'Without consultation, plans are frustrated, But with many counselors they succeed.' -Proverbs 15:22

In his youth, Damien found that few things made him feel what one would describe as joy. Watching a few tortures, getting to make a few executive calls in the instances that his father was unavailable, learning a new spell. But as he grew older, such simplicity just didn't do it for him anymore. The need to expand upon himself, to further the capabilities of his own creations took hold when he was merely fifteen.

In that time of youth, he watched from afar one day as his father sat in his office, rubbing temples as an emotional wreck from a breakup and an overwhelming amount of work piling up turned the Beast with the booming voice into a worn out husk of himself. He couldn't quite understand at the time just what it is he was watching, seeing the all-powerful lord of darkness as nothing but what would be akin to a single father coming home from a day working at the tax firm. Damien always considered that moment to be his ultimate catalyst, his signal to go from a child only dabbling in the dark arts for curiosity's sake into the monster he was born to be. He couldn't let himself fall into the same trap that had somehow snared his father, a lesson well emphasized in the midst of his war.

He could just hear that overly-concerned, doting voice; see the paranoid gleam of yellow and black eyes. The war wasn't the first time that his father had demonstrated such feelings. No, it'd started when he was much younger, the first time Satan watched him pull off a spell without so much as a look at the victim he'd decided to set aflame at once. He'd been shocked, and Damien had learned on that day a valuable lesson: His father was once an angel, and had to adjust to becoming a demon, had to learn from the ground up. But not him, he was born into a body made to harbor strength beyond compare. He was crafted from Hell itself, was destined to harbor its natural fury and might, channel it into furthering the prowess that the realm was supposed to hold.

And, in that notion, Damien had found his new source of joy: Taking what belonged solely to him, staking his claim in the assets that he had fought for and earned. It was a right that he exercised at every opportunity, whether that resource be a tier of command, a power, or a life. And life, he'd learned, was one of the greatest things to win. But merely telling new minions of their stake on the totem pole was little more than a sip of what he'd wanted. No, it came from his living prize that he'd found the true rush that he'd been searching for. Because the living could still fight, could still proclaim their autonomy. And Damien could cradle the fragility of their mortality in his hands, could snatch it away from them if he so pleased, or allow them to continue the war for themselves.

And the mouse, he could tell, was still not done with his side of their battle.

Damien tongued over his fangs as he walked through a field teeming with tortures going rampant on either side of him, closing his eyes and relishing in the screaming washing over him in a tide made of warmed honey. Right now, the cadence of agony was as close as he was going to get to the true pain he wanted to once more hear echoing throughout the realm. After all, what was pain to those already passed on? What more was there to lose? There was no fine string that had to be precariously balanced upon. There was no restraint that had to be exercised, there was no game to see just how close one could get the soul to being completely torn asunder before walking away and letting them recover just to go at them again. Let them think that death was around any corner and get them to the point where they would be praying for such mercy to fall upon them, so the fear could all at once be snuffed out.

It was no longer fun when the most valuable game piece was snatched from the board.

The antichrist came to a stop, red eyes reopening to the sight of a group of mortals being thrown into flame and he chuckled, watching flesh beginning to melt, lashes burning off in an instant and throats falling hoarse from wailing. Their torment would be over soon enough, and they would be granted a week of true rest before being shoved right back into the line to await the next round. It was merciful. Almost too merciful for Damien's tastes.

He hummed, picking up his pace once more and heading towards his goal, seeing his companion leaning back and supervising a round of torment in the distance with half-lidded eyes. Gragor had become just as bored with the notion of their jobs as he had, one of the reasons aside from his loyalty to Damien that he had been so willing to step into the front line of war. The noirette grinned, at least he had that to lean on when he found himself feeling as though he were alone in the never-ending fight against monotony.

"Gragor," he called sharply.

The demon's head snapped to the side, hurriedly standing up off the stalagmite he'd been leaning on and rushing towards him. "Yes, Master Damien? Is something wrong?"

"Not at all," he replied coolly, motioning for him to follow him out of the chorus of screeching surrounding them. Gragor kept with his pace, glancing down at the man's strong stride and sighing silently in relief. Seeing Damien up and mobile once again had been what he could only call a blessing. It was never enjoyable when one of prominent power found themselves crumbling onto the floor with the lightest of steps. His recovery had all but completely exhausted the minion, trying to keep Damien from his stubbornness being his ultimate undoing and debilitating him beyond repair. All he could do was thank the stars that he'd been able to jump back to how he once was. Well… health-wise at least.

