Enjolras shivered in the biting winter wind that tore through the city streets. It was December 23rd, a Thursday, and he was still trying to find the perfect gift for Grantaire. Not only was Christmas two days away, but their first anniversary was tomorrow. Enjolras had been searching every store in the town since the beginning of the month, but he wanted his present to his boyfriend to be spectacular. Grantaire was always the best at picking out gifts, so the pressure was on.
For their first Christmas together, seeing as they had only been together for two days, the couple had chosen not to do anything extravagant, instead spending the day baking cookies together for all their friends. That meant that the only occasion Enjolras had had to give Grantaire a present was for his birthday that past August. And, since Grantaire had just come back from visiting his parents that day, all Enjolras had to do was cook him dinner and treat him to some welcome home sex and he fell asleep happy. As fantastic as that had been, Enjolras knew it wouldn't be enough this time around. He wanted his boyfriend to have something he could keep that would remind them of their love every day. It was just so hard to find the right thing…
Finally Enjolras found the store he was searching for, the scent of apple cinnamon wafting out of the door as another customer exited the shop. The warmly lit sign above the doorway read "Feuilly's Art Supply." It was nothing remarkable, just a hole-in-the-wall, family-owned business, but it seemed like just the kind of place Grantaire could spend all afternoon wandering around. It had only recently opened, and it was all the way across town, so Enjolras guessed his boyfriend had not yet had the chance to explore it. Heck, the only reason Enjolras even knew it existed was because he had ransacked virtually every building in the city that had anything to sell. This was the last unexplored block. And, hopefully, the one that would bring him success.
Enjolras ducked inside, the bell on the door giving a cheery ring. "Hello!" a man's voice called from deep within the aisles of painting tools. "Can I help you find anything in particular?" A second later, the voice emerged, popping up from behind a shelf of canvases. He was either standing on a ladder, or inhumanly tall.
Enjolras glanced around the shop uncertainly. It looked promising, but he had no idea where to begin. "Um, I'm just looking around for now, thanks," he replied.
The man - who, as it turned out, had been atop a ladder - climbed down to greet Enjolras properly. "That's quite all right," he said, a welcoming smile spreading across his face. "My name is Feuilly. If you need anything else, just holler."
A sliver of Enjolras's pearly white smile crept out. "Thank you," he responded genuinely.
Shedding his coat and hat (but leaving on his favorite red scarf), Enjolras ventured deeper into the store, immersing himself among rows upon rows of things that he figured Grantaire might like. At least, lots of them involved colors. Grantaire's art tended to involve colors. The more he looked around, the more he realized that he knew absolutely nothing about art, and that his search was going to be fruitless unless he figured out what kinds of things an artist would really appreciate. What was the difference between all these types of brushes, and which did you use for what? How expensive was too expensive for watercolor paints? How cheap was too cheap? And hell, was an oil pastel not just a glorified crayon? Enjolras was beginning to feel like he had bitten off more than he could chew.
Suddenly, someone loudly cleared their throat behind him and Enjolras jumped, bumping into the shelf behind him and knocking a few tubes of paint onto the floor. "Oh my, I'm so sorry." Enjolras recognized the voice as Feuilly's.
"Oh, no, it's my fault. I'm a klutz," Enjolras replied. He bent down to pick up the paint tubes, reading each label and returning them to their proper section on the shelf.
Feuilly chuckled. "So...something tells me you aren't much of an artist. Am I wrong?"
Enjolras blushed lightly. "You're not wrong, no."
"I know this place can be kind of a maze, so please, allow me to help. Are you looking for something for yourself, or someone else?" Feuilly inquired kindly.
"Someone else," answered Enjolras. His mind drifted momentarily, and the tiniest of smiles flashed across his face as he pictured Grantaire at his most attractive: hard at work at his easel, with paint caking his hands and hair an unkempt mess. It would always make Enjolras want to sneak up behind him and plant sweet kisses all over his face. He could have become lost in his daydream, but Feuilly's questioning stare brought Enjolras back to reality. "Um, yeah," Enjolras stammered. "Yeah. My boyfriend is an artist and it's our anniversary and Christmas and I want to get him something nice."
