Disclaimer: I don't own South Park. South Park and all related names and characters belong to the epicness of Matt Stone and Trey Parker.
Warning: This fic IS Gregory x Christophe as some points, so if you don't like, don't stick around. You've been warned.
They have been in New York for a week. The hotel they're in is absolutely beautiful—Gregory paid for it, of course. The sun is just rising when Gregory feels the warmth leave their bed and he sits up. He's groggy, having been up with his lover all night… He rubs one eye and he can see Christophe's form leaning against the balcony outside, smoking. They're high up, with a view of the city so breathtaking even God himself would envy it.
Gregory, his hair still a mess, and lacking all clothing aside from his sweatpants, slips out of bed. Slowly, he makes his way over to the other male and wraps his arms around Christophe's taut waist. His head is situated on the other man's shoulder, warm breath dancing across the back of the brunette's neck. The air around them is chilly and it sends goose bumps down Gregory's skin. But at the moment, he doesn't mind, because he is happy. Rogues like them—he was certain that's what they were and that's what this love of theirs was—had very few chances at happiness. They had been lucky enough to find each other; "With the grace of God" he'd say, earning a snort and roll of the eyes from Christophe.
Here they were, lucky to be together, lucky to be alive—at the age of 23—in New York City. It is a quiet morning, a rarity in such a big city—a fine mist hangs in the air, settled for the moment but as the day goes on, it will vanish, undoubtedly… Christophe speaks and Gregory smiles, listening to the soft French—Sometimes, his partner doesn't even bother with English; Christophe was quite sure that Gregory knew what he was saying, though it had never actually been brought up—neither of them cared to discuss it.
When Gregory doesn't reply, Christophe glances back over his shoulder, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He speaks again but Gregory is lost in thought. He is thinking about how oddly beautiful the tanned, scarred and dirty body in his arms is, and he is thinking about how utterly pitiful some of these thoughts are but he smiles. He kisses along Christophe's back and the Frenchman arches his back slightly, huffing and stopping the blonde. Sometimes, he is quite annoyed with the way Gregory acts and sometimes he's quite annoyed with how pretentious Gregory is but all the time he loves him, even when they fight.
And, in all honesty, Christophe is disappointed when Gregory finally pulls away to stand beside him. The blonde reaches over and plucks the cancer stick from between his partner's lips and takes a drag on it, letting the smoke curl from his mouth in a strangely sexy manner. Christophe snorts and takes the cigarette back, shaking his head and mumbling, "beetch." Gregory just smiles. He takes Christophe's hand, a gesture which holds much more loving tenderness than either man would ever admit to showing. His eyes are focused on the horizon, watching as the sun begins to light up the sky.
The Frenchman looks over to his English lover, absolutely quiet. Once the sun was up, Gregory would be off to shower and make breakfast; Christophe would eat before dashing off to take care of work… He gives a soft snort, studying the way the light dances along blonde waves, wind caressing pale skin with an invisible touch… He notes the way Gregory's eyes close slightly, the way he lifts his face into the breeze and how long lashes protect sky blue eyes—Christophe smirks. He knows what a flirt Gregory is, how Gregory easily charms women with a fake but strikingly charming smile and he feels smug knowing that Gregory's real smiles are his and his alone. Take that, bitches, he thinks and turns his attention away from Gregory's face to his hand, clasping tightly to his own. He considers their history together and how many times these hands had clashed with his own, had hit his own face… He smiles slightly, recalling childhood adventures, a trip to the zoo once or twice… And right now, in a show of rarity, Gregory isn't wearing gloves and neither is Christophe. It's bare skin against bare skin, just like when they're in bed together, under the covers in the throes of passion.
Somewhere away from their current residence, a bird awakes and sings. Christophe is drawn from his reverie and he looks out across the city, eyes watching as people come out from the woodwork, beginning their day. Quietly, he puts out his cigarette and turns to Gregory, who is watching him with a gentle smile. And Christophe huffs, in a teasing defense, demanding,
"What are you smiling at, beetch?"
Gregory merely shakes his head, laughing at the question and pulling Christophe closer. His free hand moves to the back of the other's neck and he pulls Christophe into a chaste kiss. Christophe smirks, knowing he could win a point and wraps his arms around Gregory's waist and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss in an instant. His tongue pushes past perfect lips, invading the blonde's mouth with a fierce dominance—And Gregory sees the challenge the minute it's issued and he fights back, their tongues quickly engaging in a war—
But Christophe has to pull back, his lung aching for air, the years of smoking not helping his cause. Gregory smirks at him, running a hand through dirty brown locks. He shakes his head, bringing his lips to Christophe's ear and he can just tell that it sends shivers down the other's spine when he speaks.
"Nice try, but I won that round," he says softly. And Christophe scoffs and pulls back, mumbling in French as he heads back into the hotel room. Gregory doesn't move from the balcony yet, watching him go. He smiles and shakes his head. To the outside world, they are business partners and they are best friends. To the elements that run the world, they are raw emotion—love, hate, lust, rage… The two of them are perfectly fit to a yin-yang. Gregory came from a well bred background, though he lacked loving parents, he could have anything he had ever wanted. And his behavior was calculated and calm and planned out ahead of time, to the point of cruelty. Christophe, on the other hand, had come from a less than stellar home life, a broken home with a mother who wanted desperately to embrace God… He didn't then and even now he still doesn't. Christophe is hot headed and acts often off his emotions right at that moment—Yes, they are very different but at the same time… they have striking similarities.
Gregory smiles at the thought. They have their dark sides—perhaps that's all they really are but even if that makes up most of them… Well, they have each other. And, it is sickeningly cliché—he is well aware of this—but if he has to say, he knows that one of his better points are the raw emotions he feels for Christophe. A sort of a twisted love, but it is the light in his life, at the end of the tunnel, and at the end of the day, no matter the blood, sweat, tears and grim they are covered in, they have each other. And that is a light that nothing can ever replace; that is all that matters.
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Thanks for reading shot 003: Light!
I got tired of having Author's note at the beginning and end; it looked tacky so I cut the 'author's note' tag out. Pfft. Anyway, this is just to let you all know how I'm going to go about the next bit. So, since this is the 100 theme challenge, what I'm going to do is divide it up. There will be five parts with ten chapters in each, so this one will have seven more chapters after this.
In any event, I hope you enjoyed it and plan to stick around for the rest! Read and review, but remember to be civil or else you'll find you don't like what happens. Teehee!