AN: WOO! This took long enough, and it's only chapter 2, lots more to come! I don't own South Park! I love reviews! I really, really love reviews! Please review! Oh, and if Matt Stone and Trey Parker wanna sell SP to me for dirt cheap I'd totally take it, cause dirt cheap is abouts all I can afford. Onto the molestation adventure!

"I think I'm entitled to your body

gotta little problem with personal space

and I've been poundin' the jaeger,

my breath and behavior
have been driving the patrons away." -Ludo, "Whipped Cream"

A fine mist of water droplets was falling over the quiet little mountain town of South Park, Colorado. It was a mid-October morning and the sun was still low in the autumn sky, camouflaged by fog and clouds. By all accounts it was a dreary day, one of the last chilly rainfalls that served to remind the grumbling residents of mountainous Colorado towns of the long and frigid winter season ahead. Chilly rain would lead to freezing rain and freezing rain would lead to hail, which would lead to snow, then flurries, then blizzards and ice and angry citizens. It was the kind of weather, the kind of day, where everyone ended up just pissed off and miserable.

Kenny McCormick, it would seem, had not gotten the message.

He had no coat on. He had no umbrella. All he had to protect him from the freezing mist was his much loved parka with its much loved hood and the gloves on his hands. But still, he was happy.

Though "happy" was a bit of an understatement.

Hood up and tightly drawn, his gloved hands were shoved into his jean pockets as he rocked back and forth on the heels and balls of his feet. There was a smile plastered on his face as he rocked and hummed; he was as giddy as the first time he'd seen a boob. He was currently adding his own personal to "Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah" as he hummed the tune in accompaniment to the lyrics in his head.

Kyle can't avoid me, Kyle can't stay a-waaay. No Kyle can't avoid me and soon I'm gonna get lai-

"Hey Stan!"

"Nnmmph"

Kenny laughed at Stan's groggy response. Stan never had been a morning person.

Of course, Kenny would've normally been in a similar state…but that didn't matter today!

"Aw, did wittle Stanwey not sweep well? What, wet dreams about Cartman and Butters?"

"Fuck, you sicko! Now I'm gonna have that image in my head!" Stan shuddered.

Kenny held his stomach as he laughed.

"How are you so awake, what did you snort Kenny?" Stan's rubbed his temples with closed eyes.

"Mmm, I'm as sober as a motherfucking saint Stan. I just got a good night's sleep after your girlfriend tired me out last night."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck who?" Kyle approached with Ike trailing behind him.

"Well Kyle, you could always fuck me," the purred words were joined by a Cheshire cat grin that Kenny pulled down on his parka to reveal.

"Kenny!" Kyle glared at Kenny and gave a head jerk in the direction of his younger brother.

"The lil' squirts gotta learn about sex sometime."

"Hey, I already know about it! I'm not a baby!"

"Ike, you're too young to hear about this stuff. You're only eleven; you shouldn't be listening to Kenny."

Goddamn, Kyle's his fucking mom. Jesus fucking Christ, he's even got his hands on his hips.

For all his genius Ike was pouting like the petulant adolescent he was. Had it not been so hilarious to watch the sibling bickering and was he not trying to get into the older brother's pants, Kenny might have been inclined to help Ike out.

"Alright Mom, geez," Ike beat Kenny to the punch.

Kenny slid up close to Kyle's side, slipped an arm around the Jew's waist and pulled him up against his own tightly. He leaned sideways to speak with a tongue smooth as silk and light as gossamer.

"Hey Mom, wanna play house? -Ooph!" Kyle's nudged Kenny's stomach with enough force to release the blonde's hold.

"Ow, Jesus Kyle, you don't have to be a little bitch about it," Kenny's left hand rubbed his stomach as he scowled.

"Whatever Kenny," Kyle's reply was nonchalant as he rolled his eyes.

"Guys, will you just shut up? You're giving me a headache," Stan was rubbing his temples again.

"Welcome to the World of the Living dude," Kyle said with a raised eyebrow, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine, it's just too goddamn early for this."

"The bus should be here soon dude."

"Where's Cartman? He's gonna miss the bus."

"Who cares where the fatass is; he's probably getting a ride from his mom…or one of her Johns," Kyle shifted the weight of his backpack. "Dude, did you hear they might make a Terrence and Philip movie three?"

Ike and Kenny let themselves fade into the background as the two super best friends kept up the conversation, Kyle with words and Stan with grunts. Kenny narrowed his eyes as he watched Kyle's face and hands give his words animation.

Kyle's reactions had bothered him. There had been no blush, no stuttering, no nothing. Kyle had acted just like he would've a month ago…or any time before the "curse" business. It was like Kenny's come-ons had no weight to them, no significance. It kinda bothered Kenny.

No, scratch that. It pissed him off.

But as fate would have it the bus chose that moment to roll up to their stop. Kyle stood behind his brother to gently push him to the front, as per usual. Ike sat down almost immediately to join the other underclassmen. The trio of juniors made their way toward the back to sit with their peers. As always, Stan and Kyle sat down next to one another, filling one side of the row of brown vinyl-covered seats. Kenny slid to the window side of the opposing seat; he picked at the duct tape covering the ripped vinyl. Who had picked the color anyway? It was, like, one shade above "shit brown". Nobody had thought it was a good color since 1968.

