Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Enjolras 

He didn’t know. 

Dark hair enveloping broad, tattooed shoulders and belly, dark-lit room making his skin glisten as thick fingers groped and pinched, leaving deliciously reddened marks in their wake.

He swears he didn’t know. 

The ripple of round ass cheeks as the machine fucked in deeper and deeper, the man’s back arched lewdly. Enjolras’s desperate attempts to match the machine’s rhythm, hands sliding over his clit as he fought off the crest of an orgasm for another agonising second of pleasure.

It should have been obvious. 

—

Enjolras

Enjolras’s life didn’t often allow him the luxury of a routine; more often than not sleep was stolen in between frenzied snap actions and lengthy zoom calls. Food was whatever his exhausted arm could shovel into his mouth as his eyelids succumbed to their own weight. Getting off was so far down the list of Enjolras’s priorities that it was a relief when his overworked, touch-starved body dealt with itself in his sleep.

He’d been mindlessly scrolling, (Tumblr of all places) avoiding his newest Signal group chat when he’d stumbled upon Satyr’s page. 

“You may like” the heading had advertised. And damn. Fuck the algorithm, but he did. 

The page was simple, cheekily skirting the puritan community guidelines while promoting a new Fansly - “Because there’s nothing sexy about that Zionist OnlyFans mess”, and oh, Enjolras was hitting ‘like’ before he realised he was logged into the ABC’s mostly defunct account. Rectifying the situation, an appropriately anonymous burner account followed Satyr, followed almost immediately by a subscription. 

The clip descriptions alone were enough to have Enjolras’s hand delving below the waistband of his pyjama pants, lazily squirming into the cup of his hand. Could he buy them all at the same time? Would that be weird? 

Closing his phone, he sucked in a few shaky breaths. He should be sleeping, or attempting to. He should be using this energy to respond to messages, or emails. But he couldn’t deny that this was the most focused he’d felt all day - and the promo posts alone had sent a shock of heat to his core. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this wet, this fast. Embarrassing, really. 

He settled on two clips, shimmied his pants off and used two fingers to stroke himself in earnest. The first video started, and he could feel his arousal build as the man on his screen started to suck a large dildo that had been fixed to something just out of view at the bottom of the screen. The man was wearing a mask, lace positioned over his eyes so only his plump lips were exposed. They were red and slightly chapped, and Enjolras’s clit throbbed with how badly he wanted to feel them.

He let out a low whimper as he watched those lips part around the base of the toy on-screen, sliding up and down the underside of it lasciviously. Fuck, this would be so much better with a vibrator and his own strap-on positioned so that he could imagine the cock was his. Next time. 

He was already so wet he could hear it, and as the man started to slide the cock down his throat with apparent ease, Enjolras knew he wouldn’t last much longer. The wet gulping sounds coming from his phone were enough to make him feel lightheaded - he imagined finishing on the man’s pretty mask, a hand wrapped around his throat to hold him in place as he smeared cum all over those full lips. He came with a cry, pressing down hard as his hips jerked into his hand. 

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke feeling more well rested than he’d been in a long while.

And thus began the semblance of a routine. A few precious minutes, stolen at the end of each day where he allowed himself to switch off and feel, a few minutes that were just for him, unavailable to the demands of the outside world. By the end of the month he’d bought every clip available and watched his favourites over and over. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so satisfied. 

“You look happier than I’ve seen you in a hot second,” noted Courfeyrac over coffee. Enjolras had blushed, and Courfeyrac crowed with delight. “You have to tell me who it is,” he gasped, and tried to drag Combeferre into his speculation game when Enjolras simply glared at him. Combeferre flatly refused with an oddly closed expression, and Enjolras shot him a grateful smile. 

Let them think he was fucking someone new - Enjolras knew if he answered truthfully Courfeyrac would want a link, and Enjolras selfishly wanted to keep Satyr’s page to himself. He knew it was ridiculous - he was clearly not the man’s only subscriber, and it was literally his job - but he couldn’t stand the thought of Courfeyrac scrolling through those clips. Courfeyrac seeing the other man splayed open, or in the throes of an orgasm like that. There were very few things Enjolras kept to himself, but this needed to be one of them.

Grantaire 

“Payout (?)”, read his calendar. As though he could forget to check. 

It’s not as though the money was good, he’d known that going in, and had no delusions of grandeur vis-à-vis his attractiveness to the masses. Musichetta had drilled that into him when he’d started making porn: had ranted about the myths of high paying OnlyFans models, celebrity tourists, oversaturation of the industry, and underestimation and undervaluing of sexual labour until he’d laughed and agreed to keep his expectations low. She’d been right, of course, and he wasn’t an influencer with several million followers to capitalise off, so it was what it was. 

He wasn’t the type to take anything seriously, and wasn’t planning to start with this, half-heartedly promoting the same few clips on Tumblr and Bluesky every week. But he was living off hospo wages, and a few extra bucks every so often was a few more drinks, so it’d do. He checked his page - still under the payout limit. Fuck. He knew he should go harder with promotion, should just make new content - but ugh. If only he could make money scrolling through other people’s accounts and bitterly judging the amount of money and free time he perceived them to have. He’d be rich. 

Toeing his shoes off at the door, he studiously avoided the pile of mouldy dishes in the sink in favour of grabbing a half empty bottle of gin and heading for the shower. 

His phone on the kitchen sink as he washed the stink of floor cleaner off him, he almost missed the buzz as the notifications started rolling in.

Post-shower, it took the rest of the gin to fully comprehend what he’d seen - a new subscriber, and immediate purchases to two clips. It put him over the payout threshold, and he sent off a quick message on the back of liquid courage before he could overthink it. 

S: “Hope you like the clips! Would love to make you a custom video to say thank you.”

He added a winking emoji, deleted it, re-added it. Hit send.

Nothing. Did he think the client would message back straight away? They probably hadn’t even watched the videos yet. Maybe the buyer hated them. Far more likely. Grantaire’s message probably came across as desperate and over-eager. Christ, couldn’t he have waited? He wasn’t cut out for this. Tossing his phone onto his bed, he groaned into the pillow.

Enjolras

He’d disregarded the message, equal parts embarrassed and convinced it’d just be a perfunctory “thanks for the subscription”. It wasn’t until a month later that he clicked on it, having gone through every video (some multiple times), and lured in with the promise of something new. 

S: “Thanks for the subscription! Would love to make you a custom video to say thank you.”

Enjolras flushed crimson, fingers stuttering on an instinctive response. Had he been horrible for ignoring it? It would have been polite to view it and respond, this was this man’s livelihood and he’d callously ignored humanising him in favour of getting off. He sent a generous tip to his favourite three videos, and responded.

Anon: “Thanks! Sorry I didn’t respond earlier. Not sure what the etiquette is. Didn’t want to be weird 😅 

Anon: No need for anything custom, but thank you! Whatever you’re comfortable with is good. 

The response was almost immediate.

S: thanks for the tips, holy shit ???

S: seriously, it means a lot. and definitely the furthest thing from weird, don’t worry

S: glad you’re enjoying it, i haven’t made anything new in a second, but this is good motivation to do so 😏

Enjolras blinked at his phone. These messages seemed so… friendly? Unabashed? Like there was less pretence? He caught himself immediately. Stop reading into it. He’s selling a fantasy, and you’re lucky enough to be able to buy it. Don’t be weird.

Anon: Not my first time buying porn, but the first time buying so many clips from the same person. You’re kind of all I’ve been watching recently. 

He wished he could take it back the second he’d hit send. What was that? Too much, too honest, too forward. Probably freaking the poor guy out after dropping so much on tips. Fuck.

He dropped his phone on his bed and made himself shower. Enough time spent on this. 

The next day, the fragile sense of peace he’d been cultivating was shattered by Grantaire, which was par for the course. 

He barged into the bar they’d been camped out in with a dramatic flourish, and a loud enough exclamation that patrons a few tables over turned around to glare. Enjolras glared back at them until they turned back to their drinks. He got it, though. Grantaire was loud.

“Drinks are on me tonight!” Grantaire bellowed. “A mysterious benefactor deigned to honour me with a load of cash which I will, benevolent and generous friend that I am, bestow unto your cups.” There were cheers from around the table, and Enjolras tried and failed not to roll his eyes. He knew Grantaire was on hospitality wages, he should be saving a windfall like that, not spending it on alcohol. Or perhaps sending a little the way of any of the mutual aid posts Enjolras had shared in the Amis group chat. So many better options, was the point. 

He watched as Grantaire grasped a jug of beer to bring back to the table. A drop of condensation dripped onto his tattooed hand, and Enjolras watched the trajectory of the droplet onto his thumb, still staring as the thumb was raised to Grantaire’s lips. He realised he’d been caught as the other man’s eyes met his. He felt his cheeks flush, and watched as Grantaire went red in return, looking away and wiping his hand on his trousers. The room was far, far too warm. 

Grabbing his coat, he hurried to the smokers section, gulping in the freezing winter air. Much better. 

Grantaire

A perfect night, Enjolras’s obvious disdain notwithstanding. It was ridiculous, he moaned to Eponine. They had the same friendship group, and the man couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him? Eponine soldiered her way through twenty minutes of it before she got up and patted him on the head, leaving him alone mid-sentence. Betrayal. 

He could use a cig. 

Stumbling outside he realised he didn’t have a lighter. There was one other person in the smokers, and the sentence was out of his mouth before he realised who it was. 

“Sorry, do you have a ligh- Oh.”

Wordlessly, Enjolras handed him his lighter. Okay. He tried not to have an audible reaction as their fingers brushed. 

“Do I get anything in return?” 

And shit, Grantaire’s mind took that and ran in seven thousand different directions before he realised Enjolras was pointing one slender finger at the cigarettes. He tapped one out with shaking hands and Enjolras took it delicately. Their fingers brushed again as Grantaire handed back the lighter. Grantaire could be normal about that. 

