Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/723851.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Les_Misérables_(2012), Les_Misérables_-_Victor_Hugo, Les_Misérables_-_All
      Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Enjolras/Grantaire
  Character:
      Enjolras_(Les_Misérables), Grantaire_(Les_Misérables)
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Light_Bondage, Car_Sex, parking-lot-behind-the-church-sex,
      Dom/sub_Undertones, sort_of_idk, Teen_Romance, Alternate_Universe_-
      Modern_Setting, Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, Religion, sort_of_not
      really_again, idk_man_mostly_this_is_sex_and_enjolras_tops, all_you_need
      to_know
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-17 Words: 2822
****** Hey Little Boy, Would You Like A Ride? ******
by KissTheBoy7
Summary
     Enjolras and Grantaire are going to hell and they're doing it from
     the backseat of Grantaire's car after Mass. It's probably worth it.
     (It's definitely worth it.)
Notes
     For dearest chlorineandcoffeestains who requested birthday porn in
     her Bare-esque E/R 'verse, so here we are. Enjoy~
  This work was inspired by
      I_Didn't_Sleep_Through_Mass by chlorineandcoffeestains_
      (AdrenalineRevolver)
Shutting Grantaire up has become one of his favorite activities.
It's not an easy task, which makes it all the more appealing. There's nothing
that Enjolras enjoys more than a good challenge, except maybe fucking his
boyfriend's mouth, but even then he's not silent. Anything that makes his blood
boil, anything that brings an angry flush to his pale skin and a spark to his
eye - and Grantaire can do that better than anyone. He's proven it.
He's proving it now, gasping and swearing and shamelessly groaning as Enjolras
licks insistently into that filthy mouth, claiming it with aggressive thrusts
of his tongue. He twists his fingers in dark curls and yanksand that draws a
beautiful noise that's nearly inhuman from bruised lips. Breaking away, his
mouth is never idle, pulling his head back to bare his neck and bite a column
of magma-red marks down to the impassable border that is the v of his t-shirt.
There will be bruises tomorrow, more lasting than the sensation of their
tongues dragging together in frantic teenaged lust, and with that firmly in
mind he pushes him back and clambers on top of him, slamming the door shut
without even looking.
He doesn't mean to let Grantaire catch his breath but he does, and he grins up
at him in that half-reverent lust that Enjolras swears he could copyright.
The older boy's chest heaves below him, that same wily tongue darting pink and
wet to smooth the tingling from his lips. Seventeen, really? Sometimes Enjolras
forgets that both of them are still so young, especially R who could speak like
a poet if he wanted to and drinks like his father before him, if not more. He
winks one dark fuck-me eye, pupils huge and quivering with excitement, and
trails his fingertips down the blonde's sides while his beautiful, filthy mouth
curves into an infuriating smile.
"Sex before lunch? And in the parking lot. Real classy, Enjy," but his voice is
still choked and breathless and Enjolras wants to fuck him raw right here in
the backseat of his car.
"Shut up," he huffs in return, and maybe he'd normally be a little cleverer
with his words but right now... He pulls himself away and fumbles with his
belt, biting his tongue and giving it another try, thoughts disorganized and
spinning with teenaged lust. "Stay still, Jesus Christ."
"Using the Lord's name in vain," Grantaire ticks off smugly, his hips arching
up eagerly as Enjolras tugs at his pants. Denim chafes on his leg hair and is
discarded, along with Enjolras' white polo, on the floor behind the passenger
seat.
“You're the one sexting me during Mass-”
“Yes, but you expect that from me.”
“Fuck you.”
“I dare you.”
Enjolras is more than willing to take that dare.
This is crazy. Everything is crazy when it comes to Grantaire, crazy in the
most satisfying way, like pieces that fit together just so except in a far
lewder manner than the saying implied. He's never wanted sex before, or so
much, and he's never met another gay boy before and here he is closing his
mouth around his cock in the parking lot behind the church, tasting salt and
sex and ugh,those hands in his hair, fuck-
It's absurd how good he is at this already, or at least, R says so. But R seems
like he knows what he's doing - more than Enjolras, anyways, far more because
his experience is limited to one shameful night when he was twelve years old in
the privy at school and he doesn't talk about it.
Ever.
And anyways, weeks of regular (more than regular) sex in every feasible crevice
have left him sinfully familiar with his mouth, his tongue, his hands, his
cockso heavy on his tongue, pulsing, and he remembers that R probably knows way
more than he does because the boy just doesn't have boundaries like a normal
human being, and Enjolras would never dare to open his browser history for fear
of the things he might find. R gives pretty fucking amazing head, actually, and
he's a great teacher.
He's the one who'd taught Enjolras how to do thatwith his tongue, and how to
swallow around his head until he's jerking and swearing above him, one hand
tight in golden curls, nearly kneeing his boyfriend in the face.
With a wince and a glare, aforementioned blonde sits up abruptly and prizes his
fingers away. Grantaire has the decency to look apologetic.
