The sun was burning hot as it slipped through the wooden boards haphazardly nailed over the broken window of Kenny McCormick's bedroom. The heat that pulsed through the air, however, was so much more engulfed in that heat as Stan pressed his hungry lips to the collar bone of the succulent little angel beneath him. A pair of worn out sneakers were left on the floor and an orange jacket was tossed over the edge of the mattress. The rest of the clothes, it bunched up on slender waists and stretched over legs bent as their bodies tangled together in a passionate ensnarement on the bed. Their mouths were together, apart, but their flesh, their clothes, remained pressed wholeheartedly to one another. Hands found their way over all of it, as Kenny grabbed his lover's shoulders as tightly as he could. The activist fell into the embrace with every ounce of emotion he had ever felt in his life breaking through all the white and dark of his mind. He pinned the blond to the bed as his hot mouth licked an inferno over the pale, glitter stained flesh of that neck bruised at the back.
The taste of Kenny was bittersweet, Stan found as he smoothed his tongue over that neck. The honey of sweetness was overthrown by the lingering smoke, the glass mirror that couldn't be seen through that would reveal more than was needed then. He didn't dwell. He moved his mouth to those tiny shoulders, quivering in his strong grip, and he kissed them as he heard Kenny cry out in that gorgeous Southern timbre he adored. Its sound pierced through the still, sobbing air of the heated afternoon of early summer. In desperation, then, the angel grabbed hold of the activist's shirt collar, his fingers wrapping it about his banged up knuckles, and he jerked his head down to his own. Their lips were forced into a deep, all powerful kiss that radiated down their spines in a jolting explosion of electricity that erased all thought from the moment. Stan was left to his own impulses and he plunged into the dark waters of them with the same energy in which he drank down the passion feeding into his mouth. His hand found Kenny's plump thigh in the midst of everything. He pushed his fingers deep within the bare skin as he hiked that slender, shapely thing up, closer to his shoulder.
" Fuck yeah," the angel exclaimed in an airy voice that swirled through the world around them. They were lost there as Stan pressed his gasping lips to the throat that breathed out those vile little words with such dignity as to render them beautiful. When the activist's lips found that throat, he found the flesh to be as tender as silk was soft. He kissed him there in a gentle, sweet motion that made a shudder extend down through that fragile form.
This softness spiraled down through his entire body as Stan gripped those plush thighs with both hands. He ran up them softly, his fingertips alone touching the skin that beckoned so dramatically, so intensely for his touch. Kenny's back arched into him and he felt the pressure of the room pressing down into his back as he breathed hot licks of air over the throat that cried out incoherent thoughts that might not have been in English. Two hands grasped those jet black locks, running through them roughly, painfully, in all the right ways. Their bodies were held fast, held together, at every gasp, every cry, every breath, every shudder, as Stan pushed his cheek deep into the shoulder that held him back. A shock of ice cold electricity burned within, scorching all inside. The jolt made Stan inhale sharply before his mind was overthrown by a sensation he wasn't even capable of naming. His mouth found the hollow of Kenny's throat and there it stayed. His head was pulled ever closer when the angel held him down, his gorgeous, pale legs wrapping about the activist's waist so as to further extend their closeness. Every breath that slipped out of Stan's mouth was a soft, heated exhale that poured over Kenny's throat in a light brush. Slowly, in the intoxication of bliss, Stan smiled as he squeezed those thighs still in his shaking hands.
" I love you, Ken," Stan whispered into the burning embers surrounding their bodies entangled so perfectly together. His words resounded in the silence of the loudest breath, the heaviest heart beat, as every sound slammed into his mind. The activist was overwhelmed by the emotions flooding his tense, wholly relaxed muscles in the moment before he heard his beloved utter a strangled, lovely sound into the thick air about the bed.
" Oh. . god! I. . .uh. . love you," Kenny cried, his hands jumping into the air for the briefest second in the history of the falling of time. Then, they were there, their firmness pressed to Stan's panting jaw line. The pull was irresistible in the ecstasy of those gleaming, stunning sapphires shimmering through the haze billowing through the mind of the brunette. Stan was moved forth until Kenny had him within inches and even closer still. Through this, their lips found each other and they kissed as they had never kissed. The explosion of white hot ice roared to life in a livid outrage that consumed all things.
The passion, however, was not meant to be.
" KIN-NY!"
The shriek was a damning wrench's screech that echoed throughout the confines of the desolate home on the edge of town. The scream of Carol McCormick, though, shattered through the air with such a physical force, the two were ripped violently from the void of their own desires. The fair features of the poor boy were suddenly stolen by a fury of the rawest kind.
" MOTHAHFUCKAH!" Kenny replied, smacking his fist into the mattress he was laid out on. Stan felt the heat trickling away in painful strides. Nevertheless, he clung to his boyfriend's body in a hopeful manner.
" KIN-NY! GET OUT HERE!" Carol bellowed as if she hadn't heard the less than flattering response she had just received. Kenny gave the doorway the finger as she continued to holler the same few words repeatedly. A few banging footsteps thumped around somewhere else in the house before Stan pinched the bridge of his nose in utter defeat to the situation.
" Jesus Christ," the activist groaned out while his head dropped down onto the blond's chest. Stan literally felt the depressing way in which his body slowly, yet surely, lost all the previous emotions that had consumed it. A chill swept over his flesh, causing him to shudder. Under him, Kenny smacked his hand again to the unforgiving mattress stone hard from years of abuse and misuse.
" FUCK! I'M BUSY MOM!" Kenny called out, cupping his hand over his mouth. The gemstones within his slightly flushed face glowed with demonic hatred for this interruption. Honestly, Stan couldn't be sure his own darkened gaze shifted towards said door was any less infuriated. Yet, it continued on the same path, for Carol didn't seem to be willing to acknowledge any of the frustration presented to her.
" KINNY, I DON'T CARE!" his mother barked, her voice reaching a deeper pitch than it's normal whine of a timbre. There were the sounds of unsteady footsteps moving closer. This was followed quickly by something Stan was surprised to hear, sounding close to someone smashing their palm against the flimsy wall of the hallway, " GET OUT HERE!"
" WHAT? " he screamed at the top of his lungs, using both hands to cup his mouth as though that would somehow magnify his voice any more than it had before. For all the screaming, however, Carol continued to yell out his name, the banging increasing to near menacing levels. The cold that was creeping through Stan's blood pulsed with every hollow smack; so much so, he found himself gritting his teeth in an uncustomary form of outward projection of emotion. Shaking his hand, he glanced through his messy hair to see those lightly murderous orbs.
" Just go,"
" Fuck, no," the poor boy retorted sharply, his penetrating stare leaving the broken doorway to turn towards the aquamarine eyes that peered up at him. Stan set his face in stone, however, and there was nothing to be said to ease the roughness of his hardened expression. Kenny pouted in his own way, although he never formally crossed into the line of pouting. When he spoke, his voice was mildly defeated in a promising sort of way, " Don't make me go. We're jus' gettin' to the good part,"
" KKIINN-NNYY!" Carol shouted in the distance that was steadily growing less faint and more defined. The activist gestured to the door way. His action gathered the wandering attention of the blond.
