[Nor does Combeferre, really. At Eponine's gasp, the heat in his stomach begins to travel downward and he finds that if he thrusts his hips just right, there's an ideal friction that makes him gasp, so he rocks back and forth, content to leave Eponine's hands where they are. All of that can come later. For now, this is amazing, this is perfect and...]

Not quite God, I assure you. But thank you all the same.