Title: I'm Your Type
Chapter: One Shot
Rating: M to MA for strong sexual content, offensive language, and some voyeurism
Note – I'm aware that with the content my story holds, I am at risk at being kicked off.
Disclaimer: I do not own Matt and Trey's precious babies.
Author's Notes: Dedicated to [your_nonentity] for the lovely request and shared Craig favoritism. Xxx.
Lengthy. Might be a bit wordy for some.
Summary: Craig Tucker apparently knows far more about Kyle Broflovski than anyone else. Perhaps even more than the redhead himself…
"It was a sound which, at that moment, he ardently desired to hear…"
A muffled giggle interrupted his thoughts. Kyle found his concentration seep away as his bright, green eyes shifted from the page to look across the room. He grimaced at the irony. It was indefinitely not, "a sound which he ardently desired to hear." Then again, Kyle was pretty sure George Orwell wasn't referring to the sound of Wendy giggling in Keep the Aspidistra Flying. But now, thanks to her, Kyle knew he wouldn't be able to read. Kyle closed the book with a look of disdain. The last time he had checked, the library was for quiet study or at least some innocent video game-playing on the computer.
Not for witnessing his best friend making out with his long-time girlfriend.
The only reason why Kyle didn't just simply go over and tell the pair to beat it was purely because Stan was the one making Wendy giggle and laugh. Kyle watched his best friend smile coyly at Wendy, holding her devotedly in his lap as she played with his dark hair. Kyle noticed how Stan's eyes lit up when they met Wendy's, a surprisingly light blue. Kyle winced at the way Stan's soft-looking lips lingered on Wendy's at every kiss and his gentle hand curled behind her neck tenderly. Only Kyle seemed to appreciate Stan's small yet valuable ministration.
Kyle had been Stan's best friend long enough to know that Wendy's good looks and smarts had made her not only irresistible to simple-minded Stan, but lethal. Yes, they were both popular and known as the golden couple, simply because they had liked each other in grade school. The throwing up bit has even been called "cute." But Wendy was sought after by many by the time she reached high school, and she did not seem to mind one bit. Stan minded but he did nothing about it, much to Kyle's frustration. It was even more infuriating for Kyle to see Stan run back to Wendy at any opportunity. The moment Wendy exhibited that enraged jealousy, Stan would melt and return to her.
It made Kyle sick. It was one of the more pathetic qualities about Stan he hated. But while he hated it so, something behind his chest bone ached at the sight of Stan doting upon someone as horrid to Kyle as Wendy.
Because of that ache, Kyle had resisted every urge to physically and or verbally abuse her for Stan's sake. Every urge to chastise Stan for being so weak against someone who so clearly didn't deserve him. Every urge to tell Stan that he, Kyle, was his best friend and should come before everyone and anyone because he would know how to take care of him.
But Kyle found himself smiling emptily at Stan's every insecurity and shrug off all of Stan's doubts for him saying repeatedly,
"Give it time, dude. She'll come back," until even Kyle could believe it. Why shouldn't he? He already had problems of his own he had to deal with, such as his sexual identity. Kyle wasn't sure he was prepared to tell anyone about his curiosity for the same sex. Or prepared to tell anyone ever.
Stan laughed as Wendy whispered something in his ear, his face flushing a faded pink at the intimacy. His smile was so sweet and kind. His eyes so earnest and true.
Kyle tore his eyes away from the scene that was as appealing to watch as a car crash. Who was he to take away Stan's happiness, even it meant keeping him in the dark of his own ignorance?
Stan was a good man, everyone knew that. But Kyle knew he was special. He had to. That's what best friends were to each other: special.
Kyle told himself that, swallowing the lump that had seemingly appeared from nowhere in his throat. Little did he know it was poignant emotion, which one was hard to determine.
