Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Get in the fucking car

Cartman

Cartman. Come on.

I'm going to let stan sit in the front

I don't care how car sick you get

Then, if you throw up in my car

FUCK OFF JEW IM OMW

I'm going to beat your ass

"He's on his way," Kyle announces, swiping up, out of the text thread.

"Finally," Stan huffs with his hit, passing the joint back to Kenny. The two of them are sitting in the backseat, backpacks at their feet. 

Kyle plugs his phone into his car charger. Almost immediately, double bass and the tell-tale "BLEGH" of Lamb of God begin to blare from his speakers. Kyle rushes to turn it down to a barely there level, wincing at the volume.

"Sorry," he mumbles half-heartedly, already anticipating-

"I don't see how you listen to that shit." Stan offers, propping his feet up on the center console. 

"Yeah, yeah," Kyle mumbles, having heard that phrase almost every morning since he got this car on his 16th birthday and started driving the guys to school. He shakes his head at the pretentious ire in Stan's voice. Had their friendship not been buffered by years and years of support and familiarity, their differences would have split them up years ago. Kyle prides himself on being able to let it go. 

Kenny leans forward, offering the joint to Kyle by pressing his hand against Kyle's cheek. Kyle takes it just in time to take a long hit as he watches Cartman walk across his yard and into Kyles, then in front of the car's hood. The passenger side door swings open, and Cartman throws his massive body inside the vehicle, causing it to rock with his weight, and he shuts the door sharply behind him.

Kyle's ears burn with it immediately. 

"Don't slam my fucking doors!" Kyle snaps with the joint hanging out of his mouth.

Cartman shoves his backpack into the footwell before turning and snatching the joint from between Kyle's lips. Kyle leans forward to follow it as long as possible to get one more hit.

"Fuck you, Kyle. Maybe I wouldn't be slamming shit if someone hadn't rushed me." Cartman replies before taking a long drag himself.

Kyle sees red. He should be used to it by now. At some point, he should consider controlling the anger that only Cartman can inspire in him. In the long run, it would make him a better, happier person if Cartman didn't get to him as he did.

But he doesn't do that. He doesn't take a deep breath or take a second to consider his options. Instead, he rears a fist back and socks Cartman as hard as he can in the jaw, given the weird angle.

Cartman yelps, only taking a second to rub at the place of impact before he returns the blow, catching Kyle in the cheek. And from there, it escalates into wild half-cocked swings that miss their marks just as much as they hit them. Pain blooms in Kyle's lip as Cartman catches him in the mouth, and Kyle seethes, grabbing Cartman from the front of his shirt and ready to dive back in until Kenny and Stan reach from the back to hold them against their respective seats.

"Guys, calm the fuck down!" Kenny gripes.

"Asshole!" Kyle huffs but stays in his seat, sucking the blood welling from his bottom lip before it can drip down his chin. 

"Fuck off, Fire crotch. You started it." Cartman returns before yanking the visor down to check his face in the mirror. Kyle can tell there will be a bruise along his cheekbone, and the satisfaction Kyle feels as he tongues the split in his lip heats his cheeks and swells in his stomach. 

"Can we go, Kyle, please?" Stan begs, finally letting Kyle's shoulders go and slumping back in his seat.

Kyle puts the car in reverse and backs out of the driveway, still trying to level his breathing.

"Every fucking day." Kenny breathes with a humorless laugh.

Cartman reaches down to the foot well and grabs the joint from where it landed on his backpack- the cherry burning a little hole in the polyester. He takes another hit before reaching behind him to pass it to Stan.

It's silent in the car. Kyle focuses on the speakers; the intro to Poison Dreams is just beginning. Cartman makes a little noise of acknowledgment and turns it up. Kyle hates him for it.

They don't get to school in time to lazily finish their joint like usual. Instead, as soon as Kyle throws the car in park, they all hit it two or three more times in quick succession before Stan stuffs the remaining half in his cigarette pack for later.

It's four weeks until graduation, and the first-period bell just rang; none can muster the motivation to speed up their lazy stride to class.

Kyle mumbles the lyrics of the song they didn't get to finish, his favorite part only a moment away. He pushes his way through the double doors into the building, and they go their separate ways.

Kyle has first period alone. He shuffles into Physics II, and the teacher doesn't even look up. A Bill Nye, the Science Guy video is playing on the projector, and Kyle pulls out his phone and settles in for a boring 55 minutes.

hey

The notification has him gripping his phone tighter immediately, and Kyle thinks if he had better self-control, he'd ignore it.

What?

He writes back despite himself.

u know theyre playing n Denver this weeknd rite?

Even though Kyle knows precisely who Cartman's talking about, the vagueness of the question pisses him off something serious. Why the fuck does Cartman assume he can read his mind? Is he just fishing for Kyle to ask him who? Kyle does not want to reply. He wants so badly to leave him on read, and maybe knowing that would piss Cartman off should be good enough, but it isn't.

Who's 'they,' Cartman?

fuckin lamb of god, who the fuck else would i b talking about????

Kyle had looked into those tickets, of course. And it's not that Kyle thinks that a hundred dollars to see Killswitch and Lamb of God isn't worth it. It is. It's just that his dad didn't buy his car for him. To teach Kyle about finances, Gerald had gotten the car in his own name and is making Kyle make the payments, and with his shitty little part-time job at Game Stop, it doesn't leave him much extra. So, a hundred dollars plus gas both ways AND parking, Kyle has already accepted that he couldn't swing it.

What about it?

Kyle watches the three little dots jump for a ridiculous amount of time. The bubble appears and reappears, showing Cartman's hesitation. Kyle hates that his curiosity is immediately peaked. 

ill buy ur ticket if u drive me

Kyle gasps. Hand over his mouth, entirely audibly GASPS. The excitement that wells up inside him is almost consuming, and for a second, he thinks about how perfect it would be to see his favorite band play right before all this college bullshit had to start. Directly before he sold his soul to Colorado State, before he committed all of his free time to some dumb part-time job to get by, and before he got assigned a shitty little dorm room to call home. 

But then the thrill fades. He thinks that there must be some other reason. This is Cartman he's thinking of. And, sure, maybe Kyle is the only person Cartman knows who likes metal AND has a car out of their little friend group. And, yeah, the only memories he has of him and Cartman truly getting along was when they talked about how much of a master of the art Chris Adler is. But surely he's planning something.

Why?

becuz you own a car numb nuts

Kyle should have expected that answer, honestly.

What makes you think we could even survive an hour and a half drive there and back alone together?

maybe we wont ;)

You get on my fucking nerves.

Kyle finds himself staring hard at the winky emoticon and thinking even harder of what that could possibly mean before he adds.

Has your face bruised up yet?

yea

its gonna get worse 

reminds me of the one u gave me at kennys bday

u wanna c? 

The fight at Kenny's birthday had been about an unabided seat check that Cartman was sure he had called but Kyle denied hearing. That fight had ended when Kyle's nose started gushing blood and Cartman reclaimed his seat but not without stretching out his legs and patting his thighs. Kyle scoffs at the memory, remembering Cartman trying to wink during the condescending offer of his lap for Kyle to sit in, but his eye was too swollen to let it truly land. 

The left side of Cartman's face and Kyle's nose went through a range of colors in the following days, but nothing stuck with Kyle as much as the red of Cartman's blood rising to just underneath the skin, hours away from turning from the deep red to purple. 

Yeah

Kyle stares at his phone while he waits for a picture. The last he saw, Cartman's cheek was pink with busted capillaries.

The picture shows up a second later, and it has bruised up. Cartman's cheekbone is red and irritated, and under his eye is purpling. Kyle honestly hadn't thought he'd hit him that hard. He flexes his hand at the thought, and sure enough, it does ache smartly with each movement. Kyle takes in the rest of Cartman's face, the smug little grin he's got like he wanted to get punched.

Does it hurt?

Kyle bites at his split lip and swallows the blood welling in his gumline as he types. His knee jumping a mile a minute under his desk.

yea

show me urs

Kyle immediately opens up his camera app and pulls down his bottom lip to show where it has a nasty split inside, still bleeding, because he can't stop spreading the skin with his tongue. If asked, he would deny how long he searched for an angle that he found flattering so that the bit of blood on his teeth and the irritation in the skin around his knuckles were fully displayed. He takes the picture and only lets himself look over it once before sending it.

The three dots jump and cease and start again for a few seconds, and Kyle truly is on the edge of his seat, waiting for a response. He wonders if Cartman is as fascinated with the bruises they give each other as Kyle is. He wonders if Cartman stares at them before he goes to sleep like Kyle does. If he zooms in on the injured skin and thinks, I did that, over and over again in his head like a record skip he doesn't want to stop.

fuck

looks good on u

The bell ringing startles Kyle so much that his phone chatters to his desk. He stands quickly, throwing his backpack over his shoulder and pocketing his phone. He walks in a daze to his next period, his brain feeling fuzzy and his face and neck feeling hot. The three dots had been jumping last he'd seen before shunning his phone to his pocket and he hates himself for wondering what else Cartman could possibly have to say. 

His next period is with Kenny, and Kyle is genuinely relieved to be in the presence of someone he feels utterly normal around.

Kenny's already in his seat when Kyle throws himself at his desk.

"Long time no see, baby girl." Kenny greets.

"Do you think Stan will wanna finish that thing off at lunch?" Kyle asks from where he's hiding his face in his hands. He can feel his phone buzzing in his back pocket, and the physical restraint it takes not to yank it out and see what Cartman's said is frankly ridiculous.

"Hmm, probably. Lemme ask." Kenny says, taking his phone out of his hoodie pocket and tapping it. Kyle watches Kenny's thumbs move, and after a second, Kyle feels his phone go off and curses to himself. He should have added he needed this particular session to not include a specific friend of theirs and although he'd be shocked if Cartman deigned to miss lunch, the risk was making him legitimately anxious. He pulls out his phone and heads directly to Snapchat, opening their group chat.

Kenny: the lovely Kyle would like to know if we could finish that Jay at lunch. I, for one, am game. Staniel?

Stan and Cartman's little bitmoji faces pop up almost instantly at the bottom of the screen and do the little thinking face that means they are typing.

Stan: I can't 😭 Wendy wants to "talk" at lunch

Cartman: 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Stan: Cartman, I'm begging you not to be a dick. If she breaks up with me again, I owe Clyde $15

Stan: but you guys can finish it without me if you want. I got plenty on the farm.

Kenny: Stan, I love you; I'm pretty sure Wendy has never scheduled a time to "talk" to you where she didn't break up with you.

Kenny: and honestly, king. You deserve better than that

Kenny: Kyle and I are going to smoke your weed tho

thank you, dude. It would help if you broke up w her first. Hit her with the "there's something I need to say to you as well."

Cartman: filthy jew tactics

Cartman: as much as I love smoking Stan's weed, there is no nutritional value, so I'll be in the lunch room w all the good little boys and girls

bc you're known for giving a fuck about the nutritional value of anything

Cartman's bitmoji thinks on and off for a moment before disappearing entirely, and Kyle feels a mixture of satisfaction for getting the last word in and disappointment that it hadn't gone on longer.

Those feelings don't last long, though, as he gets a text from Cartman moments later. He opens their thread and sees the two texts he hadn't checked in between classes.

i bet thats not enough to shut u up

i could break ur front teeth and ud still run ur mouth

Kyle's breath catches in his throat before he even gets to the new text.

i knew it

u must love this shit

"Kyle, bro, you are blushing," Kenny says, and Kyle jerks. So immediately hyper-focused on his conversation with Cartman, he nearly forgot where he was. Before Kyle could even register what it was Kenny said he was yanking Kyle's phone out of hand.

Kyle snatches after it, but it's much too late, and before he can speak, Kenny is scrolling up on his and Cartman's conversation. Kyle is almost immediately embarrassed, though he isn't sure why. This isn't all that different from any other conversation he's had with Cartman via text, but it feels more private as if no one else would understand.

"Woah." Kenny mutters, "You guys are fucked up, huh?"

Well, that proves that.

"What do you mean? I'm not fucked up!" Kyle squawks, making grabby hands towards his phone again, and Kenny yanks it out of his reach just the same.

He scrolls up further, and Kyle can tell it's before today's conversation. Kyle racks his brain to remember what he and Cartman had talked about last.

"No," Kenny scoffs, "I mean, it's not like fucked up, fucked up. I didn't think you and Cartman were like that." 

"Like WHAT?" Kyle asks in a voice that is way too loud. Kyle knows he's not handling this well and has completely missed the opportunity to rock this out. He can feel the heat in his face up to his hairline and really wishes Kenny would stop reading.

Kenny jumps when Kyle yells, slowly setting his phone back on Kyle's desk. Kyle yanks it and shoves it deep into his pocket. Kenny sits backward and leans in, speaking in a hushed tone when he says

"This isn't like a," Kenny pauses, looking for the right word, "y'all don't have like a kink thing going on?" He finally asks.

Kyle's jaw drops, "What?" he asks, barely above a whisper.

Kenny suddenly looks exceptionally concerned, the delight on Kyle's behalf gone.

"Dude.." Kenny mutters

Chapter Text

"Dude.." Kenny mutters, “We really need to smoke about this, my guy,” Kenny looks around wildly, enough that Kyle's afraid he'll get whiplash, and Kyle notes the teacher hasn’t made it yet.

He doesn't even want to smoke about this anymore. He wants to go home, crawl under the covers, and stare at his ceiling while he wallows in embarrassment. Maybe jerk off to anything on porn hub to prove Kenny wrong. As much good as that would do, Kyle's never had much luck with porn. He's always been a close his eyes and imagine sensations kind of guy. 

“You tryna handle this right now or what?” Kenny asks.

“What, like, skip?” Kyle whispers incredulously. 

“Yeah, dude, Mrs. Jackson whole ass played Sam O’ Nella Academy videos last period. Let’s fucking go,” Kenny urges, already standing. Urging Kyle up with both hands. 

Kyle thinks about the next two periods before lunch and wonders if he’s really trying to besmirch his perfect attendance record to try to convince Kenny that he and Cartman aren’t secretly having some kinky ass affair. But then he thinks about third period, which he shares with Cartman. Who sits behind him and constantly wants his fucking attention and how maybe because of the shit Kenny’s put in his head, that would end up pretty bad. Perhaps he couldn't live through Cartman kicking the back of his chair and pulling at his hair, not when turning around to face Cartman would have his bruised-up face right there in front of Kyle. Not when that's what started this whole thing to begin with. 

He stands, grabs his shit, and follows an ecstatic Kenny out the door. They leave through the gym doors and scamper to the parking lot. As soon as they get to the car, the smell of stale weed comforts Kyle in a way that his mother would have a heart attack if she knew about it. He knows as soon as he takes that first hit, he'll re-up on that heavy feeling behind his eyes. He doesn't know what he will say to Kenny, but he knows it'll be easier to get out with cotton mouth.

Stan started bringing weed around when he hit fourteen. In his own words, he would say his Dad "peer pressured" him into smoking, and despite how much Randy seems to get it wrong, most of the time, it's the best thing that ever happened to Kyle. Kyle smoked for the first time and knew he needed weed from the moment he was born. He needs it to ease the pain between his shoulder blades, smooth the wrinkle between his eyebrows, and for his resting heart rate to go anywhere below 90. 

Kenny digs the cigarette pack out of the back seat's pouch, shakes the joint out, lights it, and takes a big drag before handing it to Kyle, who takes it like it's the answer to all his problems. 

“Ok, so I’m a therapist- you know this. I’m licensed. So, I’m gonna hit you with the ‘how does that make you feel?’ and you just chief on that until you’re ready to answer,” Kenny says, making himself comfortable. He leans back in the seat, using the handle to lay down the backrest, and Kyle hates that those settings haven't been adjusted by anyone other than Cartman since he got that car. He hates that he feels like he should tell Kenny to stop. It's as if that's Cartman's seat- like he has any claim over anything Kyle calls his own. 

Kyle hits the joint like it’ll save his life for long minutes. Kenny waits. 

The joint has him relaxed, his thinking slowed. Kyle closes his eyes and tries to hold in his mind's eye what this must look like for Kenny. What would cause him to use those words to describe what he and Cartman say to each other.

He thinks first of Stan, who he feels secure around, in the idea that Stan is his friend, and they don't say anything to each other with remotely the same energy he and Cartman have. Kyle doesn't feel any intensity from speaking to Stan, not even when they argue, and he hasn't in a long while. Things with Stan are easy; talking to him is casual, a part of Kyle's day he could easily say he enjoyed. That's his best friend, and they both know it. 

Then he thinks of Kenny. Kenny, who calls him 'baby girl' and 'gorgeous' like those are synonyms for Kyle's name, has never made his face heat or his hands shake. Kenny is easy and agreeable and loves his friends with a ferocity you don't see in most platonic relationships. Talking to Kenny is what being truly heard and understood feels like. He can go to Kenny with anything, and he has, Kyle feels, gone to Kenny about anything that required emotional intelligence to talk about. Except this, he supposes, which he never thought was anything he needed to talk about. 

Then, begrudgingly, he thinks about Cartman. 

Cartman, who is, in one word, infuriating. Cartman, who Kyle has to avoid when he doesn't get a good night's rest because being around him in any capacity is mental fucking gymnastics. Cartman, who, after any altercation, makes Kyle feel winded by it. Just talking to him took all of his concentration, all of his energy, every single one of his synapses firing lightning-fast just to survive. Kyle thinks about how fighting with him, either verbally or physically, makes his blood boil, makes his palms sweat, and makes his toes curl in his shoes. He never leaves any contact with Cartman feeling satisfied; he could have said one more thing or thrown one more punch. Then he thinks about the few times they agree on anything, which is intense in a different way like his conviction is matched by the only person who could feel as strongly as Kyle can. 

But, so what? What does that mean? Does it have to mean anything?

“We really aren’t like that, Kenny,” he settles on eventually.

“Mhmm, and?” Kenny urges.

“And what! We aren’t like that! We're barely friends and definitely don’t have a ‘kink thing’ going on,”

“Ok, sure, but what is going on?” Kenny asks.

Kyle sighs, throwing his hands up. Kenny rushes to explain. 

“People with normal beef don’t send each other thirst traps, showing off the injuries the other gave them,” Kenny's grin is sly.

“They aren’t thirst traps, Kenny, where the fuck do you come up with this shit?” Kyle asks, sounding more frustrated than he’d like to let on.

“Babe, you look good as fuck in that picture. And what did Cartman reply? ‘fuck’? 'that looks good on you'? That’s how I reply when I get actual nudes, Kyle. I’m talking tiddy pics, bro,”

“I know what nudes are, dude,” Kyle sighs.

“How many pictures of bruises you’ve put on Cartman’s face do you have on your phone right now?” Kenny asks as if it’s a rational question.

Kyle swallows with that, cheeks heating. 

“Fuck, I don’t know,” Kyle pauses, takes another hit. He thinks of the folder on his phone specifically for pictures of Cartmen’s injuries, “a couple, I guess.”

“That’s a couple too many for this not to be a thing you guys are into,” Kenny stresses.

“And I’m not judging you, babe. I promise I’m not. You guys can do whatever the fuck you want. Safe, sane, and consensual- that’s what I always say. I’m just asking, though, what do you want? Like, what makes it so this is how you guys text each other,” Kenny asks. “I be sending dirty texts, my guy. That’s like the same shit.”

Kyle doesn’t answer that. He tries digging around in his brain for an answer to that question that’ll justify it all. He thinks about why tonguing the split in his lip and thinking about the bruise on Cartman’s own face brings him a tingling kind of satisfaction. He can’t conjure shit. Simultaneously grateful that Kenny doesn't know and suddenly worried about how often he's stared at those pictures and felt- 

something. 

“That’s just how we are, I guess. I don’t know,” he mumbles. He looks out the window and wishes today hadn't happened. He wishes he had never looked at Cartman's text and left him on to read like Kyle says he will every time. 

“Word, alright,” Kenny relents.

“But ask yourself this, my friend. Why do you think Cartman does it? He instigated the pic exchange. He said that shit; what did he say? ‘You must love this shit.'. Do you love this shit, Kyle? Yes or no? If he ever stopped texting you shit like that, would you like that better?” Kenny asks these questions, rapid-fire like a cop on those crime dramas his mom watches.

“God, chill out. What is with the third degree?” Kyle snaps.

“I don’t know why Cartman does it, and I’m not Cartman. He’s always been weird, he’s just tryna piss me off like he always is!”

“Does it work?” Kenny asks.

Kyle says nothing for a second before he relents,

“I mean, yeah, obviously!”

“Yes, and, historically speaking, if someone pisses someone else off, they don’t hang out with that person anymore,” Kenny says, “so why don’t you just, like, cut him off? I’m not saying you should- but why don’t you?”

Kyle opens his mouth to reply before he realizes he’s stumped again. Suddenly regretting choosing to have this conversation stoned. His brain notoriously refuses to string thoughts together when he’s high. He knows he won't be making a convincing case for himself. All the confusion in his brain wouldn't help him, even if he could articulate it out of his mouth. 

“Fuck, I don’t know, Kenny. This is way too much to think about at once.”

Kyle grabs the cigarette pack out of Kenny’s lap and, trading him the joint, lights one of Stan’s cigarettes. When he takes a drag, the resulting nicotine buzz makes him lean his head back on the seat. 

Kenny nods patiently.

“No doubt, no doubt. Listen, you think about it on your own time. I’m just here to force you to figure your shit out and be the best Kyle you can be,” Kenny grabs his shoulder and squeezes it.

“If you ever wanna talk about anything, I am there.” Kyle’s suddenly struck with just how good of a friend Kenny really is.

“Anyway, Lamb of God though, huh? You going?” Kenny asks.

Kyle lets all the air out of his lungs through his nose, grateful for the change of subject, as much as it still concerns Cartman.

