I love VIOLENT, aggressive teen sex. If it isn't to your tastes, don't read! It's probably different from a lot of the loveydovey SK slash on this site. See, I just got into the pairing, and exactly at the time I really felt like something violent. So, these are boys that are aroused by physical aggression. I think it's hot, but maybe you'll just find it bizarre or just...unhappy. XD so, you've been warned. Much coarse language.

Also, this isn't necessarily the way I'd characterize Kyle – or even Stan, for that matter. Just remember this isn't supposed to be well-characterized or anything.

Btw, they're high school juniors in this setting.

She Has No Idea
Once upon a time, in a high school far away, there were two aggressive teenaged boys with one aggressive teenaged secret... PWP, may be considered kinky. StanKyle

She has no idea. She just has no fucking clue.

"It was a great game," she gushed as they walked down the crowded, moonlit track. She laced her fingers together and stretched her arms out cutely. "Kyle, you were amazing. I'm so glad you had time for team this year..."

On her right side, Kyle smirked, looking half-modest and half-proud of himself. Stan, walking on Wendy's left, shoved her shoulder gently.

"But we wouldn't have made it close to finals without me," he reminded her loudly, and Kyle's green eyes met his as the two boys fell back a bit, behind Wendy. They shared a quick smirk before she slowed as well, lining the three of them up again.

She smiled mindlessly and slipped her hand into Stan's.

"Yeah, I know, big guy," she teased in a voice like spun sugar, and she shook their joined hands affectionately. "Always gotta be number one, right?"

She obviously wanted to get more intimated with her boyfriend as they rounded the track that was still dotted with stay-behinds after the football game, but it would be kind of weird with Kyle right there on her other side.

"And I always am," Stan affirmed with a grin, face shining with dirt and perspiration under the field lights.

They were nearing the locker rooms, the three of them practically joined at the hips. (Wendy in between and loving it.)

After a while, Kyle started up with a bluntly different subject, obviously not up to praising Stan.

"You know, Wendy..." he smiled slightly, "you didn't look so bad, yourself. You're cheering like a pro, babe."

The redhead's arm went around Wendy's lower back, fingers brushing Stan's waist as they reached around her. Stan lifted a dark brow and released Wendy's hand, stopping them.

"Dude," Stan said loudly, "what the fuck are you doing?"

Kyle lifted his brows back at Stan, flipping his hands in a what-did-I-do? sort of gesture. "What?"

"You know 'what,'" Stan narrowed his eyes. "Don't go there – not with my girl, dude."

Kyle smirked, challenging the other boy by pulling the delightedly-grinning Wendy closer, eyes never leaving Stan's.

"Come on, let it go," Kyle drawled casually. "She's obviously into me, too – and she's hot – so what's the big deal? I don't mind sharing..."

Stan made a face and then punched him, fist smacking against Kyle's jaw and sending him stumbling back, away from Wendy. The girl looked mildly scared, but greatly pleased at the same time. After all, two of the hottest guys she knew were fighting over her...

"I said don't go there, Kyle!" Stan barked at him, brushing past Wendy to again throw his fist at Kyle's already-swelling face. Kyle barely dodged, forcing a laugh though his jaw was in unbelievable pain.

"I can take your ass," he said, shoving his fist into Stan's gut.

Stan grunted at the impact, the almost-colorless ice-blue of his eyes ablaze.

"Go ahead and try, you fucking retard!"

He forcibly grabbed Kyle's entire face with his hands and threw him down, but not before Kyle had grabbed his arm and taken him down with him.

"Jesus!" Bebe remarked as she walked over to Wendy and noticed the two boys grappling on the ground. Stan seemed to have the upper hand, though they were both putting up a marvelous struggle.

"Stay away from my girl!" Stan, feeling he might start to lose the fight, jumped back off the other boy and scrambled awkwardly to his feet. Kyle stood soon after, and they glared.

"Fine! Stupid shit son of a - !" Kyle stopped mid-sentence and spat on the ground, eyeing his bloodstained saliva with disdained attention. He lifted his harsh gaze to Stan again. "Fuck," he cursed, rubbing his sore jaw gingerly. "Thanks a whole fucking lot."

Something of interest sparked in the dark-haired boy's stare, but he gave no other reaction. He slowly stepped toward Kyle.

"You were asking for it."

