Full Summary: When a playful kiss has playboy Kenny falling for Kyle, his promiscuous desires start to wane. But Kyle's blatant feelings for Stan stop Kenny from pursuing what he wants, until fate intervenes, and Kenny becomes the only link of communication between Kyle and Stan; the living and the dead. How far will Kenny go to get what he never knew he wanted?

Authors Note: So I know the summary is vague, but if I put too much it'll take away surprises, and I like to keep readers guessing. It's more fun for all of us. :) Pairings... well... that might spoil some things as well, but I will say that Stan/Kyle, Kenny/Kyle, and Kenny/Butters are all pairings you can "consider" depending on how you look at the situation. It doesn't make sense now, but I promise it will. If you like any of those pairings then we should be good to go.

This will be done completely from Kenny's POV. And this chapter is pretty much like an intro, not the main focus of the story. I promise the whole plot isn't "Kenny's in love what should he do!" To my knowledge, there has not been a fic like this, at least not in this fandom.

That said, please review! I hope you like the start to my newest story.

Chapter 1- Rubies

The thing about being a playboy was that you never thought about love. You thought you were immune to it, that you could bang anyone you wanted and you'd never feel any differently about any of them.

The very idea of love was amusing at best, aggravating at worst. I was always half way to insane with exasperation when one of my friends would fall under the temporary spell of a crush; barely able to stomach the starry-eyed, heart-infested note passing of the love infected any better than Stan could stomach Wendy's kisses.

I didn't fall in love. I didn't get crushes. I lusted, and that was where it ended for me. The minute my spooge covered the stomach of whoever I'd been craving at the time, I was done obsessing. Case closed. None of that "No one has ever made me feel this way" bullshit for me.

But I wasn't against love. It just didn't make any sense to me. Weak knees and heart flutters and Cloud Nine were equal only to witches and vampires and magic; the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the dusty trunk in the back of the attic that you could never open because it didn't truly exist. No kiss had ever given me butterflies, no touch had ever reached my heart.

Tch. Love.

It made me snort.

Of course, I wasn't above throwing the word around a little to help me charm my victims. Though I'd never had to use that particular method, it was like a slip of insurance in my back pocket, mine to flash if I ever needed it. I knew people who did it all the time: Clyde, for example; Jimmy, for another. It had worked for them a few times, but they were no match against me. I was like a celebrity at South Park High, bordering on godliness in the eyes of my peers (and a few select members of the faculty, but that was besides the point.) I didn't have to pretend to feel anything for anyone. They were all too willing to surrender to my specific brand of temptation.

I'd realized I had this power early on, and I strengthened and fine-tuned my gift until I could successfully seduce both males and females of varying ages. I never had a preference for either gender, and I didn't have a type. Blondes or brunettes, tall or short, fat or thin, preppy or Goth... my taste was consistently inconsistent. I could find something desirable in anyone. It was all a matter of who happened to catch my eye.

But I did set rules for myself, standards and shit. I didn't bang just anyone whenever the mood stuck me, or my sex partner count would be swelling somewhere in the hundreds. It was a sport for me, like a hunt. Anyone in an exclusive relationship was off limits, and anyone other than that was fair game. The guys were a bit more fun because, other than the occasional flamer, they required more persuasion than the girls, who practically swooned when they saw me and squealed if I acknowledged them.

But even then, I didn't sleep with all of my toys. I played with them, teased them until they were begging me to take them. Sometimes I'd grant their wish, and sometimes I liked watching them burn with lust too much to quench the fire I'd kindled. It all depended on my mood.

The most golden rule I'd set for myself was that seducing Stan, Kyle, and Cartman was out of the question. Too much could be lost if the fragile material of our friendship was soiled. No night of pleasure was worth the price I'd pay if things went bad. They were the only thing in my life that had any value to me.

But God had a peculiar sense of humor, and God apparently thought it was funny to give me best friends that were the definition of fuckable and then dangle them in front of my fucking face. Tonight, my self-control was being tested in the most tempting, sickening way.

"I fucking love you, Kenny."

"Yeah, Stan, I know you do," I replied, amused at the slur in his voice. "You've reminded me about fifty times now."

"No, but seriously," he drawled, clutching me tighter. His tongue sounded thick and lazy, compliments of the large and expensive abundance of alcohol he'd consumed. "I fucking love you, man. I really fucking love you. You're the best. You're the greatest."

I snickered, stumbling a little when he lost his balance at the top of the staircase.

We were at a mid-summers party the end of our Sophomore year, enjoying the luxuries that only Token Black and his gargantuan fucking mansion could allot us. It wasn't the first time we'd drank beer, but it was the first time Stan had gotten smashed doing it. I was merely buzzed, but he was on the verge of collapse.

