Rating: G to about T, maybe.
Characters: Gregory and Mole
Summary: This is a little set of one-shots that I wrote based on an RP backstory with a friend. God, that was a long sentance, I dislike it. Anyway, Gregory and Mole, growing up through the years, the growing of puppy love.
Notes: 'Marigold' is what Gregorys Mother - a die-hard hippy - wishes her son had been called. The number in brackets by each title is their age.
Blaze (12)Gregory was back from school for a week, something about a half term. That didn't mean he had time for little games and fake revolutions. He was working on a real one, and most of the time Mole would come round to play to find the blonde either buried in books or making phone calls to odd-sounding kids with funny names. Mole bet they smelt, and that Gregory was smelly too, which was why he was being friends with them.
Except Gregory didn't smell, which was where Moles ideas fell apart, really. He knew this because every night, Gregory would creep to his room and cuddle up in bed with him with a big book, which had very few pictures and what pictures it did have - "Diagrams Mole, they're diagrams" - were boring and didn't have any blood at all. Mole would endure them though, half watching the pages turn with his face hidden in Gregory's curls. Head against his shoulder, the blonde would murmur theories and ideas, and weird words like utopia and freedom, and resistance and revolution, and the unwashed masses, and that better not have been a jab at the Moles shower status, because if it was Gregory was about to get a boot to the butt.
Gregory sighed though and closed his eyes, tilting his head so that if they were open he'd be looking up at the Mole. This dislodged the brunette from the others hair and he wrinkled his nose, slightly dissatisfied at this seeing as he'd almost managed to nod off.
"It'll be wonderful, Mole," Gregory was muttering to him, smiling and seeming to tuck himself up to the other boy a bit better, turning a page and splaying his hand over a map of the world. His hands were only slightly bigger now then when they'd met at such a young age. Still smaller and finer boned then Moles, but they seemed to cover the continent he was studying. "It's unimaginable, of course. We wont see it, not in our lifetime no matter how we work or what we do, or what cause we die fighting for. But it'll be a start, Mole. We just need to be sparks, and then the world can blaze from there."
Butterflies (12-13)The Mole was disturbed. This didn't happen often, and that worried him a little more then what was disturbing him to begin with. From his shoulder, Gregory's voice continued in it's stupid, lilting tones and from their laps the pages of the book rustled as he turned them. A tap and Moles eyes dropped to the page where Gregory was pointing on a map and he nodded, agreeing to something even if he hadn't really been listening to what. He was more preoccupied with his state of being disturbed.
He had butterflies. Mole half-wished it could be something a little more manly, like having scorpions or earwigs, but no, there they were. Butterflies.
"You're not listening." Gregory complained, half-lifting the book to drop it on Moles legs, an attempt to get his attention. An aggravated sigh and Mole looked at the page again, frowning at where Gregory had drawn little arrows over the map.
"Eet wont work." He dismissed, stubbing a grubby finger onto the page and leaving a scuff-mark. "Zere is a watchtower, 'ere. Beetch."
"Hmn." A disappointed noise and Gregory leant over the book again, little pencil eraser rub-rub-rubbing at the marks until the map was clear again, starting over. Mole watched the pencil with only half interest before watching Gregory. Watching the way the light played in his hair, and the way his curls made shadows on his neck was fucking fascinating. His eyelashes made interesting patterns against his cheekbones as well, and occasionally he would chew the end of the pencil in a way that made Mole forget how to breathe for a few, inexplicable seconds.
Mole grimaced, reached over and shoved Gregory's curls back behind his ear, where they belonged and where they couldn't play havoc with his head. Ignoring the huff he settled back against his headboard and closed his eyes. He was used to Gregory being a clingy little child so he didn't jump when he felt the other lean back against him, sitting between his thighs and back pressed against his chest.
Instead he idly wondered when the blonde had switched from Lemon Zest shampoo to what appeared to be Watermelon and Strawberry. Interesting development.