" The sooner you deal with that," he muttered in a voice almost lost to the faint screaming and pounding from the living room and hallway. For all that was consumed, though, there was so much more heard. The ice of the blood within fell into the words of the mouth as Stan jabbed a finger venomously, hatefully, at the door separating them from her, " The sooner we can get back to us,"
" Fuck," Kenny sneered out of the corner of his mouth. He gripped his dirty fingers into tight, white knuckled fists that threatened nothing more than that they did. There was a touch of passiveness to his expletive that only the ears of his closest friends could hear, " Shit, alright. I'll be back,"
With that final statement, the pervert gave Stan a light shove to move him off of his luscious form. Stan slipped off him, allowing him the room he needed to pull himself up and away from the fading heat of their union. In a muted rage, Kenny swung his feet onto the ground and off he swept, his footsteps pounding with a familiar type of frustration. The activist was left to himself, where he promptly exhaled a heavy hearted sigh as he rolled his eyes absentmindedly. He let himself drop onto the hard mattress, face down, so as to accept the lost of the intoxicating inferno he had finally been privy to. As he fell from grace, he heard the muffled sounds of fighting, much like screaming, though none of the words were close enough to make out in anything close to coherent language. There was a minute where he wished to distinguish one word from the other. That was quickly erased, however, by his desire not to know what it was the two were arguing about. Stan wasn't sure as to why he didn't wish to know, but he was sure he didn't. Thus, he turned his careful ear away as the sound of a bottle breaking collided with the still silence of the bedroom he remained.
A flurry of heated words slammed into the stale air. They consisted of nothing more than various combinations of swear words far too colorful for any two people to exchange. Yet, again, Stan refused to listen close enough to discover their meaning. He merely swallowed slightly when a loud 'pop' like sound smashed into the air with a sickeningly wet noise that seemed highly inappropriate. Electricity burned through Stan's clenched fists into the air. There, it caught fire in a frozen inferno of unforeseen capacity. The activist felt his mind plunge backwards into the outward stretched hands reaching through the waters to jerk him into the freezing realm of the condemned. The pressure was unreal as he gasped slightly, his eyes widening. Footsteps slipped through the cracks and, without warning, Stan was thrust from the void of black nothing and back into the bedroom. His eyes jumped to the doorway as the rickety thing swung open in a wide arch.
Seeing Kenny standing there, his hands up on the frame with bloodied, glitter tainted hands, Stan felt his head literally jerking up. There was nothing done that allowed him to know if the poor boy realized he was still in front of his lover. Rather, Kenny spat to the side before wiping his mouth in one long slide of his arm across his quivering lips. He didn't look up, not even for a glance. The sapphire gaze fell heavy on the ground, where it remained as Stan pushed himself into a sitting position. The aqua darkening in his unnaturally calm face studied those bare thighs, those tainted knuckles, those hidden eyes flickering behind a wave of tangled blond. Taking it all in, he furrowed his brow in unchecked, outward worry. Every word which left his mouth, then, was drowned in that icily hot concern.
" Are you okay?"
" Yeah," Kenny spoke in a voice so hollow, it practically echoed within itself. The crystal clear void of that sound struck Stan with an almost physical form of pain. A shiver of ice spilled down his spine as he turned his gaze to the face he couldn't see. Somehow, that image pressed itself upon his mind; that solitary figure lost in the shadows of the hall and the light of the bedroom, his face so deeply hidden.
" You sure?" he asked slowly, knowing before he opened his mouth what the answer would be. Sure enough, there was a fraction of a nod and the same empty word stated so solemnly in his direction. A surge of cold rushed through the activist, stunning him in a terrible fashion. As he drew in a breath to steady himself, all his thoughts were drowned in a drunken woman's bellow.
" KIN-NY!" Carol screeched, her voice appearing much stronger in its vocalization. Kenny lowered his head a bit more, as if the sound was a presence that drew him down in a slow, steady collapse.
" Hey, Stan, I'm gonna hafta ask ya to leave," the angel whispered gently. There was a quiver shaking his words in a deeply agonizing way that Stan felt in his blood. Light, though wholly solid fingers pressed over his shoulders. He tensed to their faint touch, feeling it slipping through his flesh and into his heart. The ice inside froze faster to protect him from a force he wasn't prepared for. Sapphire licked through the blond in a deeply disconnected manner that hauntingly mimicked the fingers only Stan felt. In a similar way, Kenny continued his excuse, " I got shit to do,"
Instinctively, the activist felt his eyes darken into deathly shades as their violent aqua hue was jerked from that fair angel towards the shadows beyond his shoulders. Beyond the darkness, lost in the shapes of nothingness, he could see the stabbing image which ached his heart in a nearly hysterically furious way he wasn't used to feeling to such degrees. He saw the outline of a skinny, eaten away woman draw back her achingly long neck to press her lips to an equally long necked bottle. The woman was broken by the darkness, making her outline all Stan could see beyond the loveliness that was his beloved. Seeing her, marking her in vile disgust, he removed his stare and rested it again on Kenny. In the change, however, the cold worry was coupled with dry, tasteless fear. He swallowed it down as he gripped the sheets in a desperate desire not to leap to his feet and grab up those shoulders shaking in their effort not to fall into the abyss.
" I can help, if you want," he offered without the need to clarify. There was a shift of legs, those dirty fingers sliding down the doorframe to linger in the dust filled air. A painful shake of the head was granted as those boots eased an inch on the rotten wooden floorboards.
" There ain't nothin' to help," Kenny told him. Not a single word was said with conviction nor did they hold any truth. Still, there was a firmness to the way in which they were said. Their finality was what prompted Stan to move forward. He wished to get to his feet, but thought better of it by the sudden stiffness that echoed from those squared shoulders. Instead, he eased back and allowed the freezing emotions to pour into his voice to pierce the threshold of their quickly fading universe.
" I could just sit here then," he suggested, presenting a subtle smile. Lies were wrought in the upturn of his mouth. He knew immediately that the lies spoke louder when not said as he lowered his head in what felt as sickening as bile, " Keep you company,"
" Naw. You should jus' go. I'll see ya later tonight. . . or somethin'," the poor boy assured him, although his fragile voice said otherwise. Lingering sounds of thick, heavy glass hitting breakable plaster, though, brought to life a shockingly real sensation of burning pain scorching through the flesh of both standing there. Kenny's head shook quickly, his hands gripping the edge of his shirt in a distressed way, " Maybe not tonight,"
Hesitation consumed Stan. There was an immeasurable amount of doubt which surrounded the sheer unheard of request to leave. He wanted to stay, to protest, to grab that frail, little being, in order to protect him from the growing darkness of an ending day. However, he knew he shouldn't. For everything that presented itself, he knew the look to those dirty fingers. He had known Kenny for eleven years and many more lifetimes it felt, and he could read the way his body language screamed what he wouldn't. The last thing the poor boy ever wanted was for anyone close to him to have to bear witness to whatever was happening on the other side of the McCormick door. The broken bottles, the upturned tables, the fists through walls, the shrieking, the swearing, the fighting, was the private realm of the McCormicks. Stan, for all that he wanted, knew better than to stay on that bed that afternoon. He knew he would know what happened after he got up, but he knew that Kenny didn't wish for him to know. He respected his privacy enough to let his body get to his feet, his hands straightening his shirt rather than clenching into frustrated fists.
