Consistent

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: You guys know the drill 😊 thank you so much for your patience and support. Much love! My readers make my day.

Xxxxx

Before nightfall, it was raining. It poured over South Park Colorado, cleaning away the grime left over from the snow and ice. It would've been nice if standing in it, it washed off the calcified layer of dust encasing Michael. The one he accumulated sitting around living his life like a gargoyle, scaring off everything with a pulse. He sat inside his room, safe from the cleansing water.

As I walked home through the downpour, I didn't care that it was getting vicious and soaking through my clothes. Others were in a hurry to get out of the rain. Someone peddled past me on their bike, orange hood pulled over their head.

"See you at school, Stan!" he yelled "Gotta get home and help Mom. The roof is leaking."

With the door open, Stan's dog stood at his feet, nose up in the air sniffing. He started barking. Peering out in the wet, dreary dusk sucking South Park in to its grips, Stan looked for what it was the dog was getting worked up over. The only thing out there was me walking along the side walk.

Stan squinted, making sure he was seeing correctly through the heavy rain. He saw my purple boots, the pop of color standing out against the black encasing the rest of me. With my hood pulled up in a feeble attempt to shield myself from the weather, he couldn't see my face.

"…Pete?" he yelled over the deafening downpour.

I could've pretended I didn't hear him. Could've pretended it wasn't me and kept going.

"Just out for a walk."

"It's raining cats and dogs! Are you crazy?"

"Most likely."

Sparky was barking still. Stan used his shoe to nudge him out of the doorway.

"Sparky, come inside. Pete! You too."

I looked like a stray black cat left out in the rain when Stan ushered me inside his front door. Water was dripping off me, making puddles at my feet. My bangs were plastered to my face. My otherwise white cheeks were pink from the cold whipping wind.

"You must be freezing." Stan looked between me and the stairs. "Hang on."

He ran upstairs, coming back in a flash. He had clothes folded under one arm and towels in the other.

"The first floor bathroom is around the corner." Stan led me to it. "Here. Take all that off and get dry."

I looked at the wet mess I tracked in.

"Your parents aren't going to appreciate this mess...Could you grab me another towel for the floor?"

"Don't worry about the floor. I'll mop when you're done."

Closing the bathroom door for me, Stan left to go start mopping the living room and hallway. This bathroom had a tacky beach theme. Seashell shaped decorations, and soaps. An ocean shower curtain and a starfish bath mat in front of the tub. The hooks holding up the shower curtain were seahorses.

I took off my clothes, letting it all hit the tile with a wet plop. I put my wallet and phone on the sink. Next to them sat the underwear, sweats, and shirt I was supposed to change in to. The clothes Stan gave me were way too big for me. It was all he had to offer, his heart was in the right place.

Thankfully the elastic band on the boxers were new, so they didn't just outright fall off me. They rested low on my hips, just barely holding on. The white shirt fell past my hips and I used a hand to hold the gray sweats up.

"What should I do with the wet clothes?" I opened the door to ask.

"Put them in the laundry basket." Stan called out from the next room.

I looked down and there was a white plastic basket in front of the door. I wrung out my clothes as best as I could in the tub and put them in the basket. I sat on the couch as Stan went to clean up the bathroom, not knowing what to do with myself.

Sparky sat at my feet, sniffing my leg curiously. He recognized me, I think. He looked comfortable enough getting in close to me.

"It's funny how big those clothes are on you." Stan chuckled, with the basket in hand. "You're drowning in them."

"They're warm and dry. All I really care about."

"So you don't mind wearing a conformist brand like Nike?"

Grinning cheekily, Stan brought the basket down to the washer and dryer in the basement. I rolled my eyes up towards the ceiling at his amusement.

"I'll make an exception, this once. I'd rather not wear your conformist capitalism."

I could hear the washer turn on and Stan came back up the stairs. He rubbed Sparky's head, picking up the pudgy little dog to give him a loving squeeze before setting him back down.

"We don't mind capitalism." He spoke on behalf of his canine friend. "Nike's awesome."

"Sparky likes Nike?"

"I think so. He's stolen my socks before...Could just be that he's a dog."

