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Tweek grabs a door stopper from the floor and stabs it over a wall. He climbs on top of it to grab the duffel bag he has hidden in one of the vents.
He has always prepared for the worst.
That’s why when the worst came knocking he was ready to run.
Ran where?
He had no idea, there was something stupid about this whole thing. He has always been prepared to run, but he always thought he'd run away from home one afternoon and just disappear from home, he never planned, no, hoped to be in the situation he is in right now.
He didn't know where to go, so he ran to the only person he knew dealt with crimes.
“ Tournesol? ”
Tweek stood in front of a shitty building shaking like a leaf, holding to his bag for dear life.
“THEY KILLED THEM.”
Christophe just rushed him inside and closed the door checking nobody had followed Tweek. “Listen, you stay here and keep quiet. Oui? ” He asked, grabbing him carefully by the shoulders.
“THEY KILLED THEM AND THEY ARE GONNA GET ME.”
"You have to stop yelling, can you do that?” Christophe asks, carefully holding him by the shoulders. Tweek can only nod between sobs.
He can’t just leave him like that. “Here, he’ll keep you company.” Christophe says, giving him a small and worn stuffed giraffe and covering Tweek with a blanket. “Don’t open the door and keep the lights out.”
Christophe, or “The Mole”’s place is not a safe space by any means. It’s a taken over flat with a small kitchen, one table, an old radio and tv, one sofa and one bed. Everything that might resemble a decoration are boxes of ammo, mechanical clocks and tools.
The only soft thing in the whole place is the blanket over Tweek’s head and the giraffe between his arms.
He is soft too.
All his life he has been preparing for this and what’s the first thing he does? Run to a wolf’s mouth just because he was an idiot that couldn’t think of an escape plan when murderers were involved.
The Mole was just a guy he knew from when he sold weed to him in highschool and from all the rumors around town.
A scumbag who only cared for money, a devil with no quarter, a literal mercenary for hire.
Tweek could pay him. That'd keep him safe for a second… unless the guy killed him and took the money without effort.
Only time would tell.
Christophe arrives at about 3 AM, he doesn’t turn on the light. He tiredly slumps on the sofa kicking his boots out of his feet. The only thing visible is the light of his cigarette.
Tweek shifts a bit, afraid to talk but wanting to do so.
“You are awake, tournesol.. .” Christophe says, exhaling smoke from his nostrils. He seems surprised.
“What happened?”
Another long sigh and smoke filling the room. “You are dead.” Christophe says, and for once in his life, Tweek isn’t surprised or terrified of those words. “Dead how?”
“Dead to the world.”
Christophe puts out his cigarette and refuses to elaborate. Tweek finally dares to open his laptop and search for his family name.
Social media and the news are talking about the terrible fate of the Tweaks, a seemingly decent family with a dark secret that meet their end at the hands of what seems to be one of their own clients.
“I was closing late…” Tweek whispers. “I wasn’t at home…”
Christophe snorts. “ Grâce à some Cthulhuian god, we do have plenty of blond twinky bodies at the graveyard.” He makes a pause. “Don’t worry, c'est my day job.”
Tweek is afraid to put two and two together. “You faked… my death?”
“Oui.”
The mercenary stops talking, he is probably too tired to keep on entertaining Tweek, but he needs someone to talk to. He whispers to himself thinking nobody will hear him. “I feel bad.”
Christophe’s deep voice makes itself present once again among the total darkness “ Pourquoi? ”
Tweek bites his lips, hugging his knees and the giraffe.
“Because I don’t feel bad.”
A snort. “C'est compréhensible, they hurt you.” Christophe makes a pause and Tweek thinks he fell asleep. “You don’t need to feel bad just because some capricieux god says you should.” He snorts. “As you guys say… “Fuck them””
Tweek finds himself laughing a bit.
“Thanks… for everything.”
“Anything for you, tournesol”
"Breakfast" Christophe says, giving Tweek a sandwich. The blond groggily wakes up, surprised by how late it seems to be. He looks around trying to find a clock with the accurate time, but by the sun position, it might be around 10 AM.
"What's this?" Tweek asks, sitting on the bed and opening the sandwich. " Jambon-beurre ." Christophe replies, sitting on the table.
"I don't eat ham." Tweek explains. "I don't eat meat." He feels guilty, he hoped to cause as little problem as he could. Christophe just shrugs. "I’ll take it, then."