“Didn’t realise you smoked.” 

Enjolras shrugged, a single fluid movement. “I’m quitting.”

Grantaire laughed. “Doing a great job of it.”

“Like you’d know.” Enjolras smirked. 

His dark eyes flickered down to Grantaire and back to his cigarette. The dig wasn’t sharp, but the silence that followed felt like a test. He wanted to start a fight just so Enjolras could get out a stinging insult, and Grantaire could feel solid ground beneath his feet again. He didn’t know how to be around this version of Enjolras. He occupied his mouth by sucking in another drag, watching Enjolras’s lips purse as the taller man blew smoke into the cold night air. It was unfair for one person to look that good around a cigarette. 

“If I knew all it took for you to stand being in my presence was a humble ciggy, I’d have been offering them way earlier.”

Aaaaand shit. Wrong thing to say. Only a matter of time. He watched the nerve in Enjolras’s eye twitch.

“Stand being in your presence?”

This play was a lot more familiar. He took another drag, aimed it just beside Enjolras’s head. The taller man scowled.

“I mean, yeah. I think this is the longest you’ve spent around me without running out of the room or that vein in your eye,” he taps the side of his own face, “going crazy.”

Enjolras’s mouth twists. “Oh, don’t discount all those times you demean everything I stand for and insult everything I believe in. They usually drag on a lot longer than you’re giving them credit for.”

And Grantaire has never been one to stop digging himself out of a hole when it’s that inviting. 

“Yeah, it’s just that there’s so much to get through, y’know? You believe in a ridiculous amount of things.”

“And you believe in exactly nothing.”

“Nah, there is one thing.”

Enjolras’s surprised eyes shot up and shit, Grantaire could have played it off with a leer and a joke, had he not been that many drinks in, and had he not been staring back with every one of his pathetic, desperate emotions too close to the surface. Fuck. That hadn’t meant to come out. That wasn’t supposed to ever come out. He was pinned in Enjolras’s searching stare like a bug.

“I don’t understand you, Grantaire.”

Grantaire exhaled, shakily. “There’s not much there.” 

“You’re wrong.” Confident, like every other damn thing he believed. Like he was arguing the rights of man. Like Grantaire was just another social problem to be solved. 

Grantaire ground his cigarette out with his boot. 

“Not even gonna bin it?” 

Sometimes Enjolras made it too easy. 

“Nah, I support the turtles' right to smoke. Dignity of risk, angel. Look it up.”

Another eye twitch. Grantaire tapped the side of his face again and checked an imaginary watch. 

“Record time.” And then he’s through the door, riding the high of getting the last word. 

Enjolras

He stayed out in the smokers long after Grantaire had headed back inside. 

“Nah, there is one thing.”

What the fuck had he meant?

Except Enjolras knew exactly what he’d meant. It had been devastatingly clear. If not from the way he’d said it, from his face afterwards. What Enjolras didn’t know was why. He believed in Enjolras and hated him simultaneously? Did he dislike Enjolras because he believed in him, or was that all a joke too? Grantaire, who played the fool so easily. Was this just the butt of yet another joke at Enjolras’s expense? 

He had better things to do than figure out Grantaire.

He opened his phone. Satyr had still not responded. Yet another interaction where he constantly felt in over his head.

He headed back in reluctantly and said his goodbyes, sparing a single glance to the back of the room where Grantaire was holding court with Bossuet, Bahorel, and Jehan, flushed and laughing. 

The response came while he was settling into bed, and he moved so fast to grab his phone that he had to stop and breathe through his nose for a few long seconds.

S: omg???? i’m honoured. seriously. been making something new in the hopes that you like it. i’ll probably send it to you later in the week, just deciding some stuff about the edits. 

Anon: I’m sure I will. 

Enjolras’s heartbeat sped up at the thought of new content, and new content this man was making with him in mind. 

A day passed, and then another, and Enjolras wasn’t checking. He wasn’t. Mostly because he had notifications on. He’d know if and when Satyr posted. So checking would be creepy. And he wasn’t being creepy. 

The notification came during an intense meeting on the third day, and it took all of Enjolras’s considerable willpower to keep his face as solemn as the meeting required. He put it to the back of his mind, jumping back into discussion and trying his best not to think about what might be waiting on his phone.

When he finally got time alone, he was almost nervous to open his browser. The same one that had remained open to Satyr’s page since he’d first found it. The video was in his DMs, the description a simple: “hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed filming it.” The video was similar to his favourites, and he felt the immediate rush of blood to his clit. There was one notable difference, however. The man wasn’t wearing a mask this time. Holy shit. Enjolras’s heartbeat sped up ridiculous amounts, thrilled and nervous to see the face of the man he’d been jerking off to every night for a month. 

The man’s face slowly moved into the screen, lips around an even bigger dildo. Enjolras could see his soft chin bobbing as he sunk lower and lower onto it, but his hand was obscuring most of his face, teasing the reveal. The sloppy sounds of his mouth and the wanton moans around the cock had Enjolras bucking his hips into his suction vibrator like he could fuck the man’s face if he just tried hard enough.

And then suddenly, his lips were at the base, his hand had been removed, and Enjolras had forgotten how to breathe. He was frozen, vibrator hovering over his clit and mouth agape in shock.

Grantaire.

The man was Grantaire?!

Chapter Text

Grantaire

He’d done his research. Looked at the kinds of videos Anon - original name, typical client - had watched multiple times, cherry-picked content from it to film more of. Look at him. Taking sex work seriously for once. ‘Chetta would be proud. He knew, thanks to her, that being face out made more money but balanced out with increased risk, and he wasn’t under any illusions about his workplace. He’d be out of a job if anyone found out, and likely word would spread around other venues. 

But. 

The money Anon had tipped him with had been great, and the feeling of being desired enough to spend a sum like that - on him, of all people - was addictive. Who was he to turn down another one of those? Plus, he reasoned the odds of Anon being someone remotely connected to him in real life were slim to none. The account probably belonged to some old cashed-up queen thousands of miles away. 

“You’re kind of all I’ve been watching recently.”

Him. He was. His half-assed content. His body. What if the person was hot, and in his area? He hadn’t been touched by anything that wasn’t silicone in so long. Maybe he could even get a hookup out of it. 

He set up the cock as usual, teasing his face reveal bit by bit. Pay me more and look what you’ll get. He moaned as he got more and more of it down his throat, massaging it with his tongue in a way that was entirely unnecessary for the camera. He felt tears prick at his eyes, knew his mascara would run perfectly and make him look as fucked up as he wanted. Ending the video, he repositioned the camera and dildo and worked himself open. He couldn’t deny the exquisite humiliation of it all as he added another finger. Spreading himself open for some anonymous benefactor he’d never see - performing for their pleasure as they sat back and watched. His cock got harder and harder with the embarrassment, and he realised he needed to stop before he came. Not this early - he’d have to wait to be hard again to finish filming, which was more work than he cared to do. Turning back to the camera, he began to ride it.

Insecurity that he’d managed to keep at bay hit him like a freight train as he put the clips together later that night. The client probably liked that his face wasn’t in it. Who could get off looking at a face like that? What the fuck was he thinking? He needed to be far drunker. And high. 

The next day came, and he’d not touched the video. But he’d lied to Anon, teasing that he had something in the works - “just deciding stuff about the edits”, who the fuck did he think he was - so he had to deliver on something. He was too lazy to refilm anything, and what more was he going to send a client who’d seen his dick and asshole already? He gave the video the barest minimum editing, putting the different shots together, and sent it before he could think better of the decision. 

Nothing. 

And then, with deafening finality, Anon unsubscribed. 

Fuck.   

Enjolras

Fuck. 

It was Grantaire. It was Grantaire. 

And he should have known. The hand tattoos. How did he not realise? Hindsight made him look like the biggest idiot in the world, and perhaps he deserved it. It wasn’t like he’d seen Grantaire naked and exposed the way he’d seen Satyr (Grantaire, fuck fuck fuck) but he’d seen Grantaire in very little: by the beach during summer, or when they’d been painting Cosette’s place and he’d stripped his t-shirt over his head. Enjolras had needed to evacuate the room almost immediately.

He should have known. 

Enjolras’ finger hovered over the clip. He should close the tab. Grantaire was his friend, even if he didn’t seem to like Enjolras all that much most days. More to the point, he had no idea Enjolras had been buying and watching the porn he’d made. That was bad. Objectively bad. Enjolras had crossed so, so, many boundaries unintentionally, and would be crossing another one if he continued. But he was wet. So, so achingly wet. From the moment Grantaire’s face had been revealed, cock stretching his lips and mascara starting to run - fucking mascara - Enjolras had been so turned on it physically hurt. He could feel his heartbeat in his cunt. 

He shouldn’t. 

He really shouldn’t. 

It was all kinds of fucked up. But he’d opened it. It wasn’t like watching it to the end would change what Grantaire saw, on his end. A horrible justification. But… Grantaire’s face, frozen on the screen, cock in his mouth. His thumb hit ‘play’ like it was moving independently to his brain. What brain? That had melted out of him and was coating the fingers he was using to rub his clit. 

No. He was going to do this right, if it was the last time he was going to jerk off to Satyr. Grantaire. And it would be. One last time. Pausing again, he jumped off the bed to grab his strap-on. He caught a leg in one of the straps and cursed as he tried to keep his balance while straightening it out. Pleasure dulled to the background as he fought with the thing, attempting to put the waist strap around his leg until he realised he’d gotten them confused. He’d taken it off so carefully last time, did it get rearranged by fairies in his cupboard, somehow? 

Once he’d managed to put his legs through the right holes and tighten it around himself, he slipped the vibrator between the base and his clit. This was all turning out a lot more premeditated than he would have liked. A little bit harder to pretend jerking off to your friend’s porn without his knowledge was in the ‘heat of the moment’ when it takes an extra five minutes to set it up properly. Nevertheless, he had a singular focus. He pressed play. 

