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“You look very handsome tonight,” Enjolras murmurs in Grantaire’s ear as they stroll back toward their flat, Enjolras’ arm around Grantaire’s waist.
Grantaire tenses up in Enjolras’ arm, looking down at the ground. “Thanks,” he mutters.
“Grantaire,” Enjolras says firmly, and Grantaire obediently looks back up at him.
“Sorry. I’m trying.”
“I know, R.” Enjolras squeezes him a little closer. “I just want to be able to tell you how much I care about you.”
“I’m glad you do. I am,” Grantaire insists, his voice small. “It’s just… I’m still getting used to it.”
“I understand.”
Grantaire flinches again at the words, even though Enjolras’ tone is perfectly gentle. “I’m sorry.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong.”
By this point they’ve made it back to their flat, and Enjolras is unlocking the door. “I disappointed you,” Grantaire says, a desperate edge in his voice. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Enjolras says, but Grantaire is barely through the door and then he’s sliding onto his knees. Enjolras doesn’t try to stop him—he knows that would only make things worse. Instead, he follows Grantaire onto the ground, sitting in front of him. He reaches out, taking Grantaire’s hands, and pulling his lover into his arms. Grantaire’s head lands against his chest, and Enjolras knits his fingers through his hair.
“Sorry,” Grantaire says, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry sir I’m sorry—“
“Shh. You’re going to be all right, Grantaire.”
“I can’t… You were just trying to be nice, and that’s everything I ever wanted, and I can’t.”
“It’s all right.” And Enjolras’ voice is so rich and warm and confident, and Grantaire gives a little sob and goes limp in Enjolras’ arms. Enjolras pets his hair and whispers, over and over again, “It’s all right. It’s all right. My good boy. You’re going to be all right.”
“We were having such a good night,” Grantaire says bitterly. “And now I’ve fucked everything up again.”
“You haven’t. R, it’s okay. I wish things weren’t so hard for you but I’d rather you be honest with me, if you’re having a hard time…”
“Give me another chance, sir,” Grantaire says, suddenly. “To be good. Please. I can do it for you, I know I can.”
“You want to play?” Enjolras asks. “Now?”
“Yes, sir, please.” Grantaire looks up at him, finally, and Enjolras takes his face in his hands and kisses him gently and thoroughly.
“You know I’m not mad at you.”
“I know.”
“Are you thinking of hurting yourself?”
“No. No. I just, I’m anxious. I need to not have to worry. I just need to be able to be good, for you, please—“
“You don’t have to beg. You just need to ask.”
“Thank you-“
“No, I still have to ask a couple of things.” Enjolras kisses his forehead, gently. “I need to know you’re going to be all right if we do this.”
“I am. It’ll help. I promise.”
“Do you think you owe me this? That this is some kind of penance?”
“Of course not.’
“Do you want me to hurt you?” There’s no judgment in his tone.
“If you want to. But that’s not what I’m asking for. Please. I just want to not have to think for a little bit.”
“Do you want sex to be a part of it?”
“If you do, sir.”
“An active scene, or do you just want to put your collar on and be taken down for a little bit?”
“A scene, if you don’t mind. Just the collar helps. But I’d like to play a bit.”
“And you’re sure this is what you want?”
“Yes,” Grantaire says, and there’s just a little more strength in his voice.
“You’re going to follow the rules. All the rules.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And it’ll make things better, not worse?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the safeword, pet?”
“Red,” Grantaire answers, smiling just a little. He knows this is the last question, knows Enjolras has given in.
“Whenever you’re ready, take your clothes off. I’m going to go get your collar.”
“Thank you, sir,” Grantaire says, leaning shamelessly towards Enjolras.
Enjolras grants him a quick, bright smile, and kisses him again, this time very deeply. “All right if I go into the next room? You can meet me there as soon as you’re naked.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good boy,” Enjolras says, and this time Grantaire doesn’t flinch at the praise.
