Christophe hated driving south. Once past Denver, the scenery turned barren and dry for fuck knew how many kilometers. The small cafes and truck stop diners that he'd agreed to stop at had all blended together into a blur of disgusting American food and overweight truckers. Thankfully, Gregory'd had the foresight to pack fruit and some dry, boring sandwiches, which had kept their stops to a minimum, and allowed Christophe to rarely slow from his breakneck speed as they made their way through New Mexico and across the border.

Apart from the purr of his Mercedes' speeding engine and the quiet lull of classical piano, the trip had been mostly silent as he and Gregory saved their energy for more important things than useless chatter. Half an hour into Mexico, Gregory had settled into a pensive silence in the passenger seat as he cleaned his pair of semiautomatic- and highly illegal- pistols. As they had gotten closer to their first target, the line between his eyebrows had grown deeper, though he didn't say a word.

As he drove, Christophe kept glancing over at him, concerned that Gregory was becoming too tense. However, the trust Christophe had in Gregory had grown stronger over the time they'd spent stuck in school in South Park, and after countless successful and morally ambiguous adventures together, Christophe didn't felt the need to review the plan out loud. It was relatively simple, on paper.

-Twelve hours of surveillance on the distribution centers of a particularly nasty drug cartel

-Under cover of dark, destroy them. Simple.

Variables were involved, sure, like how long the cartel could remain ignorant of their 3AM activities, which was why they set a furious pace across the city, burning and demolishing the facilities as quickly as they could. Fortunately, the pair of them had destruction down to a precise science, and quickly took care of four of the facilities without a hitch. It was simple: place the explosives, then sprint back to the Mercedes and speed off to the next target. They stayed safe enough, and it was with an air of finality that they headed for the last target. One more, and then home to Colorado, and from there, the Trans-Atlantic flight that would take them to London and to university for the next three years.

The silence stayed thick between them, tinged with creeping exhaustion and the dull thrum of adrenaline. Christophe started a bit when Gregory finally spoke.

"This is the first time I've been to Mexico, you know," he said quietly, the corners of his eyes pinched with tiredness.

Christophe glanced over at him, noting the lines on his face, and felt relieved that the whole affair was nearly over. He'd managed to keep his constant panic about Gregory's safety under control, and with only one demolition left to orchestrate, the pit of fear in his stomach was easing off. He reached over and gripped Gregory's shoulder, squeezing harder than was strictly necessary.

"We will 'ave to come back some time when things are not so fast-paced. Zere are some beaches zat are nice, and ze tequila, naturellement." He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 2:48 am. "We are running a little slow, zough," he said, speeding up and tearing over the streets until he spotted a familiar crossroad and turned down a side street, eyeing the dilapidated building two hundred meters down the street.
Christophe pulled the car over into the shadows of a two story building and shut off the engine. "Zis will be fine, je crois," he muttered and pulled on his gloves. "A good distance away."

They swung the doors open and crept back to the trunk. Christophe pulled out his trusty Barrett REC7, which he'd named Cecilia, and strapped it across one shoulder. He'd had a special harness made so that his gun fit comfortably along his shovel, which had been recently upgraded. The thing was made of lightweight steel and titanium, and the edge of the spade gleamed as sharply as a knife. It had been a Christmas present from Gregory, and Christophe treasured it more than any of his other possessions.

Gregory shoved him aside and pulled out a backpack, gingerly strapping it to his back. The thing contained timed explosives, and Christophe couldn't help but swallow nervously as the straps clicked into place.

"Ze same plan as last time, oui?" Christophe murmured as he pulled out his own explosives.

"Agreed. We'll coordinate for-" Gregory trailed off, fumbling with the sleeves of his heavy black sweater so he could glance down at his watch. "Three-twenty precisely. That ought to be enough time to get everything into place, I think. Hopefully nobody's picked up on tonight's activities as of yet." He finished grabbing his gear: a couple of pistols and his own assault rifle, Victoria. Christophe had insisted that all large weapons were, for whatever reason, female, and therefore deserved appropriate names.

The two boys shared a glance, both aware of the very real risk this last mission could pose. If the cartel caught on to their path of destruction, injury or death were inevitable. Their timeline didn't allot for any confrontation, and if they were delayed, the bombs would go off before there was a chance to get to safety.

"You take the storage rooms, and leave the extremities to me," Gregory instructed, reviewing his mental checklist.

Ouai, princesse, je sais," Christophe grunted, and checked his watch to make sure it was timed to Gregory's. He nodded, and breathed out deeply. Some of the fear receded, and he was left with a calm determination. His hands trembled briefly, though, and he lit a cigarette, taking a long draw before offering it to Gregory.

Their hands touched as the cigarette exchanged hands, and Christophe felt another spark of worry that was mirrored in Gregory's own eyes. He tried not to let his touch linger overlong, but Gregory still shivered slightly before taking a long drag of his own.

"Thank you," the blond said primly, and handed it back. "Be careful. I'll be damned if I'm driving your car all the way back to South Park by myself. I'd die of sheer boredom."

Christophe nodded, and locked up the Mercedes. "Let's go. Three-twenty." He shoved Gregory lightly, towards the distribution center.

He could tell that they were delaying, but it still took a great effort of will to not keep glancing at Gregory and instead to test the soil. It was a bit dusty: less than ideal, as a bit of moisture would prevent potential cave-ins, but not as bad as some of the shit he'd had to dig through that night. He shrugged, and slammed his shovel into the earth regardless. They could waste no time.

Christophe had never been sure what the fuck had convinced God to give him inhuman digging powers, but it was probably some sort of fucked-up cosmic joke. Of all the superpowers out there, an affinity for soil and digging-related things was so fucking pointless. Still, Christophe tried to use it to his advantage whenever possible, and he worked in silence, calculating random angles and directions on an instinctual level. He wasn't moving as quickly as he ought to, but it was the fifth damn tunnel he'd dug that night. He could feel adrenaline bolstering his flagging reserve of energy, but he knew he would crash as soon as they were safe.

In seven minutes or so, he busted up through the shallow, cracked foundation of the building and through the floorboards of the first floor. Christophe stopped and checked their watches. 2:59. "Get going."
Gregory nodded, smiling tightly, then darted a practiced hand out to steal Christophe's cigarette from between his lips. He took a long, needy drag, and felt the tobacco help calm his racing pulse. Placebo effect, no doubt, but effective nevertheless. He tossed it back before Christophe had time to scowl, and gave a quick, half-amused wave of two fingers before hooking his hands up over the tunnel mouth and vaulting up into the room.

Gregory took stock of the room as the sound of Christophe's shovel scraping started up again. It was cramped, bare, and almost completely dark. A tiny bit of light wafted in from the small crack beneath the only door, likely from a small lamp from the next room over. Gregory ignored the light, and slid silently over the floorboards to set his backpack in a corner of the worn floor. Unzipping the top compartment, he felt around for the small explosive that Butters had supplied them. It was a flat round disc with a keypad on the front, and Gregory gingerly carried it over to the wall and attached it. Though there was, according to Butters, little chance of the thing accidentally going off, Butters was still fairly inexperienced with the practical side of explosives engineering. Gregory let out a held breath as the thing attached smoothly and he punched in the numbers to arm it. He checked his watch, and waited until it switched to exactly 3:02 before pressing the red button on the bottom, arming the bomb.

