Work Text:
saturday. 2:13am
His back hurts. Spending too much time hunched over a desk late into the night will do that. Years ago someone made a model of what humans would become if they spent enough time as desk jobs to evolve into them. Hunched back and bloodshot eyes, that's how Kyle feels right now. Nothing he was attempting to work on made any sense either way, perhaps due to the lack of sleep. or the… nevermind. It was probably the glasses of scotch he keeps pouring himself. He glances at the empty glass next to him and leans back, stretching his kinked neck and scratching his head lazily. Another one wouldn't hurt. He wasn't getting any real work done tonight anyways.
Kyle shuffles into the hallway, leaving the lights off and his steps light against the vinyl flooring. from the living room he can hear gentle snoring. cartman. tipsy and happily asleep on Kyle's couch. well. more than tipsy, but asleep all the same. Cartman's soft breaths and nasally, sleepy whimpers follow Kyle into the adjacent kitchen where he, rather deftly, pulls the bottle of liquor from its cabinet. The first few trips out here in the dark the glass clanked and he spilled scotch across his hand and countertop, but now the pattern was engraved in a muscle memory of sorts. He listens to the hum of Cartman sleeping and snoring for a moment. Just a moment, then he'll go back to his room and pretend to work on … whatever assignment he was working on.
Standing in the dark of his own kitchen, listening to Eric Cartman snore on his couch. He shouldn't feel so.. fuzzy. And warm. Like his toes were a little numb. And every time Cartman's breath caught in his throat and came out choked and with a soft little gasp… he shouldn't feel that heat pool in his stomach. He never has before. He's listened to Cartman snore before, all throughout childhood and adolescence. sleepovers, kickbacks, stupid escapades. He never found he sounds so erotic. But of course, back then Cartman was just Cartman. Something had changed at that party
friday. 8:27pm
Eric Cartman: u have 2 come
kenny bailed on me
who tf works overnight on friday
k.b. : I really can't. I have an essay for my psych class due on Sunday
Eric Cartman: kyle dont b fukin lame
come to the party
come to the party
k.b. : You just want a dd.
Eric Cartman: no kyke i swear i am very invested in getting u out of tht shoebox u call an apartment
Eric Cartman: but a dd would b nice
so come to th party ?
Eric Cartman: plz
come to the partyyyy
come
to
the
party
kyle
you
fucking
— k.b. has notifications silenced —
Notify Anyway
Eric Cartman: kyle
k.b. : Oh my God. Fine.
But were leaving at a reasonable time
Eric Cartman: fuck yeah
aw lame
k.b. : nevermind
Eric Cartman: no im sorry kyle its totally awesome u need to b einbed b4 midnite like a granpa
Eric Cartman: pick me uo at 9ish
k.b. : 👍🏻
friday. 9:08pm
Kyle considers laying on the horn. He’s been idling in front of the Cartman residence for 20.. 21 minutes and still no sign of the fat fuck. The text Kyle sent when he arrived was seen, but not responded to. He grumbles to himself- something about assholes and time wasters -and pulls out his phone again, this time to threaten to leave if Cartman doesnt hurry the fuck up. He gets halfway through the message before his car door is creakily yanked open and Cartman plops in with a huff.
“Jeez Kahl, I told you nine-ISH. I need time to get ready,” he whines.
A sweet scent has followed him into the car, sugar and flowers. Like candied petals pressed into icing. It’s a nice perfume, maybe, but Cartman's so doused in it that it has filled the car with a dizzying cloud of scent. It's not too overwhelming, but it's so delicious and attention grabbing that Kyle wheezes a little and turns bright red, scrambling to roll down the window.
“Jesus Christ, Cartman, did you spray the whole bottle?” This gets him a glare and a grunt of annoyance from Cartman, who crosses his arms over his chest and pouts.
“Well excuuuse me for actually caring about my appearance, ” he says, and Kyle gives him a glance over.
He's not particularly dressed up, wearing jeans and a black hoodie, but his hair does look softly styled and… is he wearing makeup? It’s actually quite nice the way his eyelashes look extra wispy and his- No. No no, ignore that. Kyle doesn't have the mental fortitude to unpack how soft and full Cartman's lips look with a light layer of lip balm over them. And he certainly doesn't have time to address that twitch in his stomach.
“Perfume won't make you less ugly,” Kyle blurts out. Cartman flips him off and the tips of his ears go pink.
“Hey fuck you Kahl, at least I actually shaved before coming out. Looking like a sloppy lumberjack.”
Kyle shrugs, he isn’t too concerned with his appearance tonight. It was just supposed to be a simple house party at Bebe’s new place to shake off the nerves of finals looming up ahead. Or if you aren't in college, like half of Kyle's graduating class, to simply get wasted and puke in a bathtub for ol’ times sake.
While Cartman fiddles with the aux cord, and complains about the lack of bluetooth in Kyle's 23 year old car, Kyle keeps his eyes strictly on the road. No glances out of the corner of his eye to see Cartman's painted nails twisting the volume dial. No sideways looks to catch a glimpse of him chewing on his tongue piercing absentmindedly while he chooses a song. And definitely no watching when he sings and dances in his seat so, uhm, obnoxiously.
