A/N: Your theories and reviews were brilliant. But you know that, because you're brilliant!

Gregory managed five hours sleep and awoke at seven. It was some considerable time later than he heard a stir in Christophe's room and the movement of footsteps to the door. He sighed and wondered why he hadn't left the apartment for a while but decided he wasn't in the mood. Instead he'd slouched on the sofa in a pair of sweatpants he'd stolen from Christophe and watched Downton Abbey. If anyone was to see him in then, he'd immediately fake that he was about to go out for a run. He figured if Damien had any spies on him at that point, they'd see he really wasn't planning anything.

When Christophe came out - in only his underwear, but at least he was actually wearing some - he collapsed next to Gregory and pulled the Brit's legs onto his lap. Gregory turned the television off and smiled, turning to him.

"So..."

"Mmmm."

"Last night... care to tell what that was?"

Christophe laughed. "Zat was sex, Gregory. Eet can 'appen wiz a woman as well." He rolled his eyes. "Not zat you'd know."

Gregory faked a shudder. "The very thought makes me feel queasy." He laughed and hit Christophe. "I have been with a girl before... I just didn't stick around for very long to give it proper attention." He laughed. "Who was she?"

"Bebe." (They were always blonde.) Christophe clucked his tongue. "Went to ze bar looking for you, found her. I assumed you'd gone further afield or were just walking around and got talking to her. Talking just led to more."

"Of course, you're irresistible." Gregory smiled. "Good time?"

"Oui, as much as eet could be."

"Just a one-night thing or was there a spark?"

"Eet's not ze right time for a relationship right now. Not unless..." Christophe looked deep into Gregory's eyes. He gazed for a few moments then sighed, shaking his head. "No, not unless anything."

"I think now would be the perfect opportunity to have someone, Tophe."

"No. Just no."

"Right," replied Gregory with a smile. "Well, whatever you say. She's a nice girl though."

"Oui." Christophe looked down and absently stroked Gregory's legs.

"Is something the matter, Tophe?"

"Non, mon ami," replied Christophe lightly, pushing Gregory's legs from him and standing up. "I... I must go get ready for work." He smiled and walked to his room. Gregory nodded though Christophe couldn't see him, and switched the television on again.

Damien glared across the table at the red demon who had come to visit him. It was very rare a demon visited the surface because they were bound to stick out and be remembered with how hideous and different they looked. Although nowhere as big as Satan, Zazul was still taller than Damien, with wings. Damien had always liked this demon; he had been one of the ones Damien had taken a liking to as a child when he was learning who he was. He remembered they used to push damned souls into the lake of fire together and laugh for ages. Now Zazul was being serious because all the training of this learning and playing was being put into practice.

"Your father's getting impatient," said Zazul slowly, talking in a low raspy voice. "He wants you back home."

"What's my father doing now?"

"He's dusting the fridge - a clear sign that he's getting agitated."

Typical. "He does realise that once my reign comes there'll be no dusters and fridges?"

"He's willing to make sacrifices and so should you."

"He told me I wasn't allowed back."

"...Until you've killed the problem. Kill the problem." Damien pursed his lips and stared at the demon. The demon blinked his yellow eyes. "What is the problem? He's just a human. They are all going to die. I can feel the darkness coming." He smirked. "We've already taken the moon, and Heaven can't stop us. They can't even try until after a thousand years, and then it's only with the help of-" Zazul glanced around and lowered his voice, "Jesus."

"So clearly nothing's going to stop us. I don't need to do anything with Blondie because he's not going to do anything with me. I've been investigating and he doesn't even know I'm the Antichrist!"

"Blondie?" Zazul stared. "You gave the human a nickname? That's cute." He looked over Damien.

"If you have something to say then say it."

"I think you're getting attached to it."

"What?" Damien asked in a bored tone.

"The human. You don't want to kill it... You want to play with it instead."

"Ridiculous. I don't want to risk attacking him or he may just do something to stop me."

