Relief
Summary: Local sex god Enjolras finds someone who interests him every week. After having sex with them, he never talks to them again. Bartender Eponine looks on and shakes her head at it, until she gets drawn into his stress-relief. E/E
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I just make them do things.
AN: Happy belated birthday my dear Tracy! I hope this lives up to your expectations, and to the prompt you gave me all those months ago…
It's been a while since he found a man he considered interesting enough to pick up. Last week was the first time in several months that she'd seen him kiss a man and grab his hand on the way out the door, carrying his stupid bag with textbooks and highlighters of various colors. She knows he has no care whatsoever for gender when he needs to blow off steam or relieve stress, so the sight no longer surprises her like it does the vapid gossip mongers on campus.
"Is he gay now?" the buxom blonde at the bar asks her. "I heard he picked a guy last week, and I was really hoping to get my chance. They say he's the king of multiples."
Multiple orgasms, that is. He never goes for multiple occasions, when he can spend one night a week at a bar, doing some homework, and pick up someone new every single time. He has – apparently mind-blowing – sex with them and moves on right after. Because he never cares about anything other than the sex.
"He is entirely indiscriminate when it comes to gender," she tells the girl, not sure why she would try to assure this girl about her chances with the great Enjolras. "All that he requires is for the person to interest him in some way."
When the girl puffs out her chest in response, she wonders what the girl's definition of interesting would be to have her act like that. She sincerely doubts that Enjolras is in any way interested in plastic, but then again, he never stops surprising her.
It's been almost a year since he first came into her place of work and dropped a pile of textbooks onto the table – one of her first customers of the night. When the crowd got going, he closed the books and picked up the girl in the corner who was stood up on a date. She watched it with a roll of her eyes, because she'd seen pick-up artists like him at work before and they were never anything special – they were also out of this place the minute she saw their first broken hearts appear on whatever person she could find. The boss may not like the loss of business, but she won't stand for anyone being treated like shit – she knows the feeling too well.
His broken hearts showed up quite late in the game, after she'd seen him pick up people for weeks and months on end. When she first saw someone mooning over him and getting weepy-eyed, she actually dreaded having to kick him out on his ass, and then she talked to the weepy-eyed dude in question and got the surprise of a lifetime. It was all about the curly-haired blond who picked a new person every week, on the same day of the week, and it was he who had made sure the crowds in her uncle Jean's bar kept growing larger every week. She needed the money, and most of all; she actually started talking to him. He wasn't a complete asshole, like she thought he would be.
Still, she'd punch him in the nuts if he ever tried his crap on her. One night, and then no contact ever again? He'd violate his rules just by ordering a beer from her, and she would never consent to be thus dismissed by anyone.
Oh, she's still curious, of course she is. Of course she wants to know what a night of bliss would be like, and of course she occasionally fantasizes about what one perfect night of sex would be like with him. And then she puts her fantasies aside and gets to work, because the tap needs to be cleaned and there are always people who need her – uncle Jean's grooming her for manager, she can tell.
"He's coming over," the young woman is putting her assets on display.
While she approves of woman's dominion over their own body, she knows Enjolras well enough to know he's not interested in anyone overtly displaying their interest in him. He always goes for the more curious people, the ones whose smile he likes, or the ones that make him smile in return by the way they sip their drink. He can find the smallest thing about a person and fall in love with it for the night. It can be something as simple as a wrinkle of the nose or the pull of an earlobe that makes him decide that this is the person he is going to spend the night with.
He has yet to find someone today, and she watches Enjolras make his way over to the bar, wearing that damn red shirt that she told him acted like a banner on a bunch of horny bulls, and a pair of jeans that have certainly seen much better days. So it is a casual night today, and he would be looking for someone a bit more down to earth to complement him.
"Your usual?" she asks him when he reaches her.
"Thanks, Éponine," he always takes care to pronounce her name just right.
It is silly, but she appreciates the small things he does to make her more comfortable with him and his strange ways, just likes she helps him choose the right person – she doesn't want him to choose someone who'll be heartbroken when he never contacts them again. She doesn't want him to pick someone who can't see him as an actual person rather than just a dick to ride on. Even though that's what he claims to want, she has to push him in the right direction sometimes.
She hopes that one day he will meet someone he wants to see again.
"Working the crowds again?" she prods, hoping he's spotted someone.
Oh, it's not that she wants him out of there. It's just a part of their shtick, one they have developed slowly over the last year or so. She just always teases him about his crowd-drawing ways, while she racks up the profits every week and occasionally offers him drinks on the house. He rarely accepts, but she offers anyway.
"My luck knows its limits tonight, sadly," he speaks his best words with her.
At least, that is how he described it once, and she has always found it odd that the student body vice-president and leader of the infamous ABC society would only have his best words around her. She is merely a recurring side character in his life, just as he only features in hers on these weekly visits.
They're not friends. They're bar buddies at best.
"Pray, what be these limits," she finds herself wittier than usual.
"I can't seem to make someone appear who holds my interest," he leans in close to say this, warm breath on the skin of her neck.
That should not affect her, seeing as customers often lean in to place their orders if the bar is crowded enough – and on nights when the great Enjolras is present, the bar is always crowded enough. So she gets breath and the occasional spittle on the side of her neck, and a simple breath from an almost bar buddy shouldn't mean a thing.
It doesn't mean a thing.
"Man or woman tonight?" she asks so casually, scanning the crowd.
"I have no particular preference tonight," he shrugs, moving back just a bit.
She has learned months ago not to ask him for his reasons, because he is almost as stubborn as she is and it isn't good business to be seen vehemently arguing with one of the customers, even though it was merely a spirited debate on sexuality and its many forms. It may not have been worded so carefully, since she has a tendency to be rather crass in the heat of an argument. That might be why she never made it any further than community college. Not that she cares.
Enjolras can keep his fancy university talk and his law school stories and he can shove those words up his well-formed ass. She's not here to listen to bullshit.
"What are you doing tonight?" his next comment makes her hit her elbow on the bar.
