A/N: (Actual title is 'Sugar, Spice, and Damn, you Taste Nice'. Fuckin' thanks, strict title rules ugh)

A birthday fic for my wonderful, darling friend Kris (the corrupted quiet one), who, honestly, is probably the only reason I've stayed since coming back from my hiatus so they deserve the world. Instead all I can give is a goddamn way-too-long shoddy fic that got way out of hand. If there's a part in here that makes you just stop and say 'what the everloving fuck', it's most likely a damn inside joke as I couldn't resist worming some of 'em up on in here.

(Tbh this was close to being split into like three chapters but ehhhhh laziness)

Also, big thanks to Geraldine9987 for betaing! I've never had a beta before (I know, it shows) but seriously thank you for making it such an easy process, pft. I really needed it this time around so all the gratitude!

Enjoy~

Over the last semester, Kyle had come up with a number of excuses as to why he was sitting in this classroom watching yet another documentary on the processes of aging cheeses. He'd convinced his mother that he took it because she influenced his decisions, letting her bustle with glee at the notion of him helping her cook for holidays and rambling to every relative she could think of about how thrilled she was. He'd managed to lie and tell Stan that it was his mom's idea all along, managing a pitch perfect imitation of her desperate pleas of not wanting to be the only cook in the house. Cartman, he didn't have to do much more than let a fist fly into his nose and ostracize him from having any leftover goodies from class before the glutton meekly backed off from the taunting just to snag a cookie or eight.

But, when it came down to it, he could never quite convince himself away from the actual reason. With a subtle glance, he took a peek at said reason seated beside him, who was tapping a pen against the bridge of his nose in boredom. Light blue eyes danced along with the slow-moving show before them as layers of mozzarella were packed into tight sealing barrels. Messy blonde hair flopped in disarrayed stacks atop his head, and Kyle wondered if Patty Nelson seated behind him could even see the screen, or if she was as lost in the complicated mess that was Kenny McCormick as he was.

Kyle flickered his eyes back to the projection screen in front of him, cocking his brow at the title strung along the bottom of the screen. 'Délice de Bourgogne - France'. Kyle narrowed his eyes, trying to pronounce the name of the stupid cheese in his mind, regretting, yet again for just a brief moment, skipping learning French with Stan in lieu of the 'more practical' Spanish. He pouted to himself, wondering how Kenny with his year's worth of American Sign Language would react if Kyle could oh so smoothly slide up beside him. How he'd watch as the redhead leaned up on his tiptoes and whispered something French and dirty into his ear. He'd seen Stan use it time and again on Wendy, telling her over and over, "Je parle à mon chien lors d'une fête". Given, Stan had admitted to Kyle that he just informed Wendy of his tendency to talk to dogs at parties because "hey, I've only been in the class two years we haven't learned the art of French seduction yet." But if Miss 4.0 couldn't tell the difference, chances are Kenny couldn't either. It had much more of a ring than the overly-clunky 'Hablo con un perro en una fiesta'.

Kyle wanted to be French for the blonde beside him; wanted to slip smoothly like smoke off of his tongue, voice naturally going husky from his sensation. He wanted to be sipped like a bottle of Domaine de la Romanée Conti; slowly, letting each ounce of taste dance on his palate. Kenny could relish in the taste of smoked fruit holding his senses as the words slipped so fluidly into his ear, savor the oaky finish of Kyle's breath against his skin, curling up through that disheveled hair and traveling down to settle in that wonderfully ignorant brain of his. That marvelous, beautiful brain that'd decided on this elective that lined up so wonderfully with Kyle's own clustered schedule. At least once he'd gone to his advisor in 'tears' with his roster being so jam-packed and begging for some rearrangements so his day could at the very least finish easily with Mrs. Joskolevski's 'Foods and Preparations' course for beginners.

Kyle smirked to himself, mentally thanking Bebe once again for taking him aside and pushing a mascara brush lightly against his eyes to force the irritated tears to well. A quick trade of letting her grab at his ass was but a small restitution for where it landed him, especially after seeing Kenny's eyes light up in glee when comparing schedules at the beginning of the year. The conversation had gone so well that Kyle still held it with pride at not stumbling over his own excitement that he'd kept so well pushed down. He had to seem cool, keep it collected, as Stan had told him. Of course, his advice also included 'don't throw up on him' so it had to be taken with a grain of salt.

"Dude, this is awesome! We haven't had a class together since, like, elementary school!" Kenny had said in that bubbly, bouncing tone.

Glancing at the rest of their schedules, it hadn't been too hard to figure out why they'd been kept apart. Kyle's AP courses splattered his own page, dooming him. The signature of his mother's doing, her "encouragement" that Kyle push himself to the very brink, lest he end up like... well...

Kenny's own schedule was nothing but basics. Algebra II for the second time, after having failed it the year prior. Mythology because, well, everyone knew it was the easiest English class to pass. Though Kyle couldn't help but feel jealousy for his friends all sitting around joking about Freyja whoring herself out for Brisingamen while he was nose deep in analyzing the deeper meaning of Dostoyevsky yet again. Electives were all that were left for the blonde since, according to his flawless logic, "I passed the fucking requirements, who gives a shit what else I do." Kyle had almost marveled at Kenny's choices, piecing together each bit of his personality from a simple time-block spreadsheet.

Like 2-Dimensional art because Kenny loved to scribble his frustrations onto paper. His instructor apparently wasn't a fan of his work, but Kyle wanted to take each and every drawing Kenny had sheepishly shown him and display them in a museum. Frame them and hang them on the sides of buildings, grabbing people and demanding that they look at the masterpiece; look at the way Kenny had so smoothly stroked shades of blues and greens along his paper. The symbolism was just so obvious that they'd have to be uncultured swine to not see what he was so clearly trying to tell Kyle through watercolors. Such a conspicuous message from his orange-clad friend: 'Look. These colors work together. Therefore our eyes work together. Look how great they look in both the light and in the dark are you catching my drift yet?'

Then there was his little experiment with Photography 101, though he insisted that it was only because it was a blow-off class where he could waltz outside and catch a smoke break. The teacher was really too high to give a damn otherwise. It was a damn shame, too, Kyle had thought. He knew his hipbones looked great in certain lighting, he could give Kenny his own private exhibition. He'd let the artist explore every angle he wanted. He would be the clay that Kenny would mold so delicately in those fingers calloused from rubbing on the edge of his Louisville Slugger's grip and falling onto the dirt time and again from inherent clumsiness.

Kenny could be the master of the craft of Kyle. He could find every bit of what made him who he was, find every reaction from every touch. He was an artist, and Kyle was his willing and waiting model, letting those cerulean eyes dance over him; observe him. He didn't just want to be his practice still-life, though, he wanted to be his magnum opus. He wanted to be the thing that Kenny looked back on time and again, beaming with pride, knowing that it was he that made the melted, flustered creature that stood before him.

Kyle's teeth lightly gnawed on his bottom lip, far too invested in his own wanderings to give a flying fuck about Wisconsin's growing augmentation in the world of cheddar production. This class was the one that had really thrown him for a loop when Ken had told him of his plans to sign up. "I like food and don't know how to make shit outside of Pop-Tarts. One day I'd like to have a working stove wherever I live," he'd snorted out, scarfing down one of those masterfully prepared pseudo-pastries. Kyle wanted to be that sweetness of artificial raspberry dancing on Kenny's lips. He wanted to overshadow all 15 grams worth of sugar. He wanted to send Kenny into a diabetic coma through his vermillion border, both of them breathing hotly against one another until their bodies literally couldn't take the influx of glucose and they collapsed.