Cartman has always been hard to ignore but recently he's been... Well, Kyle doesn't know. More hard to ignore. Painted nails and sweet perfumes, he keeps his skin clear and smooth, and his hair soft and smelling of expensive shampoos. Always an attention seeker, at some point into adulthood it's like he realized that good attention was better than bad and started to act. Better? Maybe not quite. He was still rude and abrasive and everything that made him Cartman, but there was a shift in it. A lilt in his voice when he egged Kyle on until someone ended with a bloody nose, a quirk in his eyebrow when he would make a snide remark and look to make sure that Kyle heard it.
Kyle tightens his grip on the steering wheel. It’s just fucking Cartman, why over think anything?
“Ooh wait, wait!” Cartman squeals, pulling Kyle from his disconcerting thoughts. He pumps the brake and the car swerves a little in its lane, groaning in protest.
“What the fuck Cartman!?” Kyle whips his head to look at his passenger, who's rummaging in his bag at his feet. After a second he pulls back with a wad of cash and thrusts it at Kyle.
“Go buy a pack of smokes,” he says. Kyle stares blankly at the asshole before him. Yeah, definitely still just Cartman.
“That’s what's so brake-slammingly important? Go buy them yourself!” Kyle huffs, and pulls the car into the parking lot of the convenience store they'd come to a stop in front of.
The large windows are glowing against the darkness that shrouded the rest of the street corner, fluorescent lights flickering almost imperceptibly inside. From his seat, Kyle can see large summer moths banging themselves against the glass panes, desperate the get inside. Cartman, ever the annoyance, waves the cash in Kyle’s face in an opposing beat to the silent rhythm of moth bodies against glass.
“Hey, genius? I know I’m suuuper mature for my age, but I’m not 21 yet. And I know this asshole cards everyone like crazy. S’gotta be you,” Cartman says, thrusting his money at Kyle again.
Kyle sighs, and snatches it out of Cartman’s hand. He had forgotten for a moment that the other’s birthday hadn’t come yet. It was less than a month out, however, and Cartman has spent a non-zero amount of minutes filling the groupchat with his “epic bday palns” recently. Kyle kills the engine, to which his poor car responds with a shudder and groan, and swings his door open.
“Alright, fine. But you’re coming in with me. Lazy fuck.”
To his surprise, Cartman doesn’t complain. He simply slides out of his seat and follows Kyle out into the warm night air. The door chimes when Kyle pushes it open, and Cartman shuffles in behind him, eyes glued to his phone. The man behind the counter looks irritated and tired, and his listless gaze follows the duo from the door to the register with a barely masked look of resentment. He doesn't greet them, so Kyle clears his throat, awkwardly.
“Blend 27s. 100s… Please?” It doesn’t come out incredibly confident, for a guy who has been 21 for almost a full month, and has been buying cigarettes for three years illegally prior to that. The cashier grunts, grabs the pack from the wall behind him, and tosses it on the counter.
“That’s ten eighty-six.” Kyle's about to hand over the bills when Cartman, seemingly alerted to something in the conversation, grabs his arm.
“Hey! Aren’t you gonna ID him?” Cartman says with a huff.
The cashier blinks tiredly at him once, then turns back to Kyle, “Uh… ten eighty-six.”
Before Kyle can even try to pay this time, Cartman is shoving him aside and stepping up to the counter. What the fuck man.
“Oh no, nuh-uh. You try an' card me every time I’ve ever been here. Now you wake up and you ask that young man for his ID!” He says, wagging a finger back in Kyle’s direction. With a groan, the cashier rubs a hand down his face and closes his eyes.
“Look, kid, the rule is: I have to ID anyone who looks under 25. Fact of the matter is,” he points at Cartman, “you’ve got one hell of a babyface. And he,” this time he swings his finger at a dumbfounded Kyle, “Has a beard.”
Cartman sputters in aggravation, Kyle reaches up to touch his facial hair sheepishly. He hadn’t been meaning to grow it out, he had just gotten caught up in the approaching finals and the scruff had gotten out of hand. Cartman said he looked sloppy, but he was always an ass. Did facial hair really age him that much?
“That’s ridiculous! Kyle’s been able to grow a beard since we were 16, for all you know, he’s still in high school!”
“Cartman, let’s just-”
“No Kahl, this assholes been fucking with me this whole time. This is discrimination! I could call someone about this. I could make this whooole thing blow up!” Cartman’s been getting redder and redder since the word “babyface” was spoken, and now he’s just acting stupid. Kyle rolls his eyes and pulls the (haha) younger man back away from the counter and throws down a few bills.
“Keep the change, sorry, thank you, goodbye,” he says as he pockets the pack of cigarettes and hooks an arm around Cartman’s soft middle to pull him out of the store. He’s still rambling angrily when Kyle shoves him in the car- something about bigoted fuckfaces and stupid sexy beard having shitfuckers- but Kyle isn’t paying attention. When he slides back into his seat to drive off, Cartman explodes once more, albeit a little quieter.
“Who does that asshole think he is? Fucking power-playing small dick loser. I do NAWT have a babyface!” he huffs, then after a moment, “Right?”
Kyle snorts, “Well, I mean…”
Unfortunately, the clerk had been sorta, maybe, kinda right. Cartman, still round and chubby-cheeked, did look a bit younger than the rest of the guys. It didn’t help that he was shorter than all of them too. When they all hung out in public, Kyle had noticed they started to look like a bunch of adults and someone’s vulgar and loud teen brother. It didn’t help that Cartman, while being able to grow a good amount of scruff on his chin and jaw, meticulously shaved each morning. It gave him a gentle, cherubic look. A high contrast to the abrasive, ragebaiting asshole Kyle knew he was. Even still, anyone would have to admit, without a beard to balance out his mother’s features, plus the recent experimentation with makeup and girly clothes, Cartman was actually quite young and feminine looking– pretty.
