Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork.

When he'd been drafted into this damn field, no one warned him of the most threatening element of the job: Death by tedium.

Christophe groaned, flopping back listlessly on the sofa, an arm and leg listlessly hanging off the edge as he held his dossier up against the overhead light. Eyes half-lidded as he scanned through his completion report, he couldn't help but sigh, lazily flapping his free arm towards the coffee table and his pack of smokes.

'Target: Henio Alcocer
Location: Arequipa, Peru
Status: At large, previous assassination attempt failed
Mission Agent: Mole

Agent captured in the field, was unable to complete duties. Compensated for airfare and travel accommodations. Interviews with agent and partner (Photuris) revealed partner liberated agent. Neither compensated for mission, partner given compensation for intel gathered for next mission. Agent recommended to undergo retraining course.'

He grumbled to himself, narrowing his eyes at that nail in the coffin. There it was. Three weeks later and he finally got his report back, no money and no credibility to be had with it. Well, aside from the pittance that they gave Kyle for a near-complete compound map and one leader down and dead. It was nothing short of an insult to them both, the check barely enough to cover their rent for the next month considering just how much they'd risked getting out of there. They had more than enough stashed away to outright buy their home base, but it was the principle. As Kyle had muttered after their interviews ended, it was only to be expected when the client's request wasn't met, but it was still a slap in the face.

Given, they'd found themselves more than used to that over the years. Kyle's going had been rough from the start, given the codename of a femme fatale firefly after his trainer observed him working in the field. "Quick, deadly, and glowing," he'd originally told Kyle. But he was never one to let a name come to him without research, finding he'd been struck with so feminine a codename that he could never escape from. It was still humiliating to the man, knowing well enough how other agents would snicker, would comment on how well it fit. He could never deny his method, standing quietly if cooperating with another team while they hee-and-hawed about it. Christophe never called him Photuris, both for Kyle's sake and his own, neither willing to confirm nor deny his trademark.

Christophe, on the other hand, was still dealing with looks of disappointment from their superiors in the few times they met in the past two years. After all, abandoning his prior partner for Kyle was "foolish and rash". He'd been paired with Gregory for a reason, just as Kyle had been given Luis. Getting all the schematics sorted out had been hell, Gregory fighting tooth and nail to keep Christophe on his team and Luis losing his temper and nearly breaking Kyle's arm when he'd tried to depart. They'd cost the agency time and money, which they figured they'd more than made up for over the course of their time together with so many successes and so much credibility stashed under their belts.

Didn't matter right now though. And it wouldn't until the next success.

"You keep reading it but it's not gonna change," a quiet voice broke through his glaring. He turned his head, seeing Kyle moving towards him rustling a towel through his dampened curls. Christophe grunted, turning back towards the paper stubbornly. Kyle rolled his eyes. "Tophe, let it go."

"Non. We got screwed," he spat. "Zis ees bullsheet."

"I know," he agreed. "But fact of the matter is we signed off on it and got our check. We can't question it anymore. It's been three weeks, Tophe."

He frowned, "And we 'ave gotten no ozer meessions."

Kyle sighed, tossing his towel onto the coffee table and combing his fingers through his hair to work out knots. "We've had longer dry spells than this before, and after successful missions. I'm sure something will come along."

"Or zey are just waiteeng us out unteel we run out of money."

He cocked his brow, "Then they're gonna be waitin' a few years. We have plenty stashed away. Now c'mon." He snatched the paper out of Christophe's hand, ignoring his scowl as he balled it up and tossed it behind his shoulder, looking down at him firmly. "We'll be fine. We weren't fired. We weren't even lectured."

"Non, you were not lectured," he grumbled, finally bending a bit to snag his cigarettes and light one up in a fluid motion. He pulled back his smoke and sighed, drowning in tobacco's slight numb. "Zey want me to train again."

Kyle shrugged, "So? I go every three years for a training session. Nothing wrong with it."

"Zere ees," he sighed. "I 'ave never 'ad to."