Enjolras walks into the next room, laying out Grantaire’s collar, a thin strip of red leather, and the cuffs he’s bought to match. He leaves lubricant on the bedside table. For the rest, he intends to take Grantaire apart with nothing but his hands.
Grantaire walks into the room a second later, holding his folded clothes in his hands. “Here. I was—I wasn’t sure what to do, I was going to—“
“You’re doing great, love,” Enjolras murmurs. “Put the clothes down. Just in the hamper. And come here.”
Grantaire rushes over, dropping to his knees at Enjolras’ feet. Enjolras strokes his fingertips along Grantaire’s cheek, down his neck, and finally across his throat.
“Are you sure?” he asks one final time.
“Yes, sir.”
“You can still stop me, any time, after I put this on you. But I’m going to assume that you want me to make the decisions if you let me put your collar on.”
“I do.” Grantaire looks up at Enjolras, meeting his eyes, and Enjolras wraps the collar around his neck, threading the end through the clasp and locking the buckle shut in one efficient, practiced movement.
“My beautiful boy,” Enjolras praises.
“I’m not—“
“Don’t talk back to me,” Enjolras snaps, and Grantaire bites his lip. “You keep your mouth shut unless I give you permission.”
Grantaire nods.
“That’s my boy. I just want you to let me take care of you. Stand up,” he orders, offering Grantaire a hand to help him up. When Grantaire is back on his feet, Enjolras immediately shoves him over so he’s bent over the side of the bed. Grantaire hisses out a breath as he lands, his chest hitting the mattress hard. Enjolras grabs his hands, manhandling them behind his back, and cuffing them together at the small of his back. “Don’t move. You all right? I want you to answer.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You look so lovely like this,” Enjolras says, and he watches as Grantaire flinches, trying to resist arguing with the words. He stays silent, though. “I love your hands.” He gently runs his fingertips across the paint-speckled surface of Grantaire’s bound hands. “So strong. There’s something so sensual about them. Tonight, I was watching you use them, while you talked, while you ate, and all I could think was how good they feel inside me.”
Grantaire bites back a moan, and Enjolras slaps his ass hard.
“I want to use my belt on you,” Enjolras says. “Is that all right?”
“Yes, sir, please, sir—“
“There’s already a lovely mark on your skin. I love the way my marks show up on you, the red against your perfect skin.”
“It’s not perf-“
“That’s five more strokes for you,” Enjolras informs him.
“On top of how many?”
“Twenty. And five more for every time you talk back.”
“Yes, sir,” Grantaire manages.
“As I was saying, your skin is beautiful. I love your ass. I love the way it feels when I slap it, the way your body just yields for me, whether I’m hitting you or fucking you.” Enjolras leans in, sucking a mark into the nape of Grantaire’s neck, above his collar. “You have the most beautiful shoulders, too. So strong and big, but you just let me push you around. You let me put you wherever I want you, and that’s so amazing. You make me feel so powerful, love.”
Grantaire moans, and Enjolras hits him again, a reward.
“I love the way my collar looks around your neck. Red is a good color on you.”
“You think red is a good color on everyone,” Grantaire mumbles.
“That’s thirty,” Enjolras informs him, and Grantaire groans. “You’re going to be bruised for days. Every time you sit down, you’ll hurt for me.”
“Yes. Fuck, yes, yes sir, please sir—“
“I’m going to mark up your ass… and your thighs too, your thick, strong legs, and by the time I’m finished with you you’ll be red and black and blue and maybe, maybe I’ll let you come, because you’re so beautiful when you come for me, I’ll want to watch your face, your perfect lips falling open, your eyes fluttering shut, and knowing that I’ve done that to you. But only if you’re good for me.”
“I will be, I promise, I will be—“
“You always are,” Enjolras assures him, biting his neck, leaning back to slap his ass hard a few more times. “You ready for the belt?”
“Yes, sir. Thirty?”
“Yes. If that’s okay. I will stop if you start feeling anything bad, anything other than pain.”
