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More Denial Than Regret

Chapter Text

He had told Grantaire to stop drinking.

He knew the hangover he had been heading for but the man never listened.

Right now he should be glad that R couldn’t remember but somehow he found that it was becoming less and less what he actually wanted. He wasn’t looking forward to dealing with that. There were somethings you just ignored and never thought about and this was supposed to be one of them. Except now it looked like it wasn’t. Fuck.

 

Last Night

 

They had somehow managed to find some bizarre abandoned wine shop and the camera was broken and this was going to be amazing so long as they didn’t get caught.

Bahorel was working his way steadily through his second bottle and was feeling pleasantly drunk. Normally a bottle and a half of wine wouldn’t be sufficient but the shop didn’t just have wine and they had split a bottle of Jagermeister right at the start and now his body felt relaxed and his head was fuzzy.

 

Grantaire on the other hand had gone on to drink two bottles of wine in quick succession and when that hadn’t had the desired effect had moved onto the rum, and was now most of the way through a bottle which was quite a lot even for him.

 

It should have been a warning sign really, he knew what rum did to Grantaire. He had seen it before, hell he had experienced it before but that was one of the things that he absolutely never ever thought about.

 

So he shouldn’t have been surprised when it started happening again, but he was, he wasn’t prepared and he really should have seen it coming.

 

Rum burned through Grantaire in a way most other alcohol didn’t. The nights he drank rum were followed by mornings waking up in someone else’s bed. So Bahorel shouldn’t have been surprised when R sat down next to him and proceeded to try to drape himself across the other man. Yet he was.

 

The artist rubbed up against him, buried his face in Bahorel’s neck and started nipping and sucking at it and Bahorel tried pushing him away but it only resulted in his friend climbing over to straddle his lap and breathing into his ear how desperate he was. Yes Bahorel had noticed that already thank you very much and a quick look down had confirmed exactly how much.

 

It was at this point while Bahorel was trying desperately hard to remind himself he was straight that Grantaire started grinding against him and whispering utter filth into his ear about what he wanted Bahorel to do to him. It was also point where Bahorel did the one thing he knew he should never do in this situation. He thought about the last time.

 

It had happened three or four times before. It was always the same, R wasted on rum and absolutely desperate for it and Bahorel trying hopelessly to convince himself that this was not a good idea. He could remember how frantic it was, biting and scratching, and Grantaire tight around him and the face he made when Bahorel slid into him and the noises, oh gods porn stars had nothing on the noises R could make if you got him going and he begged for it too. While he was thinking all this Grantaire pulled back to look at him and licked his lips and Bahorel only had so much willpower.

 

He pressed their mouths together, biting at the artist’s lips. His large hands coming up to grip one hip and thigh so he could lift up and slam Grantaire into the floor. The moan it caused was all the further encouragement he needed.

 

It was fast and rough and sloppy and brutal and absolutely glorious and Bahorel was covered in bite marks and Grantaire was going have bruises tomorrow.

 

Afterwards R had slunk off to continue drinking himself into oblivion, movements languid, now sated. While Bahorel was left to drink himself back to denial.



Now

 

The problem was he had given in the first time. Convinced himself he was just helping out a friend this one time. Now when it happened all he could do was remember the last time and it was happening all over again. The worst of it was Grantaire didn’t know. He never remembered. He drank so much afterwards the entire night became a blank space in his mind.

 

As Bahorel hoisted his friend higher over his shoulder, carrying him round to the doctor in an attempt to get rid of his hangover so they could actually continue with their plans for the day he couldn’t help but think if R never wondered where those bruises came from.

Chapter Text

He had bruises again.

 

Dark and large on his hips, shaped like fingertips.



Who had it been this time, did it matter? Was he safe? He should get tested again to be on the safe side.

 

Shit. This is why he went drinking with Bahorel, in the hope this shit would stop happening. But no. Get a little rum in him and apparently he was insatiable which sucked because rum was pretty much his favorite thing to drink. It was rich and dark and warming and drinking it made him feel like himself just turned up to 11 and he was horny enough at the best of times dammit. He was going to have to stop though. One day he was going to get into some serious trouble because of all this. He was lucky he hadn’t been already.

 

Bahorel had carried him over to Joly this morning in the hopes of curing his appalling hangover but really there wasn’t much their doctor friend could do that they weren’t capable of themselves. Still it was the thought that counts. Even if he had been slung over his friend’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

 

He was trying not to think about that part to be honest. Bahorel was unbelievably strong and sometimes when he used Grantaire to demonstrate this then Grantaire developed a bit of a problem. So far Bahorel wasn’t aware of this and if Grantaire got his say in things it would be staying that way.


He’d thanked Bahorel for looking after him and they’d gone their separate ways. Bahorel had seemed in a worse mood than his hangover really afforded and Grantaire felt bad because it was probably his fault. While Bahorel had stormed off to his flat Grantaire wandered home with the intention of seeing how bad the bruising was this time.

