"Merde."
Enjolras has just thrusted his hips to align with Éponine's, his hands frantically, desperately grasping onto her hips, to hold her still, to try and make her stop squirming. Sex is a competition of sorts - and she usually wins. Even in this scenario, wherein he was trying to gain the upper hand, to finally grasp control, he's the one who has muttered out the curse. He likes the competition, though - if anything, it's made sex more appealing for him.
And now he is the one who pauses, who tries to gather himself before he loses his mind. Éponine smirks. He knows she won't be still for long, and that he'll have to do something before she takes this into her own hands. Which she's never been frightened to do before. "Éponine." Enjolras groans the name out, his breath short and shallow. She has wiggled her hips against him, around him, and oh, God -
As much as he'd like to leave it to her to continue making that damned motion over and over, Enjolras is entirely too prideful to allow her to do so. Just from going through the motion once has left a smug grin on Éponine's face, her usually pale, sunken cheeks flushed, and as Enjolras leans back to look at her from where he lays - on top of her, in between her, inside of her - despite the dimples on both of her cheeks appearing, he can't let her win this.
Enjolras' hands move from her waist, where he'd pulled her down on him, to pull at her hair, tipping her head back. Éponine's neck elongates, a hazy smile spreading lazily across her features, her eyes tipping shut. Enjolras leans forward almost immediately, kissing her jugular. She shifts her hips upward, earning a muffled, tight groan from Enjolras. In retaliation, he moves lazily down her neck to the place where her neck and shoulder meet, his nose and lips dragging across her skin. He nips at the crevice, teeth biting before he kisses it again, again, again.
Éponine scrapes the jagged, long nail of her pointer finger against Enjolras' cheek, dragging down on the soft skin. Soon, the nails of both hands join in; scraping down his chest, his sides, his back, through his hair. Éponine's fingers finally find home at the nape of his neck, grasping at his golden curls, wet with sweat, nearly sliding through her grip.
Enjolras leans back, resting himself more on his calves then very nearly lying on Éponine. He pauses for a moment, breathing heavily. Enjolras, despite breathing deeply, cannot seem to catch his breath. The air doesn't seem to reach the back of his throat. Nevermind Enjolras' wellbeing - Éponine, quicker than Enjolras can react, brings him up above her again with her heels, bucking her hips, digging her nails into the skin on his hips. She grabs at it greedily, and despite not really breathing at all, it fuels Enjolras to push harder, to thrust into some point in Éponine from which he cannot come back. To make her remember this, to make this be something she can't move on from, to have this moment be the center of - well, something. The quick thought crosses Enjolras' mind that he's become one of the Ami, that this idea in his head to plant himself into Éponine is a masculine ideal - the likes of which he has long since tried to rise above. But the curve of Éponine's collarbone demands to be kissed, and he is always one to oblige. With her, anyhow.
They find an off-beat rhythm, the two of them. Enjolras is all about the nibbling - kissing at her skin, biting at it till it's pink, big hands pressing hard into skin. Éponine is more about the nails, the lines she knows she can leave on Enjolras' back. While Enjolras is entirely aware of this interest of hers - and more than willing to participate - he doesn't know that after he's fallen asleep, blankets pulled up to his chin, she's the one who pulls the blankets down to his waist (if she's feeling cheeky, sometimes past that point). She sometimes spends her sleepless hours tracing the angry pink lines with her fingertips, willing them to stay there, as some piece of her.
Enjolras finds Éponine is not making nearly enough noise. He slides a hand down her body, between the curves of her breasts, down the line of her stomach, until he reaches where the two of them meet. When she realizes what he's doing, Éponine relaxes, wrapping her legs loosely around Enjolras' waist. "Took -" she lets out a groan, shifting her body, as Enjolras' uses his pointer finger to press down on the little nub of flesh. Joly had talked about it once, his voice low as he prattled on about some horrifying thing called a clitoris. Despite Joly's fear, both Éponine and Enjolras find use for it.
Eponine tries at her sentence again. "Took -" this time Enjolras purposely interrupts her, circling his finger as he moves his hips slowly. He raises his eyebrows. "Took-you-long-enough," she mutters in a breath. As Enjolras laughs, moving closer to her, Éponine pulls him in to kiss her, quickly and bravely tucking her tongue inside his mouth. It's not a war of tongues or lips or whatever it was described as in Enjolras' romance novels - really, Enjolras isn't sure how to describe it. He pulls away to catch his breath, Éponine arching and straightening her back slowly as he stops kissing her.
It's not going to last much longer. Enjolras can tell. He can feel himself beginning to unfurl, his mind growing blank. He thinks he can hear his own heartbeat.
