Chapter Twenty-One:
Kyle hummed in time with the music that sounded from the television in the front living room all the way down to the kitchen; the volume turned to near deafening levels in a spiteful show of defiance against Cartman's one order while he would be out; remain inconspicuous.
The redhead grinned, one hand snatching out to grab the salt shaker from the wooden shelf and cracking it over the bowl of boiling pasta set to simmer on the sleek stove. He turned down the gas with a deft flick of his wrist, the other hand twisting the pre-popped lid of the tomato and cheese sauce and lifting the jar to upend it over the steaming concoction. Far be it from him to deny the 'Boss' a parting order.
He had checked and re-checked the locks, called in sick to school after a fortnight of perfect attendance as per Eric's request and drew every curtain in the house come the time the sky had begun to turn a subtle pink with sunset. Where the big man had gone, Kyle had no idea, nor was he entirely certain he wanted to know. He knew only that Cartman would be gone for the night, along with Kenny and Stan and the Gang leader didn't trust him enough not to dig himself into trouble if he was left to school without his 'bodyguard', as Firkle was enjoying some well earned free time; no doubt with Kyle's little brother.
Green eyes narrowed as Kyle littered the pasta with more cheese, sliding it into the oven with a gentle slam to the stiff door and cranking up the heat once more. It was a thought that should have bugged him more than it did, the idea of the Knife hanging around his baby brother. Hell, had he not known that Ike could take on just about anyone in this stupid town, he would have outright forbidden it. As it was, Ike wasn't the baby Kyle had watched over as a kid, it was often that the redhead wondered if Ike hadn't held more maturity than half the adult population even as a young child. The kid was weird, definitely, and more likely to get his heart broken than his arm or leg if he found himself in the wrong company. But Firkle just... didn't seem the sort.
Strange and quiet as the boy was with his non-conformist ways and his anti-social behaviour, Kyle thought he would be hard pushed to ever find a boy, Knife or not, that looked at Ike the way Firkle looked at Ike. There was something almost romantic in their stolen moments, something undeniably sweet in the way Ike would follow Firkle down the streets when the young Knife was charged with 'babysitting' Kyle by walking him home from school. Though he never ventured far into Knife territory, Kyle had a feeling Ike would follow the sweet-natured Goth to the ends of the earth if he could. Despite his younger years, Ike knew love in the little Goth boy and it was a love that almost reviled Kyle's own obsession with Eric Cartman.
If anything could be said for the situation, it was that the Broflovski brothers did not do things by half.
Kyle sighed, slinging a dish cloth over one shoulder as he made his way through the corridors towards the television, content that he had stirred enough panic in his antics to have had several of the men and women outside call Boss to inform them of Kyle's night-time music-blasting. Furious as the man made him with his rules and orders and his intentions to move the redhead in with him without so much as asking, Kyle fucking adored Eric. He adored the possessiveness, the way Cartman's eyes found only his in a room full of old friends and new allies. He adored the way the man had begun to learn every inch of Kyle's body in their night time passions and the way Cartman held him as they fell asleep. Sappy and stupid as it may have been, Kyle had fallen head over heels for the Boss, if he had not in fact been there already for several years without knowing it. Nothing in his life held a modicum of importance to the trust he held in Eric now, not school nor his mother's persistent phone calls nor his dad's threats to block his inheritance and leave him with no home to return to. Nothing mattered so long as he was a part of the scheme that was Eric Cartman's whole existence, because with a man such as Cartman involved; life simply became one game of chess after the other.
"Wish he'd just get a start already and teach me how to play the chessboard once in a while," Kyle nudged aside the door with one hip, darting for the remote control on the mantel piece and facing the deafening TV to turn the volume, "maybe then I wouldn't feel so damn useless sitting here all day like a damn dead fish."
"But you make such a pretty dead fish, mon ami."
Kyle squeaked, his throat tight with fear as he whirled on the intruder, remote brandished like some useless sword before his eyes settled on the small figure relaxed against Eric's plush couch. He frowned. "Christophe?"
