Warnings: Course language, slash, abuse of italics, abuse of sea slugs.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, this is just for fun; I'm really not trying to target myself in a lawsuit.
A/N: I've left out the glossary, since you should be familiar with the French terms used by now. The Author's Note is relocated there this chapter, so have a good read.
"I go back to the smell of an old gym floor
The taste of salt on the Carolina shore
After graduation and drinkin' goodbye to friends
And I go back to watchin' summer fade to fall
Growin' up too fast and I do recall
Wishin' time would stop right in its tracks
Every time I hear that song, I go back, I go back"
-"I Go Back" Kenny Chesney
Prom was the big event of the year, everything having been planned out months before the big day. The theme was "A Night in Paradise", so the Capok Tree had been decorated accordingly to give the place a regal, mystic feel that could stop time. Outfits were matched with dates, limos were ordered, after parties had been set, along with other plans. The student council held a vote on what band they wanted to book for the event, tallying down to a six way tie: the Beatles, Taking Back Sunday, The Rasmus, The All American Rejects, Relient K, and Incubus. Of course the Beatles were scratched out and replaced by Hot Hot Heat. A few days before prom Ms. Titi has announced one of the bands had been booked and would be there, but they'd have to wait and see.
Like Homecoming, no one was surprised by who made court, except of course when Kyle and Christophe had been spotted on the list. Alice had shook with rage and spat at the Jew that if he beat any of the girls, he'd die a horribly unpleasant death. The accusation was thought preposterous since he was male, until the snarling girl had showed him the ballet, his name scrawled under the girls' side. He'd ranted and raved through the student council, teachers, administration, right up to Ms. Titi, receiving the same blank look and question each time:
"So you aren't the girl in the relationship?"
The day of prom he sat on his living room floor, Noémie tugging at his hair from behind, Christophe receiving the same treatment but from his mother. As the women talked idly about their own prom nights over their son's heads, the boys played a violent game of Mario Kart. Every now and then one of the women would yank, causing the boy playing to run off the track and scowl as he lost.
At four they were released from the clutches of their mothers to get dressed, trudging upstairs and stopping long enough to see what had been done to their hair. Kyle's looked like normal, sticking out slightly in the back but otherwise the curls fell in a disarray. He noted the frizz was gone and the auburn shined, marking the natural copper highlights, and ebony of the two streaks he still sported. He'd thought about dying over them back to his natural colour, but decided against it, not even remembering himself without them. Christophe's hair was amazingly flat and lighter than the malted browns and blacks it usually seemed. The brunette locks also seemed velveteen, making Kyle resist the urge to reach up at pet the French boy.
They dressed in silence, minus Christophe's grumbling at choice of outfits. The Jew had to disagree with the Mole's negative comments as he straightened his boyfriend's blazer and fastened the scarlet carnation to the front. Under the black blazer was a plain white button-up shirt, falling loose around the waist of maroon pinstripe pants that flared slightly around the black dress shoes. He was dressed the same, except around his left wrist was a corsage instead of an ID bracelet, and around his neck hung the usual Star of David.
"Why couldn't we 'ave gone in, I don't know, all black?" Christophe whined as they went to meet their awaiting parents.
"We aren't going to a Death Convention, we're going to prom, that's why."
"Eh, I don't see ze difference."
Kyle rolled his eyes, dragging him down the stairs, being met with squeals from the women, and smiles from the other Broflovski boys. Noémie immediately grabbed them by the wrist and led them back into the living room.
"Now for ze makeup."
Christophe shot up at that, eyes narrowing. "Oh non, I am not wearing female pretty-products."
"Just to define your eyes, love," Noémie said with a slight plea.
"My eyes are sheet brown, no one wants to look at sheet brown."
"I rather like shit brown, thanks," Kyle said dryly as Ms. DeLorne grabbed his chin to steady him and began to apply black eyeliner. Ike sat across the room, making faces at his brother until Gerald smacked him. A minute later Noémie turned to him, and seeing the puppy-dog look Kyle gave Christophe sighed, defeated. As soon as he was done with the make-up treatment, the cameras came out.
"Okay, boys, give us a cute picture to send to all our family!" Sheila said, the couple grumbling under their breaths and rolling their eyes. Complying to the wishes of Ms. Broflozski Christophe wrapped his right arm around Kyle's shoulders, left seeking out Kyle's hand as they both flashed pearly whites, and were in turn blinding by the light from the Kodak digital camera. Hissing in pain they broke to wipe at their eyes.
"Sorry about that, huns, let's try again,' Sheila said almost coyly as they resumed position, smiles now forced and had their picture taken without flash. Noémie snatched the camera from the Jew's hands and said cheerfully:
"Now spontaneous!"
Knowing his mother Christophe turned Kyle's face to him and leaned down, lips meeting as the picture was taken.
"Wedding style!"
Sighing he lifted a gleeful Kyle like a bride as a slew of other positions were called off. At "ballroom dancers" Ike's voice inturrupted.
"Kiley, some kids with black hair is here with the limo that I've never seen before!"
"Craig, it's Craig," the annoyed voice responded. After the talent show ordeal the raven-haired boy had congratulated them, agreeing they did a better job. He'd even been a good sport and treated them all at the arcade.
"See ya later Mom, Ms. DeLorne," Kyle said, linking arms with Christophe and kissed both women on the cheek. The brunette followed suit as they tramped toward the door.
"You've got your tickets, right boys?" Noémie called, a pair of tickets appearing in her son's hands from somewhere within his jacket. "Have fun zen."
"Yep!" Kyle grabbed Craig and kicked the door shut. He looked like every other prom-stud in a black tux, shaggy hair neatly trimmed. Climbing into the limo he took a seat by Tweek, the only other people present being Stan and Wendy. Cuddling next to Christophe he looked oddly between the two.
"You're taking Tweek to the dance?"
"Yeah, what's the problem buttpipe?"
"I didn't think—"
"I'm not boning him, moron," Craig said rolling his eyes as Tweek started a twitching episode. "We're going as friends."
"Dude, Kyle's got a point," Stan began as Wendy giggled. "You're one of the most popular dudes in school, you could have had any chick, and you're taking Tweek."
Tweek leapt for the door, trying to make a desperate escape, only to be held back by Craig. Thrashing to try to get away he moaned, "Oh, God, let me outta here! It's too much, oh God, it's just—ahh!" Enough space giving he turned in Craig's grasp, glaring accusingly. "I told you this wasn't a good idea! They're on to us, oh Jesus Christ, my parents are going to kill me when they find out! I was supposed to inherit the business, but I can't do that if I'm dead! Oh, God."
Wrapping his arms around Tweek the bully of the century pet the blonde affectionately, calming him to a few twitches. Eyeing them he said, "You guys had better not tell anyone of this, or I'll have your dicks on a stick."
"It's not like we care, Craig, if we did Christophe and Kyle wouldn't be in here with us," Wendy replied tartly. "Anyway it's not like we didn't—" Stan clamped a hand over his girlfriend's mouth, stopping her from causing another outburst from Tweek.
The limo quickly filled with couples, becoming boisterous. Eric even resisted pointing out to Butters (who was going with Kelly), that Bebe was his chick now. Simply put there was a lot of spit-swapping going on.
Arriving at the dance they all linked arms, skipping in passed the giggling teachers that had agreed to "chaperone". They split once inside, finding other couples to chat with. Kyle and Christophe stood toward the back near the stairs engaged in a conversation about decorations and punch with Kenny and Red when Kelly trotted over in a long silver gown, smiling gorgeously.
"Hey Ken, mind if we switch dates?" she asked, adding a slightly pouty note to her voice, a voice that could seduce anything capable of hearing sound.
Kyle watched with a hidden smile as his blonde friend's hand squeezed a bit tight around Red's waist. He genuinely like the shy redhead that would blush whenever called on in class, yet was confident in front of her peers. But knowing Kenny, he wouldn't get too attached.
"Only if I get to see you two kiss," the blonde replied with a twisted smile. Ah, yes, good ol' Kenny giving anything up, as long as he got lesbian action in return.
"Doesn't zat mean you'll be 'ere wiz Leopold?" Christophe asked, tilting his head at the inquiry. Kenny waved if off as if it didn't matter.