Despite his frustration among other things, Kyle moved to leave. He had escaped to the library to get some quiet, not throw up his lunch. Plus, he knew it was awkward when Stan saw him when he was with Wendy. Kyle knew that torn look. That look that suggested obligation or apology. Kyle hated that look. He wanted to avoid it whenever possible. So he turned from the table that had had such a "great view" of the couple, grabbing his bag to slip away unnoticed.
On his way out of the library, he felt someone's eyes on him. He turned to look, seeing Clyde and Craig sitting at a table. This surprised the redhead because neither of them were known to be very studious. In fact, Clyde didn't appear to have anything to write or read. He was quite shamelessly watching Stan and Wendy in hopes of it getting heavier than it was. But Craig. Craig's dark eyes were very much on Kyle.
Kyle waved as a friendly gesture to which Clyde noticed and grinned, waving back with an oblivious look. Craig raised his chin in acknowledgement but his eyes did not shift away. Kyle, feeling uncomfortable, blinked away, naively hoping it was just an awkward meeting of eyes that happened far too often. But when he chanced another look in Craig's direction, the dark-haired male was still looking. Not even in an observing or casual kind of way. His serious expression made Kyle feel unnecessarily embarrassed as he finally just left the library without looking back.
Something about the way Craig looked at him made him feel—touched. Stripped. Naked under his intimidating and unwavering gaze. Kyle felt almost flustered, as if Craig had just looked the other up and down, hungrily, like at a piece of meat. But no, Craig had simply looked at him, meaningfully or not, and made Kyle's temperature rise considerably and had successfully peaked his curiosity. Kyle now felt obligated to figure Craig out. Like simplifying a puzzle.
Kyle stood in front of the boy's locker room mirror, splashing his face and neck with cold water from the sink. He sighed, feeling the red hot heat under his flesh as he tried to wipe the cool water up around his neck. He looked at his reflection, raking his drenched fingers through his red curls. He always got like this after gym class, especially if they were playing football or basketball. And simply because he hated going home in dirty clothes, Kyle was usually the last one there.
He grabbed some paper towels, wiping at his neck and sweat-ridden forehead, not noticing another person's presence behind him.
Kyle whipped around wildly, clearly not expecting anyone else, before sighing tiredly.
"Craig," he murmured, his mind wandering back to earlier that day in the library. "Dude, Jesus Christ, you can't sneak up on people like that. I could've shit my pants or something."
"Sorry," Craig said with no real sincerity, leaning on a nearby locker with his arms crossed, eyes trained on the other.
Kyle suddenly felt cornered. It was just him and those unexplainable eyes. That flat, unreadable expression. It drove Kyle crazy not knowing. Just as Kyle was about to ask what Craig wanted, Craig spoke.
"What are Stan and you like?" Craig asked suddenly, his dark head tilting slightly as he straightened up and started moving toward Kyle.
This caught Kyle more than just off guard.
"Stan?" Kyle repeated, frowning deeply, calculating eyes narrowed. "What does this have to do with Stan?"
"Just answer the question," Craig said flatly, voice low and abused by many cigarettes. Craig had grown out of his strange nasely tone years ago. Or perhaps it had evolved into a very husky tone of voice that almost sounded like a growl.
Kyle hated being ordered to do anything but he twisted his full lips in a frown and answered without meeting Craig's eyes, finding it easier to do so without looking.
"We're not like anything, we're best friends," Kyle scoffed faintly as if unable to comprehend anyone sane asking the question. "What are you and Tweek like? Same thing."
"Tweek is my friend," Craig conceded coolly as he approached the other, Kyle backing up to the sink counter in response. "But at least I don't think about touching dicks with my best friend."
Kyle was speechless. Speechless by not only the fact that he had forgotten just how indecent Craig could be, but how anyone—anyone at all in all of South Park—could figure out the dark yet true affections he had for Stan, more clearly than he, himself, could. The fact anyone could figure out anything before him, baffled him alone. But about Stan? And by Craig?
