"If I get sick, I'm going to disembowel you."

Stan ignored him, frowning slightly, straightening up. He was trying (somewhat unsuccessfully) to hammer down the tent pegs, fighting to force them through the frozen ground, struggling to jam them though the two feet of fresh snow. Kyle was watching him from the car, the heaters whacked up on full, the engine running flat out.

They'd briefly contemplated screwing the camping idea, forgoing the tent and checking into a budget motel instead. As tempting as running water and central heating was, they'd had to admit that nothing, nothing, looked sleazier then slinking off to a budget motel room alone, under the cover of darkness, with no clear cause or purpose. If anyone, anyone saw them, they'd be done for. Besides, Kyle had serious doubts about the hygiene practices in such hospitality establishments, and remained convinced he'd catch hepatises if he so much as looked at the bed throw in the wrong way.

At least with camping there was an automatic air of heterosexuality. It sort of didn't matter that they were two strapping, lascivious lads sharing a tent, alone, in the middle of a secluded forest campsite, halfway up a secluded mountain. The mixture of campfires and rocks and rugged elemental exposure seemed to counteract the whole Brokeback feel of the endeavour.

Exhaling, Stan bent back down, straightening up one of the pegs.

"You're not going to get sick Kyle. You're wearing like, thirty layers. Quite frankly, I'm amazed you can still bend your limbs under all that fucking fabric."

"Dude, it's like, thirty degrees out here! Just imagine how cold it'll be when the fucking sun goes down! I'm going to get sick!"

"Look, I know it's not ideal, but dude, you won't get sick! I promise you, it'll be fun."

Kyle sighed, glaring disbelievingly at him, crossing his arms across his chest. Stan pulled a face, tugging cautiously to check one of the pins. "Look dude, the sooner I finish hammering down these fucking tent pegs, the sooner the real fun can begin. So how 'bout getting out the fucking car and, you know, helping me."

Exhaling throatily, Kyle rested his chin on the rolled down window, kneeling awkwardly on the drivers seat. "I hate the outside."

"I know you do precious. I know you do." Stan looked down, sighing slightly as he hammered in the last peg. "But hey, you never seemed to mind a good romp about in the snow when we were younger, did you?"

"Yeah? Well I'm not sixteen anymore Stan."

"You're not sixty either Ky, a little cold ain't gonna kill ya. Besides Kyle, you've enough padding to keep warm. Trust me."

"Perhaps I wasn't intending on sleeping fully-fucking-dressed Stan!"

"Perhaps I wasn't referring to your clothes, Kyle."

Kyle narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest. "What exactly are you trying to insinuate ?"

"Either something fairly insulting, or something a little sweet and slightly dirty." Stan shot him a cocksure grin, stomping down on one of the tent pegs. "I'll let you decide."

Kyle just flipped him off, sighing slightly. "I still think I'm going to be fucking freezing."

"You'll be fine. I'll keep you warm. I promise."

"What about bears?"

Stan held up a finger, before disappearing round the back of the car. He reappeared a minute clutching a shotgun. Kyle jerked backwards, nearly falling off the seat.

"My uncle gave it to me for my birthday."

"Jesus Christ dude! You brought a fucking gun on our camping trip?"

"Relax Ky. I know how to use it. If anything tries to eat us, I'll just shoot it."

"Dude, don't be stupid! You couldn't even shoot a fucking butterfly!

"Why would I want to shoot a butterfly? That's just killing for killings sake! I'd find it far easier to shoot a bear or something." Kyle deadpanned him a look, still inching away from the gun. "Fine, maybe not. But I promise you, if anything so much as looks at you the wrong way, I'll shoot it, okay?"

"Even if it's a butterfly?"

"What is this vendetta you have against fucking butterflies Ky?"

Kyle just muttered something under his breath, burying his face into his arm. Stan just rolled his eyes, dropping the shotgun back in the boot, returning his focus to the last tent peg. They only had a few hours left before it started to get dark, and he really needed to get the fire going. The tent was supposed to be up by now, the fire was supposed to be kindling. Had they not stopped off at that rest stop on the drive over, had they not stopped off for that prolonged grope in the secluded aria of the car park, they might not be in quite such a bind now.

