BY : RandomJaz
Category: +S through Z > South Park
Dragon prints: 7362
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. It's been like a month and a half since the last update. Sorry about that. Life has me in a vice right now, I'm telling ya'.

I got assigned a group project that I had to do BY MYSELF, because the three other people I got grouped with are TRASH. I thankfully got it done and earned myself a 99/100 which counts for 20% of my ENTIRE grade.

So, here I am now. 70 fucking slides on Microsoft Word PowerPoint later. THAT I DID BY MYSELF. I could SCREAM.

The only thing that chaps my ass harder than Taco Bell, is my god damn peers. Catch my Death Metal album coming to Spotify: "Diploma in my Ass" by Random Jaz. It's just a recording of me at therapy, played over an erratic heavy drum beat and electric guitar.

Songs include:

"Blood pressure nightmares"

"Another slice of cake before I die"

"Another slice of cake before I die Part 2: Crumbs on my shirt"

"Crying is for conformists"

"Bite my buttcrack"

"Anti-depressants and anarchy"


"Bleach through a straw"

Bonus Track: "Dicks out for Pete"


It's mind blowing how you can know someone most of your life, see them almost every day for years, and then find yourself with nothing to say to them.

Michael was leaning against a tall, cross-shaped headstone. A lit cigarette rested between his fingers. He didn't wear gloves. Michael didn't feel the cold the way most of us did.

There was snow all around us, blanketing the graveyard in white. He didn't shiver. Meanwhile, I had my arms crossed tightly from where I sat on a nearby low frozen stone wall where my buttcheeks were going numb.

"Cold?" Michael asked me, breaking the silence that dragged on.

"I hate Winter." My diaphragm shuddered. "It's freezing out here."

"Henrietta's still dusting snow off headstones. She has to finish soon, she's running out of daylight."

Henrietta was the type of person who liked using paper and pastels to shade the front of headstones. She had a whole scrap book full of them. Utilizing Georgie to hold the paper in place, she used black chalk pastels to get the patterns.

Winter brought dusk upon South Park, draping it over the little town steadily. Another half an hour and Henrietta wouldn't be able to see the fronts of the headstones anymore.

"We don't have to wait here for her to finish." Michael offered, disinterested in Henrietta's little hobby. "We can go to the Village Inn."

I couldn't stand the cold much longer. Michael mentioned the Village Inn and all I could think about was a hot mug of coffee in my frozen hands. Even if I had to sit there with him alone for a bit.

Empty creamer cups and a couple of sugar packets piled up neatly on my end of the booth five minutes in to arriving there. Michael watched me make my mug of coffee. His end of the table wasn't as neat.

The table top as a whole was scratched from years of business. I mindlessly looked over my end, spotting the wear-and-tear. The constellation of markings told a story. It was just a type of Braille I didn't know how to read.

"The table interesting?" Michael pried from across the booth.

"It's marked up. This place is getting old."

"So is this awkward silence, Pete."

I kept avoiding his face. I was looking anywhere I could, as inconspicuously as I could. Hanging out again wasn't as seamless as picking up where we left off. Michael felt like a stranger to me now that we were sitting here together like old times. I felt like a stranger.

"It's been months. A lot has happened." I held my mug with both hands. "I'm processing it."

"Nothing's changed between us." Michael didn't blink, wearing that constipated expression his face may have been permanently stuck in by now. "Don't overthink it."

Here I was with Michael, feeling like I was on trial. He wasn't who I was thinking about in these long, drawn out pauses. My eyes strayed to the other side of the diner, to the table where Mike had sat during my after school "Disney princess" date with Stan.

"I live in my head." I excused, longing for a presence that wasn't here. "It's what I do best."

Henrietta and Georgie came in, Georgie shivering worse than I'd been. It was dark out now which made the cold bite all that much harder. I scooted in as Georgie rushed over, so he could sit. He got in close to me for warmth.

"It's so cold." He complained to me, teeth clattering. "Snow sucks, Pete."

"I hear that."