Then again, that was probably when this shitty bus was made. Really it was a miracle the damn thing didn't fall apart piece by piece as it traversed potholes. Kenny was pretty sure that there were actually day laborers pushing it from the inside in place of an engine.

But really, cracked vinyl and "shit brown" and crappy buses weren't preoccupying his thoughts. No, Kenny was surreptitiously watching Kyle as he and Stan talked…or rather, Kyle talked to Stan. It seemed as though Stan was still in a half-awake state and Kyle had decided to take it upon himself to supply both sides of the conversation.

It really was funny, some of the traits Kyle had inherited from his larger-than-life, overbearing mother.

Since Kenny's line of sight was free today of the usual visual obstruction that was Cartman he took this opportunity to study Kyle. The noise around him faded as he regarded the redhead like a math problem, the complex kind that frequently caused him to flunk math quizzes with flying, failing colors. It was the kind of problem he'd usually ask Kyle for help on.

Unfortunately Kyle seemed prejudiced against helping him on this one. And undeservedly so, in Kenny's humble opinion.

A face that reeked of an innocence more potent than Kyle's suddenly ended his study of the redheaded Jew.

"Well, hiya fellas."

Stan grunted a response.

"Hey Butters," Kenny and Kyle replied in unison, they looked at each other.

"Where's Eric?" Butters asked, he was still standing in the aisle, one hand on the back of seat in front of Kenny.

"Who the hell cares where Cartman is," Kyle scoffed with a roll of his eyes.

Butters looked down for a moment, but didn't say anything back; he turned to look at Kenny.

"Do you mind if I sit here Kenny?"

Kenny really wanted to say no, he didn't want Butters interfering with his visual dissection of his intended target. He looked up at Butters' sweet, kid-like face and sighed inwardly. How could you say no to a guy who openly admitted to liking "Hello Kitty"?...at sixteen still.

"Yeah, sure Butters," he moved over to the window, allowing Butters to slide in next to him.

"Well, thanks Kenny," Butters flashed him a sincere, closed-mouth smile as he turned to join the conversation between Kyle and, well, Kyle.

Had his hood not been up his friends might have noticed the borderline pout that graced Kenny's face. Why the hell couldn't Kyle be just a little more like Butters? He was certain he could sweet-talk Butters into having sex with him. Hell, he could probably trick Butters into begging Kenny for sex, God knows Cartman had gotten that kid to do some pretty fucked up shit. But no, he was destined to get into the pants of the only guy who was allergic to the idea of sex. Fuck, Kyle probably had a fucking chastity belt in his closet. He wouldn't be surprised if Kyle had one on now, it would explain Kyle's expression when he looked at Kenny like he had a thorny stick up his ass.

Ah, yes, that look. The one Kyle was fixing him with right now. Apparently Kenny had actually been staring at his favorite little Jew while he had been staring off into space. Kenny scowled back as Kyle gave him one last sour, petulant look before shifting his attention back to Butters, who had failed to notice Kyle's mental absence. He hissed and narrowed his eyes further, moving to the side to catch Kyle's attention again, but the other seemed to be purposefully ignoring his efforts.

Okay, that fucking did it. Now, Kenny thought, Kyle had worn out the last thread of Kenny's patience. He had tolerated Kyle's avoidance on the subject, his seven day disappearance, and even redheaded verbal and physical violence, but this…this was the last fucking straw. He was not going to be fucking ignored by his fucking friend Kyle fucking Broflovski.

Oh but Kyle probably thought otherwise. He probably expected Kenny would roll over and play nice or something, he expected Kenny to act like Stan would, like Stan had, in these situations. Fuck that. If Kyle thought that was what would happen, he was sorely mistaken…and shit would he be sorry.

If that's the way you're gonna play Kyle, fine, game fucking on. This is war now.

Stan half-stifled a yawn, standing a little straighter as Kyle's locker closed with a loud clang. The redhead watched his friend in disbelief, brown bag lunch in hand.

"Dude, aren't you awake yet?" Kyle's eyebrow was raised again in disbelief. "It's already lunchtime."

"I'm awake," Stan tried to look alert in defense, "I'm just a little tired, that's all. I was up late."

Kyle said nothing; he didn't want anything to remind Stan of yesterday's events. Usually this would have been Kyle's turn to question Stan until satisfied with his friend's answers and overall health, but today he remained conspicuously tight-lipped; not that Stan actually noticed.

"Dude," now Stan actually did look awake, eyes wide with a sudden realization. "What the hell was with you yesterday? You were fine one minute and then you just fucking flipped out. I tried, but I have no fucking clue what's with you."

"Nothing," but Kyle wouldn't look Stan in the eye; shit, don't blush, don't blush, don't blush. Shit. Then he frowned and looked at Stan incredulously. "Wait, is that why you were up late?"

Stan chose to ignore that last part.

"Bullshit, seriously dude, what the fuck?"