Inhaling his resolve, Stan stepped across the trash littered floor and over to Kenny. Carefully, cautiously, he reached out to take hold of that dirty, glitter stained hand. Gently, he gave it a squeeze that connected them through ice and fire, wind and water, as all crashed into one another in a furious battle for control of the situation. What prevailed, though, was the firm, solid sensation of passion as a soft smile made its way across the mouth of the angel. Still, that blond head did not raise, not even slightly. Leaning down gingerly, Stan tilted that fair face to the side, raising it a bit up with his free hand, so that he could gaze truthfully into the sparkling sapphires that stole his aquamarine stare so completely.
" I love you," Stan breathed out, almost as though trying to speak to no one but the ears of the blond in front of him. The smile parted into a sort of pained gasp as those eyes softened in an agonizing fashion befitting the fragmented emotions trapped in those orbs.
" You really don't know how much that means," he whispered back, his hand gripping the rough knuckles of the activist with heated vehement. His eyes looked lost, but his smile found, and the combination thrust ice into the suddenly engulfed mind of the brunette. The gentle compassion, nevertheless, overshadowed all as that smile couldn't have been more real in its rawness, " 'Specially right now,"
Giving that dirty hand another tight squeeze, Stan rested his hungry lips lightly against the tender ones of Kenny. They kissed, but not with the impassioned fury of before. Instead, their embrace was laced with agony, love, and, above all, a need that wasn't verbalized, lest it be heard and thus tarnished for its very nature warranted it such. Easing back, then, Stan tasted the bitter air of the stale world that beckoned him to the summer's heat laying outside the wooden hell on that edge of town. With great effort to do so, he turned and began to walk away. His fingers stayed entangled with those of the blond for as long as possible, for Kenny clung to them without ever asserting his desperation not to be left alone. The moment where their fingers fell away from the other's, Stan looked back. He looked at that pretty, solemn face and he offered him the softest, purest smile he had ever felt within his soul.
" Call me if you need me. Whenever," he said faintly, his voice hitting the air with striking volume considering how low in which it was spoken. His words were met with a bottle crashing in the distance and the lingering smile of Kenny as he turned his head completely, and utterly, away from the offer. Slowly, Stan nodded and faced the darkened hallway leading to the rest of the world.
Faces peered out of the shadows, through the faded grays. Washed out lines, half hidden by tangled hair, gazed blankly with empty, dead sockets cut out of the dark. They didn't look at anything. They just appeared in the flickering lights, the emancipated corpses of the walls, of the floors, of the rotting coffin of the house forgotten. Every footstep was matched by aching, hungry noises of gasps, pants, whines, as fingers scraped along wood and metal and bone. One shrill cry echoed in the still, heavy air steadily cooling as Stan stepped into the living room smelling of sulfur. Looking back, there was nothing but the peeling wallpaper and a single pair of child's shoes left in the hallway, facing him. His fallen angel leaned in his bedroom doorframe, his face a black nothing, as the darkness overthrew him and consumed him like the other ghosts of the McCormick house.
Entering the living room, Stan saw the couch overturned and a lone, long necked bottle of tequila left on the counter of the kitchen. The booze was half gone, with smeared cherry red lipstick staining the edge. Swallowing dryly, he left the house and lightly placed a foot down on the cement warmed from the sunshine beating down from the clear, gorgeous sky. From behind, he heard a child cry, heard a door slam, and heard glass crash into nothing but the void that had swallowed up so many lives. His hand still on the handle, he felt the door being shoved shut, jerked in the frame, as a damning clink of metal sounded the lock. He was gone from that world and nothing he did would gather him entrance now.
Sighing dejectedly, Stan pushed his hands into his pockets as he left the dirt patch that was the McCormick's lawn. He hopped across the railroad tracks to the better side and made quick word of getting to the sidewalk. Heading down the street towards his own home, his thoughts turned again to Kenny. For a moment, he wondered whether he had done the right thing. Yet, even as he thought it, he knew he hadn't. Still, he had done what was needed and wanted at the time. That didn't absolve him of the choice to begin with, but, needless to say, he had no way of knowing what would have happened had he not made the choice he had. He had seen many things in his short lifespan. One reoccurring theme was that when orders from drunken parents weren't followed, things tended to become much worse later. Therefore, he turned his attention elsewhere.
Doing so, he continued past his own front porch. He walked down the sidewalk a few more houses until he came upon the Broflovski home. He made his way up the steps and through the front door without bothering to stop and knock; he knew he would be let in. Instead, he swept on inside and towards the stairs. His eyes flicked momentarily, taking in the lithe form sprawled out on the couch cushions. Ike stared blankly, emotionlessly at the screen that switched through commercials. The touch of death which spilled through Stan's blood was unnerving at best, frightening at once. In order to avoid it, he left, heading up the steep stairs to the upper floor. There, he knocked only once on Kyle's bedroom door before he was inside and kicking the door shut with his foot. Sighing, he flopped down on the bed with his leg dangling off one side and his arms left out in the manner in which they fell. Spread eagle, then, he glanced at his best friend.
Kyle was in his computer chair, one leg pulled up and folded underneath him. Yet, he wasn't actually on the computer. Instead, he had the book 'Pride and Prejudice' cracked open and rested on his knee, his eyes moving from side to side in avid interest. Next to him, there was a seemingly forgotten bag of chocolate. Also seemingly forgotten, or at least unnoticed, was Stan, for the Jew didn't even look up momentarily from the page in front of his green eyes.
" Here for your weekly allowance?"
A slight grin flashed over Stan's face at the deadpan seriousness of Kyle's voice as it teased him without ever needing to sound joking. He snickered into the sheets as he went to kick off his shoes, only to find that he had unwittingly left them at Kenny's. Another low sigh escaped his mouth then as he flipped onto his side and curled his slender form about one of Kyle's pillows. He left his back towards Kyle, knowing that his friend wasn't looking anyways. An eyebrow was arched, though, when he spied a bag of chocolate gracing the bed. Shrugging, he unwrapped a piece and ate it, glancing over at the Jew continuing to read.
" Yeah, I guess," Stan answered through a mouth of chocolate. There was a flicker of emerald in his direction, but he didn't respond to the gesture. A roll of eyes followed quickly.
