Disclaimer: South Park and all of its characters belong to Matt Stone and Trey Parker. I'm making no money off of this fanfic.

A/N: Ha, I haven't been on for about 6 years. If not more. This is my first South Park fic. I've just been introduced to the fandom on DA, and I gotta say; I'm in love! So hopefully I do these boys justice... Well, maybe not justice, but I hope I make 'em hot! ; p




Holding the world in debt was a wet to dream to Eric Cartman. Being owed something was his favorite position to be in. Being owed gave him effortless power, and in this way he really could make anything happen. Right now what needed to happen was alcohol. Lots of it.

His eyes slid appraisingly over the array of bottles in front of him. A debt had been paid, which was slightly irritating since this one had the potential to be very useful in the future, but it was worth the current result. Reaching out, he ran his fingers over a large jar. Inside sat clear liquid, the sight of which summoned a positively horrifying smile to creep across Eric's face. For Kahl, he thought, eyes glittering with a possessive malice.


Kenny and Stan had attacked the booze eagerly, cheering at how high-end the variety of was. Cartman insisted that he play bartender and do all the pouring and mixing, since they were looking at well over $500 worth of his money. They really didn't care, as long as their glasses were full, so Cartman happily served drinks as the boys happily drank. He took careful consideration with Kyle's, presenting the clear liquid with a flourish, and even added a little pink umbrella for faggy Jew-boy.

"Good shit," Kenny murmured, tucking into his second glass of something Eric pulled from the row of dark bottles. It was damn strong. Stan nodded absently, one hand controlling his character in the video game streaming across the big screen TV, the other holding his third drink.

"Fatass will probably make us pay for it, so enjoy it while you can," he muttered out the side of his mouth, suddenly cursing as a stray bullet got his guy in the arm.

Kenny made a sound of agreement, still engrossed in his drink. He nicked some of his dad's piss-beer sometimes, and had never before had anything this nice. Damn right he was going to enjoy it.

Kyle sat on the other side of Stan, still nursing his first glass. The stuff burned, but he refused to complain. Kenny tried a small sip when Cartman wasn't looking and nodded approvingly. But Kyle didn't really know what to think of that. He did know he couldn't drink the brown stuff that Stan and Kenny were drinking. Brandy and the like made him sick after he puked from it once. Cartman claimed he had no vodka, so Kyle was stuck with the liquid fire that scorched his nasal passage every time it went down. Trying to ignore the taste and the pleas by his esophagus to stop, his eyes kept cutting to Cartman. The other boy parried his suspicion with a raised glass and a toothy grin, which did nothing to ease his nerves. If anything, Cartman smiling was a cause for panic. He knew better than to take from the fatass without knowing the price.

Climbing to his feet, upset about feeling his drink so acutely after only a few sips, he approached Cartman at the dining table-turned makeshift bar. Looking far too content with himself to be anything less than planning world domination, Cartman hummed, moving bottles around, dabbing at spills, looking generally busy as his friends partook in his spirits and his video games.

Kyle narrowed his eyes. "What's the catch, Cartman?"

Without looking up, he gave a breezy answer, "Kahl, there doesn't always have to be a catch."


"Guess you wouldn't understand charity, stupid Jew," he bit out, expression turning sour as he notice the redhead's almost full glass. "What, is it your fucking Sabbath? Drink or I'll take it and you won't get anything!" Knowing that last comment was a risk, he hoped Kyle wouldn't just throw the drink in his face in defiance (he wasn't entirely sure that stuff wouldn't eat through clothing). Regardless, his whole plan would go to shit if Kyle didn't drink. Making to grab the glass, he pretended to look angry as Kyle clutched it back, glaring hotly. Kyle looked good when he glared. They hadn't played their traditional game in at least a couple days, and that was just too long for Eric.

"You expect me to believe you're giving me this for free?"

"I certainly don't want your dirty Jew money," he said, turning up his nose, peeking out from under lowered lashes as Kyle fumed. This was the moment he liked his best, when the other boy was just about to explode.

