Disclaimer: South Park, all South Park characters, settings, and events belong to the makers of South Park, Matt Stone and Trey Parker. Sometimes, I just like to play with the grown-up versions of their boys.

(A/N): Just another something to hold you guys over until I pop out another chapter for San Diego. I'm having the most difficult time completing it, so if you all would kindly remain patient until my brain decides to start pumping out ideas again. Sorry for the major delay Some more Tyde, because clearly there aren't enough fics about them. Although it's shoddy at best and has a horrible ending that even I don't like, I'm going to give it to you anyways because it's all I can give you.

Enjoy?

We were both past the point of hammered with no way back into sobriety except time. He had been haunting my dreams for weeks now and my drunken mind saw the opportunity to make them into reality and took to it fast. I held my liquor a shit load better than he ever could and it was apparent in the way his fingers clung to the front of my shirt, desperate to stop the world from spinning around him. My arm was curled casually around his waist, tucking him safely into my side as I led him through the partygoers packed inside my house, up the massive flight of stairs, and into my bedroom. His flushed face was buried between the juncture of my shoulder and my neck, his soft giggles tickling my sensitive skin. I gently shoved him onto my bed and crawled over his prone and vulnerable body, leering at him in a way a predator would its prey.

"Token," he moaned my name like a fucking prayer and I scooped down to cover his lips with my own.

My tongue swept out to lick at his bottom lip, coaxing him to open up and allow me complete access to invade his mouth. Our tongues met without any hesitation as I pressed him harder into the mattress, his moans slipping out of his mouth and straight into mine. One of my hands burrowed into his thick brown hair, tugging on it harshly to tip his head back, revealing his tanned throat to my tongue and teeth. I sloppily worked my way under his jaw and up to his ear, nibbling on the shell before sucking his earlobe into my mouth. He shoved the knuckles of his first two fingers into his mouth to stifle his moan and my hand immediately pinned it to the bed.

"Now, Clyde, no need to be shy," I drawled, placing soft kisses on his flushed cheeks, "I want to hear just how good I make you feel."

His back bowed gently at that as a keening noise fell from his parted lips and I traced the curve of his spine with my fingertips, dipping underneath his boxers tantalizingly. My vision began to swim suddenly and the image of his face contorted beautifully in pleasure became fuzzy and dark around the edges, slowly fading to black. Before the image went completely blank, my sight snapped back into place and I shook my head to dislodge the sudden feeling of disorientation. Hands grasped at the dreadlocks falling out of my loose ponytail and I moaned when Clyde yanked me down to his level by his hold on my hair. His moment of domination was short lived, my hands now pinning both of his wrists to the mattress beneath us.

Whether it was from realizing his hands were now completely restricted or just a moment of clarity in his drunken haze, Clyde's eyes darted around the room with a strange look of fear and confusion on his face before he finally looked up at me, choking on his words, "Token? … What? 'm so… confused…"

My eyebrow arched in disbelief and I ground my hips down into his, smirking when he gasped at the shock of pleasure. The little brunette began to squirm and wriggle in earnest, attempting to escape the cage my body naturally created around him. Instead of dislodging me, he only caused me more pleasure as his body twisted and rubbed against mine.

"Stop," my voice breathily demanded, more out of the need to keep myself from losing control if anything. His wriggling ceased at my command, but I could still tell he was confused and scared by the way his eyes refused to meet mine.

I brought one of my hands up to cup his cheek and spoke softly to him, "Look at me, Clyde."

I waited until his eyes were on me to continue, "You know I care 'bout you more tha' anyone else, that I'd do nothin' to purposefully hurt you. If …" I paused, unsure of the truthfulness to my next statement, "If y'want me to stop then tell me and I'll stop. If y'think this is just 'cause 'm drunk, s'not."

Clyde's hazy eyes bore into mine and I made sure to hold his eye contact while I kissed the tips of his fingers one by one on both of his hands, gently nibbling the inside of his wrist as he watched me with a blush across his cheeks. For several moments, he lay silent beneath me, eyes distractedly following my every movement and I patiently waited for him to decide on something.

