*author's note: look I didn't want me to write this either okay? this is heavily self-indulgent kyman smut but there's also plot so it's not *completely* shameless, I promise.
it's a south park fic so expect canon-typical antisemitism and homophobia (not too much though). they're all ~17 in this.
oooooooooo
It's right after lunch period on a Monday afternoon, and the day has been entirely uneventful. That is, until Cartman decides to have a fucking spazz attack out of nowhere.
"YOU GUYS!" Cartman screams, running down the hallway and flailing a piece of paper around like a maniac. "OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS!"
"Oh no," Kyle grumbles.
"Jesus Christ, Cartman, what is it?" Stan asks.
"Dudes…" Cartman says when he finally comes to a stop, resting his hands on his knees and panting. Once he gets his breath, he holds up the piece of paper with one hand. "I think I can win us five thousand dollars."
Kenny sputters. "F-Five thousand?"
"YES!" Cartman yells. "And it's gonna be the easiest fuckin' score ever." A grin takes up his whole face as he cackles.
Kyle narrows his eyes, already anticipating bullshit.
"Okay, how can you get five thousand dollars?" he asks. "I'm assuming it involves destruction of property."
The last scheme Cartman tried to pull off involved an elaborate sabotage of the ski lifts at Aspen, which needless to say did not end up working in Cartman's favor. Turns out it's difficult to pickpocket people who are suspended thirty feet up in the air.
"Actually, Kyle, it doesn't," Cartman says matter-of-factly. "I swear to God, it's gonna be so fuckin' epic."
Kenny, already onboard, yells a little "Woohoo!" and gives Cartman a slap on the back.
Cartman grins. "Knew you'd be up for it, you white trash lil' shit," he says affectionately. Kenny glares and punches him in the arm, hard. Cartman winces but his smile quickly returns.
Stan tentatively approaches Cartman. "Okay… so what is this?" he asks, grabbing the paper out of Cartman's hand. He scans it over for a few seconds and then looks at Cartman in disbelief. "C'mon dude, seriously?"
"I'm super seriously," he replies.
Kyle, begrudgingly curious, grabs the paper out of Stan's hand to read it too, and his eyes widen with shock.
It's a pamphlet for a local gay bar in Fairplay, one which the entire school knows Mr. Garrison frequents despite his vehement denial. The paper is decorated in bold, flowery font and rainbow colors all along the edges, advertising the establishment's first ever official drag show.
And, sure enough, it says that the winner of the best performance gets a five thousand dollar prize.
"Dude," is all Kyle can say, stunned.
"Right?!" Cartman exclaims. "It's like shooting monkeys in a barrel!"
Kenny raises an eyebrow and mumbles, "...Isn't it fish in a barrel?" but Cartman ignores him.
Kyle and Stan give each other a look of mutual confusion.
"Cartman, what exactly are you getting at here?" Stan asks.
Cartman rolls his eyes. "God, Stan, keep up, will you? I'm gonna compete in the show, win by a fuckin' landslide, and get that fuckin' cash!" he says, like it's completely obvious. "The queers in this hick-ass county don't stand a chance. All I need is some collateral to get my act off the ground, and I'll cut you all a slice of the pot. Whaddya say?!"
Stan and Kyle stare at Cartman with furrowed brows.
"Collateral?" Stan asks. Cartman scoffs.
"Ugh, c'mon, you guys!" he says, holding his arms out pleadingly. "It's not gonna be that much, plus the payout is gonna be totally fuckin' worth it."
It's quiet for a beat. Murmurs of students having other conversations bounce off the linoleum in the hallway.
Kyle decides to skip the song and dance and get to the point.
"What do you want, Cartman?" he deadpans.
Cartman presses his lips together in contemplation, shifting awkwardly on his feet.
"...I need two hundred dollars," he finally concedes.
The other boys stare at him. Even Kenny looks less enthused.
Cartman continues, "And I know Kenny's broke as usual but I need to borrow his princess wig for it."
Kyle sighs and pinches his nose in frustration. "Cartman, how can you possibly not have two hundred dollars? That's like chump change for you."
Cartman huffs and sputters, "Well, not all of us can use black magic to rig our financial portfolios like the Jews, now can we?"
Kyle glares daggers at him and growls under his breath. Stan and Kenny just stare expectantly.
"... I spent all my money on League loot boxes," Cartman mumbles quickly. "But that's besides the point! What matters is that you're all gonna be a thousand bucks richer!"
"Wait a second, why do we only get a thousand? That's not an even split," Stan points out.
Cartman rolls his eyes. "'Cuz I'm gonna be doing all the fuckin' work, Stan. I'm being generous here. I just need your help to get the ball rolling."
Kyle has to give him that. This is probably the most money Cartman's ever offered them to be involved in one of his schemes, definitely a deviation from his usual overt selfishness. He must really want to do this if he's gonna offer them that much cash.
After an awkward few seconds of silence, Stan finally asks the obvious question.
"Uh, Cartman, don't you think that performing at a drag show might be a little bit… too gay? Like… a lot a bit too gay?"
Cartman shrugs. "Five thousand bucks is five thousand bucks. I don't give a shit."
"You don't care?" Kyle asks in disbelief.
"Nope," Cartman says.
Kyle runs an exasperated hand down his face. Leave it to Cartman to put aside his blatant homophobia for a quick buck.
"What are you even gonna do for the show?" Kenny asks.
Cartman smiles wickedly, drumming his fingertips together.
"Oh, you'll see. But I swear on my life, it's gonna be sweet."
The three of them stare at Cartman for a beat before turning their backs to him and talking amongst themselves in a football huddle, ignoring Cartman's indignant 'what the fuck?!'
"What do you guys think?" Stan asks.
"This should go without saying, but no. Absolutely not," Kyle says.
Kenny's expression turns thoughtful and he replies, "I don't know, it's not the worst thing he's come up with."
"Yeah, anything's gotta beat that disaster Aspen heist," Stan says.
"HEY I CAN HEAR YOU!" Cartman yells.
Ignoring him, Kyle rubs his eyes, exasperated.
"There isn't even a guarantee he'll pay us back. He's probably just trying to scam us out of two hundred bucks. You guys are really gonna take him at his word?"
Kenny shrugs. "I mean, that flier is legit. And he's a good performer."
Kyle sighs, but doesn't deny it.
Stan thinks for a second before replying, "Kenny's right. I honestly don't think anyone else in the county could beat him. He's a flamboyant narcissist with a God complex. Drag shows are like… his fucking calling."
Kyle shakes his head. For once, he thinks that maybe Cartman's confidence isn't misplaced in this situation, but he's still not entirely sure.
"This isn't a good idea," Kyle says.
"Guys, level with me for a second, okay?" Kenny interjects, holding his palms up in an innocent gesture. "I kinda need the cash. Karen's birthday is coming up and I wanna get her something nice for once."
It's quiet for a few seconds, then Stan nods.
"Alright, that cinches it for me. I'm in. I'll take that chance for you, Kenny," Stan says, patting him on the shoulder. Kenny smiles.
Stan turns to Kyle.
"Kyle?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.
Kenny's giving him these over-exaggerated pleading puppy-dog eyes that would be funny if they weren't so effective at melting Kyle's heart and making him go against his better judgment. Kyle groans and shakes his head to himself.
"Goddammit. Okay fine," he concedes. "But I'm doing it for you, not Cartman."
"HEY!" Cartman yells, apparently still listening.
Kenny smiles wider. "Awesome. Thanks, Kyle."
They break the football huddle and turn to face Cartman again.
"Okay. We'll give you the two hundred bucks," Stan agrees.
"Sweeeet." Cartman grins.
"And my wig's buried somewhere in my closet but I'll find it," Kenny says.
Cartman grins wider and fist-pumps the air multiple times. "Knew I could count on you guys."
Kyle rolls his eyes. "This is gonna be a disaster," he grumbles.
Cartman gasps in fake shock, bringing a hand to his chest. "Ye of little faith, Kyle! I swear to God, you're gonna eat your words when I bring the fuckin' house down on Saturday."
Kyle stares at him, unamused, then turns and walks down the hall without another word.
"...Well, I'm going to class," Stan says awkwardly as he follows Kyle.
"Me too," says Kenny. They head in the direction of their respective classrooms, leaving Cartman standing alone.
"I need the money by Thursday, dickbags!"
"Alright, fine!" Stan shouts over his shoulder. "Now fucking go to class, Cartman!"
"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!" Cartman yells back, pausing for an awkward second before he walks in the direction of his fifth period class.