Henrietta approached Michael's end of the booth much less rushed than the hypothermic fourteen year old next to me. Michael slid over towards me so she could join us. Henrietta had those wide, voluptuous hips that took up more room than any of us did.

"Georgie, you look like a penguin pressed in to Pete's side like that." Henrietta noted, adjusting her long skirt as she slid in.

"Fuck penguins." he retaliated without venom, his frozen rosy cheek on my shoulder. "I want coffee."

No one batted an eye when Georgie wedged up close to me. Henrietta was just as frozen from the outside as he was, no warmth to offer. And, there wasn't a chance he'd go to Michael looking for body heat or physical contact of any kind.

Flagging down the waitress for two more mugs, Michael ordered our new arrivals their hot caffeine fix to bring their body temperatures back up. While they waited, inside my coat I felt my phone buzz. Michael was right next to me, and taller. If he glanced down, he'd see my whole screen easily.

Imagine if he looked down and saw "Mike Makowski"?...I wanted to see Mike Makowski.

"We haven't had a full booth in how long?" Henrietta asked Michael, poking him with her antique cigarette holder which she'd yet to put a cigarette in. "This feels weird, huh?"

"It's cool having you back, Pete." Georgie piped up from my side, glued to the heat I was giving off, similar to an actual penguin. "I don't feel weird."

Michael didn't say anything. Henrietta discreetly tapped his hand with her cigarette holder.

"We should all go back to my room after this."

"We should." Michael agreed, the waitress coming over with two mugs and a pitcher of coffee. "Like old times."


That week was leading up to Christmas, which graced us all with Winter Break. Approaching midnight on what would have been a school night otherwise, we all sat around Henrietta's bedroom floor immersed in our notebooks and phones.

We had our music playing, that was originally put on hours ago to drown out the Christmas music coming from downstairs. Henrietta's mom had a huge boner for Christmas. She, without fail, always started playing Christmas music as soon as Thanksgiving was over.

As a group, we preferred listening to Skinny Puppy in place of the same holiday songs the radio played for the past ten years. I heard enough of this crap at work.

From a corner far away from everyone smoking, I felt my claustrophobic tendencies creeping up on me. I glanced around at the perimeter of the room, at all Henrietta's stuff. Towering furniture, filled with the physical manifestation of Henrietta's craving for fulfillment of some sort. If it all came crashing down, would she go with it?

"I'm heading out." Closing my notebook, I tucked my pen behind my ear and stood up.

"You're leaving already?" Georgie held the sleeve of my shirt. "Why?"

"It's getting late."

Michael's eyes slid over to us. Henrietta's held the same scrutinizing stare.

"Late?" Henrietta drawled, taking a puff off her cigarette and flicking the ashes in to a nearby ash tray. "You have an early morning paper route now, or something?"

"I'll be sure to deliver your idiot Dad's paper last." I deadpanned, doing my best to keep up appearances. "Sound good?"

"Sounds good to me."

Late nights with the group were once frequent for me. It didn't hold the same appeal, this time. The night felt like it was dragging on. Georgie buried himself back in to his writing, an air of disappointment to him.

"Need a ride?" Michael flashed his truck keys.

"You can stay here. I'll make it home on foot."

I didn't live outrageously far from Henrietta, opting to walk myself home like the creature of the night that I am. Snow crunched under my boots, leaving footprints along the frozen sidewalk littered with sand and salt. I stifled a yawn, focused on the stretch of street in front of me.

The ends of my jeans were wet with snow and brushed my ankles, ugh. When I got home, I could get out of these cold clothes and climb in to bed.

Every house on my street sparkled and buzzed with Christmas lights. Tacky wreathes hung on doors, mail boxes were wrapped with tinsel and oversized red bows. My house was the only one that didn't look like the craft store threw up on it.

Dad wouldn't put in the work to set up the outdoor lights, and Mom couldn't. We had a welcome mat with a smiling snowman at the front door, and a Christmas tree.

The Christmas tree that Mom set up in the living room wasn't the flashiest the world had ever seen. Just your run of the mill tree, covered in white lights and shiny ornaments. The angel on top bugged my dad for years. It was the same one Mom used since I was a baby, he hated that thing for eighteen years straight.