“I really want to; I gotta see if I can have the time off, though,” he says.

“I mean, it's already Thursday. I think you outta just be sick this weekend,” Kenny laughs.

“Yeah, I might have to. It’s not like they need me; I mean, I work, like, twenty-five hours a week; Heidi’s already pissed I took away some of her hours when I got hired- Fuck,” Kyle thinks for a moment, “she might cover it honestly,” Kyle says, getting a little excited about how much of a reality this could be.

He’s got a cool $500 in savings. He could get away with taking $200 out for food and merch. He's absolutely gonna force Cartman to split the gas with him.

“Yeah, also, you’re a senior in high school. You haven’t had a weekend off since Token’s birthday party,” Kenny says. “I’m trying to convince him to do something chill this weekend, y’know? His parents will be out of town.”

“That would be sick,” Kyle agrees absent-mindedly as he shoots Heidi a text asking if she can cover his shifts.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the second period. Neither of them makes a move to get out of the car. 

“You wanna go get McDonald’s?” Kenny asks after a few seconds of silence.

Kyle nods and throws the car in reverse.

--

Kyle tosses the sack of McDonald’s in front of Cartman on the lunch table, and he closes his eyes and groans like someone just jerked his dick.

“I’m gonna see if Heidi will cover my shifts this weekend,” He informs Cartman while sitting across from him. 

Kyle can't, for his life, stop himself from looking. Not when it's right there, not when he can match the pain in his knuckles to each specific point of impact on Cartman's face. 

“About time; I was at the edge of my God damn seat over here,” He huffs, upending the sack, four hot n’ species, and a fuck ton of ketchup spill onto the lunch table.

“Aw, Kenny, you remembered,” Cartman croons.

“You know I love you, bitch,” Kenny scoffs, straddling the bench next to Kyle.

“I thought you guys were gonna go toke up or something,” Cartman says around a mouthful of chicken sandwich.

“God, don’t say ‘toke up,’ what are you fifty?”

“Excuse me for being an old soul, Kyle. Anything else you wanna bitch about since you have my attention?”

Those eyes, blue and brown and three different kinds of cocky, find Kyle's. Kyle's hands clench into fists, and he wants, so badly, to make the other cheek match. 

“Anyway,” Kenny interjects, “we skipped second and third.”

“No! You!” Cartman gasps, pointing at Kyle.

“Fuck off,” Kyle mumbles around his straw, wincing as it shoves into the split on his lip. Kyle wishes he hadn’t noticed Cartman’s eyes go dark then, tracking the movement. Kyle licks at his lip and tastes copper as it blooms on his tongue. Cartman swallows like he can taste it, too. 

“So, plans tonight, boys?” Kenny asks, amusement lacing his tone in a way that has Kyle looking down at the lunch table. 

“Overwatch,” answers Cartman.

“Overwatch, probably,” Kyle says at the same time.

--

Kyle finds out that Wendy did break up with Stan by the passive-aggressive smack of cash on Clyde’s desk during fifth period.

“My condolences,” Clyde says, shoving the cash in his back pocket with a grin.

Stan throws himself in the desk beside Kyle with a sigh.

“Head up, king, your crown is falling,” Kyle chuckles.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan sighs.

--

Sixth and seventh periods are work packets and free-for-all, respectively. Considering the teachers have almost entirely checked out, Kyle is almost willing to agree with Cartman that forcing them to show up for four more weeks is a federal crime.

After the last bell of the day signals his freedom, he meanders to the parking lot. By the time he gets to his car, the guys have already gathered around it, leaning against all sides of it like some boy band. Kyle snickers to himself and pulls out his phone to take a picture.

“Will you hurry up, Jew! Kenny says he’s gonna beat my damage tonight, and I’ve GOT to prove him wrong.” Cartman calls, ruining the candidness of the picture.

Kyle scoffs and takes the picture anyway.

“Well, I drop Kenny off first, fatass, so he gets more warm-up rounds than any of us,” Kyle says, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

“Right you are, beautiful,” Kenny snickers.

“I don’t need foreplay, Kyle. I jump in and ask questions later,” Cartman says with a wink.

Kyle hates that he feels his cheeks heat up.

“Bad bit, Cartman,” He snaps, “that doesn’t even make sense,” unlocking his car and collapsing into the passenger seat.

--

The drive back from the farm after dropping Stan off is, as usual, silent- except, of course, the metal screaming from the speakers at top volume. Momento Mori ends, and another begins, one Kyle recognizes as one of his favorites, but he can’t remember the name.

“Which one is this?” Kyle shouts over the speakers.

Cartman nods enthusiastically, thrilled that Kyle even inquired. “Ashes of the Wake,” he responds before abruptly turning to Kyle and dramatically lip-syncing the intro. Kyle rolls his eyes.

“Do you think they’ll play this one?” He asks as he turns into his driveway.

“There’s a set list on Reddit. I’ll send it to you,” Cartman answers.

Kyle shifts into park in front of his garage, which is the end of the line. However, the song has just begun, so the two stay there to finish it. Cartman rocks the car with the intensity of his head banging. Kyle watches and wonders if the movement is making Cartman's bruise ache. 

The song rolls to an end, and both of them – in sync turn to each other and speak the last words of the sound bite-

And I’m not going to kill civilians for the United States Marine Corps.

As soon as the song ends, Cartman pushes the door open and heaves himself out.

“I’m not gonna do it, Kyle. The Marines can suck my balls. Can I get a HOO RAH?!”

Kyle finds himself incapable of holding back his grin as he watches him walk across the lawn to his own house, the split stinging with the stretch of his lip. He rolls down his window.

“Good bit, Cartman,” he calls.

Chapter Text

Kyle’s day ends the way damn near all of them have since finals ended- by being way too locked into Overwatch with the guys for way too long. His eyes are strained and shoulders stiff from concentration, but thankfully, they call it quits on a win. Although the rounds before were a significantly uneven ratio between wins and losses, he can still consider that a success.

Before meandering to the bathroom, he gathers a fresh pair of underwear and a T-shirt. All the lights are off in the house, which isn’t weird, considering it’s nearing two in the morning. He's not shocked to hear the muffled sounds of Ike in his room, cursing at his own TV, playing his own stupid video game with his own stupid friends. Kyle thinks, for a moment, about being a total hypocrite and busting into his room, demanding that he go to bed before all that Fortnite rots his brains. 

Turning the bathroom light on hurts Kyle's eyes, and he winces away. He turns the water on and shucks out of his clothes with his eyes squeezed shut. His pants make an uncomfortably heavy noise as they hit the ground, and Kyle freezes, squeezes his eyes shut, and prays that his phone isn’t broken. He opens one eye gingerly to fish it out of his back pocket. He finds his screen is just fine- the relief that fills him is almost immediately replaced with dread. He has two texts from Cartman. He looks around, wide-eyed, with light sensitivity forgotten, as if Kenny is in the bathroom with him, waiting for the perfect time to yank his phone out of his hands and talk to him about safe words. The light still hurts, so he forces himself to just. fucking. chill. 

He rips the band-aid off and opens the thread. The first message is a link to the set list Cartman had mentioned before he dropped him off, and the second-

The second is a screenshot of Cartman’s home screen. Behind the apps and a clock widget is Kyle’s face, the picture he sent Cartman during first period of the split in his lip.

Kyle finds that as much as he wants to disagree with Kenny’s earlier statement, he likes this picture of himself. Kyle’s never really been one to take selfies, but this one makes his cheekbones appear sharp and his lips full. He thinks about the half-liddedness of his eyes and wonders if he’d ever put that much effort into looking good in a picture before. He thinks of his Facebook profile picture, which he hasn't changed in years, a picture with Stan, the camera angle high with the Halo 2 loading screen behind them. He remembers that being funny then, but he can't remember why now. 

Another notification breaks his train of thought; it’s another from Cartman.

this 1s my favorite

Kyle had momentarily been so caught up in assessing the picture he’d forgotten that Cartman set it as his fucking phone background. It shocks him in a way that makes the back of his neck hot. People will see that when Cartman leaves his phone on his desk. A notification pops up, and there's Kyle's face. It's a selfie he'd put actual effort into. A picture of Kyle that could be considered flattering. Kyle's never made a real person his background before. He closes out of the messaging app briefly and looks at the default wallpaper his phone had come with and wonders, if he'd change it if he were in a relationship like Stan, does with Wendy anytime they're back on. Kyle's never really seen anyone he wanted to be reminded of every single time he checks his phone.

This is especially odd, right? He opens the thread again, considers taking a screenshot, sending it to Kenny, and begging him to explain this to Kyle. To tell him, since he knows every goddamn thing, what this means. 

He doesn't do that because as much as this is a riddle, he fears the answer. He types to Cartman instead. 

And when someone asks you why I’m your phone background, what will you say?

The message goes from read to Cartman typing a reply so quickly that Kyle waits for an answer.

anybody w eyes wont need an explanation

Kyle squints at the text, thinking he read it wrong as if there was an order he could put those words in that meant something else. Something less... heavy. He has time to reread it before another comes in. 

does it still hurt?

Kyle tongues the split in his lip, and it stings. He touches his lip and applies pressure, it aches smartly. He presses harder, and it does hurt. 

Yeah, a little bit. It’s not bleeding anymore.

The following text takes a little longer, Kyle waits for it just the same. He thinks then about Cartman, staring at his phone just like Kyle is. In his own house, at most fifty feet from him. Cartman is thinking about him, set aside time to check in on his injuries but it doesn't feel like concern. It feels like something else.

When the text comes, it’s a picture.

Cartman’s laying against his pillows with his face turned toward the side. The redness on his cheekbone has bloomed into a bruise that spreads under his eye in a deep purple. Kyle’s mouth goes a little dry, and he's typing before he can comprehend what he wants to say.

Feels good, huh?

yea

real fuckin good

Kyle immediately locks his phone, the words too much to look at. He decides that maybe this is a little fucking weird, and he should step back, and assess. He stands, sweat dripping down his face, and gets in the shower, hoping that that’s all he needs to clear his head of Cartman and his bruise and the self-satisfied expression on his face. ‘Real fucking good,’ he’d said. Kyle can’t help but think that he’s thrown that punch in the cramped front seat of his car and imagines what kind of marks he could put on Cartman if he’d really tried.

He itches to tell Cartman that. Promise Cartman that he wasn't even really trying, that he could do better. Put his fucking back into it. Kyle wants to tell Cartman that he wants to see what color his face would turn if he broke his nose and tore open the thin skin of his eyebrow. He wants to know the noises Cartman would make if he pressed his hand to the wound and pushed. 

He closes the shower curtain behind him and steps forward. When the hot water hits his front, he lets out a quiet, shocked little groan as pleasure pulses from his dick- and realizes with a start that he’s hard.

His phone chimes with another text, and Kyle grits his teeth. 

--

Kyle wakes up to a shrill alarm and immediately hates everything about the taste in his mouth, the headache behind his eyes, the temperature of his room, the feel of the sheets against his bare legs, and anything else he can come up with in the minutes before he finally works up the courage to dislodge his arm from under the covers and turn his alarm off.

Kyle had slept like absolute shit last night.

In the shower, he'd ignored his erection with the patience of a priest and filled his head with absolutely disgusting things- Butters's grandma, that one time at the waterpark when they were kids, Ike’s permanent Cheeto fingers. And that had worked, he’d been able to clean himself and re dress without any unsubtle tenting in his boxers.

But then he thought, and his brain would NOT turn off.

His phone dinged, it was Stan telling him his mom was on the way to drop him off and warning him that this mornings joint was straight indica. Kyle groaned. That’s great. Now he’s gonna spend his entire morning giggly and stupid. He hopes Butters isn’t very chatty today- for some reason indica’s make Kyle think Butters is the funniest creature in the world.

He shoved himself out of bed and very angrily and perhaps much too aggressively shoved his legs into some pants and yanked a shirt over his head. Trudging into the bathroom, stopping in front of the mirror, he makes eye contact in the mirror with, surely, the world’s most miserable person.

His eyes are lidded and dark- bloodshot and dry. His hair is a mess (more than usual) from all the tossing and turning he must have done when he eventually got to sleep. He huffs to none and brushes his teeth before shoving his head underneath the sink faucet to wet his hair.

Once wet, he brushed it out, sprayed some anti-frizz leave-in conditioner, and brushed it again with a wide-toothed comb. Bebe had been telling him to do this for years before she broke down and bought him a bottle for his birthday. It was a massive boost for his self-esteem not to have to hide his ridiculous Jew fro under a hat every day- but not today. Today he felt like shit, and everything sucked. His hair, the comb, his toothbrush, the stupid shirt he was wearing- they could all go fuck themselves.

He trudges back to his room, glares at his sock drawer, and selects a pair before turning the blame to his boots as he shoves them on his feet.

His phone chimed again- Kenny this time. Telling him he was walking his happy ass over to Kyle’s car.

He found a hoodie and put it on before descending the stairs to the kitchen. On his way, he passed Ike, who was playing a morning round of Fortnite before heading towards the bus stop.

In the kitchen, his mom is brewing coffee in her robe and slippers.

“Good morning, Kyle,” she greets, sounding just as miserable as he was. 

Kyle grunted, standing beside her and joining her in watching the coffee drip.

“Did you not sleep well, Bubbe?” she asks after pouring them a cup.

Kyle shakes his head.

She nods, “Neither did I. Your father, with this cold, his snoring! Yesh, it could wake the dead.”

“That sucks, Ma,” he said, wishing he could muster up the motivation to sound more sympathetic.

“Ah, it’s alright. I love him too much to smother him, but, oof, if I loved him a little less,” and she laughs to herself. Kyle offers a tired smile, draining the rest of his coffee before pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“I’m headed to school, Ma. I’ve got work today,” he reminds her before heading out to the living room to grab his bag.

He shoves Ike’s headset off, forcing it to tumble onto his lap before walking out the door, and the resulting squawk perks him up a bit.

By the time he walks outside, the guys are gathered around his car. He digs his keys out of his backpack and unlocks them before they can start complaining.

He plugs his phone in as they slide into their respective seats, and the intro to Flying Whales begins. Cartman hums a pleased little hum beside him on the passenger side, which ruins Kyle’s plan to ignore his existence. He can feel the blush staining his cheeks, and he hates it. He hates Kenny for putting ideas in his head. 

“I, too, love Whale noises,” Stan says after a moment. Kyle closes his eyes, focusing on the song and bobbing his head to the gentle guitar, heavy in its build-up, ears perking to the flick of a lighter as the joint was lit. It was going to pick up soon, and Stan was going to make a sarcastic little comment about his choice of music again, but Kyle was determined to enjoy it while he could.

Sure enough, as soon as the guitar changes pace, Stan is groaning.

“Had him in the first half, not gonna lie,” Cartman snickers.

Kyle huffs, “Stan, y’know, this is a really good song if you’d just get passed what you don’t like about it.”

Stan’s voice is deep as he replies through his exhale, “Which is like everything.”

“Kyle, it’s not your burden to try to get Stan into metal. He wants to listen to My Morning Jacket and jerk off to angel noises,” Cartman says.

“Besides, we will soon be around like-minded individuals. Throwing elbows in the pit and getting bloody noses with the best of them.”

“Don’t throw elbows. That’s, like, bad pit protocol,” Kyle sighs, putting the car in reverse.

“What will you do when you get an elbow to the face, Kyle? Are you gonna turn that person into the pit police? You gonna lecture them on the pit rules you made up?”

“Whatever, Fatass. What about you? You gonna take a broken nose like a champ?”

“I usually do, don’t I?” Cartman asks, and Kyle can feel the grin on his face.

Kyle hates he can feel the flush on his face, hates the cackle of Kenny’s laughter in the back seat as he reaches forward to pass the joint to Kyle.

He takes it gratefully and quickly takes three long hits before handing it to Cartman. On the last exhale, he can feel the headache dissolve into nothing. He can feel his eyelids get heavy, and suddenly, the thought of Cartman taking a punch well is so silly.

“You take them too well,” he says.

“What?” Cartman says, taking the joint as Kyle offers it.

“A punch. You take them too well.”

Cartman laughs like he’s pretending to get the joke.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Look at your face, dude. I couldn't even put my body weight in there, and the whole side of your face is purple.”

Cartman scoffs, “What body weight, Jew? You weigh like eighty pounds wet.”

“Yeah, and my lips barely even sore anymore, and you’re fat as fuck,” Kyle says, a stream of laughter following his words.

“You want me to do better?” Cartman asks, and Kyle freezes. His thoughts from last night lighting up in his brain like a neon sign. His voice doesn’t sound like a threat, and there’s not even a hint of a taunt. The words were low and weighted like a promise, and Kyle doesn’t know how to react to that at all.

He giggles. His face is flushed, and he’s nervous because Stan and Kenny are in the backseat. Stan might not think anything weird is happening, but Kenny certainly knows. He dreads second period with Kenny, knows he’s gonna have something to say, and that Kyle doesn’t want to hear it.

But the indica decides for him, and he giggles.

--

School is slow. Kyle rejects Stan’s invitation to finish the joint at lunch because he’s been way too in his head all day.

The second period was the worst because Kenny did, in fact, have many things to say. None of which was nearly as constructive and kind-spirited as their first conversation on the topic. Luckily, there was no stealing of phones this time because Kyle thinks last night’s texts would be all the cannon fodder Kenny needed to rip on him for the rest of his life.

Heidi texts him during third period to confirm that she will cover his shifts for Friday and Saturday in exchange for an eighth. He immediately turns around at his desk to tell Cartman the news.

“Kyle, I am very pleased with this information,” He says, “I gotta work today, and I bet your twink ass doesn’t even know what a tire pressure is, so bring it in so I can check.”

It takes Kyle time to process what the hell Cartman just said.

“You are gonna check my tire pressure?” He asks.

Cartman looks at him like he’s fucking stupid.

“Yeah, that’s what I just fucking said. You got sand in your vagina and your ears?”

“I do not have sand in my vagina!” he snaps back, much too loud. He looks around, embarrassed. To find that no one even bothers to look their way when they start yelling anymore.

When Kyle looks back, Cartman has a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“Anyway,” Kyle starts again. “I can’t, I also work tonight,”

“How big do you think this town is? Drop it off at the garage, walk through a parking lot, and go to GameStop.”

Kyle hadn’t thought of that. This is odd, considering he spends the slow parts of his shifts leaning against the counter and staring out the front windows at Cartman, working on cars, arguing with coworkers, and talking to customers. All in his ridiculous coveralls, smeared with grease, rolled up to his forearms.

Kyle flushes, embarrassed with himself.

“Ok,” he says and turns around at his desk again.

--

Kyle doesn’t drive the guy’s home on the days he works. They get out of school at three, and his shift starts at 3:30. Kenny and Cartman usually catch the bus, and Stan gets picked up by his mom. When he makes his way to his car, Cartman is there, leaning against the passenger side.

“What are you doing here?” Kyle asks, unlocking the car and talking to Cartman over the roof.

“Uh, getting in your car?”

“Why?”

Cartman sighs long and drawn out, looking at the sky like he’s praying to God for patience.

“Because you are taking the car. To the garage. Where I work,” he says each part slowly like that will help Kyle understand.

“Oh, um, yeah,” Kyle says, getting in.

Save for the music, the car ride is silent and short. When he pulls in, a man he recognizes as Wilson (the owner of Wilson’s) opens the bay doors with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. As soon as Kyle and Cartman exit the vehicle, Wilson is already yelling—a voice Kyle could make out as the one he’s always hearing Cartman argue with all the way on the other side of the parking lot.

“Eric! Why am I the one opening these doors? Last time I checked, that’s something I paid you to do!” He snaps, his voice rough with what must be eons of chain smoking.

“I don’t know why you’re doing it, Wilson. Evening hours don’t start till four,” Cartman sighs.

“Who’s this? Why's he here?” Wilson snaps, gesturing to Kyle with his cigarette.

“Um-“ Kyle goes to answer.

“Because I’m gonna look at his fucking car. Go sit in the office and wait for some minorities to come in and harass them. Fuck!”

Wilson turns there and limps to the office to do just that, it seems.

“He’s a fucking delight,” Kyle says as soon as the office door is closed.

“Yeah, he’s pretty cool,” Cartman answers with not even a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Kyle watches Cartman’s back as he shrugs out of his outer jacket and steps into the coveralls before taking off his vans and replacing them with some clunky work boots under a table made of bare plywood and two-by-fours, littered with tools.

When Cartman turns, he catches Kyle staring, and Kyle jerks his head away, suddenly very interested in the oil-stained floor.

“Well, I’m just gonna- um, go, I guess,” he says, turning without further preamble.

“Hey,” Cartman calls after him. He freezes, expecting some joke about him staring or a salacious remark. He turns slowly.

“I need your keys,”

“Oh, yeah,”

Kyle takes the key fob from his hoodie pocket and sets it in Cartman’s outstretched palm. Their fingers brush against each other, and Kyle almost flinches at the contact.

Kyle glances up and finds Cartman staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face. His mismatched eyes flicker all over his face and land on his lips. Kyle pushes his tongue against the split out of habit, utterly incapable of not fucking with it when it's brought back to his attention. Cartman copies the motion. 

They are stuck in eye contact for a moment. Kyle finds himself struggling to look away.

But he does. He has to. He breaks the moment and scampers across the parking lot to GameStop.

--

Kyle always dreamed of working at GameStop when he was younger. It seemed like the coolest job a person could possibly have: discounts on video games and merchandise, helping fellow gamers. But now he’s eighteen years old, and retail is still retail. The only video game he’s played for the last three years has been Overwatch, and he sees absolutely no need to change that any time soon.

He checks people out, he gets pre-order purchases sorted and labeled, he does inventory, he vacuums. Retail.

