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Despite the minuscule age gap between him and Cosette, Enjolras had grown to essentially feel responsible for his younger sister. No matter how insistent Cosette’s protests became, Enjolras’ role as the cliché “overprotective older brother” remained firm.
When Cosette had begun to date Marius, their blatant flirtatious acts would evoke prickles of irritation.
If you asked Enjolras, he was being completely rational - not overreacting in the least. He simply was not capable of counting all the times Marius had made Cosette cry on ten fingers.
A prime example would be their first date at a quaint little café Cosette had picked out herself - a first date that never happened, that is. Thirty minutes had passed and Marius had failed to meet at the designated time. Having been stood up, Cosette had called Enjolras, her songbird tone disrupted by the tearful quiver punctuating her speech.
Enjolras had acted immediately - not that he would have to rush to pick her up, of course, he was at the indie bookstore across the street for precautions. Clearly, his intuition had been correct.
In less than five minutes, Enjolras had stormed out of the bookstore to retrieve a sulking Cosette, buying his sister a blueberry scone in wholesome attempts to cheer her up. Relentlessly, she remained silently sullen during her halfhearted snack.
Until Cosette’s phone screen illuminated an incoming call tab, from none other than Marius Pontmercy. The fact that his name was accompanied with several, variously colored heart emojis did not help matters.
Without sparing a second thought, Cosette instantly answered the call, leaving Enjolras to drop his head into his hands and ponder the excuse Marius had undoubtedly conjured up.
When Cosette explained that Marius took her “quaint little café” date proposal as to mean the Starbucks further down the street, that certainly did not help matters either.
Enjolras still reminded himself to catch Marius’ eye and glower every time he passed by Cosette’s bedroom on the way to his own. Given Marius’ nervous, comical swallows, Enjolras was assured that he understood the unspoken threat.
While Enjolras had the routine rotation of Combeferre and Courfeyrac at the house each week, Cosette had had numerous different people over throughout the years. Evidently, Cosette was the social butterfly of the household.
Additionally, throughout the years, some of these friends of Cosette’s had harbored crushes on Enjolras. Contrary to Courfeyrac’s incessant teasing, he wasn’t completely oblivious to these occurrences when they arose.
Enjolras still cringed whenever he recalled the conversations he’s overheard.
“Cosette, can you set me up with your brother, pleaaaasee?”
“Your brother is fucking hot, Cosette, what the fuck.”
“Where can I find the sister-in-law applications, Cosette - why are you looking at me like that?”
Attraction was one of the few things Enjolras was awkward about discussing. Enjolras would gladly broach topics ranging from why his closet solely consisted of neutral tones - and red, to the importance of supporting local businesses as opposed to large, capitalist corporations (he had broached this one, actually - Marius having been the frightened bystander all thirteen times).
But nine times out of ten his younger sister’s friends being attracted to him? It was a subject that went undiscussed between the two of them.
By association, undiscussed also went the rule. The rule being the disclosure that Enjolras was not to date anyone of Cosette’s friends, and vice versa.
Keeping the unspoken promise had never proven to be difficult, and breaking it had never enticed Enjolras in the slightest.
Enjolras had retreated from his cocoon of blankets, successfully scattering his practice sheets to his bedroom floor. Studying for a poli-sci exam for two hours straight was nothing short of exhausting, and his throat was beginning to feel parched.
Upon stepping foot outside of his bedroom, voices filtered from the kitchen, indicating guests. Instantly, Enjolras contemplated pivoting back around and retreating to safety. Making nice with his sister’s friends really wasn’t his forte; the awkward small talk he had endured over the years was excruciating.
Male laughter accompanied Cosette’s (not Marius’ - Enjolras prayed for days like these), and against his better judgment, Enjolras’ curiosity was piqued. And he really needed that glass of water to survive the hour.
