Where do we go from here ?

Summary:

« And now ? »
They ended up at the TVA but Loki is asking himself lots of questions and the first one is, where the hell is he going to live?

Notes :For@loki-is-my-kink-awakening
Prompts request
Imagine Your OTP #2 

Person B: *comes into Person A‘s room in the middle of the night and wakes them up" w-wake up 
Person A: mmmm… what do you want… 
Person B: I… ummm… 
Person A: You could’ve chose someone else to wake up and bother, ya know? Just tell me what- 
Person B: I love 
Person A: ….. I love you too now get in my bed

OnAO3

Rating G - 661 words

“And now?” asked Loki.

They had finally met again, but the urgency of the situation and the chaos around them had not allowed them to talk very intimately.

There was a space between them filled with unspoken words, but at the same time neither of them felt able to fill it. For the time being.

Loki’s question was both figurative and pragmatic.

What were they going to do?

Where should Loki stay?

And the most important question for Loki, what to do with his feelings?

Mobius answered, looking just as uncertain as Loki, “We’ll figure it out as we go along. But for now, what is sure is that you come to my house, I have a guest room. If you agree, of course.”

He reached out to touch Loki’s arm, almost shyly, and seeing that Loki didn’t seem to reject him, he did so more forthrightly.

They looked at each other at that moment. Both of them were amazed that a simple touch like that reactivated the feelings of that day. From their first contact as equals.

They smiled at each other and Loki replied, “Yes, I would love to.”

That’s how their cohabitation began. 

Naturally.

The complicity that had blossomed between them before their separation had grown with their life together. Adversity had strengthened their bond.

They had not yet admitted anything, but their behavior, their way of being with each other spoke for itself… or almost.

Loki needed to know.

He was still sleeping in the guest room and even though he had already shared a bed with Mobius, he was afraid that for Mobius it was only temporary.

He needed to know.

Only Loki found it hard to ask things directly.

But he had to try.

For his sake.

Tonight.

They were sitting on the couch, Mobius was reading and Loki was snuggled up against him.

He decided to stop procrastinating, “Mobius?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“We are a couple, right?”

Mobius turned his head towards him with a confused look, “Yes of course, why do you ask?”

“No, it’s ok, it’s nothing.”

So much for being straightforward.

Coward.

Mobius ran a hand through his hair, “Hey, you okay?”

Loki nodded and buried his face in Mobius’ shoulder.

Mobius saw that he would not know any more and continued to read.

A little later, they were sleeping in their rooms.

Well, only Mobius was asleep, Loki was turning in his bed without finding sleep.

Suddenly he had enough and got up, striding into Mobius’ room.

He shook him gently, “Mobius! Wake-up. Please!”

Mobius turned and muttered in a sleepy voice, “Loki… what do you want at this time of night?”

Loki, dancing from one foot to the other replied, “Uh… Here goes… I…”

Mobius, a little annoyed, interrupted him, “Loki, you never mince words with me, so please don’t start.”

“I love you.”

Loki closed his eyes, exhaled a deep breath and continued, “I love you and I don’t want to sleep in the guest room anymore.”

At Mobius’ silence, he opened his eyes and saw that he had lifted the comforter beside him.

“Took you long enough. I love you too, now come here. I’m tired.”

Loki, too shocked to say anything, hurried over to him. He lay down next to Mobius who hugged him and after a few moments of silence, Loki couldn’t help but whisper, “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

Mobius kissed his hair, “Because you’ve been denied the right to decide far too often. From the moment you agreed to come live with me, I promised myself that I would wait for your decision.”

Loki pressed himself a little closer to him, “But I could have taken forever.”

Mobius smiled against his hair, “It’s worth it. You’re worth the wait.”

Loki kissed Mobius’ chest against him and whispered, “Mobius…”

“Loki, can we talk tomorrow? I’m really tired.”

Loki quietly nodded. 

The questions could wait.

He loved Mobius, Mobius loved him, the rest was detail.

_________

Still not beta’d

Still not my native language

Still hoping you’ll enjoy this story

Still thanking you for bearing with me

Lokius masterlist : here

❤️you mean to make a puppet of me 

byTheRealFailWhale

art by… me!

T, 31k, wangxian, background sangcheng

Summary:  Lan Wangji tried to look around, but found that he was immobilized. Not panicking, because he was a powerful cultivator who did not need to panic, Lan Wangji attempted to break the immobilization with his golden core.

Only to realize that his core, while intact, was blocked.

He attempted to move his fingers.

Nothing.

No matter what part of himself Lan Wangji attempted to move or wiggle, he received no response from his body. 

Still not panicking, really not at all, Lan Wangji tried to parse what he could see in front of him, without moving his eyes.

There was a shelf that appeared to be almost half the size of Koi Tower in front of him, but before he began not panicking about that, he realized that no. The shelf was not a gigantic piece of furniture. It was Lan Wangji who was abnormally sized.

He had, in fact, gone from standing over two bu high, to measuring perhaps a single chi in length. 

He was tiny .

…

Lan Wangji began to panic.
**
In which Lan Wangji is cursed to be marionette puppet and transported to a different universe, where he is picked up by an alluring and kind puppeteer with a mysterious past…

My comments: This was a gift for me ❤️!@therealfailwhale was my author for MDZS RBB @mdzsrbb this year, and look what they produced!!!

This one is a hoot from the very first sentence. It is fluffy and fun, and features a thirsty Lan Wangji who is so. FRUSTRATED. that his teeny size is preventing him from acting on his thoughts. Heh heh heh.

Lan Wangji is just happy he’s no longer wooden, okay; Wei Wuxian is entirely smitten; Jiang Cheng is shouty and confused; Nie Huaisang has secrets; and I am just along for the ride. Two world collide, herein, and the mashup is greater than the sum of its parts. (And. AND! This charming story was written for my art, for the MDZS RBB, and I’m so honored and delighted and happy about that. I want to share it with everyone.)

Excerpt:  Wei Wuxian pulled Lan Wangji away from his chest and held him up to look into his tiny face.

“You hear that, you beautiful man? You’re coming home with me!” Wei Wuxian grinned widely, and glanced up at Jiang Cheng. “Didi! Meet my husband!”

“You can’t marry a puppet!” shouted Jiang Cheng, as Lan Wangji felt a desire to hide his face.

modern au, wingfic, tiny lan wangji, puppet lan wangji, POV lan wangji, parallel universes, curses, the power of consent and autonomy, Schrodinger’s nielan, sangcheng, size difference, so many innuendos about size differences, getting to know each other, falling in love, puppets, developing relationship, slow burn, crack taken seriously, angry grape jiang cheng, different first meeting, domestic, suppportive wei wuxian, protective wei wuxian, orphans jiang cheng & wei wuxian, thirsty lan wangji, family reunion, getting together, first kiss, fluff, happy ending, favorite

This story is part of the MDZS RBB 2022 which is currently posting over on AO3. Y'all go read and love!

Green Card

My submission for 2022’s @lesmissamepromptficchallenge. This year we’re keeping it simple: E/R, modern AU, fake marriage. Because why not.

“Hey, asshole,” Combeferre called over the din in the backroom of the Musain, where everyone was beginning to gather ahead of that evening’s Les Amis meeting. Jehan, Feuilly, and Bahorel all looked up, guilty looks on their faces, and Combeferre rolled his eyes. “Not you,” he huffed, brushing past them to stop in front of Grantaire. “When the hell are you going to change your address so that you stop getting all of your mail delivered to my apartment?”

Grantaire leaned back in his chair, grinning. “That depends,” he said mildly, taking a sip of whiskey. “When is my apartment going to stop being so shitty that it refuses to be serviced by even the intrepid USPS?”

Combeferre rolled his eyes and shoved a stack of mail at him. “You’re just lucky I check it,” he informed him. “Because there’s something in there that looks serious.”

Grantaire’s smile flickered. “If it’s from my bank—” he started, but Combeferre shook his head.

“It’s not.”

Grantaire’s smile disappeared when he saw the envelope in question, and he paled when he saw the return address. He quickly tore it open, his eyes widening as he read what was inside. “Well, shit.”

Combeferre frowned. “What?” he asked, grabbing the letter from him, the color draining out of his face as well. “Oh. Shit.”

Courfeyrac ambled up to them, clapping a hand on Combeferre’s back and trying to read over his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Grantaire just shook his head wordlessly, and Combeferre sighed. “Grantaire just got a notice to appear.”

Courfeyrac grinned. “Oo, R, what’d you do now?” he teased. “Another public intoxication charge?”

“Worse,” Combeferre sighed.

Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Inciting a riot?” he asked eagerly. “Conspiracy to commit terrorism? C’mon, you gotta give me something.”

Grantaire cleared his throat. “The U.S. Department of Homeland Security has issued me a notice to appear because they’re seeking my removal from the country.”

Courfeyrac immediately stopped smiling. “Oh shit,” he said, sinking down into a chair.

“Yeah.”

Combeferre sat down as well, his expression serious. “What did you do?” he asked. “As an immigrant from Canada, you know that you run the risk—”

“I’m well aware, thanks,” Grantaire snapped, before sighing. “Sorry. I just, I don’t know what I did. There must have been some kind of mix-up with my latest visa application.”

Courfeyrac glanced between them “Ok, so resubmit your application.”

“I can and I will, but…”

“But now that you’ve got ICE’s attention, the likelihood of your visa being approved given everything Les Amis does isn’t exactly great,” Combeferre said heavily.

Grantaire jerked a nod. “Pretty much.”

Courfeyrac winced. “Well, shit.”

Grantaire raised his glass of whiskey in a mock toast. “My sentiments exactly.”

“Ok, so what are we going to do?” Courfeyrac asked, glancing at Combeferre as if looking for backup. “I mean, we’re not just going to let them send you back to Canada.”

“I don’t know that I have much choice,” Grantaire said bracingly. “If I go through the proper channels and opt for voluntary departure, at least there’s a higher likelihood that I can come back once this all gets squared away.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Combeferre said sharply. “Once you’re out of the country there’s no way they’re going to let you back in.”

Courfeyrac frowned. “What about a green card?”

Grantaire shook his head. “I’m not eligible.”

Something shifted in Combeferre’s expression. “You could be.”

Grantaire looked sharply at him. “No. Absolutely not.”

Courfeyrac again glanced between the two of them. “What are you talking about?” he asked warily.

Combeferre cleared his throat. “If Grantaire marries a US citizen, he can apply for a green card that way.”

Grantaire made a disparaging noise in the back of his throat but Courfeyrac nodded slowly. “Ok, but what’s the likelihood of USCIS believing that Grantaire’s suspiciously timed marriage is legitimate?” he asked skeptically. “ICE has been cracking down, so if he’s going to do this, it has to be as plausible as possible. Someone where no one would question a hasty marriage.”

“And who the hell would that be?” Grantaire asked sourly.

“Well, Joly and Bossuet would be the natural choices, since they know you best—” Combeferre started, but Courfeyrac gave him a look.

“Except for the slight snag of the fact that they’re married to each other already and even if they were to agree to a hasty divorce, that’s definitely not passing muster.” He sighed before offering, “I suppose it could be any of Les Amis—”

Combeferre shook his head. “No, there’s really only one person who it could be. Who absolutely anyone would believe.”

Grantaire gave him a disbelieving look. “Who?”

“You know who.” Grantaire just looked at him blankly and Combeferre sighed before saying, as if he was dreading where this was bound to head,, “Enjolras.”

Grantaire let out a noise like a cat that had just been doused in cold water. “There is no way in hell that anyone would believe that Enjolras and I are married.”

But Courfeyrac just shook his head slowly, understanding Combeferre’s line of thinking exactly. “Grantaire, you get asked if you’re dating like three times a week.”

Grantaire shot him a betrayed look. “Ok, but dating and marriage aren’t the same thing.”

“Says who?”

Grantaire spluttered something incoherent before draining his glass of whiskey and muttering, “This is stupid. Even if anyone would believe it, there’s no way in hell that Enjolras would agree to it.”

Combeferre sat back in his chair. “Then what’s the harm in asking?”

Grantaire couldn’t meet either of their eyes. “I can’t.”

On any other day under any other circumstances, Courfeyrac would have been happy to leave Combeferre and Grantaire in their silent test of wills, but not that day. Instead, he pushed his chair back and stood. “Well if you won’t, then I will.”

Grantaire called something after him, but Courfeyrac ignored him, weaving through the crowd to sit down next to Enjolras. Grantaire worried his lower lip between his teeth, never once looking away, even when Enjolras glanced up at him, his expression unreadable. Only when Courfeyrac stood a few minutes later did he finally manage to tear his gaze away, transferring his panicked stare to Combeferre, who met it evenly.

Courfeyrac’s expression gave absolutely nothing away as he saw down next to Grantaire again. “He’s in.”

“He – what?” Grantaire managed weakly.

“Enjolras agreed to marry you.”

For a brief moment, something indescribably soft passed over Grantaire’s expression before being replaced by an attempt at his usual sardonic grin. “Well, I can’t say that’s how I ever imagined hearing those words. Someone pinch me, I think I’m dreaming.” Combeferre rolled his eyes and reached over to slug Grantaire in the shoulder. Grantaire winced. “Ouch, fuck, I said pinch, not punch.” 

“Sorry,” Combeferre said, though he didn’t particularly sound it, and his tone turned brisk. “Anyway, I’ll call Marius and put him to work on applying for the marriage license on your behalf, I’ll figure out how to get one of us ordained and Courfeyrac is in charge of planning the wedding.” He gave Courfeyrac a look. “Remember, it needs to look legitimate.”

“As if I would plan anything less,” Courfeyrac scoffed.

“And ideally it needs to be ready in 72 hours.”

Courfeyrac winced. “Ok, that might be a little harder to—”

“Enjolras is letting you use his AmEx card.”

Courfeyrac breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God.”

Grantaire scowled. “So, what, I just show up on the wedding day?”

Combeferre shook his head. “Not quite. You’ve got some work of your own to do.”

He nodded towards Enjolras, who was looking at the three of them expectantly, and Grantaire blanched. “I think I’d rather be deported.”

— — — — —

If Grantaire was being honest, marrying Enjolras, even for a fake, green card marriage, was everything he’d ever dreamed of. If he had known Enjolras in junior high, you could bet that he would have written ‘Mr. Grantaire-Enjolras’ on all his notebooks in gel pen with little hearts. And, sure, if he was normal, he’d have loved to have just dated him, if that was an option, but Grantaire, who did everything else in his life half-assed, would never have settled for just dating Enjolras. It was all or nothing for him.

Which is why it was a good thing that Grantaire wasn’t in the habit of being honest, especially where Enjolras was concerned.

Enjolras had suggested meeting to go over the list of potential USCIS interview questions, as well to more thoroughly develop their cover story, and Grantaire was certainly not going to turn down the opportunity to spend time with him. Even if it meant dragging himself over to Enjolras’s at the unholy hour of 8am the next morning. “I brought coffee,” he said by way of greeting, handing a cup to Enjolras, who looked surprised.

“Oh, thanks,” he said. “Of course, I do own a coffee maker, which you know because you broke my last one.”

“I had help from at least two other sources in breaking your last coffee maker if memory serves,” Grantaire said, plopping down on Enjolras’s couch, surprised and strangely gratified when Enjolras chose to sit next to him instead of in the adjacent chair.

“So I suppose it would stand to reason there was only a 33% chance you would remember,” Enjolras said, amused, and Grantaire snorted.

“Something like that.” He fiddled with the lid of his coffee cup before telling Enjolras, a little reluctantly, “So, uh, I guess I should start by thanking you. For agreeing to this.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of coffee. “What, for agreeing to meet to discuss our cover story?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “No, for agreeing to marry me,” he said impatiently, making a face and amending, “Well, fake marry me. I mean, the marriage itself is real, but like…” He trailed off, feeling himself flush. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Enjolras said before nudging him with his elbow. “I also knew what you were thanking me for originally. It’s called a joke.”

“Well hardy-har,” Grantaire said, a little sourly.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Anyway, are you ready to get started?” He set his coffee cup down on the coffee table and picked up a manilla folder full of printed pages. “I did some research on the process and common areas of concern, which is why I figured it would be best if we started with the interview portion.”

He looked expectantly at Grantaire as if waiting for him to agree, and Grantaire shrugged. “Um, sure.”

“Did you read through the list of sample questions that I sent you?” Enjolras asked, flipping the folder open.

Grantaire scratched the side of his neck. “I opened the email that contained the list of sample questions that you sent me,” he said.

Enjolras scowled. “Did you spend any time whatsoever thinking through what our story was going to be?”

Grantaire smirked. “I spent plenty of time thinking about you, Apollo, but I’m not sure you or the ICE agents who will be interrogating us will want to hear those particular thoughts.”

He winked, but Enjolras looked significantly unamused. “You seriously didn’t do any work to prepare for this.”

He said it flatly, a statement more than a question, and Grantaire just shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like this is a final exam or some shit. And you and I have known each other long enough that this should be a breeze.”