"Fuck you, Cartman!" he yelled, getting red. Maybe he didn't want the alcohol. It tasted like burning shit anyway.

Predicting the wheels before they even started to turn in Kyle's head, Eric heaved a huge sigh and put his best hurt-but-trying-to-look-tough expression. Without looking at Kyle (more to keep a straight face than anything) he said, "I don't have anyone else to share it with, fag."

Kyle's expression softened the tiniest bit into a look of disgruntlement and Cartman inwardly cheered. Eric liked this expression too. It meant Kyle was just about to play into his hands.

"Figured as much, fatass," he grumbled. Then he took a heavy swig of his drink, unable to keep from sputtering as tears tumbled down his face. The stuff was vile. Cartman thankfully let it slide, guzzling his own drink at an alarming rate. Kyle decided to let the boy show off. He'd die if he drank this shit any faster.

The sparkling cider tickled his nose pleasantly. Useful that it smelled like wine, in case one of the others got too close. Kyle had given up on the second half of the glass. He was panting slightly, clutching his chest as if he had heartburn. Cartman grinned. "Don't go too fast, Kahl," he cooed, "I know you're a lightweight."

"Shut the fuck up!"

An hour later Stan noticed Kenny falling asleep at the console, not even stirring as his character died, expending his final life. As he helped his friend lean back against the couch he winced. Kenny was so thin, no wonder he was out like a light after drinking. Stan felt an echoing languor in his own limbs. He hadn't slept last night after a fight with Wendy, and today endured 3 hours of brutal football practice. His body was exhausted, and this shit he was drinking didn't help. Almost before he knew it his eyes were slipping shut, and he went crashing onto the couch next to a peacefully snoozing Kenny. Stan debated whether or not it was suicidal to catnap in Eric Cartman's house. Exhaustion was slowly winning out against common sense. After all, he reasoned fuzzily, Kyle was still awake.

"We should play a game," Cartman suggested, almost giddy as he caught sight of Stan finally slumping over to join Kenny in dreamland.

At his name, Kyle blearily looked up. "Cartman," he whispered, the static in his head scrambling his brain. "What is this shit?"

"Moonshine," Cartman answered matter-of-factly. It wasn't like Kyle would remember any of this. "Hundred plus proof." He glanced at the clock, judging how much the redhead drank against how much time had passed. "You're about to get pretty fucked up, Kahl."

The timing was perfect. It hit Kyle sidelong, already swaying on his feet, like a bus full of bellowing drunks. His legs buckled, and he clung to Cartman as thick arms held him steady. "You fat fuck," he gasped, shallowly sucking in breath as the world dipped and swayed beneath his feet like waves under a tossing ship.

"You should come up to bed, Kahl," Cartman said in a low voice. If Kyle had been fully conscious to hear his friend's tone, he would have shuddered, and maybe taken a shower or two. He felt Kyle's pulse quicken under his fingers as he wrapped a hand around the back of the other boy's neck to guide him. The redhead was completely gone. Cartman was thrilled. "There are steps here, Kahl," he said meanly, laughing as Kyle tripped up them.

In Cartman's room, Kyle fell before he reached the bed, which was fine with Eric. Jew-boy on his knees, looking for all the world like a broken doll, was sinfully pleasing to see. "Kahl," he barked, thrumming with excitement as Kyle jerked and tried to focus on him. "You lost the game."

"W-what??" Closing his eyes tight, as if to concentrate, he spoke in a small voice that shot straight to Cartman's dick. "I don't remember... Cartman-"

"But you lost," he demanded, crossing his arms and reveling in Kyle's obvious disorientation.

"I-I did?" Delicate brows knitted and slender hands moved to brush fingers through red tufts of hair.

Cartman dropped to the floor next to him and without any preamble tangled his fingers in the hair peaking out from under Kyle's hat, wrenching his head back. He was so hard already, watching hungrily as Kyle's entire body arched and his lips parted in a sharp gasp. Cinnamon lashes fluttered against pale cheeks like trapped butterflies. "You're totally helpless," he hissed.