That was one done, and he quickly snatched up his backpack and fastened it again. He moved fluidly through the next few rooms, his adrenaline spurring him on as he placed the devices without any issue. The work was mindless and efficient, but despite the simplicity and the exhaustion pressing against the back of his eyes, he kept up his guard as he had to pass into a hallway to get to the next set of rooms. His back pressed into the wall, and he held a pistol ready and trained at the hidden corner of the crossing hall, keeping an eye out for the facility's night security until he crept back into the safety of the next set of rooms.
A muffled, rapid staccato of gunfire reached his ears as he was placing the fourth explosive. He frowned, something in his chest twisting sharply at the idea that the sound had come from any gun besides Cecilia. He bit back the worry with practiced ease, shoving Christophe out of his thoughts as he'd had to do countless times when the other boy was away on missions. The fact that they'd entered into a working partnership had not eased Gregory's concern for his friend; it had only made it more distracting when he was trying to help. He'd already fought to force Christophe out of his ridiculous overprotectiveness, and he wouldn't undo his effort by risking the mission with pointless anxiety. The French boy had taken care of the other guards easily enough, so he turned back to his work and armed the device with a quick press of his fingers.

Six total devices was more than enough to utterly decimate the building, but he still wanted to place one extra just to ensure that Butter's engineering wasn't faulty. His watch read 3:08. Plenty of time. He slung his pack back over his shoulders and slipped through the hallway and ended up in a large, dim entryway. He stopped abruptly, starting to scan the deep shadows for any sign of movement.
A sudden explosion of stucco and plaster over his head sent him reeling back into the hallway, crouching low and out of sight.

"Shit," he hissed under his breath, as a barrage of gunfire slammed into the wall where he'd been a moment before, covering him in dust and rubble.

At the other buildings, they'd found the men stationed closer to the inventory, which left Christophe to deal with them. They'd been caught off guard, too, according to Christophe: unprepared for an under aged, chain-smoking mercenary who'd then mowed them down without a second thought. Gregory had no idea why these men had wandered so far from the precious drugs, but he spared little thought for the problem. He hoisted Victoria into his hands and took a few steadying breaths before spinning around the wall and glancing around the room, trying to spot his attackers. Two men crouched at the top of the short staircase, barely giving Gregory enough time to whip his head out of sight before they opened fire again.

One man had crouched down on his elbows, and Gregory had thought he'd seen extra ammunition in cases on the floor. Clearly, they'd been stationed there. Either this facility's goods were worth far more than the others and therefore required extra protection, or - more likely- their exploits had finally caught up to them, and someone had commanded the extra security to trap them when they arrived.
Cursing under his breath, Gregory waited for the gunfire to pause before he whipped blindly around the corner, firing at the general direction of the staircase without time to aim. As he retreated, he was rewarded with a shout from one man, and he gritted his teeth in satisfaction. A few more seconds passed before he whipped back around, this time with a better idea of where the staircase was, and opened fire again. A spray of bullets fired back, and they repeated the procedure several times.

Cold fear started to creep up Gregory's spine. This was taking far too long. He reloaded, and, trying to stay calm, flattened himself to the floor. The new angle gave him time to line up his sight, and he aimed for the second man's thigh. A quick spray of bullets later, and the man crashed to the floor.

Gregory let out a triumphant hiss, and dug the final explosive out of his bag. He didn't care where he put it, so slapped it unceremoniously onto the wall and armed it, confident he wouldn't be pursued. He dashed off the way he'd come, glancing down at his watch. 3:12. Christophe only had eight minutes to plow his way out of the tunnel. Eight minutes, with god knew how many armed men waiting for him. Clamping his jaw shut as his feet pounded across the dusty floor, Gregory refused to let frustration and worry for Christophe impair his judgment.
He skidded around the corner, and let out a startled yelp as he came face-to-face with another man, dark-haired and massive, and just as surprised to see him. Bowling forward with his momentum, Gregory sent his fist barreling into the man's gut.

The man quickly overcame his surprise, however, and sent a fist flying straight for Gregory's cheek. He dodged fast enough that the blow only glanced across his cheekbone, and he didn't let that distract him. He was used to Christophe's far more accurate punches. His next punch went straight for the man's nose, fast enough that the man couldn't block. The crunch of his nose was satisfying for a moment, until he spotted the man's partners come rushing along the hall, weapons brandished at him. They blocked his exit to the tunnel.

Snarling to himself, Gregory turned and ran back the other way, mind frantically calculating possible vantage points or alternative exits as he dropped his eyes down to his watch again. 3:17.

Unwilling to spare the time it would take to deal with the men racing behind him, Gregory skidded around doorframes until he reached the wall of the room he'd come from and slammed into it, crouching down. Their surveillance of the building that afternoon had shown only one visible accessible door. It was a heavy, metal security door, wide enough to get shipments in and out. It was also securely locked, and impossible to break down. There were no large windows, either, but Gregory clamped his jaw shut in determination before sprinting off towards the staircase. The only windows they'd seen in the whole place were a few small, boarded-up things safely up on the second floor. A blast of gunfire too close behind him renewed Gregory's sense of desperation as he bolted towards them.

He didn't have time to check his watch as he grabbed Victoria, firing a quick spatter of bullets towards one of the windows, splintering the boards and spraying apart the glass. His boots crunched as he bolted over the scattered floor, Victoria flopping at his side. He grabbed the windowpane, the shards of glass scraping against his leather gloves, and flung himself out the window. He took care to control his fall, his parkour training allowing him to absorb the shock with his knees, and he rolled to the side. His ankle had twisted and a shard of glass had cut across his cheek, but he was uninjured. Taking only a moment to catch his breath, he hauled himself to his feet and sprinted forward.

The next instant, a burst of heat and a compression wave of hot air blasted against his back, and he was flung forward onto the ground again, smoldering rubble raining down on him. The air rang for several moments, and when the explosion stopped, his ears still rang.

The fact that he was still alive took some time to fully sink in. He breathed, slow and stilted, his lungs moving of their own accord as he looked over his shoulder and watched several charred planks of wood collapse down onto the ground. A wave of smoke rolled towards him, and he shook his head. His thoughts turned into focused pinpoints, worry for Christophe and the desire to escape. He stumbled to his feet with a grunt, looking through the darkness for any sign of the tall French boy.

Panic slowly started to rise as the embers fell down around him, and the scene remained Christophe-less. His breathing quickened, and he had to force himself not to hyperventilate as he broke into a loping, pained run towards the car on the other side of the building. He should have heard the start of the engine, or some sign of the other boy, and he fought back the whimpering noise his frantic brain seemed to be wrenching from his throat. His heart felt like it was crawling up into his ears, into his throat, and he paused only to swipe the back of his hand over the cold sweat beading across his forehead as he continued to run.

Christophe's job had been as simple as Gregory's. Once he'd retrieved his cigarette from the blond, he dug a quick tunnel into the inner rooms of the building. His role was simple, but more dangerous. The drugs were kept in the inner rooms, and were kept guarded even in the dead of night. But the hitmen he'd encountered at the previous distribution centers had been woefully incompetent, and he'd had no trouble gunning them down. He glanced at his watch, and decided he'd tunneled far enough. 3:01. He angled the tunnel up and through the floor, but before he stuck his head out, traded his shovel out for Cecilia.
He cautiously glanced up out of the hole, the rifle trained at eye-level. The dilapidated room was empty, so he heaved himself fully out and crept towards the door leading further inside the building. He tested the handle. Locked. That was odd; the other places they'd been hadn't even had that small amount of foresight. It wasn't a terrible issue, but picking the lock ate up his precious seconds. If stealth hadn't been a problem, he'd have simply broken the damn thing down, but this mission called for his lockpicks. He jimmied one long thin piece of metal around until he heard a click, and the door swung open.