Work drags on and on for five hours, with one more to go, and he’s free. Kyle is not proud to admit that he has been staring at Cartman through the window at every quiet moment. He sees him working on Kyle’s car, and, yeah, while he may not know a lot about the inner workings of vehicular machinery, he can tell that Cartman is doing much more than checking his tire pressure. There's a moment after Cartman shuts the hood of Kyle's car- he runs his fingers through his hair, swiping it back and out of his face. There's a moment when Kyle thinks, maybe for the first time, that Cartman looks good. 

It gets busy around eight, and Kyle hustles around answering customers' questions and checking them out. Finally, when Kyle has a second to breathe, he smells oil and sweat. When he looks up, Cartman is in front of him. He looks better up close, Kyle thinks, and decides he needs to find a way to lobotomize himself. 

“Hey,” he greets, obviously exhausted.

“Hey,” Kyle answers with the same cadence.

“Your tire pressure was disgusting. You know there is snow on these roads, right?”

Kyle scoffs.

“You did a lot more than check my tire pressure. What the fucks up with that?”

Cartman’s eyes widen a bit at that.

“Your oil needed changing, and I rotated the tires and topped off your fluids. You know responsible car owner maintenance things?”

“Oh. Um, thank you,” Kyle says a little sheepishly.

Kyle swears he sees Cartman’s cheeks get pink at that.

He runs a hand through his sweaty hair and shrugs.

“You’re welcome.”

Cartman turns, then, after setting the keys on the counter, walks out the door, the little bell tingling on his way out. Kyle watches him leave.

Chapter Text

Kyle asked the group chat right before he closed up shop for the night and finds that no one is getting online that night. Kenny invites him out to the creek, where he and Bebe are quote-unquote “chilling”. But Kyle’s got no doubt they are doing some hand stuff and doing body shots so politely declines.

That leaves Kyle smoking alone, in his car, listening to music and dicking around on his phone.

He gets a text from Cartman about half way through his joint,

Y r u loitering outside ur own home weirdo

Kyle whips his head around wildly before looking up at Cartman’s window where he’s looking down at him, flipping him off. Kyle returns the gesture

I don’t smoke inside dipshit my mom would murder me

Yea shed probably stitch ur foreskin back on

What do u want?

Concerts at 7 when are we leaving 2moro

A little rush of excitement ran through Kyle at moment. In all his internal bullshit about stuff he doesn’t jerk off about- he’d forgotten about Lamb of God. He quickly looks up the venue and finds the address and plugs it into his GPS.

The venue is an hour and 45 mins away.

I guess we could leave at like 4:30. Find parking and all that shit.

U don’t wanna fuck around Denver while we there?

Kyle is startled a bit by this. He’d figured they’d do something like narrow down their time together to just the concert.

Is there something u wanna do?

The reply is a Google link and upon opening it he finds a link to a restaurant called Denver Biscuit Company. Food, Kyle shouldn’t be surprised.

apparently this place makes cinnamon rolls out of biscuits that r as big as my fukin head

Before Kyle can respond to that another link comes in- this one is to the MeowWolf exhibit that Kyle's been listening to Stan rave about ever since he and Wendy went together sometime last year.

Also u kno. Since we’re there ig.

I don’t think I got the money to swing all that. How much does that old man pay you?

$18/hr plus I work 5 days a week, loser. That’s what skilled labor gets u. Do u wanna go or not?

I literally just said I couldn’t afford it. Can you not read?

I didn’t ask if u could fuckin afford it I asked if u wanted to fucking go. Can u not read jew??????

Why?

Why what

Why would you pay for that?

Cartman’s reply doesn’t come in the form of a text, suddenly his phone is ringing and “FATASS” fills his screen. Kyle answers and Cartman’s floods from his car speakers.

“Am I having a fucking stroke? You said you couldn’t afford it. I can afford it. What more do you possibly want?”

Kyle stays silent. Shocked at Cartman’s apparent generosity. For what must be too long because then-

“Jew? You there?”

“You pay for my ticket, you do all that shit to my car, and now you wanna buy me food and take me to MeowWolf? What the fuck are you planning?” Kyle’s tone is accusatory and suspicious.

“What? I can’t just do nice things? I have to have some kind of motive?”

“Historically speaking, YES!” Kyle shouts to the interior of his car.

It’s Cartman’s turn to be silent.

“Listen, I want to go and you’re taking me there. What? I’m just supposed to make you sit in the car. Would that be more Cartman like to you?”

“Uh, yeah, actually,” Kyle snaps.

“Listen, bitch, I’m trying to be cool. I’m trying to be nice. And I don’t need you to pat me on the back and tell me what a good boy I’ve been recently but how long has it been since I pulled any shit like that on you?”

Cartman doesn’t speak for long moments. When he does, he sounds exhausted and forlorn- kind of.

“Do you want to go or not, Kyle? Yes or no?”

Kyle hasn’t heard that kind of emotion in Cartman’s voice- not since they thought Kenny was going to die. Suddenly, Kyle feels kind of bad. It has been quite a long time since Cartman has done anything more that piss him off. No tricks, no sneaking into his room at night to steal his shit or find blackmail. Cartman’s been a lot better for a long time and Kyle goes from feeling bad to a like a straight up dick in two seconds flat.

“I’m-“ Kyle takes a big breath, “I’m sorry, Cartman.”

“Yeah, I want to go. Thank you.”

There’s a shuffling noise, like Cartman’s moving around but he hasn’t said anything yet. Kyle thinks back to the flush on Cartman’s cheeks when he’d said ‘thank you’ before, when Cartman had brought him his keys and wonders if that flush has returned.

“Be ready to go at, like, 10,” Cartman says and hangs up.

Kyle lights his joint as the music starts again and really, really seriously ponders on what the fuck is happening.

--

Kyle’s still in his car an hour later when he gets a call from Kenny, asking him if he can come pick him up from Stark's Pond. Apparently Bebe got pissed at him and pushed him in the pond, now he’s “soaking wet, freezing, stranded and dying of blue balls.”

Kyle runs into his house real quick to grab some towels and a random assortment of shirt and sweatpants for Kenny to change into. He’s situating one of the towels to cover his seat and has another on stand by for Kenny before he makes the short drive to the pond.

He finds Kenny shivering against a broken fence post and honks at him before blasting the heat in his car.

Kenny stomps over and opens the passenger side door.

“Here’s some clothes and a towel. Are you ok?” Kyle asks.

Kenny takes them gratefully and starts stripping right there in front of the car door. Kyle politely looks towards the pond, listening to the radio at it's low volume and the squelched sound of wet clothes being shucked off.

Kenny eventually gets in the car, his hair towel dried and in Kyle’s clothes which are almost painfully to short for him.

“I’m ok, better now that you’re here, baby girl. Thanks for coming to get my ass.” Kenny says, holding his hands in front of the air vents.

“Of course- but what did you do to Bebe that made her push you, dude?”

Kenny looks at him with an sheepish little grin.

“She was sucking my dick and I called her Red,”

“You did not!” Kyle gasps.

“I know, I know. ‘Kenny McCormick you dog’. It was an honest mistake,” he picks up the roach in Kyle’s cup holder- “Can I spark this?”

Kyle nods his head, puts the car in park and reaches into the back seat to grab the rolling tray with a cover that Stan’s dad had gotten him for his last birthday. He’d got it for him after he caught the four of them smoking in the fields.

He takes the cover off and starts to roll a fresh one.

“Oof, Broflovski you really know how to treat a lady,” Kenny says.

Kyle laughs, “looks like you could use it.”

Kenny stares at him for a moment.

“You look like you need it to. You ok?” He asks, taking a bobby pin out from behind his ear to hold the roach.

Kyle sighs, “Yeah, I’m fine. I was a dick to Cartman and I kinda feel like shit about it.”

“I’m assuming it’s being a dick to him in a different way then you guys are usually dicks to each other?”

Kyle snickers at that as he licks the joint closed, “Yeah, he messaged me to ask when we were leaving tomorrow and he like wants to go to the biscuit place and MeowWolf. And I told him I couldn’t pay for it-“ Kyle pauses, and grabs his phone, “actually hold on- just read this.”

He opens his and Cartman’s messages and scrolls up to when the conversation started and passes it to Kenny.

Kyle lights the joint as he’s reading and takes a hit, when Kenny’s done Kyle trades him the joint for his phone.

“OK, so then what happened,” Kenny asks.

“So, he called me at the end of that and was like ‘I don’t need you to tell me I’ve gotten better but how long has it been since I pulled something like that on you?’ and then, like, I realized he’s right and it has been a long time and that he's out here, like, actively trying to better himself and I’m just treating him like he hasn’t changed,”

There’s a pause,

“I mean he still pisses me off-“

“For sure,” Kenny cuts in

“But I mean he’s not chopping kid’s parents up and feeding them to him either so- “

“Well, I mean, first off: I don’t have anything to say because you just said anything I could have told you were being a dick for so good job for taking responsibility for your behavior- proud of you bro-“Kenny pauses to take a hit “- Did you say sorry?”

“Yeah, I totally did.”

“And what did Cartman say?”

Kyle shrugs, “He just told me to be ready by ten tomorrow.”

“Then y’all are cool. Hell yeah!”

“Yeah, I guess I just still feel bad about it. I mean he’s being nice and I still treat him like an asshole,” Kyle says, taking the joint back when Kenny passes it.

“Well, I mean- not to use the word ‘groomed’ like this but I can’t think if a better one- he’s been grooming you to be suspicious of him since we were eight years old, dude. I mean yeah- he’s changed; get with the program- but that’s learned behavior, my guy, it’s hard to overcome,” Kenny shrugs and runs a hand through his drying hair.

“I mean the best you can do is be mindful of it in the future but I don’t think you’re like an asshole asshole.”

Kyle takes a shaky breath, “Thanks, man. You always know what to say,” Kyle thinks for a moment- “unless it’s Red’s name.”  

Kenny throws his head back in laughs.

--

Kyle makes it back home at about three in the morning and when he tip toes back to his room, he can hear his Dad’s snoring in the hallway and mourns for his mother.

Talking to Kenny had been a weight off his chest. And all that’s really there now is a conviction to be better to Cartman- who fucking knows. Maybe they can just be normal, actual friends. Who do normal, actual friend things.

He goes to sleep that night as soon as his head hits the pillow.

He wakes up to a text from Kenny.

Thanks for the ride, beautiful. Enjoy ur date ;) ;) ;)

Chapter Text

Kyle stares at his phone and waits for his brain to read.

It’s not a date.

He throws his phone on the bed and huffs, throwing the covers off him and glancing at the clock.

9:03 AM.

This wasn’t a date.

Kyle stalks his way across the hallway to the bathroom and turns the shower on as hot as it could go.

This wasn’t a date.

He scrubs himself clean, washes his hair, applies his curl cream.

This was not a date.

He walks back into his room, a towel wrapped around his waist and gets out a pair of jeans, socks, t-shirt and, with a jolt of excitement, his Lamb of God hoodie. He gets dressed, careful to not let the friction of his shirt or hoodie disrupt his delicately formed curl clumps.

This was not a date.

He glances at the clock once more, 9:36. Kyle heaves a shuddering breath.

This was NOT a date.

He makes his way down the stares to find his mom cooking breakfast.

“Good morning, bubbe! Are you excited for your little concert tonight?” she asks.

“I am,” he answers, squeezing past her and the island to get to the fridge. He pours himself some orange juice.

“You make sure you and Cartman are nice to each other. I cant have you running off the road because you boys have gotten into one of your little tiffs again.”

“I won’t run off the road, Ma.”

“When are you planning on leaving?”

Kyle swallows thickly as he thinks about what Cartman has planned. What Cartman plans on treating him too today.

It isn’t a date.

“We’re actually gonna head out pretty soon. There’s some stuff Cartman wants to do while we are in Denver. A, um, restaurant and a art exhibit,” He tells her, leaning against the counter while he watches her cook.

“Oh! An art exhibits! That sounds fantastic. I hadn’t realized Eric had gotten so cultured,” she huffs out a laugh at her own remark, turning the burner off before turning to face Kyle, leaning her hip against the counter to match Kyle’s posture.

She smiles at him a little sheepishly. Which is odd considering he’s never seen his mom be sheepish about anything.

“I know we agreed I’d let you do your own thing when you turned eighteen as long as you were responsible- and you have been! And are! I just need to be a mother and tell you to please be careful and to make good choices. If you get uncomfortable- please call me or your father and we will come pick you up,”

Kyle smiled at her, “Thanks, Ma. I will. I promise,”

“I’ve seen videos of those rock concerts, Kyle. They can get very violent. Please don’t get yourself hurt.”

“I won’t, Ma,”

“And please text me when you get there. And when you are heading back,”

Kyle smile widens. Watching his mother physically hold herself back from going full helicopter mode has been his favorite thing since he turned eighteen.

“Yes, mam,”

Sheila smiles and let’s out a big breath.

“OK, I’m done. That’s it. Have a good time,” she reaches a hand up to tuck a soft curl behind his ear.

“Your hair looks beautiful, Bubbe. Cartman is a lucky guy to spend the day with you.”

Kyle’s eyes go wide and he nearly spits out his orange juice.

It cannot be a date.

“That’s such a weird thing to say, Ma,” He laughs nervously.

She scoffs at him gently and waves her hand at him, turning back to her skillet to dive portions of scrambled eggs onto flower tortillas with diced potatoes on top.

“You know what I mean.”

His phone vibrates in his back pocket and when he pulls it out it’s a text from Cartman.

U better be ready Jew boy I’m omw

“Cartman’s ready. I’m heading out,” he tells his mom, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“Oop, one second, Bubbe!” She rolls the burritos neatly before wrapping them in paper towels. She hands him two of them. “One was for your brother but I’ll be surprised if he wakes up before lunch time anyway,” She gives him a tight hug. “Be careful, I love you.”

Kyle hugs her back, “I love you to. I’ll text you ok?”

She nods and Kyle heads out to the car. Cartman is outside when he gets there with a duffle bag in hand.

“What’s in the bag?” Kyle asks as he unlocks the car.

“Some stuff, nosey ass Jew,” Cartman grins, setting the duffle in the back seat before he slumps into the front. When Kyle follows him in Cartman turns to look at him, an excited look on his face.

“Are you ready to have the best day of your life?” Cartman asks.

This was not a fucking date.

--

Cartman has chattered endlessly so far. He’s talking about the set list, songs they hope they play, the aforementioned ‘big as his head’ biscuit cinnamon roll, pictures he’s seen of the Meow Wolf exhibit. Kyle mostly hums in acknowledgment.

He’s high and anxious and suddenly not sure how to act in this situation. He’s excited about the concert, MeowWolf- fuck even the cinnamon roll but he can’t help the part of him that Cartman is planning something or expects something. There’s no way he thinks this is a date, right? That’s just some shit Kenny said. Kenny just says shit. He says shit all the time.

“Kyle!”

“Fuck, what!” Kyle snaps, having been yanked out of his thoughts so viciously it hurt his head a bit.

"You are being a particularly testy bitch this morning, Fire crotch. You forgot to jerk off last night?" Cartman taunts, turning the radio down to a barely there level.

"No!" Kyle starts, then his cheeks begin to burn as he realizes what he said, "I mean- I didn't- I'm fine, OK? If you haven't noticed, you irritate the absolute shit out of me." Kyle snaps, turning the radio back up.

Cartman lets it sit long enough that Kyle thinks he might let it go.

But, of course, he's not that lucky.

Cartman turns the radio back down.

"OK, yes, I did notice, but I've hardly used any of my usual "piss off Kyle" methods-

"Oh, you have methods-"

"So why don't you just tell ol' Eric what's got you all heated before I get jealous,"

Kyle glances at Cartman, catching him a wink. Kyle scoffs and looks back at the road, the flush on his face all the worse.

"Jealous?" Kyle asks, incredulous.

"Don't change the subject." Cartman snaps.

Kyle grips the steering wheel tight.

"Fuck, OK, fine. But I need you to know it's ridiculous." Kyle relents.

"Uh, yeah, I assumed," Cartman scoffs.

"So, Kenny, he snatched my phone from me a couple of days ago," Kyle starts.

"And that still has you this pissed off?" Cartman asks in disbelief.

"I'm not done, Asshole!" Kyle bites.

Cartman puts his hands up in surrender and leans back in his seat.

"OK, OK, Kenny snatched your phone AND," Cartman offers.

"And so he saw the shit that was on my phone. It's when we were texting. Like about coming to this thing." Kyle says.

"Ok," Cartman urges.

"And then, like when you sent me that picture of your face when it was bruised up, and I sent you a picture of the blood on my teeth," Kyle explains, trying to get Cartman to understand so he doesn't have to say it.

Cartman stays silent instead.

Kyle heaves a huge sigh.

"And I know that I guess we're just like that or- or whatever, but he thought that it was like some kinda like-" Kyle swallows as he tries to work up the courage to say the word that's been weighing on his mind for some time now.

"Some kinda what, Kyle?" Cartman asks.

"He said it was like some kinda kink thing, OK! Like we were getting off on it or something?" He's shouting now without realizing it.

"And I don't know; it's got me all freaked out, I don't know. And like we went to smoke Stan's joint, right, and I was hoping I could explain to him that it wasn't like that and maybe you know- fuck. Sure, it's not normal, but I'm not, like, jacking off to the idea of beating your ass. But I got really, really high in the car, I guess because I didn't do that. I just listened to him explain to me that it was like OK and like normal or whatever, and he just kept saying "safe, sane and consensual" like over and over again and- and- then he texts me this morning and tells me to ‘enjoy my date’ and of course I’m like ‘what the fuck’-

"Hey, hey, Kyle. Breath, dude," Cartman tries to interrupt

"But I don't want to be like that. I don't want to have sex like that! I mean, I've never even-" Kyle stops that line of thought immediately. "So I just gotta beat people up to get hard. That's so fucked up!"

"KYLE!"

Kyle snaps back to reality and yanks the steering wheel to get them off the highway's shoulder and back into the correct lane.

"Fuck!" Kyle shouts as a driver lays down on their horn while speeding up in the other lane to get away from them.

"Hey, hey, Kyle, listen. Kenny, he-" Cartman takes a big breath, "Kenny doesn't know what he's talking about. I don't want to have sex like that either. I-" Cartman interrupts himself to take a long drink of his mountain dew.

"We got our own thing going on like an inside joke or something, it's not a sex thing. I mean, don't you think if it were a sex thing, we'd be fuckin' by now?" Cartman asks.

Kyle breathes and looks at himself in the review mirror, the flush that lights his cheeks and makes his freckles stand out like mud splatters. He quickly casts his eyes back to the road.

"Yeah, it's not like you want to fuck me, right?" Kyle says, laughing, shooting Cartman a look.

Cartman quickly turns his head from where he'd already been looking at Kyle, focusing back on the road.

"Don't get your hopes up, Jew," Cartman says in a monotone way Kyle wishes he wasn't focusing on.

"Same," Kyle says before turning the radio back up.

They arrive in Denver an hour and a half later. Then, and only then, does the radio stop blaring at top volume. Cartman's the one who does it and once he does he immediately hits the microphone button on the dash display.

"Take me to the Hyatt Regency Denver at the convention center," Eric says to the car.

Siri confirms their route and the directions show up on the dash a moment later.

"You got a hotel?" Kyle asks.

"Uh, duh. I saw on reddit that the show has been lasting like an hour longer than it was supposed to. We won't get out of there until like one in the morning," Cartman explains.

"Why, you got a problem with that or something?" He asks, when Kyle stays a little too silent for a little too long.

"No, no. That's just like," Kyle tries to think of a word that wont inflate someone like Cartman's ego too much.

"It's just considerate of you, you’ve been very considerate and I’m surprised," Kyle settles on.

Cartman seems shocked as well, if the hesitant look on his face is anything to go by.

"Yeah, well. I just don't wanna be in my sweaty ass concert clothes for an hour and a half before I get to shower."

Kyle rolls his eyes, “Yeah, of course.”

--

The hotel is nice. Not like pent house nice but it’s no roach motel for sure, if the lobby is anything to go by. They walk to the reception desk and Cartman checks in using his ridiculous debit card that he’s had customized with a Pepe the frog meme. The receptionist snorts at that and hands them two room keys. She informs them that their room is on the tenth floor and that check out is at noon tomorrow.

They thank her and as their walking away Cartman elbows him hard in the side.

“Ow, what the fuck?”

“Look,” Cartman says, pointing to the banner above the counter.

It’s white with rainbow lettering that says ‘Official Hotel of Denver Pride’

“That’s gay,” Cartman snickers.

Kyle rolls his eyes, “Yes, Cartman, it’s literally gay. You're a master of observational comedy.”

Cartman stands a little straighter, ignoring Kyle’s sarcasm, “Thank you, I thought so.”

In the elevator Cartman fucks around on his phone for a second.

“Bro, Uber’s here are cheap as fuck,”

“Yeah, it’s because we’re closer to everything and there are more drivers here,” Kyle explains, looking out of the glass walls of the elevator as they climb higher above the buildings.

The room is clean with a ridiculously big shower and two beds. The room as a tan and white thing going on. Past the second bed is a sliding glass door out to a balcony with two chairs and a table.

“Alright,” Cartman says, tossing the duffle bag on the bed. It makes a noticeable clinking noise as it bounces. He opens the bag to find a pair of sweatpants, boxers, socks and two silver flasks as well as a full handle of Jack Daniel’s, Tito’s and Gin as well as a two liter of sprite and a two liter of coke. There is also an opened pack of cigarettes that Kyle recognizes as the brand Stan smokes.

Kyle whistles.

“Yep!” Cartman says, popping the p. “OK, so I’ve never really seen you drink and enjoy it so I just got Kevin to pick me up the big three. Mixers, of course, I’m not an animal. And the bell of the ball-“ Cartman picks up the pack of Lucky Strikes and opens it to reveal twenty neatly rolled joints, “pearled by yours truly.”

