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Philippe had noticed when Corbeau became the boss that he had already smoked through two packs of cigarettes at his desk. An ashtray was overflowing on the side, scattering ash onto the table like a crime scene waiting to be cleaned. Philippe understood intimately, more than anyone at the Rust Syndicate, that the role he took on was one fit for a smoker.
Corbeau had been the boss for a month, dealing with long-standing debts, rivals encroaching into their territory, and tracking down clients for payment deep into the morning hours. The dark circles under his eyes were almost as prominent as the smoke smell that persisted around him like an aura.
And one of his only other remedies for the deep exhaustion in his body was Philippe.
Philippe had perched himself between Corbeau’s legs as the boss sat on his desk. His hands were stretched back behind him, holding himself up lazily as Philippe smothered him with his bigger body. Philippe would peck at his lips, one on the mouth then the cheek and jawline until Corbeau scooted his hands back a little farther, making Philippe chase after his mouth and crushing the smaller man underneath him bit by bit.
Corbeau had always loved that Philippe was so much bigger than him. The man’s weight was just large enough to be noticeable, and his hands easily spanned Corbeau’s waist while in this position.
Philippe bit his lip next and Corbeau slid his forearms up, now being supported just by his elbows on the desk. Philippe went in again, pressing his lips against Corbeau’s, and the boss took the opportunity to drag his tongue against Philippe's lip.
His lieutenant froze for a moment, bringing his lip in just a moment to lick it himself before continuing.
He moved his lips to every part of Corbeau's face. A gentle peck against his cheek, one right under each eye and ear, and he slipped down to his neck again, cautious to avoid Corbeau’s lips.
Corbeau had always prided himself on being able to read people well, Philippe especially. They had known each other for so many years now that he could tell the slight nuances of his neutral face, an expression so flat it was as if it were drawn on a piece of paper. Philippe’s eyebrows had twitched for just a moment before settling, as if he knew Corbeau was watching and wanted to avoid his scrutiny. It was unfortunate for him, Corbeau was always watching.
Corbeau moved up, into Philippe’s mouth with his tongue. He tasted whiskey they had always drank on harsh nights where it was just the two of them, twisting together with his own drink to create a cocktail of heat and spice. Corbeau was finally feeling his gut settle from Philippe’s initial twitch. Maybe he had misread Philippe, it didn’t happen often but enough that-
Philippe flinched back the moment their tongues met. They both froze, both sets of eyes flying open and widening. Philippe gulped and avoided eye contact with Cobeau.
“Is there something wrong?” Corbeau asked slowly, as if he were speaking to a spooked animal. Philippe cleared his throat, still avoiding eye contact.
“Uh, no. There’s nothing wrong.” His eyes flickered down to Corbeau’s mouth and back up quickly.
“Did I eat something bad? One of our clients offered to share a meal with me today, maybe that’s it?”
“No no, that’s not it.” Philippe said too quickly.
“So there is something wrong?” Corbeau asked, his voice sharp.
“I-” Philippe stopped himself from speaking, letting his mind catch up with his mouth. “Have you smoked today?”
It was such a simple absurd question that Corbeau had to bite back a laugh. Of course he had. That would be like asking a man if he had breathed air that day. Bet him a hundred thousand yen Corbeau couldn’t tell him when he last hadn’t had a cigarette. Philippe knew this. Philippe had managed to build a damn smoking room next to the main hall just for Corbeau’s habits, he knew the answer to that question.
“Of course I have Philippe, we’ve been hopping from job to job for a full week. You think I’ve forgotten to take a smoke break?”
“No I haven't. I just,” His eyes flickered to the overflowing ashtray in the corner of the desk, “I didn’t realize how much I could taste it.”
The room devolved into an uncomfortable silence. Philippe stepped back from the desk and Corbeau sat up himself quickly.
“You’ve never said anything before this.” Corbeau frowned. The mood had soured, Corbeau was buttoning up his shirt again and adjusting his glasses into a straight line..
“It’s never been this noticeable before.” Philippe muttered. He was still avoiding eye contact with Corbeau, preferring to keep his eyes traced on the wall or at his shoes. He cleared his throat before Corbeau could say anything back.
“A few businesses in a nearby sector were requesting an audience with us earlier today.” Philippe stepped back again. “I need to go discuss those matters.”
It was intentionally vague, Corbeau wasn’t sure what kind of business he was handling, but he was only half-sure it was real. Philippe had never done this, never just left in the middle of their time alone, the only hours of the day where Corbeau felt like he could really relax.
