hadrianuscorruit

He was high — higher than any drug could ever
push  him,  lifting  off  the  ground, feet soaring,
as  if  he  could  run a hundred miles and never
tire. It was like this after every KILL, after every
successful  take  down — the adrenaline was a
better  stimulant  than alcohol ever could be —
and  he  needed  a  RELEASE  before his body
BURST into flames.

It  wasn’t even seconds  after the door to their
base  had  closed  that his hands were greedy,
reaching for the front of the other man’s jacket
and  tugging  him in roughly and without much
ABANDON.  His  lips  are  impatient   as   they
meet  the  other’s,  sparks singing through his
nerves,  blood  BOILING  through  his veins. If
this  was  only  an  outlet he was fine with that,
they  could call it LOVE for a night to keep out
prying questions.

:: { ℑ⋅ℇ } ─ ─ ─ ::

                  He knows, he knows he has too much
                energy coming back in– information that
                will do them good, a big break, and he is
                he is thrumming with it, filled to the brim
                with vindication and oh, how he can’t wait–

                 Lips crash into his, Enjolras doesn’t know
               what it means. He doesn’t want it except for
               how much his body jumps at the chance. 
               Instead of pulling back, instead of pushing
               away, he bites down HARD, licks at the taste
               of copper and kisses through the thump of
               their bodies colliding with the wall. Enjolras
               curls a hand in those ink black curls as his
               entire body tries to shoulder into Grantaire.

                                                                   ( as if they can meld into one and
                                                              the sparks can dissipate between them. )