“I know, sir.”
“This isn’t a punishment. I just like hurting you.”
Grantaire shivers at that, and again at the sound of Enjolras unhooking his belt and pulling it out of his belt loops.
Enjolras kisses the small of his back, just above his bound hands, and then each of his wrists, and then steps away.
He swings the belt and it lands hard on Grantaire’s ass, dead center. “That’s one. What do you say?”
“Thank you, thank you sir.”
“Good boy.” He whips the belt against Grantaire’s ass again, watching the raised red line rise on his dark skin. “This does look lovely,” he murmurs, brushing his fingertips against the welt.
“Thank you.”
Without warning or pause, Enjolras gives him three more in fast succession. A broken moan rises from the back of Grantaire’s throat. “That’s five, pet.”
“Thank you, sir,” Grantaire sobs, and Enjolras smacks his ass, right over the worst of the lines. He likes to give the first five with the whole belt, letting it really gain some speed and whip over Grantaire’s skin. It makes him so much more sensitive for the rest of the blows, and he likes to watch Grantaire tense as he hears the whistling sound of the belt about to hit him, and then relax as the blow lands, the pain soothing him.
Enjolras gives him a minute to relax as he shifts his grip to double the belt over in his hand. These blows bruise more, not to mention the deeper, more lasting pain. Grantaire prefers the whipping sensation—it’s the thudding of the impact that really gets to him. It also takes him out of his head like nothing else.
Enjolras aims the first two at the sensitive curve right underneath his ass, a spot he particularly loves. “This spot is so nice. I love how you react when I touch you here. And I love the way it looks, the curve… I don’t even know what to call it, but you’re so fucking hot, you drive me crazy, R.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Enjolras lands another blow, criss-crossing the last two, and Grantaire stutters out his thanks in a groan. The next pair stripe vertically, across each cheek of Grantaire’s ass, against the already-sensitive skin.
“Thank you,” Grantaire manages.
“Break?”
“Yes, sir, please. Thank you, sir,” Grantaire says, all in a rush, and Enjolras can tell he’s already falling deep into subspace. He’s always a babbler, but only in subspace is he this polite.
“So good for me. Perfect boy.” Enjolras rubs the wounded skin, gently. “You’re taking this so well. I’m very proud.”
“I’m good?” Grantaire asks, his voice almost childlike.
“So good. The best sub anyone could ask for.” Enjolras has such a secret, guilty love for seeing his R like this. He loves watching the praise wash over Grantaire, loves seeing how his words affect his boy.
“Thank you, sir. You can beat me more now if you want to.”
Enjolras laughs softly. “All right, pet. I’m gonna give you five hard and five slow, and then we’ll take another rest.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good boy.” Enjolras takes the belt back into his hand. He hits Grantaire five times in a row as fast and hard as he can, right at the widest curve of his ass. Grantaire starts up, instinctively trying to pull away, and Enjolras pushes him back down, knee on his back to keep him in place as he beats him.
“Sorry,” Grantaire is saying, and “Thank you,” and “Yours, yours, I’m yours, I’ll be good, I promise—“
“You are,” Enjolras says, standing back up, hitting him not quite as hard this time, over the unmarked skin of his thighs. “You’re so good, love, we’re halfway there, are you going to be all right to take the rest?”
“Yes, sir, thank you.”
Enjolras gives him another one, and another pause.
“Thank you.”
“This is eighteen,” Enjolras says, and delivers the strike sharply and precisely.
“Thank you, sir,” Grantaire says, but the words are a little slurred. Enjolras pinches his hip sharply, and Grantaire whines. “What was that for?”
“So you are still with me,” Enjolras says brightly, and gives him two slow, even strokes.
“Thank you, sir,” Grantaire says dutifully.
“We’re at twenty now,” Enjolras informs him. “You’re being so good. I’m proud.”
“Thank you.”
“You look gorgeous, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”
“Sore. My ass hurts,” he mumbles, and Enjolras laughs softly.
