This was probably my first South Park Fiction, just a short bit about Kenny the whore with a Style pairing. Hope you like it.
"Alright, what do you want?" Kenny asked, watching him carefully. Stan, the biggest closet case he knew, looked more embarrassed than usual. Normally, in their weekly meeting, Stan was content with plowing him in the ass and watching Kenny suck him off but when Stan arrived at the McCormick's, he'd asked Kenny if they could talk about it first. He stood awkwardly next to the door of Kenny's bedroom while Kenny leaned against the wall, next to a large poster of a naked woman. Normally, he didn't conduct business at his house for fear that one of his parents would arrive home to quickly and discover just how Kenny kept paying the electric bill. Stan was an exception. He wasn't just a costumer; he was a friend. Apparently, he wanted something different this time. Something that he obviously considered worse than the gay sex his religion forbid.
"Well?" Kenny rolled his eyes. "Come on, Stan. I'm not here to judge, remember? Just tell me what you want."
Stan mumbled something incoherent. Kenny stared at him.
"I want- Would you mind- could you wear something this time?" His face was glowing bright red. Kenny chuckled in spite of himself.
"No problem." he smiled. Costumes were not unusual in his line of work. Several women in town had a leather fetish and one had asked him to clean her house dressed as a French maid, complete with five inch stilettos. Kenny had fallen twice but the five hundred dollars made the bruises worth it.
"What did you have in mind?"
"Just- just this." Stan reached into his bag, pulled out a small green object and handed it to Kenny. Kenny just stared at it, unable to speak. It was a hat- a green ushanka- identical to the one their friend Kyle- one of the few people Kenny hadn't had sex with in South Park- wore everyday.
He looked back at Stan. The jock's head was bowed and he wouldn't meet Kenny's eyes. The implications of this development were suddenly abundantly clear.
"Fuck that shit." he muttered through clenched teeth, turning away in disgust.
"You're not going to do it?" Stan asked.
"Pretend to be Kyle so you can fuck me? No, Stan, I'm not!"
"Because he's my friend!" Kenny snapped. "Because you're my friend! Because this shit is too fucked up even for me!"
"No! Fuck you!" Kenny ran his fingers through his hair in mounting frustration. He hadn't been this pissed off in ages, with himself almost as much as with Stan. When Stan first came to him, Kenny knew it would be a bad idea. A person will tell more secrets to his whore than his psychatrist. Kenny was privilaged to know most of the South Park's fetishes and disires, hidden from husbands and wives. He knew who screamed and who moaned, who talked in their sleep. It was alright with others because he didn't care about them and they didn't care about him. Kenny didn't want to know Stan's secrets but he'd been poor so long that he couldn't pass the opportunity for a little extra income. Now, he wondered if he should start saving for therapy.
"I'll pay you double your normal fee!" Stan begged, touching Kenny on the shoulder. Kenny slapped his hand away and faced him angrily.
"Look, Stan, I might be a whore-" he snarled. "I've done a lot of fucked up things but I've never pretended to be something I'm not!"
"Kenny, please." Stan pleaded, his voice trembling. "Please. I need this…" Kenny had never seen him look more ashamed or desperate. He sighed.
"Why?" Kenny spoke through clenched teeth. "Tell me why you need this."
"I love him." Stan whispered, tears welling in his eyes. "Kyle."
"You love him!" Kenny repeated. He had to laugh; it all was so wonderfully fucked. "Ever think of telling him that?"
Stan obviously had. "I can't." he said. "He can't know. It would fuck everything up."
As opposed to now, when our lives are an episode of The Brady Bunch. Kenny thought. "Why should it fuck things up?" he said. "You and Kyle have been… super best friends or whatever since fourth grade."
"Exactly." Stan shook his head. "He's half my life, Kenny, I can't jeopardize that. Kyle… is not gay. If he knew… how I felt… it'd just mess him up."
"You don't know that." Kenny said. "Maybe he feels the same way."
Stan shook his head. "I can't risk it." He repeated. "He doesn't think of me like that. I'm not going to ruin our friendship because I'm fucked up."
"You don't seem to be too worried about our friendship." Kenny said, holding the Ushanka. "Or whether this will fuck me up."
"Why?" Kenny scoffed. "Because I'm a whore? Gay for pay? You think that means it doesn't fucking affect me? You think abandoning my identity so you can get off with Kyle without actually getting "off" with Kyle isn't going to bug me? I suppose I couldn't talk or make a sound or it might break the fantasy! You want me to dye my hair too or is it enough to hide it underneath a damn hat?"
"I might be Kenny the whore but at least it's me!" He closed his eyes, trying to control the outrage. "Goddamn you, you fucking coward."
Stan didn't say anything. He simply stared down at the floor and Kenny knew immediately what he was thinking. God had already damned him. Kenny sighed. Another reason he couldn't say no to Stan: the boy was so damned pathetic.
"You're paying me triple what I usually get." He said after a long silence.
Stan looked up. "Really?"
"Triple." Kenny repeated.
Stan bit his lower lip. "I don't have that kind of money."
"Then you'd better fucking get it." He said, shoving the ushanka into his pocket. "Or this fucked up shit isn't going down."
"Okay." Stan nodded. "I'll… um, call you when I have enough." he paused, still obviously embarrassed. "Thank you."
