14/6/13

I'M BACK! Here is the sequel to my ff Without My Apollo's Love. If you have not read WMAL then this may make sort of sense but I strongly advise that you read that before starting this one to get the full benefit. The response I got to WMAL was outstanding and I hope that this follows down the same path. Please review to tell me if you like and so I make sure you have made it!

If That Is My Apollo's Wish

Chapter 1

Enjolras blinked his eyes open in the morning sunlight. His head was resting on something hard yet soft and warm at the same time. He blinked the sleep out of his mind; he was laid on Grantaire's bare chest with his head rising slowly in rhythm with the drunkard's breathing. Grantaire looked so peaceful in sleep; his brown hair hung tousled around his ear and his lips were curled into a small smile. Slowly the night before began to come back to him. "What's wrong Apollo?" Grantaire asked, wincing as he moved to quickly. Enjolras sighed preparing a lie to feed to the winecask but he couldn't lie to those eyes. In moments like this, Grantaire took on a childlike innocence which made you either want to slap him for manipulating your emotions or hug him because he was so damn adorable; no one could lie when faced with the puppy dog look shimmering through his twinkling brown irises.

"I don't want you to die!" he blurted out before his mind knew what was happening. Once the mental dam surrounding his emotions had been breached, everything came to the front. "I don't want you to die! I don't want you to sacrifice yourself for me because I am mostly certainly not worth you losing your life over. I am sorry for all the things I said; I really am … but that was just my way of distancing us because I didn't want to acknowledge the feelings I had towards you. I'm only telling you now because of how it affected me when I thought you were dead." The words flew out of Enjolras' mouth without a thought to how to say it or whether this was the right time to confess his heart's secrets to the injured hero.

Enjolras swore to himself. What did he think he was doing saying all that? He did love Grantaire but … but he couldn't be like that. The revolution had to come first. The revolution was everything and love had to come second. He couldn't be in a relationship and lead France to freedom; it would take up the time that was needed to prepare. Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut as tears threatened to squeeze out. He had to pretend that he didn't care; even if it was tearing him up inside. His heart pounded as he looked up at the face of his love. "I love you Grantaire and I cannot hold it in anymore, I feel as if it is eating me up from the inside and I hope you still love me like I love you because if you don't then I …" Enjolras had not noticed Grantaire's slow movements until the drunkard's lips where upon his own. Well … that answered my question, Enjolras thought with a childlike glee as he pushed himself closer to Grantaire. Unsurprisingly, Grantaire's lips tasted of alcohol like he always imagined but what was more entrancing was his smell. You would think that someone like Grantaire would smell of smoke and booze but he didn't; Grantaire smelt of paint and mint. It sounds like a strange combination but on the drunkard it was natural; it smelt right, like that was the smell of Grantaire. They slowly and cautiously broke apart as Enjolras' heart thumped inside his ribcage like it never had before. Grantaire grinned at him with that smile that usually accompanied the glee when Grantaire was noticed or had managed to beat Enjolras in a battle of wits.

He needed it stop this. He needed to get out before Grantaire managed to make him stay. Unfortunately the drunkard woke up as Enjolras moved on his chest. Just his luck that Grantaire was a light sleeper. "Morning Apollo," Grantaire smiled; his brown eyes were twinkling with joy which you did not usually see on the winecask. This was the happiest Enjolras had ever seen him and it broke his heart to have to leave. But the revolution was more important; if they both lived and Grantaire was willing to forgive then maybe they could make this work. Until then though, Patria was his mistress and he had no time to entertain the prospect of love. Grantaire leant down to kiss Enjolras' blonde curls; the decision was made. He could not do this. Enjolras flinched away from Grantaire's touch.

The hurt and shock instantly became visible on Grantaire's face at Enjolras' movement; the pain struck him in his very core but his mind was set. He quickly stood up and smoothed his clothes down. "I'm sorry Grantaire but we can't do this," he murmured, trying not to let the emotion show in his voice.

"Do what?" Grantaire asked. "If you are not comfortable sharing a bed then that is fine. I'll stay on the divan like I used to," he added almost desperately. His tone made his heart twist and speed up at the innocence of the heroic drunkard.

"Us … in a relationship," Enjolras blurted out. "It's not going to work," he added as a hurried afterthought. He knew that if they tried it would but; he just couldn't, not now.

"What? Why?" Grantaire asked almost desperately, struggling to his feet. Enjolras desperately wanted to push him back into the bed and tell him that he was being an idiot for thinking he was leaving with that hip. But he knew, he knew that as soon as he touched Grantaire's warm, tanned skin then he would never be able to go through with this. He needed the drunkard, but the revolution needed him more than he needed personal happiness. Enjolras could feel his heart being torn to shreds with every word he spoke.

"I need to focus on the barricade. I can't have any distractions," he mumbled. Enjolras could almost hear his own heart plead with him to take all that back and that the winecask in his arms once more. But his head knew what was best. Emotions would make him weak and weakness did not have place in a revolutionary leader. The marble façade had returned and he was back to the marble statue Grantaire always accused him of being.

"Did last night not mean anything to you then? I love you Ricard!" he screamed at Enjolras. That was the first time Enjolras had ever heard Grantaire used his first name. They just didn't use first names; it was just a thing. The use of it now just amplified the desperation resonating through Grantaire's voice. He wanted to take everything back. He really did but it could not be done.

"It did mean things to me … but I need things to back to what they were before," he stated, refusing to look Grantaire in the eyes. He knew that those eyes could be his undoing.

"How it was before," Grantaire echoed with tears in his eyes before he snapped to action pulling his shoes on and making it unsteadily to the door. His russet eyes sparkled but it wasn't with the joy Enjolras was dying to see. They sparkled with unshed tears, sorrow and self-loathing. Enjolras didn't want to make his love feel this way but, but the revolution had to be his whole focus. Nothing could get in the way of freedom. Not even his personal freedom. Grantaire stopped at the door. "Nothing will ever be the same," he mumbled and hobbled out. Enjolras felt his head spin and his feet try to step forward after Grantaire He almost started reaching out with a hand but fought against such an urge. Grantaire never saw Enjolras' true emotions come out for that split second. The open door swung in the whispering wind as Enjolras' love was gone again.

Enjolras slowly shut the door and sat on his bed. His head sunk limply to rest on his hands with an exasperated sigh. What had he done? The last time he said he didn't want Grantaire around; the man had tried to kill himself. Someone knocked on his just closed door. Enjolras heart lifted at the thought it might be Grantaire. He wanted his boyfriend back, he really did. Enjolras hurriedly swung the door open and was stood face to face with a little gamin. "Message from Grant'air," he announced, offering his hand out for payment. Enjolras pulled a note out from his pocket and gave it to the kid. "'E says, don't come looking for im. E won't die or nuffin and you will 'ear from im soon," the boy recalled before darting off. Enjolras couldn't help letting out a sigh of relief that Grantaire wasn't contemplating suicide once again. He had to get over the drunkard; the revolution was his life. The marble returned to his features as he sat at his desk. One final tear ran down his cheek before all emotions were gone.