"No. You wouldn't be scared of a human... not unless they were bringing about confusing feelings... Or maybe it has nothing to do with him, maybe you don't want this rise at all..."

"That's it! You are speaking far out of line! I am royalty and you will address me as such. I cannot take anymore insolence!" Damien knew such a command would never work. The demon before him had practically raised him.

Zazul shook his head. "I only answer to your father, as was agreed before I became your tutor. If anything, you still answer to me."

Damien growled. "Not for long."

"That's the spirit." The demon stood up and walked over to Damien, placing a hand on his shoulder. "That's the attitude we want. The world will be yours." He smirked. "Just imagine it. Everything bowing at your feet - you, the undisputed ruler. You'll have more power than any man has dreamed of. Hell will come to Earth."

'Sounds amazing.'

Damien licked his lips. This had always been enough to convince him in the past. This had always brought the blackness that allowed him to commit his foul crimes. This is exactly what he was told before he chased Gregory that night.

'It sounds horrible.'

That voice. That stupid moral voice, making him doubt, making him see the other possibilities...

"If you try to back out, your father will kill you... repeatedly."

Damien clenched his fist. "There's no way I can back out! I have less and less power over myself every day! When the darkness comes it's so hard to get away from it and think rationally."

"You don't need to. Go with it, kill some mortals, have a laugh." The demon smirked. "Rape a blond."

Damien jerked and pushed the demon to the floor. "You say that again and I'll kill you forever."

"You're acting like you love him." Zazul choked a laugh, pushing himself up. "Those feelings are just lust. As demons we can't feel love." He rolled his eyes. "Grow up, Damien, and accept the realities of your life."

"Yeah, but I'm not a regular demon. I'm different to you. I have a heart."

"Not for long. Soon you won't have to deal with the havoc that organ can wreak." The demon stood up and put a hand on Damien's shoulder. "I understand your doubt. You don't want to kill him because you don't want to face up to the reality of your situation. It's a big thing you're going to have to do but you're ready. Now, come on. Just kill the blond and please your father, then you can have his help again." He patted Damien's back. "You've had taken your last fun from this world confusing the human, now kill him."

Damien nodded.

"Don't forget the prophecy. Remind yourself of it now."

Damien sighed. "Okay, but I'm saying it in my own words, none of that old-timey bullshit.

"So there is a man, who was born on the same day as me, in the same hospital even. What are the odds? He is blond and British and beautiful. They say he looks angelic but isn't an angel. Is perfect but it's all built on imperfection." Damien smirked. "And he is extremely attractive. They didn't lie."

"Right, yes, keep going."

"He was born a rose; I'm a thorn. And this is where that faggy quote comes in: 'The Rose will prune the roots of all evil when he controls the rise of his Thorn.'"

"Is that the best translation from the original? I've heard better."

"It's been thousands of years since they predicted it! That's the latest and most modern translation, just published in a pamphlet, put inside Mulch Monthly*. A few words may be out I guess, it says the same basic thing. What father reads from this is that Gregory will stop my rise, probably by killing me."

"It would be best if you said it in Latin."

"I'm no speaking in fucking Latin." Damien glared. "So, anyway. Father saw this and didn't dare kill Gregory himself, and he threatens me that he'll have another demon kill him but we know he won't. He thinks since we're so linked, I have to kill Gregory or he'll kill me."

"Can't you see how true that is?"

"I guess. But I don't see how since he knows nothing about me! I bet he doesn't even know how to kill an Antichrist. And I'm confused at how this translation says I'm his thorn. I'm nobody's thorn!"

"Translation error I'd say. Don't worry about it. And he can learn how to kill you." Zazul looked grave. "I'm going to talk to your father, you're going to kill the blond and then we'll meet up later and celebrate. See you in Hell. And if I don't see you in Hell soon then I'll know you've failed us and we'll have to take more drastic measures."

Damien nodded slowly. "It will be done."

