"Stop looking at me," he snapped, "look in the mirror." Still, he indulged him by giving a ravenous look at his ass followed by a slap to it. "Look at that pretty face."
Babet snarled, “Maybe I’ll go fuck your little whore too. He spreads his legs easy enough. “
"Do it. You’d be the first of us. I hope you find him better than you find me." And with that, Claquesous pushed him out of his office and shut the door behind him.
"Why won’t you take me? I thought you liked taking me along, teaching me new tricks" Jehan pouted, wiping his eyes on the other’s shirt
"I do," sighed the thief, letting his hand come up the back of Jehan’s shirt so he could touch his back, "but not this kind of trick. You wouldn’t like it. It’d make your stomach turn."
"B-But Sous.." his voice trembled as he gently curled his fist in the other’s shirt. "I just want to be with you" Prouvaire, though usually assumed innocent, was a master of manipulation; better than Montparnasse even.
Claquesous sighed. This was something he was well used to by that point, something that he could withstand now that he had been with Prouvaire for over a year. “You’re with me now, and you’ll be with me when my mission is over.”
Babet growled at him, “Tell me the truth or I’ll start taking teeth—”
Claquesous advanced upon him, as quickly as he had stormed towards Montparnasse but with different intentions. “I said get out,” he spat.
"Please?" he asked softly, trying the big watery eyes that Claquesous so rarely refused. "I want to be a part of your life like you are of mine"
He could feel the dampness on his neck long before he heard Jehan sniffle. “No,” he pressed. The killer wasn’t willing to offer the details of the mission; he was set on keeping him as ignorant as possible so as to protect him.
"Sous please, I’ve been so lonely…you’ve been gone so much lately" he bit his lip, pressing his body against Sous’s. "If you can’t stay then… let me come with you"
Claquesous lay still. “You know I can’t do that, chaton,” he murmured to him. It was too dangerous — the job he would have the next night would be one of his most difficult yet, and he couldn’t put Jehan at that kind of risk.
"Stay with me for the weekend? Please? You can help me out at the shop, we can close early, sleep in late…it’ll be nice" He bit his lip, knowing what the answer would be
Claquesous knew for a fact that Jean Prouvaire already knew the answer to that question, so he quietly sighed and let his eyes fall closed, not bothering to speak.
Jehan sighed softly, nuzzling his face into the man’s neck. “Have you any idea how much I love you?” It wasn’t a question that was meant to be answered, simply rhetorical.
He tightened his grip around him and smiled into his hair. “No,” said he, “I don’t think I do.” The killer took a deep breath in through his nose, taking in the scent of his poet — soft and delicate and distinctly human, distinctly Prouvaire.
"Liar—" he growled, "He’s the only other one with a key to this office. Just tell me the truth."
Claquesous threw the underwear back at him. “I’m not lying to you,” he spat, “and I’m disgusted that you would accuse me of stooping to the level of sleeping with that slut. Get out of my office.”