Philip Pirrup was more attractive than what the people of South Park gave him credit for—Christophe would even go as far as calling him gorgeous. With soft, feminine features, expressive blue eyes, blond hair that had grown over the years to reach his shoulders, a pure, kind heart, smooth, bite-able lips, and soft skin, Christophe didn't understand why Pip wasn't sought after more.
If he had to guess, he would say that it had something to do with the boy's nationality—which he was willing to ignore at the moment—or because Damien was always standing over the kid's shoulder. Christophe wasn't afraid of Damien though—he had been to Hell and back once in his life already, and though he didn't want to go back there anytime soon, he wasn't afraid to die—and even if he was, the boy wasn't there at the moment.
No, it was just them—him and Pip—alone in his house, on his bed. His mother was at work—an added bonus to not having school that day; Christophe couldn't remember why there wasn't any school, which seemed more than a little odd to him, but he was willing to overlook it at the moment—which allowed him to have someone over without her constantly bitching at him.
The fact that Philip—he had decided to call the boy by his proper name for the moment; "Pip" was unattractive and seemed to kill his mood by reminding him exactly who he was with—was completely nude and in his bed made the day all the more perfect.
Philip was completely naked and sitting on Christophe's bed on his knees. His hands were on Christophe's headboard, his back was to the boy, and his legs were spread far enough for Christophe to move between them if he wanted—which is exactly what he did. Christophe himself wasn't wearing anything—he couldn't remember stripping, but he would think about that later; he had more pressing matters at hand—his dick was pressing against Philip's backside, for instance. Moving forward the tiniest bit, he allowed his member to slide between the Brit's ass cheeks, allowing it to press against the hole that it found between them.
Philip was a virgin, he could tell. The boy was squirming, whimpering, begging for Christophe to be gentle. If it wasn't for the blonde's mantra of "Please, Christophe, be careful; I haven't done this before, and it seems like it might sting a bit," Christophe would think that Damien had just been inside of the Pirrup boy before and had gotten more than a bit rough while having his way with him. He trusted Philip though—the boy didn't seem like the type to lie. It didn't matter though anyway because Christophe wasn't planning on making love—and that's what the French did; they made love—to the slim boy pressed against him just yet; he was saving that for the next time—and Philip would want a next time because Christophe was planning on taking such good care of him, it would be the only thing that the blond will be able to think about.
He wanted to make love to Philip—the dick pressed against the boy was so hard, Christophe imagined that his balls were turning blue—but it was too much for their first time. He would lick, kiss, suck, feel, touch, stretch, love; he would do all of the things that he usually did with his lovers other than that final step—which wasn't really their final step when one considered all of the possibilities that you could have with someone else's body. The things that he planned on doing to Philip Pirrup in the future would have to wait though; he had a warm, expectant body pressed up against him at the moment, and that came first.
Christophe's hands had found their way to Philip's slim hips—hips that should be added to the list of reasons that made Philip Pirrup attractive. His thumbs were running circles over the smooth skin, trying to sooth the worried blond. It seemed to help—Philip was beginning to calm down, though it was just a little bit; Christophe had noticed that the blond was clutching his headboard tighter than necessary, so the panic wasn't completely gone. He had plenty of time to rid the boy of it completely though; they had hours alone together, after all.
"O-oh, Christophe..."
Christophe had never paid attention to the way that Philip said his name until now. He should have—adults aside, Philip was one of the few people who lived in South Park that didn't call him "The Mole". If he didn't hate God, he would thank him for it; he had been called "The Mole" before during sex, and, surprisingly, it had been a turn off, possibly because of how unintimate it had been.
"What iz it?"
Pressed as closely against the Brit as he was, Christophe could smell the boy as well as he had been able to at school—and there was that nagging feeling again; why weren't they in school?—but this time, he had no complaints. He did like the smell lemons, after all, and it wasn't distracting him from any school related projects.
And why the fuck weren't they in school? Pip was beginning to speak again though, so he would have to ponder over it later.
"Will you...That is, I mean, will you...Could you possibly..."
Christophe was curious—what would Philip Pirrup, possibly the most innocent person he had ever met (an amazing feat considering the boy's best friend and possibly lover was a demon), want from him? What could he want Christophe to do to him? Christophe doubted that Philip was the least bit perverted, so it couldn't be anything hard-core or unusual, but it was always the quiet ones, so you never knew...
"Yez? What iz it that you want? Tell me, what do you want me to do to you?"
