Wrongwritten by ButtersBottomB - inspired by an original artwork from numa
My friend Craig Tucker and I have a running bet going: How many times can he kill me before I just stay dead? That's what he calls it anyway, a running bet. I say it's only happened once, and I ended up back again anyway. Craig says maybe after a thousand, we'll see. I don't think he actually wants me to stay dead, though; I think he enjoys the process of killing me too much to want that. I enjoy it, too. At least, the beginning of the process, when he fucks me until I'm bleeding. The funny thing is, after he does that, dying doesn't seem so bad anymore. And I'm always curious about how he's going to kill me this time. Sometimes it's with a piece of wire, sometimes a gun. Craig prefers knives because he can bleed me very slowly and watch me die. But there's always an element of surprise to it. I never know where he'll cut me.
The first time he killed me it was with a pillow. We didn't have our running bet then, so it came as a pretty unpleasant shock to me when, during our post-coital smoke, he reached over and stuffed the pillow in my mouth. It wasn't one of his best, but I can't blame him. It was his first time. He said afterwards that he didn't like using the pillow that much anyway; he likes to see my eyes.He says they're beautiful, like the sky. Clichéd, I know, but still sweet.
Actually, I think I'm really starting to look forward to our sessions.
Sometimes, he takes me behind the school. I wait for him now, impatiently shifting my weight from one leg to the other. I feel nervous, as if I'm just about to kiss my crush for the first time. I think we're still in what they call the Honeymoon Phase.
He comes around the corner and stands next to me, hands in his pockets, elegantly slouched against the wall. God, he is so beautiful. You know those Greek gods that they have statues of? He looks that good.
"Hey," Craig says softly, and removes his hat. He knows I like his hair. It's just so feathery and black. I like to watch it shift in the wind.
"Hey," I answer, moving closer to him so I can borrow his heat. He's always warm, like he has an internal furnace going twenty four-seven. He casually pulls me to him and wraps an arm around my shoulder. I shiver, but not from the heat.
"I really fucking hate everyone," he says, snaking another arm around my waist. I'm flush against him now, and can feel myself getting hard.
"Oh, yeah?" I say, trying to sound nonchalant despite my increasingly-apparent need of him.
"Yeah. I especially really fucking hate Ms. Scott. I'd love to see her get fucked in the ass with a crowbar. Wrapped in barbed wire."
I shiver involuntarily again. I sincerely hope he isn't dropping any hints of future plans.
"And Cartman. God, I want to mess him up so bad. I fucking hate all of them. Except you."
He brings me in tighter so that my chin rests on his shoulder, and cups the back of my head with his hand.
"No," he says softly. His warm breath tickles my ear. "You I don't hate at all."
He slides one leg in between my own, rubbing his thigh against me. I gasp with pleasure, my jeans growing even tighter with the strain of my erection. Not wasting any time, Craig pulls my belt loose, turns me and pushes me hard against the wall. The rough texture of brick scratches my cheek as he thrusts urgently against me, sucking and biting my neck. I let my pants drop to the ground.
There's something so fucking special about his eyes, I think lovingly as I slide the razor blade across his throat. It is a shallow cut; I don't want to get blood on me before lunch period ends and I have to go to Algebra. The blood seeps slowly from the wound, ruby drops falling like tears. He cries out in pain first, and then pleasure as I bend down to suck his cock. He is close; I can feel the muscles in his hands tense and shake as he runs his fingers through my hair. At the same time, he is getting weaker. The blue in his eyes is fading to a lovely gray. The stab wound on his chest weeps continuously, and I know that I cut him too deep there. Next time, I will do better.
I quickly bring him to edge. He's moaning pitifully, pulling my hair. I make him come with a final flick of my tongue, and open my throat to take in his seed. When I resurface, he gone, his fingers limp in my hair. His expression is frozen in a grimace, which sometimes happens when I suck him while he fades. His eyes, though, are like perfect cloudy marbles, framed by long blonde lashes. I close his eyelids as a formality, though I hate doing it.
Goddamn. Those eyes...
As I stuff my math book in my locker and pull out my English book from the debris, I feel an arm snake around my waist. "Hey, Babe. I missed you..."
I jump and almost slam my locker door on my hand. "Jesus Christ!" I turn to see Craig, smiling with amusement at my surprise. "Goddamnit, Craig, you scared the shit out of me."
"Sorry," he shrugs. "Couldn't help myself. I haven't seen you in a while. Thought maybe I had won our little bet this time."
