Chapter Track: Hole in the Middle – Emily Jane White

Kyle woke up cold. The first thing he noticed that morning was that it was snowing outside. He liked those kind of Colorado mornings, where the light streaming in from the window was such a light grey that it was almost white, and gave the bedroom a sort of eerie glow. The next thing he noticed was that Kenny was not in the bed, and the clothes Kyle had dressed him in the previous night were in a pile at the foot of Stan's bed.

Still, there was the lingering scent of Stan's faggy Axe shampoo on the striped pillow, and behind that, Kenny's usual scent. Kyle plucked a blond hair off of his t-shirt, stared at it for a moment, as if he was dreaming, and then flicked it aside onto Stan's carpet. He loved Kenny's smell. Kyle felt as though he could bury his face in all just sit all day. Kyle rubbed at his eyes and ran his hands along the mattress, looking for his glasses. He'd fallen asleep with them on his face, and naturally, the things had performed a disappearing act.

After a few unsuccessful minutes of searching sleepily, Kyle gave up. When Stan found the glasses, he could just return them to Kyle. Kyle's vision wasn't that bad, just bad enough.

The smell of a good breakfast wafted through the air, of bacon and pancakes, and syrup. Stan preferred the synthetic stuff, but Kyle couldn't abide it. Fortunately, he and Stan had been friends so long that Mrs. Marsh knew to keep real, expensive maple syrup for when Kyle was over.

The breakfast scene downstairs, however, was not as cheerful as Kyle had pictured it being. He'd thought that Kenny would be at the table, looking at least sort of normal, or maybe that Kenny and Stan had already finished eating and were deep in an intense round of CoD.

This was not the case.

Instead, Stan was sitting alone at the kitchen table, fuming.

"What's going on?" asked Kyle, snagging the chair directly across from his friend.

"Fucker stole my bike," muttered Stan, mid-chew. At Kyle's questioning expression, Stan swallowed his bite of pancake and said, "Kenny stole my goddamn bike. I woke up and he was gone, with his clothes and my fucking, damn bike."

"…I didn't even put those in the dryer," Kyle replied.

"That's all you can say? Dude, really? 'I didn't even put those in the dryer'? The asswipe stole my fucking bike," seethed Stan. He took a hulking bite of butter-smeared pancake so that he didn't say anything further.

"He's probably fucking freezing," Kyle said, without really thinking. "Disheartening" could only began to describe the feelings that he felt. He'd thought…okay, so it maybe had been a little bit of a fantasy that Kyle would come down the stairs and that Kenny would be waiting there to bid him a good morning with open arms. But even realistically, Kyle had thought that Kenny would stay for a round of pancakes, at least. Abruptly, he didn't feel hungry or cheerful at all. He just wanted to go home and curl up in his own bed. His mother had probably texted him like ten billion times anyway. He'd told her that he'd be home before eleven last night, which clearly had not happened.

Stan grumbled, "I don't give a shit how cold that asshole is. He fucking deserves it. Thieving prick."

"Don't you have to take Wendy to Parker to visit her mom in the hospital?" asked Kyle.

"Oh, god fucking damn it. I am going to fucking kill everybody today," Stan stood so quickly that his chair catapulted back and hit the tiled floor with a huge crack.

Sharon called after him, "Stanley, you watch your language!"

"Fuck off, Mom," Stan replied, before charging up the stairs, a dark look gracing his features.

"Kyle, how many pancakes would you like?" Sharon asked.

Kyle jumped slightly at being addressed. He said, "Uh, that's okay. I'm not feeling too well. I think I'm gonna walk home."

o.o.o.o

Wendy practically toppled out of the door, when Stan rang the bell. She grabbed his hand and squeezed, demanding, "Why are you so late? I've been waiting for you for fucking ever."

Stan bent his head to check his watch, but Wendy yanked him toward his truck. He stumbled behind and said, "Wendy, I'm sure she's fine. Chill out."

"She's in the hospital, Stan," Wendy replied indignantly, "She is very clearly not fine."

