Title: Work
Author: shutupred
Rating: PG
Characters: Christophe (DeLorne), Gregory of Yardale
Pairings: Christophe/Gregory
Summary: A Gregory never forgets. Gregory reflects on all their time together.
Notes: For my Mole 3
Gregory remembered, in a flash of inappropriate timing, one soft, sunny day in France. They had been younger then, maybe twelve or a little older. He recalled fishing in Christophes Mothers goldfish pond, the pair of them proudly displaying the priceless, lifeless koi carp to the brunettes mother.
And then when they were fifteen, he remembered dragging Christophe to the nicest tailor he knew. The Frenchman had griped and swore, and even hit the poor attendant, but finally he was suited up in a wildly attractive suit. It was black and comprised of sharp edges, and it made Christophe look impossibly dangerous. That night he danced with him at the Yardale Spring Ball, trying not to laugh at the others sour expression or the way he tried to trip the girls in their beautiful dresses.
A year later, at sixteen, Gregory recalled being underground with Christophe. It was something about digging, and he remembered Christophe being so very angry about something to do with the soil. He was raving, and Gregory wasn't listening and so he was startled when a clod of mud hit him in the chest. A shriek and a fistfight occurred, which somehow ended up with Gregory underneath Christophe. The others hands were in the blondes pants, grasping and rubbing, and he was sure his hands were in Christophes trousers as well, judging by the noises.
At twenty, they were in the prime of their lives. Gregory had given up the stage, and Christophe had given up the solo act, and so they were in business. Together they moved through the gangs and associates of the underground life, making friends here and there, strengthening business deals and playing them all for fools. They all smiled and charmed, and the pair smiled and charmed back, and in the end, they were the ones who came out on top.
The wedding was short, sweet, and interrupted by a gunfight. Gregory laughed all the way to the hotel, his hands bloody and sticky even as he fisted them in Christophes hair, kissing him hard enough to bruise.
It was painfully easy to get into the arms business. Gregory dealt with the deals, as always. Christophe ensured things got where they were supposed to be. Gregory only ever drew the line at nuclear weapons, so maybe that put a bit of a blot on their earnings. Christophe certainly shouted at him enough for it, but it was something the blonde wouldn't back down on.
Eventually though, they grew bored of this. At twenty-three, why not start the old band back up? They fell into the swing of things against easily - legal trades never occurred to them. A fantastic team, a thorn in every governments side, wanted by many, hired by the few who could afford them. They lived like kings in several abandoned homes, in hotels, underground in disused pipes.
And this was how it ended; Gregory putting a bullet in Christophes head as he lay there, tangled hopelessly in barbed wire with the sound of dogs coming ever closer, screaming at Gregory to run.
The blonde stooped, pulled the USBs from the brunettes now limp grasp and shoved them in his pocket. He didn't pause to kiss the other in his final breath, or touch his hair or embrace him one last time. Instead he lobbed a grenade at the doorway near them, ensuring that Christophes body would be unravaged for at least a little while longer.
Then he turned and ran from the compound.
Ohhey, did I submit something? Whoops. I'll go back to lurking.