All the while Chris stood and watched him.
What the hell had just happened? A family business of body disposal…?
It seemed Chris wasn’t the only one with darkness.
Pierre caught him staring. “What?”
“I’m just…” Chris shook his head in disbelief. What did he say? This boy was full of surprises… It was the kind of surprise that you couldn’t even entertain in your weirdest fantasies.
“Turned on? Your boyfriend just helped you get rid of a body of a hitman that was trying to kill you…” Pierre smirked.
“Well… I’m kinda turned on.” His arousal was more intellectual than sexual, something about this darkness in Pierre turned him on greatly. Maybe it was his darkness liking his?
“Oh… are you now? See, you’re not the only one who gets to be the rescuer huh?” and Pierre smirked. He slowly came close.
“I just didn’t expect any of that, from you…” Chris looked him in the eyes.
“Did you think I expected to find out that you killed your father? Or that you fucked your half-brother to get at him?” Pierre returned gently.
“Well no…” Chris stopped. It was a rather valid point.
Pierre smirked again, “then we’re both just full of surprises…” then he planted a kiss on Chris’ lips.
“What about the van?”
“Tomorrow I’ll disassemble it, sell it for scrap…”
“You can do that?”
Pierre gave him a withering look. “I can do anything, for you…” and he kissed him again.
Some girls like flowers, some guys like good food - but for Chris, Pierre’s disposal of the body was perhaps the most romantic thing he could ever think of.
They were a perfect fit for one another and for the first time Chris shed all doubt about his feelings for Pierre. It felt right, because it was right. They were made for each other and as nauseating as that was, he wouldn’t change a thing.
“I love you,” he heard himself. Pierre’s eyes opened wide in surprise.
“Wow…” he jibed gently. “I’ll have to dispose of bodies more often…”
Chris kissed him, this time full of needing. Like he had longed to kiss him for a lifetime.
His hands reached to Pierre’s face and he held it close to his own, tasting his tongue in his mouth. It was a taste that never quite satiated enough.
His hands slipped down the slender neck, where they found the zip to his hoodie. Slowly the zip came down and exposed the t-shirt beneath. Pierre’s hands slid under the waistband of Chris’, in a synchronised motion they both discarded their tops. Again their lips locked, again their tongues probed and rolled together.
Now Chris’ hands dug down into his lover’s jogger-pants, burrowing into his tight underwear in pursuit of the stiffness there. Pierre pressed his groin against the hand, a little moan escaping his throat as he felt Chris’ cold hand wrap around his dick. And then the hand slipped down and cupped his balls where the coldness made him jump and his balls retract a little. It made Chris smile, but he didn’t stop his chilly assault.
Pierre determined to get his revenge, clawed his own way into Chris’ groin. His hand was nowhere near as cold as Chris’, but it still made his boyfriend recoil. They came back together, pressing bodies into one another.
Then Pierre felt his pants and joggers slowly working down to the floor, he mirrored the action. Naked from the waist down they pressed back together, erections sandwiching between one another. After a few moments of exploring the soft feel of each other’s butts, they slowly melted to the floor. There was no way to ease the removal of their bottoms and shoes, they fumbled through it. After the brief interlude they met on the floor, lips greeting and devouring hungrily. Chris’ was shivering because of the anticipation, but the chill of the barn was certainly playing its part too. Pierre melted onto his back, he wrapped his legs around Chris’ waist and the two of them ground their bodies together.
Unable to hold back any longer, Chris spat onto his fingers and wiped it on Pierre’s awaiting anus. Pierre bristled but his butt ground against the fingers hungrily. Chris pushed gently, the tip of two fingers pressing against resistance. It wasn’t lubricated enough, so he spat on his fingers once more and tried again. This time he was successful, his two fingers slipped inside like a hot knife in butter. He sank to the knuckle, revelling in the euphoria that splashed across Pierre’s face. There was something so infinitely sexy about the way his boyfriend gasped in delight. He kissed Pierre’s open mouth, biting his lower lip and pulling on it as he slowly worked his fingers.
