Necessity is the MILF of invention.

                              "THIS IS QUITE THE PHILOSOPHICAL QUESTION. Others before you have wondered the same. They write books about this. Humanity loves its complicated questions that nobody has a definitive answer to." And Castiel won't spoil the answers; well, he also doesn't have them for some questions. The meaning of life, for example? In his opinion, God grew bored or lonely, and that's why he created humanity. Toys for entertainment purposes. But he doubts that mankind wants to hear that.

"I think-- - Well people're just curious, tu sais? We like to know. Sometimes the curiosity is too much. But I think that uh-- - Part of life is the wondering." About everything. The before, the after, and all the strange in-betweens. "I like wondering."

"Ouais?" A celestial being. he could have guessed he supposed. of course Castiel had seen it. And he seemed to be hoarding those secrets. Frenchie wouldn't pry much further. "What about other things? Not humans." It was nice to know that there was some level of personalization. He wondered how deep that went. How much personalization before it got to be too much. The amount of souls on earth at present alone... Then again not all of them are good and deserving of a heaven.

"pizza." frenchie says it solidly. like it's a done deal already. all they have to do is pick it up. which isn't entirely untrue. frenchie's already thinking about how many pizza's he can buy with what cash he has on him. enough for satisfy, he thinks.

frenchie gives hugo's back an affectionate rub. "nonsense, mon ami. if we do not pick a movie that i love, i think i will not mind so much if we talk during." so maybe not twenty seven dresses. he vaguely recalls taking someone's ear for not shutting the fuck up during his favorite parts. but if hugo doesn't want to watch movies, that's fine too. they can put something else on to drown out everything else.

“Stimpack. Too fucking early for synthcoke.” It was said with a grumble, but it was short-lived as his breath grew shaky from that kiss to the worst of his scars. He could not feel those lips, but the pressure made him aware. Somewhere deep inside, he was self-conscious about it; however, the man behind him had seen him without half his arm, blood pouring out and arm mangled from the machine that tried to take it. The burn scars were not as gruesome. “I bet you fucking do. Is one of those things currently poking me in the left ass cheek right now?” teased, but he makes no movement to get away. 

Frenchie giggled against Jason's back. "It's afternoon. But uh-- - Understood." He gave Jason's shoulder a quick nip and rolled his hips. Just to make a bit of a statement. "Ouais~ If you want it~"

He wouldn't push, though. Breakfast is a better option anyway. For both of them. If only to help with the aches and pains.

"Okay. Breakfast! I uh-- - Went to the corner market, hmn? Got us something good. Crepes~" Complete with strawberries and chocolate sauce. That sounded fantastic, actually. He rolls his hips, teasing, once more before he finally let him go to wander off into the kitchen.

They'd been doing this long enough now that it was on the cusp of normal. It still had that edge, as all secret activities did, but Hughie had successfully got over the shock that Frenchie would be interested in sleeping with him more than once. That he had enjoyed it so damn much that they would actually frequent as each other's booty call.

Hughie had never thought himself to the type to sleep around with his friends- but then he had never thought himself the type to kill someone either. Besides, it wasn't a big deal. Definitely not as big a deal as murder. It just took some getting used to, that was all.

Now, when he got the message that Frenchie needed a pick me up at the end of a truly shit day, Hughie didn't think twice about obliging. He was more than happy to. It was their little system now, a way to give themselves something to look forward to. A coping mechanism, one that's mutually beneficial. It's not like Hughie has anything better to do on this Thursday evening anyway.

If it wasn't Butcher being incredibly insensitive, it was his contacts telling him to fuck off, selling him out, or otherwise being unhelpful. And he got a flat tire. Or rather, the donut he'd put on when that happened last time went flat.

His coffee was burned. They sold out of his favorite little pastry on the corner. His shopping bags tore and he lost his wallet. And on top of all of that, he'd run out of rolling papers.

All this to say, he needed something. Hughie had become a sort of healing balm. Their little secret. A pick-me-up for both of them. Frenchie is trying to keep it separate. They'd agreed. This is meant to be something casual. Low pressure.

It's just a little difficult when Hughie's a near constant part of his life these days. Usually his casual dalliances had a little more removal from his life. This is different. More entangled than he usually likes to get. But he can't help it. It's fun. They're having fun. And it's mutually beneficial.