Feuilly nodded knowingly. "Ah, boyfriend. I should have guessed. Well, what kind of art does he do?"
Crimson again tinted Enjolras's cheeks. "I...don't really know. Painting? Drawing? It seems like something different every day."
"Okay, all right, we can work with that. Follow me." Feuilly beckoned him toward the back corner of the store.
Upon arriving at the designated section of the little shop, Feuilly began explaining to Enjolras what they were looking at. "Over here we have some of our best sets of paint. You said he likes to do a little bit of everything, so he'd probably appreciate any of these sets. Acrylic, watercolor, oil...I've gotten fantastic reviews on all of them, you can't go wrong." Enjolras glanced at each set, imagining Grantaire unwrapping them on Christmas Eve.
"And over here, we have our sketchbooks," Feuilly continued. "We have quite the variety, so you're bound to found something that will suit your needs. Thick pages, removable pages, paper bound, leather bound, big, small, and some of them even come with pens! Take your time and look around here, I'm sure it will narrow down your search."
With that, Feuilly strolled back over to his spot behind the cash register, and Enjolras watched as another last minute Christmas shopper rushed up with a basket full of art supplies for kids. Enjolras turned back to the rack in front of him.
The sketchbooks seemed like they could be more personal than the paint sets. They came in such a variety of shapes and sizes and he was sure he could find one that would be just perfect for Grantaire. He laughed to himself when he saw one with the word "believe" written in purple watercolor-esque text over an orange background. That would be the last thing to get his boyfriend, unless he was trying to be ironic. He saw a pocket-sized one that looked like it was bound with an ancient map of the world. Next to it was one bigger than Enjolras's face, plain and spiral bound with hardy pages. Not this one, not that one…
Enjolras moved the front sketchbooks out of the way to explore the ones hiding behind them. They didn't seem to be organized in any particular fashion, which irked him, but he conceded that all the artists he knew tended to have cluttered minds. They would probably find it harder to find things if they were neatly laid out. After a few more minutes of browsing, Enjolras gasped. Down in the bottom corner, covered by a thin sheet of dust, was the most Grantaire thing he had ever hoped to find.
He picked the book up, cradling it gently in his hands. The pages were the size of normal printer paper, and very thick and sturdy, which Enjolras thought would probably withstand the heavy quantities of paint Grantaire was prone to using, along with any casual sketches he wanted to do. It smelled musty and natural. And, to top it all off, the binding was impeccable: smooth, pine green leather making the perfect durable casing for all of Grantaire's beautiful artwork.
By then, the other customer had finished paying for their purchases, and Enjolras ran up to the counter. He slammed the sketchbook down in front of Feuilly. "This is it!" he exclaimed. "This is what I've spent the last three weeks looking for."
Feuilly took the book and scanned it. "That'll be $30.48," he said, placing the sketchbook in a plastic bag. "And hey, I'll throw these in for free. We just got a new shipment in and I'd love to hear a review." He showed Enjolras a set of black drawing pens in different thicknesses.
"Oh my gosh, my boyfriend will definitely love them. And I'm sure he'll be nosing around here a lot more when he finds out this is where they're from. Thank you so, so much," said Enjolras gratefully. He dug his wallet out of his jacket pocket and handed over his nicely folded cash. "Here's 31."
"Right, 52 cents is your change. Have a lovely day, sir, and happy holidays!"
Feuilly was the best store owner ever.
The next day, Grantaire awaited Enjolras's arrival on the couch. He had just started up a fire in the fireplace and Enjolras was due home from work any minute. Sundays were always long days for Enjolras, because he used them as an opportunity to wrap up any leftover business from the week at the office. He was only interning at a well-renowned law firm, but he was by far the best intern they had, and he was always on a mission to prove himself. That ambitious little freak, Grantaire thought, closing his eyes and picturing his boyfriend coming home to him someday in a suit and tie, eager to tell him about the day's court cases. He strongly believed he would eventually see that specific image, and he didn't believe in very many things at all.