Damien certainly wasn't the same that he'd been before the war. His personality seemed to increase tenfold, his cocky attitude had jumped to even more dangerous levels. Satan had told Gragor three years into the healing process that Damien had garnered Kyle's mortal attitude and stubborn streak in the midst of his ritual, that the little sliver of mortality that rushed within him would fester into his blood just as his demonic presence had within the redhead. And, as Satan himself had solemnly pointed out, what didn't kill a mortal only made them stronger.

The antichrist's worldview had narrowed; the big picture was no longer all he could truly see. No, he saw his true target instead, had learned to take his plans one step at a time, to secure each piece little by little until he could complete the puzzle himself. The endgame was fuzzy but viewable, but his next goal was clear as day. Up on Earth, waiting for him, whether they knew it or not.

"Gragor," Damien started as they made it far enough for the screaming to become little more than white noise, "I need you to do me a favor."

He nodded, "Of course, my lord. What do you need?"

He smiled viciously, eyes sparking with promise. "First, an opinion," he said, bringing them to a stop. "Just what would you like seen with my little mouse?" he purred, looking up at him expectantly.

Gragor gulped, knowing well enough how he felt, wanting to leave that mutt out of the equation entirely. Damien couldn't afford going after him again, not with how furious the redhead and his angelic husband would be for a repeat of past torment. "Struck down with illness to die a slow and painful death, Master Damien," he shrugged.

Damien snorted lightly and shook his head. "No no. That'd be far too kind." Gragor nodded slowly. He couldn't exactly deny that. The antichrist sighed, flicking his hand up aimlessly for his portal, watching with lax eyes alongside his winged counterpart as Kenny and Kyle's sweating, panting forms popped in front of them. He rolled his eyes, "Why am I not surprised," he muttered. Gragor let out a sound of disgust and looked off and away into the distance. He'd much rather be watching flaying than this.

Damien's gaze honed in on the redhead, brow quirking as hands slid up Kenny's back, catching the sharp gleam of claws as they lightly clasped around a defined shoulder. "What the fuck," he narrowed his eyes. He scoffed, "Apparently McCormick made demon into his fetish." Gragor groaned and shook his head. Damien blinked, looking back at Kyle's head as he leaned it back with a long moan, gripping at Kenny's hair as he moved seated on his lap, pressing his forehead down against his and whimpering.

Kenny grunted, hand not propping himself atop the hotel bed tightening around a slender hip and forcing him down harder, Kyle letting out a loud yelp, moving himself faster before grabbing Kenny and shoving him backwards. His hips continued to sway and grind as he leaned over him, claws digging fiercely into the cheap hotel sheets beneath them as Kenny watched him in a lustful awe. A gentle hand came up to cup Kyle's cheek, the redhead pivoting his head to lightly trail his tongue along his fingers, leading them into his mouth and settled between his fangs. Red and green gleamed sinfully as he moved and suckled, sight never breaking from his husband's as the blonde grinned and let his free hand wander Kyle's body as it pleased.

The noirette frowned deeper, crossing his arms. "Well, good to know."

"Know what?" Gragor asked with a wince at the show playing out.

"The mouse is still a whore. That'll come in handy for what he'll be doing," he said coolly. Gragor paused, looking over at his better suspiciously. He never knew exactly what had transpired between the both of them, but there was always some essence of lingering doubt that followed Kyle's violent reaction towards him in the aftermath of it all. Damien had only told him that he'd been put in his place, that he was to see just what kind of reaction he could get out of the tiny mixed breed. He shook his head, looking back as Kyle let out a long, echoed whine past the fingers hooking lightly in his mouth. He supposed in the end it wasn't his place, whatever Damien did was something that he deemed necessary in the grand scheme of it all.

Kenny chuckled through their stint of nothing but moans and whines, "We shoulda been at the bar twenty minutes ago," he teased through a groan.

