Perchance to Dream

Disclaimer: See prologue

Summary: Kyle's Master Plan is revealed. But you know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men…

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At School XI

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After the incident at the start of winter break, I haven't heard from nor seen anything of Kyle. I count my blessings for this, too, because it's granted me another three Kyle-free months. Of course, just because I'm not being harassed every waking moment by Kyle trying to convince me I like him does not mean at all that he's not. No, he's probably at this very second working on some devious scheme that he is 100 percent convinced will make me the Scarlett O'Hara to his Rhett Butler. Though his analogy is inherently flawed in that Rhett Butler wasn't a ginger douche, and Scarlett wasn't the one who didn't give a damn.

Also, while he's not trying to convince me to give up my resistance personally, he hasn't done anything to dissuade Matt from doing so. He's taken to giving me "surprise blowjobs" once every week or so, pinning me to my bed and raping my dick with his mouth before spitting out the result somewhere on my body. I think he's working his way up towards my face, the very idea of which grosses me out. I can't even think of any substance known to man that would be able to sanitize my poor face after such a thing.

It has been getting nearer to Spring Break, though. And I can't shake this feeling I've developed in my gut over the last couple weeks that I'm in for a horrific surprise courtesy of one Kyle Broflovski. Especially considering he'll have had almost week before I get home to wreak whatever havoc he wishes, due to C-State's Break being this week, a week before ours. All the same, though, I'll get home Friday afternoon, meaning there will be a three-day overlap in which he can attempt further wooing.

This time, I think, I'll break his Goddamn nose.

My dark musings on the myriad number of ways in which I would like to inflict bodily harm upon my male suitor are interrupted by the opening bars of the CU fight song. My phone is ringing. Digging it out of my pocket, I check the caller ID…I'm getting a call from home.

"Hello?" I ask tentatively, not entirely sure as to why Mom or Dad is calling me at half past two on a Tuesday afternoon.

"Stanley!" It's Mom, and she sounds pretty damn excited about something. Though the timing of this is damn convenient…but there's no way it's something about Kyle already. He's only been home, at the most, three days.

"What, Mom?" Might as well find out what it is that's making her sound like she just won the Powerball jackpot or the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes or something.

"Your father just got off the phone with the Director of the USGS in Washington! You're never going to believe this…you remember that dormant volcano outside of town? The one that erupted during your little hunting trip with your uncle and your friends back when you were in elementary school?" Mom asks. I get a sinking feeling in my stomach, and a chill over the rest of me simultaneously.

"What about Mt. Evanston?" I ask, caution quite evident in my voice. Actually, it's more like dread, in accordance with the overwhelming feeling that's washing over me like a tidal wave of despair and doom.

"It erupted again just the other day, with a couple pretty serious aftershocks. Actually knocked in a few houses, and wiped out a whole herd of cattle belonging to some big-shot rancher who knows a person who knows a person who is somebody in the USGS. Anyway. They're hiring your Dad back, since obviously that thing needs full-time monitoring again, so they're re-opening his old office, AND they're giving him a promotion, so he'll be the Associate Director of the Geologic Hazards Science Center for the Rocky Mountain region in charge of the South Park field station with five other scientists reporting TO him, AND they're giving him a hiring bonus that's equal to the amount of money he would have earned working for them these last five years! Five hundred thousand dollars, Stanley!!" She's squealing like a sixteen-year-old Chess Club girl who just got a date with the 3rd string kicker and thinks she'll be popular because she's dating a jock.

On my end of the phone, my eyes have bugged out. Five hundred grand…plus he'll probably be making at least 200 more a year as an Associate Director of whatever the fuck it was all that she said. There's no way that this is a coincidence. The timing just screams to me that this is all a setup.

"Stanley?" Mom asks, because I'm too quiet. She sounds worried, confused that I'm not as excited as she is. "Isn't that great news?"

"Yeah…" I croak out, horrified. "Just wonderful." Obviously, this is what Kyle's been planning the last three months. He's been figuring out just how to induce an eruption in a volcano, simultaneously trigger an earthquake, and engineer it just so that it would wipe out a valuable herd of cattle of someone with some influence over someone who could make something happen in D.C.

"Are you OK honey?" she asks. "You sound like someone just killed your dog." Maybe its just that I'd rather not thing I'm being romantically pursued by a person whose moral compass is so damn skewed that any action he thinks will serve him well in his attempts to win me he does without any question of the ethics of doing it, or without even giving the slightest thought to the Goddamn consequences.

"I'm fine," I lie, still sounding sickened. "It's just…a shock, is all." A shock is putting it mildly. A shock is what you get when someone you'd never even noticed before tells you they want to do unspeakable things in bed with you, and they turn out to be the hottest person in school. This is like charging a defibrillator to 360 joules, sneaking up behind somebody and literally giving them the shock of their life.

