AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This story will explore the darker side of Enjolras. Liken to a harsh volcano with "outbursts of soul," he is "a charming young man who was capable of being terrible" and "severe in his pleasures." I will be focusing on his severity and terror, as well as his character flaw of being too narrow in his focus on his ideals. This Enjolras will also engage in explicit sexual situations and violence. If you are looking for innocent, sweet Enjolras, this story is not for you.

And as for Eponine—I'm a sucker for Eponine/Enjolras, but because Eponine is already in love with Marius, I want to illustrate a psychological reason for why Eponine would even turn to Enjolras (and vice versa). I am interested in character studies, and while Eponine and Enjolras will have canon qualities, this story will deal mostly with investigating the potential attributes they both try to hide...

Oh, and there will be a lot of sex. Please be aware of the warnings.

Happy reading! :)

WARNINGS: dubious sexual consent/non-consent, explicit sexual situations, kink, D/s (dominant men), violence, & profanity. In other words, there will be a lot of explicit, vulgar sex. If any of this bothers you, please do not read this story.

RATING: MA / NC-17

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any part of Les Miserables. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made from this.

THE WAKER'S LIGHT

Chapter 1

Her dark hair matted in sweat and dirt unraveled in tresses against her face as her body was thrown against the desk with an unforgiving force. Her voice came out in a sharp cry as the edge of the desk struck her lower spine, and she grabbed hold of the furniture to keep from falling. Through the volume of her hair, she could see his form approaching fast, and by instinct, she grabbed an item from the desk—any item she could reach—and emphatically threw it in his direction. She heard the glass votive holder shatter into pieces, but she didn't stay long enough to check if it fragmented against his head or against the wall behind him.

She was already out the bedroom door and running.

Enjolras had ducked and avoided the exploding glass. He watched her silhouette race down the hall and towards the stairway. He released a long exhale. It wouldn't take long for him to catch her. With every five steps she took, he could gain her in two. Besides, he loved the chase.

With a slanted smile, he loosened his cravat and followed her out the door in long, steady strides.

Eponine's breath escaped her in uneven wheezes as she ran down the staircase that felt longer than she remembered. All that raced through her mind was, "get out, get out, get out!" Her foot slipped between two steps and her body lunged forward in a sloppy mess. She grabbed the railing just in time to catch herself before her face hit the ground. As she sprinted and regained her equilibrium, she could hear the heavy thud of his steps down the stairs close behind her.

"Faster, Eponine, faster!" she told herself. She clasped the doorknob.

Just as she yanked on the knob, Enjolras strong palm slammed against the heavy door and forced it back shut with a resounding click. She could feel his warm breath dominating above her and could practically feel his threatening glare as she was trapped between the door and his powerful frame. With his free hand, he reached forward and latched the door, making a point to press his hip against her lower back in the process. She was utterly still. Both of his palms were planted against the door on each side of her, completely entrapping her.

"Turn around." He said in a low voice.

He observed the rise and fall of her chest with every serrated breath. Inch by inch, she gradually turned to face him. She let out an involuntary whimper as she stared into his steel eyes hooded under his furrowed brow. The green vein that she loved to kiss down his neck was now pulsing in rage.

At her low height, she saw an opportunity to escape—The sudden jerk to her right and dip under his arm was a weak attempt, but an attempt nonetheless.

He let out scornful chuckle, let her take a couple steps, and easily captured his arms around her waist. But the little devil still wouldn't give up. She kicked her feet off against the wall, sending him falling back and losing his grip.

The second his arms released her, she made another dash to the door. But he grabbed hold of her long tresses of hair and violently yanked her backward before propelling her head-first against the wall. Enjolras watched her body slump to the ground at his feet.

With a painful groan, she slowly rolled to her side, eyes tightly closed, and exposed a bloody gash that split the skin lining the right corner of her scalp.

A few seconds passed as he assessed the situation, staring at her curled form. Withdrawing a weighted sigh, he scooped her from the floor and carried her fragile body back up the stairs and into his room. After kicking his door shut with the heel of his foot, he tossed her body on his bed and lit another candle. She was slowly regaining focus—eyes fluttering, quiet murmurs. Enjolras crouched at the bedside, ensuring that he was the first thing she saw.