Kyle scoffed, ripping his head back from his fingers, Ken's spit coated digits slipping out and leaving a wet trail down his chin and chest as they fell. He stopped his hips, quirking his brow at Kenny's face falling into an automatic pout at the loss of friction. "Want me to just hop on off then?" he questioned breathlessly, grinding long and slow to watch Kenny's face deepen with desperation. "Just get dressed and we go make conversation? Or would you like me to finish?" Kenny let out a long, pathetic whine, slapping his ass pointedly and getting a smirk from the redhead. "Thought so," he leaned down and kissed him before resuming his rhythm and grinding down against Kenny's stomach.

"Ugh," Damien shook his head before letting out a small huff of a laugh. "Oh, he just looks so happy," he cooed sarcastically, watching Kyle moaning and nuzzling noses with the blonde. "Can't wait to rip that all away from him," he spat, getting rid of the sight and continuing to walk down the pathway, Gragor hurrying after him. He scowled. Seems he didn't leave the redhead quite as broken as he'd hoped. He'd have to fucking fix that. "Tell me, Gragor, you were a tormenter. Which is worse for the mortals? Physical or psychological?"

Gragor blinked before shrugging, "Depends on the mortal, Master Damien."

"Mhm," he nodded. "Was anyone ever broken under your watch from psychological?"

He paused, looking up in thought, 'Not broken, no. We lost patience more often than not and went straight to physical," he shrugged.

"Ah, so you never played the game long enough," he purred. "Gragor, it's all about letting them destroy themselves, you should've known better."

He smirked a bit, "Demons are not known for their willingness to wait, my lord."

"This is true," he agreed. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and laughed quietly. "How long do you believe it would take for a mortal to crumble under their own psyche?"

Gragor's face contorted as he considered the quandary. "Again, I believe it would depend on the mortal," he said slowly. "But if I had to harbor a guess, I'd say… a year?" he shrugged. "Depending on the amount being placed upon them, that is."

"So, you believe that five years would be more than enough, then?"

The minion glanced down to see Damien walking casually, as though asking nothing but Gragor's plans for the next few days. He clicked his thick fangs, "I don't believe that the mutt has broken, not considering what we just saw, Master Damien," he answered softly.

The noirette stopped, brow cocking and looking back towards him. "The mutt?" he repeated.

"A… A nickname he gained through the realm," he stammered. "We can't exactly… call him a half-breed anymore, my lord."

Damien blinked before his lips curled up and he let out a loud, amused cackle. "Mutt," he repeated. "Fits so well in a way," he nodded. "And soon enough I'll have him obedient as a dog," he purred, continuing to walk, Gragor gulping and following suit, beyond glad that Damien wasn't infuriated with what he considered so highly to be his becoming a reviled sobriquet amongst the minions. Damien spared him another glance and chuckled, "Well, I believe that he's closer than you may think. Think about it: He's hiding from himself, but not McCormick. He'll let him see what he is, but can't even look himself in the mirror. Five years later and he's still performing a spell when it's only him and the hound? That just screams that what he is is still dug in deep, and he's just as miserable about it as he was down here, if not more."

Gragor nodded, slowly, the words making a semblance of sense. Given, he certainly didn't seem distraught just a few moments ago. "Why wouldn't he hide it from McCormick if he's so ashamed?" he questioned.

He shrugged, "My guess? McCormick told him not to. That 'he'd love him no matter what'," he mocked with an eye roll. "He's trying to make him feel better about it, but even I know the mouse better than that. It's been sitting there for five years. He's been stewing in it, has to relive it every few hours. It's just been pressing and pressing on his little skull," he said with cruel amusement. "All I have to do is make another strike, make the notion of eventual acceptance crumble all at once."

Gragor's chest twisted lightly. The inevitability had finally come to a head, a day that many had not been looking forward to, but had been preparing for. "How, my lord?"

He grinned, "Well let's be honest with ourselves, Gragor," he purred. "Really all it would take for him to snap would be to merely see me once again. Remember it all at once. Undo every little ounce of patching that McCormick's been building atop him for so long. But I have much grander things planned," he drawled theatrically. "And it requires assistance from you, Gragor."

He gulped, nodding briskly. "Anything, Master Damien."

He smirked, eyes smoldering, hearing Kyle's happy moans echoing in his ears and taking a long breath. "I need you to distract my father when the time comes. Until then, please instruct some of the lessers to prepare my room…" he paused, feeling Gragor's confused blink and chuckling darkly. "It'll need prepped for its newest occupant."

