Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

ZOMG. All the amounts of reviews so far match the chapters. I swear, this is making me so freaking OCD. Or something.

Notes:

FYI, grammar was not that important this time around, although spelling and proper word usage was. You'll see what I mean, and hopefully, you won't be, mmm, discouraged. If you read it and understand what I was going for (and you go ahead and let me know if you did in a review) then you probably have a good idea of how I write stuff.

Other than that? Hm, we're getting there. There, being, well, the place where we're supposed to be at. Of course.

Please? I'd really like your opinions on this chapter, even more so than the previous ones. I've warned you all before of style changes, and such, so this shouldn't be too much of a shocker.
Also, I feel you should all know while writing this story my "P" button decided it did not want to be part of the keyboard anymore.

Oh, and yeah, this chapter came out to 9 pages on Word. I guess I wanted to make up for the smaller chapters before, subconsciously.

Thank you to:

Hot Monkey Brain

Wishmaster Kami

Kusege-Chan

Daughter Deception

I LOVE YOU GUYS Seriousleh.


Title: Pink

Author: Zoshi the Confused
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: Angst/eventual tragedy

May contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing


Tick…Tock. Tick…Tock.

Tick…Tock.

Tick.

****

Friday night was the night. THE night. The night winter decided it would actually come. Which meant knee deep snowdrifts, gusting winds, and of course, Clyde's annual "Winter's Here Let's All Get Trashed" party. Now, for the past two years, thanks to unpredictable and uncooperative weather, the party was forced to take place during the week, leading to lots of blown tests, pissed off parents, and an elevated absence rate at school. This year, winter seemed to have taken pity on the teenagers of Park County High School, and proceeded, in true South Park winter fashion, to dump a foot of powdery snow over everything the day before the weekend. As if winter coming on a Friday wasn't great enough, Clyde's parent's had jumped on the chance to take a quick three day trip to scenic Aspen and pretend they had no idea what was going on, supposedly behind their backs.

Cartman had come over to my house a few hours earlier. He said it was to help study for our Spanish test on Monday, but considering he was now seated quite happily in the passenger's side seat of my car, I'd say it was safe to say that he'd had ulterior motives. Of course, the usage of "happily" was relative; he was only happy when you considered where he was seated. Overall, he wasn't happy, much like the rest of the occupants in the car.

I tapped my fingers along the steering wheel as I waited at a red light, and attempted not to look into the rearview window. I was feeling a bit low myself that day, no need to make it worse. Cartman was scowling out the windshield, but he didn't seem any more willing to shoot a glance towards the backseat than I was. I could practically feel the seats melting from the seething anger concentrated in the back. Taking a deep breath, perfectly aware I was risking burns, I glanced up at the rearview window finally. Kenny was glaring out the left rear window, one hand tugging violently at threads coming loose from the hole in his jeans. He looked like he was muttering something to himself, but, thankfully, I couldn't hear him over the sounds of the Descendents blaring through the car's speakers. Kyle was on the other side, scrunched up as close to the door as he could get, as if he didn't want to be any closer to the blond than he had to be. While his eyes were burning, there was a pained look on his face, and one of his hands was clutching at his head tightly. I wondered if maybe his head hurt, and if I shouldn't turn the music down a little, but a glance at Kenny kept me quiet. No need to stoke the fire, I figured, and decided that focusing on driving would be a much healthier choice.

Clyde's house was situated towards the more upscale part of town. A few years back his dad had hit it big with some sort of marketing scheme, and earned himself the right to manage not only the shoe store in South Park, but three or four other stores, two of them in Denver. Ever since then Clyde's family had been steadily moving up in the ranks of the South Park upper class, as small as it was, and their newest house was a testament to it. The place was half a mansion practically, with a huge lawn in front and a giant, swirly pool out back. I pulled into a spot in front of the Donovan's front lawn, wincing as two doors opened and slammed closed as soon as the car came to a stop. Cartman let out a deep breath, and I looked over at him. He gave me the kind of look I expected from a bomb-squad member who'd just survived defusing a bomb, and opened his own door. I cut the engine, pocketing the keys as I got out of the car.