On screen, Grantaire pulled off the cock to sloppily kiss around the base, pressing his tongue flat to the underside as he moved up and down its length. He slapped it lightly on his mouth as he got to the tip and Enjolras moaned, using some of his own wetness to stroke his own cock and push the base into the vibrator. He watched as Grantaire swirled his tongue around the tip and worked the length into his throat again, dark lashes fluttering against his cheek as he bobbed down further and further. He reached the base and his muffled moan felt like it was vibrating through Enjolras’ core. The mascara was running freely now, making him look truly debauched as he fucked his throat over and over. He pulled off it, a string of saliva connecting the tip of the cock to his lips, swollen and spit-slicked. Using a hand to stroke the cock onto his outstretched tongue, his eyelashes fluttered as he looked up into the camera, eyes hazy and dark. Enjolras wanted to ruin him.  

There was a soft transition, and then the cock had been positioned on the floor, and Grantaire was crawling over to it. He should be kept like that, Enjolras thought as he ground his hips into the vibrator. Back to the camera, Grantaire arched his back and worked lubed fingers in and out of himself. He’d never prepared himself on camera before - it had always evidently been done off screen. This felt vulnerable, more intimate, and Enjolras’ clit throbbed. He watched as Grantaire’s body tensed and relaxed with the stretch, the camera picking up on the needy whimpers as he worked himself open. Enjolras tried to keep as silent as possible so he didn’t miss a single sound. 

When he turned back around, he could see Grantaire’s own cock was hard and leaking, his face and chest flushed red. He sunk down on the cock, his mouth open soundlessly and eyes fluttering closed. He looked close already.

He gasped as his ass met the base, and gave himself a second to adjust before he was riding it in earnest, stomach and chest jiggling with the movement, head thrown back and a hand roaming over his body, pinching his nipples, fondling his balls, never straying too close to his cock. Another hand reached back, holding one ass cheek apart to get the cock in deeper. Enjolras wasn’t sure whether the wet squelching sounds were coming from the screen or his own pussy. He felt lightheaded, using the base of his strap-on to run the vibrator against his clit again and again. He needed Grantaire over him, needed to feel his thighs against him as he rode Enjolras, needed to know how many of those low, needy sounds he could get him to make, needed to grab and grope and feel the meat of his ass between his fingers as he moved him up and down like a cock sleeve. Grantaire’s cock was bouncing against his lower stomach with each stroke, leaving a slippery trail of precum on his lower belly, and Enjolras wanted to thumb the tip until he was overstimulated and squirming. He was so fucking close. He suspected Grantaire was too, his legs shaking with the effort of fucking himself, sweaty and flushed and crying out every time he dropped his weight back onto the cock. The vibrator had started to slide around with how wet Enjolras was and he clung onto it like a drowning man to a lifeboat. 

“Ah, ah, fuck, please, oh,” Grantaire was begging to nobody - to Enjolras - and he didn’t know it, and it was enough to drive him over the edge, his hand shaking around the phone and teeth dug into his lip so hard he tasted blood, unable to look away as Grantaire fell apart for him. 

He came so hard he thought his soul must have left his body, vision going dark at the edges. On screen, Grantaire had cum untouched, his cock spurting over his stomach. His plump thighs had given out, leaving him skewered on the dildo as his body shook, head bowed. The screen went dark as the video ended. Enjolras caught his own reflection - panting, wrecked, lips parted and flushed. And wasn’t that a sobering vision. 

All at once, the reality of what he’d done came crashing down around him. He had, knowing it was Grantaire - knowing Grantaire didn’t know and would be horrified with the idea Enjolras had seen him like that - still watched it. Still got off to it. Cum harder than he ever had in his life, his traitorous mind supplied. What the fuck had he done? Who was he? He knew he wouldn’t have done this if it were any of his other friends, would have closed it immediately and told them. So why did the limits of his restraint just not exist when it came to Grantaire?

He was attracted to him, blindingly and breathtakingly attracted to him, specifically because it was Grantaire. Blinking up at the spiderweb floating on his ceiling, moment after moment came unbidden to him. The correlation between times Grantaire was shirtless, or when he bent over, or danced, and the desperate way Enjolras got himself off when he got himself home. 

There was the time Enjolras had given Bahorel a lift home from boxing and Grantaire had been there; sweaty and exuberant and confident in a way Enjolras had never seen him. Enjolras had messaged one of his regular hookups as he’d waited for Bahorel to pack up, studiously avoiding looking Grantaire’s way. He’d abandoned the conversation immediately when the guy had responded, pissed off for no reason and frustrated and -

Jesus fucking christ - the whole time.

The realisation made him feel slightly nauseous. It still didn’t explain why he was able to walk all over his boundaries - he’d been attracted to people before, he still wouldn’t have done this.

He needed to come clean to Grantaire. He needed to apologise. And Grantaire would hate him worse than he already did, but Enjolras would deserve it.

He unsubscribed, and closed his browser. 

Grantaire

Of course. Of course he fucked it up. That’s all he did, all he knew how to do, all he was capable of. It was a matter of time, and he knew what he looked like - it was a miracle anyone had wanted to subscribe in the first place. Of course seeing his face had ruined any attraction they could have possibly held for him. A face not even a rich, anonymous asshole could get off to - the only anomaly there had been that Grantaire had thought for a second it would be different.

His foul mood followed him for the next week, and he avoided everyone to sleep through the day, mooch around his apartment and drink copiously. Only leaving the house to work made him feel even worse, and when he turned up to that week’s meeting, he was riding a record low.

Even his usual favourite past-time - pulling Enjolras’ pigtails - didn’t seem to be working. He’d turned up late and drunk, usually a sure-fire way to get a glare, or a reaction, or some form of attention. Instead, Enjolras had stuttered over his sentence, turned red, and looked away. 

He drank more, interjecting with a cruelty he knew wasn’t fair. Enjolras merely blinked at him. “Sure,” he said, fixing Grantaire with a contemplative look, and turning back to the minutes. 

What the fuck?

“Hey R,” Jehan nudged his arm, a joint dangling between their fingers. “Wanna go smoke?” Grantaire nodded, avoiding Enjolras’s gaze as they left. 

“Sooooooo,” Jehan drawled, legs in Grantaire’s lap as they lit up. “You seem…not great.” 

Grantaire let his head fall back with a sigh. Damage control, then. 

“Yeah. Work sucks, I’m fundamentally undesirable, everyone hates me, all I do is screw things up. And I’m broke. Y’know. The usual. This is why I litter, y’know. The faster the planet burns the faster this humiliating facade is over and done with.”

Jehan hummed. “Did you know there are like, eight species of lizard that can squirt blood from their eyes? Wish I could do that.”

Grantaire blinked, startled out of his spiral. “Is that… true?”

Jehan shrugged, blowing perfect smoke rings somewhere over Grantaire’s head. “Dunno. Pretty sick if it is, though.”

Despite himself, a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“There he is. Don’t ever,” they emphasise with a smile that is all teeth, “tell me I hate you again. In or out of that pretty little head.”

They slipped the joint between his lips, and he took a deep draw. 

“Sorry. You know I don’t mean it. I’ll imagine you um,” he gestured vaguely to their face. “Like, spraying blood from your eyes instead. Happy?”

“Immensely.”

Jehan brought their hand up to Grantaire’s hair, scratching his scalp soothingly with their acrylics. He let himself lean into the touch and close his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat. They sat like that for another half hour in companionable silence, letting the smoke twist between them. 

There was movement from the door, and Jehan sat up languidly, stretching out their legs.

“All yours,” Jehan told the newcomer, giving Grantaire a final pat on the head before slinking back into the warmth of the Musain. Grantaire kept his eyes closed, his head resting back on the brick wall behind him. He knew it was Enjolras before the other man spoke. 

“Grantaire… Can I speak with you for a sec? It’s important.” The nervousness in his voice almost got Grantaire to open his eyes, but he resisted the urge. He was safer with his eyes closed, when it came to Enjolras. Opening them would mean seeing his earnest, devastatingly beautiful face and it would weaken him to whatever terrible thing Enjolras was about to tell him. 

He gestured to the empty smokers area with both arms. “Sure. Free world and all that.”

Enjolras sighed. There was a moment of silence before Grantaire heard him move, sitting primly beside Grantaire on the bench. He was close enough that Grantaire could feel the heat from his leg, and he made himself sit still though every atom in his body was telling him to flee. 

“Ciggie?” And damn, that really did get Grantaire to open his eyes. His head shot up so fast he thought he heard a crack. Enjolras was offering him something? True enough, Enjolras was holding out a cigarette. A peace offering. Alarm bells started ringing in Grantaire’s head. 

“Um. Yeah, thanks.” He took it shakily. Enjolras sparked the lighter. Grantaire tried not to lean in too close as he held the cigarette to it, but he could smell Enjolras’s perfume. He was so, so fucked. 

“So, uh… special occasion? Did someone die? Am I dead? Are you a ghost? Is this a-”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras’ tone was firm, but gentle. There was something almost fragile behind it. “Please. I… I need… I have something to confess.”

And oh, shit. Grantaire was so, so out of his element here. Was he dead? Did Jehan lace the joint with some new hallucinogen? This was unnerving - a statue crying, the ocean drying up, the sun falling from the sky. This didn’t happen. Whatever this was, it didn’t happen.

He chuckled nervously. “Apollo, I’m sure whatever you have to confess, I’m not the right per-”

“I was Anon.”

Grantaire stilled, cig halfway to his mouth. “Anon? Like Anonymous? Like the hacker group?”

“No - Grantaire -” and there it was, the familiar frustrated tone most of their conversations took place around. Solid ground. Enjolras ran a hand over his face. “Anon as in… as in the guy you… I was subscribed to your Fansly. I didn’t know it was you, until you sent the last video, and I watched it, and I know I shouldn’t have, and I’m so, so sorry.”

