Perchance to Dream
Disclaimer: See prologue
Summary: Kyle's side of the story
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Elsewhere VI
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"Really?" I ask Ike. "Kick the door to my closed mind in? Well, I'll give you credit for re-inventing the 'blow your mind' cliché', but beyond that, I think you're in for a rude surprise if you think anything you can say to me can change my mind about your dick of a brother."
"I know," Ike says. "That's what's gonna make it so much sweeter when I succeed."
"OK," I sigh, leaning back in the chair. "Do your worst."
He pulls a black binder off his bookshelf and thrusts it into my hands.
"Kyle's blog entries that pertain to you, dating back to the summer before your Dad lost his job. Get reading," the young Canadian orders me. "I think you'll find it…enlightening."
I look down at the binder, but don't open it. It's one of the really thick, three inch binders. From the look and feel of it, it's full. While I consider the two options of wasting the rest of my night plowing through this anthology or throwing it back at Ike and following through on my original plan of getting the fuck away from the Broflovski home, Kyle's devious younger brother has cuffed my ankles together and run a belt around me and the chair. It's only when I try to make a move to leave that I realize this, glaring at Ike in protest.
He shrugs. "I figured you'd try to leave rather than read through nearly four years of Kyle's sappy blog entries. Truth be told, if I were in your position, I'd try to do the same. But it's fairly imperative for the both of you that you settle your stubborn ass down and start reading. Protesting only means it's going to take you longer to finish."
"You're a real creep, you know that?" I ask under my breath, opening the front cover. "I can just see you ending up working for the FBI or something and setting records for both solved cases and harassment complaints."
"Whatever. Just read."
14 July
I think there's something wrong with me. For going on three weeks now, I've been having wet dreams about Stan. You know, my best friend. There's pics of him all over this thing, he's the cute boy with the black hair.
Anyway, the dreams. I've never had sex (I'm only 14, for God's sake), but we're always naked in these dreams. They've never been in the same place (first time it was in a forest, last night it was in like, a sauna), but we're always naked, and kissing, and he's touching me … there. You know where. Unless you're Ike, in which case, why the fuck are you reading this and not doing your AP Physics homework?
He's got a gorgeous body. I mean, IRL, not just in the dreams. I've showered with him for going on five years now, I've seen how he's developed… and he's gorgeous. Especially when he's sweating in the sun… and he's not lacking anywhere. Except he could maybe stand to lose a couple pounds off his ass.
Anyway. He's a good kisser in the dreams. He knows just how to touch me, to drive me crazy and moan his name.
Why the hell am I having these dreams?
I note that Ike has helpfully annotated these entries with hand-written comments. At the end of this one, he answers Kyle's question by replying "Because you're gay, dumbass." And draws a picture of Kyle on his knees sucking me off.
23 July
9 more gay wet dreams about Stan. I've tried everything to stave them off. I've imagined him with pimples on every part of his body. I've imagined him covered in vaginas again. I've tried to picture him wearing a day-glo orange vest, neon pink pants, and hi-liter yellow shoes. I've tried imagining myself naked with Bebe. Nothing works. Dream-Stan continues to be gorgeous, naked, not-Bebe, and an expert at making me cum myself.
I guess that makes me gay for my best friend. Let the cliché teen angst begin. /sarcasm
Ike on this one notes "You fail at sarcasm. I wonder how good you are at orgasm."
16 August
Football practice began today. I don't think I need to remind you that football practice involves me and Stan showering together after getting all hot and bothered, sweating our asses off on the field. I had to make excuses as to why I couldn't go into the shower with him right away, because I had sprung a rather unfortunate erection as soon as he began taking his clothes off after practice.
After I got home, I went into my room and locked my door and started to jack off. It took me half an hour to come, and Stan was stripping in my mind the whole damn time. I don't think he even knows how damn sexy he looks when he takes his clothes off.