But Kyle wasn't ready to reconcile yet. He dropped his hand from his jaw and remarked in somewhat of a panic: "Whatever, dude, she's shit-ugly anyway!"

Stan grunted and reached for Kyle (and the smaller boy almost seemed to invite it,) twisting the redhead's body around and clutching the back of his head. He shoved Kyle's face into the metal fence with a noisy clattering, and Wendy gasped.

"Uggh!" Kyle shrieked, eyes closing automatically as Stan smashed his face into the metal links. "That HURTS! Holy FUCK," he gasped, out of breath, and angry tears shone in his eyes.

"Take it back," Stan ordered calmly, ignoring Kyle's whimpering protests as he continued to hold Kyle's warm face to the fence. One of the links cut into the smaller boy's lip as Stan forced harder. All that came from Kyle, however, was an unintelligible moan.

"Well? Take it back, asshole!" Stan's face was red with anger.

"Stan...um...Stan!" Wendy cried out, "Uh! That...that's really enough!"

"Ah! It hurts! Fuckin' GOD – AHH – it HURTS! Uhn!" Kyle gasped and moaned pitifully, curling his fingers into the metal links until the digits were white and bloodless. He pushed his backside out against Stan's dirt-stained pant leg.

Stan glanced down to that, loosening his grip on Kyle's head as the boy thrashed weakly against him.

Suddenly and without warning, Stan threw Kyle away from the fence, freeing him.

"Stupid," he grumbled, and then looked at Wendy. "Be back, babe. Don't wait up."

Wendy smiled at him a little fearfully, and she nodded.

Stan kicked the hunched-over redhead in the ass and growled, "Move it! I'm not finished with you yet!"

With much trouble, they struggled their way into the building. Bebe and Wendy gaped after them.

"I can't believe he...did that with the...fence..." Bebe muttered dumbly. "I mean...aren't they, like...best friends?"

"Yeah...yeah, they are." Wendy brushed her long fingers over her lips in girlish awe, still staring after them. She smiled dazedly. "Well...they can't really control themselves when it comes to me. They're always running off to argue and fight."

"Oh...really?" Bebe glanced at her, kind of uninterested – but something about that sounded kind of...off. So, they were always fighting over her, but they had to run off together to do that?

Wendy giggled. She obviously didn't think it was weird at all, but given - she was long deluded by insincere attractions to both of the boys. "Yeah, and they've started again. As always."

She really has no idea.

"Holy fuck," Kyle groaned, stumbling before Stan into the locker room. The three of their teammates still in there, upon seeing the angry-looking cuts, bruises, and swelling abrasion on Kyle and sort-of on Stan, took a hint and left the area quickly. The time read 9:12 in the evening.

"Ho-holy fuck," the redhead repeated, breathing heavily. He stumbled in and nearly fell over, catching himself by slapping his hands against the mirror above a sink and ducking his head down between his shoulders, exhausted. He sniffed hard, sucking a thin trail of blood back into his nose, and wiped it with the back of his hand. "Fuck, Stan. That was so fucking hot."

Stan smirked, approaching his friend from behind.

"You're telling me," he said, voice hoarse from all the yelling. He was blinking rapidly, eyes still unused to the yellow locker-room lights as opposed to the black sky and pale white moonlight of the outdoors. "But – I was serious, dude. You don't mess with my girl and fucking get away with it..."

Inside, he knew that the larger boy's possessiveness over Wendy was just a pretense; a part of Stan and Kyle's secret, twisted little game with each other. Still, he couldn't help but be jealous sometimes (okay, a lot of the time) but in the kind of place they lived, homosexuals were "fags" and a normal relationship between two guys was an oxymoron. Doing it so much in public, the "game" eventually became a preference in private, too. Even meeting in secret, there was now a thrilling story for them to play the violent roles of.

Aggression was a way to relieve stress and get off at the same time – needless to say, it never got boring.

Stan broke him from his thoughts by leaning over him from behind, head coming over Kyle's shoulder.

"Hey," he breathed into Kyle's ear, and the redhead slowly looked up. Both boys stared into the mirror; Stan, smirking at Kyle's reflection, and Kyle, staring blankly at Stan's. Their hot, humid breath fogged up the mirror in spots.

After a moment, Stan's hand crept up and rested on Kyle's ass, fingertips flirting with the bottom hem of the boy's jersey.