“Wow,” Kyle says, genuinely shocked. “I feel like a dick kinda I just brought actual cigarettes.”

Cartman shrugs, taking one of the joints out of the pack.

“It’s cool,” he says as he walks towards the balcony- gesturing with a jerk of his head for Kyle to follow. Kyle does, he sits on one of the chairs across the table from Cartman. There’s a black plastic ashtray on the table, embossed on the inside is the hotel logo, also boasting its title as the official hotel of Denver Pride.

Cartman notices it as well because he makes sure Kyle knows they are taking that when they leave. He lights the joint in his mouth before handing it to Kyle.

Kyle mumbles a thanks and takes a deep drag. This is nice, it’s not to cold, the sun is shining, he can hear the bustle of city life below them.

“I’ve always liked hearing traffic like this,” Kyle says, a bit wistfully. He moves to pass the joint back to Cartman but he finds that the other boy has already lit his own. Personals then. So be it.

“South Park’s way to quiet,” Cartman agrees.

They sit and smoke in silence for long minutes, enjoying the noise of other people living their lives.

Cartman clears his throat. “OK, this is my plan,”

“Alright,”

“So, we get really high and then Uber to Denver Biscuit Company and eat, like, a lot.”

“Got it,”

“Then we uber back here- smoke again- then go to Meow Wolf and, like, I don’t know ‘trip the fuck out’ or whatever Stan said.”

“Sounds great”

“Then, after that, we come here and get like manageably tipsy. Then we go to the venue- mind you we have flasks of hard liquor-“

“I’d assume so,”

“Enjoy the concert, throw some elbows, go deaf-“

“Well-“

“-and then we come back here and take showers and, like, relax or whatever- order take out or something.”

Cartman stops there, leaning back in his chair and taking a hit like he’d just laid out a masterpiece.

“That sounds,” Kyle thinks for a second, “super sick, actually.”

“Yeah,” Cartman breaths, his voice deep with smoke curling from his lips and traveling up into his nose- ghost inhale, Kyle’s never been able to do that- “ I thought you might like that.”

Kyle is then struck, for the first time he’s be willing to admit to himself, that Cartman is really, very attractive. Kyle looks away then, at the building in front of them and wonders what the fuck he’s gotten himself into.

Chapter Text

Cartman and Kyle put away two joints each and in that time Kyle does get, really, really high. The kind of high he hasn’t been since he first started smoking. He couldn’t open his eyes all the way if somebody paid him, his limbs are heavy. The tense, chronic ache in his shoulder is long gone, his mouth is dry and everything Cartman says is so, so funny.

Cartman’s no better really. He opens and closes his phone four separate times before he remembers his initial goal was to get an uber and when he finally does get one situated, they decide to wait outside for it even though its twelve minutes away in fear they would forget.

They stand by the street, people watching. Cartman’s doing this thing where he makes up voices for people and delves into what their external monologue must sound like that has Kyle hiding his face in his hand because he’s too high to control his giggling but not high enough to not be embarrassed by it.

“Hey,” Cartman says once Kyle’s laughing has calmed down and when he looks up at Cartman’s blood shot eyes they look entirely to soft.

“Yeah?” Kyle breathes, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

“Can I have one of those cigarettes?”

“Oh, yeah, good idea,” He says, digging the fresh pack out of his back pocket and beating it on the heel of his palm like he sees Stan do. He rips of the cellophane and pulls out one for Cartman and one for himself.

He has flicks the lighter a couple times and can't seem to get the flame to stick.

“Oh boy. Come here,” Cartman sighs and pulls his own lighter out, flicking it once and holding out the flame to Kyle. Kyle leans in to catch the flame and when he breaths in, the resulting buzz makes his eyes close and his toes curl in his shoes.

Cartman lights his own and they sit in comfortable silence, the town moving around them.

They’ve gotten three quarters of the way through their cigs before Cartman’s phone chimes in his hand. And he grunts, “He’s pulling up. Abir will be our driver this afternoon.”

As was foretold, a black Ford Fiesta pulls to a stop at the curb in front of them. Cartman walks to the back to check the license plate. After he’s satisfied, they crawl in the back seat.

“Hi, Abir,” Cartman greets as he puts on his seatbelt.

Abir looks in the review at the two of them and shakes his head a little as he pulls off the curb, “Hello, boys. How are we today?”

“So good. How are you?” Cartman answers cheerfully. Kyle snickers next to him and tries to smother it with his hand.

“I am well. Thank you.”

They lapse into silence, small talk achieved and Cartman scrolls on his phone while Kyle stares out the window. The drive is short and quiet, apart from the top 40’s station Abir has going softly.

Abir drops them off on the corner in front of the large double doors of the black brick restaurant. It's too stories tall and when they enter it’s got that kinda of gentrification vibe that ensures the food will be expensive.

A hostess greets them and sits them down at a booth on the second floor. Sure enough, they serve them ice water in mason jars with their menus. Kyle scans the menu and seems as though their whole stick is crazy ass biscuit sandwiches and Kyle's so down bad with the munchies that every single thing on the menu sounds like something he can’t live without.

When their waitress comes back, Kyle picks something at random and adds an egg. Cartman, of course, orders the biscuit cinnamon roll and a sandwich as well.

Kyle takes in the edison bulbs and wood table tops and the exposed ducts and the fucking mason jar he’s currently taking a sip out of.

“Where did you hear about this place?” Kyle asks.

“TikTok,” Cartman answers.

“You have a TikTok?” Kyle asks, incredulously.

“Um, yeah duh. Everybody does,”

“I do not have a TikTok,” Kyle says resolutely.

“Well, congratulations, once again you are a pillar of moral strength,”

“I would pay real life money to see what your algorithm gives you,”

Cartman shrugs, “It’s mostly just memes and restaurant reviews, oh, and like a shocking amount of piss kink stuff,”

Kyle fights for his life not to spit the water in his mouth all over Cartman. He wipes his mouth and struggles for composure.

“Do you have a piss kink?” Kyle asks, not at all knowing whether or not he truly wants the answer to that question.

“No, like not even a little bit but like-“ Cartman pulls out his phone, “-see look at this,”

He opens TikTok and holds the phone so Kyle can see and scrolls in quick succession.

Meme, Meme, a review for a taco stand in Colorado Springs, Meme, Overwatch lore-

And there it is, some guy making a joke about his own piss kink,

A compilation of head shots in Apex, Meme-

A video of a girl putting a plastic sheet on a bed captioned “IYKYK”

“Wow,” Kyle says, because he can’t think of anything else to say.

“Yeah, that shits wild,” Cartman says, nonchalantly.

“And what? That’s just there, like, you’ve never looked at piss kink stuff anywhere else?”

“Nope,”

“Well, I mean surely you must have done something, otherwise why would it be there?”

Cartman rolls his eyes, “Do I look like a guy who wants to get fucking pissed on, Kyle?”

There’s a little ‘Oop’ somewhere above them and when they look up their waitress is there, having heard that last part for sure considering the wide-eyed look on her face. She sets their food down and leaves quickly.

Kyle snickers which devolves rapidly into laying back in the booth, overcome with painful gasps of laughter.

When he finally calms down enough to sit up, he has to wipe the tears from his eyes with a napkin and when he looks up again Cartman has his phone pointed at him.

“What are you doing?” Kyle asks, still trying to catch his breath.

“Snapchat,” he explains, “look at this fucking thing.”

Kyle finds that the cinnamon role is, in fact, big as fuck.

--

As planned that ate weight to much. The uber ride back to the hotel is as quiet as the one to the restaurant, with the edition of winces as the bumps in the road jostle their full stomachs.

When they get back to the room, Cartman informs them that they have reservations at MeowWolf for three, it’s currently 1:30. They spend their time watching Ridiculousness on MTV and smoking.

When it’s time to leave for MeowWolf the call another under and sit outside, smoking cigarettes and playing a game where they guess the names of passerby’s.

“That’s a Jennifer,” Cartman says, pointing to a middle-aged mother with a baby on her hip, “I can tell because her and the baby are wearing matching Nike’s.”

Kyle hums and scans the street.

“That guy over there, his name is Bradley. He doesn’t go by Brad,”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a white guy with locs,”

Cartman nods, “Indeed,”

Their Uber pulls up soon after and they continue the game at every stop light. Kyle can’t remember the last time he and Cartman had been alone together this long, never mind the fact that this has been a great day so far. He expected to have fun but he also expected the two of them to have at least one thing to be pissed at each other about. That hasn't happened though, their banter is light and each response has the other person laughing.

Meow Wolf is huge and there are large sculptures in the courtyard in front of them. Kyle takes pictures of every single one and Cartman follows him patiently. No remarks about how there are already pictures of them online, no comments about how much of a girl he’s being. He stands behind him and listening to Kyle’s comments and coming back with his own. What the fuck?

There is one of a red-haired, male, angel, covered in tattoos resting on a cloud with a joint in his hand, Cartman stops him when he does to take a picture of it.

“Wait,” he takes his own phone out, “Go stand next to that one,”

“Why?”

“Because I want to take a picture of you next to it, why else?”

Kyle can’t find a reason to argue.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks, he’s never been good with pictures.

“Stand there and look pretty, obviously,” Cartman scoffs. Kyle can feel his cheeks go red and he looks down at the ground. He can hear, in that moment the artificial shutter clicks of Cartman’s phone.

“I wasn’t ready, asshole,”

“This one’s perfect,”

“What? Let me see,”

Cartman turns his phone around to show Kyle.

He looks, really, really good. The sun is making his and the angel’s hair look like fire on his head and the flush on his face is almost the same color as the pinks in the sky in the background.

What the fuck?

Kyle looks away and starts walking towards the door. Cartman jogs to catch up with him.

--

Cartman takes a lot of pictures of him throughout the exhibit. Yeah, he takes pictures of the installations to- just like Kyle does. But there are sometimes where Cartman’s phone ends up way to focused on him to be paying attention to the stuff around him.

Cartman shows him a couple of them, and they are all just as well composed and flattering as the first one, but a lot of them he keeps to himself. Kyle wonders about those.

They spend hours walking around and by the time they’ve meandered back into the lobby they have just about two hours before the concert starts.

Cartman calls their Uber and opens the door for Kyle in the way out. And again, for the car door when their ride arrives.

What. The. Fuck.

--

Cartman first presses a plastic cup of whiskey coke into his hand and Kyle hates it. Too sweet, tastes like cough medicine. Next is vodka sprite which tastes more like rubbing alcohol and lime. The third drink is gin and sprite and Kyle takes a sup, expecting to hate it but finds that it mostly just tastes like sprite, but like, spicy. He holds on to that one and Cartman grins like he’s won the lottery. He makes Kyle two more of those while he drinks the one’s Kyle didn’t want.

At this point both of them our silly with excitement, they are playing their favorite Lamb of God songs perhaps a bit to loud for a hotel.

By the time they head down stairs to wait for their Uber, Kyle is, as Cartman had said, manageably tipsy. His head is swimming in what can only be considered a good way and when he takes a sip from the flask Cartman had passed him before they left, he finds that it tastes like he needs a cigarette.

--

Cartman has their tickets on his phone and he has the screen open the entire time they are standing in line, which all in all is about forty-five minutes. They make friends with a couple of hard-core looking lesbians in front of them who are, in fact, way past the point of being ‘manageably tipsy’. They share their flasks with them anyway and in return the ladies let them hit their dab pen. By the time they actually make it into the building Kyle is much too cross faded to be anything but extremely happy to be here.

When they walk inside both them and the ladies make a bee line towards the merch table. Kyle buys Cartman his shirt and sticker in an effort not to feel like such a moocher.

The ladies convince them to wait for them as they check out and when they are ready to go, they make a motion to follow them as they walk towards the bar. Cartman and Kyle share a shrug as they make their way.

They end up taking two shots each, vodka, and both the woman and Cartman laugh at him as he gags his way through both of them.

They eventually loose their friends to the crowd when the sound check starts and Cartman moves to follow them but before he does he turns to grab Kyle’s wrist. They weren’t early enough to get very close to the stage at all- which is probably for the best considering Kyle feels a bit too fucked up to be taking part in a mosh pit.

Kyle finds the downside as soon as Killswitch Engage makes the stage- and that’s that he can’t fucking see. Kyle’s not really short by any stretch of the world- but he definitely looks that way when he’s surrounded by a congregation of six-foot monsters, including Cartman. Who is screaming with the rest of the lucky bastards who get to enjoy the visual aspect of their audio-visual experience.

The first song starts and Kyle suddenly finds he doesn’t much care. The first song they play is My Curse, which is one of Kyle’s favorites and soon he finds himself caught up in the act of screaming the words and trying to stay standing with the ebb and flow of the push pit around them.

A few more songs play after that and the next thing he knows he’s being grabbed and pulled close while Cartman is screaming in his ear,

“Can you see?”

Kyle looks at him and shakes his head and shrugs, trying to show without words that it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Cartman shakes his head vigorously and puts a finger up to Kyle on a motion for him to wait. In a smooth and quick motion, Cartman kneels down and grabs Kyle around the waist. Next thing he knows, the floor is being taken away from his feet and he’s sitting on Cartman’s shoulders.

Before Kyle can even process enough information to demand to be out down his is an awe of the stage, the lights, the sea of people before him. He can see where the mothers are in full swing about ten feet and front of them and he’s gasping.

There’s a tap at this thigh and when he looks down, Cartman is looking back up at him. He’s holding a thumbs up at him.

“Better?” he asks, mouthing the question.

Kyle nods vigorously.

Cartman grins at him then. And Kyle feels like he should kiss him.

Chapter Text

When Lamb of God comes on stage the crowd roars. His and Cartman’s screams get lost in the mix bit he can feel Cartman’s voice against the back of his thighs.

He feels a lot right now. He feels the ebb and flow of the push pit below him but it’s diluted to a sway for him on Cartman’s shoulders. The other boy stands tall and stable, his stance wide to keep balance and other than the occasional body falling into his feet at Cartman’s front, he’s not getting tossed around like he was on the floor. He feels Cartman’s hands, huge and hot on the tops of his thighs where he’s holding Kyle steady. Kyle, when he’s not throwing his hands in the air in time with the drums or cupping his hands around his mouth to scream, he rests them on top of Cartman’s head where his hair is sweaty, but undeniably soft.

He thinks back to time where Cartman’s had uncontrollable bed head and he yearned to reach his hand out to smooth it down, but he’d stop. Because that’s weird. But it doesn’t feel weird now.

He threads his fingers through Cartman’s hair then, pushing the sweaty strains off his forehead, and where he’d once expect a litany of freaked out remarks, the touch is returned by Cartman tightening his grip on Kyle’s thighs.

Fuck, he’s been holding him up for hours now and he's not even acting like the weight effects him. Cartman braces him with his hands sure but he's been rocking with the music the entire time like Kyle’s not even there.

They do end up playing Ashes in the Wake and when the song starts Cartman looks up at him and smacks him in the thigh. He’s smiling and flushed and Kyle is grinning so hard it hurts and Cartman is so, so strong.

Fuck.

The concert ends. People meander out, the energy is still through the roof and the whole building smells like sweat and endorphins. Cartman kneels down and Kyle steps off his shoulders and on to the ground in front of him, his feet unsure on the ground, his ass is a little numb.

When Cartman turns around to face him, he’s so, so close. He’s covered head to toe in sweat and he opens his mouth like he’s fixing to say something but before the first syllable can even leave his mouth Kyle is on his tip toes, throwing his arms around Cartman’s neck and shoving his lips against Cartman’s own.

Fuck.

Cartman’s arms come around his waist and he lifts Kyle a bit higher so their mouths are aligned better and then his tongue is in Kyle’s mouth and he's groaning.

“That’s fucking beautiful, Bro!” Some guy yells in the distance. They pull apart.

“Fuck,” Cartman breaths and he’s eyes are flicking around, searching all of Kyle’s face and he finds that he has to have that again. He surges forward for another and Cartman gives as good as he gets.

By the time they separate the floor is almost empty and they are breathing heavy.

“We should leave,” Kyle murmurs, he’s grown so used to Cartman’s body heat he has to suppress a shiver now that no parts of their bodies are touching.

Cartman nods, looking dazed and follows Kyle to the door. Once they are outside, the fresh air is a shock to the senses and Kyle hurries to light a cigarette, leaning against the wall. Cartman is standing next to him, pulling out his phone. Kyle watches and when Cartman unlocks his phone he see’s his own face on the home screen.

Not the one of his split lip, but another, one that must have been taken at MeowWolf. He’s looking away, smiling, lit up in pink and blue.

Cartman opens the Uber app and Kyle waits patiently for the ride to be ordered and as soon as he sees the confirmation page, he throws the cigarette to the ground and grabs Cartman roughly by his shirt to pull him down to his level before pressing his lips against Cartman’s so roughly their teeth click.

Cartman winces, but soon he’s turning Kyle with his hands so he’s being pressed up against the brick wall and Kyle finds himself moaning into Cartman’s mouth.

“Holy shit,” Cartman breaths, when they part.

“What?” Kyle snaps, utterly upset that the need for oxygen has interrupted their kissing.

“You’re kissing me,”

“You’re kissing me back, asshole,”

Cartman looks shocked for a moment before he throws his head back and laughs.

“Duh!” He says, before going back in for another.

A vibration in Cartman’s pocket alerts them that their Uber is close and when Cartman pulls away to check it, Kyle finds himself chasing his mouth.

“Hold on, hold on,” Cartman laughs.

“Our rides here,”

They walk to the car; Cartman holds the door open for Kyle and as soon as he slides in and the door is shut behind him Kyle is on him again.

There’s no small talk with the driver this time but he does turn the radio up louder. In fact, the driver seems to ignore the presence of two frenzied teenagers with the patience of a saint until he has to alert them that they’d made it to their destination. 5 stars.

The walk to the elevator is thick with tension, Cartman keeps his hand on Kyle’s back, urging him along. When the doors close, Cartman grabs him behind the thighs and lifts him up on to the hand railing against the glass wall of the elevator, stepping between Kyle’s spread thighs and buries his head in Kyle’s neck, sucking bites above the vein pumping blood furiously through his heated body. Kyle grabs him by the hair and bares his neck to the attention, his making noises with every exhale, excited little ‘ah, ah, ah’s.

On a particularly hard bite to his neck, he gasps and arches into the press of Cartman’s body and finds, with drunken shock, that they are both hard. Kyle and Cartman both groan at the pressure and Kyle’s brain lights up in technicolor and alarms go off and all he can think is ‘big’. Before they can chase that pleasure the elevator dings. Cartman is picking him up again, pulling him from the railing to his own two feet and grabbing him by the hand and pulling him to their door.

Cartman digs the key out of his pocket and when the door opens his urges them both inside and Kyle finds him pushed back against the door before, he can even register the change in scenery.

“You just gonna keep pushing me into things?” Kyle asks against Cartman’s neck. A shiver runs through the taller boy before he answers, Kyle can feel his hard swallow against his lips. He opens his mouth then, and drags his tongue against Cartman’s adam’s apple.

“Yeah,” Cartman finally answers, but Kyle can’t tell if it’s in response to his question of the tongue on his neck.

Kyle can taste the sweat on Cartman’s skin, “We should shower,” he mumbles.

Cartman’s hands on his waist tighten urgently.

“Take a shower with me,” it’s worded like a statement but sounds like a plea. Kyle can’t even think about it. His dick strains in his pants and he can feel the hard, hot line of Cartman’s against his thigh and he’s really, really interested to see what they can do about that.

“Yeah,” Kyle nods fervently, “Yeah, let’s go.”

Cartman has Kyle’s shirt and hoodie off and lifts him onto the counter as soon as they cross the threshold of the bathroom. He's hand’s immediately attack the button and zip of his jeans and Kyle pushes his boots off his feet by the time Cartman has then undone. He lifts himself a little on the counter to help as he’s divested of his pants and socks. Cartman leans back then, his hands dragging up Kyle’s flank and down his thighs, his eyes eating him up.

“Fuck,” Cartman says, like it hurts. Kyle’s face blazes at the attention and if it weren’t for Cartman’s thighs holding his legs open, he’d have to fight the urge to close them.

“Take off you’re fucking clothes,” Kyle snaps. It sounds much to aggressive in his ears, he’s always been mean when he’s nervous. But Cartman just nods, his sweaty hair bouncing with the intensity and rips his shirt over his head.

Kyle feels like he is cheated out of his turn to touch when Cartman pulls away to turn the water on. He watches as Cartman kicks off his vans and steps out of his pants and socks. Kyle is momentarily taken aback.

“Dude,” he says, from his perch on the counter.

“What?” Cartman asks, Kyle has it in him to hate the self conscious tone in his voice.

“Your dick is fucking huge,”

“Oh, um,” Cartman scoffs a little and shrugs, “yeah.”

Kyle hops of the counter and stalks towards him, backing him up until he’s the one pressed against the shower wall. The first skin on skin contact has Kyle hissing, he grabs Cartman’s hair and yanks him down to join their lips.

Cartman runs his hands along Kyle’s back. Stopping to grip at his ass and hips, he’s fucking shaking.

“Kyle,” he breaths.

“Yeah?”

“You’re so fucking hot,” he says, “I wanna make you cum so bad,” he pleads.

Kyle gasps at the words, pushing himself closer to Cartman and when their cocks drag against each other, if he weren’t still drunk, he'd deny the whimper that escapes his throat.

Cartman makes a pained noise and flips there positions so Kyle’s back is pressed against the cool tile of the shower. Cartman reaches between them and holds both their dicks in his hand.

Kyle’s head makes a dull thumping noise where it hits the wall and he groans, long and low, and thrusts up into the cavern of his hand. Their moans echo loudly in the shower and Cartman’s hand moves starts a quick sharp rhythm between them.

“Fuck, you look so fucking good. You would not believe how long I wanted”- he breaks off to pant harshly into Kyle’s neck, “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” Kyle gasps, “Yeah, fuck, that’s so good. Don’t stop.”

