bakerstreet | The Drunk meme

[ Fixated was the word Enjolras would have used over single-minded. Enjolras was fixated upon his goals, his idealisms. In these ideas he believed whole-heartedly, and nothing and no one (not even Grantaire, for all his nihilism and cynicisms) could possibly change this fact. Still, Combeferre was correct on alcohol having a very distinct effect. Already Enjolras was beginning to forget his revenge upon Courfeyrac; with his slipping to the subject of his studies, concern for the other had fallen to the wayside. ]

I am breathing. [ And he draws in another gulp of cool, clean evening air for emphasis, letting his eyes fall shut for half a moment. He listens to the sounds of the city as he lets the air fill his lungs. Tastes it, savours it and finds himself smiling again. It is as if he can feel all of France's heart beat in that moment, absorbing himself in the sounds and smells and tastes and feel of it all, swaying on his feet as he does. ]

I am breathing. [ He repeats it, softer this time and somehow more meaningful, though perhaps Combeferre will not understand. He shivers in excitement- for the promise of the future, of a better tomorrow (clearly not thinking about the hangover that is sure to come), and when he pivots slightly to regard Combeferre there is a raw, open hopefulness lighting up his face. He feels almost, almost invincible; as though if he could just simply find the right words he could change the world right then and there.

But he is dizzy with drink, and the euphoria of it robs him of his usual eloquence. Whatever these magic words might have been elude him, and so instead he focuses once more upon the task Combeferre had lay before him- the simple act of getting home. ]

[ whether to call it fixated or single-minded — the result is the same and enjolras' focus is formidable on most days. right now, though, with the alcohol in his system, that becomes less true and combeferre can't help but think that perhaps this is good for enjolras. he would like to be certain about it, but there's too much of a possibility that enjolras will fault himself for the lack of productivity in the morning and that any positive effect of the night off will be negated by that.

combeferre hopes that he isn't right about that —

— and then the thought slips away from him when enjolras turns to him with that expression on his face. he knows enjolras is beautiful, there is no denying that at any given moment, but it doesn't usually strike him quite like this. still: there is something about that expression, how open and raw it is, that has combeferre unable to look away or comment.

perhaps he doesn't understand what enjolras is thinking in that moment, but he certainly has his own epiphany, a stark reminder of why he stands by enjolras' side. ]

[ Where Combeferre now seems frozen, Enjolras is on the move once more. He is still exposed, somehow, and it seems almost wrong that they are in public. Still, Enjolras does not seem too concerned. He stumbles forward, reaching out and catching the other's hands with both of his own, sucking in another sharp breath as his heart swells with a sense of euphoric elation.

Somehow, Combeferre understands. Enjolras knows he does- yet even still, he feels it is his duty to make absolutely sure.

So he tugs the other, a commanding, yet gentle amount of force. Begins to walk backwards, his eyes upon the other's face, not breaking the other's gaze even as he fails to look where he is going in favour of pulling the other along like this. There is an implicit trust here; he knows Combeferre will not let him walk in to anything, will not let him trip, or fall. So too is there a sense of intimacy, and excitement shivers through Enjolras for it.

He felt as though he could give Combeferre everything, and anything- all they need do was reach Enjolras' apartment, so that he could find the words, the actions necessary for it. ]

[ he would never let enjolras fall — whether it's in this or anything else, combeferre would have to fall first before he would let enjolras fall; that is a truth he knows to be immutable, down to his core. if there is something strange about enjolras pulling him along by both hands, going backwards with an expression of — hope and trust and more that combeferre cannot quite name and finds he doesn't want to because this is not something that can be quantified and labelled neatly.

enjolras is drunk, yes — but this is more than that.

he turns his hands in enjolras' hold so that he can press his thumbs to wrists, to the point where his pulse lies. it's a connection and combeferre would be loathe to look away from enjolras' gaze if not for the fact that someone needs to watch where they're going. ]

[ Despite that Enjolras wishes they could walk back to his apartment like this, he knows he is not quite steady enough to make the entirety of this journey staring at the other as he is. Still, before he turns one of his hands comes up, fingers curling against the nape of the other's neck as Enjolras leans in. He closes his eyes, and pulls the other just gently, guiding them so as to bring their foreheads together. Enjolras stops moving then, eyes shut as he shares the other's air, shivering in the evening air though knowing he is not cold at all. ]