"Yeah, so? I like Butters. But I like two girls tonguing each other better."
Sighing Kyle slipped away from the scene to try and find the fidgety Butters. He was found near the doors leading into the garden, cracking his knuckles against each other. As Kyle approached he jumped, eyeing the Jew.
"Wh—what d'you want?"
"So you've got a thing for Mr. Man-whore himself, eh?"
Butters blushed, rubbing at his cheeks in self-incrimination. "Wh—what d'you mean?"
Smiling coyly, he lowered his head, looking up from under his bangs in an I-know-your-secret style. Butters became even more anxious. "Come on now, why else would you ask Kelly to switch dates?"
"Don't you dare kiss my date, Broflovski," Kenny's voice rang out, though it seemed more amused than angry. Turning to face the McCormick boy Kyle gave him a defiant look, which Kenny picked up on quickly. "You do, and I'll take DeLorne into the bathroom to have some fun."
"Ze bathrooms are so unsanitary," Christophe muttered, shoving passed Kenny and put a protective arm around Kyle.
"Like the backseat of a car was any better," Kyle whispered back, being smacked across the head. Kenny just rolled his eyes, grinning like he knew and drug a blushing Butters off as Ms. Titi ran up to them.
"Come on, boys, we've got court to announce!"
They were drug up the back stairs to the second floor to wait while the other courties were gathered. Kyle averted his eyes from Wendy and Stan, who were rested up against one wall in a tongue tangle. Even from several yards away he could smell the alcohol on them; it had barely been half an hour, how did they manage to get their hands on alcohol? The dwarfish principle didn't seem to notice, though, as she returned with a beaming Alice, who immediately glowered at them. With a microphone in hand Ms. Titi stepped around the curtain, waving them all around and said quite clearly:
"Boys and girls, children please listen—SHUT THE HELL UP!" Returning to her normal cheerful demeanor she continued. "It's been a wonderful year, and of course we've got prom king, queen, prince, and princess to announce. So let's move on with it! It's not a surprise that these two made it all the way to prom-highest, having been together strong for almost five years now, our prom king and queen, Stanley Marsh and Wendy Testaburger!"
The two stepped forward, being awarded little plastic crowns, sashes, and to Wendy a huge bouquet of flowers. They just grinned pleasantly as cheers erupted, stepping down to the first landing of the stairs to wait for the next couple.
"But we can't forget the prince and his princess! Come forth Christophe DeLorne and…Alice Gardner?"
Alice grabbed the brunettes arm enthusiastically, prying him away from Kyle to receive their crowns and peer's cheers. Christophe threw the Jew a look akin to "help me" as Alice led them down the stairs to where Wendy and Stan were waiting.
"Now our couples will share a dance to our unveiled band—"
'Please don't be Yellowcard, dead Lord please not Yellowcard,' Kyle thought to himself as the crowd split to allow the court to pass in the middle of the dance floor. 'I don't want the bitch rubbing off on my band.'
"—Hot Hot Heat!"
Letting out a sigh of relief Kyle climbed down the stairs, to be stopped by a sympathetic looking principle.
"I'm sorry about you not winning, Kyle, it must be torture to see your ex with Christophe."
He shrugged her hand off, offering a smile. "No, it'll only be torture if she makes a move on him and he doesn't reject her."
On the floor Christophe had to contain himself as Alice clung, an arm around his neck, the other slowly closing in on his rear. As the two couples swayed to a love song covered by the band he'd never heard before, Stan shot him a look of complete pity. Behind Alice's back he flicked the Marsh boy off, receiving a hearty laugh.
Her blue, blue eyes swathed in white make-up unsettled him. "You know, Kyle doesn't deserve you. Why hang around with him when there's so many other boys—and girls—out there?"
Christophe stiffened, trying to keep a calm resolve. What right did this bitch have to belittle Kyle? "I like 'im just fine, and 'e's certainly irreplaceable."
"Nah, you just haven't talked to the right person, got to know them. Give me a try, Christophe, I can be worth your while."
His hands tightened around her in anger, until he realized it was only confirming some suspicion she had and released her, barely touching. 'Easy Christophe, et's not worth ze fight.'
"If I wanted an STD, zen I'd fuck Kenneth, not you, 'e is ze prettier blonde out of you two."
She only smiled at the insult, baffling him more, and raising the insecurity levels. Leaning in she placed her lips over his pulse and bit gently, tongue creating a line of wetness. He shuddered as the rage snaked through him, hands immediately going to her shoulders and shook her violently, some habit he'd formulated over the years.
"What ze fuck do you zink you are doing, you sonuvabeetch floozy? Take ze 'int already, I don't like you and I never will! I'm quite 'appy wiz Kyle, so keep you're fucking 'ands off of me or I'll be forced to smash your goddamned face in! 'ell, why don't I just rip your fucking ovaries out so no more little Gardner beetches are running around? 'ow would you like zat, you slut!"
At his outburst everyone stopped to stare, including the members of Hot Hot Heat. Shoving her away she stumbled in the heels and went down hard, tears streaming down her face in hate and terror. He walked away, and a slow clap started until everyone was applauding him. Kyle met him at the stairs, a little shaken at the distraught look the brunette wore. Ignoring it he grabbed Christophe's hand, leading him to the bathroom.
"Come on, you've got lipstick covering your neck, better clean it up before it gets on the white shirt."
Christophe grumbled the whole way, fist clenching and unclenching. Annoyed Kyle finally grabbed his hands, giving him a look as they entered the bathroom. The brunette sat ungracefully on the counter as Kyle unbuttoned the top few of his shirt and pushed it, along with the blazer, off of his shoulder. He tilted his head to the side as the Jew wet a towel and scrubbed at the ruby-stained skin.
"You really put Alice in her place, that was…commendable."
At the mention he reached up, ready to throw the crown at a wall until Kyle stopped him. With a heaved sigh Christophe slapped it on the Jew's head, lacing it in his auburn curls.
"She overstepped 'er bounds," he snarled softly, still feeling Alice's tongue…shudder!
"Yes, she surely did, I'm the only one that gets to do that to you," Kyle responded, observing his work. For the most part the lipstick was gone, but now the skin was rubbed raw. Exhaling sharply he straightened Christophe's shirt, left with the task of hiding the red mark. That's when he heard the distinctive giggle from one of the stalls.
"Kenny, what the Hell are you doing?" he asked, scanning the stalls in the mirror, finding the last one occupied by Kenny's tan slacks and bright orange converse.
"You don't even wanna know, Broflovski."
"Most likely not," he muttered, spotting a second pair of feet. "Oh my God, don't tell me Butters is in there with you."
"Okay, I won't."
Shuddering in disgust he ran a hand through Christophe's hair, finding it indeed down-soft, trying to straighten it to fall across the mark. As sexual noises flowed from the stall—although he knew Kenny was faking—he groaned and grabbed Christophe's hand.
"Let's find somewhere else."
"Kyle, dude, you can go anywhere and you'll get the same results. How many people do you actually think will be virgins after this night?" Kenny asked.
"Don't care, leaving now."
They wandered around the club, talking as Christophe slowly calmed down, although being congratulated for his outburst wasn't helping any. By eleven he was as pleasant as he had ever been, where they sat on the stairs, Christophe two lower than Kyle, leaning with his back against the banister. It was then a second guest band was introduced—Incubus. All of the students except them, and those engaging themselves in the bathrooms or in the dark side of the garden rushed to the dance floor as they began to play "Steller".
"It's a lovely song," Kyle said, eyes drifting close as the music played around them. Completely unaware of his surroundings he was startled to feel Christophe move to sit behind him, arms thrown around his neck, whispering the lyrics in the sexual French purr of his.
"Meet me in outer space. We could spend ze night, watch ze Earth come up. I've grown tired of zat place, won't you come wiz me? We could start again." Kyle shuddered, licking his lips; he knew the lyrics already by heart, but it seemed almost alien being whispered to him.
"'ow do you do et? Make me feel like I do. 'ow do you do et? Et's better zen I ever knew." He felt a tingle of satisfaction at knowing that; although they were lyrics, it seemed so personal.
