Authors Note: Thanks for the reviews! Since I’ve been asked, I’ll let everyone know now that I don’t know if this story will remain a CartmanxKyle or ultimately end in a StanxKyle. I just know that you’ll be getting plenty of both and I’m going to let this story form how it will. That said, please continue to give me your thoughts with a review. :)

Chapter two-Fireflies

It was after nine O'clock at night by the time we got back from Denver, and it was still snowing. I walked into Cartman's house, wearing Cartman's jacket, and promptly slammed the door in Cartman's face.

"Aye!" He screamed as he wrenched the door back open. Snow-cold air billowed in around his bulky form, rustling the yellow lace curtains and a lone magazine Lianne had abandon on the pink and blue confetti speckled sofa.

"You're letting in the cold," I said evenly, not looking at him as I freed myself from the sizeable confines of his jacket.

"It's my house," He reminded me brashly. "I'll let in the lice-infested hobo that lives behind McDonalds if I want."

After a measured pause, in which I said nothing, the door slammed. I turned as he came up behind me, shoving the jacket into his chest as I strode past him. He grabbed the garment reflexively and hurled it immediately onto the floor. I was already halfway up the stairs when he came thundering after me, shouting my name. I ignored him as I sailed past Lianne's room, paying no mind to the "Do Not Disturb!" sign hanging from the gold door handle.

Lianne was a slut, plain and simple, but I still liked her. She always remembered my favorite foods and she was always happy to have me over. She didn't hover or ask embarrassing questions, like if we were using condoms, and if she knew what our "study sessions" actually consisted of—and I'm almost positive she did—she never let on. Just the way I liked it.

"Come on, Kahl." Cartman was at the top of the stairs, leaning forward with one hand against the banister to catch his breath. "You can't seriously still be pissed off."

I flicked his bedroom light on and slammed the door behind me.

I was still pissed off.

Lying wasn't something I tolerated, and Cartman had done a lot of lying earlier. We didn't really have dinner reservations at six; you don't need a reservation to eat at Shakey's. Which, fine, I let him off the hook for that one. No huge deal. Then we got to the theatre and I came to realize that Cartman didn't "technically" have the tickets, which meant he "technically" lied about that too. He also didn't have money to buy said tickets, but that didn't matter anyway because it was sold out. Then he devised some stupid fatass plan to sneak us in. In the stupid fatass' defense, that part went smoothly. Even though I was completely opposed to the idea of sneaking in, I had started to calm a little for all of five minutes before it became painfully evident he'd snuck us into the wrong play.

Avenue Q, Goddammit.

The door flew open as I slipped out of my sweat jacket and draped it over the back of Cartman's computer chair.

"You know what? I'm getting fed up with your ungrateful attitude, Jew." Cartman fumed, forcing the words out between his teeth. He slammed the door. "You got a free meal and a free show. You should be on your knees worshipping my balls right about now."

"It wasn't even the right play, Cartman! I wanted to see Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat!" I began wriggling out of my jeans, pausing halfway to toe off my shoes and kick them under the bed.

"If you had any idea how gay it is for you to want to see a musical play in the first place, let alone one with words like 'Amazing' and 'Technicolor' in the title, you'd be thanking me right now. At least Avenue Q has puppets."

"Like that makes it any less gay. It's borderline flaming."

"Just like your lovely day-walker hair."

I squeezed my eyes closed and gritted my teeth, desperately trying not scream in outrage and lunge at him. Every time Cartman and I got into a fight somewhere private, we ended up having angry hate sex. And I seriously didn't feel like him touching me right now.

Instead of giving into my fury and bashing his face in, like he so rightfully deserved, I spread my arms and fell back against the bed, sighing. I didn't need to open my eyes again to know he was staring at me. I could practically feel his immodest ogling, burning a lustful hole straight through my green-checkered boxers. I flung an arm over my eyes to obstruct the light penetrating the thin shield of my eyelids.

"What's this?" asked Cartman, gasping in mocked surprise. "The Jew surrenders? You've fallen victim to my unbridled charm? You want me to take you now?"

"Don't even think about it, Lardass," I threatened tiredly.

His pants dropped to the floor, pooling around his ankles with a soft whooshing sound. "Oh, I'm way past thinking about it. You can't pull off half your clothes and throw yourself on my bed without expecting me to take what I deserve. That's an open invitation, Jew-boy, and I humbly accept."