Kyle jerked violently as something hit his arm, looking to his right to see Kenny staring at him with a raised brow, a piece of paper clutched in his crafty fingers and pressed against him. The redhead stole a quick glance at the teacher, far too enthralled in her dime-store novel to give a shit about the shenanigans of her class. He hurriedly grabbed the paper back, holding back an excited breath as their fingers lingered against one another for maybe just a touch too long before he brought it in front of him on the desk. Carefully, watching to ensure the teacher's attention remained diverted, he unfurled the college-ruled message, smiling to himself at the sight of blue ink from the pen he'd given Kenny at the beginning of the year. Appreciative. So so thankful for what he was given, always using whatever was at his disposal. And by god did Kyle want to be his asset.

'K, I'm lost. The hell r we doing? R we supposed to b taking notes? And do all cheese farmers have 2 look like they're related 2 Fatass?'

Kyle smirked, grabbing his own pen and quickly scribbling, 'Dude, I have no fucking idea. I'm not paying any attention. Pretty sure they're not called 'cheese farmers', though.' He smoothly slid it back over, forcing himself not to look at the blonde. He was not so much playing hard to get, more not risking boiling over and turning into a puddled mess from a mere glance.

He heard the distinct sound of Kenny subduing a snort and his pen scribbling once again. Kyle smiled warmly to himself. Conversation. It was all about the conversation. It came so easily between the both of them, able to spurn an hour-long talk from something so simple as a misplaced crumb on the lunchroom table. Where did it come from? Who put it there? Did they really give a shit? Well, no. At least Kyle didn't. What he cared about was Kenny's incessant laughter at his own jokes when they talked, the way that his hands flew around while he yammered on and on. Kyle was maybe the only one who didn't start blocking him out after twenty minutes of a nonstop barrage of words. He let every syllable linger in his ear like it was meant to be there; watched the excitement or anger or contentedness as it spilled out in front of him like his own personal quilt, woven together with kerns and minimal punctuation. Kenny had spent so many years of their childhood being silent, but once he'd finally opened up, there was no turning back. Kyle couldn't be more thankful for the breakage of the dam.

The paper flew back onto his desk, his fingers quietly catching it just before it flew to the side and smacked into Annie's leg, reopening it as his face turned the slightest shade of carmine. 'I can tell. U look like ur about 2 pop a boner over there. Swiss has holes, Ky, but I don't think that's ur best option.' Kyle looked over at him to see a shit-eating grin beaming in the flickering lights of the projection. Kyle stifled a laugh and flipped him off, getting a return gesture and a bright pink tongue poking out at him. He nearly groaned, imagining the things that those fingers and that tongue could do to him.

Maybe he could be Kenny's swiss cheese.

Or, maybe, he needed to stop wishing that he could be a fucking inanimate object.

But that was so much easier than buckling down and admitting it fully. It'd taken Stan four hours of prodding on one of Kyle's more depressive Saturdays, shaking him and yelling at him, trying to get him to finally say aloud the word that they both knew was beyond true of Kyle's fantasies: Boyfriend. It was an almost terrifying notion to say the least. One that could so easily go in one of two ways: Complete and utter bliss filled with rainbows and fucking unicorns that shat lollipops... Or humiliating and crushing loneliness that would prevent him from ever looking one of his best friends in the face again. Or the school. Or the world. He'd shut down, he just didn't take rejection easily and hearing it coming from always-willing-to-please Kenny McCormick could damn well kill him.

Okay, maybe that was a little overdramatic, but then again, Kyle had never been one to hide his emotions. He might not die, but his whining could probably get him killed if he annoyed someone enough.

The redhead flinched again as another paper was tossed in front of him by the blonde and smiled to himself. Look at all of the effort Kenny was using to communicate with him. It was enough for the Jew to saunter out the door and fucking skip, the little gestures elevated him so much. 'So. How much do ya love me?'

Kyle's heart hitched in panic for a brief moment, using the thickness of his lashes to stealthily see Kenny watching him curiously. He stifled a shaking breath. It was Kenny's typical precursor to asking for a favor. He had to calm the fuck down. If he meant it otherwise, the blonde would no doubt be sitting there making lewd gestures and telling him to meet him in the bathroom.

Why oh why wasn't he making lewd gestures and telling him to meet him in the bathroom?

Kyle straightened up a bit, biting his lip. No need to pass up a perfectly viable opportunity dancing in front of his face, right? 'To the moon and back obviously, you homo. Why?'

He passed it back, feeling an instantaneous regret as soon as Kenny began to read over, hearing him laughing quietly as he began to script his response. Kyle slid his palm up his cheek, into his hair, shaking his head at himself. He just had to do that. Just had to fucking flirt. But the homo comment negated it, right? Maybe? He groaned to himself, mind berating him for his raging hormones as had become routine whenever they interacted. This was too complicated. Stan tried time and again to tell him that if he just came out and said it, it'd be "so much more simple". Unfortunately, he forgot to mention or recall how his own girlfriend came at a time when things like groping and making out weren't on the table and fucking incoherently stumbling over words was no longer cute. It was a sign of weakness.

High school romance was a goddamn battlefield, and unfortunately, Kyle just had to set his sights on one of the most coveted victories. He was a lone Union soldier beating back the girls of Fort Jackson and the boys of Fort St. Philip persisting to claim Kenny for their own. Time and again he slipped and fell into the Mississippi, covered with mud and blood and sweat as he subtly threatened anyone who tried to step close to his New Orleans, more often than not unheeded, but the warning was clear enough for most to know to at least back off. If history was any kind of indicator, regardless of the competition, he'd be the one who was victorious in the end. He just needed to figure out the right strategy to get him there.

'Good, my fellow homo. Cuz I kinda need a big favor. Ur parents r gone this weekend, rite?'

Kyle gulped at the implications. Yes. Yes they were. Off to visit his aunt in Connecticut where his dad would no doubt be forced to sit there between her and Sheila while they rambled on about every speck of gossip that hadn't already been delved into in depth over the phone. And then those would be recapped. It'd be two days of hell for the man, but two days of quiet bliss for Kyle and Ike who were so very seldom allowed to skip those little family excursions. 'Yes, and I haven't stopped thanking every fucking god I can think of yet. Why?'

Ken snorted and shook his head as he wrote his reply, Kyle finally allowing himself to watch as Kenny continued to scribe. He subconsciously licked over his lips, letting his eyes slide down to Kenny's arm as it flew fluently across the page, subtle muscle flexing in the oscillating light; toned just barely from seven years up at bat and the occasional rough housing over petty arguments with his older brother, Stan, and Cartman. He'd never gone after Kyle though, and a part of the redhead couldn't help but feel some yearning to mope at the fact. Maybe it was because of how rarely they argued, how they always managed to come to a compromise in a matter of minutes. Kyle had always appreciated that. After all, what was a better sign that they were meant to stick together, right?

Didn't exactly stop him from wanting that subtle muscle to pin him to the ground now and again, though.

'So ur actually good at this fucking class and I wanna make Karen a cake 4 her bday. Can u help me?'

Kyle blinked, cocking his head slightly at the request. It was true, Kyle was actually taking away some knowledge from this bullshit when they weren't being forced to watch mindless documentaries. Kenny had hoped a little too much that it'd be strictly cooking in the lessons. He didn't account for the weeks upon weeks of learning about measurement conversions and discussing utensils in depth before they so much as touched a damn apron. Kyle was catching on quickly to how things worked in a kitchen, their first project of making muffins from scratch being pulled off without a hitch for himself while Kenny somehow managed to mix up the flour and sugar content of his own and they turned into a flat, overly sweetened mess underneath the blackened crust.

Kyle glanced over at his waiting face and gave him a smile. "Not too fucking sexual, Kyle," one of Stan's lectures rang through his mind. "Don't tell him you want him to rip your fucking pants off, just be fucking friendly, you goddamn helpless retard."

Why he was always going to Stan for romantic advice, he really had no idea.

He nodded and Kenny's eyes brightened, slightly stained teeth from years of swiping packs of American Spirits creeping from behind his lips. Kyle's stomach fluttered forlornly. Look at how happy he could make him. He could do that for him every day if he only got the chance.

