Saturday Morning Cartoons

By Dr. Pepper 14

Not beta'd.

Summary: Slash. We're just two horny teenaged boys. We don't know what the hell we're doing. But that's okay, it's more fun this way.

Note: This chapter follows chapter eight.

Chapter Ten

Aahh! Real Monsters

I adjust my space helmet slightly to the left so it will stop squishing my ear and then adjust the jack-o-lantern Clay and I made yesterday on the front porch so that it will face the trick-or-treaters as they come to the door instead of a bush.

"It is scary godamnit," I mutter to myself, even though it kinda looks like it's smiling and Clay's remedy of putting ketchup (aka blood) around the mouth to make it more menacing only makes our vampire pumpkin look like it's a messy eater. Maybe if the fangs were more triangular instead of square it wouldn't look so fucking stupid. Oh well, we both almost failed Art 1 so the fact that neither of us cut any fingers off with the knife we used for carving and the pumpkin actually has something resembling a face is something to be proud of.

"Can we go already?" Monroe whines, bouncing in place, looking as if he could bolt at any second. "All the candy's gonna be gone. What are we going to do then, huh? Rob the grocery store?"

"No- shut up," I order, hands pushing down on his shoulders to stop his Tigger-like motions. "It's not even dark yet. No one's gonna be out there."

"Exactly," he says, slumping because of the weight of my hands on his shoulders and maybe because he knows he is defeated. "No one will see my shame."

I sigh and roll my eyes, wishing we had just left Monroe home to get off on his science text books because this is the fourth time in thirty minutes that he's complained about us being too old to trick-or-treat and I haven't even showed him the dorky little ghost-shaped trick-or-treat bags Clay and I made in our boredom yesterday. And he's going to carry one, damnit, because we made one for each of us.

We even put names on them with colored pencils.

"There is nothing wrong with six consenting young adults going trick-or-treating," Dani consoles him while simultaneously smacking him upside the head. "So shut the fuck up. And if it makes you feel any better, we can say that Brandy is your little brother or something and people won't think it's weird."

"But if he's my little brother, I'll feel responsible when he tries to rape all the little kids," he says, looking positively distressed, slumping against my front door.

"Don't worry, I won't touch the little kids," Brandy shushes him, a finger on his lips as he moves to slide onto his lap in a sensuous roll that only Brandy could pull off. "I'd be more worried about yourself if I were you," he adds with a smirk.

"Robbie." He looks over at me pitifully, eyes big and wide and annoying.

"Robbie," Brandy mimics him. Except he sounds less like he's distressed and more like he's about to come. He winks at me and Monroe freaks out and pushes him away with a hard shove and Brandy lands on his feet like a cat.

"Get over it, Monroe. Besides, I'm not going anywhere without my Woody," I state with finality, and finally decide to do something because I'm bored just fucking around on my front porch and waiting for Clay to get his ass over here.

"Woah," Jordan exclaims, his normally bland face taking on a surprised look as he glances at my pants. "I knew you were excited, but I didn't know you were that kind of excited. Dude, that's just gross."

I glance at my pants as well to see if there's a stain there or something, but then I remember that that's impossible because my pants are made out of purple plastic so everything pretty much slides right off. It's fucking amazing.

"Wait, what? I just meant- I'm Buzz Lightyear, so Clay is my Woody, you know, the cowboy from Toy Story? You fucking pervert."

I try to shoot him with my futuristic-but-actually-just-a-painted-purple water gun but he dodges out of the way and I end up watering Dani's foot instead.

"I'm hungry," Brandy announces. Everyone takes a step back and stares at him. "For food," he clarifies, but the way he licks his lips isn't very convincing.

I don't know when or how Brandy slowly got incorporated into our group, but everyone's pretty much gotten used to him, if watching his every move to make sure he doesn't do something crazy can be considered 'gotten used to'. Monroe even let him sit on his lap for five minutes before he noticed and freaked out. And he loves it, the attention whore. I'm sure half the things he does he does them just because he knows people are watching. Like that time he did a strip tease on Mr. Pearson's desk- while our math teacher was still sitting at it.

But everyone pretty much seems to like him. Except Clay. And I don't know why really, because I asked Brandy to stop hitting on him all the time and really, he has, but you can't ask the guy to totally go cold turkey.

"Ow!" I screech as fingers grab a hold of my helmet and then yank down, smashing lips to lips, and fuck, I'm bleeding.

"Jeez, it's like you were in a trance," Brandy's glaring face inches away from mine, says. "I bet you sleep like the dead."

"The hell?" I say, face caught between a glare and a perplexed look.

"I needed to get your attention somehow," he says, licking my blood off his lips. He lets me go and smiles at me sweetly. "Make. Me. A Bagel." And then, out of some desire to be polite: "Please."

"You're such a brat," I mumble, grabbing him by the arm of his sleeve and pulling him after me. I don't warn him when we turn a corner and he almost smacks into the wall but is saved by his cat-like reflexes. "I can't believe you just did that."