“Ffffuck,” Pierre moaned in a restrained whisper.
Chris felt Pierre’s lips reach up and devour his own, felt the desire bursting in every fibre of the beautiful punkish boy. Satisfied, he slowly removed his fingers. He spat into his palm, then worked the saliva on his dick, concentrating on the glans predominantly.
Then he pressed his dick against Pierre’s asshole, it yielded easily and he was soon sliding in.
It made Pierre gasp, shudder and even made his dick jump a little. He lurched his hips, used his thighs and took Chris deep in one fell swoop. Then he was leaning up and pressing his lips to Chris’. Chris felt his balls tingle as the warmth tightness of the ass swallowed his entire dick. Before he knew it Pierre was sat on his lap, rocking his ass back and forth, his tongue rolling against his own.
He closed his eyes, he couldn’t bear any more stimuli. The feeling of Pierre’s ass, the heat of his body and feel of his tongue - it was overloading his senses.
And Pierre began to bounce, began to work up a rhythm. He crumpled against Chris, his lips grazing and teasing the side of his neck. He worked up a solid tempo, feeling the length penetrate him deeply as he did so. It was sending electrical charges up and down his back, making every hair tingle and stand on end. He could feel his own ecstasy flooding up, he could feel Chris’ through some primal connection.
And then he was flat on his back, Chris was pinning him to the floor and he was working his own hips. He slammed his dick back and forth, hungry for that climax.
The new angle afforded a deeper penetration and Pierre felt his senses burst, he writhed and clutched the floor over his head. He was at the mercy of the violent judders of climax that were arcing up his body. Chris kept hammering his hips, the sound of sweating skin greeting was the soundtrack to his determination.
“Sssshit,” he groaned. He spasmed, his back stiffening and his vision blurring into a firework of colours. His dick, untouched, bolted and suddenly erupted in a blast of semen.
Chris was near his own climax, he kept pulverising Pierre’s butt.
He opened his eyes and saw a flush of red had blotted Pierre, an explosion of cum had landed on his abdomen and chest. But it was the look in his eyes that made Chris climax, that unflinching and honest peer into the depths of his soul.
He came, exploding inside Pierre.
“Yeah baby,” Pierre grabbed Chris tight with his thighs, he could feel his dick pulsing and throbbing inside. Chris moaned, doubled down and panted as his balls emptied.
And the thrill of the sex stretched on an infinite moment, a sensation that the two boys shared.
And then, the crescendo of their sex fell away.
The reality, and the cold, slowly returned to them.
“I love you,” Pierre whispered, his hand reaching for Chris.
And it was the most magical moment of Chris’ life, here naked and interlocked with his boyfriend. The barn rife with the smell of their sex, the cooling sweat on their skin from their exertion. Just metres away was the body slowly dissolving in the vat of acid.
Who’d have guessed that the damaged and broken boy from England would’ve fallen in love…
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
Love was a drug that had no end, it left you feeling fuzzy infinitely and riding high on a wave that never came crashing down. Chris awoke with his head on Pierre’s chest, in Pierre’s double bed. Slowly his eyes crank
ed open and a soft smile rose to his face.
Pierre smelt of sex, sweat and that peculiar indescribable smell he could never articulate.
“Morning babe,” Pierre squeezed him, his eyes didn’t open but a smile crept to his face.
“Morning…” Chris whispered. He was walking on cloud nine.
“Shall we get some breakfast…?” Pierre kissed the top of his forehead.
It suddenly occurred to Chris that he was at Pierre’s house. That impressive villa he’d spied was Pierre’s, or Pierre’s parents. He’d not met them yet, having stolen upstairs in the early hours of the morning. Chris slowly rose, he felt his stomach grumble.
Pierre’s eyes slowly opened and then he smiled like a Cheshire Cat. His hand lifted up and touched his boyfriend. Last night had been magical. Chris kissed the hand and then swung his legs out of bed.
