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When Kyle demands that the school’s annual talent night get the lead story of the upcoming issue of the South Park High newspaper, Cartman isn’t at all surprised. Not when he sees who one of the participants is. Cartman was used to shit like this by now but he didn’t have to like it. Even after the novelty of Guitar Hero died down, Stan still stupidly kept up playing guitar and Kyle stupidly thought he was the best thing ever because of it, like he wasn’t just some hippie douchebag.
It’s their junior year now though and Cartman has basically had enough. Stan was quarterback of the football team, the founding member of the ecosphere club (hip-piiiiie), and now he’d fucking signed up for the lame-o talent night. Kyle, meanwhile, was head of the debate club (of course), a member of the math league (doooooork), and, obviously, in newspaper club, along with Cartman himself. They argued all the fucking time over who got to cover which assignments and what should be the lead story. This wasn’t a new thing. But for some reason this time it was annoying Cartman more than usual.
“Talent night is a big fucking deal, dude,” Kyle says, in that voice he uses when he’s trying to be rational to Cartman but just ends up sounding like a superior dickhole. “Bigger than free ice cream in the cafeteria this Friday.”
“Nothing is bigger than ice cream, Kyle,” Cartman replies, voice deadly.
“Fuck off, fat-ass,” Kyle says, his tone shifting to flat-out dismissive and huddling with Red over the layout on the scanner.
Cartman grinds his teeth together. “Talent night is a month away!”
“People need to know about it,” Kyle says, voice bored, not even bothering to look up.
“Oh please, like you’d care if your gay life partner wasn’t in it.”
That makes him look up, eyes flashing with anger. If they could change color they’d probably be as red as his hair now.
“Stan is with Wendy, asshole!”
“Ah-ha, but you didn’t even have to ask who I was talking about didja, Jew?”
Kyle rolls his eyes and turns back to his task. “You’ve been making those dumb cracks since we were kids, Cartman. Maybe you should get a new hobby, something that, I dunno, matters.”
There’s something about Kyle’s tone, his flat, almost perfunctory statement that hits Cartman hard. Like Cartman has nothing better to do than rehash old shit. Like Kyle was done rising to the bait.
“Fine,” he mutters under his breath. “Maybe I will.”
__________________
Cartman stews about it more than he normally would. He thinks about it that night, the next day, the following evening. He’s had hobbies. He could do a shitload of stuff that would be considered impressive. He wrote a musical once. He created a talent agency. He has depths, okay. So why it is that he holes himself up in his house that weekend, playing Guitar Hero when he hasn’t played it in years is beyond him.
His fingers are rusty and he fails out of Free bird pretty fucking early, it’s almost embarrassing. But whatever, he keeps going and by night his mom is pissed that he hasn’t stopped and also that he refuses to eat dinner, but this shit is important. He’s seen the way Kyle’s always so damn impressed whenever Stan plays for real. And if being able to play a stupid fucking guitar means so much to Kyle, Cartman will show him.
Except -- now he just needed to buy a real one.
____________________
Cartman’s got some money saved up. It was supposed to be for the next X-Box release but whatever, desperate times call for desperate measures. He buys a used guitar at the music store downtown, but he can’t afford more than an acoustic.
“Stan has a fucking electric,” he complains to Kenny when they’re in Kenny’s room, smoking up after school.
“Why do you care?” Kenny says, voice thick from his last hit.
“Uhh, because Stan’s a ginormous hippie asshole and I wanna make him look dumb?”
Kenny snorts. “Yeah, okay, Cartman.”
“Eh! Fuck you.”
Kenny lulls his head toward Cartman and rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. “Like it’s not about the boner you’ve had for Kyle forever.”
Cartman can’t help it; he flushes immediately. “I repeat: fuck you. Like I’d ever touch that dirty Jew.”
“More like he won’t touch you,” laughs Kenny.
“Like I want him too,” Cartman says, but it comes out less angry than he’d hoped.
“Dude, you’re so transparent. Like, it’s amusing to me that Kyle doesn’t see it. Just admit you wanna bone him.”
Cartman groans and drops his head, biting his lip and breathing deeply. “Fine,” he says when he looks up. “I wanna bone him.”
Kenny claps him on the back, hard, grinning. “See? Now doesn’t that feel better?”
“I hate you, you motherfucking white trash asshole.”