My heart is beating; I can feel Her pulse. [ He whispers it as he smiles, almost laughs, though manages to suppress it, instead lighting up with a glowing smile. The fingers of Enjolras' hand that Combeferre still has with his own squeezes the other's gently, before Enjolras turns just slightly, lacing his fingers tightly with the other's so that they may walk side by side, hand in hand. ]

[ enjolras brings their foreheads together and holds combeferre still as much with the hand on his neck as with his mere presence and combeferre finds his own eyes sliding closed in response. in that moment, he feels as though he is hardly breathing. he is far from sober himself and perhaps that explains some of the intensity of this feeling, but he knows — he is familiar with it if not to this degree. this is not the alcohol, certainly not on his side.

he brings his free hand up to wrap around enjolras' shoulder, unsure himself whether he is holding on or trying to warm him in light of his shiver. ]

Enjolras — [ but he finds himself unable to articulate any of it and so instead he merely smiles. there's pleasure at finding enjolras so pleased and there's wonder because enjolras is beautiful like this. it feels slightly unreal and combeferre feels grounded at the same time. he squeezes back, their fingers linked together and his thumb rubbing small circles over the back of enjolras' hand now. it's perhaps too much, but with enjolras as affectionate as this, combeferre finds he cannot help himself. ]

[ He thinks that in some ways, in these moments they are holding one another to the ground, for Enjolras is certain that without Combeferre there his elation would lift him to the Heavens themselves. He feels full of light and warmth and happiness, and perhaps Courfeyrac was right- perhaps this was not so bad after all. But such thoughts are fleeting and fractured even still, and he focuses instead upon the press of their hands, the warmth of Combeferre's fingers cradled so gently, so intimately with his own. He smiles despite himself, and a fresh surge of warmth radiates through him at hearing the other breath his name. It is all he needs to hear, in truth. It sets a sense of peace over them, and together they sauntered through the Parisian night.

This sense of calm continues- at least, right up until they reach Enjolras' door. By then Enjolras is filled with sensation to bursting, and he still has not found the words to articulate. So he shifts, pulls just slightly to turn the other, to press Combeferre to the wooden surface of it, his lips finding the other's with all the heat and passion that Enjolras feels for France. Intense and blinding even to him as he presses their mouths together, lips parting and fingers raising up to seek refuge in the softness of the other's hair. He fits to Combeferre as though he would sink into the other, transfer these overwhelming feelings of excitement and passion through their contact alone. He knows that perhaps, it will not be enough- yet at the same time, so too does he trust that Combeferre will understand. ]

[ there is a noise combeferre makes when enjolras brings their lips together, something that might be a repetition of his name or words or something entirely wordless, but it gets swallowed by the kiss and combeferre wouldn't know to repeat it if asked. there's an intimacy in the night and the connection between them that goes beyond what is usually apparent between them, far beyond what usually finds any sort of expression and combeferre — he knows that this is no closer than they always are, it's only an expression of it more than usual but he cannot help but see more in it.

it's heat and it's more forward than he would have imagined, but with the hard wood at his back and enjolras' body before him, he gives in to it all too easily, submitting to the kiss and enjolras. if this is how he wants to share the love he has for france, if this is what alcohol and the night bring out in enjolras, combeferre will gladly receive it and bear any consequences in the morning. ]

[ Enjolras shivers, drinking in the sound the other makes. Heat blooms in the pit of his belly for it, making him groan softly against the other's lips. Encouraged by the other's response Enjolras shifts, fits their hips together and even he wasn't prepared how intense the feeling is; he gasps a little against the other's lips and gently pulls the other's bottom lip with his teeth.

Vaguely, he's aware that they really should probably go inside- that they might be making a scene- but that would require finding his keys, and that would require drawing away from Combeferre.

