Christophe was still tucked around me when I awoke the next morning, his face pressed against my shoulder, and an arm and leg thrown over me. I never would have taken him for a cuddler, but I found it very endearing, and sighed happily in his embrace.
"You guys are just adorable," a voice said from the other side of the room.
I sat up a little, startled, but relaxed when I realized who it was.
"Kenny," I said, and then jolted upright when I realized both Christophe and I were stark naked, "Oh! Kenny!"
I pulled the blankets over myself, blushing. Kenny just laughed, and pulled himself out of bed.
"Nothing I haven't seen before," he said, grinning at me, "Did you guys have a good time last night?"
"Um. When did you get home?" I asked, completely avoiding his question, "I didn't hear you at all."
"I dunno," he said vaguely, "Some time after you fell asleep, I guess. You must have been too tuckered out to hear me come in, huh? Wonder why."
"We get it, Kenny," Christophe grumbled, rolling over on his back, "You know we had sex. You caught us. Now shut up."
Kenny just grinned at us, and stretched.
"Bebe was looking for you, by the way," I said, "She seemed rather upset."
"Oh. Yeah, I guess she would be. Guess I should go over there," he said, pulling his trousers on.
"What happened, anyway? She said you ran after some kid and then she couldn't find you."
"Oh yeah, um. Well, the bombing sounded like it was over, so I decided to head home. I was caught on the street when it started back up again, so I hid in some stranger's basement," he explained, but he looked shifty. "Anyway," he said, buttoning up his shirt, "I guess I'd better go see Bebe before she freaks out too much."
I looked at Christophe as he left, who'd been watching Kenny very intently as he spoke. He shrugged as he noticed me watching him, and pulled me in for a kiss.
"Do you get the feeling he's hiding something from us?" I asked after I pulled away.
"Definitely."
I wondered what it could be.
I'd spent most of the day going through information that Ike had sent over, trying to figure out the German troop movements so I could send the information off to my higher-ups. I'd taken a break from time to time to chat with Stan, or get an opinion on my analysis from Kyle, but mostly I was left alone to concentrate on my work.
Christophe had been outside all day, first repairing the walls, and then helping clear the street, and he came in around supper time, followed by Kenny.
"Wendy sent a letter," he said, handing me a piece of paper.
I opened the letter, ignoring the annoyed look upon his face.
"Dear boys," it started, "I have taken care of our problem myself. The man who was a threat to you has been disposed of, and I have burned all the notes he took on your activities. To my knowledge all evidence against you has been destroyed. There is a small chance he might have shared his suspicions with others, but it is unlikely as he was the type of man who preferred to plot alone. That said, you should be very careful from here on out. The situation will only get worse as the Allied invasion gains strength. I, myself, am fleeing with a very old friend of mine, but I can't say who he is or where we're going, for safety's sake. I'm very sorry to be abandoning you, but my actions tonight ensured that I am no longer safe in Rouen. I am hoping we can be of use to the invasion force in another area. Please know that I hold you all in the highest regard, and I wish you the best of luck. I'll miss you all. Sincerely, W-"
I looked up at Christophe as I finished, and he was watching me carefully.
"Well," I said, "I'm glad she's safe, and that she's apparently resolved our situation, but I'm very sorry she's gone."
Christophe scowled at me. "Why is that?" he asked.
"Why, I liked her, Christophe! She's very intelligent, isn't she?"
"And beautiful?" he snapped at me.
"Well yes, not that it matters to me," I said.
It was then that I realized that Kenny, Kyle, and Stan were all watching our conversation with great interest. I wasn't sure what Christophe was on about, but I really didn't want to quarrel in front of the others.
-Yaahoooo-
"Would you like to speak about this in private, perhaps?" I asked him, folding my arms across my chest.
He glanced around, realizing we had an audience.
"No," he said petulantly, pulling the letter out of my grasp and staring at it, "I think we all need to have a discussion about what Wendy said though, tonight or tomorrow if we can. As a group, I mean. We all need to decide together where we go from here. If working in Rouen is too dangerous, we might have to go live in the countryside to continue the resistance. I don't know what I'd do with Stan and Kyle, though."
"Hm... Yes, that is something to take into consideration," I said, glancing at them. They were still watching us, but didn't seem bothered that we were essentially discussing their fates.
"Who do you suppose Wendy ran off with?" I wondered aloud.
"That doctor she sent over the other day, I think," Christophe said, "Ike said he was with her when she gave him the letter."
"Hmm? The former lover of an SS officer runs off with an attractive black man? How delightfully scandalous," I mused, staring off into space. He'd been an interesting fellow, and I could definitely see them making a good pair.
"What did that letter you got yesterday say?" Christophe asked, drawing my attention back to him.
"What letter?"
"The one Ike gave you, stupid."
"Oh hell," I said, "I completely forgot about that!"
