A/N: As always, your reviews and feedback are so appreciated! Please keep them coming! I enjoy hearing your thoughts! I've outlined the rest of this story, and it's looking like it's going to be roughly twenty chapters, so on we go!

Warning: This chapter contains M-rated material. (But don't get too excited yet!)

Disclaimer: Les Misérables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

Chapter 14

"How strange, this feeling that my life's begun at last
This change, can people really fall in love so fast?"
-Les Misérables

A few weeks had passed since Éponine first slept in Enjolras's bed. What had started so unexpectedly with an innocent gesture of hand-holding had advanced to caressing one another in sleep, so much so that Éponine found herself frequenting—or seeking out, rather—Enjolras's arms as her new source of nightly comfort more than she knew she ought to. And yet, Enjolras never stopped or tried to prevent Éponine from showing up in the middle of the night to wake up to his embrace at the first light of dawn.

Neither questioned their growing attraction, nor her frequent visits to his bed to be hugged and warmed back to sleep. It felt natural and warranted, so both silently accepted the change and tried to behave normally the rest of the time, such as during her studies.

"Do you mind if I ask..." Éponine started one spring morning during a break in her lesson.

Enjolras peered over at her with heightened curiosity, but, evidently, Éponine thought better of whatever her inquiry was and fell silent. The oddity of it brought Enjolras out of his distracted focus. He had been looking over the latest book he had given to her to recite, and laid it down on the table, giving her his undivided attention.

"Yes?" he encouraged, waiting for her to reformulate her question.

Éponine decided it was now or never; the curiosity was killing her, and she was desperate for reassurance. She had made mention of her turbulent past to Enjolras many times in the past two months, relaying the horrible experiences of life as a street rat, scrounging for existence and meaning. Whilst Enjolras never pressed for greater details, it was evident that he despised what she had lived through, including the despicable men who took advantage of her when the unfortunate opportunities arose. It wasn't jealousy for what had been stolen from her that was destined to be his but, rather, a fierce protectiveness, and the notion that he could have stepped in and perhaps prevented such horrors had he sat up and taken notice of her much sooner.

"No, you couldn't have, Enjolras," Eponine would reassure him with a soft, kindhearted smile. "Don't blame yourself, please."

Although she was deeply touched by how warmly he had come to regard her, Éponine was still troubled, and alarmed, by how mute Enjolras generally was about her previous unwelcoming experiences with sex. She concluded that either he didn't want to know the particulars of what happened or was choosing to ignore them, as though the occurrences had never taken place.

It can't hurt to ask, she urged herself to speak up, finally mustering the courage to approach him about it that morning; or so was her original plan till she lost her footing. Even if it is grossly uncomfortable, Éponine, you have to ask...

"Does it bother you terribly that I'm not..."

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. "Not what?"

When Éponine spoke again, her voice was a feeble whisper, "Not pure..."

The silence stretched out for too long to Éponine, leading her instantly to regret bringing the topic to light; but it really was an enormously important conversation to have for a couple, was it not? Thus, she waited anxiously for Enjolras's opinion, praying it would be as reasonable as the man had long proved himself to be.

"Not entirely," came his muddled reply, which did nothing to soothe Éponine's nerves.

"'Not entirely'?"

"You didn't exactly have a choice, Éponine; even a gentleman should understand that, especially when considering the unfortunate circumstances in which you were living."

Éponine twisted her hands together in her lap. "But... But doesn't it disgust you," she reluctantly pressed him, "even a little?"

To her utter surprise, Enjolras shot her a wry smirk. "Who should know except for us, and perhaps the Pontmercies? The four of us, along with Monsieur Gillenormand, are the only individuals who know of your background now, Éponine."

"Yes, but even so!"

"Do I wish it were different? Of course I do." Enjolras extended his hand out to take hers, and his warm touch had an immediate effect on Éponine; the nauseating knots in her stomach began to uncoil. "I wish a lot of things had been different for you. I despise what they took from you. If I could change the fate of your stars a long time ago, I would have. But then, do I have the right to hold what those men did against you? No, I don't. Whatever scruples I have are with them, Éponine, not you."

