Gregstophe Love and War

by Reedwillow

A simple Msn Rp that evolved into something that my partner and I both loved. Gregory x Christophe, Expect love and plenty of gunfire. And a very funny Uke Moley

Hello everyone!
So, this isn't a fanfiction. Well, it is, but more specifically it's an Rp done over Msn which tends to be a bit spontanious until we get closer to the end. If you don't want to read it, you don't have to, as it isn't the best writing since most posts are written under 5-10 minutes. The point is speed and fun, not accuracy and overdoing it. I do that on forums, but over msn.. It's just for fun. :]

Neecha (Kelly - Christophe) And I have a ton of fun doing this, so if you enjoy it too that's wonderful, if not well thanks for trying it out xD. This is posted here purely for my refference, and for friends and others who might be interested in the insanity. :]

Warning: Contains Mild Smut -Very mild as I'm squeemish --

This is a GregoryxChristophe Rp, with some Style mixed in later. Me as Gregory and Kyle, Neecha as Christophe(Mole) And Stan.

Enjoy! :D
And keep in mind we started out not so serious. Haha3. It just kind of.. Grew. :]

Christophe says:

Zis is bullsheet, Gregory.

Gregory says:

I know. But it will all look brighter soon, I promise.

Christophe says:

Eef you start zinging, i vill t'row myzelf to ze guard dogs.

Gregory says:

-Chuckles- I won't. -Nuzzles cheek-

Christophe says:

*rolls eyes* Vat are you doing?

Gregory says:

Oh nothing, nothing.

:]

Christophe says:

*leans against Gregory*

I 'ate my computer.

Gregory says:

As it seems to hate you as well.

Christophe says:

*hugs Gregory*

Tell anyone about zis and I will deny eet.

Gregory says:

Of course. -Grins and squeezes back-

Christophe says:

-frowns at the grin- God damn eet. -leans back into the touch-

Christophe says:

Vhy ze 'ell are you doing zis? -stares back at Gregory-

Gregory says:

That information is classified. -Continues to watch his reactions-

Christophe says:

Zat eez a load of bullsheet, and you know zat. -crosses his arms and lights up his cigarette-

Gregory says:

Possible. -Takes a step forward nonchalantly-

Christophe says:

-hides his cigarette, knowing Gregory will probably take it as he takes a puff- You 'ave got to be kidding me.

Gregory says:

What, you don't trust me now?

Christophe says:

Non. Not vif zis.

Gregory says:

-Crosses arms- I'm dissapointed, Christophe. Surely after all this time.. -Shakes head-

Christophe says:

You 'ave a 'abit of taking away my smokes.

Gregory says:

-fakes being hurt- Fine. I wasn't going to, you know. -frowns-

Christophe says:

-me groans, letting his guard down- And vhat ver you going to do?

Gregory says:

-Turns to a smile- Oh, dear, dear Christophe.. -Closes the gap between them, Holding the sides of Christophe's face and kissing gently, smirking into it-

Christophe says:

-lets his cigarette drop to the ground as he stands there for a moment. He then lightly kisses back before pulling away- Zat was a 'ell of a surprise.

Gregory says:

-Drops one hand, still cupping his cheek with the other, pulling his head away so he can look at the other.- Now look, you wasted your Cigarette.

Christophe says:

-me frowns, his eyebrows lowering- Zat wasn't your intention, vas eet? Ozerwise I would be pissed.

Gregory says:

No, not really. -Slips his fingers away slowly from the other's cheek, smiling a little smugly as he kneels down to pick the thing up, standing again and stareing at it- Disgusting things, you know. -Flicks it away-

Christophe says:

-Eyes widen as his cigarette is flicked away, making some sort of squeaking noise as he tries to reach for it- 'EY! Zat was still good!

Gregory says:

So? It's just going to kill you anyways. -Stuffs hands in his pockets-

Christophe says:

Oui. Possibly. But I am not going to live forever. -looks guilty-

Gregory says:

-Frowns- What kind of talk is that? We have a lot of fighting left to do.

Christophe says:

-shrugs his shoulders, fumbling for another cigarette- Correction, I 'ave a lot of fighting left to do. Zat is my job.

Gregory says:

Hmmph. I'm a tad bit insulted.

Christophe says:

Non. Eet wasn't meant to be. Eet means zat you're safe, 'ere. Fighting ez what I do.

Gregory says:

I know very well what you do. -Continues to frown-

Christophe says:

Oui. But I do not know what it ez zat you do, Mon Capitan. -gives up on finding the cigarettes, merely crossing his arms over his chest.- You 'ave never told me 'ow you get my jobs for me.

Gregory says:

-Sighs- Someone has to stand up for what's right, I merely watch and wait. Anyone could do it, but they don't. -Resists glorified rant-

Christophe says:

-stands closer to the other man, brushing his shoulder against him.- Cryptic answers, zey are your thing, oui? -shakes his head- Getting a straight answer out of you ez damn near impossible.

Gregory says:

You could say that, I suppose. -Looks sideways at Ze Mole, keeping his hands inside of his pockets.-

Christophe says:

-for once, he smiles.- Ah. Zere et ez. Zat was what I needed.

Gregory says:

What? -Turns his head to the side and looks a little confused at the smile stretching over Christophe's lips, but enjoying the rare sight none the less-

Christophe says:

Zat look in your eye. Zat dangerous look zat could make 'ell freeze. -me keeps smiling-

Gregory says:

{ orly. }

Christophe says:

(yarly)

Gregory says:

I'm passionate about what I do. -He stated simply, still looking at Christophe a bit curiously, but it was replaced more with his smug pride- As I'm sure you are as well.

Christophe says:

Christophe lets his smile fall into his own smirk, though the desired effect didn't have nearly as much power behind it as he would have liked. "Wouldn't you?"

Gregory says:

"For the right reasons." He admitted, pulling a hand from his pocket to brush a stray hair from his face that had parted from his slicked back style.

Christophe says:

"..." Slowly, he reached his hand out to place it over Gregory's. It wasn't his usual style about things, but it could work. "And what would zoze be?"

Gregory says:

His eyes trailed down to look at the hand that was placed over his, raising his eyebrow and pretending not to notice the obvious gesture. He had a feeling there was different motivations behind it. But he would play along. "Curious, are we? You certainly have a lot of questions tonight." He deliberately avoided the question, skirting around it to tease the other.

Christophe says:

And he wasn't one to take kindly to teasing. Gregory should know Christophe better that that. This time the smirk dissapeared into a frown, the hand spitefully retreating to cross under his arm. "And you 'ave little answers for zem."

Gregory says:

Of course he knew very well, that was the entire point. He reached over and grabbed his hand back as it retreated, pulling it away from where he crossed them and dragging it back down by their sides. "To protect us." He tried not being cryptic this time, give the man more of what he seemed to want from him. He wasn't one for straight answers in the first place.

Christophe says:

He chewed on the bottom of his lip, his eyes still retaining that sort of irritation. "...you don't 'ave to protect me."

Gregory says:

"But of course I do, Christophe." He said quickly in his easy way of speaking, able to make detailed plans sound simple and convince other's of many things if it had to. "I'm afriad I may not do a good job of that, But I do." Not just for him, but for everybody. But he knew deep down.. There was more to it with this man. If there was anyone he was fighting for, it was his partner in crime.

Christophe says:

His eyes betrayed his thankfulness. He was getting soft again; another job was probably due. He couldn't be too human, couldn't be too careful. That's what would kill him one of these days, a slip of the ol' exterior and his world would be gone. "Zat is the biggest load of bullsheet you 'ave said all night. I'm not a little sissy girl. Give me a gun and I can take care of myself, you know zat."

Gregory says:

Gregory huffed out a short sigh, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them once again, looking directly at the other with a very serious look in his eyes. One that was usually reserved for things much more important then simple conversation. He kept the other's hand firmly in his. "I know." He said simply.

Christophe says:

"...good." Christophe let his eyes fall, but the grip on Gregory's hand wrapped tighter. "And I can take care of you too."

Gregory says:

The seriousness in his eyes was contradicted by the small smile that flashed over his lips. "I think that's been proven." He stayed looking at the other, even if he wasn't looking back anymore.

Christophe says:

He had to tilt his head up to look back at Gregory. Damned tall british bastard. "Good." He gripped the front of Gregory's shirt, pulling him down to give a little kiss. Something short, to the point. He wasn't very good with giving affection, after all. Any affection from Christophe was rare. "Zen don't forget it."

Gregory says:

His smile widened with the small kiss, his perfect teeth shining as Christophe pulled away from the small little outburst. He Immediately pulled his free arm away from his side, using it to wrap around the other's side and back and pulling him closer, his opposite hand still intertwined. "I most deffinately won't." He chuckled, moving his head town til he found -c-

those lips again, pressing to them a bit more roughly, but not overpowering.

Christophe says:

If there was one thing that was permanent about Christophe, it was his inability to wear anything more than tired eyes and a scowl. Even when he was happy, the expression never changed. But he could be softer here, his eyes closing as his hand kept its firm grip on Gregory's clothing, the other wrapped in that firm hand. He probably tasted like cigarettes again, and smirked at that. That -c-

always brought him some form of amusement, knowing how much Gregory detested the things.

Gregory says:

He pressed a bit harder before he finally broke away, keeping it rather short, but much more pleasing then the small peck that he had just recieved. His tongue flickered over his lips, trying to rid them of the taste he enjoyed yet at the same time found himself disliking. "You taste horrible." He said, a mixture between being displeased with the other -c-

and happy with their sittuation, all at the same time.

Christophe says:

"You didn't seem to mind zat much, Gregory." He had to keep up that smirk, if not for anything but for his masculinity's sake. "I bet you secrety enjoy zat taste."

Gregory says:

"Would be rude of me to decline in the middle of a kiss." He said, A bit of truth in that but not really. If there were more of those to come without getting killed by the man, then he'd learn to ignore that distinct flavor he detested so. "You're quitting." He said, losing some of the friendlyness in his tone and replacing it with finality. Not that Christophe would -c-

listen, probably find it funny, or offensive. But he was just getting it out there.

Christophe says:

"Like 'ell I am. Over my dead body." He kept the closeness, now averting his eyes out of spite as he scowled even more. Like he needed a reason to scowl, anyways. "Don't be rediculous."

Gregory says:

"Hmph. I won't be giving up on that cause." He frowned a little back, but neither did he sepperate them from the closeness that they shared. Nor would he be the one to break it, over /his/ dead body. He gave a soft sigh, moving his arm from around the other's waist to hook under his chin, forcing him to look up. As he bent down a little to stay more or less level, -c-

hovering just slightly above him. "I don't give up so easily. Be warned."

Christophe says:

He glared. God damn it, he wasn't one to be pushed and pulled around like...like some common...Christophe didn't have words, in english at least, to describe the way he felt whenever Gregory felt the need to subconciously push his height into his intimidation. "Fuck off," he spat, already flustered over the way he couldn't get his chin out from the man's grip. "I will die with a cigarette -c-

dangling from my leeps."

Gregory says:

"Over my dead body." He repeated Christophe's threat back at him. He held his body firmly in place, leaving Christophe no option but to stay where he held him. He was going to get himself killed pretty soon, if he knew Ze Mole well enough at all, which he knew he did. But he'd push just a little bit farther, At the very least he felt he knew the limits in when -c-

It was Life or death with this kid. He tilted his head to the side a little, Letting a small smile twitch over his lips as he leaned in for another kiss. Just another soft, short one. but as he drew away he bit at the other's lower lip, his teeth teasing at the flesh. And as his mouth drew farther away, releasing it, he let the other go. His chin, and his hand. But he didn't move from where he -c-

stood.

Christophe says:

Christophe's glare could probably be harnessed and used for some sort of weapon at this point. Oh, that was almost unforgiveable, narrowing his eyes darkly and almost shaking. He knew how to bait him, and he was always the fool to fall for it. He gave an almost audible growl, taking a step forwards and slamming his body into the other's, drawing that face back down into a hungry kiss. If there -c-

was one thing he could convey, it was passion. And it was with that passion he molded the kiss, the way that they demanded that dammit, /dammit,/ you don't just walk away from that!

Gregory says:

He wasn't as surprised as he should have been by the force in which the other man pushed himself at him, dragged back down to kissing level as he was attacked by lips that seemed to mean to devour him. He'd pushed him to this point though, he couldn't argue. Why argue something this good? Now if only he didn't taste like cigarette's, it would be perfect. -c-

but he wouldn't let his cynical hate towards the things ruin this, it was much too good of an oppertunity. His hands automatically jumped back to life, One pulling around Christophe's waist again and the other moving to work into his hair, keeping leverage and running and gripping through those messy brown locks. Quickly, he faught back for -c-

the dominance in the way their lips moved, trying to force entry into the other's mouth with strong nearly crushing movements. He wanted rough? He could do rough.

Christophe says:

Rough was just The Mole's style. He parted his lips, allowed the other man to be the brute if he so choose. His hands were locked onto that shirt, the rough fingernails catching on the material. The hand at his waist made him twitch, but it was the goddamn dominance what got him to finally give in, a little moan passing from his lips to translate onto Gregory's.

Gregory says:

His tongue was nearly down the other's throat the moment that space had cracked the slightest bit open, exploring and caressing, savouring the flavor and doing all he could to ignore what he disliked. Which wasn't very much, not at this point. The moan that escaped from the other's usually so strong body fed him, egged him on. His arm moved, -c-

fingers trailing up the other's shirt, pressing into the skin just hard enough that he would probably leave marks in their wake.

Christophe says:

He wasn't the only one that could be rough. Knowing this to be one of Gregory's favorite shirts, he wasted no time in tearing it open. His own rough hands gripped at the other's hips, drawing the taller man closer to his body. He was panting, he was edgy, he wanted Gregory. He didn't care about marks. He would enjoy them all the same as he lapped at the other's tongue with his own wet muscle, -c-

teeth grazing along the top and biting lightly.

Gregory says:

He growled into their kiss, sounding more like a snarl through the gasping breaths they had to take to be able to keep any form of oxygen. That was his shirt, damnit! No way was Christophe getting away with that. He felt the seasoned hands run down his torso, putting his hips in closer, the two of them in general almost as close as they could possibly be. -c-

The hand grabbing at the other's hair also moved, from the back of his head to the side, cupping the side of his face and keeping it where he wanted it. It was hard to keep track of everything though in the heat of it all, Couldn't keep track of where and what his body was doing. He pushed forward, forcing Christophe back a step.

Christophe says:

He felt his back go against the wall, and he growled is own displeasure. Goddamnit, he shouldn't /like/ to be overpowered like this. What kind of a sick person was he? He felt invaded, overtaken, Gregory's own personal frenchman. He loathed the way he loved it. His tanned skin showed dark against Gregory's, his throaty growl morphing into another low moan. There were hands everywhere it -c-

seemed, moving up from his hips to his abs, to his chest, to his shoulders, anything to pull him closer and let him know how much he /hated/ what he did to him. To his body.

Gregory says:

Gregory pushed in harder against the other where he had him pinned to the wall, satisfied with the strong muscles that pressed so perfectly into own slightly less toned ones, and the hands that seemed to explore everywhere over his body as they pulled him inwards. He was more then happy to oblidge the wish they begged, losing little of his smugness -c- as they battled their messy war of tongues. He could feel the mixed emotions, the struggle and hate-filled passion through the movements he got from the other, taste it on him. His Ashen skin turned a bit darker, blood boiling under it's fleshy confines and burning as it circulated through his body.

Christophe says:

Christophe found himself grinding against the other with jerky motions of his hips, his tongue the losing side in their battle. It was always this way; Gregory was /always/ the victor. He didn't have to agree with it to accept it with a little gasp, chocolate eyes going hazy against -c-

chocolate locks. "You 'ad better not leave me 'anging like you did ze last time," he whispered in between kissess and lovebites.

Gregory says:

It was his turn to attempt to stiffle a low moan that wanted to rumble from his chest, following suit into the grinding that his companion had started. For being somewhat of a master wordsmith, he didn't have very much to say in reply, responding only by trying to deepen the kiss moreso if he could, keep those lips at bay. No more breaking away, that -c-

was for sure. He moved his hand that held Christophe's, dragging the other's with it as he moved to latch a few fingers under the corner of his shirt and forcing it partially up. Too bad he didn't have a button up like he did, made removing it a bit more tricky. But no matter, he'd prevail in the end.

Christophe says:

The dark green material was in the way, and he knew it. And dammit, that was frustrating as all hell, to not be able to feel that total skin-to-skin contact which made these things all the more pleasureable. So up went his arms above his head, his body looking as vunerable as he was -c-

hoping Gregory would want. That his companion knew that he had him, and though he was tame for a moment he was still feral and dangerous.

Gregory says:

The moment that Christophe had Raised his arms, he opened his eyes, only half lidded as he was forced to break away only long enough to pull the stupid material away from that muscled frame. He panted heavily, from the heat of everything mixed with the overall lack of oxygen. He took the moment they were apart to look over the other, -c-

taking in every detail of those finely toned muscles, every scar, warmark, and curve, as he disposed of the shirt completely, throwing it to the side somewhere. He licked his lips, excess moisture on bruised sensitive flesh. But he didn't care for that, as he prepared to dive back in again.

Christophe says:

He didn't know whether to feel flattered or disgusted as he found himself to be a british gentleman's eyecandy. Well, let him look. Christophe's hands wound to the back of his own head, stretching every detail of his body out for the other. "what are you waiting for?"

Gregory says:

"Im-patient." He said with a louder sigh outwards, a little sarcastically and humorously. He very much did enjoy the view that the other provided though, Lingering only for a moment longer until he decided it was time to stop browsing and get back down to business. He pressed forwards again, closing the gap that their actions had inadvertantly created, pressing his bare chest to Christophe's -c-

now mirroring image, if only a bit shorter. He moved his hands from where they sat uselessly, Both grasping at the sides of his face, curling into his hair as he moved in, but not jumping in right away this time. Instead he hovered there for a moment, not even inches away, almost close enough to graze his lips over the other's, breathing his hot more easily controlled air so it ghosted over -c-

that gorgeous face. He licked at his lips again, his eyes drifting staying carefully away away from their opposites, looking down in the direction of those lips instead. A small smirk etched over his face.

Christophe says:

"Goddamn cocksucker!" Damn right he was impatient, with good reason to be. If he was going to keep submitting to the other, then the other had better damn wel know that Christophe was not one who liked to wait. He pushed his hips up against the taller boy's, trying to illicit any sort -c-

of wanton noise. A moan, a gasp, anything that could shift the balance of power into some sort of equality. "'urry ze fuck up!"

Gregory says:

He didn't utter a sound at the movement as seemed to be wanted from him, but he did close his eyes at the small wave of pleasure it provided, His smirk staying over his lips despite the fact. Christophe could be downright amusing, Although saying that outloud would result in getting shot, or worse. "Mm, dear Christophe.." He muttered with a soft chuckle, enjoying the few more seconds -c-

of peacefulness until his smirk dissapeared very suddenly. His hands slid down delicately to his shoulders, until anything gentle about it died. It was like a flash that he forced the mood back, a surge of energy that the two of them could only feel. He pushed forward hard, using his full bodyweight to slam the other back to their previous positions from where they had momentarily strayed, -c-

Hungry lips finding those other's again very quickly. One of his arms moved quickly to grab the side of The Mole's hip, the other drawing much more deliberately down, pressing harder into the exposed skin over his side.

Christophe says:

He had a gasp knocked out of him as soon as his back was once more against the wall; once again the prey instead of the predator. And when he felt that grip on his hips, the force of his mouth being overpowered? He stuttered out in his native tongue, eyes rolling back in his head as he -c-

practically begged for that hand to travel to where he wanted, no, /craved/ the other's touch. He felt his arms cling to Gregory's, felt not a drop of guilt as he dug his nails into the pale skin.

Gregory says:

Neither did he mind the painful grip the other had on his arm, it only fueled the fire that was growing steadily inside of his gut, searing at his body as his hand finally stopped it's trail, just to the side of his other hip near his naval. Cruel, maybe. He didn't care, giving another grind against the other in their extasy. His fingers teased over the skin, toying with the waist -c-

of his pants.

Christophe says:

Whatever noise came out of his throat, whatever it was the Mole would assure you, it was definitely /not/ a loud whimper. Christophe moved to stand on his toes, if anything to urgw the other lower and to try to get some height to his advantage. "Gregory..." he whined in a way he would -c-

deny was gutteral begging. The frenchman's skin felt on fire, his arms trembling. All from a few simple touches. From this man.

Gregory says:

He finally released his liplock, pulling away only enough to catch a breath in a very short momentary pause, a trail of saliva connecting the their mouths still even with the distance. He quickly washed his tongue over his lips, the moment he'd gotten a couple gasps in right back to work. He didn't force in a round three though, instead pressing nibbling kisses to the corner of the other's -c-

mouth, trailing them down. Lips, Jaw, neck. He went slowly, increasing the pressure of the bites as he descended, taking whatever breath he could in between to keep himself steady, using it as well as a tool to mask over the sensitive skin before each bite. His searching hand continued to work maticulously at the skin under the boy's naval, teasing at it as he pushed a few fingers a bit farther -c-

under the barrier of clothing, carefully and deliberately. "Mm?" He mumbled into a particulary hard bite over his collarbone, sucking on it.

Christophe says:

"Ah...a-ah! Fuck!" He was used to rough, but Gregory had never bitten him that hard before! Damn, the boy had a mean streak in him, didn't he? And his fingers, they were right there, next to where it ached most for touch. But the bastard just denied him, frustrated him, made him -c-

quake and tremble like nothing else on this world or the next. Christophe ground his teeth, clenched his eyes shut, dug his fingernails in deeper.

Gregory says:

Gregory sighed in a long drawn out breath as he pulled away from his bruised over spot on the other's collarbone, trailing softer kisses this time up his neck until he was back at those lips, pressing to them firmly but not attacking them as he had before in a passionate but simpler kiss. He wasn't a monster afterall, he just knew what he wanted. "Christophe.." He murmurred as -c-

he pulled his lip away just enough to be able to speak, opening once again half lidded eyes to look at his partner's completely vulnerable looking face, his entire body trembling against his own. There was a part of him that felt a little guilty, maybe he was drawing this out a bit too much for the likings of the other. Where it used to be amusing, now the impatience was just contagious. -c-

Delicate fingers tickled over the skin below, edging a small bit closer as he thrust his hips once again into the other's, groaning a little bit himself without being able to contain it. Afterall, Christophe wasnt the only one here who was having the problem.

Christophe says:

One of his hands slipped down from its deathgrip, down Gregory's smooth chest and hooking right at the very same exact spot that was driving him wild. Tormenting could go both ways in this relationship. Christophe's lips traced the curve of Gregory's chin, nipping at the skin with -c-

defiant pleasure. "I will go no furzer unless you do."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ TIME SKIP.... KINDA ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gregory says:

Gregory woke up quite suddenly as the morning light shawn into their little getaway, flooding the room and causing him to stir only slightly as he found a still asleep Mole laying overtop of him. His smug lips curled up into a light yet loving kind of grin, an arm which lay draped over the other's back moving slightly to be able to run through his messy brown hair. Somehow -c-

They must have found their way to the bedroom, though he couldn't remember the exact details of the entire expierience. Not to worry though, he doubted the details were all that important.

Christophe says:

He stirred lightly, his eyes cracking open. "Sheet." His hand, fingers curled into the palm of it lightly, wiped at his eye as he buried his face into the other's chest for a moment, enjoying that hand through his hair. The affection was nice, he admitted, but Gregory should know by now. Christophe wasn't one to allow himself to be too vulnerable for too long a period of time. This moment, -c-

while nice, was going to be like every other time. He'd get up, dress, and leave without a word. His chocolate eyes seemed to stare off at no particular place for a moment, groaning as he twirled a little patter with his finger against the other's skin. He was sore and he liked it.

Gregory says:

It didn't mean he wouldn't try his best to stop it from happening again, Still lazily trailing his fingers in a calming motion through those locks without any pause or hesitation. He couldn't keep Christophe here, Force him or bribe him otherwise. He was a formidable opponent when it came to matters like this, but then again, with anything really. That's why he had found him in the first place.-c-

They were practically partners by now, in more ways then one. If only it could be easier. He wouldn't complain, their relationship worked. Convenient he supposed. He sighed gently, keeping that gentle loving kind of grin on his face, if only lightening it as he tried to give the other some insentive to stay. "Good morning."

Christophe says:

Morning. Christophe battled the morning, closing his eyes as, for a moement, he found himself tamed. Every time they did this, it got a little harder to leave. At first it was purely accident and lust, and he had just left in the middle of the night while Gregory slept. But then it kept happening, and he'd stay. Even to the point where he contemplated going back to sleep just to spite the -c-

bright, cheery smile and morning light. "Ze morning is a cocksucker," came his crude, muffled words, croaking out through the haze of recalibrating his voice to work through the sleepiness he felt. "Can't we just go back to bed and forgeet zat we were awake?"

Gregory says:

He sighed, drawing it out sleepily. He wouldn't be going back to sleep, up at the crack of dawn, it was just what he did. "If you must, be my guest." He replied a little cheerfully in his usual accent, watching the other contently. Ah, did this mean he'd finally done it? Well, it was about time if so.

Christophe says:

Despite his hatred for mornings and his wish that, for once, his tired eyes would get some sleep, he found himself unable to. When he stirred again it was to roll away from the taller man and onto his back, body still sore and covered in marks from last night's activities. "You made me squeal like a sissy."

Gregory says:

He chuckled a bit, rolling over onto his side and curling his freed up arm underneath his pillow. "I wouldn't call you a sissy. Vocal, maybe."

Christophe says:

"Fuck you." Chalk up one more insecurity for the Mole. Like he didn't need any more of those while he was with the other man, rolling onto his side so his back faced the other, spitefully. "Zat will be ze last time you 'ear me say anything."

Gregory says:

He didn't get offended, instead crawling a bit closer to wrap his arounds around Christophe's sides and torso, pulling him in closer. He always seemed to take dangerous risks around this guy, instead of his more calculated and thought out approach when it came to any other matters he involved himself in. The pay off was worth it though, and he could take a beatting if -c-

that's what it came to. "No need to be like that." He mumbled, pressing his lips to the back of the other's neck.

Christophe says:

He gave a growl that was more for the sound of it than anything else. Since when had Gregory become this clingy? Or maybe, he wondered, was he always this way and it was he who never noticed? Usually he was well-prepared on the actions of people, but it was his partner that remained the greatest mystery. Well wasn't that nice. He ground his teeth, pushing his head back unsure if he wanted him -c-

to continue to give him affection or knock it off completely. "I'm serious."

Gregory says:

"Fine." He sighed, pressing one more kiss to the back of his neck and withdrawing his hands, pulling away completely and sitting up. He wasn't going to keep mushing over someone who didn't want it, he knew if Christophe wanted more he'd be back for it. Tactical, he had to apply some of that in. If only for moments like this. He slipped over to the side of the bed while -c-

the other's back was still turned, swiping off his boxers which had found their way onto the floor and standing to slip them back on. He ran a hand through his long golden hair, messy through their tussle. Now where had he put his comb..

Christophe says:

Dammit. Way for him to pick a moment where he actually wanted the affection. But the moment was over, like usual. He kicked the covers away brutishly, showing how bad of a mood he was in as he grabbed his pants and slipped them back on. Christophe didn't like the restrictive feeling of underwear, after all. Prick. He thought of more words to toss at the other, but found himself lacking any -c-

real urge to express them. "...I 'ate ze t'ings you do to me, Gregory. I really do." How Gregory's comb had managed to get on top of his dark green shirt, he'd never know. He handled the item carefully, twisting his body over to face the other side of the bed with a spiteful I-didn't-want-you-to-stop-that glare. "'ere."

Gregory says:

His hand took it as it was offered to him, giving the other a curt not through a sweetened smile. "Thank you." He swept it through his hair a few times, grooming it back to it's usual perfection. Ah, much better. He placed it down gently on the nightstand next to the bed, Not forgetting the nice comment he had just recieved, if you could call it a comment. And the glare was icing on the cake. -c-

"I take it you weren't serious then."

Christophe says:

He practically snarled back. He didn't like it when he could be seen right through, be that transparent. "Shut up." The glare on his face, the defensiveness he portrayed...oh, Gregory had hit the nail on the head with Christophe.

Gregory says:

Okay, okay. He'd had his fun. He let his smile fade, going back to his usual somewhat blank expression as he looked around them. "Alright." He sighed, Finding his black jeans laying on the floor and kneeling down to pick them up, as well as the remains of what had once been a very nice and loved shirt. He threw it onto the bed, slipping on his pants and quickly doing them up properly.

Christophe says:

Dammit. He hated how his tongue and his mind were at war with each other. so the shorter man stood, growling a bit to himself in some french dialect before picking up Gregory's torn, sad shirt. "...I'm sorry about ze shirt. I'll get you a new one."

Gregory says:

"Not to worry, It's only a shirt." He said, looking over at Christophe holding the poor garment. He really had loved that shirt, But he wasn't going to complain. Now if he had packed anything else then it might not be a problem at all, but he'd rushed out at the last minute and.. Hardly a propper excuse, but he supposed that's what he got for not overplanning as usual. Spur of the moment, -c-

He supposed his shirt was the first casualty. He'd not overlook that insight next time. With a small yawn, he stretched his arms out behind his head, not unaware of the scratches and bitemarks that covered his pale skin, but in general he wasn't shy about anything of that sort. At least not with the person who had been the one to give them to him.

Christophe says:

With a grunt he bent down, grabbing his own shirt and wringing it in his hands. the thing could still be worn, he mused guiltily. "Non, I do need to worry about eet." His eyes took in the eyecandy just for a moment, just a glance, hoping that the other wouldn't notice where his dark eyes really liked to look. "You can 'ave one of mine until you get a new shirt."

Gregory says:

"Very thoughtful." He offered back his charming smile, Noticing the small glance but not mentioning it. The Mole's shirts were a bit baggy, so it should fit him just fine. Not as Formal as he would like, but he wasn't going to complain, it was a welcomed gesture from the other. He reached out to take the green shirt from him, "Thanks." Was he being overly polite? It was -c-

beggining to feel like it. He supposed he was just making sure the other didn't run off like usual, in which so far he had completely succeeded in.

Christophe says:

But the Mole had a different thing in mind. "Arms up."

Gregory says:

Gregory blinked a couple times, the smirk whiped right off his face in the sudden confusion. "Huh?"

Christophe says:

Not even Christophe could hide the pink on his cheeks, but at least the ball was on his side of the court now. "I said arms up."

Gregory says:

He couldn't hide the confused look on his face, even he had no idea what it was that the man was planning, especially as his cheeks blushed pink. Wow, unusual. He gave him a studying glance, before doing as he was told. Was he overthinking? "...?"

Christophe says:

He had to stand on his very tippy toes, the shirt still in his hands as he pushed the material over Gregory's hands, careful with the other's hair as he pulled the neckline over his head, tucking it down over lean muscles. Christophe said nothing as he did this, merely looking right up at Gregory's face with a sort of blank victory look. Get even if you can't stay mad, he supposed.

Gregory says:

"Umm." He blinked again as Christophe decided he was going to put the shirt on him himself, Finishing with a bit of a flustered Gregory looking down into the eyes of an appearently pleased with himself Mole.

Christophe says:

"Zere," he muttered, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "Now you don't look like an accountant. Or somet'ing like zat." His hands stayed right where they were, hoping that, goddamn, this british bastard would pick up the hint.

Gregory says:

As he remembered how to /not/ stand there like some mystified idiot, he caught a small smile onto his lips, stareing down at his right now very cute little mole. "I don't think I look like an accountant." he chuckled, Bringing his now fully clothed body a bit closer to the other and wrapping his arms around his waist. Yeah, he could take a hint. It was adorable, really. If that was a word you -c-

could use on this kid. He leaned down, pressing his lips softly to the other's in a short gentle kiss.

Christophe says:

It was Chirstophe who finally pulled away, painfully almost scared by the affection he himself craved. With a cough the Frenchman began searching for a shirt of his own, a blac counterpart to the green on Gregory now had on his person. "So," he started, already going back to his business voice. "What are we doing? What's ze plan?"

Gregory says:

He missed the warmth the other shared as he broke away, Moving to plop himself down on the mattress as Christophe got dressed. "The Plan? I suppose we don't have one." He said a bit blandly, unable to even begin to explain how wrong those words felt on his tongue.

Christophe says:

It was odd how he found his shovel, his rope, and his bandolier and put them on automatically. But he froze at those words with a light panic before easing himself out into a calm breath. "Non. Non, you 'ave to 'ave a plan for us."

Gregory says:

The panic in Christophe's words were very obvious, even if he was fighting the calm. What was he supposed to do? They had no plan. The plan had been meet up here, they had, and now.. There was nothing left But horrible normal-acy. For being the one to always be on top of things.. He was at a loss, to tell you the truth. "There's just no fight for us right now, Christophe."

Christophe says:

Oh god, he needed a smoke. The cigarette was quickly in his lips and lit before he spoke again. "Non, zat can't be true. Zere is always a fight!" If anything the Mole was a dedicated mercenary, and the thought of going back to a normal life? It was a boring death sentance. "Zis is not a funny joke."

Gregory says:

Gregory leaned back using his arm's to prop himself up where he sat while he crossed his legs, propper yet relaxed, as usual. He brushed a stray hair from his face, tucking it back where it should be. There was those stupid cigaretts again, he might have swatted it away from him if he didn't seem so concerned. He frowned a little, drumming his fingers over his knee -c-

once it was away fixing his hair, thinking for a moment. "I may be able to come up with a few ideas, but I'm sure they wouldn't be to your liking."

Christophe says:

Oh god. This wasn't a joke. "The 'ell?" he practically squeaked, the cigarette almost half gone by now with the way he was panic-smoking. He always did that in a time of stress, sucking in the smoke faster than it could expell from his lungs. "You're serious, aren't you? Zat zere is not'ing to kill?"

Gregory says:

"My appologies." He said, the blandness in his own voice changing closer to worry as he turned to watch the other completely destroy his cigarette, along with his lungs he could only imagine. That ammount of stress was just not a good thing. Getting up from the bed, he quickly walked over in his long strides, swiping the thing out of the mole's hand and frowning with that look -c-

of worry still stuck on his face. "Stop." He held the smoke behind his back, he'd put it above his head if he had to. Take the entire pack too.

Christophe says:

When the Mole's stress-relief was snatched right from his lips, you'd better bet there was hell to pay. "Give zat back you fucking ass'ole!" He practically charged forwards, his hands reaching out for the thing so that he could get more precious nicotine.

Gregory says:

"Better an Ass then dead." He grunted, bracing himself for anything the Mole had to throw at him, and keeping the smoke firmly away.

Christophe says:

"Don't make me 'it you!" He spat, more panic than anything else. If he couldn't kill anymore, at least give the man his addiction. "Give zat back goddamit!"

Gregory says:

But he had absolutely no intention on giving the things back. When they were out on assignment? Sure, he didn't like it but it was what he did. In the bedroom when he was standing right here and there was absolutely no danger? Not on his life. "Hit me then."

Christophe says:

He pulled back his fist, the muscles tensing and ready to fight. Though he might be shorter, he was definitely more musclar. "Goddamnit, don't make me do eet! Just give me back my cigarette!"

Gregory says:

He paused for a moment, not that he was ever considering doing what the other asked. This was his cause, and when he dedicated himself to something, he'd fight for it no matter what those concequences were. But maybe this didn't need to end in a fist fight, which of course he would lose. When it came to strength, and muscle, The Mole had him beat by a long shot. -c-

He very quickly pressed forward, not giving Christophe the chance to throw his punch, as his lips pressed to his roughly, suiting the mood that was forming from the other. He gripped Christophe's arm with one carefully placed hand, the other still holding his smoke behind his back.

Christophe says:

Oh god damn it all, now was not the time for this! But he was caught off guard, eyes widened a moment from the downright intrusion. But he growled, not going to be taken down by a kiss. He had every passing thought of biting down on the other's lip harshly, of doing something to get him away. Instead he reached out with his free hand, searching behind Gregory's back for his sweet cancer -c-

stick. He was an addict through and through, and he wasn't giving up without a decent fight.

Gregory says:

Gregory had figured he would reach back for it, holding it a bit higher behind his back and out of the Mole's hungry little hands. Now, he was just going to get insulted if the other truely thought he was going to make things that easy. He grinned a little into the kiss, Steping forward and forcing the mole back a little as well. A few more steps and he'd have him falling backwards -c-

onto the bed, and he knew it. He'd win this war, there was no doubt about that. Now there was surrender and maybe get your cigarette back for later, or be an idiot and suffer for your actions.

Christophe says:

While everyone always teased about him being french and the french's history of surrendering, it was the exact opposite of his ways. He pressed forwards into Gregory's chest, reaching out as much as he could until he felt the world give away from his feet and found himself instead on his back, giving his best death glare right up to that british control freak. He was of age, he could smoke if -c-

he damn well pleased! He snarled, chocolate eyes already full of annoyance now starting to show that real true fighting spirit.

Gregory says:

Of course, leave it to Christophe to be stubborn and choose the hard way. Fine. He followed the other down, hovering over him dangerously. He should be terrified of that look, that snarl and spark that he held in those dark eyes. And he was an idiot to think he'd win if this turned purely physical, But in the mean time, he had the advantage. How long that would last.. Was yet to be seen. -c-

"Calm down." He said carefully, not a plea for his life so much as a simple request. He shouldn't need his smokes, just like he shouldn't /need/ to kill things to be able to get by day to day. It was fine when they had a job to do, but on a day like this where there was nothing.. There should be more trust. He wasn't lieing when he said he had plans, if only the other would listen.

Christophe says:

He physically shook, gritting his teeth and unclenching his fist slowly. Calming down was a difficult thing for him to do when he didn't have the thrill of the gun or his smokes, but he got there with a few steady breaths and muttered 'fuck you's'. "What?"

Gregory says:

There, that was better. He didn't move from where he was though, he could still jump back up and take him down by surprise if he wanted to, he wouldn't put it past him. He finally managed a small smile, followed by an equally small sigh. "Let's go do something then." He said, casually despite their positions and the previous anger.

Christophe says:

"Is zis a part of your plans?" He would have crossed his arms were they not happily placed by his sides, propped up on his elbows with the hands merely grabbing at air. "What is eet?"

Gregory says:

"Just trust me." He smirked, backing away finally and offering the other a hand up.

Christophe says:

"You cheated, so you know zat." He gratefully grabbed the hand, pulling himself back up but not about to punch Gregory anymore. Perhaps this was a win for both of them. "I won't call et a victory."

Gregory says:

"That's fine with me." He said calmly, throwing the cigarette in his hand by now cool enough to be harmless somewhere on the floor. He didn't care, he'd clean it later, or hire someone to. This was his place technically, afterall. A cabin at the edge of the lake that his his parents had once owned. It was as good a base for his opperations then anything, while in South Park at least. -c-

"Leave your things here, you won't need them."

Christophe says:

"I'm still taking a gun." But the rest he shed away, his chest feeling rather naked without them. A normal day. He hadn't had one of those in...oh god, how long? He didn't even know what it was like, nor what Gregory had in mind here. He turned on his heel, raising one thick eyebrow in confusion. "Where are we going?"

Gregory says:

"As you wish." He said tiredly, stuffing his hands inside his pants pockets and watching the other strip himself of his usual equiptment. He did look rather odd without it, yet the same time it wasn't bad. Could see his body a lot better without all those tools, that was for sure. He wasn't complaining. "You'll see when we get there." He replied a bit smugly, nodding towards the door -c-

and offering taking a hand out of his pocket should Christophe choose to take it. It was an option if he wanted it.

Christophe says:

It was an option that he was too shy to take just yet. Instead he just bumped his side against the other's, looking up with half-lidded eyes. "Non. I want to know now."

