Soundtrack: Put Me Back Together – Weezer

Kenny knows one thing for certain: he is a shitty roommate.

He doesn't even remember what he and Kyle had been fighting about now. Something about the laundry, or the dishes, or the bong, or quit-opening-beer-bottles-on-the-coffee-table. All Kenny recalls is that he was wrong, thought he was right, and stormed out a night and a half ago. He drank himself stupid at the bar a few blocks away, slept in alley next to a trash can, and wandered around town until evening, wandering that landed him right back where he began. Home.

The house is tiny, an old thing built sometime in the sixties. It's kind of ugly, and a family of five rents out the lower level, but it's the nicest home that Kenny has ever had.

He shares it with Kyle, his roommate-cum-fuckbuddy, and he likes it there. Kyle doesn't mind if Karen sometimes comes over and watches reruns of Extreme Couponing with Kenny, and Kenny doesn't mind waking up at three in the morning to find Kyle anxiously studying for a test that he thinks that he'll fail (and won't). It's a comfortable arrangement, one that Kenny doesn't want to have to give up.

It began when they were eighteen. Kyle loathed the idea of student housing, of being locked in a tiny room with a stranger, and having to share a toilet with three other people. Kenny didn't want to stay with his parents anymore, and wanted out. They fell in together when Kyle decided to attend CU Denver, and Kenny wrangled in a day job at a pizza place and a night gig as a parking attendant at a five-story car garage in downtown Denver. Kyle's parents send him rent money every month, and they split the bills clean down the middle, every month, every year. Now Kyle's about to graduate with a business degree.

Kenny thinks this all began three months ago, when he got laid off from the parking attendant job with little severance. His pizza job doesn't cover the rent, especially with the droves of crappy tippers that filter through, leaving nothing behind, like he can live on four fifty an hour without some goddamn tips. Kenny came home depressed, and he's been depressed. He mopes and he drinks, and Kyle complains when he mopes and drinks.

Maybe that's what they fought about. Moping and drinking.

The lights in their part of the house are on. Kenny bets that Kyle is studying. He studies no matter what mood he's in. He says it helps him relax, but in reality Kenny thinks it makes everything worse.

"Kenny? Is that you?"

The front door opens and Kyle steps down the porch.

"It's freezing," he says as he steps toward Kenny, and he wraps his arms around himself. Kyle pauses a step away from him and asks, "Do you want to come inside?"

"Do you want me to?" queries Kenny.

Snow begins to fall, tiny flakes that reflect the light of the streetlamps on their way to the ground. It is cold. Damn cold.

Kyle frowns, "Dude, it's your place to. It's not like I'm keeping you out or anything."

"I know," Kenny answers, though he feels kept out, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," insists Kyle, "I was worried, you idiot. Come inside and get warm. Maybe you should take a shower or something too, because you smell kind of funny."

"I slept next to a dumpster," Kenny deadpans. He follows Kyle up the porch steps and up the stairs to their half of the house. To his surprise, the desk crammed into the living room is empty, and instead, the television is on, playing some show on TLC. A blanket is crumpled up on the end of the couch, and soda cans litter the coffee table.

Kyle's frown deepens and his brows hitch together. He asks, "Really? You'd rather sleep next to a dumpster than be at home with me?"

"You were mad," Kenny points out.

"I cooled down after like an hour, dumbass," Kyle replies, "I texted you to come home and you never did. What the hell, man?"

"I'm sorry," Kenny says again. He's a shitty friend. A shitty roommate, too. Shitty parking attendant. Shitty pizza place waiter. Just…shitty.

Kyle exhales and runs a hand through his curls. He settles on saying, "Just get in the shower, okay?"

Kenny obeys without speaking, ducking into the bathroom, where he sheds his clothing and dumps them into the wicker laundry hamper next to the sink. When he turns on the water, he turns it to scalding hot, wanting to feel it in his skin and everywhere. He takes his time, scrubbing his skin with cheap ivory soap and off-brand shampoo that smells a little like plastic. Sometimes he uses Kyle's expensive hair products, but he has a feeling that that would only piss Kyle off more.

After, he dries off and stares at his reflection in the mirror. Shadows mark his eyes, and there are already lines where there didn't used to be. He's too young for lines. He looks tired and depressed. He wonders how long he's looked like this – working two jobs was hard, but losing one is worse.