Mom had to have unplugged the tree after work, because the lights were off. Dad was asleep in his usual spot, watched by that angel he hated so much. Atop of the tree, it faced the couch.

My parents hadn't slept in the same bed since I was in middle school. Mom kicked him out of the room one night and never let him back in. That couch was his bed, now.

We had a guest room. I don't get why my dad didn't just sleep in there. The loser. Mom could do better. She didn't need him, I glowered down at the couch as I went up the stairs to my bedroom, smelling hints of some gingerbread-scented candle mom must have burned earlier.

On top of the old trunk in my room was the gift I got Mike for Christmas. I had wrapped it in black paper and a neon green ribbon. I stared at it in bed, hoping he'd like what's inside. Shopping for him was harder than shopping for Stan...the meathead was happy with sex and anything football related.

"Christmas should be interesting...over gloried conformist holiday." I thought, immediately wincing afterwards.

Mike loved Christmas. I can't talk like that in front of him. It would hurt his heart. He and his parents put their tree up together as a family, and counted down the days until the big holiday.

Christmas was Stan's favorite holiday. But, who cares? He has his entire family to cater to him. Mr. All Star gets everything he wants for the magical holiday. For the first time, that would change.

I wouldn't be waiting up for him to climb in through my window Christmas night...after getting in to the spiked eggnog while Mom wasn't paying attention. There would be no tipsy little present waiting for Stan in my bed.

I'd throw a lump of coal through his bedroom window in place of his usual gift, but I'm sure that counts as vandalism. Or, harassment. My biggest motivation to not do it was Mike. He wouldn't approve of me venting my anger like that. It wasn't constructive, it wouldn't deal with the underlying pain.

Speaking of Mike, he went to a late movie with his friends after an evening spent at the mall. From his car parked outside the theatre, he messaged me asking if I wanted to be picked up. I just got in to bed…but I wanted to see him. He had me between a rock and a hard place.

I told him the situation and he asked to come and see me at my house, if I was okay with that. I got the text that he was outside soon on account that there were few people out on the road.

"Gotta put this away..." Hiding Mike's gift inside my old trunk, I closed the lid.

I went downstairs to let him in, carefully unlocking the front door. A brisk breeze from outside blew past us as Mike stepped in. He bent down to close the gap separating us, kissing me with cold lips lightly coated with Chapstick.

"Baby bat-" he went to speak once we parted, and I put a finger to his lips.

I leaned my head to one side, so he could look back and see the snoring lump on the couch.

He kissed the finger at his lips, wordlessly conveying to me that he understood what he was being told. Locking the door behind Mike, I checked over my shoulder to make sure Dad didn't wake up. He was fast asleep, snoring like a bear.

I saw Mike lean against the stair banister, bending down. He took off his boots and carried them by his side to prevent the heels from making noise on the steps. Our socked feet made it upstairs, leaving the couch gremlin undisturbed. There wasn't enough light for Mike to see the beer bottles collected on the floor.

"Didn't mean to be rude earlier. It's just that my dad's worse than a bear when he's woken up." Safely inside my bedroom, I locked us in and turned on a lamp. "I don't want to hear anything from him tomorrow."

"Does he work early?"

"He's obnoxiously irritable. Like I said, I don't want to hear anything from him tomorrow."

Putting his boots next to mine, Mike didn't sweat the incident at the front door.

"That was a long ass movie you guys went to see." I took notice of the time. "Didn't you get to the theatre hours ago?"

"With the previews, the movie was almost three hours. It was ridiculous."

"I don't know how people can commit to a movie at the theaters for that long."

"Would've been easier with you there. I could have held your hand, or played with your hair or something. I was admittedly antsy the last hour."

An average-length vampire horror film was do-able for me. I could watch one for Mike's sake. Three hours was not happening, however. For any type of film.

"I can't do three hours of vampire at the theatre."

"Could you do it, at home?" Mike asked not so innocently.

"…are we still talking about movies?"

