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Laurent throws himself onto the end of the booth seat. “It looks like Damen is cheating on me,” he announces, and then he steals Lazar’s glass and downs it. Lazar is distracted enough by the proclamation that he doesn’t seem to notice.
Jord stands up. “I have some poison in my car that we can-”
“Stop,” Auguste says, pulling Jord back into his seat. He looks at Laurent. “That doesn’t sound like Damen. Are you sure?”
Laurent gives him an incredulous look. “I said it looks like he’s cheating on me, not that he’s actually doing it. I just need you to give me some alternative solutions so I don’t go home and stab him while he sleeps tonight.”
“…I’ll get you another drink,” Orlant says. “And another like, five for me.” He squeezes past Jord and Auguste to hop the bar and find some appropriate alcohol.
The bar they are in, The Veretian Blind, is the cover business Auguste owns to hide their actual jobs as assassins. The bar is purposely made to look as unappealing as possible in order to dissuade any actual potential customers.
“Alright,” Auguste says, “what’s the evidence?”
“He’s always going out at odd times and staying late at work,” Laurent says. “He’s a personal trainer - how many late hours can he possibly need to work?”
“Have you asked him that?” Jord asks, looking a little less ready to poison the love of Laurent’s life.
Laurent huffs. “He said that he has to do a lot of paperwork.”
“That sounds…” Auguste tries to come up with something reassuring.
“Like bullshit,” Lazar finishes. “What’s the next piece of evidence?”
Orlant gets back then with a bottle of scotch for himself and hands Laurent a vodka cruiser. “That’s what you drink right?”
“Go fuck yourself,” Laurent drawls, but he takes a swig anyway. Alcohol is alcohol at this point. “I found a business card for a hotel in his jacket pocket this morning. A local, exclusive hotel thats main clientele is rich assholes having affairs and people with fucked-up fetishes.”
“Is letting people step on you cheating if you don’t fuck them?” Lazar wonders. Orlant raises his bottle at him.
“He’s not letting people step on him,” Laurent hisses.
“Piss on him?” Lazar tries.
“You’re not helping here,” Laurent says.
Auguste frowns. “Maybe a client gave him the card? You know he’s too polite to just throw things like that in the trash.”
“Reach any higher and you’ll hit the moon.” Laurent takes another sip of his sugary vodka, and scowls. “I haven’t even told you the worst part yet.”
Orlant leans forward. “It gets worse that letting strangers piss on you?”
“I tried to have sex with him last night, and he said he wasn’t in the mood,” Laurent declares it with the same sombre gravity that he’d use to announce a third world war beginning.
There’s a moment of silence at the table.
“Maybe he was telling the truth?” Jord suggests.
“Impossible,” Laurent replies. “Do you remember that time Damen got in that minor car crash and broke his leg?”
“I don’t want to hear whatever this story is,” Auguste says, looking pained.
Laurent continues on anyway, because Auguste needs a bit of tough love sometimes. “He was down to fuck in the hospital room with a cast and a probable concussion. A bunch of doctors ran in when his heart monitor started going off and-”
“Okay, we get it!” Auguste covers his ears.
“Damen has a high libido,” Laurent finishes. “I literally did not sleep during our entire wedding night.”
“Please stop,” Auguste says.
“No keep going,” Orlant prompts. “I need more information for uh, research.”
“Our record is nine hours,” Laurent says. “I had to keep taking water breaks because there was no liquid left in my body.”
Lazar whistles appreciatively. “Please make a sex tape before you murder him.”
“I can’t make a sex tape when I’m not getting any sex,” Laurent replies testily.
“Are you sure your not over-reacting,” Orlant asks, “because you have blue balls?”
Laurent gives him a frosty look.
“You’re really not disproving that theory,” Orlant says.
“Laurent,” Auguste says. “I’m going to be the voice of reason here.”
“Please do,” Laurent says.
“Go home and talk to him. Tell him about your suspicions and see if there’s an explanation for all of this. Relationships should be built on trust and communication.”
That’s great advice unless you kill people for a living.
