Looking back on this, I love how crude Cartman is.
Welcome to the next installment of Phobophobia! Inspired in part by Forced Seduction, a wonderful slash webcomic by Miyuli. It's K2.
A cat bitten once by a snake dreads even rope. ~Arab Proverb
Kyle shifted his weight from one foot to the other nervously, fist hesitantly resting against the smooth wood of the Cartmans' door as he debated whether or not to knock. Eric had been very clear when he said (in much more politically incorrect terms) that he didn't want to hear anything about this, but... Eric and Kenny were super-bests. Even if that didn't mean the same thing that it meant to himself and Stan, Eric should know, should be able to help.
Maybe it wasn't such a huge problem, but... It just didn't make sense! Kyle grimaced, flinching when the movement irritated the swollen bruise on his cheek. Kenny had had a million and three boyfriends and girlfriends in the past, and they didn't get punched. What the fuck?
Sucking up his pride, Kyle gave in and knocked on the door three times, paused, and repeated the pattern twice more. After a short pause, the click-clack of heels approaching the door could be heard. The door swung open smoothly but Kyle flinched anyway, grinning weakly at Mrs. Cartman, who was staring worriedly at the bruise on his cheek. "Oh, honey, did you get into a fight in school?"
Kyle smirked, accepting her silent offer to enter the household that smelled continuously of cinnamon. "Yeah." he halfway lied, "You should see the other guy. I came out better." This was true; Kenny had been in worse shape when he left, crying and gasping out apologies and hiding his face. Kyle'd tried to stop him, to talk to him, but Kenny was a lot bigger and a lot stronger than him. He was gone in seconds.
Mrs. Cartman giggled, patting him on the back with the air of a proud parent. "'Atta boy. Make 'em bleed." she was gathering together her purse and her phone and smoothing down her hair anxiously. "I've got a date, sweetheart, so go on ahead. My boogaloo is upstairs."
Kyle hid a chuckle at the ridiculous nickname and nodded, smiling. "Good luck, Mrs. C." he called over her shoulder, faintly hearing something along the lines of 'he's a doctor!' in response. He grinned.
The door to Eric's room was cracked open and Kyle could hear faint voices going back and forth as he shifted closer. "I hit him!" he heard faintly and rose an eyebrow, stepping forward to stand at the door and watch his boyfriend and his rival argue. Before the conversation could continue, however, the redhead cleared his throat.
"Speak of the devil." Kenny almost whimpered, flipping his hood up in defense as he stared unwaveringly at the dark blue and purple bruise resting on the fragile, pale skin of his boyfriend's face. Eric grinned in a mixture of welcome and mildly sadistic amusement. "If it ain't the poster-child for domestic abuse." he greeted, earning a withering stare from the blond. Kyle had to wince in agreement, though, the knowledge that Stan was going to go apeshit when he saw the bruise weighing on him a little.
Kenny stood abruptly, practically running past Kyle and out of the room while calling flusteredly, "Gotta go, people to be, places to meet!" and leaving the Nazi and the Jew to stare at each other, eyes alight in shared amusement.
"So I guess you heard what happened." Kyle assumed as he moved farther into the room, sitting uninvited on the chair Kenny had evacuated. Eric smirked, leaning back lazily. "You tried to take your faggy relationship to third base and he flipped the fuck out and tried to take out that gigantic Jewnose of yours. Evidently, he missed." the brunette acknowledged cordially.
Kyle snorted a little in surprise. "Third base? C'mon, Cartman, what are you? Twelve?" The ginger shook his head. "Whatever. Since it's obvious that Kenny isn't going to tell me," he waved demonstratively in the direction of the door, "I was hoping you would explain why he 'flipped the fuck out'."
Eric eyed the Jew, sizing him up. "Why would I tell you my 'super-best's' secrets, Kikey?"
Kyle twitched a little at the nickname, but didn't comment on it. The pair had set up a kinda-sorta friendship that allowed them to ignore petty jibes directed at one another. Deep down, Kyle knew he didn't mean it, even if the neo-Nazi would never, ever admit it. While Kyle was muling over his answer carefully, Eric suddenly burst into laughter. "Nevermind, I already have the answer. It'd be funny as fuck."
Kyle leaned forward interestedly. Eric smirked, whispering conspiratorially, "You see-"
Kenny was sitting on Stan's bed, looking like a scolded child. The raven was sitting on his desk, watching him silently. Neither had said a word since Kenny trailed in, looking like a lost puppy, and silently offered up his bleeding, gravel-and-grit caked palms. The wounds had long since been cleaned and bandaged, and the boys had lapsed into absolute silence.