Kyle stared at him, heaving a deep breath and moving over to sit on the edge of the couch in front of his stomach. "Tophe. It's not an insult. It's to get you to your top."

"We are ze top," he reminded him sharply, Kyle wincing. "I fuck up once een over two years and zey pull zis sheet?"

He shrugged, "We're still kind of the… scandalous partnership. They've probably just been waiting for you to not take a target down to bring this up."

"Exactly," he said thickly, taking another long drag. "Deedn't get zees treatment my last meess."

Kyle reached forward, cupping his cheek in his hand and giving him a bit of a smile. "Listen, just ignore them. They only suggested the training, they didn't mandate it. Buck up, we'll get the next one." Christophe gave him a 'hmph' focusing down on his cigarette. Kyle shook his head. Christophe could so easily fly between the extremes, being an immovable monster of a man with a bloodlust or a giant goddamn child throwing a tantrum. He hummed, turning further to the side and propping himself up over Christophe's pouting form. He leaned down and kissed his forehead, hazel eyes hitting him hard. "They may treat you like shit," he said casually, lips trailing down and to his cheek. "But I can treat you real nice."

Christophe couldn't help but shake his head. "Not goeeng to work, petit renard."

"Oh?" he smirked, moving down and nipping at his neck, Christophe's head following his lead. "I think everything we need works just fine," he purred, fingers brushing their way down to hover at his waist, fingertip just brushing over his vacant beltloop. Christophe shifted a bit with a gulp, nearly flinching at another bite. "You can take all those frustrations out on me," he enticed, breath unbearably hot against his throat. "I think that'd make you feel better."

"You are deestracteeng me," he huffed, hips bucking up and growling in frustration as Kyle's hand moved away, denying him contact. Kyle's favorite goddamn game: His utter compliance and full attention before anything was touched.

Kyle hummed, kissing under his mandible, "Am I distracting you? Or are you? Can't stop thinkin' 'bout what you can do to me, can ya?" he teased, Christophe groaning under his breath and his cigarette trembling in his fingers. Well. He wasn't exactly wrong. "Whatever you want," Kyle offered. "You can just lie back and let me do all the work, or you can get all that anger out right here, right now."

Christophe grunted, free hand flying down and over to slap against Kyle's ass under thin pajama pants, relishing in the sharp hiss leaking through his teeth. "I do not zink you want zat," he murmured. "I am peessed enough to 'urt you."

"Then do it," he challenged, leaning up and looking down at him with a sly grin. "Remember that time you made me cry?" he cooed, tugging a lock of brown hair. Christophe gulped, both pride and guilt battling one another out over the memory. Parts of it were still hazy, all he remembered was Kyle giving him a full go-ahead when he was in a particularly bad mood and a lot of heavy impacts under his palm, Kyle being practically thrown around the room before Christophe finished and came out of his haze. His anger had been dissolved, but he'd come back to Kyle curled up and gasping for breath, shaking with tears trailing down his face and enough bruises to get him goddamn arrested. Christophe had never been so confused as when he panicked and tried to help him up and Kyle just kissed him and grinded against him, still moaning and scratching through his crying. It was simultaneously the best and the worst sexual experience of Christophe's life, and he'd been wondering nearly a year now if the results could be repeated.

"You were crying," he had said, dabbing ointments over cuts and carpet burns garnered nearly ten minutes after Kyle had finished and Christophe had stopped his tears.

Kyle had blinked slowly, laying over his lap and looking up at him, "Really?"

"You… you do not remember?" he'd asked in shock, cotton swab pausing on a nick on his shoulder.

He'd shaken his head, eyes closing and falling limberly against his thighs. "No… I was pretty damn gone. I… I think I'm hitting a hell of a drop, though," he'd murmured.

Christophe had nodded, knowing from past drops what entailed and slowly sitting him up to lean against his chest. Kyle had tremored, a prickle of fear trying to take hold before strong, golden arms gently clasped around his waist, chapped lips pressing against the back of his neck and words of praise and comfort washed over him like a warm lather. "Je suis désolé," he'd whispered, gently rubbing his back, avoiding obvious marks.