Kyle shut his eyes, still panting, and leaned his ass into the touch. He slowly opened his mouth.



Kyle's green eyes squinted open, the only bright spot on his otherwise-dirtied face. He grinned. "You smell like shit, dude."

"Likewise," Stan returned with a heavily-masked playfulness.

His one hand squeezed Kyle's bum firmly and his other came up, fingertips curling into the jersey collar and lightly pulling it from the sweaty skin of Kyle's neck. He continued to gaze into the foggy pane, thrilled by the anticipation on an already-fucked-up face, as he pursed his lips onto the fevered skin just below the boy's jaw and watched Kyle's subtle reactions to his kisses in the mirror. They were placed lightly, almost without care, as his fingers tugged harder at the collar and groped more of Kyle's ass.

"Fuck," Kyle grunted, pushing his hips back into the hand and turning his head so Stan could reach more of his neck. The dark-haired boy halted, abruptly shoving Kyle's face against the glass. Kyle yelped.


"Mm...maybe," Stan licked his own lip, "but only if you ask nicely." He rubbed Kyle's race into the glass, thankful the mirror hadn't shattered. If it had, their fun might've been ruined.

"You –" Kyle struggled uselessly, nose pressed nearly flat against the mirror. "Uhh!" He gasped, swallowing thickly. "More..."

"Hmm..." Gripping red-auburn curls tightly and pulling Kyle's head away, Stan slammed the boy's face back into the mirror. He removed his other hand from Kyle's ass, glancing up when Kyle's fingers started frantically scraping at the mirror surface, nails making a strange clicking sound that made the dark-haired boy want to shudder. Kyle, on the other hand, did not notice his nails scratching at the mirror. He just wanted that hand back...

"What's that...you say something?" Stan asked slowly.

"Ahh. Ahh!" Kyle stressed himself over the pain in his face and over the lost contact, but Stan did not relent. "Ah – Stan..."

"If you want something...say it!" Stan demanded, apparently losing his patience. "Well?"

"Oh, fuck." With his hands against the mirror, Kyle tried to push back and relieve some of the pressure on his face. Not appreciating the smaller boy's attempt, Stan slammed his forehead in again, causing a tiny crack in the glass pane. Kyle was seeing stars, breath nearly gone in his excitement. Even though Stan was larger than him, Kyle normally was more 'angry' and the classically aggressive teenaged boy than his super-best-friend could ever hope to be – so this antagonistic, dominating side of Stan (even if it was just a game) really turned him on.

"You fucker," he gasped, "More! Just – do it – again!"

Stan complied, shoving Kyle's face into the glass once more. With an obnoxiously loud crack, the previously-small chink in the glass had split into a full-blown vertical fissure, running from the top edge of the mirror all the way to the bottom.

Kyle was dizzy and lightheaded, blood running from a fresh cut above his eyebrow. He wondered if his nose was broken, but his mind was spinning so much that he couldn't focus enough on any one thought to really consider it.

"I'm so fucking turned on right now," Stan said, deciding that any more violent contact with that ready-to-shatter mirror would result in something a little too messed up, even for them. He didn't aim to fuck his friend's face up permanently.

Stan pressed against Kyle's back, covering the smaller body with his own.

Kyle grunted, pressing back against him. His face, sore, was free, as Stan's hands were now occupied with gripping his waist and pulling their bodies closer. They were still leaning uncomfortably over the sink.

Kyle's hands were still up against that mirror, though. He scrunched his nose up as he heaved. Well...at least his nose didn't feel broken...

"I'm horny, Kyle," Stan reminded gruffly. "What are you going to do about it?" In a shallow movement, Stan threw his hips against Kyle's backside. The redhead moaned, keeping his eyes tightly shut. "This..." Stan bucked again, alerting the other boy to the hardness in his pants, "is your fault."

"Ah-ah...okay...okay...okay..." Kyle was close to hyperventilating. He wanted Stan.

Stan smiled and flipped the other boy around to face him. He pushed Kyle back over the sink, so now the redhead's shoulder blades were pressed against the mirror and his hands were gripping the edge of the sink for dear life as Stan stepped forward, between his spread legs. Stan lifted himself a slight and pushed their hips together. Both of them groaned, already insanely aroused.

