Once he had Enjolras in his grasp it was all he could do to resist pulling him down onto the bed there and then, but he felt perhaps a little more persuasion would be in order. He allowed his hands to wander to those wonderful hips, refraining now from cupping that fine marble he had commented on not so long ago. Grantaire pulled his Apollo flush against him, surprised to find some interest there. Yes, he could work with that. He moved his mouth to that pale neck; nipping, kissing and biting his way down as deft fingers worked their way back up to push his jacket and waistcoat to the floor and unbutton his shirt. Hands roamed over lean abdominal muscle, smoothing down Enjolras' sides and letting his fingers rest just beneath the waistband of his trousers. Up until that point Enjolras' hands had remained by his sides, fisted as if fighting his own desires. Grantaire had no doubt that he was, but now that was no longer the case. Enjolras' fingers tangled in his hair, pulling Grantaire's face back to his own. It would seem that the chief wasn't content to let him do all the work. A battle of tongues, won by the ever impassive chief himself, until the cynic pulled away to utter a somewhat breathy request.
"Boots.." Enjolras was still wearing those damned knee high things, hindering the removal of that last piece of clothing that would leave him bare. How long had he wished to see all of him? A flawed perfection in mind and marble in body he had never been able to escape. Enjolras bent and removed his boots, immediately gravitating back to where he had been before, pulling his cynic back toward him to lock lips once more. It was enough just to have his feelings reciprocated but he wanted to give his Apollo more. He would give his mind, his body, even his life. Everything. And he would give it willingly, for what else had he to believe in? What else had enraptured him beyond all escape? Not even life itself had done that. Life in it's fleeting inevitability had always left him unsatisfied.

Extricating himself once more, he kissed his way back downward, Enjolras finally stepped out of that last piece of clothing. A sight, yes, but he wanted to taste, to feel. With a look almost akin to reverence he leant forward, barely brushing a kiss against him, revelling in the sharp intake of breath from Enjolras. Taking him in hand, he proceeded slowly, teasing licks and gentle suction but not once taking his eyes off of his Apollo. Taking note of every gasp, every sigh, each involuntary thrust of his hips. He took his time, working his tongue over every inch of him that he could reach, searching for the spots that made him whimper and his knees threaten to buckle. Drawing him so close to the edge, only to pull back until finally, finally he took him in entirely, faster this time and with more suction. His tongue still working at those spots he had found to be so delightfully sensitive. It was only a matter of time before he had him undone, thrusting desperately into his mouth for release and when he reached it with a cry, Grantaire swallowed everything he was given without complaint; only a moan that he couldn't hold back any longer.

Of course, by now he himself was desperate for that same release. Yearning but not willing to ask, his pleasure wasn't the point. He needn't have worried so - A weak-kneed Enjolras had already, somewhat forcefully, pushed him back onto the bed. Though, his inexperience was clear despite his fervour; his hands shook ever so slightly as he traced the older man's collarbones, his chest, his stomach before unbuttoning his shirt. He dipped his head to kiss Grantaire's neck, sucking there to leave a ruddy mark, a hand resting on the other mans hip. Was he teasing? Well, two could play at that game. Pinned as he was, he had some movement still left to him, enough to buck his hips upward to rub himself against Enjolras, the friction of the fabric he himself was straining against enough to earn him a gasp. A moment later that hand had moved from his hip to work on the buttons of his trousers. He lifted his hips and let Enjolras pull them down once he had finished fumbling with the buttons, kicking them off.

To his credit, the blonde only stared for a moment, his initial stroke only a little hesitant; everything about him screamed inexperience. Grantaire didn't mind, couldn't. In fact he was honoured. Privilleged, even, to seemingly be the only one Enjolras had deemed to touch like this, to let touch him. His moans were not quiet as Enjolras found a rhythm, languid strokes with mixed pressure, a twist at the top. He bit into Enjolras' shoulder as his strokes increased in speed, coaxing him further toward a precipice when he had already been so close. So close. The orgasm that ripped through him made him see stars, face buried in the crook of Enjolras' neck and making a sound that could only be considered halfway between a sob and a moan. They lay there like that for a while, sticky but unwilling to move, just holding. A kiss to his temple pulled him out of the stupor he'd lapsed into, it wasn't soft but it was reassuring. Nothing about Enjolras was ever soft. Charming, terrifying, consuming.

It was then that Enjolras shifted, rolled to the side and pulled Grantaire with him so that he rested with his head on his shoulder. He might have said something if the soft lighting illuminating the other man's profile hadn't captured him so. His face was delicate, perhaps even feminine, but the lines were strong enough in themselves. That bone structure was something that he'd marvelled at so often, and for so long. In fact, he'd painted it so often it was burned into his memory, painfully so. It was what he saw when he closed his eyes, after all. The darkness was nothing compared to that light. A beauty that seemed altogether ethereal even in rage; he was more an avenging God than a angry schoolboy. An unbidden thought slipped in then, he had defiled him. Sullied him with his own filthy existence. Did he know a more apt embodiment of sin than himself? That he had dared to touch such a divine thing. In fact, if it weren't for his own bliss he might have broken down then, sobbed in the man's arms as if it were a normal thing. He could not tell Enjolras any of this, of course. That would only make him the more pathetic. What a wretch he was. Even as he shook those thoughts, he imagined he was being used either way. After all, they were to die soon. He had no hope that they would not. Foolish children playing at war. If it became apparent that his Apollo was only using him to fulfil something he had not deigned necessary until now he was fine with that. Why wouldn't he be? He would take anything he could get from this man as he had taken his scorn until now. No, this was okay. This he could handle. A life without this man, he could not, would not. Only as this thought ended did he note the evenness of Enjolras' breathing, the smooth rise and fall of his abdomen. He was sleeping and Grantaire would not move for all the wine on the Earth.