"You're fucking disgusting," Kyle found himself answering, rolling his eyes and desperately hoping Craig had simply been joking. But Kyle knew he hadn't been. Those eyes didn't lie.
"I'm disgusting," Craig repeated sardonically, raising an eyebrow at the other as he stood in front of him. "Almost as disgusting as how you follow Stan around like a stray dog, right? Stare at him like a jealous ex remembering all the good fucks you had, right?"
Kyle found his throat tightening at those words, the wrath clear in his eyes, burning as fervently as passion. Kyle had learned how to control his—almost violent—rage. But Craig remained so cold and balanced that Kyle found himself unable to think of any other way to deal with the situation. It disconcerted him. Craig's sarcastic words so contrasted with Craig's flat stare. He did not jeer or tease. Simply said.
"Grow up, Craig," Kyle finally snarled, locking eyes with Craig, at last, to show him that he didn't scare easy. "Bullying got old in fucking middle school. How old are you?"
"I'm eighteen," Craig answered promptly, not even missing a beat and definitely not breaking their eye contact. "Now that you know my age, are you going to take advantage of me?"
"Wha-?" Kyle was finding it increasingly more difficult to control his flaring anger. In fact, before he even realized it, he had grabbed Craig by the front of his shirt roughly, jaw clenching in disgust at the other boy.
"Fuck you," Kyle said, voice wavering with hatred, their faces so close their noses almost brushed. "Fuck you and you go to hell."
"I'll meet you there," Craig retorted. And to Kyle's dismay and frustration, Craig grinned.
Kyle had rarely seen the boy smile, let alone grin in the way he was right then. They both were practically cross-eyed, their faces so close. Kyle jostled the other another time, getting a better hold on Craig's shirt. But the dark-haired boy continued to smirk. Kyle realized he might just have to hit the other to feel satisfied.
"You don't have anything to say," Craig commented, leaning in closer, making Kyle's lips twitch in a hateful grimace. "I thought you were the smartest kid in the class."
"Don't make me fucking kill you, you fuck!" Kyle found himself yelling, understanding how immature he must have sounded. But he kept his hold on Craig's shirt, thinking of ways to break his nose.
"I will end you if you don't shut the fuck up," Kyle warned.
"Please," Craig mused back huskily, smirking. At this close proximity, Kyle realized Craig's dark eyes were actually a very dark cobalt. Why the thought had occurred to him right then, Kyle didn't understand. In fact, everything about Craig didn't make sense.
"Your funeral, you sonuvabitch," Kyle chuckled bitterly, removing one hand from Craig's shirt to form a fist. He knew he'd hate himself afterwards in retrospect for letting himself get all heated over nothing, but he felt like the satisfying crunch of Craig's teeth would be worth it.
But as soon as Kyle pulled his hand back, Craig grabbed his wrist, twisting it back onto the counter, and closed the minimal space between them, lips colliding with Kyle's.
Kyle released a sound of pure surprise into Craig's unrelenting mouth, trying to yank his hand away painfully out of Craig's hold, his other hand now trying to push the other away. Kyle shut his lips and tried to turn his head away. But Craig grabbed Kyle's jaw, turning his head forcefully back to face him, holding it there like a vice as he bit and lapped at his jawline and down his neck. As Craig's hips pinned Kyle's to the edge of the counter roughly, Kyle found his thrashing legs weakening and his breath grow short.
He couldn't fight the other off. He was stronger than he looked. He had caught him too much off guard for him to act quickly enough. All these answers scrolled past Kyle's thoughts and were much more appealing than the truth.
The air whistled harshly through Kyle's nostrils as he tried to get air once Craig had invaded his mouth again. To his mild horror, he found his lips and tongue moving willingly against Craig's advances. He grunted stubbornly, eyebrows knitted as he tried to pull away. But Craig's body was flush against his and he found the body warmth make his own skyrocket.
Once Craig's hold on his chin loosened, Kyle managed to shove and practically kick Craig off of him, left disheveled and panting heavily.
