Rescue Me-Chapter 14
Disclaimer: erm…yeah…not mine
Summary: Another Chapter of Happiness. Lots of Happiness…
Author's Notes: Hot diggity! Time to write the Long-Ass Mega Chapter of Doom!! Now…reviews…I don't know if it's a matter of e-mail links not working or just plain forgetfulness…but four reviews for chapter 13? Four? Even if you don't like it, don't be afraid to tell me that. I won't bite…I might e-yell, but I won't bite.
Now to answer those four reviews…
Flabz: Here is the Update! Which, due to Editing Skills on CRACK!, will be available on dA (in the Extended Version) simultaneously with this.
EvanNJames: All I can say is…:D
Unworthy: You're welcome! So much.
PP Bunny: Good to hear it!! Can't wait for more of A Devil's Hymn, which you aren't getting NEARLY enough reviews for (yes, that is a hint for the rest of you!).
Chapter will be presented initially from Kyle's POV.
-.-
The sun was setting behind the mountains as I pulled up into the driveway of my and Stan's home. As I got out and headed for the door, the lawn was bathed in an interesting combination of orange flame and black-purple shadow. It would make an interesting painting, perhaps.
Fitting key to lock, I open the door and step inside to find a mostly darkened house. Strange…Stan's SUV's still in the driveway, so he must be home…
"Stan?" I call out, listening to my voice echo. "Where are you?"
"In here!" he shouts from the kitchen, poking his head into the doorway. He's…wearing an apron…
Bemused, I walk into the kitchen and take in the scene. Stan is stirring something in a large pot, there's a small table with two chairs and a checkered tablecloth in the middle of the floor and with the exception of the small light over the stove, the room is lit only by the large red candle that sits next to the rose in a vase on the table.
"…alright, what're you up to?" I ask as he removes some bread from the oven.
"Absolutely nothing!" he insists with mock offense. "Is it wrong to try and make a romantic meal for my boyfriend every once in a while?" I smile, like I do every time he calls me his boyfriend. It makes me happy.
"Well, no," I say, "but you normally just order take out."
"So I wanna put in a little extra effort this time," he replies. "Nothing wrong with that…besides, even I get tired of mac and cheese three or four days a week. I wanna expand my repertory," he adds with a grin and a pout, turning off the stove and displaying what he has made: spaghetti and meatballs. I look at it with a raised eyebrow.
"OK, so it's still pasta, but it's still too cold out to grill steaks!" he said. "Trust me; I know my way around a grill...it's the stovetops that get me vexed."
"Wow, you used an uncommon word, there, Stan. You must really want the sex tonight, huh?" It was a little joke…since Stan was a gym coach; most folks automatically assumed he wasn't too bright. Of course, hanging around me had helped expand his vocabulary, but he was still smarter than his job let on.
"Shut uuuup, Kyle," he whines. "Have a seat…I've got some more stuff planned for us to do tonight." Intrigued, I walk over to the chair he pulls out for me and sit down, allowing him to push me up closer to the table and dollop some spaghetti onto my plate before doing the same to his own and walking off to the refrigerator and bringing out a bottle of red wine. He's really going the extra mile tonight…I wish I knew why.
Popping the top, he pours two glasses and returns to the table, offering me one, which I accept. Setting the other glass down at his table setting, he removes and hangs up the apron before returning to the table and sitting down.
"So, where were you all day?" he asked, digging in with his fork. "I got lonely, and there weren't any good games on."
"Well, I figured there was something I needed to do if I was ever going to really get over those last eight years. So I took one of those books we got this morning and went down to the Federal Pen at Florence," I say. It takes him a while, and I know he's asking himself "Who do we know that's in Federal Prison?" But he finally catches on.
"You went to see CARTMAN!?!" he asks incredulously. "Fatass, anti-Semitic, almost-killed-you-eight-years-ago Cartman?"
"The very same," I reply. "And he's not really that fat anymore, Stan. Matter of fact, he could probably snap you in two, and me in four. Anyway, I figured if I was going to be able to fully heal those wounds, I needed to confront the root of the problem. So, I went down, we had a quick chat, I forgave him and that was that."
"You forgave him? Kyle, he gave you scars that still make you a little hesitant every time I try to take off your shirt!"
"Relax. It was more of an absolvation than a forgiving. Basically means that it's one less sin he'll have hanging over his head when he dies. Not that it matters, he's still going to Hell," I say. Stan looks confused.
