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Enjolras jumps when the door suddenly opens. Combeferre enters the apartment, looking distressed as he walks briskly towards their – technically Courfeyrac’s – couch, immediately sitting down and pulling his laptop and iPad out of his bag. He knows Combeferre has classes and isn’t supposed to be back until the afternoon, so he worriedly asks, “What’s wrong?”
Combeferre sighs as he quickly types on his laptop. “My AirPods broke in the middle of my online lecture. I couldn’t stay at the library. I tried going to a cafe but it was too full and I couldn’t hear anything from my laptop.” The sound of a lecturer’s voice plays from the laptop’s speakers and Combeferre starts writing on his iPad. He stops after a few seconds and looks up at Enjolras, wide-eyed. “Do you mind? I could go to my room if it bothers you, but my room’s a mess and I–”
“You won’t be able to focus in there,” Enjolras finishes for him, nodding. “I don’t mind. Turn it up louder if you must.”
Combeferre nods at him as thanks and gets back to his notetaking. Enjolras tries to get back to proofreading his essay, but his attention is captured by Combeferre’s lecturer.
“Mutations are transferred from one bacteria to another through horizontal transmission. Again, this is different from the transfer of genetic material from mother to offspring, which happens via vertical transmission–”
“I didn’t know bacterial genetics is taught in medicine,” Enjolras says as he turns to Combeferre.
Combeferre doesn’t look up from his iPad when he replies, “It isn’t. We’re supposed to take an elective course for this semester and I chose microbiology. I thought it would be fun.”
Enjolras frowns as he watches Combeferre but doesn’t comment on it further. He knows that Combeferre has a passion for learning and that the man would definitely enroll for all the courses the university offers if it were possible. He’s just surprised by the apparent randomness of Combeferre’s electives – the man had once enrolled in a geology course, a time when Enjolras and Courfeyrac would trip over sharp rocks every time they tried to enter his room, and had also enrolled in a zoology course, where he filled his room with drawings of different moth species native to the city. Now it seems that Combeferre has bored himself of studying things easily seen by the naked eye. Enjolras snorts lightly as he smiles, impressed by his friend’s academic zeal.
“Plasmids are circular, extrachromosomal DNA that contain their own genes – often, antibiotic-resistance genes – and they replicate themselves in bacteria. F+ cells contain the extrachromosomal fertility plasmid, or F plasmid, which is, again, separate from the bacterial chromosome.”
Enjolras closes the Word document containing his essay as he listens to the lecture, figuring that he won’t be able to focus on it now that his attention has gotten away – and that he probably doesn’t need to edit it anymore, given that he had finished it days ago, and that he’s probably making it worse by overthinking and rewriting any line the computer cursor lands on. The latter thought is helpfully supplied by his brain in a small voice that suspiciously sounds like Grantaire, and Enjolras rolls his eyes. Maybe he just misses Grantaire. Maybe he should text Grantaire.
“Bacterial conjugation requires cell to cell contact, typically initiated by a sex pilus, protruding from a F+ donor cell and contracting to a F- recipient cell. The tip of the sex pilus attaches to a receptor on the recipient cell and the pilus retracts to draw them together.”
Enjolras feels his eyebrows fly past his forehead when he catches the lecturer’s words. He opens his mouth to try to say something to Combeferre, but thinks twice and closes it again. He frowns, and thinks whatever, and says, “That’s awfully sexual for a generally asexual organism.” He turns to Combeferre who looks up at him.
Combeferre regards Enjolras and doesn’t say anything for a while. “It’s a parasexual mode of reproduction,” he says a few seconds later. “It’s a type of reproduction where genetic transfer occurs even in the absence of sexual structures, and no new organism is formed, as opposed to sexual reproduction.”
“Oh.” Enjolras nods, understanding. “I thought bacteria reproduced by binary fission.”
“For producing offspring, yes,” Combeferre says with a frown. “Which is–”
“Vertical transmission, right. And the lesson is about horizontal transmission for genetic transfer where no offsprings are formed.”
Combeferre blinks at Enjolras and clears his throat. “And you managed to learn that by listening to the lecture?”
Enjolras shrugs. “We’ve lived together for years. Sometimes I think that if I shifted from law to medicine, I’d still finish it with flying colors.”