“That’s sort of the point.”
“’m hard, too. Really hard. Are you going to fuck me?” he says, suddenly hopeful.
“We’ll see.” Enjolras smooths his hand over the skin, feeling the warmth of the welts he’s created. He can feel the tenderness of Grantaire’s skin, where he’s brought the blood to the surface, watches as Grantaire moans when he’s touched there. He plays with the tender skin as Grantaire whimpers and flinches, leaning into his touch but trying to get away from the pain. “You’re so responsive. I love when you get like this for me. I want to watch you cry tonight, beautiful. Your eyes, so teary and bright, looking up at me. The way you look at me, you always look at me, even when I’m hurting you—I don’t know what I do to deserve it, but I will never be able to tell you how much it means to me.”
“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, his voice trembling, obviously overwhelmed and Enjolras leans back and hits him with the belt, with all his strength, and all the tension bleeds out of Grantaire as he says, “Thank you.”
“Spread your legs,” he orders, knowing that clear orders are what Grantaire needs right now.
Grantaire does, straining his muscles to open his legs as much as possible.
“Good. Look at you, trembling for me. So lovely and strong and all mine.” Enjolras lets the belt open, whipping it against Grantaire’s shaking left thigh, the long, vulnerable, unmarkes surface of the skin. Grantaire cries out brokenly. “That’s twenty-two, sweetheart, and you’re taking it so well. You’re going to take two more on this leg, and then three on the other, for me. All right?”
“Yes sir thank you sir,” Grantaire mumbles, and Enjolras leans down and kisses the red mark on his leg.
“Gorgeous boy.” Before Grantaire can protest, because Enjolras really doesn’t want to have to add more strokes on, Enjolras snaps the belt against his thigh. “Twenty-three.”
“Thank you.”
Twenty-four lands hardest of the three, high up on his thigh, right at the sensitive crease where it meets his body. Grantaire’s leg is trembling hard—soon he won’t be able to stand, Enjolras will have to lie him on the bed to fuck him—but he doesn’t try and pull away from the pain, and he thanks Enjolras just as he’s supposed to. Enjolras gives him twenty-five relatively gently, on the unmarked skin of his right thigh. “Only five more, pet. Are you okay to do that?”
“Yes, sir.”
Enjolras swings the belt against his thigh again, and Grantaire lets out a gasp. “Thank you, sir.”
“Last one on your legs. This is twenty-seven.” Enjolras gives it to him hard, slamming the belt against that sensitive crease between ass and inner thigh.
“Thank you, sir,” Grantaire says, tearily.
Enjolras leans in, unclipping the handcuffs so the red leather is still tight around Grantaire’s wrists, but he can move his hands away from one another. “Reach down and spread yourself for me. Show me what’s mine.”
Grantaire scrambles to do as he’s told. He winces when his hands cup his ass but nevertheless pulls himself open, exposing himself. The position is uncomfortable and humiliating and Grantaire loves it.
Enjolras lets the edge of the belt touch the cleft of Grantaire’s ass, slowly tracing the leather up. Grantaire sobs and whimpers. His whole body is shaking.
“Just three, sweetheart. You can do it. I know you can. You’re being so good. So perfect. And it’s gonna feel so good after.”
“Please, sir,” Grantaire says, through his tears. Enjolras can tell it’s hard for him to even form words at this point. “Please please hit me please sir—“
“Shh.” Enjolras presses the tip of the belt firmly against his skin, preparing for the spot where he’s going to hit him, and then draws his arm back and brings it down hard. The leather cracks against his skin and Grantaire cries out wordlessly. “Twenty-eight.”
“Thank you, sir,” Grantaire sobs. “Thank you, please, more, please—“
Enjolras repeats the action, one more sharp crack right at the center of Grantaire’s ass, the tip of the belt landing hard right over his hole, and Grantaire winces and sobs. “Twenty-nine. One more.”