“Be serious,” Enjolras snapped, his favorite two words to say to Grantaire. “This is a hell of a lot more important than a final exam, because it’s not my ass that’s going to get sent back to Canada if we don’t get every detail right.”

Grantaire eyed him warily. “What are you talking about?”

“Tell me,” Enjolras said, derision clear in his tone, “how exactly did you think this worked?”

“I mean, I figured we get the legal paperwork out of the way, we cohabitated until after our interview, and then we’re pretty much free to carry on how we always have.”

“With you, as usual, putting in the least amount of effort,” Enjolras snapped. “But that’s not actually how this works. We have to actually pass as a married couple because if there is any hint that we are not married and sharing our lives, ICE will deport you. And for us to do so, that requires actually learning about each other. Hence the list of questions that I sent you with the expectation that you actually wanted to stay in this country.”

The sudden whiplash of Enjolras making jokes to acting like his usual disapproving self was making Grantaire’s head spin, and without the joy of having gotten blackout drunk the night before, and he forced himself to shrug unconcernedly and take a sip of coffee. “Well if that’s all this will take, I’m not worried. Because while you may be required to learn about me, I already know everything I need to know about you.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “You think you know everything about me?”

Grantaire smirked. “I know that I know everything about you.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Favorite color.”

Grantaire looked pointedly at the red hoodie Enjolras was wearing. “Red.”

“That was too easy,” Enjolras admitted. “Ok, favorite movie?”

Grantaire didn’t hesitate. “You tell everyone it’s All the President’s men, but really it’s Legally Blonde.”

Enjolras scowled, as if he hadn’t expected Grantaire to get that. “Fine, how do I take my coffee?”

“You mean the coffee that I brought for you this morning?” Grantaire asked, amused. “2 creams, 3 sugars, which is an abomination before God, if you ask me.”

“Which is why I’m not asking you that,” Enjolras muttered. “What brand of toothpaste do I use?”

Grantaire paused. “Is that from the list of USCIS questions? Or does my breath smell?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “The former.”

“Ok, well, last time I checked you used Crest 3D White toothpaste because you need those incisors to sparkle.”

He fluttered his eyelashes at Enjolras, who ignored him. “What was the first election that I ever voted in?”

That one made Grantaire pause to think – for all of thirty seconds. “In second grade, your class held a mock-election for the 1996 presidential election, and you were the only one to vote for Bill Clinton over Bob Dole.” 

Enjolras’s scowl deepened.  “What dorm did I live in in college?”

“Trick question,” Grantaire said, taking another sip of coffee. “Harvard has houses, not dorms.”

“Not for freshmen,” Enjolras said, just a little smugly.

“And freshman year your assigned dorm was undergoing renovations so you lived in an on-campus hotel.” Enjolras was silent, and Grantaire allowed himself a moment of triumph before asking, “Any other questions? Because I can do this all day.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “Just one.”

“Fire away,” Grantaire said breezily.

“Why did I agree to do this?”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “You– I mean, you’ve always said the immigration system is broken,” he said, a little weakly.

“And it is,” Enjolras said evenly. “But that’s not the answer.”

“And that’s not a question they’re going to ask,” Grantaire shot back.

Enjolras just shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” He took a sip of coffee before adding pointedly, “Maybe you don’t know everything about me after all.”

Grantaire was silent for a long moment, before finally shaking his head and admitting defeat. “Evidently I don’t.”

Enjolras leveled a look at him. “So does that mean you’ll take this more seriously?”

“I guess,” Grantaire said. “Though it also doesn’t change the fact that you can’t answer any of those questions about me.”

Enjolras scowled. “That’s not true.”

“Oh?”

Enjolras pointed at Grantaire’s coffee cup. “You take your coffee black, like your soul, though when the peppermint mocha comes out at Starbucks in the winter, you’ve been known to get one now and then. And your favorite color is green.”

He sounded almost smug, and Grantaire gave him a golf clap for his effort. “Well color me impressed.”

Enjolras half-smiled before adding, “Also, though I don’t actually know what brand of toothpaste you use, I know that you tell people that you emulate Kesha and brush your teeth with a bottle of Jack.”

Grantaire laughed. “Ok, I haven’t told anyone that since, like, 2013.”

Still, it was enough to have Grantaire looking at Enjolras with a new appreciation. Perhaps the man was more observant than Grantaire had given him credit for in the past. As if sensing Grantaire’s train of thought, Enjolras cleared his throat, his cheeks suddenly looking a bit pink. “Anyway, you should get comfortable,” he said, turning his attention back to the manilla folder. “There’s a long list of things we need to talk about, and a lot less surface-level than what our favorite movies are.”

“Fair enough,” Grantaire said. “Though for the record, mine is When Harry Met Sally.”

Enjolras glanced up at him. “The rom-com?”

“The very one,” Grantaire said. “Though, uh, I wouldn’t get so high and mighty about it, seeing what your favorite movie is.”

“I wasn’t getting high and mighty,” Enjolras said, laughing lightly. “I’ve just never seen it.”

Grantaire gasped and clutched his chest. “How have you never seen it?” he demanded. “Honestly, I don’t think this marriage is going to work if you don’t watch it.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, just slightly. “Well, I’ll see if I can squeeze in a viewing between figuring out our backstory, going to get fitted for a tux, and drafting our pre-nup.”

“As if you don’t have a custom tailored tux hanging in the back of your closet.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know how you know about that, but clearly I’m going to have to put a lock on my closet door the next time I have everyone over.”

Grantaire grinned. “Yeah, but in 72 hours, it won’t matter if I see what’s in your closet, right?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.”

— — — — —

Of course, Enjolras wasn’t entirely wrong – the next 72 hours were a whirlwind of preparations, half devoted to Enjolras and Grantaire working out their backstory, and half devoted to doing everything that needed to be done to have a convincing wedding ceremony.

The former was made easier by their mutual decision to stick to something simple that fit their history: they had been friends for so long that once they realized there was more between them, it didn’t make much sense to have a long, drawn-out engagement. 

The latter was made easier by the fact that with a clipboard and AmEx in hand, Courfeyrac turned into an authoritarian the likes of which was normally only found in a third world dictatorship.

How Courfeyrac had managed to convince the most sought-after chapel in town to let them use the facility on a Saturday in May no less was a secret he would almost certainly take to his grave, but Grantaire didn’t question it, or the out of season red roses that artfully decorated every surface as he made his way inside, his rented tux in a garment bag over his shoulder.

He dressed in record time, which left him with little to do but sit in the groom’s suite sipping champagne and thinking about what a monumental mistake they were probably making, not the least because this almost certainly cemented the fact that this would never happen for real. 

After all, people didn’t get real-married after getting fake-married and then fake-divorced, right?

A knock on the door sounded and Courfeyrac poked his head into the room. “You about ready?” he asked, a bite of impatience in his voice.

“I didn’t realize I was the one holding proceedings up,” Grantaire said mildly.

Courfeyrac sighed. “You’re not. But we have exactly forty-five minutes to get this done and some people—“ Knowing their friends, Grantaire had a pretty good idea which ones Courfeyrac was referring to. “—don’t seem to understand that.”

Grantaire nodded. “So I have plenty of time to chat with Enjolras before we get hitched, right?“

Courfeyrac threw his hands up. “You might as well at this point,” he huffed before stalking off.

Grantaire hid his laughter and instead snuck across the hall to knock lightly on the door of Enjolras’s dressing room. “It’s me,” he said.

“Come in,” Enjolras called.

Grantaire pushed the door open, stopping in his tracks when he saw Enjolras standing there, adjusting his cuff links. “Holy shit.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”

Grantaire shook his head. “That good,” he said. “You look – wow.”

Enjolras half-smiled. “Thanks. You clean up pretty nicely yourself.”

As much as Grantaire wanted to just stand there drinking in the sight of Enjolras in a tux, he had come over here for a reason, and he finally tore his eyes away to tell Enjolras, “Thank you, again, for all of this. You didn’t have to—“

“I know,” Enjolras interrupted. “But I wanted to.”

“Why?”

The question was out of Grantaire’s mouth before he could stop it, and Enjolras frowned. “Why what?”

Even if Grantaire hadn’t meant to ask it, now that he had, he knew it was the only one he wanted answered. “Why did you want to do all this? Hell, why’d you agree to this in the first place?” Enjolras shook his head but Grantaire didn’t let him interrupt. “You said that was one thing I didn’t know about you, and I still don’t. I’ve got half your family tree memorized at this point, and I still don’t know why you agreed to marry me.”

“It’s not important,” Enjolras said quietly. “Like you said, USCIS isn’t going to ask that.”

“It’s important to me.”

Enjolras searched his expression for a moment. “I’ll tell you later. I promise. For now, if we’re even thirty seconds late getting out there, Courfeyrac will murder us both.”

He held his hand out to Grantaire, who stared at it for a minute as if not sure what exactly he was supposed to do with it. Then he took it, and the feeling of how perfectly Enjolras’s hand fit in his was enough to occupy his mind entirely as they made their way to the chapel doors, and even all the way down the aisle.

But nothing could have distracted Grantaire as he stood in front of a hastily-ordained Jehan and all of their friends, staring up at Enjolras as they prepared to say their wedding vows. “I understand you have opted for the traditional vows, correct?” Jehan said, looking between the two of them.

Grantaire nodded, but Enjolras took a breath before saying, “Actually, there’s something I wanted to say first.”

Grantaire’s heart stopped in his chest, then started beating double-time when Enjolras turned to take his hands in both of his. “Grantaire,” he said, his voice low, his words meant for no one else besides Grantaire, whose mouth went dry, “you asked me why I agreed to do this. And the truth is, when Courfeyrac told me that you might be deported – it was like the entire world stopped. The idea of not having you in my life was something that I knew I couldn’t live with.”

Grantaire’s throat felt tight. “Enjolras—”

“Normal people might do things differently. They might date and move in together before deciding to get married. But luckily, no one’s ever accused either of us of being normal.” Their friends all laughed lightly in agreement, though Grantaire was pretty sure he saw Joly wipe a tear from his cheek. “The truth is, I love you. And—” Enjolras took another deep breath. “And when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

Despite himself, Grantaire laughed, even though to his own ears, it sounded more like a sob. “You watched When Harry Met Sally.”

Enjolras half-smiled. “I did.”

“And?”

Enjolras squeezed his hands. “And I decided that maybe it does work this way. Because I love you. I love that you show up to every protest, and every rally, even when you’re half-asleep or hungover or still drunk. You always make it. I love that you tell terrible jokes at the worst possible time because you can’t stand to see anyone upset. I love that you know so much about me, and I love that if this all works out, I’ll get to spend the rest of my life learning everything there is to know about you. Including and especially what brand of toothpaste you use.”

Grantaire was crying for real now, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Instead, he did the only thing he could, surging forward to kiss Enjolras, one hand wrapped in the label of his fancy, custom tailored tux jacket as if he would never let him go. “You see, that’s the thing about you, Enjolras,” he whispered, his nose brushing against Enjolras’s, neither man wanting to pull back any further. “You say things like that and you make it impossible for me to hate you.”

Enjolras smiled, and the sight was even more beautiful up close than Grantaire had ever thought it could be. “Yeah, but you have to admit, you never tried very hard.”

“No,” Grantaire agreed, kissing him again. “I definitely didn’t.”

Jehan cleared his throat. “Um, not to ruin a beautiful moment, but we’ve still got a wedding to finish.” Grantaire snorted a laugh and Enjolras wrapped an arm around his waist as they turned to again face Jehan. “I’ll take it you both take each other to have and to hold, etcetera?”

“I do,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras turned to press a kiss to his temple.

“So do I.”

“Then by the power vested in me by the internet, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss— And you already are.”

They certainly were, kissing like it was just the two of them, wrapped up in each other. When they finally broke apart this time, their friends cheered and applauded, not that Enjolras or Grantaire saw them – the only thing they saw were each other.

Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand again and squeezed it. “So what do you think?”

Grantaire grinned. “I think we’re going to ace that interview.”

Love is Blind (Part Three: Living Together)

This thing just continues to be the beast that will not end.

E/R, Modern AU, Love is Blind AU (bad reality TV AU for anyone unfamiliar with the source show). Established relationship at this point, but like. Still a speedrun.

Read Part One here.Read Part Two here.

In our blind love experiment, our couples chose each other, sight unseen. They fell in love, and then they got engaged to the person who is now their fiancé, before ever seeing one another.

In Mexico, they had an amazing opportunity to begin to grow their emotional connection into a physical one. But now it’s time to leave paradis and start building their lives together. Each of our couples will move into a new home, a neutral space for them to deepen their relationships. 

In the real world, their love is going to be put to the test. How are they going to integrate their lives? Their friends, families, careers, homes? With their devices back and their weddings just three weeks away, will they allow the opinion of family and friends, the allure of other people, the distractions of social media, to sabotage their weddings and their happiness?

Will they judge one another for their looks, their race, their age, their family, or their circumstances? Will any of that really matter? Or will love be enough? Ultimately, that is what they will decide in front of their friends and families: will they say ‘I do’ to the person they chose sight unseen? Or will they walk away from them forever?

Is love truly blind?

We hope that they prove it is.

Grantaire let out a low whistle as he glanced around the living room of their new apartment. “So this is it,” he said, dropping his bag on the floor. “The new place.”

Enjolras followed suit, setting his bag next to Grantaire’s, before wrapping an arm around Grantaire’s waist and kissing his cheek. “Welcome home.”

Grantaire turned to kiss him properly before pulling away, wandering towards the window and glancing outside. “Seems weird to be moving into an apartment that’s literally, like, two neighborhoods away from the apartment that I am still nominally paying rent on.”

Enjolras just shrugged. “It isn’t any less weird knowing that this is like an hour from my place.”

“I always forget you live in Milwaukee,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras frowned.

“What does that mean?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, I’m not insulting Milwaukee – at least, not much.” Enjolras rolled his eyes and Grantaire smirked before adding, “But what I really mean is, the work you do is so politics-centric that I keep assuming you live in DC.”

Enjolras snorted. “You’ve been watching too much of the West Wing.”

“Excuse you, take that back,” Grantaire said, sounding insulted.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Fine, you’ve been watching too much Veep,” he amended.

Grantaire smirked. “Thank you. But no matter which TV show I clearly take all my political acumen from, you have to admit that DC makes more sense for a political hack than Milwaukee.”

Enjolras laughed lightly, reaching out to pull Grantaire to him. “A, I’m not a hack,” he said, kissing Grantaire’s forehead. “But even if I was, you’re not entirely wrong. I lived in DC for a long time and will probably end up back there eventually. But right now my organization is focused on Midwest organizing, and Wisconsin is ripe for it.”

He tried not to sound too enthusiastic, knowing that Grantaire didn’t care nearly as much as he did, and to his credit, Grantaire refrained from rolling his eyes. Mostly. “Is that why you’ve barely looked up from your phone since we left Mexico?” he asked instead.

Enjolras didn’t even bother to look shamefaced. “Yeah, we just had local elections.”

“And?” Grantaire prompted.

Enjolras frowned down at him. “And what?”

“How’d you do?”

There were a lot of ways to answer that, and Enjolras weighed them for a moment. He knew that Grantaire was trying to be supportive, but also knew that if he went too far, it would turn into them bickering about Grantaire’s lack of convictions. “That’s a hard question to quantify but better than anticipated,” he said finally, which had the benefit of being both true and not nearly as nuanced as reality. “No ‘Red Wave’ at least.”

Grantaire wrinkled his nose. “I hate that phrase, by the way,” he said off-handedly. “I know it’s a GOP co-opt of the Blue Wave but it reminds me of how my sister used to talk about her period.”

Enjolras barked a laugh before shaking his head. “Speaking of your sister—”

“Hell of a segue.”

“—We haven’t really talked about if we’re going to be meeting each others’ families,” Enjolras said. “Or if we’ll be inviting them to the wedding.”

Something darkened in Grantaire’s expression. “If my sister lived closer, we could meet her, but she’s out in California.”

“And your parents?” Enjolras prompted quietly.

“My mother’s dead,” Grantaire said shortly. “My father might as well be.” His tone indicated he had no wish to discuss it further, and Enjolras didn’t pry. “What about your parents? I know you’re an only child.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “Did I tell you that, or did you just assume it?”

Grantaire managed a small smile. “I plead the Fifth.”

“Uh-huh,” Enjolras said, a little skeptically. “Anyway, my parents live in Connecticut and I haven’t seen them in six years so I wasn’t exactly planning on inviting them.”

Grantaire’s expression softened. “I’d rather we invite our found families instead,” he said lightly, and Enjolras nodded in agreement.

“Is that who I’ll be meeting?” he asked, crossing over to the kitchen counter and the bottle of champagne the production team had left for them. “Your found family?”

“Part of them, anyway,” Grantaire said, taking the champagne from him and opening it with deft hands. “You’ll be meeting Joly and Bossuet. I have more friends than that, I promise, but most of them wouldn’t sign the consent forms to appear on camera.” He poured them both a glass before raising his in a toast. “My friend Éponine claims that the camera will steal her soul, which is a good one, considering that she claimed in the same breath not to have one.”