Finally, he heard the sound of the key in the front door lock, and the door opened, bringing with it a gust of chilling wind, made bearable by the appearance of Enjolras in the doorway. "Honey, I'm home!" Enjolras called into the house. Grantaire was only feet away.
"You dork," Grantaire gushed, running over to give his boyfriend a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. "God, you're freezing, get in here. How was your day?" He pulled Enjolras over to the sofa, which he had been nice enough to prewarm.
"I spent every minute just waiting until I got to see you," Enjolras answered.
Grantaire rolled his eyes. "As romantic as that sounds, I know how you get so lost in your work. You don't fool me."
He tossed a folded blanket at Enjolras, who smiled sheepishly. "I guess you're right," he admitted. "But that does not diminish the amount of longing that has thoroughly consumed my heart in the past week. I am truly sorry to have been so busy, especially around the holidays. But now I am yours for the taking."
"Oh, don't say that," Grantaire warned. "You don't mean it."
"But I do, monsieur," purred Enjolras. "Do what you want with me. I don't have much to give, but to my lover, I will offer all of me."
Grantaire could feel butterflies fluttering in his stomach, preparing to take flight. Enjolras was too perfect to be real. He loved the way he looked right now, with his golden curls wild but protected by his winter hat, his nose colored with that tinge of his favorite red from the cold, and best of all, his smile. Enjolras smiled like he knew he'd done something right, like he was a good boy, cleverer than all the rest. It used to drive Grantaire crazy, but he had become accustomed to it. Especially when the thing Enjolras was doing right was loving him.
"I will definitely be taking you up on your offer," Grantaire replied, scooting closer to his boyfriend on the couch.
Enjolras leaned over and kissed him sweetly on the lips, and Grantaire practically melted inside. But before he could completely fade away, he nipped Enjolras's bottom lip greedily. Enjolras pulled back in shock. "I told you to be careful," said Grantaire with a grin. "When you offer yourself to me there's no telling what I might do."
A pink tongue skimmed over Enjolras's bottom lip. "It didn't hurt," he decided. "In fact...I kind of liked it. I think." Seeing the enchanted look in Grantaire's eyes, he couldn't help but ask for more.
He crushed his face onto Grantaire's and deftly pushed his body down so he was lying under him on the sofa. The kisses were hard and rough and hungry, a side of Enjolras that Grantaire had been hoping to unleash for ages. Whenever they kissed, much like when they had sex, Enjolras was always sure to take things slow. Whether this was because of his inexperience or out of genuine concern for Grantaire's own comfort, there was no telling. Grantaire typically loved the sweetness and tenderness of his boyfriend, but he secretly craved his dirty side.
"Bite me again," Enjolras breathed.
Grantaire gave his lip a yearning tug and he could have sworn he heard Enjolras elicit a tiny moan. Fuck, was all that Grantaire could think. He didn't know how he could have found anyone sexier or more pure.
Enjolras began to run one hand over Grantaire's abdomen, still using the other to support himself. He toyed with the soft fabric of his t-shirt. Oh, how badly he wanted to give him everything. He'd been saving it up for so long.
"Apollo, wait," Grantaire choked out.
Enjolras stopped in his tracks. "What is it, my love? What's wrong?" His forehead crinkled with concern and Grantaire melted again.
"No, no, nothing's wrong. It's just...we should save this for later. I still want to have dinner and everything. And also give you a present. I don't want to tire you out before we get to that."
Enjolras sat back on his heels. "All right, that sounds good," he said agreeably. "I have a present for you too. Oh, but one thing?" Grantaire cocked an eyebrow. "You would definitely be the tired one."
Grantaire grinned and playfully shoved him off of him. "How do you feel about Chinese? I didn't really have any other plans."
"Sure," Enjolras replied. "Sounds great for a night in. Order the moo shu chicken, will you? And egg rolls. Lots of egg rolls."
"Gotcha."
While Grantaire called their go-to Chinese restaurant, Enjolras scurried to his bedroom. It was seldom used nowadays, since most nights he slept with Grantaire in his room. It was funny to think back to the days when they were just two unassuming housemates, living separate lives and only interacting when the milk ran out or the toilet was clogged. How much had changed.
