AN: Holy crap, an update? Sorry guys :( I know I've been terrible lately with updates on this baby, but it will not die I promise! Even if nobody's reading by the end I'm determined both to finish this and to not do it in a slap-dash, 'I just wanna be done with it' way. Still I'm really sorry it's taken so long, part of it was school/life stuff going on, and part of it was the evil being known as writer's block...the worst part was I knew where it was going, but couldn't get the words to come out right.
Also, I haven't been thanking you guys (readers, reviewers, and all those who fave or alert) nearly enough! So thank you, thank you, thank you! I'll try to be much better in the future about individually thanking all of you! Also, I got a very lovely reviewer from someone anonymous lately so thanks to that person since I can't message it to you personally! But really, all of you are so wonderful to even read this thing and I hope you like it.
Side note: in the chap Kenny's speech is not filled with typo's, it's intentional (you'll understand).
Also, I don't own SP or its characters.
Sorry for the length of this note, I hope you enjoy it guys!
"Craig, I'm gonna fuck this up." Kenny was staring down at his hands, shaking his head as he repeated for the umpteenth his protest.
"Come on McCormick. It's not that hard. You must've experimented before," Craig Tucker rolled his eyes, yet again, at the blond.
"Fuck you!" Kenny spat, then stared away awkwardly, "I have, just...not with anyone else, ya know?" his face flushed slightly as he mumbled his confession.
"First this...then that...then that one towards the end. Oh, and this in an emergency, in case he really freaks out or something."
"Is that normal?" Kenny had one eyebrow raised in curiosity.
Craig just shrugged nonchalantly. "Probably only if he sees blood. Shouldn't happen if it all goes right, but shit happens sometimes, especially with newbies."
"Why the fuck am I doing this again?" the towheaded boy asked as he looked down at the transparent orange bottles in hand.
"Because if you don't Tweek'll freak out and then I'll have to kill you," Craig stated plainly as he jammed his football helmet onto his head.
Kenny snorted. "I could just leave ya know."
"Then I'll have to hunt you down and kill you Kenny," Craig deadpanned with a look that said "and you know I'll do it too".
"Yeah, whatever dude," Kenny rolled his eyes and dropped the cigarette from his mouth, crushing it beneath his foot. The football player copied his motion and the two began to walk toward the field from the secluded spot where they had been enjoying one last smoke before Craig took to the field. "Why do ya have Tweek's pills anyway? Why doesn't he have them?"
"He's afraid he'll mix them up and there'll be some terrible reaction and he'll die or go into a coma or something," Craig shrugged as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Ah, makes sense," Kenny nodded. Tweek sense anyway.
The duo continued their brief walk in silence, the mutual understanding of their pact as semi-badasses hindering their speech in favor of their cool strides toward the stands full of overexcited classmates, parents, and townspeople who apparently had nothing better to do than watch a small town homecoming game.
When they reached the field Kenny gave a jerk of his head to Craig, the nonverbal implicit "See you later my friend. I hope that you do well in this game you are about to play. I will be watching and cheering you on with my silent support. And have no fear, for I will complete the other task that you have given me, for I respect our friendship and your requests." To which Craig nodded, his own nonverbal communication stating "Thank you my friend. I am grateful both for your support and for your assistance in watching over those dear to me. I have trust that you will fulfill the task I have assigned you faithfully and fully, for you are my friend and I trust you with my life," and then Craig raised one finger to his buddy, adding a nonverbal, "Oh, yeah, and by the way? Fuck you."
Kenny gave a growl of sorts, but Craig was already trotting over to benches, where his other teammates were waiting for him. Obviously late, Kenny watched as Stan began to berate the other raven-haired boy, who flipped the team captain off and seemed to mutter something rather offensive, because although Craig's mouth had only been open for a few seconds Stan's face had flushed with anger and even with the distance between them he thought he could hear Stan yelling something about the incompatibility of Craig and respect.
As amusing as it was Kenny didn't stay to watch whether or not a physical confrontation would break out between the two testosterone driven teens. He knew that this whole thing was old hat; whenever tension ran high Stan and Craig came close to blows, and this game would be no exception. He climbed up the aluminum benches to where Tweek and Clyde already sat, the clang of his heavy steps against the light metal drowned out by the crowd. Sure enough, by the time he sat down next to the twitching blond with hair wild enough to match his own Craig and Stan were being mildly restrained by Token and Cartman respectively, though each was released when their coach made his way over, arms raised and waving as he yelled at the two players, red in the face.
