Chapter Track: Little Lion Man – Mumford and Sons

"Oh, fuck dude! Goddamnit Stan-" Kyle threw down the Xbox controller in a fit.

Stan gave a victorious cackle before switching off the TV. He motioned wordlessly for Kyle to pass the jumbo bag of Cheesy Poofs. Mouth full of artificial cheesy goodness, he said, "You wanna go to a show tonight?"

Kyle shrugged, "I'm still super jetlagged, man, I dunno. Who's playing?"

"The Rehabilitated," Stan said.

"That's the most retarded name I've ever heard," Kyle said.

Stan chuckled, "Kenny said the same thing."

Kyle paused, and frowned. "What do you mean 'Kenny said the same thing'? I'm not going if he is."

Stan recovered with a quick, "Oh, I asked him if he wanted to go like last week, but he has work. I really want to go see them play, dude, they're good. And you need to like…get out more."

Kyle considered this. True, he'd become sort of a caveman since returning from England last week. He'd mostly been sitting around and reading, sometimes sleeping, mostly just trying to keep his mind off of the people around him. Because, when Kyle spent even a few moments concentrated on his social life, his thoughts inevitably swapped back to Kenny. He exhaled slowly and said, "Fine. Fiiiine. I'll go, but only because we're super best friends, asshat."

Stan clapped him on the shoulder, and with mouth still full of Cheesy Poofs, he said, "Shit yeah."

Kyle had no idea that Stan was congratulating himself on his acting skills.

o.o.o.o

"You made it!" Wendy said.

Stan gave his girlfriend a chaste kiss on the lips. He said, "It took a little convincing, but Kyle finally decided to emerge from his lair."

Kyle rolled his eyes. He said, "You're not usually so huge on music, dude. They must be something else."

When the band began setting up onstage, Kyle thought they looked kind of young. At least the guitar player did—the guy barely topped out at five feet, if Kyle had to venture a guess. He was sort of baby-faced, and he had to admit that when the guy waved to an older lady holding a squirming toddler in the back of the venue, he about shat a brick. For all the downfalls of Kyle's parents, they'd at least made sure to give him an all-encompassing sex education (after they'd torn the school apart for not teaching them well enough, naturally, but they did eventually bother to educate Kyle on the 'ways of the world'). And Christ, Kyle was glad he was he was gay. It was nice to be able to have guilt-free sex and not have to worry about knocking up the dude you were fucking.

Just saying.

The other band members looked fairly standard. There was a chick in stylishly ripped-up, ribbed tanktops layered on top of each other, a kind of Clyde-like cutely chubby guy with huge gauges in his ears, and a skinny kid with the hood of his black jacket pulled up over his hair. He had a nice body. So, Kyle supposed, even if he didn't like the music, he could appreciate the view.

The skinny kid took a seat on the barstool that he'd dragged onstage, and pulled a banjo into his lap.

Oh, nice. He played a banjo. That was kind of attractive. Now, if only the guy was gay…it seemed that lately every dude that Kyle had an interest in turned out to be straight. He was fucking cursed.

Kyle got a soda for the sake of something to sip on while he looked on at the band and crowd, since Stan and Wendy were liplocked at the moment. They always started out being considerate of Kyle's third-wheel presence, and ended up half-humping each other against a wall someplace (Or, maybe full-on humping someplace else, but if the night reached that point, Kyle didn't tend to actively seek the couple out. He had made that mistake only once).

"Hey," the short kid said, "I'm Angel, and we're The Rehabilitated." There was a quiet cheer and some half-hearted applause. Angel went on, "I'm gonna dedicate this one to my baby girl."

They weren't bad. The music was good, if a little unpracticed. Kyle found himself unable to look away from the banjo player. Out of all of the band members, that guy was kicking ass. Kyle wished he'd take down his hood. He wanted to know if the guy had a face as hot as his body and his banjo playing skills. Of course, if he did, it would only mean that the dude had met Kyle's one-night-stand criteria. He'd have to be a smart bastard, too, if Kyle was to have any actual interest in him beyond sex.

Wow. He was getting way too fucking ahead of himself.

The songs were catchy. He liked what he was hearing. Kyle also had a feeling that this was the kind of band that would start rocking super hard in a couple of years, and Kyle would end up being the pretentious shit that would say, "I knew about them when they first started." Just so he would be able to do this, Kyle dished out the ten bucks required to get one of the band's homemade t-shirts at the merch table, and slipped it on over his other tee.