I smile a little, despite myself. "Well, I've been gone for this long before enough times. Why should you be surprised? You didn't do an especially good job last time."
"Oh?" says Craig, taking a step closer to me. "Well, maybe I'll do a better job tonight." My jeans grow tighter with the look that he gives me. We're only inches apart, and I long to close the gap. We don't touch, though, not in public. Craig says he has a "reputation" to uphold. I suspect that everyone can tell anyway, but he has his reasons, so I never bring it up.
"I'd like that," I say, my voice a little hoarse. "But do you think we could maybe settle our bet another time? I was gone for so long last time, and I'm not going to be able to graduate at this rate-"
The late bell rings, and I interrupt myself with a curse. "Goddamnit!" Now Ms. Scott is gonna rip my balls off...
The hallways are empty now. Craig pushes me against the locker and kisses me fiercely. I answer in kind, tasting metal as he bites down on my lip. He lifts me up and I wrap my legs around his hips, feeling his powerful body against my cock. God, he is so strong. Football has really done him good. Too bad I'm a skinny motherfucker.
After what feels like an eternity later, Craig comes up for air and stares at me steadily. "Alright," he says. "I have football practice today, anyway. I'll see you soon."
And with that he drops me like a rock and walks away, leaving me breathless and aching for him.
Since Craig is busy with football practice today, I spend the day with Butters. Weird, I know, but sometimes Butters is just the pick-up I need. I mean, I would spend time with my other friends, Stan, Kyle, and Cartman. Well, not Cartman. But Stan and Kyle are way too into each other to be around them anyway. I mean, they still haven't come out to each other yet, but that's bound to happen sooner or later. In any case, they still act like a couple. And it's disgusting.
And anyway, Butters is an adorable little fucker.
After school, I walk with Butters to his house. I normally wouldn't be allowed there, but his parents aren't home, so I convinced Butters it would be okay if I stayed over for a few hours and played his Wii with him. I meant that in a totally different way, of course, but it just went over his gorgeous head, as always.
And Butters said yes, as always, because he has this gigantic crush on me. That's perfectly fine with me; I would love to give Butters his first kiss. Or pop his cherry for the first time. I've never been someone's first before.
"S-so," says Butters. He's nervously wringing his hands together, but smiling shyly all the same. "H-how was your day, Kenny?"
"Great," I say, slipping one casual arm around his shoulder as we walk. "Got stabbed in the heart last week. Was in Hell for what felt like an eternity. But woke up in my bed this morning. Compared to listening to Satan bitch about his relationship problems all the time, school was cake."
Butters frowns, an adorable little crease forming between his eyebrows. "I d-did notice you were gone last week, Kenny. Where did you really g-go?"
I smile and plant a kiss on his forehead. "Don't you worry, Buttercup. Nothing bad happened to me."
"But, Kenny," he continues, as we approach his doorstep. "I've noticed you've been gone a lot of the time. After you a-and Craig Tucker go behind the school, o-or to the park."
I pause at the door, and look at him. "You saw us?"
"Well," says Butters quietly. "Yes...I wondered where you went, Kenny, after you skipped school so many times, and for so long, so sometimes I s-say I have to go to the bathroom during class, but I d-don't go, I..."
"You follow us?" I finish for him. "Did you see anything?"
"N-no!" says Butters, quite suddenly. "I would never s-spy on you, I just wanted to make sure you were safe, with a friend. Craig is your friend, right, Kenny?"
I force a quick laugh, though I know it sounds strained. "Yes, Buttercup. Of course Craig is my friend. We're very good friends."
Butters nods solemnly and opens the door for me. I step inside and immediately flop down on the couch. My whole body aches and my mouth feels dry and mossy. It's what I usually feel like after I come back. Hungover. Maybe one too many mimosas with Satan.
Butters goes to the kitchen and brings back some soda and two slices of pizza for me. He knows I'm hungry almost all the time. He sits on the couch next to me, taking care, I notice, to leave a space between us, so as to keep from touching me. He hands me the pizza and I gobble down the slices obligingly.
Once I'm finished washing down the meal with a cup of soda, Butters clears his throat.
I look at him curiously, and wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my hoodie, thinking he was politely letting me know that my face is covered in grease.
"Kenny," he says seriously, and I stop rubbing at my mouth. "I've seen the way Craig looks at you, in class."
"Really?" I say, surprised. "He looks at me during class?"
