Conforming

Pairings: CurleyRed, CurleyWendy

Summary: When the Curley Goth begins to change, might one venture to say 'conform', the Red Goth decided to take it into his own hands... with rather interesting consequences. Current lime, future lemon.

Warnings: Boys loving boys, angsty poetry, swearing, making out in this chapter, and lemon in the next.

Authors note: This was posted... is posted on deviantart. So... enjoy?

People call me the 'Red Goth'. But it's not because my soul is eternally bleeding like a soldier lost in war, no. It's only because my hair still has the red streaks it did back in third grade. Figures all those governmentally controlled zombies would only see the exterior. In fact, my only refuge in this fake, conformist world is my group.

We don't consider each other 'friends'. That's just a sunshine word used by Barbies and Kens to describe the people they exploit for their own sick joy. No, my group is better than that. We don't take joy in anything but the depression of those two-faced Nazis.

But lately the 'Tall Goth' or, as some call him, the 'Curly Goth', seems distant. And not the good 'I'm-goth-so-I'm-going-to-stare-off-into-no-where-as-I-ponder-the-reasons-I-should-stay-on-this-fake-and-bastardized-world' kind of distant. Ever since he came back from the horrendous trip to London with his revolting parents over summer break, he's been different. He stares into crowded areas with a smile on his face.

But what pissed me off the most was seeing him talk to that Wendy girl. They stood so close, his eyes never leaving hers, and the smile never leaving her nasty face. That stupid conformist bitch is trying to steal him aw-... I mean conform him to the evil of her bad-boy desires. Yeah.

And I won't let her take him. We don't have a very big group; there is only three of us now that we left kindergoth at the middle school to face the Hollister-cult children of conformity alone.

Henrietta and I couldn't make a group by ourselves. We'd be a... a pair. And pairs are for the conformists.

That's why I told him to meet me here, at the abandoned farm house... not because of the kiss I saw him share with Wendy...

So here I stand, my black-as-my-soul painted nails tucked into even blacker jacket pockets. I forgot my Goth poetry book in my government-controlled locker space, so all I could do is recite my ever-lasting pain out loud, in distressed whispers, only to be carried on and forgotten by the wind.

"Pallid dreams give way to rose-tinted nightmares,

my soul forever trapped inside a body, dead.

What shattered piece of heart I had,

you took to burn a conceptual death.

Blood pours from every vein,

but nothing frees my dilatory heart.

I feel myself slipping from your consciousness,

leaving a trail of nothing behind it."

"That doesn't seem like your style, Red."

I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. I could feel the ice of his blood near me. I decided to get straight to the point.

"Conformist." Short, simple and easy to understand. Which gave him no reason to reply the way he did.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

I felt my non-existent heart rip through my chest like a black hole through space. "I saw you with that Paris Hilton wannabe. You're only keeping up with the Goth look for the image. You don't give a shit about..."

"You saw me with Wendy?"

"Yeah. You've abandoned you lifest-..."

"What? Are you... jealous?" When he said that, he said it with such an evil tone that I cringed.

"What are you.." Those three words were all I could get out before he grabbed my wrist and turned me around. I subconsciously flipped my bangs out of my right eye, and they fell back into place. He looked straight into my eyes, but I looked away. He had already abused my soul, he had no right to see it.

But that didn't help much. In the next instant I found myself underneath him, back to the ground.

"W-What the fuck?!" I had never heard my voice go above a whisper before... interesting...

"This is what you want, right? To have me touch you in ways I haven't even touched her? Why else would you bring me to an abandoned animal-sweat-shop with out the others?"

I couldn't move. I couldn't think. I couldn't breath. Breathing is necessary for life. I hoped it would cause me to die. That way I wouldn't have to face this (very not Gothic) fancy of mine... But I didn't die, so I just nodded.

Denial is for conformists.

He didn't smile at this, of course, only studied my face for a bit. "Am I heavy?" He asked with his usual, 'serious Goth' face staring at me. Again, all I could do is shake my head. He gave a short humming noise in approval, and I felt my toes curl.

My whole life I had strived to be different from all the bastard-idiots at my school, to make sure that I never conformed to their state of mind. But there it was, all of my life's work swept completely away at one swift motion of my conformist toes.

My thoughts were interrupted by his face coming closer to mine. I turned my head to the left, and my red-and-black bangs covered my eyes.

Soft lips brushed my neck, and I felt my body begin to yearn. I wanted more.

Fuck.

"What do you want, Red?"

"I want.. you to..." I took in a sharp breath, trying to keep myself calm as the brown grass of the farm tickled and scratched the back of my neck, "... to get away from me with your... filthy lies."

"I don't believe that." He bit down on the nape of my neck, causing me to yelp. It was then, when I tried to push him away, that I realized he had grabbed both of my wrists and was pinning me to the ground. Not that I actually wanted him to stop.

I was, much to my disappointment, turning out to be a regular teen. A goddamn regular sexually curious, rebellious and angsty fucking teen.

It was this thought that I kept in mind as I felt his biting kiss move from my neck to my suddenly exposed shoulder. How did he do that?

Fuck, I love him.

I stopped struggling when I heard myself mewl. Oh fucking god, I'm pathetic. But he let go of my wrists when he heard it and I snaked my arms around his neck.

Gently, he set his forehead on mine, his nose causing his mouth to be farther away thanI would have liked it to be.

"Are you still angry?"

"My soul never feels anything but anger."

"It felt jealousy."

"Which is directly related to anger."

"And love." He replied in a smooth, monotonous voice that sent shivers up my spine.

What was I supposed to say? 'You're right, fuck me.' or 'I have never loved in my life.' One that's a lie and one that is the unfortunate truth.

The decision was too much, and I spent too much time thinking about it..

"Don't try to deny it, Red. This is what you want. You and I, fellow tortured souls, intertwined in an eternal-..." My lips cut him off.

I hate monologues.

Senses were heightened between both of us when I felt him press himself against me. I had to bite my tongue to keep from moaning. Goths only moan when describing their tormented souls.

His lips kissed mine again, but this time it was more rough, more passionate. A tongue begged for entrance (though who's, I cannot recall) and deepened the kiss to a point that I'm positive only two Goth boys could get to. He pressed against me again, and I had no way to stop myself.

"Hah..." It quietly (thank the non-existent God above) escaped my lips, causing him to pull away. My eyes slowly closed as I sighed. And I waited, expectant of the next new experience that was sure to follow.

Then I felt something cold and plastic touch the bottom of my chin.

His cane. How very quick of him.

"Take off your coat. And shirts." The object traced my chin and travelled down my chest to stop dangerously close to my groin. "I'll deal with the rest."

My whole body felt like fire.

I obeyed.

End Chapter 1

Sorry for the attempt at their style poetry.

This is my first seriously serious boylove fic... meaning it's going to get lemon-y. c: AND it's my first SouthPark fic.

I could use real critiquing, so it'd be appreciated if you could. K? Thanks.