Kenny shivered, the frigidity of the fall night air slamming into his face. He rubbed his hands vigorously over his cheeks as he and Kyle trekked through the parking lot towards the low lighting of the bar in the distance. Kyle glanced up at him and smirked lightly, ripping off his worn green hat and reaching up to slam it down on Kenny's head. He tore off his scarf and tossed it around his neck with a grin, "You pussy."

Ken pouted, digging his chin down to nestle in the warmth leftover and Kyle's smell. "How the fuck are you warm? You only have a fucking hoodie!" he complained.

The redhead shrugged, "Guess demons are fairly temperature tolerant. Explains why I didn't die of a heatstroke in Hell." Kenny cocked his brow before letting out a 'huh' and a soft nod, bundling himself up further in his jacket and sniffling. Kyle grasped his phone out of his pocket, biting his lip. "Okay, I have four hours and forty-eight minutes. I should probably set another alarm about ten minutes ahead of my other ten minute warning in case I-"

"Kyle. You have three set already," he reminded him. "And I have two. You're going to be fine."

Kyle sighed, nodding and sticking his phone back into his jeans, angled just-so against his hip bone so he'd no doubt feel the vibration. "Ken, it's just been a while since we've been at this big of a gathering, you know?" he winced. "Remember the close call we had last year at Karen's?"

Ken twisted his lips, reaching his frozen fingers out to grasp Kyle's hand, shoving them both into Kyle's hoodie pocket. "We forgot to account for the time difference," he reminded him. "We don't have that problem here. We use alarms and a timer. We have this mapped down to the second, Babe. C'mere," he yanked him into his side, leaning down and kissing his cheek. "It's gonna be great. We're gonna see the guys, rag on each other for a few hours, then you and I'll head back to the hotel and bang till we pass out."

Kyle snorted, "I know I don't get tired easily, but you do, you lazy bum. You still need to get actual sleep."

"Eh," he shrugged. "Your ass is far more important to me than something so menial as sleepin'." Kyle chuckled, head tilting and a happy smile spreading over his face as another long kiss fell on his buccinater. "Now c'mon," Kenny murmured against his skin. "Let's go show up these assholes thinkin' their relationships are better than ours."

Kyle rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he squeezed Kenny's hand, leading the both of them into Skeeter's and his sensitive nose automatically assaulted with the aroma of years' worth of tobacco build-up and spilt beer. "Oh god," he whispered, scrunching his eyes and shuddering. "Someone must've gotten sick a while ago." The harsh odor of stale vomit and cleaning sawdust was overpowering, churning his own stomach.

Kenny nodded briskly with the reminder, taking his hand back and reaching into his pocket, snagging a small bottle of essential oil from his jacket. "Sorry, Babe, blanked," he said, opening the vial and dabbing a bit onto his finger, wiping it under Kyle's nose.

The redhead sighed, pleasantly washed in the sweet, woodsy aroma of sandalwood. He glanced up at Kenny and smiled softly, "Thanks." Kenny grinned as he recapped his bottle, placing it back and kissing Kyle's forehead before they looked around.

"H-hey, Ken! Kyle!" an over-enthusiastic voice called. They followed the sound to the large party booth in the back of the establishment, seeing a pudgy blonde waving his arm wildly towards them surrounded by other excited faces.

"Oh goody, Butters," Kenny said through his teeth as he smiled, both of them stepping off towards the group.

"Be nice," Kyle said coolly. "We'll only see him a few days," he reminded him. "Focus on the others."

Kenny sighed through his nose and nodded, grumbling quietly. A long-held grudge against the other blonde was still prevalent, the naïve older one getting it into his head that they were somehow buddies just because Kenny didn't tease him. That never had to do with liking him. He just didn't want to fucking talk to him, regardless of the context. It led to years of Butters trying to tag along with him, always trying to get his opinion on everything. It'd all come to a head the night they'd graduated high school, Kenny a bit preoccupied with slamming his valedictorian boyfriend against the bathroom wall and trying to get those damn robes off when Butters meandered in, asking if they were coming to his party the next day, completely oblivious to the two of them half-undressed and staring at him in horror. In what Kyle had dubbed the angriest he'd seen Kenny ever get at the time, he'd flown into a rage screaming for him to just leave him alone, to take the hint from his silence and buzz off. Butters had left in tears, Kyle having to begrudgingly fix their robes and force Kenny to follow and apologize for getting so out-of-character on a moron.

