South Park

Damien x Pip

or

Dip

Ungodly Addiction.

Characters: Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

Rating: M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

Summary: When no one hates you more than you yourself, how can you possibly feel loved? A Dip fic centred on self-hatred and a rather horny Antichrist. Rated M.

I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.

I sit on the large bed, palms spread flat over the black silk sheets, smoking a cigarette. I glance down at the black haired boy beside me, waiting for him to wake up. I groan as the sun slowly filters through the half-open blinds, bathing my bare, pale chest in a warm glow.

I sit up further, stretching my aching back before turning slightly and placing my bare feet on the soft, thick carpet. I stand, wincing slightly, before padding over the window and shutting the blinds, immersing myself in blissful darkness once more.

"Why'd you do that?" A calm, vaguely amused voice asks from the bed's direction. I turn and flip off Damien's general location, knowing he could see me with those garish red eyes of his.

"I hate the sun," I say, before pulling the fag from my mouth and offering it to the Antichrist, who takes it and inhales deeply. I hear a chuckle, followed by a creak, and suddenly I'm pulled back onto the bed and flipped so I'm underneath the black haired boy.

"I like it. At least, I do in the mornings," Damien says huskily, between kisses on my neck and bare chest. "It gives me a good view of your ass."

I let the red-eyed teen kiss my exposed skin, looking to the side in a way that I'm sure he thinks is giving him better reach. I hiss and moan when it is expected of me, and respond when he kisses my lips.

But, at least for me, there is no emotion behind it. I let Damien do this; kiss me, fondle me, fuck me, because it gives me yet another reason to loathe myself. It gives me an excuse to say that I'm disgusting, to say that I'm a dirty little whore who deserves nothing more than I've got.

Because I love to hate.

More specifically, I love to hate myself.

Damien's hand moves lower, gripping my hips, then my inner thigh, before finally resting on its target. I sigh in relief when I realise that my mouth is covered my Damien's so I don't have to pretend to moan.

Damien's hand grows more bold, wrapping loosely around me, slowly working up a rhythm. I close my eyes, waiting for the antichrist to get bored and move onto the next stage of our morning routine.

It comes slower today; either that or I've been waiting for it too anxiously. Even so, Damien eventually moves his hand from my groin to my mouth. I take his fingers into my mouth before he even has time to ask, sucking on them and coating each with my own saliva.

Then, I quickly shift slightly so that I'm prepared to take the first onslaught of Damien's groping, exploring fingers. He thrusts in roughly with two, scissoring me, stretching me almost immediately. I grimace in the pain that always accompanies this first bit, the pain before the pleasantness.

Those red eyes sparkle with enjoyment as they watch me squirm slightly beneath that pale body. Damien grins smugly when I bite my lip, piercing the skin. He leans forward, ghosting his lips across my jaw line as he harshly adds a third finger, his thrusting slowing again as I move, adjusting to the extra size.

His lips move again, brushing softly up the side of my face to press against my forehead as he slides in the fourth and final digit. He stops altogether now, waiting for me to wriggle into a comfortable position. He waits a few more moments, and when I say nothing, he starts thrusting with vigour. I grit my teeth as my back arches of its own volition and my ass clenches tightly around his intruding fingers. The antichrist laughs, kissing my lips as he continues his battery of my body. His other hand moves slowly to grip my hair, tugging on it roughly as he pulls my head down closer towards him.

His fingers pull out, leaving me feeling exposed and empty, when he pushed my head down further. I sigh quietly as I acquiesce to his silent demands, slowly moving my mouth to take the tip of his weeping erection between my lips.

Those red eyes slide shut and he hisses in pleasure as I slowly take more and more of him into my mouth, wetting it with my saliva and running my tongue over the slit, before running it down the sides until it was glistening. I deep throat him without warning, hollowing my cheeks and swallowing. My throat constricts around his shaft and Damien gasps audibly.

He tugs on my hair, and I let him pull my head upwards, gasping for breath quickly before his lips crash harshly on top of my own once again. Damien's eyes sparkle with anticipation, and I shift slightly underneath him, preparing for what's to come.

His left hand pins my wrists above my head, and his right grips my hip, directing me towards him. I shudder slightly at the penetration, and he lets me accustom myself to the intrusion before pulling out – all the way to the tip – only to thrust back in once again.

He soon develops a rhythm, his pounding starting slow, but speeding up as he grows more comfortable. I grit my teeth, the pain leaving my body eventually and being replaced with a feeling hat I'm familiar with, but can never label. I'd never felt it before this started, and I never feel it unless I'm doing this.

Damien cusses softly, and I feel myself being filled. The Antichrist pulls out and falls to the bed, sighing in what seems to me to be a mixture of satisfaction and exhaustion. He quickly falls asleep with his arms wrapped tightly around my waist and his head snuggling into my chest.

I glance at the clock on the bedside table and sigh when I make out the blinking red numbers. I lay back and try to get comfortable, preparing myself for a day in bed. It's too late to think about going to school, and I couldn't stand up even if I wanted to; Damien has a death grip, even when sleeping.

I sigh, staring at the ceiling, wondering when this happened. When did I start letting Damien do this to me?

I remember him returning to South Park, walking into that classroom and slamming his hands on my desk. I remember him dragging me out of the room, ignoring the whispers and teacher yelling at us. I remember him pulling me into a nearby bathroom and slamming me against a wall.

"Dammit, Pip, what the hell happened to you?" He had asked, brushing my fringe away from my face, his eyes expressing a mixture of confusion and hurt. I didn't reply, and then before I knew it his lips were pressed against mine, furiously trying to work an answer from my unresponsive body.

I sigh again, looking down at him. He had seemed so worried then, and I hadn't thought anything of the kiss. But after that, he began to hug and kiss me regularly, pull me out of class to touch me in an empty hallway, finally follow me home and tackle me to my bed, kissing and groping.

And things escalated from there. Now I miss days, if not weeks of school at a time. Whether it's because of his humongous libido, or because he's dragging me around somewhere for no reason whatsoever; he rarely leaves my side, and everyone in this crappy little town knows.

I smirk, knowing how little I care. Who gives a shit if people stare at me? They've been doing that all my life. Why should I feel self-conscious every time Damien touches me in public? It's not a crime, I'm not hurting anyone, and the expressions on peoples' are well worth it.

At least, that's what I tell myself, every time I find myself staring at the ceiling, filled with Damien's essence and trapped in his arms. It has to be worth it.

Right?

***DIP***

AN.~

Sorry for all those who thought I was nice and published new stuff, I just separated the previous chapter into something a wee bit more manageable, is all.

BUT

The next chappy will be new stuff, I promise!

Till next time,

Zanchev