" Don't be rude. Don't talk with your mouth full," the redhead reminded him in that overly motherly manner he had when he wasn't trying to be mean or instigating a riot of fury. Stan didn't acknowledge the verbal warning any more than he did the physical one. Instead, he glanced around the messily neat room, taking note of all the empty and unopened bags of chocolate tucked into corners or left out in the open. He raised his eyebrows at them as his friend turned a page in the hard covered thing of intrigue.
" Dude, you've got a lot of chocolate,"
" My boss gives it to me as a 'courtesy'," Kyle explained absentmindedly with a rolling shrug of both his slight shoulders. Stan showcased none of the mild curiosity that lurked just below his icy mask of indifference, " You know, because I'm the only one that works,"
" So, what? You jus' take it all home an' eat it?" the activist halfheartedly teased, turning his gaze to the bag he had pulled over to where he was laying. He read over the information on back for the simple reason of doing it. Glancing sideways, he caught the way Kyle pursed his lips in a familiar agitated manner that actually gathered a smile from the otherwise empty brunette.
" Not all of it," Kyle hissed venomously, his eyes cutting up to cast a shadowed glare of sorts over the side of his chair to where the other was laying. Stan was immune, of course, to such looks. He merely tossed the bag down on the sheets and unwrapped a small square of sugary goodness.
" What'd you do with the rest of it?" he asked with some interest for the answer. Kyle pointed an accusing finger at him as the book tilted down towards the floor.
" The rest of it you, Kenny, Ike, and Cartman eat," he answered plainly, without any of the accusation his body language held. Stan looked over his shoulder briefly as his brow furrowed and he frowned with only a fraction of the emotion brewing deep within. That pale face never once changed from its stern expression of slight amusement.
" Did you jus' say I eat too much?" the activist demanded without the demand. His timbre remained as even and mellow as it has beforehand when they had been discussing nothing of importance. Despite this being nothing of importance really, he felt a spark channel through the frozen waters of his soul and he turned them to look again over his shoulder in waiting for the answer. He was granted a shrug as the hard emeralds turned to the words of Jane Austen's classic literature.
" Take it however you want,"
" You're the one that's gained weight," Stan sneered in a spiteful manner than never touched on the emotions within. The frost cracked slightly in the heat that spiraled about his words, although the half smile which tilted his mouth didn't have anything to do with said crack. Either way, he hadn't even gotten out the first chuckle when the thick novel slammed into his side with considerable and impressive force. Stan snapped out a mild swear as he flinched in the sharp, stabbing pain of the attack. Glaring, he threw the book to the floor as he rolled onto his back, " Ow, "
" Don't toss my fucking book on the floor. I'm not done reading it yet," Kyle barked, flipping his best friend the bird with some feeling to the gesture. Stan returned it with earnest, frowning deeply at his too easily enraged pal. The fire brewing behind those eyes was beginning to make itself known in a rather loud manner.
" Then you shouldn't've thrown it at me," was his reply, coupled with a hearty eye roll to dismiss the building embers threatening to burn him. He was untouched for the moment, as Kyle gritted his teeth in what he quickly recognized as an attempt to remain calm. Still, when he spoke, his voice was a fury of repressed anger that was never directed at nor meant for the activist he so frequently victimized with it.
" Shut up, Stanley," he snapped as he uncurled his body from the chair. He crossed the room and snatched the book from the floor. Casting his friend one final look, Kyle dropped down on the bed besides the activist. Stan moved his foot in an effort to make sure it wasn't in his way while Kyle flipped aimlessly through the pages of the book, " So, you ran through all your money already?"
" You sound surprised,"
" Well, it's obvious you had money for KFC this morning. What happened to the rest of it?" the Jew tilted his head down at the book, but he wasn't reading a thing. Stan fished through the bag of candy and plucked a piece from it. Slowly, he unwrapped it as he watched the curls of that fair face bounce as he shifted his gaze from the old words to the brunette beside him. A shrug was given.
" What rest of it?" Stan placed the chocolate on his tongue and began to suck on it while he opened yet another piece. Eating this one too, he discarded the wrappers on the floor as his aqua gems eyed the confused expression that followed his answer. He furthered the confusion as he answered; again with his mouth full, " That was it,"
" What'd you mean 'that was it'?" Kyle questioned, his fingers tapping on the cover of the book with some noticeable pressure. The lingering sense of heat added to the obvious displeasure of the Jew. Regardless, Stan offered no better explanation as he played with the corner of the pillow between them.
" That was it. That was the last of the cash you gave me last week. I spent it," he said without an ounce of shift to his unconcerned tone. To further his point, though, he made a sharp cutting motion with a hand to finalize what it was he was trying to get across, " Gone. All of it,"
" It was a hundred dollars," the other reminded him in astonishment. There was nothing to be said in his defense, so Stan offered nothing of the sort. Those eyes hardened in underlying disbelief as the inferno made itself known through the raging fires of his next words, his knuckles blanching from how hard he gripped the edge of his book, " What the fuck did you spend it on?"
The only answer Stan could give was a shrug and the truth. Thus, that's exactly what he gave the glaring Jew, in the only word he felt justified the attempt to explain.
" Kenny,"
" You spent a hundred dollars on Kenny in a week? " was the dramatic exclaim which answered what he had to offer. Every word was punctured with a jolting rush of fiery shock that pierced through the brief space between. Stan shivered slightly, finding himself incapable of returning the rush with a shrug or even a look. His face was utterly blank as Kyle seethed in his very open distrust to the suggestion that Stan could have done exactly what it was he had, " How expensive can he be? He's dirt ass poor!"
" It was mostly booze and food. It's not that cheap, you know," Stan argued, despite a lack of energy to his words. He didn't feel the need to protest this point, even though he could feel a true fight building in that voice. Kyle gritted his teeth and his fingers dug into the edge of the book. Again, Stan was reminded that the Jew was searching for a fight, as he had been that morning, and he clearly was still eager to force the activist into one.
" It's called the 'Dollar Menu'," the redhead jeered, a half smile flickering faintly over his lips. A hunger was leering through the green of his deeply engorged orbs. The fire was consuming his every thought. Stan could smell the smoke licking through the air. A quick shake of his head declared his protest to such an endeavor even as he knew Kyle wasn't paying attention to such clues.
" We don't eat at McDonalds," he reminded him with a certain touch of ice to the edge of his timbre. There was a gleaming filling those eyes that foreshadowed the intentions of the other.
" Maybe you should start. Or better yet, stop eating out," Kyle cattily stated, his hand pushing back his curled locks with a gaze of sheer arrogance. Stan knew that look all too well as the calm before the storm. Again, he shook his head in vain, as he desperately wasn't ready to fall into the clutches of the dangerously venomous Jew. Nevertheless, his vital clues fell on deaf ears and to blind eyes, for the white hot fire was numbing Kyle to every other sensation. He continued on the same path, his hands finding the book cover and clutching it incredibly too hard for the moment, " You know, one of these days, I'd like to spend my money on me for once,"
" Why? So you can buy more chocolate?" the activist joked coldly, his body cascading into the depths of the frozen underbelly of nonchalance. For all his attempts, he felt there was nothing to derail the hell bent redhead. Thus, he plunged his blood into the ice of impassioned indifference to remain unscathed by those horrendous fires. He felt the cold licking over his tongue as Kyle's face finally broke into its wide, wicked smile.
