AN

…And here I sit before the computer screen yet again. I don't much expect to finish this fic, seeing as how every other one of my attempts at South Park fanfiction has wound up as a half-finished one-shot lying around on my hard drive. Geh…I'm so ADD it's not even funny. x-x;

OKAY THEN. This is a completely crack ship that I came up with when I was bored—and possibly high, I have no idea. If you don't know who Josh Meyers and Trent Boyett are, then go watch more South Park. (Specifically, 'Toilet Paper' and 'Preschool'). The ONLY thing they have in common is that they've been in juvie…which is enough to make me ship them, slash fangirl that I am. I never really felt much one way or another about Trent, but I LOVE JOSH LIKE NOBODY'S BUSINESS. D: ♥ He's so awesome when he's being creepy, and when he's not he's just adorable. ("Josh, were you doing the silly voice for the policeman again?" "…No, sir…" EEEE, SO CUUUUUUTE.) Besides, 'Silence of the Lambs' spoofs are always funny. …In other news, I think I'm the only person in the history of slash who has managed to ukefy Trent. And, um…I know little or nothing about correctional facilities of any kind, seeing as how I've never been in one (I think that might be a good thing), so there are probably a lot of inaccuracies in this. But fuck it. ALSO, one last note, then I swear I'll shut up. I have NO IDEA how old they're supposed to be in this. :D;; Use your imagination. …Though considering the content of this fic, I guess they'd have to be at least sixteen, which doesn't make sense because if Trent only got another five-year sentence then he would have gotten out of juvenile hall when he was thirteen or fourteen…hmm…well, in the immortal words of krysofdeath, SCREW LOGIC, IT'S FANFICTION.

Oh, and um…I am a total review whore, so please leave a review even if just to let me know you read this. Okay, okay, I'm shutting up now, seriously.

« S T A B I L I T Y »

The cell door opened, and Trent looked over his shoulder expectantly, half-hoping for an announcement that he'd been found innocent and he was free to go. Only half-hoping, of course, because he knew that it would never happen—and he'd learned long ago to give up on hoping for anything.

Which, as it turned out, was a good thing, because if he'd truly hoped for a release, he would have been terribly let down.

There was a grinding of metal, the click of a lock, and the door was shut. He was no longer alone inside the cell (shame—he'd really preferred it that way, he wasn't much of a people person). Standing barely inside the cell was a boy who appeared to be about his own age, his build just barely taller, but less muscular, and his skin was deathly pale. His raven hair was slicked back, cut just above his shoulders, his hands clasped behind his back, and taking only his appearance into consideration Trent would have shrugged him off. His smile, however…his thin lips were curled at the ends ever-so-slightly in a smile that seemed normal with a passing glance, but upon closer inspection was absolutely dripping with sadism; the kind of smile that made Trent want to run like hell despite everything else he'd been able to tough his way through.

And when he realized it—he and this boy were alone in the cell, the door locked; that could only mean one thing—a chill ran down his spine.

"Boyett, this is your new cellmate."

Oh, fuck. OH, FUCK.

"Get to know each other. I'll be back in a few hours to make sure you haven't killed him." Whether 'you' referred to himself or the raven-haired boy, Trent would really rather not find out.

A few moments after the guard left, the boy spoke.

"Hello, Mr. Boyett. Trent, was it? Yes, I think I heard them say that was your name. You should really introduce yourself to me, we'll be living together after all. It's poor manners." Trent did not respond, did not even look at him. "I'm Josh, Josh Meyers." He extended a hand, but after seconds passed and Trent did not shake it, he brought it behind his back again. "Nice cell. Cramped…but more comfy than my last cell, I must admit."

Trent finally found his voice. "What was your last cell like?"

"Maximum security," he said casually, "in this very facility."

"Maybe we've met before."

"I highly doubt that. They never let me out. Ever."

Trent felt a lump beginning to form in his throat. He wished he'd never gotten into a conversation—it was hardly helping his first impression of Josh. "Uh…what were you in for, anyway?"

His expression remained unchanging. "Toilet paper."

Trent raised a brow. "Pardon?"