Enjolras laughed lightly, clinking his glass against Grantaire’s. “I know what you mean. My friend Jehan said he refused to allow his image to serve as a tool of corporate greed.” He took a sip before shrugging. “But at least Combeferre and Courfeyrac agreed, which is good, because they’re my best friends and the closest thing I have to brothers.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “So I’ll have to earn their approval.”

“Of course not,” Enjolras scoffed. “The only person whose approval you have ever needed it mine.” He took another sip of champagne before adding, “But I can’t imagine they wouldn’t approve regardless.”

Grantaire didn’t look nearly as convinced. “How do you know that?”

“Because they want me to be happy,” Enjolras said simply. “And you make me happy.”

“Sap,” Grantaire whispered, leaning in to kiss him before draining his champagne and straightening. “Shall we explore our new digs?”

“Digs?” Enjolras repeated with a snort. “Might as well, I suppose.” He took Grantaire’s hand as they strolled down the hallway, pausing in the doorway of the bedroom. “Only one bedroom.”

He said it deliberately casually, and Grantaire arched an eyebrow as he glanced up at him. “Good think the couch looks comfortable,” he said, matching Enjolras’s tone.

Enjolras smirked. “You planning on sleeping on it?”

“No,” Grantaire said, saccharine sweet, “I was thinking about you for when I decide to kick you out of bed for being an asshole.”

Enjolras just laughed. “Now who’s being an asshole?”

“Speaking of assholes—”

Enjolras raised both eyebrows. “Now that is one hell of a segue.”

Grantaire ignored him. “What do you say we take this new bed for a test drive?”

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea,” Enjolras said, kissing him slowly before adding, “No matter what segue got us here.”

“Say the word segue one more time and I’ll make you regret it,” Grantaire said, his voice pitched low.

Enjolras smirked. “Is that a promise?”

Grantaire kissed him. “It’s a guarantee.”

— — — — —

“Your apartment building has a doorman,” Grantaire said, with something like awe, for the third time in as many minutes as he stood in the entryway of Enjolras’s condo.

“You said that already,” Enjolras said, a little uncomfortably, sliding past him to dump the months’ worth of mail from his mailbox on the kitchen island.

Grantaire ignored him. “I didn’t even know apartment buildings in Milwaukee came with doormen, let alone that you lived in one. That’s like—” He broke off, casting around for the correct phrasing. “That’s like the 1% shit.”

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Technically, it’s a condo building, not an apartment building,” he muttered. “And I don’t know that I’d call it ‘1% shit’.”

Grantaire gave him a look. “Condo building and doorman would say otherwise,” he said, crossing through the sparsely-decorated living room to the balcony door. “Now if this is a view of the parking lot, then maybe—” Again he broke off, this time to make a strangled noise in his throat. “That is Lake Michigan.”

“I’m not sure what other lake it would be,” Enjolras said.

Again Grantaire ignored him, instead shaking his head slowly, not tearing his eyes from the view. “You rent a lakeview condo in a building with a doorman.”

“Own.”

Grantaire swiveled to stare at him. “Sorry?”

His tone was incredulous, and Enjolras winced before correcting in a somewhat delicate tone, “I own a lakeview condo in a building with a doorman.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “You’re rich.”

Enjolras snorted. “I’m not.”

“In this economy, for a millennial?”

“Sorry, I mean—” Enjolras broke off with a sigh, scrubbing a hand across his face. “I’m not personally rich. I make, like, 35k a year. But my family is wealthy, and some of that wealth, despite my best efforts to the contrary, is mine to access.”

Grantaire’s expression didn’t change. “That’s some impressive mental gymnastics to get out of just admitting that you’re loaded.”

Enjolras sighed again. “It’s really not,” he said, plopping down on the couch. “I don’t consider it my money because I didn’t do a damned thing to earn it besides being born.”

Grantaire sat down next to him. “So then get rid of it,” he suggested.

“I do,” Enjolras told him. “But do you know how hard it is to get rid of money? It makes interest faster than I can donate or spend it.” He shrugged. “Besides, I use it to supplement my salary so that I don’t drain organizational resources from more deserving recipients.”

Grantaire gave him a bemused look. “Which you could do just as easily from a shared two-bedroom on far less prime real estate.”

Again Enjolras shrugged. “I like my privacy.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Grantaire’s mouth. “Is this like a 50 Shades of Grey thing?” he teased. “Is there a sex dungeon or red room of pain in here I should know about?”

Enjolras barked a laugh. “Don’t you think if I were into BDSM or kink it would’ve come up by now?”

Grantaire’s eyes darkened. “I mean, you’re a little into it, and anytime you’d like me to tie your wrists to my headboard with a tie, all you have to do is ask.”

Enjolras flushed. “That’s a conversation for a different time,” he said. “No, there is no sex dungeon in here. As a matter of fact, besides my friends, you’re the first guy I’ve ever brought over here.”

Grantaire traced a finger across the pattern of the couch. “Because you don’t want them to know you’re loaded?”

Enjolras didn’t bother denying it. “Because people treat you differently when they know you have money.”

“And you’re not worried I’m going to treat you differently?”

Enjolras didn’t hesitate. “No.”

Grantaire didn’t seem surprised, though he still asked, “Why not?”

“Because I know you love me,” Enjolras said simply, “and you loved me before you knew that I had money.”

“I mean, yeah,” Grantaire agreed, “but I might love you a lot more now that I know you can single-handedly pay off my student loans.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed. “Sure, I can move some money around, how much do you—” He broke off when he saw the look on Grantaire’s face. “You were joking.”

“At least I wasn’t fully serious,” Grantaire said, a little faintly. 

Enjolras sighed. “Can we at least agree to table the continuation of this conversation until after meeting Combeferre and Courfeyrac?” he asked, standing and offering Grantaire his hand. “Because otherwise we’re going to be late.”

Grantaire let him pull him up from the couch, even though he told him, “Fine, but if it comes up in the interim, that’s not my fault.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I highly doubt it’s going to,” he huffed.

He was half-right, anyway, but had vastly underestimated Courfeyrac’s capacity for being an asshole, since after meeting them in the park across from Enjolras’s place and casual introductions, Grantaire had told them that they’d just come from Enjolras’s condo, and Courfeyrac had asked, far too innocently, “And what did you think?”

“Bigger than expected,” was all Grantaire had replied, but it was enough. Courfeyrac had grinned like a maniac and launched into Kanye West’s ‘Gold Digger’. Enjolras glowered at him, but Grantaire just laughed. “I have a feeling we’re going to be friends,” he said, which made Courfeyrac beam.

Combeferre, however, didn’t seem as easily convinced, and Enjolras waited until Grantaire and Courfeyrac went off to get a drink, one camera crew trailing after them as the other stayed with Combeferre and Enjolras, to ask, “So what’s wrong?”

Combeferre shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“But you don’t like him.”

Enjolras didn’t state it as a question, not that Combeferre had ever needed him to explicitly ask for his opinion on anything. And this time was no different. “I like him just fine!” Combeferre protested. “Is he who I would’ve picked for you? No, but that’s why I’m not in charge of your love life.”

“And yet you’re not excited for me,” Enjolras said evenly.

Combeferre sighed and jerked his head towards a bench a little ways down the path. Once they had sat down and the cameraman had gotten into place, Combeferre continued, “I would be absolutely over the moon for you if I thought this was even remotely what you wanted.”

Enjolras frowned. “This is exactly what I wanted.”

“Is it?”

Combeferre sounded more than skeptical, and Enjolras’s frown deepened. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, exactly, so why don’t you spit it out?” he said, as pleasantly as he could manage.

Sighing again, Combeferre shook his head, glancing over at the lake. “I’ve known Grantaire for all of 30 seconds and I can tell that he is in love with you.”

Enjolras blinked. “I know.”

“And not the kind of flash in the pan, hot while it lasts love,” Combeferre continued. “Truly, madly, deeply in love with you.”

“Is that a Savage Garden reference?” Enjolras asked, aiming for a lighthearted joke to ease the tension. “Because that’s a deep cut if so.”

Combeferre scowled. “Would you be serious for a moment?” Enjolras barked a laugh and Combeferre frowned. “What?”

“Nothing, just—” Enjolras waved a dismissive hand. “That sounds like something I would say to Grantaire.”

Combeferre’s expression softened, just a little. “Look, I can tell that you care about him, probably as much if not more than any of your previous boyfriends. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re you, and I highly doubt your priorities have changed in the past month.”

Enjolras knew what he was referring to, and his heart sank, just a little. “They haven’t, but—”

“And Grantaire isn’t a houseplant that you can shove in a corner and hope it survives on its own,” Combeferre said, a little sharply. “He needs love and attention, and all the things that you normally have in short supply.”

“I know that,” Enjolras said quietly.

Combeferre gave him a searching look. “So then do you blame me for being skeptical?”

Enjolras shook his head. “Of course not. And I know there’s really no good way to explain this so I’ll just say it – Grantaire’s different.” Combeferre made a noise of something like disbelief and Enjolras set his jaw, feeling unexpectedly defensive. “Or maybe I’m different because of him, I don’t know. What I do know is this – until him, whenever someone talked about being heads-over-heels in love, I always kind of thought they were joking. But when I met him, I finally understood.” Despite himself, despite feeling indignant at being questioned, even if he understood exactly where Combeferre was coming from, he couldn’t stop the smile that crossed his face as he talked about Grantaire. “It’s not like all the pieces suddenly, magically fell in place, or anything like that, but it’s like for the first time I understood why I should bother putting the pieces together in the first place. He makes the work that it takes to be in this relationship worthwhile.”

Combeferre let out a low whistle. “Wow.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Combeferre nodded slowly. “In that case, my answer to your next question is yes.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “And what question is that going to be?”

“If I’ll be your best man.”

Combeferre said it so casually that it took a moment for Enjolras to realize what he said. Once he did, he grinned. “Do you mean that?”

Combeferre nodded. “Yeah.” He hesitated before adding, “And like I said, I am ecstatic for you if this is what you want.”

“But you’re still not convinced.”

Combeferre shrugged. “More than I was before.” He nudged Enjolras companionably. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to convince me fully before the wedding.”

“I’m sure that I will,” Enjolras said firmly. “Grantaire’s absolutely worth whatever effort it takes.”

— — — — —

Grantaire hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. “Ok, so it’s not exactly a lakeview condo with a doorman,” he started, and Enjolras just barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes.

“I know that by the fact that we’re a good three miles away from the lake,” he said patiently.

“And I don’t have the money to spend on, like, a housekeeper or maid or whatever—”

“Grantaire.”

Grantaire muttered something under his breath that Enjolras couldn’t quite catch before telling him, “I just want to make sure your expectations are sufficiently lowered.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “You know that I wouldn’t care if you lived in a hole in the ground, right?”

Grantaire met his look with one of his own. “That’s not true and you know it.”

“Maybe not,” Enjolras allowed, “but I wouldn’t care much.”

“Fine,” Grantaire sighed, finally opening the door to his apartment and stepping back to let Enjolras in. 

Enjolras’s first thought was that it was very Grantaire, which was perhaps a dumb thing to think, considering it was his apartment. But something about it just suited Grantaire, from the mish-mash of decorative styles to the bright colors to various knick-knacks that crowded seemingly every available surface. It was what he imagined the inside of Grantaire’s mind must look like. 

Grantaire hung back, something almost nervous in his tone as he asked, “So what do you think?”

“It’s cute,” Enjolras told him.

Grantaire made a face. “Cute means small.”

“Cute means cute,” Enjolras corrected, crossing over to where several photographs were hung on the wall, their subjects ranging from portraits to streetscapes. “Are these your photographs?”

Grantaire shrugged, dropping down on his slightly delapidated couch. “Most of them, yeah.”

Enjolras paused in front of one that he recognized. “Is this one?”

“Yeah.”

Enjolras turned to give Grantaire a measured look. “This wasn’t taken in Chicago.”

Grantaire shook his head. “No, it’s—”

“From Ferguson,” Enjolras said. “I recognize it.” He frowned slightly at the picture of the protests, one of several such pictures, and turned again to Grantaire. “What were you doing in Ferguson?”

He was aiming for curious but probably sounded more accusatory, though Grantaire didn’t seem to notice. “When I heard the Michael Brown shooting, I knew that whatever happened was something that needed to be documented, so I joined a few friends who were heading down to St. Louis to protest,” he said. Enjolras opened his mouth to agree but Grantaire cut him off with a derisive snort. “Fat lot of good it did, since it’s been six years and absolutely nothing in this country has changed.” He let out a slightly bitter sigh before running a hand across his face and giving Enjolras a rueful look. “Sorry.”

Enjolras frowned. “What are you apologizing for?” he asked. “It’s not like you’re wrong.”

Grantaire shrugged. “No, but I promised to try not to be so cynical.”

Enjolras raised both eyebrows. “When did you make that promise?”

“Maybe I only made it to myself,” Grantaire admitted with a small half-smile.

Enjolras nodded slowly, glancing around Grantaire’s apartment before offering, “For what it’s worth, I don’t mind your cynicism.”

It was Grantaire’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Oh really?”

“Well, at the very least it’s a tangible reminder of everything I’m working towards.”

Grantaire laughed, standing up to cross to Enjolras and give him a kiss. “I love being hashtag inspo for you,” he teased.

Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “Please don’t ever say that again.”

“You know I can’t promise—”

Without warning, his apartment door banged open and two men Enjolras didn’t know burst in, both wearing identical smiles even if otherwise they couldn’t look more different. The slightly burlier and significantly balder of the two bellowed, “R!” before all but tackling him to the couch.

“Oh, Jesus,” Grantaire managed, his voice slightly muffled, and he let out a groan mixed with laughter as the other man piled on.

All three seemed to be talking at the same time, and Enjolras gave them a moment before saying, with no small amount of bemusement, “Um, hi.”

Grantaire struggled to extricate himself from the pile of limbs, red-faced and out of breath from laughter. “Enjolras, these two are my best friends, Joly and Bossuet.”

The bald one, Bossuet, stood up and offered Enjolras an enthusiastic handshake. “And you must be the man who has won our dear R’s heart!”

The other, Joly, scowled. “Why the fuck are you talking like that?” he asked as he also got up to shake Enjolras’s hand.

“Like what?” Bossuet asked, clearly put out.

“Like you just walked out of some period romance.”

Bossuet scowled. “I am not—”

Grantaire nudged Enjolras as Joly and Bossuet continued bickering. “They’re going to be like that for awhile,” he said in a slightly fond undertone.

Enjolras shook his head,deciding not to question it. “Can I ask what’s up with the whole ‘R’ thing?” he said instead.

“Oh, it’s a play on my name,” Grantaire said with a laugh. “Doesn’t work so well in English.”

Enjolras considered it before realization hit. “Grand Aire, Capital R…oh, that’s clever.”

He chuckled and kissed Grantaire’s temple. “I thought so,” Grantaire said, a little smugly.

Enjolras wrapped an arm around his shoulders before nodding towards Joly and Bossuet, who were still bickering. “So, uh, are they always like this.”

“Pretty much,” Grantaire said, still fond, though he glanced up at Enjolras and asked, “Not quite like what you’re used to, huh?”

Enjolras snorted and shook his head. “On the contrary. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were on their best behavior when you met them. 95% of the time, they’re worse than this.”

Grantaire winced. “Yikes.”

“Pretty much.”

Grantaire kissed Enjolras before pulling away to clap his hands together, the sudden noise startling Joly and Bossuet from their back and forth. “Alright, kids, time to break it up,” he said loudly. “We got shit to do.”

Joly brighteed. “Good point. Bossuet, want to take Grantaire to go stock up on drinks while I talk to Enjolras?”

Grantaire frowned. “I don’t need to stock up on drinks.”

Joly smiled sweetly at him. “No, but you do need to leave me alone with your fiancé.”

Bossuet had already looped his arm through Grantaire’s and was tugging him toward the door. “Remind me why we’re friends again?” Grantaire said sourly.

“Because you love us and couldn’t live without us,” Bossuet said promptly.

“True,” Grantaire admitted with a sigh, giving Enjolras one last pleading look to rescue him before the door closed after them, one of the cameramen hurrying to follow.

Personally, Enjolras thought if anyone needed rescuing, it was him, since Joly was currently eyeing him like he was sizing him up for a fight. “So,” Joly said, gesturing for Enjolras to take a seat. “Enjolras.”

“Joly,” Enjolras said cautiously.

Joly leaned forward. “I’m supposed to be giving you the ‘hurt him and we hurt you’ speech.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “Supposed to be?”

Joly waved a dismissive hand. “Grantaire’s a big boy, and frankly, between the three of us, he’s the one most likely to beat the shit out of anyone.”

Enjolras’s lips twitched. “I hadn’t noticed.”

A sharp smile flickered across Joly’s face. “Liar. And not even a good one at that.” He gave Enjolras a measured look. “Let me guess, he got in a fight with someone?”