" I don't buy chocolate," Kyle answered hotly as he unwrapped a piece of the candy. He ate it with that smile tainting his good looks with an unmistakable air of sickening hatred. Stan turned his aqua stare elsewhere for a split second, before jerking its frozen solidarity to the face of the other. Smiling half an icy expression, Stan tossed a wrapper at him in a wholly playful gesture.
" I need more money," he bluntly replied, his expression falling away quickly as his emotions were hardened in the ice storm threatening his mindset. Kyle nodded happily, his sickness eating into his happiness like a disease. There was so much fire there that Stan vaguely wondered how long it had been since he had just screamed in order to let it out, that rage of his.
" I like that you're so upfront about it," was the almost sarcastic response to said bluntness. Kyle motioned to a discarded book bag laying on the floor near the edge of the bed in an absentminded way, " My wallet's in there. There's a fifty in it. That's all you get. Don't ask me until my next paycheck,"
" Thanks,"
The word hung in between the worlds of hot and cold as Stan leaned over the side of the bed to grab the bag off the ground. He fished through it's many pockets until he located the skinny, green wallet that held the money he so desired. Taking it, he dropped the wallet and the bag back onto the floor where Kyle had left them. Then, folding the bill and slipping it into his back pocket, he returned to his previous position on the bed. Next to him, Kyle had returned to reading the Austen book. The Jew slowly ate a couple pieces of sweet chocolate as his eyes hungrily ate up the story he was clearly deeply interested in. Stan didn't disturb him. Rather, he laid back against the plush pillows and allowed his eyes to wander over the supposedly plumped body of his best friend in mild interest of his own.
At first, he found that he didn't notice any sort of change whatsoever. Looking over the boy who had grown up next door to him, he didn't see a thing out of place. As he looked closer still, however, Stan began to spy slight changes he probably wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't already been aware they were there. He spotted a bit of weight gathered at Kyle's once washboard flat stomach. Then, eyeing him further, he noted that the arch to his backside appeared more defined, more rounded, even more fuller than before. Looking still, he spied a bit of plumpness to those cheeks and some heaviness to his thighs so previously toned from years of morning runs to Raging Pussies. The pounds were so small, so minute, but their impact was profound to the likes of Stan. After all, he couldn't remember a time when Kyle had been anything but perfectly thin.
Shock struck Stan hard. The jolt smashed into his spine and cut through his blood with a surprising speed that made his eyes widen as his expression held that emotion purely for just the briefest second. Forcing it away, though, he cleared his throat. He shifted his aqua stare elsewhere, anywhere, with noticeable difficulty. He knew Kyle hadn't seen him looking. He knew that the rage within would have exploded in a mass amount of declarations, accusations, and the like. Still, he found the uncertainty surrounding the unspoken topic to be a little daunting. Instead of broaching it, he turned his eyes back with a defiant decision not to address it right away.
" So. . . what've you been up to today?"
" Well, it's my only day off, so, I'm catching up on everything I haven't done the entire week," Kyle said without taking his eyes off the page. Stan arched an eyebrow, turning his eyes down to the book, then back to the room. He spotted a stack of thick spined novels resting on the computer chair with creases in their spines from having been laid out over the Jew's leg; the only way he really ever read anything, for whatever reason.
" Reading?" Stan probed with a hint of jest. Kyle gave a halfhearted shrug, his eyes doing a quick little dance from aqua to Austen.
" Well, I can't study," he replied with all the seriousness he ever used. There was a moment in time when Stan paused, waiting for the snide smile that told him this was a joke. He wasn't presented with anything of the sort. He cast the immersed redhead a strange look that fast faded into nothing.
" It's summer. Shouldn't you be. . . I dunno. . . partying?" was the empty suggestion Stan gave as he unwrapped a piece of chocolate. Two emeralds lifted from the world of the written word to give Stan an exasperated look.
" Who the hell do you think I am?" he snapped, his eyes narrowing in what could passed as anger, although it wasn't. Several years of close friendship allowed the activist to see that. He noted the bewilderment. He noted it, but he didn't register it. He just looked over and blinked with a blank stare returning entirely to his deadpan expression. Slowly, he gave a one armed shrug that meant nothing and they both knew it.
" Kyle," Stan grinned as he said it. The smile was short lived, as always, for he didn't feel the need to express anything further. He then shrugged again, eating the chocolate. The look he was shot, of course, demanded a better explanation than a mere joke. Without conviction, he offered the only one he had, even when he knew it would not be well received, " I jus'. . . figured. . .y'know. . . since Cartman's been out. . .Maybe you were with him,"
Kyle stared at him in unconvincing disbelief.
" Yeah, an' why the hell would I be with Fat ass?" the Jew implored, his fingers laying cautiously over the book's pages as if they spelled out the answer he didn't want anyone to read. Stan didn't lower his gaze to the words that meant nothing. Rather, he considered the icy possibility of bringing it into the fiery light of the summer afternoon. He weighed his cards in his proverbial hand, before choosing against it. Betting with Kyle Broflovski wasn't a game he enjoyed, least of all concerning said Nazi. Thus, he played the fool, and swallowed the cold words that had tilted their hand at the tip of his tongue.
" You said earlier that you were fighting. Figured you'd been hangin' out," he casually told him, fighting the urge to shrug for mild fear that it would reveal his true cards. All he could do was hope that he was able to keep the ace up his sleeve and let the joker do the work. He was greeted with a snarl of white teeth that electrified him suddenly and harshly.
" Lemme just get one thing straight, Stan," Kyle breathed out in a voice so hot, it was borderline cold. The fire was unfurling fast and heavy, seething through the emeralds in a dark shadow that overthrew that entire body. The book was snapped shut with a defiant slam as Kyle jerked an accusing finger in Stan's direction. There was so much hateful rage in that one gesture that the activist quite literally swallowed it in the scorching air as that haunted, commanding voice swirled about his essence, " I do not hang out with Eric Cartman,"
" 'Kay," Stan cautiously responded in the mildest voice he could muster in hopes of defusing the rage swimming in the orbs giving him such a pressurized stare. Slowly, carefully, he unwrapped a piece of chocolate. He half expected the Jew to lash out, to shove him from the bed, to scream, to do something. The other half, however, was sure he wouldn't until he was prompted to do so by some other outrageous claim. Stan wasn't keen to give it to him. Therefore, he pushed the candy into his mouth and gestured to his enraged friend in what he hoped was a suggested turn of phrase so uncalled for, it derailed the storm heading his way so quickly, " You seem to be enjoyin' the candy,"
" Excuse me?" the redhead hissed, his eyes narrowing that much more. Somehow, they still managed to look less wicked than when the discussion had turned towards a certain heavy set Nazi. Stan made a vague motion with his hand.