“Uh-huh. So what’s the plan?”
“What plan?”
“Please, Cartman, I know you. You obviously have some plan.”
Cartman shrugs. “I’m gonna – sign up for that dumb talent show and that’s all I’ve got.”
Kenny laughs. “Gonna declare your love via song again?”
“I’m not in love with him, gross.”
“Oh, so sorry. Gonna declare you wanna bang him, then?”
“I don’t know! Point is, it’s gonna be lame because it’s an acoustic guitar.”
“Whatever, man, you can make it work.”
Cartman doubts that.
_____________________
He pulls up stupid YouTube videos like ‘how to learn to play guitar’ and ‘acoustic guitar made easy’ and the more he practices the angrier he gets because why the hell is he even doing this in the first place? He wouldn’t go through all this trouble just to bone someone. He’s boned people. So what if he’s always thought about a certain someone during those few times. He still—
He sees Kyle in the halls, they sit together at lunch, they have two classes together and newspaper club and every time he sees him, his fucking heart stutters in his chest.
Alright, so fine, maybe he’s – maybe he’s in—
“Ugh,” Cartman mutters disgustedly, tossing his guitar to the side. “You’re so gay.”
He never wanted to fall for anyone at all, honestly. It’s such a weak thing to do. Who needs it? It’s opening yourself up to a bunch of bullshit and thinking of someone else besides yourself and really, Cartman’s never wanted to be that selfless, never really saw the point.
But Kyle fucking Broflovski has been a thorn in his side since he was in pre-school. Cartman’s been so wrapped up in him, consumed by him, that he supposes it’s pretty fucking inevitable that it ended up not just being a hate thing. After all, they could get along pretty good sometimes. Sure, it was usually when Kyle and Stan were fighting, but it showed they could.
Cartman was tired of it, though. Tired of being an afterthought, tired of being thought of as a default. He’d fucking do that stupid talent night and win and if Kyle Broflovski finally took notice, fine. And if he didn’t – so what. Maybe Cartman was doing this for more than just Kyle. Maybe he was doing it for himself.
_________________
“Saw you signed up for talent night, man,” Stan says at lunch, reaching over to steal Kenny’s apple. Cartman hates the hippie so much.
“What?” Kyle says, head shooting up and looking back and forth between them.
Cartman stabs at his Salisbury steak with his fork.
“Yep,” Stan says happily.
Cartman starts stabbing at his mashed potatoes instead until he can feel Kyle’s eyes on him.
He snaps. “What, Jew?”
Kyle narrows his eyes. “What happened to ‘talent night is dumb, boring, stupid.’”
“I’m sure I used more colorful words than that, you ass-turd. And it is, but a ski resort weekend in Denver is not.” It was the prize for winning and to be honest, Cartman’s barely thought about it but he’s forever greatly for his quick-thinking in times of dire need…
Kyle snorts. “Please, Cartman, you hated that time we went to a ski resort.”
…Except Kyle always seems to see through everything, the fucker.
“We were kids and with our parents, Kyle.”
“It’s a vacation for two, Cartman, so who are you even gonna take?” Stan says.
Cartman grabs his heart in an exaggerated motion. “Oh, Stan, you wound me. Please, tell us more about how Testaburger hates to go down on you. Relationships sound so much fun.”
“Shut up, ass wipe,” Stan mutters but Cartman’s made him blush so that’s all that matters.
Kyle’s still looking at him, a little curiously now.
“Speak, Jew boy, if you gotta.”
Kyle shakes his head. “No, I’m just. I dunno. Surprised.”
“Yeah, well, I’m full of fucking surprises. I’m outta here, losers,” Cartman says, picking up his half-eaten food and leaving as Kenny gives him an absent wave and Kyle still fucking stares at him like he’s grown two heads.
So. That could’ve gone better.
At least no one called after him that he never leaves his food half-eaten, although he’s positive Kyle fucking noticed. For someone who isn’t supposed to give a shit about him, Kyle sure seems to keep a lot of tabs on him.
Later when he’s playing video games with Kenny he says as much.
“That’s because he’s as weirdly obsessed with you as you are with him,” Kenny says absently around a Twizzler.
Cartman doesn’t win because he’s too fucking distracted.