His eyes widened as he took in the next room. Four guards this time, and he hastily ducked back into the empty room, his heart pounding with a sudden adrenaline rush. There'd been a maximum of two at the other places. Something must have gone wrong, or the drugs in this warehouse were worth more than their intelligence had stipulated.

He forced himself not to panic. He was wearing his Kevlar, and two extra guards caught by surprise were no problem. Nodding once to himself, he let go of his panic, feeding it into an icy emptiness as he'd been taught. He slid back into the hallway, Cecilia held ready, and wasted no time in gunning the four guards down before they'd had a chance to fire more than a few shots. One thudded against his chest, knocking away his breath for a moment, but the vest stopped it, and he forced his way on. The bodies lay on the floor, making it slick with blood. Problem fucking solved.

As he stepped over the bodies, gunfire from elsewhere in the buildings stopped him in his tracks. Shit. If Gregory was shooting – and he couldn't bear to think of the alternative – that meant the extra guards weren't an unlucky circumstance. The cartel was waiting for them. He battled his instinctual need to sprint off towards the sound of the shooting and give Gregory what assistance he could, and had to shut his eyes to remind himself that Gregory could take care of himself. Christophe would get them both killed by being an idiot. Gritting his teeth against the constant sound of shots, he forced himself towards the door that most likely held the goods.

The door opened when he turned the handle, and he didn't have time to think about why it was unlocked when the other hadn't been, before he had to slam the door shut against the volley of bullets that rained towards him. Three more men stood guard inside, surrounding the pile of cases that undoubtedly held the narcotics. Swearing, Christophe glanced down at his watch. 3:09. Eleven minutes to place the explosives in the room, and get the fuck out. To be safe, he needed three minutes to get back through the tunnel, which left him only eight to get rid of the extra fuckers, place the explosive, and make sure Gregory got out.
He could tunnel through the floor again, but that would eat up too much of his time. Extreme recklessness was the only way forward, and with a snarl, he did a forward roll through the door and popped back up to his feet, running in a counterclockwise circle through the room before the waiting gunmen had a chance to aim properly. Bullets skidded around him regardless, slamming into his vest, but he returned fire on them before ducking behind one of the metal crates. He aimed Cecilia over the top, firing randomly around the room to give him enough time to glance over and see where the guards were located.

They were moving towards him, and he was nearly out of ammunition. Snarling, he flung himself around the crate, emptied the rest of Cecilia's barrel into one man, and continued sprinting until he was behind the next crate. He grabbed his spare pistols, and kept moving, firing them into the two remaining men.

The outfit clearly couldn't afford the sort of gear Christophe had purchased for himself and for Gregory, and shots to the chests of the men dropped them heavily to the ground. Once they were down, Christophe shot all three of them through the skulls, to ensure no further involvement.

The distraction had cost him far too much time, though. When he glanced at his watch, it read 3:16:45. Swearing loudly, he ripped open his backpack without hesitation, regardless of Butters' less-than-tried skills, and slammed two explosives onto the wall. He fucked up his first attempt at arming them, and, still swearing, rammed his finger against the buttons again. His heart was thudding, and he needed a cigarette that hadn't burned out four minutes ago. It took too much time, but he managed to get both bombs armed.

Panic was spreading over him, worry that Gregory would get stuck, worry that he wouldn't be able to find the tunnel again, and with renewed speed, he snatched up Cecilia and ran towards the door. It didn't open fully at first; a body on the other slide blocked its progress. Christophe swore again, and threw his full weight against the door. It moved enough to let him through so he could run back down the hall. He prayed to God – swore at him, more like – to see Gregory safely out of the building, because with three minutes remaining, he barely had time to get out on his own. Gregory had always been faster than him, and had likely already made it all the way to the car. That's what he told himself, at any rate.

3:18:00. He burst into the room with his tunnel, only to find a man meticulously filling the mouth of it. Without thinking, he fired two shots from his pistol into the man's head, and he slumped down, blocking even more of his tunnel.

That was one of the problems with becoming too damn well-known in the criminal underworld. The fuckers were starting to learn his tricks. He hauled the body out of the way and threw his gun down with it in favor of his shovel. He didn't have time to stop and check the clock, but he knew he had less than a minute and a half to clear away the small amount of debris and make it to safety. His shovel flew as he worked, opening the mouth of the tunnel.

Gregory's fine, Gregory's fine, he's ok and safe ran through his head like a mantra as he dug at breakneck speed, not even pausing to put his shovel away once he could fit through the tunnel again. He caught a quick glimpse of his watch. 3:19:10. Fifty seconds to sprint through the lowhanging, uneven tunnel. He snarled and charged forward as fast as he could, desperation clawing its way up his throat. Gregory was fine, he had to be. He'd probably gotten out before that fucker had even found the tunnel.

Three-quarters of the way through and he could see the end of the tunnel. His mouth broke out into a manic grin, until he heard a faint, low rumble behind him start up. Shit. He sped up, blindly running down the tunnel, desperate to escape before the flames. Five feet away, and he could feel the heat, see the shadows changing with light, and he threw himself towards the opening, rolling to the side on the earth.
A huge noise battered against his eardrums, and he looked up, mesmerized as the building exploded in a morbid mimicry of a fireworks show. Flame shot out of the end of the tunnel where he'd been too few seconds before, and he felt the heat singe the ends of his hair. His night vision was utterly destroyed, and he glanced around blindly, looking for any sign of movement in the wreckage.

The terror of the last few minutes caught up with him, and he started to wheeze in terror. He should have made sure Gregory was out. There was no point in him getting to safety if Gregory hadn't escaped, and he started to run, stricken, towards the car. Gregory would be there. He was fine, he had to be fine, and he'd be waiting at the car.

The outline of the Mercedes came into view, and Christophe squinted at it. No blonde figure stood waiting. His heart dropped past his stomach, fear replacing the area it had been, and he let out a panicked cry.

Christophe stumbled towards Salome and wrenched the door open. He needed the headlights, needed to see what was around, needed to let Gregory know where he was. His hands shook as he jammed the keys into the ignition, the street suddenly filling with the white light from the headlamps.

Sudden brightness caught Gregory by surprise, and he squinted towards the car. "Thank god," he shouted, breaking into a sprint towards the dark outline of Christophe.

Relief unlike anything Christophe had known washed over him, and he quickly popped the trunk, running to the back of the car to deposit his supplies. Gregory joined him a moment later, a half-crazed look on his face that Christophe was sure matched his own.

They ran to the front of the car and slid in, the slamming of the doors sounding muted after the noise of the explosion.

"Drive," Gregory managed, finally letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. There was no way in fuck they were going to get caught after all that.

Christophe didn't need to be told twice, and zoomed away down the street, his hands still trembling and his breathing still quickened. He couldn't process anything until they turned randomly down a few streets, veering out of the way of parked cars and skidding around corners. He sped up, wanting to get away and out of any potential danger, away from anything that could hurt Gregory. He could hear Gregory breathing as heavily as he was, which did nothing to calm his pounding heart. His vision started to blur. The tires screeched as he pulled into an alley and skidded to a halt. He shut the headlights off, plunging them into darkness, and slumped forward against the steering wheel. He began to heave out laughs that soon became as ragged as sobs.

"You're alright," he gasped out. "You're fine, you're alive." He turned his head in his arms to stare at Gregory, still feeling half-crazed by the panic and adrenaline.