The cigarette fell from Grantaire’s hands as his body lurched itself to his feet. He wasn’t aware of making the decision to move, per se, but his brain had checked out, his body moving him around like a terrified marionette. Much like he imagined a chicken did post-beheading; the jerking limbs waiting to be informed that it’s all over. 

Enjolras was still talking, he registered. All he could hear was ringing. 

“- So you have every right to be angry with me, I deserve it, I just wanted to tell you in person that I am so sorry, and I didn’t know until the last video - which in hindsight I really should have, but -”

“Enjolras -” he held up his hands in surrender. In a role reversal that would have sent Grantaire spinning if it had happened in a less world-changing conversation, Enjolras’ mouth snapped shut. He looked like he might throw up. 

Grantaire needed a second. He needed several billion seconds, and maybe an entire bottle of absinthe. 

“I… I can’t - I don’t… I don’t understand.” He ran a hand through his hair, beginning to pace. “No, no, no, this can’t… I don’t… so what, to like, make fun of me? I - I don’t understand what you’re saying, please -”

“What?” Enjolras looked like he was about to reach for Grantaire and thought better of it, hands dropping into his lap. “No, god, no - I would never do something like that, what the fuck? I, I subscribed because I’m… because you… because it was hot. Because I wanted to get off.”

“You wanted to…” Grantaire’s mouth opened and closed. Enjolras, unstoppable force and immovable object both, marble statue and saint-like figurehead of justice, wanted to get off? And his porn of choice - in the cruelest joke the universe could conceive - was Grantaire’s? The porn… Oh god. The porn. Like a rolodex of humiliation, he remembered every single scene he’d filmed. Things that Enjolras had now seen. Multiple times. Why? Why?

“Enjolras, there is an entire world of porn out there. It’s basically half the internet! Why would you ever do that to yourself? Why…” Why me.

“Like I said, I - it was hot, but I-”

“So you have a kink for ugly people or something? Like I get that there’s a niche for everything and kinkshaming is passé or whatever, but you couldn’t have-”

“I - what? Are you being serious right now? I’m not sure why this is the bit you’re hung up on - I realised it was you and I still - I crossed a very important boundary, and you’re worried I subscribed because I didn’t find you attractive?”

Grantaire laughed, the hysterical sound echoing in the still night air. “Oh, so now you get a say on which bit of this situation I get to be a mess about? So cool. Of fucking course I’m a bit ‘hung up’ on it, you’re-” he gestured vaguely to Enjolras, every dark, radiant inch. “And I’m…” he turned his hand to himself. “Enjolras, there is no universe in which you, paying actual money to see more of me, makes sense. None. In the entire time I have known you, you have been nothing but repulsed by me. You literally leave the room whenever I’m not fully clothed, you look furious whenever you see me like, dancing with people when we’re out or - god forbid - making out with people, you… you’re disgusted by me!”

Enjolras was staring at him like he’d grown a second head, mouth hanging open. 

Frowning, he shook his head. 

“I don’t get it. I just don’t understand how you can be so smart and yet so stupid about this.”

Grantaire wondered how many steps it would take his unstable legs to cross the room and throttle him. 

“Oh, what a singularly delightful conversation. I really loved the part where you tell me you’ve - unbeknownst to me - been watching me fuck myself on the internet and then call me an idiot. Let’s do this again sometime.” 

Fuck it. He would make his legs move as much as they needed to to get him out of this conversation and as far away from Enjolras as possible. 

He made it two steps before a soft hand seized his wrist with enough force to make him stop. He spun around at the same time Enjolras let go of him. 

“Wait. Please.” 

Grantaire should never have opened his eyes. He should never have started making porn. He should never have followed Joly and Bossuet to that first fucking meeting where he watched helplessly as Enjolras put the sun to shame and he should never, ever, have fallen so desperately in love with him. 

Enjolras was so close to him that Grantaire’s angry retort died on his lips. His perfume was intoxicating, or maybe that was just Enjolras? Grantaire couldn’t think of him as someone who did something as mundane as applying perfume, he probably just smelled like that. Although before today Grantaire didn’t think Enjolras did things like masturbate, so maybe this was just a day of new information designed to make Grantaire go insane. 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Enjolras’ face showed genuine contrition. “I’m sorry. I… it frustrates me that you don’t believe that I’m attracted to you. That I couldn’t be attracted to you. That I would ever watch your work out of some cruel intent to mock you.”

Grantaire wished he could school his face into something less horrifyingly lovelorn, but he was having difficulty around Enjolras saying the words “I’m attracted to you”, inches from his face. 

“But you… you unsubscribed.” He winced, his face burning. He wasn’t walking away from this with his dignity, but hey. Can’t lose what you never had. “Like, immediately.” 

Enjolras laughed softly and disbelievingly, his eyes searching Grantaire’s face. 

“Grantaire - I had to! Are you kidding? It was so awful of me to watch the video once I knew it was you I - It was such a violating thing to do!”

“And you think I’d care? Enjolras, I-” I’ve been in love with you for years. I live most of my life thinking about how I can get you to look at me for even a second. I don’t really feel alive unless I’m in your orbit. 

There was a crash from inside, followed by Bahorel’s booming laugh. They sprung apart guiltily, and Grantaire could swear he saw a flush on Enjolras’ dark cheeks. 

“Uhh. I should head back inside,” Enjolras exhaled, looking anywhere but Grantaire. “Get out of Floreal’s hair, she’ll be wanting to lock up.”

“Yeah! Yeah, no, for sure. Absolutely. You go ahead, I’ll just,” take a moment to put myself back together. Figure out how the fuck I’m going to be able to live, after this. “...Finish my cig.” 

Enjolras nodded, moving to the door. He paused at the threshold. “Grantaire… are we okay? Are you okay?” He paused. “I really am sorry.”

There was no answer that would satisfy Enjolras. There was no answer that wouldn’t make it all so much worse than it already was. He plastered on a weak smile. “We’re golden, Apollo. And don’t worry about it. Just, um. Don’t…tell anyone, yeah? I’m not keen for it to be common knowledge.”

Enjolras frowned. “I would never. Never, Grantaire.” 

Grantaire nodded, popping a cigarette between his lips. Enjolras delved in his pocket and tossed him the lighter. He gave a quick salute in thanks. In the time it took for him to light up, Enjolras was gone. 

Chapter Text

Enjolras

He felt a little bit lighter on his way home from the bar that night. 

Grantaire had taken it - not well - but a lot better than Enjolras had been fearing. Mostly hung up on an absurd belief that Enjolras didn’t find him attractive, as though the subscription alone didn’t kind of speak for itself. Enjolras went over the argument several times in his head and once in the shower to make sure he’d said everything right. 

He’d been so stunned by the turn the conversation had taken from the clever plan in his head, but it was Grantaire, always acting erratically and unpredictably: the pea under all of Enjolras’ carefully placed mattresses. He always made Enjolras feel so out of depth in every conversation in a way that was slightly heady. He wanted to have as many more of those conversations as it took to figure out the way Grantaire’s brain worked, until he was able to hold a conversation with the other man without feeling like the air had been sucked out of the room. 

Settling into bed contentedly, he picked up his phone and had started to load Grantaire’s Fansly before he remembered. 

Right. Yeah. That was over. 

He rolled onto his back. Sleep, then. He closed his eyes. 

“So what, to like, make fun of me?”

He rolled onto his side. Shifted his pillow. 

“In the entire time I have known you, you have been nothing but repulsed by me.”

Rolled onto his other side. Turned his pillow over so the fabric was cool on his face.

“And you think I’d care? Enjolras, I-”

This wasn’t working. He sighed, opened his phone. He still didn’t feel settled; something jittery and electric under his skin. 

He opened his usual go-to site - or it had been, before Grantaire - and scrolled through. None of them really piqued his interest the way Grantaire’s had, but he landed on one and started watching. Neither of the performers really did it for him but the scene was hot, and if he squinted… The Dom pushed his boot against his sub’s open mouth, and Enjolras’ heart started racing. Suddenly it was Grantaire’s waiting, eager mouth, and the tip of his boot. The sub started kissing and licking eagerly, worshipping. Enjolras wet his fingers and slid them under his boxers, making lazy, slow circles while the video played. It was good. It was really good, but it wasn’t enough. The last few times he’d cum it’d been so intense that this felt like a pale imitation of desire. He groaned into his pillow. It just wasn’t happening tonight. 

Opening Signal, he responded to messages and emails until his eyes finally started drooping. 

Grantaire  

Enjolras had been deep in conversation with Floreal when he’d left the bar and he’d slunk out quickly, giving Jehan a smile he hoped would quell the concern in their eyes. 

The next few days felt like he was wading through a dream, moving too fast and not fast enough. Every conversation felt stilted, and he wasn’t surprised when his manager pulled him aside at the end of his shift to ‘check in’. 

“You’ve just seemed… distracted, lately. Like maybe you’re not being your best self?” She phrased it like a question, and Grantaire laughed before realising she definitely wasn’t joking, or asking. 

“Yeah, no, I’ve just had. Uh. A lot going on. Been a bit off. I’ll be alright though,” he added hurriedly, not wanting to be added to the pile of names in her head she’d labelled as a problem. He wasn’t a good enough worker to be skirting that line. 

“Great! Because Aiden has asked for time off next week, and I could use someone to pick up his night shifts. If that’s okay?” Also not a question. 

“Yeah, sure!” He tried to sound chipper. “Can do!” 

“Great! You’re a legend.” She squeezed his shoulder and left him to close the till. He made a face at her as she walked away. 

Still, the extra money wouldn’t hurt, given his latest pay cut. He cringed outwardly, remembering that it had been Enjolras paying him, Enjolras watching him, Enjolras. Fuck. Enjolras who… was attracted to him. On screen, of course. Protected from Grantaire’s truly dog-shit personality by a work persona and the glass of his phone. Still - Grantaire’s body, his face, had gotten Enjolras off. Enjolras who watched porn, who jerked off, who got nervous and guilty and scared, who had been as unmoored as Grantaire had been by the situation. Enjolras the person. With desires beyond saving humanity from itself. Flesh and blood, not marble. 

