"Come slowly,
Eden
Lips unused to thee.
Bashful, sip thy jasmines,
As the fainting bee,
Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums,
Counts his nectars -alights,
And is lost in balms!"- Emily Dickinson
The dark apartment was still and quiet before the two pair of silhouettes barge in at midnight with a loud slam from the door. Their eager lips collide together and their greedy hands grab any limbs within their reach. The heavy breaths and moans that escape their lips echo throughout the whole place.
Enjolras desperately tried to pull Eponine even closer to his lean but muscular form, which caused both of them to tumble to the floor. Their landing was softened by the rug and any pain that they might have felt was ignored, both preferring to pay their attention on more important things such as eachother.
Eponine moans at the sensation of Enjolras' lips trailing kisses from the side of her jaw to down her neck. Her nimble fingers clenches his blonde curls tightly and she rocks her hips against his, earning her a frustrated groan. His rough hands slid up her shirt and cupped her breast. She arches her body against his touch and, on their own accord, her hands left his mass of curls to tug his shirt off. He pulls himself away from her sweet warmth to throw his shirt across the room and he looks to see, despite the darkness of the room, her lustful brown eyes staring up at him. She brings a hand up to trail down his abdomen and Enjolras settles himself between her legs before frantically crushing their lips together.
Eponine manages to rip her own shirt off and fling it somewhere in the living room within seconds before continuing their heated kiss. She's so deeply enthralled by the kiss that she doesn't notice Enjolras' hand reaching behind to unclasps the red lace bra that he loves so much. He throws the piece of garment away and his lips leaves hers to smother her breasts and Eponine swears he has the most skillful tongue.
"Enjolras," she whispers heavily in the dark and Enjolras growls at the sound.
His hands run down the curves of her figure to unfasten the button of her jeans. Eponine assists him in removing them and soon her heads were assisting in removing his own pair, leaving both lovers in just their underwear.
Eponine loves the feeling of their bare chests pressed against each other and each time she engages in the act of love with him, she attempts to embed it to memory. They say that you must appreciate the small things in life and Eponine believed that statement as if it was a religion. She also tries to memorize the feeling of Enjolras' expert fingers reaching beneath her underwear to play with her center.
"Holy shit," Eponine mewls and she lets out a few silent cries as Enjolras' fingers hit the right spot. She is almost at the edge when Enjolras pulls his magical fingers out.
She whimpers and almost yells at him for stopping until she sees him pulling his boxers off and her own quickly follows after.
They groan in unison once Enjolras enters her in one, deep thrust. Their fingers entwine and are raised above her head just as Enjolras begins a slow and steady rhythm. Eponine hips meet his in time and it's so engrossing and she could as good as say that she saw between time and space, a common occurrence when it came to making love with Enjolras.
"Fuck," Enjolras grunts, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
Enjolras doesn't normally curse, which is a trait that Eponine loves about him. Though, when he does, it is usually the result of frustration or all-consuming intimacy with the raven haired girl. Eponine takes it as a good sign when it comes to the love-making between them.
Eponine's wall tightens and she feels something building within her. Her legs come up to wrap around his waist, urging the marble man with a few cracks to go faster and he eagerly complies.
She comes within seconds and Enjolras quickly follows afterwards. The dark room is silent again and their bare bodies are both perfectly pressed against each other, recovering from their high. They remain on the living room floor, too content to remove themselves from that spot.
He rests his head on his chest while she absentmindedly runs her fingers through his sweaty and disheveled locks.
"I love you," he whispers.
"I love you, too," she whispered back.