Gregory stared wordlessly back at him before he stretched across the gear divider and threw his arms around Christophe's neck. Christophe jerked him into a tight embrace and Gregory let out a shaky breath, his head tucked under Christophe's jawline. Christophe's arms tightened around his back, finger scraping restlessly against the thick fabric of Gregory's bulletproof vest. Gregory's breath scattered over the skin on Christophe's neck, and they tried to calm their nerves.

"God, I thought," Gregory began, before his words choked off. His fingers twitched against Christophe's shoulders, a pained motion, but then pressed harder against him regardless. "I don't know what I thought."

"Je sais," Christophe murmured into Gregory's damp, curling hair, his voice shaking. He tightened his arms in return, feeling the hard press of Gregory's very real, very alive chest against his. He held on until he couldn't breathe, but was still unwilling to let go. "I know, princesse, je sais."

One of his hands slid up against Gregory's throat, and he pressed his fingers to the pulse thudding there, another reminder that his friend was alive. It was a habit that Christophe had developed over years of violent partnership: a way to placate the dangerous and unsatisfied part of him that always wanted to touch Gregory, to feel all of his skin, to use his hands to appreciate the vitality flowing through him. As his fingers traced along Gregory's jugular vein, he felt the other boy shiver slightly in his arms, matching the trembling Christophe felt in his own hands.

"You aren't 'urt, you are alright?" Christophe asked softly, his eyes wide as he pulled back from Gregory, though his hand remained on his throat "I didn't want- I couldn't think..." He trailed off, his other hand sliding up into Gregory's hair, tilting his face up so he could study his eyes and the shallow cut on his face. It had already stopped bleeding, so he pulled Gregory back towards him again with a sigh.

Gregory rested his forehead against Christophe's, their breath mingling together, and his arms hooked loosely over Christophe's shoulders.

"I'm alright, really. Everything's fine, we're fine," he murmured, and Christophe found reassurance in the way Gregory's fingers kept twitching on his neck.

Seconds ticked by as they sat there, tension building. The residual adrenaline thudded heavily in both of them, and it felt more intense than the sort that consumed them after a competition. This close, Christophe could see how dilated Gregory's pupils were, how his cheeks had flushed though the hands on his skin remained clammy. Normally, he'd drag Gregory into the street for a brawl, and after a few tossed punches the tension would unwind, but Christophe had no idea if members of the cartel were following them, and running around in the open was the stupidest choice he could make.

Stuck in the car, Christophe became more aware of all the things he tried to ignore when Gregory was close. The herbal scent that still lingered under the smoke and sweat. The small sliver of blue still visible around his pupils. The indentation of teeth where he'd been biting his lips. The way his curls fell around his eyes. He felt as though he was having a crisis of identity. As much as he tried, Christophe couldn't get rid of his feelings for Gregory, the ones that ran deeper than their lasting friendship, but he had a thousand reasons why he'd never acted on them and why he should never act on them. He couldn't have Gregory, not the way he wanted.

But having Gregory cling to him and seeing his own anxiety and relief mirrored on Gregory's face sent a shock through him. He knew Gregory cared about him, deeply, but he'd never realized that Gregory could be as devoted to keeping him safe as he was to keeping Gregory safe. The frantic fingers twisting in his hair and tracing patterns over his throat, however, made him wonder if he'd been wrong. They could lose each other in an instant, no matter how hard they tried to keep each other safe. He could die, and never know what would have happened without his idiotic hang-ups in the way.

Simply feeling Gregory's heartbeat pulse against his fingers suddenly wasn't enough. Christophe pulled back again, just enough to look at Gregory's face, and his gaze was drawn down to his lips again. His hands twitched with a different sort of nervousness and a whirl of cluttered emotions. He exhaled, and reached up to wipe some dried blood off of Gregory's cheekbone. Gregory's eyes darted up to meet his, and Christophe felt his resistance, the wall he'd built up for years, and every excuse he'd made up for himself melt away at Gregory's gaze. He let out a soft sigh, and leaned forward to press his lips against Gregory's.

There was a moment of pure bliss, then Gregory stiffened, his hands jerking against Christophe's neck. He relaxed soon enough, though, melting into the kiss and parting his mouth so he could slide his tongue against Christophe's lower lip. As Christophe opened his mouth to respond, something must have registered in Gregory's mind. He pulled away abruptly, leaving Christophe with his eyes half-closed, and slammed backwards into the passenger side door, one hand coming up to his mouth.


Shit. Christophe slid back as well, moving in a daze, and his brain finally caught up to what his body had done, and everything it entailed. Stupid fucking traitorous body. Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, he turned away from Gregory, staring at the steering wheel. He could feel heat rising in his cheeks in a deep flush, and his heart pounded erratically in his chest. The ghost of Gregory's lips lingered against him, and he knew the feeling would be burned into his memory forever.

"Fuck, désolé," he apologized. "I 'ad to- I couldn't 'elp-" Words wouldn't come out of his mouth properly, so he cleared his throat and scowled to cover up the embarrassment and shock and elation that were warring for precedence. "I couldn't 'elp it," he grumbled, his scowl deeping. "I'm just really fucking glad zat you're alive."

At least Gregory hadn't slapped him. He had, in fact, seemed to enjoy it for a long moment before he'd pulled away. Still, Christophe didn't dare hope for anything beyond an awkward joke and an unspoken agreement to never speak of the incident again.

"What do you mean, 'couldn't help it'?" Gregory demanded, his face looking flushed as well. His eyes were luminous in the darkness, and his mouth was still parted slightly. "I mean, I'm glad you're all right, as well, I mean" he added quickly, fumbling over his words as badly as Christophe had. "And, after all, if I were to have someone unexpectedly stick their tongue down my throat, it might as well be you." Gregory crossed his arms and shot Christophe a defiant look. Christophe could see him twitching with unspent energy and adrenaline. "God knows we're both stressed to all hell right now. It's understandable. Perfectly normal, in fact." He moved forward as he spoke, and Christophe couldn't tell if the movement had been entirely intentional.

Christophe raised a surprised eyebrow, his mouth turning up at the corners. "It might as well be me?" he asked, moving closer as well until he was just close enough to intrude on Gregory's personal space. "Zat's… a lovely thing to know, princesse." Gregory's face was pink, he noticed, and his rambling train of thought probably meant he was nervous.
He reached out suddenly and brushed a few stray curls out of Gregory's face, reveling in the feel of soft, perfect hair against his fingers, and let his hand rest against the back of Gregory's neck. His heart pounded a distracting staccato against his ribs, and he had no clue what he was doing. He'd always managed to resist anything stupid, but now his resolve faded away to nothing with the sight of Gregory's flushed face.

"I didn't really get a chance to stick my tongue down your throat, you know," he said, unable to hear himself talk over the pounding of blood in his ears. "But I can, as you want."

"Only if you want to," Gregory shot back immediately, then took a quick breath and stiffened. His tongue darted out to flick across his lips. He straightened until he was at his full height, almost taller than Christophe. "That is, I know you do this sort of thing all the time, with Kenny and them, I mean. And, er, I wouldn't mind, I suppose, since God knows we can't spar at the moment." He cleared his throat, obviously trying to get a hold on his ranting. "After all, It can't be that dissimilar from our practice sessions or our wrestling or anything like that, correct. Nothing seri-"

He was cut off when Christophe surged forward and kissed him fiercely. His hand held Gregory's head in place, and he was finally able to dart his tongue into the other boy's parted mouth. He could taste a faint hint of blood in Gregory's mouth, and wasn't sure if it was Gregory's or his own. The kiss continued, Christophe exploring lazily, until Gregory shuddered and relaxed against him.
"Of course I fucking want to," Christophe murmured against his mouth. "'Ow much of a blind fucking idiot are you?" He let his lips trail down Gregory's jaw and over his neck. He found the pulse of his jugular vein and pressed his teeth against it. "Regardless, princesse, you need to stop overanalyzing everything."