"You have a conformist dog."

Sparky shook out his short fur and scratched behind his ear. As dogs do.

"Kenny and I were playing Magic: The Gathering, earlier." Stan shifted topics. "He left his deck here so it wouldn't get ruined in the rain. Interested?"

"I don't know how to play that."

"Oh. I could show you...Or, we could play Uno, or something on the Play Station."

I didn't want to play anything, declining Stan's attempt to entertain me. Stan played by himself, pleased enough with just having my company that rainy night.

"I know you like cemeteries and gloomy weather, but walking around in the cold rain is how you catch pneumonia." he warned me. "Maybe, don't do that."

Sitting with my knees bent up towards my chest, I hugged my legs and rested my chin down. I still had a chill in my bones.

"Point taken."

I passively watched Stan play, but my eyes strayed to the window. It was raining so hard, you couldn't see out the glass.

"Do you need a sweater?"

Stan was peering over his shoulder at me.

"I got a chill from the rain. It'll pass."

"You can get under the covers if you're cold." Stan coaxed me. "You'll warm up faster."

There was a knock at Stan's bedroom door.

"Stan, the weather's not looking good. This isn't lightening up until morning. If you've still got a friend over, it looks like they're staying the night." HIs dad told him through the door. "Your Mom and I could barely see on the drive home."

"Yeah, I've got a friend over. He'll stay here, Dad." Stan answered on my behalf, without checking with me first.

Getting stuck at an ex's house last minute wasn't my first choice. But, it beat getting stuck at Vlad's. At least I was comfortable with Stan. I knew him well enough.

"He didn't ask who you had over." I observed.

"Normally, it's Kyle or Kenny. Sometimes Clyde. Doesn't matter to Dad." Stan explained to me with reassurance. "If he thought there was a girl over, he may have asked some questions."

"No girls allowed?"

Stan's parents weren't ignorant to the fact that teenagers have urges, and may do things behind closed doors. They were fine with that given that Stan had "the talk" about the birds, bees, and condoms. However, they didn't want girls sleeping over in fear of how that may look to other parents.

"Why would I want girls over, anyways?" Stan challenged rhetorically.

"Never had Wendy over?"

"Not to spend the night, no. Especially not in here with me. You know that."

"Do I? I don't live here."

He was suddenly defensive.

"I haven't been with anyone else...Not like that."

"Have you tried? Ever curious what would happen if you made a move on one of your friends?"

"What? Like who?"

It was a general question. I didn't ask with anyone in mind, but I remembered Mike's little theory. As nonchalant as I could manage, I tossed out Clyde's name.

"Clyde?" Stan repeated. "Are you high?"

"Just a thought. Mike thinks he's a closet case."

"Why would he think that?"

This idea that Clyde could somehow be gay wasn't clicking with Stan. Can't say that I blame him. Wasn't clicking with me, either.

"It's always "fag" this. And, "homo" that. Yet, the guy's awfully interested in what Mike and I do." I told him Mike's observation.

"If he's homophobic, that's not all that weird."

"That's what I'm saying. But Mike swears the guys got the hots for us."

"He's got good taste, if it's true."

Raising a brow at the back of Stan's head, I actually chuckled.

"Is that the 'in' thing now? Jocks secretly liking the alternative kids?"

"It's a Cliche as old as time."

"I wonder why Mike hasn't explored this more, if he's so convinced. Mike's hot and he knows it. He could seduce anyone out of hiding."

"You don't think you could?"

I wasn't an opportunistic flirtatious type. To flirt, you typically had to be social. Or, be willing to put yourself out there. Seduction took finesse. Mike made it look easy. I couldn't do that.

"Besides the point." I dismissed. "I don't actually believe Mike's theory. Can't lure someone out of the closet if they aren't in there to begin with. Especially not me. Are you kidding?"

"The different between you and Mike isn't that one of you is hot, and the other isn't. You said it yourself: He just knows it."

"Flattery gets you nowhere, Stanley."

xxxxx

Stan's parents officially met me that night. Sharron called us down to get food. She was using a spatula to cut in to a pan of baked mac n' cheese when I walked in behind her massive son, clothes hanging off me like a kid stuck with hand-me-downs.