_____________________
Cartman’s sitting against the huge concrete wall in the center of the blacktop. It’s honestly a giant slab, just off to the side of the school. He supposes it’s there for like, handball nonsense but who the fuck plays handball? Oh, right, the stupid hipsters. It’s after school and no one’s out here, thankfully. He’s got a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and it’s annoying to keep taking it out of his mouth to exhale when he’s trying to fucking concentrate, so perhaps he made a miscalculation there.
Cartman’s brainstorming which song to possibly perform. He’s ranged from the painstakingly obvious (I Wanna Know What Love Is), the overtly cheesy (Eternal Flame) , and the downright absurd (Wonderwall, just so he could say ‘Anyway, here’s Wonderwall).
Nothing’s feeling right, though. He finishes one cigarette and lights another and then nearly chokes on the smoke when Kyle’s suddenly standing in front of him. He’s got his hat on but it’s pushed back ever-so-slightly so that Cartman can see a few unwieldy red curls trying to make their escape. He’s got a coat on but it isn’t completely zippered and Cartman can see his stripped, soft-looking polo that’s undone at the top two buttons. Yet he’s, inexplicitly, wearing a scarf so what the hell is the point of those two wayward buttons? Obviously to drive Cartman crazy at the tantalizing hint of pale skin, no doubt. Fuckin’ Gingers, man.
“What’re you doing out here, Cartman? The club’s meeting right now.”
Cartman blinks. “Uh, okay? Then why aren’t you there?”
“I—don’t change the subject!”
He grins evilly, even as his heart flips a little. “Why, Kyle, did you come looking for me? Did you miss me?”
Kyle scoffs and shoves himself down next to Cartman, too fucking close if Cartman has anything to say about it. Which is, simultaneously, not a problem at all and the biggest problem in the world. This is his fucking life.
“Fuck off, asshole,” Kyle says, elbowing him in the side. “I just know how much you love arguing with me about every little thing so figured you’d have to be dying or something to miss it.”
Cartman takes a shaky drag. “So you doooo care, Kyle. I always knew you did.”
Kyle rolls his eyes. “Not wanting you to die and actually caring are two very different things.”
“If you say so, Jew.”
Kyle sighs, sounding so hilariously frustrated and god, Cartman loves that sound. Loves riling him up. His mom once told him he pulls Kyle’s pigtails just the way the boys at school used to do with her. Cartman was 12 when she said it. He didn’t realize until a few years later exactly what it meant.
“Speaking of dying, you a) shouldn’t smoke and b) definitely shouldn’t do it so close to the school.”
Cartman laughs and deliberately blows the smoke in Kyle’s face, causing him to bat at it uselessly.
“Trust me, Jew, if I wanted to burn down the school it would no longer be standing.”
“Whatever, you still shouldn’t.”
“Oh give it up, I do it when I’m stressed out.”
Kyle turns to him sharply, sitting forward and shifting so they’re kind of facing one another. “You’re stressed?”
Cartman absently thumbs the paper beneath his fingers before flipping the notepad shut. “Just stupid shit, don’t worry about it.”
“…the talent night?” Kyle says hesitantly.
Cartman suddenly feels – good god, shy of all things. Nervous. What the fuck does this dude even do to him? It’s like he becomes a different person around him lately and he’s not really sure if he likes it.
“Eh, sang before, right? But I’m like, uh, doing a little more this time.”
“Oh yeah?” Kyle says, a mix of skepticism and interest and fuck if Cartman doesn’t latch onto the latter like a life preserver.
“Yeah,” Cartman says shortly. “Not telling you, though, you’ll spill all my secrets cuz you’re a dirty Jew.”
Kyle smiles at him. Like, genuinely smiles and shakes his head fondly. Cartman has obviously entered the Twilight Zone.
“You should try one of these, might get your panties to unbunch,” Cartman says, nodding to the cigarette between his fingers, just because he needs to say something, anything, because if he doesn’t he might do something really fucking stupid.
“Yeah, no thanks.”
“Oh come on, what’re you, chicken?”
Kyle rolls his eyes. “No, I just happen to enjoy breathing.”
“Chicken. Chiiiiiicken,” Cartman taunts and watches in delight as Kyle’s eyes darken with anger.
“Fuck off, fat-ass.”
“Oh, fat-ass, huh,” Cartman says and before he knows what he’s doing he’s tackling Kyle to the blacktop, pinning him with his body. Kyle lets out a whoosh of air and a grunt.
