AN: I should probably note here that this is a parody of those crappy kidnapping movies. Kinda. Kinda a parody. Kinda an excuse to write a fic with one of my favorite crack pairings. With just a touch (a TOUCH) of one-sided Pat/Sponge to satisfy my other needs. BUT JUST A TOUCH. Er . . . yeah. Multichaptered, BUT I plan on going like Band8PGeek did in Die Another Day and updating a chapter a day. If I, you know, have the energy (you know what really gives me energy? Reviews. Um . . . sorry, review whoring is not healthy, I know). Anyway, this is, yes again, inspired by Band8PGeek. Although she doesn't realize it, obviously. Rated for sexual themes throughout (yay!), language (duh), perhaps later violence (hopefully), and slash. Yes, it's slash. So . . . you know. Not Spandy. Sorry.
"Sorry everyone, I'd love to stay, but I have to get back home to my boyfriend," Squilliam couldn't help smiling to himself. He'd never thought the day would come that he could say that without breaking out in an anti-commitment rash.
He certainly hadn't expected to say it and break into a pro-commitment smile.
Boyfriend. BOYFRIEND. Squilliam giggled like a silly schoolgirl, twirling around slightly as he skipped down the street, away from the country club. Boy-be-boy-be-boyfriend. Whatever that meant. Words were insignificant now to the multimillionaire. Who cared about adjectives and nouns when he could be whispering sweet nothings into the ears of his BOYFRIEND?
"Out of my way, peasants," Squilliam yelled, causing several pedestrians to groan in annoyance (before gasping as they realized who spoke such words). "I have to get home fast. To my BOYfriend."
Boyfriend boyfriend boooooooyyyyyyyyfrieeeeeend.
He just didn't tire of the word. Squilliam had never thought he could ever settle down. Especially with a younger man. But . . . oh, it was all just so perfect. He'd actually moved in last night. Which meant . . .
"Oh my god!" Squilliam grabbed a random man, grinning widely into the other's face. "You know what that means?"
"Er . . . wh-what?"
"He's at my house RIGHT NOW!"
"Who is?" Obviously, this man had not heard the rather loud announcement earlier.
"My BOYFRIEND, duh!" Squilliam glanced around, leaning in close. "You know what THAT means?"
"Erm . . . you're a fag?"
"No! Well, yes, that too, but most importantly, it means . . ." Squilliam, still leaning close to the other fish's head, suddenly screamed. "BUTT SEX!!!!!"
"Agh! I'm calling the cops on you for Indecency!"
Squilliam pushed the man aside, skipping ahead. "Good luck with that." He could just pay his way out of police charges. "Nothing can stop me today, now that I have a BOYYYYYFRIENNNNNND!"
A stretch limousine pulled up beside Squilliam then, the driver looking out at him nervously. "Um . . . sir? Wouldn't you rather I take you home? It's faster than walking."
Oh right. Squilliam had almost forgotten his fabulous wealth (because, you know, he had a boyfriend. In case you forgot). "Oh, right! That would be much faster." Squilliam got in, smiling at the limo driver. "Hey Pavi, did I ever tell you about my BOYFRIEND?"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Wow. I can't believe you're actually going to be living here," And not next door to me, he added mentally. He forced the smile back onto his face. "That's just . . . that's great!"
"I know, isn't it?" The smaller male plopped onto the ivory couch, a smile permanently etched on his face. "I mean, I'm going to miss you and Squidward. But I'll still visit. And I'll see Squid at work."
"But SpongeBob, I . . ." The starfish looked down, biting his lowerlip.
"What's wrong, Patrick?" Those eyes. Those damn blue eyes. Worse than any interrogation technique. Patrick would spill every secret under that sapphire glow.
"I . . . I don't think this house is safe! It seems kinda flimsy."
Not as flimsy as that excuse.
SpongeBob giggled. "Oh Pat, I doubt Squilliam's 7.5 million dollar house is flimsy. You worry too much."
"I'm only worrying about you! Besides, it only looks like 5 million, tops."
SpongeBob sat up, grabbing his friend's hands and pulling him onto the couch with him. "Don't worry so much. I'll be fine. Squilliam will take care of me."
"Yeah, I know," Patrick was silent for a moment. "I just wish . . ."