Gregory gasped, but pulled away so he could bare his teeth at Christophe in challenge. "I'll analyze what I like. Prat." Leaning forward, he brushed his mouth against Christophe's. The light warmth was tantalizing enough to make Christophe groan, and the sound encouraged Gregory to set about on a thorough exploration of his own.

Christophe tried not to think about how much he probably tasted like smoke and dirt, and instead gave in to the sensation of Gregory enthusiastically responding to him. Gregory's lips felt like heaven against his, and he couldn't hold in another groan when Gregory began nipping down his throat. He was so distracted that he barely had time to react when Gregory flung himself across the divider, straddling Christophe's thighs and pressing him back against the window.

"Fuck," Christophe growled, "Fucking 'ell." He tilted his head back to give Gregory easier access to his neck, then started fumbling with the straps of Gregory's bulletproof vest, trying to get the damn thing off as fast as possible. They weren't designed for desperate make out sessions, and Christophe had to shove Gregory back and tear at the thing before Gregory managed to shimmy it off over his head.
Christophe pulled Gregory back towards him, legs still trapped under his weight, and resumed kissing him while working the straps of his own vest. "Zese damn fuckers," he grumbled against Gregory's mouth, and felt the blond smile in return.

"Stop it, Christophe, you're only going to hurt yourself," Gregory teased, and deftly tugged and pulled at the fastenings until Christophe's vest could come off as well.
Christophe let out a sigh of satisfaction now that the only layers between him and Gregory were their sweaty, smoke-stained shirts. "I need you closer. Please," he panted against Gregory's skin, repositioning Gregory properly into his lap so he was no longer squashed into the corner of the driver's side. A mess of tongues and teeth and hot breath sent him into a frenzy, and he shoved his fingers up under Gregory's shirt.

Gregory let out a quiet gasp as Christophe trailed his fingers over his skin, and pressed closer. They maneuvered awkwardly until Gregory's legs were caught between the door and the seat, and he molded himself against Christophe's chest, breathing harshly against his jaw.

Blood oozed from shallow scrapes on Gregory's wrists, where his gloves hadn't covered the skin. The rough tugging must have opened them back up, and his blood streaked across Christophe's neck.

"Shit, sorry," Gregory said, wiping his sleeve over the marks.

"Goddamn," Christophe snarled in reply, and snatched up Gregory's wrist. He pressed the cut to his mouth and gently swiped his tongue across it, not bothering to care about hygiene. He couldn't stand the sight of Gregory bleeding, and he'd never minded the taste of blood. In fact, he'd split his lip and cut his tongue and bitten too hard on other boy's lips enough times that he paid the metallic taste no mind at all. Gregory stiffened against him again, and tugged his wrist away so he could pull Christophe's head up into another kiss. The taste of blood mingled as their tongues touched, and Christophe hoped Gregory wouldn't find it unsettling.

Hoping to distract the blond away from the taste, he tugged impatiently at the hem of Gregory's long-sleeved t-shirt. "Take zis off. Maintenant."

Gregory broke away to whip his shirt off in a fluid motion, shaking out his blond hair once it was gone. Christophe's breath caught in his throat as he stared at Gregory's pale, lightly scarred chest. The moonlight shone against it, and would have inspired poetry if poetry wasn't pussy fucking bullshit.

Christophe was too caught up with his appraisal to react when Gregory grabbed his wrists and pinned him down, pressing his chest to Christophe's to keep him in place.

"You're hardly in a position to order me around, you know," Gregory drawled, rolling his hips down against Christophe and shivering at the sensation. "Perhaps keeping you all trapped and obedient ought to be my task for the night." He smirked, staring at Christophe up through his curls.

Part of Christophe was more than happy to allow Gregory full reign over his body, but the challenging tone of his voice sparked his competitive side as well. He wrenched his wrists out of Gregory's grasp, and tugged his shirt off as well, though he was less graceful about it. He thought he heard a few of the seams pop. Gregory leaned forward as soon as Christophe's skin was bare and traced his tongue down a long scar across Christophe's left pectoral.

Christophe waited until Gregory seemed fully distracted, then grabbed his shoulders and slammed him up against the dashboard. He began his own exploration, biting across Gregory's collarbone, and noting the mingled taste of smoke and sweat on his skin. It instantly reminded Christophe of what they'd just escaped, and he growled possessively.

"I don't think you could 'andle me, princesse," he replied, mouth brushing over one of Gregory's nipples, making the blond boy shiver again. "We both know who is ze stronger one, and zerefore I am ze one who gets to make ze orders."

Gregory's hands scrabbled across the slick surface of the dashboard, trying to prevent himself slipping against Christophe's imposing weight. Eventually he managed to wedge his elbows under the windshield, but it left him completely exposed and vulnerable. "That's an utter fucking lie," he growled, but bucked his hips upwards as Christophe trailed his fingers over his hipbones. "I've been handling you since you were eight years old."

Christophe ignored Gregory's argument, too interested in the sight of him bent over backwards across the dash. He set about sucking a bruise onto Gregory's neck, so he'd be able to remember that their encounter wasn't some half-crazed dream. His fingers slipped a centimeter under the waistband of Gregory's pants, brushing across a soft dusting of hair there.

Gregory made an incoherent noise and slipped a little down the dashboard. "Fuck," he muttered, and stared at Christophe. Uncertainty and desire warred on his face, along with other emotions that Christophe couldn't place. His eyebrows knitted and his jaw clenched, and Christophe was suddenly worried that they'd pushed things too far.

"You, ah, you're sure zis is not a problem for you?" Christophe asked, scraping his fingernails nervously over Gregory's skin. "Because if it is, shit, you- I can't- you 'ave no idea what you do to me." Embarrassed, he leaned forward and hid his face against Gregory's neck. "If you don't want zis, any of zis, we can stop as you want."

Gregory was silent a moment, then knocked his head gently against Christophe's. "No," he bit out, then nosed at Christophe's cheek until Christophe looked up. Gregory pressed their lips together, hard. He forced Christophe's mouth open and kissed him deeply. "No, I do want- damn. I mean, this won't make things strange, will it?" he asked, mouth still against Christophe's. "With our friendship and work and all of that. You know that I wouldn't normally do this, but I'm all right with it. Since it's you, at least." He was rambling again, so Christophe shut him up with another kiss.

"It won't," Christophe said firmly, reaching up to cradle Gregory's face between his hands. "Not if we don't want it to. Zere's not a person in ze world zat I care about more zan you, and zere's not a damn thing zat could 'appen to change zat. Ever."

"All right. Fine. Good," Gregory managed before he slipped entirely off the dashboard. He yelped in surprise, one elbow knocking against the plexiglass display, and the other smacking Christophe in the chest.

Their limbs tangled in a hopeless knot, and it took a few moments of struggling for Gregory to right himself and lock his arms around Christophe's back for balance. It had the added benefit of pressing them closer together, though, so Christophe didn't complain about the elbow-shaped bruise that would form.

"I hope I didn't hit you that badly," Gregory said, and slid one knee up in between Christophe's thighs.