"Well, not really looks, more like stares." Butters bites his bottom lip. "It seems, well, scary, Kenny. He stares at you in a..." He pauses for a moment, apparently thinking of the right word. "...a predatory way, Kenny. Like you're his prey. I don't think he's your friend." Butters grips his cup tightly and looks at me, waiting for my reaction.
I try to give him my best reassuring smile. "Buttercup, you don't have to worry about me. Craig is my friend, he would never hurt me. I wouldn't let him." You fucking liar, I think to myself. You dirty fucker. Why would you lie to this innocent kid?
Because he wouldn't understand, a second voice chimes in.
Butters relaxes slightly and sets his soda on the coffee table. "Okay, do you want to play some video games?"
"Sure," I say eagerly, glad that Butters is finally off the subject.
It's a week later when I finally get him and his eyes all to myself.
He's tied spread eagle to my bed, body taunt against the sheets.
"God, you are so fucking beautiful," I say, running one finger down the length of his thigh. He is thin, but there are definite signs of muscle beneath his porcelain skin. He is not weak. I learned that, growing up with him. No, Kenny McCormick may be small and scrawny, but he has experienced more pain than anyone in this piece of shit town. That's what makes him strong and beautiful. His pain.
I tell him so. He groans as I climb on top of him. I stroke the length of my cock, though I'm already hard from just looking at him. His skin is luminescent in the moonlight, and his shaggy blonde hair falls around his face like a halo. Still rubbing myself, I examine his entrance critically. It looks red and swollen, and a pink mixture of blood and seed is pooled around it, staining the sheets.
"Last time," I promise him, readying myself to enter. He moans in protest, though his dick is beginning to stiffen.
When I do enter, he cries out in pain, tears streaming down his cheeks. "You are so fucking beautiful," I repeat. "You look like a fucking angel."
I thrust repeatedly, loving the feel of his wet tightness against my cock. The pleasure is unbelievable, and I almost come right then. I stop suddenly, and bend over him, wrapping my hands around his neck. It feels so fragile beneath my fingers.
His eyes widen and he shakes his head. "C-Craig...no..." he moans. "You...said you wouldn't this time..."
"Did I?" I say. I tighten my grip, and his voice stops with a gurgle. "Kenny, you become so lovely in pain and in death. It's when you're strongest. I can help you be strong."
He shakes his head again, his face turning a deep red. I ignore him and push my fingers deeper into his skin.
When it's over, his face is purple, and his eyes look slightly bug-eyed from the strain. God, those eyes. They make my heart skip a beat, even now.
I finish inside of him quickly, examining his stiff body. He is so fucking beautiful. My angel of death.
Two weeks have passed since, and I am fucking pissed.
I push my way through the crowd in the hall, shouldering people angrily when they get in my way. It's not even first period yet, but I came to school early, just to find Craig, who I know will be just finishing an early morning practice.
I make my way to the gym, and finally to the boy's locker-room, disregarding the few who protest at my sudden presence.
"Motherfucking fag!" Cartman shouts, covering his front with a towel. "What, you can't afford porn so you came in here to see us get dressed, you poor piece of shit?"
I ignore him and make a bee-line for the showers when I don't see Craig getting dressed.
"It's called the internet, you fag!" Cartman calls out to me.
Sure enough, I find Craig in the shower room, fortunately the only one. I lock the door firmly behind me.
"Craig!" I yell, my voice echoing loudly in the tile-covered room.
He looks at me in bemusement, and turns off the shower.
Despite my anger, I can't help but notice how fucking sexy he looks. Water droplets and soap suds slide down his abs and below his waist, which is unfortunately obscured by steam. His wet hair is plastered to his face, which is flushed by the heat of the water. I rise to this sight easily enough.
"Goddamnit, Craig!" I say, partly from anger and partly from frustration.
"Yes?" He says in an infuriatingly nonchalant voice.
"What the fuck was that last time? I thought I said no!"
He smiles blandly at me, and I want to hit him. "You needed it."
"I needed-!" I sputter. "Bullshit, Craig. I let you do that because you like it. It gets you off, for some goddamn reason, and you know what? I'm fucking sick of it. I'm missing out on my life because of you!"
He stops smiling and reaches out for me. When I don't move, he pulls me to him. I try to resist, but his strength is too much for me, and I give in.
"Kenny," he says lovingly, pushing off my hood and stroking my hair with wet fingers. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you really meant it. I won't do it next time, okay? It'll just be sex."
I start to argue, but give up and let myself melt into his embrace. "Okay."
I hear a rumble deep in his chest as he chuckles and rubs my scalp. "I'm making you wet."