They both shot their heads to the front as the screen turned blue and the documentary was shut off, the class letting out a collective groan as the lights were switched back on. Kyle rubbed his eyes with a hiss, trying to force himself to adjust once again through the spectrum of dancing dots parading about his vision. "Go ahead and start packing up kids," the teacher's voice called out in boredom. "You can go when the bell rings. Have a good weekend." She turned back to her book and Kyle rolled his eyes. Low pay grade or not, he had no idea how some of these people had become teachers and kept their jobs.

"Dude," Kenny's husky voice broke through his thoughts and Kyle whipped around to find those bright eyes no longer hidden in the darkness of 'education', glittering as they stared at his friend. Kyle could pinpoint the exact location in his irises where they began to fade from their light state into the deep indigo rims surrounding them. Concocted from a genealogy of Baltic Sea lineage to give eyes the color of spring water and hair in varying hues of mussed straw came this perfect boy before him. The florescent lighting did him no justice.

"Yeah?" Kyle finally answered, blinking himself out of his lost stupor.

Kenny snorted, "Stop getting distracted, Asshat."

'Stop being so fucking hot then, you dick.' Kyle frowned primly, "Maybe you're just not interesting enough to keep my attention, Buttfuck." Perhaps the greatest lie in Kyle Broflovski's life. Kenny was interesting enough for his breathing to keep Kyle entertained and intrigued for hours on end.

Kenny flipped him off with a smirk. "Your life would suck without me and you damn well know it." Wasn't that the goddamn truth. The blonde's smile softened, "So, can you help tonight?"

Kyle nodded, "Yeah. Her birthday's Sunday, isn't it?"

His eyes lit with surprise, "You remember? Holy shit."

The redhead laughed awkwardly. Remembered a fact of Kenny's life? Yes. Along with his class schedule, when his alarms were set for, his blood type, his preference for dogs over cats, his favorite flavor of coffee, his shoe size...

Maybe this was getting a little too creepy.

"I just remember dates well," he managed to work out smoothly. "AP History, man. It does that to ya."

Kenny chuckled, "Fuckin' nerd. Yeah, and I can't really afford much of a present, so I figured I'd make her a cake instead."

Kyle blinked, "What's your budget?"

"Uh... ten... dollars..." he winced embarrassedly.

He bit the inside of his cheek. Ten dollars wouldn't get him shit. He reached back into his pocket and fished out his wallet, Kenny cocking his brow as he flipped through bills. He managed to swipe out two twenties and tried to pass them over. "Buy her something, too," he said.

"Dude, no," he shook his head. "I ain't takin' your money."

"Take it," he insisted, pushing it closer towards him, scowling at the blonde backing up from him. "Goddammit, Ken, it's for her birthday. Take the fucking money!"

"I don't feel right—"

"Consider it payment for all the times you've driven me to school," he interjected. Kenny looked between him and the crinkled bills skeptically. "I have plenty to spare," he assured him. "Take the fifty and buy her something. I have all the stuff to bake at my house, you know how my mother is," he rolled his eyes. "Come on."

He smirked lightly, "Peer pressure ain't your strong suit, Ky."

"Yeah, but shoving things down your throat will be if you don't take the goddamn money, Dickcheese," he challenged, fighting to keep a barrage of images at bay of very specific things of his in Kenny's mouth.

Kenny laughed, both of them glancing at the ceiling as the bell rang and their peers began getting up, quickly shuffling out of the classroom. The blonde sighed, taking the bills from his fingers and smiling weakly. "Thanks," he said quietly. "I owe you... so fucking much."

"Nah," he waved it off as the both of them got out from their desks and stretched. "Happy to do so." He cracked his neck and hissed as it reverberated down his spine, reaching down and grabbing his bag to sling over his shoulder.

Kenny followed suit and shook his head amusedly, stepping up beside him and looking down on him as he adjusted his bag strap. "Happy to help the poor, huh?"

Kyle glanced up at him pitiably, "Dude, come on. Stop acting like I treat you like a charity case."

He smirked, looping his arm down around Kyle's shoulders, the redhead praying to God he didn't feel how much he stiffened up at the contact as the blonde led him to the front of the room. "Nah, I know ya don't. But it's fun watching you get all pouty and defensive about it."

Kyle rolled his eyes, ignoring the dancing within him. Something about him was fun. Take that, Stan with the 'lighten up or he'll never notice you' bullshit. He crossed his arms and elbowed Kenny's ribs lightly, "Glad to know I'm nothing but your source of entertainment."

He shrugged. "Everyone's got their purpose," he gave him a cheeky grin. Kyle snorted, coming to a stop at a side door in the middle of the hallway and halting Kenny with him. The blonde glanced around and nodded, "Ah. Boyfriend taking you home?" he teased.

The redhead glared, "Call Stan my boyfriend one more time and I'll rip off your balls, McCormick."

"Just dyin' to getchyer hands on my balls, ain't ya, Broflovski?" he smirked, shaking him a bit.

'Don't fucking blush, Kyle. DON'T FUCKING LET HIM KNOW.' Kyle looked away from him and straightened up primly, "You wish," he retorted. 'That was fucking lame and you're lame and you're going to die alone with eighty cats and an unwatered fern sitting in the corner good job, Kyle.'

Kenny unhooked from around his shoulders, Kyle fighting not to let them sag in disappointment from the lack of warmth and comfort that was keeping him so well together. The sadness faded as a bright smile broke through those lips yet again, directed only for him. "So what time can I come stompin' in and ruin your house?"

'Please come live in my house and ruin every piece of furniture with me.' Kyle cleared his throat, looking up thoughtfully. Three o'clock now, he needed to make sure he hadn't made a liar of himself regarding his kitchen stock. "How's five?"

Kenny nodded, "M'kay."

"We'll order pizza or something," he offered casually. The blonde's face fell slightly again and Kyle smirked, "My parents left money and I swiped a twenty from Ike's wallet for being a jackass last week. All free for us."

"Nice," he winked, not noticing the shudder racking through Kyle's body. "All right, I'ma head out and shop like a goddamn chick now that you made me rich," he rolled his eyes dramatically, stopping and giving him a saucy smile and raising his brows teasingly. Kyle swallowed dryly, trying to give his best cross of a pouting and lecturing stance, wondering vaguely if he was even coming close or if he just looked like he was in the middle of fighting through a hernia. "I'll see ya later," he grinned, leaning down and bumping their shoulders before stepping off towards the front of the school.

"See ya," he called quietly, biting his lip as he watched him weaving so gracefully through the crowd. He could so flawlessly slip in and out of all these people, Kyle couldn't help but imagine what other things he could slip in and out of—

"Be a little less subtle, Ky," a dry voice came from behind him. He snapped his head back to see Stan watching him and shaking his head like a disappointed father. "Dude. Need a napkin?"

"For... ?" He cocked his brow.

"The puddle of drool going down your chin," he rolled his eyes.

Kyle blinked rapidly before narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms, looking away from him in a huff. "Fuck off."

"Hm, no, looks like you're a little more into the fuck on mode," he teased.

Kyle whirled around and punched his arm, watching Stan hiss and grab the appendage with a pout. "Watch it," he warned.

Stan snorted, "Not nearly as hard as you're watchin' Kenny. I'm just saying." Kyle leaned his head back and groaned, shoving out the door and not bothering to even check to see if Stan was following him. The noirette watched after him amusedly before hurrying to catch up to his side, looking down at his distraught face. His own fell concernedly, "Dude, you okay?"

"He's coming over," he mumbled.

"Huh?" he cocked his head.

Kyle dropped his head back down and sighed tiredly, glancing back into the dark blue eyes of his best friend staring at him worriedly. "Ken's coming over to my house. To bake."