Their breath caught at the same moment, and Gregory rolled forward to press them entirely together, sweaty skin sticking and sliding in turn.

"C'est bien," Christophe managed to grunt out before he ground his hips up, desperate for friction against his cock. As their mouths locked together again, Christophe fiddled with the button on Gregory's pants, wondering if he should take their rendezvous still further. It only took him a moment to decide to continue, though, and he soon had Gregory's pants unfastened and hanging loosely around his hips. He slid his hands over Gregory's newly accessible skin, and curled his fingers around his unfairly perfect ass. It gave him the perfect leverage to pull Gregory more firmly down against him, and he let out a low moan.

Gregory tensed, and let his head fall forward against Christophe's shoulder. His breathing was fast and rapid, and he seemed to be deciding how far to let things go as well. His hips kept making small motions against Christophe's, and seemed to make his decision for him. "Screw it," he said, and clambered awkwardly into the far more spacious back seat. He tugged once at Christophe's arm, and then started to make quick work of peeling off the rest of his clothes.

Christophe followed immediately, but got stuck for a moment in between the seats. He swore and floundered about gracelessly before he rolled through the gap and into the back as well. His hands started to work at his own belt, but his fingers froze at the sight of Gregory completely naked.

"I," he began, blinking stupidly, a hot blush rising in his cheeks. He stared openly, mouth open and eyes glazed over, until Gregory started to shift uncomfortably.

"We, ah-" Gregory trailed off, starting in surprise when Christophe's hands found his hips again. He cleared his throat. "-We can always stop. If you don't want to continue, that is."

"You're fucking crazy. I want you, badly," Christophe growled, raw desire darkening his voice. He kissed Gregory again, sucking on his lower lip until it was swollen and red. He slid his hands over Gregory's thighs, feeling the taught muscle under his skin. His desire had risen high enough that he never wanted to stop. His eyes opened halfway as he kissed Gregory, and he took in the fierce expression on the blond boy's face. His eyes were closed, the blond lashes dusting against his cheek, but his forehead was knitted up in concentration and he was kissing back as though his life depended on it.

Christophe's hands worked over Gregory's stomach, tracing the v shaped lines leading down to his cock. He brushed his fingers over the base of it, making it twitch, and Gregory let out a high-pitched whine. His head fell back and smacked into the window behind him. His hips thrust up in a clear demand for Christophe to touch more of him. Christophe pulled away so he could watch the expressions flitting over Gregory's face in the dim light, and drew his fingers up the length of Gregory's cock.

Gregory's mouth fell open into a silent moan, and his head fell to the side, revealing the long line of his neck. Christophe bent forward to lick along the tendon sticking out there, and his hand closed loosely around Gregory's dick. Gregory clenched his jaw and arched up, face screwed up in intense pleasure, and thrust his cock into Christophe's grip.

"Damnit," Gregory hissed, reaching up and digging his fingernails into Christophe's shoulders. "That's not fair." He shoved Christophe back until he fell against the opposite window, and lunged forward, on top again. Christophe didn't struggle, as his hands had found a perfect resting place on Gregory's ass.

Gregory wasted no time in beginning an exploration of the scars on Christophe's chest. His fingers mapped out the raised edges, and his tongue followed after his fingers. One hand found a nipple, and he ran his thumb over it until Christophe twitched beneath him, his breath coming in quick pants.

"Why do you still have clothes on?" Gregory murmured against Christophe's other nipple, his tongue flicking out to tease it before he moved down and trailed his lips over a ragged round scar from a bulled that had nicked Christophe's side. His free hand started to fumble with Christophe's belt, but the damn thing was a complicated utility belt, and Gregory snarled in frustration.

Christophe managed to regain enough of his sanity to get the belt unbuckled and his pants unzipped, but he couldn't get them off over his heavy boots. He growled, and shifted up on the seat. "Boots," he grunted, and Gregory bent down to help untie them. They took fucking forever, laces wrapped around snaps and far too complicated to get off quickly, and Christophe eventually gave up trying to untie the boot he was working on. Instead, he slipped a knife out of his pocket and cut the laces clean off, then wrenched it off his foot. Gregory's fingers were much nimbler than his were, and he had the other boot untied and loosened in hardly more time. With them out of the way, Christophe rid himself of his belt and pants in a loud clatter of equipment.

Gregory had seen him practically naked before, like when he'd come home with injuries that needed cleaning and had refused to go to the hospital, and when he'd drunk himself into a stupor and Gregory had dressed him in clean clothes for bed, and when Gregory had made him strip down and hose off before coming inside for a visit after he'd been digging for four hours straight. However, there was a significant difference between being practically naked in front of the clinical, practical version of his friend, and being fully nude in front of this new, primal version whose eyes scanned over every inch of his body. Gregory's eyes lingered on his cock, and Christophe felt himself blushing.

Gregory seemed determined to not let Christophe on top again, and lunged forward, pinning Christophe down much as he did when they were sparring for practice. He got distracted halfway through grabbing his wrists, though, and his hips writhed down against Christophe's.

The feel of their bare cocks sliding against each other felt painfully good, and Christophe let out a low growl before reaching down and wrapping a hand around both of them. Gregory, lost in the new sensation, forgot all about keeping Christophe pinned down, and mouthed at his neck instead. They panted in unison, their breath fogging up the windows of the car, and Gregory twitched and bucked against Christophe.

After a few moments of mindless grinding, Gregory seemed to remember what his goal had been. He shoved Christophe, hard, and sprawled more firmly across his lap. Christophe, curious to see what Gregory was going to do to him, allowed his wrists to be caught up in one of Gregory's hands. The grip wasn't strong enough that he couldn't break free when he wanted, but thoughts of escape left him once Gregory's slim fingers closed around his cock.

It was an entirely different sensation than he was used to. Christophe had hooked up with plenty of boys over the years, but they normally went straight to fucking and didn't bother with careful exploration. Gregory, however, took his time mapping out the veins and sensitive spots on Christophe's dick, until Christophe was moaning under him.

"Brains over strength," Gregory whispered into his ear, flicking out his tongue to circle around Christophe's earlobe and draw it into his mouth.

Christophe narrowed his eyes, the familiar insult bringing back enough of his senses to break his hands loose. He let Gregory keep teasing his dick, but when it was completely enclosed in Gregory's warm palm, he tensed and threw Gregory off him and onto his back. Not wasting time, Christophe grabbed his hips and held him pinned as he slid off the seat to kneel on the floor. Gregory was pulling sharply at his hair, nails scrabbling over his scalp in an effort to get Christophe off of him, but his fighting stopped abruptly once Christophe licked a long stripe up the underside of his cock.

Gregory's hands clenched convulsively in Christophe's hair once, then he fell back and arched up, a quick moan escaping his lips. "God," he groaned, his voice strained and breathy.

"I'm not zat faggot, no," Christophe replied, his voice muffled around Gregory's cock. He was perfectly content to tease the blond to the point of insanity, and traced patterns over the veins. Gregory let out a choked laugh, and his hands fluttered about uselessly on top of Christophe's head, tugging and stroking and scratching in turn. The sensation made Christophe's spine tingle, and mixed with the heady taste of Gregory's skin, he had to reach down and grip his own cock to stop himself from coming far too early. Gregory's movements grew more erratic, his hips bucking up in desperation, and Christophe eventually took pity on him, once his tongue had grown fully accustomed to its task. He closed his mouth around Gregory, taking him in to the back of his throat, and Gregory stopped breathing. His hips bucked up and his cock slid farther into Christophe's mouth.