Saturday afternoon comes around and Kyle is fucking losing it. He sits in his idle car and drums his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. Kenny's riding shotgun, Stan's in the backseat, and Cartman is still in his house doing God-knows-what and making them late for the thing he signed himself up for, which they all agreed to see for insurance purposes. Kyle doesn't trust Cartman not to just run off with their cash. Plus he's the only one of them with a car right now so he's stuck being chauffeur.
"If he doesn't come out in the next two minutes, I'm out of here," Kyle says.
"He said he had to find the last part of his costume," Stan says, reading a recent text from their group chat.
"Ugh, whatever."
A minute and forty seconds pass (Kyle's been counting) and the man of the hour finally comes traipsing out of his front door and gets into the car.
"You're not even dressed?!" Kyle yells once he's inside. He's wearing a hoodie and jeans, which is definitely not a drag outfit. "What the hell took you so long?"
Cartman throws his duffel bag onto the backseat, landing mostly on top of Stan's lap, which earns Cartman an annoyed glare. Cartman clicks his tongue. "Beauty and art take time, Kyle. Uncultured swine like you wouldn't get it."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Kyle mutters under his breath. He puts the car in drive and starts heading in the direction out of their neighborhood. "Put your seatbelt on, fatass."
Cartman tsks his tongue. "Wow, that sand in your vagina's really doing a number on you today, isn't it?"
"Just put it on!" Kyle snaps. Cartman grumbles but complies. He glares at Kyle through the rear-view mirror.
"And, eff why eye, the queens all get ready together in the dressing room before drag shows. Everybody knows that Kahl," Cartman says, exaggerating his name in that annoying faux-southern drawl.
Kyle seethes. Why the hell did he agree to this shit? Oh yeah. Kenny and his goddamn puppy-dog eyes. Kyle looks over at Kenny, who shrugs.
"It'll be fine, dude, relax," Stan says, reaching over to pat his shoulder reassuringly. "Cartman knows what he's doing."
"Damn straight!" Cartman says.
"Whatever," Kyle says. He tries to focus on the road so he doesn't crash into something.
It's quiet for a few moments, then Kenny speaks up.
"So are you gonna tell us what your show's gonna be?" he asks. Kenny sounds genuinely curious, and Kyle can't deny he's been wondering about it too. His ears perk up against his will.
"Pffft, and ruin the surprise? Not a chance. You'll just have to see it for yourself."
"Aw man, c'mon," Kenny says. "Not even, like, a hint?"
"Nope."
Jeez, Cartman's being really stubborn with this, isn't he?
"Weak, dude," Kenny says.
"Patience, my dear Kenneth," Cartman says sagely, resting a hand on Kenny's shoulder. "Your mind will be blown soon enough."
"I hope you don't mean that literally," Kenny says.
"What?"
"Nevermind."
"You're sure they're not gonna check IDs in there, Cartman?" Stan asks.
Cartman blows a raspberry. "Uh, no. They're a tiny-ass bar in a tiny-ass town. They're lucky to have people spending money on drinks in the first place."
"Alright, fair enough," Stan says with a shrug.
They get to the bar, a hole-in-the-wall place called The Silver Queen. It's pretty unassuming from the outside and Kyle would have thought it was a regular bar if not for the various gay pride flags hung in the front window. Honestly it's impressive that a conservative county like theirs has enough customers to keep a gay bar in business. They don't check their IDs like Cartman said, but they still have to pay a cover charge which Cartman neglected to mention to anyone, so Cartman reluctantly spots Kenny for it since he doesn't have cash. As they descend the steps to the main entrance, the place is surprisingly bigger than it looks.
So much for a tiny-ass bar. The place is crowded as hell. The overall square footage is on the small side, but there must be nearly a hundred people in the building, some of them more obviously gay than others if Kyle were to guess based on appearance alone, but there's a relatively even mix of men and women. It's got a rustic interior with exposed brick and wood beams, but with chic modern furniture and lighting. The stage is also small, a rounded wooden outcropping in the middle of the room with velvety red curtains.
"Alright guys, I gotta go backstage, bye," Cartman says in a rush, walking away from his friends.
"Break a leg!" Kenny shouts. Cartman gives him a thumbs up without turning around, then disappears into the crowd.
"Did he seem nervous to you?" Stan asks.
"What? No way," Kyle says.
"I don't know, man, he was kinda jumpy as soon as we walked in."
"C'mon, he'll be fine. It's Cartman," Kenny says.
"Yeah, you're probably right," Stan agrees, but he still looks unsure. "Well, let's get some drinks. There's no way I'm gonna be able to watch Cartman dancing around dressed as a woman sober."
Stan and Kenny start off strong by going right to whiskey shots. Kyle's driving so he gets a coke and laments that he has to be the only one sober for this, but it's still fun hanging out with them as always. They take turns pointing out random patrons and guessing if they're gay or straight, but the game devolves quickly since Kenny automatically rates anyone they pick as a gay. It makes Kyle and Stan laugh every time because his justification is "everyone is at least a little bit gay." And yeah, he's probably right, but Kyle tries not to think about the implications of that too hard.
Twenty minutes later, the stage lights flash and the background music fades out. The crowd looks to the stage and the red curtains part, then out walks a drag queen carrying a microphone. She's tall, even taller with the platform heels she's wearing, with long red hair and a sparkly red floor-length evening gown, very reminiscent of Jessica Rabbit. She takes center stage and smiles at the crowd.
"Helloooo and good evening!" she greets cheerfully, making a sweeping gesture with her arm. The audience applauds. "Ladies, gentlemen, and those that lieth betwixt… Welcome to The Silver Queen's first ever drag night!"
More applause. Kenny does a loud whistle with two fingers.
"My name is Lana Rousse and I will be your mistress of ceremonies," she says with a low curtsy. "Who's ready to have a good time tonight?!"
Even more applause. There are a decent number of louder obnoxious "WOOH!"s and "YEAH!"s shouted from a group on the far side of the bar, whose members are clearly already plastered. Kyle can't help but judge them because come on, it's only 9pm.
"As you all know, the queen who takes first place in tonight's lip synch contest wins five thousand dollars," the MC continues. "So y'all better bring your fuckin' A games!"
Lana hypes the audience up a bit longer before announcing the first contestant and walking back behind the curtain. The first queen takes the stage, greeted by thunderous applause, and the show begins.
A few acts later, when the cheering dies down, Kenny nudges Stan and Kyle with his elbow and points to the stage.
"Hey, I think Cartman's up next," he says.
"Oh boy. Here we go," Stan says with appropriate trepidation.
The MC gestures towards the stage with a little flourish of her hand.
"And now, my lovely audience... we have our fifth performance of the evening! She's mean, she's green, and ready for the motherfuckin' drag scene! Let's all give it up for the lovely and beautiful… Madam Irene!"
The crowd applauds and the stage goes dark. Kyle hears the click-clack of heels walking on the wood and can barely make out Cartman's silhouette as he takes center stage. A hush falls over the room.
In the silence, Kyle can feel the anticipation from the crowd. None of the other performers have done a mysterious opening like this, so it's already standing out.
The song begins and Kyle recognizes it immediately from the first few notes. It's Bad Romance by Lady Gaga.
Of course Cartman would pick something by her. Kyle often forgets that Cartman's actually an unironic fan of hers despite his usual pseudo-snobby disdain for contemporary pop music.
As the intro plays, smoke fills the stage from both sides and a dim overhead spotlight shines on Cartman, but he's still mostly silhouetted. He's seated in a metallic chair facing stage right, legs crossed. His head is bowed, one arm bent and slung over the back, the other holding the fake mic up to his face. Then, when the synth beat starts, the spotlight flashes suddenly brighter, almost blinding.
Kyle squints and blinks. As soon as his vision adjusts, his jaw drops to the fucking floor.
He thought he'd know what to expect when it came to Cartman in drag. He's seen him crossdress on multiple occasions, including on live television. It's usually a half-assed and childish display that Cartman makes up for with unwavering confidence, cussing out and threatening violence towards anyone who says anything insulting about him and how he presents himself.
But… that is not what this is.
This is Cartman like he's never seen him before, and Kyle's brain fucking blue-screens.
He's wearing Kenny's princess wig, obviously. But he must have done some work to it because it has more volume than he remembers, the long, blonde waves cascading down onto his shoulders. Kyle's standing close enough he can see his face is painted with a dramatic black shadow and eyeliner drawn out to sharp points, plus a shitload of glitter around his eyes that sparkles in the harsh light. Huge false lashes are glued to his lids, and they're so thick and long they could probably whip up a strong wind if he fluttered them enough.