"Meet me in outer space. I will 'old you close, if you're afraid of 'eights. I need you to see zis place, et might be ze only way zat I can show you 'ow, et feels to be inside of you." Kyle blushed, hands subconsciously going to rest on Christophe's, almost out of security reasons.
"'ow do you do et? Make me feel like I do. 'ow do you do et? Et's better zen I ever knew. 'ow do you do et? Make me feel like I do. You are steller." Kyle held his breath, waiting. "'ow do you do et? Make me feel like I do. 'ow do you do et? Et's better zen I ever knew. 'ow do you do et? Make me feel like I do. 'ow do you do et? Make me feel like I do."
Feeling Christophe unwrap himself, he looked up, about to respond until any complaints were smothered by the French boy's lips against his own. Drawing back the brunette held out a hand with a smile.
"Let's dance."
---
The following three days of school were dedicated to senior finals before they were out of school, two weeks earlier then the other classes. Although, in truth it was only a week, as the week after finals started graduation practice from eight in the morning until noon each day. That Friday they were subjected to nearly two hours of roll call in green robes trimmed in white and gold. After they were all handed diplomas Valedictorian was to give a speech. Kyle made it short and simple, unlike Ms. Titi's thirty minutes long one about how they were all like "buckets and shovels". It basically summed up their schooling together—since most of the class had been together since kindergarten—ending with a quote from Eleanor Roosevelt, "The future belongs to those who believe in the power of their dreams."
Just like that they were throwing their hats up, schooling career officially over, except to those going further in their life. Like that they were released into society to reek havoc, and taunt the younger classes with the fact they got out a week earlier, May twentieth. Against the summer rules of "sleep in until two, sit around in underwear, don't do anything productive until night" Kyle was up and ready, slaving over college papers. Sheila had made it quite clear he was to get ready for college after hearing he had been accepted into Colorado State before having fun.
And Christophe was forced to join him.
Kyle eyed the brunette, sprawled across his bed, not paying attention to what he rambled off about apartments, seeming rather asleep. Rolling his eyes he got up from the desk and cross to the bed, a smug smile tracing his lips before he ran his fingertips feather-light under Christophe's shirt, across the skin, causing him to bolt upright and smack his head on Kyle's. They both moaned in pain, rubbing their foreheads, each with identical bruises forming.
"What ze Hell was zat for?" the brunette asked, throwing him a baleful look.
"Pay attention and that won't happen!" Kyle snapped, sighing.
"Well, what were we doing?"
"Applying for campus housing!" Christophe had also been accepted to the university, although he thought the education was a waste. To him it was a government conspiracy, conditioning society to believe education after high school was really needed, so more money would do to them in the long run. It did make a shred of sense, but knowing the French boy, it was a theory created out of paranoia. Though the main reason he had rejected the thought of college was the fact he already had a "business", and a well paying one at that. What he did couldn't be taught in classrooms and read out of books, it took instinct and personal experience.
"Right, right, find anyzing of use yet?"
Rolling up the booklet Kyle smacked the brunette in the head, glaring. "I've been spouting off shit I like for half an hour!"
Rubbing the spot he was hit Christophe shrugged. "So zat's why your voice kept interrupting my sleep." Before he could be hit again, he grabbed Kyle's wrist, shaking his head. One would think the Jew would have learned not to try that. Settling himself comfortably he pushed Kyle down next to him, unrolled the booklet and pointed forcefully at it. "Show me."
The redhead flipped through the pages, pointing out a few choice apartments, scratching out the ones Christophe gave a look of disgust. They were all so expensive, for something with a bedroom, living room, kitchen, bathroom, and laundry space. Even though they'd be in a college town, where prices were gouged, he couldn't help but feel it was a ridiculous waste. Seemingly reading his thoughts Kyle closed the book and sat up.
"Hey, if you don't want to do this then I'll go over to Stan's and we'll room together."
Christophe looked up at the redhead. He didn't show any outward emotion of possible hurt, but he knew better. Kyle had run around for the passed two days of summer break, ranting about how perfect it would be living together. He was neat and clean, anal about organization, and a hard worker, while Christophe could cook and drive a lot better.
"Non cher, let's finish looking."
Half an hour later they'd gone through the catalogue twice, with three apartments picked out to try. With the Hellacious job finished, Christophe decided to shove the real reason he'd let the Jew get him up before nine into the open.
"Your birzday is zis Zursday, May twenty-sixz, yes?"
Kyle blinked, startled, and gave a nod. "Yeah, guess so. Been so busy lately I just forgot about it."
"Mm, yes, zat is why I'm taking you out for ze day," he said, sitting up, receiving a questioning look. "Ze birzday party will be held a little later zen your actual birzday, since ze gift comes a bit later."
"What, did you preorder it and it's not going to arrive until after the twenty-sixth?" Kyle asked, laughing.
"Non, you'll understand later zough. So, are you willing to spend a w'ole day wiz me for your birzday?"
In response Kyle crawled onto Christophe's lap, arms around his neck affectionately. As the brunette leaned forward Ike burst into the room, startling them both. The raven-haired Canadian just gave them a weird look before sticking his tongue out in disgust.
"Ew, cooties!"
"What do you want, Ike?" Kyle asked in annoyance, face aflame.
"Oh, lunch is ready if you guys want to eat…but I'm sure what you hunger for isn't solid food, yadda yadda, insert a few more romance quotes if you want." He walked out, mumbling things under his breath as if they were actually listening.
Turning Kyle back to face him Christophe cocked a brow. "Why don't we ever lock that door?"
"You broke it last year, remember?"
"Oh, yeah." Grabbing the sharpie they had been writing with previously he stuck it in the Jew's hands. "Go jam ze door, zen. We don't need anymore disturbances."
---
Thursday morning Christophe was off to the Broflovski resistance, confident of his gift, or rather, lack of. He knew that nothing could beat what he had planned for the real gift, and decided he'd give Kyle the best day of his life, without being materialistic. It was the thought behind the present, right?
Pulling up in front of the house he got out and went to knock. Sheila had insisted half way through the year he didn't need to knock, but he found that extremely rude and made sure his presence was known anyway. Plus, it was always fun to miff the woman.
She answered a few seconds after he knocked, a bright smile on her face. "Christophe, it's good to see you! Would you like to come in?"
"Non, zat is quite alright. Is Kyle 'ere?"
"No, he isn't," she said, pursing her lips. "He said he'd call you and tell you he was out. Hmm, must have slipped Booby's mind. Anyway, I'm getting off track, he left with a blonde haired boy I'd never seen, with curls and a British accent. What was his name again?"
"Gregory" he muttered darkly, eyes flashing dangerously.
"Oh yes! Gregory, that was it. Do you know him?"
Ignoring her question he asked, "Did he go willingly? No kicking and screaming, guns to ze 'ead?"
"Heavens no! My little Kyle seemed very willing to me. Is there something wrong?"
Faking a smile he replied, "Non, of course not, et just seems Gregory didn't follow ze birzday joke. Well et was good talking to you, I'd better to find zem."
"Have…fun?" she offered, shaking her head and returning inside muttering, "What a strange boy."
Returning to his car Christophe slammed his hands on the steering wheel, growling. What the Hell did Gregory think he was doing, kidnapping Kyle? They hadn't been on speaking terms since Halloween; it was always clipped conversations in the midst of intense rage. What was he trying to accomplish with such an act?
Turning the ignition he pulled away, mumbling curses to himself. He had no idea where to even start looking for them; Gregory wasn't bold enough to drive two hours from his house to Kyle's just to steal him away. And not being on his computer, there was no way to track his cell phone, something that Gregory had on him at all times—and that he'd planted a device into. So he did the only sensible thing he knew, he dialed the lead operative in the central Florida region. On the second ring a curt female voice answered, flavoured with an accent he couldn't place.
"I thought after nearly having your guts spilled by my best friend, you wouldn't be trying to get in contact again, Mole."
He took a breath to try and seem less in an almost panic, and instead sounded aggravated beyond reason. "Little Bo Peep, I've lost one of your sheep, and I really need to find ze little fucker so I can take 'im to the slaughter 'ouse and make lamb chops."
An amused laugh filled the receiver, something almost nasty that hinted at what true torture was. Her laugh was one of a kind, and scary as all of Hell. "I should charge you for my service, I'm a busy girl."