Tweek removes the meat with his fingers and Christophe accepts them in his own sandwich. They start eating in the silence only filled by the music of the radio.
"I don't wanna sound ungrateful." Tweek says, worried about offending his host. "Thank you for the meal I just d-"
Christophe snorts. "Relax, tournesol , you don't eat meat, c'est tre cute." He points at the plushie in his arms. "You are like a… our little friend here."
Tweek smiles a little bit, moving the giraffe's head like it is agreeing. Then he focuses on the glass Christophe is giving him. "No coffee?" Tweek asks, looking at the cup in front of the mercenary.
"No more coffee for you." Christophe says, matter of factly. Tweek pouts. "But you are drinking coffee."
Christophe gives him a look. "You don't get it, I need it…" Tweek explains, staring at him.
"You'll ride it out, tournesol ." Christophe assures him. "That's my only rule for you staying." He ads lighting his cigarette.
Tweek blinks a couple of times. "You are going to let me stay?"
" En fait , we are leaving.”
Tweek’s face is obscured by Christophe’s motorcycle helmet. He is grabbing onto him and to his duffel bag, from where the little giraffe is peeking through.
They are leaving South Park.
Ironically, Tweek always thought he would probably end up leaving the rotten town as a hostage from a scary man product of his parents' twisted existence.
But this time he is leaving with a known mercenary, just hoping to never go back.
“One “ Gitanes”.” Christophe asks the cashier at a very hidden gas station. “Are you a hipster?” The girl asks, making The Mole grumble and mumble some curses before lecturing her about french cigarettes.
Tweek meanwhile browses the aisle. He takes a look at them and then back at what has caught his attention. For the first time ever, he shoplifts something.
“Everything ok there? Tournasol ?” Christophe asks, knocking on the gas station restroom after a good half hour has passed.
“ No .”
Tweek sounds worried, anxious and defeated. He slowly opens the door and with embarrassment in his eyes he looks up. “I thought it would mute my looks, not THIS…”
He has grabbed a hair dye at the store and his brain did the following math: everyone is creeped out by gingers, nobody likes to stare at gingers, he can disguise his piss yellow hair with red hair and people wouldn’t realize he isn’t dead.
Too bad his hair looks furiously orange now and he looks desperate for attention.
However, the whole deal makes Christophe laugh and maybe, maybe it’s all worth it. “You look cute, tournesol , don’t worry too much…” He says, smiling and offering him the helmet back.
“I’m Ronald McDonald’s bastard child.” Tweek complains, putting the helmet on and climbing to the motorcycle. Christophe lets out another cackle before starting the engine. Tweek smiles to himself, clinging to his back.
“Where did you get this place?” Tweek asks, inspecting the newly, not that improved, place. “ j'ai un friend…” Christophe shrugs.
“How much of a friend?” Tweek insists. “We never spoke and beat each other up while training… He is the best friend I ever had.” Christophe explains. “He was my partner.”
Tweek stops in his tracks to look at him with big eyes. “As in…” He makes a symbol with his finger penetrating the circle he made with his other two fingers.
Christophe snorts. “
Non, comment le dis tu?.
.. ah, Co-worker.”
Tweek breathes out with relief and takes a peek at the bathroom. “Is he French too? Cuz there is a bidet here.” He asks, while trying to fix his new hair in front of the mirror. Christophe plays with his hair a bit, he smiles while doing so, entertained by the mishap, and Tweek has to wash his face to stop looking at him. “ Non , he’s greek.”
“And why isn’t he here?” Tweek gasps and then turns to him with worried eyes, whispering “Did you kill him?”
“He’s touring, tournasol .” Christophe smugly replies. “Meet a cute guy with Ian Curtis' haunted eyes and now he is his… bodyguard.”
“Oh… A musician?” Tweek asks, wanting to know more about the mercenary and his little world. Christophe nods. “Impressive for a guy with tourettes, non? ” He then turns around to pick his keys.
There is something in the back of Tweek’s head though. “You think a guy is cute?” He asks, getting a smirk from Christophe and a snort. He leaves without a reply.
Tweek spends the rest of the day tinkering with his computer. Why would he care about the consequences now? He is dead.
And he wants to make Christophe proud…
He hasn’t asked for anything in return yet, maybe he thinks he is too pathetic to ask for anything, maybe he doesn’t think he is worth it.
He wants Christophe to need something from him too.
