Dirty Frenchman for Hire.

Pip is taller, and while he might seem pleasant in public, behind closed doors he enjoys using his height to his advantage. It makes things more fun to lift the smaller Damien up and pin him against the wall.

Damien knows how to make Pip angry, insulting him even during sex to only make Pip go harder and rougher, just the way he likes it.

On rare occasions, Pip gets Damien to beg. With Pip’s patience and stamina, he’s more in control of himself than Damien is. Which sometimes leads to the bed getting caught on fire sometimes.

Damien hates physical affection in public, Pip uses this against him. Despite Damien’s aggression, Pip is used to it at this point and knows Damien secretly enjoys being doted on.

Pip likes to take his time with Damien, wanting to be thorough with pleasuring his partner. In order to control Damien’s impatience, sometimes handcuffs are needed. 

Pip loves getting his hair pulled.

Damien doesn’t know much about sex, so he gets a little nervous at times. Pip is a bit more experienced and confident, so he normally takes the lead.

Christophe was unaware how long he slept, but he found himself waking to comfortable warmth wrapped around him. It was tempting to let himself be lulled back to sleep, having the strange feeling of safety blanket over him, as if nothing could reach him. That was what bothered him though, he never felt safe or comfortable enough to allow his defenses to fall. His mind fought through the fog of his brain so he could focus on reality, a bad choice on his part as instantly he was flooded with a dull, aching pain. It served as a reminder as to what had happened to him.

Being shot was no fun ordeal, no matter how many times Christophe had been shot, he'd never really get used to it. The best solution was simply not to move until he was healed, he was moderately safe, recalling somewhat that he'd been in the presence of Kyle and Gregory. He was as safe as he was ever going to get, but that wasn't saying much really. Gregory was the biggest danger to Christophe, not even a trained hitman posed as much as a threat as the Brit. Gregory knew all of Christophe's weaknesses, knew how to hurt the Frenchman without even raising a hand. The man was every form of torture designed specifically for Christophe.

The current torture was the secure feeling of having those perfectly defined arms curled about him.

He could feel Gregory's slow and easy breath ruffling his dark brown hair, the feel of those broad chest pressed against his shoulders. Long legs tangled with his own, keeping Christophe from pulling away, not that he really wanted to at the moment. It was so rare to have this moment, where Christophe was almost tempted to believe that they lived in a different reality. One where everything fit just right, straight out of some romance novel. Not that Christophe would ever admit to having read one before. In moments like this, it was easy to fall into the illusion, where Gregory was a caring boyfriend that only had eyes for him. They'd wake up, Gregory giving him a good morning kiss before making breakfast.

It was sickening and... Christophe could see why people found it appealing. That life wasn't for him though. He wasn't deserving of it.

"Mm, thinking of me, 'Tophe?" A whisper of a voice brushed against the back of his ear, he should have know Gregory would be aware of Christophe waking up, the tension in Christophe's body was always a dead give away. Still though, Christophe didn't respond, not bothering to humor the blonde. He was too tired to deal with his antics, but Gregory took Christophe's silence only as an invitation. Soft lips pressed against the back of his ear, a deceptively gentle kiss. One Christophe would not fall for, gentleness had never been given to Christophe except to lure him into relaxing before Gregory got rough with him.

Those lips trailed down, pressing feather-light kisses down Christophe's neck until Gregory buried his face into the crook of it. Christophe could feel those arms tighten around him briefly before relaxing again when Christophe grunted from the pain of his bandaged wounds.

"I thought I lost you again..." Gregory's voice was barely even a whisper now, muffled against Christophe's neck to the point Christophe barely understood him. Christophe understood though, no matter how much Gregory posed and did his best to keep his composure, Christophe was also his weakness. Christophe tensed, remembering what it was like the time he died, how he'd woke up to a sight that was forever branded in his memory. Of Gregory crying. He'd never seen Gregory cry again after that, though he felt like right now that Gregory was doing his best not to succumb to saddness once again.

Crying? For him?

Tears were better wasted on someone else, not him. But... Christophe couldn't help but to fancy the idea that maybe he was loved deeply enough by the blonde that fear and heartache could effect him. Maybe in another life they would have been lovers, tied together by some invisible string, maybe even destined soulmates. Christophe found some sort of peace in the idea, enough so that he dared to reach up with one hand and brush his fingers into those silken stands of fine spun gold. Gregory wouldn't have tolerated such under any other circumstance, but now, they were experiencing a different reality, a dream for as long as they could before it slipped through their fingers.