"...you look familiar." she said with a mixed expression. "Have you been here before?"

"You saw him at the Christmas Eve party." Stan grabbed two plates. "This is Pete."

Fishing her memory, Sharron waited for something to bite.

"Oh! You're friends with Michelle's son, Mike." she reeled it in. "You must be a sweetheart, then."

Stan could've exploded, he was holding back his grin so hard.

"Pete's sweet in that black licorice kind of way."

"Black licorice is an acquired taste, Stanley." Sharron admonished him like he said something offensive. "Not everybody likes it."

"I do. That's why we're friends."

Black licorice was a fair way to describe me. Stan wasn't joking, either. I've seen him eat black licorice.

Putting food on the plates Stan was holding, his mom told me I could grab the forks from the kitchen drawer right next to me. Stan's dad came in, but took his plate to the living room to eat in front of the television.

"You aren't going to eat at the table with us, Randy?" Sharron checked.

"Watching Food Network, Sharron. My show's on."

"Oi...alright, boys. It's just us, tonight."

Sharron mentioned Stan's older sister at Dinner. She was away at college, but coming to visit soon.

"Shelly's coming home on Break, next month. We don't know what time, yet." Sharron took a napkin from the center of the table and folded it in half. "We may need you to pick her up from the airport if we're at work."

"Alright, Mom. I can do that."

"The two of you should go visit your grandfather. I'm sure he'd love to see his grandkids. Bring him some butterscotch or black licorice."

Stan had to be a joker.

"I'll bring butterscotch because I don't think Pete wants to go."

"I meant candy. Your grandfather loves that stuff." Sharron tugged his ear. "Goofball."

On a commercial break, Randy came in for beer. I looked at Sharron, thinking I'd see my mother's classic scowl. Sharron shook her head, smiling when Randy ruffled Stan's hair on his way out.

"You have work in the morning." Was all she said about his brisk appearance.

"I know. I'm only having two."

She didn't like it, but she didn't push the issue. Clearly choosing her battles.

"Am I packing some of this for your lunch tomorrow?" She switched tones.

"The guys and I are going to Chipotle on our break."

"Well, alright. You're sleeping on the couch tomorrow, then. Those burritos do something awful to your stomach."

Stan started snickering with a mouthful of food.

"I'll never forget that night you went and slept on the couch because Dad farted in his sleep."

"It's not that he farted. It's that he ate chipotle and it smelled like death."

My face must've been priceless because Stan had to cover his mouth to keep from spitting food out across the table. Sharron pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Stanley, that isn't funny."

"Might get extra hot salsa this time, Sharron." Randy announced from the living room. "Hoping to break my record. I wanna blast the glass off the windows."

I went on eating my dinner as Stan and his dad were laughing at Sharron's expense. Hollering like grade school boys.

I couldn't glance up from my plate to look Stan in the face without risking laughing with him. If only because he found it so fucking hilarious that it was contagious. He stilled laughed with the heart of a child.

"You're a child." I later told him, climbing towards the side of the bed pressed up against the wall. "So is your Dad."

"It's fun. You should try it."

He smirked, fluffing his pillow so he could lean back on it to resume his game.

"Oh, wait. I forgot." he continued. "That's too conformist."

As Stan rested an elbow down on his pillow, I pulled it out from under him. I whomped him on the head. Then, I unceremoniously dropped it on his face.

"Happy?"

Stan swiped the pillow on my side, holding it hostage.

"Be that way. Now you don't get a pillow, at all."

"You idiot. Give me that."

"Nope. You lost your privileges."

I leaned over to reclaim the confiscated pillow, to which he wasn't willing to just hand over. He held it away at arm's length.

"I said no." he patronized, holding it up and out of my reach. "Isn't that what you like to say?"

"Fuck off."

I was fussing to get it, climbing up on him. This is what I get for humoring him.

"Would you just give it back?"

"No."

"This is why you're a child."

"You're the one-"

Stan's train of thought was cut off as my chest was now in his face. I almost had the pillow when these baggy pants slipped down my hips. With underwear on underneath, it wouldn't have been a big deal if the underwear fit correctly. I felt the elastic waistband slipping down with the pants, giving me a mini heart attack.

