Christophe gasped and wiped his sweat forehead, climbing out of the deep hole. He stabbed his shovel into the ground and reached for the body, tossing it into the ditch. It rolled and gathered dirt before it stilled, a soft, almost silent thud echoing its descent. The French boy sighs and gives a tired smile. Almost done. Bones creaking, he begins to fill the grave with dirt, tossing shovelful after shovelful of dirt with almost supernatural speed before it is finished. Christophe takes off his gloves and reaches for his lighter, making sure the material caught a good flame before tossing it to the floor. Wildfires are burning across the country, if the ground is charred, they won't suspect there's a grave nearby. And if they do, which he doubts, all they will find is a bullet wound to the head. Most likely, the body of Craig Tucker will never be found.
"Chris?" Pip yawns, sitting up from his bed, hair deliciously tousled. "Are you okay? Where were you?" His heart tightens with love for that stupid little British bitch and he presses a soft kiss to delicate pink lips. His anger when he sees the bruise decorating Pip's face is only cooled when he remembers Tucker is decomposing at the bottom of a ditch.
"Gregory called," Christophe lies. "He heard you were sick and wanted to make sure you were okay." He speaks carefully so his accent won't shine through, making every word cool and smooth. Pip likes his way of speaking but knows it doesn't come out unless he has successfully killed someone or finished a mission.
"That's so sweet." Pip mumbles into his shoulder, snuggling up to the boy. "But it's late; let's get some sleep, okay? We have school tomorrow."
"Oui."
Pip begins to nod off but starts when his hand brushes against Christophe's cheek. "Chris?" The Brit demands sleepily, staring at his dirt smudged palm. "You didn't do anything stupid, did you?"
Christophe smiles to the dark and imagines the flames licking at his love's tormentor's grave. "No."
He relaxes, but only slightly. "Well…all right."
"Go to sleep, now, Pip. I have taken care of everything." The British tee finally nods and goes to sleep, resting against Christophe. He smiles and runs a hand through long blonde hair. He never thought it would be possible to love someone so damn much. He would dig a thousand graves, including his own, to keep Pip safe.
God can suck on that for all he cares.