"Six hundred houses," he continued, finally bringing his eyes to click into contact with Trent's. They were black, cold. "I TPed six hundred houses in less than a year. Hate to brag, but…" his smile widened, but only slightly, almost unnoticeably; Trent almost mistook it as a twitch. "…I am quite proud of my handiwork."

After a moment's pause, Trent burst out laughing. "You TPed some houses and they put you in a maximum security cell? Jesus Christ! I knew these people were fucked in the head, but this…!"

"And what, pray tell, are you in for?" Trent stopped laughing abruptly.

"I got framed," he said simply, his tone darkening. "Some little shits thought it would be funny to pull something and let me take the blame. Twice."

"Hmm, really?" Josh raised his brows, interested. "Go on."

Trent balled his hands into fists. "I've spent almost all of my life in this fucking cell. Because of them. Back when I was just in preschool, they fucked me over…then when I finally got released they did it again. A five-year sentence!" His voice trailed off into a mumbled string of profanity.

"Pity." Josh's sadistic smile slowly warped into a cruel grin. "That you were forced into this cell to take the punishment for a crime you did not commit…it's a terrible thing. Do you think about it often?" Trent twitched. "Do you think about how they spend every day in the outside world, going on with their normal, happy lives, while you sit here, in this dark cell, watching your childhood waste away—"

"Shut your goddamned mouth!" Trent swung his fist out towards Josh full force. When he didn't hear the sickening crack of impact, he glanced up, and saw that he had cocked his head to the side, missing the punch by mere inches.

"My. You've got a temper, don't you?" Trent growled and threw another punch, which he dodged again. His smile was more smug than anything now.

"You're a fucking smartass," Trent grumbled, going back to the bunk bed in the corner, staring at the ceiling.

"Tut, tut. No one likes a pottymouth, dear Trent."

« ◦ »

The showers. Trent never particularly liked them. He did not like being exposed in front of people, and he did not like the idea of being visually molested. Of course, he knew that it was just paranoia, and that no one really gave a shit about what he looked like under his clothes.

Josh, again, did nothing to soothe his paranoia.

"…The fuck are you staring at, faggot?!" he shouted defensively, his face flushing. Josh smirked.

"Why so up tight?"

"I don't want you checking me out, queer," he said, glancing nervously at Josh and covering himself as best he could.

"We're all guys here, aren't we?"

"And stop talking like that. It's fucking creepy."

"Talking like what?" Josh was hovering over Trent's shoulder now, and he could feel him literally breathing down his neck. He was sure he was doing it on purpose.

"G-get away from me." Josh grinned impishly, but complied, slinking away. Trent finished showering as soon as he could, changed, and waited for the guards to take them back to their cells.

Fifteen minutes later, when the boys were all locked up and lights-out had been ordered, Trent decided that he officially despised his new cellmate, and would kill him as soon as he got his hands on a weapon or blunt object of some sort.

"Excuse me. I prefer sleeping on the top bunk."

"Too fucking bad."

"I can't sleep when I'm so close to the ground."

"Then don't sleep. You think I care?"

Josh crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not going to sleep on the bottom."

"And I'm not, either," Trent growled, glaring down at the pale boy. "Get used to it."

Josh jumped onto the edge of the bottom bunk, standing on his toes and supporting himself on the top bunk so he was on Trent's eye level. "Oh, come now, Trent. I'm sure we could work something out; don't be so stubborn." He smiled. Damn, he's fucking creepy when he smiles like that.

"There are two bunks and two of us, retard," Trent mumbled, trying to look away from his cellmate. "There's not a whole lot we can 'work out'."

"I disagree." Josh heaved himself up on the bunk, lying down behind Trent and resting his chin on his shoulder. "See? I think this is very comfortable."

"Get the fuck out of my bed."

"But this is a great arrangement. I get to sleep on the top bunk and you don't have to get down…"

"You're fucking gay."

"I'm friendly." Trent rolled over to beat the shit out of his cellmate, but the glint in his eyes and the smirk on his face stopped him; all he could do was glare.