"I'll let you decide."

I scoffed.

"Not sure what good three hours will do us if we're here at my house."

"I know a place where three hours could do us wonders." Mike suggested, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "You'd just have to follow me there, per se."

"You're killing me here, Mike…"

My bed was warm and within reach, and my pajamas were on. It was so cold and horrible outside. I didn't want to go back out. Having Mike over my house for the night wasn't ideal, or I would have asked him to stay with me.

"It's optional." Mike said, treading the floor with soft steps. "You can stay here. I'm content with having gotten to see you."

"You drove all the way here at almost One in the morning…I feel like I should go with you."

"If you put on shoes and a jacket, it's just from the front door to my car. Then, from my car to my room..."


"You never told me about your day. Did you have a good time with your friends, tonight?"

Standing in front of the mirror, Mike used a make-up wipe to get the last of the eyeliner clinging to his eyelids after his shower. With just pajama bottoms on, he was perfectly comfortable due to the space heater he had in one corner for the Winter. He set it on high.

"It was boring. I felt like I was watching paint dry the whole time…I used to be able to sit around with them all day."

"You could have texted me to come get you earlier. I would have skipped the movie."

"I know…"

With help from the big silver mirror mounted on the wall, Mike looked at me.

"Then why didn't you reach out to me, baby bat?"

"I couldn't risk them seeing you."

It was a shitty answer. I felt like a scum bag saying that to Mike. And, a hypocrite.

"If I recall correctly, aren't you the one with the aversion to dirty little secrets?"

"I don't care for dirty little secrets, no. They're burdens."

Coming over, Mike folded the make up wipe in half, using the clean side to wipe away the remnants of eyeliner off my face.

"It's not a crime to be different, Pete." He delicately cleaned my eyes and tossed the wipe. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed of being with you." With guilt seeping in, I promised Mike. "At all."

"I'm not saying that you are."

Leaning in to Mike's chest when he sat himself next to me, I wrapped my arms around his waist. He held me back, content that I initiated the embrace.

"I'm saying that you don't have to be someone else to please others. If your friends were really your friends, you wouldn't need to keep secrets."

"I thought I missed them… all day I just missed you. They made me feel so empty."

With Mike's friends I felt out of place. Back with my own, that same feeling followed me. It was disorienting…and uncomfortable.

I spent so much time before pining for Stan's attention, and compensating for my loneliness with my friends, that I didn't know anything else. I missed them because they were familiar. They didn't feel so familiar anymore...this was a whole other level of lost, for me.

"You missed me?" Mike asked, softly and flattered.

"A lot." I sighed in to his skin. "God, I feel so clingy. I hate it."

"Don't hate it. Craving companionship doesn't make you clingy, it makes you human."

"Coming from the vampire?"

"The fangs come off. You know that. My heart is just as warm as yours."

My heart wasn't warm. Mike's warmth was thawing it out. It could be warm…one day.

"Yours is warmer." I told him. "I like it that way…I like you."

"I'm touched. That's the nicest thing you've said to me."

...There's some cold, hard truth. Damn it. Have I ever said anything nice to Mike? I don't think so.

"…I've been such an asshole to you over the years. I'm sorry, Mike."

"We all make mistakes." He shushed my contrite tone. "I accept your apology, baby bat."

Forgiveness was a virtue. Mike was blessed to have the capacity. I was blessed...He forgives me.

"I should've been nicer to you." I repented, pressing a kiss to Mike's unblemished neck. "You never did anything to wanted to be my friend, and I pushed you away."

This was the most affection I'd shown Mike. He was the one always coming after me with hugs, kisses, and sweet words.

"It's water under the bridge, Pete. I'm happy to start fresh with you."

I kissed his neck, again. Oh, his pale skin was so soft and creamy...if I could just have a little more….

"My sweet little bat~" Mike praised the uncharacteristically affectionate kisses coming up his neck.

I felt like I was being magnetically drawn in. There was this sensual tension building up as I went for his lips. My skin tingled as I closed in. My mouth just barely grazed his when there was a loud pop, and then everything went dark. Startled, we both jumped from the sound.

