
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/959609.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Les_Misérables_-_All_Media_Types, Les_Misérables_-_Victor_Hugo
  Relationship:
      Enjolras/Grantaire, Grantaire/Montparnasse
  Character:
      Enjolras_(Les_Misérables), Grantaire_(Les_Misérables), Combeferre_(Les
      Misérables), Cosette_Fauchelevent, Montparnasse_(Les_Misérables), Jean
      Valjean
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting, Alternate_Universe_-_High_School,
      Pyromania, pyrophilia, Blow_Jobs, Dark, Arson, Stalking, Other_Additional
      Tags_to_Be_Added
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-09-08 Chapters: 1/4 Words: 9893
****** In Company Of The Sun ******
by Sodafly
Summary
     "What do you see when you look at the world?"
     "I see it burning"
     Enjolras is pyromanic and Grantaire can't live without him
Notes
     Let it be known that the fanfictions I write are in no way a
     reflection of my morals
     Future chapters will be darker/more violent than the first (just so
     you're warned) and I never actually labeled Grantaire with a
     condition, he's just pretty messed up in the head (something that
     only worsens when Enjolras comes along)
     Another note is in this fic Enjolras is 17 and Grantaire is 18 and
     I'm unsure if that fully constitutes as underage but I put the tag in
     place just to be safe.
See the end of the work for more notes
In all the years he has lived with them, they have moved a grand total of five
times. Five times in ten years and frankly the novelty had long worn off. The
new house, large and open plan looking out over the forest at the edge of town,
is filled to the brim with unpacked boxes and the echo of movement in the too
large rooms. It is ghost like with only the three of them rattling around like
marbles in the back of a car.
 
“Enjolras, come on we’re going to be late.” Cosette is shouting from somewhere
at the end of the corridor, voice ricocheting off the walls.
 
“Give me a moment.” Enjolras shouts back, lying on his bed with boots tied and
coat on, packed school bag lying on the desk.
 
He’s been ready for almost half an hour now, listening to the last minute
preparation of his sister in the room across the hall, the crunch of gravel as
the tires of Valjean’s car pulls out of the front drive, the hiss and click as
the lighter in his hand catches alight. He’s been flicking it on and off, on
and off, for the duration of this half an hour, holding it out and watching the
flame flicker against the backdrop of the ceiling, dancing the fingers of his
free hand close enough to the orange warmth to almost scorch his fingers.
 
“Enjolras!”
 
“Alright.” Slinging off the bed and pocketing the lighter in the front zip up
pocket of his backpack, Enjolras jogs down the stairs with car keys held
between finger and thumb.
 
Cosette is waiting at the front door with bag hanging off one shoulder, fixing
her hair in the mirror for one final time.  The pair look similar with their
long blond hair and blue eyes, no one would know any better just looking at
them.
 
“About time you showed, we seriously don’t want to be late on our first day.”
She says, one hand on her hip.
 
“We’re not going to be late.” Enjolras replies, rolling his eyes before opening
the front door and trudging down the driveway towards his car. It doesn’t
matter if they’re late, they might not even see the entire school year through
before they’re moving off somewhere else, packing their just unpacked
belongings back in to the boxes.
 
The tree-lined road takes them from the tiny suburban neighbourhood into the
town, the buildings steadily growing denser and taller the further in they go.
It’s less busy than the cities they had grown used to living in for the past
six years, with wide pavements and narrow roads, footpaths leading to the
forest on the fringes of the urbanization. It’s scenic and cold for September
and Enjolras is glad he had opted for the jacket after all.
 
“Are you nervous?” Cosette asks from the passenger seat as they follow the
signpost directions towards the school.
 
“No, are you?”

“Not really.”
 
Enjolras is bored. Cosette is bored. This whole routine has become boring and
tedious with all nervousness removed from the equation. They have each other
and by the time six months pass and they’re moving on again, they’ll still have
each other even when the fleeting friendships they made had faded away.
 
The car park is almost deserted of people when the pull up, with only a few
lingering by their cars as the bell tolls in the background. It takes a while
for Enjolras’ piece of shit car to lock that morning, with the door jamming and
refusing to stay shut until his entire bodyweight was thrown against it. The
few sniggering onlookers quickly shy away under Enjolras’ glare as he strides
towards the building.
 
“You must be the new Mayor’s children.” The woman at the front desk coos upon
their approach “Why aren’t you two just a splitting image of each other, you
could almost be twins.”
 
Almost, when not considering the two-year age gap and their completely
unrelated DNA. Cosette smiles sweetly, taking the timetable the woman hands
her.
 
“We met your father yesterday, a very charming man. You two must take after
your mother seeing as you look very little like him.”
 
“We wouldn’t know considering that not only do we have separate mothers but
we’re also adopted.” Enjolras deadpans, looking over his timetable with a
mixture of apathy and irritation. He’s not the kind of person to constantly
bring up the adoption factor, but it comes out of his mouth before he can stop
it, a slow drawl to make the situation instantly awkward. Judging by the
floundering expression on the woman’s face and the withering look Cosette is
giving him it certainly did the trick.
 
“Oh…well, if you have any questions or troubles then there will always be
someone to talk to here at the reception, or the teachers are willing to
oblige. I hope you have a nice time here.”
 
“Thanks” Enjolras says, breezing out of the room with Cosette following on his
heels.
 
“That was unnecessary.” She scolds as soon as the door swings shut. Enjolras
shrugs.
 
“Do you want me to walk to you to your first class?” He asks out of common
courtesy.
 
“No thank you, I don’t need your assistance.” Cosette replies and as if to make
a point, takes the next corridor with a wave of the hand as she walks away.
 
The first history class of the day is on the second floor and is already in
full swing when he walks in. It passes simply, with Enjolras taking a seat
nearest the back window and taking notes in a lined notepad. He barely notices
the people in the class, barely takes note of the teacher or the subject, just
lets the clock tick. He does however notice when someone grabs the sleeve of
his jacket on the way out the door when the hour ends, almost spinning around
and hitting whoever decided to touch him.
 
Another boy with short dark brown hair and an undercut is stood behind him,
fingers curled around his wrist with this massive grin on his face. He’s
handsome, with big brown eyes and a sharp jaw.
 
“Hi, sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.” He apologizes, letting go of the
shirtsleeve in his fingers and not shrinking under Enjolras’ gaze.
 
“It’s fine.” Enjolras says, turning back around to carry on his way only to
find the other boy now falling into step at his side.
 
