(A/N): SCHOOL'S OUT! WHOOO HOOOOO! In celebration, I present to you all a very long, very tediously worked on chapter for my lovely Kyle/Christophe story, Hold Your Breath. Take it away from me so that I never have to look at it again!
I would like to thank all of those readers who have read my stories and reviewed them, especially Anarchy Duck who was the only reader who reviewed my Pre-College 101 story. Big shout out to you, my friend.
I would also like to give a shout out to my dear Lacey aka Crazy Lala-Chan, who I know is alive based on all of the stories and chapters she has updated since I last checked. So, do her a huge favor and read all of her stories and review! But, please, be kind and leave kind, constructive reviews!
Oh, also no beta reader on this one for she seems to have fallen off the face of the earth. QUICK, ASSEMBLE A SEARCH PARTY.
On a side note—Not sure if Ambien CR comes in a bottle or a package like Sudafed, but I have declared it bottle worthy. Oh, and Ambien CR has not been proven to be effective with pediatrics (6-17 years old) who are also ADH/D. But there are no prescription drugs safe or effective for 13 year olds so, I played eenie meenie mynie moe, and picked Ambien.
Enjoy.
"Close your eyes."
There is never a decipherable warning sign or tell when Christophe's mood shifts from playful to dangerous. Kyle's heart frantically pumps his blood through his veins as his eyelids fall shut without any hesitation. The last thing he sees is the mischievous glint in hard, brown eyes and a smirk playing on smooth, cruel lips.
Four months ago, he was in this same position: kneeling on the ground between Christophe's spread legs, waiting for his Chap Stick to be back in his possession. Four months ago, he was nervously shaking with sweaty palms and shifty eyes. Four months ago, he was caught up in a whirlwind known as Christophe DeLorne.
January 6th, 2010
Kyle was in a deep sleep when a muffled noise forces his eyes to snap open. He waits for the noise to repeat itself before twisting his body to face his now open window, pale fingers deftly snatching up the pocketknife he stashes underneath his pillow. Sluggish from sleep, Kyle fumbles with opening the blade – eyes unable to make out the tanned fingers curling around his wrist until it is too late.
"Shit," is his brain's only logical response. The dark amused chuckle echoes in his ears and accompanies the warm fingers that wrap around the back of his neck. The rest of Kyle's senses slowly return to him and his body immediately relaxes when the scent of earth and smoke fills his nostrils.
"Christophe…"
"You know, ze usual response a person 'as when someone breaks into zeir 'ouse and restrains zem is shouting and struggling. Yet, all you say is 'sheet' and zen go limp."
Kyle's grin falters as the fingers around his neck tighten. When Christophe speaks again, his voice is low and dangerous and his breath ghosts across Kyle's cheek.
"Your leetle knife is useless eef you cannot open eet quick enough. I could 'ave 'ad a gun out, loaded and cocked before you even knew what was 'appening," the air surrounding Kyle shifts and he lets out a startled gasp when a rough, wet tongue licks his jaw, "'owever, I am surprised zat you awoke at ze first sound I made. Always zought you would be a heavy sleeper."
"You're fucking insane."
The purring voice that answers is amused, safe.
"Yes."
Suddenly, the strong hand that is holding Kyle's wrist yanks him over until he is laying flat on his back and dangerous fingers shift until they are wrapped securely around his pale throat. Christophe kneels carefully onto the mattress, moving until he is straddling the redhead's thighs. Calloused fingertips stroke the side of the Jew's neck while fingernails softly scrape across his scalp, forcing his eyelids to droop in contentment. Christophe's eyes narrow in thought, head tilted to the side as his fingernails dig deeper into red curls, eliciting a soft moan from pink lips. The French boy raises his hand from around the redhead's neck and immediately cards all ten of his fingers into Kyle's hair, stroking, massaging, and scratching at the sensitive scalp.
A sigh, a moan, a growl.
"Christophe."
A whisper.
There is a moment of quiet consideration before Christophe speaks in a smooth, controlled voice.
"Tell me, mon cher. Eef I asked you anyzing right now, you would answer just to keep ze fingers een your hair moving; Would you not?"
"Yessss."
The smirk adorning Christophe's face grows marginally larger as he continues torturing his little Jew boy, "And eef I told you to do anyzing, you would agree to do eet, no?"
A frantic nod is his only reply.
"And eef I keessed you, you would keess me back, correct?" Christophe's fingers still when his voice takes on a softer edge and green eyes open to peer up at him.
"There's only one way to find out."
Christophe grins and slowly leans over to brush his lips gently against Kyle's, his tongue licking the smaller boy's bottom lip to coax his mouth open and immediately plunging into the warm, wet mouth when access is granted. Sneaky fingers are just finding their way back into soft curls when a light knock at the bedroom door snatches them away. One second, Christophe's tongue is down Kyle's throat and the next, he is across the room slipping inside the closet with a finger pressed to his smirking lips. Just as the bedroom door opens, the closet door closes and Kyle's eyes shift to the silhouette standing in the doorframe.
"Kyle? Are you awake?" Ike's quiet whisper floats across the room and Kyle groans in annoyance at his little brother's insomnia.
"Yeah I am now," Kyle grumbles into his pillow as he hears Ike's feet pad across the plush carpet, "Can you not sleep?"
He hears a soft sigh followed by a thud as Ike kneels beside the bed.
"No. I haven't slept for more than two hours at a time since Monday."
"Jesus, Ike. Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Kyle shoots out of his bed and walks quickly to his desk, wrenching the top-drawer open and procuring a bottle of prescription pills. He pops the lid open and a single, circular, blue pill slides onto his open palm. He places the bottle back into the drawer, bumping it shut with his hip as he walks back over to the bed.
"Open."
