Summer in South Park was an oxymoron. There was a contradiction of interests within the very concept. The people of the mountain town never entertained the concept very seriously because of this. After all, when it snowed almost ten months of the year, and the summer was a bleak, though sunshine filled, few weeks leading to the inevitable, there was no true concept of summer. For the majority of the population, nothing changed outside of the youngsters wandering the mall and parks earlier in the daytime rather than close to the time when the streetlights glowed. For those youngsters, summer wasn't much of anything either. Celebrated as a time for great fun and luscious romances, the kids of the city barely viewed it as anything outside of eight weeks where school was closed. Otherwise, their lives proceeded as normal, particularly if they were young. The same groups of children gathered at the same places and went about the same routines. The only difference was the length those routines extended as their days grew less organized. In the older children, this theory was relatively upheld. Most of the teenagers slept until noon, then walked down to the park to complain about having nothing to do, then walked home when it was supper time. Those, however, were the outsiders. They were outside the loop of interest and thus were kept in an unforgiving cycle of monotony.
Not the same was true of the insiders. Few claimed the title, but they were a unique few who wore it well. The femmes, BeBe and Wendy, strolled from popular hangouts in flashy outfits, wearing bangles on their wrists. They talked like Hollywood movies stars and spent the summer sunbathing, pool hopping, and shopping for knock off designer clothing. The Crips, Jimmy and Timmy, walked the miracle mile with their gang clothes wrapped around their foreheads. They cracked knuckles with men whose track records bore the words 'serial offender' and 'threat to the community'. Their summers were a blitz of gang wars, shoot outs, and theft in their older members pimped out rides. The five who hung with Craig navigated the realm of the edge of South Park. Craig flipped the bird as Tweek shivered, Clyde smiled underhandedly, Thomas the Tourette's Kid shyly cursed, and Token booked them rides into the glamour society. The days of summer for them were a coffee filtered haze of rich dude pool parties, guitar bashes in basements, and the frequent trip down to the amusement parks on the Blacks' dime. Butters was an innocent, yes, but he hung with the worst of the worst and worse, the badest of those freaky four. He was a named associate of blood lustful Nazi Cartman and was deemed a potential threat. His summers were locked up behind closed doors and only the two of them knew what it was the shell shocked stares of the beginning of school were all about.
Yet, the best of the summer was spent in the tattered sneakers of the freaky four themselves. The usual rounds of summer had never officially found its way into their bedrooms. For fifteen long years, summers had flitted by in a hurry. And for fifteen years, summer had proved to be something of interest with those four. Summer had born witness to rock concerts on shoulders with lighters, the rare drunken screaming match in the middle of the woods, the flare gun attack on the fur coat industry, the burning of the warehouse on the end that had been abandoned, and the broken jaw of that poor kid, whatshisname, who had walked into the community center during a séance between one Nazi, one Jew, one activist, and one poor boy. This summer, this new summer with its burning blaze on that lost town, threatened the bounds of those reputations. For once, it appeared that summer had failed to deliver for them. However, summer was just beginning and in the beginning, everything seemed normal when it came to Kyle Broflovski, Kenny McCormick, Stan Marsh, and Eric Cartman.
Still, it was quite the boring beginning.
The first two weeks had trickled by like the last minute on the last day of the last year of school. At least, that's how Stan had taken it. He had been laid out on his bed, staring a hole into the paint of his room, in utter boredom. Fourteen days, and not a thing had come up to gather his attention for more than a passing glance. He had to admit, he wasn't the most easily amused person. Yet, this was becoming an unheard of level of ridiculous. Never before had he spent so long laying on his bed, staring at his blank television set, wishing there was something more entertaining to do. Considering everything supposed to be going on, Stan honestly couldn't believe fourteen days had gone by with not a lick of interest.
Though, he couldn't say it was for lack of effort on his part. For the majority of his life, whenever boredom set a new precedent, it was due largely to the fact that he had chosen to sleep till one, eat cherrios in his pajamas while watching cartoons, before turning in for a six hour long nap. This was not the case. He got up whenever he heard his mother screaming for him to, somewhere between ten and eleven am. He sat out on his front porch, eating a protein bar, searching for life he could slip into and hang with while waiting for his phone to ring with KayBee lol EC, Ten $ Whore lol EC, or Pokah Face. He saw plenty images of the other insiders coming and going, some waving, some flipping him the bird, but otherwise, nothing of severe interest. By the time the street lamps came on and the neighborhood dimmed out, Stan would head inside for dinner. His phone never rang.
Honestly, he hadn't expected it to. Kyle was often at work, as his shift started at eight and drifted through until six. He would come home sometime later, waving over at the Marshs whenever Stan lingered on his front porch. Every time, he shouted that he was too tired to hang out. He was still getting adjusted to his new time crunch and was working on switching shifts. Until then, Kyle was too out of it to be much fun other than a cushion while Stan played fighter games alone. As for the other two, he wasn't entirely sure what Cartman and Kenny were doing. When it came to Cartman, if he wasn't blowing up Stan's phone during the summer, asking when the freaky four could do something for him, he was usually at Butters. That was an invitation only affair and only the innocent and the Nazi had invitations. Kenny, of course, was too poor to be running around all over town. However, he made his coin down on the dirty streets beyond Seventh street, where the lights were red, and he didn't like to involve his friends in his work. The blond would call when he was available and so far his texts had painted a picture of a dull, dragging summer of babysitting littered with the few 'Seeing John Talk Later'.
