Enjolras had been having a recurring dream for quite some time now.

It was of a man. A man who seemed familiar, so familiar. He knew this man. Enjolras recognized him, but at the same time did not. When he awoke, he could never remember the face, the clothes, nothing. He couldn't place the smell, the feel, absolutely nothing. But he knew for a fact that this man was familiar.

The room is cloaked in darkness. There is no noise. Suddenly, a candle lights up, casting shadows about the room. It's obvious now that it's Enjolras' bedroom. A man, who is certainly quite familiar to Enjolras, steps towards him. Enjolras himself is sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Candlelight really brings out your beauty."

That voice. Enjolras knows it, he really does. He knows it but he doesn't. He knows this man. Why can he not figure it out? The man's face is still hidden by shadows, which frustrates Enjolras to no end.

"Who are you? What have you come here for?"

The man laughs. "What do you mean? Dear me, have you forgotten me already? You wound me, monsieur. I thought we were close."

Enjolras is bewildered because he does know this man. The lack of knowledge on him is driving him insane. The man takes another step forward. He's now at Enjolras' side, yet the blonde still cannot see him. But he can feel him. Chapped lips against his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. Enjolras' breathing turns heavy. The sensations from the strange lips and the fear of the unknown are overwhelming him. He's aroused and frightened, and he can't figure out which sensation is winning.

The man's lips come up to meet his, and Enjolras can taste something. What is it?

"Apollo." The man murmurs.

Enjolras sits up in bed. The blonde is shaking from the dream, and he can't figure out why. What happened? Who was that? No amount of thinking and wondering and brain-wracking does the trick. He just can't seem to figure out who it is.

With a shift in bed, Enjolras now feels the aching arousal between his legs. He can only huff angrily at it.

"I wasn't even having an unconcious erotic vision. This isn't right."

The leader grumbled, but he knew that the problem wouldn't go away on his own. Returning to sleep would only bring the dream back, and he would wake up with an even worse arousal. For the fifth night in a row.

So Enjolras set about preparing. He pulled a tube of lotion from his vanity and placed a decent amount in his palm. As he worked himself over, Enjolras was barely even enjoying it. He was quite angry.

Of course, his anger was leaking out into his activity. His hand was going at a furious rythym and speed before he realized his thighs were twitching and his legs were practically shaking with how fast he was arriving at his inevitable peak.

Now more focused, he ended slower. He reached his peak with a cry, and the words slipped from his lips before he himself realized it.

Grantaire.

That was the man. There was no question. The man in his dreams were Grantaire all along. The voice, the touch. The taste of alcohol on his lips. It was all rushing into him at once.

It had only taken this for him to remember? And how had he not figured that out before? He had, of course, overlooked one small detail. That Grantaire was the only one who called him Apollo.

The thought sent shivers down Enjolras' spine. It pleased him secretly, to be compared to a god. It was annoying, but it was also quite flattering. With a satisfied sigh, he sat back and wiped his hand off on a tissue before tossing it away. And then of course, he used a generous amount of Germ-X.

That issue was solved. Now if only he could get Grantaire into bed, would this pesky dream disappear.