Disclaimer: SP boys are copyright Matt Stone Trey Parker and South Park Studios. Not me. And that's probably a good thing…
AN: A oneshot. Damn. You know, I don't think I'm any good at them. But anyways, Kennylover98 said something about it seeming that I always make Kyle a jerk, and its SO TRUE. I don't know why. Is it because he's a 'fiery redhead'? Is it because he's constantly pissy on the show? Is it... just because... I... I don't know. I just do it, and I don't even think about it too hard. Its bad... XD
Anyways, I hope you enjoy this. Reviews will get you cookies. I know this is only a oneshot (and staying that way) but I'd really appreciate hearing what you all think, and I WILL respond to all reviews given to this story. Thank you! I LOVE YOU ALL!
Title: He Smiles
Author: Zoshi the Confused
Rating: PG-13
Category: South Park
Genre: General/Angst
Contains: Violence, SHOUNEN-AI - BOYLOVE
"Why are your stories always like this?"
"What do you mean?"
"Everyone's always dying, dude. Its… kinda freaky."
The death dealer comes from beyond the mountains.
Wings of white on his back.
He smiles.
His words drip venom.
The armies of man fall before him.
He smiles.
He keeps still. There's pain lancing across his back; he wants it to stop. Its hard to keep from shuddering. Harder to muffle his whimpers in the pillow below his face.
He's behind, above him. He's humming that song again, he's pressing those fire-heated wires into his pale skin.
The redhead whimpers; his fingers twist in the bed sheets.
There's going to be scars this time.
His hands hold fire.
Blood bathes the land as heroes fall.
He smiles.
The wails of dying rise.
His hands throw the fires to the winds.
He smiles.
"Kyle, something wrong?"
"No."
"You sure man?"
"Yes, Stan."
"…"
"I'm fine"
"I don't think you are."
"…I'm fine."
He is blind.
His sight scorched by the fires of hell.
He smiles.
Blood becomes his drink and his salvation.
His wings grow brighter with each crimson drop.
He smiles.
Its stifling. Their skin pressed tight together; he doesn't know whether the sweat staining his body is his own anymore.
He knows he's owned.
The moan leaves his throat unbidden. He twists away, struggling for relief.
He pauses.
Their eyes meet.
A second.
The whimper leaves his throat before the hand reaches his face.
When his vision returns he sees that they are continuing on the floor.
He can't breathe.
Misery covers the lands.
He can't feel.
He smiles.
He paints the horizon in flames.
The world is barren around him.
He smiles.
"Kyle?"
"…yeah…"
"That's… that's a huge ass bruise…"
"…"
"…Kyle…?"
"…yeah…"
"You sure you're okay?"
"I told you already, I'm fine."
"…right…"
His wings are magic.
The more death he deals the more they shine.
He smiles.
The land is empty around him.
Pain is his solace.
He smiles.
He shivers under a thin blanket. The snow outside is deep. People are talking to him.
It was too far this time.
He can't hear them.
Sirens play in the background. Shadows around him want him to move. Shadows around him want to get him someplace warm.
The snow is up to his knees where he sits.
He is numb.
The blanket scratches at scabs and burns.
He is numb.
His eyes focus on a single figure lit by the lights.
The sirens wail; he hears the song again.
The lights flash across faces.
Eyes meet.
He smiles.
The wings burn like flames.
His blonde hair turns golden in their light.
He smiles.
The flames envelope him.
A pyre unending.
He smiles.