The fourth song came to a close, and Angel took a drink from his bottle of water before going on, "Hey. So, this is our last song. We're gonna switch it up here. This one was written by our own Kenny McCormick, and he's gonna sing it."

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking fuck Goddamnit.

"Stan," Kyle growled. His head swiveled to where his friend had been just a few minutes before, but he and Wendy had vanished into thin air. Those assholes. Stan had manipulated Kyle on fucking purpose just so that he'd go see Kenny's show. This was low, fucking low, for Stan Marsh. When Kyle saw the dude again, he would wring his neck and rejoice in his death. That fucker.

The banjo player, of course, slid from his barstool perch and switched places with Angel. He took down his hood and licked his lips before speaking into the mic, "Hey, sorry you've had to listen to this asshole for so long." The crowd laughed, and Angel flipped Kenny off.

Kyle turned to go back to his dorm.

Behind him, he heard Kenny go on, "Don't leave."

Kyle felt, without turning around, every head in the venue turn to look at the one guy making his way toward the door. He clenched his fists and said nothing, but Kyle did immobilize.

Kenny obviously took this as a sign to say his piece, "I wrote this in rehab. I've been reassured that it isn't stupid, but I only really want your opinion, okay?"

"C'mon, dude!" shouted the bartender.

A couple of girls from within the crowd shouted, "Yeah, c'mon!"

Kyle heaved a long, angry sigh. He turned around, stalked back the few steps that he'd taken away from the stage. He stood, scowling, and made an exasperated motion with his hand, as if to say, well, proceed the fuck on. Stan had no idea how dead he was going to be when Kyle found him. That bastard was going down. Way, way, way down.

Kenny licked his lips a second time. Even from where Kyle stood, he could see that Kenny was playing with his lip ring. His nervous little tic. The assbag should be nervous. He said into the mic, softly, "Thanks, dude," and waved to Angel, saying under his breath, "And a one and two-"

Angel started on his guitar at first. He seemed to be better at this song than some of the others. They must have practiced this more.

Then the girl in the torn up clothing entered, with her keyboard.

Then Kenny, on his banjo. Kyle didn't even know that Kenny could play. He seemed to recall some distant memory of Cartman making fun of him when they were kids because he was poor and that had been his instrument of choice, but he couldn't…well. Kyle was having trouble forming thoughts.

"Weep for yourself, my man. You'll never be what is in your heart…"

It was his voice that really did Kyle in. He felt like he should have known that Kenny could sing, too. Like, hadn't Kenny gone to Europe one time when he was little because he could sing so well? Why hadn't he paid attention?

"But it was not your fault, but mine

And it was your heart on the line

I really fucked it up this time

Didn't I, my dear?"

Oh, God.

Kyle felt the scowl he'd been wearing literally melt off of his face. He ran a hand through his red hair, and gnashed his teeth, feeling like general shit. He watched the crease in Kenny's brow deepen as he sang. He watched Kenny toss his messy hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head so that he could play his instrument with adept hands. Kyle didn't want to think about Kenny's hands. He knew what they were capable of. Kyle should have known that his hands were capable of this.

And did he say that he'd written this?

Jesus Christ.

When they finished the song, Kyle was frozen, stuck to the ground on which he stood. Kenny slowly lowered his banjo. Their gazes connected, and Kenny gave Kyle a tragic sort of half-smile. Kyle didn't react. He couldn't react. He didn't fucking know how. And so, after a moment of unbroken staring, Kenny gave a sad little shrug, slid from his stool, and pulled his hood back over his hair.

o.o.o.o

Kyle had walked for awhile. He had to let the feelings settle.

But eventually, his feet had taken him to the apartment complex that housed Kenny and Stan. He walked up the stairs, since the elevator was still broken. He paused at their apartment door. What if Kenny wasn't home? What if it was just Stan and Wendy and all Kyle would get it he dared open the door was an eyeful of nudity he could have done without ever seeing?

Oh well. He'd do what he had to do, and what he absolutely knew he had to do was talk to Kenny.

At first, Kyle thought that maybe nobody was in the apartment. But, he heard something, as he took his few first steps into the living room. It was a banjo.

Kyle steeled himself for a moment, set his fingers on the doorknob to Kenny's bedroom, and opened the door.