Kyle was already trudging across the snow-covered lawn towards the open front doors of the house, weaving among the cars that had clogged the driveway, and Cartman was following him, albeit at a much slower pace. I was surprised to see that Kenny wasn't anywhere near them, and I would've missed him if the scent of cigarette smoke hadn't reached me. Looking around curiously, I noticed the tell tale gray haze coming from the back of my car, and headed around to take a look. Kenny was sitting on the ground, back to the cars bumper, and angrily puffing away at a cigarette. It wasn't that I was shocked to see him smoking; I could remember quite well asking a ten year old Kenny to blow smoke bubbles with the stupid little bubble wands our moms would get us to keep us busy on summer nights. Still, I hadn't seen the blonde with a cancer stick in ages, probably, and it threw me off a little.

"I'll be there in a minute," Kenny growled, and although I would rather have stayed out with him, I figured some alone time probably wouldn't hurt.

"All right, I'll save you a bottle," I said, and thankfully received a grin in return. I headed towards the house, trying to make a mental list of the people I could expect to see based on the cars crowding the driveway. There were too many Buicks for my taste; I didn't exactly know the people who drove them, but I got the feeling I wouldn't like them if I did meet them. What I had against Buicks, I don't know. Finally reaching the open doors, I knocked the snow off my boots and headed in, unzipping my coat and looking for a place to toss it. A closet stood open in the foyer, and I had the luck to find a vacant coat hanger. Shoving my coat onto the overstuffed pole, I headed deeper into the house, which got both warmer and louder at every step.

"STAN!" Clyde pushed his way through a group of people at the base of the stairs and headed towards me. "Dude, it's about freaking time you got here!"

"Well, I'm here now, so the party can finally start," I joked, grinning. Clyde clapped me on the back, a little harder than usually, but considering the can of beer in his hand probably wasn't his first I considered myself lucky. Clyde was a big guy, with broad shoulders, and I regretted not having him on the football team the last two years.

"All right!" Clyde grinned happily, shoving me into the living room before him, "Dude, there's coolers, like, everywhere. Just, everywhere. Go crazy!"

"Clyde! It's snowing!" Some guy yelled out from near the front window. The large brunette next to me gave out a yell, and most of the people in the nearby regions of the house responded with cheers and whistles. I managed to sidestep away from Clyde as a group of guys tackled him, a happy little scuffle starting up as they all landed on the floor, and each other. Taking a glance around, I didn't notice either Kyle or Cartman, but I wasn't worried; they knew how to handle themselves, and as long as they were at the car in the morning, I didn't really care what kind of trouble they got themselves into. Well, as long as it didn't involve unexplainable injuries, or the cops.

"Here you go Stan," A can of PBR found my hand, and the sweet voice continued purring in my ear. "Good to see you finally made it."

I turned in time to see Bebe slip away into the crowd, with a sultry grin and a wink, hips rocking in her tight and much-too-short mini. I watched her go, head tilting as she turned a corner. Hot damn, slut or not, the girl had some fine ass curves on her. Shaking my head, grinning at myself more than anything else, I popped the tab on the can and took a swig of beer. The sooner I got wasted the better. Just, not on PBR.

"Goddammit, where the hell is the good stuff?" I muttered, trying to find a cooler. Trust Bebe to get you the worst beer out of all the choices Clyde had. At least it was cold.

I shoved past a few people, returning "Heys" and waving at others across the room. More than once I was stopped by either an over-excited half-drunk guy who wanted to do some super secret handshake I had no knowledge about before that moment, or by one of the long-legged, busty cheerleaders who apparently could not get enough of me at practice. I managed to get the last girl's hands off my crotch by shoving the now nearly empty beer can at her, and maneuvered towards what looked like a slightly less populated hallway.

Slightly less populated, as it turned out, because it led to the laundry room, and the only people going to there weren't looking for an audience. It was a good place to find, it turned out, as I spotted the edge of a cooler peeking out from behind a corner in the hallway. I headed down it, passing some people that I actually didn't know, and reached down to open the cooler before I'd even turned the corner. I got the cover open about an inch before it got slammed down, nearly taking a piece of my finger with it.