Enjolras shrugged. “He and a friend may have had a run in with each other in Mexico.”

“And why’d they do a thing like that?”

Enjolras cleared his throat. “They were both under the mistaken impression that their fiancés were flirting.”

“Ah.”

“With each other.”

Something darkened in Joly’s expression. “Oh.”

“Which we weren’t, for whatever that’s worth,” Enjolras hastened to add.

To his surprise, Joly laughed lightly. “That I actually don’t doubt, if only because you don’t strike me as the type to flirt with anyone, let alone someone you’re not engaged to.”

Enjolras couldn’t really deny it, so didn’t bother trying. “But it’s also why I have no intention of ever actually doing anything to hurt Grantaire,” he told Joly, whose smile faded.

“Maybe not, but if that was a lesson in anything, it’s how sometimes intentions aren’t enough.” He gave Enjolras a look. “Since I doubt you intended on making him jealous enough to question your relationship either.”

“No, I didn’t,” Enjolras said, defensive despite himself. “But he and I talked about it, and agreed that we needed to talk things through before either of us goes off the deep end, and for what it’s worth, we’re both trying.”

Joly nodded slowly. “Which is a start, at least.”

“But not enough of one to get your blessing.”

Enjolras wasn’t sure why he said it, but the moment he did, he knew it was true. Joly cocked his head slightly. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Joly took a long moment to answer, and when he did, he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “Bossuet and I have known Grantaire a very long time. And what you have to understand about Grantaire is that beneath the attempts at cynicism is a man who cares so very deeply. And he’s gotten himself hurt from lesser situations than this.”

Enjolras nodded. “I don’t doubt that.”

“And I’m afraid that if this thing between you ends badly, it will break him for good.”

Joly didn’t say it harshly, but Enjolras still flinched. He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before telling Joly, “I’m not sure what you want me to say to that. I can’t promise that things won’t end poorly, just that I have no intention of them ending at all, let alone badly.” He took a deep breath. “But as you said, intentions aren’t enough. So all I can tell you is that I love him. I may not have intended on falling in love with him, but I did. And I made a promise to him, one I intend to uphold in just a few short weeks when I make him my husband. I don’t break promises easily, and I certainly don’t do it without good cause.” He paused before adding, somewhat fiercer than intended, “And before you ask, Grantaire filled me in on his mental health history, not that any of that would be considered good cause anyway. And none of it scared me off.”

To his surprise, Joly grinned at that. “I can see why Grantaire fell for you.”

Enjolras blinked. “Oh yeah?”

“He’s always had a thing for righteous indignation,” Joly told him. “And blonds.”

Enjolras laughed. “Well, we all have our weaknesses.”

“And mine is automatically liking anyone who cares about Grantaire that deeply,” Joly said, giving Enjolras a genuine smile. “I’m sure you don’t need it, but you have my blessing.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras told him.

Joly hesitated before adding, “Just – do your best to make sure that righteous indignation is always for him, not aimed at him.”

Enjolras thought of all the times already that Grantaire had all but driven him crazy, whether with his cynicism or refusal to be serious or whatever else. It was a hard promise to make, as much as he knew he wanted to. “I will do my best,” he said.

Joly nodded. “And that’s all I can ask.”

— — — — —

“Can we talk?”

Enjolras didn’t glance up from his computer, though he automatically tucked his toes under Grantaire’s thigh as he sat down next to him on the couch. “I have fifteen minutes before you told me I better have my ass in bed or you’re starting without me.”

Grantaire shook his head. “Not about that.”

Now Enjolras did look up, frowning slightly. “Why don’t I like the tone of your voice?”

Grantaire sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t know how to say this, but—”

“Are you breaking things off?” Enjolras interrupted. Not that he thought Grantaire was, by any stretch, but he figured it might add some much-needed levity to the moment.

But Grantaire just looked startled. “What? No, of course not.”

“Ok, well then, if I may, in the future, don’t start a conversation like this with ‘I don’t know how to say this’.”

His tone was teasing but Grantaire didn’t smile. “I’m hoping there won’t really need to be a conversation like this in the future. But our trips to each other’s places, and meeting our friends—” He took a deep breath before telling Enjolras,  “We still have a lot that we need to work out before we actually get hitched.

Enjolras nodded slowly. “I’m ignoring your use of the term ‘hitched’, only because I can tell you’re not in the mood. So what do we need to decide?”

“For starters, are we going to have kids?”

The question was so out of the blue that Enjolras was temporarily speechless, and he looked at Grantaire cautiously before telling him, “Kids were never in my plan. If that’s something that you feel strongly about—”

Grantaire shook his head. “It’s not,” he assured him. “That’s a relief, actually. I definitely do not want kids. I’ve babysat for my friend Éponine before, and that is as much contact with kids as I need in my life.”

While normally Enjolras would be inclined to celebrate a major agreement like this, he had a feeling this was only the tip of the iceberg. “So we’re in agreement on that. What else do we need to decide?”

“Well, there’s the question of where we’re going to live,” Grantaire said. “I know that Milwaukee and Chicago aren’t that far apart, but you mentioned going back to DC eventually, so…”

He trailed off and Enjolras frowned, setting his computer down on the coffee table. “Eventually means eventually. I don’t exactly have a timeline for it. But yeah, my work will probably take me back there at some point.” He hesitated before asking, “Is that a dealbreaker?”

“I don’t know,” Grantaire said. “I’ve never really thought about moving somewhere else.”

“Ever?”

“Well, I mean, when it’s the dead of winter and cold as balls out, I’ve thought about fucking off to California or Hawaii or wherever, but not seriously.” Grantaire shook his head. “I don’t know. Chicago is my home. I love it here.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “More than you love me?”

Grantaire flinched. “That’s not fair.”

Enjolras knew in an instant that he had overstepped, and he reached for Grantaire’s hand, squeezing it once as he told him, “I know. I’m sorry. Bad joke.”

Grantaire took a deep breath. “Well, while we’re on the subject of how much we’re willing to sacrifice for each other, there is something else.”

“What?” Enjolras asked warily.

“We need a pre-nup.”

Enjolras knew in an instance that this was what Grantaire had been after from the beginning, and that he had brought up the other stuff to soften the blow. It hadn’t worked. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Enjolras—”

Enjolras dropped his hand. “This entire experiment is supposed to be about finding love, not turning it into a business transaction!”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “And I’m forced to once again steal your line – be serious.”

“I thought I was,” Enjolras shot back.

“Then be realistic, at least,” Grantaire said. “You’re fucking loaded. And I am…not. I joked about you paying off my student loans and you were ready to do it.”

Enjolras winced. “I didn’t say that, I said I could move around some money…”

It wasn’t exactly the stellar point he’d hoped to make, and Grantaire took it as an opportunity. “See?” he said. “You don’t even know how much money you have at your disposal, let alone invested or whatever it is rich people do with their money. I live paycheck to paycheck and stagger my bills throughout the month to make sure I don’t overdraw my checking account. I know exactly how much money I have.”

“So?”

“So I shouldn’t be the one to have to tell you that we need a fucking pre-nup.”

“And I shouldn’t have to be the one to tell you that I don’t want a pre-nup,” Enjolras snapped. “I don’t want to go into our wedding prepared for it to fail.”

Grantaire threw his hands up in frustration. “Oh my God, this isn’t about it failing—”

“Yes it is!” Enjolras said. “You don’t sign a pre-nup thinking it’s going to work out, you sign one to plan for it to not.”

“You sign one to protect your ass,” Grantaire shot back.

Enjolras gave him a look. “I think you mean assets.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “I said what I said.”

Enjolras sighed and shook his head. “We are getting married, and once we are, everything that I have is half yours,” he said firmly. “I don’t want it any other way. I refuse to live with separate bank accounts and different trust funds and money squirreled away that you can’t touch in case of a divorce or thinking you’re only sticking around for the requisite number of years so that you can get what’s coming to you. I won’t live like that.”

Grantaire was quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “I’ll assume that’s how your parents lived?” he asked finally.

Enjolras swallowed and looked away. “My father filed for divorce two days before their tenth wedding anniversary to try to stop my mother from getting half of his assets,” he said, his tone turning bitter. “They finally finished their divorce proceedings just in time for my fourteenth birthday, which I spent alone because they had scheduled vacations with their new lovers.”

Grantaire reached out to take his hand. “I’m sorry.”

Enjolras squeezed his hand before telling him, his voice low, “I have seen first-hand what happens to a loving relationship when it’s treated like a business agreement, and I don’t want that for us. Even if that means you take me for all I’m worth if we were ever to get divorced.”

Grantaire’s expression softened. “I would never do that.”

“I know.”

“Half of what you’re worth, but never all of it.”

Enjolras laughed. “C’mere,” he said, pulling Grantaire to him and kissing him, a slow, sweet kiss, before telling him, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Grantaire said.

“And as soon as we are back from our honeymoon, I’m paying off your student loans.”

Grantaire stiffened. “Enjolras—”

“It’ll be my wedding present to you,” Enjolras told him. “And before you protest, or ask me why, because I want to, and because I can.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might protest further, but then he sighed and raised his hands in defeat. “Well, I may be stubborn, and occasionally too proud for my own good, but I’m not stupid enough to turn that offer down.”

“Good,” Enjolras said, a little smugly.

Grantaire kissed him once more before standing and stretching almost languidly. He peeled his shirt off before asking Enjolras, fully aware of what he was doing, “Now do you still need your 15 minutes?”

Enjolras eyed him hungrily. “Maybe just 5,” he hedged.

“I’m setting the alarm on my phone, and I was not joking about starting on my own,” Grantaire warned him, unbuttoning his jeans.

Enjolras wet his lips. “In that case, I’ll be there in two and a half minutes.”

Grantaire smirked. “You better be.”

He started to head back to their bedroom but Enjolras stopped him. “Are we ok?”

Grantaire half-turned, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I don’t know, I just want to make sure we’re leaving this conversation in a good spot.”

Grantaire hesitated. “We’re leaving it in as good of a spot as it can be.”

“That’s not a real answer.”

“It’s as real of an answer as you’re going to get,” Grantaire told him.

Enjolras frowned but decided not to press the issue further. “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll see you in two and a half minutes.”

But he wasn’t able to concentrate anymore, and not just because he was thinking of Grantaire getting started without him in their bed. Something about the conversation had driven home how real this all was, and how soon they were going to have to make the biggest decision of their lives.

He had thought he was ready for it. Now he knew he was ready, but he wasn’t quite as convinced about Grantaire.

He stood, heading into their bedroom and pausing in the doorway to watch Grantaire, who was muttering something to himself as he pulled out the lube and condoms from the bedside table drawer. “You about ready?”

“Jesus Christ,” Grantaire huffed, turning around to glare at him. “Give me some warning, would you?”

“Sorry,” Enjolras said, feeling anything but, and he crossed over to Grantaire, cupping his cheek with one hand and smoothing a thumb across his cheekbone before kissing him.

Grantaire bit down lightly on Enjolras’s bottom lip before murmuring, “That was a fast 80 seconds.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Are you complaining?”

Grantaire’s eyes darkened and he pushed Enjolras down onto the bed. “Absolutely not.”

— — — — — 

“What are you doing?” Grantaire asked, dropping a kiss on the top of Enjolras’s head as he passed him, heading to the fridge.

Enjolras didn’t look up from his computer. “End of quarter fundraising numbers are out,” he said.

“Am I supposed to know what that means?”

Enjolras sighed. “It means a lot of campaign disclosures to go through to see who’s potentially more vulnerable than we thought, at least monetarily.”

“Because that would be a good person for your organization to go up against,” Grantaire said, grabbing a beer from the fridge and twisting the top off.

Enjolras jerked a shrug. “Potentially. Depending on other factors, of course.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “So then does that mean—”

“Look,” Enjolras interrupted, trying not to sound as irritated as he felt. “Ordinarily, I would be happy to play twenty questions with you and tell you all about the ins-and-outs of being a political operative, but I really don’t have time right now. Combeferre is working on a strategy pitch for some major investors, and we need solid numbers by tomorrow.”

“I didn’t realize asking basic questions about your job was playing twenty questions,” Grantaire said coolly.

Enjolras sighed, feeling a headache coming on. “And I appreciate your interest,” he said between clenched teeth. “But this has a deadline.”

“Ok,” Grantaire said. “I’ll leave you alone.”

He brushed past Enjolras on his way back to their bedroom, and Enjolras was so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn’t even notice that this time, Grantaire didn’t pause to kiss the top of his head.

In fact, he was so absorbed in combing through D-2s that it was a few hours before he realized that he hadn’t seen Grantaire in awhile. It took him fifteen minutes more to find the note that Grantaire had left for him on the counter. Gone out. Be back late. Good luck with your work. xo, R.

Enjolras scowled, glancing over at the clock above the stove. “Be back late?” he repeated out loud to no one. It was already one in the morning – how much later could he be?

For a moment, he was half-tempted to sulk off to bed, but he remembered that Courfeyrac had told him once not to go to bed angry. Of course, at the time, Courfeyrac had been referring to trying to get him to make up with his idiot roommate Marius over some nonsense, but Enjolras figured the theory still held.

At the very least, he wanted to have this conversation tonight instead of waiting for the morning.

It was almost 2 before the door opened and Grantaire stumbled inside. He lit up when he saw Enjolras. “Apollo!” he said brightly. “What are you still doing up?”

“Waiting for you,” Enjolras said shortly. “Since you didn’t exactly give me any details besides ‘gone out’.”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “And yet there’s this magical invention known as a phone where you could’ve texted me to ask where I was,” he returned, with an arched eyebrow. “Which leads me to believe this is about something else.”

Enjolras flushed, knowing he was right that he could’ve texted or called, and hating Grantaire a little bit for it. “You’re drunk,” he said instead, saying the words flatly and dismissively, a preemptive way to end the conversation.

“So?”

“So we should have this conversation when you’re sober.”

Grantaire just shook his head. “But I’d prefer it now,” he said, crossing over to practically collapse on the couch, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling as he said, “So spit it out. What the fuck did I do wrong?”

“You really have to ask me that?” Enjolras demanded. “You disappeared without even a word to me just because I was too busy with something really important to pay attention to you.”

Grantaire rolled over onto his side. “I disappeared without a word because I knew that your work is important and I didn’t want to distract you when you had a deadline,” he said. “I don’t need you to pay attention to me 24/7. I’m a big boy who can keep myself entertained.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Yeah, by going out and getting shitfaced.”

“By going out and having fun,” Grantaire corrected. “Not that you would know what that looks like. Just like you apparently don’t know what common courtesy when you live with someone looks like.”

“You call this common courtesy?”

Grantaire sat up, frowning. “I call it better than sitting silently in an apartment waiting for you to be done. Because you can’t tell me that if I had stuck around, you wouldn’t have found something else to get irritated at me about. Probably breathing too loudly.”

“I—” Enjolras broke off, realizing in an instant that Grantaire was absolutely correct, and he slowly sank down into the chair. “Am I really that bad?”

Grantaire just shrugged. “That might’ve been an exaggeration for dramatic effect.”

Enjolras winced. “Was I that big of a dick to you earlier?”

“No. But you were enough of a dick for me to know that I was better off fucking off for a few hours than hanging around here.”

Enjolras nodded slowly, finally understanding what Grantaire had been saying. “You were trying to be helpful.”

Grantaire nodded as well. “I was trying to let you get your work done.”

As much as Enjolras knew he should just apologize and call it a night, he couldn’t help but add, “You promised that you would be annoying when you need attention.”

Grantaire cocked his head slightly. “That promise still holds, but I didn’t need your attention tonight.” He gave Enjolras a look. “So are you mad that I chose to let you work, or are you mad that you needed my attention and I wasn’t here?”

The question hit Enjolras like a ton of bricks as he realized that was exactly what he had been mad about, that he had gotten done with work and was ready to spend time with Grantaire, only for Grantaire to be gone. “How—”

“In vino veritas, babe,” Grantaire said breezily. “I’m always more perceptive when I’ve had a few.”

Enjolras barked a laugh. “The time you tripped over four different things on the walk back to our hotel room would say anything.”

“More perceptive of emotions, ok?” Grantaire said, scowling. “Physical space can get fucked.”

Enjolras just shook his head, his own amusement fading. “I’m not mad that you weren’t here,” he said, before making a face and amending, “I mean, I guess I was, a little bit. But I also don’t want this to feel like we’re living separate lives, that we’re just two ships passing in the night.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Well I don’t know about ships, but we are living separate lives. Being a couple, even a married couple, doesn’t suddenly mean that we have to do everything together.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” Grantaire asked. “Because some days, I will want to go out at 10pm on a Tuesday and blow off some steam, and I love you enough to not expect you to come with me, just like I imagine you will have early morning meetings and I sure as hell hope you love me enough to not expect me to also be awake at 5am to deal with them.”

He was clearly aiming for a joke but Enjolras didn’t laugh. “And what happens when you’re still out when I go to bed, and I’m awake and out of the house before you even wake up?”

“Then we make up for it later.”

