Title: Ma, Can I keep him?
Pairing: B/J, implied E/J; also possibly, inter-species pairing (Hey, we're still not sure of Mikey's parentage
Rating: PG-13 so far.
Warnings: None so far. It is afterall a cannibal fic. Nothing squicky, just allusions to things that might make people uncomfortable. The word 'eviscerate' is used quite a bit.
Disclaimers: I don't own Cowlip. And 'no,' I am not on any medications.
Summary: This is crack!fic. It is a cannibal crack!fic. It is tongue-in-cheek black humor. This is the warning within the summary. Debbie is the Sweeney Todd type living in some backwater town (not too far from Pittsburgh) with her mentally disturbed son, Mikey (yes, I stuck to canon) and adopted son, Brian. Justin and Ethan are passing through.
Cross posted at qaf_bunnies. If you would like to see updates, you can friend me.
There are times, like now, when Brian is trudging his way through sludge to get to whatever it is he caught in one of the traps he set, that he thinks to himself that he was meant for something different. He was meant for bigger things. Things like glamorous careers in fields that would insure you offices on Madison Avenue, Armani and Prada suits, and partying with the "beautiful people" at all hours of the night. Not things like jobs that required you setting out roadkill as obstacles while wearing dirty Carharts and Levi overalls, your only designer labels. Brian's forms of entertainment out here consisted of going to the local hetero bar while watching the townie women try to pick up the equally inebriated townie men (both genders of which had dental issues that they never seemed to address) or watching whilst Mikey yet again incurred the wrath of the garbage yard dog, Tornado, by mooning him on the other side of the fence.
This was Brian's life. Sometimes, he envied the people that he eviscerated - for them, it was over.
He saw the motorcycle that he was looking for. It was on its side, with its tire blown out, courtesy of Brian's chain. Brian saw a lone figure lying in the grass not too far from the bike. As he walked up to the figure, he noticed the figure started to stir.
Brian hated it when they were still awake. He pulled a hypodermic needle and vial from his oh-so-stylish overalls pocket. He could probably pack all of Mikey's action figures and some of Debbie's porcelain clowns in the pockets of these things, they were so baggy.
Brian looked down at the figure, a dark helmet covering its head. Brian always felt it was better to refer to his prey as 'it' rather than 'he' or 'she' - they were food, nothing more. As he leaned over the body, he took in the shabbiness of the clothes. Christ! They were worse than his. Obviously this boy didn't shop at Abercrombie or even the Gap. He also noticed that when he felt the body up that it was very flabby and quite out of shape. They might not have to fatten this one up that much. He lifted the helmet off its head.
When the black curls spilled onto Brian's hand, he recoiled. God! Did this kid ever wash its hair?!
"What's...where? Unggggghh...," the thing started to utter.
"Oh look, it speaks. And here I thought you would be easy," Brian snidely said. "I'd say you're fucked boy, and not in a positive, life-affirming way either."
"Huh? Who are you?" It suddenly looked panicked. "Where's Justin?!?" It started to look around jerkily. Brian shoved the hypo into its arm as quickly as possible. The figure jerked a bit and then settled back.
Great. There was someone else. The problem was, he didn't see anyone else at the moment. The body could have been thrown and now he might have to search all night trying to find it. Or it could have gotten away and saw Brian and was now running off in search of help.
Brian leaned down over the body and got close to its ear. "You stay here. I'll be right back with your little friend."
Brian got up, kicked the body because it was there and started looking for his other prey.
He walked a few paces and noticed a body lying in the ditch. The figure had been thrown a pretty good distance from the bike. Brian sure hoped it was still alive. Debbie didn't like it when she didn't have time to fatten them up. She also didn't like to think of cutting something as offensive as "roadkill." Brian looked over the body. He kicked the foot a few times. He then leaned over the chest and listened for any kind of heartbeat.
It was there - a very strong thump, thump, thump. Brian was also aware of how nice this one smelled. At least this one was more hygienically aware than his friend.
Okay, this was good. Now all he had to do was lift its helmet off. As Brian pried the helmet off its head, instead of black, greasy curls, he felt the ever-so-soft fine strands of golden hair brush his fingertips. He decided he had to look at the face attached to that hair.
"Holy Shit," Brian said under his breath.
There was no fucking way that was going into the sausage.
Now he just had to convince Debbie of that.
Go to Chapter 3
Feedback is welcome, as always. You know - you hated it, you loved it, I should take up stamp collecting....