“I’m Courfeyrac by the way, think of me as your unofficial guide.” Courfeyrac
holds out his hand to shake, a hand that Enjolras takes in a firm grip.
 
“Enjolras, and I think I’ll be fine without a guide.”
 
“Then consider me you friend, you could do with a friend.” There’s no need to
mention that he’s survived years without ever having a proper friend.  Although
he does briefly wonder if this boy is trying to hit on him, but pushes the
absurd thought aside instantly.
 
“Let’s see what you’ve got next.” Courfeyrac peers over his shoulder, eyeing
the map and timetable clutched in Enjolras’ hands. “Politics. That’s at the
other end of the building on the first floor, I recommend taking the stairs
near the Maths rooms at the end of the hall, they’re always pretty quiet.”
 
“Thanks.”
 
“No problem. I’ll see you around.”
 
Courfeyrac waves as he walks off into the courtyard, leaving Enjolras to
navigate around the rooms.
 
*
 
At lunch Cosette is nowhere to be seen, leaving Enjolras to eat on his own.
It’s nothing unusual, sitting at one of the back corners of the canteen
surrounded by teenage cliques and their stupid clichés, the chatter droning
away in the background. But this time it’s different, because the metal chair
next to him is being pulled out with a screech and Courfeyrac is sitting down
next to him with lunch in hand.
 
“Hey there.” Two other boys are with him, sitting down opposite. Enjolras
raises an eyebrow.  “Enjolras this is Combeferre and Jehan. We figured you
could use some company”
 
“A pleasure to meet you Enjolras, Courfeyrac spent almost the entirety of our
English lesson talking about you” The boy with long strawberry blond hair
called Jehan says, his fingers stained with purple ink and nails painted a pale
yellow.
 
“I did not, I merely mentioned who you were.”
 
“So how has your day been so far?” The short hair boy with glasses asks,
putting an end to the pointless conversation that only served to make Enjolras
feel uncomfortable. He smiles.
 
“It’s been fine, starting a new school isn’t as hard as people make it out to
be.”
 
“Of course not. I’ve changed three school in three years.”
 
“Try seven in ten years”
 
“Touché.” Combeferre laughs, stabbing a straw into a juice carton. They
exchange a smile and Enjolras gets the feeling that maybe having some friends
wouldn’t be that bad.
 
*
 
“Did you meet anyone nice today?” Valjean asks when they’re sat around the
table that evening.  Enjolras scrapes his folk along the plate.
 
“There’s a nice girl in my maths class, and her friends are older but equally
as nice.” Cosette says cheerily. Valjean looks sceptical.
 
“Older?”
 
“They’re the same age as Enjolras don’t worry.”
 
“Speaking of which, how about you Enjolras? How did your day go?”
 
Enjolras shrugs, shifting vegetables around his plate.
 
“It was fine, I made some friends.”
 
“You made friends, now that’s a surprise.”   Cosette teases nudging her foot
against his under the table. Enjolras narrows his eyes in return.
 
“Well it’s good to know you’re settling well.” Valjean looks pleased, allowing
Enjolras to excuse himself.
 
Pulling on his boots and silently slipping through the sliding backdoors,
Enjolras strolls off into the far corner of the garden out of the sight of the
windows. The last few rays of violet sunset are creating a fog over the
woodland and grass, the crisp chill of the autumn evening setting in with the
dusk.  Churning up a section of the grass to unearth the soil beneath with his
heel, Enjolras searches the garden for rocks and stones and clears the small
section of debris.
 
Arranging the hand full of twigs and sticks in the centre of the circle of
stones enclosing the patch of soil, he flicks on the lighter, which catches
after the third try and holds the naked flame to light. The small fire casts an
amber glow on the stones and the skin of his fingers where they dance close
enough to feel the heat from the flickering flame. It licks at his fingertips,
the sharp burning sensation sending a tingle of pleasure running up his arm.
 
The sight has a satisfied sigh gushing out of Enjolras’ lungs, anxiety running
out to be replaced with a relaxation in his bones. Smiling, he lies back on the
grass facing the fire, and watches content until the last embers fade.
 
*
 
“Is that your sister?” Courfeyrac asks at the end of the week. He and
Combeferre are sat with Enjolras on a bench one lunchtime, taking in the last
of the mildly warm weather before it disappears completely.
 
Glancing up in the direction Courfeyrac is gesturing, Enjolras sees Cosette
stood with a dark haired girl of similar height over by the steps towards the
art building. A boy is also with her, gazing fixatedly at her face as she talks
to someone sat on the metal railings.
 
“Yeah, why?” If Courfeyrac was going to ask his sister on a date, he’d have to
put a stop to it. It had only been a week and Enjolras already knew of
Courfeyrac’s reputation when it came to pursuits.
 
“It’s not what you’re thinking.” Courfeyrac says holding up one hand. “It’s
just, you should probably tell her to stay away from Grantaire.”
 
“Who’s Grantaire?"
 
“The guy sat on the railings, he’s in our history class”
 
The person sat on the railings is dressed in black, with thick mustard coloured
boots and a green beanie attempting to no avail to tame the mess of black curls
spilling out from underneath. Enjolras remembers seeing him a few times sat in
the back corner of the history class, half sprawled on the desk with chin
resting upon folded arms, looking as if there was a metaphorical thundercloud
hovering above his head.
 
“Why should she stay away from him?” Enjolras asks. Grantaire doesn’t look like
anything out of the ordinary and he has never been fond of telling Cosette what
to do.
 
“It’s just, not a good idea to be friends with him. He used to date a guy
called Montparnasse who is this shady guy who has this gang and Grantaire isn’t
much better. Apparently he hospitalized someone, and after that no one saw him
in school for months and when he came back he kept having to visiting the
school counsellor. Anyway, during this time, Montparnasse was arrested and no
one has seen him around since-”
 
“Courfeyrac stop, these stories are only rumours, we don’t actually know
anything for sure.” 
 
“Combeferre please, the boy needs to know what everyone else thinks they know.”
 
Enjolras scowls, but allows Courfeyrac to continue, even if he doesn’t believe
a word that's being said. He watches Grantaire from across campus, watches as
he listens to Cosette talk, allows the dark haired girl to lean against him
with an arm slung over her shoulder.  Eventually, a huge boy comes over,
dragging Grantaire off the railing and slinging him across over one shoulder to
carry him off across campus as the bell rings.
 
