Enjolras moved first, until his arm was brushing against Grantaire’s shoulder. When he turned his head, his eyes were pensive, and warm, and Grantaire’s heart skipped a beat. He stood still when Enjolras’s lips pressed down against his forehead, but his hands were shaking.

“What’s that for?” He managed to ask.

“I don’t know,” said Enjolras, kissing his brow. “I think I just appreciate finally seeing you.”

I’ve been here for years, Grantaire didn’t say, because deep down he understood what Enjolras meant. In a way, he felt the same, rediscovering all over again everything he’d thought he knew by heart about Enjolras all this time. His belief for the world; his fight for his country; his love for his friends; his quiet moments, and his brightest; his laughs; his speeches; his touches.

The kisses, however, were brand new. Enjolras’s lips were on his cheekbone, now, and their noses bumped gently against each other. Grantaire let out a shaky breath. His fingers went to rest upon Enjolras’s chest.

“Enjolras -” he whispered, overwhelmed.

Enjolras froze, but didn’t move away. He raised a hand, slowly, until it was resting upon Grantaire’s neck, his thumb caressing Grantaire’s jaw ever so slightly. Grantaire’s eyes fluttered.

“Yes?” Enjolras asked.

“Yes.” Said Grantaire. “Yes, yes, yes -”

Enjolras’s mouth was on his in a moment, stopping him from making a fool of himself. His lips were soft, but the kiss held no hesitation at all, and Grantaire, as always, felt his whole being swallowed by the firmness of Eniolras’s decision, his skin burning, his mind illuminated, his chest expanding, more and more and more -

“Enjolras,” he said again, but this time there was nothing but naked love in his voice, and Enjolras’s answering smile before he moved to kiss him again was the best answer he could have hoped for.

littlewadoo  asked:

So happy people are finally mentionning Fauve because tbh Vieux Frères is just a modern Amis album (i may also be obsessed by Infirmière for R but hey)

!!!! I actually listened to Infirmière this morning and I was like  👌 👌 👌 those bittersweet Enjoltaire feels  👌 👌 👌

i love random headcanons so much, like. Grantaire uses a champagne bucket as a bathroom wastebasket. Courfeyrac has a great collection of hats, but in modern times, he never wears them because he gets terrible hat hair. Bossuet always wear baseball caps! Prouvaire has plants in every room of his apartment, but he forgets to water them often. Or overwaters them, too. Feuilly has only one plant, but he’s had it for forever and he reads out loud to it a lot.

anonymous asked:

37 or 81 for the prompt thing please? I love your writing!

fic prompt game!! send me a number, get a fic  // 81. “Hold still.”

Enjolras blesses mornings like this, when the sun rises slowly and gently, and casts a golden glow over the whole room.

On this particular golden morning, Grantaire is sat awkwardly at the end of their bed, wrapped in sheets with a sketchbook perched on his knee, brow furrowed. Enjolras thinks he looks particularly stunning like this, and would say so, if he were allowed to move at all.

“You’re not keeping still,” Says Grantaire, as though he’d read his mind, and Enjolras laughs.

“I’m trying. I’m resisting the urge to tell you how good you look right now. That is to say, very good. And I’d very much like to leave this position and kiss you.”

It’s Grantaire’s turn to laugh, now, as bright and warm as the sun, and Enjolras grins.

“Flatterer.” He laughs, with a smile that reaches his eyes. “It’s a very, very tempting offer, but I am determined to draw a decent looking picture of you. So hold still, you menace.”

Enjolras smiles softly, but says nothing else. Grantaire has drawn him over and over, and each time the finished products were amazing, but somehow he could never see it. It astounds Enjolras, sometimes, how hard it is for Grantaire to see just how talented he is.

Everything he creates is practically genius, but he still ends up burning whole sketchbooks and painting over canvases. So, if Grantaire can find his happiness in sketching Enjolras, sprawled on their bed, warm and content in the morning sun, then he can’t really complain.

(Enjolras finds his happiness in seeing Grantaire smile, so everyone wins.)

victor hugo at some point: LISTEN im gonna take this character and relate him to gay greeks as much as possible while also adding character traits, then im gonna take this other character and talk abt how gay he is for that one, while also comparing him to gay greeks, and the second one is gonna tell him that he only believes in that character while he is cynical about everything else,,,,  then to top it all off,,,,, theyre gonna DIE while HOLDING HANDS.

some literature fuck: so,,, what your saying is,,, Theyre Straight

enjamras  asked:

“I’m late.”

fic prompt game!! send me a number, get a fic // 56. “I’m late.” || (read it on ao3 here)

When Enjolras gets home, the house is quiet.

He wouldn’t be worried, if it weren’t approaching ten at night; At this time, Grantaire usually has some form of classical music on, while he does the dishes or paints in the garage-turned-studio. Candles and lamps are usually lit once the kids are in bed, giving the whole house a soft, homely glow.

There is no music on, and most of the lights are off, save for the kitchen and the upstairs hallway.

“Grantaire?” He says, taking his coat off and hanging it on the rack. There’s no noise, still, and he’s just starting to get concerned when he hears the quiet “In here,” come from the kitchen.

It’s been a hell of a day. Anything that could go wrong in any of his cases did go wrong, leaving him stressed to his last nerve and snapping at at least three interns. (He did apologise; he’s a lawyer, not a monster.) He got caught up in trying to fix everything, was foolish enough to wave off help from Marius and Courfeyrac, lost track of time and–

And. Grantaire’s sitting at the kitchen table, paint-stained fingers tracing light patterns on the table-top. “Hi,” He says, softly, and Enjolras’ heart drops.

Keep reading

  • what she says: i'm fine
  • what she means: Aaron Tveit and George Blagden both read passages of the brick to enrich their interpretations in Les Misérables, and where George Blagden noticed Grantaire's adoration for Enjolras, Aaron Tveit mainly picked up on Enjolras' charisma, fervor and faith in the rebellion. That's very flavour of meta and i don't know how to deal with it please send help