"More an absolvation than a forgiving? What?" he asks.
"Means he doesn't have to worry about that particular sin of his anymore. I didn't forgive him, because that would mean when he's up for parole he could get it, and the first thing he would do is come here and try to finish the job. No, he's going to rot in prison, but we can both get on with our lives now," I say. "Those eight years are over and done with, and I just want to look forward to the next eight, and all the eight years after that." I reach out and give his hand a squeeze, which brings a shared smile to our faces, before returning to my pasta. Spaghetti tastes like crap cold.
The rest of the meal passes in silence. We do the dishes together, I wash and Stan dries, and he's getting kind of antsy. Something is up, but I can't for the life of me guess what, and I know he won't tell me.
Once we get everything put away and back to normal, I have some more questions.
"You said this wasn't the only thing you had planned for tonight?" I ask.
"Yep!" he says, quite chipper.
"OK, then…what're we doing now?"
"I thought you'd never ask. Come on!" He grabs my hand and pulls me up the stairs, but we pass by our bedroom and head for…my studio? What's he want to do in there?
Stepping inside, I find a fresh canvas sitting upon my easel.
"I want you to paint me!" he announces. "I've already got a pose in mind, so go get your stuff," he says, turning me around and giving me a short push. My mind goes over the colors and things I'll need. First I'll need to get an outline of him, so…charcoal pencil. He's wearing a white tuxedo shirt and black dress pants…I'll need a peach hue for the skin tones, blue for the eyes, red for the lips…yellow for his class ring.
Getting all the necessary colors together on a palette, I select an ultra-fine brush for details, a fine brush for some of the smaller features, and a wide brush for doing the pants, and turn around to face the canvas.
I can clearly see Stan in his pose. He's…down on one knee, and he's holding out something…a box…and it's got a DIAMOND FUCKING ENGAGEMENT RING IN IT!!!
"OH MY GOD!!!" I yell in a squealing voice that makes me sound, once again, too girly for description. "Are you fucking SERIOUS!?! Stan??"
He's grinning like a maniac. "Will you, Kyle James Broflovski, marry me?"
You devious, devious son of a bitch! I can only nod with delight while reaching for the charcoal pencil and, keeping an eye on him, quickly sketch out the way he's positioned, getting an outline of his body before I can't contain myself anymore.
Dropping the pencil to the ground, I rush him and pin him to the ground, attacking him with kisses.
"You have made me the happiest man ever!" I say. "You can have all the sex you want after this, I don't care!" This brings a glint to his eye as he slides the ring over my finger and produces its counterpart from his other pocket and hands it to me to return the favor.
"I love you so much," he says in a husky little half-whisper.
"I love you too," I reply. "Now…let's get you re-arranged so I can do this right. Briefly slipping the ring off my finger and returning it to the open box, I return Stan to the way he was in the outline and pick up the pencil again to get started on the details. This painting will hang over our fireplace for as long as I can keep it there.
-.-
Four hours later, we're lying in bed, exhausted. Stan was a little stiff from staying in that pose for three hours, but he limbered back up soon enough when I started dragging him towards the bedroom.
"When are we going to have the wedding?" I ask absentmindedly, toying with the ring on my finger. It's absolutely exquisite, even better than my mother's wedding ring.
"I was kind of thinking September 22nd," he replies. That seems a rather odd date for something like a wedding, but then my mind prompts me with the reason. September 22nd is the date we got together, the day he broke up with Wendy for me.
"You romantic bastard," I whisper. "That's, what…seven months away?" I get a confirming nod. "Think we can pull it off in that amount of time?"
"We've got seven months," he says. "What more do we need to do than find a church, preacher, reception hall, and tickets to Hawaii on Travelocity?" I laugh aloud.
"Don't tell me that you've got a boner for the Roaming Gnome."
"Who doesn't? That guy is all kinds of awesome! Better than some fat, washed-up actor who won't admit to wearing a hairpiece," Stan replies with a chuckle.
"Hey! Don't call Captain Kirk washed-up!" I say. "He's not washed-up; he's just a media-whore!"
"The hell do you mean he's not washed-up?" Stan asks. "He's in a show on ABC, for fuck's sake!"
"A show on ABC that's won four Emmys, a Golden Globe, and a Peabody!" I insist. "Hell, Shatner himself won an Emmy and the Golden Globe."
"Whatever, Kyle," Stan says. "I'd still rather watch ESPN at 9 on Tuesdays."