Both teens flinched when Stan phone went off, blasting Basket Case by Green Day. Stan shoved his hand in his pocket, leaning back against the wall and propping a foot up on it as he answered the phone with a quiet, "What's up?"
A moment of silence followed. Stan met Kenny's eyes and held his gaze authoritatively. "Yeah, I've got him." he murmured, raising an eyebrow at Kenny, who had tensed at his words. "Alright." he continued after a moment, moving to stand in front of the door calmly. Kenny, who had been about to stand, looked between Stan and the window furtively. Stan shook his head, saying goodbye into the receiver and hanging up.
"What'd you do?" Stan questioned finally. Kenny winced. "You're asking me to sign my own death warrant, dude."
He nodded as if to say fair enough and inquired lazily, "Am I gonna wanna kick your scrawny ass in a minute?", getting a mute nod from the hoodrat.
"Alright, Ken, but I swear to god, if you hurt him-" he cut himself off when the blond cringed at these words, standing up straighter as his gaze narrowed dangerously. "You hurt him." Kenny watched him mentally deduce what had happened from his conversation with Kyle. His ears and cheeks went bright red with rage. "You hit him!"
Kenny flinched, prepared to take a couple blows and flee, but as soon as Stan took a step forward, the door slammed open and Kyle grabbed his super-best's hand, tugging anxiously. "It's not his fault!" he insisted as Stan roughly grabbed his chin and tilted his head up and sideways so that he could evaluate the damage. Kenny groaned. It seemed to be more swollen and darker every time he saw it. People who've sent a lot of time fighting should not be allowed to punch when startled.
Kyle allowed Stan to look him over, figuring that letting him fuss was better than letting him fight with his boyfriend. "Kyle," he groaned, rubbing his thumb along the bruise with a feather-light touch, "Be honest. Do I need to kick his ass?"
Kenny flinched, fully expecting to hear the bounty being placed on his head, but Kyle shook his head firmly and answered confidently, "It's my fault he punched me. I wouldn't say I deserved it, but it's not his fault. I, erm, startled him."
Searching his friend's face for a lie and coming up empty, Stan nodded once and released the teen. "Whatever, Ginger. You've got a half hour before mom gets home to kiss and make up, so get to it..." he turned to leave but his face suddenly paled and he twisted around to beg desperately, "Please don't do anything on my bed, guys."
And he was gone, leaving Kyle to smile at his boyfriend, who was steadfastly staring at his knees. He chuckled, moving closer, within arms reach. Kyle crossed his arms, fond grin still firmly in place, and scolded, "You could have just told me, y'know."
Kenny grimaced, tightening the strings on his parka to draw the matted fur over his eyes. His voice was muffled when he spoke, but Kyle spoke Kenniliese fluently. "What'd my traitorous bastard of a best friend tell you?"
Kyle stared at him, lips parting in shock. He blinked, expression that of complete surprise, marinated in disbelief and sprinkled with confusion. "You're fucking with me."
Eric grinned, holding his hands up in a 'don't shoot' gesture. "I fuck you not."
Kyle leaned back, looking as though his mind had been thoroughly blown. "Kenny?" he checked, disbelief coloring his tone. Eric chuckled. "Yes, it's true, Kahl. Kenneth-fucking-McCormick, resident player, whore and heart breaker, the loose-legged man who has dated every fucking girl in school and a surprising portion of the guys, is one hundred fucking percent virginal."
"Whoa..." the redhead muttered, a what-the-fuck grin forming on his lips. "Seriously?"
"Seriously. He's got the most humiliating story to go along with it, too. In sixth grade, this whorish eighth grader stopped us in the halls and asked Kenny if he wanted to go on a date with her. You remember sixth grade; suddenly shoved into a school filled with older, hormone-riddled, useless sacks of flesh because the goddamn district can't figure out that bitchy little sixth graders are fucking babies and belong in elementary."
Kyle nodded, remembering how quickly he and his classmates had been shoved into adolescence. Eric laughed a little before he continued. "So, of course, Kenny thinks, 'Fuck yeah, I'm a stud' and says yes. So this slut invites him over for dinner and he sits there wide eyed while her father and older brother grill him and the chick's mom practically starts planning their goddamn wedding."
Eric paused to roll his eyes, making a tsking noise in the back of his throat. "Then, after dinner, Ms. Trollop takes Kenny down into the basement and sits him down on the couch. Poor, naïve Kenny," (insert light sarcasm), "Is just being polite like his mama raised him to treat women and talking to her, but her only interests lie elsewhere-i.e., in Kenny's cock."