"Oh, well of course," Mom says. "That's totally understandable, dear. I mean, I just barely calmed down enough to call you. I wasn't even understandable for the first twenty minutes after they hung up, I had to wait to call you!" She's completely blind to the fact that this in all likelihood was not supposed to happen. But God forbid I kill the moment. I'll let her be happy and enjoy this; God knows she and Dad deserve it after the last five years. But as for me…

"I'll call you back later," I say. "I need some time to process this…" Before she can get another word in edgewise, I hang up the phone, turn its ringer off, toss it unceremoniously in my desk drawer, weakly stand and stagger over to my bed, where I flop down on my stomach and bury my head in my pillow, right arm dangling like a moron off the bed. If you had been standing in the doorway watching me, you probably would have thought I'd had a heart attack or something and was about to die. You wouldn't be entirely wrong, as I do feel like I could just kick it…though from disgust and mortification, not from any real physical problem.

I have a grimace on my face while I process what Mom just told me, and what I at least know to be the cause of it. It means that the boy who's trying to get in my pants took more than a repeated string of anti-Semitic hate speech from Cartman; he also apparently picked up his complete self-centeredness, and utter disregard for the well-being of anybody who poses a problem to his getting something he wants. The ruthlessness is also new, and worrying, though probably more attributable to frustration and cool, calculated logic than anything.

After all, they were just cows. And houses. You can buy more cows and houses, they're replaceable. But that doesn't mean you just slaughter and destroy them at your whim, especially when they're not yours to begin with. If word ever got out, Kyle would be in for a load of restitution. Good luck to him in paying it, too. Of course, he probably left that particular tidbit out of his cost-benefit analysis; which probably had tons and tons of costs, and only one potential benefit: more Stan shagging, which is of course NOT happening.

It would be my luck, of course, that Matt would walk in to see me in such a state.

"Who died?" he asks, a worried look on his face. I scowl. Why does everybody associate a mood like the one I'm in with death?

"All the remaining shreds of rationality, sanity, and normality in my life," I respond morosely.

"Emo much?" Matt asks. "Seriously, what the fuck's going on?"

"Your buddy," I tell him, "just caused a volcano eruption that got my Dad his old job for the government back, with a promotion and a five hundred grand bonus."

Matt lets out a long, low, impressed whistle. "Damn. But then why are you so damn miserable?"

"Because now when I tell him I don't want to have anything to do with him this weekend, he'll try and guilt trip me by spinning me this story of all he's done for me and why won't I just stop being a stubborn bastard and give in to my secretly held desires and quit repressing yourself and you know you and I belong together blah, blah, blah, blah, blah," I finish. Matt blinks.

"First off, you are a stubborn bastard, and you really do need to quit it. Second, you and I both know you secretly like men; you're just too ashamed to admit it to yourself. Obviously you weren't molested enough by your priest, little Catholic boy."

I interrupt him. "I was never molested by my priest. And the sheer thought of him naked is going to keep me from sex for a week!"

Matt continues. "Third, which kinda is really also the back half of number two, you're seriously repressed. It's not healthy, Stan. You wanna fuck me, try to get used to the feeling of a guy underneath you instead of a soft, supple girl?"

"Kyle topped," I mumble, and Matt howls with glee.

"Really? Well then, you'll have to let me give you some tips! It can be really pleasurable if you let it. I can lend you a book and some toys, if you want."

"No!" I exclaim. "It's not something I ever plan on happening again! And that's the whole damn problem, because Kyle quite obviously does, and Kyle has a very bad habit of always, eventually, getting what he wants."

"Really, Stan, you're getting your boxers in a bunch," Matt says. "Just go with the flow."

"No," I snarl savagely. "Because the flow is from Kyle's dick inside me after half an hour of sweaty, sticky gay sex." I think Matt just got hard. He's got a funny look on his face, and he's drooling a little.

"That's hot." Goddamnit, Matt! "That is hot. The thought of you, the reluctant little sub, moaning in ecstasy for reasons you don't fully understand and can't control, while Kyle's sexy, chiseled bod thrusts into you…holy shit, I think I'm gonna jizz in my pants…"

"Oh for God's sake!" I exclaim. "Get a hold of yourself. I know you're Kyle's right-hand man in this, but can you at least see things from my side of it for once?"

"Nope, sorry," Matt says with a grin. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go resolve the issue you just caused." He slides off his bed and slinks into the bathroom. With a groan, I roll over to stare at my ceiling.

This is just fucking hopeless. I can't stay here over break, because Mom would have a fit, and I can't go home, because Kyle will try to rape me again. And this time, he'll use the puppy-dog eyes. I know he's got 'em, because he used 'em all the time when we were kids. The puppy-dog eyes are irresistible.

And if not…

Well, he was right last time. All he has to do is make a ridiculous bet with me again, and I'll end up with my ankles over his shoulders and his dick in my ass again. Undoubtedly, he'll try some stupid trick to get me naked and in his bed again while I'm home, and there's no way I won't run into him, since Dad'll be dragging me all across town trying to spend as much of that bonus money as he can.

Maybe I can at least get a new car…

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Notes: I know, I know. Not the strongest chapter of the story…honestly, it looked better on paper when I planned it out. It should have been over after 1000 words, but I somehow forced it over the 2000 threshold.

Next month, Stan goes home…and behaves like a jackass.

'Til then!

Phoenix II