L'amour

Summary: The new student at South Park High is strangely familiar…
Fandom: South Park
Pairings: Christophe/Kyle, Stan/Wendy, Damien/Pip, Kenny/Various (He's such a slut)
Warnings: Slash, bad language
Disclaimer: I'd sell my soul to own them (Especially Christophe – damn that sexy French accent!). However, since no-one seems to want to buy my soul, I'll settle for slashing them
Author's Note: My French is a little rusty, and I don't have anyone to beta it for me. Feel free to point out any mistakes I've made

Chapter Two – Un amour de les motos

Kyle took his usual seat on Stan's left when he reached the lunch hall. Stan gave a friendly enough hello before being distracted by Wendy, who sat on his right. Cartman grunted something unintelligible about fags around a mouthful of fries, but Kyle was too used to it to care. Kenny was nowhere to be seen. Doubtless he was engaged in another of his short-lived relationships. Whoever it was probably knew that they were just one in a long string of lovers that crossed the gender-line several times. Kyle gazed at the table, mind elsewhere.

"Dude, are you alright?" Kyle looked up, snapping out of his trance, and saw Stan looking at him in concern.
"What? Oh…I'm okay."
"Probably daydreaming about his boyfriend."
"Shut up, fat boy!"
"Don't call me fat, you fucking faggot!"
"Both of you shut up!" Stan snapped. Wendy, used to this by now, hadn't even looked up from her lunch.

It was at this point that Kenny ambled in, accompanied by a pretty blonde girl that the others vaguely recognised but couldn't have put a name to. They kissed, then went off to sit with their separate groups of friends. It wasn't that Kenny was a bad boyfriend, Kyle mused. He wasn't jealous or demanding, and he was certainly very considerate. He just had a tendency to panic at the thought of commitment.

"Hey, guys," he said, sitting next to Cartman. Being right beside the fattest kid in South Park High only emphasized how small and malnourished he was. He was pale and slightly ill-looking; and when they changed for gym, every bone in his body was visible. He didn't have any lunch with him.

"Kyle?" Kyle looked up a little dazedly.
"What?"
"Are you sure you're alright, man?"
"I…I'm just not hungry. Kenny, d'you want this?" Kenny wasn't proud or stupid enough to turn down free food.
"What's the matter with you, you pussy?" Cartman said obnoxiously. Kyle didn't even seem to register the insult. He stood up.
"I'm…gonna go get some fresh air." He wandered off; the table's other four occupants staring after him in amazement.
"What was that all about?" Wendy said, bewildered.
"Did I miss something?" Kenny asked.
"I think we all did," Stan replied
"What the hell is wrong with Jew-boy?"
"Shut up, Cartman!" Stan, Kenny, and Wendy said in unison.

They had a math double-period after lunch, and Kyle seemed a little more normal by then. When the bell finally rang, everyone cleared out as quickly as possible.

"Where is everybody?" Kyle asked Stan.
"Kenny's going to his girlfriend's place, Wendy's getting a lift home from Bebe, and god only knows where that asshole Cartman is. I've gotta go to football practice – and you're gonna miss the bus if you don't hurry up. Later, dude." He turned and hurried off in the direction of the locker rooms. Kyle headed towards the car park. He came round the corner of the building in time to see the bus pulling away.

"Shit!"

Right on cue, it began to rain. Silently cursing life, the universe, and everything, Kyle headed for the dubious shelter of the doorway, dreading the walk home. He could always hang around until Stan finished football practice and beg a lift home, but he didn't much like the thought of waiting aimlessly in the rain for hours. He wandered around the car park as a few stragglers pulled away, all cozy and dry in their nice, warm cars.

Bastards

He paused to admire a red and black motorbike standing alone near the back of the car park. Kyle would have loved a motorbike, but he was still having difficulties convincing his mother to let him drive a car. He shuddered to think what she would say if he let slip that he wanted a bike. Still, he could admire them from afar. This one in particular was a beauty, sleek and new-looking, and heavily customised by the look of it. He was so absorbed in the bike that he didn't hear the soft footsteps behind him.

"I 'ope you are not plotting to steal eet, chéri?"

Kyle spun around with what he would later refuse to admit was a girly shriek. Christophe smirked at him and blew out a cloud of smoke.

"I…um…no. Is this yours?"
"Oui." He looked around the deserted car park; "'Ave you missed ze bus?"
"No," Kyle replied sarcastically, "I'm standing in a school car park in the pouring rain for the fun of it."
"Well, zat's alright zen."
"I really like your bike," Kyle said, "I've always wanted one, but…"
"But your muzzer eez a domineering control-freak?"
"Hmm…yeah, that sounds about right."

Christophe finally gave up the battle to keep his bedraggled cigarette alight in the driving rain, and tossed it aside. He brushed the water off the bike and swung a leg over it, settling comfortably onto it. Kyle looked wistfully at the beautiful machine (and sternly reminded himself not to look wistfully at the beautiful Frenchman straddling it).

"'Ave you even rode one before?"
"No."
"Would you like to?"
"What?"
"Well, eet appears zat you need a ride 'ome anyway."
"Really? I'd love to."
"Where do you leeve?"

Kyle irritably silenced the part of his mind which pointed out the distinct lack of any helmets – it sounded worryingly like his mother – and briefly described the way to his house before settling cautiously onto the bike behind Christophe.

"You weel fall off eef you seat all ze way back zere, chéri."

Feeling deeply embarrassed for reasons he couldn't quite specify (and making a mental note to find out what 'chéri' meant), Kyle shifted a little closer.

"'Old on – I don't want to be responsible eef you get splattered all over ze road."

As the engine revved and they accelerated out of the car park, it became clear to Kyle why the warning had been necessary. He yelped and wrapped his arms around Christophe's waist as they turned the first corner. He didn't know how fast they were going, but was prepared to bet that it was over the speed limit. His hair – shoulder length, and just the right side of curly due to intensive styling – was whipped wildly around his head by the rising wind.

The bike wove suicidally in and out of rows of cars. The sounds of honking horns and bellowed curses followed them down the road. Kyle closed his eyes – he was terrified, freezing cold, and probably about to die. And he was loving every moment.

Chistophe brought the bike to a screeching halt a few blocks away from Kyle's house and allowed him to dismount before driving off again with a smirk and a cry of; 'don't tell your muzzer, chéri'. Kyle walked quickly to his house and let himself in the back door, then headed straight for the bookcases. He unearthed a particular volume after much searching and flicked through it until he found the required page. His eyes widened a little as he read it, then he grinned slowly:

Cheri (masculine) - Darling

Un amour de les motos – A love of motorbikes (Approximately)
Chéri – Darling (According to my rather unreliable French-English dictionary)