"Dammit!" I glared at whoever was hogging the cold box.

"Get your own fucking cooler," Kyle growled at me. He was sitting on the floor, legs pulled close nearly to his chest, and balancing a half-bottle of Jack Daniels on one knee.

"Dude. Don't be a beer hog," I crouched down on my side of the box, crossing my arms on the cover. He raised an eyebrow, one arm still laying across the top of the cooler.

"Fuck it, take one then. I dare you." He said, but his eyes said something else. I wasn't about to get on his bad side, especially when that meant getting a cooler lid slammed onto my arm. Instead I looked at him, closely. Overall, he wasn't looking good. He had bags under his eyes, and that same slight grimace of pain he'd had in the car.

"What's wrong? You look like shit…" I said finally, and Kyle shrugged, taking a swig of beer.

"Nothing," He said, leaning his head back and letting his eyes close halfway.

"Nothing is why you're sitting in a half-dark hallway by the laundry room, guarding a cooler full of beer?" I asked, and he snorted, sending a grin my way. He looked at me finally with something like amiability, and smacked my arms to get me to take them off the cooler.

"My head fucking hurts, that's all," He opened the cooler top, and held it open as I dug around in the ice. I finally found two bottles of JD and pulled them out.

"You all right? It looks like it's got you pretty bad…" I eyed him curiously, but he waved a hand at me, downing the rest of the beer in one gulp. Tossing the bottle aside carelessly he dug in the cooler himself.

"Nah, took some aspirin, I'll be fine," He pulled out a bottle of Sam Adams this time. Looking at the label for a second, he shrugged, and popped the cap off against the edge of the cooler before closing the lid.

"Oh yeah, meds and alcohol. Nice mix, KB," I said, chuckling, and he laughed. I stood up, shoving one bottle in my back pocket. Thank god for relaxed fit jeans. "You better not sit here getting drunk all night…"

"I'll get to the fucking party, don't you worry," He grinned at me, and I smiled back. With a final wave I turned around and headed back towards the main rooms. Music was blasting from speakers on the walls, and someone had changed it to some trippy euro-beats. I could barely hear my own thoughts, so anything anyone said to me was met with a grin and a nod. Thankfully, no one seemed to be saying anything nasty, and everyone who ran into me, and sometimes it was a literal run in, left with a smile on their faces.

I borrowed a bottle opener from one of my teammates, although I was a little surprised he heard me between the two pairs of cheerleader boobs crowding his head. Thankfully I managed to get away before the girls felt they needed to boost the quarterback's morale as well, and got to drinking. Downing that first bottle wasn't that difficult, especially since I was surrounded by dozens of idiots with identical grins plastered on their faces. I was one bottle in and already wondering what the hell everyone thought was so great and wonderful. Bad news; the self-doubt and feelings of worthlessness usually didn't hit until the fourth or fifth.

I'd tossed my empty bottle towards a standing garbage can, and starting to consider whether or not to start on the one stashed in my pocket, when I finally saw Kenny. Or rather, I saw evidence of Kenny. A giggling girl dashed past me, squealing, and I stuck out my arm in time to catch the blond as he was about to chase after her.

"Dammit, Stan," He gasped, glaring at me. I grinned, pulling the bottle out of my pocket and handing it over.

"You're lucky I didn't drink it already," I said, popping the cap off his beer with the opener and returning it to my pocket; I foresaw much more use coming out of it in the near future. "From what I hear all the good stuff's nearly gone."

"What?" Kenny paused only long enough to take a chug, "What the hell, we just got here…"

"It's Friday, what'd you expect?" I laughed, giving him a shove. He pushed me back, grinning, and ran a hand through his hair.

"Dude, thanks," Kenny raised the bottle as if in salute, "But if you stop me from chasing booty again tonight, I'll kick your fucking jock ass."

