∑njolras

"No. Absolutely not." Enjolras admonished. There was a loud groan from the man at the other side of the table. The two were sitting in the corner of the local cafe while Courfeyrac unsuccessfully tried to convince him to go to a strip club with their friends for his 22nd birthday.

"Oh, come on! Why not?" Courfeyrac whined. Enjolras glared icily at said boy over his cup of French vanilla coffee.

"Because. It's a strip club Courfeyrac." Enjolras argued, "Oh don't give me that look. You knew I would say no. It''s the reason you bought me coffee, as a bribe."

"It's a good strip club! I go there all the time. Plus it's your birthday," he countered, "You have to stop being so boring Enjolras. Last year, on your birthday, you made us all go to a protest for the seals. Which, hey, don't get me wrong. We all love a good protest. But it's your fecking birthday Enj, do something special. Go crazy, get drunk. Have fun."

"You honestly think I want to spend my birthday in a strip club?" Enjolras asked one eyebrow raised.

"Yes! Why not? You can prove that you actually have a sex drive. Seriously, the rest of us have taken to making bets about whether you even get aroused. Like ever."

Enjolras rolled his eyes. He was well aware that his friends were intrigued at his lack of sexual interactions. They often turned it into a joke. Courfeyrac and Marius had started calling him Saint Enjolras at one point, but the name quickly ended when he locked them out on the small balcony of his apartment for five hours. He had a sexual drive, thank you, very much. He just didn't feel the need to take part in the activity with just any stranger, like his friends seemed inclined to doing. He wanted to know the person on a certain level. But Enjolras was nothing if not a busy person. He was back in college to get his masters in Political Sciences. He had a job at the library with Combeferre. He worked tutoring undergraduates at the college. He never had time to reach a certain level of intimacy with anyone. It didn't bother him as much as it did his friends. Perhaps going to a strip club for an hour or two would get them off his case. Perhaps it could even be fun. He supposed he could go. He looked across the table. Courfeyrac was making a face at him that resembled a kicked puppy which was almost impossible to say no to. He sighed.

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes, fine. I'll go."

"Yes! This is going to be so sweet!" Courfeyrac pumped his fist in the air and jumped out of his seat in excitement. He grabbed his coat and put slung it on his shoulders.

" I'm going to go tell the others. I'll text you the address. the place is called La beauté nue. Be ready for eight." Courf called over his shoulder as he practically skipped out of the coffee shop. He bumped into Combeferre on the way out.

"He said yes!" Courfeyrac exclaimed before leaving. Combeferre's eyes widened comically. He quickly composed himself and walked over to the corner of the cafe that Enjolras was currently brooding in.

"You gave in," He announced as he took the seat Courfeyrac had previously vacated. It wasn't a question or an accusation. Just a simple statement. An observation even.

"Yes, how did they get you on board?" He inquired curiously. Combeferre was the rational one of all of his friends.

"They asked," he said simply, "Besides they seem to be quite excited about it. It can't be too bad."

Enjolras checked his watch and grimaced, "Well we have about four hours until we have to go."

"It's not a punishment Enj," Combeferre smiled, "It's your birthday and you're going to enjoy it with us. Where we all are doesn't matter."

"You're probably right," Enjolras admitted with a sigh. He rose from his seat and gathered his beloved red jacket from the back of his chair. Combeferre rose also and grinned widely.

"When am I ever wrong?" He snorted, "Come on let's get out of here and grab something to eat."

₲rantaire

'Quite as a cat. I'm invisible. I'm like a shadow. Better than a shadow, I'm a fucking ghost.'
Grantaire thought to himself as he snuck into the club through the back entrance. The back room was thankfully empty.

Everyone was getting prepared for tonight. Everyone, except for him. Because he was late. Grantaire had once again woken up, at four in the afternoon, with a pounding headache and a nasty hangover. Now he was sneaking into the stip club like a cat burglar.

Crunch!

He stepped on an old beer can that was left lying on the ground.

He was the worst cat burglar ever.

