Chapter Text
“This better not be like last time,” Montparnasse gripes as they climb the stairs. He doesn’t bother to keep his voice down despite the late hour, but Claquesous knows no one in this building still has the nerve to complain about anything Parnasse does anyway.
“So resentful,” he tuts, following Montparnasse at a close enough distance to hear even the indignant puff of breath in response to that. “Just because they were a little late.”
“It’s fucking unprofessional,” Montparnasse says with a snarl.
“Mortal sin,” Claquesous drawls. “They kept you waiting.” For a change, he pointedly neglects to add.
Montparnasse turns to glare at him at the top of the stairs, before ill-temperedly unlocking his front door.
Claquesous rolls his eyes as soon as his back is turned again. Christ he’s in a mood. There’s not even any need for him to be here, but Montparnasse insisted he came with him. Just so he has someone to bitch at probably, because he’s a bloody attention whore.
The apartment is that same state of unnaturally tidy that Montparnasse’s living spaces always are and Claquesous lingers to pull his nose up at a new piece of antique furniture before following Montparnasse into his bedroom. Montparnasse is taking off his jacket, fussing with it to hang it up correctly. Clearly this is going to take a while.
Claquesous sits down in the chair near the bed, slouching with graceless indifference just because he knows it will annoy Montparnasse.
Montparnasse gives him a disapproving glance, but doesn’t say anything, instead yanking open a drawer and rummaging through it with resentful energy. “I have no interest in dealing with people who can’t keep to a sodding schedule,” he continues. “It’s disrespectful.”
Claquesous can’t help the sneering smile on his lips. Disrespectful. Parnasse is so full of shit. He keeps on bitching while he’s changing his belt and Claquesous tips his head back in amused exasperation. Idly he reaches out towards the high side table between the chair and Montparnasse’s bed, plucking one of his friend’s cravats out of its neatly wound coil. Or at least he thinks it’s a cravat. Claquesous never quite knows the difference between Montparnasse’s neckwear. Ties, cravats, jabots, whatever. He can’t be bothered to tell the damn things apart.
He does like seeing them wrapped around Parnasse’s neck though…
“Sous.”
Claquesous’ eyes dart up to see Montparnasse glaring at him, now standing with his back to the dresser and looking nearly ready to go out again.
“Hm?” he hums, pulling the silk of the cravat through his fingers without looking at it.
“Fucking listen to me when I’m talking to you,” Montparnasse demands, fastening his knife to his belt with an angry click.
Claquesous keeps looking at him, but he doesn’t bother to adjust his condescending expression. “As far as I know you were still bitching about respect,” he says airily, slowly winding the length of the cravat around his palm. “Do go on.”
“Fuck you,” Montparnasse grunts, turning away again.
“Okay,” Claquesous replies casually. “But we only have fifteen minutes and you’re usually a bit too high maintenance for that.”
“Fuck off,” Montparnasse rephrases bluntly, but Claquesous saw the slight shift in the posture of his shoulders, even if it lasted only a second, and a smirk flickers past his face.
“Let’s just get this fucking job over with,” Montparnasse hisses, leaning towards the mirror. “They better not have sent the same inbred shithead as last time.”
Claquesous slants his head, watching the curve of Montparnasse’s back under the thin fabric of his shirt. He stretches the cravat out across his hands. All those foul words from such a pretty mouth.
“And you stick to the damn script this time,” his friend adds snidely, fixing his hair. “I’m not in the mood to stand around listening to you playing riddle games with idiots.”
“Oh I talk too much, do I?” Claquesous hums, slowly folding one end of the silk over the other and pulling a knot into the middle. Babet will kill them if they don’t show up for this meeting, but it sure is tempting…
Montparnasse makes a vexed sound at the back of his throat. “You don’t fucking listen at least, that’s for damn sure,” he sneers.
“Well I’m all ears now,” Claquesous says menacingly, tying a second knot over the first one.
Amazingly, there is no reply to that and Claquesous stares at Montparnasse for a moment as he runs his hand through his dark hair once more and tugs his collar straight. Claquesous teeth bite down on his bottom lip.
“Are you done primping or what?” he asks abruptly, pulling a third knot taught and dropping the cravat in his lap. They need to get going. Not because they’re late, but because if they stay here any longer he’ll lose his self-control.
