Tentatively Falling

Chapter 1

Cartman woke up feeling like it was Christmas morning. It was close actually, four days, but that wasn't the cause of his pleasant morning mood. At first he didn't even remember the wonderful thing that occurred the night before. He watched the beam of sunlight that shone in from the crack in his curtains and became fascinated by the teeny, curly particles floating in it. The room seemed so vivid to him. He felt as though he'd slept an incredibly peaceful sleep.

Then he caught a scent in the air, one that he knew well. His room smelled like Kyle. Cartman allowed himself a retarded grin as he realized why this morning felt so goddamn good. Last night he had made out with a nearly-naked redheaded sex kitten. Cartman stretched out his arms and propped his head up with them in a smug posture. Yep, Kyle had been all over him like a drunken sorority girl.

More than the naughty stuff though was knowing that they were…what, a couple? No, that was too girlish of a thing to be. Boyfriends sounded way too gay. Well, they were something more anyway, even if Cartman couldn't think of a title right this second. He'd been straightforward with Kyle; he wouldn't settle for Booty-call. Not that he really would've suspected that anyone would want to use him for sex, but he was a little too invested in Kyle for settling for anything less than… whatever the hell they were.

He couldn't wait to see Kyle again, to let his lips roam wherever they willed. The problem was Kyle's bitch of a mother.

Stan had called Cartman's phone at like 9 o'clock last night. By this point Cartman had had sore lips and balls as blue as a Crayola color. Part of his decision to answer the phone had been his amusement that it was Stan calling. Cartman's brain had sung a little song. It'd gone something like, "La la la, I'm kissing your best friend and you don't even know it" before answering.

"Is Kyle still there?"

Cartman had looked at the breathless boy in his bed. Kyle was worried about what he might say. He had tried to stop Cartman from answering. So, there was no fucking way he was going to jeopardize these gropes and kisses just to freak out Stan. Though he would totally love to drop that kind of bomb on that uptight fucker. "Yeah, what do you want?"

"Can I talk to him?"

"No, this is my phone Stan. If you want to talk to Kyle, you can call his phone." Jesus, when did he become Kyle's fucking secretary?

"Asshole, he's not answering his phone," said Stan tersely.

"Maybe he's avoiding your calls. Did you piss him off?"

Cartman had smiled at the angry noise that Stan made. Kyle had sat up from the bed and reached for the phone. That took Cartman, the tormentor's smile away. He didn't like feeling like Kyle's fucking employee. "Fine you assholes, just wipe the goddamn phone off after you use it. I don't need any goddamn Jew germs!" He'd chucked the phone at Kyle's head; it smacked into his chin. Kyle flashed a dangerous red, swore a bit, and picked up the phone that had dropped onto the bed.

He'd watched Kyle's face become worried. Cartman had known then that their fun time was over, at least for tonight. It turned out that Mrs. Broflovski had been ringing Kyle's cell phone ever since he had failed to show up for dinner. Eventually she'd called Stan, since if Kyle wasn't home, he'd be with Stan. When Stan had told her that Kyle was at Cartman's, she had wigged out so drastically that he'd offered to get a hold of Kyle himself as a sort of buffer.

"Thanks man, I owe you. Bye!" Kyle had said and then hung up. He'd looked at Cartman testily. "Would you like me to wash off my Jew germs?" he asked sarcastically.

With a faux frown, Cartman had replied, "I think the damage is already done." Then he'd re-joined Kyle on the bed and pressed his sore lips against the smaller boy. "I'm already feeling covetous."

Kyle's eyes had smiled warmly at him, hearing the compliment even in the insult. "I have to go home you know. Ma's been trying to call me all night. I never turned my phone back on from laser tag."

"Laser tag?" asked Cartman. That was a sport for like, elementary school kids. He'd never been into the game, having only tried it the one time. Big-boned kids were total victims in a Laser Tag game. He'd gotten so pissed off by all the little skinny ass kids focusing their guns on him, that'd he'd left before the round was even up. "What are you, like nine?"

Kyle sighed. "It was just something to do." His eyes glanced around the room. "We need to find my clothes."

Cartman had vehemently disagreed. He'd just watched as Kyle gathered up his clothes and put them on. It was such a fucking waste. Yeah, Kyle wasn't going to win any prizes for that sickly ass physique, but damn it felt good to the touch. He hadn't attempted to hide any of his disappointment and annoyance at Kyle's leaving. In fact, he'd crossed his arms and scowled. Well, pouted was more accurate.

When Kyle had been ready to go, he'd approached Cartman, who was sulking on his bed, in a way that got his attention. Kyle had crawled across the bed to him on all fours with a devious glint in his eye. Cartman had wanted so badly to… well, he'd wanted Kyle so badly. What he wanted to do was fucking everything. He wanted to do every disgusting thing that Kenny often yammered about having seen in porn. That expression of wickedness on Kyle's face had appeared infrequently over the years, but Cartman had always fucking loved it. Now, the sex-kitten was doing it in his bed and it was driving him wild.

So, he'd melted like butter as Kyle had climbed over him and kissed him passionately, forgetting that he was supposed to be miffed. The kiss had ended too fast, leaving him wanting way more, but Kyle was in a hurry. On his way out the door, Kyle had said something to him that he didn't hear often. "Thanks. I really appreciate everything."

For some reason, Kyle being grateful for his help embarrassed Cartman. He'd just waved a hand as a "forget about it" type gesture and Kyle had slipped out of the room. Like a lovesick puppy, Cartman had hurried to his window to watch Kyle slip into the night. Kyle, illuminated by streetlights, had his phone to his ear as he walked down the street. As if it wasn't bad enough that he was watching Kyle leave, Cartman had pressed his fingers lightly against the window, missing him already.

God, he was fucking lame.

Well, it was now the first day of Christmas break and it was going to be the best one ever. He could hear his mom's singing downstairs, no doubt already hard at work on his first vacation meal. His stomach and bladder both urged him to get out of warm, comfortable bed. He did, but only with loud groaning noises.

Cartman still slept in pajamas as he had since he was a kid. Occasionally, he missed the pants that had the built in booties on the bottom. He did on this cold morning the instant that his bare feet touched the bathroom tile. He hadn't bothered to put away the first aid items that he had used on Kyle last night; he'd only moved them to the counter in order to use the toilet before bed. While he relieved himself, he looked warmly at the bottles and then the counter, envisioning the lusty ginger as he'd been the night before.

He washed his hands and brushed his teeth. He had severely gross morning breath that he assumed must be the Jew germs in his mouth. So, if he was going to keep kissing Kyle, he'd have to develop a stricter dental regime.

The house smelled fucking edible as he came downstairs to the kitchen. He could've eaten the air he was so damn hungry. "Morning mom!" he greeted, bending down and kissing her on the cheek as he did most mornings.

Cartman's mom smiled and grabbed his plate from off the kitchen counter. It was all hot from the stove. She made triple berry pancakes and apple sausage. His stomach roared. Apparently making out built up an appetite. Since he'd never made out before, Cartman didn't know if it was any making out that did this or if it was just after kissing a particularly anorexic person.

"Would you like to eat it here or in the living room hun?" she asked, holding his plate.

Cartman opted for the living room, so that he could watch Saturday morning cartoons. The food was delicious and the cartoons were funny. He was really living the good life.

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