" You know. . .the chocolate. . .that they give you,"
" I know what the hell you're talking about Stan," Kyle snapped bitingly, his shoulders squaring in defense. Having put him to the defense, though, was the first step towards calming the inferno whiting out his otherwise rational mindset. Stan nodded to himself as he tilted his nonchalance in favor of the bet placed before him. He went for the ante without an ounce of fear for entering such unknown territory so quickly and without any formal warning of doing so.
" I'm jus' sayin'. . . as your best friend. . ." the activist kindly began, making an all inclusive hand over hand circular gesture in the general direction of the Jew. An eyebrow was arched as those lips pursed. Still, he allowed his own concerns to surface in hopes of ending this argument before it began. Stan worded it carefully, though, just in case he overstepped his boundaries, " Maybe you oughta. . . ease up a little,"
" It's not that bad," the other quickly asserted, his anger vanishing in the face of this all too embarrassing reality. Stan pressed forth as he saw that already pale face blanch even more noticeably than before. His words were even in tone, but they struck the air with a stillness that were frighteningly indifferent. Of course, Kyle seemed almost grateful for the nonjudgmental mannerisms of his closest friend as his emerald orbs softened steadily.
" Yet,"
" It's not gonna get any worse," Kyle assured himself more than anyone else. Stan could tell that simply from the way in which he looked as he said it. His eyes even tipped downwards to address the way his hands were holding the closed book. Slowly, the Jew chewed on his lower lip as a secondary pause proceeding his assurance, " Because it's not that bad,"
" You've gained weight, dude. It's always that bad," the activist informed him. The information must of come as a reminder, of course. There was nothing about Kyle's unsure disposition that said otherwise. Stan was sure he had already played through this conversation with himself. Still, he didn't change the course of it by injecting. He allowed the other the courtesy of running through it out loud with someone of, presumably, opinion.
" It's only seven pounds. It's not that bad," was the tense response he was given as Kyle's eyes lowered to his pudgy waist as slowly as they possibly could. Stan arched an eyebrow as he unwrapped yet another piece of stolen chocolate. His friend didn't appear to notice.
" I guess it's a gay thing, then," Stan pushed the chocolate into his mouth as he pointed his finger in an non-accusing manner. Kyle still jumped as that hand moved in the direction of his lovely, feminine styled face with those slightly widened green eyes watching him closely, " Your cheeks are fuller, you know,"
Kyle seemed too horrified to move, to which effect, Stan tossed his wrapper at him.
" Jus' sayin',"
" Would you shut the fuck up?" Kyle screeched hysterically, snatching up the chocolate bag and throwing it into Stan's head. Stan snickered under his breath as he pulled the bag off his head. The Jew fumed in his own fiery anger, his eyes narrowed and poised on the opposing wall. For a moment, he continued in this fashion. Then, he jerked his attention back towards the activist, wearing a rather haughty expression, " And they are not,"
" So, you've noticed? Your cheeks, I mean," Stan said, grinning with all the snarky attitude in the world. He gestured to the slight plumpness to those cheeks, which gathered him an incredibly humiliated look in return. Then, Kyle pushed his hand into the brunette's face as he ate another piece of chocolate as if they weren't talking about his increase in weight. The activist moved his head back, brushing aside the hand that restrained him. A light chuckle escaped his mouth while his eyes rolled back and Kyle returned the motion, " You're so weird,"
" It's not funny, you know," the hot tempered boy informed him in a matter of fact tone, his head tilting as he head it. The brunette pointed outwardly towards the light bulge nearly completely hidden by the black shirt the redhead was dressed in.
" You gained weight," he plainly stated, his voice dropping back into the unimpressed tone it usually held. Then, slowly, a half smile flashed over his lips before it too vanished, " That's always funny,"
" Yeah, well, it won't be funny when you gain weight," Kyle sneered, cracking a smile of his own at the very mention of it. Stan, however, didn't even flinch. He idly shrugged a shoulder as he popped a piece of candy up into the air and caught it in his mouth.
" I won't,"
" You eat at KFC morning, noon, and night with Kenny," the Jew chided, counting off the time frames one by one on his slender fingers. Stan wasn't moved by this observation either. He continued to gaze up at the pretty face of the other in utter apathy, " And you're telling me you won't gain any weight?"
" Yeah," the activist assured him, running his fingers through his bangs before shaking them out. Kyle arched an eyebrow at him, questioning him without ever having to say it, " 'Cause I don't really eat there. I just go there,"
" You go to KFC, you spend a hundred bucks, and you don't eat anything?" Kyle repeated, waving one of his hands to the side as if dismissing the whole possibility. There was a shrug and a brief pause in which they both looked at one another in emotions that had no names. They were a cross breed between distrust, trust, and boredom that had no true meaning to anyone outside of them. Then, as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone as the activist answered in his favorite manner: a shrug and brief explanation.
" I eat something," Stan replied, his eyes looking towards the white ceiling overhead. Thinking on it, though, he removed his cast away stare and returned it to the wholly unimpressed look of his closest friend, " Most times,"
" Then why go to KFC at all?" the Jew demanded, crossing his arms over his chest and giving him a look of curious proportions. Almost immediately, though, there was a spike of a red hot flare as those emeralds rushed into livid shades. He jerked his arms apart and jabbed a finger at the dead expression of the other, " And how'd you go through a hundred bucks?"
" I told you I spent it on Kenny,"
The answer hung in the air, as if he had never said it. Yet, the look on Kyle's face clearly showcased that it had, in fact, been said. Those emeralds bore a nearly empty appeal, as that face showed nothing outwardly. Stan's expression was much on the same level, for he felt only a surge of darkness along the edge of his mind. He bore no reason for the penetrating ice of the unnamable feeling, but he felt it strike his blood with something similar to electricity. Swallowing dryly, Stan fought to keep his face blank, mostly out of fear for what might show. Kyle, on the other hand, allowed his expressions to fall to his mind. A curious look befell his graceful beauty as he carefully, pointed down at the activist watching him as carefully as he watched the activist.
" Can I ask you something?" Kyle said in what sounded somewhat disconnected from his actual voice. Stan nodded and told him 'sure', for he saw no reason to avoid what he knew he couldn't avoid anyways. The question that was presented, though, was nothing like what he had envisioned. Kyle lowered his head a fraction, looking at him through his hair, " Has Kenny gained weight?"
" What?"
" Has Kenny gained weight?" the redhead repeated in the exact same tone. There was something dark in the way his timbre lowered for the question that didn't sit well with Stan. Still, he turned his eyes away as he threw his mind back into the pool that was the liquid heat of Kenny.
" Uh. . ." his voice trailed off as his head tilted in a similar fashion to the Jew's. Stan did all he could to envision his darling angel, although he found doing so not only to be highly difficult, but downright embarrassing. He knew not why he was embarrassed to do so, though the most confusing was the briefest ounce of guilt he felt, but he did know why it was so painfully difficult. Whenever he thought of Kenny, he found himself seeing that beautiful face smiling up at him through luscious locks of golden blond. For a few minutes, he attempted to see past that face and found the attempt to be in vain. Thus, he blinked and looked back at the other, " I have no idea,"
" How can you not know? Don't you guys have sex all the time?" Kyle questioned, his eyes darkening as if he wasn't sure Stan was messing with him or just avoiding the answer. Stan wasn't doing either, so he provided the only answer he could.