“What’s that?” Christophe asks as he cleans his guns. “My first successful phishing!” Tweek says, proudly showing him his computer. Christophe smirks at him. “You a hacker?”
“I could be!” Tweek replies proudly. “I could be your man in the chair!”
The mercenary doesn’t reply, he just gestures to him to start dinner. “Try something easier and nicer, tournesol .”
Fuck Christophe.
He didn’t even accept his proposal, he just kept to his guns and ignored him.
Like he doesn’t know how to do stuff, he CAN be a menace.
Tweek’s been visiting the public library for a week now, all he does all day is type on his laptop and research every vulnerability the local webs can have.
He has also procured some pdfs and books on the subject from a good university nearby. Ha, idiots, their cybersecurity course? Try not being mangled by a single guy with insomnia first.
To be honest? Hacking is nothing like they show in the movies, most of the time it's just guessing a password or publishing a convincing front for a link.
Anyway, he has made some pretty bucks this week and procured some blueprints that can be useful for Christophe, this oughta show him Tweek is not fucking around.
“Who are you?” Asks the guy that had grabbed him in his flat’s door and put a knife to his neck.
¡LAISSE TOMBER, CONNARD, C'EST LE MEC DONT JE T'AI PARLÉ!
Christophe barks at the man and Tweek is released immediately, he runs to hide behind the mercenary as the huge guy closes the door and puts away his knife. “Sorry.”
“What’s all this SHIT noise?” a blonde guy asks, coming out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel.
Tweek can’t believe his eyes. “OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!!” He yells, shaking Christophe a little. “Are you kidding me!?” He looks at the two guys at home and connects the dots.
“This is your mercenary friend, the bodyguard!?” He asks, still unable to keep his eyes from the blond.
“Oui, c’est Thad Jarvis.” Christophe replies, lighting his cigarette as the guy just nods.
Tweek giggles nervously. “You didn’t tell me he was guarding Seattle’s wonder, THOMAS!” He yells, eager to hold the musician’s hands. “I LOVE your music!”
Thomas seems a bit overwhelmed but smiles at the words. “Really?... That’s a first…” He mumbles and Thad grunts as if telling him not to put himself down.
“What are you guys doing here?” Tweek asks and then gasps. “You want your house back…”
Thad snorts and walks to a specific part of the room, where he hits a certain tile on the roof and lets it loose. He takes a duffel bag from there with money and papers.
“Can you spare some pognon ?” Christophe demands, extending his hand. Thad snorts and gives him some wads of money. “Documents?” He asks, offering two fake passports.
The Mole seems to think about his offer.
“Where are you going?” Tweek insists and Thomas shrugs. “I don’t know… FUCK media is being ruthless lately, just away for a while…”
“Is it because of the whole almost overdose thing?” Tweek whispers, Thad looks like he is about to snap his neck. “Easy…” Thomas tells his bodyguard with surprising tenderness. “I’m out of rehab now, but they still wanna make a circus out of it.”
Tweek realizes he was rude and starts stuttering in panic. “I’m I’M, SO, SO sorry…”
But Thomas just smiles. “Don’t worry, I’m doing good now.” He says, turning around to look at Thad. “I have a very good guardian angel…”
However, Tweek is still eager to apologize and keep talking to his idol. “STAY FOR DINNER!” He says, like Christophe and him actually have something to host a nice dinner and are not two… well, whatever they are.
Christophe lets out a snort. “Pizza and candle light?”
“Fancy.” Thad replies, making Thomas laugh a bit.
“And I loved that album because I just, It tells such a perfect story about a commoner but it’s like, modern and old-timey because of the analogies and the beat it’s just so! UUUUHHH!! Tweek rants happily, kicking his feets a bit, fanboying hard.
Thomas smiles at all this. He seems happy to find someone that understands his art. They have long ago finished their dinner and he has an idea. “Wanna hear something I’ve been working on?”
“WOULD I!?” Tweek yells, clapping excitedly as he sits in front of the sofa to watch Thomas play Thad’s old guitar. He flashes a smile at Christophe who, entertained by his antics, gives him a thumbs up.
The musician starts strumming the guitar and it’s softer than all his previous works.
Hey yo yo yo yo yo
I need an empire to overthrow
You make me wish for a more dangerous life
So I can show you 'bout self sacrifice
Thomas' voice is sweet and the melody is mellow and peaceful, his words, however, resonate with Tweek who hugs his own knees, biting himself not to look at Christophe.