Gregory's fingers were gentle, stroking slowly back and forth over the uninjured part of Christophe's abdomen, tracing over scars as if his touch alone could erase them physically and mentally. Lips pressed kiss after kiss on olive skin, worshiping Christophe, praising him for staying alive. How could Christophe ever leave? He could never abandon Gregory. Not even God themselves could pry him away from the blonde. Against all odds, Christophe would always find his way back to Gregory, as romantic as that sounded.

Love. Romance.

Two words that Christophe avoided the best he could, but he'd never escape it. He should run from it, shun it with everything he had. He couldn't though, deep down, he yearned for it. Maybe not the love that was pictured on films, he could never live a normal life like that. However, Gregory could offer him a place... but would he?

No.

If Gregory wanted him like that, Christophe would be living in his home, not some girl that clung to Gregory's arm like a trophy. He wanted to hate her, to give in to the jealousy that clawed inside him, but he couldn't. He was aware of the truth, Gregory's lifestyle demanded someone of higher caliber than Christophe could offer. Christophe couldn't smile, didn't have that pleasant look in his eye. Not to mention the wrinkles and the bad habit of smoking whenever he was stressed, and he was stressed a lot. All in all, Christophe and Gregory were complete opposites in reality. It simply wouldn't work.

"You're getting tense again." Gregory murmured, reluctant to give in to reality just yet as he brushed his nose against the underside of Christophe's jaw. Dark green eyes peered down at the mass of golden hair, so beautiful, so perfect, like a ancient Greek god who crawled into his bed. Christophe wouldn't praise Gregory in such a way, it would only feed the other man's ego and would never let Christophe forget it.

"What are we, Gregory?" Christophe rasped out, making him realize he probably needed something to drink soon, his throat was dry.

The question made Gregory still, pulling him out of the dreamworld they shared for such a brief moment. It was best they not dwell too long there, or else what little sanity they had left would be lost. Gregory didn't respond right away, letting silence fall like a winter's chill in the bedroom. Still though, Gregory didn't let Christophe go, didn't pull away, still locked in his fear of losing Christophe. Golden brows furrow, soft lips thin as Gregory was losing himself in thought, puzzling this out, trying to find the right words to say. Thinking. Always thinking too much.

"I can't lose you again." Gregory replied as if that was a satisfactory answer, but it wasn't. It solved nothing. Christophe was on his wits end after near death. Could he possibly kept this up? He wasn't certain, but he was tired, tired of being a good dog who came at Gregory's beck and call without hesitation. He was tired of receiving nothing in return, tired of his leash being yanked and his collar tightening around his throat to the point he couldn't breathe. It was time he demanded something for himself and if Gregory taught him anything, it was to sink his teeth in and never let go.

"Implying you ever had me to begin with." It was a statement, an accusation tossed out there to hit Gregory and pin him down with a choice. He could feel Gregory's arm tighten around him, muscles like lean cables of steel locking him in place. In Christophe's current condition, he'd be hard pressed to fight back, but he didn't need physical strength to hurt someone, Gregory had taught him that much. "I'm just some stray you occasionally feed scraps to, but I've never been yours and at this rate, I never will be."

"Careful what you say, Christophe." Gregory's voice was dangerous against his ear, but Christophe wouldn't be pressed into obedience. Not this time.

"When have I ever been careful?" A sour response. "I'm drawing the line here. I'm not some side piece, some toy you can play with. Not anymore. Either you completely dedicate yourself to me, or else this will be our last job." He hated Colorado, hated the people from South Park, hated how everything crumbled apart when they were involved. It had to be this way, if Christophe did die and stay dead, what was his point? Would anyone really remember him? He'd be left having accomplished nothing in this hell of a planet. He wanted something, something for himself. For once, he wanted to be selfish.

"What do you expect me to do?" Gregory was backed in a corner now, his defenses down from stress, of being reminded of how he found Christophe. He'd rushed to find Christophe both times, and both times he'd found Christophe alone and bleeding on the ground. Everyone gone, forgetting about him. Except for Gregory. In all honesty, Gregory could never forget about the Frenchman. Forget the way those dark forest green eyes stared in defiance at him, saw right through all his charades. Christophe had never cared about looks, about manners, had always pressed Gregory to be more independent, to stand on his own instead of chasing after his father's coat tails.

"The same thing as you expect from me. Loyalty and dedication." It was simple, or sounded as such, and yet so complicated. Nothing had ever been easy for them, such a tangled mess of their lives that they tried so desperately to hide or ignore. Christophe was tired of getting tangled up in it all, he needed something stable to stand on. He didn't want this fantasy he caught brief glimpses of to remain that way, just fantasy. It would never be perfect, but at least it would be something he could work towards, something that would help him continue fighting to live.

"I shouldn't..."

"Why not?

"It will only hurt me more if... something did happen to you."

"Coward."

