info ;; Hello, again! Thank you to all the lovely reviews! I'm sorry I wasn't able to respond individually, I've had quite a horrid internet connection lately. I hope you all enjoy this next chapter, and I hope it lives up to expectations. If there are problems, let me know. If you like it, let me know. If you think its a big pile of steamy poo, also let me know.
warnings/disclaimers ;; I have neglected both of these in the past, my apologies. This contains boy love, between Cartman and Kyle, and contains a semi-steamy scene between the two. Or multiple steamy scenes... however you want to look at it. In any case, I dont own them, but you all knew that already. Please enjoy.
"What do you want, fatass?" Kyle asks in irritation.
"Oh, no, I was just wondering..."
"Spit it out, Cartman, what do you want?"
Cartman snubs his toe in the dirt, looking down as if he's been reprimanded by a stern parent. "Its really not important."
Kyle throws his hands in the air, rolling his eyes. He has gone through this act with Cartman time and time again. This is nothing different than the usual. Whatever the fat teen has to say, it will bring everyone into some kind of ridiculous scheme for money and Kyle will be screwed over in the end. There has never been another outcome, and he knows it. "I'm going home. And don't you try to follow me. I don't want to deal with your shit," he says, glaring at Cartman before turning and walking away.
For a moment, Cartman stays still, watching the Jew walk away from the greatest offer of his entire life. Being the naturally helpful person he is, Cartman followed Kyle quickly, catching up to the Jew with a heavy huff. "Wait, Kyle, seriously, this is the best offer I've ever made to you."
Having recently passed his drivers test, and being the only friend of the quartet carrying a valid drivers license, Kyle has his doubts. He frowns, stopping mid-step and examining Eric's face for a hint of a lie. It's usually there in his eyes, or right where his eyebrows knit together in his most concentrated face. Kyle knows Eric like the back of his hand, and he's learned to avoid offers at all costs. Of course, that doesn't mean he can't hear the offers.
Cartman grins ear to ear. "I knew you'd see it my way," he chuckles, putting his arm over Kyle's shoulders. Since grade school, the pair had changed in height. Cartman stands a full foot taller, and has lost much of his baby-fat. What is left, now, is nothing more than muscle and KFC deposits.
"Just get to it, already," Kyle warns, shoving the arm away from his shoulders.
"Of course. Anything for you, Kyle." Cartman moves to stand in front of Kyle, putting his hands together and clearing his throat. "Now, you see Kyle, what I have is a problem, and what you have is a solution to that problem. Token is having a party tonight, in Denver. Now, I know what you're thinking, Kyle, and I have to explain myself. They're going to Casa Bonita."
Kyle scoffs in irritation, rolling his eyes and almost walking away. But he hasn't gotten to the good part yet, and he's secretly quite interested in Cartman's offer. So he stays.
"Good, you know what that means then," Cartman says quietly, deathly serious. "Free Casa Bonita. I can't pass that up, and neither can you, Kyle. That's why I went to you first. If you drive me to Token's party, I will pay you five dollars."
Kyle laughs sharply, surprising himself. "Yeah right, fatass. Five dollars isn't anything anymore. I put twenty into my truck every week. You're going to have to try harder."
Cartman searches his shorter companion for a way around his decision. As Kyle begins to walk around him, Cartman holds his hands out. "Wait, Kyle, ten dollars. You can't pass that up. Free food and ten dollars. You'd be going against every Jewish instinct in your head if you say no."
Kyle pushes past him. "No, Cartman."
"Kyle, you can't ignore this offer. Ten dollars, Kyle! Free food at Casa Bonita, Kyle!" Cartman hurries behind the Jew, desperately throwing offers at him as they walk off the school grounds. "I know you're fighting it, but give in. What can one trip to Denver hurt?"
Kyle stops dead, and Cartman nearly bowls him over. Whirling around, Kyle glares up at the taller teen. "If you're not at my house at exactly four-thirty, I'm not taking you. Okay?"
"Jeeze, Kyle, don't get your panties in a bunch. I'll be there," Cartman says, as if Kyle were the one losing his temper. He trudges behind Kyle as the Jewish teen stalks off angrily. "Hey, Kyle, maybe I should stay at your place, so there's no chance of being late."
Kyle keeps walking, ignores the whining behind him. "No chance, fatass. Go home. Don't make me change my mind."
"But Kyle..."
"Go home!"