Ike is fairly disgusted by this one. "I could have done without you reminding me. Gag. At least you have endurance, that's good. I think."
17 August
I might have a way to get rid of my unfortunate attraction to Stan. Break off our friendship for a bit. Just a few weeks of distance from him should be enough to do it, if it works. If it does, I'll be obsessing about a different boy, and I think Stan would be more open to me being gay if I had a boyfriend who wasn't him. If it doesn't, I'll make an awkward apology about needing some time to myself to think about some stuff, and life will go on, and I'll just have to pretend I don't want to pin him to a wall and ravish him.
Ike is fairly sarcastic this time. "Brilliant plan, dumbass. Seriously, how the hell do you make As if this is the best get-over-inconvenient-crush plan you can come up with?"
25 August
Day 1
Plan is in action. And it's really convenient too, since Stan's dad got fired last week, he doesn't have any time to hang with me anyway. So it was a lot easier to break off the friendship. Now I just need to find another boy to obsess over and/or date. Shouldn't be too hard, should it? I can't be the only gay boy in town…
Ike's thoughts on this one are rather blunt "Wendy's a gay boy, go fuck him." I think he was trying to be witty and failed miserably. I know from experience that Wendy is a straight girl. Then again…straight girls like guys, and gay guys like guys, so…
25 September
Day 32
Plan is not working. I found three extremely sexy guys in school over the last three weeks, all of which are at least bi-curious, and have spent a week or so with each trying to get them to replace Stan in my cock-loving mind. Not working. Maybe I should stop staring at black-haired boys? Try a blond or two? Maybe another redhead? Can't hurt, can it?
Also, thinking about changing the secondary title of this blog to "One Gayboy's Struggle Against Hormones and High School." Thoughts?
Ike has one, certainly. "Gay. But so are you, so maybe it works for you. I dunno how the fuck you think things through."
30 September
Day 37
Plan is a disaster, and not just because blonds and redheads aren't effective mental replacements for Stan either. I was on my way to apologize to him today, about to effect Plan B, when I saw Cartman and a gang of five or six other guys corner him down the drama wing and beat the shit out of him.
It was…brutal. They had him cornered, on the ground, all curled up, and they wouldn't stop kicking him. I was scared they were going to kill him. Even after they'd had their fun, did I do the right thing and go to my former best friend and comfort him? Did I call for help? Did I do anything besides realize that this was why he had been walking around with a limp and in pain all the time lately?
No.
I didn't.
Because I'm a coward, and I was afraid if I'd gotten any closer to him I would kiss him senseless, confess my desire for him and promise to stay with him until he got better, no matter what.
I couldn't do that. I just watched him lay on the floor, twitching and moaning with pain for fifteen minutes, maybe half an hour, before he picked himself up off and hobbled away, clutching lockers and walls for support.
I skipped practice. I felt sick to my stomach. I came home and spent an hour in the shower, almost scalding hot, trying to wash myself clean of my disgusting cowardice. I had betrayed him, betrayed the boy I wanted more than everything I had.
How the hell am I going to be able to ever face him after this?
"You're not going to. You pansy-ass coward. Where you get off pretending you're this big tough guy is beyond me," Ike writes, and you can feel the venom in his words. He obviously printed these and wrote this recently. "No wonder Stan thinks you're the scum of the Earth. You are."
October 18
Day 55
Life is miserable. I can't even look at Stan anymore, because it almost makes me sick to my stomach. They work him over every other day or so. I know because I watch. I can't help myself. Watching him get beat to within a couple inches of his life makes my mind fantasize about any number of possible ways for me to comfort him that I'll never act on.
Because I'm a damn coward. Instead of being upfront with Stan about my feelings, I shoved him away and now look what's happening to him. Instead of helping him out with all the things he needs help with – most namely Cartman, and all the problems he has at home with his dad being unemployed – I've been a total dick and neglected my best friend just because I want to fuck him silly.