Grantaire had no idea what to do with that, or why it scared him so badly. 

He opened his page on the walk home, looking through the videos again. He tried not to feel the little stab of hurt as he noted where Enjolras had unsubscribed. If he’d never shown his face, he could have had Enjolras’ eyes on him a little longer. Enjolras’ desire. He wondered… he stopped walking, frowning at his phone screen in concentration. Someone bumped into him and mumbled an apology. And fuck, yep, there it was. Enjolras’ username had been the same as the new follower, around the same time, on his Tumblr and Bluesky.

Enjolras was still following him. 

Sure, he probably hadn’t remembered, he’d probably unfollow when he did. But in the one, insane off-chance he hadn’t unfollowed on purpose... Grantaire dug up a couple of gifs of his work he hadn’t posted - hadn’t liked the way his legs had looked in one, had rejected the other in favour of a better shot. He posted them both on each of his profiles. Why was he shaking? The worst Enjolras could do was unfollow him. 

Then - blink-and-you-miss-it fast - Enjolras liked it. And then un-liked it. Grantaire waited to see if Enjolras had unfollowed him. By the time he’d reached his apartment, it still hadn’t happened. 

Enjolras was still watching him. Huh.

He kicked his clothes off the second he got into his apartment. He’d spilled someone’s beer down the front of his pants - not earning points with his manager - and it stunk. He paused as he walked by his filming set-up in the living room. What would be the harm? It was still his job, after all. If Enjolras had something to do with it, if he put more effort into the photos, the lighting, the way he posed - well, that was nobody's business. 

In the following weeks, Grantaire became someone he didn’t recognise. He was shooting new content regularly. Once-a-day regularly. He spent hours looking through BlueSky and Tumblr for inspiration. He took on more shifts to scrape together the money for new toys, outfits, props, borrowing from Musichetta and the local sex worker peer org she worked with when the money ran out. 

He had a fucking posting schedule. 

And Enjolras still hadn’t unfollowed him. He checked: multiple times a day with a feverish desperation. Enjolras’ account hadn’t interacted with anything, but the knowledge that he must be seeing some of it made Grantaire feel insane. He was posting once a day, there’d be no way it’d avoid Enjolras’ feed. 

And then a new revelation, as though the last month hadn’t contained enough of them to turn Grantaire’s life upside down a thousand times.

It was the first meeting he’d attended since The Conversation. He’d missed the last two, too much of a coward to risk eye contact or god forbid, more earnest apologies. It felt spectacularly odd to be avoiding Enjolras’ attention after structuring his entire life around trying to keep it on him by any means necessary. He’d come in late, slinking to the back row and depositing himself beside Bahorel. He could feel Enjolras’ stare on him and he fussed around with his jacket and bag until those brown eyes had moved away. 

He spent the time fucking around on his phone as per usual, putting all his energy into making sure his and Enjolras’ eyes never met. The other man was taking minutes while Courfeyrac spoke, a single blonde curl falling over his forehead as he hunched over his laptop. Distracted, therefore safe to look at. As safe as staring directly into the sun could ever be. 

He almost jumped out of his skin when his phone buzzed with an alarm reminding him to post. He shot it off quickly. Across the room, Enjolras’ phone lit up with a notification. His golden head snapped to the side to check it. His hands stilled on the keyboard. 

Was that…?

Enjolras looked downright flustered as he asked Courfeyrac to repeat what he’d said last.

There wasn’t enough air in the room. Shakily, Grantaire sent off another post. Watched as Enjolras’ phone buzzed again in time with the upload. Watched as a lovely blush appeared on his high cheekbones as, for a second time, his head jerked to the side to check it.

Holy shit.

Did Enjolras have fucking post notifications on for him?

And then his eyes shot up to meet Grantaire’s. Slack-jawed, Grantaire stared back. Courfeyrac was still speaking, Grantaire thought, or maybe everyone could hear the ringing noise that echoed around the room. How long had they been staring at each other? Minutes? Years? Grantaire’s heart was beating in his throat. Enjolras had post notifications turned on for him. He’d apologised for “violating Grantaire’s boundaries” - as though it wasn’t the biggest achievement of Grantaire’s life - and yet he still made the conscious choice to be notified whenever Grantaire posted. What the fuck did that mean? Was it possible all his talk about “attraction” had been genuine? Not just a bandaid for Grantaire’s wounded ego? 

Enjolras’ gaze dropped to the laptop screen, giving Grantaire permission to breathe again. Why did he feel like the one that had been caught out?

The meeting wrapped up, and the spell that had kept Grantaire trapped in his seat broke. Gathering his stuff up, he bolted for the door. Enjolras was faster. 

“Hey, R,” he breathed, scanning the room to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard. Grantaire followed his eyes, and realised everyone was still at the other end of the room, packing up and talking. Only Combeferre’s eyes tracked their movements, but he was too far away to overhear, or intervene. 

Maybe he hadn’t noticed Grantaire figuring it out? Maybe Enjolras wanted to tell him off for being late. Maybe this was a different, non-porn-related concern. But Enjolras was too smart for that. He seriously considered ducking under the arm Enjolras was using to hold the door shut. If he distracted Enjolras with something, maybe pointing in the other direction and yelling “ is that the healthcare CEO shooter?!” it’d give him enough of a headstart. Maybe-

“I - I think you noticed, um. That I have notifications - that is to say - I owe you another apol-” and no. Grantaire could not live through this a second time. 

“It’s fine!” He blurted in a panic, his knuckles white with how tightly he was holding his bag. “So fine. Totally fine with me. Good, actually! Super flattering. I mean not - I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep the notifications on but, I mean. Free internet, and all that. Supporting sex workers one algorithm boost at a time!” He laughed weakly. This was a trainwreck. He should have tried the distraction plan. Enjolras’ face was doing something confusing, but to Grantaire’s encyclopedic knowledge of the man’s facial expressions, not negative.

“O-okay.” Enjolras nodded, moving away from the door sheepishly. “Yeah. Uh. Cool. Thanks.” 

Grantaire started edging around Enjolras while trying not to breathe in any of the air that surrounded him. They were still making prolonged eye contact, and he needed Enjolras to look away so he could stop feeling like a trapped animal. 

Feuilly granted him an out, mercifully drawing Enjolras into conversation and letting Grantaire run for it. 

What. The fuck. Was that? If he hadn’t baited Enjolras with the second notification… He’d just needed to know for sure. Now he did, and everything felt worse for it. 

He had no idea what to do with the information that Enjolras was keeping such diligent tabs on him, just like he hadn’t known what to do with the knowledge Enjolras was getting off to Grantaire’s porn. Willingly. Because he was attracted to people who looked like Grantaire. He’d never known what to do with something good when he had it, because he knew in his soul he didn’t deserve it. He was mould, and what else did mould know to do? Rot begets rot.

He fished a crumpled up joint from his jacket pocket and lit up as he walked. He needed a drink. And a fuck. 

A notification on his work Bluesky jolted him out of his spiral. For one single, hopeful moment, he thought it might be Enjolras. 

Monty: “Hey. Love your content. Any interest in a collab?” 

Wishful thinking. He opened up the guy’s profile anyway. He was beautiful in a sharp way, a single bead of blood at the tip of a knife. He had a much bigger profile than Grantaire’s own, although the content creating thing seemed to be advertising his main gig, in-person services. Smart. But he seemed legit, and he was hung. And Grantaire was so, so touch starved. 

S: “love to. never done one before so you might have to take the lead haha”

Monty: “My pleasure.”

Monty: “You free tonight? We can chill and plan something.”

Turns out, Monty was the answer to Grantaire’s prayers. Two birds, one stone. Three birds, technically, because it was content he’d make money off. But he wasn’t kidding anyone, that was currently far below drugs and a fuck on his priority list. 

The man introduced himself as “Montparnasse, a pleasure,” lounging against the open door in silky black pants that clung to him beautifully and a see-through black shirt, unbuttoned to show miles of pale, unblemished skin. Grantaire swallowed. 

‘Montparnasse’ seemed so close to his work name that Grantaire assumed it was probably fake too. Grantaire offered up his own name in return - real, because he hadn’t thought that far ahead nor cared to come up with a second alias.

Any concerns of potential awkwardness faded when Montparnasse had offered him a joint and a drink immediately, flopping back on the couch in a cloud of vape smoke. He made the movement look elegant. Grantaire sprawled beside him, taking in the apartment. And what an apartment. 

“Fucking hell. Nice place,” he exhaled.

Monty looked around with a casual shrug. “I do alright.”

“Escorting that lucrative, huh?”

“For me, yeah.”

Ow. But fair. Grantaire wasn’t under any delusion about the reason he was there: an average body to show Montparnasse’s average clients that they too could fuck someone as beautiful if they booked. Grantaire wasn’t complaining.

He drank more while they worked through the small-talk, any nerves fading from view with every tip up. Montparnasse was a good host. Whipping out his phone, he showed Grantaire other collabs he’d done with people as they shared a second joint. Grantaire hoped the other man didn’t notice how tight his pants were getting. 

“So I was thinking, since you’ve never done this before -” Montparnasse fixed Grantaire with a lecherous grin. “We can just chat, maybe play around a bit and map some ideas out, only shoot stuff if we want. Just vibe it out.” His hand was on Grantaire’s thigh, massaging gently. 

Play around a bit. Thank you, universe. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, far too quickly. Montparnasse’s grin widened. “Sounds great. So great.” Fuck, but he needed this. He needed Enjolras’ earnest, apologetic, beautiful face fucked from his system, needed to forget the way his hand felt around Grantaire’s wrist. And Enjolras had always liked the videos of him being fucked. Was keeping tabs on it, his brain supplied. If they filmed even a bit of it, he could post snippets of him being fucked by someone. Not just by his own hand or a machine. 