Gregory says:

"Park, downtown." He finally admitted, not saying exactly what they were going to be doing there, but that hadn't been the exact question now had it? Patting his pockets for a moment, he realized he didn't have his wallet on him, quickly finding it on a side table where he must have stashed it at some point and pulling out several bills, Larger and smaller. Money was never quite -c-

a problem for him, And he guessed they'd have to stop by someplace to pick up some skates. It wasn't like Southpark was fancy enough to have a rental place, He cursed the simplicity sometimes. Then there was the matter of Breakfast, and possibly a nice dinner later. Ah, but he wouldn't get ahead of himself. "Shall we go then?" Stuffing the money inside of his pocket and grabbing his keys, -c-

he looked back over to Christophe.

Christophe says:

"Oui," he said simply, following the taller blonde man, passing him, and heading for the front door. He didn't have a need to carry anything more than his concealed weapons permit and his own driver's lisence, should he need it. Gregory always drove though. Complained about his driving one too many times, and then he was forbidden behind the wheel of a car. "Let's go."

Gregory says:

Always in such a hurry, he mused quietly as he followed after the Mole who seemed determined to stay in front of him. He opened the door for them as he got there, closing it and locking it securely behind them. Several locks, in fact. Security was something he always tended to overdo, if it was left to his own accord. Better safe then sorry, that was for sure. -c-

Turning the keys in his hands, he found the silver key which fit his Silver Sportscar. Foreign cars were something Southpark didn't see often, he always got stares when he drove around in it. Maybe not the most inconspicious, but it was his personal favourite. Opening the passenger door first, he moved to the other side to allow Christophe entry as he opened his own. -c-

"We have a stop to make first." He said over the top of the car to the other as he opened his own door up, slinking inside and revving the engine as the heater flickered on.

Christophe says:

"...you're acting very funny, Gregory." He slipped into the sportscar with a loud sigh, his wet boots sure to make a mess of the interior. "Ze kind of funny zat goes and shoots people."

Gregory says:

"You wanted a plan, I'm giving you one." He stated, Doing his best to ignore the mess that Christophe was probably making with those boots of his. He wasn't overly possessive about his cars though, they were merely a convenience. "How is that acting funny, if you could ellaborate." Putting the car into drive, he pulled away from the house, Heading smoothly towards town.

Christophe says:

"Because ze only time you don't want to tell me somet'ing is when you 'ave something to 'ide. And I usually end up getting the sheet end of ze stick." He crossed his arms, reclineing the seat back a little bit and closing his eyes. "Zat or et is a mission."

Gregory says:

His eyes remained carefully on the road ahead as he addressed the other, he had a point. "I assure you, it's not that bad." What he had in mind didn't exactly fit what he percieved Christophe's idea of fun to be, that was true. If he told him outright there was a very big possibilty he'd just decline, and where would that them? No where. So he'd keep his lips sealed. They were already within -c-

the small town as he gave a small sigh, slowing his speed so he wouldn't get pulled over by one of the cities corrupt police officers.

Christophe says:

"You 'ave said zat before too." While it was the truth he didn't persue it any longer, merely choosing to just be there and go along for the ride. "But I won't bring et up anymore."

Gregory says:

As he pulled into a parking slot at the side of the road he smiled, looking over at Christophe as he put the car into park and shut off the engine. The only Sports shop in Southpark, of course. And he was sure they'd have what they needed. "You won't need to, we're at our first stop."

Christophe says:

"Already?" He opened the door, shutting it roughly and looking to the place like it was some sort of dingy little trash heap. Which it could have been, or it could have been a sporting goods store, like the sign said it was. "What ze 'ell?"

Gregory says:

"Mhm." He chuckled, getting out quickly and slamming it behind him before he walked over to stand beside the other. "Open mind, if you could." He smiled, boldly taking the other's hand and pulling him after him as he stepped forward and opened the door for them.

Christophe says:

He grumbled something about not needing him to always be there to open doors for him, a little bit at a disadvantage over the fact that Gregory had his hand hostage. So here he was, being dragged around like a kid and into a place where, on his own, he would have never set foot inside. "Et's not my mind I'm worried about."

Gregory says:

It took only a moment to find the section he was looking for, considering how small the shop was, and was glad to see they had the same style that he had back home. Made things easy enough for him. He really would have to remember to pack next time he decided he was going to relocate. "Pick out some skates." He said cheerfully, letting go of the other's hand to go and pick up -c-

his size on the ones he knew fit.

Christophe says:

"..." Christophe looked like he had been assigned the task of performing brain surgery with the way he stared the ice skates. What in that faggot god's name did he need these for? "Oh...kay..." He picked out something simple in his size, arching his eyebrow. What, were they going to be dragging bodies out into the icewater?

Gregory says:

He knelt down beside the shelf, fingers lightly drumming over the boxes as he looked for his size on the rack. Eventually he found it, pulling the black box out from underneath it's stack and and opening it as he stood to make sure it was all in order and not mistakenly labeled. Looked right. He turned back to Christophe, closing the box and tucking it under his arm. -c-

"Lighten up." He knew that to be a pointless statement, but he'd say it never the less. He had much more expierience with what would be called the norm, compared to Christophe. Sure, he'd gone to one of the best school's money could buy. Grew up around types you wouldn't call commoners, friendly even. But he'd moved around enough by this point, had to move where his adventures -c-

took him. Christophe.. He wasn't sure he was quite as familiar with the concept. He moved from the isle, going to the counter and putting down his box, waiting after the other so he could pay.

Christophe says:

He put the ugly things down next to Gregory's own, frowning slightly. What was it he had said so many years ago? Ah. He lived in filth, became accustomed to filth, became filth itself. Why? Because it was filth that they had to hunt. He became what others would see as worthless, living in dirty boxes and squatting in houses when neccessary. He would smell of grime and hard sweat, but he'd get -c-

the job done. There was no room for education, for outside friends, for normalicy. He'd made it that way. He had chosen to do that. And without his work, without the cigarettes and sniper rifles and bloodsplatter, he was just Christophe, that french kid who was dependant on Gregory for a lot more than he let on. "I'm lightened," he repeated in that broken english garble of french accent when -c- he grew too nervous.

Gregory says:

He kept his eyes on Christophe until the clerk came, A younger girl who he was sure to be charming with the smile he had on his face as she appeared, always sure to get his way even if that meant subtle manipulation. Not like it needed to be used here, but it was just something that had become imprinted into how he worked. He pulled out one of the larger bills from his pocket, -c-

Waveing the girls hand away as she went to give him his change. "No, no, miss. Keep it. Thank you very much." He was in a pretty good mood, The girl smiling in a dreamy kind of way as he grabbed up both of their boxes and started towards the door confident that Christophe would be in Tow. He didn't notice, back to concentrating on the other boy. "Would you be so kind as to get the door for me? -c-

My hands are full here."

Christophe says:

It was redundant to say that Christophe didn't know what he was still doing here. But he did as he was asked, albeit with a bit of a grumble and a scowl on his face. Tired eyes, dark rims drooping from possible lack of sleep, glared right up at him. Questioning time once more. "What do we need zese t'ings for?"

Gregory says:

"What do people usually do with skates?" He replied back, shuffling the boxes as he tried to free up a hand to grab the door which Christophe didn't seem ready to open for him, Eventually managing to balance them without dropping the heavy things onto the floor. Should have asked for a bag. He grabbed the door, using his foot to keep it open as he grabbed the boxes properly -c-

again, moving into it and holding it open by leaning back against it. "Come on, then."

Christophe says:

Irritated moreso than ever, he grumbled back, at least opening the car's door for Gregory to put the skates away. "Vous et vos patins baisants."

Gregory says:

He put the skates inside on the backseat, no backtalk to the little french insult. Of course he spoke it fairly fluently himself, although not nearly as well as Christophe did. Wasn't his native language afterall, just one of his many studies that he had emerced himself in when he was younger. It was good to be bi-lingual, It came in handy when dealing with different things. -c-

"Now that that's out of the way, Breakfast? Or the park." He asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets, his keys jingling as he pulled them out. He'd share the desission making, at least when it was simple such as this. Wasn't like he ever gave Christophe any options when it came to other matters.

Christophe says:

"Breakfast," he decided as he became that one grimy thing in the otherwise pristine car. "I am so 'ungry right now I could eat ze leather interior of your car."

Gregory says:

He closed the door shut after him as well as he slipped in, Pushing the keys into the ignission and starting it up with a nod and barely pausing as he drove them away. "Breakfast it is. And I certainly hope not." Now where to? Coffee, he could use some coffee. A horrible habbit maybe, in his opinion, But it was a nice pick me up. But that meant that he was mostly not all that picky about where -c-

they went. Hmm.. "What would you like?"

Christophe says:

"Food," He said simply, his hand running through the brunette locks that flicked to and fro from lack of proper brushing. Not to mention that the cowlicks he possessed made it near impossible to tame it anyways. "Eet does not matter. I will eat anyt'ing."

Gregory says:

"Alright." He kept the way he was headed, a little bit farther into town from where they were. A little Sandwhich place he'd discovered, and he had to say it was probably one of the only places around he he enjoyed which servers /fresh/ food, rather then the fast food joints and processed crap that most people ate. It was either here, or make it himself. Which he couldn't be bothered to -c-

do most of the time. He leaned back comfortably in his seat, keeping one hand on the wheel firmly and relaxing as he watched the road in front of him. "Hmm." He hummed to himself, still a little ways away as he was forced to keep to the speed limit, not that he was reckless.

Christophe says:

He rolled chocolate eyes, leaning over to check their speed. Pathetic. "You drive like an old woman, gregory. You could easily top out and dreeft around zat corner wit'out 'urting the car." Leave it to the man who liked big guns and fast cars to make a comment of that sort. "What eez ze point of a car if you don't push eet to ze limits?"

Gregory says:

"If you want to be on the radar of every law enforcment within the city limits, sure." He said back calmly, keeping his steady speed and rounding afor mentioned corner a lot more conventionally then Christophe seemed to want. Almost there.

Christophe says:

At least he could get out, he supposed as he stepped out and raised his eyebrow. Alright. He could deal with this, he supposed. But if he saw anyone of those pricks that had gotten him killed here, well there went his slightly-good mood. "I know. I was zere."

Gregory says:

Of course Mole was there, he was almost always there when he dealt with things such as that. It was only the more undercover things he did alone, that required silence and stealth. Going in Guns blazing was Mole's thing, his technique was much different, not that he was afraid to get his hands dirty, as he often did. He locked the car with a flash of lights as the alarm triggered on, -c-

Careful knowing they might be a while, depending on how long Christophe wanted to linger. Or how long it took him to finish his coffee. Either way. He looked up at the sign above the door, flashing dimly in it's stylized shape. It was a nifty little cafe, small but service was nice, it was a step up from most of the places around this town. He forced back a small shivver in the cool air, missing -

the long sleeves of his usual shirt.

Christophe says:

This time he did reach the door before the other, holding it open with the little tinkle of the bell. His face already held a look of are-you-serious mixed with hurry-up-I-want-to-eat. Public places like this made the Mole nervous, and it was apparant that he was already scoping out the place for all the exits and which places would be the best to hide behind should they come in contact with -c-

enemy fire. While it was a rediculous thought, it was South Park. Stranger things had and would continue to happen. Christophe didn't look bothered by the cold at all, standing there as if it was seventy degrees outside and he was melting from it.

Gregory says:

Gregory stepped in as the door was held for him, not stopping as he lead them to his favourite table. Off in the corner near the back, however small. You could see the door fine without everyone having a clear view of you, from the little booth. He may not show it, but he was used to keeping his guard up as well. He was just a lot less noticeable, and the air about him -c-

and how he carried himself always had that feel like he was somehow important, better then everybody else, no matter what it was he was doing. Confidence, you could call it. Just how he was. The atmosphere inside the place was warm, Light beiges and browns painting the walls and giving it a very soothing kind of feel, the dim lighting also quite nice. He took a seat as he reached -c-

his spot.

Christophe says:

He sulked when he walked, shoulders drawn up. God, he looked like he was about to rob the place with the way his body language announced his discomfort from the people around him. At least he eased up as he slid into the booth as well, crossing his arms against the table as he leaned forwards. Place was no smoking, so instead he chewed on his lip for lack of better thing to do with his mouth, -c-

other than speak of course. "What is good 'ere?"

Gregory says:

"Everything's good, get whatever's to your liking." He smiled gently, leaning back in his seat and crossing his own arms over his chest comfortably. "I personally like their sandwhiches, but that's just an old comfort." He sighed, raising a hand to the waitress who seemed a bit weary of them, waving her over. At least they could get their drinks. "Coffee, please. Black." He looked accross -c-

to Christophe, nodding in the direction of the lady for him to order whatever he wanted to drink.

Christophe says:

"Coffee. Cream and Sugar." He never was one for anything bitter. Christophe had too much of a sweet tooth for his own good, but nothing about him would even scream that. No, instead it screamed that this man could probably drink vodka straight from the bottle and keep on going sober. When the waitress had finally went to get their drinks, he glanced otu the window. "...so. We are going ice -c-

skating, oui?" He chewed on his bottom lip again, his leg already beginning to bob up and down to his own internal rhythm.

Gregory says:

"Yes, That is if you aren't just leading me on." He smirked lightly, leaning forwards as crossed his hands over the table.

Christophe says:

He flushed, looking straight at the wood and out of that intimidating gaze. Lead him on? "Je ne suis pas une personne cruelle, Gregory," he mumbled low enough so that only the other would be able to hear.

Gregory says:

"Je sais, Christophe." He smiled, breaking away from his one way look as the waitress returned with their coffee, leaning back as she placed it in front of them. "A few more moments, please." The waitress nodded, leaving them be almost as soon as he had said the words. He lifted his drink, steam whisping away from the top of the mug as he blew on it gently, taking a slow sip.

Christophe says:

He was a glutton for punishment, drinking the steaming brew as hot as it was and possibly scalding his tongue. But did he flinch? Never. The mug was green like his shirt that was on Gregory, the liquid inside not black but a delicious light mocha-tan color. "...forgive me. I am not zat good at making ze small talk."

Gregory says:

"Nothing to forgive." Taking another sip, watching him over the edge of his cup through the steam that drafted up past his face. Placing his drink down onto the tabletop, he nudged the menu at the Mole which layed a bit to the side, which he had yet to look at. "Get whatever you like." He urged, his hands going back to holding lightly around his mug, pleased with the warmth seeping into his skin.

Christophe says:

He took record time in looking over the menu, setting it down with a raised eyebrow. Christophe was gifted with the ability to read faster than he could probably write or type on a computer. "Alright. Turkey, lettuce, and tomato."

Gregory says:

"Good choice." He said while already waving over the waitress, Quickly ordering for them both and sending her away. He was getting something similar, He loved the simpler sandwhiches here as much as he liked some of their more specialty ones. They all reminded him an awful lot of being younger back at home, like his mother used to make. Good memories indeed. Hopefully, that meant -c-

The waitress wouldn't be back for a while, and they could finally be alone in their little corner without interuptions or formalities. He changed the topic himself, making it easier on the other by bringing up whatever came to his mind. He could talk for days, if he had to, One of /his/ many skills. "How are you taking to South Park? It's a bit small for my liking." He raised the mug to his lips-c

taking another longer drink as it began to cool slightly.

Christophe says:

"Zis place is a stinking rat assed sheethole." He practically chugged down more of his coffee, giving a half-hearted shrug. "And ze people are horrid."

Gregory says:

"No arguements here." Another sip, putting the coffee back onto the counter and pushing it aside with the back of his hand, out of his way as he leaned forward a bit as he got more comfortable. He wouldn't be here either, if it wasn't for how close it was to a lot of what he had been doing in his movements before the present, not the mention the convenient place he owned on the lake. -c-

"Where have you been staying?" He asked out of curiousity, Not knowing besides the visits and occasional overnight at his place. When he called Christophe, no matter what his plan was, he would be there. It never came up to ask where he ever stayed, just knew that he didn't need to worry about his showing up.

Christophe says:

He relaxed slightly, even staying that way when the sandwhiches were brought, and their coffee's refilled. The waitress was still kind enough to give them their privacy, instead going about her business as usual. "Around." Christophe gave a shrug, breath even and apparant through the smaller black tee. "Wherever I can find a place."

Gregory says:

"Around?" He repeatted, completely ignoring the waitress as she hurried away, moving away so the plates could be offered in front of them only out of reflex as he watched the other with his spying eyes. "Don't tell me you don't even have a hotel." He frowned.

Christophe says:

"Zen I won't tell you." He took another sip of his coffee, moving to his plate with a hungry look in his eye. This was probably the first thing he'd had to eat in a day. "Besides, why would I pay for somet'ing zat I could find on ze street?"

Gregory says:

"The spare room next to mine is yours." He said with a practiced calm, delicately picking up a half of his sandwhich, looking over the delicious smelling cheeses and deli-style cut meats. Mmmm. He took a bite, careful not to shed any crumbs on the table.

Christophe says:

"Non, you don't 'ave to do zat." He took a small bite as well, chewing slowly and precisely. Savoring the flavor, even if it was something as simple as a sandwhich. He'd enjoy it all the same. "I can take care of myself."

Gregory says:

"I'm aware of that." He spoke after he had swallowed, keeping his manners in high priority. "It's empty, I don't use it. Besides, you're usually over anyways when we have something to do." That should hook him, there was no denying that staying at the base of opperations for anything Gregory did would improve the efficiency of anything they could plan in the future. "Or, -c-

you could just share my room." He added a bit less seriously, even though it was /meant/ to be serious despite it's sound. That was something he wouldn't mind, but he doubted the other would ever go for. Just a whim.

Christophe says:

He choked for a moment on a tomato. And in that little moment where the diabolical thing that was both fruit and vegetable attempted to strangle him to death, he took into account Gregory's words. The last bit had thrown him off, he thought with a triumphant swallow of the damned foodbit, but he was right. Staying at the same sort of base of operations saved time. Why hadn't he done it? -c-

Simple. He'd be crossing his personal life with his professional life. Oh, he couldn't kid himself as he drank his coffee to further clear his airway. He had no personal life outside of cigarettes and Gregory. Stop being a pussy and man up, Christophe! "O-oui," he sputtered, "I guess I could take zat extra room."

Gregory says:

"Good, we see eye to eye then." He went back to eatting his sandwhich, already finished with the first half. He hadn't ordered anything large afterall, It was only breakfast and he planned on possibly taking them someplace for lunch as well. No need to overdo it. He picked up his coffee, warm and easily drinkable without burning your mouth, nearly finishing it off. He did love his coffee, -c-

as bitter of a taste that it was. The way Christophe stuttered with his words, it amused him to no end and made him think he had done something right. He always would win, there was no contest when it came to verbal discussions and persuations. "We should leave fairly soon, don't want to get there to share it with gradeschool children." There he was, talking for the sake of -c-

making meaningless conversation again. The things he did to make the other more comfortable.

Christophe says:

With a few bites he was finished, downing his coffee like no tomorrow. Wait. Back that up a bit. "...schoolchildren?"

Gregory says:

"It's a park, Christophe. Don't worry we have hours to burn." He chuckled, taking a little longer to finish the last half of his sandwhich then the other had scarfed his down. It wasn't like the world was going to end if they waited another 5 minutes.

Christophe says:

Again, this was South Park. Whatever should be unexpected was usually expected. He crossed his arms, feeling full and satisfied. "Yeah. 'ours." He grumbled something low, something that might have sounded like I-can't-skate mixed with bad-fucking-idea.

Gregory says:

Soon he was done his half though, Drinking the last of his coffee and pushing both to the side of the table, waiting for the waitress rather then calling her over again. "What was that?" He asked, curious to what he thought the other had said through his usual muttered complaints.

Christophe says:

"Non, it's not'ing." He shook it off, played cool. The usual Christophe. "Just grumbling."

Gregory says:

"If you say so." Tilting his head to the side a bit, still curious as the waitress met them at their table. The one day he didn't mind if the service was quick, of course. Sighing lightly, he didn't bother with his smile, pulling out a 20 and pushing it towards her on the table. "Keep the change." He finally looked at her, enough for a curt smile before ignoring her once more and -c-

going right back to his focus. She walked away with a muffled thank you, obviously still unsure about the entire thing. Must be new, he hadn't remembered seeing her around. He'd leave a better impression some other day, maybe. He couldn't be bothered with it anymore, he had other things on his mind. "Last stop." He smiled for real, much easier to find the expression over his lips when -c-

he was looking where he was, sliding out of his side of the boot and standing, brushing himself off and fixing his hair obbsessively.

Christophe says:

The most brushing he did was crumbs from his face. He didn't even bother with the ones that had fallen onto his chest, heading for the door and once again holding it open with that faint jingling sound. "One last stop, ez eet? Where to?"

Gregory says:

He graciously brushed past the other and back out into the cold, missing the warmth of his coffee mug distantly. "Our destination." He pulled out the keys, dissarming the alarm with the click of a button before unlocking the Mole's door, stepping around to do the same with his and relaxing back into the familiar seat.

Christophe says:

He didn't know if he'd ever feel right sitting in Gregory's car. Maybe one of these days he'd fancy himself up like Gregory, button up shirt and neatly-combed hair. But no, not today. He stretched his legs out in front of him, the tendons and calcium deposits in his joints cracking from the movement. "...zen let's go."

Gregory says:

He had already started the engine and started towards the park as Christophe spoke his words, not one to waste time. "Something wrong?" He asked, looking away from the road for a moment to glance at his face before turning back. Probably nothing, just the hesitation in his voice.

Christophe says:

"Non," he repeated with his usual scowl. "Not'ing is wrong. Why do you 'ave to keep asking?" There was no bitterness behind it, just a curious question. "You've never asked so many before."

Gregory says:

"You've never stayed before." He replied just as simply, hopeing that quelled the curiousity. Gregory had a right to be concerned, did he not? Maybe he should lay off a little, if he was overdoing it. He sighed lightly.

Christophe says:

Well damn. He had him there. "And I assume zat you will be asking more questions now that I am staying with you?"

Gregory says:

"Possibly, If they come to me. Not if you don't want me to." He shrugged, his eyes sweeping ahead as the park came into view, mostly just an expanse of white, littered with trees. But then again, what wasn't here in Southpark?

Christophe says:

A big city, that's what. "Very well. Are we there yet?" Not to say that he wasn't anxious, wasn't looking forward to doing something normal. But something he had no clue how to do? That wasn't going to work.

Gregory says:

"Yes, we're here. Impatient as usual." He teased, pulling into the parking lot and quickly shutting off the engine as he parked for the final time before they arrived home. Going from place to place got tiring after a while. He stepped out, opening the side door and opening his box, pulling out the skates that he'd have to lace up when they got there Holding both of them -c-

by their covered blades, the laces bunched up in his hand. No need to carry around a bulky box. He stepped out of the way so Christophe could retrieve his own, leaning back against the side of the car as he did so. "I should have braught my Coat." He sighed, speaking more to himself as he looked out over the snowy landscape of the park. Empty, or so it would seem. -c-

No kids to bother Christophe, Well that was one worry gone.

Christophe says:

He was kind of awkward, just grabbing the things brutishly and holding them without an idea of how to use them. Just like boots, he supposed, and he'd need to lace them. "..." He gulped, preparing himself to look like an idiot. He was going to be falling a lot.

Gregory says:

"Got them? Good let's go then." He hunched his shoulders a little to the cold, which for some reason felt worse this time around, closing the door when the other was clear and once again setting the alarm, stuffing his keys back into his pockets. "It's not too far in, behind some trees." As if that wasn't obvious as he lead them into the secluded area, the snow making everything -c-

sound somehow quieter and muffled, except for the sounds like the snow crunching underfoot, and of course their fairly loud voices.

Christophe says:

So it was still in them to remain alone, even after all this time. The pond they went to was small enough for just the both of them, but had enough room to hold a few more people. He felt nervous and embarassed, rather silly. "...you've done this before, right?"

Gregory says:

"Of course." He sat them down on a bench just off the side from the ice, placing his skates down to one side of him and untieing the laces from the little bundle they had come in. Grabbing his skate, he started stringing the long cord in, sure to make sure each was crossed over properly. He stopped for a moment as he thought of something that in all this time he realized stupidly that -c-

he had overlooked. "You haven't?"

Christophe says:

"...Non," he said rather quietly, sitting down on the bench while holding the skates awkwardly in one hand.

Gregory says:

He felt like a complete idiot, which wasn't a good thing for him to be. He'd work it out though, no problem. "I'll teach you, then." He brightened, lifting from the almost frown that had taken over his face at his stupidity. "Try and lace them up, just watch how I do mine. I can tighten them for you once you get them on." He sighed, going back to lacing his up, nearly done with the first -c-

and quickly moving on to the second.

Christophe says:

Luck be with it that he was quick with his hands as well as his eyes. The things were laced up much like he'd have his boots, hoping that they would work. "Alright. Zat should do."

Gregory says:

Gregory looked over the Mole's handiwork as he kicked off his own boots, hunched over as he slipped on both skates, the laces hanging loosely over the front. "Looks good. Let me get mine on first, tightening them properly takes a bit of practise." Having Said that, he turned his head away from Christophe to his own skates, carefully plucking sepperate laces and tightening them as much as he could -c-

without cutting off the circulation, holding them in place as he moved onto the next, careful not to release any of the tension as to not have to start over. He was quick though, he had a practiced hand. Pretty soon he was tieing neat bows at the top, double knotting them so they wouldn't come undone.

Christophe says:

As he watched him, he merely held the thick, black skates in his hand and went over them. Gregory had at least picked out a nice pair, his looked kind of...cheap. But he supposed they'd work.

Gregory says:

They were cheaper, but they weren't awful. Both were different though, and were meant for different things. His were more geared towards recreational skating, with the Toe pick meant to help with different jumps and techniques. Where as Christophe's were what most men wore, no pick. Just plain, mostly meant for hockey and other things where speed was the goal. They'd do though, of course. -c-

"Get them on, so I can tie them up at least." He raised an eyebrow, turning where he sat to face the other, straddling the backless bench as he waited for the other to do as he was told.

Christophe says:

He kicked off his steeltoed boots and left them where they would land, his holes-where-there-should-be-toes socks wiggling out in the cool air as he put on his new skates. "..." He grumbled. Here he was a grown man, and he couldn't tie skates up properly.

Gregory says:

He set to work on them as they were offered to him, tightening them as hard as he dared, not able to feel how comfortable they were on him. He just stuck with his own prefference, putting about as much pressure on the laces as he did with his own. He'd laced them a bit different then he did his, so it took a bit longer then they normally would have, but he was quickly done. "How do they feel?"

Christophe says:

"Like it would take a knife and I would 'ave to skeen them if I wanted them to come off." He shrugged. "Fine, I guess."

Gregory says:

"Good." He smiled with a light chuckle, swinging his leg over carefully and standing on the pond side. Only a few steps out and they'd be on the ice. He held out his hand for the other to take, His cheeks starting to redden a little with the cold. Wasn't so bad, he was getting used to it, it was his body who dissagreed. "It's just like walking.. without the steps. If that makes sence." -c-

Yeah, no it didn't. But that's how it had been explained to him the first time, so why not pass it along.

Christophe says:

What made sense was that as soon as he stood up his legs began wobbling like jelly. So that hand that was offered to him? Well he was taking it with force, that being the only thing holding him up as a slew of french cursings erupted from his surprised state. And oh god, he wasn't even out on the ice yet.

Gregory says:

He didn't judge him for it, he'd been the same way, everyone started out close to this point. He slung an arm around the other's shoulders, walking them slowly the few steps it took to get to the ice, standing just off it's edge on the snow covered grass. "Watch first?" He asked, wondering if he'd do better seeing how to move before just jumping in to it.

Christophe says:

He gripped Gregory tighter than he had ever held anything before. Even moreso than a gun or a knife. "If you let go of me I will kill you when I can stand back up." His eyes were wide, legs still shaky from it all.

Gregory says:

He couldn't help but wince at the grip the other had on him, expecting there to be blood there next time he looked over the skin without it's bond. He took an easy step onto the ice, his own legs steady as if nothing had changed, his hand still being destroyed by the other's from where he stood just a step opposite him. He stayed close, if he was going to fall it would be into his arms. -c-

"I won't let go." He tried reassuring the other, who looked far more terrified of a simple activity then he'd ever seen him, even more so then if there were a gun pressed to his head.

Christophe says:

He, for a split second, wished he did have a gun to his head. Maybe he'd stop looking like an ass. As predicted his legs parted and the shorter brunette let out a loud cry. "Baisez le surgeon de coq de merde!" As much as he wanted his legs to stay still they just wouldn't, the blades on the skates making him do things that he shouldn't be doing.

Gregory says:

Gregory stayed calm, still smiling softly which was mostly for himself at this point it seemed, as he pulled the other easily against himself so he wouldn't be able to fall over even if he tried. "Stop moving so much, just stand for a minute."

Christophe says:

The sound of the metal of the blades raking against ice was silent when he finally was able to make himself still. Oh, Christophe still had a deathgrip on Gregory, eyes still wide and knees still shaking. Usually to get him to this point it would take a lot more than what seemed so simple. "I'm not moving, ze ice is moving me!"

Gregory says:

"You're panicing." He said gently, trying with all he had to keep his voice normal although he was fairly certain he wouldn't have a hand very much longer. "Don't shuffle your feet, It's a balance thing. If you go too much in any direction you're going to fall. It's natural after a while." He tried explaining best he could, however it was hard to do anything without showing him physically. -c-

It was just a reflex, Difficult to explain, it was just easy to him now.

Christophe says:

Damn right he was panicking. He didn't want to fall on his ass. Damage to his pride and tailbone didn't sound like fun. But Christophe was a fighter through and through, and as soon as he thought he had a good sense of balance he loosened his grip. Okay, you could do this. "Merdeee...merdemerdemerde!" He wobbled a bit for a moment, but he was finally courageous enough to let go of Gregory and -c-

wobble on his own little patch of ice, arms out to his sides to add some semblence of balance. "Meerdeee!"

Gregory says:

He tried his best not to laugh at the string of curse words, not because he didn't understand or anything, he just found it somehow very amusing, and did he mention cute? He guessed this would remain his element for a while, until the Mole got the hang of it a bit more. But he was able to stand on his own so far, that was a start. He hovered close by, drifting so he was a bit behind him, -c-

but still in the other's view. He wasn't going to let him fall and crack his skull open. "You're doing fine." He rubbed his sore hand with it's opposite, sure there was going to be some pretty bad bruising there later.

Christophe says:

He'd be sure to apologize later for that. He had a strong grip, what could he say? With a grunt, he attempted to go forward. However, he tried walking instead of actually skating, and immediately lost his balance, his legs slipping out from under him as he began falling backwards with a loud "SHEET!"

Gregory says:

He caught him the moment he saw him going down, The other's back to his chest as he pulled him back up again, His arms remaining firmly around the other, securely. "I got you, Remember?" He sighed. "Here, sit. I'll show you, okay?" He said with a bit more finality, knowing this probably wasn't going to work otherwise

Missing posts. T-T

Christophe says:

The click put him back to his other mode, his hand going to the gun that had been strapped to his leg. See? See?! This was why you had to carry a weapon on you at all times! Dammit, what was it. He clicked the hammer back as he pulled it from the holster, the metal familiar and soothing in his hand. God damn, he needed a cigarette. "..."

Gregory says:

Appearently that movement from Christophe had been enough to nudge the attacker into action, as a very loud shot rang out and hit very closeby where the other was sitting. Ammature? Or toying with them? Gregory was moving the moment the sound had fired, bursting into sudden speed back towards the tree cover that concealed the hidden enemy. But he didn't need to, -c-

as the person stepped out, holding the pistol and aiming directly at Christophe. Fucking No way in hell! He saw the finger tighten on the trigger in what to him felt very much like slow motion, and with it, his body moved. The shot blared as he practically dove to the side in front of it, Rolling to the side as he hit the now blood splattered ice, feeling the warm blood start to gush from where -c-

the bullet had pierced his shoulder, his arm feeling much heavier. He used the rough pick on the toe of his skate to push upwards, getting up much faster then you could have thought possible on the ice and using that force to push fowards, Slamming into the shooter and grabbing the hand that held the gun, slamming him hard down onto the ground, and doing all he could to pin him, -c-

but he was strong, despite the obvious stupid mistake of trying to mess with their heads.

Christophe says:

It was surprising what your body could do when you saw your partner, no, your best friend, get shot because of you. Never in their time of working together, being each other's very best friend, had he let Gregory take a shot. That was his thing, and they always grazed him. He stood, uncaring of the wobbling as he ran forward, somehow able to stay upright as he brought the pistol's barrel to -c-

the shooter's head. It was instinct. He'd ask how he did it later. Two seconds away from shooting him. One...

Gregory says:

Gregory finally was able to get him pinned as he heard the bustle of noise coming from behind him, Christophe finally learning how to move without falling appearently. Good timing. He knew what his reaction would be before he even had a chance to pull the gun to his head, Grunting as the wound screamed angrily, weakened and hindered him, his body already no where near the callibre of -c-

the attacker. "Who sent you?" He growled in a commanding tone, his voice Low without the strain it wanted to produce, his left arm practically useless by his side, applying what pressure it could add. He pressed his knee into the man below him's stomach, the face betraying no secrets. This was what he did. He could make him talk, if given the time and resources. But did he have them here? -c-

As his blood continued to spill out onto the ground like someone had turned on a faucet, he wasn't sure. And that was doubled as the attacker managed to pull away the hand which held that weapon, Bringing it up to point at Gregory before he had the chance grab the limb back down again.

Christophe says:

Too late. The pistol let out two rounds, both at point blank into the assailant's head. He couldn't risk Gregory's safety. Not even for information. "Up," He ordered in his mercenary-like way, voice gruff. The true Mole was out now, stashing the gun and somehow, without falling, hoisting Gregory back onto his feet. His hand, still gloved in those fingerless black things he loved so much, began -c-

applying pressure on the wound. "Flesh wound."

Gregory says:

He didn't look back at the body that lay unrecognisable on the ground beneath him as Christophe helped him to his feet, and ignored the foreign blood that splattered over him. He was more concerned about other things then Christophe killing a man, that was normal day to day stuff. If he allowed himself the express the pain he felt from that wound, he would be screaming -c-

at the top of his lungs, so instead he just grunted at the remark. Flesh wound? He could feel the bullet lodged somewhere inside, flaring every little nerve closeby, or what used to be nerves at least. Don't think about it. He panted a bit, but besides that he kept his Gregory-esque calm. "I don't believe I've seen that man before, Nothing to identify him." He was forced to wince -c-

at a particularly strong flash of pain. "Report." He asked numbly, hopeing Christophe had at least recognised something about him.

Christophe says:

"Russian. 'ad a tattoo on ze side of 'is neck. Mafia per'aps." He lifted his now bloody hand, growling. "I cannot remove zis without a knife or somet'ing." Christophe began walking them back to the car, being sure to grab their shoes as well. Leave no trace, or as little trace as possible. So much for a nice outing. See? This is god hating you, he thought as he grabbed Gregory's keys from him, -c-

unlocking the car and putting him in passenger. He was driving this time, and it was going to be to home. Gregory could kill him later for the blood on his seats and the gouging marks on his pedals from the skates which he didn't bother taking off just yet. Sure, they were hard to walk on, and he was probably ruining the blades. But there was someone more important than ice skates. "'ang on." -c-

With a roar he tested the car like Gregory would have never allowed, pulling out of the parking place like a demon from hell, speeding down the road and towards the cabin.

Gregory says:

He nodded, Letting Christophe guide him back. He wouldn't be letting the Mole call the shots if he had been injured like this, so he couldn't complain, at least not until he did something reckless. Not that he felt like complaining, it was taking all he had not to scream. It was true that Christophe had never let him get shot, seemed like karma caught up with him. But it was all worth it, -c-

If that shot had been allowed to fire like that, aimed at him how it was. It would have been over. He gruffed darkly as he layed back in the seat, his hand pressed firmly to the wound like the other had been doing until now, keeping as much pressure as he could on it, but he was really bleeding here, and it was making his grip a bit weaker then he would have preffered. -c-

"I'm fine. Don't attract the police, it's the last thing we need." He grunted again, grinding his teeth together painfully to stop a yelp that wanted out badly.

Christophe says:

"I won't." He kept up his speed, and luck was on their side as he was able to pull up in the driveway of the cabin. Peaceful, but there was blood to take care of. He hopped out of the car, the familiar clang clang of the skates on ground and grass and permafrost echoing the clanging his heart was doing. "C'mon, up and at zem." He helped Gregory out of the car as well, careful of the wound and -c-

extra careful not to touch hit. He was going to be digging around there in a second anyways. Best leave it to itself as he led them inside to the kitchen. Good thing there were always an assortment of knives around, and he ripped one from the wooden placeholder and cut his skates free from his feet. He could always get more laces later, kicking the things free and going back to where he had -c-

sat Gregory down, pulling his green bloodied shirt off and once again seeing pale bare chest. "Sheet. You're going to 'ate me." He pushed his weight to hold the other down, bringing the knife's tip to the wound and pressing in. He'd have to dig the bullet out quickly.

Gregory says:

He had followed Christophe without a word into the house, Sitting wherever he put him, blood spilling onto the hardwood flooring underneath him. He knew what was going to happen next, as much as he didn't want it to happen. His body was already flaring with panic and fear for the pain he knew to be coming, but he kept himself composed for the most part, that is until -c-

Christophe pinned him down. The blade going into his shoulder hurt worse then anything he could have imagined, slower and more concentrated then the bullet itself had been, not as fast or with the motivation that had blocked out the pain when it had happened. He clentched his good fist, his eyes closing tightly shut as he finally couldn't hold back that scream anymore, -c-

struggling weakly for just a moment until he remembered he needed to be still. "Ahhhh!

Christophe says:

He didn't like it when he hurt people. Not even Gregory knew that about him. He didn't like to watch people die. He didn't enjoy taking life. Why did he do what he did then? Why do this? Again, because it was all he had. He wanted to comfort the other, not dig a knife into his frame. But at last the deed was complete, the bullet falling to the floor with a little tin-tink as he tossed the -c-

blade aside. Needle and thread; got to stitch up the wound. He found it quickly in the bathroom, right where the rest of the medicine and disinfects lay. Just another wound, he told himself as he brought out the equipment, dousing a few cottonballs in the disinfectant and cleaning out the wound. Soon it would numb, and with quick, nimble fingers began to sew the hole shut. "Stay with me Gregory."

Gregory says:

The pain didn't leave as the bullet was removed, nor when he heard distantly the knife falling to the floor. It was better, yes, but it never left the excutiating mark. And Mole worried about Gregory calling /him/ a sissy. Just a gunshot wound, it wasn't even all that serious, even with the blood that was continueing to collect in small puddles. At least that scream stopped, -c-

died down as Christophe dissapeared, reapearing soon with the supplies in his hands. He'd done this before, he knew that. He guessed he was in good hands. His concience flickered a little, drifting and tired from the blood loss which had finally ceased, as he felt a good portion of the pain numb and dissapear as the pressure of the needling breaking his skin poked at him. -c-

"I'm right here." He grumbled quietly, keeping his eyes sleepily closed. He just needed to rest, he was sure he'd be just finee.

Christophe says:

His hands were bloody and sticky when he was done. Warm, bloody, and sticky. He tossed his gloves to the ground, wiping the gore off on his shirt as he snipped the thread and used more of the cleaner to wipe away any bit of blood that was lying around. "You 'ave lost a lot of blood. Artery nick. You would 'ave been dead if I was a minute later." He went to the sink, grabbing a glass and -c-

filling it with water. Keep him hydrated, maybe see if he could eat. They didn't have blood to exactly give him lying around the house, now did they? When he returned, he pushed the glass to Gregory's lips. "Drink."

Gregory says:

His first instinct was to say no, just let him sleep it off, and leave him in peace. But even near delerium as he was, he was still in there listening to himself talk. Christophe was right, of course. Sleep right now might not be a good idea, he could recognise that far. He drank a little of the water that was forced at him, but he couldn't do any better then a few small gulps, turning his head-c-

away. "I'm really tired, Christophe. Don't let me fall asleep.." He winced a little, Saying what he could while he was still in his right mind to be making any kinds of desisions about his health. He knew pain could make you biased, say things you didn't want to. And slipping close to death like this, appearently.. He wasn't sure if he could trust himself.