I raised my hands in defeat, and he headed off, following a nice pair of legs as they passed. Perfectly fine with me, I didn't exactly feel the need to be social tonight. Somehow I managed to drag my way past a group of people surrounding the couch and next to the large cooler in the living room. Thankfully, no one was hogging this cold box, and I snagged another three bottles; one for each back pocket, and one to drink. A flawless plan, and I've pulled it off before. Well, usually. As long as no one tried to tackle me, and as long as I managed to dodge those who did, I'd be fine. Popping the cap, I took a swig, grimacing at the taste. I had no idea what it was, but I didn't care. People were laughing around me, dancing the can-can on the couch, and the sooner I got too drunk to see straight the better.

****

I don't know how many beers I'd downed, but it seemed that putting back one more, and then one more after that, just seemed like a good idea. People were crowding everywhere, and between seeing doubles of everything, and not being able to walk in a straight line, I found myself staggering along the walls more often than not. It was easier not to fall when you had something solid at your back. It was easier not to get groped when you had something solid at your back as well.

I grabbed an abandoned bottle off a nearby table; it was still half full, and that was more than enough for me. Not thinking was easy when you're drowned in alcohol; no, that wasn't right. What was right was that I couldn't stop my thoughts from going places I wasn't sure they were supposed to be going. It was easier ignoring things when you're sober, there's control involved. Alcohol was supposed to be my savior, but for the past year all it's done is dig me in a deeper hole. I should've learned by now, but I was finding these flights into those rarely touched on corners of my mind just a bit entrancing. I knew where I was going to go. I was an ass. The more I drank the less I was able to keep myself from going there. The more I drank the less I cared about keeping myself away.

I found Cartman, somewhere. Somehow. I babbled about earthly limitations and humanity and how the hell anything was the way it was supposed to be if we were just a few months from eighteen and still had no idea how to make ourselves do things we wanted to do and why the hell were boxers hanging from the chandelier. Somewhere between checking to see if they were my boxers and ranting on the limitations of people's expectations of who we were supposed to be I realized that I was talking to a lamp and that I wasn't in the den anymore. For a while after I found myself hounded by hands, hands, I didn't know where they were coming from, or who they belonged to, but I didn't want to be anywhere near them. A dark haired, dark eyed busty lady cornered me in the game room; she was wearing black on black on black and it threw me, I'll be honest, and with her lips on mine and her hands weaving up under my shirt, I was surprised to find my brain screaming at me, but it did it anyway. I got out of there, my shirt hanging loose, trying to figure out if my fly was open or not and bumping into more people than actually were in the hallways. I thought I'd be able to get past it, or something, past anything, dammit, if everybody just stopped laughing for a minute.

Nothing would help it, at this point; it was becoming tradition. The second doorway on the left on the second floor; bedroom, bathroom, it was starting to matter less and less where we'd find ourselves, and with Bebe straddling me in the bathtub, skillful fingers already having pulled my shirt half off and descended to undo my belt buckle before I'd even finished the last gulp of beer in the can my thoughts were starting to matter less and less. Less. Goddamn, stop it. I dragged her down to me, crashing my lips into hers, feeling her half-naked body writhe against me, her tongue dipping into my mouth. I couldn't taste anything but sour beer and something like nachos; her hands were going south faster than I thought she could but her skin was cold and her tongue was cold and I didn't moan so much as whimper. Make it work, I practically begged her, my fingers dug into her back, rocking into her hands, make it work. Make it work. She was so cold.

I'd shoved her away thoughtlessly. When my eyes opened to the pale cream tiles of the ceiling above me I was as surprised as she was. Her mouth was a little 'o', as if she were in the middle of some sort of grand epiphany, but I was pulling myself out of the bathtub, the damned too deep bathtub, and I wasn't going to listen to whatever she was going to say. Out, and onto the floor, and with more alcohol in my system than I'd had in a while and my pants around my knees I was still surprised to find myself falling face first onto the cold tiles of the floor, elbow cracking hard against the toilet seat. I writhed there for a moment, trying to ignore the pain flaring up my arm and pull my pants back up. Bebe was sliding around in the bathtub, her face appearing suddenly above its edge, flushed and confused, her arm reaching out to point a finger at me accusingly. Accusingly. Did she know? My pants slipped up too easily; I'd slap a hand on my crotch myself if I thought it would tell me something other than what I knew. Her magic didn't work this time. Somehow I knew it wouldn't. Somehow I thought it would.