Kyle wanted to touch Stan, but his feet were barely grazing the ground and his hands had gone white against the edge of the sink as he desperately tried to keep himself from falling off.

"Uhh," Kyle moaned softly. "Stan."

"Hm," Stan chuckled, "that's nice..."

Stan had always loved the sound of his name from anyone's lips, but from Kyle's – and in that breathy, wanton moan – it was nothing less than a total fucking treat; five stages beyond unbearably sexy. He dry-humped Kyle again, leaning over to nip at the boy's neck. His large hands slid up Kyle's torso, pushing the jersey up so that it bunched under the redhead's armpits.

"Ah!" Kyle bit the inside of his cheek as his hips jerked and twitched from the contact. The sensation of the cold evening air on his warm chest almost drove him over. His palms, sweaty, slipped a little on the edge of the sink, and he cried out, clutching it tighter as Stan started working bites and sucks up his bare abdomen and chest.

The desire in Kyle's body for his best-friend fought directly with the knowledge he had that he would surely fall if he tried to reach for Stan – and it created a feeling of indecision in him that was like torture.

"Stan!" He cried, losing his patience as the dark-haired boy tongued a nipple. "Stan!"

The larger boy paused and looked up a moment, then smirked and lifted himself to smash their lips together.

"Oh holy fuck," Kyle muttered restively just before that tongue forced its way into his mouth.

It was a messy clash of teeth and tongue and lips, Stan's vigorous attack worsening the swelling on Kyle's face and his bruised lip. He loved Kyle's taste, especially right after a game – they were both boys, teenaged, hormonal; all dirt and sweat and testosterone. It was awesomely different from kissing girls; he didn't have worry about hurting his partner's lips and didn't have to worry about moving his own in a way that would be "pleasing" – because, if there was anyone he knew in this world, it was Kyle Broflovski, and he knew that the mere fact that they were kissing was enough of a turn-on as it was.

After all, who the hell wanted to think while making out? It was so much better this way.

Kyle's hand finally slipped, and he instinctively grabbed onto Stan's shoulders. Stan, having anticipated something like this, was now holding Kyle in place with his hips. The dark-haired boy grabbed Kyle's head as they continued to kiss, turning it to make his mouth more accessible.

"God." Kyle had to pull his mouth away after a while, completely out of breath. He gasped, head bent at an angle that made it possible to deny Stan any more kisses for the time being. He really needed some air. "Fuck."

Having already lost his patience with Kyle's break, Stan had returned to nipping at and sucking on the smaller boy's chest. Kyle's arms tightened around the larger boy's shoulders.

"Fuck! Stan!" He panted, licking his still-busted lip. "Fuck you -" he gasped, as Stan teased his other nipple with a callused thumb. "No – fuck me!" He choked, and sobbed. "Oh god – you little shit – fuck me, fuck me, now, now!"

"Quit squirming!" Stan hissed, turning Kyle back around with some difficulty. He squeezed one eye shut in concentration, fighting for control over his hormones, if only for a moment. Biting his lip, he let up a bit and let Kyle's feet at least reach the floor, but he kept the boy bent over the sink.

"Gimme soap," Stan ordered, "get the - the fucking soap." His hands fumbled messily with the waistline of Kyle's pants.

Kyle kept sobbing, for no good reason, still a little dizzy. "Dammit, don't you have any fucking lube?"

"NO! Soap! Now! If you make me wait one more fucking minute - " Stan nearly panicked, too close to orgasm than he was really comfortable with being, especially before actually having sex. "Jeez! Now! Or I swear I'll fuck you dry!"

Kyle just kept on sobbing angrily, muttering curses irately under his breath. His speech was completely incoherent. It just wasn't fair to want someone so badly that one was reduced to whimpering and having no useful grasp on any word that wasn't fuck.

Stan throttled Kyle's entire body out of frustration, arousal pressing insistently through his pants at the now-bare ass of the other boy. He'd managed to pull Kyle's down to just above the knees. That was as far as they needed it, anyway.

But maybe – they didn't need to actually do it, this time around. It might hurt too much. Stan was a teenager, after all; he'd nearly come just from humping the other guy, anyway.

Seeing Stan's hesitation and the horrible possibility that this might end in something as completely lame as what Stan had once jokingly called a super-best-double-hand-job, Kyle jerked his body in wild protest and they sank to the floor: Kyle looking confused, Stan looking ticked, and both looking uncomfortable and exhausted as hell.