Christophe says:

His way of making sure the other stayed awake was rather brutal. A backhand to the face, bringing the glass closer. "Don't you fucking fall asleep, Gregory. God, fucking faggot, he can't 'ave you!"

Gregory says:

His head jerked to the side a bit with the force of that hit, snapping him back a little with the soreness it created. Stupid water, couldn't he get it out of his face? He'd had all he could drink, if he had anymore it felt like he'd be sick. "I'm not going anywhere." He cooed softly, a bit quieter then his last words. He wanted to comfort the poor man, he shouldn't think he was going to die. -c-

He was fixed up now, right? Just needed to heal.. That's all you ever needed to do. He'd be fine, just fine.. He groaned a little, the effects of what Christophe had put on his shoulder not very strong to begin with, and already feeling the immediate edge that it took off starting to ebb. Great. "Really, just.. just don't worry.."

Christophe says:

There was a cigarette in his mouth, light grey tendrils whisping upwards above them. "Don't tell me what to do, dammit! Zat is for me to decide!" He felt his forehead with the back of his hand, grumbling at the dissatisfaction his temperature was, heading to the fridge. Something soft to eat had to be around here, something to pick him up. Bread would half to work, the frenchman practically -c-

ripping the plastic away and grabbing a piece, ripping that as well into smaller pieces. "Open."

Gregory says:

"No.." He grumbled before catching himself again. Stop thinking like that, let him do what he has to to make you better. What good are you to him dead? Despite the words he opened his mouth for whatever food it was Christophe had for him, blue eyes remaining closed as his body faught against the action. You're no good to anybody dead. You can't love him if you're dead.

Christophe says:

He placed the bit of bread inside his mouth, urging him to chew with a gentle push of his hand against his bottom jaw. "Eat."

Gregory says:

He did, swallowing roughly and feeling almost immediately sick with it as the scrap went down his throat. "Ugh, No more please.." Don't complain, keep eatting. Don't be stupid, just.. just.. His was drifting off, his mind going in and out of focus with the overwhelming tired that threatened to throw him into unconcious.

Christophe says:

And he slapped him yet again. Pain was able to keep him awake, keep him here. "Don't you dare think about et!" He brought the glass of water to his lips again. Hydrate and get some food in him. Keep him awake. His body would heal faster this way.

Gregory says:

"Sorry, sorry." He mumbled, somehow managing to lift his good arm up to hold the cup better for himself as he forced another drink, his larger hand over Christophe's as he tilted it a bit to his lips. Damn it, Gregory. What was it that you stood for? Only a gunshot. Stupid weak fleshy body. He spluttered a bit with the drink, pushing lightly away as he coughed, the liquid not -c-

going down properlly. But his mind was again fluttering, that mild violence that the Mole was using to keep him here not doing as well as it could. He grunted a bit as his mind whirled, dipping, screwing up his face a bit with another twinge of pain.

Christophe says:

There. That should be enough. Too much and he'd make the poor boy sick. Christophe grumbled something incoherent, grabbing Gregory's chin and tilting it up to look directly at him. "You stay here with me. Don't you even t'ink of closing your eyes." It was still too dangerous to let the other boy drift off into sleep; the high predictability of him coming out of it worse if he did. Just a half -c-

longer, he hoped. Half an hour more and he'd let Gregory rest. "Say some'ting, dammit."

Gregory says:

Even as he said that, his world was getting increasingly far away from the other, it sounded muffled to his ears and blurry to his eyes as he blinked them slowly, looking up into Christophe's own handsome brown. He really just needed a nap, just a few minutes and freshen himself up.. Shut up. Stop that. Blackness for a moment, then christophe's face. Darnit, stay focused. Don't lose track of -c-

what's important. But his eyes were closing, falling slightly farther shut. "I got us into this, I appologise.." He managed, hopeing that would be enough something for the other. He was so loud, it was almost annoying, or so he was beggining to think.

Christophe says:

"Zat is not'ing to worry about. Open your eyes." His voice went soft for a moment, but his grip was still harsh. He even drew down closer, cigarette dangling from his lip as the smoke just continued to rise. He took in a long drag, held it for a moment as he tried to pierce through that darkness with his own stare. Then grey whisps blew back in Gregory's face. If anything, he would anger the -c-

other into hitting him, kicking him, anything that involved him staying awake.

Gregory says:

He frowned lightly, coughing from the smoke that was blown into his face. "Damnit, mole." He winced at the movement the coughing had produced, his eyes staying defiantly shut against the words that he was getting too lost to completely comprehend. He never called Christophe by that name anymore, unless they were on assignment or doing something that required keeping his companion's name -c-

under wraps. But he didn't notice, he wasn't all there as he dipped into darkness once more. "Ngh.." jarring himself back for only a few moments, slight panic in his thoughts as he realized he was giving in. He hated giving in, never surrender.. But even as those thoughts passed through his mind, he slipped into unconcious.

Christophe says:

Dammit. He checked the other's pulse quickly relieved to find it strong. Not as strong as he'd like it to be, but out of the danger zone. The smaller man gave a grunt, biting down on the end of the cigarette as, somehow, he was able to lift him into his arms and start to carry him into his own bedroom. The bleeding had stopped, but that thing was going to hurt later on. Christophe was gentle -c-

as he could be, wiping away sweat and grime from his forehead with his arm once he was able to lay Gregory down. "Gregory..." He whispered the name, and for all the muscle and strength and intimidation the Mole carried like a second skin, he found them useless and meaningless. That's the way it went when you realized that death had almost taken your friend, your lover, your life. His chocolate -c-

eyes softened, truly softened, for the first time in years. Not even he was capable of staving off death forever. He leaned down, pulling the cigarette away and twirling it in his hand as his face hovered over the others. "...Un baiser vous réveillera-t-il?" He knew it wasn't going to happen, and the only one to see his softness was him. He leaned down closer, a light kiss brushing against -c-

Gregory's lips. Haunting almost, and reserved. Christophe pulled away, brushing a few stray strands from Gregory's face before he went out into the kitchen, setting to his work of cleaning up blood and gore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ TIME SKIP ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gregory says:

Gregory cracked open his eyes to find it dark, which sent a small tremor of fear up inside of him. Where was he? Had he been captured? He squinted in the low light, crystal blue eyes looking side to side as he moved to lean on his elbow, propping himself up. "Ahh." He hissed quietly, Feeling as though hot coal was being spit at his shoulder, tugging and pulling and most of all just burning -c-

with pain. His eyes finally adjusted, and with that painful reminder, he remembered what had happened. In his room? He'd passed out, hadn't he? Great. He took in a rather shaky breath, letting it out in a much more controlled manner as he kept scanning around. "Don't tell me.. Christophe?" He started muttering, shouting the other's name a bit louder and hopeing he was sleeping in -c-

the next room like he had told him to. The possibilities of what he /could/ be doing were endless. Going out recklessly was the top of his caution list, but he had a feeling he was wrong. Just being safe, considering the options. Like it was in his position to do. He bit back any outwards show of how much pain he was in, he had his pride, and he had his Gregory-like calm. Now that the -c-

worst was over, it was much easier to fall into.

Christophe says:

Instead of being asleep, like Gregory had thought, the Mole casually strolled in, his hands on his hips. The darkness around his eyes had grown; no sleep for the chocolate-eyed man. He looked freshly showered, chest still bare and his pants hanging from his hips. There was even the faintest smell of soap still clinging to his body, his hair toweled but still damn. Even he grew tired of -c-

a caked-on layer of grime and guts. "...Gregory." It slipped from his lips like a sigh, like an 'oh god, you're alright.' But if Gregory would ask if he was worried about him, Christophe would just deny it. Like he would admit he was human. "Welcome back to ze world of ze living." He strode forwards carefully, eyeing the gunshot wound with precision. It'd leave a hell of a scar, but it looked -c-

better than it had before. "Lazy bum. Told you zat beetch wasn't taking you today."

Gregory says:

It was relief more then anything that made the pain feel a little less sharp, words couldn't explain how good it felt to see Christophe walk into the room, and hear his crude remarks. Where Christophe was clean and practically sparkling, if there had been light, He was still speckled with some of the blood and dirt, and looked overall like a mess. The switched positions they were in was -c-

almost humorous. He took a careful calming breath, Keeping the wince off of his face as he pushed himself up to sit rather then his awkward pose. He ran his good hand -c-

through his hair, careful to keep his bad arm as still as possible to prevent further spasms. "Thanks, I would have been dead without you." He looked evenly at the other, who also knew those words to be true. He was just glad that he had been there, he still remembered that moment of the gun pointing at Christophe and.. Best not to think about it.

Christophe says:

He sat next to Gregory with a groan, licking his lips from the minty flavor of toothpaste and mouthwash. He'd wanted to rid his mouth of smoke-flavor, and had scrubbed until his teeth practically were made up of sparkling white mirrors. But those were hidden behind the soft half-scowl he wore, rolling his eyes to the statement. "Don't mention et. Ever."

Gregory says:

"Oh?" He tilted his head a little to the side, trying to smile but it didn't have it's usual effect as he kept having to recoil from the discomfort. He took another breath, closing his eyes for a moment before looking more seriously at Christophe. "Do we know who the target was, who sent him? Other then your observations, of course. His objective, besides the obvious?" Get the -c-

formailities out of the way so he could relax.

Christophe says:

"...I do not know. I 'aven't looked into the situation." A little slip, maybe he could do some information gathering later. He knew that his answer would bring about questions, and he steeled himself for them.

Gregory says:

He narrowed his eyes a little, not threatening just studying. When it came down to business, especially a threat against one of their lives, he took it very seriously. "Surely you haven't been just sitting around here doing nothing, Mole. This was a threat against our lives." He pressed firmly, Carefully placing each word. "You could have been killed, for god's sake." Okay he was -c-

getting a bit too involved near the end of that, he settled it back down. Keep personal out of it. "And we left a body. More then likely whoever sent them knows, and could very well be out looking for us now. We aren't invisible." He braught his hand back up again, pushing his hair back in an almost stress related habbit, smoothing it back as much as he could.

Christophe says:

Doing nothing? He looked pissed off and downright hurt at that statement, his think brows turning his scowl on at full blast. "'ow ez your fever?" If he didn't want to be taken care of, fine. That was fine with him. He wouldn't spend any more time checking on him, keep him from crying out in his sleep from the pain, put a cool rag on his head when his skin burned too hot. If that's the way -c-

he wanted it done, fine. Back to business, the one time he truly didn't give a shit about it he was being kicked to the side.

Gregory says:

"I'm fine, don't worry about me. You understand how important this is don't you?" He could tell by that look he'd hit a very strong nerve, but he hadn't meant it that way. Of course he had figured that most likely the reason he'd got nothing productive done was because of his own stupid predicament. But his being in perfect health wasn't the biggest concern right now, They could still be after -c-

Christophe. And even if he had to hurt him, to make sure he was safe, he would. He'd do anything to secure that fact. Anything. He groaned a little, he didn't seem to be helping. "Christophe. They were going for you, you know that. You saw it. They could have been testing us for all we know, it isn't /safe/, Christophe. We've been found out. If /I/ had been a second slower.." -c-

He cut off, grinding his teeth together. "He's not taking you either. Do you understand?"

Christophe says:

"Fucking faggot can try. Zose beetches don't know who zey are messing with." He grumbled something, leaning over the bed and grabbing Gregory's laptop. With a few clicks he presented it to him, pointing to the different camera views that the screen now supported. "I wired up ze 'ouse with 'idden cameras. Non, not a t'ing will be able to get past zose. If zey do, zen we 'ave the upper 'and." -c-

Christophe's face turned steely. "If you thought I was just sitting on my ass like a pussy beetch, you were mistaken."

Gregory says:

He looked over the images presented, scanning them carefully and leaning in a little with a light grunt to get a better view. He had to say he was impressed, and always glad to be mistaken when it came to matters such as this. This was more as to what he had been expecting. "Good." He nodded. Backing off again with a second grunt. He hated his body more then anything else right now, -c-

At least he could say his thresh hold for pain was staying at where he'd like it to be, pleased that he was able to keep back the majority of the reactions it craved to release the tention. Screaming in front of your parter wasn't something he'd do, he had to be much tougher then that, afterall Christophe had got the pleasure of seeing him do so when he'd gotten the damned thing out. -c-

"As expected." He sighed, feeling better with the added security. "I appologise again, my friend. But I need to make sure we have ourselves covered."

Christophe says:

"Oui. Understood." He took in a deep sigh, almost like a closed-mouth yawn, scooting closer to Gregory's good side. "We'll take care of zem when you 'ave your arm feexed. No rushing." The back of his hand felt against Gregory's forehead, his cheeks, even lingering a moment at his jugular. "Ze fever ez better, I suppose..." Christophe's face softened once again. "J'ai été inquiété de vous."

Gregory says:

"Et J'toi." He said back softly, matching the look that had taken over the other's clean features. "And I suppose there's no need for immediate action." He conceeded, with a gentle sigh, leaning into the side a little with his good shoulder. He was still tired, even if he was doing his best not to show it, and he felt the support of the other wasn't too out of line to hope for. At least this once.

Christophe says:

Christophe stiffened slightly out of surprise when Gregory leaned against him, invading his space in a different way. It took a moment for him to break out of his stiffened joints and awkwardness, leaning right back and resting his cheek on Gregory's good shoulder. He could hear his heart beating as strong as ever through the skin, and for that the Mole was glad he had quite literally slapped -c-

some sense into the other. In all honesty he was tired as well, sore down to the very bone. And he knew you felt ten times worse with a bullet lodged in you. "Was zat your first time being shot?"

Gregory says:

"Yes, actually." He could feel Christophe's heart as well as the other could, his own keeping a regular beat, maybe a little weaker then he would preffer, but it was healthy enough for what had happened. He gave a small chuckle, "I'm surprised it wasn't sooner." He supposed he had the other to thank for that, for most of the times. Others, when he went alone? Blame most of it on his skill, -c- but he knew a lot was plain luck.

Christophe says:

"Hurts like a beetch. Two days and you'll be alright." Gently, he brushed his fingers under the puckered skin of the stitching, never pressing too hard. "And you didn't get an infection like I did when I 'ad gotten my first bulletwound."

Gregory says:

It took all he had not to wince and keep his face how it had been as the other touched over the wound gentle as it was, aggrivating the still freshly marred area. "I don't think I recall." He said honestly, never hearing Christophe complain of something like that. At least not a first. But then they had done so much together, some of it ran together in his mind. But he was barely a teenager -c-

when they started, practically a child. He could be lenient about those times.

Christophe says:

"You weren't zere. I was out for a week, remember? Stupid keeds, right after zat war." He retracted his fingers, instead letting that hand slide down Gregory's skinnier torso and land at his hip. "'ad me sicker zan a fucking dog."

Gregory says:

"Ah, that." He did remember now that it was braught up, although he hadn't realized it to be his first one. That's what he got for sending ammatures in in the first place, he could blame himself for that one, should have known to do it himself. He was much stricter after that day. "I remember, although I would rather forget. You could say that was one of our greater saves, though." He smiled -c-

a little, moving his own arm to wrap around the other and pull him closer himself. "Saving the world, and all that."

Christophe says:

Christophe was happy to mold against the other, however injured he may be he was reserved in his touch. "Ze world can go to 'ell for all I care now." He gave a content sigh, his eyes closing as his side brushed up more agaist Gregory's. This little allowance of personal invasion felt really...oh, he guessed the term was nice. And he still craved that feeling of affection, the warmth that came -c-

with it as addicting as his cigarettes. "I fucking 'ate those beetches."

Gregory says:

"Yes, well," The skin on skin contact /was/ very nice, although he felt guilty for smearing any of his own filth onto the other. He should shower soon, but not quite yet. He was enjoying this far too much, and the stinging water to the hole in his shoulder wasn't a sensation he was looking forward to. "I fear I won't give up on it as quickly. As long as you're still here, at least."

Christophe says:

"You can give up on ze world without giving up on a person. Zat's what I meant." His nose rubbed against Gregory's shoulder, a rare affectionate muzzle from the Mole. He'd earned this side of him, he supposed, no matter how awkward and clueless it was.

Gregory says:

He pressed a gentle kiss to the other's damp hair, tightening his grip a little, weak as it was with his lack of strength. "I'm greatful for that, then." One more kiss, and a small smile etched at his face, Burrying his face into the locks with a light sigh. "Ugh, I'm filthy." More to himself, he didn't want to break away from this small moment of closeness they had, and moreso the plain -c-

and simple affection that the other continued to demonstrate, however small. It was a treat he wished he could get more of. He cast of his last mark with another, shaking his head mentally of his hiegene issues when it came to himself. "May I say something rather blunt, Christophe?"

Christophe says:

"Oui. What is it?" He wanted to kiss him back, he really did. But there was where Mole lacked courage. Something that he hadn't even told Gregory. He just left it to his shyness to define him in that way, but always able to steel himself for the rougher side of life.

Gregory says:

He didn't lose his nerve, however. And maybe it was wrong of him to say so suddenly, could be his lack of blood messing with his brain and reasoning, but it felt appropriate. If only to get it out in the open, what he knew they both felt but neither had ever put words to. It was about time that he did so, as he nuzzled a bit into the other's hair with his own mimic of affection. "Je T'aime."

Christophe says:

Christophe could have probably stopped breathing at that point. That wasn't something he had even thought of. He hoped Gregory would forgive the surprised string of curses that started rolling from his tongue as he stiffened, his head lifting up to look right at Gregory. The red went up to his hairline at this point, a lump in his throat. "...Je..." He lost his nerve to say it to his face, -c-

choosing to bury his embarassing face into the other's neck where he couldn't see him. "J-Je vous aime aussi."

Gregory says:

He grinned wider at the redness in his face as the other looked up at him, clearly flustered beyond a point that he'd seen him so before. And he nearly beamed as his words were repeated back, the warmth the other now held being forced against his neck. Now now, don't seem so eager, Gregory. He toned down his smile back to a happy grin, pressing another kiss to his half burried -c-

head of hair. "They're only words." He said gently, hugging him a bit tighter into his side. He loved him too. Maybe only words, but they made him happier then anything had in a very long time. Even if he had known that fact long ago. Or had he? Maybe he had always just assumed.. But now there wasn't any doubt was there?

Christophe says:

The extra affection only added to the bright color of his cheeks. "Words," he began while his lips were against the other's skin, "were what brought down ze great kings before us." Alright, maybe it was words and a couple of other things, but he'd hope that the other got the point across. The words were still heavily impacted on him, and he doubted that this little Achilles Heel of his was -c-

going to haunt him in the best of ways later. Christophe shifted so that he was almost in Gregory's lap, but the frenchman was always careful not to tug at that wound.

Gregory says:

"Of course," He didn't complain as the other shifted, just adjusting his grip so he was easier to hold onto. "But at the risk of sounding cliche, actions can speak much louder." He smirked, forcing his bad arm to move, a little shaky as he bit back the pain that accompanied that movement, but he got a handle on it quickly. Physical stress came second, when he had a task at hand. -c-

He found the other's chin quickly, tilting his head up so he was looking more directly up at him, hovering a bit closer.

Christophe says:

He knew better than to pull away, to fight that. Not only because it would hurt Gregory, but it would send off the wrong message. But his eyes had nowhere to gaze now, half-lidded and locked onto the other's blazing ones. If there was ever a time he looked vulnerable, this was it. "Gregory..."

Gregory says:

His sure smirk melted slowly into a softer one, looking at those gentler looking chocolate eyes. His weakened heart started to beat a bit faster, as he moved closer, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I love you." Another, just as soft, sweet. He didn't want to break that vulnerability, he wanted to hold him closer and treasure it. And he tried, pulling his arm a bit tigher around the other's -c-

waist, which braught his strength about to where it should have been normally. "Je T'aime," He mumbled quietly, between each kiss. "Je T'aime." He took a longer breath this time, half chuckling to himself. "More then anything." He pressed his lips forth once more, but he didn't pull away so soon.

Christophe says:

His hands gripped the sheets next to him, leaning forwards into the kiss while that arm around his waist pulled him in closer. The words made him flush against the other's paler skin, that rough dark tan from days out in the sun waiting for a kill standing out against him. "Et toi," He mumbled when his lips were able to, but they always went back for more of that flavor that was exclusively -c- Gregory.

Gregory says:

With a gentle breath, he pulled apart, still smiling warmly at the other. "You taste better." He mused with a light almost-laugh, finally forced to lower his bad arm as the strain on it became past manageable, groaning a little as he dropped it back down. He gave one last peck as he did so, trying to mask his own vulnerability that he wished didn't excist. Annoying really, that's all. -c- "I suppose it won't stay that way, Hm?"

Christophe says:

"Non. Zis was a special occasion." Even though Gregory lowered his arm, Christophe stayed just as close, shifting so that he was straddling the other's lap comfortably. "I 'aven't even smoked since you've been out."

Gregory says:

"I feel special, then." And he did, actually. Very. He really would have guessed that Christophe would have finished half a pack by now, with the stress of the sittuation. It was his management afterall. If getting shot made him quit he'd have to do it more often, he thought with an inward laugh. He leaned forward so his forhead was resting against the shorter man's, Sighing.

Christophe says:

It wasn't that he didn't want to, after all. The itch to have one still burned in the back of his head; he'd need his fix sooner or later. That's the way it was with addictions, and addicted to those damned things he was. He'd had other ways to relieve the stress, and he hoped Gregory wouldn't ask where three boxes of ammo for the desert eagles had mysteriously run off to, or why the side of -c-

the trees nearest to them were riddled with bulletholes. He just pressed his head forward again, lips craving Gregory once more and carving out his place amost them.

Gregory says:

It wasn't like him to dissapoint, so he pressed forward as well, tilting his head to the side a bit so they fit more easily together as he pressed his lips softly to the others. He didn't have the need for anything rough, as they had fallen into the habbit of doing previous. To tell you the truth, it was much more Christophe's style then his own, even though he would never complain. -c-

He thoroughly enjoyed the simplicity that this moment now held, how easy it was, how pleasant without needing the be complicated. Just enjoying the pure taste the other held, without the dirtyness of those ciggarette's diluding the flavor. He loved this concentrated form, he hoped there would be more special occasions a lot more often. Hopefully he didn't need to get hurt for them to happen.

Christophe says:

He couldn't help it if he was usually a brute, both in and out. That was the Mole's identity; tough enough to eat razorblades just for the hell of it if he wanted to. Anything that was less than that was almost alarming to him. Like the first time that he had curled up next to Gregory after a round of lovemaking; he was afraid and hesitant. Rejection would have wounded him a lot more than any -c-

form of torture. But one thing was constant: Gregory always accepted him. The little moments where he would get brave and start something, not just follow or match, that was his most terrifyingly human aspect about him. He'd much perfer Gregory to be in charge. He wouldn't have to worry about how the other was going to react when all he had to do was react back. His hands went from the sheets -c-

to press roughed palms against the other's stomach, eyes still closed as he continued to push himself closer.

Gregory says:

The hand pressed to the other's back moved to trail down his side, just gently, soothing. He didn't need to be holding him there anymore afterall, He didn't think the other needed the coaxing and it wasn't as though he was all that strong right now. "Mmm." He hummed a little into it, molding his lips easily to the other's. Truely, Gregory did not know where he would be without this man, -c-

if he would still be alive, even. No, probably not. Without him he would have gotten himself killed ages ago. He wasn't sure if he'd even have the will to fight if Christophe wasn't by his side, selfish as that may be. But it was more then just that. Somehow through all their hardships, they'd both managed to find a commitment beyond the blood and bullets. A bond stronger then anything physical.-c

He smiled a little bit as he pulled his lips just far enough away to mutter a few honey'd words, his own eyes closed delicately shut. "I'm going to fall backwards if you aren't careful."

Christophe says:

He opened his eyes partially, his hands moving around to grip at the other's back. "Zen I will catch you." A bold statement for someone who was shy with this kind of action. He moved his knees to rest his full weight onto them, raising his hips as he indeed did pushed himself closer, practically hovering over the taller man. His lips met the other's once more, the tip of his mint-flavored -c-

tongue lapping shyly at the other's lips, inviting him to really taste what he was like without cigarettes to smoke the flavor down. If Gregory wanted to fall backwards onto the bed, he'd let him. He wasn't going to try to pull him on top anyways, not with his arm like that.

Gregory says:

He had to say he was caught a little offguard by the words, and the hands that were suddenly holding him up from where he sat back a bit awkwardly. His lips opened to the caressing invatation, anticipating for a moment the taste they promised to hold. For a moment looking up at the other before his eyes fell closed once more from their momentary lapse, Christophe seemed -c-

much larger then his own frame, holding his weak body the way he was. This really was a night for oddities.

Christophe says:

Gregory was still in charge, even if it was the smaller man hovering over him. That was apparant by the way Christophe's body was placed, the way he moved against the other man and the way he parted his lips and just barely dipped his tongue into the other's mouth. No, Gregory was still calling the shots, was still the one to make the frenchman give a little satisfied moan as he held himself-c-

up on his forearms, on his knees with his hips just hovering over the other's.

Gregory says:

There was never any real question who was in charge, afterall it was just in Gregory's nature. He couldn't change who he was, although he was much milder then he normally might have been. Which also in his way, was doing things his way. Let Mole see how soft he could be, if he so chose. And that he did. He pressed in himself, as light and subtle as it was, his tongue moving against the other's -c-

finding the taste much better then he had ever expected it to be, making his movements just the slightest bit stronger, craving more. Now this was the real french kiss. It felt strange being on the bottem as they kissed, but he didn't mind, nothing had truely changed except his view. His fingers touched over Christophe's side from where he propped himself up on his good arm, -c-

making sure he could reach those lips.

Christophe says:

He moaned once more, his mouth explored by the other's tongue while his own merely lapped underneath it, drawing the other closer, sucking gently on it with his lips. The hand on his side made him give another little moan, more a gasp than anything as he took in another breath and reconnected his lips. Christophe took one hand up from where it supported him, that hand grasping at Gregory's -c-

hip. He couldn't help the slow grind he gave next as he nibbled on the other's lower lip, pulling away with another panting breath. Gregory wasn't in the condition to do that sort of thing; it was just instinct to roll his hips. "Forgive me," he panted out, ready to roll away and let them both calm down. He sure as hell needed to.

Gregory says:

Gregory gave a low groan with the movement, his eyes opening half lidded as Christophe pulled away from that wonderful kiss. He gave his own pant, catching his breath for the first time in a short while through the passion they shared. Maybe he himself was getting too far ahead of what his limits were, his arm still throbbed non-stop and with all the sensory overload he wasn't sure -c-

it was helping, although he sure as hell didn't want it to end. Watch yourself, Gregory. "I guess I shouldn't push it." He growled a little through his steady panting, oxygen evading his lungs in an annoying manner. Even through the words, he pushed his face upwards to Christophe's again, one more kiss.

Christophe says:

Christophe wasn't surprised with the next kiss, and lingered a moment more to enjoy it. But he kept it to a moment, rolling off of Gregory to lay next to him on his good side. "Non. Zat would make et 'arder to 'eal up." The Mole lay on his back, arms crossed over his chest with his eyes closed against his flushed face, trying his best to calm himself down. "Not a good t'ing."

Gregory says:

He didn't close his eyes, instead opting to stare up at the dark ceiling above and take even calming breaths instead. "Annoying." He said with a small huff, his good hand gently touching over where he would soon have a very ugly scar, sparking with discomfort wherever it ghosted. He felt like a horrible tease, going so far and having to call the other off. Whoever sent that man to kill them -c-

was going to have Hell to pay, when he found them. Oh yes. Vengful maybe, but it was a pleasant thought. "Sorry."

Christophe says:

"What the 'ell are you sorry for?" He moved his head to the side, looking at the other when he could open his eyes. Silently, without either one of them knowing it, Christophe was agreeing with Gregory and already preparing an infiltrate and decimate plan. "You confuse me."

Gregory says:

Shrugging his good shoulder, he turned his head to the side as well, meeting the other's eyes for a moment before they flitted away, thinking quietly to himself as well. "Getting shot, I suppose. To put it simply." And the reprocussions. He really /should/ have noticed sooner, as unprofessional as the shooter had been. Surely there had been tells, if he had been paying attention.

Christophe says:

"Why would you apologize for zat?" He turned onto his side, now focusing his chocolate-colored eyes into a fixated stare on the taller blonde man. "Zat was a fluke."

Gregory says:

"Perhaps. Ah, ignore my babbling. I'm sure it's the blood loss talking." He smiled lightly, closing his eyes now as his mind went to different posibilities. They needed to discuss what was going to happen next, and formulate a plan. It became much easier to do when you had someone to bounce ideas off of, and help with your research and tactics. But maybe he was thinking too far ahead, yet again.-c

First things first. "I should shower, I'm sure I look horrid."

Christophe says:

"Non. You look like someone who just needs a wash." He sat up again, offering his hand. "C'mon zen. I know you 'ate being filthy."

Gregory says:

"Hmph." He huffed, taking Christophe's hand and pulling himself up as well, pulling it away to run through his once again less then perfect hair, caked with some of the dried blood. Disgusting, really. "You could do some digging while I'm gone, use my laptop, if you like. I won't be long." He grunted as he shuffled to the end of the bed, removing his hand from his shoulder and rising to stand.

Christophe says:

Christophe frowned. Not exactly what he had in mind, but yes, work needed to be done. "Fine." The tone was laced with blankness, hiding the light rejection he felt as his brows furrowed, his scowl back as he turned away from Gregory and grabbed the laptop. If he wanted him to do work and not pay attention to him, fine. He huffed to himself as he started the thing up, his eyes already trained -c-

on the screen as he set to his work.

Gregory says:

"What, you want to come?" He felt himself sway a little as he ran his hand again through his hair, centering himself. He certainly hoped his energy returned soon, it was going to be impossible doing /anything/ if it didn't. He looked to the scowling Mole, His face more or less even with the hints of a smile. "I did say if you like, you know. We're not doing anything while I'm like this, -c unfortunately."

Christophe says:

His face flushed again, the prude. Oh no, it wasn't going to be that simple. Even though the invite was tempting, he had to stand up for something, right? He couldn't go soft puppy-dog every single moment. "Go take your goddamn shower. I'm busy."

Gregory says:

"Suit yourself." He said with a bit more of a smug smirk, he was fairly certain the other hadn't meant that. No matter, he'd be fast anyways. Taking a breath, he walked out of the room and towards the bathroom, very careful not to trip over his own feet which felt very heavy and large at the moment. But he got used to how his body seemed to want to move and lean to fairly fast and addapted. -c-

He closed the door behind him.

Christophe says:

When Gregory finally closed the door that's when the Mole let out a silent fit of rage, pounding on his head with his fists while trying to keep the laptop in his lap. Goddamn did he want to just jump in there with him! After biting on his knuckle out of frustration, he shook himself and groaned. Fuck. Christophe shoved the laptop aside, unbuttoning his pants and leaving them on the floor of -c-

Gregory's room. Like some goddamn ape he strode his way to the bathroom, almost ripping off the door. "Beetch."

Gregory says:

Gregory by that point had already gotten into the shower and was rinsing himself off, simply turning his head to the side when the other barged in. He couldn't say he hadn't been hoping for, maybe even expecting, this. "Joining me afterall?" He asked, both his hands working at some caked in grimb that stuck to his blonde locks, Standing inside the walk in shower -c-

as if nothing had changed. He smirked a little to himself, grabbing the shampoo off the ledge and pouring some into his hands.

Christophe says:

"Shut up." Gregory always won in the end, didn't he? Christophe stormed into the shower as well, merely using the water to rub off anything that didn't belong. After all, he had just showered not too long ago. But the invite was just too tempting to really pass up, the hinted flush on his cheeks being evidence fo that.

Gregory says:

Of course he always won, he wouldn't trust himself otherwise. He continued to smirk as he rubbed the shampoo into his long hair, pleased when the suds took on a pink tinge in his hands. Tilting up his chin, he started to rinse it away, his head moving a bit to the side so he could look at the other. That pink over his cheeks was downright adorable, no way that should have been legal. -c-

He was about to voice that, but no, it would probably earn him a punch. Instead he just responded to the previous remark, smugly. "Not saying a word." Innocent enough, Tilting his head back into the direct flow of water again. He didn't want perminent blood stains on his skin, afterall.

Christophe says:

Christophe gave a light "Hmph," grabbing the bar of soap and lathering it in his hand before re-washing his body very quickly. This feeling of being clean...it just made him want to get dirtier. Playfully, if one could call a scowling face playful, he smacked his soapy hand against Gregory's rear, his eyes averted as he continued to wash himself.

Gregory says:

"Hey." He said in a small kind of frusterated sounding huff, turning his head to look back at the other, who was now looking away, with a raised eyebrow. Hmph indeed. He held out his hand in front of the other, by now free of the shampoo, his wet hair shining in the artificial light of the room. "Soap please." Maybe he'd get him back after he was clean. Scratch that, he deffinately would. -c-He smirked.

Christophe says:

He gave a sort of uninterested yawn, the bar of soap sliding from his hand to Gregory's hand without much effort. "'ere. You stink anyways."

Gregory says:

Gregory ignored the yawn, taking the soap and doing the same with himself, scrubbing extra hard over any area which felt dirtier then the rest of him. It didn't take long, and pretty soon he was rinsing himself off under the water again. "That would be the point of a shower." He said, his eyes closed as the warm water washed over his face.

Christophe says:

"Well, good zen." He reached around for the shampoo, his chest pressed to Gregory's back for a second before he retreated with the bottle. "Because you were going to stink up ze fucking 'ouse."

Gregory says:

"Ow, words can hurt you know." He said in mock pain, looking over his shoulder while the other pressed to his back with his smirk, looking down at him.

Christophe says:

"Good. Got you off your ass and into cleaning yourself." He had his eyes closed already, both hand in his hair to quickly scrub at it. Some of the suds fell from his hands, down his arms, his shoulders...damn. He'd used too much, and now he was going to be a mess of white soapy suds. "Out of ze way, I need ze water."

Gregory says:

"I'm done anyways." He stepped back and to the side, allowing his companion into his previous spot. He winced a bit as his partner's eyes were closed and his back to him, refusing to until now. The shampoo and soap had really hurt where it touched his shoulder, but he'd get over it. He didn't want to obbsess over the pain. Silently he took a deeper breath, sure to keep it -c-

quiet so he wouldn't alarm the other of his tollerance level. He moved his good arm carefully, drawing a finger from the top of the other's neck and trailing it lightly down his back, removing the wince from his features for a small smile. He did say he'd have his revenge afterall.

Christophe says:

His body tensed and did a roll of his hips to the touch, unable to open his eyes for the soap that was there. "Ey!" he announced, flustered as he quickly shoved his head into the water. No way did he was going without sight into some kind of turn-on battle. "Cheater!"

Gregory says:

"You started it." He chuckled to the reaction, his smirk a little darker as he took a small step forward, leaning in so he could rest his chin on the other's shoulder, his good hand holding right next to where he rested so he wouldn't fall pressed a kiss to the skin below where he was leaning, against the other's neck where the clean water washed over, nibbling a little bit.

Christophe says:

His jaw tightened, as well did the rest of him. The soap was gone, but there was still the matter of one very handsome man nibbling at the back of his neck. He gave a high-pitched moan, his hands steadying himself on the wall in front of him as he pushed against the other. He couldn't tell if he was more annoyed or heated from that touch. "Dammit Gregory!"

Gregory says:

He chuckled again, resting his chin on the other's shoulder again as he stopped the teasing nibbles. Couldn't go too far, had to remember he had his limits. Curse them. He was enjoying this anyways. "What, not going to fight back?" He asked lightly, staying quiet as close as he was to the other's ear.

Christophe says:

He gave a very visible shudder, his body definitely responding to it. That was downright embarassing, really. A few light touches and some whispered words and Christophe looked like he was already halfway to bliss. "I would," he retorted, pulling away and trying to turn to be face to face with the other. "But you're 'andicapped."

Gregory says:

He pouted a little, he knew that just as well but he was hopeing for maybe /something/. Oh well, didn't mean he couldn't have fun torturing the other anyways. Maybe he was just a tad bit evil. Just a bit. And it gave him something to think about besides the stinging coming from his shoulder. He moved back a bit as the other turned, standing back up straight again -c-

and running his clean fingers through his -c- soaked blonde hair, Sighing. "I guess you may have your point." He stepped forwards again as Christophe turned to face him, giving up on his own hair to brush some of the brown locks from Christophe's face.

Christophe says:

He just shook himself dry, jumping out of the shower and looking for his own towel. "Afraid to be naked?" he mused, trying his best to sound more than a little dissapointed. He found a dark green towel, drying his hair back to a sort of poofball and wrapping it around his waist in a similar fashion to Gregory. "...'ow is your arm?"

Gregory says:

Not so great now that he was reminded of it, thank you. He sighed again with a small groan, standing up straight and releasing his grip on the counter to open a drawer for his blow dryer and comb. He tried not to wince as that question made it more noticeable. "Same as before." He said, a little less then honest. He ignored the first statement, as he pulled out out the two items, plugging -c-

the cord into the power outlet and finding himself with a dillema. He needed two hands for this. Ughhh. He pushed the drawer back in, a bit harder then he should have with the mild frusteration.

Christophe says:

He practically snatched the items away from Gregory. "What the 'ell do you t'ink your doing? Sit." He motioned to the toilet. "So your back is to me." He'd watched Gregory enough to know how he wanted his hair done, anyways. But he swore, one goddamn hairdresser comment and he'd stangle him with the power cord.

Gregory says:

Another sigh, slouching a little in defeat as he moved to where he was told to. He wouldn't say a word against the other, he was kind of greatful that he wouldn't have to stress his arm for it, because he probably would have ended up doing so otherwise. He just kind of hoped he knew what he was doing, he wasn't quite sure he trusted his hair to anybody else. "I trust you know what you're doing?"

Christophe says:

"'ow long 'ave I known you? Long enough to know 'ow to do that little 'air trick." With that he began his work, turning on the hair dryer while working the wet strands like clay into the shape he wanted them. He was a little bit rougher than he would have liked to be, not being used to doing more than just letting his dry as it so pleased by mother nature. "Just takes a little time."

Gregory says:

There was no complaints with the harder strokes of his comb, at least it felt like Mole had an idea of what he was doing. That made him feel a bit more at ease. "Thank you." He moved his free hand back to his shoulder, in what appeared to be becoming yet another habbit, feeling over it despite how it aggrivated the area. "A couple days, you said?"

Christophe says:

"Ef you stop picking at et." He used the come to quietly rap the other across the knuckles, returning to his duty of hairbrushing. It was slowly going back to it's usual combed-back shape, and every once in a while he'd have to run the comb along a stubborn lock or two, but he had it going back to its usual shape in no time.

Gregory says:

"Ow." Fine, he'd leave it alone. Or at least try to. He waved his hand in front of him a little, opening and closing it sorely. "That hurt."

Christophe says:

"Well, zen don't pick." He smirked as he finally got it back to the way Gregory liked, setting the thing down and just using the blowdryer to further remove any dampness that the blonde's locks could have stored away. "And I won't make you stop."

Gregory says:

"Fine." He looked back over his shoulder a bit as the comb went away, staying still while he continued to blow the hot air at him. He hoped the smirk was a good sign, he'd have to check for himself as soon as he was done. But he trusted it was at least close to what he was expecting. "Now should we get right down to business? What time is it anyways?" His tone went back to normal, -c-

he really didn't like being here without any idea of what they could very well be going up against soon.

Christophe says:

"Eveningtime. About eight by now." Once he was satisfied he turned off the hairdryer, setting it down on the edge of the sink as he stood back to let the other up. "You were out for some time, mon ami."