Back in Kenny's bedroom, Kyle sits on Kenny's bed, relaxed back against the pillows. He's in his pajamas, a white t-shirt that hugs his chest and pajama pants printed with TARDISes from that one scifi show he watches all the time, Doctor Who or whatever it is. Kenny bought him a boxed set once for Christmas a couple years back and he about shat a brick. It was one of Kenny's prouder moments.

"What are you doing in here?" he asks, "I've got to get dressed."

"Nothing I haven't seen before," Kyle responds. He doesn't move his gaze.

Kenny rolls his eyes and drops his wet towel onto the floor. He rummages in his drawers and finds a pair of clean boxers, pulling them over his hips. He runs his fingers through his damp hair and scoots back onto his bed next to Kyle.

"Okay, what do you want?" he asks.

"I'm making sure you're okay," Kyle responds, "You know, being a good friend, the standard shit. Are you all right?"

"I don't know, dude," Kenny answers, rubbing his hands over his eyes, "Why are you asking me this?"

"Because I'm concerned, dickhead," Kyle snips, "I care about you, stupid. Losing your job isn't the end of the world, okay. I called my parents and talked to them about the situation, and they said they could send us extra money for a couple of months while you look for something new. And I'm graduating soon, and I can get a job then. We'll be fine."

Kyle shifts onto his side and hesitates for a moment, and then smooths a hand over Kenny's damp hair.

Kenny swats him away.

"Can you just let me figure this out my own?" he snaps, "I don't need your pity, and I don't want your parents' money."

He knows that the Broflovskis mean well. Sheila and Gerald have always been a second set of parents to him, often better at it than Kenny's own. They care about Kenny as though he's one of their own, but Kenny still doesn't like having to accept their help. He wants to be able to do it on his own, because if he doesn't, he's the 'no good mooch' McCormick kid.

"Kenny, fucking cut it out," Kyle says. He tugs Kenny back to look at him, and presses Kenny onto his back. Kyle shifts up and straddles him. He strokes his knuckles along Kenny's jaw and down his chest. His gray-green eyes are hard. He's mad.

"I just want to go to sleep," Kenny murmurs.

"I just want you to let me help you," counters Kyle, "Look, man. You've got to let people help sometimes. We all go through shit, and we can't always do it on our own. Remember back in high school, when Stan got drunk and drove himself into a tree? We were there for him. You helped him. Now he's got one of those 'five years sober' coins or whatever. And you help me all the time, asshole. You help me relax when I'm stressed, you help me study – I never would have gotten through college without you. So can you cut the crap and let me pay you back?"

Kenny goes quiet. After a second, he mutters, "I'm sorry, dude."

"It's fine," Kyle insists.

Kenny doesn't want to talk about any of this anymore. So he reaches up and grips Kyle's shoulders, tugging him down into a kiss. Kyle always tastes good, like chapstick and spearmint mouthwash. He's put together where Kenny is ragged, with an expensive haircut styled with expensive gel, clean and smelling like pine-scented body wash and cologne.

Kyle sighs into the kisses. Their chests press together, and Kyle wraps his arms around Kenny's neck. Kenny doesn't remember exactly when they started doing this – he knows that it wasn't long after Kyle started school in freshman year. He was strung tight as hell, and Kenny offered (half-jokingly, after three Bud Lights and a shot of whiskey) him a blow job.

Kyle (two shots of tequila, one pina colada, one watermelon daiquiri) accepted without hesitation.

But they hadn't regretted it the morning, when Kenny woke up sprawled out on Kyle's bed with his face on Kyle's stomach. He'd already been awake, watching Kenny.

And then it kept happening.

And kept happening.

Until Kenny had done things to Kyle that nobody had ever done before, and Kenny let Kyle do things that he had never let anybody dare to do.

Kenny trusts Kyle in a strange way that he doesn't trust anybody else. It makes it harder on him when he fucks up, like not doing his laundry, or losing his second job. Maybe it's stupid, but Kenny wants Kyle to like him, to admire him the way that he admires Kyle.

That's pretty fucking dumb.

"You feel nice, Kyle," Kenny mumbles against his lips.

"Mm," Kyle agrees, "You do too. Smell good, too."

Kenny cocks a brow, "Like cheap shampoo?"

"Like you," answers Kyle. He ducks in and kisses Kenny again, arching into him. Their bodies begin to move, grinding into each other in a perfect rhythm. Kenny's head lolls back against his pillow and cries out. Kenny's cock is hard as rock in his boxers, and Kyle is just as hard through his pajamas. Kenny reaches down and grazes his fingers over the outline of Kyle's erection.

Kenny smiles into their kisses and murmurs against his lips, "I love your cock."