Turning onto Lido Avenue he smirked. "Busy? Oh, yes, sitting around wiz your zumb up your ass is being very busy. Playing ze leader is productive, isn't et? Letting ze people you pay do everyzing, after all, zat's what zey're zere for, yes?"
Instead of being insulted, the voice seemed genuinely concerned. "Dude, what the Hell is wrong with you? You sound like shit."
"Vulpine, I 'ate 'ow you can pick up on sheet over ze phone," he said, unsettled as he neared his home.
"You never have been snappy with me, something is wrong."
Parking in his driveway he sighed, realizing the usual twenty minutes of driving time had been cut down by more than half. Amazed he hadn't gotten a ticket he got out, itching for a cigarette, but knowing Kyle would kick his ass if he smelled the tobacco, he resisted. "Just track down Gregory's phone and I'll let you in on everyzing afterwards."
"You're home, do it yourself."
He didn't even question how she knew where he was; his phone was probably rigged with the same technology Gregory's was, or she'd hacked the Verizon mainframe. "I'm 'ere to pick a few things up, I'm not staying long enough to track ze British piece of shit."
"Don't leave until I call you back." As the dial tone erupted from the phone he closed it, jamming it in his pocket and walked toward the door, finding it locked. Snarling he unlocked it and climbed the stairs, going straight for the entrance to the attic in his closet. Pushing it open he made his way up to the peek of the house, where a cache of weapons were stored. He stopped short on grabbing the safe box he kept small handguns and ammo as mews rose softly from the other end of the walk-boards. Turning to a pile of sweaters Arianne had forced upon him he spotted his cat, Kit-chat-chat, curled in the mass, but she wasn't the one mewing. From within the wool came the cries of kittens, and he cursed, regretting it a moment later as six kittens stumbled out from the sweaters.
"You 'ad to pick a time of crisis to birz kittens, didn't you, Kit?" he asked with a heaved sigh, leaving his weapons to make sure the cats were fine. Noticing the chill in the attic he realized he had to get them into the heat of the house if they were to survive. The choice was obvious, but Kyle nagged at his mind, those brilliant green eyes smiling, as he gathered the palm-sized kittens into a sweater and took them down into his room, screaming. Their mother followed him down, keeping a watchful eye on her owner as he quickly made a makeshift bed for the kittens using his sheets. Leaving them to the comfortable warmth he returned to the attic and opened the lock without even looking. He took out a few of the guns, looking them over like a judge to a modeling contest, finally taking the Taurus PT 100 Kyle had thought was more "him" and slipped a clip in. Might as well use it in action, maybe the redhead would be impressed.
Chuckling at the thought he took a Firestar and crammed it into his left pocket, the Taurus being holstered in the small of his back. He'd heard several women friends complain about that positioning because it ground against the skin, causing it to break and bleed, all because of well-defined hips.
Resisting the urge to grab something highly illegal, like the high-powered mini-Uzi he had in times of sheer compensation, he climbed from the attic, covering the entrance and went straight to the garage. He was sure Kit-chat-chat was a good mother, and if need be, would lead the kittens to water and soft food. Opening the large door with a button he climbed onto his motorcycle, about to put on the helmet when his phone vibrated.
"I was wondering when you'd get done, Jesus, what took forever?" Vulpine asked irritably before he could say anything.
"Tell you later. Where is ze sonuvabeetch?"
"On the edge of town, but I ain't givin' you a name until you tell me everything." He filled her in on is life in five minutes, feet tapping the concrete impatiently as she sat silent, listening. When he finally growled he was done she let out a long whistle. "Heh, always knew you strayed from the straight and narrow. It's a shame, really, you could have some drop-dead gorgeous kids."
"You're off topic," he hissed. "Where is Gregory?"
"A place called Carl's Warehouse, good luck."
---
As he sped toward the warehouse he knew oh-so well, he silently applauded himself for leaving off the custom muffler job that would make his Harley Davidson roar. He slipped easily in and out of traffic, ignoring all signals and signs, intent on murdering Gregory. His mind raced with possible death ideas, setting the situation up into a hundred different scenarios, dialogue almost never changing. It was a skill needed for psychological damage, or as the government put it, "democracy".
Skidding to a silent halt behind Carl's Warehouse he got off the bike, drawing the Taurus and walked toward the back door, the gun a weight itching in his gloved hand. Unconsciously he clicked the safety off and drew back the hammer, a sadistic smile forming on his lips. He knew the place inside and out, every flook, flaw, the construction, exactly where rafters were placed; Hell, he knew how many nails had been use to built it. So it wasn't surprising that he stopped short, glancing through a small hole eroded in the bricks, that was only visible from the outside. Gregory and Kyle were approximately twenty feet from the back entrance, facing away from it. Perfect, the Brit was expecting access from the front.
A few feet from the door, he lifted the gun and stared down the barrel, trained on the large iron lock he knew to be pretty worthless. Tilting the gun slightly so the boys inside weren't caught in the crossfire—he wanted to see Gregory beg in mercy, not go down with an idle shot—he pulled the trigger, the silencer doing nothing to hide the sound of the lock exploding, or the wooden door splinter around it. Hurriedly he ran around the corner of the building, gun trained to the sky, and waited.
The door opened, Gregory walking out into the open, looking around with a scowl on his face until he spotted the familiar motorbike. It was about that time he heard the hammer of a gun being pulled back and stiffened as a rolling laugh sounded from his right. Turning his head he watched Christophe stride toward him, staring down the scope at him, Taurus pointed at his head.
"Well, well, look at what I've found. Lace your 'ands on your 'ead, asshole."
Gregory obediently did what he was told, knowing that cold, twisted look in Christophe's eyes meant someone would get hurt, and it would be him.
Circling the blonde he used his free hand to point inside. "Walk. Stay in a straight path, I want you wiz your back up against ze farthest wall. You've got ten seconds to get zere or I'm blowing a 'ole in your fucking 'ead."
Not bothering to argue he steadily walked across the room, ignoring Kyle's wide-eyed look at seeing the passive blonde. He turned a foot away from the wall, and leaned against it, hands remaining in his curls.
"Well, Christophe, it's nice to see you, even in such a predicament."
Paying no heed to Gregory the brunette turned to face the Jew, letting his arm drop. After all, there was only so much glucose the muscles could take building up before it became a constant ache.
"Are you alright, cher?"
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Kyle asked skeptically, nervously eyeing the gun.
"Because zis piece of sheet kidnapped you."
"Au contraire I did no such thing," Gregory said tartly with a sigh as Christophe's nasty look fell on him before returning to Kyle.
Lifting his free hand Christophe extended it to the redhead. "Come now, let us leave zis lunacy." Seeing the movement out of the corner of his eye he whipped the gun up, barely looking at his target before firing off a shot. Gregory fell to the floor on his rear, eyes wide in fright, still in the process of drawing his weapon. Luckily Christophe's arm had jerked to the left or he'd be a dead man. Looking up the barrel of the gun he knew he might be anyway, and that terrified him. He'd been in the same position before, with the same fierce boy holding the firearm, but Christophe had never shot at him before, no matter how angry or silly as he was acting. The French boy was serious when he hinted at his death.
"Next time I won't miss," Christophe snarled softly, letting his arm fall to his side. "Now why did you take Kyle?"
"It—it was a test," Gregory stammered.
"'ow brilliant of ze Yardale attendee, fucking wiz someone zat wants to 'umbly see you die."
"I was worried of where you stood in your ethics, Christophe, with emotion clouding your judgement. I had to know how you would react, if you were good enough. There's plenty of people out there that would love to see you dead, and knowing you've got a dedicated boyfriend, they'd get you through him."
Snorting he laughed, though it wasn't kind. "Where did I rank, teacher? I must say, I zink I got a 'B' at least, nearly scattering your brains across ze wall and everyzing."
"I don't think you understand, you've always been the teacher," Gregory said firmly, standing.
"Teacher says don't fuck wiz me!" Christophe growled, eyes narrowing.
"Are you just going to let Kyle be an open target?"
