Title: 97. Safety First
Author: PocketFace
Fandom: South Park
Pairing: Gregory/ChristopheRating: PG-13 (MALE NUDITY!) Summary: Gregory really wishes that Christophe would be more careful.
Author's Note: So, yeah. I had an urge to write some Gregory/Christophe. Because that pairing is the sex. ♥ Also, I did all the French by myself. If I made any mistakes, I'm sorry. XD; I've only taken one year of it so far!
Disclaimer: Chris and Greg are © Matt and Trey.

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"Gregory?"

I shiver, not expecting to hear my name. Especially not the way he says it. I close my eyes, smiling lightly as I enjoy the sound. The stubborn French accent is still there, even after twenty years. I look up from my book, eyes flitting to the doorway.

"In here, love." I call, smile widening as I hear his footsteps thumping down the hall. He's probably tracking mud into the apartment but I can't bring myself to care. His messy brunette head peeks into my room with a look of disgust.

"I thought I told you not to call me zat." he spits, stepping into my room. I flash him a grin and glance him over, smile faltering. His shirt was torn and bloody in places, and of course his boots were caked in mud. His left leg had a large bloody patch on his shin with a tear in the middle. My breath caught in my throat and I set my book aside, gently standing up and making my way to him. I started to chew on my bottom lip, inspecting his face. He looked right back, disgusted expression fading.

"What?" he said, softer than usual. I glanced down at him, leaning back a little to look at his leg.

"Your leg. Did you get shot?" I asked, my eyes find their way back up to his. He glanced away, shifting his weight from leg to leg and wincing. I noticed how heavily he was leaning on the doorframe and my concern grew.

"No, it was just a graze, I- What ze 'ell are you doing?!" I could tell he wanted to release the frame and back away from me but walking was too painful. I had ducked down, sitting back on my heels and inspecting his wounded leg. I gingerly plucked at the tear in his jeans, ignoring his wince. I sighed heartily, standing back up. He looked down his nose at me, a little bit of that disgust back. I rolled my eyes, stepping over and putting my arm over shoulder.

"Come on, come sit." I ordered, and he grudgingly put his arm over my shoulders, limping over to my bed. I sat him down, then stalked off out the door.

"Wait, where are you going?" he asked, obviously trying to mask the concern in his voice. I glanced over my shoulder to throw him a comforting smile.

"Bathroom, love. I'll be right back." I said, taking far to much amusement in the way his nose wrinkled up. Sure enough, I returned several second later with a first aid box. I made a mental note to just leave the box in my room, we used it enough.

"Mole!" I cried, stopping in the doorway to look angry. He jumped, almost dropping the cigarette he'd been lighting. He turned to me with a glare and I sent it right back.

"I told you not to smoke in here!" I said, frowning. I walked over to him, glaring at the thin white stick in question.

"I told you not to call me 'love'" he shot right back, going back to lighting his cigarette. I rolled my eyes and sighed, but a smile crept onto my face. I set the box next his thigh and dropped to my knees, inspecting the damage for a minute or two before going for the laces on his boots. I did this with slight disgust. If I hadn't been so used to pulling off his muddy boots I would've recoiled. I once again ignored his wince as I yanked off his left boot, maybe a little harder than I had to. We didn't talk while I worked, but I could feel his eyes on me. And the cloud of smoke that drifted over my face every so often was another clue. When I tossed the boots carelessly outside I sat up a little, my fingers moving to his belt without a second thought.

"Do you-" I began to ask him what happened, but he cut me off.

"'Ey." a rough finger hooked under my chin and pulled my face up, and he pressed a quick kiss to my lips, "Don't you want to buy me a drink first?" The smirk he was giving me was mocking and I had an urge to slap it away. I frowned at him and let him enjoy his little snide remark. My fingers were still resting on his belt and all I had to do was press my palm down into the front of his pants to wipe the smirk off his face. He made a small, rough noise that could've passed for a moan and leaned back on his hands, pulling his fingers away from my chin. Now it was my turn to smirk and I turned my attention back to his belt, undoing it with practiced ease. He didn't look at me again until I'd thrown the belt away with the boots. I didn't meet his gaze but I could tell he was giving me that look that was a mix of amusement and anger. I usually got a kick out of that look but I had work to do. I pulled down his zipper slowly, my smirk growing into a grin as I heard his breathing quicken a little.

