"Christophe?"
Flinching, the addressed man recognized that tone as deadly. It dripped with fury, and possibly even bloodlust.
He turned around as delicately as he could, not wanting to pile any more anger onto the seething man who stood in the doorway of their apartment tapping his foot.
Christophe barely met his eye before he continued speaking.
"What is that mess you left in the kitchenette?" the man asked, and although Christophe wasn't looking at his face, he still felt the heated stare burning towards him.
"I'm sorry," he squeaked, cursing himself over and over in his mind. Why couldn't he face a man who used the word 'kitchenette' and managed to make it sound like a death threat? And worse yet, he himself sounded like a terrified little mouse against a lion.
He could hear the steps of the man's expensive, elegant loafers come closer to where he stood.
"I couldn't quite catch what that was. What was it you just said?"
Christophe felt a sense of defiance creep up on him. Screw him and his clean freak ways! It was just a little dirt! Barely noticeable!
"I said," Christophe began, "I'm sorry for making a mess. Want me to prove it to you, Gregory?"
A small, bewildered laugh escaped Gregory. Christophe looked him in the eye then, and felt a little relief to see only annoyance mirrored back.
"Then prove it," Gregory challenged, crossing his arms and waiting for Christophe to make a move against him.
He was quite shocked to be swept off his feet and onto the couch, where Christophe proceeded to kiss along his jaw line up to his mouth.
"I am very sorry," Christophe said, kissing Gregory after each word. "I will clean it up, I promise."
Gregory squirmed under Christophe's hold, a bit peeved at his own lean body which allowed Christophe's more muscular one to keep him stuck to the couch.
"You can't get out of it that easily," he growled, frowning against Christophe's lips. Christophe laughed in response.
"Oh, can't I?"
His fingers began to unbutton Gregory's shirt with practiced ease, pulling it off of Gregory's torso and letting it fall to the floor. He could see Gregory's eyes watch it land with disapproval. No doubt he was worried it would get dirty or crumpled. Christophe changed his priorities by dropping to his knees in front of the couch and dragging his tongue over the skin of Gregory's stomach.
He got a small gasp in return, but it wasn't enough for Christophe to get such a mild response. He wanted Gregory to be completely undone before him, seeing as he wanted to his apology as thorough as possible. He wanted Gregory to scream his name.
He undid the button and zipper of Gregory's slacks, and then pulled them down until they rested at his ankles. Christophe palmed Gregory's cock through his boxer-briefs and relished in the needy moans Gregory gave to him.
Slowly, he slid those down as well, and stopped to look at Gregory.
He was the picture of a pornographic dream. His face was flushed, his pupils dilated and focused directly on Christophe. He looked so lustful: his mouth open, breath shallow and ragged, and his fingers curling and uncurling as if they wanted nothing more than to grip at Christophe's hair and make him swallow him down.
"Do it, please," he begged. He reached out to touch Christophe's cheek lightly, his eyelids fluttering.
That sent signals straight to Christophe's dick, as it was completely hard now.
First, however, he had to tend to Gregory. He placed his hands on Gregory's hips, and then leaned forward and licked the head of Gregory's cock.
Christophe could feel Gregory tense up, and then relax again as Christophe continued. He took it into his mouth, fluttering his tongue against the skin. He hollowed his cheeks and drew back, sucking on the tip.
He let go of Gregory's hip with one hand, trailing it down Gregory's back until his fingers were rubbing circles against his hole. He felt Gregory's hip arch back against his fingers.
Christophe wanted nothing more to pull his cock out of his jeans at that moment and stroke himself. Gregory really had no idea how goddamn erotic he looked all the time.
"Oh God, Christophe..." Gregory moaned above him, thrusting himself into Christophe's mouth and back onto his fingers again and again.
Christophe's mind seemed to blank at that, and he began to work Gregory apart with a sudden craving to see Gregory come as soon as possible.
Gregory's moans and whispers grew rapidly into cries and shouts that fueled Christophe on. Gregory's hands tangled into Christophe's hair, and he scratched tiny marks into Christophe's scalp.
His head fell back against the cushions as he came, and he pressed his cheek to the fabric while clenching his jaw to stop the scream from escaping his mouth.
Christophe pulled off of Gregory's dick and removed his fingers, allowing himself to stare at Gregory post-orgasm. His eyes trailed up Gregory's stomach; watched the rapid rise-and-fall of his chest; the dramatic curve of Gregory's neck, stretched to its maximum. Finally, his eyes rested on Gregory's, which were closed and relaxing after being scrunched up from exertion.
Christophe stood up then and straddled Gregory's lap, placing his hands on Gregory's chest and tracing the muscle there.
Gregory turned his head to Christophe and smiled up at him.
"Need help with that?" he asked pleasantly, glancing down at Christophe's erection.
Christophe grinned and leaned in to kiss Gregory slowly.
"That would be wonderful," he replied, shifting to allow Gregory better access to his zipper.
Gregory pushed Christophe off of his lap and laughed, standing up and tugging his underwear and pants back on.
"Well, good luck with that," he said, bending over to pick up his shirt from the floor. "Because you have a mess to clean up. I'll be in bed!"
Christophe watched Gregory walk out of the room with utter disbelief. Of course Gregory would leave him to sweep up a bit of dirt with a fucking boner.
He grumbled and went to get a broom.