I pulled myself off the floor, left Bebe in the bathtub with that look on her face like she was trying to take apart all the problems in the world. Out, out, down the staircase, dammit, and not falling this time. Kenny called to me from a group, I think it was Kenny, with his blond hair messed up into a glorified halo, his eyes shining with too much booze and gratuitous lust, and I shied away, sliding along the wall towards the front of the house, down the hallway. Out, out. I got to the closet, dammit, I got there. I wanted to sob. Fate was a bitch, bitch, and I pulled out almost all the coats before finding mine, hanging pleased as can be on its stupid little hangar. Kicked the rest of the coats back into the closet. Pulled the coat on. The door.

Cold air has the amazing ability to sober on contact. I shook instantly, with my coat zipped up beneath my chin and my hands in my pockets. I was hot but I was shaking and I tried to find Orion but the sky above was cloudy. I couldn't see, so I stumbled off across the lawn, through snow I was almost glad was there. At knee high—higher? – it somehow kept me from stumbling more than I should have been. A fact, yes, one that I didn't appreciate until I'd reached the sidewalk, with its lower level of snow, and stumbled so bad I nearly cracked my head open on my own car.

I was sitting in the snow. This was obviously a bad move, but not a conscious one. It was probably better than cracking my head open on my own car. I stood up, gripping the handle on the back door to help. There was a thick layer of white on the Civic, and I could only barely make out where the windows were. I took a few deep breaths, trying to get my reeling head from blasting off to space. Two steps down the sidewalk, and I was on my knees, stomach heaving, brain headed out somewhere between Neptune and Pluto.

Dammit. Pluto wasn't even a planet, was it? I shuddered, got the great idea of stuffing snow in my mouth to kill the taste. Struggling to my feet, I sidestepped, shuffled more like it, around the puddle of vomit melting through the snow next to my car, and stumbled onward. My hands stuffed themselves into my pockets again. I pulled them out holding my car keys, some lint, some change, and a piece of gum. Well, then. Why not. Almost dropping the keys and change, I managed to get the gum into my mouth and dropped the rest back into my pockets. Shuddered again. Damn winter, damn everything. Damn. Everything.

I stopped suddenly. I was thinking clearer, at least. That didn't help when I looked back and realized I'd walked farther than I'd thought, and didn't know where in hell I was anymore. A sudden blast of wind made me regret walking outside at all. Cold, cold. Just like Bebe. I shuddered, closing my eyes. Wincing. She didn't work, not anymore. She didn't work anymore, and if she didn't work, would anything?

I was tired, I realized. So damn tired. Maybe what I was trying to tell Cartman, or the lamp, was true. Maybe it was time to start making decisions, start doing what I wanted to do. I opened my eyes; the world spun around me. I stumbled off again, desperately wishing, wishing…

I better forget this all in the morning. All of it. The not-being-able-to-stop-thinking-about-it part. The I-don't-really-want-to-stop-thinking-about-it part. The there's-a-giant-fucking-piece-of-me-missing-in-the-middle part. The I-know-exactly-what-needs-to-be-there part.

I rubbed my face, and it was wet, and it wasn't snowing. At all.

I wanted out.

So I took a turn at the signpost that wasn't actually covered in snow, and counted the blocks and took the turn at the oak tree that got split by a lightning bolt when I was fifteen and headed down to stop in front of a fence of a house that looked too cheery for my mood that evening. Night. Morning. What the hell time was it, anyways? I leaned on the wooden picket fence, nearly falling over it before I realized it was only three feet high, and tried to look at my watch. The watch I would be wearing on my right arm, I thought. Unless it was my left arm. Although, it didn't really much matter, with the way my hands were shaking I wasn't able to lift either one of my sleeves, so I started laughing instead, which seemed a little strange.

"Stan?"

I jerked around at the voice, which was a mistake. Or, almost a mistake. I might have saved some of my dignity by catching hold of the fence before I went face forward over it, but then again I might have lost more than I saved by bending nearly all the way over it as I tried to stop myself. Pushing myself back up into as good a standing position I could, I squinted and pointed a finger at stupid Red standing on the other side of the stupid fence with his stupid hair and his stupid hat that looked so good on his stupid self.