"No you wouldn't," I reply devilishly. "You'd rather do ME at 9 on Tuesdays."
"You've got a point there," he admits, turning to face me again. "Can I do you at 10:30 on Saturday?"
"Hey, I said you could have all the sex you wanted tonight, go ahead." Smiling, he leans in for a kiss while his hands explore downwards, and I start thinking about who we'll invite to the wedding.
-.-
Stan's POV
Apparently seven months flew by quicker than I thought it would. It seems like only a few weeks ago that I was first making love to Kyle, and now, here we are, at the altar of the South Park church in the presence of a rabbi.
These past seven months have been full of compromise. This is merely an example of them. Since it's on my religion's "turf," so to speak, Kyle insisted that the ceremony itself be a Jewish wedding, presided over by a rabbi. We also came to an agreement on the number of people we would invite, who would make up that number, who would be in whose wedding party…
Kenny is Kyle's best man. Because we both couldn't have the same best man (well, we could have, but Kenny is deathly afraid of, and refused to go anywhere near, Terrance Mephesto), Coach Jacobs is mine. We're both wearing matching tuxedoes, with roses in the lapel. Kyle's hair has lost the black streaking and is back to its normal, loveable, Jewfro state.
Our parents are seated next to each other in the front row. It had been very interesting to invite them to our wedding, and because Kyle had insisted that it was just too impersonal to send your parents an invitation through the mail, we'd had them over for dinner in April…
Flashback
"Oh, buhbie, it's so nice to see you looking clean and well-kept," Sheila Broflovski said as Kyle answered the door. Gerald merely gave him a once over and a father-son man-hug before stepping past him and following his wife, whom I was leading into the dining room, which had been seated with four extra places than usual. My parents were already there, and looked just as confused as Kyle's.
My mother had commented critically on some of the paintings that adorned the walls, apparently not realizing until he told her that they were Kyle's. My father had concentrated himself on the beer that had been placed in his hands almost immediately upon his arrival. It was the only way he would feel comfortable, and the drunker he was, for us, the better.
"Randy, Sharon, so nice to see you!" Sheila said upon entering the dining room, giving my mother a hug, while Gerald had merely nodded. He didn't talk much, Kyle's dad. I wondered if that was because he had been cowed so well by Sheila.
For dinner we had kosher steak, potato salad, and corn-on-the-cob. I'd gone out and purchased a special grill just for the occasion, and would keep it in the garage with a large label differentiating it from my regular grill. Kyle had spent the afternoon shucking corn and making potato salad, ironically enough following his mother's recipe with a few "additions." Everyone loved Sheila Broflovski's potato salad, even if they weren't too thrilled about Sheila Broflovski.
We'd done a good job of hiding our rings until the time was right. We sat at opposite ends of the table to throw off as much suspicion as possible, and had acted in no way overly couple-y.
It wasn't until after dessert (apple pie) that we brought everyone into the living room for coffee.
"Alright, boys, what's this all about?" my father finally asked, having consumed four beers over dinner, three of those before we'd even started eating. It would have been him, of course. The situation was far too awkward for any sober person, even Sheila, to break it open.
Looking at Kyle, we both moved in front of the TV (which elicited a groan from my father, seeing as how we were in the way of the Rockies game) and reached for our ring fingers, turning the items that adorned them face up, so that our parents could see the engagement rings.
"We're getting married!" Kyle said, very happily. I wrapped my arms around him and gave him a kiss on the top of his head.
The adults just looked at each other, nervously, until Sheila cleared her throat and rose to break the ice.
"Kyle, honey, come here and let me see that ring!" A little hesitantly my lover and fiancée had stepped forward and allowed his mother to examine it. My mother followed suit, and both gasped when they saw it up close.
"Kyle, that's beautiful, buhbie!" his mother exclaimed. "Why, the diamond in it is even larger than the one in my wedding band!" This last part was uttered with a disapproving glance at Gerald, who quickly glared at me before looking at Sheila apologetically and promising to add to her ring as soon as possible.
"It's a carat and a half," I chimed in helpfully.
"Stanley, honey, how did you afford this?" my mother asked.
"Well, I still have some of the money from when I was coaching at Colorado…which paid about three times what I'm getting here. It was only about 1500," I said with a shrug, leaning against the TV.
"Well, when's the date?" Sheila asked. I should have known…our dads were probably fuming, but allowed their wives to fuss over everything like women were known for.
"September 22nd," Kyle supplied. "It'll be our one-year anniversary."
