Enjolras nodded, his mouth brushing against Grantaire’s, kissing him between little puffs of breath that were matched with the rough thrusts of his hips. He dragged his nails along the underside of his thigh, heat coiling below his navel.
"You can’t make a sound, Grantaire,” he said, voice ragged and smiling crookedly.
Grantaire looked up at him defiantly, exhaling sharply through a mouth parted in a crooked smile.
"Do your worst," he breathed, tugging on his hair.
"Merci beaucoup." He cradled the cup in his hands and sighed at the warmth, leaving the biscuits for now even though they looked chocolatey. He was definitely not passing up that opportunity.
"Plans? Oh, we are going to assert our masculinity with West Side Story, I am going to make him show me that bakery down the road… I have a present to give him as well." He nudged his bag over to her with his elbow. Have a look, it’s in there. It will make you laugh."
Abigail regarded him with a wary smile before rummaging around in his bag.
"What am I looking for? Give me a clue here, Ferrand…"
Combeferre laughed and held up his hands. “The fortifications of juice are between us and us only. Classified information. Oh, just a tiny bit of milk, ma mie, that’s all. Merci.”
He held back the urge to put a hand on her shoulder or reach out to her in some way to show her that he understood her concern. They had only met minutes ago but she was as easy to be around as Grantaire was and she seemed young. He gave her a gentle smile and spoke softly.
"Ah non, leave him upstairs for now. I have plans for him today, don’t you worry. I will look after him. Along with Combeferre and Ferrand I get called maman quite a lot, too," he added with a chuckle.
Abigail slid his tea across the counter to him, smiling with a sudden kind of shyness.
"Oui, I think I can see that…" she said, turning to put the milk away. "Oh, we have biscuits, I think…" she added suddenly, frowning around the kitchen until she remembered where they’d been left after Grantaire’s last raid of the cupboards. "Voila, help yourself. What plans do you have for him?" she asked, pulling herself up to sit on one of the counters.
"Christ," Enjolras breathed, a strained moan escaping his lips. His hips jerked in response and it took a moment before he could settle into rhythm with Grantaire’s movements, hooking his hand underneath his thigh and pulling him closer.
Grantaire wrapped his legs around Enjolras again, dragging a hand through his hair. He pulled him close enough to kiss, his attempt at staying quiet turning a moan into a desperate whimper.
"Fuck, Enjolras, I’m really close."
"Well, juice is sometimes fortified with calcium and potassium that is good for lowering blood pressure. Alcohol and high blood pressure come together a lot of the time. And there is always a little vitamin C in juice too, which is good for the skin and hair. So it isn’t a terrible substitute," he said with a small smile. "Mais, I think perhaps tea is what I need."
Combeferre groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose as Abi asked about surnames. “Oh, Dieu… just don’t get me started. My girlfriend has asked me about this so many times and I have no answer. Everyone knows each other by their surnames. Jehan, though, that’s not his surname. You can choose from Jean, Jehan or Prouvaire for him.”
Abigail shot him a look containing a suppressed smile. “Don’t tell either my father or Rémi that,” she said firmly. “The war will wage on without end and there will be no survivors.”
She set about filling the kettle with water and putting it on to boil, then replacing the clean glass and finding a clean cup instead. She laughed, shaking her head, as she dropped a teabag into the cup and got the milk out of the fridge.
"That’s weird," she said, in a tone that was appreciative rather than judgemental. "How do you take your tea? Oh, should I call Rémi down? I don’t think he heard the door, or he’s ignoring it again. You can go up to him if you’d prefer, but make sure he gets out of bed, won’t you?" For the first time, her eyes lost her brightness and her smile didn’t linger. A tiny worried indent appeared above the bridge of her nose.
"You’ve already got a mark to hide," Enjolras smirked, working another into his collarbone.
“Good,” Grantaire said emphatically, moving his hips more insistently against him, the twinge of Enjolras’ teeth making his stomach jolt.
fuck off enjolrass
"Oui, I’m fine, I’m fine," he breathed as he let himself in and closed the door. He tried his best not to knock any of the photos on the walls with his shoulders or his bag as he followed Abigail to the kitchen. "Oui, I’ve come from Paris. It doesn’t usually take long, but I drive like a granddad, so…"
He stood, feeling a little more awkward than he looked, leaning on one of the kitchen counters. He’d put his hand on a scattering of breadcrumbs that he was trying not to feel uncomfortable with.
"Tu sais, it is strange to hear Grantaire being called Rémi. You should call me Ferrand if we do first names here."
Abigail smiled warmly at him, rummaging around the kitchen for a clean glass.
"I did wonder. Ca va. Ferrand. Oh! I’m Abi,” she said. “What would you like to drink? We have orange juice, apple juice, blackcurrant juice, about a million different kinds of juice, you name it, we’ve got it - Papa seems to think it’s a miracle substitute for alcohol; Rémi does not agree and has been very vocal about his distaste for grapefruit juice - er… milk, tea, coffee, hot chocolate. Water. Obviously.” She laughed. “Hey, is Enjolras his last name too? Jehan can’t be a surname, can it?”
"What a way to come out to your parents, ah?" Enjolras giggled, biting none too gently at his collarbone.
Grantaire pressed a hand over his mouth to muffle a burst of laughter. “Don’t even…”
Enjolras groaned deep in his throat, lips parting in quickening breaths. He rested his forehead against Grantaire’s and wrapped his hand around his, guiding him to a faster stroke.
"How loud do you think I can make you moan without being heard?"
"Do you want us to get caught?” Grantaire asked breathlessly, half-laughing.