With those three out of the picture, Stan had exhausted his options. His life was at a standstill. Normally, he wouldn't have minded so much. He could just kill time playing video games, walking down to Stark's Pond, or sleeping until his mother kicked him in the head for daring to sleep for eighteen hours when the fence needed repainting. Not being able to even talk to these people, though, was what was murder on him. Even on the days when he was barely alive, he talked to them. He would have a random phone call from Kyle, asking him to log on to somewhere to post a comment about something. He would get texts galore from Cartman, telling him this or that about whatevah the Nazi happened to be doing or thinking about. He would get a raunchy picture e-mailed from Kenny of some whore he was looking at online or in a porno. Yes, his electronic connections would be buzzing with those threes version of normality. If not, they would swing by to bang on his door, eat some of his food, and whisper their insanity until he couldn't take it and booted them back out the door, waving and grabbing a doggie bag to go.
These past fourteen days, however, he had barely heard a peep from them.
By the middle of the day on the fifteenth day, Stan could say that boredom was not the only feeling he held within the pit of his stomach. Staring at his ceiling, his mind wandered to the possibilities littering the lives of the Nazi and the pervert. He knew Kyle was slumming around the Liquor Stone, smart mouthing customers. He didn't know exactly where nor what the other two were up to. He figured Cartman was at Butters. He assumed Kenny was at home. He didn't know, though, which was a strikingly scary thought. Swallowing hard, he momentarily considered that they weren't doing anything wrong. However, experience told him otherwise.
Stan found himself on his feet minutes before he actually contemplated the most horrifying thought of them all. In fact, he was halfway to his bedroom door when it flashed into his mind like an icy splash of broken glass to the back of his conscious mind. He had to grit his teeth to keep from cursing at the thought. As quickly as he could then, he jerked on his shoes and pushed his way through his own frozen habits to make it out the door. He took the steps two at a time and bolted from the staircase to the door. He was out into the shocking heat as the thought twirled about the forefront of his mind, flirting perilously with his ability to remain calm and collected like the sea.
What if Kenny and Cartman were together. Alone.
A flurry of frost moved over Stan's blood.
Wasting no time, the activist made his way down a few houses and across the train tracks to the rundown shack that was the McCormick place. Unlike his house, it hadn't been weathered with time. Time had practically raped and brutalized their home. The paint had been stripped and the lawn was wrecked with just murky, muddy dirt. A rusty pickup laid defeated in the front, its wheels missing and its hood being used as part of the falling apart fence. A sign was nail gunned to the front door, reading 'For Sale'. Even the paint there was faded with neglect.
Yet, Stan wasn't turned away. Outsiders didn't approach the McCormick place. They just didn't, for no reason, no way, no how. Even the tough talking rednecks of the honkytonk bars avoided approaching the make shift home of those wide eyed, blood shot ruffians. In the years he had known Kenny, the police had been knocking down that door more then anyone else's. Drug busts, domestic abuse, and sex scandals were rampant themes amongst the two dead drunk parents, Carol and Stuart. The screaming, bottle throwing, punch flying fights of the seven children were commonplace. The home was a shrieking haunted house of two failure adults and seven ghostly pale children. No one wanted to touch that. There was a certain sense of dread which spilled out in the form of shouted swears and slamming doors late into the early morning all around that house. No, no one wanted to touch it. Mostly out of fear of dropping the final straw that ended with a formal arrest.
The activist, though, walked right up to the door. He didn't care that the poor boy was one of seven thieving, whoring offspring who would eat their parents if they thought the meal would be decent. He couldn't care less that the adults were often found puking in the bushes after a night of whacking their family members senseless. All Stan saw was a light on. All he cared about was that. He banged his fist on that flimsy, wooden door until he heard cussing and swearing. He kept on knocking, shouting for his friend. Those vulgar expressions poured ever closer. Then the door was thrown open and the entire scene became a solitary image within the frozenly pure mind of the suddenly smiling activist.
Kenny McCormick stood before him, one hand against the door frame and the other currently pushing through a mess of tangled hair. His sapphires gleamed in the daytime shimmers pooling behind the broken home. His face, though, was caught up in the dancing shadows of his locks falling lightly back into place. He stared at Stan, his face somewhat on the blankly amused side. Stan, for his part, stole a look down at the bare chest and slender stomach of his friend. The pervert wore only his ratty, orange jacket over a scissor sliced pair of jean shorts. Everything else was open for viewing, from his collar bone to his dirty toes. This was a sight which Stan consumed before he lightly waved, feeling hotly awkward and coldly confident interchangeably.
" Hey, Ken," Stan meekly greeted him, lowering his hand back to his side. He became aware of his own clothing choice in that moment. He saw the crumpled tee depicting an animal rights movement and familiar ink stained jeans. Thanking himself silently for having remembered to thrown on a shirt, he looked up hurriedly when Kenny tipped his head in his direction.
" 'Sup, Stan?"
" Nothin'. Just. . .you know. . around," the activist fumbled to say, gesturing into the air in a halfhearted manner. His hand flitted a couple times, then dropped to his side yet again. He wasn't sure exactly what he wished to say nor how to brooch the subject of his intention. Honestly, he found his liquid, aquamarine gaze of those creamy thighs to be highly distracting of higher mental processes.
" Yeah? That right?" Kenny mockingly stated, glancing around and running his fingers through his mess of blond. His hood inched back on his head, threatening to fall to his shoulders. Fighting the urge to move, to straighten it, Stan firmly nodded.
" Yeah," his voice sounded highly stiff when it moved from his dry mouth to the air. Knowing nothing else but those sapphires, Stan gave a shrug. Forcing himself to, he motioned for the poor boy to step aside to allow him entrance to his grimy realm. Unfortunately, he was answered rudely as Kenny jerked his other arm and pushed his palms into the frame. He utterly denied the activist his entrance while he cast him a slow, underhanded Cheshire grin towards him.
