The Les Mis Anon Kink Meme, Round 5
Since LJ seems to have finally capitulated to the Russian government and is now subject to Russian anti-obscenity laws, I'm not going to take a chance on sudden deletions. The Les Mis kinkmeme now lives at https://lesmiskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/. (Round 5 here.) Everything has been backed up there. The LJ kinkmeme will stay up, but is now closed to
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When Enjolras finally reaches the Musain, the sun is high in the sky, the weak cloud cover failing in obstructing its golden rays. Enjolras, frazzled and thoroughly confused, has been stopped by three other people with similar requests to the gamin’s, and one young woman had actually latched herself to him while begging her governess to ‘please, please let me have him!’. Needless to say, the governess had pried her off him but only so she could latch on to him instead. He barely managed to get away from them with his clothing intact though he lost some of his pamphlets.
What was in those people’s water, anyway?
Enjolras steps into the Musain with a relieved sigh. He can hear his friends’ chatter from the upstairs room they have claimed as theirs for years now, and the sounds of clinking bottles and merriment are enticing as they are soothing. Finally, some peace.
He attempts to tame the mess his hair has surely become in the wake of running away from the crazy governess (who had a grip like an octopus), walking into the ‘headquarters’ of the group.
“I apologise for my tardiness - today has been rather strange,” he says, laying his pamphlets and maps on to the scarred wooden table his friends are gathered around.
He’s barely gotten the words out before Courfeyrac springs from his chair. “Enjolras! Have you been combing your hair differently? You look stunning on this fine morning.”
“I have actually been using olive oil to add a shine to it - but that is neither here nor there at the moment.”
Courfeyrac ignores the warning tone in Enjolras’ voice in favour of sidling closer to the man. “Say, Enjy, do you have prior engagements tonight?”
“And how does that further the revolution?” asks the blonde, irritated. What is it with people acting strange today? Is this some ploy of the government to deter him from the uprising?
“Stop being ridiculous.” Combeferre says, rising from his own chair and rounding the table to stand in front of Courfeyrac and Enjolras. Ah, this is why Combeferre is my first lieutenant, thinks Enjolras, he does not lose sight of what is important. “Of course Enjolras has prior engagements for this evening - he has a date with me.”
Enjolras is already nodding, glad to have someone who understands the importance of the revolution. “Yes, right you are Combe - wait, what?”
Combeferre blinks at him. “Are you alright?”
But his golden-haired friend does not answer. He cannot answer. His mouth gapes open, closing and re-opening like a fish as he tries to formulate an answer. Courfeyrac slides an arm around him.
“Now, boys,” murmurs Jehan. The soft-spoken poet has flowers gracing his long hair, lending him the appearance of a nymph. “Do not fight over one whose heart does not belong to either of you!”
Enjolras smiles gratefully at him. “I think we should all listen to Jehan-“
“Clearly, our divine leader’s heart is inclined towards me.”
“Have you all lost your minds?” cries Enjolras, throwing his hands up in frustration. “These fruitless talks have absolutely no bearing on our plans! How can we hope to overthrow the king when we cannot stop squabbling amongst ourselves?”
“You can overthrow me, if you want,” Courfeyrac whispers into his ear. “On to a bed.”
Ten minutes later, Combeferre and Courfeyrac each have an arm of Enjolras’, both tugging him into opposite directions as Bossuet hugs the blonde’s legs, face buried into the space between his thighs. Bahorel is arm-wrestling Feuilly over who Enjolras loves more while Jehan kneels in front of the many-limbed blob that is Enjolras-Combeferre-Courfeyrac-Bossuet, a bouquet of flowers that he has plucked from his hair held in his hands, thrust upwards to where Enjolras’ face is.
“’Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Though art more lovely and more temperate."
Joly, whose hands are sifting through Enjolras’ beautiful locks of hair, hisses at Jehan. “Enjolras will never fall for your flimsy poetry! Though he is far lovelier than a summer’s day…”
With a dazed look on his face (which isn’t really that unusual), Marius is stroking Enjolras’ face, fingers pulling the man’s cheeks away from his face as one would to a babe. “What a pretty complexion!”
This is the scene Grantaire walks in on.
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MARIUS
CREEPY CREEPY MARIUS
Oh god I'm just waiting for R to tear E away from them all and shout "NOW NOBODY GETS TO HAVE HIM.
WELCOME TO MY WORLD, ASSHOLES."
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You know, I might end up using that sentence. -flies off on a carpet of crack-
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Absolutely love that line.
Oh, Courfeyrac. *shakes head*
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