Ch 1. Revised! Please review!
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Upon returning home some time after 3am, Gregory could immediately could tell that Christophe was definitely not home. They had a lamp near the front window they always left on as a signal that someone was in the house, but even without that secret code, he would have known. The house always felt different to him when Christophe wasn't around.
"He must still be out on his mission," he thought to himself as he unlocked the front door.
Their house was small, but charming. It was a tiny old thing from the turn of the century, with a little porch out front, and a fastidiously cultivated garden. Gardening was one of the many things they enjoyed doing together- Christophe naturally enjoyed digging around in the dirt, while Gregory enjoyed the colorful payoff they got when the flowers began to bloom, and the strawberries started to bear fruit. Gregory smiled at the thought-Christophe was much more domesticated than most people imagined, although he could still be difficult to live with. Christophe loved to pick fights, walked around in a grumpy haze all too often, and he wasn't too concerned with cleanliness, which was usually their biggest issue with cohabitation.
Gregory kept most of the house very clean, and it had a very proper, if not slightly vintage feel to it. The only room that was ever a disaster (which was how Christophe seemed to prefer a space) was their office, which had piles of papers and maps everywhere, and a closet stocked full with guns. Twice Gregory had attempted to introduce a filing system to the chaos, but Christophe had his own sort of haphazard organization system which seemed to work for him, and he got mad any time Gregory tried to clean it up.
Unless his mission had gone awry, Christophe ought to be home soon, and Gregory knew he'd be ravenous when he walked in the door. After setting his things down and changing out of his suit into comfy pants and a sweater, he began preparing a late dinner for the two of them.
He set about making a omelettes, figuring that was the fastest, easiest way to go. He was cutting onions and red peppers and mixing them with the eggs when he heard the front door opening.
"'oney, I am 'ome," he heard his boyfriend call, almost mockingly. Christophe still hated Americanisms, despite having lived in the US for so many years.
Gregory looked up and smiled as he felt Christophe's arms wrap around him from behind, but froze when the stench of dirt, sweat, and copious amounts of blood filled his nostrils. He turned to look at Christophe, pushing him away slightly as he took in his filthy appearance. The dirt and sweat were normal, and a little bit of blood was not uncommon for the mercenary to have on him. But Christophe was drenched from head to toe in red and drying brown, some of it flaking off onto the floor. Gregory wrinkled his nose and backed away.
"Good lord, what on Earth happened to you? I hope you didn't get any of that on me, I just put on a clean top."
Christophe shrugged, "I 'it a few snags. It is ok, though, I am unhurt, and I accomplished what I set out to do." He held up a handful of papers he had been sent to recover.
"Well, that's good, darling, but you need to clean yourself up before you track filth all over the house... or worse, get it all over me. The food will be done when you get out of the shower."
Christophe stood there scowling for a minute, before pecking Gregory on the cheek and trudging to the office to add his loot to the teetering piles of paperwork in there. Gregory watched him, and smirked to himself when Christophe emerged from the office and headed right to the shower. Though the blood and gore coating his skin didn't bother Christophe in the least, he knew Gregory would be a pain in the ass to be around if he insisted on staying dirty, so he usually complied when asked to bathe. Gregory mentally patted himself on the back for having such a well-trained boyfriend.
When Christophe returned from the shower, dressed only in his underwear, Gregory had already set the table for them, and waited for him to sit down before he started eating.
"No clothes, dear? Hm," he said, frowning as Christophe sat down next time him, immediately digging into his meal.
Christophe didn't respond, and Gregory watched him eat for a moment. He really wished someone had bothered to teach Christophe proper table manners when he was younger.
"Anyway," he said after a few minutes, taking a bite of his own omelette and swallowing it before continuing, "You'll never guess who I ran into today,"
"Who might zat be?"
"Stanley Marsh... do you remember him?"
Christophe looked pensive for a moment, before answering, "Should I?"
"He worked with us during the war against Canada... he and his friends."
"Ah... ze boy obsessed with the clitoris... Oui, I remember them. 'is friend with ze green hat was afraid of 'is mother, and ze fat one... was a stupid pathetic waste of space, who got me killed."
He didn't seem surprised that Gregory had run into one of them. Last they'd heard the two smaller boys had started some resistance work, though they didn't know on what scale, while the fat one... well, he had gone on to other things. Everyone knew about him, to say the least.
"Yes, well, I asked Stanley if we could talk to him about work and the like, so we'll be meeting them tomorrow at noon."
Christophe glanced at the clock, which read 3:45am. "You mean today at noon. Are we going to get any sleep tonight?"
"Well," Gregory said, picking up his now empty plate, "If you'll help me with the dishes, we can. Although I don't expect you have sleep in mind at the moment, do you?"
Christophe just gave him a wicked grin, and obediently took his plate to the kitchen.
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Gregory always enjoyed sex with Christophe after he came back from a mission. There was always some adrenaline still cycling around in his system, and he was rougher than usual, pounding into Gregory at a furious pace, hands gripping his hips hard enough to leave bruises that lasted for days. Gregory also enjoyed it when Christophe was sweet and gentle with him, but sometimes he felt he'd never get enough of this; being thrown around the bed like a rag doll, having his throat sucked on and bitten until he was nearly in tears. Christophe almost never kissed him during these violent episodes until he was climaxing, breathing heavily into Gregory's mouth with deep, satisfied moans.
Gregory was still trying to catch his breath as Christophe rolled over and lit a cigarette. They laid quietly for a moment as their heart rates slowed down.
"Zat shower you made me take was kind of a waste, non?"
"Don't be stupid," Gregory said, rolling over toward Christophe and stretching against his side, "I wasn't going to have sex with you if you were covered in blood and God-knows-what."
Christophe just shrugged and took a drag off his cigarette. "What are your intentions for tomorrow?"
"Ah, well, we ought to leave here around 11 if we're going to be at this place in time. Really, I'd just like to get an idea of what he's up to. …...Did I tell you it's called Cafe Musain?"
Christophe snorted, "Cafe Musain? Ees zat supposed to be clever?"
Gregory laughed. He hadn't thought the Les Mis joke was very funny, and apparently Christophe didn't either.
"Anyway," Christophe continued, "I doubt they are doing much... Maybe a lot 'as changed, but during ze war with Canada they were painfully unprepared. They did not even 'ave watches."
"Well, Stanley seemed a little more capable this time around, but I suppose we will find out tomorrow, won't we?"
He pressed himself to Christophe's sweaty side, and drifted off to sleep.
X
A note on Christophe's accent: Um, I want to make it Christophey, but not too heavy-handed, if you know what I mean. I've read fics where you could barely understand a thing he was saying, and I don't want that, but I do want you to read it in his accent. Also you might notice that sometimes I'll spell a word properly, and sometimes more phonetically. That's cause, you know, when you're speaking a foreign language sometimes your accent is better than other times.
...And I don't want my whole fic to be piles and piles of Z's. "Oh tell zem zat ze Zoloft cured my Zoo-phobia!" Yeah, no.