" I didn't say you could come in," Kenny sneered in an airy timbre. His every word stirred the liquid dripping into Stan's blood. The searing cold jumped into his bones, his heart, his head in painful jolts. His throat nearly closed in from the pressure applied. Still, he spat out his questions of poisonous descent.
" What?" Stan ripped his stare from those lovely legs to the living room barely visible over the other's shoulder. He felt his eyes narrow long before he became aware of the darkness which had crept into the lines of his apathetic affect. Sweeping the shambles, he saw nothing out of the ordinary outside of an overturned couch. Thus, he forced his face empty as he turned his harsh orbs back to the smiling face of the poor boy, " You got company or something?"
" Maybe I do. What's it to ya?" the blond questioned, tapping one finger against the wood. His eyes danced with a glorious amount of undistinguishable emotions. Stan struggled to make sense of the electricity to those jewels as he felt the ice drowning his senses to a dullness he could almost not withstand. His eyes slowly averted while his blood eased into the freezing temperatures. These levels, however, were nothing pleasant. Rather, they nearly burned in their buried terror, reeking havoc on his attempt to remain poised.
" Oh," he mumbled, unable to string together another word. His thoughts raced in a jumbled puzzle as he felt his shoulder moving into a displaced shrug. There was a flash of white throughout his world, cutting like a razor from his plunging water grave bound heart to his iced stomach. Then, his movements entered the realm of disconnection. The blood, unmoving, within his veins snapped when he turned to walk down to breathtakingly long stretch of tarnished walkway to the sidewalk. Before he could try to move a step away, though, his arm was snatched up and a burst of rolling, pouring, burning laughter cascaded throughout his world. Still, he recognized that Kenny was laughing under his breath and the sound was mute at best.
" Dude, there ain't nobody here but me," Kenny informed him, his fingers pushing into the bare flesh of the activist. Stan blinked in the realization, brought back to staring at that hardly covered form roughly. A slight splash of agitation hit his flesh, hardening his soft lines. Those sapphires never stopped glowing in their gleaming.
" Then why can't I come in?" Stan barked, allowing the cold to form in his aqua eyes. The feeling of the chill washed away the harshness, however, for he felt his back tensing to this creature's games. The game, the play, was relaxing to him. The control of it was taken and somehow, losing control to Kenny felt more controlled than anything which came before it. He couldn't explain it any better. He knew he had lost control, lost the fight even as the game was setting up, but he felt better for it.
" I never said you couldn't," was the answer he was played. Kenny cast him that grin so carelessly, it was almost dangerous. A nice trump to his statement, nevertheless. A drop of ice slid from Stan's mind to his blood stream like a knife point dragging along the skin. The pain was the same, anyways, when he was forced to address the obvious counter attack.
" You blocked the door,"
" You're a big boy," the poor boy retorted, removing his hands from the frame at last. Instead of stepping aside, he stepped a bit closer. He patted the activist on the shoulder, teasing him without the words normally used. His fingers remained feather light on the edge of Stan's shirt collar. The faintest brush of heat licked off those fingers, puncturing the brunette's resolve, " Can't you knock me down?"
" You're insane," Stan offhandedly mumbled, his eyes rolling in a quick and unsteady arch to avoid the gripping stare piercing him from behind that orange hood. For all his avoidance, he couldn't escape the claws of the blond's catty smile. It curled itself about his shoulders, nuzzling his cheek, in a thunderous tidal wave of frozen waters washed away all over thought.
Quivering in a hesitant, cautious manner, Stan knew not what else to do other than enter the home. He gingerly nudged Kenny out of his way and slipped through the narrow doorway into the thrown together living room. He couldn't deny the way his waist molded against the shirtless body of the grinning pervert. The shock of lightning striking the waters of his cold soul made sure of that. In truth, he was forced to draw in a shallow breath in order to maintain the thoughtless expression poised on his face. Just as he was gathering himself, though, he heard the door clattering shut and the lock being fastened. The next second, Kenny sauntered into his line of sight, those creamy hips swinging about under his loose, cut up jeans. Curling his finger like his smile curled, he beckoned the activist from the steadily plummeting temperatures of the family room. Walking like water, Kenny moved from the crime scene of the fighting grounds through the four foot wide hallway to the last bedroom on the right. There, a stolen Stop sign was nail gunned to the door. An orange death threat was spray painted over this nicked piece of property, written in the jagged, cutting strokes of the pervert's hand. Kenny pushed his hand into this door, shoving it open with a wide swing. He motioned for Stan to come in and once he had, he pulled the door shut behind his skinny bottom. The inside of the room was in worse condition than the rest Stan had laid eyes on. The window was boarded up with rotting wood littered with burn marks and curse words cut in with a knife. The single piece of furniture was limited to a bed without real frame. The frame, rather, were a few boards nailed together so that it was above the floor. Said floor was littered with various pieces of trash, tossed aside text books, magazines from hunter digests, and a considerable amount of porno rags of every domination.
These pornos, however, were not limited to just the floor as they were on other visits. They were scattered over the frayed bed sheets in thick stacks. One was even spread open to the centerfold of a blond woman dressed in a black leather costume. Her positioning was scandalous at best, for her legs were spread and her breasts thrust up in a very particular vocal position.