*The sixth issue to be precise. And the pamphlet was placed inside the sixth page.

Damien knocked slowly on the wood of the door, sensing that only Gregory was inside the apartment, which made what he came to do easier, because he knew he would have probably ended up killing the Frenchman, and that would not have been a good move. When the door opened, Damien was surprised to see Gregory wearing sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, hair in messy curls hanging around his scowling face. It wasn't fair that he still looked expensive and irresistibly sexy.

"Damien, what are you doing here?"

Damien pushed Gregory back effortlessly and stepped inside the apartment so they were standing in the living area. "I'm not a hero. I'm something much more messed up than that."

"Yes I know."

"How much do you know?" Damien grabbed Gregory's wrist. "Do you know the extent of it?"

Gregory attempted to pull his wrist away but Damien held on tightly, shaking his head. Gregory sighed. "You're a very messed up man. And I don't know why you're here, but you're not going to find anything useful."

Man... This was all very human.

"I found you, didn't I?"

"Don't even try anything."

Damien felt like he saw as much hate as humanly possible in Gregory's eyes. He always saw it, because why would Gregory feel anything else?

Damien was lonely. Gregory had Christophe, but Damien was desperately alone.

And he would soon be forever alone...

And he just wanted to feel something.

Saying no more words, Damien grabbed Gregory by the arms and pulled him closer. He bent down and forced his lips onto Gregory's. He heard Gregory's startled gasp and felt the breath on his lips, but he didn't wait to see what the blond's reaction would be, he just pulled his arms tighter and continued the bruising kiss.

He didn't know at that point whether Gregory was reacting, if he was screaming or saying anything, because those stupid voices joined him.

'That's good. Have your fun. Force it further and all these feelings will go.'

Damien pictured himself throwing Gregory onto his bed, or over the sofa, or even the floor... He heard the screams of protest mixed with his own groans. He pictured Gregory's naked form dripping in sweat and eventually covered in his hot come. He pictured himself feeling nothing, moving on to fulfil his destiny and watching lying Gregory there, crying.

A threat? Blondie was a pathetic human.

'Don't you dare harm him. Would you want that? Wouldn't you want him to be willing?'

Willing...

Damien pictured another scene. Him, with his arms around Gregory's waist, pushing him heatedly to the bed, pinning him down and kissing him, pressing himself against the blond and hearing groans of in return. He imagined the connection between them, the longing rather than hatred in Gregory's eyes. He saw an opportunity to explore Gregory's body, to kiss and suck on the skin, stroke every part of it, to make him feel pleasure too.

But what if Gregory didn't want it? And even if he did, Damien would still have to kill him afterwards. That options was too ridiculous to comprehend. It required more than just lust and the physical act of stealing everything from Gregory. It required his heart, the very part of him he was trying to ignore. All those actions would inevitably equal-

'Love.'

'Damien doesn't love.'

Damien looked down at his grasp on Gregory's arm and let go, ignoring the burning bruises he'd caused to form there - another sign he just hurt everything. He shook his head and walked away, out of the apartment and down the hall, not allowing himself to see Gregory's reaction.

He may have been walking from his only chance to feel that precious pale skin around him. But he knew it could never be consensual, and now he knew that it could never be forced either.

And he saw both hope and despair in this fact.

Hope: that there was some goodness left in him.

Despair: that there was some goodness left in him...

It was later that night and Gregory felt like shit. He'd changed into more suitable clothes and walked to meet Christophe from work, they'd grabbed a takeaway pizza and had eaten it on a park bench because Gregory wanted some fresh air. Then they'd come home and Gregory was slumped at the breakfast bar. He was tired and fed up of it all. So desperate to find out the truth behind Damien, and what was more, his feelings, he couldn't focus on much else. Thankfully, he had a flatmate who always knew exactly what to say, if you got past all the God-hating profanities of course.

"You look like you need some wine."

