A/N: Another chapter fic already, huh? ._. Damn, I never learn. I have a ton of homework that I need to do, but whatever. Now, I'm not sure where I want to go with this thing after this chapter, so don't expect much from me. If you've read my other SP fics, well, welcome to another one. And if you haven't, then hello there, new reader. Welcome to the madhouse~ Yeah, I'm weird. Whatever. Now, back to the fic. I'm honestly not sure what the pairings will be other than Tweek/Butters, Pip/Christophe, and one-sided Pip/Damien. ..Yeah. This thing is probably gonna get weird. Oh well. Let the oddness begin then~
And a warning—this thing is both perverted and slash. I mean it. If I get any flames after I warned you, I'mma be pissed. :|
Pip thought that technology was a beautiful thing. The things you could do with computers these days! Oh, they were just wonderful! A never-ending adventure! America had such amazing advances in computer programs! It was one more thing that Pip loved about the country he had the privilege to call his home.
Something he didn't love though—and there weren't many things that Pip didn't love; he was a kind-hearted, loving, boy by nature, so it had to be something awful if he didn't like it—was the assignment that he had been given by his teacher just moments before.
It didn't matter that it involved technology or that his teacher had assigned them all partners so Pip didn't have to work alone for once—his partner was the problem.
Pip liked most people, he really did. It didn't matter that almost everyone in the school hated him—those that didn't usually ignored him—and that they picked on him relentlessly. He could forgive them for that; he was an outsider, different from them, and people feared things that they didn't understand, things that weren't like them. He was a bright boy—usually, anyway—so he understood that, he really did. He didn't hold grudges, he didn't hate; such things seemed too horrible to him to even consider.
Unless, of course, it involved his patriotism. Like the Americans, he disliked people for being different—like any proud Brit would, he had a grudge against the French.
And Christophe was French.
He could forgive the children in his grade for calling him French time and time again. They simply did not realize how deeply Pip disliked the French, how shameful it would be for any Brit to even associate with someone from the God-awful country.
And, dear Lord, their teacher had stuck him with Christophe.
Maybe she had done it on purpose; she didn't seem to like him any more than her other students did. He could understand how she felt—he was feeling the same dislike she probably felt for him for the boy currently sitting by him.
He couldn't get over it. The boy smelt like smoke, which Pip didn't like; it was okay when the smell was coming from his friend Damien because the boy from from Hell, which had fire and brimstone, so he had an excuse. Christophe, on the other hand, didn't have one as far as Pip could see. He was just a smoker, just a boy with a nasty addiction.
"Will you pay azzention already? Jesus Christ!"
And that was another thing that Pip didn't like about the French boy—who was he to order Pip around? Pip would let the other kids in his class boss him around in the hopes that it would make them eventually see that he would make a great friend, but Christophe? He didn't want to be the French boy's friend—he didn't even want to be his partner.
"Don't raise your voice to him."
Pip hadn't heard Damien come up behind him—the boy-slash-demon could be so quiet when he wanted to be—but he did feel when the taller boy's arms wrapped protectively around his slim waist. Pip was a lot smaller than Damien—Damien would tease him, telling the blond that it was by at least two feet, but Pip didn't think that the distance between them was really that large; it wasn't, but it was by at least a foot—and his back fit firmly against the taller boy's chest; they did this—Damien held him like this—so often that Pip didn't think it odd in the least bit.
Christophe, on the other hand, obviously did; he raised an eyebrow in question. It wasn't like he hadn't heard rumors about the two boys being together—in a small town like South Park, everybody knew everybody else's business—and it wasn't like he had a problem with two males being together—Christophe himself was bisexual—but hearing about something and seeing it was two very different things.
"What? Iz he your boyfriend?"
Christophe had expected Damien to blow up—the raven haired boy's temper was as bad as his own, if not worse—but instead he simply raised a dark eyebrow, matching Christophe's expression. He seemed calm and collected, something the Prince of Hell rarely was, but the boy he had wrapped himself around seemed the opposite; Pip's face was flushed a bright red, and it only seemed to be getting darker, which probably had something to do with the fact that Damien's hand was sneaking its way into his shirt, rubbing across his tight stomach. He could see Pip swallow, could hear the boy whine in the back of his throat, and try to get away from his captor.
If the boy wasn't British, he might be sexy.
"O-oh, g-good heavens, n-no! M-me and Damien a-aren't an i-item!"
Pip usually wasn't one for stuttering; his English was as proper as the day was long. Damien still had his hand moving around under his shirt though, and if Christophe had to guess, he would say that the Prince's fingers were brushing over the Brit's nipples teasingly. Pip was begging—begging—Damien for him to let go, but the demon wasn't listening. Pip's jacket and shirt were riding up, showing a strip of the blonde's stomach; Christophe's dark eyes followed it before they moved back up to track Damien's movements; the boy was nipping at the blonde's neck, leaving dark red marks behind in his tracks.
'Something so fragile looking should not be treated so harshly.'
Christophe kept the thought to himself, of course; as entertaining as it would be to watch the British boy, the most feminine boy he had possibly ever met in his life, defend his manhood—being called fragile simply was not manly, but neither was Pip, for that matter—he would wait until Damien was gone.
Besides, a live-action porn show seemed to be unfolding in front of his very eyes. Pip obviously didn't want any part in it, but Damien on the other hand... The boy didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon, and Christophe was curious to see how long the Brit could go without giving in to him.
Pip saying that they weren't an 'item' only seemed to incourage Damien; the hand that wasn't now rubbing circles on the boy's smooth stomach—and Christophe imagined the boy did have a smooth stomach, a stomach that his own calloused hand would feel good running over—had moved to cup one of Pip's ass cheeks.
And what an ass it was. Christophe felt his gaze move down to get a good look at it; he had noticed it before, but he had never been so close to the boy to really evaluate it. It was plump, but not too plump, full, but not too round.
It looked like like the kind of ass that Christophe would like to-
He wasn't going to finish that thought. He wasn't going to think about eating out a British boy's ass, nor was he going to think about pounding into it.
He brought his gaze up to look at the slim boy's still flushed face, but quickly diverted his gaze from there too; thoughts of the boy's full lips had moved into his head this time, and it would do him no good to think about them on his cock either.
A stray thought popped into Christophe's head—he began to wonder if Pip sucked Damien's cock. He looked like the type who would be shy, hesitant, to go down, but once he did, he would be so fucking brilliant at it. He imagined Pip would quickly grow accustomed to having the organ in his mouth, the weight of it on his pink little tongue; Christophe could also picture that same pale tongue darting out to lick at the head while the boy's hands cupped his balls or stroked his shaft.
His thoughts moved on to wonder if Pip would ever suck his cock; if Pip would take his balls into his mouth or hold them in hands. If the boy's mouth was as warm as Christophe would bet it would be, if those plump lips would feel as good against his skin as they looked like they would. How soft would Pip's hair feel as he tugged on it? Would the boy let him thrust up into his mouth? Would he let him finish on his face?
With these kind of thoughts running through his head, it shouldn't have shocked him to find that he was hard, but it did; he was shocked that thoughts of Philip Pirrup had made him pop a boner in the middle of class.
Lowering his eyebrow, he turned back to the computer that he bad been focusing on before Damien had shown up and ruined his concentration.
"We have work to 'inish."