Authors Note: LOL this chapter's kinda long. XD I got carried away, I guess. Thank you for the reviews for last chapter, and I really hope you will take the time to write another and let me know how you're liking it. I appreciate it so much.

Chapter four-Gold

Stan Marsh was an asshole.

He had been avoiding Kyle for the past two and a half weeks, and when evasion proved impossible—like at school— he deliberately ignored him.

At first, Kyle had stayed optimistic. He was so sure Stan was telling the truth when he said he just needed a little time. But poor, oblivious Kyle had no prior romantic experience and couldn’t read the underlying truth behind the words, a dead ringer of, “You’re never going to hear from me again.” I didn’t want to believe it at first. I mean, this was Stan. He wasn’t supposed to be a douchebag, he was supposed to be our goddamn fucking friend.

Kyle’s mood quickly deteriorated the following weekend. He was badly shaken from an entire week spent waiting nervously by the phone, and he came back to school on Monday with puffy eyes, swollen and red from so much crying. He dragged himself to each of his classes in a lackluster daze, moping pitifully and not talking to anyone. His face was chalky, paler than normal and lacking its usual porcelain-like vivacity. Evidence of insomnia resided in the hollows beneath his eyes, purple and bruised looking. Stan had certainly made a fucking mess of him.

I glared hard across the cafeteria at the asshole, watching as he sat silently on the wide staircase leading back into the main corridor. He was sitting with Wendy and her friends, his elbow bent and resting lazily on top of her thigh, watching Kyle. Always watching Kyle.

Get your pussy ass over here and talk to him, you fucker, I challenged him with my glower. He buried his face against Wendy’s leg, hiding his eyes in the bend of his elbow. Wendy glanced briefly down at him, then began running painted lilac nails absently through his hair. None of the girls seemed to notice the tension in the room, thick and suffocating even over the masses of our faceless peers. They were too worried about themselves to notice much of what went on around them. Wendy didn’t even realize Stan had a drunken habit of rounding first base with the Y chromosomes of the school. In fact, Stan himself seemed pretty much oblivious to his crooked side when he wasn’t under the influence.

My expression soured. I hoped Stan was feeling too much guilt over abandoning his best friend to bang Wendy. It wouldn’t be fair of him to run off and have himself a good time when Kyle was so badly traumatized by his indifference.

I’d never had any ill feelings toward Stan before, but he was acting as if he hadn’t spent the better part of his life building this amazingly unbreakable friendship with Kyle, and a potent mixture of animosity and disgust quickly overrode the respect he’d earned from me over the years. I was so disappointed in him.

“He’s never going to talk to me again, is he, Kenny?”

I blinked away from Stan, my attention redirected to the owner of the frail voice. Kyle was staring sightlessly at his peanut butter sandwich, chin resting delicately in his palms. A feeble ghost of the fiery, confident person I’d known just last week. I touched his back, trying desperately to comfort him.

“Hey, now don’t say that,” I scolded gently. “Maybe he really does just need some time. He may be a heartthrob, but he’s modest; he probably honestly never expected it. Something that significant is bigger than a snap decision.”

I wasn’t defending Stan for the sole purpose of defending Stan. I was trying to protect Kyle in the only way I could—by giving him hope. I could only pray it wasn’t in vain. I was struggling to give Stan the benefit of the doubt myself. It was hard to believe in someone who wasn’t even acting like themselves.

Kyle flicked a baby carrot across his tray, sending the tiny piece of vegetation spiraling into his applesauce. It lodged itself into the center, point angled toward me like the nose of a snowman. I frowned, looking over his tray. Eating—or lack thereof—was also becoming a growing concern. Kyle’s lunches had gone untouched the past six school days. Today made it seven. And that was seven too many by my standards. I knew what it was like to go hungry, and the concept of someone purposely foregoing food was pure ludicrous, especially when they were doing it out of self-pity. I wasn’t going to stand for it.

I brought the cracker I was about to eat to Kyle’s mouth instead, prodding his lips with the decoratively rippled edge. “Open up the tunnel, Ky. Here comes the choo-choo.”

He fanned his lips out and blew, jerking away. “I’m not hungry,” he said angrily, wiping his mouth on the back of his ivory-colored sleeve with unnecessary vigor.

My eyes narrowed. “Come on, Kyle. You can’t do this to yourself just because Stanley feels like being a dickhole right now.” I brought the cracker to his lips again. He batted it away.

“I can’t help it! He means everything to me. He’s my whole world and I’m never right without him.”

I stared at him in the silence following his outburst, hiding the envy I felt behind cold eyes. “And what about me?” I asked plainly, flicking the cracker back onto the tray. It twirled like a top, then keeled over when it had spun itself out.

Kyle looked confused, his eyebrows arching together as if telepathically asking, what the hell does that have to do with anything? Misery stabbed icily through me. Maybe it had been arrogant of me to think I’d ever been anything to him besides a boredom-buster when Stan was unavailable.

But then carefully, apologetically, Kyle grasped one of my hands and squeezed, lowering his gaze.

“I’m sorry, Kenny. I never meant to make you feel like you didn’t matter to me. I’m really grateful you’re concerned at all about my petty little mishap. But I...” he paused to swallow, trying to uphold his composer. His expression wavered, strong for a moment, then crumbled completely. “I fucked everything up so bad.” He covered his mouth with his hand, squeezing his eyes closed like he was trying to hold in vomit. His stomach convulsed with a lone, violent dry-sob.

