Cut me open

Hope I didn't speak too soon

My eyes have always followed you around the room

'Cause you're the only God that I will ever need.

-Noel Gallagher

By the Unlucky-Charm

"What about this one?"

We had been playing this game for a while now and I really didn't want it to end. I stared up at him; he didn't seem to want that either. It was morning now, but neither of us wanted to move. Despite the honest amount of sleep we had gotten, we were drained.

Last night, nothing much happened once we got to the motel. It was hot too so we took off our shirts and went to bed. As natural as he made it seem, he surprised me in the dark by taking me into his arms and settling me on his chest where I ended up falling asleep. But now it was morning, which meant there was light out. You could imagine my reaction waking up on roughened skin covered in scars. My intention was to reproach him of his recklessness, but turns out, each one had a story.

"That was a beetch." He chuckled. "The asshole didn't know how to use a knife and cut me deep with the wrong end of the blade. Slowly."

I flinched. Then again, I had been flinching all morning. His stories sounded painful. I ran my finger gently over that one too and drew circles on his skin.

"What's the most interesting one?" I asked.

"You are laying on it."

Half heartedly, I peeled off my head from his chest. In the center of both his pectorals was a very light pink line of barely 3 inches. It had healed and was barely visible even from a close distance.

"This?"

"Mmhmm."

"What happened?"

He sighed and sat up, pulling me towards him. I put my head on his shoulder and played with the brown locks of hair going over his neck.

"It was a while ago. I was in Germany and I had to steal some kind of information. It was my first time hacking into a computer so I was a little bit nervous." He narrated, leaning over and grabbing his box of cigarettes. "I knocked the guy unconscious and let him lay down on the floor. I thought we were alone in the house."

"So, I'm guessing you weren't?"

"Oui. He had a daughter. Five years old, curly blonde hair and the largest blue eyes I have ever seen in my life. She wasn't too happy about me hurting her father." He put the cigarette between his lips and he lit it. "The man had used a butterfly knife against me." He took a drag and relaxed a little. "I hadn't seen her walk in, but when I memorized the information and turned to leave, I was faced with a very unhappy little girl who, apparently, knew some sheet about knife throwing."

He ended his story and I snorted out a laugh. "What'd you do then?"

"I ran." He laughed. "It's nothing compared to guard dogs, but she looked like those little girls from horror movies so that kind of freaked me out." He finished his sentence with a string of smoke flowing out of his mouth. I wondered if I breathed it in, would it taste like Christophe. No, definitely not. I went to medical school, I think I would know at least that much. But it wasn't how the smoke was destroying his lungs that caught my attention, it was the beauty of how it unfurled itself over our heads and I found myself actually asking for one.

"Can I have one?" I asked and was instantly rewarded a full kiss on the lips. "No, I meant a cigarette."

"Oh. Then no." He simply responded, taking another long drag.

"Why not?" I demanded.

"We can't afford to have the both of us slowly dying, now can we?" He asked rhetorically.

"Can't we have neither of us slowly dying?"

"Non."

I decided not to bother arguing because he knew as well as I did how ridiculous that sounded. With one last squeeze to my shoulder, he untangled the covers around our legs and moved out. I grunted in displeasure at the loss of warmth he had provided me with all night and added more layers of sheets over me.

"Do we really need to move?" I whined, which was unlike me.

"We have to go get our things from the other motel."

Fuck. I had forgotten about that and being reminded just got me thinking about how gross I must currently be, wearing the same clothes and not having showered. I felt greasy.

"I fancy a shower." I stated suggestively.

"Go ahead." He said and slid on his jeans.

Bloody Frenchman doesn't get signals.

With a sigh, I stepped into the bathroom...alone. The shower was nice, but I half wished he was in there with me. When I was alone I got to think and that usually led to several pessimistic thoughts.

He kissed me yesterday and it wasn't very delicate either. Despite how horny that made me, we didn't do much when we got home. He just held me a lot. It was nice, but it didn't satisfy the needs growing in my pants. I never knew he could be so tender and it almost made me laugh. I would have been blown away if it weren't for his awkward movements of affection and the fact that I really wanted him to fuck me at that second. Question is, what does all of this make us now? Personally, I don't really need a name for us. I am not one to label things and if that's all we are, a 'thing', then that's fine with me. However, I'm not quite comfortable about it yet. He is new to me and I still don't know whether or not to make a move and whether or not it's the right move to make! Maybe I should just let him do the work, he seems to enjoy work anyway...but then I don't want him thinking that I'm pushing him away. It's not like I'm not willing, I'm more than willing! Would that scare him though? ...

