Today was unlike any other day. It was the first time that we had failed. And we failed miserably.
He had been hurt, pretty badly. Perhaps not as bad as I had been, but I still hated to see him hurt. I hated that I had been unable to protect him. This was the first time that I had failed to keep him safe. It will be the last.
I stroke his skin as I quickly sew up the only bullet wound he had every gotten. Through his side; just a graze. I can't think of it as lucky though. All I see as I stare into his wound is my failure. It's eating away at me, but I can't move my eyes from it. The soft petting to his skin is going unnoticed, like I have been hoping it would. I'm a coward.
I watch, almost cringing every time the needle enters his flesh. His usually stoic face is slightly wrinkled in pain.
I bite my lip as I finish the stitches, tying and cutting it loose. For once in his life, his blonde hair is ruffled and dirty; matted with a stomach-turning mixture of earth and blood. I tell myself it's my blood and somehow that makes me feel better.
"Thank you." He mutters, his silky, slightly accented voice catching me off guard. "Let me clean yours now, you're a lot worse off than I am." I don't disagree, but just sit here, staring at him. I feel that I deserve these wounds. Not only had I missed the target, but he had gotten injured because of my idiocy. Pain should be the least of my punishments. His eyebrows slide down slowly, narrowing his eyes into a glare. "Christophe." I don't look up. Instead I light a cigarette and stick it between my chapped lips, inhaling deeply. I lean back slightly, giving my blond partner access to my beaten body. "Thank you." He says, his voice relieved. I feel a twinge in my chest.
He takes a needle in one hand and the thread in the other. I watch his mouth as he wets the tip of the thread, looking down and away immediately after. This is the first time I didn't give him shit before he cleaned my wounds.
I twitch slightly as I feel the cold rag on my skin. A subtle burn begins to build and I arch my back, taking another deep drag of my cigarette. As I blow the smoke out slowly, I watch his hands work over my stomach, cleaning every wound and sometimes removing large chunks of what I presumed to be bullets from them. His face twisted in what looked like concentration, Gregory slowly finishes the initial cleaning. He then reaches for the needle, securing it between his right thumb and index finger. His eyes shift up to mine and just as quickly refocus on stitching up the first of many wounds.
I breathe slow and deep, trying not to move much as he works his hands skillfully. He has done this many times. Being tactics, it was supposed to be impossible for him to ever get hurt, so he learned first aide quickly, as I was often damaged in battle.
Leave it to me to turn impossibility into reality.
What seems like days pass and he finally finishes stitching me up. He gets up and crosses the room to wash his hands and my eyes follow him. This is the last time he will treat my wounds.
Walking back, Gregory dries his hands, tossing the towel onto the dilapidated table in the center of the room. As the towel hits the table, it wavers, almost giving into its weight. I feel a vague affinity for it.
"Do you remember the plan?" Gregory asks, sitting down on the bed and kicking off his boots. I watch as he rolls his ankles.
"Oui." I reply shortly. It was easy enough. He disables the alarms, I run in and. . . "You remember ze escape?"
"Yes. There is a sewer system under the building. A man-hole is located just east of the control room. I am to enter the sewer there and follow it for approximately two kilometers. There is an exit there and once out I walk 600 meters north-east to the hotel, where we will meet, correct?" I stare at him for a moment.
". . . Oui." My voice sounds unconvincing, but he seems to take it. He smiles, a hint of mirth crossing his features.
"Fool-proof right?" he would expect me to make fun of him.
"So even you cannot screw eet up." I reply quietly. There is no fire in my voice; he notices.
"What is the matter with you?" he asks, exasperated, "Why are you taking this so hard?" I don't answer. He sighs loudly, falling backward onto the bed. "We will do it right this time, so stop being so melodramatic."
I glance at him, his eyes catching mine. The look in his eyes is intense, penetrating, and I can't look away. His eyebrows pull upward slightly. He is trying to decipher me again. I pry my eyes away from him, smoking the last of my cigarette before putting it out on the wall. I can't look at him anymore; he will figure it out. He is too smart for his own good.
"Sleep." I say simply, laying down next to him on the only bed in the room. I can feel the confusion on his face.
"You aren't going to complain about there only being one bed?" He asks, incredulity lacing his tone.
"Zere ees nossing I can do about eet." I reply, trying to keep emotion out of my voice. I feel his intuition working overtime. "Just go to sleep, faggot."
"Not until you tell me what in the world is wrong with you." He says stubbornly, propping himself up on his elbow and staring at me. I do not look back at him. This is the first time that I do not want to fight.
"Nossing. Just drop eet." My voice is barely above a whisper. Gregory lets out a long and frustrated sigh.
"Do you think I'm stupid?" his voice is more high pitched than usual, his temper is flaring.
"Oui." I respond as matter-of-factly as possible. Another frustrated sound escapes his throat before he begins to yell at me. I can't hear what he is saying even though I am trying to listen. I can't concentrate on his words anymore. All I can do is stare at the wall, focusing my eyes on a large crack. I can't look at him, his eyes will make me talk.
I can't remember how it happened; I just remember being caught in terrible cross-fire. Gregory had been shot and I was convinced it was worse than it actually was. I was trying so hard to get to him, to get him out of there. I had been shot three times and I collapsed onto the ground, the pain debilitating me for a moment. The next thing I remember, I was being pulled up by the hair.