I looked around helplessly. The cafeteria was too well lit; large and unmercifully public beneath the bright fluorescents. It felt more like a stadium, and Kyle would hate himself later if his meltdown was the game of the day. He hated gossip, and he hated it especially when it was regarding him. I pushed myself up and rounded the table, jumping to his rescue. He looked up at me just as I ripped him from the bench, startling him into swallowing back his emotion. I dragged him across the length of the room, dodging tables and stray students, not stopping for anyone who called our names or waved hello. We managed to escape unnoticed by Cartman, who was sitting two tables over, pouting openly because everyone was in such a foul mood and because he couldn’t “flirt” with Wendy when Stan was hanging around her; he couldn’t stomach it when they made plans to “hookup” in front of him.

Butters was a little harder to sneak by. He seemed to have Kenny radar; he always knew where I was, what I was doing, and who I was doing it with. He even had my entire class schedule pinned up in his locker next to a picture of us together at Casa Bonita. If any other person were that obsessed with me, I’m sure I would have been creeped out enough to report them to the local authorities. But this was simply Butters being Butters. In a way, it was kind of cute. But Jesus, was it fucking impractical when I wanted to be alone with someone. I couldn’t count how many times Butters had screwed up potential opportunities I could have wooed—and possibly won over—Kyle. There were a few stray moments I wished desperately that I had it in myself to be angry with him. But with Butters, I just couldn’t. He had the capability to walk all over me, and I considered myself lucky that he was too kind-hearted and too naïve to use that power to his advantage.

We almost ran into him at the threshold of the exit as he was throwing away his trash. I shoved Kyle against the wall, hiding us behind the vending machine, and peered around the corner at Butters. He put his tray in the appropriate space above the waster container, and as expected, turned back toward the table where Kyle and I had just been sitting. He faltered at our unexpected absence, frowning in obvious disappointment. Mashing his knuckles together twice, his eyes carefully swept over the cafeteria, then started off to find us. Or, more accurately, off to find me. I tugged Kyle out the door while Butters disappeared in the opposite direction.

There weren’t any other students in the halls, but it still felt too risky and too awkward to discuss such personal issues in front of the science lab. The library was two doors back, tucked in a corner next to a set of bathrooms and a drinking fountain. I pushed Kyle into the tiny alcove, barricading him against the cream-colored drywall next to a plastic Caladium plant.

“Listen to me, Kyle,” I said urgently, squeezing his shoulders between my hands. He blinked in response, unsure what to think of the peculiar spark in my voice. He didn’t realize what incredible self-restraint I was practicing, otherwise we’d be in the bathroom having a live replay of the dry hump we experienced at Token's party several months ago. But this...this was actually a little more important than getting off. We could always do that later, and I fully intended to.

“You’re a smart guy. I know you had to have mulled over every possible scenario that could have arisen before you told Stan how you felt. And I know you were aware of the chance that he may not feel something back, that he might even feel a little put off or uncomfortable about it.”

“Of course I did,” he said, sounding insulted. “But I didn’t-”

“Factor in the possibility that he may feel too awkward to talk to you again.”

The challenge drained from his eyes. “...Right.”

“I think you’re being an absolute pussy.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“You know Stan’s going to talk to you again,” I said, ignoring his sarcasm. “And the quickest way that’s going to happen is if you show him that you can live with being just friends and that you’re not going to pressure him into fucking you.”

He didn’t want to let go of the romantic hope, that much was obvious in the way he looked at me. But there was a conflict there, one that was fighting him to give it up. He already knew he had lost, and now he’d have to take on the difficult role of getting the hell over it.

“I’m not sure how to show him that when he won’t even look at me,” he said reluctantly. Maybe he didn’t want to give up on Stan, but we both knew he’d do it to conserve the friendship, and that was the card I was going to play to get into his hot Jewish pants.

“Go out with me,” I blurted, losing all tact. Bewilderment crossed his face, forming tiny confused wrinkles between his brow. It stung to know the concept of being with me was so foreign to him. It was obvious it had never crossed his mind. “It’ll show Stan that you respect his feelings and that you’re capable of moving forward.”

“Oh, Kenny, I couldn’t ask you to do that for me,” he said, missing the point entirely.

“You’re not asking me to do anything. I’m the one asking, and I’m not doing it as a favor to you.” I released his shoulders and scooped his hands in mine, studying them carefully. Clean and gentle, yet somehow still unmistakably boyish. God, he was perfect. He was fucking perfect in every sense of the word. I looked back up at his eyes, the piercing green sending a surge of electric warmth straight to my dick. “From the bottom of my tarnished, perverted heart, I’m asking you to go out with me. This isn’t some tacky come-on. I mean it.”

He looked momentarily startled by my request. But Kyle—being the upstanding gentleman that he was—quickly pulled himself back together. He looked down at our interlocked hands with obvious uncertainty. He didn’t know where this was coming from. “I don’t know, Kenny.”

But he did know. He was simply too polite to say he didn’t want this. Fortunately, I was vain and believed I could get anything I wanted with a little charm. I was Kenny McCormick, after all; it didn’t matter if I was from the slums of South Park, a pervert, and a player. Everyone wanted me, and I was sure Kyle wanted me, too. He just didn’t realize it yet because he’d been too busy mooning over the other person everyone wanted. I was sure it would be a simple enough shift if only I put in a little effort, and for Kyle Broflovski, I was ready to go the distance if it meant I’d eventually have him naked and moaning beneath me.