Say yes yes yes yes yes
Say no no no to a natural death
I'd rather give my life to a godless man
Than have to line up at the bank again
Thad starts playing an harmonica to complement the song and Tweek can’t wrap his head around how Thomas can understand so perfectly what his mind has been yelling all this time.
Oh you you you you you
If you only knew the lengths I'd go to
You’d pack away all your ballpoint pens
and take a plane back to the Pyrénées
Tweek wants to jump out of his own skin and kiss Thomas in the mouth to return his brain back to his body. There is a reason he was his favorite musician and it’s because this man understood him.
“Are you crying?” Thomas asks, as Tweek bawls.
“ I love h- this song…”
“He seems pretty.” Christophe says, poking the washed and restored giraffe on the desk, next to his computer. Tweek smiles looking at the plushie. “Thanks! I patched him up and washed him, he is all fancy now.”
Christophe laughs a little. “ le petit prince. ” He then looks at Tweek. “Actually, you look a lot like him.”
Tweek grins wide, still typing. “Really? You like princes?” He asks, trying to flirt.
“Oh, I hate the monarchy.” Christophe replies, missing the point and making Tweek huff.
“That looks raw.” Tweek says, observing the red steak being stabbed by a fork. “I like it like this.” Christophe replies, visibly enjoying his dinner.
Tweek goes back to his own dish, a cucumber, tomato and mint salad. “I really like this too…” Christophe compliments him, pointing at the veggies in his own dish.
“It’s an Armenian salad.” Tweek proudly explains. “I use a lot of lemon and sumac.”
“I think you need something more filling.” Christophe points out. “That’s why I opened my chickpeas!” Tweek says, eating them from the can. Christophe snorts and Tweek is happy that he made him laugh again.
Tweek finishes chewing and dares to ask for something. “Can I have a sip of your wine?”
“You are not 21, tournesol… ” Christophe smirks, drinking from his glass.
Eyeroll. “I’m 18, that’s when most of the world gets to drink!” Tweek hisses. “You don’t do anything to m…” Tweek changes the sentence, realizing what he was about to say. “You don’t let me drink, you don’t let me help you, stop BABYING ME!”
Christophe stares at him.
He gets up from his chair and uncomfortably close. He is dead serious.
“You really wanna work avec moi? ”
Tweek dry swallows but holds his gaze. “Oui.” He says, taunting him a bit like the brat he is.
Christophe turns, he doesn’t reply immediately, but he grabs the kettle boiling over the stove for his night coffee and brings it to the table.
“You’ll have to make some sacrifices, tournesol .” He says, while placing the kettle in front of him.
Tweek knows what he means, and he is not backing down.
While holding his gaze, he grabs the kettle with his bare hands, pressing his fingers in the burning steel.
He lets out a scream of agony and starts sobbing in pain, but Christophe kisses his hair proudly while caressing him in a soothing manner.
“You are so brave, my tournesol. ”
“Feeling better?” Christophe asks, mixing the soup on the plate and feeding Tweek in the mouth, since he is pouting with both hands bandaged. “Well, I kinda have one less worry now so, yeah…” Tweek shrugs, maybe a bit sedated by the painkillers. “And you are spoiling me…”
Christophe snorts. “This is just potage crecy, you’ll know when I’m spoiling you, tournesol .” He ads with a wink.
Tweek can’t help but smile like a fool.
“10 minutes .” Christophe says, stopping his chronometer. “Impressive for an assembly.” He takes a drag from his cigarette. “Especially a sniper rifle.”
“I’m doing what I can, MAN!” Tweek barks, giving the gun the final touches, thinking his friend is being sarcastic. Christophe raises his eyebrow. “Someone’s énervé” He takes a drag from his cigarette. “It was a compliment , you are faster than a cop.”
Tweek’s attitude changes immediately, smiling proudly showing him the gun. “I’ve been practicing…”
Christophe takes the gun between his hands and calibrates it in front of the window, checking something with the scope.
Tweek waits patiently for the man to speak again, maybe praise him some more, instead the guy keeps checking the gun. “You seem pent up…”
“Wonder why…” Tweek huffs, staring at Christophe’s big defined arms and smelling the smell of coffee and cigarettes in the air. It should be disgusting, but he can’t help but want to rub his entire being in it, run his hands all under tha-
“Venez ici.” Christophe demands and Tweek obeys, dragging his feets and pouting because this isn’t gonna end with him on his knees. “That guy.”
