Okay, before the Style and Gregstophe fans kill us for putting this on, we had a reason! We were bored. XDDDD Anyway, this was made in collaboration with the lovely and delicious Mizuni-no-neko, who is the writing GODDESS. All hail.
Mizuni-no-neko: In my ultimate wisdom and kindness I have bequeathed upon you the character Christophe. Thank me and love me.
Me: very humble of you
Mizuni-no-neko: It was sarcastic
Me: yes, but you know you think itz true. you have given him to them. woooooorship!
Mizuni-no-neko: Do not worship me as you would a god...but I do accept sacrificial virgins of both sexes
We both do XDDDD We do not own South Park, but as the first to write something like this on FF, we should own the pairing XDDDD I call them Chran-berries. Because it makes me laugh.
The chill night air nipped at Stan's cheeks, feeding their pinkish hue and condensing his breath in front of him; the air forming a pale, foggy cloud that vanished as soon as it had appeared. He strode a little faster, his hands shoved deep into jacket pockets in an effort to keep them warm. He'd lost his gloves two years ago and never bothered to replace them. Ah, well, that was life.
Stan was just coming back from Kyle's house, the two of them having spent the entire afternoon in a crazy montage of videogame playing, everything from Sonic Unleashed to MarioKart. He grinned. Yes, the Wii kicked some major ass.
Walking on quickly, he almost didn't hear it above his own footsteps; the small, thudding 'whump' in the background. Stan paused. A scuffling noise sounded, and some scraping.
What was that?
He looked around. The only thing to his left was some houses, but to his right, there was some kind of park, and a couple of tall, clumped pines. The scraping sound stopped, then again,
whump
Stan frowned. It was coming from the right. What the hell was that?
sccrt, sccrt, whump
Now, Stan was a little thing he liked to call 'retard-intolerant'. All things retarded and idiotic irritated him, as well as anybody idiot enough to go along with them. So, naturally, he knew instinctively that it would be the epitome of foolish retardedness to go alone, in the middle of the night, to a dark park to see what it was.
Yup, only an idiot would do it...
Still, he found himself moving forward toward the right. He cursed.
"Goddammit."
Stan approached the lonely park, following the scraping noises. As he neared a set of bushes, the noise stopped, and he did too, peering around nervously.
However, nothing jumped out at him, and he had heard enough to know that the source of the sounds was right beyond those bushes. He started forward again, pushing branches and leaves out of the way, fighting through the thick plant, finally making it to the other side-
and falling down a very large hole.
Stan made a very unmanly startled squeal noise as he fell, dropped on his butt, rolled down a dirty slope, and finally stopped with one last faceplant into the ground. He groaned.
"Goddammit."
Something sharp and freezing cold poked the back of his neck, and a dry chuckle came from the dark.
" 'Ave a nice treep?"
The voice was clearly male, gravelly, the accent thick but perfectly understandable. Stan repressed another groan, recognizing the object on his neck as clearly metal. Great, he'd fallen into some crazy guy's pit.
"Yeah, not so much." He groused, spitting out little flecks of dirt on his tongue. Stan could hear the obvious smirk in the other guy's voice.
" Ah, maybe next fall, zen."
Jesus, what an accent what was he, French or something? Stan made an effort to get up, stopping only when the metal object didn't lessen its pressure on him, digging into his skin. "Dude, you gonna let me up or not?"
Another one of those damned voice-smirks, this time smug. "But ze ground, eet looks so comfortable."
Stan couldn't help but snap back, irate. "Then how about you try it?"
The mysterious person laughed, giving only the cryptic statement, "Maybe I 'ave."
Stan could feel the approaching headache lingering somewhere in his temples. "Yeah, yeah, that's great and whatever. Now let me up."
Christophe smirked again and looked at the boy thoughtfully. Why should he let him up? He was having so much fun taunting the poor bastard. And it was his own fault for falling down his hole. But he shrugged and removed the shovel from the back of his neck, going back to digging. He wasn't being paid to linger, and he had better things to do. He wasn't really watching where he was flinging the dirt, and so if some of it hit the guy then so much the better. The thought made him chuckle inwardly.