"I said it was nothing," Kyle snapped, "Come on, we're gonna miss lunch."

And with that Kyle turned and strode toward the cafeteria, leaving his super best friend to his frustrated concern. A grating voice chose that moment to distract Stan from his puzzled thoughts and theories.

"Jewboy got some more sand in his vagina today than usual?"

"Shut up Catman," Stan rolled his eyes.

"Jesus Hippie, just cause your faggy little boyfriend isn't putting out don't take it out on me," Cartman snorted.

"Yeah fatass, I'm the one with a girlfriend, I must be gay."

"So glad you could finally admit it Stan, now you can go bone Kyle."

"It's called sarcasm fatass."

This time Cartman rolled his eyes at Stan.

"Whatever Hippie, we're missing out on the food," and with that Cartman started off toward the lunchroom with Stan trailing behind.

By the time Stan and Cartman reached their usual table Kyle was already opening a carefully wrapped sandwich. Kenny was absent, but seeing as Craig was absent from his own table it was fair to assume that the two had taken the opportunity to share a smoke, and possibly food, outside. Butters was sitting with Kyle today, probably after he had seen the other boy there alone. Normally Kyle wouldn't have minded this kind of action. Normally he would've been glad for the company, but not today.

No, today he felt strangely irritated with Butters' presence as he nodded along inattentively to the blonde's nattering. Though maybe he wasn't really bothered by Butters' presence so much as he was bothered by another blonde's absence.

Kyle didn't want to admit it to himself, and sure as hell not to anyone else, but Kenny's nonappearance felt worse than his presence. Try as he might he couldn't stop thinking about the damn blonde he'd been trying to escape from for the past few weeks. It was a terrible, maddening irony.

He also couldn't stop remembering that Kenny was with Craig. Alone. In a secluded area. Really, it shouldn't bother him, right? They were friends, it was okay. And really, why would he give a crap anyway? It wasn't like he had a reason to care, right? Right?

Goddamn, Kyle hadn't believed that Kenny could do it, but apparently he'd found a way to harass Kyle without doing a damn thing. Or Kenny really was evil and this was a malicious form of self-doubting torture. In Kyle's opinion it was a toss-up.

Between Butters' endless chatter, Kenny's absence, and his unshakeable obsessive thoughts Kyle was running thin on patience. He was just about to snap at Butters when Stan and Cartman joined them. Cartman sat across from Butters, Stan took the open seat on Kyle's other side.

"Well hi there Stan, hi Eric," oh thank God, now maybe Butters would leave him alone.

"We didn't see you on the bus this morning Eric, where were you?"

"Not that it's any of your fucking business Butters, but if you must know," Cartman was obviously enjoying the attention, contradictory to his words, "I was looking at cars this morning. I convinced my mom to drive me over to a lot this morning and she is going to get me one."

Cartman dragged out the last sentence, coating every word with inherit smug superiority.

"Oh please fatass, your mom isn't going to get you a car."

Somehow, despite how often he was proved wrong, Kyle never really accepted just how indulgent Leanne Cartman was.

"Yes she is, Kahl," Cartman's retort was indignant, "She is so and I'll fucking show you. I'll have a new car here by next week!"

Kyle's retort would have been loud and scathing…had something not caught his eye.

"Whatever Cartman," he muttered. Cartman looked triumphant, but Kyle's attention was elsewhere.

The bright orange material of Kenny's parka was just about impossible to miss, especially on such a lanky seventeen year old boy. Kyle's seat put him in the perfect position to observe the two teenage boys as they entered the cafeteria together. He watched as the two boys said a quick word or two and parted, Craig off to his own clique's table and Kenny walking toward theirs.

Kyle's eyes followed Craig with mild contempt. He had never really cared much about Craig before, one way or the other, but he suddenly found the other boy fairly irritating. Craig noticed his gaze when he sat down. Kyle got the view of his middle finger for his troubles. He scowled heatedly back in return. Craig looked at him with apathy and possibly a microscopic modicum of indifferent amusement before looking away.

Motherfucking, fucking Craig.

Kenny had already crossed the space from the door to their table; tangerine orange appeared out of the corner of Kyle's eye. The blonde pulled down his hood and stretched his long limbs out as he sat down, a wave of tobacco tainted air rolled across their table. Stan coughed a little and Cartman made a face of disgust, Butters was too polite.

It was weird. On any other person such a strong smell of smoke almost made Kyle want to puke, but somehow it didn't bother him coming from Kenny, it never had.

"Gawd Kinny, I knew you were poor, but you don't have to eat cigarettes," Cartman snickered.

"Aw, Kenny, you don't really eat cigarettes, do you?" Butters looked worried and uncertain.

"No, Butters, Cartman's just being a fat dumbfuck." He didn't bother pointing out that cigarettes were expensive anyway.

"Shut up, you stupid Jewfag. I'm not fucking fat!"

"Don't you belittle my people you sociopathic piece of shit!"

"And which people would those be Kaaahhll?" Cartman sneered with heavy emphasis on the "which".

