Oh hai! I am going to feed you this first chapter and try to update part two when I finish it. Please bear with me I've got this terrible disease called laziness and it pretty much prevents me from doing anything. ;-_-
This story is for Zombiecest (or xxX K-Squared Xxx) because if it weren't for her, I wouldn't be writing this at all. Check out her stuff, it's beyond amazing. I love the stuff that comes out of those magic fingers (that's what she said)
Warnings: This is male/male with smuttiness in the second chapter. Go ahead and flame me, I will just laugh, seriously.
Any kind of reviews make my day. PLEASE, I love hearing critisism from people. :))))
Fuck it was cold. He had closed all the godamn windows in the godamn house and it was still cold. Clyde curled the woolen blanket closer to his chest as the temperature in the room slowly climbed back to normal with help from the small furnace in the corner. Clyde had abandoned his post in the warm haven of his bed to make a mad dash across the room and crank the heater to its fullest settings.
He was cold…and he was bored. Craig (the person he hung out with most days) had deserted him for his twitchy butt-buddies Thomas and Tweek. Honestly, he didn't understand what Craig saw in the two of them. They were both hopelessly fucked up; one spewing swear words constantly and the other a neurotic caffeine addict. Craig just dragged them around with him, both arms wrapped around their necks and flipping off anyone who had the balls to insult him.
Fuck Craig, it's not fair that he had two boyfriends when he couldn't even get one. Girlfriend…that is, because he was totally one hundred percent strait. Just because he was 17 and hadn't gotten a girlfriend yet, that was no reason for anyone to think he was gay. Obviously none of the girls wanted to date him because he was fat. 'Ridiculously fat' he convinced himself as he pulled on his miniscule flab of stomach skin. Who was he fucking kidding? He had lost almost all of his baby weight when he started working out regularly and now he was merely "chubby." At least, that's what those dumb-asses at school said. His arm muscles had actually taken some shape in the last few months, which was good considering Craig was always getting into fights he couldn't win. Not many people wanted to mess with him, but occasionally he would get someone riled up with one of his smartass comments or his customary flick of the middle finger. He was lithe, skinny, and pretty good at fighting unless his attacker actually got the chance to punch him. Then Clyde would step in and save his ass…not that he wanted to.
Yeah, Clyde was strait...so strait. That kiss meant nothing. Really it was all just the alcohol-induced haze that had made him not care what gender he had been making out with. 'Although, the person of the same gender had been very attractive' he concluded…in a very strait way. Really all he was doing was noticing some other guy's looks. He could say that Kenny was good looking and Cartman was fucking ugly without sounding like a homo, why didn't the same apply with Kevin?
Thoughts crept into his mind then as he sat there, shivering and defenseless against their scrutiny. There was a desperate argument raging in his mind about the validity of his sexual orientation and all he could do was sit there and listen. Shouldn't he have some kind of deciding power over who he was attracted two? It's not fair that his mind had immutably come to the conclusion that he was gay. Not gay, he wasn't gay. Seriously...this was getting ridiculous. He wasn't getting any warmer and the drafts of chilly air circulating around his brain were causing him to think ludacris thoughts. If Craig was AWOL and Token was with his dad this weekend, then really there was only one other fucktard that could help him.
Sighing deeply, he slowly arose from the couch and began to search for his pants. Ultimately he decided to just make a run for it, seeing as Kenny's house was only a block down from his. The boy tensed himself in anticipation of the harsh weather before swinging the door open and dashing outside; pants-less.
When Clyde burst into Kenny's shabby room clad only in a t-shirt and boxers he found that the reason Kenny had not answered the doorbell was because he was getting stoned with Damien. The Satanist looked up at him through his thick layer of eyeliner and said nonchalantly "You aren't wearing pants." Kenny was looking up at the ceiling as if the broken tiles were giving him the answers to life's greatest questions.
Damien and Kenny were drawn together by their many mutual affections. They were both whores. Kenny had fucked every girl in town and Damien's policy as the son of Satan was to indulge in mindless hedonism whenever possible regardless of age or gender. They had also managed to corrupt Craig who was becoming increasingly obnoxious and egotistical as a result of their efforts.
