Archive of Our Own

"Would you like to have sex with me?" Grantaire asks.

Grantaire examines the paint on his nails and idly pulls a nail file out of the pocket of his jean skirt. There isn't much he can do about it, but it gives him something to fidget with while Enjolras tries to look through him.

Grantaire could almost, almost, regret asking him.

Doesn't actually regret it, of course, but it's something he's willing to take under consideration. But at some point, their sexual tension was going to explode, probably in Grantaire's underwear, and his panties are just too damn expensive to do that to. Not that he wouldn't have cause, but would his underwear understand that? No, it won't. His underwear will not understand that some things are worth ruining lingerie for.

Some things being Enjolras chewing on a problem.

He's actually chewing, too. It's adorable. Enjolras is biting down on the knuckle of his left index finger and staring at Grantaire like Grantaire is a very interesting bug, or he's basically Marius fucking Pontmercy that time Marius decided to talk about Phyllis Schlafly, and Enjolras is stewing over the best way to be nice to the newbie while simultaneously tearing him to shreds.

"I am interested in guys," Enjolras announces, and Grantaire blinks at him.

"Um, yeah? I think the entire university knows that by this point." Grantaire had been out sick (read: excessively drunk, even for him) that day, because it was National Coming Out Day, and he and National Coming Out Day have issues best not discussed in front of people who might take it the wrong way, i.e., everyone, but it's campus legend how Enjolras had spent it two years ago. A wall may or may not have been scaled in front of the library. Enjolras may or may not have resisted arrest. It may or may not have started a riot.

It was definitely not glorious.

And then Grantaire had come off his incredibly bitter hang-over, itching to start a fight, because who gives a fuck anyway, just be out, why create a culture expecting people to come out and deal with all that anxiety bullshit when really all the onus should be on the status quo fuckers who expect you to be straight and narrow unless proven otherwise, fuck them all, and fuck you, this is why he doesn't talk about this, this is why he calls himself queer and fuck the rest of it, so, whatever, obviously he was out drunk for good reason -- whatever, Enjolras had gotten arrested proving a point, and Grantaire found out, turned around, and gone back to the bar to treat his hang-over with some excellent vodka.

None of it had been worth it, except that everyone in a five-mile radius is completely aware of how gay Enjolras is. Everyone including Grantaire.

"I think I'm going to stop calling myself gay," Enjolras says, warming to the subject. Well, why not. It's a change of subject, and it's a subject he'll happily never shut up about. They'd gotten him drunk one time, and he'd managed to be even worse about it than usual. Apparently Enjolras + alcohol = a headache for everyone around him. "Because, well, where are the limits? I'm attracted to people who fuck with gender and don't believe in it, so why should I be framing this as my primary attraction being to male-identified people? I don't want to indulge in erasure just because it's more convenient labeling."

"Uh-huh," Grantaire says. He's probably not going to get an answer, then. Enjolras will just embrace a new subject and ride it until his phone buzzes with the Enjolras-bat-signal. Grantaire tries not to be too disappointed. It's not like he didn't know that Enjolras would probably just avoid answering. Enjolras has been trying to let him down gently instead of tearing him a new one ever since Combeferre called him on creating a hostile environment. So instead of Enjolras calling Grantaire a privilege-soaked drunk who can't see straight enough to match his socks and being done with it, Enjolras just ignores the assholery and takes the high road.

Something else that is definitely not glorious.

"And at this point in my life, do I really want more labels? I should be getting rid of them instead of taking on more. Labels should start conversations, not end them, but that's wishful thinking because they can serve to silence those at the margins. I don't want to do that."

All he wanted, Grantaire laments to his fingernails, was to know if Enjolras was interested in having sex with him. That's all. Is it too hard a question? Is it too much to ask? It should just be yes or no, right? But why should Enjolras ever do what Grantaire wanted? He can't even call this unpredictable. If Grantaire'd been smart about this, he probably could totally have predicted this would happen. Enjolras would politely side-step the question and let the unanswering be the answer. Fuck him so much.

Grantaire hates being let down gently. It's still a heavy crash at the bottom.

"I do jerk off," Enjolras says suddenly, and Grantaire has no idea what this conversation even is.

"Okay," Grantaire says because it's easier than anything else.

"What's it like to have a sex drive?" Enjolras asks.

Grantaire opens and closes his mouth. He pulls the nail file away. He wrings his hands. He examines the seam on the kick-pleat of his jean skirt. He'd covered over the slit with fabric from an old skirt of his sister's that he'd always coveted but hadn't been allowed to wear, and the seam doesn't look so good. He should fix that. He takes his nail file out of his pocket again and pokes at the seam. Enjolras touches his wrist. "I-- what's it like to not have one?" Grantaire asks, because, obviously, he has nothing else to say.

Enjolras shrugs. "I might have one and it needs more gas? I can't really compare against myself. One data point isn't data."