“It’s damn near midnight, what kind of business needs your attention at this time?” Corbeau demanded. He was becoming more irritable by the second. He hopped down to stand at his full height. His chin leveled Philippe’s sternum and he had to tilt his head up drastically to meet Philippe’s eyes. He was never one to care about his height, he could make himself seen scary through other means.
“One of the nightclubs, they only opened just now.” Philippe said, finally meeting his eye because he had no other choice.
“You didn’t feel the need to mention this before?”
“I wanted to mention it after our business was finished.” Philippe said sternly. He tightened his jacket and was walking out with Corbeau hot on his heels, matching him pace for pace despite the difference in their strides.
“So our business is finished?”
“For tonight, yes.” Philippe said. He grasped the door to the room tightly but didn’t turn it yet. They both knew there were two grunts right outside and neither of them wanted to make whatever this was a Rust Syndicate issue, this was between them. Philippe started again with a whispered tone.
“Beau, I love you dearly, you know I do. I think you’re just stressed-”
“Stressed?”
“-because we’ve been running around all month and it’s been rough. I’m tired too.” He looked up at Corbeau’s face and his eyebrows frowned. Corbeau was sure he looked angry. He felt an urge to drag Philippe back and finish what they started but that would just prove Philippe’s point, and he refused to be rejected twice in one night. So, he sighed instead.
“What time will you be back?” He asked.
“Morning time, we haven’t talked much with this place. I’ll need to be present the whole night.” Philippe said. His hand twisted on the knob and he cracked it open, the boundary into their work life spilling through.
“Okay, I understand. Just be safe.” Corbeau whispered back.
“Thank you boss.” Philippe said. He opened the door just wide enough for him to slip through and closed it. The click of the lock rang through the office and Corbeau immediately peeled off his tie and stormed into his personal study.
—--
He looked at himself in the mirror and tired eyes looked back at him. He had been stressed, hadn’t he? The summer always brought heatwaves that boiled Lumiose alive. It made people do dumb things, and Corbeau was someone who usually had to clean up their messes. Sure he was smoking more, but everyone did when they were stressed right? Everyone had some sort of vice that made the job a bit more bearable right?
He turned on the faucet and splashed a bit of warm water onto his face. It heated his skin and made him look slightly less dead, but did nothing to wash away his thoughts.
Philippe, the reliable man that he was, never let any vice get to him. He would accompany Corbeau into the smoking room but never took an offered cigarette. He would drink whiskey with Corbeau but only enough to taste, never more than two glasses. Corbeau knew that well. He’d noticed early on into their partnership that when Corbeau filled his glass for the third time Philippe never touched it. Instead, he recommended Corbeau go sleep for the rest of the night.
He mechanically moved from his work clothes into his sleepwear and drifted into bed like a machine on autopilot. Philippe hadn’t arrived yet from his late night run and probably wouldn’t until Corbeau got up again in the morning, thus was the nature of late night meetings. It doesn’t mean he can’t pout about it to himself.
But, Philippe did have a point didn’t he? He had been smoking more.
Maybe it had become a problem, he hadn’t noticed how much he constantly fiddled with his lighter in his pocket, or how much he had been thinking about a cigarette perched while his lips. Shit, he was thinking about one right now. He always had a pack inside the side table, and he was itching to grab it and light one right here on the bed. Philippe would have hated it, and the thought was the only thing stopping him.
He flicked off the light and the room devolved into dark shapes and nothing to stop his mind from racing around. Did Philippe dislike his smoking? Had he only tolerated it because it wasn’t as bad before, or had he always disliked it. Corbeau tossed and turned and the silk sheets wrapped around his feet like a vice.
Maybe he should quit. It was a nasty habit, the type of men he shared a cigarette with weren’t the best company. But the real reason was staring him in the face constantly: Philippe. If it made Philippe kiss him more, he would quit his habit, he was sure of it. Surely it couldn’t be hard, a few days of withdrawal was nothing compared to how happy it would make Philippe.
How hard could it be to quit smoking?
By the late morning every grunt in the building had a new policy enacted overnight: no smoking in the Rust Syndicate headquarters. Not even inside the smoking room that was now being cleaned by an unenthusiastic grunt who had first set up the room with Philippe.
He hadn’t had a cigarette in roughly twelve hours and felt… fine. Just fine. Nothing was wrong so far.
Philippe had come back later in the morning with another section of the city indebted to them for business ventures that Corbeau would be pleased with. If he could find the boss.