“And then,” Auguste continues placidly, “If he actually is cheating on you, call me and I’ll help you dispose of the body.”
-
Laurent catches an uber home, because he’s had like two standard drinks of alcohol and is an unrepentant lightweight. He still beats Damen home, despite it being almost nine in the evening, because Damen is - surprise, surprise - working late.
Laurent drinks a glass of water, then he brushes his hair because Damen loves his hair and it’s a good way to distract him into being honest when Laurent interrogates him later. He dusts off their pretentious record player that Damen’s mother gave them as a wedding gift, and puts on an Edith Piaf vinyl because he’s feeling dramatic.
When Damen texts to say he’s on his way home, Laurent dims the lights in their sitting room, hides a knife under their coffee table, and finds a bottle of wine.
Damen opens the door at ten thirty-eight pm to the sound of non, je ne regrette rien and the sight of Laurent, smiling adoringly.
“You didn’t wait up for me, did you?” he asks, looking concerned.
“Let me take your coat,” Laurent says, already undressing his husband.
Laurent drops the coat on the floor and when he looks up, Damen kisses him with a hand in his hair. Laurent doesn’t hate himself, so he kisses back. “I missed you,” Damen says, against his mouth, and then he’s unbuttoning Laurent’s shirt and pushing him backwards into the sitting room.
Laurent moves to pull off Damen’s t-shirt but Damen catches his wrists in his hands and pushes Laurent down on the couch. Damen drops to his knees in front of him. “Don’t worry about me,” Damen says, kissing Laurent’s clothed thigh with tenderness. “Let me do this for you.”
“Then take your clothes off for me,” Laurent says.
Damen hesitates, and then says, with an awkward laugh, “I didn’t shower before I left work. You don’t want to face all that gym sweat.”
Laurent’s blood is running cold. This denial to take off his clothing - and he slept in pyjamas last night which is unusual, Laurent remembers - is hard to interpret as anything but more proof. What’s he hiding? Love bites or scratch marks or something equally incriminating. Laurent doesn’t want to know.
He does know.
“Stop,” Laurent says, blinking rapidly. “Stand up.”
Damen, confused by the change in mood, stands up and tilts his head at Laurent. “Are you okay?”
“No,” Laurent says and then he goes over to the bottle of red that has been breathing on the coffee table and pours himself a generous glass.
He needs the wine for this - Damen is going to admit he’s having an affair and Laurent is going to stab him and then he’s going to spend the rest of his life regretting murdering his stupid, adulterous soulmate. He doesn’t want to kill Damen, but he also knows he tends to get irrational and lash out when he’s angry, and this is going to make him fucking livid.
Laurent takes a long sip, then he sighs. “I know, okay?”
Damen is silent for a long moment. “…you know?” he says, with so much guilt in his voice that Laurent wants to strangle him with the cord for the iron that he accidentally left out this morning.
“I know,” Laurent says. “I know what you’re doing. I know why you won’t take your shirt off.”
“You know?” Damen repeats. He sounds faint.
“I’m not an idiot,” Laurent says. “And you’re not particularly subtle.”
“Laurent,” Damen says, and he’s holding his hands up placatingly. “I can explain. Maybe we can sit down and talk this through calmly.”
“You expect me to be calm about this?!” Laurent hisses. “I feel like I don’t even know who you are.”
“Don’t say that - I’m the same man I’ve always been.”
“How is that meant to reassure me?” What if there have been more affairs? Is this not the first one? Come to think of it, Damen disappeared for a full week once when they’d been dating. Laurent had been relieved at the time - he’d had a tricky contract that he’d needed to deal with - but looking back on it, it had been suspicious.
Damen is just so beautiful and sweet that it’s hard to suspect him of any wrongdoing. He cries when he watches The Notebook. He tries not to step on bugs on the sidewalk.
“It’s just one facet of my life,” Damen says. “It doesn’t change the fact that I love you. If you can’t believe anything else, please believe that.”
