lathori asked: Babe. THE smut fic. You know the one. E x R, what we've been talking about. /Please/ write it? /Please/ <3 E
Aaaaand here we go with the smut. I don’t write smut much, mostly just on request. So I dunno how this came out. But it’s definitely smut. NSFW. Possibly NSF-Anywhere. Also it like…cold opens to sex, so. There is no plot here.
Grantaire tugged at the long ends of the cord, tightening the coil winding about the outside. It scraped along the taut length stretching to the headboard, a faint but audible sound, and he glanced down.
“Too tight?” he asked quietly, letting his fingers trail down to slip into the gap between Enjolras’ wrist and the five loops of white cotton binding him to the bed. He could still fit two fingers comfortably beside Enjolras’ delicate wrist, and the touch made Enjolras’ eyes flicker open. The usually bright honey color was a little hazy, distracted. “Mon ange,” Grantaire prompted.
“You’re fine,” Enjolras said, blinking until his gaze was clearer. Grantaire nodded and finished tucking the loose ends away until the knot was secure. He ducked, pressed a kiss to the long, deft fingers, and saw Enjolras close his eyes again.
Grantaire almost couldn’t believe this was happening, but then again he had that feeling a lot with Enjolras. He hadn’t done anything like this in a while—since before he’d even met Enjolras—but as far as Grantaire could tell, he was completely incapable of denying Enjolras any specific requests. And specific requests didn’t get much clearer than his boyfriend wandering into the apartment, dropping fifty feet of high-quality cotton rope into Grantaire’s lap, and asking, “You said you’d tied people up before, right?”
Grantaire had held very still for a moment before slowly answering, “Yeah, I’ve done that sort of thing. Any particular reason?”
Enjolras had shot him a wry grin, the kind that always made Grantaire feel a little dizzy. “I wanted to give it a try.”
“You want me to tie you up?” Grantaire had asked, picking up the rope and toying with the bundle in his hands. His voice was steady—mostly, and Enjolras didn’t seem to have noticed the minute crack over the last word—but he couldn’t deny that the mental image of Enjolras, rope stark white against his skin, stretched out on their bed, was…compelling.
Enjolras had turned to look back at him from the hallway, his tie undone and the first two buttons of his shirt popped open. He was smiling properly, eyes glinting and hair starting to tumble out of its ponytail, and Grantaire felt the familiar wrench of attraction—not just how pretty, but the gravity of Enjolras’ presence, pulling him in like a planet on a collision course with its sun. “Are you coming or not?”
And now here they were, Grantaire carefully tying Enjolras’ other wrist to the headboard so that they stretched above his head, elbows slightly bent and hands lax in the cords. Enjolras was stretched out, all long lines and naked angles on the rumpled sheets, his lips kiss-reddened and a faint mark visible on his collarbone. Grantaire was still mostly dressed, t-shirt and paint-spattered jeans, and Enjolras shivered visibly every time the rough denim brushed against him.
“Good?” Grantaire asked, checking the loop around Enjolras’ wrist again.
“Very,” Enjolras said, his eyes opening more lazily this time, and he gave Grantaire a smile, the softer smile he only showed when he was like this, easy and loose under Grantaire’s hands. Grantaire felt his fingers stutter and it took him an extra try to tuck away the rest of the cord. Once he sat back, satisfied with his work, Enjolras gave the ropes a sharp, experimental tug, and the ropes didn’t so much as creak—Grantaire hadn’t tied him tightly, but he wasn’t likely to be going anywhere, either.
“So gorgeous,” Grantaire murmured, tracing a hand over the visible lines of Enjolras’ ribs, and he bent to kiss him again. Enjolras’ lips parted at once, chin tilting up and arms tensing briefly with the impulse to wind his fingers into Grantaire’s hair as he usually did. Grantaire laughed a little into Enjolras’ mouth and earned a quiet grumble. “That’s sort of the point of the ropes,” he said, a light tease, as he straightened, and Enjolras mock-scowled at him. Grantaire twined a long golden curl through his fingers and tugged, ever so lightly, just to prove that he could, and Enjolras shivered, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch. “What do you want, mon ange?”
