More edits! Hooray!

Disclaimer: South Park is the creation of Matt Stone and Trey Parker. Beware of Boogiemen. The plot may have the potential to endure "AU" slaughter… or what-if futurism. It should not be read by anyone who does not understand the term "AU" or "what-if". "Rock the Cashbah" was a Great Clash song. It was also covered by the Solar Twins. Neither band have anything to do with this disclaimer or and unusual craving for macaroni and cheese.

Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Tweek sat on the ground behind the broken bus after Kyle retrieved four of the Jewish treats. Dolling one to each, he promised that there would be more for later when they were starving. Kenny flipped back the hood of his parka before his mouth greedily closed over the treat, loudly chomping at the morsels. Home baked goods were a luxury, certainly beating his family's consistent meals of canned vegetables, frozen waffles, and condiments that Kenny stole from the team's hotel rooms if he got there before Cartman. Kenny couldn't remember ever turning down a meal or any offering of food—he never knew when the next time he would eat a full meal would be.

Tweek sat to Kenny's right, hands shaking so violently that he was barely able to bring the food to his lips. He chewed quickly, teeth chattering as he moistened the morsels on his tongue then swallowed. His eyes shifted from boy to boy, swallowing anxiously in anticipation—anticipation for what other than the flock of vengeful, mutant gnomes plotting the slow destruction and demise of the football team. Darwin's Theory of Evolution—only the strong would survive. He shook his head, extending the treat to the orange hooded boy as his shoulders jerked. "C-can't. No more." Kenny barely nodded in acknowledgement, let alone took the time to give thanks, as his hand snaked out over the pastry, closed his fingers over the treat, then devoured it in a few quick bites.

"You really do eat anything," Kyle murmured, shaking his head with mild amazement. Growing up with Kenny had given the boys immunity to his antics and survival codes. The quad turned their heads in near unison as several hoots and hollers sounded accompanied by the thick scent of burning wood and smoke.

"Bonfire's made," Stan murmured absently. He rose to his feet, hands brushing the front of his jeans off before his hands slid into the back pockets. Without waiting for the other three, he stalked toward the commotion. Greeted by the warm, amber glow of the raging fire, Stan walked around it twice before settling himself on a trunk of a clearly cut tree. The slain plant lay a few feet from the base of the fire, the base splintered from where it had been unceremoniously hacked at until it plummeted to its early demise. Clearly the tree slayer had been lazy as the branches and foliage still remained near the top.

Stan extended his hands toward the flames, stretching his legs in front of him to absorb the heat as the boys began to pillage their things, assembling themselves on the logs-benches. The trio Stan left behind came shortly, sitting on one of the trunks across from Stan, giving him his space. Like they thought they were being kind even though the last thing he wanted was to stray.

Stan was startled when Clyde sat beside him, stocky arm brushing his shoulder. "Craig knows his tinder," the boy said absently, inclining his torso toward the warmth. "He got the fire going within three minutes."

"Sorry I didn't help with that," Stan said, shoulders shrugging as he side-glanced toward the other male. He noticed the other wore sweaters constantly, most likely to hide the extra bulk. Sensitive about his weight ever since they were nine and called him the next fattest kid to Cartman, Clyde went to great lengths to hide his physique. It made Stan feel horrible although he couldn't remember ever apologizing. He couldn't even remember a time when Clyde ever ate anything unhealthy. Genetics, slow metabolism, excuses the night they stayed in the same hotel room. Stan didn't even notice until Clyde asked if he was crushing him while he straddled the other's waist. And then, it wasn't a problem. Clyde was good looking, just a different sort than Stan.

Thinking about it, Clyde wasn't quite like the bulk of the students at South Park—he was virtuous, humble even. Kind.

Stan's eyes shifted as Clyde drew the heel of his boot against Stan's sneaker, tapping it three times. Unspoken code. Returning his eyes to the fire, Stan drew his heel to the side, colliding against the thicker canvas in the same repetition. Clyde rose, making a gesture of getting water while he walked away from the fire and slipped behind the broken bus. Stan didn't even wait for Clyde to completely disappear before he followed. Meeting Clyde on the hidden side, they both walked toward the thickness and darkness of the woods. They barely could see, but they could sense. Smell, touch. Encased in blackness, Stan felt Clyde's hands move to his waist, circling around the small of his back.

"Say it," Clyde whispered, short plea evident by the tone of his strained voice. "The way you said it before."

Stan smiled, blindly inclining his head forward before his teeth grazed over Clyde's thick scarf masking his slightly protruding jugular vein. "I can make you feel good, better than anyone. It could be our secret. We won't talk." Stan's teeth closed over Clyde's scarf and he tugged. The wool pulled loose, exposing tender, untouched skin. Stan's head lowered, teeth sinking over Clyde's skin as he suckled it black. Clyde's head tilted back, a short, uncontrolled moan rising from the back of his throat as he clawed at the clasp to his own belt. Stan released his hold, by instinct sliding down to his knees. Expectancy. Ability to deliver.

Five minutes. Barely.

Clyde apologized as he brushed his thumb by the side of Stan's face before he zipped his fly again. Readjusting his scarf, he glanced to the side.

"Are you mad at me?" Clyde asked softly.

"It happens," Stan murmured. "Compliments to me, I guess." Stan turned to walk back but stopped; he didn't hear accompanying footsteps, couldn't sense Clyde there. "Waiting for Manbearpig or Tweek's mutant gnomes?"

"Was I bad?"

"Huh?" Stan turned around, jaw slacking slightly.

"You've been with other guys before… was I bad?" Again with self-consciousness—the boy never seemed to let it drop.

"You're fine. Sometimes people get off a little too soon if they're feeling good. Or maybe you were thinking of someone else."

Clyde rubbed his hands together, unsatisfied with Stan's answer. Stan noticed Clyde didn't touch the suggestion, whoever Clyde was thinking of. "Hey, Stan? Who'd you hook up with on the team?"

Stan's eyes closed and he obeyed, fingers gripping the bed as his boxers were yanked off. The corner of a pillow was shoved into his mouth. Craig's right hand pressed hard in between the quarterback's shoulder blades holding him flat against the mattress; his left hand tore a wrapper open. After a moment, Craig leg go, hands gripping onto Stan's hips, slamming an endowed length inside without so much a simple preparation. Stan screamed, muted by the thickness of the pillow as the slams came harder and faster, skin slapping against skin. He felt something tear, a wet heat, and slammed back hard against Craig before Craig groaned and pulled out. The condom was unpeeled and thrown in the trash can.

"I can't say," Stan replied hoarsely. The leaves crackled under his feet as he took a step backward.

"Roll over," he heard Craig sayin his head, and Stan got hard again.

Clyde didn't answer but he nodded. He took a few steps forward then scooted to catch up to Stan. "You know why Craig beat you up, right?"

Stan said nothing. His head was locked forward as each leg moved in rapid progression.

"Craig told me. He feels awful, even if he won't admit it. It's probably not what you think either-"

"Do you want me to tell you off or something?" Stan snapped.

Not another word was exchanged as they returned toward their companions by the fire and, once they reached the amiable commotion, both turned separate ways.

A/N: Thank you for sticking with me, readers! Not sure if anyone can tell, but I absolutely loved this chapter (and I swear that it wasn't just for shy and stammering Clyde though I might have forgotten my Miranda Rights on that one). Needless to say, lots of cute and the stage is set for our next installment. I'm sure many of you are wondering "Is there going to be Stan/Kyle? What's going to happen after three days have passed?! And why did Craig beat up Stan?"

And by many, I mean probably just me. But you can stay tuned and find out. If I finish.