“What’s Stan got that I don’t?” I challenged, grasping for straws at this point. “Our dicks are the same size.”

“God, Kenny, that’s not the reason I... It wouldn’t matter to me if-”

“It’s because of the way he dances, isn’t it?” I asked, determined to pinpoint the reason. “I admit he does know how to move, especially his hips, but that doesn’t automatically mean he could make you scream louder. I’m more experienced in that area.”

Kyle bristled and pulled his hands away. “That’s just one of the many reasons I’m not sure- I am sure that we wouldn’t be good together. I wouldn’t jump immediately into bed with you and I wouldn’t tolerate my partner fulfilling carnal desires outside our relationship just because I won’t give it up.”

“And I full-heartedly respect that.” I grabbed his hand again and sandwiched it eagerly between mine. “I’d practice abstinence for you. It’s not like you plan on staying a virgin forever, right? I could wait.”

He actually laughed at that, humorlessly, and somehow that made it all the more painful. “You? Abstinence? Come on. You wouldn’t last a week.”

“And, what? You think Stan could do a better job of it?”

“I’m certain he could.” No hesitation. He didn’t so much as bat an eyelash.

I couldn’t believe he held Stan in such higher respect than me. My voice rose defensively, “And what makes you so sure? He’s not a sinless saint like you.”

“But he’s not like you,” He retorted, almost sneering the words.

“He flirts with everyone, including you, who he obviously doesn’t even want—” I saw the hurt flicker through his eyes, profound and raw, but I was too offended to stop. “And he’s still having casual sex with Wendy even though you could barely consider the two friends. How does that make him any more honorable than me?”

Kyle shook his head. “Stan’s just confused. It’s not some huge game like it is for you. He’s a romantic and he needs that sort of affection. He gets it from Wendy occasionally, sure, but it always leaves him feeling guilty afterward. All he needs is someone who would give themselves to him as completely as he’d give himself to them.”

“Someone like you,” I concluded dryly.

He lifted his chin a notch, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Someone like me.”

I sighed, long and loud as I carefully constructed my next words. This was harder than I had expected it to be. Woe betide anyone misjudged the bullheaded mind of a Jewish Taurean.

“I know I’m promiscuous,” I admitted softly. “But that doesn’t make me incapable of loyalty. It’s not fair to judge me on that when I’ve never been in an exclusive relationship in the first place. The truth is that you don’t know what it would be like to have that with me. But I promise, Kyle,” I stepped closer, placing his hand over my heart. He glanced briefly down at it, then nervously back into my eyes. “I wouldn’t need anything else in the world if I had you.”

“Kenny.”

“Please, Kyle,” I begged, pressing myself into him. He was slim but solid, perfectly sculpted beneath the warm fabric of his clothes. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the one thing I never thought I’d give up. “And just to prove how serious I am, how much that I want this, I want you to have this.”

He looked down as I pressed it into his palm, eyes widening in disbelief. He knew what it was; a modest pocket watch that had been in my family for over one-hundred years. Made of real gold, it was the only thing in the McCormick family that had any actual value, and it was the only thing I’d never pawn, no matter how hungry or cold I got. Kyle gaped at it, turning his palm slowly up and back as it gleamed dully in the artificial light. His eyes darted back to mine, lips pursing together.

“Please, just give me a chance,” I whispered, touching his cheek and wanting more. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you. Not food, not money, not women. Not even-” I had to pause to swallow; it was surprisingly difficult to say. “—not even Butters Stotch.”

Kyle choked, squeezing his eyes closed. “I want Stan,” he whimpered, defiant. I was sure he’d have stomped his foot if he were ten years younger.

“I’ll help you get over it,” I said. He shook his head and tried to shove away. I caught his jawbone, bringing my lips dangerously close to his. “If you don’t like it we can go back to being friends.”

He stilled in my arms, momentarily contemplative, and opened his eyes slowly. “I would leave you for him,” he said seriously. Tears glassed his eyes, glittering like liquid diamonds along the lower rims. “If he decided he wanted me, I would leave you for him.”

It stung. It stung worse than any death I’d ever felt, but the surrender in his threat was deadly in its allure, poisonously tempting. I could have him so long as I was aware of this one condition: I could lose him in a heartbeat to my dearest friend.

And I didn’t care. Good Lord, heaven help me, I didn’t fucking care. Kyle—the nerdy, sexy, ill tempered, redheaded, morally restrained Jew—all mine.

At long last.

“I know you would,” I said, and brought my lips to his.

Three days, Goddammit. Three days was all I got with Kyle Broflovski. True to his word, we never surpassed first base, and true to mine, I didn’t pressure him. The shy rhythm of his tongue had me reeling with ecstasy, and, God, every kiss was like a tiny slice of heaven. I knew my patience with him would pay off in the long run, and until then I was content with what little he was willing to give me. It was all worth it to be able to call him mine.

Butters was naturally the first to learn of our exclusive relationship. He was like a puppy, always at my heals, waiting for me between classes. It took all of five minutes for my new status as “taken” to turn him into a perpetual mope. His eyes, normally gleaming with childish happiness, seemed to glaze over in a foggy haze, dull and dim and miserable. Something inside me longed to reach out to him, sooth the ache I had caused and make him smile again. But I couldn’t be that person to him anymore, and I had to keep reminding myself that he’d get over me eventually, just like I was determined Kyle would soon get over Stan.

