Author Note: Huge thanks go out to all my reviewers as always, Andatariel.x, Four of Spades, G. Wings, NotebookChen, mangamoo1, let's point out the obvious, Aiconx, The Brat Prince, KiwiHolocaust and Bethany C. MacKenzie! I'm always so panicked about posting anything with romance (or in this case, fucked-up hate sex) that every favourable review is a huge relief. And the last chapter was the most reviewed chapter to date, which is always a good sign.

And! I owe extra huge thanks to Aiconx, who gifted me with the most awesome fanart for this story! Honestly, it's a truly awesome picture and I'm so grateful to have inspired it. There's a link in my profile, so go and take a look!

The next chapter might take a couple of weeks, I'm so snowed under it's not funny and it was one of the chapters I hadn't backed up before my computer went crash, so I'm having to rewrite it again. I seem to have had to rewrite a lot of this story... thanks for that Microsoft.

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I got caught up in favourable slavery...

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Damien lay on his back, on the floor, staring up into the darkness. There was an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, something akin to fear and he suspected he was closing in on panic. If he had been able, he would have seized the feeling and destroyed it but it was too vague and free-floating. This wasn't a situation he could fix with a few simple manipulations – he'd tried that and it had failed. The simplest way should have been to destroy the source of his confusion, but whenever he considered it, his mind immediately threw up vehement justifications to the opposite.

Gregory lay beside him on his side, back to Damien, not in any kind of contact with the other boy. Damien assumed he was asleep. He hadn't said a word in the aftermath, merely given Damien that icy glare and shoved him away. Damien hadn't wanted to argue with that dawning realisation and the overpowering dislike reflected in those blue eyes and let himself be shoved, allowing Gregory to draw away from him.

Well, that had gotten out of hand in a hurry.

Damien had never intended for things to go so far. His sole reason for keeping Gregory around and alive had been as a form of distraction – ever since Gregory had found out what he was and what was about to happen, Damien had been able to speak more freely and in doing so, been able to strengthen his own resolve. Mocking Gregory about what the future held reminded Damien what his entire reason for existing was and allowed him to make it sound glorious, to himself at least, the words drowning out his lingering doubts about what he was doing – what he was destined to do.

Only Gregory had seen through him, cut to the heart of his doubts and confronted him with them. And Damien had needed some way, any way, to shut him the hell up. Both of them were scared out of their minds, Damien with the inevitability of his life and the total lack of choice in the matter, Gregory with the dark knowledge that there was absolutely nothing he could do that would change things. Both of them were in denial of their fears.

Except that Damien had been forced to confront his fear and didn't much like it. He was trapped in a web of prophecies made thousands of years before his creation and he couldn't see a way clear. He'd never wanted to be normal, he'd always enjoyed what being the Antichrist entailed, but at the back of his mind had always been the knowledge that one day, his destiny would claim him. If he accepted the money and the power and the adulation, he would have to accept the destruction too.

And now it was here. And knowing there was nothing he could do to avert it made him feel weak, insignificant...

Human.

He couldn't deny his fear anymore. He didn't want to be the cause of the end of everything he knew, the downfall of mankind. He hadn't asked for it, he hadn't sought it out. He had never been given a choice. And there was no one who could stop him.

Damien turned his head slightly to look at Gregory's naked back. At least Gregory had tried, would probably keep on trying even though there was nothing now that could be done, while Damien just waited for the end to come with almost hysterical bravado. Damien closed his eyes for a moment. He knew the intelligent thing to do would be to kill Gregory at the earliest opportunity, have him run into one of those special accidents.

Only he wasn't going to do it.

Tentatively, Damien reached out and rested a hand against Gregory's back.

"Don't fucking touch me."

Damien drew his hand away quickly, wondering if he should change his assessment of killing the blonde. He certainly felt like doing it. He should have been angrier than he was at the rejection, but his usual simmering fury seemed to have been swallowed whole by his terror.