"Kyle, I'm not seven anymore. I can put the damn pill on my own tongue," Ike states irritably, crossing his arms across his chest in embarrassment.
"Ike."
The younger boy's jaw drops open and his brother delicately places the tiny pill on the tip of his tongue before patting the fluff of black hair on the top of Ike's head.
"Now, go down stairs and get a large glass of water. Drink all of it. If you need another, let me know, okay?"
The brunette nods as he makes his way back to the bedroom door, stopping halfway through before turning around to stare at his older brother.
"Thank you, Kyle."
"Go to sleep, Ike."
Kyle almost forgets there is another person in the room until he hears his desk drawer open and pills shake in its container.
"Should he not take zem every night? And why do you 'ave ze bottle?" Christophe questions while twirling the small bottle between his fingers.
Kyle sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair, sitting on the edge of his mattress, "My mom believes he'll be less dependent on it if he only takes it when he needs it… and if I'm the one who gives it to him. She doesn't want him to become a drug addict or some shit like that."
Christophe snorts, throws the pills haphazardly onto the desk before walking back towards the redhead's messy bed. He stands directly in front of said boy, smirking down at the delicate, freckled face tilted up in his direction. He wraps his index finger and thumb around the Jew's chin, pulling his face up until he is forced to stand between Christophe's slightly spread legs. The predatory smirk that adorns the brunette's face sends a thrill shooting down his prey's spine, fight or flight instincts at its finest. At last, the smaller boy's body melts into him and he briefly claims Kyle's pink lips with his own. Cupping the redhead's face in his large hands, Christophe stares down at Kyle for several moments before finally speaking.
"You, mon cher, are fucked."
Using them as departing words, Christophe is by the window in the next instant, blowing a sarcastic kiss to Kyle before slipping out of the window.
It takes a moment for Kyle's brain to catch up with him.
"What?"
January 23rd, 2010
"He's right, Kenny. I'm fucked," Kyle declares whilst ducking behind a boulder covered in snow to avoid the barrage of snowballs headed in their general direction.
He and Kenny are having an in-depth conversation about how far the relationship between him and Christophe has gone while in the middle of a snowball fight. It snowed another foot last night (on top of the foot that snowed the night before that) and the big group of boys was enjoying the fresh powdery snow to the fullest. Kenny, Kyle, Butters, Cartman, and Token are on one team stationed at one end of a small, open field while Stan, Ike, Tweek, Craig, and Clyde are on the other team stationed at the opposite end of the field. To make things interesting, the fight is more like a game of Capture-the-flag, Butters and Tweek standing in as the flags that needed capturing. Kenny and Kyle are busy sneaking their way towards the other team's base while Cartman and Token play defense.
"You mean he fucked you?" Kenny says with amusement lacing his voice. The blonde narrowly dodges the snowball Kyle aimed at his face.
"That wasn't what I said, asshole. He's…He's like my poison. I can't get enough of him, even though I know it might kill me. I'm addicted. It hasn't even been two months yet and I'm already addicted. God damn it." He sees a blurry movement on the other side of the field and reaches for the cheap walkie-talkie attached to his hip, "Cartman, Stan is headed straight for you guys, on the right; do you copy?"
Cartman's baritone voice crackles across the radio waves, "Copy that Jew-boy."
"Kyle, listen. This is the happiest I've seen you in months. I don't want to get all sappy and shit, but if he makes you happy, then stick with it. Seriously, dude. From what I've seen, you two complement each other. Besides, I bet he's a God in bed," Kenny gives Kyle a lewd look that the red-haired boy can't help but laugh at.
Their conversation is interrupted again when Cartman's voice speaks through the tiny speaker of the walkie-talkie, "Stan is back in neutral territory on the left, over."
The two boys simultaneously curse and quicken their advancement on the "enemy base." They maneuver silently and quickly around the back of the snow fort and climb over the low wall. Once inside, the boys grab Tweek (who miraculously doesn't make a sound), and quietly usher him back out towards the edge of snow-covered trees encasing the field. Taking the right side instead of the left to avoid Stan, the three boys trudge through the thickest of the snowfall back to Base Awesomer. Kyle hears Kenny's voice behind him informing Cartman of the capture, ordering him to await further details and to keep his eye on Butters. With the coverage from the trees, the trio makes it back to base without any interruptions and the two boys promptly position Tweek at the front of their base, declaring them the winners of this round. Kyle hears Stan yell 'Jesus Christ!' from across the field and laughs at his best friend's shit timing. Kyle and Kenny high-five over Tweek's blonde head; the two good friends are invincible when together.
When another round of capture-the-flag deems Base Awesomer as the winners, the group of boys has a legitimate snowball fight – every man for himself. Twenty minutes into the fight leaves Kyle, Kenny, Stan, and Craig pinned against each other; Kyle and Stan had momentarily teamed up at the beginning to take out Butters, Clyde, and Ike. Craig took out Cartman moments after the burly boy softly hit Tweek in the back with a small-sized snowball, and then knocked Token out of the running with a fast pitch to the chest. Hot, sweaty, and giddy, the four remaining boys are in sudden-death. When Kyle and Stan immediately turn on each other, they leave Kenny and Craig to strategize the other's demise. After a few moments of thought, Kenny throws two snowballs consecutively at Craig – one misses its mark completely, but the other, hidden by the first, smacks Craig on his shoulder. Craig curses colorfully while Kenny does a victory dance around him.
Thoroughly soaked to the bone and freezing their balls off, the ten boys wade through the thick snow back to where Stan's SUV and Clyde's Jeep are parked just beyond the small patch of trees. Clyde, Craig, Token, and Tweek huddle into Clyde's Jeep Wrangler while Stan, Kyle, Cartman, Butters, Kenny, and Ike pile into the black Dodge Journey. Once sure that everyone is safely buckled into their seats, the drivers haul ass back to Token's mansion, where warmth and dry clothes are promised. A couple minutes into the drive, Kyle vaguely registers the vibration of his phone against his numb leg. Awkwardly reaching into his pocket, he pulls it out and flips the phone open without glancing at the screen. The boy barely manages a "hello" through his chattering teeth.