Stan got up as soon as the pressure lessened, turning to face his assailant, only to receive a faceful of dirt. "Jesus Christ!" He choked out, wiping it off. "What the hell?"
Not only had he fallen down stupid hole, now he was getting dirt thrown in his face!
Christophe ignored him, continuing with his digging. He had something to do, he couldn't stop to chat with an interloper.
Stan gave a grunt as he was ignored, looking around. It seemed he was in some sort of tunnel, instead of a pit, but the entrance in which he'd fallen through looked a little too high to climb back out...Sighing, he resigned himself to try to get some information out of the other guy.
"So, who are you? And why are you digging a tunnel in the middle of the freakin' night?"
Christophe ignored him, hitting him in the face with dirt again.
"Fuck!" Stan sputtered, hands flailing as he wiped it away again. "Watch where the fuck your throwing shit! I just asked a fucking question!"
"Well zen, do not ask questions." He said with a shrug.
"Whatever. I'm outta here." Stan grumbled, turning to try and get out. Striding toward the tunnel's entrance, he tried to climb back out, his feet sinking into the soft, crumbling ground of the dirt beneath. After a few failed tries, he lunged toward the edge, only to fall pathetically on his butt again. "Goddammit! How the fuck do you get out of here?"
"Deeg your way out?" The other said with a shrug, not really caring how or if the guy escaped. It wasn't his problem.
"Does it look like I have a damned shovel on me?" Stan snapped. "Are you gonna at least tell me who the fuck you are?"
"Christophe." He answered shortly, the growl in his voice making the fact that Stan was getting on his last nerve obvious.
The warning wasn't lost on Stan, but this guy-"Christophe"- was getting on his nerves too. What, like he liked falling into holes and almost getting stabbed with a, what was that? A shovel in his hands?
He scoffed. "Perfect. At least I got something. You gonna help me get out or what? Unless you got another shovel on you?"
"No, I only 'ave ze one." He said, still digging with his back to Stan.
"Can you at least let me borrow it?" Stan asked wearily.
"Non." He said, not turning around. He paused in his digging and smirked. "I lost ze game."
"What?" Stan paused, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Jesus, if you're talking about that stupid game...seriously, what the hell is the point of that? It's retarded." He looked up. "Just let me borrow the damned shovel."
"No." He said, going back to his digging and hitting Stan in the chest with a dirt clod.
"Oof!" Stan stumbled back as it hit him, then glared up at Christophe, a growl ripping out of his throat. Okay, that was it! He stomped forward, with every intention of kicking this guy's ass.
"I wouldn't suggest you do zat." The other said coolly, not turning around.
"I don't give a fuck about what you suggest." Stan snarled, laying a heavy hand on Christophe's shoulder.
Christophe whirled around and caught the hand, turning him around and twisting Stan's arm behind his back. "You should."
Stan bit back the pained cry that threatened to escape him, the pain only fueling his anger. "Let me go, goddammit!" He lashed back out with his leg, trying to catch Christophe where it would really hurt.
Christophe sighed and kneed him in the butt. "You won't geet anywhere weez zat."
"Son of a bitch!" Stan exclaimed, stopping his struggles. He glanced behind him. "You just kneed me. In the butt. What the hell was that? That just broke every rule in the guy's fighting handbook." He almost felt like laughing at the insanity of it all.
"Easiest place to reach een our current poseetion." He shrugged. "Now are you goeeng to calm down or do I 'ave to 'urt you?"
Stan thought about it a moment, then sighed resignedly, turning away. "Fine." He was clearly outmatched, and he wasn't an idiot, to go around picking fights he would lose. He sighed again. "Jesus, why the hell did I even come here anyway?"
Christophe let Stan go and returned to digging. "Eef you are really so desperate to geet out of 'ere you can wait unteel I deeg myself out." He offered.
Stan groaned at the prospect of waiting. He was really gonna be in it this time at home...
"Fine. Whatever. Just hurry up."
There was a long moment in which Stan sat down, watching Christophe dig through the dark ground. Then, "Why are you digging a tunnel anyway? Why here?"
"A job." He answered enigmatically, starting to dig upwards towards his goal.
Stan nodded absently, continuing to watch. "What job?"