"What, the hell," was all Kyle managed, eyes filled with—confusion, attempting to be hatred. Craig leaned back against the opposite wall, slightly winded himself as he chuckled faintly.
"What, I thought I was your type?" Craig murmured, tugging at his dark hair and allowing his lips a crooked half-smile. "You like that kind of thing."
"I don't have a type," Kyle snarled halfheartedly, leaning back against he counter and glaring at the other. "Stay away from me, you fucking freak."
"Or what? You'll end me? I'm really scared," Craig said flatly, starting to move back toward Kyle again. "And I promise you. I know I'm your type."
When Craig's lips had returned to Kyle's, instead of fighting, his mouth welcomed Craig's back with what was undoubtedly a pleased sound. Their teeth clashed harshly as Craig gnawed at Kyle's lower lip and chin, hands splayed out behind Kyle on the counter. Craig's hips rolled up into Kyle's, pushing a loud gasp for air out of the redhead. Craig's bucking hips was killing Kyle's lower back but the friction was making his arousal very apparent through the thin material of his gym shorts.
As Craig moved against Kyle's bent thigh shallowly, he nipped at Kyle's ear, tearing the collar of Kyle's grey T-shirt to gain access to the pale curves of his shoulders and the dip of his collarbone. One of Kyle's hand clutched the side of the counter, the other tangling in that dark hair. That dark hair that shared the same shade as Stan's yet felt and looked so different.
Craig, himself, was so different from Stan. Unapproachable. Cruel. Boring. Stoic. Harsh.
Those were popular terms for Craig. But there was something about how Craig did not hold back as he manhandled him, searching for more skin, friction, heat, pleasure. Something refreshing in Craig's lack of basic human courtesy as he marked Kyle fiercely, bruising his sharp hipbones and throat.
Kyle tossed his head back, leaving himself exposed for Craig as he curled his fingers in his hair, tugging meaningfully. There was honesty in Craig's searing fingertips. There was truth in his burning lips and slick tongue.
As Craig tore his lips away from Kyle to turn him around to face the mirror, Kyle saw the vicious and unbridled hunger that separated beast from man in the dark eyes of the boy staring back at him over his shoulder. He found himself shamelessly arching his back and pressing into Craig's torso, not wanting to lose contact for a moment. Kyle didn't want gentle. He didn't' want a trace of a lie.
"Mmn," Craig hummed slightly, pressing forward against Kyle, making the other quiver and reach a long arm back to keep his fingers in that addictive dark hair. "I told you I was your type."
"Craig," Kyle grunted before dissolving into a whimper when he felt Craig's teeth sinking into the curve of his shoulder, licking over the reddened mark as he stared at Kyle through the mirror.
Craig slid one hand under the front of Kyle's shirt, fingers lingering over the small crevices that Kyle's toned muscles provided. Kyle impatiently arched his hips back against Craig's groin, being answered with a hard buck that left Kyle almost doubling over in a mess of less than human sounds.
Craig looked amused as he brushed his fingers over one of Kyle's nipples, watching the redhead's face flush and look up at him through the mirror with mossy-green eyes, glazed with lust. Craig panted quietly in Kyle's ear, sucking in his earlobe as the hand on the counter slowly moved to tug down Kyle's gym shorts. Kyle made a noise that Craig wasn't quite sure was protest or impatience. But as the gym shorts fell in a pool around Kyle's ankles, his fingers tightened in Craig's hair and he bit his lip trying not to make so much noise.
"Do it," Kyle whispered, finding it difficult to speak when he wasn't getting enough air. But in a heated breath, he begged Craig to get on with it.
But Craig was taking his time. He rested his chin on Kyle's shoulder, watching the other squirm for more movement between their sealed bodies. But he simply tugged the hem of Kyle's shirt up to completely expose his body before placing it between his teeth. Before Kyle could demand for Craig to finally do something, the dark-haired boy—while practically studying Kyle's exposed form in the mirror—plunged his hand past the waistband of Kyle's boxer briefs, cupping him none too gently.