Rolling his eyes Christophe sighed heavily. "Oh, I don't believe zis, I know where zis is going. Well fuck you and your jealous rivalry. Non, I'm not going to break et off wiz Kyle to be wiz you, non, I don't like you, and non, I really don't apreeciate zis crap. Why can't any of you people just be 'appy for us, Christ!" A queer tinkle entering his eyes he grinned smugly, although it looked to be a touch insane. "Why don't I just blow ze information into your 'ead?"
Before Christophe's arm could even move Kyle had clung, prying the gun from the brunette's hand. His green eyes pleaded. "No Christophe, killing him will just make you feel a hellavu lot worse, even if it feels like instant victory now. You'll regret it, so please don't."
"But 'e kidnapped you, on your birzday of all days!"
Sighing he holstered the gun in the small of Christophe's back, lacing his fingers with the taller boy's. Luckily Gregory recognized the trusting act as Kyle placed his back to the blonde. "No, he didn't, I left quite willingly, even if there was some trickery involved. And he hasn't harmed me, actually he's treated me pretty well. It would just be rude to, you know, shoot him."
Looking passed the red curls his hard gaze settled on Gregory, understanding dawning on him. The blonde wasn't trying to ruin them, or even prove that he had gone "soft" as it was referred, he was actually concerned about Kyle's safety and even more so, Christophe's sanity.
Exhaling he gave an acknowledging nod and tugged on Kyle's hands. "Come on, we've still got stuff to do."
As Gregory watched them retreat, he couldn't help but wonder who was more terrifying, Christophe at his coldest, or in an emotional rampage from the heart.
---
The ride back was enough to calm Christophe's nerves, the slightly chilly May air slapping across his face as he turned corners at dangerous speeds, only to feel Kyle's arms grip tighter around his waist a squeal both in fright and delight from behind. It had come to an end a bit quicker than he'd hoped, but as Kyle got off the bike, threw the helmet onto the seat, and did a jig around the garage he couldn't help but feel al of the panic and adrenaline had been worth it. And when Kyle had stated his perfect day would be sitting around on Christophe's couch, watching Donnie Darko, singing along with theme songs, and otherwise cuddling he knew it'd been worth it.
After the first viewing of the movie he remembered the kittens, a bright smile blossoming across his face, confusing the redhead. Blindfolding him Christophe had led him up the stairs, almost unsuccessfully, to his room where he threw off the blindfold. Kyle had giggled as he caught sight of the kittens and rushed over, giddy, immediately finding the runt of the litter and coddled it. When the brunette announced he could keep the cat Kyle just hugged him one-armed, as the tiny tabby kitten suckled on his fingertip.
For hours they'd played with the kittens, Kyle taking extreme care of his, who had been named Siena due to a red-orange stripe of fur down his back. When Noémie arrived back in the afternoon she'd took one look at the kittens and hauled them off tot he veterinarian for check-ups, promising she'd return with Siena, and a personalized collar for him.
Their main distractions gone, they chatted absently about Gregory, before falling back into bed, Christophe being properly thanked for his heroism.
And he learned the pains of having a holster in the small of his back, finally sympathizing with women across the globe.
---
Almost a week later the road trip commenced. Kyle had tearfully left Siena and Zypher—a second kitten he couldn't come to part with—in the care of Ike. Christophe felt a tinge of pity at taking the redhead from his newfound pet, but after the trouble he'd gone through to make the plans, there was no way he was canceling.
The drive would be a long one, nearly thirty-two hours, all the way to the East coast, more specifically the North Carolina shores. Kyle was still surprisingly in the dark about why they weren't going somewhere a bit more prestigious, but he didn't seem to mind. The party would be taking two cars, Stan's and his own; there was no way they were going to try to fit nine people and luggage into the Pimp-Mobile. So it was decided they'd switch off who was with who in what car, although it was decided to start Stan, Wendy, Kenny, and Eric would be in the Sunfire, while Christophe, Kyle, Tweek, Craig, and Damien stayed in the Impala.
They left at four in the morning, on I-70 going through Denver, east. The only people awake were the drivers, and Damien, who phased in and out throughout the day, where he was going no one really knew, although they guessed he was visiting Hell. On I-35 heading toward Wichita, Kansas, he appeared, startling the roused Tweek enough to try and bail out the door. Luckily the locks could only be done from the drivers side door.
"I'm hungry," the anti-Christ complained, after the twitching blonde had been settled by Craig.
"Then go back to Hell and have lunch," Kyle said turning to face the pasty-pale son of Saetan.
"Father is an inadequate chef, Saddam was always the one to cook."
"Don't you have like, maids or something?" Craig asked.
"Demons of all varieties don't need to eat solid food, they consume nutrients in a metaphysical manner." Seeing the boy's blank stare he rolled his eyes as if the answer was obvious. "That means 'no, we don't have maids to serve us, we have succubi'."
As they argued back and forth Kyle dialed Wendy's phone, looking in the rearview mirror at the disgustingly bright blue Sunfire Stan insisted "ruled the road", tailgating them. They decided up front that Christophe was navigator, as the Marsh boy managed to get himself lost on the roads of South Park; with all of America at his command, they had no idea how far off course they would get. As she picked up the phone she gave a little wave.
"Heya Kyle, what's up?"
"What do you guys want for lunch?"
"Hold on a sec, I'll ask the boys." Kyle muffled a laugh as Cartman's whiny squeals could be heard over the phone. A second later Wendy's exasperated voice filled the receiver. "Chili's sound good?"
"I'll check with my boys," he replied, covering the phone piece as he look at the three in the backseat, waiting. "Chili's?"
Craig gave a nod, the blonde curled against him grinning widely. "Yes! Oh, God, they have that really good chocolate cake, and that onion thing that looks like a flower! Yes, yes, yes!"
"It's acceptable," Damien answered. Turning to prod Christophe in the arm the redhead asked:
"Well?"
"Zey 'ave salads, yes?"
"A whole rainbow of them."
"Zen zat shall be fine. Do we 'ave any idea where zere is a Chili's?" Ignoring the question he replied in the phone that they were going to Chili's as soon as they found one. Hanging up Kyle took his laptop from the dash, bringing up a web browser and searched.
"There are four in Wichita, and considering where we're going the one in the eastside of town seems to be our best bet."
Half an hour of driving later they pulled into the restaurant parking lot, and another hour later, were kicked out. The anti-Christ managed to snort chocolate cake while laughing at some joke Eric had made, his agitation sensed by the Underworld. A team of Gulons had been sent to check on him, scaring half of the customers away without paying, the business losing several hundred dollars in the process. Of course they couldn't be charged with the disturbance, and instead an angry manager had banned them from ever returning.
On I-20 heading east toward Burmingham, Alabama, Christophe switched off from driving, letting the son of Lucifer take the wheel so he could sleep. However Damien was even worse of a navigator than Stan, turning off onto a freeway and getting them lost in the backwoods of Mississippi. They all decided to not tell the French boy their mistake after hours of sidetracking back to the Interstate road, Craig now driving. However when he awoke with the sun blaring, having not reached Atlanta, Georgia, he knew what had happened.
Several hours later after finally reaching their destination of Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina, and stocking up on snacks, they were finally checking into the hotel that had been booked half a year before, receiving key-cards and dragging their things up to the suite. It was more expensive then other suites, having an ocean-front view, three bedrooms, and being on the twelfth level, but it was worth it completely.
After unpacking their things they all tiredly called rooms and plopped into bed. The master bedroom contained a king-sized bed, left with Christophe, Kyle, Craig, and Tweek to find some way to all sleep together. The second largest room was left with Stan and Wendy in the queen-sized bed. The final room had two twin beds, that Kenny and Damien called, leaving Cartman to dominate the huge couch.
And that's how their vacation began.
---
Kyle stirred under the blankets, feeling the familiar warmth of Christophe pull away. Sitting up and rubbing at his eyes he reached out, grabbing for the brunette's wrist as he shook the tangles of sleep away. They'd found out easily that two couples in the same bed wasn't hard to work with, especially when two of he four were scrawny and otherwise small.
"Where are you going?" the redhead asked hoarsely, vocal cords beginning to loosen. Christophe put a finger to his lips and pointed behind him to the entwined figures of Craig and Tweek. It was somehow relaxing to see the blonde completely motionless in the depths of sleep, all twitching left for dreams of who knows what.