He could feel Philip shaking; whether it was from excitement, anticipation, anxiety, or fear, Christophe didn't know—he hoped that it was the first one, but he doubted it. It was fear, more than likely. He would have to coax him out of it later.
"Can you...Will you please go slow?"
Oh. Christophe could feel himself frown; he hadn't expected anything exotic to come from the boy, but did Philip expect him to rush things? That just wouldn't do. They weren't even going to consummate this time—a fact that he hadn't mentioned to the boy whose back was still pressed firmly against his chest, the boy that Christophe had been leaking pre-cum against for the last few minutes, the boy that he would slowly fall in love with if he didn't catch himself.
The French boy allowed his hands to slowly move from Philip's hips downwards until they reached the curves of his backside. He allowed them to rest there, cupping the boy's smooth ass in his calloused hands, as his thumbs begin to rub circles once again.
"Of courze."
Christophe moved back a bit until his dick slipped from between the boy's ass cheeks, but he kept his hands on them. He began to kiss a trail of kisses, making sure not to bite harshly like he had seen Damien do, from the back of Philip's neck—the boy had let out a soft, barely audible moan—to his shoulders. Philip was gripping the headboard harder than before, but Christophe took it as a sign this time that instead of feeling fear strongly like he had earlier, the blond was feeling pleasure; pleasure that Christophe hoped he had been the only one to give to him, pleasure that Christophe hoped that Damien had never offered. He moved on, kissing a trail down the boy's backbone, finally stopping at the small of his back.
"Are you sure that you 'ant to do this?"
Christophe didn't have to consider his own answer to the question; he wanted Philip, wanted him more than he could ever remember wanting anyone at that moment. He wanted Philip beneath him, on top of him, beside him, inside of him, wanted to be inside of the boy. He wanted everything and anything.
It was Philip that he was concerned about. The boy was shy, innocent, soft, gentle, sweet, kind, a million other words that Christophe could never describe himself as. He couldn't bring himself to understand how someone like him could ever want Philip "Pip" Pirrup—he usually wasn't so attracted to weak people, and that wasn't even mentioning the fact that Philip happened to be British—yet alone how someone like Philip could want him.
He apparently did though.
"I-I...Yes, Christophe, yes. I-I want it—a-all of it, I mean."
And that was all that it took—Christophe parted Philip's ass cheeks, his hands still resting firmly on them, ready to ravish that area with kisses, and leaned forward—
—only to wake up in bed.
He was quiet for a long moment, but finally...
"Jesus Christ! Shet! SHET!"
He had had a dream about Philip Pirrup. About Pip. About the school's British kid. And he had enjoyed it, a fact that he couldn't deny—his dick was still hard, pressed against his belly, and leaking pre-cum. He had only been working on that damn PowerPoint project with Pirrup for one fucking day, this one making number two, and he had already had a wet dream about the kid. Christophe felt like he was about to explode—both from anger and arousal.
Grunting, anger taking over him and making him rougher than he normally would be, he wrapped his hand around his dick and started tugging. There was nothing gentle or slow about it, nothing like the way he would treat Philip, and that thought, the lone thought regarding the blond boy who he had refused to think about since he had started jerking off, was his final thought before he was finishing hard all over his hand.
"Shet, shet, shet, shet!"
He didn't want to go to school. He didn't want to work on that fucking PowerPoint with that fucking British boy. He didn't want to see the kid, he didn't want to watch as Damien covered himself with the boy (as he was bound to do), he didn't want to look at him in the face.
Because after a dream like that, he was bound to really shove Pirrup against the nearest wall and—
No. No, Christophe wasn't going to think about that. He would go to school, work on the project, only speak with it was vital, and finish the thing that day.
Because if he didn't, he would have to work on it at home. It was Friday, and the thing was due Monday.
Because if he didn't, Philip Pirrup, who Christophe knew wouldn't let him work on the fucking thing by himself, would insist on coming over, his usual politeness be damned since it was Christophe he was dealing with. Christophe doubted Pirrup had his own computer; he had seen the way that the blond had acted around technology, like he had never been up close to an actual computer before.
Which would mean that it really would have to be his house that they would have to go to.
And Christophe's mother's working scheduele—she was already gone, he knew; she would have bitched at him for screaming curse words if she wasn't—would cause her to still be gone when the British boy was over.
Which would mean that they would be in his home, alone.
Fuck, he must have done something other than the usual to piss God off this badly.