Grantaire said it like it was the simplest, most obvious thing, but Enjolras shook his head. “How?”

“Date night,” Grantaire said. “Once a week, just you and me. No work, no friends, just us.” He paused before adding, “And it doesn’t have to be at nighttime, either, just whatever time on whatever day works best for both of us.”

Enjolras nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I like the sound of that.”

Grantaire gave him a smile as well. “You and I both knew this was going to take work, and this is just one more piece of it.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, standing and crossing over to the couch to crouch down next to Grantaire, brushing his hair out of his face. “Yeah, it is.” He leaned in and kissed him before asking, “How about we have our first date night tomorrow?”

Grantaire grinned. “That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all night.” He kissed Enjolras once more before pushing him away and standing, swaying slightly. “Now, if we’re good, I’m about one tequila shot away from either taking off all my clothes or puking. Or taking off all of my clothes and then puking on them. So I think it’s time I put my ass to bed.”

Enjolras laughed, standing as well. “You’re not even going to try propositioning me?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Even if I thought I could pull it off, I don’t think I can manage it.” He gave Enjolras a smile. “I’d settle for cuddling, though,” he said, turning to wrap his arms around Enjolras’s waist. “Lots and lots of cuddling.” He kissed him. “Maybe some light petting.” He kissed him again, a heady, open-mouthed kiss this time. “Third base, no further.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and pushed him gently away. “Go get ready for bed.”

“See, you’re already ordering me around,” Grantaire said, grinning again. “I can work with this.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “I love you,” he said.”

Grantaire gave him a wave over his shoulder. “Love you, too.”

Enjolras watched Grantaire amble towards the bedroom, feeling like an idiot for picking a fight when Grantaire was trying so hard. In fact, between this and the pre-nup and everything else, Enjolras felt like Grantaire was trying a hell of a lot.

Maybe more than he was.

Which meant that maybe it was time he showed just how much he was trying, too.

— — — — —

Grantaire glanced around the room, looking a little amused. “Do you know, in all my years of living here, I’ve never been to the top of the Hancock?” he asked, referring to the formerly second tallest building in Chicago, where they were eating dinner on the 95th floor for their date. “Also did you bring me here just to hear me say ‘cock’ repeatedly in my sexy Chicago accent?”

“I don’t think it’s the called the Hancock building anymore,” Enjolras said mildly, “and I am not taking the bait on accent sexiness. Sitting through your rant about the Boston accent being voted sexiest was a performance I don’t need a repeat of.”

“Coward.”

Enjolras chose to ignore that comment. “Also, how have you never been up here before?”

Grantaire shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Probably because it’s for tourists.” He paused before adding, “Or because I’ve been to the top of the Sears Tower like five times.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “What is it with you people and refusing to call things by their current name?” he asked fondly.

“Hey, I called it Jean-Baptiste Point DuSable Lake Shore Drive just earlier today,” Grantaire protested.

Enjolras gave him a look. “You did that to piss off a guy wearing a MAGA hat off.”

Grantaire smirked. “Which just proves I have good timing.”

Laughing, Enjolras glanced out the window before asking Grantaire, “Well, now that you’re up here for the first time, what do you think?”

Grantaire took another sip of his drink. “It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

Grantaire shrugged again. “The drinks are overpriced, the food is almost certain to be mediocre tourist fare, and the necessity of our camera crew means we don’t even get to do any quality people watching.”

The latter part was especially true, as the crew had to close off an entire section of the restaurant just for them. “So a terrible date,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire smiled at him. “I didn’t say that. After all, I’m with you.” He reached across the table for Enjolras’s hand. “And besides, it’s a hell of a view.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Me, or the lake?”

“Both.” Grantaire turned to glance out the window. “But you have to admit this view is stunning.” He arched an eyebrow at Enjolras. “Almost as good as the view from your condo.”

“That it is,” Enjolras agreed. “And it’s nice to be able to see something from a different view.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “That sounds like a segue.”

Enjolras didn’t deny it. “I just think it’s important to see what you’re getting yourself into before you decide to call a place home.”

It took a moment for Grantaire to realize what he was saying, but when he did, his eyes widened. “Does that mean—”

“I’ve decided to move to Chicago after we’re married,” Enjolras told him, unable to stop his smile.

Grantaire just stared at him. “Wait, seriously?”

Enjolras nodded. “Seriously,” he said. “I can still do work in Wisconsin as needed and Illinois actually provides easier access to Indiana and Michigan. Besides, Chicago’s angling to get the DNC bid in 2024, so I may end up needing to spend a lot of time here anyway.”

It looked like Grantaire was torn between excitement and concern. “You don’t have to do this for me,” he said.

“I’m not,” Enjolras said immediately, and when Grantaire gave him a look, he said, “I’m not! I’m doing this for us, and for our future together.” He took Grantaire’s hand and squeezed it. “Besides, whether or not I need to, I want to. I want us to build a life together. And it doesn’t hurt that you happen to already live in one of the greatest cities in the country.”

“Not the world?” Grantaire asked.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

Grantaire shook his head. “Just you wait,” he said. “Soon you’ll be saying ‘Da Bears’ and eating an Italian Beef while telling anyone who will listen that Chicago’s the greatest city in the world.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “If I ever say ‘Da Bears’ with anything resembling sincerity, you have my full permission to euthanize me.”

Grantaire just grinned. “Nope, I’m stuck with you now.”

“Yeah you are,” Enjolras murmured, raising his hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles. “Besides, I figure future date nights will be a lot easier when we’re living in the same city.”

“Probably,” Grantaire agreed. “But on the other hand, I was already looking forward to having sex on the Amtrak up to Milwaukee.”

Enjolras considered it for a moment. “Well, Combeferre and Courfeyrac are still going to be in Milwaukee.”

Grantaire grinned. “That is an excellent point.”

Enjolras picked his glass up and raised it in a toast. “To Chicago,” he said simply.

“To sex on the Amtrak,” Grantaire returned, and when Enjolras just gave him a look, he chuckled and added, “To starting our life together.”

Enjolras clinked his glass against Grantaire’s. “To us.”

In just a few short days, our couples will be standing at the altar, ready to answer the question we’ve all been waiting for: Is love truly blind? Will they marry the person they fell for in the pods, spent time with in Mexico, and moved in with in Chicago? Or will they say no, and end what started just a few short weeks ago for good?

We’ll find out, on the next episode.

Love is Blind (Part Two: Mexico)

Remember when I was like, the next parts will definitely be shorter! Yeah, I lied.

E/R, Modern AU, Love is Blind AU (bad reality TV AU for anyone unfamiliar with the source show).Developing relationship speedrun,with all the misunderstandings that follow.

Read Part One Here.

In the pods, our couples fell in love and got engaged – sight unseen. After finally seeing each other for the very first time, they’re now with us in Mexico for a romantic getaway.

Here, they’ll discover if their physical connection is as strong as their emotional one. Up until this point, the only thing that’s mattered is who they are on the inside. Now, their love will be put to the test.

Their weddings are just four weeks away. Will their looks, backgrounds, and real world insecurities be too much for them to overcome?

Or will love be enough to get them to the altar – and to their happily ever after?

Enjolras didn’t even bother trying to stop his grin when he saw Grantaire get out of the cab at the resort. He ignored the producer off-camera trying to get him to wait for Grantaire to come to him, instead crossing the lobby of the main hotel building in three long strides and pulling Grantaire into a hug. “Careful now,” Grantaire said, his voice a little muffled against Enjolras’s shirt. “My fiancé might see you.”

“Careful yourself,” Enjolras returned, still grinning, “I resemble that remark.”

Grantaire smiled crookedly at him before leaning in and kissing him, a sweet, gentle kiss. “Yeah you do,” he agreed. “It’s really good to see you, Apollo.”

Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “Still on the nickname thing?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Well, the last time I called you that, the conversation ended in a marriage proposal, so I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

“Maybe we’ll have to work on finding a better nickname while we’re here,” Enjolras said, frowning slightly as he looked down at Grantaire. “Did you get taller?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Beg pardon?”

Enjolras flushed slightly. “I just remember being a little taller than you, that’s all,” he said. “But we’re almost the same height.”

“You just like the idea of me looking up to you,” Grantaire teased.

The producer cleared her throat. “Why don’t you two go check out your suite?” she suggested, in a tone of voice that suggested there was a schedule, and the longer Enjolras and Grantaire stood making small talk in the lobby, the more delayed that schedule became.

“We might as well,” Grantaire told Enjolras, his smile turning dirty. “I want to see what our options are, after all.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes before offering Grantaire his hand. “Sure,” he agreed, “let’s go see how much unusable footage we can film for them.”

Grantaire laughed, and Enjolras grinned, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

This was just like the pods, only better, because now he got to see Grantaire laugh instead of just hearing it through the wall.

He could definitely get used to this.

— — — — —

“I could definitely get used to this,” Grantaire said with a happy sigh, leaning against the railing on their balcony, the sea breeze tousling his hair. 

Enjolras wrapped his arms around his waist from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. “The suite, the view, or the free drinks?” he asked.

Grantaire turned to face him, grinning. “All of the above,” he said. “Though I think the view is better from this angle.”

Enjolras laughed, leaning in to kiss him before letting go of him to cross over to where the hotel staff had brought their suitcases. “So which bedroom do you want?” he asked.

Grantaire made a face as he picked up his drink, some tropical monstrosity in a tiki glass, from where he had left it and took a sip. “Kind of strange of them to give us a suite with two bedrooms, don’t you think?” he asked. “Considering I doubt most couples will be spending their time doing much other than consummating their relationships.”

“Consummating their relationships?” Enjolras repeated with a snort. “Well, when you put it as romantically as that, I guess it does seem a little strange.”

“On the other hand, I suppose it is practical to have one room to bone in and another to sleep in,” Grantaire said evenly. “Less messy that way, though I sure hope the show is tipping the cleaning staff extra.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “Are you ever actually going to get to the point where you ask if we’re spending the night together or not?” 

Grantaire’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “I’m not the one who decided to broach the question by asking which bedroom I wanted in the first place,” he said, taking another sip of his drink.

Enjolras’s lips twitched and he shook his head slowly. “Should’ve known better than to try to pull one over on you,” he said, a little ruefully, sitting down next to Grantaire. 

“You would think, after the crash course in the pods, yeah,” Grantaire said, nodding. He offered Enjolras a sip of his drink, and Enjolras shook his head, his stomach already doing somersaults without the aid of rum, or tequila, or whatever liquor was disguised by sugar and fruit. “So what are you thinking in that pretty head of yours?”

Enjolras hesitated. “Honestly?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “That’s pretty much all I’ve asked from you, yeah.”

“I’m not a prude,” Enjolras said, unsure if he was trying to convince Grantaire or himself. “I’m definitely not a virgin. I’ve had sex on a first date many times over.” He hesitated again. “But somehow this feels too soon.”

“Even though we’re literally engaged?” Grantaire asked, not looking at Enjolras as he stirred his drink. “And have spent countless hours talking to each other?”

Enjolras nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at Grantaire. “Is that – is that going to be a problem?”

Grantaire pursed his lips. “You know there’s no way for me to say yes to that without sounding like a complete asshole, right?”

“Sure there is,” Enjolras said. “Because all I want from you is honesty, too.” Grantaire didn’t quite look convinced, and Enjolras sighed. “And if you’re worried about pressuring me or whatever, it’s not going to change my mind to know that you’re, I don’t know, disappointed that I’m not ready yet.” 

“I’m not disappointed,” Grantaire said quickly – a little too quickly, and when Enjolras gave him a look, he added,
“I’m not! I’m horny as hell and would really like to have sex with my incredibly hot fiancé, but I’m not disappointed that you’re not ready because I want this to be good.”

Enjolras couldn’t quite stop his smile. “Oh yeah?” he asked, pitching his voice low.

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah. I want this to be better than good, especially since this very well may be the only dick you get for the rest of your life.”

Enjolras snorted. “Again with the romance. Stop, a man can only take so much.” Grantaire laughed and Enjolras took his hand and squeezed it. “I want it to be better than good, too. I want it to be perfect for you.” He leaned in to kiss Grantaire. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Grantaire told him before setting his drink down. “Ok, so sex is off the table for tonight. How about sleeping together?”

Enjolras frowned. “Didn’t we just have that discussion?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Not euphemistically sleeping together, literally sleeping together. You know, sharing a bed. Maybe some spooning if we’re feeling up to it.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“Are you the big spoon, or the little spoon?”

He said it teasingly, but Grantaire looked like he was considering it. “I can go either way, depending on what my partner feels like,” he said, before nudging Enjolras. “Speaking of, big spoon or little spoon?”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras admitted. “I’m honestly not sure I’ve ever spooned with anyone.”

Grantaire blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Really,” Enjolras said. “I’m not opposed to it or anything, but very few of my past relationships were really like that.”

“Like that meaning…”

Enjolras shrugged. “Openly affectionate, I guess,” he said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I – well, this probably won’t surprise you but I don’t exactly have a reputation as a warm person, and I suspect that discouraged my past partners from trying to be physically affectionate with me other than when we were having sex.”

He said it plainly enough, but something in Grantaire’s expression darkened. “That does surprise me, actually. You’ve been nothing but open and warm with me.”

Enjolras barked a laugh. “That is entirely untrue, or else you have a pretty selective memory.”

“Well, that may very well be, but I stand by it.” 

Enjolras just shook his head. “As much as I appreciate the perhaps misplaced loyalty, you should know that I can be cold. Indifferent to the point of being borderline cruel. Capable of being terrible.”

He meant it to sound joking, but judging by the look on Grantaire’s face, he hadn’t quite succeeded. “You say that as if you’re quoting someone,” Grantaire said quietly, and Enjolras nodded. “If I ever meet whoever told you those things—”

“What, you’ll kill them?” Enjolras asked, with another sharp, dry laugh.

Grantaire smiled slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “No, but I will hurt them,” he said, almost pleasantly. “And I will enjoy doing so.”

“Why?”

“Because I have known you for less than two weeks and I already know you’re a good man,” Grantaire said simply. “A man whose sole question after I brought up trying to kill myself was to make sure that I’m ok now. A man who cares so much about strangers and friends alike, and has an equal desire to protect and fight for them.” He shook his head. “I don’t think someone like that could ever truly be a cold person.”

“Maybe not, but you haven’t spent any time around me when I’m focusing on other things,” Enjolras said quietly. “I meant what I said in the pods: I haven’t always prioritized romantic partners, and that can absolutely make me come off as cold to someone who expects more.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Then that’s a problem of expectation management. And believe me, my expectations are not that high.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Yes, but as we’ve established, it’s because you think you don’t deserve to be showered in love and affection so you therefore don’t expect it.”

“And on the flip side, I rather suspect that since you seem to think I do deserve to be showered in love and affection, you’ll try more than you may have in the past which will subsequently exceed my expectations and make us both happy,” Grantaire told him, a little smugly.

Enjolras just shook his head slowly. “Well, we’ll see about that.”

“Yes, we will,” Grantaire said firmly. “And now that we’ve gotten thoroughly off-track… Big spoon or little spoon?”

Enjolras laughed again, but it was a gentler laugh. “Honestly, I don’t think it’ll matter much. Because no matter which way we go, we’ll find a way to make it fit.”

“Sap,” Grantaire whispered, but he was grinning. “Still, I admire your confidence. And if it’s all the same to you…” He hesitated, suddenly shy. “I’d really like to be the one to hold you tonight. To feel you in my arms, so I can remind myself that this is real.”

Enjolras swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. “I think I can manage that.”

“But we’re not going to bed yet, right?” Grantaire asked. “Because it’s still sunny out.”

“Very true,” Enjolras said. “Which is why I thought we could sit out on the balcony and engage in some good, old-fashioned necking.”

“Goodness gracious me,” Grantaire murmured, his grin turning dirty. “I just didn’t think you were that kind of man.”

Enjolras leaned in, whispering in Grantaire’s ear, “How about I show you just what kind of man I am?” before sucking almost languidly on his earlobe.

Grantaire let out a noise like a mixture between a moan and a growl. “I like the sound of that.”

— — — — —

Enjolras rolled over in bed the next morning, blinking sleepily at Grantaire, who was already awake, lying on his side in the sunlight streaming through the window. “Good morning,” Grantaire murmured, leaning in to kiss him.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“You know, I’m surprised,” Grantaire remarked. “You always struck me as an early riser.”

Enjolras shifted to be closer to him. “I am when I need to be. But we’re on vacation, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to sleep in a little.” He ran a hand through his curls. “How’d you sleep?”

Instead of answering the question, Grantaire drew his fingers up Enjolras’s side, smiling slightly when Enjolras shivered at the touch. “Remember how you said we would work on finding you a better nickname? Well, I think I have one.”

“Do tell.”

Grantaire grinned. “I was thinking maybe foghorn.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Foghorn?”

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah, or, like, freight train.”

Enjolras scowled. “Do I want to know?”

Grantaire’s grin widened. “I’ll take it that you had no idea that you snore?”

