Warning: Smut. There's a plot here somewhere... if you squint.

The thing sits in the far corner of his room, all bronze and ornate and out of place in the otherwise plain bedroom. Hell, stick it in any room in the apartment and it still wouldn't belong.

"Family heirloom," he had chuckled when he saw her staring at the large mirror the first time she stepped foot in his room.

"It's a little gaudy, isn't it?" she said, scrunching her nose.

He scoffed. "A little?"

It definitely didn't seem like something Enjolras would possess willingly. And she was right; he had informed her that he wasn't allowed to get rid of it just yet, not until he had someone to pass it down to.

So there it is, so big and intrusive that it had almost been impossible for her not to stop in front of it whenever she stayed over. The need to wander over stopped eventually when she moved in, but now she finds herself at the crack of dawn, unable to go back to sleep and standing in front of it once more.

She's never really been one to bother excessively with mirrors. She's never looked the way she wanted since she was a little girl and now she can barely find a trace of who she used to be, no matter how hard she looks. The floor mirror exposes her entire body, from her head to the tops of her feet, and she tugs down the hem of the shirt she's wearing - one of Enjolras' shirts - as if trying to cover herself completely.

A voice from the bed interrupts her thoughts. "Éponine?"

A hum of acknowledgement sounds in her throat as her eyes stay trained on her reflection.

She's met with the sound of the sheets ruffling before Enjolras' curious voice speaks up once again. "What's wrong?"

She's silent and only shakes her head as she fingers the cool glass, tracing the outline of her cheek and lips. She stares at the point of her slightly upturned nose before squinting, turning her head to study her profile. She pulls her gaze away from herself to look at his now sitting form through the mirror, which is angled enough to see part of the bed. He's rubbing his eyes and makes no move to settle back and then he looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to return. The silence is thick in the air as his blue eyes bore into hers even through the glass, hazy with the soft lines of the rising sun being reflected against it. She blinks away from him, returning to the surface of the mirror to look into her own rather muddy brown orbs. She notes the dark circles under them, and suddenly she feels as haggard as she looks.

"I don't know what the big deal is," she finds herself disdainfully muttering aloud.

"What do you mean?"

"Why do you like me? I'm not much to look at."

"I like you for more than your looks, Éponine." His voice is laced with confusion and slight offense, sounding indignant that she would think him that shallow.

But she knows that. She knows how much more he values a person's character rather than their looks because he's Enjolras; that's just who he is. But still. "So you think I'm ugly?"

He's sighing and she's unperturbed because she also knows he hates when she does this; when she belittles herself. She knows she's acting like a child but they had just come home from the bar not even three hours ago and she had caught more than enough gorgeous men and women alike ogling her gorgeous boyfriend; so excuse her if she wants a little reassurance from him.

"No," he says, quite firm for someone who's still supposed to be muddled with sleep. "Stop it. You're beautiful."

She ducks her head at his declaration (his vocabulary is boundless, but 'beautiful' is a word he uses scarcely) and hopes the morning light is still dim enough to hide her blush. A scoff escapes her lips regardless and she thinks he didn't hear that, but she's wrong because the next second he's dragging himself out of bed and she watches from the glass out of the corner of her eye while the rest of her remains unmoving. She feels heat pool in her stomach as she notices how low his sweatpants hang on his hips.

"I don't know what else you want me to say," he murmurs, padding up behind her, his need for sleep apparently long forgotten. He places his hands on her shoulders and gives them a gentle squeeze before rubbing lazy circles against the bare skin where the large shirt hangs loose. His eyes settle on their reflection in the mirror.

She's followed his line of sight and is returned to scrutinizing her reflection with an accusing glare, and frankly Enjolras has had enough of this, judging by the huff of annoyance coming from behind her. His hands slide down her arms and onto her thighs to push her shirt up, revealing her skin inch by inch.

"You have no idea what you do to me, do you?" he asks, his voice raspy. As his fingers work, pulling the material higher and higher, she darts her eyes away and fixes her glare on the bronze frame. He proceeds to caress her skin with his palms, coaxing her. She feels his lips grazing her jaw along the sensitive spot just below her ear and she shivers, her eyes fluttering closed. "Look, Éponine."

She lets out a shaky breath as his fingers trail against her sensitive flesh. Lifting her eyes onto the mirror once more, she looks at her face before trailing down to where he's touching her. It's at that moment that she takes note of her protruding ribs and the jut of her hips, the left side etched with three faded scars from a long time ago; a time before Enjolras.

The shirt is tugged above her head and discarded quickly, and his hands are back on her body before she can even blink. He runs his hands over her ribs and she revels in how pale his hands are on her skin. He's moving up to cup her breasts and she arches into his palms, her back pressing into his bare chest as he pulls and teases her hardened peaks. One hand leaves her to move down her body and she instantly feels cool at the loss of it. He's nudging her legs apart with his knee and she can't help the moan that escapes her lips as his fingers tease her above her panties. She's already wet for him.

Her back is practically fused to his chest as she reaches up and tugs at her taut nipple, twisting and biting her lip to stop from crying out. He bucks his hips into her back and she can feel how hard he is, and her eyes shut tightly as he does it again. But he's growling in her ear, telling her to open her eyes and watch.