Needless to say, Kyle had quite a few apologies of his own to make after Kenny was forced to endure a hug and a twenty-minute blathering from Butters. Though, Kenny would never say it wasn't worth it. Getting to whisk Kyle away to Denver for a good four days and never letting him put clothes on certainly wasn't a bad way for the redhead to make up forcing him into contact with the imbecile.

Kenny forced the smile back on his face, Kyle squeezing his hand reassuringly as they approached the table and Butters leapt up, snagging him in a hug. "How ya doin', Kenny?" he asked.

"Fine. Just fine. How are you?" he forced the pleasantry out, giving him a rapid two taps on his back and pulling away.

Butters grinned, "Aw heck, just glad to see everyone." He turned and dragged Kyle into a hug as well, their heads bashing together and the blonde wincing a bit. "Oh ow, sorry, Kyle," he pulled back and rubbed his temple. Kyle blinked before realizing what'd happened, mimicking the response and feeling Kenny laughing subtly beside him. "How're you?" brown eyes peered up and twinkled.

He gave him a soft, easygoing smile that Kenny couldn't help but be jealous that he could pull off so simply. "We're doing gre-" he stopped as more arms wrapped around him, smirking awkwardly at Clyde suddenly around him and shaking him before returning the embrace.

"You assholes haven't come to see any of us at all," he whined, snagging Kenny's jacket and wrangling him in with the both of them, Kyle caught between their tight holds. He looked past the brunette to Stan, Cartman, Token, Craig, and Tweek for help, all of them shaking their heads amusedly, letting him suffer a bit for his and Kenny's extended stay-aways. Clyde pulled back finally and pouted, Ken and Kyle catching the air of his inebriation with ease. "Why do you hate us?"

"We don't hate anyone," Kyle rolled his eyes. "We've just been busy. Got work and Kat and whatnot, you know. Being adults."

Craig scoffed, tilting his beer bottle atop the table. "Oh, how could we forget. Apparently we're all just running around still playing make-believe. 'Sides, if Marsh and Testaburger can come down, you two don't have an excuse."

Kenny smirked, "Good to see you, too, Tucker." Clyde slid back into the booth, dragging Kyle along with him and Kenny following into the seat, nudging his husband a bit with a smirk at Clyde's continual hugging around his arms. Kyle blinked confusedly at the attention, Clyde and he were never exactly the best of buddies. Acquaintances at the very best. He could only attribute the touchiness to pre-wedding jitters, allowing him to continue remaining clinging around him and grabbing for Kenny's hand.

Cartman rolled his eyes, "The fuck took you two faggots so long?"

Stan turned and glared, "You know not to ask them that!"

The blonde's face quirked into a shit-eating grin, wrapping his arm pointedly around Kyle's shoulders, hand having to worm between his arm and Clyde's cheek "Well, Fatboy, I think it's finally time we had the talk. You see, when two or more people love each other very much-"

"Kenny, c'mon," Clyde whined with a sigh, finally pulling off of the redhead and rubbing his temple exhaustedly. "I'm kinda in freak-out mode right now."

Kyle glanced around the table, thin brow raising. "The girls out doing their thing? Shouldn't you and Annie be doing last-minute prep or something?"

"We're doing the whole 'don't see each other until the wedding' thing," he rolled his eyes. He glanced around the table. "Did any of you do that?" he questioned.

Stan nodded, taking a sip of his beer. "Yep, me n' Wends did two days of us both in separate hotel rooms, didn't see each other until she was walking down the aisle," he smiled dopily.

"You mean the tick-infested carpet you found in a landfill," Cartman scoffed, whining at a strong punch against his humerus.

Token snorted, rolling his eyes. "Me and Bebe only did a ten-hour thing. But… you know, impromptu wedding made it kind of weird for us to want to do much else traditional."

Clyde nodded slowly, turning his attention to Kenny nuzzling down against Kyle's hair, his hat pressing upwards with the movement and nearly slipping off his scalp entirely. "What about you two?" he asked. "You're the only other ones hitched."