As if realising that there was no point faking sleep when he'd just spoken, Gregory sat up, momentarily resting his forehead on his fingers before getting to his feet. Damien watched him, able to see the deep scratches that decorated his arms, dark bruises where Damien had punched or kissed. Blood was drying over him, blood from both of them, indistinguishable.

Damien's eyes travelled Gregory's body, noting that the man wore his marks, the bloodied evidence of Damien's presence all over his body. But Gregory kept his face turned stubbornly away, heading for the bathroom, presumably to clean himself up.

Damien scrambled to his feet. "Greg, wait..." He trailed off. What had he been going to say? What the hell was there to say?

Gregory paused with one hand on the bathroom door, turning back to look at Damien. There was crimson smeared over his lips, matted in his tangled blonde curls, crusted over a rapidly-blackening eye. As if he'd been weeping blood. But it was the look in those eyes that gave Damien pause, fury and disgust and hatred.

"What? What is it now? You got what you wanted Damien. You always do."

Shoving the door open, Gregory strode into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. Damien snarled, rubbing the back of his hand across his own face and looking down to see it had come away bloody. He glanced back up at the bathroom door, hearing the hiss of the shower. If Gregory wanted to be like that then fine, fuck him, fuck it all, fuck the entire world. He'd tear it all down and laugh as it burned. Starting with the little problem in his bathroom, he thought with a dark smile. After all, people had fatal accidents in the shower every day.

He envisioned the bathroom, the shower, the hundreds of small things that could go plausibly wrong in just the right sequence, at just the right time. Gregory, standing under a spray that had to be stupidly cold at this time of night, perhaps shivering as he tried to wash away all traces of Damien's touch.

He has too many marks, said the rational part of his mind, the part that wasn't raging at the rejection. If he's found here, where it's just the two of you and no witnesses, there could be – questions.

It was a good point and the only reason Gregory was going to live. Or so Damien told himself as he abandoned his plan.

Damien scowled, dropping onto the nearest bed – Gregory's – and snagging the closest shirt – also Gregory's, torn and bloodied – to clean the worst of the blood off his own face. His cheek was swollen and sore to the touch, the bridge of his nose ached like a bitch and his lip was torn where Gregory had bitten it. Oh yeah, there were going to be questions all right.

And that was only the part of him that would be seen without the cover of clothing. It was a damn good thing that they didn't have PE between now and the apocalypse or else they'd be busted. Between the scratches adorning Gregory's body, the livid teeth marks on his own and the nasty bruises they both shared, there wasn't much chance they'd be able to put it down to over-enthusiastic rugby tackles.

Although they were probably going to be the centre of a lot of gossip anyway, since they'd clearly been fighting. Damien was pretty sure he could brazen it out for a day or so, especially if Gregory kept up that attitude of impotent rage.

He was taking a very long time in the shower.

"Oh Greg," he called out mockingly, deciding he may as well lay the groundwork for keeping Gregory good and angry – and ashamed. All the better for the other students to assume Gregory had lost their little scrap. "Hurry up already! You're not the only one covered in cum and blood!"

The shower turned off immediately and a few seconds later, Gregory emerged, towel wrapped around his waist, hair still dripping. And, noticed Damien, in spite of all his attempts to look neutral, his eyes glittered with anger. Not all of it directed at the Antichrist.

"Keep your bloody voice down," snapped Gregory, heading for the bed and coming to a stop beside it, going through the drawer to search out something to wear. "And get off my fucking bed."

"Oooh, language," smirked Damien, getting off the bed and making as if to pass Gregory, instead leaning over his shoulder to speak quietly. "What crawled up your ass and – oh wait, that was me."

His mocking laughter was cut off as Gregory seized his wrist and in a complicated movement, yanked it painfully up his back. At the same time he propelled Damien into the wall, his free hand taking a fistful of Damien's hair and slamming his forehead into it. Damien saw stars and would have fallen, if not for the grip Gregory had on his wrist; his arm was almost dislocated as he staggered.