Cartman stops. The tone in Kyle's voice is dangerously close to the breaking point, and there is no way he will forfeit a trip to Casa Bonita. Without a word, he lets Kyle walk away, leaving himself standing on the edge of the sidewalk. Before the night is out, he'll have warm Casa Bonita in his stomach, and if Token keeps his promise, a cold beer in his hand.
Eric Cartman's life can't get any better than this.
It is exactly four-thirty when the chubby teen trundles up the Broflovski family driveway. Kyle is already standing beside his truck, the keys in his hands. He hesitates for a moment, almost goes back to the house and locks the door, but he jams the key into the door, pops it open, and climbs in. Cartman opens the passenger door eagerly, pulling himself in and grinning at Kyle. No doubt a grin that nearly changes Kyle's mind, but once he's gone through with something, he can't well get out of it. He just cant. Its in his blood, or something. Cartman would explain it better.
"Oh, man, Casa Bonita. I can hardly wait. When I get there, I'm gonna..."
"Cartman, shut the hell up. Where's the money?" Kyle asks, holding the keys in his hand, staring at the other.
"You get the money when we get there, you filthy Jew," Cartman snaps, glaring back. No doubt his mind is working on comebacks, but he knows to say them would mean not going to Casa Bonita. Instead, he scoffs and stares straight ahead. "I have it."
"Right," Kyle says, rolling his eyes. He jams the keys into the ignition, bringing the car to life as he backs out of the driveway. He stops halfway, looking out at the sidewalk. Stan Marsh is standing there, staring at the truck quizzically. Kyle shrugs as he rolls the window down. "Hey, Stan," he calls.
"Dude, where are you going?" Stan asks, walking up to the truck. He spots Cartman and frowns, but keeps his mouth shut.
Kyle fidgets nervously, thinking of anything to say. Unfortunately, the only thing he can say is the truth, especially to his best friend. "Uh, nowhere. Just Denver. I'll be back in a few hours."
"Okay, dude. Whatever you want. I'm going to Wendy's." Stan gives a final look at Cartman before sighing and waving them out the driveway. He doesn't walk towards Wendy's, though. Not until the truck with the unusual pair disappears around the corner, headed towards the freeway. No doubt, he questions his friend's sanity and Cartman's intentions, but he can't say anything with the fatass actually there.
Cartman is turned around in the seat, watching Stan's shape disappear. "Your little boyfriend looks sad," he observes, turning back in his seat to watch the road ahead of them.
Kyle takes a sharp turn onto main road, causing his companion to slide across the slick leather seats. "He's not my boyfriend, asshole."
"Sure, of course not. You just kissed in fifth grade on a dare, and I just happen to have a picture of it," Cartman says lazily.
Kyle stares across the seat, mouth open in disbelief. "It was a dare, asshole! Kenny kissed Tweak, too, but you don't call them boyfriends!"
"They don't hang out all the time, either," Cartman points out. He sits back in his seat, grinning ear to ear as Kyle fumes behind the wheel. This is their friendship, and this is how it has always been. Neither of them have made a motion to end it so far, and Cartman isn't sure either of them know how. They go back to the diaper days, and friends like that are hard to come by. Even if they're more frenemies than friends, they have a long history together.
The truck pulls onto the freeway, and the pair stay in silence. Most of what they have to say is just insults anyway, and they both need to save their breath for whatever party Token has invited the infamous Eric Cartman to. Kyle wonders why he hasn't been invited, or why he hasn't heard about it, but he knows its because Token has grown up since grade school. Their entire class has. In the six years since fifth grade, South Park's class has grown up. Token is more likely to hang out with the popular kids than he is to hang out with his own classmates. His parties have moved from his parent's house into Denver, where he has been known to rent out hotels and restaurants for his friends. How Eric Cartman was invited, Kyle has yet to figure out. The thought of someone wanting Cartman at their party is puzzling enough for the Jewish boy.
They hit the outskirts of Denver, and Cartman perks up at the nearness of Casa Bonita. His obsession with food is legendary, and his love of that restaurant is infamous. Certainly, Butters could tell a few stories about the incident. Kyle follows Cartman's directions as he gives them, pulling into the parking lot next to the black escalade owned by Token. Compared to the vehicle, Kyle's beat up truck resembles a remnant from a scrap yard.
