Perchance to Dream

Disclaimer: See prologue.

Summary: Stan makes a decision.

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At School VI

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There's a lot of ways to describe being kissed. The emotions typically range from elation, to bliss, to tear-inducing happiness. But I don't think a kiss has ever been described as laugh-inducing. This, of course, means that I'm trailblazing, because as soon as Kyle pulls his lips off mine, the only thing I can do is laugh.

I laugh because it wasn't a good kiss to begin with. It was really sloppy, rushed, but tentative. I laugh because it's Kyle who kissed me. Kyle "I steal your girlfriend!" Broflovski. And I laugh because he said he loves me. Oh, boy do I ever laugh at that. It's not the mild chuckle when someone says something amusing, or laughter you find at a comedy club, no, this laughter is the kind you hear on sitcom laugh tracks: uncontrollable, gut-busting, tears-spilling-down-your-cheeks raucous laughter. It's not supposed to be this funny, but I can't help myself! KYLE BROFLOVSKI just told me he loves me. THE GUY admitted he wanted to bone another guy.

By the time I manage to clear my blurry eyes and look up at Kyle, his face is contorted into a combination glare and scowl that just SCREAMS "WE ARE NOT AMUSED." I straighten up, still chuckling, and put an angry look on my face.

"Stay away from me, Bro-fag-ski," I growl, pushing him out of my path and stalking back into the school as the bell rings to send us to fifth period. I think he's so caught up in the testosterone of his rather spontaneous action he's not fully caught up to the fact that I didn't fall into line or kiss back.

Fifth period is, of course, P.E. And it absolutely amazes me that in the five minutes between his most embarrassing moment ever, Kyle seems to have recovered and as I'm changing into my gym clothes, I can overhear Craig ask him where he was at lunch.

"Eh, I had some shit to take care of, man," Kyle tells him, pretty much shrugging off the question while he shrugs on his shirt.

"Did it involve Marsh? Clyde saw you coming from where that hippie fag hangs out at lunch…"

"Nah, he wasn't there. Probably hiding so I didn't beat his ass." That lying fuckwit. Of course, his answer focuses on my ass…God fucking damn that fucking fag Jew. And those stupid cocksucking sycophants of his don't even have a goddamn clue. Except maybe Kenny. I think of all his friends, especially his inner circle, Kenny would be the one most likely to know that.

"Laps, men!" Coach yells, banging on the locker room door to let us know he wants us up in the gym in about 30 seconds. I scamper up the back steps and am halfway through my first lap by the time Kyle leads his posse in through the main door and breaking into a slow jog, knowing he won't get punished even though Coach wants us to all fully run those three laps. I speed up, not wanting to give Kyle the satisfaction of passing me, and if he wants to stare at my ass, why not give him something to stare at and make him jealous even more. Maybe he'll do something stupid like tackle me and start molesting me in front of everybody. I could take time off for the psychological trauma and spend it in my room laughing my ass off.

No luck on that end, but I do lap Kyle twice and finish all three my laps before he's halfway done with his second. I see him glare at me when I pass him, but since he's not getting his ass kicked by anyone, I can assume he didn't stare at what he wants but cannot have.

"Basketball. I'll count you off into four teams of three – ones will play threes, twos will play fours," Coach announces once we're all in the bleachers catching our breath, pulling a rack of balls from the equipment room. He then begins numbering us off by rows, starting of course with Kyle, who is a one, as are Wendy and Clyde. Because I have the luck of the most luckless person in the world, I'm a three, with a team of Kenny and Bebe. Essentially, it's going to be just me against Kyle and Clyde, because Wendy and Bebe are pretty much going to just gossip across the court, and Kenny's going to just ogle both of them. Now, Clyde's a linebacker, so his basketball skills are rather limited, but Kyle – as the star athlete – is a four-year letter winner on our basketball team, and a two-time first team All-State selection. And I wasn't that good at basketball to begin with. So…I suppose I'm just going to have to get my ass kicked. Or I could … hmm …

Yeah, that'll work. I'll flagrantly foul him. Then he'll get pissed and retaliate and I'm either going to end this period on the bench, in the principal's office, or in the nurse's office. Save myself some embarrassment and prevent me from doing something really stupid like a bump-and-grind when I'm boxing him out for a rebound. There's no way in hell he would construe that as something innocuous. He'd probably beat me in the head so he could have an excuse to drag me out of the gym and instead of taking me to the nurse, he'd take me to the boy's bathroom and sodomize me in an empty stall. He would. He's a giver like that.

"Let's get started, boys and girls!" Coach yells, bouncing basketballs to Kyle and Craig and blowing his whistle. I assume a defensive position as Kyle looks down the lane with a predatory grin in his eye, dribbling the ball and slowly advancing towards the hoop.

