~Disclaimer~

Totally don't own a single thing and if i did, there would be a hell of alot more smut and Yaoi! All belongs to their rightful owners


His life used to be so wonderful.

Fame

Power

Wealth

Women…

All of this was lost in one single accident that cost him his entire career. One stupid drunk taxi driver rammed into his expensive cherry red Hommell car, killing himself instantly (lucky him) and ruining this beautiful body.

His car flipped, trapping his beautiful form in wreckage and hitting his legs. The glass shattered, hitting his chest and at some point, another rammed in, digging a sharp piece of metal into his chest, piercing his right lung.

Everything went black as his eyes sleepily closed as panicked pedestrians ran towards him. Would he die at that very moment?


"Papa…I've brought you your breakfast."

Francis turned his head.

His son, Mathieu brought in a tray full of food. Orange juice, a glass of milk, 3 fluffy pancakes stacked on top of another with maple syrup dripping down the sides. Another small plate with scrambled eggs and a few strips of bacon placed on the side.

Truly a meal fit for royalty.

Mathieu carefully placed it on his lap.

Francis' eyes said merci as he gently took his fork, and took a piece of the first stacked pancake and placed it in his mouth. He savored the taste, tres bien. Definitely French. Only the French could create a simple meal that tastes as if the angels blessed its very ingredients

His son opened the curtains of the small room. The room that Francis occupied was completely white like hospital room, accompanying the custom-made hospital bed in the room. Large and grand like the master who inhabits the place yet cold and empty which only went away when Mathieu was there.

Francis watched Mathieu with sad eyes. If it wasn't bad enough he was condemned to suffer a silent punishment for his sins, he had unintentionally dragged Mathieu into spending his entire life taking care of this selfish French young (not old!) man.

"….and will anyone dedicate themselves with their charitable hearts to take care and support Monsieur Bonnefoy with this terrible condition?" The lawyer asked around the room.

No one said anything. All the press was here, his family, old flames and new lovers from the previous years, friends or at least what he considered to be friends were there. No one said anything. No one spoke a word or even spoke up.

Not even Antonio and Gilbert spoke up. His only true friends. Didn't they feel his pain? His suffering?

"Umm…I will volunteer!" A soft voice spoke up. The lawyer had almost missed were it not for some shouting right after.

"Matthew No! What do you think you're doing?"

"And who might you be young man?" The lawyer inquired. The nervous young boy stood up, in a worn out blue suit. Bonnefoy 2003 Autumn collection suit Francis notes.

"Umm…I'm Mister Bonnefoy's eldest son, Mathieu. I have all the necessary documents right here and my house is large enough and my job is stable enough to support my Dad."

Francis took a nice long look at his eldest son. The Cher certainly had his French beauty he'll give him that. Blonde hair that seemed to start as hay and convert to gold at the ends of his locks. Much like the princess of Rumpelstumplestiltskin who was able to transform hay into gold.

Violet eyes that never seemed to stay one color. At one angle they look dark blue but at another glance, they were as brilliant as polished Amethysts.

"Looks like someone is actually insane enough to put up with you Francis." His modeling agent whispered. Francis arched a perfectly waxed brow. What's that supposed to mean?


Francis broke out of his thoughts as Mathieu began to pour hot water into his tea, dropping anti-pain pills into his tea and then placing two teaspoons of sugar into the tea. His doctor recommended taking these twice a day in order to avoid any post-pain from the car accident.

Francis looked outside the window once more. Oh, how it would feel to stroll the streets of lovely Paris in the morning, to walk past the many coffee shops and pastry shops, smelling the fresh air once more and seeing the many Parisians walk around in their busy lives, not seeing how fortunate they are to be able to admire everything.

Mathieu noticed this and went over to open the window, letting the brisk morning air stream in.

Close cheri, but not quite.