“No, I’ll never fucking stop. I wanna see you like this all the time. I wanna make you feel good,”

Cartman’s other arm has a vice grip around his waist, holding him close, and it gets all the tighter as he talks. Kyle is vibrating out of his skin at the words.

“Oh, fuck,” Kyle whines. “Cartman, I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah, yeah, come on, me to. Look at me, I wanna see what you’re face is gonna look like when you cum on my fucking cock,” Cartman growls in his ear, his hand moving faster. The words shock through him and suddenly that sounds like a miraculous fucking idea.

“You like that? You gonna let me fuck you, baby?”

“Ohh, fuck,” Kyle cries, “Oh, God, yeah, I want it.”

Cartman’s moan is pained, his eyes clench shut and a warmth paints Kyle’s abdomen and he realizes, with a shock, that he just watched Cartman cum and that’s all it takes. He squeezes his arms around Kyle’s neck and pushes his hips forward against Cartman’s soft stomach with three abortive little thrusts as the shocks rock him to his core.

They hold on to each other in the shower for long, slow moments before pulling back to share a kiss. It’s much calmer than their previous one’s and Cartman’s tongue, when it pours into his mouth, is slow and searching and Kyle whimpers into his mouth. His body is loose and he wants nothing more than to lay down and sleep for a million years.

Cartman pulls away then, to reach out of the shower stall to the wall and grab a rag and the little hotel bottle of body wash. He squeezes some into the rag before grabbing Kyle’s shoulder and turning him around, to lean against his chest. Kyle slumps into him immediately and murmurs appreciatively as he runs the soapy cloth over his stomach.

Cartman cleans him of sweat and cum. All the while pressing kisses to the top of his head.

When he deems Kyle clean enough, he gives himself a cursory rub down with cloth and rinses them off.

The water is turned off and he feels himself being rubbed down with a towel and lead out of the bathroom and pushed, gently onto a soft bed. Kyle hums, his eyes closed and turns onto his side to burrow deeper into the pillow. The bed dips behind him, and he can feel Cartman settle himself against his back, his thick arms slung around Kyle’s waist, his nose pressed against the back of Kyle’s neck.

Kyle’s never been spooned before. It’s easy to fall asleep to the rise and fall of Cartman’s chest as he breaths.

Chapter Text

Kyle wakes up slowly to a hand running the length of his body and a mountainous warmth cradling him from behind. That hand rubs itself along his nipple, the hand so big it nearly reaches the both of them, on the way up to his throat before starting its way back down his hip. It's good. It's so good- and Kyle can't help the soft little noise of content he gives in response. His breath hitches on the next pass over his nipples and lingers there, swiping a thumb once, then twice before continuing on its way. Kyle is trembling, cock quickly becoming stiff between his thighs, by the time the hand cups around his neck in a firm hold.

That, too, feels so good that Kyle is sure he must be dreaming. He's so comfortable, fully naked between soft sheets, sinking into a plush mattress and held tight against a warm, broad chest. Kyle's so lost in the decadence of it all when the hand at his neck turns his head and lips are pressed against his- Kyle doesn't even open his eyes. He opens his mouth to let a thick tongue pour in and whimpers as the hand at his throat holds a little tighter at the noise.

He's being so thoroughly kissed he feels as if the tongue in his mouth were long enough it'd push down his throat. That has him making another pitiful little noise and rubbing his thighs together, trying to release some pressure in his groin. He must have noticed because soon; the hand is leaving his throat and smoothing its way down his chest again, reaching between his legs and jerking his cock in a slow, smooth pull.
Kyle melts, pulling away from the kiss to pant and groan.

"Fuck." Kyle pants, arching his body into the touch. The hand moves confidently and slowly. The grip is perfect, the pace maddening.

"That good?" A voice husky from sleep asks him, and he can feel that baritone all along his back.

"Yes, God, please-" Kyle's blood runs cold "CARTMAN!" Kyle tries to sit up but is yanked back down just as quickly.

"Who else, numbnuts?" Cartman laughs, putting his hand back to work immediately. Kyle shudders.

"Why-?" Kyle can't get the question out before his voice lets loose a groan as Cartman thumbs just under the head.

"I thought I was dreaming," Kyle tries to explain.

"Well then, keep dreaming, bitch. Because, unless you've forgotten, I rocked your world last night, and I was hoping we could squeeze one more in before we gotta check out," Cartman answers.

Kyle feels stupid because now that he's thinking about it, he does remember the whole swell of emotion when Cartman put him on his shoulders to see at the concert. He remembers stopping to make out at every possible opportunity. He remembers being stripped down and held against the shower wall as they jerked each other off. He remembers the filthy things they said to each other, and he knows Cartman can feel his cock jump in his hand.

"Yeah, that's it, baby." Cartman croons, using his other arm underneath Kyle to hold him tight against his chest like they had been before Kyle jolted up. Kyle is shocked at being called 'baby,' by Cartman no less, but he can feel Cartman's chest hair against his back and his stiff cock against his ass, and it seems as though Kyle's tipsy memories didn't exaggerate the size of Cartman's cock in the least. Kyle gasps as Cartman rocks into him.

"Fuck you. You don't deserve a dick that big," Kyle grits out, pressing himself back against it.

Cartman laughs, pinching Kyle's nipple hard in retaliation. Kyle hisses and grits his teeth through a groan.

"You seem pretty stoked on it," Cartman starts, "you wanna cash in on what you said last night, or are you gonna pussy out on me now?"

Kyle grits his teeth at the challenge, and while he can't remember exactly what he said, he's sure he can take whatever it is that Cartman can dish out.

"No," Kyle gasps, and he wishes it had sounded like he was rising to the challenge instead of like he's getting cuddled and jerked off at the same time.

Then Kyle is flipped to face Cartman and kissed so quickly it takes him a second to reciprocate. Cartman is licking into his mouth like he's starving, and while the hand on Kyle's cock is gone, being encouraged to rut against Cartman's belly by the hand on his ass is almost as good. Soon two dry fingers are rubbing the length of his cleft, and Kyle shudders, his cheeks burning. He opens to mouth to ask Cartman just what the fuck it is he thinks he's doing but before he can-

"Fuck. I've been wanting to stretch you out and fuck you open since I learned how to jerk off," Cartman says with an edge to his voice that sounds desperate.

Kyle's dick jumps before he can even fully process what was said.

"Fuck," Kyle breathes. Surprised by the confession and shocked by how much it seems he's into that.

"Do you have lube?" Kyle asks, instead of being disgusted, instead of standing up and putting his clothes on and demanding they head back to South Park immediately like he feels like he should. But he also feels Cartman's thick arms holding him tight and his ridiculous cock against his thighs and those big fingers rubbing against his hole and can't think of anything else but how much he wants Cartman to finger him and hold while he stuffs that dick in him.

Cartman nods eagerly, reaching behind him and riffling in what sounds like a plastic bag on the floor beside the bed.

"What the fuck?" Kyle asks.

"I walked to the corner store when I woke up this morning," Cartman explains before ripping the plastic off the bottle with his teeth.

"And you came back, got naked, and started jerking me off?" Kyle interrogates with an eyebrow raised.

"I figured I'd have the best luck if you woke up in a good mood," he said, wrapping himself around Kyle like he might have changed his mind if Cartman wasn't holding him tight.

Cool, wet fingers return to his hole and resume their petting, and with the addition of slick, Kyle gasps. While it is certainly odd, the feeling fills his groin with heat, and he suddenly finds himself highly impatient.

"Come on," Kyle snaps, pressing back against the fingers.

"Chill out, bitch; I'll take my time if I want to." Cartman huffs back, suddenly turning to lie on his back and taking Kyle with him, so he's on top of Cartman with his legs straddling thick hips and hovering above Cartman's face.

"Relax," Cartman says before trapping his lips in another greedy kiss. Kyle gets lost in it almost immediately. Cartman's body is so vast he can fit comfortably atop it, and he finds himself bringing his arms around Cartman's neck and laying his total weight on him. Then, a finger slips in, and Kyle tries to pull back to gasp, but Cartman chases him, barely letting him breathe. Instead, Kyle groans into his mouth as the finger begins to pump in and out in a smooth glide. Cartman's hands are enormous, and his finger makes Kyle feel apprehensive about taking Cartman's whole cock, but just as soon as that thought occurs, it's pushed out of his head by a feeling that sends an electric current throughout his entire body.

"Ohh god, what the fuck is that?" Kyle whines, hiding his face in Cartman's neck.

"That's your g-spot, baby," Cartman purrs into his ear, rubbing relentlessly until Kyle is a shivering mess atop him, "wait until my big dick hits that over and over again."

Kyle thinks maybe if he weren't quickly melting into a pile of goo, he would tell Cartman that's the stupidest shit he's ever said. Instead, he's making a near-constant groaning noise that he couldn't stop if he tried. Soon that finger is pulled out and replaced with two, and Kyle gasps at a stretch. Now though, when the fingers immediately find that spot again, the pain is instantly forgotten, and he ruts his leaking cock against Cartman's belly and thinks he might burn up from the inside.

"OH fuck. Cartman, that's so good," he babbles.

"Yeah, you like that?" Cartman asks breathily, "you're so hot, you know that? You look so good when you feel good. I want to keep you like this forever."

"Shut the fuck up." Kyle lets out a shaky groan. Cartman chuckles and takes the two fingers out to be replaced with three.

"Oh my god," and just like that, Kyle realizes he's about to fucking cum all over the two of them, just from Cartman's fingers in his ass and his dirty words in his ear, "I'm gonna- oh fuck, Cartman-"

"Do it, come on," Cartman urges in his ear, and Kyle does; his vision whites out, and he stifles his scream by biting Cartman's shoulder, and even though he can taste the first traces of copper in his mouth, he's sure that wasn't enough to keep the whole floor from hearing him.

Kyle's body relaxes in increments, his head laying on Cartman's chest as he tries to catch his breath. His whole body feels like a lead weight, and he cannot believe that the most intense orgasm of his life was given to him by Cartman in a hotel room in Denver at ten in the morning.

"You bit the shit outta me," Cartman says, but he doesn't sound pissed and the hands kneading his lower back and thighs don't feel pissed. Instead, he sounds rapturous.

"You deserve it." Kyle pants.

Cartman huffs out a laugh and sits up, once again moving and taking Kyle with him with an arm around his waist like he weighs nothing. Kyle remembers, suddenly, Cartman holding him up on his shoulders for nearly five hours without rest last night. Kyle is limp and can't find himself moving any more than to clutch his arms around Cartman's neck a little tighter.

"You ready for the main event?" Cartman asks.

"Don't call your dick that." Kyle sighs.

"I think you'll change your tune in a second," Cartman says smugly, lifting Kyle by the hips and aiming his dick underneath him at Kyle's hole.

Kyle gasps at the feel of the slick head against his entrance, and although those three fingers just ruined his life, he can already tell it won't have anything on this.

"I'm gonna sit you down real slow, baby; you just breath," Cartman instructs softly.

"Just shut the fuck up and do it." Kyle bites.

Cartman does.

Gravity does most of the work, but Cartman guides him by the hips and pushes him slowly. The first push-in has Kyle gasping, and the slow slide down has him trembling, clutching Cartman's neck and digging his fingernails in those broad soldiers.

"Fuck," Cartman moans, and Kyle finds himself wholeheartedly agreeing.

It feels like it takes forever. Cartman's cock keeps going; between the stretch and the length he feels like there’s no way he could be able to take the whole thing.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," Kyle whispers to himself over and over again until he finds himself seated once again on Cartman's thighs.

"That's it," Cartman soothes, rubbing his hands up and down Kyle's back, holding him close like a crying child.

"How does it feel, baby?" Cartman asks, and Kyles will need him to stop sounding like he gives a shit soon because, otherwise, Kyle will be in trouble.

Truthfully, Kyle feels so fucking full, like Cartman just carved a space for himself inside him. He feels tingly all over his body, from his toes to his fingertips, and realizes with some horror that the wetness on his face is from tears.

"Big," Kyle sniffles, holding on to Cartman tightly and trembling like a leaf.

"I know, gorgeous, just sit for a second.

“You feel so good on my cock. Just so goddamn tight, so perfect. I knew you'd be perfect. I fucking knew it. You take me so well."

Cartman holds him tight and rubs circles in his back until the shaking stops and Kyle's breathing evens out.

"That's it," Cartman says again, his hands in a constant soothing motion along his back. He moves them up to pry Kyle's face from his neck, and Kyle squeezes his eyes shut to hide from whatever mockery Cartman's fixing to make out his tear-streaked cheeks.

That doesn't come. What does come is lips pressed against his, a tongue licking into his mouth, a hand at the back of his neck, and an arm around his waist. Cartman gets to his knees, Kyle's legs locking around his waist, before leaning forward and depositing Kyle onto the covers.

Then Kyle opens his eyes, and he sees Cartman's face looking down at him, his chest, his dick that has somehow, between then and now, returned to total painful hardness. Cartman's eyes are dark and intense, and Kyle has never in his entire left felt this wanted, and it feels overwhelming, Cartman's full attention, but then again, it's always been.

"Take a picture, Fatass." Kyle teases with a watery smile.

Cartman scoffs with a shocked little grin. He shakes his head and leans down, gathering Kyle in his arms again.

"Hold on to me, Jew," Cartman warns, and Kyle has just enough time to resettle his grip around Cartman's neck before he pulls his dumb huge cook almost all the way out and then back inside with a brutal push of his hips.

Kyle screams.

It takes Cartman two, maybe three more sharp, punishing snaps of his hips to find Kyle's prostate, and that's all it takes for Kyle's tears to start in earnest again.

"Oh my god, Eric, that's it- Right there," Kyle begs into the other boy's shoulder.

"Oooooh fuck. Say it again," Cartman moans in a way that can only be described as shocked and delighted, his hips stuttering and slowing to something deep and hard, "Come on, Kyle. Come on, baby, say my fucking name."

"Eric," Kyle whines, making the name long and drawn out. It takes a hard swallow for Kyle to be able to string any type of words together.

"Eric, fuck, I didn't think it would be-"

"God, me either. I knew you'd be good. You're so good but, fuck, the way you sound, and you fit like a fucking glove. Even if you never let me do this again, I'm going to be rubbing my shit raw to how you look when I make you cum-" Eric kept babbling like he couldn't fucking stop, and Kyle couldn't hear it anymore.

"Kiss me." Kyle snapped- "Shut up and fucking kiss me. I want you to put your fat tou-"

And maybe that was a mistake on Kyle's part because now he's being kissed within an inch of his life and pressed into the mattress by most of Cartman's body weight which is, unfortunately, not something Kyle knew he'd be into.

With the new angle, Cartman is focusing more on depth and pressure than pace. Every slow drag-out is a long torturous press against that spot. Kyle is gone; there's no way it could be this good. He holds Cartman tight against him from his arms around his neck and squeezes him as hard as he can around his thighs as an immense pressure spreads, and he doesn't even have time to warn Cartman before it hits him like a freight train, and his eyes are rolling back in his head, and he's digging his fingers into Cartman's shoulders and, and, and

And Cartman's talking through it

"Fuck, baby, so fucking tight. You feel so good cumming on my cock. I didn't even touch you. I knew it- I knew you'd be perfect," Cartman cuts himself off with his own low groan as his thrusts become short and choppy.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh FUCK,"

Kyle looks up at Cartman and his pinched eyebrows and bared teeth and his eyes, which never look away from Kyle's own. The intensity is barely enough to distract him from the wet rush inside himself, which has got to me, possibly the grossest thing he's ever experienced.

And then they're staring at each other-

both of them catching their breath and sweaty and sticky in places Kyle's never thought he'd be sticky before.

"Cartman," Kyle breathes

"Yeah?" Cartman answers, panting like he just ran a marathon.

"Kiss me."

"Yeah."

And then all Kyle can see is Cartman's closed eyes. He expects Cartman to try to gag him with his tongue again, but that's not what happens. Maybe closed lips are a weird place to draw the line at what is and isn't normal for them, but this kiss- which is slow and oozing satisfaction has Kyle weaker than anything else that just occurred. Because the noise he makes is pitiful and he closes his own eyes and digs his fingers in the hair at the back of Cartman's head, and they stay like that for long, slow, overwhelming minutes.

Cartman's cock slides out of him then, and the rush of fluid afterward is decidedly disgusting, and he needs a shower before they have to pack up all their shit and head back to South Park today. But Kyle thinks most of that can wait a little longer. And maybe they could get breakfast before they head back home.

But then Cartman rolls over next to him on the bed and says,

“Holy fuck, tell me that wasn’t the best sex of your life and god will strike your Jew ass down right now for telling filthy lies.”

Kyle sighs, the heaviness in his limbs and the satisfaction in his guts almost have him ignoring Cartman entirely. Almost.

“I have literally nothing to compare this to so I won’t but how can you experience an orgasm like that and then immediately start ripping on me for being Jewish?” Kyle says, his breathing still slightly laborious.

“I'm multi-talented, Kyle.”

“Yes, an absolute savant when it comes to sex and anti-Semitism,” Kyle drawls, rolling his eyes.

“So you admit it? I just gave you immaculate dick?” Cartman presses, getting up on one elbow to look Kyle in the eye.

“I wouldn’t say immaculate. Why do you need to hear it from me so bad?” Kyle asks, squinting his eyes suspiciously.

Cartman’s eyes go a little wide at that. And he swallows thickly before he answers. Kyle expects the next words out of his mouth to be absolute bullshit.

But instead, “Because I want you to want to do it again.”

Kyle’s never seen Cartman look shy before, at least not in a genuine way. His eyes are downcast and his cheeks are ruddy and Kyle thinks this moment might be a little bit more intimate than the whole of the sex they just had.

“Excuse me?” Kyle asks, turning on his side in an effort to show Cartman he has his full attention.

Cartman searches for his words for a hot minute. Kyle waits.

“I-,” Cartman scrubs a hand over his face, as if frustrated with himself for not being able to formulate his thoughts into words. Kyle feels like he’s looking at something no one has ever seen before.

“I don’t want to never talk about this again. I don’t want it to be some gross secret for you. I want you to want to do it again and I want you to like be stoked on it. Fuck,” Cartman stops talking like he cant believe he just said all that.

“You want us to fuck again, got it. Why’s that so hard to say?” Kyle asks incredulously.

“Because-!” Cartman shouts then stops himself and Kyle thinks, not for the first time since 9th grade, that this is the medicine at work. Cartman controls his breathing and starts again, calmer this time, just like his therapist must have taught him.

“Because, I don’t want to just fuck you, Kyle. I want to fuck you. A lot, yeah. But I also wanna like kiss n shit.”

“We just kissed a lot, Cartman. Your tongue was all up in my esophagus.”

“No! Fuck, I want to kiss you like when we arnt having sex. You don’t understand. Kyle, I’ve wanted to kiss you forever! I wanna like hold your hand and shit and I want Mackey to tell us to tone down the PDA and I want to like hear about why your pissed off.”

Cartman takes some more big breaths, gathering his thoughts while Kyle stares with wide eyes.

“ Look, ok. We graduate in like two months and you said you wanted to take online classes at first so you could travel, remember?” Cartman asks, his voice stressed and his face red.

“Um, yeah, why-”

“I got this shitty fucking manual labor job that pays really good that moves all over the country and it starts in New York. You could come with me! I’ll go all over and then you could go all over with me and you can do your classes and shit while I’m at work and I promise I’ll make enough money to support the two of us so you could focus on your-”

“Whoa, whoa, Cartman, what the fuck?” Kyle says, moving to his knees on the bed to grab Cartman by the shoulders.

“Cartman, I am truly flattered that you had sex with me one,” Kyle stops, thinks, corrects himself “-One and a half times and you wanna pay my bills and shit but don’t you think you’re over reacting? You can’t stand me remember? We wouldn’t even be here if it didn’t just so happen that I owned a car and you wanted to see Lamb of God,” Kyle explains.

Cartman’s face suddenly morphs into a very defeated expression.

“Kyle, I like you.”

He says it so softly that if Kyle hadn’t been all up in his face to begin with he wouldn’t have heard it. And suddenly the bottom drops out. The other foot falls.

“I like you, a lot. I have a crush on you. I have for like a really long time. I- all that shit. How I treat you. It’s, like, not cool and I get why you would think I hate you but I swear to god I just didn’t know how else to get your attention. It’s like I don’t even care if you’re pissed at me when your yelling at me or like you hate me when we argue or when we, like, hit each other at least you’re looking at me. Fuck.” Cartman sits back on his haunches and shakes his head.

“I know I’ve been a piece of shit but like I take like three medications now. I go to therapy and all that shit. Like, I can be different then what your used to. I want to be different then what your used to it’s just, like, hard because I feel like if I just started being nice to you all of a sudden you’d think I was up to something,” Cartman confesses.

“But I promise it’s not like that. I’ll be in the middle of class, like, fully day dreaming of being your boyfriend and then I see you and you like don’t want me to start shit so you’re like ignoring me but I just want you to look at me so fucking bad so I’ll say some shit to get you all pissed off because then it’s, like,” Cartman’s expression almost looks wistful now and he’s staring off to the side like he’s re living a memory, and Kyle’s not surprised if he is. Although he hadn’t seen Cartman’s side of things the situation he just described is almost an every day thing for them.

“You’re just so passionate and you’re face gets so red and all your attention is on me and it’s so-“

“Overwhelming,” Kyle finishes for him, having thought the same thing about Cartman just moments ago.

“Yeah, exact-“

Kyle’s kissing him. They are falling back on the bed and Kyle’s on top of him again and yeah, maybe Kyle could get used to being there.

Maybe Kyle could get used to the idea of Cartman being nice to him. Kyle’s never had a boyfriend before, he’s never had a girlfriend before either, and truthfully he’s never given it much thought but, now.

