Soundtrack: I Get Around - Dragonette

This is probably supremely irresponsible, he thinks. They're both a little more than sloshed. He should just walk her back to Bebe's place and sleep this one off.

This, of course, is much easier said than done, considering the situation that they're in.

Kenny has always admired Wendy. She's not his usual type, to be honest. Bebe would be his usual type. Curves everywhere. Experienced in sex. But no. There's something about Wendy that he's never been able to shake. She's slim as a reed, her breasts are small. Her black hair is glossy and long. She rarely cuts it except to have it trimmed – it's grown so long that it's halfway down her back. It's gorgeous, and when Kenny rakes his fingers through it, he discovers that Wendy's hair is just as soft as he hoped it would be. It's more than that, though. His slight obsession with her. She carries herself with this air of confidence, a kind of confidence that he doesn't have. He's always been envious of her self-assured ways.

Sure, he's good at putting on a front of esteem. And he doesn't think badly of himself, no. It's just that he does doubt himself. His actions. His lifestyle. His choices. He questions them constantly. Not that Kenny ever intends to let anybody know that little detail.

"You wanna come over to my place?" Kenny finds himself asking. Stupid stupid stupid. He's probably going to get his ass kicked. He just propositioned Wendy fucking Testaburger. One does not proposition Wendy. Bebe, sure. Heidi, maybe. Red, definitely. Not Wendy, though. Kenny has always thought the population of South Park ladies to be pretty classy, but Wendy. Wendy is a fucking queen. In the scheme of things, he's just some dirty peasant. She's fucking royalty.

So it naturally comes as surprising when Wendy tilts her face up, presses her lips right next to his ear, and says, "Let's do it."

The whisper in her voice and her words have him half-hard in his jeans already. He's kind of a little terrified that he'll do something to fuck this up. He tries not to seem as eager as he feels on the inside. He slips an arm around her shoulders and directs her down the sidewalk, sure to offer a suggestive smile. His house is only a couple of blocks away. It's a small thing, a humble abode if there ever was one, but it's home.

At his doorstep, they finally kiss. Kenny takes his time with the lead-up, though. He's a gentleman – of sorts. He'll do just about anything to please his bedmates, and he'll do fucking anything to please this woman. She was pretty in high school, but now, goddamn, she is the most beautiful woman of his acquaintance. He tells that to her, whispers it in her ear, and cups her face with both of his hands. His hands are rough, and big. Underneath them, her skin is smooth and free of blemishes. He never understood how she could keep her skin so perfect like that. Even now, he still gets zits.

Kenny leans down. He teases at first, gently bumping his nose against hers, ghosting his lips over every feature of her face, before he leans down, and captures her lips in his. She tastes like light beer and dinner. He doesn't mind. He probably tastes like cheap cigarettes. He hopes that doesn't bother her.

Wendy makes a soft noise underneath his mouth, melting into his chest.

Fuck.

Now he's all the way hard, and he doesn't want her to notice yet. He doesn't want this to end prematurely. In fact, he kind of wants it to last forever. Kenny couldn't tell you how many fantasies he's had about this girl, but it's a damned lot of them.

Her lips part and he presses inside her mouth with his tongue. Ah, God, this is perfection. Everything about her is so fucking perfect. Her lips have this perfect, lovely curve. Her tongue is small and hesitant, but she's done this before, he knows. She nips down on his lower lip lightly, and he about loses his shit right there. Kenny groans, and tears his mouth off of hers, so he can get the damn door open.

He drops his keys and swears a little more loudly than necessary, "Fuck!"

Wendy laughs lightly behind him. That sound, shit, that sound. It does nothing to ease the hard-on in his pants. And he's trying so desperately to keep it cool. Why does she make it so difficult to keep cool? Kenny pushes the door open and flips on the foyer light. He closes the front door behind them and kisses her again, harder, this time. She kisses back with equal fire. She's not about to submit to him, it would seem. He likes that.

They break apart and Kenny gives a short, shaky laugh. He pulls off her coat and his own, tossing the outerwear onto his sofa, and kicking off his shoes. She follows suit, but arranges her purple pumps neatly beside the door. A perfectionist, as always.

He makes a bold move next – he lifts her up into his arms, kissing her face, her neck, her brow. She doesn't seem to mind. It's all breathless laughter and quiet moans. He'll makes those moans the loudest she's ever fucking made by the end of the night.

He takes her upstairs, shouldering his way into his bedroom. Kenny deposits her onto his bed. It creaks under their combined weight, as he arranges her head on his pillow and crawls on top of her. He thumbs the edge of her lace camisole, and pushes a kiss against the dip between her breasts. She sighs happily. Kenny's cock twitches at the sound. She has no idea how happy he will make her. He will treat her like the queen that she is.