There isn't any snarky statement by Ike beneath this one. Just an ellipsis. "…", and nothing else.
November 21
Day 89
We won State today. I was given the MVP trophy, and as the rest of the guys hoisted me onto their shoulders, I cried. They looked like tears of happiness to everybody else at the game, but not to me. I knew that they were true tears of sadness.
I don't deserve that trophy. It should have gone to our quarterback. Our real quarterback, not the fill-in we have because I got rid of our last one. Stan should have that trophy. I should be celebrating with him later over pizza and stolen beer, but instead I'm going to be celebrating it alone, and Stan… I don't know.
He wasn't here tonight. I can't blame him, because it's not exactly right down the road, but he's never at games. I looked for him every week. He was never there. That worries me. Football's always been his passion; you'd think he'd at least show up to watch some of the games.
I hope he's not doing it cause he's mad at me.
Ike's commentary is harsh on him, scathingly informing Kyle that I'm working to help my family, while he gallivants around playing sports and nailing bitches. I glance up at Ike, who's sitting on his bed, calmly staring at me.
"How've you enjoyed the first set?" he asks. "They're the ones with the most of the references to you. A lot of the rest have just passing mentions of you, but there's still a few you'll be interested in. They're the ones I've got marked with the little hi-liter tabs," he informs me. I feel around the top of the binder for one such tab, because I certainly can't see one. Finding one, I flip to it, hoping it's the first.
It is.
19 December
Day 1213
I talked to Stan today!
Well, sorta. I mean, I was going to talk to him. I really was. There's been a couple things he's been doing lately that've gotten me even more worried about him. Like smoking and drinking. I can smell it on him because I'm so used to it on my broletariat.
I wasn't planning on doing it today. But then Wendy came out of the coffee shop he works at and told me he said to tell me to have a nice day, so I decided to drop her off, and come back and talk to him after work.
I came back and saw him go into the back room. I saw his bag and coat on the floor. I figured I could talk to him on his way out, since it was almost closing time. But he sent out his manager who lied in my face about whose bag and coat that was on the floor.
After that, I drove over to his house and decided to wait for him to get home, and I'd talk to him then. But he took too goddamn long, so I sent my friends out looking for him to bring him to me. Butters found him, but Stan kicked him in the balls and escaped.
I didn't get to talk to him. And it's Christmas Break now. So I won't see him again until New Year's. But I will talk to him. I promise.
The next tabbed entry is an incident I recall very well: when he showed up at work and we had the first of our arguments at work.
3 March
Day 1267
I'm not lying this time when I say I spoke to Stan today. I had to work for it, but I spoke to him. I met up with him at work, while was singing a classic rock song (he has a beautiful voice. Have I mentioned he plays guitar? He does that awesomely too.) and we talked afterwards.
Kinda. He didn't really wanna talk to me. He yelled at me a lot, called me a dick, a kike, and he wouldn't use my first name. Then he went back to work and I decided to change my strategy.
I went out to the alley where he takes his smoke breaks, and I figured that lighting up with him would be a good way to break the ice. I figured wrong. He's turned into a bitter jackass. He actually thinks I'M the one who was behind all the beatings.
I almost wanna be sick. I don't even know how the hell he got it in his head that I could even do something like that to him. I'm not sure I wanna know.
I feel bad…both for him, for everything that's happened to him, and for myself, for allowing it to happen.
Ike's comments this time are not directed to Kyle, but to me. "You may remember this as around the time Kyle started giving you presents to try and win your affection. There are several more entries dealing with his frustration that his tactics weren't working with you, but there's something you should know about the behind-the-scenes action during those couple weeks. Kyle was despondent. He would barely eat; he wouldn't talk to any of us. When I did hear anything from him, it was muted mutterings when I walked past his room, and muted sobs through my wall at night. You did a damn good job of making him miserable. I want you to know that, and it better not make you happy."