"Shit-" I hurriedly caught them before they could slip past my pelvic bone and flash everything.

Something popped up underneath me. Stan and I met eyes. He turned red, cleared his throat, and put the pillow back in my spot.

"That was my fault." he apologized.

"I don't know what the hell you're so excited about. You didn't even see anything."

I second guessed it.

"...did you?"

"I can see through your shirt."

With the right lighting, he could see my piercings peeking through the white fabric. I backed away so my chest wasn't right in his face, and I wasn't sitting directly on his problem.

"You've seen them before. They're old news, Stan."

"I still like them...they were fun. Does uh…does Mike know you like them played with?"

That was a personal question. And, random. Flew in from left field.

"He figured it out recently." I deadpanned. "...what's it to you?"

"Used to drive you crazy when I licked them. Thought it'd be a waste if he ignored them."

"You're such a freaking guy." I scoffed. "One track mind."

Stan begged to differ.

"It's an honest question..."

"No, he doesn't ignore them, Stan." I answered his allegedly honest curiosities. "His tongue is pierced, though. So, it feels different."

I gave up more information than I needed to. It just came out. Why did that just come out?

"Tongue piercing?" Stan pried. "Mike has one?"

"Uh-huh." I downplayed it. "He does."

"You said it feels different...Like, just on your chest. Or...?"

This conversation turned inappropriate.

He was still hard, and neither of us were addressing it. However, Stan's perverted curiosity brought out a sudden urge to tease him. Try my hand at Mike's favorite game and see how much it would take to make a man drool.

I wanted to see how it felt. It couldn't be THAT hard.

With Stan, it was too easy. He shivered when I touched his bicep. I casually pulled down his short sleeve that rolled up in the earlier game of keep-away

"Sure." I shrugged. "Let's go with that. Makes no difference."

"It makes a huge difference."

Resting his hands on my knees, Stan unconsciously squeezed. He watched me fix his other sleeve.

"How?" Faking mindlessness, I didn't acknowledge that he touched me.

"Well, does it feel different other places?"

"Like...?"

Stan's eyes darted away.

"Has he...do you let him…?"

"Do I let him do what?"

"Pete, you know what I'm trying to ask."

"Do I?"

I played innocently dumb, acting confused. Stan gave my knees a pat, trying to form his thoughts. He wasn't doing an efficient job of it, unconsciously rubbing my thighs through these conformist brand sweats that were actually super comfortable.

"You look so nervous. Can't think straight with all that blood rushing south?"

Stan had the decency to blush and stammer.

"I can't help it…I remember teasing you places..."

"Making me squirm with your tongue?"

"...Do you squirm when he sucks you with that tongue ring?"

Yeah, I do. Stan took the bait.

"I squirm harder when he puts toys in my ass." I tossed out a second lure. "Much harder."

"Oh, fuck…" The raw groan tumbled past his lips, with enthralled blue eyes. "You like when he uses toys on you?"

"I like everything Mike does to me."

Jealousy should've flashed through those wide blue eyes. But stan was hooked, holding on to my every word. Leaning in, eager for the rest. Hooked and reeled in.

"Tell me more?"

"More?" I tilted my head at him.

"What did he use on you?"

In the perfect position to demonstrate, I scooted in just a smidge closer on top of him. The firm mass in his pants missed me by a hair. He could only feel the heat coming off my body. Which was more than enough to keep that blood pumping.

"I'm sitting on him like this." I explained like this was some story amongst friends because that's how he was playing it off. "Only, I'm naked"

Stan already tingled at the thought.

"Mike has this vibrating bullet. About this big." I showed him with my hands. "He slicked it down and carefully pressed it inside me. Made sure it was nice and deep before he turned it on..."

I left it there, with a faux pause. Stan couldn't wait. The details were piling up, and he wanted to see the whole pile.

"And?"

"It's buzzing, and he's touching me." I continued feeding his curiosity, painting the imagery his starved little closeted mind craved. "He found this one spot that drives me crazy…"

Stan's eyes flicked down, then back to my face.