One facet of his life, definitely makes it sound like a serial cheating kind of thing. Unless it’s a kink thing. Maybe Lazar is right and Damen is letting people piss on him. Which is totally outrageous. Laurent would absolutely piss on his husband if that’s what he really wanted. That’s what love is about.
“You’re so fucked up,” Laurent says, despairingly. “Why couldn’t you just tell me?”
“What was I supposed to say?” Damen asks. “Oh by the way, Laurent, I’m not a PT, I actually kill people for money.”
Laurent takes a step back. “What?” he says.
Damen’s face loses all colour in a shockingly fast amount of time. “Oh no,” Damen says.
“You’re an assassin?” Laurent asks.
“Um,” Damen says. “…no?”
“You’re an assassin?” His voice is steadily getting louder.
“Yes?”
“You. You’re an assassin,” Laurent can’t stop saying it. “You’re a fucking vegetarian.”
“I like animals,” Damen says, defensively. “It’s not the same thing at all.”
“You kill people!” Laurent replies. “I learnt how to cook tofu for you.”
“I uh, don’t really understand why you’re angry at me right now.”
It’s fucking shameful that Laurent couldn’t see it earlier. The confident way that Damen holds himself. The fact that they met in a country going through political upheaval and Damen’s reason for being there was ‘flights were cheap and so is the beer’. All the scars that he had stupid, innocuous stories for.
“I thought you were cheating on me,” Laurent says. “What company do you work for?”
Damen’s expression is one of absolute horror. “Laurent, I would never be unfaithful. You’re the best person in my life.”
“What company?” Laurent repeats.
“Uh,” Damen says. “I don’t think you’ll have heard of them.”
“Damen!”
“Ios!” Damen says. “I work for Ios.”
“Oh my god,” Laurent says. He puts a hand to his heart. “It just keeps getting worse.”
“Are you okay?”
“No,” Laurent says. “I am emphatically not okay. You work for Ios. I could have handled Bazal or Skarva, but Ios?”
“How do you-”
“You’re a barbarian,” Laurent declares, mournfully. Ios still use guns and explosives like the animals that they are. Knives and poisons are the way to go - it’s cleaner, more precise, and easier to cover up. “Are there guns in our house?”
“Laurent,” Damen says, insistently. “How do you know all of this?”
Laurent chooses that moment to retrieve the knife from under the coffee table and throw it in Damen’s direction. It misses - on purpose - but comes close enough that Damen must feel it in the air as it darts by him.
“You work for Arles,” Damen says, looking at the knife embedded in their wall with absolute horror. “And I just finished painting this room.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Laurent says.
And Damen, his sweet, unassuming husband, turns to him and Laurent can see the way his body changes. His shoulders go back, his stance becomes ready to move at any second, and his grin is the smuggest thing that Laurent has ever seen. It’s incredibly hot. “Oh, sweetheart,” Damen drawls. “I’m going to love seeing you try.”
Before Laurent can even take a step, Damen steps forward and swings a punch at him.
Laurent jumps back. “You tried to punch me!”
“You threw a knife at me,” Damen replies. His form is impeccable.
“I threw a knife in your direction. Not at you.”
Laurent lunges and kicks Damen’s legs out from under him. Damen lands on his back. Laurent tries to run for the kitchen, where knives are abundant, but Damen grabs his ankle and drags him down to the ground. Laurent kicks at his face, so Damen grabs his other ankle, and pulls him closer.
He rolls on top of Laurent, clutching his thighs. His head is crotch level.
Laurent pauses for a second. “Well,” he says. “While you’re down there…”
“I’m still waiting for you to try and kill me.”
“Alright,” Laurent sighs, and then he tries to scratch out Damen’s eyes. Damen rolls off of him, defensively.
“Hey!” Damen huffs. “You love my eyes.”
“I love winning even more,” Laurent calls back, already on his way to the kitchen.
Damen tackles him in the hallway, and Laurent only just has time to grab a picture off the wall and slam it onto Damen’s head. Laurent says, “You have the subtleness of a bull in a china shop. How are you getting away with murder?”
