Title: They Say That Love Is Like A Battlefield
Author: Daisy
Fandom: South Park
Setting: Kyle and Christophe's Apartment
Pairing: Christophe DeLorne, Kyle Broflovski
Characters: Christophe DeLorne, Kyle Broflovski
Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort
Rating: T
Chapters: 1/1
Word Count: 993
Type of Work: One-Shot
Status: Complete
Warnings: Fluff, Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Angst
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Christophe's nightmare is just too real, and he can't honestly say he feels he woke up into reality.
AN: So, I was just browsing Tumblr, and a fellow writer reblogged this for later, and the idea really hit me as Christophe and Kyle. So, we'll see what happens. This might end up being a little venty, but who knows. xD I'm just glad I'm writing these two again.
Prompt: In the middle of the night, person B has a nightmare about person A and bursts into wakefulness, gasping and frantic, waking A in the process. A asks what's wrong, but all they can get out of B is "I love you" repeated over and over in desperation. A pulls their lover close, kissing their forehead and jaw and neck, whispering soothing words until B calms enough to tell them what happened.
This is also my 50th South Park fic on Ao3!
They Say That Love Is Like A Battlefield ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Kyle?" Now, where did his little cherry get off to? Christophe could believe, for a few moments, that this was some dumb game of 'catch me, don't catch me' that would end up with Kyle bent up against the wall, but something seemed off. Sunlight spilled through the open window of the small, one-bedroom house they shared, dust floating benignly by his face as he called out again, "Kyle? Where did you go? Sheet." That last part was hissed to himself.
"Bedroom!" The redhead's voice floated to him as if on the wings of angels, and he followed it like he'd never do anything better in his life. When he got to their room, the breath was knocked from his lungs at the sight of Kyle wearing nothing but one of Christophe's overgrown sleeveless sweaters, the green turtleneck billowing out a bit around his hips. He sat on the edge of the bed, his thin, gold rimmed glasses perched low on his nose, some dusty old book in his lap, those emerald eyes turned on the Frenchman in the doorway.
"What's up, Chris? You look like you've seen a ghost." Taking off the reading glasses, closing the book and setting them both on the bedside table, Kyle rose to his feet with both red brows drawn in like curtains.
"Just…" All the breath was knocked from him as his red angel stepped to him, "Paranoid, I guess." He chuckled, welcoming Kyle into his arms. Feeling that wonderful nose he could have written epics about pressing into his chest, he was taken so off guard that he didn't catch the odd red dot moving through Kyle's hair in time.
The shot rang out so deafening that nothing else seemed to make a sound, and as his lover's body went limp in his arms, the wound leaving all the color spilling from him, the colors of this world he was in melted into grey sludge. Dropping to his knees to help guide the redhead in his arms to the floor, all he could do was stare as everything he'd ever built up for was leeched from him with Kyle's death.
Shooting up in bed, Christophe's chest heaved as his large, rough hands snapped to his sides, looking for the familiar shape and warmth of Kyle beside him. Eyes wide and unseeing, sweat slicking his hair to his neck and forehead, he desperately tried to wrap his mind around going from a sunshine suite to the darkness of their bedroom. Slowly, his patting hands made out the outline of his lover beneath the covers, and the disgruntled redhead turned to peer over his shoulder.
"Chris, what the f-" The look on the Frenchman's face had him abandoning any of his anger, and he sat up slowly, proving he was still very much alive. Rolling a little to get closer to the other, he climbed up onto his knees and pressed a kiss to the mercenary's temple.
"I… You- Merde." Stammering and shaking, Christophe tugged Kyle into his lap, brushing his hands all over him. The redhead had been cold the second the blanket had slipped from his shoulders, but those warm, quaking hands were enough to make him warm again. His own traveled the dips and valleys of muscle on his Frenchman's bare chest, and he hummed softly as he tried to calm him.
"Another nightmare?" He questioned, finally, brushing his lips against Mole's and looking up with those bright emerald eyes.
"Mmn… Oui." The brunet offered softly, closing his eyes and taking Kyle's cheeks in his hands. Smoothing his thumbs over the other's cheekbones, he tugged him in by his face for a long, slow kiss. He needed to feel Kyle alive, thrumming beneath his fingertips, else he lose his mind fearing he woke up to another nightmare.
Pressing the slighter man into the bed, the Frenchman kissed down his neck, up to two freckles on his neck that always made him laugh. That was a sound Christophe would have loved to take to his grave, the only thing he'd ever want to hear again. It definitely helped to ground him, even as he rubbed those large hands over shoulders, down the curve of his spine, and finally to grip that perfect ass. That had the redhead snorting a little.
"Mustn't be so bad if you can solve the problem with ass, Chris." Kyle chuckled, smiling up at him and leaning in to kiss him again.
"I must feel all of you… Be certain you are alive." Christophe replied softly, nuzzling his nose into his lover's neck and inhaling deep. Sighing softly, he let his hands travel back up, over his shoulderblades and down his arms. "I will not let them take you."
"Them…? Alive?" It was obvious that Kyle was piecing together the other's dream, now, and he kissed the Frenchman's temple. "Nobody is going to-"
"We don't know that. I have a lot of enemies." He murmured, "And my love for you is… Dangerous."
Green eyes wide, Kyle blinked a little, his cheeks flaring rose beneath his sparse freckles, "Love?" That was, probably, the first time Christophe had admitted to it. They'd been together for well over a year, now, and it had been a question of whether or not he'd ever say it.
"I- Oui. Je t'aime." For a second, he sounded sheepish, ducking his head and glancing away, before he was tugged into another soft press of lips.
"I love you, too." Kyle whispered softly, nestling his nose into the other's neck and breathing in. "Do you want to watch a movie? We could snuggle on the couch and watch whatever you want."
"S. Darko?" They had yet to get all the way through that movie without Kyle falling asleep.
"Sure." He nodded, slowly climbing out of bed. Christophe silently relished in seeing Kyle in nothing but his underwear and a tattered, mud-stained green shirt.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN:
Translations:
Merde - Shit
Je t'aime - I love you