" We fuck like bunnies," he proudly informed the Jew who eyed him so suspiciously. Kyle pursed his lips again, then sighed out, his eyes looking towards the ceiling as though it could give him the answers. It couldn't anymore than Stan's absent memory could. Still, he pressed for the answer he seemed strangely interested in knowing.
" And you have no idea?"
" Well, to be fair, it's not like I'm paying attention while we're doing it," the activist kindly reminded him for the sake of having something to say. Kyle gave a half of a shrug as he scrunched up his nose. The expression wasn't a common one, so Stan become suddenly aware of perplexing this situation truly was to the Jew. That, above all, was more interesting than the rest. He raised his eyebrows for it.
" Yeah, but you're like touching him and everything. You haven't noticed a change?" Kyle tried again, his shoulder hunching as he drew ever closer. All his body language pointed towards his desire for an answer. However impassioned he was for it, though, Stan couldn't answer. Alas, he tried again, for his best friend's sake, but it was for naught. He caught a glow of sapphire and that was all.
" In the moment, I might've. But. . . no. Not really,"
" I would think that would be something you would just notice," the redhead stated, as if talking to himself out loud. Stan shifted his position slightly in what might be incorrectly taken as him becoming uncomfortable. Of course, Kyle didn't even acknowledge it. He ignored it as Stan vocalized the curiosity that had sparked his shift.
" Why?"
" Because I wanna know if Kenny's starting to get fat," Kyle blatantly ignored the true meaning of the question directed as his own opinion on physical observation. Rather, he switched topics so quickly, so profoundly, that Stan had to admit, it was almost professional in manner. His expression didn't even falter as he did it. He only smiled, in fact, when the wicked intent of his new topic surfaced with sick delight, " I wanna know before Cartman does so I can be the one that tells him. That would be so awesome,"
" So. . . .it has nothing to do with you gaining weight?" Stan decided to turn the tables and shift the conversation in another opposing direction. He arched his eyebrow and cast a grin at the sour look he was being cast. Kyle snarled in his direction in utter annoyance at having been upstaged at his specialty.
" This isn't about me," the Jew firmly said, tapping his finger against the cover of his book as if to drive home his point. Stan continued to smile, reading between the lines as well as he always had, " This is about Kenny,"
" This is about you. And your money," the brunette maintained, avoiding all possible agitation by sticking directly to the main cause. His smile flitted off as the apathy washed over in a cold tidal wave. Kyle, on the other hand, seemed to flare with a burst of unchecked flames. He lifted his finger slowly from the cover to direct it towards Stan's worn and torn jeans.
" I can take that fifty back any time I want," he warned in a less than playful tone. Within, there was a flash of nerves that prompted Stan to shrug as his fall back gesture. The Jew gave him a halting sort of smile that begged to be controlled before the fires ate away at that sanity.
" Why would you loan me money if you didn't want to?" he implored, his tone suggestive of his intention to defuse the internal angers. His attempt worked this time, as he saw the fires being withdrawn and replaced by a teasing smile.
" I don't want to, Stan. You're my best friend. I'm obligated to," Kyle jeered, pushing a finger lightly into the side of the other's head. The activist felt a light snicker leave his mouth, although he wasn't sure he heard it, as Kyle wagged his finger in his face suddenly, " Until I reach a certain extent,"
" Okay. So, what, you're jus' gonna. . . .stalk Kenny's weight until then? Keep tabs on your cash?" Stan joked, even though he wasn't sure how much of it was a joke. Kyle shrugged as he tucked a couple loose strands of curls behind his ear.
" Well, I still don't know where it's gonna, so yeah, I guess so," the Jew grinned as he leaned forward, the book slipping out of his lap. It clattered noiselessly to the sheets as he pressed his palms into the sheets near his friend's slender waist, his back arching a considerable amount. Stan was unmoved by the motions, even as the gorgeous redhead smiled that wicked smile down at him through a mess of red, " Unless you feel like sharing,"
" It goes to Kenny,"
" The only person who eats that damn much is Eric Cartman!" Kyle exclaimed, falling back onto his butt and crossing his arms over his chest like some form of child. His declaration, though, struck a cold nerve within Stan. In reaction, he shrugged. However, this shrug was slightly nervous beyond his control. Kyle's eyes widened as he took in the action and Stan knew that he already knew what it implied. Stan swallowed hard, knowing he had just revealed his cards and worse, he was holding a royal flush. Kyle wasn't one to miss a good play. He arched an eyebrow, calling his bets, as he tilted his head back slightly in that all knowing, all sensing manner, " Unless?"
Stan said nothing, for his voice had run out on him. Yet, Kyle motioned for him to talk and he found it returning after years of practice of speaking to that mindful little hand gesture. Cautiously, he ran his fingers through his messy hair and quickly shifted his gaze elsewhere. When he spoke, though, there was a catch to his words that was unmistakable.
" It's not that bad," he protested passionately. Kyle didn't even acknowledge the tone used, for they were both impressively aware of the fact that he was talking to himself and not the Jew. Still, Kyle felt the need to magnify the problem just as Stan had in their previous arcs of conversation.
" You blew through a hundred dollars in one week at KFC. It's that bad," Kyle informed him without any form of accusation to his usually highly opinionated voice. This time, though, it was left deadpan and emotionless; the same as the activist. Stan felt a moment of searing, next to agonizing gratitude, for such a rarity. For this, he was urged to speak, to justify, even when he knew Kyle expressed nothing for the whole reason of not needing him to speak.
" He jus'. . ." his hands fluttered in the direction of nothing, for the gesture meant nothing but a loss for vocabulary. Stan peered up at Kyle with a terribly obvious look of bewilderment on his face. He wasn't sure what to say, as he had never been very graceful with words, none well versed in talking about things of importance. The Jew offered him nothing, so he was left to his own devices. In defeat, he let out a heavy sigh, his head shaking, as he attempted what sounded as close to the honest reason as he could form words for, " He never gets to eat. He looks so happy,"
" What do you mean by 'happy'?" Kyle questioned, his voice as steady as before. His face rendered Stan nearly speechless, for it had been so long since he had seen the redhead so calm. Nevertheless, he quickly turned his thoughts back to the blond that consumed so much of his thought.