Gregory says:

As soon as the dryer was away, he got himself up, leaning over the counter and looking over the other's work. Not bad at all, for never having to do it before. He picked at a few places with his fingers carefully, brushing it back a bit more comfortably, but overall he was pleased. "Appearently. Well, we have some digging to do." He gave up on his hair, dropping his hand and looking away -c-

from the mirror to Christophe. "Hopefully they haven't regrouped, I'd hate to have to deal with someone in this condition if they should attack us tonight. They must be in a hurry, if they were prepared to approach in public, in broad daylight no less." He shook his head. "Come on, let's go back to my room. I don't suppose I can borrow another shirt?" He was already moving from the bathroom, -c-

his good hand holding the towel so it wouldn't fall.

Christophe says:

"Of course," he replied smoothly, quickly fetching a clean shirt from his own little spare room and tossing it to Gregory. At least it was something close to the color he usually wore, himself settling for a pair of dark green pants and a black tanktop that hung over his arm as he followed into Gregory's room. "Search the tattoo images for somet'ing similar to that Russians. You could also -c-

hack into local police systems to find out if zey 'ave any Russian mob members in 'olding cells."

Gregory says:

He grabbed the shirt with one hand when it was thrown at him, tossing it onto the bed as he dug in one of his drawers for the few articles of clothing he had managed to pack away. He slipped on some briefs, followed by another pair of black jeans. As soon as he did so, he was back sitting on the bed, reaching for his laptop and placing it in front of him as he pulled the -c-

shirt given to him over his head, grunting as he had to move his hand into the sleeve. He made sure to keep the serveilance images at the side of his screen, small but still capable of seeing them and keeping watch for anything out of the ordinary. "Of course, those are our obvious first places to look." Fast fingers were already starting on the Police files, finding the server -c-

fairly quickly, he had to say he had to one around here ready to go if something like this were ever to occur. He quickly started coding, cracking down on firewalls and keeping their own location invisible. "Not too heavily guarded, the simpletons around here." He frowned a little at the small blockages he found in his path, but they were easily bypassed. -c-

"Do you have your laptop with you? Check on those tattoos yourself while I get in here, Make sure you cross refference any organisations we've gone against in the past few months."

Christophe says:

"Oui. On it." He quickly fetched his own older laptop, scuffed from years of abuse and his version of 'updating.' Which merely meant yelling at it until it worked. He flicked it open and set to work himself, having to redraw the little cross/star image in his own paint program before he started doing a database check against other images they had come across in the past. Tattoos placed like -c-

that weren't for decoration, they were a mark, a sign, a dogtag. Mole refused to have such a personal thing put on his body. He'd be remembered by it too easily. "Sheet," he muttered quietly, unable to find exactly what he was looking for, until... "Got somet'ing." He hunched forwards, whacking the screen with his palm to get the lighting back. "Russian alright. Branch of a drug ring back in -c-

ze New York area. We 'ad to make a 'it against one of ze main leaders last year. Possibly zey 'ave traced us 'ere and want revenge. Ze Fangs."

Gregory says:

He pried himself away from his own screen, having just got complete access to the files, to look over at Mole's sorry excuse for a laptop. He'd have to look into replacing it, if only for their work. He recognised it now, and remembered in great detail that job. "I Remember, but they couldn't possibly have traced us, it was completely clean." He frowned at the images, pulling away -c-

to go back to his own screen. He'd have to look through the records anyways, find out if there was any connection with the man they'd seen tonight. Fangs, he remembered that job to be one of their more difficult, but also one of the most spotless when it came to anything to do with evidence. Damnit. He also knew them to be unforgiving when it came to these matters. -c-

He'd done his research, and the details of these things never truely left his memory, stored away like some kind of dictionary at the back of his mind. "Why send /him/ though? Were they trying to mess with us? Or was this all planned?" He frowned, clicking through the different profiles and coming up with absolutely nothing that could be lead back to those people.

Christophe says:

"Planned. Zat was just some keed zat they sent. Beetch didn't even know 'ow to take a headshot. Not zat it would 'ave been my wish to see zat." He searched more, giving a low curse as he smacked the screen once more. "Ah. Fang activity in Dever. Zat would explain why zey were so close. Denver police files 'ave a little bit on zem."

Gregory says:

"We have a location, that's a start." He closed his own laptop, his efforts turning up absolutely nothing in comparison, moving closer to the other so he didn't have to lean so drastically to see the screen. "Shootings, drug busts. Nothing out of the ordinary. None of it seems targetted." He muttered to himself, Trying his best to summarize it quickly. "If anything I'd say they're laying low. -c-

This isn't stuff that would pick up on our radar, obviously." He ran his hand again through his hair, moving strays back in place from when he had pulled the shirt over his head. "Sent an entire group." He frowned, it certainly looked like it. Was it meant to carry on like this in waves? The first person felt like a suiside mission, seeing what they would do and hoping to get lucky. -c-

What they might be capable of. Scouting. He wouldn't be surprised if they had been watching the entire thing, and if that was true.. The idea that they had discovered where they stayed was troubling. At least they had those cameras. Crap, the cameras. He reached over and opened his laptop once again, making the view full screen, and glad that his stupidity hadn't cost anything. -c-

Where was his cool? He took a calming breath. "Plan of action, then. We stay here, whether they know of it or not. Like you said, we have the advantage, and they'd just keep following. Our problem is numbers."

Christophe says:

"We 'ave gone against much more." He fumbled around, grabbing his clothing and finally ridding himself of his towel. With a grunt he pulled on his pants, buttoning them quickly and giving the zipper a quick tug. "And we 'ave kicked zere asses."

Gregory says:

"Never said it was a big problem." He didn't bother to look away from the screen as the Mole got himself dressed, completely emersed in his work. "Although I worry they come for us while I'm not at my best." The frown stuck on his face, there really was no soluttion when it came to that. They could only hope, and in his case pray. Not that he was the most religous fellow, but it wasn't like -c-

Christophe was picking up a bible anytime soon. "They appear to have underestimated me, the way I was ignored. That might be something, if I wasn't in my current position."

Christophe says:

"Or maybe you were just collateral, and I was ze real target," he mused, pulling on the tanktop and giving a huff. "Either way, we 'ave the upper 'and. Ammo and weapons, right? I bet you still 'ave that silly sword too." He shut off his own ancient laptop, sitting on the bed and peering over to look at the camera survelliance. "Chop off their 'ands, won't you?"

Gregory says:

He nodded, Smirking just a little. "It's not silly, and of course I do. Luckily I'm right handed." He said, bringing up his good hand, opening and closing it. "No matter who the target is, we won't be taking this lightly. I have enough weapons stashed in these walls to fuel a small army, so don't worry about that." Even though they had a plan, he didn't quite relax. -c-

The threat was too close to home, very litterally speaking, and that made things feel much more real. Of course, he'd quickly die for any cause he saw deserving, but the thought of them getting to the other if he wasn't fit enough to get there fast enough? At least he was left with the arm that mattered, and he'd fight til his last breath had been drawn.

Christophe says:

And Christophe? Well, he'd been known to improvise when it came to weapons, and many people had been beaten to death with a shovel before. Or another person's detached arm. Whatever he could get his hands on, he could make it a weapon. "Good. Zen we sit, wait for you to 'eal, and 'ead to Denver." He crossed his arms, habitually reaching in his empty pockets to look for his cigarettes. "Damn et."

Gregory says:

Gregory sighed, shuffling over to the side of the bed and pulling open the top drawer, having to dig into the back, but eventually he found what he was looking for, tossing the fresh pack to his companion. "Here, if you must. You left them here once." If this had been different circumstances he wouldn't have surrendered them so quickly, but he didn't refuse the other his stress -c-

relief when it came to a job. And sitting here looking over him and his stupid wound, he couldn't be cruel.

Christophe says:

He would have squealed in happiness if he weren't...y'know, the Mole. Instead, he gruffed his thanks, taking one out and quickly lighting it up. He inhaled sharply, deeply, holding his breath for as long as he could to get the most nicotine. Then, like some sort of ancient fire-breathing beast, let it escape through his nose in grey billows. "Ahh..." A smile crept over his face, satisfied as -c-

the cigarette dangled from his pink lips. "Zere we go. So much better."

Gregory says:

"If you say so." He kept his face more or less blank, not wanting to frown like his first reaction was to as he got his first whiff of that disgusting smoke. It was a shame Their special occasion, as the Mole had put it, had ended. Really, a shame. He groaned lightly, lowering himself down to lay on his back, resting his head on the pillow. All this excitment, he kept forgetting he was supposed -c

to be resting up. He wasn't going to heal if he kept with all the activity.

Christophe says:

The Mole didn't waste any time in finishing his cigarette at record speed. Just one, just to curb that pounding in his head that made him itch and want for another one. "Non, you don't understand. Et ez calming." He flicked the butt onto the top of his laptop, turning so that he could get another good look at Gregory. "Why do you t'ink zat american soldiers were given cigarettes as a ration?"

Gregory says:

"There's the fact no one knew they killed you." His reply, closing his eyes and crossing his legs, trying to get as comfortable as he could. "Doesn't sound very calming to me. And it's not as if Americans are known for their brilliance." He snorted the last bit, his smug pride showing if anything. As he lay with his eyes shut, he kind of wished he could sleep, but he wasn't quite to that -c-

point yet.

Christophe says:

Despite the smoke smell on his breath and hands, he lay down next to the other and took a deep breath of clean air. "Careful wit' zat. Americans are violent when insulted." He shrugged, crossing his arms behind his head and closing his own eyes as well. "Brutes."

Gregory says:

He chuckled, twitching his hand to touch over his wound until he remembered Christophe's threat from earlier. Not worth it. "I don't see one in the room, I'm sure we'll live."

Christophe says:

"True," he retorted, softly of course, as he turned over on his side and scooted close to the other's good side. He found himself with his arm draped on top of Gregory's chest, his head nudging into his shoulder. "But just a reminder."

Gregory says:

He nuzzled against the other's still damp hair, opening his sparkling blue eyes partially, lazily. "Noted." He wrapped his arm around the other's side comfortably, followed by a gentle sigh as he relaxed into it. "I could get used to this."

Christophe says:

He wasn't quite sure if he could, though. He was tense still, listening for any odd sounds, and when something creaked in the cabin or howled outside he jerked his head up. Instinct. But slowly, after the third time that had happened and his hair flung wetly into his eyes, he was able to ease some of that tension by gripping at the other's shirt. "...could you?"

Gregory says:

Gregory found it much easier to relax however, as he knew every small sound the house made by now. Outside or otherwise. If he heard something out of the ordinary, Mole would know about it, but for now things were fine, and he could properly enjoy their closeness. "Yes." He replied simply, that light smile still on his lips. He felt as though if he tried he could let himself drift, -c-

Fall asleep with Mole against him. So peaceful. But not quite yet, he wasn't ready to sleep yet. It was still early, it was his strained body playing tricks on him. He touched his fingers delicately over the other's side where they rested, in a soft caressing movement. "Couldn't you?" His eyes fell closed again sleepily.

Christophe says:

He let a sort of chuckle out from where the fingers had accidentally tickled, but the feeling went away as soon as it had come, leaving him in a sort of serious predicament. "...I don't know," he answered truthfully, clinging perhaps a little tighter and curling his legs up closer to the other's body. The idea of constant peace, in all actually, frightened him. to the point where if thrust -c-

into that sort of world, he wouldn't have a damn clue of how to make it work. "I 'aven't the slightest clue."

Gregory says:

He didn't get hurt or upset by the answer presented to him, in all actuality he was glad the other was honest. This was unexplored territory for him, and in all fairness for Gregory as well. Just.. being. With your significant other, if he may call Mole that. Their lifestyle didn't leave much room for that, being normal. Moments like this were a gift that he had never expected to recieve. -c-

At least he had the chance to observe others in a social environment, plus he was a much softer person outwardly, at least compared. Christophe didn't have that luxery, he supposed. And what went on exactly in the other's mind during activities such as this? He wished he could say he knew. "I guess we'll find out, won't we." He pressed a soft kiss to the other's forhead, -c-Moving a little more onto his side so he could lean into the other better.

Christophe says:

"Oui." Without much to stop him, Christophe was able to wrap his leg over the other's, finding a way to nuzzle under his chin and press his lips to the other's neck. Just a quick peck, that's all he would allow himself to do. His hair fell into his face with some annoyance, his hand brushing it away as he grumbled incoherently and without much meaning to the words. Just to get the sound out, -c-

that was all it accomplished. Mole's own inability to propery express his emotions was evidence of the other's lack of social skills. Whenever they were with a group of people, what did Mole to? Threaten them or stay quiet and stock still, practically scowling and glaring them down into a little corner. And smile? He did that only with Gregory around, or when he had succeeded in a very -c-

complicated kill shot. He emulated the other from time to time if he needed to have some sort of friendly relations with any clients. That was it. Other than that, he was, in fact, rather shy and submissive. Taken out of his element, he was just a child, really. At least with Gregory here, he held some of that old Mole inside him, and he could function just fine on that. He opened his eyes in -c-

thought, further nuzzling under Gregory's chin. His worry about the other would always find a way to be shown physically than emotionally.

Gregory says:

He hummed again, softly to himself, those small little actions from the other enough to keep him happy for a good long time. He loved it when the other did little things like that, unprovoked, because he wanted to. Not because Gregory pushed them on him, or did something that would coax them out of him. He understood Mole was more reserved, with the little things. He could understand that. -c-

But a little outgoing every now and then, it just made him feel like he really was loved, and to him that was one of the best feelings out there. "Christophe," He mumbled a bit quietly under his breath, maybe a bit moaned as he felt some of that fatique catch up to him for real. "Do you mind if I fall asleep..?" He wasn't -c-

sure if it was weird to ask such a thing, he didn't want the other to be uncomfortable, but even as he spoke he was drifting off. Now that he felt at ease to let that seeping comfortable darkness take him, there was no stopping it. He would probably be gone by the time the other spoke a word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~GWARTIMESKEEP~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Christophe says:

Christophe hated the fact that he found it hard to sleep when keeping watch over someone. He hated the fact even more that his eyelids refused to shut, even once. It was already the next day, light billowing in from the windows as if, for no other reason, they were provided just to slap Christophe in the face and yell 'wake up!' He gave a groan, pulling up the pistol that lay next to him on -c-

the bed and doublechecking everything about it. On his lap was Gregory's laptop, the cameraviews still up and running. So far so good, not a single thing had creeped by. Not even an animal. "Sheet," he muttered quietly to himself through the half-smoked stub of cigarette, the pointer of the mouse moving wildly with his finger. "Fucking sunlight."

Gregory says:

Gregory's eyes opened slower then usual, his concience jarred but not as blurry as most as he found himself laying awake. "Mmmmh." He groaned, his good hand rubbing at his eyes to rid them of their glassy morning feel. He usually woke up much more energized then this, freaking bullet.. He turned his head slowly to the side, finally noticing Christophe, Laptop in hand, and pistol. -c-

And from the dark circles under his eyes, he could tell what he had been doing. He groaned again, louder this time as he propped himself up on his elbow, blinking a few times as he tried once more to clear that sleepy feeling away. "Christophe?" He croaked, swallowing trying to get rid of that dryness. "Have you slept?" He squinted one eye, the light not the friendliest to him at this particular-c

moment.

Christophe says:

"Non." His voice was craggly from lack of use and lack of sleep, dark brown eyes half-lidded as he lightly click-clacked on the keyboard. "I could not sleep." Smoke exited from his mouth as he spoke, one half-gloved hand rubbing pathetically at his eyes. "So I 'ave been watching and researching."

Gregory says:

Sniffling, he got up to sit properly, cross legged and leaning a bit against the other in his groggy state. He deffinately needed some coffee in him, and soon. "Get some sleep, I can take over. And did you find out anything new?" He eyes moved from the screen, To the very tired looking Mole, to the door where the promise of coffee awaited him. Choices, choices. It was obvious what his -c-

biggest concern was though.

Christophe says:

"Sugar and cream." He sighed, letting his head fall back and trying to keep his eyes closed. The pistol was still tightly gripped in his hand, the actual weapon resting on his chest now. "I won't be sleeping anyways."

Gregory says:

Shuffling forward slowly, he got to the counter, which as he glared down at it found to be completely empty of the substance that he needed. Getting shot and then passing out didn't make for a good memory to put your stupid coffee on. Damnit, he hated the crappy instant stuff. Cheap and fake and not nearly as good as the expensive stuff he usually drank if he had the time. -c-

Why Coffee maker, Why must you torture him so? He pulled open the cupboard above his head, taking out the jar of instant coffee and the cup which held the sugar for it and placing it loudly on the counter as he shuffled just as zombie-like over to the fridge for cream. He was going to collapse at this rate. Oh right, water. He put the kettle on the stove, turning it up to full and -c-

grunting once more as he leaned down, sitting on the floor beneath the stove so he could rest a little. The Bullet wound didn't listen, appearently, to the fact that he was a known morning person.

Christophe says:

The unorthodox loudness from the kitchen was what drew Christophe out, the perfect bait to lull him in closer. "Holy sheet. Are you killing someone in 'ere?"

Gregory says:

"No." He shouted back, or rather, grumbled loudly. He closed his eyes, leaning back against the stove door as he waited for the kettle to whistle. He'd like to kill someone, oddly enough. Ughhhh, he was starting to get a migraine. His hand found his messy hair, trying to comb it back into submission with careful fingers and calm down the pain throbbing at the back of his head.

Christophe says:

"You look like I usually do, y'know. Zat bullet fucked you up." He had the pistol stuck in his waistband like some wannabe ganster, but they both knew it was sheer laziness. He yawned, sitting down at the kitchen's table while rubbing his eyes. "Pretty badly too."

Gregory says:

"I'll be fine after my coffee." And with that, the kettle started whistling, but he ignored it for a moment, Closing his eyes tighter as it hurt his head farther. Gahhhhhh, He really didn't want to move. "Nghh." He took one more second, pulling himself up awkwardly and slamming the thing away from the hot burner, flicking the switch off for the heat

Christophe says:

"You're going to burn yourself," he stated, walking over and placing his hands on Gregory's hips, "if you keep acting like zat."

Gregory says:

"I'm sure I don't know what your talking about." He took a deep breath, stareing at the kettle for a second, a dead kind of look in his eyes. If he was going to be feeling like this he might as well go back to sleep, but if he did that Christophe wouldn't be able to sleep at all, either. Damnit. He leaned back a little to lean against the other only the slightest bit, hopeing the touch would-c-

make him feel a bit calmer. "Could you grab me a couple of mugs, please."

Christophe says:

He gave a light squeeze to the other's touch, knowing that this was probably getting the worse of them both. "Alright," he muttered, drawing away lightly and fetching two green-colored mugs. "As long as you promise not to burn yourself."

Gregory says:

"That wasn't my original plan." He sighed, grabbing up the jar of instant coffee and unscrewing the lid as best he could using his bad side. As long as he wasn't doing any drastic movements, it wasn't so horrible anymore, even though it still screamed, if not angrier as it had time to settle. Just, don't move it too much, that's all he had to worry about, so it could heal better. Right now he -c-

was about ready to stab the thing for causing him all this grief in the morning. Lack of blood, lack of sleep, lack of general good mood. Ugh.

. Christophe says:

As he came back with the mugs, it was Christophe that slowly worked his hands around the other's waist again, no matter how badly he wanted to grab onto his shoulders and cling to him. "Do you need a 'and?"

Gregory says:

He tossed the lid onto the counter, placing the jar beside the two mugs and glaring yet again in his death look. If those mugs had emotion they'd be running and screaming in terror right about now, that or shattering into peices. He was about to say No, he could do it. Pride and all that. But he was just too tired. "Fine." He grunted, surrendering control of the coffee making to the other.

Christophe says:

No need to be so damned ticked off. But he huffed silently to himself, mixing what needed to be mixed without so much as a word otherwise. He'd been pissy the first time he'd gotten shot too, if he could remember right. At least Gregory hadn't thrown up, he reminded himself as he held out the black coffee to Gregory with both of his hands. "'ere. Nice and warm."

Gregory says:

He toned down that evil glare as he looked back to Christophe, taking his mug with the hints of a forced smile, followed by a small sip of the steaming black liquid with a small shivver. "Thank you." God, you would think he was like the other was with his ciggarettes. His mouth burned with the small drink he had taken, but he didn't care all that much, going back in for a second soon enough. -c-

Now, did he want to take the time to stagger over to the kitchen table? Or just collapse here. Both sounded like wonderful options. Oh well, if he was going to have to move why not go the extra mile. Shuffling foward he got to the table fast enough, falling into his chair a bit roughly and slouching forwards, drinking his coffee like it was the answer to all of life's problems.

Christophe says:

After loading his own coffee up with heavy doses of creamer and sugar, he finally managed to shuffle over next to Gregory and with a creaky groan, finally sit down himself. He removed the gun from it's lazy safekeeping, letting it lay on the table as he held the mug with both hands. He'd sip slowly from time to time, coffee obviously not the kick for him like it was for Gregory. But it was -c-

still nice to have around once in a while, especially if it kept you this warm. "Not that bad, for ze instant." His mouth opened in quite a big yawn, licking his lips free of the residue of staying up all night afterwards. "But I've 'ad better."

Gregory says:

{ -Glares at Mole- WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT HER? }

Christophe says:

((OH GOD DAMMIT))

Gregory says:

He muttered someone incomprehensible as he continued to sip his life's blood, Finishing it much sooner then anyone should finish something that hot and pushing the mug aside a bit more gently. Luckily, as fast as he'd downed it, it was still starting to have it's effect. At least he didn't think he'd pass out standing anymore. Always a good thing. "Go sleep." He muttered again, -c-

His best efforts currently going into not faceplanting into the table. But that feeling would soon pass, Maybe he should get another cup..

Christophe says:

He gave a scoff, tired though he was he knew it wasn't going to happen. "I'm awake anyways. Zere isn't a chance of me going to sleep until tonight." He sipped again, his head tilting to view the other's actions. "I 'aven't seen you in a mood where you 'ate the morning. Take et easy."

Gregory says:

"Trying, trying. I'm never this tired." He admitted glumly, finally giving up and resting his head on the table below, frowning lightly. "If I didn't know better I'd fall asleep right here. Are you sure I can't get you to sleep? You look awful." Hey, he was honest. And he was worrying, in a very grumpy kind of way.

Christophe says:

He wasn't going to be hurt by being told he looked like shit. Half the time he'd agree, and this was one of those times. "Well, I've been up all night. What do you expect? And don't fall asleep on ze table. Ozer people 'ave to use it."

Gregory says:

He responded with a light groan, his eyes remaining open by some miracle as slowly the caffeine was doing more and more of what it was supposed to. Very slowly though, he wished it would go faster. It just wasn't natural to be this dead in the morning, not for him at least. "Funny."

Christophe says:

"I am, and you know et." He finished his coffee with a little lick of his lips, setting the mug down on the counter and crossing his arms lazily over his stomach. "Sore, isnt' et?"

Gregory says:

"Nothing I can't handle. It's the after effects that are killing me." Another honest answer, more or less. If he could manage to regain his normal level of alertness, he'd be fine.

Christophe says:

"Zat was the way for me. Put a warm towel in a bag and put it over et, et should 'elp." He stood, picking up both empty mugs and raising a thick eyebrow. "Another cup?"

Gregory says:

"Please." Picking his head back up off the tabletop, he leaned back in his chair. Better then falling asleep, he acould at least /try/ to support himself. "Instant coffee just isn't as good as the real thing I suppose." He sighed, blinking a couple times slowly and deliberately. He tried to get his mind out of the gutter, Opening and closing his bad hand, testing it. "All clear during the night,-c

you said? Considering we aren't dead yet." He chuckled a bit to himself, realizing what a stupid question it was. His brain wasn't working quite up to speed yet.

Christophe says:

"Oui," he answered with the quiet clinking of more hot water and instant coffee being mixed together. "Et was pretty silent. Not even any of ze animals came around." He returned with only one mug, handing it to Gregory with a little self-satisfied smirk.

Gregory says:

He frowned a little to himself, taking the coffee greatfully but lost in very broken up thought. "Hopefully that's a good thing, then." No animals could be because it was quiet, or because the pressence of something else was scaring them off. The second seemed like the more likely option, but he was sure Mole had thought of this already. He wouldn't be reporting nothing if there was infact a -c-

hidden something, afterall.

Christophe says:

"'opefully," he agreed, already heading to the fridge in search of something to fill his growling stomach. Perferably something that was once alive and mooing, if he had his way. As he rummaged, he too went over what had possibly happened last night. Sure, perhaps it was just a fluke of nature that nothing had come to inspect them. But that was just a very strange, very unlikely option. "We -c-

are 'ere and alive for now, let's be thankful for zat." He closed the fridge door once he had found something to grasp his attention: a piece of cake that had somehow been almost forgotten. Judging by the color of the frosting, it would need to be eaten soon. Mole was happy to do just that.

Gregory says:

He lightened his frown out, turning it to a small kind of smirk. "Shouldn't that be my line?" He took a long sip of his coffee, breathing out a much more relaxed sigh as he felt immediately better. Second cup was the charm, appearently. "But yes, For now we live. And hopefully for a long time to come." He added maybe a bit too optimistically. He eyed Christophe with his slice of cake, something -c

He'd taken home from a bakery downtown and never gotten around to eatting. At least it was going somewhere, he would have hated to throw it out. But thinking of food.. His own stomach grumbled. Would food really be good for his system right now though? He didn't want to be sick with danger lingering so close.

Christophe says:

"You should eat," he said when his mouth wasn't full of cake. "Get some of your energy back. We're going to need it." He made a nod towards the fridge, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the table.

Gregory says:

"I'll eat when it grows legs and walks to me." He said with a huff, looking over to the fridge in wishful thinking. "At least let me finish my coffee first." He moved his eyes from the fidge back to his coffee, and the table. Slouching back in his chair, he sighed with a small chuckle, mocking the other with his own words. "Hey, other people have to use that table you know."

Christophe says:

"I am other people," he retorted, waving his fork around without much care. "Zey are on my 'alf of ze table. As for my food growing legs and walking to me, zat ez ze sickest t'ing I 'ave ever 'eard you t'ink."

Gregory says:

"I got shot, give me a break." He continued his smirk, eyeing the fridge again with another muffled grumble from his stomach. He took another sip of his coffee.

Christophe says:

Christophe finished his piece of cake quite quickly, setting down the plate and fork and removing his feet from the edge of the table. The grumble and growling stomach of Gregory's was giving his facade away, and to that the Mole raised one eyebrow. The other wasn't going to last very long if his stomach was practically clawing at him to get up and get some damn food in it. "...What are you -c-

'ungry for? I'll get et."

Gregory says:

Gregory shook his head, taking another longer drink of his coffee before pushing it down onto the table with a rather loud clack as it hit the hard surface. "I can get it, sit." He sighed, grabbing Mole's plate and walking a bit easier over to the counter opposite. Didn't sway once, that was a good sign, Thank god for the creation of Caffeine. He placed the empty plate and cuttlery into -c-

the sink, turning to lean against the freezer door with his good shoulder as he swung open the white fridge's, ducking in a bit so he could see better with his tall frame. He hadn't stocked the fridge properlly in a few days, Mostly just leftovers and smaller things that didn't appetize him so much at this hour. He pushed away from where he leaned, moving a few things aside with -c-

his hand. Nothing premade, well didn't that make things easy. With another sigh, he pulled out some eggs and placed them on the counter. Fast enough. He'd have to remember to go shopping later, when their lives weren't in danger.

Christophe says:

As if a bit of cake was going be enough to fuel him. The frosting was still sweet on his tired lips, sleepless eyes gazing over his shoulder to Gregory. Stubborn asshole, he thought as he swung out of the chair, stretching lightly and scratching at his chest as he went forwards to round two agains the contents of the fridge. "I don't want to seet," he muttered, his own head disappering into -c-

the cold recesses of the fridge. Something that looked like spaghetti enticed him further. It wasn't sweet, but it would do. Even the sauce was mixed in with the noodles, and he licked his lips once more in anticipation.

Gregory says:

He was already cracking a couple eggs into the pan, the flames underneath the skillet flickering with yellow, red and blue, hanging onto the counter at the side as he hunched over it. "Mmhm." The eggs weren't going to take very long at all, he liked them sunny side up. Like the disgusting happy person he usually was in the mornings. He moved away from the stove, reaching up into -c-

the cupboard and pulling down a plate, followed by a fork. Just a couple more minutes. Hmm. Turning, he walked over to the table to grab his near empty coffee cup, pouring a bit more of the instant mix into it and refilling it with the still hot water from the kettle beside his pan, and taking an almost immediate sip. Better. He flipped his eggs onto his plate, taking both back over to the table-c

and shaking a bit of pepper onto them before digging in.

Christophe says:

The spaghetti he had put into the microwave was already done, and he winced at the heat it held against his hands. "Sheet sheet!" He set the plate down on the counter, waving his hands for a moment to cool them off as he went for a fork. Christophe didn't care much for eggs, nor the smell of them as they cooked. In fact, he wasn't really all that interested in breakfast foods, now that he -c-

thought about it. Not heavy enough, he guessed as he returned to the table with the plate. He twirled a few strands of pasta on his fork before putting the ball in his mouth, chewing slowly while looking at Gregory's eggs with a slight hint of digust.

Gregory says:

He had to admit the food in his stomach felt much better, And it shut up the loud grumbling that had haunted him. The eggs were maybe a bit bland though, if he was feeling up to it he probably would have mixed more into it, made an omelette even, or something else a bit more intricate. But there would be other days for such meals, he supposed. Today wasn't one of them. -c-

He looked up for his already half finished eggs, eyeing the leftover pasta that Mole was eatting. "For Breakfast?" He asked, his own small hint of disgust evident, wrinkling his nose a little bit to it.

Christophe says:

"For breakfast," he confirmed with another slurp of sauce-coated noodles. He didn't mind. He'd had weirder things for breakfast, he supposed. The weirdest, for him at least, was a bowl of cereal. He needed something warm and filling, something reserved for lunch or dinner. "I get 'ungry in ze morning. I'll probably go back for more."

Gregory says:

"Remind me to make you something propper, sometime." He looked back to his eggs, stuffing in a few more small bites and chewing thoughtfully. "And go back for whatever you like, Just keep in mind it has to last a couple days." He reminded, scraping up the last little bits of his meal, picking up the plate and walking it to the sink, turning and leaning back against the counter.

Christophe says:

"Are we going to be shut-in's zen? Zat's unlike us." He kept chewing on his pasta happily, slowly, savoring the flavors. "As for cooking, you know zat I cannot boil water without lighting somet'ing on fire."

Gregory says:

Gregory picked up his mug, keeping it close to his lips. "I'm smart enough to know when we need to lay low." He took a sip, closing his eyes for a moment with a small smile, looking at mole while he spoke again. "I'd preffer I didn't get us killed because I'm an easy target, I'm sure I'm not going to be as alert as I normally would be. That's a given."

Christophe says:

"Oui, but I am fine. And you are safe 'ere." He took another bite, licking his lips free of the red sauce. "I should be able to go out for more supplies, if et comes to zat."

Gregory says:

"And sepperate us?" He shook his head. That left too many openings, he didn't trust it. He put his cup back onto the table, he wasn't in any rush to finish it this time, he was awake enough. Maybe he was being too careful, Risks were all part of the package afterall. But he didn't want to risk Christophe going out without him when there could very well be someone waiting outside those doors. -c-

Of course the other could take care of himself, he had no doubts. It just gave him a bad feeling, and when he had one of those it usually meant something.

Christophe says:

Christophe finished his pasta quickly, giving a hiccup. Alright, he was full enough, he decided as he walked his plate to the sink. "Don't want to be left alone, Gregory?" His own little teasing voice, rare that it was, echoed through sleep.

Gregory says:

"Hmph, Hardly." He scoffed, giving the other a look to where he stood putting his plate away. "I can take care of myself, thank you." It's your safety I worry about, He added silently, knowing the other would take it the wrong way and probably get offended. So he'd keep it to himself.

Christophe says:

He smirked, and through the tiredness in his eyes grew a bit braver, his hands finding the beltloops of the other's pants and hooking his thumbs in them. "I didn't say that you coulndn't take care of yourself. Zat's not what I meant."

Gregory says:

Gregory blinked once, pushed his coffee cup back farther on the counter, leaning against the side. "Ah.. Well in that case." He pressed his coffee flavoured lips over to give a small peck to the other's smirk, wondering how he'd filled that void not having done so in what felt like so long. "I would rather you here, yes." He took a small step forward, his arm moving to the other's -c-

side loosely, just for the contact and to bring him a little bit closer.

Christophe says:

Christophe nuzzled back, eyes closing slightly. "Good. I was beginning to feel unwanted." He dipped his head into the other's neck, the only place he could go without standing on his tippy toes, letting the other's warmth sink into his tired bones.

Gregory says:

"Never," He said softly, but firmly. It had never been his intention to make the other feel that way, and never would be. He would always be wanted, by this certain brittish man. He hugged him a bit tighter, trying to support his spoken words and show their worth. "Never." He smiled lightly.

Christophe says:

Of course he had been kidding when he had said those words, but that little fit of usefulness was always something he'd welcome. After all, he had his prideful ways about him, and that wasn't something that he was going to be letting go of anytime soon. "Good." His head jerked up, the silence broken by something. Something on the laptop. "Sheet!" He released the other, darting into the room -c-

to check on the cameras. Something was out there, something tripped the motion sensor.

Gregory says:

His smile dissapeared with the beep, he had a rough idea of what that meant before Christophe had run off with his exclaimation. He moved to the quickest spot he could get to, which was the table a few steps away, reaching under the lip of the table to pull out a small handgun. When he said he had weapons stashed, he hadn't been kidding. There was probably more weapons then you could -c-

count hidden in this room alone. He quickly followed after where the other had dissapeared, walking into the room with the gun ready in his good hand should something arise. "What is it?"

Christophe says:

He gave an exasperated sigh, followed by a groan. "Nevermind. It's zose beetches from when we were young." His hand pointed to the screen that was set up outside their door, to two boys that stood kind of frozen-looking at the door. "Ze ones from ze war."

Gregory says:

His grip on the gun never slackened, although he did feel a tad bit of relief. Nosy teenagers were much more welcome then what he had in mind, not that he was happy to hear it in the least. "Which?" He moved from the foot of the bed, moving to look where the other had the screen, eyeing the figures that stood stupidly on their front step. "Oh, /them/." He frowned, -c-

eyeing the one in the blue hat specifically, a bad taste in his mouth. He never much took a liking to that man, and he doubted he ever would. The other he could care less about as well, but he wasn't what he was paying attention to. "What are /they/ doing here." At the back of his mind he wondered if they should even go out to greet them, to be honest, besides his own -c-

personal dislike for the one, he held somwhat of a grudge against them both. They had been the ones to get Mole killed afterall, even if it had been his mistep to put kids in charge of something so dangerous. Always do something yourself if you wanted it done properlly.

Christophe says:

"Zose beetches," he muttered. It wasn't like he had forgotten what it was like to be ripped to pieces by guard dogs. Call him a vengeful kind of person, if you had to. He wouldn't mind it so much, grabbing his pistol and cocking it back. "Zey look frozen. What are we going to do? Let zem be?"

Gregory says:

"Now Christophe, that would be rude." He kept his voice even, looking from the images to the direction of the door. They'd meet them alright, but they wouldn't be defenseless. He smirked a little to himself with the devilish thought in his mind, not that he was cruel, but he liked the image of that kid nearly wetting himself. But besides getting even, the question also arose, -c-

What did they want with them? And did they even /know/ it was them here in the first place? Either way, he guessed he'd find out. He turned to walk from the room. "Bring your gun."

Christophe says:

He raised an eyebrow. "We're going to shoot zem?" He stood, pushing the laptop to the side and twirling his gun in his hand like it was a toy and not an instrument of death. "What the 'ell did zey do to you to piss you off zat badly?"

Gregory says:

"Waste bullets on them? Hah." He smirked, walking calmly to the door with his gun up and ready, as if he were simply getting the paper or some other mundane activity. It was terrifying, really. "And nothing you need concern yourself with. Would you mind getting that?" He stood back a little ways, His empty hand inside of his pocket so it wouldn't get in the way while the other readied -c-

to point the barrel in the direction of where the kid's head would be.

Christophe says:

Christophe didn't mind, just aiming his gun right at the other kid. Oh. The one who at least held him while he was dying. That was a whole lot of good. Needless to say, when Stan found the barrel of a gun held to his face, he forgot why he was here in the first place. Oh yeah. They, being himself and Kyle, were going to freeze to death. But now it looked like they were going to be shot to -c-

death first.

Stan says:

"Holy shit dude!" His voice came out at a squeak, his hands up in the air with his eyes wide. Hell, he didn't even have a chance to know who the hell was aiming something in his face.

Kyle says:

Kyle nearly jumped out of his skin as he was faced with the barrel of a gun aimed to his head, another farther back pointed to Stan. Holy shit was right! His eyes widened, his own arms staying down by his side as he froze, not from the cold this time, but from the pure terror. He recognised the face opposite him, but he didn't have time to really think about it, what with his and Stan's lives -c- in danger and everything.

Gregory says:

Gregory took a step forward, the smirk on his face sticking at the satisfying squeek that came from the other. "Well, hello there. What do you want?" Again in his calm yet commanding kind of voice, His confidence clear as usual in every word as he moved the gun pointed directly at Stan closer as he walked, until he was a bit behind Mole and to the side, the tip of his weapon practically to -c-

the other boy's temple. "Do speak up quickly, I haven't all day."

Christophe says:

Christophe frowned, emulating his actions and pressing forwards as well. Did he think it was a little cruel? Perhaps. Did he think Gregory was actually going to shoot the other boy? Probably so. But he wouldn't dare stop him now. No true harm was being done; nothing like a gun pointed to your face to find out the true person behind it. But still, he had to make sure the other was keeping in -c-

check with is own emotions. After all, a sniper could pick them off if they stayed too long in the doorway. No need for that kind of mess. "Go easy. Zey are just keeds."

Stan says:

Stan gulped and shivered. What a time for him to forget his voice, forget how to talk. He was just cold and, admittedly, a little scared. The water on his skin was starting to ice over, making his teeth chatter. But could he talk? No, not yet. He just remained frozen, physically and mentally.

Kyle says:

Where Stan froze, Kyle found his wording, albeit a bit rushed and high pitched. "Hey, hey calm down! We just needed someplace to dry off, there was an accident on the lake!" He was going to add in a 'Please don't shoot us.' But he didn't think that it would work on people like this. But people like this were whom exactly? He recognised those accents, and their appearances. -c-

it just took a second when you had a gun pressed to your head to remember specifics. Mole. He remembered that one much faster, Afterall he'd watched him die. So he guessed he had come back, with everyone else then? He wasn't sure whether to be greatful or not, given the circumstances they were currently under. But with that memory came the identity of the other. -c-

He wouldn't voice his recognition, he wasn't sure if it would set them off. His own body shook beside Stan's, Obviously freezing, possibly close to Hypothermia as his skin turned much too pale.

Gregory says:

Gregory's smirk faded only the slightest bit at the other's words, there wasn't any need to demeen his words infront of these people. It took away all their value if they were subject to that. But he knew they couldn't risk staying out here long as well, afterall it had been him who had wanted them to stay indoors at all times until his shoulder fully healed. He pressed a bit farther forward -c-

with his gun, pressing the cool metal to the other's head and tensing his grip on the triggure only slightly. He held it there for a moment, before he gave a defeated sigh, pulling the gun away and dropping his arm by his side. His eyes scanned around the seemingly deserted area, before nodding towards the house. "Dry off, and then leave." Again, he wasn't going to torture them beyond the -c-

initial show, or until Stan angered him further. Not that he didn't have a grudge against the other, he'd been the one with Mole when he'd passed temporarily away. He moved away from the doorway, leaning his side against the wall next to it and keeping watch until they had the door closed.