"What? That I kissed you? Or that I convinced you to make me a bagel using my Jedi mind tricks?" he asks, skipping along beside me.

"Probably both," I say after some thought, which must have taken awhile seeing how Brandy started poking me in the side to get my attention again.

I start to search around in the fridge for the cream cheese, dancing a little as I check the bottom drawer, and I suppose I should have expected it, but I didn't, so when Brandy's hand came to smack me on the ass, I ended up bumping my head on the side of the fridge and cursing loudly.

"That's what you get for wiggling around like… that," Clay says out of nowhere (well, the kitchen doorway), voice sounding a little strange. "You really shouldn't do that in public, Robbie."

"Clay, where the fuck-" I start, but stop once I see him.

He's flushed and sweating, hair matted to his forehead. He looks like sex.

Fuck the bagel, I bet Clay tastes even better with cream cheese…

"Uh…" I trail off uselessly, totally not staring. "You're late."

"I am," he agrees, raising one eyebrow. "So?"

"So you think you can just waltz in here after seven years of not hearing from you and take him away from me?" Brandy states dramatically, clinging to my arm like if he let go the whole world might spontaneously combust. "Oh never mind. You guys suck."

And he bounces out of the room. Maybe he wasn't even hungry at all, which wouldn't surprise me because half the things he says are lies and the other half are never really true. He only tells the truth when he's drunk and most of the things he tells me I try to forget.

Clay brings my attention back with a thumb on my lower lip. "What happened?" he asks, leaning in close so he can see the cut, his breath brushing across my mouth in warm waves. "Did you get into a fight with your sandwich again?"

A part of me wonders if he's teasing me on purpose and another part of me wants to tease him right back. Actions speak louder than words, Brandy had said. Sure, most of the things he says are lies, but Brandon McAllister knows sex, so I decide to take his advice for once because, God help me, I haven't gotten any in a long time (okay never).

"Brandy bit me," I confess, locking my eyes with his and holding his gaze as I tongue my lower lip while his finger is still on it.

I feel like such a whore and his finger tastes like a stinky basketball (though I can't really say I know what one tastes like), but he stares at me for five minutes before giving me a weird look and pulling his hand away as if it's burned.

"Um," he says, swallowing. "Yeah. Wait, how the fuck did Brandy bite you?" he says, getting mad. "I told him not to touch you! What if he has rabies!?"

"Nah," I disagree, putting a calming hand on his shoulder. "I'm more likely to get Syphilis."

"Oh, that's so much better," he says sarcastically, rolling his eyes, still frowning.

"I know," I say. "Want me to blow you so you can get it too?"

"Um, no. I'll just put bactine on it or something," he decides, brushing my hair out of the way.

"Why don't you just kiss it better instead?"

I hear the shower turn off as I'm making myself a bagel and try not to think about how Clayton is probably wiggling around naked on my bed right now. It's not his fault his mother never taught him how to put his pants on while standing up. I tried to teach him once, but he just ended up tripping over me and getting a huge bruise on his forehead when it hit my bedside table. After that incident, I just let him dress himself. For the most part.

"Hey thanks, man," Brandy says as he comes into the kitchen, snatching the bagel right out of my hand. "I'm famished."

I watch it go with sad eyes.

"I think I'm just going to stay here… even though it's your house and… pass out candy or something," Monroe says with a yawn, stretching his arms over his head.

"I have a better idea," I say with a diabolical grin. "We'll put a bowl of candy on the front porch and you can sit behind the bushes with my paintball gun and shoot all the punk ass teenagers who try to take more than one piece of candy…"

"I'm ready!" Clay yells and almost falls down the stairs when he trips in his cowboy boots. "Let's go go go."

"Those boots are sexy," I tell him, flicking the brim if his hat. "Real leather?"

"I dunno," he shrugs, leaning on my shoulder. "They're Candace's."

"You're wearing your sister's shoes," I state with incredulity. "Why doesn't that sound as weird to me as it should?"

"Because you- I dunno. They're kinda squishing my toes. Ow." He shakes his foot, trying to get the blood to circulate back in his toes.

And we head out the door.

"Quit it," I say for the tenth time as Clay tries to steal my candy when he thinks I'm not paying attention and smack his hand away.

We're all sitting on the floor in front of my couch, big piles of candy laid before us like burnt offerings as we watch whatever scary movie Clay picked on TV that I refuse to even glance at. Dani is throwing skittles up in the air and Brandy is trying to see how many he can catch in his mouth, Jordan is… well, let's just say he's hanging out in the backyard, and Monroe is engrossed in the TV.

Clay and I are fighting over Jordan's candy. Apparently he says he doesn't eat candy because it doesn't come from Mother Nature's bosom, which is complete bullshit if you ask me. He is so weird.

