A/N: Hey guys! I was talking to my girlfriend last night about how upset I was about this couple. I mean, I love them so much, they're my second favorite South Park pairing, and I did nothing to support it. No fics, no art, no nothing. So, I decided to write this adorable little tidbit. At first, I thought it was for myself, but then I decided that I wanted to dedicate it to my new friend Rem on livejournal, because I wanted to cheer her up. That being said, I hope it makes her smile!
Enjoy!
Warnings: This fic has enough male/male fluff to make you vomit. Seriously, its so cute it should be illegal. If you are subject to squeeing until fainting, I strongly recommend caution while reading.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own South Park, nor any of it's characters. I don't own CKY either, that belongs to Bam Margera's brother, and the other members of that band.
It was an unconventional romance, to say the least.
The son of the Devil, and a British human hardly made what you'd call a 'perfect pair'. More like a perfectly awkward situation. But they made each other happy, as far as their relationship went without becoming picture-perfect.
Oh, but wasn't it?
Damien, Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup's boyfriend of six years gave a howl of frustration, bare foot connecting with the kitchen cabinet, causing him to reel in pain. On the counter- what used to be cake batter in a bowl for their anniversary- was, in simple terms, a complete mess. Yellow batter covered their black-granite countertops, as well as most of Damien's front. A glance at the clock alerted the Anti-Christ that in four hours, his bubbly blonde would be home from work. That was four hours to get the cake right.
The dark one wasn't used to lifting a finger, let alone making an entire cake-from scratch- by himself. He contemplated calling their resident couple Tweek and Craig for help, but then quickly shoved the idea out of his mind. He needed to do this for Pip by himself, and do it thoroughly. Without burning down the kitchen first. Sighing, he shoved his sleeves up to his elbows and wiped his forehead with the back of wrist before diving in for another attempt at the cake.
Two hours later, Damien had managed to get the recipie right, spill only the bare minimum of batter while using the electric mixer, and get the cake in the oven- then out- without a problem. He set it on one of the racks to cool, standing back with batter-crusted hands planted firmly on his hips. The radio behind him blared with one of his CD's; HIM- a guilty pleasure. It wasn't the most up-beat of bands, but Hell, it made him happy. And, Pip absolutely refused to listen to it when he was home, so Damien's time was limited to something more mild like The Used, or CKY™. So as 'Bleed Well' blared over the speakers, Damien sang, peeling the wrapper off of the top of the frosting jar.
Bittersweet torment. It looked delicious. Revering little to no shame, Damien scooped a spoon into it and popped the butter-crème frosting into his mouth, lids fluttering from the taste. Oh, Hell, it's delicious. But he forced himself to fling the spoon into the sink and grab a knife. The cake wasn't going to decorate himself.
If anyone knew Damien, they would describe him as lazy, aggressive, and half-assed everything he did. And all of them were true. Except for when it came to Pip. For reasons unknown to even the Anti-Christ, he exceeded in what he did for his lover, becoming somewhat of a perfectionist. So, as the icing went onto the vanilla cake, it was smoothed into a single thick layer, flawless. Little whisps of frosting in waves were formed artistically around the edges. So far, it looked near bakery-quality. This pleased him. Damien continued to make little beads of frosting around the edges with a tube that he'd seen Pip use a few times before on the assorted sweets he loved to make for the parties he'd planned. And soon, the cake sat on a dish in all it's glory, complete with strawberries arranged above the red-jellied words "Happy Birthday Pip".
Damien smiled with self-accomplishment as pride welled up in him. Pip would be home in an hour, and-
Shit.
The kitchen looked like a dust-storm had hit it. Damien looked around frantically, just as he heard keys turn in the lock to their apartment. Count on his lover to leave work early on his birthday- Damien had payed off random people to call in and request Pip specifically to keep him tied up until later! Oh, shit would hit the fan the moment Pip saw his beloved flat a complete disaster. Quickly, Damien put forth his most charming smile, and grabbed the cake, holding it.
"Damien? I'm home!" The blonde toed off his shoes in the doorway, placing them aside and removing his hat and scarf, hanging them up with his jacket as he entered the kitchen. Time froze between the Brit and his cake-weilding lover. For a moment, Pip observed the damages with wide eyes and gaping mouth, before his eyes came to rest on that- did Damien make that?- delicious looking sweet. In a blur of blonde and red, Pip launched himself at Damien with a squeak of joy.
No, it was hardly a picture-perfect romance. Especially with Pip sitting atop a now half-naked Damien on the linoleum floor, both boys covered in cake, Pip happily eating away at the mess that had squished between them. No, it wasn't perfect, but they were still happy.