Stan says:

When the gun left his head, and he had time to think, he was already inside. Not quite the choice you'd make when both of the occupants were brandishing something to your head and your best friend's head. But Stan was working on autopilot for those few moments, until at last he could finally speak. "O-okay," he squeaked more than he wanted to, taking off his hat due to it's soaked ability. -c-

Black hair fell out messily, sticking out from where it hadn't been contained by the hat. "Where's the bathroom?"

Christophe says:

Christophe shut the door once the two were inside, sticking his pistol back into the waistband of his pants. "Beetches." He didn't have much else to say, going rather cold and hostile to the intruders. This was his and Gregory's territory, dammit, this wasn't /theirs./ "Fucking guard dogs."

Gregory says:

Gregory nodded in the direction of where the other asked. "Down the hall. Don't touch anything." He moved from his place against the wall to the living area just off from it, taking a seat opposite the coffee table in the center, placing the gun down in front of him. He wasn't going to repremand Christophe for his bad attitude towards them, he was content with anything that would make the -c-

forein people in their house nervous. They deserved it afterall.

Kyle says:

Kyle shuffled in quickly after stan, his own clothes soaked through and still dripping a bit. He nodded to Gregory as he sat down, if anything he was going to try his best to be polite, even if the brittish man didn't seem to care. Couldn't hurt the chances of them not turning hostile again. He grabbed Stan's hand, pulling him quickly away from the two in the living room -c-

and down the hall. Once they were out of ear shot he let some of his panic show. "Are you okay, Stan?" He asked, his eyes still widened.

Christophe says:

Christophe had a right to be nervous, he supposed. He wasn't one to forgive his own death so lightly, but even then they had been kids. Hell, those two still were kids. Gregory and Christophe were too old, he had come to terms with long ago. Too old for their youth. A cigarette was in his lips yet again, lit and freely polluting the air around him. "Zey are going to need a change of clothes," -c- he said lowly, crossing his arms and merely leaning against the wall with that dead-eye aim look in his eyes. "Zey will freeze if you let zem walk back out in zose clothes."

Stan says:

Stan closed the door to the bathroom behind them, giving a little nod of his head. Oh, no worries, just had a gun at my face and I froze like a coward, he thought. No worries at all. "I'm fine. Let's...let's just hurry up and go home, okay?" He sniffled a little at the moisture still in his nose, wringing his hat out in the sink.

Gregory says:

'So let them.' He thought, annoyed with the sittuation in general. But Christophe had a point. "I don't have much to offer." Wasn't much of an excuse either. He sighed, leaning back in the chair and staring at the gun sitting accross from him. He supposed he had a couple pairs of pants that might fit them, but besides that, he was still wearing Christophe's shirts afterall. -c-

Didn't leave him with very many options besides. "I'll see what I can find, I suppose. You care about them all of a sudden?" He didn't look away from where he focused, mild curiousity in his tone but otherwise he kept it neutral. Maybe a little bit accusing. He'd have to let the childish grudge go at some point, but it wasn't something he'd do lightly.

Kyle says:

"Yeah." He watched Stan carefully, keeping his looks as descreet as possible. At least he could cover up his own fear of the sittuation by focusing on Stan's, as he unzipped his soaked through jacket and layed it on the counter in front of him. "Do you remember them?" He asked for a distraction, pulling off his hat while ringlette's of red curls fell over his face, pulling off his shirt next -c-

to place with the rest of his things before grabbing a towel.

Stan says:

Stan shivered as his own coat fell to the floor in a wet plop. His shirt followed, then his pants. For the sake of their privacies, he left on the soaked blue boxers, searching for a towel as he vigirously rubbed at his skin, wanting the cold to burn away and be replaced with searing heat, for all he could care. "I...I didn't get a chance to look at their faces," he admitted. The sight of the -c-

gun still flashed in his eyes everytime he blinked, and now he was shivereing slightly for more than one reason. "Do you?"

Christophe says:

Christophe shrugged. "Zey will leave quicker," was his reply as he went to his own room, shifting around until he found a couple of matching black shirts that had grown too small for him. The two weren't as muscular as he was; they should fit. "Zey will leave quicker if zey 'ave dry clothes."

Kyle says:

Kyle nodded, a rather large shivver running through his body for a moment before he even attempted to remove his jeans. He attempted a small smirk, "I'm surprised Stan, You deffinately had it out for him when we were kids. The taller one, I mean." He shrugged, Undoing the button and zipper of his jeans with trembling hands, tugging at the waistband to get the skintight things off. -c-

"Gregory, I think. He had a thing for Wendy, or Wendy had a thing for him.. I-I can't remember." He bit his lip as his teeth started chattering as his legs became bare, kicking them away and trying to towel himself off. He however didn't try burning away his skin, the cold biting into him. "A-and Mole. From the War." He added, finishing his rambling words quickly so he could keep his -c-

chattering teeth firmly closed shut.

Gregory says:

Gregory didn't make any twitches that even began to indicate his moving. He'd get something for them soon, but he wouldn't bother himself with it yet. Stubborn, of course, reluctant to do anything to help them? Deffinately. But he would, he was just stalling. He kept his voice low so it wouldn't follow into the bathroom, just enough for Christophe to hear. "Right."

Stan says:

Stan stood still as he remembered. "Oh. That Yardale kid," he mentioned with disgust. Yeah, he remembered. He and Wendy might not have been an item any longer, but there was still that ancient pinprick of competition still alive in him. Dammit, he was the better man, he could be better than Gregory at any given day. But whatever it was, Gregory had pointed a gun at him. Surely this was -c-

fate playing a cruel trick. Fate behind the barrel of a handgun, at least. "I thought he moved away." The towel was already rubbing vigarously against his scalp, some of the blood warming under his touch and making the skin flush red.

Gregory says:

{ Bring it, Daarsh. }

Christophe says:

Christophe set the items of clothing down, scooting closer to the other and pushing his cheek against the other. At least, while they were alone in the same room before their privacy could be invaded again. It was Christophe's way of keeping things simple. Never let the enemy know who you loved. And right now, at least by the way Gregory was scowling and in a rather foul mood, Stan and Kyle -c-

were the enemy. "You're acting foolish," he muttered slowly. "What iz wrong with you?"

Gregory says:

"Nothing important." He repeatted with a small sigh, nuzzling a little against the other's cheek as an automatic loving kind of responce. Pausing for a moment, He creased his brow a little, letting the silence draw out for only a short time before he decided he'd at least tell the other part of the truth. "A silly childish grudge I still hold, I guess you could say, if I'm being -c-

completely honest."

Kyle says:

"I guess he didn't." He rubbed the towel as hard as he could without bruising his skin through his messy red hair, leaving it only damp while the rest of him stayed mostly dry. He had to admit their pressence was a little unsettling, afterall.. The reason Stan didn't like Gregory was because of Wendy. There was a touchy subject. And also, because he had watched Mole die. -c-

he had /held/ him while he died. He'd been too much of an obnoxious brat at the time, he supposed, it had never bothered him that much. But now he was alive again, and he had to admit there was a small bit of guilt, even if the kid was completely messed up. But to hold guns to their heads? He imagined they both were. "Why would they be armed answering the door." -c-

he muttered quietly to himself, his arms crossed over his chest as he stood dry, his small frame still shivvering. His skin way just way too cold, He hoped Stan and him could get home soon.

Christophe says:

Christophe pulled his cheek back for fear of one of the others walking in on the display of affection. That would make them human. That would make them vulnerable. "You mean," he thought back to when Gregory had told him, when he was still a bit shaken up himself from his visit to the land of the dead, "Zat Wendy? Ze girl?"

Stan says:

"Last I remember, Mole was a mercenary," Stan replied, doing his best to keep his back to kyle for some sort of privacy. He wanted to give the other as much as he could, after all. It was still a delciate thing they were working with, and he wasn't feeling to confident in being naked after being submerged in cold water. But at least his body was finally drying off, his attention turned to his -c-

and Kyle's discared, sopping wet clothing. "Do they have a blowdryer or something?"

Kyle says:

"I don't know dude, Check the drawers." He rubbed his arms slowly, trying to get what little warmth he could from the movement, leaning back against the sink. Stan didn't need to much to be so self concious, in all actuality Kyle was hardly paying anything intimate about the sittuation any mind at all. His busy mind was too distracted with thoughts of the other two outside, -c-

Why they were here, and what that meant for them. Southpark, for that matter. He knew what they did, at least he knew what Mole did. And their pressence wasn't at all a good omen. "What do y-you think they're doing here? I haven't seen them around t-town. Maybe they haven't been living here this whole time." He was lost in his own thinking by this point, trying to piece together what it all -c-

meant. A few curls over his face dripped with the remainder of the icy water, falling in small drops to the ground every few seconds.

Gregory says:

"She's a very small portion of why I dislike them. But then who do I like? Hmph." He huffed, turning his head to the side where Christophe had pulled away, missing the touch and looking to the other.

Christophe says:

Christophe narrowed his eyes lightly. No need to be jealous, he reminded himself. That was the past, and Gregory definitely didn't /like/ girls. God the things they did were evidece of that, weren't they? But still, he didn't like the way that Gregory could hold a grude. Even he didn't hold one for that long! "Gregory. Are you lying to me?"

Stan Jack says:

Stan nodded when he found the blowdryer, turning on with a button and aiming it at their poor pathetic clothing, trying his best to somehow use the small thing to will away the moisture. "I don't want to know," he replied with a sort of bitter tone. Not aimed at Kyle, but just bitter from the biting cold and the gun to his head and the kid that stole his woman! Stan groaned and pinched the -c-

bridge of his nose in the wake of a light incoming headache. Great.

Gregory says:

Gregory blinked once, looking at Christophe with his usual calm yet there was a bit of surprise there as well. "Why would I lie to you, Christophe?" His partner's narrowed eyes did nothing but send him into mild confusion, What did he think he was lieing about? Wendy? God, as if he'd ever truely liked her. Just another girl, just a supporter to their cause. -c-

But he supposed he could be saying that out of Bitterness, so best rephrase. He had kind of liked her, but nothing worth risking anything over. If anything he had much more enjoyed taunting the other then the prize at the end. Something about that kid just rubbed him the wrong way, And when it had all ended that was only reinforced, The way they had so idiotically ambled in -c-

and.. No, the real reason he was so angry at them was much more significant then over a stupid girl.

Kyle says:

Kyle noted the tone in Stan's voice, and even though he knew it wasn't directed right at him, it still managed to get to him a little bit. He looked to the side away from his thoughts, giving Stan a glance before looking away again, a light pink over his cheeks either from cold or the embarrasment, he wasn't sure. "Stan.. You aren't still mad over wendy are you?" -c-

He just dived into a subject he'd never wanted to bring up, but this could only be going in that direction. He knew the conflict with Gregory had been one that bothered Stan a lot, and how obsessed he had become while it was going on. Maybe he was just over reacting.. He shouldn't worry about something so stupid. But it wasn't just stress for himself, he didn't want Stan -c-

working himself up over it either. Dating or not.. He was still his best friend. Even if what he had to bring up didn't always suit his own wants.

Christophe says:

Now he gave a stare that was purely Mole. It was that stare that you couldn't help but tell the truth to, even if Gregory's side of the story was correct. "Because zis is about pride, non? Ze girl was just somet'ing of pride for you, wasn't she?" He wasn't particularly hurt at this little statement he made, by god they were eight or nine when the whole thing had happened. If anything he was -c-

merely a bit taken back by the fact that Gregory could keep a grudge for ten long years. "I t'ink I told him to stop t'inking with his deeck over ze same girl."

Stan says:

Stan flinched at the name. A sore wound Kyle, you're picking at a sore wound on a wounded animal. They tend to bite back when you do that. "No," he said stiffly, focusing on drying the clothing faster by picking up Kyle's pants and working them over with the little handheld thing. "That kid just pisses me off, that's all."

Gregory says:

Gregory went quiet for a moment, looking at Christophe still with that slightly confused look on his face. Shocked, really, that he was saying things like that. Was that what this was about? Christophe thought he was holding a grudge purely over that stupid girl? It /had/ been 10 years ago, For the love of.. He dulled down the confusion, looking very seriously into Christophe's -c-

brown eyes, his voice a bit low, but completely and tottally even, in a way that only he could do. "I don't take kindly to people who kill my best friend."

Kyle says:

Kyle Looked away farther to the side, keeping Stan out of his field of vision altogether. He shouldn't have said anything, should have just kept his frozen mouth shut. But now his stubborness was flaring, and he frowned lightly to himself. "Fine."

Stan says:

Oh god, he didn't mean that. Not like that to Kyle, anyways. "Ky..." His voice had softened lightly. Being a boyfriend was hard work, he remembered. But it was a lot more difficult than he recalled, especially when your loved one was just as fiery as his hair color. "I..." Oh screw it. He'd messed up, just let the silence heal it. His face softened as he continued to work on Kyle's pants, -c-

willing the things to dry faster. The sooner they were dry, the sooner they could go home. The sooner he could make up this whole afternoon of crappiness to Kyle. "...sorry."

Christophe says:

Christophe's turn to raise his eyebrow was taken as a complete shocking facial expression. So he got a little pink in the cheeks from that. So he felt like the most important person in all the world. So what, do you have a problem with it? "...Mon ami, zat was the mistake of stoopid keeds. Zey were more interested en...oh, what did I say to zem? Ah, licking Barney the Dinosaur's fucking pussy, -c-

if I remember." It was odd for him to be defending them, he supposed. But he had gotten the time to hate them for what had happened out of his system years ago. Sure, he still didn't like them. But that didn't mean he was going to snipe them in their beds. He would rather just leave them be and not repeat the incident. "Frankly, zey were retarded."

Gregory says:

Again, he said nothing, his eyes staying stuck on Christophe's while he went on backing them up for some reason until he finished, turning to the side to look back to the gun sitting on the table in front of him and finally breaking that eye contact. "It was my fault for sending them to you in the first place, I should have known better. I trust the idiots with one simple task.." He shook -c-

his head, running his fingers through his hair in his nervous habbit. "I'm sorry Christophe but I can't forgive for that. Kids or not."

Kyle says:

He hated how that voice had come to effect him so much, the way it sounded when it said his name in that loving way that had become so amazing to him. But couldn't lighten up the flare that had gone up inside of him, his frown still there if not watered down, lighter, until his face was almost even. Stan could be an idiot sometimes, maybe, but.. He loved him anyways. -c-

"Forget about it." He said with his edge, but he didn't mean it as it sounded, as weak as that had been. It was just his nature, afterall. He shuffled his feet a little, his cheeks still pink, wishing he could at least have his pants back.

Christophe Jack says:

The chocolate-haired man gave a smirk. Was it weird that he found that cruel streak in Gregory attractive? Possibly. But he was free to like what he liked, he figured. He shook his head, walking over to the table and pulling the chair next to Gregory out far enough for him to slink into, his hand reaching under the table to rub lightly at the other's upper thigh. "You are one sick bastard."

Stan says:

Stan lifted his head, raising one eyebrow. Jesus, what did he want him to do?! He dropped it, was going about his work, and now Kyle was telling him not to do something else! Christ, this was confusing. His hand continued to dry the shirt as he spoke, having to cough a little because of the dryness of his throat. "Don't do what? I'm drying out our clothes."

Kyle says:

"That!" He said, keeping his voice quiet even though he wanted to raise it. "That pouty look you get when you're sad. I hate it. Stop it." Fuming, he crossed his arms a bit tigher over his chest, Still looking like he was pouting himself. He bit his lower lip a bit, looking at the door after a moment and wondering what was happening out there. He was half expecting -c-

to meet another gun to his face when they finally managed to open it.

Gregory says:

Gregory's face blanked a little with the touch, just a little, his smirk still there just a bit preoccupied by where Christophe's hand had went. "Oh, /I'm/ the sick one." He grinned lightly, His thoughts going from the tortured looks on those two's faces to something very different. Once more his eyes shot to the direction of the bathroom. One thing he didn't want was getting too close when -c-

there were people litterally the next room over. Not that he was self concious, or ashamed, it just felt wrong for people he hated to be near him when he wanted to be with the one he loved. But there was no signs of them coming out yet, he imagined they had a little time. "Hmm." He turned a little in his chair, one arm rested to the side of the table, his elbow pushing the -c-

gun out a little ways as he moved, the other moving to touch over where Christophe's hand rested against his leg. He leaned in a little, just enough to close some of the distance.

Stan says:

It wasn't like he was doing it on purpose, after all. It was just the natural way Stan's face went, he supposed. "I'm not pouting," he retorted, forcing the corners of his mouth upwards to make himself stop. It didn't really work, and in his mind he imagined he looked like some sort of constipated frog. "I'm focusing on getting your clothes dry."

Christophe says:

Christophe kept a keen ear peeled for any sort of movement that would give evidence of the other occupants' movements. Anything funny and Christophe would retreat as if nothing had ever happened. Perhaps he was sick, he thought haphazardly, his fingertips drawing little circles against the fabric. Dare he go higher up? He did with a smirk, feeling bolder than usual. "Yes. You are ze sick one."

Kyle says:

He gave up on his stare at the door, again looking to Stan who was appearently trying to fix the look on his face, although not well. It was kind of amusing to tell you the truth, he would have smiled if not for their sittuation. "Dry your own, Mine are good enough." He grabbed his pants from where Stan had left them, still a bit damp but most of the moisture was gone, and that -c-

was all that really mattered. He was still freezing anyways, shivvering like some horribly frail thing, Being a little colder wasn't going to make any huge difference.

Gregory says:

That touch was going to be the death of him, he could tell already. But he was calm enough, the basic emotion practically being his personal trademark, And he leaned in a bit farther. This was dangerous, his own attention was focused on that door as well on the back of his mind, while the rest of his brain was working at what was in front of him. And people say men can't multitask. -c-

"I disagree, but I won't argue." He stated cooly, His thumb rubbing gently over the other's hand below.

Christophe says:

Oh? That was one hell of a way to end an argument, he supposed as he let his fingernails dig in a little. Not enough to really hurt him, but enought to grab the attention as to how close he was to-ah. His hand went farther up, himself scooting closer as well in this little newfound teasing game. And all he wore was a light smirk, nothing to betray that giddy, naughty feeling he felt. His index -c-

finger ghosted over the cool metal of the zipper and button, but not making any more movements after that. "I would almost count zat as arguing, Gregory.

Stan says:

Stan quickly grabbed the other's pants back. Dammit, he was performing boyfriend duties! "I'm not done with those," he groaned, aiming a blast of hot air at the other's face. "You let me do my work."

Gregory says:

His grin faltered a little as he was forced to swallow a lump that formed in his throat, Losing some of that control he was so proud of. His eyes dipped a little, He was barely inches from the other's face now, staring into those chocolatey eyes that were sparkling with some kind of mischief. It all seemed so.. Not Mole. Not that he was complaining. Tease, that's what he was being. -c-

He wasn't one to just sit and take something though, he had some fight left in him. He shrugged his bad arm off of the table with a small wince, Moving it and the hand ,that was now free after Christophe's retreated somewhere else, pressing his body forward a small bit more as he slid both hands over the other's knees, sliding them a small bit forward, but advancing much -c-

slower then Christophe had. "Tease."

Kyle says:

Kyle sighed with a small bit of frusteration, Allowing Stan to take the back against his better judgement, raising a hand to shield against the blast of hot air blown in his direction. "God damnit, Stan." He pushed away from the counter, taking a step so he was closer by the other, if anything because the heat felt nice. He pressed his side to the other's, his cheeks flushing a delicate pink.

Stan says:

Stan let a smirk break through. Hey, it was better than the constipated frog from earlier, right? But that little confidence was wiped away when Kyle decided to come closer. Alright Stan, calm down. You two have made-out before, right? Yes, he mind reminded him as he made sure all the water was out of Kyle's pants with his hands, but with clothing on. Not soaking wet boxers that practically -c-

outlined every single part about you. Butterflies were doing kamakazi summersaults in his gut, Stan swallowing them back down nervously. "H-hey," came his acknowledgement of the other's presence.

Christophe says:

He was content to let his hands wander no farther, in fact stilling them completely against the crook of Gregory's pants. His brows furrowed at his use of his injured hand, but he seemed to be taking it slow. Good thing for the healing, bad thing for The Mole's hormones. Yes, perhaps he was being a tease. So what? Wasn't he allowed? Wasn't that what he was supposed to do; remind Gregory that -c-

this could and possibly /would/ continue. Christophe licked chapped lips quickly, teeth taking hold of the edge of his own lip and chewing on it lightly, just to distract himself. "You seem to be capable of doing your fair share of teasing, non?"

Gregory says:

"I wouldn't be a good boyfriend otherwise." He said softly, drawing it out just enough so his breath would linger over the other's face. Ah, another word that they had yet to use. It almost seemed to formal for what they were, like it didn't fit, Like it wasn't enough to describe it. Just a single word. He didn't let the stray thought deter him, Pushing a bit higher up the other's thighs, very -c-

slowly and creeping. It did hurt, the movement, but he imagined that was a good thing. If he just left the muscle alone to do nothing it wouldn't be much good to him anyways, he had to get some movement out of it. And the promised pleasure that this one did blocked out any real tremors of pain. The only pain he could say he did feel was from how close Christophe's hand was.

Kyle says:

Kyle didn't move, just let the shivvering lesson slightly with the warmth he got from the other, his eyes looking away from Stan's to the clothing he continued to work. He hadn't thought too much about what he was wearing, but now that his skin was left unchallenged to the other's it made his cheeks deepen. He just thought quietly to himself, 'Just like gym class.'. Although that didn't seem to -c

make him feel any more secure about it. He forced the thoughts from his mind fairly quickly, no need to bring them up now when he had enough to worry about for the both of them. "..Hey." He answered back with a small bit of hesitation.

Stan says:

Stan's body was a little chilly, but he had stopped shivering some time ago. "Jesus dude, you really are frozen." Stan manuevered his arm around the other's waist, pulling him closer and so that Kyle's back was tucked nicely against his chest. "Maybe I should be using this thing on you instead of your clothes."

Christophe says:

It was apparant from the look in Christophe's eyes the message behind them. 'Have your fun, but you hurt yourself and I'll become abstinent.' The tinge of pink highlighting his cheeks had turned into a more rosy hue, giving those chocolate eyes more warmth if anything. And warmth was what he felt pooling up in his abdomen, heading down farther south...He rewarded Gregory's actions by parting -c-

his own legs slightly, the thumb and forefinger now beginning to slowly and teasingly tug at the other's zipper. "Mmm. I agree."

Kyle says:

"I'm fine." He cut in quickly, his eyes widening slightly as he was pulled into the other's hold. His cheeks burned with their burst of colour, warming the skin there at least, as he stood awkwardly for a moment before leaning back into it. Emerald green eyes flickered from where they were and upwards, still widened slightly as he looked forwards into the mirror oppositing them, -c-

staring at the reflection presented. He met his own gaze for a moment, looking over the picture like it was just that, biting at his lower lip a small bit before looking at Stan through the reflection. "Really, Just.. Keep doing what you were doing." His words felt a small bit rushed, but the surprised look on his face dissapeared. There really wasn't any need for it, -c-

His own butterflies fluttering around in his chest.

Gregory says:

Gregory had no intention of stopping either way, pain or not. He could be gunned down by some very well aiming sniper from outside their house and he doubted it would make him stop. His hands finally stopped once he got as high as he dared go, without undoing the other's pants at least, His upper body so close to the other he was about the same height from where he -c-

had to bend down to lean in. He smirked lightly for a moment, looking into Christophe's eyes and enjoying their beauty for a drawn out time until he couldn't take the distance anymore, pushing in slowly and pressing his lips to the other's, his eyes closing sluggishly.

Christophe says:

He didn't remember closing his eyes, but he did. And he let Gregory have his way after all, kissing back and still fumbling with the button. Ah, there it went, through the hole in the fabric, possibly easing some of that pressurised god-knows-what feeling. The game was still going after all, and now Christophe was feeling that own low throb of pain from where Gregory's hand just dared to tease -c-

him. He hooked his fingers around the other's zipper, pulling it down so slowly that it could only undo one tooth at a time. He smiled, albeit a bit shyly, into the kiss. What would the british gentleman do now?

Stan says:

"Kyle, don't be stupid. You're fine right where you are." He held up the pants with a satisfied smirk, setting them aside as he worked on Kyle's shirt now. God knows that this poor thing was as soaked as the pants were, but luckily not nearly as hard to dry. Besides, he thought as he rested his chin on the other's freckled shoulder, it was kind of comforting to feel another body close. Maybe -c-

Stan was just a bit insecure about the whole thing, but it made it easier to focus on his work and keep warm.

Gregory says:

The slowness in which the other worked the zipper was frusterating, but he didn't push it, didn't move his hand to tug it down like he wanted to. Again that roughness was lost to him for the time being, his mouth opening farther as he begged those lips opposite to open, his tongue caressing over light pink and asking entrance, to deepen the kiss. -c-

His good hand traveled up slowly, teasing over the area and coming to rest over the button on Christophe's own pants, popping it much more easily then the other had done his but going no farther with it. Two could play this game, if it really was a game. It sure didn't feel like one anymore as it became more and more serious, His eyes closing a little tighter -c-

shut, He hated to admit it but that deliberate slowness was getting to him more then he would have liked.

Kyle says:

Kyle didn't waver his look from where he watched Stan though the mirror shyly, even as he saw his pants get set aside. He debated grabbing them to put them on but knowing Stan they might just get yanked away again. He'd wait til he was finished he supposed, and he was awfully comfortable.. The other's chin over his shoulder made him give another small shivver, not from the cold. -c-

He leaned into the side a little, his curly red hair touching the other's straight raven coloured.

Stan says:

Stan was focused on his work now, too focused to remember that hey, he and his boyfriend were kinda sitting there in their boxers in some crazy cabin with two very pissed of foreign kids brandishing guns. But Stan had a sort of one-track mind, after all, and it was amazing that he was able to juggle around the fact that he was slowly tilting his head against Kyle's as he used his hands to -c-

shake out stray droplets of water still stubbornly clinging to the shirt. Amazing still was that he hadn't upchucked all over the place. But he had to admit, he was feeling a little bit greener than he would have liked. Nervous, fickle stomach he had, after all.

Christophe says:

He mewled. He wasn't sure how Gregory was able to make him utter those sounds, those sounds that he /loathed/ to have come from his own lips. But the mewl was what parted his lips and allowed the other full access to his mouth. The hand at the waist of his pants made his hips jerk up lightly, a little body hiccup. Slow was tormeting to him as well, and if Gregory thought himself to be alone in -c-

the agony, then he was horridly mistaken. His legs had spread apart a little further, pants tightening around that mass of pooled heat which had gathered like wildfire that needed to be released, quickly. His free hand went to grip Gregory's hip as the other continued the slow unzipping, hand starting to shake from his own excitement.

Gregory says:

However slow his hands might be working, he kisses were not under that same spell, his tongue entering the other's mouth and finding the other's quickly, tickling over it as he pressed firmly yet gently to the other's lips. The small sounds that came from the other were welcomed, because they were involuntary. They weren't artificial to make him sound tougher, no mask or hidden meaning. -c-

Even if the other hated them, he found them downright attractive, to use a very loose term. His tugged down on the Mole's zipper, losing some of his patience and hoping the other followed suit, His hand pulling on the waist band of those pants as soon as he had succeeded in doing so. It was all done by feel, his eyes staying shut close to the other's, that delicious taste on his tongue.. -c-

His hand finally reached down a bit lower.

Christophe says:

His face could even scowl in mid-kiss, but it was to hold back half of the high-pitched panting moan that somehow shuddered its way from his chest. His tongue lay submissive to Gregory's, lapping at the underside as more mewling coos escaped him. When the game had started, he didn't expect it to get /this/ far. His hips jerked upwards at the intruding hand, shocked by its entrance but -c-

welcoming it without much resistance. That was where needed to go afterall, and he was sure Gregory would appreciate his abandoning slow speed for a quick unzip and a searching hand that pushed away the fly of the boxers in order to touch that intended target.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~STYLE SKIP~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kyle says:

"Stan?" He asked, a bit squeeked after a short while in silence, moving his eyes to the side in the direction of the other's face rather then keep watch through the mirror. He coughed a little, swallowing to rid his voice of that tone. "My clothes are fine, dry your own. We should get out of here." Leave it to Kyle to stay focused on the task at hand, even if that wasn't what was on his mind. -c-

He had finally stopped shivvering, the warmth of the other's skin, even if faint, was enough to heat his own. He still might be a bit cold to the touch, but at least he wasn't trembling anymore.

Stan says:

No dammit, he was going to get these clothes dry if it killed him. At last the shirt was dry, and the only thing really left was Kyle's jacket and socks. He set to work on them both together, ignoring Kyle's little statement for the moment. "As soon as I'm done with these. I don't want to be in this cabin any longer than I have to be." Though he didn't really mind /who/ he was with right now.

Kyle says:

"Unless you want to walk home like that, you should do yours." He pressed, nodding towards the pile of Stan's own clothing which was still for the most part soaking wet. He didn't care if he had to freeze in damp clothes getting home, but he wouldn't let Stan do it. "Seriously, dude. Mine are fine. Stop obsessing."

Stan says:

He wasn't obsessing, was he? "Dude, it's my job," he said lowly, but relinquished his hold on Kyle's clothing and begrudingly set to work on drying out his pants. Damn it. The better part of his mind wanted to argue back, do something at least, but his new status just made him stop. Leave it alone. It was best he just accept it and leave it be.

Kyle says:

"Your job to freeze?" He asked with a small smile, closing his eyes with a soft sigh. Maybe he was arguing too much, but it was just as much his job to look out for Stan, always had been and always would be. Even more so now that they were.. together. It still felt kind of odd thinking that, them being together. But it was deffinately right. Even if he tended to be a bit awkward sometimes, -c-

but that was to be expected, they hadn't been together long afterall. What had it been, a few weeks? About time though, honestly, he guessed. Funny how things like this crept up on you. "Sorry, just worrying I guess." He admitted, snuggling back a bit more comfortably without thinking.

Stan says:

"Good." He smirked, giving the Semite a gentle shove with his chest. "Now go put your clothes on. Warm up. I'll get my pants dry and then we're getting out of here before we get blown to bits."

Kyle says:

He opened his eyes, smirking a little through his blush. Clothes, yes, good plan. "Sounds good to me." He grabbed up his pants now that he had permission, pulling away from his comfortable position against Stan to step away, Pulling his legs in and getting them on as quickly as possible. The pink over his cheeks finally started to dissapear and fade, his own self conciousness much -c-

more at ease now that he was covered up. He did up the button, followed by the zipper in what was probably record time, breathing a larger sigh of relief as he picked up his shirt to pull over his head. He moved it a bit in his hands, trying to get it the right side out and the right way around, narrowing his eyes a little at it. "Hopefully we can get past them." He finally got -c-

the shirt to cooperate, pulling it down quickly and brushing a few stray curls out of his eyes.

Stan says:

"I'm surprised they haven't barged in," he retorted, tossing Kyle his jacket and hat quickly as he gave the poor over-used blowdryer the rest it deserved. Sure, his pants were damp. Sure, the rest of his clothing was still a bit soaked. But it didn't stop him from quickly pulling on his pants and doing them up in a speed almost as fast as Kyle's. There, that was better. He winced at the wet -c-

smacking sound his own shirt made against his skin, the way he did up his coat hindered by the fact that the fabric was sticking to him. Oh well, better than walking out bare-assed in the snow, he figured. "Shoes," he reminded Kyle and himself, shoving his hat on his head and pulling on his shoes.

Kyle says:

Kyle pulled on his socks next, followed by his jacket as it was handed to him, and then his hat. He felt so much better as soon as that single article was on his head, he really hated his hair. His shoes came next, slipped on carelessly and wiggled into place without bothering to untie and tie them back up, he just wanted out. His attention turned back to Stan as soon as his own clothing was -c-

in order, frowning at how wet he still looked. "Dude, what did I say." He groaned, Stuffing his hands inside of his pockets at he stared at the soaked things that practically draped over him. It was going to ruin all the work he /had/ put into drying those pants, drip into them. He went to unzip his jacket again, "Take my jacket, at least."

Stan says:

"You're gonna freeze without it Kyle," he retorted as he tied his shoes. "I'll be fine." He stood, placing his hand over Kyle's to stop it from unzipping the jacket. Now this was the difficult part for him. How could you be gentle and loving to someone who wanted to do the same to you? Your best friend, even? "Plus your mom will murder me."

Kyle says:

That was logic he couldn't disagree with, as much as it pained him to admit. Last thing he wanted was his mom getting Angry at Stan because he had shown up at home half frozen, Not that he probably wouldn't anyways. His body just didn't like intense cold in general, which of course did wonders when you lived in a place that was almost always freezing. It was just that Dampness -c-

that was going to hurt him. If he was dry he'd be completely fine. Plus, his mom seeing Stan wearing his jacket might raise suspisions and.. Well, His parents didn't know. Put it at that. He sighed, Looking at stan with a somewhat defeated expression. He bit back the hate for the words he had to repeat, "Yeah, you're right."

Stan says:

He hated to play the parent card, he really did. But he had no other choice when it was true, now did he? Stan gave a little smile, scratching at the back of his neck for a moment. "You can make it up to me later, if it makes you feel better. I promise I won't even argue with you." He knew in the back of his mind, that it was his own mother he should be fearing now instead of Kyle's. He could -c-

practically already hear her words chewing him out inside of his head. Maybe his father would be doing something really stupid when he got the chance to go inside, that way he could just duck away and change quickly without much worry. "Ready?"

Kyle says:

"Yeah I'm ready." He put the hand which had been on the zipper back into his pocket, already dreading the cold that would await both of them when they exitted the house, but first things first. They had to get /out/ of the house. Please let them be out of the room. Please don't be waiting for them ready to shoot. Please let them survive the walk to the door. He'd follow -c-

after Stan, he didn't quite have the nerve to go first right now.

Stan says:

Stan didn't argue with Kyle; he was the one going out first gun or no gun. His pride's past wounds seemed to heal a little at that notion as he slowly turned the handle, opening the door and stepping out. So far so good, empty hallway. Although he was weighed down with waterlogged clothing he was able to creep slowly forwards, using his hand to motion Kyle to follow. The cabin was strangely -c-

empty, and Stan felt his heart beat faster at that notion. Was this some kind of ploy to hurt them or something? As he ventured closer to the living room and kitchen, the only evidence that there had been two men in here were the articles of clothing they left trailing to the opposing hallway. Whoa.

Kyle says:

Kyle tentitively followed Stan out into the hallway, His eyes scanning around for anything that might mean trouble, but as they stepped into where they had left the two he could only stare at what was left behind. He had to put a hand over his mouth to stop the 'Holy Shit, Dude.' That nearly passed from his lips, looking frantically for the door which wasn't too far away. And Stan -c-

had thought Gregory wanted Wendy? His cheeks burned a very dark red, he had to stop from choking. He wasn't sure if he found this soul crushingly embarassing or awkward, or just plain funny. Maybe he was going crazy from the axiety of trying to get out alive. Yeah, that was probably it. More then anything he just wanted to get out of here now. He nudged Stan in the direction -c-

of the door, his hand still over his mouth.

Stan says:

Stan, however, thought in pictures. Moving pictures. Complete with sound. And that little mental reel was rolling what he thought was going on with those two, and frankly it made him redder than his little poofball. Silently he nodded at Kyle once he had been shaken from his trail of thought, opening the door and motioning for Kyle to go first

-c-

in case one of the two brutes walked out. Last thing he needed though was the afterimage. Holy shit dude was right.

Kyle says:

Kyle quickly took the exit, Grabbing Stan's wrist to tug him right after, making sure he was following but not so fast that he'd have to slam the door with the force. He refused to think about the images, instead he just completely blocked them out, which of course didn't stop the embarrased displayed all over his face. His throat felt tight, he wasn't sure he could get -c-

words out even if he wanted to as the frigid air seeped into his clothing and over his skin, already starting to shivver lightly. Not that he dared speak, they were too close, too dangerous. He gave another nervous tug at Stan's sleeve.

Stan says:

The chill of it bit him deep, and he dared not think about anything that dirty when he felt like an icecube. 'Your house,' he wordlessly mouthed, going now to lead them both away from the cabin. Away from whatever made that high-pitched yell, which to be honest he didn't know which one of them was capable of letting that kind of call out. But that was the cue to make Kyle walk faster, hitting -c-

the road and not ever looking back.

Kyle says:

As they started quickly away from the residence, he cut out anything besides their footsteps and Stan next to him, leaning in and putting an arm tightly around his waist as they walked quickly. Maybe he couldn't give him his jacket, but he could share what little warmth he could, even if it soaked into his own clothing. And if Stan tried to force him off, he'd just hold his ground. No ammount -c-

of argueing was going to pry him away from his best friend.. boyfriend. Whatever. He didn't look back either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~GREGSTOPHE SKIP~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gregory says:

Gregory was panting hard, through a very happy grin that spread lightly over his lips. This had been Spontanious maybe, but amazing none the less, that's all he could think as he stared down at Mole who lay beneath him, Himself propped up as best he could on his good arm, the other doing it's best to hold it's weight without completely collapsing. "Christophe.." He muttered quietly, -c-

nuzzling into the other's neck with a soft kiss planted to the skin that his lips touched. "Hahhh.." Breathing was a little easier now at least, even if his heart still thudded almost painfully in his chest. His eyes closed gently, nuzzling a bit more into that tanned skin.

Christophe says:

He felt like jelly underneath Gregory; the same way he always felt first thing afterwards. He would tremble for a while, silent, curling up as close to the other as he possibly could. But now he was trembling for the same reason but silent for another. Embarassment was what you would call it, he supposed. He had /never/ yelled that loud before, had never whimpered as much as he just had. It -c-

damaged his ego greatly, but his body was too calm from the after effects to really give a crap. He undug his nails out from Gregory's shoulderblades, instead pushing his head up to curl his angry, stupid, embarassed red face away from any attempts of smirking. He'd never let him live it down.

Gregory says:

He didn't say a word, as his shoulder forced him to roll off to other and onto his back beside him, his lips leaving the other's neck regretfully as he caught his breath. It was annoying really, how bad his arm hurt when the rest of him was so relaxed and just plain happy. It throbbed, ached, burned, his shoulder where the bullet and pierced. But he didn't show any outward signs of it, -c-

didn't wince, didn't whimper, he could keep that to himself. Nor did he intend on bothering Christophe about how loud he had been, at least not yet. Not unless the other braught it up, and then he might joke back at him, but otherwise he was content with keeping his brittish mouth shut. He took a deeper breath, releasing it slowly as he turned his head to the side to look at the other. -c-

He wasn't sure he had anything to say just yet, and not only because he figured he might yelp himself if he tried another word past his previous. Instead he offered a smile, blinking his bright blue eyes.

Christophe says:

Stupid attractive smile and stupid bright eyes. Christophe gave a little groan, curling up closer and pushing his head under Gregory's chin. He could still go for the whole security comfort that curling up next to your lover could bring. He gave a wince to his slightly sore backside, one arm wrapping around to pull the other closer. And damn him if he didn't push his face to the other's neck, -c-

offering his own kiss and a friendly nibble.

Gregory says:

He wrapped his own arms around the other, or rather he tried, having to keep his bad arm still as it angrilly throbbed against the attempt, His good arm instead Wrapping around the other and pulling him tightly against himself as he moved a bit more onto his side. Another careful breath, "Hey." He chuckled a little, His voice a lot more strained then he had meant for it to be.

Christophe says:

Christophe hummed his acknowledgement to the question in the nook of the other's throat, curling his body tigher to the other's side upon contact. Gregory should know better, it was damn near impossible for Mole to say anything after any sort of sexual activity. It was just a weird tick he had, he supposed. His eyes opened partially, staring at the pale skin before him.