“Ugh, get off me.”
“Not a chance,” Cartman says, taking a drag and blowing it out slowly, obnoxiously over Kyle.
“Dickbag,” Kyle breathes, punching at his back.
Cartman laughs, taking a long drag and sitting back on Kyle’s hips, trying to ignore the feel of his body beneath him.
“You ever gonna let me up?” Kyle says flatly.
Cartman just blows out more smoke in his face. “I’ll think about it.”
“Fuckin’ – just fucking do it, then.”
Cartman freezes. At first he doesn’t comprehend what Kyle even means. Then he realizes it’s probably giving him a cigarette. Cartman meets Kyle’s eyes, takes in how defiant he looks but also – serious.
That’s when Cartman decides fuck it, you only live once. He turns the cigarette around in his mouth so the filter end is between his lips and then he’s leaning down fast, fast enough so he can’t see if Kyle’s eyes widen or if his lips twist in disgust. He doesn’t want to know, he just wants –
He breathes out, right up against Kyle’s lips as they part, and hears him cough. Cartman pulls back, turns the cigarette around and inhales before leaning down again and letting their mouths touch completely, no barrier between them. He hears Kyle suck in a startled breath, feels his mouth part again ever so slightly, enough so Cartman can breathe out the smoke directly into it, slower this time, not making him cough.
He feels Kyle breathe in, feels the dip of his chest against his own. The smoke mingles between them and sooner than he’d like to, Cartman pulls back so Kyle can breathe out. He looks down at him as if in a haze, unable to focus on anything but Kyle’s too bright eyes and too pink mouth.
Kyle’s puffing out the last bits of smoke and then he’s licking his lips, eyes widening a little as he looks up at Cartman.
“That’s called shotgunning, Jew,” Cartman says, steadier than he feels and then wants to kick himself over how lame that was.
“I know that,” Kyle replies, and Cartman can tell he was going for pissy but it just comes out – raspy, Jesus fuck.
“Yeah, well. Figured it’d be easier on your delicate lungs.”
“Sure, Cartman,” Kyle says, almost placating and yeah, Cartman’s gotta get off Kyle’s hips before he chubs up more than he already is.
He rolls off him and back against the concrete of the wall, stubbing out the rest of the cigarette. Kyle just lays there for a moment and Cartman risks a glance, sees the way his hat has fallen even further back on his head, sees how red his cheeks are, how his chest is rising and falling. He wants to climb back on top of him so fucking bad, kiss him for real.
“You not coming then?” Kyle says, once he’s straightened his hat and is sitting up against the wall as well, further away this time.
“Nah, gotta work on this shit,” Cartman replies, picking up his discarded pad, not looking at him.
His eyes catch on Kyle’s sneakers as he stands up, sees them not moving for a few seconds until he says, “Right, uh. See ya.”
Cartman doesn’t look up until he’s sure Kyle’s gone and then he tilts his head towards the sky and closes his eyes. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
__________________________
Sometimes Cartman thinks about the night Kenny made them take the bus to North Park so they could sneak into a strip club. He got them fake ID’s and it was a warm early summer night and Cartman fucking loved summer nights but he didn’t really care for pussy and so he was grumpy as fuck the whole time. Kyle was grumpy too but that was because he was terrified they were gonna get caught and only came along because the hippie guilt tripped him. Stan and Kenny were in their glory, getting lap dances and shit while Kyle and Cartman silently drank their beers.
“I need some air,” Kyle said after a while, coughing around the smoke of the place. Cartman waited a few minutes, willed his dick to be interested in some of the proceedings and when it simply refused to be, went outside himself.
Kyle was standing up against the building, leg bent, wearing no hat and a light jacket. He looked fucking perfect and Cartman hated the cruelty of his life for allowing Kyle into it. Why couldn’t he have been born in North Park? Then maybe he’d never have met Kyle Fucking Broflovski.
“Why aren’t you inside, fat-ass?” Kyle asked mildly.
Cartman shrugged, not even wanting to come back with some insult. He’d been feeling off all fucking night, probably because it was only recently he’d properly figured out his dick didn’t get it up for the female persuasion and that all those erections directly after puberty had probably just been the wind blowing or something. It was… a bit of a mind fuck and he’d known this night would only confirm it. It’s probably why he’d decided to go in the first place, to be honest.