Tweek checks the scope. “He looks like Butters’ dad.” Christophe makes a confused grimace as he removes the cigarette from his mouth and circles his hand in the air. “The fuck ces’t un Butters?”
Tweek shrugs before pulling the trigger.
The man is suddenly covered by the splash of red. “MY NEW SHIRT!! WHO WAS THIS!?” He yells, checking the paint in his chest. “WHEREVER YOU ARE, YOU ARE GROUNDED!”
“You aced this, tournesol …” Christophe snorts and pats Tweek’s back proudly. “You are gonna be ready for a real one in no time.”
Tweek is grinning wide, bathing in the waters of Christophe praises and pride. He is lost in his words and that smile he never gets to see. “Do I get a prize?” He asks, feigning innocence.
“What do you want?” Christophe asks, still smiling as he lights his cigarette. “More chickpeas ?”
Tweek bites his lips, enjoying the sight. “I wanna sleep with you…”
Christophe opens his eyes wide and stares at the horizon letting his match consume between his fingers.
“ No. ”
He says, after snapping out of it.
Tweek could probably murder him. “WHY NOT, MAN!? WHAT GIVES!?” He yells, banging his hand into his own palm, demanding explanations.
“Just… no .”
Christophe avoids looking at him and walks to the door to put on his jacket. “Got a job tonight, lock the door.”
Tweek pouts crossing his arms and kicking the floor. Christophe tries to fix his mood before leaving. “I’ll use your blueprints .”
“Wish you’d use me .” Tweek snarks back, rolling his eyes. But Christophe leaves anyway, leaving him embarrassed and angry.
It’s 4 AM and Tweek feels the weight of a body sitting on his bed. “ Tournesol .” Christophe softly wakes him up, but his voice is a bit shaky, like he is in pain. Tweek bites his lips, dreaming that he has decided to wake him up because the pain of not having him is weighing on him too.
“Yes?” Tweek asks with the alluring tone of someone who has been dreaming erotically until now. Christophe takes off his shirt in a way he has been picturing all night.
“You know how to suture ?”
“WHAT!?” Tweek jumps to sit on his bed in panic. “NO!!”
Christophe just shrugs and gives him a needle with thread and a bottle of alcohol. “Well, tonight you learn.”
He shows him his back and Tweek is faced with a long gash over his right shoulder. “I CAN’T D-”
“Yes you can, tournesol. ” Christophe interrupts him. “First pour the alcohol and then you thread, like I'm the petite girafe .”
Tweek grunts biting his lips and mumbling under his breath “Unnngg, this is way too much pressure…”. He repeats the phrase way too many times as he performs the sewing, being as careful as he can, with shaky hands and flinching everytime Christophe makes a sound, but doing it nevertheless.
“OH MY GOD, I DID IT!” He yells, pouring some more alcohol over the wound and patching him up.
“I knew you could do it, tournesol .” Christophe says, smiling proudly before being pulled into the bed. “What are you doing?”
Tweek hugs him some more, covering him with the blanket. “You sleep here tonight.” He says, matter of factly.
Christophe sighs, too tired and in too much pain to argue. He grabs Tweek by his hips and sleeps cuddled to him like two spoons. He kisses his hair before falling asleep.
Tweek also sleeps like a baby that night.
“How do you make this crap do anything?” Christophe asks, frustrated with the computer. Tweek snorts and goes to sit on his lap. “What are you trying to do, grandpa?”
“I’m just 3 years older than tou …” Christophe points out. “And why are you on my lap, git.”
Tweek ignores him. “Because I like it and because I'm your guy in the chair.” He replies with a smug tone, trying to look as natural as possible as he arches his back to give Christophe a good idea of how he’d look bouncing on his lap.
And it works, because Christophe falls easily into the fantasy. He stares and lets his hand linger on Tweek’s hip. He starts making scenarios in his head, Tweek looking at him as he slowly rides him, lips parted, sweet so-FUCK
His dick twitches with interest and Tweek turns around with wide eyes. “Just find me those guys!” He yells, getting up and leaving him a scribbled list.
“I could distract them…” Tweek suggests, looking at the guards in front of a door. “Distract them how?” Christophe asks through gritted teeth.
Tweek takes a deep breath focusing. “I’m a great actor.” He says. Christophe doesn’t look convinced. “Ok, fine, I'm cute.” Tweek points out, making Christophe bite into his cigarette and blow smoke on his face.