"What?"
"I just . . ." Patrick shook his head, smiling again. "I just wish I had something to eat."
"Oh! The fridge is in the kitchen," SpongeBob frowned. "Which . . . I don't know where that is yet. Um . . ."
"You don't know where the kitchen is?"
"Well, I just moved in. And this place is so big. And I don't want to be rude, looking around some else's house without permission . . ."
Patrick couldn't help but laugh. "SpongeBob, this is YOUR house now."
His laugh died after those words, of course. SpongeBob's house. SpongeBob and Squilliam's house. Their multimillion dollar life. Again that pain in his stomach.
"Oh, yeah, I know. I just . . . I can't believe it! This is all happening so fast!" He flopped back down on the couch, face completely serene. Such a look of joy should have made Patrick happy too, right? He should have smiled in return. But he just . . . he couldn't.
"Do you think we'll be together forever?"
Patrick frowned. "Who?"
His friend laughed softly, not cruelly, just . . . well . . . just normally. SpongeBob really only had one laugh. And he was never rude or mean about laughing. "Me and Squilliam."
"Oh." A good friend would have said yes. Patrick should have said yes.
Patrick was not a good friend. "Probably not."
SpongeBob's eyes widened. "Wha . . . what?"
"Probably not. I mean, you're not really alike. And he's rich. Besides, isn't Squilliam kinda a whore?"
"Wh-what do you mean?"
"Well, didn't he fuck Squidward?"
SpongeBob chose his words carefully, before breaking the hard silence. "That was . . . that was a long time ago."
"Not really that long. I mean, we used to hear them fucking next door, remember?"
"Yes," That was actually how they had met. Well, not met. They'd met before. At the Bubble Bowl (briefly) and during the restaurant scam (again, briefly). Never exchanging names, just faces. Just brief remembrances.
The point was, they weren't officially introduced until that night, when Squidward and Squilliam had been making so much noise and SpongeBob had gone over to see if anything was wrong (naively mistaking sex sounds as the sounds of a struggle).
Squilliam had answered the door.
Naked.
Dripping with whipped cream and other fluids.
And had said something witty and/or sexy. Probably something about the sponge's eyes. Squilliam was always remarking about SpongeBob's eyes.
The details were a bit hazy. He remembered the actions-the threesome, the cuddling afterwards, the "fuck off, Fancyson" from Squidward, the . . . the driving back to Squilliam's house for more, more, more.
Always more. Always extravagant. Always-
"They're probably still fucking."
"No they AREN'T, Patrick," SpongeBob stood up, smile no longer adorning his delicate face. "They . . . they wouldn't. S-Squilliam says he loves me!"
"Probably says the same thing to Squidward."
"Shut up!"
"No, YOU shut up!" Patrick jumped to his stubby feet, poking at SpongeBob's nose as he yelled. "All you ever fucking talk about is Squilliam. That's it! It's like . . . it's like you don't even care about ME anymore."
"Patrick . . . Patrick, of course I care about you. You're my best friend." Where had all this come from?
"Whatever," Patrick sneered, turning around. "I'm leaving."
"Patrick, wait, y-you don't have to go!" SpongeBob reached out, only to have his hands pushed away.
"Have fun with your BOYYYFRIENDDDD," Patrick mocked, stepping out the front door, leaving behind the teary eyes SpongeBob.
"Patrick . . ." The door slammed, leaving SpongeBob alone to sob. Crying on a couch that was worth so much more than he was.
Patrick was probably right. Squilliam probably didn't care anyway. He should just leave now befor—
"Hel-lo-o!" That voice. Managing to turn "hello" into a three syllable word. SpongeBob sniffled, unable to look up as he continued to cry. "Where's my boyfri—hey, are you okay?" His voice softened, tentacles suctioning to the ground as he padded over to the crying sponge.
"N-no," SpongeBob whimpered, sitting up.
"Awww, your mascara's running," Squilliam smiled, wiping a line of black away.
"Don't look at me. I'm so stupid," His voice cracked, more tears falling.
"What's . . . what's wrong?" Squilliam's unibrow furrowed as he surveyed the small boy. "Did you stub your toe or something?"
"N-no."
"You sure? I'd be willing to kiss it better."