Over the next few weeks, Enjolras hears more and more rumours revolving around
Grantaire. Rumours that he’s a drug dealer, that he’s spent time in juvenile
prison, that he carries a knife to school. All the while, Enjolras notices him
sat at the back of the history class, and starts noticing the way Grantaire
stares at him for almost the entire hour of class. But despite everything,
Enjolras finds nothing threatening about Grantaire; all he seems to do is hang
around by himself on the steps of the art building with sketchpad and ipod.
 
“How do you know Grantaire?” Enjolras asks Cosette one evening when sat
together on the sofa.
 
“Eponine’s friends know him so sometimes he hangs out with us.” She says, not
looking up from her phone, which keeps beeping with the back and forth flow of
text conversations.
 
“He’s in my history class.” He muses aloud, eyes fixed on the television screen
but in his periphery he can see Cosette scowling at him.
 
“Have your friends been saying stuff about him?”
 
“Yes”
 
“Do you believe them?”
 
Enjolras remains silent. Cosette sighs.
 
“I don’t care what they say about him, he’s nice and I thought you were above
listening to what other people say.”
 
He is, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t intrigued by it.
 
*
 
 There’s a forest serving as a backdrop to the house, a forest that stretches
far into the distance making it easy to get lost in. Rows upon rows of dark
green pine trees swallow up the dirt trails riddling the forest like a map of
veins running through a body. September is drawing to a close and the thin
layer of morning frost is melting away to make the soil moist underfoot.
 
Enjolras kicks the dead pine needles away from the path to where it’s heaped on
the grounds after years of shedding, loose stones and dirt shifting beneath the
thick sole of his boots. He’s bundled up in a thick red jacket zipped and
buttoned to the collar, rolling his lighter in his pocketed hand, chewing on
the thick string toggle of the jacket. It’s easy to get lost in the waves of
trees that obscure the view of anything outside of the forest, as if nothing
exists beyond it.
 
It’s only a matter of time until he’s completely lost.
 
Sideways stepping down a steep drop and sending rocks tumbling, Enjolras
brushes the soil from his hand and flicks his lighter on and off.  Stress is
tightening in his gut and there’s no choice left but to start dragging debris
away from the path and wild bushes towards his secluded section at the bottom
of the small hill. Brambles and thorns scratch thick lines into his palms as he
piles up branches and leaves into a glorified mess. During the five minutes
spent clearing pine needles and undergrowth away from the ground, his heart
thuds against the walls of his ribcage; sweat dotting his skin as a rush of
anxiety almost makes his knees buckle.
 
But then the lighter is in play and the undergrowth catches alight easily, a
heady mixture of smoke and pine puffing plumes into the cool air. The fire is
bigger than those he makes in the back garden, the flame reaching towards the
sky as smoke escapes from the amber fingers.
 
Enjolras grins, feeling the anxiety flood from him as if it’s being ripped from
his chest with such a brutal force it sends him sinking to his knees, hanging
his head as the heat dries the sweat from his face. There’s a skitter of rocks
and the snapping of twigs underfoot coming from at the top of the steep drop,
but Enjolras doesn’t notice, too entranced by the sight before him.
 
When the flame eventually starts to die he’ll start to panic, overcome by
distress that he’ll scream and tear at his hair, will return home with puffy
eyes and a red flush, his fingertips constantly red from burning with soot
beneath his nails. But the panic will fade; leaving him sated and at ease until
the next build of anxiety starts again, the impulse growing under the skin like
an itch.
 
Enjolras’ fascination with fire began at the age of four when the kitchen on
the first couple to adopt him had caught fire. It was simple ignorance and
little concentration on the adults half, which caused the pan left on the lit
gas ring to burst into flames. Enjolras had watched, standing in the middle of
the kitchen on his own with a soft toy clutched in one hand, as smoke started
to fill the room in a thick grey fog which stuffed his lungs and made him
cough. The fire alarm had started beeping, a distance sound lost in the haze of
avid fascination that swamped the toddler. He hadn’t started crying until
someone grabbed him from behind, dragging him kicking and screaming away from
the fire until it was no longer in sight.
 
Since that moment, his dreams were filled with flame.
 
*
 
It takes another week for Enjolras to realise Grantaire is following him.
 
He’s walking Combeferre to his maths class when he by chance glances around to
see Grantaire at the other end of the corridor, sharply looking away when
Enjolras makes eye contact with him. At the time he doesn’t think anything of
it, not until he keepsseeing Grantaire in his periphery vision with eyes
constantly fixed upon him in a manner that is utterly unsubtle.
 
On Thursday afternoon he goes to collect groceries from the corner shop on his
way home from school, so he leaves his car in the school car park and walks the
rest of the way into town.  He’s halfway between the car and the shop when he
feels the sense of being watched drilling into the back of his next, the
growing paranoia making his heart beat faster and footsteps quicken.
 
It only takes another couple of yards until he’s spinning around and coming
face to face with a rather startled wide-eyed Grantaire, who squeaks when
Enjolras grabs him and shoves him harshly into an ally way.
 
“Why are you following me?”  It comes out as a snarl, lips curling in a way
that is threatening and has Grantaire shrinking back against the wall, holding
both hands back.
 
“What I can’t walk down the street without being accused for stalking now?” He
says despite the guilty flush on his cheeks.
 
“Don’t try to play me, I know you’ve been following me for the last week. I’ve
seen you at school, always there staring at me and frankly I don’t find it
amusing.”
 
Grantaire straightens, dropping the mask of ignorance in a matter of seconds,
opting instead to stand toe to toe with the other boy, tilting his head with a
smirk.
 
“I know your secret.”
 
Never before have four words had the power to make Enjolras’ stomach clench and
induce a violent rush of anxiety straight through his veins like an electric
shock.
 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
 
“Who’s the one playing now? I’ve seen you as well, in the woods with your
lighter and your fires. I’ve see you the same time, same place four times this
week. I’ve seen you fall to your knees with relief when the flame catches and
I’ve heard you scream when it starts dying-”
 
“Stop”
 
Grantaire grins.
 
“And I have a feeling you don’t want anyone to know.”
 
Enjolras bites so hard on the inside of his cheek he can taste blood. His hand
is still fisted in Grantaire’s coat and his grip only tightens.
 
“No one would believe you.”
 
“They would if I showed them”
 
They glare at each other, daring one another to be the first to look away.
Eventually Enjolras releases his grip with a shove, taking deep satisfaction in
the way Grantaire’ back hits the brick. Grantaire flinches, brushing off his
coat as he rights himself.
 
“Leave me alone.” Enjolras says with an air of finality, making sure Grantaire
goes walking off in the opposite direction before continuing on his way.
 
