came out of stasis.  

“Good,” he muttered—or he thought he muttered, because the perfect stunned stillness had evaporated and now there seemed to be a full-scale riot inside his skin, as if a holiday had been declared and all stations were deserted.  He raised his hands tentatively to Enjolras’ cheeks and ducked his head to kiss him again. Properly, this time, tugging Enjolras against him and tracing his tongue along Enjolras’ lower lip and letting Enjolras bury his hands in Grantaire’s curls.

“I appreciate the dancing lessons,” Enjolras said against Grantaire’s lips once they parted for necessary air. “But I was wondering if you wanted to extend their purview.”

“You’re the only person I know who uses words like ‘purview’ at a moment like this,” Grantaire mumbled, dazed, and then blinked in surprise, trying to clear his head.  “Wait, what?  Seriously?”

“I’m always serious,” Enjolras said. “You should try it some time.”

Grantaire laughed, grinning, and pressed Enjolras back until they both toppled onto the broad, comfortable couch against the back wall.  “You’re sure you don’t prefer me like this?” he asked, looking down at Enjolras with a smile.

“Like what?” Enjolras asked, reaching up to wrap a hand around the back of Grantaire’s neck and pull him down.  “Crazy?”

“I was going to go with ‘wild,’” Grantaire said, and let Enjolras kiss him again.