"Looks like that pesky lightbulb burnt out." Mike rubbed my sides. "Excuse me, for a second."

Pulling away, Mike blindly felt around his room. I heard him over by his dresser. He didn't open any drawers, his hands searched the top careful not to knock over any of the decorations.

I was going to ask what he was trying to find, taking a guess that maybe it was flashlight. It wasn't a flashlight.


I heard the scratch of a match being struck. He lit one of the candles in his room, going around to light some of the others.

"And, let there be light~"

Glowing orange flames brought a soft light to his bedroom. Darkness faded out, bringing Mike's face back to me. We could see, again.

"You didn't have to do that. It's almost One. We're going to bed soon, anyways."

"Are we, Pete?"

Mike got that look to him that told me I was in for something good, and naughty. My heart skipped a beat…and was it always up this high in my throat?

How do I breathe? Someone remind me how. Quickly.

"Wasn't it you who said I need to sleep better?" My dedication to sarcasm was weakened by my greater desire to mess these sheets up with Mike.

"You're going to sleep like a baby." He blew out the burning match with one puff. "After I'm done with you."

Mike sauntered over illuminated by candlelight. I could watch him move all night. Watch him dance with the flickering flames and cast his succulent body along the walls with his shadow, like fine art coming to life right from its frame.

That long, lean body with creamy, dewy skin... Eyes that could send all the blood in your body below your waist, on command. And, those legs that went on forever, bringing him towards me with flirtatious strides...give it to me, Mike. All of it. Right now.

Fuck, just a little closer… come here and dance for me. A guy could dream, couldn't he?

"Where were we, baby bat?" Mike got in my lap, pulling off the hoodie I'd worn on the ride over, on top of my pajamas. "Do you remember? Hm?"

He took my shirt with my hoodie. Take it all. I don't need it.

I kissed him, brushing his long hair back to one side. The black and green that cascaded down his back felt silken, and smelled wonderful. Fixated, I ran my fingers through it how he often did to me.

My fingertips made it to the ends, touching the skin of his bare back. I felt the dip there, following it down to the seat of his pants.

Mike wasn't packing a prominent backside. But, damn if I didn't like that tight little ass of his. It fit his body, deliciously fine the way it is.

"You want it?" Mike purred inquisitively grinding his ass in to me, feeling the hard mass forming under it.

"Uh-huh…" My lips moved to the modest slope of his Adam's apple. "Fuck yeah, I want it."

"Come get it."

The thin material of his pajamas easily gave me access to him. Mike ground his ass down in to my lap, moaning softly at the fingers I had pressing at his entrance from over his clothes. I remembered liking when Stan did that to me so it seemed worth a try.

Rubbing between his cheeks to tease him, I got more of a reaction than I could have hoped for. Mike began pressing his ass back in to my hand to get more. I rubbed harder, knowing where this beautiful man wanted these fingers.

"I don't really know what I'm doing." I cleared my throat. "But, maybe if you walk me through it-"

"I'd love to." Mike consented before I could get the words out, tipping back and pulling me with him.

He rubbed my bare chest, instructing me to get the lube from his bedside drawer. The big bottle was hard to miss. From on top of him, I leaned over and felt around for it, grabbing it without having to see the damn thing.

This was a lot of lube, Jesus. Mike's ass was the best slip and slide there ever was. With this stuff he'd fly across the floor like a hockey puck if you kicked him hard enough. Slide him right over the Canadian border.

Of course, I'd go get him. That's my guy, buddy.

Mike's pajama bottoms came off, leaving his bare body along the crimson silk sheets. He really did look like a elegant renaissance painting that I didn't deserve to soil with my lowly, undeserving peasant hands.

Between his long legs, I drizzled lubricant over my fingers. I prodded his entrance with my middle finger, rubbing and carefully pressing until he let me in. I wasn't someone who fingered myself, but I knew enough to ease in to it with one finger.

I made it in to my first knuckle, sinking in further until my whole finger was buried to the hilt. I wasn't going to unceremoniously plunge it in there. I had some strong feelings about that...Stan being the source of them.