Combeferre looks guilty, and says, “If this bothers you–”
“It really doesn’t,” Enjolras cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “I could hear it and couldn’t help but listen.”
Combeferre gives him a small smile, which then turns to a smirk. “Since you’ve been listening well enough to follow the lecture, then I suppose nothing should stop you from helping me make flashcards for this.”
“And to think you were surprised that I know about your lessons,” Enjolras says, rolling his eyes. “Sure. I’ll help you.” He closes his laptop and takes his notebook and pen with him, preferring to write his notes on paper, and moves to sit on the couch next to Combeferre, who scoots to give Enjolras room.
Enjolas is greeted by an animated GIF portraying bacterial conjugation. He watches the line, supposedly a bacterial sex pilus, attached to an oval shape, supposedly a bacterium, grow long – obscenely long, he thinks. Why did the other bacterium have to be that far? Surely the concept of cell to cell contact isn’t too difficult to understand, and his mind strays on other things that are obscenely long, and he stops his train of thought right there. This is ridiculous. The sex pilus finally attaches to another bacterium, and the pilus brings them close to each other. Oh, Jesus Christ.
Enjolras hears the lecturer ramble on but he’s no longer listening. He stares at Combeferre’s laptop as the GIF plays again, since apparently it’s set to a loop, and he feels his own breath stutter. He feels a series of emotions pass through his mind, though he’s determined not to show any of it on his face, so he sets his jaw as he swallows. He feels ridiculous, first and foremost – it’s a microbiology class, and he’s watching literal polygons moving across the screen, and it doesn’t make sense for him to be associating anything from anyone to this thing. He finds that he’s not making sense to himself anymore either, and he comes to the mortifying realization that the blood in his brain is probably travelling somewhere else. Downwards, most likely.
Enjolras lets out a shaky breath and hopes that Combeferre doesn’t think too much of it. He has another realization, and it’s making everything worse – Grantaire had done a similar thing last night.
Enjolras remembers watching Grantaire touch himself, asking him to after driving Enjolras insane as he opened Enjolras with his skillful fingers. Enjolras got a grumpy, “Am I gonna be doing everything tonight?” from Grantaire then, but he was obedient enough to even put up a show for Enjolras. He knelt between Enjolras’ legs, slowly stroking himself to hardness until the tip of his cock had started to glisten. He swiped his thumb over the tip, smearing precome along his cock, and resumed stroking himself, moaning loudly as he did. Enjolras was already practically salivating by the time Grantaire had rolled the condom on, and had started to mewl helplessly when Grantaire really took his time liberally coating himself with lube.
Grantaire had shot Enjolras a look then, the disapproving one that he wears in their meetings when Enjolras says something that he finds particularly moronic.
“You do know that I’m slicking myself up so you won’t get hurt, right?”
“Yes, yes, you don’t want to hurt me. Can you not hurt me much faster?”
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
“You think everything I say makes no sense. Get in me now.”
“What, are you the boss of me?”
“N–no. Please get in me now.”
“You’re wrong,” Grantaire had said, as he lowered himself above Enjolras, pressing a kiss at the corner of his lips. He put his hands on Enjolras’ hips and continued, “You are the boss of me. All I need is your word, and I’d do anything you wish.” The warmth of Grantaire’s hands – and words – had felt like wildfire against Enjolras’ skin, and he felt it travel to his belly and his groin, making his own cock ache for release.
“Why the fuck are you so far up the bed?” Grantaire had asked, pulling Enjolras closer to him too eagerly, and the tip of his cock hit Enjolras’ ring of muscle. Enjolras shouted in surprise. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” Grantaire said, dropping down to his elbows to kiss Enjolras again, but Enjolras didn’t care, and he wanted more of it, he wanted all of it.
“Now, please, Grantaire,” Enjolras begged. He rarely begged anyone for anything, if he ever did.
Grantaire nodded shakily as he pushed in painfully slowly. Enjolras had cried then, out of relief, anticipation, sheer arousal, and a dozen other things, but Grantaire mistook it for pain and he pulled out, quick to apologize. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Enjolras groaned at the loss. He was close to crying out of frustration that time, all his tears streaming down his face. With much patience – and he had not much left – he said, “Grantaire, if you don’t get yourself in me, I swear I will push you off the bed and sit on your dick and fuck myself with it. So, please.”