It had all been so innocent at first. I was helping him to one of the many empty rooms up the curved oak stairway, certain he'd get trampled if he decided to do his passing out on the royal blue carpet of the main floor. I tried not to think about his breath tickling my ear. I tried not to notice how warm he felt against my side. I ignored the faint swelling in my jeans when his arm slid around my waist for support. Thinking about Stan that way was against my own laws; it was too risky.

We found an Arabian-themed room on the second floor, empty of stray partiers who'd wandered into various other rooms for poon or a place to crash. This one had a bed the size of Texas, the thick wood bedposts dripping with darkly colored glass beads. The monster was so tall it had its own step to get up. And it was a damn fine thing it did, too; otherwise, we would have had to mountain climb the side of the quilt. The real silk quilt.

Fucking Token and his fucking millions. Why wasn't I the one with a life-sized ivory elephant statue in the corner of my ruby embedded room? Why didn't I have gold fringes hanging off my unbelievable overstuffed velvet pillows? Not to mention the fact that it had a bathroom big enough for my entire trailer to fit inside and a marble balcony complete with a hot tub. It was so unfair.

Of course, I was sexier than Token. I guess every guy had to have something.

Stan practically clawed his way up the side of the bed, flinging himself onto his back when he managed to scramble, quite clumsily, to the top. I moved around to the side of the bed, peering down into diamond blue eyes.

"You can pass out anytime now," I announced, hands on hips. I desperately needed to evacuate the room before I was unable to restrain myself. He'd done far too much clinging and accidental groping in his drunken state on the way up the stairs, and it didn't look like the partial tent I was sporting was about to collapse anytime soon.

He made a sound in the back of his nose, which seemed somewhere between a snort and a whine. "We're 'sposed to all crash together, 'member?" he mumbled, rubbing his head tiredly and messing up his already muddled bangs. "Where's Kyle? I'll go find him."

He flung himself upward and twisted to slide off the bed in the same motion. I put my hands on his shoulders and was able to push him easily back down.

"You were running into walls and flirting with plastic tree decorations," I reminded him. "I'll go get him. You'll probably just forget what you were looking for and bring back someone's dirty underwear or something."

Stan grabbed the back of my shirt and tugged me roughly down on the bed with him. "You're not leaving me at fucking Tokens house by myself." The warning sounded powerful compared to his previous talk.

I pulled myself into a sitting position, scowling at him for man-handling me. I wasn't used of anyone having the balls to try and bend me to their will. My mouth was poised open, about to scold him for treating me with such carelessness. But I froze when I looked back down at him.

His shirt was bunched at the hem, exposing his belt-buckle, gleaming with such tantalizing vigor it might as well have had an invitation of "fuck me now" carved in the metal square. I closed my mouth, swallowing. My eyes roved over the length of his lean body and followed up to the black spikes of his eyelashes, absurdly long and feathery, framing the blue of his irises to absolute perfection. He stared back through a cloud of alcohol induced haze, biting his lip as he smiled, as if trying to contain a bout of wild laughter.

Stan was fucking beautiful. He was a sex-god himself, equally as wanted as I was, the epitome of delicious. Especially now, sprawled across the bed with absolute trust and relaxation, rubbing a hand idly up and down his chest, looking at me with that goddamn tempting and irresistible smirk.

"You're fucking lucky I care about you so much, Stan, or I'm afraid I'd have to ravish you."

He barked a short laugh, not quite believing me. Him and his fucking modesty. It only made him more appealing.

Sex with Stan would be amazing. I've thought it over so many times, play by play. Two divine being's practically sparking with sexual appeal, grinding madly against one another; sex between gods.

My breath quickened, and I trailed a finger across his lips, marveling at the softness. The force of his intoxication finally spilled over him as he closed his eyes, giving a weary sigh. That was all it took for me to forget completely about the Golden, Best Friend rule. I leaned over him, my body rock hard against his thigh as I pressed my lips against his. He remained still beneath me, his breath slow and even.

It wasn't like I was completely breaking The Rule. I'd made out with Stan before. I was the one who had taught him how to kiss in the first place. By freshman year, I was already a master at it, and Stan had asked me for some pointers. The best way I could think of to teach him some techniques was to show him first hand. Much to my chagrin, he'd caught on quickly, a natural, and the lessons ended far sooner than I would have liked.

Besides that, it was only the waist and below that was forbidden. Anything above that was innocent enough. What would a little tongue wrestling hurt?

I dragged my tongue along the bottom of his lip, then let it sink slowly between his teeth. I felt him tense slightly, confused at the sensation. I put my hand on his jaw, holding him steady, using the tip of my tongue to flirt with his. And then he was kissing me back.

It was tired, automatic movements, but damn, he was a fucking good kisser. He'd only gotten better with time.

I moaned deep and low in my throat, aching with need. I felt myself loosening up against him, relaxing against the length of his body. My hand moved to his hip, pulling him more securely against me.

