Umm, yeah. I wrote this in about twenty minutes after being up all night. I have really gotten into the idea of Kenny and Bebe. Also, in all the stories I've read, you never really get to see into Kenny. He's always just about the ass.
The story isn't very good, but I hope someone will like it pleasepleaseplease
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Impermanence
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Kenny McCormick tossed and turned on the old and lumpy bed that was passed down to him by his now-dead grandfather. He inhaled the smells of sweat and sex, laced with the sweet aroma of his bed partner. He gazed at her. The mixture of the nearly burned out street light and new moon that hung outside of his window made her sweat soaked, blonde curls light up and sparkle. Her blue eyes were closed and there was a small smile on her face.
When he was nine, no one would have ever been able to convince him that he would end up with Bebe Stevens.
Not that he had her, he reminded himself. That was their arrangement, only fucking and nothing else. It shouldn't be so hard, what with the things Kenny did in the past. Sex-crazed, perverted Kenny. Kenny never cared for those he fucked and they didn't care about him.
Their agreement came when their respective best friends abandoned them both. After finally giving into the sexual tension that existed between the two, Cartman and Wendy decided that they were far more interested in each other than their childhood best friends. Stan and Kyle were too absorbed in each other to even see anything else. All Bebe and Kenny had were each other.
They were an odd match. Bebe, the well off cheerleader with a thousand acquaintances, but no real friends and Kenny, poor white trash.
Sometimes, Kenny wished that he never had Bebe. He wished that Cartman had never gone and took up with Wendy. He wished Kyle and Stan were never more than Super Best Friends. Kenny wished that he didn't care. He had never cared before, so why should now be any different?
Kenny knew that Bebe cared for him much more than she should. She did, after all, climb through his broken window every night. She ignored the run down, wood paneled room. She didn't care that he still covered his face with his ratty parka that was too short in the sleeves.
She still cared when he died. She was perhaps the only one that ever cared when he died. That reason alone made him care.
He traced his index finger down the slope of her cheekbone, across her lips and continued to trail his finger down her collarbone. Her blue eyes half opened and she smiled at him. He smirked back and pulled her into his arms.
Bebe wasn't perfect, Kenny deduced as he stuck his nose in her hair. She slept with almost as many people as he had. She was bad in school and her future was riding on the hope that she didn't lose her figure.
Kenny was about as far from perfect as a seventeen year-old boy could get. He was perverted, obnoxious, poor and had a tendency to die. Fuck, even hell didn't want him.
He knew that it couldn't go on forever. She was going to marry some rich jock and move away to an exotic location, like Prague or Cairo, and he was going to stay in South Park and drink away his memories. Just like his brother and his father and his grandfather.
If Kenny was use to anything, it was impermanence. Kenny knew that you had to grab onto life and take everything it had to offer.
After all, tomorrow you could be dead.
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