Soundtrack: Wow, I Can Sexual Too – Say Anything
Kenny tends to notice.
Maybe it's because so much of his life goes unnoticed that he keeps an eye out for his own clan (Karen, his friends, his mom). He keeps them out of trouble when he can, and offers a shoulder to cry on when he can't. From time to time, he has to do both – like the time that some kid in Karen's class called her a 'slut' and their mom a 'welfare queen.' Kenny tracked him down, put the fear of God into him, and hung out with Karen the rest of the night and watched her favorite anime, Fullmetal Alchemist.
And this time, shit has gotten out of hand.
Maybe he should have intervened sooner. Kyle has been acting weird since the start of the school year. He seemed to drop off the map completely, getting wrapped up in his strict regimen of IB (and one AP) classes. He sits with Token and Wendy and Butters at lunch now, where they review their homework and correct each other's answers before they go to their afternoon classes.
Stan has taken this as a personal offense, as though Kyle takes extra classes to spite him.
And Kenny wasn't worried, because Kyle still hung out with them on the weekends, rolling his eyes when Stan and Kenny and Cartman would pass around a joint while they battled out rounds of Mario Kart.
"Sorry guys, I've got a lot of homework," is a favorite of Kyle's.
Or, "I have tests all next week, guys, I can't."
And even, "Look, I've got to stay focused on my schoolwork so I can get into my top choice schools. I don't have time for other stuff."
Kyle's always had a bit of a stick up his ass, but he's never had an issue with letting go with his friends.
And fine, maybe Kenny noticed all this because he likes Kyle, a lot, in a different way than he likes Stan or Cartman. Kyle doesn't have qualms about being himself. He's just Kyle, and he doesn't have issues with being Kyle Broflovski. Stan struggles all the time, and Cartman (especially Cartman) has his own bounty of insecurities. Hell, Kenny has a ton of issues that he stomps down and compartmentalizes the hell out of, but Kyle – Kyle's confident.
Or he was confident, in any case. Whatever's eating at him is eating him hard. The righteous stick up his butt is the biggest that there's ever been. Kenny hates it. He hates this Kyle, that doesn't do anything but study robot-style for some mystical life of academic and financial success (which do not go hand in hand).
"I don't fucking get it," complains Stan, throwing a rock at Stark's Pond with a flick of his wrist. It skitters across the icy surface, slowing to a stop in the middle. Stan goes on, "What's his fucking issue? We're his best damn friends, and he's treating us like strangers." Kenny's familiar with this particular rampage. It's the same one that Stan has every time that they get together and Kyle ditches them for some quality time with his homework.
Cartman takes a drag off of the end of the cigarette that he mooched from Kenny and scoffs, "Fuck him. Who cares if he gets married to school? Now we don't have anybody to bitch at us when we're having fun." Kyle doesn't like parties, doesn't like drinking, doesn't like drugs – he tried weed with them once, and expressed disinterest every time that they offered after that.
"Fuck off, fatass," Stan shoots back. He climbs to his feet and announces, "I'm going over there, okay? I want to figure out what the hell is up with him."
"Whoa," Kenny grabs Stan's shoulder and shakes his head, "You know how pissed he'd be if you showed up at his place drunk? He'd rip you a new one, dude."
"But," Stan argues, "I'm sick of this, man."
"I know, dude, me too," answers Kenny, "Look, I'm sober. I'll go."
Stan studies Kenny for a moment before he responds, "Fine. Bring him back here."
"I'll try, but I can't promise anything," Kenny replies, "You guys stay here, okay? And don't drink that whole thing of tequila – you'll get arrested again." Cartman is a loud drunk, and Stan is a stupid drunk. On a typical Friday night, Kenny sticks around and goes light on the alcohol to keep them at bay, but he kind of agrees with Stan on this one. Somebody needs to check up on Kyle. They've let this go on for months now, and Kenny's tired of not having Kyle around with them.
Kenny zips up his coat against the cold and shoves his hands in the pockets as he trudges along Main Street. As he tromps past shops and says hello to a few familiar faces, it occurs to him that maybe he should bring some sort of offering to Kyle. Like a blood sacrifice to an angry god or something, except slightly less dramatic than that.
He hopes Kyle still has a love affair with Subway.
Kenny ducks into the store and purchases a foot long to go. Clyde wraps it up for him and is all too cheerful as he does, wishing Kenny a happy Friday night before leaves, headed toward the Broflovskis' place.