I got up to retrieve the letter from my other pair of trousers, and Christophe followed me into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
"Did you sleep with her? Wendy?" he asked me, quietly, as I pulled the trousers from the edge of the bed.
"What?!" I exclaimed, turning to face him, amazed that he would even suggest such a thing.
"You liked her, Gregory, you said so yourself. Did you sleep with her?"
"You are the most ridiculous person I have ever met, you know that?" I asked, momentarily forgetting about the letter, "First off, did you not have your dick in my arse last night? That should give you some kind of indication as to the sort of things I'm into. For your information, I have never been with a woman, and I've never wanted to. Second, when and where do you think I would have found the time to sleep with her, anyway? Any time I don't spend with you is usually spent with either Kenny or Kyle, so I think someone might notice if I was sneaking off to go have some kind of affair, don't you? And furthermore, I'm not sure it's any of your business who I do or don't sleep with. This isn't exactly a proper relationship, is it?"
"What do you mean?"
"We've had sex twice, Christophe. Does that make us something? I can't even tell if you like me half the time, so. Unless you explicitly tell me this is an exclusive thing, I am not obligated to you in any way, am I? As such I think I have the right to sleep with whomever I want, and I don't owe you any kind of an explanation."
He watched me for a moment, looking vaguely upset, and then moved toward me slowly. He pulled me against him, kissing me softly.
"I don't want you sleeping with other people," he said after he pulled away, not meeting my eyes.
"Ok?"
"I want this to be a proper relationship," he said, quietly.
"Alright," I said, breathlessly.
"And if I don't seem like I like you, that's only because that is my personality. I am angry, and impatient, and jealous. That is something that will never change. But I do like you, Gregory."
Though I'd consider myself eloquent in most circumstances, I couldn't think of a single thing to say to that, so I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him hard, enjoying the look on his face as I pulled back.
"What about when I go home? At some point, assuming I don't get killed here, I'll be going back to England," I said.
He stared at me thoughtfully for a moment, and then kissed me again.
"We'll worry about that when the time comes," he said, "...If it comes."
He pulled away from me, and gestured to the trousers I still had gripped in my hands.
"The letter?" he asked.
"Oh, right," I said, fishing it out of the pocket and scanning through it.
The letter turned out to be from Craig. It said that our orders, in addition to continuing to gather information, were to attack the enemy at every available opportunity, using any means necessary to impede their movements toward the coast. Our higher-ups were holding us accountable for what was going on in Rouen, and there would be "Hell to pay" if they felt our actions were ineffectual. The letter was written in Craig's usual dull manner, and I could almost hear his monotone voice in my head as I read it to myself.
"What is it?" Christophe asked.
Instead of answering him, I handed him the letter, watching as he read it himself. He sighed heavily and shook his head.
"I suppose we should discuss this at the meeting as well," I said.
He nodded at me, and left the room without a word.
We managed to gather everyone together in the flat that night. The numbers of Christophe's group had dwindled significantly, as the bombings and deaths during missions had taken its toll on his members. Still, cramming six extra people into the flat was no easy task, even though Stan and Kyle were out of the way, hidden in their room. Bebe had come, and so had a young man named Kevin with whom I'd worked before, and the skittish blonde boy I'd seen in the bar, whose nickname, I learned, was Beurre. I didn't know the others well enough to know their names.
Everyone was taking a great risk by being there. Walking through the streets at night was dangerous enough on a normal night, but with the Allied invasion there were even more German soldiers streaming through Rouen, and they were all on edge.
We all gathered in the main room, around the table and on the sofa, but Christophe didn't sit. He paced back and forth by the kitchen, deep in thought. Finally he turned to us, placing his hands on the table and staring at them.
-Yaahoooo-
"Well. What do you guys want to do?" he asked.
I sighed at how vague his question was, and stood up.
"Here's the thing," I said, "Our work is more dangerous than ever. More soldiers being in the area means more danger for us in any actions we take. However, this is what we've been waiting for. The Allies have landed, and we must do anything we can to assist them, no matter how big or small. I've had my orders from England, and they are to continue on as best I can, and attack the Bosche at every turn. Obviously I can't hold anyone else to that, but I feel it would be a cop out for anyone to pull out at this point."
"Hear, hear," Ike called out.
"I agree," said Christophe, glaring at me, presumably for taking over his meeting, "But I'm not going to force anyone to do something they don't want to. So if anyone wants out, you need to tell me, now."
He looked around the room, but everyone just stared at him in silence.
"Good," he said, after a moment, "But we need to discuss what may happen in the future. It may become unsafe, or inconvenient for us to work with this as a base for much longer. That is, assuming the building doesn't get bombed."
"So what do you propose?" Bebe asked, from her place on the sofa, next to Kenny.
"We may have to live in the country," he answered.
Bebe made a displeased sound at this announcement.
"Do you have another suggestion?" I asked.
"No, I just... where would we be staying?"