"Bring it on, Jew," I mutter to myself, immediately regretting that decision as he breezes by me for an easy lay-up. 2-0. He smirks as I grab the ball and head to the top of the key, Kyle following me to try and steal the ball away. I keep myself poised sideways, dribbling the ball with the hand that's furthest from him. Nevertheless, he gets it anyway, spins around, and drains a jump shot.

"Gonna have to try harder than that," he quips, as Clyde grabs the rebound and throws it back to Kyle, who flips it back to me. "Four-nil, Marsh." Angrily, I don't even bother dribbling, just put up a ill-considered three-pointer that lands two feet short of the rim, bouncing out of bounds before Clyde grabs it and tosses it to Kyle, who moves up to the top of the key to start play again.

"Such a shame it's not this easy to pound your ass off the court," he says. "Let me show you how it's done, Stanley dearest." Even while I bristle at his patronizing, he lets loose a three pointer that even I can't deny is perfect as it swishes through the net.

When I get the ball, I can't hold it in anymore. I smack the ball with one hand, holding it like I'm going to pass it to Kenny, who is – true to form – staring at Wendy and Bebe. But I have no intention of this ball ever reaching Kenny. I fling the ball out, and it smacks Kyle right in the face and knocks him on his back.

All activity in the gym ceases. Immediately. Even Coach is unable to speak, or interrupt as Kyle slowly gets back up, blood dripping from his nose and mouth as the ball rolls to a stop against the wall. If I hadn't fully thought this out before doing it, I would be cowering in fear and groveling for Kyle's forgiveness right now. And truth be told, I'm actually still a little afraid. Pissed-off Kyle is not someone you ever want to meet. And yet, here I am, standing right in his path, not blinking, not flinching.

"What. The. FUCK. Was that?" he asks, and I don't even realize I've bent over backwards until I notice that Kyle's hair is halo'd by the fluorescent lighting of the gym.

"That was what it LOOKED and FELT like, Kyle DEAREST," I reply, acid literally dripping off every word. "Me telling you that you can take EVERY LAST THING about you, personally, athletically, scholastically, and anything-else-ally that I missed, and SHOVE IT up that ego-swollen ass of yours!"

"Hey!" Bebe interjects. "Leave that ass out of it!" We both just glare at her, before Kyle decks me, sending me to the floor, bleeding from the mouth and nose as well. By the time I get up, Coach has found his voice.

"Broflovski! Go to the nurse. Marsh! Bench! Testaburger, Stevens, McCormick, Harris! Two on Two, Men versus Women!" I head to the bench, tee-shirt soaking up my blood while Kyle glares at me before heading to the nurse. Wendy and Bebe shrug off Coach's instructions while Clyde and Kenny start playing HORSE.

While I'm waiting for the instruction to hit the showers, I hit on a plan that is absolutely perfect in its deviousness. And by the time I hone it to perfection during Science and Spanish, Cartman will be jealous of it. This will put anything he's ever done to shame. Shame, I say!

Those two periods can't pass fast enough. I'm absolutely and totally anxious to put it into effect. I have to dally a little past the dismissal bell, because of the nature of the plan, but that's alright. It's worth it. I stake out where I'm going to be waiting, and it's a simple matter of awaiting the arrival of Kyle, Cartman, Kenny, Craig, Clyde, Wendy, Token, and Butters. They'll be ready to leave at about 3:45 – why it takes them so long, I have no idea, but I'm not really objecting.

When I hear their approach, I hide away out of sight until they're halfway through the commons to the front door, where upon I let out an attention-getting whistle that brings their walking and talking to a halt. I come out of hiding, which surprises them considerably, probably because they're on their way to come harass me at work.

What surprises them even further is the way I approach them. Because it's not a normal approach. It's a sexy, hip-swaying saunter that's typically only utilized by supermodels and pornstars. And I'm honed in on one target in particular. Those between me and Kyle – which is all of them – get out of my way subconsciously and out of shock, allowing me to drape myself on his muscles, cup his face and lay a big, passionate kiss on him.

I start it lightly and deepen it quickly, escalating it to a point where I'm slipping my tongue in his mouth, and I tongue him like that for a good minute and a half before slowly peeling away. I note with satisfaction that his eyes are bugged out in surprise as I fully disengage and saunter unabated towards the exit, pushing it open before turning around, blowing a kiss at Kyle and giving a goodbye half-wave and mouthing "call me," before slipping out the door and running for it. He is gonna get his ass KILLED. I just outed him in the worst way possible.

No way can he ever live THIS down.

I am a FUCKING. GENIUS.

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Notes: Huh? Huh? How's THAT for revenge? It has been about a month since I left you hanging with that other kiss, and it nearly killed me to get this out so far. Especially considering I started this day at 5:30 AM, which is an hour I'm very much a stranger to. And, because of work, I probably won't get another chapter out until around the 15th of July.

Sorry for the wait, but I do hope this was worth it! Let me know, huh?

Phoenix II