Her eyes opened slowly only to find Enjolras peering intently within inches of her face. With a gasp, she tried to jerk away, but the throbbing in her head slowed her into a disoriented haze. He caught her by the hands.

"Please," she whispered. Her eyes half-lidded. "Please just stop."

Enjolras scoffed with a wry smile. "Tell me this is not what you want."

"I don't—"

He kissed her lightly. In the moonlight, they could pretend they were gentle lovers. His angelic face looked almost peaceful fanned out in the quietude of night. Her suppressed cries came out in puffed sighs, which he soothed with kisses along her cheek. He knew she would eventually calm down once he gained complete control and once she remembered how good he could make her feel. And the feeling was reciprocated. She made him feel good, too. She was his escape from the revolution, from their miserable realities—the few precious hours during which he felt in control and powerful, and she could let go and forget her struggle to survive.

The revolution was dawning, and he welcomed it with guns and speeches and flags. He was ready. But being uncertain of the outcome, wondering how many dead bodies as collateral will he carry as reminders of his own failures, assuming he even survives—it all just becomes too much.

Eponine carefully sat up, and he pulled her close to his chest and tenderly sucked along the curve of her neck. His fingers felt warm as he pushed her hair back, then slid the thin sleeves of her dress off her shoulders, first the right and then the left. With the swell of her breasts exposed in the night, a small shame built in the pit of her stomach that she wanted to edge apart. But despite her shame and her pleading desire to escape, the moment she would feel his tongue carefully open her mouth, she just wanted to die. She wanted to completely lose herself in him. It felt so easy to die.

She began frantically tugging on his shirt, pulling at the buttons until they came undone. He assisted by tearing it off his back, releasing a guttural moan when she touched her soft lips to his bare chest and pressed her hand against his hard manhood desperate for release. He grabbed her wrists and threw her flat on his bed.

With the slow crawl over her body, he pushed the skirt of her dress over her legs and tore her undergarment at the seams. He roughly spread her thighs apart, and there, she felt the cool air hit her skin only briefly before his touch grazed her. His cock throbbed painfully in his pants as he stared at her spread open beneath him and only for him.

Loosening his pants, he studied the angles on her body, the hip bones protruding as a reminder of her starvation. The candle on a nearby desk flickered angled light on her soft face, offering fragments of her aroused expressions.

"Open your eyes." He steadied her chin. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you. I want you in me." In pure lust, she eyed his manhood as he kicked off his pants. She remembered how it felt all those times when he stretched her open and made her scream for more. "I need you in me."

The bed creaked and dipped under his weight. He pushed away her two fingers that were eagerly caressing her clit and slipped his own two fingers inside her warmth. Her wet, slippery juices coated his fingers filling her up, shoving deep inside of her, and beckoning moans that echoed the walls of his dark room. He added a third finger and flicked her clit with his thumb, which forced a deep moan and her back to arc against the rickety bed.

She bit her hand to keep from crying out, on the verge of begging for release.

He stared in amazement at her writhing body, her hair splayed in a mess against his pillow that now smelled like her. He teasingly brushed the head of his manhood against her wet sex, just circling the outer edge and watching her beg with her eyes.

"Never run from me again, do you hear me?"

She responded by bucking her hips, trying to encourage him into her.

Unable to wait any longer, in one forceful thrust, he impaled her with his full length. They both cried out in uncontrollable moans, reaping the reward of their torturous dance. Eponine could already feel the orgasm like a knot in her waiting to be undone. It had been growing inside of her since earlier that day when she knew Enjolras had spotted her flirting with Marius. She already knew a rage was building inside of him all day, whether he admitted it or not, and couldn't wait to feel his force, feel controlled by his stormy temper.

"Think you could escape me, you slag?" He whispered, slowing his thrusts into painful pleasure. "You want to fuck all around Paris, is that it?"