The brief moment of excitement over Kenny turned his attention back to the empty field with a sigh. God damn this shit was boring. He could think of so many things he'd rather be doing, just about anything really, but here he was, stuck for the duration of the damn game because he'd promised his friend he'd take care of his friend...boyfriend...whatever the hell Tweek was to Craig.
Well, he could tell himself that anyway. Though when Craig had asked, or demanded rather, that Kenny do this favor of sorts for him it had taken a lot less convincing that it normally would have, or should have for that matter.
"Kenny, watch Tweek at the game for me."
A snort. "Why should I?"
"Because I said so." A flip of Craig's middle finger.
"Tell Clyde to do it asshole."
"Yeah, like I'd trust Clyde to do that." Craig's voice dripped with as much sarcasm as his apathetic nature would allow. There was a pause as they both dragged on their cigarettes. "I'd tell Kyle to do it, but your friend's a little bitch. Especially since he'll be there with that faggy little Mary-Sue teammate of his."
Kenny became suddenly aware of how dry his mouth was, and how acrid the smoke he held in had become. He exhaled with distaste. Pride refused him to cave easily; there was a pause as he pretended to think of his conditions. "Fine. But you owe me two packs of cigarettes," he finally grumbled out.
Craig only snorted and nodded. He took a deep inhale and a painfully slow exhale on the cigarette in hand. "You're too easy McCormick." He regarded his blue-eyed friend in appraisal.
Words of question and denial formed in his brain, but seemed unable to exit his mouth. Kenny was forced to settle for a displeased grunt, bringing a sufficient end to their haggling.
Kenny sighed as he watched his two companions for the game; Clyde was whining on about the cold and his boredom and how hungry he was...and Tweek remained twitching by his side, apparently growing more anxious the more Clyde complained and the closer it came to the start of the game. Though it could have been worse, he supposed; he had to hand it to Craig, he had countered every one of Tweek's fears as best as he could have predicted: they sat halfway up from the bottom, safe from flying projectiles and players, but close enough to the bottom in case of a needed evacuation, they sat at the end of a bench with Kenny on the outside so as to protect his nerve-racked charge from being jostled by other viewers, and Tweek had been supplied with an extra coat and blanket by Craig to stave off any potential hypothermia. The only thing Kenny had to watch out for was the possibility of a Tweek freak-out caused either by harm to Craig or Clyde's big freaking mouth, which developed a tendency to over exaggerate when bitching.
It was a simple task. Or rather, it would have been a simple task had Kenny not noticed something out of the corner of his eye.
Bright orange-red hair.
The curls were exposed as their owner briefly removed his familiar green cap only to readjust it and pull it back down over his wild tendrils. Pale cheeks were colored pink in the cold air, his mouth wide open in carefree laughter, green eyes sparkling with mirth... it was something he had seen so many times before...so why was seeing Kyle's face causing such a virulent storm of nausea to erupt in his stomach? It was oddly pleasant in its own right...though not as pleasant as the light thrill it also sent right below his stomach. He let the feeling settle over him...
...until he recognized the dark-haired boy next to the object of his attention, brown hair exposed as Kyle playfully yanked off the other's cap. The feeling turned sour, and Kenny let out a hiss of distaste. The heat of his stare must have been well felt, because it seemed that no sooner had he begun imagining a very painful demise for the sophomore in question than he was staring into a pair of vibrant green irises and piercing black pupils.
Kyle's stare met his. For a moment surprise flashed on Kyle's face and then, rather pointedly, turned blank; the ginger turned around and crossed his arms, chin pointed and jaw clenched superfluously.
It took Kenny quite a bit of effort not to scream in frustration and march down the bleachers to literally shake some sense into his slight friend. Instead he settled for seething in relative silence, baring his gritted teeth to Kyle's back while he glared and hissed out angry breaths. Below him he watched as Bridon spoke to Kyle with a furrowed brow and the latter shook his head, stubbornly dismissing whatever the other had said. Bridon peered up curiously only to meet Kenny's rage. Despite the anger threatening to strangle him Kenny did manage to find some enjoyment in the way the younger teen paled and turn around just as quickly.
"Hey! Guys, why'd you ditch me? Hey guys-!" Clyde's voice whined out as he noticed his fellow teammates.
Without care for the surprised yelp let out by Tweek, Kenny reached over and pulled Clyde by the collar so that their faces were less than a foot from one another.