"Oh my god, what is that!?" I say to distract Clay, taking the opportunity to steal his Butterfinger which I had been eyeing all night and shoving it into my mouth before he can do anything to stop me. "Ha ha ha. Who's the bitch now?" I taunt him, little pieces of Butterfinger flying out of my mouth.

"Drop it," he says like he's speaking to one of his dog's, grabbing my jaw and shaking it.

I spit it out on his pant leg.

"Ew. Fine, you can have it," he finally concedes, scooping it up from his leg and popping it back in my mouth, wiping his hands on my shirt. "But you have to watch this movie with me. It's a classic."

"Yeah yeah," I mutter, moving him around like a lifeless doll so as to put myself in a more comfortable position.

He's sitting on the floor so I push his back against the couch, spreading his legs to make room for myself between them. I rub my butt against his crotch as I settle against him, laughing to myself when he wheezes after I catch him in the side with an elbow.

"That hurt," he says, hands coming around to hold me against him.

"Love is pain," I tell him fake sympathetically, patting his knee.

My parents finally come home from dinner, lugging the leftovers through the door as they chat about important things.

"I brought you chicken, Robbie," my mother says, shaking the bag in her left hand.

"I'll eat it tomorrow,' I tell her, even though I know I won't because I'll make Clay eat it for me.

"Okay now, be good," she says, giving me a penetrating look which could only mean one thing.

I blush and nod my head, snuggling back into Clay for security. She smiles that secret mother smile and she and my dad head to bed.

I pretty much stare out the window for the whole movie, refusing to watch, but I can still see movement from the screen out of the corner of my eye and can hear the sound of screaming and people's heads getting chopped off.

Pretty soon I can feel myself start to drift off…

"I think we should go to bed now," Clay states after the fourth time the back of my skull has banged his chin as I fell asleep.

"Yeah," I agree intelligently.

"Where do we sleep?" Dani asks, scooting away from Brandy who keeps trying to lick her hand.

"You can take my bed," I say, not bothering to tell her that I haven't changed the sheets in weeks. "Monroe can have the couch… Brandy can sleep in the big chair… Jordan is communing with the night in my backyard… and me and Clayton will find sleeping bags."

I stumble over to the closet to get Monroe and Brandy some blankets and find some sleeping bags, but I can only find one sleeping bag and it's the Disney one with Jasmine on it that I think I stole from Clay's house a long time ago. He smiles at it fondly and hugs it to his chest.

"This is my- I mean, my sister's favorite sleeping bag. I thought I'd lost it."

"Yeah, well, you're gonna have to share Jasmine with me for one more night. She's all we got," I tell him, a little embarrassed and a little excited.

We set the sleeping bag underneath the table in the dining room, creating out own little fort. We watch each other awkwardly as I turn out the lights, both creeping over to the bag. He slides in and I slide in after him- there's barely enough room for two teenaged boys, but neither of us offers to sleep somewhere else.

Struggling out of our clothes in such close proximity, elbows and knees strike out and hit tender spots, causing unnecessary curses and moans. We throw our clothes somewhere in the darkness.

"So," he says, breath heavy with the scent of chocolate. "You're a pretty competitive trick-or-treater."

"You're just jealous that I got to the door first each time," I say with I smile, inches away from his face. "You wanted to be the one to ring the doorbell."

"That must be it," he agrees as my bare leg accidentally slides next to his. I don't move it.

"Um, Clay? Can I ask you something?" I ask randomly, peering at his eyes in the darkness.

"No. Yes. Go ahead. Hit me."

I smack him on the arm (or leg? I can't really tell) and gather up my courage to ask, "How come you never really date anyone?"

"What?" he says surprised, tensing up. "I've dated plenty of people. Lizzie, Jen, Kendra, Kristine…"

"Yeah, duh," I say and poke him in the middle of his forehead. "But you never really dated any of them. I don't think you've been with someone for more than two weeks."

He shrugs and I can feel the entire movement since his body is plastered against mine. "They weren't what I needed."

"What do you need?" I ask inconspicuously- and God, can I be any more obvious?

Why don't I just attach a flashing sign to my forehead, it'd be easier than trying to give this boys subtle hints.

"I need you-" he says, burying his face into my bare neck. "-to be my pillow. So hold still. And –I don't know- think about fluffy things like clouds and poodles. It'll make you softer."

"I don't think pillows are supposed to bite like poodles do," I start to tell him, but he's already passed out and only pain of death could wake him.

But even as I listen to him snore loudly in my ear, the weight of his head making my shoulder numb, drool dripping onto my skin, I know I'd rather be here than in a sleeping bag with some other boy who would drool on me.

"'Night Clay," I whisper and kiss him on the forehead, smelling the strange scent of my shampoo in his hair and wishing I could somehow keep him this way forever, but maybe minus the drool.

But you gotta admit, it's oddly endearing.

I'm not doing review responses for chapter nine, but I probably will for this chapter since we got that new fancy replying system, so you better make them good! Thank you so much to those of you who have reviewed thus far, you guys are too cool. And I love the attention.