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[untamedantinous]

Enjolras is on a mission. It is not in the least like any of the self-imposed missions he has given himself in the past; but he is as determined as he ever is. (Yes, he will admit to himself that this is a distraction, but it is a new and pleasant one; and he could do with some pleasant and educational exercises in good company.)

With that in mind, as stubborn as ever, he goes in search of Laertes. He is certainly more sober than he was yesterday, having spent his morning in consideration and working on some writing—one of those pamphlets for Magnus they had been speaking of. His fingers show the evidence of that, they are smudged and have a few ink blots on them; but he is smiling nonetheless as he knocks at Laertes’ door. There he stands, waiting sober as a priest; although it is hard to say that considering the still apparent bruises at his throat that were too difficult to hide with a cravat.

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[timebethine]

There's something like the thrill of fencing or boxing in this--that sense of meeting resistance and pushing up against it, demanding to be felt and heeded. He grinds his hips against Enjolras's, offering himself like a cliff for Enjolras to dash himself against. "Canst touch me, too," says Laertes, low and warm. He smothers a smirk against the long muscle between Enjolras's neck and his shoulder, then bites down hard there.

[untamedantinous]

His own hips arch against Laertes', and he cannot help but let out another hungry noise, louder than before. "Yes, I -- you are very distracting," almost admonishing, but it's clear he's teasing from the playful look in his eyes. He lets his own hands wander as they will, exploring, feeling out where Laertes might be sensitive like he is, but remaining careful of his bandaged hand. "Mmn, Christ, you'll have me swearing to something I don't even believe in if you keep that up."

[timebethine]

Enjolras will find his ribs and hips very sensitive--ticklish, even; Laertes twitches and laughs at too light a touch. But Laertes enjoys a firm touch anywhere, and if Enjolras should offer pain, Laertes will reward him with pain in kind. Enjolras seems to prefer him fierce rather than sweet, and Laertes is more than happy to scratch a lattice of searing welts into his back. He draws no blood yet ... but he's very conscious that it feels like a yet, and the anticipation of it makes him ache. "Christ has not my allegiance," Laertes says. "Man does, and thou art a fine, fine man."

[untamedantinous]

He prefers a little of both, in all honesty, but as his hands wander he does take a moment to leave some scratches of his own along Laertes' back, mirroring his own, nails biting deep and sharp as he feels this out. "So are you," he says, voice low and pressing a hard bite to whatever bit of Laertes' shoulder he can reach. "And I am yours."

[timebethine]

At that bite, that yours, Laertes shudders and cries out. He wraps his arms around Enjolras and for a second just clutches him tight, tight. Then he's tilting his head to capture Enjolras's mouth again, chasing a deeper kiss than they've ever shared before.

[untamedantinous]

Which Enjolras is returning in kind, letting Laertes lead the way but managing to hold his own all the same. This is --new, this is like washes crashing on a shore, it recedes and comes back stronger than before, and he wants more.

"Please, I--" he starts, licking his lips, and he must be well on his way to looking thoroughly debauched at this point, cheeks red and eyes bright; but then he realizes he doesn't know what he wants, other than just more. More of everything he's experienced so far. "I need more."

[timebethine]

"Come to bed, then," murmurs Laertes, urging him toward the door to the narrow bedroom. "I'd take thee in my mouth--and if thou wilt have me, canst have me in thine."

[untamedantinous]

"I would hardly know what to do," but it's not much of a protest as he's following along, sitting on the edge of the bed when they arrive. He glances down at himself, and arches an eyebrow, not bothering to hide his smirk. "But I suppose you did promise to ruin me."

[timebethine]

"I think that nothing would ruin thee," laughs Laertes, slipping a hand between Enjolras's legs to test the heft of him. "The more I dig into thee, the greater treasure I unbury. Thou art a rich vein, my heart."

[untamedantinous]

"Oh--" It's soft, almost reverent, and he cannot help but to press his hips up and in, watching Laertes with dark, hooded eyes. "It is not often I am lost for words," he attempts after a moment, biting back a smile. "And yet you are quite good at making me so."