"Invite them over here Clyde and I swear to God you'll be like Tweek when I'm through with you." Clyde swallowed. "...No offense Tweek," he managed to amend himself; the last thing he needed was a fight with Craig after this.
"-Er-None taken." The awkward reply came close by his side, where the other blond was trying to lean as far away as possible from the two who were practically in his lap.
Convinced by Clyde's silence that the message had been received Kenny let go of the coat he was tightly gripping, allowing the other to sit back down and Tweek to sit forward as he settled himself as well. There was a moment of terse relative silence amongst the trio, an anomaly against the background of cheering high school football fanatics and loudmouthed announcers, broken up only by the reflexive noises of anxiety that continued to echo from Tweek's twitching mouth.
There was a sudden cheer. Stan had scored a touchdown...or Craig...or something.
To be honest Kenny really wasn't watching the game or listening to the crowd around him swell with applause, no, he was spending his time doing something much more constructive...bearing holes into the heads of a brunet and redhead with an intensity that screamed "Look at me dammit! Look at me!"
Unfortunately Kenny's tactic wasn't really doing him much good. Kyle still refused to look at him and the sophomore beside him wasn't stupid enough to take his chances looking back again, but Kenny was sure that Kyle could tell he was watching him; Kyle's shoulders kept rolling and shifting as if to shake off a physical presence, the way Kyle tended to do when he was stressed and irritated.
Stare.
A roll of the shoulders.
Stare.
An uncomfortable shifting in his seat.
Stare.
An angry little twitch of sorts.
Stare.
The sexy little fucker still wouldn't turn around!
Kenny scowled at Kyle's head with a kind of white-hot intensity that was even beginning to make himself feel rather prickly with discomfort. It was an odd combination of irritation, anger, hurt, frustration, and want, and it was doing all kinds of things to Kenny's psychosomatic wiring.
His hands were clammy, clenching with a burning desire to wind themselves around the wool of Kyle's heavy winter coat. He could practically feel the scratchy material against his fingertips instead of the worn fleece encompassing them. The weight of Kyle's smaller body against his own was nearly tangible, churning his stomach and forcing him to concentrate on not squirming in his seat. It was only a conscious effort at restraint that was keeping him from leaping up, stalking down those bleacher bench seats, dragging Kyle up and off to some undisclosed location, and...
...and the worst part was that he still had no idea if he'd kiss the guy or sock him in the jaw.
And even Kenny doubted that either one of those things would really make the current situation with Kyle any better. Despite what Stan or Butters or Cartman might've thought he really did want to be in Kyle's good graces...he just didn't know what else he wanted...and it really wasn't helping that every time he saw Kyle he lost what little sense of respect he'd ever had for the guy's "personal bubble".
But it wasn't his fault dammit!
If fucking Kyle had just fucking given into the fucking bet or gone along with the fucking joke or...something.
But had he really expected Kyle to in the first place? Had he really wanted Kyle to?
His fingers absentmindedly sought out a cigarette from his pocket and played with it with gloved fingers.
When had it gone from enjoying Kyle's horrified reaction to half-entertaining the idea of prospect of actual sex? When had it gone from that to some kind of competition, a battle of the strongest willed? And when the fuck had it gone from that to wanting something more and yet less with his ginger friend? Why did he want Kyle's attention so badly? Why was it pissing him off that Kyle was pissed off? Why couldn't he just ignore it and ditch him until the asshole had cooled off? Why did he want to drag that now-laughing sophomore away somewhere to firmly imprint an everlasting understanding deep into the kid's brain that Kyle was his?
The cigarette paper finally burst under his hot-tempered fingertips, sending hundreds of tiny brown specks within his hand and over his clothing.
That was another thing. He kept losing perfectly good cigarettes because of Kyle.
Something new came along to capture his attention and cause him further aggravation.
What the hell was that annoying as all get-out beeping noise?
And why the hell wouldn't it stop?
And what was shaking against his arm like a friggin' earthquake?
Kenny scowled to his left.
And then stopped.
He pulled out his phone from a pocket, where, met with no barrier from the air, an even more obnoxiously loud tinny, electronic ring shouted like a warning siren.
Aw shit.
It only took Kenny a second after he looked back over at the barely contained Tweek to meet the gaze, or glare, of Craig, staring back from the sidelines of the field, cell phone in hand, like he was fully prepared to make good on his earlier promise. Some blood had stained his jersey. A player from the other team was being led, hobbling, off the field, a long gash on his leg.