Enjolras eyed him consideringly, and asked, “Take off your clothes? Please?”
Enjolras only said please when he was like this. Otherwise he was all command, all the time—charming, enthralling command, the kind of orders that would make armies gladly march to war, but never that quiet, hopeful please. It was a headier intoxication than any drink Grantaire had ever tried, having it directed at him.
“All right,” Grantaire said, and stood. He’d never seen much of a point in stripping with ceremony—it wasn’t going to change what was underneath the cloth, a stocky build made bulky with muscle from boxing and fencing—but Enjolras always stared as if he’d paid good money to watch Grantaire take his clothes off. He was staring now, eyes catching and lingering on the angle of Grantaire’s hips, dragging up the planes of his chest, stopping at the smudge of blue paint Grantaire had failed to get off his right bicep. His breathing hitched visibly as Grantaire pulled his shirt off over his head and dropped it on the ground, moving on to the button of his jeans. He didn’t realize until he’d kicked them off, along with his boxers, how constraining they’d been—now that he’d noticed, the low throb of his pulse along his cock was holding part of his attention in an iron grip.
Enjolras’ tongue flicked out along his lower lip, an unconscious movement as his gaze wandered over Grantaire’s shoulders, down his chest to his hips and lower. Grantaire slid back onto the bed, bracketing Enjolras between his forearms and kissing him again, deep and dirty, until faint, moaning gasps were spilling onto his tongue from Enjolras’ throat. He settled between Enjolras’ legs and moved down his jaw, alternating feather-light kisses with sharp nips, teeth on skin, down the line of the pulse in Enjolras’ throat, until he found the soft hollow just below his collarbone. Grantaire layered teeth and tongue over the spot until Enjolras’ breathing juddered underneath him, all his muscles tense, and there was an inky red-purple mark rising. Laying a kiss against the mark, Grantaire moved on, lower, wandering aimless kisses and bites over Enjolras’ chest as he reached out with one hand to find the bottle of lube. He sat back to squeeze some into his hand and Enjolras opened his eyes to track him carefully.
“I’m still right here, mon ange,” Grantaire assured him, nestling the bottle out of the way but still within reach on the bed, and lowered himself back down to kiss Enjolras on the lips, light and gentle. Enjolras was properly out of it by now, eyes hazy and a little slow to react, lips parted and faint sounds tumbling from his throat. “Are you all right?”
“Mm-hm,” Enjolras hummed, nodding at he looked up at Grantaire. “I’m good,” he said.
“Good,” Grantaire said, and ducked his head to lave his tongue, quick and hot, over Enjolras’ nipple. Enjolras made a startled sound, a noise that didn’t quite make it off his tongue, and his back arched, sharp and sudden, pulling hard at the ropes holding his wrists. Grantaire did it again, and this time the moan that fell from Enjolras’ lips sent a jolt down Grantaire’s spine, so sudden that he had to take a moment to breathe and regain control.
Grantaire took a moment to slick one finger in the lube, and reached down to press gently against Enjolras’ hole as he flicked his tongue consideringly over his other nipple. Enjolras shuddered again, and Grantaire’s finger sank in without trouble, warm and smooth as Enjolras gasped.
“Still good, mon ange?” Grantaire murmured, feathering kisses down the center line of Enjolras’ chest, down to the tight and quivering skin of his belly.
Enjolras gave the ropes an automatic yank, as if trying to reach out for Grantaire, and his body bucked. He gasped again, sharp and loud and shaking, when the motion drove him down against Grantaire’s hand, and he nodded rapidly. “Yes,” Enjolras said.
Grantaire stroked his finger along Enjolras’ inner wall and smirked up at him when he found the spot that had made him shake before. “Good,” Grantaire said, and slipped another finger in as he closed his lips around the head of Enjolras’ straining cock.
Enjolras yelled.