Woah. Wait, no hold o-
“Ugh, whatever Kahl, I don’t wanna hear it. Just get me to Bebe’s, I need to drink this humiliation away.”
friday. 9:29pm
When they got to Bebe’s, Cartman slipped off his hoodie and tossed it in Kyle’s backseat. Underneath was more skin than Kyle had expected. Sure, Cartman had dressed up a little girly a few times, and he and Kenny did a “bit” for a few days where they came everywhere in full drag, but Kyle hadn’t realized just how in tune with his femininity Cartman had become. The top he wore was shimmering and coral, cropped and secured to his body by two strands of fabric tied behind his neck. If Kyle knew anything about women’s fashion, he might’ve been able to tell what style of shirt it was, maybe even what the shiny, stretchy material was. But all Kyle knew is that it clung against Cartman’s chest like it was cupping breasts, and right below where the fabric on his midriff stopped, Cartman’s soft stomach was exposed. Pale and pudged out slightly over the belt in his jeans when he sat slouched in the car seat.
So, oh.
Kyle’s mouth went dry when he felt his cheeks heat up. The fuck was he blushing for? He had seen Cartman completely naked before and he had never felt so- Well back then they were kids. But now… Screw whatever Kyle had thought about Cartman looking like a teenager. Here in Kyle’s car, in a skimpy women’s shirt, putting on lip balm in the passenger mirror, Cartman looked fully grown. Maybe not manly exactly, but grown. Kyle willed the heat in his stomach to disperse.
“Well let’s go come on the fuck are we waiting for? Party's already started, and I know you plan on dragging me out early so I wanna get in as much time as the center of attention as possible!” Cartman’s words were rushed as he scrambled out of the car and raced towards the front door of the house. Kyle quickly followed suit, locking the car behind himself as he dashed after his friend.
Inside, the music was loud and the warm night air had turned hot and sticky. It wasn’t a huge party, but it was a crowded enough space that body heat had begun to cling and collect in the air like a sauna. Kyle tried to follow Cartman, but he lost the short fucker in the crowd almost as soon as they stepped in, almost like he was trying to get away.
“Kyle!”, someone from the kitchen called out. Kyle huffed and drug his eyes away from the gap of people he last saw Cartman shoving past, turning to see who was trying to get his attention. Red stood in the entry way of Bebe’s kitchen, waving Kyle towards her lazily and chatting with Isla. Great, that's where The Girls are.
It’s not that he had been avoiding all the women in South Park, it’s just that recently he didn’t have any time to deal with all their agendas and plots to sell him off to the current highest bidder. Ever since him and NIcole broke up senior year, amicably he might add, it seems like rumors about Kyle being a particularly good partner had spread around the graduating class. Red and Bebe in particular were ruthless in their attempts to get Kyle to hook up with one of the other girls, or even with themselves when their current boytoys fumbled too hard. He had heard, or more so was told not so subtly, that Lola and her boyfriend had broken up and Bebe was on a mission to set her up with Kyle.
“Ooh I like the beard,” Red teased, grabbing his hand to pull him into the kitchen. He bumped into Isla on his way in, earning him a giggle and a drunken “heyy Kyleee” in response. Behind Isla was her sister, Kal, and behind them were Nelly and Lola sitting on the counter. A few other girls stood in duos and trios around the kitchen, holding drinks and laughing at hushed gossip. Bebe stood at the kitchen table, typing away furiously on her phone, and Red was dragging him straight towards her.
“I bring an offering,” Red said, and pushed Kyle towards the blonde. Bebe held up a single finger as she tapped out the last few seconds of whatever monster of a text she was concocting, never looking up at him. Kyle sweat nervously. He was surrounded. Not that they were wild animals or anything. Just normal, human women whose eyes bore into him from all around the room he was trapped in. Ready to pounce.
“Look, Bebe-”
“Kyle, hush, I’m- Ooh I like the beard,” Bebe cut herself off and raised a hand to scratch at Kyle's jaw a little. Women being so touchy with him is something he’ll never get used to, but has learned to tolerate over the years.
“Right? It suits him,” Red giggled. Kyle reached up to touch his own face. He didn’t think it was that big of a deal that he let it grow but nobody could stop mentioning it today, even Cartman.
“Can we skip the weird part where you comment on my face and hair and ass this time, please? I’m way too busy for a hookup right now and,” he lowers his voice, remembering how full the room was, “I know Lola’s a great girl and all she’s just not really my type.” Bebe squints at him for a moment, her eyes scanning his face intently. Briefly, Kyle thinks maybe he came off a bit too aggressive or rude, but Bebe is quickly smoothing her expression and laughing at him.
“Jeez Kyle okay, we’re not gonna eat you, shit. You looked scared shitless,” she teases him and Red laughs along. Kyle relaxes a bit, knowing he won’t have to gently let down yet another pretty girl Bebe promised him to.
“Besides, Lola’s trying girls now,” Red says, and points behind Kyle to where Lola and Nelly, still on the counter, have started kissing passionately. Oh.
“Yeah, oh,” Bebe mocks him.
She walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of strawberry flavored drink, shoving it in Kyle’s hands. He twists the top off and pockets it, bringing the bottle to his lips to take a sip.
