Rain

Kyle did not like rain.

Sure, he understood that it was a necessary aspect of the environment and the various cycles within the ecosystem. But that didn't mean he had to like it - or, more specifically, its immediate effects on his surroundings.

There had always been the hair thing, how it would frizz and stand on end with the slightest hint of humidity, though it was infinitely worse in his childhood. Back then, he was loathe to have any product touch the wild mass of curls on his head; he'd much rather stuff the ungodly mess under his trusty ushanka. But eventually he'd outgrown his dear hat, which had nearly disintegrated from age by that point anyway, and gel started looking like a preferable option to replacing his headgear.

Now, Kyle raked a hand through the curls framing his face as he glared out the passenger window. His gel was starting to lose hold, and that just pissed him off even more than he'd already been.

The main reason he was pissed was because he was stuck in a stuffy car, windows rolled up tight against the pounding rain, while Stan muttered and cursed at the damned jalopy's uncanny knack for getting stuck in the mud.

"I told you not to take the back roads."

"There's nothing but back roads!"

Kyle just rolled his eyes at Stan's all too reasonable argument and snapped his gum in annoyance, though the cinnamon flavor had vanished about ten miles back. God, he hated this car. Randy had given his old car to Stan as a gift when he'd been accepted into college, but really, it might have been more appropriate to call it a curse. He had jokingly dubbed it the Beast after the rather bumpy ride up to Denver for their first term on campus, but now the name had become a veritable curse in and of itself.

Stan's foot kept slamming on the gas, in some vain hope that it might have a different effect than the past fifty attempts. Wheels revved and squealed and spat mud everywhere, but the damned car absolutely refused to budge. Finally, he let out a defeated groan.

"Fuck. We're gonna have to push it."

Oh no. Oh no, he did not. No. Fucking. Way.

"We?"

"Do you want to spend the night in the middle of buttfucking nowhere?"

"South Park is buttfucking nowhere."

"You know what I mean!"

Kyle just crossed his arms and gave Stan his best 'you have got to be shitting me' look.

And so Stan growled as he fumbled with his seatbelt. "Fine. Stay in here, but when I can't move the fucking thing, you'd better come out and help me. Prissy bitch..."

"What was that?"

But Stan had already disappeared into the muggy storm; his only response was the slam of the door. With no one left to take out his frustration on, Kyle muttered to himself that the damned asshole was gonna get himself filthy and probably catch cold and then blame him for it. Peachy.

Grudgingly, he clambered over to the driver's side, ready to hit the gas as soon as Stan indicated he was ready. When he saw the other nod through the rear view mirror, he gunned it.

All that did was spin up more mud, which hit Stan and knocked him off his feet.

Kyle rubbed his palm over his face. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Stan?" He shouted. When no response came, he tried again. "Stan, you okay?" Still, nothing.

"God dammit." He suspected that Stan was just trying to get him out of the damn car, which pissed him off. But if Stan really was hurt, well, Kyle would still be pissed off, because it was a fucking stupid idea in the first place.

He climbed from the car, and instantly what little control his weakening gel had held over his hair was lost. All he could do was growl and spit his gum into the churning mud at his feet, kicking angrily at it with the toe of his boot.

"Stan, you asshole, you'd better not be hurt or I'm gonna kill you," he grumbled as he walked the length of the car towards the trunk.

When he reached the rear fender, he expected to find Stan knocked on his ass in the mud. What he didn't expect was finding himself knocked back against the Beast.

"What the fu-" He didn't have time to finish that thought; hungry, smirking lips devoured his own, pressing and demanding compliance. They didn't need to demand much, though, since the half-formed words allowed for easy access.

Eventually Stan pulled back for a breath, with that smirk of his still in place.

"You needed to lighten up. The bitchiness, man, it's been driving me nuts."

For once, Kyle ignored the frizzing effect the rain held on his hair and just enjoyed the feel of callused hands running through the tangled strands. He ignored the mud clinging to Stan's clothes, just felt the other's body pressing and sliding against his own, felt the warmth and the friction and didn't pay the downpour any mind.

Maybe the rain wasn't so bad after all.