He listened to the babble for a little while longer, occasionally peering over Gregory's shoulder to look at the book and be made dizzy by the way the others hair tickled his ear and neck. Gregory sighed and shifted, and rested his head back against the Mole, and the brunette felt another sweeping hit of the damned butterflies hit him and leaving him reeling a moment.
"Ah am taking a nap." He finally said, booking no argument despite Gregory's little complaining whine that they had so much more to run through. He stubbornly closed his eyes and let his chin clunk onto Gregory's shoulder. At least the blonde fell quiet then and studied his book instead. Occasionally the scratching of a pencil would break the silence, or the slight jostling as Gregory removed an arrow again.
Mole didn't sleep, instead just wanting a minute's peace. He heard Gregory close the book and lean over to drop it quietly over the side of the bed. A sigh and the other shifted, half turning in the Moles lap and curling to him. The brunette felt thin fingers find his and tug his hand against Gregory's chest, his arm being enveloped in a small hug.
"We're going to be so wonderful, Chris," Gregory breathed against the rough fabric of the Moles shirt, something in the Moles chest constricting as Gregory kissed the back of the others knuckles. "We're going to fix everything, everything that needs fixing and then, it'll be just you and me living in Europe forever."
First (13)For a moment, they just stared at each other in disbelief and surprise. Then Moles lip curled unpleasantly, and Gregory's jaw dropped with incredulity and, in unison, there sounded:
"Ewwwwwwwwwwwwww." At once, Gregory started scrubbing at his lips with the sleeve of his shirt and the Mole lit two cigarettes and sucked on them in an attempt to remove the taste. When they were done spluttering and looking suitably grossed out, they turned back to each other.
"Oh, god, it's like licking the underside of an ashtray." Gregory on Moles condition.
"Sheet. Eets. Eets like eeting fucking shampoo." And the returned review.
"That was gross." Gregory declared, folding his arms and still looking disturbed.
"Totally grozz." Mole agreed with a few fervent nods. Then he frowned, pondering something. "Per'aps we did not do eet right."
"What are you talking about? Of course we did it right." A sniff and Gregory poked his nose in the air a little. "I researched it."
"Zat ees why I doubt we got eet right." Mole teased back, snickering at the way the top of Gregory's ears went pink.
"Fine," Gregory snapped, taking a step over and, before Mole could flee, pressed his lips against the other boys with a little more determination. Mole flailed, dropping his cigarettes before clutching onto Gregory. The kiss was stiff and awkward, and Gregory leant back with a wrinkle of his nose.
"Steel weird." Mole said, leaning back to scrub his lips again as Gregory did the same. "Fucking sheet."
"Quite." Gregory huffed, stepping back and looking put out. "Books have lied to me, Mole. There was no orchestra, no songbirds, nothing." He eyed Mole disdainfully. "You're an awful kisser."
White Chocolate (13-14)"You're such a messy eater," Gregory was lecturing, one hand holding the box, the other holding a white chocolate in the shape of a rose. He pressed it to the Moles lips, which parted easily. "Can't be trusted with this stuff on your own. It's made with cream in Italy." Neither knew whether that was a good mark of chocolate or not though. Gregory was straddling the Moles lap, he was warm and Mole was reassuringly stable under him. Breaths caught slightly when a fingertip brushed Moles lips, catching slightly. The moment was very tense, and they were uncertain why.
Flower Child (14)"Mole, just stay still." Gregory was exasperated, a bunch of poppies in his hand. He reached up, trying to grab the others shoulder but the Mole ducked away, scowling in frustration.
"Ah am not a zeesy." He shot at the blonde, ducking another attempt. "Fuck off!"
"It's not sissy." Of course Gregory would say that, his own hair covered in flowers and leaves. A feint, and Gregory caught the Moles arm and pulled, moving his weight to pull the other off balance – ah, so Boot Camp was useful. An angered cry and quick scuffle ended with Gregory lying on the Mole, one arm keeping him pinned. It wouldn't keep him pinned; he knew his friend was letting Gregory keep him down, as the only alternative was to hurt him by kicking him off. A satisfied grin and Gregory raised the bunch of poppies triumphantly.
