Desperate
Title: Desperate – Chapter One
Author(s): Toni (Dark--romance)
Editor: None. That's why it's so bad :3
Fandom: South Park.
Pairing: Christophe-ZeMole/Gregory.
Dedicated to: My Gregory ;D
Warnings: Yaoi/gay/slash/whatever, language, violence on Christophe's part because he's a beetch, lack of good grammar xD
Inspiration: Song = Psychobabble – Frou Frou.
Disclaimer: As much as I wish I did;I don't own South Park or any of its characters. South Park © Matt Stone and Trey Parker
Comments: This is an awesome song, that totally reminds me of these two. Uh. I don't know if I'm gonna chapter this thing, but.. eh.
First song-related fic. So be nice.
This fic contains French-swears, English-swears and gayness. Don't like it? Megabyte me.
The shrill ringing of a telephone broke and shattered the silence like a bullet shot.
"Hello?"
"'Ello."
A heart skipped a few beats, a gloved hand ran through blonde hair and a soft british voice uttered a quiet, disbelieving:
"Christophe...?"
"Oui?" the voice answered, as if their conversation was in the safe areas of 'normal'. Gregory took a moment to steady himself, placing a slender hand on the table, to grip it and even his weight.
"How... Why are you calling me?" Gregory asked. "We are enemies, Mole. I have told you that before!" A hint of slight anger was rising in the Brit's voice as he spoke. He wondered lightly whether this iwas/i Christophe. He had no evidence of his truth.
"Well, excusez moi," The voice replied, smoothly. "But I do not g'eeve a sheet what you 'ave told me before."
"You don't give a 'sheeet' about anything, you bastard!" Gregory snapped, imitating Christophe's accent rather well. The French man gave a low, short chuckle before he inhaled deeply. Gregory could tell, without a glimmer of doubt; it was definitely Christophe. No other being could hold such an intriguing laugh, not to mention a drag on a cigarette to follow.
"You 'ave always known me so well." Chrisophe said as he exhaled, presumably blowing the smoke from his lungs.
Gregory sighed. His heart was involuntarily fluttering. He knew, deep in whatever heart he possessed, that he was happy to hear from Christophe. There were times when he wondered if the 'impossible' had become possible, and Mole had been killed... Then he realised that it was Mole, and that he should stop worrying (Christophe was not stupid enough to get himself killed) and focus on what 'mattered'.
"What do you want, Mole?" Gregory asked. He had to end this conversation as quickly as possible. Yes, Gregory would have willingly stayed on the phone for hours with Christophe, even if he wouldn't admit it, he was both relieved to hear Christophe was still alive, and flattered that he would call him. It meant that he hadn't forgotten him, at least... But they had to stop talking with one another. They were enemies, different sides, and this conversation was putting them both in danger.
"I need your 'elp," the French male informed his opposite. "So I am com'eeng over."
Gregory froze for a moment, his heart beat increasing. If he were not wearing gloves, it would have been clear to see how white his knuckles were growing from clutching the table.
Coming over?
He picked now to want to visit? The moment their war had begun?
No. He had to decline. It was impossible!
"Mole, there is no-" Gregory began, but the line was cut short. A dull, continuous tone met his ears. He stared before him, holding the phone desperately at his ear still, as though he hoped for the voice to return.
But it didn't... and Gregory was forced to replace the phone on its rest.