Grantaire knew Enjolras didn’t want him, knew that being attracted to the way he looked on-screen, even getting off to him was vastly different than ever wanting Grantaire, The Person. But he had Enjolras’ attention - and though he might not understand the punchline to whatever cruel joke was being played, it was still the most euphoric and terrifying high he’d ever felt. He had to draw it out as long as he possibly could, or die trying. 

Beside him, Montparnasse drew a sizable baggie of ket out and raised an eyebrow in offering. And yeah, the universe owed him this.

“I kinda just got into it for a little bit of extra cash, y’know,” Grantaire found himself saying four bumps later, generously measured and fed to him on a beautiful gold spoon. He watched the other Montparnasse’s lips purse around the vape as he blew smoke at the ceiling. “The only reason I’ve started posting so much or - or putting effort in is because of En- this guy… a long and terrible and inevitable story. And I should just be doing it for the money, god knows I need it, but then I found out that-”

“Wanna see my setup?” Montparnasse interrupted. 

Everything about him was glinting dangerously, from the cold dark of his eyes to the gold chain around his neck. Grantaire felt himself shiver. 

Montparnasse uncurled himself from the couch, catlike, and extended a hand. Grantaire took it. 

The room was beautiful, the setup slick and professional. The guy had a fucking wall of sex toys. Damn. Grantaire was punching well above his weight here. Par for the course.

“Like it?” Montparnasse’s lips were a breath away from his ear, and he jumped. Steadying hands were placed on his waist immediately, squeezing gently. 

“Yeah,” he said throatily. He pointed at an exquisitely made leather collar just to say something. “That’s beautiful.”

He could feel Montparnasse’s answering laugh as it rumbled through his chest and into Grantaire’s back. “Yeah, kinda figured you for the type.”

“Woah, hey now,” Grantaire laughed back, mock outraged. He turned around in the other man’s arms, and then Montparnasse’s lips were on his. He kissed like he looked - sharp and clever. His teeth nipped Grantaire’s lower lip and he hissed out a groan. Montparnasse shoved him backwards roughly, and Grantaire let out a soft ‘oof’ as he landed back on the bed. 

He had a ceiling mirror. Incredible. 

Montparnasse was over him in a second, one hand fisting itself in his hair, pulling his head back and pinning him to the bed.

“Can I leave marks?” 

“Huh?” Grantaire grunted dumbly before his brain caught up. “Fuck sorry, yeah, yeah. You totally can.” 

Montparnasse smiled, all teeth. “Good boy.”

Fuck. 

Montparnasse latched his mouth to the side of Grantaire’s neck and bit. Grantaire cried out, hips jerking up. Pinned like he was, he couldn’t do anything but cling onto Montparnasse’s slender waist and grind his hips up helplessly as the taller man bit and sucked and bit again until Grantaire was sure his entire neck must look raw. 

Montparnasse pulled away, pale skin flushed and plump lips even fuller, wet and crimson. He was beautiful. Not as beautiful as… Nope. Montparnasse’s fingers were on his chin, tilting his head this way and that as he smugly admired his handiwork, and Grantaire let himself be manhandled with delight. It was so, so nice to be touched. 

“Much better,” Montparnasse purred. “I prefer my meat bloody.”

Grantaire whimpered, blood rushing to his dick so fast he felt dizzy. He caught his reflection in the mirrored ceiling - was he bleeding? Who the fuck cared. Montparnasse was removing Grantaire’s clothing at a blistering pace - Grantaire reached out to tug on Montparnasse’s shirt and got his hand slapped away for the trouble. 

“Not yet.” Okay then. 

Naked, with Montparnasse kneeling above him fully clothed, Grantaire felt nervous for the first time since knocking on the apartment door. Montparnasse didn’t seem to want him to touch, so he left his hands by his sides, gripping the sheets. It seemed to be the right call - he was licking his lips as he watched Grantaire’s blush slowly make its way down his body. 

But he wasn’t being touched, just looked at. Evaluated. It made him feel like livestock, and he would be lying if the thought alone wasn’t making him hard. But it gave every single self deprecating thought he’d ever had free reign, and when Montparnasse moved to get up off the bed, he panicked. 

“Let me suck you off?” He blurted, sitting up. The look Montparnasse shot over his shoulder was filthy. Grantaire might not be hot, or smart, or particularly likeable, but he had a hell of a mouth on him. People seemed to like him a lot better when it was full. 

Sauntering over to the Toy Wall - because he had a toy wall - he watched Montparnasse pick up a length of red rope. It looked silky and expensive. 

“Absolutely. But first…” He waved the rope as he moved back to the bed. Grantaire couldn’t look away from his hips - the movement should have looked affected, but it just seemed natural, feline. “Let me truss you up all pretty for me.” 

Grantaire had never been tied up before - most of the sex he’d had could better be described as “rushed, desperate fumbles.” Being tied up suggested an intentionality and patience that people understandably didn’t associate with him. But if this beautiful boy wanted to tie him up, who was he to decline? 

“Fuck yes.”

Montparnasse smirked and made a “turn over” motion with the hand that wasn’t holding the rope. When Grantaire didn’t get it immediately, he did it again, clicking his fingers impatiently.

He was being clicked at. The humiliation made him burn even as he hurried to comply. 

Montparnasse was silent as he maneuvered Grantaire’s body onto his knees, face down on the mattress so that his ass pushed up into the air. He was completely exposed like this, and shivered as the fabric of Montparnasse’s pants brushed against him as he guided Grantaire’s wrists behind his back. He really wished Montparnasse would say something. He didn’t need reassurance, he wasn’t a pussy. But something to remind him that he wasn’t alone in the room. Something to stop Grantaire’s babbling from filling the silence. He heard himself ask about the type of knot Montparnasse was using, whether he went to classes to learn how to tie it, where Montparnasse got the rope, the softness of it, questions about his clients, the weirdest thing he’d ever been asked to do, the ceiling mirror - it was a relief when Montparnasse sighed and wrenched him up by the rope he’d tied from Grantaire’s wrists up to his forearms and across his chest.

“Woah,” Grantaire yelped. “That is some insane arm strength for someone so skinny, no offence-”

“Are you going to talk this much the whole time?”

Grantaire blinked back at him. “N-no?” Montparnasse narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Probably, yeah.” 

“Right. How do you feel about gags?” 

“Um, yeah. Good, positive,” Grantaire nodded enthusiastically, the air leaving his lungs as Montparnasse let him fall back into the bed. That made sense. And it would stop him from making an even bigger fool of himself.

Montparnasse took his time testing the rope for any areas it could be too tight, and then let his hands wander lower, harshly groping the fat of his hips and ass. Grantaire squirmed as slender fingers dug into his flesh cruelly. It felt so good he thought he might cry. Hopefully at least some of those fingerprints would bruise.

Whether it was the touch, the drugs, the alcohol, or the fact that being tied up felt really fucking good, Grantaire felt the nervousness subside, feeling more at home in his body than he had in a long time. He arched his back properly, and was rewarded with a slight intake of breath from Montparnasse. 

“That’s better.” The praise melted through Grantaire’s body. “You said something about sucking me off, if I remember correctly?” 

Grantaire nodded his head against the sheets. “Please.”

Montparnasse chuckled as he helped him up onto his feet, positioning him on his knees on the floor by the end of the bed. “Begging already? You are easy.”

Montparnasse didn’t allow him a response, sliding two fingers into Grantaire’s mouth the second he opened it. His expression was hungry as Grantaire sucked both digits as far down his throat as he could.

“You look so good like this. Knew you would.”

Grantaire let his eyes fall shut against the praise. He wanted to tell Montparnasse he didn’t have to do that shit - he was there already, tied up and naked at the man’s feet - but he couldn’t speak around fingers. 

“It’s suuuuch a shame we’re not filming.”

Aah. There it was. Somewhere between the second bump of ketamine and the fifth? Sixth? (Grantaire had lost count) drink, he’d realised Montparnasse was actively trying to lower his inhibitions. Mostly because he couldn’t fathom someone that pretty giving him so much for free - he’d known there was an ulterior motive. It was a pity he’d wasted such good stuff trying to coerce someone who would have done it all without it, but he kept that to himself. Free drugs were free drugs. 

Grantaire pulled off Montparnasse’s fingers wetly. 

“Turn it on then.”

“Are you sure?”

Grantaire shrugged - as much as he could with his arms tied behind him. “Yeah, I don’t care. Just send the footage to me so I can post it on my own shit.”

Montparnasse seemed taken aback. “I. Yeah. Sure.”

He walked over to the camera, fiddled with the position, switched it on. Grantaire could tell - even through the beautiful haze of drugs - that something about Montparnasse was slightly different as he returned. More switched on. Work mode. Something Grantaire didn’t have, didn’t care enough to have. The only time he’d ever even tried was… No.

Montparnasse settled back on the bed, regarding Grantaire between his spread legs. Grantaire waited. Meeting his eyes was making him sweat, so he looked at the ground. Lifting a leg up, Montparnasse slowly let his calf rest on Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire shivered.

“You do make a nice footrest, when you’re not running your mouth.” 

Grantaire’s dick twitched. He bit his lip to stop himself from making an embarrassing sound - he was realising he didn’t know how much of this Montparnasse was planning to post. 

“Think you can take these off for me?” Montparnasse gestured at his pants. Grantaire thought for a moment - they were a simple elastic band, so he figured he could with his teeth. Either that or they’d tear, and that was Montparnasse’s problem. Kneeling up further, he nuzzled his face into the bulge of Montparnasse’s dick, before securing his teeth around the elastic. He pulled gently, revealing pale skin inch by inch. Montparnasse hummed his approval as he got them down around his hips. The man was wearing black lacy underwear, cock already hard and leaking through it. It was a beautiful sight. 

