A/N: Hey guys. So I've got like five chapters for Exothermia ready to go after some editing, but instead I decided to listen to the new Iggy track and well, this thing here just sorta... happened. Haha. I've been itching to do a dirty Kyman one-shot anyway.

Suggested/Potential soundtrack: (AKA what I was listening to when I wrote this...)

Beg for it and/or Black Widow - Iggy Azalea (duh)

Dangerous - David Guetta

He doesn't give in until he wins. That's the secret. And he doesn't win until he sees a total breakdown of the egotistical bastard. On his knees, begging for it.

All the hate they spew back and forth at each other is just… icing on the cake. A little extra fuel on the fire.

Kyle leans back in his chair, smirking. It's Friday, and classes may have technically ended for the week, but not for the senior debate team. He initially only signed up to appease his mother and buff up his college resume, but debate quickly became his favorite extra curricular (or rather, second favorite…) for one very good reason.

Terrorizing Cartman.

When Garrison had released the topic list for the week, it was like it had been specifically written for them. Continued U.S. support of Israel. Kyle and Eric Cartman had, of course, immediately signed up for opposite sides of the issue. By now, nobody was stupid enough to join or oppose either of them, and Garrison had saved (Or perhaps put off) their debate until the end of the week.

"Let's get this over with," Garrison said in his lisping, disaffected way. "Cartman, opening statement please."

They fire back and forth. Kyle has already anticipated all of Cartman's arguments and prepared points to counter them. Not to fully disprove them, of course— that would be too easy. It would be over too soon. Rather, Kyle skirts the central issues that he knows Cartman is trying to address and discredits every supporting argument beneath them.

By now, Kyle knows exactly what drives Cartman crazy. More than a decade of constantly arguing with the asshole had to be good for something.

Within fifteen minutes, Cartman is red, shaking, and furious. Phase one is nearly complete.

Kyle pulls a particularly well-researched, obscure statistic out of nowhere, barely hiding his smirk as he does so. (Obviously Cartman was going to mention the Vienna Accords of 1880, he does it every time international diplomacy in neocolonial contexts is brought up…) Cartman loses his cool and swears at Kyle.

"Let's take five everyone, shall we?" Garrison says, sighing.

Kyle walked out to the hallway to take a drink from the water fountain. Just as the water hits his lips, he is grabbed violently from behind and half-dragged, half-pushed into a nearby bathroom. Kyle stumbled inside and caught his balance against a sink, though only for a moment. Strong hands on his shoulders slam him against the bathroom door.

"What the hell do you think you're doing out there?"

"Debating. Why?" Kyle tries to look innocent while refusing to break eye contact with him.

"I'm fucking seriously right now, Jew rat. You know he's keeping points for the state tournament, right?"

"Is he? Was that this week?"

"Yes, asshole. How am I supposed to get in to Harvard Law and launch my senatorial career if you keep sabotaging me?"

"Did I ever tell you that you're just perfect for a career in politics?"

"Yeah. You might've mentioned that."

At this point, Cartman's face in barely inches from his own, and his hands have wandered south to Kyle's hips. Kyle can feel himself getting hard already. Better yet, he knows the effect this is having on Cartman, who never was one for self-control.

"I guess you'll just have to try harder then," he said.

Kyle bit his lip, and tried not to smile when Cartman's eyes glued themselves to the movement.

"You want to, uh…"

"No. I want to go back in there and finish the debate."

From the distracted way he agrees, Kyle knows Cartman is hard.

They go back inside. Phase Two.

Cartman continues his side of the debate at full-force, and Kyle counters lazily. He's losing now, point-wise, but it doesn't matter. Kyle fiddles with his pen, leaning forward against his podium, absentmindedly sucking the flat tip of the pen into his mouth. Cartman's voice falters, and Kyle glances over at him. His eyes are once more glued to Kyle's lips.

Kyle lets his gaze slowly devour him. Eric's baby-fat stretched out into a six-foot-one frame built like a small bear. Right now, his broad shoulders and biceps grip the sides of his own podium, turning his knuckles white and making the muscles in his forearms stand tight. Eric swallows, still staring at Kyle, and Kyle instantly flushes a dark red, ridiculously turned on at the sight.

They make their closing statements. It's still four rounds too early, but Garrison either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

They walk out of the classroom and head separate ways. Kyle's stomach is in a tight knot, anticipation throbbing in his groin. Eric is waiting for him at Kyle's car, leaned against the bumper, arms crossed.

"I'm going to make you pay for that."