"Where?"

He had tunnel vision, staring at me and looking for some cue to come closer. He couldn't read me. This could all be in his head. His blood was already pooled south, at the wrong end.

I didn't answer his question. I held his stare just long enough to make him sweat.

"Stan." I changed my tone.

"Y-Yeah?"

I leaned forward, slowly. Stan went stiff as a board, unsure of what was coming. My fingers brushed the outer shell of his ear. Using just the tip of my fingernails, I plucked a downy pillow feather from his head.

"This was in your hair." I showed him.

Tickling the end of his chin with it, I taunted him.

"You're still clueless. It's funny."

Stan was getting mixed signals. His overwhelmed brain couldn't make sense of it. He was on sensory overload, having me so close to him. His pounding heart and throbbing cock had his judgement in a vice.

This wasn't a fair fight, Stan already craved me. It was difficult for him to hide it, he never had to before Mike came along.

We were all alone. The anticipation on his face was almost cute. He swallowed hard, too scared to say anything.

"Wanna play a game, Stan?" I flicked the feather away.

He ate up the sound me saying his name.

"A game?"

I showed him the Play Station controller. Stan looked at it dumbly, totally at a loss.

"Weren't you going to play a game?" I reminded him. "Or, are you going to sit there staring at me all night?"

"…"

Tongue-tied and unsure of what even just happened, Stan asked if I was going to finish the story.

"That's not really appropriate, is it? Why should I tell you something so private?"

"But-"

"Stan! Kenny's on the phone!" Sharron hollered at the bottom of the stairs. "He wants to know if he left his cellphone here. He thinks he may have dropped it on the way home."

If Kenny lost his phone in the rain, it was ruined. I climbed off Stan like nothing happened when his mom asked him to take a look around.

"Go on." I told him when he stopped to look at me. "You have a phone to find."

Stan searched his room, finding nothing.

"Did you check the upstairs bathroom?" His mom asked. "He says he used it before he left."

"Hold on."

Stan left the room to check down the hall. Taking his spot, I laid out on my stomach with hands at the edge of the bed. I played while he went on his scavenger hunt.

No wonder Mike was a tease. That was fun. Could check that off the list of things to try before I die.

"Found it, Mom!" was Stan's victorious announcement.

"You did? Great! Bring it to school, tomorrow."

xxxxxx

It was dark and quiet, only rain hitting the roof and window. Dry and warm inside, buried in the sheets like an owl tucked away inside a tree trunk, listening to the rainfall was peaceful. It wasn't lulling Stan to sleep.

"You awake?" he asked when I adjusted the sheets over myself.

"For now."

"I'll let you sleep. Sorry."

"...Something on your mind?"

Stan was thinking. If he thought any harder, smoke would come out his ears.

"Are...are you staying in South Park?"

"Staying in South Park?" I parroted him.

"After graduation."

South Park wasn't the golden standard for living, but I didn't have anywhere else to go. Everything and everyone I knew was here. My life was here. In this mediocre town.

"I'm staying in South Park, Stan. Where else would I go?"

"Everyone's talking about their college applications...out of Colorado."

"Scared you'll be by yourself at the local University, Mr. Scholarship?"

"Wouldn't you be scared if your friends started talking about moving away?"

In the past, losing them would have ended me. Severing that dependence is where my potential began. I had other things to worry about these days.

"I'd worry about Georgie if he left." I gave it some sincere thought. "I'd miss him. He's a good kid."

"...wouldn't you miss Michael?"

"We're drifting apart and I'm done trying to fix it."

Stan sounded shocked. He was really behind. He didn't know Michael and I were following different paths.

"I upset him today." I explained or else he would ask anyways. "It was bad."

"Today?"

"Uh-huh. I was walking back from his house when I got caught in the rain."

That was another anomaly. Stan had never known Michael to be keen on letting me walk myself across town in the wake of a rainstorm.

"He made you walk home? Wow, he must be upset with you."

"I chose to walk...but, yeah. It's complicated."

"We've got all night. What happened? You two were so close..."

Michael and I were glued at the hip for years before. Stan knew that. He had to answer to Michael's bad side on those days I hurt the most from Stan's mistakes. Michael would do anything for me.