“Look, you wanna kill this guy or not?” Tweek hisses. “This is a brothel. A tired twink passing out wouldn’t look weird so chop chop!”
Tweek gives him the stuff he is carrying and rips his already battered white tank top some more before walking to the guards.
And Christophe knows what he has to do, he has to be a shadow. He has to break into the owner’s office, make it look like it was a suicide and get out. The place is way too dangerous for bullets and knives.
However…
Tweek is pulling his best acting and being a prime assistant, too bad said acting is looking helpless and making the guards drool. He clings to the guy’s chest and cries about being too weak to continue, he is secretly taking his gun. But the other guy is sniffing his hair and caressing his arm.
Christophe’s guts are twisting,but he is determined to finish the job. All he has to do is ignore Tweek being touched and groped and
“C’mon cutie, gimme a kiss before you drop on your knees…”
Suddenly Tweek’s face gets covered in blood.
Christophe has shot the guy in front of him.
The second guard looks pale, he is also covered in blood and his first instinct is to punch Tweek in the face.
Tweek shoots him with the gun instead.
“I KNEW YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE COME!” Christophe yells, closing the door behind them and carrying a bleeding Tweek by the arm. “ la putain de mon mèr! ” He mumbles, among other insults, sitting Tweek in a chair and looking for the first aid kit.
“Relax…” Tweek says, with blood dripping from his nose. He is having a blast not being the anxious, nervous mess this time.
Christophe grabs him by the face, inspecting him. “Is it broken?”
But Tweek smirks, taking the chance to throw his arms around his neck and steal a kiss from him. Christophe moans into the kiss, holding him, clawing into his skin, kissing him back with desperation.
He suddenly stops.
“NO!” He yells, using all his self restraint to try to push Tweek away.
“Why!?” Tweek barks, getting up and throwing his arms in the air. He points at him. “I have seen how you look at me!” Christophe ignores him. “You shot up a whole place today because you got jealous!” He yells again.
“You don’t know what you are getting into…” Christophe insists, avoiding looking him into his eyes.
“I DON’T HAVE A NAME OR FINGERPRINTS, MAN , I THINK WE ARE PAST THAT!”
Christophe rushes to cover Tweek’s mouth with his hand and traps him against the wall. “You have no idea the door you are opening, tournesol… ” Christophe warns him. “You won’t be able to get rid of me…”
Tweek moans.
Christophe wants to kill him some more. “You don’t get it! I’ll become a bête , a beast!” He says. His hands are shaking. Tweek moans again, purring with each word and throwing his arms around his neck.
“You are so beautiful, I don’t wanna hurt you…” Christophe insists. He is no longer firmly grabbing Tweek, he let his grip weaken and the blond finds the chance to attack, sucking onto the fingers that were muffling him seconds ago.
Christophe lets out a pleased grunt and tries to remember why he is refusing. “You’ll have to be only mine…” He says, letting go of everything and grabbing Tweek by the back of his hair to plant a desperate kiss on him.
Tweek clings onto him, kissing back with want and longing and trying to convey everything he has felt those months as his mentee. “I wanna be yours…” He points out, biting Christophe’s lower lip. “Only yours.”
“Très bien.” Christophe says, dropping him on the floor and placing a hand over his head. The other one is busy opening his fly. Tweek buries his hand in his crotch, desperate to suck him off, but Christophe pulls his hair, keeping him in place.
This doesn’t play like Tweek thought it would. He was worried he was going to suck, pun intended, giving oral the first time, that’s why he has tried some tricks he has found on the internet. However he is not impressing Christophe with anything, the mercenary hasn’t even given him a second of teasing before shoving his dick in his mouth and using him like a gagless warm hole.
He is making pleased sounds and taking everything he wants. Tweek loves it. He has opened his jeans and started rubbing himself, enjoying, no, adoring the feeling of his drool and spit dropping on top of his dick. He is moaning, pleasuring himself with Christophe’s seconds and he loves it.
Christophe keeps going and Tweek has to slow down because he wants to finish with him, he is already trembling with his dick in his mouth, he doesn’t need to look even more pathetic cumming too early.
But Christophe doesn’t have those worries. He is taking and taking without any care in the world, as if he has been waiting for this for way too much time.
He pulls Tweek’s hair firmly. The blond doesn’t want to let go, still sucking around him like he needs him.
“Open.” He demands, and Tweek’s lips part with a bratty moan. He stares at him wanting with his tongue sticking out and pleading eyes. Christophe only has to stroke himself three times before cuming all over Tweek’s mouth.