"In more ways than one," I reply teasingly, trailing one finger down his slick and muscular back.
He reaches for my chin and pulls my face close to his. He stares me, and the eye contact is so intense that I break it with a kiss. He responds immediately, holding me closer and tangling his fingers through my hair.
After a while, he pauses in our kiss and puts his lips to my ear. "You're mine," he whispers, his hand moving from my hair to grip my neck. "All mine."
God, I can't help it.
I think I am.
"Kenny," says Butters, waking me from my reverie.
"What?" I say dazedly. "Oh, good one, Butters, you got a spare." Butters had been playing a game of bowling on his Wii. I had just been watching, not really feeling up to playing much of anything.
"W-what's wrong, Ken?" asks Butters anxiously, bending down and putting his hand against my forehead. "Are ya sick or something?"
"No, Butters," I say, gently pushing his hand away. "It's nothing really. I don't wanna talk about it."
"O-okay," he says earnestly, sitting down next to me. "That's fine. We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to. A-actually, I've been wantin' to tell you something."
Butters wrings his hands nervously and bites his bottom lip. I sit up straight and look at him curiously. "Oh, yeah? What is it?"
Butters looks at me intently, but I notice his hands are shaking. "Well, g-gee, I don't really know how to do this." I give him an encouraging smile, and he takes a shaky breath and continues. "Well, the truth is, K-Kenny, I've been sweet on you for a while now, and I know you wouldn't like someone like me, b-but I j-just wanted to let you know because I don't want this to g-get in the way of our friendship."
I stare at him, more than a little shocked by his confession. I mean, I knew he had a little crush on me, but I never thought he'd ever have the balls to say it. His face is beet red now, and his eyes are shining with tears. I take his hands to stop him from wringing them.
"I-I'm s-sorry..." Butters stammers. "I-I k-know..."
Before I know what I'm doing, before I even consider my situation, I cup his face in my hands and lean down to kiss him. His lips are soft and moist, and I can taste the salt of his tears. Slowly, he begins to respond to me, reaching to touch my face and licking my lips tentatively. I moan loudly, and without thinking I drag Butters onto my lap so that he's straddling me. My erection is so stiff it's almost painful, and I thrust against him experimentally. I can feel his hardness, too. Butters gasps, and pulls away to look at me.
His pouting lips are ruby red now, they look just like rose petals. His eyes still shine bright with tears as he looks at me. "A-are you just doing this because you feel bad for me, or-"
I don't let him finish. I drag his face down to mine and kiss him eagerly. God, he tastes so sweet. Just like strawberries. I begin to unbuckle Butters' belt as he tries in vain to unzip my hoodie while still kissing me. My hands travel up and down his body, feeling his chest, fingering his nipples, trailing down to his stomach and finally reaching his ass. Oh, God...
"Kenny!" I hear him moan, his warm breath suddenly on my neck. "Please...I-I need to feel you..." I quickly rip off my hoodie and shirt in one motion, and then waste no time in flipping Butters onto his back and climbing on top of him. Slowly, my gaze travels along his body. Butters' shirt is pulled up just so, revealing a patch of soft, glowing skin and a fine sprinkling of blonde hair, leaving a tantalizing trail leading under his pants. I want to see more. Just as I start to work on his belt again, I hear him call my name, and something in his voice makes me stop immediately.
"Kenny," he repeats, staring at me and reaching up to touch my neck. "What happened?"
Confused at first, I touch my neck as well, but then slowly realize what he must see. Ten small, dark bruises, left by Craig when I last saw him in the shower room.
"Oh, that?" I laugh shakily. "That's nothing, Buttercup, don't worry about it." I reach for my hoodie and put it on, not bothering with my shirt.
"That's not nothing, Kenny!" he says, struggling to get out from underneath me. When I don't budge, he stops squirming, but glares at me fiercely. "Craig did that to you, didn't he?"
I'm lost for words. What can I say? How in motherfucking hell do I explain this to him?
"He hurt you, Kenny." Butter's voice shakes with emotion, and the brightness of his eyes tells me that he is beginning to cry. "He doesn't deserve you." He looks at me with those pitiful eyes again and I wrap my arms around him, still unable to explain.
A few hours later, I leave Butters' house, leaving him still slightly shaken, but reassured that I would not let Craig hurt me again. How I can keep that promise, I don't know. But the one thing I do know is that Butters is right. It took me a while to realize that Butters wasn't really overreacting. His reaction was perfectly normal. I'm the one that's twisted. How could I ever think that Craig is right, is sane, to enjoy doing what he does to me. And that's what our relationship is based on; his abuse. Craig and I are not right. Our twisted relationship has gone on for too long, and it's time to break it off.