"Enjolras—"

"I know what you're thinking, and it doesn't change how I feel."

Éponine gazed at him in amazement. "How... How is that possible? I've always thought... Well, I figured any man would be appropriately offended, if - if they knew."

"Well," Enjolras returned with his attractive smirk still intact, "I'm not like other inconsiderate gentlemen. I've seen more of that side to life than others of similar circumstances have. I may not know the wretchedness of the streets like you, Éponine, but I have seen it, and, therefore, have no right to judge your character. You did what you had to do to survive, just as you had to put up with the ugliest aspects of it because you were powerless." He paused to gaze gently into her eyes. "You aren't powerless anymore."

Éponine couldn't quite shake Enjolras's apathetic resolve. "But... It really doesn't bother you? Please, don't be delicate with me, Enjolras, I beg you."

"I'm not being 'delicate' with you, Éponine," he chuckled dismissively. "I hardly know how to be anything but direct."

"Of course you don't," Éponine smiled, utterly grateful and relieved. "Thank you for being so considerate about it. I... I don't know what to say..."

"I understand why you asked. I didn't want to bring it up out of respect for you. I assumed that, should you wish to discuss it further, you would, and in your own time."

The alleviation that washed over Éponine then and there lifted the heavy atmosphere in the room. Projecting another small, generous smile, Enjolras returned his attention to her reading material, leaving Éponine to stare on in disbelief and with an ever deepening appreciation.

How wrong you were about him, Éponine. So very wrong.

His large hand slid down the side of her glorious body, thoughtfully tracing the curve of her hip. His touch was delicate and teasing, his fingers gently mapping their way across all her secret attributes, her buried secrets that lay behind a confined corset and fancy, elaborate fabric. He would worship her body the way he already worshiped her supple lips, her natural glow, her delicate hands...

Warm lips caressed her bare skin—the fragility of her neckline down to her protruding collar bone, emitting gasps and soft moans of arousal. Those lips, somehow all-knowing, paused once reaching her breasts to suck on one of her hardened nipples, his tongue swirling deliberately slow circles, wanting to savor her taste in his mouth and hear the moans she tried to suppress. She whispered his name and a shudder of pain, the kind that could only torment a man crippled by sexual desire, shot straight to his groin.

The reaction was instantaneous. His length erected further, aching to be released from his trousers. 'More, more, more,' his mind growled, echoing a male's primal instinct of lust.

His hand slipped mindfully between her legs, met by a sweltering heat of moist skin that nearly caused him to lose his head. Her legs spread apart, conveying the matching desire of furious want and need. His curious fingers slid along her opening, between the soft, warm petals to her swollen nub. She immediately squirmed when his fingertip lightly graced her clit. A small cry of sexual torment soon followed once he repeated the motion several times over, undoubtedly imploring that he put her out of her misery.

Two fingers felt their way into her snug canal, so heated and compressed that he thought he would surely lose control of his senses. She clenched around his fingers and pushed and pulled against them, desperate for his touch to work its magic, to bring her over the edge.

Heeding her desperate, low moans, he began moving his fingers inside her, thrusting forward and back, teasing and toying in an effort to leave her senseless. Whimpering encouraged him along as he bent over to recapture her mouth. Her thighs withered and thrust as he brought her closer and closer to orgasm.

"Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" * she rasped, her surging chest pressing against his.

Finally, her arms snatched him around his back and she broke apart in his hand, coming fast and furious. He felt her clench around his fingers before her legs went limp, as though they were made of nothing and non-attached to the rest of her. There was that beautifully distracted smile on her face that gave him pause, her soft echos of satisfaction hushed, yet captivating to his ears.

Slowly, he eased his fingers out of her to take in the slick juices left upon his hand that his touch had aroused. When he peered down at her, she was gazing up at him with a passion that left him speechless, her brown eyes hazy and enraptured and her long tresses fanned out over his pillow.

