There was a big party going down at Kyle's house, but Eric wasn't invited as usual. Instead, he spent the beginning of winter break going door-to-door for donations with his best Christmas sweater and a giant rolling suitcase filled with kitschy ornaments. His hair was styled back and his pants were ironed; he looked the spitting image of a disarming choir boy. If he didn't, he might be in trouble.

This was South Park, the second most dangerous town in America. Your appearance was one gunshot away from walking or dying.

He rang the first doorbell. A beautiful, but sour looking blond woman opened the door and peered down disdainfully at him with a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon in one hand and trigger happy fingers in the other.

"Hello, Ms. James," Eric greeted with a sweet smile. Before her hand disappeared out of frame to grab a weapon, he opened his palms in a gesture of peace. "I'm not armed! I've visited you for the past two years, remember?"

"Oh." She lowered her AK-47. "You're the fat kid who begs around for cash, ain't ya?"

"It's for a good cause, ma'am," he replied and started fishing for his red Christmas pail of donations. "I heard your father's a war veteran. Well, I'm here to speak on behalf of him and the great service his fellow comrades have done in sacrifice for this country. Did you know that over sixty percent of veterans go without proper healthcare due to convoluted bureaucracy?"

Her lovely features suddenly twisted into an ugly sneer. "My father is a drunk motherfucker who can't keep his hands off of me. I'd rather he'd end up frozen in a ditch somewhere with his nuts hangin' off an evergreen befor' I ever spend a fuckin' food stamp on him!"

Thankfully, she slammed the door in his face instead of shooting him, which gave Eric ample time to just stand there and process what the hell just happened.

"Evergreen? How awfully descriptive," Eric muttered before turning away for the next house.

He knew which houses to avoid and which ones were the least threatening. Most if not all of South Park's neighborhood had rabid dogs and booby traps to deter the occasional solicitor and/or trespassers, but Eric was well-knowledgeable of them all - and he needed to if he wanted to survive next Christmas. He spent plenty of fundraisers staring down the wrong end of a shotgun and it was his sweet and apologetic nature, oddly enough, that tends to grant him a second chance of life.

Sometimes he wondered why the universe wanted to keep someone like him alive. It was plenty obvious he didn't belong in such a bloodthirsty world.


"Kyle, why do you think I'm still… you know… alive?"

"Do I look like a fucking fortune cookie? I don't know either," Kyle answered before taking a slow drag of his cigarette. "But I've got a…" he exhaled, "theory."

Eric paused from the lazy kisses he was pressing along Kyle's collarbone. "A theory?"

These were the last nights of summer. The weatherman reported a cold autumn front blowing in later in the week and Kyle wanted to take advantage of sweat and the summer breeze of Eric's open window while they still had the chance.

Eric naturally hated the summer. It made him sticky and sweaty thanks to his extra weight and Kyle was always determined to schedule sex in during heatwaves for some outrageous reason. He didn't know why - he didn't think it was very appealing to be drenched from head-to-toe in your own sweat. Perhaps Kyle just wanted an excuse to take advantage of the giant bathtub in his mother's bedroom. The Broflovski's couldn't install their own due to the shape of their house and being too sticky to function would be enough to get Liane's permission to use it.

The window was cracked open for them to breathe after a lengthy and demanding session in bed. Kyle had been especially enthusiastic after winning another turf war against Craig Tucker's gang and decided his victory was better spent fucking Eric into the mattress for nights on end. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep the last few days dealing with his Jewish lover's insatiable appetite and maybe he never will. He just didn't think he could go another round again.

Kyle lived up to his threat. He really did want to fuck him to death.

Eric was still trying to settle the rapid beating of his heart laying like this. Despite the warmth of his room, he covered his nude body with his thick blanket out of habit. On the other hand, Kyle looked utterly shameless lounging on top of his sheets wearing nothing but a lax grin and a cigarette between his fingers. The cold fixation of those green eyes had long since melted away and replaced with an almost curious expression.

It was secretly one of Eric's favorite moments with him. Kyle was much less paranoid when he's sexually satisfied - and he has to be on his guard constantly. Even Stan would take advantage and kill him just for a taste of power. But here with Eric, he didn't have to worry. Eric had no compulsion to kill or climb up the ranks. He could fall into a deep sleep by his side and not have to keep an eye open for mischief. Eric would never hurt him and, in return, he often was gifted a rare glimpse of the Kyle he met in the other universe from that freak accident.

That Kyle was sweet, compassionate, and fucking adorable. They were the same - they had to be the same - because whenever his Kyle let his guard down, Eric saw it.

Kyle tapped away at the ashtray Eric kept specifically for him near the lamp before continuing. "Bear with me here. So… you're a fucking anomaly."

"Well that's not very nice," Eric pouted.

"Fuck your nice," Kyle said and let out a bark of laughter. Then his smile turned feral when he took in Eric's modest cover up. "Mmm… hey, that's not a bad idea. Round two?"

