I'm sorry to disappoint anyone who thought this was going to be a full on wet dream. I feel so awful, but your responses were so positive! I wanted to save the best stuff for when the boys ACTUALLY got together. Sorry if you feel short-changed, I promise to make it up later with real sex.
Grantaire blinked hard, trying to figure out exactly where he was. The wheelhouse? When had he gone up there? The last thing he remembered-
Oh.
Enjolras was sitting in the captain's chair, though the leather was thicker and it was mounted closer to the floor. That sea-shaded gaze was heavy-lidded and focused on him, nailing him in place. The blonde was set in a regal sprawl, legs carelessly parted to show off how snugly his jeans hugged him. That shirt, a simple white, was practically poured on to his chest. But the real focal point was further down. Those boots. Those boots. The ones from a faraway dream of thrones and submission.
If this was a dream, he'd strangled the person who woke him up.
Enjolras raised a hand and crooked a finger at him, then pointed to the floor. The command was silent and sure, demanding complete attention.
You. Come. Kneel.
Grantaire nodded, dragging his feet through what felt like wet cement to obey.
Yes, sir.
He dropped to his knees right between his captain's feet, ripping his eyes from his shoes to gaze into the man's face. But those boots. They were long, laced tight up his shins and kissing the edges of his knees. There was power and shape hidden under matte leather, pure muscle pushing against the strings. It made his mouth water.
"What is it you want, boy?"
Grantaire shivered, "I...I..."
A blonde brow raised at the poor articulation, "You come all the way up here, bared for me like a sacrifice, and you don't even know what you want?"
Grantaire bit back a squeak as he realized how naked he actually was. He tried to cover himself, hide the hard shame leaking against his stomach, but the man flashed his canines.
"Don't you dare hide what's mine!"
Grantaire moaned outright, dropping his hands onto his trembling thighs. Those words shouldn't have made him ache so much. He should have defended his right to do whatever the fuck he felt like. He should have been cold, nervous, or frightened – but he wasn't. He was warmer than he could ever remember being and Enjolras was here, he would take care of him. He trusted him. Maybe more than he should.
"I want..." he couldn't say it.
Enjolras rested the curl of one finger under his chin, thumb barely skimming across his lips, "What does my boy want?"
"I want to be good," Grantaire whimpered out, the shame of just how much burning scarlet paths up his chest and neck, "I want you to...make better use of my mouth."
Everything sped up after that. His lips grazed dark laces, his tongue worshiped smooth darkness, and his cock throbbed between his thighs. He wanted to be touched but he was content caressing the leather and letting the taste of it wash down the back of his throat. Horribly degrading things were growled out by his captain, the term filthy slut sinking into his skin like a brand. He tried to raise his head, offer more, but a boot heel dug into the back of his head.
"Did I say you could move?"
"N-No, sir," Grantaire shuddered, pushing into the hard touch even as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, "Please, I'll be good, I promise."
"Will you be my good boy?"
"Oh yes," he pleaded, the heel biting into his scalp, "Please Enjolras, captain, anything. Anything you want."
Next day will be up today :)