"I do not 'ave to tell you" He growled, warning Stan to leave it at that
Stan sighed again, looking upwards in boredom. After another moment, he asked another question. "Hey...who are you anyway? Not your name, it's just...you look really familiar. Like I should know you or something."
"Canadian-American war, zird grade." He replied gruffly
The words had Stan thinking. Canadian-American war? Third grade? Shit, that was a long-ass time ago. He thought some more, the vague picture of a scruffy kid smoking a cigarette in front of a house with a shovel strapped to his back making it's way to his mind. Christophe...The Mole?
...oh yeah...
Stan looked at Christophe. "Didn't you die?"
"Deedn't Kenny go back to 'ell?" he shot back.
"...oh...right..."
"Dumbass." He scoffed, going back to digging.
Stan scoffed back, resuming his stare into the dirt ceiling.
Christophe turned to glare at him for a moment, seeming to size him up. "Eet weel be an hour at least."
"Son of a bitch." Stan muttered in disbelief. "Are you serious? I have to get home, dammit!" He glanced around, only now just seeing his breath fog out in clouds. "And it's freakin' cold!"
"Deal weez eet, beetch." He scoffed, turning his back on Stan once again.
Stan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms irritably, discreetly trying to hide the fact that he was trying to regain the slightest bit of warmth. "Well, you're just a big bunch of sunflowers and daisies, aren't you?"
"I prefer roses." He said irritably.
"Oh lovely, the loner has a freakin' preference." Stan relied sarcastically.
"I can 'ave a preference eef I want." He growled, shoveling dirt into his face.
Stan saw the intended shot before it reached him, putting up his arm and only getting dirt in his already gritty hair. "Hey! Jesus, I can say shit 'if I want', doesn't mean you can throw dirt at me!"
"Doesn't mean I can't." He retorted.
Stan threw a dirt clod weakly at him, angry but unwilling to get his arm hurt again. "Whatever." He let a couple moments pass before he muttered, "Roses are gay, anyway."
"Maybe zat ees why I like zem." Christophe shrugged, muscles moving under his shirt.
Stan was surprised, peering him interestedly, as if studying some new specimen under a microscope. "Huh. Well, to each their own, or something like that."
"To each 'ees own." He repeated. More time passed, then he grabbed at something in the dirt. "Ah, 'ere we go."
The statement had Stan standing up, a stir of excitement stirring in his breast as he peered forward at Christophe. "What is it?" He thought for the merest second. "Gold? Silver? Something cool?"
Christophe shook his head and pulled out a medium sized metal box that was sealed and covered in dirt.
"It's a...box?" Stan asked, vaguely disappointed. "What's in it?"
"I do not know. Eet ees for my client." He replied.
"You're still doing that mercenary thing?"
Christophe nodded and put the box in a messenger bag, which he slung over his shoulder.
Stan leaned back against the tunnel wall. "Oh. I thought it was one of those, y'know, kiddie things where you pretend you're something. Shit, I thought that was the only reason you joined that stupid Resistance." He looked surprised. "So it's real?"
"You zought I knew all of zat because I was pretendeeng?" The rugged brunet asked, raising an amused eyebrow. "Non, eet was real."
"Whoa." Was the only thing Stan said.
Christophe just shrugged and started digging an upwards slope.
Stan looked up curiously. "Where are we? Y'know, where are we gonna come out?"
"Right now we are about 5 feet under ze sandbox. We should come out be'ind the bazrooms." He explained.
Stan furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Sandbox? Bathroom? What?"
We are een ze park" He explained.
"We're still in it? Oh." Stan sat down again, satisfied for now with the answer and waiting for Christophe to finish. After all, he didn't have to do anything, so he could relax.
"So what about you? Do you 'ave a favorite flower?" Christophe asked after a long while, trying to make conversation.
Stan leaned his head back on the dirt wall, closing his eyes. "Uh, I dunno. Never thought about it. I like those white flowers with the really big petals. I think it starts with an 'm' or something..." He trailed off, trying to think of the name.
"Magnolias? Ze ones zat grow on ze trees?" The mercenary asked, muscles rippling as he hoisted a particularly heavy shovelful of dirt.