He's never really cared all that much about what other people think, anyway. ]

[ enjolras' gasp is echoed by combeferre; not so much because he is surprised by the intensity of the feeling but because of how it feels, sparks of heat shooting up his spine. enjolras — enjolras doesn't to things halfway and it takes combeferre a long moment, far longer than he would care to admit, to gather his wits about him enough to draw back, to turn his head from the kiss even though he would like nothing more than to continue it. ]

Inside. [ he doesn't mean to be short, but there's a breathlessness to him now that leaves him little other choice. ]

[ He releases a breath of frustration as the other turns away, and an uncontrolled growl rises up in his throat as he chased the other's lips. It took him a few moments to realize the other had spoken, mouth pressing against the other's jaw, down his throat and seeking every inch of skin he could reach. It's only when he's started to pull the other's shirt out of his way by the shoulder that his words register.

Panting softly, Enjolras leans back just slightly, takes half a step to fumble in his pockets, searching for his keys. When he finds them he releases a soft, triumphant noise, before struggling to align the key with the lock.

It takes him three attempts, but Enjolras is certain that Combeferre will forgive him. ]

[ combeferre is no less frustrated — but far more aware of the necessity to turn away and to give both of them a moment to breathe and, far more importantly, to get the two of them off the street and into enjolras' apartment. he has to firmly remind himself, through the haze of alcohol now tinged with something else entirely as well, that he is a responsible person and that making out with his best friend, his leader against the front door of his place while they are both drunk is far from responsible behaviour.

there is no denying that he wants enjolras. it's there in the way his body instinctively curves towards him, in the pressure against his zipper, in the shortness of his breath and for all that it takes enjolras three attempts to open his door: it takes combeferre almost as long to put himself back together to the point where he can straighten up and follow him inside. ]

[ Enjolras is possessed with so many responsibilities that he cannot find himself feeling guilty about relaxing on just this one. Perhaps he will feel it tomorrow, perhaps there will be regret, apologies-

But now there is only heat, a need burning through him that he cannot deny and a single-minded focus upon finding satisfaction for this need. He is still filled with inspiration, but it has become inspiration of a different kind with the memory of Combeferre's lips, his body trapped between himself and the door.

When it swings open Enjolras leads the way in, kicking off his shoes as he leads. But almost as soon as this is done he's turning again, kicking the door shut awkwardly with his elbow in a way that stings. Yet he is too fixated on finding Combeferre's lips with his own that he hardly even registers it. Only knows that the door is shut, and that he needs Combeferre as he needs air. He gasps despite himself as he brings their hips to connect, and he registers just how aroused he truly is. ]

Combeferre. [ He moans the other's names against his lips, and without control his hips roll instinctively forward, his desire flaring and oh, he wants to do that again. ]

[ combeferre is, perhaps, far better at juggling multiple responsibilities whereas enjolras prioritises one to the detriment of all else. that is not necessarily a bad thing — in enjolras, it most certainly. and combeferre is less drunk than enjolras, though he has to admit that he hardly feels that difference now because he may not be drunk on alcohol, but there is something utterly intoxicating about enjolras like this, surging up to kiss him again.

the door is shut behind them and they're inside and with that, combeferre gives himself permission to let go of the last sense of responsibility. it means his hands are on enjolras a moment later, lips pliant first and then with more pressure as he returns the kiss in kind, licking his way into enjolras' mouth.

the rolls of enjolras' hips leaves him gasping, legs falling apart and he leans back against the door - the other side of it now - for support, pulling enjolras along with him, closer. ]

[ It would seem some sort of logic that as a skilled orator, Enjolras would be loud in other things as well. So perhaps it was no surprise that he released a groan from low in his throat with the connection of the other's tongue. Enjolras returns this action with fervour, an eagerness to leave them both breathless, gasping and flushed (as though they weren't already).

He doesn't know what to do with his hands- in some ways, Enjolras is still quite clumsy at this. For all that he enjoys the intimacy and heat of sharing Combeferre's body and no matter that this isn't their first time Enjolras still always feels as though it is something new. Perhaps it was also the alcohol playing through him that makes him fumble more than usual, but he knows that he wants to touch, taste skin and savour it and so his hands slide under the other's shirt, come to rest against the other's hips as he fits himself between the other's inviting thighs and bucks. Again he finds himself moaning into the other's mouth, and now that he's started such friction he can't seem to stop, hips rocking to grind his own arousal against the other's. ]