Cartman doesn't wait for the truck to turn off. He opens the door and begins the trek to the front door. Kyle sighs in exasperation and follows his childhood friend to the front door. Upon entering the restaurant, he notices the occupants are all from the junior and senior class of South Park. Token and his closest friends sit at the very far table, and radiating out from them are people from different social groups. Kyle follows Cartman to a seat, wondering what memo went out that he didn't get. As he takes his seat near Cartman, he notices a familiar shock of blonde hair at the table beside them.
"Kenny?" he asks.
"Oh, hey dude," Kenny says, turning around from the table he occupied. Around him, three girls and a particularly feminine guy were staring at him in rapt attention. No one knows why the self-proclaimed sex god of the school is the poorest kid in South Park, nor why anyone wants to sleep with him, but he constantly has people lined up to ask him to bed. "I didn't know you were coming."
"I didn't either," Kyle says, looking at Cartman. "I'm glad you're here. I might go crazy with only him as company."
"Ay, I heard that, Jew. You think I'm happy to be seen with you?"
Kenny grins, shrugging his thin shoulders. "Like old times, dude" he says, pushing away from his table. The four would-be suitors give him puppydog eyes, but his first responsibility is always his friends, and always will be. He pulls th chair next to Kyle out, whips it around, and straddles the seat, resting his arms on the backrest as he leans over the table. "Where's Stan?"
"He's at Wendy's," Kyle answers. Since high school started, a wedge has been driven between the normally inseparable duo. The wedge's name is Wendy Testaburger, and is a sore spot with Kyle. On the other hand, there is Kenny. Kenny, who, not three weeks ago, slept with Wendy while Stan was in a football game. In the natural way of things, Wendy has missed her last period and is now begging Kenny not to tell one of his best friends of his betrayal. Normal, high-school drama. It comes standard with every seventeen year old teenager.
Kenny quickly changes the subject, instead motioning to Cartman. "Explanation?" he asks.
"Uh, yeah," Kyle says, frowning. He flounders for an answer, but comes up with none. Before he is about to open his mouth, he is cut off.
"I gave him twenty dollars to drive me down here," Cartman answers, flagging down a waiter.
"You said ten, and you haven't even paid me, fatass" Kyle retorts.
Kenny whistles softly. "Ten bucks gets you into a truck with this asshole? How much gets you in bed, sweet cheeks?"
Kyle kicks the horny blonde in the shin, smiling despite the insinuation. His blonde friend has always had a high sex drive, and it is no surprise to any of them that it crosses over to both teams. "Never," he says confidently.
"Then how about a drink, and we'll see?" Kenny asks.
"Drink?"
"Yeah, Token paid off the entire staff to get us free drinks, too. He's loaded, man. If I don't get laid tonight, I'm going to quit trying," he laughs, looking back at the table of suitors that had yet to disperse to other locations.
Cartman jabs Kyle in the side. "Hey, asshole, order something," he demands. "We don't have all day."
Kyle points at an item on the menu in irritation. "I'll have that," he says.
"And a beer," Kenny adds, raising his hand. The waiter looks disgruntled, but writes it down anyway. He moves to the next table, taking the order of Kenny's faithful.
Cartman rolls his eyes. "Fuckin' weak," he says.
"What?" Kyle asks defensively.
"You ordered from the kid's menu and you got a beer."
"I didn't get a beer!" Kyle protests.
"Yes, you did."
"I don't drink, dude! My mom will kill me!"
"She won't know. Stop being such a pussy all the time, Kyle."
Kenny snickers behind his hand, realizing at the last second his parka no longer covers his face and distorts everything he says. "Sorry, dude, it's just funny. I can't wait to see you plastered."
"Thanks a lot, Kenny," Kyle groans.
"Sure thing, dude."
"So what kind of party is this, anyway?" Kyle asks, looking around. The groups of people are hard to categorize. He can see Bebe Stevens, sitting with several of the popular high school jocks. Two tables over, he spots the kids who claimed to be vampires, dressed in normal clothes and sipping Bloody Mary drinks through thin straws. For the life of him, he can't figure out the party's purpose.
Kenny shrugs. "Token just said he's having a homecoming party," he answers. "Told everyone who wanted to come to meet at Casa Bonita. That's where fatass overheard."
"I am not fat," Cartman retorts angrily.
"Whatever. You eat more than anyone I know."
"So Token is just spending his money?" Kyle asks, steering the conversation back on track.
Kenny looks around, leaning closer to Kyle over the backrest of his seat. "You didn't hear?" he asks quietly.
"No, I don't think I have."