“I do not,” Enjolras said, affronted.

“You really, really do,” Grantaire told him. “Don’t worry, I find it cute…mostly.”

“Cute enough to put up with it for the rest of your life?” Enjolras asked, only half-joking.

Grantaire pretended to consider it for a moment. “Well, let’s just say I find you cute enough to put up with it until I’m able to buy myself a pair of ear plugs.”

“Ass.”

“Yeah, but you love me.” 

Enjolras sighed. “Yeah, I do.” He kissed him once more before asking, “So what’s on the agenda for today?”

“Agenda?” Grantaire repeated. “Didn’t you just say we were on vacation?”

Enjolras sat up and stretched. “Yes, which applies to things like sleeping in. But it doesn’t mean we need to throw all order out the window.”

Grantaire followed suit a little slower, shaking his head almost ruefully. “Wow you really are a control freak, aren’t you.”

“No!” Grantaire gave him a look, and he amended, “Ok, well, maybe a little. I just don’t like being bored. And to be entirely honest with you, the idea of doing whatever it is people do at a resort, of sitting in the sun doing nothing is kind of my worst nightmare.”

“Well, yeah, look at how pale you are,” Grantaire said reasonably. “You’re bound to get sunburned even with some SPF 200 applied every half hour.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Inevitable sunburn aside, I don’t do well when I have nothing to do. I go a little stir crazy.”

“So I guess a trip to the beach is out of the question?”

“Not out of the question,” Enjolras hedged. “I’m sure I’ll find something to do.”

Grantaire nodded. “You know, I bet the hotel has a library or some books that you can borrow, and you can bring something with you to read.”

Enjolras brightened. “That doesn’t sound terrible,” he said. “But what will you do?”

“What else?” Grantaire said, grinning. “I’m going to sketch you.”

— — — — —

At first, Grantaire’s plan worked.

Emphasis on ‘at first’.

But by the second hour of sitting on the beach, Enjolras so bored that he was tempted to shred the shitty novel he’d grabbed into confetti just to give himself something to do. “Are you allowed to talk to us?” he asked the cameraman hopefully, having already been shushed four separate times by Grantaire.

The cameraman hesitated. “We’re really not supposed to,” he hedged. “I mean, we can offer suggestions for what you should do if we think it’ll help your story arc—”

“Our what?” Enjolras asked.

“You know, like what kind of story the show is going to tell about you.” Enjolras stared blankly at him, and the cameraman sighed before elaborating, “Like if you’re the couple that fights all the time, we can suggest a good shot for shooting an argument or something like that.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “And what is our story arc?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to tell you that,” the cameraman said. “It might make you act differently.”

Enjolras just looked flatly at him. “Isn’t it mostly about the editing anyway?”

The cameraman laughed and shook his head. “Fine,” he relented. “At the moment, the producers are leaning towards you two being the ‘meant to be’ couple of the season.”

“Meant to be, huh?” Enjolras nudged Grantaire. “Did you hear that? We’re apparently meant to be.”

“That’s nice,” Grantaire murmured, not looking up from his sketchbook.

Enjolras sighed. “Can I ask how much longer you’re planning on doing that?”

“Sketching?” Grantaire asked, finally looking up. “Honestly I could do this all day, provided the drinks keep coming.” He glanced carefully at Enjolras. “But I’ll take it you’re about 30 seconds away from losing your mind?”

“Something like that,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire nodded and added one last bit of shading to his sketch before closing his sketchbook and tossing it down onto the sand. “Ok,” he said, stretching. “So how about we take advantage of the sun and the heat and the proximity to the ocean and go swimming?”

Enjolras made a face. “I’m not a huge fan of swimming,” he said.

Grantaire winked. “For what it’s worth, by swimming I more meant making out in the water, but if you’d rather not get those gorgeous curls wet…” Enjolras scowled and Grantaire laughed, holding his hands up defensively. “Point taken. How about we go for a walk, then?”

“Walk to where?” Enjolras asked, knowing that he sounded petulant but unable to stop himself. “We can see a mile down the beach in either direction and there’s nothing to walk to.”

For a brief moment, a look of frustration flashed across Grantaire’s face, so quickly that Enjolras half-thought he might’ve imagined it, especially since it was replaced by Grantaire’s usual smile. “Well, in that case, there’s only one thing left to do.”

He leaned in, kissing Enjolras, cupping his cheek and opening his mouth against Enjolras’s to turn the kiss hot and heady. For a moment, Enjolras returned the kiss, but then he saw the cameraman shift out of the corner of his eye and he was suddenly keenly aware that they were surrounded by other people. 

Ordinarily, this wouldn’t have bothered him – ordinarily, he’d enjoy the moment even more knowing it would undoubtedly make some homophobes squirm – but something about it threw him off and he pulled back. Grantaire frowned, searching Enjolras’s expression for a moment before asking, “Everything ok?”

“Yeah, fine, just – not here, y’know?”

This time there was no mistaking the frustration in Grantaire’s expression. “So is there anything you would like to do here?” he asked, a little sourly.

“Right here on this beach?” Enjolras asked. “Not really. I’d kind of rather be anywhere else than here.”

Grantaire recoiled, his expression darkening. “Wow, ok,” he muttered.

Enjolras frowned. “What?”

Grantaire shook his head, reaching for his sketchbook. “Nothing. Just, you’d rather be anywhere else than here with me.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I said—”

“You know what?” Grantaire interrupted. “I have an idea of what you can do. You can follow me as I go to the bar and get a fucking drink.”

The sudden change in tone took Enjolras by such surprise that Grantaire was on his feet and twenty feet down the beach before Enjolras scrambled to follow him. He trailed silently after him, trying to find something to say, but he couldn’t seem to find the words.

He waited until Grantaire had ordered a drink at the bar and taken a sip before asking, his voice low, “Are we going to talk about what happened back there?”

“What do you mean?” Grantaire asked.

“I mean you getting irritated and needing a drink to deal with it.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I always need a drink, Apollo.”

Enjolras hesitated. “Should we talk about that, too?”

“No.” Grantaire’s voice was sharp, and Enjolras flinched. “This is not a cry for help. This is an acknowledgment that sometimes life is shitty and sometimes it’s easier to deal with that shittiness when you’re not fully sober.” Given the look Grantaire gave him, Enjolras could only imagine what his own expression looked like. “And I can see I’ve done exactly nothing to put you at ease.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “Not to much, no.”

Grantaire made a face. “Well let me put it to you this way – of all my coping mechanisms, my shrink isn’t particularly concerned about this one, ok?”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s as reassuring as you think it is.”

Grantaire held his drink out to Enjolras. “Have one yourself and maybe you’ll be more reassured.”

Enjolras frowned and shook his head again. “No thanks.”

Grantaire shrugged and took a sip before asking, “What are you, some sort of teetotaler?”

“Not really, no,” Enjolras said. “I just personally don’t enjoy being drunk.”

Grantaire let out a dry, humorless laugh. “And I don’t enjoy being sober, so I’m not entirely sure where that leaves us.”

Enjolras jerked a shrug. “About the same place we started in, I guess.”

“Yeah. I guess so,” Grantaire said noncommittally.

They weren’t, of course. The day had started so well and now it felt like there was a mile of space between them, and Enjolras wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten to this point. He cleared his throat. “Well, I think I’m going to go back to the hotel room, maybe take a quick nap or something. 

Anything to get away from the situation.

Grantaire took another sip of his drink and leered at Enjolras. “Want some company?”

In past relationships, Enjolras might’ve taken him up on it, attempting to clear the tension with sex, but he had meant what he had told Grantaire yesterday. He wanted to do this right. And this certainly wasn’t it. “Not when you’ve been drinking, no.”

“Wait, seriously?” Grantaire said, incredulous. “I’ve had like a sip, it’s not like I’m too drunk to consent.”

“Still,” Enjolras said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I would just prefer that we were both sober for our first time.”

Grantaire let out a low whistle. “So I guess we’re just never going to have sex, then.”

He said it almost snidely, and Enjolras flinched. “At this rate, probably not.”

Grantaire’s expression hardened. “Well, if it bothers you so much to be around me when I’m drinking, I’ll make myself scarce.”

Enjolras sighed. “I didn’t say that—”

“And I can sleep in the other bedroom tonight.”

Enjolras felt stung. “I– That’s your prerogative,” he managed, even though he felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

“Yeah, it sure is.” Grantaire raised his drink in a mock-toast. “I’ll see you later.”

Enjolras stared after him as he walked away, completely at a loss for how they had gotten to this point, and, perhaps more importantly, how they were going to find a way to move forward. He glanced over at the cameraman, who had followed them from the beach. “So much for the meant to be couple, huh,” he said, his own voice sounding hollow to his ears.

— — — — —

True to his word, Grantaire spent the night in the other bedroom, not that Enjolras would have noticed since he stayed out well past when Enjolras finally went to bed.

Given how late he’d stayed out, Enjolras was surprised when he got out of bed the next morning and found Grantaire sitting in the kitchen of their hotel room, cradling a mug between his hands. “Hey,” Enjolras said, a little cautiously.

“Hey,” Grantaire returned.

“How long have you been up?”

Grantaire shrugged. “A half hour, maybe,” he said, jerking his chin over his shoulder as he added, “I made coffee.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras said. He poured himself a mug before joining Grantaire at the table. He took a long sip of coffee before asking, a little hesitantly. “Do you want to talk about yesterday?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Grantaire asked mildly, before making a face. “Ok, dumb question, I guess.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “We promised each other honesty, so I have to tell you: yesterday was the first time I thought we might not make it.”

Grantaire’s eyes snapped to his. “Because of my drinking? Because no offense, but you already knew about that.”

“No, not because of that,” Enjolras said, though he paused before adding, “Or at least, not just because of that.” He shook his head. “You shut down and you shut me out, and if you do that everytime we don’t agree on something—”

“I won’t,” Grantaire said, a little too quickly, and when Enjolras gave him a look, he told him, his voice low, “I promise. Yesterday was just…it was a lot.”

“You’re telling me,” Enjolras muttered. He took a deep breath before asking, “So we’re ok?”

Grantaire gave him a hesitant smile. “We are more than ok.”

Enjolras nodded before asking, a little awkwardly, “So what did you do yesterday after we…”

Grantaire shrugged. “Not a whole lot. Went for a walk, sat in the hot tub for a bit…and I signed us up for sightseeing tour of Chichen Itza.”

“You – what?”

Grantaire managed a real smile. “Well, I got the message yesterday. You’re not really a sit around and do nothing kind of guy, so I thought at least this way, we could look at a cool pyramid while roundly abusing the conquistadors for ruining everything.”

Enjolras laughed. “That does sound like a good time.” He hesitated before adding, “And to be clear, I’m perfectly happy sitting around and doing nothing, at least, when I have my phone or my computer. Believe me, I can doomscroll with the best of them.”

Grantaire laughed. “Now that I do believe.”

Enjolras drained the rest of his coffee and stood. “Well then, I guess we should get showered so that we don’t miss our tour.”

“Good call,” Grantaire said. “Do you want to shower first, or…”

Enjolras shrugged. “I was thinking we could save time,” he said casually, and when Grantaire just stared blankly at him, he added pointedly, “And share.”

A slow grin spread across Grantaire’s face. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard yet.”

“I thought you’d be amenable,” Enjolras said smugly.

Grantaire rolled his eyes so hard it looked like he pulled a muscle. “Amenable, Jesus Christ, who the hell talks like—”

He broke off as Enjolras pulled his shirt off. “Are you joining me or not?”

“Oh yeah,” Grantaire said, stariing at Enjolras’s bare chest. “I’m right behind you.”

He stood, crossing to Enjolras in two long strides and kissing him hungrily. Enjolras just laughed as he and Grantaire stumbled down the hallway to the bathroom together, unable to keep their hands off each other, the events of the previous day at last behind them.

— — — — —

Between the shower and the trip off of the resort, Enjolras felt much better when they returned to their room that afternoon, in no small part because their trip had been entirely unaccompanied. “You can’t just leave the property without telling us,” one of the producers had told them, exasperated, as they waited to board the tour bus.

“Not according to our contracts,” Enjolras had replied, just a little smugly. “There’s nothing about not being allowed to take resort-sponsored trips offsite.”

“But we don’t have permission to shoot offsite!”

“Damn, that sucks,” Grantaire had said, in a tone that suggested he could not possibly care less about their filming permissions. “See you when we get back, I guess.”

To his credit, their cameraman didn’t look too put out when he rejoined them after their bus returned and followed them up to their hotel room. Enjolras pulled out his key card, glancing back over his shoulder at Grantaire as he opened the door. “I was honestly half-expecting them to kick us out,” he confessed.

Grantaire laughed. “What about our contracts?” he asked. “You sounded so sure earlier.”

Enjolras waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, I mostly made that up, but—” He broke off as they caught sight of the gift basket waiting for them on the table with a bottle of champagne and a note. “Oh, boy. What do you think that says?”

“Only one way to find out,” Grantaire said bracingly, picking the card up and reading out loud, “Gentlemen, now that you’ve gotten to know your partner, it’s time to get to know the other couples. Please join us for a party by the beach this evening.”

They both looked at each other. “Could be fun,” Enjolras said cautiously.

Grantaire made a face as he tossed the card back down on the table. “Relaxing on the beach may be your idea of hell, but this is mine,” he said.

“Really?” Enjolras said. “I’d’ve thought you’d enjoy the free drinks.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Free drinks, sure, but a cocktail party means small talk. And I hate small talk.”

“That surprises me.”

“Why?”

“Because normally you love to hear yourself talk.”

Grantaire gave him a look. “Ha, ha,” he said dryly. “What about you? I can’t imagine small talk is something that engages your mind.”

Enjolras just shrugged. “Maybe not, but I’m used to it. In my line of work, I have to attend a lot of networking events, campaign fundraisers, and the like, so mastering the art of small talk was kind of necessary if I wanted to actually get anything accomplished.”

Grantaire looked like Enjolras had just told him he enjoyed getting bamboo shoots shoved under his fingernails. “Well then in that case, you can do the small talk for me while I just stand there, looking cute and drinking drinks.”

Enjolras laughed. “Deal.”

An hour later, both men were showered, dressed, and ready to head to the party. Grantaire had managed to finish the entire bottle of champagne in this time, but Enjolras knew he was trying to calm his nerves and so decided not to make a comment about it.

And when they arrived at the party, he began to regret that he hadn’t had the same idea. 

“I need a drink,” Grantaire muttered, eyeing the tiki bar set up in the corner, and Enjolras took his hand.

“For once, I agree with you,” he said, letting Grantaire lead the way to the bar.

Once they both had a drink in hand – some brown liquor in a glass with no ice for Grantaire, something bright blue that tasted like coconut for Enjolras – they made the rounds, introducing themselves to the other couples. Most were folks that Enjolras barely remembered even meeting in the pods – and in one case, someone he had hoped to never meet in real life, which, judging by the side-eye Grantaire gave the man as they brushed past, was a sentiment he thankfully shared. But then they stopped to introduce themselves to a couple hovering in the background, and even before he spoke, Enjolras knew who one of them was.

“Feuilly?” he asked, and the man in question lit up.

“Enjolras? Oh, man, I didn’t expect to see you here!”

Ordinarily, Enjolras wasn’t much one for hugging, but Feuilly was the person he had spoken with in the pods most besides Grantaire, so he couldn’t help but reach out and pull him into a one-armed hug. They had realized within about the first fifteen minutes of talking that there wasn’t going to be a romantic connection, but Feuilly’s life journey was fascinating to Enjolras, and he had assured him that he was going to track him down once the show was over so that they could be friends in real life.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, either,” he said, releasing him. “How are you? How have things been going?”

The person next to Feuilly cleared his throat, and for the first time Enjolras looked at the frankly menacing-looking man standing at Feuilly’s shoulder. “I’m Bahorel,” he said, holding a hand out for Enjolras to shake, “since it seems like my fiancé doesn’t plan on introducing me.”

Feuilly rolled his eyes, but it was with obvious affection. “Last I checked you didn’t need anyone to speak for you,” he said, and Bahorel laughed.

His grip was surprisingly gentle as he shook Enjolras’s hand, and Enjolras quickly added, “Oh, and of course, I should introduce my fiancé, Grantaire.”

Bahorel looked Grantaire up and down. “You box?” He asked.

The question seemed entirely out of left field to Enjolras, but Grantaire just half-smiled. “Sometimes.” He nodded toward the empty glass in Bahorel’s hand. “You drink?”

“Sometimes,” Bahorel shot back, his smile widening. “Refill time?”

Grantaire threw back the remainder of his drink. “Refill time,” he agreed. He wrapped an arm around Enjolras’s waist and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “You’ll be ok?” he asked, glancing at Feuilly, an unreadable look on his face.

“Of course,” Enjolras told him with a smile. “Feuilly and I will just catch up while you’re gone.”

Grantaire’s smile seemed brittle. “I’m sure you will,” he muttered, and was gone before Enjolras had a chance to ask him what that was supposed to mean. But he put it from his mind as he and Feuilly started talking again, picking up exactly where they had left off in the pods. 