And now his un-admittable obsession over the object of his desires was going to get his ass kicked.
Well this day was just going fucking peachy, wasn't it?
It was a miracle they all managed to walk to the party together without anyone coming to blows.
Though that was most likely because none of them dared to open their mouths on the way there.
Kenny was leading the way, slightly ruffled and rumpled, supposedly after small altercation with Craig. Stan was the buffer between himself and Kenny, walking in the middle and not even bothering to really look at either of them. Kyle himself walked behind them both with Bridon sort of at his side, quietly following the trio of juniors in the sort of respectful silence that younger boys paid older boys if they didn't want to get their asses kicked.
Even though Kyle was in the rear of the group he was pretty certain that both of his friends were wearing the same deep frown, or glare, that he was. Kenny's would be more of the pissed off kind that had become a constant as of late, something like his own, Stan's would be more likely the kind born out of frustration and confusion at the idiocy of his two friends and the incomprehension he himself was victim to. Kyle didn't have to guess at Bridon's expression, he'd seen it himself already.
The sophomore was wearing a look of slight discomfort; the kind that he undoubtedly felt as an underclassmen going to a party in the woods that would be almost exclusively reserved for upperclassmen, save for the few underclassmen who had been personally invited or brought along like he had.
Kyle had insisted that his friend join them, despite the initial protests given. He'd convinced his friend to go, telling him about how much fun it would be and how he'd prefer to have him there and how a lot of the other guys from the basketball team would be there.
All of those things were at least sort of true. At the very least he and Clyde would be there, that counted even if no one else from the team showed. And these parties could be fun every once in a while...though since his worry and diabetes kept him from really overindulging he spent most of the party watching out for and making fun of the drunks. He really did want Bridon there too.
He just wasn't sure why it had sweetened the deal that it seemed to rankle Kenny even more than he had thought possible. It served the bastard right after all, what the hell had he been doing staring at the back of his head for the whole freaking game anyway?
And yet, despite the glowering joy he felt in his vindictiveness, there was an annoying feeling settled somewhere between his chest and gut. It was something like,...guilt maybe, or anticipation. He shoved the thought away and buried the feeling. He didn't want to think about it. Not now, and hopefully not ever.
The sounds of the beginnings of what would prove to be a raucous obligatory post-homecoming-game-excuse-for-a-party party were starting to grow in their ears as they entered the clearing in the woods by Stark's Pond.
It was kind of an unwritten rule in their neck of the woods, so to speak: as long as the teenagers did it away from the completely obvious view of their parents, in the woods, a barn, whatever, the party would never be busted up. Never mind whatever horrible acts of debauchery or Satanic rituals or animal sacrifices might be going on there.
It probably helped that their parents had all done the same things themselves...and still did actually.
Or maybe it was just that in South Park those things had a way of happening even in broad daylight. One or the other.
But for some reason the idea didn't really upset his moralist side that night. Maybe the blond-haired, be-parka-ed boy up front's, who he was refusing to acknowledge, resigned brand of trailer-trash cynicism was wearing off on him.
For a brief moment he truly wished that they were on better terms again; he felt like tapping the taller one on the shoulder and getting his opinion.
Damn it. God, Moses, Jesus, Mohammed, and whoever else might be up there did he wish he could afford to get as trashed as the rest of his classmates were going to. He was giving himself a headache. Oh fuck his diabetes, maybe he'd just do it anyway. How bad could a dangerously high spike and drop in blood sugar and potential coma and death really be anyway?
Oh God. Now Kenny really was rubbing off on him.
He felt a headache coming on.
Kyle idly wondered if this was how Stan felt when he and Wendy were fighting.
He chose to ignore what he himself had just implied about his relationship with his blond friend.
It was no good. His head was swimming, his brain teeming with wave upon wave of conflicting thoughts and emotions crashing into each other and riding over one another. At this rate Kyle Broflovski gave his sanity the life expectancy of another week. Tops.
Finally, just past a grouping of pine trees, the evidence of a party scene came to light.
Someone had managed to get a healthy fire going, surrounded by a circle of rocks that would prove to be little protection against the ambitions of drunken teenagers. Several camping lanterns, oil and electrical, had been set up around the half-assed perimeter of the party, shedding enough dim light from each one to add up to a half-lit space within the clearing they had taken over.
Music was playing loudly from a pair of portable mp3 speakers set on a large rock, the cold air carried the noise easily to the ears of the boys just joining the foray. It was some song Kyle didn't know, some of the most recent pop-schlock that some guy had probably put on for his girlfriend or some girl he was trying to hook up with tonight. He rolled his eyes.