Making sure no one is listening, Kenny gestures to Token's table. "His grandparents died and he got the inheritance money last week. After the food, we're going to their house in Denver for the rest of the party."
Kyle looks up as the waiter puts his drink down. A cold brown bottle of beer. He's unsure of the liquid, but he picks it up cautiously and takes a sip. The liquid slides down his throat, cool and refreshing with a bitter taste. He coughs, blinking a few times. "That's disgusting."
"You'll learn to love it," Kenny says, gulping liquid from his own bottle. "Keep drinking."
Kyle sighs, gulping down the liquid as quickly as he can without gagging on the bitter taste. Setting the empty bottle on the table, he looks at Kenny. "There," he says.
"About time, you fuckin' Jew," Cartman says, sipping from his own bottle. "Order another one. Or are you too much of a pussy?"
"No, I'm not," Kyle says, flagging down a waiter.
He's sitting on a couch, beer in one hand, laughing loudly with Kenny and Clyde Donovan about something one of them has said. He doesn't remember when the beer got there, or how many he's had. He only knows the taste is closer to enjoyable than bitter at this point. Cartman is missing, probably raiding the kitchen, not that he cares. He's enjoying himself in the company of others for once.
Kenny puts his arm around Kyle's shoulders, grinning madly. "I knew you'd be a fun drunk, you fuddy-duddy," he crows happily.
Kyle shrugs out from under the heavy arm. "I'm always fun. Right? Right, Clyde? I'm always fun. I'm Mr. Fun."
Clyde taps his beer against Kyle's, nodding. "Always fun," he answers.
Kenny pats his friend on the back. "I'm gonna go get laid, dude. See you in a while." He gets up, wobbles forward, and nearly tumbles into the arms of a pretty brunette and her red-head friend. The pair giggle, helping Kenny to his feet as they pull him away to one of the many rooms in the large house.
Token had described it as his grandparent's house, and Kyle hadn't doubted that. No reason to, when there is free beer in the fridge. Though, as he sits on the couch with Clyde for company, he realizes how badly he has to use the restroom. He also realizes that he doesn't know where the bathroom is. He gets up, waving absently to Clyde as he balances his beer.
"I'm gonna go find Cartman," he says, walking towards the hallway. He moves down until he finds the kitchen. Standing at the center island, Cartman is making a sandwich, sipping from a beer as he does so, humming off-key to himself. Kyle bumps into the island, setting his now empty beer down. "I have to piss," he declares.
"That's nice, Jew," Cartmain replies.
"I have to piss," he repeats.
"What do you want me to do about it?"
"Where's the bathroom?"
Cartman looks up, them back at his sandwich. "I don't know, go find it yourself," he grunts.
Kyle reaches into the fridge for another drink, pulling one out of the very back. He walks back to the island, setting the beer against the counter and pulling the cap off. He takes a sip, watching Cartman make his sandwich with the care and concern of a drunken sailor. There is more alcohol in him than he lets on, and Kyle wonders why the taller teen isn't as drunken as himself.
Cartman puts the sandwich down, glaring at him. "Come on, follow me," he growls, leaving the kitchen.
"Where are we going?" Kyle slurs, stumbling after Cartman. They leave the kitchen, walking down the hallway. The taller of the two is climbing up the stairs, knocking people aside as he passes. Kyle apologizes profusely to the other party-goers, nearly spilling his drink on them. They reach the landing, take a left down the long hallway.
"I don't know," Cartman confesses, pushing doors open as they walk down the mostly empty hallway. "Gotta find a fuckin' bathroom, I feel like I'm gonna fuckin' hurl and I don't want you pissin' yourself."
"This one?" Kyle asks, pushing a heavy oak door open. He immediately pulls it shut, sputtering on his drink. Vodka, or something similar. Cartman comes up behind him, reaches around to open the door.
"What's in there, pussy?" he demands.
Kyle pushes him away from the door, shaking his head, a solemn look on his face. "I never want to see naked Craig again," he says quietly.
"Oh, sick, man," Cartman says, waving the air away as if that can change the image in his head. "You think they could lock the door or something. Fuckin' faggots."
"Actually, I think he was with Bebe," Kyle answers, trailing behind Cartman as they search more cautiously for the bathroom. Kyle has needed to pee for hours. Even before they left Casa Bonita.
"Isn't Bebe dating some asshole from the football team?" Cartman asks.
"I don't know," Kyle mutters.