Kyle's house is decorated for Hanukah with blue lights along the edge of the roof and around their garage. From the edge of the sidewalk, Kenny can see Ike watching television with a bowl of cereal in his lap. That's good – if Kyle is studying, Sheila doesn't let his friends in, but with the right price, Ike'll do anything.
Kenny rings the bell and taps his foot. As the sun sets, the temperature drops rapidly, and his breath comes out as a cloud with each exhale.
"Wow, long time, no see," Ike remarks when he opens the door, "What do want? He's doing homework and I'm watching a documentary, so make it snappy."
"I need to see him," Kenny says.
"Yeah?" Ike raises his brows, "You know my mom would tell you to fuck off."
Kenny asks, "Is your mom here?"
"No, she and dad are out on a 'date night' or whatever. They're not supposed to be back until after midnight," Ike answers.
Kenny reaches into the pocket of his jeans, and holds up a baggie. It only has about twenty bucks worth of pot in it, but he knows it's enough of a bribe for Ike to let him in.
Ike nods, "That's more like it," and takes it from him. He backs off from the doorway and adds, "Pleasure doing business with you."
"If you get caught, tell your mom you got it from Cartman, okay?" Kenny instructs. He pulls off his beaten combat boots and lines them up with the other shoes in the entry way before jogging up the stairs. Kyle's door is closed, but when Kenny checks the knob, it's not locked.
Kyle is hunched over his desk, his broad shoulders obscuring the work in front of him.
Kyle turns. His eyes are red and shadowed. God only knows how long he's been at this shit. His curls are a wreck from running his hands through them, and his thick-framed glasses sit crookedly on the bridge of his nose. He asks, "I'm doing homework. Who let you in?"
"Your brother," Kenny says. He closes the door behind him and crosses the room, taking a seat on the edge of Kyle's bed, which is neatly made without a corner out of place, "I brought you Subway," he adds, setting the bag on Kyle's desk in front of him.
"Kenny, come on. You know I have shit I need to take care of," Kyle exasperatedly replies, "Why aren't you with Stan and fatso?"
"Because," Kenny supplies, "We're worried about you, dude. You're acting all weird and it's freaking Stan out."
"Only Stan?" queries Kyle.
"No, man, me too," he says back, "What's been with you? Homework is not the most important goddamn thing in the world. How do you even have so much of it?"
"I take IB, dumbass," Kyle provides, "I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine. You can walk yourself out."
Kenny just stares. He wants to say that this is the same Kyle that he's always known, but he isn't so sure. He looks the same – short curly hair that he tames with expensive hair product, skinny body with disproportionately big shoulders, some nerdy t-shirt with a math joke across the front that Kenny doesn't get. But he looks wrecked, like he's been awake for days. The coffee mugs littering Kyle's desk support this theory –
Wait. What the fuck?
Kenny slides off of the mattress and comes up behind Kyle's chair. A row of orange pill bottles lines the back edge of his desk. There are seven of them total. Kenny plucks up the one that isn't emptied and reads the label.
"Dude, why are you taking Adderall? This is for people with ADHD or whatever, like Tweek," Kenny holds the bottle in a fist and stares.
Kyle snaps, "Give that back. It's mine." He stands up and surges to his full height (a whole head taller than Kenny) and tries to yank the bottle from Kenny's hand. Kenny ducks out of Kyle's range and, with a flourish, shoves the bottle of Adderall into his underwear.
"Get it now, motherfucker," Kenny dares, and grabs at his crotch to make his point clearer.
"Kenny," warns Kyle.
"What?" taunts Kenny.
Kyle tackles him to the carpet and pins both his arms down with one hand. His face flushes with anger, and not typical-Kyle-anger, either. It's all-out rage, with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes and tense shoulders, the whole nine yards.
"Dude, are you serious?" Kenny sputters, "Where the hell did you even get that shit? Your mom never would have let you fake ADHD, so what the fuck did you do? Tell me you didn't get into it with the mafia or something."
Kyle gapes and retorts, "The mafia, Kenny? We don't even have one in South Park."
Kyle shrugs, "I got it from Token. He sells it to all the IB kids. Butters takes it too, you know."
"Oh, yeah, because Butters is the perfect image of mental health," Kenny rolls his eyes.
Kyle doesn't dignify this with a response. Instead, he says, "You have two options, dude. You can give me back my Adderall, or I can take it back."