At the very top of his bookcase, obscured by a few textbooks and trinkets, Enjolras had hidden his present for Grantaire. It was meticulously wrapped in red and green striped paper and tied together with a white ribbon. He had been quite inept at tying a bow, but he was determined to make everything perfect, so he spent an hour watching YouTube videos and practicing. If nothing else, he thought, he had added something new to his arsenal of holiday season skills.
Enjolras balanced himself atop his rocking chair and peered at the gift. Sure enough, it was still there, in the same condition he had left it. He had been checking up on it every couple of hours while he was home just to make sure. Sure of what, he didn't know. But just to make sure.
"Enj?" a voice startled him. He steadied himself against the wall but to no avail, he felt his foot slip on the arm of the chair and knew he was a goner. Enjolras whacked his hip against the arm of the chair before landing hard on his back. "Shit shit shit," Grantaire muttered, rushing in to help him.
"Ah, fuck," Enjolras swore. He laid still on the ground for a moment, the wind knocked out of him.
"Are you okay, babe?" Grantaire asked, touching his arm caringly.
"Yeah, I think I just got kind of banged up on the way down. Bruising is the worst possible outcome. And...oh, what's this?" Enjolras arched his back and pulled something out from under him.
"That would be the arm of the chair."
Enjolras couldn't help but let out a shallow laugh, careful not to intensify the ache in his back. "Shit," he said. "That was not supposed to happen."
Grantaire failed to find the humor in the situation. "Are you sure you're okay? That sounded like a hard fall."
"I'm fine, I'm fine, stop worrying. No need to mourn your fallen god. I just slipped, but I am a-okay. All right?" Enjolras gave Grantaire a reassuring smile, and after a second Grantaire smiled too.
"You know, you hardly ever swear. That may have been the most surprising part of this."
"Hardly ever swear?" Enjolras smirked.
"Um, outside of bed, that is," Grantaire corrected himself, cheeks warming. Enjolras loved when he could make him embarrassed. Not many people had that kind of power.
"Well," Enjolras confessed, "I usually don't feel the need to. Typically I am able to find other words to express what I want to say. The only exceptions are during sex -" he pointedly made eye contact with Grantaire - "or when I'm in pain."
"Aha! So you are in pain," exclaimed Grantaire.
Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Sure, in that moment, yes."
"Let me kiss it better. Where does it hurt?"
Enjolras took stock of his body. "I guess mostly my right hip."
So Grantaire knelt beside him and hiked up his shirt just enough to see Enjolras's belly button, and a thin trail of brown hair leading down into his pants. Don't get turned on, don't get turned on, Grantaire thought to himself. Enjolras happened to be thinking precisely the same thing. Grantaire hooked his fingers on the waistband of his boyfriend's jeans and yanked them down over his hipbone. He leaned down and touched his lips gently to the bony protrusion in the soft skin, channeling all his healing powers through the kiss.
"Oh, God," he said as he pulled back, "I can already see the bruising."
"Don't worry about it," Enjolras pleaded, reaching up to thread his fingers through Grantaire's dark curls. "You made it all better."
Grantaire removed Enjolras's hand from his hair and planted a kiss on his knuckles. Continuing to hold his hand, he lied down on the floor beside Enjolras.
"So why were you standing on a rocking chair?" Grantaire queried.
"You really want to know?" Enjolras asked. Grantaire nodded. "I hid your present up at the top of my bookshelf and I was just confirming that it was still there."
Grantaire snorted. "Where would it have gone? You know, for a fearless leader you really don't think things through."
"Shhh sh. That's enough out of you, monsieur."
Just then, the doorbell rang. "That must be the Chinese food. I'll go pay. Don't get into any more trouble while I'm gone, you hear?" Grantaire stood up and groped around for his wallet, looking down at Enjolras sternly.
"Oui, maman," Enjolras replied with a cheeky grin.