"Oh, let me field that one," Stan interjected, fueled by already managing to down two and a half brewskis.

Kyle blushed, "How about you don't-"

"No, no, no," he cut him off. "Let me tell it." He turned to Clyde and raised his brow. "So, you know, bein' Ky's best man, my job was to keep him from freaking the fuck out the days leading up to and of, right?" Clyde nodded slowly, watching him with skepticism. "Well him and Ken decide to try the 'wait to see each other thing'. They wanted to do two days. They lasted about… thirty-eight minutes. It was actually pretty impressive for them," he scoffed.

Kyle rolled his eyes, "Stan, knock it off. We're just not good at-"

He stopped as Stan held up his hand. "I'm not done with my story, Kyle." The redhead glared, Kenny snorting and shaking him lightly, looking up at the waitress as she approached and ordering he and Kyle a drink before turning back amusedly to Stan's story. "So they try one day. Caught 'em seventeen minutes later in a bathroom."

"Someone's jealous of how slutty my husband is," Kenny smirked.

"Ken, shut up," Kyle snapped, flicking his nose. The blonde whined, grabbing Kyle's hat and shoving it back onto its owner's head down over his eyes.

Stan shook his head at their theatrics before turning back to Clyde. "So. Day of gets there. And they swore up and down that it was for real that time. No seeing each other until they met at the end of the damn aisle to walk down together, right? Well, Kyle has a fucking panic attack about an hour before it starts, asks me to go get him some soda and a cigarette so he can stop freaking out. I come back and walk in on Kenny nailing him against a fucking table. Mind you I ran to get what he needed."

Kyle shrugged sheepishly with a wince, "Ken's the best at making my anxiety go away?" he tried.

Kenny wriggled his brows, "Ay, my best man was shit at keepin' tabs on me. You all knew what you were risking."

Cartman rolled his eyes. "You got a text from Kahl and fucking locked me in the closet, you poor piece of shit."

"That's what I like to call a taste of irony," he said primly. "You spent years tauntin' me n' Ky 'bout us bein' trapped in a goddamn closet. Well, now you know how scary it is." He snorted as Cartman threw a handful of pretzels at him, shaking his head briskly to get fragments out of his hair.

Stan sighed tiredly, "Good fucking thing I know how you idiots get."

Kyle laughed, looking over at Clyde with another shrug. "He brought a duplicate of both our dress vests and ties just in case."

"And a fucking laundry stick," he shook his head.

"Aw, I think that's sweet," Butters cooed. "Couldn't keep yer hands off each other for just a few hours. That's somethin' special."

"It's called being horny and irritating," Craig corrected dryly.

Kenny scoffed, "Someone's jealous that they don't get any. What's wrong Craig? Mad that you didn't get dis fine ass for yourself?" he poked Kyle's cheek pointedly, wincing at a sharp bite on the offending finger.

Craig rolled his eyes, "Trust me. You can have Broflovski all you want. No one else can deal with his bullshit."

"Ay," he snapped. "That is Broflovski-McCormick to you," he warned, glancing up at his and Kyle's beers being set down and breaking his stern gaze for a thank you for the waitress.

Kyle raised his brow as he snagged his drink, "And everyone else I would hope?"

"But especially Captain Single-n-Jealous over there."

Clyde chuckled, taking another long sip of his beer and sighing, "Man, I hope me and Annie are like that."

"I think you wanna aim closer to me and Bebe or Stan and Wendy," Token said wryly. "No offense, guys, but we can only take one couple that acts like you two."

Tweek's finger tapped nervously on his Irish coffee, "I mean… I don't think it's so bad," he winced. "Least they're not f-fighting or something… right?! That'd be way worse for all of us!"

Kyle gave a bittersweet smirk, "Trust me, you're all better off that way. You don't wanna see us fight. Gets pretty brutal." He looked up as Kenny squeezed around his shoulders comfortingly, meeting him with a soft kiss, ignoring Cartman's dramatically nauseated groans and Butters and Tweek letting out quiet 'aw's'.

Clyde watched them curiously, "Aren't you two outta the honeymoon phase yet? You've been together like, ten fuckin' years."

They looked over at him and laughed, "Honeymoon phase?" Kyle repeated. "Fuck we haven't had that since… like two months after we started dating."