Grantaire choked, and he placed himself back between Enjolras’ legs, and finally he pushed in and brought them together at last.
At present, Enjolras takes a deep breath. For his and Combeferre’s sakes, he is not going to think of whatever transpired next. It’s a miracle Combeferre hasn’t noticed his raging hard-on – he turns to Combeferre and finds him scribbling quickly on his iPad. He lets out a quiet, relieved sigh.
Combeferre’s lecturer starts sharing a video with the class – a 3D animation of bacterial conjugation, which isn’t as bad as the GIF Enjolras has seen earlier, because the bacteria actually look like bacteria and he isn’t about to be turned on by microorganisms. Although being turned on by shapes isn’t any better, he thinks belatedly.
“Plasmids carry genes that code for antibiotic resistance. During conjugation, plasmids can be rapidly exchanged between bacteria through pili, which allow the exchange of genetic material.”
Enjolras watches in dismay as the video depicts the transfer of plasmids through the sex pilus, which reminded him of Grantaire spending inside him, and suddenly Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On starts playing in the background of the video as the plasmid transfer played again in slow motion. Enjolras swallows.
“I–I’m afraid I’m not following anymore,” Enjolras says.
Combeferre looks up from his iPad and turns to Enjolras. “It’s just a joke about the mechanism of bacterial conjugation.”
“Ah,” Enjolras says weakly. “Well then. I–I just realized that… that I have something to, um, attend to. An essay.” Enjolras coughs as he stands up. “I will help you with your flashcards. Later. Some other time. I just…” He stands and goes to his room without looking at Combeferre. He closes the door as lightly as he can and throws his notebook at his desk before falling onto his bed. He shoves a hand down his pants, biting back a moan as he strokes himself. He uses his other hand to blindly search for his phone on his nightstand and finds nothing. He sits up and realizes that he left his phone on the kitchen table with his laptop. He groans as he lies back down the bed. So much for phone sex, then.
Enjolras settles with his thoughts from last night, the light sore that he still feels, the bruises on his neck and shoulders, the crescent-shaped scratches on his hips, all the work of Grantaire. He pumps his cock with his fist swiftly as he tries to imagine the feeling of Grantaire’s mouth on him.
***
“R.”
“Hmm?”
“Can you suck me off?”
Grantaire raises an eyebrow at Enjolras. “Can I suck you off. Can I spell my own name. Can I recite the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen. Can I–”
“R.”
Grantaire grins. “Of course, monsieur.” Grantaire pecks at Enjolras’ lips and trails kisses down his jaw, his chest, his stomach, and his thighs, pointedly avoiding the one part of his body that badly needs Grantaire’s attention. As if reading his mind, Grantaire looks up at him wickedly, and takes all of him by mouth without preamble.
Enjolras moans and he feels Grantaire smirk around his cock, if that’s even possible. Grantaire starts to move and Enjolras forgets how to think. He tries his best not to sink into the heat of Grantaire’s mouth, but with his mind no longer working, he loses control of himself and thrusts, and he hears Grantaire choke as he pulls away. It brings Enjolras out of his reverie quickly and he sits up to face Grantaire, placing his hands at the back of Grantaire’s neck, cradling him as he coughs, and says, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Grantaire manages. He wraps his arms around Enjolras and pulls him impossibly close, pressing their mouths together as they share a filthy kiss. Grantaire pulls away and rests his forehead against Enjolras’ so that they’re sharing the same breath. Smiling sweetly, and sounding just as sweetly, Grantaire asks, “Do you want me to keep sucking you off or do you have other plans?” The faux innocence in his voice is betrayed by a wet finger that’s slowly making its way past Enjolras’ tight ring of muscle.
Enjolras laughs at the irony. “I want you to fuck me again,” Enjolras says, watching Grantaire’s grin turn feral. Enjolras leans in again and licks into Grantaire’s mouth as he opens Enjolras, ever so careful. They stay like that for a while, enjoying the growing anticipation in their bellies. Once Grantaire is satisfied, he pushes Enjolras down the bed, looking at him questioningly as he waits for Enjolras’ next plan. Enjolras adjusts his position on the bed, moving upwards away from Grantaire. Grantaire watches him with a frown but doesn’t say anything. “Pull me towards you so that your cock would breach me upon contact,” Enjolras explains.