Grantaire tugs at the fabric, the sleeve of his flannel shirt falling down to cover his fingers and, incidentally, clashing with the skirt. But Grantaire's happy to be an eyesore. Who's society to tell him which colors go together? It's bullshit fashion oppression. It's like society telling him he shouldn't wear a skirt. Because fuck them. He looks awesome in a skirt. "Yeah, well, two aren't, either. I don't know, Enjolras. I like having sex. I like thinking about having sex. I like getting myself off while thinking about having sex. When I'm attracted to someone, I usually want to have sex with them. Sometimes I get horny and go find someone to have sex with, but sometimes I get horny and just jerk off. Supposedly I might have a biological need to reproduce, but that's just bullshit to reinforce the status quo, so call me when you find a tabula rasa for your research study. Not that I necessarily believe in tabula rasa either." Grantaire usually makes it a practice to not believe in anything; it takes some of the disappointments out of life. If he refuses to build anything up, it won't crush him beneath it when it topples down.

He has totally failed at not-believing in Enjolras. If Enjolras ever crumbles, Grantaire's gonna get destroyed.

He's okay with this.

"I don't think about myself having sex when I'm jerking off," Enjolras says. "Is that weird? I can't really talk about this with other people. It would be weird. For me, I mean," he adds conscientiously. "For me to talk about my masturbatory fantasies with other people. Not for anyone to talk about that with other people. But is it weird not to have fantasies about yourself?"

"How should I know? I put the 'can't give a fuck' in Queer Theory." Grantaire thinks about attacking the seam right here, right now. But that would be a bad idea. That would be taking out of emotions on innocent targets. Targets like his skirt. His skirt never did anything to him except occasionally trip him on the evil stairs near the art building when he forgot that he wasn't wearing pants today. "Enjolras, for god's sake, I just wanted to know if you would be interested in having sex with me. I don't want you to have to redefine your entire existence. I just want a 'yes' or a 'no' or a 'go fuck yourself, I do not approve of your insistence that our belligerence is actually sexual tension'."

"I wouldn't know sexual tension if it tapped me on the shoulder and then punched me," Enjolras says. Grantaire takes a moment to wonder if sexual tension ever did actually punch Enjolras and that's how he knows it wouldn't work. That seems like a very Enjolras thing to happen. "That's actually my point, Grantaire. People send signals to each other, that part I understand. It's the signals themselves that go over my head. I need people to use words and not expect me to be able to figure out that if they ask me to go to a movie with them, they mean it as a date and not as two friends hanging out. It's extremely frustrating. So thank you for asking directly."

Grantaire shrugs. It wasn't like he hadn't been trying unspoken signals. It just hadn't been working, so he'd finally had to say fuck it and ask.

"I am interested in trying sex," Enjolras says. "I don't get myself off thinking about me doing it, but I'm still interested in one day seeing what it's like. No vaginal penetration, and I don't really like the idea of receiving anal, but I think clitoral stimulation could be fun. That's how I get myself off, so I know I like that stuff. And of course, what you'd like with," Enjolras waves his hand at Grantaire's body in general.

"I have a penis," Grantaire says.

"So do I," Enjolras says. "Mine's silicone."

"Mine's permanently attached," Grantaire says. "It sucks, because it means I didn't get to pick the size, I'm stuck with the manufacturer's choice. It's not the greatest. But I'm not under warranty anymore and I can't get a replacement."

"Yeah, being able to swap has its advantages," Enjolras says. "It can be tricky sometimes to figure out which sizes pants were built to handle. It's educational."

He'll bet. Yeah, Grantaire's noticed Enjolras likes a bulge. It's extremely distracting. Just like everything else about him. Grantaire pulls his lip gloss out of his pocket and wonders if that might seem suggestive when it's really that he can only sit still when he's passed out drunk. But Enjolras doesn't understand signals. So it's okay.

"Look," Enjolras says, "I'm not guaranteeing anything, I can't, okay? If we try it a couple times and I'm not interested, and you're gonna have some kind of problem with that, let me know now and I'll just say no and we can forget all about it. I don't know if I'll like sex. I might. But I might not. Because I don't know. But don't pressure me, okay?"

"Okay," Grantaire says easily. Because that's easy. He'll needle and heckle and vex Enjolras until Enjolras finally evicts him from his life. But he's not going to try to make Enjolras into anything he's not. Really. He just wants Enjolras to keep being Enjolras and let Grantaire be himself around him while he's being Enjolras. And if that doesn't make any sense, that's fine. Grantaire's used to making no sense. Sense is overrated. It's between self-labeling and sobriety on the list of things Grantaire can't be bothered to deal with. "Whatever you want."

"I want to try it once and then see what I want. Because I don't know what I want." Enjolras touches Grantaire's wrist again and Grantaire drops his lip gloss. "Grantaire," Enjolras says, "I consent to try you."