"No," she doesn't even flinch with the response.
Sure, she has seen her share of drunken men showering her with flowery words, and even more drunken men trying to get something because they're horny and she's just there – but she never thought she'd have to add Enjolras to that list. It's not what he means, she knows that much, but she is not looking for trouble.
Enjolras is trouble.
"What time do you get off work?" he comments, making it seem like a simple question.
He may be trying to seem casual, but she can sense the serious case of bedroom eyes coming from him, as he appears to be re-evaluating her place in his life. She's sure that he's mentally making a file on her responses to his everything until now, and that he would use the file with just a word from her.
"Stop giving me the elevator eyes there," she doesn't raise her voice, but she makes herself perfectly clear nonetheless. "I said I wasn't interested."
And he's no typical douche, so he backs up from the bar a bit – but for some stupid reason he doesn't walk away from her altogether. If he thinks he can convince her with a nice smile to walk out on her work for a night of sex – however great the sex is told to be – he is a bigger idiot than she ever thought he could be.
"I'm at work," she tries to make him leave. "Do you need another drink?"
"What?" he appears to be missing her point.
"Don't play games with me," she warns. "I'm not one of your one night stands."
While waiting for him to either respond or turn around, she pours a tray full of drinks for a table of regulars and smiles kindly at the blushing girl who picks them up and hands her a few bills, with a motion to keep the change. The girl has been around a few times and has once been lucky enough to capture Enjolras' interest – he hasn't spoken to her since and she blushes every time she comes near him.
"I'm pretty sure you don't have something against me personally," Enjolras is now musing out loud, holding up the other people who want drinks. "I am wondering why you would object to a consensual arrangement on principle?"
He's right; she doesn't have something against his person, but she thinks the way he spends his nights is a bad idea. And she doesn't particularly want to be involved in his business in that way. She may not punch him in the nuts, but she is pretty ready to be rid of him for the night.
Still, he provoked her argumentative tendencies, and she has to respond.
"All these women and men just say yes because they expect something more than one night and eternal silence," she keeps pouring drinks while talking, not wanting his stupid comments to keep her from doing her job. "I'm not saying that it's not consensual, but you can't treat people like you're doing! You just walk right out the door and never talk to them again! That is terrible behavior, no matter what you think!"
Not to mention that it is terribly unprofessional if he runs into any of these people again in the future, say, when he is a lawyer. That might get awkward – and it is really going to limit his future client base. Heck, he'd have to start frequenting a completely different bar if she had agreed to sleep with him. That is just not healthy.
"It is a perfectly valid arrangement," he starts using his hands to further punctuate his argument, and she tries not to watch his fingers move in graceful arcs. "Every single one of these men and women know what they are getting themselves into, and if they don't agree to the terms they can walk away. It is like a contractual engagement."
Oh, this guy has no idea how much his myth has spread and how much people would promise to be the one he chooses, at least for one night. He does not know the idea of regret or stupid drunken decisions. He is never drunk. He does not err.
"There is such a thing as regret," she slams the shots down on the bar in front of a startled customer. "People don't make their best decisions when they're drunk or lonely, and when they regret it you've already left them behind without a second glance."
Enjolras doesn't have an obvious tell, but the widening of his eyes is obvious enough for her to notice. Something she said has actually surprised him. She doesn't stop to bask in the glow of it, because she has a job to do, and she spots Courf at the other end of the bar, looking like he's in desperate need of a drink. The distinct lack of a book bag on Enjolras' shoulder should have told her that he had his friend with him.
"Get him a person," she tells Courf when she pours him his favorite shot. "I beg of thee."
Dan Courfeyrac is not Enjolras' best friend, but he is the president of the Sex God Enjolras club, and the most supportive of the Amis when it comes to his friend's unusual way of relieving stress. He's a flirtatious dork, and she would consider him one of her favorite customers. Also, he can deal with Enjolras when she's done with him.
"Apparently he hasn't found anyone, even though half the bar is here just for him," she raises her hands to the sky briefly and eyes him from the corner of her eye.
"I don't think he even knows about his reputation," Courf chuckles. "He has always been spectacularly oblivious when it comes to romantic or sexual interest."
She doesn't know Enjolras well enough to tell, so she'll gladly take Courf's word for it and pour more drinks while she makes sure he can get his friend out of the way. She is pretty damn uncomfortable after his unusual questions.
"Any advice?" Courf asks, being subtle about eyeing the crowd.
"Anyone but me," she blurts out and turns back in Enjolras' direction.
Oh, she can feel Courf gaping at her even though she cannot see him, but she does not turn around. Instead, she waits for Enjolras to either finish their argument or leave the vicinity of the bar. She's going to let him figure out whatever the fuck he wants to do.
"I'm sorry," he speaks up, completely flooring her.
It looks stupid, she knows, but she quickly pinches the skin near her wrist to make sure that he is actually saying what she thinks he is saying. She blinks slowly, trying to give herself more time to respond, even though she can't think of anything to say that won't make her sound like a rude, ungrateful bitch.
"Can you get me another of my usual?" Enjolras requests politely. "And my bill?"
"Of course," she manages to stammer.
Even though she can prepare drinks in her sleep or just with her eyes closed, her hands won't cooperate as she pulls out his bill for the night. Why would he even want his bill when he has not found his person of interest yet? He usually finds someone and has a couple of drinks with them, either over his books or just talking.
This is new.
"Here you go," she hands him the drink and the bill in one go.
"Keep the change," he smiles politely as he hands her a wad of bills.
She rolls her eyes at his stupid chivalry. She definitely does not watch him walk back to his table, and especially doesn't keep watching him out of the corner of her eye after he sits back down. It's just that something is rotten in the state of Denmark. Something is off about him, and about this entire situation.
It is strange, but she can feel his gaze on her, long after he walks out of the bar – without anyone on his arm.
Something is wrong and she doesn't understand.