“Good boy,” Montparnasse purred, kicking the pants into a corner of the room. He palmed his length through the underwear, letting out exaggerated sighs and moans. Grantaire knelt and waited. When he finally pulled his underwear down it was in a single elegant motion. Grantaire’s mouth watered - he was as impressive in real life as it had been in his promo images. 

By the time Montparnasse let him suck it, Grantaire was perilously close to begging. He’d moved away to roll on a condom and reposition the camera so that it could pick up the way he slapped his dick on Grantaire’s cheeks and tongue, teasing him by slipping the head into his mouth before pulling it away again. Grantaire might’ve thought more about looking good for the camera if he’d been a professional instead of seeing this as a hookup he could make money off - but c’est la vie . He wasn’t exactly face-out yet - he’d only sent the video to one man - Enjolras, he’d sent the video to Enjolras - but before that horrifying revelation, he’d thought he’d been sending it to a stranger, and had come to terms with what that’d meant. 

And what a way to debut his own face - turning red under Montparnasse’s cock. In for a penny, in for a pound. A pounding, he hoped. 

The other man didn’t leave room for Grantaire to showcase his skills, which was a bit of a disappointment. He could be good, he was good at this, if nothing else, but Montparnasse wasn’t interested in theatrics or slow pleasure. He was, it seemed, solely interested in making Grantaire choke around his dick, and seeing just how long he could throat-fuck him before the gagging sounds became retching sounds. Grantaire’s face was streaked with tears, and he could feel strings of his own saliva drop onto his chest and stomach, which only seemed to spur Montparnasse on. Used, he thought faintly. He was being used. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so turned on. 

Abruptly, Montparnasse stopped, wiping his spit-coated dick on Grantaire’s cheek. Grantaire was too busy heaving in dick-free breaths to tell him off for it. 

Montparnasse stopped filming, and took a long swig of water. 

“That was good. I assumed you’ve douched, or do you need to before I fuck you?” He sounded breathless, Grantaire noted with no small amount of smugness. Wrecked looked good on him, all pouty red lips and pretty blush. 

“Nah, I’m good. Did it at home.” 

Montparnasse waved a bottle of poppers . And yeah, Grantaire might need it - Montparnasse didn’t seem like he was about to give a whole lot of prep.

“Yeah. Please.” 

“Still good with the rope?” Montparnasse asked as he held the bottle under Grantaire’s nose. “Hands not tingling or anything?”

It was kind, even if Montparnasse sounded bored, like he was reading a script. Grantaire shook his head emphatically. He liked being tied up, he was finding. Being held in place meant he had to be placed where he was wanted - he didn’t have to second guess if he was doing something wrong. He couldn’t fuck up. 

“Great. Ready for part two?” Montparnasse’s grin was sharp, his hand hovering over the camera. Grantaire shivered. 

“So ready.” 

Montparnasse hit record. 

Enjolras  

Grantaire’s timing was - as always - fucking terrible. 

Two notifications came through at the same time while Enjolras was holding consensus via zoom. He was keen to get it over and done with, allocating funds for poster printing was not high up on his list of priorities, but it was important nonetheless. 

When another notification came through, Enjolras’ brain short-circuited at the tiny image that accompanied it. Why were there two people in the image? Who was that? Why were they touching him like that?

“…Enjolras?” Courfeyrac’s voice was polite, but annoyed. Fair. He knew they all wanted off this call. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry. All in favour?”

Everyone’s hands raised wearily. 

“Great, thank you. Jehan, you’re okay handling the printing?”

“Can do. I have a guy who owes me a favour and might be able to get it done for cheaper, so I’ll let you know if we end up using all of it.” 

“Fantastic.” 

They signed off, and Enjolras rubbed his hands over his eyes, internally chastising himself for being so uncharitable. Of course Grantaire wasn’t considering Enjolras in the timing of the porn he uploaded that Enjolras shouldn’t be watching in the first place. What was it about this man that had all of Enjolras’ self restraint in complete disarray?

There had been someone else in that tiny photo, though. 

He opened Grantaire’s tumblr, suddenly glad he was sitting down.

Grantaire’s face was clear, eyes dilated and hazy, as some asshole slapped their cock onto his outstretched tongue and cheeks. Red rope bit into his skin. 

Another gif, of the man burying his hand in dark curls and yanking his neck back, exposing pale skin absolutely mottled with red, angry bruises. Grantaire grinning happily up at him. Was he bleeding? 

A shot of the asshole’s face as he bent Grantaire over, one hand holding the rope as he groped and slapped the fat of his ass, flesh wobbling beneath his hands. All linking to Grantaire and the other man’s respective pages. 

Enjolras was hard, and he was furious. He shouldn’t be either of those things, had no right, which only served to make him more confused and angry. His feet carried him to the kitchen. Why was he in the kitchen? His skin felt too hot, not right on his frame, an energy he didn’t know what to do with simmering between muscle and bone. He needed… He needed to fuck someone. 

He texted Courfeyrac - he’d heard something about vague plans to go out, and right now, that sounded perfect. Getting himself off was always easier and quicker, but every so often it just wasn't enough. He’d never had a problem picking up, and right now, he needed someone warm and agreeable under him. 

Because of Grantaire, his mind supplied. Was it? He didn’t know. The sight of Grantaire with someone else, under someone else, made him see red. He didn’t know why. He was attractive, and Enjolras was attracted to him, sure. But he had many attractive friends - he’d been attracted to Feuilly for years, they’d even hooked up a couple of times back when they’d first become friends. But he’d never felt the same when he’d watched Feuilly go home with a guy from the bar, or when he’d introduced a new girlfriend to their group. He’d just been happy for him. 

Why was this different? 

Courfeyrac greeted him with a huge hug when he got to the bar. Bahorel, Joly, Bossuet, and Marius called their greetings, and he smiled back. They’d signed off from the meeting at the same time, how had the others been at the bar long enough to get tipsy? 

“I’m so so glad you came out, we haven’t been out together in ages, I miss it sooo much,” Courfeyrac told him loudly, sliding a drink over to him. 

“Yeah. I think I needed a night off.” He tried for appropriately burnt out, but Courfeyrac squinted at him with a laser focus that was at odds with how tipsy he’d seemed.

“There’s something going on with you. Have you and your hookup called it quits?” 

Enjolras was confused for a long moment. “My hookup?”

“Yeah, y’know - whoever you were hooking up with who made you look all glowy and relaxed.”

Oh. Right. 

“No, no. Courf, there was no hookup. It was-”

“Grantaire!”

“Yes. Wait-”

“Grantaire’s here! Be right back, babydoll.” 

Enjolras’ head snapped round to the door as Courfeyrac slid off his bar stool to go and greet Grantaire. Who was standing there, watching Enjolras nervously. Grantaire, whose jacket collar couldn’t hide the frankly obscene bruising around his neck. Enjolras watched as Courfeyrac wolf-whistled loudly, tugging the collar of Grantaire’s shirt down and saying something that Enjolras couldn’t hear. Grantaire pushed his hand away good naturedly, blushing and responding with a - probably lewd - joke that made Courfeyrac throw his head back and cackle. Grantaire made his way to Joly and Bossuet, and Enjolras picked up his drink and joined them, trying not to lose his footing as Bahorel slung an arm over his shoulders. 

It was difficult to avoid Grantaire, and by association, Enjolras’ own anger and frustration. Bossuet finished a story that had Enjolras laughing so hard his ribs hurt, and then Grantaire had launched into a tale of his own, and suddenly Enjolras had to clench his jaw and resist the urge to pull Grantaire’s jacket around his neck so that nobody else could see the bruising. Did he not own a turtleneck? 

They had drifted into seats by the time Jehan turned up with Feuilly in tow, and there were finally enough people that Enjolras could ensure a buffer between himself and Grantaire. He’d been staring more than usual - nervous, hopeful glances that only served to make Enjolras angrier, somehow. 

He knew, as he left for the smokers, that Grantaire would follow. There were people there, but he situated himself in the corner and lit up, wishing it was a spliff. 

“Enjolras?,” His voice sounded tense. Enjolras didn’t look up, just moved over so Grantaire had room to sit beside him. 

“Have I… Are you mad at me? Have I done something wrong?” 

“I don’t know,” replied Enjolras tersely. “Have you?” 

“I. What?” Grantaire lit up beside him, frowning into the soft glow of the lighter. “I’m gonna need you to be a little less cryptic.”

Enjolras sighed. Would that he could. Instead, he gestured to Grantaire’s neck.

“Did he hurt you? That looks painful.” 

Admitting that he’d seen the promo images, of course. But at this point, Enjolras figured they were done with pretence. 

Grantaire blinks at him, his face doing something complex. 

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point,” Grantaire drawled. “Sometimes when a sadist and a masochist love each other very much-”

“Yes, thank you.” Enjolras ground his teeth. “That part I’m very much aware of.” 

“Um. Okay. Plus, it didn’t really hurt that much, the ket kind of dulls it-”

“He got you high?” 

He could hear a couple of the conversations around them die.  Enjolras realised how loud he’d gotten, but couldn’t bring himself to care, furious eyes locked on Grantaire. 

“Jesus, volume,” Grantaire hissed. “I - no! Well. Yeah, but I’m always high. This was like a - a net zero, highness-wise, I was enthusiastically consenting. I wasn’t even slightly fucked up. It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh, so you just decided, in that moment, uncoerced, to go face out? Have you even considered the many implications to that?”

“Excuse me?”

They both froze as the other patrons in the smokers area got up to leave, casting meaningful looks at each other. Enjolras waited until the door had swung shut behind them before continuing.

“And with someone who, evidently, tried to coerce you into sex!”

“But he didn’t-”

“I mean, has that footage forever, to do whatever he wants with-”

“Okay. Okay, enough.” Grantaire was visibly shaking with rage. “What the fuck is wrong with - I - you don’t get to pull this shit, Enjolras! I do know the implications, thank you, I did actually think it through, not that I owe you any kind of explanation. I didn’t hear any fucking judgement when I sent you a face-out video, but I guess it’d be different if it was more shit you could get off to without me knowing, right?”