It was so easy to misjudge the power of emotion when you yourself were blinded by desire. How wrong I was to believe I could win Kyle’s affections. How wrong we both were to assume Kyle’s love was unrequited just because Stan had distanced himself. Someone as loveless as I was could easily play the game, assuming love was never involved. You can’t fuck that up if it’s genuine.

It was the beginning of the third day that I knew. Stan was standing by his locker in the morning, his face haggard and melancholy as he watched Kyle and I make our way down the hall, hand in hand. I had expected him to ignore us as he had the past several weeks, but he seemed to have forgotten to pretend that we didn’t exist to him anymore.

I waved at him casually as we passed, and Kyle couldn’t suppress his urge to look back, longing smoldering darkly in his eyes. To keep his mind off of it, I pushed him against my locker, attacking the skin from his chin to his collarbone with kisses. He allowed it hesitantly, his posture stiff and his hands resting lightly on my forearms. He was still uncomfortable touching me this way; it was all so new to him.

Eventually, I told myself, sucking and nipping at the curve of neck. Kyle was morally structured, that was for damn sure, but he was still a guy. It wouldn’t be long before my mouth and hands were inching across the rest of that warm, creamy skin. Until then, I’d have to make do with what little he’d give and jack-off like mad in the evenings to keep myself sane and faithful. I couldn’t fucking wait to ravish him.

He was branded with a nice sized hickey by the time the bell rang. I pulled away reluctantly, pausing to kiss him warmly on the mouth before retaking his hand to walk him to homeroom.

I was surprised to see that Stan was still by his locker, watching us with haunted eyes. He trembled visibly in his dark blue sweater, penitent and unstable in his misery. But even that didn’t really sink in. It wasn’t until he closed his locker and turned away, pain curling his beautiful face, that I knew. You’d have to be within an inch of brain-dead not to see it. The heartache was poignant, engulfing him like smog.

But I was selfish, and I clung to my pretentious relationship with Kyle the rest of the school day—hugging him, kissing him, holding his hand. Enjoying my last moments because I knew it was all over. Because... I knew what I had to do. Maybe I had always been selfish, but I’d always loved my friends more than I’d loved myself.

Sometimes having a big heart really sucked monkey balls.

I didn’t bother knocking. Normally I did, though I knew none of the Marsh’s would think twice if I barged in. I liked to use my manners at all times; it ensured my charm stretched beyond my friends and straight into the hearts of their parents. This way, I could persuade them to let us do practically anything we wanted, from extended curfews to chaperone free parties. Shelia Broflovski was the only one I hadn’t completely won over, but I had been working on it. Especially now that it was her son I wanted to bone.

Sharon Marsh wasn’t home, or at least no where in sight, and Randy was snoozing on the couch in his underwear, the dim glow of a ballgame flickering across his slumped figure. I traced the familiar path up the stairs to Stan’s room, pausing momentarily outside the door to roll my eyes at the quiet sound of woe-is-me, suicidal music drifting through the sliver of space between the carpet and the door. I let myself in unannounced, kicking the door closed behind me to warrant quality seclusion.

Stan was sitting at his desk, his forehead resting against his open palms in the universal pose of stress. He barely glanced at me before sighing and looking away again, fingers digging into his bangs. He clearly didn’t want to have this talk any more than I did, and that pissed me the fuck off. He wasn’t the one who had something to lose.

I made my way over to the desk and leaned against it. “You’re in love with Kyle,” I said simply, delving straight into the heart of the matter.

He blinked slowly, staring sightless down at his desktop. “So are you,” he answered brokenly.

“But he wants you back.”

He hesitated a beat, then shook his head dismissively. “So does everyone else in South Park.”

“And so we get to the real problem,” I said. Stan shoved himself up angrily, and I caught his elbow before he could stalk away. “Are you seriously that much of a chick? You’re pouting and not talking to us because you think Kyle is just another groupie?”

“That’s not what I said!” he snapped, wrenching his arm free. His glare was diamond hard.

“That’s the problem, Stanley. You haven’t said anything about this whole damn thing!” I stabbed my finger at the window, toward Kyle’s house. “You’ve left Kyle in the dark with nothing but a load of dead air between you. Do you have any idea at all what this is doing to him? What an emotional mess he’s become? He thinks you’re disgusted by him, and I can’t blame him. I’d think the same thing if my best friend couldn’t even look at me anymore!”

Stan closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he rubbed circles into his sinuses. He didn’t seem to be doing much better than Kyle was; though he seemed to be more tense than drained. What Kyle had said was true—they were never right without the other, just listless souls lacking purpose, just drifting through the sea of life. My stomach curled enviously at the bond I’d never have.

“I love him, Kenny,” said Stan. His voice had lost all its edge. “I’ve been in love with him for so long, I can’t ever remember a time when I wasn’t. That’s why I could never get things right with Wendy. It’s why I can’t get things right with anyone. No one will ever make me feel as deeply as Kyle makes me feel. It’s an impossibility.”

For a moment, I thought of Butters, his cute smile flashing with heartbreaking clarity across my mind. Some corner of my heart trembled, quaking painfully at the reminder of his angelic gray eyes. I didn’t want to think about him, and I was more than grateful when Stan continued, successfully burying the emotions again.

“But it would hurt too much to...” he closed his eyes, swallowing hard. “Kenny, what if it’s all an illusion for him?”

“What are you talking about?”

Stan opened his eyes, the deep blue a little too bright against the red sting of tears. He reached an unsteady hand toward me and cupped my jaw, caressing my cheek with his thumb. I felt my knees start to melt.