His costume is an elaborate and outrageously bedazzled corset-leotard, black on one vertical half and white on the other, with diagonal black and white strips of fabric cross-hatched over each other in a way that immediately draws your eye to the contrast.
The most shocking thing about it, though, is the fucking neckline. It plunges down his chest in a deep V, and he's got… Uh. He's got…
Fuck. There's no other way to say it. He's got tits. They're pushed up and fill the corset enough to have actual cleavage, pale skin touching skin to form a thin line, and Kyle can't help but stare at the light from the gems dancing over his chest. Kyle feels heat rush to his face.
And Cartman's legs. Holy fuck. He's wearing fucking fishnet stockings with black high-heel leather boots that go all the way up to his knees. They're not kitten heels either. They look like they're at least four inches high and sharp enough to be able to stab somebody with them.
Needless to say, Cartman has seriously upped his game.
In retrospect, Kyle should have expected something like this given how confident Cartman was about winning, but it's still a massive fucking shock. One of the biggest of his life, and that's saying something. The gears in Kyle's head are turning as fast as possible to process all of it but he's unable to keep up with his own thoughts.
Before Kyle can get his brain working properly again, Cartman is bolting up from the chair, then turning to kick it over with a hard push from the ball of his foot. It lands with a loud clang, and the audience applauds and cheers.
Guess people always love violence.
Cartman stands tall and starts lip-synching the first verse.
I want your ugly, I want your disease
I want your everything as long as it's free
I want your love
Love, love, love, I want your love.
Cartman takes long strides in time with the beat across the stage. He's lip-synching to the song pretty much perfectly, the fire-engine red lipstick on his mouth only making it more dramatic and noticeable. He scans the crowd with an intense stare only made more intense by the darkness around his eyes.
How the fuck can he walk so smoothly in those ridiculous heels? Kyle's eyes wander downwards, and he finds himself staring slack-jawed at the fishnet stockings, how the material criss-crosses in a delicate pattern over the pale skin of Cartman's thighs. Kyle suddenly feels his throat dry up.
Oh, Jesus.
Kyle forces himself to look away and turns towards Kenny and Stan. Their eyes are still wide with surprise, but Kenny's cheering like a madman and Stan has this disbelieving smile on his face.
Stan elbows Kyle playfully.
"Dude, this is insane!" Stan yells over the music. "Are you seeing this shit right now?! I can't believe that's fucking Cartman up there!"
"Y-yeah," Kyle replies, back to staring at Cartman's legs. "Crazy, man."
Cartman is doing these fluid and surprisingly graceful little hand movements as he walks, and Kyle suddenly notices his nails are long, jet black, and sharp like fucking claws. Gaudy gem bracelets on both his wrists catch the light with every motion and it's oddly mesmerizing.
With a quick heel-turn, Cartman struts back along in the other direction until he stops at center stage when the song gets to the pre-chorus.
The chorus finally hits, and he full-on busts a fucking move as the lights overhead change to shifting multicolors and another wave of smoke fills the stage.
I want your love and I want your revenge
You and me could write a bad romance.
He dances with pointed poses landing on each beat, arms flailing in all directions and legs stomping in time. At one point he does another heel turn and looks back at the audience over his shoulder, long hair whipping around his face. Someone in the crowd wolf-whistles.
The longer the song goes on, the expression on Cartman's face only gets more intense and he keeps dancing like a fucking maniac.
And… he's good.
Like, really really fucking good.
Kyle is certainly no expert but the coordination, the timing, the energy, it's all there. He's a fucking talented dancer. Kyle still can't wrap his mind around it for the life of him. Either way, Cartman is completely destroying this performance, and everyone in the crowd knows it.
The song continues, and Cartman keeps dancing his ass off, keeps mouthing along with the lyrics perfectly. He knows every word.
I want your horror, I want your design
'Cause you're a criminal as long as you're mine
I want your love
Love, love, love, I want your love
The crowd is going fucking insane. They're eating up his performance like it's candy, with shitloads of people holding up their hands to offer tips. Several times during the performance, Cartman approaches the edge of the stage and gracefully takes the money out of people's hands, often with a wink and an extra flourishing gesture towards the tipper, before stuffing the bills into various places in his corset. At one point, Kyle sees someone hand him a fucking twenty and Kyle does a double-take because Jesus Christ, that's the biggest tip he's seen anyone give all night.
He squints and confirms to himself that yup, that's fucking Andrew Jackson on that bill. Holy shit.
The song gets to the "walk, walk, fashion baby" part and Cartman starts doing a runway strut up from the back of the stage to the front and back again. His legs are doing that weird cross-over thing that models do with each step, all the while moving his arms to different dramatic poses, like framing his face, pointing in all directions, and running his hands slowly down the sides of his corset, accentuating the sloping hourglass figure he's managed to stuff himself into.
Kyle swallows around the dryness in his throat.
Cartman faces away from the crowd as the song gets to the final bridge.
The multicolored lights stop suddenly and form a single white spotlight on Cartman.
I want your love, and I want your revenge
I want your love, I don't wanna be friends
Cartman turns back around and the crowd gasps. He's clutching his abdomen dramatically and stumbling forward, and Jesus Christ!
There's… there's fucking BLOOD all over his hands. Dark red drips copiously through his fingers and onto the floor.
Kyle's hands fly up to cover his mouth in shock. He hears Kenny yell a panicked "No!" and Stan is frozen in place with wide eyes.
Holy shit, holy shit, holy fucking shit! How the hell is he bleeding? What even happened?!
For an insane second, Kyle prepares to jump onto the stage to help him, but then he realizes that Cartman's been lip-synching all the while.
He blinks rapidly in disbelief as it dawns on him.
This is part of the goddamn performance.
The crowd must realize it right about the same time Kyle does, because everyone explodes into the loudest applause he's heard all night, screaming and cheering and pumping their fists in the air, camera lights flashing rapidly as Cartman falls to his knees.
People really fucking do love violence.
The lip-synch continues.
J'veux ton amour, et je veux ta revanche
J'veux ton amour, I don't wanna be friends.
Cartman reaches out to the crowd with blood-stained hands.
I don't wanna be friends.
He falls forward, clutching his abdomen. When Cartman looks up, he reaches out again and his dark eyes somehow find Kyle in the crowd, staring at him with a laser focus. Kyle is frozen in place, because Cartman has one of the most intensely desperate expressions he's ever seen him make. A shiver runs up his spine.
I don't wanna be friends
Want your bad romance
Want your bad romance!
Cartman collapses to the side, and the lights and music cut off. The entire building is dark, silent enough to hear a pin drop.
Then, the crowd completely fucking loses it. There's screaming and wolf-whistling and applause so loud it feels like a wall of noise smacking you across the head. The sounds of the room bounce off the walls and blend together into a chaotic cacophony.
Dazed and unbelievably impressed, Kyle starts to clap too, because what else can he do? The applause goes on for a long while.
Eventually the lights come back on and Cartman's standing tall again, his entire upper body splattered with fake blood. He's grinning wickedly from ear to ear.
As he takes in the applause, Kyle can practically see his ego inflating to the size of the fucking Hindenburg.
Cartman holds both arms out and alternates between deep bows and demure curtsies, turning to face different sections of the crowd each time.
"Thank you Fairplay! You guys fucking rock!" Cartman screams, flashing double rock-n'-roll signs. It's extremely jarring hearing that familiar faux-southern accent come out of the completely different person he's turned himself into.
With one final toss of his hair, Cartman walks offstage, heels clacking as he goes.
The MC gets on the mic and says, "Well then! Not bad for a debut performance, am I right girls, gays and theys?!"
The crowd cheers and screams. It goes on for a little too long and the MC laughs awkwardly.
"Not sure how we're gonna follow that up, but we're gonna take a short break before the next performance. Get some drinks, take a piss, make out with someone, whatever your little hearts desire. We'll be right back!" She places the mic back into its stand and walks behind the curtain.
"Holy fucking shit, guys…" Kenny says with a laugh, completely stunned but smiling.
"Yeah, what the actual fuck?" Stan balks. "Where the hell did that even come from?! I mean he's obviously gonna win but Jesus fucking Christ, that was insane!"
Kyle doesn't respond. He can't tear his gaze away from the velvet curtain, at the space where Cartman was right before he disappeared backstage. Stan notices, of course, and shakes Kyle's shoulder a little.
"Hey Kyle, you okay?" he asks.
Kyle blinks stupidly and turns towards Stan.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he says, quiet and monotone. "I'm, uh. I'm gonna go to the bathroom."
