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When Zeus Frowns At Apollo

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Enjolras has no idea how he got into this mess, but he's blaming Coufeyrac for it anyway.

 

The Amis were pairing off to hand out their pamphlets earlier that morning. Enjolras had assigned them to each other, as a sort of buddy system, and they were just getting organised when Couf got that gleam in his eyes that meant only one thing - trouble.

"How about we switch things up a bit today, fellows? Find someone else to hand out pamphlets with."

Combeferre frowned, adjusting his spectacles. "Why?"

Coufeyrac bumped his shoulder like a friendly tomcat. "Why not? Maybe I feel like a little bit of change from Enjy and his one-track mind. Maybe I had a donut for breakfast and it's making me hyper. Maybe it's a Tuesday. Why not, sweet 'Ferre?"

Jehan, the little butterfly of a poet, had been the first to move, flitting from Feuilly's side to slip his arm into Bahorel's. "It sounds like a good idea to me," he said shyly, and the brawler went pink.

Enjolras opened his mouth to protest, but Combeferre shut him up with a look. "I think Coufeyrac is right in having us rearrange ourselves. It will be a change of pace, if nothing else."

 

Enjolras was so busy glowering - definitely not sulking, revolutionary leaders did not sulk, honestly Courf - that he only realised that everyone else was paired up when Grantaire stood in front of him, an awkward smile playing around his lips. "Looks like it's you and me, Apollo," the drunkard mumbled, shrugging as if in apology.

Enjolras simply gathered an armful of pamphlets and started to the square where he usually passed them out, waving farewell to Combeferre as he and Coufeyrac walked away together.

 

As Enjolras had suspected, Grantaire was little use to him as he passed out pamphlets in the square. The scruffy cynic chose instead to spend his time sketching the fountains, the passers-by, and a pigeon eating a discarded sandwich. His manner infuriated Enjolras, and many people chose to skirt around the fiery-eyed, glaring blond shoving leaflets at them rather than engage in conversation.

 

As a result, Enjolras was in a truly foul temper when it began, of all things, to rain. It was simply a light drizzle at first, but in a few minutes it had gotten so heavy the two were forced to find cover. They managed to shelter in an abandoned doorway, and Enjolras found himself pressed up against Grantaire in an effort to keep dry. He tried to ignore the fact that he could feel the way the cynic's chest rose and fell with each breath, and told himself that the funny feeling in his stomach meant nothing.

Grantaire looked into the downpour, and whistled softly. "Doesn't look like it's gonna let up any time soon. Let's hope it doesn't-"

A flash of lightning, swiftly followed by a crash of thunder, interrupted him. He gave a hoarse chuckle. "Yep. There it is."

He felt something warm against his chest, and realised that Enjolras was curled up against him, shaking. Of course the fearless revolutionary, who laughed in the face of riot police and scorned the threats of his opponents, was frightened by thunder. Instinctively, he began to stroke the blond curls.

"My, my, fearless Apollo fears the wrath of Zeus, eh? Knew you had to be scared of something."

Enjolras raised his head to glare, but an even louder crash of thunder made him squeak and dive into the safety of the other man's arms. Grantaire was about to tease him again when he realised that Enjolras was actually trembling, and instead wrapped his arms around the Apollo and gently hummed to the frightened man.

Enjolras hated thunderstorms. He hated appearing weak in front of Grantaire, enemy of his beloved cause, good-for-nothing drunkard, and gorgeous bastard, and he hated the fact that, instead of mocking him for this weakness, was being kind and comforting. Enjolras finally relaxed enough to raise his head, and looked Grantaire in the face. He tried to ignore the fact that they were so close, close enough that the tip of his nose almost touched Grantaire's.
"Why are you doing this?" He murmured.

Grantaire blinked in mild surprise. "Well, it wouldn't be very nice to let you suffer the storm alone, and-"

Enjolras shook his head, cutting him off. "No, I mean - all of this. The whole revolutionary thing. You don't believe in it, so why bother coming along?"

Grantaire shrugged, grinning that insufferable grin that made Enjolras' heart beat a little bit faster. "I believe in you, Apollo. I don't believe in anything else. Plus, it's nice, sometimes, for a cynic like me to see someone care as much as you do about this revolution thing."

Enjolras searched the depths of Grantaire's eyes for a long moment before he spoke again. "So you believe in me?"

Grantaire felt witty replies shrivel up on his tongue, and settled for a nod. "Yes," he managed to whisper. "I believe in nothing else."

Enjolras stared at him, and Grantaire was just about to make some snide remark to break the tension when the other man suddenly blurted, "I should like to kiss you."

The cynic froze, and Enjolras was just about to try and take back the hasty words when he felt chapped lips on his, and Grantaire was kissing him. It was soft and sweet, starting out chaste as the artist brought up a hand to cup Enjolras' face. The blond let his mouth fall open slightly, unspoken permission for Grantaire to deepen the kiss, and he had to suppress a whimper as he felt the kiss grow needier, Grantaire's tongue flicking into his mouth and his other hand moving up to run ink-stained fingers through the blond curls.

They separated, panting, and Enjolras could only focus on the man in front of him. His lips were shining and a tiny bit swollen, his cheeks were beautifully flushed, and his eyes were large and dark with something that made his heart thump.

 

Grantaire brushed his thumb over the Apollo's soft lips, and a tiny part of his mind wondered why this god would look at him, a mortal, like he was the only thing in the world worth seeing. He kissed him again, gently, and again, harder. Enjolras looped his arm around Grantaire's neck, allowing the other man to push him against the old door and press little kisses along his jaw, his cheeks, and smiled like an idiot as 'Taire kissed him all over his face.

The artist drew back to study Enjolras' face, his scrutiny making the other blush. "What?"

"You have a lovely smile, and you never use it. You look like a god anyway, but when you smile..." Grantaire shook his head admiringly. "That's...something else."

Enjolras looked away, still grinning like an idiot, and the thunder doesn't bother him so much anymore. How could it? He's with Grantaire.