Gregory says:

Of course Christophe wasn't going to utter a word, but that wasn't for lack of his trying. At least that meant he was too distracted to say anything about his shoulder. He let his blue eyes flicker, his blinking slow until finally he let them shut entirely. Maybe he could get a little sleep, if Christophe didn't mind at least, and when he woke up he'd be feeling completely fine. -c-

He ducked his head against the other's a little, evening his breaths and settling into the warmth they shared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~STYLE SKIP~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stan says:

Stan gave a loud sneeze, sniffling at his naked arm while roaming around Kyle's house in nothing but a gray pair of sweatpants that he had on loan from Kyle until his clothes were done drying. The things were too short from him, stopping just above his ankles and leaving his feet bare and cold. The black-haired boy gave another sniffle, walking back into Kyle's room and collapsing onto the -c-

creaky twin bed. Warmth. He liked that. "Ghn."

Kyle says:

Kyle watched Stan pacing around from his bed, sitting on the edge in his own new set of dry clothes. "I'm sorry I don't have anything bigger." He said, both his hands behind him a little where he leaned back, keeping him upright where he slouched a little. He bit at the inside of his cheek a little, Gaze Following Stan where he fell next to him on the bed.

Stan says:

"It's alright dude," he yawned out. He couldn't stop them from emerging; being warm and tosty just coaxed them out of Stan. He grabbed the fluffy blanket of Kyle's quickly cocooning himself in it and poking his head back out. Ah. Much better. "I'm just glad I don't have to explain to my mom how I got to be a soaking wet mess."

Kyle says:

"Guess so. I'm just glad my parents aren't home yet." They had been extremely lucky on that front it had seemed, He guessed his mom and dad had taken Ike with them shopping or running some stupid errand. Good for them that there wasn't questions, but bad in the sence that they had to return sometime, and chances were it would be soon. It was the not knowing that -c-

made him feel a bit on edge, his eyes darting to the window everynow and then to see if the car was pulling into the driveway yet. He sighed lightly, turning all his attention back to Stan who was curled up so tightly he wondered how he wasn't suffocating in there. "You look rediculous." He laughed a little, trying to rid himself of that tension.

Stan says:

"I feel comfy and warm," was all that he needed to justify his sillyness. But still, for the show of it, he put on a hurt face and pouted. "I guess that means you don't wanna come look rediculous with me?" Stan knew how lucky they both where when the parental units weren't home, and everytime he would try to take some sort of advantage of their alone time. He shifted in the blanket, looking -c-

less like a boy and more like a wiggling catepillar. "Plenty of room in here."

Kyle says:

That killed the laugh, and braught more of the tension back, his head turning once more to the window and the snowy driveway. All clear so far. Would it stay like that though? Should he risk it? Wasn't like they were doing anything bad.. The image of his mom walking in on them snuggling in his bed disturbed him though, and he pushed it away as soon as it had come. -c-

He looked back at Stan, rolling his eyes to that stupid look he had on his face, a small smile on his own. "You might be able to convince me." He said a little nervously, brushing some of the curls away that fell in front of his face from beneath his hat.

Stan says:

Might, eh? He'd turn that might into a definitely. "You can either come over here or I can go over there, but by the end of this you're going to be in this blanket with me."

Kyle says:

Always nice to be given options, His smile turned to a shy kind of smirk. "What no option Three?" He tilted his head a little, shuffling so he was sitting cross legged on the bed, holding onto his ankles loosely in a comfortable position.

Stan says:

Stan crouched in the blanket, the caterpillar rearing up for attack. "Option three is that we do both and meet in the middle."

Kyle says:

"Staaaaaan..?" He narrowed his eyes a little, warning in his light voice and shuffling back small bit.

Stan says:

"Kyyyyyyle," he said right back, though it was with a more sweet mocking tone than anything. The caterpillar/blanket that was Stan scooted closer, everything hidden now except from his eyes up. "Either way you're getting in here. So give up and I'll go easy on you."

Kyle says:

"Go easy on me?" He squeeked, his eyes widening a little only slightly. Stan was going to kill him wasn't he. With what he wasn't sure, but it seemed either way, submit or not, it was happening or so it would seem. He didn't move, staring at Stan a little bit stubbornly despite everything.

Stan says:

Stan scooted closer, nudging the other with his blanket. "Oh c'mon, you know I always do. Now c'mere."

Kyle says:

Okay, just one more look out the window. He did so quickly, seeing the spot empty as it had been since they got there. He should really stop worrying. He sighed, Biting his lip and looking at Stan once more. "Fine." He huffed, Uncrossing his legs and Crawling a bit closer so Stan could wrap them in the blanket he had claimed.

Stan says:

That was his intention the whole time, and he pulled Kyle as close as he could, wrapping the blanket ring up under his chin. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it? And dont worry, Ike always makes a ton of noise when he gets home, doesn't he? No one can catapult themselves up your steps Kyle." He gave a little laugh, resting his chin in a similar way from before. "Not even your mom."

Kyle says:

Other then the slight fear he got from being unable to move, it wasn't so bad curled up next to Stan. And he had to admit that Stan was speaking the truth, he guessed he'd hear his family come home when they did, he'd just have to make sure he didn't get too distracted by the man holding him hostage inside of his blankets so that he'd hear it. He fidgetted a little in the -c-

grasp, but overally he stayed put wherever Stan had him, Cuddling in a little bit just to get comfy. "I hate it when you're right."

Stan says:

"You can't hog the rights to be right all the time, dude." Once he was sure Kyle wasn't going to run away, Stan loosened his half-death grip on him and merely held the blanket around them. Though he had to admit, he loved being right. For once. He turned his cheek while the other was partially distracted, giving a quick peck to his cheek.

Kyle says:

He winced a little with the kiss, frowning slightly at the unexpectedness. Though he should have been expecting it. That was better, now that Stan had loosened his grip at least he could breathe, and the claustrophobia feeling started to go away as well. Why would he want to run away from this though? He might be stubborn, and maybe a little paranoid, but he liked the closeness. That he -c-

had to admit. "Mhm." He nuzzled a bit against Stan's chest and neck, Mostly just finding a comfortable spot to rest his head against, his arms against his chest as well nearby, hands near the other's shoulders where he had been forced close without having time to move at all. But he was comfortable enough like this, even if he didn't like how cold Stan still felt even under the blankets.

Stan says:

Stan would warm up when he had proper clothing. Or he would keep warm as long as he had his certain special someone. He wrapped his arms around Kyle's skinny abdomen, giving a little chuckle as he found another spot of bare skin on Kyle that he could sneak in a quick kiss. Dating a guy sure as hell was different than dating girls. Especially when that guy had been your closest friend for years -c-

before hand. But that already meant that they knew everything about each other's past, knew who they'd been with and what they sort of wanted. Well, intimate relations was the last unexplored part of their relationship, but that was something he had already decided on waiting on. No need to confuse them on exactly how /that/ worked when they were still getting used to the fact that, hey, they -c-

were playing for kisses instead of fart jokes over poker and could get closer than normal while watching Terrance and Phillip. The whole situation just required a bit of a calibration, that's all.

Kyle says:

While they lay in their silent little shelter from the world, Kyle's own mind began to wander, his lips twitching up in a tiny smile at the second kiss as he relaxed, his green eyes partially closed as he did so. The fact of the matter was, Stan had an idea of what he was doing. He'd dated Wendy for how many years? Chased after her, did things together with her.. Where Kyle on the other hand -c-

didn't have expierience with things like that. Heck, he was lucky he'd gotten a first kiss at all, Even if the thoughts back to it were a bit unpleasant and completely forgetable. But now he was suddenly with Stan, somehow braught together by some freak urge that he had had. Him, /Kyle/. Kissing his best friend. Honestly he wasn't sure what had come over him, but now laying here in Stan's -c-

arms, he couldn't be happier that he had done so. But it only caused problems, as happy as he was with their new relationship and what had come from it. His parents didn't know. Well, most people didn't know, but his parents specifically. He knew he should tell them, come out. But This was his first real relationship, Even if he did have a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend. -c-

For all he knew his mother would be angry with him dating in general, let alone finding out he was.. gay. Yeah, deffinately a mess. He cuddled a bit more against Stan, twitching with the uncomfortable thoughts.

Stan says:

Stan might have had experience in dating and all that lovely drama that came with being Wendy's on-off boyfriend, but that was really it. The first thing he had learned was that Kyle brought a lot less stress into his life. Lack of PMS was what Cartman had called it, ensuing in a repeat of the breast cancer incident. Though while funny, it was partially true. He had no hope in a million years -c-

understanding anyone other than Kyle. He just kind of knew what to do around him, that invisible language that they possessed as friends becoming exceedingly handy as boyfriends. But that was it. He thought it too corny to try to woo Kyle like he had done with Wendy, instead perferring to be straightforward and blunt. At least he could do that and catch the other off-guard from time to time. -c-

Stan sensed the uneasiness Kyle was projecting, and frowned and gave a reassuring squeeze. "What's wrong?"

Kyle says:

Kyle shook his head a little bit against the other, smiling a bit more even though he didn't think the other could see him from their positions, trying to reassure the taller of the two right back. "Just thinking." He said, trying to sound casual. He wasn't lieing, that's all he was doing afterall, nothing wrong with the overthinking he did on a regular basis. Okay maybe Stan would disaggree -c-

that his overthinking was anywhere close to something that should be blown off, but even so. Oh what was the use, Stan would get it out of him eventually anyways, there really wasn't any point in avoiding matters. "Thinking of telling my mom." He admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly as saying it outloud made the option become a bit more real.

Stan says:

That was about the equivilent of Kyle telling him that he was going to go make out with Cartman. Unbelieveable and frightening. "Dude, that's suicide. I haven't even told /my/ parents." He crouched his head, looking at the side of Kyle's face for a moment with his own baby blue eyes holding a serious gaze. "What brought that up?"

Kyle says:

His green eyes stayed stareing where they had been, half lidded and kind of distant as they usually got while he was deep in thought, he barely noticed Stan's eyes on him. "She's going to find out eventually, It's going to be worse if I don't come clean with it." He bit at his lower lip, gripping a bit tighter to Stan just to feel more of that closeness that gave him strength at all to be -c-

thinking things like this. It really was suiside, he knew. But maybe she'd be okay with it. Maybe it wouldn't be that big of a deal, right? He could hope. "You know my mom, dude. I should tell her before she catches us together and.." He shook his head again.

Stan says:

"Do you really feel ready to tell your mom you're gay for your best friend? Because then you might have bigger balls than I do about it." Stan nuzzled Kyle tighter, one of his hands reaching up to play with a tray red ringlet. "The later they find out the better, I think."

Kyle says:

"Maybe." Thinking of the conversation, how it would actually go and what would happen.. Stan was right, yet again. He was really on a roll tonight wasn't he? But telling his mother, imagining the look on her face and that shrill sounding voice she got when she was upset, it was a terrifying thought. And what if things didn't get better because of it? What if she somehow stopped him from seeing -c-

Stan again? Or some completely overplayed reaction that he was sure would come from her if she reacted in that way. She couldn't stop him from seeing his best friend could she? She might try if she knew he was his boyfriend now.. He might not be a little kid anymore, but he was still under her roof. And as long as he was, she would treat him as such. He knew that well.

Stan says:

He kept up his small comforting strokes. "You're really worried about it, aren't you?" His voice was kept quiet, one arm still clutching lightly around Kyle's stomach. "...you've been eating, right?"

Kyle says:

He was a little surprised by the last question, but he supposed Stan /would/ ask something like that. He'd been known to have problems with it when he got too stressed, just another skeleton caused from his childhood that he didn't try thinking about until it was upon him. But the worry was misplaced, he had been eatting, maybe not a lot but it was enough. -c-

"Yeah I've been eatting fine." He said maybe a bit quickly, trying to ward that off and fidgetting a little with the words. "And I'm sure it'll be fine, we just have to be careful right?"

Stan says:

He'd let it go for now. Enough stress for one day, right? "You know I'm always careful." And in truth, maybe he'd been a little lax lately, sometimes his hand would slip a little too close to Kyle's at the wrong moment, or he'd be caught eyeing a certain posterior area when in the company of those whom they didn't want catching on. But other than that, he was careful with their relationship's -c-

secrecy. Last thing they needed was a scandal. "I have to be too."

Kyle says:

He couldn't say he was as careful as he wanted to be lately either, little things like this that made him drop his guard were going to get them caught one of these days. But while he was laying here like this, it was almost difficult to imagine anything negative could happen at that particular moment. "I know, I am too." Too careful, sometimes, almost to the point of being obsessive about it. -c-

But that was a good thing, when it came to keeping them safe. That was a big priority. Even though a lot of the time he wished they could just be and not have to worry about who was watching. 'Soon.' He thought to himself surely, nodding mentally to himself. "It'll work out." He repeated quietly, more to himself to boost that confidence that he found himself lacking.

Stan says:

He tightened his hug a little bit. "Good. Because it would suck to lose you." Stan then smirked, wrapping his legs around the other boy now as well so that his whole body clung to Kyle. "So I guess I better not let go of you."

Kyle says:

His thoughts were cut off by the cuddle that he imagined Stan was only capeable of giving, being insane and all. "Gah." He flinched for a second before just going with it, a small smile over his lips. He was never going to be able to move was he? Not if Stan had his way appearently. "You couldn't lose me if you tried." He said stubbornly, a bit muffled against Stan's skin.

Stan says:

Stan rocked them back and forth for a moment humming his agreement before letting his body fall backwards while still clinging to Kyle. A smile was still on his face as he used his teeth to grab at Kyle's hat. "I need me some of that jewfro."

Kyle says:

"Stan!" He shouted in panic, louder and annoyed sounding, braught along with Stan where they rolled while he was still pinned by the other. "Don't you dare!"

Stan says:

Stan just pulled his head back, complete with the ushanka in his mouth. "Aha!" He let it flight to the side with a twist of his head. "I win."

Kyle says:

Kyle struggled a bit in Stan's grip, fighting to get his arm free to grab for it where it fell, even if it was out of his reach anyways. "God Damnit, Stan!"

Stan says:

Stan just kept clinging onto the other, like some big Stan-sized parasite or maybe a huge baby koala. "Ky, you look fine," he mumbled into the back of the other's neck. Well, mumbled through the high-pitched chuckling he was emitting.

Kyle says:

"No I don't! Gahh!" He eventually had to give up his struggling, there was no way he was getting any release from this. He frowned at the other's laughing, his curls hanging in front of his face as if mocking him as well. He muttered a bit quieter, accepting his fate more or less. "God Damnit."

Stan says:

Now it was very few and far between when Stan took advantage of the boyfriend mode and went for sexy instead of playful. And that was one of these moments when he leaned in, turing his head towards Kyle's ear and whispered very lowly. "Kyle," he began, "I don't think I can imagine a finer looking jewfro than what I have here."

Kyle says:

The tone in the other's voice to his ear sent a small shivver through his body, but besides that he kept the light frown on his face. Change of topic maybe and he would have been fine to let Stan be as seductive as he wanted, but he still stubbornly clung to his discomfort. He muttered back again quietly, "Shut up."

Stan says:

"Mmmno." He chuckled lowly, shifting his arms more so that they were on Kyle's sides more than holding down his arms. He could grab his hat back. If he wanted. But what Stan wanted was to see the other squirm for a minute, and to see exactly what the other would possibly like in the future. That was the whole reasoning as he licked and nibbled on the top of Kyle's ear, careful not to press hard.

Kyle says:

He felt better now that his arms were free, About to reach for his hat when Stan started nibbling at his ear, indeed squirming a bit against the other. Grrr, That wasn't fairrr. "I hate you." He grumbled typically, Feeling as though he'd melt against the other. He was a sucker for anything like this, however small, little things that were reserved only for you and your special someone. Annoying-c-

though that it was his best friend who knew everything there was to know about you.

Stan says:

And because it was his best friend, he just stopped and gave a big, wet, sloppy kiss to the side of Kyle's cheek before letting go and flopping back onto the bed. "Pfft. Whatever Ky."

Kyle says:

Cruel, just plain mean. He poutted at Stan as he whiped the wetness of that stupid kiss away with the back of his hand, rolling off the other now that he was more or less free. He stayed under the blanket, used to the warmth and comfort right now, and still not really wanting much distance between them. "Hmph."

Stan says:

Stan closed his eyes and sighed. Grumpy Kyle was adorable in his mind. But in real life...no, still adorable. "Don't 'hmph' me man. That's not cool."

Kyle says:

"Well it wasn't cool for you to take my hat." He blinked a couple times, suddenly remembering his hat-less predicament. Ah, where did stan put it!? He scrambled to lean on one of his arms and prop himself up to look for it, Darnit it must have got thrown off or lost in the blankets or something.

Stan says:

"Why? I'm not wearing my hat. And it's not as poofy as you think it is." He wormed closer into the blankets, now being as brave as to try to steal them away from Kyle and become a caterpillar once more.

Kyle says:

With a frusterated sigh he fall back down, staring up at the stealing and clinging to his side of the blanket and keeping it where it was. Like hell he was letting Stan take it back, he was comfy. If he wanted it back he was going to have to drag him along with it.

Stan says:

Stan made a little whiny sound, giving a tug. "Ey. You didn't want to be under here in the first place." Ah, but it wasn't an annoyed kind of whine. It was a playful kind of whine in a voice that was now reserved for Kyle and Kyle alone.

Kyle says:

He gave a strained little smirk, closing his eyes and holding his ground.. Or blanket.. Whatever. "I changed my mind."

Stan says:

"You can't do that," he murmured, rolling closer and taking more blanket with him. Only now he was on his belly, halfway on top of Kyle with blanket intermingled between them. "Desicions are final."

Kyle says:

"I can so do that, And I just did." He retorted back, even though what it got him seemed to be getting half-squished by the other. Good thing Stan wasn't all that heavy, he could still breathe. He continued his little smirk, opening his eyes to look up at Stan with the hints of pink starting to blush over his face. He couldn't help it, the closeness just got to him.

Stan says:

Stan's face twisted into a pleased smirk, like the kind a cat would that just had it's fill of milk. "Hmph. Cheater." He lowered his head a little more, nose barely brushing against the side of Kyle's face while Stan's hand lay on Kyle's stomach.

Kyle says:

His smirk lightened, his face darkening a bit farther with a deeper shade of pink. "So I can't Hmph you, but you can Hmph me. That's not fair."

Stan says:

"Says the cheater. And Hmph sounds really dirty when you say it like that." He let out a little giggle, pushing his head forwards a little bit to let his lips linger a moment on Kyle's cheek. Just something small, not obnoxious like usual.

Kyle says:

Of course Stan had to make it dirty, Which of course helped the burning over his cheeks just so must. It might be small, this little conversation they were having through words and teasing movements, but small got to him almost more then anything blown out of proportion would. Just that soft feeling of Stan's lips against his skin, it was enough to drive him crazy. He muttered something that -c-

started as a kind of half-assed complaint, which turned into something close to a soft happy little moan, almost a sigh. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, biting his bottem lip.

Stan says:

"Y'know," he mumbled, remaining just as close as he had before, "you look good in red. You really do." And, just because it was the best friend part of him that demanded it, he reached up his hand to pinch lightly at that adorably red cheek Kyle now sported. "You's just sooo cyuuuute"

Kyle says:

He might have twitched his eye at the comments, still completely red faced but now looking almost scary how he was pissed off, his smile strained on his lips. Just /had/ to ruin a good moment, didn't he? When he was just starting to get into it. Cute? /Cute/? He'd gotten his hat off of him, Stan was just pushing it now. He stayed still, he'd push him off in a minute if he wasn't calm. -c- "Stan.."

Neecha says:

Stan's face faultered a little bit as he looked away and just pulled his hand away. "...okay. Maybe that was too much. Sorry dude."

Kyle says:

Yeah the frusteration wasn't going to go away, And the appology did little to make him feel better. Wasn't like he was mad at Stan or anything, just a little annoyed. And a little Annoyed to Kyle was like a wall, That you really didn't want to try and get by. Push Stan off? Alright, good idea. Kyle gathered his strength for a moment, Using along with his weight to roll the other off of him -c-

and onto his back, Kyle following and ending up ontop this time. He crossed his arms over the other's chest, glareing a little bit down at him with that ticked off smile that could be related to pure evil still lightly stretched on his lips. "Mhm."

Stan says:

He swore the pouty look on his face only came when he wasn't thinking about it, that being the natural reaction when his way went totally belly up. And he was in fact belly up, Kyle on top of him. Hey...that wasn't right. "I like it better when I was the one hovering above you. And you didn't have that soul-eating grin." He would have crossed his arms if possible.

Kyle says:

Ah, he was more or less over it by the time Stan got that pouty sad look on his face. His evil grin lightened to an actual honest smile, losing that strained I'm going to kill you look in light of a much more loving kind of look. Wasn't like he could hurt Stan, he'd end up just hurting himself more anyways. He leaned forwards a bit, pressing a meek little kiss to the other's lips -c-

before going back a little to rest his head against his crossed arms in front of him over Stan's chest. "Want me to move?"

Stan says:

Oh. SO not fair in Stan's book, so very very unfair. "No," he answered honestly as he pushed his head forwards, his hand slipping under Kyle's chin to bring lips forwards. They connected, and Stan's eyes closed as he remained for a little while longer. When he finally did pull away, he gave a little smirking chuckle.

Kyle says:

Kyle's eyes closed as well as Stan's lips met his, His heart skipping a beat, his own smile lightly shadowing over his lips as Stan finally pulled away. He stayed still for a moment, his eyes still closed where he had been forced to lean forwards, finally opening those foresty green orbs to look at Stan and his goofy little smirk. With a bit of a flinch, he uncrossed his arms, -c-

hugging them around Stan tightly and eventually moving his head to rest under the other's chin. "Good, me neither."

Stan says:

The kind of feeling he got inside, he supposed, was that warm and fuzzy love-type feeling that made you smile the goofiest smile ever. Because he was well aware of it by the fact that his cheeks were hurting, but he just wanted to smile wider and curl up closer to his boyfriend. With a little shift he was able to wrap his own arms around the other boy's frame. It almost looked like he was -c-

they were both naked under the covers, Stan's bare chest pokign out and the blanket wrapped around Kyle so that only his head poked out. "Love ya," he muttered, one hand reaching up to run through curly red hair.

Kyle says:

He sighed softly, his own smile almost perminent on his face as he cuddled as close as he could to the other, Nuzzling against the other's neck. Warm and fuzzy was an understatement, if you asked him. Sure he'd never been in any sittuations like this before Stan, but even if he was inexpierienced he felt like this feeling wasn't one you so easily came accross. Because -c-

Stan was his best friend. And he loved him. The world was brighter because of it, it was almost an invulnerable feeling, like they could get through anything and everything and come out unscathed, if only from the protection of the emotion they shared. He didn't complain as the other went to play with his hair, even if it was his first instinct to. He'd let it be. He said softly, "Love you too."

Stan says:

And as he smiled, he knew that those words were true. Just the tone of voice and content feeling he got from the other's body was enough to bring proof of that to light. Stan was happy to sit there for the time being, just sit there and stroke the other's hair. But being a teenager with a one-track reproductive drive could deter you from your thought process. He wasn't sure if he had been -c-

laying there with Kyle for mere minutes or hours or days even, but there was something new and nervous in the way he rolled them over, pinning Kyle beneath him gently. "..." He brought his lips to the other's again, perhaps pressing a bit more hungrily than before. Though random it was with reason he did it, pulling away and giving a little pant. "Do you trust me?"

Kyle says:

Kyle too had lost track of the time they spent just lieing there, his eyes half lidded as he drifted, relaxed and happy just the way he was. He didn't say a word as he was turned over, looking up innocently at the other without really thinking much of it until those lips pressed into his. What was this? Stan's lips pushed to his with a new urgency, different then the last time, -c-

needier. He squirmed only slightly under the other for only a moment, his first reaction to most things such as this, until he again settled down more or less, taking his own soft pant as they broke apart. For some reason he couldn't exactly think properlly, he'd gone from silently content numbness to being flipped and pinned, and now smothered with a kiss. Blinking once, he -c-

wasn't sure he got a real breath out after that singular one, every attempt seeming to catch in his throat. But if his blush had dissapeared it was deffinately back. "Y-yes.. Stan?" He got out with a bit of a squeek, nervous and questioning. Mostly because his own brain wasn't exactly in the right gear to be putting together what it needed to be.

Stan says:

He licked his lips, his face all serious and perhaps a bit more colorful than before. "I want to try something," he began, shifting his body to more or less hover higher over the other, "alright? You don't have to let me do anything if you don't want me to. If you want me to stop, I'll stop. So, do you trust me?"

Kyle says:

Kyle froze up a little, stopping breathing for another second as his brain tried to process what it was Stan meant. But by the way he licked his lips, and the colour on his cheeks, he had an idea it was something they'd never done. Which could only mean it was something he should say no to. Probably. If he had half a mind. Which appearently he didn't. "U-um.. Okay. I trust you." -c-

He did afterall, he trusted Stan with his life if he had to. And he had, on multiple occasions. He couldn't say no to that face, even if he didn't know what Stan was planning. His stomach knotted painfully, twisting with a newly found feeling he got only around this boy.

Stan says:

Stan gave his pleased reaction in the form of another kiss, eyes closed and teeth nibbling gently on the other's lips as his body began to worm its way into the position he wanted it to be. Where was that? With his hands grasping onto Kyle's ribs, his body arched over the other just barely inches away, and his hips shifting so that they could be between Kyle's legs. It didn't happen all at -c-

once, it was just something that slowly made its way into Stan's kiss. Hell, he was nervous too! Not to the point where he was going to puke at any given moment, but give a guy a break. Things could change if they were given enough time to learn how to stomach such situations.

Kyle says:

Holy shit! Oh god! That's the only things that came to mind as Stan moved, His own lips kissing back a little through an unconcious groan that formed at the back of his throat at that last movement. His eyes closed tightly, his breathing a little bit eratic. What the hell! He wasn't sure his face could get any darker then it was, His heart speeding up in his chest. It wasn't like this was -c-

something so insanely dirty that he should be running and not looking back, but it caught him offguard because this hadn't been anywhere near what he was expecting. He didn't even know Stan had this in him, at least not right now. Didn't know he had it in himself not to pull away from it and tell Stan no. Everything he'd been taught told him that this was wrong and he should end -c-

it should it become more serious, but Stan wouldn't make this complicated would he? And did Kyle even care at this point? He did, a bit. At the back of his mind where he was still thinking reasonably, even if that was being consumed by this new fire. Stan said trust him. So trust him. Didn't stop ther nervous sparks going through his body.

Stan says:

The last thing that was running through his mind was how to make this anymore complicated than it had to be. And in all honest truth, the black-haired boy was surprised that he was able to pull that off. Well, at least without him accidentally hurting the other in trying to position himself. Go slow, he reminded himself. Go slow. The only thing to move was his head and mouth, which parted from -c-

Kyle's own lips with a pant before kissing just a bit lower, below his lips, down his chin, nibbling at the soft delicate skin of his neck. Stan swore there was a difference between the way people tasted, if that wasn't such a sick sentence to think about. Those lips kept trained upon the other's neck, even as the teeth bit against it lightly and a tongue guiltily washed away the mark and -c-

begged forgiveness with a sweet press of pink fleshy lips. Just slow Stan, just stay slow.

Kyle says:

"Ah.." He breathed out at the teeth grazing over his skin, not really painful but still.. Strange. He clentched his own teeth together, determined to stop making all these tiny sounds that he somehow couldn't help, slow or not. Slow meant nothing when you'd never expierienced this before. This might as well have been some kind of flash, it didn't make any difference to -c-

the redhead. If anything it felt drawn out, torturous even. He didn't know if he could ever possibly explain it, not well enough to do it any kind of justice, explain exactly what this was like. He could still taste Stan on his lips, his scent drifting all around him in a way that was new to him yet so very familiar. He tilted his head back a little automatically without thinking, leaving -c-

more space for the other to drift down.

Stan says:

Those little noises sent sparks flashing behind his eyes, the energy from it moving down deeper into his own knotting core. But he was reacting just as he should, he thought in a pleased manner. He was doing something right, at least. Stan's hands moved from Kyle's sides to slowly but lightly drag his nails down Kyle's clothed torso, moving back up just as tormentingly sluggish in order to -c-

draw up the other's shirt. He panted, giving a little pleased groan as he parted his lips and gave another little bite lower, just on the side of Kyle's neck where it almost connected the shoulder to it. But instead of just letting go, his lips formed a suction around the area, tongue and throat and mouth working together as his hips subconciously rolled forwards a little bit.

Kyle says:

He bit down harder, Swallowing back another louder groan that escaped through all his best efforts none the less. Ahhhh, too much trust. Stan was going to get him killed. Or kill him. Or something. He didn't know nor care too much, his mind whirling and his own hips pressing up a bit into Stan's in reaction to his movement. God Damnit! What was this guy doing to him? -c-

Not to mention the painful yet way too pleasurable bite that Stan was somehow working on at the side of his neck. He couldn't do it anymore, hold his breath like this while the other did this to him. He unclentched his teeth, panting heavier then he wanted to as he tried for some well needed oxygen, his eyes still shut tightly to the world around them, which was blocked out as far as -c-

he was concerned anyways. "Staaannn.." He moaned quietly again, almost a whimper. He wasn't sure what he was trying to convey.

Stan says:

With a hum he expressed his own pleasure. Oh? So Kyle was a bit more vocal than he imagined. That was something he could work with. With one last hard suck, he released the pale skin and admired the redness it already possessed. A nice bruise was going to form there, and he didn't feel back about it. From where he had pulled up the other's shirt was where smoothened fingertips slipped up -c-

against Kyle's own skin, teasing around his belly and ribs before pushing themselves upwards and he found the tips of his fingers clutching at the other's chest as he kneaded. His hips were trembling a bit, like his whole body due to the excitement, but nothing too terribly out of place. This was something he could deal with. His kisses began to trail lower, disregarding the article of -c-

clothing that only lay in the way of more skin as he merely hopped over it and gave a little happy growl of ego-boosting courage.

Kyle says:

"Ngh!" He panted a bit harder as Stan released the area over his neck, the area throbbing slightly and a bit chilled in the air, even though it felt as though it were burning. He heard that little growl from Stan as his kisses trailed lower, his hands working at his skin in the same teasing kind of way. The air seemed suffocating to him, like no matter how much he got into his lungs it would -c-

never be enough to keep his conciousness alive. He gave his own tiny little growl for a different reason, as this went on he started getting more and more frusterated. Frusterated that he wasn't doing anything back, and he was just this puddle of a whimpering person under Stan. But even more so then the growing thoughts clawing at him, there was worry for what was going to happen -c-

next. He didn't want to break away, he didn't want to make this stop. He trusted Stan /too/ much, he really did. But what he didn't trust was their hormones. If he couldn't manage to keep himself in complete control what hope was there for anybody else to keep a sane mind? His brain longed to overthink this like everything else, but as that frusteration continued to grow, -c-

so did that need. "Stann..!" A little bit louder then last time, orbs of emerald opening partially to look at everything that seemed somehow hazy yet bright.

Stan says:

Now it was Stan's turn to grow a little nervous. Not at what he was doing to Kyle, oh god no. Kyle was reacting pretty much like he wanted him to at that point he thought as he gave a little lick a few inches above the other's naval. It was just his own lack of experience in doing this with another guy that he was really worrying about. Last thing he needed to do was scare Kyle out of doing -c-

something like this in the future. Dammit, he was a horny kid and he'd use that excuse. All kidding aside, he'd probably be fine with it if Kyle didn't want to go any further. But so far, no complaints yet. Stan let his teeth graze the edge of Kyle's bellybutton, planting a soft kiss above it as his body situated itself lower between Kyle's legs. His hands were wrapped around his boyfriend's -c-

waist loosely, fingertips brushing against the other's pantline.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~GREGSTOPHE SKIP~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Christophe says:

It was when Christophe fell into sleep that they began. The nightmares. One would think he would dream them more often, but as far as he knew he didn't dream at all. Not like this. Not with the guns, the blood. And there was Gregory. Smiling. But he shouldn't be smiling, holding out his arms like the son of some made-up god. But he was, and he was bleeding. And then the world was taken out -c-

from under him, and before Mole could get there he was already dead. And then he wasn't Christophe anymore, he wasn't even really the Mole. He could remember the guns, the blood, the stinging numbness he felt from bullets and knives and the butts of pistols. But he was an animal, he wasn't there. He wasn't hollow, but broken, and what was human and sane was making those tears flow down his -c-

face to mingle with the dirt and the blood and the sweat that was all his. This was why he awoke screaming, his body flying upwards and his fists ready to attack. He could still feel the tears streaming down his face, the ache of near-hyperventilation, the gnawing wretched thing that was his heart beating too quickly to be healthy.

Gregory says:

Gregory's eyes shot open the moment he felt movement next to him, sleepiness gone as soon as his mind woke enough to comprehend what that was. "Christophe..?" He mumbled, moving so he could actually look at him, just in time to see him shoot up, the scream. Oh god. "Christophe!" He wasn't tired anymore, his body completely ignoring the pain as he scrambled up almost as quickly beside the other -c-

His good hand went to grab the shoulder closest to him, trying his best to turn him to look directly into his own frantic blue eyes without being too rough. Even from the grasp he had, he could feel that heart beat, the thudding that seemed to shake through his muscular frame. He grabbed onto his opposite shoulder with his bad arm as soon as he could, pain wasn't something he bothered to notice.-c

Were those.. tears? What the hell had happened while he was sleeping? An almost angry protective wall shot up within him, ready to shield the other from whatever it was, even if he had no idea.

Christophe says:

For a moment he was dazed, for even though his body was jolted awake it was his mental capabilites that he lacked in the fog of being awoken. So he sat there, body tense and his breath still rapid. But his chocolate eyes were still in the throws of tears, reddening them slightly and giving him perhaps the most vulnerable state he had ever been in. But that recognition that, oh thank something, -c-

it was just a dream. He shook, breaking his gaze and lowering his head. The frenchman was relieved, but it still didn't take away the image that was still burned into his eyelids. Something that was so garbled between english and french cracked from his throat as he buried his head against Gregory's good shoulder, his arms automatically gripping the other's waist. Fear wasn't something that -c-

the Mole wore well.

Gregory says:

He wrapped his arms as Tightly as he could around the other as well, cradling him as well as he could and lowering his own head to nuzzle against the side of Christophe's. "It's okay." He cooed softly next to his ear, His eyes full of concern through the serious protective look that took over the rest of his face. He wanted to ask what happened, he wanted to know who he was -c-

going to have to kill. Not that there was a physical being at work here, as far as he knew, but the thought was comforting. He wanted to have something that he could hurt for doing this to his Mole. That's right, /his/ Mole. If there was ever a time to be possesive it was now. He loosened his grip with his good arm just enough to run his hand up and down the other's back, whatever -c-

small thing he could do to calm him down. "I'm here."

Christophe says:

He would blame it on his state of mind for the sobbing and shuddering that he was wracked with. Relief brought with it a mild sort of hysteria for him as he curled up as much as his body would allow, his eyes and nose making a mess against the other's skin. Christophe's speech was still garbled and a mix of his bi-lingual tongue sputtered out something along the lines of: "You were dead!"

Gregory says:

Somehow through years of being around the boy he was able to understand his words, mangled and broken as they might have been. But he didn't know whether he could have heard him right, after a moment thinking, continuing with the gentle soothing touches over the other's back, pressing a soft kiss to the other's neck where he could reach. "I'm not dead." That soft voice again, he hoped -c-

that it was enough to get through to him, he'd be here as long as he needed to be but he wanted the other to stop hurting like this. It felt like it was tearing him apart inside. "I'm not going to die for a long time, don't worry." He wanted to smile and reassure the other but he wouldn't pull him away just yet, he'd stay here, be the barrier that protected him from whatever was thrown their way.

Christophe says:

There were a few hiccups and shakes, but the worst of the sobbing went away after a few more minutes in that comforting grip. Then it was just quiet sniffs and gasping, muted cries. He could deal with that, couldn't he? Christophe didn't feel the need to move, but did let the harsh grip he have relax into something that was just there; be someone that didn't need Gregory to keep above the -c-

water but still needed him to stay afloat. "I watched you die...and zere was blood...zere was so much 'orrible t'ings..."

Gregory says:

He breathed a soft sigh when the sobbing finally stopped, but even as the other loosened his grip he kept his just as firm. There's no way anything could pry him away quite yet, absolutely nothing was strong enough for that task. "Christophe, I'm not going to leave you." He squeezed his arms a little bit tighter for a moment, just enough to put more meaning behind his gently spoken words. -c-

He wouldn't focus on the bad parts of that, he wouldn't bring up the blood or the 'horrible things' that Mole spoke of, just reinforce the only thing he could comfortably do. He wasn't going to die. Not going to leave Christophe to that state. Never. He'd survive anything, force himself to live through whatever was thrown at him, push his body to it's limit. -c-

He never wanted Mole to be that way again, not because of him. His heart sank a bit in his chest, he swallowed a bit roughly despite his overall calm and soothing appearance that he put on for his partner's sake. He squeezed a bit harder.

Christophe says:

Now in his logical mind he knew that; there was no way they were ever leaving each other without some sort of long-drawn fight. His dream was just his paranoia manifesting in a way to express his fear of it happening. Didn't mean it was true. As Gregory's grip tightened, he pressed himself closer, to the point where his head moved from the other's neck to just under the other's ear. He was -c-

quiet and calm for a good while, his hands tucked against the other man before they shifted upwards, wrapping around the other's shoulders extremely gently. "It's just me being stupid. I know zat."

Gregory says:

"I know that you know." He said with a very brief small chuckle, at the very least trying to lighten things. He wasn't sure if that was at all possible, but he'd try none the less, he was Gregory afterall if anyone could control a mood it was him. "Just clarifying for your dreams sake." A very small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, dragging it up just enough to look soft instead of -c-

it's previous concentraded concern. He moved his head to the side a bit, moving just enough so he could rest his dipped forhead against the others, look into those eyes if Mole so chose to look back. His own blue eyes shining their reflection of his concern that wasn't showing on purpose, but also a stability and sureness that he deffinately hoped was enough to catch on. -c-

He brightened his smile a bit, just enough to be close to his usual smirk without the smugness it usually portrayed.

Christophe says:

His eyes were hot and his stomach churned uncomfortably, but at least he was calm. "I must look like an idiot," he mused as he brought a hand up to rub away any extra moisture from his face. "...I am sorry for waking you." When the courage to open his eyes finally came, he merely blinked the reddened chocolate orbs up at shining, twinkling blue ones. At least he could trust that his -c-

vulnerabilities would not be exploited by this man. Any one else who would have seen Christophe in this state probably would.

Gregory says:

He had no intention of doing anything that would directly or indirectly hurt or harm the muscular man in his arms, his smile growing just the slightest bit wider as he finally managed to look up into his eyes, his heart skipping a beat for a half second as he did so. Reddened eyes or not, Christophe would always be the same to him, always just as handsome. "Don't be sorry." -c-

he cast off the appology as quickly as it had come with his soothing voice, his white teeth flashing through a gentle sigh that followed, closing his eyes for just a moment with the breath, opening them almost as swiftly. He looked back into those beautiful brown eyes, his smile lighter and much more loving then the encouraging grin, soft just for the other. -c-

"You look the same as always, you are no idiot."

Kelleh! says:

On occasion, he'd make a point to disagree with the previous statement. But he could let it go for now, instead focusing on pushing up his head so he could kiss those smiling lips. The kiss could compare to fierce flame, a sort of raw emotion whipping through his body and just barely tickling Gregory's. But it was enough to let him know that he was still human, but only to him. "...'ow is your -c-

shoulder?" His gaze went to Gregory's bad arm as his head nuzzled under Gregory's chin, where he felt safest.

Gregory says:

He was satisfied with the kiss, even if he might have gone back for more had Mole not just been in tears moments ago. His good arm wrapped around the other to pull him a bit closer in his embrace, his bad following as best it could, purposefully on his part at those words. He hadn't been thinking about the pain for a reason, not that it was as bad as it used to be. But should he tell -c-

Christophe how bad it still did hurt? Right now it didn't make any difference, life or death calls weren't on his shoulders so to speak at this second. Making it sound better then it was wasn't going to get them killed quite yet. "It's getting better." Not a lie, hopefully Christophe wasn't in the mood for digging.

