Consistent

BY : RandomJaz
Category: +S through Z > South Park
Dragon prints: 7346
Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or any of it's characters, nor do I profit from this fanfiction.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, Guys! Guess who survived the flu and a vicious sinus infection that lasted two fucking weeks? THIS BITCH. All while college classes started, again. I was literally living off electrolyte drinks, Nyquil, and a prescribed antibiotic. It was horrible and wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.

I was up to my neck in tissues and homework when all I wanted to do is sleep. I've been "not sick" for about two weeks, now. But honestly, I'm still not feeling so great. However, the show much always go on.

Thanks for reading! 😊 And, thank you for the feedback AO3 site readers! Much appreciated.

Xxxxx

"Pete...you drive me crazy..."

I've been here before. Under Stan, letting him pull clothing off me piece by piece. Peeling away black layers, looking for pale skin underneath. Essentially wiping soot off his precious ivory.

He went until I had nothing but a strip of ribbon around my neck, and the underwear I kept on to keep him from feasting at the full sight of me. He had all his clothes on, too immersed in what he was doing to undress himself. This was more important. He'd been thinking about it all day long.

"So crazy..." Stan caressed down my stomach.

"No." I caught his hand.

He wasn't used to being told that by people. Sometimes I said no to him just because I could. It was new, for him- Not having all the power at the tips of his fingers. He wasn't the one in control here.

"Pete..."

His big blue eyes tried to work their magic on me.

"They stay on."

"But, why?" Stan pushed. "I've seen everything before."

"Because, I said so."

It still didn't dawn on him that he was fully dressed. My black underwear was the end of the world, right now. His world. He couldn't wipe away that last black smudge off his ivory trinket.

"Mean." Stan pouted in to my cheek, kissing me affectionately despite it. "Playing hard to get."

"Someone has to say no to your spoiled ass, every now and then."

Stan settled for pawing at me through the fabric. With a hand full of ass, he kissed down the side of my face to my neck. He sucked softly, wetting my skin with harmless suckles.

"Why does it have to be you?"

"Because, no one else will."

My head rolled back a little on the pillow. Stan sucked a smidge harder, still leaving what unblemished skin I had left on my neck intact. He slowly pulled his lips back. I felt his front teeth nibble me.

"Don't even think about it." I warned before he could start testing his luck, again.

"You'd look so hot with a hickey." Stan licked just above my collar bone. "Right here...just one."

"I said no."

He groaned, more turned on than annoyed. I think he secretly liked how difficult I was. The chase kept him coming back for more. I was a challenge when I wanted to be.

"One day, you're going to be all mine." Stan pressed himself down in to me. "You'll have to be nicer to me, then."

"In your dreams."

"I dream about you all the time...usually with your ass in my hands, or my cock in your mouth. Sometimes, you're just naked and I'm running my hands all over you."

I played it off like I didn't care, but I was invested in where he was going. Stan dreamed about me...reliving our intimate encounters. Heavy petting and sloppy, amateur blow jobs...and something else he wanted.

"Can I touch you?" Stan asked.

It was a vague question. To make sure I understood him, he clarified.

"You know…back there." He added.

I didn't need the clarification. There was only one reason he'd even ask to begin with.

"Because that went so well the first time, right?" I rebuffed his question with one of my own.

I pulled away with a screech, the first time. Stan was inexperienced, naively going off some porno probably. Because his finger wasn't as big as his dick, or anything else that could potentially go in someone's delicate areas, he assumed my ass would magically be ready with little preparation or warming up.

"I said I was sorry...we could try, again. I could get it right, this time."

"That why you want my underwear off so bad?" I accused him.

"I'll be gentler." He promised. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'd never hurt you, on purpose."

I said "No" enough times to him today. And, I had enough time to get over his mistake…sort of.

Not really. I just wanted to give him something else to dream about. Another reason to remember me when he shuts his eyes.

"Take it slow." I narrowed my eyes. "And, use something slippery. Sucking your fingers doesn't count."

