note; I love you guys, really, I do! I'm sorry I failed so hard at updating this a few months ago, and I'm sorry that it might be a while before the next update as well. I'm finally feeling the writing bug again, and I am entirely too happy about it! Hope to finish some of the things I've started, and hope to write even more than before.
other notes; I forget. I was watching Cowboy Bebop when I wrote this. I like pie? Please continue reading. I hope you enjoy it.
The horn has been blaring for at least ten minutes, and Cartman finally realizes his mother isn't home to take care of the nuisance outside his window. Where she is, he's not sure. She disappears more now, maybe because he knows about her past or because she's trying to live her life. Either way, Cartman has not seen her for two days, and this is not strange to him at all. He huffs angrily as he walks down the stairs, adding scoffs of irritation even though he knows she cant hear him wherever she is. Pushing the door open and flipping the porch light on, he stops dead at who he sees in the driveway. Kyle's beat up truck is idling, and the red-head is laying on the horn with a look of determination on his face. The last rays of the autumn sun creep over the rooftops, catching the curls in Kyle's hair, casting a warm glow on his otherwise pale face.
Cartman can't possibly hate him more than he loves him right now.
That doesn't stop him from storming over to the truck, ready to give the Jew a piece of his mind. He is opening his mouth when Kyle promptly interrupts him, rolling the window down furiously and completely ignoring attempts at contact. The anger rolling from the cab of the truck in waves is enough to stop any normal person from arguing, but Cartman isn't a normal person.
"Get in," Kyle orders sternly, staring the larger teen down.
"What? No fuckin way, Jew-boy," Cartman retorts, completely forgetting what he wants to bitch about in the first place.
"Get in this fucking truck, fatass! Right fucking now!" Kyle snarls, clearly in no mood to deal with Cartman's attitude. He points viciously to the passenger seat, glaring as if just daring the fatass to say anything against it. He should know better at this point in their messed up relationship.
Apparently, he still doesn't get it.
"No, I'm not going anywhere with you," Cartman says, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Eric Theodore Cartman, if you don't get in this fucking truck right now I swear to god, I will tell everyone you still sleep with Clyde Frog!"
Cartman stares at the outraged Jew for a moment before scoffing. "Well, Jesus, Kyle, you don't have to be a bitch about it," he mumbles, walking around the rumbling truck to get in the passenger side. He slides into the seat, wiggling to get comfortable. "Why are your panties in a bunch anyway?"
Kyle doesn't answer until the door slams shut and he is reversing out of the driveway, a fire behind his cool green eyes. He seems to take forever before he finally grabs the words he needs to address whatever crisis is at hand. "The entire school is saying you're nice," he spits angrily.
"Well, Kyle, I am nice," Cartman wheedles, intensely glad that paying off Kenny has worked so well. Already, and it has only been three days. A good investment, indeed.
Kyle doesn't seem to think so, can see right through it when the whole school is going with the flow. Leave it to him to pull the cunning teen into the open. "No, Cartman, you're not. Ever. So what the hell are you trying to do?"
There is no way out of it, really, but Eric always tries to find a way. Before he can open his mouth, Kyle is taking a sharp turn onto the road leading past Stark's pond. Suddenly, things are interesting, and Cartman redirects his words. "Where are we going?"
Kyle looks at him sharply, eyes narrowing, before turning back to the road. "Don't change the subject," he says sternly. "Why are you being nice to everyone?"
"I thought it would be obvious, Kyle," he says offhandedly. "It is my birthday in two weeks."
Kyle almost takes the lie hook, line, and sinker, has a look that says he is content, but he glances over in time to catch that little crease in Eric's forehead. "Stop lying, fatass," he snaps. "Butters says you stopped Malcolm Douglas from beating him up and taking his lunch money. And you didn't even demand payment."
Cartman tries to say what a wonderful person he is, but Kyle presses on.
"Bebe – Bebe Stevens, Cartman – says you bought her a pair of shoes. You don't buy people anything. You even brought Tweek Tweak coffee one morning. I saw you do it."
Cartman again attempts to point out his good deeds, but Kyle snaps his hand up, holding it out in the 'shut up or so help me' position.
"What I couldn't get is why they're all telling me these things. I couldn't figure it out until Kenny said something."
"That dirty bastard," Cartman breathes quietly, clenching his fist.
"You did pay him, didn't you?" Kyle demands.
Cartman curses Kyle's intelligence. Once again, he has underestimated the Jew. "No! Why would I pay anyone?" he demands back.