That managed to make the sponge giggle at least. "N-no thank you, I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're GORGEOUS," He lifted the sponge off the ground, sitting on the couch himself before placing the younger male in his lap. His right hand rested atop SpongeBob's knee, the left rubbing circularly around his back. "Now, what's wrong, my little bipolar sweetheart?"
"P-Patrick was just—"
"Wait, Patrick's the fat one, right?"
SpongeBob sniffled. "Not fat. He has a condition."
"Um . . . okay, whatever. What did tubby do?"
"He—please don't call him that."
Squilliam smiled, "Alright, alright. What did Patrick do?"
"He just . . . h-he's so m-m-mean sometimes."
"Then you shouldn't talk to him anymore. Problem solved." Time for that oh-so-romantic sodomy now.
SpongeBob gasped. "I can't stop talking to him! H-he's my best friend!"
"So?" Squilliam, not a "friend" type of person, didn't understand this logic. "You can buy friends better than him." And thinner. "What's the big deal?"
SpongeBob squirmed out of Squilliam's lap-a move not as dignified as he'd hoped-glaring at his boyfriend, hands on hips. "Patrick's NOT a toy! He's my best friend! I can't just buy a new best friend."
"Hey, calm down!" Squilliam laughed, grabbing the sponge's wrist. "Come on, let's just relax and—"
"NO!" SpongeBob jerked his arm away, running down the hall.
"SpongeBob, come on!" Squilliam stood up, contemplating chasing after him. "SpongeBob!"
"NO!"
Squilliam sighed, sitting back down. It would be best to just let him cool off for a while. Then he'd go get him back. And all would be well again.
Then: makeup sex.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Four hours was long enough!
Squilliam almost wished he lived in a smaller house. It would make the searching that much quicker.
"Pavi! PAVI!!!!" No, he hadn't forgotten the sponge's name. He just needed to find his personal assistant to help him look.
But much like SpongeBob, Pavi was also nowhere to be found.
"You just can't find good help these days," Squilliam grumbled, searching the kitchen. "SpongeBob? Come on out. Please?"
Moving onto his favorite room of the house; but no, SpongeBob wasn't in the bathroom, either.
"SPONGEBOB! Come ON!" He was starting to understand why his rival grew so angered by the little yellow guy. Except Squidward hated SpongeBob for being around, and Squilliam hated SpongeBob for being gone. "SpongeBob, please . . . come OUT already!"
He listened, but nothing.
Hours passed, the octopus sweaty and exhausted. And not from the sex he'd so craved earlier in the day. He dragged his weary body into the bedroom, finding a square lump under the covers.
Squilliam smirked. "Well well well, could it be my little sponge cake? All wrapped up and waiting for me to devour?" He gripped the blankets, not waiting for an answer before pulling the blankets back—
And discovering a pillow.
"Who the fuck put a pillow under my blanket?" Squilliam growled, almost replacing the blankets before a white sheet of paper caught his attention. "Huh. A note? Kinky." The cephalopod smirked (again-resmirked), grabbing the letter and moving it close to his face, taking in the handwriting.
"Not my Spongie's handwriting," He tilted his head, face growing paler with each word.
Each cheesy, stolen-from-Hollywood, grammar-grating, misspelled word:
Squilliam,
You brake my heart. Now I brake what you hold dear. You can't find me. I am hidden. And also, I want your money or I kill your boyfrend.
Love,
Kidnaper
"Okay, who wrote this shit?" Squilliam nearly crumpled the sheet up before he translated the text in his head. Fixing the misspellings, the grammar mistakes, the clichés. Wait. Someone had SpongeBob.
Someone was going to carve up his delectable sponge cake unless he stopped them.
Oh.
Fuck!
Who would do something like this?
Wait . . . wasn't SpongeBob crying earlier about a certain someone? Who was it?
"FATASS!" Squilliam shouted as he remembered. That fat starfish that lived next to Squidward. He was uneducated. He was love sick. He . . .
WAS A CRIMINAL! Had to be!
Squilliam wasn't just rich. He was smart, too. And it was time to kick some morbidly obese ass.
AN: I stole the sponge cake thing from Band8PGeek. Anyway, I may post the next chapter tomorrow. Hopefully I will.