"Yeah, those." The raven sighed, his awareness fuzzing slightly as sleepiness encroached on his consciousness. "Those are cool."
Christophe glanced over at him, then came quickly to his side. "Do not fall asleep, you could freeze." He warned him, hoisting him to his feet.
"Like fuck you'd care." Stan grumbled, his eyes opening reluctantly. " 'sides, I've done worse."
"You 'ave done worse zen die?" He scoffed. "Now wake up."
"That's not what I meant and you know it." He snorted, shaking Christophe off. "I'm awake, alright? Sheesh. Weren't you the one ignoring me a couple of minutes ago?"
"Zat ees before you started to fall asleep." The other retorted, resuming his digging.
"Woo, lucky me..." Stan sighed, blearily glancing around. "Are you done? Can I get out?"
"No, eet weel be a few more minutes." He told him, digging closer to the surface.
"Oh, alright." Stan sat back down, leaning his head on one hand and staring at Christophe. He tried not to give in to sleep this time, though.
After a moment Christophe broke the surface in a delicate place and dodged out of the way, taking Stan with him and pinning him to the wall of the cave while a deluge of dirt fell. You had to be careful when you broke to the surface; that was how people died in cave-ins.
"Holy fuck!" Stan was definitely awake now, staring incredulously at what had previously been a a dirt wall. "Jesus Christ, you didn't tell me it could have collapsed! God!"
He looked at Christophe, now very, very close. "Uh..."
Christophe gazed into his eyes intensely, not moving.
There was a pause in which neither of them moved a single inch, and Stan was pinned by the force of Christophe's eyes. He stared back, suddenly feeling very hot under the pressure. He cleared his throat nervously, unsure of why he was even nervous in the first place.
"You...you gonna move?"
"No." The brunet said simply, pressing his lips to Stan's in a rough kiss.
Stan was caught off guard, taken for a loop, whatever you wanted to call it, but he definitely hadn't been prepared for anything like this. His mind blanked out for the precious second in which he could have done anything to push the other off, and then there wasn't any time left to refuse. Stan only flinched a little before noticing vaguely that Christophe's lips were deceptively soft, and that he was kissing back involuntarily.
Christophe tangled his fingers almost violently in the raven's hair, the boy's hat falling to the ground unnoticed, and Stan jerked as he felt the rough touch, squirming just the slightest bit as he was pressed deeper into the dirt wall.
Christophe finally let him go to come up for air, his dark eyes admiring Stan's red, kiss-bruised lips.
Stan was panting as they finally drew back a bit, his astonished eyes meeting the other's. He didn't know what to say. What exactly were you supposed to do when you just lip-locked with a guy you haven't seen for years? Or really known? At all? He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "I'm not gay, y'know."
Christophe just scoffed and didn't say anything.
"...I'm not..." The raven was left to silence, an invisible clock ticking loudly in his head. What now?
"You can leave eef you want." Christophe growled, pointing to the entrance of the hole where the moonlight streamed in onto them.
Stan's gaze flickered imperceptibly in that direction, suddenly hesitant, his mind abandoning him to blankness. Shit... He paused for an impossible moment before pushing Christophe away almost angrily, half-running to the entrance, to escape. But then he stopped after gaining higher ground, lingering there and feeling Christophe's heavy gaze on his back. He turned around, facing the mercenary. "Where are you..." He stopped. "What are you gonna do with this?" He gestured to the small cave, unable to meet the other's eyes.
"I am goeeng to feel eet back een and go 'ome. What about you?"
"Uh...I was going home...before, y'know." he fidgeted, shoving his hands into his pockets again, unsure of what he wanted to do. Why was he so anxious? There was a delicate pause.
"Do you want to come over for a dreenk?" The mercenary asked, seeming cool and collected when really he knew he was taking a leap off a very high cliff.
Stan froze, the suggestion suddenly washing away all anxiety. There, something he could follow, and the decision had already been made for him. Perfect. "A drink? Uh, sure, sure, that'd be cool."
Christophe nodded and climbed out of the hole, taking a deep breath of the fresh air.
An awkward pause fell over them, or over Stan at least, at seeing Christophe so close. "You gonna fill it now?"