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After not seeing him around for three weeks, she was getting seriously worried about his well-being. She'd seen Courf around exactly once and he looked at her funny when she asked about Enjolras. That stopped her from inquiring after him again until she saw him again, triumphantly taking home the very plastic who was asking about his sexuality just weeks earlier. He didn't even look at her, let alone talk to her.
She'd gotten the freeze-out without getting the mind-blowing sex.
"Why are you not walking funny?" the brash redhead asks her plastic friend as soon as they sit down at the bar. "I realize it's been about a week since the greatest sex of your life, but you banged the great Enjolras. You should be smiling furtively and blushing at the slightest provocation. You should not be making that nasty face."
Now this conversation she is very curious about. It's sad that she is so drawn in by petty gossip, but it involves her absolute favorite topic of the moment, and since Courf isn't giving her anything, she's just going to have to find new sources. Even if those sources are extremely unreliable and she's just going to get another story about how Enjolras rocked this girl's world and never spoke to her again.
"I deserve to make the nasty face," the girl complains, scrunching up her face so she looks like she smelled something foul. "Bartender, a round of shots for the table."
Her pouring has never been faster, since she is positively dying to hear every word in this conversation – maybe that way she can figure out what is ailing Enjolras and why he's treating her like they did have sex.
"What happened?" the third member of the group, another blonde, is curious.
"So, like, when we got to the bedroom," the supposedly lucky girl slams down a shot before getting on with the rest of her story, "I figured we'd just get straight to the sex – but he actually wanted to talk about my fucking expectations for the night. I just wanted sex with the best lay in town – those were my expectations!"
Of course she'd have absolutely no regard for the person behind the dick, but something about her must have interested Enjolras enough to take her home. Hell, maybe the sound of her laughter is beautiful or she winks awkwardly or cutely. She can't understand what draws him to someone, but she knows something must have done so, or he would not have gone home with this young woman.
"It was like he wanted me to agree to some sort of verbal contract," the girl rolls her eyes so hard she's almost worried about them dislodging, "and then when that was done he wanted to take it slow! Slow! I don't want slow! I want a great fuck!"
Great fucks don't have to be fast. She herself has wondered about what it would be like to be able to take her time and explore each other, slowly getting more and more frantic with need. She has pondered what it would be like to have really great sex with multiple orgasms and hours upon hours of fucking or lovemaking or whatever they would decide to call it. Sadly, the two people making up that "they" in her mind always seems to involve her and Enjolras together, at least lately. That was bad.
"I had to fake it to get him to leave," she sighs. "I don't know where he got the reputation of being great, but the person who gave it to him must have been sick in the head!"
Does not compute. This does not fucking compute!
She has seen scores of men and women swearing up and down that Enjolras was the best they'd ever had and how they'd never be the same after this, and here comes this girl that swears the exact opposite: that Enjolras is actually bad in bed. She cannot even imagine him being bad in bed. It is just not possible.
"Seriously?" the other blonde is gaping at her friend.
"He wasn't bad, really," suddenly the argument is more nuanced. "He just wasn't good, and I really don't like faking it. Like, if he isn't rocking my world, he shouldn't think he did. And this guy knew. I really think he knew he wasn't doing it for me."
All of a sudden the situation is too awkward for her to stick around, because she knows Enjolras, she's talked to him and actually found him a pleasant person to talk to and an interesting debate opponent. She knows him as more than his reputation and to hear people talk about him in this way is weird to her now – it could have been her on that chair, complaining. She'd never talk about him like that, but she could have been in the unsatisfying – or unsatisfied – position and she would be just as worried about him as she is now. Something is up with the great Enjolras.
"Éponine," she hears a familiar voice and rushes away from the conversation.
"Hey Courf," now she has to pretend his reappearance isn't weird. "Your usual?"
As usual, Courf is out with a friend, but this time the friend in question is not blond and curly-haired, rather a flustered guy with freckles who'd be kinda cute if he wasn't so obviously playing with his wedding ring.
"Beers for me and my friend Marius," Courf points to his married buddy.
"Where's your usual partner in crime?" she has to ask again.
It is stupid that she even worries about someone she doesn't even know, but as they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. She hasn't talked to him for like a month and she misses their arguments about the weirdest things. She misses the stupid highlighters and the bricks he calls textbooks. She even misses his stupid face.
"You're the Eponine," the man named Marius stares at her. "You're why we're here."
They have some excellent beers on tap, so she occupies herself with that while she tries to digest what this Marius guy is trying to tell her. They – or at least, Marius – came here just to see her? What the fuck is that all about?
"What the hell did I do?" she rolls her eyes and sets down the beers in front of them.
"You broke Enjolras," Marius replies.
That statement just makes no sense, because all she did was have another argument with Enjolras. They have them all the time, and this one wasn't that different. At least, it was not different enough for him to completely change his modus operandi and to abandon her and the bar. It was not enough for his friends to show up just to see her because she did some indescribable thing that apparently broke him.
"You're going to need to give me more than that," she tries to hide her impatience.
"He's in love with you," Courf just lays it out for her.
She drops two glasses, immediately ducking down under the bar to clean up the mess she has created – this one is much easier to clean up than the mess she has somehow created in Enjolras' life. She doesn't even know what she did, she is just on her knees behind the bar, wondering if she said something or anything that betrayed her own growing interest in Enjolras. She isn't in love with him – of course not, she hardly even knows him – but she would be interested in finding out more about him. Not just sex though, she is interested in him for more than that.
That is the curious part – she wants to know what makes him smile, and she wants to see all the little things about him that he has seen in so many strangers. She wants to sit down across him in his booth and push the stupid books away until he can't focus on anyone but her. She didn't even know that she felt this way until now.
How could she not have known?
"Any reason why he's not here to tell me that himself?" she stands up.
"All I know is that he came to me for advice," Marius leans in as if the information he is going to reveal is strictly confidential, "on how to make love to you. He knows all about sex, or so we've heard, but he knows nothing of love. He is trying. For you."
Well, she would be lying if she said that she was not in the slightest bit moved by that idea. He is just as stunned by his feelings as she is, and on this cold winter night, she wishes she could talk to him about something, anything that catches his interest, because her shifts are always better when he's there.