In fact, they were so caught up in talking to each other that it took them both an embarrassingly long time to realize their respective fiancés had never returned with their refills. Enjolras glanced down at his watch, surprised to see that well over an hour had passed, and he glanced at Feuilly. “Any idea where they ran off to?”

Feuilly shrugged as he finished his beer. “Knowing Bahorel? Nowhere good, that’s for sure.”

Enjolras laughed. “You seem to know him pretty well already.”

Feuilly shrugged again, a slow smile creeping across his face. “Yeah, well, he’s…” He trailed off as if looking for the right words. “Honestly, he’s kind of my best friend already, which is insane considering I didn’t know him all of twelve days ago.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “I know what you mean,” he said. “I genuinely didn’t think that feeling like this was possible in this timeframe, if ever.”

“Well, I’m happy for you,” Feuilly told him.

“Me too,” Enjolras said. “And now I suppose we should go try to find them.”

“Probably,” Feuilly agreed, before adding, a little archly, “Good luck.”

For lack of anywhere better to look, Enjolras headed back to their hotel room, fully expecting to find Grantaire either passed out or waiting for him, but to his surprise, the room was dark and Grantaire was nowhere to be seen. For half a moment, he considered going to look for him, but considering how large the resort was, and without having any idea where he’d gone, he figured his best course of action was just to wait for Grantaire to return.  

He wasn’t particularly worried, at least not at first, but as the time stretched from fifteen minutes of waiting to a half hour to an hour to three, Enjolras had surpassed worried and gone straight to panicked. He was just about to contact the production team and demand that they hunt Grantaire down when the door to their hotel room opened with a bang. “Oops,” Grantaire said with a laugh, a little too loudly. His smile faded slightly when he saw Enjolras sitting on the couch. “Thought you’d be in bed by now.”

“And I thought you’d be back here long before now,” Enjolras said, frowning slightly. His frown deepened when Grantaire stumbled into the light, revealing the beginnings of what promised to be a magnificent black eye, as well as a split lip. He was up on his feet before he knew it, crossing to Grantaire’s side instantly. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, reaching out to cup Grantaire’s cheek, surprised when the other man jerked away.

“You know, it’s not the good of a story,” Grantaire told him, and for the first time, Enjolras recognized the stench of alcohol that seemed to emanate from him. “And if it’s all the same, I’d rather it waited until morning.”

“And I’d rather you explain why you smell like a distillery and look like you got your ass kicked,” Enjolras said sharply.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Please,” he scoffed. “I gave as good as I got.” Enjolras didn’t look remotely amused and he sighed, brushing past him to flop down on the couch. “If you must know, Bahorel and I went down to the beach and, after several more drinks, we decided to beat the shit out of each other.”

He said it casually, as if it was as normal as deciding to play video games or watch a movie, but Enjolras just stared at him. “You – what?” he said in disbelief. “But you two seemed to hit it off.”

“Oh, we did,” Grantaire assured him. “Though obviously not as well as you and Feuilly.”

Something about the way he said it made Enjolras pause. “Feuilly and I are friends,” he said cautiously. “And I don’t see what that has to do with deciding to get in a physical altercation with each other.”

“Well,” Grantaire said, drawing the word out slowly, a horrible smile twisting his expression, “it seemed like a better idea than watching our fiancés flirt with each other all night.”

Enjolras stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Spare me,” Grantaire practically spat. “You could barely take your eyes off of him.”

“I – that is not true,” Enjolras spluttered.

“Oh yeah?” Grantaire said, smiling that horrible smile again. “How long did it take before you realized that I was gone?

“That’s – that’s not—”

Grantaire barked a laugh. “Sure it’s not.”

Enjolras took a deep breath, trying very hard not to lose his temper and make the situation even worse. “Look, I don’t have to defend talking to a friend to you, but even if we were flirting, which we weren’t, that doesn’t excuse you getting drunk and getting in a fight. I mean, Christ, do you have any idea what I’ve been through, not knowing where you were or if you were ok?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Grantaire’s eyes flashed as he snapped, “And do you have any idea what I’ve been through? To watch the person you love flirting with another man without even sparing a second thought to the person he’s committed to spending the rest of his life with?” Enjolras flinched and looked away as Grantaire added, “Because if this is what the rest of my life is going to feel like, I’d rather get the shit beaten out of me, thanks.”

“And if this is what the rest of my life is going to be like, sitting at home and waiting to see if you make it back alive or not, maybe we shouldn’t bother.”

The words were out of his mouth before Enjolras could stop them, and he knew from the look on Grantaire’s face that he had crossed a line. “Then maybe we shouldn’t,” Grantaire said quietly.

Enjolras sighed. “I’m going to bed before I say something that I regret,” he said, before adding, “You should put some ice on that eye.”

Grantaire’s expression twisted. “It’s not like a black eye is going to detract from anything my face has to offer.”

Enjolras threw his hands up in frustration. “You know what – do what you want. You always seem to, anyway.”

With that, he turned and left Grantaire in the living room, heading for the bedroom he had claimed as his own. It took all his self-control to not slam the door after him, and took even more self-control to stay in bed staring up at the ceiling for the next few hours without going to check on Grantaire.

— — — — —

Needless to say, Enjolras didn’t sleep well, and was out of bed well before the sun, making a pot of coffee and waiting for Grantaire to join him.

Eventually, the man emerged from his bedroom, looking even worse in the morning light than he had the night before. “Good morning.” Grantaire just grunted, and Enjolras watched him shuffle over to the coffeemaker to pour himself a cup. “Are you ready to talk about last night?”

Grantaire groaned. “Can I at least get some coffee in me before you start yelling at me again?” he asked.

“I wasn’t planning on yelling,” Enjolras said, as evenly as he could. “But we do need to talk.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he huffed, “then talk if you want to so fucking badly.”

“That’s now how this works. I’m not going to sit here and lecture you. This is a conversation.”

Grantaire took a sip of coffee. “Sure sounds like a lecture to me.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “Then maybe it is a lecture, because maybe a lecture is what you need. I was scared last night, Grantaire, and if this is going to work—”

“Maybe we both need to be honest about the likelihood of this working,” Grantaire said flatly.

Enjolras stared at him. “What do you mean?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I mean, maybe we are just too different. Maybe the things that you thought you found charming are actually just irritating now.” He took another sip of coffee before adding, “Maybe we’re not actually meant to be.”

Enjolras swallowed, hard. “Is that actually what you think?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know. But at this point, maybe it’s worth discussing.”

Enjolras’s chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, and he took a moment before telling Grantaire carefully, “I know we both said some things last night but that doesn’t mean—”

“Then what the hell does it mean?” Grantaire asked tiredly. “Because you knew what you were getting into and for you to say last night that you don’t want to spend the rest of your life like this—”

“I don’t!” Enjolras snapped, frustrated. “But I also don’t think that things have to be like they were last night. How things were last night was, I don’t know, not normal for either of us, and I don’t think we—”

“Was it, though?” Grantaire interrupted. “Abnormal, I mean? Because thus far, outside of the pods, we’ve spent more time fighting than anything else. Maybe that’s not what a lifelong relationship is built on.” He shrugged. “Besides, you seemed pretty ready to end things last night.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “If that’s the impression that I gave you, then I’m sorry, but—”

Grantaire’s expression hardened. “It’s not the impression you gave me. It’s exactly what you said.”

“No, it’s—” Enjolras broke off, frustrated. “I need a break,” he said. “This conversation is clearly not working, so—”

“So you’re done,” Grantaire said, his expression twisting. “Great. Well, do you want the ring back now or later?”

He stood, not waiting for a reply, and Enjolras rolled his eyes. “That’s not—” he started impatiently, breaking off when Grantaire ignored him, heading toward the door. “Grantaire. Grantaire!”

But Grantaire was already gone, the hotel room door slamming after him. Enjolras swore under his breath before running a hand through his hair.

Half of him was tempted to just let Grantaire go, to just call it quits and go back to his life without having to deal with this. And truthfully, if it was anyone but Grantaire, that’s exactly what he would do.

But it was Grantaire, and despite everything, Enjolras knew that if he let him go, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

Which meant the only thing left to do was to go after him.

— — — — —

It didn’t take long to find him, perched on top of a sandy dune down by the beach. It was too early for the beach to be crowded yet, which Enjolras thought was probably a good thing as he trekked over to him.

Grantaire didn’t look away from the gulf as Enjolras approached. “What are you doing here, Apollo?” he asked tiredly.

“We didn’t finish our conversation,” Enjolras told him, sitting down in the sand next to him. “Should I read anything into you once again trying to use that inane nickname?”

Grantaire glanced over at him. “Only that you looked more like a vengeful God than ever before, coming down from on high to smite a mere mortal.”

Enjolras didn’t smile. “I didn’t come here to smite anyone.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“I told you, we didn’t finish our conversation.”

Grantaire huffed a sigh. “It sounded pretty final to me.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” Enjolras said, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “That’s not something you get to unilaterally decide. And from here on out, you don’t get to just leave when things get hard or complicated. Not if we want this to work.”

Grantaire shook his head. “And as I told you, maybe it’s time we were honest about the likelihood of this working.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “And I’m telling you that I am. I’m not saying this is going to be easy, but I still think it can work.” He hesitated before adding, “Provided you still want it to, anyway.”

He didn’t know what he expected Grantaire to say, but it warmed his entire body when Grantaire looked over at him, surprised. “Of course I still want it to.”

As much as Enjolras wanted to leave it at that, he knew he couldn’t. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

Grantaire sighed. “Want it to and think that it’s going to are two very different things.”

Enjolras nodded slowly, beginning to see where Grantaire was going. “So you want us to work but you don’t think we’re going to?”

“I haven’t seen a whole lot of evidence to the contrary,” Grantaire said, looking back out at the water, his shoulders tense. “So I guess I just figured…I don’t know. Maybe it’s easier this way.”

“Easier what way?”

Grantaire jerked a shrug. “If we just call it quits now.”

Enjolras took a moment to answer. “I know you’re a cynic, but I never got the impression from the pods that you were this self-defeatist,” he said finally. “Don’t you think this is worth fighting for?”

Grantaire shrugged again. “Only if this is a fight we can win.”

“What makes you think that it’s not?”

Grantaire managed a faint smile. “Where do you want me to start?”

“At the very beginning, a very good place to start,” Enjolras said, though he sighed when Grantaire didn’t laugh. “C’mon,” he said, nudging him. “Why do you think that this isn’t a fight we can win?”

“Because I know I’m not good enough for you!” Grantaire burst, and Enjolras stared at him. “And I have just been waiting for you to figure it out and leave.”

Enjolras felt like he had just been blindsided. “What are you talking about?”

“On the beach, and then last night—” Grantaire shrugged miserably. “I’m not enough for you. You were bored hanging out with me, and then you were so excited to talk to Feuilly. And you barely want to even touch me in public, and you don’t want to have sex with me—” His voice broke and Enjolras was so tempted to reach out and hold him, but he he hesistated, not sure if it would do more harm than good. “I told you, in the pods, that I was scared that you wouldn’t be attracted to me when you saw me and I guess, I guess I just feel like maybe that worst fear is coming true. And so I figured I might as well help it along.”

“No,” Enjolras said fiercely, and now he did reach out, pulling Grantaire to him and wrapping his arms around him. “Oh my God no, no, absolutely not.”

Grantaire shook his head, though he didn’t try to pull away. “It’s ok, you can be honest with me. I want you to be honest with me. I know I’m not exactly a catch.”

Enjolras clenched his jaw. “Remember a few days ago, when I was quoting what someone said about me, and you said if you ever meet them…”

Grantaire half-smiled. “What, if you ever meet whomever told me that I wasn’t a catch, you’ll hurt them?”

“No, I will kill them.”

Enjolras said it unflinchingly, and Grantaire’s smile faded. “Be serious.”

“That’s my line.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might smile again, but he settled for shaking his head. “Look, whoever said that to me isn’t important. What’s important is that they weren’t wrong, especially compared to someone like you. No one in their right mind would find me attractive or want to be with me.”

His words had turned bitter, and Enjolras took a deep breath. “I really wish you wouldn’t talk that way about me.”

Grantaire looked at him, startled. “What?”

“Saying that I’m not in my right mind,” Enjolras said gently. “Because I do find you attractive and I do want to be with you.” Grantaire opened his mouth to argue but Enjolras didn’t let him. “I love you.”

Grantaire’s expression flickered. “In spite of everything?”

“Because of everything.” Enjolras stated it plainly, like he was stating a fact instead of trying to convince Grantaire. “I fell in love with you in the pods and that hasn’t changed since getting to finally see you. The only difference is that now I can kiss you whenever I want.”

“But you haven’t seemed to want to do that very much lately.”

For the first time since they had started talking, Grantaire sounded unsure, and Enjolras’s heart clenched. “Look, I’m not good at this,” he blurted. “At relationships. I don’t always read the signs correctly, if at all, and I’m really bad at knowing without being told when my partner needs more from me. So you have to tell me, at least at first. You have to tell me when I’m doing something that makes you feel bad, at least at first. It’s the only way this is going to work.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “I’ll try,” he offered, a little tentatively.

“And I will try to be better,” Enjolras told him. “But you also can’t just walk away or pick a fight when things get hard. We have to both put in the work to keep going.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, hesitating before adding, “but when you said you needed a break, I thought you meant from this, from me, from us.”

Enjolras winced, regretting his previous choice of words. “Maybe break was the wrong word to use. I needed a time out.”

Grantaire managed a shaky smile. “To keep from throttling me with your bare hands?”

Enjolras returned his smile. “Something like that.”

Grantaire leaned over to rest his head against Enjolras’s shoulder. “So where does that leave us?”

“At the moment?” Enjolras asked. “Well, right now I’d very much like to kiss you. And past that, I meant it – I love you and I want to make this work.”

“I love you, too,” Grantaire said quietly. “And I also want to make this work.”

Enjolras glanced over at him. “And do you actually think that it’s going to?”

Grantaire hesitated. “I think that it could,” he hedged, and when Enjolras just arched an eyebrow, he laughed and said, “It’s as good as you’re gonna get from me.”

“That’s ok,” Enjolras said. “If I have to, I’ll believe in us enough for the both of us.” He laced his fingers with Grantaire’s before raising their joined hands to his lips to press a kiss to Grantaire’s knuckles. “I love you.”

Grantaire smiled. “I love you, too. Now about that kiss…”

Enjolras laughed, leaning in and kissing him. It was almost tentative at first, both men holding back, but then Grantaire sighed against Enjolras’s mouth and Enjolras cupped his cheek, licking into his mouth as if he was trying to drink him in.

Because he was. Because he wanted this – because he wanted Grantaire.

And he wanted Grantaire to never again doubt that.

But Grantaire pulled back, just slightly, just enough for Enjolras to hesitate, though he stopped when he saw the soft look in his eyes. Then Grantaire leaned in again, his nose just brushing against Enjolras’s before he again captured his lips in a soft, unhurried kiss. As if they had all the time in the world, as if they could live forever on that beach in Mexico, the warm sea breeze as their only companion.

Grantaire nipped lightly at Enjolras’s bottom lip and he let out a groan that was probably not appropriate for a television audience. That thought was enough to ground him, and enough to force him to pull away before they went too far. “You know what I’m thinking?” he asked, a little breathlessly.

“What?” Grantaire murmured, his eyes not leaving Enjolras’s lips.

“We should move this somewhere more comfortable.”

Grantaire’s eyes darkened. “Your room or mine?” he asked.

“Ours,” Enjolras told him simply. “Let’s go back to ours.”

The time for sexy beach parties and cocktails is over – we’re throwing our couples back into reality. They have their devices back, and they’re headed home, where they’re going to be living together in a new, shared apartment.

Will they judge each other based on what they discover in the real world? Will looks, age, race, family, even financial circumstances matter?

They started with love, a true, emotional connection, and now they’re just three weeks away from the altar. Will they prove that love is blind?

We’ll find out – on the next episode.

Behind blue eyes

The first time had been easy. They were both drunk on love and ale and the remnants of nearly losing each other on a monster hunt. But now, with a few days and a lot of kissing down the road, Jaskier wonders how to resolve the problem on hand. Or his arse, to be precise.

He can feel Geralt’s hard cock nestled in the crease of his buttocks and while the witcher doesn’t push—neither in the literal nor the metaphorical sense—Jaskier is torn which direction to take.

He could play possum for one, but he did that the last few days. He could press back and invite Geralt to do with him as he pleases. He could turn and lend the man a hand, so to speak, clean him after and feign an important task trumping the reciprocation.

Jaskier doesn’t know which way to go. It’s not a problem he had that often before as his trysts were usually a one-time thing and seldom one where he spent the whole day with a partner.

This whole relationship thing is new to him, and maybe he should have put their first time off as two lonely men helping each other out, avoiding this whole dilemma. But Geralt had been so soft and sweet, had called him his little lark and been so content that Jaskier’s treacherous heart, lost to the witcher for years, had convinced him to stay.