*
 
At age five Enjolras gets sent back to the orphanage after he starts behaving
badly at school. He’s made fun off by the other children, resulting in other
children crying when they push Enjolras or pull his hair. When a group of boys
decide to cut his hair with craft scissors because the long blond curls make
him look ‘too girly’, Enjolras lashes out, hair torn out in clumps as he hits
the other boys with a surprising amount of strength, biting one of them so hard
that blood starts dribbling down his skin.
 
He has to be torn away by two teachers, and even then he continues screaming
and scratching. It upsets his adopted parents to no end.
 
The last straw is finding a box of matches when playing the kitchen where the
ceiling is stained with a soot mark.  He’s seen them used, seen his adopted
father drag the end across the side of the box when lighting cigarettes. It
takes a several attempts until the head of the match sparks. It’s dazzling and
brilliant and only grows more fantastic when he drops the light match back in
the box and the entire thing promptly ignites. It’s wonderful and his hands are
burnt but none of that matters because despite being only five years old,
Enjolras has never felt this happy.
 
He gets sent back to the children’s home a week later.
 
*
 
Despite the threat, Grantaire doesn’t leave him alone, only grows bolder in his
approach to Enjolras.
 
“You’d think that after being discovered, you’d move your little hobby
elsewhere.”
 
Grantaire says, startling Enjolras as he gathers up debris. He jumps down the
bank with much more ease than Enjolras, trudging over to him with twigs
snapping under his boots. Grantaire is dressed in the same green waterproof
coat with scuffs and sewn up holes as he always does, black jeans with a tear
in the knee and boots. His hair is blowing in the breeze and Enjolras notices a
stretcher in one ear.
 
“I thought I told you to leave me alone.” 
 
Grantaire shrugs
 
“I tried”
 
Enjolras scowls as Grantaire stroll over to a tree stump and takes a seat,
content to watch Enjolras as he takes to dragging bonfire material to the burnt
out section of the ground. It doesn’t feel right but he can’t stop himself, he
needsto light the fire but it feels as if Grantaire is intruding upon sacred
ritual, an outsider who knows nothing about how much the act means to the
initiator. But somehow Grantaire remains silent through it all, just sits there
and watches as he always has from a distance, right up until the fire is lit
and Enjolras is sitting in the dirt with a soft smile on his face.
 
“Will you let me sit here? Not do anything, just sit?” Grantaire asks quietly.
Enjolras looks as him, sitting on the stump with knees pulled up to his chest,
swamped by that scruffy looking jacket with an expression which is both
hopefully and utterly terrified. He’s sat far enough away that the fire light
only just hints at the colour of his skin.
 
Enjolras nods, looking back towards the fire, and for the first time in his
life he doesn’t feel the urge to scream.
 
*
 
It becomes routine after that. Grantaire will follow him, but never approach,
not until they’re in the woods where he’ll sit on that tree stump and not come
any closer. They don’t talk, and eventually Grantaire just becomes part of the
background, still like another pine tree.
 
At school, it’s like Grantaire doesn’t even exist. Apart from in history class
when Enjolras can always feel those green eyes upon him and finds him looking
towards Grantaire’s seat at the back of the room whenever he walks through the
door. Sometimes he finds that he’s the one watching Grantaire from a distance,
watching him occasionally talk to Cosette, but mostly sit around with this huge
boy who Courfeyrac said was called Bahorel and is one of the best sports people
in the school. But most of the time Grantaire is on his own, alone as the world
continues moving around him.
 
Their first argument occurs in a free period after their history lesson is
cancelled. He’s sat with Combeferre discussing an activist group that was
recently set up by the university. Although he has an avid interest in the well
being of others, due to the constant moving Enjolras had never really had a
chance to join a proper group. He has written angry emails and signed
petitions, shown support online as much as he could, but actually talking to
others about it was something he had never had the chance to do until he met
Combeferre and Courfeyrac.
 
“Apparently it’s only for members of the university but I’m sure they won’t
mind if we show up.” Combeferre says pushing his glasses up his nose.
 
“What they don’t know can’t hurt them, besides any form of support should be
accepted no matter who it is from”
 
“You know, I should have guessed you’d be into this kind of thing. You have
that look about you.”
 
“ I’ll take that as a compliment.”
 
Their smiles are easy and Enjolras is about to turn his attention back to the
essay he’s planning when a voice he recognizes to be Grantaire says
 
“I wouldn’t take it as a compliment.”
 
They both turn to look at Grantaire who is curled up in a chair a few tables
away, feet crossed on the table doodling on a pad of paper with a chewed biro.
He hasn’t even looked up from where his pen is travelling across the paper.
 
“Excuse me?” Enjolras bites.
 
“You heard me.” Grantaire may not be looking at him but he’s smirking
nonetheless.
 
“Enjolras.” Combeferre says, tugging at Enjolras’ sleeve in an unsuccessful
attempt to divert his attention.
 
“You suggest I shouldn’t take caring about the world and the well being as
those in it as a compliment.”
 
“No I suggest that you shouldn’t take being a misguided idealist as a
compliment. Surely you are not ignorant to the way people sigh with
exasperation when they hear people like you talking about a better tomorrow,
about the scorns of a society they’ve willingly blinded themselves to? It is
because they do not delude themselves the way you do.” 
 
“You’re wrong, they have not willingly blinded themselves, all choice has been
removed from them. People remain ignorant not because they choose to but
because even now, information is held from them.”
 
Grantaire is finally looking up at him now, one eyebrow raised as he lays his
pen vertically on the paper pad. Enjolras is half out of his seat and the
majority of the room has been attracted by their argument, meaning there will
probably be more rumours added to the mill by the end of the day.
 
“And you think that even if all information was made available to the people
that they would rise up against their governments, that they would pay
attention? You don’t get it; people don’t like to be reminded that the world
sucks. People like to live in their own personal perfection, where everything
is great and no one gets shit on, that’s just the way it works.”
 
Fury is burning through his skin, making his cheeks flush with anger and if
Grantaire would just stop looking at him like that, like he’s a cat playing
around with a captured mouse, then maybe Enjolras could concentrate better on
his argument and less on the way he wants to hit the other right now. His fists
curl and uncurl at his sides and he wonders how this had spiralled out of
control so fast.
 
 
“You need to give people more credit, but then again, what would a loner like
you know about people.” It’s aimed to hurt, to hit somewhere below the belt. He
expects Grantaire to recoil but instead he just shrugs, setting his feet on the
ground and rising.
 