[ the sounds go through combeferre and leave him feeling all the more drunk on this; all the more drunk on enjolras and his touch and sounds and presence. this isn't something that they often do — sometimes it happens, more often than not it simply doesn't and combeferre isn't the kind of person to push for more selfishly. he welcomes it when it happens, though, loves the way enjolras sounds and how he lets himself go in this.

he isn't entirely silent himself; there's no way he could stay silent with the way enjolras is moving against him, their hips rocking together and pushing hard against him. it's too good to last long and combeferre finds himself torn between wanting more and wanting it to last. in the end, the choice is not easy but perhaps intuitive: his fingers clench over enjolras' arm, over his hip where he's holding on to him and he pulls him closer, returns the kiss in kind. he stopped once before, outside, he doesn't have it in him to stop this again.

enjolras is like a hurricane and combeferre is all too glad to be swept up in the storm. ]

[ Flashes of heat shiver through him with every noise he draws, every one he swallows against his lips and tongue and he would almost be embarrassed by the lewdity of it if not for the fact it felt so right. It's all that he wants, and more importantly- he feels it is what he needs.

So he ruts his hips against the other's with a long, low moan, possessed with the need for more- more contact, more skin, and he starts clumsily trying to pull the other's shirt up while maintaining friction. It isn't easy when he hasn't quite got all of his usual wits about him, but somehow he manages and the only thought thereafter is to kiss every inch of exposed skin he can reach. So his back bows as he grips the other's thighs in his hands and leans in to wash his lips down the other's throat, nipping gently, occasionally, just for a shift in sensation until he reaches the other's collarbone and Enjolras cannot help himself for the mark he sucks and nips into life there.

He doesn't even wish that he could call it a mark for his elation of France because no- he knows, that one was all for him. ]

[ there is a lewdity in this that isn't usually present with them, that wasn't present the few times that they have done this before, but combeferre cannot find it in him to mind and sees no reason why he should, not when want is settling heavy between his legs and sparking heat up his spine with every shift of enjolras' hips, not when it feels so good. he wants to give himself over to this feeling, wants to give himself over to enjolras in a sense that is far more physical than usual — he would always follow enjolras and he gives plenty of himself to the cause and enjolras, but not like this. it's never been like this.

enjolras has never before drawn moans from him, has never made his head fall back as he bares his throat to his best friend and leader, trembling inside with how big this thing between them feels right now, trembling with want and from the sensations. ] Enjolras — [ he speaks his name and it's a prayer or a plea or simply a mindless expression of pleasure. all three, perhaps. he does not know and cares not to stop and discern it. ]

Edited 2013-06-13 10:27 (UTC)

[ The noise Combeferre is making are making Enjolras dizzier than the alcohol ever could have hoped to. He's panting now on every breath despite himself, and his hands on the other's thigh grip just a little bit harder, a little bit tighter. Maybe almost enough to leave bruises, even if that wasn't his intent. He moans low in his throat against the other's skin at the way his name is gasped, and it makes a shudder roll through Enjolras from the top of his head to the base of his spine.

He's hard enough now to ache, and as he sees it there's only a few things between them and proper satisfaction. So he pulls Combeferre to his feet properly, away from the door and shifts to turn the other so that Combeferre is forced to walk backwards as Enjolras starts them on the journey to his bed, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt and shrugging it off as they go. His mouth fits to Combeferre's once more as clumsily they make their way across the living room, and Enjolras' hands go for the front of the other's trousers, trying to get the button and zipper undone while simultaneously trying to palm the other through his trousers and he can't really focus on what he wants more so settles for getting the other's jeans open properly and then sinking his hand in. The heat of the other man's cock in hand inspires another almost filthy moan from Enjolras; and the sensation of it is so overwhelming that without total control Enjolras' own hips buck into empty air. ]

[ combeferre cannot help but be swept up in the passion enjolras displays, though for once his own is no less muted; his breathing fast and irregular and heat coursing through him that leaves him trembling and harder than he's been in a long while. enjolras' grip is hard and combeferre finds himself thinking, distantly, that he wouldn't mind bruises to have proof in the morning of this, of what they're sharing now.