Kenny snorted and nodded in agreement, "I love this little bastard but he ain't perfect and neither am I. We just know how to keep it cool most of the time. All the sex helps," he added, Kyle nodding along and shrugging.

Clyde nodded, soaking in the words and biting his lip. "Any like… tips? Marriage tips?"

"Uh, we're married, too?! And to women? Like who you're marrying?!" Stan gestured to himself and Token.

The brunette waved him off, "I know I know but you two are always fighting with Wendy and Bebe."

Kyle narrowed his eyes a bit in confusion, "I literally just said that Ken and I fight sometimes, too."

"I know," he pouted. "But you aren't texting me whining like these two," he gestured to the other husbands who frowned and took long drinks of their alcohol. "No one knows what you two fight about. For all we knew you never do."

"Well… well that's 'cause you guys don't come see us," Butters added sadly. "Ya moved t' the big city n' forgot 'bout us."

"We didn't forget anyone," Kyle insisted. "We just have a lot on our plates. And you all know my mother, you really think I want to deal with her that often?"

Cartman let out a smug smirk, "So… are you saying then, Jew, that my description of your mother is accurate?" He grinned wider at a sharp, warning glare from the redhead as Kenny pulled him closer into his side and cleared his throat.

"You want a tip, Clyde? I got one," Kenny started firmly, getting the brunette's and the rest of the table's full attention. "If Annie needs somethin', you fuckin' get her that somethin'. If she needs you to leave her alone, that's what you fucking do. You don't push, you just tell her you're waitin' for when she needs ya. And if she needs to stay at home and not be surrounded by people because life is fucking hard sometimes, then you goddamn stay home and order her Chinese and don't let her have to make any effort she doesn't have t'. Don't make her be someone she's not," he said, voice dropping and fingers lightly curling around Kyle's arm, feeling green eyes locked on him intensely but keeping his gaze firmly set in Clyde's. "Your goddamn job is to make her feel better about herself, no matter what she needs and how ridiculous you think she's being. And her job is to do the same for you."

Kyle nodded slowly, hand gripping Kenny's thigh and turning to look at Clyde as well. "You do that and you two'll be way happier than you thought you could be, no matter how shitty it gets," he winced. "That whole 'marriage is a partnership' cliché shit is cliché because it's fucking true. If you try to handle everything on your own and don't get her help at least somewhere down the line… it can get really ugly," he said quietly. "Everything you do as soon as that ring goes on is for both of you. And, coming from two men: Trying to act like the stereotypical man and bottling up shit so you don't 'inconvenience her' or 'look like a pussy' or something makes it so much worse. It's all about stepping back but always making sure you step forward again and in the same direction she's going. Otherwise you end up on opposite sides of the field and get nowhere."

Clyde's face fell a bit, scraping at the label of his bottle with his thumb. "I… holy fuck that sounds fucking… real," he breathed. "I mean everyone's tellin' me close to the same thing but they talk about it like it doesn't actually matter," he stressed.

"It really does," Kenny input softly.

"Anyone else feel like the faggot atmosphere just rose so high it's about to smother us all?" Cartman asked dryly, dark amber eyes half-lidded and his chin propped in his palm. Stan, Token, and Craig all raised their hands, staring at the husbands and shaking their heads.

Clyde ignored them, smiling and moving forward, clasping Kyle in another hug and dragging Kenny down as best as he could to have him join. "I'm really glad you guys came," he said happily.

"You're really drunk," Kyle snorted.

"Not really drunk," he countered. "Pleasantly buzzed."

Token nodded, "It's true. He gets huggy at that stage. When he's plastered, he cries and won't walk on his own."

Clyde chuckled and shrugged sheepishly, grinning at the two of them as he pulled back. "We were all kind of worried you wouldn't come."

"Wouldn't miss your big day, Man," Kenny promised lightheartedly. "I'm more than sure that you're the next one for the next decade with those two always takin' shit slow," he pointed to Butters and Tweek who shied down a bit. "And I'm more than sure Fatass and Tucker ain't ever gonna find someone t' put up with their bullshit."

"If you can find someone, anyone can," Craig replied flatly.

Kyle rolled his eyes, "According to you I'm the worst thing to walk the planet, so does it really count?"