Christophe nodded and took his shovel out of the hole, quickly filling it back in with an ease that bespoke years of experience while Stan busied himself with watching the condensed clouds of his breath float away on a chill breeze, waiting patiently.
After a while the brunet finished up and turned to look at Stan for a moment before heading off in the direction of his house. The raven followed quickly, keeping pace beside the rugged brunet. "So, what've you been doing all these years? I haven't seen you around at all." He asked after a moment.
"I 'ave been all over ze world doing odd jobs."
"All over the world?" Stan's tone was surprised. "Really? Like where?"
"Sumatra, Sierra Leon, Ze Congo, Russia, Norz Korea, Chile, Cuba."
"Whoa..." Stan contemplated the words, mulling it over. "I bet that cost shitloads. I haven't been anywhere since I was a kid and we're did all sorts of stupid adventures." He glanced over at Christophe. "What did you do there?"
"Mostly assassinations, guard duty, soldier for 'ire, reseestance movements, and stealeeng sensiteeve documents." He replied honestly.
Stan nodded absently, ignoring the 'assassination' part. He'd seen plenty of his own share of death. "Was it hard?"
"Not really, I'm good at what I do."
"I bet it pays great, though."
"I 'ave enough to keep comfortable. Eet ees deefeecult to spend seence eet ees blood money, but yes, eet pays well."
"Well, yeah, I could guess..." Stan trailed off, thinking over the pros and cons of being a mercenary for hire, shivering slightly in the cold. "If it pays so well, why are you back here? This town is dirt poor, who could pay you to come back here?"
"My muzzar leeve's here. And I 'ad to geet somezeeng for a client." He answered.
"Mm..." Stan ran out of questions, falling once more into silence as he walked. The moon was the only thing that lit their way through the town; otherwise, they were covered in darkness., and Christophe took the chance to look over at him, his eyes taking him in and secretly admiring how the moonlight fell on his raven black hair.
Stan suddenly got an itchy feeling, raising a hand to scratch self-consciously at his ear; Christophe looked away and headed up the steps to his mother's house, which had just appeared over the distance.
Stan followed silently, waiting on the bottom step while Christophe took a key ring from his pocket and proceeded to unlock the front door.
The brunet opened the door and held it open, waiting for Stan to enter.
The raven hesitated the slightest bit on the front step, lingering out in the cold before he heaved a deep breath and took a step forward, then another until he was inside the house and Christophe had closed the door behind them.
Christophe crossed into the kitchen. "What would you like to dreenk?" He asked, back to Stan.
"Uh...I dunno." Stan said, looking around as he followed him. "Do you have any Pepsi or something?" He glanced around again. "Where's your mom?"
Christophe pulled a coke out of the fridge and tossed it to him. "No pepsi. Deal weez eet."
"Wasn't really complaining." Stan took the can, popping the tab open and adopting a more relaxed stance against the far wall as he took a drink, the familiar burst of carbonated bubbles across his tongue helping to chase away his discreet nervousness. "You still haven't told me where your mom is. Won't she be worried some strange guy in is here?"
A stony silence met his ears as the other very obviously turned his back on Stan, giving him a nice view of the shovel strapped to his back as he took out a clear bottle from a cupboard, filled with an amberish colored liquid, along with a short, thick glass and some ice from the freezer. Christophe opened the bottle and poured some of its contents into the iced glass, taking a slow sip.
Stan let the question hang for another moment, frowning at the sight of the liquor as he took another gulp of his coke. He himself didn't drink that kind of stuff, or at least, not often. He cocked his head curiously at the Frenchman. "Hey, you gonna answer the question or not?"
There was a sudden flash in the kitchen light and Stan found himself looking down at the metal end of Christophe's shovel a centimeter from his neck. A growl answered him.
"I zeenk not, eef zat ees alright weez you." He punctuated the end of the statement with a heavy snort.
Stan was surprised, then angry, any fear he should have had chased away as fast as Christophe had pulled out his shovel. What was with the sudden change in attitude? It was going pretty well, too! He stared haughtily down at the dirty shovel, wickedly sharp even through its prolong use, before turning his gaze to the brunet. "Yeah, it's alright with me." He didn't wait for Christophe to take the shovel away, instead lifting a hand to boldly push it away.