Eric's ass literally shot up in pain at the remark. He desperately shook his head and squeaked when Kyle slipped on top and peeled off the blanket. It fell into a heap on the floor. "No way! Oh God Kyle, please… I'm so sore…"

"You're not sore enough," Kyle purred and his hands slid up to pin Eric's reddened wrists to the mattress. His bare hips shifted just a bit, but it was enough to make Eric throw his head back and whimper. He parted his weak, trembling thighs upon command. He couldn't deny Kyle anything. Ever. "So innocent," Kyle sighed happily. "Too innocent. But look at you now, Eric. You look like a whore just begging for more."

"N-no…" Eric mewled. "Not a whore. Just you… Kyle. Just you."

Kyle gave a lazy thrust forward and Eric couldn't help but focus on the ceiling as they slowly rocked, the headboard creaking for the fifth time today. This time they were going slower. Perhaps Kyle was touched by Eric's half-fucked words of love and loyalty. All that mattered was his ass was thanking him for the good fortune as they did nothing but grind to the beat of music coming out of Eric's iDock.

"Just me…" Kyle mused thoughtfully. Eric was too lost in pleasure to form any sort of words. "You're a freak of nature, Cartman. And that's why no one's going to kill you but me."

It's probably the most romantic thing he's ever said to Eric. It's pathetic, it's not normal, but on the other side of the mirror, Kyle had just practically admitted he was smitten by Eric's sweetness.

"You're mine. Say it," he commanded.

"Ugh…"

"Say it."

Eric decided they needed a conversation later about talking during sex. He just couldn't form the words in his head let alone say it out loud when half of his brainpower went straight to his dick. It was only when Kyle jerked his hips harsh enough that he ended up smacking the crown of his head against the wooden board did Eric finally get his tongue to move properly.

"I-I'm yours! Ow…!" he whimpered. Kyle laughed cruelly and started to move faster and his pain disappeared the moment Kyle's hand slipped between them and jerked at his half-hard cock.

Eric was lost in that haze again - never to return.


An entire morning and afternoon spent on his donation drive yielded little less than two bucks in the pail - and that was from Eric collecting spare change he happened to find on the sidewalk. His once optimistic streak petered out with every door slammed hard in his face.

By the time he passed by Kyle's house, the party was in full swing and he could see and hear the festivities of Hanukkah seeping out the olive colored walls. Oddly enough, Christmas music was muffling through the window, but then again, he supposed there wasn't much Hanukkah music to start with. Eric's heart skipped a beat when Kyle passed by the window with a glass of wine in hand. He was strikingly handsome in his dark sweater and khakis.

Eric couldn't help but approach the door and knocked on it.

Kyle didn't answer, but his mother did. Sheila blinked at him until her eyes narrowed suspiciously at his suitcase and bright red pail. "Oh. Hello Eric," she drawled softly. "I see you're doing another donation drive again. Cancer patients this time?"

"Not this time, Mrs. Broflovski," he smiled apologetically and shook the pail. "It's homeless veterans this year."

"I see…" She stood there for a moment as if deciding whether it was faster to chase him off with the dogs or just donate and be done with it. Eric sincerely hoped she decided on donating - he can't afford another rabies shot so close to the holiday season.

Before she could open her mouth, Eric could hear Kyle asking who it was over the music and party banter. She opted for the third option and let her son handle it instead.

Once she was out of earshot, Kyle propped his hip against the door frame and leaned with a wicked smile. "I see you've retired Rudolph."

Eric looked down at his latest Christmas sweater and shot him a gentle grin back. "It's Mister Hankey this time. You like him, don't you?"

Those green eyes warm over with nostalgia and perhaps a hint of fondness for his choice of attire. It literally made Eric melt. "I'll forgive your ugly sweater this time, fatass." He pointed at the pail. "Looks like you've gotten twice as much as last year."

Eric glanced at the wimpy donations and sighed. "Yeah, I guess." With the day ending, the cold winter front was starting to drop by from the mountains. He shivered, but it had little to do with the wind. It seemed like a tradition every year: he'd try to bring holiday cheer for the less fortunate and he always ended up alone in the snow.

Kyle watched him for a long strange moment before thumbing over his shoulder. "Get your ass in here, stupid. Fuck the veterans."

"I can't," Eric stressed down the invitation. He died a little doing it when the warm expression goes out like a light on Kyle's face. "The veterans need our support-"

"I don't see them going door-to-door like a putz asking for donations on your behalf," Kyle snarled. He goes from zero to ten so fast on his fuck-yo-shit-o-meter, Eric couldn't help but jump in alarm. Kyle swooped down upon him so quickly, he almost dropped his pail.

"Nor did the cancer patients, or the orphans, or the starving kids in Africa," he continued viciously. "You're wasting time and money. You don't even get a thank you for doing it."

Eric shook his head in desperation, his response low and leveled in the hope of calming Kyle down. "I'm not doing it for gratitude, Kyle. I just want to make the world a better place…"

"One dumbass in an ugly Christmas sweater isn't going to save the world," Kyle spat out like pure venom and slammed the door in his face like all the others.

Eric is left wondering if Kyle was really sore that he chose charity over him. Again.