Another oneshot! Hooray for updates!
I mostly love this story for the opening line. The rest of it is kind of meh but I couldn't keep if from you guys. :D
Enjoy

"I 'ate guard dogs." The Frenchman grumbled, giving the chained fence wide berth.

Gregory glanced up from his novel and then right back down, uninterested in his smoking companions suspicious stares. Despite himself he glanced over at the fence, the goofy, lopsided grin of an Akita wishing him well. The placard stated in bold block letters 'Beware of Dog!' but the animal in question didn't even bark. It wagged its curled tail and looked around in that wonderfully stupid and blissful way dogs did. Gregory shook his head and looked back at Christophe, who was halfway in the street, smoking and watching the mutt almost nervously.

Gregory would have laughed, had he not valued his life.

"Christophe, mon ami, are you quite aright?" Gregory asked casually, turning his attention back to his book.
"Oui." He answered carefully, the yard shrinking away and the dog going back to whatever it was up to "I am fine."
"Come out of the street then and walk beside me. Don't want you ending up like the McCormick boy now, hm?"

Grudgingly, Christophe stepped back onto the sidewalk and lit up another smoke. Gregory shook his head. Honestly, the dog was fenced and friendly. There was no reason for him to be wary of it. It was almost as if he had a phobia. Huh. Perhaps that was it. But of course that was a silly notion. Christophe, the poor man, he had been torn to shreds by dogs. That had been a terrible end, he was sure. But, he had survived or been revived – one of those- so there was no reason for him to be so silly. While he couldn't fault the Frenchman, he sure as hell could judge him for such a stupid fear. Why not fear something practical, like betrayal. Or God?

Well, at least there wasn't anything to fear now.

Scarcely a second after Gregory had turned to face his companion, thinking that very thought, what should come out but a very large, very fast, German Shepherd, barking and dashing straight toward them. Admittedly, Gregory felt himself jump a bit, the sudden peal of barking having jarred him from the normal peaceful mountain town atmosphere. However, it was nothing compared to Christophe's reaction. The man was all smoke and curses and flailing movements the moment the dog set eyes on him.

The dog must have known the Frenchman hated him so fiercely, for he made a b-line straight for him, bounding forward. Gregory watched, fearing for a moment. Of all the days to only come with two rounds worth of ammunition. He would happily waste it on his friend's well being, but still. Should anything else go wrong he only had one shot left.

But it would be unneeded.

Upon closer inspection, the dog wasn't a murderous beast at all. Just a friendly pup looking for someone to play with. He seemed to fancy Christophe's shovel as an oversized stick, and since the poor creature could only heard babble he mistook Christophe's angry ranting for taunts to get the stick.

Again, Gregory had to stifle his chuckles.

He watched for a moment, the intricate dance of swing, dodge, play bow, bark bark, jump, curse was like that of the Moscow Ballet. Undoubtedly, however, Christophe would soon attract unwanted attention cursing in French and swinging his shovel violently like that. Or get hit by a car. One or the other, both decidedly not proper outcomes. As amusing as it was, Gregory could only watch the poor beast suffer for so long before he stepped in.

Suddenly Christophe was minus a shovel, and he gasped, his cigarette nearly falling from his mouth. Gregory threw him a glare, pocketed his book and shooed the animal away. It bounced on its forelegs, rear end wagging tirelessly. Gregory hissed and pointed. Dejected, the beast grumbled and trotted off back onto its property.

Once the 'threat' was neutralized, Gregory approached the slightly out of breath mercenary, handing him back his shovel. He crossed his arms and stared the boy down, not even flinching when the Frenchman grumbled irritably and blew smoke in his face.

"Vat vas 'at for?" Christophe asked, barely disguising the sneer.
"You have a pathology."
"Oh pas ceci de nouveau-"
"You don't just hate guard dogs, my dear. You hate dogs. You are afraid of them."

Not two seconds after the statement was uttered, the Brit found himself slammed up against a wall, a very angry mercenary holding his throat. How fortunate they should be so close to an alleyway. Again he didn't bother to flinch at the smoke washing over his face and the free hand stubbing out the butt beside his head

"I know you ar smarter 'an zat, Monsieur Gregory." Mole growled, his face contouring into a snarl that would have scared away even the largest wolfdog. "Do not test moi. Ah vould 'ate to 'ave to 'urt you."
"I would never dream of it, mon ami." Gregory purred, grinning manically "Not in a million years…"
"Shat up!"
"What ever for?"
"I zaid shat up!" Christophe barked, slamming his hand into the wall beside the blonds' head. He only got a grin in return, infuriating him more than he should have allowed. "Damn breetesh bastard"
"You love me." He whispered, almost breathlessly "Don't even try to lie."
"Zat does not mean I vill not teach you a lesson."
"Then by all means, instruct."

The Frenchman smiled, all the anger seemingly dripping away from his upturned lips. The British man smiled and lifted his chin up, urging him on. They were too close to school and everyone else to risk sex. The hand tightened around his neck and he swallowed, licking his lips and smiling. It was getting late, and Gregory would not be tardy because of some horny mercenary (as tempting as it was). It didn't stop him, however, from accepting the rough lips in an equally rough kiss on the deserted street.

Somewhere behind them, a dog began to bark.

Lame ending is lame, I know. But it was fun to write. Oh Christophe, I know you 'ate guard dogs, but he only wanted to play D':

Quick Translations
Mon ami: my friend
Oui: yes
Oh pas ceci de nouveau: Oh not this again
Moi: Me.

Thanks for reading!