"I know a few farmers who would be glad to let some of us stay with them. If we didn't have enough places for everyone, the rest of us would have to live in the woods."
Bebe scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well I would not be staying in the woods," she said.
"I assumed as much," Christophe said, impatiently, "But other than not being in four-star accommodations, does anyone have any objections to this?"
"What would we do out there?" Kenny asked.
"Guerrilla warfare," Christophe said, "We would attack troops moving through, and slow them down by any means possible. I mean, what we're really trying to do is keep them away from the front... or delay them, at least. This is all a worst-case scenario, though. I intend to stay in Rouen as long as possible."
"The issue, of course, is that without the bar as a front, we'd have a much more difficult time gathering intelligence, which of course is a large part of our job here. But we wouldn't exactly be useless in a more soldierly capacity," I said.
Kenny opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a loud crashing sound downstairs. It sounded as though someone had thrown something very heavy through the bar windows. Christophe's eyes went wide, and he moved swiftly toward the closet, walking carefully so he would make as little noise as possible.
He called me over, and we crept into the secret room, where Stan and Kyle were laying on the bed, embracing. They were both nearly nude, although a great deal of Stan's body was still covered in bandages, and they jumped apart as we entered the room, staring at us with wide eyes. It was clear we had interrupted something intimate.
"Sorry," Christophe said, reaching over their heads for the guns stacked on the shelf.
"What's happening?" Kyle asked breathlessly, blushing furiously as he pulled away from Stan.
"We have visitors," Christophe answered, handing me some of the rifles. "Make sure everyone is armed," he said to me.
I rushed out of the room, and handed a gun to each person as I passed them. No one had moved since the initial crashing sound, and they all stared at me, frozen in place. The noises from downstairs were growing louder, and it sounded as if there were many soldiers down there.
"What do you think is happening?" Ike whispered Christophe as he emerged from the closet and rushed to the door to make sure it was locked.
"Someone get the lights," he said, "I think it's just soldiers looking for liquor, but we can't be too safe."
We all sat, tense and silent in the darkness, hardly daring to breathe. We could hear the soldiers downstairs, shouting and laughing as they rifled through the bar.
We heard the tell-tale sound of someone walking up the steps in hobnail boots, and Christophe cocked his revolver next to me. The doorknob rattled, and when the man on the other side found it locked he banged upon it. Christophe made no move toward it, just stared at the closed door with an intense look upon his face, crouching by my side. The man at the door banged harder, shouting angrily in German. Panic overwhelmed me, and I was breathing hard at this point, seeing no way to survive this. If he came into the flat, it would be a fight to the death, and with what sounded like an entire unit downstairs, it was clear what the result would be.
Suddenly there was a whistle from outside, and we all sighed in relief as we heard the man move away from the door, stumbling back downstairs toward the other men. Nobody moved for several minutes, until we heard the soldiers outside move down the street, away from the building.
Christophe got up from his place on the floor, and walked over to the table, laying his gun down upon it and running his hand over his face.
"Fuck," he said.
"Should we all leave?" Ike asked.
"No, not until we're sure it's clear," I said.
He tried to hand his gun back over to me, but Christophe stopped him.
"Keep those, all of you. It won't be much good if you run into an entire platoon, but with the streets being the way they are, they might be of use," he said.
We all sat together for a while, stone-faced and silent, until Christophe decided it was safe enough for everyone to sneak out. They left one by one, until only Ike was left.
"What about my brother? And Stan?" he asked.
"What about them?" Christophe responded.
"Well if you leave to live in the country, what do we do with them? I suppose Kyle could join us, since we'd be losing our front as barkeepers, and as Maquis we'd receive the same treatment that Jews do, but I don't think Stan is in any shape to be living out there."
"It depends, really," Christophe said, "Stan is recovering very quickly, but we could probably find him a place in one of the farmhouses to stay in. And Kyle... well I think he'd probably rather stay with Stan, instead of living in the woods."
"Oh, yeah," Ike said, pulling a face, "I guess they're... together."
"You knew?" I asked, surprised.
"Oh yeah, Kyle tells me everything. He's pretty much in love with him."
"And... is that ok with you?" I asked, cautiously.
"Sure, what do I care? Stan makes him happy. I'm just tired of hearing how great he is," he said, rolling his eyes, "But Kyle's had lovers in the past, so I've known for a long time that he prefers men. That's part of why I trusted Christophe to keep him safe, cause I knew they had that in common."
I raised my eyebrows, and looked at Christophe. He just shrugged at me, and said nothing.
"Do you think we'll really have to abandon the bar?" Ike asked him.
"I hope not, but until we inspect the damage there's no way of knowing. I'd hate to abandon it, but I also don't want to stay in Rouen if we can't do any resistance work here without putting ourselves in unnecessary danger. I'm just putting it out there as a possibility."
Ike nodded at this, looking pensive.