“Yes sir, thank you, sir. Please—“
“Easy. Easy, pet, so good. You’re so good for me. Just one more. You can let go for me, put your hands behind your head, good boy.”
Grantaire does as he’s told, and as soon as his hands are safely right out of the way, Enjolras swings the belt as hard as he can. Enjolras watches Grantaire flinch at the sound of it whistling through the air, and again as he hears the leather crash against his skin, and again when the pain registers. He’s trembling and crying softly. Enjolras has hit him as hard as he can, right on top of where the belt marks on his ass are the worst. Enjolras tosses the belt aside and pinches the welt he’s just created, hard, and Grantaire practically screams. His legs are shaking, his whole body trembling. Enjolras carefully helps Grantaire onto the bed, arranging his arms over his head and his body lying, comfortable enough, on top of the sheets. Grantaire hisses but doesn’t say anything when his ass makes contact with the mattress.
“Forgetting something?” Enjolras asks.
“Sorry, sir, thank you, sir, thank you,” Grantaire says, loud and clear, and Enjolras smiles, relieved.
“Good boy.” He grabs a pillow from the top of the bed, kissing Grantaire’s forehead as he leans over him, and eases it under Grantaire’s hips so his ass is tilted up. He pulls Grantaire’s knees up so his feet are planted on either side of his hips and his legs are spread wide. “You look so beautiful right now. I mean, you are always amazing. But like this… You’re so fucking hot. I want to slam you against the bed and just fuck you, just tear into you, but you deserve better than that. You deserve to be crying and desperate when you finally earn the right to have me inside you.”
Grantaire whimpers and Enjolras reaches up, cuffing his hands together and to the headboard.
“Test them,” he orders, and Grantaire pulls weakly against the cuffs, which don’t budge. “Good,” Enjolras says. “You’re at my mercy.”
Grantaire throws his head back against the pillow and keens at the words, and Enjolras bites at his exposed throat, just above the collar.
“Do you want me to mark you?”
“Yes, sir, please sir, please bite me sir—“
“So everyone will know you’re my good boy.” Enjolras closes his teeth around the sensitive skin of Grantaire’s neck and Grantaire mewls, arching into the touch. Enjolras sucks at the skin of his neck for a few moments before releasing him, licking over the mark he’s just created. “Of course, they won’t be able to see how pretty your ass looks all marked up for me, but this will have to do.”
“Sir—“ Grantaire says, his voice starting to sound shaky, and Enjolras realizes he’s heading into sensitive territory.
“Of course, it doesn’t matter what anyone else sees when they look at you, because you’re all mine. Every inch of your perfect body, whether I put my marks on you or not, is my property. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, sir,” Grantaire moans, and Enjolras kisses his lips and grabs the lube from the bedside table.
Enjolras starts by just teasing his fingers over Grantaire’s hole. He strokes gently, carefully, little feather-light touches that make Grantaire gasp out whimpering, breathy sighs. He keeps stroking until he feels Grantaire relax, and then he pushes the tip of his finger against Grantaire’s hole, exerting just a tiny bit of pressure.
“All right, love?”
“Yes, sir. Sensitive.”
“From me hitting you here?”
“Yes, sir. Feels good. Different. But good.”
Enjolras lets a little lube drip out of the bottle, coating his fingers and the cleft of Grantaire’s ass. “I want this part to feel good.” He slides one finger all the way in and then smacks Grantaire firmly on the ass with his other hand.
Grantaire lets out a choked-off groan at the feeling of Enjolras’ palm colliding with his ass, and Enjolras grins and curls his finger inside Grantaire.
“Mine,” Enjolras says, and claims Grantaire’s mouth, biting fiercely at his lips before diving in for a deep kiss.
“Yours, sir, yours, I’m yours.”
“My good boy,” Enjolras murmurs, tenderly, lips by Grantaire’s ear as he slowly strokes that single finger in and out of Grantaire’s body. Grantaire doesn’t reply, so Enjolras moves back, and slaps Grantaire’s ass again, harder this time. This time it’s intended to hurt. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” Grantaire repeats, and Enjolras sighs.