“No, there’s a much more serious problem at hand.”
friday. 9:57pm
Kyle was gripping his drink so hard it started to hurt his hand. After a strange, harrowing conversation with Bebe and Red in the kitchen, they ushered him out of their “girls-only safe zone” and left him to wander. And while nothing they said was exactly world-ending or criminal, it all left Kyle feeling a little hazy and uncomfortable. Upset? No, why would he be? Why would he be upset that Eric was arranging gay sneaky-links with half of their graduating class- including Lola’s now ex-boyfriend? Why would he be upset about that at all? He was just grossed out at the idea of Eric Cartman having sex. Spending time getting all pretty, choosing an outfit, getting picked up and- apparently, according to the texts Lola found on Nate’s phone -sucking a straight dudes dick in the rec center parking lot.
Jesus Christ.
He pushed through the crowd of party-goers, following the sound of the music growing louder and louder, until he found him. At the center of everything, like always, was Eric. Dancing. His hair was dampened with sweat and the girlish top he wore had begun to stick to his skin, but despite his flush he seemed content. Cartman wasn’t necessarily a good dancer, generally just swaying and bouncing and rocking his hips in a way Kyle was sure Cartman specifically intended to be sexy. But in spite of his lack of skill, he seemed genuine and… alluring. The top shimmered in the low lights, the bracelets on his wrist jingled and clacked together, his hair had frizzed up and was full of loose strands and fly-aways. Kyle wasn’t sure how every pair of eyes wasn’t glued to the man dancing in front of them, even when he was silent, he was loud and attention-grabbing.
Cartman opens his eyes, turning and spinning with the song, and their gazes locked into each other. Cartman’s movements stuttered slightly, but he didn’t stop, just grinned mischievously at Kyle and kept dancing. Kyle’s mouth went dry. There was a strange moment of conflict, between his brain and his stomach and his dick. He suddenly becomes very aware that not only has Cartman grown into somebody almost entirely new, he found this new person hot. And this new, hot person was apparently giving blow jobs away like candy, which was revolting- nauseating even -but Kyle couldn’t help but wonder what it’d look like to watch Eric “suck mah bawls” Cartman kneel in front of him sweaty and flushed and hands fumbling at his zipper and- Alright. That’s enough.
Kyle takes a deep long drink, hoping if he ignores how hard he is that it will go away. He can’t drink too much though, he reminds himself, considering he drove them there. The song has switched to something Kyle doesn’t know, a rap song by a woman with a deep voice, but it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know any of the words because Cartman is reaching out and grabbing Heidi- who he has, apparently, been dancing with this entire time -by the arm and talking hushedly. Heidi nods, glances over to Kyle with a polite smile that he returns, and then takes Eric by the hand and leads him away.
friday. 11:52pm
That fucker. Cartman had been bouncing around Bebe’s house for the past 2 hours, narrowly avoiding Kyle at every turn. He was getting sloppier as his intoxication rose however, bumping into people and trapping himself in rooms longer than he would sober, and Kyle’s frustration was only getting higher. Kyle wasn’t even sure why he was hunting Cartman down so intently originally, or why Cartman was avoiding him so hard either, but now it was nearly midnight and he was tired and wanted to go home. Spotting Cartman on the back porch, Kyle slides the door open and slips past a few girls chatting amongst themselves to sneak up- yes, literally sneak up on a grown man -and wrap his hand around Cartman’s wrist. The shorter man jumps slightly and twists to look at Kyle, cutting off his conversation with… Whoever the fuck this guy is. He’s tall and blonde-ish, looks very comfortable in the situation, but is entirely unfamiliar.
“Jesus Kyle you can’t jus’ grab people like that!” Eric slurs slightly, but makes little effort to wiggle his hand free from Kyle’s grasp. Even so, Kyle tightens his grip.
“Let’s go, fatass,” he says, and tries to drag Cartman away. Only for- okay seriously, who the fuck does this guy think he is? The stranger grabs Eric’s other arm and holds them in place.
“Woah, woah, we were talking,” says the jackass. Kyle thinks he looks rather punchable with that stupid, drunken smirk on his scruffy face- but he reels in his flash of annoyance, if only to avoid making a scene.
“Okay, well, now we are leaving,” he says, looking the stranger in the eye. It’s tense and quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time while both men size each other up but Cartman, who can’t stay quiet for longer than thirty seconds, chimes in.
“Oooookayyy, well looks like the old man needs to get to bed, so we will be off.” He seems to have noticed just how done Kyle was with his little game and, surprisingly, made no attempt to further it. He tries to weakly wiggle out of both of their grips, but the asshole he was talking to pulls him in closer and laughs.
“Noo cutie, we were having such a good time,” the man says.
Eric laughs nervously and glances at Kyle, who’s clenching his jaw so hard he thinks his teeth might crack. If this guy doesn’t let go of his friend in the next 3 seconds, Kyle is going to rock his shit.
“Listen,” Cartman says drunkenly, “I had a great time talking to you, but I haf’ to go now, bye-bye!”
He pushes away from the stranger, who whines a bit and reaches out to grab him again, but Kyle is already yanking him away and into the house. He pulls Cartman all the way through the building, pausing only to wave goodbye awkwardly to Bebe and Red who still stood in the kitchen. He wonders what it must look like, him stone sober and clearly pissed off literally dragging a drunk and stumbling Cartman behind him. Most people would expect to see them both equally intoxicated and throwing half-effort punches at each other in the backyard, but despite being geared for a fight, it didn’t feel right to Kyle to punch Cartman right now. Instead he just pulled him out the front door and down the driveway, shoving the wobbling man into his car with a huff.