"Kyle, is Stan there? We've got exciting news," a girlish voice responds, forgoing all pleasantries. Kyle recognizes the barely-there southern accent as Wendy's voice.
"Y-Yes, but he's driv-ving at the mo-moment." The uncontrollable chattering of his teeth makes it difficult for him to speak fluently.
"Relay the message, alright?" He smartly puts the phone on speaker so everyone in the car can hear her speak, "Bebe, Red and I had this brilliant idea that since it's snowed another two feet, we should throw a huge party in joyous celebration. They've cancelled school on Monday, already!" Wendy's cheery voice exclaims. Kyle smiles at what she says and joins in with the happy shouts of the other boys in the car.
Kenny leans through the space between Kyle and Stan's seats to speak into the phone, "Who's throwin' the party this time 'round?"
"Red is. Her parents are out of town; ironically, snowed in at the slopes."
Stan's turns his head to say, "We're totally in, babe. All of us are going to Token's right now, so we'll fill them in for you. Want us to bring anything?"
Wendy's voice takes on a decidedly flirty lilt, "Just your shot glasses and party hats, darlin'. We girls have everything covered."
The line goes dead and Kyle snaps his phone shut with a wide grin on his face. The teenagers of South Park look for any reason to throw a party – no school being the most common. When Butters took his first shot, they partied all night. When Kenny aced every single class one semester, they partied all weekend. When Kyle, Stan, and Craig pulled off the best prank on the entire town, they partied all week and the parents joined them.
After pulling into Token's driveway, the boys clamber out of their respective cars and sprint into the house, making a beeline for the huge, lit fireplace. Stan informs them all of the party while they strip out of their soaked clothes, tossing the wet garments in the large wicker basket beside the mantle. They take turns rummaging through the piles of clean clothes Mrs. Black placed out for them and once they are cuddled in warm blankets and dry clothes, the teenagers seat themselves in a tight circle in front of the fire. Kenny has Butters in his lap, both cocooned in a fleece blanket next to a cuddling Tweek and Craig, sitting directly in front of the fireplace. To Kenny's right is Ike, who is curled up in his own blanket and leaning against the blonde's side. Beside Craig, Token and Cartman are shoulder to shoulder, each sporting a thick comforter over their broad shoulders. On the opposite side of the youngest Broflovski is Clyde, who is lying on his stomach burrowed underneath three blankets and the remaining two boys are huddled underneath the down feather comforter, which is pulled tight around their necks. A pretty chime interrupts their shivering and Stan pops his phone far enough out of the comforter to read the text message. He flashes a grin at it before letting it slip back into the comforter to land on the ground between his legs.
"Guess what we get to do?" the blue-eyed boy taunts, but doesn't wait for an answer, "We get to decide on who to invite to the party."
"Sweet!" Ike pipes up, earning a glare from Kyle.
"You aren't coming. You are WAY too young."
Cartman's voice overpowers Ike's indignant shout, "I say let him come. He won't drink, right Ike?" The two boys lock gazes and a moment of understanding passes through them. Ike nods his head in agreement.
"Fine. Ike can come, but if he so much as looks at an alcoholic beverage, I'll kill you Cartman."
Kenny cuts off whatever Cartman was going to shout back, "So, that makes all of us, plus the little man. Who else? What's our limit?"
"No limit. Wendy, Bebe, and Red are obviously coming," Stan says, encouraging the other boys to join in.
"Well, if Ike's going, then I'll make Karen come to keep him company. Craig, you should let Ruby join in on the festivities," Kenny states with a smirk to Craig.
"She's only invited if I'm insured that my little sister will not be touched, drunk, high, or looked at," Craig growls, slipping into his protective-older-brother mode seamlessly.
"Done. Ruby and Karen are covered," Token speaks in his deep, soothing voice, "that only makes 15 people. What about the rest of the girls? The Turner sisters, the Dunskin sisters, Lola, Millie, Esther, and Annabelle should be there. Kal and Kelly should come, too."
"Jimmy. Timmy. Thomas. Kevin Stoley. Pip and Damien," Clyde lists off on his fingers, counting Pip and Damien as one person.
"Christophe," Kyle interjects.
"If we invite Christophe, then Gregory will bitch if we don't invite him, too," Cartman says with a disdainful look.
"Bradley!" Butters chimes in, making Kenny jump from the sudden outburst.
"Which one?" the older blonde inquires with a tilt of his head.
After a moment of thought, Butters says, "Both!"
"How many is that? 33? 34?" Stan asks, trying to remember all of the names they said.
"35. One more to make it even," Kyle mutters, racking his brain for one more person to invite to the party, but coming up blank.
Tweek talks in a quiet voice, "We forgot Francis."
"Francis!" all the boys yell in unison, always forgetting to include the shy, brown-haired boy.
Stan pulls out his cell phone yet again and begins furiously typing away at the keys, sending a mass text to everyone they invited to the party. A few moments pass and the other phones in the room alert their owners of a new text message almost simultaneously. All eyes turn to Stan, who shrugs and says something about force of habit. Kyle is distracted from the conversation when his phone vibrates for a second time, signaling a new text message. He stares confusedly down at his lap before picking up his phone to read the message.
Who the hell is Red? And why was I invited to her party tonight?
The message was from Christophe and Kyle unconsciously smiles as he replies:
Rebecca from school. Please come and keep me company
Kyle can almost hear the French accent in the message Christophe texts back.