As usual, or at least what had been usual with all the few times Stan had had a shovel to his neck, Christophe kept it in the exact same place, not making the tiniest effort to move it. Stan gripped the cold metal, their gazes locking roughly. After a moment though, the mercenary gave a scoffed mutter in French before lazily pulling the weapon away, clearly and wordlessly saying it was only because he wanted to that this was happening.
Stan stayed where he was, a dark glower on his face as he crossed his arms, a defiant cast to his features as he took a long drink of his coke. Christophe returned the glower with an intense stare, the corners of his mouth curling into an amused smirk behind the glass.
Stan glared back at him for a moment, his irritation growing by the second as he stared at the other's smirk, finally snapping, "What?"
Christophe quirked an eyebrow at his outburst and gave a short chuckle. "Nozeeng."
"Goddammit." Stan growled, looking around rather angrily. This wasn't what he had imagined as a relaxing drink. He was in a strange house, with an even stranger guy, and all he'd done was ask a question that Christophe could have just said he didn't want to answer. Seeing as this night was going so well, what was he supposed to do now?
Christophe turned his back to Stan once again, setting his drink down and exiting the kitchen without a word to his guest. Stan's anger was broken by the surprise at this sudden action, and his arms fell to his sides as he glanced in the direction that the brunet had left in. Was he supposed to follow or something?
The taller male poked his head back in through the doorway, the look on his face expressing clearly his opinion of Stan's intelligence. "Are you comeeng or not?"
Stan frowned as he lifted himself from the wall, leaving his coke on one of the counters of the kitchen. "Not like you told me I was supposed to." He grumbled, walking over to where Christophe was waiting.
Christophe started off again, seemingly paying Stan no attention as he mounted the stairs and disappeared into one of the rooms.
A sigh breezed from the raven's mouth as he followed reluctantly, keeping one hand lightly on the rail as he traveled upwards and paused at the doorway to the room. When Stan entered, Christophe was sitting at the end of a precisely made bed with standard blue sheets and one pillow arranged neatly in the middle of the far end. The rest of the room was as spartan as the bed; everything had its place and there wasn't the singlest bit of clutter. It didn't look like the room was used much. It didn't feel lived in at all.
The entire cold atmosphere of the room had Stan pausing, looking around slowly and taking in the whole room. It was weird and almost uncomfortable to look at, and Stan hesitated to even say anything; it'd be like disturbing the silent air of a church. Somebody actually lived here? The idea was too strange to think about.
Christophe pointed to the desk chair. "Seet." He commanded.
Stan was weirded out enough to follow the direction without any complaints, settling down quietly in the 'offered' seat. Facing the mercenary, he stared at him for a moment, letting the silence stretch for a bit as they gazed at each other.
Christophe grabbed Stan's wrist and pulled him to the bed easily, sitting him down next to him. "I changed my mind."
Stan gave out a small 'whoa!' at the sudden pull, almost falling face-first on the covers before he recovered and sat, not an inch between them. Their knees were almost touching. "Nice of you to tell me before you yank me around places." He muttered, keeping his gaze resolutely on the wall in front of them. There wasn't an awkward air around them. Of course not. He was being stupid, that's all...Stan wanted to shake the thought from his head.
Christophe smirked and looked over at him, brown eyes dancing dangerously. He was planning something. But what? His face gave nothing away.
Stan didn't see this dangerous gleam in the brunet's eyes as he was still staring at the wall, trying to convince himself that nothing was going on.
"Stan." The other said, waiting for the raven to turn his head to look at him.
The cool tone almost made Stan shiver, but he composed himself and glanced over, raising his head a little. "Yeah?"
The second Christophe detected an opening he dove in, crashing his lips to Stan's. Without letting Stan stop to think through what was happening, Christophe pushed him to the bed and straddled him, looking down at him with an impish smirk on his face. His eyes were still dancing mischievously.