That got a response out of Gregory, Christophe was well aware of how much the Brit didn't like being called a coward. A cheap tactic, but Christophe wasn't one for beating around the bush or succumbing to cowardice. A firm hand came up to grab a hold of his jaw, jerking his head roughly to the side without warning but Christophe didn't resist. He knew Gregory's aim even before those addicting lips crashed onto his own. There was no waiting as a tongue suddenly delved past his chapped lips and conquered his mouth, Christophe didn't have the energy to fight back, simply letting Gregory lose himself in the moment.

"No, Mole, hang on."

A voice haunted his memory, causing him to stir, wanting to turn away from it. Why would he bother hanging on, what was the point of carrying on when all his life he'd only been used as a tool. God had fucked him over so many times that he'd lost count over the years, he's only purpose had been to serve others, did he even have a goal beyond being ordered around, of being hurt, of dying for some war he had no stake in. War. He remembered it as clear as if it happened only yesterday, how could he not? One tends to remember their own death.

"We'll get you home."

Home? What a fanciful notion, a delusion people lived to find some sort of comfort. Homes could be destroyed, ruined, burned to ash within moments. Christophe's life was already crumbling around him, to have some physical evidence of that was something he didn't want to bother with. It made him remember what he used to call home as a child. A quaint little house on the edge of South Park, close to Gregory's family estate. It wasn't much but Christophe remembered every little detail about it, it was branded in his mind like some sort of fantasy that didn't seem real.

"Christophe, you failed your math test again. Are you even trying?" His mother's voice echoed in his mind, he looked up from the table, seeing his mother but her face was blurred out, scratched from his memory.

"I'm sorry, mother." He said pleasantly even though he was seething on the inside, he'd known all the answers on the test, but what was the point of getting them correct? Not like his mother would reward him and Christophe didn't particularly like getting judged by this woman.

"Its fine, dear, we will just have to study harder. For now, no dessert tonight." His mother scolded gently, as if she honestly meant it. Christophe was aware of it being all a farce, he'd been aware of his mother's act for a couple of years now. If he had a choice, he'd run off, but he couldn't, he was only eight years old and already basically sold off to servitude to Gregory. Christophe got out of his chair, planning on going up to his room to stew in silence when the door rang. It was rare someone came to their house, no one outside of Gregory's family really knew about them.

Christophe didn't care and his mother was already on her way to answer, her tone was grating with how charming and polite she was to whoever was at the door. He wanted to escape, to get away from it all. He was drowning out his mother's grating voice until she called out his name, it appeared someone had come for him. That was a surprise, Gregory never came over to his house, usually summoning the Frenchboy over to his place instead. Scowling, Christophe made his way towards the door, where three boys stood at his stoop. Everything in him screamed to shut the door, knowing how this ended, but one couldn't change the past.

The scene began to melt, like wax, dribbling down to reveal darkness underneath the colorful layer. A reality of it all, the emptiness of it was far too familiar and yet Christophe wanted to turn away from it. He didn't want to relive this nightmare, this reality that had been in his past. It haunted him enough during his waking hours, but it appeared that it wouldn't let him rest in peace even in his last moments. The coldness washed over him, reminding him of before, of how it felt like he'd never recall what it was like to be warm. He wished it would just go numb, but the chill crept into his very bones, making it difficult to move.

Then warmth, a small amount pressing on top of his hand, fingers smooth but unfamiliar. Not smooth enough to be Gregory's, it was as if the touch alone was summoning him through curiosity, drawing him away from the bitter coldness of death. Annoyed that someone was calling him back from the brink, needing him, always needing him for their own personal gain. He was a fucking idiot for being drawn to it, out of habit, like a dog crawling to his master even in his last breath was fading from his lungs. Ever loyal, ever determined, even if it meant dying at his master's feet, to be buried and replaced.

"Every time you come into my life, it always ends up like this?" A quiet voice reached him, causing him to crack his eyes open. Not a pleasant or smooth as Gregory's, stern but there was a hint of concern in his voice. A face, pale skin, even with Christophe's unfocused vision, he could see the tangled mess of red hair. Kyle. Hard to forget him, not when his face was the last one Christophe had seen before he'd died as a child. The only one to have offered him some form of comfort in his last moments, even though the only reason those kids had needed him alive was to help get them out safe and alive. Showing compassion to an expendable tool, it was odd.

Christophe didn't respond, he was exhausted, too tired to bother thinking about why Kyle was there. If he really was there and not just some figment of Christophe's imagination, it was difficult to tell what was reality and what was something conjured up by Christophe's fading mind. Instead, he let himself drift off again, he didn't want to think anymore, didn't want to be haunted by faces of his past. However, God never took what Christophe wanted into consideration, he was always punishing Christophe's existence, as if he was some sort of personal stress toy for the asshole.