"HA!" Mole laughed, the bunch of red flowers having been crushed in their fight. For a moment, Gregory looked crestfallen. Then he sighed and flopped onto the Moles chest, reaching up to pull a few of the flowers – babies-breath and small red blossom – from his own hair. Ignoring the Moles spluttering he wove them deftly into the brown hair and grinned, leaning back slightly. Mole sat up, glaring at Gregory sourly as he supported both their weight on his elbows.
"You look lovely." Gregory cooed, looping arms around the Moles shoulders and giving him a hug, peeking up at him to grin cheerfully. "Thank you Chris."
"You fucking faggot."
"And a happy Valentines to you too." Gregory leant in, pressing a dry-lipped kiss to the Moles mouth. Then he stayed there, eyes closing hesitantly as he leant against the other. The blondes' fingers curled into the Moles shirt, and he sighed slightly against the others lips, tasting of that ridiculous gum he'd become so fond of. Mole lifted one arm to wrap around Gregory's waist and that, unfortunately, meant he had to flop back onto the ground with Gregory still kissing him. The breath knocked out of them, they broke the kiss and looked at each other, only an inch or so apart. Gregory's cheeks were reddish-pink, Moles a stubborn faint pink.
"Marigold!" From the house, Gregory's mother called as Mole leant up again, lips parted slightly. Distracted, Gregory sat up at once, leaving the Mole to look embarrassed and sink back onto the ground.
"I gotta go." Gregory turned his attention back to the Mole, grinning. "See you later, yeah?"
"… Oui. Faggot." The Mole shot after the blonde as he hopped up and hurried to the house.
Nights (15)For some reason that was currently unknown to the Mole, he was kissing Gregory. Kissing him hard enough to feel the imprint of his teeth on his lips, tongue moving slickly over his own and making their lips moist. Gregory broke the kiss and Mole knotted fingers in the curls, dragging the others mouth back to his to carry on despite, or perhaps because of, the way Gregory moaned and clung to him. They were shirtless even though Mole couldn't remember when that happened, or when they'd got to his room and so… Surprisingly horizontal.
Beneath him, Gregory muttered something deliciously lewd in French that made the pit of the brunettes' stomach curl very pleasantly, and the only way he could express it was through a low groan and tearing his mouth from the other teens. Lips slightly bruised and his face flushed, Gregory looked up at his friend through now-dark blue eyes. Gregory bit his lip and shifted on the bed, body brushing against the Moles and his arms reaching back up to pull him back down and muttering "J'ai besoin de vous, Christophe. Je dois vous sentir ici." in a low husky tone that Mole hadn't heard from him before and really, it was all making him a little dizzy.
It made him shudder though and dip his head, mouth pressing against the skin of Gregory's neck. The blonde sighed and arched his neck, fingers tangling in the Moles hair as he groaned and gasped his delight at the teeth and lips tasting over his pulse. The Moles hand slid down Gregory's side, curving underneath him to give a grope to the other boys rear, then tug his hips up a little to press against him. Both gasped at the friction, and it was with a bite to Gregory's neck and a pull on Moles hair that they started to rock against each other. The Mole could feel the blondes heart racing against his, breath coming out in short pants as… As…
Mole woke up with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. He was panting slightly, his skin hot and sensitive, and he noticed when he glanced down that he was gripping the bed-sheets in an entirely too violent way. Letting go he shuddered, trying to take a calming breath and ignore the issue in his lap for now. Looking to the blonde currently sleeping soundly next to him, the Mole thanked the Faggot-God™ that Gregory was a deep sleeper. He lightly patted Gregory's hair then slid out of bed, sneaking along to the bathroom. The brunette didn't question the dream, he didn't need to. It was only normal, having been friends for as long as they had been, that when the body was in it's confused stage, you'd have dreams like that.
Totally normal. He was sure of it.
Baaaah. There we go. Also, the French in the last one is "I need you, Christophe. I need you here." as far as I'm aware. Laters.