“Being a loner gives me the perfect opportunity to observe without bias and let
me tell you, Enjolras” The name comes out as a snarl, bitter around the lip
curl “People aren’t all they’re made out to be.”
 
With that Grantaire picks up his bag and leaves, giving Enjolras a look that is
almost a challenge as he breezes past. It takes fifteen minutes for Combeferre
to calm him down, which mostly involves patiently listening to him rant and
rave until calmly suggesting he ignore Grantaire.
 
“He’s playing the devil’s advocate, try not the let him rile you up so much.”
Before managing to change the conversation topic completely and make the
argument reduce to a fester in the back of Enjolras’ mind.
 
The bell rings at the end of the hour, and Enjolras strides towards the car
park with keys clutched loosely between his fingers. Anger is still buzzing
below the surface, emerging in the clench of his jaw and the twitch of his
fingers, anger that only increases because yet again he can’t get his car door
open and he ends up smacking the window out of pure frustration. His breath
feels shallow and this really can’t be happening right now.
 
That’s when he looks up to see Grantaire leaning against the passenger door of
a battered jeep on the other side of the car park, lighting up a cigarette held
between pursed lips and the brief flicker of the flame licking his skin looks
utterly beautiful. Or it would if Enjolras wasn’t furious and already halfway
across the tarmac without comprehending the movement, shoving Grantaire against
the jeep door with a thud.
 
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Grantaire exclaims, almost dropping the
cigarette from his mouth before taking hold of it between two fingers and
sharply exhaling. Enjolras ignores the way it makes his stomach tighten.
 
“What’s wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
 
He pushes at Grantaire again, who stands firm this time with one hand pressed
against the door.  He’s glaring through the smoke and Enjolras absently notices
the twin birthmarks sitting side by side beneath his right eye, and the wine
coloured birthmark smudged at the corner of his mouth; but he’s mostly focused
on the curl of his chapped lips.
 
“Just because I’m gave you a reality check suddenly means there’s something
wrong with me? There’s nothing wrong with me, I’m not the one deluding myself
with this better tomorrow bullshit.” Grantaire bites, inhaling deeply before
leaning into Enjolras, speaking lowly into his ear “You might have Combeferre
and Courfeyrac and whoever else listens to you completely wrapped around your
fingers, but I know you, you can’t hide from me.”
 
Enjolras can feel the smoke against his ear and it makes him shiver despite the
burning anger.
 
“You don’t know me.” Pinning Grantaire back against the jeep with an arm
slammed across the front of his shoulders seems to be the only option.
Grantaire laughs without humour, tilting his head back against the window to
expose the thick column of his throat from beneath the coat. 
 
“I know you better than they ever will. I know you arrive at school five
minutes before the first bell everyday with your sister. I know you do grocery
shopping every Thursday afternoon at the same shop and then you drive to the
mayor’s office to pick up your dad because that’s the only day he can come home
early. I know your car has a sticky lock and it always takes you a minimum of
three tries to get it open. I know that you go walking in the wood every night
at six o clock and will stay out until eight, always taking the west hiking
trailing before tailing off down one of the verges. I know that you’ll set
fires at the bottom of that verge at least four times a week, will spend almost
half an hour making sure everything is safe and secure before lighting the
thing on fire, and we both know what happens afterwards.”
 
It’s only a glimpse into what Grantaire has witnessed in his weeks spent
following Enjolras’ every footstep, but it’s enough to be a threat. Enjolras
pushes his arm so hard against Grantaire that he flinches. The cigarette had
long since dropped from Grantaire’s loosened fingers and extinguished itself
next to the jeep’s tire.
 
“That doesn’t mean you know me, it just means that you’re enough of a creep to
follow me around everywhere”
 
Grantaire is laughing at him again, ugly and resentful.
 
“You don’t get it do you. I know it’s wrong, and I hate myself because of it,
but I can’t help it. Ever since you walked into class on the first day back I
just knew I had to follow you wherever you went. I would follow you anywhere
you wanted to lead me without question and I know what I’ve done is disgusting
and horrible, but I don’t know what to do with myself. You’re driving me
insane”
 
Enjolras stares at him, at a loss of what to say, hold slackening. Grantaire is
wide eyed with fear and pleading, unspoken words lying on his tongue and if
Enjolras were to ask then they would come tumbling out. But Enjolras doesn’t
get the chance to ask because someone is grabbing his shoulder and pulling him
out of Grantaire’s personal space with a harsh grip.
 
“Getting a little close for comfort don’t you think?” Bahorel stands a head
taller than Enjolras and is twice the size muscle wise, his tanned fingers
fisted in the back of Enjolras’ coat. “Sorry I’m late R, if this guy bothering
you?”
 
Grantaire straightens his clothes, not looking either of them in the eye “No
it’s fine Bahorel, lets go.”
 
He turns, jerking open the passenger door of the now unlocked jeep and climbing
into the worn looking seat. Bahorel lets Enjolras go with a small push,
rounding the front of the jeep to the driver’s side as Grantaire winds down the
window. He lights up a second cigarettes, and manages to blow a plume in
Enjolras’ face before the jeep pulls away with heavy metal pouring through the
windows.
 
*
 
It’s two days until Grantaire appears again, gingerly appearing from between
the trees to sit on his stump next to Enjolras’ already lit fire.  Enjolras
looks up at the sound of footsteps in the undergrowth, gaze softening when he
sees Grantaire wrapped up in a scarf and fingerless gloves. October is proving
to be chilly, more so than it should be this time of year and his breath fogs
in the air without the aid of a cigarette. He’s looking at Enjolras, seeking
permission to remain in his company, a wordless question that Enjolras responds
to by beckoning him over. Slowly and uncertainly, Grantaire rises before
folding up on the ground at Enjolras’ side, the dead leaves crunching under his
body weight.
 
“Are you like a sociopath or something. I mean following the obsessive need to
stalk someone isn’t exactly normal.”
 
“Do I look like a walking psychiatric dictionary? I have no idea what I am and
frankly I have no right to profile myself when I don’t know shit about
psychology.” Grantaire says but he’s smiling. “Besides, what are you? Don’t you
think this is all a little…pyromaniac?”
 
Enjolras looks to where Grantaire is gesturing towards the fire, sat hugging
his knees to his chest, pulling off his scarf due to the increased heat.
Enjolras smiles.
 