There were only a few others here right now, maybe seven or eight, but more were quickly entering the party scene. Pickup trucks full of shouting teens pulled up as close as they could to the clearing, ignoring the illegality of their off-road excursion. Throngs of boys and girls on foot began to fill in through the trees, chatting and laughing as the true party atmosphere came to life. There were a lot of people here Kyle had never met before. He scowled. It didn't really surprise him, parties like this tended to end up extending to several other high schools in other towns, but it still irritated him.
Alcohol was appearing at every corner; everything ranging from kegs bought by someone's older brother to half-filled bottles of vodka swiped from some parent's liquor cabinet flashed into view all about them. Beer and bright red Solo cups were becoming an extension of almost every set of hands.
The three juniors and one sophomore stood for a moment as the party stirred to life. Kenny, unsurprisingly, was the first to bolt from the group, but it was, oddly enough, without the usual vigor he presented in these kind of situations.
Kenny, hood down, muttered something like, "Catch you guys later," before heading off in the direction of the fire and a large cooler filled with glass bottles. As he left and a ray of light struck his face Kyle could see the bruise beginning to form on his cheek.
So he and Craig really had had it out?
Well...good. Serves him right...
So why was it twisting his stomach with guilt? And why did he feel some responsibility even though it couldn't have been his fault?
"Stan! Stan!"
A loud voice called the remaining trio's attention to a raven-haired beauty standing a little ways off, waving one hand with the other cupped around her mouth.
Stan looked back briefly with a sort of a twist of his neck and mouth in question at Kyle. Kyle nodded and Stan nodded back, taking off in the direction of his waiting girlfriend with a "See you guys later."
Kyle was actually a little surprised; he knew Stan was getting pretty pissed at both himself and Kenny, but his friend was still asking permission to go spend time with his girlfriend.
Maybe Stan had given up on his friends and decided to let the two of them deal with whatever it was on their own and ignore the whole thing. Maybe Stan understood more than he thought and he hadn't given his best friend enough credit.
Kyle almost grimaced. Maybe he owed Stan an apology of sorts.
Red eyebrows knit together as their owner fought off the desire to rub at his temples. His head was really starting to hurt from everything going on.
Meanwhile, Bridon stood awkwardly at his side, uncomfortable with either breaking Kyle out of his thoughts or moving about the crowd of strangers and upperclassmen on his own. Reminding himself of his friend's presence Kyle turned to look at the sophomore only to have his attention called away again.
"Hey, Kyle, Bridon, over here!"
A rather cheerful looking Butters was motioning for the pair to come over, standing next to Clyde and Token, who were gathered about fifty feet opposite from the fire pit, with a few other faces Kyle didn't recognize, idly chatting. Whether it was because Butters had genuinely forgiven him or because the guy couldn't hold a grudge to save his life he didn't know, but Kyle wasn't about to question it. He was questioning too many things lately, thinking about too many things he didn't want to think about and, even if it was a seemingly minor thing, he wasn't about to add one more thing to the list.
Kyle looked to send a quick look to Bridon to indicate he should follow and to his surprise found it apparently unnecessary, as the sophomore had already taken a hesitant step forward, slightly unsure but readying to leave Kyle behind. With a quirked eyebrow that went unnoticed, and uncharacteristic silence, Kyle stepped forward and led the way, saving Bridon from maneuvering that awkward process on his own.
The party introductions were the same ones given at every party: silent head nods at those you knew, exchanges and perhaps hand shakes with those whose new names you wouldn't remember in a few hours, and just enough pleasantries to sustain sufficient noise levels long enough for someone to get alcohol within their system or to find someone you actually wanted to talk to.
And that, as everyone learns by their second week into college, is when the real party begins.
Ah yes, alcohol, the demonic little mistress that shed inhibitions and made bad ideas seem really, really good. The substance that gave the devil on your shoulder permission to choke the angel on the other side and whisper things like, "Sure, go for it. Now's a great time!" "Don't worry, we can always blame it on being drunk later anyway!" "Well, he/she always was a douche bag/bitch, now would be a good time to tell them as much." "Eh, he/she never really liked that priceless vase/phone/carpet/car anyway!"
And the kind of drunken shenanigans that would take place that night and many others would be remembered with a slightly embarrassed cringe a decade later by all those involved; at a time when the dramas of high school seemed rather petty and insignificant and they looked back on their present selves as children rather than the young 'adults' they thought they were now.
