jayeinacross (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jayeinacross) wrote2013-05-17 02:11 pm
jayeinacross) wrote2013-05-17 02:11 pm
[Fic] No Lies
Fandom: Les Miserables/Graceland
Characters: Enjolras|Mike Warren, Grantaire, Combeferre, Johnny
Pairing: Enjolras|Mike Warren/Grantaire
Rating: G
Word count: c.900
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine.
A/N: A fill for a prompt on the kinkmeme for a Les Mis/Graceland reincarnation crossover.
***
You better lie to them, Briggs had said, and that's what Mike does.
It's only been a few weeks since Mike first saw Grantaire on the balcony next door, a canvas in front of him and paint on his hands, but sometimes Mike thinks that Grantaire knows him better than he should. He's never questioned the vague cover story Mike had given him, but Mike can't shake the feeling that he sees through the facade anyway.
("I wanted to get away from home, I guess. And I thought, where better than here?"
"How's that working out for you?"
Mike looks at Grantaire, who has a streak of green paint on his cheek and a small smile on his face, a little upwards quirk of the mouth that Mike suddenly wants to kiss. "I think it's pretty great."
He's not sure if that's a lie or not.)
Graceland isn't black and white, it's all shades of grey. He likes everyone, and he thinks that even Lauren might be warming up to him a little, but no matter how friendly they are or how high on the adrenaline of a successful operation they are, there's always that part of Mike's mind that reminds him what they're doing here. What they do isn't compatible with a comfortable life, where you can ride the wave and not ask questions; Mike can't help but second-guess everything, every motive and every detail. But when he's with Grantaire, he doesn't have to worry about that – he has to lie to him, and Mike doesn't like it, but there are times when he can forget that for a while and just enjoy his company, when he feels like some kind of gap is being filled.
("Who's that?"
Johnny follows Mike's gaze out the window, to the balcony of the house next door. "Oh, that's Grantaire. He's a painter, lives with a bunch of his friends there. He's cool."
Grantaire glances up and sees Mike, a strange expression flickering across his face before he tilts his head in greeting, and Mike lifts a hand in return.)
It feels like some kind of escape, when he's with Grantaire – it shouldn't, because Grantaire has no idea who he really is or what he's doing here, but Mike feels like he can stop thinking when he's with him. He can pause for a moment and not have to hide how he's feeling, just give himself over to Grantaire's hands on his hips, his lips on his neck.
Sometimes he catches Grantaire looking at him with a strangely sad expression on his face, when he's half asleep in bed, but he never asks. Mike has his secrets, and Grantaire can have his.
⇐~~~⇒
When Grantaire paints Mike, he has to fight the urge to dress him in red, to stand him atop a barricade.
He's not Enjolras, he has to remind himself, even as he sees the strong line of his mouth, the determination in his eyes. It's like colours running together – Mike has his ambition but lacks his purpose, his intelligence but not the natural authority he always emanated, and sometimes there's a hesitance in his step that was never in Enjolras' stride. Enjolras is in there somewhere, buried underneath layers of another person's life, but Mike has no idea.
(Combeferre comes home to find Grantaire lying on a couch, hands over his face, paint on his hands and canvas abandoned unfinished on the balcony.
"It's him. It's him, 'Ferre, he's here."
He's not sure what Grantaire means until he glances out the window, sees someone all too familiar and yet not similar enough in the house next door – hair shorter and straighter and more carefully styled, with only the mark of one lifetime in his expression, but it's undoubtedly him.
"He found us," Combeferre murmurs.
Grantaire says hoarsely, "He doesn't know us.")
It's taken them all years to get here. Courfeyrac was the first to remember, and somehow everyone else had just gravitated towards him. Now there's Grantaire, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Eponine, Bahorel, and Jehan in the house in California. The others have moved away, in groups and pairs, but still keep in contact. And now there's Enjolras, the last of them, except there's one problem.
He doesn't remember any of it.
Maybe it's a bad idea to get involved with Mike, but Grantaire's spent so long looking for Enjolras, and even though Mike himself has no idea who he really is, Grantaire can't stay away.
("You really want to do this?"
"I've painted too many commissions of the ocean already," Grantaire says, and smirks. "I think I like this new view much better."
Mike grins and ducks his head, and Grantaire tries not to think about the way Enjolras always was when he was embarrassed.)
When he has Mike in his bed, there aren't words and thoughts and lies anymore, just instinct and touch and memory, and this is where it most feels right. Here, Grantaire isn't distracted by noticing all the ways that Mike isn't like Enjolras. It's just familiar touches and feeling like things are right when they both give in to sensation, and Grantaire lets himself think that perhaps Mike will remember the life that they had before, and they'll finally have no walls between them, no barriers, no lies.