Willing himself to enter the kitchen, Enjolras almost halted in his tracks. Perched atop his countertop was a boy - milkily pale, his jet-black curls tousled carelessly, his eyes sweetly crinkled at the corners as he chortled and fuck - that brought Enjolras’ attention to his mouth.
Cosette had a penchant for strawberry picking and she visited the fields annually, bringing home dozens upon dozens of the newly ripe fruits. And well, Enjolras had never been more grateful.
The boy bit into the fruit, the saturated scarlet doing wonders to complement the soft pinks of his lips -
“Oh! Enjolras! - R, this is my brother..”
R turned his attention to face Enjolras and Enjolras’ stomach gave a tiny jolt upon meeting the gaze of electric blue -
“Hi.”
Enjolras was unsure if he imagined the slight eyebrow raise, but then again this whole interaction felt like a figment from the deep crevices of his imagination.
Realizing he had taken a beat too long to respond, his cheeks burned profusely, and he fumbled to breathe a purely nonchalant:
“Hi.”
Given the amused smirk tugging at R’s lips (and Cosette’s concerned look), Enjolras hadn’t put up a very convincing front. And then R continued to nibble innocently at his strawberry and Enjolras remembered what he left his bedroom for and promptly booked it - feeling the piercing gaze searing the back of his skull.
While he never left his room for the rest of R’s visit, the daydreams about electric blue and coy looks and pink lips wrapped around strawberries rendered Enjolras essentially useless for the night.
Alongside Cosette’s beloved fields, the fiery depths of hell seemed pretty red as well.
***
Strawberry guy’s name was Grantaire (Enjolras refused to find the pun stupidly endearing), and Enjolras was convinced he was hellbent on becoming a permanent resident of the household because he was always fucking there.
Grantaire and Cosette had been practically attached at the hip ever since Grantaire had become a regular at Cosette’s work - the charming little café she and Marius were to have their date until Marius got lost in a Starbucks.
Small talk turned gradually to full-length conversations, until finally Grantaire picked Cosette up at the end of her shift to hang out.
Hang out, that is, at Enjolras’ house.
So yes, Grantaire was always there.
Physically, and in the forefront of Enjolras’ mind. Shit.
Grantaire was Cosette’s friend. It had been inherently established that Enjolras was not to be involved with any of his sister’s friends romantically (or sexually). He was going to treat Grantaire like how he treated any of Cosette’s other friends - with respect and polite nonchalance.
Draping a towel around his shoulders, fresh out of the shower, Enjolras glared purposefully at his reflection in the misty mirror: he was going to ignore his.. attractions toward Grantaire because he had a moral compass and this whole ordeal was extremely inappropriate. Halfheartedly satisfied with his newfound pact, Enjolras had barely stepped out of the bathroom when someone barreled clumsily into his naked chest.
The annoyed remark died short-lived on his tongue when he realized the hair tickling his nose wasn’t Cosette’s, but with his luck, that was of course not the case.
The scents of fresh paints, charcoal, and sweet liquor assaulted his senses and suddenly all coherent thought fled and his mind was washed a clean slate -
“Shit - sorry! Uh. Can I..?” Grantaire stammered out, motioning nonsensically with his hands. Enjolras vaguely registered he was telling him to move the hell out of the way so he could piss.
Enjolras, frenzied by one inconvenient interaction, stepped aside and away wordlessly.
Was strategic avoidance ever really an option?
***
Enjolras’ resolve was disintegrating by the mere second.
Not only was Grantaire stupidly attractive, but witty, catching Enjolras off guard with his swift quips, more often than not accompanied by some obscure Greek mythology reference. He was talented; Grantaire was gifted at painting, dancing, and fencing, among other things Enjolras was itching to unearth.
And Enjolras discovering all these charming traits was absolutely not making his heart swell with want. That’s absurd.
He may or may not have borrowed a copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray from the library because he saw Grantaire’s peeking out of his tote bag.