I scoffed, refusing to scramble away. I wasn't scared of him. "It's not an invitation. I'm only here because you refused to take me back to my house."

"How can I?" He asked, his words muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head and flung it at me. I launched it toward the right, hitting the blinds on his window. They rattled loudly. "It's still snowing. We had no other choice."

"It's always snowing in South Park, you Artard. We had to pass my house to get to yours anyway, but you wouldn't stop to let me out. And I know it's only because you don't want me spending any time with Stan."

"Touché," He agreed calmly.

"You're not going to keep me away from him, Cartman." He ignored my warning in favor of clambering on top of me, forcefully prying my legs apart with his knee. I flinched at the pressing weight, then eased up as the familiar warmth of his breath whispered across my throat. But I still wasn't giving in. "I said no, fatass."

"C'mon, you know you want it." He smoothed his hand up my side, breath quickening as he felt up the contours of my body with deceptively tender caresses. I kept my arm over my eyes, refusing to look at him even as my breath caught.

"Yeah, that's it. Now beg for it, Kahl." He pulled minutely at my boxers, then slowly fingered just beneath the elastic waistband. "Beg."

It was usually always like this. Cartman and I had never made love. The closest we'd come to that were the nights I had somehow managed to soften him up and find the Eric Cartman within that was actually human. And even those times had a certain edge abrading the tenderness, because no amount of sex could smother the vibrant rivalry between us. I was a Jew and he was a neo-nazi; we were born to hate each other.

God, but Stan...

Stan had been less complicated. The one and only time we had sex— no. No, that was an insult to what we had shared together. Stan and I had never had sex; what had happened between us was nothing short of pure, unrefined lovemaking. He was so different from Cartman—gentler hands, more passionate about the entire act than impatient for the climax. It felt like our souls came together when our bodies did. It still blows my mind when I think about it.

"Come on," Cartman whispered, his lips against mine. I could feel his arousal pressing into my thigh. "Kiss me back."

Despite the irritation that had been coursing me not three minutes ago, I parted my lips, relaxing into familiar sensation of his tongue flirting dominantly with mine. He grunted his approval, slipping my shirt up my stomach. I slid my arms around his neck, finally giving in, trying to focus on his mouth as he moved down to bite at the curve of my neck.

But I still couldn't get Stan out of my head.

I zoned out again, playing our conversation in my head. He seemed genuinely happy to see me, but there was that something there that wasn't quite the Stan from my memories. This something—strange as it may be—was an emptiness, like he had decayed on the inside.

Black, I thought suddenly, my mind spinning at the realization. He was wearing black.

And, yes, I could see it clearly now: the somber curve of his eyebrows, the remnants of black makeup haloing his eyes, the dull drag in his voice, the hollow ring to his laugh. Somewhere along the way, Stan hadn't been Stan while he was in Florida. He had been someone else, someone darker. And now that he was back in South Park, he was trying to pull Stan out again, but The Dark One was still lingering in the shadows, manipulating his behavior, refusing to let go.

Stan wasn't Stan anymore. He was Raven.

I didn’t even have time to panic at the revelation; I grunted suddenly, breaking myself out of my thoughts as a shock of pleasure shot up my stomach. I opened my eyes and found Cartman between my thighs, my boxers missing.

"Fuck, yes. Yes," he hissed, more out of overwhelming pleasure than malice. He shoved forward again, moaning as I cried out and melted into the sheets.

"C-Cartman-"

"That's it, Jew," he growled, panting, pushing into me. "You're going to stop thinking about that pussy, Marsh, now. You're mine."

"Nnnnuh, God, you're—ahhhh...such a dick."

“You’re damn right.” His hand closed around me, and I was a goner. I arched into him, surrendering; letting my thoughts about Stan dissolve into the back of my mind.

For now.

Maybe Cartman and I had never made love, but, fuck, the sex was always explosive.

In spite of the overwhelming fatigue that always consumed me after a few rounds in bed with Cartman, sleep couldn't find me that night.

I lay in bed with my hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling long after he'd lost consciousness beside me. One large, possessive arm was draped across my hipbones, heavy against my smaller frame, but not uncomfortably so. Cartman may have been fat, but he wasn't bone-crushingly huge. And even if he were, I doubted any extra weight would distract from his undeniable attractiveness. Cartman was incredibly good-looking. There just wasn't any way around that.