"Holy fucking shit, you are the king of the gay stereotype... Or is it queen?" he cackled, ignoring as Kyle punched him yet again and growled. He looked back at him, still chuckling. "Why is he doing that?"

"Karen's birthday is Sunday," he sighed, running his fingers through his curls. "He needs help making a cake."

Stan nodded, "Well, involving you in a family thing. That's good."

"Is it? Or is it merely a convenience factor?" he challenged.

Stan rolled his eyes, "Ky. He could've bought a fucking cake. That's convenience. He wants to spend time with you. Take it as a good thing."

"A friend good thing or a 'I wanna bang you so hard you'll never forget it'... good thing?" he winced.

He shook his head and sighed tiredly. The last year and a half had been nothing but these inane, and frankly far too personal conversations. He was about to the point of shoving their fucking faces together and getting it the fuck over with. "I don't know, Kyle. I really don't."

Kyle pouted, "He put his arm around my shoulders, could that be an indication?"

"He does that to Cartman, too," he cocked his brow. "You really wanna think that you're competing with that tub of lard for Ken's dick?"

"I'D WIN!" He snapped, Stan recoiling from the outburst and blinking at him in shock as they made it up to his car. Kyle groaned, slamming his head down onto the hood and staring dully at the shiny licorice finish. "Fuckin' hell, Stan. What do I do? What if I like, touch him for too long or... or slip and don't say 'two eggs' I say 'throw me down onto the table and take me' or something?!" He waved his hands above his lowered head dramatically.

Stan snorted, "If that's what you end up saying, I'd say you have bigger problems than a boner, Ky."

"Help meeee," he whined, looking at Stan pathetically. "You said you'd help me, so do it!" he pleaded.

Stan sighed again, motioning for him to get into the car. The both of them threw their bags into the back and took their respective seats, Kyle watching him intensively. "Okay," Stan started, firing up the vehicle and turning down the radio as they both strapped in. "This is your chance. You two never hang out by yourselves outside of school, so consider this a now or never," he gestured off aimlessly.

"I'm turning into fucking Tweek," he beat his skull against the cushioned headrest. Stan looked at him confusedly and he shrugged. "Too much pressure."

He laughed, starting to make his way towards the main road in the cluster of other cars heading out of the lot. "You work best under pressure," he reminded him. "You'll do fine."

"Okay, but, what if he like, tells me to get lost because I'm a fag?!" he gestured to himself, starting to quickly worm his way into a full blown anxiety attack.

Stan blinked, "Uh, Kenny was blowing Token just a few months ago, Kyle. I really don't think he minds the idea of dude on dude."

Kyle's face dropped devastatingly and Stan cursed at himself sharply for the slip, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Token?" he repeated meekly. "He got with Token?"

"Um. Yeah," he muttered. "Apparently it was like, a one time thing. Wendy saw 'em under the bleachers after cheerleading practice," he shrugged. Kyle looked at the dashboard miserably. Fucking Token Black had more appeal than him. He groaned and Stan patted his shoulder. "Dude, you know how Ken is. He'll fuck whatever he can find."

"Okay, well, he's found me a decent number of times," he scoffed. "I'm kind of hard to miss," he pointed to his bright hair.

Stan smirked, "Unless you're in a crowd. Then you're so short we lose you every time."

"Stan, I swear to God."

He laughed and waved off his frustrated glare. "Look, he probably just doesn't wanna try that because of the whole friendship thing," he shrugged. "Doesn't wanna make you uncomfortable or something."

"Or he finds me so repulsive that he'd sooner fuck anyone else before touching me!" he argued dismally.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he murmured, taking a long breath as he turned out onto the road and started heading towards the suburbs. "Kyle, you're over thinking again," he stressed. "Just relax. Even if Kenny didn't want to, he'd let you down easy, Dude."

"Okay but then I have to live with it," he reminded him sharply. "I'll have to just sit there in Foods class fake-laughing and going 'oh yeah no big deal I just want your cock but ya know, wanna talk about how much of a dick Cartman is hahahahaha'." He crossed his arms and glared out the windshield, letting out a long, angry breath. "I'm setting myself up to be humiliated."

"Or for what you've been wanting," he countered quietly. "Hell, knowin' Ken he'd probably fuck you anyway."

He rolled his eyes, "That doesn't help me much, Stan."

"Look, I can only assume that it works the same for you with dick as it does for me with non-dick, all right? Some must be better than none, right?"

His shoulders slumped, "But it's not the same."

"Well, you have two options: Either you bake a cake and just laugh through your goddamn awkwardness like you have been doing the past fucking year or so, or you take the damn plunge, Ky."

"The latter's easier said than done."

He nodded, "I know. The benefits outweigh the possible consequences though, right? That's what you've been spouting all this time," he shook his head. "Just... calmly work your way towards it. Let it get there naturally... Don't just whip your dick out," he scoffed.

"Kenny prefers bluntness," he replied snarkily. "Maybe my brashness will entice him so much that he can't control himself and—" he stopped as his best friend shot him an unamused glare and shrunk back into his seat. "Naturally. Right," he muttered.

"You'll do fine," he assured him with a pat on the shoulder. "Wends is out with her family tonight, so, if it gets to be too much or something goes wrong, just call me and we'll figure something out, all right?"

Kyle gave him a small, forced smile. "Thanks."

"What else are best friends for but helping their buddy get a dick up the ass?" he rolled his eyes.

"Shut up!" he punched him again, Stan sputtering with laughter. Kyle sighed, leaning his head against the window and resting his forehead against the chilled pane, watching with lax eyes as they drove past various buildings that he didn't have half the mind to make out. Now or never... He bit his lip nervously.

Too much pressure.

"Noooooope," Ike replied, popping his lips out on the word as he mindlessly fiddled with the Playstation controller. His dark eyes listlessly slid over his stats before pressing his character forward to hunt down the opposition.

Kyle groaned, beating his head against the back of the couch. "Ike. Please. I am begging you."

"You're a shitty beggar," he scoffed. "Ain't on your knees or anything. But... I guess you want to save that for Kenny, huh?" He raised his brow, not giving him the slightest glance.

Kyle blinked, face beaming bright red. He sputtered, "What?! No! What the fuck gave you—"

"You're fucking obvious," he drawled. "Been waiting for you to scribble 'Kyle McCormick' over your notebooks like a fucking lovesick twelve year old chick."

He frowned, "Hey, Genius, you're twelve."

"Right. So I'd know," he replied smartly, cursing sharply as he came under fire.

The redhead rolled his eyes, wondering just how it was he could send Ike back through the fucking adoption agency with this bullshit attitude of his. "Ike, we're brothers. We do these kinds of things for each other! When you have some girl or whatever over, I'll bail for you!" he pleaded.

"Not interested," he said dryly.

He growled, digging his fingers into the cushions and staring at him evilly. He took a deep breath through his nose and shook his head. One option left.

"Fifty bucks."

"Two hundred," Ike replied without missing a beat.

"Sixty."

"Two hundred."

"One hundred," he bit.

"Two."

"QUIT BEING A JEW AND HELP YOUR BIG BROTHER OUT!" Kyle snapped.

Ike chuckled and shook his head. "Man, you are way too easy to get riled up." Kyle tore at his hair, screeching from behind his teeth in frustration. He was going to ruin everything. Fucking Canadian asshole was going to get deported if he kept this shit up. Ike glanced at his brother squirming around in frustration as he tried to think of another option to get the younger to cave. He rolled his eyes. His big brother was the drama queen, always had been. He paused his game and stared at Kyle, swinging his arm around onto the back of the sofa. "One hundred, you do the dishes for a month, and when I sneak out at night to go smoke with Filmore, you have to cover for me."

"For how long?" Kyle asked suspiciously.