Big mistake. Because despite Jaskier’s not unfounded reputation as a Lothario and man of many talents (especially in the bedroom), Jaskier has no idea how to navigate the pitfalls of a recurring bed partner and how to hide what he knows to be his biggest failing as a man.

Jaskier knows he’s meant to sow his oats, to chase every interested skirt or any inviting breeches. It’s what he saw the other students in Oxenfurt do, the barmaids and posters along the Path. And he liked the feeling of being wanted, of warm skin pressed together, lips tracing his neck and fingers skimming over his bum.

He enjoyed the noises of pleasure falling from his lovers’ lips, his name a barely breathed prayer, their mixed scents, the closeness. But most of all, he loved their sated sighs, the way they curled around him afterwards, the contentedness as they slipped into sleep with only him there to witness the beauty of a person being satisfied because of him.

It was worth the flight from villages, the bruises and the loss of his voice after running away through cold nights. It had to be. How else would he have found someone to give him the warmth no blanket could give, the touch, the want, the feeling of being human despite his shortcomings?

Jaskier wishes he could have more, could have this right here without a need to choose how to proceed, just feeling Geralt’s chest against his back and knowing that it’s enough. That he is enough as is.

Because it would be enough for him. Jaskier doesn’t need sex, doesn’t feel the urge that often, and if, then never with someone specific in mind. If anything, thinking of someone kills the bouts he feels now and then.

He loves looking at well-dressed people, and a high-necked garment always pulls his gaze more than breasts or broad chests on display. And don’t get him started on genitals. Urgh.

He’s not against nakedness. Everyone should show whatever they feel comfortable with, but whenever Jaskier plays a partner’s body like he plays his lute, his vision turns into pieces, the body parts he concentrates on in focus, the rest falling away.

He’s a skilled lover, never leaving a partner unsatisfied, but the price is high. He’s still willing to pay it for the before and the after.

He’s popular with the ladies, his reputation of being a man putting their enjoyment first travelling ahead, just as the news that he likes taking it up the arse.

Okay, liking is probably a stretch too far for how he’s truly feeling during it. He doesn’t mind it most days, and the days he does? Well, he focuses on the nice things—their hands on his hips, their lips sucking bruises in his neck, the teeth marks he will feel on his shoulder for days, reminding him that he managed to please, to arouse, to be worth someone’s time.

It’s a wonder that Geralt and he didn’t end up in bed together earlier. Maybe because Jaskier knew that it would lead to this exact moment.

Geralt is still hard against him, and Jaskier does his best not to sigh. He pushes back and rubs his crease over Geralt’s cock, eliciting a moan from the other man.

“Want you,” Jaskier croaks, hoping it comes off as arousal tightening his throat.

Geralt’s arm tightens around Jaskier and a growled “You do?” sets in motion what every normal person would want in this very situation.

“Yes,” Jaskier breathes. It’s not a lie. Not really. He wants Geralt to feel good, wants their scents to mingle until they are one, wants to see Geralt unravel under his ministrations or in the depths of his body. He wants all of that. He simply doesn’t want this for himself. He doesn’t want him to return the favour, and that’s always the tricky part. All he wants is for Geralt to stay.

He’s not only used to fleeing husbands and wives, but he’s also good at escaping lovers realising what a freak of nature he is. Someone who scarcely bears someone touching his prick, whose throat closes up if someone asks him if he finds them hot or says that he's so sexy. It should be the greatest compliment, but Jaskier struggles with the concept.

He loves tender eyes and gentle hands, the display of strength by any gender and smiles. He’s a goner for smiles, and dimples, and arched eyebrows, and… nothing that counts when it comes to the intimacy everyone else seems to crave. Everyone but him.

Geralt’s hand roams his body, touches him just right to send goosebumps over his skin, the good kind. But Jaskier knows it won’t end there. His hand will wander to his cock and…

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Geralt asks, his hand frozen on Jaskier’s chest.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Witchers and their stupid super senses!

“Just got something in my eye,” Jaskier lies, but he’s sure distress bleeds into his scent.

“Try again,” Geralt’s voice rumbles through his chest.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier says airily, conjures a smile on his face and turns around. “Let me take care of you, dear heart.”

He presses a peck on Geralt’s lips and kisses his way down over the beautiful cut of his jaw, then his neck, his nice chest, his ripped stomach…

“You’re not smelling aroused,” Geralt states.

Jaskier ignores his words and goes down on him. No one can think about his fucking scent when he pleasures them, plays them by every trick in the book.

No one but a stupid white-haired witcher.

Geralt pulls his body away and sits up against the wall. Jaskier is shamefully grateful that he covers his crotch with the bedsheet. Genitals are just not pretty, no matter which way he looks at them.

Jaskier takes a deep breath and pushes himself into a sitting position. He exhales and draws air back into his lungs, worried he won’t be able to as soon as he meets Geralt’s gaze.

The witcher stares at him, brow furrowed and forehead creased. It could be worse.

“If you don’t like blow jobs, you could have just said it, my love,” Jaskier quips, but the joke falls flat.

Geralt hums. He sets his jaw, eyes flickering through the room. With every passing second, the panic in Jaskier’s chest spreads. He must stink of it by now.

“Are you afraid of me?” Geralt asks, wrinkling his nose.

“No,” Jaskier huffs. He truly isn’t. Geralt looks more hurt than angry. Maybe it’s confusion? The witcher isn’t always easy to read in the best moments, and right now, Jaskier isn’t exactly calm.

“I’m used to smelling indifference, sometimes worry or disgust in whorehouses. But you smell… all over the place.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says easily, waving him off. “You know me. My mind is never a quiet place. But I’m sure that’ll change if you give me something to concentrate on,” he teases and reaches for the sheet.

Geralt grabs his wrist before he can reach it.

“The last time, you didn’t smell of arousal either, but excitement so I was thinking none of it. But today…”

“How would you know what my arousal smells like?” Jaskier tries. He has no idea if arousal smells the same on everyone, but maybe he’s lucky.

“I’ve smelt you spill your seed in the woods. Not often, but…”

Jaskier nods. If he had known, he had suppressed his unsteady needs. It’s not as if he needed the release. It was more like scratching an itch.

But he can’t give up now. He can’t lose the man he loves to something as stupid as this. He’s good in bed. He knows he is. If Geralt just let him…

“I tell you something,” Jaskier coos in his most velvety voice. “I help you spill your seed and right after, you can spill mine.”

It’s the biggest token of love he can give him. He knows it works. With closed eyes and images of after playing in his mind, his body can pull off an orgasm. Flat and bland, nothing compared to what his partners feel, but he is an artist. He can put it on thick, fake a mind-blowing orgasm. It’s not his favourite, but if it pleases Geralt, it’s worth putting on a show.

He crawls into Geralt’s lap, rubs his bum over him, searching for the sign of his arousal, but there’s none.

“Come, darling. I’m all yours,” he purrs and keeps up his movement over soft flesh.

Geralt grabs his hips and stops his ministrations.

“Why?” he asks, and Jaskier thinks he’s never heard him this confused and devastated.

Jaskier shrugs. Of course, Geralt wants to know why he’s broken, why he doesn’t experience the most basic of needs. The bard doesn’t have an answer, though, tried to understand it in the past, but he never met anyone like him, only found books describing lust not the lack of it.

“I guess I was born this way,” he tries, forcing a smile on his face, but his lips twitch with the loss he expects any second. Geralt will push him away, will go to the whorehouse down the street or—even worse—back to his witch who can give him what he needs.

Tears run over Jaskier’s face. No one ever truly cared if he drew pleasure from their encounters, affront came about a lack of physical reaction never him not fucking smelling aroused.

Tender thumbs brush away the wet trails on his cheeks.

“I love who you are. Every part of it,” Geralt says calmly.

Jaskier snorts a mirthless laugh. “Sure. What’s not to like?”

“Exactly,” Geralt says, and for all his annoyances regarding the bard easily proclaimed in the past he sounds so damn genuine.

Jaskier can’t take it. This will either tip over to pity or disgust when he’ll understand, and he can’t sit in Geralt’s lap, naked and bare in so many other ways when it’s going to happen.

He tries to move away but Geralt’s grip tightens.

“Exactly,” he repeats.

“I don’t want sex,” Jaskier growls, and Geralt lets go of him immediately.

“I don’t want either. Not when you smell like sorrow and shame.”

Jaskier gets off the bed and dresses himself. Geralt joins him in silence. It helps clear Jaskier’s head seeing the vast expanse of skin disappear under fabric.

He loves this man, loves his soul and body, but… Geralt deserves better. Deserves someone who gets hard or wet when he presses against them, whose sounds of pleasures are their own and not copies of others. He deserves someone who appreciates his body for every curve and every edge, and not only for warmth his heart fills with when Geralt holds him close.

When he’s finished buttoning up his doublet and slipping into his boots, Jaskier stalls. What’s he supposed to do now?

“I guess this is where we part company,” Jaskier croaks, his heart thoroughly pressed into his mouth.

“Why?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier feels sick. “Why? Well, I can hardly tie you to myself with what little I have to offer you, so…”

Geralt knits his brow together. “You don’t want to be with me anymore?”

It’s a question Jaskier didn’t expect, much less the hurt laced into it.

“You want me to stay?”

Geralt works his jaw and blinks. “Yes.”

Jaskier can’t help but laugh. “For what? You can’t enjoy being with me because of me smelling wrong and…”

“I love your scent. Just not when you're… Did I hurt you last time?”

Jaskier shakes his head. “It’s not you. It’s me. My head and my body, they are… wrong. I don’t know. I want to feel it, but I don’t.”

“You mean love?”

Jaskier groans in frustration. Not about Geralt but himself. He’s been there before. People always think love and lust are the same. Maybe it is for normal people, but love has never been a problem.

“No. I love you.”

He freezes. They hadn’t exchanged these words yet. He glances at Geralt, worried about what he might find there. Tender delight wasn’t it, but it’s there, softening all the harshness of the witcher’s features.

“I’m so sorry,” Jaskier says. “I… I shouldn’t have said that. That only raises your hopes.”

“It does. Why would you leave if you loved me?”

Jaskier exhales slowly. “You’re a magnificent man, Geralt. You deserve to smell your partner’s arousal, and I can’t give you that. I can give you pleasure, but I can’t give you that.”

Geralt just stares at him, and Jaskier presses his lips to a thin line.

“Do you like to be close to me?” the witcher asks.

Jaskier nods.

“Do you like lying in my arms?”

Another nod.

“Do you like kissing me?”

Jaskier quirks a sad smile. “Very much so.”

Geralt nods pointedly and closes the space between them. He tips Jaskier’s head back with a gentle touch and kisses him, soft and slow, their bodies gravitating to each other until Jaskier’s fingers are in Geralt’s hair and Geralt’s splayed over Jaskier’s back.

“This is all I need,” Geralt whispers after what feels like hours. “You, content in my arms.”

“But…”

“No but. Stay. I love you.”

Jaskier snickers, high on Geralt’s scent and smile.

“More than sex?”

“More than sex.”

Geralt pulls him back into a kiss, and Jaskier melts into him, the last tension leaving his body.

“Sometimes I feel okay with it,” the bard murmurs into his witcher’s lips.

Geralt pulls back and brushes the hair out of his face. “You know I can smell when you lie?”

“But I don’t right now,” Jaskier smirks.

“Yes, you don’t. But whenever…”

“No faking to like it. Got it.”

“Good,” Geralt grumbles. “Can we go back to bed then?”

Jaskier nods and goes for Geralt’s shirt.

“We don't…”

“I like feeling your skin on mine,” Jaskier pouts, and Geralt chuckles.

“Alright.”

It doesn’t take long until they cuddle naked under the covers again, Jaskier’s head tucked under Geralt’s chin. The bard runs his fingers idly up and down the witcher’s side.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Geralt grunts. “No need to thank me.”

Jaskier thinks he has no idea how different he is to so many others, but he won’t jinx it with pestering his witcher. Not when he can enjoy his partner’s closeness without pressure and no expectations for the first time in his life.

Love Is Ǝvil #87

Nicolas is looking forward to the gym date with Marshall. But Marshall ain’t coming.

A quick preview

87: Gangsta. #06

A light drizzle fell on Nicolas’s face as he looked up, the sky was a dark gray and almost menacing. He pulled the gym bag out of the trunk and shouldered it, then he slapped the closed trunk lid twice. The signal for the car to drive off.

But first Alex stuck her head out the window, mouth moving with a grin. Probably attempting a joke about his date but never as good as Worick’s. Nicolas ignored her either way. 

Readjusting his shoulder strap he walked across the parking lot and his eyes scanned the few cars parked here. One of them was Marshall’s black SUV. Nicolas smiled a little, glad they could spend some time together despite the guest at Marshall’s house. Friends took priority, understandably. With light steps Nicolas walked down the few steps to the gym’s entrance, occupying the basement of the building. 

The inside was bright and reflective, a stark contrast to the dreariness outside. Mirrors adorned every wall, made the room seem simultaneously more spacious and more narrow than it truly was. For Nicolas it felt a little claustrophobic, always like there were too many people inside and all looking at him through the mirrors. But he usually forgot that as soon as he and Marshall entered the boxing ring. Now Nicolas’s gaze wandered across the room and its many reflections but he didn’t see the small, delicate frame of his boyfriend anywhere.

Boyfriend, what a weird word to use. Not one his personal dictionary had needed before, the two syllables lay heavy on his tongue, his fingertips burned when signing it. The connotations were heavy and he couldn’t care less about any of them, never expected to be living them out. Yet, he had to acknowledge these connotations and the word because his boyfriend …

-continue on Ao3-

A Satisfactory Arrangement

Description: John has an issue. He loves being back at Baker Street now that his marriage is over. The only thing is, he doesn’t fancy going the rest of his life without ever having sex again…

Review: John proposes a friends with benefits situation once he realizes he doesn’t want to date anymore for fear of Sherlock worrying that he’ll leave him again, and that is not something John wants to risk. Doesn’t want to have one-stsnds for the rest of his life either. Sherlock accepts his offer and cue the pining John and Sherlock indulging in his new-found enjoyment of sex.

Rating: E

Isosceles

Description: After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date…

Review: I enjoyed every second of this fic. I’m a sucker for fics about Sherlock with other men and John being supportive yet jealous. Can’t get enough of it, there needs to be more. I particularly enjoy with this one how long the fic is and John’s struggles with his himself between wanting everything for Sherlock and letting himself indulge during their “coachings.” I also surprisingly liked the OC male character, which is always nice! Can’t recommend this one enough.

Rating: E

The Cold Song

Description: Sherlock has a complicated relationship with drugs, but John gives Sherlock an ultimatum. What John doesn’t realize is what lengths Sherlock might have to go to in order to replace them. What Sherlock doesn’t realize is that John is okay with that.

Review: This is a really interesting set of fics. The series is marked incomplete and was last updated in 2013 so I doubt it will continue, but I enjoyed what’s posted. Sherlock gives up drugs and replaces it with a BDSM relationship with John, but then a case comed along to drudge’s up both Sherlock’s and John’s pasts. I really hope that this series will update because we dont get to see the conclusion of the case, but I loved seeing the progress of John and Sherlock’s relationship. There are a lot of extensive descriptive scenes, and internal thoughts, so this is a good one for you if you like character studies.

Rating: E

Five Times Sherlock Holmes and John Watson Hugged, and One Time They Didn’t

Description: They’re sitting in the living room one night after finishing their curry takeaway when Sherlock looks up from his violin. “John,” he says, “would you come hug me, please?”

Review: This is so incredibly cute and sweet for such a short fic. I adore these two.

Rating: Teen and up

Demons Series

Description: Set toward the end of The Lying Detective. With Ella’s help, John decides to start actively pursuing what he wants in spite of the demons standing in his way.

Review: This series has two installments, one from John’s POV and the other from Sherlock’s. I love both of them, they add to each other and isn’t just a retelling of the same story. There’s a special place in my heart for fics that center around therapy, Sherlock and John trying to help themselves be better with each other. So this fic was such a joy to read and I probably will again.

Rating: E

Four Horsemen of the Apocolypse

Description: John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock…

Review: The reverse of fake relationship for a case with a friends to lovers trope. Instead of pretending to be in a relationship, they have to make doubly sure they don’t accidentally come across as one, even though they aren’t (yet). I love this author and am always excited whenever they post an update. I really enjoyed the 180 approach to fake-it-for-a-case because the angst is different and kind of refreshing in a way, especially since they aren’t in a relationship at the beginning.

Rating: E

A Case for Domestic Propinquity

Description: As Sherlock and John renovate Baker Street with Rosie underfoot, Sherlock can’t help but wondering how he could possibly convince John to just stay indefinitely…

Review: So sweet and adorable. Pining Sherlock has a taste for domestic bliss, and John tries to figure out what’s best for Rosie while navigating what he wants. I love everything by this author, this fic included. Fluffy with a hint of emotional angst!

Rating: E