Unfortunately though, the future of fond, and not so fond, recollection and reminiscence was far away. Tonight there would be teenage, alcohol-fueled dramatics.
Loads of it.
If there had been announcers and a play-by-play of the party's events it would have been hard to tell who really started it. Certainly it was rather poor judgment on Kenny's part to be two beer and three large mixed drinks, made with ungodly ratios of booze to soda, in when he was harboring some seriously bad thoughts...but it was pretty stupidly petty of Kyle to, when he kept glancing over at the increasingly intoxicated Kenny, make extra sure to enjoy himself in the company of his friends, namely Bridon.
And then, as one of Kenny's favorite crass sayings went, "Shit happens when you party naked."
Only in this case it was more of an addendum. "...and shit really happens when you're pissed, infatuated, and drunk as a skunk."
Really it boiled down to a pissing match of one-ups man's ship. Kenny, after the first beer, would glance at Kyle, who in turn, would stare back and too quickly turn to laugh heartily at something Clyde or Token or Butters had said, no matter how unfunny it was. By the end of the first mixed drink and Kenny's journey from tipsy to drunk Kenny had begun actively staring at Kyle who, Kenny was nearly certain Kyle had already been looking at him, would glare at being 'caught' by the drunken blond and, Kenny was sure it was only when he was looking, would place a 'friendly' hand every so often on Bridon's arm or shoulder in a purposeful way; though had Kenny not been inebriated he might have realized that Bridon's glance at the hand was not reciprocated enjoyment, but a look of startled slight discomfort.
He almost might have noticed that way Butters was frowning at himself, Kyle, and Kyle's hand.
It was at the end of the fateful third mixed drink and the popped cap off the third beer where the night took a dramatic turn.
Kenny had steadily progressed through the past hour and a half from slightly obsessive glances to an less than subtle alternating leer and glare, as though he could not decide how he felt about his redheaded friend in his drunken state of mind. As Kenny stumbled uneasily from foot to foot, Craig sipped his beer beside him and chose to watch over Tweek instead of the more inebriated blond; decidedly letting his friend suffer the consequences of his wasted endeavors.
Through the haze of alcohol Kenny seemed to finally process that Kyle was finally looking back at him, but glaring rather heavily in his direction. As Kenny made up his mind slowly to glare back, he watched as Kyle kept his unsteady gaze and, with meaning laced throughout every bit of the gesture, slung an arm about Bridon's shoulders and pulled the boy slightly closer to himself.
And that was what really did it in the end.
Now had it been Stan nothing would have happened. Hell, even if it had been just about anyone else at the party Kenny probably wouldn't have reacted so poorly. But, however distantly Kyle chose to acknowledge his awareness of the matter, both Kyle and Kenny knew exactly which raw nerve Kyle was choosing to stab at when he decided to touch Bridon so intimately. It was intentional provocation.
And Kenny, mind utterly numbed with booze and jealousy, decided he really didn't give a fuck about the consequences right then.
The intense, or what would have been had Kenny been able to keep his gaze steady, battle of glares lasted for a moment or two, before Kyle looked away in affected disgust to turn back to a conversation he was only half-invested in. And then suddenly, with Kenny glaring at Kyle's capped head in boiling shock and anger, Kyle murmured something to his friends and walked off into the crowding of trees beyond the party sight.
Craig said and did nothing when Kenny slurred out some excuse or explanation and stalked in a haphazard manner after the other, forgetfully dropping his beer on the ground and letting the bottle's contents seep onto the frozen earth.
The poor blond didn't even hear the conversation echoing behind him as he stumbled away.
"Er, Craig, shouldn't we stop him? He's going to do something really, really, stupid. You know he is." Tweek looked to the football player with only the barest of twitches, anxiety alleviated by drink and his present company.
"Nope." Craig took a sip of his beer and continued in notoriously nasal apathy. "Payback's a bitch."
Needless to say, Kyle wasn't surprised one iota when an unsteady percussion of procession echoed behind him, signaled by the random crunches of sticks, pine needles and frozen leaves and the occasional drunken slur of a curse.
No, he wasn't at all surprised that his lust-filled 'friend' had followed him, but that sure as hell wasn't going to stop him from acting like it when he whirled on the inebriated blond that plagued his dreams and nightmares.
The redhead stopped dead in his tracks and turned swiftly, fists curled in his coat pockets and a snarl on his lips.
"What the fuck are you doing Kenny?"