He tugs a little at the hem of her camisole and mumbles against her mouth, "Off." He could rid her of it himself, of course, but he's always enjoyed watching lovers undress themselves in front of him. Wendy shifts, gripping the bottom of her top, and peeling it up and off of her body.

Holy mother of God.

She looks even better than he always pictured. It's not like he hasn't seen some of this before. They've been invited to the same pool parties or whatever. But in this context, it's entirely different. And that bra, goddamn. Was she thinking that this might happen, too? When she dressed to go get drinks with Kenny McCormick, did she have this in mind? He hopes so. He hopes she wore that little number with him in mind. But, knowing Wendy, she probably wore it with no one but her own self in her head. She is exactly the kind of lady that would like to wear sexy underthings for the sake of wearing them. Like a dirty little secret that only she would know, and only a privileged few are able to find out.

That's what he feels like, anyway. Privileged.

"Shit, Wendy," Kenny remarks.

She leans up and kisses his cheek, making him kind of wish that he had shaved before he left his house earlier that night. She asks huskily, "Do you like it?"

"I love it," he pants. That's what she reduces him to. This panting mess. But. Fuck. Jesus. Shit. He can't form coherent thoughts. She knows it, too. Wendy arches up a little at him, lifting her breasts close to his mouth.

The bra is black, sheer and polka dotted. It's one of those push-up things. Kenny mutters, "Perfect," before ducking his head down and latching his lips onto the shadow of her nipple, sucking hard through the sheer fabric.

She gasps, and whines out, "Fuck."

Kenny smirks against her breast. He moves to the other to perform similar ministrations, sucking and biting, while his hand moves to the front of her jeans. They look expensive. Probably designer. That doesn't surprise him. She's always been too wealthy for her own good, maybe a little spoiled. But then, Kenny thinks that about just about everybody. Once, everybody was wealthier than the dirt-poor McCormicks. Now, he's making bank. Sure, he's fixing cars, but it's a perfectly respectable profession. And he's fucking good at it.

He unbuttons the jeans and lowers the zipper, grazing his knuckles teasingly over the soft fabric of her panties. Her breath hitches and she leans forward, licking along his neck. He tries to breathe right, but it's hard when she moves her tongue like that against his throat. He realizes after a moment that she's tracing the outlines of his tattoo. Fuuuck.

Kenny backs up onto his knees, taking in the sight. Jesus fuck, she is perfect. Every bit of her. And now, she's all flushed and hot and bothered, and it's because of him. He slides the jeans off of her body. They're made out of soft denim, butter-smooth, not like the cheap jeans he's wearing, that are kind of scratchy and abrasive against his legs.

"You…are so fucking beautiful," Kenny says.

Her lips quirk up in sync with a single, arched brow, and she says, "I know."

Kenny chuckles. He pulls his t-shirt up over his head and tosses it onto the floor, on top of her jeans. He doesn't want to get this party entirely started quite yet. He enjoys the fuck out teasing, and it seems that she's enjoying it, too. But…just in case…

"You're sure, right?" Kenny says. They're both a little beyond tipsy, but no so far gone that they don't know what they're doing at all. It was only a few drinks, after all. He just wants to be certain. Kenny has never, ever liked the idea of having to force somebody into sex. He hasn't even liked the idea that he might have to convince them, because that still makes it feel like they wouldn't be as into the sex as he would.

Wendy looks up at him like he's grown a second head. She says, "It's very sweet of you to ask, but could you get a move on?"

He snorts and mumbles, "Yes, ma'am."

Kenny hooks his fingers underneath the elastic of her panties and slides them down her legs. Long legs. She's tall, almost as tall as he is. In the heels she wore tonight, she was taller. He runs his hands all the way from her hips to her ankles, just touching. He can't wait to have these legs wrapped around him, oh God.

He's not sure why, but the fact that she hasn't shaved her pussy is incredibly hot to him. It makes too much sense to him. He fucking loves it, too. Kenny crouches forward, nuzzling the slight curve of her belly. He grazes her with his fingertips first, eliciting a small intake of breath. Kenny can't help but grin when he finally slides a single finger inside of her.

"O-oh," she moans, "Shit. Do that more."

"Impatient, are we?" Kenny can't help but ask. He slips his index finger in and out of her, at a painfully slow pace for both of them.

"Shut up and just do it, Kenny," she cries.

