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 [Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven]

Chapter Eight

The wedding ceremony was lovely, if a bit long in Grantaire’s opinion. Of course, he’d been raised Catholic and had once been subjected to one of those atrociously long ceremonies, and in comparison, this wedding was short. But Lisette and Nathan had written their own vows and Lisette lacked her brother’s talent for knowing how to keep an audience engaged when making a speech. None of that really mattered though. Grantaire just spent the whole wedding discreetly making faces at Enjolras, determined to make him laugh.

He nearly got him in the middle of Lisette’s vows, but Grantaire suspected the stern look Gemma was giving Enjolras kept him in check.

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Thank you all for reading! If you liked this roller coaster, please let me know here or over on my tumblr! <3 


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 [Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six]

Chapter Seven

The rehearsal for the wedding was, without a doubt, a complete disaster. Courfeyrac hoped—for Lisette’s sake—that this meant the actual wedding tomorrow would go much smoother. Although, at this point, he didn’t see how it could possibly be any worse than the rehearsal. It had started off bad with the air conditioning at the church busting. There were mechanics working on it now, but they’d been back in the boiler room for a while now and Courfeyrac didn’t have much hope that it’d get fixed tonight. The weather had been nice enough when they got here that they were able to throw open some windows, but a storm blew in and Gemma was worried about the wind destroying the decorations. With the windows closed, the chapel was rapidly becoming unbearably stifling.

A fact that was made worse because Courfeyrac, along with the groom and the rest of the groomsmen, were dressed in tuxes. This was a rehearsal and tuxes could be complicated, so Courfeyrac understood why they were viewed as necessary, but tuxes were also hot and suffocating. Enjolras had protested the donning of the tuxes (“Lisette’s not wearing her dress!” he had snapped. “I don’t see why I have to wear the tux!”) and Courfeyrac regretted not adding his own protests to Enjolras’s at the time.

Of course, the rehearsal was only supposed to be an hour, which was not an unbearable amount of time to wear a tux, but other complications had dragged this out. The two flower girls—young cousins of Enjolras—had gotten into a huge fight because one of the girls had more flowers in her basket than the other and it wasn’t fair. When one of the girls started crying, the ring bearer had joined in with taunts that the little girl was a baby for crying and the pint-sized fistfight that had followed had been amusing—even though one of the girls did knock out the ring bearer’s loose tooth.

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 [Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five

Chapter Six

Combeferre woke up the next morning with a slight hangover as his only companion. It didn’t look like Courfeyrac’s side of the bed had been slept in at all. Which was strange, because he could have sworn that Courfeyrac came to bed with him last night.

Hadn’t he?

Surely he wasn’t drunk enough last night to forget that.

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 [Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four]

Chapter Five

After an entire night of bar hopping, Grantaire actually felt relieved that the last stop for the evening was just a run-of-the-mill gay dance club. Nathan’s best man—a man who’d look more comfortable in a suit than in jeans and a t-shirt and who was also the sort of straight man who probably believed all sorts of weird shit about “the gay lifestyle” which clearly showed in his selection of bars and clubs tonight—had deliberately chosen the most utterly ridiculous bars for them to hit over the course of the night. More than one of which Nathan looked distinctly uncomfortable at.

But this place was standard. This was like any number of clubs Courfeyrac used to drag Grantaire to during their undergrad. Courfeyrac always went for the dancing and Grantaire came for the drinks. Coming to this place—well, it was almost like coming home. The beat of the music was familiar and Grantaire watched Courfeyrac subconsciously start swaying to the music as soon as they entered.

Grantaire was utterly unsurprised to find that Enjolras looked just as grumpy here as he did at any number of places over the night. Which was fine, really, it was. He should have expected it, anyway. Enjolras had spent all of last night grumbling about how much he wasn’t looking forward to this bachelor party and how he felt about the commodification of sex and who knew what else. But Grantaire had hoped—he had really hoped—that Enjolras would have perked up a little for him. He’d squeezed himself into the tightest jeans he owned and wore that green shirt that Enjolras normally couldn’t keep his hands off of because he’d been deluded enough to think that if he looked good enough for his boyfriend than maybe his boyfriend would pay attention to him instead of propping up bars all night.

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 [Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]

Chapter Four

As Courfeyrac pulled the suit coat off the hanger to pull it on, he could hear Enjolras complaining from the fitting room next to his.

“Tuxes, Lissie?” he said. “You’re making me wear a tux?”

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 [Part One]

Chapter Two

According to the GPS in Enjolras’s car, the drive between Sacramento and Seattle would take them nearly twelve hours—more than that, if you factored in stops for meals and gas and traffic around the big cities. The one time Courfeyrac and Enjolras had attempted making the drive home overnight instead of during the day, Courfeyrac had gotten them home in just under ten hours thanks to so much Red Bull that he didn’t sleep for another day and a half and to the fact that he consistently drove at least twenty miles over the speed limit the whole way and somehow managed to avoid being pulled over.

That was also the reason why Courfeyrac was, under no circumstances, allowed to drive Enjolras’s car on their road trips home anymore.