Grantaire exhales as he combs his fingers through his hair. “Jesus. The way you said that makes me think like we’re manuevering the Internation Space Station or something, not like we’re about to fuck.”
“We are about to fuck,” Enjolras says. “Get on with it.”
Grantaire grins again. “As you wish, monsieur.” He slips his hands under Enjolras’ hips, in the same place he had held Enjolras the night before, and he pulls Enjolras to him.
Enjolras throws his head back and groans, in pain from the impact and in pleasure as Grantaire successfully pushes himself inside Enjolras. He laughs as he thinks how he’s not much different from a bacterium.
“Good?” Grantaire asks, peppering Enjolras’ jaw with kisses.
“Yes,” comes Enjolras’ answer, and Grantaire starts moving in him, not needing to be told twice unlike last night, which he’s glad for.
It’s hardly their first time – hell, it’s only been hours since the last time they had touched each other – but Enjolras feels breathless just the same. Grantaire always takes him slowly, leaving Enjolras a gasping mess as he urges Grantaire on, convincing him that he wants this, he wants him, always. Everything about them is an argument to be won. Grantaire, doubtful, unsure about everything else – Enjolras, eager, willing to prove him wrong, as he does with everything else.
Enjolras starts by grabbing Grantaire by the hair and pulling him to a kiss. His hands move from where they are buried in Grantaire’s hair and as he scratches down Grantaire’s back. Grantaire answers him with a delightful moan, but it isn’t enough. Enjolras moves his hips upwards, moving in time with Grantaire’s thrust and drawing him closer, and Grantaire moans his name as if he would a prayer – still, it isn’t enough. Enjolras raises his legs and crosses them at the small of Grantaire’s back, locking him in place, and only then does Grantaire get the message, and moves faster, filthier. They fuck as they would argue. They are relentless and untiring, spurned by the burning passion in their hearts – soon they are consumed entirely by the fire of their own doing.
They lie on the bed, doused, silent apart from their ragged breaths. Grantaire, collapsed on top of Enjolras, anchors him as he tries to come back to his senses, all of it swept away by the tumultuous wave that had come to them in the style of little deaths. Enjolras flings an arm across Grantaire’s back, letting his hand wander, dragging his fingers along muscle and sinew. He feels Grantaire shiver against him.
Enjolras sighs. He thinks of Jehan who had spent a lot of nights at the Musain waxing poetic about love – shooting him and Grantaire indecipherable (at the time, to Enjolras) looks while at it – and reciting poems of longing, of desire. He hadn’t understood then, but he thinks he does now. Enjolras knows he has a way with words, but when it’s passionate love that’s of concern, he finds himself speechless. Nothing he could say would reliably express what he feels about this, what he feels about Grantaire. It would only be an injustice.
And an even graver injustice is the fact that Enjolras had thought of himself and Grantaire while listening in on their friend’s microbiology lecture. Jesus Christ. He squirms under Grantaire as he thinks whether he should tell Grantaire about it. Grantaire would probably find it funny but Enjolras wouldn’t be able to live it down.
Finally Grantaire gets annoyed at Enjolras’ wriggling and grunts, moving to lie down next to Enjolras, facing him. Enjolras misses the weight on his chest. Grantaire looks at him, half in worry and half in confusion, and asks, “What is it?”
Enjolras swallows. “I… I have something to tell you.”
Grantaire’s eyes widen but he’s quick to mask his surprise. He purses his lips as he sighs, moves to lie on his back and slings an arm over his eyes.
Enjolras backtracks, mentally cursing himself for saying it like that. He’s immediately reminded of Grantaire doubting their relationship, his refusal to see change over the years – from being enemies, to begrudging friends, to inseparable lovers – because, to Grantaire, it was completely illogical, thus convinced that a day would come where they would finally realize that their differences can never be reconciled, and end this folly.
Grantaire’s words, not Enjolras’. Which is unsurprising, given his cynical nature.
Enjolras doesn’t mind. Or rather, he did, for a long time, in which they spent months skirting their feelings and driving all of their friends up Musain’s wall, until Combeferre and Courfeyrac had cornered Enjolras and talked sense into him while Joly and Bossuet did the same thing to Grantaire. They started dating, not long after, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac had constantly reminded Enjolras not to rush Grantaire into things, nor make any implication of it.