Chapter Text

 

He paced across his living room floor. He was going to wear a hole in the carpet at this rate but he just couldn’t find it in him to stay still. He was still thinking about it. He couldn’t stop and that was bad, very bad because it was making him want to call Grantaire. It was making him want to ask if R would be up for another round of drinking tonight and that was absolutely something he could not do. Grantaire couldn’t remember then he shouldn’t use that against him but oh god he just couldn’t stop thinking about it.

 

What had he done, oh god what had he done now, last night was even better than the last time had been. Worse. Worse, not better, definitely worse. Oh who was he kidding, it had been amazing, glorious. If he was being really honest with himself, something he was trying very hard not to do right now, it was possibly the best sex he’d ever had. Well, fuck. That thought had him sinking down onto the sofa with his head in his hands.

 

He was straight. He was supposed to be straight and he had no problem with anyone who wasn’t because really he was in the minority amongst his group of friends. He was straight, but really how many straight guys ended up fucking one of their best male friends on what was fast becoming a semi-regular basis.

 

He had always focused so hard on not thinking about it but right now that wasn’t working and maybe that was for the best because clearly there was something about himself that needed examining. He thought about Grantaire, fully clothed and sober, not the memories that so desperately wanted his attention. He was filled with fondness and warmth at the thought of his friend. At his sarcastic jabs and terrible puns. He was filled with a deeper and more intense warmth when he thought of his smile, of that wicked smirk he got whenever he was thinking up something devious or filthy, at the way Grantaire bit his lip when he was thinking about something. At the strength he hid beneath ill fitting clothes and how soft his curls were between Bahorel’s fingers.

 

Ok. So. It wasn’t just when they were drunk then was it. Fuck. He thought Grantaire was hot. Fuck.

 

His let his thoughts drift back to last night and the other times and swallowed at the intensity of what he was feeling. He looked down at his lap. Yeah there wasn’t really anyway of denying this anymore was there.

 

He was attracted to Grantaire, very attracted. What the hell was he going to do now.

Chapter Text

Grantaire stared at himself in the mirror. He’d taken his shirt and trousers off and was standing just in his boxers to better examine the extent of the bruises and if there had been any other damage done.

 

He wonders what guy he’d managed to find willing to throw him about a bit because damn that must have been hot. Maybe Bahorel would remember and he could find him again sober.

 

Because that wouldn’t be awkward at all.

 

“Hey Rel do you remember who I ditched you for last night when I was wasted because I’m looking at these bruises and damn he might be a keeper.” He mused aloud. “Fuck no he’d punch me in the face, through the phone line. He’d find a way, I know he would.”

 

He sighed, “Fuck. You’re so fucked up Grantaire.” He said at his reflection. “Why thank you for telling me I wasn’t previously aware of that fact.” He snarked back at himself. “Ugh I’m losing it.”

 

Fuck. The only thoughts running through his head right now were why did Bahorel have to be straight. If Bahorel hadn’t been straight then Grantaire could have just gotten him to fuck him till he couldn’t stand up and this sort of thing might stop happening. This was really a dangerous line of thought and he shook his head to try and rid himself of it.

 

He picked up his phone. He might as well call Bahorel anyways. Who knows maybe he would remember and maybe Grantaire wouldn’t get punched in the face.

 

“Rel’s Riot Starters. You got a regime to overthrow, we’ve got the molotov cocktails.”

 

“Are you ever going to start answering your phone like a normal person.”

 

“Never. What’s up R, how’s the hangover.”

 

Was it just him or did Bahorel sound a little nervous. No, that couldn’t be right. He hadn’t known Bahorel to be nervous the entire time they’d known each other.

 

“You, er. You wouldn’t happen to have gotten the name it was of whoever I spent the night with would you.”

 

There was silence from the other end of the phone. “Bahorel?”

 

“Why?”

 

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “Wow ok you don’t normally want to know the details of that sort of stuff but ok. Well, um, he’s left these bruises all over my thighs and wrists and honestly pretty much handprints on my hips and well. I like that sort of stuff and I don’t normally get it. I was thinking of maybe seeing if he’d be up for it when I was a bit more sober.”

 

There was another pause from Bahorel’s end of the line and it had just gotten to the point where Grantaire was going to apologise and ask if he was alright when Bahorel answered him.

 

“I’m coming round.”

 

“Wait what.” The line disconnected. He wasn’t sure if he had made Bahorel angry or worried his friend about the bruises or what but he was pretty certain he wasn’t going to enjoy this visit.

 

“Fuck.”

Chapter Text

Bahorel spent the walk over to Grantaire’s flat wondering what the fuck he thought he was doing. What could he have said though. Should he have admitted it was him? Not over the phone Grantaire wouldn’t have believed him and he wasn’t even sure he was going to tell R so why. Why was he walking over to his flat as if he was about to confront him. He shook his head, no. That wasn’t it. He was just going to see the extent of the damage. How badly he had hurt his friend in his madness.

 

He knocked on the door to Grantaire’s flat and waited. The artist opened the door a crack and peered through it.

“Are you going to punch me?”