"No!" She pleaded, just at the edge of release. "I only want you. Don't stop."

"Don't lie to me!" He hissed, lifting his heavy palm and striking her across the face. She shrieked from its force.

"No, I'm…" She cried. "I'm sorry, I…I won't do it again. I'm sorry…"

Enjolras pinched at her nipples before slowly pressing his lips against her breast. The moment his tongue began circling her nipples now hard as small pebbles, he slipped his left hand against her throat and began to squeeze. Not squeezing with all of his strength, but just enough to hear her breathing begin to shallow and her eyes water and her face brighten like dawn. Watching the rose-colored hue come to her naturally pale face made him remember the first time she kissed him—the coy smile she gave, the innocent blush of wondering how he would respond. She was beautiful.

And she was beautiful under the weight of his hand. He continued penetrating deep inside of her, feeling her tight walls massage his manhood and her wet juices drip down her inner thighs. Upon finally releasing his grip on her throat, she inhaled slowly and deeply and stared dreamily at the ceiling, feeling a euphoric pleasure tingle throughout her entire body in an orgasmic thrall.

"Don't ever tell me you don't want this." He warned in her ear, reaching down to rub his finger over her clit. "This belongs to me. No one can fuck you like I can. Not even your precious Marius."

"Don't stop…"

"Who do you belong to?"

"You."

"Say my name."

"Enjolras. I belong to Enjolras. You own me." She let out a shrill shriek when he grabbed her forcefully by the hips and began bucking into her. "Do as you want. I'm yours…"

He threw his mouth onto hers, swallowing the painful cries escaping the O of her mouth. Like a beast, he gripped her hips with enough force to know that he would leave purplish bruises on her skin for days. He hammered into her with rapid gunfire speed. She could feel him throbbing within her, and the thought of his hot cum filling her womb was enough to throw her into another violent orgasm. With one final, deep penetration, he shot his sticky load into her and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

In the pitiful night where the citizens of Paris cannot hide their sins and shame, Enjolras and Eponine both knew they also could never escape their lives. No matter how much pain and control he could assert over her, there was still a revolution that made him feel helpless. And no matter how desperately Eponine begged for his abuse, he could never truly make her feel as destitute and lonely as she felt wandering through life as Marius's futureless shadow. She never admitted aloud to Enjolras that she only returned for these nightly escapades because he is the only person who made it feel good to hate herself. And he never forced her to say it, just as she never forced him to say, "I'm going to die in this revolution." They both knew what the other gained from these nights without having to say the words.

Enjolras rolled off of her body, slowly pulling out of her with a newfound delicacy. Sticky with sweat in a coat of sheen, they caught their breaths, while the stars paled in the night outside. They rarely spoke much in the aftermaths of their events. Every encounter always felt more intense and new. Sometimes they would quietly replay the events in their minds, while other times they just wanted to pretend like it never happened at all.

For Eponine, she more frequently replayed the events leading up to their intercourse and then silently cried when recalling the actual moments of physical intimacy. There were times when she couldn't keep her sobs quiet, which would prompt Enjolras to throw on his clothing and sloppily stride out the door mumbling something about going for a walk. It became an unspoken rule that whenever he would say "I'm going for a walk," he would stay out for the entire night and return long after the sun rose. By then, Eponine would be gone.

This time, there was no crying, at least none that could be heard.

Enjolras rarely replayed the events in his head, but would simply stare at the discoloration in his ceiling and wouldn't say a word.

This time, he hesitantly looked over to her. "Did I hurt you too much?" His voice was rasp and dry.

A pause. Then barely a shake of the head.

Enjolras never once asked Eponine to leave when they were done or made awkward suggestions about how someone might be wondering where she is, but she always made sure never to overstay her welcome. The longest she laid in his bed was an hour, and she was awake the entire time just staring at the ceiling until she heard his even breaths guide him into slumber and she decided it was time to go.

Feeling his eyes still on her, she slightly turned her head away which hastened Enjolras to turn his gaze back at the ceiling. She would stay another fifteen minutes before wordlessly slipping away into the night.