Kenny was in bed, laying with his banjo across his chest. He jumped when Kyle entered the room. He must have been spacing.

"Kyle," he said.

"Hey," Kyle said back.

Kenny scooted back so that he sat up against his headboard, and rested his instrument down against his bedside table. He patted the mattress beside him. Kyle took the offer. They sat there silently for a few moments.

"Ky-"

"Kenny-"

"You go first," he said.

Kyle nodded. He cleared his throat and announced, "I forgive you."

Kenny smiled, "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Kenny took in a deep breath. He said, "Thank fucking god. I thought I'd just pissed you off more."

"No!" Kyle said, a little too sharply. He repeated, more quiet this time, "No. You wouldn't. I've been a shithead, okay? I know that. I just. Um. Well, I dunno. I guess I just wanted to be a shithead for awhile."

"I have to tell you something, Kyle," Kenny said, then.

"Something like what?"

"Something like why I relapsed," Kenny said. His voice had withered down to a thin thread of volume. He looked pale. He looked like he didn't want to talk about it at all, really, but felt obligated to.

So, despite burning curiosity, Kyle said, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I know I've been pissy about it, but I was being a shithead, you know."

Kenny shook his head, "You're always too fucking considerate, dude. Too fuckin' considerate."

And so Kenny told him. He told Kyle about Kevin getting released from jail and the party that had followed that evening, and what had happened at that party. He told him everything—how it had hurt, how fucked up he'd been, how he'd been in a state where he knew what was happening but he didn't know, and how badly he wished that he could be able to die. How drugs seemed to help.

Kyle started to cry.

Kenny pulled Kyle down so that they laid together, with Kyle's head resting in the crook of Kenny's neck as he sniffled and whispered incoherently, "I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry."

Kenny told him about how he'd woken up early on that December twentieth so long ago, how he'd gone to get coffee and seen his mom, how she was okay with him banging dudes. Then, how he went to the movies to get his mind of things. Kenny described how actually having to think about all the bullshit he'd put himself through was eating him up inside. How, when he looked up and saw those eyes, he'd just snapped. He couldn't take the constant thoughts and cravings and self-loathing.

"I'm okay, thought Kyle. I'm alright now. It's fine," Kenny reassured the shaking boy in his arms. Who knew that Kenny telling the story of his rape would end up with him comforting Kyle? Maybe that was because Kenny was beginning to come to terms with what had occurred that night. He couldn't take it back. It did happen. But he could heal. And he would. Kenny McCormick was a strong motherfucker. Perhaps he hadn't always been, but he sure as fuck was now.

"Christ, I'm so fucking stupid," muttered Kyle.

"No. No, you're not," Kenny said.

He smoothed a hand down along the edge of Kyle's jaw. Placing his knuckles underneath the redhead's chin, Kenny tipped Kyle's head up. Their eyes connected again, and Kenny bent, just barely, to place a hesitant, closemouthed kiss to Kyle's lips. A moan escaped Kyle.

Mouths fells open, tongues collided. Kenny could taste Kyle's tears. As they fell, he kissed each one away and murmured, "Don't cry. Don't cry. I'm fine. You're wonderful. Don't cry." He felt Kyle's cold hands snake up underneath his t-shirt. Kyle made a noise of frustration when he could get the bit of clothing off of Kenny's head. Kenny helped. He shifted Kyle so that Kenny sat on his knees, one on either side of Kyle's denim-clad legs. He tugged the t-shirt away.

Kyle smoothed his hand over Kenny's tattoo.

It read: The system might fail you, but don't fail yourself. Surrounding these looping words were thorny vines, punctuated by roses. There were two sparrows facing opposite directions at the top. And…a skull with a top hat and a joint between its teeth. Of course. Only Kenny.

Kenny blushed a little at the touch. He explained, "It's, er, from a song. But, I-"

"It's fucking hot," Kyle said, and he yanked Kenny down by his blond hair to kiss him roughly.

Their erections brushed against one another through the fabric of their jeans, and both boys moaned loudly. Kenny grunted and tugged helplessly at the hem of Kyle's two t-shirts. Kyle raised his arms and the shirts were hastily dispatched. Kenny placed heavy, swift kisses all across Kyle's pale chest.

Kenny paused.

"What is that?"

Kyle blinked back out of his lust and looked down. He flushed pink and answered, "Um, that is a nipple piercing."