"Would you like to talk a walk in Paris Papa? Oh, and Mr. Kirkland called to see how I was doing. I told him I'm fine. Feliks also called in to check how you're doing and seeing if you were up to designing their new spring line. I told him I'll ask. Do you need anything else Papa? "Mathieu asked, picking up the plates and glasses.

Francis shook his head. Non.

"Alright, I'll be cleaning around the house if you need me. "

Francis leaned back in his bed.

It's horrible enough to punish him for his stupidity over the years but why bring innocent Mathieu into his situation. The boy was a saint. An angel. Nothing at all like his sinner father. Call it guilt or some odd fascination that god has to torment him with unused feelings, but having Mathieu care for him and spending his time with only him saddened him. Didn't Mathieu have another goal in life, a love in some other country or town?

Why did god choose someone so selfless and kind to care for a bitter sulking mature (Not old!) man.

Why must God be so cruel?

Everything from his hips down to the tip of his toes had no longer any feeling to them. He could no longer wiggle his toes after making love which was a strange fetish of his. He could no longer suggestively grind against others in clubs blasting loud music that could only covers others cries of passion and want.

He even lost his precious voice. His beautifully accented French masculine voice that loved flirted with women and singing random French songs when he wanted. He could no longer speak his thoughts anymore no could he express himself to others.

He was a prisoner in his own body. Forced forever to endure life and not be able to do a thing about it.

Before he knew it, the old oak grandfather clock in the parlor room chimed. He counted the chimes.

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12!

And he had not even taken a sip of tea that was served to him at 8!

This boredom is killing him! Merde! Forced to lay in this hospital bed for a few months was horrendous. At this rate, he'll be having gray hairs when he's actually allowed to leave the room.

He took a small moment to admire the house from what he could see from the open door. This used to be his parent's home just to let you know my readers.

A lovely French apartment complex in the heart of Paris that had a lovely view of the Seine River. Furniture of only the finest class and elegance to suite their tastes. Rich oak floors and cupboards and shelves with dainty white silk curtains and white couches and tables. Several paintings placed tastefully around the home.

Mainly black and white photographs of Francis in his modeling poses, best photographs over the years and some very few photographs of his children. The 6 of them although he's quite sure there is plenty more (being the promiscuous man he was, he really didn't doubt it).

Although Mathieu is his oldest, he quite sure of it. He was born in Canada and has a have brother from that American model in New York (last time he checked, the boy's name was Andrew or Alfred or something like that), a few creole children in southern U.S, one around Louisiana (which he remembers because he was quite smashed at the Mardi Gras there), and he believes a child born in Thailand or Cambodia or somewhere around Asia (can't remember where but the child's oriental for sure) and quite a few around Africa and a daughter in Monaco and another in Seychelles.

Now whatever previous life he had is ruined! Dire au revoir to sexing around a lot and Bonjour boredom!

"Papa, would you like to eat something?"

At least his life wasn't a total waste after all. At the very least, he knew someone loved him in this cruel unforgiving world. That was the small hope he had left in this world.


Hi everybody! It's me, VampiresSuck! I'm such a horrible author, leaving other stories at cliff hangers and then writting another one and posting it. Well...fans should kill...

But i decided to give you kiddies a little present for the holidays!

This plotline and idea actually came the book i was reading for homework The Count of Monte Cristo. It is a fucking brilliant piece of literature. And i shall describe it in the most homey-way i can

So this dude, Edmond Dantes, is like the wingman of this ship captain dude who dies and so the captain left his job to his wingman Edmond and he's got like this chick back in Marseille who's like totes in love with him and they're getting married and like at Edmond's Bacherlor party, he gets arrested the cops who lock him up for shit he didn't do and stuff and so he finds out from some wise man who got him arrested and in the prison he plots out his revenge and stuff ...

And it's brilliant! I also watched the anime Gankutsuou:The Count of Monte Cristo!

If you've read the book, then you can probably guess who Francis and Mathieu are loosely based off.