Characters: Enjolras|Mike Warren, Grantaire, Combeferre, Johnny
Pairing: Enjolras|Mike Warren/Grantaire
Rating: G
Word count: c.900
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine.
A/N: A fill for a prompt on the kinkmeme for a Les Mis/Graceland reincarnation crossover.
***
You better lie to them, Briggs had said, and that's what Mike does.
It's only been a few weeks since Mike first saw Grantaire on the balcony next door, a canvas in front of him and paint on his hands, but sometimes Mike thinks that Grantaire knows him better than he should. He's never questioned the vague cover story Mike had given him, but Mike can't shake the feeling that he sees through the facade anyway.
("I wanted to get away from home, I guess. And I thought, where better than here?"
"How's that working out for you?"
Mike looks at Grantaire, who has a streak of green paint on his cheek and a small smile on his face, a little upwards quirk of the mouth that Mike suddenly wants to kiss. "I think it's pretty great."
He's not sure if that's a lie or not.)
Graceland isn't black and white, it's all shades of grey. He likes everyone, and he thinks that even Lauren might be warming up to him a little, but no matter how friendly they are or how high on the adrenaline of a successful operation they are, there's always that part of Mike's mind that reminds him what they're doing here. What they do isn't compatible with a comfortable life, where you can ride the wave and not ask questions; Mike can't help but second-guess everything, every motive and every detail. But when he's with Grantaire, he doesn't have to worry about that – he has to lie to him, and Mike doesn't like it, but there are times when he can forget that for a while and just enjoy his company, when he feels like some kind of gap is being filled.
("Who's that?"
Johnny follows Mike's gaze out the window, to the balcony of the house next door. "Oh, that's Grantaire. He's a painter, lives with a bunch of his friends there. He's cool."
Grantaire glances up and sees Mike, a strange expression flickering across his face before he tilts his head in greeting, and Mike lifts a hand in return.)
It feels like some kind of escape, when he's with Grantaire – it shouldn't, because Grantaire has no idea who he really is or what he's doing here, but Mike feels like he can stop thinking when he's with him. He can pause for a moment and not have to hide how he's feeling, just give himself over to Grantaire's hands on his hips, his lips on his neck.
Sometimes he catches Grantaire looking at him with a strangely sad expression on his face, when he's half asleep in bed, but he never asks. Mike has his secrets, and Grantaire can have his.
When Grantaire paints Mike, he has to fight the urge to dress him in red, to stand him atop a barricade.
He's not Enjolras, he has to remind himself, even as he sees the strong line of his mouth, the determination in his eyes. It's like colours running together – Mike has his ambition but lacks his purpose, his intelligence but not the natural authority he always emanated, and sometimes there's a hesitance in his step that was never in Enjolras' stride. Enjolras is in there somewhere, buried underneath layers of another person's life, but Mike has no idea.
(Combeferre comes home to find Grantaire lying on a couch, hands over his face, paint on his hands and canvas abandoned unfinished on the balcony.
"It's him. It's him, 'Ferre, he's here."
He's not sure what Grantaire means until he glances out the window, sees someone all too familiar and yet not similar enough in the house next door – hair shorter and straighter and more carefully styled, with only the mark of one lifetime in his expression, but it's undoubtedly him.
"He found us," Combeferre murmurs.
Grantaire says hoarsely, "He doesn't know us.")
It's taken them all years to get here. Courfeyrac was the first to remember, and somehow everyone else had just gravitated towards him. Now there's Grantaire, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Eponine, Bahorel, and Jehan in the house in California. The others have moved away, in groups and pairs, but still keep in contact. And now there's Enjolras, the last of them, except there's one problem.
He doesn't remember any of it.
Maybe it's a bad idea to get involved with Mike, but Grantaire's spent so long looking for Enjolras, and even though Mike himself has no idea who he really is, Grantaire can't stay away.
("You really want to do this?"
"I've painted too many commissions of the ocean already," Grantaire says, and smirks. "I think I like this new view much better."
Mike grins and ducks his head, and Grantaire tries not to think about the way Enjolras always was when he was embarrassed.)
When he has Mike in his bed, there aren't words and thoughts and lies anymore, just instinct and touch and memory, and this is where it most feels right. Here, Grantaire isn't distracted by noticing all the ways that Mike isn't like Enjolras. It's just familiar touches and feeling like things are right when they both give in to sensation, and Grantaire lets himself think that perhaps Mike will remember the life that they had before, and they'll finally have no walls between them, no barriers, no lies.