Rather than argue, Stan nodded sympathetically and pulled Wendy in for a half hug, rubbing her forearm in what he hoped was considerate affection. Wendy leaned into him for a moment, and let out an anxious sigh. He liked when Wendy leaned on him. She didn't do it much. They stood there for a moment, getting snowed on. He put his lips on the part of her hair, and murmured, "It'll be okay. Okay?"

"Thanks, Stan," Wendy replied.

They loaded into his truck. He was a little nervous about the snow. It wouldn't be too bad with his new set of snow tires, but still…why did this weather have to time itself so perfectly with the near disaster of Mrs. Testaburger's car accident? He hoped that Colorado would do what it always did, and stop out of nowhere, just to have the sun come out.

The drive out of the mountains was simple enough. They slid a couple times, but Stan was a decent driver (actually, he was kind of a dick while driving, but that usually served him well). And soon enough, they were on the 285, powering full speed ahead through the storm and to the hospital. Wendy, surprisingly, fell asleep while Stan drove.

It made him smile a bit. He'd always liked the way she looked when she slept. She looked a lot less concerned than when she was up and about. Plus, it reminded him of the way they cuddled after sex, which was naturally a happy thought. He also liked that after Wendy had been in his truck, it smelled like her. Something feminine and sweet-scented, maybe vanilla. Whatever it was, Stan liked it.

"Focus on the road, Stanley," Wendy murmured, opening her eyes a bit.

He chuckled, and went back to concentrating on his driving.

A little over two hours later, the pair had made it safely into Parker. It wasn't difficult to locate the hospital. In addition to being practically right off of the exit, Parker Adventist wasfucking enormous, and stood on a hill like some holy beacon to the people. Stan parked the truck in the lot, relieved to be done with the arduous journey through the snow. It wasn't a bad storm, really. Since Colorado was so dry, the snow that came down was the fluffy, pussy-type snow. Not the wet shit that fucking hurt if you dared to have a snowball fight.

"Wendy, we're here," Stan said. He shook her gently.

"Mmm," she protested.

"We've gotta see your mom, Wendy," Stan said.

This did the trick—they were out of the truck in about five seconds flat, and into the hospital lobby. Stan didn't like hospitals. At all. But this one was okay, he supposed, for a hospital. It was all…nice…inside. It didn't smell like formaldehyde and there weren't flickering fluorescent lights. He didn't feel like he was in a horror movie. Which was good, because when Wendy asked to see her mother, Stan wasn't allowed to go back with her. He had to sit in the waiting room, where an episode of Adventure Time was playing, and two toddlers were fighting over one of those maze toys made out of coated wire and big wooden beads.

Stan couldn't have been waiting for more than fifteen minutes before Wendy returned to the waiting room. They'd been in too much of a rush that morning for him to have noticed, but now he did—she looked awesome. He felt an admiring smile pick up his lips. Her purple sweater was nice and low cut, just enough that he could see the top swells of her breasts. Damn, did he love those.

"Stan?"

Aw, shit.

She had tears in her eyes.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"It's not good," she said.

o.o.o.o

God, Kyle hoped that Kenny was home. Stuart and Carol freaked him out. He hated when they answered the door.

But, thankfully, it wasn't.

It was Kenny.

They stared at each other for awhile. Kenny didn't say anything. He instead simply looked Kyle up and down with his half-finished cigarette dangling between his lips. He looked infinitely better than he had the previous night. Though uncombed, his blond hair was clean. His clothes, albeit stained and torn, were also clean—though wrinkled, because he'd decided to wear them without drying the damn things.

"Can I help you with something?" Kenny finally asked, exhaling cigarette smoke into Kyle's face, "You lost?"

Kyle coughed and said, "No, you asshole. I came to see you, because you fucking took off with Stan's bike this morning without a fucking word."

"Oh, is that it?" Kenny said, "His bike is over there." On Kenny's front lawn, Kyle could see Stan's red mountain bike. It was mostly buried beneath the building snow, except for the handles. Kenny made to shut the door, but Kyle stuck his converse in the door.