Next to her, Stan took his seat, gingerly moving said rag to one of the piles on the sheets. His eyes wandered the pages in wide, general sweeps. He took note of the titles and the features, but found nothing appealing enough to actually wish to partake in scanning the pages within. He thus quickly turned his attention entirely to the poor boy. Kenny gave a hearty yawn without covering his mouth. He hiked his hood up so that part of his face was once more cast in grey shadows. Those fair features seemed much harsher without the bubbly blond hair, the shimmering blue eyes, and the porcelain skin. Stan could, at that moment, honestly agree that Kenny appeared to be the notorious foulmouthed brat he was known as.
Although, Stan didn't agree with the sediment in the slightest.
" Yo, you wanna coke or somethin'?" Kenny absentmindedly asked, his eyes lingering on the fold of the activist's legs beneath his lithe form. The slyness to his upturned lips increased slowly, deliberately when his searching orbs crossed the zipper. To retain the look of emptiness, Stan was inclined to grip the sheets with both hands. Still, ice melted through Stan's flesh into his very core as he barely breathed out his sternly nonchalant response.
" Sure,"
" Aiight. Bear with me. Gotta find it," the pervert's answer was plain and simple with good natured humor. A sense of relief hovered over the freezing skin breaking in the silent shivers. Unfortunately, it was a premature relief which could never have prepared the activist for the outrageous experience he was subjugated to by that infamous creature.
Turning quickly, his dirt stained feet shifting effortlessly, Kenny dropped to his knees in front of Stan's frozen form. Those light fingers pushed hot palms into the ink stained jeans of the activist. First, they were firm on the knees. Then they slipped to grip at his calves before easing down to his ankles. White blacked out Stan's mentality, his breath catching roughly in his throat. He tried to protest, but found his body heavy with the ice weighing his blood down. His heart stopped, unable to pump the shattered shards, as his legs were jerked up and over the slender shoulders of the blond. There they stayed for an eternal second. The next, those jewels flashed in a pulsing, electric flicker of a shining smile of faded white teeth. There was a laughing wink in his iced positioning in the world of shaking emotions too pure to assume to be mere players in this lasting game.
Without warning, though, Kenny ducked below Stan's intense stare of unwavering ability to look elsewhere. The activist's legs dropped down and his feet smacked into the ground with a dull sound nearly unheard over the pounding of a heart struggling against the cold. A rush of heat overthrew the chill, leaving him unarmed and unfocused on the sheets. His aquamarine eyes stared holes into the opposing wall for the sake of having something less alluring within their gaze. The breaths that managed to make it to his lungs stabbed him venomously with every gasp. For that reason alone, he said nothing. What he would have said otherwise, however, he didn't know. He wasn't even sure there was a phrase to wholly enclose the vast rush of water swirling before his mind's eye, drowning out his nonchalance without concern to how he appeared. He was thus left without knowledge of the shell shocked expression on his blanched face burning with a damningly raw emotion.
" Found it," Kenny exclaimed in a boldly interruptive voice. After having rummaged beneath his bed, he popped up on the other side, his back close to the wall with the window. Getting to his feet, he handed the coke to the slowly heating Stan, " It's a little warm, but. ."
Shaking his head in his form of waving off the comment, the activist took the offered drink. He cracked it open and took his first small sip of many. For a moment in time, he merely sat there and watched Kenny. The blond shifted his weight from one foot to the other briefly. Yawning again, however, he dropped down onto the bed, and the rags. He adjusted the angle, pulling up the pornos to toss them onto the dust lined floor without care. Once settled, though, Kenny said nothing. He just smiled aimlessly at Stan, as if excited to have a visitor of any shape or form. He presented nothing else. His cards remained hidden for his poker face was as clean and blank as anything the brunette could ever hope to achieve. Searching the grimy scene for a place to move his first pawn, Stan caught sight of the porn. He played the chip with noted gamble.
" So. . .what were you up to?" he began, fingering the edge of the can. Kenny caught his move with a play of his own. He, of course, was much more devious. He liked to cheat and cheat he did. He presented an ace when he flipped the side of his jacket open, revealing the long line of his silhouette. The curve of his hip was coldly captivating. His words, on the other hand, were anything but.
" Jerkin' off," Kenny calmly informed the other without a hint of embarrassment or reserve. He practically shrugged it off with the activist's characteristic apathy. The sip in process halted immediately at that. Stan actually felt himself having to ask for clarification as his eyes squeezed shut in mild disbelief. Had he not known the pervert as long as he had, he might be tempted to pass this off as a joke.
" What?" Stan had to fight impressively hard to keep his tone even and steady. Even as he tried, he caught a bit of a razor's edge. Swallowing dryly, he averted his eyes secondary, before returning them to the nearly blank look of the other. The poor boy did shrug this time, his shoulders bouncing up and down quickly.
" Jerkin' off," he repeated without a change of timbre. Leaning forward, however, Kenny scrunched up his nose in the impossibly cute way he did. He put his half way hidden face within inches of Stan's and tilted it to the side. Looking sideways, he cocked a mildly poisonous smile, " Can't you tell?"
" That's disgusting," the activist sneered, despite his voice holding no repulsion whatsoever. On the contrary, when he looked down to the rags and made an uncontrollable face, it was not the face of vile turn about. Instead, it was a look of bitter cold confusion. Arching an eyebrow, he moved said iced expression to the sly smile of the breathtakingly lovely face of his blond friend. He almost didn't ask, for he saw the question as a potential can of worms. Regardless, curiosity got him by the cuff and he did it anyways, " Why would you even answer the door?"
