I'm sorry
Whil-o-whisp
Starting time:3:42
Ending time: 4:28
Fandom: South Park, GregoryxZemole (christophe)
Word count:452
A/N: Dunno. Just Dunno. Its like four thirty a.m and I can't sleep so why not write a gory christophe x Gregory fic, eh? Got the idea from Cherry Champagne's Whores, so, read hers, its much much better. Its Kenny x Ze Mole. Hm. My guess on this one is that somebody wants Gregory dead bad and decides to pay Christophe to do it, but Christophe doesn't want to but feels he has to because he's a mercenary or something. Idk. Just read I guess. Warning: gore, shounen ai, mentions of butt-secks, and other such silliness. Really not a story for kiddies.
Discalimer: I do not own south park. If I owned south park, would I really be wasting my time on Fanfiction dot net writing stories that I could make canon. Think about that one.
The room was smoky and smelled of sex and dirt. Christophe sat on the bed's edge, fingers wrapped gingerly around the thick metal handle of his shovel. Gregory watched in mild Interest, dressed in a pair of Christophe's drawstring pants and a white t-shirt. He'd said he felt indecent laying naked in Christophe's bed, especially with the boy's mother down the hall. Christophe merely shrugged him off; much less modest dressed in only a pair of silk black boxers.
"Where'd you get this scar Christophe?" Gregory asked, sitting up enough to trace his finger down a scar stretching from the base of the mercenary's neck to the top of his left ribs. "Zhe first mission you ever gave me…" Christophe muttered, touching the top of the scar. Gregory frowned, standing on his knees behind the young man and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, resting his cheek on the silk soft brunette hair. "I don't remember that mission…"
"Why would you? I am a foot soldier, zhe system's beetch. Zhat's all I'm hired to be." Christophe muttered crossly and Gregory moved to stand before him. "How many people have you killed, Christophe?" Gregory had to know, but Christophe didn't seem to want to answer. "I merely do what zhey tell me to do…" his eyes are downcast as he fingers the handle again. "I merely do what I am told. I do what zhe customer can not do for himzelf…"
Gregory nearly laughed. "You sound like a whore." The thought was almost funny. Christophe was the most respectable person Gregory had ever known. No way he would sink to whoring himself, not even for a job. "Maybe I am." All thought stopped as Gregory slipped to the floor, hands on Christophe's scarred knees. Gregory craned to catch the man's eye. "How many people have you killed, Christophe?" Christophe sighed. "I merely do as I am told." It sounded like he was telling himself this, making excuses for himself, so he didn't have to deal.
Gregory felt the sharp blow as Christophe's hands grasped the shovel, one at the handle, the other on the shaft. The world was a mass of grey and red. He saw the splatter on the wall. He tasted the warm viscous liquid that slipped down his forehead and between his lips. Heard a hitched breath as Christophe put the shovel back down, but he couldn't tell if it were his or not. He smelled the smoke and dirt and sex that was Christophe's room.
But the last thing he ever felt were soft sweet lips pressed against his own, smearing the blood, and a warm, drop of salty liquid falling onto his cheek and sliding down.
"I'm sorry…"