"This is not- ah- particularly fair, you know," Gregory said, managing to sound annoyed even while his cock was down Christophe's throat.

"When do I ever play fair?" Christophe shot back, his lips pressed against the tip as he spoke. "I could stop, but you seem to be enjoying it." Gregory glared at him.

Christophe didn't know if Gregory had ever gotten a blowjob before, but he was going to make damn sure that Gregory was wasted on all others for the rest of his life. He opened up the back of his throat and slid down Gregory's cock until his nose pressed against the small patch of blond hair. He stayed for a moment, his tongue moving as much as it could, and pulled back slowly when he needed to breathe. Gregory's hands flew out of his hair and he pressed his arms over his face, muffling the noises he was making. Christophe swallowed him down again, and took his hand from Gregory's hip to play with his balls instead, spreading the excessive saliva over his skin. When his finger slipped lower, dragging over the skin behind Gregory's balls, Gregory let out a low growl and his eyes flew open.

He sat up, staring wide-eyed down at Christophe. "Fuck me," he demanded, his voice coming out low and thick. He wrenched Christophe up and slammed their mouths together, his tongue darting over Christophe's teeth. He bit Christophe's lip, hard, trapping it with his teeth before he pulled back enough to speak again. "Don't laugh, don't gloat, don't say a goddamn word. Just do it."

Christophe stared back at him. His mouth shung open, and he blinked at Gregory. "Are you sure? I mean, ouais, fuck yes, but. Uh." He hadn't been expecting things to go that far, especially since he was nearly positive Gregory had never been fucked before. Gregory was glaring at him with determination in his eyes, though, so Christophe instead fisted both hands into Gregory's hair and kissed him back fiercely. "Ouais. Yeah, of course, but I don't want to 'urt you. And it will 'urt, probablement. I need some- fuck, where the fuck-."

He glanced around the car's interior, trying to remember where he'd put the first aid kit. There was lube in there, just in case. He bent over the divider into the front side of the car, and wrenched the kit out from under the passenger's seat. As he gathered up lube and a condom, he felt Gregory's hand creep up his thigh to grab his ass. He glanced back over his shoulder, grinned wildly, and pounced back on Gregory.
After kissing him thoroughly again, he dragged Gregory over and onto his stomach, propping him up so his ass was in the air. It was a glorious sight, and Christophe swallowed heavily, his adrenaline kicking back up again. He never imagined that he'd be allowed to see Gregory spread out and open before him, and his hands trembled slightly.

"You are- you are sure about zis?" he asked thickly, bending down to press his lips to the back of Gregory's neck.

Gregory scowled into the leather, his blush rising higher on his face. "Christophe, if you ask that again, I'm going to change my mind." He sighed and his eyes closed, a slight frown playing at the corner of his mouth. "Absolument. Please."

"D'accord," Christophe whispered, and snapped off the cap of the lube with one hand. He wasted no time in slicking up his fingers, and spreading the stuff liberally around Gregory's hole. "You 'ave not done zis before?" he asked, just to be sure, and let out a nervous breath when Gregory shook his head, eyes still clenched tightly closed. There was no such thing as too much lube for a virgin, so he added another dollop to spread around Gregory's skin. When he was satisfied, he carefully slid a finger into him, chuffing out a breath at the sudden heat.

Gregory hissed through his teeth, his back shuddering and his muscles clenching around Christophe's finger. He muffled his noises again by pressing the back of his hand to his mouth, but canted his hips backwards in a clear attempt to get more friction.

Still worried that he'd hurt the other boy, Christophe placed a line of kisses down his spine as he rotated his finger, trying to stretch out Gregory's rim. His other hand, also slick with residual lube, wrapped around Gregory's cock, stroking and squeezing in turn, making sure that Gregory wouldn't come too quickly.

"More," Gregory demanded, trying to move his legs farther apart. Christophe could tell that he was getting close to coming with the way he was desperately rotating his hips. Christophe kept up his steady pace, though, since he didn't want to risk Gregory coming too quickly and before Christophe got the chance to be inside him.

Christophe added his second finger, scissoring them apart carefully. Gregory's breathing had turned ragged, and his skin felt blisteringly hot. For all his impatient cock wanted immediate relief, Christophe kept treating Gregory with excessive care. He didn't dare try and find his prostate, because the shock of sensation would likely make Gregory come. Instead, his kept his fingers shallowly thrusting and spreading until Gregory's back and ass had completely relaxed again, and his breathing was steadier.

His third finger felt like it wouldn't fit, but as soon as Gregory felt the extra pressure, he snapped his hips backwards and took it in up to the second knuckle. Christophe moaned again, pressing his mouth to Gregory's sweaty neck.

"You like zis?" he asked, thrusting his fingers fully into Gregory. He sped them up, too, drawing out tiny gasps that Gregory didn't seem to be consciously making.

Gregory nodded, eyes blinking half open and staring ahead of him in a glazed sort of way. He shook his hair to try and get his sweaty hair out of his face, but a stray curl flopped into his eyes again.

"Fuck," Gregory whispered, shivering as Christophe's mouth passed over his spine again. "Christophe, I-" His eyes closed again and he pressed back harder. "I don't know. I want-"

Christophe grinned, interrupting him with a kiss to the ear. "Qu'est-ce que tu voudrais?" he asked, breath hot against Gregory's skin. He pressed his hips up against Gregory's ass, letting his cock slide in between his cheeks. For all his careful treatment, he still couldn't resist a bit of teasing. "I know you want something. Dîtes-moi, princesse, or I will just come from doing zis."

Christophe could tell that Gregory was struggling not to moan from the way his back arched sharply and his teeth dug into his lower lip. Instead, he growled and jerked away after a moment, allowing himself enough room to flip over onto his back.

He glared up at Christophe, cheeks dark and eyes dark and frustration clear on his face. He reached up and manhandled Christophe down into a fierce kiss, teeth sharp against Christophe's lips. Christophe gasped at the sensation and crooked his fingers up inside Gregory to press against his prostate.

Gregory did moan then, though it broke off with a quick glare. "You're intelligent," he snapped. "I'm positive you can figure it out."

"Fair enough," Christophe managed. His patience was wearing thin anyway, and his cock was throbbing between his legs, demanding release.

He wasted little time in rolling on a condom and spreading lube liberally over it. He was thankful for the latex barrier, since he could tell that without it, he'd come in half an instant. Meeting Gregory's blown-out eyes, he grinned before tugging Gregory down farther on the seat, laying him out flat on his back. Once Christophe had one of Gregory's knees hooked over his shoulder, he was able to press the head of his cock against Gregory's loosened hole, and he waited for a moment before sliding himself slowly inside.

Gregory was impossible hot, even with the condom absorbing some of the heat, and the way his ass constricted around Christophe's dick made it nearly impossible not to come. Christophe dropped his head down onto Gregory's shoulder and bit into the skin there.

Gregory made a sort of sharp, whining noise, his throat sounding ragged. Christophe had to fight not to immediately thrust into him, and his fingers tightened on Gregory's hips, hard enough to bruise.

"You are fine?" Christophe asked, his lips buzzing against Gregory's skin. He seemed even more aware of their bodies pressed together, and every inch that was in contact with Gregory felt as though it were part of a fire that started at his cock. A small, still-functioning part of his brain thanked the fates that Gregory had become so flexible from his parkour training.