I wasn't the only one who thought so. The first time I’d had sex with him, it had been plainly obvious he was no virgin. He knew too well what to do, his movements too smooth and coordinated, his stamina too high. I never asked him who had been before me; I never cared enough to know. We had come together out of my sheer neediness of someone, anyone who could divert me from the heartache losing Stan had left behind. I never questioned why Cartman was the one to kiss away the tears, I was just glad that he had, and I clung to it, wishing away the pain.

But he was never able to take it away. He only succeeded in masking it, like a numbing balm, keeping me ignorant to the anguish rather than actually healing it. In lieu of falling in love, I had grown to love him in a quixotic sense of the word. From what I’d gathered, the feeling was mutual. I knew Cartman loved me. He had told me so, and I believed him, even if every time he had confessed his feelings, it had been punctuated with obscenities and insults.

I closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath, then turned my head to look at him. It was amazing how even while he was in the virtuousness of sleep, I still wanted something hard to beat him over the head with. I smiled at the thought, but not evilly; even when I hated Cartman I loved him. It was nauseating and pleasant all at once. I sifted my fingers through his hair, slightly jealous at the silky way it slid between my fingers. Just another unfair hand I had been dealt and learned to live with. I kissed Cartman’s forehead, then slipped out of bed and pulled on my boxers and shirt.

Kenny had stayed over at one of our houses at least four times a week for the past eleven years. Which I’m not complaining about. Kenny was a pervert, but he was a relatively pleasant guest. Besides that, I’m pretty sure malnutrition would have killed him off for good if he wasn’t able to get at least a few proper meals a week in him. Whenever he stayed over with me, I’d let him use my computer, and he’d usually stay on until sometime around midnight, chatting secretly to Wendy, his girlfriend of five months; and Butters, the boy who couldn’t seem to get enough of him. It was half past midnight now, and I was hoping he would still be there, possibly with Stan.

I pulled Cartman’s laptop carefully off his desk and hid with it in the corner of the room, worried the light would wake him. Once I was sure I was situated in a way that would ensure him undisturbed sleep, I signed into messenger and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that Kenny was indeed still there. He sent me a message before I could even click his name.

HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69: hey there hotass. riding cartmans monstrous dick while you type?

Invincible_Jew: har har. Is Stan still up?

HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69: nope.

Invincible_Jew: Damn it.

HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69: he’s sleeping naked in your bed.

Invincible_Jew: What?!

HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69: j/k but now your thinking about it

Invincible_Jew: No, I’m not.

HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69: is it making you hard?

Invincible_Jew: You’re such a fucking pervert.

HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69: thank you! ;)

I rolled my eyes and began typing a goodnight message, but his next comment had me hitting backspace.

HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69: something’s kinda off about him

Invincible_Jew: What do you mean?

HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69: I mean he’s different than he was when he left. I cant put my finger on it because he’s exactly the same

I chewed my lip, contemplating for a moment.

Invincible_Jew: What’d you guys do?

HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69: he sat marveling at your room for about a half a century. he said cant believe he’s really here and from the looks of it he cant believe you still have so many pictures of him plastered everywhere.

I froze, feeling my cheeks heat up. I hadn’t been able to get rid of anything that reminded me of Stan. In fact, I still had the wrapper of the Reece’s Pieces we had shared our last day together, only hours before our fight. It was hidden away in a lock box I kept secretly in the back of my closet. It also contained a picture of us making-out (compliments of Kenny), a love poem Stan had written me when we were first going out, one of the white candles that had been burning on his dresser when we’d made love, and a red mitten he’d accidentally left behind. Cartman had no idea this box exsisted.

HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69: R U still there?

Invincible_Jew: Sorry. You don’t think he’s depressed or something, do you?

HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69: nah he was still so stan about everything. he laughs a lot. maybe I’m just not used of someone so laid back. I hang out with a bunch of hotheads.

Invincible_Jew: Fuck you.

HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69: just name the time and place

Invincible_Jew: Nowhere, at a quarter till never.

HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69: heartbreaker. :( BTW stan has a username you should add him. don’t shit yourself when you see it tho...

Invincible_Jew: Why? What is it?

HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69: XxRavenxX

I fucking knew it.

Invincible_Jew: Great.

HoRn3y_Ba5tRd69: knew you’d be thrilled. Im gonna go keep him warm in your bed. Sleep tight hot ass.