He froze, wide eyes staring at the doorway leading to the main show room.

"Fuck me," Grantaire cursed.

"Grantaire, you're late!" A shrill voice called from the main room. Madame Thénardier stepped through the door. A permanent scowl etched into her face and hands on her hips.

"You're fucking late." She repeated disdainfully.

"I know, sorry." He apologized. She opened her mouth to undoubtedly scream at him for being late for the umpteenth time this month when another person sauntered into the room and interrupted the promisingly colorful speech.

"It was my fault," Éponine Thénardier lied smoothly, "I told him to come in at this time thinking it was a weekday."

"Both of you need to get your shit together. I've got a business to run, and I don't need you idiots mucking it up," Madame Thénardier barked at them and stomped out of the room but not before yelling over her shoulder, "Blue, you're on with Ginger tonight."

Éponine just winked at him and followed after her mother, hips swinging. Eponine was so young that she could be considered jail bait, in the business they were in, but so tough that no one ever dared. She was good at what she did, her looks were sex personified. Lucious brown locks, simmering hazel eyes, plump pouty lips, and a great body for a nineteen. If she wasn't a total nutjob Grantaire would totally dig her. He wasn't even sure it was legal for her to be a stripper. Then again, anything run by the Thénardier's could hardly be considered legal.

Grantaire just rolled his eyes and followed the two Thénardier women into the main room. On the stage all of the other dancers minus Grantaire and Éponine were warming up. At the bar Feuilly and the other bartenders were triple checking their alcohol stock. Bahorel and the other bouncers, who were supposed to be going over safety precautions and dividing the workload between them, looked like they were taking bets on something.

"Taire," a soft voice called excitedly from the stage. Jehan and Alyssa sat off to the side of the stage ,with girl that he didn't recognize, stretching.

Jehan was a sweet boy with an eloquent way with words. His long orange locks got him the strip name: Ginger. Alyssa was a petite thing with light brown hair and blue eyes. Her skin was so pale that she looked like a doll, hence her strip name: Porcelain.

"Hey Jehan," Grantaire greeted back. He clamored up to the stage to join Jehan and the other dancers with their stretching. He nodded his head in greeting to the other two girls.

"This is Cosette," Jehan announced noticing Grantaire confused glance. Cosette waved and smiled meekly at him.

"She's Fantine's kid," Alyssa explained. Fantine was a stripper who used to work at the club until she quit to become a prostitute. She was a kind woman who did everything for Cosette. She had been attacked a month ago and beaten pretty badly. Word was that she couldn't even get out of bed.

"What brings you to our neighborhood?" Grantaire ask curiously. The girl was pretty, but her childish looks were obvious. She was way too young to be doing this.

"I need money. Éponine said this was an easy way to get it." Cosette confessed. Grantaire frowned. He felt bad for her. Hell he felt bad for almost all the strippers here. They had life stories that could bring a grown man to tears. Everyone had it hard here at La beauté nue.

"We're going on together tonight," Jehan shared cheerfully as Grantaire sat next to him. Jehan smiled widely at him. It was impossible not to return the friendly smile.

"I've heard," Grantaire confirmed, "Which stage are we taking?"

There were three stages, The main stage which was placed in the center of the large room which was for solo and group performances. Then there was a left stage, which was used for just the men strippers and the right side which was used for only the women.

"Left stage," Jehan chirped.

"The gay stage," a voice taunted from among the mass of strippers stretching on the stage. A snort sounded from behind him.

"It's the same stage you'll be performing at tonight David," snapped Éponine. David groaned in response.

"Oh come on Ep," David complained, "I'm tired of giving lap dances to closeted gay dudes."

"What makes you think they're closeted?" another dancer inquired from their place on the stage.

"Because," David clarified, "If they were straight they'd go to an actual gay bar, not this free for all dump."

There was a chorus of agreements and disagreements.

"Stop your chit chatting and get ready!" Madame Thénardier's voice echoed out from her office.

"Club opens in thirty minutes," Feuilly called from the bar.

It was showtime.