Kyle doesn’t know what now.

Cartman’s obviously thought about his feelings for a while and he semi-successfully was able to put them into words but Kyle doesn’t know if he could even try. Before this trip he’s never even thought about Cartman that way. Now, he know that he’d miss kissing him if he could never do it again. He can’t imagine what it would be like to just pretend this never happened. So far this whole trip has been nothing but a fond memory.

Last night he could have blamed the butterflies in his stomach from when Cartman literally swept off his feet on the alcohol but now, after hearing Cartman’s confession and having his lips against his own and those big hands on his back and cradling his neck into what must be just the perfect angle for making out, he realizes he has nothing to blame these butterflies on.

He wasn’t drunk when he had sex with Cartman this morning. He wasn’t drunk when he listened to Cartman’s confession and Cartman wasn’t drunk when he confessed. So, yeah, fuck it. Maybe they could do something with this.

All of a sudden Kyle’s living in a hotel in New York. Working on homework, picking up take out for when Cartman got home. He’s listening to Cartman bitch about work as soon as he walks in the door. He’s pushing Cartman off of him when goes in for a kiss because he’s covered in sweat and grime and still in his work clothes.

And that, well, it kinda seems alright.

“Okay,” Kyle says when he pulls away.

Cartman looks a little dazed for a second before we replies.

“Okay, what?” He asks.

“I want us to have sex again and I want us to kiss when we aren’t having sex and I want to see what you’re like when you’re different then what I’m used to. You’ve already been, um, a lot different then what I’m used to” Kyle says, and he’s whispering because right now talking any louder seems like it will bust him out of this fantasy world he’s living in where someone has thought about him like Cartman’s been thinking about him.

“For real?” Cartman says, and his voice is kinda cracking like it might be his turn to cry.

“Yeah, I mean we can try. No promises it’ll work out like in your day dreams. And I’m not promising to go to New York with you, move a little fast much?” Kyle teases.

Cartman smiles a smile that’s only a little watery and he laughs to, a shocked, ecstatic little laugh.

“Fuck you, bitch. You try nursing a crush this long and see what stupid shit you say.”

“I would literally never. If I had a crush on someone I simply would not treat them like dog shit.”

“You still said you’d do me on the reg though so which one of us are you really ripping on?”

“Shut the fuck up. You’re lucky I-“

Suddenly there’s a knock on the door that startles the both of them the knock each other in the forehead from how close there faces are to one another.

“Mr. Cartman? This is a curtesy reminder that check out is at noon unless you’d like to stay another day.”
Both of there heads swing to look at the clock on the nightstand that reads 11:45 am.

“Oh fuck,” Cartman says and suddenly there both on their feet shoving on clothes and trying to find phones.

Kyle’s got his shirt half way on when Cartman grabs him by the waist and pulls him forward.

“Hey,” He says, looking at Kyle with a smug little expression on his face.

“What?” Kyle snaps.

“You realize you’re my boyfriend now, right? No take-backsies.”

“I can take-backsies, that’s what breaking up is, asshole. You better watch out,” Kyle threatens half heartedly.

“Whatever, bitch, I’m finna make all your dreams come true. I’m finna boyfriend the shit outta you, that’s a threat,” Cartman laughs.

Kyle’s definitely not blushing. He’s not feeling all floaty in his stomach and he definitely doesn’t really, really hope this works out exactly like Cartman’s day dreams.

“Yeah, well my boyfriends fixing to pay for a whole other night at a hotel if he doesn’t get his shit together.”

“Oh, shit, yeah.”

It’s a rush. There’s a quick pit stop in the bathroom to clean the cum off their bellies and the way Kyle’s mouth goes a little dry at watching Cartman clean his sticky dick makes him feel insane. Is this what relationships are like, being horny all the time?

Cartman catches him staring, gives him a wink and Kyle huffs his way out of the bathroom. They grab their shit, they leave.

Chapter Text

Breakfast is drive through McDonald’s. Cartman puts Kyle’s straw in his drink for him and that shit is ridiculous. Cartman hooks his phone up to the car and apparently having had their fill of Lamb of God, he plays Gojira instead. They hold hands the whole way home.

When Kyle pulls into Cartman’s drive way his mom’s car isn’t there. Which isn’t weird, she rarely is. But when Cartman asks him if he wants to come in, he gets the feeling it’s for more than video games. It’s weird to think that it can always be more than video games, if Kyle wants.

“I gotta take a shower,” Kyle says.

Cartman smiles a salacious little smile. Kyle can’t decide when he started thinking Cartman was hot as fuck.

“Come take a shower with me then,” he says instead.

Kyle let’s out all his breath out in a rush, “ok.”

The water is hot and the tile of the shower wall is cold against Kyle’s flushed back. Cartman is kissing him in such a way that Kyle has to get his breaths in when he can. It’s a desperate, frenzied kind of energy and Kyle finds himself unable to calm down. His dick is so hard it hurts and everything feels so- so-

“Fuck, Eric,” Kyle breathes when Cartman moves from his mouth to his neck. His voice sounds too high and overwhelmed in his own ears.

“Yeah, baby?” Cartman asks conversationally, pressing his thigh in between Kyle's legs. He’s not only grateful for the pressure, which feels like fire works going off low in his belly, but also for keeping him up right after his knees had long turned to jelly.

“I want- can we?”

“Yeah,” Cartman answers, and presses his fingers to Kyle’s hole again. Where he’s still loose and relaxed and a little slick.

“That what you want, gorgeous?” Cartman asks, his voice rough with desperation. Like he needs this as much as Kyle does and isn’t that a crazy feeling.

“Uh huh,” Kyle answers, his hole clenching around nothing in anticipation. He doesn’t have to wait long. Two fingers push inside him and he groans, pushing his dick against Cartman’s heavy stomach and throwing his arms around Cartman’s neck. Cartman shushes him, rubs down his back with the hand that isn’t currently busy. It doesn’t take him long this time to find Kyle’s prostate and suddenly Cartman’s supporting all of him as Kyle sags against him. It hits Kyle hard, the realization that Cartman is really, really trying to make this good for him. Has been this entire time.

Cartman pulls his fingers out then and he’s shushing Kyle before he can even start complaining.

“I got a whole bed we could be doing this in,” Cartman explains as he shuts off the water and steps out of the shower. Kyle follows him and they do a cursory rub down with a towel before Cartman tosses the towel out of Kyle’s hands and picks him up with an arm around his waist and starts walking them toward his bedroom.

Kyle squawks. His face flushes, his dick jumps. One fucking arm. When did Cartman get so strong? When did he turn into this? When was Kyle supposed to be aware this was something he was into?

Kyle’s so shocked at the revelation that he’s being deposited onto the sheets before he can even yell at Cartman to put him down.

“Fuck,” Cartman huffs, looking down at Kyle laid back on his bed. Kyle’s gaze flicks down his broad torso to where Cartman is gripping his dick tightly at the base. Like seeing Kyle like this has him close already. Kyle’s flush runs down his chest.

“Let me suck you off,” Kyle says, immediately unsure why- as he’s never once sucked dick before. But looking up at Cartman now, laying in the shadow of his looming form, it’s all he really wants to do.

“Fuck,” Cartman says again, with feeling.

Kyle crawls over to sit on the edge of the bed, Cartman’s ridiculous cock in front of his face, his mouth watering from anticipation, his palms sweating with nerves.

“I’ve never done this before, you gotta tell me if it’s bad,” he says, brushing Cartman’s hand away to hesitantly replace it with his own.

“I’m gonna last like three seconds, babe, it hardly matters. Just watch your teeth,” Cartman says, looking down at Kyle like he can’t believe this is happening.

Kyle nods, opens his mouth and takes just the flushed head inside to rest on his tongue. Cartman hisses as if burned and looks away, like the sight alone would do him in.

Cartman’s cock is heavy on his tongue and honestly, after a shower, only tastes like skin. His initial fears abated, Kyle closes his lips around the head and sucks. Cartman groans something defeated and shoves his hand into Kyle’s hair.

“Fuck, you look so good,” Cartman moans out. “Open your mouth, baby, I’m gonna help you out.”

Kyle’s unsure of what he means but opens his mouth anyway. Cartman’s big hands cradle his head on either side and hold him still while he pushes shallowly inside Kyle’s mouth, sliding along his tongue.

“I wanna take a picture of you, gorgeous. Get a tattoo of it inside my fucking eyelids,” he pulls back out and continues the same slow pace, “fuck, you look so good,” he says again.

Cartman never pushes in to deeply and the noises he’s making fills Kyle with confidence and on Cartman’s next thrust in Kyle pushes his head forward as far as he can go to show Cartman his limits. While it’s certainly not the whole thing, Cartman bites out a curse and stays there for awhile.

“You will not believe how many dreams I’ve had that looked just like this. Your eyes- fuck, baby,” Cartman speeds his thrusts only slightly. His brow pinched with concentration. “Do you want me to cum in your mouth?” Cartman asks, hurriedly, like the end is nigh and Kyle has precious seconds to answer. Kyle nods, again, unsure why, only that the idea of Cartman cumming in his mouth sounds so hot inside the fog of his brain.

When Cartman cums he staggers forward a bit, like he forgot that he was standing. There’s a bloom of salty, bitter tang across Kyle’s palate and he works extremely hard to fight the urge to spit it out. He swallows and Cartman laughs an amazed little laugh.

“You’re perfect,” he says, quickly falls to his knees in front of Kyle and spreads his thighs. Kyle’s dick is in his mouth so quick the shocked little shout he gives is a delayed reaction. The inside of Cartman’s mouth is so hot and soft. When he hallows his cheeks and sucks an inch more inside Kyle’s eyes roll back and grips the sheets in both hands tightly.

“Oh, God, Eric- fuck I,” Kyle bites out half formed sentences as he tries in vain to keep his hips still. Cartman frames his pelvis with his big hands and pushes him down in to the mattress. Eric hums around him as his hips twitch in his grasp and Kyle chokes out a warning before it’s his turn to cum in Cartman’s mouth.

Cartman swallows with much more grace than Kyle had and when he rushes up to meet Kyle in a kiss the taste still lingers between them. Cartman grabs Kyle around the waste and pushes him farther up the bed in between kisses until he’s situated them so their heads land on the pillows and he can drag the blanket up from where it was shoved at the foot of the bed.

“Holy shit,” Kyle sighs, his head resting on Cartman’s bicep.

“Yeah,” Cartman agrees blearily, a satisfied edge to his voice.

Kyle tucks himself into Cartman’s side, a leg thrown over one of Cartman’s thicker ones and an arm over his waist. It’s silent for a long time, other than the rasp of Kyle rubbing at Cartman’s chest and the hand moving up and down Kyle’s back.

“Do you have any weed?” Kyle asks.

Cartman scoffs and leans over to his night stand, “you bet your bitch ass I do,” he pulls out a tray and he spends a considerate amount of time situating himself and Kyle so they can stay close as he sits up to roll.

Cartman hands him the remote before he starts in.

“Put on whatever you want,” he says and Kyle opens Netflix, already searching for a movie he saw on Twitter got added recently.

“The Nice Guys?” Cartman asks as he licks the joint closed, and Kyle is momentarily shocked because that has got to be the quickest he’s ever seen someone pearl a joint before. Kyle tries not to think about what it must say about him that he finds that ridiculously attractive.

“Um, yeah. Have you ever watched it?” Kyle asks, a little dazed. Watching Cartman’s cheeks hallow as he lights up. The joint crackles a bit as he takes the first hit and fuck, Kyle like, really wants to kiss him.

Instead of answering Cartman turns and passes him the joint.

“How do you like my car, big boy?” He breathes out on the exhale.

Kyle moves a little to quickly- sitting up on his knees and throwing his arms around Cartman’s neck, crushing their lips together, and Cartman has to stabilize the tray before it topples to the floor. As soon as it’s on solid ground again Cartman is pulling at Kyle’s leg so he’s spreading them wide enough to straddle Cartman’s thighs.

They break away to breathe after a few, frenzied moments and Cartman has a wide grin splitting his face.

“What?” Kyle snaps, taking the joint from Cartman’s hand. He has to dry the spit from his lips before he’s able to take his first hit.

“I spill my guts out to you this morning and you can’t figure out why I’m stoked right now?” Cartman asks, hands squeezing roughly on the meat of Kyle’s thighs.

Kyle flushes and he focuses on the joint a little to hard so he doesn’t have to look at the truly ecstatic look on Cartman’s face.

“You’ll get over it,” Kyle says, because he can’t think of anything else to say. Because pointing out how much Cartman likes him is something that feels untouchable- even to him. Thinking about how much he likes Cartman now that it isn’t hidden behind fights and petty arguments is equally as unfathomable.

“I really don’t think I will,” Cartman says, and it’s a little to honest. It’s a little bit too real. Cartman takes the joint from Kyle’s lips after his third hit and takes one for himself.

Kyle shifts back a little bit, needing some air and when he does Cartman winces and takes a hand from Kyle’s thigh to reach between them and shift his dick from where Kyle had almost sat on it. Kyle watches as he resituates it between them and leaves it resting, half massed against the crease of his inner thigh. Kyle’s never been naked in front of another person this long. Then again he’s never sat in somebodies lap like this before either and Kyle feels a little bit ridiculous that he’s the one who put himself here, even more so that he doesn’t want to leave.

Being high has always made him a bit top introspective so he never really smokes alone if he can help it. Being with his friends has always gave him something else to focus on but smoking with Cartman now leaves him to only think about Cartman, which in turn leaves him to think about how he feels about Cartman. The broad line of his shoulders, the mass of his stomach, his thick biceps, how wide he has to spread his own thighs to get them around Cartman’s, his hands, huge and encompassing on Kyle’s hips.

“You’re really hot,” Kyle whispers in-between them. Leaning closer for a kiss he didn’t realize he was moving towards. Cartman holds the joint out of their way as they find themselves making out again. It’s soft and unhurried and when Cartman angles Kyle’s face to push his tongue through Kyle’s lips he can’t help the moan that bubbles up to the surface. He can feel Cartman’s cock thicken against his thigh and Kyle’s pretty sure this is overkill.

He pulls back then, searching Cartman’s flushed face.

“Are you gonna fuck me again?” Kyle asks.

“Yeah,” Cartman breathes.

“Do it like this,” Kyle says breathily, pushing his hips forward to rut against Cartman’s soft stomach.

“You like sitting on my lap, baby?” Cartman asks, his eyes are bloodshot and half lidded. He looks peaceful kinda. Like he likes Kyle sitting on his lap just as much.

Kyle’s too relaxed to talk shit, too warm and boneless too deny so all he does is nod his head against where he’s hidden his face in Cartman’s neck.

He can feel Cartman lean over and can hear him rooting around in his nightstand and when he leans back into the pillows and hears the click of a cap open, Kyle finds himself vibrating in anticipation. Cartman had his fingers inside him no less than fifteen minutes ago but he finds, against everything he thought he knew about himself yesterday, that he wants it really, really bad.

He doesn’t wait long, two fingers push inside him and as much as he can’t believe this will be the third time they’ve gotten up to something today, the ease of which the fingers slip inside is even more shocking. The fullness not diluted by a the shock of the stretch is so good that Kyle bites at the flesh in front of his mouth in an effort to keep in the embarrassing whine that spills out of him.

Cartman hisses, let’s out his own groan and presses in a third finger.

“I love making you feel good, gorgeous. Look at you, you’re fucking shaking.”

“Shut up,” Kyle says, any bite taken out by the fact that his voice is wobbly, “Come on.”

Cartman lifts him up a bit then, reaching below them to hold himself steady as Kyle sits himself down. It’s different this time, the stretch is there but there’s no pain and he slides down this time in a smooth movement that has all the air pushed out of his lungs.

“You good, baby?” Cartman asks, pushing his hips up to grind as deep as he can go. His voice sounds strained.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Kyle breathes, “You good?”

Cartman scoffs a little bit, a little incredulous.

“Baby,” He takes a big breath, “I’m so fucking good.”

“Yeah,” Kyle grins. “I bet you are.” He rocks his hips in a tight little figure eight and the groan that Cartman let’s out at that has Kyle grinning. He plucks the joint abandoned in the ashtray and lights it again and takes a long hit. He slows his grind to a stop and takes his own dick in his hand and tugs a couple of times and when he moans around the joint in his mouth he’s already knows he’s playing it up.

Yes, he feels good, the weed has made the over full feeling of Cartman’s dick in him something warm and comfortable and the pleasure feels like it pulses behind his dick in a way that makes him just want to sit there and watch Cartman’s face. Watch his brow pinch together and bite at his bottom lip and the flush spread all the way down his neck. The look in Cartman’s eyes is almost as good as the dick inside him is.

“You dream about this, Eric?” He asks, “You think about this in the middle of class? Did you think when you finally got to fuck me you’d do it three times in twelve hours?” Kyle asks, and he finally feels like it’s his turn to be smug. When he does eventually lift up on his knees for the first time to start a rhythm he can see the relief spread through Cartman’s face and chest.

“Come on, big boy, you say dumb shit all the time you don’t got nothing to say now? Tell me about how lucky you are,”

Cartman makes a long drawn out noise at that and straightens up. He grabs Kyle around the waist in both arms and moves him up and down on his cock in short choppy thrusts. Kyle’s bravado dissolves almost instantly, a moan is punched out of him every time Cartman thrusts deep inside of him.

“Yeah, baby I’m so fucking lucky. You fucking love this shit. I knew you’d be good, I knew it but I wish you could see what you look like sitting on my cock like you belong there. Do you feel good, baby? Fuck, I just want to make you feel good-“ Cartman breaks off in low groan burying his face in Kyle’s neck. Kyle feels caught up, he digs his hands into Cartman’s hair and holds him close as they rock together.

“Yes, yes, baby, you feel so good. Come on. Come on. Are you gonna cum, Eric? I’m so close. I need you to- to-“

Cartman reaches between them to wrap a hand around Kyle’s cock, jerking him in time with their movements.

“Yeah, yeah just like that,” Kyle whines, getting his knees underneath himself to race them towards a finish. He bounces maybe three or four more times before he’s painting their stomach in him cum again. He collapses, taking Cartman deep and going limp on top of him.

Cartman moves for him in quick, short, choppy motions for precious seconds before he’s cumming himself with a sob.

The after glow is cut off by the shrill noise of Kyle’s phone ringing on the night stand. And Kyle suddenly has the fear that it’s his mom calling, asking where he is. Instead it’s a FaceTime from Stan and he's so relieved that he answers the phone right then.

He's panting when he says “Hey, what’s up.” His face looks red and blotchy in frame and he suddenly feels like a fucking idiot.

Stan's not even looking at his phone though, he’s currently looking ahead of him and Kyle can tell by the sounds of wheels on concrete and Stan’s motions that he's on his skateboard.

“Are you and Cartman back? I just saw your car,” Stan asks, a little out of breath.

“Yeah, we got back a little while ago,” Kyle answers.

He glances at Cartman and he’s looking up at Kyle with a relaxed look on his face. Kyle suddenly realizes he’s talking to his best friend with their other friends soft cock still inside him and flushes.

“Sick, how was it?” Stan asks, still, blessedly not looking at Kyle.

“I-It was pretty sweet, actually,” Kyle says.

“Happy for you, dude. So, I called to humbly ask you if you wanna fuckin,” Stan pauses to lean his head back and bring his hand up to mouth to shout “SHMOKE.”

Cartman snorts in the background at that.

“Was that Cartman? He can come to I guess,” Stan says with a shrug.

He can see Stan come to a stop on the sidewalk.

Kyle looks at Cartman to weigh his opinion and he gives a little shrug as if he’s just happy to be here.

“Sure, sounds great,” Kyle answers, trying to figure out if his clothes are still in the bathroom.

“Sick, I’m outside, hurry up,” Stan says, then ends the call.

Kyle tosses his phone to the side and when he makes eye contact with Cartman again he’s got a smug little look on his face.

“What?” Kyle asks, leaning forward. He decides that the feeling of Cartman’s cock slipping out of him fucking sucks.

“Marsh is gonna freak out,” Cartman says.

“Who says I was gonna tell anybody,” Kyle says, standing up off the bed and stretching out his sore knees.

“Please, bitch, as if I’m gonna keep my hands to myself now that I’ve got a piece,” Cartman scoffs, standing up as well, rustling through his drawers and pulling on some boxers.

“Oh, my god. Please be chill, I’ll beat your ass if you do some out of pocket shit in front of the guys,” Kyle snaps, walking towards the bathroom. He finds a rag and wipes his stomach and ass free of various bodily fluids.

He finds his underwear and pants and stuffs his legs into them before walking back into Cartman’s room. He tosses the rag at Cartman and is unjustifiably pissed when he catches it.

“Give me a shirt,” he snaps and Cartman scoffs at the attitude.

“Yeah, OK your highness,” he says before finding one and handing it to Kyle. When he puts it on its much, much to big as to be expected and he feels a little ridiculous but it’s better than the pit stained alternative of his own shirt.

The shirt is long sleeved and has the World of Warcraft logo on the front. Kyle has to roll the sleeves up four times to get them passed his hands, the ends fall to the middle of his thighs, it looks like he’s wearing a fucking dress.

“Oof,” Cartman says, “you a little twink, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up, it’s not my fault you’re fucking huge,” Kyle snaps, shoving his socked feet into his shoes and walking down the stairs, Cartman close behind him.

“Yeah, you love that shit, huh?” Cartman asks as Kyle opens the front door, obviously in way too good of a mood.

“Fuck you,” he snaps back, unlocking his car.

He tosses himself in the drivers seat and Cartman does the same in the passenger side. Stan sits himself in the back and sets his skateboard in the foot well, looking between the two of them.

“Uh, hey guys,” Stan greets a little hesitantly.