“Don't touch my hair,”Enjolras had snapped the first time he'd tried his little
trick. And Grantaire had obliged, then, though not without complaint.
“So sorry. Does Ken need another tube of hair gel now?”
“It's not that much- you know what? Fuck you.”
“God, please.”
Hmm... that seemed to be a theme, actually. He'd have to look into that.
But right now is not the time, because right now Grantaire is already panting a
little beneath him and his chest feels deliciously tight in this position,
looming over him, straddling his waist and without thinking he loosens the tie
still hanging from his neck (red- the color of desire, as R had dubbed it in an
ecstatic gasp as they rutted together for the first time on Enjolras' rickety
bed) and slides it off, measuring it in his hands.
He purses his lips, finally saying, “Alright, that's it. Hands up.”
The other boy's blue eyes widen but he's quick to obey. As snarky as he could
be, they both knew that Enjolras was in charge in this relationship. Especially
when it came to things that happened behind closed doors. (and tinted windows,
in this case)
Enjolras doesn't let himself pause and think about the potentially dangerous
territory he was about to plunge headfirst into. They'd never discussed these
things before, never set any boundaries, and he was feeling bold with the rush
of adrenaline and testosterone in his veins so why not test them out? R had
been a willing participant thus far-
willing may be an understatement-
and now did not prove to be the exception. His throat works, eyes continuing to
widen as Enjolras leans over his lithe body stretched out on the gray polyester
to wrap the silky fabric around both wrists, pulling tight, knotting it like a
Boy Scout.
He'd expected a comment on that, honestly, because Grantaire never missed a
chance to tease. But none is forthcoming.
R stares up at him like he's just seen the face of God in his cerulean eyes and
Enjolras would find that unnerving if he wasn't so goddamn hard.
“Lube?” he asks impatiently, as though Grantaire isn't having a religious
crisis over the newest development in their sexual relationship. He's got one
hand curled around his throbbing dick and the other planted on Grantaire's hip,
as though he doesn't trust him to stay still. (he doesn't) Swallowing again –
God willing, Enjolras is going to give him a massive hickey right on his Adam's
apple one day, right where everyone can see – the older boy nods to his jeans,
taking what sounds like a distinctly shaky breath.
“Back pocket."
"You really are depraved, aren't you."
"You have no idea."
And there's that curve of his mouth again, the one that makes Enjolras want to
just pin him down and press their bodies as close together as they can and bite
the smile from his lips forever. But he has more pressing matters to attend
right now, like how sensitive the head of his cock is becoming, and how tight
he knows Grantaire will be when he comes, and that's enough to have him
swooping down and fumbling for the mostly-dry tube Grantaire has probably been
keeping in his pocket for weeks now in preparation for just this sort of
opportunity.
There's been a shocking number of them, hence why they're going to need to buy
a new one soon. Enjolras is pretty sure it's his turn. He hates when it's his
turn.
Grantaire is too busy writhing against the brief friction of Enjolras' belly
against his cock to so much as snicker at him for his uncharacteristic
enthusiasm. It's... interesting, to say the least. Intriguing. Worth
persuing...
He wonders how far he can take this.
"Whatever happened to foreplay, Apollo?" R gasps as the blonde presses two
slick fingers between his legs with a challenging quirk of his eyebrow. He
spreads them without hesitation, hitching one leg around Enjolras' waist and
pulling him closer, as close as he can without disrupting the slow glide of the
first finger violating him.
"It died and went to hell." He rolls his eyes and curls it, satisfied with the
way R closes his eyes and screws his face up like an irritated cat.
"Oh, how nice of it to pave the way."
"You think you're funny."
Everything is so easy between them now, it baffles him. Enjolras is new to
relationships and new to sex and new to just about anything, but Grantaire
gives him confidence that he usually has to fake and an appetite for this sort
of thing that he should probably be ashamed of. Something about the fact that
God is probably watching from the part in the clouds above them only serves to
make him hornier.
There has got to be something wrong with that. Grantaire is rubbing off on
him...
Grantaire wishes he were rubbing off on him. He wriggles and arches, his arms
still locked over his head, and as a second finger spreads him open he gives a
long, low, unabashed moan that that mother of nine getting into her car can
probably hear from across the lot. They aren't the subtlest of pairs.
Enjolras really couldn't give less of a fuck right now.
He watches his face intently, watches every little hitch of his breath and the
way he mouths the words that he thinks Enjolras won't see - "please" and "God"
and "mother of Christ" and most of all "fuck" because as articulate as he can
be, that's still Grantaire's favorite word. It's fairly appropriate, too,
considering the circumstances. Grantaire yields beneath him, like this is what
he was made to do- to wrap himself around Enjolras fingers, his cock, his
tongue that one time, to draw him in and wring the orgasm from him. Tight heat
squeezes around three of his fingers now, right down to the knuckle, and
Grantaire is velvet inside and he can imagine his cock, hard and dripping,
beign squeezed there instead, the friction unbearable-
He needs to stop right now before he comes early and never hears the end of it.
"Flip," he mutters, a command if there ever was one, and Grantaire lights up.