He really did love Christophe. The Frenchman was so in tune to his emotions, a master at deducting exactly what Gregory needed and how to help him. A great friend - practically the only friend he had. Gregory and Christophe both had great skill in fucking over all their friends. Pip and Wendy were either very brave or very stupid.

Gregory smiled. "Wine would be just heavenly." He laughed as Christophe grumbled and cursed at his choice in words. The Frenchman appeared back at the kitchen unit, moments later, with two tall glasses and a bottle of red.

"Oh, Tophe, you're so wonderful. Marry me?"

Christophe noticed the bottle was only a screw top. He smirked at Gregory. "Oui, I'll marry you." He opened the bottle and poured the wine.

"How wonderful." Gregory laughed as he imagined what his mother's reaction would be if this news were real. Not that he'd probably tell her since he couldn't remember the last time he'd talked to her. Would she faint or laugh? Or did she not care enough at all to have any kind of reaction? He was sure his aunt would be ecstatic since she'd always loved how complex and 'broken' Christophe was. She always said he needed taking care of.

"Don't I get a ring?" he added playfully.

Christophe rolled his eyes, and pulled the metal rim off the wine bottle. It had some small numbers printed on it but it was bendy and could be squashed to the correct size. Gregory held out his hand and Christophe slipped it onto the appropriate finger, squashing one end to stop it sliding off. "Zere you go." He bent down and kissed Gregory's hand, finishing his fake display of engagement.

Gregory stared at his hand, remembering only in that moment how Damien had kissed his hand, how it had felt so much more confusing, but slightly thrilling. That small action had brought back strong feelings... and then the other kiss... the one he was trying to repress.

... He hadn't even fought against it.

He smiled and picked up his wine glass. "Oh God, I need this."

Christophe gasped. "What ees zat on your arm?"

"What?" Gregory looked down and then inwardly cursed. His shirt arm had ridden up and his impossible burns were visible. He'd rationalised that the only way the burns were possible was that Damien must have had something in his hand to cause deliberate pain to him, because human skin couldn't be that hot. "Oh."

Christophe held Gregory's arm in his hand and pulled his sleeve up to look at it more closely. "'Ow... 'Ow deed zis 'appen?"

Gregory retracted his arm quickly, before Christophe could see the mark was in the shape of a hand. "Water burn. I dropped the kettle." He smiled innocently. "Ran it under cold water quickly afterwards. It doesn't hurt so bad."

Christophe frowned. "Really? ... Eet looks pretty bad."

"I'm fine. Seriously, Tophe. It was an accident."

"...D'accord." Sighing again and muttering under his breath, Christophe picked up his glass and took a swig. He immediately spat the wine out again. "What ees zis? Zis tastes 'orrible. Zis ees not wine."

Gregory laughed. How could he forget? Christophe was a complete wine snob, would only drink the best, the most expensive. He always made a big child-like show of spitting out any wine he didn't like. Gregory took a sip of his own. Well, he quite liked it. It was fruity, not too heavy. Perfectly palatable. Christophe was still glaring at his glass.

"Zis tastes like sheet. I'm not drinking eet."

"I'm surprised you still claim to have perfect wine taste-buds after the amount of cigarettes you've smoked. Are you really not going to drink it?"

Christophe pulled a cigarette from his top pocket and lit it up to emphasise his point. "Non, I 'av no time for bad wine." Gregory supposed there would be more for him in that case, and he was very happy to drink something to numb the pain and confusion of the day.

"Ah, well, there's beer in the fridge."

Christophe grunted and nodded, returning with one and twisting the top of, which was odd because Gregory was sure he hadn't bought that kind. "You really shouldn't drink inferior wine."

"It tastes fine."

Later, after his third or fourth glass of wine, which he'd drunk cuddling with Christophe and watching a random romantic comedy that was on, Gregory didn't feel so good. His head felt tense and he needed fresh air. It was probably the stress of everything. He told Christophe he was going for another walk and left the Frenchman to the rest of the film (because he was really enjoying it).

Gregory breathed in the air as he walked down the deserted streets. He was going nowhere in particular, just walking, trying to clear his head from the ache it was developing. His limbs felt heavier as well. He must have been tired.

He continued walking, because it felt good to cool down. He hadn't realised it but he was getting hot. He coughed - it caused a painful feeling in his chest. It didn't help. Oh great. A cold could just fuck right off. There was no way he was spending any time ill.

He stopped a moment to catch his breath, staring up at the dark sky.

"Out late, Blondie."

Gregory jumped. He spun around swiftly and scanned his eyes through the darkness. He saw him standing there, in the shadows, all black. Damien. Gregory's heart flipped as his stomach tensed and jaw clenched. To be face-to-face with Damien again caused hatred to bubble. He could feel it in his fists that wanted to attack the other, hit him all over his body, run over every part leaving marks. His mouth wanted to get close and scream verbal assaults - it wanted to scream them directly into Damien's smirking grin. How dare he be causing these feelings?

Gregory's temperature grew. "What's your point?" he asked. His voice did not contain the strength he wished it to have.

Damien stared emptily at him with his black eyes. "Nothing."

"Good," choked Gregory, and continued walking.

"Not staying to chat?"

Gregory turned back around and glared at Damien's smirking face. "I thought maybe talking was no longer your style."

Damien frowned - he almost looked confused. Gregory would have believed him to be so if he didn't know that Damien was extremely manipulative, and facial expressions meant nothing. "What do you mean?"

Gregory stepped close to Damien again, trying to ignore the slight dizziness this gave him. He could feel his state declining. He needed to get back to his apartment, sleep, and hope it was all better in the morning. It was probably just the wine having a negative effect on his strained system. "I know you're trying to c-confuse me. W-Why-" Gregory had to stop mid-sentence to cough. Now, even his eyelids were feeling heavy. "Why else w-would you kiss me?"

"Because you're just so sexy I can't control my..." Damien trailed of as he looked at Gregory again, who was leaning forward slightly, with his hands resting on his knees. "Are you okay?"

Gregory straightened up and mustered the strength to glare again. He hadn't heard what Damien had said, but assumed it was something offensive. "Fuck you."

"I don't think you're in any fit state to be fucking people."

Gregory shook his head. "I don't have time for this." He coughed again, burning in his lungs.

"What? Time before you pass out?"

"I am fine," Gregory weakly pushed past Damien, walking towards the 'comfort' of his apartment. Maybe Christophe would run him a bath if he saw the state of him - not that Christophe had run many baths in his lifetime.

He didn't sense that Damien had followed him and assumed that the black-haired man was continuing with whatever probably illegal activities he was doing before Gregory turned up.

Gregory stumbled down the road. Without knowing why, he knew he was in trouble. He just didn't want to admit it to Damien. He didn't want that asshole to have anything over him. Damien was trouble. Damien was tracking him. Weakness would be the perfect opportunity to do whatever it was he was after doing.

Gregory's body was on fire and his vision was blurring. He coughed; his lungs felt tight.

He had no idea what to do.

He took another step forward but his foot never found the ground again. He fell forward, down to his knees, trembling. He looked around in the darkness, not sure whether to pathetically call for help or attempt to crawl somewhere - but where? He couldn't see a thing and his blurring vision was worrying him. He coughed again, gasping slightly at the tightness. Had he been poisoned by some slow-acting substance? Was he to die in the street? These were the questions running through his mind as two bright red lights headed towards him.

His first thought was that they were car headlights, and he was going to die so uninspiring as being hit by a car. However, he soon realised they were too small to be headlights, and he was on the sidewalk. He blinked, the lights disappeared, and in his state he could hardly recall them being there.

Sometime soon after that - seconds, minutes... Gregory didn't know, but he thought it must have been soon, Damien returned.

"You're not okay are you, Blondie?"

Gregory shook his head, gasping. He could feel the sweat running down his forehead, the burning through his whole body. "N-No."

