bakerstreet | The Drunk meme

[ 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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