Anon Prompt: how about some old fashioned jealous Cartman?

Some asshole was sitting in his seat. Some asshole was sitting in his seat next to Kenny and laughing up a storm with his crew at his table. Some asshole was sitting in his seat and playing with a stray lock of red hair that escaped from the brim of Kyle's hat.

There's a strange sense of tranquility running through Cartman when he approached them with tray in hand. It's got a shit load of more food than the others, but that's because Kyle wasn't around at the lunch line this time to bitch at him for it.

Now he knows why.

The exchange student barely registers in Cartman's head. He's an infinitesimal blip on radar, a bug that crawls past his shoe without notice. His hair is so blond it might as well be white and his features were so Icelandic he might as well be the poster child for Hitler.

Cartman doesn't know his name. He doesn't give a shit.

Kyle's head tilts to the side and it seems coy, but Cartman knew every expression like the back of his hand, more than anyone would ever know or understand. He could literally tell what Kyle was thinking by a simple quirk of his auburn eyebrows or the slight twitch of his lips. It's a subject he's fluent in more than English or German combined.

His Jew wasn't coy. It's veiled irritation wrapped in a veneer of politeness. The principal had picked him out over the sea of students to help Mr. Aryan Posterboy get settled in a new school, a new town, a new country. It's almost a shame they had to trade Butters in the process.

The keyword here is almost. Cartman doesn't miss Butters half as much, but at least the blond knew about territories. He wouldn't be sitting in Cartman's seat flirting up a storm with his Jew like asshole over there.

If Kyle's not choking on his dick, he's choking on the school's. In turn, he's obligated to promise to make it worth his while if he laid off of Mr. All-the-White-Shades-of-the-Crayola-Box. It's a tempting offer - way more enticing than keeping his mouth shut about Kyle's walking stereotype of a cousin all those years ago.

Why? Because Kyle gave him an open-ended agreement - a blank check to do whatever he wanted to him. Cartman literally dreams of the things he wants to do after the month is concluded. Sex, favors, copying his homework - it's his very own Golden Jew Ticket and the only reason why he's not bashing the fucker over the head with his tray.

Still, seating arrangements weren't part of the deal, and Cartman was willing to exploit every loophole in their contract the way God meant for him to do. Half the cafeteria fell quiet when he finally walked over.

He approached from behind so Kyle couldn't see him. It didn't matter anyways because he was too preoccupied trying to sidestep every romantic overtures from Mr. Mormon's Wet Dream. Cartman's irritation threatened to turn into righteous psychosis so he ends up trying to focus on how smug and proud he was of his lover.

Kyle knew who he belonged to. He doesn't want this asshole's tiny dick. If only it was enough to keep the last sane thread he had within him from snapping.

If only.

Stan was seated opposite of Kyle, so he saw him first. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth and implored those dark eyes at Cartman not to cause a scene. Wendy's already giving him the third degree about hanging out with the resident psychopath. He doesn't want to give her anymore incentive to bitch again.

Cartman literally gives two fucks about Stan's warning.

He knows the deal. He knows the game.

Kyle couldn't lean any further to the side without sliding off the bench entirely. He's uncomfortable now, but no one but Cartman could have known this. He could tell by the way the Jew is showing a bit of teeth in his smile - the first sign of irritation and aggression. If the asshole didn't back off soon, he might get a strongly worded dress down about cultural propriety.

But Cartman's not nice guy. He doesn't do diplomacy.

"Hey asshole," he drawled casually. "You're in my seat."

Kyle instantly stiffens from behind and he loves it. His head turns and Cartman's anger is instantly drowned by those sharp green eyes. Kyle is warning him to fuck off, but Kyle needs to learn the importance of being in a relationship with Eric Theodore Cartman.

The games they play could only go so far before it's no longer amusing.

Asshole turned as well, but it's more inquisitive and annoyed than fearful like the rest of the table.

"Es-cuseh me?" he inquires in broken English and it's enough to make Cartman sneer. He's supposed to play nice, but he doesn't play fair, and he treads on thin ice when he opens his big mouth.

"You're excused, if that's what you're trying to say. I don't speak Scandi-shitnia," Cartman continued in that casual flat tone. It sets the rest of the cafeteria on alert. All the attention on him is intoxicating. "Now, do you mind moving? I want to eat my lunch, you… respectable person of non-color."

He's kind about it. Hell, maybe he's too kind because Kyle is suddenly concerned and alarmed. Maybe he's that good of an actor.

Mr. Asshole doesn't get the insult, but he understands enough to make room. Unfortunately, he goes the opposite of what Cartman wanted and leaned flush against Kyle's side like he damn well belonged there. Stan held his breath when the student draped his arm coolly around Kyle's shoulders.

Cartman doesn't see red. He doesn't imagine violence or death for every second that asshole has his dirty foreign hands on his boyfriend. Everything is fucking sunshine and daisies.

Kyle's shoulders slump a bit in defeat and he tries to flash a look of apology for Cartman's benefit. Those eyes are telling him to lay off. The guy is probably from a country where clinging to people is seen as friendly. If he does anything, he'll never hear the end of Kyle's bitching.

That's right. One single look was a translation of all of those things.

Unfortunately, Cartman wasn't in the mood to play diplomacy this time. He's not a sharing kind of guy - toys, food, video games, Jewish boys - he coveted them all with an obsession that bordered on psychotic.