The two spent a lot of time together in hell seeing as Kenny got kicked out of heaven when he was thirteen for spraying graffiti on the Heavenly Gates. On the rare days that Kenny survived this long, Damien would come up to earth and smoke pot with him.
Kenny looked like he was gone. His eyes were glazed over and there was an empty bottle of vodka tipped over on the floor. Damien followed my gaze and nodded. "Yup, Kenny drank all that. He just might die today after all...eh Kenny?" at this he leaned over and poked the stoned boy square in the stomach. Kenny let out a puff of smoky air and Damien laughed dryly. "He'll be fine by tomorrow. So, you're having boy problems?" Damien smirked and Clyde's eyes narrowed. "I thought you weren't going to use your powers up here anymore." Clyde had intended to sound more accusatory, but the other boy was right, he did need advice. He would have preferred to talk to Kenny, who was generally better at this sort of thing, but Kenny seemed a bit out of it out at the moment.
Damien's pierced lips curled upwards. "I was just saving time, you would have been a little pussy about it and it would have taken forever to figure out what the fuck the problem was." 'That's probably true' thought Clyde resignedly. "Well of course it's true," Damien continued, "now about this guy..." Clyde silently fumed at the invasion of his mind before replying, "We can talk about it, but if you read my mind again I'm leaving!" Damien chuckled before rolling his eyes and nodding his head in agreement.
"So..." Clyde began hesitantly, knowing that Damien was already well aware of his situation. Was he really going to make him say it? Luckily he was spared having to say anything as Damien said, "So, you tongue-fucked a hot Asian at a party and now you think you're a homo?" Clyde spluttered at his choice of words and he felt his cheeks beginning to heat up. "Well, that's not exactly how..." Damien interrupted him "So you didn't make out with Kevin Stoley?"
This wasn't getting him anywhere. He turned to leave but Kenny's feeble voice gripped him mid-step. "Damien, dude, stop being a dick." His words were extremely slurred and it was obvious he was fighting to stay conscious. Damien just smirked and looked down at his wasted friend. "Looks like blondie finally decided to join us." Kenny's pale face turned slowly away from the ceiling to look at Clyde. "Why the fuck aren't you wearing pants?" his head lolled to the side and he attempted to pull himself up into a sitting position as the teen next to him let out a bark of laughter. "Are you fucking serious? You just now noticed this?" The boy in question merely nodded weakly and cleared his throat. Clyde had forgotten how cold his legs were until it was pointed out to him and he realized that they were turning an alarming shade of blue. "Kenny can I..." he started to ask but was once again cut off by the smug looking teen sitting on the bed. "Top drawer." Damien muttered an apology quickly afterwards but the devious smile remained on his face.
After putting on a too-small pair of pants and taking a few swigs of gin, he was considerably less cold and more relaxed. "So..." Clyde began his sentence before awkwardly trailing off.
"So you think you're a homo?" Clyde narrowed his eyes at the grinning satanic teen and continued "Kenny, do you think I might like guys?" honestly, although him and Kenny weren't the best of friends (especially when Damien was involved) he still knew a hell of a lot more about these kind of things than him.
"Kenny?" Clyde prompted after being treated to a lengthy silence. Kenny just stared on blankly at the ceiling, his eyes were glazed over and his mouth was hanging slightly open.
"Is he...?" the terrified teen found he couldn't finish that sentence. He knew that Kenny died on a daily basis, but it had been a long time since he had seen it happen. A shiver ran down his spine as Damien shook his friend's limp body. "Hey, Ken...are you dead? Dude? Can you hear me?" Damien looked completely at ease despite the fact that Clyde was now having a mini panic attack on the floor. The Satanist's nimble fingers pressed down lightly on the limp teen's neck and waited a few seconds. "He's not dead," he paused and drew his lips into a sadistic smile "yet."
