#like titanic

Grantaire rested his head against Enjolras’s shoulder. “Do you think we’re like Jack and Rose?”

Enjolras didn’t look up from his phone. “Jack and who?”

“Jack and Rose,” Grantaire repeated, and when Enjolras didn’t answer, he added helpfully, “Like from Titanic.”

Now Enjolras did look up, and even though Grantaire couldn’t see him from his angle, he could hear the scowl in his voice. “Why in the name of all that is holy—”

“It was just the anniversary of the sinking!” Grantaire said with a laugh. “And so Joly, Bossuet and I got stoned and watched the movie.”

Enjolras sighed. “I should have known.” He kissed the top of Grantaire’s head before asking, “So are you Kate Winslet or Leo in whatever scenario you’ve cooked up in your head?”

Grantaire sat up, frowning. “That’s not a fair question. I’m not as hot as Leo and your tits aren’t nearly as magnificent as Kate Winslet’s.”

“I’ll allow it.”

Grantaire cleared his throat. “Anyway, where I was really going with this is that you were born with a silver spoon—”

“Gold-plated stainless steel, if you want to be specific,” Enjolras murmured.

“—shoved all the way up your ass, and I’m just a lower class kid from the street who got in your pants by drawing you.”

Enjolras snorted. “Firstly, you grew up thoroughly middle class and your poverty is mostly of your own making.”

“Harsh, but fair.”

“Secondly,” Enjolras continued, “you didn’t get in my pants by drawing me. You got invited to join Les Amis by drawing me in a political cartoon that we used for advertising. It took several more years for you to get into my pants, and I don’t recall much drawing being involved.”

Grantaire smirked. “Well maybe not with a pencil, but if I need to remind you what I can do with my tongue—”

“Does this Titanic-related metaphor of yours have a point?” Enjolras interrupted, his voice slightly higher-pitched than usual.

Grantaire just shrugged. “Mostly that I thought it would be a good backdoor into asking you to let me draw you naked.”

“No.”

If Grantaire was disappointed, he didn’t show it. “You say that now, but you know you’re dying to say it.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Say what?”

Grantaire leaned in so that his lips brushed against Enjolras’s ear as he whispered, “Draw me like one of your French girls.”

Enjolras laughed, pushing him away. “Absolutely not.”

“Shame,” Grantaire said, laughing as well. “Figured it couldn’t hurt to ask, though.”

Enjolras shook his head affectionately, and picked his phone up again. “For the record,” he said casually, “if you were Jack, and I was Rose, we’d either both find a way to be on that door, or we’d both freeze to death together.”

Grantaire blinked. “Really?”

Enjolras glanced up at him. “You jump, I jump, remember?”

A slow smile spread across Grantaire’s face. “You saying you’d die for me?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I’m saying I’d rather die with you than live without you.”

But Grantaire didn’t seem to have heard him. “You’d die for me,” he said, beaming.

“Only you would find that romantic,” Enjolras murmured. “I, for one, would much rather we live for each other than die for each other.”

Grantaire rested his head against Enjolras’s shoulder, still smiling. “I already do.”