“My what?”
“Your boy, your slut, all yours, please—“
“You remember the rules, don’t you, pet?”
“I do, I know, I’m sorry, I can’t, I will but not yet—“
“That’s all right,” Enjolras reassures him, slowly pushing a second finger inside him. “We’ll get you there, love.”
“Thank you, sir,” Grantaire says, his sincere words turning into a mewl of pleasure as Enjolras’ two fingers curl against his prostate. Enjolras keeps them there, slowly stroking them back and forth against that sensitive spot, as he starts to slowly but firmly spank Grantaire again. He gets in close to ten hard slaps before Grantaire starts to beg him again.
“Please sir move please more I need more please fuck me please I’m yours I’m yours—“
“You are not even close to getting that yet,” Enjolras says.
“Sir, please—“
“I am going to open you up just as slow as I want, and I’m going to make you feel good, and you’re going to let me. You’re going take three fingers so I can slide right inside you without any pain at all and then you’re going to tell me how good you are for me and then I’ll fuck you, R.”
“I’m sorry—“
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Enjolras says firmly. It’s not uncommon for Grantaire to feel a little guilt he can’t even explain when he’s in subspace like this. “You’re doing so well.” Enjolras starts to slowly scissor his fingers inside Grantaire, feeling as Grantaire’s willing body relaxes at his touch.
“Thank you,” Grantaire whispers, his eyes teary again. Enjolras leaves off spanking him in favor of pinning his hips down to the pillow while he shoves the third finger into Grantaire. It goes in without any resistence despite the speed Enjolras moves at, and Grantaire doesn’t show any pain, just moans eagerly.
“All right?” Enjolras asks anyway.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” And then Enjolras starts to fuck him with the three fingers, sliding them in and out at a slow, easy pace. At the end of every gentle thrust in he carefully bends them so he can stroke Grantaire’s prostate, and at the end of every thrust out he pauses to slap Grantaire’s sore ass.
The welts are still red and raised, and one or two of them is just starting to bruise around the edges. He’s going to have truly awful marks tomorrow, going to be sore and hurting every time he moves. Enjolras’ hand is making marks too, quick red ones that fade almost as soon as they bloom, and the contrast- the even red of the belt with the broader, more personal stroke of his hand, is one of the most erotic things Enjolras has ever seen.
Enjolras works his fingers in Grantaire for a long time, until Grantaire’s pleading has turned into incoherent, sobbing whimpers. Grantaire starts to flinch at every spank—Enjolras thinks there have been at least twenty, and his hand is starting to hurt. Moving away from the pain, but pushing against Enjolras’ fingers as they curl against his prostate, Grantaire is disoriented and overwhelmed and so desperately wanting, wanting the clarity and the pleasure of Enjolras inside him, of knowing exactly what to do.
“Please fuck me,” Grantaire says quietly, eyes wide and lips bitten red. “Please, sir, need you in me, please—“
Enjolras leans over him, kissing him slowly and gently, and says nothing.
“I’ll be good, I swear, so good for you. Please just use me, however you want, I’m yours, I’m all yours—“
“Such a good boy. Such a good slut for your master’s cock.” Grantaire mewls as Enjolras licks one of his nipples, then bites it gently. “Filthy boy, and all mine.”
“Yes, sir, I’m yours, your slut, your good slut—“
“Good boy,” Enjolras says, pleased, and pulls his fingers free. “Of course, you’ll have to do better than that if you want to come, but it’s a start.”
“Will you fuck me now? Please?”
“Yes,” Enjolras says, and works his fingers out of Grantaire’s body. He lines undoes his trousers quickly, letting them fall open and pulling his cock out. He’s been hard for so long, but he hasn’t really been concentrating on it, more worried about Grantaire, about taking his boy down. Now, suddenly, the urge to be buried inside Grantaire is almost unbearable. He settles down on top of his sub, leaning in for a deep, searching kiss as he slides into Grantaire.