"Well, I'm going to go say goodbye to my brother," he said, walking toward the closet.
"Should we go inspect the downstairs?" I asked Christophe, once Ike was out of earshot.
He shook his head. "I don't think it's safe tonight. We'll go down in the morning and see. I don't imagine much is left though," he said, looking miserable.
"You love your bar, don't you?" I asked, stepping close to him and running my hand over his cheek.
He nodded, and leaned into my touch.
"Poor Christophe," I said, "Is there any way I could make you feel better?"
"I'm sure you could think of something," he said, leaning forward to kiss me. We were interrupted before our lips could meet.
"Oh, Christ, not you guys, too!" Ike exclaimed, as he came back into the room, "I have to put up with Kyle getting all moony over Stan, and now this?"
Christophe practically pushed me away, grumbling and walking toward the bedroom.
"Lock the door behind you when you leave, will you?" he called.
"Heh, sure," Ike said, grinning, "I'm leaving now. Back to my cold, lonely bed, all by myself. Have fun tonight." He winked at me, heading toward the door.
I watched him as he left, and then followed Christophe into the bedroom, collapsing onto the bed next to him with a sigh.
The following morning we went downstairs to see what the damage was. Christophe was grumbling angrily to himself as we inspected the bar. The windows in the front had all been smashed, and it looked as though a tornado had gone through the building. Tables were overturned, and nearly all the dishes in the place were broken, and scattered across the floor. The soldiers seemed to have stolen all the alcohol behind the counter, and the cellar had been looted as well, although there were still some bottles of wine left in the rack.
"Idiots didn't even know what they were taking," Christophe said, inspecting what was left over, "They left most of my best wines."
"That's hardly surprising," I said, peering at the bottle in his hands, "I'd hardly consider the average German soldier to have good taste."
"Eh, some of them do," he said, "I guess I just got lucky."
He pulled a box over, and filled it with the remaining bottles.
"We'll keep these safe upstairs... we'll drink them ourselves if all else fails. We will need some comfort if we are living in the woods," he said.
"And the barrel of beer?" I asked, pointing to the only one that hadn't been smashed by the soldiers.
"Not much we can do about it. I don't even like beer much."
"Me neither," I said, smiling at him.
I helped him carry the box up to the flat, setting it down in the kitchen.
"This will have to do for now," he said, sighing.
He stood and stared at me for a moment, intensely enough to make me wonder exactly what was on his mind. He tore his eyes away before I could ask.
"I was thinking of having a bath," I said, stroking his arm.
Just then someone knocked urgently upon the back door of the flat.
"Go ahead," Christophe said, "I will attend to that, and then join you, perhaps."
I made my way into the bathroom, only vaguely interested in who the person at the door might be. I was tired and tense, and felt a good, long soak would do me well. I turned on the tap and removed my clothing, and loitering near the tub until it was nearly full, and then stepping in, sighing with satisfaction as I eased back into the warm water.
It wasn't until I turned off the tap that I noticed an odd keening sound, coming from the other side of the flat. I sat up in the water, listening closely for a moment, until I realized it was the sound of someone crying hysterically. My heart raced, but before I could get up to see what the ruckus was, the bathroom door opened, and Christophe stepped in, shutting us in together. He looked absolutely devastated, and I reached toward him with a dripping hand.
"What's happened? What's wrong?" I asked, thoroughly upset by how shaken he appeared.
"Ike's dead," he said dully, looking in my direction with unfocused eyes.
"Oh, dear God," I gasped, feeling tears well up in my eyes, "Poor Kyle."
Though I had never known Ike very well, I knew how much he meant to Kyle, and that poor boy had lost everyone else he had ever loved. Even though we all knew death was a possibility, perhaps even a probability in resistance work, it certainly wasn't easy to take sometimes.
"What happened?" I asked, watching Christophe remove his clothing, my arm still extended toward him. I was dripping water all over the floor, but I hardly cared at a time like this.
"He got caught on his way home last night. Someone shot him. One of my friends just came by to tell me," he said, choking up a little.
"Is Kyle alright?" I asked as he climbed into the tub with me.
He curled up against me, laying his head on my shoulder and burying his face in my neck. I ran my hands up his back, feeling the tension in his shoulders.
"Stan is taking care of him. I wanted to stay and help, but he asked me to leave."
"And are you alright?" I asked, stroking his head and neck.
"No," was all he said, as he rubbed his face against my collarbone.
I kissed him and wrapped my arms around him, holding him close against me.
"You're having such a bad day," I said, stroking his hair.
"Not as bad as Kyle," he said, heavily.
He groaned against me, and pulled my hand down to press his lips against my fingers.
"It's war," he said, "This is what happens. People die. Lives are destroyed. This is what we're working against, Gregory."
I nodded, and pressed my cheek to the top of his head.
"I know," I said, "But that doesn't make it any easier."
