Title: Irresistible

Author: Athena2693

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Kyle is bored with his relationship with Stan and needs a little passion in his life

A/N: So nobody at all wants me to continue? Alright, if nobody shows any interest after this chapter I won't bother to continue.

Monday mornings were always like New Year's Day for Kyle Broflovski, lacking the hangover and horrible morning breath but also the chance to enjoy champagne and dancing and a festive countdown. Maybe if all people celebrated New Week's Day it wouldn't be quite as exciting as the yearly countdown either.

He had been meeting up with Christophe DeLorne at least a couple times a week for a little over a year now, Monday through Friday for the most part, since Stan was usually around during the weekends. At that rate Thursday would be the absolute latest for their first meeting of the week, but usually it came much earlier in the week, Tuesday, maybe, perhaps Monday on rare occasions, so of course by every Thursday said week was already lost. At that point it was just best to start afresh the following Monday. Why bother to try to stop after a Tuesday or Wednesday? By then the week was already lost and he couldn't claim any real accomplishment be abstaining from any questionable activities with Christophe.

It's like after breaking a diet by eating a whole box of chocolates, why bother to order the diet soda? Just enjoy yourself the rest of the day and start over tomorrow. The good thing about abstaining is you always have the chance to try again later. You can't miss the chance to not do something. You mess up, you just start again. Kyle's mother had taught him that back when he lived with his parents as a child. She'd always shrug off the incident where she broke her newest diet and say she'd try again at the next meal, or the next day, or the next week. Of course, she had also had to get her stomach stapled after that last diabetic coma to fully control her deadly eating habits.

Of course, cheating wasn't quite the same as overeating. He wouldn't die by having sex with Christophe, unless the other man suddenly contracted some horrible STD. Christophe couldn't give him diabetes or high cholesterol. On the other hand, his father had also never left him mother because she had cheated and had a piece of cheesecake.

This cycle of starting and restarting was finally coming to an end though. That was what made this Monday special. It was time to renew his resolution and this time he would keep his promise. This was the week he'd go on his Christophe-free diet. And this time he meant it. It would take a lot of pieces of cheesecake to kill a person, but only one occurrence of being caught in the act of cheating to break up a relationship for good. While Kyle did like cheesecake, he would give it up if it meant keeping his life, and Stan was a lot more precious that a piece of sugary dessert. So yes, this time, it was over. Well and truly over. For good. Every inch of his body and mind was ready to devote itself to purifying himself and keeping himself loyal and devoted to his boyfriend. This time he meant it.

As he did every Monday.

Kyle sat at his overly-crowded desk in his cubicle, feeling proud of himself that he was giving up his affair. No more Christophe in his life. No more being slapped around and humiliated. No more secret encounters and scalding showers. No more smoky brown eyes and teasing grins and strong, calloused hands. Today was the first day of his new life.

'Really, it's the perfect time,' he mused to himself. His and Stan's fifteenth anniversary was coming up. They were driving to Las Vegas this upcoming weekend to spend a romantic weekend together, seeing the shows and living a life of luxury at the Venetian, a hotel Kyle had wanted to stay at for years. He hadn't actually been inside of it but the pictures on the website had left him drooling since they booked their room several months ago. They would finally have a chance to liven up their relationship, bring the romance back, usher in a return to passion. No jobs or family or pets getting in the way. Surely, after next week he wouldn't even give a thought to Christophe.

He looked as the picture of Stan hanging on his cubicle wall. Really, he was more classically attractive than Christophe anyway. His hair was a more definite shade of black than Christophe's dark bitter chocolate brown, and his blue eyes were so crystalline and pure. Who didn't love blue eyes? Maybe he didn't have such sharp cheek bones as Christophe, but he was always so perfectly groomed with such flawlessly styled hair. And maybe he wasn't as tall and muscular as Christophe, but his body was well taken care of, hairless and lean with a nicely shaped butt. Really, what was Christophe but an overly muscled meathead who kept his hair a ruffled mess and left brown dust all over the sheets due to the layer of grime he carried everywhere? Also, he smoked and stank up Kyle's hair and was probably giving him second hand cancer.

No, Stan was obviously superior to Christophe in every way.

Kyle leaned over his desk to the puppy calendar hanging next to Stan and marked a "1" beside the date to mark his first day of his new pledge. Yup, this was the week when his life went back tomorrow.

Never mind the fact the last eighteen weeks in a row started with a "1" on each Monday, never reaching past the "3" on Wednesday.