Somehow he and Kyle ended up in a mini-mart buying a six pack of beer and sitting on the freeway overpass about a mile down from the club. They didn’t really talk; they just passed beers over to one another and watched the cars speed by below them. It was the first night Cartman had the urge to kiss Kyle for real. Not the intense feelings he’d get during a fiery fit of anger, where hate and lust seemed all mixed up in his mind and he’d find himself getting a hard-on just because his temper was flaring. No, this was Cartman feeling perhaps the most vulnerable he ever had around another person and Kyle possibly, silently, getting that by just letting them be.
It was companionable and – nice and Cartman never wanted to put his tongue in another person’s mouth as badly as he had that night. They walked back to the bar slowly, lazily, and it felt like they were the only two people in town that night and anything could’ve happened.
That was about 7 months ago now and Cartman had hoped those feelings would fade, that they wouldn’t consume his every move. He’d hoped maybe he’d forget that night, like some foggy dream, but he never had. He wondered if Kyle had.
And that’s when he knows what song he has to sing.
__________________
It was one of those lame emo songs he’d heard on far too many 8tracks mixes about teenagers. The ages weren’t right (they’d been 16) but fuck, the atmosphere of the rest of it – well, Cartman couldn’t fucking deny that it fit the mood, fit everything perfectly. He didn’t really tend to identify with songs like this. He preferred his Styx or Asia. But… well. Singing it would be – fuck, it would be more overt than singing I Swear and this time he wouldn’t be goofing around. Who knows, maybe he wasn’t goofing around back then either. Maybe it’s always fucking been Kyle. Kyle who could’ve thrown Cartman off of him the other day, but didn’t. Kyle who’s been giving him these almost shy, questioning looks when they’ve passed each other in the halls this week.
He’s got a week to learn the song so he holes himself up in his room and ignores everyone’s questions of where he is and why doesn’t he wanna come to Applebee’s for half price appetizers on Friday or see the new shitty Michael Bay film.
On Monday Kyle sits next to him during lunch and nudges him. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Cartman says, not looking up from his plate. Kenny and the hippie haven’t arrived yet.
“So, uh, you ready for Friday?”
“Of course,” Cartman says. He’s not but he still has the rest of the week. The chords are pretty basic, actually, once you get the hang of it. Like, they’re essentially repetitive. But his voice needs some fucking work. He’s used to belting out dumb shit at karaoke or during Rock Band in exaggerated tones. Earnest singing is not exactly his bag.
“Cool, uh. Looking forward to it.”
Ostensibly Cartman knew Kyle would be there, of course he did. That was somewhat the point and also a complete given since Stan is competing. But hearing the confirmation of it, hearing that he’s looking forward to Cartman is –
“Why the hell are you being nice to me?” Cartman blurts out.
“Huh?” Kyle blinks.
Cartman can see Kenny and Stan in line for food but almost done.
“This whole last week you’ve been weird as fuck, Jew.”
Kyle shrugs and looks down. Cartman can’t take the way his eyelashes sweep against his cheek.
“Yeah, well, you were weird too,” Kyle mutters and there it is. Probably the closest they’ll get to acknowledging what happened. Cartman’s opening his mouth to say something – not even sure what exactly – when Stan and Kenny bound over loudly and start talking immediately.
“I’ll try not to disappoint you,” Cartman says instead, quietly, begrudgingly, only for Kyle’s ears. The sad part is: he means it.
___________________
Cartman doesn’t do nervous. He’s done plenty of fucking public speaking, public singing, public anything but tonight – tonight, he’s nervous. Maybe it’s because this stupidly means more than any of those other times, even though he wishes to fuck he could deny that. Because he actually cares this time. It isn’t based around some manipulation. Maybe it’s because Stan’s up there right now singing and playing electric guitar to Sweet Child O’ Mine like a lame-o, but he’s actually fucking good and all Cartman’s got is a dumb emo love song and an acoustic and a future bill for rejection.
The song ends and Stan gets the biggest cheer of the night. He’s probably packing his bags in his head for him and Testaburger. Cartman peeks out at the crowd, tries to find Kyle and can’t. But he could make out Kenny’s bright orange hoodie anywhere and sure enough, Kyle is sitting beside him. He’s all smiles and claps of course and Cartman grits his teeth together.
Naturally, by some cruel twist of fate, Cartman is up right after Stan.