" I thought it was my sibs. Those fuckin' brats were drivin' me fuckin' crazy so I threw they asses out the fuckin' door. Said if those fuckers wanted back in, they'd have to get the fuckin' cops. So, y'know," Kenny paused to take the can from Stan. He took a hearty gulp from it, before passing it back. He then proceeded to wipe his mouth on the tattered sleeve of his dirty jacket, " Figured I'd answer the door,"
" O-kay. . ." the activist muttered, allowing his voice to trail off. The softest of smiles smoothed over his lips as he pressed the can to his mouth to take another sip. In his imagination, he could still feel the warmth from the poor boy's lips when he did. The smile remained on his mouth when he tapped the can back to his thigh, " That's. . .um. . . weird, actually,"
" So, what brings you by my place?" the blond said, completely ignoring the assessment of his previous decisions concerning his siblings. At his question, though, the chill flushed over Stan's suddenly numb body. Wetting his lips as the icy waters trickled down his spine, he gave a shrug with no meaning. Moving his fingers slowly, deliberately, with a surprisingly amount of control, he began to fiddle with the tab of the can.
" Jus'. . .y'know. Wanted to hang out," Stan replied in the same slow, deliberate manner. The words sounded as heavy as they felt on his tongue. Nevertheless, the choice appeared to be a decent enough play. He could feel the tension rising as the stakes grew ever higher. He was unprepared for how high they were, though. He was reminded in a striking blow as electric words slipped through those tender lips and into his frozen bloodstream.
" With me?"
" Well, yeah. With you,"
" Why's that?" Kenny spoke with such delicate words, it seemed as if he were whispering without ever lowering his voice. The pressure mounted in those words was unbelievable. They ripped through the flood gates, drowning the activist in a flurry of statements, all the wrong ones. His voice caught as those sapphires danced in strikes about his face. Kenny awaited the answer with the control of a predator, although the look to his orbs was anything but.
" What'd you mean?" Stan knew exactly what he meant. He just knew he had no answer for the inquiry. He needn't wait for Kenny to clarify. Those eyes softened in what was really a narrowed gaze of darker intentions, harder implications. The softness seen there only lowered Stan's temperatures more, sending him into a fit of shivers as his lips went cold.
" You ain't. . .y'know. ." the poor boy's voice went still as he leaned his body into his arm, pressed so firmly still in front of his slender frame. The blue vanished, only to replaced with a deeper gaze without the lingering grin, " Wanted to hang out with 'just me' in a long time,"
" Oh. Really?" he said for the sake of saying. Stan was being backed into a corner, he could feel it with every frosted splash that seared through his flesh. Kenny pushed him back harder as he moved in closer, his eyes falling away to the darkness of his jacket. His lips moved easily through the thick words of accusation which were never fully uttered. Stan just drew in a stabbing breath as he sat stiff on the bed.
" Yeah, really,"
" Sorry, dude," the brunette made a faltering attempt at lighting the air between the two. He felt the pressure pushing coldly warm hands into his mind. He had to ease the tension, unless he wished to face the defeat of the indifference he wore. He could feel the mask cracking to the cold already.
" Man, you fuckin' retarded. I don't know why I put up with you," Kenny growled out, his entire form jerking back so he was seated much farther away. His blond hair spilled around his hunched shoulders as he bit down on his lower lip. The tension sparked like a slap against the very essence of Stan's being. He felt the charge jumping into his blood and running through the waters there to his mind like a livewire in a rainstorm. The shock was as stunning as it was painful to behold.
" We're friends. I guess that's why," Stan offered weakly, his hands gripping the can. The effort to remain calm was a losing battle. Every turn the blond took moved them closer to the stalemate he could sense coming. He need a smile to erase the freezing haunting to his ghostly pallor face. He wasn't presented with one. Instead, the bejeweled eyes of the other traced along his shivering body was muted contempt. Every line they traced was cut open by a glassy ice shard so that heat could spill life into those frozen veins.
" Yeah. Friends. That helps," the poor boy spat out, his words hot and wet. They oozed into the flesh wounds as the activist stared, watching that slender boy with as much attention as he was capable of. As for Kenny, he finally turned his piercing gaze elsewhere. His hands moved back, though, resting on the sheets behind him. Their warmth eased over Stan's hand and he felt his fingers slipping over those dirty digits. He did so absentmindedly, and without visual acknowledgement, even when he gave Kenny's hand a tender squeeze.
" I like hanging out with you, Kenny,"
Every breath in Stan's whole soul could not bring those words to life. He breathed them out in a silk melody of desperate longing. His eyes fell away to the waters rising within. He was drowning in the moonless darkness of his own design. The frozen ocean quaked with the brewing storm, highlighting the furious emotions trapped inside those lightly aquamarine eyes. The cold was unbearable as he sat there, so close to the electric charge that could bring him alive in the most livid of ways. Just the glow to those sapphires was enough to shock the waters and bring his eyes suddenly up to see the whole of the angel sitting before him. He took in, with fresh, stark cold clarity, those forsaken eyes in that beautiful face, and he heard the question just beyond the watery grave he was sinking into in his desire to remain undiscovered.
" Why?"
The question hung in the pulsing air with the stigma of never being answered. Stan couldn't provide an answer suitable for it. His shoulder shrugged his indecision, his eyes turning away from the hungry stare eating at the ice encasing his soul. His thumb moved over the tab again, pushing and shoving it, as his mind was submersed in the depths of his icy apathy. The breath around him was steadily growing scarcer. Every breath he did find went down like burning acid. Standing it no longer, he moved his widening gaze back to the heart stopping eyes of Kenny. He couldn't find the strength to pretend any longer. The mask fell away in crumpling pieces, crashing into the waters, with every one of those three, tiny words.
