But soft, what light from yonder window breaks?
Tis the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon
Who is sick and pale with grief
That you, her maid
Are far more fair than she.
As always, everything is for my delightful muse. You make my heart sing and my blood boil with passion and love.
Christophe cradled the yawning blonde in his arms, running his hands through his golden hair and gazing into his exhaustion clouded blue eyes. He smiled and nuzzled his nose to the petite blonde's. "You should go to sleep, mon amour." He whispered tenderly.
Gregory blinked sleepily, his rosy lips opening in a yawn. He stretched before snuggling back up to Christophe's side. "Can't, love." He replied, his face muffled in his lover's chest. He sighed softly and pressed closer to the mercenary.
Christophe sighed. He knew exactly what it was he had to do, but he really didn't want to. He took a breath and, in a warm, rough voice, began to sing.
Fais do do Colas mon petit frère
Fais do do t'auras du lo lo
Maman est en haute
Qui fait des gateaux
Papa est en bas
Qui fait du chocolat
Fais do do Colas mon petit frère
Fais do do t'auras du lo lo
He ran his shovel-calloused fingers through Gregory's silken hair, watching in satisfaction as his eyelids started to droop and his breathing evened out. Soon enough Gregory was asleep and he was singing to himself, just rocking the Brit gently.
He smiled, tucking Gregory's head under his chin and cradling him in strong arms. He couldn't remember the last time they had had time to do this, to just hold each other while they slept. Christophe was gone so often that his lover usually had to sleep alone in a cold bed. All he wanted was to provide well for him, but sometimes he wasn't sure if their financial security was worth all the time spent away.
He studied the angelic face turned peacefully up to the ceiling. When had those worry lines shown up on the still relatively young face? They were only thirty, after all. He gazed sadly at the face that had changed so much since their teenage years. When had he gotten that scar below his ear and where did that light brushing of stubble come from?
He really was gone too often.
He sighed and held Gregory close, whispering to him gently. "I promees, mon amour. From now on I weel put us before work. Cut back on meesions, not be een ze field so much. Maybe even geet a desk job. I am geeteeng on een years." He chuckled wryly.
The beautiful angel just mewled and cuddled closer in his sleep in response. He smiled at the man he fondly referred to as "My beetch", "Mon coeur", "Ma Juliette", "My sunshine", and even "Zat poncy Breeteesh fag".
"Goodnight, sunshine." He whispered, kissing Gregory's eyelids and settling down to sleep.
Pour mon coeur. Je t'aime tout les jours. Je peux etre ton hero, mon amour.