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
 
*
 
The orphanage dubs him as ‘troubled’ upon his return. He’s kept under
observation for a while, the kitchen is out of bounds and the other children
don’t want to play with him. He still has the burn scars on the inside of his
fingers from that incident with the matchbox. He cries a lot, overcome with
anxiety and sadness. But despite his constant weeping and bedwetting and
reluctance to engage with other children, he’s intelligence strives beyond the
IQ levels of his peers.
 
He’s adopted again at age seven by Jean Valjean, who takes him in despite his
black marked record and doesn’t give up. There’s another child, Cosette who is
five and left in Valjean’s care by her mother when she died. Valjean had always
said Cosette deserved company, and an older brother to look out for her was the
best option.
 
Fire starting doesn’t start up again until he’s nine, and since then it hasn’t
stopped, only increased in frequency. He’s always been careful, kept the fires
small, made sure it won’t grow out of control. He researches and prepares,
gathers material whilst the anxiety grows until everything is set when it
finally snaps.
 
He sees his first fire when he’s thirteen and walking Cosette home from school.
The whirring of fire engines and the thick black smoke billowing up into the
sky to form clouds attracts his attention and he’s pulling Cosette up the other
street before he can think about it. It’s a like a reflex, the irresistible
urge to see the orange and feel the heat.
 
Cosette protests but still clutches Enjolras’ hands as they near the scene,
cornered off by fire engines and police keeping people back. A fair few have
gathered to watch, some to comfort the distraught family the house belongs to,
but mostly to marvel at the spectacle before them. The flames are roaring,
travelling impossibly high into the sky as wood cracks and splinters inside.
Ash is being flushed into the air with every pop of objects inside the house
combusting in the heat. It’s beautiful and Enjolras’ hand goes slack, all the
background noise disappearing as his attention is consumed, focusing in on the
fire and only on the fire.
 
Cosette is also fascinated, even if she is still tugging at her unresponsive
brother with earnest, wanting to go home. Eventually she tires, opting instead
to walk home by herself and leaving Enjolras to watch until the flame dies down
to the blacken embers and ash and the fire trucks drive away, leaving the area
sectioned off. Needless to say, Valjean is furious that Cosette had been left
to walk home on her own and he walks back up towards the scene to find Enjolras
sat cross-legged on the pavement, rocking back and forth.
 
Valjean doesn’t yell or scold him, just gently pulls him away from the burnt
out house and towards the car. They don’t speak of it; in fact, they’ve never
spoken of it.
 
*
 
“Everyone at school is talking about how you pinned Grantaire against Bahorel’s
jeep.” Cosette says upon striding into Enjolras’ bedroom and seating herself in
the spinning desk chair, smacking bubblegum. 
 
“Thanks for knocking, remember what Dad said knocking before entering?”
Enjolras says from where he’s lying on his bed with a book in one hand.
 
Cosette huffs amused.
 
“Sure, like you would be doing that in the middle of the day.”
 
“It’s the weekend, I could be naked in the middle of the day”
 
“Okay stop with the kidding, you only time you’re naked is when you’re in the
shower.” Cosette throws a pencil at him “Focus on the topic.”
 
Enjolras folds the page down and slams the cover shut, ignoring the weirdness
of the conversation.
 
“What? People are saying stuff? Who cares; people say all kinds of stuff all
the time.”
 
“I know, I just found it strange and in order to establish whether or not
something is going on between you I thought I’d ask the source material. Excuse
me for not automatically believing what everyone is telling me.” Bless Cosette,
as blunt as she can be she is the best adopted sister he could ask for.
 
“We were having an argument and you know I can get a bit hot headed when it
starts spiralling out of control. I didn’t mean to push him against the jeep,
it just sort of happened. Nothing is going on between us.”
 
For once Cosette doesn’t push it and seems to take his words at face value,
spinning once in the chair before getting up and patting him on the head.
 
“Try not to get so violent next time. Also dinner is at seven, we’re having
takeaway.”  
 
Enjolras taps the cover of the book when the bedroom door clicks shut, suddenly
unable to find the will power to open to the folded page. There are rumours now
that there is something going on between him and Grantaire, rumours his friends
will no doubt have heard and will question him on later. But they didn’t know
about the obscure relationship that couldn’t be classes as friendship, but
couldn’t really be classed as anything less than that. Enjolras shared his most
intimate moments with Grantaire, shared his firelight and warmth and beckoned
him closer to his side as all the anxiety flows from him.
 
Grantaire who has already shown an unwavering devotion to him, who fears he’ll
be cast aside and rejected by the object of his obsession. Grantaire, who he
knows to be intelligent, suggested by the occasional passing comment he makes
during class and their time spent together. And as much as Enjolras has trouble
admitting it, there’s something comforting about his presence.
 
After dinner he takes the trail to his usual destination, wrapped up in only
his coat because it surprisingly warm for a mid October night. Grantaire is
already there, playing with a branch by hitting it against dead leaves and
unearthing stones from the soil. He’s wearing a grey bobble hat and a wooden
spiral through his stretched earlobe.
 
“Hey” He calls out a little breathlessly, cheeks flushed from exertion. His
expression is bright if not a little manic, wide eyed and grinning.
 
“Hi” Enjolras replies much calmer, gathering his hair into a ponytail to stop
it whipping around his face.  Grantaire tosses the stick aside and scampers up
the bank to Enjolras’ side.
 
“So if you don’t mind, I would really like to show you something.” Grantaire
waves his hands around “Think of it as an offering of forgiveness.” 
 
Enjolras tilts his head, tempted to say that there’s no need for a peace
offering, but the bright stars in Grantaire’s irises is too hard to resist.
Instead he beckons for Grantaire to take the lead, inclining his head just so.
 
Grantaire goes bounding off through the trees, ignoring the path completely to
trample over bushes and brambles, pocketing his hands in the depths of his
coat.
 
“Do you know where you’re going?” Enjolras asks, glancing around the endless
lines of trees with no idea where they are.  Grantaire laughs, glancing over
his shoulder as he climbs up another steep bank onto a separate hiking trial,
grasping hold of jutting tree roots rising like ribs from the body of the
earth.
 
“I grew up here, so after eighteen years of wandering around these woods I’d
like to think I would know my way by now.”
 
A hand is offered to pull Enjolras up onto the ridge, a hand that is rough and
warm to the touch.
 
They’ve taken the northern hiking trail up a steep hill with loose rocks on the
path, which make Enjolras slip multiple times, catching himself on the banks
and a few times on the back of Grantaire’ coat, almost pulling them both back
down the hill. It’s darker with the denser tree growth and the earlier setting
of the sun, making the dark colour palette fade to a grey as the light
diminishes. Grantaire hums as he navigates with ease, veering off the path once
more and Enjolras can hear the trickle of water in a stream somewhere nearby,
but he never actually sees the steady roll of liquid over pebbles.
 