A flicker of recognition flitted through Kyle's clouded eyes and he began to struggle against Cartman, but at that point he was too far beyond executing any drunken strength. Cartman easily slipped an arm around his waist and swung him onto the bed. Landing in a heap of limbs, Kyle spit and scratched until he surfaced, vision swimming like a scattered school of fish. Shrouded in a clammy daze, Kyle mentally flailed for a moment, struggling to anchor himself. But then thick hands were on him, grabbing and painful. He yelped as his hat was ripped from his head and jacket wrestled off. Unable to remember how he got there, he started when Cartman swung into view, panting like a bear. The next moment Kyle was on his back, an alien hand secured tightly around each knee. Staring at the ceiling dizzily, Kyle tried to kick, but his legs wouldn't respond properly. "Cartman," he ground out, whole body flushed. "I don't want to be naked with you!" The moonshine was rolling over him, wrenching him from fear to loquacious volume. "I don't want to be naked!"

The Jew was utterly delirious. Cartman wasted no time. Now that he had Kyle where he wanted him--on his back--he was going to feast on the body that had him cumming all over his sheets in the morning, the sticky result of perverted dreams. The redhead looked stunning; flushed, glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, body writhing and twisting as his mind fought to better the poison running in his veins.

"You're my slave," he ordered, testing the words on his tongue. They tasted sweet. He ripped Kyle's shirt in his enthusiasm, the split sides framing a perfect chest.

Flinching when the cloth tore, Kyle echoed unknowingly, "Your... slave."

And Eric moaned, one hand opening his own pants to grip himself, the other tugging Kyle's pants down skinny legs.

"But," Kyle started, faltering as Cartman palmed him roughly through his boxers. "I don't want-"

"Shut up, Jew. You don't know what you want." Cartman tore the boxers down, nearly cumming in his pants as Kyle recoiled, trying to curl up away from him. Kyle's body was nice. Not as nice as Stan's athletic build, but slender with an unspoken strength hidden in sinewy curves. Cartman grunted as his dick twitched. "I know what you want. You want me. Say it, Kahl," he growled, "You want me."

Kyle's breath crashed in and out of his lungs, a whimper erupting when Cartman wrapped a hand around his throat. "I want you?" he rasped disbelievingly, obviously a question.

"Fuck, Kahl," he groaned, ignoring the inquisitive tone. "Yeah, you do, bitch. You want my cock in you." Shouldering his way between pale knees, Cartman leaned over Kyle to grab lube and a condom from his nightstand. Then he hovered above the other boy, gazing down at him with frightening eyes. And Kyle stared back unseeingly, mouth open, lips bruised and moist from worrying teeth, cheeks stained with a rosy flush of heat. His eyes were bathed in loss and helplessness, and everything Cartman had ever wanted to see in them. He could barely breath his dick was so hard. "You look good, stupid Jew," he panted darkly, dropping his hips and biting down on a moan as their cocks brushed. He ground down in small tight circles, working his hips hard against the redhead, crushing Kyle against the bed, splaying pale legs at an indecent angle. Kyle looked debauched, soiled. Slender hands, still covered in ink stains from taking pages of notes during English class, came up to touch Cartman's chest and he bucked harder, pushing Kyle wide, pretending those hands weren't trying to push him off.

"I'm gonna fuck you, Jew," he promised, drawing back on his knees as Kyle stared at him, something like hazy fear stumbling through green eyes, almost black the pupils were so dilated. Eric carefully spread lube over his aching dick, rolling the condom down after. Then he squeezed out more lube, thoroughly wetting himself before slicking two fingers. Starting at Kyle's chin, barely restraining a moan as the boy flinched at his touch, he trailed wet fingers down all of Kyle, ending in a teasing circle around his puckered hole. He wanted to touch more, pinch his nipples, knead his ass, but there was no time. Kenny he could count on to be out for the count, but he couldn't chance Stan waking up before he finished.