Christophe says:

He'd accept that answer. After all, what else could he do? Christophe rubbed his cheek against the other's throat lovingly, shaggy brown hair fluttering in his eyes from where sleep tweaked it out. He was lucky, he supposed. That he could have his moments of insecurity and not have to worry about what the other thought. It was a trust thing that they had. He was sure Gregory wasn't this -c-

trusting with other people like he was with Mole. "Good," he whispered as he turned his head, kissing lightly at Gregory's adam's apple. "Zen you are 'ealing nicely."

Gregory says:

"Hm." He sighed softly, staying still where he was. Change of subject would be nice, it'd make him feel so much better, but he wasn't sure what to say. His brain took back a small bit of it's sleepy haze, now that the immediate action had been taken and he could allow himself some of what his human reaction should have been to waking up in the middle of the night. -c-

Which was right now to fall asleep again wherever he was. He wouldn't let it get that far though, afterall he had problems falling asleep once awoken, it would just bother him like fuzz at the back of his brain for a while if he stayed awake. His chin rested overtop of that mess of brown hair, Breathing quietly so he could better listen to the other's. No, The Mole was the only person to -c-

ever see this side of Gregory. The softer side that wasn't full of his cocky confidence and outward dislike for most people. No one else got this nor ever would, and he was content with that fact.

Christophe says:

When he was comfortable with himself, he was able to pull away just slightly. Just enough to look at the other's face without hiding his own. Knowing the both of them, which he did, neither one of them was going to be able to go back to sleep. So really, Christophe only saw one other option. "Coffee?"

Gregory says:

Sleep or not he was comfortable, but yes, coffee sounded wonderful. He chuckled a little, pulling his head back a bit so he could look down at Christophe better. "Read my mind."

Christophe says:

"Mmm. Mind 'anding me my pants then?" He shuffled under the covers, looking around for any sign of clothing that they might have brought with them. "Boiling water when I am naked ez a bit frightening."

Gregory says:

Gregory ran a hand through his tussled hair as Mole moved away from him, looking around the room at the request. His boxers were off to the side of the bed, The shirt he'd been wearing was no where in sight. To be honest he didn't remember where most of their clothing was, they'd kind of rushed in here without thinking about it. He smirked a bit at the thought, -c-

Shuffling himself to the edge of the mattress and grabbing his boxers up off the ground. Wasn't like he was a shy person, He was however kind of cold. He quickly stood and slipped them on almost as soon as he'd snatched them up, sniffling a bit as his eyes finally found the target after a few more moments of scanning the dark room. There they were, off in the corner. He walked over, -c-

Picking up Christophe's pants and throwing them to him. "Going to be instant again, Obviously I didn't put the coffee on for morning yesterday." He didn't bother looking for his own pants, later maybe but right now he just plain didn't care. Walking around in his boxers suited him fine.

Christophe says:

"Zat is fine," he mumbled, pulling his pants up over his legs and buttoning them low on his hips. "Coffee tastes ze same to me, instant or no." With a yawn and a stretch he hopped from the bed, heading to the kitchen with his hand scratching at his hip. "...do you think zat zose two are still 'ere?"

Gregory says:

"Somehow I doubt it." He'd forgotten, honestly, only actually thought about it not too long before Christophe had braught it up himself. There was no way they were still here, Lucky for them he supposed though, he probably would have had another good round of torture in it for them if they stayed. If they were still here it'd be fun enough he supposed, but yeah. Chances were they had escaped -c-

while they could, like the cowards they were. In his eyes, at least. He snorted a bit, catching up to Christophe and heading over to the cupboard which held his instant coffee. Christophe was proving to be a very large distraction, he hadn't intended on being so distracted as to miss two days of his usual blend. No complaining though, at least not outloud. -c-

He repeated the automatic morning movements, pulling out two mugs and putting the kettle on the stove. While he waited he moved to take a seat at the kitchen table, rolling his bad shoulder a little if only to get it moving, gentler then his forced ones earlier.

Christophe says:

Ah. The rest of their clothing was apparantly scattered along the floor, and with a groan he bent over to pick them up. No use in tripping over them, now was there? "If zey were smart, zey would be gone." And judging by the silence that was shared between the two, they were't there anymore. Christophe set the clothing down on one of the chairs, moving behind Gregory and taking a look at the -c-

wound from the other side. The muscle was probably sore all around, but it needed to move if it was going to heal. Gently, he pressed his fingertips around it in a little massage, rolling his fingertips into the flesh just enough to move it.

Gregory says:

He flinched a bit as Christophe touched over the sensitive area, biting back some kind of painful sound which he managed to keep to himself, his muscles tightening a bit for a second until he made them relax with a released breath which he had held in with that initial poke to his shoulder. He hadn't payed any attention to the clothes Christophe had set aside, completely uncaring at this hour, -c-

But he was pleased to see that the two boys were indeed gone. Good riddance, he felt better already. He stared over at the stove and the slowly boiling water, wishing it would hurry up so he could have his blessed coffee. At least he wasn't as bad off as yesterday, he hoped he never felt that tired in the morning ever again. "Careful." He said a bit strained, but he kept it gentle, just warning.

Christophe says:

"I am," he gruffed lovingly. "Zis will 'elp with the stiffness." Nonetheless he was extra gentle now with that spot, although he was rougher to the other shoulder. Gentle was a hard thing for him to do without an outlet for his roughness. His brown eyes focused on his self-given task, still swaying gently from his earlier dream.

Gregory says:

"Okay." He said with another sigh, slouching a bit in his chair as Christophe worked at his shoulders. He wasn't sure what had earned him such special treatement, Not that Christophe was devoid of caring gestures, but it was odd. The way he was working at his good shoulder, it wasn't going to be soo good for very long, but he didn't say a word. He didn't mind honestly, wasn't like -c-

it felt bad per say. And the touches over his bad shoulder might hurt a bit, but he knew it would benefit him later, and he wasn't about to complain about that either. He was tempted to ask Christophe what was going on, but he was fairly certain he had an idea. He hoped that wasn't it though. He frowned a little bit to himself.

Christophe says:

Once Christophe's own mug was sweet and creamy, he returned to join Gregory. Being not a big fan of coffee, he merely let it warm his hands for the moment. "...so. Ze Fangs." His mind went to business when he wanted to forget something. Perhaps Gregory hadn't picked up on that little quirk about him, but he doubted it. "We should 'ead out to teach zem a lesson as soon as possible. Do you t'ink -c-

zat you can shoot a gun with your 'and?"

Gregory says:

Ah, so now Christophe was taking mental inventory of their sittuations? Wasn't that his job? He smiled a bit lightly, taking another slow sip of his coffee, he wasn't in any rush. "If forced to." He took his bad hand away from his mug, strethcing his arm out to the side in a small little test of his range of motion. He winced a little in a few places, but beyond that he could handle the agony it-c-

wanted to dish out. He rested it back on the table with a small grunt, taking another sip of his coffee before placing the mug back down between both of his hands once more on the wooden surface. "And yes, sooner is better I suppose. No need to be sitting targets in here, Hm?"

Christophe says:

"Hnn. Agreed." He didn't want to /force/ the other, really. Just perhaps, the dream had made him a bit more nervous about the proximity of people wanting to kill them than he should, an animal's gaze fixated on his eyes. Definitely nervous and edgy. "We should 'ead out when you don't 'ave to force your arm."

Gregory says:

That smile dissapeared from his face, he didn't like the look that Christophe had. Alright, enough of the less-then serious attititude, He needed to take his stance here. He was the leader between them more or less afterall, he planned, Mole made it happen. He was slacking, letting Mole distract himself with worrying about little things. Enough, he'd take his place. It wasn't benefitting him -c-

anymore. "It doesn't bother me so much when I'm focused. I can move fine, there's no need to delay." He took another sip of his coffee, pushing the mug back down with a rather loud noise as he pushed it away from him a little, leaning back in his chair. "We can leave tonight." He stated, twirling the cup a bit with his hand as he looked over at Christophe.

Christophe says:

Christophe gave a little snort. Just a little resistance was all he needed to express. "With your arm the way et ez? Non. We should wait."

Gregory says:

There wasn't any joking around in his look, his face completely serious in the way it always was when they were dealing with their work. "It'll be fine. Waiting is far more dangerous."

Christophe says:

"Going in wounded ez stupid," he retored with his own serious face, his chocolate-colored eyes losing their own little spark and becoming dull like stone. Mercenary eyes. He was serious, but he knew that there was little chance of persuading Gregory to do otherwise.

Gregory says:

He couldn't argue that point, it was stupid yes but so was postponing and increases the chances the enemy was more prepared. That or having people sent into their house, And Blood was a mess to clean off of furniture. But Besides that. "Yes, it is." He leaned back in his chair, his hand crossed in front of him. He honestly believed he would be fine, Like he had stated earlier, -c-

Thank god he was right handed. His good hand already missed the feel of his signature weapon, the sword he'd owned for quite some time and had seen him through a lot. Put a handgun in his bad arm, which he was sure he could wield well enough, and he'd be set. He didn't need more then one hand to best them anyways. "But I'm not underestimating them, I wouldn't send us in to our deaths. -c-

Don't doubt me."

Christophe says:

Any more words and Gregory's wrath would come down hard on him. Stubborn British bastard, he thought with a shake of his head. "...Fine." He knew when he was beat when it came to this boy; he wasn't going to push it. "Zen let's get ready."

Gregory says:

He nodded once, in a curt motion, Once again opening and closing his bad hand and rolling his shoulder a little bit. About time Christophe aggreed, It wasn't like The Mole to turn down a job because it seemed too dangerous. That was his forte. He let his lips twitch up in a small dark kind of smirk, his eyes reflecting his own confidence. "Good, Tonight it is."

Kelleh! says:

Christophe was off by the way he held himself. Nervous about a job? Never. Until now. But he was just more worried about Gregory hurting himself than anything, but it was still enough to knock Mole back a step from his usual stances. He went to his room, looking for his gun and the ammo needed. God, he rubbed his eyes that seemed to always be hitched with sleep, this was going to be rough. -c-

Rope, they always needed rope. Goggles, silencers...he quickly packed all of this in a small duffle bag, grumbling mostly to himself about how stupid and wrong this all felt.

Gregory says:

Gregory lifted himself up as well, Picking up his mug of cooling coffee and downing it before it got too cold to be any good, walking over to the sink and placing the empty cup inside as he walked past to go to his own room. He needed clothes, If anything, before he started worrying about what he would need to bring. He was digging inside of the drawers beside his bed -c-

almost immediately, sitting on the cussiony mattress and pulling out a pair of pants, throwing them onto the sheets beside him. "Hmm." He closed the drawer quietly, his hand finding the handle of another farther down that he honestly wasn't sure what was in. He hadn't been here long enough to memorize the contents of everything, It had been a long time since he'd took -c-

any kind of residence here. Opening it, he found some Ammo, Knives, a medical kit.. Hm. He dug in a bit farther into the back, careful not to impale his hand on any of the more dangerous articles, until he found something he hadn't been expecting to. He pulled out the orange material with a small smile. One of his old shirts, by the looks of it. Good thing he hadn't grown much since -c-

he'd last been here. He threw it to the side, Grabbing his pants and pushing the low drawer back in with the side of his foot as he stood to slip them on.

Christophe says:

A change of clothing was the last thing on his mind when packing for such a mission, and in fact he almost walked out of the room and headed to the car without so much as a spare shirt. Wait, he reminded himself, steering his body back inside with a huff. There was going to be blood dammit. You know what. Take the extra goddamn shirt so Gregory doesn't yell at you for blood in his car. Well, -c-

more blood. He'd forgotten about Gregory's own mess from being shot. That wasn't going to bode over well. His brown touseled hair stuck up a bit as he poked his head into the room Gregory was in, raising an eyebrow at the orange shirt. Orange. "You're going to get shot in zat getup."

Gregory says:

The last button was being done up as Christophe walked in, smiling a little over at him. He always wore this, it wasn't going to change. Although the thought of ruining the one good shirt he seemed to have left was less then appealing. It wasn't as though he were going in just like this however, His long black coat was waiting inside the closet for him, Walking over -c-

to it as the thought crossed his mind, opening the doors and pulling it off it's hanger Along with his black leather gloves which sat next to it in a cubby hole. Probably a bit over organized, it was something he did well. He held it up For Christophe, Throwing both over to the bed before fixing his collar. "Hardly."

Christophe says:

Coats. He rolled his own eyes at that, shaking his head. It was going to weigh him down, but it was Gregory's own choice. Christophe would be fine in his dark tee and pants. "Good. For a moment I thought zat you were going to paint a large bullseye on yourself."

Gregory says:

"Hm, should know me better then that." He said with a raised eyebrow, Thinking quietly to himself for a moment before returning to his closet. Almost forgot. He knelt for for a moment reaching into the back against the wall for where his favourite weapon was placed neatly away. He grabbed the handle, gripping the cool steel and looking carefully over the sharpened edge as he pulled it out, -c-

Standing as he did so and turning back to Christophe. Just as he'd left it. He smirked a bit more, Walking it over as well to be placed on the table beside the bed for the time being.

Christophe says:

"I should. I was going to ask about zat next." Gregory always seemed to be the posterchild for old fashioned styles, and the cool saber blade suited him well. It would almost feel wrong for him not to bring it along. After all, Mole had his shovel already strapped to his back. He wouldn't dare try to leave that behind, oh no. Not for the life of anything. Most anything.

Gregory says:

Next was the accessories, Which he kept ready in his top drawer. You really wouldn't expect so much stuff to be hidden away in such a close vacinity, but he like to be prepared. His hand first grabbed his belt which was tucked neatly away at the back, Already equipped with enough clips of handgun ammo to last quite awhile, as well as the scabbard for his blade which hung over the side. -c-

"Hopefully we make this clean, In and out. Gathering information isn't top priority, as long as we find our target. I'd hate to waste all of this." He felt as though he were talking more to himself, Christophe just as knowledgable when it came to these matters, but he felt better clarifying. He grabbed one of the more familiar handguns, checking it to find it already loaded. -c-

He kept most that way, ready to use in case of an emergency. He placed it beside his sword next to the hilt, getting the belt securely on.

Christophe says:

"Eye for an eye zen?" He crossed his arms, merely waiting on the slower yet somehow more-impatient Gregory to finish up. "You know how dangerous zat ez if you get 'ot'eaded." He felt the need to scold, or remind, or do something that would make Gregory stay. His attempts would most likely be fruitless and tossed back to him like simple childish fears, but Christophe was too emotionally invovled -c

with the other man to care about such things. "Last thing we need ez you to get a bullet in ze ass."

Gregory says:

"If we don't take confidence in our abilities then we're already doomed to fail." He said back without thinking too much of it, although the temptation to call Mole out on his sudden dislike of a mission was tempting. For now at least he'd leave him alone with it. As soon as the belt was on properly, he stuck the Gun away in it's cover, followed by the scraping metalic sound as he -c-

slid the blade inside of it's own place by his side, the hilt sticking out easily within his reach. He reached for his leather gloves next, Getting them on quickly as well. The last thing he was was Hot headed, Confident that they would succeed yes, but to the point of getting cocky about it? No, deffinately not. There were too many factors which could easily equal death if they weren't on -c-

their game. But he was taking those into consideration, Mole should realize that.

Christophe says:

And Gregory should realize that Christophe's way of showing affection was to nag and worry endlessly. Or to be quiet about it and brood and smoke his lungs away. Being as how option A wasn't working out so well for him, he took the time to develop option B before any resistance could be made. The flick of the lighter was the only sound he made now, and perhaps he had a little pout on his lips. -c-

but as he flicked the lighter closed, stuffing it into his pocket, he became that silent gargoyle of a man, hawk eyes replacing those of warmth and humanity.

Gregory says:

He let Christophe light his ciggarette regretfully, it was a general rule of his not to bother Mole about it when it came to missions, even though he would love to snatch the thing away from his lips. Now his room was going to smell of Smoke, wonderful. Last but not least he finally grabbed for his trench coat, partially button up the top so that it hid his shirt while still being able -c-

to reach easily for his weapons. It was a light material, easy to move around in, and best of all it concealed everything. Even though it seemed rather fitted, you couldn't tell the kind of things he was packing on him, which made it especially good for anything that required stealth in which the enemy didn't realize you were who you were. The top of his orange collar popped out a bit -c-

from the top around his neck, but it was nothing that would get him caught. He ran a gloved hand once through his hair, tilting his head a bit and looking over to Christophe. He narrowed his eyes a little, he did know there was something wrong. "You're concerned with something."

Christophe says:

Now you tried to get something out of him? Sorry Gregory, but you weren't listening before. Why bother now. He brought his hand up to his cigarette as he inhaled deeply, aiming his lips right at Gregory with a strain of his neck and blowing the polluted smoke right at him. He knew it would aggravate the other, and possibly risked his ability to smoke altogether, but it was worth it to get the -c-

point across. Too late now to be worried about his concerns. He'd already said them. He stuck the small thing back in his lips, turning on his heel and grabbing the duffle bag with a grunt. "I'm driving."

Gregory says:

Gregory frowned at the smoke blown in his face, Stepping away from the area so he didn't cough as Mole turned almost angrily. What had gotten him so pissed all of a sudden? Did he really think that he was rushing into this? It had been his suggestion afterall, and he was taking into account his own injuries. But if Mole was going to react like this did they really want to -c-

do this tonight? He was shrugging it off like this was all Gregory's fault, saying that it was going to be him who got them killed, with his appearent hot headedness. Really, it was the other way around. He stepped forward and grabbed Mole's shoulder, stopping him before he went running of. They weren't leaving until he got a straight answer out of him. /That/ wasn't a risk he'd take. -c-

It was his turn to try his own cool version of a taunt, he needed to get something out of him. "It's not like you to back down from any part of a mission, Mole."

Christophe says:

Oh, very nice Gregory. You got your foot in the door, but the door was still closed for all you knew. Christophe did his best to try to give off that vibe that screamed that Gregory was wrong, but there was no way that could be done with such a relationship between the two. Gregory knew him too well. Well enough to use his job name instead of his--ugh--god given name when he wanted to pry him -c-

open. The cigarette's smoke just trailed upwards slowly, highlighting the circles under his eyes and the presence of crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. "Et's not like you to go in zere when one of your 'ands can barely grip a gun, Gregory."

Gregory says:

"So this is about me? Or are you avoiding the real problem." His hand stayed where it was, holding Christophe where he was if he did try and slip away from him. He'd let him go in a minute when he knew that the other wasn't going to just stalk away from him mid conversation. "Hmm." He sighed in a huff, If that was the case and Mole was pretty much just projecting his worry for him, or something -c-

similar, a simple conversation wasn't proof of anything. He reached down with his left hand, grabbing very carefully the concealed gun and pulling it up without so much as a grunt. If he was making a point he wasnt' about to show any weakness. He bent down a bit, his head next to Christophe as he leaned against him a little bit, pressing the tip of the barrel against the other's temple. -c-

He didn't let his finger even touch the trigger. He smirked a little. "I can hold a gun."

Christophe says:

Hmm. Despite the fact that the thing was loaded, aimed right where his brain would splatter most, he wasn't all that threatened. He moved his cigarette to the corner of his mouth with a light flick of his tongue, the smoke exiting his nostrils to avoid blowing it right in the other's face. That was just rude when they had cool metal aimed at your head. "Any idiot can 'old a gun. Can you use -c-

et, zat's what I'm wondering." Christophe's free hand, that being his right, went to wrap around Gregory's hand, manipulating one finger to the trigger. Ah. There we go. His pulse quickened just a little bit. That's what he needed. A little reassurance, a little threat. His eyes were half-lidded, teeth chewing on the butt of the cigarette lightly.

Gregory says:

His own heart started to pound just a bit faster inside of his chest, his finger hovering over the trigger thanks to some help by a very suisidal Mole. He'd go with it, Although he felt maybe the point he had been trying to prove had just been kicked to the side and stomped on in place of something else. He tightened his finger slowly and deliberately, making sure Christophe could see how -c-

precise he was being. Eventually he stopped, anymore pressure and he'd have a dead boyfriend. "Hm. On you? For the sake of our relationship I advise against it."

Christophe says:

Suicidal? Not by a long shot. He'd been dead once before. Hurt like hell. He wasn't quite ready to repeat that experience, no thank you good sir. "Hn. Perhaps." He let go of Gregory's hand, pushing his lips to the other and practically smirking as he, yes he did dare to, let the smoke from his cigarette wander into the other's mouth. Not suicidal. He just liked to test his limits. "Just 'ope -c-

you remember 'ow to use et on ze ozers, zat's all."

Gregory says:

He pulled the gun away and back into it's holster as Christophe released him, Allowing the kiss even if he felt as though he'd be sick with that offensive smoke the other very deliberately blew at him. He wrinkled his nose a bit as he pulled away from it, He was never going to get that taste out of his mouth. At least it reminded him of Christophe, that could be the only plus it carried. -c-

He snorted a bit, standing up straight again to his full height. "Like riding a bike." He let a small kind of annoyed smile onto his lips, resisting some kind of remark for the disgusting smokey flavor he'd be lucky to rid himself of anytime soon. The tension he got from the other was feeling better, he wondered if he should just drop their previous topic.

Christophe says:

With those same half-lidded eyes from before, he looked back up at the taller man. Sometimes, just rarely in truth, he wished he was the taller one instead. Then maybe he could crouch and look sexy trying to overtake Gregory. In his dreams, he could. "Good. Zen let's get in ze car before we waste more time."

Gregory says:

He nodded. Yeah, Things were going to be fine, afterall they had a very long drive ahead of them, If there was anything big to be braught up he was sure it would show itself at some point. It was barely morning afterall, They had the entire day of driving to get through, it was a long ways to their destination. He thought for a moment, looking down at Christophe with a more -c-

thoughtful expression as he decided something which in itself might make him the suisidal one. He reached into his pocket to pull out the car keys to his poor probably still bloodied and scratched up car, placing them a bit nervously in Christophe's hands. "Don't get us killed." He needed to rest his arm as much as possible beforehand, driving a full day wasn't going to help that.

Christophe says:

His eyes got their shine back for a moment as a smile toyed on his face. Good. This way Gregory could rest. At least subconciously they agreed on that aspect. "Oui. We'll live. Get in." He grabbed his dufflebag, putting the keys in his mouth as he unhooked his shovel from his back and made his way to the car. If he was the one driving, he'd have to stuff his things into the back for now. Oh -c-

well, a little more grime wasn't going to kill an inanimate object, he mused. Besides, he was allowed to drive for something other than non-emergency purposes. So forgive him if he was comparable to a kid being dropped into a candy store where all the price tags read FREE. He slipped easily into the driver's side, sliding the keys into the ignition easily and starting up the car. With the -c-

frost on the windows, they'd have to heat up the inside before they could even really leave.

Gregory says:

He was glad to see the happy look Christophe got with the keys, which made him feel a bit better but at the same time leaked dread through his veins. This was probably a very bad idea. But none the less, Christophe was happy. Which meant that he had no choice but to be as well, even if it was a much more cautious type. His hand rested over the gun by his side as they stepped out of the house, -c-

Half expecting to be gunned down the moment they had step foot out the front door. So far so good, Maybe he had actually overestimated them to think they'd be this organised. Better that then underestimating and ending up dead. He waited by his door until Christophe had finished packing his stuff into the back, Slipping in carefully a closing the door behind him, his sword comfortably by his -c-

side hanging next to the door. He hadn't been wrong, his own blood still plastered the leather interior, and he could see where the skates had left some perminent damage beneath his and Christophe's feet. His poor, /poor/ car. "Ugh." he groaned a little to himself, leaning back in his seat and trying not to think about his obvious distaste with it's condition.

Christophe says:

It took little time for the frost to melt away, thanks to the glorious inventions known as heaters. Christophe took the time to look around the car for a moment, seeing the same damage as Gregory but in a different light. "Be glad," he thought out loud, really more to himself than to be heard but the same affect was aquired either way, "At least we 'ave both 'eadlights." The headlights flicked -c-

on with a button, giving light to the fast-fading darkness. "See? We'll be fine. Take a nap or somet'ing." He pulled the car from its brake into first gear, the tires spinning for a second on the snow before heading out into the street. "We've got a ways to go."

Gregory says:

"No thanks, not tired." He flinched a bit as Christophe started the car up, glad that they weren't going some breakneck speed quite yet. He wasn't all that tired anyways, although he wouldn't admit the real reason he couldn't nap was because there was no way he was trusting himself to fall asleep while Mole was at the wheel. You could say he was drawing from personal expierience. -c-

They had both headlights. Ha. That made him feel so much better in what he considered to be the wreck of his perfect car. As soon as they were done this he was going to have to shell out a lot of cash getting it back to the way he was, not that the money was a problem, it was just sad. All of this had been original and.. Ah, he shouldn't be worrying about his car right now when they had -c-

more important matters to deal with. He kept his body relaxed in the seat, besides that initial flinch he wasn't going to insult the other's driving unless he braught it up specifically. "You know the way, correct?"

Christophe says:

"Of course," came the mutter through the end of a cigarette as he made the thing zoom up to speed, hitting the main highway out of South Park and into Denver. No one was really awake at this hour, so there were no cops to worry about. Local law enforcement was a joke, really. Nothing that either of the two would have to worry about. "I 'ave ze place in my 'ead."

Gregory says:

There was that speed he had been expecting, he could tell by the feel of the car that Christophe was already going over the limit. But it was true that Officers aroung these parts could be counted on for one thing, and that was their incompetance. Until they got later into the day, and to maybe a better controlled district, he say anything against it. As long as he kept control of the vehicle he-c

Couldn't argue. "Good." He did close his eyes, his head resting against the back of the seat. He wasn't tired enough to even possibly fall asleep, but he would try and relax and rest up as best he could. Without a sound he sent up a short prayer, to please let them get through this unscathed. Calm and confident as he was, There was always the posibility they didn't make it out alive. -c-

He let the atmosphere in the car fall to silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ROAD TRIP TIME SKIP xD ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Christophe says:

It was a while before Christophe spoke again, pulling over to a little gas station in some 100-person populous town. Needed food, needed fuel. By his guess they were a little more than halfway done with their trip, his eyes tired of gazing at road for the moment. Even he needed a break. "Gregory," he motioned with a little nudge of his hand. "You awake?"

Gregory says:

Gregory turned his head a bit lazily to the side, A few hours into the drive he had started to doze off much to his surprise. Gotten used to Christophe's driving he supposed, subconciously. But he had never truely slipped away, his conciousness jarring back into reality at any larger bump or turn in the road. His eyes opened, a bit groggy but awake enough. "Mm, Yeah." -c-

He croaked a bit, straightening up again in his seat and running a leather covered hand through his still relatively neat blonde hair.

Christophe says:

Lack of sleep was getting to Mole's body as well, his eyes half-lidded and weary-looking. "Good. Go inside and get somet'ing to eat. I'll fill up ze tank and meet you there." With a yawn he unbuckled, stepping out of the car and setting to his business with relative calmness.

Gregory says:

"Right, food." He said through his own stiffled yawn, Stepping out of the car and stretching out his sore muscles. His bad arm gave a particularly strong wave of pain as he might have pushed it a bit too far, but he ignored it. As long as he kept it moving he'd be fine, couldn't let it get too stiff. He fixed the collar on the jacket as he stepped around the vehicle, -c-

Checking himself to once again ensure that all the offensive weapons he was carrying were securely hidden away. No reason to cause a scene, they'd probably think they were some kind of terrorists. How backwards. He stuffed a hand in his pocket, looking up at the neon sign above, Partially broken and cracked, as he opened the door. Some kind of Diner was held inside appearently, -c-

Worked fine for him. Probably had fast better quality stuff then a plain gas station would, and maybe some real coffee. He called nonchalantly over his shoulder in Christophe's direction. "Hurry in, I'll order us something." The door jingled as he stepped inside, Only a couple people other then himself in the small building. He walked over to a stool near the bar-like counter, Smiling -c-

politely to the older lady who walked over to him. "Two Coffee's, please."

Christophe says:

Christophe took very little relative time in filling up the tank, though it was harsh on his wallet more than anything. He muttered about how there better be some sort of monetairy gain in Denver, otherwise he was going to remain pissed off about that fact as he pulled into a nearby parking spot. A little rest from driving wouldn't hurt, after all. Luckily Gregory's form could stick out like a -c-

sore thumb here without worry, and with a little hop slid onto the stool next to him. "Let me guess. You ordered more coffee, non?"

Gregory says:

"How did you know?" He said in mock surprise, chuckling a bit as the Coffee was braught to them as if on Cue, His charming smile gleaming up at the lady who didn't seem too intent on being so nice back. No matter, he would be polite anyways for now. "Thank you. Could we have some cream, please? And we'll need a few moments." She stalked away almost immediately, Returning a second -c-

later with the requested item, and then dissapearing once more into the back. "Wonderful service." He sighed, Pushing the silver cup which held the cream in Christophe's direction, packets of sugar in a container already in front of them. He knew what he wanted, he'd looked over the small laminated menu when he had sat down. Not the most creative or tasteful food, but it was food. -c-

He'd order when Christophe picked something out and the waitress came back.

Christophe says:

Christophe was a finicky eater when it came to public places. In reality he didn't want to order /anything/ out of this grease shack, but he needed the energy. "...ugh. Just ze Chicken Streeps." He pushed the menu back at Gregory with slight distaste, working on making his coffee sweet enough to enjoy properly.

Gregory says:

The lady had returned in time to hear Christophe make his order, not even bothering to write it down as she looked to Gregory, pen in hand anyways. "Breakfast ommlette." He said, letting his smile fade as she dissapeared once more. Some people just had to be rude didn't they? He sighed, grabbing his coffee and automatically taking a sip. Horrible. So much for -c-

Quant little small town diners being anywhere near good. He leaned slouched a bit in his chair, looking to the side at Christophe fixing his mug, while he sipped slowly at his own. "I can take a shift driving next, you should get some rest as well."

Christophe says:

"Non. I'll be fine." He intended on downing the coffee as quick as he could now, he'd be the one awake. "Just az long as I 'ave somet'ing to eat, I'll be fine." He shifted in the stool, his feet not even touching the ground like Gregory's could. The damn thing almost made him look like a bloody midget next to the lankier man, something that made him grumble and sip away at the chocolaty-brown -c- liquid.

Gregory says:

"Take into consideration the task at hand, if you think it's going to effect the job then let me take the wheel. I won't force you, just reminding." He sighed smiling lightly at the other with another gulp of his coffee. Wasn't meant to offend, he just wanted to make sure Christophe was taking things into consideration. It worried him Christophe might refuse because of his arm, -c-

didn't mean a thing if he got killed because he was half asleep.

Christophe says:

In his mind he wasn't doing the stupid thing. Him half-asleep was less dangerous than Gregory half-able to fight. He'd done things when not totally aware anyways, he could manage once more. "Noted." Surprisingly he finished his cup, setting the mug down with a light burp that only he and Gregory could hear. "Pardon."

Gregory says:

'Doubtful.' He thought back in reply, staying silent. If it got too bad he /would/ force Christophe. But that came later, they still had a good 6 hours of driving left to go, at the least. If they were where they should be at least, honestly he didn't have any idea where they currently were. He'd been barely concious in the car until now afterall. His own cup was maybe -c-

half way finished by now, as he raised an eyebrow at Christophe. Coffee wasn't a replacment for sleep, if he had any sence he would know that. Surely he wasn't planning on risking his own life over something so stupid and remedial.

Christophe says:

Coffee was fine enough for him to replace his sleep. Christophe would manage, even though this shit was nasty enough to be placed on the line of horse piss. Already it was beginning to work, moving down his chest and making his foot rap against the end of the stool as he awaited his next cup.

Gregory says:

He considered lightly cutting Christophe off, but no he guessed he shouldn't do that. If he refused sleep he'd need the boost. Sigh. "Don't get yourself killed, please." He said gently, quiet so no one else would hear. Enough of the cool in-control leader for the moment, Orders got him no where when Christophe was being such an idiot, Not that he had put much force behind them. -c-

Either way, the words he spoke now were obviously of a different tone. As a Boyfriend worried for his significant other's safety. The waitress came waddling back with their food a second later, Gregory lifting his head and mumbling something in thanks as she filled Christophe's cup with Fresh coffee and again dissapeared. He grabbed a fork, looking a bit distastfully at the -c- less then perfect meal.

Christophe says:

The chicken was rubbery, and by the way he was trying to stuff it down his throat anyone could tell that he did /not/ want this stuff in his body. At all. with a cough he washed it down with the coffee, wincing as he found out the hard way that it was black. Ew. Gross! But still, he'd rather not waste time now, taking another bite of his food and another drink of the horrid bitter brew. -c-

Survival eating, that's what this was now.

Gregory says:

He dug into his own food rather quickly, not too sure if the lack of reply was a good or bad thing. He should know better to get emotional himself, it was going to effect his own performance and he couldn't allow that. He'd drop it, for now. He was already half finished with his food, Finished his coffee as the lady came back to top it off, which was also downed almost as fast. -c-

When he was finished he pulled a 20 out of his wallet, placing it on the counter in front of them and waiting for Christophe be finished so they could get out of this place. A Diner wasn't the best place to speak anyway.

Christophe says:

Luckily he was trained in handling his food quickly. He could digest it hard later, stuffing a full piece of chicken in his mouth and almost drowning himself in his coffee. He didn't wait for Gregory, instead hopping off of the stool and heading back out towards the car. He'd finish there.

Gregory says:

He smiled a little to himself as Mole ran out, leaving him to pay the bill and follow quickly behind, not before grabbing a couple energy drinks from the cooler on the more gas-station like side of the place and paying for those as well. Just in case. He walked out casually to the car, opening his passenger door and placing the bag which held both between the seats without a word about them. -c-

He sighed, leaning back uncomfortably in the seat and rolling his bad shoulder again, determined to make sure it stayed flexible even if it hurt to do so. He decided to ask the question that he'd figured wasn't all that important to ask until now, "So how far are we from the destination?"

Christophe says:

"Six hours," he said between bites of his chicken, wiping his gloved hand on his shirt as he reached into the bag and fished out an energy drink. Ah, yes, that was better. He raised a thick eyebrow, opening one up without much care and beginning to chug it. "Ah. zere we go."

Gregory says:

Gregory sighed, Leaving his own Energy drink in the bag so the other could drink it at his leisure. He didn't needed it, He'd slept, Unlike a certain someone.. "You're stubborn." He watched Christophe guzzle down his drink like it was nothing, wondering to himself if he should have baught maybe a couple more. Then again, he didn't need Mole crashing, which could be quite litterally if it -c-

happened behind the wheel. Plus he'd already had two cups of coffee. Inducing a heart attack wasn't something he was fond of either. He stuffed his hands inside the pockets of his coat.

Christophe says:

"Zat I am," he agreed lightly, hiccupping as he placed the energy drink into one of the cupholders. He'd be fine. He already felt better, and even his speech seemed to be picking up. Well, the speed of it anyway. He threw the car into reverse, the wheels squeeling as he practically gunned the poor thing to life. "We'll be fine. I'm fine. You're fine. We'll get there quick."

Gregory says:

He couldn't help but Cringe as Mole pushed his car, pretending he had never heard that screech. By the end of this he was going to need a new vehicle entirely if Christophe had his way with it. You know, maybe this required a more delicate touch, one that involved him keeping his car you know.. Not destroyed. "I'm getting you a car when we get back." He grumbled a little, looking Sideways at -c-

the other with the change of subject.

Christophe says:

"A car? My own car?" He sped on the highway, the car starting to groan as he pushed it as hard as it would go. "Zat is crazy. You know zat I don't need a car." He shifted gears, the car lurching for a second as it started to drift around corners and curves.

Gregory says:

He smiled a bit at the reaction, but it was small and a bit nervous as he had to force himself not to stare out the front window in horror at how Christophe was handling his baby. "Well since mine is more then likely going to end up totaled," He said with a slight chuckle, A lot more serious then it sounded. In all truth, even if the idea had come from his need to preserve his -c-

own car, it actually sounded like a very nice idea. Christophe did enjoy driving, that was obvious, it would make a nice gift. That is of course if he could keep from destroying it once purchased for him, or getting arrested. He wasn't sure he'd ever got Christophe a gift such as that just because he could, it was a pleasant thought. He asked a little mockingly, "Don't like cars suddenly?"

Christophe says:

"I do," he shrugged once again, sipping more on the energy drink. His eyes were practically wide, shoulders tense. Oh yeah, the caffiene was getting to him all right. "But zat is an expensive t'ing. Zat isn't your duty to get for me." Ah, Gregory was just worrying over nothing, he thought. This car had been through worse, right? It would live, same as always. The highway trailed out to a -c-

straight stretch, mole pushing the speed past 110 easily.

Gregory says:

Been through worse when /he/ was driving maybe, Christophe was plain going to destroy it. "Maybe not. Well, if you're going to be difficult about it," He sighed still smirking lightly to himself with his eyes watching a very strung out looking Mole. "Consider it payment. For this job, For years of dedicated service.. I don't know, choose whichever pleases you." -c-

Or just accept it's because he loves you and wants you to be happy, But of course not, that would be too difficult.

Christophe says:

"I choose for you to keep your money where it belongs, right zere in your pocket." His words practically came out of his mouth at the same speed as the car, eyes unblinking and fixated. Who knew that the smaller man was caffiene sensetive? "You better not get me anyt'ing of ze sort, zat's not anything I can't do without you know. I'm fine. Keep your money. Is it 'ot in 'ere? Et's 'ot in 'ere." -c-

His focus went to cracking his window, cool winter air splashing against his face. Man, he felt good.

Gregory says:

Was it just him or was Christophe starting to lose his mind? He kept with the topic at hand anyways, not giving up quite yet. "Most of your money comes from me anyways, does it not? Not as if I'm going broke anytime soon either way." He said, a bit slower as he could have sworn he saw Mole start twitching, but it could have been just a trick played by his mind. Maybe the energy -c-

drinks had been a very bad idea. He'd never exactly tried Christophe with them before, it was just a side thought. "Maybe I should take over now, Christophe."

Christophe says:

"I'm fine, I feel really, really good." And he did, and perhaps a smile played over his lips for a second. Twitching? No, he wasn't twitching. His free hand went for what was left of his energy drink, guzzling what was left. He had no idea that this type of stuff could feel so damn /good/! He'd have to do this more often! "You sleep, I can drive better now. Zis is amazing! Et's still 'ot in -c-

'ere, isn't et? Roll down your window, Gregory."

Gregory says:

Sleep? Yeah not likely. He did crack his tinted window down a bit sceptically, enough so some air blew in without completely messing up his hair, as he continued to study Christophe with a bit more of a serious look. Was this natural? Had he given him /that/ much that he was practically on some kind of high? If there was anyone he'd picked to be lightweight when it came to -c-

any kind of substance abuse, it deffinately was not Christophe. "I don't think it's hot in here." He said slowly, instead of the question nagging at his brain which was the generic 'Are you okay?'. But that wouldn't get him any other answer then what he had already recieved so what was the point.

Christophe says:

"Mmm, it's just me then. Roll up your window." He was jittery now, jaw tightening as it really hit him and hit him hard. Now he didn't feel so good, instead he felt like some shaking, wiery, exposed nerve that couldn't get any relief or cover. He felt too on edge, too alert. Christophe shook his head, going quiet and rolling up his own window. He'd deal with the heat on his own.

Gregory says:

"Christophe, I /really/ think I should take over." He said again, Keeping his window where it was. He could take the cold, it didn't bother him.

Christophe says:

He kept the car going, being very very quiet and focusing all of his newfound energy on the road. "Non." He shook his head a little bit, forcing himself to blink even though his body told him he didn't need to. "I'll be fine. I'm fine."

Gregory says:

"I hope so." He said, his eyes still stuck on Christophe as they continued their speedy drive. He wasn't sure if he was going to be able to relax until they got there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~TIME SKIP~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Christophe says:

The caffiene had long wore off by the time he reached their destination, pulling the very abused car into a little hidden parking lot just a few blocks away from their target. He swore off ever getting that highly strung ever again. He had a headache for the first hour, and now all he wanted was his cigarettes and an hours nap. Which he had time for neither now. "We're 'ere."