Well, truth be told, I kind of am, but I don't let Ike see it, lest he kick me in the head or something. Instead, I just turn to the next tabbed entry.
20 March
Day 1284
A lot of things happened today. First, I had another argument with Stan. It ended with me pinning him to the wall and kissing him.
He laughed at me. I was hurt. He called me "Bro-fag-ski." I wanted to murder him.
Then, at gym, I teased him a little, and he responded by throwing a basketball in my face, broke my nose, busted my lip, and knocked me on the floor. Then I punched him in the face. I got sent to the nurse for a little bit, got an ice pack until the swelling went down and I stopped bleeding, but it was the end of the day that was the kicker.
The gang and I were heading for the exit when we heard a loud attention-getting whistle, and we all turn around to see Stan, who starts sauntering towards me, swaying his hips like a sex-starved nymphomaniac, and comes up to me and tries to suck my face off before breaking the kiss and leaving with a grin on his face. I'm in a state of euphoria until everyone comes to their senses and realize Stan just exposed my biggest secret, and proceed to beat me senseless.
It was almost five thirty before I came to. I had thirty texts calling me some variation of "fucking fag" and several missed calls from Mom wondering where I was. If this is an indication of how bad the next few months are gonna be for me, and how bad the last few years have been for Stan, I think I have a new reason to be sick…
Glancing up at Ike, it's clear he expects a reaction out of me, but I don't really have one to give him. I suppose they were a little harsh on him, knocking him the fuck out, but there was a difference in our situations. They beat the shit out of me because I was poor and they could. They beat the shit out of Kyle because he's gay and they could. Being gay is worse than being poor, especially in Colorado.
"There's one more I want you to see," Ike says, coming over to me and turning to it himself. "Read."
28 August
Day 1445
If last night was the best night of my life, this has been the worst day of my life. Last night, I finally got Stan in bed. It was on a bet, but I got him in bed, naked, and he let me inside him. He didn't say it, but I could see from his facial expression that he enjoyed it. So it was a real surprise when I woke up this morning hugging my pillow instead of him. I spent the next eight hours trying to track him down, only to find out from Matt he'd left me, gone over to Bebe's and gotten his ass into a Goddamn threesome with two girls. The utter gall of him to get his ass pounded and then within a day fuck not one but two girls!
Sometimes I just wish Stan would realize I'm not trying to steal his soul, or convert him to homosexuality, or corrupt his virtues. I'm just trying to get him back. He's always been mine, and this is the only way I can keep him mine. Maybe I've been a little too conniving, rushed things a little, but he should have realized by now that he's at least a little bit interested in me. I mean, really. Anybody else put in the situation he's in would have either shot me or gotten a restraining order by now. Since he's done neither, there's a place inside him (I'm guessing his prostate) that wants me. I don't care how slow I have to take it. I don't care if takes 10 years until he trusts me enough to have sex with me again.
I just want to be with him, and he's too damn stubborn to see that he belongs with me.
As soon as I finish the entry, Ike snatches the binder from my hands and snaps it shut.
"Do you fucking get it now?" he asks. "I'm not going to try and justify any of the shit he put you through up until February, and I'm not going to apologize for him and say that he was doing it for some grandiose, selfless reason, because he was trying to save his own ass and things got away from him. The most important thing, though, is that he's been trying to make things right for the last damn year and you're just being a stubborn dick."
"Who doesn't like dick, thank you very much."
"Oh save your pithy retorts," Ike snaps. "If you knew how to fucking comprehend what's written in front of you, you would be able to put two and two to-fucking-gether. The facts are thus: One, Kyle loves you. Two, you have willingly allowed you and Kyle to have sex. Three, as my ever-rationalizing brother said, you haven't shot or obtained a restraining order against him, meaning four, you do not object to his presence in your life.
"The way I see it, you can take him up on the offer to take your pending relationship as slow as you want, because the two of you do need to get re-acquainted with one another, as dumb as that sounds, or you can be a dickhead, fool around with Bebe and whatever other girls she wants to play with until she gets bored with you and thus go through your life never having a meaningful relationship."