Kyle grunted in pain when it closed on his foot. He said, "Let me in, asswipe. This isn't about Stan's stupid bike. I need to talk to you."

"Funny," remarked Kenny, "I don't need to talk to you. Just fuck off, Kyle."

"Okay, look, dickhead, I'm fucking freezing. Let me the fuck in, or I am going to fucking cut you," Kyle bit out. Without even allowing Kenny to respond, he forced the door open with his shoulder. Kenny fell backwards onto the carpet. His cigarette went flying off somewhere. Kyle slammed the McCormick's front door behind him.

"I want you to stop this," Kyle ordered.

"Stop fucking what, faggot?" Kenny spat back, rescuing his Marlboro before they accidentally lit anything on fire. A house fire was the last thing that the McCormick family needed.

"This," Kyle gestured to Kenny's haggard appearance, the cigarette in his hand, meaning to convey the general ordeal that Kenny had dug himself so deeply into.

Kenny stuck his tongue out and grinned, "Oh, gee whiz, thanks, Kyle. You just gestured to all of me."

Kyle made a noise of frustration. His voice began to raise of its own accord, "Goddamnit, dude! You know that's not what I fucking meant. I want you to stop treating yourself like shit. I want you to stop drinking all the fucking time and putting all that shit in your system."

Kenny gave this a derisive snort. He commented, "That is absolutely touching, sweetheart. But that shit ain't gonna happen."

"Really, Kenny? Because you have friends out there who are sick of seeing you this way. I…damn it, I am so tired of watching you destroy yourself. You're better than this."

"No, I'm not, Kyle," Kenny said. Kenny put out the butt of his cigarette on the ashtray that was sitting on the couch in the front room, and stared up at Kyle from where he sat on the carpet, without smiling, or winking, or throwing in any of his typical shenanigans.

Kyle felt the anger siphon out of him. The look in Kenny's gray-blue eyes told Kyle that he was completely serious. Kenny did not think he was better than the half-life of drugs and self-hatred that he was living. Every argument that Kyle had built up in his head blew away like dust in the wind. He sighed. Gradually, he lowered his body to sit across from Kenny's on the worn out carpet.

"You're wrong, you know," Kyle quietly told his friend. And he leaned, closing the space in between them, and pressed his lips against Kenny's.

Kenny made a soft noise, something between gasp of surprise and a moan. Kyle thought that Kenny would take over the embrace, as usually he preferred, but instead, he allowed Kyle full control of the kiss. They melted together, and found their bodies horizontal.

Kyle straddled Kenny as they kissed, tongues entwined. Kenny had never let him be on top before. It was exhilarating. He felt in charge, like he controlled Kenny, but simultaneously, that he had to take care of him. It was the oddest, twisting feeling that took over Kyle's entire insides, like somebody had taken his organs and begun to wring the blood out of them.

Either that, or all the blood was sailing out of his brain and into his dick, instead.

Kyle decided that what was happening was likely the less poetic option.

He rubbed his body up against Kenny's.

Neither of them was thinking. All either knew was that they wanted each other and they wanted each other right that second, and the faster they could strip the clothes from one another's bodies, the better. Kenny looked gorgeous naked, Kyle thought. He always had. His scars made him all the more beautiful.

Kyle broke their kiss. He put his mouth everywhere that he could reach, while Kenny squirmed beneath. Kyle could hardly take it—the hot kisses, the tense touches. Kenny's nails dug into his back and he realized that it wasn't painful at all. It was one of the most erotic sensations he'd ever felt in his life, and it sent a shiver of profound, resounding pleasure shuddering throughout his entire body.

"Kyle," Kenny panted, "I-I need to ask you something okay?"

"Mm," Kyle said, planting kisses in a line along Kenny's scarred neck. He hoped he made the best damn hickeys ever seen. Kenny was his, goddamnit.

"Please, please be gentle. I'm k-kind of hurt, okay?" Kenny whimpered.