Kyle had shaken his head, "Don't be. If I wanted you to stop, I'd say so."

"Not eef you cannot figure out where you are-"

"I always know where I am with you," he'd interrupted. "Gets a little fuzzy sometimes but that's a good thing. I don't get fuzzy with… others," he'd muttered, looking down at his legs. "I never feel safe, everything is crystal clear and honestly, terrifying. Here I can just… go away a little. But I know where I am, and I know you'd never actually hurt me."

Christophe had frowned, looking at the starting marks and heaving a deep sigh. "Obveeously I would."

"If I'd called the word, you would've snapped back and stopped. You have before, you'd do it again," he'd mumbled, sinking back against him and letting his head limply roll into his chest. "Stop giving us both so little credit. I trust you."

Christophe's eyes smoldered, free hand coming up and cupping Kyle's cheek. Kyle leaned into his palm, watching him with curiosity. "What?"

"Nozeeng," he huffed, leaning up and stealing a quick kiss. "Was zere ever a time when you deed not solve problems weez your deeck?"

Kyle snorted, giving him a shrug, "Hey, found my talent in high school. Forgive me for honing in on it. Not that you've ever complained." He laughed at a small tug against his curls. He hummed, turning his head and nipping at his wrist. "C'monnnn," he taunted. "We both fuckin' know I can talk you into it, why not skip this foreplay bullshit?"

Christophe smirked, taking another drag and blowing it into his face, watching his nose scrunch with slight irritation. "Because you need to work for eet."

He cocked his brow, sitting back a bit and resting on Christophe's hips. "So, let me get this straight: I have to do the work for you to fuck me so you feel better. That hardly seems fair."

"Not zat you've ever complained," he echoed, loving the twitching smirk hitting Kyle's lips. "You can start zees meession by getting me a dreenk," he flicked his thigh.

Kyle scoffed, "Want me to put on a fucking bar wench outfit while I'm at it?"

"Non, zough you 'ave ze legs for eet."

"Pretty sure my tits wouldn't quite pop, though," he snorted, leaning down and pecking his lips. "Fine," he conceded. "Lucky for you I'm feeling generous." Christophe just smiled, lazily swatting at his ass as he moved to stand and make way towards their kitchen. Kyle yawned and stretched as he walked, scratching through his wet hair and shivering as his bare feet hit the tile floor awaiting him. At least he got Christophe's mind off of that goddamn dossier, that's what was important.

He hated seeing him like this, so mopey and angry at himself. No matter how many times he emphasized that it was just a stroke of bad luck that hit him, Christophe couldn't seem to shake a feeling of failure from off his shoulders. It was simmering, and Kyle knew from only a couple of similar instances in the past he had a fine-eyed amount of time to get him out of it before he just flat-out left for a few days to work off the fury away from him. The first time had made him suspicious as to his intentions before Christophe came back home four days later coated in earth and smelling like death. Hunting, he'd told him. Taking out all that anger on deer and other populous wildlife. He just needed something to redirect it onto, but once it hit that certain point, Christophe knew himself well enough to know that if Kyle hit his nerves wrong, that anger could be pointed towards him and turn out disastrous.

Kyle sighed through his nose, ripping open their fridge and lazily scanning around, clicking his teeth and digging back behind a collection of coffee creamer and energy drinks before finding a half-full pack of beer. He frowned, not wanting to have to deal with going to the store, but as little as they kept around the house considering their typically-hectic schedule, their supplies were depleting fairly fast. If Kyle had to be honest, he was starting to get agitated, too. He was fidgety without work to be done, neither of them liked being so full of downtime. But, there was nothing to be done about it other than just waiting.

He shook his head, snagging two bottles from their cardboard hold and pulling them back out of the fridge, shutting the door and starting to turn before he was jerked back, a hand slapping over his mouth and the bottles slipping from his grasp to land with hard thunks against the tile. He yelled out, flinching at an arm snagging around his own and forcing him back into a thick chest.

