Authors Note: Trying to write every day these days as an exercise, and this story came out. It's already finished, and its five chapters long, and I will update every three days, so expect an update, uhhhh, Wednesday. Enjoy :)
Chapter Summary: Stan never saw himself as a 'have your cake and eat it too' kind of guy, but the itch could get so bad, and Kenny made it so easy.
Believe it or not, he couldn't remember when this had started happening.
Oh, sure, he could remember the night well enough. He had slept over at Stan's while Kyle was at Jew Camp and Cartman was pissed at them, and the two of them had just been innocently hanging out in the basement. Literally, completely innocently. It's not like they had dipped into Stan's Dad's drinks, or been reading one of Kenny's magazines. Hell, they hadn't even been watching television, which can sometimes put ideas into kids heads.
No, they had just been talking. Talking about not much at all, at first. But then, talking about nothing turned into talking about things, and things turned into secrets, and secrets turned into confessions.
Kenny, at the time, hadn't understood why his old girlfriend Tammy had acted so embarrassed and ashamed when she admitted to giving some guy a blowjob. Clearly she had wanted to do it, and, at the time, Kenny had believed that the more action you got, the cooler you were. What was there to be ashamed of, when people found out that you had managed to get a little somethin-somethin?
Kenny understood now. He understood wanting more then anything for no one to ever know what he was doing. He understood what it was like now, to desire something, and then get it, and in the end feel like something had been taken from you. And then, to somehow, even after that feeling of emptiness and loneliness and worthlessness, to start wanting to do it all over again just a few days later, hell, a few hours later.
If Stan stopped and told him to beg for it, Kenny would. Oh, God, he would. He'd beg and plead and moan and afterwards feel stupid and small, and then do it all again the next time Stan felt like it.
Thankfully, Stan was too a nice enough guy to ever even consider asking Kenny to degrade himself like that. Kenny knew that Stan himself was probably having similar confusing feelings about all this, about how much he wanted it, his fears in how much he craved it. Stan wasn't the type to just fuck-em and leave em. He knew, in his own way, Stan cared about him, and that he was probably just as overwhelmed by all this as Kenny was.
There was just one difference.
Stan was still dating Wendy.
During the day, Stan was, well, normal. He hung out with the gang, with Kenny, and put aside sometimes a few minutes or a few hours every day for Wendy, holding her books, making her smile, trying his hardest not to act like a goof around her. Stan was dating Wendy, and had absolutely no intentions of stopping.
But neither did he have any intentions of not calling Kenny at 10 o'clock at night asking, "Do you want to come over?"
And, of course, Kenny always did want to come over. He'd sneak out of his house and into Stan's and sometimes they'd talk first, like pretending they didn't know what Kenny was there for, and sometimes they'd just get right into the dirty stuff, touching, exploring, experimenting.
And then once they were done, Stan would say bye and Kenny would sneak out of the house as quietly and quickly as he could, feeling like some stupid, worthless dog that had invaded Stan's home and had been shooed out after a quick, humoring pet.
Kenny didn't know what they were. Were they booty-call buddies? But Kenny, even when he really wanted to, never called Stan. He wasn't sure why, but it seemed to be one of the unspoken rules between them; Stan always called, never Kenny. So, did that make him Stan's booty-call? Then what did that make him, Kenny? What did you call a person that came running whenever you needed the itch scratched, and didn't dare ask for anything beyond the night?
Did you call that person "Cartman's Mom?"
Kenny had tried to even the score, tried to find a girl of his own who he could lavish his attentions on during the day, but dating was…hard. Harder then hanging out with his friends, or hanging out with Stan at night. Everything he did just seemed to gross girls out, scared them away, or worst, only attracted the kind of girls that freaked him out and scared him away. He wasn't sure what he was doing wrong. He was just doing it like the guys on T.V. did it.
Stan laughed when he pulled those lines on him. Laughed and then did his thing and then said "Bye Kenny." And the next day, he wouldn't even act awkward. No avoiding eye-contact, or getting nervous at certain conversations, or ignoring him. Stan would just act like nothing had happened at all, like they were just the friends they had always been, that there wasn't anything more to it.
And this would scare Kenny, because maybe Stan really didn't think there was anything more to it? What if to him, a scratch was a scratch, and a Kenny was a Kenny, and what else would you use something like Kenny for?
"Scratch my itch Kenny," Kenny could sometimes hear in his half-awake moments, when the Mean Stan that lived in his head seemed realist, saying things he knew Stan was too nice a guy to say, but sometimes wasn't sure he wasn't thinking it, "Scratch my itch, ease me and please me in every way, and then beg me to let you do it."
And of course, in his half-awake dreams, Kenny would beg.