He signed out before I had a chance to respond, which was okay by me. I was too distracted to care much about that tonight, or his annoying habit of not using proper punctuation. But Cartman says it’s only bookworm geeks like me who care enough about that sort of thing to apply it when I’m chatting, and I had to admit he was probably right.

I turned the laptop off and snapped it shut just as my cell phone blared loudly from my discarded pants pocket. I scrambled for it, fumbling before I was able to depress the volume button and silence it. I looked at Cartman, who mumbled something undistinguishable in his sleep and flopped onto his back. I let out a tight breath and looked at the phone, puzzled. I didn’t recognize the number, but I flipped it open anyway.

“Hello?” I whispered, moving blindly back to the corner of the room.

“I just realized something,” Kenny said, his voice immediately recognizable even at the echoed whisper it took on.

“Kenny? Where are you calling from?”

“Stan’s cell. You know he’s got the same exact one as you? It’s even the same color,” he said. “Why are we whispering?”

“I don’t want to wake Cartman,” I said, cupping my hand around the side of my mouth to better quiet my voice. “What did you realize?”

“He won’t talk about Florida,” Kenny said bluntly. “I just realized that every time I asked him about it, he’d found a way to distract me or change the subject.”

“Really,” I mused, perplexed by that. I didn’t make the connection at first.

“Do you think something happened to him?” Kenny clued me in.

I frowned, my voice coming out a little stronger this time. “Something like what?”

“I don’t know,” Kenny said, a slightly frustrated undertone to the words. “Something bad. Something that would bring out that pussy Goth, Raven. It’s not just his username. I answered his phone for him while he was taking a shower and they asked for Raven.”

“Huh.” I chewed on my nail. “Who was it?”

“Don’t know. Some dude named Aaron,” he said. My stomach lurched, a dizzying hotness washing over me. “When I gave Stan the message that he called, he didn’t offer any explanation of who this Aaron person was. He just...changed the subject.”

My mind swam with jealousy. I didn’t know who Aaron was, but I immediately loathed his existence. It wasn’t that I hadn’t expected Stan to have made other friends in Florida, I just didn’t like it. I didn’t want to be replaced as his best friend. As... his boyfriend. I felt nauseatingly ill; threatened.

“Maybe we’re reading too far into this,” said Kenny, suddenly less suspicious, sounding millions of miles away. “He’s the only one who’s ever actually moved away from South Park. Of course we’re going to break him apart and pick through the pieces to find what’s different. But I bet he’s finding all kinds of changes in us too. People change, no matter where they live. It doesn’t make it bad.”

“Yeah. Yeah. No, you’re right,” I agreed, quickly clinging to that logic. It was true that we were all making snap judgments about him, and that wasn’t fair. Kenny and I had both gotten the impression that he still seemed pretty much Stan. Whatever differences he’d taken on would quickly come to light and probably wouldn’t even be much different at all. Maybe we just needed to get to know him again.

“Ike took to him,” Kenny went on, laughing quietly. “he wouldn’t leave him alone. Followed on his heels like a puppy.”

“Ike?”

“Yeah, you know: Ike Broflovski. Your little adopted Canadian brother with the flappy head.”

“I know who you meant, Kenny,” I snapped. “It’s just kind of weird. He never paid much attention to Stan before.”

“Ike’s older too. Maybe he just learned what a hot guy is and realized Stan is one.”

“Ike’s not gay.”

“Would you please relax and pop a Midol or something?” Kenny sighed. “If you’re this jealous of everyone who so much as looks at him already, you’re going to have huge issues with Cartman.”

“I’m not-”

“He hasn’t forgotten about you,” he cut me off, his voice flooded with gentle assurance. “He carries a picture of you around in his wallet.”

“He—really?”

“Honestly.” I could hear the soft smile in his voice. “It’s endearing really. You two have always been a walking romance novel. I have a feeling the plot’s about to thicken.”

“I’m with Cartman now.”

“Exactly,” Kenny said eagerly. “But you and Stan have such a deep connection, the love was already thick and crackling in the air between you by the time Cartman and I got out of detention. That’s why Cartman dragged your ass out of there so fast.”

“He just has jealousy issues,” I said dryly.

Kenny snickered and broke into song. “Can you feel the love tonight?”

“Hanging up now, Kenny.”

“Okay, but do you want me to blow him and see if he cries out your name?”

