fight_my_fate | For themarblechief

Current Mood: sore

For themarblechief

Margaret has always been an early riser, and this morning was no exception. Soon after the early morning sun begins streaming through the window, she wakes, heart singing when she blinks her eyes open, noticing that Enjolras is still right beside her. Maybe she had the fleeting thought that the night before was just a dream. In sleep, he looks young and carefree - she's surprised that the difference between sleep and awake is so great.

She quietly slips from bed and makes her way quietly to clean herself up ... after all, she's a bit of a mess and very sore, although she doesn't regret a thing about the path that they've chosen to go down. So, nobody could know, maybe that was for the best.

If he wakes anytime soon, she will be nowhere to be seen.

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Margaret doesn't particularly understand how frustration can turn into ... this, but she wasn't about to overthink things. When they're like this, there was nowhere else she wants to be. And when he laughs like that, she knows that she wants to do whatever she can to see it more.

It's so hard to be so close without reaching out to touch, but Margaret manages. Outside like this, they were allies, nothing more. To make a wrong move now, to make people wonder if he's devoted to the cause - it could bring everything down around them.

She doesn't smile whenever she's 'accidentally nudged, but instead will affect a bothered sigh. It's not much, but it's something.

[ooc: Aw, damn.

I KNOW, RIGHT. I'm generally a patient person, but that only extends so far.]

He glares at her, hiding the smile he feels inside. It's almost fun, this game. Acting as though he can't stand her presence when really, he thrives in it.

When they reach the cafe, he quickly steps in front of her to open the door, grunting when she walks right into his chest.

"Pardon, Mademoiselle."

Ooc: still nothing. Smutty, come on...

She could laugh, it is so ridiculously hard to keep up appearances that they are wary of each other, that they feel nothing - at least, not what they really feel, but she manages, even though at times her lips twitch in her attempts to keep from smiling.

Margaret huffs out a breath, muttering, "I can do it myself," before finally stepping inside, keeping ahead of him just a few steps.

[ooc: Waiting is the hardest part.]

He lets out a low growl, tempted to grab her by the crook of her arm and kiss her right there. But they must wait and they will.

"Order something, Woman, and order me something as well. We do not have all the time in the world."

She has much the same inclination, but doesn't - this sort of ... pent up want and need would all come to a head later, she's sure, when they're alone once more.

"It would do you well to have some manners. Go, go, and I'll fetch you your food like a good woman does."

And she's off to order another tray full of food, since she knows how hungry they both are, given their activities from the night before.

He cannot wait much longer. And when the food is done, he grabs Margaret's arm and pulls her upstairs to eat. Upstairs is Enjolras's workspace. They know not to disturb him there.

They need to eat but not before Enjolras puts the tray down, pushes her to the wall, and kisses her deeply.

"Insufferable woman."

With a quick breath, she's being pulled along, and she worries that someone will see. If someone sees, inevitably there will be talk, and he doesn't need that kind of rumor and innuendo.

In a whirlwind, the tray is down, she's being pushed against the wall with a grunt and groan and then - oh, and then, he's kissing her like he's a thirsty man and he's her oasis.

"Maddening man."

His lips move up and down her neck desperately as if he can't survive any longer without her.

"This is why every man fought for your hand, mon amour. Your fire, your ferocity...I do not wish to ever extinguish it. I do not wish to ever tame you."

As much as she wants to remind him of their agreement to hide this side of their relationship, she can't quite find the words to do so, not when he's so intent on kissing her like this.

"They lusted after my title and fortune. You see me in a different way - and if you think you could ever tame me, you are quite mistaken."

... No one notices footsteps as they fall on the stairs.

"I could never tame you and it is why I - "

"Why you what, Enjolras?"

The blonde man freezes, his breath catching in his throat. A quiet 'merde' escapes from his lips as he looks over his shoulder.

Grantaire.

"Leave, Grantaire. There is no use for you here."

"No, Monsieur, I think I might stay."

Margaret tries to hide, the voice cutting through the stillness, and interrupting whatever was to be said, but it's really no use, is it?

Just like Enjolras had feared, they had been caught.

She peeks at the other man, quiet, waiting on bated breath to hear what he would say next.

"So this is your revolution? Pretending to be a revolutionary merely to sleep with royal whores?"

"She is not a - "

But he stops talking because he notices the look on Grantaire's face then. Hopelessness. Shame.

"I thought you were the light, Enjolras. You are just as bleak as everyone else."

And when Grantaire leaves, Enjolras swallows heavily, moving to sit. He doesn't dare look at Margaret.

If she's offended by the accusation, Margaret doesn't show it, nor does she try to defend herself. Really, she's ashamed. She was here to help, supposedly, and yet, in one day, she's managed to alienate Enjolras from other men and that is ... it's inexcusable, isn't it?

He might move away from the wall, but she stays where she stands, as still as a statue.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should - I shouldn't be here. I should never have come."

"Don't. It was my fault. I knew better and yet, I - "

He shakes his head, pushing the tray away. He's no longer hungry.

"...leave the revolution, Margaret. Save yourself. Let me lead my men in the manner that I should."

He looks at his hands, miserable.

"No more distractions."

What could she say in return? Why fight when it's her very presence that has most likely ruined everything.

So this was what a broken heart felt like.

She doesn't say a word, pushing off from the wall, pausing as she considers laying a hand on his shoulder, apologizing once more, but she thinks that it might just make matters worse.

Instead, she quietly takes her leave, trying desperately not to dissolve into tears as she goes.

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