Only for you, mon cher.
Several hours later finds Kyle downing two successive shots of tequila in his infamous shot glass, trying to keep one eye on Ike and the other on his liquor. Stan is next to him clutching his own shot glass, a tiny football painted on the side, in his right hand and a can of Keystone Light in his left. The red-haired boy notices Ike eyeing up the bottle with uncertain want and he's five seconds away from dragging his baby brother back home, kicking-and-screaming. He's side-tracked when he hears Token threaten another boy with bodily harm if he even glances at Craig's little sister again and completely misses Cartman handing Ike a small shot of watered down vodka. Vision blocked by Cartman's body mass, he momentarily gives up on keeping an eye on his younger brother – every person in this house knows not to fuck with the younger siblings of the upperclassmen. When he turns back around to speak to Stan, Kyle nearly pees himself at how close Christophe's grinning face is to his.
"Christophe! I thought you were just not gonna show up."
An eyebrow raises, "And leave my little chéri to fend for 'imself? I zink not."
Bright green eyes finally take in all of Christophe's face, tracing fresh bruises and scrapes around the French boy's eye and cheek. A pale hand tentatively reaches out to brush over the abrasions on the taller boy's face, hard brown eyes never wavering from the freckled face below him.
"Zis is nozing. It does not even 'urt," Christophe rasps, wrapping one of his muscular arms around Kyle's thin waist to soothingly pull him against his side. Kyle does not miss the barely concealed wince. Anger rising steadily, Kyle extracts himself from Christophe's side to grab his elbow, effectively dragging him away from the heart of the party and into a secluded side room, turning on him the instant they are alone.
"What the fuck happened to you? You're more hurt than you're leading on to be and I don't appreciate the dishonesty, Christophe. Take your shirt off. Now." Kyle has both of his hands on his hips, a stern frown in place.
An army green shirt drops to the ground; Kyle gasps and Christophe rolls his eyes.
"I am fi-" Christophe doesn't even get the rest of the word out before Kyle sprints from the room.
"Sheet," the French boy curses under his breath, collapsing into the chair behind him, too exhausted to move. The plush cushions feel like clouds beneath his tense muscles and he allows a small sigh to escape his lips. It's happening again; his job is destroying his relationship. Why did he start this one with Kyle when he knew that this was inevitable? Why would he put himself through this again? Why would he put Kyle through this? He is the picture of dejection with his face in his hands, elbows on knees, and shoulders slouched. Christophe rubs at the back of his neck for several minutes before pulling himself up into a standing position when a soft voice stops him.
"Where are you going?"
Shock is evident on both of the young boys' faces as they stare at each other from across the room. A rare, genuine smile slips onto Christophe's face and he slumps back into the chair. The smile is gone in an instant when he spies a rectangular shaped box under Kyle's arm and a glass of water in his fingers. As Kyle approaches, Christophe recognizes the box as a first aid kit and he barks out a laugh of disbelief crossed with amusement. The green-eyed boy hands the glass of water to him before placing the kit on the table to open it. Swift fingers rummage through different ointments and gauze pads before finding exactly what is needed, organizing them on the tabletop. Suddenly, pain is searing through the cuts above Christophe's eyebrow and across his cheekbone as Kyle wipes them with a gauze pad soaked in hydrogen peroxide.
"Beetch!"
"Oh, stop being such a baby," Kyle says as he applies appropriately sized bandages to the brunette's face. Christophe growls loudly at the barely suppressed amusement in Kyle's voice.
Kyle's face resumes its seriousness as he searches for more injuries on the abused teen seated before him. In the midst of poking and prodding, soothing and rubbing, Kyle is aware of the eyes burning into the side of his face. Without looking up from his task he asks, "Are you going to tell me what happened?"
Christophe hesitates before slowly relaying what had happened.
"Gregory called me wiz a last minute job. Eet was supposed to be a quick 'smash and grab'…But ze job went 'orribly wrong. Ze beetches ambushed me and expected me to go down wizout a fight. Zere was a miscommunication between my partner and I, which almost got me keelled. Ze leettle beetch redeemed himself, zough. Got me out of a tight situation where I received zese," Christophe points to the bruises that cover his ribs and side, "Muzzer fuckers did not know what 'it zem."
There is a moment of silence while Kyle continues to rub ointment into Christophe's stressed muscles.
"Comparatively speaking, mon cher, zis is not ze worst beating I 'ave received."
Silence.
"I did not 'ave my medicine wiz me, zat eez why I am een zis much pain."
Kyle kneels beside the brunette to gain easier access to a nasty looking gash in Christophe's side and remains silent. He nearly leaps right out of his skin when a warm hand grasps his chin firmly.
"Look at me, Ky-el. Si'l vous plaît?"
Green eyes meet brown eyes instantly. There is a slight pause as Christophe intensely stares into Kyle's green eyes.
"Zank you," Christophe speaks in a low, soft voice that barely conceals emotions that are far too uncharacteristic of the French boy. Shock and adoration seep onto Kyle's facial features.
He doesn't hesitate when he crawls on top of Christophe's sprawled body, placing butterfly kisses on every scrape, cut, and bruise along the way, the last kiss falling on chapped lips. Stress visibly floods from Christophe's body as he leans closer to Kyle's warm body, ravishing the smaller boy's mouth with his tongue and lips. The kiss breaks shortly thereafter as the redhead leans back to stare at Christophe with sharp eyes.