'Really, there's no use stopping yet,' Kyle reasoned to himself late Tuesday afternoon as he went through the motel's minibar. Their vacation didn't start for three more days so why even attempt resisting those urges now? It'd just make him miserably and bitchy towards Stan, who most certainly did not deserve a bitching at, and didn't he owe it to Christophe to at least inform him that it was over? And besides, Christophe had already paid for their room, it'd be a waste of money to not use it, and Kyle was a money-grubbing Jew. What was one more encounter after the last year, really?

So it was Kyle attempted to rationalize the fact he had automatically driven to their normal spot for their Tuesday afternoon date. Really, he knew he shouldn't be there, but didn't he always? It seemed resistance was futile. After all, what hot blooded young man could really resist those urges?

True, it was on Tuesday, and he had partaken in Sunday morning sex with Stan just a couple days ago, but as usual it just left him feeling unsatisfied and annoyed. Alright, maybe he could've gone home and just jacked off to some porn, but come on, wouldn't that count as cheating also? At least he only slept with Christophe; porn would be full of dozens of other men he'd be fantasy-cheating with. Really, it was a much more responsible decision. Really.

Kyle found a one serving size bottle of raspberry vodka near the back and downed it in one breath. He wasn't usually much of a drinker but it helped sometimes with these encounters, especially when he was feeling guiltier or more self conscious than usual. The alcohol made him feel more courageous at times when he was afraid to talk to Christophe and more attractive at times when he was afraid to be fucked by him. He found a miniature bottle of Kahlua on the other side of the fridge and sat back against the edge of the bed to nurse it slowly until Christophe made an appearance.

Christophe arrived as usual with no flourish and no manners. He flung the door open without so much as knock, slamming the door knob into the dent in the wall that had been expanding in size over the last couple of months, and slammed it shut with such a loud bang it was obvious he had neither a thought nor a care for any other motel patrons. He was filthy, as usual, clad in a black wife beater and camo pants, a dusty brown backpack with a shovel strapped across it slug over one shoulder. He didn't so much as give Kyle a greeting or a look before striding across the room to the dorm-sized fridge and pulling out a tray of ice. The ice, at least, was a free commodity.

Kyle watched him with an appreciative gaze. While he certainly would never have been Kyle's first choice in a lover there was no denying he was good looking, if you were into that cocky, roguish type. His pants clung low to his hips in a flattering way, and Kyle knew if he hadn't been wearing a shirt at the moment his hip bones would be sharply visible and defined under his tan, scarred skin. Of course, he wasn't wearing much of a shirt, the wife beater was skin tight and showed off his muscled chest and bulging biceps quite well.

He was quite a bit hairier than Stan was, if not naturally at least by virtue of laziness. To be fair, Kyle had no idea how truly hairy Stan may be, the man had been regularly manscaping his body for years so that not even a hint of a happy trail was visible. He wasn't sure if he did that because he didn't like the feel of the hair himself or he thought Kyle would be disgusted by his body hair. To be truthful, the patch of curly hair on Christophe's chest and the blooming mess of kinky pubic hair covering his crotch and leading up his hard stomach were two of Kyle's favorite features on Christophe. When the larger man would grab Kyle by a fistful of curly red hair on the back of his head and force his cock down the Jew's throat, the mere scent of manly musk emanating from the man's coarse hair was enough to put Kyle in a euphoric daze. Of course, giving Christophe head was also an erotic experience in itself, often leaving Kyle wet-eyed and sniffling as the Frenchman's cock left him struggling for breath.

When Stan asked for head, he was always polite and inquisitive and never forceful about it. He also took forever to come and left Kyle bored and daydreaming in attempt to get away from the ache in his jaw.

The thought of having Christophe in his mouth, or rather the thought of being forced to swallow Christophe's length down his throat without any opinion or choice on the matter, caused a stirring in Kyle's pants.

"Why are you still dressed," the Frenchman finally acknowledged Kyle as he fixed himself a bourbon on the rocks from the half empty bottle he pulled from the backpack.

Kyle climbed carefully to his feet, careful to keep an aura of dignity and control in the act. He stared at Christophe with his chin slightly raised, but not enough to make it look like he had to tilt his head up to meet the man's eyes. Christophe was actually a good six inches taller than Kyle and if they were standing right next to each other he would've had to tilt his head back to meet his eyes. It made him feel small and weak and overpowered, which was nice at times but inconvenient when he wanted to be taken seriously.

"I wanted to talk to you. I thought maybe we'd accomplish that better if I were to keep my pants on." Even if he was rock hard in said pants, at least they were still a barrier, all be it a rather flimsy one.

"So talk." Christophe stowed the bottle back into his bag and leaned the bag against the wall, being careful to not damage his beloved shovel. Despite the general air of dirtiness that followed him, his shovel glowed silver and shiny as if it had never been used. Kyle knew that shovel was at least five years old and Christophe made use of it at least several times a week.