"What do you have lying around that's slippery?"

"I'll look."

Being at my house meant it was my responsibility to find him some make-shift lubricant. Stan tossed off his shirt when I went to look for something. The body lotion from my bathroom was cold and slimy on his fingers, but I welcomed it over useless saliva. Laying beside me, he rubbed at my entrance, trying to coax me in to letting him in.

I wasn't opening up. I turned my face away. Stan nuzzled me, trying to coax me over.

"It feels like you're avoiding me when you do that." Stan complained.

"I don't want to look you in the face while you're fingering me."

"C'mon...let me see those green eyes."

I wouldn't budge.

"We do it my way, or we don't do it at all." I threatened, although I already had a fingertip making its way inside me.

Stan got it in, slipping in to the first knuckle. I tensed up, reflexively. He stopped, waiting for me to relax.

"That hurt?" He checked

"Not yet."

"I told you, I'm going to be gentler. I don't want to hurt you."

He moved the tip of finger in and out, testing my resistance to it.

"I want you to like it..." Stan's voice dropped. "You have no idea how much that would turn me on."

With time, he worked his whole middle finger inside me. Sliding up from the first knuckle, past the second knuckle. This was farther than we made it last time.

I kept waiting for that sharp jolt of pain to get me. For Stan to get brave and fuck up. It wasn't happening. He was watching to make sure I was okay as he experimentally touched me. This wasn't anything magical, but I kind of liked the feeling and relaxed since it didn't hurt. I audibly sighed in relief.

"That's tight." Stan savored the grip I had around his finger. "You're so warm inside...Can I keep going?"

"If you're careful."

He asked me to spread my legs wider, so he'd have more room to move. I obliged. Aside from the faint wet sound of Stan's fingers inside me, and him suckling my neck, it was quiet for a while. I let myself go limp, trusting that he wasn't going to pull any sudden moves and send me screeching up towards the ceiling.

"Can I add another one?" He asked after I laid there without complaint. "Is that okay?"

"…"

"I'll stop if it hurts."

When I told him it was fine, I didn't think he was going to get up from beside me to kneel between my legs. He had a full frontal-view of me. I had nothing to be ashamed of, but I wanted to crawl inside a hole. I couldn't hide my face now. Not without blatantly making the effort to cover it with my hands.

Two fingers inside me, I took them with less ease. I held my breath, twisting the bed covers between my fingers at the sensation of being stretched. Stan took a moment to add more lotion where my ass and his finger were connected. A lot more.

"That's cold." I crawled away an inch. "Don't put so much."

"It'll warm up." Stan pulled me back in. "Better safe than sorry."

The wet sound of his fingers drew too much attention to what he was doing down there. I was obsessing over it, self-consciously.

"Your face is pink." Stan pointed out, unnecessarily.

"God, can you look somewhere else?" I criticized.

"I like looking at you. Honestly, I didn't think you could blush. That's really cute."

He wouldn't ever look at Wendy like this. It was my dream that he'd never look at anyone else like this. Like he was in love with the perfect person.

"Take a picture." I pretended I wasn't flattered. "It'll last longer."

Excitement flashed through his blue eyes.

"Can I?" he asked.

"What the fuck?" I snapped, completely taken back. "No! I was being sarcastic!"

Now that Stan got the idea in his head, he wanted a picture for his phone.

"I'll take it from your neck down. Your face won't be in it."

"Stan, I should break your fucking phone for even suggesting that."

"…you never send me nudes."

If I sent him nudes, it was less incentive for him to come see the real thing. After so long, he'd get cravings…and needs. Besides. I wasn't a picture taker.

"You don't get any pictures." I told him. "If you want me, you come get the real thing."

"Come get the real thing, huh?" Stan read too deeply in to my words. "Is that an invitation?"

Xxxxx

Sometime in the night, I woke up flustered but not really understanding why. My mind was muddled, my skin was hot, and all I knew was something was definitely up... Just didn't think it'd be my dick.