" I like you,"
The sapphires never looked more stunning then in the moment after Stan finally allowed himself breath beneath the waters. The jolt that shattered the ice was stunning in its direction towards the beating heart inside. He felt the pressure striking him, engulfing him in the power of the words. That power resounded in the air as the electricity pierced the waters. The way those eyes moved over the activist, he felt every single, solitary needle prick. Every small wound cut away his resolve as the mask vanished to the darkness of the waters deepening the pool to his aqua eyes. The jewels swam in them, drinking them down, as the loveliness of Kenny became regal in the light of the new dynamic.
" Like me?" his voice rolled into the heavy air from his expressionless mouth. Moving with the flow of the storm brewing within the other, Kenny drew his free hand up from the tangled sheets. He reached over and pulled the can from Stan's shivering hands. The can was discarded on the floor, set down with a clink which shot into the air as loud as a gunshot. Gaining the look and feel of lightning, the poor boy had Stan down on his back, on the freezing mattress below, in one swoop. He leaned over him with the eyes of desire and the mouth of pleading, " Or something more?"
The eyes of aquamarine heaven stared up at the asking eyes of the other in unadulterated surprise. There was nothing surprising of the words themselves, no. Merely in the astonishing face presented. Kenny rarely appeared as anything outside the wide eyed ruffian he was when dressed in his hunter orange jacket and torn apart jeans. Then, in that lifetime, he was something much more attainable. His jacket fallen away in his movements to pin, his face was, at last, free to be seen. His eyes were livid wires sparking with lively stones cut from the ground and polished with the rage of lust. Those were the eyes that made up the expression commanding Stan to speak words which had pressed his tongue for so long now, they had turned his calm waters into a furious hurricane. He hesitated a second longer, his tongue wetting his lips as his eyes took in those jewels with admitted need. Slowly, his head nodded as his words spilled into the air as wet and hot as the mouth hovering above his own.
" Something more,"
When Kenny pressed his lips to Stan's, the embrace was a roaring spitfire of explosions within every inch of space and time. The sparks jolted through the waters and pierced the soul with cutting precision. Every ounce of the activist was consumed with that mouth, that kiss, that feeling. He was instantly lost in the fury of it, the taste of it, the whole of it. His mouth was assaulted by the bite of liquor, the haze of smoke, the tart of sugar, and he swallowed every hue of the shades. His body felt hands pressing into his shoulders. Warmth smoothed over the flesh touched by those life giving hands. He greedily grabbed them up and intertwined their fingers for eternity. He refused to release them as he pushed his whole being into the frame sprawled over him, drinking him in as hungrily.
The pressure of their souls colliding sent Kenny into the sheets as Stan shifted his weight. He pushed that gorgeous boy onto the sheets and he pressed his mouth over his. He tasted those taints and had never felt so alive without them. The thunder of his thoughts screaming never registered. He heard nothing outside the infrequent gasping of the momentary pauses. Even then, he heard only Kenny. He heard the electric breath of his livewire shocking him, breaking the ice into shards which his warmth quickly dissolved. There was nothing left to the frost when he felt a hand tugging free of his grip. Yet, when those feather fingers rested on his chest, the splash which struck him was as ice cold as it was pleasing.
Looking down, beneath him, Stan saw Kenny laying on the sheets in a glazed over haze of pressured air. Through the fog, he saw sapphires glittering up at him in a soft gaze of desire he couldn't place. More so, he took in the gentle lines of that gasping mouth. The tiny upturned corners were stunning in their simplicity, their muted screaming, their silent begging. The appeal was an overwhelming electrocution to his systems. All control was rendered useless as the waters crashed down upon the activist in a rush too strong to fight. He threw off the apathy as rapidly as he could as he snatched up that body and pushed his lips to the throat of the laughing sprite that was his Kenny.
His hands found that body as new as life itself. The curves were subtle in their unforgiving beauty. Kenny's hips were wide for his tiny frame, bearing what little weight graced his form. His stomach was flat and smooth with silky skin as white as creamer split amongst the tablecloth. Every inch of his body was touchable beyond measure. It cried to Stan and he answered, easing his palms over those sides and his thumbs over that belly. His mouth tasted the flesh, the warmth, to the pulsing throat of his newfound love. Dirty hands gripped his own, pushing his gentle grip firmer into the skin he touched for the first time. Kenny snatched up his hands just as they reached his shoulders, however. He was held, his hands moved into the still of the air as the poor boy gripped them tightly. Shivering, he raised his mouth up so that he might look into those sapphires yet again.
A command, never spoken, was resounded in the pulsing heartbeat of the tense air pressing into their burningly frozen bodies submerged in the stormy waters of broken restraint. Their hands separated in forlorn ways as fingers plucked apart buttons and undid zippers. The jacket was tossed to the floor as jeans slipped down and off of legs. Socks were discarded and boxers lovingly pulled away. Stan found himself kneeling on either side of Kenny's slender waist then, bared in nothing but his profound emotions of heated frost. His aqua eyes moved over the flawless form of his now exposed love. The smile which was drawn to his lips was pure and untouched by the waters within. There was nothing to it but the raw, unspoken expression of love coursing through the very pulse of the air surrounding them.
Every movement thereafter was whispered first in slow, low licks of words coming from Kenny's mouth. His dirty fingers rested lightly on the activist's thighs as he told him all he needed to hear as he began. He heard the words whispering over his skin, to which end he followed them perfectly. His fingers were wetted by his own tongue as he watched those heavily lidded eyes gazing up through a haze of lustful hunger. Longing for this, Stan made quick work of the initial process until his member was slick with his salvia. Moving his legs then, he positioned those milky thighs about his shaking hips. His hands were thus snatched up by Kenny, but he was the one who pressed their intertwined fingers into the sheets just above the poor boy's mess of blond.