Eventually the trees open out into a clearing at the stop of the hill, a field
of rich grass lined by a circle of pine tree from which they emerge. The field
is barren apart from the tiny wooden outhouse protruding in the centre.
 
“There used to be a house here.” Grantaire explains approaching the outhouse
with no particular hurry. “But it was knocked down when this area was supposed
to be developed into a new neighbourhood. Obviously, that development never
went through and all that is left is this log hut.”
 
Grantaire is pulling on a pair of gloves before shouldering open the sticky
door of the hut. Cobwebs hang from the beams and it’s almost empty apart from
logs and weeds that have started to uproot the floorboards and wiggle in
through cracks in the graffiti covered walls. There’s a single window that has
been smashed, discarded alcohol bottles from teenagers finding a safe place to
drink.
 
“I still fail to see why you bought me here.” Enjolras say glances around
before trailing off, staring at Grantaire with a slack jaw and a rush to his
stomach. Grantaire is standing there grinning, cradling a plastic canister of
gasoline that he had obviously planted moments before.
 
“I checked.” He reassures “The trees are far enough so they won’t catch fire
and there’s phone signal so if needs be we can call the fire department and
then bolt if it gets out of hand.” 
 
The pleading expression on Grantaire’s face is so painfully open, so desperate
for approval that all Enjolras can do is stare. Stare at the bright red
canister in his hands, at the amount of thought that has been put into
presenting this as a gift and the whirlwind of emotion is creates within him.
The aching urge to leap into Grantaire’s arm and watch the world burn.
 
Suddenly he’s snatching the canister away, unstopping the plug with in snap and
sloshing the liquid all over the broken furniture and dead plants. Grantaire
grins, salvaging old leaflets from the floor before they can be drenched,
rolling them up and plating them together. The smell of gasoline is heady,
making Enjolras’ sinuses sting and lungs burn, the sensation going through to
his gut as the rush consumes him as it soaks into the floorboards. He’s
breathing harshly.
 
“I take it you have something to light it with.” Enjolras states a little
hoarsely, jittering out of his skin with excitement.
 
“Of course.” The lopsided smile that spreads across his face is perfect as
Grantaire takes the platted paper whilst pushing Enjolras out the hut.  Using a
battered lighter to ignite the paper, he tosses it through the empty doorway
and they run back to a safe distance as flames engulf the hut.
 
Enjolras falls to sit in the grass, bouncing up and down like an excited child
as smoke starts trailing out the cracks and windows. There’s a crackling of
wood, the glow of orange deep inside similar to the way Enjolras feels he would
look if the fire burning within himself could be seen by others.  The sun had
long since set, making the fire a beacon in the middle of the darkness, a
source of heat in the growing chill that fogs their breath and the rush is
exhilarating.
 
“This is amazing” Enjolras breathes. He hasn’t seen a fire this big since
following the firemen when he was thirteen, mind flashing back briefly to
sitting on the pavement alone, rocking back and forth and watching the
blackened embers emit smoke into the sky. But this time no one is gently
picking up his frail body and placing him in a car, this time he is not alone.
 
“Have I pleased you?” Grantaire mutters, as if afraid to ask, afraid of the
rejection.
 
Enjolras turns to him. Grantaire is looking at the fire, his face bathed in
amber, highlighting rivers in the inky black curls of his hair. His breath is a
subtle puff of grey against the sky, arms wrapped around his knees to make the
fabric of his coat bunch around his shoulders. The birthmark staining the
corner of his mouth is alighted by the fire and contrasts the paleness of his
skin, drawing attention towards the fullness of his bottom lip and suddenly all
Enjolras’ wants is to push Grantaire down and rut against him as the fire burns
in front of them.
 
“Yes.” Enjolras replies breathily, reaching out to slide his fingers against
the back of Grantaire’s neck.
 
Grantaire looks at him, unsure at the touch of Enjolras’ cool fingers, which
moves to fist in the collar of his coat, pulling him forward until their lips
meet. Grantaire’s lips are chapped and he tenses under Enjolras’ hands at
first, eyes wide with surprise.
 
“What was that?” Grantaire asks, voice elevated in pitch when he pulls away,
still within inches of Enjolras. The firelight is reflected in his pupils.
 
“I wanted to kiss you.”
 
“Why?”
 
“Think of it as a thank you gift.”
 
Grantaire outright laughs in his face, or at least he would have, if Enjolras
hadn’t wrenched him forward again, their teeth knocking together painfully.
Grantaire huffs amusedly against his closed lips, tilting his head for a better
angle. For all Enjolras lacked in experience he made up with enthusiasm,
fingers curling tightly in Grantaire’s hair and pressing closer. Grantaire’s
tongue flicks over his bottom lip, licking at the seam of his lips until they
part and allow him access, the strange but not unpleasant feeling of
Grantaire’s tongue against his own going straight to Enjolras’ cock. He’s light
headed with adrenaline ad from arousal, the feeling of hands grabbing the front
of his coat to practically pull him half into Grantaire’s lap.
 
The position is a little awkward as Enjolras pulls away to adjust, moving to
straddle Grantaire’s lap, knees digging into the dirt as his jeans stretch
tightly over his groin, arms slung over Grantaire’s shoulder’s with the other
boy’s hands supporting his back. He can see the fire burning in the background,
a huge inferno acting as the backdrop to their scene.
 
“You are beautiful,” Grantaire says, looking up with an awe filled expression,
as if he can’t fully believe what is being allowed to happen. He tilts
Enjolras’ chin upwards, leaning into to kiss the expanse of skin not hidden by
the coat. His teeth nip at Enjolras’ throat, earning a gasp and fingers pulling
at his hair.  Grantaire rears his head, cupping Enjolras’ cheek with one hand
in an oddly affectionate gesture, gentle as if he’s afraid to break a precious
artefact.
 
“I would do anything for you.”
 
And Enjolras suddenly can’t bare the lack of access to Grantaire’s skin. He
moans in both frustration and the rush the statement sends pouring through his
nerve, fingers fumbling with the zipper of Grantaire’s battered old jacket,
wrestling it from his shoulders as Grantaire tries to help shed the item until
it’s a crumbled mess somewhere in the grass. Pushing his hands against
shoulders, Grantaire ends up lying on his back in the grass, shivering in his
t-shirt as his bobble hat slips from his head with the light weight of Enjolras
pressed against him.
 