"If you wanted my cock, you could have just said so," Kenny spits back, wiggling a little, but Kyle is stronger than he is. He adds, "Bet you my dick would help you more than meds you're not supposed to be taking."
"Kenny, stop it," warns Kyle.
"I'm serious," Kenny says, "I guess maybe you're more of a top, though. If it helps, I've got a pretty choice ass, too. Not as nice as yours, but just as good." Kenny doesn't know if he's joking around anymore or not. He's jerked off more than a few times to the thought of Kyle being naked and on top of him, biting and kissing all over. He's starting to get a little hard at the image – God, he hopes that Kyle thinks that's just the bottle of Adderall, and not his dick.
Kyle sighs. He keeps Kenny pinned with one hand as he undoes the fly of Kenny's jeans and reaches inside Kenny's pants. His head jerks up when his hand skirts Kenny's erection, and he incredulously asks, "Are you hard?"
There's no getting around the fact that he's been caught, so he answers, "Yeah, guess I get off on the idea of you and my ass."
"I fucking hate when I can't tell if you're serious or not," Kyle complains.
"What do you want me to say, Kyle?" Kenny demands, "You're on top of me and I'm hard. This is not rocket science, and even if it was, you could figure it out."
Kyle doesn't reply. He reaches further down into Kenny's underwear and retrieves the Adderall, but instead of climbing off of him and claiming his victory, he sets it aside on the carpet next to them and says, "So…you're serious?"
Kenny replies, "Yeah, I guess I am."
"So, you're gay?"
"I dunno, man, I just don't care what's in people's basements, okay? I like people," Kenny answers, which is true, "This isn't news. You're friends with Butters, you know about the Halloween party last year."
"I thought you said that it was a one-time thing," Kyle says.
Kenny rolls his eyes, "Yeah, Butters was a one-time thing, not cock, you moron."
"Oh," is all that Kyle says.
They both fall silent, but Kyle doesn't ease his grip on Kenny's wrists. He stares at him, frowning, with a hitch between his thick brows. He shifts, his legs spreading wider over Kenny as he leans down. Kenny can smell his breath, coffee and breath mints – his usual mix while he's hard at work.
And then Kyle kisses him. It's not sweet or romantic, it's rough, Kyle's lips smothering Kenny's. He opens Kenny's mouth with his tongue and Kenny complies with a little moan. Kyle bites down on Kenny's lower lip, hard enough that Kenny whines, and can taste blood in his mouth.
When Kyle pulls back, Kenny mumbles, "A little rough, aren't we?"
"Oh. Um, sorry?" Kyle says.
Kyle releases Kenny's wrists, and Kenny yanks Kyle down by the collar of his t-shirt, kissing him hard again. He murmurs into Kyle's ear, "I like it rough."
"Fuck," Kyle says. He unzips Kenny's coat and tosses it aside. He peppers Kenny's neck with bruising kisses and scrapes his teeth over the sensitive skin, before he pulls Kenny up onto his feet and shoves him back onto his mattress. He crawls onto Kenny and stoops in for another kiss, but hesitates with a centimeter between their lips and asks, "This is okay, right?"
Kenny almost answers with hell yes, but thinks the better of it and instead says, "If you get rid of the Adderall and come to Stark's Pond to hang out with me and the guys afterward, then yeah, you can fuck me."
Kyle scowls. He clips, "You know I hate ultimatums."
"Sorry I'm not sorry," Kenny replies. He teases Kyle, then, and rubs up against him.
Kyle shudders and runs a hand through his hair.
"I hate you," he settles on telling Kenny.
"No, you don't," Kenny responds. He pulls Kyle down into another kiss. He's gentler with Kyle than Kyle was with him, and licks along the seam of his lips to ask for more. Kyle opens his mouth to moan shifts them both up further on the bed, herding Kenny back onto the pillows.
"Nice Millennium Falcon pillowcase, nerd," Kenny chuckles against Kyle's lips.
"Thanks," Kyle responds, "Nice boner."
"It looks even better out in the open," Kenny quips.
"Yeah?" Kyle responds, "Let's test that theory."
"Nice try, but you didn't agree to my terms yet," Kenny points out.
Kyle sighs. He answers, "Fine. I'll flush the pills and hang out with you guys. Happy?"
"Very," responds Kenny, "Subway and a piece of ass and you'll do anything, won't you?"