"Mon Dieu," he murmured, echoing her cries of ecstasy in a hungry whisper, "vous êtes belle..." **

Enjolras jolted out of his wet dream to find one of his hands wrapped around his painfully erect shaft. Cursing the air when it dawned on him that he was alone in his cold bed chambers, he was quickly relieved that Éponine hadn't sought out his company as of yet, or crept into his room unannounced at that moment. Not that he would have turned her away, but the thought of the young lady catching him in the midst of a wet fantasy would have set his teeth on edge.

And yet, he couldn't have been more frustrated at the lack of her much-desired presence. It wasn't just anyone's company he sought in the wee hours of the morning. It was Éponine, as it should be, only there was no denying what his now engorged manhood told him: he craved her—lusted after the brunette beauty—as he had never yearned for anyone before.

The thought of finishing himself off made Enjolras cringe in disgust. Only the warmth that was Éponine would ever satisfying him now.

Damn it, Enjolras, he cursed himself a second time. You're in way over your head now...

Enjolras's night terrors were practically gone by the end of spring. Sleeping next to him was confirmation enough for Éponine and left her quite elated for him. Her own nightmares from her past life had also lessened by then.

The only pressing matter that remained for Enjolras, however, was the tremendous underlying guilt he felt over the death of his friends, a weight he continued to carry around with him that was ever present in his eyes, as subtle as it was. And yet, he refused to open up about the experience.

Éponine tried to ignore the man's perceivable struggle, but her curiosity, as well as her deeper affections and desire to help, drove her to finally broach the subject with him one morning over a quiet stroll through Monsieur Gillenormand's garden. Enjolras had been unusually quiet that morning, but Éponine still decided to press him on the sensitive subject anyway.

"Will you tell me now?" she asked softly once they reached a bench, where they stopped to rest and take in the vibrant, blossoming display.

"Tell you what?"

Éponine wasn't fooled. She carefully leaned into him, allowing Enjolras to quietly wrap an arm around her tiny waist and hold her close.

"Tell me what happened?" she urged into his ear.

When the pause between them stretched thin, her dainty hand roamed over his thigh to wind itself through his, encouraging him to speak. With a deep sigh, Enjolras surprised her with his hushed consent. He explained what he could remember: falling out of the two-story window onto a lifeless body, crawling his way to the safety of two unidentifiable women living in one of the upper flats, and being entrusted into the care of a lowly woman who went by the name of Tempeste. Éponine thought the name sounded familiar, but she couldn't put a face to the woman in question. Nevertheless, she seemed a sketchy character to Éponine. According to Enjolras, she referred to herself as a 'witch doctor,' and took care of Enjolras for his first few days...

"Until Monsieur Gillenormand's inquirers tracked me down and brought me here," Enjolras finished, a curl or two of hair hanging in his eyes.

"Do you remember what this woman did to you?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. I drifted in and out of consciousness most of the time. She removed the bullets, Lord knows how, but I quickly developed an infection and a fever. Whatever she did in those early days, though, it worked. By some miracle, I survived."

"And I'm most grateful you did."

Éponine brought his hand to her mouth and kissed it in gratitude. Enjolras watched with unmistakable awe in his face. He soon freed his hand from her grasp and stroked the side of her face, brushing a few long hairs away from her cheek.

"I'm sorry I was so rude to you before."

Éponine's returning gaze was too unfailingly warmhearted to him, and more than he felt he deserved. "No one noticed me then, Enjolras," she offered in kind, neither offended, nor angry. "Not even Marius, as we both well know. I was a Nobody then, merely coming and going; a passing shadow."

"You weren't a Nobody."

"Yes, well, tell that to my parents," she smirked, but Enjolras's continued to regard her seriously.

"You deserved better, Éponine. No one should grow up like that."

"I know, but, well, look where I am now." Éponine took a moment to cheerfully survey the grounds, a true sense of peace washing over her. "I'm a world away from that old life, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are." Enjolras's mouth slumped, his expression still disquieted. "It's unfortunate that it took you're coming here—after the barricade, after everything—for me to see what I was too foolish to notice before."

Éponine's regard turned thoughtful as her warm eyes bore into his. "You forget that it took me coming here to notice you as well, Enjolras."

"That's different."