Getting out of bed carefully he fluffed his hair on the side he'd slept on and followed Christophe out onto the balcony of the bedroom, closing he glass door behind them. Leaning against the railing and peering through the black screen of the porch he's eyes lit as dawn broke across the ocean waves, delighting him. Kyle was instantly awake as pink met blue, melting to yellow, the foam of the water a startling white.
"Wo-ow!"
"Pretty, yes?" Christophe asked, draping an arm across the redhead's shoulders.
"Oh Hell yes! I've never seen the beach at dawn, it's…magnificent."
"You just like ze break of day, am I correct?" he mused, ruffling Kyle's soft curls. Sheepishly the Jew gave a nod, turning those childlike eyes on him.
"Dawn just starts a new day, promising something better than the day before, and I can already tell this," he waved his hands around him, "is a lot better than being cramped in your car having to piss really bad."
"You should 'ave said somezing and I would 'ave stopped."
"I said something like every five minutes, and two hours later you stopped only because I was about to cry."
"Mm, yes, well I 'ate to see you cry," he said with a wicked grin before closing the distance between them, lips meeting softly at first; perhaps that would shut him up? From behind someone pounded on the glass of the door leading out form the second balcony in the living room. Turning they spotted Eric, sticking his tongue out in disgust, a sheet of paper pressed against the glass reading, "Spare me!" Placing Kyle in front of the window so Eric could see, they kissed again, making sure the tongue-action was quite visible. When they looked back Cartman was no where to be seen, and the curtains were shut.
Giggling Kyle led they back into the bedroom and out into the living room, closing the door behind they so the other two boys could sleep. Spotting them Cartman jabbed a finger down his throat, making gagging noises.
"You guys are so totally gay, it's not even funny anymore. I could have gone my whole life without having to see Jew-boy with his tongue down another dude's throat, thanks."
Plopping down on the couch Kyle snorted. "Well you should've known there would be stuff like that going on, it's the beach for Christ's sake, we'll be half-naked our entire time here."
"Like you could really go for five days half-naked in the summer sun, you'll burn to a fucking crisp," Cartman smirked. It was about that time Stan wandered in, rubbing at his untidy hair.
"Damnit lard-o, you woke me up."
"Ay! I don't need to take this crap from you. Screw you guys, Imma go get breakfast." With that he pointed at the door and stalked out. Kenny poked his head from the hallway, giving a quizzical look at the front door being closed.
"I hope he doesn't have his key-card with him," the blonde said with a grin, jumping over the couch to sit with the other three.
"Even if 'e did 'e probably doesn't remember what room we're in,' Christophe said to himself, inducing a giggle from Kyle.
"Morning you guys," the sleepy voice of Craig said as he stretched, Tweek following in a sluggish manner. At the smell of coffee he perked, rushing over to the machine and making a huge glass. They'd been told before hand the first person up had to make coffee or Tweek would go into hysterics, but it was surprising Eric actually listened.
"Morning," they said in unison, Damien's shrill voice added. They all glanced to the hall where he was sliding across the tile on his socks. Perching on the edge of the armrest he glanced around at them.
"So what are we doing today?"
"Shouldn't we wait until Wendy gets up?" Stan asked in defense of his sleeping girlfriend. Craig snorted.
"No, dude, she'll want to shop and sunbathe. Anyway, she could use her beauty sleep, you know."
"Don't insult my girlfriend, buttpipe!" Stan shouted, eyes narrowing.
"Don't call me a buttpipe, buttpipe!"
"Stop arguing!" Tweek screeched, scorching coffee sloshing from the cup onto his hands, causing the shrieks to only escalate. Craig was immediately there, pulling the blonde toward the sink, running cold water over the burns. Wendy stepped out from the hall, rubbing at her eyes.
"What's going on?" Seeing the teary-eyed Tweek she clamped a hand over her mouth, concern written on her face. "Oh my God, what happened?" No one bothered to answer her, else she might feel bad for being the cause of the arguing. As an awkward silence filled with sniffling fell over them all Damien broke it.
"I'm hungry."
"You're always hungry!" Kenny complained, rolling his eyes. "I'm the poor one, I should be hungry all the time, not you."
As another bout of bickering commenced, so did their day.
---
The morning passed quickly as the group became comfortable with their setting and curfews. By mid afternoon they were found down by the beach, laying across towels, laughing at stupid jokes, or Craig trying to attempt surfing. He'd made it to a stand twice in three hours, otherwise the board would slip out from under him and he'd fall backwards, or take a nosedive into the foam. What was relatively amusing, though, was the fact on his second try Tweek had gotten to a stand and was now easily riding the waves with happy yelps.
Glancing around the beach Kyle spotted Wendy a few meters away on her stomach in a violet bikini decked in small yellow flowers, shades over her eyes on her cell phone, most likely chatting with Bebe or Rebecca about how beautiful the shore was. Neither of the other girls could come due to family plans, much to the Testaburger girl's disappointment, being trapped with eight males and no girls. But there was no room to complain, as she would have been sitting on her rear all summer if she hadn't been invited along.
Looking farther up the beach he surveyed the scene of a fierce volleyball match between his other friends. Eric and Kenny ran around after the hard knocks Damien would pummel them with, barely able to keep up. However they got their fair share of hits in, making to two raven-haired boys chase after the ball as well, diving into the white sand in feeble attempts to save the ball from hitting the ground.
That left one other person missing; Christophe. As soon as they'd gotten down to the shoreline he'd disappeared completely, much to Kyle's dismay. At first he though the brunette had been drug under water by the undertoe, or was playing some devious trick before remembering he hadn't even changed into swim gear, instead staying comfortably in board shorts and a David Bowie shirt. For the past four hours he hadn't shown up, remaining safely away—somewhere.
With a heaved sigh he fell back onto the towel under a beach umbrella, hands beside his head and closed his eyes under the shades. Even with the highest level of sunblock slathered across his body, his pale skin couldn't take the heat; even Damien wasn't burned, and he wasn't even wearing sunblock! Then again, it could be some side effect of living in Hell.
Touching his skin and noticing it turned white at the slightest pressure he decided he'd had enough. Getting up as grabbed his shirt and flip-flops before trying to get Wendy's attention. When she pulled her sunglasses off he pointed at himself then toward the hotel. Seeming to understand she waved as he walked off passed the volleyball match.
"Hey, where're you going Kyle?" Stan's voice called, making him stop.
"It's too hot, look at me."
Cartman snickered at his rosy-read skin. "I told you you'd burn, Jew-boy."
"I know, I should've listened. I might be out later, depends."
"Later dude," they all said in unison before beginning to smash the white ball back and forth. He hurried across the hot sand, up the hotter board walk, across the scorching pavement around the pool, and finally made it to the parking area where his feet were met with cool asphalt. Walking passed a group of kids running toward the pool he strode to where the elevator as, the only one waiting. Hitting the button he watched it flare to life as the elevator slowly went down the floors. When the doors opened he took a step forward and stopped, gawking. Christophe sat up against one wall, surprise written across his face. Shaking his head Kyle walked into the elevator before the doors closed.
"What the Hell are you doing here?"
"Riding ze elevator, duh."
"For how long?" Kyle asked, rolling his eyes as he spotted a Rice Crispy Treat in the brunette's hands.
"For about, eh, two and a 'alf 'ours."
Giving his boyfriend a look he sighed. "You've got to be kidding. Why are you here and not on the beach, swimming?" Not receiving a reply his mouth fell open in understanding. "You can't swim, can you?"
"I can swim perfectly fine, zanks!" Christophe snapped defensively. "Ze salt in ze ocean and chlorine in ze ppol just irritates my eyes is all."
As the elevator came to a stop and opened he grabbed Christophe by the collar of his shirt, pulling him toward their room. He searched for his key-card, realizing with a curse he'd left it on the beach. The French boy offered his, opening the door with a lopsided grin. As the door closed behind them Kyle threw his things into the bedroom and confronted Christophe, placing his hands on either side of the brunette's shoulders on the sliding glass door.
"You can't swim, can you?" he persisted.
Searching Kyle's face and finding determination he buckled. "Non."
"Then why are we at a beach?"