He skids into the kitchen and pulls a knife off it’s rack. Laurent keeps all their kitchen knives very sharp, because he respects blades. Unlike the rough and tumble barbarians that work at Ios.
Damen jumps the counter and knocks Laurent to the ground, landing on him. He pins him, knees digging into thighs, and wraps both of Laurent’s wrists up in one hand. Laurent keeps his hold on the knife.
“Drop it,” Damen says, sternly.
“No,” Laurent replies.
“Drop it,” Damen insists.
“What am I, a fucking dog?”
Damen slams Laurent’s wrists against the hard tiles. Once, Twice, Laurent drops the knife. There’s a moment of stillness.
“Is that it?” Damen asks, exasperated. “Are you done? Is it over?”
Laurent pouts and tries to find some wriggle room. There is none. Normally, he’d delight over this position. Well, honestly, some parts of him are delighting over this position.
“No,” Laurent says. “Why did you have a business card for that seedy hotel in your pocket?”
“Ravenel?” Damen says. “Do you still think I’m cheating on you? I was there to kill someone.”
“In a hotel full of fetishists?” Laurent asks, skeptical.
“Yes,” Damen says, and then - very oddly - he goes red. His skin is so dark that the blush has to be pretty substantial to show through.
“Damen,” Laurent says, warningly.
“It’s nothing,” Damen says. “I was just killing someone.”
“Why’d you have to kill them there specifically?”
“It’s the only place where I could get him without his security detail,” Damen says. “I had to-”
“Oh my god,” Laurent breathes.
“-dress up in fetish gear and convince him to take me upstairs. And then I killed him.”
“You wore fetish gear and killed a man!” Laurent shouts, “Yet the one time I asked you to choke me a little during sex, you freaked out and wouldn’t look me in the eyes for two days.”
“The last time I choked someone, I was murdering them!”
“You’re even more qualified then,” Laurent replies. “Just do to me what you do to them, but without the murdery part.”
“Can we get back to you trying to kill me, please?”
“No,” Laurent says, and then, because he knows it’s Damen’s least favourite line: “We’re discussing this.”
Damen groans, and his grip on Laurent eases up slightly. Laurent takes the opportunity to slip out of this grip and punch him in the chest.
“Fuck!” Damen wheezes.
Laurent flips them so that he’s the one on top, and recollects his knife in time to hold it flush to Damen’s throat.
“You were saying?” Laurent asks.
“You punched me!” Damen says.
“You were going to punch me first.”
“I gave you plenty of time to dodge.”
They’re silent for a long moment and then Damen gestures to the knife. “Well?” he asks.
“Give me a moment,” Laurent says.
It’s protocol to take out anyone who discovers his actual job. People can’t just go around with the knowledge that Laurent kills for money. Especially not people who work for their rivals at Ios.
Both of their chests are rising and falling rapidly. It was a good fight. Although to be fair, Laurent realises, at no point did Damen say or act like he was trying to kill Laurent in return - just disarm him.
And really, who the fuck is he kidding? Laurent went from untouchable and frigid to happily married within the first ten weeks of meeting Damen. Damen is the love of his life. Laurent isn’t going to kill him. He’d sooner slice his own throat.
His heart is pounding. He’s thrumming with adrenaline from the fight, and it needs somewhere to be redirected to. So, Laurent throws the knife aside and kisses Damen.
“Don’t ever lie to me again,” Laurent hisses against his mouth.
“You were lying to me too,” Damen replies.
Laurent bites his lip. “This is about you doing the wrong thing, not me.”
“Well, it hardly warrants you trying to kill me.”
“I am stressed!” Laurent declares. “I act out when I’m stressed.”
Damen pauses. And then, “Do you know what also helps when you’re stressed?”
“If you say it’s your dick, then I’m going to-”
Damen tears open Laurent’s already partially unbuttoned shirt. Buttons fly against the tiles. “Oh my,” Laurent says, faintly.
Damen takes the distraction and rolls them again, and Laurent feels his back thump against the cold floor. Damen dips his head down and bites at Laurent’s neck. Inspired, Laurent paws his hand across the floor until he finds his abandoned knife. “Hold still,” Laurent says.
