A/N: And so we have come to the final chapter of this trilogy. You need to have read "Make Me" for this to make much sense. If you like, you can probably skip "Before the Fire Dies," which is part 1, but certain aspects of parts 2 and 3 will be easier to understand. Bear in mind that I do not own any of the songs I mention, and I certainly do not own Les Mis. I also am unbetaed, so any and all mistakes are my own. The title of this work is taken from the fabulous road trip song, "End of the Line," by The Traveling Wilburys.
That being said, I hope you enjoy!

One Friday night in Mid-July, the Amis met to finalize their plans for a road trip that they'd been planning for ages.

"Hey, where's Enjolras," Joly asked.

"He has a prior engagement," Combeferre answered nonchalantly.

Les Amis turned to face the bespectacled man incredulously.

"What sort of engagement," Cosette asked.

Courf stood angrily. "Yeah! Why didn't I know about this?"

Combeferre rolled his eyes. "He just told me to take notes for him, because he couldn't make the meeting. I didn't ask why. I trust him."

"You'd better take some for Grantaire too," Éponine called across the room. "Couldn't get him to leave his apartment. Said something about inspiration striking."

Ferre raised a brow suspiciously. "Call him at some point."


While their friends were plotting their trip, Enjolras and Grantaire were singing.

Tonight they at Aire's place, watching "Mamma Mia."

"You can dance! You can jive! Having the time of your life! Ooooohh!"

"See that girl! Watch that scene! Digging the dancing queen!"

They collapsed in a breathless heap on the floor. "That...was...amazing."

Grantaire chuckled and raised a brow. "I never thought I'd hear someone say that so breathlessly after singing 'Dancing Queen.'"

Enjolras gently pushed Grantaire's head to the side, a dazzling grin on his face. "Shut up."

Grantaire raised one eyebrow suggestively. "Make me."

Both boys froze.

It had been the same thing every Friday. Enjolras delivered the line, Grantaire did something sweet, careful not to overstep his bounds, and the blonde was left wanting more.

Grantaire had just stolen the line, and now the ball was in Enjolras' court; there was no telling what might happen.

Enjolras realized that this was his chance to show Grantaire how he felt, and his hand shot out, cupping the artist's face.

Aire's eyes went wide, and his breath caught. Enjolras brushed his thumb over Grantaire's cheekbone, searching the brunet's face.

Grantaire chanced a glance at the blonde's lips, then looked up questioningly.

Oh. This is why Grantaire hadn't taken his many opportunities. He was waiting for Enjolras to make the first move, and the blonde hadn't taken the hint. Grantaire must assume that Enjolras didn't want to make a move.

He swallowed hard, and leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut.

Grantaire's eyes were wide. "It's finally happening."

The revolutionary's lips just brushed the artist's, sending electric sparks down both participants' spines, when Grantaire's phone rang.

"Goddammit," Grantaire muttered."I'm sorry," He squinted at the phone. "It's Éponine. What the hell does she want?" He pressed the answer button. "Hello?"

"Yo, Grantaire! What's shakin', bacon?" Grantaire yanked the phone away from his ear; Éponine had obviously put him on speaker, so that the other Amis could hear him.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, wondering what the cynic would say. "Painting," Grantaire lied, trying to keep his voice sounding normal. His eyes were still glued on Enjolras.

"Odd that you should be painting with 'Our Last Summer' as background music."

Enjolras hurriedly hit the mute button. "I am not," Grantaire protested.

"Whatever allows you to sleep at night," Éponine replied. "Anyway, I called to tell you that you're riding with Courf tomorrow."

Grantaire nodded. "Awesome. Great. Thanks for letting me know."

"Are you okay? You sound…uncomfortable."

"I'm fine. I'm just tired. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Great. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning."

"Bye."

Grantaire fell backwards, his head landing in Enjolras' lap, and groaned. "I can't believe I'm stuck with Courf."

Before he could answer, Enjolras' phone beeped.

He reached out and opened the message.