"No, it isn't!" Éponine snickered before gracing his cheek with a light kiss. "You were busy standing up for people like me, whilst I was busy chasing after someone who would be forever unobtainable to me. I knew it, and yet, I hopelessly kept up my selfish pursuit. I think your excuse far outweighs my own."

"Preposterous," Enjolras retorted, her subsequent giggles tickling his face.

He could feel himself reacting in a manner he shouldn't, and yet, he couldn't seem to dissuade such urges. Her breathy, lighthearted laughter was all it took for the highly guarded revolutionary to lose control of his senses. After showering her with several sensual kisses in return, Éponine snatched the front of his coat, breathing hard with anticipation as she reared back to stare deep into his eyes. He knew the words were on the tip of her tongue, encouraging him to delve further.

"Touch me, Enjolras," she begged, her tone both strained and yearning.

Wordlessly guiding one of his hands to her breasts, she gently pressed his touch against her and sharply inhaled, catching the arousing flicker in Enjolras's blue eyes. He unconsciously licked his lips as well.

"Éponine, we shouldn't," she vaguely heard him say, though it sounded more like a groan of need—of an equally desperate desire—than opposition.

The fight within him was clearly not all that strong, and Éponine couldn't stop herself from grinning triumphantly against his lips. His weak refusal brought out her boldness, and, thus, she willfully ignored his plea, and brushed his mouth more fervently with her own, all the while prodding his hands to rove over her body as freely as he so pleased.

Enjolras could feel the electric current running through him at the feel of Éponine's heaving chest, her fervid kisses, the way her fingers eventually made their way to the back of his head, twisting his curls into knots. He would gladly take her over this bench if he didn't regain control of himself, and soon.

Stop, his mind commanded, or you know where this will lead!

"Éponine, wait!"

His urgent order made Éponine hitch a breath, her swollen lips met by the sting of coldness when his mouth abruptly left hers. She couldn't help but glare and was about to spit some angry remark when Enjolras grabbed her forcefully by the shoulders, wishing to be heard.

"We can't," he insisted, sounding as put out as she felt. "Not yet."

"But..."

'Not yet,' her mind slowly repeated, remembrance of the fragility of not knowing where they stood coming to light in her mind once more. What exactly does he mean by that?

As if somehow reading her mind, he gave her a rather sheepish smile and slid his hands down to link them through hers. "You know how I feel about you by now, don't you?" he asked her in a serious tone.

Enjolras arched an eyebrow, waiting; Éponine nodded her understanding, but there remained a twinge of doubt in her eyes that gave him pause. Eventually, that lack of conviction surfaced on the rest of her face, and she took in a deep breath before pressing him for what she desperately needed to hear.

"Enjolras," she drawled carefully, "do you love me?"

Éponine certainly sensed that he did, but the words had never been officially declared—implied, yes—but never spoken aloud. Éponine couldn't be sure that Enjolras 'wanting' her and 'loving' her where entirely the same connotation. If he meant them in the same context, she would need to hear it from his mouth, and, in that moment, she felt compelled to know with certainty where they stood.

Enjolras's face fell slightly, but he didn't hesitate to return her question with an affirmative nod. "Yes, Éponine, I do. I told you so—"

"You said you wanted me, yes, but..."

The awareness grew on Enjolras's marble features, and, with understanding, came a much gentler whisper that left her breathless. "Je t'aime," *** he declared, his voice soft and subdued.

Éponine's breath stalled, both at the words and the slow, steady smile that Enjolras projected after declaring the words. "Do you believe me now?" he asked quietly.

"I..." Éponine's eyelashes fluttered, her senses overtaken by his tender recognition, and without any hint of a struggle. In that moment, she finally knew. "Yes, I do. I believe you."

"And you?" he prodded in return, hanging on how she might return his affections. "Do you love me, Éponine?"

Éponine didn't dither with her answer. "Oui!" she affirmed, her heart lifting as she uttered the words aloud and with such feeling. "Je t'aime, Enjolras. Je t'aime."

* Translation: "My God!"
** Translation: "My God, you are beautiful..."
*** Translation: "I love you."

A/N #2: This chapter was a lot shorter than I'd intended it to be, but at least things are heating up! :)