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PAIRING: Courfeyrac/Combeferre, Enjolras/Grantaire
WORD COUNT: 50,000
WARNINGS: non-graphic rape/non-con
SUMMARY: Courfeyrac and Enjolras grew up next door to each other, with their families so close they might as well be related at this point. So when Enjolras's older sister gets engaged, Courfeyrac knows he'll be attending the wedding. Not a big deal. It'll be nice to havea  rbeak from law school and besides, weddings are fun! When it becomes clear that he's expected to bring a date--no, not just a date, everyone expects him to bring his significant other--to the wedding (and the week long festivities that precede it), everything seems a lot less fun and a lot more anxiety inducing. Not having dated anyone in the years since his last disastrous relationship and unable to tell his mother why he's given up on romance, Courfeyrac does the only logical thing--he brings along his new fake boyfriend, Combeferre.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic is freakishly long and will be posted in 8 parts. The subsequent parts will be up in a few hours. Special thanks to gaddmegan over at tumblr for her awesome beta reading and to cytisus for the art!

Chapter One

The phone call came when Enjolras was still at the law library. He was supposed to be looking up case studies for his Feminist Jurisprudence class, but he was rather distracted by a text he’d gotten from Grantaire an hour earlier saying he was making chiles rellenos for dinner—and while Enjolras knew correlation was not causation, correlation said that if they were having chiles rellenos for dinner then Enjolras was likely to spend most of the night naked in bed with his boyfriend. So when his phone rang, instead of checking the Caller ID, which he’d been doing religiously for the last two and a half months, he was thinking about all the things he wanted to do to Grantaire tonight and he answered the phone.

“Hello?” he said.

“Julien, darling?”


“Mom?” He pulled the phone away from his ear to check the Caller ID. It was the Courfeyrac’s home number. His mom was getting sneaky, going over to the neighbor’s like that. Normally she called from her cell phone or from the home number.

He had a special ringtone to warn against her calls.

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for ages,” she said.

“Yeah, I’ve been busy,” he said. “Law school and all.”

“I’m glad I got a hold of you, though. We need to talk about next week.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered if he could just hang up on her and pretend his phone dropped the call. “Courfeyrac and I are driving up next Thursday. We’ll be there in time for the rehearsal dinner.”

“Julien, this is your sister’s wedding! She’s only going to get married once!”

“Statistically, half of all marriages end in divorce,” he said. “Odds are this is just going to be her first wedding. I’ll make it to the other ones. Besides, I’ll be there for the actual wedding. I said I was driving up on Thursday. Ceremony’s Friday. I don’t see a problem.”

“We’ve got so much more planned that whole week,” she said. “We need you here. Your sister wants you here.”

“Mom, I’m in law school and this is my second year—I’m interning with Myriel and Reed, I just can’t afford to take the whole week off.” Not to mention, he thought it was completely ridiculous that he was expected to take a full week off for his sister’s wedding in the first place. The wedding itself was only going to take an hour, tops. There was no reason that he needed to take a week-long vacation from school and his internship and the half-dozen other things he had on his plate at the moment to sit around for pictures and lunches with his new in-laws. “Not to mention, my friends and I are heading up a rally to raise awareness about police violence against people of color this weekend.”

“Don’t give me that, Julien,” she said. “I’m friends with Courfeyrac on facebook, and I follow both of you on twitter. I know that happened last weekend.”


“I can’t take the whole week off,” he said again. “I just…I can’t.”

“This isn’t a debate. This is a family event—we want you here.”

“I can’t leave my boyfriend for that long,” he said, shoving his laptop back in its case. He felt a little guilty for using Grantaire this way, even though there was a time in their relationship when he really would have been uncomfortable with leaving Grantaire alone for any length of time—but Taire was doing so much better now and the depression and the drinking were both under control, and if Taire knew he were using him as an excuse like this, well, Enjolras knew how much he’d be hurt by the vote of no confidence.

“Your boyfriend? Since when have you had a boyfriend?”



“Julien? How long?”

“Two and a half,” he mumbled.

“What? Weeks? Months?”

“Years,” he said, sheepishly.

“You’ve been seeing someone for two and a half years, and you never told your own mother? Shame on you! I raised you better than that.”

“It’s not that,” he said. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t trying to hide him from you.”

She tutted him over the phone. “Your boyfriend is coming,” she said, as though the matter were closed.

Enjolras groaned. It had often been said that he got his stubborn will from his mother, and he knew that if she was going to insist on Taire coming, then Taire would be coming. “We can still only come up for the rehearsal dinner and the ceremony,” he said.

“You’re coming for the week,” she said. “Both of you—my son, hiding his boyfriend from his own mother for two and a half years—you’re both coming for the full week, and that’s that. I want both of you in the family pictures.”


“No, darling, this isn’t a discussion. I’ll see you next week. Oh, and tell Courfeyrac to bring whoever he’s with, too.”

“But, Mom, Fey’s not—”

“Julien, I have to go—your father’s on the phone with caterer right now. I love you and I’ll see you next week.”

The phone line went dead.


He stared at the phone in his hand for a long moment before shoving it in his pocket and slinging his laptop case over his shoulder. He needed to go tell Grantaire about their very not-so-exciting plans before he broke the news to Courfeyrac.


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So here's a thing I wrote while back. This takes place in Combeferre and Courfeyrac's freshman year at college as roommates.

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