Kyle caught where this was going but let Eric continue. "So she shoves him onto his back and straddles his thighs and kisses him, and while he mentally spazzes out she leans back and takes off her shirt, brings one of his hands up to her pathetic little knockers, etc. Kenny was not, shall we say, terribly excited because he was so nervous, but when she went to rectify that with a hand on his crotch-" Kyle cringed internally, "-he freaked out and punched the cunt in the face."
"Seriously?" the Jew asked despite himself. Eric nodded, but his story wasn't over. "So Jezebel reeled back and looked down on him with this hateful expression-poor Ken's just sitting there crying and trying to apologize like a whiny bitch-and says something along the lines of 'Call me when you're ready to act like a real man', which, as you can imagine, was a huge fucking blow to his fragile male ego.
"So Kenny shows up here, an absolute mess, blubbering out his story, and I'm just sitting there trying not to laugh. Hey, don't look at me like that, at least I was making a goddamn effort! And just before the pussy leaves, he sniffles and wipes his eyes again and mutters, "I'll show her 'real man'," and from the next day on, he'd flirt with anything in a damn skirt."
Kyle shook his head, still not sure if the brunette was telling the truth. "So how did he manage to date everybody and not fuck any of them?"
Eric shrugged. "He broke it off whenever it started to get serious. He's a pussy, remember?"
Kyle sighed, starting to feel like an asshole. "I guess it made sense that he hit me."
Eric gave him a 'look'. "Don't scare him again. I might have to smash your huge-ass Jewnose in myself, since his goddamn aim is so fucking bad."
Sometime during Kyle's explanation, Kenny drew his knees up to his chest and hid his face completely. "I didn't mean to hit you." he mumbled miserably, causing his boyfriend of six weeks to chuckle and plop down on the bed, wrapping at arm around his shoulders with a little difficulty as Kenny was taller. "You surprised me. I wasn't... Prepared."
"No, no, I get it." Kyle chuckled. "A warning isn't much to ask for." Kenny smiled gratefully as he unraveled himself from his defensive position and blushed a little. "I feel emasculated."
Kyle giggled. "That's a big word, Ken. You sure you're using it right?" he teased, earning a playful shove. The redhead pushed his boyfriend onto his back and straddled his waist, pinning the blond's hands above his head with one of his own and playfully threatening him with a raised fist. Kenny pretended to be terrified, drawing another laugh from Kyle, who relaxed and placed his open palms on the firm expanse of his chest.
"You're plenty manly, Kenny." he assured the blond, who puffed up a little. Kyle smiled fondly, but it fell away at Kenny's next words.
"I'm always glad to hear that my girlfriend thinks I'm manly." he sighed contently, laughing as Kyle struck his chest in mock anger. Dodging the hands that attempted to stop him, he looped an arm around his neck to grip his hair and tug him down for a kiss. Kyle's shoulders slumped in relaxation but neither moved, content with the simple contact as Kenny stroked the fine hair on the back of his ginger's neck.
They broke away, however, when the door open to reveal a clearly distressed Stan. "Ah, C'mon, guys! That's my bed!"
"Someday, Stan," Kenny announced seriously, fighting to keep a grin off his face, "I'm going to fuck your super-best friend into your mattress, soiling your sheets, making your room smell like sex and sweat, and assuring that you will never be able to sleep in here ever again."
"Absolutely not!" Stan screeched, throwing his hands up in exasperation, "You can go fuck on Eric's bed!"
"There's a swastika on the ceiling, dude. I think it would be a bit of a mood killer for him, don't you think, staring up at it the whole time? Of course, I could always take him from behi-"
"Lalalalalalalalalala! I can't hear you! And you aren't going to fuck on my bed! You're going to fuck in Token's, alright? I hate that guy."
"But I want to see your expression when you lay down and your shirt is suddenly wet!"
"Oh my god, dude! Seriously, Kenny? Go fuck in Tweek's bed if you want a funny reaction!"
"Craig would murder me!"
"Hey, guys," Kyle piped in, a little concerned about how serious they were about this, "Do I have a say in this?"
Both boys answered simultaneously with a mock-irritated glare.
Ah, I enjoyed that. Anyway, I'm calling on my readers-yes, all two of you-to review with suggestions for my next phobia! For ideas, please visit the website Phobia List.
I won't accept any phobias I can't find the proper name to. QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS? REVIEW!