We ended up going to bed early. Kenny was with Bebe at her place, which was quickly becoming routine, and Stan kept Kyle occupied in their room. We could still hear Kyle crying on and off, and it put Christophe in such a poor mood that he didn't even want to mess around. We just laid in bed together, clinging to each other in our sorrow.
The next few weeks were rough on everyone. Kenny ventured in and out, but was away more often than he was home, occupying himself with Bebe, who we learned was helping run a food kitchen for displaced people in the city. Kyle was so down that he didn't want to speak much to any of us. He stayed in his room, sometimes with Stan, and sometimes alone, wallowing in his misery. I could hardly blame him, but it set the mood for the whole house. For our part, Christophe and I did a few missions together, mostly going out at night, setting bombs on rail lines and roads to delay the Bosche's advance toward the front, but we spent a great deal of time commiserating in our boredom and frustration.
We wanted to do more, of that you can be assured, but Christophe's team had fallen apart at the seams, and most of the men that hadn't been captured or killed in bombings had fled Rouen for one reason or another. Christophe took it very personally, though it was hardly his fault, and between that and losing his bar, he spent a great deal of time in a foul mood. He often sought comfort in my arms when these moods overcame him, but he frequently occupied himself by pacing the flat, sullenly smoking cigarettes, when he could get them.
Meanwhile, the situation in Rouen was growing worse. We'd heard a great deal about the Allied victories within the Normandie region, and they gave us great hope, but it seemed as though it would be some time before Rouen was liberated. In the meantime, we had to deal with swarms of German soldiers, and more Allied bombings, which had nearly destroyed the entire town. Food and other supplies were scarce, and we were barely able to get by, rationing our food carefully, and stumbling around the darkened flat by candlelight on nights when the power went out.
It wasn't until some time in July that we broke out of this funk. The masses of Bosche soldiers that were passing through Rouen were sometimes easier to attack than the smaller groups had ever been. If a unit became isolated for one reason or another, many of the members of the Resistance would swoop in to steal their supplies. This was how we ended up with a tank.
Craig was never the gregarious sort, and I was surprised one morning when he showed up at the flat, grinning smugly at me.
"How would you like a Panther?" he asked me.
"The tank, or the cat?" I asked, although I knew perfectly well what he meant.
"The tank, of course. Another resistance group in the area captured several of them a while ago, and they'd like to know if you guys would like one. I assume you remember how to drive them?"
"Naturally," I answered, "But what would they like us to do with it?"
"Uh, blow shit up?" he said, rolling his eyes, "I don't care if you take it or not, I've just been sent to offer it to you. They're all in pretty bad shape, but they run, at least at the moment, and you'd have the element of surprise with it, since it hasn't been modified in any way. If the Jerries see you they'll just assume you're lost or something, and then? Blam, you shoot artillery at them."
"Yes, of course I'll take it," I said, smiling at the thought, "Will someone deliver it, or shall I get it myself?"
"Oh, someone will bring it over," he answered, "Some time today I guess. You'll need to find a place to hide it, though. I'll go tell them you want it."
Never one for small talk or any kind of pleasantries, he set off immediately, and I decided to awaken Christophe, who was still in bed, exhausted from a late mission we'd had the night before.
On my way to the bedroom I happened to glance at the calendar, and laughed to myself when I saw the date: July 14th. I pushed the bedroom door open, and leaned over Christophe, kissing his cheek and moving down to his chest as he began to stir under me. Things had changed dramatically between us in the last few weeks, and he smiled affectionately at me when he opened his eyes, pulling me up to kiss him on the lips.
"Good morning," I said, pressing myself to him and running my fingers through his hair.
"Mm, yeah, morning," he grumbled at me, gruff as ever.
He wrapped his arms around me, and made me lay still against his chest as wakefulness slowly seeped into his brain.
"Do we have enough food for breakfast this morning?" he asked, stroking my hair.
"Not if you'd like to have lunch, later."
He sighed irritably, but didn't pause his caresses. I was in danger of falling back asleep, my breathing growing deep and relaxed as he touched me.
"I have a surprise for you, though," I said, lifting my head to kiss him.
"A blowjob?" he asked, looking hopeful. I laughed.
"No, not a blowjob. Though I'm sure I could manage that in the meantime. Your surprise might not be here for a while."
He lifted his hips against mine, making it perfectly clear what he wanted from me. I grinned at him, and then slipped under the bedclothes, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the insides of his thighs until he was writhing underneath me.
"Come on, you ass," he said, reaching down to grip my hair.
"It's called foreplay, dear. Pay attention and you might learn something," I said, and then blew gently at the tip of his cock.
"I am the fucking master of foreplay, Gregory, I just don't really need it when my dick already feels like it's going to explode," he said, throwing the blankets off toward the foot of the bed and glaring at me.
