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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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[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--"

[untamedantinous]

That is very nearly a whine, and he drags his nails down Laertes’ back again, sharper this time, biting at where he had been nuzzling earlier. He settles to his task, then, digging in his nails from time to time as he continues biting and kissing where he left off, intending to leave a mark if he can.

[timebethine]

And Laertes revels in the sweet, tender violence of it; he is an instrument in Lucien's hands, vocal and inarticulate, gasping and crying out at every press of nails and every delicious bite. He grinds himself against the hollow of Lucien's hip even as he slips the tip of his finger in.

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras smiles to see his reactions, biting harder, pressing here and there, until he pulls away from Laertes’ shoulder to press a biting, hungry kiss to his lips, deep and wanting. He does still a bit when he feels the intrusion, letting his eyes close as he tries to get accustomed to this new feeling.

“You are driving me mad,” he says, voice husky and trembling.

[timebethine]

"Should I stop?" asks Laertes, but it's more teasing than serious. "Or wouldst thou be driven mad?"

[untamedantinous]

The only answer he gives is an almost bruising kiss; tongue and teeth and pleased noises all pointing to one thing. He’s fairly sure Laertes can divine his meaning from that; and if not, then he only needs to look down a bit and see the evidence for himself.

[timebethine]

Never has Laertes lamented impetuousness more than today, when he wants to hold that bruising kiss and at the same time take Lucien in hand and teach him how it feels to come with a finger inside him. Instead, reluctantly leaving the kiss, Laertes crawls back down to take Lucien in his mouth again. He sucks harder now (there is the slightest pressure of teeth), intent upon nothing but Lucien's release. Laertes sinks his finger in a little deeper, past the first knuckle and to the second, just deep enough to graze Lucien's prostate with the tip of his finger.

[untamedantinous]

“Oh-“ He is trembling in earnest now, arching into Laertes’ mouth heedless of anything else. “Yes, again, almost…”

He is so close, he can feel it like a precipice that he is close to falling off of, and the feeling makes him squirm with pleasure, taking in hungry gasps of air.

[timebethine]

Laertes takes him in until his eyes water, until his throat shudders and clenches; he drives his finger in deeper, crooking it and stroking as though beckoning Lucien to fall.

[untamedantinous]

And fall he does, with a loud groan as his release finally comes. The fire running through his veins feels familiar, similar enough and yet different from how he feels in the midst of a battle; but the sense of exertion is the same.

“Ah, I am —“ He fumbles for his words, coming back to himself from, it seems, a far off place, a faint haze of pleasure still coloring his voice. “Did I hurt you; I am sorry..”

[timebethine]

"Illuminated me," Laertes rasps, and surges up to steal a kiss--long, rough, dizzyingly deep. "Thou hast set me among the stars, and made of me a constant flame."

[untamedantinous]

“Have I?” He licks at his lips a little after that kiss, grinning like the cat that’s got into the cream, and moves to settle his arms around Laertes, content.

“That was—“ He starts, thoughtful, voice still a little hoarse, and continues: “incandescent, if I may borrow your metaphor. I can see the appeal.”

[timebethine]

Laertes settles into his arms, feeling sluggish and content. Arousal is still singing beneath his skin, but there's no urgency to it; there's no particular pull to bite and scratch and claim. Instead, he just rests his closed hand over Lucien's heart and nuzzles his jaw. "Didst not see the appeal, before?"

[untamedantinous]

"Not as such, no. I never understood it." He presses a lazy kiss to Laertes' cheek. "I think I do, now." The fire in his veins is similarly banked, but he is very happy to just sit for a while and take it all in, running his hands across the bare expanse of skin in front of him.

[timebethine]

Laertes chuckles and flops on him, thigh thrown over his legs to keep him pinned and close. "I don't need it now," he says, "but an thou take another lover, 'tis courtesy to return the pleasure."

[untamedantinous]

"Mmm." Enjolras hums out a lazy agreement, nuzzling close as he can for now. "I will make a note of it," he adds, a slight teasing note in his voice. Will he actually write that in a notebook? Probably not, but he does make it sound like he might. "I do not think I can move at all, now, though." He doesn't sound like he minds it too much.

[timebethine]

"Rest," Laertes urges. "Turn out the light, and abide with me a while in sleep. There are many hours yet before I have to go."

[untamedantinous]

"If you insist." Which he clearly does, since he has Enjolras pinned down, and he reaches to turn out the light. That done, he curls back into Laertes' arms and closes his eyes. If this were anyone but Enjolras, it might be called snuggling.