With that he picked up the empty bottle of vodka on the floor and smashed the bottom half against the bed frame. Shards of glass went flying around the tiny room and bounced off the walls hitting Clyde who was frozen to the spot with horror. Damien let out a bark of laughter before taking the bottle and dragging it against the unconscious teen's throat. At the initial impact of the glass meeting skin, specks of blood flew out of the wound and soaked the devil boy's shirt. Blood welled out in dark red blobs, sickeningly slow in their descent down Kenny's bruised neck.
The boy on the floor was now hyperventilating, which really only added to pleasure Damien was taking in the situation. Soon there was a stain on the comforter where Kenny's blood had soaked through several layers of fabric. The gash he was currently sporting stretched from just below his left ear to the beginning of his prominent right clavicle and gaped open to reveal snapped tendons hanging uselessly out of his throat. Damien straitened up from his hunched over position and began to take off his shirt drenched in the fluidey scarlet substance. His lips were twisted into a half smile as he turned to meet Clyde's terrified gaze. "I'll be right back, I have to fetch him from hell if he's going to give you advice on how to be a little fag." Before Clyde could so much as utter a word the sadist was gone and now he had to process what had just happened. His insides felt like they were turning to mush as he sat there staring numbly at Kenny's wasted dead body. His tremors had somewhat subsided, but he was still deeply disturbed by the fact that he was sitting alone in a room with the lifeless carcass of his (admittedly not one of his best) friends. "Jesus Christ this is fucked up!" His shaky voice rang out into the empty atmosphere. Mere seconds later Kenny stirred to life. His wounds had somehow managed to start healing themselves, knitting together to stop the flow of blood. No doubt, that was Damien's doing…or Satan…or some other dark powerful thing that had the ability to heal people. Who cares really? Whatever the reason Kenny was now hauling his tired figure into a sitting position. "That's why you never hung out with me, Kyle, Cartman and Stan," his voice was clear and not slurred as it was before. Obviously he had heard him talking to himself before waking up. "You can't handle all the crazy shit we do so you hang out with Craig and those guys."
"Yeah, well, excuse me for not wanting to go on your crazy adventures to Peru and shit, Craig told me about that." Clyde held up his hand and noted that he was shaking less than before. He knew that once Damien came back, Kenny wouldn't allow the sadistic asshole to hurt Clyde, but the guy still scared the ever-loving shit out of him.
Fuck, now he was getting off track, he came here for a reason and now the blond teen's attention was his. "Um…" he began awkwardly. "I kind of need your advice on something-"
"Yeah, yeah, Dam told me all about it in hell. I'm just surprised that with all the tacos you're always eating, you still turned out to be a homo." Clyde halfheartedly uttered a 'fuck you' as Damien appeared in a wave of black smoke and fire. He took a seat on the bed next to Kenny and grabbed his pipe and a bag of what was undoubtedly weed. He lit up and inhaled before letting out a cloud of smoke, which rose through the air in spindles before breaking apart into the atmosphere. Within seconds the smell had reached him and he found himself entranced by the scent. Pot had never been a big priority for Clyde. He had tried it a few times at various parties, but this pot smelled heavenly…or in this case hell…ish.
"So faggot, you gonna tell us what happened or do I have to read your mind again?" He uttered it so nonchalantly, as if it was nothing to him. Clyde's hand balled into fists. "Watch who your calling faggot, you fu…have sex with guys all the time Damien!" He couldn't bring himself to say fuck, he really didn't have it in him. They both said the word as if it held the same significance as the other millions of words in the English language. 'Fuck' the word was easy for Clyde to mutter if he stubbed his toe, but something about using it in that context made him cringe slightly.
Damien merely looked at him blankly as he shifted uncomfortably on the bloodstained carpet. "You must have misunderstood," was his comeback to Clyde's previous statement. 'Misunderstood? How the fuck could I have misunderstood that? He called me a faggot!' Clyde thought bitterly. "You see," Damien continued, "When I say faggot I don't mean it to be offensive…hell, my dad's the biggest homo of them all!" Clyde paused. That was possibly the strangest piece of information he had gotten all day.
"I'm not even going to comment on that." He said decisively.