Though his words had come out only slightly louder than normal his throat felt scratchy and dry, as though he had shouted them.
Despite that Kenny's path was several steps behind his own, it was evident from the swear on his lips, and the way he nearly fell over himself after halting, that he had been on an accidental collision course with Kyle in his staggering state.
"I said, 'What the fuck are you doing Kenny?'"
He was angry, he was tired, he was frustrated. There were too many mixed emotions floating inside his head, and the party atmosphere wasn't helping.
For all of the anger, the contempt, the pre-emptive betrayal, there was still a damning little flutter in his chest and gut, and the knowledge was nauseating all on its own.
Kenny, bent over slightly with a gloved hand against a tree for balance, looked up at Kyle as he rose. There was a glare of his own etched in those deceivingly angelic features: anger and hurt twisted and magnified by the taint of alcohol and resentment.
"I could ask ya same thing, Kyle."
In spite of a pronounced slur Kenny's words carried over clearly to Kyle's ears as the other boy straightened upright. The battle of the glares began.
A heavy, straight glare met an intense but slightly wavering one. Kyle's focused glower was a thick mask of ire: brows deep-set, teeth bared in an ugly sneer, and vivid eyes flashing.
Kenny's stare was different; a constant flickering of bitter resentment and hurt, eyes and face flashing with raw emotion in a way so rarely seen on the teen's visage. Dirty-blond hair, freed from their normal confines, shook and flew with Kenny's movement and a slight breeze. The young man stood lean and tall and proud as moonlight danced through the treeline and cast pale beams on him.
An unpleasantly pleasant warmth flooded Kyle's stomach and trailed down his body.
With an inward curse and a flush of embarrassment Kyle realized that no matter how inappropriate, no matter how ill-advised, apparently neither his mind or his body could fail to recognize how attractive Kenny was, even as an intoxicated jackass.
He wanted to scream, but he knew, with a sense of foreboding, that there were only two options right now: fight, and probably end up in close bodily contact with Kenny for one reason or another, or flight, and look like a dramatic bitch, no matter how justified it might be.
Fear of himself and his feelings won. He chose to get the fuck of out dodge.
"Whatever Kenny," he scoffed with as much malevolence as he could force out, "talk to me when you're not acting like a piece of shit trailer-trash red-neck hick."
It was a low blow and he knew it; he didn't care.
Shoulders hunched to ward off a chill he did not feel, Kyle turned, fists still curled in his pockets, hoping to make a quick getaway.
He could just walk around for a bit, come back when Kenny had forgotten or passed out in a drunken stupor. He would come back and grab Bridon and apologize to the sophomore for ditching him and walk him home. Bridon would be alright in the meantime; he'd been pretty engaged in his conversation with Butters when Kyle had left them.
The heavy, stalking footsteps that followed swiftly after Kyle's own were thwarting his plans.
"No, really Kyle, what the motherfuckin' fuck are ya doin'?"
A large, hard hand gripped painfully tight on Kyle's shoulder, stopping him and pushing him around.
"Get off me dickhead!" He snarled, but didn't dare risk further contact by touching the offending hand with his own; he tried ineffectually to shrug it off.
Kenny pushed a little harder and Kyle's back hit the rough surface of an evergreen tree. The redhead hissed out a wince, but the blond either didn't notice or didn't care. Kenny's other forbidding hand grabbed forcefully at Kyle's other shoulder, keeping him effectively pinned to the tree. There was still the length of Kenny's long arms between the rest of their bodies, but if Kyle wanted to shove Kenny off he was going to have to use the weight and strength of his own body against Kenny's, and he didn't like the idea of invoking such close proximity to his predictably unpredictable friend.
"Why Kyle? Ya knew I was gonna follow didn't ya? Ya knew! Ya knew I 's watchin' ya and ya were watchin' me too! Hey Kyle, how fuckin' disappointed would've ya been if I didn't follow ya? Huh?" Kenny's words were spat out with contempt; a low blow of his own.
"Just get off me Kenny," Kyle's voice was hoarse and his words softer. He couldn't look at Kenny in the eye, couldn't admit how the words were hitting too close to home, too true for comfort.
"No Kyle! Tell me, if ya wan' me ta stay 'way so bad, why the fuck do ya keep doin' this shit? The fuck ya keep doin' stuff just 'cause ya know I'm gonna see it? And why the fuck is it that Bridon fuckward? The fuck is so fuckin' special 'bout the fuckin' fuck? Fuck!"
