Title: French Chocolate
Pairing: Bush/Cotard
Rating: PG - 13
Summary: A very little piece I wrote about a petulant Frenchman and a gentle Englishman.
Disclaimers: They are not mine nor I'm making money writing about them.

"Oh mon dieu ce navire de guerre est vraiment petit et sale!"

Bush sighs, lifting his eyes from the book he's reading.

There he is, Major André Côtard staring at him with huge hazel eyes.

"This cot is dirty!" He says touching it with only two fingers.

"Je ne comprends pas comment vous pouvez dormir dans cette … cot." He continues, taking his red jacket off.

Bush shrugs and returns in reading his book but after few seconds he starts wondering why he is always reading the same line.

Maybe it's the Major and all his fussing.

Maybe it's the Major now slowly undressing in front of him.

William wants to read his book, wants to look away from the perfect and chiseled back.

He can see scars and he knows that each of these has a story to tell.

He can see muscles moving under layers of smooth and warm skin while he's busy taking off his pants.

He can see small and scattered freckles on his shoulders and these are falling like fine golden dust over his blades; they remind him of a starry night.

"Monsieur Boosh." He calls him and William realizes that now André is facing him while standing beside his cot, well … in all his glorious nakedness.

"I don't speak French Sir." William hastily says looking away from the Major.

"Even a little bit of French Monsieur?"

"No."

"Oh mon cher!" He exclaims walking closer to him. "I can teach you!"

"I don't wish to speak like a frog!" William hisses putting away his book.

"Why so hard with me?" André asks in disbelief.

"Hard Sir?"

"Oui hard Monsieur Boosh!" He insists, obviously not truly grasping the meaning of some English words.

Bush can only stare at the Major there standing naked while blaming him to be … hard.

What a nice coincidence of words, he thinks and then quickly hushes himself.

"Good night Sir." William says, deciding to put an end to that crazy conversation.

He smiles to himself when he finally hears André climbing into his cot while whispering in French who knows what nonsense.

"Monsieur Boosh." After a long moment André calls him.

"What?" He asks tired.

"I have some chocolate, French chocolate."

"Sleep please."

"Mon cher vous me tirez ..." He softly whispers in the darkness.

William sighs and turns toward him with his eyes half closed.

"Douceur, vous êtes fatigué?" André whispers reaching with his hand for Bush's hair.

William slowly tries to move away from that hand but he feels heavy and tired.

He's a French, a frog, an enemy and he killed so many of them.

And so many left scars on his body.

He's tired and between few hours his watch will start but André is caressing his hair, lightly playing with them, while whispering in French.

He doesn't understand it but he likes it.

It's calming and alluring.

William doesn't know why is allowing him to do so but for now he doesn't care, for now he lets this strange Frenchman come near him.

William Bush falls asleep thinking that he never understood how this language could be sweet and melodic, he only heard it during battles.

He only heard it through pompous Captains and Generals challenging him or yelling orders to their men.

He likes it also if he doesn't want to completely admit it, above all not with André.

"Dors mon cher Anglais." André softly whispers while looking down at him before gently passing a fingertip over the other man lips. "Vous ne savez pas mais vous avez conquis la France."