"'Kay, I trust you," he mumbled and I was so stunned by his answer that I merely stared at him stupidly for several seconds.

Clyde squirmed, trying to shift away again when I didn't immediately respond and I almost missed his hurried words, "But, if ya don't wanna anymore, I understand."

My lips were on his in a split second and he moaned into my mouth when my hands released his wrists to grip his thighs, spreading them further apart to wrap around my waist. With one palm against the small of his back and the other cupping his neck, I pulled my little brunette upwards to press his body against mine. As if trying to test my restraint, he rolled his hips in a torturously slow circle and my fingernails dug into the skin of his neck, bound to leave half-moon shaped bruises. With a sudden, unexpected burst of strength, he pushed me backwards onto the mattress, his smirking face hovering inches above mine before he crawled downwards, lifting my wrinkled shirt up over my stomach and chest to leave teasing kisses and nips across my feverishly hot skin. His pearly whites worked with his fingers to undo the button on my jeans and all I could do was moan at the sight of my supposedly innocent best friend tugging the zipper down with just his teeth. He pulled them half-way down my thighs before abandoning them all together, mouthing my painfully apparent arousal through the thin fabric of my boxers.

"Jesus Christ, Clyde," I hissed, fingers curling into brown hair.

His warm, chocolate brown eyes glanced up at me with a nervous undertone, ill-concealed by uncertain lust.

"I thought I was supposed to make you feel good. Not the other way 'round." My voice was embarrassingly breathless, simple syllables difficult to shove up my throat and through my mouth; tongue, lips, and jaw working furiously to form words.

Clyde stopped for a moment, hands pressed on top of my hips, elbows locked, and arms straight as he stared down at me with a curious look in his eyes.

"You're always worryin' 'bout how I feel, Token. It's my turn to worry 'bout how you feel. That's what a friendship is; givin' an' takin'. It's 'bout time you take," his words slurred slightly and guilt wrapped it's horribly timed fingers around my throat as I recalled just how drunk we both were. Was it the right thing to take this from him when we were both inebriated?

Yes, my mind screamed at me, Take it tonight, and then make him remember the dirty details in the morning with an amazingly accurate reenactment.

I let my head fall back onto the covers in a sure sign of acceptance, lips twitching to conceal my devious smirk, bracing my drunk-addled mind to remember every last detail of this encounter so that I can give him just as much pleasure as he's sure to give me. I feel his relieved sigh against my stomach as he leaned back down to free my erection from the confines of my boxers. My eyes close shut when he takes me entirely into his mouth without any of the hesitation I usually see in him. Movements assured and deliberate, I didn't have much room for thought as his lips and tongue brought me to the very brink of oblivion before they stopped abruptly. I push up on one of my elbows, my other hand buried in his thick hair and stare at him incredulously, debating between forcing him back down on my cock and asking him why the hell he stopped.

"Now, Token, no need to be shy," he mocked my earlier words, "I want to see just how good I make you feel."

I choked on a noise halfway between disbelieving laughter and overwhelming arousal while he resumed his task at hand, dark brown eyes locked onto mine with a heady gaze. Who would have thought the usual quiet, obedient Clyde would have a rebellious, cheeky side?

(A/N): I LOVE that you guys are reading my stories and making them your favorite, sometimes alerting them as well. However, I can't help but be disappointed in the laughably small amount of reviews I've received. Do you guys hate my work that much? (edit: I guess you don't hate my work, y'all are just lazy! MOVE YO' FINGERS! Love you.) I would be absolutely ecstatic to hear exactly what you liked about whichever story, even if it's just a one-liner. I'm less motivated to update stories that are not being reviewed; even when I know hundreds of people are viewing them. That's not to say that I won't update unless I get a certain number of reviews, but it would certainly motivate me more if I were to open my mailbox and see "Review Alert" in lieu of "Fave Alert" or "Story Alert."

NOTICE: I am currently looking for Betas and Muses. I would gladly take any "applications" for either (or both) of these positions and only ask for your name, your past work, and your history with being a beta. I will also gladly reciprocate my business.