Sure, the crowds have lessened somewhat after he was MIA for a few weeks, and she envisions them getting even smaller if Enjolras ever gathers up the courage to come talk to her again. But they'll deal with that when the time comes. If it ever comes.
"I won't reject him if he comes to me," that's all she can offer.
Words of friends can only do so much, if Enjolras is not willing to come and tell her about his feelings himself. She needs to hear this from him if she is ever going to gain the courage to jump in and start something with him.
"I'll pass on the message," Courf sounds resigned.
"Thanks," she turns around.
There is always more work to do here.
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It's been almost three weeks since Courf and Marius showed up with Enjolras' declaration of love, and she still hasn't seen the man himself. The cowardice is not particularly stunning, coming from a man who deals with his feelings by letting off steam through sex and a ton of avoidance. Or he just doesn't deal with them at all, as is exemplified by his distance from her over what is now almost two whole months. He has been avoiding her for almost eight weeks and she is getting tired of it.
Even this night, he does not show. She only has about twenty minutes left of her shift and he has yet to show up. At this point, she is beginning to despair that he will ever show up, and she wonders if his friends were wrong about his feelings for her. Surely if he really loved her, he would have at least shown up by now.
"You have a visitor," Azelma always has her back.
The crowds haven't lessened, like she thought they would. In fact, it's only getting busier with the continued mystery of Enjolras and why he has disappeared. So she had to call in her sister to help her out behind the bar, even though the girl really should be studying for her upcoming exams. Her sister is doing well at university, even though she can always use some extra cash. Scholarships never cover everything.
"I'm working," she shouts in return.
"For nineteen more minutes," Azelma sounds amused. "Just turn around, Eppie."
It is her sister's tone of voice that makes her turn around, because Azelma sounds amused, surprised, and in awe all at once. She wonders what kind of person would be able to have that effect on her, so she has to turn around and see.
"Hello Éponine," Enjolras smiles softly.
"Enjolras," she tries to play it cool in return. "It's been a while."
Maybe it's stupid, but she has to get a dig in at his tardiness. While she hasn't just been waiting for him to show, it's still been in the back of her mind constantly throughout the last three weeks, and it's made her jumpy and at times, ridiculously emotional. She's been from anger to sadness and back just in the last day or so.
"I'm an idiot," he tells her, leaning in closer.
"You won't hear me say anything to the contrary," she snipes at him. "Why now?"
She figures that they might as well dive straight into this conversation and get all of the drama over and done with. After all, she only has less than twenty minutes left on her shift and Azelma is right there to take over if it becomes necessary for her to do so.
"Because I'm just as scared as you are," Enjolras finally admits it.
"How about you two continue this conversation in the back?" Azelma smiles sweetly, but the annoyance underneath is obvious. "It's not professional. And I'm jealous."
That last bit is probably the thing that is the real issue here, and she honestly cannot blame Azelma for it. Sure, her sister isn't interested in Enjolras or his stupid reputation, but Azelma's been single for a good long while now, and she wants to fall in love. And she doesn't want her sister to rub her future happiness in her face, even though her possible thing with Enjolras is still a tangled, thorny mess.
"Back room it is," she shoots her sister a grateful smile. "I'm taking my shift drink."
Enjolras doesn't follow her right away, just watches as she pours herself a drink, follows it up with a drink for him, and takes both glasses and heads in the direction of the empty back room. She's almost reaches the door before Enjolras finally seems to get the point and lets Azelma push him through the opening and behind the bar.
"There's a good boy," Azelma teases, smirking proudly.
"Stop that, 'Zelma," she warns as she pushes Enjolras into the empty back room.
The clank that sound when she lets the glasses hit one of the tables seems to startle Enjolras even more. She is more than a little annoyed, but she figures that she might as well start clearing things up for him, so she moves past Enjolras again to lock the door behind them. At this point, she really does not want to be disturbed.
And apparently neither does Enjolras, because when she turns back to face him she finds him closer than she expected, effectively caging her in against the door. His arms on either side of her face, his eyes can't seem to focus their gaze on anything but her lips and her heaving chest, and she watches his want closely.
"Just kiss me already, you ass," she yanks him even closer to her, letting him press her against the door with the force of their kisses.
Oh, yes, this is even better than she could ever think of – his warm and solid weight pressing her up against the door while his tongue finds hers in a kiss that is positively toe curling in its intensity. Her shift drink all but forgotten, she kisses Enjolras instead, wondering how he knows exactly how she likes to be kissed – all passion and tantalizing teases of more to come. With every press of lips she wants more of him.
"I'm in love with you," he breathes against the skin of her neck.
"I know," she pulls a Han Solo, a pleased smirk on her face.
That just makes him tease her more, pressing teasing kisses to her jaw, her nose, her eyelids, her earlobes, the back of her neck, her collarbone – everywhere he can reach to tease her with the soft pressure of his lips before he withdraws again, never quite touching her enough. He is drawing it out now, ever so slowly moving his kisses downward to the curves of her breasts while his hands settle on her sides. Whenever she thinks that he will finally apply tongue and teeth to ease the ache that is slowly forming, he instead moves back to apply harmless kisses on her jaw and her collarbone and then finally on that sensitive spot behind her ear.
"Oh," she is left almost incoherent.
"Do you love me?" he whispers in her ear.
That is what this is about then, she realizes. He wants her to admit it, and she's tempted to let him stew for a little while longer, but then he places the beginning of a hickey on the side of her neck, finally giving her the pressure she craves so badly.
"Yes," she moans. "I love you."
"That's all I need to know," he steps back and gives her space.
Oh, this is what things are going to be like, huh? He is just going to tease her into incoherency to get her to admit her every secret, because he can play her body like she is his finest instrument and his fingers can just pluck her strings until she sings for him on command. And she sings so beautifully under his hands.
"Don't play me, Enjolras," she warns, breathing heavily.
"It's Gabriel," he tells her. "Call me Gabriel."