“Wh-what are you-”

“Shhh.” He stepped closer, his movements sultry, dark somehow, and brushed his lips in an almost-kiss against mine. I whimpered at the sensation, my knees buckling instantly under his magic. His hands moved up to catch me by the elbows, haul me closer into him. I grasped his forearms and steadied myself in his embrace. His breath lingered over my mouth, warm and fragrant, laden with seduction. The erratic thump of my heartbeat filled my head.

“That’s why,” Stan said, loitering a moment before he moved away, dejected. “Whatever this...this thing is that I have that makes it so easy for me to seduce people. Kyle’s my best friend. We spend so much time together, we touch each other a lot, I flirt with him just because it’s all I thought I’d ever be able to get. Of course he thinks he’s in love with me. He’s under the influence of this ridiculous curse I have. It’s not real, Kenny.”

I blew out a long breath, trying to calm my blazing hormones, and nodded. His logic was sensible. Like Stan, I could make anyone fall in love with me. It was flattering, of course, but when every person I encountered dissolved into a puddle at my feet, it seemed to lose its authenticity somehow and after a while...meant nothing. It all felt so artificial.

Stan moved to sit on his bed, and I followed suit, my thigh pressing companionably against his. I patted his knee warmly. “It’s real, Stan,” I told him, ignoring the way the words bit into my stomach. “Everyone else might be under your spell, but Kyle’s love is real.”

He looked up at me, questioning ablaze in soft flames just below the surface of his doubt. “How do you know?”

I smiled sadly, letting my hand fall still against his leg as I searched his ceiling in thought. “Kyle’s been my boyfriend for three days. I’ve actually been putting in real effort to make him melt, make him moan. To make him...to make him look at me the way he’s looked at you his whole life.” I looked back at Stan, and something about the wonder residing so innocently on his face helped push me onward. It hurt like hell, but Stan would never make me feel this way on purpose, and as much as I hated it, he deserved to be happy. He deserved Kyle. “You can charm anyone in school, male or female, and I can come along five minutes later and charm the same person all over again. You know that. Any person, that is, except Kyle. Because even if Kyle is charmed by you, and I know he is, it’s grounded by love. Real love. Something not even my sex appeal can penetrate. There’s no moving him, Stan. He’s yours. He always has been.”

Stan blinked away some tears. “What about you? We’re tight, Kenny. If it wasn’t for Kyle, you’d be my best friend. I don’t want this to come between us.”

I had to smile. I knew somewhere in that oversized heart of his that part of this was him not wanting to hurt me. Stan was the king of self-sacrifice; everyone else’s happiness always came before his did.

“You know me,” I said, faking a smile. “Kyle’s hot, but I can move on. At least if you get with him, I wont have to compete with you when I‘m trying to get some action at a party.”

Stan smiled, buying into my lie. No one would believe that Kenny McCormick would actually care enough about someone to become heartbroken over it. And in a way, I guess that’s how I preferred it.

“Stan?”

Both our eyes snapped to the door, startled by Kyle’s voice calling from the other side. He knocked softly, and I bolted from the bed. “Don’t screw it up,” I hissed at Stan, hiding myself in the dark confines of his closet. I kept the door cracked slightly, watching invisibly from across the room.

The bedroom door opened slowly. Kyle froze on the threshold when his eyes met Stan’s, looking appropriately nervous and displaced. He wrung his hands together in an almost painfully Butters-like fashion.

“Kyle,” Stan said, tender surprise lacing his voice as he stood. He lingered awkwardly by the bedside, but still somehow managed to maintain his cool aura. Kyle finally stepped into the room, leaving the door wide open. A quick escape. I’d never seen so much strain between them before, such formality.

“I’m sorry, Stan,” He finally said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“For what?” Stan asked. “for actually having the guts to admit something I never could?”

Kyle just stared at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I want you, Kyle,” he said simply, breaking the ice. Breaking my heart. The curtness between them evaporated noticeably. “I just didn’t know what to do about it because I thought... I thought if you had any feelings for me that it’d just be some crush like Wendy and I-”

“You want me?” Kyle whispered, cutting him off.

“Yes,” Stan answered right away, then smiled and repeated the same words Kyle had said to him, “I’m deeply, madly, desperately, honestly, completely in love. With you, Kyle.”

Kyle needed no further persuasion. He was across the room in an instant, grabbing frantically for Stan’s sweater, pressing their lips together and melting to pieces at the sensation. My stomach lurched painfully as I watched the way his tongue danced with Stan’s, rhythmic and flawlessly, every ounce of reservation gone. He hadn’t ever let go like that with me. He hadn’t ever kissed back with such enthusiasm, such passion. He never melted in my arms the way he had already dissolved in Stan’s.

My fingers curled bitterly into the door, scraping jagged lines into the paint. Several tiny pieces of wood came loose under the pressure; slivers that jammed and stuck underneath my nails. My breath hissed through my teeth at the pain, but it was already forgotten. Kyle had drilled it into my head that he wasn’t easy and I’d have to go to incredible lengths to get into his pants. He failed miserably to mention that he was a complete closet slut for Stan. I bet Stan wouldn’t be told to slow down if he tried to touch Kyle’s ass.

Naturally, Stan was the first to pull back, turning his head away. Kyle kissed a fervent trail from his cheek to his throat, his breath already coming out in labored gasps. His hands—those beautiful, perfect, artistic hands—cupped Stan’s jaw to bring his mouth back down. They kissed slowly, but somehow barely restrained; eyes closed, mouths open, hands grasping desperately for each other.