Soon, the pair was cuddled up on the couch with five containers of Chinese food on the coffee table in front of them. Enjolras had asked to put on a movie, and Grantaire had picked Up. He was a sucker for animated movies because of the incredible art, and although Enjolras would never admit it, he, too, had a soft spot for Pixar and its heartfelt stories. And especially the dog, Dug. He was just so darn adorable.
"How many egg rolls have you had?" Grantaire asked incredulously as Enjolras popped another one in his mouth.
"I dunno, six?" Enjolras guessed with his mouth full.
"Why don't you eat something else? We have some broccoli, you know. Are you familiar with broccoli?" teased Grantaire.
"Shut up," Enjolras protested. "Anyway, who are you to tell me what to eat, you skinny little twig?" He prodded his boyfriend in the ribs and Grantaire squealed.
"All these egg rolls are going to catch up to you later. When you're, like, 30, you're going to be sorry you didn't listen to me. And I will feel forever guilty for enabling you. Don't open the floodgates to so much regret." Grantaire grabbed the container of egg rolls from Enjolras's hands and replaced it with the carton of broccoli.
Enjolras picked up a piece with his fingers, sulking. "You're just mad that someday you won't have my 'godlike body' to enjoy for yourself." He popped the broccoli in his mouth and made a face.
"I'm only messing with you," Grantaire cooed, leaning into Enjolras's neck. He quickly claimed the soft flesh between his lips. He traced a line up and down with his tongue and Enjolras shivered. "Your body could never be anything but godlike." Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.
"Don't say those things. You'll only be disappointed later." Enjolras discarded the carton of vegetables onto the table and sank further into the couch, prompting a reprimanding nip on the neck from Grantaire.
"You have never disappointed me yet, my Apollo. But you should still eat your vegetables."
"Maybe you should have a few egg rolls yourself, beanpole." Enjolras snuggled closer into Grantaire's chest, then sat bolt upright, accidentally bumping heads with him. "Wait! Oh, sorry babe, but wait. Can we do presents?"
"Of course. But pause the movie, I don't want to miss anything," Grantaire replied.
"You've seen this a million times," said Enjolras.
"Dug's in the next scene."
"Where's the remote? I need to pause it. Can't miss Dug," Enjolras exclaimed, suddenly animated.
Grantaire tossed him the remote, which had been wedged between couch cushions. "You stay here. I'll go get my gift, and then I'll get yours, while standing on a very stable chair." Enjolras moved to stand up, but Grantaire pushed him down with an insistent hand. "I got you."
A minute later, he returned with two packages in his arms. His present to Enjolras was wrapped in simple gold wrapping paper, with a big red stick-on bow. It was wider and thicker than the wrapped sketchbook, but only slightly. "Open yours first," Enjolras ordered emphatically. "I can't wait any longer."
Grantaire complied, taking his seat next to Enjolras, whose skin radiated excited warmth. He placed the golden gift to the side and gripped the red and green one tightly. "This is a very nice bow, Apollo."
Enjolras's eyes immediately lit up. Like the sun, Grantaire thought. And truly, Enjolras knew he would have to harness the power of the sun to provide Grantaire with everything he deserved. "I can't believe you noticed. I worked for an hour on it. So it could be perfect."
"I love it. You don't need to try to make things perfect, babe. I love everything you give me. It makes me feel so, so good that you put so much effort into things for me." Grantaire paused, looking down at the package in his hands. "No one…" He gulped. "Sorry, just, no one has ever done anything like that for me before. How could it be you?"
Enjolras rubbed Grantaire's shoulder, palming the jagged intersection of his collarbone with his shoulder. "Just open it, sweetheart. I hope you like it."
Grantaire carefully slid the bow off the end of the package and carefully peeled off the taped edges of the paper so as to keep it intact. It surprised Enjolras that he was being so neat; it seemed unlike him. Maybe this gift really was as special to him as he was making it out to be.
Finally, the contents of the wrapping paper were revealed to Grantaire and his eyes widened. "Is this what I think it is?"
Enjolras raised his eyebrows. "What do you think it is?"