Inside the car there’s no music, Cartman just slightly too drunk to set up the aux, so there's nothing to distract from the gnawing pit in Kyle’s stomach.
It builds and builds until he blurts out, “Who the fuck was that guy?” just as Cartman lifts his head from the window to say “That guy was SUCH an asshat.” Stunned by their own timing, they stare at each other for a beat before they're both laughing.
“I literally don’ even know him, man, seriously,” Cartman laughs. He reaches forward and clicks the stereo to the radio, letting the local South Park rock station play quietly in the speakers.
“What a creep,” Kyle says, then turns a glare towards Cartman, “Why the fuck did you make me chase you around all night?”
Cartman shrugs, rolling his head back against the window next to him, “Did’n wanna leave yet.”
Kyle shakes his head, that wasn’t it at all, “No dude, you were avoiding me.”
“Nuh-uh Kahl, you saw me dancin’. I have totally sweet moves, right?”
The continued avoidance puts Kyle right back on edge, not sure at what point in the night exactly Cartman decided he'd rather be anywhere than near him. Why even drag him out to the party in the first place if he was just going to hide from him the entire night ? Kyle just shakes his head, he knows from experience that trying to argue with a drunk Cartman was even more pointless than trying to argue with him sober. Resigned to spend the rest of the drive in silence, Kyle sighs to himself and focuses on the road.
“You seemed mad,” Cartman mumbles from his slouched position in the passenger seat.
Kyle whips his head towards him, “What?” Cartman shrugs half-heartedly, but doesn’t open his eyes.
“Jus’ seemed like you got ur panties all bunched up into ur sandy vagina, Kahl,” he says. Kyle’s eyebrow twitches in irritation. Nothing can be genuine with this guy, huh?
“I do not have- ugh,” Kyle takes a hand from the steering wheel to rub his face, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about Cartman.”
“Yes you do.”
A beat. Kyle wants to pretend he doesn’t know but…
“Bebe and Red told me about the thing with Lola’s boyfriend.”
“Oh.” Oh?
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I mean- pssh,” Cartman scoffs, “That’s not a big deal.” Kyle gawks at him, almost swerving off the road.
“Not a big deal?! Why would you do something like that?” he exclaims. What could Cartman possibly think he could be upset about if not this exact thing?
“What, suck dick? People are gay these days, Kahl, I thought you of all people would be understanding.”
“I don’t care if you're gay, Cartman, you shouldn’t hook up with strangers-”
“Okay but Nate wasn’t a stranger, we went to school with him,” Cartman interjects smugly. He’s sat up, seemingly fully awake now, and started to try to shove the auxiliary adapter into his phone. Kyle seriously can’t believe this is how this conversation is going.
“Not the point, Eric! He was dating someone, told you he was straight, and took you to a dark parking lot in the middle of the night. Does that exactly scream ‘the best scenario to have a sexual encounter with someone’ to you?” He doesn’t notice the puzzled look that Cartman gives him, too caught up in his lecture. Once he starts, he can’t stop.
“You could’ve been assaulted, it could’ve been a trick! And I know Nate isn’t the only guy you’ve been linking up with- that weirdo back at Bebe’s seemed pretty sure he was gonna get lucky too. What exactly are you up to when me and the guys aren’t around?” Kyle, in his distracted frustration, hadn’t noticed he had been driving to his own apartment. Parked in his designated spot, he looked at Cartman who had a pointedly blank expression.
“Shit.”
“Want me to show you?” Cartman says, his voice low and breathy. He’s still slurring a bit, each word dragging along his tongue like syrup. Kyle feels light headed. The car smells like Cartman’s sweat- it’s mixed with his perfume to make the most intoxicating, poisonous bait -and the faint lingering scent of alcohol from where Cartman spilled on himself.
“I- what?” Kyle says, his voice breaking slightly. Cartman leans forward, the center console of the car creaking as he leans on it.
“I said,” Cartman’s eyes flick to Kyle’s crotch, then back up, “Do you want me to show you what I’ve been getting up to?” His voice is so sticky and hushed and Kyle can’t tear his eyes away from his lips, his skin, his furrowed brows. Kyle thinks he hears a ringing in his ears as all the blood in his body rushes down to his dick. His mouth opens, but no words come out, he’s stunned into silence. Before he can make any terrible decision, Cartman reaches out and pulls the keys from his ignition and hops out of the car in a flash, bee-lining towards Kyle’s unit. Kyle is too stunned to move for a moment, baffled by what just happened. When he comes to his senses with a blink and a rapid head shake, he also slides out of his seat and jogs after the drunk man with his keys.
Quietly, as not to piss off his sleeping neighbors, he whisper-shouts, “Cartman! Get back here!”
The fucker spares him a glance but quickly darts up the stairs, only stumbling slightly when he reached the top. Kyle follows close behind, trying to hurry up the steps quietly. When he catches up, Cartman is fumbling with the keys in the door, trying to find the right one. Trying to pull him back down towards the car, Kyle wraps an arm around Cartman’s waist and leans into his ear.
Still hushed, Kyle hisses, “Let me take you home, come on.”
But it’s too late, Cartman’s swinging the door open and spinning Kyle inside with him, slamming their bodies back against the door with a thundering shake to the apartment walls. Kyle, flat against the door with his arm still around Cartman, is about to scold him on apartment etiquette but Eric is gripping the front of his shirt and yanking him down into a crushing kiss. Immediately, Kyle freezes up, trying to run through every reason he should push Cartman away and punch him in the mouth.
