Summary:
Randy Marsh has found something...or rather, someone...new to obsess over.
Chapter Text
"But MOMMM!"
Those were the words that echoed through the long hallways of the Cartman residence on that fateful Monday afternoon. Liane had caught a cold, and she was in bed. And her son was rather distraught. "I'm sorry, poopsiekins, I can't cook for you. The doctor said I should rest."
"Mommm..I need mah desserts! I'm a growing boy!"
Angrily, Eric stomped out of the bedroom before his mother could reply. He had to find somebody else to cook for him. Someone who would listen to him. Someone who enjoyed cooking...
Suddenly, a thought struck his mind as he rushed out the door as fast as his thick little legs could carry him. He knew exactly who he needed.
Randy Marsh stood in front of the stove. Sprinkling the tiniest amount of mint, he seasoned his mid-day omelette perfectly and precisely. Hearing the door click, he turned around. "Stan! Are you home from football practice already?"
"I'm not Stan, you semen-puking asshole dickhead."
"Oh, you're that little fat kid that Stan hangs out with."
Eric sighed. "Do I have to fucking tell everyone this? I'm big-boned!"
Randy looked at the boy for a moment, then returned to his savory snack.
"So...Randy," Cartman mused, "I heard through the grapevine that you enjoy cooking."
"I don't enjoy cooking. Cooking is my PASSION."
Cartman grinned mischievously. This was exactly what he wanted to hear.
"Do you happen to, oh, I don't know, make...desserts?"
Randy, not missing a beat, swiveled around. "Are you kidding me? I don't merely make desserts. I craft them, with incredible artisan skill."
"May I try one of these legendary treats?"
Randy simply pointed to a stack of containers. Curiously, Cartman toddled towards them, wondering what was inside. Pulling back the lid of the closest bowl, he stared at the beautiful, delicious cupcakes inside. Not hesitating at all, he stripped the wrapper off of one and popped the whole thing into his mouth. Looking over at the boy who was so enjoying his food, Randy knew that this was the start of a beautiful friendship.
As soon as Cartman had eaten every dessert in the containers, he walked out the door, barely mumbling a "goodbye."
The next day, when Liane still wasn't well enough to cook, Cartman headed right over to the Marshes' house. As soon as he got in the door, Randy was standing in the hall, dressed like Willy Wonka.
"The fuck?"
"I made you a little snack..." Randy coaxed the chubby boy into the kitchen. Right there, waiting on the table like a naked lover, was the biggest, most beautiful cake that he had ever seen.
"Is-is this for me?" Cartman was incredibly shocked.
"Oh yes...it's all yours." Randy smirked, looking at Cartman's adorably round face as as grin split across it.
Cartman attacked the cake, aggressively swallowing down every bit. In a mere fifteen minutes, he had put away an entire cake. Now stretched out on the floor, he sighed, "Sweet..."
Randy looked at him. He was so round, and no doubt about it, he was full. Randy longed to squeeze him. And that's exactly what he did. Picking up the boy in his arms, he held him around his thick waist and hooked his chin over his shoulder. "You are adorable. You are fucking adorable and I want you to eat my desserts forever."
"Sweet."
On Wednesday, as soon as school let out, Cartman rushed over to the Marsh house. Panting as he reached the doorstep, he collapsed, ringing the doorbell as he went down. Randy, who had frosting in his mustache, opened the door wide. Looking around, he cried out, "Hey, hey Sharon! Did you ring the doorbell?"
Getting no reply, he almost closed the door before Eric got up on his knees and grabbed onto Randy's pants, pulling them down around his ankles. Awkwardly looking down, Randy blushed. "What the hell?"
"Whoops. Heh-heh." Cartman looked up towards Randy.
Just then, Stan came up behind the two. "Cartman, why the hell are you blowing my dad?"
Randy blinked. "Son, it's not what it looks like."
"Dad...I-I don't want to know." With that, the logical preteen walked off, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to forget what he just saw.
Cartman stood up and skipped into the house. "So what's my snack today?"
Randy grinned at him. "Oh...I've made you something very, very special."
Following him into the kitchen, Cartman couldn't help but wonder how Randy planned to top the fantastic cake from yesterday. A ten-foot-wide pie? No, that was ridiculous. A poptart with sprinkles made from the dried blood of his enemies? Randy wouldn't dare. "So what is it?"
Randy glanced at the boy and smiled knowingly. Motioning towards a box, he simply offered, "See for yourself."
Cartman wandered over to the table, climbing on top and lifting off the lid. The sides collapsed to reveal a huge cinnamon roll. After looking closer, he discovered it wasn't cinnamon that filled the crevices of the delifghtful pastry, but crushed cheesy poofs. "You didn't."
"Oh, I did," Randy winked.
Instatntly, Eric ravenously shoved a piece of the roll into his mouth. The flavor was amazing. "Ugh...you're the best cook ever, Mr. Marsh."
Grinning, Randy replied, "I know, I know."
When he finally finished the dessert, Cartman was totally stuffed. "I'm so fucking full..." he breathed.
Randy scooped him up and carried him into the living room. Plunking down on the couch, he situated Eric in his lap. "You want me to rub your tummy?"
"Y-yes..."
Randy gently caressed Eric's stomach as the young boy let out a few moans. "Don't stop..." He shut his eyes, smiling as he fell asleep in Randy's lap. Right before he drifted off, almost in a whisper, he let Randy know exactly how he felt about his cooking.
"Sweet..."