In Enjolras’ defense, he was socially awkward. Typically, others didn’t expect that of him, since his public speaking was exceptional, but that’s because, in those instances, he’s speaking of things he’s passionate about. For as long as he could recall, Enjolras had spent sleepless nights wondering when the world had become so big; big enough that he was left a helpless bystander to the nation’s suffering. The words he breathed in his speeches had been long indented unto his very being. It was easy.
Enjolras had grown accustomed to the fact that anything involving Grantaire was not. Grantaire took great pride in being difficult on purpose. (That could be attributed to the fact that it made Enjolras squirm, but who was to say that Grantaire did anything because of Enjolras?). To his knowledge, he and Grantaire shared zero common interests, which made bonding seemingly unattainable.
And so, Enjolras soaked up every ounce of everything Grantaire with greedy fervor. And maybe he only retained these fragments of information through eavesdropped conversations between Grantaire and Cosette, but little things counted all the more. At least they did to Enjolras.
And so, Enjolras set up camp on the living room couch, ensuring the cover of the classic novel was on full display mere minutes before Grantaire was expected to arrive. His plan would work out spectacularly and he and Grantaire would discuss classic literature and all would be sunshine and rainbows for the rest of his days. Emphasis on rainbows.
So when Grantaire strode straight into his house, threw the grand wrench in Enjolras’ carefully curated plan, and waltzed right past him without as much as a spared glance, Enjolras pointedly did not deflate.
***
Enjolras’ brow furrowed in utmost determination; he was slumped carelessly in the Café Musain’s resident armchair, his long legs folded out beneath him as he tapped uselessly at his cell phone. Courfeyrac had coerced him in typical Courfeyrac-fashion to download GamePigeon - probably because he knew Enjolras operated like an ancient grandfather when it came to technology. He was growing restless waiting for Cosette to get off her shift, and he had forgotten that godforsaken book on his nightstand, so he decided to indulge Courfeyrac this once. Consequently, he was getting his ass beat in mini golf. How did he propel the ball forward…
“Cosette’s brother, right?”
Fuck.
He was cool. Enjolras was so effortlessly cool. He was fluent in cool.
“Um. Yeah.”
Smooth with it, much.
Grantaire stood before him, clad in a forest green sweatshirt and worn gray sweatpants. Clearly, it was a carefree day, yet Enjolras had never been more charmed. He was clutching what appeared to be a plain latte topped with whipped cream because of course Grantaire had a sweet tooth.
“Do you mind if I..”
“No, I mean, yeah, of course!”
Enjolras had errands to run after picking Cosette up from work, and he was entertaining scrapping all of them and penning his suicide note instead.
Grantaire plopped into the adjacent seat, and Enjolras watched fixedly as he pulled a silver flask from his pant pockets, lightly pouring alcohol into his latte. For once, Enjolras was unimpressed. He arched a blond brow,
“Isn’t it too early for that?”
“Time is an abstract concept pulled out of a random guy’s ass forever ago. What’s his credibility? Why is his word taken as gospel?” Grantaire remarked without missing a beat; he gazed intently at his drink as he stirred, seemingly fascinated with his little concoction. Enjolras almost resisted the slight upwards tug at his lips. Almost. Grantaire’s eyes darted to Enjolras’ screen unbidden.
“Ooh, is that mini golf?”
Enjolras’ smile dropped. Of course, if he couldn’t impress Grantaire with his meticulous reading tastes, he also could not impress Grantaire with his nonexistent GamePigeon expertise. Damn it, Courfeyrac.
“Yeah, except I don’t know how to move the ball.”
Enjolras must’ve said the right thing because Grantaire burst out into a fit of giggles, beholding an adorable sight and Enjolras had to mentally pat himself on the back for that one. Baby steps.
Grantaire made grabby hand gestures, “Give it to me, you absolute grandpa.”
Enjolras frowned. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the object of his affections referring to him as a grandpa, but he yielded, handing his phone over.
Grantaire angled the screen so Enjolras could follow his explanation: “Okay, so you kind of just launch the ball forward by doing some slingshot move with your fingers.. like that, see? You wanna try?”