"I think it might be the fanciest sketchbook that I've ever owned. And pens!" Grantaire tossed the paper to the side and held the book in front of him, with the packet of pens taped on, in awe as if he were holding the Holy Bible. Not that he would ever look at a Bible that way. It was like he was afraid to touch it, not accepting that it was his. "You really got this for me?"
"Mhm," Enjolras confirmed. "It's all yours. Do you like it?" He asked the question already knowing the response.
"I do," murmured Grantaire. "I really do." He looked up at Enjolras and his eyes were glassy. He bit his lip uncertainly. "It's even my favorite color. You know me so well...I'm going to make really good use of this. Thank you, thank you, thank you."
Now Enjolras's eyes widened. "Don't cry, R! This is a happy moment."
Grantaire half-smiled. "Yeah, yeah, I know it is. I just can't help it. You're amazing, Apollo. I don't deserve even half of everything you give me."
"You deserve the world. Don't settle for anything less."
"My sun, you have given me the world and the heavens above. You have made me a greedy man and I can never go back," Grantaire said. He was getting back to his usual self, and he wiped his eyes dry.
"Never go, then. Stay with me."
"If you permit it, I will."
Enjolras leaned in for a tender, slow kiss, sealing the deal.
"Your turn now," Grantaire said as they pulled away from each other. He took a moment to look directly into Enjolras's eyes. They were so blue and serene, the only part of the man's body that didn't seem to be a physical embodiment of the sun. Although the flame would occasionally flash through them in moments of passion and excitement, they would always settle back to this clear, welcoming blue. They were the only reason Grantaire wasn't afraid to burn.
Then he reached down and picked up the golden gift, handing it to Enjolras. "No need to be as careful as I was unwrapping it," Grantaire laughed.
So Enjolras tore away at the paper haphazardly. "It's heavy," he remarked. Discarding the paper, he was presented with a white box. "You got me a box? Thank you so much!"
Grantaire only rolled his eyes.
Enjolras picked the tape off the edge of the box and opened it. Inside was a cylindrical container, made of ceramic. He took it out and held it in his hands. "Oh my gosh, it's beautiful," he breathed. Grantaire watched silently. He turned it around, taking in all of the designs. It was painted with red, orange, and gold swirls, starting dark at the bottom and fading to an ethereal white at the top. It looked like a burning star, in only a way that Grantaire would interpret it.
"It's a pen holder," Grantaire explained. "Since I know you live in a constant need of writing utensils, for like writing all your papers and stuff, I figured you could benefit from having a place where you'll always have them."
Enjolras smiled. "Did you make it?" he asked.
Grantaire swallowed. "Uh, yeah. I went to a pottery studio downtown to sculpt it and bake it, and then I painted it back home while you weren't around. And then I glossed it over."
"I love it, R. Seriously. In fact…" Enjolras reached into his pocket and pulled out three pens to put in the pen holder. Then he found the perfect place on the coffee table for it to rest temporarily so he could admire it.
"Oh, so that was just a pen in your pocket earlier and you weren't just happy to see me," Grantaire jested.
Enjolras's cheeks tinged pink but, determined not to show it, he threw a leg over Grantaire's and slipped his tongue inside his mouth. Grantaire easily relaxed into the kiss, linking his arms eagerly behind Enjolras's neck as if the kiss was that of excited, inexperienced teenagers. When his lips were interlocked with Enjolras's, he felt that kind of nervous and giddy energy every time.
And also, Grantaire noticed as Enjolras rocked his hips forward, that was definitely not just a pen in his pocket.
Grantaire swiftly flipped them over so he was on top and continued kissing Enjolras roughly, pulling on his lip. The skin on Enjolras's neck suddenly looked extremely inviting and he nuzzled into it, letting his body weight down. "Will you permit it?" he whispered into the crevice.
"Hm?" Enjolras replied dreamily.
"Can I stay with you forever? And live with you and kiss you and make you breakfast and draw you and paint you and make love to you? Can I spend every Christmas and anniversary by your side, and tell the world that I'm yours, that I belong to Apollo?"
All Enjolras could do was sigh happily and rub his cheek against Grantaire's messy hair, while reaching for the remote to restart the movie. "Yes," he answered. "I will permit it."