First thing's first: I do not, in any way, condone teen drinking. But, it does make for a fun plot device, if you cold call it that. Or, ya know, just an excuse to have some happy fun yaoi time.
Side notes: the song playing is Johanna, from Sweeney Todd. I dunno why I put that in, I just kinda thought it'd be fun. Uhhh... I refuse to acknowledge Pip's death. Also, there's some suggested Dip in there, 'cause, really, what's a party without Dip? Yeah. I'm weird.
Soo. Yeah. Oh, by the way, I don;t own South Park. Just in case y'all were at all confused.
814 Main Street was directly across the street from Tweek's house. The downstairs windows were brightly lit and generic rock music blasted audibly from inside. Around eight o'clock Saturday night, I punched my thumb into the doorbell and waited a few seconds to be greeted by an overly-cheery squeak of, "Hey! I just finished drunk-proofing the house!" Kendra kept talking as I was gestured to enter the house. "Everything that can be broken, huffed, used as a weapon, or stolen is locked in the high cabinets with childproof locks. Am I forgetting anything? I'm even wearing studs so my lip rings won't get caught on anything or pulled, 'cause that freaking hurts…"
As Kendra continued to chatter on about her successful drunk-proofing endeavors, I surveyed the room. Craig, Clyde, Pip, Damien, Butters, and Tweek were standing in the living room which was bare save for a couch pushed up against the wall. They all clutched red plastic cups in their hands, but no one appeared to have drunk very much. Kendra collapsed onto the couch, ending her speech with, "there's a keg and assorted other alcohol in the kitchen. There should be some girls showing up eventually; that'll be fun… I guess…" She shrugged, then busied herself fiddling with a lip ring and chewing on a lock of hair.
I caught Tweek's eye briefly before making my way to the kitchen. Surely enough, there were childproof locks on all of the cabinets, a keg in the middle of the floor, and several bottles of beer and assorted snacks laid out on the table. On the counter were four pots of coffee, labeled "IRISH," "IRISH DECAF," "REGULAR," and "DECAF (you pussy)." The lettering was all done in obnoxiously bright rainbow colors and impossibly neat handwriting. Beside the coffee were several bottles of cream, with the same clear labels reading "ACHOLHOLIC" and "NON-ALCHOHOLIC." I picked up a bottle of beer off the table and took a large gulp of it.
"Hey," a small voice squeaked from the doorway. Tweek made his way over to the counter and refilled his cup from the coffee pot labeled "IRISH." He looked utterly exhausted. "It's like having a puppy… a puppy that never shuts up." He ran a hand through his already-messy hair.
I glanced at the empty doorway and draped an arm over the twitching blonde's shoulder, whose face immediately resolved into a soft smile.
By ten at night, most of South Park High's students were drunk out of their minds. One of the girls jumped onto the couch, beer bottle in hand, and shouted "Spin the bottle!" as if she had just discovered a cure for cancer. I watched from the kitchen with Stan and Kyle as a group of wasted teenagers all gathered in a horribly misshapen circle on the floor, giggling moronically.
I surveyed the snack table. Cartman, who had left to play Spin the Bottle, had already conducted his own raid, leaving few survivors. I popped one of the few remaining Cheesy Poofs into my mouth and chewed on it slowly, staring up at the ceiling, and then finished off what was probably my fifth beer.
Loud cheering rose from the mob in the living room, followed by roaring applause. Kendra soon burst into the kitchen, looked over at Stan, and chewed on her lips as if in deep thought, "You're Stan, right?" she asked. Stan nodded. "You're dating, um… Wendy, her name is? The hot one? Long black hair, cute little beret?" He nodded again. "Oh. I just made out with your girlfriend."
Kyle and I proceeded to laugh our asses off at the flustered look on Stan's face as Kendra crossed over to the refrigerator and grabbed a soda. "And the Canadian kid," she added after a moment of thought.
Kyle looked mortified, "Dude! He's eleven!"