"You just did." The Satanist dug in slyly, causing Clyde to practically growl in anger. Kenny quickly mediated between the two. "Hey, guys come on let's just talk about the thing Clyde fuckin' came here to talk about."
The two drew back their proverbial weapons and there was a truce in place for the moment.
"So," Kenny began once he saw them both visibly relaxing. "Clyde, I would have said no you're not gay, but just the fact that your still even thinking about it kind of proves you're at least bi. Not that I really give a fuck. Now you just have to find some hot ass to stick it in."
Clyde didn't know what to think. He knew that Kenny's advice was not exactly top notch, but it still held some truth, the vulgarity of it was irrelevant.
'Jesus Christ, why couldn't he have taken advantage of a drunk girl, like a normal guy? He had to go and kiss Kevin Stoley. Kevin-fucking-Stoley of all people! He even kind of looked like a girl. What with his long ass black eyelashes and that thing that Asians have that makes them look like they are constantly wearing eye makeup. Plus he had the fullest, pouty-est lips that felt so nice to kiss-oh god-wow. That was such a gay thought. He was thinking such gay thoughts.'
He needed to…he needed…he didn't know what he needed but that weed was smelling increasingly good.
"Hey Dam?" the nickname felt weird to say to someone he wasn't particularly fond of. "ien…" he tacked the last part of the name on for good measure so as not to appear too friendly, 'or like too much of a pussy' thought Clyde. Damien didn't seem to notice; he was far more relaxed now (most likely because he was high). He turned to get more weed from a different bag and push it into the end of a pipe.
"You can have as much as you want dude." Damien's mouth curled into a tiny but genuine-looking smile and Clyde decided to forgive him for reading his mind. Just this once. Dam held out the pipe for Clyde to take a hit off of. The teen inhaled deeply and waited a few seconds before releasing the smoke into the air.
'wow, this is really good shit.' Clyde noted. 'It figures that Damien would have really good weed, he is the son of Satan after all.'
Everything became very foggy after that first hit. The room seamed to swirl under the stoned teen's gaze. He took one more hit before flopping onto the floor unconscious.
"What do you say we have some fun with him while he's out?" The words were uttered by the demonic boy on the bed as if he had planed the whole thing out. And in truth, he had. It was in his nature to do things such as this. Kenny was high off his ass again and he just nodded his head in approval; shit eating grin clear on his face.
"Ok," Kenny agreed. "Let's do this."
'Where the fuck am I?' that was the first thing to enter his mind followed closely by 'why can't I move?' his body was bent into an extremely awkward position with his hands and feet touching behind his back. There was a rope pressing harshly into the tender flesh of his wrists that prevented him from being able to escape his situation. He was vaugly aware of how calm he was and how hazy everything seemed to him. It took him a few moments to realize that he was high. When the fuck had he smoked weed? All he could remember was going over to Kenny's house to ask him...oh god. Kenny's house.
As the memories started flooding back to him, hot puffs of air came spewing out of his nose as he salivated into his mouth gag. He tried to lift himself up enough to determine his location, still fuming in anger. That weed…it had to have been laced with something. One hit of normal weed wouldn't have caused him to black out and not remember being hog-tied like this. 'Those fucking bastards' he thought angrily as he took in his surroundings.
From what he could see from three inches off the ground, he was right next to someones house. His stomach was painfully brushing against a welcome mat weaved from some kind of scratchy, woolen material and judging by the soft teal streaking across the horizon, the sun had just set. Of course the most disconcerning thing was the fact that-yet again-he had no pants on...or a shirt for that matter. Fear gripped him at the thoguht of freezing to death. He tried to reason with himself 'sure it wasn't likely to happen but it was still a possiblility if no one found me until morning.'
'God, this is just a shitty situation.' Clyde decided that his best course if action would be to try and get help from the people who lived at this house, his own pride be damned. Once he got inside and they took the fabric out of his mouth, he could explain to them that this was a hostage situation.
With this impecable logic in mind, he rapped his head in the door loudly three times and prepared himself for what was undoubtedly going to be an awkward situation. What he was not expecting, however, was to be greated by the sight of a tired looking Kevin stoley...in his boxers.