Ike shrugged, "Two months." He raised his brow at Kyle twisting his lips, knowing well enough he was asking for a hell of a tall order. Hiding the smell was hard enough on his own; Kyle would have to get creative with it. "Either that, or you go yet another night jerking off wishing it was Kenny," he taunted. Kyle's green eyes flickered up to him in frustration.

"I'll remember this," he growled, grabbing his wallet and tearing out the money, throwing a wad of twenties at him. "Now get out," he bit. "For the night."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved his hand dismissively as he turned off his game. "Pleasure doing business with you," he smirked. "Hope it's worth it and I don't come home finding you sobbing with your face in a pint of Ben and Jerry's." Kyle just glared, knowing he couldn't exactly dispute it as a possibility. He did have a hell of a taste for Clusterfluff after all.

Ike hopped onto his feet and stretched, making way for the door and tearing it open, jerking back with a yelp at Kenny, who was standing there staring into the open frame in shock. He looked down and grinned. "Hey, Ike," he ruffled his hair, chuckling as the younger batted his hand away.

"Fuck off, Homo."

"Don't be homophobic, now," he teased. "You'll hurt Kyle's feelings."

"Like I give a shit," he scoffed, bashing against him and making way onto the stoop beside him. Ike glanced between Kenny's cheeky grin and Kyle's nervous stare, rolling his eyes. "You make a mess, you clean it up. See you tomorrow," he said sharply, turning on his heel and heading down the walkway.

Kenny watched after him with a cocked head, turning and looking at the redhead still seated on the couch watching him back. "The fuck's his problem?"

"He's twelve and an asshole," he grumbled, not looking forward to his dish servitude. Ike was right, this had better be worth it. He watched as Kenny stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, raising his brow at a backpack slung over his shoulder.

The blonde followed his gaze and smiled sheepishly. "So, can I ask another favor?" he winced. Kyle nodded. "Can I stay here tonight? Karen's having a sleepover at a friend's and Mom and Pops are makin' meth and it ain't pretty," he said dryly. "If that isn't cool I'll go ask Fatass-"

"It's fine," he interjected, forcing down the excitement in his tone. Cool and collected. He leaned back, trying to look casual. "No problem. Makes it easier. No time constraints," he shrugged.

Kenny sighed in relief, "Thanks, Dude. I owe ya more," he grinned sweetly. Kyle's insides were melting. That smile was just for him. This night was just for them. It was a dream. Or a nightmare. Or a sickening combination of both where he'd be thrown back and forth like Poseidon had a vice grip on his balls. He straightened up, trying to keep himself composed as Kenny made his way towards him, digging through his backpack. He plopped down next to him and Kyle shuddered, feeling the intense body heat beaming off of him despite coming in from the frigid air. He wondered vaguely if his face was cold; if his own hands could cup his frozen cheeks, kiss the warmth back into chilled lips. He jerked himself out of the thoughts as Kenny held a small box up to him. "For you. I bought it with my ten dollars," he rolled his eyes amusedly.

He frowned, "Ken, I told you to use—"

"I used the forty for Karen's gift," he smirked. "It was on sale," he proclaimed proudly. "So I used my money to buy you something." He pushed it against his chest again and again until Kyle brought his hands up, clutching the parcel preciously.

"You didn't need to do that," he smiled.

He shrugged, "So? I don't need to do much of anything." He swung up to sit cross-legged on the couch, bouncing excitedly. "Open it, ya dickwad!"

Kyle blinked, licking over his lips and slowly opening the elongated box, cocking his head at a neon green utensil coming into view. He cocked his brow, laughing as he took out a rubber spatula, "What the fuck?"

"You said you wanted one when we were in class," he elaborated. "Gotcha one of those fancy ass heavy duty silicone ones," he wriggled his fingers.

He chuckled, "Indeed you did. Thanks," he grinned. "Can come in handy tonight," he shrugged. "Great for getting batter out of bowls."

Kenny smiled, beaming with pride at Kyle's happy face. "Good to know I can do somethin' right."

'Oh there are so many things that I bet you can 'do' right,' Kyle thought before shaking himself out of it and putting the spatula down on the coffee table. He cleared his throat. "So, you wanna go ahead and start so the cake can cool or whatever?"

He nodded briskly, hopping to his feet and holding out his hand to help the redhead. Kyle gulped, taking it and nearly doubling over at the shock rigidly running through his body. Kenny brought him up and Kyle mentally berated himself as his fingers clutched just a tad too long again. He was too glaringly obvious; he just needed the neon sign to complete the picture, right? Kenny had to know. He had to. Well, if the blonde knew, he wasn't saying a damn thing as he sauntered off towards the kitchen. Kyle bit his lip, tucking hair behind his ear and following after him. It was a pathetic mantra ringing through his ears time and again: Cool and collected, cool and collected, you got this.

"So," Kenny's voice penetrated the barricade. Kyle was exposed from the air vibrations alone, vulnerable to the blonde and unable to so much as think of protecting himself. "What do we do?"

Kyle cleared his throat, shifting his weight and trying to cover himself with crossed arms. Not too defensive. Nonchalant. "Well, that depends. What kind of cake were you planning to make?"

Kenny blinked at him as though he'd grown a second head. "Don't they all like, have the same shit?"

He cocked his brow. "Uh no. We can make a regular cake or a pudding one, or bundt, or angel, or sponge, or chiff-"

"Holy shit," he waved his hands in front of him. Kyle blinked. Was he talking too much again? Stan had warned him goddammit. Kenny laughed awkwardly and scratched at his hair, "What do you think we should do?"

"Depends," he shrugged. "Did you want color or fruit or icing or glaze or what?"

Ken looked around the kitchen like he'd been dropped into a foreign country. "Wow. Um. Color and frosting I guess. That's like, typical birthday stuff, right?"

Kyle nodded in agreement, "So vanilla cake? She wouldn't prefer chocolate?"

He shook his head. "She doesn't like that much chocolate at once. She's like you," he cooed, flicking his nose. Kyle frowned. Of all people for Kenny to compare him to, it just had to be his goddamn little sister. Great.

Kyle batted his hand away and sniffed a bit, "Yeah, fine. Basic cake." He walked over towards a far side cabinet, grabbing his staples and beginning to toss them ungracefully onto the counter. "What's her favorite color?" Kenny was silent for a few moments, Kyle poking his head back out to see Ken looking at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Seriously? You don't know her favorite color?"

"She's in the rainbow phase," he said tiredly. "I swear to god if one more fucking Rainbow Dash figure smacks into my head I'll... uh..."

"Accept it and laugh anyway because she's Karen?" Kyle smirked.

He flipped him off and stuck his tongue out, "Fuuuuuck you. Don't be jealous that I actually like my little sibling."

"I'm drowning in envy," he snorted. "Ike makes me want to beat the shit out of every Canadian I see."

"Racist," he smirked.

He shrugged, "Yeah, well, maybe if he'd conform to stereotypes and be a polite and apologetic person I wouldn't be so quick to strike."

Kenny chuckled, leaning against the counter and watching Kyle sifting through boxes curiously. "Well I mean, Kare's turnin' 15 so she's creepin' up to the asshole age."

Kyle frowned, "There's an asshole age? Ike's been a dickwad since he was fucking three, Man." He paused and looked back, raising his brow. "Wait, she's 15 and she has Rainbow Dash shit?"

"Fuck you, friendship is magic," he teased. Kyle snorted and shook his head, bringing his staples over and tossing it all onto the counter beside the blonde.

"So, do you wanna make her a rainbow cake?" He asked.

"You can do that?" Kenny gaped. "You see that shit in magazines but it looks hard as fuck."

He cocked his brow. "Trust me. It's not." He pushed the blonde out of his way, tearing open a drawer and trying desperately to ignore just how close the both of them were together. He ripped out a small box of food coloring and shoved it between them. "No issues. We'll just have to divide it all up and color the batter."