She mouths the name silently a few times, trying to get a feel for saying it – because if they keep going like this she will be moaning that name a lot tonight. His name is Gabriel, and she will call him Gabriel from now on. She knows his name and he loves her and this is different. She is more to him than some one-night-stand and when they wake up – together – tomorrow morning, he will still talk to her.
"Why did you stop, Gabriel?" she practically purrs at him.
"Because our first time making love will not take place against this door," he responds, taking deep, slow breaths. "I would like to take you home with me instead."
So, he definitely has a point there. Sure, she has no objections against doing it right the fuck now against this very door – though it'd be kinda unhygienic – but it would be more respecting of her place of work and their budding relationship if they actually made it to a bed for their first time. And it's even better that he wants it to be his bed, because that way he will not be able to leave her in the middle of the night and never speak to her again – because while she knows that he does not speak words of love often, there is still worry left in the back of her mind. She is not going to make it easy for him.
"We're talking first," she crosses her arms.
"Do we have to do this now?" he sits down on a random stool.
Are they actually going to take the time to discuss any potential issues? Wow, that is a surprise, coming from a guy like him who never deals with his fucking feelings. He prefers to fuck rather than feel, and this sudden turnabout is weird enough for her to need some time to deal with it. Just, he loves her now? She needs more info.
"We can't do this later?" he tries.
"Hell no," she rolls her eyes. "Now."
He is going to have to be resigned to this, as it appears he is, because she is not going home with him until she gets some damn answers. She wants him, sure, and she even loves him, yes, but she wants to be sure about this before they proceed.
"Your feelings for me," she sits down a few stools over from him. "When did you realize you had those? How long ago did they even make their first appearance?"
She crosses her legs and waits for an answer, figuring that she stated her inquiries clearly enough. It feels a bit odd, asking him these things outright like they're either in an interrogation or playing truth or dare. But she wants to know, and he's already made her wait way too long – he didn't show up for three weeks after his friends talked about his feelings, and that was after four or so weeks of hardly talking to her. He deserves to sweat for a little while until she feels like kissing him again.
"I think I've had them for much longer than I even know," he shrugs, and it looks really awkward on him. "We've been talking for months now, and I've always appreciated your company, but things changed. I tried to keep you separated from my stress relief, because we were almost friends, but then I couldn't find someone. And you were gorgeous, and kind, and you were there and you got goose bumps when I leaned in and talked to you – and I was a goner. That was it. And then you rejected me."
With those words, she is left sitting there, gaping at him awkwardly as he lays himself bare before her. Has it really been going on that long for him? He knew on that night, two months ago, and he didn't do anything about it until now? This is astonishing!
"I've had feelings for you for months now," he continues to talk. "I don't even know how many months. Four, five, six maybe? I just didn't realize it until that night."
Six months? Six whole months of these feelings and she never got an inkling of them? He must be really good at hiding his feelings, even from himself. Nothing that he said during those months showed that he had any kind of romantic feelings for her – not that he is the kind of guy who would act on it. This is the guy who fucks strangers instead of dealing with the stress in his life – and romance does not fit into that life.
"Why me?" she blurts it out before even thinking about it.
"Because you understand it, somehow," he smiles at her, luring her to move one seat closer to his. "You see me as an actual person, and most of the others just seem interested in what I can do for them sexually."
Well, yes, because the others know him only as the local sex god who is handing out screaming orgasms like they're free samples at the mall. They don't know the guy who gives smiles like badges of honor – only to those who are worth it to him – and is always ready to listen to what his friends have to say. And he's never one to turn down a spirited debate about anything. That is the Gabriel Enjolras that she fell for, but it is not the great Enjolras that the people of this city know.
"Well, you have a bit of a reputation," she gently tries to break it to him.
The baffled look she receives in response is the biggest surprise that she never would have seen coming. She could never have imagined that he was completely unaware of the reputation he had around town. He just looks like a lost little lamb after her mere mention of his reputation, and while she kinda doesn't want to hurt his feelings, she thinks that he deserves to know. And his response might be priceless.
"You are the town Sex God, Gabriel," she looks him right in the eyes as she tells him.
"I'm what?" he stammers, slack-jawed with surprise.
"People noticed that you picked up someone new every week," it is difficult to explain this without hurting his feelings. "And then the stories came in from the people who'd actually slept with you. The feedback was overwhelmingly positive. A lot of people got curious and they've been trying to get with you ever since."
After she finishes talking, the silence is positively deafening. His blue eyes are wide, his mouth pursed, and he's grasping at the underside of his barstool with clenched fingers that have almost turned white. He is baffled and angry all at once, because he greatly dislikes gossip, and because he had no idea that this was going on.
"What?" he manages to speak.
"Someone had to tell you," she finds it hard to look at him when he is trying to stare into her soul so intently. "But yes, that's why so many people want to be with you."
There is a resigned sigh from Gabriel, and he looks away from her for a little while before sitting up straight on the barstool yet again. He has some sort of plan.
"Now it's my turn to ask the questions," Gabriel smirks slightly.
"You can ask, but if you'll get answers…" she trails off meaningfully.
After all, he did make her wait almost two months before he showed up himself – his friends may have shown up sooner, but that was probably without his knowledge or consent, so it makes no difference in the amount of waiting she had to do. Sure, they told her that Gabriel had feelings for her, and that he loved her, but she had no reason to believe that information until he came to tell her the truth himself. And that took him almost two months to accomplish – he deserves to suffer a little bit.
"Two months, Gabriel," she reminds him none too gently.
"I'm sure I can do something to apologize for that later," he grins at her.
Judging by that grin, this apology wouldn't exactly involve words of sorrow – or any words at all, as a matter of fact. He isn't normally the type to leer, and she wants to punch herself for even revealing his stupid reputation because she doesn't want it to change him. She doesn't want him to be too aware of the power he can wield, because even though he does not tend to arrogance, she likes the no-nonsense way he has about him when it comes to his relationships. She doesn't expect him to become a romantic or a Don Juan – she just wants silly but passionate Enjolras, the one she fell for.