Her panties are pushed down past her hips and she helps him push the garment until it falls to her ankles and she kicks it away. He wastes no time and is grazing his mouth over the shell of her ear, whispering her name and rubbing her inner thigh, moving closer and closer to where she wants him. Where she needs him. She can't tear her eyes away from the reflection of his fingers plunging themselves in and out of her. When she sees herself dripping wet while feeling it slick on her thighs, she can't help but keel over, thankful for the arm he has wrapped around her middle.

There's something unbelievably invasive about watching themselves. The way he kisses her throat, the crook of her neck, the way he bites her shoulder. Everything that makes her come undone just by him touching her unravels her tenfold when she can see it. And she can see everything. They're both flushed and covered in sweat, her hair is sticking to her forehead, but god, seeing them together like this…

His name is coming out of her lips in gasps and her hand is pressed against the wall beside them while the other is reaching back, her fingers searching for something to grab onto. She manoeuvres her way into his sweatpants and nimbly wraps her fingers around his length, but she barely gives him a stroke before he protests and pulls his hand away from her. She almost cries out at the loss of him inside her and instead he's pulling her hand off of him with a groan and tugging her to stand as straight as she can, her back once again flushed against his chest.

She's breathless and can't help leaning her head back against his shoulder. Not once letting go of her hand, he clasps her chin and turns her head to face the mirror straight ahead, and her eyes are forced to take in the image of them, together. She can feel her face burning up as he moves their joined hands down her body and on her center, without hesitation, she slips her middle finger into her cavern, his large hand gripping her wrist and urging her on.

Their eyes lock in their reflection and he picks that moment to lift their clasped hands and bring them over her shoulder, closing his mouth around her finger. Her breath catches and she lets out an involuntary whimper as his tongue laves her digit. Fucking tease, she thinks as he sucks and tastes her.

"Fuck," she moans at the sight.

The hand that isn't entwined with hers is teasing her inner thigh, and she's still so sensitive that she needs to look away. Because if her eyes stay locked on that mirror and on what his hands are doing to her, she doesn't know how long she'll last.

Not long, it turns out, because as soon as his fingers touch her clit, she cries out and his name is falling from her lips again. She's leaning so far back against him that she's surprised they haven't toppled over. But he's behind her, steady and holding onto her as he murmurs incoherently in her hair and kisses her sweaty temple, his own skin beading with sweat. He pushes his fingers into her once more and doesn't stop until he drags out a keening cry from her throat as she milks him once… twice. She grips the arm that's holding her up, grateful for his support. Her head is buzzing that she can't make out his words, but she hears 'beautiful' again and she could cry. He's so good to her; so good and so kind, and god… after tonight, he sure as fuck knows exactly how to make her feel beautiful and he's hers. All hers.

Before she can regain her senses and start thinking straight again, he's kneeling down in front of her and pressing kisses to her sternum. Her hand flies to the back of his head, fingers curling in his hair as his lips gravitate towards her abdomen. She's not sure she can take any more. She swears she's going to end up a limp heap on the floor in a matter of seconds and yet she doesn't want him to stop; he must feel her faltering because the next thing she knows, he reaches over to the wall and pulls the wooden chair from his desk and places it behind her. She gladly falls back onto it, gasping softly as the cool surface makes contact with her bare skin.

For a fleeting moment she's confused as to why he won't just carry her back to their bed, and just take her. But he holds her there, pressing her against the edge of the chair and swipes his tongue along her folds spreading her thighs with his hands, and she doesn't care where they are as long as he doesn't stop doing that.

She dares herself to watch him work through the mirror once more and with the sight of his head between her legs, it doesn't take long until she's unravelling all over again. She's practically lying in the chair while the lower half of her body hangs off the edge and is being held up by Enjolras' shoulders. But she can see over him, over her thighs; her toes are curling and her feet are scratching his back, her hands are fisted and her fingers are lost in his hair. She looks and all but screams his name until she can't anymore; sedated and satisfied. She sees the muscles in his back flexing and his shoulders tensing as if he's holding back from his own release. She'll have to take care of that later. She lets out little gasps and mewls as he licks her clean, before he places soothing kisses along the insides of her thighs.

Soon enough he's hovering over her and holding the arms of the chair for support, his eyebrow raised inquiringly. She looks up at him and grins lazily. "Point taken."

He chuckles and brushes her hair back, threading his fingers through her long tresses and places a lingering kiss on her temple. "I told you," he murmurs into her hair. She feels his smirk against her.

She tilts her head up to look him right in the eye. She presses her lips against his and whispers a soft 'thank you'.

His smile is warm before he speaks again. "Come back to bed now, please."

A soft laugh escapes her lips and she wraps her arms around him, letting him pull her body flush against his to gingerly carry her back to their bed. Her fingers dance along his arm, feeling his muscles relax more and more as seconds tick by.

"Ep?" he calls out gently after their breathing goes back to normal.

"Hmm?"

"Let's never mention to my mother what we did in front of my grandparents' mirror."

Her laughter is muffled against his chest and she nods, getting comfortable in his embrace.