Okay, guys, an important correction!
"...Having fantasies with me is one thing, Kyle—and I promise I won't tell mom—but with Stan? A priest, Kyle!..."
"Me" should be "Men." Heh. Yeah. Sorry. That makes all the difference in the world, though, huh?

I didn't get 18 reviews, which is slightly depressing. Can I ask for 25 this time, at least?

The Extravagant Lives of Corrupted Men

Ships: StanKyle, KennyBebe, CraigTweek, EricWendy
Genre: humor, romance, angst, drama… well, pretty much everything.
Warning: slash pairings, swearing, culture-bashing, character death (Kenny, of course!), drug and alcohol usage, smoking… though it's pretty much just anything goes.
Rating: Teen.
Summary: Stan is a priest who follows lame stereotypes. Kyle believes in after-hour fantasies. And Kenny? Well. Kenny just paints.

Chapter III

"A night out?" Mr. Marsh asked, curiously. "What's the occasion?"

Kenny McKormick smiled innocently at Stan's dad. "Oh, no reason," he said, laughing. "I just… wanted someone to be with, you know?"

"Couldn't take Stan with you?" he asked, flipping randomly through channels. "There's a game tomorrow evening, and I'm not keen on missing it."

Kenny grumbled; this would be much harder than he thought. Still, however, with the Danica Patrick painting in his room, he couldn't just abandon his original intent…. No, Kenny still had other plans. "Mr. Marsh," he said quietly, so only he could hear. "Mr. Marsh, you have no idea how much this means to me. I haven't talked to you in forever, and I'm thinking that if I don't catch up on events with you soon, I just might explode."

Randy looked at Kenny curiously but said nothing.

Kenny continued. "Mr. Marsh—Randy—I'm not sure if I ever told you, but…"—he leaned closer—"…you're like a father to me." A lie, of course, but such measures were necessary with the stubborn Randy Marsh….

"I am?" he asked, still peeled to the television.

"You are," affirmed Kenny. "My father was never much of a… father-son person, shall we say?—anyway, as a kid I always looked up to you as a father figure, because you had something my father never had."

"Oh?" Randy asked. "What's that?"

Kenny stalled. Fuck, what did Randy Marsh have that his father didn't?—well, lots, really, but what did he have relevant to the topic…? "A love for children," Kenny said with doubt, but Mr. Marsh had bought it.

"Thank you," he muttered, still looking at the television. "How about this?"

Kenny's eyes grew wide and excited.

"I'll ask Sharon to record the game. What'd you say to a visit to the pub?—you and me? We can drink the night away—"

"I'll just drink a little," said Kenny—he must not get intoxicated, not this night.

Randy eyed him curiously.

"For, er… you know. We need a designated driver."

The older man nodded. "Right. We'll catch up on some stuff, maybe. Have a beer, you know…. Maybe pick up a few hot ladies." He said this in an undertone, just in case his wife was around. "Don't tell Sharon I said that, though."

"Deal," said Kenny, and he shook hands with Stan's father. "I'll drive, of course. I'll come by tomorrow at eight?"

"Sounds fine." Kenny nodded again, before saying goodbye to Mrs. Marsh, who had been busy cooking dinner for the night. Once he had left the household, however, he dropped his act, and began to silently cheer for his success.

Things were going as planned.

-

There was fear etched upon Sue Zuki's face as she typed on her computer. Not a fear of computer screens blowing up in her face, of course, because only certain people other than herself would possess that fear. In truth she didn't even have any real phobias to begin with. Yet she was quiet scared in opening her mouth, though she knew she'd have to face her fear if she wanted to carry out her job.

"Sir… I've scheduled your cleaning for the 15th," she said slowly.

…it would be any moment now.

"Cleaning?" asked the patient.

She was spared in having to talk; the patient's companion answered before she could even move her lips.

"You're coming back here so they can do more cleaning," he explained.

…any second now….

"The same thing as today?"

"…a bit more in depth."

Then it happened.

"GAH! Jesus! When will it end?" Craig looked apologetically at Sue, who seemed to have tamed her fear somewhat. Yet still, she was quite scared in case… well, in case something happened because of his frenzy.

"Dr. Broflovski says you haven't been brushing your teeth enough for all the coffee you drink," Craig said calmly. "Don't worry, Tweek, it won't be that bad. I'll come with you, if you want."