Biting his lip, Stan began clipping together the tubing, fighting to thread it through the tent. It was ridiculously fiddly, and ridiculously complex. After ten long minutes spent trying unsuccessfully to force the aluminium though a narrow pocket in the canvas, Stan grunted, cursing bitterly as he kneaded his eyes with his palm.

"Look, Kyle, will you just get out of the fucking car and help me erect this fucking tent?"

"Christ Stan, keep up with that attitude and I won't be helping you erect anything this weekend."

"I'm-I'm sorry. But could you please get out here and fucking help me?"

"No."

"Why?"

"You were a scout. You know how to do all this…" He waved his hand across the mess of creased tent and tangled up tubing. "All this rugged outdoorsy stuff. It's your forté."

"Dude, you were a scout too!"

"I was a Jewscout. It's entirely different."

"Oh, how?"

"Dude, all we did was make little sculptures out of soap and eat carrot cake. We just sat around and sang. We didn't actually learn anything." Kyle paused, resting his chin on his forearm. "My mom still has that macaroni menorah picture I made. She stuck it on the fridge. It's tacked up next to all my finger-painted Stairs of David."

"Kyle, that's lovely, but please turn of the engine and get out of the car! You're costing me a fortune in petrol! Keep this up and we won't have enough left for the drive home."

"So? We can stop of at a gas station and get some more. It's not like it really matters."

Stan pursed his lips, deadpanning a frown at him. "Well how about you get out the car and start making the fire then?"

"And why on earth would I want to make a fire?"

"Because the sooner we make a fire, the sooner we can have smores."

"What is it with you and always trying to bribe me with food? Seriously Stan, it's like, what the fuck?"

Stan grunted, forcing another length of tubing though the tent. "You're a logical person Ky, but don't even try pretend you're not easily overruled by your heart and your stomach."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means Cartman once won you over with a bunch of French fries and a hot tub full of gravy!"

Kyle flushed, pursing his lips. "That… There were extenuating circumstances-It-It wasn't because of the fucking hot tub Stan!"

Exhaling, Stan rubbed his hand across his face. The tent was very nearly done; it just needed to be latched down. "Look, just please get out of the car Ky, yeah? Please?" Kyle narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. Stan just sighed softly, holding open his arms, biting his lip. "Please Ky?" He was watching him imploringly, waiting, pleading. After a minute, Kyle just sighed, clicking off the engine and climbing out the Chevy. Smiling slightly, Stan reached out, catching his waist, pulling him into a firm hug.

"I told you," Stan murmured into his hair, pressing a kiss to the side of his head, "I told you were ruled by your heart."

"Don't give yourself airs Stanley. I did it for the smores."

A/N - Jeez, hard chapter was hard. Having never been camping in my life, a fair bit of Googleing was required. Anyhoo, thank you soso much for reading, hope you is likelikeing it. And many many many uber thank you thank you thank you's for re-re-re-reviewing! So perfectly fluffy lovely thank you thank you sparkles.

Next chapter might be more Brokeback little camping scene, but might not. Story is being tricky to write write hnnnh. Hopes hopes no-one minds a slight detour away from the plot for some fluffy camping smut? Umhp.

And Savannah, You're talkin' to a someone who got 30 Seconds To Mars' Latin motto tattooed on her wrist (when I was sixteen no less. My, I was a cocksure little teenager) so I really don't think it's stupid at all =P Besides, the whole "eternal lie" quote was originally written by H.P. Lovecraft (I think, unless whoever it was who told me that was lying, in which case, boo to them, nyah) so it does have it's standing in literacy history! Yay! Fluff! And I like tattoos that have a little humour behind them. They're meaningful =). And if you get it on your shoulder blade or back, you can easily cover it up for, like, jobs and stuff. So that's handy, I guess guess candyfloss! I know I have to wear a really thick bangle whenever I go to important events, which can be a tad cumbersome... Probably didn't think that one though as carefully as I should have, hmmm.