"How long are you gonna be in this hellhole?" Trent asked.

"Hmm…I think the sentence was four weeks."

"Shit. So I'm stuck with you until then."

"Indeed you are."

Trent sat up, and Josh went with him, never breaking eye contact. "Look. While you're here I wanna set some ground rules, all right?"

"Let's hear it, then."

"First," Trent began, counting off on his fingers, "I am in charge around here. Second, you will not check me out in the showers. Third, you will get the fuck out of my bed."

Josh leaned closer to Trent, grinning widely. "You're not a very friendly guy, are you, Trent?" Without giving him a chance to respond, he continued rapidly, "I know what you need. You need some stability in your life. You need a friend, don't you?"

Trent backed away. "I don't need a friend. I definitely don't need you."

Josh leaned in toward him further, and Trent leaned back again; he was now very close to lying down with Josh hovering over him, black hair hanging over the edges of his face. "Well, that's not very polite. What makes you say that?"

"Because," Trent responded, grabbing the railing of the bed to keep steady, "you're acting like a homo."

"Trent, Trent, Trent." Josh closed his eyes and shook his head. "My sexual preferences are my own business. Besides—if you're so confident in your heterosexuality you should have no problem hanging around, even kissing another man. If you're so strait something like that certainly won't turn you into a 'queer'."

"What the fuck? Are you suggesting that I kiss you?"

Josh's grin turned back to that vicious smile. Suddenly and without warning, he wrapped his fingers around Trent's chin, lifting it to let their lips touch.

Trent was shocked, too shocked to push him off. Seconds later the raven-haired boy broke the kiss, and he was still too stunned to react. Josh licked his lips. "See? No harm done."

When Trent finally snapped back to reality, he growled and shot up, wrapping his arms around Josh's throat and pinning him down.

"Just—who—the—fuck—do—you—think—you—are?!"

Josh grabbed the blonde's shoulder and pushed him away effortlessly. He was surprisingly strong. Trent fell over, his back slamming painfully against the bed's railing. Josh rubbed his bruised neck, acting as if he hadn't just nearly been throttled. "You really should get a hold of your temper."

Trent kept a hold of the rails behind him, nearly bending them in his grip. "You—you—you fucking kissed me! That…you…I don't even know what the fuck…"

Josh brushed a fingertip against his lips and made eye contact with his cellmate again. "But it didn't turn you gay, did it?"

Trent didn't answer the question.

« ◦ »

It all fell apart two and a half weeks later.

After the kiss, Trent didn't talk to or even acknowledge Josh, not for a long while. And, of course, Josh took advantage of all this, sleeping in the top bunk with Trent every night though he didn't try anything again.

"You've been awfully quiet, roomie," Josh finally said to him, in an attempt to entice words from the blonde again.

"Don't fuck around with me again," Trent muttered under his breath.

"It was just one kiss," he argued. "I was only trying to prove a point." There was a short, awkward pause, then Josh began to chuckle. "Oh, don't tell me I actually turned you homosexual, did I?"

Trent froze. His thoughts went back to the kiss, and he clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. He felt Josh rest a hand on his shoulder before he pulled him down into his lap and bent over him, kissing his lips again. He didn't protest. He felt his tongue slide between his lips, into his mouth—and he didn't protest, much to the surprise of both boys. Trent moved away from Josh, shifting into a more comfortable position on top of him, but had barely begun to kiss him again before the pale boy grabbed his wrist and flipped him over so that he was now on top.

"I told you," he whispered into his ear, "I don't like being on the bottom."

« ◦ »

The few remaining weeks of Josh's sentence passed by achingly quickly for both of them, and when the time finally came for him to leave, though he was grateful to get back to the outside world, he said no goodbyes to Trent, save for a glance over his shoulder and a sly smile.

And three days later, he was back once more, coincidentally assigned to Trent's cell again.

And so it went until the end of Trent's sentence years later, Josh only leaving for anywhere between a day and a few weeks, depending on how long he could keep slipping between the police's fingers. He said he couldn't resist the toilet paper; they both knew he couldn't resist Trent.

They needed some stability, after all.