“Good luck, man!” Stan says and Cartman just nods vaguely, unable to muster up an insult, feet already feeling frozen. He makes it out under stage in a dazed stupor.
“Uh, this is a song to slit your wrists to. Or something.”
He gets a few laughs from the crowd and risks a glance at Kyle, who isn’t laughing, just looking a little intent. Jesus fucking Christ, he preferred it when Kyle was permanently rolling his eyes at him. If one not-kiss was gonna do this to Kyle, Cartman’s not sure he’d ever be able to handle much else.
So he starts singing and he definitely fucks up one of the first few notes but whatever, he gets the rhythm back quickly after. The song is over 4 minutes long and it’s possibly the longest 4 minutes of Cartman’s life because he has to will himself not to spend it staring only at Kyle. He loses the battle halfway through, looking straight at him during the line “we’re the coolest kids and we’ll take what we can get – the hell out of this town, find some conversation.”
Kyle’s face is – Cartman doesn’t even fucking know. A glance to Kenny reveals a complete shit-eating grin and Cartman knows he will never, ever live this down with him. Like the masochist he is, he looks at Kyle during the “I wanna stay 18 forever so we can stay like this forever,” line, sees his eyes widen and his expression clear. And he knows in that instant – he remembers that night, he knows what Cartman’s doing.
Cartman can’t bear to look at him for the rest of the song and when he’s done and getting more applause than he’d ever anticipated, he practically runs off stage.
“Holy shit man, that was… good,” Stan says, not bothering to shield his surprise.
“Gee, thanks,” Cartman says sarcastically, but his delivery is lacking, still feeling too raw.
He hangs backstage with Marsh and doesn’t look out to the crowd anymore, just listens to some bad rap and even worse country from the remaining contestants until the winner is finally announced.
“That’s you, dude!” Stan is yelling in his ear after the announcement and Cartman is back in that dazed stupor because what?
“Go!” Stan says, pushing him out from behind the curtain and onto the stage.
There’s bright lights and clapping and Cartman thinks he says thanks, he can’t really be sure, before he’s high-tailing it off stage again and just – breathing back against the wall, dangling his first prize ribbon and envelope with his weekend getaway tickets from his fingers.
Stan’s still chattering away, all “holy shit, you actually won, dude” while Cartman just thunks his head back against the wall and fingers his phone, stupidly thinking maybe there will be a text or something. He doesn’t move, even when everyone’s hustling around him, making their way outside, the theater club coming to tear down the stage design.
Cartman just stays where he is, breathing, not really believing it actually happened. He’s never won anything in his life. This school doesn’t give a shit about him and yet they just awarded him something. It feels like it’s all happening to someone else, that he isn’t even himself, and he just closes his eyes against the wave of emotion and waits for it to pass. Feelings are the absolute worst, Jesus.
“Cartman?” comes a low voice and, sadly, Cartman would know it anywhere.
He opens his eyes slowly and sure enough there’s Kyle, still looking kind of like a deer-in-headlights. Cartman knows the fucking feeling.
“Jew,” Cartman nods.
“Uh,” Kyle says, dragging his fingers through his hair, making it stick up. “Congratulations, man. That was…”
Cartman takes an exaggerated bow.
“I uh, didn’t know you could play guitar.”
“Yeah, well, you told me to get a hobby.”
Cartman wasn’t planning on saying that and he certainly wasn’t meaning for it to sound as bitter as it did. Nevertheless it’s almost gratifying to see Kyle’s mouth click shut, to watch him blink.
“Oh, uh. Wow. So you uh, you did this, um—"
“I didn’t totally do it for you,” Cartman says, looking away and back again, shuffling his feet a little. It’s the truth, anyway.
Kyle nods, looking a little relieved frankly, but Cartman doesn’t think in a bad way. More like a ‘good for you, I’m glad’ way. “But, uh, the. The song…”
Cartman could totally diffuse the situation right now by lying. It comes as natural as breathing to him, it wouldn’t be hard. Just omit the truth, tell him he loves the song, nothing to it.
Instead he finds himself saying, “Maybe that was a little for you,” and then wishes he could disappear into thin air.
He watches Kyle swallow, his cheeks going a little pink. He takes a step forward and then stops abruptly. “That um,” Kyle whispers, a little thickly, licking his lips. “That was a good night.”