Enjolras assumed he grasped the idea and dared to give it a shot. When his poor attempt resulted in the ball rolling a tedious journey of two centimeters, he figured he overestimated himself. But with Grantaire’s chin scarcely grazing his shoulder, snorting at Enjolras’ incompetence, he found he didn’t mind much.
***
He and Grantaire had been on their fourth round of Cup Pong (and Enjolras’ fourth loss) when Cosette cleared her throat in a way that made Enjolras feel accused.
“You two look awfully cozy. Enjolras, what did I say about stealing my friends?”
Grantaire laughed good-naturedly while Enjolras fumbled,
“I wasn’t -”
“Kidding. R, you wanna hang out with me and my idiot brother for a bit?” Cosette proposed, her tone fond and teasing.
Enjolras found himself holding his breath in anticipation of Grantaire’s response when he hummed, “I would love to, my sweet ‘Sette, but unfortunately I’ve got an art class to sub for. Saturday?”
And so, they parted ways, and routinely, he found Grantaire like sand through his fingertips, never within his reach for a spare moment and elusive as a four-leaf clover.
***
Enjolras was going to kill Courfeyrac.
It wasn’t the first time that that thought had crossed his mind, but it might’ve been the last because Enjolras felt confident in carrying it out this time.
He was collecting dust in the only deserted corner of the room, standing alongside only Combeferre. He swished around his red solo cup absentmindedly - half-empty, because he might as well get tipsy to survive the night.
Courfeyrac had dragged the Amis to a house party for their monthly group outing, the host of said party completely anonymous to Enjolras. Of course, his friends unanimously decided it was their idea of a good time and Enjolras was hauled along helplessly, as was usually the case.
When Cosette had mentioned that she’d invited Grantaire to tag along, well, at this point, Enjolras couldn’t deny that his interest was piqued.
Enjolras was perfectly capable of being fun. Sure, it wasn’t a side of himself that he exhibited often, but he was willing to take a chance this time.
Which was what ultimately led to his inhabitance away from the rest of the party, with Grantaire being nowhere in sight. So, Enjolras was stuck staring blankly ahead as couples gyrated to the eardrum-rupturing music in the center of the room. It was sweltering hot despite not even being in the middle of that and Enjolras was contemplating slipping out for fresh air.
As he parted his lips to interrupt Combeferre’s speech and invite him outside, somehow, his periphery identified a familiar head of dark, mussed curls, and his throat dried instantaneously.
In the middle of the crowd, Grantaire was swaying to the booming music, his movements precisely on beat. His dancing experience had certainly contributed to his fluidity and gracefulness, and the rest of the throng seemed to melt into obscurity. Enjolras couldn’t help but let his eyes travel down to the astonishingly tight shorts, and he faintly felt his jaw go slack. His muscular thighs were on full display..
Realizing he was being impolite, his eyes darted back up, eyeing the loose t-shirt and sunglasses perched on top of Grantaire’s tousled tresses.
In the light, Grantaire could only be described as sickeningly gorgeous. Enjolras’ blood was rushing, and he was definitely aware of it going.. places.
And what the fuck - was he dancing with Courfeyrac? Suddenly, the whole image seemed like a mismatched puzzle because since when were Grantaire and Courfeyrac familiar with each other?
What.
Pointedly disregarding Combeferre’s concerned gaze, Enjolras pushed off of the wall hastily, “I’m going to get another drink.”
Never mind that all of his friends constantly poked fun at him being a lightweight, Enjolras had a one-track mind and he was heading to pour himself a sufficiently strong drink.
***
“Enjolras… fuck!”
Grantaire panted heavily and threw his head against the doorframe in lust-induced ecstasy. Enjolras smirked, smug, and vigorously sucked at Grantaire’s heavily-marked neck; his fair skin now bruised and so deliciously red and the adrenaline rush that flowed through Enjolras, knowing that he had been the cause, encouraged him further.