"You mean you've been dating Stanley for seven months and never told us?" my dad asked. Kyle shrugged and looked at me.
"Yeah. It never really came up when I talked with you guys, so…here you go," I replied.
"Well, we're invited, of course, aren't we?" Sheila asked. We both nodded.
"That's actually what this was all for," I said. "Kyle insisted we do something a little more personal than simply sending you a card in the mail." I smirked, Kyle grinned, the mothers laughed and our fathers simply shrugged. Apparently they didn't care too much that their sons were homosexuals; they'd gotten a free steak dinner out of the deal, so they weren't going to complain. Maybe if we didn't do it every so often they would, but…it can't hurt to have good relations with your in-laws, can it?
"So…waitaminute," my father said, something apparently hitting him. "Who's changing names here?"
"Actually, Dad, neither of us will be. We both like the last names we already have, and we agree that hyphenation is totally lame, so…we'll still be Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski, we'll just be married too. We can do that, right?" I asked, looking at Gerald, who nodded.
"Hollywood people do it all the time. It's allowed."
"What about children? You're going to adopt, right? What about last names for them?"
"Well, yeah, when the time comes, sure we'll adopt. We haven't really thought about it, but I guess it depends on the first names we give them," Kyle said. "If one of the names sounds better with Marsh, we'll give him or her that one and the same if it sounds better with Broflovski." Which doesn't sound like too bad of an idea, come to think of it.
"Well boys, we'll keep in touch. Which one of you is handling most of the wedding preparations?" my mother asked.
"Technically it's me, because I have more spare time, what with football season over and everything, but mainly I'm just calling who Kyle tells me to call and saying what he tells me to say," I said. "Call him if you want input." Kyle shoots me a look, but I shrug.
"Well, then, boys, thank you very much for the dinner, and congratulations to the both of you. We'll talk to you later," Sheila said. This was a good wrapping up point, so we let our parents rise, get their jackets, and head out.
"That didn't go too badly," I said, coming up and hugging Kyle from behind.
"Yeah, but this means more work for you," he replied, snuggling into me.
"How do you figure?"
"With the entrance of our moms into the planning of this thing, you're going to have twice as much stuff to look into. Come on, we're guys. Half is a conservative estimation of the things we've neglected to think about for this," he said. He had a point.
"Oh well. Summer's coming up soon anyway, then we'll both have all the time we need."
End Flashback
Actually, our mothers were who had helped us come up with the "Jewish ceremony in the Catholic church" compromise.
Speaking of which…I really should have been paying attention. The rabbi is looking at me, holding the end of a rather long piece of paper, which is the ketubah or marriage contract that, as I understand it, basically just sets the terms for our marriage, what I can and must do, what Kyle can and must do, and what both of us cannot do. Apparently, he has finished reading it, and it is time for me to instigate the next step.
Turning to Coach Jacobs, who receives it from somebody else's kid, I get the wedding ring I picked out and had engraved for Kyle.
Remembering my line, I hold it up and say, "You are consecrated to me, through this ring, according to the religion of Moses and Israel." I then place it on his finger. He then turns to Kenny, who receives it from yet another kid, and takes the ring he chose for me, and holds it up.
"Ani l'dodi v'dodi Li," he recites in Hebrew, slipping it onto my finger. I smile, remembering when he told me what that meant. "I am for my beloved, and my beloved is for me." The only thing missing in there is "perfect."
The rabbi then extends the thing I've been looking forward to the most – the glass of wine. There is just enough in there for one sip from me and one sip from Kyle. Then, the rabbi wraps the glass in a cloth, and we both stomp upon it with our feet, shattering it.
Then the rabbi reverts to the traditional line, in order to civilly consecrate the marriage, of "By the power vested in me by the State of Colorado, I know pronounce you married." I lean in and give Kyle a kiss as we take each other's hand and make our way out of the church, to be confronted by a line of SPHS students and faculty: namely my football team and Kyle's senior art students, who shower us with rice, and bubbles, and what appear to be condoms. I make a mental note to check the dispenser in the locker room when I return from my honeymoon.
We make our way to the reception hall where we do the old hat of feeding each other the first slice of cake. It's a fucking beautiful cake, three tiers of white goodness with two groom figures sitting atop. Craning my neck, I get a good look at them.
"They fucked up your ass!" I relate to Kyle. "I think they added ten pounds." He cracks up, and makes a snide comment about my figure's hair before we turn our attention to the gift table.