Okay, thought Damien woozily. Maybe pissing his room mate off hadn't been such a great idea after all.

He turned his head sideways, not bothering to fight against Gregory – the blonde had him pinned so tightly that Damien could feel the coolness of his flesh, the aftermath of the cold shower, and in that position Damien couldn't hope to overpower him.

"Very homo-erotic," he teased, trying not to sound as unnerved as he felt. Gregory was a hell of a lot stronger than he looked and Damien had expected their tryst to take the fight out of him; instead, it seemed to have fuelled his fury.

Aiming for the ego didn't seem to be working either, Gregory tightened his grip on Damien's wrist. More bruises to explain.

"Don't fuck with me Damien," growled Gregory in a low voice, directly into Damien's ear. "I've got nothing left to lose anymore, so just don't."

Damien couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, although it was cut off when Gregory yanked his arm again, turned into a stifled moan of pain. "I don't believe it," he said, unable to keep the amusement from his voice in spite of that. "You're worried about your immortal soul?"

Gregory's hesitation was all the confirmation that Damien needed. He should have expected it he supposed, mortals worried about the oddest things. He made an attempt to move, but hesitation hadn't made Gregory loosen his hold any.

"Everyone goes to Hell in the end Greg," he continued, chortling. "Just be glad you have a contact. Anyway, Hell, earth, the day after tomorrow it'll all be the same thing."

"No," said Gregory, but the certainty had gone from his voice. "I'll find a way to stop you."

"Oh, please." Damien realised that Gregory's hold had relaxed slightly and pulled his arm from the other mans grasp. Gregory didn't try to stop him, merely took a step back to allow Damien to turn. Damien did so and shook his head, no longer laughing. "You're still singing that same old song, talking about some way to stop me? Even now, after all of this? Don't make me laugh. There isn't a way to stop me. You're not the first person to try and everything you have tried, failed. You have no plan and I can't be killed the ways mortals can. And the only way to stop the apocalypse is to kill me."

"You bruise easily enough," said Gregory, perhaps trying to sound threatening, but his voice came out flat. "I can make you wish you were dead."

I already do, thought Damien, although he didn't say it, or truthfully mean it. He wanted to live, but on his own terms rather than by some prophecy.

"I don't doubt you can," he said instead, leaning against the wall. "But what's the point? It won't stop anything and we're already gonna have some awkward questions to answer in the morning."

Gregory raised a hand to his face, touching his black eye as if he had forgotten about it. "Oh? I assumed I'd meet with some unfortunate accident before the morning."

"If you were gonna have one of those, it would've been while you were in the shower."

Gregory sighed, casting his eyes away from Damien. "You realise of course that only gives me time to find another way of besting you?"

"You won't." Damien noted how Gregory looked away from him and gave a dark smile. "Think of it this way, lover." The grin widened as a flash of rage showed on Gregory's face, gone almost before it was there. "Perhaps you shouldn't be so concerned about your immortal soul. Now you're so convinced that your overpowering lust for me means damnation is certain, the consequences are the same regardless of what you do. Any shame, any guilt, any mercy – meaningless. Futile. Perhaps I haven't condemned you after all. Perhaps I've freed you to do what you will. So go ahead. Try to stop me."

Gregory glared at Damien, fury in his eyes, his face a mask. "I'm going to stop you. No matter what it takes, I'm going to stop you and see that smug bastard smile wiped right off your face. And then I'm going to laugh my arse off." He turned away, dropping heavily onto his bed and yanking the covers around his hips, apparently giving up on locating pants. A moment later, he cast the towel that had been around his waist from the bed.

"Yeah, because you wouldn't want me seeing your junk." Damien rolled his eyes.

"Just bugger off Damien," said Gregory, lying on his back and closing his eyes determinedly, hands behind his head. He looked far from comfortable, as if childishly trying too hard to prove he was resting. "God help me, I'm going to get some sleep tonight, so if you're not going to kill me, piss off and take a shower."