“Hey, Stan,” Kyle greets turning around to smile at him, “where is we shmoking?”

“I don’t know, I’ve been trying to get ahold of Kenny but he’s not answering, I’m pretty sure he’s with Bebe, so... Anyway, Token has the guys over cause his parents are out of town for the rest of the weekend. I got enough on me to match if you're trying to go over there. It’s supposed to evolve into quite the function later tonight.”  

“You tryna party, babe?” Cartman asks, hooking his phone up to the car and scrolling through Spotify.

“I could party. You tryna party, Stan?” Kyle asks looking in the rearview. He finds Stan’s face shocked.

“Dude, what?” Kyle asks.

“Babe?” Stan repeats, his voice a little to loud. Kyle hadn’t even caught the pet name honestly. He knew he wasn’t trying to keep this a secret but at the same time he really expected this to go a lot differently.

“I told you,” Cartman snickers.

“Shut the fuck up, dick, of course he’s gonna freak out,” Kyle snaps back.

“What am I freaking out about? I’d love to know,” Stan asks, sounding panicked.

“Kyle, tell the man where gonna get married and he can be the best man before he gets jealous,” Cartman teases.

“No, the fuck, we aren’t stop being an asshole for two seconds,” Kyle says, pushing him hard in the shoulder against the car door. He looks back into the rearview at Stan who seems two seconds from hyperventilating.

“Fine, OK,” Cartman turns around in his seat to face Stan.

“Stan, me and Kyle made sweet, sweet love while we were away and we can't stop. We’re dating now. It doesn’t mean we love you any less it’s just means that our family is evolving-“

“Kyle!” Stan shouts, cutting Cartman off and going straight to his friend for confirmation.

“Stan, I need you to know that I would have used zero of the words to tell you that we are together now but…” Kyle shrugs.

“Ohh my god. Dude, what?” Stan says, throwing himself back in his seat.

“I thought Kenny was just fucked up there’s no way he was right this is so messed up-“

“Aye! What the fuck did Kenny say?” Cartman cuts in.

“We were hanging out and I told him that I hope you guys hadn’t killed each other yet and he said that definitely wasn’t gonna be the case and Kyle was gonna come back knocked up and that’s such a stupid thing to say so I just laughed about it but,” Stan shakes out a humorless laugh, “Kyle, what did he do to you!”

“I gave him the best di-“

“Cartman!” Kyle snaps, cutting him off before he can make this whole shit show worse than it is.

“Fuck, Stan, I don’t fucking know what happened but we are here now and we like kiss and shit,” Kyle finishes lamely.

“Good job, gorgeous, you definitely said the hell out of those words,” Cartman says with a pat on his thigh.

The car is silent for awkward moments before Stan let’s out a ragged sigh.

“I’m ignoring this, I’m shoving this in a box until it explodes and you guys are just gonna have to deal with it when it comes,” Stan says.

“Sick,” Cartman says, and turns up the volume, it’s Gojira again and despite it all Kyle smiles, he fucking loves this song.

Chapter Text

As soon as they walk into Token’s, Stan stomps his way to the living room and tosses his weed onto the table.

“Cartman’s fucking my best friend and neither of them have the decency to be ashamed- somebody roll something before I jump off the roof,” He says, collapsing into a bean bag.

Kyle hides his face as he walks in after him with Cartman in tow, and he doesn’t have to look at him to know that self satisfied expression is all over his face.

“Whoa! Foreal?” Clyde says, from his spot on the sofa.

“Yep, everybody hold your applause. I will not be taking questions at this time-OW FUCK!”

Cartman holds his hand to his nose, bringing it down to check for blood. Kyle shakes out the pain in his hand and gestures to the lazy boy at the end of the couch.

“Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up,” Kyle hisses and Cartman does, plops down immediately with a big grin on his face like that was the hottest thing Kyle could have done. He pats his thigh and Kyle hesitates for mere seconds before he’s being pulled down into his lap, flexing his hand all the while.

“Stan, why’d you have to bring this shit to my house?” Token asks exasperated. He finishes the blunt he was rolling and toasts it with his lighter.

“Don’t blame me, dude, I found out on the way over here,” Stan sighs, leaning his head back in the bean bag chair with eyes closed like he’s had e-fucking-nough.

“I-It’s not really that weird,” Tweak says, passing the blunt to Craig, who in turn passes the tray of rolling supplies to Kyle.

“Thank you, Tweak,” Cartman says.

“They’re just making a scene like always b-but now we know it’s like because they’re like h-horny or something.”

“Fuck you, Tweak,” Cartman amends.

Kyle sets about to roll, decidedly ignoring the talk of he and Cartman’s new relationship. As much as he can appreciate the ‘rip the band aid off’ method that the news got out, this is much to much. He’s rolling the paper back and forth, forming his firm little cylinder of bud when a blunt formulates in front of lips, held there between Cartman's pointer and middle finger like a cigarette and when he leans in to take a hit, Cartman’s thumb moves up and down his cheekbone.

“Thank you,” he says around his lung full, wishing he didn’t sound bashful. On the exhale he finds it easy to relax into Cartman’s side, into the arm supporting his back. By the time he’s gotten his joint rolled Cartman’s given him three hits and blunts have always hit him much harder than joints. Cartman passes the tray and the blunt back to Craig for them and Kyle finds it safe to assume that the joint is just for them.

Cartman plucks the joint from his fingers to light it before he grabs the hand he took it from. Kyle’s knuckles are already starting to swell up a bit and turn a darker color than the rest of his hand and Cartman brings the hand up to kiss at each knuckle, all the while exhaling through his nose. Kyle finds himself in awe.

Maybe it’s the weed, maybe it’s the sex, maybe it’s the near seamless transition from what the two of them had to what they have now. Where Kyle can sock Cartman in the nose still when he pisses him off and Cartman’s the one kissing his bruised knuckles and holding blunts up for him while he rolls.

More people have accumulated in the living room since they arrived but Kyle couldn’t tell you when. He’s been busy staring up at Cartman, his fucking boyfriend. Thinking about how warm the big hand on his thigh is making him and how he wants to squirm every time Cartman’s thumb brushes against the inseam of his jeans.

“Baby?” Kyle asks, and it’s mostly just to try it out, to taste the pet name on his lips. To see how it feels.

Cartman looks down from where he’d been arguing with Clyde, to where Kyle’s head is resting in his forearm. Sometime between then and now he’d sunk deeper into Cartman’s lap, with his back on Cartman’s thighs and his legs thrown over the arm of the lazy boy.

“Yeah?” Cartman asks, taking a hit out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes stay on Kyle, and Kyle wonders how long he can have Cartman’s full attention with a room full of their friends and surely more interesting conversation partners. He wants to know how long he can hold that gaze.

“Will you roll another one?” Kyle eventually asks, when he sees Cartman stub the roach out in the ashtray on the little table next to him.

“Mhmm,” Cartman answers, “you know you're awfully cute for a dirty stoner,” he says as he snaps his fingers at Craig without looking away from Kyle.

“Don’t fucking snap at me,” Craig says, pressing the tray into his hand anyway.

Cartman sets the tray on Kyle’s belly, hikes his torso a little higher up so he has better use of his arm and sets to work, “Put a tip in it,” Kyle instructs, watching his hands and wrists move as he works the grinder.

“Just the tip, babe?” Cartman quips and Kyle’s too high to not snort out a giggle at that.

“Oh my god, this is gross,” Stan groans from across the coffee table.

“Whatever, dude. You and Wendy aren’t much better,” Token says.

“Don’t even talk about Wendy right now, man. There is an emotional tsunami happening in my brain and I’m drowning.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Marsh,” Cartman says.

“I just liked it better when he was hitting you and you pretended to get pissed about it,” Stan says, “That’s when things made since. But now he hits you still and you're like into it or whatever. Oh my god, I can’t believe you guys are having sex, I feel like I need to go to church.” Stan hides his face in his hands again.

“I wish Kenny were here. He’d be eating this shit up right now,” Clyde said around a mouthful of chips.

“MY BOY!” and speak of the devil.

Kenny rounds the corner into the living room, looks around and when his glassy eyes make contact with the two of them he beelines directly to the lazy boy and sits on the coffee table.

“Look at this. Are you guys seeing this right now?” Kenny says, whipping his head around and gesturing to the two of them. He takes his phone out of his hoodie pocket it takes perhaps way to may pictures with the energy of a mom on prom night.

“Oy! Chill the fuck out,” Cartman says and Kyle devolves into a pile of giggles in his lap.

“Hi, Kenny,” Kyle greets.

Kenny smiles at him fondly, “HI, beautiful. Are you comfortable? You look comfy.”

Kyle nods, blearily.

“Oh my god, he’s so high. I can’t believe this. Look at the bad bitch you pulled by being a emotionally vulnerable,” Kenny looks up at him and he almost looks like he might cry, “I’m so proud of you,” he says earnestly.

“Thanks, man,” Cartman says and he honestly sounds a bit nervous.

Kenny stands then, addressing their closest friends on the couches in front of them. He holds up a red solo cup from the coffee table which has been used as an ashtray.

“Gentleman, this is a momentous occasion,” he starts, with all the seriousness of a toast.

“Kenny, come on,” Cartman mumbles, and when Kyle looks at this him his face has gone flushed.

“Not only for our two dear friends, in fact not really at all. This is great news for me,” Kenny snags the blunt from Stan and takes a long hit, “and let me tell you why.”

“Please don’t,” Cartman sighs.

“I’m so interested, Kenny, please tell me information at Cartman’s expense,” Stan says, leaning forward.

“For years, and I mean years, since we were eight years old. All I hear about from Cartman when we are alone is Kyle, Kyle, Kyle. It took me two years to find out that “he just pisses me off so much” is Cartman for “I’m gonna jerk my dick till I get sea sick to the thought of Kyle as soon as I’m alone”.”

“Ew, love that song though,” Token says.

“Thank you, Token,” Kenny says before jumping back in.

“And I sat to him, I say ‘Cartman, have you considered that you like him?’ and he gets all pissed off he says “fuck no, absolutely not. In fact the thought of him makes me nauseous”, which of course I knew then that nauseous meant “horny” but I’m a good friend I don’t say this. I listen, I listen and listen for years. YEARS!”

“So in the year of our lord, 2017, Eric Theodore Cartman is court mandated to go to therapy. He gets on medicine he stays on it,” Kenny shoots a thumbs up at Cartman then, “proud of you, bro” Cartman returns the thumbs up from where he’s hiding his face in a hand. Kyle is in awe.

“and suddenly there are no code words, no one’s playing games anymore. My boy, my dear friend says to me, he says ‘holy shit, I think that I like Kyle,” and praise God. Can I get a hell yeah from the congregation this evening!” he shouts to the entirety of the house and is rewarded with a chorus of fucked over “HELL YEAH"s from the party goers not even paying attention.

“but that’s not it, two years pass. Two years of whining and blubbering and self pity from Eric Cartman, there’s no way Kyle likes me, I’ve fucked it all up for good, he hates my ass. All the while they are texting each other some shit people usually pay for. Four days ago I get a glimpse of this shit from Kyle’s phone and it is dripping, wet to the touch with sexual tension. And ladies and gentleman, I don’t know what went down this weekend, I wasn’t there. I can only assume that my boy poured his heart out and his feelings were returned and the two of them shared just the nastiest fuck sesh two people can enjoy, am I right?” He points this question to the two people on the lazy boy, Kyle of which is flushed from head to toe and Cartman who is hiding his embarrassment behind a joint and smug look.

“Yeah I’m right,” Kenny points his solo cup back to the lazy boy. “You two crazy motherfuckers deserve each other. I hope you guys piss each other off for the rest of your lives,” He let’s that thought sit for a second before adding, “Oh! And when I repeat this same exact speech at your wedding you have to pretend like it’s the first time any of you have heard it.”

“10/4,” Clyde says and Kenny sits down, squeezing himself in between Token and Clyde and propping his feet up on the coffee table like he won.

“You have a crush on me,” Kyle giggles, “that’s so embarrassing.”

“I need a cigarette,” Stan signs, standing up from his bean bag, “seat check,” he calls back as he heads for the front door.

“Oof, I want one,” Kyle says, “help me up,” and Cartman’s hands are at his back and waist, lifting him from his spot. He follows Stan the way he went and finds him outside, leaning against the brick wall with cigarette clenched between his teeth.

“Hey..” Kyle greets hesitantly, leaning on the wall next to him. “Can I have one?” He asks.

Stan hands him a cigarette and the lighter wordlessly, and Kyle has to push the sleeves of Cartman’s shirt up his arms before he can grab them.

“You know you weren’t any better, in hind sight I mean,” Stan says, as Kyle lights his cigarette.

“What?” Kyle asks.

“You were just as obsessed with him as he was with you. I knew you like really couldn’t hate him that much, nobody hates anything as much as you claimed to hate Cartman,” Stan’s shaking his head as he talks.

Kyle exhales his hit in a shuddering breath, “Yeah, I mean I guess you must be right,” he concedes.

“It’s really weird for me to, you know,” Kyle admits, “he like, really fucking likes me and that’s super-“

“Gross?” Stan offers.

“No! Why are you so upset about this?” He asks, irritated.

Stan kicks off from the wall to face Kyle, his eyes are stern when he speaks.

“Because you guys like fight, like literally fist fight all the time,” Stan snaps. “You show up to school with a black eye one day and I’m just supposed to be cool with knowing your boyfriend did that to you!” Stan huffs, he paces in front of him for a few seconds.

“You're my best friend, dude. I want whoever you’re with to treat you right and I just really don’t think Cartman is the guy to do that. You’ve never even been with anyone before, how do you know that Cartman-“

“I just KNOW, ok!” Kyle snaps.

“Don’t ask me how I know. I am physically incapable of putting it into words, but I just know,” Kyle says, “and maybe it won’t work out, I don’t know that, but whatever, y’know?”

Kyle takes a big breath, “He was really, really nice the whole time we where gone,” he pauses to take a contemplative hit of his cigarette, “we were at the concert and I couldn’t see and he put me on his shoulders and I stayed their the whole fucking time.”

“He says he likes me and wants to be different and if it’s anything like this weekend was that would be really, really cool.”

When he looks back up at Stan he has the a poorly disguised look of his disgust on his face and Kyle huffs, obviously too high to sell his point once again. He opens his mouth a few more times but the words escape him, completely unsure how to put his feelings into words.

He gives up, throwing his cigarette on the ground and stomping back inside. Cartman is has leaned the lazy boy back and when Kyle walks up to him again he leans forward enough to grab Kyle around the waste and drag him back down in the chair, pressing him against his side and the arm of the recliner.

“Enjoy your cigarette?” He asks, pleasantly, pressing a joint into his hand, which Kyle is grateful for because that talk with Stan killed the, ‘I don’t care that all my friends are talking about my sex life’ buzz he had going on there.

“No,” he snaps, hitting the joint angrily.

“He’ll come around, gorgeous. Or he won’t, I don’t care,” Cartman says, “I’m just happy to be here.”

“Yeah, you're a really comfortable chair,” Kyle says, resting his head on Cartman’s shoulder.

“Do you remember when we’d be kicking back at Token’s just like this but you’d be over there and I’d be over here, sitting in two separate chairs?” Cartman asks into Kyle’s ear.

“What fools we were, wasting chairs,” Kyle says wistfully.

“Had a perfectly good lap you didn’t even want to sit in.”

Kyle leans forward then, inches away from Cartman’s face. Cartman’s eyes are bloodshot and lidded, he’s got a content little smile on his face- so different from the smirk he’s used to.

“I think I did,” Kyle whispers, “want to sit on your lap, I mean.”

“But I’d trained my brain to translate that into ‘punch you in the face ‘till you cry’.”

“I’d still let you,” Cartman whispers.

“Yeah?” Kyle says, breathily, caught up again in Cartman’s attention, leaning forward for a kiss he wants desperately.

“Yeah,” Cartman breathes, and when their lips meet it feels like finally breaking the surface after drowning.

“I think as long as your not being an asshole I’d rather just fuck you instead,” Kyle’s lips brush against Cartman’s as he says this, a flush spreading with the heat that travels down his chest.

“I can be nice,” Cartman answers.

“Yeah?”

“I can be so fucking nice,” He stresses.

Kyle let’s out a noise at that, quiet and pleased. He takes a drag of the joint.

“I guess we’ll see,” Kyle quips, relaxing himself back into the chair, when he does he can feel the stiff line of Cartman’s erection against the back of his thigh where it's placed in between the other boy’s.

Cartman groans quietly, his hips twitching minutely into the pressure.

“You make my fucking dick hurt,” Cartman says to him.

“You deserve it,” Kyle answers, passing him the joint.

Kyle’s phone pings in his back pocket and when he pulls it out to check it’s Kyle’s mom, asking how his trip was and if he’s coming home tonight given it’s a school night.

“You gonna go home?” Cartman asks him from where he’s reading over Kyle’s shoulder.

Kyle doesn’t have an answer to that really. The dick poking him in the thigh tells him it’d be a lucrative decision to stay at Cartman’s again. But he’s been sitting in these jeans for a couple days now.

“Yeah,” he answers a bit solemnly.

Cartman nods, looking like he wants to argue but thinking the better of it.

“Not right now, though,” Kyle promises, tucking himself further into Cartman’s side.

“Let me see that picture,” Kyle says, tucking his hand in between Cartman’s shirt and jacket at his side.

“Which picture?” Cartman asks, as he takes a hit.

“Your background,”

Cartman’s face heats up at that, the flush creeping down his neck, but he pulls out his phone anyway. He unlocks his phone and turns it to Kyle.

“You fucking creep,”

Cartman scoffs at that, turning his screen off and shoving his phone back in his pocket. It takes all of three seconds for Kyle to feel bad.

“It’s cute, though. It’s easier to think you just wanna have sex with me. But you like, really like me, huh?”

Cartman looks down at him then and his face is more open than Kyle is ready for.

“I like you so much it pisses me off,”

“Yeah?”

“I like you so much my therapist says ‘ and what did Kyle think of that?’ even when I don’t bring you up,”

Kyle opens his mouth to reply but Cartman keeps going,

“I like you so much I’m gonna get your full government name tattooed on my ass,”

Kyle barks out a laugh, his face warm and smacks Cartman on the shoulder.

“No you fucking aren’t,”

“Watch me, bitch. Right on the left cheek in comic sans,”

“I’d pay to see the look on somebodies face when they go to fuck you and make eye contact with Kyle Matthew Broflovski right there in a little barb wire heart,”

“Psh, like I’m gonna fuck anybody else. If we break up I’m gonna become a monk,”

Kyle bursts into a fit of giggles at the idea of Cartman with a bald spot shaved into the crown of his head.

“Oh, yeah?”

“One hundred percent. I’m pretty sure I’m physically incapable of being horny for anyone else,”

“Does your therapist know that?”

“Yeah, I told him all about it his diagnoses was-“ Cartman puts on a overly sophisticated tone ‘hm, indeed, that’s gross’,”

“It’s pretty gross,”

“I don’t fucking care,”

“I don’t really think I’ve ever really been interested in anyone else,” Kyle ponders, “which is, like, super weird I guess. I’ve liked people, I’ve thought people were attractive but I didn’t want to fuck them.”

“Like you wanna fuck me?” Cartman asks, his tone dropping a little lower. Kyle can feel the flush at the back of his neck.

“Yeah, like I wanna fuck you,” Kyle confirms and he thinks about how proud Kenny would be of him for doing something emotionally responsible like not denying his desires.

Cartman moans obnoxiously then, “Fuck, I can’t believe you’re going home. You can just say shit like that and go about your fucking day and I’m over here trying to figure out how I can record that and make it my god damn ring tone.”

“Hmm, I’m actually kind of sure that iPhones won’t let you do that anymore,”

“Samsung it is,”

Kyle scoffs, at that, “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I think it’s ridiculous that you think I’m being ridiculous. I think I’m handling this pretty well considering you’re my boyfriend now. I’m like two seconds from pissing on you to claim my territory,”

Kyle gasps loudly at that, sitting up and pointing an accusatory finger at Cartman, “You do have a piss kink you fucking liar!”

“It was a joke! I don’t have a fucking piss kink, Jew!”

“You totally do,”

“I fucking do not,”

“I can’t believe the next time we have sex you’re gonna be like,” Kyle pitches his voice down in a mockery of how Cartman talks during sex “ ‘Oh, fuck, baby, you look so fucking good. Please piss on my face’.”

“I can’t believe I ever thought I liked you. You’re actually a little bitch and I hate you,” Cartman sighs.

“Yeah, it’s much too late now. I know all your dirty little secrets and all about the weird little crush you have on me. You’re just gonna have to deal with it,” Kyle says, tucking himself back into Cartman’s side, “You’re stuck with me now. No take-backsies.”

Cartman finds Kyle’s hand and threads there fingers together, “Yeah,” he agrees, resting his head on Kyle’s hair, “no take-backsies.”

Chapter Text

It’s only about 8 pm when they decide to head out and Kyle searches Stan out before they leave to see if he wants a ride back. He finds him slumped in a corner with Wendy obviously trying to drink the Black family out of house and home. He and Wendy are sitting with a respectable distance between them, and although Wendy is sipping out of a red solo cup with the electric pink punch from the kitchen sink, Kyle can tell she’s no where passed tipsy.

“Hey, Stan?” Kyle asks, sliding down the wall next to him.

“What do you want?” He sneers drunkenly, his face hiding in his hands. Kyle ignores that attitude, he and Stan have been friends for a long time and Kyle knows he only gets like this when his big boy emotions start confusing him.

“We’re gonna head out. You want a ride home?”

“Who’s we. You and Cartman- oh excuse me-“ Stan breaks himself off to hiccup- “You and your boyfriend?”

Kyle sighs, “Yeah, dude.”

“No, I’m fine. I’d rather walk in the snow than see that shit,”

“What shit?”