A familiar scent of earthy musk flooded him, eyes straining as hot breath hit his ear. "Do not look at me," Christophe hissed. Kyle blinked, but cooperated, eyes turning back forward and struggling to breathe through his nose with a finger nearly blocking off his nostrils. He grunted, shivering at that moist air pulsing over the nape of his neck. "All alone?" Christophe taunted, staring hungrily at a barely-visible crook of his throat. "Who would be stupeed enough to leave somezing so preetty all by zemselves?"

Kyle couldn't help the small, floundering quirk of both a smile and a scowl, the dramatic roll of his eyes. Christophe fucking loved that, calling him pretty and watching him get angry and defensive. It was always different than how others insulted him in similar fashion. Christophe meant it lightheartedly, had a teasing tone that he shared with no one but Kyle, and he simply relished in his privilege, regardless of being the butt of his joke. He shifted slightly and Christophe jostled him back into stillness, squeezing around his arms hard enough for his eyes to scrunch shut in slight pain. "Come on," he demanded, moving to turn Kyle and start leading him towards their room. Christophe smirked as Kyle shook his head with a muffled whine and began to squirm, bare feet slipping cartoonishly across the kitchen floor.

He grunted, twisting around to drag Kyle behind him, Kyle trying to bite at his palm and plant his exposed toes against trim as he was pulled along. He couldn't help a low-seated chuckle, feeling frustration quickly beginning to mount while Kyle cursed his lean, vertically challenged self as he was easily manipulated to move to his 'captor's' dictation. They hit the corner of their short hallway harboring their bedroom and bathroom, Kyle easily sliding along polished hardwood flooring as he wriggled.

Christophe grinned, loving feeling Kyle fighting between letting him do as he wished or giving him a hell of a hard time getting to that point. It was always a favorite game of theirs, to see if Kyle would finally submit or if Christophe would get one-too-many punches to the face to continue and Kyle would have to make it up to him and do all the work himself. Christophe can't remember when their game started, but it was almost routine at this point.

Kyle had lightheartedly called it sick and depraved, Christophe just called it fun.

Forcing the man yelling through muffled lips into their bedroom, Christophe pressed him forward in three long steps and shoved him down onto the bed, leaning overtop of him and pinning him under his weight. "Be good," he jeered, Kyle giving violent jerks in his grip. Christophe kept his weight bearing down his back, slipping his arm out from under him and wrangling his arms behind him.

Kyle cursed and spat, legs flailing trying to land a solid hit. The hand over his mouth squeezed, his wrists caught in the vice of a calloused palm. He sneered, jaw opening and head tilting to latch onto Christophe's finger, digging deep.

Christophe ripped his hand back, hissing and trying to shake out the beaming red indentations he'd left. "Leetle beetch," he snapped.

"Get the fuck off of me!" Kyle yelled, stomach fluttering in undulating thrill as that hand made its return, swooping under his mouth and catching his throat in its stead. His eyes scrunched shut, lips parting in a natural exaggerated attempt to find the air being so lightly deprived from him. He yelped as the hand slid away, replaced by a muscular arm and finding himself nestled in the crook of Christophe's elbow and his neck squeezed. His teeth gritted as Christophe leaned down by his captured head, hot breath swelling in his ear and hard skin nestled between layers of fabric grinding against his ass. He wriggled, hissing at a warning squeeze as his head began to grow heavier, the sound of his adrenaline-fueled heart flooding his ears.

Christophe watched him carefully, knowing his tells well enough to find his indication to lessen his grip and allow him to swim his way back. Allowing him a few deep breaths, his eyes scanned the room, looking for something to tie him down. Careful consideration of finagling a makeshift binding from Kyle's sweater hung lazily on the bedpost was disrupted as a curly red head came flying back, smashing against his left eye. He hissed, jerking up just enough for Kyle to plant his feet upon the ground and firmly push his body weight back against him.