My asshole clenched with phantom pain.

"You're so gentle." Mike reached down and took my wrist, guiding me to add another finger. "It's adorable."

"I don't want to accidentally hurt you. I don't know what I'm doing."

"Touch me how you'd touch yourself."

"Haven't done that..."

I wasn't very well acquainted with my own ass. That was mainly Stan's area of interest. Notice how I say "interest" and not "expertise". He played with it, when I let him. He got better with time…after I got over his first fingering mishap.

"You haven't ever played with yourself?" Mike's amusement brought out the blushing virgin I'd once been. "Why not?"

"Why are we talking about me? I'm supposed to be focusing on you."

"Aww, you're embarrassed."

Was there a way to blow out the candles from all the way over here? The soft glow suddenly felt like a blinding spot light. Mike's ability to make me blush was becoming a reoccurring incident…that would go away, right? I hope that goes away.

"You're not scared of your own body, are you?"

"More I don't exactly know what to do with it...I don't know how to cum like this." I curled my fingers a smidge to emphasize. "...only this."

"That all? I could file down my nails and show you how."

The opportunity to get fingered by someone who most assuredly had a clue as to what they were doing would have been nice, but I had bigger goals in mind.

"I'd rather take care of you. You're always doing the work. Uh, touching me and all..."

"It's not work, I love it."

"I want to reciprocate favor."

Giving me instructions, Mike talked me through how to touch him and delve in to find his prostate. Deeper inside him, I could feel something harder than the surrounding, fluttering tissue.

"Ah!" He made a pleasured sound as I pressed it, exploring cautiously.

Yup, definitely his sweet spot. Wet beads of pre-cum glistened at his tip, catching the candlelight. One rolled down his shaft, I watched it dissolve at his base. I should have caught it with my tongue, such a waste.

Bringing myself down to my stomach between Mike's legs, with my fingers buried inside him, I layered my mouth over his stiff arousal. Everyone in his house was asleep, and we were all the way in the basement, but I almost paused at the sharp gasp.

I actually did pause at the second one when I pressed at him harder. I froze up. Shit, did I hurt him? Did he not say something the first time to be nice? Mike laid a hand over the back of my head when I braced to pull off and speak.

"It doesn't hurt." He promised, shifting his hips to prove it. "Mm…keep going for me."

Will do. Gladly.

Using my mouth in unison with my fingers, I serviced Mike from both ends. He was getting the service he deserved. He put so much attention on me, it was time to return the favor.

Mike laid flat on his back panting and urging me to touch him harder, cooing his encouragement between erotic groans and sighs smoother than his alabaster skin. He shivered, skin dusted with goosebumps. I'd kiss each and every one of them if I my mouth weren't already occupied.

I sucked at him, grateful that Mike's endowment was smaller than Stan's. His girth didn't stretch my lips and hurt. I didn't gag quite as hard on him, either.

Giving Mike a good time was easier. Much easier. The hard part was keeping the coordination between my mouth and hand steady.

"Pete…that's perfect." Mike reached up and grabbed the pillow by the headboard, gripping the case between his fingers. "Oh…just like that. Mm…"

Using the tip of my tongue, I licked around the jewelry nestled at his tip. He was a brave soul, I'd give him that. The barbel curved through that delicate flesh was hot, but I couldn't ever rationalize the pain that came with it. I'd get one, otherwise.

I teased the piercing, extremely careful not to snag it with my teeth, before going back for mouthfuls of his cock. Mike kept asking for me to finger him harder, but I kept holding back from outright jamming my fingers in to him how he wanted.

"I can take it, give it to me." His hips jutted down on to my fingers, trying to build the friction himself. "Pete, you're right where I need you."

Mike let out an elongated moan as I sunk my lips down to his base, enveloping him down my throat. I held it there for a few seconds before pulling up to do it again.

"Please…baby bat, I want it so bad." His insides were sucking my fingers in almost greedily. "Play with my ass a little harder. Don't be scared."