"You are a fucking tease, Gregory." he breathed, blowing smoke into my face. I looked up at him, raising my eyebrows and smirking.

"Me?" I asked innocently, pulling his pants open. He glared at me, taking a long drag from his cigarette, holding the smoke in his throat for a second before blowing it in my face again. I placed my hands on either side on his thighs, pulling myself up over him and pressing him back against my bed. He looked surprised for a second but then I lowered my head, leaning in to suck at a place just behind his jaw and below his ear. The reaction was instantanious, he moaned and his hips lifted up off the bed. I moved quickly, hooking my thumbs under the waist of his jeans and yanking them down. I pulled back, sitting back down on the floor and pulling pants the rest of the way down, taking care for the first time not to hurt him when I pulled them past his wound. It was a few seconds before Christophe realized what had happened and sat back up.

"Fuck you." he spat breathlessly, bringing the cigarette back to his lips. I flashed him a grin, reaching for the first aid box. There was a damp cloth resting on top of the box and I reached for that first, beginning to wipe the blood off of his leg. We were quiet for a few minutes, he sat there watching me and smoking while I cleaned him up.

"I really wish you would be more careful." I said offhandedly, and he coughed.

"You do not." he mumbled back and I looked up, genuine disbelief on my face.

"Yes I do!"

"Oh, oui, you care zat I don't die so you won't 'ave to find yourself anuzzer puppet." When his eyes found mine again they widened a little, noticing the hurt in my eyes. I pursed my lips, staring his down for a moment before turning my attention back to his leg. I continued to wipe away the blood and pretend like he hadn't said anything but the silence was awkward and painful.

"Gregory." I didn't answer, staring intensely at his wound, "Gregory, mon cheri, je ne pas destiner cela." He leaned forward, reaching out to touch my face. I jerked away, giving him a glare.

"Don't-" I sighed, glancing away, "Chris, I do care. If- If I were an eight year old I would be crying myself to sleep every night. But you- You taught me that. If you don't care as much, it doesn't hurt as much. But don't-" I felt a sudden surge of anger, leaning forward and gritting my teeth, placing the cloth over his cut and pressing into it, "Don't you dare tell me I don't care because every night I sit here, knowing there's a fifty-fifty chance that you'll never walk through that door again, and when you do I get up and fix you because I would never ask you to stop doing this but it's all I can do to know I did everything I can so you won't die tomorrow!"

"Arretez!" he cried, pushing me back hard, "Stop, you fucking sheethead!" I fell back on my backside, my head spinning for a second.

"Fucking crazy faggot." he mumbled, inspecting the damage. I blinked at him for a second or two, before clearing my throat and climbing back up to my knees.

"Sorry." I whispered, chewing on my lip a little as I brought the cloth back to his leg. He looked a bit wary but I slapped his hands away. I finished cleaning to cut and reached for the box again, taking out a large white bottle. The Mole groaned.

"Not ze fucking alcohol again." he raised a hand to his face, covering his eyes. I tried not to smile, really.

"Yes, ze fucking alcohol again." I said, mimicking his accent, "I've told you a million times, if I don't use it the wound will get infected. And why do you care, anyways? Don't you get hurt on a regular basis?" He rolled his eyes, mumbling something under his breath that I couldn't hear.