"Fuck you." I meant it. And just to make sure he knew I meant it, I shook my finger at him as well. Menacingly, I thought. He looked… well, I couldn't tell how he looked, since I was having trouble focusing with the blurriness and the darkness outside.

"It's almost midnight." He said, evenly. Evenly.

"Well then," I answered right back, dropping both hands to steady myself on the fence.

"What are you doing here?" He asked. Evenly, again. Steadily, as that is also a word I could use.

"I'll… I'll tell you what… dammit…" I assured him, walking along the fence. "As… as soon as I… damn… find the gate."

"A little to your left," Red supplied, and I stumbled in the direction he indicated, realized I was heading in the wrong left direction, and stumbled back the other way. The gate found, I opened it like I owned it, or at least knew how it worked, and stumbled on through. Turning to face him was tricky on the snowy ground, with no fence nearby to help, but I managed it.

"You." I said it clearly, in case he was thinking I was talking about someone else. Just to make sure he understood, however, I said it again. "You. Left on the bus."

"…I did…" He answered, slowly. Maybe he thought I wouldn't get it. I got it, all right.

"I was… supp… supposed to talk to you," I reminded him, "But you left. On the bus."

There was a long pause before he replied, during which I shook and wondered why since I didn't feel cold at all. I couldn't feel my fingers.

"You're drunk." He stated. It wasn't even a question. Usually people give me the benefit of the doubt.

"Well, you. You. Are stupid." I stated, just as well. I think he might've sighed, but I couldn't hear well over my chattering teeth.

"You came from the party?" He asked. I might've grinned, I don't know. It was a question! One I could answer.

"Yes." I said, vaguely wondering if I would be graded. No, wait, that was in school. "Why do you live so f…far away?"

Red wasn't listening to me, or at least I didn't think he was. He was looking out past the fence, his head moving like he was looking for something, and then he was looking at me again. I thought I could focus his face this time; it looked… kind of… surprised or something.

"You walked?"

I would've answered; that was another question I'd get right. The scenery changed before I could, and I found myself being dragged, or maybe pushed, with the house that was still looking too damn cheery for my mood straight in front of me.

"Wait, what? What?" I tried to look around, but then I was forced up steps and it took all my concentration, and an arm across Red's shoulders, to get up them. I leaned on the wall next to the door as he pulled out his keys. Frowned. Reached out and grabbed the hat off of his head. Wobbling a bit, I managed to put on myself.

"This stupid hat won't help in this kind of weather," I mumbled, trying to figure out how to get it to sit on my head right.

"Shut up," Red pulled me into his house before I got a good look of his face, but I thought it was closer to a glare than I'd ever seen before.

Inside it was dark, no lights on anywhere. I stumbled forward on my own, and was rewarded by running into the coffee table. Dammit, I swallowed my gum too. Red appeared out of nowhere, muttering something under his breath, and dragged me onward through his house. Somehow we managed not to run into anything, much, but I swear that wall came out of nowhere. At least I still had the hat on my head when he pushed me into his room.

He closed the door, and there was darkness everywhere before a light flickered on. It was a small lamp on the bedside table, a cool one with a lampshade with spiders and spider web designs on a deep orange-red background. I stared at it for a long moment; it was mesmerizing.

"Why are you here?" Red asked, and made me turn around too fast for the second time that night. I found myself seated on the floor, facing him where he sat on the edge of his bed. At least his rug was pretty thick, although I was sure my ass would beg to differ. I grinned. He didn't look amused.

"Where were you going?" I asked. Then realized I hadn't answered his question. He frowned, I could see him a bit more clearly now.

"Doesn't matter." He was a bit snappy. I wondered why. I wondered why he had been wearing the hat that wouldn't do him too much good in this weather.

"So, like…" I started, stopped. He was giving me a strange look. I wondered what I was doing there. "… and yeah, I really didn't like All American Rejects anyway…"

"…What?" He looked tired all of a sudden, and thoroughly lost.

"I threw it out my window." I added, since it seemed to be missing in my previous sentence.