"You're the chef," he said, watching Kyle sort through his items. He glanced to the end of the counter and his nose scrunched, reaching forward and poking one of the softened sticks of butter resting there. "Dude, gross, don't leave your butter out."

"You idiot, that's for the fucking cake," he rolled his eyes. "That's how you get it to room temperature."

"... Oh." He cringed a bit and cleared his throat. "Sorry."

Kyle stole a glance at him, biting his cheek harshly. That humdrum bashful puppy dog expression was enough to get the fucking coldest of hearts to glow rosily. Fucking shit this night was going to be long. "So can you do me a favor?" He asked, watching Kenny nod eagerly. 'Resist the temptation, you idiot,' he thought. "My mom's big-ass mixer is in the cabinet over there," he pointed to the far side of the room. "Can you grab it?"

"Yup," Kenny smiled, embarrassment flying away in an instant at the prospect of being useful. Kyle watched after him, blindly reaching through drawers and pulling out measuring cups. Kenny was a golden retriever, so damn happy to be included. All he wanted was to interact, to be your friend, to be noticed. If he had the slightest idea of just how much notice Kyle gave him, he'd never stop wagging his tail. Kenny grunted, pulling the heavy stand mixer out of the cabinet and wincing. "No wonder you wanted me to get it, it'd probably break your back."

He cringed, "Yeah... remember when I broke my toes?" Kenny nodded slowly and he pointed at it with a glare. "That fucker and I have some fucking unfinished business. The second my mom dies and gives it to me like she's promised, I'm taking it apart piece by piece and making it watch as I set each component on fire."

Kenny broke into loud laughter, making his way over beside him and setting it down, bumping their hips together. "Aw, I'm sure it didn't mean to."

"You underestimate its evil," he hissed dramatically, narrowing his eyes once more at the ivory metal monstrosity. Though, there definitely had been the upswings to the compromised position it'd put him in. Kenny started picking him up for school every day, helped him to his classes, carried his books and wouldn't stop practically waiting on him hand and foot. Kyle couldn't care less about Stan's own helpfulness, although it was appreciated, but Kenny had a brand of chivalry that was unmatched. The blonde went far out of his way to make him laugh while he was miserable from missing basketball practice and was out of the season, sitting at games with him and telling him stories about his teammates to make him feel superior even as he was benched. Just one of the many examples procured over the years of Kenny putting Kyle's happiness above all else, and something that the redhead clung onto when things just started seeming hopeless between the both of them.

"Okay, throw these in and mix 'em," Kyle directed, pushing the sticks of butter and pre-measured sugar towards him and turning to work on his own section.

Kenny cocked his brow, nodding and did as told, dumping them into the large metal bowl and looking curiously at the side speed latch. "Huh," he pulled it towards him and both of them jumped as it sped to life.

"Dude, slower!" Kyle yelped, trying to get sugar to stop flying around up into their faces. Kenny scrambled to push it back down to the lowest setting, both of them looking at each other and laughing. "Dude, you have butter on your eyebrow," the redhead snorted.

"You're one to talk," he smirked, ruffling Kyle's curls and both of them watching a cascade of sugar burst from the ember confines.

The redhead gulped, feeling those fingers lingering through his hair, mind kicking into overdrive with images of Kenny gripping tightly, throwing him back into the counter, kicking his legs apart— He stopped himself as soon as Kenny left the vicinity, forcing a blush back and shaking his head. He looked up to see Kenny wiping the margarine off his brow, noticing how the left was just slightly longer than the right, both blending in beautifully with his hair, accenting those to-die-for eyes.

'Fuckin' shit it's only been ten minutes,' Kyle thought miserably, sinking into himself. He could feel the outline of his phone in his pocket, knowing Stan was just a couple of buttons away. But he couldn't. He could do this on his own; he couldn't fucking Cyrano this shit. Besides, he'd heard Stan trying to smooth-talk in fucking English; he wasn't exactly full of his own panache when not pulling random French phrases out of his ass. Kyle smirked to himself wryly. And after all, his mother would kill him for even metaphorically playing the role of Christian.

"'Ay, Earth to Brof, ya in there?" Kenny's voice broke back through, a strong finger poking his shoulder.

"Huh?" He whipped his head around and stared up at Kenny's cocked head.

He chuckled, "So, ya know how you think I have ADHD? I'm thinkin' you need to look in the mirror sometime, Bud."

Kyle scoffed and rolled his eyes, "Forgive me for not staring at a fucking mixing bowl like it's a goddamn movie."

"Well, stare at me instead," he teased, swinging his hips a bit. "I'm much more interesting."

'You're doing this on purpose, you fuck!' Kyle groaned, hoping beyond hope that it'd come out as irritated rather than tortured. He glanced down into the mixing bowl, watching the hypnotic swirling of the paddle attachment, ignoring his eye twitching at the mention of paddle. "Okay, that's nearly done," he muttered, turning and bending down into the cabinet on the island, digging through his mom's copious amounts of pans collected over the years from relatives and secondhand baking stores and a growing obsession with her subscription to Pampered Chef. He tongued over his lips, reaching into the far corner nook and snaring two round 9-inch nonstick pans, tossing them up onto the counter with a loud clang.

Kenny watched curiously as Kyle hopped back onto his feet and snared containers of flour, baking powder, and salt. "Can you get four eggs? And preheat the oven?" Kyle looked at him.

"Sure thang," he winked, turning on his heel. Kyle shuddered, taking a shaking breath of relief being able to fully melt into himself for a brief moment with the lack of observation. "What am I settin' it for?"

Kyle blinked, looking up thoughtfully. "Um, 350," he directed.

"Gotcha," Kenny nodded, raising his brow suspiciously at Kyle's body, which seemed to slump as he measured out his dry ingredients into a plastic bowl beside of him. He turned to stare down the Bosch in front of him, narrowing his eyes at the buttons. These weren't the goddamn same as in class. "Uh..." he looked at the options laid out before him: Bake, warm, broil, clean, roast... "What the fuck why is this oven challenging me?" he demanded.

Kyle snapped his head back and held in a laugh. "Hit bake and type in the number, then start. You retard."

"'Ay," he warned, swiftly doing as instructed and jerking back at the soothing tone the appliance exuded, like a little melody it was singing to get itself motivated to work. "You have some fancy kitchen shit," he commented, walking towards their fridge and tearing it open, scrounging for his required eggs.

Kyle ducked down sheepishly, "Well, my ma cooks all the time. So Dad makes sure she has good stuff to work with... Makes her happy," he shrugged, whisking his powdered concoction together and looking as Kenny made his way back towards him.

"So that's where you get your expensive taste from," he teased.

The younger narrowed his eyes, "The fuck is that supposed to mean? I get my clothes from the same place you do, you dick."

"Noooo, same store, but I shop the clearance rack," he smirked, flicking his arm lightly.

He let out another scoff, "Whatever. Crack those in there one at a time before I crack your skull," he ordered.

"Uh huh," he chuckled, grabbing an egg and flawlessly breaking it on the cusp of the bowl. Kyle watched as Kenny stared in interest at the white and yolk separating, combining deep into the creamed mixture. "We need a spatula," he declared, running back to the living room as Kyle watched after him, feeling a bit stupid for being so overly impressed at Kenny's ability to leave out all traces of shell.

'Just shows how clean he is when he knows what he's doing,' he thought with a tired smile, glancing up at Kenny running back in with Kyle's new spatula. He hurried towards the sink and washed it off, Kyle chuckling. "Little too excited, aren't you?"

"Do you know how rarely I get to see the things I buy used?" he shrugged, drying off the utensil and scurrying back up beside him. "Usually I only buy food and pay bills, and keepin' someone alive doesn't count as much sometimes, ya know?"

"I'd say it's important," he shrugged back.

