epilogue / into your arms
edited 6.24.13 for clarity. thanks to Fanpire101

a few Sundays later, 9:32am

Content. Like a cat, Enjolras lays out in the checkered sunlight beaming through the open window, soaking in the warmth and fresh air. He hasn't had that for a little while now, so he enjoys it when Éponine decides to leave the window open.

And if he is a sleepy cat, then Éponine is a wound up puppy, crashing through the door and effectively shattering his Vicodin induced haze.

"Did you hear about this!?" she calls out, brandishing a few rolled up pages of what he assumes must be the Sunday paper.

"No," he says with a smile, his silver voice still rough with rust. "How could I have possibly heard about anything? I haven't gotten to hobbling about the apartment quite yet this morning."

Her smile widens, ending lopsided and entrancing and endearing. With a flick of her wrist she tosses the pages at him, choosing that exact moment to hop on the bed and send his still sore body bouncing.

Gritting his teeth at the jostle, he picks up the wayward papers and shuffles them onto his lap as Éponine points out the story she intends for him to read. But it's quite hard to read when she's perched on the foot of the bed with her amber eyes so full of gleeful anticipation.

"Would you like to just tell me about it?"

"No no!" She exclaims, crinkling her perfect little nose and flinging her hands at him.

So he turns his gaze away from the way the morning sunlight has shaded her high cheekbones such a lovely bronze and begins to read. He only makes it about three paragraphs before letting out a haughty scoff, even by his own standards.

Then she leaps on top of him, loud and quick, landing squarely on his hips.

"I've missed that sound." She leans in and meets his newly healed lips with her own. Soft and hungry. Tender and forceful. Her hips begin to rock involuntarily against his as a small growl escapes from her throat.

He let's out a painful hiss. She draws back, resting her weight on her knees. He pulls his lips into a thin line to stop from crying out as a dull pain licks his rib cage. But he knows he can't keep the lust out of his eyes.

She gives him another one of her deadly slow smiles, her eyes the color of whiskey and want. With a warm fingertip she traces the new, jagged track of his regal nose. He can't help a smile from turning the corners of his mouth as she then presses the calloused pad of her finger into the white scar that now slices into his upper lip.

"Now we're both scarred, rich boy."

Then its his turn to surprise her, sweeping her into his arms and maneuvering her onto her back. A classic move of his, and secretly her favorite. But his hips don't exactly settle between her legs as they should when he rolls on top of her.

A sharp inhale, a grunt and he freezes, the momentarily forgotten pain of his battered ribs returning in full force.

"Are you-"

"Yes," another strained grunt. "This wasn't my best idea."

"Should I-"

"No no, just-" Éponine bites her lips to stifle her laughter, but his voice remains casual despite the tautness of his body, "just give me a minute."