-Hey, you're with Courf tomorrow. R's in the same car. Sorry. I know you two don't always get on. – Ferre
-It's cool. Thanks. –E

Grantaire cleared his throat, and nodded toward the cell phone.

"Combeferre. You and I are in the same boat. Well, rolling deathtrap, with Courf behind the wheel."

There was an awkward silence, until Grantaire finally unmuted the film.

Despite the chords of "Gimme, Gimme, Gimme" cutting through the still, the tension remained. Grantaire could feel Enjolras' eyes boring into him. Crap. Enjolras was probably regretting the almost kiss. Grantaire had to do something to ease the tension.

The artist leapt to his feet, swinging his hips in time to the music.

Enjolras raised a brow at Grantaire's dance moves. He wolf whistled at the artist.

Grantaire flushed. "Stop."

"Nope." Enjolras hopped up, climbed atop the coffee table, chugged the rest of his beer, and swung his hips with more fervor than the artist. "Join me," he cried.

"That table's never gonna hold both of us. It's barely holding you," Grantaire chided, snapping a photo with his phone. "So, if you'd please get down before you break it."

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Make me."

Grantaire reached up, encircling Enjolras' hips with his arms. He pulled the blonde off of the coffee table, in the hopes that the revolutionary would just drop to the ground. Instead, Enjolras put his full weight against Grantaire, sending them both careening onto the floor.

The blonde jumped to his feet, one on either side of Grantaire's body, resuming his erratic dance.

"Apollo, are you supposed to be dancing? Because, at best, what you're doing can be called rhythmic flailing. Stop. You're embarrassing yourself."

"Make me!"

Grantaire rolled his eyes, and jumped to his feet. He pulled Enjolras forward, till their bodies were aligned, and rolled his hips. Enjolras gasped, trembling slightly. Enjolras draped his long arms over Grantaire's broad shoulders, as much to return the embrace as to keep from collapsing. He stared at the artist's pink lips, which were slightly chapped. His hot breath only exacerbated the flush covering the revolutionary's face. Enjolras swallowed hard.

Grantaire watched the blonde's Adam's apple bob up and down. Looking up, he saw that Enjolras' blue eyes were nearly black.

The artist shifted uncomfortably under the revolutionary's piercing stare. "Enjolras," he managed hoarsely. "Wha-"

"Do you want to kiss me?"

Grantaire's mind went in a million directions; the only coherent thought he could pick out was the first night they'd danced. "Someday," he quoted.

Enjolras grinned at the allusion. "And what is this someday shit?"

"Well, I get the feeling that you…wait you haven't…what are you…"

Enjolras had cupped the artist's face.

Grantaire's breath caught, and he leaned in slightly.

The moment was broken when Enjolras vainly tried to stifle a yawn. "I'm sorry."

Grantaire smiled. "It's fine. I should let you go." He moved to let Enjolras go.

The blonde tightened his grip on the brunet. "What if I don't feel like leaving?"

Grantaire's eyebrows shot straight up, and his cheeks turned scarlet. "I guess…you can take the bed."

He shook his head. "No."

"What do you mean 'no'?"

"I am not kicking you out of your own bed. The only way that I'm sleeping in your bed is if you sleep there too." Keeping one hand laced with Aire's, Enjolras turned off the TV, and dragged the artist back toward the bedroom.

They stood awkwardly in the doorway for a minute. Grantaire finally broke away, flipping the light on, and moving to his dresser. He rooted around in a drawer for a minute, trying to find suitable pajamas for the both of them.

Enjolras, in the meantime, had happened upon the costume box.

Usually, a grown man having a box full of dress-up clothes might be considered creepy, but anyone who knew Grantaire knew that they had belonged to his mother, from her stint as an actress. Now the artist had repurposed them for art reference.

Enjolras knelt down, and opened the trunk.

The first thing he happened upon was a bright red, vintage fifties ball gown. Grinning like an idiot, he stripped down to his boxers, and then dragged the red dress over his body. He draped a black boa around his neck. "I'm so fabulous." Enjolras turned back to the box, and pulled out a pink tulle skirt, and a white silk scarf.