Kenny chuckled, cracking another egg and starting to scrape down the sides of the bowl, timing himself perfectly with each go-round of the paddle. "Okay, true. But this is different. Gonna sound gay as fuck here… given I know you don't mind that," he shot him a wink and Kyle's face erupted in color, Kenny laughing at his expense. "I like when people use stuff I give 'em," he shrugged, watching his yolk separating against the batter, a splash of sun against the sandy beach.

"That's not gay," Kyle rolled his eyes. "Everyone likes to see that. Makes you feel like you actually did something useful."

"Right," he nodded, breaking the third shell and letting out a long breath through his nose. "I don't get to do that often. So it's kinda nice now and then, ya know?" He looked at him with that adorable smile and Kyle could swear he felt his intestines falling apart and coiling down into his legs, weaving their way down around the diaphysis of his femur and threading the trochanter to curl for comfort along his tibia and fibula. He was a mess. He couldn't think of a proper response, resorting to merely nodding briskly in return. Kenny smiled a little wider, turning his attention back to his final egg and missing the giant gulp working down a slender throat.

Kyle shook himself yet again, mindlessly working his way towards his fridge and grabbing a carton of heavy cream, filling a measuring cup with a half a cup of cold water and just wishing that he could bathe in it right now. He fucking needed it.

He meandered his way back to Kenny's side, dumping his water into a bowl and taking a deep breath, measuring out his cream and pouring it in as well, snagging his spatula from Kenny's hand, keeping his wince to himself. He quickly stirred up the liquid and smiled. "Okay, back and forth with these two," he gestured between the both of his bowls, passing the runny concoction off to the blonde.

Kenny looked between the bowl and Kyle and smirked. "So does this mean you cream for me?"

Kyle nearly flinched, looking at him with wide eyes. "Shut up!" he snapped reflexively, watching as Kenny doubled over in laughter, placing his forehead against the counter as he chortled. The redhead watched him, biting his lip at the clear sign of Kenny's back muscles flexing with every labored chuckle, prominent even through his thick sweatshirt. He shifted himself a bit, flexing his toes to try to make his blood rush elsewhere. "Get up or you're on your own, McCormick!" He bit.

Kenny leaned back up, wiping dramatic tears from his eyes. "Oh man, Kyle. You're red as shit," he cackled.

He could feel the glow of his face growing stronger and huffed, slowly pouring a decent amount of his floured mix into the batter. He watched with Kenny as it melded, sounds of the mixer slowly drowning out Ken's simmering laugh. Kyle nearly pouted. He could listen to that airy twittering all day, even if it was at his expense. Given, so long as said laughter hadn't been preceded with an awkward, nervous, "so I kinda really fucking like you".

Kenny slowly followed suit with his combination, the both of them taking turns in filling up the bowl. Kyle's lip was nearly bleeding from grating it so much. Joined effort, one at a time. Each one of Kyle's dusted and flimsy fears being matted down and cemented by Kenny's presence. Two completely different elements making one result; A result that worked because of their disparities. Now they were just a puddle of batter, and all they needed was some heat to get to where they wanted to be.

They finished off their scaled pours, placing their bowls down. Kyle quickly shoved down the edging mess on the borders of the bowl, sharp eyes on their keen lookout for any renegade flour. He nodded satisfactorily, switching off the whirring machinery and flipping the head up, watching with Kenny as lingering batter seeped off the paddle into the stainless steel bowl.

Kenny cocked his head, flicking the mixer curiously. "Why's this thing so big, anyway?"

"Heavy duty," he shrugged casually, grabbing the attachment from the springlock and beating the excess into the container, tossing it into the sink and scooping his spatula through. "Great for thick shit like cheesecake batter or mashed potatoes or something."

"Huh," he nodded, watching Kyle stirring through with interest. "Your mom wants to give it to you when she goes to Jew Heaven or whatever?"

He snorted, "Yeah, when she goes to Jew Heaven," he repeated. "Sign up for one cooking class and all of a sudden I'm in here almost every night helping her with shit," he waved listlessly, throwing the spatula against the steel and turning, ripping open another cabinet and swiping six bowls. He separated them on the counter in a line and snagged a ladle from a resting pot beside the sink. "So, you wanna equally measure it out while I get the pans ready?"

"Sure thing, Boss," he mock-saluted, grasping the ladle and quickly beginning to work on his project. Kyle smiled fondly, grabbing leftover butter from the counter and peeling the paper back, sneaking looks at Kenny as he did so. He began silently preparing his pans, watching the smearing fatty milk running along the silver and sighing to himself. This was just the worst. He felt so comfortable in here, just him and Kenny. No Stan, no Fatass interjecting every three seconds about Kyle and how gay/Jewish/scrawny/whatever insult of the day he was. But he was so on edge. He didn't have those two idiots to combat his infatuation with this idiot. He couldn't use a distraction, couldn't have one of them change the subject. Now he was practically stuck in a muddied ditch and his tires were spinning, no kitty litter to be found.

He grasped a pinch of flour; excoriating the substance off and watching it fall into his pans like crisp December snow. Tilting the pans to and fro, eyes scanning the light dusting with a scrutinizing gaze, he nodded to himself, setting them down and watching Kenny carefully measuring out his batter. Kyle noted his tongue sticking out just the slightest, the same look he had had when he'd asked Kyle to tutor him in chemistry because he absolutely refused to fail that one and have to take it again. He could be so focused when he needed to be; his playful flightiness smashed down by a determination that Kyle had seen few rival. It just made this all the worse, imagining those studious blue eyes scanning him up and down, watching every flinch, every twitch. Kenny would be able to map him out, and Kyle couldn't ask for a better cartographer.

"Done!" Kenny's proud voice proclaimed, snapping Kyle out of his fantasies and back into the reality of his kitchen with the pristine scent of lemon and the all-too-clean boy before him.

"Good," he blinked; grabbing a bundle of toothpicks and carefully screwing open colors of food dye. "All right, this shit stains when it's not mixed in stuff," he warned. "Takes fucking weeks to get it off if there's too much," he rolled his eyes, remembering Ike spilling an entire vial of purple onto his legs and going to track looking like someone beat the shit out of him. The teasing on him being a fucking domestic abuse victim lasted for just over a weekbefore Wendy and her ever-sharp, ever-proactive ear took a stand and led yet another campaign of 'It can happen to anyone'. Kyle pouted, slowly taking toothpicks worth of color and mixing them through the separate bowls. He was more than aware of the reality of her little mission, but being her fucking poster child had not done him any favors.

Dudes were just relentless.

Aside from Kenny, that is, who tried like hell to figure out who'd hurt him with his own sleuthing before Kyle caught on and told him about the situation. Kenny had laughed and hugged him in relief, telling him, "Good. Otherwise someone would be out there with a broken neck right about now." Kyle shook his head, that strand of words something that had echoed through him, confusing him for months before his oh-so-brilliant mind finally caught up with him going, 'Oh right. So, you know Kenny? Yeah, you have a boner for him now, good luck, Kyle.'

"You're spaciinnnggg," Kenny sang, Kyle shooting his gaze towards him once more.

"I'm concentrating," he corrected. "Big difference."

"Uh huh," he smirked, nudging over closer beside him and watching the brightly jeweled tones of Kyle's dyes taking effect. "So, where'd you learn to make this complicated shit?"

He snorted, "Ken, it's not 'complicated'. Just dyeing."

Kenny rolled his eyes, "Will ya stop bein' modest? You just made a fucking cake without so much as looking at a fucking recipe, ya fuck."

Kyle bit his lip, mixing his batch of leaf green and shrugging sheepishly. "I dunno... I kind of... like cooking?" He admitted with a blush. "It's relaxing and easy to catch onto. It's nice to zone out with. If you're, ya know, not flambéing or some shit," he chuckled awkwardly.

"What's that?" Kenny narrowed his eyes.

"Setting the food on fire," he answered casually, continuing down his line with beaming dodger blue. He glanced over to see Kenny looking at him like he'd just told him he'd been in a coma for seven years. He smirked, "You do that with alcohol dishes," he explained. "It sets in the flavor and smell quicker than marinating or roasting or some shit."