“Get your ass up then if you’re in such a hurry,” Montparnasse bites, but he finally turns away from the mirror and heads back towards the door.
Claquesous rises to his feet and smirks at his back, weighing the knotted cravat in his hand for a moment. He considers taking it with him, but actually, it’s rather surprising that Montparnasse didn’t see him mess with it. He’s usually more attentive than that. So instead, and with his smirk growing a little wider, he tosses it onto Montparnasse’s bed, watching it slide down between the pillows before following him soundlessly out of the room.
¨
It’s always better somehow, just after a job. Claquesous doesn’t know whether it’s the pent up tension or the leftover adrenaline, but they’re never better together than after working together. Tonight is no exception.
The front door has barely closed before Montparnasse’s mouth is on his. Claquesous kisses back, but forces Montparnasse’s hands away when he makes a grab for his sunglasses.
“Watch it,” he growls.
Montparnasse makes an impatient noise. “You get rid of them then,” he orders, shrugging out of his leather jacket and immediately stooping to untie his shoes.
Claquesous doesn’t bother with that, kicking his own shoes off instead and tossing his long coat indifferently in the general direction of the coatrack. He carefully lays aside his glasses and that’s all he has time for before Montparnasse’s arms are winding around his neck again.
“Impatient,” Claquesous grunts and grabs him by the back of his neck to kiss him again.
They make their way through the apartment with rather uncoordinated movements. Montparnasse is happy to be stripped of his clothes, but complains every time Claquesous disposes of a garment without what he considers the proper attention.
“What do you want me to pay attention to,” Claquesous growls, roughly pulling the shirt off Montparnasse’s back, grateful there’s no need to wrestle with a binder anymore nowadays. “You or your damn fashion.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t appreciate it,” Montparnasse scoffs, nevertheless gasping slightly when Claquesous fingers are suddenly digging into his bare back.
Claquesous doesn’t answer, driving him towards the bed instead. Yes, he appreciates Montparnasse’s pretty clothes, but he appreciates getting him out of them much more.
Montparnasse lets himself fall backwards onto the bed, but immediately tries to sit up to take off his trousers.
“Leave it,” Claquesous snaps, planting a hand on Montparnasse’s chest and forcing him back down.
Amusement flickers on Montparnasse’s face and Claquesous growls inwardly. He knows Parnasse is goading him and it still works. Montparnasse curls his lips into a smirk.
“Well,” he sneers, pushing back. “If you’d hurry up for—” He cuts himself off abruptly with a badly swallowed groan when Claquesous grabs between his legs. He squirms, but doesn’t struggle anymore.
That’s better. Claquesous leans a little further towards him. He probably likes Montparnasse best just like this. Half-dressed and nearly dishevelled, just a bit too needy to keep up his uncompliant behaviour.
Suddenly, Montparnasse’s fingers close around the front of his t-shirt and he yanks Claquesous forward. The edge of the bed knocks hard against his shins and Claquesous swears painfully, losing his balance. Montparnasse drags him onto the bed, climbing over him immediately, dark hair falling in front of his face as he leans forward.
“Sorry,” he grins insincerely. “Kiss it better?”
“Enfoiré,” Claquesous spits, the word already half muffled by Montparnasse’s tongue. He kisses back angrily, pushing himself up off the matrass and forcing Montparnasse onto his back again. He breaks out of the kiss abruptly , one hand nearly at Montparnasse’s throat, glaring down at him.
Montparnasse grins up at him, hips moving underneath Claquesous’ and his hands grabbing idly at the sheets beside his head. His lips are already moving, undoubtedly to say something taunting, but suddenly his smug expression falters. He turns his head, reaching further under the pillow.
“The fuck is this?” He holds something up to look at it.
His fingers are curled around the knotted cravat.
Montparnasse goes oddly quiet as he looks at it and Claquesous feels a grin slip onto his face. This is almost as perfect as he could have imagined it.
“I think you know exactly what that is…” he replies.
Montparnasse’s eyes flit to his. He’s suddenly keeping very still underneath him, but Claquesous feels his blood pulse under the hand at his throat.