"Dude, shut up," Kyle says, but his hands are already working on Kenny's jeans, tugging them all the way down his skinny legs. Kyle takes off each of Kenny's socks, too, before heading up to eye Kenny's plain boxer briefs.
"Take off your shirt," Kyle commands.
Kenny smiles and obeys, sitting up to shrug off his shirt and discard it off the side of the mattress. He lies back on the pillows and waits, watching Kyle as he pulls off his own jeans and t-shirt – but neatly folding them and placing each on top of each other on his desk chair. He settles on top of Kenny, propping himself up with one hand on either side of Kenny's shoulders before he leans down to kiss him again. Kyle is as ruthless as he was before, his kiss hard. Kenny melts into it, reaching up to press their chests together. His nails bite into the skin on Kyle's back, and Kyle groans, breaking their kiss to blink at Kenny.
"God, dude, you look really good like this," he remarks. He reaches down to cup Kenny's erection through the thin cotton of his underwear and thumbs along it, smiling. Kyle pulls the boxer briefs away from Kenny's body. For a moment, all he does is stare at Kenny, where he's stark naked with his cock flushed pink against his stomach. Kyle's eyes land on the tattoo drawn just above Kenny's hipbone – a tribute to his immortality. Drawn in classic style with thick lines and clever shading, it depicts a skeleton lying in a coffin. The banner around it reads Never Fear Death.
"Whoa," Kyle remarks. He runs the pads of his fingertips over the tattoo and asks, "When did you get this?"
"Like a year ago, when Kevin needed people to practice on for his apprenticeship."
"It's kind of intense," Kyle tells him, "Should I be worried?"
Kenny laughs and sits up to kiss Kyle, wrapping his arms around Kyle's neck. They sink down together onto the mattress. Kenny whines at the sensation of Kyle's body grinding against his. Kenny reaches up and runs his hands over Kyle's nipples. Kyle shivers and mumbles, "Do that again." Kenny does, and then shifts to press his lips to one, sliding his tongue over it.
"You taste good," he hums, and does the same to the other.
Kyle moans and wraps his fingers around Kenny's cock. His touch is clumsy at first, but he picks up after a moment and Kenny freezes up at the sensation. He mumbles Kyle's name and scratches his back again as they kiss.
"So, how am I supposed to do this?" asks Kyle, making a vague motion to between Kenny's legs.
Kenny chuckles and kisses Kyle's jaw. He says, "You got something we can use as lube?"
"Uh, I have lube," Kyle responds, "I bought it a while ago when I met this guy – but uh, nothing happened, so."
Kyle crosses his bedroom and retrieves it, in addition to an unopened box of condoms. He sets them next to Kenny on the bed. He asks, "Okay, now what?"
"Now you finger me so it doesn't hurt when we fuck, chuckles," Kenny answers, "Lube. Fingers." He casts the bottle toward Kyle. It hits him in the chest before Kyle retrieves it, glancing back to Kenny for confirmation. Kenny lifts a brow and turns onto his stomach. He holds Kyle's pillow underneath his chin, and waits. He hears the sound of the lube opening, and of Kyle pouring it out onto his hand.
"That's really…slippery," comments Kyle.
Kenny wryly answers, "Kind of the point."
Kyle sidles up behind Kenny. He sits on Kenny's legs, and with his dry hand, runs his fingers through Kenny's mop of tangled blond hair. At first, Kyle does nothing, but then, Kenny feels him shift. Kyle presses a fingertip inside him. It feels good, but it's not nearly enough. Kenny lifts up to encourage him to push more inside. Kyle is slow and hesitant at first, but as soon as he hits against Kenny's prostate and Kenny cries out into the pillow, he gains confidence. He slides another finger inside Kenny. It stings a little, especially as Kyle gets rougher, but Kenny likes it.
When Kyle withdraws his hand, Kenny is open and stretched, and the air hitting him feels strange. He gazes over his shoulder at Kyle as he pulls off his boxers and reaches for the box of condoms. He slides his thumbnail into the packaging and tears it open, ripping one off the string. Kyle rolls it over himself with care. He breathes heavily as he spreads Kenny open for him again.
"Fuck," Kenny says, when Kyle begins pressing into him. He encourages, "Keep going, I need you."