"There are ozer zings to do 'ere zen swim, cher."
"Like?"
Christophe smirked; Kyle could be dense sometimes. "Well zere are tourist attractions, shopping, you can always just walk up and down ze beach, fish I'm sure, go put-putting, laser tag, go-carts…" he trailed off, seeing if the redhead got the hint there were plenty of things to do. "But besides all of zat? Zis," he pushed Kyle back gently before switching their positions, the Jew now the own against the door. Leaning down he captured him in a kiss, muttering against his cherry-tasting lips, "Or zis." A hand tilting Kyle's head to the side he leaned farther, nibbling against the vein in his neck. "Or zis," he mumbled, a hand trailing down the redhead's stomach to rest playfully on his waist, toying with the hem of his swimtrunks. Lowering himself Christophe licked a fine line down Kyle's red skin, stopping just below his naval, looking up at those heated green eyes. "Or—"
"Aw, awww! Sick, dude they were—just—I'm not hungry anymore," Eric's voice sounded from behind them. Turning to face the hall he spotted the others, Craig and Tweek giving him an approving look. With a sigh he stood and led the horrified Kyle away from Cartman's ridicule, pleased that he could still make the Broflovski boy blush the way he did.
Or maybe that was the sunburn.
---
Kyle was shaken awake, groaning, pulling the covers tighter around his body to ward away the persistent hands. In response to this they were ripped away from him, leaving the redhead exposed in his four-leaf clover boxers. Muttering harshly he sat up, looking around for the culprit, finding Christophe standing at the end of the bed fully dressed in cargo pants and a black shirt with "sTaInEd AwAy" written on it in a thin white font. His eyes were done up in eyeliner, something he knew either Kenny or Wendy did at first glance.
"Why are you dressed? And up?" Looking beside him he noticed Craig and Tweek weren't there.
"Because et's almost nine in ze morning, everyone is already up and ready."
Falling back into bed Kyle moaned, muffling his curses in his pillow. "Go away! I want to sleep!"
"Fine, you don't get your present," the French accent pouted firmly. Sitting back up Kyle gave him a look.
"You already got me a present, the two kittens at home, remember?"
Christophe snorted, rolling his eyes as he wandered around the bed to sit beside Kyle. "Et wasn't planned Kit-chat-chat would get pregnant, zat wasn't your real gift." From his back pocket he produced two thin strips of paper that the Jew recognized as tickets. "Zese are. I'm taking you to a concert."
"What kind of concert?" he asked slowly, fearing for his taste in music.
"Well you told your cousin zat ze lead singer is 'otter zen me, which let me tell you I did not appreciate 'earing," he replied smugly, waving the tickets in front of Kyle's nose. Reaching out he took them in amazement, as if they were the most fragile things ever. Reading the label over he took a breath before squealing and launched himself at Christophe.
"Omighoshomigoshomigosh!"
"Take a breath, let it out; breathe!" Christophe insisted, prying to pry Kyle off to no avail. The redhead clung, though made sure the tickets were safe.
"I'm sorry for calling Jay hotter than you, you're the best boyfriend ever! Ever, ever, ever!" Pulling away he stared at the tickets in awe. "I can't believe I'm going to see Orgy! This is like, the best freakin' day ever! Are the other guys coming along?"
"Damien, Craig, and Tweek are, ze ozers didn't want to."
"Whoo, the anti-Christ at an electronica/rock concert, sweet!" Getting up he ran around the room, staring into the part of the dresser called 'his', sorting through his clothing for something concert appropriate. Finally he grabbed a pair of black jeans with lime hemming, a fishnet shirt he'd found packed for him, and a deep green shirt with a yin-yang sign on the front. Fluffing his hair he gave a nod and threw on a pair of Vans before dragging the French boy out into the living area to have the same make-up treatment done with his eyes. Like he'd guessed it was Kenny that applied the eyeliner and eyeshadow.
As soon as the blonde was finished Kyle danced toward the door chanting, "Mashing, mashing, mashing, whoo!" The boys going followed the giddy redhead to the elevator, destination, absolutely Hell.
---
The concert goers woke up the next day nearly at one in the afternoon, groaning at the aching soreness of their muscles. Each and every one of them had sustained some sort of trademark injury, usually in the form of a large green-tinted bruise, although Tweek's was different. He'd been smacked in the stomach with a studded bracelet, leaving three puncture marks in the tender flesh that had been deep enough to bleed. At that injury they had all decided mashing wasn't worth it and pushed their way to the edge of the pits, relatively out of harm's way.
As Kyle wandered out of the bedroom he glanced at the mirror in the bathroom, wincing. His eye was surrounded in all the colours of the bruise-rainbow, and swollen. Ironically he'd been elbowed by a guy trying to help him out of the most violent mashing pits that had erupted around them. As soon as he sat down on the couch beside Christophe (who was, like always, the first up of their group), Tweek's high-pitched scream broke the silence.
"NO! We're out of coffee, oh God, how am I going to live? Without the coffee I have no will to go on!" Before he could throw himself out the kitchen window Craig darted out of the bedroom, tackling him hard to the tile floor, their bodies sliding a few inches to hit the glass. Tweek's short fingernails scrambled on the glass, trying to get a hold on it as Craig kept him pinned down.
"Lemme go! There's no God—"
"I could've told you zat," Christophe muttered, watching the two boys struggle on the kitchen floor.
"—he's taken the most important substance away! Oh, Christ, lemme go Craig! I wanna go out the painful way!"
"No way dude! I'm not having your death on my conscious."
"I can't live through withdrawals, lemme go!" Tweek wailed, kicking under the heavier boy.
"Infidels! Take the elevator to the second level, turn right form the evil reign of the receptionist, and there is a corner ruled by that of coffee beans!" Damien's strong, prophetic voice boomed. Having heard the word 'coffee' Tweek sprang to his feet, throwing Craig off and ran out the door. Craig jumped up, following, not trusting the twitching boy alone.
As Damien plopped down on the couch Kyle let out a whistle. "Haven't heard you speak like that in forever, why the sudden change?"
"If he thinks he's about to be punished by the anti-Christ, then there is no reason to worry about suicide," the raven-haired boy said with a shrug. "And it's fun to appear at the weirdest times and spout shit like that."
It wasn't five minutes later the two that had left returned, Tweek carrying a bag of Starbucks coffee and two refrigerated Frappachino drinks, Craig with another three. As the blonde plopped the bag next to the coffeepot Craig passed out the cold drinks.
"So where'd the others go, Frenchy?" he finally said after settling into the cushions of the plush couch. They all knew if they wanted information to go to Christophe, he knew everything.
"Out shopping, Wendy assured if zey saw anyzing we might like, she'd buy et non prob."
"Well what're we supposed to do?" Tweek asked with a squeal. The reply was a lazy smile before:
"Ever hung out in an elevator?"
---
The rest of that day was spent down by the beach until ten when the pool area was curfewed, meaning their only way back into the hotel. Until two in the morning they played video games, Twister, Dance Dance Revolution on a dance pad Wendy brought along, and a violent game of Truth or Dare influenced by alcohol. To say the least it was a game of much boob-bearing, homoerotic acts, and blushing. By the end they'd all taken a sacred oath to keep what they did that night confidential.
The forth day of their vacation was spent at Spinsations, goofing around with people half their age. In a putput game Eric had been the winner, flaunting until they went go-carting, and was run into walls by the others. Having learned his lesson he kept his mouth shut, glaring at them all as they created a team for laser tag against a group of junior-high students. Not surprisingly Christophe was the sole winner, waiting until everyone on his team got knocked off before going after the kids. It was then they realized who he really was.
The final day of their trip they decided to go out to one of the islands off the coast with a guide. Reminding Christophe that is he fell in he was dead, the French boy had just smirked and said, "If you don't come in after, zen zere would be no reason to live anyway."
Kenny rode on the bow the whole way across the crystal blue ocean, arms outstretched to the sky like a decoration, hair being tousled in the salty winds. It was there at his most vulnerable, his most innocent (having been making crude jokes at Wendy about her 'big bodacious boobs' for the passed four days), they noticed the faint crown of light whizzing above his head and the outline of large feathered wings. They'd all recognized his dying habit early on—how could they not?—and the fact he'd been to Hell and back, along with Heaven a few things. But they never actually believed he might serve a purpose in those deaths, or on Earth until then. Who exactly was he sent to guard?