"Uuhn!"Kyle cried out falling forward with his hands on the counter, feet slipping slightly, only to be caught by Craig's fingers in his red curls and body against his own. "Oh fu- Christ."
As Kyle released throaty moans, Craig stroked appreciatively, fondling almost casually as he grunted in approval at the display Kyle was presenting for him. Craig humped his hips up against the curve of Kyle's firm cheeks. Kyle answered Craig's rough handling by pushing back and thrusting forward as well against Craig's touch.
"You're not going to make it," Craig noted, only sounding slightly breathless as he spoke, letting the fabric fall from his mouth, eyes never leaving Kyle's reflection. Kyle's face almost look pained, eyes closed, eyebrows knitted, shoulders tense.
"N-no, please," Kyle breathed, managing to open his eyes and reluctantly still his hips, staring up at Craig imploringly before adding confidently, "I can do it, really."
"You're really stubborn," Craig sighed quietly, shoving his hips up against Kyle's and pressing his palm down against Kyle's arousal, leaving almost no space for Kyle to move.
"No, I-nnh!" Kyle started before fading off into breathless and needy groans, instinctively moving his length up against Craig's palm. "I want it, Craig. Please."
Craig did like manners, since he never really had any. He also liked the sound of his name falling from Kyle's lips so desperately. He liked how Kyle looked when he said it. Craig almost obliged but he was a realist—there was no way Kyle was going to make it. Because despite Kyle's requests, the redhead moved his hips so fluidly and harshly against his palm for more. So Craig gave him more.
"Maybe next time, Kyle," Craig suggested, licking the length of the side of Kyle's throat as he watched with hooded eyes. Watched how Kyle looked when he came.
After so much jostling, Kyle's boxer briefs had ridden up, constricting him even with Craig's hand occupying them. Kyle pressed his hips back once more to feel something firm and very much apparent against him, even through Craig's denim jeans.
That was all Kyle needed before collapsing into orgasm, his head falling back against Craig's shoulder, mouth open, fingers and toes curled, and a visible shiver going up the redhead's body.
"U-uuh, Craig!" Kyle choked out, panting rapidly as he moved his own hand with Craig's, helping and coaxing him to prolong the orgasm. "Oh God, Craig. Craig!"
Kyle found himself unable to say anything else. The dark-haired boy had just given him one of the most powerful, most exhausting orgasms in history without even having sex with him.
Kyle toppled over against the sinks, clinging to the counter as Craig moved away to wash his hand. Craig even tugged Kyle's shirt back down properly, though it now hung awkwardly off his shoulder from being torn. Kyle appeared to be almost ready to just sit down and take a breather but he stubbornly stood up on his two feet, trying to ignore how light-headed he felt as he brought his gym shorts back up. He knew he had to change still but he was going to do when he was really alone.
"So," Kyle started, clearing his throat when he realized how broken his voice sounded. He hesitantly looked at the other who had simply started to light up a cigarette. Kyle didn't tell Craig that it was not allowed. He knew the other wouldn't care.
"It looks like I owe you one, huh?" Kyle joked lightly, face still flushed as he glanced down at Craig's semi-aroused length.
"Like I said, maybe next time, Kyle," Craig repeated, smiling through the huff of smoke as he leaned against the counter next to Kyle.
Kyle admittedly liked Craig's smile. It was slight and it was not conventional. But it was there. Honest. Nothing more.
Nothing like Stan's uninhibited and friendly smile. Something like that was prone to be fake.
With Craig, one realizes after a while that Craig never smiles unless something makes him do so. He never does so, simply to do it. Simply to be friendly or nice or sweet.
No, that was the unforgiving truth about him. And Kyle appreciated that.
Craig was right, Kyle realized without remorse:
Craig was exactly Kyle's type.
~*Love? Hate? Undecided? Let me know. Thanks for reading!*~