Damen pulls back slightly and Laurent uses the opportunity - and the knife - to tear his husband’s shirt off. Damen’s eyes are very dark. The shirt is pulled away to reveal–
“Bandages?” Laurent says, shocked.
“Oh,” Damen says, and then he kisses Laurent quickly. “I got lightly stabbed, don’t worry.”
“Stabbed,” Laurent repeats.
“Lightly,” Damen insists. He kisses Laurent again. Laurent is pretty sure he should protest, but Damen is very good at kissing. It’s so easy to open his mouth and let Damen’s tongue distract him from anything and everything but that.
Laurent wraps his legs around Damen’s waist, and lets his husband move against him, pushing his hips forward so that they are rocking together. Laurent clutches at Damen’s shoulders, and then digs his nails in hard. Damen’s breath hitches, and Laurent takes the opportunity to bite at his bottom lip. His mouth is very red. Laurent bites it again, harder this time.
“Bitch,” Damen snarls, pulling back. Quicker than Laurent can blink, Damen’s hand moves between them so that he can get at the fly of Laurent’s pants.
“Fuck you,” Laurent retorts. He wants to sound angry, wants to coax Damen into making this rough, but too much fondness slips into his tone.
“I’m trying to,” Damen replies. He pulls off Laurent’s shoes and throws them behind himself carelessly. There’s the sound of glass shattering - one of them must have hit something. Laurent doesn’t care, he hopes it’s the ugly fucking china that Kastor’s wife gave them.
Laurent helpfully lifts his hips and Damen tugs his jeans down along with his underwear. He is naked now, on the floor of his kitchen, and not for the first time. It is the first time though, where they both know the biggest secret in the other’s life.
Damen pauses, like he does every single godforsaken time he manages to get Laurent naked, and the look on his face is one of total admiration. Which is nice, but also Laurent can get heartfelt, romantic sex whenever he wants. He needs this to be different. He needs Damen to screw his fucking brains out.
“Fuck me,” Laurent says, “or I’ll go to that fucking hotel and find someone who will.”
Damen makes a low noise in his throat, possessive and angry, and then grabs one of the kitchen drawers and pulls it completely out. He finds what he wants from the drawer, and then tosses the entire thing to the side. Damen holds up his prize; a bottle of lube. It’s impossible to be married to someone like Damen and not have a store of such things all around the house.
Laurent props himself up on his elbows and lets his knees drop open provocatively. “Well?” He says, eyebrow raised in a challenge.
Damen accepts the challenge. He grabs Laurent by the ankle and drags him forward, until Damen is kneeling between his thighs. Laurent’s back scrapes against the porcelain. He makes an approving sound.
Damen runs a hand up Laurent’s thigh tenderly. It’s too sweet. Laurent reaches with one hand, gets a grip on Damen’s hair and pulls him forward. Damen swears, catching himself on the tile, leaning over Laurent.
“Get a move on,” Laurent says. “I’ve killed senior citizens with more fight in them than you.”
Damen’s eyes are burning into his. After that, when Damen uses his fingers to prepare Laurent, he is a lot less gentle. Laurent can hear his breath, audibly too fast, as he struggles to take it. One finger thrusts in, and when Laurent’s body tries to adjust, a second joins it. A few pumps and then a third. They’ve never gone this fast or rough before.
Laurent can’t breathe. He tries to stop himself from writhing but it’s futile. He can’t even control the sounds he’s making. His grip tightens in Damen’s hair. Laurent lets himself fall back against the tiles, so that he can put both hands in Damen’s curls and tug.
Damen pulls his fingers out, and leans forward to lick into Laurent’s mouth with abandon. Laurent feels hot and empty. He’s too aroused to kiss back with any finesse, so he focuses on trying to get his clumsy fingers to undo Damen’s fly. He manages to get the pants mid way down Damen’s dark, muscular thighs before he gives up and decides that taking hold of Damen’s cock is more important.