Cartman nods slowly, unable to get his voice to work.
Kyle takes another step closer. Another. “Didn’t think you remembered it,” he says when they are basically toe to toe, Cartman looking down at him.
“Yeah, well,” Cartman says vaguely.
Kyle looks at him, like he’s trying to decide something. “I felt so uncomfortable in that club because I – well, I’m not. You know. Into girls.”
Cartman feels his breathing hitch. He could make a million jokes. The same fucking jokes he’s been making for years. But they’d be fake, cowardly.
“Yeah, well. Me neither. And same.”
Kyle’s eyes widen just a little and he licks his lips again. This time Cartman can practically feel the nervous energy coming off him. “I thought, uh. Maybe.”
Cartman snorts softly. “Yeah, well, guess you’re oh so smart, eh?”
“Kenny says we’re obsessed with each other,” Kyle says, almost absently.
Cartman rolls his eyes. “Kenny’s a loser.”
Kyle smirks and god, that quirk of his lips, the way it makes his face brighten and being this close to see it – it could kill a weaker man. “Not really wrong, though.”
Cartman swallows hard, Adam’s apple working. “No, uh. Not really wrong.”
Kyle’s eyes break away from his and he watches him scratch at the back of his neck. “So, like. You’ve got a free ski weekend, huh?”
Cartman’s heart is beating like a drum now and Kyle’s close, so damn close. He lets himself reach out one hand, finds Kyle’s wrist and just drags his index finger along it. The way Kyle shivers, ever so slightly, is damn near intoxicating. He looks up at Cartman slowly, using those damn eyelashes like some sort of weapon.
“I see what your angle is here, Jew. You just want me for my free swag. No one on the block got swagga like me.”
Kyle rolls his eyes but god, it’s fond and humorous and yeah, maybe Cartman will just die right here, actually. “Yeah, you figured me out, Cartman. Guess you’re so fucking smart, eh?”
He lets his finger run up and down Kyle’s arm, watches the way his breathing starts to grow a little ragged, before pushing himself even further into his space. “I sorta am, you know. You wouldn’t have gotten us to this point.”
Kyle brings his hands to rest on either side of Cartman’s collar of his polo, tugging a little. “I guess I can be a little dense sometimes,” Kyle admits.
“Mmm-hmm,” Cartman agrees, and then leans down the tiny distance needed to press their mouths together, no pretense of it being anything else other than a kiss this time. Kyle’s lips are softer than last time, less chapped, and the way he inches his tongue out and slides it into Cartman’s mouth, curling it around his own, is a thing of fucking beauty.
Cartman groans deep in his throat and slides his hand down to the small of Kyle’s back, pushing him forward and pressing their hips flush together.
Kyle gasps and kisses him deeper, hotter, wetter. “Jesus,” he breathes against Cartman’s jaw when they finally break apart for air. “If you think we’re skiing at all on this trip, you got another thing coming. We’re not leaving the fucking hotel.”
Cartman laughs weakly, even as his cock hardens to an uncomfortable degree. “Why Kyle, what kind of a girl do you think I am?” Cartman asks in a high, scandalized voice.
Kyle drags his mouth up the side of his face and over his ear, tugging on the lobe gently. “The dirty kind, I hope.”
“Uhhh,” Cartman says, brain shorting out. “Okay, who are you and what did you do with the uptight Jew Boy I’ve always known?”
Kyle laughs in his ear softly, before moving back down his neck and over his jaw again. “Not smart to assume, Cartman, you should know that.” He nibbles over his chin.
“Jesus,” Cartman says, voice faint, sliding his hand down to cup Kyle’s ass and god, it feels so good under his fingers. “I uh, should check when these tickets are for, huh?”
“Damn straight.”
They manage to untangle themselves from one another a few minutes and a lot of grinding hips and wet, deep kisses later.
“Guess I need to take you on a proper date first before asking if I can make you come in the backseat of my car, huh?” Cartman says as they walk through the school parking lot, his acoustic guitar in one hand.
Kyle stops in front of Cartman’s car and leans back against the driver’s side door, smiling crookedly. “Well, maybe at least sing me another song or two.”
“I can do that,” Cartman says before stepping in close to kiss him again.
Maybe Kyle actually was the smart one. After all, his absent suggestion that Cartman ‘get a hobby’ lead them here and Cartman couldn’t exactly complain.
[end]