Cigarettes

Whil-o-whisp

Starting time: 5:50

Ending time: 6:06

Fandom: South park, GregoryxZemole (christophe)

Word Count: 571

A/N: Slash, Naughty language, Christophe badmouthing people, including his mother and god. You know the drill. Wow. Its been a while since I've done anything of importance on here. Lulz! Christophe has a dirty mouth but that's probably because I was listening to voices by Disturbed over and over and over again. Gregory is evil! EVIL! Lulz, but he gets what he wants, right? TIME FOR FUN!

Disclaimer: I own my very own disc of South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut. (still can't say that without my mind going…places)

Translation notes: No French this time, just Christophe thinking about his mom yelling.

Shut up. Nobody likes her anyway, why was she still yapping? She was just the French woman. Why should Christophe listen to her blathering in an accent so thick he could barely understand it, even though his own was nearly as, if not more, difficult to understand. She was ranting about his cigs this time. Why the fuck should she care if he smoked till he dropped? Wasn't like she cared before. Damn, he fucking hated it when she started ranting about the cocksucker she worshipped and tried to shove down his fucking throat, because really, his cigs and the bitch in the sky were totally related. Why the fuck would anybody worship that sick bastard, much less him? He was an acquaintance with the fucking Anti-Christ at school damn it. Damien could fucking kill this woman. Fuck, Gregory could kill her. Okay so Gregory could probably kill most everybody in their class. Or at least, Christophe thought he could. He didn't know, Gregory didn't fight. He let Christophe get his hands dirty.

Now she's blathering on in French AND English. Whoop-dee-freaking-doo, she's bilingual. She thinks she's so amazing just because she can speak in two fucking languages simultaneously. He vaguely wondered what she'd think if she knew Gregory spoke twenty-six languages. She'd probably have a shit fit and start trying to make him like Gregory. Fuck, why couldn't she have let Dad have custody.

Gregory can probably hear this and Christophe's room is fucking sound proof. Fuck this woman can yell. Now she's talking about going to church for Mass. Mass? That's a measurement bitch. Fuck, he needs a smoke. He stood, starting towards the stairs. She grabbed his arm, pulling him back and slapping him. He stared at her with the eyes his father had given him, doleful and scary, and cold, and very aged. She bursts into tears, crying for Mother Mary herself as he walks up the stairs, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting the tip. She couldn't fucking stand his eyes. They were too much like his fathers and he used it to his advantage. Not his fault she was an easily manipulated bitch. Just because she fell for a spineless bastard who couldn't take care of his only son and wife doesn't mean she can take her aggression out on him.

Gregory's standing in the doorway, eyes knowing and amused. Christophe ignored him, slipping in between the British boy and the doorframe into the smoky room that smelled of dirt, sex, smoke, and gunpowder. He liked how his room smelled, maybe because his mother didn't. Gregory walked calmly over to Christophe's mattress on the floor, the paranoid boy not able to bring himself to buy a bed frame. Christophe was sitting on it already, pulling off his boots and glaring at the laces, his cigarette smoldering in the ashtray beside him. Gregory chuckled, making the mercenary look up. Gregory placed soft fingers at Christophe's jaw before pressing his lips to his. Gregory always helped him vent after a fight. Realization dawned on the mercenary. How the hell could his mother have found out about his cigarettes, which he made sure to not leave around the house, unless somebody else had left one. The only person who EVER bummed a smoke off of him was…

"Fucking beetch." And Christophe couldn't tell anymore if he was talking about the bitch downstairs, or the one seated atop his hips, smirking deviously as he traced his neck.

A/n: REVIEW!