His voice is low, nearly growling, but it's a promise, not a threat.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize we were on speaking terms," Kyle said, stepping around him to put his keys into the lock. "I thought that I was a, what was it? Filthy, lying Jew? Or no, that was last week."

He turns around. Cartman is blocking his way, pinning him against the car. They're not touching, but their bodies are held apart by a thread and a word.

"No, this week, you hate me because I beat your score on the History exam, I took the last brownie at lunch Tuesday, and…"

"Kyle…"

"What was it again?"

"Kyle."

"Oh right, I did fuck your brains out, apparently that's a good reason to hate me…"

"Kyle."

"Say it."

"Please."

Their bodies collide like rubble in a hurricane. For all the times they've done this, Kyle is sure they've been seen, but neither of them care enough in that moment to truly care.

They tumble into the car and Kyle speeds until they reach his house. They're barely inside and the door is locked, and Cartman's tongue is on his skin, in his mouth, claiming him. They stumble against the couch, across the hallway, up the stairs, and make it to Kyle's room.

For a minute Kyle is pinned against his door again. Cartman has a thing for that, evidently. Kyle lost his shirt somewhere along the way, and both his hands are held tight in one of Eric's high above his head. His mouth is low against his neck, leaving a bruising series of hickies, until suddenly Eric is biting and teasing his nipples.

Kyle moans and arches his back up away from the door. Cartman's other hand is immediately at Kyle's pants, undoing the button, the zipper. Kyle's legs are forced apart by Cartman's between his, and he still can't move his hands, can't move from the door, and the hand in his pants is creating an unbelievable amount of friction.

He moans again, and is suddenly thrown against his own bed. He bounces slightly and laughs, the tension in the room snapping like a rubber band. Kyle and Eric both rip their pants off, Eric awkwardly shaking his off his ankles while digging through the secret box in Kyle's sock drawer. He throws a condom and length of rope on the side table.

"What're you…"

"I said you were gonna pay for it."

Cartman stares at him again with dark, possessive eyes. Kyle swears to God he isn't quivering right now— Nope, that is not what is happening.

Kyle doesn't fight it when Cartman flips him on his knees and ties his hands behind his back. Face-first into the pillows, he closes his eyes and forcing his breathing to even out as Cartman stretches him. He's never gentle, and usually impatient. There's the cold sensation of lube, the insane warmth of his thick fingers, and it seems like every little movement is making Kyle forget anything else ever existed.

"God, do it already you ass," Kyle whines, words muffled.

"Quit making demands or I'll gag you again."

Kyle groans, bucks his hips up against the hand, now completely buried inside him.

Cartman's knees force Kyle's legs apart again. He feels incredibly exposed and vulnerable, ass-first in the air, Cartman's hands at his hips, Cartman's cock pressing slowly into his entrance.

It's brutal, punishing, deep, and he needs so, so much more.

Soon Kyle is swearing, begging, moaning into the pillow. The incredible need to come is already overwhelming.

"Say it," he says. At this point, the commanding tone in his voice is nearly too much.

"Please."

He pulls out and flips his body around so that Kyle is staring up at Eric. Pulling their bodies close to reach behind Kyle, Eric unties the rope, kissing him as it slides off.

Kyle's arms, aching deliciously, wind around his shoulders and neck.

They resume, slowly building up a rhythm, as Eric adds a hand to Kyle's cock. Kyle squeezes his eyes shut when Eric hits that perfect spot inside him, gasping.

Eric is losing control, snapping his hips into Kyle's recklessly, somehow still hitting his prostate more often than not.

Vision blurring, his orgasm spasms out into Cartman's hand. Cartman follows close behind, pumping himself into Kyle through the end.

Moments later they lie side by side on Kyle's bed, sweaty and panting, mess swept off into a pile of tissues on the floor.

"I don't know how you do that," Kyle says, still panting.

He laughs. "Practice."

They don't talk about this part. It's new. They never talk about this part, though to be fair they never really talk about any of it.

Cartman's arms drag Kyle into his side. A film of sweat covers their skin, but Kyle kind of loves feeling his arms tight around him, holding him close.

"You know, we wouldn't have to do this if you'd debate like a normal fucking person."

Kyle looks up at Eric's face. His eyes sparkle with laughter, and warmth floods Kyle's stomach. There's something about a post-coital Cartman, with his hair swept off to the side and his guard let down, that does odd things to Kyle.

He doesn't want to think about what that probably means. He wants to enjoy this moment, and maybe drift off to sleep for a few minutes. He nestles his body into Cartman's, and the arms around his waist tighten.

"Whatever, fatass."