I wanted to give Mike everything he wanted. Mustering up the nerve to do it, I thrusted my fingers harder, listening for any sign that I was doing something wrong. I aimed for precision, trying to hit him where he was most sensitive each time. I'm sure I missed the mark a few times, but I was doing something right because Mike was going to blow.

"That's it…like that…" His chin tilted up towards the ceiling, legs trembling slightly on either side of me. "Like that, my baby bat. Yes!"

He leaked pre-cum, the clear semi-sweet secretion flowing heavier now. I swallowed to keep from slobbering all over him. If I weren't already so occupied, I may have reached down the front of my pants to nurse my own weeping erection.

My erection was beginning to hurt, strained under the pressure of my underwear. My left hand was between his legs, and I needed my right one to keep myself propped up to blow him. Mike didn't half ass me, I wasn't going to half ass him.

My cock would have to stay trapped under me and wait it's turn no matter how long that took. However, Mike was way closer to climax than I thought. My lips were at the head of his dick, ready to slide back down when he made the most divine sound.

His body arched to meet the heavens. Rapture rolled through him, curling those long, manicured fingers so tight that his knuckles went white. Mike could've shredded that pillowcase he was clutching, torn it up like flimsy tissue paper.

His release went straight in my mouth opposed to going down my throat. Taking my finger back, I eased it out of Mike's body and wiped at my mouth with the back of my wrist. That went better than expected.

"I don't know what I'm doing." Mike mimicked me with a taunting smirk, curling a leg around my waist to drag me down on top of him. "You're right, baby bat. That was just horrible~"

"That bad, huh?"

"The absolute worst. After that, you deserve exactly what's coming to you. Fair is fair, after all."

The leg he had curled around me gave him the leverage he needed to flip me on to my back. He rolled us over. Mike's tongue traveled the same route his manhood had a minute ago.

Tasting himself on me didn't repulse him. It turned him on more. I serviced him, and I serviced him well. Mike would reward that.

"Take these off and I'll show you a dreadful time." Mike dragged my pants down from one side. "Oh, I want more of you."

Planting his palms on my chest, Mike fanned out his fingers. He rubbed his lubricated ass along my shaft, letting me feel his entrance pass over me, but not sinking down to let me have it. I could slip right in... if he let me.

"Damn it, Mike." I complained when he pulled his ass away right as I reached for his hips to guide him down. "You said I could have it."

"Mm, I did." He hovered at the head of my cock again, putting only enough pressure to nudge me in. "I want to give it to you..."

He sunk down an inch, holding still. Laying my hands over his hips, I pleaded for him to give me more.

"You want it that bad?"

I did want it that bad. He wasn't naïve, he knew it. He could feel it in my grip, see it in my face.

"Yes, I want it that bad. I want you."

"What was that?" he purred, rocking his ass back and forth where our bodies were connected.

"Please, Mike..."

Mike couldn't tease me too long, he was itching for it just as bad as I was. My borderline begging put the nail on the coffin. He took me inside with one smooth, slippery plunge down.


That joke Mike made about doing three hours of vampire basically happened. Four in the morning was on the horizon. Mike's tall candles shrunk down, hot drippings hardening as they cooled along the shortened waxy stalks.

We were slightly damp from our night messing around Mike's massive bed. A mess of flesh in his sheets, with energy that just died out our last round. We stopped because we didn't have the strength or stamina to keep going.

After so many rounds we weren't reaching orgasm any more. We couldn't get enough of each other, going back at it between breaks and breathers. Resting his cheek on the same pillow I was using, Mike blinked with relaxed eyes. What faint light was coming off the dwindling flames reflected off his shiny irises.

"Is it important to you?" Mike touched the black broken heart charm on my choker. "You're always wearing it."

"You're always wearing that bat earring. Is that important?"

Mike twiddled the black bat wing hanging from his ear, with fondness

"Well, I've had it for a long time."

He only ever wore one bat wing earring. Earrings came it pairs of two, for obvious reasons. The only earrings I'd ever seen sold alone were those fancy ones that people wore at the tops of their ears. They wrapped around the cartilage and came in a bunch of different designs.