“Play with me, Stan,” Kyle whispered against his lips when he’d finally managed to break the kiss.

“Kyle,” Stan whimpered, the warning bland. He kept casting fleeting glances in my direction, and I knew he was still worried about bruising my ego. I wondered momentarily what he’d do if he knew it was a heart-wound the salt was being rubbed into and not some stupid pride issue. It was that tiny concern for my well-being that stopped me from hating him completely.

“Please,” Kyle begged, pausing to drop a hot kiss on the corner of Stan’s mouth. “I’ve waited for you for so long. I sat by and said nothing, party after party while you made-out with everyone else but me. I want you, Stan. Please, let this be my turn.” His hands lost their shyness; he was caressing up Stan’s shirt, stroking his stomach in teasing little circles, then moved them down to squeeze his ass. Stan grunted.

“Your first time shouldn’t be this way, Ky,” he argued gently, trying to pry Kyle loose. But Kyle wasn’t having any of it; he clung tighter.

“I know, and it won’t be,” he said. “We don’t have to go all the way. Just play with me.” He sucked Stan’s lower lip into his mouth and nudged their hips together. “C’mon Stan, make me yours.”

Stan moaned, his eyes fluttering to stay open. He was trying hard to stand firm, not wanting to hurt me by putting on a show with the person who was still technically my boyfriend. After all, it wasn’t like we’d broken up yet. But he was quickly losing the battle; I could see his evident arousal pressed against Kyle’s. And who could blame him, really? Kyle’s hands were still exploring, running tenderly over Stan’s physique, teasing him, wanting him. Needing him.

I slipped carefully from the closet, crossing the room on silent feet. Kyle’s back was luckily still toward the door, and even if it weren’t, he seemed to be too busy sucking the sensitive skin behind Stan’s ear to notice anything going on around him. Stan opened his eyes—slanted and lustful as they were—to peer at me over Kyle’s shoulder. His hands were unconsciously gripping his ass, clutching him closer.

I smiled as best I could, giving him a weak salute as I closed myself out of the room. I was vaguely aware of the fact that I’d just voluntarily passed up the opportunity to watch two of the hottest people I’d ever seen in some live, heavy petting action. But the thought wasn’t arousing—It burned. Somewhere inside my soul, something was burning, cracking dryly around the edges, and for the first time in my life, I honestly resented Stan’s existence.

I held myself together long enough to make it out the door. It wasn’t raining, but the scent was heavy and sweet in the air. Storm clouds were rolling in a lint-colored blanket across the sky, and every once in a while I felt a spattered of wetness across my face, cold and menacing. I walked frozenly down the sidewalk, passing four houses before my breath became labored with emotion. I came to a stop at the corner intersecting Stan’s street from Kyle’s, my breath heaving uncomfortably in my chest, and leaned heavily against a lamppost.

It felt like someone was squeezing my lungs in iron hands. I closed my eyes, struggling to take slow breaths, to get some sort of oxygen into my body. Lightheadedness was consuming me quickly, dizzying through my brain. I touched a hand to my nauseous stomach and choked dryly.

“Kenny?”

A gentle hand touched my shoulder, and I spun around, frightened by the unexpected presence. Butters flinched and jumped back, blinking wide, startled eyes.

“Butters,” I whispered after a moment, when the shock wore off.

“What happened?” He asked. It was just one of many things I had always liked about him. He never asked stupid, obvious questions like “are you okay?” when you clearly weren’t. He just dove head first into the issue, no bullshitting around.

I pressed a hand to my eyes, sighing. That’s when I realized how bad I was trembling. “Kyle left me,” I managed to say, my voice quivering with emotion. Fuck, I was seconds from tears. I hadn’t cried since I was nine-years-old, damn him. Damn him.

Butters didn’t say a word. He simply reached out and gathered me into his arms. And, God, it made me feel worse and better all at the same time. Worse because he cared so much for me and I had hurt him so badly, so willingly. He had wanted me for so long, waited so patiently while I seduced classmate after classmate, always glossing him over for reasons I’m sure he didn’t understand. But he never complained, he never got angry. He never made me feel like shit for slowly breaking his heart to pieces over the years.

And better because his fingers were gently stroking the back of my neck in just the right way. Because he was so warm and smelled so good. He was smaller than Kyle, softer than Kyle. But the electricity of his touch was as shockingly powerful, and his body was more receptive to mine, fit better. He wasn’t ridged and reluctant to touch me. He didn’t stiffen when I put my arms around him and pulled him closer. He arched his neck toward me, invitingly, when I nuzzled against him, instead of arching away.

“Butters,” I whispered into the crook of his neck, and sank my teeth gingerly into his skin. A small, victimized noise escaped his throat. His hold on me changed, shifting from comfortingly dominate to helplessly spellbound. He wanted me. He wanted me so badly I was almost positive he’d let me take him right here and now if I tried. Public or not, to hell with his parents finding out he’d had gay sex on the corner of Hackney and Mayberry Avenue and grounding him for it. He’d sit in his room and smile because he’d think it had been worth it. He’d think I was worth it.