"Next time, you won't hide your injuries from me. And you'll let me know when you have missions. And you will trust me with information on said missions. And you will kiss me every time you come back home, and love me, and bring me chocolates and flowers an-" Kyle's words are cut off by Christophe's smirking mouth on his own, turning him into an incoherent pile of mush. Christophe breaks the kiss off before things get dirty and instead curls Kyle into his uninjured side. The next hour was spent with Christophe explaining his earlier mission in vivid detail to Kyle, who was listening attentively and theatrically reacting to the suspense of Christophe's story telling. The trust that openly flowed between the two boys was almost tangible in the air surrounding them and their night together ended at the Broflovski Residence where Christophe kissed the red haired boy goodnight on the forehead.
With a smile on his face and hope in his heart, Kyle fell asleep with the knowledge that being fucked isn't always a bad thing.
February 14th, 2010
He awoke to the smell of fresh flowers and chocolate. He opens his eyes to see a brilliantly colored bouquet of flowers on his nightstand accompanied by a heart-shaped box of chocolates (open, with a good portion of them missing) and a blue envelope propped up against the vase of flowers. Kyle laughs at Christophe's lack of self-control for chocolates and unwraps one, popping it in his mouth with a satisfied moan. He sees his name scrawled on the front of the envelope in Christophe's handwriting and reaches out to open it with a flick of his wrist.
Mon Cher,
Though I loathe this sorry excuse for a holiday, I do not loathe showering you with gifts. Here's to coming home to give you kisses, and chocolates, and flowers, and (there's a noticeable dent in the paper where Christophe must have rested his pen for a great deal of time before he decided on a word) love. Happy Love Day, chéri.
Christophe
Short. Sweet. Simple.
Kyle shakes his head at the absurdness that is Christophe DeLorne, lying on his back to stare up at his stark white ceiling. His mood has drastically changed upon seeing the trinkets of love and adoration; Less than 12 hours ago, he and Christophe were ferociously arguing in this very room.
He was just finishing his homework to be sure that all of Sunday was completely free of distractions for fun activities with Christophe when said boy crawled in through his window with a dour look on his face. Kyle's eyebrows furrowed in concern as the tan-skinned boy stalked straight towards him and wrapped his strong fingers around his upper arms, hefting him right out of his chair. Two steps had him pinned against the cold wall beside his desk; two seconds had his mouth filled with Christophe's wet tongue. Concern overpowering lust, Kyle pushed hard against the taller boy's chest to force him backwards a mere inch.
"Jesus Christ, what's wrong with you? You look like you're about to kill someone," Kyle stated with panic staining the edges of his voice. He's taken aback when Christophe pinned him with a hard glare and tightened the grip on his arms.
"Ah, Chris, you're hurting me." No response urged Kyle to begin struggling futilely.
"Stop." Kyle stilled in the too-tight hold, nervously staring at the face in front of him. The first tendril of fear twined its way up Kyle's spine as Christophe shifted one hand from around his arm to around his throat.
"Listen to me; do not speak. Do you understand?" the brunette growled and squeezed Kyle's throat warningly. Red curls bobbed as the latter nodded his head in understanding.
"We cannot be together any more. I am moving back to France tomorrow. All communication will cease immediately and you will not follow me. Zere is no need to negotiate zis, every zing 'as already been finalized." Christophe loosened the fingers around Kyle's pale throat and took several steps backwards. The smaller boy's face was frozen in shock.
"What? No. No, Chris you can't leave me. What did I do wrong? I'll fix it, I promise! Wait!" Kyle yelled the last part and stumbled forward as soon as he saw Christophe turn to leave. His life went from 'in mild danger' to 'in mortal peril' when Christophe swiftly pulled a gun out of seemingly thin air and steadily aimed it at Kyle's head. The Jewish boy stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the barrel pointed in his direction. Intuition fueling his movements, Kyle took another step forward, undeterred by the chilling sound of the hammer being pulled back. Two more steps placed him directly in front of Christophe, head adjacent to the gun that was aimed at him moments before. Green eyes flickered across a stone hard face and slender fingers reached out but never reached their destination, captured by a larger hand.
"Do not do zis. Do not make it-" Words catch in his throat, force him to stop speaking.
"Don't make it what?" Kyle whispered, fingers twitching anxiously against Christophe's palm.
"Stay back, Ky-el or I will 'urt you." The malice in Christophe's voice was slipping and he could no longer look at Kyle's face.
"No. Where the hell is this coming from? Why are you all of a sudden uninterested in me? Why are you fleeing and forcing me to stay behind? Huh?" Kyle asked, his voice raised slightly in hysteria, "Is it your mother? Is she making you do this? Are you in deep shit with Gregory? Did one of your missions go wrong?"
Christophe twitched at the last question.
"One of your missions went wrong." Fear.
"No." Denial.
"Then what happened?" Kyle finally shouted and grabbed Christophe by the collar of his shirt.
"I cannot tell you! You cannot know any zing! Let it go, Ky-el!"
Voice full of determination, Kyle spoke with calmly, "No. I will not let it go. We're supposed to trust each other with this stuff. I won't allow you to leave unless you tell me exactly what's going on. You look scared, Chris! It's as though you're cornered with no other way out. Have you forgotten that I'm the trap door behind you, ready to get you out of those tight situations?"
All the fight drained out of Christophe's body and he collapsed to his knees with what suspiciously sounded like a dry sob. Kyle was immediately crouched by his side, tilting his head up with his index finger.
Words spilled out of Christophe's mouth without any prompting, "Zey are going to get to me zrough you. Zey zreatened to 'urt you if I did not do as zey said. I cannot 'ave you as a target to ze people I am enemies wiz. …My plan was to force you to 'ate me enough to not follow me… so zat you would be safe from 'arm. …I 'ave failed you."
Kyle bent forward to brush his lips gently against Christophe's cheek and spoke softly, "You haven't failed me. I trust you to be able to protect me, and you need to trust me to be able to protect myself. I'll be careful for you, I promise. Now, please, don't leave me. And don't make me beg."