The sudden shift lessened Christophe's grip around his wrists, Kyle twisting enough to free himself from their hold and slip his neck from its prison. He dropped down between Christophe and the bed, arm raising to block another attempted grab at him and his other rearing back to slam his elbow in Christophe's shin. He dove out of the confinement and rolled into a crouch, looking up to see a very agitated Christophe and he gave him a sly smirk. "You really do need that retraining, don't you?" he cooed.

Hazel eyes lit with fury, Kyle's entire being twisting in pure excitement at the promise of a chase to be had. He shifted in his lowered positioning, toes perched and waiting for Christophe to move towards him. He gave a sharp jerk of his neck, letting it crack and relax from the stress it'd been put under, lungs still demanding more oxygen to make up for lost time. But his eyes were alert, body poised.

"I need to eenvest in drugs to keep you steell," Christophe rolled his eyes with a smirk, taunting him with small fake-out steps towards him, watching Kyle unable to keep from flinching in either direction.

He grinned, "Pretty pathetic you'd have to fucking roofie me to win."

"I do not 'ave to," he said, shoulders rolling and loosening. "Leetle cock slut always caves."

A thin brow quirked, "Oh? Well, guess I should change that behavior to change it up, huh?" he asked, seeing the frustration mounting on his face. "Wouldn't want to bore you, Christophe."

The empty threat got him moving, one step enough to bounce Kyle up into action back on his feet with his knees bent. He came around in a fast swoop to Christophe's side and launched forward, grabbing around his chest and knocking him onto his back hanging halfway off the bed.

"Goddammeet," Christophe bit, Kyle grinning victoriously as his hands planted Christophe's wrists on either side of his head, straddling over his torso and tonguing over his teeth.

He leaned down into Christophe's face, giving a soft nip against his bottom lip. "Maybe I should be who retrains you," he purred.

Bushy brows furrowed. "Non," he spat, long legs still against the ground giving him the leverage needed to bring his weight up and forward, Kyle yelping as he flew back onto the hardwood floor in a sprawled heap with a loud thunk. He groaned, head shaking and trying to see straight again from the impact before weight was back overtop of him, his arms pinned up over his head. His sight focused well enough to see an unwavering expression of frustration. Christophe slammed his forearm over Kyle's trapped wrists, leaning down back into Kyle's face. "I train you, petit renard."

Kyle gave him a small smirk, giving a half-assed attempt to shake loose before Christophe bore down onto his arms, forcing himself between his legs without so much as a blink from his intensified, warning stare. The tautness of Kyle's muscles sank, face falling into a comfortable, lusting hunger. "Woof woof," he murmured, craning his head up and snagging himself a kiss.

Christophe allowed himself to simmer in the slightest, Kyle's admitted defeat allowing his free hand to ride along his waist and down his thigh, tongue pushing and pulsing along side Kyle's. He hummed through a soft laugh, pulling back and watching Kyle whine and try to follow him up, still caught by his arms. "Leetle cock slut always caves," he teased.

"He sure does," Kyle nodded, voice heavy and hungry, lifting his hips to meet Christophe's. A happy, loud moan left him at a reciprocation, Christophe coming back down and digging his teeth mercilessly into his neck. Tears of pain pricked his eyes, body tremoring and each of Christophe's ruts driving him harder against the floor. His planted fists tightened, panting and writhing unabashedly as teeth and tongue picked him apart piece by piece to leave him a disjointed puddle on their bedroom floor.

Tension rolled off of Christophe's back with every press against him, his fury of the crumpled dossier in the living room far off and away as his focus fell to the man beneath him. He didn't know how Kyle managed it with nearly every turn, how his distractive mannerisms managed to trick him every goddamn time. How he took something so infuriating and turned it into something so delightful. Well, he supposed, it was what made Kyle so damn good at his job. Or perhaps Kyle saved this kind of treatment for him and him alone. He couldn't be sure, he'd only been truly beside of Kyle a handful of times when they hit the field, usually working different angles to eventually converge on the common goalpost, but it wouldn't surprise him a bit if this was one side of the charm he utilized to worm his way into every nook and cranny of an operation.

