The fourth chapter! Kind of a filler, but meh, whatever. The next one will be better, I promise! Because I have no school tomorrow (again) I'll write another one. :D

-M

The walk home for Christophe was hell. It didn't really help that the Antichrist was with him, either. Being around Damien was bad enough, but now he had to let him into his house to work on this fucking project. Though Damien didn't say anything—Christophe knew the don't-talk-to-me-or-you-die message to the other boy was clear—the walk still seemed unnatural and awkward.

Damien suppressed a sigh as he scrolled through the music on his iPod. He found some Korn and turned it on, letting the jerky, almost insane music take over his equally so mind. He stopped for a moment, looking over at Christophe, whose eyes were focused on the sidewalk ahead of him. Damien took out one of his earbuds awkwardly and offered it to the brunette.

"Want one?" he offered.

"Euh...daccord." The French boy agreed, cautiously taking it and putting it in his ear. After a moment, he took out the object in disgust and looked at Damien.

"What ze fuck was zat?" he spat, glaring at the Antichrist.

"Relax, princesse. It's only Korn."

Christophe shuddered at the name of the band. He remembered when they came to town once, when he was very young—their music made no sense and startled him, to say the least.

"Well, your taste of musique ees sheet, princesse."Christophe retorted, mimicking Damien's voice on the last word. He knew they were acting childish, but he didn't care. "Now shut ze fuck up, we're 'ere."

The Frenchman opened the door to find his mother there, vacuuming the carpet.

"'Ello, kids!" she said brightly. "Christophe, 'ho ees your new friend?" when her eyes met Damien's, she jolted slightly at the sight of the red irises that stared back at her. She had never seen such a thing in her life.

"'e ees not my friend." the boy growled. "'e ees 'ere for a project, nozing more."

"Alright, zen. Go upstairs; I 'ave to work." she muttered, shooing them away. Honestly, Mrs. DeLorne didn't have anything to do—the sight of that other boy made her feel uncomfortable.

"So, what element should we pick?" Damien asked, sitting down on Christophe's bed. The room was small and a bit crowded. The bookshelf that was parallel to Christophe's bed was full of foreign titles that Damien had never heard of. Some looked very, very old.

"I don't care." Christophe grumbled, unloading his worn leather bag of textbooks and the like.

That oh-so-familiar smirk played across the Antichrist's face. "What about Francium?"

Christophe glared at Damien, even though he didn't know why, but it felt right. Everything the raven said made him want to take that old shovel he had when he was a little boy and smack him across the face.

"Very funny." he muttered, no trace of amusement on his face.

"Yeah, it's a French element, but that's not the only reason we should look at it." Damien's full smirk merged into a small half-smile. "It's the most powerful and reactive substance out there, you know."

Christophe's eyes narrowed. Curse God for making Damien a science whiz.

"Fine. Whatever." he sighed, throwing his hands up in the air, then reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. "Francium eet ees."

"Good." Damien said, watching Christophe look for his lighter. "Here, allow me."

He flicked his index finger in the direction of Christophe's cigarette and a small ember appeared, floating towards the unlit cancer stick. When it made contact, it burned normally, like nothing had ever happened. Christophe mumbled a "zank you" quietly and continued to fumble through his messenger bag, finally pulling out an old, battered laptop.

"We can do our research on zis." he said, opening the small computer. It whirred loudly, making the awkwardness between the two boys grow. Finally, after what seemed like ages, the desktop screen of the computer flicked on. Christophe got onto the web page and waited, typing furiously.

"Tell me the information and I'll write it down." Damien said, pulling a sheet of lined paper from his plain black notebook. Christophe nodded, scrolling through until he found a reliable source.

"Atomeec number...eighty seven." the French boy muttered. Damien quickly wrote it down. Christophe couldn't help but notice Damien's handwriting. It was sharp, jagged lines that scrawled across the paper to form words in all capital letters. His words were small and neat, as in a lot of thought had been put into them.

"Your 'andwriting ees...interesting." Christophe murmured, then realizing what he was saying. Too late, he couldn't pull back the words.

"I suppose." Damien shrugged. "I like writing by hand. People's handwriting tells a lot about them, you know."

Christophe nodded, continuing his search. "Eet was discovered by Marguerite Perey in 1939..."

Damien kept writing, hanging off the Frenchman's every word. This was, he realized, the only time he and Christophe would have peace. It was an unspoken rule—they needed to get a good grade on this project.

Damien loved to break rules.

Slowly, quietly, he made his way behind Christophe. The French boy thought nothing of it. Damien was probably looking to see what site he was on, or something.

Damien's eyes were gleaming with want, yearning to touch the other boy, but he resisted for a moment.

"You know, that locker must've really fucked up your back." Damien murmured softly.

Christophe frowned. He wasn't understanding where Damien was going with this.

"I'm actually really sorry for that." Damien said, his voice low. He ran a finger over the burn wound he had inflicted on the French boy earlier lightly. Christophe flinched at the sudden contact, but didn't retaliate. It almost felt nice to be touched, and Damien wasn't going to be this nice anytime else.

"Y'know, you look really stressed out." Damien purred in the Frenchman's ear. Christophe let a low growl rise in his throat. Not this again.

Softly, Damien's hands fell to Christophe's large shoulders, slowly rubbing and massaging them. Instantly, Christophe felt himself react. Regardless, he wasn't going to let this...obstacle distract him from his grade.

"Eet was ze...ze last element ever discovered." he stammered, as Damien worked out one of the kinks in his back. Damien continued to rub his back, not bothering to take notes.

"Shouldn't you be writing zis down?" Christophe asked, feeling woozy already by the Antichrists almost magical hands. They felt foreign and new, and that made him uncomfortable.

"It's alright. I'll remember." Damien cooed. If only Christophe was facing him. He wanted so desperately to see what emotions lay beneath those hazel eyes.

Damien's hands made their way to the small of his back, and Christophe let out a sigh of relief when the tension there was released. He felt relaxed, so much so that he didn't care whether it was Damien massaging him or fucking God. All that mattered was that those hands on his back felt amazing. He never wanted it to stop—until it did.

"Ca va mieux, cherie?" Damien asked, his words rolling off his tongue in perfect French. The Antichrist was expecting Christophe to jump at him on the last word, but he didn't. The brunette simply let out a "Oui" in response and kept on typing.

French Stuff!

Daccord-Okay

Musique-Music

Ca va mieux, cherie? - Feeling better, darling?

Oui -Yes

Be sure to review and stuff! It makes me write faster :3