Grantaire was sure it would surprise a great many people to learn that Enjolras was, usually, relatively quiet in bed, more given to moans and incoherent murmurs than actual speech. Every time Grantaire managed to drag a shout from him was noted down with care for future reference, and sent a warm surge of delight and power spreading through Grantaire’s nerves. This was, he was certain, a way he could happily spend the rest of his life, with Enjolras bound underneath him and gasping out half-broken mumbles of “God, R, yes” like gospel.
He didn’t linger on any spot on Enjolras’ cock as he opened him up, the desire to watch Enjolras come overridden by the impulse to drag this out. Enjolras looked so pretty when Grantaire was teasing him, lips parted and back taut as a guitar string, every stroke of Grantaire’s fingers earning another shivering sigh and convulsive twitch of his bound hands. Grantaire had never been so grateful for his own self-control—no point in ruining the fun early. He trailed his tongue up the vein at the underside of Enjolras’ cock and saw Enjolras’ eyes flicker closed.
“Look at me, mon ange,” Grantaire said in a tone that was undeniably an order, pulling away until Enjolras’ hazy eyes locked onto his. The pupils were blown wide in the dim light of their bedside lamp, his lips parted, and just meeting Grantaire’s gaze made his breathing hitch faster. A curious curl of Grantaire’s two fingers made Enjolras wrap his hands around the crossbar of the headboard so tightly his knuckles went white, a high whine pulling itself out of his chest as he clenched his muscles around Grantaire’s fingers.
“Grantaire,” Enjolras half-gasped, and he gave Grantaire a look.
“What?” Grantaire asked, putting on his most innocent face and repeating the lazy curl of his fingers. Enjolras sank his teeth into his lip, hard. “Something I can do for you?” He pressed the pad of his middle finger into the spot that made Enjolras’ breathing stutter, a slow circling motion that got a noise that was almost a keen. Grantaire stretched up, taking ruthless advantage of his superior height to keep his hand in place as he nipped at the mark rising purple on Enjolras’ collarbone again, a sharp bite that made the keen break into raw panting. “Come on, mon ange,” Grantaire murmured, his voice rough with the desire thundering alongside his pulse. “Tell me. Ask nicely.”
“Gran—fuck—taire!” Enjolras said again, the word snapping into a curse as Grantaire slipped a third finger in alongside the others, keeping the slow pressure against that sensitive spot. Grantaire used his teeth again, this time against an unmarked spot on Enjolras’ chest, and there was an audible click as Enjolras shut his mouth and fought for enough control to speak.
“I,” Grantaire said, enjoying the feeling of Enjolras’ rapid, shuddering breathing under his teeth and tongue, “can do this all night, mon ange.”
“Fuck me,” Enjolras managed to grind out. Grantaire made a sound of interest, but continued laying a mark down at the graceful curve of Enjolras’ ribs until Enjolras tacked on a cracked “Please.”
Grantaire gave an approving noise, adding one more sharp curl of his fingers and another nip with his teeth before he sat back and carefully extracted himself. Enjolras whined, hips jerking after Grantaire’s hand until he pressed him down forcefully to the bed. He took a moment to look down at Enjolras, red and purple marks rising on his chest and a glistening sheen of sweat across his skin, hair wild. With his arms bound overhead and his cock straining, flushed red, he looked utterly debauched. Grantaire wondered if Enjolras would let him do a sketch of this exact scene.
His admiration was only a moment, though, before the need to touch rose up again, strong and immediate. Grantaire found the lube bottle and slicked his own cock hastily—the touch to the neglected skin was enough that he needed a moment to breathe and get himself back under control again. He bent and kissed Enjolras again, feeling Enjolras spill shivering sighs onto his tongue for Grantaire to swallow. Hitching one of Enjolras’ legs up to brace the knee against his arm, Grantaire lined himself up and—slowly, slowly enough to watch Enjolras’ face—pressed forward.
Enjolras let out a silent, shuddering breath, eyes wide as if every inch of Grantaire was a revelation. Grantaire sympathized—the hot clutch of Enjolras’ body was unearthly. If the afterlife had anything to offer even half as good as this, it was everything Dante had dreamed it to be and more. Once Grantaire was fully seated, he reached out and touched Enjolras’ cheek with his free hand.