"I don't know! You want to get at me for something, I just can't figure out what," Kyle says. It is the natural order of things. They've never had a peaceful time in their lives, they've always been fighting. Ever since they can remember. Kyle huffs quietly, staring at the road. Stark's Pond flows by, and for a while everything is quiet. They are on the south side of town, just outside limits, where things aren't really South Park but they aren't really anywhere else either.
"Alright, I paid him," Cartman admits darkly, folding his arms over his chest and sinking into the seat, chin resting on the diagonal belt. Kyle makes a sound of victory, and Cartman kicks the glove compartment in a childish pout. "But it's not what you're thinking."
"Then explain," Kyle says.
Cartman considers it for all of five milliseconds before scoffing. "I don't know how."
"Then how do you know it's not what I'm thinking?" Kyle questions.
"I just do, okay? I know you."
Silence.
The words are small and meaningless to anyone else, but Kyle picks up on it immediately. Barely daring to shift his gaze from the road, he darts his eyes to his companion, catching a glimpse of the red blush falling over Eric's cheeks, the way his jaw is set in frustration. Kyle tries to make the words mean anything else, tries to change the way Cartman said them. Nothing works, and the only thing he can hear is the unveiled tenderness in those words. Something Eric Cartman is not particularly well known for. Something that, up until this point, Kyle thought Cartman saved only for his ancient, tattered cat in moments where he thought no one was listening.
To hear it directed at himself gives him a reality check.
"Happy now?" Cartman asks grumpily. After no answer, he huffs and looks out the window. "Where are we going?"
"Vegas," Kyle snarks, rolling his eyes. He needs to get the taste of the last conversation out of his mouth. He needs to before he goes mad overanalyzing it. Something else has been bothering him for some time, and now this something else seems to be closer than he expects.
"Cute," Cartman deadpans. "Gonna get hitched?"
"Shove it, fatass."
Kyles tone suggests the end of the conversation. Cartman stares out the window as the Colorado landscape goes by. School is kicking up into the year. Winter is around the corner. Token's Homecoming bash (thrown most likely out of his own pocket and for nothing related to homecoming in the least, except maybe his return to his grandparent's house on the weekends since they left it in his name, the lucky bastard) is a memory lingering weeks behind them and pouncing out when least expected. Everything, except that time between them. The time that, as far as they know, no one else is privy to. Cartman winces at the thought of anyone knowing. Bad enough he did it, worse if they knew. Right? He'll keep Kyle a secret, a nasty little tidbit on the both of them, and he will protect that secret. Like an unwanted pregnancy, he will abort all thoughts of Kyle and what happened in Token's house.
Cartman grunts, because he knows it will be impossible. Just telling himself not to think about it has a bulge growing in his pants and he hopes Kyle ignores him, like usual. It wouldn't do to confirm the Daywalker's suspicions. Cartman wont let him have that satisfaction. He shifts in the seat, pretending great interest in the sun as it sinks below the western horizon, but he is not at all captivated by the glowing orange ball in the sky. His thoughts are elsewhere, running slower and slower as his mind winds down. He is tired, he is embarrassed, and he wants to go home. With Kyle in the drivers seat, he isn't sure when he might have the chance.
/
"Wake up."
Jolting out of his slumber, he flails for the door, but meets only air. Kyle stands beside the open passenger door, determination written on his face. Cartman at once stops flailing, composing himself enough to observe their quaint surroundings. Denver, that much is clear. Somewhere in the seedier side of Denver, far from his favorite restaurant, far from the luxury of Token's new mansion. They are in the parking lot of a two-level motel that looks like it has seen better days, Kyle jingling keys in his hand nervously. It is his only tell, and Cartman has a hard time believing he is nervous from the way the rest of his body is working.
"Come on."
"A motel?" Cartman asks warily.
Kyle fidgets for just a second before steeling himself. "It's dark," he answers.
"So we really are going to Vegas."
Kyle sets his jaw, moving away from the truck and pulling a bag from the bed. Curious, Cartman slides to the end of the seat, stepping out of the truck and stretching. After closing the door and making sure things are hunkey-dory with the truck for the night, he saunters behind Kyle to the room. Their room. The room that Kyle paid for while he was sleeping. Kyle has only one key. There is only one room, and one key means...
The door opens under the Jew's slender hand, and before Kyle can step in, Cartman lunges forward, his hand snaking around the side of the door frame and flipping the switch. Dim yellow light casts over the lonely, single bed, flanked by cheap end tables. At the foot of the only bed is a dresser with a television, and beside the television is the small closet and the bathroom, divided into two sections. Cartman feels his body react, jerking him back from the doorway before he has time to stop himself from blurting.
"You got the wrong room," he ejects.
Kyle prods him into the motel, closing the door behind them. "No," he says, slinging the bag to the floor. "Go sit down."