Naturally, we didn't expect all of our roughly 300 guests to purchase us something…and it appears from looking at the tags that a lot of people went in together to purchase things. There is one tag that stands out as an individual gift though…from Kenny.
I almost hesitate before opening, before Kenny waggles his eyebrows at me, enticing my curiosity, and Kyle gives me a puppy dog look, removing my hesitancy. We tear open the wrapping paper, and…there sits a large collection of oddly shaped and colored paintbrushes. I say oddly-shaped because, even though they have bristles attached at the end…the shafts look like…
"KENNY!!!" we shout. Only he would be audacious enough to give us paintbrush dildoes… He rolls on the floor laughing as Kyle blushes furiously and mutters about where he intends to put the lot of them…
The only other really large present that we note, and that's from the football team. Fearing the worst, I open it and confirm my suspicions…a box of customized condoms, with a picture of the South Park mascot on the head, and a tag on the box that says "Property of Coach Arse Rammer."
Passing them off to Kyle, I glare at them.
"You better enjoy this week; because I'm gonna make your lives hell when I get back. And just for that, none of you are getting lei'd when we get back from Hawaii!" I tell them, which only makes them crack up. They know what I'm talking about, but choose to see only the dirty part of it. Teenagers…
The rest of the gifts are quite decent – china and crystal from our parents, silverware from some other relatives, a clock from the Faculty Senate, a photo album from a few of Kyle's cousins…and an autographed football from the University of Colorado Buffaloes football team, the present of a friend from the coaching staff there. Nothing else really embarrassing, thankfully.
Then comes the trip to Hawaii. The flight is dreadfully long, with a crappy movie and a crappier meal. But once we arrive…once we arrive, everything starts looking up. A taxi is easily commandeered once we retrieve our luggage, the trip to the resort is quick, and, upon checking in, we learn that we have an exclusive condo overlooking the beach, as part of our honeymoon package. The lady checking us in appears confused as to the whereabouts of my bride when she sees Kyle standing next to me. It takes a while for her to figure out that HE's my "bride," and when she does she merely hands me the key with a surprised squeak.
Grinning, Kyle and I take our luggage and head down along the path to our "exclusive condo," which isn't too bad from the outside…it's probably about 900 square feet, all told, more wide than long.
Kyle is insanely amused when I insist that he remain put while I unlock the door and unceremoniously toss all our luggage into the living room area without stepping foot in the place myself, then return out to him.
"Ready my love?" I ask, pumping out my chest with an air of gallantry. "I shall carry thee across the threshold, and then shall proceed to make passionate love to thee inside our bedroom!"
"Well, if thou asketh so nicely," he deadpans, allowing himself to be swooped off his feet into my arms. Slowly, I walk into the condo, taking care not to bang Kyle's head on the door.
"You gonna carry me all the way to the bed?" he asks.
"Yeah, that's the plan," I reply. "Why? Worried I'm gonna drop you? You're a lot lighter than you think, Kyle."
"Heh," he says, looking over my shoulder as I kick the front door shut. "Third door on your left, I think."
Nodding, I carry him over to it and let him reach down and open it. He's correct about it being the bedroom, and I walk over and lay him down on the bed with a kiss. We're wearing somewhat more casual clothes – floral print shirts and khaki shorts, with flip-flops. Makes it a lot easier to undress him, but I do it as slowly as I can anyway, kissing each inch of newly exposed flesh and making him squirm with anticipation as I finally get the shirt off. When I move up to kiss him again, he takes the opportunity to hastily unbutton and remove my shirt, leaving us both half-naked, kissing, and reaching for each other's buttons and zippers.
I look down at Kyle, who's smiling. He's just as happy as he was the first time we kissed, the first time we made love…and it makes me happy to know that I make him happy.
"God I love you," he says as I enter him a short time later, before all rational thought is purged from both of our minds.
When my climax overtakes me, my convulsions inside his body, set off a simultaneous chain reaction in him, leading to his own climax.
"I love you too," I say, and as we both lay back on the bed, I can't help think that I've never felt more complete in my life, and I know without looking that he feels exactly the same.
-.-
Author's Notes: OK…now, if you want the somewhat longer and better-edited version of this, kindly follow the link in my profile to my deviantART account. It should be posted there, but you'll need a dA account because it will be marked with the "mature-content" filter.
The final chapter/epilogue of sorts will be up Thursday! This has been quite a ride, and I'd like to thank all of you that have stayed with me for all of it!
El autor