If Grantaire were a better person, he'd respectfully bow out at this point. First times can suck. First times can really suck. Grantaire is perfectly aware of how much first times can suck. If Enjolras is going to make decisions about his sexual future based on his first time not completely sucking, that's a ton of responsibility. Grantaire is just not that responsible a person to make sure that Enjolras's first time gives him an accurate view of what non-first-time sex could be like. But Grantaire's also not a good person, so he's not going to do that. Enjolras is a big boy. If he's willing to make sweeping judgments, then Grantaire will lend him a broom. Because sexual autonomy is a thing and Grantaire doesn't judge. If Enjolras wants to make terrible decisions, Grantaire is on board with being one of those terrible decisions.

Because supposedly losing your virginity is some kind of rite of passage and Grantaire hates all of those on principle and wants to destroy them. Making a big deal about change is stupid. And fuck that that's not realistic. Grantaire hangs out with idealists. It's gotta rub off somehow. Grantaire never guaranteed it would rub off in a good way.

Ha, rub off.

Is rubbing off a good idea, he wonders. Maybe he should use his tongue. He's been told he has a very talented tongue. Fuck it, Enjolras told him that, and then told him to stop talking bullshit all the time and use his attempts at eloquence for something other than paeans to booze. Enjolras had meant Truth, Social Justice, And Let's Destroy The American Way, but Grantaire's willing to pay Enjolras back with interest for the innuendo that goes right over Enjolras's head even when Enjolras is the one making it.

"I'm gonna give you, like, five orgasms," Grantaire says, because why not? It's not like he hasn't set himself goals before about impressing Enjolras and then failed utterly. What's one more? Grantaire is nothing if not consistent. In his case, he's a consistent failure, but at least he's consistent. If you need something fucked up good, Grantaire's the guy to call. He's really very reliable, when you look at it that way.

Very few people ever look at it that way.

Enjolras smiles. "Based on past history, that'll take an hour, tops. I can schedule that in, no problem." He strokes Grantaire's wrist and Grantaire shivers. "It's good that it's you," he says thoughtfully. "I've always thought we're two sides of a coin. You're what I'd be if things had gone differently when I was a kid."

"Fuck you, I'm not broken," Grantaire says, but it's basically just on reflex by this point, because Enjolras is touching him and Grantaire isn't going to try to convince Enjolras to stop.

"No," Enjolras agrees, "just a product of a society that wants you to be. You're exactly the way they built you."

Grantaire can't even tell what that means. "You're saying I work perfectly, but for a definition of perfectly that means really fucked up?"

Enjolras shrugs. "Only you can figure out the way you should work. No one can make the decision to fix you but yourself."

"Fuck," Grantaire says, "I'm not even going to try to figure that shit out. Just don't pity me, okay?"

"I don't pity you," Enjolras says. "I understand you. And you frustrate me."

"Yeah, that's common," Grantaire says. "You should talk to my parents sometime." Not that Grantaire talks to them much, but there's only so much you can say. No, he's not dead in a ditch. Yes, he's eating. Yes, he's still drinking. Yes, he's still wearing skirts and frilly underwear and make-up. Sometimes he thinks his parents would be happier if Grantaire were like Enjolras and decided to transition. But Grantaire does not exist to make his parents happy and he has no problems with being a guy. It's just the dress code that annoys him.

Enjolras folds Grantaire's hand into his and smiles at him.

"I don't understand you," Grantaire confesses. "At all."

"Good," Enjolras says. "I've been told that some mystery is important. It keeps the romance alive."

"See," Grantaire says. "This. This right here. This is why I don't understand you at all."

"I decided to make you work for your scorn," Enjolras says. "You enjoy tearing everything apart, so I'm not going to give you anything already fully-formed. You get things still in progress, so you can rip it all apart when it's more convenient. It's easier to change course in the middle instead of at the end."

"That's-- that's your misguided ideas about acceptance and harmony and kumbaya," Grantaire says. "That's not your goddamn sexuality."

Enjolras blinks at him innocently. And, fuck that, no one is that innocent. Grantaire is in awe of Enjolras's ability to fuck with him. "I don't know anything more in progress and fluid than my understanding of myself. Why did you offer if not to explore a possibility and forge new paths to mutual understanding and friendship?"

"I offered because I've wanted to jump you since the day I met you," Grantaire says. And, "wait, is that what you just said, but in actual English this time?" He needs an Enjolras-to-English app for his phone. It would get the most use ever. He could sell it and all of the Amis would buy it. Grantaire would be a hero of the queer revolution. "You're just doing this on purpose by this point, aren't you?" Grantaire asks.

"Yes," Enjolras says. He smirks. Because he is Enjolras and Grantaire shouldn't expect anything else. "Fucking with you is a joy. So, when are you free for experimentation?"