Kyle stood. Cartman stood. Both boys stared down each other red-faced, with muscles tensed and teeth bared. A sudden taut silence hit, its effects rippling out from the epicenter of their table. There was a dangerous stillness, the kind witnessed by onlookers right before a car crash collision of glass and metal. Some of their classmates were pointing and whispering from their respective tables, waiting to see if Cartman and Kyle would actually come to blows today instead of the usual word battle. The two engaged in eye-deadlock were oblivious to all but each other, watching each other for the slightest hint of movement, waiting for any provocation as an excuse to jump across the table in a flurry of fists.

"Guys!"

The blood flow to Kyle's hand was being cut off; a tightness had encircled his arm. He looked down. Stan's hand was clenched around his arm, holding him back with minimal physical effort. At some point Stan must have stood up as well. Stan looked stiff and tense too, apparently ready to get between his two friends if need be.

"Come on guys, it isn't worth it. Just. Sit. Down." Stan's words came through clenched teeth as he tried to pull down his super best friend with him. He was furtively watching as a teacher made her way over to them.

Kyle looked at his best friend and sighed, reluctantly half-sitting, half-letting himself be pulled down to his seat. Cartman snorted, but sat back down as well. Crisis averted, the teacher gave them a warning look before returning to the other teachers on cafeteria duty; their curious classmates returned to eating and conversation. In typical teenage nonchalance the room was back to normal within thirty seconds.

Kyle had been looking down at his food since he had sat back down, but he couldn't shake an annoying feeling. He looked up, Butters was glancing between him and Cartman anxiously; the blonde boy looked away quickly. Kyle looked back down. The feeling still wouldn't go away. It was a visual touch. Someone was watching him, carefully, it would seem. He shrugged as if to shake off it off physically, but he could still feel eyes upon him.

Goddammit Stan, just stop it.

Finally, and with great irritation, Kyle looked to his side. But Stan wasn't watching him, no, he was slowly chewing his food in contemplative silence. He looked up. Blue eyes stared right back at him.

Kenny was watching him studiously, the way Kyle would have looked at a frog upon a dissection tray. Had his posture been hunched he could've been mimicking Rodin's The Thinker. Kyle could see the gears turning behind the piercing collection of iris and pupil; he could detect the mental mechanisms moving, processing information and determining conclusions to be filed away for later use.

He briefly wondered if that's what he looked like when he was lost in thought. It was weird. And disturbing. And frustrating. He could see the process of thoughts forming in Kenny's head, but he couldn't figure out what they might be. Well, he might have had a better idea if he could hold Kenny's stare, but his gaze dropped away. He prayed to God that the sudden flush he felt wasn't coloring his face.

This wasn't the look Kenny had been giving him the past few weeks. Had it been that particular one, a cheeky lascivious eye-fuck, he might've been able to stare right back unflustered. Get mad even; hell, he might've even given Kenny a hard kick under the table, but, no, this was different. This time Kenny's eyes weren't peeling off his several layers of clothing, they were peeling off something much more dear to him. Well just as dear to him.

Kenny was mentally stripping away layers of powerful defense mechanisms, as if to leave him naked and vulnerable at his very core.

He felt a sudden surge of panic. He had to get away and he had to do it right then. A sudden irrational fear was flooding through him, something that seemed to be happening a lot since the very moment he'd learned about this whole "curse" business. He swore in his head at his father and all of the Broflovskis before him who had given in to supposed "McCormick charm".

You bastards.

Without regard for how it might look Kyle stood abruptly, shoved his untouched food toward Kenny and walked out of the cafeteria into the hallway. He heard Stan ask where he was going, but he didn't acknowledge him. All he thought about as he strode out was how Kenny's eyes had flickered with surprise in their study. Even without seeing those eyes their image was at the forefront of his mind. Still dissecting him.

He marched through the quiet halls of the school in the direction of the gym. His next class would be held here with the rest of his grade, where he would be stuck with all of the people who had just witnessed both of his little scenes. Ah, the pitfalls of going to a small school. He grunted. Fuck, with his luck this tidbit of news would travel from the eleventh grade down to the lowest of the school's grades, seventh, of which his advanced placement brother was a member. Then he would have the immense joy of suffering alternating inquisitions from his pesky super best friend and his peskier younger brother. Fan-fucking-tastic. This really wasn't his day. Or week. Or month, come to think of it.

Maybe that Mole kid had been right, maybe God really was a cocksucking bitch. It would explain a lot.

By the time he had reached the locker rooms his stomach was grumbling harshly. He groaned a little in regret over his rash decision of food abandonment. Soon his diabetic little body wouldn't be too happy either.

Well, he thought, if he passed out at least he might miss gym class…assuming "Coach" wasn't in a particularly sadistic mood today.

At least he would get to change in private and avoid one of the more uncomfortable moments of the day. That was a plus. Too bad he couldn't say the same for avoiding Kenny and his troubling stares.

And the spine-shivering fear that those eyes would somehow uncover all the secrets Kyle wished to keep.

He sighed and pressed his forehead against the cool metal of his gym locker.

Dammit Kenny, why are you doing this to me?

"Kyle, where are you going?"