 

“What? No.” Why the hell had R thought he would punch him.

 

Grantaire sighed with relief and opened the door, although admittedly he still hid behind.

 

Bahorel stomped in. “You might as well shut that and come over here you’re going to show me how bad it is at some point anyway.”

 

Grantaire reluctantly closed the door. Bahorel could already see a dark bruise forming along the length of his spine. When the artist turned around he took in the rest of it. Grantaire hadn’t been kidding. Fingerprints on his thighs and wrists and almost entire handprints on his hips. Well fuck.

 

Bahorel could feel an odd warmth filling him at the sight of the bruises. At Grantaire being marked by what they had did, by him. If he was honest he was feeling a little possessive, and a little turned on.

 

“So, am I getting a lecture on fucking off with someone and leaving you on your own, a lecture on picking up people that don’t throw me about so much, or are you actually going to tell me if you know the guy.” Asked the artist. Something in Bahorel snapped.

 

“Oh for fucks sake Grantaire are you really that dense?”

 

Bahorel grabbed him by the hips and pulled him close, fingertips lining up with the bruises just right and Grantaire came to the sudden startling realisation that maybe he did know who he’d been sleeping with after all.

 

Oh. ” He swallowed thickly, “But.” He paused a second, trying to wrap his head around this new information. “I thought you were straight.”

 

“Funny. So did I.”

 

“What.”

 

“I can’t stop thinking about it. That’s why I keep giving in, every time I think of the last time and that’s it. I’m gone all over again. It doesn’t help that I’m always drunk too.”

 

“Every time?”

 

“Since you locked us in your flat and made me hide the key. I’m sorry R, I should have told you.”

 

“Rel.”

 

“I know, fuck I know and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you.”

 

“What? Rel, I took advantage of you ? I know what I’m like on rum I must have fucking threw myself at you what are you talking about?”

 

“I didn’t say no.”

 

“Did I even give you the option to?”

 

“R. It...it wasn’t like that.”

 

“Oh really.”

 

“It wasn’t. I wanted it. Wanted you.”

 

“What?”

 

“Fuck, man. The first time. The first time it wasn’t a big deal ok. I felt bad that you’d basically trapped yourself in a house with me when you could have been out getting laid and I thought, what was the harm right. Just a friend helping a friend out. No big deal.”

 

“Bahorel!?”

 

“I know and I think I might have been lying to myself then too.”

 

“And after that?”

 

“After that? After…I pretended that it was a bad idea, that it wasn’t what I wanted. But it’s not like you really needed to persuade me R. A few filthy words and you wrapped around me and all I could think of was the last time. How good it was and how fucking filthy you are and I just, I needed it, wanted it.”

 

There was a moment while they both let this information sink in. Bahorel hoping Grantaire wouldn’t tell him to fuck off and Grantaire hoping that Bahorel wasn’t pranking the fuck out of him.

 

“Are...are you sure?” He asked, a little breathless.

 

“You think I leave handprints on people I’m not really into? Fuck R do you even know how much you get off on that? On me throwing you around a bit because I fucking swear I’ve seen porn stars act less debauched than you.”

 

“Using big words now are we.”

 

“Grantaire.”

 

“Sorry, sarcasm as a defence mechanism, you know I didn’t mean it.”

 

“I know but R...I did. I do mean it. I still want you, we’re both sober and the questionable judgement we have is intact and I just…. I’m still thinking about it.”

 

Grantaire looked at the floor, “Fuck, Rel. You can’t stop thinking about it and I can’t even fucking remember any of it and fuck. This is so fucking fucked up.”

 

“Shit R it’s fine.” He was panicking, Bahorel knew he was panicking but he didn’t want to ruin one of the best friendships he had so he wasn’t sure how much of a choice he had in it. “I shouldn’t of said anything. It’s fine we can just go back to the way things were and we’re friends and just friends and it’s fine.”

 

Grantaire let out a breathless laugh, “And the next time I wrap myself around you and beg you to fuck me?”

 

“I’ll say no.”

 

“Hah”

 

“I mean it. I’ll say no and I’ll find some place for you to go and sleep the booze off.”

 

Grantaire swallowed and looked away again. “And if I asked you when I’m sober.”

 

“What?” He couldn’t have heard that right.

 

“I said. And if i ask you when I’m sober.” This time he looked Bahorel straight in the eyes when he said it. Defiant. Hopeful.

 

“Grantaire what are you saying because I’m kinda confused.”

 

“I’m saying….I’m saying I think I want to remember it this time.” He was shaking a little beneath Bahorel’s hands, “You can say no. No pressure. We’re still friends right.”

 

“Right” He licked his lips, “And if I say yes?”

 

“Fuck me.” Grantaire’s voice hitched over the words, “Fucking destroy me Bahorel cause I know you can and I sure as hell know you want to.”

 

Bahorel’s hands flexed at his hips and his fingers dug gently into the bruises. He pulled Grantaire completely flush against him, looking down into his eyes as he gave his answer.


“Fuck yes.”