Damen jerks his hips forward into Laurent’s grip, an automatic reaction, seeking friction. He’s already hard. Laurent allows his husband to lose himself in the stroke of Laurent’s hand for a long moment, and then he lets go. No need to be too nice.
“Fuck me already,” Laurent says against his lips.
Damen does not need to be told again. He gives Laurent one final parting kiss and sits back on his knees. He grabs Laurent by the hips, and then – hesitates. Fuck.
“Damen,” Laurent growls, frustrated.
“I know,” Damen says. “You won’t break.” Something Laurent has told him ad nauseum.
“No,” Laurent says. “I want you to break me.”
Damen gets more lube, and strokes himself. “What would you have done if I’d actually been cheating on you?”
“Killed you and then whoever you were screwing.” The reply is instant.
“Really?” Damen asks.
Laurent keeps his gaze steady.
“You’re so fucking hot,” Damen moans. Then he lines himself up and pushes in.
Damen is thick and long, and he breaches Laurent entirely in one unrelenting thrust. It burns. Laurent gasps with pleasure. “Yes.”
Damen pulls out, almost all the way, and then with a snap of his hips he thrusts back inside. Things get a little fuzzy after that.
Laurent is in a feedback loop of gratification. Every plunge of Damen’s cock sends sparks tingling up his spine and to his brain. He is just this - the receiver of every punishing stroke, every joyous intake. It’s so overwhelming that Laurent thinks maybe he cannot handle it after all - but every time he gets on the cusp of saying stop, he knows that it would be worse to stop this. It might be too much, but Laurent has always been greedy.
Sometimes, Laurent feels so pent up and full of repressed thoughts that he just wants to be fucked into distraction. Hurt me, he wants to say, but he knows that that will throw Damen off. Instead, he tries a different tactic.
“I hate you so much,” Laurent says, gasps. “You lied to me. You fucking gun-toting bastard. I could -”
“Shut up,” Damen huffs.
“Make me.”
Damen, bless his heart, manages to psychically divine exactly what he means. He leans over Laurent with his considerable bulk, a physical dominance that makes Laurent’s mouth run dry, and then he wraps his hands around Laurent’s throat and squeezes.
The lack of air feels like it should be the thing that Laurent focuses on, and yet all it seems to do is divert all his concentration to the sensations Damen is inducing down lower, the penetration and the rhythmic snap of his hips. Damen eases up enough for Laurent to gasp in some air and then tightens again.
Laurent is distantly aware that he’s scratching at Damen’s shoulders again, dragging nails down his back roughly. There must be blood welling, and Laurent doesn’t know why that makes him wilder. It must be the idea that they can do this - give their bodies over to one another, and trust each other to take exactly the right amount. Two bloody-handed murderers, that somehow met and managed to come together, to fall in love and accept all the mess that has and will come with it.
If Laurent thought he was overwhelmed before, that was nothing to how he feels now. One more perfect stroke, mixed with an erotic lack of breath, and Laurent comes - his cock entirely untouched. Damen, ever a generous lover, notices, and lets go of Laurents throat. He braces himself above Laurent and continues to thrust, almost animalistically seeking his pleasure, until he too is finding his release - inside Laurent, where he belongs.
Damen gently pulls out, and then - seemingly with his last ounce of energy - rolls to fall on the floor next to Laurent. Side by side they lie, trying to gasp their breath back into their bodies, Laurent with a little more difficulty.
“Holy shit,” Laurent manages, once a few minutes have passed.
“I love you,” Damen replies, immediately, like he was just waiting for Laurent to speak first before he said it. “I love you so much. I’m always going to love you, even if you’re a deceitful, knife-wielding bitch.”
That probably shouldn’t sound as romantic to Laurent as it does. “I love you too,” Laurent says, voice rough.
“You know,” Damen says, hesitantly, “since my father– well, I’m actually the leader of Ios. It’s not so unusual for mergers to happen between small agencies.”
Laurent feels Damen’s fingers, gently interlocking with his, and he smiles. He makes a silent plan to bring Damen to Arles’ next meeting, so he can traumatise everyone with the story of what just happened.
And also, hopefully, to start something new.