At least Mike wasn't awake to witness this…Or, that's what I thought.

"Interesting dream?" A voice piped up.

It was coming back to me, crawling it's way towards the front of my mind. Mike knew I'd been up to something interesting in dream land.

"I guess." I coughed, cramming that dream back where it came from.

Shit, I hope I didn't talk in my sleep.

"It must've been." Mike sounded far too interested. "Care to share?"

"Not really, no."

"It's not nice to keep secrets, baby bat~"

I woke up before I could soil the front of my boxers. But, my cock was alert and sensitive to touch. Mike touched me between my legs, looking for what he knew was there. He just brushed the fabric and I gasped.

"Don't." I thwarted his hand.

"Oh, do you want to do it, yourself?"

"N-No! I'm not doing anything."

I wasn't home alone in my room. I couldn't just reach down the front of my underwear and deal with this!

"But, it's so hard…" Mike's voice took on that seductive purr. "You're just going to waste that?"

Mike went for my chest, instead, and rubbed at one nipple. He traced it in circles over my shirt. His breath was hot outside my ear. Every nerve ending on my body gave a spark, sending a hot fuse down my body. I snatched his wrist, moving his hand off of me, again.

"You like that, don't you?" Mike wasn't holding back, feeling the charge coming off me. "Let me stroke it."

"Did you forget where we are?" I came close to hissing it at him, under my breath.

Though, I was shamefully turned on by his boldness. Vlad was in bed, in the same room as us. Feet away. Mike was brave.

"He's asleep." Mike assured me.

"That doesn't mean-"

Pressing his lips on mine to shush me, Mike brushed away the hand guarding my crotch. He smirked in to the kiss, pushing the hem of my shirt up so he could slide down and lick wet circles around the nipple he hadn't gotten to.

My arousal stirred up something fierce in Mike. He straddled one of my thighs between his, squeezing and rubbing himself in to me while he teased my chest with his mouth. This glittery twink with a revealed deviant side had once been a goody-goody Banana Republic poster child. Now, he was riding me through his underwear as hard as he could without making noise in the presence of a sleeping third-party.

"This will hurt if you leave it." He smoothly disappeared under the sheets. "We can't have that…"

The ends of his hair brushed the tops of my thighs. Mike freed my erection, kissing downward. He was so light, careful not to overstimulate me too fast.

Coming back up towards the head of my cock, he teased me with the tip of his tongue just peeking out past his lips. As wrong as this was, I didn't actually want him to stop. I was so pent up that had Mike been asleep and not put me in this situation, I would have snuck off to the bathroom to rub one out.

Inching down the elastic band of my underwear a little more, Mike traced the hollows and curvature of my hip bone with his thumbs. I felt his warm breath hit me before he took me in his mouth. You'd think I never had a blowjob before, the way I melted under him, just so grateful for the attention to my cock.

Vlad being in the room kept my mind on high alert. I listened closely for any indication he wasn't still asleep, reinvesting my energy in to just keeping quiet when Mike snaked one hand back up to my chest.

He sucked at me, slowly massaging my sensitive flesh with that wet heat until I was close. All too conveniently, he would ease back and resume kissing my cock before I could finish. Mike alternated between kissing to calm me down, and flicking his tongue at the tip, in that spot he knew drove me wild, to work me back up again.

I laid there for I don't know how long, silently begging for him to let me finish. It felt like an eternity. I didn't dare utter a word aloud.

Xxxxx

I slept like a rock thanks to the help of Vlad's mother's medication, and Mike's late-night opportunist activities. I woke up to a dim room with the television on, and an empty spot besides me. It was still warm. Mike was here not long ago. Where'd that deviant little blood sucker disappear to?

"Look who woke up." Mike coo'ed when he came in, finding me awake and groggy with bedhead.

I didn't know what time it was. But, I could gather from Mike's gentle, lax tone that he hadn't been up long. Just taking it easy. Mike tousled my messy bangs, smiling like I was the cutest thing. To him, maybe I was.