[timebethine]

"Let thy words go," says Laertes as he sinks to his knees. He leans in, bent into a posture of reverence, and licks the crown of Enjolras's cock. "Be mine. Forget all else but being mine."

[untamedantinous]

“Yours,” he echoes, closing his eyes, and it’s a prayer; though he is not a praying man, it is hard to let himself be incoherent, to truly let himself go; but that lick makes him shudder and reach for Laertes’ hair, fisting a hand in it to ground himself at least somewhat. “Oh, more…”

[timebethine]

Laertes sighs at the pressure of that hand in his hair--he sinks down a little, taking Enjolras in his mouth, circling his tongue and tracing every ridge and curve of the head. He brings his hands up to scratch slow, shallow lines down Enjolras's thighs, hips to knees, over and over again.

[untamedantinous]

It is a good thing he has a hand in Laertes’ hair, because he feels like he could float away. He has, at last, given up on words; instead just pulling at the other man’s hair with the hand that is there, sharp tugs that coincide with his shaky breaths.

[timebethine]

And for a while, Laertes drifts in the pleasure of service. He lets his mouth fall slack and easy, lets Enjolras fill him up with a warm, comfortable weight; he breathes slow and deep through his nose. He lets that hand in his hair be a guide, pulling off when they tug him back and sinking down further every time they press him in.

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras is trembling, though he would be loath to admit to it. He is close; he can tell, it feels like fire running through his veins and he cannot help but arch his hips a little as well, trying his best to be careful as he tugs at Laertes’ hair again.

[timebethine]

Laertes grins around Enjolras at that little hitch of the hips--his lips draw tight with it, and a chuckle vibrates through Enjolras's skin. Freeing a hand, Laertes cups and strokes Enjolras's balls one after the other, then lets them go and runs a dry fingertip over Enjolras's hole.

[untamedantinous]

He doesn’t quite know what he’s doing; but it feels right and it feels good and —oh. Enjolras’ eyes go wide and dark, so dark one could drown in them, and he lets out a hungry, low noise he is mostly unaware of, hitching his hips upward again.

[timebethine]

That noise goes through Laertes like a gunshot; he shudders to his toes at it. Pulling off for a moment, Laertes turns his gaze up to Enjolras. His eyes are as fathomlessly, drowningly dark. "Wouldst have me touch inside of thee?" he asks, voice wrecked and wicked.

[untamedantinous]

He can’t even find words for an answer, but he nods, reaching to cup Laertes’ face with his hand. “Please,” he finally manages, voice just as rough and hungry for something he cannot quite name.

“Ah, you are lovely.”

[timebethine]

Then Laertes rises to kiss Enjolras again--his mouth is raw, now, and there's more hunger than art to the kiss; he presses into it and breathes in sharply through his nose. "A fine pair we make, then," he says at the kiss's end. "I love to see thee undone like this. Thou wert not made to be untouchable; thou wert made for sweat and blushes. Lie back for me, sweet. Let me touch thee."

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras kisses back, just as hungry and messy. He can taste himself on Laertes’ lips, and it only serves to pull his senses a little more taut.

“I do not feel sweet,” with half a smirk; but he does shift his weight further back on the bed, offering a hand to pull Laertes down with him.

[timebethine]

"Then let me say only thy name," says Laertes. Rather than taking the offered hand, he reaches into the drawer of the bedside table and pulls out a jar of salve that Claudius had brewed for him. When he works the lid off, the scent that rises into the air is oily, thick, faintly herbal. (Laertes can't help feeling a hot, deep pang of arousal every time he smells it; Claudius has trained him well.) "Enjolras," he murmurs as he dips his finger in the salve and smooths it over Enjolras's hole. Finally, he leans down to let Enjolras gather him close. "Enjolras, thou hast a savor all thine own."

[untamedantinous]

“You may call me Lucien,” and it’s half a laugh, burying his face into the crook of Laertes’ shoulder and wrapping his arms around him.

“I think we are well past that point,” he adds, quiet, taking a moment to run his nails down Laertes’ spine.

[timebethine]

"Lucien," he says, and thinks, Lux, light. He circles and strokes with his left hand, not pressing in but teasing it, promising it. "Lucien, thou pleasest me so well--let thyself be wild with me; I can bear it--"