"Yes," Gregory gasped, his hands flying up to tangle as best they could in Christophe's short-cropped hair. "Fuck, it's more than fine." His head lolled to the side, facing the driver's side window, which gave Christophe the opportunity to suck a mark onto his neck again.

While his was occupied, Gregory's finger skittered over his hips, pulling hard until Christophe's cock slid deeper into him.

"I just- I need more of you. That's all. God," Gregory said, his voice making a valiant attempt at staying steady.

Christophe swore loudly, his hips moving of their own accord, sliding half out of Gregory again. "You're going to fucking kill me," he groaned, his mouth pressed against Gregory's neck. "Tell me what you want. What you like." As he spoke, he thrust shallowly back into Gregory, angling his hips upwards.

"Just- ah-" Gregory broke off into a low moan as Christophe thrust up against his prostate. He turned his head and caught Christophe's mouth in another frantic kiss, making it impossible for them both to breathe until he backed off. "Like that," he managed. "Harder. Please."

"Ah, fuck." Unable to resist such an earnest plea, Christophe's worry about Gregory's pain threshold vanished. He let out a broken, helpless noise, and snapped his hips firmly forward, his cock sliding into Gregory again.

He lost himself in the sensation of slamming into Gregory with animalistic force, the warm heat against his cock burning away all other thought. His adrenaline rose slowly to a peak. He felt his balls tense up, and reached down to hastily stroke Gregory's cock, determined to make him come first.

Gregory writhed up against him, gasps and moans falling freely from his mouth with each thrust. He bit into Christophe's shoulder, hard enough to break the skin, and came without warning, shuddering and convulsing around Christophe's cock and not breathing until he'd stopped shaking.

The feel of Gregory's orgasm sent Christophe toppling over the edge too, and with an embarrassing groan, he froze at the peak of a thrust, pleasure hitting him with the force of a train. Utterly spent, he collapsed on top of Gregory in a tangle of limbs, one of Gregory's legs trapped between him and the leather of the seat. Christophe didn't have the energy to even pull out, and instead lay, gasping for breath in the too-hot, humid air of the car, Gregory trapped beneath him and breathing just as heavily.

Christophe blissed out for several moments, his brain a dull buzz as the built-up terror and adrenaline and stress faded away. He wanted to fall asleep right there, but they were still in fucking Mexico and too close to their messy work. Still, he allowed himself a few moments of peace, enjoying the way that Gregory was haphazardly stroking his hair.
With a groan, he finally worked up enough willpower to pull away from Gregory and sit up enough to roll the condom off his soft dick. That done, he glanced down at Gregory, who was still lying prone and boneless on the seat, and pressed his hand against the slowing pulse point on Gregory's neck.

Gregory flopped up a hand to wipe moisture out of his eyes and off his face, letting his fingers trail gently over Christophe's shoulder before letting his hand fall again. "What just happened?" he croaked, blinking his eyes up at the ceiling.

"J'sais pas," Christophe replied. He groaned and moved away from Gregory, giving the blond boy room to sit up. Their skin made an unpleasant sticking noise against the leather of the seats, and Christophe thought vaguely that he'd probably have to get the damn thing detailed to clean off the sweat stains.

"I'm sorry, though," he whispered softly, scooting closer once Gregory had sat fully upright as well, and wrapped an arm around his waist. "That was- I shouldn't 'ave-" He broke off, resting his face against Gregory's shoulder. "Are you alright, at least?"

"I'm fine," Gregory muttered, not looking at Christophe. He lurched forward and grabbed his pants out of the messy pile on the floor of the car, sliding them on and buttoning them up without a word. Once he was covered, he looked at Christophe, and all of the doubt and confusion that Christophe felt was mirrored on Gregory's face. Gregory frowned slightly. "I suppose that –whatever that was- was both of our doing. It doesn't have to change anything." His last sentence pitched up at the end, more of a question, and he lifted his eyebrows at Christophe before staring out the foggy window.

"It doesn't change a damn thing," Christophe agreed, digging around for his own pants and tugging them on. His pack of cigarettes was undamaged enough to still smoke, and he lit one gratefully. The smoke curled around his head, and he let out a contented sigh.

"I lied, before," he said once he'd taken another long drag. "I'm not sorry, at all. I would do zis again in an instant." He moved closer to Gregory again, tugging him against his body and keeping his arms wrapped around his waist.

Gregory twisted to blink up at him, vague surprise on his face. He didn't pull away, though, and sighed through his nose, relaxing into Christophe's touch. "It's all right," he said, "sometimes I forget that this sort of behavior is the norm for you. With Kenny or whomever, I mean. I'm not sorry either, I just need some time to think about it."

"As you want," Christophe said. His jaw tensed. He had no idea how to tell Gregory that this hadn't been anything like what he did with Kenny; it meant more to him than anything else he'd ever do ever again in his life. He didn't want Gregory to think that he just wanted fucking to be another thing to add to their long list of stupid shit to do together to stave off boredom. He exhaled fitfully.
"Ah, just so you know," he began, "zis, you- zis isn't some- fucking shit. 'Ow do I say zis?" He coughed, chewing nervously on the cigarette butt in his mouth. "With Kenny, with ze others, it was just nothing, just something to do. For fun and et cetera. But with you, it is not like that. Not nothing, I guess." He cursed his lack of eloquence and pressed his forehead against Gregory's hair. "You 'ave been through more with me zan anyone else on ze fucking planet. So. Ouais."

"Oh," said Gregory, and was silent for a moment, clearly deep in thought. His hand came up eventually and stroked through Christophe's hair. "Thank you, I suppose. The feeling is, as you know, mutual. I suppose one of the reasons I've never done this before is because I really can't fathom doing so with anyone else other than you."

"Good," Christophe said fiercely. Gregory's words sent a surge of possessiveness through him, and he rearranged Gregory until his legs were slung half over his lap. A part of his mind that he was usually good at ignoring seemed to be shouting more loudly than usual, and he took a second to ponder what it would be like, to be normal. To have the chance at an actual relationship, and to wake up with Gregory and depend on him and be able to act on his constant urge to touch him without people thinking it was bizarre. He couldn't have those things, though, not without risking Gregory's life, so he regretfully shut down the wish again.

"I wouldn't want you to do zis with anyone else either. It was- good. Very good. Ze best." Christophe smiled and took the cigarette out of his mouth so he could kiss Gregory deeply. He let his mouth linger, savoring the sensation without the frantic buildup of energy spurring him on. Gregory let out a contented little noise and tilted his head, allowing Christophe better access.

He wasn't sure how long they sat there, gently kissing and running their hands over each other's bare chests and arms, but Gregory eventually pulled away, resting his forehead against Christophe's.
"I wouldn't mind doing this again, you know," Gregory murmured, "if you're all right with it, that is. For stress relief and all that."

A wide grin spread over Christophe's face and he hugged Gregory tightly to himself.

"Zat is, je crois, ze best thing zat I 'ave ever 'eard you say in your life. I do 'ave a certain fondness for blondes. I'm sure you've noticed." He tucked a stray curl behind Gregory's ear and kissed him again. This was everything that he needed in life: mad schemes, explosions, minor injuries, and Gregory there, half-naked in his car, kissing him back when all was said and done. A small feeling of loss flicked through his mind, regret that they wouldn't be able to run a job like this again for at least half a year. Fucking university ruined everything. But there was no way in hell he was waiting that long to do this again, and half-formed ideas about arguments leading to sparring practice leading to other things began to form.

He held onto his daydream as they began the long drive back to Colorado, his fingers laced with Gregory's over the center divider and his eyes focused on the road.