"Morning..."

"You look so sleepy." he smothered my cheek with kisses.

"You look pleased with yourself."

Mike just smiled. He was pleased with himself. And, the blowjob I nervously gave him under the sheets. You know, after he drove me to the brink of insanity with his fucking teasing.

"Want some coffee?" Mike changed the topic, but his eyes still glittered with contentment.

"I'd love some coffee." I accepted, short and sweet. "Hold the nympho. Just cream and sugar."

Mike started the maker while I was sleeping. He was a frequent enough guest at Vlad's that navigating the kitchen, and its, appliances was just as much his turf as it was Vlad's. Getting that mug delivered right to me, Mike sat alone with me in Vlad's room. Vlad was outside walking the dog.

I made it to the bottom of the mug, no more alert than I'd been before drinking it. I leaned my weight in to Mike, having a slightly harder time shaking off the sleep from the medication Vlad gave me. The television that was left on from the night before had the news on.

"A local South Park man was hospitalized from injuries sustained late last night. According to officials, he was heavily intoxicated. He remains in critical condition, but thankfully no others were injured. He will be charged with driving under the influence, reckless endangerment, and damage to public property."

Mike tapped his nails on my empty mug with "I heart my Pitbull" printed along the shiny white ceramic.

"More coffee?" he offered.

"Coffee won't fix this."

"It's not to fix anything, it's for you. Because you like it."

I said I had enough, putting the tacky mug somewhere I couldn't knock it over and break it. It clearly meant something to someone.

"That crash should've killed him." I muttered, not bitter, but amazed.

"He's lucky." Mike watched some footage someone took on their cellphone. "People have died from less."

Seeing his alcoholism broadcasted for the whole town to see wasn't going to lay a scratch on me. It was a matter of time before he did something like this. I just didn't want it affecting my mother. People in small towns like to talk.

"Thank God that I'm eighteen." I commented.

Mike didn't understand where my comment came from.

"Why?"

"Child protective services can't come knocking on my door anymore. Social workers are fucking annoying...not as annoying as the gossipy townsfolk. My poor mom."

"What about you?"

Dead or alive, Dad didn't set the bar for my quality of life. I let him go a long time ago. We were never close. Mom and I drifted apart...but, she never washed her hands of me.

"I don't care what people think of me, Mike. My dad's a bum, not my fault."

"You just don't want anyone gossiping about your mother?" he asked.

Everyone could leave my mother out of their mouths.

"What right do they have to gossip?" I asked back. "You can't control a drunk. I think Mom held everything down really well for how long this has been going on."

"You both did. He has a problem, and needs help."

However Dad's court date played out, it was almost guaranteed he'd be forced in to some type of treatment for his alcoholism. If he put the work in, he'd have a chance at being a person again.

But, he'd be alone. Mom and I didn't want him around.

xxxxx

Vlad's parents went to work, leaving us the house to ourselves New Year's Day. Being that Mike and Vlad were so comfortable with each other, Mike wasn't in a rush to get dressed and leave. Nothing was amiss, but I felt paranoid like Vlad knew what debauchery Mike and I had been up to.

Vlad was a friendly guy. He had that chill vibe about him that made it easy to get along with him even if you weren't officially his friend by conventional standards. He smiled at people when he talked, and looked you in the eye if you let him.

I over thought his friendly grin all morning. Did he know? I'd never live it down if he knew.

Not for nothing, the guy reminded me so much of Stan. He had a strong jawline, and naturally black hair growing in to his dyed purple ends. Against my character, I wished he would put in those dumb red vampire contacts to cover up those blue eyes. Being home meant he had no intentions of doing so.

He had pajamas and a muscle tank on that showed he worked out. From what I could see of his broad shoulders and arms, they were toned. He really, really looked like Stan.

I stuck around for a bit, but decided I wanted to go whether or not Mike was coming with me. I had something I needed to deal with. Fast.