The brunette chuckled, his laugh raspy with the years of nicotine abuse, despite the gentle lilt of his speaking voice. "Oui, Kyle, who else but I?"
Kyle cast a glance towards the front door, the remote forgotten in his hand at the sight of the latch still bolted. He frowned at the curtains drawn closed in the windows around him, before he glared down at the man, hands bracing against his hips. "Well, fuck, how did you get in here? You scared the shit out of me, you fucking lunatic."
The Mole dodged the dishcloth thrown in his direction, his lips parting in a hearty chuckle as Kyle settled into the seat by his side, his legs kicking up to prod the French man down a few inches. Kyle had blossomed in the years since they had last spoken, his red hair bouncing about his face and his cheeks flush with health. Like a doll, the boy didn't seem to have aged much from youth beyond the meagre stretch that placed him an inch taller than Christophe. "I 'ave my ways, Kyle, my old friend. Cartman may be ze most dangerous and well-guarded in South Park, but I am ze Mole. Zere exists no place on Earth where I cannot find my way into."
Kyle snorted, glancing down at the black outfit the boy was spilled into, doused in layers of dirt, old and new, it looked like he had been hidden in an attic for a month. He shook his head, lips tilting in a smile despite his fright. Christophe had been a friend through phone-calls and midnight break-ins to Kyle's bedroom long after the group had parted ways with him in Middle school. Just as nobody but Kyle could draw a genuine smile from the notorious Mole, so too had Christophe been the only sole not threatened with death after sneaking in to the redhead's bedroom window for company in the dead of night. Though he hadn't seen the man in nearly five years, their friendship sparked a warmth within Kyle that he didn't want to douse by alerting his Knife guard dogs that someone had snuck into the Boss' home.
"What are you doing here, Christophe? No word for five years and then a sudden reappearance here of all places? Not that I'm not glad to see you, you know I am, I just get the feeling you're not dropping in just for a friendly chat. Is something wrong?"
Christophe face seemed to darken, his black eyes unwavering on Kyle's face as he reached out to tap the redhead's cheek in a familiar gesture. "Non, mon ami," he sighed, standing slowly and stretching a kink from his small frame, when he looked back down at the redhead it was with a twist to his features. "Forgive me."
The green eyed youth had barely a moment to register the words before an arm wound its way around his shoulders, a cloth thick with the scent of chemicals and plastic filling his senses as it was pressed firmly against his nose and mouth. He struggled for shortest moment, nails raking against the black-clothed arm of his attacker before his legs became limp and his head lolled back to rest against a broad shoulder. Gloved hands withdrew the chloroform soaked towel, tracing the boy's thick curls back from his pale face with a tut of shame.
"Pity to attack something so trusting," Gregory sighed, tapping a gloved finger against Kyle's parted lips before his hands were under the small redhead, lifting him from the couch in a bridal-style cradle of his arms. "I always quite liked Kyle, too, at least he held some manner of decorum," The blonde turned to grin back at the dark haired Mole, his lips twisting at the look of dark torment painting Christophe's usually stoic features. If there was one thing that could garner a reaction from the feisty thief, apart from Gregory, it was Kyle Broflovski. "Don't look so devastated, pet, he's in one piece, isn't he? No harm done, see? It's all part of the plan."
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"There, there, there!"
"Like that?"
Firkle whimpered, a sound high and pitiful and one he would deny ever making should someone ever ask him. His pale chest heaved with the moans he so desperately wanted to let spill, his body devoid of clothing as he lay pressed into the soft cotton of Ike's expensive foam mattress.
"I won't know the pace without your help, Superman, keep talking to me."