They arrived on the island just after noon, and wandered away from the guide. Its distinctive feature was a huge dune of white sand built up down the 'spine', eroding away before reaching the light tower. They were let on free reign before being told that if he needed yhem, the guide would call on a conch.
So as the others trotted away playing a morbid game of tag—you'd take a fish egg sac from the water and throw it at the others if you were It, if you got hit you were It and so on—Kyle grabbed Christophe's hand and walked down to the water before starting for the opposite end of the island.
"This place is so beautiful, I mean I'm use to snow and hick accents, so it's amazing to see what the world has to offer outside of South Park," Kyle said, watching the water foam around their feet.
"Yes, et is simple stunning," he replied, giving Kyle's hand a squeeze, the ID bracelet the redhead had given his for Christmas jingling.
"Thanks for enduring the concert for me, I could tell you didn't like it very much."
"Well, love knows non bounds, yes?"
"Mm," smiling he looked up at the sky, the clouds swirling, tinged in pastel yellow. "Just, thanks for everything. There's so many things I'm thankful for that you've done since this how fiasco started. I mean you've risked o much several times and—"
"You're not breaking up wiz me, are you?" Christophe asked, stopping him dead. The concern was bright in his chocolate eyes, the breeze ruffling bangs into them.
"What? No, God no!" He brought a hand to his mouth, giggling. "I couldn't ever break up with you, I love you way too much, dude. I guess I just realized how much I never say it and—"
"You don't 'ave to say et, zough, cher. What you don't realize is you show et every day in ze simplest actions, like now, you're blushing."
"Am not!" Kyle said heatedly, though he felt his cheeks colour and knew the fecade. Christophe smiled smugly, a knowing smile, making the redhead glad that Stan chose that moment to appear on the dune, waving his hands madly.
"Dudes! Come here, I've found the coolest thing ever!"
Stepping around the brunette he raised his hands to his mouth calling back, "What is it?"
"You've got to come see! Get your lazy asses over here!"
With a sigh Kyle glanced at Christophe before starting up the dune, slipping several times on the fine sand and going down face first. Rolling his eyes in disbelief the French one showed Kyle the proper way to get up a hill of sand, by walking on the arch of the foot, weight in the balls. After a few tries he got it and was at the top in no time. Then the fun part began; sliding down the other side to the figures of Stan, Kenny, and Wendy crowded around in a circle.
"What is it?" Kyle asked a bit annoyed as Stan looked up with a huge grin.
"Check this out," he said, pointing at the ground. In front of him was what appeared to be a slug, but the size of a toothpaste tube, the sand around it stained purple.
"What the fuck is that?"
"Some weird beach slug, but that's not the best part," Kenny said and poked the thing. Purple squirted out from the underside, the stain becoming larger.
"So it squirts crap, how is that good?" Kyle asked with a brow raised.
"It means we can write stuff in the sand, duh!" Stan replied as if it was obvious. Picking up the slug he walked to were the dune started at wrote in big letters 'S & W' before drawing a heart around it. Wendy giggled as the other boys ran over to them, Craig glancing at the purple message before stealing the slug and doing the same, but with 'C & T'. Instantly the dune became home to initials and hearts as 'K & C', 'D & P', 'C & B', 'K & B' were added. It was about that time the guide appeared, eyes widening.
"Dudes! I can't believe you touched the slug! Put it down."
Kenny dropped it, hands now a healthy shade of purple. "Why, what's wrong?"
"Your hands, look at them!" Everyone that had touched the slug looked down at their now purple hands. "That ink stains dudes, they're gonna be like the for like, three months. They could still be tinted purple for at least two years."
At the news no one really seemed too upset that the palms of their hands would be a strange colour for a forth of the year, maybe even longer. Instead it started a war of trying to pin Cartman down and write on his forehead 'loser'. In the end, he wasn't the only one written on in slug goo.
---
After that trip the group didn't see much of each other. Most of them were too busy being hassled by college papers and summer jobs to get together. Finally feeling the prospect of real-life and reality, they were boggled, clinging to their family in their last month in South Park, or even the state. Life really wasn't handed to them on a silver platter it seemed.
Kyle on the other hand was restricted from having a summer job, Sheila worried that driving to and from work everyday would cause recklessness and he'd die. Also having accepted his relationship she was needlessly worrying that a job would intervene and cause too much stress, that they'd drive each other apart. When Christophe had heard it, he was fairly amused.
However, there was one day they all got together, that even workspaces couldn't intervene: July forth.
The fireworks were going to be shot off at Stark's Pond like they were every year. That wasn't where the group was though, they were all up on the cliff overlooking South Park, bottles of alcohol surrounding them. By the time it was getting dark at eight they were pretty smashed.; after all, there's no other ay to be patriotic then getting drunk and blowing things up.
"Here's to never seeing you assholes again," Cartman said raising a bottle of Heineken. The others followed suit before tipping their drinks back.
"It's not like we've ever liked you," Butters slurred, hair being ruffled by a giggling Kenny.
"I've been the king of this place, what're you talkin' about?" Eric asked with fake intimidation, though swaying back and forth didn't help matters.
"Shut up you dickholes!" Wendy shouted, clamping her hand over her mouth at the outburst before laughing. "The fireworks are starting."
The teens turned to the sky as lights exploded, brighter in the mountain air than it could ever be in the city. As technicolour swirls and waterfall effects danced across the sky the group let out a collective sigh.
"Everything is happening too fast," Stan finally said, answering their thoughts.
"Yeah, this time last year I'd be at home with the girls watching the fireworks from my backyard," Bebe said a bit sadly before taking a swig of her drink.
"I'd be hiding from the loud noises," Tweek piped up, amazingly relaxed , but then again he'd consumed a bottle of whiskey.
"I'd be in Hell, shunned by Father as he spent his time with his boyfriend," Damien said with a sigh, black eyes taking in the fireworks.
"I'd be in Florida, zinking about me true love," Christophe added, his accent thicker with the intoxication.
Taking a gulp from his drink Kenny grinned, "I'd probably be fucking some really hot chick."
They all took their turns saying what they'd be doing at the moment in time a year before, Stan last. "I'd be watching the fireworks at home, wishing the school year would hurry up and be done." With a sigh he shook his head. "And yet here we all are, wanting it to be a year ago."
"What about time travel?" Eric suggested. "Like we go back in time and relive it over, every year."
Kyle smacked him in the shoulder. "We tried that in forth grade, remember? We can't just run from the inevitable, don't you guys want to grow up, have kids, watch them do the same thing? Anyway, I for one don't want to give up what happened this year, there are too many good things that I don't want to screw up doing it a second time. I'm happy now."
"Yeah, Kyle's right, everything was perfect last year, who knows what we'd fuck up going back," Kenny said with an affirmative nod.
"Then this is the end, this is where we put it all behind us," Stan said looking completely serious, and wasted.
"Let's make an oath," Craig said, looking around at the familiar faces. "To the perfect senior year, to not dwelling, to living our lives to the fullest." He placed his free hand in the circle, still purple. They all did the same, half of the hands dark and violet.
"To life and the future!" they said in unison, the finale of the fireworks coating them in a rainbow of colour. It was there, high above South Park, summer changed to fall and they learned one of life's most important lessons.
Well that was the shortest chapter thus far, I was having a hard time coming up with things to do during summer xD I mean they're all eighteen, but they can't get into clubs with alcohol so that took out a few things. And I'd just like to mention, sea slugs do stain your hands. That was based off of an actual experience, my hands were purple for years. I think the ink was gone completely seven years after the event, it wasn't fun x3
Anyone want to make a guess at who Kenny was sent to guard? Or the couples in the initials? I'd like to see what you guys come up with there. Oh, I do like Gregory, but it was just easier writing this story as if I didn't.
Profile has been updated with more fanart received from Bobby, gosh I love you girl. And me-ladie, I try to please you, you're my wife after all x3 Thanks to my reviewers, you guys really know how to flatter a girl.
One more chapter left. It's almost sad, but then again I can't wait.