Stan gives a concerned look for half a second, then he nods.
"Okay dude. We'll be here."
In a daze, Kyle manages to make his way through the sea of people to the restroom in the far corner of the bar. He goes straight to the sink and splashes water on his face to try to snap himself out of whatever it is that has taken over his brain.
He feels…weird. Really fucking weird. Like there are bees swarming in his stomach, heat pooling in his limbs. Like he wants to jump out of his skin or scream or bury himself in a hole in the ground, maybe all three at once.
It's a feeling he refuses to put a name to because of what it would mean. He just can't.
His reflection in the mirror stares back at him, face flushed and breathing heavily.
"What the fuck…" he whispers aloud to himself. He swallows thickly, then cups his hand to take a few drinks of water from the running sink.
Some more people file into the bathroom and Kyle snaps out of his daze enough to actually go pee and wash his hands. He joins up with Stan and Kenny again right before the next performance begins, but at this point he's not paying attention.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur. Kyle can't see, can't hear anything besides the memories in his head about what just happened. He feels out of it, almost drunk, but he hasn't even had anything to drink tonight. Luckily there aren't that many acts left.
At the end of the last performance, the judges panel deliberates for a few minutes before announcing the results of the contest.
Cartman gets first prize. Of course.
The show-off of the hour comes back onstage, most of the fake blood from before washed off, and he accepts the ridiculously large cardboard check from the MC. The thing has gotta be six feet long and three feet high so Cartman can barely hold it up, but he is eating up the attention like candy. He reaps the reward of his efforts with superficial humility, posing for pictures and clearly having the time of his life.
The crowd cheers, and the whole time Kyle feels like he's underwater.
And he can't stop looking at Cartman's legs.
Stan, Kenny, and Kyle eventually meet up with Cartman by the entrance as the event dies down and the crowd thins out significantly. When they see him, Kyle realizes with horror that Cartman didn't change out of his goddamn drag costume.
Cartman grins with all his teeth showing, and Kyle quickly averts his gaze. He can already feel his face burning.
"You guyyyys," Cartman sing-songs, wagging the giant check back and forth between his hands. "Guess who just won five-thousand doooollars?!"
"Hell fucking yeah, man!" Kenny says, giving Cartman a high-five.
"You fucking killed it, dude," Stan says with genuine praise, also giving him a high-five but he kind of misses because he's plastered from all the whiskey. "Where the hell did this outfit come from?!"
"Oh, this?" Cartman says, striking a pose with a hand on his hip. "Just a little something I threw together. I told you I needed collateral, Stan. Drag ain't fucking cheap."
"Yeah, you look hot," Kenny says.
Kyle chokes on his own spit and starts coughing.
Stan shoots Kenny a look and yells a scandalized "Dude!"
"Well, he does! I know you're all thinking it, I just have enough balls to say it out loud." Kenny shrugs, completely nonchalant about it.
Kyle gets his breath back, and he knows his own face must be beet red at this point. For some goddamn reason he can't bring himself to look at Cartman directly now that he's so close, but Kyle keeps catching glimpses of his skin and the gems of his costume sparkling in his periphery. He feels like he's gonna scream.
Weirdly enough, Cartman blushes at Kenny's compliment.
"Why thank you, Kenny! I am, indeed, a hot piece of ass," Cartman says with a little flourish of his hand, then he narrows his eyes and scratches his face. "But Jesus, try to keep it in your pants will you? I've had enough gay shit for one night."
They all make their way outside to the parking lot. Finally, Cartman addresses Kyle and gives him an expectant shit-eating smile.
"Well, Kyle, I certainly proved you wrong now didn't I?" he teases, pretending to check his freakishly long fake nails as they walk. "Bet it hurts to know how fucking amazing I was out there. It's okay to be jealous, you know."
Kyle shoots him an annoyed look but as soon as he does, he's assaulted once again by the image of Cartman's legs and cleavage and his goddamn sparkly-ass costume. His mouth is curled into a smirk that makes Kyle's blood boil.
Kyle clears his throat and somehow manages to respond.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Kyle says, avoiding eye contact and waving his hand in the air. "It's late. Let's get the fuck out of here, c'mon."
After the chaos of the evening, Kyle forgot where he parked. He starts clicking his car keys over and over and listens for the honk to find it, ignoring the chatter behind him.
The ride back to South Park consists of Cartman jabbering away about how he put his costume together, the various inspirations for his performance, bragging how much he kicked the other queens' asses. Kenny is genuinely interested and keeps asking follow-up questions while Stan listens.
Kyle, on the other hand, is just trying desperately to avoid looking at Cartman sitting shotgun next to him. Cartman talks with animated gestures and occasionally tosses his head to get the wig hair out of his face. Every time he moves Kyle has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep focused on the road.
He drops off Stan first, then Kenny. It's only a few blocks more to Cartman's house but being alone in the car with Cartman for any amount of time always makes Kyle's skin crawl.
"Thanks for the ride Kyle!" Cartman sing-songs as they pull into his driveway. "Can't wait to cash this baby."
He lovingly caresses the giant cardboard check way too long for Kyle's liking, really hamming it up. Kyle sighs.
"Alright, you've had your fun. Get out of my car."
Cartman shoots him a dirty look and scoffs.
"Jesus Christ, asshole, can't you be happy for me? Don't forget you're getting some of this cash too," Cartman says. He brushes a lock of wig hair out of his eyes and pouts.
Kyle stares at the steering wheel but even out of the corner of his eye, Cartman is completely distracting. Why the hell didn't he change into regular clothes after the show?!
It's just… he's showing so much skin.
"Sure, whatever," Kyle mumbles. "I'm happy for you. Now please get out."
He can feel Cartman's eyes on him but he refuses to say anything more.
"Pfft, fine," Cartman says after a long moment, finally opening the passenger door. "You'd better be more grateful when you get your cut, you greedy fuckin' Jew."
Karma must be on Kyle's side tonight because as soon as the insult leaves his mouth, Cartman's foot catches in the car door and he face-plants onto the asphalt.
"FUCK!"
Cartman's always been a baby when it comes to pain, but Kyle can tell from the tone of his yell that this time he's actually hurt. It doesn't make Kyle any less annoyed, though.
"Goddammit, Cartman," he says with an eye-roll.
Cartman whines pitifully, face down on the driveway.
"Kyle… help…" he calls weakly.
Kyle sighs and curses to himself before getting out and rounding the front of the car.
Cartman is splayed out like a dead fish, moaning in pain. Kyle snorts. His amusement at Cartman getting his well-deserved comeuppance overrides the fog that's taken over his brain for the last few hours.
"Dude. You made it through that whole performance without falling, and now you suddenly can't walk in heels?" Kyle says, stooping down to help him roll over and sit up.
Cartman glares at him and spits a stray lock of hair out of his mouth.
"Yeah, well, why don't you try holding this stupid fuckin' thing while wearing heels!" he snaps, shaking the giant check angrily. It makes a weird fwubwubwub noise with the movement.
Kyle laughs.
"Oh, fuck you, Kyle."
Kyle rolls his eyes again and pulls at Cartman's arms.
"Alright, get up," Kyle says. It takes a while with Cartman being such a big fucking baby and moving at a snail's pace, but he manages to get Cartman standing again.
Cartman tries to take a step and winces in pain.
"Ow, fuck!" he yells. "Goddammit, I think I sprained my fucking ankle. Ow."
Kyle sighs.
"Come on fatass, let's just get inside."
Cartman groans and tilts his head back in frustration.
"Ugh, this is so lame…"
Kyle supports his weight and helps him limp to his front door. The gems on Cartman's costume dig painfully into his side but he ignores it.
"It's not even the real fucking check," Cartman grumbles as he gets his keys out. "The stupid sons-of-bitches have to use snail mail to send me the real thing 'cause of some bullshit liability problem. I mean, how fucking weak is that?"
"Yeah that's pretty stupid," Kyle agrees. He's focusing on the door, trying very hard not to think about how close their bodies are, how close Cartman's face is to his face.
They get inside and the house is quiet. Kyle realizes something and frowns.
"Wait, did your mom come to the show?"
Cartman rolls his eyes. "No, she didn't come. She had to work tonight. Not that I give a shit," Cartman says, but Kyle can sense the thinly veiled disappointment in his voice. One less person he was able to show off to tonight.
They hobble to the living room and Kyle helps Cartman plop his ass on the couch. Cartman lets out a loud "oof" and throws the giant check to the floor like it burned him.