“Mon ange?”
Enjolras seemed to come back a long way to respond. “I’m…good,” he said, turning his head to touch his lips to Grantaire’s palm—not coordinated enough to be a kiss, just a press of lips to skin. “Mm.” He nodded, as if this had been quite a legitimate argument, and Grantaire gave a breathless laugh, resettling his weight slightly. The movement made Enjolras gasp again, shudder, arch his back into Grantaire, and Grantaire rocked back slightly before pushing back in.
“Yes?”
“Mmmm yes,” Enjolras groaned, and his hips hitched into Grantaire’s with all the force he could manage in his position. “Hard.”
Grantaire grinned a little and retracted the hand still lingering on Enjolras’ jaw, hitching Enjolras’ other leg up onto his arm. A roll of his hips made Enjolras yank convulsively at the ropes again, his eyes flickering shut.
“Eyes on me,” Grantaire said, an order again, and he punctuated it by pulling back and thrusting in again, hard. Enjolras’ eyes flew open and he wrapped his hands around the headboard again, bracing himself. His eyes locked on Grantaire, who looked back steadily, setting a punishing pace. Enjolras, bound at the wrists with his legs off the bed, shuddered with every thrust, broken moans spilling from his lips when Grantaire dragged against a sensitive spot. There was hardly anything for Enjolras to do in the situation except to let Grantaire set the pace and hold on.
Tight springs of heat coiled at the base of Grantaire’s spine, and he pushed the sensation back, watching Enjolras. Every thrust shook him, his breathing stuttering around half-formed words and sounds as his muscles tightened. Every tendon in his hands stood out where he clung to the headboard, as if he might float away without it.
On impulse, almost as if to see if it would work, Grantaire leaned forward, pressing himself deep into Enjolras, and murmured in his throatiest voice, “Mon ange. Come for me.”
Enjolras shattered at once, a sound almost like a sob tearing itself out of his throat as his body convulsed, every muscle going taut as it rolled through him. His eyes were wide, still fixed on Grantaire, almost surprised—Enjolras always seemed startled by his orgasm, as if it managed to sneak up on him. Grantaire waited, watching Enjolras slowly go slack and boneless in the aftermath, and started to pull back, but Enjolras tightened his legs.
“No,” he said, seeming dazed but certain. “Stay. I want you to.” Grantaire rolled his hips again, watching Enjolras’ face as his back arched again, mouth opening into an o of shock.
“Still good?” Grantaire asked quietly.
“Yes,” Enjolras hissed, and when Grantaire pulled back and thrust in again, he almost whimpered. It took only a handful of thrusts for Grantaire to come, shuddering as heat spilled down his veins, all his self-control spent, and when he came back to himself, he released Enjolras’ legs to kiss him, messy and sweet. Enjolras looped his legs absently around Grantaire’s hips and kissed him back, mumbling something that sounded like “love you” into his mouth.
“Je t’aime,” Enjolras whispered, when their lips parted, and gave him that sweet, almost shy smile again.
“Je t’aime aussi,” Grantaire murmured. “You did wonderfully, mon ange. You’re so gorgeous, so good for me.” He pressed another kiss to Enjolras’ lips.
Enjolras let out a shaky breath as Grantaire pulled out and reached for a soft hand towel he’d left by the side of the bed. Cleaning the two of them up was quick and simple, untying the ropes almost as easy. Grantaire took Enjolras’ hands in his and brought the wrists to his lips, leaving lingering kisses against the rope marks. Enjolras sighed and reached for Grantaire, wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s neck and letting Grantaire pull him into his lap.
“That was fun,” Enjolras said into Grantaire’s neck as Grantaire stroked his rumpled golden curls.
“Yeah?” Grantaire pressed a kiss to the crown of Enjolras’ head and drew a line down his spine with his fingers. “I’m glad.”
“We should do it again.”
“Whatever you want.”