Somehow, this seemed to be enough for the man, and, especially at the last sentence, Tweek Tweak calmed down. He nodded at Sue, who still looked quite frightened, and as he gave a slight wave to her, Craig and Tweek exited the dental office.

Sue turned to Kyle, who was laughing at distance. "It's not funny, Kyle!"

"He's not dangerous," was the reply. "Ms. Zuki—"

"Sue!"

"—fine, Sue, Tweek Tweak may have his occasional… moments… but that doesn't mean he's a threat to society."

"Look at your arm!" she yelled, pointing at his right arm; it looked as if it had been bleeding some time ago, but now it had dried up (and had probably been washed), and only a memento of the incident remained. "Explain that then!"

"It was merely an accident," Kyle said quietly. "I probed at something in his mouth I shouldn't have bothered. He was surprised and jumped on the spot."

"Still doesn't explain anything."

Kyle mumbled, picking up the instrument. "They're all double-sided, Sue." He shook his head. "I wonder if any of these come with blunt ends…."

Sue examined the tool in his hand; both sides were sharp as needles, though having different shapes.

"I'm going to be in my office for a bit," Kyle said quietly. "You've got no more appointments for today. You're free to go home."

"Thank you," she said, picking up her bags. "Bye, Kyle!"

And she was off. For several moments Kyle stood still, watching his hygienist and receptionist skip in the distance, and, when he was sure she wouldn't return, he retreated to his office.

He threw open his drawer, extracting from it an album full of pictures. Most of them were normal pictures, either having Stan and Kyle posing (candidly or not), or having just Stan in a solo portrait. However, there were a few photographs hidden behind other pictures, and those, well… he had taken those pictures when he was either drunk, or when he was merely sleeping near naked on one of the many nights he had slept over….

He felt like Kenny as he pulled them out (one picture had his hand down his boxers, for what reason Kyle wasn't sure, though he did have his hopes up), and, as he set them in a row on his desk, he seated himself on his desk and unzipped his fly.

He closed his eyes and let his mind and hands do the rest.

-

"…and where've you been?" Kevin demanded as Kenny scurried inside the apartment.

His younger brother held the bag in his hands. "Art supplies," he said simply, and he set them on the table. Kevin eyed them, surrounded by an air of curiosity, but he didn't bother to inspect them.

Kevin nudged his head to their small fridge, and Kenny, understanding the implication, made his way toward it.

"I may need one," said Kenny, pulling out the Corona from the fridge. "I doubt I'll be having tomorrow."

And he explained his plan to Kevin, the older man grinning.

"Might work," he said excitedly. "Even though I'm supposed to be doing the selling."

"Less work for you," Kenny said, shrugging. "You'll sell the next bunch, then." Kevin nodded to this, and, as he raised his own bottle of beer, Kenny did the same, their bottles meeting in midair.

"I was at the Cartman's today," said Kevin, his smile vanishing. "She told me she's not going to buy any of our stuff for a while."

Kenny looked devastated.

"Thing is," Kevin added, "Eric was unusually attentive to our conversation, and he confronted me just as I was out the door." At this Kenny frowned, worry etched on his face; deals with Eric Cartman were never wise, as a childhood friendship had proved many times before.

"…what'd he say?"

"He wanted one-fifty for one of your paintings." Kenny shrugged; it was fifty less than their last painting (excluding the Danica Patrick portrait), but it was still a great deal of money….

"He wants a nude painting of you?" Kenny asked, the realization suddenly setting in.

It would've been worthy of laughter, too, if only it had been true. "Not me."

"Me?" Kenny asked, aghast.

Kevin shook his head. "Someone by the name of Wendy Testaburger."

Kenny glared at his brother; Wendy Testaburger? It was simple enough getting his brother to pose nude, especially since half the revenue was for his own personal uses. But Wendy?—she was just an average woman, a sane woman, who probably didn't even look at porn or male swimsuit calendars. There would be no way he'd be getting her nude….

"He only wants a swimsuit picture," Kevin added, and Kenny sighed with such relief that it surprised his brother. "What, only willing to paint nude guys?"

"No," snapped Kenny, "I'm not gay." His brother's gaze was unconvinced of his story. "Getting Wendy nude would've been impossible. At least this way we can get the painting done."

"More booze," Kevin mumbled, though Kenny had heard him quite well. "So, you up for it?"

"You even have to ask?" Kenny asked, grinning madly. "I'll get to it right away… after I'm done with Mr. Marsh."