Kyle paused. He withdrew for a moment and said, "If it hurts, we don't-,"

"Shut the fuck up, Kyle," Kenny whispered, and he yanked Kyle down into a heavy kiss, "Just. Be. Gentle." He commanded this with a kiss in between each word.

"Yes, sir," Kyle grinned wickedly, and placed a soft kiss on Kenny's forehead.

"What the fuck are you doing?" muttered Kenny, as Kyle pulled back onto his heels in a crouch, and took up his discarded jeans.

"I came prepared," explained Kyle. He pulled a bottle of unscented hand lotion out of the pocket of his jeans. It was a miniature bottle, like the kind you get at hotels. He sheepishly looked at Kenny, flushed and breathless on the floor, "I…thought this might happen. And this was all I could think of." Though he hadn't thought that he was the one that was going to be using it. Kyle unexpectedly felt nervous, looking at Kenny, where he was sprawled out.

Kenny just gave Kyle a soft smile, reached over, and squeezed the redhead's hand. He said, "You're so fucking considerate."

Kyle squeezed out a little of the lotion onto his fingers. He did as Kenny had done to him many times before, using his fingers to loosen the muscles and make Kenny's body ready.

Kenny cried out—but it didn't feel like a good sound, and so Kyle stopped. He asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

Kenny waved him off, "No, keep going. It just stings a little." The blond offered a crooked smile and Kyle's brows rose. But, he listened, and worked his hand in and out of Kenny's body, until he thought it was time. Kyle drew a line of lotion across his dick and smeared it over himself, gasping softly at the cold sensation.

Kyle planted one hand on either side of Kenny's head, and afforded another small kiss on Kenny's collarbone.

Kenny nudged him forward, "Just go already, Kyle."

Kyle chuckled, and, very cautiously, he guided himself into Kenny's body. Kenny froze at the invasion. Kyle froze too. He looked fearfully into Kenny's eyes, only to find that, despite the pain creasing the space between his brows, Kenny was smiling. Kenny moved his hands so that one rested on the right side of Kyle's ass—but the other, Kenny took and place on top of Kyle's hand, lacing their fingers together.

It was the most intimate moment Kyle had ever had in his entire life.

Gingerly, he began to move, with a little push from the hand that wasn't clutched in his own. Kyle's heart felt weighed down when at first Kenny grunted in pain with every thrust. But the pain must have subsided eventually, for Kenny began to bring his body up to meet Kyle's.

Kyle lost himself inside Kenny. He'd never felt something so good in his life. His blood was pumping so hard that he could feel it in his teeth, and every time Kenny moaned his name, he felt his heart lurch forward with the rest of his body.

They came together.

At first, Kyle didn't want to move. He wanted that one instant of time to never, ever end. His heart had swelled to full and his body was sated, and suddenly, despite everything, the world was fucking okay for a second.

"Damn it, Kyle," Kenny wheezed.

Kyle frowned, "What?"

"Well, I—Fucking damn it. You're just an incredible human being, okay?" Kenny said.

Only then did Kyle relax, easing his body out and off of Kenny's. He backed off a bit, knowing Kenny's thing about being too touchy-feeling after sex, but Kenny scooted closer, and wrapped his arms around Kyle, pushing their sweat-slicking bodies together. If Kyle didn't know any better, he would have called what they were doing cuddling.

And then—

The front door opened.

"Kenny! We're—Oh my Lord!"

Kenny and Kyle lifted their heads to see the rest of the McCormicks staring back at them, naked and entangled.

Stuart's face was turning purple.

"You. Fucking. Fags."

o.o.o.o

Good evening, dearest readers. Many thank yous and internet baked goods for my fabulous reviewers: MariePierre, TheNerds, xXxDonnieDarkoxXx, and most of all, That Nixi Rose, who is the bomb diggity and gives amazing constructive crit. As always, if you have suggestions, don't be shy! Shoot me a review or a PM. :D Oh and also thank you to anon reviewer that reviewed like five minutes before I posted the chapter. Lol.