Enjolras felt the blood drain from his face. 

“No, no, that’s not what I-”

“Not what you meant? No? D’you ever hear the old adage ‘pointing with one hand, jerking off with the other’? Because that sounds a hell of a lot like what’s happening right now. And I thought for someone who preaches advocacy for both sex workers and drug users that you wouldn’t be this shitty about it. I mean, do you say this shit to Musichetta?”

“God, no, I’d never-”

“Right! So… so why me?” And the anger seemed to have left Grantaire in the space of an exhale. He slumped back against the wall. “What is it about me?” His voice was small, fragile. It was frighteningly out of place. He looked close to tears, and something in Enjolras’ heart broke. He’d done this. He’d been jealous - because fuck, that’s what it was, wasn’t it? 

He opened his mouth to answer, something measured and thoughtful that he hoped would come to him once he started, but Grantaire waved him off. 

“Look, I… I get it. If you’re trying to make sure I didn’t get the wrong idea about it all. Heard. Loud and clear. The porn got you off - for whatever insane reason - and that’s all. But you don’t have to worry, I know you don’t want me, I never, ever thought that, I know that you don’t - I mean we’re friends, maybe? I dunno, but I know it’s not more than that, I never thought it, and you don’t have to be cruel just to prove that it was a moment of-” 

The realisation came to Enjolras in a single, blinding stroke of lightning. Grantaire was wrong. So, so wrong. Enjolras did want him. He wanted to fuck him, he’d realised, but this was more. He wanted to take Grantaire home, and then wake up beside him the next day. He wanted to spend time with him, just the two of them, to listen to him talk about things he was interested in, to tell him the boring minutia of his day, to spend time together just existing. To know that Grantaire was his, and that he was Grantaire’s.

He’d heard other people describe the moment of this kind of realisation as something earth shattering, something that spun planets off its axis. But that wasn’t right. He watched Grantaire’s mouth move, and thought: I want you. The earth remained intact, and he wanted Grantaire. The planets continued to spin. 

He leaned forward, cupping Grantaire’s face in his hands, and kissed him. 

For a moment, it was perfect. Grantaire made a small sound in the back of his throat, his whole body stiffening, before he softened under Enjolras’ fingertips. His mouth opened, and Enjolras took the concession, licking into him. He tasted of cigarettes, bitter alcohol and under it, something sweet. His hand came up to clutch Enjolras’ sleeve desperately. 

And then. 

“Mffhh, Enjolras. Stop!” 

The warmth was gone from under his hands and he blinked, trying to make his brain catch up. Grantaire was standing, backing away, his face crumbling. 

“No, no, what?”

He’d been sure - so sure - that action would convince Grantaire, his words hadn’t been enough last time, this should have been, but he was angry and confused and… crying?

It was not at all how Enjolras had envisioned this going. “I thought that-”

“Thought what, Enjolras? That you could just - fuck me around like that? Like, okay, you’ve seen me naked and it’s me, and you know I’m in… you know how I feel, there’s no way you don’t, so… so you can just…? No - fuck you. Fuck you, are you fucking kidding me?”

Enjolras stood, reaching for him. “Grantaire, wait, please, just let me-”

“No! No - don’t fucking touch me,” Grantaire snarled. It brought Enjolras up short , his hand falling uselessly at his side. 

“I don’t - I never meant to hurt you. I’m so sorry. If you could just let me explain-” 

“I actually don’t,” Grantaire wiped his eyes roughly with the back of his hand, “owe you that. And I don’t wanna sit here and listen to whatever cruel shit you’re gonna follow that up with. I’m sure I can think it up on my own - ‘Sorry Grantaire, just figured you were easy, my bad,’” he grabbed his cigarettes and lighter, shoving them in his jacket pockets. 

“Grantaire, stop, that’s not it at all!” He watched as Grantaire headed for the door, powerless to stop it. He couldn’t touch, and Grantaire wasn’t listening. “Please, just wait!” 

Grantaire slammed the door behind him, and then he was gone. 

“What,” Enjolras said to the empty space, “the fuck?”

-

Bossuet asked what had happened as soon as Enjolras got back in. Enjolras didn’t know what to say, so he’d just shrugged, and ignored the worried looks his friends had shot each other. They’d seen Grantaire storm past, Enjolras didn’t know what explanation he’d given, if any. 

He made his own excuses and left, walking back to his apartment in a daze. 

“Guess it’d be different if it was more shit you could get off to without me knowing, right?”

Enjolras showered, his body moving in rote. Soap, rinse. Grantaire’s lips, chapped and hesitant, on his own. Soap, rinse. 

“Thought what, Enjolras? That you could just - fuck me around like that?”

Grantaire’s skin under his hands, soft under rough stubble. 

“You know I’m in… you know how I feel, there’s no way you don’t.”

What did he supposedly know? What truth was there that Enjolras was missing? Grantaire was attracted to him, he knew, but that was not a rarity. Enjolras knew what he looked like. Being pretty was largely unimportant - it made picking up easier, he figured, and he knew it changed how people treated him - but it didn’t make him a better person, a better community member, a better activist, a better friend, so what did it matter? Knowing that someone was attracted to him didn’t necessarily mean anything. Was that what Grantaire had meant? He didn’t know.

The shock of their interaction had pushed desire to the back of his brain, largely forgotten until he tried to sleep. All he could think about was the noise Grantaire had made when Enjolras kissed him, all he could taste was Grantaire’s lips. 

“What is it about me?”

Enjolras didn’t have an answer. 

He was scrolling through Grantaire’s Bluesky before he really became aware that he’d made the choice to do so. 

Some asshole touching him, tying him up, fucking him. It’s for work, Enjolras told himself. It’s work. And even if it hadn’t been - what right did Enjolras have to disapprove? What right did he have to feel like this, so wildly possessive and jealous he didn’t recognise himself. Where were his ideals, his morals, now? Is this who he was?

He was so fucking wet he could feel it on his thighs as he adjusted the harness of the strap, sliding the vibrator between it and his clit. It’s just the gifs, he told himself as he turned the vibrator on. They were posted publicly, Grantaire had told him it was fine that he was still watching them. He’d said it was okay to have post notifications on. He was okay with that. 

On screen, Grantaire’s mouth opened in a soundless moan. Enjolras bit his lip so hard it hurt. This wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t enough. He needed to hear it. Needed to hear what sound the guy made as he sunk into him, needed to know what noises it wrested from Grantaire as he snapped his hips forward. Needed to hear the wet, choking sounds as he fucked Grantaire’s mouth. 

Don’t, he thought as he set up a new email address. 

You shouldn’t be doing this, he thought as he resubscribed with a new username.

You’re a monster, he thought as he bought the video. 

And then Grantaire was kneeling at the feet of some guy, taking his pants off with his teeth, drooling as the guy fucked his throat with abandon, and then Enjolras wasn’t thinking much of anything. 

He’d come once by the time the guy had finished with Grantaire’s mouth, and had to turn the vibrator off so he didn’t drive himself into overstimulation. He stroked his dick, pushing the vibrator into him lightly as on screen, Grantaire stumbled to his feet. The camera angle changed to a view that captured their faces as the guy bent Grantaire over, one hand holding the rope at his wrists, the other taking his time appreciating the way his ass jiggled with every stinging slap, or harsh grope. And this is what Enjolras had been craving - the sounds Grantaire was making under him, voice muffled somewhat by the bed sheets but still audible as he whimpered and moaned, crying out as the guy spanked particularly harshly. 

He moved away briefly to squirt lube on his hand and then repositioned himself behind Grantaire. The way the camera was positioned obscured the movement, but the way Grantaire’s face screwed up in pleasure made it clear that he was sinking fingers into him, opening him up. Enjolras couldn’t tear his eyes away from every twitch in muscle, every scrunch of his eyebrows, or the way he panted and gasped into the sheets. By the time the other man had wiped his hand clean on Grantaire’s hip - disrespectful - and was positioning his cock to slide into him, Enjolras had turned the vibrator on, using the hold on his own dick to grind his clit against it. 

Grantaire was beautiful. His face, open, raw, vulnerable in a moment of pleasure as the man behind him bottomed out. He didn’t give Grantaire a single second of adjustment before he was moving his hips, pushing him further into the sheets as the camera caught every single brutal thrust. Grantaire had curled his face into the sheets, but the guy leaned over him to drag his head up with a hand in his hair. 

“Don’t be shy,” he crooned. “Don’t hide from the camera, let them see how good I’m making you feel.” Enjolras’ stomach clenched. He wanted to see Grantaire’s face, of course - was glad for it when Grantaire obeyed, tilting his face upwards even as he kept his eyes clenched shut. But still…he wanted to slap the man’s hands off of him, wanted to take his place, be the one fucking into Grantaire, be the one wringing those high, choked sounds from his lips, grabbing him, coming deep inside of him - on screen, the guy threw his head back as he gave a final thrust, moaning loudly. Enjolras rolled his eyes. But then he reached a hand down to wrap it around Grantaire’s cock, and Enjolras was immediately back on the edge of his own orgasm as he watched Grantaire cry out, his whole body shuddering as he came. 

With seconds left on the video, the guy pulled out, turning Grantaire over so he lay on his back. Enjolras watched as he climbed over him, straddling him and lowering his hand, covered in Grantaire’s cum, to his mouth. 

“Be a good boy - clean yourself off me.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, before he parted his lips, taking the guy’s fingers into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked them in, licking his own cum up off the man’s hands. Enjolras came, making an embarrassingly loud sound as his back arched off the bed with the strength of it.

When he came to, the video had ended. Enjolras pushed the harness and vibrator off the bed, and let his eyes close. Cleanup - and the full force of his guilt - would wait until morning.