But it’s all lost to him. The kiss is rough and a little sloppy with Eric’s drunkenness, but hot and dizzying all the same. Kyle squeezes the hand the rest on Eric’s side, gripping the love handle above his jeans, and snakes his other hand into his short, fluffy hair. Eric’s lips taste like hard lemonade and candy-flavored lip balm, and Kyle can’t help but lick against him, prompting a muffled whimper from the shorter man. He pulls away and presses his face to the side of Eric’s head, taking in a deep inhale through his nose to breathe in the scent of his shampoo, sweat, and the remnants of that fucking perfume.
He could laugh at the absurdity of making out with Cartman of all people against the door like rushed, horny teenagers, but the man in front of him is whining for attention and guiding their lips back together before he can collect too many thoughts. Eric’s hand reaches up to hold his jaw, stroking along the scruffy beard there, like he was fascinated by the texture. Kyle pulls away again with a short laugh, a string of spit connecting their lips and tongues for a moment before breaking.
“Jesus Christ this is insane,” he says, resisting Eric’s attempt to pull their mouths back together.
A lot had happened tonight, he was reeling. A foggy, drunk-like feeling had clouded over his mind despite his sobriety. He really should end this now before- ah fuck. Cartman, seemingly unhappy going even two seconds without attention, had slid to his knees abruptly in front of Kyle. The sight alone of Eric looking up at him with kissed, pink lips and a glazed look in his eye was enough to send a throb of need through him. Soft hands that had trailed down his torso took to making quick work of his jeans’ button and zipper, so deftly Kyle almost forgot he was drunk. Oh shit, yeah.
“Hey, no-” Eric cuts him off with a “hush" and presses his face against the heat of Kyle’s bulge in his undone jeans. He takes a few deep, slow breaths, huffing in the weight of Kyle’s musk and natural scent through the layers of fabric, and nuzzles in deeper.
“Mmphf!” He mumbles into Kyle’s crotch.
“W-what?” Kyle asks, stumbling over his thoughts at the contact. His hands found Eric’s hair again and he was frantically deciding between pulling him in closer or pushing him away. The warmth and the fleeting friction was addictive, and the sight of Cartman on his knees was even better than he imagined, but morally the situation chewed at him.
“I said, fuck!” Eric says, pulling his face away from Kyle’s body, panting lightly, “You smell good.”
A strange compliment, as Kyle couldn’t remember any partner ever saying his dick smelled good. He had one girlfriend who liked the smell of his dirty and sweaty shirts, but she had never huffed his armpits- or crotch, for that matter -like a feral animal before. He’s about to ask what that even means but Cartman’s already reaching up to pull his pants and underwear down his body, hooking his cold fingers underneath the fabric. Panicking a bit, knowing if he doesn’t stop this now he never will, Kyle hastily pulls Eric’s hands away.
“No-”
“Hey man I thought you wanted me to show you all the disgusting, depraved things I’ve been doing recently.” Eric drawled.
It sounded flirtatious and dirty, but there was a bitter twinge of something more akin to resentment soaked into his words. Kyle felt a pang of regret, he didn’t mean to slut-shame the guy he was just… Worried? Jealous. He was jealous. So deeply envious of every guy that got to experience Eric Cartman at his rawest, most vulnerable state. So, so deeply jealous of every person before him that got to feel Eric’s soft mouth around their cocks. Did they push deeper, down his throat? Did they hold him by the hair and fuck his stupid, girly face the way Kyle wants to? Did they make him gag and moan on it? Did they finish in his mouth, or on his face ? Did Cartman swallow? Would he, for Kyle?
The thoughts and images are so overwhelming he bucks his hips ever-so-slightly into the air and grips Eric’s hair with such force it has the poor guy whining and squirming away. His stifled noises of pain, while cute, bring Kyle back to the forefront of his mind.
“No,” he says, and lets go of Eric’s hair. Instead, he reaches down to hook his arms under the other man’s shoulders and pull him upwards.
“Wh- Hey!” Cartman sputters indignantly, but allows himself to be guided to stand.
He wobbles a bit, placing his hands against Kyle’s chest to steady himself. This is exactly why Kyle can’t let this happen right now, he thinks to himself. Lightly gripping Eric’s jaw he analyzes the other’s face, watching as his eyes slide from side to side, attempting to focus themselves. He was good at holding his drink, but this was a properly drunk Cartman. Anything that happened at this point just wouldn’t be right. Not for a first time together, not while Kyle’s dry as a bone, not yet.
“Dude, you’re so fucked,” he chuckled, and Cartman pouted at him in frustration.
“No ‘m nooottt, Kahl,” he pleaded, but Kyle was already shuffling them towards the couch. It was almost scary how focused and sober Cartman could seem when he was so fucked up, but years of drinking heavily and secretly will give a person some “skills”, Kyle supposed.
“Just sit, I’ll get you some water,” he said. Grumbling, Cartman did flop down onto the couch, causing a loud squeak and crunching sound that Kyle winced at internally. Cartman in general was already pretty heavy, and deadweight drunk Cartman has broken a couch or two in his time.
“Don’t wan’ any fucking water..” Cartman says, rolling his head down and to the side in intoxicated defeat, finally giving up the ruse of sobriety.
