Adrenaline
Whil-o-whisp
Fandom: GregoryxZeMole (Christophe), South Park
Word count: 491
A/n: I decided to write down 100 words and write stories for each one for any of my pairings and fandoms. This is number 81. Adrenaline. I am trying to write them and post them up here. :D You guys should check out Nae'ka. She writes amazing Goth stories so yeah, go read her stuff. (or on Deviantart, Phantom4Muah) DO IT!
Disclaimer: I know nothing. I own nothing. Get over it.
It's a rush, yanking the gun out of my mercenary's hand and pressing the dangerous man up against his own wall, only twenty feet away from the slightly younger boy's sleeping mother. My shirt is smeared with his blood, his own shirt in bloody tatters from a job. It makes the room smell more like copper, less like dirt and cigarettes. He threatens my safety, and it's the sexiest thing he could do right about now. His skin tastes like blood, and I can feel it between my fingers and on my face.
If there was one thing Christophe and I have in common, it is an undeniable addiction to adrenaline. His career choice, his goal in life; being a mercenary is all in the pursuit of destroying the worthless inhabitants of this world, getting paid, and feeling that delicious rush. My career choice, my blatant disregard for my own safety, my choice in a boyfriend, all in the pursuit of that feeling, the pounding of my heartbeats, the disrespect for the common ways, the elite ways I was raised in. It's addicting.
"Gregory…" It was softly mumbled, the barest noise in the room, and I only just heard it over the pounding in my ears. I grin and kneel, pressing open mouthed kisses to a wound across his belly. "You worry me sometimes." I worry the great Mole? I have to say I feel flattered. He doesn't worry about anybody. Except his precious little Kenny.
His hiss is the only sign I'm hurting him. He's felt much worse by less caring hands. He can suck it up. He grabs at my shirt and yanks me to my feet none too gently. I can't say I mind. He kisses me for the first time tonight. He pushes us away from the wall, towards his mattress on the floor. I'm rather surprised we didn't trip over the odds and ends he kept around his room. He really must clean his room soon.
He's a rather distracting individual if you notice. Well sculpted, dangerous and just a touch mysterious, with that accent and eyes that scream to get away. I can't say I ever want to listen as he shoves me back onto his mattress. He's out of breath, his cargo pants hanging low on his hips and his shirt in pieces. Blood smeared his lip, his own blood, my blood; I don't think I care anymore. "And none of this worries you, Christophe?"
He scoffs as he kneels over me, his knees pinning my hips. He nuzzles into my neck, a relaxing feeling from such a dangerous person, but I must admit, its on of my favorite feelings. He's so dangerous. He kills for a living. He kills for me. He kisses me. Those soft hands will only love me. Not his stupid Kenny. Not his precious little dead boy, not even Kyle. He loves me.
"More zhan you will evuh know."