"Shit, that hurts," Cartman groans, cradling his ankle. He rests his injured leg up on the coffee table and starts working at the zipper of the boot, but his artificial claws are making it difficult and his grip keeps slipping. "Ugh, goddamn fucking stiletto nails…"
Kyle wonders if he's being incompetent on purpose, but he knows he'd be struggling himself if he had those things stuck to his fingers.
"Dude, stop being a baby," Kyle says, and sits next to him on the couch to help. He knocks Cartman's hands away, gets a hold of the zipper, and starts tugging it down.
It's then that Kyle realizes he's made a horrible mistake.
Every inch of zipper means one more inch of exposure of Cartman's pale leg and the black fishnet stockings that have been torturing him all night. The air in his lungs gets sucked out of him and by the time he gets the zipper to the ankle, he's suffocating.
Trying to steamroll ahead through the haze, he grabs hold of the boot with two hands and pulls.
"OW! Ow-ow-ow, be careful, asshole!" Cartman snaps. Kyle tugs again and the boot is freed, revealing the entirety of Cartman's leg.
How the fuck can those stupid stockings make his legs look so… delicate? Without thinking, Kyle puts a hand around Cartman's ankle and can tell it's already getting swollen. Cartman winces.
"Hey, what the fuck are you doing?!"
"Uh," Kyle says dumbly. He lets go and squeezes his eyes shut. Jesus fucking Christ, he needs to get a grip. He needs to get away from Cartman. Now.
"I'll, uh… I'll get some ice." He stands up but Cartman grabs the sleeve of his shirt and narrows his eyes.
Kyle gulps.
"You're acting weird," Cartman says.
Kyle scoffs and sputters, avoiding eye contact.
"What? Weird? No I'm not."
"Yeah you are. You've been acting weird all night, Kyle."
Goddammit, why the fuck is Cartman always so good at reading him? Kyle feels like he's entered a new circle of hell. He can't breathe.
He tears his arm away from Cartman and goes to the kitchen, ignoring an annoyed "hey!"
He methodically fills a plastic bag with ice from the freezer and wraps it in a dish towel. The whole time, his heart is beating like he just ran a marathon.
This is ridiculous. It's just Cartman, for fuck's sake. He only needs to stay long enough to make sure Cartman's okay, then he can go home and never think about this night ever again.
He takes a moment to calm down and mentally prepare himself before going back out again, trying desperately to maintain some sense of normalcy.
"Here," Kyle says as he walks back to the couch and sits. He presses the ice to Cartman's ankle and Cartman inhales sharply through clenched teeth.
"Alternate keeping the ice on for fifteen minutes, then off for another fifteen," Kyle continues. "Don't let your leg swell up like a fuckin' balloon, alright?"
"Aww, Kyle, you do care!" Cartman says with a big cheesy smile, fluttering his long false lashes. Then he frowns. "Seriously, though, you've got more of a stick up your ass than usual, what gives?"
God, why can't he just let it go?
Kyle still refuses to make eye contact.
"Shut up, I'm fine."
Cartman obviously doesn't buy it.
"Uh-huh. Sure."
"I said I'm fine."
Cartman narrows his eyes further and purses his lips, analyzing Kyle's face for an uncomfortably long time. Kyle breaks into a cold sweat.
"Hmm. You know what? I think maybe this outfit's too much for you," Cartman says in that obnoxious and horribly familiar thoughtful tone. "I mean it's like you can barely look at me."
Kyle squeezes his eyes shut and his cheeks burn with embarrassment.
Oh, no. No. This can't be happening. Anything but this.
"It's the fishnets, isn't it?" Cartman teases. A sly smile creeps onto his face. "Makes me look extra hot, right?"
"Cartman, shut up," Kyle grits out through clenched teeth.
Cartman ignores him and continues to ramble, analyzing his own costume thoughtfully.
"I almost went with regular tights but it just wouldn't be the same pop, y'know?" He snaps his fingers on the pop. "Gotta lean into the kinky shit when it comes to this stuff. The queers eat it up every time," he says, casually running a hand down the top of his thigh.
He slowly crosses his good leg over the other, and Kyle watches the movement with wide eyes.
"Is that what's putting sand up your vagina?" Cartman continues. "Are you that puritanical and sexually stunted to kink shame me right now? In my own home, after I graciously won you a thousand bucks?" He clicks his tongue. "Tisk tisk, Kyle. Didn't realize you were that homophobic."
"God, Cartman, will you please shut the fuck up?" Kyle growls.
Cartman just keeps fucking looking at him, cocking his head from side to side in thought and tapping his chin.
"Or, hmm… Perhaps… are we having a little gay crisis moment, Kyle?"
Kyle's soul leaves his body.
This can't be happening. Not now. Not him. Cartman must know he's hit a nerve because his face twists into the most shit-eating grin that Kyle's ever seen. The red of his lips makes it appear even more exaggerated than usual and Jesus fuck, why do his lips look so full? There's no way his lips are like that normally.
"Which one was it that did it for you? The Britney Spears impersonator? Or, ooh, I'll bet it was that Mexican queen with that whole merengue schtick! We both know how much you love taco-flavored kisses."
Cartman leans back on the couch and brushes his hair out of his face demurely with one hand, settling into his teasing-the-shit-out-of-Kyle mode.
Kyle clenches his jaw, fuming with anger and humiliation, too overwhelmed to move. Cartman's smile remains.
"Or, no, maybe those guesses are too easy. What about that one with all the rose petals, that one was pretty good, eh? Very romantic, very Sasha Velour."
Cartman peers down and pretends to check his nails. Kyle is drawn to the dark shadow painted around his eyes, more on display with his lids lowered slightly. The long lashes fan over his cheeks.
Cartman catches Kyle's eye again and his grin gets impossibly wider, teeth flashing wickedly.
Then, in the worst possible turn of events, Cartman leans forward to lay a gentle hand on Kyle's leg.
Something inside of him snaps.
"It's okay to wanna fuck a drag queen, Kyle," Cartman says. "I won't judge. You're not the first red-blooded male in the world to pop a stiffy over— mmph!"
Kyle lunges forward and kisses Cartman hard on the mouth, grabbing his face with both hands to keep him in place. Cartman lets out a stifled squeak and doesn't move for a good few seconds, but then he goes limp and moans into Kyle's mouth.
Heat floods Kyle's body and he feels emboldened enough to run his hand slowly up the outside of Cartman's thigh, finally sating his curiosity about how the cross-hatched nylon feels laid over that pale skin.
It's soft and warm and the texture makes his hand tingle.
It feels… so fucking nice.
So nice, in fact, that it scares him.
Kyle breaks away. Cartman's eyes are barely open and his expression is so dazed he looks drunk.
"W-Woah…" Cartman murmurs.
Kyle immediately panics. He scrambles as far away from Cartman as the couch will allow and starts hyperventilating.
Oh God, what the fuck did he just do?! What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck…
"I, uh. I—" Kyle stammers, trying and failing to come up with an explanation.
Once he's recovered from the shock, Cartman blinks and shakes his head a little.
"That's…" Cartman clears his throat and forces a weak laugh. "That's very funny, Kyle. D-Did Stan put you up to that one?"
Kyle is taken aback. "What?"
Cartman laughs again, but it sounds hollow. He glares at Kyle.
"Like 'hah-hah, Cartman's a huge fuckin' fag now, let's all get him to do more gay shit!' What was the bet, huh? How much money is Stan giving you? Can't be more than I just got for the both of you bastards." He points a shaking finger at Kyle. "Y-you should be fucking grateful!"
The facade of Cartman's bravado is slipping and Kyle hears a slight tremor in his voice. A few locks of hair from the wig are falling into his face, swaying a little with every shallow exhale Cartman makes.
The most notable thing, though, is that Cartman is blushing so hard his whole face is turning bright pink, even under all that makeup.
He's still glaring at Kyle but underneath the anger, he almost looks… scared.
Kyle's chest squeezes uncomfortably. Jesus Christ, he can't do this. His heart can't take it.
He has to tell him the truth.
"It… wasn't a bet, Cartman," Kyle says quietly.
Cartman doesn't respond for a few seconds but then his scowl deepens and he scoffs, letting out a laugh that sounds uncharacteristically self-deprecating.
"Hah! Yeah, right. How much money was it, Kyle? Fifty bucks? A hundred?"
"I said it wasn't a bet!" Kyle yells. "I just… fuck. Fuck." Kyle pulls at his hair and stares at the floor, distraught.
He doesn't know what to say. All he does know is that he majorly fucked up. Cartman may be the biggest dickhead on the planet but you don't just go around kissing people without their permission.
"It wasn't?" Cartman asks.
