Merc for hire

by Whil-o-whisp

Gradually these meetings had grown more and more frequent as Christophe's jobs did. Ze Mole was growing more and more popular and Gregory was always there to give him the job and give him his pay. Gregory was always there… series of one shots. South park

2. Massage

Massage

Whil-o-whisp

Starting time: who knows

Ending time: who knows

Fandom: South park, GregoryxZemole (christophe)

Word Count: 268

A/N: Truthfully I wouldn't ask. Christophe has a potty mouth, but it's a badly accented potty mouth. Gregory's seductive. Warning enough? No? How about this: malexmale kissing, innuendos, Also, I do not speak French, and thus, any French words are babelfish 'd and thus are more than likely incorrect yadda yadda blah blah blah. Nobody's reading this anyway.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I barely own a cat.

Translation notes: Pos Trop Dur – Not too hard.

Mon ami – my friend

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"Was it difficult?" Christophe nearly purred as Gregory massaged his shoulder languidly. "Pos trop dur…" he murmured resting more fully against his, loosely termed, best friend. Being a paranoid mercenary didn't leave much open for friendship. Gregory smiled softly as he traced the tan lines of Christophe's rather out of place farm boy tan. Nobody in South Park was Tan. The smile however disappeared as he ran his soft fingers over a bruise across Christophe's bare shoulder. "Where'd you get this?" Gregory asked. Christophe growled.

"Zhe fucking fat ass was zhere…" Gregory's frown deepened as Christophe continued, persistent French accent clinging to his voice despite the many years within the U.S.. "Called secureety on me. Caught me outside. Zhat fucking Beetch" Gregory was only half listening, but Christophe was alright with this, he was only half paying attention as well. Gregory had magic fingers. "What was Eric doing there…?" Christophe growled again, catching hold of Gregory's fingers. "Do not ever call him zhat." He hissed. And Gregory sneered, bringing his lips close to the mercenary's ear. "My, is that jealousy I hear, mon ami?"

Heat rushed to Ze Mole's face as his grip went slack. Gregory let his fingers rework at the tightened muscles, pressing his lips to the soft spot below the French man's ear, then more down the length of skin. He carefully tilted Christophe's head back and pressed his lips to his, a soft, subtle kiss. Christophe moaned slightly as Gregory's nimble fingers massaged at his chest. Gregory had magic fingers, and it was only later that he realized just how true that statement was.