" Happy," he repeated, finding no other words for it. Kyle didn't interject with anything even close to a syllable. Left to his own devices, he tugged on the sheets, staring at the ceiling. He wrapped his fingers aimlessly in the fabric, playing with the sheets in an effort to buy time. There was no logical reason as to why he felt the need to do this. He just knew he did, so that's what he did. Choking down a nervousness that was steadily rising, he was plunged into an ocean of complex, freezing cold emotions which seared his flesh. Shivering, he whispered the only answer leaving his mouth, " Kenny never gets to eat. . . 'cept when he's with me. He looks happy that he's not going hungry. I can't say no to that. I don't want to,"
" You shouldn't have to," Kyle told him, pushing back his curls. Stan raised up his head, as if the confirmation was enough to draw from his lips every other impersonal thought concerning the topic. He wasn't even aware of feeling reassurance, but, there it was in his voice.
" I think it's more his appetite becoming normal," he tried desperately to explain concepts he simply knew by looking at those gleaming sapphires and the fair lines of that pretty face. Kyle allowed him the attempt by tilting his head down and remaining silent through it all; a trait he wasn't entirely gifted at, " Like. . .he's okay with letting himself feel hungry again. 'Cause he knows I'm gonna get him food,"
To this, Kyle quickly nodded, a brief smile forming. Then, just as quickly, he shook his head, frowning lightly.
" Then you shouldn't be getting him KFC," the Jew firmly, harshly stated, his voice returning to the flurry of feelings that controlled his timbre. Stan blinked, seemingly awakening from the numbness of not knowing how to talk. His eyes narrowed for a second, then his face was a blank slate of indifference all over again.
" Why?"
" It's bad for you," he plainly said, wagging his finger at the empty face turned up at him. Stan grinned idly as he flipped a piece of chocolate into the air. Emeralds watched it as he caught it and held it out to him, a snicker drifting into the lightly heated air which permanently surrounded the forest green room.
" And, what, all this chocolate isn't?" the activist teased without regard for how hard or snappish his voice came out. In the end, it was a mixture. Either way, his tone didn't appear to matter, for he knew whatever it was, Kyle wouldn't care. he heard the implication and he glared with first, a flare of true anger, and second, a good humored nature as he recognized the jest for what it was.
" Hey," Kyle hissed, snatching up a square of candy and tossing it into Stan's head with some noted force. Stan didn't bother with mentioning it, nor complaining. He merely flashed the bird and rolled his eyes in an expertly bored manner of speaking.
" Oh, whatever, dude," he idly muttered, tossing a piece of chocolate back for the sake of being childish. Kyle smiled sweetly as he plucked the candy off his green sheets. As he unwrapped it and placed it on his tongue, he gave a casual shrug and motioned to nothing, which was actually directed at Stan. The activist looked at him when he did.
" So, what's it like dating a total whore?" Kyle questioned, folding the wrapper into a tiny triangle. This, he tossed aside, thus missing the glare which Stan promptly cast him for turning the conversation in such a direction. Nevertheless, there was no avoiding the devilishly cutthroat timbre which spiraled out with his venomous protest to such an assertion.
" Ken's not a whore,"
" He gives blowjobs for ten dollars behind TGIFridays. He's a whore," Kyle told him without a hint of doubt or concern to his hollow voice. His eyes were of the small caliber as they looked down at Stan in a questioning fashion that didn't question Stan in the least. They held a deliciously Kyle-styled sarcasm that was both empty and scalding. A flush of ice washed out all of Stan's previous thoughts, his knuckles whitening in the grip he held them in.
" It's pretty fuckin' sweet," Stan informed him out of spite. The pride and ecstasy of his words, however, shone through even without him trying. Kyle's attention seemed to be caught, for he looked at the activist with mildly widened eyes. The Jew shifted his weight a bit, rocking on his knees, as he tapped his fingers on the discarded book. Stan merely grinned arrogantly as the sweetly inexperienced face of his closest companion.
" Really?"
" Yeah," Stan couldn't help the grin which snaked its way over his glowingly mischievous face alive with lustful expression. The smile with unfurled was much purer, much wider, much more of a smile than he normally wore. Yet, it wasn't one he could stop. He felt that succulent body pressed against his and there was no quenching the angry hunger for desire which prevailed in the eyes of that angel. He felt it sweeping over his body and, no, he couldn't help the smile.
" So. . ." Kyle started, his eyes bearing a great notion of enthrallment for the unusual amount of emotion which graced his friend's face. Clearing his throat, Kyle hesitantly shrugged and started again, rubbing his fingers over his arm, " What's the sex like?"
The moment after the abrupt question was asked was consumed by a heavy pause. Stan looked at Kyle in surprise for his daring. Kyle himself appeared to be stunned that he had even had the nerve to ask when he usually avoided such topics. Those emeralds looked away, breaking the silence loudly.
" I don't wanna know," Kyle quickly said after the breaking of the silence. He waved his hands to either side as Stan arched an eyebrow at the shift in opinion. Sensing a pattern, he said nothing. Another deep pause ensued as the Jew stared passionately at the other wall. Then, his eyes glanced back to the activist, " Yes, I do,"
" It's bangin'," Stan answered before his friend could change his mind. Kyle stopped moving, staring at him as if he couldn't believe he would actually respond to something so impossibly personal. Still, the brunette went further as he unwrapped a piece of candy and began to suck on it, " Kenny's got a tight little ass,"
" Oh, nice, dude. 'Cause that's what I wanna think about tonight when I go to bed," Kyle snapped without actually sounding mad this time. He still managed to give Stan a hearty glare which was as demeaning as it was vile. Nevertheless, it slipped off the brunette, for years of receiving sure looks had rendered him completely immune. He gave a shrug again.
" You asked," he calmly reminded him, moving his foot. He pushed his heel into Kyle's thigh, wiggling his toes as he lightly smiled. He noted that Kyle's thigh plumped slightly from the weight there, but he didn't mention it as he looked up at the ceiling in pleasure, " He does this thing with his tongue-"
" O-kay," the Jew jerked his hands up into a stopping motion to cut off the rather raunchy example to his previous question. He shook his head quickly, causing his curls to bounce haphazardly, " We're done. I can't handle this,"
" -When he's sucking me-"
" I said stop!"
" -Off," Stan finished with a perverted smile that made Kyle snatch up his pillow with a loud scream that meant nothing to anyone, not even himself.
" Ugh!" he exclaimed as he smothered Stan with the pillow, holding it down with both hands. Underneath, laughs rang out as the activist lost himself to the hysterics. He didn't even fight that hard to escape the wrath of the somewhat playful pillow attack. Kyle screeched, smacking him with the thing a few times in the face for good measure. The smile on his pale face, however, painted a much different picture as he tossed the pillow onto the floor. The two grinned at one another in childish friendship before Kyle thumbed behind him, " Well, I've got nothing else to do today. Wanna stay over and play X-Box until we can't think?"
" Sure, dude,"
With that, Kyle tossed Pride and Prejudice off the sheets as he slipped off them in order to grab the controllers. As Stan watched, the Jew blinked and pulled out his skinny green cell phone as it jingled with a happy little ring tone; his text message ring. He flipped open the thing and took a look at whatever was written there. Without a word, then, he smiled softly, warmly, lovingly, to himself. Then, before Stan could even acknowledge it, Kyle turned his phone off and closed it.
The ring tone was Pokerface.