This is my first story in... four years I believe. I haven't written anything because I sort of grew out of ff. But after seeing the new Les Mis movie, I could not deny my love for the E/E pairing. They're beautiful together and I think perfect (much better than yucky Marius/Cosette). Anyway, this was inspired by the Coldplay song Scars and Stitches, and that's where the lyrics at the beginning are from. It's a bit all of the place, but if you can excuse that and remember I haven't written anything in a long time, I hope you'll enjoy what you read. I don't have a beta reader but I edited what I could so if there are any mistakes please excuse me.

I don't mind falling down and scraping up my knees
Scars and Stitches always fade and only strengthen me

They orgasmed together, Eponine releasing a quiet moan from the deep depths within. Enjolras felt the lasting waves of pleasure through his tired body – most of which continued because of the sweet mewling sounds leaving her parted lips. Because of his position, hovering above the small girl, he lowered down and gently rested his head on her breasts, their sweat skin molding against one another.

Enjolras could not think of a happier moment than hearing her heart beating along with her labored breathing. But as the sweet Eponine began to regulate her breaths, he felt fingers curl into his tangled hair, absently wrapping strands here and there. Thoughts of the revolution and of the potential danger were the last thing on his mind and for the few hours he spent with the girl meant that he could be at peace. It was only on the various nights they were together could he find the serenity to actually rest – to sleep through a whole night.

A month before he wasn't sure if he'd ever sleep again.

Their relationship had started without much thought from both parties. It wasn't as if Enjolras intended to end up sharing his bed with the street urchin but it was funny how life took its toll. The late nights at the Café Musain had ended many times with Enjolras on his own with many of the other students left to attend to their own lives. He would pour over speeches and maps and many articles detailing the plight of the poor in France. His own feelings of doubt and depression would rise only to be brushed aside whenever Eponine would show her face. At first it had been because she searched for Marius, hoping he had not returned to his own dwelling but after she had learned that only Enjolras remained on the late evenings, she began to come to visit him. She would sit quietly during the initial visits but after it became regularity she felt comfortable asking questions.

Enjolras never judged her if she didn't know something – he liked preaching on his mission.

Although Enjolras had never found Eponine as a viable source of comfort or love, he knew that she was a beauty. The grime of the street could not hide the dimples whenever she would smile. He also knew that the girl came from the bottom of the barrel in terms of social class and she was nowhere near the innocent girls that walked the streets in their floral bonnets. Eponine was the type of person he was fighting for and that's the exact reason he found himself drawn to her.

The first time he'd taken her to bed had been a mistake and Enjolras swore it would never happen again. The two of them had spent far too much time at the café and although Eponine had fought against his gentlemanly insitance of staying in his warm apartment for just one night, she had finally given in. Although they would both deny it later, Enjolras had barely ignited the flames in the hearth before the two of them were beneath the comfort of his sheets, hands exploring each other's bodies for the first time.

Now it was a regular occurance, and the two kept their distance in the daylight hours. Enjolras was not ashamed of Eponine, and he doubted she felt that type of emotion toward him, but he never wanted his fellow brothers to think their leader was feeling fault in his beliefs.

The lure of a woman was never a safe one and Enjolras pointed that fact out many times.

But now he wanted nothing more than to give up and run away with the woman he currently rested on. He wanted his days filled with Eponine's sweet voice and the angry eyes she would carry with her for hours when Enjolras attempted to put something before her. She liked his attention and Enjolras had no problem giving it to her. Thoughts like that were always brushed aside when the sun began to rise though and he would find himself watching Eponine dress – she never explained where she went that required her rising so early and Enjolras never wanted to pry. Eponine was her own woman and would be damned if she allowed anyone to change that about her.

In the quiet of the apartment, only lit by the warm fire he had made moments before she'd come knocking, Enjolras allowed his hands to explore her body. The girl who laid beneath him was scarred – her body a plethora of stories that he would never hear.

"What are you doing?" the brunette asked, seemingly back to earth from the ride of pleasure she'd had.

Enjolras ran his fingers along a few marks on her side, unsure of where they'd come from and not completely sure he wanted to know.

"Enjolras, please don't." Eponine pushed him away with the small amount of strength she had. He wondered if she'd eaten much this week because the ribs protruded more than he remembered. She pulled the blanket up, covering up her shame, and turned her back to the blond man beside her. He knew he had hit a nerve – she'd never liked remembering whatever it was that brought these marks to her body but the curiosity always struck him at the worst times.

He stayed quiet, biding his time carefully. After a few moments passed, her snaked a hand along her small waist and pulled her close, his nude body pressing against hers although the sheet kept their skin from coming into contact. "You shouldn't be ashamed. Without those scars you would not be Eponine." His reassurance was no more than a whisper, but he swore he could feel the tension leave her body. She was so strong and so rough, yet she still held the timidness and self-consciousness of a little girl. She was beautiful in his cold eyes, no matter how many scars lined her body.

The man trailed soft kisses on her neck, wanting to take the pain away from her. In a few hours she would wake and leave him to another day of planning and leading the boys he'd come to gain respect from.

But Enjolras secretly wondered how many more scars she would acquire while she was away.