Kenny grinned wickedly. He stooped down and drew his tongue across the piercing. Kyle gasped and arched against him. Kenny mumbled, "Does this have a story?"

Kyle tangled his hands in Kenny's blond hair. He pushed kisses up against his neck and sucked. In between, he said, "Not really. Pip and I got plastered in York. He dared me to get it done. I did. I like it, so I haven't taken it out."

Kenny didn't seem to really be listening. He was more focused on getting Kyle's pants undone. He did, however, creak out, "So sexy," before he tore Kyle's jeans away from his body with such vigor that he took Kyle's briefs with them. Kenny's mouth was on Kyle's cock in an instant. Kyle groaned, and writhed. He drove his hands further into Kenny's hair and brought him up and down, up and down, hips bucking.

"Kenny! K-Kenny, I'm gonna-"

"No, you're not," Kenny said. He pulled his mouth away from Kyle's dick with a grin on his face that could not be described as anything less than absolutely evil. Kyle made a whining sound at the loss and squirmed.

Kenny, ever the multitasker, whipped off his own pants and slammed his bedside table's drawer open. It caused his banjo to fall against the carpet with a clang, but neither paid enough attention. Kenny came up with a bottle of lube, which, in his desperation, he squirted a little too generously onto his fingers. Kenny jumped straight to two fingers.

Kyle hissed at the sensation of Kenny's hand entering his body. He wriggled as he adjusted to the feeling. Aw, God, it was fucking wonderful to have Kenny do this again. Nobody else knew what he liked better than Kenny did. Kenny scissored and explored. Kyle panted and muttered, "Fuck. Christ, Kenny."

Kenny swallowed Kyle's cries in a hard kiss. Kyle keened when Kenny's hand left him, but he felt something much better being pressed toward him.

Kenny broke the kiss for a moment.

His gray-blue eyes were cloudy with lust as he half-whispered, half-cried, "I fuckin' love you, Kyle Broflovski."

Kyle broke out into a grin. He gripped Kenny's ass with both hands and brought him forward. Kenny entered Kyle's body with one succinct thrust, and they both moaned at the top of their lungs. Kyle breathed, "I fuckin' love you too, Kenny McCormick."

They chuckled breathlessly as Kenny began to move. They moaned each other's names between savage thrusts and heated kisses. Kyle clawed at Kenny's back and Kenny pulled at Kyle's curly hair. Tears of pleasure pricked the corners of Kyle's eyes.

The headboard began to bang against the wall with each thrust forward.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

BangbangbangbangbangbangBANG.

Kenny wrapped his hand around Kyle's dick, moving his hand up and down and up and down with as much precision as he could muster in his desire-crazed state.

"FUCK!" they cried in sync as they came.

They laid there, chest to chest, for a moment. Kenny gave absolutely zero shits that Kyle's semen was all over his chest. In fact, he found it to be fucking awesome. Kenny twisted downward and captured Kyle's kiss-swollen mouth in his own, nipping down gently before withdrawing and settling into the mattress.

Kyle pulled off to the side.

Kenny's heart sunk. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"What? I thought you just didn't like cuddling or whatever," Kyle said, flipping back over to gaze at Kenny.

"C'mere, you fucking r-tard," Kenny mumbled, and he wrapped his arms around his lover, pulling their sweaty bodies together. Kenny nuzzled Kyle's neck and kissed his ear, before tangling their legs together tightly.

Kenny said, "I'm serious, though. I really fucking love you."

Kyle leaned backward. He pressed a soft, heartfelt kiss along Kenny's scruffy jaw, and replied, "I'm serious, too. I love you."

"I love you," Kenny said, experimenting with hearing the words roll off of his tongue.

"I love you, too, dude."

They both grinned like idiots.

-Fin-

(Epilogue to follow)

o.o.o.o

WELL. Voila! THANK YOU SO MUCH YOU GUYS: MariePierre, xXxDonnieDarkoxXx, KirstenTheDestroyer, TheAwesome15, R. R. Miaera, Mallory, Wendlekins, and Amberr-chan. REVIEWERS, Y U SO AMAZING? Anyhowww, after I write you a nice little epilogue, my next projects shall be a Creek fic, and a Style fic (as per the request of TheAwesome15). If any of the rest of you have requests, holler at me. I love you and will write you things.

Oh and derp. Kenny McCormick did not write those lyrics, Mumford & Sons did, and you should go listen to that song if you're not familiar with it.