"Don't. Fucking. Thank me." Kenny growled. "Look, this doesn't mean I hate you or anything but I need some fucking air right now, alright? I need to not see you for a while, okay?"
"Okay." Stan nodded and went for the door. "Thank-" He caught himself before he finished the sentence. "Okay."
Stan closed the door behind him and Kenny flopped back on his bed. He wanted to break something but his room was empty of everything but furniture and a few precious playboy magazines. It was easily the worst thing anyone had ever asked him to do. Was he jealous? No, just pissed off. He was a whore but he was straight- he did guys only for money. He'd never pretend to be someone else. Now he'd agreed to pretend to be his best friend so that his other best friend could pretend to make love to his best friend.
Kenny pulled the ushanka out of his pocket and stared at it. "This is so fucked up."
A week later, Stan had the money. Kenny stood in front of the bathroom mirror, naked except his boxers. He reached for the Ushanka and put it on. He didn't look a damn thing like Kyle. His own dirty blond bangs stuck out from under the hat. Kenny shoved them back under it, until his entirely invisible. He still didn't look like Kyle. Kenny was smaller; his face gaunt from years of less than stellar eating habits, but there wasn't anything he could do about that now.
"Kenny?" Stan called tentatively. Kenny sighed.
"I'm not coming out until you and I settle a few things."
"First, you never take off the hat. That's the only way this is going to work."
"Second, try not to talk too much. This is weird enough for me already without you blathering on about shit you wanna do to Kyle."
Showtime. Kenny thought, and stepped out the door. Stan was sitting on the bed, looking incredibly nervous. Kenny smiled. Anything to make it less awkward. Stan's jaw dropped.
"Wow. You-" He inhaled sharply. "You look- You look good."
Kenny glared at him. They'd made an agreement to try and keep this from being any weirder than it already was. Every time Stan spoke it got more fucked up in Kenny's mind. Stan knew what he meant.
"Right." He blushed. "I'm sorry." But his eyes ate Kenny up hungrily. The atmosphere was noticeably different. Stan was looking at him… like he loved him. Kenny felt like a moron. He knew for a fact that he look absolutely nothing like Kyle. He was just plain old Kenny McCormick in a green ushanka but Stan didn't see that. Maybe his imagination had accomplished the impossible, superimposing Kyle onto Kenny's body. Maybe Kenny in a hat was the next best thing.
Kenny sauntered towards him, allowing his arms to swing back and forth as Kyle did when he was relaxed. He lay down next to Stan. Stan was panting already, staring at him.
"Kyle…" He whispered, forgetting his promise, with an ache in his voice.
Kenny leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips. Stan moaned softly as Kenny's hand slid up his jeans to his crotch, carefully undoing the button. Making sure that every touch was sensual, Kenny undressed him as Stan caressed him softly, incredulous that it was even happening.
With Stan completely immersed in his fantasy, Kenny did his job. He was a whore and he was good at what he did. He had an ability to sense what his clients wanted without them naming it. Kenny offered pleasure with no strings attached and no risks. He kissed Stan softy down his chest until he reached his quivering manhood. Stan muttered stifled "I love you"s as Kenny satisfied him. He didn't fight when Stan awkwardly tried to return the favor.
You must really love Kyle. Kenny thought, guiding him gently, showing him what to do.
Stan paid for two hours but Kenny lingered after the time was up, watching Stan sleep. He was exhausted, Kenny noted with no small amount of satisfaction, but he slept with a smile on his face. Kenny brushed his soft black hair out of his eyes and Stan murmured Kyle's name.
Kenny stood up. It was time for him to leave. The money was on the dresser. He would leave Stan in his fantasy of Kyle.
Is that bitterness I detect? Kenny shook himself. He'd never felt bitter leaving a client before but this case was definitely unique. Why did it bug him so much? Why did he feel the need to stay there, passed the allotted time, and watch Stan sleep? That sounded suspiciously like the L word.
Kenny bit his lip in mounting horror. He couldn't love Stan! He was straight! Gay for pay- only! He'd loved tits since he was six years old. Besides, Stan was his friend. One of the few people he trusted.
He looked back at his sleeping friend. Nothing had changed about how he felt towards Stan. Kenny was still straight.
He didn't love Stan the way Stan loved Kyle but he was jealous. Today, for the first time he could remember, someone had actually tried to love him. Stan had been with Kyle in his mind but it was Kenny's body he caressed and Kenny's lips he kissed. Kenny had received love meant for Kyle. In his business, the customer came first, always. They rarely even bothered to think of the whore. No one had ever loved him the way Stan loved Kyle. He wished he could feel that way- feel as though he were the most important thing in someone's world- with out pretending to be someone else.
As he walked slowly from the bed room, pulling on his clothes, Kenny caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was still wearing the ushanka. Suddenly, he felt ashamed. Kenny had never felt ashamed before but he'd never abandoned his principles so easily. Staring at his reflection, Kenny hated himself. He'd pretended to be something he wasn't- he WISHED he was someone else. He'd promised, no matter what else happened, he would never lose who he was but in a single afternoon he'd all but destroyed himself. He pulled off the ushanka in disgust.
"Oh my god." He muttered, filled with loathing for the gaunt blonde he no longer recognized in mirror. "You killed Kenny."
Well, there's that. Please review.