Xxxxx

"Just friends?"

Stan said it aloud, disappointed. But, grateful for the opportunity.

"Just friends." I confirmed. "That's right."

"...It's better than you ignoring me."

Stan didn't fight me when I broke the news to him. He was learning, it looked like. He could be my friend, or be nothing to me. Those were his options. The same one's I'd basically given Michael for a while now.

"We live two different lives, Stan. This is for the best." I explained to him, though it felt like I was talking to myself. "We're better off as friends."

"Is Mike okay with this?"

"He suggested it..."

"Why would he do that?"

Mike was down to Earth and level-headed. He was secure. More importantly, he was confident that I wouldn't go back in to hiding after having tasted unapologetic freedom. I'd been liberated.

Why would anyone ever dig themselves back in to a hole? Wild, right?

"I care about you, I just can't be with you. He respects that."

I'd willingly let Stan in my room for this conversation. This was the only place he felt safe enough to have it. In a way, it felt more tense having him here by choice.

Like last time, he was in the bean bag and I was in my desk chair. I didn't want to sit on the bed with him.

"I still love you." Stan warned me. "Even if we're friends."

"You're gonna have to get over that."

"Mike can't take it away from me."

"Let's not argue. Okay?"

It was a bluff. I couldn't argue today, I wouldn't. There was too much emotion in arguing.

"You promise we're friends?" Stan asked like this deal was too good to be true. "You're not just saying that?"

"I promise we're friends."

Stan held his arms out, opening up that space between them that I'd fit perfectly in.

"Prove it." He challenged. "Give me a hug."

"...how does that prove anything?" I stalled. "Not all friends hug each other. Believe me."

"If we're friends and you really care about me, prove it. Show me."

Skeptical that he was trying to pull something, I didn't get up out of my chair right away. Stan kept his arms out.

"I need to know this is real."

"No funny business, Stan."

Since he was in the bean bag chair, I had to kneel down on the floor to hug him. It was an awkward position. I tried hugging him from the side so I could get it over with fast.

"A real hug, Pete." Stan stopped me and brought me closer, up in his lap a little.

I lightly laid myself in to Stan and wrapped my arms around him. Stan hugged me back, not so delicately.

"Awesome, you really mean it. That makes me so happy."

"It does?"

"I don't want you to hate me."

I scratched absentmindedly at his shirt. This was one of his favorites. It fit him well. Gave him extra room around his broad shoulders. He had trouble finding T-Shirts that fit that way. A lot of his shirts were fitted because of that.

"I never actually hated you, Stan...I hated the stupid shit you did. The way it made me feel."

"You don't have to deal with that anymore."

"Yeah…"

Stan wasn't letting go. I think he was smelling me because his nose was buried in my hair. The red patch at the crown of my head.

"Stan?"

"…I saw your Dad on the news this morning." He carefully, but swiftly, started in to that topic.

"You, and everyone else in South Park."

He started fiddling with my shirt, too. Smoothing down a piece at the base of my spine that wasn't wrinkled.

"I'm relieved you weren't in the car with him."

"I had my chance to die. I blew it, the first time."

I didn't mean it. It was a joke. A bad one. But, A joke. Stan never liked when I joked about killing myself, before it almost happened. After... it become too real.

"Don't say stuff like that." He whispered. "That never should have happened."

"…sorry." I whispered back.

I never said sorry to him. For anything. Ever. I was an asshole to virtually everyone, and Stan was included. There was a pregnant pause.

"You'll never do anything like that again, right? Doesn't matter what time it is, call me if you're ever in a bad place like that."

Stan held on, refusing to let go until I made the first move to end the embrace. I wasn't letting go. We were at a stalemate. Neither of us acknowledged it aloud.

"Mike keeps me stable...he's good at it."

"I was pissed at Mike...but, you look better since being with him." Stan admitted since he technically had nothing to lose by doing so. "He's taking care of you, how I should've."