Easy, Kenny, I chided myself. It would be too fucking easy to screw him right now. It was evident he was long past conscious thought and didn't know what they fuck he was doing anymore. I could take him right now and no one would have to know about it, not even him. He would never remember this in the morning.

He really was lucky he meant so much to me.

"There you are. I've been looking for you guys... every...where..." Kyle's loud, chirping voiced trailed off into oblivion.

He was standing halfway across the room, frozen in mid stride. My head had snapped up upon the intrusion, and we were now staring at each other; him shocked, me startled.


"Hey, Ky." I pulled myself away from Stan and slid off the bed. I wiped at my lips as I moved toward him, trying my best not to look guilty. I could tell by his face that it wasn't working. "I was about to come and get you. I guess we're crashing in Aladdin's palace since none of us wanted to play designated driver tonight. Where's Cartman?"

Kyle blinked owlishly, looking from me to Stan. "Were you guys making out?"

I let out a breathy laugh, casting Stan a backward glance. He was officially gone, a soft snore coming from between his parted lips. "Jealous?" I asked when I looked back at Kyle, realizing I had absolutely no room to lie and get away with it. He was too observant for his own damn good.

"You were," He concluded, his voice high, face pale with surprise.

I chuckled again at his reaction. Despite his effort to appear sober, his speech was thick and garbled. Drunk as a skunk.

I wrapped my arms around his limp body, bringing him into my procession. "Don't feel bad. I love all my friends equally. You can have some of this, too." I brought my mouth playfully to his...

And the world fell away around us.

My eyes closed slowly against the feeling that washed over me; a warmth that cracked over my scalp and oozed down my spine. I shivered violently as the warmth overtook my stomach, exploding like fireworks that fizzled up and outward, sizzling along my nerves like an electric current. A desperate, yet satisfied noise escaped my throat.

Kyle shoved me away, a feeble and drunken shove that shouldn't have so much as disturbed me. But my knees had melted, and my weakened body fell away from his. I stumbled but managed to retain my standing position. My breath was ragged fire in my lungs.

"Don't be gay, Kenny," he shrugged it off, starting for the bed. The entire scenario had lasted only a few moments, but it'd felt like slow motion to me. Pure, complete bliss.

I had to have more.

The lust exploded through my veins, filling me with a wild, frantic ache. My heart throbbed manically, painfully against my ribs, threatening to detonate right out of my chest.

I slammed into him before he had a chance to pass, so violently we crashed into the ridiculously tall door. It smashed closed with an ear-shattering bang. I hoisted Kyle up from under his ass, shoving his back against the expensive wood. His thighs wrapped instinctively around mine, and he clutched at my shoulders, afraid of falling. I crushed my lips against his before his shock could properly wrap itself around his brain.

I moaned loudly into his mouth, swallowing his startled gasps. I felt myself swell completely, instantly against his body. He moaned in protest, but was too intoxicated to do much else. I nudged my front half against his, getting an immediate response from his otherwise limp bulge.

Token's high class, exquisitely hand carved door didn't fit the frame as perfectly as it should. It rocked on its hinges, rattling madly with my movements against Kyle. Pleasure shot through me where our bodies rubbed together and rode upward, dizzying through my head. I moved harder against him, and I could feel the heat emitting stronger through his pants. Harder, quicker, until he whimpered against my mouth in a convulsion of spasms. I pulled my mouth away from his and buried my face in his shoulder, crying out his name as the sensations lapped over me with an unmatched vigor.

My body went immediately limp. I couldn't support his weight anymore, and he fell back to the ground, falling into me. We lost our balance and fell against the side of an ancient looking armoire. A shower of rubies fell around us.

Fucking rubies, and I couldn't give less of a shit.

"Wow, Kenny," Kyle mumbled, breathless but still lazy and slurred. "You're a," he paused to hiccup. "fucking good kisser." Another hiccup. "Ah, crap." He pushed himself up from the floor, stumbling a little before regaining his balance. "Now I've got the fucking hiccups."

I watched him as I pulled myself up, still panting, and wondered why he hardly seemed effected by what had just happened. The earth just fucking shattered and he seemed oblivious to everything but his damn hiccups!

"I drank too fucking much," He whined, hiccupping again. "I'm never going to another-" he cut off suddenly, clutching a hand to his mouth.

"What? What's the matter?" I asked, touching his arm. The contact sent a spark through me.

He blinked his round, unfocused eyes and bolted to the bathroom. A second later, I heard his stomach rejecting whatever alcohol hadn't yet been digested.

With only my promise to find Cartman before I crashed, I helped him into bed with Stan. He fell asleep almost instantly, his slow, deep breathing in perfect rhythm with his best friend. I ran my fingers over his ivory cheek, looking at him in a way I never had before, feeling something inside me I'd never felt.

On my way out the door to find the fourth of our group, I couldn't help but look back at his perfect, sleeping form.

Of all the people I'd seduced in my short lifetime, and Kyle had changed my whole world with one kiss.


To Be Continued...