i really could not resist writing a fic about Enjolras and Grantaire’s hug from the little plot where they were handcuffed together.  i just wanted some fluffy e/R hugs okay. hope you enjoy!

“Come on,” Enjolras hissed, voice strained. “Combeferre, unlock us. We’re friends now. Best friends.”

Combeferre raised an eyebrow, then, unwavering, shook his head. “No.”

Enjolras made a strangled growling sound and looked like he might’ve ripped Combeferre’s head off if Grantaire wasn’t acting like a human anchor, as if to prevent that very thing from happening. Enjolras glared down at the handcuffs binding them, then at the cynic, then at the rest of the Amis, who all wore expressions of vague amusement.

Grantaire worried his lip as he gazed at the side of Enjolras’ face, frustration marring those normally so perfect features. While being chained to him to “improve their relationship and get them to stop fighting every second of the day” (according to Courfeyrac and Combeferre) had been entertaining and a bit nice at first, he truly did not long to see his Apollo so upset. He sighed and looked at his friends imploringly.

“Fine. So what exactly do we have to do to get you unchain us?” he asked. Enjolras blinked at him quizzically. He hadn’t thought that Grantaire would be much help in trying to get them unbound.

“Kiss and make up!” Courfeyrac called from his seat, grinning. Jehan smacked his arm lightly, accompanied by an admonishing, “Courf!” Somewhere in the back of the room, Bahorel had burst out in peals of laughter.

Ignoring how Grantaire had perked up at this suggestion, Enjolras gave a firm shake of his head. “Not happening.” Both Courfeyrac and Grantaire deflated.

“How about you just hug instead,” Jehan offered, now rubbing the place he had hit Courfeyrac in apology. Courfeyrac’s grin returned.

“Yes,” he said, nodding vigorously as he subconsciously looped his arms around Jehan and pulled the little poet closer. “Hug and apologize and tell R how much you love him, Enjolras. And then kiss. And then get married. On the barricade. I want to be the best man at the wedding.” Grantaire and Enjolras looked at each other with similar expressions of panic, and Bahorel’s laughter increased in volume tenfold.

“Oh my god,” Grantaire whispered, hiding behind his free hand. Enjolras’ face had turned a shade of red that rivaled his coat. Floundering, he turned to Combeferre for assistance. Combeferre shrugged, smiling a little.

“The hugging was a good idea,” was all he said.

Enjolras struggled with this for a moment before saying, slowly, “If we hug and I apologize…will you let us go?” Combeferre considered it, then nodded.

Enjolras breathed out shakily before turning to Grantaire, who had peeked out from behind his hand and was looking at him with a mix of disbelief and anxiety on his face. His eyes, though, were hesitantly hopeful. “Come here, Grantaire.”

After a moment, Grantaire dropped his hand from his face completely and reached out a little, taking an awkward little half-step forward. Enjolras resisted the urge to roll his eyes and simply pulled Grantaire flush against him in a one armed embrace.

Grantaire was fairly certain his heart had stopped beating. This was more than he had ever dared to hope for. He wanted to scream, to sing, to dance, but all he could do was stand there frozen because oh my god Apollo was hugging him Apollo was hugging him Apollo was hugging him and -

And then Enjolras was winding the fingers of their chained hands together and Grantaire remembered how to breathe and practically molded himself to Enjolras, curving his arm around him and tucking his face into the crook of Enjolras’ neck. Although he was a little stiff, Enjolras emanated warmth. Grantaire gave a small sigh and nuzzled a little closer, breathing his Apollo in. The comforting scent of cinnamon filled his nose.

Enjolras let out another shaky breath, trying to focus solely on the end goal of getting free of these handcuffs. It was hard, though, with Grantaire being all cuddly and nuzzling his neck. The sincere display of affection was unexpected but – and Enjolras would never admit this to anyone ever, not even if he was held at gunpoint – not entirely unwelcome. He had once overheard Courfeyrac saying something about how nice Grantaire’s hugs were, and now Enjolras could see what he meant.

Despite Enjolras having forbidden him from drinking while they were handcuffed, the heady scent of red wine still clung to Grantaire’s hair and clothes. There hadn’t been any helping that. At this proximity, though, Enjolras could detect another scent underneath – a sharp, acidic smell that he first passed off as being some sort of hard liquor, but that another breath revealed to be paint. He remembered, suddenly, that the usually drunken cynic was fond of art. While Enjolras took a second to wonder how he had forgotten, Grantaire made a little happy sound in his throat and started tracing very small patterns on Enjolras’ back with his fingers, and, okay, Enjolras felt his heart melt a little. Just a little.

Focus, Enjolras. They couldn’t have been hugging more than a minute, but no matter how nice this hug was, he did have work to do. Hugging wouldn’t save France, you know. And he still had to apologize to be free.

He turned his head so that his nose was tickled by Grantaire’s wild curls and his lips were lightly brushing his ear. “Grantaire,” Enjolras murmured, in a voice loud enough for the Amis to hear the words that were being spoken, but low enough that Grantaire would know Enjolras was speaking just to him. “I’m sorry if what I’ve said in the past has hurt you. I did not intend it to. I’m sorry.”

Grantaire’s throat caught a little as Enjolras’ breath ghosted over the shell of his ear. He knew this would signal the end of their hug, so he held Enjolras just that little bit closer and tighter before whispering back, “It’s okay, Apollo.” He must have been imagining Enjolras’ smile against the side of his head.

As they untangled themselves, Bahorel shouted out, “Boo, I didn’t see a kiss!” and Enjolras could have just ignored him, he really could have, but quite frankly Bahorel’s stupid taunts were getting on his nerves and Grantaire’s stupid eyes really did look nicer when they were clouded with happiness instead of alcohol, so when he pressed his lips fleetingly against the bridge of Grantaire’s nose before pulling away and demanding that Combeferre unlock them now, well, who could blame him.

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