"Stop it Kenny. Just shut the fuck up, alright?" The volume of Kyle's voice was rising again, ire quickly raising to match a level close to Kenny's own; but Kenny wasn't listening, his slurred rant continuing without pause.
"Why Kyle, huh? Yer s'posed ta be with me! I know ya want ta! If, if ya didn', ya woulda done somethin' 'bout it long time ago! Goddammit, yer mine Kyle!"
Acid dripped from Kyle's mind to his gut and rose like bile in his throat. Kenny was completely fucked up out of his mind, and yet, he had seen so much more of Kyle than Kyle had ever wanted him to. Kenny not only wanted in his pants, not only prodded him, pushed him, but could see beyond his teasing and harassment that Kyle genuinely held at least some degree of attraction too. Kenny-fucking-McCormick could see something in Kyle that even Kyle himself didn't want to see, refused to see.
The realization was utterly terrifying. Terrifying and enraging.
Kyle opened his mouth to shout profanities right back at Kenny's twisted features. He wanted to tell the lanky blond just where he could shove his drunken eloquence; shove him off, let him fall on his ass, and walk away, walk away from Kenny and everything he represented.
Before Kyle could get even a single word out he was silenced by a pair of hot demanding lips on his own.
Kenny's mouth was on top of his, unyielding and harsh, lips wet and slightly chapped against Kyle's smooth own. Fingertips and hands were digging into Kyle's bony shoulders hard enough to bruise. A slick tongue glided into the redhead's open mouth and licked at his own tongue and teeth. Almost immediately Kenny's body moved up against Kyle's, pushing him firmly against the tree as he pushed a leg between Kyle's thighs.
An autonomic gasp formed in Kyle's throat and was swallowed in Kenny's mouth.
The drunken, sloppy blond seemed to take Kyle's stupor and surprised gasp as good signs. Kenny's hands started to ease on their forceful hold and moved down to Kyle's waist, pulling their hips close enough to touch in intimate affection.
Ironically it that genuinely sweet moment in Kenny's rather twisted attempt at romance that seemed to finally push Kyle into action.
Before Kenny could even process what had happened he found his ass on the cold, frozen ground with a harsh throbbing in his jaw. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up with the progression of events.
Kyle had shoved full force on his chest. Kyle had looked ready to kill him. Kyle had swung and hit him hard in the jaw. Kenny had fallen back, hard.
So now, with a smarting ass and a swimming head, the trailer-trash blond was looking up into the face of one very pissed off Jew. He could have sworn the fires of Hell were actually dancing in Kyle's eyes.
Kenny didn't move and neither did Kyle. Kyle glared down at Kenny. Kenny dizzily looked up
at Kyle. The recent flurry of movement had the blond looking a little green and the redhead seemed to be choking on something in a way that made his whole body shake.
And then Kyle looked away, dropped his gaze to the side and marched toward the lively party scene out of view. He passed Kenny without so much as a glance down.
Kyle's steps were still audible in the blond's ears when he quickly rolled to his knees and vomited up a good amount of what had been partially to blame for his reckless lack of inhibitions. After several productive heaves, and a few painful dry ones for good measure, the blond teen fell away and back to the ground, scooting a few feet away from the sight of his sickness with a groan.
Had he been a little less drunk Kenny might have taken the time to analyze his actions and just how badly he had royally fucked up just then. Maybe he would've gone home to sulk or mull the situation over before figuring out the "Kyle situation". He might have even sought out Cartman or Craig, and made sure to avoid the super best friend no doubt willing to avenge his buddy, for sympathetic, or antagonistic to Kyle anyway, companionship. But no, Kenny was still too intoxicated and miserable to seek anything out other than physical comfort.
And physical comfort, at that moment, entailed lying on his back on the cold, frozen ground, staring up at the moonlight illuminated tree branches and patches of sky above, deliriously watching the stars as they twinkled mockingly overhead.
"Fuck ya," he slurred to them, uncaring of how stupid it sounded. "What the fuck are ya so happy 'bout anyway?"
The sky didn't answer the fog-headed teen. It continued on twinkling above. Kenny shut his eyes from the view.
The rapid loss of alcohol from his stomach was bringing back sobriety at an alarming rate, and he didn't want to see their condescending sparks when he started to realize just what he had done.
Drama, drama! Thanks for reading the chap and I hope you enjoyed it! Update should come sooner than last time! (I also love reviews if you would like to give one, good or bad!) See ya soon!