"This is where you wanted to take me?" Bobby looks around, sunglasses in place. He surreptitiously checked Remy out from behind. Remy had opted for elegant and stylish today, showing himself off with a casual suit. To the untrained eye, he was like any other French queer in Paris.

To Bobby, Remy was exactly that - a queer in Paris - except a lot hotter. And *his* queer.

"This is jus' part of it, cher," and Remy surveyed the lobby. "What do y' think? Mona Lisa, Italian Rennaisance or th' Dutch gallery first?"

Bobby leaned in, digital camera bumping his chest. He, on the other hand, looked like an American tourist, camera and all. Thank god he had a change in the car.

"So what're we staking out?" he asked quietly, eyes on Remy's collar. Remy was wearing cream, and had sunglasses on. He took Remy's hand, lacing his fingers with Remy's slender ones - mostly for an excuse to get closer. "What's the job?" he murmured.

Remy pressed his lips to Bobby's cheek gently, and Bobby inhaled. Cinnamon, today. Bobby refrained from snoring. The man even co-ordinated his cologne with his clothing.

A security guard glanced at them, looked Remy up and down, and looked away again, bored. Bobby blinked in surprise, though then he thought about it - they were in a museum in Paris. It probably wasn't an uncommon sight, two men holding hands.

Remy finally answered him, "this is a vacation, Robert," and tugged him into the museum.

Bobby kept pace, but eyed Remy's back suspiciously. A vacation? What?

~

Three hours later, Bobby said, "okay, I believe you."

Remy looked away from the Guardi he was staring at, open-mouthed, and blinked. "huh?"

"This is a vacation." Bobby sat on a nearby bench, looked around. No one else was in the gallery - he wasn't sure how Remy had orchestrated that, but he had - and so he added, "not a job."

Remy turned back to the painting. "Do y' like this one?"

Bobby stared up at the painting. It was pretty. He tried to summon up some other feeling. It was still pretty. "Uh. Yes."

Remy stood there, and then turned around. "All right, don' look at me like that. We'll go an' take that ferris wheel ride or somethin'."

Bobby stood, grinning. "Isn't that in London?"

Remy frowned. "Maybe. Well, we can' do that t'night, anyway."

"So we're hitting merry old London as well?" Bobby said, spinning around. He was trying to find the exit, but as usual, had absolutely no idea where it was. Remy had lead him through the maze of painting galleries, and so Bobby was hopelessly lost. "You sure do know how to show a guy a good time."

"We ain' done in Paris yet, cher," and Remy took one last look at the painting. He unslung his backpack, pulled a sports bottle out of it. Took a sip, then passed it to Bobby.

Bobby sipped carefully, and was pleasantly surprised by the taste of rich champagne, not water. "trying to get me drunk, LeBeau?" he said, taking another sip. "In a museum?"

Remy's eyes darted to the corner. "Shhh!" and he put a finger to his lips. "Y' might get it taken away."

Bobby took a final sip - verrry good champagne. But of course it was. Remy had picked it out. "Here." He gave it back to Remy.

Remy put the bottle on the floor, and stretched, leaning on both hands and stretching his legs out on the bench. "C'mere."

Bobby tried to balance himself on the bench, and finally had to prop himself up with one foot. "This isn't exactly a big enough bench for both of us," he told Remy. "But I have triumphed!"

"Y' so weird, cher," and Remy smiled, then kissed him.

~

Bobby looked around as they exited, heading for a cafe. "Remy," he said, warily.

"Yes, cher?"

"Where's your sports bottle?" He thought very, very hard. Remy, it was true, could pull some impressive sleight of hand - Bobby couldn't ever keep up - and it was true, Bobby wasn't paying attention to everything, but still -- "you left it in the museum," Bobby said quietly, it finally dawning on him.

Remy shrugged, an innocent look on his face. "Moi?"

Bobby looked outraged. "That *was* a job! you didn't even tell me!"

Remy lit a cigarette, carefully holding the match away from the wind. The sun was barely setting on the skyline of Paris. Bobby put an arm across Remy's shoulders, pulling them closer. Remy leaned into him. "Didn' know there was a job t' be had, Bobby."

Bobby took the cigarette, puffing delicately. He coughed a little. "I keep thinking I'll figure out why you like smoking," he said to Remy, "but alas."

Remy re-adjusted his sunglasses, shook his shoulders out. Bobby recognised his more professional manner right away. "I'm thinkin'," Remy said, "that we come back tomorrow, maybe evenin', check it out, then plan for predawn."

Bobby handed the smoke back, nodding mostly to himself. "I don't even like clove ones," he commented, then they started walking. People surged everywhere, intent on going about their business. "So when'd you figure out there was a job?"

Remy tugged Bobby's waist a little, bumping their hips together. Bobby nudged him back. "Well, y' liked th' painting I was eyein'."

Bobby rolled his eyes, incredulous. "You decided to steal that - what was it? because I liked it?"

Remy flipped the cigarette through his fingers, it burning faintly. The sun was just setting. "Let's get s'more red wine, an' go have a picnic or somethin," Remy said, then added, "and yeah, I wasn' gonna consider it if y' didn't like it."

Bobby kissed his cheek, impulsively, and squeezed Remy tight.

~