Ike's voice was as thick with amusement as it was with lust, his sleek dark hair framing his smiling face as he stared down at the older boy writhing beneath him. Now, as with most other times, it was difficult to remember that the now-fifteen-year-old Ike Broflovski was younger than him. His lanky frame far surpassed Firkle's height, a pale show of slim muscle beneath the layers of colour and leather he was so fond of. If anything, Ike had appeared the older brother in the times Firkle had walked Kyle back to Boss' home, tall and imposing and graceful with confidence beside the small redhead that trotted to keep up with him and growled at his sibling's antics. Even with the day of the younger boy's birthday, when Firkle had been reminded by Kyle and everyone else who greeted the popular youth that Ike was a year younger than the Goth, had he been hard-pushed to not think of Ike as older than himself.
"I... I can't... Your p-parents..."
"Should be well used to me moaning and groaning in the privacy of my own bedroom." The sleek form above him laughed with no care to the flush he had caused across Firkle's face, beyond his admiration of it. One slender hand remained braced against the pillows by Firkle's head, his other deftly lost between the smaller boy's thighs. "Now, are you going to talk with me or am I gonna have to entertain myself like last time, huh?"
Firkle groaned, his back arching and making him all the more aware of the heat that seemed to come from Ike's body like some industrial power source, maddening and perfect. The memories of the last night he had spent in Ike's bedroom flooded his conscious mind, so alarmed had he been when their kisses had moved beyond gentle groping to a hand between his legs that Firkle had scrambled from the bed; unsure and furious at himself because he wanted this, God how he wanted this, but he didn't want to take advantage of Ike!
The spur of panic had warranted only a sly smile from the taller teenager before he had undressed himself there and then, before Firkle's eyes and uncaring that his parents had been downstairs watching TV at that very moment. Ike had stripped himself bare and wriggled back against the heated sheets and, as though he were completely alone, had pleasured himself. The noises played in Firkle's mind even now, the boy's grunts and drawn-out moans as he had lost himself to the shape of his own hand and the darkness behind closed lids. Had it not been for the smirk that had played about his lips as he came, one bright eye sliding open to peer at the older boy, Firkle would have believed that Ike had genuinely forgotten his presence.
He panted, biting his lip as he stared up at those strangely bright eyes staring down at him, Ike's glossy hair perfectly intact and his hand almost lazy where it worked on Firkle's member. "Harder, please, Ike, grip me harder."
Long after the pair had been sated and Firkle lay with one of Ike's arms locked firmly about his waist and his head resting on the younger boy's softly rising chest, the Goth smiled to himself. The house and neighbourhood around them were silent, Ike's peaceful form dead to the world until sunrise and yet so very real beneath Firkle's hands. This was his. This perfect moment belonged to him and only him, with the love of his life beneath him and far from his father's oppressive ways. No matter what happened, nothing could take this moment from him. Nothing could wipe away this memory.
His phone blipped suddenly, drawing his glare as it lit up against the side table, the vibrations sending it skirting towards the edge before he plucked it up tiredly. He sighed at the name flashing across the screen, his brow drawing down as he wormed his way from beneath Ike's hold, opening the flip phone with a hushed 'hello' as he tugged on his discarded jeans. Had it been anyone but Butters, Firkle would have turned the phone off.
The sound of the older boy's voice against his ear had Firkle rushing for his hoody and boots, his lips pulling down in a frown as the panicked shrill rambled down the phone at him, too wild at this point to even attempt to calm. He had woken from a nightmare, that much Firkle gathered from the hysterical sobs, Kenny was gone with Boss and so the petrified blonde had snuck his way into Cartman's house, intending to spend the night with his friend.
Except that Kyle was nowhere to be found. He had searched the house from top to bottom, taken in the half-cooked meal and the freshly folded sheets that let Butters know his friend's bed nor Eric's had not even been slept in. Wendy and Henrietta were out on a perimeter run and weren't responding to his calls, and Butters absolutely refused to walk outside to nab a random lackie lest they have something to do with Kyle's disappearance.
Firkle felt his heart clench with each step he took away from Ike's bedroom, shutting the front door with a sorrowful sigh and Butters still rambling about Tweek's safety and where the fuck Craig had gone in his right ear. He didn't want to leave. He didn't want Ike to wake in the morning and find him gone, no matter how understanding the black haired youth was. But what he wanted didn't matter right now. Right now, he was a Knife and he needed to act it.