And Tweek wants to swallow and enjoy his taste as he reaches his own orgasm. But Christophe doesn’t allow him. He pulls his hair once more and as in slow motion, he spits over Tweek’s tongue making it overflow.
That’s when Tweek comes untouched. He swallows with a moan and has to hold on Christophe’s legs not to fall forward. He shakes for a few seconds, riding his orgasm and panting.
After a while, he dares to look up, staring at Christophe with big eyes.
“Get up, there is more.”
“That's enough fingers!” Tweek pouts. “Fuck me!”
He is on his knees with his head pushed into the pillow because he refuses to stop being a brat. Christophe lets out a small laugh. “You think one finger is suffit ?”
“Yes!” Tweek complains, but he changes his mind as soon as Christophe shoves another finger inside him. He curls up his toes and bites the pillow. “Have to take care of you, tournesol…” Christophe smirks. “After all… c'est ta première fois ”
“I can HEAR how smug you are…” Tweek snorts, earning a facefull of pillow again. However, Christophe is kissing his hair, his nape and his back, of course he is forgetting all pain, of course all this tenderness is making him melt, of course he wants to be drilled in this exact same second.
Christophe shoves the tip of his tongue inside his mouth to try to make him forget about the tip of his dick pushing at his insides. He yells and he moans. He is in pain and pleasure, he is still and he is shaking, Christophe looks worried but he can only communicate through screams what his foggy horny brain is trying to articulate.
“OH GOD!” Tweek yells, panting, licking his lips and painting again, still trying to get used to the sensation. “You are HUGE, MAN!”
“Don’t call me “man”…” Christophe mutters, trying to hide how happy and proud he is at the moment. “ Tu es tout petit, tournesol… ” He caresses Tweek’s back trying to soothe him, and tries to get him to calm down before continuing, but it’s Tweek who starts moving against him.
“ TOURNESOL! ”
Christophe slaps his hips to grab him, stop him and try to get the control back, but Tweek seems to be determined to fuck himself into him, he is trying his hardest to move. “Don't you wanna…” Christophe says, trying to be coherent, but Tweek’s tightness and tiny begging whimpers would melt any man. “What’s the matter? Thought I was gonna be yours…” He pouts.
That’s the last drop, well, not exactly, but it is the last straw for Christophe’s self restriction. He grabs onto Tweek’s hip with one hand and onto his hair with the other. Tweek wants war? Well, he was a mercenary after all…
He starts pounding with reckless abandon.
The thing’s he’d do for a mirror right now, to see Tweek’s eyes contorted with pleasure, to see him biting his lips in regret of his brattish ways to see…. hold on. He can look at Tweek’s face.
He pulls from his hair, making him face the side as he continues his drilling. “Don’t cover your face!” He orders, throwing the pillow away just because Tweek was about to hide.
Tweek sticks out his tongue in defiance, but Christophe lifts his hips changing the angle of his stabs and suddenly the brat is shaking and forgetting his name again.
“Ah…” Christophe smirks, going slow suddenly. “Your hole doesn’t want to let me go…”
Tweek bites his lips, almost purring. “Because it’s yours…”
Christophe is pushed over the edge, as much as he enjoys watching Tweek’s pink little hole struggle to let him go, he wants to kiss and ruin his brat some more. So he lifts him and sits him on his lap. “GOD FUckiiin….” Tweek yells, after being filled to the brim again, shaking and unable to keep up.
“I warned you, tournesol…” Christophe says, kissing his cheek repeatedly, as he holds Tweek’s face with one hand and his body with his left arm. Tweek just sticks his tongue out at him again.
Christophe starts making pressure with the hand he has over his neck, as he shushes him.
Tweek starts feeling pleasantly light headed, Christophe’s strokes get slower and rowdier, he wants to melt inside his bones.
The lightheadedness, the smell of coffee it used to be a constant nightmare, now? He orgasms to the beat of both sensations.
Both things are now resignified in his love for the mercenary that saved his life.
“How are you feeling?” Christophe asks, after a while, kissing his hair and pampering him with caresses. Tweek snickers, throwing himself at his arms and kissing him. “I’ve never been better mon taupe .”
Christophe snorts. “Sounds stupid in french…”
“So is “Sunflower”” Tweek points out, rubbing his noses together.
Christophe kisses him.
“Too bad, you are mon tournesol .”