A part of him swelled with pride for Kyle at the idea, as well as the hints of jealousy he'd always carried for being with one of such ease in blending into any situation and molding it in his hands like putty. But it was mutual, Kyle admitting more than once how he yearned for Christophe's physical intimidation and skill, only able to do so much himself with his speed and the hidden strength that could catch people off guard only once. More than one hit and they adjusted themselves accordingly to fend him off and he often found himself disadvantaged if left without a weapon and in a tight, inescapable corner. But with Christophe, there was usually more power needed than available if one wanted to match his abilities.

Said strength pressed harder into Kyle, earning him a louder, cracking moan and he grinned. This was all he'd needed, just this level of distraction, of Kyle allowing him the victory after he worked for it. How defeating so small a man into submission could renew his confidence, perhaps only he could ever understand. But, it was a point of pride, reminded him better than any goddamn mission that he knew what he was doing. After all, Kyle didn't let any exploit slip by without notice, would fight until all mistakes were rectified. If he fell still and allowed Christophe his compliance, it meant he'd been left without choice, that Christophe had earned it.

He moved back up, taking Kyle's lips much to his delight, soaking in the warmth and pure joyous adrenaline radiating between them. His free hand came back to Kyle's face, stroking over his chin and getting a round of pleased moans and arching hips.

A sharp, obnoxious trill rang from the other room, both tearing apart and glancing towards the door at the familiar tone. "Sheet," Christophe muttered, releasing Kyle's arms and planting his hands on either side of his head to propel himself back onto his feet. He reached down, grabbing Kyle's hand and helping him haul himself back upwards as well.

Kyle was dizzy with the sudden change, nearly stumbling over himself as they hurried their way back into the main room, trying to fight down the massive, unfulfilled ache between his legs as he rushed to his agency phone situated on his desk. He almost dropped it in his haste, slamming it to his ear and running his fingers through his hair. "Photuris, 286952," he said in exasperation, moving to grab the pen and notepad beside his laptop, nodding along to the automated string of numbers following in a quick blurb.

Christophe watched from a short distance, squinting at a small trickle of red leaking down the back of Kyle's neck and frowning, moving to head off to the kitchen.

"8936-42587 confirmed," Kyle said, waiting for the recognition technology to goddamn catch up.

Finally, he heard an echoing "Confirmed, Photuris and Mole, 8936-42587," before the line was disconnected.

Kyle hummed, bringing the phone back down and hanging up, heaving a sigh. Fucking horrific timing on the agency's part, but a mission was still a mission at the very least. Now Christophe wouldn't wallow through the notion that they were being punished with each passing day. He flinched at a cold, wet feeling against his scalp, looking back to see Christophe holding a paper towel to his head and brushing away strands of hair.

"You are bleeding, I need to feex zat damn floor," he murmured, pressing his lips to the side of his head.

Kyle smiled, subtly shaking his head as he flipped open his laptop and sat in his chair, Christophe following along to tend to his minor wound. "Told you it had to end sooner or later," he teased lightly.

Christophe rolled his eyes, shifting the towel in his hands to a clean portion and pressing back against the small slice in Kyle's scalp. "Let's see what zey 'ave us doing before we call eet good, hm?"

Well, he couldn't exactly argue with that logic. They'd had some pretty dull and dry reconnaissance missions in the past. Days upon days of planting bugs and listening from a hotel room in rotating eight-hour shifts. Kyle prayed that wasn't what they were doing again.

A simple screen with a waiting box came to life at last, Kyle rapidly keying in his given operation number, watching at a quick loading screen come and go with an explosion of information in his face. He hummed, mousing his way down individual lines, hearing Christophe muttering to himself trying to find the information.

"Malta," Kyle answered the question he could hear from his frustrated grunts. He glanced up and grinned, "If this is a quick mission we can hang there and just catch some time on the beach."

"Your pale ass would fry, petit renard" Christophe said dryly, snorting at Kyle's middle finger shooting up towards him.