Maybe I should get out of this bloody shower.

The second I turned off the water, I heard voices coming from outside. Great, more people trying to kill us, I thought. I stepped closer to the door to listen in, but heard nothing suspicious. Just Christophe and this other person talking.

"Listen to me you freak of nature. I am NOT going back there!" I heard him shout. Go back where? Jail?

"I don't have time for this!" The other man hissed. "This is the message. There's been another attack and that's all I know." His voice made a displeasing shiver run down my spine. It was a smooth voice, but came out as a roughened whisper.

"Who is –"

"I don't know any more! I told you." He stopped Christophe and then paused. "I think your boyfriend is done with his shower." He finished and I swear, I could feel his eyes boring through the door.

I gasped loudly as another cold shiver went through me, surely being heard by the other two. Embarrassed, I peeked through the small opening on the door, just enough to let my face and part of my chest show. I blinked water out of my eyes as a could of steam escaped and disappeared through the gap.

I heard Christophe clear his throat and then frown, but the blush didn't escape my sight either. "Put on some clothes" was the first thing he told me.

He seemed a little stressed and maybe that was because he didn't want a stranger seeing me half naked or that the same stranger brought him some bad news. I hoped it was the first case because that would mean he was being possessive and if that's not adorable, I don't know what is. I went back into the bathroom and put on my disgusting clothes. I remerged into the room and got a better look at the visitor.

He had long silky black hair; jet black really. He was pale and was normally built, only an inch shorter than Christophe but still taller than I was. He stared straight at me and I was about to shudder when I noticed the red eye contacts he was wearing. What was that all about? If he really though they made him look cool or 'dangerous' then he was terribly mistaken. If so, someone should really tell him that 12 year old girls wear those to look like vampires. And that's what he sort of looked like actually: a vampire.

"Hello Greg." He greeted, bowing the slightest bit.

I was even going to start wondering how he knew my name because I this individual looked like the type to give vague answers and that's nothing I felt like listening to right now.

"Gregory." I corrected. "And yes, hi. I don't believe we've met."

Christophe grunted and sat down on the bed.

"You're boyfriend here doesn't want to cooperate, maybe you can help." He said slowly, like an evil villain would. His hands were kept behind his back, adding to the look. Oh, and the black clothing wasn't helping either.

"I am not the problem here." The Mole growled.

"Okay, alright, what the bloody hell is going on?" I asked, holding up my hands in front of my defensively.

"They need him back at the base, but princess doesn't wanna go." The man said in a patronizing tone that was leaning more over to the 'teasing' side and stuck out his creepy tongue out at him.

"What's wrong with the base?" I asked my Frenchman this time since this guy was starting to scare me.

In response, he chuckled unhappily at the floor and shook his head.

"Go ahead Damien, tell him where the base IS." Christophe spat smugly, a challenging smirk on his lips...that I really waned to kiss right now.

"South Park." The man named Damien answered, a slight question being raised in his tone. He didn't seem to see what exactly was BAD about that hell hole.

"South Park?" I asked in disbelief. "That cold place? With those Canadian actors?" I sounded like blubbering idiot, but a sudden wave of dismay came over me and I couldn't help but feel distressed by the idea of having to go back there with all those nutcases.

Damien blinked at me, but luckily Christophe was here and he seemed to understand.

"Yes."

"And that woman...the mom who's a bitch!" God Gregory stop talking!

"Tripe J's, yes."

"Oh Sheila." Damien added. Could it be that he was from South Park too. He wasn't ringing any bells.

"Oh!" I pointed at him. "Christophe, wasn't that the place...with those dogs..." Oh now I had done it. His face fell completely and I saw his hand go for his leg; that's where the bites were. I didn't want to bring those bad memories back, but I couldn't help it. It was all coming back to me...again. Hadn't I already had an episode like this before with him? Maybe it's just the shock of having to go back. Fuck, I did NOT want to go back.

"Sorry." I muttered.

"Bad memories." Damien hissed like a snake. "I see. But you have no choice."

There was a moment of silence and I thought it best for me not to be the one to speak up first. Christophe sighed and began to speak impatiently.

"Who was attacked?"

"I'm telling you, I have no idea." The man said, also impatiently. "He's in the hospital under intensive care"

"What does that have to do with us?" Christophe demanded.

"Are you and idiot?"

"Watch your mouth, Damien." He warned in a snarl.

"If he was attacked, the ATTACKER must be in South Park. You haven't killed him yet?"

"Obviously not, but we got rid of the other one. Trent is still out there." He lit a new cigarette.

"No shit." Damien rolled his eyes and began to rub at his neck. "Cartman should be pleased with Scott out of the way. Whatever. You mortals are retarded. I'm off, I've done my job."

Mortals? Maybe he actually did think he was a vampire...poor arrogant idiot.

Damien opened the door and walked out.

"Yes leave. Go fuck Pip or something since your otherwise useless." Christophe called after him childishly, which made me shake my head at him. He glanced back and shot us a deadly glare before slamming the door behind him.

I could almost swear I saw his eyes glow.

I turned to him only to see that his eyes were already on me. The cigarette was dangling from his lips with puffs of smoke floating out of the tip.

"We have to, don't we." I said, hoping that he would tell me otherwise.

"No other choice, Cher." He answered me sweetly. I wanted to giggle so badly but I stopped myself. I was already putty in his hands, might as well be a man doing it. Fucking sexy French fuck making me into a schoolgirl.

"Our job isn't done. We kill him and leave, okay?"

"Okay." I said reluctantly and leaned my bent my body in half to settle my forehead on his shoulder. He didn't do anything for a while and I feared being mistaken by making this small move, but then his fingers plunged themselves into my blonde locks and stroked slowly.

"Come here." He purred and fell back on the bed, pulling me down with him. "You smell nice." He said once I was laying on his chest like in the morning.

He smelled like cigarettes and cologne. It smells better than it sounds. That's his scent and it's absolutely delicious, believe it or not. I nuzzled my head in the crook of his neck to breathe in more of it and shut my eyes.

"When are we leaving?" I breathed against the soft skin.

"In two days. Bastard left the plane tickets on the table." He responded in the same husky whisper he had used the previous night.

"So we didn't have much of a choice to start with." I stated, raising my head, along with an eyebrow to look at him.

"You could say that. I just hate it when these Americans get what their way." He said stubbornly.

So turns out the whole argument with Damien was useless since apparently, he had the tickets all along, saving us half the trouble. But of course, Christophe got angry anyway (though with reason).

"Christophe..." I drawled. "May I ask you something?" I asked, my British accent coming off quite strong, even for me.

"What eez eet? What 'ave you got on yoar mind?" He teased by thickening his own accent and waggling his eyebrows. "That was very...posh, of you."

"Wasn't on purpose, love." I grinned.

"Love? That's new." He laughed.

"I suppose it is, Cher."

"Very funny." He said and pulled me closer, squishing my cheeks against his lips. The spot where he kissed me was hot even when he pulled away and I wondered if it would be okay to take it a little further.

"So...we're like this now?" I said, waving my finger between us.

"Why wouldn't we be?" He asked and was that worry I heard in his tone? I didn't want him to worry, I wanted to reassure him that it was all okay and that I was the one with the perverted mind. He could do whatever the bloody hell he wanted. It's just that Christophe seemed pure, only in that department though. I doubt he would ever lay a finger on me or even think of touching me that way. No matter how rough the exterior, Christophe was a sweetheart even though you would have to dig through layers of denial to find it.

"Just checking." I whispered and wrapped an arm around his chest. My damp hair had left a wet spot on his shirt, but he didn't seem to mind. God, he was comfortable. I decided to concentrate on that and other fluffy things. I was dangerously close to him now and that haze of lovey dovey that had us in the clouds last night having disappeared, it would be harder to conceal certain things...yes, much, much harder.

I sucked in a huge breath of relief and Christophe, but exhaling was a different story. There was lightning fast shift in our position, followed by a pair of lips on mine.

"Mmph!" I couldn't breathe and my chest hurt from my lungs being bloated for too long. I exhaled from my nose as I pushed at his chest until he got the message and pulled away.

"What is it?" He asked, looking very displeased.

"I couldn't breathe! Warn me next time you decide to attack me!"

"I am French, Gregory. We are quite the romantics and warning a person you're going to kiss them before you do is definitely NOT romantic."

It took me some time to process the fact that the Mole from my childhood, the badass kid who had a shovel and hated guard dogs, had just said 'romantic' twice, both times referring to him kissing me. Wow.

"Right." I responded. "Sorry."

With a nod, he lay back and I followed, putting my head back to its original placement.

"Hey Gregory." He called my name the second I was settled.

"What?"

"Can I kiss you? Or are you Brits so fucking impassionate that I will have to write you a letter two days before I do, letting you know of my intentions and –mmph!"

Hehe.

I kissed him.