Damien scowled – was that thing about God a jibe? Before he could contemplate his actions, he dropped onto the edge of Gregory's bed, planting a hand at either side of the mans head and leaning close to his face, gratified to see Gregory's eyes fly open in startlement. "He won't help you. He can't. No one can help you, so why not just – go along with things? Enjoy the ride?"

"You're not serious," said Gregory in disbelief. "You can't expect me to just let the world go to Hell and do nothing!"

"Even if I promise that I'll let you live through the apocalypse?"

"No!"

"Nah, I didn't think you'd go for it." Damien leant up and stretched. "It's gonna happen anyway, so why not stop worrying, spend the last days having a good time?"

"Because I can clearly see just how much fun you're having with the concept," said Gregory dryly. "Go put some damn clothes on."

"I'm good," said Damien with a slow, malicious grin. "So are you, by the way." His grin widened as Gregory's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. "And while we're on the subject of how we spent our penultimate night before my reign begins, we ought to get our story straight."

"I don't want to talk about it Damien," snarled Gregory. "This conversation is over. Get off my fucking bed."

"Yeah, well, what you say you want and what you really want are two different things, I've learned." Damien didn't move. "Like, when you say you don't want me to touch you and then start panting like a bitch in heat when I do."

The DS that Gregory kept beside his bed smacked Damien right between the eyes less than a second later, with a surprising amount of force. Damien recoiled backward, pain radiating from his already-injured bridge, slipping off the bed and landing with a thud on the floor.

"...That was because of the bitch comment, wasn't it?"

"Fuck off and leave me alone!"

Damien realised he'd pushed the blonde about as far as he'd be able to without provoking him into another fight and the Antichrist had already decided he'd had enough pain for one night. But this one last point had to be made and so, Damien took a different approach.

"I'm gone." Damien got off the floor, holding the back of his hand to his nose. He had been concerned the blow had aggravated his injury again, and sure enough there was a faint wet drop of blood, but he couldn't say for certain that was from the DS and not from earlier. Whatever, there was no more than that one trickle. He lapped it from his skin. "You know, my neck really hurts. I might go open-collar tomorrow."

He didn't take his eyes from Gregory and was rewarded when the other sat up slowly, blue eyes taking in the bruising on Damien's neck. Gregory hadn't been gentle or careful about where his teeth had landed and although the school shirt should be high enough to hide them, all it would take would be for Damien to loosen a button and everyone would see them. Something that Gregory had clearly worked out for himself.

"You're trying to blackmail me now?" Gregory's voice was low and furious. "Low, even for you. What makes you think I give a shit?"

"Because you're all about appearances." Damien kept his expression neutral. "You think that as long as things appear one way, no one will think to look any closer. And you're all about pride. You can live with people knowing we've been in a fight, but you don't like giving the impression you didn't come out on top – if you'll pardon the double meaning there – and you sure as shit don't want anyone knowing that I was buried to my balls in you while you moaned my name."

He was taking a chance that Gregory's common sense would overcome his anger at the words, deliberately playing on his shame, reminding Gregory that he could blow their secret out of the water without a word. It was breathtakingly, obviously manipulative, but manipulation was what Damien did best.

In spite of that, Damien couldn't help feeling a little – hurt? No, that wasn't quite right. Confused perhaps. That things had gone so far had confused him enough, but Gregory still being so damn determined made it worse. He hadn't given in like Damien had half-expected him to, abandoned his plans and crawled away somewhere to wallow in self-loathing. Nor had he tried to fool himself that it meant he wanted to be allied with Damien. He recognised the mistake, took responsibility for his own actions and still refused to be cowed.

Damien rather admired him for that. Even if he didn't appreciate how fucking ashamed of being with him Gregory was.