The skimpy top he’s wearing has rolled up and dug into him in the strangest places and, almost without thinking, Kyle grabs one of the strands in the bow on the back of his neck, and pulls the knot loose. The shirt falls down from Cartman’s chest, revealing more smooth pale skin, and Kyle blanches a little at the implication of what he’s just done. Eric, with a comical gasp, brings his hands to cup his “breasts” and looks up at Kyle in faux horror.
“Oh! Mr. Broflovski, how forward!” he says in a high, shrill voice. Kyle groans and turns to walk away as Cartman calls after him.
“What will the girls at Temple think? Oh I’m ruined!” Kyle shakes his head as he hurries to his room.
“Cartman please shut the fuck up.”
He opens his dresser and rummages around until he finds a shirt big enough to fit his plump friend. It’s a sleep shirt, old and stained from years of careless treatment. He’s had it so long that whatever sarcastic slogan was printed on the front has mostly faded away, leaving only one giant word legible: WARNING. He’s not even exactly sure where it came from, but it’s huge on him and will likely even be big on Cartman.
“Here,” Kyle says, shaving the shirt into Eric’s hands. He examines it for a moment before giggling, holding it up to get a better view of the faded print.
“This is my shirt.”
“Huh?”
Cartman turns the shirt around to show Kyle, but nothing stands out as particularly informative or familiar.
“From high school, when I was really big. This used t’ say some stupid shit,” he explains, “Wonder how you got it.”
Kyle shrugs, “We’ve been friends a long time.”
Cartman hummed in acceptance and took to changing, peeling off the going-out top and flinging it to the floor across the room much to Kyle’s dismay. Ignoring the slobbish behavior, Kyle made his way to the kitchen and poured Cartman as glass of water. He eyed the small countertop cabinet that held his growing liquor collection, eager to ease the ball of stress in his stomach.
Something unignorable and irreparable has already happened between them, and Kyle’s a little worried about what it could all mean. What did he want from Cartman? Sex, definitely. At some point, for sure. Was that all? The idea of letting Eric run off with other, strange men in the night- or worse, people they knew -was almost sickening. He had never before been confronted by the idea that Cartman fucked, or rather got fucked, and it opened a whole Pandora’s box of strange, dark feelings inside him.
“Helloo,” called the problem in the living room, “I was promised water?”
Kyle stepped out, brow arched and eyes narrowed, “You said you didn’t want any.”
Cartman rolled his eyes and huffed dramatically. He was laid out on Kyle’s couch in the shirt, which was a few sizes too big for him, and his underwear. His jeans and sneakers were, once again, haphazardly kicked into the middle of the room, which made Kyle’s eye twitch with deep-seated neurosis. Cartman waved his hand in the air, making childish grabbing motions, as if to wordlessly request hand delivery. Begrudgingly, Kyle obliged and placed the cup in his chubby palm.
“Kyle, I am drunk. I don’t know what I want,” he said, taking a long drink that spilled half the cup’s content on his reclined body. Unphased, he set the empty cup on the floor next to the couch and closed his eyes, nestling into his own wet clothing.
“Clearly,” Kyle said.
Cartman’s eyes snap open and lock onto him, “Unless you want to have sex. In that case I know exactly what I want.”
Rolling his eyes, but giving no other response, Kyle walked to the linen closet in his hallway in hopes of finding a spare sheet or blanket. He didn’t run the AC at night so it was bound to get warm in his apartment, but he knew if he didn’t find something to cover Cartman with he’d never hear the end of it. The man had a very particular level of expectation of care when he was drunk in someone else’s presence. Too many times being left in someone’s backyard, “in the SNOW, Kahl, I could have DIED”, turned him into even more of a diva and somewhere along the way he started retaliating whenever he was left to suffer.
Kyle pulled out a well-worn and scrappy blanket, but in the brief moment it took for him to do so, Eric had already fallen asleep. His breathing hitched quietly in his throat and Kyle knew the snoring would begin soon, loud and wall-rattling, stopping only when Cartman stopped breathing entirely for a few seconds. Sighing at the prospect of trying to sleep with a thunder machine in his front room, Kyle laid the blanket out over his sleeping friend. At least someone would sleep well.
He slipped into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of the liquor he kept, hoping it’d dampen whatever anxieties he had rising. Instead, his eyes caught the clock on the microwave, reading: 1:09. Shit, he still had homework to do.
saturday. 2:16am.
Swirling the scotch in its glass, Kyle contemplated the situation he had put himself in. None of his assignments were even close to done but he agreed to go out, he had made out with Cartman and almost let him suck his dick, and now he’s gotten stupid drunk. And even now, as he stood there with his mind fuzzy from alcohol, he was tempted to go see just how far this could all go. But that was just the sick, quiet part of himself he truly tried to ignore. The part of him that liked the feeling of his fist connecting with Cartman’s plush stomach, the part of him that always bit Heidi’s lip just a little too hard when they made out. That part of him really wanted to see how Eric would react waking up to- Okay, okay. Now’s not the time to dwell on this. He knew right from wrong, he just had strange urges.
With a sigh, he pushed himself away from the counter and shuffled back into his living room. From the faint light spilling out from his bedroom, Kyle could see the glow of Cartman’s pale face reflecting in the darkness. His snores had quieted a bit, seemingly shifting into a better position, but his breathes were still deep and whiney.
Moving closer, quietly, Kyle caught sight of the trail of drool slipping down from the corner of Eric’s mouth and across his cheek. Great, now his couch was gonna have a crusty drool stain. Cartman did look peaceful though. His plump lips parted in sleep, his cheeks round and almost cherubic. He looked even softer when he wasn’t awake to say annoying things and flash his signature shit-eating grin.