"No. No." Kyle griped, one eye now swollen almost all-the-way shut from all the previous abuse. "Fuck - ...I'm serious. Fuck me, Stan. Do it."

Stan crawled over after a moment and pushed the redhead over, into a prayer-like crouch, breathing heavily. "God-fucking-dammit, Kyle." He undid his pants and pulled them down just enough to free himself.

"Do it!" Kyle whispered loudly, glaring backwards over his shoulder. "Stupid fucker, do it!"

Stan spat into his palms, using that to poorly lubricate himself. He did this three times, Kyle's whiny moaning and angry sobbing getting louder and more grating by the second.

"Stan!" Kyle insisted.

"Shit! Hold on! God!" Stan snarled, distantly annoyed with Kyle's demanding attitude. He held Kyle's waist, and the heaving redhead's hands went up to grip the same edge of the sink, now above him as he kneeled there expectantly.

"Stan," he sobbed again. His face was red.

Stan was still trying to prepare himself. He glared furiously at the back of Kyle's head, absently watching the boy's torso shudder in his livid sobbing, the horribly-wrinkled jersey having fallen back down on its own to cover his smaller frame.

"Just fucking hold on," Stan growled through his teeth, shuffling over on his knees and using his hand to position himself at Kyle's opening. "It's fucking going to kill, you know."

"Stan," Kyle bit his lip and shifted a bit. "Fuck that, dude. I want you."

The dark-haired boy's tongue pressed against the back of his teeth just as he pushed himself partway into Kyle.

Kyle stiffened and grimaced, thanking whatever was out there that Stan wasn't particularly large nor thick, and he gasped after a short lag.

Their sex was always like this: no perfumes, no supercilious niceties, no unnatural colors – none of the things that were all so typical to females. This was nothing but sweat and sex; it was carnal, deep, and real.

"Move, you asshole," Kyle grunted after Stan hadn't moved for a while, exhaling often and heavily.

Stan did so, though not without strain. "Hh-hah," he panted, hardly able to see. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Kyle agreed without thinking, licking his lips over and over; so much that they would undoubtedly be chapped the next morning. "Keep going. Go!"

And – once again – Stan complied, already near to climax. His body was still exhausted as he pleased his friend, as was Kyle's, but the vigour of youth and the desire that drew them together in this way kept them going – and going – and going – and fucking, as a matter of fact, at a rate never matched in the history of living creatures by anything but a teenaged boy.

Bebe sighed without making a noise, idly watching the ceiling with a dry smugness on her face.

I knew there was something up.

I knew they couldn't really be that into her.

Harder! Harder! Harder!

Ahh! Kyle...!

She was still smiling, despite the fact that she really should have been more disturbed than anything at this little revelation.

Oh, god, Stan.

Cheeks stained with dark red, Bebe got up off the ground just outside the locker room, deciding to wait for another time before bugging Broflovski for the five bucks he owed her.

"Pay me back some other time," she whispered at the door to the men's lockers, fully aware that Kyle was otherwise occupied and not bound to hear her on the other side.

Oh, oh oh, fuck. More – Stan – more – Stan – I love you – I love you; god, I love -

Her clock read 9:46. Hers was one of the very last cars left in the parking lot.

The game ended a while ago, after all.

"Jeez, it's freezing out here..." She folded her arms over her chest and glanced behind herself as she walked down the road, wondering if anyone was around. Nope.

No Wendy, either. It was curious that she'd gone home, but Stan had told her not to wait up...

Bebe smirked again, still blushing as she climbed into the driver's seat of her car and started it up.

"Wendy," she huffed, and shook her head. "Poor Wendy..."

She drove away.

With all that pride, and those looks, and the connections, Wendy always seems pretty sure of herself. You know exactly what I mean, right? Wendy is a little spiteful and manipulative and easy for other girls to hate. She seems to think all the guys in the school want to date her. She probably smiles to herself before drifting off to sleep, every night, because she knows Kyle Broflovski and Stan Marsh spend a lot of their time fighting over her. Hey, she thinks, you just never know; they might even be doing it right now.Feverishly, passionately, lovingly fighting - over her.

She has no idea.

(laughing) Please review, but don't flame me, please D: