He should have known it would end like this. From the second he had laid eyes on his he should have known. The second he realized he loved the British bitch he had felt it, a shadow in his mind that was something of a premonition of what was to come.
He smiled vacantly up at the sky, a sky that was the same unforgiving blue as those cruel eyes that he had gotten so lost in. He knew his blood was staining the flowers in the field a deep red and his body was shutting down, but he would rather look at that cold, unforgiving sky. If he couldn't look into his eyes as he died, then he could have the next best thing.
He could still feel the tingle on his lips from that last, deadly kiss. He could remember every word those luscious lips had ever uttered and every time that calculating gaze had fallen on him.
He could still remember the first time he met. His love, his life, his bitch.
Christophe was completely and utterly bored, these types of parties didn't really appeal to him. If he was going to be dragged along somewhere with his mother he would rather it be somewhere a little less faggy than some mixer for the rich and beautiful.
There were no other children there that he knew of, but that suited him just fine. He had never gotten along very well with other children. At eight years old he was firmly set in his anti-social ways. He rolled his eyes at the glamorous people flitting about the room and headed out into the moonlit garden to smoke from his smuggled pack.
"You know those things kill you." Came a young voice, oddly cold for someone who sounded around his own age. He figured it wasn't so unusual, his own voice was overly angry. He turned around and glared at the other boy, a petit blonde with well tamed hair and blue eyes like ice.
"Want one?" He sneered, expecting the boy to balk and leave. He was sorely disappointed when the boy sneered back and plucked the one he had just lit.
"Don't mind if I do." He said nonchalantly, taking a drag. Christophe scowled and retrieved another, lighting it and taking a drag of his own.
"Name." He demanded, not caring that he was being rude.
"Gregory, yours?" He countered, not seeming to care either.
From that moment the two became the only other person the other could stand.
Years later in their teens, the boys still held onto their acquaintanceship. Because they certainly weren't friends, but neither were they enemies. Christophe had gotten in with a bad crowd and had begun his career as a mercenary in earnest, traveling the world doling out death and turmoil. Gregory had taken to politics, manipulating the pawns in the government with a cold calculation that scared the few who saw through his fake sweet mysterious.
Christophe was almost, but not quite, shocked to find out that the blonde slept around with everyone from government officials to their staff. He suspected it was to get ahead, but he could just be an addict or something. It wasn't up to the murderer to judge the whore.
Until, of course, the whore turned his eyes on him.
He wasn't exactly sure why the blonde was trying to seduce him, but he really didn't have time for his shit. He told them this again and again, but Gregory was not one to be denied what he wanted.
Christophe never officially gave into Gregory's particular charms. In fact, their first time was quite nonconsensual.
Christophe woke up after a night at the bar groggy and with a splitting headache. At first he thought he was hung over, until he remembered he had only had one drink. He tried to get up, only to discover that he was tied down. He growled and looked around the room, trying to find his attacker and try to discern what they wanted.
He was baffled to find that, not only was he alone in the room, he was completely naked.
Just as he was about to start yelling for whoever was pulling this shit to come out and fight him like a man, the door opened to reveal Gregory in an equal state of undress. Now everything made sense. He was in the hands of a madman who was lusting after him.
Gregory smirked and sauntered over to the bed. "Hello lover. Sorry I had to resort to such vile measures, but you just couldn't cooperate, could you darling?" He purred, nuzzling Christophe's lap.
Despite himself he found himself becoming aroused, his cock standing at attention under the man's skilled ministrations. Then he remembered just how he had become to be so skilled. "You do not 'ave anyzeeng, do you?" He asked warily.
"Of course not, my sexy French lover." He purred, licking at the hardening cock to stand it at full attention.
Christophe groaned and fought the urge to buck up into his mouth, instead making an effort to pull away. "I do not want you."
"Your mouth says know, but my new toy says yes." He smirked, nipping at the vein on the underside and fitting his sinfully red lips over the tip.
"Last time I checked my deck was neizzer a toy, nor yours." He growled, trying to hide the lust he was feeling. His efforts were completely wasted as Gregory suddenly sat atop him and engulfed his entire length in his hot body. He certainly wasn't anywhere near as tight as someone with a more discerning taste, but he felt good never the less.
He scowled at the blonde, refusing to let on that he was actually enjoying the experience as the wanton blonde bounced in his lap, moaning shamelessly. Christophe was powerless to move away and equally powerless to contribute due to the ropes tying him to the bed.
It seemed an eternity of some odd mix of shame and pleasure before Gregory peaked, bringing Christophe with him as they rode the waves of their pleasure together.
Gregory had later untied him and slipped out of the room before Mole could get at him. From then on it had been a tug of war, one of them denying the other until it ended in what was essentially date rape. He had never found out what Gregory had slipped into his drink, but he had never been happier to get drugged.
Soon enough he had fallen in love with the other man, irrevocably so. He knew it was stupid of him, but he was so blinded that he didn't care. That doesn't mean he ever told Gregory that. He was stupid, but not suicidal.
Which brings him back to the present.
He chuckled breathlessly at the irony in his assessment of the repercussion of telling Gregory his feelings, blood bubbling over his lips and staining them red. He had been completely right. Today he had sent for Gregory, telling him he would show up here in this field if he knew what was good for him.
Gregory had come, thinking it meant sex. He was right, they had fucked six ways to Sunday in the sweet smelling grass.
It was after that that Christophe fucked it all up.
In his post-coital high he had let it slip. Those three little words he thought he would never say to anyone in any context unless there were the words do not in there with it.
"I love you, Gregory." To his credit, the Brit hadn't said anything. He had smiled a cold, unforgiving smile at the brunette and rolled on top of him, kissing him for the first and last time.
Christophe was so elated, his heart beating so fast in his chest, that he didn't realize until it was too late that Gregory had drawn a dagger from his pile of discarded clothing.
He felt the searing pain of the stab in his ribs and the feeling of the lung being punctured and deflating. Gregory broke the kiss and smirked down at him.
"I love you to, Christophe." He had whispered, his usually icy, composed voice catching a bit. It could be a choice bit of acting, but Christophe would rather think it was because Gregory really meant it. He wanted him to mean it, he needed him to.
And that was the last he had seen of his love. He smiled vacantly up at the sky again, his blood staining the snow white flower petals a blood red as he died. The last thing he saw was the unforgiving blue of the sky and a glint of gold in the corner of his vision that he would swear down to the last was a flash of blonde hair.
Maybe now more people will write for this pairing, non?