Gregory says:

Gregory had been completely alert and taking mental note of every little thing he could for the past hour or so, Even more as they entered town. Knowing the surroundings should they need to get away quickly was a very important resource, he had already scoped out a hotel as well as a backup in case things went wrong, which was an older looking House that was for sale -c-

a few blocks away. Easy enough to break into, should they need for some reason to go someplace private. The area they parked in was dark, seemingly deserted, and downright filthy. Although some of the larger buildings surrounding it didn't look so. Spaced out and gated in some cases, obviously the darker side of the rich. He didn't move from his seat yet, they needed to know -c-

exactly the plan before just barging in, so he would go over it again. "Good, then. Our objective is to get in and out quickly, without notice if possible. The chances of tight security are high, Tougher Guards if we get close enough, which I would preffer we take out from a distance silently to avoid detection." He stopped for a moment, gloved hands -c-

Pulling out a hidden compartment under his seat to reveal a second laptop, obviously synced with the one he had left back at home. He sat it on the dash where they could both see, typing in a few coded inscriptions and bringing up a diagram of the near mansion sized residence they would be infiltrating, pointing with a finger as he started to speak again. -c-

"Best options of entry are here," He pointed to a side entrance, before moving to point at a hidden entrance that must have been used as an escape route, which worked fine for him, it meant it wouldn't be guarded, and let just behind the stairwell which lead to their target. "Or here. This one is probably the easier to access. If Neither are available I'll be counting on your skills to get us in."

Christophe says:

"Good t'ing I 'ave my shovel." He rubbed at his eyes before pointing a slightly-grubby finger at the first enterance. "I should take zis one. Since ze other one is 'idden, zey will expect someone to come through zere. I can cause a bit of a distraction through zat enterance, take out some of the guards. It might risk our positions being given away, but et es better zan both going in one way."

Gregory says:

Gregory nodded, considering Mole's words for a moment in callibration to his thought out plan. He had kept them together to ensure they both made it in safely, probably to break up once they had gotten inside, but he had a point. Mole was better at going in Gun's blazing, you could say, and it wasn't a difficult thing to imagine a good portion of the guards being taken out before -c-

they knew what had hit them. Also, If Gregory had a distraction, it would make his style easier. Stealth, making sure no one saw you coming. Alright. "Noted. Take as many out as you can as descreetly as you can, then. I would have liked to avoid casualties but I'm sure they won't be missed." He said with a small sigh near the end, Eyeing over the diagram to make sure that the plan -c-

was foolproof. "Target should be here," He pointed once again. "It's the main office, Meaning this is where it could get messy if we aren't careful. But we always are." He added with a slight smirk, dropping his hand to place back in his pocket for the time being.

Christophe says:

"I'm not 'eartless. Just try to let me do zis." He exited the car, opening the back to take out his shovel and strap it onto his back with a grunt. He grit his teeth, wasting no time now in heading towards his destination. He was silent, both pistols in his hands and extra magazines ready in his old dusty bandolier. When the target position came into sight, he hid out of sight from the guard's -c-

line of vision, closing his eyes tiredly. This was it. This was the revenge. "Good luck Gregory." He took out his pistiols, stepping out from the shadows and began firing. He knew he wouldn't miss.

Gregory says:

Gregory slipped out of the car silently as well, following Christophe up until the point they had to sepperate. He nodded once to the other, knowing very well, like every mission they went on, that this could be the last time he saw him. But doing such a thing to jinx the sittuation was horrible for him to do, so he looked at Christophe with all his confidence mustered into one -c-

concentrated look. He let a soft smile tug at his lips for a second before he slid off into his own shadows, making his way to go around to the back of the residence. He could already hear the gunshots being fired as he dissapeared. "Bonne Chance, Christophe."

Christophe says:

The outside guards were not difficult as he walked by, his mind automatically thinking them not as humans but as enemies. Just something in his way. That was how he got through the day without feeling totally guilty for what he had to do. He burst down the door with a grunt, feeling the tired strain in his body already as he shoved the pistols through the door, catching one inner guard, well, -c-

off his guard as he ended his life with one shot. One bullet was all it would take for each guard he came across, the silencer making it so no one ahead would suspect a thing. Almost too easy.

Gregory says:

It was cold as he walked, staying out of any form of light as he slipped past several guards without one look in his direction, his feet placed carefully over pavement until they walked over smooth damp grass, Each step placed with an almost unnatural accuracy as he managed to go faster then you expect. He reached the entrance he was looking for quickly, -c-

The only clue there was one at all was a circular handle which stood out raised a bit off of a slight incline in the grounds. There were no guards here, as he had suspected. Why draw attention to something that was supposed to be secret? His eyes scanned around for any sign of hidden cameras, glad when the only ones he did find pointed away from his direction. -c-

Silently he almost sprinted to the door, keeping low with his hand on his handgun ready to take action if he needed to, his good arm working at unlocking it which he found easily enough done, slipping inside the dimly lit hall as he closed the lid-like door behind him with a very small muffled click.

Christophe says:

Christophe could be a bit more brutish that Gregory would have been in this situation, quickly causing a bit of a ruckus and drawing more people to him. The rendevouz point was nearing a bit as he reloaded the magazines with slight clicks, ending the life of two more guards. Really, no one had even given off another shot yet. This was turing out to be too easy.

Gregory says:

Gregory walked down the hall quietly, his footsteps echoing slightly no matter how cussioned he made every movement. He'd had his gun out, but had put it away in exchange for his sword which he had drawn as quietly as he could with a slight scraping as he was pulled out of it's cover, now Shining in front of him as he stepped sideways against the wall. -c-

In these corridors, he could only expect the sound of a gunshot would echo through most of the residence, which he refused to let happen. His luck was holding, himself almost to the point Christophe and himself had chosen, his close range weapon glinting a bit as he saw a door up ahead. His long coat billowed out behind him as he quickly moved to it, Ear close to the cool steel -c-

and hearing nothing stir behind it. He took a shallow steadying breath, his bright blue eyes suddenly dull with the intent that had to be pushed into them. He gripped the handle, pulling it open slowly at first until he saw the barrel of a gun moving to point at his head. Shit. His boot Kicked harder at the door, himself dashing to the side out of the way as the sharp extension -c-

of his right arm swung out, catching the offending hand which held the gun with a muffled crack as it hit bone, but not allowing himself to sever it completely. He believed in sparing as many lives as he could, even if the dirt bags didn't always deserve it. Next he sent a stronger slash against the man's chest, again moving like a ghost to catch him as he slumped, a gloved hand -c-covering his mouth to cut off the oxygen and silence the scream, letting the man fall unconcious and bleeding to the floor.

Christophe says:

He saw the glint that was a sword down the hallway, and his eyes widened. Shit, he wasn't through with his cleanup yet. There were six or seven more still left to be dispatched, and he was beginning to run out of bullets. With no time to replace the magazine, he groaned and would have to make do. Around the corner he went, two shots. Two guards down, that left five. They turned, pop. Another -c-

down. The initial panic was settling in. Take out the one with the radio now. Pop. Four left. Then three as the drew their own guns. Two as they raised their rifles to him. One as he found out that was his last bullet. "Sheet!" He was able to dodge to the side, cursing his lack of preperation. And that they would be found soon enough. He let the pistols drop onto the ground, rolling away as he -c-

went for the only true backup weapon he had left on hand: the shovel. It would do as he slid towards the last guard, catching him off guard and bringing him down. He wouldn't kill him with his own weapon, much too noisy. It wasn't dirt he worried about. His hangs gripped tighter on the wooden handle, lifting it like some nordic viking and bringing it down with a loud, sickening smack upon the -c-

enemie's head. Blood had shot up where he drew back and left another hit, intent on making the other stay down permanently. Damn. He panted, quickly getting back to his feet and heading for the meeting point. They had to hurry now. Someone was bound to have heard those gunshots.

Gregory says:

His eyes shot to where the gunshots had fired, finding Christophe engaged with several enemies he had managed to take out almost as soon as his blue eyes had rested on them. Fast, efficient, but not enough to stop that resounding banging through the building. His left hand was once again gripped to his handgun, his sword down straight by his side as he ran after Christophe to the point -c-

they had specified, A line of his victims blood streaking down the sharpened edge and dripping off the tip onto the floor as he caught up with Christophe. A door opened ahead with some muffled orders, a few people stepping out which he managed to take out with the same ammount of bullets, his bad arm steadier then he thought it would be as he made a line at their heads. -c-

His own gun was nearly silent as it fired, the three men falling dead before they had even had a chance to point their own guns at the boys. His own breath felt heavy as he gasped in shallow breaths, his heart racing as he ducked around the corner, his back to the wall immediately with his gun still drawn, his sword twitching in his hand by his side. "So much for stealth." He whispered, more -c-

mouthed to himself then any kind of insult to the other. "Reload." He ordered, sure the Brunette was already on it.

Christophe says:

He clicked in a fresh magazine to both of his pistols, wiping some blood from his face lightly. "Already on zat." When his weapons were ready he steadied himself, eyes harsh but yet still shaded with concern for his lover. "...ready." Their target was up ahead, possibly the most difficult thing about this now. But it was almost over, it was almost time. Hopefully this vendetta was worth the 12 -c-

hour ride it had taken to get here. "Waiting on you."

Gregory says:

Gregory had taken the time to reload his gun just in case of the shots he'd already unloaded, catching his breath for a moment and looking back at Christophe for a moment before they could run off. It was dangerous, it was stupid, but as he stood panting he Reached to the side, His lips finding Christophe's in a kiss that couldn't have lasted for more then a few seconds. He pulled away, -c-

Readying his gun with one last deeper breath, his eyes trailing to the door, a mix of worry and unyielding confidence. A strange mix maybe, but it's all he could allow himself to feel. "I love you." He said softly, Breaking for only another second before he started forwards, His sword raised so it crossed in front of his chest in a stance ready to take anything on. "Let's go."

Kelleh! says:

As Christophe's foot came up to kick down the door, his tongue trailed over his lips. Now mind you, this was something that he'd never admit, not even to the other. But there was one thing in the world that he found himself more addicted to in the world than even cigarettes. One thing that he would give up the world for in a heartbeat. Hell, he might even admit that God existed in the threat -c-

of having it taken away. What was it? He gave a bitter inner laugh as his boot kicked down the door, his guns raised and ready, firing three presice shots into the skulls of unsuspecting guards. Gregory's kiss. More potent than his nicotine. How ironic. Then again, like he had promised himself earlier, he'd never let the other know how much that meant.

Gregory says:

Two Guards charged at him specifically as he took the first steps into the room, Even as their commerades fell, being more of the close range of the two of them in this instance Gregory happily obliged. The Silver of his blade flashed, tinged with red as he avoided the first man, dodging to the side with a backwards slice accross his back as he stumbled past him with blood already seeping into -c-

the expensive looking suit that he wore. Gregory Ducked to avoid a blow that would have connected with his face, his hand easily swung back in front of him as he pushed back up again, His sword finding it's way right through the man who was slumping into him with a sickening gurgled scream. He pulled his sword out roughly, in time to spin and slash back at the man he'd already clipped, -c-

The growling weak looking form pushing a gun at his face which he moved to avoid as a shot fired out somewhere behind him, hitting a wall and shattering a picture frame. The edge of his blood soaked blade slashed accross the man's neck, blood squirting and seeping as he finally fell. Gregory Moved to duck back against the wall, his Pistol taking out Another guard who was about to -c-

take a shot at Christophe.

Christophe says:

Christophe gave a muttered yelp as a bullet grazed his shoulder, not actually hitting him but leaving a nice red line against his skin. "Mozerfucker!" He couldn't help but curse as he ended the life of that one, the bosses and bigwigs finally drawing their own weapons and putting up a fight against the two. The hardest part now. Survive, Gregory, he urged on as he slammed them to the grown to -c-

avoid a hail of uzi fire. He'd apologize for the roughness later as he fired off the last of his pistol rounds.

Gregory says:

He rolled with it, Ending up behind an upturned table and quickly reloading his pistol in the center of all the turmoil with a skilled hand, once again finding his sword and gripping it tightly like the deadly fluid extention of his body that it was. There was no room for appologies on the battlefield, Christophe had probably saved his life, just as he had saved his. -c-

Again he dove to the side as another round of bullets was fired his way, splintering holes in his cover like it was nothing. He needed to get closer, He got a few shots off and took a few of the bosses down by some miracle, firing near blind as he could barely risk keeping still. He Got to his feet, Shouting over at Christophe as he ran boldly forward, dodging and ducking without so much -c-

as a bullet grazing his less then perfect blonde head of hair. "Cover!" He was forced to Dive againt to the side, rolling up again to his feet, jumping over a fallen guard as he ran in, sword raised and ready.

Christophe says:

On it. He didn't have time to mouth the words, only to nod and pop up like some sort of old-fashioned cowboy popping off round in the local saloon. Only he wasn't a cowboy, and this sure as hell wasn't a place that would serve them a stiff drink. He kept most of his focus on those that went for Gregory, either wounded them and stunning them or flatout killing them. That was his job, wasn't it? -c-

He winced again as a bullet missed his cheek, ducking for a moment before taking out his assailant. Motherfucker.

Gregory says:

With Christophe's assistance he got to them relatively unscathed, met with several Stabs from knives and gun-enforced punches. Like the cunning man he was he slipped easily to the side, His sword cutting at the legs of the nearest, Stepping ontop of the body as it slumped to the ground in pain and Using that height and momentum to push forward into the center of the mob. -c-

It was like a dance, really. Some horribly sickening dance where Gregory dodged and parried, Sliced open flesh like it were nothing. 3 men were already down, there was only 3 left, one of them being the target in question. He would be last, after he saw all his men fall. With a Lunge forward he impaled the closest on his blade, ducking just in time to narrowly avoid the slash of a blade that -c-

would have opened his throat. He pulled his sword back out again, This time met with a gun aimed almost point blank. He ducked out of the way swinging his sword back just in time to hear the sound of a shot fired. "Ah!" He Took a step back, The hand that held the sword bleeding but otherwise okay. The Bullet had somehow missed anywhere vital, The Crossguard taking the bullet and -c-

nearly crushing his hand inside where the metal now curled inwards, the Actual bullet finding it's way through the metal at such a distance and piercing right through his palm. He growled, Eyes narrowed as he Slashed upwards, cutting cleanly the wrist that had fired the shot. The scream was deafenning, quickly firing a shot into the man's head with his opposite hand to end his missery. -c-

Gregory was panting hard, Only one of these fucking big wigs left, The sword in his damaged hand trembling from the wound but still strong as he pointed it for the last man standing, Faltering as he realized somehow he had slipped away from his view.

Christophe says:

And that fucking bigwig was right behind Gregory, out of his line of sight. Christophe had already been steadily running after him during his cover-giving, but his magazine was empty and there was no way that Gregory was going to dodge it that fast. He had a good sized knife, and in slow motion he saw it plunging down at him. It was like he was caffinated all over again, except the world was -c-

slow while he was faster. Stupidity and worry also went through him as he closed in. No. No. No! He wasn't even aware of himself calling the other's name, his pistols dropping down useless to clatter on the floor. He didn't even have enough time to retrieve his shovel. What he did have enough time for, he was sure Gregory wouldn't ever forgive him. Before that knife could come down on Gregory, -c-

the Mole's own lean body shoved him away from the danger, the force of it sure to spin him around so that he'd be able to take out this guy now. But Christophe's eyes shot open, because that knife wasn't going to stop just because its intended target wasn't there anymore. He felt something searing hot in his neck, his breath tinted with the taste of copper. The knife had found its way to -c-

Christophe's neck, hitting the jugular and spilling heavy spurts of hot blood everywhere. His eyes were wide, the knife still imbedded in the flesh as his body was pushed away. He met the floor, choking, his hands to his neck in delirious survival panic.

Gregory says:

No. He spun in that same trance of slow motion that Mole had experienced, His blue eyes widening as the knife pierced into his throat. No. It took only a split second for him to process all of this as reasonable thought all but dissapeared from his overanalyzing brain. No. He charged forwards, eyes wild and crazed as He stabbed the Length of his sword Right into the man's chest. -c-

"MOTHER FUCKER!" He Screamed in pure rage, before the man even had a chance to blink, Christophe barely shoved away when Gregory had reacted like lightening. "DIE!" He unloaded several shots, knowing he had probably pierced near the man's heart as he crumpled barely breathing to the floor, Each shot hitting wherever he deemed it most painful. Suffer. SUFFER. -c-

Finally after completely emptying his clip he braught his sword down over his exposed throat, severing his head almost completely from his body as blood gushed out in a pool around him in several spots. He was long dead. Gregory dropped his long time companion to the ground with a metalic clatter as the shortsword fell into the pool of blood beneath his feet, -c-

His eyes still near insanity but his face contorted into some horrible mask that he wasn't even sure could be described. Tears spilled out of the corners, streaked down his bloody cheeks silently, his voice quavering even though it still sounded strong. Always had to be strong, couldn't do anything else but. He fell to his knees next to Christophe, The Silence in the room almost as deadly -c-

in his mind as he stared at the knife. If he pulled it out he was going to bleed out, He knew that much about wounds such as that. There were major veins and arteries that could have been sevvered, and by the gush of blood he imagined they very well could have been. No time, There was no fucking time! Hospital. NO! Are you an idiot, Gregory? His mind spun, reacting only by -c-

picking up the shorter man into his arms, his own blood gushing from his hand which now had a hole through it's center and into Christophe's clothing. They had to get to the safe house. He had to fix this. He bolted, as fast as he could, Taking the side entrance which he knew wouldn't have a soul near it instead of out front that could still pose a threat. "Breathe." He commanded in his shaky -c-

voice down at Christophe, almost angry in it's tone.

Christophe says:

It wasn't like he wasn't trying. He was choking on blood every time, mouth agape and eyes watering. Breathe. He was finally able to with a sort of high-pitched shrieking gasp, his body shaking and his hands flailing at his neck. He was fighting his own instincts now, fighting to leave that knife in his throat so that he'd bleed out a lot less instead of what that basic need was telling him to -c-

do. And that was take the damn thing out and hold your palm over it. But he knew better for a moment. That moment was over however, and now he was just running off of whatever the other told him to do. His body shook with another wheezing gasp, legs scrambling under him. He was losing it.

Gregory says:

It was barely minutes When Gregory pulled open the Drivers door, Reaching in and placing Christophe next to him, Half on the passenger's seat and half still leaning against Gregory. As long as he could feel his pulse. He closed his door, The keys in the ignition turning as he completely gunned it. To a point that if Christophe were not dieing by his side right now he would have been proud. -c-

The tires screeched louder under the car as it took off at Breakneck speed, rushing by near empty streets luckily without so much as a single officer around. He tried to push the car faster, but any faster and he'd be forced to take turns too wide, and crashing wasn't in either of their best interests. "Keep Pressure." He said again, his voice a bit higher then it should have been as he -c-

kept stealing glances over at Christophe. He wasn't going to be able to stay like this, he was going to run out of oxygen. He could just imagine the blood he was inhaling each time he tried to take a breath. Seconds later he was stopped in front of the house, Nearly kicking his door off it's hinges as he again picked up as gently as he could the other, moving faster then he ever thought he -c-

was capeable of moving. He didn't have hands, didn't have a gun, His foot was to the door faster then he had gone through options. It took two kicks to get the thing open the lock breaking under the pressure and the wood buckling under the force. He stumbled in, Rushing to the closest room which happened to be the master bedroom, or so it would seem. Simple one story flat. -c-

"Wait." Single words, it was all he could muster as he ran almost limping after his forced entry, Diving into the trunk of his car and pulling out a very extensive medical kit which he kept stashed at all times. He ran back in with it Immediately, Throwing it on the bed beside Christophe and unlocking the latches that kept it closed. Emergency surgery? His hands automatically started pulling -c-

out several different pieces of equiptment, throwing them disorderly onto the sheets. "Hold on, Christophe. I'm going to get that thing out."

Christophe says:

Christophe's hands were pressed as tightly as he could get them around the knife, and with the way his breath was starting to slow it wasn't tight at all. His gaze was slightly glassy as he gazed back up at the other, another wheezing breath hitching in his chest as his shaky hands fell. He felt colder than he had before, and somehow deep inside he calmly knew it wasn't from the snow. Was he -c-

prepared to die? A long time ago, silly question. Of course he didn't want to die, and of course he feared it. That was just human. He made some sort of weak choking sound, his mind unable to pick out where he was now. It was like they had just jumped to the place in a split second with his disorentation affecting him.

Gregory says:

"Stay with me, Come on!" He shouted louder, Pushing the kit out of the way as he pulled off his dirty leather gloves in place of plastic ones. No time to steralize, Christophe was falling fast. His chest wasn't rising and falling as it should have been, His hands weren't holding on for dear life to that knife. "You aren't dieing, do you hear me!?" he nearly screeched, Dousing the area in -c-

something that he hoped would numb it, and keep it clean. "CHRISTOPHE." Even louder, whiping his damp eyes of the moisture so he could see properly. He had to be accurate, assess the damage, follow through. Get rid of these pitiful emotions, it's going to kill him. His hand moved with slight hesitation to grab the handle of the dagger in his neck, Gripping tightly and grinding his teeth. No more-c

hesitation. He pulled the thing out in a swift movement.

Christophe says:

His vision went white at the sliding of the knife, and he heard the other just barely over the loud drulling hum of what he assumed was his own ringing ears. His body thrashed for a moment, and then he stilled himself. He was breathing easier, but more blood sputtered up as well and he was shaking now. It was really cold now, and he figured some of his shaking was from his lack of body heat. -c-

His vision came back like he was looking through wax paper. He recognized Gregory by the colors, but the blurryness wouldn't let him see his face. One hand reached up, bloody and dripping still with his own life, flailing lightly like grass in the wind at the other's shirt. He didn't want to die. He was scared to go now. He just needed a lifeline.

Gregory says:

He had shed his bloody black overcoat when he had started getting ready, the orage fabric gripped very weakly by a tanned hand. God Damnit no, he was going to start crying again. Since when did Gregory cry? Since when did he get this emotional over anything? He reached for gauze first, applying as much pressure as he could to the area to slow the bleeding, get rid of all that -c-

red that was in the way of his searching eye, the opposite hand grabbing for the suture kit as he gently pulled the gause away. Most of the thick blood followed along with it, as he carefully prodded with his newly gloves hands at the area. There was just so much blood. He spoke as he pried at the area, finding the source of it. "You're an idiot, do you know that?" -c-

He asked in a strained voice, nearly choking on his words as he finally found what he was looking for. Crap. Artery was nicked, just like he had thought. His mind whirled a bit, Thinking back to all the medical training he had which wasn't enough to cover such a serious problem. Tourniquet, tie it off. But he couldn't unless he wanted to strangle his Frenchman, That wouldn't work here. -c-

So what was he going to do? Go in blind? DAMNIT. The thought terrified him to his core, the thought of going in less then perfect conditions doing a procedure he wasn't familiar with. Stitches he could do, but suturing something so fragile? The hand around the needle gripped tightly for a moment before he let it slacken, gaining control. He whiped away more of the blood -c-

with his bad hand, Leaning down to stare at the area closely as he took his first very careful stitch to the other's throat, cringing as he did so. "How could you do this?" He asked, another switch to the very friable tissue, his left hand working at whiping away the blood without undoing what he worked at. "Why didn't you let it hit me, Christophe?" He had to grit his teeth again, -c-

He had a feeling he wasn't hearing a thing he said anyways. "Don't you even fucking /think/ of dieing!"

Christophe says:

While he didn't understand what the other was saying, the sound was reaching him nonetheless. The weak grip he had remained, as tight as he could go, his body going very still and his breath terribly slow. Shock. Shock was setting in. Next would be unconciousness, and then death. If Gregory didn't hurry, and by god from the awful burn in his neck he was hurrying. Maybe he had a chance to live -c-

if he kept the pace. His pulse was growing weaker from blood loss, but he fought the urge to just lie back and go to sleep. He fought to keep his eyes open, focusing on the muffled sounds and shapes and colors because dammit, that was the only thing keeping him alive. And he had to live.

Gregory says:

Gregory could feel that pulse weakening, for god's sake he was practically holding it in his hands. He could see those chocolate eyes drooping a little, he knew he was still in there as they kept reopening. Though he wasnt sure if he could hear him. He wanted to believe he could, that his eyes were out of focus as he was deep in thought, or some other equally childish wish. -c-

Not that reality of what was happening as he continued with his tiny stitches, Forcing his hands into submission as they wanted to shake. No. He wouldn't kill Christophe because he had a weak disposition. This wasn't right, wasn't happening. "Please, I don't know if you can hear me." He said again, maybe just talking to himself. It calmed his nerves to say things outloud as he worked, -c-

things that would probably not be remembered either way. He worked at tieing off the tiny thread, The Artery seeming to pump the blood as it should as he withdrew his hands. The panic didn't lessen at that though, it kept at his own shocked level, saying things without thinking, just talking to talk. Maybe it helped, Please god say it helped. He readied another thread into the needle, this time -c

working at the surface flesh to close the wound. "I can't live without you, Christophe." He pulled the first stick in, his hands feeling as though they were on automatic, his eyes barely seeing, just making the movements a person should. The sound of the other's name on his tongue sent waves through his, fighting back more tears. "Why did you do it? Why couldn't you let me -c-

take the hit for my own mistake? It was my fault. Don't die for me." Each stich was maticulous even though he seemed to not be paying attention, eyes trained distantly on the area. "I love you too much. Christophe, don't leave me." He felt his throat tighten as he rambled, finishing the last stitch and whiping over the area with more gauze and the cleaning liquid.

Christophe says:

At least there was no more blood loss with the last stitch, but he had lost a great deal of his liquid life. Dangerously threadbarren when it came to his veins, practically empty. His shaking stopped, the actual affects of shock sinking in. Hands were as cold as if he had submerged them in ice water, his skin paler than Gregory's and as cold as his own weak digits. The burn in his neck had -c-

gone, and now without a source of heat he wouldn't make it. Heat, water, comfort. As long as he didn't tear his sutures he would be fine, right? His eyes were glazed over and appeared absolutely terrified. Something like a whine, something that should have /never/ been made by his voice, whimpered pathetically as he tried to claw out for the other once again.

Gregory says:

Gregory's arm swung out roughly, Pushing The still open kit and supplies onto the floor with a loud clatter as they fell in a disorganised heap. He didn't care about it, Didn't pay the slightest attention to his own wounds either. Scratches, bruises, even the hole in his palm and his bruised knuckles, still bleeding sluggishly as he pulled off the now crimson plastic medical gloves and threw -c-

them next on the pile. He could bandage himself later, none of his were life threatening, His hand could bleed all it wanted for hours and he'd be fine, it wasn't enough to cause a threat. He'd live. But by the way Christophe looked, the way he felt.. He moved in the clear space he had made, laying Very Carefully next to Christophe and pulling him very delicately into his arms. -c-

What else could he do? The boy's body felt like ice against his as he wrapped his own arms protectively around his waist, Making sure he didn't touch the stitches, his own eyes mimicing that look of absolute horror that Christophe's did. Calm and in control, that was what he did wasn't it? Where was that now? Sure, his movements acted as he should have, but his emotions, his face.. -c-

This wasn't the Gregory that he knew himself to be, Yet it's all he was. "Please.."

Christophe says:

His vision went orange as he found something warm next to him, and instictively he tried to push towards it. His body didn't react, instead becomign very relaxed, what was left of his vision swimming with his eyelids finally beginning to win the battle. Tired...he felt drained, for a lack of better term. His pulse, though horridly weak, held steady. Couldn't he just close his eyes for a little -c-

while? Couldn't he just let that darkness take him? His body shook a little from the other's warmth touching his cold body.

Gregory says:

Alarm picked at him as he watched Christophe's eyes start to fall, Unfocussed, staring straight. "Stay awake." Another command, loud, but wavering. If he was louder maybe he could hear him, maybe it would get through to his muddled sences. He remembered that feeling, when you'd lost so much and all you could think of was sleep. It consumed you, the desire to fall into it. -c-

Christophe had kept him above last time, held him up. He wasn't about to fail when it came to be be his turn to be the stability between them both. "Keep your eyes open." He wrapped his arms just a bit tighter around the icicle in his arms, His own body starting to shake only slightly from the fear rather then cold.

Christophe says:

But he didn't want to...he was safe, wasn't he? He uttered something, his eyes closing as he just tried to curl into the warmth. It was tiresome to try to stay awake. The frenchman gave another shuddering gasp for sleep, sleep dammit. Couldn't his body heal better with sleep? "nn..."

Gregory says:

Was it cruel to keep Christophe awake? What if he closed his eyes and they didn't open again? That acknowledgment of his words was probably the first that really hit him as he lay with the shorter man, Afraid to grip anytighter to the body that barely thrummed with the slightest sign of a pulse. It was fixed, he'd done something he would have thought himself impossible to do. -c-

But he could still slip away, even thought he held so strongly to him. He probably needed sleep, but was he strong enough to let him? He grit his teeth together again, Closing his eyes tightly. "Okay," Softer, strangled. "Okay."

Christophe says:

Christophe's body was already on shutdown, the rest of him easily sliding down into the darkness. But a part of him was still there, the bloody hands still gripped in the other's orange fabric. He wasn't letting go anytime soon; wasn't giving up that last little bit of refuge that he had to the real world. Gregory was here...Christophe would be okay. Right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~TIME SKIP~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gregory says:

It felt like a twisted replay, Deja vu in the sickest sence it could provide, only this time the positions were switched. He didn't move, His slim frame wrapped around that muscular one for hours on end without the slightest twitch. He couldn't risk moving, He might miss something. A nudge, a drop in his heart rate, Hell what if the stitches werent' good enough and he started bleeding out again?-c

No, there was no chance of him leaving this spot. Dull blue eyes stared at where Chocolate brown should be blinking back up at him, which was something that he had to keep reminding himself to do, His own breathing finding a soft shallow rhythm in the silence. Time wasn't even an object, fatigue not something his body was capeable of registering as it's world shifted to -c-

only pay attention to one thing and one thing alone. Eventually the sun rose, A partially blinded window to Christophe's back starting to flood with dim light as the sun rose over the horizon, past the buildings outside, just enough to bring very low light to the still room.

Christophe says:

Christophe wasn't sure he was even awake. He felt like a train-wreck, everything seemingly to be heavy or in pain. So instead of moving he merely made a small, muffled groan into the other's chest, his fingers tightening in the other's shirt. It hurt to make noise, it hurt because of the cold that was in his joints that wouldn't go away, it hurt because, goddamn, he felt like he was going to -c-

be spinning around in his own head forever. "Guh...." He tried shifting, not really getting anywhere before his body reminded him, no, forced him to stay right where he was, practically screaming back at him.

Gregory says:

He almost jumped as Christophe finally stirred, his eyes widening only slightly as a light tired smile spread accross his face. "You're awake?" It hardly sounded like a question, more a gasped exclaimation as he stared down at the Brunette, felt his hands tighten and pull a bit at his orange shirt. It was quiet again all too quickly, his own heart rate doubling in a single instant. -c-

He had heard that right? He wasn't imagining things? This wasn't the delussions of an insane brittish man? His breath caught in his throat, he wished he'd open his eyes. "Say something."

Christophe says:

He shook, wincing for a moment. "...hurts," he rasped out quickly, regretting trying to speak as a rough cough overtook him. Luckily he knew to reserve the force of his hacking so as not to tear his sutures. Last thing he needed was to squeeze out his few last precious drops. His breathing was more of a wheeze against a roughed-up throat, eyes still shut against the other's chest.

Gregory says:

It took all his will not to squeeze the man in some kind of death grip that would end up killing him, He still needed to breath and by the sounds of it that wasn't an easy task. "Thank god." He whispered, burrying his face against the other's messy hair. He wasn't crazy, Christophe was alive and Breathing afterall. He moved one of his arms, unlocking it's vice-like grip -c-

to run through the other's hair soothingly, moving his head down a bit so he could press his forhead against the other's. He didn't care if he got coughed on, just wanted to be close.

Christophe says:

He held back the whimper than wanted to launch itself from his throat, instead settling for his own brand of sigh, eyes cracking open just a bit. They were still glassy, but not glazed over completely. He was white where he sould be a brilliant tan, his forehead tingling from where the other's lay in contact with it. Christophe didn't care. He just wanted to rest.

Gregory says:

His gentle fingers continued to work at the other's hair, hopeing it was provide some sort of comfort, his still bloody right hand hidden behind the other's back. Finally, those eyes opened. It relieved him, but the tired look in their depths made him worry farther. Sleep was the best thing he could get, wasn't it? Of course Gregory wouldn't be following that example, -c-

He was much too focused, his eyes on the other like a hawk. Now that he knew he was back at least, he could breath a little bit easier. He spoke softly, cooing words that probably should have been shouted. "You're an idiot." 'Go back to sleep' is probably what he should have said, but his tone did that for him. "I don't know what you were thinking."

Christophe says:

I was thinking that you were about to be stabbed and that I don't have as much medical training as you do. He didn't mouth the words, instead focusing on his own harsh, one word replies. "'Cause," he rasped, curling in closer to try to keep himself warm. Because he wanted to. Because, dammit, he loved Gregory. Because he'd rather be the one in this position than have the other here, relying on -c-

him to save him because, well, dammit, he had no real clue.

Gregory says:

That answer didn't change anything. It was still his fault Christophe was in this mess, in this much pain, But it wasn't like him to second guess himself. Things happened when you were fighting, this was something they were both prepared for. But that didn't change the fact that it should have been him, Not his lover. It didn't matter his reason, or how logical it seemed to him. -c-

There wasn't forgiving for this. "I would have rather died, then this happen to you." He managed to close his reddening eyes, Christophe didn't need to see that. He didn't even need to see that, what he was reducing himself to. It didn't matter how well trained he was, what he knew, the chances for him if it had been the other way around. As long as the Frenchman was okay. He would have taken it.

Christophe says:

Oh, he knew that the other would hate him. But rather than dwell on that, he tried focusing on keeping himself from whimpering out in pain. Bad enough he was already in this state, no need to make anyone feel worse about it. Christophe tried to shake his head, tried to do the normal thing and argue. He just didn't have the energy to do it.

Gregory says:

He gave up. Enough with the accusations and confessions, he was overcomplicating things when they should be simple and calming. He kept his eyes closed, refusing to show the redness as he found himself once more fighting back pitiful tears. "Close your eyes, go back to sleep. Ignore me." he mumbled softly against the other's skin, cutting his ramblings short. -c-

He'd stop voicing his pointless babble, afterall how fair was it to bash someone's motives when they didn't have the voice to fight back against it? He pressed a quick gentle kiss to the tip of Christophe's nose, the closest place he could reach for.

Christophe says:

If there was enough red in him, perhaps his face would have flushed. But instead it remained cold, pale, hollow, sickly...He trembled a bit, gathering up more energy to speak. "I....want to go home," came the wheeze with another cough, dangerously rough and bodywracking. Speeck was going to be damn near impossible if he kept pushing himself.

Gregory says:

"Soon." He promised, Holding him a bit tighter to try and still him as he shook with that violent cough. There was no way he was risking moving him yet, There was the chance he could open the stitches if he was moved too much too soon, and how could he pay attention to both the road and his partner? No, Maybe he was underestimating himself in his panic. -c-

But it also begged the question, how long could they stay here before being detected? This wasn't some abandoned house he had found, it was a residence that someone somewhere had the keys to. Was Outrunning police an option right now? Not when he had Christophe's well being to think about. His mind wandered around him, thinking while his eyes remained closed to the mess he had made. -c-

Supplies strewn all over the floor, bloody clothing and gloves, Just.. blood in general. Everywhere. He couldn't clean it though, it would require leaving Christophe's side. He took a deep breath, relieved to find it without any shakyness. "Sleep first, I'll get us away from here as fast as I can."

Christophe says:

Christophe made a little whine, he would have said it was a sigh, and let his eyes fluttered back to a closed state. There wasn't much for him to do other than sleep and heal, both of which were time consuming. But he was right, they couldn't just stay here. And a warm bed sounded a lot better than this place; to be somewhere safe and secure was a lot less nerve-wracking. "...sorry..."

Gregory says:

Okay, he had a plan. It had only taken him a few moments of sleep-scattered thinking to come up with a solution, Which thinking back upon later he would probably find to be stupid, but in the circumstances they were under he had no better. "No, I am." His eyes opened as he very carefull removed his hands from their hold on the other, Dull blue keeping very steadily on him -c-

as he regretfully touched the other's cold hand with his own damaged one, the skin almost completely stained red from a night of bleeding. But it had stopped now thankfully, somehow. He very gently pulled it away from the grip on his shirt, feeling as though his heart began to crack as he did so. "..." As soon as he was clear, he moved quickly, Rolling off the bed -c-

while somehow steady on his legs. The first thing he picked up was his coat, bloodied on the outside and torn in some places but still salvagable, his eyes survaying very quickly over the rest as he deemed it not worth the time to gather. He moved back to the bed immediately, Throwing the clean side of his jacket over Christophe as he once more wrapped his arms around him, Trying his best -c-

to keep that coat around the other paler man like a blanket as he lifted him against his chest, Walking to the door and once again finding it easiest to just use his foot to shove it open from where it rest ajar from it's frame. he got quickly to his car, somehow finding the thing un-damaged vandal wise and opening the unlocked doors. He had left in such a rush last night, it was a wonder the -c-

thing hadn't been broken into and stripped for parts. He slipped Christophe into the passenger's seat very precisley, reaching for one item from the other as he did. Sore fingers dug into Christophe's pocket, finding the object he was looking for, his lighter. "I'll be right back." As the door closed, he immediately popped the trunk, grabbing an item which was supposed to be used under different-c

specifications, but it would do now. He pulled out the jug of gasoline, spare for his car in the case they ever needed it, The collar of his orange shirt tickling against his neck as a breeze swept past as he found the front door. He doused the front porch as much as he could. Burn the evidence, they had never been here. This was a bad neiborhood, something like this couldn't be out of the -c-

ordinary. As he emptied most of it, He flicked open the lighter, a flame produced as he reflected against his eyes giving them a reddish glow. Never again. He threw the lighter into the flames, standing earily still and calm as it connected with his work, the wood bursting into immediate flame as he turned and walked calming back to the car, getting into the drivers side as soon as he had -c-

stashed the gas. He started the engine, the house almost completely consumed by this point. "I owe you a new lighter." He Revved the engine, speeding off.

Christophe says:

"My lighter..." He coughed, teeth chattering as he tried to protest and grab it back. But the deed was done, and he did his best to glare at the other as he drove. The heaters were helping nicely, his chill being taken off as his eyes started to drift and his body started to go slack. "...lighter..."

Gregory says:

Gregory almost smiled at Christophe's attempt at a glare, almost. Even as he seemed to start to drift off to sleep, it was nice to know that the old Mole was still in there unscathed. His bad hand reached the grab at the other's wrist which drooped out from underneath his makeshift blanket, Two fingers over it as he was relieved to find a steady pulse. Okay, just sleep. -c-

The brittish man breathed a light sigh with the relief, his died bloody hand gripping around Christophe's now as his eyes remained on the road ahead. He was already out of city limits, turning back onto the highway. The fact that he had no sleep didn't deter him in the slightest, Pure determination keeping him as alert as he could possibly be. They would be home soon. -c-

"G'night, Love." He whispered more to himself, lost in the loudness of the heater as it blew into his face, completely messing up his hair if it hadn't been already. As the open stretch of road showed in front of him, he once again revved his engine, pushing the car as fast as it could go into the direction of the sunrise.

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To be Continued as we go on~3

If you did take the time to read this, I'd like to thank you for, well.. Reading it. It's just an Rp my friend and I do in our spare time, so if you enjoyed it I'm glad. :] We have plenty of fun doing it so. :]

Stay tuned for updates!