He struggles to disentangle himself - Enjolras is refusing to remove his
fingers, though that's to be expected, the way his muscles are taut with
tension and eyes burning with blue desire. Now, on his knees with his cheek
pressed to the plasticy seat and Enjolras breathing over his hole, he could
probably die happy.
"When's the main event, again?" he asks breathlessly as those fingers are
removed. From this position it's hard to look back and see what's happening,
his wrists bound tight above his head and his fingers grasping at the ledge of
the window as though this will help. The snick of the cap and the involuntary
noise in the back of Enjolras' throat as he takes himself in hand, smearing
cold lubricant down the length of his bare cock, is more than enough for his
overactive imagination.
Enjolras glares weakly down at him. R is a fantasy, helpless and waiting
(impatiently) for him to take him and pound him into the seat of his own car.
It's hard to be angry with him when all of the heat in his body is being sucked
into a concentrated pool in his gut, making him shiver and buck his hips the
moment their skin touches.
"For someone who was just complaining about the lack of foreplay-"
"You know you should never take me seriously, right?" He can feel the smirk in
Grantaire's voice without even looking and his hands clamp down around the
brunet's hips, resisting the urge to take a fistful of those wild curls
and pull. 
The arc of his back would be so goddamn perfect.
"Just fuck me," Grantaire groans as the slick head of his cock slides between
his cheeks and Enjolras nearly bites his tongue off keeping himself from
growling an obscene reply.
Just fuck him and he makes a grand attempt at it, he really does. He spreads
him open and marvels dizzily at the sight of him gaping and ready before
thrusting forward, choking on whatever he'd meant to say as he slides inside.
Sodomy is his favorite sin to commit, that's all he can think, and then the
church in clear view of the dashboard fades to static in the back of his mind
as he's overwhelmed with tight, fuck, Grantaire and Grantaire is clenching
deliberately, that little shit, clenching around him until his knees are ready
to buckle, ready to just press him down and slam into him like an animal.
The thing is, Grantaire would probably be really into that, and Jesus this is
so not the time to be making decisions like that-
Somehow his hand finds it's way around to the front of him, releasing it's
bruising hold on his right hip to take a hold of his leaking prick the way he
would his own and stroke him lazily, not at all in time with the movement of
his hips. They're seventeen and he's not the best at this, not the most
coordinated - Enjolras privately thinks that maybe Grantaire would be better at
it but he's afraid to ask, afraid to want it - and definitely doesn't have the
best stamina because his thighs are already hard and tight with the anxiety
they get right before he comes.
Still, he holds out - they find a messy rhythm, the kind that goes hand in hand
with impromptu unprotected sex after church on a Sunday afternoon, and
Grantaire whimpers when he finally does pull his hair but he has to let go,
unable to balance without a grip on his hip. The windows really ought to be
fogging up because the inside of his car feels stifling, the walls closing in
around them, or maybe that's just tunnel vision because God he's so close, he's
so close his cock is pleading with him to just let go and with a wordless moan
he quickens his pace, R pushing his hips back with insistent little noises
until - nnnnnggh - he comes, buried deep inside him, and finds himself
collapsing onto his back as the orgasm shocks through his body.
A few moment's of desperate panting, struggling to catch his mind up with his
muscles (which seem to have melted into a consistency somewhat like butter, but
he's not aware enough yet to think up a real simile), Grantaire wriggles
against him and manages to slip his wrists out of the knot over his head. He
turns over, careful not to dislodge the blonde sprawled on top of him, and
hands it back to him with a cheeky smile.
"What're you grinning about?" Enjolras mumbles, narrowing his eyes. He's not
too far gone to be suspicious.
"Nothing. Thanks for the new comestain, though. My car needs some personality."
Grimacing, Enjolras heaves himself up despite R's whine of protest and peels
himself away. His stomach is sticky with secondhand sperm and he huffs,
flicking his nose as he dips down and reaches for his shirt.
"Take me home," he demands, pulling it over his head and leaning off of him to
give him room to sit up. Grantaire follows the motion with a lewd grin.
"Only if it's for round two," he purrs, and damn, he really shouldn't be aloud
to sound so arousing less than five minutes after round one. Enjolras closes
his eyes, taking a deep breath as his heart pounds against his ribcage.
Overhead, the clouds have disappeared completely. In plain view of God he
fumbles to get dressed and licks his lips, bitten bloody.
"Fine. Fine. Just fucking drive."
"Love it when you're bossy." He clambers over the stick and into the driver's
seat, not even bothering to put on his pants, with the possibly the cockiest
expression he's ever worn. It looks good on him. Better than sarcasm and self-
deprecation. Enjolras, fully dressed, lies down in the backseat on top of
Grantaire's paint-speckled jeans and makes a half-assed, too-late attempt to be
inconspicuous as they pull out of the lot. He knows he's still red-
the color of desire 
- but he also knows that Grantaire prefers him red over any other color.
"I'll repay you for the ride."
They break the speed limit three times on the way home.
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