And hell, the asshole didn't even leave enough room for him to sit. He frowned unpleasantly at the open spot only a kindergartener could fit in and decides that's a worse offense than sidling up to his boyfriend.

The tense silence ends when Cartman simply shrugged and walked away, leaving the table and the rest of the cafeteria bewildered when he hums some random tune under his breath.

He sets his tray down at Craig's table and casually asks for Jimmy's special fold out chair. The table shared a look with each other and, with a kind stutter of agreement, Jimmy shimmied himself off of the seat.

"Why thank you, Jimmy," Cartman said pleasantly and folds the seat under his arm. By the time he returned to his usual table, Kyle's already standing firm and informing the student about the importance of personal space, but it's much too late for that.

Asshole had no problem sticking his hand up Kyle's thigh in response.

It's much too late.

Everyone in South Park knew Kyle was his. Every single damn one of them. Ever since preschool he called dibs on Kyle and heaven help the poor motherfucker who tried to get in-between of their pure, perfect love.

Bebe learned that the hard way. Nichole learned it the hard way. Even Stan learned it in a lesser degree. This fucker was going to learn real fucking fast the first rule of South Park.

Don't. Touch. Kyle.

Stan's eyes widened the moment Cartman raised the fold up chair over his head in cold fury, but he's unable to make a sound to alert the poor student. Wendy shrieks in alarm for him, but it's not enough.

It's not enough. Cartman won't stop pleasantly humming. Every witness either held their breath or cowered away to keep themselves from looking. The chair comes clean down so hard, the table itself jumps and rattles under the force. Kyle and asshole's lunch trays cracks and chips from the pressure while soda and food spurts all over the place.

Cartman intentionally missed to avoid hitting Kyle. And just how the hell did he fucking miss his target?

Because Kyle had snapped and punched the touchy asshole so hard in the kisser, it sent him sprawling off the bench just as the chair came down.

Half the cafeteria jumped in alarm and Stan released a sigh of relief. First degree murder was averted by the reliable Jersey fist.

"CARTMAN!" Kyle screeches once he processes what the hell just happened. He's covered in soda and macaroni now and he makes a big fuss trying to get it off of his orange jacket.

Cartman simply frowned in displeasure. Kyle had snatched his vengeance from him. He's not sure whether to be pissed off or pleased, but then his rumbling stomach decided for him. Switching out his snarl for a pleasant grin, he pushed asshole's legs off from the bench and sat down between his livid boyfriend and Kenny, who sighed and returned to his meager lunch.

"Jesus Christ, Kyle," Cartman said sweetly after an awkward beat. "I thought you were in charge of the new kid. What's he doing conked out on the floor?"

"You cracked the fucking table, you asshole! That could've been his head!" Kyle hissed, gesturing to Jimmy's chair still sitting on the table. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Cartman looked over his shoulder where the student still remained unconscious. With a shrug, he slipped an arm around Kyle's waist and literally found euphoria by that simple interaction. "You know, a certain someone with an anger problem could get in major trouble for KO-ing the foreigner. If only I saw who did it…" He tapped at his chin when Kyle starts to cup his face in humiliation and horror.

"Hmm… I don't think I recall," Cartman continued in a teasing voice. He wants to encourage Kyle's anger. He wants all that attention back on him. "Did anybody else see it? Stan?"

Stan kept his gaze focused solely on his phone to avoid answering.

"Well gosh, no one did?" Cartman inquired softly. "I mean… I thought I caught a glimpse of the guy, but I dunno. Kahl, did you see who did it?"

Kyle stiffened at the encouraging squeeze around his waist. With a fat bitch of a mother, he doesn't like the idea of getting in trouble with her, and that's Cartman's ace in the hole.

"I…" he struggled between doing the right or wrong thing.

Fortunately for him, he's got a very morally ambiguous boyfriend to help him out. Cartman leaned into him and nuzzled against his cheek so ridiculously, it made Kyle visibly cringe.

"Of course you didn't see it," he purred into Kyle's ear. "It was so fast and unexpected, no one caught who did it. Well, maybe. Maybe I saw who punched him. Maybe~"

Realization hits Kyle like a stack of bricks. He's being blackmailed. Again. He's losing the plot, he's being checkmated into a corner. Now Cartman's in charge of revising this problem. He's going to milk it for all it's worth. He still wants that Golden Ticket.

He's going to get what's owed to him since he snatched his victory right out from under him.

Kyle finally caves under a heated breath and the hard squeeze around his waist. "You… didn't see anything," he said through his teeth and, much to Cartman's delight, the Jew's hand slide enticingly up his thigh as incentive. "Did you?"

Cartman is glad his voice didn't catch when Kyle squeezed him through his jeans under the table. "Nope. And that's a shame. Case closed, I guess." No one's approached to pick up the foreign asshole on the floor, not even that bleeding liberal bitch of Stan's girlfriend. Cartman doesn't even make a passing note in his head about it when he fishes one of Kyle's intact french fries from his plate.

When Stan's finally comfortable enough to make note about how good of a season the Broncos are doing this year, lunch goes on without a hitch. Kyle is quieter than usual, but Cartman isn't bothered by it. In fact, he's downright smug that his boyfriend was more pissed off at losing than the fact that Cartman nearly committed first degree murder.

They're not exactly the most stable couple in South Park, but they're definitely the most interesting one.