"Like, say, properly apologize?" she doesn't just want sexual favors from him.
"That too, of course," the leer is gone and he smiles softly. "We can talk about this – we will talk about this – later. In the morning, maybe."
He will still talk to her in the morning, even after all they will undoubtedly do together this night – she has no patience to wait for him any longer, and after their kissing earlier, the fuel poured on the fire has almost exploded with her want for him.
"I do have feelings for you," she tells him that much.
"Good," he grins at her.
"Now, take me home before I tire of waiting," she teases, reaching for him.
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It takes them way too long to actually make it to his apartment, because they get distracted oh so easily by hands touching and mouths meeting.
When they do finally make it inside of his apartment she is surprised that he doesn't immediately press her up against the door so that they can pick up where they left off in the back room – and on the way to his apartment. He just locks the door behind them and as she awkwardly kicks off her shoes – her feet hurt after an entire shift of being on her feet – he says nothing at all, leaving an awkward silence that's hard to break.
So she doesn't break it, instead choosing to step closer to him, pulling him close for a kiss, trying to convince him without words that she wants him and loves him and needs him to make love to her already.
Right now it's hard enough to get him to kiss her back.
"Gabriel?" she breaks away, trying to figure out how she fucked up.
He almost jumps at that, obviously deep enough in thought to almost forget that she was there, and she can't help but wonder if this is what he did with all the other girls. And that is when she realizes that this is exactly the problem: she is not like the other girls and guys that he has been with. He loves her and he has taken her to his home and he still wants to talk to her in the morning. He is just really fucking terrified.
So she plants a peck on his cheek and then begins to take off his coat, working on the buttons and the hidden zipper and cursing him for picking such complicated clothes today – even though he does cut a fine figure right now, standing in the hallway with her, his red coat slowly sliding off his shoulders and onto the floor.
That still doesn't make him respond, so she plants another kiss, a brief one, on his mouth, and she gets to work on the buttons of his shirt. She is actually starting to expose some bare skin now, and the hollow of his throat has never looked so tempting to her – as he swallows nervously, she sees the first hints of sweat that she would have no problem licking off in attempt to figure out what his skin tastes like.
When the nervous gulping is the only response she gets from his end, she figures that she might as well go for it, so she moves her mouth to his jaw first, and then on a slow but steady journey down. Sure, his neck is tempting, but with a few more opened buttons on his shirt, she can separate the two sides to reveal the curve of his shoulder and the shape of his collarbone – her mouth waters.
She shrugs off her own coat to have better range of motion, wishing he'd been brave enough to do it himself, but sure enough of herself that he'll soon be joining in. He is already struggling with his control; she can tell because his hands have clenched into fists halfway between his body and hers. He wants her too.
"Éponine," her name is half pained groan and half plea in his deep voice.
His enunciation is less clear now, and she takes pride in reducing him to anything less than his usual perfection – his coat laying haphazardly on the floor, his shirt still tucked into his pants but open almost to his bellybutton. If only she could get her hands on his hair and her mouth on his again, he would be the picture of debauchery.
Gabriel is obviously torn right now, so she decides to settle this once and for all. She presses herself against his body, as close as she can, and tilts her head up to reach his mouth in a gentle, almost coaxing kiss. Her mouth meets his again and again for quick kisses until he slowly starts to return them, hands finally reaching for her and settling harshly on her waist, clinging to her as if she is the only thing keeping him standing.
"Finally," she tells him between kisses.
He breaks then, hoisting her up against him, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist while he yanks her closer for a kiss that makes her brain short-circuit as his tongue teases and taunts her until her body feels like it's made of jelly. She is burning for him, trying to touch him everywhere at once.
"Bedroom," he tells her. "Hold on."
It may be cruel of her, but as he starts walking in the direction of his bedroom, keeping her wrapped around him all the while, she licks a trail up his neck to distract him and to keep him wanting. He stumbles, almost sending them both to the floor in a painful heap – but he recovers quickly enough as he pushes open the bedroom door.
Now, he doesn't exactly throw her on the big bed in the middle of the room – but she does bounce a little as she hits the mattress. She is still wearing most of her clothes, barring her shoes and coat, and Gabriel is only now kicking off his own shoes and taking off his boring black socks. It leaves him with a shirt still barely clinging to his body and her looking up at him from her position on the bed.
"How about I apologize properly now?" he speaks all of a sudden, unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way and shrugging it off.
She's a little distracted in her responding nod, as she is too busy staring at the skin he has so easily uncovered, marking all of the places that she would like to touch and kiss and lick over the course of this night. The list she is compiling in her mind is not a short one, and she can only guess about the places below the belt – but he swiftly distracts her when he almost pounces on her.
The movement is surprisingly fast; in contrast to the languid kiss he so carefully gives her after, his right hand playing with the hem of her shirt. The kiss is meant to tease, to draw out her want and her need – and it is succeeding. She tries to pull him on top of her, because she wants to feel all of his weight on her, but he resists, staying next to her instead. So she reaches for his hair, teasing his scalp with her nails in return.
Gabriel groans, and she grins briefly with her victory, before his hands take revenge and sneak under her shirt in return. They just touch her back, at first, rubbing gently on the sensitive skin and making her shiver with delight. Up they go, and the shirt goes up with them, exposing her bellybutton and the skin of her lower back. She wishes he would just take it off completely – she is almost tempted to ask him to rip it off her, even though she really needs that shirt in one piece. Still, she is too warm to keep it on, and she needs him to have better access to her body. These teasing touches aren't enough.
"So, for my apology," he starts talking again.
He is going to draw this out, she just knows it. But she will hear him out, because she has been wanting an actual apology from him, and she will take that any way that she can get it, especially if she can take him at the same time.
"Yes," she gasps as his hands move to her front, fingers almost catching on the edge of her bra. "Continue."