Stan couldn't even make a sound as he was pushed back, and then he was staring up at Christophe in shock. The raven's mind was relatively simple, and though everything that had happened, the nervousness, the anger and following awkwardness, he had managed to convince himself of something about their previous kiss, even if it was just complete denial. It had been a fluke, a one-time thing, something to be pushed back to the farthest corners of his mind so he could move on with his life. And yet here he was, lying on a guy's bed, straddled and kissed a second time. Christophe's face was so close, his dark eyes piercing as an wicked twinkle shone in them, and then these facts could not be ignored anymore.
But what was he supposed to do now?
Not feeling Stan make any move to push him off, Christophe leaned in to capture his lips again, bracing his hands on either side of Stan's head.
Stan felt Christophe's lips on his once more, and he had a decision to make. He could either A) push him the hell off, of B) fuck everything else and go along with it. That second seemed to last an eternity as he gave way to the reluctant fact that no one was here to see it anyway, and he finally just gave a weary mental sigh, thinking, 'screw it', reaching up to tangle his hands in Christophe's dark brown hair.
Satisfied beyond measure, Christophe deepened the kiss, gripping Stan's hips in his hands. He tested how far he would be allowed to go, flicking his tongue over the other's lips. Stan shuddered slightly as he felt the wet touch, giving in completely as he parted his lips to let him in. 'I guess all those make-out sessions with Wendy are gonna come in handy now...' he thought wryly.
Christophe's tongue delved past Stan's lips, tasting and probing his mouth.
It had always been strange to have someone else's tongue in his mouth and this time was no different, girl or not. But this time Stan put his feelings on this subject aside, letting his curiosity take over as Christophe explored him, interestedly taking in the sensation of their tongues rubbing against each other and the void taste of the other's saliva.
The strong mercenary ran his hands up from Stan's hips, exploring his clothed chest; the feel of firm muscle beneath his hands sending shots of electricity through him. The raven squirmed the tiniest bit under the strong hands, and his fingers tightened on the brunet's hair, his forearm brushing the lower edge of Christophe's shovel, the metal edge pushing against Stan's jacket.
Christophe nipped Stan's lip as he pulled back for air, panting slightly. They stared at each other for a moment like the calm before a storm, their rough breathing mingling in the air between them. Stan licked his lips unconsciously, his face and body feeling strangely hot.
Christophe gazed intently into his eyes for a moment before getting up off of the bed and off of him. Stan sat up, surprised and confused at the motion, unsure of what to think.
"Is that it?" He blurted out, before flushing darkly as he realized what he had just asked. 'Fuck it', he cursed mentally.
"I zought you said you are not gay?" Christophe asked with a mischievous smirk, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.
"I ain't gay." Stan shot back quickly, clearly aware of the hypocritical nature of the statement.
"Right." The other said with a slight chuckle. He left the room, clearly expecting Stan to follow. He ended up back in the kitchen, picking up his glass and taking a sip, leaning on the counter and watching Stan over the rim, waiting to see what he'd do next.
Stan grumbled unintelligibly as he ended up back in the kitchen, leaning against the same wall, his eyes picking out patterns in the floor. What had even been the point of moving to the bedroom, anyway? His eyes wandered over to a clock hanging on the kitchen wall, and they widened slightly as he took in the late time.
Christophe glanced over to the same clock, his thoughts running along the same track as Stan's, and he seemed to nod to himself. He looked back over to Stan and set his drink down on the counter. "I weel walk you to ze door." He said firmly, trying to seem the gentleman. Which was quite ironic since he was anything but.
Stan was surprised at the comment, much more at the commanding offer it held, though. But he nodded and stood up straight, tucking his hands into his pockets. He really did have to go home anyway, so it was no use lingering here.
Christophe led him through the house to the front door, turning to him before he opened it and did something he hadn't done before. Or, at least, something he'd never done with Stan. He leaned in and pecked him gently on the lips.
Stan received it quite graciously through his ever-growing surprise, his blue eyes staring quietly into Christophe's as the brunet pulled away. Stan turned to leave, but turned back after a few steps to look Christophe in the eyes again. "I'm not gay, you know...but maybe we'll see each other around. 'Night." He gave the other a small grin before turning once more, finally leaving this time. Christophe leaned in the doorway and watched him until he disappeared around the corner, the beginnings of what could be a smile on his face.