Nightmares

The blanket pooled down low on Stan's waist, the tops of his hipbones peaking through. The post sexual bliss that had enveloped Kyle and let him drift off to sleep with a hand resting on Stan's thickset stomach, wouldn't take him. Stan wondered if this were because of the warm throbbing deep within his ass and as Stan wasn't normally used to being dominated or a bottom or 'uke' as the dark-humored chef had so delicately put it so (his ass hurt) he was uncomfortable.

But the raven haired man gladly allowed Kyle his dominance and let it be his own ass to be filled for once, even if only for Kyle to prove to himself that they were in fact equal. What had originally felt as though he was going to be ripped in half; now was a pleasant reminder of why they had stuck together. Even though it wasn't sleep dancing across his mind, Stan felt a moments relief as he spiraled back into his memories.

(Little Stanley Marsh sat in the hallway, his diaper the only clothing that covered him this humid summer night. It was a little past eight as the sun had flared the whole sky, that little Stanley could see from the window red and gold. Across little Stanley's face and cheeks were small smears of green and tan mush; his dinner for the night. Right after Sharron, his mother had placed him down, little Stanley had half-crawled/ half-walked to his current place on the carpet in the main hall.

There was a noise the filled the air for a moment, the sputtering growl of the car's worn down engine. Then it died, little Stanley's eye looked up as he tilted his head back, his father was coming home. It was plane time, flight time, space time. For little Stanley it was the world best time.

The door swung open and there he stood, Randy Marsh, not what one would call a small man. Although to little Stanley, Randy was enormous and also a giant; the two images wrapped together in little Stanley's mind to produce some strange chimera form. Wordlessly, Randy looked down at his son, his special boy and grabbed him under his soft armpits.

Little Stanley was whisked up into the air by his father's rough man hands, The two generation Marsh men looked at each other. Little Stanley's blue eye staring straight into his father bleary and bloodshot cobalt, Randy's breath rolled warmly from him mouth and the remains of recently consumed booze hung around the man head like a mist.

"Upsy Daisy." Randy chuckled as he through little Stanley and caught him, "Like a bird hun, Stanley?"

"Again! AGAIN! Daddy! Go AGAIN"

Little Stanley's voice trailed away as Randy launched him up into the air again, this time however he through him completely over his head. The little boy, giggle violently as he flew through the air and then after Randy didn't catch him; came crashing down onto the hard floor. It left him feeling sore and fat tears of pain stood prominent in his large glassy eyes. That was the problem with the elevator game; sometimes you soared through the air other times you busted your ass.)

A sharp pain ripped through Stan and he felt some of the warmth that had been filling him seep out and down on too his inner thigh; it dried quickly onto his warm skin and grew increasingly uncomfortable in the bed. Then the feelings dissolved leaving no tract that they had been there before; Stan's mind was finally falling asleep.

As the warmth of his lover slowed his breath and his eyes slipped shut, Stan's memories of the past slipped away into his unconscious mind. Now buried, Stan hopped those thoughts stayed put so that he wouldn't have to remember all the pains that had stripped him of his childhood.

The midnight chime was going off in the Crestview's master wall clock.

(Unmask! Unmask!! Unmask!!!)

(rellik!)

Kyle's bright green eyes snapped open, the nightmare that had flooded his sleep quickly disappearing back into whatever dark corner of his mind it had come. Resting his eyes closely shut again, the red haired man felt the horrors of the dream peaking out into his mind. At the moment, Kyle couldn't decide if what had happened was a far off memory that acted like a scattered dream of vice versa.

"God damn it." He murmur softly as his mind recaptured him and replayed the event again before his very eyes. But the difference now was Kyle was looking back at the incident with a mature mind. As he breathed in his lover's and his own lover musk he thought to himself that maybe he would understand what had happened this time.

"Go home Kyle." The red head whispered to himself, mind lost in his own dreamlike state.

("But Mrs. Marsh, my mother said it would be okay for me to stay." The young Jewish teen implored his best friend's mom.

It was Stan's birthday the following day and they had planned to bring the raven haired boy into his teenage years in an all out/ all night sleepover. The pair would be the same age again. It was one of Kyle's pet peeves that the patient at that age that he was constantly reminded by Stan that he was in fact much older then Stan.

"I understand Kyle," Shannon Marsh said softly voice not rising above a whisper, "but it is late and Stan's father is going to be home any minute."

"So?"

Stan tugged slightly on his friends elbow, "So, my dad is very particular about things, kind of psychotically so. So as much as I would like to have you over for dinner and to spend the night; it would not good for you to be here. Especially not to see this."

Kyle could take a hint although sometimes, it took quite a large one to make any sort of impression on the Jewish teen. However the sight of a bruise fading on the back of Stan's neck and a bit of dark green tones around Mrs. Marsh's kind eye made his stomach tighten and his feet hold fast in place. Fear was what held the redhead in place as the sound of the truck in the driveway died out. Mr. Marsh was home from work and the bar.

"Run Kyle," Mrs. Marsh whispered, "Leave quickly."

"Okay."

The teenage Jew spun on his heel and tried to get out the front door; however just before he reached the freedom of the out side, a thick black cane barred his way. It was then the owner came into view. Ever since the accident that has injured Mr. Marsh's spine, he had never been seen without the heavy bodied cane with its gold handle.

"Hello Kyle, where are you going so fast?" His face cracked open with a smile and Kyle could smell the booze.

Gasping the teen, put on his most calm expression, "I was heading home for dinner."

The answer didn't satisfy Mr. Marsh as he insisted that Kyle join them for a meal, mostly because he hadn't been around and Mr. Marsh wanted to ask about his parents. Silently they sat around eating.

Knife cutting meat

Fork scrapping plates

All noises were heard in the dead silence that filled the meal with a suffocating pressure. Plates passed back and forth, always under the eyes of Mr. Marsh whose gaze followed each dish contemplating its taste. After thirty minutes of a meal, the elder Marsh male was snoring lightly in his chair; a hand resting on his bloated stomach and the other still fondling the gold round grip of the cane.

"Would anybody like some dessert?" Mrs. Marsh said plainly.

That's when it happened, faster then anybody could have seen. Mr. Marsh's plumped up hand, slipped down the shaft of the cane and brought it swinging up like an upper cut. The gold made straight contact to Mrs. Marsh jaw; she spiraled backward as Mr. Marsh rose from his chair with freakish speed.

"I caught you by Christ!" He howled as he brought the cane across his body.

It smashed into his wife's cheek and nose, causing a horrid cracking and splitting noise. The cane rose and fell again, raping Mrs. Marsh's face with the blood spattered handle. Slowly under each crazed blow, Mr. Marsh reduced her face to a bloody pulp of bone, blood and hair. Still the cane fell again and he screamed again.

"THAT"S RIGHT BITCH! YOUR GONNA TAKE YOUR MEDICINE AND YOU WILL RESPECT ME!"

What scared Kyle the most was when Mrs. Marsh got up, blood dripping from her face a like a river. Softly with here head lowered she asked again.

"Would anyone like dessert?"

Mr. Marsh had returned to his chair, already fondling the blood smeared cane. "I would like some dear.")

She fell down the stairs, that was the excuse for her mashed appearance, Sharron told the police this, Stan told the police this. Even Kyle told the police this. But it was fear of the wrath that the cane held that made them lie, that lie protected them from pain. If only for a little while. Mind restless, Kyle turn into Stan and nuzzled his husbands back, letting the smell of his body and the warm this gave off comfort him back to sleep. However it was a most restless sleep. Full of memories and confused thoughts, Kyle was up again at dawn.