The first time Grantaire enters the cafe, it's more out of curious spite than anything else.
He's heard of the meetings they hold there, the idealistic fools, calling themselves the Friends of the ABC. They spend their time - whatever time that can be spared after their drinking, shouting, boasting and pointless talk about poems and romance and girls - discussing plans for revolution. A futile, foolish revolution that is doomed to failure. A group of young men - no, boys - cannot hope to oppose the forces of monarchy and absolute authority; if they are not discovered and arrested soon, they will all be corpses when they try to launch their rebellion. A newborn kitten would have more sense.
But Grantaire believes that if you want to scorn something, you should have at least a good idea of what you wish to scorn. So he goes, one evening, and finds the cafe alive with noise, drink, and good humour.
Quietly, he slides into a seat in a corner, accepts a drink pressed warmly into his hand by a less-than-sober student, and waits patiently, hoping not to draw attention to himself. Just as he had imagined, they are raucous, unruly, and far from the romantic ideal of intense, organised, dedicated revolutionaries.
After a while, a young man in a red coat leaps onto one of the tables and calls, "My friends! Inasmuch that we may enjoy ourselves, we must not lose sight of our ultimate goal."
It's a wonder that anyone can hear him over the shouting, but they do, and everyone quietens down a little. Grantaire, sipping his drink, briefly permits himself the luxury of feeling mildly impressed.
The man continues, speaking about the need for unity, reminding his audience of the ideals they hold (or are meant to hold), before launching into a list of equipment they will need, and - waving a scroll of rolled-up papers in one hand - the plans that are to be made.
Grantaire listens intently - only because there's so much ammunition here to be had, and not out of genuine interest as everyone else. He waits until the man in the red coat gets down from the table, before remarking with a smirk, "You truly think that'll work? And how many more decades will you need?"
The speed with which everyone's attention turns to him is surprising, even to himself. Those who aren't squinting in confusion through a drunken stupor are glaring, angered that someone would dare desecrate their sacred meeting - the blasphemy!
Their gazes needle Grantaire a little, seeming to remind him not to go to far, though he doesn't let his nonchalant appearance slip. He averts his eyes from the staring, focussing on his drink instead, wondering if they'll take it as a gesture of arrogance, or cowardice.
Some begin muttering, not quite under their breaths, until the fellow with the red coat raises a hand and says, "We do - and hopefully it'll shall succeed within a few months. With our strength and commitment, we do not believe our efforts will be in vain - "
Then he gets up, and strides over to Grantaire's table, seating himself right opposite, and continues, "But, my friend, I do not see what cause you have to be so cynical."
Grantaire tries hard to hide his smile. "Cynical? I am merely being realistic."
He notes the ghost of a grin playing on the lips of the other. "I beg to differ," he says, and they end up arguing until dawn breaks and they nearly have to be physically dragged out of the cafe.
Grantaire has to endure a day of boring classes - most of which he does not, and cannot pay proper attention to anyway - with a pounding head and heavy eyelids. He doesn't regret it, however - after so long of forcing his way through stuffy lessons and the dismal world, for once, he feels a little alive.
The next night he's back again. He doesn't interrupt the meeting, this time, but waits until the man in the red coat - Enjolras - finishes with his eloquent but inevitably pointless speech, and discussing with the lot of too-young, too-impulsive boys. He's staring into his glass and doesn't notice immediately when Enjolras appears before him, with a look of something akin to amused anticipation on his face.
Grantaire lets his eyes dart away for a moment in a mix of confusion and discomfort - why would Enjolras anticipate his presence? Why smile? Why act like this is like meeting a good friend one hasn't seen in years, rather than a challenge to one's basic beliefs?
But he neither protests or questions the young man; they don't even really greet each other, as if they are so familiar - or so antagonistic - that greetings are superfluous.
Again, they debate until morning, and Grantaire decides to nod off during class instead. He isn't too worried about the consequences, and besides, somehow, wrangling with a stubborn idealist all night seems infinitely preferable to listening to the repetitive words of his elders and superiors.
The visits become something of a regular occurrence. Grantaire doesn't like to admit it, but he actually looks forward to it - he spends each and every day, if not nodding off in exhaustion, thinking about arguing with Enjolras. Or perhaps just thinking about Enjolras. It's gone from fiercely defending his own ideas and attacking the others, to a sort of back-and-forth banter that borderlines on friendly. Though it is most assuredly not friendly, Grantaire reminds himself. He started off ridiculing the Friends of the ABC's daft aspirations, didn't he? He can't ever end up agreeing with them - and he won't, he stresses firmly - no matter how charismatic or admirable Enjolras might be.