“I can’t believe you did this. All of this.” Enjolras ducks his head, following
the urge to suck on the dip of collarbones visible from beneath the low neck of
Grantaire’s t-shirt. A hint of salt settles on his tongue as he licks the large
mark now marring the white, as intoxicating as the way Grantaire moans and
slides his hands to Enjolras’ ass.
 
It’s then when Enjolras becomes aware of the erection pushing painfully against
the zipper of his jeans. Grantaire’s hands grope and pull Enjolras closer,
rocking their hips together and sending a violent shiver running through
Enjolras who ducks his head against his neck. The friction is incredible and
Enjolras is pretty sure that he’s going to come in his pants way too soon if
this continues. Grantaire kisses him, swallowing the gasps and whimpers he
didn’t realise he was making, sucking on his bottom lip until they’re red and
swollen.
 
“Have you done anything like this before?” Grantaire asks, voice completely
wrecked as he takes Enjolras’ face gently in hand, shifting strands of hair
behind his ear.
Enjolras swallows thickly, finding it difficult to stop rutting against
Grantaire’s leg.
 
“No” He replies placing all his trust in the boy beneath him. Grantaire smiles,
hooking his hand in the crook of Enjolras’ knees and flipping them over so
Enjolras’ legs curve over Grantaire’s hips and the coolness of the grass seeps
into his back.
 
“If you want me to” Grantaire says into his ear, kissing behind his earlobe “I
will make you feel so good. If you want to that is?”
 
“I want you to. I want you to.” Enjolras says without hesitation, not standing
another moment without Grantaire’s mouth on his, tasting the cigarettes on his
tongue and the coffee behind his teeth. The heavy smells of gasoline and
arousal stick to their clothing, matting in the threads and seeping out into
the earth.
 
Grantaire shifts away, palming at Enjolras’ jeans with the heal of his hand
whilst biting at the soft tissue beneath Enjolras’ jaw. The warmth of his
heavier body weight smoothers Enjolras, larger body frame shielding him against
the nightly chill as the fog of their breath mingles together.
 
But then Grantaire is gone, knees slipping further back as he hovers on all
fours, spreading Enjolras legs wide open and slotting in the space between
them. The relief that floods through him when the button pops open and the
zipper is dragged down flood through him, the coldness of the air making
Enjolras shiver despite his coat. Grantaire keeps glancing up at him for
reassurance, constantly seeking permission as he hooks his fingers in the
elastic of Enjolras’ underwear, peeling them down to mid thigh and allowing his
flushed cock to curve up towards his abdomen, exposed to the sharpness of the
cold.
 
Enjolras cries out, fists pulling at the grass as the wet heat of Grantaire’s
mouth slides over the head of his cock almost making him come right then. The
darkness hides most of the view of Grantaire between his legs, head bowed, one
hand supported on his parted thigh as the other holds down his hips. But
Enjolras has watched enough porn to be able to imagine what it would look like,
Grantaire’s lips stretched tightly around his cock, throat working to swallow
him down slowly inch by inch. His tongue rubs over the underside, working up
and down as his head bobs.
 
“Oh fuck.” Enjolras groans gripping tightly to curled hair strands as Grantaire
swallows around him. The arm thrown across his hips is the only thing stopping
him from bucking into the wet heat, which draws almost entirely off his cock to
lick at the head, rubbing between the slit to taste the precome. He suckles on
the head before taking Enjolras in mouth completely until his nose is buried in
the hair at the base.
 
Enjolras is well aware he’s making an obscene amount of noise, writhing in the
grass as the arousal coils tightly in his stomach. In the back of his mind, he
knows that Grantaire has done this before, has had another the same way he’s
having Enjolras in the middle of a field with the fire crackling in the
background. But he ignores the jealously for how good the mouth around him
feels. His teeth worry at his bottom lip, trying to stifle the noise to no
avail when Grantaire hums around him, swallowing and sucking and the noise he’s
making is positively pornographic.
 
“Ah please Grantaire, I’m going to…I’m going to come.” It’s coming to an end
impossibly fast but he can’t stop it. Grantaire looks up at him, wide eyed and
explicit, cheeks hollowing and pulling off to the tip.
 
The orgasm hits him like a punch to the stomach, arching off the ground as he
spills into Grantaire’s mouth. He can feel him swallowing thickly, gulping it
all down. When the rush subsides, Enjolras lies boneless in the grass, watching
as Grantaire sits back on his knees wiping his mouth and panting.
 
“That was amazing.” Enjolras pants, chest finally starting to stop heaving,
gazing dazedly up at the stars. Grantaire grins dopily, shoves open his jeans
and stuffing his hand down his boxers to take his cock in hand.
 
Enjolras sits up, pulling Grantaire forward to kiss him sloppily, tasting
himself on Grantaire’s tongue and feeling the other writhe against him. Resting
his head on Grantaire’s shoulder Enjolras watches the fast movement on his
hand.
 
“Come on” He mutters biting Grantaire’s neck “Come for me.”
 
Grantaire cries out, clinging to Enjolras as a damp patch spreads across the
front of his underwear, hand covered in the sticky fluid. Slumping against
Enjolras, Grantaire wipes his hand on the grass and the thigh of his jeans,
breathing heavily against his shoulder.
 
“Thank you” Grantaire says, breathing levelling out into a steady stream.
 
“You’re the one who just sucked me off. I think you’re the one deserving the
thanks.”
 
“It was good then?”
 
“More than good”
 
Grantaire’s laugh is weak and he’s starting to shiver, zipping up before rising
to his feet. He holds a hand out to Enjolras.
 
“We should probably call the emergency services.”
 
The hut has been fully engulfed, raging and whooshing into the sky as the wood
splinters and collapses.  The column of smoke is huge and will no doubt attract
someone from the surrounding area if it isn’t dealt with soon enough.
 
‘Yeah we probably should.”
 
Grantaire calls the services whilst they retreat back into the trees, hanging
up without giving a name, one hand hooked in the back of Enjolras’ jeans.
Reluctantly Enjolras leaves the fire to burn, disappearing through the woods
with Grantaire following loyally behind.  
End Notes
     If I have  misrepresented the mental issues presented in this fic
     then if you could point out my errors and I'll correct them 
     Research Material: 
         * http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pyromania
         * http://www.minddisorders.com/Py-Z/Pyromania.html
         * http://www.drtomoconnor.com/4050/4050lect04a.htm
         * http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Child_pyromaniac
         * http://www.jaapl.org/content/40/3/355.full.pdf
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