When he stuck a finger in Kyle scrambled, howling. Cartman ignored him, ripping one leg up above his head for better access, pumping his finger slowly in and out, watching as Kyle's body swallowed every inch of the digit. It's not that he cared about Kyle's comfort, but he wanted no evidence left for the morning. This was his private victory. The second finger pushed in, scissoring. Moonshine did wonders to loosen Kyle up, and Cartman found that not long after he could push three fingers into the little red hole. Into Kyle. Above him, the Jew sounded like he was dying. Moaning, panting. Cartman was sure he'd cum if Kyle didn't shut up soon.

"I don't like that," Kyle whimpered, tears stinging the corners of his eyes at the painful intrusion.

"That's cuz you really want this," Eric assured him, rearing up on his knees to position his leaking cock at the stretched entrance. He roughly spread Kyle, and stared hard. Kyle was looking at him without seeing, almost crying, and Cartman had never seen anything hotter in his entire life, and probably never would again. Nudging up against Kyle's ass, he arched his hips forward with one vicious thrust and entered all the way to the hilt with a harsh yell.

Kyle screamed. If Cartman hadn't been on top of him, nearly smothering him under his wide girth, he would have arched completely off of the bed. White flashed behind his eyes and his mind struggled to catch up with his agonized nerves. His entire body rocked with Cartman's motions, dragging over the mattress as Cartman pulled out, only to shove in again with an animalistic grunt. Fingers wrapped around his throat, cutting off his voice and Cartman panted, "Hold your... tight ass... still... fag..."

Instinct won out over delirium. Kyle clawed at Cartman's hand around his neck, hissing as Cartman continued to plough into him, the sound of skin hitting skin assuaging his ears.

"What, you want to beg me to fuck you harder, Jew?" he teased breathlessly, both hands sliding down Kyle's straining body to hold slim hips in a punishing grip. "Say harder, dammit.... You want it harder, Kahl..." His back burned with effort as he withdrew to the tip, devouring Kyle's flushed face and breathy cries. He forcibly shoved Kyle's knees up into his chest, rocking up onto the balls of his feet to push straight down into the redhead. Thrusting impossibly hard, impossibly fast, slipping in and out of Kyle's small body like it was made for him. "You... want... this..." he ground out through clenched teeth.

Kyle, every muscle in his body standing out taught, forced his eyes open. His back stung, chafing as Cartman shoved and pulled him over the sheets. His legs were thrown wide, bucking back almost to his shoulders as while the bigger boy pounded into him, his hands continuing their death grip on the sheets. Cartman craned his head forward to hiss into his ear.

"You love my cock. Stupid fucking Jewfag, you like being fucked."

"N-no!" He yelled, still completely lost in the moonshine's effects, "I don't, fatass!" Desperately he twisted and fought, only to be held down by a wide forearm, bruises flowering over his neck and hips while Cartman rode him, pistoning into him until he couldn't even manage confused half-thoughts. His eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp, body like a rag doll in Cartman's hard hands.

"You're mine, Kahl," he exhaled, hips pumping erratically as he got close. "Mine. Fucking mine!" He thrust one last time, digging into Kyle as deep as he could go before coming with a long moan. His body froze like that for a minute, still clamped inside Kyle's hot ass. Finally he collapsed, panting into Kyle's neck, ignoring awakened fingers scratching at his back, and the high-pitched, frantic curses pouring over his ears. Cracking one eye open, he petted red sweaty hair. "Next time I'll come all over your face, Kahl." He'd gone into this with the idea it would be an once-in-a-lifetime pleasure to be taken and coveted. But ideas--too many too count--of everything he wanted to do to the other boy paraded through his wicked little psyche.

After all, there were at least eight or nine more glasses of Moonshine left in the jar.



Thanks for reading. Please leave a kind word if you enjoyed it. There are a lot more where this came from, but a lowly fanfic author needs some encouragement (review?). : )