"No!"
Cartman's brow pinches in confusion. "So then… Uh. Why did you… do that?"
Kyle's heart is gonna beat out of his chest. Fucking hell. He knows he owes Cartman an explanation, but he doesn't even know where to start because he still doesn't understand it himself.
"I… I don't know," Kyle admits, his voice shaking. "I don't know."
Cartman blinks. "Oh," he says.
Kyle can't take it anymore. He's so completely mortified he wants to jump out of his own skin. He feels fucking awful.
"I'm sorry. I'm— I'm just gonna go," Kyle mumbles, jolting up from the couch with the full intent to sprint out the front door, but Cartman stops him by reaching out quickly and snatching the hem of Kyle's shirt.
"No!" Cartman pleads. "Wait, Kyle, don't leave!"
Kyle stops in his tracks and stares down at Cartman's hand where it's touching him. It looks so different with the acrylic nails on, almost like it belongs to a completely different person.
The way Cartman's looking at him… He's never seen Cartman look so fragile.
Kyle is reminded that, underneath all that inflated ego and performative bullshit he hides behind, Cartman is deeply, deeply insecure. And it makes Kyle feel like someone's squeezing his heart with two hands.
"Don't leave," Cartman repeats quietly.
Kyle should say no. He should rip his arm away and get the fuck out of Cartman's house like he's supposed to, like he should have done twenty minutes ago. He should go home and never think about this day ever again.
But he doesn't.
Instead, he nods slowly and sits back down on the couch.
Cartman swallows and reaches out, taking Kyle's hand and bringing it back to his thigh. Kyle inhales a quiet gasp.
"You can touch me," Cartman says. "It's okay."
Cartman keeps his hand on top of Kyle's for a long moment until he's sure Kyle won't move, then carefully releases him.
Kyle can feel his own hand trembling, but the warmth of Cartman's skin feels too nice for him to stop. He tentatively lets his hand slide a few inches higher up Cartman's thigh, fingers tingling at the sensation of the delicate fabric of the fishnets.
Without thinking, he squeezes the flesh there.
Cartman exhales shakily.
Kyle brings his other hand up the inside of his thigh and slides it up next to where the other one rests. He spreads his fingers wide and Jesus, his thigh is so thick that Kyle can't even reach halfway around it with both his hands.
"Holy shit," Kyle murmurs.
It's like he's outside his own body as he grips harder at the soft skin of Cartman's leg. In the back of his mind, he's expecting Cartman to shove him away or slap him or curse him out for touching him like this, but he never does.
Cartman keeps very still, taking rapid, shallow breaths, watching Kyle's hands intently.
Kyle finds himself leaning in closer because damn, Cartman even smells good. He must have put on perfume or something because it's floral, like lavender, mixed with muted sweat.
He sits up to get a better look at Cartman's corset. There are so many details he tried to ignore before, like the irregular shapes of the gems, the texture of the sheer base fabric, spots of fake blood that Cartman wasn't able to wash off.
The way it hugs his torso and forms a subtle hourglass…
Kyle feels his throat dry up and heat throb low in his belly.
He reaches up and hovers his hand over the deep V of Cartman's skin where the neckline plunges. He hesitates, fingers twitching with anticipation, before he lays his palm over the center of Cartman's chest.
"Kyle," Cartman murmurs.
Fuck, he can feel Cartman's heartbeat, and it's so fucking fast.
It's like a magnet pulls him forward. Kyle leans in and presses their lips together, keeping his hand steady on Cartman's chest. This time, Cartman responds right away. He moves his lips languidly against Kyle's, gasping into his mouth.
Kyle's hand slides up over his clavicle, the dip of his neck, and he cradles Cartman's jaw.
Fucking hell, it feels so good to touch him.
"Mmmn…" Cartman hums, reaching forward to grip the front of Kyle's shirt with both hands, tugging him closer. He tilts his head to fit their lips together more smoothly.
The world around them has turned to static. All Kyle can feel is the warmth of Cartman's body. All he can hear are the quiet, desperate noises pouring out of Cartman's mouth as they kiss.
Riding on instinct, he opens his mouth a little and touches his tongue to Cartman's bottom lip. Cartman moans and lets Kyle lick shallowly between the seam of his lips, his jaw going slack.
They sink further into each other, tongues sliding together in a way that makes Kyle's toes curl.
It's fucking surreal. The fact that right now, it's Cartman that he's kissing, it's Cartman who's pulling at his shoulders and threading fingers into his hair and sending tingles up his spine with every feather-light scratch of long nails on his scalp…
It should be making him want to flee the room like a bat out of hell.
But it doesn't.
Kyle finds himself pushing Cartman down onto the couch, and he falls back pliantly like a rag doll. Cartman's legs fall open and Kyle settles himself between his thick thighs to kiss him deeper.
He cups Cartman's face with one hand and gropes the outside of his thigh with the other, holding the limb flush against his side as he nips and sucks at Cartman's lips. Cartman squirms against him and whines.
This should feel wrong. It's fucking Cartman for fuck's sake. This is the bigoted piece of shit who's bullied him his whole life, committed more crimes than Kyle can even count, and has, in all likelihood, shaved years off his life with how much stress and pain he's caused him.
But all of that isn't registering in his brain right now. All he can think about is how good Cartman looked on that stage, those intense dark eyes, that pleading gaze after the first kiss, how his body feels against his own.
How good he smells. How good he tastes…
No matter how much Kyle tries to convince himself that he shouldn't want this, he can't bring himself to stop.
It feels too fucking good to stop.
Kyle ducks his head down to kiss Cartman's neck, tasting more of him, sucking at his skin.
"Kyle," Cartman gasps, digging his nails into his shoulders. Kyle's heart stutters.
Fuck.
He's heard Cartman say his name countless times, in every way he thought possible, but he's never heard his name said like that before. It's so needy and wanting, sending heat burning through his limbs, filling his head with intoxicating static.
He wants Cartman to say it like that again.
He moans when Cartman tugs on his hair and arches up against him, pressing their torsos flush together. The gems of Cartman's costume dig into his stomach but Kyle doesn't care, because he suddenly gets some much-needed pressure against his groin.
Heat licks up Kyle's spine and he has to break away from Cartman's neck to gasp for air, ducking his forehead onto Cartman's shoulder.
"Fuck," Kyle grits out. "O-Oh my God…"
Cartman keens and presses against him again, clutching at his back, and Kyle can't help moaning at the feeling. His hips stutter forward, subconsciously seeking more friction.
He pushes himself up with one hand and starts touching Cartman's corset with the other, searching for a snap or zipper or something along the side because the gems are starting to dig painfully into his skin and he needs this stupid thing off.
"...Kyle?" Cartman murmurs.
"Cartman, how can…how do I…?" he stutters, still pulling at the corset.
With a trembling finger, Cartman points to his back and swallows thickly. "Five clasps and a zipper," he explains, dazed.
Kyle nods, backing up to give him some space, and Cartman reaches out for him. Kyle pulls his hand to help him sit up.
As he rights himself, Cartman looks fucking out of it, eyes half-lidded, and holy shit. His lipstick is completely smudged onto one cheek. Kyle knows he must have some of it on his own face but he can't bring himself to care right now.
Cartman turns to give him access to the back of the corset. It takes Kyle a good minute, but he manages to undo all the fastenings and the material finally starts to fall away. Cartman lifts up his arms while Kyle pulls from the front and takes it off completely, but he's not looking at the corset anymore.
Never in his life did he expect to see Cartman in a lacy black push-up bra, let alone this close. This time he doesn't even second guess himself before he reaches out and touches Cartman's chest right at the line of his cleavage.
"Oh fuck, Kyle—" Cartman gasps.
Kyle pushes until Cartman is lying on his back again and climbs on top of him. He picks up where they left off and kisses him hard, licking deeper inside Cartman's mouth, one hand squeezing Cartman's tit over the bra.
In the meantime, Cartman is fumbling with one hand to take off his other boot. But, much like with the first one, he struggles to get a grip on it.
Kyle groans with impatience and breaks away from the kiss so he can help undo the zipper and yank it off. He flings the boot behind him somewhere and goes right back to kissing and groping at Cartman's body.
Straddling one of Cartman's thighs, Kyle presses their hips together and oh yeah, it feels so much better without the corset in the way. He can feel the soft give of Cartman's skin.
Out of curiosity he brings his hand down Cartman's torso to squeeze the swell of flesh at his hip. Fuck, he's so soft and warm and it's weirdly satisfying to touch him there, especially when it makes Cartman moan into his mouth.