Stan's question went unanswered as the ginger left them. Stan heaved a sigh of exasperated concern; he pinched the bridge of his nose briefly and turned to orange-clad boy across from him.

"Dude, do you know what's up with him?"

Any evidence of surprise had been wiped clean from Kenny's face as he began the abandoned job of unwrapping Kyle's sandwich from its protective plastic force field.

Dude, I so totally do.

"No man, no clue," he raised an eyebrow as if to say, "isn't this super best friend territory?"

Kenny was aware of the suspicion being cast from Stan's verbal and visual pause, but he ignored it in favor of his current task. Detangling cling-wrap from bread required surprisingly intense focus. It had been wrapped so anal-retentively Kenny couldn't tell if it was Kyle's work or his mom's.

"Yeah," Stan's reply came slowly. He was still giving Kenny an odd look, like he was trying to read between the mere four words he had been given.

"Who cares what's up that Jewfag's ass anyway? He probably forgot to take out his butt plug this morning."

"Aw, Eric, that's not nice to say. I'm sure Kyle's just working something out is all," Butters was frowning softly at Cartman.

"So why don't you just keep your mouth shut, you fat fucking piece of shit."

"You too poor boy? Jesus Christ you guys, is everyone here gay for that fucking daywalker? I didn't know all you had to do was be an emo little pussy for people to kiss your fucking ass."

"Cartman shut your fucking mouth or shove some food into it…and hurry up, we're gonna be late for gym," Stan was already getting impatient, irritated by the constant conflict. It was like Kyle's bad mood had washed over their whole table.

Cartman muttered something like, "Whatever gaywads," but ate his food in relative silence. He had become a lot less willing to go up against Stan since he had joined his raven-haired friend on the football team. Whether it was out of a sense of camaraderie or because Cartman didn't want his ass kicked by the smaller but better player was uncertain. It was kinda hard to tell when it came to Cartman.

Kenny was done inhaling Kyle's food in short time and, true to Stan's prediction, the bell soon rang to signal the end of lunch. Stan cursed and Butters looked anxious, they only had a few short minutes to make it to the locker room and change for gym class before they got reamed by Coach Mackenzie: football coach, boys' gym teacher, and a known hard-ass.

Kenny, frankly, couldn't give two shits about being cursed out by some middle-aged frustrated gym teacher, but Stan would also have to face the guy's wrath after school and Butters was a natural people pleaser. And while Butters would only blame himself, if Stan spent the next week getting screamed at so loud Coach's beer belly shook it meant Stan would be pissy with him for the next week. So for their, and his, sakes he made an effort to get to gym with them on time.

Though why Stan never just went ahead without them was a mystery.

Cartman, on the other hand, never worried about being yelled at. He never got in trouble. Instead he tended to wander in a few minutes late. He said it was because he was so good he could get himself out of anything. In Kenny's opinion it was because Leanne Cartman was spreading her legs for Coach in his office three nights a week.

The next few minutes were filled with a flurry of action as the four boys joined several other delinquent members of their class. They herded themselves down the hall and into the locker room, where clothing was ripped off and replaced in record time. It was actually quite impressive to watch, Kenny thought, his friends were almost as fast at tearing off their clothes as he was at the thought of getting laid.

Kenny observed rather than participated, his jeans and parka were good enough. Besides, despite his best efforts, his clothes were so old and well used that they had accumulated several stains. At this point it seemed redundant to designate a particular set of clothes to dirty.

By the time they got to the gym Kyle was already there, leaning against the bleachers in track pants and an old tee that read "Dreidel Champion", arms crossed. They had gotten there just in time. No sooner had all of the boys made it into the gym than their teacher was striding across the room from the hall toward the exit outside.

"Outside boys, to the football field. Donovan, grab the pinneys. No gym clothes again McCormick?" It was barked out roughly.

He shrugged.

Clyde could be heard whining as he grabbed the bag of brightly colored polyester. Token could be heard calling him a pussy.

There was the usual chatter and banter as the boys made their way outside. They bitched to one another about having to go outside, quietly so as not to get bitched at. The air was chilly and they shivered in their gym clothes as they walked to the field. The mist from that morning had cleared, but had left the sky overcast and the grass of the field slick with a fine coat of water.

Somewhere behind the crowd Clyde and Token were bringing up the rear…rather noisily.

"Why do I have to carry them?" Clyde's voice was grating.

"Because he told you to. They're not even heavy dude; fuck Clyde, how do you even play sports?" Token's voice sounded like a head shake.

When they had all finally converged onto the field they huddled together and waited, mostly with disinterest, for instructions. Coach Mackenzie finally stood in front of them as Clyde dropped the bag of pinneys onto the wet grass, he was gripping a football with both hands.

"Alright boys, today we're going to be playing the best, manliest sport out there: football."

There was groaning from much of the class.

"Shut up. Now, get into teams. Last name, A through L green pinneys, M through Z white pinneys."

The boys started to move, begrudgingly, toward the bag of now wet pinneys. Once they had all grabbed one and pulled it over their shirts there was some more rifling through the bag, then a pause.

"Uh, Coach, the flag belts aren't in here."