"So, in your brilliant opinion, if I don't get together with Kyle, I'm going to die a miserable old man?" I ask. "Somebody's already told me that one. I didn't believe it then, I don't now."
"Stan, everybody wants to have a life-long partner. If you think about it for any period of time, you'll realize Bebe is not in it for anything but sex. And maybe drinking, but even that leads to sex. You've got someone in the next room who would be in it for more than just sex, and you're seriously telling me you're going to throw away the chance for a meaningful relationship just because your potential partner has a cock? Not even you can be that damn stupid."
I'm quiet. What the hell is it about Broflovski boys pretending to know everything there is to know about me? They've got to me psychologists-in-training or something.
"You really think he'll agree to take it slow?"
"I do," Ike says. "Now, are you going to at least give him a shot? I don't think I need to go over the pros of doing so again."
"And I don't want you to either," I snap back, before sighing. "Fine. Untie me." Ike does as I ask, and I'm standing and walking to Kyle's room automatically. The door is cracked open. I push it open further, to see Kyle on his bed.
"Kyle?" I ask hesitantly, not sure if he's still awake. His head snaps up at the sound of my voice. His eyes are red, so he's either been crying or drinking after I left him in there a few hours ago.
"Why are you here?" he asks, voice raspy.
"Um," I say hesitantly. "I was talking with Ike, about you, actually. He showed me a few things…and we had a discussion about whether or not I should…reconsider what I said earlier."
"What the hell did he show you?"
"Blog posts," I answer. "Though the subtitle you picked was terrible."
"Yeah, you're not the first person to tell me that. So he made you read my blog posts?"
"Only about thirty, though I get the impression there were about 1400 more that probably have some sort of reference to me."
"Must have been a … judicious sampling."
"Yeah, he picked the good ones. Anyway…you're going to get what you want, with a few conditions." His eyes brighten, going from red to pink.
"Name them," he says, hopeful.
"Condition the first, I decide when we have sex again. You try to hurry me back into bed, and the game's over. It may be a few months, it may be a few years, it may be ten or more years, but you will wait until I'm ready. OK?"
"Is that just on penetrating sex, or you putting a hold on all forms of physical intimacy?" Kyle asks, undoubtedly wanting me to be crystal clear so he knows what he can and cannot do.
"For now, it's a hold on anything more intimate than hugging. No kissing, no handjobs, no oral, no buttsex. I'll get around to letting you do the others if you behave yourself."
"OK," Kyle says, very even-toned. He's going to behave himself.
"Condition the second, until either I give her up or she gets bored with me, I'm still allowed to fool around with Bebe. Kyle, you need to accept that I'm at best bisexual. As much as it pains me to admit it, since Matt's going to go ballistic when I tell him, I'm willing to be with you, but I still like girls, OK?"
His expression darkens, but he agrees to this condition as well.
"Condition the third, you are going to take me out to dinner at least once every month. In Boulder, because I'm not setting foot in Fort Collins for all the money you schemed to get my Dad. If we're going to be conditionally together, we're going to put in the required effort."
"That won't be a problem," Kyle says. "Any other rules?"
"Not off the top of my head."
"Can I have a hug, then?"
"Sure, why not?" I counter, walking across the room to embrace my ex-best friend, and my new … boyfriend.
-.-
Notes: And we've finally reached the end of regulation! Coming up on 21 October, an epilogue that will give these two a happy-ish ending. I may not have gotten this in on time, but come hell or high-water (and that second one's more of a danger, actually, given the weather lately), this story will be completed on 21 October.
Now that you've read the "get-together," feel free to tell me if you liked it or hated it, felt it was rushed, etc. Very few holds barred. I promise I won't seek you out to argue if you say something I don't like.
Till the 21st,
Phoenix II