Mike could have lost the other one. Or, he was making a fashion statement choosing to wear one. He wore his hair parted more to one side and it covered his other ear, anyways.

"I've had this choker for about a year. I haven't had it that long."

"Was it a gift?"

"What makes you think that?"

"It doesn't look like something you'd pick out for yourself. I've seen that choker at Hot Topic before."

"...are you fucking with me, or?"

Did Stan buy this shit at Hot Topic? Don't tell me he bought it at Hot Topic.

"I'm telling you, I've seen it. And, I know you don't shop there."

"I most certainly do not."

"Who gave it to you?"

"Is this you sincerely asking me? Or are you doing that thing you like to do where you ask questions you already know the answer to?"

Mike shook his head at me a little, resting his hand on the slight curve of my hip, rubbing with no particular rhythm.

"I didn't know. That defensiveness of yours just gave it away." He revealed. "Gift from Stan, hm?"

"It was an apology gift."

"He gave you a broken heart to apologize for giving you a broken heart?"

...leave it to Mike to find deeper meaning in something like a Hot Topic choker. And the irony.

"He isn't very smart. Knowing him, he didn't really think it through."

"You're wearing it, though."

"Does it bother you?"

"It strikes me as never forgave him but you're wearing his apology."

Lying there naked made me feel especially vulnerable. Mike was naked too, equally bared to the world. The world was only me, right then. For me, it was only him. Alone, together.

Were you still vulnerable if there was no danger?

"I'm wearing a mass-produced choker. It isn't that deep."

"Oh, Pete...I wish you'd be more honest with yourself." Mike walked his fingers over my skin, finding the hollows of my ribcage that were just almost out of sight now "And, me."

I didn't have to wear Stan's choker. I could have bought my own. Wearing Stan's was a choice. A choice I couldn't find a rhyme or reason for. It matched my boots...I'll go with that.

"I never forgave him for anything." I slightly cracked open Pandora's box, pulling the lid askew to air out this grief without totally letting it run wild. "I don't know how."

"Now you have two broken hearts to show for it."

"I only show one." I was sure of myself.

"I see both."

I almost broke out in to a cold sweat. Mike stared at my neck, pursing his lips in a pitying way.

" you want me to take it off?"

This wasn't a good idea, why did I ask?

"That's not the broken heart I care about, Pete."

I don't know what I would have done if he said yes, he wanted me to take off the choker. Mike's loving eyes made me want to take it off. So long as those loving eyes didn't change after I did it.

Nope, don't want to take it off.

"He said he loved me… so did Michael."

This wasn't like me, why am I telling him this?

"They should love you, you're precious. They'd be out of their minds not to."

"…they're out of their minds then. They don't love me."

"What do you define as love?"

How did I define love? Did I have an answer to that? Had I ever considered that?

"Whatever love is, it should start with consideration...respect. I'm no expert." I shrugged one shoulder, rolling over slightly towards Mike to redistribute my weight. "Stan and Michael are missing a few screws, that I do know. Has nothing to do with me."

Smiling nice and easy, like nothing in the world were amiss, Mike took the red silk bedsheet and pulled it over us up to our waists. He tucked it in slightly behind me, cocooning me to him.

"I'm perfectly sane, Pete." He rested his forehead on mine. "I promise you that."

"Don't promise me things. I hate promises."

"Hate is such a strong word. Wouldn't it be nice if it blew away?"

"...I don't like promises."

The candles dimmed out, flames extinguishing. Smoke billowed up from their burnt wicks, filling the room with that smoky smell.

"Doesn't that feel better?" Mike's sleepy voice murmured.

He stroked my choker, the tip of one finger innocently beginning to slip under the ribbon to fiddle with it. I took a clipped breath and deftly caught his hand.

"Did I startle you?"

"I must be tired..."

"Sleep with me, baby bat."

Mike was falling asleep, awake only to talk to me. It was time to let him sleep, I could drift off with him.

"...Goodnight, Mike."

"Good night, baby bat. Sweet dreams, this time."



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