"I can't look that different." I denied. "It hasn't even been that long."

"You put on weight, you sound better, your hair looks healthy...you...you look good, Pete."

Stan looked at me adoringly.

"Not that you don't always look good...you just look different. In a good way."

I did look different. I carried myself a little differently. I was becoming a person, again. If Stan could see that, I wondered who else could.

"I'm still me."

"Keep it that way."

With nothing to say, I resigned to getting up with the other bean bag in mind. I shifted back, pushing off Stan's chest with my palms at his shoulders. I would have moved if there weren't hands keeping me placed.

"Can...can I hold you a little longer? It's been so long."

Stan was so painfully lonely. Craving touch. Looking for comfort.

I was something that he could tangibly clutch close to him, feel its pulse, and know it felt his back. In this world where no one else ever stopped to ask me if I was okay, I once resented him for being part of it. I should've remembered to ask him if he was okay.

"Stan...you okay?"

The question struck a chord in him, somewhere. A deep, melancholy chord. His blue eyes puddled. I used my sleeve to catch a tear rolling down his cheek, wiping it away. I wordlessly laid back in to his embrace.

His world wasn't perfect. Compared to mine, I thought it was. There was more to Stan's world than this big ruse he lived to be an athlete. He was living a lie in fear it was the only chance he had to follow his dream. This wasn't fun for him. It had never been fun for him.

"I don't know much longer I can do this." Stan was choking up. "I missed you so much. Bebe's been making my life Hell. I don't know what to do. There's nobody else I can tell."

Xxxxxxx

Being back in school for January didn't tickle anyone pink. The sooner the days went by though, the quicker we'd be done with the place. I had more than graduation on my mind, that day.

Bebe Stevens had Stan non consensually wrapped around her little finger. Sadistically pulling his strings and making him dance like her little puppet. Wendy scorned them both, but chose to let it go. She focused her energy in to school, eyes on the bigger prize: college.

I had mine on that blonde cunt's cellphone. Stan's soul and freedom were locked in there. She texted with it at the top of the stairs, a big wad of bubble gum in her mouth and Stan right by her side. She was taunting him with the key to his handcuffs.

It was hallway rush hour. The bell rang and students were buzzing in all directions, looking for their lockers, rushing down the stairwell and hurrying to either make the bus or get to their cars. Bebe had somewhere she planned to take Stan as soon as she was done texting whoever the fuck it was on the other end of that brain-dead conversation.

"Lola and I want to go get our nails done. You don't mind driving us, right?" Bebe asked with sickeningly fake concern. "Of course, you don't."

Her fake acrylic nails clicked at she texted. Totally distracted, neither Bebe or Stan saw me coming up from behind her. I shoulder-checked her, sending the cheerleader's tacky pink cellphone plummeting past the railing, down three flights of stairs.

It hit the first floor with a crash, glass and plastic going everywhere. The sound of her phone splintering on impact almost made me smile. Bebe looked down at the destroyed electronic with horror, mouth agape. Stan didn't blink, staring down at the same mess, yet to have come to grips with what just happened.

"Whoops. Sorry about that."

Bebe had no reason to think it was anything but an accident. She was right in the middle of the afterschool chaos, people bumped each other all the time. She was pissed, regardless. But, as far as she knew, it was her own fault for standing by the stairwell.

"Watch where you're going, next time!" She berated me, anyways. "That was my fucking phone!"

"Guess Daddy will just have to buy you another one, Barbie. Hope you didn't have anything important on there."

Realizing what just happened wasn't an accident at all, Stan just stared at me.

"What are you looking at, Ken doll?" I flicked my bangs out of my face and went down the steps without looking back.

I made sure to walk over Bebe's broken phone when I made it down to the first floor. A patrolling janitor swept it up and dumped it in a bin he was rolling out to the dumpster. Stan's chains were broken, he was liberated. Bebe's blackmail went right in the garbage where it belonged.

xxxxx



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