"I think it's time we stop meeting up like this." There, he said it

"Oh, it's that talk," Christophe took a long swallow from his glass. Kyle watched the muscles in his throat work, feeling his own throat tighten with desire. He wasn't quite sure if he was wishing his own dick was going down that throat or if he wished to be the one doing the swallowing. Christophe lowered the glass with a contented sigh. "We don't need to have this talk Kyle; we've had it at least a dozen times before."

"I mean it this time." As usual. He knew that deep down Christophe was probably laughing at him. The asshole.

"No you don't." At least he didn't sound amused.

"Yes I do!" Great, his voice was cracking again. It always did when he went shrill.

"No, you don't. And even if you did I've heard your little speech so many times I could recite it back to you. So there, we're done talking, undress." Christophe did a little twirl with his fingers as if he expected Kyle to give him a strip tease. Knowing Christophe, he might.

"What if I told you I only came to talk and we weren't going to have sex?" Of course Kyle had no intention of not having sex with Christophe, but he didn't have to know that. Maybe threatening this immediate abstinence would be enough to get the other man to take him seriously.

"Then you would've just called me on the phone," Christophe shrugged off the question. Damn him, he was always so sure of himself. Kyle hated it. It made him want to slap the man across the face, and then kiss him. "You wouldn't have bothered to drive all the way to North Park just to tell me you didn't want to see me anymore. Now quit acting like a little emo bitch. I've had a hard couple of days and I just want to fuck you. "

"In a minute," Kyle insisted. "Stan and my anniversary is coming up this weekend. We're driving to Vegas this weekend; we rented a room for the whole week. When I come back me and you are not meeting up anymore. This time I mean it. Stan and I have been together for fifteen years. I'm the only person he's been with. Before you came along he was the only one I'd been with. We mean too much to each other to just throw it away for…this." Kyle gestured around the tiny hotel room with a broad sweep of his arm. "Maybe I was feeling a bit of the fourteen year itch but this needs to stop."

Christophe took another swig from his glass as Kyle spoke. Some bourbon dripped down at corner of his mouth, following a path down through the week's worth of stubble on his chin. He wiped it away but it left his skin looking wet and shiny beneath the stubble. His eyes looked intense and dark, centered on Kyle's face, but he waited until Kyle was finished before he spoke.

"Alright, I won't rent us a room next week," the larger man replied, as if he hadn't heard past the first couple of sentences. "Now come here."

He reached out and grabbed Kyle around the waist with the arm that wasn't cradling his drink and pulled him tightly against him, pulling him into a sloppy, passionate kiss. Kyle gave in for the time being. Christophe's mouth was very cold and wet and tasted sharply of liquor and Christophe's own unique taste, heavily accented with the undertones of chocolate and smoke.

'Kissing Christophe is like tasting wine,' Kyle thought dimly to himself. Except those labels on the back of bottles of wine with their mentions of blackberries and tobacco and caramel never actually came through to him while the tastes of Christophe were obvious and distinct.

Christophe's mouth was warm now, and when he pulled away he left Kyle wanting more. He allowed the Frenchman to shove him back down onto the bed but slapped him across the face when he reached down to undo the button on Kyle's pants. Christophe slapped him across the face with twice the amount of force in return and Kyle let out a lusty groan.

On the way home from their Friday afternoon liaison Kyle stopped to pick up a few last items for the trip. He also gathered up all his travel sized supplies of hygienic products, toothpaste and hair products, and threw them in the trash can outside the mall's entrance. He wouldn't need them anymore. He wouldn't have to bring his own products to this hotel. He didn't have to worry about smelling like hotel soap and he wouldn't have to brush the taste of bourbon and smoke out of his mouth before he went home and kissed his boyfriend on the lips.

Walking up the walkway to the house with bags bulging with snacks, drinks, and audio books, Kyle felt optimistic. Like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. He didn't have a worry in the world now. He was done with Christophe. He didn't have to worry about being caught or making it home on time or hiding any evidence of the encounters. He didn't have to worry about work either. He was off for almost two whole weeks. The worry and guilt he'd felt for the last year was just gone. Like that. This was going to be the best vacation ever.

There was a piece of paper taped to the front door. Kyle set down his bags and reached out to rip the paper off the door. It was probably another invitation to a neighbor's barbecue, or maybe one of those "Repent or face an eternity in hell" messages he received from the friendly church down the street. They'd been bothering them for years, ever since they realized the two men living together were more than just roommates.

He unfolded the paper and read the words. And then continued to stare at the letters on the paper in confusion, not quite getting what he was seeing.

'I know what you and the Mole are doing. Answer your phone Saturday at 3 pm or your boyfriend will find out. – Your Secret Observer'

Shit.

The end?