"I'm glad you came on such short notice." Another voice drifted into his conscious some time later, he didn't need to open his eyes to know it was Gregory. They'd been bound at birth, as romantic as that would seem to the outside viewer, it wasn't that simple. This wasn't some Hallmark movie housewives jerked off to when their husbands weren't satisfying enough. But Christophe could understand the need for that illusion to cover up their shitty relationship, it just wan't in Christophe to delude himself in such a way.

"Of course, its the least I could do for him... As some form of apology for... what happened." Kyle's voice seemed to hesitate, stressed by bringing up the topic. It made Christophe wonder how Kyle had fared after Christophe's death. He assumed the red-head had moved on with his life, forgetting about the French mercenary like everyone else had. However, maybe that wasn't the case.

"Christophe mentioned you were there." Gregory's voice seemed tense, as if he didn't want to carry on with this conversation, but he had to, for some reason Christophe couldn't fathom.

"I was. There wasn't anything I could have done for him at the time." Kyle hesitated again. "I don't like feeling helpless. Its one of the reasons I became a doctor." He admitted, though much to Christophe's annoyance. This conversation was far too awkward, even for him and he was barely conscious. Two people who wanted to avoid any sort of actual emotion holding a conversation about emotions? What a joke.

"We were just kids." Gregory admitted, though it didn't seem like he accepted the excuse himself. Guilty though for having sent Christophe off without proper backup, for trusting Kyle, Stan, and Cartman. Christophe had trusted Gregory's judgement and had paid the price for it.

"Yes, well." Kyle sighed out heavily, bracing himself. "I'm sorry, I don't think any of us actually properly apologized to you. If I had known Christophe was still alive..."

"It was better no one had known, in our line of work, knowing could put you in the line of danger. Especially with the trouble you and your friends get into." Gregory's tone seemed sour for a moment, before letting out a stressed exhale. "My apologies, it is unlike me to get this worked up."

"I understand, but we're in this trouble together now and I'll help out any way I can. I'm not as ill-prepared as last time." Kyle stated firmly, making Christophe remember that hint of a feiry temper from their childhood. He'd only gained a brief glimpse of it, but it had been something Christophe had admired. Left uncontrolled though and it could be dangerous.

"I can see that now, thank you for patching Christophe back up. I couldn't take him to the hospital, I'm certain you're aware as to why." Gregory seemed to be pacing, from the sound of his brisk footsteps, sometimes they lingered closer to Christophe's bed, wanting to be near but resisting the temptation.

"Yeah, I figured as much. I need to stay here for a couple more days just to make sure he recovers without any sort of infection."

"I can handle that."

"Are you trying to tell a doctor how to do his job, Gregory?" Kyle's voice tightened as if using Gregory's name was an insult.

"No, certainly not, but I'm more than capa-"

"Then you should listen to my orders when it comes to matters like this." Kyle cut in, not willing to listen to Gregory's excuses. It was rare for anyone to really be able to interrupt Gregory without certain annoyance. Christophe wished he had the capability to laugh, because he certainly wanted Gregory to know his amusement. However, he doubted he could even manage a humored smirk, feeling detached from his body, as if he was just floating there, barely tethered to the lead weight of his body.

"If you insist." Gregory backed down, already stressed from what happened no doubt. Logically, it was ideal to have a certified doctor on hand, even though both Gregory and Christophe had a decent amount of experience patching each other up from missions that had gone badly. It had always either been himself, or Gregory, no one else. Christophe didn't tolerate strangers touching him, so doctors were avoided at all costs for Christophe. That and he couldn't have his files pulled up where anyone could trace him or realize he wasn't dead.

"Why don't you rest for a little, you've been up for too long. I'll keep an eye on Christophe in the meantime." Kyle seemed to soften his voice a little now that Gregory had conceded, he still seemed to hold some amount of care towards other. One couldn't take just the care without the temper with Kyle.

"Fine, but if he wakes, you let me know." Gregory warned before footsteps receded out of the room, leaving Christophe with Kyle in the room. Not that Christophe was truly much company as he didn't even bother to open his eyes, they felt like heavy weights anyways.

Once again, warmth covered over his rough and scarred hand, making Christophe aware that Kyle was lightly holding it. It was a strange feeling, he could barely recall anyone holding his hand in such a gentle fashion, as if afraid they'd hurt him. Impossible, really, but the notion was not lost on Christophe. It was strange, but Christophe could remember that this wasn't actually the first time his hand had been held as this moment recreated itself. He was dying in the dirt, but then arms did their best to hold him close. A hand grasping his as if trying in vain to tether him to the mortal plain.