Pierre’s bedroom was disorganised, nay outright untidy. Clutter, clothes and random items lined the room. Thankfully the floor was only the domain of clothes, or so it seemed as Chris swept a quick glance over it. The yellow walls, yellow curtains and yellow lampshade were as bright as a buttercup, a choice Chris wouldn’t have pinned for his boyfriend. He’d expected something darker, broodier. At least there was several posters on the wall, that made Chris feel that he was indeed in Pierre’s room. He rooted through the clothes in pursuit of his underwear, but the jumble of clothes made it difficult. Pierre swung out of bed, he padded through the plethora of clothes and opened his wardrobe.
“Don’t you ever pick your clothes up…?” Chris sighed. He picked up a faux-leather set of underpants, when did Pierre wear these? He dropped them back into the mess.
“Here,” and suddenly a little parcel hit Chris at the base of his back. He turned and saw a naked Pierre closing in with a smile, “I got you something,”
Chris picked up the little red plastic bag. “What is it?”
“Open it…” and so he did. Inside he found an item of underwear, but judging by the little amount of fabric used he guessed it was some sexy sort of underwear. He opened up the neon green item and it revealed itself to be a jock. Wow, he was certainly a little surprised.
“You got me this…? When?”
Pierre’s lips pressed against his ear, “The other week…”
Hadn’t they fallen out the other week? Chris admired the underwear, it seemed like the right size too. “It was going to be an apology present… for the whole drug thing,”
Chris slowly turned around, he was touched. “Well thanks babe,”
They kissed briefly.
“I think you should wear it over breakfast,” it was a naughty smirk and it made Chris smile.
“I will, but I need to find the rest of my clothes too…”
“Wear mine,” and with that Pierre was turning back to his wardrobe. He threw a pair of jogger pants and an over-sized hooded top at his boyfriend, then he rummaged through a drawer and threw a pair of socks at him.
When Chris had finished dressing in Pierre’s clothes he appraised his reflection in the nearby mirror. He wasn’t sure what he looked like in baggy grey joggers, a Marilyn Manson hooded top and yellow polka dot socks. His hair was a birds nest, but he suspected that Pierre wouldn’t have a brush. He tried his best to beat it into submission with his fingers, so he didn’t look quite like he’d been rolling around in bed all night.
Pierre dressed in a character onesie, and Chris couldn’t believe the punk even owned a pokemon themed item of clothing.
“Come on, lets go get breakfast. I can’t wait for you to meet my mum…” Pierre came to him and kissed him softly. Meet the parents?! Suddenly Chris realised the gravity of that, he didn’t think he should meet them dressed like this. Before he could object Pierre was tugging him out of the bedroom and down to the kitchen.
-------------------------------------
The house was beautiful, as decadent and grand as it had looked from the outside. The staircase was a spiral of light wood and white paint. The house was well illuminated with large beautiful windows. They crossed through a lounge, a lounge that ascribed to the notion of minimalism. It was stylish, modern and striking. The beige carpet felt lush under Chris’ feet. They walked into a kitchen that felt like it had been beamed straight from a catalogue. It was so beautiful, so clean and so pristine, from the chrome taps to the cosy wine rack with a few bottles awaiting use. The counters were a dazzling black, so shiny they reflected the little lights under the white cabinets. Pierre’s parents were on the opposite side of the island, but his view was obscured by Pierre.
He could smell fresh coffee and fresh bread.
“Morning mum, dad. I want you to meet someone,” and like that the introduction was happening. Pierre stepped to one side and gestured to a nervous Chris. He smiled at the two that turned towards him. Pierre’s mother was tall, dark haired and very beautiful. She was dressed in pink pyjamas but she carried it so well she might’ve as well have been wearing high-fashion. Her face melted from surprise to joy.
She was stooped over her husband, who was seated on a stool. In one hand she had a needle and thread and in the other she was holding a wound closed on Pierre’s father’s shoulder. A neat little line of stitches at the top of his chest had been freshly finished. Pierre took after his father, and it was a good indication of the man Pierre would eventually become. The greying hair, the goatee and the slight wrinkles were the only signs of age on the man. He was broad, especially across the shoulders. He was dressed in a silver dressing gown, with half of his chest exposed. There was dried blood on his dense chest hair.