"Probably." Reason wasn't exactly his business, money came no matter what the reason was. "You don't take your hand off that piece, maybe you'll be able to go after him and ask." It's not a threat, Slade is calm, his tone level with every syllable delivered as matter of factly as one might talk about the weather.

"You'd hit the ground before you even unclip whatever shitty piece you're carrying around for self defense from that holster."

The way that the other man said it made Frenchie believe it. He'd be on the ground before he knew what happened. His hand went straight up, fingers spread wide. Nothing in them. Surrender of a sort.

"I believe you." About the person probably deserving it. About Frenchie being an easy target. "I just wanted to compare, hmn?" His own blade is decidedly less impressive. A little slip of a thing done up in his little harness. It would remain there for now. He wasn't looking to join the man who's blood had been wiped away like that.

Frenchie took a moment to look him over. "It is pretty shitty though, ouais. Not super helpful except up close. And even then..." Really only good against regular human beings, not those pumped full of V. He has to get clever with it in that department.

He figures if nothing else, Frenchie seemed a restless soul. He'd seen it plenty of times before, so it came as little surprise, though if he were being frank, he UNDERSTOOD the need to be active. He figured that'd be COMPLETELY understandable. He'd been through it himself.

The comment regarding guard duty causes Karter to nod quietly, letting out a sigh. He'd had a sinking suspicion that ASKING him to specifically do guard duty wasn't going to go over well either way. His head turns to face the other man before rubbing the back of his neck.

"As long as you don't destroy anything you'll be IN the meetings with me. Technically doing guard duty, but not really. Like I said, as long as things go over well today, we'll go to lunch or something later."

Frenchie laughs. Maybe he is a bit of trouble. He should apologize for that. But he doesn't. Not this time, anyway. Frenchie supposes that Karter would get rid of him if he was too bothersome. He knows he's disposable. Or he could be if people need him to be.

Karter's right about that, at least. That he's a restless soul. He likes to move. He needs to move. Not unlike a shark. There's something in him. An animal, maybe.

"I would, tu sais. If this is what you need from me." Frenchie adds carefully. He can get his shit together if he needs to. Karter just needs to ask him to, first. He doesn't even need to make it an order. Frenchie just wants to do a good job.

He offers a salute. "No destroying. I will even keep my hands to myself, hmn?" This, he thinks, will help. He can do it. Even if the urge never really goes away. He thinks that Karter understands. Maybe he's like him. With that itch.

· 𓂃 ࣪˖ ❤︎🔪 ˖ ࣪𓂂 . There's a grin when he feels Frenchie grabbing at his belt hungrily. And he helps to undo it. Hands explore Frenchie's chest once that jacket is off and he gives a little hum to response. Lips meet once more, kiss hot and heavy as they're walked back.

It's a little dance, this. And they're sort of inventing it together, aren't they? They know what moves they like. The fun comes from leading each other through the best ones. It's a desperate sort of chase, too. Chasing pleasure and all the ways to make skin tingle, make each other moan.

"Greedy~" He teases as Roman's hands snake under his shirt. Frenchie's hands smooth up Roman's thighs to squeeze at his waist, tug him closer as they kiss. Frenchie's teeth tug at his bottom lip as he pulls back to admire Roman as he looms over him. Ah, he is pretty, isn't he? Frenchie thumbs at his chin for a moment before he's surging up to kiss him again as he works his own shirt off.

"Didn't realize you wanted to be inside me that bad." A horribly rude and crude joke, said with a wink. "And to be fair I cheat on Vik with you so..." V gives a sheepish shrug before letting a wave of giggles out.

"But next time I'll let you be the one to rearrange my guts." If she were being honest, had she not been on the brink of zeroing with Vik being the closest ripper her symbiotic brain worm would drag her to, she probably would have come to Frenchie instead. Vik was fantastic and just as much of a friend; but everytime she shambled back to his office there was always a note of concern lingering in his tone or in his eyes all because he knew the truth --- truth which she hadn't broken to Frenchie yet. And she's not sure she could or would.

Frenchie can't help himself. He starts laughing. "I thought the uh-- - Eye fucking was hint enough, mon amie. I do not mind being your side piece, though." That much was true. He gave V a wide grin and jostled his shoulders.

"I would be very fun, tu sais." He thinks she knows this. He finds the double meanings to be quite funny. Frenchie laughs again. He got it. He was newer. She had a life before he stepped into hers. He could stand to be a little more respectful of that. V has more shit going on in her life than just her favorite ripper.

a.

or b.