"I don't want you buying my silence." Damien's eyes bored into Gregory's. "We just need something to tell Neff in the morning, because he'll take one look at us and know something's up."

"There's no cover story in the world good enough to persuade him we haven't been fighting," said Gregory, sounding deliberately bored. "Whatever we say, he won't believe us."

Us, noticed Damien. He wondered if Gregory had realised that in covering up for their actions, they had become accomplices. Possibly not, Gregory was probably tired and certainly distressed, but he was smart and Damien knew he would before long. It'd be amusing to see the look on his face when he did.

"Doesn't matter," he said. "As long as there's a story he can't disprove, it'll all be fine. I can deal with everything else."

He could see Gregory trying to make some sense of this and abruptly decide it wasn't important. "Fine, a story," said Gregory wearily, slipping back under the covers and pulling the sheets up to his neck. "Whatever. What about everyone else?"

"They don't matter. They'll know we've been fighting and they'll talk, but they won't think anything else of it." Damien smirked. "I'll tell them you were untouchable."

Gregory didn't sit up, but he looked at Damien with pure venom. "You won't say anything."

Damien shrugged. "We tell Neff there was an intruder and we both struggled with him. He ran. That'll be between us and Neff. The others, they'll decide we scrapped. It hardly matters, but if it makes you happy, we'll let them think you beat me."

"I practically had," muttered Gregory, seeming to want the whole conversation over with.

Damien decided to let the comment slide, since he was telling the truth. "We avoid questions for a while, then boom! Here comes the apocalypse and no more worries. Deal?"

Gregory snorted.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Just..." Gregory sighed. "Just let me alone. Sure, the story'll never work but why not? Fine, whatever. I'll go along with it, but right now, just fuck off and let me pretend this whole night never happened."

Damien scowled. He wasn't used to being dismissed. He looked over the little of Gregory's form the blonde was allowing him to see, his injured face and the bruised, scabbed knuckles of the hand that loosely clutched the sheets. There were some serious stay away vibes coming from there.

Instead, he waited until Gregory had taken his attention away, more interested in faking disinterest than in what Damien might do, then crossed the room silently, caught the sheets and tore them away. Gregory immediately sat up without the use of his arms; Damien had time to think that he mustn't have done as good a job on Gregory's midsection as Gregory had on his, before he caught the others wrists as they came to shove him away. Without releasing his hold, Damien sat beside Gregory, his eyes obviously trailing the blondes naked body. The blood was gone thanks to the shower, but the scratches, bruises and bites remained, evidence not so easily washed away.

And Gregory wasn't even trying to struggle or overpower him, when he could have done both easily. Interesting.

"If you want to forget the whole night happened," purred Damien, his eyes catching Gregory's and holding the stare. "Then it won't matter what happens between now and sunrise."

"Get lost Damien." Gregory's voice held distaste and the barely-audible undertone of pleading. "I'm not in the mood for any more of your shit."

Damien broke eye contact, lowering his gaze to Gregory's cock and grinning. "That says different."

He released one of Gregory's wrists and slid his hand over the blondes thigh, finding his balls and gripping them lightly. Gregory moaned, his free hand pressing against Damien's chest, applying pressure, but not actively pushing him away.

Damien sought Gregory's eyes again. "This might be the last chance either of us have before..." He hid his own uncertainty and his lack of ending by running his thumb firmly up the underside of Gregory's shaft, both gratified and mildly disturbed by the way his own desire rose in his stomach. He shouldn't be doing this. There was no need for any of it, no need at all.

Only want.

"Don't touch me..." Gregory's voice wavered, finally pushing back against Damien's chest but without conviction. He sounded as if he were trying to convince himself and Damien was reminded of his own thoughtless comment, about how when it came to him, what Gregory said he wanted and what he showed he wanted were two entirely different things.

Damien finally released Gregory's wrist, resting both hands on Gregory's thighs and lowering his head. And Gregory stopped fighting him, sinking back into the mattress, his hands in Damien's hair and giving in without words.