I just smirked back, pumping his dick a few times with my hand before taking it into my mouth. He flopped back onto the bed, closing his eyes and sighing in satisfaction. I got into a steady rhythm, and before long I began to hear the helpless little moans he always made when he was about to come. Just as I thought he was about to finish, he gripped my shoulders and pulled me off him.
"I want to fuck you," he said breathlessly, climbing behind me and propping me up on my knees. He made short work of my trousers and shorts, pulling them off just enough to leave me exposed.
"I don't think we have time," I said, though I didn't really try to stop him. I wanted it just as badly as he did.
"We can be quick," he said, but next thing I knew he was spreading my cheeks open, and introducing his tongue into the space within. As much as I loved it, rimming tended to prolong our lovemaking rather than shorten it, because we both got so into it. I let him go at it for a bit, but pushed him away before long, not wanting to be in the middle of sex when his surprise arrived.
"Come on," I said, eagerly. He leaned over me, and bit my shoulder before bending toward his bedside table where he kept the jar of petroleum jelly.
"As you wish," he said, gently pushing his fingers inside of me.
I pushed back against him, and whined for more as he stroked me, but it wasn't long before he pulled his fingers out, apparently deciding I was stretched enough. I didn't mind at all, though the excruciatingly slow speed at which he pushed his cock into me told me I still felt a bit too tight to him. He knew I often enjoyed rough sex, but for some reason he was always meticulously careful with me during this particular part of the act. It made me wonder if he'd had some bad experiences in the past. Lord knows not all of my lovers had been so considerate.
"You're so fucking tight," he moaned against my spine, before pulling out and thrusting back into me, settling into a quick pace.
I moaned and leaned forward against my arms, enjoying the incredibly tight grip he was keeping on my hips. The pain only turned me on more, and I didn't mind in the slightest that I would have hand-shaped bruises there in the coming days.
He leaned over me again, kissing my back as he fucked me in sharp, shallow thrusts. I could tell that, true to his word, he would not last long. He reached around me, and stroked my dick in time with his thrusts, until I was practically melting beneath him, writhing and moaning unabashedly.
He came before I did, momentarily forgetting about my own need for release. His hand remained on my cock as he trembled against my back, gripping me almost painfully until he regained his breath. He then pulled out and flipped me onto my back, licking at me before taking me wholly into his mouth.
"Oh God, yes, Christophe," I moaned, arching and ejaculating into his mouth almost as soon as it was upon me. He took it in stride, easily swallowing every drop, easing me through my orgasm before collapsing onto my thigh. We laid there together for a moment, both trying to regain our breath.
"Well, that was fun," Christophe said, kissing his way up my body.
I laughed, somewhat deliriously, and wrapped my arms around him.
We spent a great deal of the day in bed, lounging and touching each other under the blankets. It wasn't until mid-afternoon that I heard the loud rattle of a tank, rolling down the back alley.
"Get dressed," I said to Christophe, "I think your surprise is here."
We dressed together, and he followed me into the alley, where a man whose name I didn't know, but I recognised was lounging next to our tank.
"What the hell is this?" Christophe asked, approaching him.
"You're as pleasant as usual, Christophe," the man said, "I don't even know why Bradley wanted to give you this thing."
"Give... me?" he asked, looking slightly stunned, "He's giving me a tank?"
"Yeah, didn't your underling here tell you? Craig said he spoke to him."
"He's not my underling, Chapeau Bleu," Christophe snapped, glaring at the man.
"I was trying to surprise him," I said haughtily, irritated at the way this whole thing was going.
"Well whatever," he said, strolling away, "It's all yours. Try not to get killed."
Christophe looked at me as the man walked off.
"Happy Bastille Day?" I said, smiling at him.
"You got me a tank?" he asked, grinning.
"Well, not really. I'd like to take credit for it, but Craig offered it to me and I thought you might like it."
"Hm, I love it. I don't know how to drive a tank, though. Do you?"
"Yes, of course," I said, "I figured you could shoot the artillery or machine guns while I drove it."
"How romantic," he said, still smiling at me.
"Who was that man, anyway?" I asked, "And why did you call him Chapeau Bleu?"
"Oh, he's one of Bradley's men. I don't know if you've ever met Bradley, but he's an annoying whelp, who's the biggest coward I've ever met. I have no idea how he became a resistance leader, actually, or how his men captured a tank, because they've never been good at much of anything. We've always been rivals of sorts, I guess, but my men have always been much more capable than them. Or, they were, anyway."
"But what about this fellow?"
"Ah, well, you noticed his blue hat, I assume? No one knows what his real name is, so we all call him Chapeau Bleu. He's always sort of just... been there, in the background, silent and useless. I think that was the most I've ever heard him say," he explained as he inspected the tank.
"He didn't seem to like you much," I said.
"Most people don't, Gregory. I don't care. Want to go for a ride?" he asked, grinning at me.
"We probably need a third person if we're going to take it anywhere. Someone to operate the guns," I answered.