"Wait, what?" Kendra cocked an eyebrow, "But, he's a freshman… and completely shitfaced. Who brought an eleven-year-old? Why is he in high school? Of course, some of the stuff I'm doing now, I did Freshman year at my old school… so it ain't all that impressive…" she paused briefly, "Spin the Bottle, man… it's a hell of a game. Y'all should join… or, ya know… something negative. Communism. Yup." She nodded sagely, and then grabbed both me and Stan by the wrist and dragged the two of use into the living room.
She deposited the two of us into the circle of drunken teens on the floor. "You two have fun now. I'm gonna go vomit; I get nauseas when I get hungry. Let the shenanigans and malarkey commence!" she turned on her heel and trotted up the stairs.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kyle drag his brother away from the circle and lecture him about drinking. Cartman, presumably kicked out of the game for being an unattractive fatass, slunk into the kitchen to begin his final assault on the snack table. Music blared from a pair of wall-mounted speakers. Stan was staring blankly at Wendy, who was now collapsed into a giggling heap on Bebe's lap.
A group of shitfaced teenagers was goading me into spinning an empty bottle of Bailey's so that I would make out with one of them. I gave in and gave the bottle a good spin.
As the bottle began to slow down, a bunch of giggling girls opposite me bunched together so that there was a large gap in the other end of the circle. And, in the middle of the gap, sat a feeble little blonde, whose drunken grin slowly faded into a mortified stare as the bottle slowed to a stop, pointing to an empty spot about a foot to his left.
A voice sang from the speakers on the wall; 'I feel you, Johanna…'
Girls giggled. Guys whooped. Several people were collapsed onto the floor, laughing their asses off.
Tweek and I inched toward the center of the circle. I rolled my eyes pointedly at the crowd. Tweek seemed hell-bent on pulling large chunks of his hair right out of his head. But, as he got closer, he seemed to relax, going as far as to take his hand away from his hair.
'I feel you… do they think that walls can hide you? Even now, I'm at your window…'
I leaned in towards Tweek. I mentally willed him to act like he didn't want to be there, to not look so relaxed, so that maybe people wouldn't know… wouldn't know what, exactly? That we were kinda-sorta but not really dating? That we'd made out before?
The last two weeks have been so. Fucking. Confusing.
I leaned down and scooped the twitchy little blonde's lips up with my own. Eagerly, he kissed me back, pushing me back into a sitting position and tangling his fingers in my hair.
'I am in the dark beside you… buried sweetly in your yellow hair, Johanna…'
The second I'd pulled away, Tweek had attached himself to my lips once more. Girls oooohed. Guys laughed. A completely hammered Pip rose momentarily from his perch on Damien's lap to let out a hearty cheer before being caught around the waist and pulled back down. A call of "Fags!" from Cartman. A squeak of "fucking adorable!" from Kendra. The sounds of Wendy trying to talk Bebe out of her clothes.
I blocked it out, reducing all of the activity in the room to just myself and Tweek. His lips against mine. His hands in my hair. My arms around him.
It all felt so. Fucking. Right.
Did ya like it? I dunno if I wanna end on that note, but I don't know what should happen next: Happy fun hangover time?
Oooh, also, I apologise for singling you out, lololol, but, for some reason, I can't reply to your review directly. I appreciate your input: and now, I shall explain my odd habit (which I have also noticed) of replacing "ed" with "t".
When I first start writing a piece, I spell everything just the way I pronounce it. Then, I go through and fix everything. I guess I just leave stuff behind or something. Thanks for pointing that out; I'll look more carefully, now.
Also, I love all of you! Srsly.
To those of you who read this, liked it, and reviewed: Your reviews make me dance a little happy jig. I lovee youu!
To those of you who read this, liked it, and did not review: I received your telepathic happy messages. They made me dance a little happy jig. Love you!
To those of you who read this, hated it, and did not review: Thank you for not killing my happy jig with your negativity! Keep up the silence! love ya!
Okay. I'm full of love.