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Damien went from asleep to awake in the blink of an eye, opening his eyes and looking at the ceiling. He had no idea what time it was, but the light suggested it was almost time he woke up. Only the way the morning shadows played on the wall were subtly different than they were most mornings.

Because, he remembered, he wasn't in his own bed.

He turned his head sideways, unsurprised to see Gregory lying beside him. The beds were singles, narrow enough with one person in and the two boys were precariously entwined so as not to fall out. He smirked a little, all the times he had called Gregory cold and he'd been completely wrong. When the blonde got fired up, he was all heat. Damien could feel the warmth of his body and wished vaguely he could stay as he was. He was comfortable, in spite of the confined space.

He shifted slightly and Gregory stirred, muttering in his sleep. Kissed perhaps, or cursed, or cross. Gregory didn't look like his sleep was relaxing, his jaw clenched and brow furrowed. Damien decided that sleeping beside the Antichrist probably didn't make for pleasant dreams.

Disentangling himself, Damien left the bed and headed for the bathroom. Gregory might have showered the previous night but Damien hadn't bothered, as a result, he was streaked with dried blood and... other bodily fluids, he thought with a slight smirk. He switched the shower on and climbed in, wincing as the hot water stung his wounds, taking stock. He ached like a bitch. His muscles were stiff, his neck felt like there was a rock in it. His abdomen was painful and tender where Gregory had punched him. The skin at his neck was sore, his nose felt as if it were three times its normal size and breathing was uncomfortable.

And his mind was a mess.

He could tell himself that he had initially kissed Gregory to throw him off his stride, end the fight. It wasn't true. He'd kissed him because he wanted to – because somewhere among the punches and pain, he'd wanted Gregory. And Damien always did what he wanted, and he always got what he wanted.

He just didn't know why he wanted it. If it was because he'd been unable to subjugate the blonde in any other way – not that even sex had worked on that count – or if it had just been exciting while their bodies were pressed together, or if he had been attracted to the boy because he wasn't as easily defeated as the other people he'd met.

And he didn't know why Gregory had let him, why he had gone along with it willingly. Even though he had looked like he hadn't believed he was doing it, even though he had clearly hated himself afterward, he had gone along with it. More, he'd given in to Damien's later seduction without putting up a fight.

Maybe they were just so obsessed with each others motives that neither of them could see straight anymore.

Shit, and it had been good too, impassioned and frenzied and intense. Far more satisfying than any more normal encounter, perhaps because of the strong emotions they had, even if that emotion was hatred. Hatred on Gregory's side at least; until the night before, Damien had regarded Gregory with suspicion and unease and dislike, but no real hate. At least, he thought that was how it had been, before. It was hard to remember now things were so different.

He finished up his shower and went back into their room. Gregory was still asleep, having moved to steal the warmth Damien had left behind. Damien watched him for a moment, no expression on his face. He had to remember to look in the mirror before he went to breakfast; if he looked as beaten as Greg did, he wanted to know about it.

Damien padded around the room naked, figuring Gregory could hardly bitch about it anymore, digging his boxers from his drawer and putting them on, discovering a new pair of trousers – the ones he'd worn the previous day had been almost dragged from his body, still kicked aside on the floor, bloodied. Before he could do much more than retrieve them, there was a loud knock on the door and without waiting for a response, it opened and Neff walked in.

From the corner of his eye, Damien noticed Gregory go to sit up, fully awake, and then recall the state he was in and not do. Damien had no such hiding option, his body and his wounds were apparent in as little as he was wearing and with nowhere to hide. Not that he would have done. Neff had been hovering around for days, being anxious, not wanting to leave Damien alone. It was time he got a reminder of just what his place in the pecking order was.

"Damien?" Neff's voice was disbelieving and he closed the door behind him, turning his attention to the bed. "Greg? You want to tell me what the Hell you did?"