He sits up, pulling the cravat out of Montparnasse’s hand. “And I think you’ve got a pretty good idea of what I want to do with it…”
He watches Montparnasse’s face carefully, grinning at the dark flicker of realisation in his eyes as Montparnasse comes to the conclusion that he planned this. However unfixed a plan it might have been. Claquesous sits up a little more, playing deliberately with the silk. His knees are planted on either side of Montparnasse’s hips now and his weight is resting mostly on both their legs. He’s keeping their eyes locked, but he’s sure Montparnasse can see the flutter of fabric as he plays with the cravat, just at the edge of his vision.
“What you don’t know, is what I would do to you if you let me…”
There is a flash of want in Montparnasse’s eyes that is almost acquiescence. Claquesous slants his head just a little, playing with the knot with one hand while slowly reaching out to Montparnasse with the other. Montparnasse doesn’t stop him, doesn’t protest or turn away. Instead his expression changes just a little, twisting into something challenging. A sneering smirk flickers onto his face.
“You need a toy to shut me up?”
Grinning through the spike of provoked anger Claquesous grabs a handful of Montparnasse’s hair and drags his head up off the pillow. Montparnasse grunts, hastily pushing himself up with his arms, pushing this chest forward and staying put even when Claquesous lets go of his hair.
“We both know that’s not true,” Claquesous grins, stretching the cravat out in front of his face. “But who knows what I’m capable of without your endless bitching to distract me.”
The indignation on Montparnasse’s face clashes terribly with the way his eyes darken as Claquesous pushes the knot into his mouth. It presses down on his tongue, making Montparnasse’s breath hitch in a way that scratches down Claquesous’ spine. Slowly, deliberately, he wraps the cravat around Montparnasse’s head, crossing it as he pulls the fabric between his teeth and tying it tight behind his head. It’s tight enough to pull on Montparnasse’s lips, preventing him from closing his mouth all the way. He’s breathing audibly through his nose, in short, excited bursts, and Claquesous presses a hand to his chest, feeling the thumping of his elevated heartbeat as he pushes him back down.
“Well,” he muses aloud. “That’s a pretty picture.”
The spark of anger in Montparnasse’s eyes is not quite equal to the eager way his throat works as he swallows. Claquesous grins a little wider, lightly touching Montparnasse’s mouth. His lips are being stretched somewhat, but it doesn’t look uncomfortable. Slowly, following the anticipatory shiver in Montparnasse’s body, he lets his hand slide down until it is resting loosely at Montparnasse’s throat again. His other hand is free to drag blunt nails down Montparnasse’s chest, nearly making him arch his back. As soon as he actually does, Claquesous tightens the grip on his throat, not pressing down on his windpipe, but deliberately squeezing the side of his throat. Restricting just enough blood flow to make Montparnasse squirm for a moment before he releases him.
Montparnasse glares at him when he does, but he doesn’t make a sound.
“You could ask for more,” Claquesous drawls leisurely, stroking Montparnasse’s throat. He grins. “But you’re too fucking vain for incoherent mumbling, aren’t you. Well…” He lets his hand slide down, the fingers of both hands now raking down Montparnasse’s chest and stomach, making his back arch fully off the matrass. “You’ll have to see what is given to you when you don’t get to spout demands on a loop.”
That earns him a snarl from the back of Montparnasse’s throat and he lets out a low laugh, shifting his weight to shove Parnasse’s legs apart wide enough to sit between them.
“You know what your problem is, Montparnasse,” he says conversationally, ignoring the way Parnasse’s hips buck when he scratches down his thighs through the fine fabric of his trousers. “You don’t appreciate generosity…”
Montparnasse doesn’t make a sound while Claquesous teases him, doesn’t even give a sigh of relief when he finally does strip off his trousers and boxers. But when he sits up to grab the lube instead of sliding down between his legs, a sharp noise of frustration sticks in his throat.
“What was that?” Claquesous hums with a smirk, taking off his t-shirt before slicking up his fingers, and Montparnasse’s eyes snap fire at him.
His teeth are biting down angrily on the wet silk and Claquesous grins a little wider. “Did you have something to say?”
He digs the fingers of his dry hand into Montparnasse’s thigh, feeling his muscles tense. Montparnasse likes his mouth, prefers it to his fingers, Claquesous knows that, but he likes to see what he’s doing. He also likes to take his time, and like this that is much easier. Montparnasse has been genuinely quiet so far, he’ll put an end to that now.
