Summary: Just a kind of quick one-shot. Kenny and Christophe lay in bed, and they talk about their scars, both physical and mental. It could tie into another fic that I'm writing that's not yet posted, but not sure.

Pairing: Obviously, Kenny/Christophe

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own them.

Scars

Two bodies lay in the bed, spooned against each other. Both surprisingly clothed, surprisingly considering who the two were. The shorter one, with the dark hair and the amber colored eyes, was pressed up against his boyfriend's chest. His eyes had a certain darkness, a certain depth that drew you in and threatened not to release you. The other, the taller blonde, had emerald green eyes. His too had that lingering darkness, of words unspoken and too many terrible things seen.

They made a strangely beautiful picture, the shorter in loose black lounge pants that belled at the end, the taller tracing his back with his finger. They were both pale, very pale and black eyeliner was a hard contrast, though a stunning one.

The taller of the two starts to speak in a very low voice, nearly muffled because he chews his lip while he speaks.

"What's wrong, love? You know I'll understand. Please... Chris, tell me." His eyes don't tear, his breath doesn't falter. His fingers simply continue their intricate dance across the others skin, tracing scars from long battles past.

"Ze scar your 'and is on now was from w'en I was 2; mah muzzah dropped me on ze stove. Now you're on one from last year, fucking guard dog got a 'old of moi. Ze one rig't below ze current one eez from w'en I was 9, my muzzah tried to kill me again. Knife. You 'ave progressed to ze one mah fazzah left w'en he left us both. 'E eez ze reason. 'E made me like zis, do you zee? Ze bastard left 2 years ago, w'en I was 15. Zat man 'ated everyzing. Inclu'ing moi, and 'e never let me forget eet." Christophe's voice floated in time with Kenny's hand movements, but at the last one his hand stilled.

"How many of these did he leave? How many did your mother leave?" It was soft spoken, not even enough to be considered a whisper. Christophe heard it, but wasn't sure if Kenny wanted an answer or if he had asked out of shock.

"Mah fazzah left at leest 29, zat was ze last time I counted, 6 years ago. Muzzah left, I zink, 17. Zoug', zat eez only on mah back. Eef you wanted to know 'ow many on mah entire bodee, zen I 'ave no number for you. I 'ave never tried to count." Kenny felt his heart break, for his little love in his arms. For all of the shit his parents had put him through, they'd never hurt him bad enough to leave scars. Those thoughts were interrupted before they could spiral however.

"Tell me about you. W'at are your scars?" Kenny chuckled slightly.

"I don't have any, Love." Christophe shook his head, and turned so that he was looking Kenny in the face.

"Maybee not p'ysically. In your 'ead, everyone has scars zere. Unless, talking about suc' zings makes you uncomfortable?" Kenny shook his head.

"No. Just didn't realize that's what you wanted." It was a blatant lie and they both knew it. "It's just a little awkward, no one's ever asked me before. My mom was ok, she screamed a lot. My dad was a bastard, but he never really hit me. Their favorite way to punish me was probably to lock me in the hall closet, leave me there for a couple days. If I died for whatever reason I just came back, so no one really noticed." Christophe's arms wound gently around the larger boy, his head resting in the crook of Kenny's neck. Kenny dropped a kiss on the top of the Mole's head, smiling slightly at how the other boy's hold tightened.

"I am zorry, mon cher. Zey don't deserve even 'ell for zat, zey deserve to put up wiz God's stupid azz." The words were whispered into Kenny's neck, as both boys felt their eyelids droop and sleep start to overcome them.

END

Yeah, I know. Not my best work, but it took me about 10 minutes to throw together, and it probably won't get beta'd. It just came into my brain and wouldn't go the fuck away. Reviews are nice, but not necessary. XD Have fun surfing the 'net.