Philippe hadn’t allowed himself to think about their discussion last night until he got back to base. He didn’t like whenever their personal business and the syndicate business overlapped, it was a frustrating experience. He passed through the halls and observed a few grunts cleaning the floors on their hands and knees. Sweat dripped down their faces in steady rivets, as if they had been there for hours already. One man glanced up for a moment and nodded to him with a grace that contradicted his situation.
“Sir, good to see you back.” He said. His voice was strained.
“What are you doing?” Philippe asked.
“Scrubbing the floors. Boss hates the smoke now I guess.” The man forced his lips up into a smile. “I guess he’s finally decided to quit his habit.”
Philippe didn’t smile back.
Corbeau had been pacing around all day, walking through the hallways of the Rust Syndicate twice over, then three times over, then a few more times to get the pent up energy out of his system as much as possible. It wasn’t working. He tried everything.
A grunt had recommended yoga to ‘draw out his inner peace’ and all he pictured in his mind was a pack of cigarettes before throwing out that idea. When he was alone in his office, he tried chewing gum which wasn’t working well to fix the fixation on his mouth, which was when he switched to lollipops.
They worked for a few hours. It was nice to have something to taste, but after a meeting with the grunts over the cigarette repulsion orders and another with Team MZ his jaw ached and his tongue felt assaulted by the taste of blueberry and vanilla.
The worst part out of everything was the growing knot in his brain that couldn’t be soothed by any medicine or remedy.
He’d finally seen Philippe the next afternoon after another meeting in the endless conversations they had on a daily basis. Philippe had brought him a pastry from a place he liked in another district that had a terrible wait time unless you knew the right connections, which Philippe obviously had.
I was unfortunate that it tasted like ash. They were sitting across from each other in front of the cafe on an otherwise beautiful day. The wind whistled through his hair and jingled the tassels on his glasses until they tickled his cheek. Philippe had already eaten a few pastries without a word. He was a big eater when he was nervous.
“The club had been willing to accept a loan from us and pledged that it would only serve members of our staff. I’d say it was successful.” Philippe reported.
“Mm.”
“I saw the men outside already retrofitted the smoking room into another meeting room. It has excellent air circulation.” Philippe said. He was trying to make conversation, trying to connect in any way to Corbeau. Corbeau stirred his tea in response, his whole demeanor slumped into itself. Philippe had never seen him so dejected outside of their personal quarters.
“It does.” Corbeau rumbled. It sounded like he had been gurgling rocks. Philippe folded the trash of his pastries and gave Corbeau a strained grin.
“I heard you gave up on cigarettes yesterday. You gave a lot of the grunts a scare with all the cleaning, but I have to ask: are you alright, Beau?”
“You know not to call me that in public.” Corbeau snapped immediately.
“I’m serious.” Philippe assured. He pulled up his chair closer to the table and set his forearms down to get closer to Corbeau.
“You don’t look good, I just need to make sure you’re alright-”
“I’m fine.” Corbeau said. “I have a headache that I’m managing, my thoughts feel like they’re all jumbled inside my head and I can’t stop thinking about a damn cigarette. But I am managing it myself. I don’t need you to hover all the time Philippe, I'm the boss and I can take care of myself.” He hissed.
“I’m not saying you can’t. I know you’ve been working all day, I just want to make sure you’re alright.” Philippe said. He tried to reach out to Corbeau but the man jerked back his hand before they made contact.
“I am. I am fine. I don’t need your pampering, I’m trying to do this for us!” His voice rose and a few patrons swiveled their heads towards him but Corbeau didn’t care.
“I don’t want you to hurt yourself, there are better ways of doing this than stopping so abruptly. I’m sure it hurts, I’ve seen plenty of men go through what you’re feeling.” Philippe said. Corbeau simmered with rage and his lips morphed into a frown. He stood up quickly, the chair rattling backwards. Philippe mirrored him.
“Just give me some damn space. I’ll let you know when I need you for something important.” Corbeau quickly walked off while Philippe stayed there at the table.
It wasn’t until nightfall that Corbeau returned to base after a very long walk around the whole city.
This was ridiculous, it hadn’t been two days and he couldn’t get the thought of tobacco out of his mind. If he could just get through another day, maybe two of these incessant thoughts, he could get through this easily. His head pounded again. No amount of pain relief medicine was making it any better.
If only he could have a cigarette.
Just one.
He’d kept a pack deep inside his desk, buried underneath two layers of contracts, pens and various knick-knacks that clients had given him throughout the years of working in the Rust Syndicate. The moment his neurons fired and put the memory in his mind, it was impossible to stop his body from moving towards his desk. His trembling hands frantically dug through old papers and packages until they grasped the open cigarette pack like it was the key to salvation. He hadn’t even realized he was smiling, a wicked grin that spread from ear to ear.