I snapped my phone shut and sighed. Then I let my head loll back against the wall and closed my eyes, chuckling. Kenny had always watched me and Stan like a soap opera, insisting we were that couple that had always been in love and he was just waiting for that magical moment we would realize it. And, he hoped, would end up in a steamy bedroom scene together that he would get to see. He actually cheered when I told him we had kissed. He didn’t even resort to any taunting I-told-you-so’s; he was simply thrilled his “favorite couple” was finally an “official couple.” He swooned like a girl and was thoroughly turned-on like the incredible pervert he is.

And, I thought sadly, my smile falling. His heart broke with mine the day Stan walked away and never looked back.

But Stan was back now, I reminded myself, trying to find the ray of light again. And maybe things would be different, and maybe we couldn’t pick up where we’d left off or even start over romantically again, but at least he was back. At least we could rebuild the friendship that had been damaged along the way.

I sighed again, relaxing further against the wall. It was late, and sleep came easily, claiming me before I could even drag myself back to bed. Reality faded under the vivid pictures of my dreams, and they took me back to a different time. Summer, almost two years ago. Back when I didn’t know what pain really was. Back when Stan was mine...

Stan...

“Stan!” I called, pausing to wait for him. “Stan, hurry! We’re going to miss it!”

He appeared through the overgrown trees, wispy branches snapping back into place as he pushed his way toward me. “I hope none of that was poison ivy.”

I grinned and snatched his hand, pulling him along behind me as I ran across the clearing toward the stream. It was summer in Hershey Pennsylvania, and I had been invited along on the Marsh’s annual family vacation. The air was thick and hot with humidity, but the smell of chocolate filled the streets.

Stan and I had wandered quite a distance, determined to see an east cost sunset. We pulled up short when the trees cleared completely, leaving an unobstructed view across a clean field.

“Look, we‘re not too late.” Stan pointed out. The sky was still a prism of color along the horizon, but we were only seeing the end of it. Part of me didn’t care so much about the sunset. I just wanted to be with Stan.

He settled down on the plush earth beside me, wiping beads of perspiration from his forehead. “It’s fucking hot here.”

I nodded, pinching the front of my shirt and fanning it out. “It’s kind of nice though. Being out of South Park.”

“I guess.”

“You guess?” I asked incredulously, turning toward him. “You like South Park?”

He smiled faintly at me, crossing his arms against his knees. “I like it wherever you are.”

I smiled back, beaming. “Would you follow me anywhere?”

“To the moon and back,” he whispered, his eyes growing deep and serious.

Butterflies swarmed my stomach. I fidgeted, uncomfortable with the knot tightening in my chest. It pierced me whenever he said things like that, making me ache for something I wasn’t quite sure how to describe. I looked back toward the fading green of the sky, then laid back against the grass to look up at the first visible stars, already gleaming like diamonds against black velvet.

“Sometimes I want to leave South Park,” I said, letting my thoughts flow freely through my mouth. “Sometimes I feel like I’m trapped and all I want to do is run as far and fast as I can. It’s like I’ll drowned if I don’t find some freedom from small-town suffocation.” Stan spread out on his side, propping himself up on his elbow to watch my face as I spoke. I continued, knowing he’d always listen to whatever stupid shit I spewed out. “And then other times I can’t imagine living anywhere else. South Park will always be home, no matter how far we go or how much we hate it sometimes. And when I think about it, South Park will always be the best place in the world.” I turned my head toward him, smiling. “It’s where I met you.”

Stan just looked at me for a moment, then leaned over and brushed his lips against mine. I froze; He froze, but our lips stayed together. A few seconds passed, each of us marveling at the warmth of the others nervous breath against our skin. Then suddenly, without any forethought, I reached up and pulled him down against me. My mouth opened beneath his. He cradled my hips between his hands, relaxing into me as our kissing became fervent, desperate with unsuppressed passion. I felt my heartbeat quicken every time his tongue brushed against mine, tempered with gentility.

And for the first time in my life, I felt the freedom of sheer happiness as the sun faded away and the fireflies began to dance.

I woke up as I was being lifted into Cartman’s arms. I grabbed reflexively around his neck, startled by the sudden weightlessness I felt.

“Jesus, Kahl,” he said, speaking in a low, nighttime voice. It was then I realized it was still dark. “I know you’re a bitch, but I never said you had to sleep on the floor like a dog.”

I was too tired to retort to that insult. He set me gingerly back in bed, and I burrowed beneath the blankets, drifting off again as he snuggled warmly against my side.

---

TO BE CONTINUED

Bratchild3