A smirk replaced the uncharacteristically distraught look on the French boy's face, "But you beg so prettily."
And just like that, the atmosphere of the room shifted back to normalcy, the raw emotions once again hidden by a mask of perversity and bad-boy charm.
Kyle ignores the paranoid nagging in the back of his mind and searches under his covers until he locates his phone. After sending a short thank you text to Christophe, Kyle calls the only person he believes is capable of helping him in this situation: Kenny. The blonde-haired boy has been taking kickboxing lessons for the past six years and would be able to help teach Kyle some maneuvers to defend himself if the situation ever arose. He is pulled out of his deep thinking when Kenny's voice mumbles through the phone.
"Ken, can you help me out? I'm in some deep shit."
March 17th, 2010
It's St Patrick's Day. It's St Patrick's Day and it's a Wednesday. It's St Patrick's Day, a Wednesday, and every person in South Park is drunk. Drunk on beer, drunk on drugs, drunk on laughter, drunk on happiness. All driving privileges have been revoked from each person whose legs are long enough to reach the pedals, all work and school has been suspended until Friday morning (not that any of them are going to show up then, either), and all bars, restaurants, and households have people streaming (more accurately described as stumbling) in and out of them.
Kyle, Stan, Christophe, and Kenny are almost barefoot (Somewhere along the way from Kenny's house they had all simultaneously lost their shoes in a fit of drunk-logic), strolling up the path to Stan's house, where his dad was throwing an all-day-all-night party in celebration of the Irish holiday. There's a strange mixture of partygoers and Christophe tilts his head to one side when he sees a beer pong game pitting parents against their children in the Marsh's front lawn. Once inside the house, Stan leads the other three boys up the staircase and into his bedroom. Stan, already wasted at 4 o'clock in the afternoon, collapses face-first onto his knee-high mattress where Kenny joins him in drunken hysterics. Christophe wraps his strong arms around Kyle's smaller frame from behind, resting his chin on a somewhat boney shoulder. Fingers teasingly trace ambiguous shapes across barely revealed skin, and an alcohol-hazed mind almost allows a quiet moan to slip into the air. Kenny's slurred speech disrupts the moment and forces Kyle to remember that there are other people in the room.
"Stanley, come dow'stairs wiff me so we ca' kick sum newbie ass in beer pong," The blonde-haired boy states, grabbing Stan by the back of his shirt without waiting for a reply and hauls him off the bed.
"Mkay, jus' lemme git up first…"
Christophe snorts in amusement and nods his head towards Kenny, who smirks back and drags his inebriated friend out of his own room. Drunk people taking care of drunker people, Christophe thinks to himself as he turns Kyle around in his arms to face him. Christophe's large hands slide down a gracefully arched back to grope a firm ass, coaxing a pretty moan out of the redhead's mouth. Kyle curls his arms around the older boy's neck and pulls his head down to crash their lips together in a messy kiss. Tongues twist and coil around one another, teeth clash in hurriedness, moans spill from one mouth to fill the other. With one hand cradling the back of Kyle's head, Christophe rips his mouth away with a growl and sinks his sharp teeth into the soft skin of the Jew's throat before licking his way up the pale neck before him to nibble on an exposed earlobe. Overwhelmed with too many sensations at one time, Kyle doesn't notice he is walking backwards until the back of his knees hit the edge of Stan's bed. With only a tiny shove from Christophe, Kyle topples backwards onto the Tempur-pedic mattress, tilting his head to the side in drunken amazement when he doesn't bounce one bit.
"So the commercials weren't a hoax!" he exclaims in a moment of distraction.
"No springs, no bounce," Christophe murmurs as he crawls on top of Kyle with cat-like grace to whisper in his ear, "And you know what else eet does not do?"
Kyle shakes his head with an ill-concealed moan.
"Eet does not squeak. So when I fuck you on eet, all zey weell hear are your moans and cries for 'arder, faster, ohgodplease." Kyle arches into the warm body above him and Christophe uses the opportunity to peel the shirt off his own body.
Glazed over eyes stare up at him from under vibrant red curls as his almost-too-hot fingertips sneak their way under Kyle's Kelly green sweater to expose the smooth, warm skin hidden underneath. Chocolate brown eyes stare fixedly at pink parted lips and within moments, they are captured in yet another kiss. This one slow and sensuous, Christophe takes his time to thrust his tongue in and out of Kyle's mouth in an exact semblance of what is soon to come. Kyle mewls into the mouth attached to his as fingers tightly grip his slim hips to move rhythmically against the body above him. One of the hands grasping his hip skims to his behind, where bold fingers dig into the fleshy mound of Kyle's arse to aide in grinding their hips together. Gasps and moans fill the air when Christophe moves his mouth away to practically tear Kyle's sweater off, flinging it to the side in irritation. Hips still moving in desperation, Kyle moans out Christophe's name as one of his own hands grasps at his red curls, the other flung above his head in complete submission.
"Christophe- nngh- please," Kyle gasps.
Christophe stares calculatingly down at the image of pure seduction below him, and struggles to reign in the sadistic part of him that wishes to destroy, to torture, to fuck with abandon and instead pushes forward the more logical part of him. As his brain comes up with a conniving plan to get exactly what his sadistic side needs without harming Kyle in the process, his fingers push slim hips into the mattress underneath and forces them to cease all movement. Christophe nimbly undoes the button and fly of Kyle's jeans before pushing them, along with the clover-covered boxers beneath them, down and off lean legs to join the crumpled sweater on the floor. Only just now aware of his state of dress (or undress) and in whose bed, Kyle gasps in embarrassment and struggles to sit up.
"Christophe, wait! No, I can't do this in Stan's bed! We're, ah, best friends, but there's a line that can't- shit-- can't be crossed. Chris-stop that- we absolutely should not, cannot, will not- fuck!"