The timeline that had resulted in this sacred moment seemed irritatingly hazy when Enjolras attempted to recall, but he was here now, so did any of that really matter?
All Enjolras knew was that he had had a couple to drink, and then he was dancing with Courfeyrac, and then he spotted Grantaire, and ultimately set off to achieve what he came for.
Grantaire took him in hand and stroked at a leisurely pace like the fucking tease that he was, and Enjolras groaned, dumbfounded at the pleasure Grantaire could evoke.
“Bed, bed, bed..” Enjolras breathed, his string of words barely a whisper, but Grantaire clearly grasped the idea because he began to push them backward in a clumsy dance. Grantaire landed deftly on top of him, the bed springs recoiling from the impact. Grantaire laughed that devastating laugh of his, “So, am I going to suck you off, or are you gonna fuck me first?”
Enjolras was convinced Grantaire had voiced a very similar line in one of his wet dreams.
He responded simply by flipping them over. Gaining traction by grinding his hips heatedly against Grantaire’s, Enjolras rasped out, “So who’d you wear those tiny shorts for? You certainly succeeded in drawing attention.”
“Who said - ah.. that I had to.. dress up for attention - Enjolras!” Grantaire whined, his electric blues rolling back in euphoria when Enjolras smacked his thighs in emphasis. It really had been an impulsive act, and Enjolras feared that he overstepped boundaries, but the absolutely stupid look on Grantaire’s face was pure evidence that he more than enjoyed it. Enjolras dazedly wondered if Grantaire would mind if he just buried his face between his legs..
And so, gradually, garments began to shed between charged acts of pleasure. Grantaire’s sunglasses had long since been gone.
When he and Grantaire were bare naked, at last, Enjolras took the two of them in hand, and began jerking off; Grantaire was slick with sweat and pressed to his chest.
Enjolras groaned, exasperated, when his phone went off, strewn somewhere on the bed. He debated just letting it ring, when Grantaire said in that drawl of his, “Take it, no rush.” He waggled his eyebrows and Enjolras almost pushed him off the bed, answering the call without even glancing at the Caller ID.
“Hello?” Enjolras hoped it didn’t sound like he was about to have the most mind-blowing sex of his lifetime. Grantaire’s head rested on his shoulder, giggling, and Enjolras felt like he could stay rooted to that bed forever.
“Enjolras? Have you seen Grantaire? I’m supposed to drive him home, and Marius has been looking for him everywhere.”
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Given the way Grantaire immediately stilled, it was clear that he had the same epiphany at the same time.
Cosette.
His sister. Enjolras was about to fuck his sister’s best friend. Behind her back.
“Oh, uh..”
“Thankfully, he hasn’t searched the bedrooms because Courfeyrac caught you guys on video sneaking away from the party. I’m happy for you two, really, but people are leaving and Marius is getting anxious, so can we leave, please?”
What.
Enjolras was at a complete loss. It didn’t help that Grantaire had absolutely lost it, hiding his face in a pillow and quivering with laughter. It was evident that he was amused, good for him, but Enjolras was quite frankly mortified.
He promptly ended the call.
***
After Enjolras and Grantaire had properly gotten their act together, indulging in the full pre-relationship etiquette before officially dating, they were free to have regular sex (uninterrupted and successfully, without getting cockblocked by his own sister, thank God).
Enjolras shut his eyes, exhausted and content after he and Grantaire had gone for a second round in his own bed, this time.
‘Look at him, moving up in the world! ’ Courfeyrac would’ve cooed.
That was, until he heard Grantaire shuffling around in the sheets, “Apollo, you’ve read Dorian Gray? ”
Enjolras kept his eyes sealed shut. That was a story for another day.
(When Enjolras had interrogated Cosette after the night of the party, Cosette had answered bemusedly,
“Enjolras, there was never a “rule” about dating my friends! I only reacted strangely when my friends asked to set them up because they were all women and I didn’t want to out you as gay!”)