And here is Enjolras, making a grand, misleading implication. He must amend it at once. “No, Grantaire, listen to me,” Enjolras says, scooting close to his side. “It’s actually absurd. I want to tell you about it because I want to know whether you’d still be with me after knowing I’ve done such a thing.”
Grantaire removes the arm covering his eyes, regarding Enjolras with suspicion, and he says incredulously, “Still be with you? As if there’s anywhere else I’d rather be, Apollo.”
“R,” Enjolras pleads.
“Yeah, alright,” Grantaire says, turning to his side again to face Enjolras. Enjolras moves to bury his face on Grantaire’s neck, breathing him in, and Grantaire puts an arm over Enjolras’ waist. Enjolras feels Grantaire’ laughter rumble in his chest as he says, “You really are embarrassed about it, huh.”
“I am,” comes Enjolras’ muffled voice. “Don’t interrupt me while I tell you about it or else I wouldn’t know how to continue. Please.”
Grantaire laughs again as he pulls Enjolras closer to him. “You’re kinda freaking me out but okay,” he says, pressing a kiss on top of Enjolras’ head.
Enjolras tells Grantaire about his afternoon, how Combeferre had come back to the apartment unexpectedly because of his broken AirPods, how he couldn’t focus on his essay because his attention was piqued by Combeferre’s lecture which he played on loudspeaker, how he sat beside Combeferre with the intention of helping him take notes for the flashcards they were going to make, and how mind-bogglingly sexual the lesson was, to which Grantaire frowns at him but nonetheless stays silent.
Enjolras tells him about plasmids, about bacterial pili and their function in bacterial conjugation, but Grantaire keeps regarding him with a concerned look that makes it seem like he’s about to flee, and Enjolras sighs. Enjolras can hear him talk, even in silence. “I didn’t think you knew anything else but every word of the Constitution of the Fifth Republic and all of the social injustices around the world,” he would say, eyes bugging out of his skull.
Enjolras opens the Powerpoint file Combeferre had sent him when they were making flashcards earlier, and shows Grantaire the treacherous GIF. Grantaire opens his mouth, perhaps to protest, and Enjolras cuts him off by explaining how it had reminded him of their coupling last night, his face and neck becoming too hot as he does so. Grantaire purses his lips and nods, not saying a word. Enjolras is thankful for it. He then opens Youtube on his laptop and searches for the video that Combeferre’s lecturer had shared earlier, and they watch it together. Grantaire’s face remains stony for the first fifteen seconds of the video, and when Let’s Get It On starts playing, he splutters and makes a sound at the back of his throat that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.
“Okay,” Grantaire says after a while, clearing his throat as he tries to regain his composure. “Was the sex that good for you to be projecting it on a microbiology lesson?”
“Yes,” Enjolras says seriously.
Grantaire nods. “Do you think that my dick can be categorized as a part of a microbiology course?”
Enjolras eyes him, trying to parse the hidden euphemism. He narrows his eyes once he understands, feeling his cheeks grow warm as he says, “Did you miss the part where the ridiculously long sex pilus reminded me of your cock?”
Grantaire finally loses his resolve and dissolves into a fit of giggles. “The sex pilus!”
Enjolras huffs. “We are not calling your dick that.”
Grantaire laughs harder at that, leaning on Enjolras’ shoulder and holding onto his bicep for dear life as Grantaire’s body shakes. Enjolras huffs again as he waits for Grantaire to calm down but succumbs to a chuckle as well in the end. Grantaire looks back up at him with tears in his eyes. Enjolras shakes his head.
Grantaire grins as he lies back down on the bed, pulling Enjolras on top of him and presses their lips together. “The verdict, monsieur, is that I’ll still be with you,” he tells Enjolras as he nips at the man’s jaw. Enjolras feels his breath hitch. “I’ve always known you to be ridiculous. It would take a lot more than that to put me off.”
Enjolras smiles, satisfied, kissing Grantaire deeply. Grantaire moans into Enjolras’ mouth, arching his back as he does so, bringing their cocks together, and the delicious friction makes both of them groan. Enjolras mouths on his collarbone, seeking to leave another bruise across his mottled skin.