Sliding his hands down his body, Cartman squeezes Kyle's ass through his jeans, making him cry out and grind his hips down hard against Cartman's thigh. Cartman squeezes again and Kyle shudders.
Fuck. He knows he's hard enough now that Cartman can definitely feel it.
Carefully, he presses his own thigh up flush between Cartman's legs, at the spot where the fishnets turn to solid fabric near the crotch and… oh fuck.
Yeah, he's definitely hard too. That should be making Kyle freak the fuck out, knowing Cartman's turned on by this, by him, but it only makes him feel weirdly powerful.
With a full-body shiver, Cartman cries out and clings to Kyle's shirt. He tilts his hips up harder, breathing raggedly right in his ear.
"A-ah …! Fuck—" Cartman gasps.
If he'd known Cartman would turn to complete puddy in his hands like this, then he might have done it a long time ago. He tries not to think too hard about what that means.
Cartman leaves a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses up along the edge of Kyle's jaw, then takes his earlobe in his mouth and bites down. It sends a shock of pleasure straight to his dick, so acute and intense that Kyle can't control the moan that leaves his throat.
Jesus fucking Christ, he's so turned on he can feel it in his teeth. He moans again, overwhelmed, grinding down hard against Cartman's body to get more pressure on his dick.
"Kyle… Kyle," Cartman calls out, his tone indicating he's trying to get his attention rather than using his name as an expletive.
Shit, is something wrong?
Reluctantly, he stops and sits up a little so he can meet Cartman's eyes, hands on either side of Cartman's head propping himself up.
"What is it?" Kyle asks, brows furrowed with concern. He attempts to get some of his breath back, and it looks like Cartman's doing the same but Cartman also looks… strangely nervous all of a sudden.
"Kyle, can I—" He swallows and takes a few more heavy breaths. "Can I…?" He slides one hand down to Kyle's crotch and cups him through his jeans.
"O-oh shit," Kyle gasps.
His dick jumps against his will and pleasure tingles up his spine and holy shit, he has no idea how the fuck this is happening. Like yeah, Kyle's caught in this weird fog of lust right now and has been groping Cartman for what has to be over twenty minutes, but the fact that Cartman actually wants to touch his dick makes his brain short-circuit.
Kyle shivers. Fuck. Through the haze of disbelief, he finds himself nodding.
Cartman gives him a hard squeeze and Kyle has to clench his jaw to keep from crying out. Before he can recover, Cartman's fumbling and pulling at the waist of his jeans.
Kyle knows he won't be able to make any progress still wearing those insanely long nails so he unzips his own fly for him, his hands shaking a little. Cartman helps to pull down Kyle's jeans and boxers.
Oh fuck, they're actually doing this. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh Jesus fucking Christ…
He feels his dick jump again at the first touch of Cartman's hand, carefully wrapping around him. Kyle hisses through gritted teeth, unable to stop his hips from thrusting forward into Cartman's grip. He's grateful that Cartman manages to keep from scratching him with his pointy nails.
After a few careful strokes, Cartman brings his own hand to his face and licks from his wrist to the tips of his fingers before spitting heavily into his palm and taking hold of Kyle's shaft again.
Oh fuck, the slide is easier now and it's so fucking good, Kyle feels himself going a little cross-eyed.
"That's it, Kyle. That's it…" Cartman whispers, squeezing his cock and ghosting his lips over his jaw.
Delirious with want, Kyle takes hold of Cartman's face and kisses him feverishly. As soon as Cartman reciprocates, it gets dirty fast, open-mouthed with their tongues laving over each other, sucking at each others' lips hard enough that it makes quiet but unmistakably lewd squeaking sounds that tickle Kyle's ears. All the while, Cartman keeps pumping his cock, moving in time with Kyle every time he fucks into his fist.
The blonde princess wig has almost completely fallen off Cartman's head at this point, with his thick brown hair peeking out from underneath and sticking up in weird directions. Kyle impulsively reaches up and yanks it off all the way in order to bury his fingers in Cartman's hair. He tugs at the strands and God, it's so soft.
Leaning into Kyle's touch, Cartman sighs and his lips twitch into a barely-there smile that does weird things to Kyle's heart. He pulls Cartman into another kiss and moans into his mouth.
They break apart and Cartman watches him, dark eyes darting between Kyle's face and his own hand pumping over Kyle's dick. He exhales shakily.
"God, you look so fucking hot right now," Cartman murmurs, slowing his hand a bit so he can squeeze harder when he gets to the head of Kyle's cock. He takes some of the pre with his fingers before sliding down again.
Kyle shivers as Cartman's words fill his body with intoxicating heat. He can't remember the last time someone called him "hot," if ever. Normally, Kyle would think that Cartman was one hundred percent fucking with him if he said something like that, but Cartman's voice is so breathy and low, almost like he didn't mean to say the words out loud. Kyle can't help but let the compliment wash over him.
"F-fuck, Cartman—"
"It's okay Kyle, it's okay…" Cartman whispers. "Yeah, that's it, you're doing so good, c'mon baby."
Jesus fucking Christ. Kyle bites his own lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. The praise goes straight to his dick.
He's never felt so wanted in his life.
Kyle can feel himself hurtling toward the edge but he grits his teeth, trying to hang on a little bit longer. He screws his eyes shut and clutches Cartman's body close. Cartman squeezes his cock, fingers sliding, thumb teasing at the tip, whispering soft encouragements into his ear and sending tingles down his spine.
"Ngh— fuck," Kyle moans helplessly. "Oh fuck—!"
Kyle comes with a shout, legs shaking as he thrusts over and over into Cartman's warm fist, still stroking him languidly. He rides the high for as long as he can, gasping and unable to stop the hoarse cries that escape his throat.
As he slowly comes down, he shivers and pulls Cartman into a deep kiss, savoring the feeling of their tongues sliding together. Cartman hums into his mouth.
His body is still buzzing with euphoria when suddenly Cartman breaks away and whines. Kyle sits up a little and sees Cartman's pupils are completely blown with lust. He's trembling, brows knit together.
"Cartman," he starts. Cartman moans and presses his forehead against Kyle's, breathing raggedly.
"Oh God Kyle, please touch me," Cartman blurts out. "God, please Kyle, I'm so fucking close, just touch me, please—" He's babbling and he sounds crazed, clawing at Kyle's arm.
What else can he do? He nods and kisses him to stop his pleading. Kyle slides his hand down Cartman's body, down into the waistband of the stockings, and takes Cartman firmly in his grip. Cartman cries out, whimpering, hips stuttering up into Kyle's touch as he begins to stroke him at an even pace.
Kyle lets out a quiet gasp as he realizes, holy shit, Cartman's so turned on his cock is practically weeping pre-cum into Kyle's hand.
"F-fuck yes. God, yeah, just like that, oh fuck," Cartman moans, shaking, pressing his face into Kyle's shoulder.
Words just keep pouring out of Cartman's mouth, encouraging but also desperate enough that it sounds like he's going to cry. Kyle keeps stroking up and down his length, entranced by the completely overwhelmed expression on Cartman's face, brows furrowed, eyes squeezed shut, his mouth hanging open.
It only takes a minute of Kyle jacking his cock, steadily increasing the pace as Cartman's pleas get louder and louder, until he suddenly tenses up.
"Fuck, I'm gonna come. Oh my God, Kyle— Kyle…!"
A strangled moan breaks out of Cartman's throat, and he's coming hard into Kyle's hand. Kyle slows his pace and strokes him through it, kissing his temple in what he hopes is a comforting gesture because Jesus, Cartman's making so much noise it almost sounds like he's in pain.
When Cartman finally sighs and calms down enough to kiss him back properly, Kyle lets go of his dick and slips his hand out of the stockings.
He flops down on his back next to Cartman with an oof. Well, he's sort of half on top of Cartman. The couch doesn't give them much room.
He turns his head to look at Cartman and can't help but be amazed at how much of a mess he is right now.
If it wasn't before, his makeup is definitely fucked up now, with lipstick smeared all over one cheek and the black eyeshadow smudged so much that it looks like Cartman's got raccoon eyes. His hair is arguably more disheveled than it was from the wig, its strands sticking up wildly from Kyle digging his hands through it so many times.
And Jesus, he has so many hickies, all over his neck and even some on his chest. Kyle didn't even realize he did that.
Cartman is still breathing hard, but he must sense Kyle looking at him because his eyes blink open and he gives Kyle the softest smile he's ever seen.
"Oh my God," Cartman says dreamily. "This is the best day of my fucking life."