Éponine shuts her eyes tight - in the beginning, he'd thought this was in order to image someone else in his place, but over time he learnt it was involuntary. She's almost there, he thinks, thrusting his hips forward faster, moving his fingers in circles against her, gaining a steadier rhythm. She's almost there, she's almost -
"Fuck, fuck, f-fuck, oh, God, oh, fuck, oh -" Éponine begins cursing in rhythm with Enjolras' shallow, quick thrusts - a habit of hers he's picked up on. Next, she grabs at his hair, pulling his face quickly to the side of her face. She doesn't have to instruct him as she used to - he knows she wants him to nip and kiss, and he obliges.
Without Enjolras picking up on her intentions, Éponine moves her hands, grabbing at Enjolras' ass. She laughs, and he does, too, for a moment, before trying to flip his sweaty hair out of his face. It's obscuring his view of Éponine. She's quick to assist, smoothing his hair back out of his eyes. But, as she does, she moves her hands to either side of his head, behind his ears, and tugs on his hair tightly, grasping it between her fingers. Enjolras looks at her despite his mind's protestations, and, oh, God, she's so beautiful, even with her skinny ribs and her scars and the dirt on her skin, and she bites her lip and tugs his hair once more and -
He teeters over the edge, thrusting forward as he does. He rolls his hips, groaning as her heels press into his thighs, holding him inside of her. Enjolras' breathing is heavy, laboured. He just stares at her for a moment; at her arms, her hair, her skin, her breasts, her scars. Enjolras rests, letting most of his weight fold on top of Éponine, skinny and little and so small underneath him. His hips have stopped moving and, while still inside of her, Enjolras is mostly just attempting to catch his breath. He's sure Joly would be panicking about the current state of his lungs.
Éponine whimpers. Enjolras tries to catch his breath. She bucks her hips against his furiously, her body beginning to almost shiver. "No - fuck, Enjolras, no, don't -" The burning is there, at the base of her belly-button. The fire inside her, just a second ago spreading, has begun to die down. She could kill Enjolras, really, she could. "Enjolras - please - please -"
He gets the point - really, he got it when she first started cursing, but it's always nice to know she'll beg for it. He smirks, biting down on his lower lip as he thrusts forward again as her legs spread out wider. Just for him. And he thrusts again, and again. His hips roll forward lazily but deliberately - the slow rolling motion of his hips that she taught him. He knows this won't be enough, this slow torture, and is proven right as Éponine teeters on the edge of her orgasm - with not enough stimuli to reach it, but just enough to keep it from fading away. She smacks his ass. He quickens his pace, moving his fingers against her, lowering his head to kiss her neck. She arches her back, pushing her body against his, grabbing at his ass, his hips, his hair, digging her nails in.
Enjolras can hear the noises coming from the back of her throat - he can hear the breath escaping her throat, and leans back, thrusting and circling his fingers as he looks at her. Her eyes are tightly shut closed, her mouth open in a sort of silent scream. Her lips form the words - 'fuck', 'Enjolras', 'yes', but the sound of them doesn't escape her mouth.
He thrusts his hips forward, burying himself inside of her, moving the hand previously holding him up to pull at the long, tangled hair at the base of the back of her neck, tugging. She whispers 'Enjolras' and 'fuck' a number of times, grabbing at him while she arches her back, digging her hips into his, spreading her legs and curling her toes. Enjolras still moves inside of her, but begins to slow his pace, moving his fingers from her clitoris. He thrusts one last time into Éponine, whose eyes are still closed. He kisses her throat, her jugular, her collarbone. She smiles sleepily.
Enjolras pulls out of her. He kneels in front of her. Kisses her cheek, her neck. He moves his kisses down her body, kissing down between her breasts, her stomach, her waist, her hips. Enjolras tries to ignore her ribs, stark against her smoothness. He shifts himself off of her, moving to lay next to her. He lays on his stomach, his head turned on the matress towards her.
After a few moments, Éponine turns her head to face Enjolras. He smiles against the mattress, his beautiful face disfigured by it. She laughs, and he likes the sound of it. Enjolras pulls the blanket up on top of himself, up to his chin - as he always does. The blanket is pulled up to Éponine's waist. She makes no motion to cover herself. He doesn't, either. As he closes his eyes, his mind beginning to go blank, Éponine pulls down the covers to his thighs, smacking his ass. He groans, laughing, as he shifts his body closer to hers. She scoots closer, too, kissing the top of his head. Éponine pulls the blankets up to Enjolras' waist, knowing he appreciates some form of cover. She kisses the broad, soft skin between his shoulders, appreciating the pink lines her nails have made.
She lies down, pulling Enjolras' sleepy form on top of her, his head resting on her breast. He wraps a lazy arm across her body, fingers digging into the shallow skin of her waist. She smiles, though he can't see it.
"Kiss me," she whispers.
He obliges.
x
Hey, guys! As far as I can tell, this is the first M!rated E/É oneshot on . Which is awesome. I've never written such explicit smut, which was actually pretty fun to write! Anyway, I hope y'all enjoyed this. I've got a ton more E/É fics coming.
If you've got any prompts, feel free to leave them here or at my Tumblr, the url of which is jjolras!
X