He obliges, adding a second finger, soon followed by a third. He is the master of this shit. Surely she should know that. If there's one thing he knows the insides of better than a car, it's a lady. He's damned proud of that, too. He brushes his thumbnail against her clit and she moans even louder for him. He hasn't even gotten started yet. Clearly, her bedmates of the past have been utterly incompetent, if this little can get her this hot.

He pulls his fingers out and she moans in protest.

Kenny starts to press tiny, damp kisses up from the undersides of her knees, to the insides of her thighs. She asks, trembling, "Are you going to – ooh,shit." He moves his tongue inside of her. God, that taste. He loves the taste of sex. Of a woman. Or, occasionally, a guy. He understands that most people don't care for it, but he loves it. He laps at her, sucks on her, tonguing her in careful, deliberate strokes. She's lost it, now. She was in control for a while. But she's far gone. She shouts and curses and moans and grunts, and tangles her hands in his blond hair, forcing his tongue further inside her.

"Oh lord," she thrashes her legs a little as he delivers the finale, and she comes.

But it's not over, no. It's far from over.

"How did you – how did you do that?" Wendy asks him, as Kenny fumbles with the buckle of his belt. His jeans hit the floor with a muffled thump.

"If more dudes paid the slightest bit the fuck attention to a lady, you wouldn't be asking me that question," he says simply, discarding his briefs so enthusiastically that they land someplace unidentifiable across the room.

Kenny's on top of her, then, kissing her hard. He likes the idea that she tastes herself right now. He wonders if she tastes as good to herself as she tastes to him.

"Kenny, go already," she says urgently.

He feels like he's forgetting something.

"Just a second," he grins.

He reaches behind her back, stroking her quivering muscles, and unhooks her bra with a single hand, flinging the garment in the same direction as his underwear. He cracks another smile, or maybe it's the same smile for a different reason, pressing his face into the slight cavity between her small breasts. He says against her sweaty skin, "You have phenomenal tits, Wendy."

She laughs, and responds, "Eloquently put."

"I try," Kenny wryly remarks. He holds his cock at the base, gives her a final look, and thrusts inside.

He groans. Fucking loudly, too. It's like he's sunk into fucking heaven, with her all hot and tight around her. How many times has he wished for this? And Jesus Christ, it's happening. It's even better than he'd thought it would be when he jerked himself off to Wendy fantasies. He'd never…never thought that those fantasies would be anything but that, though. He feels like he's a fucking kid in a candy store, except it's Wendy, and she's like, a million times better than any goddamned candy store could ever be.

Wendy wraps her legs tight around his waist, squeezing. She demands, "Deeper."

He obliges.

She commands, "Harder, fuck."

Kenny obliges.

Their pace is erratic. He's holding onto the top of his headboard so tightly that his knuckles have turned white. He's wondering with each forceful thrust if he's ever fucked somebody this hard in his life. They usually ask him to give it to them gentle, but Wendy's not like that, not at all. She's screaming, and he's yelling, and it's the best goddamn cacophony that he's ever made in his life. He kisses her neck as he thrusts, suckling hard enough that she'll have one nice, huge McCormick-made hickey in the morning.

Kenny moves one hand down off of the headboard, keeps the other on it for leverage, but uses his fingers in sync with his body.

"Jesus, shit, fuck," Wendy cries. When she comes, her muscles clench tight around his dick.

He might have seen God, holy shit. It only takes about a second after her climax for him to reach his own. It thunders down on him in hypnotic waves. Kenny takes a few moments to come out of it and back to reality, where he's gone soft inside the prettiest girl in South Park.

"Christ," he says on exhale, and when Kenny manages to convince his body to work again, he withdraws his body and collapses on the mattress, flat on his back. The cool, dry sheets feel nice, kind of like they're mopping up the puddle of sweat and body fluids that he's turned into.

After what feels like an eternity, but is probably just a minute or two, he turns his head to look at her. Wendy's already staring back, of course, with her big, brown eyes. Kenny tucks a long lock of hair behind her ear and kisses between her brows. He's always affectionate after sex, but maybe Wendy isn't used to it. He's a cuddler, though, that's just always how it's been.

Kenny swallows the lump in his throat and asks, "Can I, uh, hold you?"

A strange look crosses her face. He supposes that that wasn't what she thought he was going to say. She answers, "Uh, sure, I guess."

"Awesome," he says, and he scoots forward, tucking his arms around her in such a way that they can spoon, and he can also play with her hair. Kenny kisses behind her ear and strokes the back of her calf with his toes. He really does love after-sex cuddling. It's almost as good as the sex itself.

Almost.

And why does he still feel like he forgot something?