I saw before me the very man we had come to steal from. The conversation had gone so fast, I hardly remember any of it.
". . .I'm not asking much of you! I just what to know what the hell is wrong!" Gregory's voice brought me back to reality. If I didn't start fighting back, he was going to get more suspicious. I open my mouth to retort, but nothing comes out. "You see! You won't even argue with me! Why can't you-"I do the only thing I can think of to shut him up. Grabbing his face, I pull him down and crush his lips to mine heatedly. He recoils slightly, but does not push me away. This is the first time I've ever acted on my desires for him, and it will be the last.
I pull him down to the bed, positioning myself over him and running my hands down his body, never breaking my lips from his. He arches up to me as I snake my tongue into his mouth, exploring it in a futile attempt to memorize it. What would memory matter after tomorrow?
I want it all, now, just this once. Grabbing the bottom of his ridiculous orange button-up shirt I rip it open, the buttons flying every which way. My mouth moves of its own accord to his pale, slender neck. I bite down, wishing to see and taste his blood. It fills my mouth suddenly and I shiver with delight. It tastes so much better than I could have imagined.
His gasps and moans fuel my desire much more than I ever thought they could. If things were different. . .but, they aren't.
I pull my mouth from his neck to watch his blood trickle down his neck slowly. My hands work their way to his pants, unwrinkled and pressed as usual. I make quick work of them, pulling them completely from him.
"Christophe. . ." he pants and I shiver, rapture flooding my body at his breathy voice. "What are you-" My lips are on his again, I don't want to talk.
My hands run rampant on his flesh, no inhibitions. I must touch all of him. This is the first time I allow myself my desires. I roll back on my haunches, clapping a hand over his mouth to stop him from asking questions. With my other hand, I rid him of his last piece of clothing and stare unabashedly at his form. I smirk as pink invades the pale skin on his face and muffled whimpers fill my ears.
Leaning down, I taste his skin, trailing tongue kisses all the way down to his thighs. I let go of his mouth, hoping to hear more of those sounds I have already become obsessed with. I don't want to accept that this will be the last time I will ever hear them. He moans, an amazing sound, as I take his length into my mouth, sucking greedily at it. His taste is far more consuming than I could have ever conceived. I could do this forever, if tomorrow would never come.
His hips work my mouth even as I hold them down. I know now that I would never be able to get my fill of him. Having him just this once will torture me until my last moments.
"C-Christophe. . ." excitement tremors through me at the sound of my name coming out of his mouth. "I. . .," he moans, loud and amazing, "I'm going to-" Nothing but moans. His spilling fills my mouth and I lean back, swallowing as I sit up straight. It's not enough. It never will be.
I watch his chest rise and fall, heaving beautifully. His eyes are shut tight, his eyebrows raised, his face ethereal. I can't take it anymore. My hands hastily work my pants, pulling them down just enough to free myself. I grab his hips, pulling them toward me, and enter him completely, shivering at his warmth. He screams in pleasure-pain, his hands flying to my back and leaving deep scratches in it. My mind is racing, I can't think of anything but him, his warmth, his body. . .
I begin to work in and out of him, holding his hips, digging my finger nails into him. Why does this have to be the last time?
My name keeps coming out of his mouth and its driving me insane. My eyes don't leave his face, I have to see every moment; I can't miss anything. His legs wrap around my waist and he squeezes me between his thighs. He is stronger than I thought.
At his pleas I move faster, harder. Anything he desires, I give him. This is the first time I act on his desires.
His warmth permeates my body as I continue to move in and out of him. I reach between us, taking his length in my hand. I want to bring him to his full again, just one more time. I begin to stroke him in time with my thrusts, fueled on by his increased fervor. Before long he convulses, sating himself all over our bodies. His spasms bring me to my full as well and I revel in the feeling of spilling inside of him. I collapse atop him, our panting an erratic symphony in my ears. I will never hear this sound again.
"Christophe," his voice, jagged and breathy, breaks the silence as I roll back onto my haunches and move to lay next to him. "Why?" he asks simply. I can't answer him.
I see in him in front of my eyes again, the man. He is talking to me rapidly, spitting in my face. I am fighting against his grip; I need to get to Gregory. I glean phrases like "Who do you think you are?," and "You will die here." Somehow, I talked him down. I can't remember what I said. We made a deal. The last thing he said to me before letting me go. . .
"Christophe." His voice brings me back again. I look into his eyes and am floored by the look on his face. He has concern in his eyes and I can see his mind working, he will figure it out soon. I hope I have enough time.
"Go to sleep, Gregory." My voice is small and strange. This is the first time I have sounded like this. "We 'ave a long day tomorrow." He is not satisfied with this answer.
"Will you at least talk about this later?" he asks, exasperated. My heart stops for a moment. This is the first time I will lie to his face.
"Oui. Now sleep." He seems satisfied with this answer and rolls over. Before long he has drifted off; I can tell by the way he is breathing. I watch him; he looks so peaceful. So beautiful. This is the last time that I will be able to gaze at him like this.
I remember the last thing the man said.
"If you want him to live, you will have to die."