Corbeau’s lighter was burning a hole through his pocket now. He should have thrown it away the moment he decided to quit this whole mess, but now he was thankful he could at least do this on his own without the help of one of his Pokemon. He didn’t even have a fire type but how he was right now he would rather figure out how to rub two sticks together than endure one more moment of this cruelty.
He opened the pack and there were a handful of cigarettes left. He fished one out and placed it between his fingers and pulled out the lighter. He flicked it on a few times and watched the flame dance for a few moments. His head made an insistent thud. He could feel it pulsating through his teeth now, a steady beat that synched with his heartrate.
Just one more flick and one smooth motion to bring them together. It would be easy to just put the two together and taste the tobacco in his mouth. That warm puff of air that escaped his lips after was so close he could already taste it.
His foot tapped, impatiently. There was only one thing stopping him: Philippe. What would he say about this? He knew Philippe would tell him not to do this, but unfortunately, he wasn’t here right now. He wasn’t here to stop Corbeau.
He brought the flame to the cigarette. The tip burned. He brought it to his lips and took the biggest drag he ever had.
It was glorious. His headache was dulled by a light-headed feeling that made his forehead cool and tingly. A small groan slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. He let his eyes close to take another puff. It was as if he were finally dunked into a pool of water after burning alive for two straight days. Why had he ever decided to quit this feeling?
The doors opened and Corbeau flicked his head up quickly. Only one person came into his office unannounced.
“Beau?” Philippe asked. Of course it was him, he was the one person that he didn’t want to see walk through that door. He didn’t bother hiding the cigarette, it was obvious with the smoke in the air and the smell of smoke that wrapped around him like a haze. Corbeau hadn’t realized how obvious it was until that moment. The smell permeated through the air and into his gut, twisting it into a knot.
“Hello Philippe.” He said. He took another drag and bent down to tip the ashes into a trashcan under his desk. His ashtray had been thrown out through the cleaning purge.
“You have a cigarette.”
“Yes.”
“You’re smoking.”
“Yes, I am.” Corbeau said simply. Philippe walked up, his loafers tapped against the floor and stopped right up to Corbeau’s desk.
“Do you feel better?” He asked, plainly.
“What?”
“Do you feel better?” He repeated, “You mentioned earlier you had a headache, I wanted to make sure you were feeling better now. I assume you do?” He asked. He moved behind the desk and braced a hand against it. Corbeau twirled the bud between his lean fingers and sighed.
“I do.” He said. Corbeau watched the ashes dim until it was just a bud and tossed it into the trash. He dragged a hand down his face and stepped back to put another foot of distance between them.
“I do feel better but I thought I could be stronger than this. I thought maybe I could get through and stop this. For you.” His voice came out strained through clenched teeth.
“For me?”
“Of course, for you. I know you wanted me to stop smoking and I needed the extra push to stop. It is a nasty habit, I need to stop, but… I couldn’t.” Corbeau said. Philippe’s eyes blinked strongly.
“Beau, I never wanted you to stop.”
“What?” Corbeau perked up.
“When you had been smoking too much I didn’t want you to stop because I didn’t like it, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Philippe reached for Corbeau’s hands and grasped them tightly. “We’ve been so stressed lately. I only wanted to make sure you weren’t working too hard, I don’t want you to go through all of this for me.”
Corbeau felt his face heat. He couldn’t believe his intuition had been wrong, and about Philippe of all people. This was embarrassing. How had he managed to misjudge something like this?
“I…I owe you an apology then.” Corbeau gulped. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier. My reaction may have been exaggerated.”
“Was it?” Philippe asked. His lips had turned up every so slightly in the ghost of a grin.
“Yes, it was and I apologize for that. I know you never indulge yourself in anything and I’m jealous of that.” Corbeau admitted. He leaned against the desk and Philippe walked up to box Corebeau in with his arms.
“I will always forgive you, Beau, but are wrong about something,” he leaned down to the ell of Corbeau’s ear, “you are my indulgence from such a terrible week we’ve had.”
He leaned down to place a kiss right on Corbeau’s lips and Corbeau leaned up on his toes to meet him halfway. Their lips met tenderly and Corbeau felt his own shoulders melt. This, this is what he was waiting on. He leaned back just a breath away.
“Then, would you like to continue where we left off a few nights ago?” Corbeau asked into his lips.
“I would. It seems like a more efficient way of stress relief for both of us.” Philippe said, a full smile present on his lips. Philippe effortlessly placed him up onto the desk again and Corbeau chuckled.
“That it does.”