“You!” Stan snaps loudly, “you sat in that chair with him the whole time and straight up ignored the rest of us!”

Kyle takes a big breath and tries his very best to keep from having an argument that won’t get anywhere with his best friend in this state. He’s upset that Stan is upset but at the same time he can’t blame him. Anytime Stan and Wendy get back together there is the ‘honeymoon phase’ where he and the guys only ever catch glimpses of Stan at school, no video games, no rides to anywhere, no smoking at the pond, nothing. Kyle’s never handled that well and it would be hypocritical for Kyle not to have some patience with him.

He's about to open his mouth, searching for some placating bullshit to say so at least he can get his friend home before Wendy places a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes hold unwavering understanding of the situation.

“I’ll make sure he gets home safe, Kyle,” she promises, “you guys can talk about this tomorrow.”

Kyle nods gratefully.

“He’ll get over it,” she says. “He’s just doing an absolutely atrocious job at handling this,”

“Thanks, Wendy,” he whispers before standing from his position on the floor.

“If it means anything, I think you guys make way too much since. It’s weird, for sure, but I think that’s just because you guys have always been weird,” Wendy says. Kyle chooses to take that as a compliment before turning and leaving.

He finds Cartman outside, smoking a joint with Kenny against the brick wall.

“There he is!” Kenny says, upon sighting Kyle. Kyle grins.

“Don’t even worry about Stan. Wendy’s got him and I’m on back up,” Kenny promises, “You know I love to carry people bridal style. Makes me feel strong. I’ll set his ass down on the bed, give him a little forehead smooch. Tuck his ass in. Probably spoon him a little, over the covers of course, nothing untoward,”

“Thanks, Kenny,” Kyle laughs, a little exhausted.

Cartman grabs him around the shoulders and hearts him into his side, Kyle slumps into him immediately.

“Aw, y’all!” Kenny croons, slapping a hand over his heart, “stop being cute before I throw up. You’re wearing his shirt, Kyle, it’s just way to big,” he sighs like the sight fulfills his soul, “Congrats, Cartman. Y’all should make an OnlyFans, I’d subscribe.”

“Alright, Kenny,” Cartman says and kicks himself off the wall, “see you tomorrow,”

Kenny laughs, “Bye, guys.”

“Be safe, Kenny,” Kyle calls over his shoulder as they walk to his car. They’re blocked in quite a bit so Kyle has to execute a six-point turn to get back to the road. Cartman’s hand is warm on his thigh.

“I’m sorry about Stan,” Cartman mumbles after a moment.

“Why are you sorry?” Kyle asks, sleepily.

Cartman’s shrugs, “I don't know,”

“Are you ok?” Kyle asks. The energy Cartman gives off is tense with anxiety- he’s seen it before but never felt like he had the right to comment on it.

Cartman takes a big breath, “Yeah, yeah, I’m OK, I just-“

Kyle waits for him to find the words.

“I know I said I didn’t care. But Stan’s upset and that upsets you and it’s, like, essentially my fault and I’m afraid you’ll decide it’s just not worth it to be with me and call it off cause it was easier before and then it’ll just go back to the way it was and ill just have to be ok with that and- and-“

“Hey,” Kyle interrupts gently, Cartman deflates as soon as he realizes he doesn’t have to keep talking.

Kyle grabs the hand at his thigh, that has turned into a vice grip while Cartman was talking. He peels the fingers off one by one before threading them with his, squeezing Cartman’s hand tightly in his own.

“I'm not gonna do that. Stan being upset does upset me, but it’s because he has the pre conceived notion of how are relationship is gonna work. And yeah, maybe it’ll be weird or whatever and, fuck, I can’t see the future- maybe we will be bad for each other but he doesn’t have any room to talk what with his back and forth with Wendy,”

Kyle pulls into his drive way, and unbuckles his seat belt and Cartman does the same but before he makes a move for the door handle, Kyle is crawling over the center console to settle himself into Cartman’s lap once again. He can feel the tension melt out of Cartman’s thighs and shoulders.

“I’m not upset about us,” he says, running his fingers through Cartman’s hair and smiles when he leans into the touch “and yeah, maybe I’m balls deep in the honeymoon phase right now but I’m pretty certain Stan will just have to stop giving a shit. I’ve never sat in anyone’s lap before but you’re now my favorite chair and that’s where I’ll be as long as it’s available,”

Cartman breaths out a laugh at that, leaning forward to press their lips together. The kiss is soft and closed lipped and soon Kyle is grateful neither of them tried to coax it deeper because they are yanked away by a soft rapping at the window next to their heads. Kyle swivels his neck and finds himself making sudden, meaningful eye contact with his own mother.

Cartman rolls the window down and Kyle wants to smack him.

“Hi, Ma,” Kyle greets.

“Hey, Mrs. Broflovski,” Cartman follows.

“Hello, boys,” She says back, Kyle watches her lips twitch in an effort not to smile.

“I just wanted to come tell you that you made it home in perfect time, I was just going to put dinner away. Would you like a plate, Eric?”

“Oh, um, thank you, no. My mom’s home. She brought me food,” he says. Kyle can feel his flush from where his hand is still situated at the back of Cartman’s neck.

Sheila nods, “If your sure. I’ll leave your plate in the microwave, Bubbe,” she says before synching her robs tighter around her waist and walking back inside.

“Thanks, Ma!” he calls after her.

The both of them let out a huge breath,

“I’m so sure she was gonna kill us both,” Cartman says.

“Why?” Kyle laughs, the nerves seeping out of him slowly.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the last person your mom would approve of you making out with in your car,” Cartman scoffs.

Kyle realizes then, all of a sudden, that Cartman is really, very worried about their relationship. Like he thinks Kyle could do better.

“She’s been coming around,” he says, and it sounds like a promise.

“I should go,” Kyle says, “I’m pretty sure I smell fucking bad,”

Cartman buries his face and Kyle’s neck and takes in an obnoxiously loud whiff.

“You smell like weed and my dick. I want it in a candle,”

Kyle laughs, “my point exactly.”

He leans over to press the button that turns the car off before pulling the handle on the passenger door. Cartman’s arms are the only thing keeping him from toppling to the drive way, and he continues to hold on to him until he gets to his feet.

Cartman crawls out after him and presses Kyle back into the car gently. Kyle throws his arms around Cartman’s neck and holds him there.

“Hey,” Kyle starts, “you know I like you too, right?”

Cartman scoffs, “Obviously, Jew,” but his tone doesn’t hide how grateful he looks to hear it.

“Good,” Kyle nods and stands on his tip toes to press a quick peck on Cartman’s lips.

“Alright, get off me. I’m so sure my mom is in the kitchen waiting for me to tell her every single thing,”

“You’re gonna tell her we got super drunk and had sex multiple times?”

“Yeah, all the saucy details. It’ll be just like one of her stories. But, like, gay-“

Cartman nods, backing up, “Indeed,” He claps his hands together loudly. “Alright, I’m gonna go be at my house, alone, where you aren’t and be COMPLETELY normal about it,”

Kyle walks towards the door, patting Cartman’s stomach as he goes, “You got this,” he laughs.

“Yeah,” Cartman breaths all too seriously before walking across the drive way, “I got this,” Kyle can hear him say to himself, before he shuts the door behind him.

--

Sheila is, as expected, standing in the kitchen door way.

“So,” she prompts as he crosses the threshold and starts the microwave.

“This weekend must have been particularly interesting,”

Kyle chuckles a little nervously.

“Yeah, particularly interesting,” he agrees.

“How was it?” She asks.

“It was pretty sick. There was a really big cinnamon rolls and MeowWolf, the art exhibit, was very cool. I have some pictures to show you,” he says, casually, stepping over the part he knows she’s most interested in. “We didn’t get very violent at the concert; we stayed in the back the whole time.”

“That’s great, Bubbe. And the whole kissing in the car, that just started right then or?”

Kyle sighs a dramatic sigh, “No, I mean, that, like, also happened this weekend.”

“Bubbe,” she sighs. “You don’t have to tell me but I’d very much would like to know. I mean suddenly my son is gay. And obviously it isn’t sudden but I know now and that’s a shock. One day I expect to have grand children and now I’m wondering if our rabbi will officiate same sex marriage!”

“Mom, wow, you’re thinking way to far ahead! I’m not getting married any time soon- to anybody!” Kyle laughs, taking his plate out of the microwave and digging in the drawers for a fork.

“These are thinks mothers think, Kyle!”

“I don’t really even know if I’m even gay, Ma.”

She looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Ok,” he relents, “obviously maybe a little. But I’m, like, also shocked. I wasn’t interested in anyone at all and now me and Cartman are dating! I’m, like, wow, I thought I was just like straight- I guess. By, like, default or something and then this happens and now Stan’s mad about it.”

Sheila sighs and looks at him fondly.

“Yes, Bubbahla, I’m sure it’s all very confusing,” she agrees. She steps forward and brushes his bangs out of his eyes, “but it won’t always be.”

Kyle sighs and takes a forceful bite of his food, “Thanks, for being cool about it,” he says around his mouth full.

She shrugs, “You’re a good boy, Kyle. This isn’t near as upsetting as when I found out you were smoking marijuana.”

Kyle decidedly does not comment on that, his mother had never once brought up his weed smoking and he’d assumed she was none the wiser.

She hugs him close, and they stay like that for awhile, after she pulls back she crinkles her nose at him.

“You should shower, though. After you eat,” she takes his hand off his shoulders then and goes back to putting left overs in the fridge.

“I will,” he assures her and finishes his food at the counter.

--

Kyle feels like a new man after he’s clean and crawls into his bed with an appreciative groan. Usually, his weekends are all work and video games but this one has been much more lively and emotionally exhausting than he's used to.

Upon checking his phone, he’s relieved to find a simple text from Wendy letting him know that Stan is safe and sound on the farm and another picture message from Kenny which confirms that he is, this moment, spooning Stan from behind.

He texts them both a thank you and settles in for mindless hours of scrolling through Twitter.

He’s about an hour in- the time on his phone reads 11:30 pm when there is a rap on his window and the sight of Cartman scares him so much, he nearly topples out of bed. Instead, he rushes over to the window to slide it open and grabs on to Cartman’s shoulders and pulls him inside.

“What the hell are you doing!” Kyle snaps as Cartman brushes leaves out of his hair.

“OK, OK, I know I said I was going to be normal but turns out I’m incapable of it. I know you think I’m this bad bitch who only feels joy at other people’s expense and like unbridled rage but I’m actually very nervous all the time because apparently the medicine takes away my god complex and all that’s left after that is anxiety and I feel like if we are separated, you’ll think about what a piece of shit I am, actually oof- um, anyway- sorry. Can I sleep over here tonight?”

Cartman is panting when he finishes, like he said all that in one breath. His face is flushed from either climbing up a tree or the embarrassment of over sharing, or both. Kyle can’t tell.

“Um,” Kyle starts, “yeah.”

Cartman’s sigh sounds relieved and grateful.

“You know you can just come to the door like a normal person, right? You don’t have to climb a tree to get to my room. There are other methods of entry.”

“I’m gonna be completely honest with you- there were no thoughts. This was a fight or flight response,”

“Was this flight or fight?” Kyle asks, getting back in bed and patting the spot next to him. Cartman whines as he takes kicks off his shoes and tucks himself into Kyle’s side.

“I don’t know,” Cartman sounds like he’s about to cry, “I’m being so fucking weird right now. I’m sorry.”

Kyle is shocked, at all if it, Cartman being honest about how he feels maybe for the first time since he’s known him. Finding out that Cartman’s anxious all the time is also new information.

“It’s ok,” he says, trying his best to sound soothing. Cartman is currently wrapped around Kyle tightly, clutching him close with his face buried in Kyle’s neck. He feels wetness seeping into the collar of his shirt.

“Does your therapist know you’re anxious all the time?” Kyle asks, after a moment.

“Um, yeah,” Cartman croaks. He clears his throat before he continues, “He said that it would be like that for awhile,”

“Why?”

“Because I’m capable of feeling bad for what a dick I’ve been instead of justifying all of my actions.”

Cartman sounds like he’s repeating something he’s heard a thousand times.

“I thought I’d just be stoked- y’know, since you agreed to go out with me but now, I’m just, like, so sure I’m gonna fuck everything up,”

Kyle doesn’t know what to say.

“But, I’ll be fine. I can be normal,” he says like he’s assuring Kyle this won’t happen again, “I can be, like, really cool and fuck you good still I’m just like freaking out-‘

“Hey,” Kyle interrupts.

“You don’t have to be cool,” Kyle says, “I mean, I’m not a therapist. I don’t really know what to say but, um, I’m kind of freaking out too. This is new and weird but I think you’re putting way to much pressure on yourself. It’s been like a day and a half; you haven’t even given yourself time to fuck up yet.”

Cartman laughs and it’s warbled from the tears, “but I just will. I’ve fucked up so much and I just want to make you happy and I’m so afraid I’ll make you miserable like- like I made Heidi-“

“But I’m not Heidi. I know what an asshole you are. You piss me off all the fucking time and I still want to date you, like, I want to try.” Kyle stresses, “and- I’m not perfect either-“

“Yes, you are,” Cartman interrupts.

Kyle sits up then and glares at Cartman.

“No! I’m not!” Kyle snaps, “I’m a normal person with problems like you are a normal person with problems. I’m as likely to fuck up as you are. I’m gonna piss you off and say some shit that hurts your feelings. Because I get mad and just say stupid shit. This isn’t going to work if you’re setting yourself to fail and it’s definitely not gonna work if you put me on a pedestal.”

“I know! I know that you get mad and stay stupid shit but I still think you’re perfect,” Cartman snaps back.

“OK! Well, I know that you’re a fucking insensitive dick and I still want to date you! Do you not see how this is supposed to go both ways?”

Cartman says nothing and Kyle can’t think of anything else to say. He lays back down and pulls Cartman back into his previous position, Cartman squeezes him all the tighter.

Kyle takes a big breath and decides it’s his turn to be honest.

“I like you, Cartman. And- and I think that I’ve liked you for a while. And I can’t really tell you why or what I liked about you before but I know that you’re funny and considerate even if you don’t want people to think you are. I know that you want to change and you have changed and I like that I don’t have to be nice all the time, that you can handle it if I get pissy. I’ve never wanted to date anyone before but I really want to kiss you and I want you to tell me what you’re thinking about even if you start crying and shit,” Kyle let’s out a shuddering breath.

“And also, you took my virginity and I’m pretty sure that makes someone like emotional about the person they gave that to or something- and, like, you fuck me really good or whatever- but don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Cartman huffs out a laugh into his neck at that- “Oh, I definitely will be telling people you said that.”

“You’re such a dick,” Kyle huffs.

“You like it,” Cartman says, and he sounds happy again. No longer freaked out and anxious like he’d sounded before.

“Yeah,” Kyle agrees a little quietly, because surely, he must like it, right? Why else would he be this happy.

--

Kyle wakes up to a mouth on his dick and shockingly close to cumming even before he’s opened his eyes.

“Stop, fuck,” he grits out and suddenly his dick is cold and Cartman is backing off the bed.

“Shit- I’m sorry- I thought it would be hot-“

“It is hot asshole! I just don’t want to cum yet. Come here!” he snaps.

Cartman is crawling up his body hurriedly and Kyle yanks him the rest of the way to shove their mouths together.

“What time is it?” He pants into Cartman’s mouth.

“6:30” Cartman answers.

“Do you want to fuck me?” Kyle breaths, thrusting his dick against Cartman’s belly.

“So bad, all the time,”

“Fantastic,” Kyle says, rolling away from their mingling morning breath onto his back, shoving boxers down and his hips into the air.

“Do you have lube?” Cartman asks, his hands squeezing at Kyle’s ass.

“No, but I have lotion on the night stand, will that work?” Kyle asks, shaking, two seconds from humping the mattress.

“Fuck, probably,” Cartman grits out, sounding just as eager.

Soon the scent of lavender is filling Kyle’s nose and a cool finger is pressing against his hole he moans as quietly as he can and pushes back.

“Come on, come on,” he urges.

“Fuck, baby, I love it when you want it bad,” Cartman huffs, pushing his finger in.

It’s definitely not a permanent replacement and Kyle’s defiantly going to have to start buying lube but it works enough and he bites at the pillow to try to keep himself quiet.

“Another,” Kyle snaps and Cartman does as he’s told. He can feel Cartman’s dick against the back of his thighs and he’s really trying to speed run through this prep to get that inside him.

Cartman adds a third finger without having to be told and Kyle cries out into the pillow before he can stop when he starts prodding relentlessly at his prostate. His dick hurts with every push.

“Hurry the fuck up!”

“OK, OK,” Cartman says, pulling his fingers out and grabbing more lotion with his other hand.

Soon the spongy head is pushing passed the ring of muscle and Kyle wants to fucking cry it feels so good. Cartman pushes in slow and the pressure just builds and builds and builds- as soon as he bottoms out Kyle is cumming all over his sheets.

“Oh, fuck, baby that’s so hot. You’re so fucking tight. Do you still want me to-“

“If you don’t fucking move, I’m gonna beat your ass-“

Cartman grabs him by the hips and starts a punishing pace almost immediately. He’s oversensitive and tears well up into his eyes but it feels so fucking good that Kyle wants to hit him anyway.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Kyle whispers over and over again into the pillow. He can feel himself getting hard again and he reaches under himself to grip his dick tightly, jerking in time with Cartman’s quick thrusts.

Cartman pulls out then and Kyle growls- just beginning to ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing before the hands at his hips flip him over on to his back. Cartman hikes one of Kyle’s legs up on his shoulders and thrusts inside again, the new angle has him shoving hard into Kyle’s prostate.

Kyle tries, fights for his life to keep his voice down.

“Baby, fuck,” Cartman breaths, “touch yourself. Let me see, please.”

Kyle does and Cartman watches- his heterochromatic eyes flicking all over Kyle likes he’s committing the sight to memory.

“Do you feel good? How does it feel. Tell me, please,” Cartman begs as his hips pick up the pace again.

“So, good,” Kyle gasps. “So, fucking good.”

“Yes, baby. Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum. Are you close?”

“Uh huh,” Kyle answers, speeding up his hand, pushing himself back into Cartman’s thrusts. He rocks himself back two or three more times before he’s finishing a second time all over his stomach. Cartman clenches his eyes shut and follows right behind him, moaning low like it hurts.

Cartman collapses on top of him and pours his tongue into Kyle’s open mouth. Kyle’s leg drops from his shoulder and he kisses back, twitching and whimpering all the while.

Kyle’s phone reminds them of the time, his 7 am alarm screeching into the air. They’ve gotta get ready for school. Cartman pulls away just long enough to turn the alarm off before he’s attacking Kyle’s mouth again, digging his thick arms underneath him and rolling them on to their sides.

“Oh, my God. I can’t believe you just made me cum twice and I still have to go to school,” Kyle groans.

“Just skip. I’ll make you cum a whole lot more,” Cartman pants into his neck.

“Yeah, sure, like my dick still works,” Kyle scoffs and moves to stand. He winces a bit, stretching out his back.

“I gotta take a shower,” he mumbles before hunting some clothes down.

“Do you need to go back to your place?” Kyle asks before making his way to the door.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure I won’t be the only person wearing sweatpants to school,” Cartman sighs, laying back in the bed and stretching his arms over his head. Kyle watches as his shirt moves up his belly and pointedly leaves the room before he does something stupid like rub his face in it.

Kyle takes a quick shower, paying special attention to his ass which is now leaking two different white fluids. Gross.

After he’s got his hair looking right, he dresses himself and goes back to his room finding Ike standing in the middle of the room, his head set pushed off one ear and talking to Cartman.

“You guys are way to fucking loud,” Ike says, “I could hear you with my head set on.”

“Your brothers giving me the third degree.” Cartman says at the same time.

“Ike, bro, what the fuck?” Kyle says, his voice high and his cheeks red.

“I can’t believe you're gay. And you’r gay with him?”

“Who am I supposed to be gay with?” Kyle asks, trying to usher his little brother out of his room.

“I don’t know? Kenny? Kenny’s really cool,” Ike says as he’s being pushed outside the door.

“Sick, you can be gay with Kenny then,” Kyle says.

He hears Ike mumbles ‘ew’ as the door is closed on him.

Kyle turns back to Cartman, who obviously thinks this is the funniest thing that could have happened.

“We are never having sex at my house ever again,” Kyle snaps.

“Well, sorry my dicks so good. You just be screaming,” Cartman starts making a series of high pitches noises and Kyle is almost grateful his phone rings so he doesn’t have to listen to that shit.

It's Kenny.

“Hey, baby girl, you good? Me and Stan are outside and he has something he wants to say to you-“

“Kenny, what the fuck?” He can hear Stan say in the background. Kyle hangs up.

“Come on, Fatass, we gotta go, before anyone else in this house acknowledges the fact, I just had sex.”

“Yeah, let’s fucking go,” Cartman says, like he’s just as worried as running into Kyle’s parents as he is.

They make their way out of the house quietly and when the door shuts behind them Kyle counts his blessings.

Stan and Kenny are there, Kenny looking a little sleepy but otherwise happy to see them together and Stan looking sheepish and hungover.

“Good morning, babes,” Kenny greets, before turning to Stan, “Staniel, you had something to say?”

Stan groans, “I’m sorry I was such a dick last night. I woke up next to Kenny for some reason-“

“Over the covers, nothing untoward,” Kenny cuts in to repeat.

“And he told me I was a dick and I’m sorry.”

Kyle shrugs, “It’s OK, dude. You were only a little bit of a dick.”

He unlocks the door and the all slide inside. This time when Kyle plugs his phone in and the music starts, Kyle’s sure the groan Stan gives is mostly because of his hangover. Kyle quickly turns the volume down.

Cartman’s hand finds his thigh and Kyle wonders if this is the new normal.