“I just have one favor to ask, though,” Enjolras hears Grantaire say. He looks up from where he has been busying himself on Grantaire’s chest and raises an eyebrow. “Could you be the F+ bacterium with extrachromosomal factor this time?”
Enjolras snorts. Grantaire grins. “Only if you promise that this is the last time we’re using scientific euphemisms,” Enjolras mutters, biting hard on one of Grantaire’s nipples.
Grantaire yelps. “You started it!” he says, indignant.
Enjolras shuts him up with another kiss and further ensures his silence by wrapping a hand on his cock. Grantaire moans into his mouth and Enjolras swallows it all. An idea comes to Enjolras, and he presses a chaste kiss on Grantaire’s lips before he moves down.
Grantaire follows him and rises up to his elbows, eager to see what Enjolras is about to do. Enjolras feels Grantaire’s eyes burning through him as he wets his fingers with lube. He circles Grantaire’s opening with intent, and he hears the man’s breath stutter above him. He pushes a finger in and Grantaire falls to the bed with a groan.
Enjolras continues his ministrations, all while Grantaire sings him praises of various themes, drawing references from Greek philosophers to Greek gods, to guerilla leaders and revolutionaries, to music and art, to paintings and marble statues, and much to Enjolras’ chagrin, to unicellular microorganisms.
“Oh, Enjolras,” Grantaire whines from above him. “I am so ready to receive your sex pilus,” he says, and he bursts into laughter.
Enjolras glares at Grantaire as he tightens his hold on Grantaire’s hips, wanting for it to bruise. Grantaire moans through his barely stifled laughter. “You’re goddamned right you’re receiving this,” Enjolras says, and he hears Marvin Gaye sing in his head as he pushes into Grantaire, like a bacterium transferring its chromosomal DNA into another.
Enjolras chalks it up to his delirious state, caused by none other than the impossibly tight heat around his cock that is Grantaire, when Grantaire sings, “I’ve been really tryin’, baby,” because there’s no way that Grantaire can read his mind, right? It’s even impressively on-key for someone shaking in laughter and pleasure.
Enjolras huffs, laughing at the incredulity of it all. With his heart beating widely in his chest, he finds that he can’t move, not just yet, or else he’d risk cardiac arrest while he and Grantaire are conjugated, he thinks wryly. Joly will kill the both of them, and Combeferre will probably drop their dead bodies in the Seine.
“I can hear you thinking from here, dude,” Grantaire says, grinning below him. “You’re not going to break me, you know.”
Enjolras nods, not trusting himself to speak. He lets out a shaky breath and says, “I’m the one who’s about to break. Give me a second here.”
“Tryin' to hold back this feeling for so long,” Grantaire sings, pulling Enjolras down for a kiss. Enjolras pulls away to catch his breath, and he rests his head on the nook of Grantaire’s shoulder. “And if you feel like I feel, baby, then, come on,” Grantaire continues.
Enjolras presses a kiss on Grantaire’s jaw and pulls and thrusts back in. Grantaire howls, and Enjolras is glad that they’re both multicellular organisms. Bacterial sex definitely has nothing on this.
***
“Enjolras, is red your favorite color?”
Enjolras looks down at the red hoodie he’s wearing, and says, “I guess so.” His phone lights up with a notification from Grantaire. He picks up his phone and opens the message, finding himself looking at a picture of, “Green endospores inside bacterial cells,” he reads.
“Green’s my favorite color,” Grantaire says from Enjolras’ laptop. He looks back up in time to see Grantaire waggling his eyebrows.
Enjolras rolls his eyes. “I’m never going to hear the end of your microbiology euphemisms, aren’t I?”
Grantaire throws his head back as he laughs. “Blame Joly,” he says, smiling gleefully. “I’ve already forgotten about it, but he left his binder open and that’s the first thing I saw.”
Enjolras sighs. “Yes, R, I’d love to have your endospores inside me.”
“What the fuck?” Grantaire cackles as he gestures wildly, moving so far back, and Enjolras helplessly watches him fall off his chair.
Enjolras snorts. He can still hear Grantaire laughing hysterically despite not being on camera. It’s worth his pride. “Be here in my apartment by eight and we’ll initiate conjugation,” he says with an eyeroll, and he hears Grantaire let out another shriek before he leaves the call.