Grantaire whimpers as Enjolras bottoms out inside him. He throws his head back, exposing his throat for Enjolras to kiss and lick and mark, and pushes his hips toward Enjolras. “Please, sir, please—“
And Enjolras starts to move inside him. He keeps his hands firmly planted on Grantaire’s ass, putting pressure on the belt marks. He thrusts hard and fast, bracing himself against Grantaire’s body so he can gain speed and force.
Grantaire lets out a steady stream of little gasping, mewling noises as Enjolras moves inside him. He’s totally helpless, his arms immobile, his body held down by Enjolras on top of and inside him, unable to do anything but take it. And he loves it.
Enjolras slams into him, bending down so he can scrape his teeth over Grantaire’s sensitive nipples, earning a high, keening moan from his boy.
“You’re so good,” Enjolras says, licking the now-bruised skin of his chest. “You’re perfect. You’re everything I could ever want.”
“Enjolras,” Grantaire manages, his voice breaking. That’s all he can say.
Enjolras slaps his ass hard once, feeling as Grantaire’s body tenses around him, and then wraps that hand around his cock, slowly stroking him off as he thrusts at a much faster pace.
“Please, Enjolras,” Grantaire says, his voice high and desperate. Enjolras can feel him shaking again, his legs trembling with exhaustion and pleasure and need.
“You’re doing so well,” Enjolras praises, continuing to thrust into him. He shoves particularly hard against Grantaire’s prostate and grins at the moan he gets from his boy. “Such a good boy, making me feel so good.”
Grantaire keens at the praise, arcing into Enjolras’ touch eagerly. “Please—“
“Do you want to come for me, baby boy?”
“Yes, sir, please, please let me—“
Enjolras kisses him, biting his lower lip hard, tasting the gasp he lets out. “You know what you have to do.”
“Sir, please—“
“I want to let you, sweetheart. I want to watch my beautiful boy come for me, because you look so lovely when you do. But you know you have to earn it.”
Grantaire looks up at him, eyes wide and tear-filled, and he looks so lost that Enjolras almost takes pity on him. But it’s his responsibility to stick to the rules, to be firm and make sure Grantaire knows that he can count on Enjolras to hold him to what he’s said. Besides, Grantaire wouldn’t have asked for a scene, not now, if he didn’t need this moment.
Enjolras runs his thumb over the head of Grantaire’s cock, feeling the wetness leaking from it. “You are desperate for me, aren’t you,” Enjolras murmurs, sympathetic. His voice is pitched low and gentle even as he slams into Grantaire’s body again and again. “My poor sweet boy. You could come right this second if I gave you permission, couldn’t you?”
“Yes, sir, please tell me I can, please please—“
“Do you deserve it, do you think?” Enjolras asks, looking at Grantaire’s face carefully to judge his reaction.
Grantaire hesitates, biting his lip. “Yes, sir,” he says, finally. “I- at first I wasn’t, I talked back, but you punished me for that, and I took that well, you said I did, and I want you to let me, please let me, please—“ Grantaire breaks off into breathless moaning, barely audible, as Enjolras’ cock hits the perfect spot inside him again. “I’ve been good, sir, I’m good, I’m your good boy, let me come for you, please-“ and then he can’t say anything anymore, he throws his head back and squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to fight the urge to come.
“Look at me,” Enjolras orders sternly. Grantaire obeys, his eyes locking on Enjolras’ face.
Grantaire bites his lip, hard, as Enjolras stares down at him for a few long seconds.
“You’re very beautiful,” Enjolras says, pausing with his cock fully inside Grantaire, pressed up against his prostate.
“Thank you, sir,” Grantaire whispers.
“I’m very lucky that you’re mine, pet. And you’re right. You’re so good. And you do deserve to come for me.”
“Thank you, thank you thank you—“ Grantaire says, and then Enjolras is fucking him with all his strength again.
“You have permission,” Enjolras says, stroking Grantaire’s cock again, and Grantaire’s hips buck into his hand.