"You threw what out…" He stopped himself, and that strange look came back to his face. He crossed his arms on his knees and stared at me.

It was getting a little hard to sit up without any support, so I pulled myself over next to the bed, leaned back against the bedside table so I could still look at Red without having to twist my neck around. He was starting to look a little sad, and that was starting to scare me, just a little, because usually he looked detached, and apathetic, and he could really start looking annoyed when I was involved, but that was about as far as his range of facial expressions went. It was making words boil up in my head that I was trying not to get out of my mouth but alcohol had been letting me down lately so what the hell, why not tonight as well?

"You still got your coat on," I noted, keeping myself in check. I didn't know what I was doing here. Things were getting to me a lot slower than I wanted them to.

"So do you," Red answered. I shrugged, stared down at my zipper and tried to figure out which arm I was supposed to pull out first. No, first the zipper, then the arms. I might've flailed around a bit, but I got the coat off. I looked up at Red, but he was still sitting as he had been, coat still on.

"Wait." Sudden realization made me grab my coat again. "Dammit. Home."

"Stop."

I did, looked up at Red curiously. He sighed, and I heard him this time.

"You're not going anywhere." He said, unzipping his own coat. "You're drunk. You'll probably get lost and freeze to death."

He stood up, shrugging out of his coat, and walked over to pick mine up. I watched him, entranced. I was way past the point of lying by now. I was way past the point of caring. It was too damn hard to be cold for so long. So long. Dammit, black on black on black didn't do it for me. I mean, it wasn't the key to my libido. It wasn't going to open any doors. There was light glinting of the D-rings sewed into the front of his sleeveless shirt, though, and I could always blame that for not being able to look away. That and not the play of the fishnet moving over his arms as he tossed both our coats onto a chair in the corner of the room. He turned around, flicking his bangs out of his eyes as he headed back towards the bed, and I grinned. And he stopped, gave me that look again, that wasn't looking quite so strange this time. I couldn't stop grinning, and he finally sat down on the bed again. He looked at me, sort of, and sort of fiddled with the leather bracer on his left arm.

"Because, you know, Bebe," I started, gripping the comforter on the bed and trying to pull myself up. I managed to get myself halfway up somehow before I realized I should probably use my legs to help. I looked over to see if I could get any help from Red, but he wasn't looking at me, but at some spot somewhere in front of him, so I dug my boots into the rug and tried again. The world reeled for a second, and I lay face down on the bed, inhaling the scent of smoke tinged with cloves, and heavy incense, and I kind of wished I wouldn't have to move for a long, long time. My mind started screaming at me again; I never understood how it got these things before I did.

"Bebe's like… all over. All over. Me, usually…" I pushed myself up, managing to twist myself somehow so that I was facing Red's back. Which was wrong, so I scooted over to the edge of the bed and got my feet on the floor. Hah, firm foundation. I turned to him, but he was still looking out somewhere. He was frowning, not bad like, but he was doing a number on that leather bracer of his. "Like tonight. Totally. But, you know, she was cold."

I paused; did he know? The cold? Did he know what it was like? I wavered slightly; what if I was all wrong? What if, what if…

"You know, how.. it's like, cold. Everywhere. Everything's cold." I scooted closer to him, hips practically touching. "Do you know?"

He wasn't responding, and from this angle I couldn't tell what his expression was. I couldn't tell if he was listening to me. I leaned a little closer, trying to get a peek of his face.

"Red?" I asked, surprised to hear my voice come out softer, surprised to hear it wavering a little. I could deal with action; I couldn't deal with him being all quiet. Sometimes I thought I couldn't deal with him, at all, but then I thought I couldn't deal without him, either, and that's when my brain usually shut down and I fell asleep.

"What?" He snapped, finally, and jerked around to face me.

Well, I hadn't realized how close I'd gotten to him. And he probably hadn't either. Half an inch, and we'd be bumping noses. I was staring into his eyes, and I couldn't decide whether they were a really, really dark brown, or some sort of shade of black, which wouldn't make sense, but it didn't really matter. They were his eyes. And they were, at that moment, entirely and wholly open. And behind that openness, beyond the surprise, there was hurt. And a shade of gray that seemed to match the same coldness I've been trying to run from. His breath was on my lips.