"That's right Token. We're not going to be playing any of that sissy, candy-assed flag football. You boys need to toughen up. Let's go, hustle!"

No one moved.

"Um, Coach, isn't that going to be kinda dangerous? I mean, shouldn't we be using gear or something?" This time it was Stan who was brave enough to challenge their sadistic instructor. There was a general murmur of consent as everyone looked at the slick grass of the field.

"If any one of you candy-asses has a problem with it, get your mess up to Mrs. Jameson's with the rest of the girls. And you might as well get in the right class and transfer into hers. Now, move!"

Reluctantly they all stood and began to form into their respective teams.

Kenny didn't have to look around him to know their team would win. He had three of the school's best football players on his team: Stan, Token, and Craig. Kenny might not have been especially good at football, but he was good enough to be an asset to their team and help make up for their three biggest detriments: Jimmy, Butters, and Tweek.

Kenny watched as the uhsanka covered boy across the way appeared to be sizing up his own team. He almost felt bad for the guy…almost.

Kyle had good reason for the anxious look on his face. The green team had virtually no edge to keep their asses from getting kicked. Kyle and Clyde were both basketball players. Kyle was slightly shorter than most of their classmates and his wiry, lean frame was no match against the bulk and broad shoulders of the football players. Clyde, on the other hand, was just frequently a bitch about this shit. The formerly homeschooled Mark Cotswold was still as bookish as ever and Kenny doubted Timmy would be much help either.

The fact that Timmy and Jimmy were playing a game that was already retardedly dangerous enough for the rest of them only confirmed Kenny's suspicion that all of the adults in this town were beyond stupid-as-shit motherfuckers.

Kenny glanced over the opposing team again. Even the two "secret weapons" of the football team wouldn't be able to help them. Cartman was only useful, mostly in his own opinion, because he mowed people down…for kicks; but he wouldn't so dumb as to use his cheap shots on his own teammates, who would undoubtedly kick his ass later if he tried. Thomas, a kid from who had been from another elementary school, was an okay player, but mostly he was known for startling the opposing team when he suddenly shouted out things like "cock!" Tourette's was a surprisingly effective, if accidental, strategy. But their team knew Thomas and experienced his tics daily, there was no element of surprise to be had now.

Really for Kyle it seemed to not be a matter of winning, but of staying alive. As a friend Kenny sympathized. As a lustful persecutor he found a small amount of glee in this. As someone who was becoming obsessed with unraveling the secrets in those green eyes and pissed at their obstinacy he really didn't give a flying fuck.

Parka hood up, he turned and joined his other teammates in a huddle. Since Stan and Token were co-captains on the football team they had decidedly taken the leadership positions. Positions, Kenny rolled his eyes, they appeared to be taking quite seriously.

"Okay then, so we'll try to keep the ball away from Tweek, Butters, and Jimmy. Is that alright with you guys?" Stan looked over at the three boys in question.

"F-f-fine with m-me."

"Sure, thanks Stan."

"Gah! But, what if the ball does come to me? What do I do then! Nngh, too much pressure!"

"Tweek, if you get the ball, just throw it to us," Kenny and Craig were friends, but he never knew how that nasal monotone actually calmed anyone down, even as he watched the twitching Tweek do just that. Minutely, at least.

"Okay and we went over the plays we'll try to do. Everyone got it?" Token looked around the circle.

"Kenny, you know what to do?" Stan asked him.

"Run like hell if I get the ball?" his reply came back sardonically. Stan frowned in a pout, but nodded.

"And remember; let's try to not kill anyone. Alright, break!"

Their team lined up near professionally. Well, three of them did anyway. Kenny just moseyed over to a spot and stood disinterestedly. Jimmy followed suit slowly, trying to keep his braces upright in the wet grass. Butters and Tweek looked uncomfortable and ill-placed on the field, awkwardly postured and too close together.

Across the way an even less cohesive team was being formed. Cartman had decided to lead, which really meant he was shouting at people to not "fuck it up". Kyle was a little red-faced as he yelled something unintelligible back at Cartman; they looked just about ready to break into a fist fight again.

"Break it up! Save that for the game!" The coach had come over and placed one hand on each of their shoulders, pulling them apart a little. The two parted with one last heated glare at each other.

"Okay, just remember. Keep the ball away from Timmy. And only pass to the Jewfag if you have to." Cartman gave a final shout as their team formed a semi-line.

"Timmy!"

"Cartman!"

Both of the mentioned boys looked ready to kill their bulky "leader".

"Cartman, watch the language! I'm not getting another call from the fucking ACLU again!"

"Sorry Coach," Cartman's voice was so innocently sweet it was beyond cloying.

"Line up. Alright, ball goes to green team since they clearly have the disadvantage," Man this guys was a fucking dickhead, "Go!"

And with that, they were off. It wasn't long before both teams suffered their first casualty.

To the dismay of their teacher, however, it wasn't due to their murdering each other so much as it was to the slick terrain underneath them. Apparently though, despite the utter sadistic tendencies and questionable brain function, Coach Mackenzie still had enough sense to be afraid of lawsuits. Thus began the loss of many players.