Gregory opened his mouth to make some comment, although what it would be he didn't know. Escaping to sleep had seemed a good idea, but being awoken so suddenly and the unwelcome memories crashing into his mind were conspiring against rational explanations.

"He didn't do anything," said Damien, much to the surprise of both Gregory and Neff. "We startled an intruder, he must have got in through the window, I left it open. He managed to get away. We hurt ourselves trying to stop him."

"You can't expect anyone to believe..."

"Neff." Damien walked over to the man, arms at his sides but his fists lightly clenched. "I told you what happened."

"I am your teacher –"

"Servant," corrected Damien icily. Gregory gave an involuntary shudder, goosebumps breaking out over his body, suddenly unconcerned with hiding the worst of his injuries. Damien's voice had been cold and somehow inhuman, a voice he couldn't imagine coming from a human larynx. Neff seemed to sense it too, the man swallowed loudly, taking a step backward.

"Make it fly Neff," said Damien in the same tone. "There's a good boy."

Nodding as if his head were on a spring, Neff almost fled through the door.

Damien turned to look over at Gregory, an amused smirk on his face and Gregory got his first good look at Damien in the cold light of the morning after. A part of his was viciously gratified to see that Damien still bore the bruises of their fight, less pleased to see he still bore marks from their other activities. Mostly, he was struck by how Damien seemed completely casual, as if he could use that tone of voice and still behave as if everything was normal seconds later.

Gregory felt cold. Considering what Damien was, maybe he could. And now Gregory had allowed himself to do more than become embroiled in some secret struggle between them – he'd fucked Damien, allowed Damien power over him, bound them deeper in a conspiracy that he didn't want to be a part of.

And he still had to go to fucking class.

He deliberately broke eye contact with Damien, getting out of bed unmindful of his own nakedness – it seemed stupid to worry about it now – and was mildly distracted by the bleep of his phone. Sometime in the night, he'd received a message, but the unobtrusive sound hadn't disturbed him. Huh, anyone would have thought he'd been otherwise occupied.

He picked up the device, heading for the bathroom and locking the door before he glanced down at the phone, going suddenly pale as he saw the display: 1 new message, .

Christophe.

Gregory swallowed hard, leaning back against the sink, suddenly awash with guilt. He hadn't even considered Christophe the night before. The man he suspected he'd fallen in love with hadn't crossed his mind once. He checked the time of the message; by his calculations, it had arrived at about the same moment he and Damien were getting off for the second time.

Gregory squeezed his eyes closed. He had nothing to feel guilty about, he reminded himself, at least as far as Christophe was concerned. They weren't in a relationship. They weren't even casual. They were just... friends. He couldn't even be sure of what his feelings toward the Frenchman were anymore.

So... that left screwing the Antichrist, completely failing the human race and not stopping the apocalypse to feel guilty about.

He considered not opening the message but in the end, curiosity and habit won out and he pressed the button to show the words. How was the theology test?

Gregory let out a short, barking laugh, covering his mouth quickly before Damien could hear. He'd expected something more normal, like is three Uzis too much firepower? Instead, he'd gotten concern about his life. Christophe attempting to show he was thinking of Gregory. His timing was shitty.

He considered not answering and dismissed the thought, it was hardly polite and he didn't want Christophe to think he didn't care – because that was a long way from the truth. He wished more than anything he'd acted on his attraction while they were in Amsterdam instead of skirting the issue, waiting for the right time, confident that there was room for their relationship to evolve without pushing it. Now time had run out and he would probably never see Christophe again... and even if they weren't involved, what had happened with Damien felt like the worst kind of betrayal.

He typed out an honest reply and sent it before he could change his mind: I failed.

Putting the phone aside, Gregory got into the shower and twisted it on viciously, not bothering to adjust the temperature from the stupidly hot setting Damien left it on, even though it was scalding his skin. He grabbed the shower gel, washed away all traces of the previous night, then kept right on scrubbing at his body.

He felt like he might never be clean again.