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Craig rounded the corner with a soundless glide to his car, one elbow braced against the open window to let the cold air chill the interior of the vehicle. He pulled up outside his home with a familiar ease, reaching back to grab his pack from the backseat and pulling himself from the warm seat with a sigh as he was left out beneath the dark sky. Eleven o clock and the road seemed deserted, so many roaming the streets or clubs with all the other youths in South Park that now felt safe enough to leave their homes after the street lights came on. An improvement to the fear they had once lived with, but no less a pain in the neck for their territory with all the new recruits off blending in with society.
The dark haired gang member pulled his cap lower over his hair, one finger absently tracing the scar that stood out against his pale skin, a distant reminder that knives were only cool so long as they were held by the proper person. He'd never trust Red with a blade again so long as they both lived.
"Ghost."
Craig slowed to a stop, one raised eyebrow the only outward show that he had been visibly startled by the lean Goth kid that was suddenly making his way down his drive. Wasn't this one of the kid's days off?
"Isn't today one of your days off, Kid? What're you doin' in my house?"
The tone held no menace to a fellow Knife, only tension at the thought that something might have become of Tweek in the two hours Craig had been gone. He was sure he'd deadlocked every entrance into that house before he had left, Tweek's waving hands telling him to go off and enjoy his life instead of squatting in a house the blonde liked to have to himself every once in a while.
"Blondie?"
"I'm here, Craig," Tweek stood by the open door, his face three shades paler but otherwise unharmed in the thick fleece Butters was forcing over his shaking head. What the hell was Butters doing awake and in his house?
"Princess?"
"I'm fine too," the blonde huffed, zipping the shakier blonde's fleece with a scowl on his pretty features, before turning to regard Craig with venom in his normally tranquil eyes. "Where the fuck is Kyle?"
Craig couldn't help the bare grimace that crossed his mouth at the words, Butters rarely cursed. "Ye were meant to stay asleep," the taller turned an icy look on the Knife now stood in front of him, Firkle's crossed arms leaving him no leeway in explaining this to the noirette without the blondes listening in. "Fuck. You were meant to stay away too, if Ike found out, he'd have brought the whole goddamned town down on our heads. Butters, come inside, I'll explain the plan, Kyle's in no danger, he just thinks he is."
The knife was flung before his lips closed around the final word, missing Craig's scarred cheek by an inch and drawing another raised eyebrow from the dark haired gang member. Butters had pushed Tweek back inside the door of his house, the small blonde's hands holding soft around a pair of identical throwing knives, the third of which was now embedded in the grass a few feet beyond Craig's boots. Blue eyes were narrowed dangerously as Butters paced forward with all the grace of a wild cat, Firkle backing up steadily until there was nothing between Craig and the young blonde but air.
"Like he was in no danger the first night Kenny and Stan abandoned him? Like he was in no danger the night he was left to Omen's hellhounds? The next one won't miss, Ghost," Butters promised darkly, reaching up to snag the man's collar and bring him down to his level, "if violence is what it takes to spread a message with you guys, I will happily fucking adapt." Craig winced as Butters cut the strap of his pack, sending his art equipment to the ground, so much for a peaceful night of waiting for the shit to hit the fan after his night time art class. He sighed.
"Message received, Princess, now can you hand over Killer's knives or you gonna make me explain with a blade to my throat?" He stared down the furious blonde, breathing an internal sigh of relief when Butters pressed the metal handles into his palm and scowled up at him. Fuck, if that hadn't scared the ever living shit out of him. Craig ushered him inside, grabbing the new recruit by the collar behind him and closing the door of his home with a practiced slam.
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A/N: For GirlRockingInTheCorner and all my other readers that were enjoying this and had to wait extra long for an update. I hope a second chapter so soon makes up for it even if the tension makes you hate me ^^ haha happy readings!