"Hm. Want to check out the interior, then? Maybe you can show me how things work."
"Sure," I said, and climbed into the tank, with Christophe on my heels.
I had my back to him as we got inside, and I was surprised when he grabbed me from behind and pulled me against him, one hand loosely around my throat, the other across my stomach. I moaned as he sucked on my neck.
"Oh God, Christophe, we just had sex like four hours ago," I said, arching against him as his hand slid down the front of my trousers.
"Yes, but I've always wanted to have sex in a tank," he said, breathing heavily in my ear.
"You are the strangest man I have ever met, you know that?" I asked, but I was sure he could gauge my interest simply by the way I was pressing my arse back against him.
The tank was woefully cramped on the inside, but somehow we managed to find space enough for an enthusiastic round of brisk, rough sex. Sure, I occasionally found myself with some bit of machinery digging uncomfortably into my back, but it was well worth it for the look on Christophe's face as he climaxed. He leaned down to kiss me as he pulled out, and collapsed on top of me, heavy and soaked in sweat. We stayed like that for quite some time, until we heard voices from outside in the alley. They were muffled, but I could make out the sound of Kenny's voice, and Bebe answering him in a slightly panicked tone.
Christophe shifted off me, hitching up his trousers, and I pulled mine back on before opening the hatch of the tank.
"Oh, thank Christ it's you in there," Kenny said, looking relieved, "I thought we were in trouble for a minute there."
"We were just inspecting our new toy," I said.
"Where did you get that?" Bebe asked, her hands on her hips.
"I'd rather not say out here on the street," I answered, earning me a scowl.
"Must be hot in there, your face is red and you're all sweaty," Kenny observed, but I didn't like the look on his face.
"Yes, it is quite warm... no air circulation you know," I answered.
"Air circulation my ass, I'll bet Christophe is in there with you," he said, smirking at me.
I sighed, wondering if it would ever be possible to have any kind of personal life as long as I knew Kenny.
"Well, we were going to test it out, but we needed a third person. Care to join us?"
"I don't know, does it reek of sex in there?"
"No, of course not," I said, but Christophe called out, "Yes," from inside the tank.
Kenny laughed, and turned to Bebe.
"Do you think you'll be alright if you walk home alone? You could wait in the flat for me, if you wanted," he asked.
"I should be fine," she said, "I really only worry when it's dark out. And anyway, I'm armed."
"Ok. I'll head to your place when we're done playing with this thing, ok?" Kenny said, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on her lips. Despite knowing for a while that they were together, I had never seen them be affectionate with each other. It was strange, but very sweet. She smiled at him, and took off toward the end of the alley. Kenny watched her walk away, and then climbed up on the tank.
"Where do you want me?" he asked in a sexy voice.
I rolled my eyes at him.
"In the turret, please. You can man the shells," I said.
"Excellent," he replied, climbing up to the top of the tank and disappearing inside. I dropped back inside where Christophe was waiting for me, and we readied the tank to go.
We made our way south of town without being hassled. As we'd ventured down the streets of Rouen, with me driving the tank, and Christophe sitting next to me, ready to fire the gun if necessary, we'd gotten angry stares from the citizens, and a few casual nods from German soldiers. Otherwise we were left alone, much to my surprise. I wondered how the German army was so disorganised that a couple of Resistance fighters could drive one of their stolen tanks right through their ranks and not even be questioned. Still, I can't say that I minded at all, and I was glad when we got out of town, ready to "wreck some shit," as Kenny so eloquently put it.
We decided to test the guns on some of the roads, which Christophe and I had discussed bombing anyway. We just hoped we wouldn't attract any unwanted attention, or that if we did, we'd be able to defend ourselves.
Unfortunately, things didn't quite turn out the way we wanted them to. We had successfully taken down a bridge outside of Oissel that the Allies had missed, and were congratulating each other when what seemed like half the God damned German army came at us. Our elation had died a quick death, and we were all afraid that we would be next. Over the sound of Christophe's gunfire, I could hear Kenny gleefully shouting obscenities at the men outside as he shot round after round of shells at them.
"I'm going to get us out of here," I shouted over the noise, but neither Christophe nor Kenny seemed to hear me. It was just as well; they could continue to fire as I drove off.
Though the Panther tank can only go about 50 kilometres per hour, we managed to get away pretty easily. The only men who could keep up with us were the few who had vehicles, and those were easily destroyed by Kenny. We were reaching the city limits of Rouen, glad we'd made it back alive, when the fucking tank broke down.
"What's wrong?" Christophe snapped at me, aware that a few German soldiers loitering nearby were watching us.
"I don't know!" I shouted, panicking slightly, "The fucking thing just shut off! I don't think we're out of petrol, so it must be something mechanical."
"Look sharp, guys," Kenny called down to us, as quietly as he could.
A Jerry was approaching the tank, with a smile on his face. It was obvious he had yet to figure out that we weren't compatriots of his, when he called out, "Need some help?" in German.