Christophe's baritone laugh rumbles straight through Kyle's cock, which is currently shoved halfway in the other boy's mouth. The Jew throws his head back against the mattress in torturous pleasure while his fingers tightly grip the sheets above his head. His hips jerk upward on their own accord and he cries out in pain when sharp teeth nip his inner thigh in warning. Assured that his message was received, Christophe resumes sucking and licking every inch of Kyle's cock, tormenting said boy with enough pressure to tease, but not nearly enough to satisfy. After continuously mouthing and prodding the head with tongue and lips, Christophe finally deepthroats it all in one go, swallowing instinctually when the tip presses against the back of his throat. A high-pitched whine rips through the air as Kyle's entire back arches off the bed, leaving his head and arse alone pressed into the mattress. A frustrated moan follows quickly thereafter as Christophe backs off Kyle entirely to kneel above him.
"What the…fuck… Finish pl-….please…" Kyle pants, glaring daggers at the obviously amused teen looming above him.
"Not quite yet, mon cher. I 'ave much more planned for you," the mercenary drawls in his heavy French accent dripping with lust. Christophe leans over him and Kyle begins to let his eyes fall shut in anticipation of another kiss, but snaps his eyes wide open when the boy on top of him moves too far to the left.
"What're you…" Kyle hears Stan's bedside table scrape open followed by the noise of objects being tossed around in search of something. Suddenly, there is a small container in front of his face and a deep red blush spreads across his cheeks in humiliation as he shouts, "We cannot use Stan's lube! The line, Christophe!"
"Ze line 'as already been crossed, Ky-el. We might as well keep running."
The sound of a cap snapping open is all the warning he gets before he's forcibly rolled over onto his stomach. A hand grabs one of Kyle's hips and pulls him onto his knees, exposing his arse to the Frenchman behind him. The sight alone makes Christophe groan uncharacteristically and he takes a moment to remove his own pants before he pours a liberal amount of lubricant on his fingers. One hand soothes the skin along Kyle's lower back and arse cheeks for a moment in an attempt to relax the flushed boy displayed before him.
"You can tell me to stop at any moment, Ky-el," Christophe's melodic voice states in reassurance as a single finger delicately circles the tight ring of muscles. Without much more warning, the brunette slides his finger in to the last knuckle and slowly begins to finger-fuck the trembling boy. At the first sign of relaxation, Christophe twists his wrist and shoves another finger in alongside the first, curling both upward until he hears a sharp inhale followed by a keening mewl. He smirks when Kyle pushes his hips backwards onto his thrusting hand and tortuously rubs against the smaller boy's prostate for several moments before he resumes stretching the muscles that are contracting and relaxing around his fingers.
"Christophe," Kyle whines, drawing the brunette's name out in agonizing pleasure.
"Yes, mon cher? Speak to me. What is it zat you want?" Christophe murmurs as his fingers find a rhythm, jabbing the little redhead's pleasure spot on every other thrust.
"I want-ngh- need more. Chris-ah- more."
"More of what? You must use your words, Ky-el."
"You! I need-fuck-more of you, please," Kyle moans, looking over his shoulder to lock eyes with Christophe, "Fuck me, now."
Unable to restrain himself any longer, Christophe removes his fingers from Kyle's body to spread an almost excessive amount of lube over his cock. Tilting his head to the side in deliberation, he reaches forward to drag Kyle into an upright position, shifting him back until pale thighs were straddling him backwards. Christophe firmly runs his hand up the redhead's sweat covered chest to lightly grasp the front of the pale boy's throat.
Christophe nibbles at the skin behind Kyle's ear before he rumbles, "You can go at your own pace zis way. So, move."
Kyle gasps when Christophe positions his hips before carefully bringing them down onto the leaking tip of his cock. Once slipped in, the fingers gripping Kyle's hips relax into a simple hold and the smaller boy feels a hot tongue lap at the back of his neck. Kyle shifts his pelvis downward in a slow, but steady movement, and soon he has Christophe's entire length sheathed inside his tight, hot hole. Teeth clamp onto his shoulder when he experimentally rocks his hips forward and back again and he lets out a strangled moan at the pain mixed with pleasure before rocking his hips once more. Clenching his own teeth at the pain slowly etching up his spine, Kyle starts to raise his body up and down at a slow pace ignoring the tears stinging his eyes. The muscular legs beneath him part his thighs into a wider stance and Kyle feels Christophe lean his weight back onto one hand. The redhead moans loudly as the thick cock slides deeper into his body, dragging along his prostate from the change in position.
"Faster!" Kyle gasps out, reaching one hand behind him to twist his fingers in Christophe's thick brown hair.
Kyle whimpers when the hand still loosely gripping his throat shoves him downward then pulls him roughly back up. The new angle provides Christophe with a cruel new way to cause Kyle anguish as the head of his cock nudges rhythmically into the smaller boys prostate on each movement. As he carefully watches his lover crumble into a moaning, writhing mess, Christophe begins to thrust harder and faster into Kyle's oh-so-willing body. After being teased for far too long, Kyle's hips lose their smooth rhythm within a pleasure overload and he barely registers Christophe shift forward to seize a handful of his hair, pulling him into a sloppy kiss. Kyle inhales sharply as he is unexpectedly hurled over the proverbial edge of pleasure and he drowns in the sensation of complete and total bliss. He vaguely feels Christophe's teeth latch onto the juncture between his neck and shoulder and shudders at the vibrations of the French boy's feral growl.
Kyle's exhausted body falls limp in Christophe's hold, red curls thrown over a tanned shoulder and a lean chest rapidly rising and falling in overexertion. Christophe slowly lowers their sweat-slicked bodies onto the mattress and rolls to the side with a content hum. The realization of what exactly they just did (and where exactly they just did it) hits Kyle's sex-addled mind and he rolls onto his stomach to smoother his face in the sheets with a humiliated groan.