"Fuck," Kyle responds. He dips in and kisses Kenny's neck, sliding the pad of his tongue over the skin of Kenny's throat. He nips down, biting hard enough to make Kenny whine and thrust up against Kyle's body. He loves Kyle's body. He's not as skinny as he was in high school, where he was a beanpole basketball player for the South Park Cows. His stomach is a little softer now, his thighs thicker, enough for Kenny to grab onto when he's inside Kyle.

Kenny shifts his hands underneath Kyle's t-shirt and brings it up over his head. He leans into Kyle's chest and kisses down his neck, tonguing gently down to his nipples. Kyle holds Kenny there with his hands tangled his blond hair, tugging and pressing Kenny closer to his body. Kenny scrapes his teeth over Kyle's skin and he moans out, shuddering.

"God," Kyle keens, "When you left last night – ugh, fuck – this is all I wanted. I wanted make-up sex so bad. I wanted you inside me, and I wanted it rough. But you weren't here."

Kenny draws away and sits up taller to kiss Kyle's lips. He strokes a hand over Kyle's ear and says, "You can have it now. Any way you want."

"Hard," Kyle answers, "Fast. I want you to do me from behind."

Kenny grins, "I wouldn't have it any other way." He pecks a kiss to Kyle's lips before he flips him onto his back, sitting on top of him. He rubs their bodies together before pulling Kyle's pajama pants down just far enough to pull out his cock and stroke down the length of it, thumbing at the head. Kyle whines and bucks into his hand.

Kenny pulls Kyle up and discards Kyle's clothes onto the carpet. He positions him on his knees against the headboard and bites at his shoulder, instructing, "Stay there, sugar. I'll get the lube."

Kyle hums and then orders, "Hurry."

Kenny barrels across his bedroom and pulls open his 'sex drawer,' knocking aside a couple of his favorite toys to find the half-empty bottle of lube. He pauses for a moment and on a whim grabs one of the cock rings. Kyle loves them. Way more than he's willing to admit, at that.

"Got something for you," Kenny says as he sidles back up onto the mattress behind Kyle. He kisses Kyle's shoulder blade and noses at the back of his neck, pressing wet kisses to his skin. He reaches around and strokes Kyle's cock before slipping the ring over him, fitting it snugly around him.

"Shit," Kyle whines, "You're gonna fucking torture me, aren't you?"

"Yes I am," Kenny replies, unable to conceal the delight in his voice. He pops open the lube and pours it over his fingers. He nips at the skin on Kyle's back and traces the cleft of his ass, teasing his entrance and pushing the tip of his finger inside before withdrawing it. Kyle cries out. Kenny smiles, and pushes his finger inside Kyle the rest of the way. He massages inside him, pressing against his prostate when he finds in. Kyle cants his ass back against Kenny's hand, groaning.

Kyle leans his head against the edge of the headboard. He pushes back against the movement of Kenny's hand and whispers, "Deeper."

Kenny adds another finger, working Kyle open until he's ready for three. Kyle cries out when Kenny pushes the third finger in. Kyle is tight, hot around his hand, and Kenny whines a little at the feeling. He can't wait to be inside Kyle.

"Christ, dude," Kyle moans, "I need you. I fucking need you. Just – do it already, man."

Kenny chuckles. He withdraws his hand and lubes his erection, humming at his own touch. It feels damn good, and when he starts pushing inside Kyle, he thinks that he might cry. Kyle groans out Kenny's name and pushes himself back on Kenny's cock, taking him in wholly.

"I fucking love the way you feel inside me," Kyle says. Before Kenny can begin to move, Kyle starts, pushing himself back and forth on Kenny's cock. Kenny almost can't take it, watching Kyle's body twist and flex to accommodate him while he makes a string of desperate noises.

"I love watching you fuck yourself on me," Kenny whispers against the shell of Kyle's ear.

Kyle moans at that and works harder, pushing himself harder back against Kenny.

Kenny is on fire.

He grips the headboard, his hands on the outside of where Kyle holds on, white-knuckled, and begins to thrust. He picks up the pace when Kyle demands it, and the bed begins to rock. The mattress springs squeal with each shove forward, as Kenny slams into Kyle's body over and over. Both of them are coated in sweat, lost, sounds escaping from them that Kenny didn't know they could make.

"Kenny," Kyle whines, "I want you to come inside me. I love it when you come inside me."

"Fuck," Kenny says. He bites at Kyle's back and runs his hand through Kyle's sweaty curls. He tugs at them, pulling Kyle's head back as he fucks him harder. Kyle pants and grabs onto Kenny's other hand.