Staring down into the light of sapphires, Stan penetrated Kenny to the hot, wet groan of delicious wanting desire. The slender body bucked as he thrust into the burning soul to the splash of cold which poured down his soul. The arch to Kenny's back was superb in its aching need to be arched in such a manner as this. Still, all the activist truly saw in this moment of whole oneness, was the look of electric need to that wonderfully flushed face of pure shock. The mouth he had tasted opened in silent screams, his breath catching, with every thrust into his tender, tight ass. The grip at his hands was cascading into the violent, but he never removed his fingers. He just gasped out, a sound louder than the scream, as he pushed himself into the fiery being of the thrashing and moaning blond.
The rocking of their bodies tangled them together in a fierce plunge of frozen waters over Stan's head. His breath suffocated him, trapping him within the state of oblivion. His world became the motion, the sensation, of feeling the warmth of the electric soul shocking him. Every thrust pierced him as his world danced amongst the white stars of the lust overthrowing him. He heard his name in the throws of it, calling to him. His mind was jolted in the mind numbing exhale of words pouring into the air pressing down upon their union. His eyes found those sapphires as he panted heavily over that throat gulping down the air in hunger. The ice pierced his heart when he took in the fire pooling over Kenny's face in rose. Every breath brought them closer to the edge, every push a deeper incision into their own chosen exile from attachment. Yet, when Kenny spoke, his voice was neither the airy moans he admitted as his body jerked nor the strong quake of the way his back arched in pulsing pleasure. Rather, it was the soft silk of the way his body pushed into the stomach of the activist rocking into his soul.
" I love you, Stanley,"
Overtaken by the heat of those words, Stan pressed his mouth over Kenny's with a thrust into that body. He swallowed the scream shouted into his mouth as those eyes squeezed shut in the fit of joy. Drawing only away enough to speak, he gasped out his own heated words. They spilled into the poor boy's mouth as he gripped his hands so tight, he saw his knuckles blanche against the blush of the other's flesh. As he spoke, he had never felt so true in his entire life. He couldn't help the smile which formed on his lips as he took a look at the tears forming in those painfully desperate eyes which needed his words more than the scorching air melting the ice.
" I love you too, Ken,"
Checkmate.
The walk from the McCormick place was numbing in the faded rays of the setting sun of the day. Stan's footsteps made hollow thuds on the cracked cement and light thumps on the dirt as he crossed from the bad side to the good. Stepping onto the grey sidewalk, he walked on past the houses with the gleaming lights radiating from the windows. He went on past his own house, where he knew his family was setting up for dinner. Instead, he slipped through the shadows, consumed by an emotion which bore no resemblance to anything else he'd ever experienced. He assumed this was the aftermath of the hurricane, for his mind felt swept away in a flurry. Still, he couldn't pinpoint what emotion dominated his blank, stunned expression. He didn't know whether he should laugh or break down in tears. All he knew was that he was stepping up the steps to the Broflovski house and his finger was pushing into the doorbell.
The door was answered by Gerald. The older man looked at Stan with a familiar look of mild amusement to see one of the other freaky four after hours. He was allowed inside to the suggestion of staying for dinner. He didn't acknowledge the invitation. He merely nodded to the greeting and made his way past him. He swept up the stairs and through the hallway to his best friend's bedroom. He didn't feel the need to knock, so he didn't bother to. He pushed open the door to the forest green world and went inside without a word. Shoving the door shut, he then crossed the space between him and the bed. Kyle jerked around in his computer chair in quiet shock as the activist dropped down onto the sheets with a defeated, deadpan sigh.
There was a long silence between the two as Stan stared at the floor. He hung his head in a manner that was ashamed, although that didn't come anywhere near describing the feeling coursing through his body. Still, he didn't know what it was. Thus, he sat there, desperate to discover an answer. Regardless of his attempts, he was left without one. Knowing not what else to do, he pulled his hands back and pressed his palms into the sheets. He didn't need to look up to address the quizzical stare he had been granted from the moment of his arrival. He did, however, offer an explanation. His words which left his mouth tasted hot and felt heavy. The sudden biting chill they sent into his flesh was unimaginably agonizing in its jolting reminder of those moments of unheard pleasure.
" I had sex with Kenny,"
His words stood alone in the awed air for a steady pause of time. He heard Kyle's chair squeak as he jerked back, his feet sliding along the floor to the movement. Yet, nothing was muttered to address the damning statement. The pause extended itself into a silence which lasted long enough to quiet the raging urge to cover his ears. The activist remained still, then, as he sensed the Jew leaning in, as was his usual reaction to stunning declarations that caught him off guard.
" You had sex with Kenny?" Kyle implored, his voice disbelieving in the same way it was astonished. Stan nodded his head in a slow, somber motion which spoke volumes to how he truly felt of this confusion. He felt those eyes narrowing in their emerald questions, " You're gay?"
There was no other answer outside of another slow nod of the head.
" And you never told me?" the Jew's timbre plummeted into the accusation with the heated burn of a scorned hatred for discovering things last. The activist growled out a sigh of raw frustration as he fell backwards onto the plush embrace of Kyle's bed. He firmly pressed a hand to his face, engulfed in the flames typical of the redhead. The blush was the confusion, eating him alive, for this was not something he was used to. He knew not how to explain his sudden fluster nor the accusation thrown at him.
" . . .I didn't know how to tell you. . ." he groaned out, speaking into his wrist and thus muffling his voice. He barely got the words out before he heard Kyle take in the sharp breath of realization. The feeling of a finger being jabbed at his rosy cheeks crossed the inner workings of his mind before the words were declared and he moaned into the air at them.