Overcome by some disgusting, foreign urge, Kyle reached out and swiped at the drool that streaked across Cartman’s face. It collected on his thumb pad and without thinking, he sucked it off. It tasted like kissing Cartman again. Suddenly nauseated by his own actions, Kyle quickly absconded to his room, closing the door with a bit too much force.
For a moment he was frozen, horrified by himself that he’d do something so nasty, so weird- but the truth was hard to ignore. He was hard. Again. With a groan of absolute anguish he crawled into his bed, shucking off his pajama bottoms as he laid out. He threw his arm over his own face, hiding from nothing, and with his other hand gripped himself through his underwear. The taste of Cartman’s drool still on his tongue, he felt himself throb at the memory of what he had just done.
He could’ve bent down and licked the spit right off his stupid, sleeping face. Probably wouldn’t even wake up. Could’ve pushed his fingers into his mouth, against the piercing in his tongue, down his throat until he gagged awake. He was so eager at the door, he’d be eager then too. Blink the sleep out of his eyes and crawl to Kyle, mouth open and ready, or-
Or, no, fuck. Kyle slipped his hand into his boxers. The skin on skin, albeit dry, felt like heaven if he could just imagine it was him. Chubby hand stroking and squeezing, and his stupid soft mouth pressed against the tip. Or soft thighs, thick and jiggling and warm, pressed around Kyle’s dick. Or- God -better yet, Eric’s ass. Bouncing back against him as Kyle pushed his head into the floor and called him disgusting names. He’d probably like that, the pervert he was. Kyle knew, he-
He couldn’t help the moans and soft, whispered words of need that pushed past his own lips. It was beginning to be too much to handle. The images of Eric spread out in different ways, teary eyed and red from abuse, he couldn’t take it. Precum beaded out and slicked the friction of his hand against his cock, igniting the flame even more. He squeezed himself tightly, imagining the wet, tight heat of Eric’s insides and how he could just destroy them if given the chance. And he would be given the chance, and he’d take it, and he’d make sure that fat fucking whore didn’t ever try to give it to any one else, and-
With a groan definitely too loud to not be heard, Kyle came, hard. It tore through him almost violently as he gripped the base of his dick and bucked his hips, trying to get deeper into Eric’s imaginary hole. Cum streaked across his stomach, where his shirt had ridden up, and dripped down his length pooling in the divot of his hip bones. Too drunk and exhausted to really care about the mess, he wiped his hand on his sheet and pulled his shirt off to half-heartedly clean himself up. He could feel sleep pulling at him, sinking him deeper into the mattress. Yawning, he pulled a spare pillow to his chest and squeezed it, imagining it was a body next to his.
Having been woken up by the slamming of a door, sleepy Eric became very aware of just how badly he had to pee. He sat up and wiped at the surprisingly feeble amount of drool on his cheek, and stretched out. Okay so he was in Kyle’s apartment. Good, he knew where the bathroom was. He stood, stumbling slightly to untangle himself from the blanket he was wrapped in- aww, Kyle you sweetheart -and padded down the hall to Kyle’s bathroom. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights the whole while, opting to fumble around the darkness of the small bathroom.
Feeling a slight throb in his head, he was eager to slip back under the covers on Kyle’s couch, but as he walked back down the hallway something stopped him. In the silence of the apartment he could hear… something. Something moving rhythmically, rustling of sheets, skin on skin. Choking back a gasp of glee, Eric pushed his fingers to his mouth and slid up against Kyle’s bedroom door. Inside, the unmistakable sounds of Kyle absolutely dry-beating it like a monster. Eric grinned to himself despite the flush in his cheeks rising and the nervous sickness in his stomach pooling.
He wondered what exactly it was that Kyle thought of to get off. Girls, probably. He thought back to all of Kyle’s known exes. Rebecca, Nicole, Heidi, that bitch from Denver, that absolute cunt from Aurora, and- oh my god - not that skank from Fort Collins. They were all cute girls- from Eric’s limited opinion. Short, wide-hipped brunettes with alright breasts. Bitterly, Eric wondered if Kyle just replayed his sexual escapades with them in his head.
Despite the growing pit of gnawing jealousy, and the growing headache, Eric palmed himself through his briefs. It’s not every day he got to hear the Kyle Broflovski jerk off in the privacy of his own bedroom. Hoping for any insight into the desires of the man he was spying on, he pressed his ear directly to the door and sank to the ground to steady himself as he listened.
Hand deep in his own underwear, Eric cursed his breathing for being louder than the hushed noises Kyle made, or the small squelches that had started to sound, or even the groan of the bedsprings that creaked as Kyle rocked his hips.
“C’monn. Just be a little louder, Kyle,” he whispered to himself, “I need this.”
And really, he did. So many years spent with his lust held up inside- knowing he was unloveable, unwantable -clinging to drunken brawls and ragebaited screaming matches. Resigned to any guy that could maybe, just maybe pass for a lanky ginger. He needed some sliver of relief, even if that came as listening in on such a private moment. And as if some mystical being, or even Kyle himself, heard him- there it was. Soft gasps and stifled moans, the fragments of words catching on Kyle’s lips and spilling out into the open air. Eric could just stuff those noises inside himself and cum from that alone but he could just hear a little more then-
“Oh- fuck- shh- fuck, Eric.”
Oh.