I didn't know about time then; no fast forward or slow down or staccato dance.

My eyes were closed; my lips were pressing against his, desperately. Hungrily. I was pushing against him so hard I thought we were both going to fall over, or maybe we did, my head was spinning so bad, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference. I didn't want to tell the difference. Oh, hell. Oh hell. I could hear my heart, but it was in my ears, and I didn't know if that was a good sign or not.

I pulled away because I was scared. No, scratch that. I was terrified. I wanted out, again, only I didn't think the cold outside could do too much with the burning that was starting up somewhere. I thought I was shaking. I couldn't be sure. I could be sure, however, of the fact that I couldn't pull away more than an inch, and I could also be sure that the reason I couldn't pull away more than an inch was because someone had their hand on the back of my head.

I opened my eyes; I was shaking. I was looking into Red's eyes again, desperately. My hands found his waist, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. I could feel him beneath it.

"I'm doing this because I'm drunk—NO." I cut myself off, eyes closing, clenched my fingers in his shirt desperately. I could feel his fingers moving in my hair, I could feel him pull the hat off of my head. "No, that's not… I'm drunk, but that's not… I mean…"

"Shhh…" Red pressed his forehead against mine; I shuddered at his movements, shivered as his lips touched across my cheek, my jawline.

"I'm stupid…" I whispered it, pulled closer to him, wrapped my arms around his waist as he pushed himself closer as well. "I'm an ass. I'm slow."

I pressed my face against his neck, breathed in the scent of smoke and something spicy. I wanted to kiss him, but then I realized I already was, lips on his neck, sucking softly. I could feel him shudder against me; his hands were tangling in my hair almost painfully. I was pretty sure I wanted to bite him, just to see, and I did, right above the shirt's neckline, and maybe a little too hard, but his gasp turned into a low moan, and the fire flared somewhere inside. I pulled away from his neck, found his lips again. Crushed against him, lips and body and everything, and it was sloppy, I knew it, and I wished I wasn't drunk. I wished I wasn't drunk. Then his tongue was in my mouth, and I wasn't wishing anything anymore, except that maybe this might never end. My hands fumbled along his sides, trying desperately to find the edge of his shirt, but I kept getting distracted by the tongue stud I never really noticed before. My fingers found the edge finally, and I ran my hands up his side, reveling in the texture of the fishnet shirt stretched taut across his skin.

We were apart, suddenly, he'd pulled away. Hands were tugging at my shirt, pulling it up over my body, and reluctant as I was to do it I pulled my hands out from under his shirt and gave him a hand. My shirt went… somewhere, and suddenly I was on my back, staring up at the dark ceiling and the goth who was now straddling my hips, panting slightly. My hands found his knees, and I wouldn't have minded if they went on to find more, dammit. Dammit. I wanted him down here, but instead he was unbuckling the bracer on his left arm, all three buckles, sliding the leather strap out of each one before finally pulling the whole thing off and tossing it aside. He looked at me, eyes dark, smoldering. A smile flickered across his face; my fingers clenched slightly on his knees, my breath hitching. His hand slid his shirt's zipper down, and with a shrug and a slight twist he slipped it off and tossed it aside. Nothing now but that fishnet shirt underneath, black lines intersecting all across his pale skin. He paused for a moment, but then his hands were pulling that off as well, discarding it as easily as all the rest. Nothing now, nothing but him, him and his creamy skin, the faint lines of the last of his ribs, the small dark dot on his hip right above the edge of his pants.

I didn't know where to look, but then his face was in mine and his lips were on mine and his body was pressing against me, hard, and my arms were around him, and I was pressing up against him, hips rolling against his. Oh god. I moaned into his mouth; I was clawing his back, I knew it, I couldn't stop. His hands were on me, everywhere, everywhere, I couldn't keep track of anything, not his moving, not the way he was grinding against me as desperately as I was grinding against him, our hips trying to find some rhythm in the frenzy. He was hot. His skin was hot. His tongue, twisting against mine, was hot.

Oh fuck.