" Dude, you're blushing. You never blush," Kyle exclaimed in a nearly stately tone that was neither a shout nor a whisper. Stan shook his head as he tried his best not to look at the wide orbs he could feel licking embers over his every exposed inch, " Ever,"
The hand held at his forehead dropped to his stomach while the blush over his cheeks burned a little deeper. Stan fought to turn a hardened stare up at the ceiling. He made out the first of several cracks there before his aquamarine eyes were moving down to meet the emerald ones across the room. Kyle just stared back at him, his arms folded over his chest in a defensive stance. The expression over his face, though, were unreadable to the activist. Stan couldn't distinguish them any more than the ones pooling within his icy interior. Nevertheless, having faced the Jew, he found himself stumbling over an explanation he wasn't sure he needed to be giving. It certainly wasn't asked for.
" I didn't mean to have sex with him. . . It just. . ." he stopped short, his eyes turning back towards the frozen minutes before he had entered the electric realm of the sapphire eyed angel. Faltering on the word he wanted, Stan aimlessly gestured to the air with a rolling hand motion, " Happened,"
" I'd imagine. It's Kenny McCormick," the Jew muttered, his eyes rolling up towards his curls. The venom to the look presented by Stan was surprising for the both of them. Having given the gaze, though, the activist didn't turn out of it. Rather, he swirled the tainted waters of that frosted stare and rolled them over the words he barked out in absolute defense.
" It wasn't like that,"
" Are you sure?" Kyle pressed, unfolding his arms and resting his elbows on the back of his chair. He tilted his head slightly as Stan bit down on his lower lip. A taste of smoke lingered within his dry mouth, but it was a welcomed taste. Especially then. He relished in it while his blood was subject to the shards pricking him from the questions brought up. He didn't silence the probing nature of the fire bound redhead, though. He just answered as best he could.
" Yeah. I think," Stan started, his eyes closing to recall the expression imprinted over the memory. He had a flash of the need in those eyes, in that lovely face looking up through the tangles of blond, and his second attempt was much stronger vocally, " Yeah. Yeah, it wasn't like that,"
" If you're sure," the Jew asserted, a hand absentmindedly twisting a curl about one slender finger. Stan looked over at him, then returned his heavy stare to the lines of the ceiling. Sighing deeply, he rolled over and pushed himself cautiously into a sitting position on the very edge of the bed. His shoulders moved into a shrug which was not at all in answer to the careful assertion. He knew Kyle knew that as he mumbled under his breath.
" I want to do right by him," the activist informed him, a stern nod confirming the statement. The look which formed over Kyle's face was a mixture of bewilderment and shock. He pressed his chin deep within the nook of one of his arms, his emeralds glinting behind the loose locks of blood cascading down his shoulders in loops.
" What are you talking about? 'Do right by him'?" he asked, tugging his finger free of the curl. Stan shook his head, a wash of water threatening to drown him in its overpowering arrival. He felt those hands against his own and recalled all the silk milk his fingers had caressed in the gleaming sun of the afternoon. Those coupled memories drew from his lips an affirmation of what it was he addressed.
" I don't want it have just been a hookup,"
" Kenny is a hookup," Kyle answered plainly, moving his body back from the chair. There was not a trace of expression to his feminine face. There was, however, a tremendous look of fury over Stan's. His eyes darkened in a sinking sensation of the iced waters rising into a wretched storm. His knuckles whitened as he gritted his teeth in a perilous effort to prevent his blood from dragging itself into artic temperatures. There was no saving the cut from his voice as he spat out his twisted response to such a thing to say.
" Not to me, he isn't," Stan snarled out in a surprisingly even tone. The rise and fall of the shattering waters threatening to flood his every sense never struck his timbre. However, the touch of white wash rage was enough to make the Jew withdraw. He raised his palms in surrender, his eyes blinking at the awe he couldn't hide at the thought of actually having to do so with his best friend. As if to further his point, Kyle verbally confirmed his actions.
" I didn't mean to offend you," he assured him, fanning his fingers out to the sides in a casual manner. Wetting his lips, Stan firmly nodded, attempting to reign in the shards stabbing at his resolve. Kyle, on the other hand, had none of this control. Immediately thereafter, the heat reached his voice and tinted his eyes as he tipped his head to the side in cast away sarcasm, " It's just Kenny is. . . well. . .loose,"
" He was a virgin," the activist barked back, his hands gripping up the sheets in a supreme effort not to lash out physically. Kyle seemed to have had all he was having of said rage. His fiery embers overthrew his eyes and he was lost to his own heated delusions. He thus became immune to the raging waters of the other. That became clear in the offhanded manner in which he addressed the subject.
" Well. . . I'm sure. . . the part you penetrated was," Kyle sneered out, his hands drifting through the air in a mocking manner. The harsh cold of the agitation rising up, though, blocked the fires from burning. Stan was intensely used to said response and he was quite capable of looking past it. Instead, he gave his friend a look of unimpressed nature which melted away to the usual apathy of his temperament.
" Shut up, Kyle. He was a virgin. And we. . ." Stan felt the scorching blush jumping over his cheeks as he recalled those sapphire orbs of desire. Nervously, he ran his shaking fingers through the tangled mess of his black hair. He could almost feel those hot words running over his flesh as he saw Kenny's pure smile dancing within the depths of his frozen mask of indifference, calling to him. Still, he spoke the two words with the freezing intentions which had driven him into the arms of the electricity that brought him alive, " Made love,"