"No. You're the third worst thing to walk the planet. Fatass is the worst and your dickhead husband is the second."

Kenny pumped his arm in victory, "Damn straight I'm not the worst." He grinned over at Cartman, pointing at him with a wink and clicking his tongue, "Thanks, Fatboy. You'll always be number one to me."

"Why did I come here?" Cartman muttered. "I hate every single one of you."

"Free food at the reception is my guess," Kyle drawled.

Amber eyes flickered with frustration, "And you came to see if your greedy Jew hands could swipe some of the money from the gift table, right?" Kyle narrowed his eyes, quickly blinking out of it as Kenny reached down and squeezed his hand as a reminder. Cartman was the other reason they rarely came home. He could so easily set off Kyle's power getting him riled up that he'd be outed in a second flat, the both of them more than happy to avoid the possibility where they could.

"Guys, knock it off," Clyde begged. "Promise me you won't do this at the wedding, Annie will have my nuts in a vice; she's already pissed I invited both of you at the same time."

"You're just encouraging him at this point," Kyle leaned his chin into his palm and cocked his brow at the man. "Did you bribe him to behave yet?"

Token frowned, looking over at the glutton suspiciously, "Are you really gonna make him do that?"

"Why not? The rest of you did," Cartman grinned smugly.

Kyle rolled his eyes, glancing at Clyde sympathetically. "Just go with the standard of he doesn't have to buy you a gift. It'll keep him mostly quiet."

Clyde groaned and shook his head, waving at Cartman aimlessly. "Fine, fine. No gift, I don't care. Just be fucking behaved, all right?"

"I'd never ruin your special day, Clyde," he cooed, leaning back and taking a long sip of his beer. "Kinny and Kahl will do that sneaking off to have sex in the closet again."

"One wedding we did that!" Kenny protested. "The other times it was the bathroom… and in Stan's wedding's case, we just went deeper into the woods."

Stan shook his head slowly, "Shouldn't you two be like, hitting a low point in your fucking horny bullshit by now?"

Kyle quirked his brow, "That you admitting to the rest of us that you need a little blue pill already, Stan?" The remainder of the table burst into laughter, the man glaring at his best friend who smiled innocently.

"No. I'm just saying," he drawled, raising his voice with each word until the others calmed down their damn chortling. "I'm saying you aren't fucking teenagers anymore, stop sneaking off and acting like it."

"Jesus Christ, Dad," Ken scoffed. "Sorry we're not all fuckin' prudes. Just be thankin' the stars Ky ain't into exhibitionism or you'd have a hell of a lot worse of a time with us around."

Token shuddered, "Yeah no. Thanks for your discretion."

"Anytime," he tipped his bottle towards him in salute. He turned to Clyde again and smirked, wrapping his arm up around Kyle's shoulders once more. "Clyde, just follow me and Ky's example with Annie and you can't go wrong."

He raised his brow, "So fuck inappropriately and make all our friends uncomfortable at social gatherings."

"There you go," he winked.

Kyle shrugged innocently, "Or be inappropriate without your friends even knowing. Like how I've been giving Kenny a hand this entire conversation."

"AW SICK!" the group shouted, hurrying to back away from them and crowd the far side of the booth as the husbands lost it, leaning against each other and cackling hysterically.

The redhead simmered in the slightest, raising his hands above the table. "I'm kidding."

"This time," Ken finished with a cheeky grin. The remainder launched into a lecturing, complaining session towards the both of them, words meshing together incomprehensibly. The blonde leaned down and lightly brushed his lips over Kyle's ear. "Glad you came?" he whispered.

Kyle turned from watching the amusing expressions fluctuating along their friends' faces to look up at him, smiling sweetly. "I really am," he murmured. "Thanks for convincing me." Kenny grinned, planting a small peck against his lips, both of them snickering at the round of disgust from everyone but the blankly staring Butters and Tweek picking up volume and rapidity. They both turned to face the group, heads leaning against each other and each floating through a haze as they picked up random words from select members. Kyle's hand reached down and squeezed Kenny's knee, another silent thank you. The blonde grinned happily, feeling the normalcy once more ebbing through Kyle's ever-shifting tides, his alarms forgotten for the moment, lost in nothing but Kenny's hold and for just a few moments finding himself feeling like who he once was.