Paint Me Like One Of Your French Men

Painting Twenty-Five

"Toodle-doo fucker-roo," Vincent spoke into the phone.

"Doodle on yourself, bitch," the phone replied.

"I've missed you too, bastard," Vincent laughed. "Do you still have that job open for me?"

"Oh? You mean the one where you sell me your soul and become my personal sex slave?"

"Hoe, you wish. No, I mean the one where I do cheap tricks and you get money for it, Lau," Vincent rolled his eyes. Lau certainly hadn't changed a bit since the last time the two spoke to each other. How long ago was that? Vincent didn't remember. Every time he talked to Lau it felt as if the time was meaningless. They were always close no matter how many years separated them. 

"Damn, I thought for sure I'd get you this time. I've always got a spot open for you. Don't you know that? But, why the sudden interest?" Lau never ceased to ask questions. That is, if he knew the person he would ask them everything he possibly could. If he didn't, he'd pretend to know everything regardless of if he knew absolutely nothing. That's what happens when you run illegal operations on the side. 

"I've got two extra mouths to feed, am in need of some identification certificates for them, and could use the extra space," Vincent replied.

"What are you willing to give me for it?" Lau asked. He asked this every time Vincent asked for a favor. Vincent's response was never different.

"Anything."

"Anything? Let's have sex then."

"Are you sure your husband would allow that?"

"Kiku can join, obviously."

"Are you sure your husband would do that?"

"Why do you know him so well?" Lau pouted. "I'll think of something kid-friendly then. I'll have to get back to you on that though." Lau snickered. "Or maybe I'll just hold it over your head forever until I really do need a favor. 

"See you soon, buffoon," Vincent hung up. He entered his apartment and began to pack, (yes, he really did just call someone while standing outside the door and refusing to get his keys and open it with one hand). There wasn't much he had to begin with. Victor and Adrian had even less, but that would change.

"What are you doing?" Victor asked as he watched Vincent pack.

"What does it look like?" 

"Are you...leaving us?" Victor grabbed Vincent's arm. Fear in his eyes. Terror on his face.

"I am leaving, but you're coming with me," Vincent assured. Victor heard the words and hugged the man. He started sobbing. Relief? Joy? Maybe a bit of both. 

"You don't hate us!" Victor clung to Vincent tighter.

"What?"

"You don't hate us?"

"If I hated you, why would I have taken you home?" Victor's face turned a bright red. Realization was a bitch.

It took hours of packing, not because Vincent had a lot of things, but because the other two were messing everything up. They wanted to keep a number of the paintings Vincent had decided to throw away. He sighed. If they had space in the rental car he would take them. That's all he could promise.

The road trip was equally as painful. Each male hid at the sight of another human. Vincent knew their life was miserable before but this had to change. It was a wonder they managed to reach their destination at all. Vincent couldn't leave the car for a moment or the two would freak out.