The first few, who fell on the grass hard, and after complaining of immense pain, were allowed to sit out the game on the bleachers. This, however, led to lots of players "accidentally" falling and over dramatic woebegone cries of agony. It had consisted mostly of kids who had not been in their elementary school with them, much to Kenny's simultaneous pride and irritation.

Bunch of pussies, they should've gone to South Park Elementary. This is shit compared to we had to deal with.

Soon though, Timmy's wheels sputtered, Jimmy's braces slipped, Tweek nearly had a nervous breakdown and were all eliminated from the game. Then Mark Cotswold left with scraped knees after Stan skidded into him. Then Butters limped off the field after Cartman had shoved him to the ground hard; soon after Cartman had the pleasure of eating turf via Craig. Unfortunately for the white team, Craig's overzealous revenge had caused him to fall also, with Cartman nearly landing on him and Craig almost twisting his ankle. Despite his monotone insistence the coach yanked his player off the field for the sake of the football season.

And so now it was down to the last ranks. On Kenny's side stood he, Stan, and Token. On Kyle's side stood him, Cartman, and Thomas. All six of them were panting from playing and the added exertion of trying to stay vertical. Grass stains and dirt colored all of their clothing in streaks.

All throughout the game Kenny's eye had been flickering to Kyle, making sure he knew where the redhead was at all times, offensively guarding him whenever possible. Kyle had seemed keen on spending an equal amount of effort staying away from Kenny though. But it was something that had become increasingly harder as fewer and fewer players littered the field.

And then a wonderful, wonderful thing happened for Kenny McCormick: Kyle Broflovski had the ball. Kenny saw his opening. Kyle had been making it his habit to hand off the ball almost as soon as he got it, but now Kyle's options were seriously limited and Kenny was in hot pursuit. Kyle was looking around as he ran toward their goal, eyes wildly searching for a way to throw the ball to Cartman or Thomas; he didn't even notice the longer-limbed blonde closing the gap between them.

Kenny saw his opening. And pounced.

He launched himself into Kyle and caught the bewildered look in his green eyes as they found themselves filled with a vision of sky. A second later though Kyle was under Kenny, looking up at him breathlessly.

Kenny would've liked it to have been because Kyle had just become wild with mad desire after being pinned down by him, but it was probably something else. Like the fact that Kyle had just had his lungs slammed forcefully into the hard earth or something like that. Probably.

"Hey Kyle," he said cheerfully to the wheezing ginger under him. He let his weight sink into the other boy, relishing the feeling of their hips pressed together and legs intertwined.

Said boy below him was sputtering as he tried to collect enough air to breathe; and most likely to prepare himself for the beating he no doubt wanted to dole out on Kenny's Cheshire cat face, exposed from their collision. Kenny let himself rest there for a few more seconds, long enough for Kyle to know exactly what he was doing and just short enough for his classmates to think he was either recovering or rubbing it in Kyle's face…okay, so maybe he was doing the latter anyway.

You can't avoid me Kyle, not anymore.

After what seemed like far too little time, and for Kyle he imagined far too much, he pushed himself off the Jew below him and stood. He brushed himself off. The grass stains covering his pants were totally worth this. Stan was jogging over, obviously having witnessed the whole incident. The black-haired boy extended a hand to his still prostrate friend and hoisted him up.

"Dude, are you okay?"

There was dirt in his hat and the escapee tendrils of dangling hair. Kyle looked super pissed, but other than that he seemed just fine to Kenny. It was good enough for him. In a weird way he felt like a mission had just been accomplished. Kyle must've felt a little differently, he was glaring at Kenny with death-ray vision.

"Yeah, I'm fine," but his eyes never left Kenny.

Stan looked back and forth between the two of them. The game paused.

It wasn't for long though because then there came the shrill shriek of a whistle.

"Gym's over, get back to the locker rooms and change." No one was upset by this order.

Kyle marched off ahead of them. Save for the dirt and grass covering his backside and the tiniest of limps this wasn't an irregular sight. Kyle had a habit of trying to speed un- and redress before his peers could see him. Hmmm, maybe Kenny should start getting to gym earlier.

Stan watched Kyle storm off and turned to Kenny with a deep frown.

"I thought we said we weren't going to tackle people Kenny."

"I slipped," he wished his hood was still up; keeping the smirk off his face was getting hard. He tried to sound innocent and nonchalant.

Stan knew him better than that. He gave Kenny a dissatisfied "uh-huh" and a hard stare. Without another word he turned and jogged to catch up with Kyle. The next boy who stood next to him had more to say.

"Jesus, Craig is such an asshole. I swear to God I am gonna kick his ass at the next fucking practice," Cartman's round face was practically steaming.

But Kenny wasn't listening.

Despite his jovial and carefree attitude the insides of Kenny's brain were whirling around tidbits of information, sewing them together into conjecture. Kyle was holding back. Kyle had been pissed; he had still fought against Cartman on his behalf. He had thrown Kyle to the ground, Kyle hadn't pushed him off. And despite any comeback the oh-so-annoyingly rational Kyle might have, the simple fact was that he was being entirely too soft on Kenny for all his supposed opposition. Even if Kyle wouldn't admit it they both knew that Kyle could've put an end to this before now.

