From the kink meme prompt: Enjolras starts dating Grantaire in the hopes of turning that devotion to him into devotion to Patria. It works and Grantaire leaves him for France.
"France," Enjolras whispers the name with a religious zeal, and it's like the sun shining through the clouds on the darkest of days. "France is the perfect mistress."
Grantaire, eyes covered with Enjolras' cravat and hands tied securely to the bedpost, is paying more attention to the touch of his golden Apollo's hands as they move across his bare chest than his words. But he listens, because it is Enjolras' voice, and he worships that voice above all others.
"France is wild, untamed," Enjolras continues in the same lowered voice, fingers curling in Grantaire's chest hair, and Grantaire shivers. How long has he dreamed of Enjolras touching him this way? It seems too long.
And yet he knows that Enjolras is only doing this because he in turn longs for his France, his Patria, and she is not yet within his grasp. Jealously stirs deep within his soul, but he continues to listen as Enjolras' thumbs brush over his nipples, resulting in a soft moan of wanting. He doesn't want this teasing, but if this is what Enjolras wants, he will take it, and he will be grateful.
"France is a warrior. France is willing to be possessed,to be taken, but she will not give up without a fight," Enjolras murmurs, and Grantaire wants to reply and say "Yes, yes, that is all fine and well, but I would rather be the one being possessed here." Instead he bites his tongue.
He should love to be unrestrained, to kiss that beautiful mouth, to push him back on the bed and fuck him into the mattress. He wants sex, not a lecture. But if it is a lecture he has to endure to gain Enjolras' love, than he shall. He closes his eyes underneath their blindfold, reveling in his Apollo's closeness, the slightest touch of his lips to Grantaire's jaw. "France shall love you until you die," Enjolras murmurs, his breath warm on his cheek.
And that sentence stirs something different within Grantaire.
Grantaire has never been loved. He has parents, yes, but they were barely around him as he grew, entrusting his upbringing to the care of a maid. He has had friends, but none have truly adored him. More often than not they simply tolerated him. And of course Enjolras, his bright shining Apollo, had despised him until very recently, and even now preferred to discuss nationalism rather than make love to him.
Perhaps there was something in Enjolras' words. Perhaps he could be loved by a country.
"France will forever be there to catch you," he was murmuring, his lips mapping a trail across Grantaire's collarbone. "She will love you for all that is good, and all that is wrong. The people that rise to protect her, she loves the most."
Grantaire was trembling for a different reason now, his arousal all but forgotten. He has heard these words before, but never spoken so softly, so intimately. He had joined the revolutionaries as an excuse to follow his Apollo, but now it occurred to him that there was a truth to their ideals.
He imagines her, France. What does she look like? A Marianne, her breast bared as she holds high the French flag, shouting "Vive la France!" in Enjolras' golden-toned voice, even as the fighting rages beneath her. He has heard of the painting, La Liberté guidant le peuple, but not once has he given it any thought. Now he sees it, clear as crystal in his mind. France will love him. He will love France, and she will return his love.
"France is…" Enjolras begins again, but this time Grantaire cuts him off.
"Enjolras. Stop playing this silly game and release me," he commands in crisp tones, and his voice is filled with a purpose that it has never contained before.
He can sense Enjolras' confusion, and for some reason it delights him. For years he has chased Enjolras, but that period in his life is over. He will always love his Apollo, but it is France who required him now.
"Release me," he repeats sternly.
And then his bonds were loosened, his eyes uncovered, and the cynic saw clearer than he ever had.
"Thank you," he responds, sitting upright and grasping his shirt, beginning to dress himself. He knows Enjolras is staring at him, but he does not care. Enjolras does not need him the way Grantaire had needed him. There would be no more games of pretend.
"Are you feeling alright?" Enjolras asks, and his voice is hesitate, almost worried. What Grantaire would have given to heard that tone before tonight!
"On the contrary, I feel better than I have done in a long time," Grantaire replies cheerfully, standing up and tousling Enjolras' curls (an action he would never have dreamed of doing before, but he has a new-found confidence in his love now). "The next meeting is tomorrow night, I believe? I shall see you then."
"But Grantaire…-!"
"Tomorrow." Grantaire is firm.
He loves Enjolras still, but he has more pressing issues to deal with.
Grantaire has a new mistress now, and her name is Patria.