I trailed slow kisses over his throat and chin to his mouth. He kissed back hungrily, his fingers curling desperately into the back of my shirt. Butters excelled in the art of making-out. He’d been shy when I’d first started out by trapping him in the corner of the locker room everyday, but he caught on quick, and it was a mere couple of days before he knew exactly how to crank up the heat between us. He demonstrated that now, teasing me slowly, hotly. I shuddered and retracted my tongue, dropping a few more kisses on his mouth before pulling back. His eyelids were heavy, and he opened them with slow reluctance. The rain-gray irises looked darker somehow, drunk with desire.

He was ready to fuck.

I strummed my index finger against his lips, looking over his surreally angelic face. An angel trembling with barely controlled lust.

“Are your parents home?” I asked, breathless. He shook his head, and I pressed another kiss to his lips. “Want to play?”

Butters was...amazing.

He had been even more willing than I had thought.

If he had it his way, I’d have fucked him the minute the door closed behind us. But I wanted him to be better prepared than that, and I didn’t want just a quick lay. Kyle had teased me for far too long, and damnit, I was going to take my damn sweet time enjoying myself.

Butters was beside himself with impatience. I could understand his side; he’d been begging me to keep going during our over-the-clothes foreplay sessions for over a year. He didn’t want me to tease him to full-arousal and than leave like I normally did; he wanted me to finish him off this time, and I fully intended to.

We had already been playing for an hour when I had learned Butters knew how to use him mouth in more good ways than just one, and that he was also a moaner. I had to hold him down to the mattress when I took him between my lips, which wasn’t as long as I would have liked. He was at the brink already, and I had to keep pausing to delay his release, gently shushing him as he writhed against the restraints of my hands on his hips and begged me not to stop.

I knew he was ready after another round of frenching, both of us panting, our hair a tangled, sweaty mess. I eased into it slowly, kissing him soothingly on the neck as he relaxed to accommodate my size. He fit me like a glove, warmly, perfectly. He was the first lover I’d had face to face, him on his back and helpless beneath me, staring into each others eyes. The release was quick for us both, too quick, and we both cried out at the rippling pleasure that shot through us.

Now I was regretting it.

In the afterglow of lovemaking, Butters curled warmly against my side, I wished I could take it all back. It wasn’t that it wasn’t good; it was incredible. And that was the reason in and of itself. Butters was everything I could ever ask for and more. He was absolutely everything that I wanted. And I loved him. God, did I ever love him. And that love love, that romantic kind of love, that in love...was right there. It was right fucking there, swimming just along the banks of my heart.

But so was Kyle, and he was clouding up my mind, making everything inside of me hurt all over again. I wanted Kyle. I wanted fucking Kyle and I wasn’t even entirely sure why. And Butters deserved so much more than that. I was remembering far too late why I never gave in to what he wanted so badly. This wasn’t fair to him; in so many ways this wasn’t fair.

“Butters, I have to go,” I said, gently waking him from the light snooze he had drifted into. He yawned and snuggled closer against me, his body soft and warm.

“Please don’t go yet,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

I briefly squeezed my eyes closed, trying not to let that get to me. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ve got to go.” I put my hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place as I slid out of bed. Butters sat up, looking tiny and delicious amid the tangled sheets. I busied myself with my clothes, not wanting to look at him for too long. If I did, I’d want him again, and that was a mistake I couldn’t afford to make twice.

“When will you be back?” He asked.

I hiked my jeans up over my hips. “I’m not coming back. Not for this anyway.”

“Oh gee, I wasn’t very good at it, was I? I’m awful sorry, Kenny. I didn’t mean to-”

“No,” I cut him off, forcing myself to look into his eyes. “You were fine, Butters. It was good. It was really good. Whoever is lucky enough to end up with you is going to have no cause for complaints.”

“Then why don’t you wanna come back?” he asked sadly.

It hurt. It fucking hurt to hear him ask me that, and Kenny McCormick didn’t do pain. I took a breath and jammed my hoodie over my head, forcing myself to be a little more firm. He wasn’t going to let this go if I didn’t crush him completely. I was already in too deep.

“Because I’m in love with Kyle.”

Butters face fell, although I didn’t think that was quite possible at that point. He seemed to be struggling to wrap that bit of information around his brain, to process it and come up with something to say. But I didn’t give him the opportunity, because I didn’t want to hear it. The devastation so plainly on his face was all my heart could take.

“I care about you a lot, Buddy,” I said. “and I never wanted to hurt you like this, but I have to be honest with you. You’re so honest with everyone else that I think it’s the least you deserve. I want Kyle. I’m sorry I used you to feel better about him. It was wrong and I’d take it back if I could, but I can’t, and I can only hope we can still be friends after this. But it can’t happen again. We have to put it behind us.”

Tears quickly filled his eyes. I had expected him to beg me not to go, to reconsider what we could have together. That was the way Butters usually was with me and I had grown accustomed to his never-ending affection. Instead he gritted his teeth, his eyebrows drawing dangerously together.

“You’re a dirty asshole,” he said simply, angrily. I blinked in surprised, shocked he had it in himself to call me something even marginally vile.

“I-”

“No.” He cut me off. “No, you listen to me, Mister. I’ve waited an awful long time for you, and I won’t regret what happened even if you tell me you hate me. But you,” he shook his head sadly, angry tears burning trails down his cheeks. “One of these days, you’re gonna love me. You’re gonna love me and you’re gonna be sorry you ever pushed me away.”

I felt every organ in my body freeze. His eyes were like I’d never seen them before; hard, cruel. Frosty and numbing like ice. The conviction of his words struck me deeply, and for a heart-stopping moment, his words felt like law, like a commandment. It would happen, and there wasn’t a goddamned thing I could do to stop it.