"Friday night and the lights are low," he sang, turning to face the artist. Grantaire spun on his heel, dropping the bundle of clothing.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Ignoring the question, Enjolras forced the skirt over Grantaire's head, letting the elastic stretch over the artist's chest. The blonde then tied the scarf around the brunet's waist, continuing his off-key tribute to ABBA.

Grantaire looked down. Enjolras had deftly fashioned the ostentatious scarf and ballet attire into a pretty sexy cocktail dress, minus Aire's jeans and shirt.

"I didn't realize that you have a cross-dressing kink," Grantaire said.

Enjolras grinned. "Cosette is my twin sister. When we went trick-or-treating we always did genderbent male and female duos."

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "Cosette is one of my best friends. How did I not know this?"

"Sibling confidentiality. My role as her brother will always trump your role as best friend." Enjolras pulled out his cell phone. "Now, we need photographic evidence of my fashion sense. Smile."

Grantaire begrudgingly smiled, and Enjolras craned his neck to press a kiss to the artist's cheek.

Blushing, the artist asked, "Can I see it?"

Enjolras turned the phone so that they could check out their photos.

"Damn," Grantaire swore, pulling off his makeshift dress. "Where were you when I needed a date to prom?"

"Protesting prom."

Grantaire snorted. "Why am I not surprised?"

Enjolras blushed. "Am I the only one who feels ridiculously happy," he asked after a moment.

The artist smiled. "No, I do, too. I don't really know why, but I do."

"I'm glad." Enjolras threw his arms around Grantaire's neck. The artist looped his arms around the blonde's waist.

Enjolras never wanted this moment to end. He was perfectly content to have his face pressed to Grantaire's chest, but there were more pressing matters at hand. "Aire, could you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

Enjolras swallowed. "Can you get me out of this dress? I can't really breathe."

Grantaire laughed. "Turn around."

The blonde did an abrupt about-face, the red dress swirling around his ankles in a fabulous way that just wasn't fair.

Swallowing, the brunet reached out, gripping the dress' zipper with just the tip of his fingers in a vain attempt to limit his contact with Enjolras.

Finding it an impossible task, Grantaire grasped the top of the dress, and slowly pulled the zipper, shuddering as his knuckles grazed the blonde's spine. Then, in a true show of masochism, Grantaire slowly slid the dress off of Enjolras' shoulders, letting his fingers drag down the muscled arms.

Enjolras couldn't move. If only Grantaire knew how his touch burned his skin.

Behind him, the artist cleared his throat. "The dress is off. Good news for your lungs."

Enjolras couldn't breathe, regardless. He turned to face Grantaire, trembling.

"Are you okay?"

The blonde abruptly nodded. "Yeah. Sorry, just…just needed to catch my breath."

Grantaire raised a brow, and bent to retrieve the pajamas from the floor. "Here."

Enjolras stared blankly at the bundle, until he finally shook himself out of his reverie, and took them. "Thanks." He turned his back on the artist, and pulled the t-shirt over his head.

The dark-haired boy took the other's example, turning his back to pull on a t-shirt and shorts. He immediately climbed into bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin, as if they would somehow protect him.

Enjolras slowly turned to face the bed. "Do you…do you want me to turn out the light?"

Grantaire nodded. "Go ahead."

The blonde did as he was told, flipping the light out. The streetlamp outside gave just enough light for Enjolras to find his way to the edge of the bed without tripping. He crawled under the covers, taking care not to bump Grantaire.

The boys lay awkwardly side-by-side, staring at the ceiling, neither one really willing to admit that the bed wasn't really built for two.

Finally, Grantaire sighed. "This is ridiculous. Come here."

Enjolras turned his head to face the artist, one brow raised. "What do you mean?"

Grantaire extended his arms towards the revolutionary. "Come here."

"Ah." The blonde rolled over, looping an arm over the brunet's waist, and tucking his head under the other's chin.

"Better?"

Enjolras grinned, snuggling in tighter. "Yeah. Much better. Goodnight, Aire."

Grantaire pressed a kiss to the blonde curls. "Goodnight, Enjolras."