Kyle scrolled along the mission specs, coming to a picture and nodding to himself, "This Donovan guy is the target."

"To keell?" Christophe asked, deeming Kyle's wound stopped enough to toss the paper towel aside and put his hands on Kyle's slim shoulders.

Clacking his teeth, Kyle shook his head. "No. Looks like it's just intel gathering for the most part…" He read onwards, seeing his codename highlighted. "They want me to integrate into the group. 'Terminate only if necessary'," he rolled his eyes. Necessary was so vague a term, both he and Christophe often held in interrogations from their superiors and told that what they deemed necessary didn't hold true throughout the agency.

Christophe nodded slowly, squeezing his shoulders. "What eez zeir group?"

"Uh… looks like political infiltration," Kyle said, reading a slew of bullet points regarding threatened ambassadors, compromised campaigners, and bombed rallies. "From what I'm seeing here it's a rich man's resistance," he scoffed. "I'll have to read up more on it but I'm sure I just need to hype up taxing the goddamn poor or some shit."

"Eez Donovan ze leader?" he asked.

Kyle shrugged, "I assume? Or at least one of them, it doesn't say. But either way, I have to get in and cozy up to 'em. Find out what they plan on going after next so authorities have the upper hand to arrest some of them and work the operation apart."

"And me?"

He squinted, searching through the file and letting out a soft, angry 'huh'. "They don't have you in here."

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Christophe spat.

Kyle looked at him sympathetically, patting his hand. "Look, fuck this file and fuck their bullshit okay? I always need you there as my backup. While I'm inside, you can scope around the outer limits and help me when it's time for me to get out. All right? Don't let being pissed at these fucktards mess with our system."

Christophe shook his head, leaning down and planting a kiss in his hair. "I would never leave you weezout backup, petit renard."

Kyle smiled, tilting his head and pecking his lips. "I know you wouldn't." He turned back to the screen and bit his tongue, "Okay, this seems like a pretty locked group, so it might take me a few days to get in at all. So maybe give me four days or so and then you can come after."

He frowned. There was always a separation they took when heading out for missions, Kyle always on a plane first and Tophe taking a few days to follow, trying to space out their trips to avoid looking connected. Christophe hated it, hated that Kyle was always already there and could be in trouble while he was still on the goddamn plane. But, it was by Kyle's insistence that he did so and believed that it served its purpose. Nevertheless, four days seemed like far too long.

"Two," he countered.

Kyle rolled his eyes, "Three."

"Two and a 'alf," Christophe scowled. "We do not know what zeese people can do, Kyle. I weell find where you are and be ready to 'elp get you out eef you need eet."

He sighed, leaning back and rubbing his eyes with one hand. "Fine, fine. I'll find you a hotel just in case I'm somewhere with just, ya know, politicians who won't get their hands dirty."

"Zey can steell 'ire someone to 'urt you," he reminded him solemnly.

Kyle smirked, "They never do. I can convince 'em out of that mindset easily enough. We'll finish this bullshit and then go raise hell with the agency for fucking you over."

"Bon," he nodded sharply.

He chuckled, getting up and shutting his laptop, twisting around and reaching up to cup Christophe's chin. "But, before that and finding tickets… I believe we were in the middle of something far more important than international turmoil." His hand slid its way down Christophe's torso, planting itself firmly on the front of his pants and his lips attaching to his neck.

Christophe grinned, yet again feeling that betrayal and anger slipping through his fingers as he wrapped himself back around him, roughly turning him and leading him back to fall on the couch. He hovered over him, finding hazy green eyes and a coy smile focused solely on him and feeling a shudder roll its way down his spine. His hands wanted to feel every little thing on the man beneath him. He began his mission to do just that, watching as Kyle purred and arched against his touch and his keen senses melted into pure euphoria, letting himself slip off under the care of Christophe's adoration.

Christophe could forget about the mission for now, could forget about how the agency was screwing him over and the insults they were spitting in his face, allowing himself to instead indulge in the prize he so loved to earn.