But it won't be easy. I feel a definite resonating pang in my chest when I think of breaking it off. There was something there. Something deep and powerful. But something wrong.
I skip last period on Monday, as I usually do, to meet Craig behind the gym.He's waiting for me, elegantly slouched against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette.
I approach cautiously and stand next to him, keeping a three-foot distance. He looks at me without expression, opening his mouth slightly to let out a cloud of smoke.
He offers me the pack of cigarettes and I take one and light it, grateful for the excuse to postpone speech.
"So..." I begin hesitantly. When I don't continue, Craig quirks an eyebrow at me inquiringly. "Um...I wanted to talk to you about something."
"About?" says Craig, allowing another cloud of smoke to escape his lips.
"It's just that..." I pause for a moment, gathering words and courage. "It's just that I, uh, think we need to take a break."
Craig smirks at me. "You're breaking up with me?"
"Yes," I say feebly, feeling more than a little nonplussed at his nonchalant reaction.
Craig turns his face to gaze at the passing cars on the street across from us. "You can't do that."
"What?" My heart is beginning to pound, and a creeping sense of dread is filling me.
"You can't do that," he repeats simply.
Before I can even think of a response he's on me, pinning me against the wall. I drop my cigarette in surprise, but Craig still has his, and he takes it from his mouth and pushes the tip in the skin of my collarbone. I yelp in pain, but Craig only twists the cigarette more viciously into my flesh. The burning smell of it reaches my nose, and I want to vomit in pain and disgust.
"S-stop that!" a voice rings out in the distance, and Craig pauses to look. I do, too, and my heart sinks at the sight. It's Butters. His determined expression and balled fists do nothing to quell my growing feeling of panic. Craig will kill him.
"Butters, don't-" I start, but Craig interrupts me with a punch in the face. And then another one. The sickening pain makes me double-up so that I slide helplessly down the wall when Craig releases me. Through my blurry vision I see Craig walking casually up to Butters. Butters flings out a fist in an attempt to hit him, and I can see that he made contact, but it makes no difference. Craig grabs his wrist and twists it painfully behind his back. I know that Butters cannot move it without breaking it, but he struggles nevertheless, hitting Craig feebly with his other fist.
Despite my pain I scramble to my feet and launch myself at Craig. He grunts in surprise and lets go of Butters, who drops to the ground with a gasp.
I manage to get in a couple of hits before Craig punches me in the stomach. I step back, almost falling, but manage to recover my balance. Craig seizes the opportunity to hit me in the nose. I hear a crack, and my nose begins to fill with a warm rush of blood.
Craig wraps both hands around my neck and nearly lifts me off my feet. Though the fog of my mind, I vaguely understand that if he lifts me off the ground any farther, he'll break my neck.
But, no. I'm not so lucky. Craig doesn't like to do it quickly. He likes to watch me fade.
With a slight smile, Craig grips my neck tightly and begins to squeeze. I pull at his sleeves helplessly as I feel my throat closing.
"You have a choice," he says lightly. "Either take back what you said, or I will finish you for good. And if you come back, I'm going to do it over and over again. Remember..." He bends forward slightly to whisper in my ear. "You're mine."
"No he's not!" I hear Butters voice, before I can make out where he is though my blurry vision I hear another thing. A thud. Craig grunts and releases me. I can do nothing sag to the ground like a rag doll and try to breathe again. Through slitted eyes I see Craig on the ground and Butters standing over him, dropping a large rock next to his body.
I cough, noticing with slight dismay that I'm hacking up blood. Butters quickly rushes over to me.
"Kenny," he says anxiously. "Are you okay?" Baby blue eyes stare into mine.
"Yeah," I manage to get out. "I'll be fine."
A groan from Craig's tells me that he's conscious.
"Hang on," I tell Butters. "I have a bet to settle."
It's those eyes, I think again, for about the thousandth time. What is it about those eyes?
Those eyes are staring out me now as he bends over me.
They're the color of the sky. But it's something more...
I'm vaguely aware of a throbbing pain on the back of my head, but I pay it no mind. I turn my head slightly to look at him, and feel a warm sticky substance against my cheek.
It's the color of the sky before a storm...
"You took a losing bet, asshole."
Those beautiful storm-cloud eyes...
If you enjoyed this story, remember to check out the original artwork that inspired it!