Anything, but admit that there's life after tragedy. Misery and death weren't where the options ended.

"...he noticed I'm happier. Like you did." I summarized. "It didn't make him happy."

"He should be happy. You're his best friend."

You'd think.

"Our friendship wasn't built on happiness."

I don't understand how he expected to build a relationship from the same miserable materials.

"What happened today, Pete?"

Stan's pillows smelled like his shampoo. I held mine closer.

"I lied to him." I mumbled. "About Mike. I never told him he's in the picture. I don't plan to."

"...he doesn't know about Mike? If he doesn't know, why's he so upset?"

"I told him I fixed things with you...our friendship. He thinks that's why I'm happy."

"Our friendship doesn't make you happy?"

He sounded heartbroken. I may as well have rolled over and slapped him across the face.

"It does, Stan." I fixed it. "But, you aren't the reason I've changed."

"I wish I could've been. I want the best for you...even if it's not me."

He had a mature brain cell in there, after all.

"And, that's the difference between you and Michael." I surmised; with the most patience I'd ever had for Stan.

I was facing the wall my side of the bed was pressed up against. Stan's hand moved over the bed covers. He used the back of it to caress between my shoulder blades.

"I want you to be so happy, Pete."

"I want you to be happy, too."

"That why you broke Bebe's phone?"

That was the main reason. The blonde bitch had it coming was the secondary reason.

"She was hurting you." The spoiled waste of skin had some nerve. "I had to do something."

"You're a better friend than me, Pete."

"I've fucked up too."

Because I was lying next to the wall, when began Stan scooting in I had nowhere to go. He curled an arm around me, pulling me back from the wall and closer to him.

"Too close?" he checked.

"Mike's a huge cuddler. I'm used to it."

"Mike's a lucky guy. He gets to love you whenever he wants."

Love me?

"It's too soon to use the word love...We're still getting to know each other."

"Something clicked."

"Mike's great...Doesn't mean I love him."

I was better off keeping love far out of the equation. I was already too attached.

Mike made me feel good. Mike made me feel safe. Those meant more to me than jumping in the deep end and risking another long, heavy sink to the bottom.

"...did you love me?" Stan asked over the rain. "You never told me."

"I'm not sure what love actually is, Stan." I began. "…But, I wanted to spend forever with you, too."

That was as remotely close as I'd ever gotten to an "I love you" with Stan. It was the first time I even gave the question a real answer. I still couldn't use the actual words. I didn't know if they were true to what we had, before.

"Pete…Would you reconsider me, if things don't work out between you and Mike?"

I hid my face in the pillow when I felt him nuzzle the back of my neck. He was so comfortable, like we were supposed to be here huddled up together in the dark having pillow talk.

"I want things to work out between me and Mike."

"But, if they don't?"

I bit the inside of my cheek. Stan's lips were touching me. Nothing was pressing in to me, this was just Stan talking from a genuine place. But...

"...I hope they will. I really like Mike."

"Does he know you're here?"

I froze. Was that a threat?

"I won't tell him." Stan whispered, lips brushing my skin as he spoke. "He doesn't have to know."

It gave me a chill. Head to toe, I had a brief shiver. Stan's hand was at the front of my shirt, moving upwards.

"W-What are you doing?" I demanded.

"This." Stan rested his hand over my heart. "That okay?"

"Why are you doing that?"

"I don't know the next time I'll get to."

He felt the rhythm of my heart beating. It was slow and steady, louder in my ears than it was in the actual room.

"…could I listen to it?" Stan asked me.

I don't know what compelled me to roll over on to my back. Stan laid his head down, ear to my chest. His head was heavy atop of me. I bore the weight.

It still felt natural.

"Ever wish you could pause time?" Stan was at peace, absorbed in my heartbeat. "I feel whole when I'm with you. I'm grateful Mike's okay with me, it's been a long three months."

"Uh-huh." I sighed. "I feel like I've been pulled in different directions."

"I'm sorry you and Michael aren't doing well. I never liked him...but, he's always going to be the reason I still have you. "

xxxxx



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