enjolras pulls and pushes him along and combeferre follows, though his walk is halting because of the way enjolras is pulling at his clothes, and he has to stop alltogether in the middle of the hallway when enjolras' hand finds his cock. combeferre reaches for the wall with one hand to steady himself, hitting it harder than he meant to, hips jerking up instinctively as his cock twitches in enjolras' grip, filling out even further.

he feels uncoordinated and like he is overheating, overflowing with want and need and his fingers are shaking with it when he finally gets to work on enjolras' clothes as well, pushing his trousers down together with his boxers as soon as he has them open, lips seeking and finding enjolras' repeatedly. the kisses are uncoordinated as well, landing on the corner of enjolras' mouth, pulling at his lower lip, biting at his jaw. ]

[ The trembling could have been misconstrued; were Enjolras not inebriated as he was he might have stopped to ask. Likely would have misinterpreted, worried, because he cannot read such things as well as he wished he could. Alcohol, it seems, improves this. Or makes him ignore it entirely. Either way his hand is fisted around the other's cock and nothing is going to make him stop touching the other save Combeferre telling him to. Otherwise, the walls could come crashing down around them and Enjolras would still continue pressing his lips to whatever of the other he can reach, his hand on Combeferre as he twitches and swells in his grip.

He wants Combeferre so much that even if he wanted to, he could not find the words to properly articulate the desire he feels. Instead he must speak through actions, and he kicks out of his pants and boxers quickly, releasing his grip upon the other only to push the other's pants and underwear down the rest of the way as well. He gets them as far as the other's knees, figuring Combeferre can figure the rest out before he's pushing Combeferre past his doorway, pulling the other down onto his bed with him in a tangle of limbs and lust. ]

[ it could be misconstrued and combeferre appreciates the care enjolras would take, how we would ask to stop and make sure that it is not hesitation making his fingers tremble — but he appreciates no less that it doesn't happen now, that the trembling is taken for what it is (arousal, need) or perhaps ignored, either way. he gasps against enjolras' mouth, into thin air when enjolras' lips find other places on his body, hips pushing into enjolras' grip. he wants and the alcohol he's had seems to be multiplied by the arousal until he feels out of control, until there are no more barriers between thought and action, between what he wants and what he does, no restraint.

with his pants and underwear around his legs, combeferre stumbles and it is a good thing that enjolras still possess a medicum of coordination as combeferre pulls him along, kicking off the last of his clothes in a motion that forces his hips up against enjolras', that draws another moan. ]

[ Combeferre arches up, and Enjolras is possessed; presses down automatically. Moans the other's name with the heat, the friction of it. Enjolras is a tempest- or he is lost in one, he is not sure. Either way Combeferre is his rock; is all that grounds him from the storm and all he wants. All he needs. He feels as though he is no longer himself, and yet, so much himself that it is as though the Enjolras he had known without this passion was a stranger. There is little that he can think to equate to the feelings that swell through him, that have his heart beating so furiously against the cage of his chest, that leave him so overwhelmed and so wanting.

He imagines, that this is close to what he would feel if all his grandiose ideals came to fruition.

He has settled himself to loom over the other, legs tangled with Combeferre's- but he shifts, gently moves one of his hands to adjusts the other's legs, to give himself better access to fit their hips together just so, and the resulting friction unravels what little self-control that had remained. His hand slides back up, caresses the other's ribs and pectoral and shoulder, before fisting less gently in the other's hair to haul him up. Enjolras crashes to the other like a tidal wave, swallows the other's mouth and moans and returns them with low, rough noises of his own. ]

[ there is something about the way enjolras demands and takes and moves combeferre to fit that has him breathless and harder than he can remember being, something about the way enjolras is so lost in this that makes combeferre want to give himself up entirely to whatever is sweeping up his best friend and his legs fall open, he shifts to accommodate enjolras and reaps the benefits immediately in the way their hips fit together, the friction far too good to ignore.

enjolras' lips are hard and unyielding over his and he wouldn't want to have it any other way, kisses back in a way that is no less rough and desperate for all that his fingers over enjolras' neck and shoulders are almost gentle, a sense of appreciation still.

god, he wants -- and perhaps he shouldn't, but there is no room for consideration or thoughts, not with enjolras over him and their bodies fitting together so well, as though they were made for this. ]

The Drunk meme

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