Okay, so actually putting an end to Kenny's advances was a stretch, but still, Kyle could've tried harder. He knew he didn't have to fight Kenny's battles for him against Cartman and even with the wind knocked out of him he could've recovered and shoved Kenny off long before Kenny actually removed himself.

Hell, despite the physical disparity Kenny was pretty sure that a rage-fueled Kyle could give him a solid pummeling if he was really intent on it. But so far, that hadn't happened. And whether Kyle would've agreed or not, Kenny had already made a decision for both of them. Kyle wanted this. All the ginger needed was a little more…"convincing".

He had a gut instinct. He had proof. He had determination. Oh yeah, and most importantly, he didn't really give a shit; he had a goal, and dammit, he was going to achieve it. As he walked back, alongside the constant bickering and bitching of Cartman playing like deranged white noise, these were his happy thoughts.

Kyle had been patient. Extremely patient for him, actually. He had kept quiet in French as he sat beside Kenny. He had bit his tongue when they waited with Stan at his locker. Even on the bus with just the two of them and Butters in the back seats he had kept his mouth shut.

By the time they got off he looked like he had a porcupine stuffed hemorrhoid. He swore he could taste blood in his mouth from where he had been chewing on his cheek.

Stan and Cartman were at football practice, Butters had gotten off at his stop, and his little brother was hanging out with his friend Georgie today, it was just him and Kenny now, standing in the cool fall air. Finally he had his chance. Kyle waited until the bus spewed the last of its toxic fumes and disappeared from view.

Then he whipped back his fist and punched Kenny in the arm. Hard.

"Ow! Kyle, what the fuck?" The reply came out as an angry muffle against Kenny's parka. His hand had gone to his dead arm.

"'What the fuck?' What do you mean 'what the fuck'? What the fuck is what I should be saying!" Kyle was so angry he was panting by the end, fists clenched and shoulders tensed all the way to his ears.

Then Kenny did something Kyle did not expect. He saw his friend's blue eyes change from a frown of anger to a devilish crinkle at the edges. A shock of blond hair became visible as his orange-clad friend pulled back the hood of his parka to reveal a sly grin. The gloved hand that Kenny had been clutching his dead arm with dropped away. He straightened. Kyle was starting to get that same uneasy feeling he'd gotten at lunch, like Kenny was onto something already.

"Oh, is this about that little tackle?" the old Cheshire cat grin was on his face again.

Kyle's face was growing redder and redder, because of anger or embarrassment or something unmentionable even he didn't know. "Don't even try to say it was an accident Kenny!"

"…You're right, it wasn't."

For a minute Kyle was left sputtering. He had been expecting Kenny to roll his eyes or tell Kyle it was all in his head or something, not this open admission.

"Why?" he felt just about ready to start pulling red ringlets from his own head.

"Come on Kyle, you know why; dontcha?" Kyle must've turned near purple at Kenny's strangely knowing reply.

"Dude, I don't care about the fucking "curse" or whatever, okay! Our dads are retarded, our parents are retarded, all of fucking South Park is retarded! I am not doing this, not now, not ever! I have no fucking interest in this whatso-fucking-ever! Just. Leave. Me. Alone. Okay?"

Kyle's breath was coming out in heaving lungfuls again, he felt riled up beyond all belief. He knew he looked riled up beyond all belief too, he felt like one tightly coiled muscle. His harsh breath was the only noise for a moment as Kenny seemed to consider the raging Jew's heated rant. Then he seemed to reach a conclusion that must've been in his mind from the get go, almost as if in anticipation of this very moment.

"No."

It was stated simply, calmly; there was no hint of taunting or teasing, but it couldn't have pissed off Kyle more. Now his fingers actually did reach under his hat to pull down painfully on his curled hair. "Why not Kenny?"

He sounded defeated and frustrated, far less angry than he had intended. He cursed himself. Kyle tried to study Kenny's face, but only saw a resolute smirk lodged in place against those devil-blue eyes.

"'Cause, you're lying," Kenny stated it so matter-of-factly that Kyle once again found himself at a loss for words. It was becoming just one more disturbing trend Kenny seemed to be inducing as of late.

Kenny must have decided that was the end of the conversation because, with that said, he flipped up his hood, pulled the strings tight, and headed off toward his own house, waving a hand goodbye over his shoulder. "See ya later Kyle!"

All Kyle could do was sputter and make Tweek Tweak-esque noises as he watched Kenny saunter off home, strutting like a self-aware stud.

And damn him if he didn't notice how good his blonde friend looked right then.

Please, please leave me some lovin', or some hatin', reviews!

For those of you who might not know, a "pinney" is a bright colored polyester vest/shirt (at least in my experience) that you wear over your regular shirt in order to distinguish teams. Oh yeah, and they tend to reek...bad.

AN: I hope you enjoyed! I've already started on the next chap and have another story idea in the works, K2 again, since that's the way my brain seems to be wired as of late.