Cartman can't do anything but obey. He sits on the edge of the bed, as if it has fourth grade cooties. Kyle busies himself with tidying the place up, as if the maid didn't already make a clean sweep of it. When he is done, he turns off the main light, dropping them into darkness. Amidst Cartman's vocal, verbally explicit commentary, Kyle switches on the light of the lamp beside the bed. Feeling foolish, Cartman grumbles, looking anywhere but at Kyle.
"I don't know what this is," Kyle admits, standing beside the bed, looking at the floral print blanket. "I hate you."
Maybe they really did go to Vegas.
"Huh?"
Kyle stomps his foot childishly, his eyes darting up to meet Cartman's. "I hate you, more than I've ever hated anyone before."
Cartman lifts his eyebrows, swaying back a bit. "Well, I'm glad we figured that out."
"No!" Kyle argues.
Bristling, the larger teen goes on the defensive. "No what? You hate me, and that's all there is to it."
"But it isn't!"
The silence that falls over the room could smother babies.
Gently as possible, Cartman eases himself off the bed, as if any sudden moves might provoke Kyle. The red-head stands still, his emerald eyes watching warily. With a fluttering stomach, Cartman takes a shaky step away from the bed. A breath slips out of Kyle's throat, a small whine trickling along with it. The sound is all Cartman can take, and he flees the room in a clumsy crash, the door swinging shut behind him.
Once outside, he doesn't know where he's going. He puts his feet to the ground and walks, the night air clearing out his head and his sinuses. Clenching his fists, he grits his teeth. Who did Kyle think he was? Who did he think he was? Where did he get off, telling Cartman something like that? What did he mean to start? What if...
He realizes he's stopped on the corner. His feet wouldn't take him any further. When he turns around to go back to the motel room, he spots Kyle, standing in the lot, beneath the light. It is too far to see the redhead properly, and Cartman walks back slowly. In speaking distance, he stops. They share a silent moment, and Kyle glances towards the truck.
"We're not driving back tonight," Cartman huffs.
"I wasn't thinking about going home, fatass" Kyle snaps. "I was going to sleep in the truck."
Cartman steps closer, taking Kyle by the wrist. "Don't."
Everything slows down as the pair walk to the room. Cartman barely remembers dropping Kyle's wrist in muted embarrassment, doesn't remember how he got under the covers. Only comes out of his haze as Kyle's warm body slides in next to him and he realizes the lights are off. His mind races, trying to picture anything but Kyle, bent over the sink in the bathroom of Token's grandparent's house. Anything but the taste of Kyle's tongue or the feel of Kyle's fingers across his skin. He tries to think about school, and Kenny, and that stunt with Cuthulu. He thinks about Gandalf and Family Guy, about Man-Bear-Pig... and his mind tracks back to Kyle, seeing Kyle die – nearly die – and that does the trick. His erection is limp before it properly begins and sleeping beside Kyle becomes more bearable.
Cartman opens his eyes to find Kyle staring at him in the gloom. There is concern in the emerald orbs, and Cartman turns away frumpily, rolling onto his side with his back to Kyle.
"You're crying."
The statement sends a shock through Cartman's system as he realizes there is a wetness on his cheeks. When? "No I'm not."
"Whatever you say," Kyle growls, flopping over on his side of the bed.
"You're a stupid filthy Jew," Cartman grumbles.
Kyle doesn't respond, and maybe that is what sets Cartman off.
"You're stupid," he continues, rolling over. "You're always being a dick to me," he spits, grabbing Kyle's shoulder. "You always say 'I told you so' when something goes wrong," he complains, forcing Kyle to turn towards him. "I fucking hate you and everything you are," he says, all the anger leaving his voice as his forehead sinks to Kyle's. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. "But... I don't think..."
Kyle's lips brush his, and he isn't sure who made the move. A heartbeat passes, his eyes closed tight against whatever reality exists beyond them. Kyle makes the first move, shy and soft, unsteady. Cartman turns to putty on the receiving end of the kiss, fumbling awkwardly to match Kyle. Hands tremble through his hair, he slides his leg across bony hips, trapping Kyle between his legs. He isn't sure what he's doing, as one hand moves down Kyle's chest, lifting the shirt and breaking their kiss to take it off. There isn't a drunken haze here, he is painfully aware of how awkward he moves above Kyle's touches.
The darkness in the room hides the blush creeping across Cartman's face as he pauses, unsure of what sober move to make next. Kyle picks up on his indecision, pressing Cartman over to straddle his hips, reaching for a kiss. For once, Cartman lets someone else take control of the situation, and beneath all his hatred and tough posturing, he likes it.