Suddenly I was very glad that I spoke German nearly as well as French. I had never told anyone, because it wasn't exactly the most popular ability amongst British and French citizens.
"No," I called back to him, "Just a little mechanical problem. We'll have it fixed in a minute!"
He nodded and walked back to his friends, looking completely unconcerned. I noticed Christophe gaping at me by my side.
"You speak German?" he asked, incredulously, "Why the hell is that?"
"I speak several languages, Christophe, now can we please solve our dilemma here before we get into an argument... or get killed?"
"Do you think the tank is fixable?" he asked, quickly changing gears, much to my relief.
"I don't know... possibly, but I don't think it's anything I can do without getting out of the tank. As soon as those soldiers see me they'll figure out what's going on, and we'll be dead."
"So you can't fix it?" he asked.
"Christophe, are you listening to me? No, I can not fix the tank. Not from here."
"Ok," he said, and paused for a moment, "Then we open fire on these soldiers, and then run like hell."
"And abandon the tank?" Kenny asked from inside the turret.
"I don't see another option," Christophe answered.
"I can't move the turret, though," Kenny said, "So I can't aim at them."
"Well, just fire at whatever you can, and Christophe can take out the men with the gun down here. Christophe should be able to get all of them, but if not, the explosion from the shell should cause enough of a distraction for us to get away in time... don't you think?" I asked Christophe.
"It's the best chance we have," he said, aiming at the men in front of us, "Fire when you're ready, Kenny, and I will start shooting."
The men must have heard the sound of Kenny loading the gun, because they all looked up suspiciously. It was too little too late, though, because within seconds Kenny had fired his gun, hitting another tank that just happened to be parked nearby, and Christophe opened fire on the men in the street. They fell like dominoes, with no time to react. I heard a few bullets hit the side of the tank, but we had no visibility there, so we had no way of knowing how many men were hiding out of sight.
"I've got it," Kenny called, reaching down for the rifle Christophe had brought with us.
I said a quick prayer as he opened the hatch, and let out a string of shots. I assumed he was hitting most of his targets, because he then climbed out of the tank, still firing. I was cursing his foolishness when suddenly the firing stopped, and I heard a loud thud. My breath caught in my throat, but I didn't move, trying to listen for more Jerries outside. When nothing happened, Christophe reached over and grabbed my wrist, pulling me toward the hatch. He climbed out first, slowly and cautiously, and I reluctantly followed him out, afraid of what I might see. There were dead Germans all around, which I didn't give a damn about, but next to the tank, Kenny was laying face-down in the mud. I forced back my tears, and wondered why this whole scenario felt so familiar to me. Christophe jumped off the tank ahead of me, and as soon as his feet hit the ground a shot rang out. He stumbled slightly, and slumped against the side of the tank, and my mind went absolutely blank. I heard myself scream Christophe's name, and I don't even remember taking my gun out of my pocket, but the next thing I knew I was firing round upon round into the German hiding beneath a car near our tank. I didn't even realize I was out of bullets until I heard the gun click several times. The German was very, very dead, and he seemed to be the last of his kind in our immediate vicinity. I felt traces of sanity slowly making their way back into my mind, as I began to realize what had just happened. I was afraid to look in Christophe's direction, but when I finally plucked up enough courage he was simply leaning against the tank, clutching his arm and watching me with an unidentifiable expression upon his face. I hurried to him, and pulled him into an embrace.
"Dear God, are you alright?" I breathed against his neck.
"It's just a scratch, Gregory, I'm fine," he said, sounding a little dazed, himself.
"Let me see," I said, trying to pull his hand away. There was enough blood on his sleeve to make me nervous.
"No, we need to get out of here," he said, looking down at Kenny.
"Oh, they've killed Kenny," I said, burying my face against Christophe's shoulder.
"We'll be next if we don't move, now. Come on."
He grabbed my hand, and pulled me away from the tank, away from the scene of death and despair.
We ran together through the streets of Rouen, slowing to a walk only after we were far enough away from the scene that we felt safe again.
The entire way home, my head was swimming with confusion. I felt less upset about Kenny dying than I did about Christophe getting a minor injury. I cared a great deal about Kenny- more than I'd ever cared about most people I'd ever known, but his death just didn't bother me that much. Somehow I felt as though I'd see him again very soon, as illogical as it seemed.
But Christophe getting injured... just the possibility that Christophe might be killed in action, now that was upsetting to me. Terrifying, even. Just the thought of it made me want to burst into tears and clutch him to my chest, never to let him go again. He dropped my hand as we grew closer to the area of town in which we lived, and that only upset me further. I wanted to kiss him so badly just then, but knew it was unwise to do so in public. It wasn't until he caught me staring at him, and asked me if I was ok that I realized exactly what it was I was feeling.
Love. I was deeply, madly in love with him. And that scared me most of all.