As soon as Claquesous’ fingers slide between his thighs Montparnasse lets his head fall back onto the pillow. His heels slip on the sheets as he tries to brace his legs and Claquesous puts his own knees a little further apart to give Montparnasse something to push his thighs against. Montparnasse’s breathing was already ragged, but now it begins to hitch and stutter.
Claquesous studies the widening of his eyes and the spasms in his body with quiet satisfaction, sliding his fingers up and down in search of the particular weak spots he wants to exploit. Because that’s the thing about Montparnasse’s endless demands, they’re insulting. Claquesous knows what he wants. He knows exactly what to do to him. He doesn’t need sodding instructions.
His fingers graze an unexpected spot and Montparnasse whimpers. The sound cuts straight to Claquesous’ own body, because for all his mouthing off, Montparnasse is usually annoyingly good at swallowing down and biting back any involuntary sounds. But the gag won’t let him completely close his mouth and although he’s certainly unable to speak properly, he’s beginning to be just as unable to keep quiet.
Claquesous quickens his pace but gentles his touches and Montparnasse groans and keens, his legs tensing frantically. The rest of him stays wonderfully still though, apart from the quivering deep in his chest. Being silenced like this is having a remarkable effect on the whole of Montparnasse’s body. He’s suddenly so wonderfully pliant, not constantly pulling or pushing to get his way. Claquesous bound his hands to the bedpost once, but this is almost more effective. It’s extraordinary. And best of all, Montparnasse could take that gag off at any time, his hands are not bound after all. But he doesn’t and the truth of it is burning in Claquesous mind. Montparnasse is letting him do this, and he’s so far beyond pretending he doesn’t like it. The noises spilling from his forcibly parted lips are nearly incessant now and Claquesous wants to fuck him so badly it almost hurts.
A strange shock pulls through Montparnasse’s body and Claquesous feels his muscles go taught. He quickly braces a hand against his chest, repeating the motion he just made between Montparnasse’s legs.
“You should see yourself now,” he growls. “Fuck, Parnasse—”
Montparnasse makes a choking sound that sounds awfully like Claquesous’ name, trailing off into something that is very nearly a scream. He shudders violently, struggling against the hand still planted on his chest with uselessly uncoordinated movements, until his muscles give out and he finally lies still. The panting rise and fall of his chest is the only true movement of his body for a moment as his mouth hangs open and his eyes slide half-closed.
Claquesous lets go of him, torn between reaching up to loosen the gag and kiss him and finally getting out of his damn jeans, because they’re incredibly uncomfortable by now. Montparnasse shies away from his hand thought, keening weakly and rolling onto his stomach as soon as Claquesous allows him the freedom to move his legs. He whines, pressing his legs together with a shudder, but even now not a single voiced demand.
“Oh don’t worry,” Claquesous grins, wiping his hand clean before stripping off the rest of his clothes. “I wasn’t done yet.”
¨
There’s a moment of breathless silence before Claquesous rolls off Montparnasse. His entire body is humming with dispersed heat and exertion and fucking hell did he need that tonight.
He’s not too dazed to clean them both up a bit though and when he’s done Claquesous silently offers to take off the gag. This time Montparnasse lets him touch his face and he unhurriedly unties the silk, careful not to pull on Montparnasse’s hair. He smirks slightly, a little drowsy, as he watches Montparnasse spit out the knot as soon as the pressure is gone. He takes in a freeing breath and swallows, but still doesn’t say a word.
Claquesous lets himself fall flat on his back, looking up at the ceiling in a satisfied haze and for quite some time Montparnasse just lies beside him, breathing quietly and occasionally touching his mouth. Finally, he speaks, sounding like his normal self, plus an edge of satiated pleasure:
“You owe me a new cravat.”
Claquesous lets out a snort of genuine amusement. “I don’t owe you shit,” he grins. “Besides, as if you wouldn’t have bitched your head off if I had dared to stuff anything but silk into your pretty mouth.”
“Casse-toi,” Montparnasse scoffs, but it loses all its bite by the way he purrs as he stretches his limbs, so Claquesous doesn’t even bother answering it.
Instead, he pulls the duvet on top of the both of them, rolling onto his side with a smirk. Fun as it is to make Montparnasse complicit in ruining his own clothes, if this is going to be a thing, it might be worth investing in some new toys.