"I cannot believe we just defiled Stan's bed!" his muffled voice shouts and Christophe couldn't help but throw his head back and laugh at his little cherry's humiliation.
April 24th, 2010
Eight weeks after Kyle and Kenny started their kickboxing training their preparation was put to the ultimate test: Christophe wanted to go up against Kyle in hand-to-hand combat. Christophe had three rules: No gloves, no shoes, no padding. Christophe's reasoning was that if they were going to be ambushed at any moment, Kyle wouldn't have the time to gear up and therefore had to prepare for the worst. Kenny grudgingly agreed with the mercenary and pulled off all of Kyle's gear, tossing them on top of the redhead's bag. As Christophe unlaced his shoes and peeled his socks off, Kenny stood before Kyle and gave him a encouraging pat on the head.
"I'm sure he won't kick your ass too hard," Kenny says, cocking his head to the side with a smirk.
"Thanks for the support, man," Kyle said sarcastically, rolling his eyes for good measure. Slowly walking onto the matt where Christophe was already waiting, Kyle nervously rubs at the tape wrapped securely over his knuckles. Kyle comes to a stop four strides away, well out of the reach of his mercenary's hands. The redhead gives the brunette an uncertain smile before shifting his body into a defensive stance.
A smirk spreads across Christophe's face as he says, "Do not worry, mon cher. I will not 'urt you. Too much."
Kyle jumps when a loud gong reverberates around the room and his head whips to the side to see Kenny standing several yards away with a shit-eating grin on his face and a gong hammer slung over his shoulder. Remembering his lover turned opponent, he quickly looks out the corner of his eye just in time to move his head, barely dodging a swift punch. Hastily stumbling backwards in surprise, Kyle resumes his defensive stance in front of Christophe, this time being sure to keep his eyes forward.
"You are quite quick, chéri," Christophe murmurs, assuming his own stance, "Come, now. Attack me."
Without hesitation, the smaller boy swiftly shifts his weight to connect his foot against Christophe's side, and then promptly hesitates when his foot actually makes contact. Kyle wrenches his leg away from the older boy and takes another step backward in suspicion. Christophe's face breaks into a wide grin and when his hand beckons Kyle forward, the redhead cocks his head to the side with a look of confusion on his sparsely freckled face. Keeping his body tight, the Jewish boy gracefully arcs forward to land a punch to Christophe's exposed abdomen. Without so much as a flinch, the mercenary grabs Kyle's thin wrist and uses his momentum to throw him off balance enough in order to incapacitate him with a simple arm lock. As one strong hand twists Kyle's wrist at a painful angle, the other pushes threateningly on the redhead's shoulder blade, forcing the smaller boy to his knees.
"Get out of eet, now. Get out of eet, or I weell break your arm," the French-boy growls, twisting Kyle's arm harshly.
Kyle wracks his mind for a possible way to escape for several moments, but none of the training prepared him for this type of escape. Slightly panicking and not knowing if he could get himself out of the hold or his arm broken, Kyle improvises by placing his remaining hand on the matt in front of him for balance as he quickly curls his leg backwards to swiftly kick out Christophe's right knee. Rolling onto his feet after successfully escaping from his lover's vice-like grip, Kyle yet again safely backs away. Expecting a slow amused response from Christophe, Kyle is taken complete aback when the tall boy immediately turns around to land several controlled blows to Kyle's torso and jaw. For the next ten minutes this process repeats itself (kick, block, punch, retreat, fall, cringe.) until Christophe breaks the cycle abruptly. With a powerful grasp on one thin leg he pinned to his side, Christophe deftly sweeps Kyle's leg from underneath him, just barely catching him before he hit the ground hard. Christophe hovers over Kyle's splayed out body and he stares down amused at the pout on his little cherry's pink lips.
Pressing his lips onto a slightly sweaty forehead, he murmurs, "Oh, mon cher, you will be perfectly fine. I am sure."
And with that, the mercenary left his poor, slightly less defenseless, chéri laying flat of his back, flushed and panting. Kyle was confused as to whether he passed or if it was another test and, deciding on the former, he let out a loud sigh of relief. And then he remembered: Kenny was here, but he didn't hear him lurking on the edge of the matt. Kenny + silence = trouble, the redhead thought, and no sooner did he think that than he saw the water- too late to roll out of the way.
A splash of water- and then- "Holy shit, dude! That's fucking cold!"
Laughter echoes around the room, full of innocence and unawareness of being steadily observed from a distance.
Present day.
"Close your eyes."
Hot, calloused fingers sooth Kyle's flushed cheeks when his pale colored eyelids fall shut on command. Christophe's dry palm cradles Kyle's face in one hand while shockingly gentle fingers tuck a lock of curly red hair behind a delicate ear. A smirk slowly spreads across a tanned face when the Jewish boy melts into the mercenary's touch and hard brown eyes soften as they memorize the face before him. Suddenly, Christophe is distracted by a bright red dot that wavers across one of his walls and lands on his chest.
A shot rings out at the same moment Christophe tackles Kyle to the floor, covering the smaller frame of his lover with his own much larger one. Christophe vaguely hears his mother's scream echo from up the stairs and hurriedly drags Kyle across his carpet to wrench open his closet door. Shoving a box aside with his shoulder, he kicks open a hidden door before throwing Kyle face first into the small hole. Following seconds later, Christophe reassembles the tiny door and leans heavily against it, holding the juncture between his neck and shoulder tightly.
"Sheet."
He pulls his fingers away briefly and hears Kyle's frightened gasp as both sets of eyes take in the deep red liquid covering Christophe's fingers.
"Double sheet."