Kenny comes without warning, snugly fitted inside Kyle. He groans out Kyle's name and buries his face in the crook of Kyle's neck, kissing heavily.

When Kenny comes down from his orgasm, he murmurs, "Do you want the ring off?"

Kyle nods helplessly and cries, "God, please, I need to come so bad, Kenny."

Kenny smirks and reaches around their bodies. He thumbs the cock ring and presses his fingers along Kyle's erection before sliding the ring off. Kyle cries out his orgasm, coming onto the headboard and Kenny's hand.

"Got a lot of come there, Broflovski," remarks Kenny.

Kyle hits him, "Shut up, Kenny."

Kenny laughs as they both sink down onto the bed, sated and both smiling. They kiss, and Kenny noses at Kyle's hair as he loops his arms around him, pulling their bodies together. Kyle's eyes shutter closed as he breathes heavily against Kenny's chest.

Kenny exhales and pets Kyle's hair. A weird feeling settles over him as he stares down at Kyle, whose eyes are closed and lips swollen from kisses. He's come to enjoy these moments more than he thought possible, where they're wrapped up in each other, stuck together by sweat and come. He feels almost reverent of it all, like if he moves, Kyle will disappear and he'll wake up sleeping next to a dumpster, only to realize that it was all a dream.

"You know," Kyle says, his voice hoarse from crying out, "just because we had sex, doesn't mean that I'm forgetting about everything that's going on."

"Ugh, fuck," Kenny complains. He breaks from Kyle and slides off of the bed, adding, "Man, I knew this was all too good to be true. Why can't you just leave it alone?"

He retrieves his boxers from the floor and tromps to the bathroom. He washes the come and sweat off of himself. When he exits, Kyle is already dressed back in his pajamas. His cheeks are still flushed pink from sex, or maybe anger – he looks pissed.

"Kenny, you can't just walk away from this," Kyle says, "There's something wrong, dude. I want you to be happy, can't you see that, stupid?"

"Just drop it," Kenny clips. He trudges into the kitchen and pulls open the fridge. Kenny yanks out a beer and, just to spite Kyle, opens the bottle on the edge of the kitchen table.

Kyle follows him, of course, but instead of shouting, and instead of looking angry anymore, he looks like he might cry. He loops his arms around Kenny's middle from behind and presses his cheek to Kenny's back.

"I don't think you get it," Kyle tells him.

Kenny doesn't push Kyle away. Instead, he simply tips back a chug of his beer, sitting on Kyle's words for a moment before he answers, "Get what?"

"Us," Kyle answers.

Kenny frowns at that, "What about us, dude?"

"I really care about you."

Kyle's voice is so quiet that Kenny almost can't hear the words, smothered by Kenny's back.

"Yeah, dude, I really care about you, too."

"Not like that," Kyle corrects. He breaks away from Kenny and opens the refrigerator, avoiding his eyes as he takes out a beer. Kyle doesn't even like beer.

"No, I mean – I really care about you, Kenny," Kyle clarifies. He keeps his eyes trained on the floor as the words sink in.

Kenny can only manage, "Oh."

He doesn't know how to handle this.

"I get it if, um, this means you wanna like end stuff between us," Kyle goes on, "I know it was sex for you, and it was for me too, but I dunno, man, it just changed."

"Kyle," Kenny squeezes out. He tries to find something to say, and at first he can't. Kyle looks like he'll snap in half if Kenny talks, and so Kenny decides to communicate in the best way that he can manage: He yanks Kyle forward and hugs him. He kisses Kyle as hard as he can and cradles Kyle's face in both hands.

When Kenny breaks the kiss, he keeps Kyle against him and at last says, "Dude. Dude, why didn't you tell me?"

Fucking everything begins to make sense in his head. How watching TV with Kyle can make his night, how fighting with Kyle sends him reeling, how he never wants to leave when he and Kyle are wrapped up in each other in bed…the weird feelings, the sticky misery when he feels as though he's done something wrong.

"I thought I'd fuck up what we already had," Kyle answers.

Kenny laughs and shakes his head, responding, "No, God no. Dude, I just – I don't – I really care about you, too, man."

And Kenny doesn't have a damn clue what that means for them, but he's glad that he finally realized it.

For Jacky, Tate, Taylor, Erp, Liz, Shan, Izzy and Ali – I miss you guys!

PS Colorado readers…hit me up if you're going to be at Nan Desu Kan! I'm going as Carmen Sandiego.