Damien knelt down. "Would you like some help?" He sounded in control, but Gregory could sense his slight urgency.

Gregory groaned, curling his fingers. "N-No." He hopelessly tried to push the man away, but clung onto his shirt instead. Everything was dark... and it was spinning. All he could feel was that he was so cold, and he wanted to cling to warmth, and God, Damien was warmth.

Gregory coughed. "Cold... I'm it's..." He spluttered again as he swallowed down air and entwined his fingers further into Damien's t-shirt. "Hot... Cold." He was desperately trying to make sense. But he felt the coldness? Yes, it was turning to coldness... the cold burning taking over him.

"Fuck." Damien snarled. Gregory felt himself lifted into warm arms, and then nothing after that until suddenly he was being held over a toilet bowl. The smell of bleach made him nauseous, he couldn't stomach bleach. And as expected, soon he couldn't stomach anything and found himself throwing up. He was still being held; the room was spinning. He felt a cup press to his mouth. When had Damien gotten the cup? "Drink this," growled a voice behind him. He tried to push away the cup, but he couldn't move his arms. He could barely move his head. The cup was being tilted up, over his lips and he had no choice but to drink it.

It was salty, too salty, like sea water, he felt like he was drowning. It made him throw up again. Damien still held him, as he gagged over the toilet, emptying his insides. The cup was eventually raised to his lips again, and he tried to mutter no, but it was no good; he was forced into drinking it. Tears ran down his face, sweat dripping everywhere. Shivering, dizzy, all he wanted to do was curl up and sleep, yet Damien would not let him. Damien continued to make him throw up, but held him softly. Gregory felt like he was being tortured... but protectively.

What does that even mean? I'm going to die here.

He felt a kiss to the back of his head. "Keep going." Damien was whispering softly into Gregory's ear. "I know it's horrible, but please, keep going." Gregory wanted to scream and demand what was going on, but he couldn't; he was barely with it and knew that all he could do was be sick. "You'll be okay, Blondie." Damien's tone was surprisingly soft and caring. He was trying to be reassuring, but Gregory could sense the worry in his urgency. A confused hand rested on his back, gently rubbing. It was enough to make him keep going.

It continued until Gregory's throat was excruciatingly sore from stomach acid and all he could do was whimper at the pain. His eyes had been closed throughout the whole ordeal. When Damien finally stopped the torture, he was allowed to collapse onto the cold tiles. The feel was soothing his head but intensified his shivers. He wanted warmth. He could sense Damien's presence over him. He tried to open his eyes, peel the lids stuck with sweat and tears apart. He could see through the haze two bright red orbs again. He closed his eyes - it was too confusing. Car headlights.

He felt a hand run over his head... a warm hand. It made him think of Christophe. He clung to the hand, pulling himself up the arm, grabbing a shoulder with shaking determination to pull the person nearer. With all his strength he mumbled Christophe's name, over and over. "Tophe... Tophe. I need... Tophe." He was clinging to Damien. Damien's shirt was splattered with vomit; his own shirt was wet with sweat. His head dizzied as Damien removed both of them, throwing them on top of a hamper in the bathroom. Gregory fell further into Damien's warm chest as he was pulled close. "Mmnn uh."

"I'm not Tophe." Gregory knew that but he clung just as tightly to the warmth, still shivering. He just wanted the warmth. He felt himself lifted off the ground again, this time onto something soft and secure. He sensed he was finally being given the opportunity to sleep and he took it, arms still tightly clinging to Damien, because he didn't know what else to do in that moment. Their chests were pressed together. He heard Damien hiss...

"Damien."

And then he felt it, soothing warmth spread through his body, soaking into the pain. It drew the pain away and replaced it with numbness. This warmth filled his empty stomach, calming the acid, stopping the burning. It ran through his veins, mixing with his blood. It felt like a gift from God at that moment, relieving him of his torment. It wasn't long until his dizzying head and sudden blissful state sent him drifting under.