Kyle swears and thrusts all the way inside him. It's rough and makes Kenny feel raw, and God, he loves it. He pushes back against Kyle with each thrust inside him. The bed shakes and Kenny balls the sheets in his fist, ordering Kyle to go harder, to go faster, to be as rough with him as he wants. This is even better than he imagined in his fantasies. Kyle repeats Kenny's name under his breath and kisses Kenny's shoulder blades, biting down on the damp skin.
"Kenny, I don't think I can last long," Kyle gasps out.
"It's okay," Kenny assures him, "I'm close too."
Kyle grips Kenny's waist as he slams into him. His noises get higher and more helpless as he loses control. He grabs Kenny around the middle as he comes, chest to Kenny's back, and seated as far as he can be inside Kenny. Kyle slides out of him and turns Kenny over to kiss him. He reaches for Kenny's cock and strokes in lazy movements, kissing along Kenny's bruised neck.
Kenny comes into Kyle's hand. He grabs Kyle by the hair and yanks him into a kiss.
In the afterglow, neither of them move. Kyle has his arms tucked around Kenny, and Kenny has his face buried in Kyle's neck, one leg hooked around one of Kyle's. It's comfortable, and oddly perfect. Kenny doesn't want to move, and remains still until Kyle sighs into Kenny's hair and says, "I guess I should flush the meds, then."
Kenny pulls back and responds, "Honestly, I didn't think you'd actually do it."
"We had a deal, didn't we?" shrugs Kyle. He looks at Kenny and then leans in to kiss his cheek. Kyle hops off of his bed and retrieves his underwear. He picks the Adderall bottle off of the carpet and inclines his head at the adjoining bathroom. Kenny follows, sticking his legs back through his underwear and pulling them over his hips as Kyle pops open the Adderall, tipping in into the toilet without ceremony.
Kyle indicates to the handle and asks, "Do you want to do the honors?"
"Nah, I want to watch you do it," replies Kenny.
Kyle flushes them. The pills swirl down the toilet, and Kenny feels relief rain over him.
They dress back in Kyle's bedroom, and don't speak as they do. Something between them has changed, though sex can sometimes do that to people. Maybe it didn't even do it to Kyle, though, and it's Kenny that feels different. Because, when he zips up his coat and watches Kyle collecting his own coat from his closet, his throat feels clogged, and his gut tight.
Kyle swipes the subway bag off of his desk after he slips on his coat and unwraps the sandwich, taking a bite as they bumble out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Ike gives Kenny a pointed look as Kyle makes a move for his favorite sneakers, and Kenny flips him off.
"It's cold as balls," Kenny mutters when they make their way outside.
Kyle retorts, "This was your idea."
"Yeah, well. Mario Kart at Stan's house it is," he says, "Uh, they might be drunk."
"If they're drunk, why aren't you?" Kyle asks. He takes another bite out of his sandwich with a satisfied grunt.
"Because, if you're not around, I have to be sober," Kenny answers.
Kyle says, "That's what this all was about? You want to get trashed again?"
"No, dude," Kenny responds, "Like, fuck no. I mean – you're my friend, and you were starting to worry me and stuff."
"Okay, mom," Kyle says.
Kenny grips Kyle's shirt collar and brings him forward. For a second, Kyle looks as though he thinks that Kenny might punch him. But no, Kenny pulls Kyle down so that he can reach his forehead, and plants a kiss there. It's a gentle kiss, and more telling that he would have liked it to be, so when he draws away, he gives Kyle a wink and says, "Don't tell anybody I like you."
"No shit?" he says, voice soft.
"Absolutely none," Kenny tells him.
Kenny and Kyle walk the rest of the way to Stark's Pond in silence. Kyle finishes his sandwich and shoves the wrapping into the pocket of his coat. At the pond, Stan and Cartman sit a bench together. Stan has the tequila bottle clutched in his hand, but it looks like he followed Kenny's instructions not to drink it all.
Kenny whistles to get their attention. When Stan turns around to look, Kyle gives a timid wave.
Stan stumbles onto his feet and barrels toward them, throwing his arms around Kyle. He exclaims, "You brought him back!"
Kenny smiles at the ground and kicks a pebble with the toe of his boot.
As they walk toward Stan's house, Kyle falls back to walk beside Kenny. He slips his hand in Kenny's and says, "Thanks. You know. For bringing me back."
Kenny squeezes his hand and replies, "Thanks for the incredible sex."
Kyle laughs and shoves Kenny, and like that –
He knows that it'll be okay.
Happy Birthday Kyle!