"You are a fucking sadist. You get off on 'urting me, don't you?" he spat, and I shot him a smile. For the first time I noticed that his cigarette was gone, and I only had to glance over to notice that he'd put it our in a glass of water on my bedside table. I frowned, pressing the cloth against the mouth of the bottle and turning it over briefly. Without warning I pressed the cloth lightly to his cut, and I felt Christophe tense up under my fingers. He mumbled a few curses in French, and I didn't have to look up to know he was gripping my sheets. After I was positive the cut was disinfected I pulled away, setting the cloth aside. Christophe breathed a sigh of relief, falling back on the bed with a light thump. I sat up a little, meeting his gaze with a mischievous smile. His expression was emotionless as I glanced over his chest and arms. There were mud splatters over the worn black fabric, and darker splatters that were most likely blood, though it was impossible to tell whose. I noticed a few tears here and there, frowning. He spent more money of clothes than I did. I shook myself out of my thoughts, reaching for the box again and pulling out some gauze. I quickly attached the bandage, going back to being gentle. When I finished I stood, and Christophe peered up at me from the bed. I cocked my head to the side a little; smiling as I enjoyed the view of Christophe sprawled on my bed in his boxers. After a few seconds he noticed my more-than-friendly smile and rolled his eyes, standing up gingerly.

"You are always zinking wiz your dick." he mumbled, leaning heavily on his right leg. He probably wanted to stalk off but walking was still a painful chore. So we stood there, almost close enough to be touching but not quite. That is, until I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his neck.

"You know me too well." I said with an airy laugh. He rolled his eyes again and looked disapproving but I felt rough fingers curl around my hip. We were silent for a moment and I glanced down, recognizing the dark stains on his shirt again. When I looked back up into his eyes any sign of content was gone from my face.

"Are you alright?" I asked quietly, and Christophe gave me a rare, genuine smile.

"I'm fine, mon cheri," he whispered, leaning forward and kissing me softly. It always amazed me how someone so hardened and weather-beaten could kiss so softly and sweetly. When he pulled away I made a small disappointed noise, and he smiled almost-mockingly.

"I need a shower." he said, looking off into the general direction of the of the bathroom. I didn't answer for a second. grinning widely. He looked back at me, smile dropping into a frown. I suppressed giggle and sighed.

"Fuck you, beetch. And seeing as I can't walk I need you to 'elp me and I do not want any fucking comments." he commanded, looking away again. I giggled, moving to put my arm over his shoulders and he did the same. I led him silently to the bathroom, smiling mischievously. I could feel his eyes on me, and I didn't have to look to know he was frowning disapprovingly. We got down the hall without incident, but as soon as we turned into the bathroom Christophe pulled away from me, leaning on the sink.

"Chris-"

"Okay. You can go." he said grumpily, moving to pull off his shirt. I frowned, stepping forward.

"Mole, come on. I'm not going to-" Christophe continued to stubbornly struggle with his shirt, until he lost his balance and fell towards me. I braced myself and reached forward to catch him but he fell heavily on me and I ended up toppling over too. When we landed Christophe swore loudly, fingers digging into my arms. He'd landed on top of me but apparently his shin had smacked against something, hence the swearing. Silence fell over us and finally The Mole opened his eyes, peering down at me. My lips spread into a smile and he opened his mouth to say something but I lifted my hand to his neck, pulling him down into a kiss.

"I just want to help, why do you keep pushing me away?" I asked when he pulled away. He looked uncomfortable, shifting slightly on top of me.

"I don't need 'elp." he scoffed, maintaining his indifferent attitude. I sighed, moving my hand up to his cheek to make sure he was looking me in the eyes.

"Christophe, I care about you, I need to help you. Mole, I love you." Silence pressed in on my ears and I stared into his wide brown eyes, waiting for it. This was usually something that went unsaid, something that was understood between us but we never said it. I would've said it every time I had the chance but I knew Christophe didn't like to talk about it so I didn't. His expression softened and he leaned forward, pressing another gentle kiss to my lips.

"Gregory, I love you too. You know I do, and every time I 'ear a bullet zing past, I duck because I do not want you to be 'urt. I see it in your eyes, every time you look at some new cut of mine, I see the pain. And, Gregory, believe me, I do everything I can to stop that pain." There was honesty in his eyes and I'd never seen him look so beautiful.

There, on the bathroom floor, I kissed him. I kissed him like I'd never see him again, or maybe I kissed him like I hadn't seen him in years. Whatever it was like, it was deep and magical and perfect. It was out of the ordinary, we were on the bathroom floor, Christophe was covered in mud and blood and he had no pants on, but then again, when was anything about Christophe ordinary? The moment was perfect, and I couldn't have been happier.