That makes him look proud, smirking as he uses one hand to push her shirt up a bit more, and the other to run over the tiniest bit of lace on the edge of her mostly functional work bra. Sure, she almost wishes she could have worn something more appealing for him, but she knows that for him the thing of value is her, and not anything she chooses to cover herself with. He'd peel off a burlap sack with just as much delight as the most fancy lace teddy that she could buy herself. He just wants her.
"I am dearly sorry," with this, Gabriel presses a kiss to her abdomen, and the muscles there tighten under his mouth, "for my behavior over the last two months."
Oh God he needs to move his mouth lower.
"I was remiss in not contacting you," he pushes her shirt up over her shoulders, letting her help him with taking it off her arms. "My feelings should have been revealed to you by myself, rather than by my friends."
He kisses her again, more forcefully this time, and her shirt hits the floor to the side of the bed with a soft thud. Her hands are pulling him closer, looping around his neck and trying yet again to pull him on top of her.
With that attempt, he breaks off the kiss, and instead of pouting about it, she wrenches off her socks without even using her hands, letting her bare feet tangle with his as she reaches for the button on his pants – she needs him and she accepts his apology only if he gets the fuck inside her already.
Her skin has heated and she needs to be naked – and so does he. So if he doesn't want to get on top of her, she will do it herself. She rolls over and straddles him, unbuttoning his pants and finally getting her hands on the unmistakable hardness now only covered by his underwear – he bucks into her hands and she delights at the shift in power.
"I haven't finished yet," he rolls her over, leaving him on top again.
"That is some apology," she teases, trying not to show how badly she wants him.
His weight is pressing her into the mattress and she just wants to tear off all her clothes so that she can get him inside of her. She bucks her hips up into his hardness, grabbing his ass with her hands to pull him closer so that they can grind together.
"Rest assured," he finally moves along with her, panting, "that I do have sincere feelings for you and that I will no longer make you wait for me."
"Then get inside me already," she deadpans.
They laugh then, seeing that they are both impatient, even though he wants to do this moment justice by taking it slow. She'd like slow some time, but right now she just wants to make love to him – to know the feeling of having him deep inside of her as he whispers words of love and makes her moan his name to the stars above.
"We'll do slow the next time," she promises him. "Just, please…"
Her voice catches when his thumbs creep under the fabric of her bra to caress her breasts – finally, finally, she murmurs mentally as the skin tightens under his clever fingers. He knows just how to increase pressure on a sigh and to decrease it a bit on a moan, just to tease. But they are moving forward now, as he unhooks the clasp on her back and she shrugs off the final piece of fabric on her upper body.
"You're beautiful," he tells her, in awe of something about her. "One day, I'll kiss every freckle on your body – and I'll kiss the scars twice."
Sure, she has her share of scars, as her lovers have always seen – but no one has responded so kindly to them, without showing horror or even disgust. She should have known that Gabriel would be different in that aspect as well.
It seems he spots the first scar that he would like to lave and soothe when he kisses the back of her neck as his fingers lightly trail along the curve of her lower back. He seems to know her body already, all of the little places that make her pant and sigh and moan – he's nibbled on the inside of her wrists, and somehow he even knows that the crook of her elbow is sensitive to the touch of his hands and mouth.
All this he does while pressing her into the mattress with his weight, holding her hands over her head – giving him free reign to explore her body as she is helpless to do anything but feel and want and need and crave.
"Oh God," he has found the sensitive spot near her ribs.
Gabriel kisses and nibbles, all the while driving her slowly crazy with want and need for him. She is still wearing both jeans and panties, and she feels like she could fall over the edge and into bliss quite easily, if he just keeps going like he is right now.
"I love you," he looks at her so happily. "I'm sorry for making you wait."
She yanks him to her and kisses him lovingly, letting him play with the button on her jeans, unzipping and slowly starting to pull down her pants, running his fingers over the exposed skin. He is moving down and down and down, and when he has removed both her jeans and panties in their entirety, he places a quick kiss on her ankle. She shivers, and he grins.
That doesn't bode well for her, she knows that much, and she is proven right when his next kiss lands just inches higher, but on the opposite leg. He is moving back up, switching between legs, lovingly caressing each knee, trailing his clever fingers along the back of both her knees, and then moving to the insides of her trembling thighs. She knows what's coming next and there is no way that she is ready for it. She closes her eyes, trying to focus on sensation.
There it is, the first kiss on her inner thigh, and another, until he's just inches away from where she wants him most. Her legs have slowly moved to lean on his shoulders, trying to keep his face between her spread legs.
The jerk kisses her hipbone next, and while part of her wants to protest that he isn't kissing her where she wants it most, she is also quickly figuring out that her hipbone is another place on her body that has been criminally overlooked by the men that came before Gabriel. She didn't even know that a nibble near her hipbone could make her feel like this – and she is oh so grateful to him for showing her.
And then he breathes out on her sex, and every cell in her body heats up as a slow shiver rolls down her spine. Oh God, is this what people mean when they call orgasms the little death? She is not over the edge yet, but she is oh so near all of a sudden and it feels like dying and ecstasy all at once.
His mouth moves closer, and she cries out at the first touch. Gabriel's hands are running along her calves as his wicked tongue teases her, curling against her and making it hard to remember anything but his mouth and his tongue that has found her clit. She thinks she can hold off the orgasm until he swirls that clever tongue and she is pushed over the edge in one fell swoop. It's never felt like this before.
"Fuck, Gabriel," she groans.
"Éponine," he is still between her legs, and smiling.
God, how can she be so turned on again so fast? She is still coming down from the best orgasm she's ever had, but seeing him smiling at her like that and feeling his hands still running along her calves and her knees – she has to have him. Now.
She pulls him towards her, completely unconcerned by how he still tastes of her when she kisses him. She just flips the both of them, leaving her as the one on top again, so that she can show him some of her feelings – no apology necessary. She just wants to touch and taste some of his skin. Hell, he is still wearing his pants after showing her the time of her life, and that is just all around unacceptable.
"You wanted to ask some questions?" she breathes against the skin of his neck.
"Your feelings for me…" he cuts off with a groan at her lips on his collarbone. "They… I wanted to ask you how long you've had them. When did you realize? When did you fall for me? When I was just the asshole at the bar?"