"Here's the bathroom," Cartman announces, pushing the door open.
Inside, the black toilet shines among the black sink and black claw foot tub. The gold colored ffixtures accent the pale gray wall, lending an elegant feel. Neither of them cares enough to take in the expensive taste of the bathroom. Kyle stumbles in, pushes the seat on the toilet up, and fumbles with the zipper on his pants. He forgets his button, and has to stop a moment to go back.
"Dude, fucking sick, wait till I close the door at least," Cartman scowls, turning around. He doesn't close the door, perhaps the alcohol talking to him. He hears Kyle's urine stream hit the toilet, no doubt splashing everywhere. The Jew can hardly walk, let alone aim his piss. He can't hold liquor, either. After the second shot of tequila, he was stumbling around like a drunken sailor. That was three hours ago. With the party in full swing, the Jew stood no chance at all.
Kyle zips his pants back up, leans over to flush the toilet. "That felt great," he says, swaying on his feet as he turns to Cartman.
The chubbier teen turns his head cautiously, giving Kyle a strange look. "You're sick, dude. I don't want to see your wang."
"Whatever, you didn't have to look," Kyle retorts. He takes a few faltering steps towards the door, slips on the tile, and falls with a startled shout. His arms flail out uselessly, grabbing nothing but air to catch himself. He cracks his head against the sink before landing on the floor, still.
Cartman stares in muted disbelief. He doesn't find a single word to say in his extensive vocabulary. He just looks at the red-head, as if it didn't happen. He is afraid of the possibilities, afraid that Kyle might be dead, or worse, in a coma. Or, worse yet passed out, meaning Cartman has to carry him down the stairs and explain to the entire party what they were doing in a bathroom together. With few choices, he quickly slams the door, fighting against the lock before deciding its too much to handle for his drunken brain.
Kyle stirs, pushes himself up. "Oh, sick, I think I missed the toilet," he observes in a slur, reaching for the toilet paper. He dabs at the floor cautiously with a wash rag, staring at the spot in infinite concentration.
Cartman sighs in irritation."You're under the sink, retard," He grunts, reaching down to grab Kyle under the armpits, lifting him to a wobbly standing position. "You pissed on the tub, though."
Catching his balance, the Jewish teen blinks rapidly, attempting to clear his vision. "Oh, shit," he grumbles. He sways on his feet, and Cartman grabs his shoulders to keep him steady. "Why aren't you this drunk?"
"Because I can hold liquor, unlike your skinny Jew ass." Cartman pauses, realizing how close their faces are in such a small space. He notices the vibrant green of Kyle's eyes, sees the red curl peeking out from under a faded South Park Cows baseball cap. The curly red hair that he spent so long trying to tame every morning, and the hair that Cartman picked on him for. The Daywalker has a way of getting into his head, and he feels the tug in his stomach pull harder. Another day, he would tell himself he is hungry. Today, he knows better. That familiar tug is one of desire, a feeling he's been repressing for nearly four years.
"Why are you staring at me?" Kyle asks, screwing his face up into a look of puzzlement.
Cartman finds no answer, and does the only thing his mind is telling him to. He leans forward, pressing his lips to Kyle's. In the four years of high school, Cartman has not kissed anyone. His last kiss was Bebe Stevens in eighth grade, on a dare, and Bebe had nearly thrown up. He hopes Kyle's reaction is different. Much different. Thankfully enough for the normally-rejected fatboy, Kyle tries to push him away, but doesn't put his whole effort into it.
Realizing his mistake, realizing the consequences, Cartman pulls away, staring at the Jew in anger and disbelief. Kyle stared back, just as confused, before grabbing Cartman's hand and pulling him closer. The two collapse against the wall, Kyle's hands pulling the taller boy towards him, tangling in his shirt. Cartman's left hand is planted against the wall, his right pressed against the small of Kyle's slender back. Their lips meet in a fiery kiss, and a small moan escapes Kyle's lips. His drink is forgotten on the sink, the party a distant memory. In his world, he and Cartman are all that exist. His knees go weak, and the taller catches him, holding him tightly while trailing rough kisses down his neck. He moves Kyle's thin shirt to the side, biting his shoulder. Kyle gasps, his hands clenching around Cartman's back.
"Wait," Kyle gasps, inhaling sharply. "The party..."
"Fuck the party. Bunch of fucking faggots, anyway," Cartman responds, pushing Kyle against the wall.