Tonight's no different - the meeting's proceeded as usual, and it appears that Grantaire has more or less become part of the group, sitting at the central table, even though he doesn't agree with almost everything they say (what he agrees with, for sure, is only that they ought to have another shot of whatever-drink-the-owners-think-to-serve-that-night).
It's quiet now, as most of the Friends are both figuratively and literally in their cups. Only Grantaire and Enjolras - close to a teetotaller, and still sipping his drink carefully, and perhaps even thoughtfully - are still somewhat conscious, and Grantaire suspects he might need to call it a day.
"Not up for it tonight?" Enjolras teases, noticing Grantaire beginning to rest his chin on the table.
Grantaire's head snaps up instantly, "As if I wouldn't be! Or are you just afraid that you shan't be able to hold your ground?"
"Of course not," comes the reply, along with the small but amazingly attractive lopsided smile that Grantaire realizes he rather enjoys provoking. Their eyes lock together, and Grantaire can't - doesn't want to look away. And then he finds himself surging forward and pressing his lips to Enjolras'.
But then he draws back immediately, embarrassed and terrified. What would Enjolras think of him now? He can't have - he can't possible have just kissed Enjolras. Suddenly studying the table becomes his first priority.
Yet Enjolras places his fingers beneath Grantaire's chin and pulls him to face him. "First time?"
Grantaire doesn't dare look at him directly. His only answer is to blush, and then try to hide it.
Enjolras doesn't seem the least offended or perturbed. Instead, he leans forward and whispers into Grantaire's ear, so close that he can't help but shiver, "I'll show you how to do it properly."
Enjolras kisses like the best vodka, surprising and powerful and incredibly intoxicating. He manages to sneaks his tongue past Grantaire's lips, and daringly explores his mouth without a trace of reserve, the same way Enjolras is about his principles. He pulls Grantaire closer, fairly into his lap, and starts cards his fingers through Grantaire's hair - the last of which makes Grantaire feels as though he is completely boneless and helpless, that he can't do anything beyond moan into Enjolras' mouth and grip onto his shoulders.
One of the drunk fellows at the table - Prouvaire, the hopeless romantic - begins to stir, and Enjolras breaks the kiss with a smirk. "Let's take this somewhere a little quieter, shall we?"
Grantaire barely manages to nod, knowing that his face is burning, and that soon every single fibre of his body will be consumed in fire. He likes to think of himself as being well-versed in the ways of this world - none of which he thinks all too highly of - but only know does he understand how inexperienced he is. His legs are shaking so much that Enjolras has to help him up the stairs.
They find an empty room and their lips connect almost immediately once they're inside. Somehow it's possible for them to strip and stumble towards the bed without interrupting the kiss, and it's not long before Grantaire discovers that he's wrapped his legs around Enjolras' waist and they are frantically rubbing against each other.
When Enjolras takes him, it's in the most gentle and wonderful way possible. Only two fingers, and he has Grantaire falling apart and mewling brokenly like a kitten beneath him; just a crook and twists of his fingers, and he can make the cynical youth curse and arch right off the sheets. When he finally - finally, Grantaire feels that he has been waiting for this for years, for centuries, forever, and he'll snap if Enjolras doesn't fuck him right now - pushes in, Grantaire thinks that he will evaporate right now, that it's not possible for him to be enjoying this miracle etched in searing flames.
It doesn't matter how long they're at it - whether it only takes two or three thrusts to make Grantaire come, and come hard - because this moment will be forever imprinted into his mind, preserved, treasured, loved, almost as much as he realises he loves Enjolras.
The next morning he wakes to find Enjolras hovering over him, watching him closely. Grantaire doesn't avert his eyes. There are a million emotions, a million thoughts bubbling in his chest, threatening to overflow him, but instead he pulls Enjolras down and kisses him.
He feels Enjolras smile into his mouth. "See you tonight," he whispers into Grantaire's ear before watching him leave, with infinite warmth and joy running through his veins.
A/N: I am not sure if vodka was common in 19th century France, though apparently it had already spread to parts of Western Europe a century earlier, so I'll assume that Grantaire's tried some before.
I'll try to update soon (within a week with luck) :)