As she is raking her fingers down his chest, slowly but surely, she starts to think about his question. There is no one clear answer for her, and it's certainly a question best discussed when she isn't trying to return the favor on a screaming orgasm. So she stays silent for a while longer, acquainting herself with the taste of his skin – slightly salty and very much him. And so very sensitive to her every move.
A simple touch can make gooseflesh pop up and make him groan unintelligible sounds that occasionally sound quite a lot like her name. That is the best part, when she reduces the so-called sex god to gasps and moans and groans that are barely even words. After all, he is the man she loves and it is oh so lovely to see that he wants her even just a fraction of how much she wants him. She smirks proudly.
"Like you," she whispers in his ear, "it took me a while to realize. I've been attracted to you for the longest time, and I've loved being your debate partner for almost as long. I didn't say yes that night because I still wanted you to talk to me afterwards. Because I'd rather never be with you in that way and still be your friend, than be without you."
During her little speech, she's rid him of his pants, leaving him completely naked – so he goes commando, huh? That's information she'll have to remember for next time. She's sure she can use it for some nefarious purpose – she ponders said purpose as she finds the condom on the nightstand and gives it to Gabriel to use.
"But right now," she runs her hand down, down, down. "Right now I just want you."
The broken chuckle she receives in response is telling enough, as she has him in hand and debates whether she should make him beg first, or if she just wants him inside of her already.
Gabriel makes the choice for her by flipping them over again and thrusting inside her in one rapid move, leaving her lost for breath for just a second, because finally. It feels like this moment has been years in the making, even though it only became a legitimate possibility a few hours ago. But Gods, she is so wonderfully full and so completely surrounded by him – she won't even care if there's another orgasm in it for her, she just wants him close, and this is the way that she can feel closest to him.
Then, he moves just the slightest bit, and she clenches around him, trying to keep him just where he is, where he is supposed to be.
"Éponine," a stunned groan from Gabriel. "God, I love you."
Somehow he manages just the right angle and she lifts her legs to wrap around his waist as he thrusts again, slowly establishing a rhythm that works for the both of them. He's pressing kisses to her jaw, her neck, her chin, her mouth – his hands appear to be everywhere at once as he tries to surround her completely with love and lust and so much heat that she feels she might burst out of her skin and explode with want for him.
His face is flushed, his jaw clenched as he tries to regulate his thrusts and he tries to keep going. She can tell he's close; all his muscles are tense under her roaming hands and the muttering under his breath seems to be some kind of mantra he uses to make it last. She doesn't need him to last. She needs him to look into her eyes and let go.
"Gabriel," she grins as she speaks.
With a nibble on his collarbone, she clenches around him again, trying to make him see that she doesn't need multiple orgasms. She just wants Gabriel – not the Sex God everyone is trying to get with. She just wants him.
"I love you," she whispers in his ear.
And that is what does it. He breaks; slamming into her with the force she's been craving all this time. He even gets just the right angle to get her closer to the edge. She moves one of her hands to her clit unabashedly, showing him what she likes and showing him that she is close – his thrusts get less finessed, and she doesn't care because it feels good and she loves him.
With a final thrust, he is spent, coming deep inside of her. She keeps him close as she tries to finish herself off as well; surprisingly enough getting interrupted by Gabriel kissing her and letting his hand take the place of hers. His clever fingers find a good rhythm and she lets herself fall over the edge again.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes, panting heavily as he withdraws.
"Are you still apologizing?" she teases, pressing a kiss to his brow.
She can assume that this is just the extension of his rather epic apology about him staying away from her for so long. If every apology is going to look like this, she is going to think of stupid things to do just so she can apologize extensively – yeah, the idea is nice but that's not good for the relationship. It would be a nice joke, though.
"I'm sorry I couldn't get you there again," he mutters against her skin. "I'm sure that's not what you expected of the great Sex God."
What a total fucking dork. How can he ever believe that?
"You're an idiot," she tells him lovingly, kissing his mouth ever so briefly. "I've never made love like this before. There are no words for how wonderful this was. No, it wasn't acrobatic or anything crazy, but we love each other and I felt close to you. What else could I possibly ask for? You idiot!"
Sure, it isn't nice to laugh in her lover's face, but she sure as hell isn't going to let him think that she was in any way disappointed with him or his performance. She couldn't have asked for anything more.
"That reputation of yours should be over soon anyway," she grins proudly. "Now that I'm the only one getting the Sex God experience, they'll get bored and move on. Eventually."
Is it pathetic to assume that she's going to be the only one from now on? She knows that some people use words of love so indiscriminately, but she is not one of those people, and she knows that Gabriel isn't either. But will he want a relationship?
"I'm not going to call you my girlfriend," Gabriel seems pensive. "I think that term is particularly juvenile. But I am yours and I want you to be my Éponine."
"I can work with that," she teases.
She pillows her head on his chest and breathes deep.
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Gabriel Enjolras still comes to the bar, and he still studies there, thick tomes on law covering "his" table in the corner. And for a while, the usual crowd of people follows him in, shamelessly trying to catch his attention. They are disappointed every time, as he grins at the bartender over his books, and eventually takes his place at a free stool there. Sometimes he's with his friends – usually the man named Courf – and sometimes he's by himself, sipping a beer as he watches his favorite bartender work.
On slower nights, especially in the later weeks, when the crowds have begun to realize that he has changed his previous habits, the great Enjolras might be seen chatting with this bartender – or bantering, or debating – until she takes her break or has her shift drink with him.
Eventually, the crowds of hopeful men and women staring furtively from the other side of the room, the ones still interested in being with the so-called 'sex god', notice the way that his hands might rest on her leg, or how he leans in and whispers in her ear, or even the smiles he gives her that are much less secretive than he intends for them to be.
And no one can blame the bartender for wearing a satisfied, happy smile week after week, because when the customers go home, it is she who links hands with the 'sex god' on the way out the door.
THE END
AN: So, any thoughts?