I stepped backward, unblinking as I fumbled behind me for the doorknob.

“...I’m sorry, Butters.”

My dad had been picking up extra shifts and side jobs the past two years, and as the financial stability in our home increased, so did the frequency of balanced, filling meals. I hadn’t gone to bed hungry a day in over ten months, and tonight Mom had made my favorite: Spaghetti and meatballs, garlic toast, and milk. A true feast at the McCormick residence.

But I wasn’t hungry.

I hid away in my room and stared listlessly up at the ceiling from my bed, Butters’ words ringing like a haunted melody through my head. It was depressing to think that he was probably right. One of these days, I was going to be more sorry I let him go than I’d ever be able to say. One of these days, I was going to love him more than I ever thought I was capable of loving. I could feel it deep within myself, laying dormant underneath all the other bullshit in my life. I just didn’t know how to unfreeze it, how to let it grow.

I didn’t know how Kyle had reached me the way he did, but part of me resented him for it. I didn’t want to feel this much, to hurt this much. I had carefully and strategically repressed my feelings for Butters because I didn’t ever want to know the pain of a broken heart. God damn Kyle for going and doing just that. God damn him for making me fall in love. God damn him for making me hurt Butters the way I did.

The hinges of my door squeaked open, startling me from the sleep I didn't realize I was falling into. I glanced up at the doorway, feeling my heart lurch as Kyle stepped in and closed the door behind him.

“Hey, Kenny,” he greeted softly.

He looked too well-kissed, too whole, too happy. It had been four hours since I’d left him at Stan’s house, and it didn’t look like they’d let a minute of that time go to waste. I looked away.

“Your mom made spaghetti,” he said, as if I wasn’t aware. The whole damn house smelled like The Olive Garden. I felt him move closer when I didn’t respond, stopping just beside the bed. “Listen, Kenny-”

“You’re leaving me for Stan.”

Kyle hesitated, surprised I had already found out. “Well, I...yeah, I am.”

“Great.” I shrugged, but the motion was jerky and moody. “What do you want, a congratulatory fuck?”

“I told you this would happen if Stan ever decided he wanted me,” he snapped. “and you didn’t care.”

“I cared, I just didn’t think it would happen.”

“Well, it did.”

“Obviously.”

“What’s that supposed to mean anyway?” He asked bitingly. “How did you already know about us?”

For fucks sake, he was already calling them an us. It was sickening. “I was hiding in the closet when you got together. I had gone over to talk to Stan about why he was avoiding you when he so obviously wanted to fuck you, and you showed up.” Kyle said nothing, and I finally looked up at him, angry. His eyes were overflowing with pity, and that only pissed me off more. “So how is he at fucking, Kyle? Did it live up to your expectations or are you sorry you didn’t ride me when you had the chance?”

“We didn’t have sex.” He snarled. “You know I’m not that type of person.”

“Not with me anyway.”

“Not with Stan either.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“What are you so bitter about?” Kyle yelled, finally reaching his breaking point. “That Stan will get into my pants and you wont? So the fuck what, Kenny? There’s plenty of people who would kill for a night in your bed. We’re supposed to be friends, and I’d appreciate it if you thought of me as a something more than someone Stan beat you to!”

I lurched upright, grabbing the drawstrings of his hoodie—of Stan’s hoodie, Goddammit—and yanked him forward, bringing our faces an inch apart. He lost his balance and stumbled a little, grabbing onto my hands for support.

“I think of you as a hell of a lot more than that, Kyle. I was willing to give up everyone and everything for you because not only do I think of you as more than a friend, I think of you as more than a lover. I wanted to actually be with you, exclusively, and I thought I had that. I did have that for a while and I’ve never been so goddamn happy in my life, even if you probably ran to the bathroom to brush your fucking teeth every time I kissed you. So excuse me if I’m a little less than ecstatic that you get to ride off into the sunset on a white stallion with Stanley ass fucking you along the way.” I released him just as abruptly and dropped my face into my hands.

Kyle was quiet for a long moment, then placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Hey,” he said, suddenly calm. “You mean a lot to me too, Kenny. More than you probably realize. I know you’re hurt right now, and that’s understandable. But you’re going to get over this. It’s great that you’re finally willing to try meaningful relationships, and I’m flattered that I’m the first person you thought of. But I’m not the only trustworthy person out there.”

I dropped my hands and laughed sadly, shaking my head. He didn’t get it. He didn’t fucking get it.

“You should find someone you have romantic feelings for. You’re honestly really great, Kenny. If it wasn’t for Stan, I’d be more than happy to give you a chance and see where it could go. But take it from me, it’s so much better when you’re with someone you actually feel romantically toward.”

I closed my eyes, heaving a deep sigh. I was too exhausted to try to argue. What would be the point anyway? He had Stan. There was no swaying him now.

“Here,” he said, pulling one of my hands up. He uncurled my fingers and dropped something round and heavy into my palm. “Give it to someone you truly love.” I looked up into his eyes questioningly, and he squeezed the object between our hands before releasing it.

My heart sunk when I looked down, finding the pocket watch I’d given him resting soundly in my possession. When I looked back up, he was already gone.

“... But I already did,” I told the empty room.

I turned onto my side and curled slowly into the fetal position, clutching the watch to my chest. I trembled brokenly with the onset of sobs, and slowly, one by one, the tears finally began to fall.

To be continued! Please review. :)

-Bratchild3