Afterburn

“I told you! Didn’t I fucking tell you?!”

Kyle tried not to giggle, mostly because it would be a most girlish thing to do but also because Christophe would probably murder him. “Well, you’re not much paler than me, so I didn’t think…”

“Of course you didn’t think! You’re an idiot!”

“Hey! That was uncalled for!” The redhead made a face and flicked Christophe right on his raw, sunburned nose, grinning madly at the womanly yelp he let out in response. “You could’ve put on sunscreen like a sane person.”

“When, in the entire time I’ve known you,” Christophe deadpanned, “have I ever given you the impression that I was sane?” He sighed and collapsed onto the couch. “Damnit, Kyle, I look like a fucking lobster. Or your hair.”

“Quit bitching, you big baby, I said I was sorry.” Kyle flicked Christophe on the ear as he sat down, earning another yelp and accompanying glare. “I’ll never drag you off to the beach again.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

Christophe held out an arm. “Kiss it better.”

“Kiss what better?” Kyle batted the arm away. To his credit, Christophe didn’t squeal like a woman this time. “You don’t have an owie, you’re sunburned.”

“Exactly.” The Frenchman offered his arm again. “Kiss it all better.”

Kyle glanced at the vast expanse of reddened skin, doubtful. “All of it?”

“Yes.”

A sigh. “Anyone tell you you’re a big fat fucking pervert, Mole?”

“Only you, Broflovski,” Christophe leered, “only you.”

The redhead rolled his eyes as he started kissing and licking up Christophe’s arm. “Better stop your damn whining after this, s’all I got to say.”

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