M E R C E N A I R E

     “Meurs.”

       "I don't fucking             zink so, non."

        The sight of Cecil so easily welcoming         his rough touch, he drinks it all in, not missing a bit           of it while he drags his nails up and down his back,         his other hand still lost in his hair. "Et.. what do you         want, now?"

       Christophe frowns, weary eyes fluttering        open to shoot an expressionless look at Cecil —- nails        harshly digging into the soft skin of his back. "Weren't          you ze one fucking begging for eet a minute ago?"

[TEXT] Deeply fucking bored. [TEXT] And hungry.[TEXT] So get your ass over here. [TEXT] And bring pizza. [TEXT] Quick.

        Fingers curl around Cecil's hair, and         Taupe tugs at it, hard, another groan pushing past           his lips to die in the crook of the other's neck. Shit.         "Don't be so fucking impatient."

Your fucking point being, gros tas?

[TEXT] Broflovski.[TEXT] Qu’est-ce que tu fais?[TEXT] Genre là, maintenant.[TEXT] Parce que je m’ennuie.[TEXT] Et t'es mignon.[TEXT] And you owe me one.