He doesn't know how to respond to that but it doesn't matter because Cartman pulls Kyle towards him again and gives him a lingering, heavy kiss. Kyle kisses back because fuck it, he's already in way too deep at this point, and Cartman is shockingly good at it. He's needy and passionate as all hell, but weirdly gentle at the same time.
It's so stupidly nice, Kyle wants to keep kissing him more than anything. But then he remembers they both have each other's jizz all over their hands, which…actually isn't as gross as Kyle expected it to be, but still unpleasant.
Kyle reaches onto the ground and takes the dish towel he used for Cartman's now-melted ice pack to wipe it off. He wordlessly offers it to Cartman too.
They finish cleaning themselves up, and the air in the room is calm. They lie on their backs, each staring up at the ceiling. The reality of what just happened finally starts to sink in.
"Holy fucking shit," Kyle says, dumbstruck.
Cartman nods. "Yeah, dude."
"Oh my God…" Kyle murmurs, covering his face with his forearm.
Cartman laughs breathlessly, slipping an arm over Kyle and laying his head in his chest in a kind of half-hug.
Kyle would normally smack him away for being so touchy but these are obviously abnormal circumstances. And he finds that he actually… likes it for once. It feels nice. So, he puts his arm around Cartman in return. Cartman sighs contentedly.
He didn't expect Cartman to be a cuddler, but it makes sense somehow.
"So, uh…" Cartman starts tentatively, trailing a finger absently down the center of Kyle's chest. "Where the fuck did that come from?"
Kyle's mortification from earlier returns with a vengeance. He groans and covers his face with both hands.
"Ah, shit…"
Cartman scooches himself up to look at him better.
"C'mon seriously, I wanna know! Not that I'm complaining because that was the hottest fucking thing that's ever happened to me, but like why did you just jump my bones out of nowhere?"
Kyle groans, too embarrassed to respond.
"And how do I make you do it again?" Cartman asks shamelessly.
"God, Cartman, Jesus Christ!"
Cartman pulls Kyle's hands away from his face and sandwiches Kyle's head with his own hands.
"Listen to me, Kyle," he says. "I'm serious. If you don't tell me right now, I will not hesitate to harass the everloving shit out of you and make your life a living hell until you do."
Kyle knows it's not an empty threat and shudders to think what he would possibly do to pry that information out of him. God, this motherfucker is so annoying, like of all the people on the planet he could be attracted to why the hell did it have to be him?
He really doesn't have a choice but to tell him.
"Okay, okay, fine Cartman!" Kyle concedes. "Look, I just…"
Fuck, he still doesn't even know how to say it.
Cartman raises his eyebrows expectantly, eager as a kid on Christmas morning.
"Fucking goddammit, it was… It was everything, Cartman."
Cartman's expression is intrigued. "Go on, Kyle."
Great. Now he's fishing for compliments. What else did he expect?
"Ugh, this is so stupid," he mutters. "It—it was your fucking legs, okay? I couldn't stop looking at your fucking legs. And you were driving me insane all night, like… That fucking performance? Where the fuck did that come from?! It was just… Jesus Christ."
Kyle covers his eyes with one hand. He can feel his face heating up like crazy.
"It was what, Kyle?"
Kyle can't meet his eyes.
"It was good, okay? It— you looked really good," he mumbles.
"Huh," Cartman says, then he leans in closer and turns his ear toward him. "Could you say that one more time please?"
"Cartman, you are such a bastard." Kyle's made enough of a fool of himself already, but of course Cartman's gonna milk this for all it's worth.
Cartman rests his head affectionately against Kyle's chest and flutters his eyelashes up at him.
"Aw, please Kyle? Pretty please? Pretty please with sugar plums on top? Pretty please with sugar plums and sprinkles and hot fudge and—"
"GOD will you shut up?! You looked fucking hot! There, you happy?!"
After all that, the bastard has the audacity to blush. And then he starts to fucking giggle.
"What?!" Kyle snaps.
Cartman snorts and presses his forehead to Kyle's chest, not even attempting to stifle his laughter.
"Holy shit, this actually is the best day of my fucking life, like Jesus fucking Christ—" Cartman interrupts himself with another snort and giggles louder, smacking his hand hysterically against the couch cushion.
Kyle hits him on the arm out of frustration and Cartman winces.
"Hey, you said that I was hot too, asshole! Don't be so fucking smug."
Cartman suddenly stops laughing and averts his eyes.
"Oh, shit, you heard that?" he murmurs.
"Of course I heard it, dumbass! How about you tell me why you said that, huh?"
Cartman sputters and rolls his eyes, blushing harder.
"Come on, Kyle. Like it isn't obvious."
"No, I want you to tell me."
Now it's Cartman's turn to look embarrassed.
"Uh…" he says.
Kyle smirks. Hah. The bastard can dish it out but he can't take it, as always.
"Well?"
After a long moment, Cartman sighs. "Dammit, you were always hot, Kyle," he mumbles, his face buried in Kyle's chest.
Oh.
Wow. That was…unexpectedly candid. Kyle blinks stupidly. He thought he was gonna have to do a lot more poking to get an actual answer out of him.
"Huh?"
"Shut up."
"No no no, don't you tell me to shut up. You always thought I was hot?! Since when?"
Cartman rolls his eyes again. "Since, like, forever? Jesus, are you that oblivious? I knew you were a clueless virgin but seriously?"
"How the fuck was I supposed to know?! You've been insulting me every fucking day since we were in diapers, jackass! That's not exactly something you do to someone who— mmph!"
Cartman interrupts him with a hard kiss, tugging Kyle closer with both hands. Even though he's pissed off, he can't help himself from melting into it again. Sparks of pleasure travel through his body with every pull of their lips and touch of their tongues and God, it's ridiculously addicting.
They break apart with a soft smack.
"Hmm, you really are stupid aren't you, Kyle?" Cartman murmurs, combing his fingers through Kyle's hair.
"Shut up, dickhead," he says, and pulls Cartman to him again for another kiss.
He doesn't know how long they lie there, making out with Cartman half on top of him, their legs tangled together. Eventually though, Cartman complains about his injured ankle getting more painful and they have to break apart again. By this point his ankle has swollen up pretty badly, because honestly they both forgot about it.
Kyle makes him another ice bag and, to his surprise, Cartman jerry-rigs it to stay in place with a rag and some clear tape so they can keep making out.
By the time Kyle has the presence of mind to stop and check his watch, it's well past four in the morning.
"Shit, I should go," Kyle says, moving to stand up.
"Noooo," Cartman whines, tugging him down again.
"Cartman, seriously, it's really late."
"Please Kyle, stay just a little longer?" He's using his annoying baby-talk voice. Kyle rolls his eyes.
"No, dude. I gotta go home."
Cartman purses his lips and thinks for a few seconds.
"Well…you could sleep over here," Cartman offers tentatively.
Kyle sighs. He doesn't actually want to go home but he does need to get some sleep at some point tonight, and Cartman does too.
"I don't know, Cartman…" Kyle says.
"If you stay over, I'll suck you off in the morning when we wake up," Cartman blurts.
Kyle chokes on his own spit and goes into a coughing fit.
Fucking Jesus Christ, just Cartman saying that made his dick jump against his will. Curse his fucking teenage hormones.
Once he stops coughing, Kyle yells "What the fuck, dude?! You can't just fucking say shit like that!"
Cartman looks unfazed.
"So you gonna stay or what?"
Well then.
Kyle weighs his options, but only for a second because much to his shame, he already knows what his answer will be.
"…Yeah, okay, I'll stay."
"Sweeeet," Cartman says, lips curling into a huge shit-eating grin. He pulls at Kyle's arm. "C'mon, help me get this stupid gay-ass makeup off, my eyes are fucking burning."
Kyle follows Cartman as he hobbles up the stairs, thinking about what Cartman said earlier.
He thinks that maybe, to his abject horror, this might be one of the best nights of his life too.
He tries not to dwell on it for too long. He's tired. And… happy. For once, he's decided he's not going to question a good thing.
Even if that good thing is Eric fucking Cartman.
oooooooooo
END
oooooooooo
thanks for reading! I'll go check myself into horny jail now
author's note on a few things:
-Cartman's performance was heavily inspired by Lady Gaga's performance of "Paparazzi" at the 2009 VMAs
-his costume was based off of the one Lady Gaga wore in 2011 at her Sydney Monster Hall performance of "Bad Romance"
-also, I'd imagine Cartman would be a lot like Darienne Lake both in appearance and energy cuz she always KILLS it when she lip-synchs. (I love her performance against BenDeLaCreme singing "Point of No Return", which is available on youtube)