Grantaire’s eyes are full of tears again, overwhelmed and dazed with pleasure and so, so happy. He’s biting his lip, trying to hide his moans, but little half-audible sounds are still spilling from his mouth, little whimpering mewls. His legs are trembling and his hips are moving without his permission and his hands are curled into fists around the cuffs. He tenses up all over, his whole body trembling, and he gasps and thrusts into Enjolras’ hand one last time.
“So beautiful when you come for me,” Enjolras says, and that’s it.
The tears fall from Grantaire’s eyes as he comes, shooting over his stomach and Enjolras’ hand, as Enjolras moves inside him. His lips form Enjolras’ name, but he can’t quite say it. He squirms in his bonds, practically writhing underneath Enjolras, as Enjolras continues to move inside him. For a while, he doesn’t even know what’s happening, his orgasm is so intense. His eyes are open but everything is white, he can’t see, he can’t control his shaking legs or body or anything.
And then, when it’s over, he feels so weak, like he can barely hold himself up even though he’s lying down. The pleasure of Enjolras moving in him has turned to overwhelming discomfort, and he flinches away from it. Enjolras notices and starts to pull out.
“No, sir, please—“
“I’m hurting you,” Enjolras says gently. “I don’t want to.”
“Please, I want you to come in me,” Grantaire says. “I don’t care if it hurts. Please use me, Master.”
Enjolras growls and starts fucking him hard again. After a few seconds, Grantaire’s oversensensitivity starts to fade. It still doesn’t feel good, except that Enjolras is looking at him like he’s everything in the world and is moving in him so fiercely and intently that Grantaire, for once, can’t doubt that he’s been good.
He moans as he feels Enjolras come inside him—the pleasure isn’t even sexual. He just feels so complete, knowing he’s pleased Enjolras, knowing that Enjolras is happy with him. He took his pain well and he earned an orgasm and he made his master come, and everything is all right.
Enjolras is unbuckling the cuffs and cleaning Grantaire off, and Grantaire tries to help but he’s so tired and his limbs feel like lead.
“Shh, pet, good boy, you don’t need to do anything. Just relax.”
“Thank you, sir,” Grantaire says, but it comes out slurred. He doesn’t worry, though. There’s nothing to worry about anymore. Everything is good.
Then the come is cleaned off of him and Enjolras is lying back down, curling his arms around Grantaire and pressing his chest to Grantaire’s back. “How do you feel, my love?” Enjolras asks.
“Good, sir.”
“I’m glad. How does your ass feel?”
“Very sore. But good sore. I like hurting for you. You know that.”
“I do. Want me to take your collar off?”
“No, sir. Please.”
“Okay,” Enjolras says, soothingly rubbing his hand across Grantaire’s shoulder. “You can wear it as long as you’d like.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re such a good boy, Grantaire. I’m so proud of you. I asked a lot from you tonight, and you were so perfect for me.”
“Thank you,” Grantaire repeats. “Thanks for doing this with me. For me. You didn’t have to.”
“I like to,” Enjolras says gently. “I love taking care of you. And I love you.”
“I love you too, sir.”
“Besides, it wasn’t something I did for you. I had a wonderful evening, R. Really. I had a nice time going out with you and I really enjoyed the scene. None of this is a favor I do for you. Our relationship, in bed and out of it, is something we have together. For both of us.”
“Mm,” Grantaire agrees, closing his eyes and turning around so he can bury his head in his favorite spot against Enjolras’ neck.
Enjolras laughs a little, curling his hand in Grantaire’s hair and scratching his scalp affectionately. “Never mind all that, my good boy. Why don’t you get some rest?”
Grantaire nods a little, already dozing off. “I am good?” he says again, tentatively, half-asleep.
Enjolras smiles. “Of course you are. You’re the best boy in the world. My favorite person in the world. You’re everything to me.”
Before he’s finished saying those words, Grantaire is asleep in his arms.