“Chris!” His mother greeted enthusiastically, but his father didn’t. Instead his eyes widened and his face went slack. “How lovely to meet you!” she cried, completely oblivious to the fact she had been caught sewing her husband’s wounds shut. It was like it was the most normal thing to do. “Pierre has told me so much about you.”
Chris found Pierre’s dad’s expression unsettling, why was he looking at him this way? As if he knew him… Chris hadn’t ever crossed paths with this man, or had he?
Slowly his eyes drifted to the wound being pinched shut. It was about the right shape of a bullet hole. The neat row of stitches at the front looked like a perfect example of an entry wound. Had he been shot?
“You okay dad?” Pierre had finally clocked the expression. His mother slowly slipped her attention back to her husband. “Don?”
Chris felt something prickle across his senses. Something just on the edge of his perception was wrong with this scenario.
“Was you at work last night dad?” Pierre probed, trying to normalise the weird tension that had draped across the kitchen. Slowly Dom turned his attention to his son, he tried to relax his face but it didn’t work.
“You was…” Pierre gasped quietly.
Chris was confused, what did Don Brassard do? And how he had managed to result in a wound that suspiciously looked like a bullet hole? It was on the tip of his tongue, what was he looking at? He took a step backwards, this was turning into a conversation he felt was inappropriate for him to be party to, like he had intruded upon some private family affair. But mostly he felt should run, like he was in potential danger.
“No!” Pierre shook his head dramatically. He turned to Chris, who was slowly retreating out of the kitchen. There was something unreadable in his face.
Chris didn’t know what revelations were unfolding around him, he just wanted to be no part of it. He took another step back, his legs threatening to buckle while his heart screamed to run.
“You’re kidding…” Pierre’s mother groaned. “Chris, it’s ok! You’re safe in this house,” what was she referring to? Why had she shot Don a dark glare?
“Babe,” and Pierre was around him, catching him from leaving.
“What am I missing?” Chris whispered.
“My dad… he’s…” Pierre took hold of his chin, there was a fire of protection burning in his eyes, “… an assassin.”
And then it
made sense…
-------------------------------------------
Chris was sat at the island trying to eat the round of fresh toast Pierre’s mother had made for him, but the uncomfortable atmosphere in the air had ruined his appetite. He felt nervous, as he would do having breakfast in the house of a man who could potentially kill him. Pierre was sat beside him and even he didn’t know what to say.
His mother hovered over the toaster, she was formulating a plan in her head. This wasn’t quite the way she imagined meeting her son’s boyfriend, but life always had a way of complicating things.
Don was upstairs getting dressed. She wondered whether she should go to him, talk through their current dilemma. She closed her eyes and sighed, what a clusterfuck. What were the chances that Pierre’s boyfriend had a bounty over his head? She thought of Don’s conversation the night before last, how he had said this was an easy job and he didn’t know how nobody had managed to do it yet. Now she was glad that nobody had, she could only imagine the heartache if Don had succeeded himself. That would’ve been an awful revelation to learn that his father killed his first serious boyfriend.
She turned around shaking the thoughts from her head, she smiled at the two boys.
“I’m sorry Chris, this wasn’t the way we wanted to introduce you to the family…” she seemed genuine, but it didn’t make Chris feel at ease.
“What’s Dad gonna do?” Pierre lifted his attention, he understood there was a conflict of interests here.
“I’m not going to do anything. He’s your boyfriend…” Don’s entrance into the conversation was well timed. He slid onto a stool having dressed in a thick grey turtleneck jumper and jeans. “I won’t lay a finger on him, I promise.” he turned to Chris and gave him a long hard look.
“Ever?” Pierre asked, his hand slid across the counter to Chris’. Chris was grateful for the small comfort, but he still wasn’t relaxing.
The Killing Games Page 18