Chapter Text
Grantaire likes it when he looks unbothered.
Enjolras doesn’t feel unbothered. He feels like he’s coming out of his skin and he’s not sure if he should take it out on Grantaire’s ass or his mouth. Both are appealing, with Grantaire tied and straining and strong, but not strong enough to break free.
Grantaire is kneeling at his feet with a tray holding a cup of water that Enjolras studiously isn’t drinking, held up at chest height by two clamps pulling painfully at Grantaire’s nipples. They are stretched and reddened, and Grantaire has to arch his back so the tray rests against his sternum but it clearly doesn’t take the edge off.
It’s good for both of them, based on how hard Grantaire looks, but Enjolras wants tears, and that prompted him to bind Grantaire’s hands to his balls, the ropes crisscrossing and pulling his shoulders firmly back. Grantaire’s back is painfully arched, abs spasming to hold the position and sweat beading on his brow.
“Color?” Enjolras asks, slapping a riding crop idly across his knee. He knows Grantaire is following his every movement with his eyes, so he plays it up a little more.
Grantaire’s mouth must be dry by now, spread wide with a medical-looking metal gag that gave Enjolras very un-Hippocratic thoughts. Despite this, he manages a breathy, mangled, “lime,” that Enjolras only understands from extended exposure to Grantaire’s gag talk.
“Good. I would be disappointed if that was all you could take.” He reaches forward and ratchets the gag open one more notch and Grantaire lets out a long groan. His mouth is so wide now it has to hurt, the edges of his lips pulled taut and tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “Be good for me.”
Whatever Grantaire replies is too garbled to be understood, which is probably for the best, since Enjolras is pretty sure it wasn’t “sir, yessir.” He takes the crop and snaps it against Grantaire’s right nipple a few times. Grantaire yelps and instinctively folds inward then jolts back when it tugs on his balls. Enjolras waits a few moments for Grantaire’s breathing to relax, then does it again.
And again. And again.
The cup tips dangerously a couple of times, but Grantaire catches himself with tensed muscles, because of course he does. He’s too good and Enjolras adjust his cock as subtly as possible. “If you spill the water I’m going to keep you on your knees for the rest of the week.” Grantaire moans. “Every day, until you learn how to be a good little side table for me.”
Grantaire mumbles something and Enjolras gives him a gentle swat across the face with the crop, and then another because he likes the redness it brings to Grantaire’s cheeks.
“We’ve been over this, Grantaire. Tables don’t talk, do they?” He waits to see if Grantaire reacts, if he’ll fall for Enjolras’s trap but he doesn’t, staying silent and looking at Enjolras with adoration in his face.
Enjolras rises from the chair and gets onto his knees. “Hold this.” He slips his phone out of his pocket, placing it and the riding crop gently onto Grantaire’s tray and watches him wince as his abused nipples take on even more weight. His back arches further, pulling the line between his hands and his balls taut.
Enjolras barely resists the urge to reach back and give it a tug. Too much, maybe. Besides, he has other plans in mind.
Grantaire’s cock is hard, bobbing against his belly. Enjolras grabs the leather pouch containing a set of sounds and a bottle of a lube that had been next to him on the couch and dons a pair of gloves, efficiently as he can. He selects a sound swiftly, lubing it up, and bringing it to Grantaire’s piss slit, eyeing him critically, detached in a way he knows Grantaire likes.
Grantaire shivers, muscles rippling as he gargles, “seafoam,” and a line of saliva rolls slowly down his lip.
Enjolras pushes the sound in, letting gravity do most of the work and focusing instead on the way Grantaire closes his eyes, shaking and moaning as the sound stretches out his cock and overstimulates him.
“Feeling like cumming with a sound, R?” he asks, rolling Grantaire’s balls in his left hand, while his right toys with the end of the sound. “Did you like that last time? It hurt, didn’t it?” At Grantaire’s affirmative noise Enjolras continues: “What else was I meant to do? I can’t let my table leak, now can I?”
Grantaire tries to buck his hips towards Enjolras but doesn’t quite manage before the position causes too much pain and he groans hard as he moves back. He’s beginning to really tremble, his strong muscles finally becoming overtaxed. Enjolras feels like he’s at the edge of cumming and the fact that he probably won’t let Grantaire is—well, it’s hot and overwhelming, and he can’t believe this beautiful, talented, powerful man puts such control in his hands, and he would be more emotional about it if his cock wasn’t pressing painfully into the zipper of his jeans.
He reaches out, grabbing the sound and moving it slowly in and out a few times, teasing, and Grantaire bucks and whines. He replaces it again quickly, rising to his feet. He narrows the gag, extracting it from Grantaire’s mouth. He wants to hear what Grantaire has to say.
Grantaire licks his dry lips and whines. “Can I suck your cock, sir? Please sir, I’ll be so good for you. Full service side-table.”
Enjolras laughs despite himself, cradling Grantaire’s face in his hand, and Grantaire leans into it like a sunflower to the light. “The mouth on you!” He sounds fond though, and Grantaire gives him the sassiest grin he can manage through the pain in his nipples and shoulders and balls.
“I can show you the mouth on me.” He winks and Enjolras smacks him lightly on the cheek.
“Color?”
“Shamrock,” Grantaire says immediately. “An entire bar on St. Patrick’s day. Please, sir.”
Enjolras unzips his pants, and steps into Grantaire’s space. Grantaire’s mouth is instantly on him. He’s leaning forward and Enjolras can see the tray, hanging in the air now and not supported by his sternum, and based on where Grantaire’s shoulders are, probably pulling hard on his balls, too. It’s probably the desperation of the pain that makes him suck Enjolras down into his throat and Enjolras is only human. He makes quick work of Enjolras and leans back, panting, with a satisfied smile.
Enjolras wants to wipe it off his face. Affectionately. He zips his fly and reaches down and takes the items off the tray. Grantaire takes a deep breath, relaxing as the weight on his nipples decreases so dramatically.
Enjolras sits back on the chair, and places his foot on the tray, lightly at first, then putting increasing pressure until Grantaire is halfway to the ground and the pressure on his nipples and balls is enough that he’s actually beginning to cry. His cock has softened some, sound hanging part way out of him.
Enjolras keeps him there for a long moment, then relents, letting Grantaire spring back up, crying and hiccuping slightly.
“Let’s get that off you,” Enjolras says lightly, and unclips the clamps. Grantaire shouts as the blood rushes back to his nipples, crying as Enjolras massages them roughly to get the blood circulating more quickly.
“You like that part too much sir,” Grantaire says, still sniffling.
“I like everything with you.” Enjolras says it quietly, like it’s a secret, but Grantaire grins like Enjolras is an idiot. Maybe he is. “Want me to free your balls?”
Grantaire nods and Enjolras gets to untying his knots. “What I would really like to do is cum,” Grantaire says conspiratorially.
“Oh yes?” Enjolras asks, tapping the sound.
Grantaire jumps, whining. “No.”
Enjolras finishes with the knots and removes the sound as painlessly as he can.
“Then you can look forward to doing that later. Or tomorrow maybe,” he says, and pulls Grantaire into his lap. “Maybe I’ll make you earn it this time.”
“Fuuuuck.” Grantaire waggles his hips “You’re the absolute worst and I love you.”
Enjolras grins. “I love you, too. I’ll be interested to see if you feel the same when I get you ice packs to hold on those nipples.”