Kenny's lips curved upwards, "Something that I shouldn't do then."

"Right," he nodded. "Knowing you you'd set the fucking town ablaze."

"Goin' down in glory?" He shrugged. Kyle laughed and shook his head, continuing onto his last batch as Kenny observed. "So you like playin' housewife, huh?"

Kyle scowled, turning to meet Kenny's shit-eating grin. "Fuck you, I just don't mind being in the kitchen. I don't want it to be my life story. I'm not my goddamn mom," he muttered, shoving the red, yellow, and orange batches towards him. "All right, do those three in this," he tossed him a pan.

"How?" he blinked.

"Put down the orange, spread it around, then put the yellow on and do the same," he waved listlessly, starting on his own three colors. Kenny looked between their sets, watching Kyle carefully spreading a layer of purple with a knife before wiping it off and repeating with the blue. He nodded to himself, mimicking his actions, the both of them working silently and trying to even out their pastes. They stole glances at each other as their elbows bumped, Kenny's predominant right to Kyle's left. They quietly marched on, both letting out long sighs of relief as they finished scraping bowls and flattening batter. "All right," Kyle said. "Half hour, then we'll toothpick 'em."

"Right," Kenny nodded, watching as Kyle grabbed their pans and turned to stick them in the oven. Cerulean eyes flickered between the redhead and the leftover batter, a sick grin crossing over his face.

Kyle twisted his lips, trying to formulate his next move. No more cake to distract the both of them for the next 30 minutes; he'd have to move this along. How to do so however... Well, AP classes never prepped him for the important shit.

He slammed the door up and set his timer, turning on his heel and looking up, pupils shrinking as he saw a glob of red heading for his face. He sputtered as it splashed onto his nose and forehead, stumbling back and landing awkwardly on the stovetop. "You fuck!" He shouted, trying to rub the batter away from his eyes. He managed to creak them open enough to see Kenny standing triumphantly, catapulting spoon still in its launched position.

"Oops," he smirked, breaking into hysteric laughter at Kyle's fury. "Fuck, it blends into your face!" Kenny cackled.

Kyle 'hmphed', making his way over and grabbing his spatula as Kenny continued to guffaw, swiping it through the blue and smearing it down the front of Kenny's face.

"HEY!" He batted him away, shaking his head.

Kyle huffed primly. "Can't take what ya give, get outta the way," he said dryly.

Kenny's eyes opened, heightened by the clashing hue and a glint of challenge flickered through them. Kyle watched him warily, backing up slightly before a strong hand gripped his forearm, free hand sliding into the bowl of yellow and smacking into his face, running the coating up through his hair.

"Aw aw aww!" Kyle bemoaned, reminding them both way too much of Stan for a moment before the redhead's teeth gritted and he matched Kenny's warring smirk. His own fingers sledged through his green, rustling through blonde hair and standing out starkly against the light shading. He laughed, "I got the good colors," he raised his brow pointedly.

"Hm, I'm inclined to agree," he said simply, snagging the vibrant huckleberry before Kyle could grab it back, palm filled with the substance and his eyes meeting Kyle's once more, a devious grin overtaking his coated face.

"Nooo," he shook his head and hands. "Dude, not the purple. C'mon, Dude, you're gonna ruin my clothes!" He finished in a shriek as Kenny clapped his hands together to spread the serum and grabbed the back of his neck, wrenching him forward and dragging the flesh of his palms over and down his throat and shirt. "Dude!" Kyle sputtered, grabbing the bowl of orange and slamming it down on Kenny's head, the blonde laughing joyously as color dripped down his face in lines.

"Aww, what's wrong?" Kenny teased, looking at Kyle's multicolored complexion. "I figured you of all people wouldn't mind some 'rainbows' in your life," he winked, flicking his nose.

Kyle stiffened and huffed, "Oh, and you're one to talk!"

"Oh am I?" He challenged with a quirked brow, grabbing the bowl from his head and shaking out his sopped-down hair.

"Look, when I'm the one who gets caught blowing fucking Token Black behind the bleachers, you can make all the rainbow jokes you want!" Kyle snapped, panting angrily as Kenny blinked at him in shock, all the giddiness draining from his face in an instant.

He looked at the redhead worriedly, "Uh... You... you heard about that?"

"Wendy saw you," he rolled his eyes. "Between Stan and Bebe, that's just two steps away from me on the gossip train on both tracks."

Kenny cringed, running his sticky hand up through his hair and scratching. "Didn't know anyone knew... Why didn't you say anything before?"

Kyle paused, crossing his arms and taking a small step back. "Just heard this afternoon," he shrugged.

He cocked his brow, "That was months ago. Stanny-boy can't keep a secret to save his damn life. And Bebe fucking squeals that shit."

"Maybe I'm just a shitty listener," he muttered, wiping a glob of red trying to drip off his nose with the back of his hand.

Kenny watched him skeptically, leaning back against the counter and pursing his lips in thought as he observed Kyle's uncomfortable stance. He could recognize it a mile off, his walls were building and they were being constructed fast. That could only lead him to one conclusion. "Does that bother you?" He asked casually.

Kyle scoffed in indignation, "Why would it? Catch your chlamydia from whoever you want, not my business," he said primly, looking towards the oven and groaning to himself. 26 minutes and 47 seconds still. Fucking great.

"Because..." he drawled, "It seems to be bugging you."

"It's not," he snapped, fighting down a wave of hurt and pure fury at his mouth for betraying him like this. Given it'd done that countless times in the past but that didn't make him any less upset. But he couldn't let this happen. He met Kenny's stare, buckling down and staying firm. He'd practiced this too many times to fuck up now. Kenny nodded a bit, tongue swiping out to dab at some batter trickling past his lips. He noticed Kyle shiver and his breakage of eye contact, catching him cursing to himself. 'So much for practice,' Kyle thought miserably.

The blonde stared at him for a few more silent moments and his lips broke into a small smirk. Stan had told him how to approach this: "Cool and Collected" he'd said time and again. Well, that was never either of their strong suits, that's for damn sure. And 'moving slow so Kyle won't freak out' sure didn't seem to be making any headway. He let his mind wander over the possible consequences for a moment, nodding to himself. Kyle freaks out, he sleeps over at Cartman's, tells Kyle tomorrow it was a misunderstanding. Perfect.

Well maybe not, but fuck it all, close enough. This was too ripe an opportunity to overlook.

He bit his lip, venturing a step closer to the bristling redhead who couldn't seem to stop finding his shoes to be oh-so-interesting. He leaned down, waiting for green eyes to flicker up and meet him, Kyle nearly backing up in shock at the sudden closeness. He cleared his throat, "What?"

Kenny smirked, "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"Nothing," he snapped embarrassedly, brow knitting like he'd been handed a complex calculus problem. Why was he so fucking close?

"Dude, I know your looks better than you do," he purred, watching a shudder wrack through him at his tone with interest. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he repeated, forcing a slight quiver in his voice to subside. It could come later, when he was face first in that Clusterfluff at the rate this was going.

He grinned knowingly, "You're upset I was with Token," he sang.

Kyle blinked, thick lashes trying to stick to batter resting under his eye. "N-no. I don't care. I just thought you had better taste than that, Ken," he managed to work out. This was bad. He was getting cornered. He wanted to run. Too bad he was in his own fucking house.

Kenny shrugged dismissively, "I mean, sometimes ya gotta go with some shit stuff to get to the good stuff, right?" He asked, Kyle silently staring back at him, mind spurning off in every goddamn direction at the statement. "I mean, cake batter tastes pretty good, huh?" he asked slyly.

"Uhh..." he blinked. "I guess? Not healthy for you, though," he mumbled, wondering why of all things the risk of fucking salmonella seemed to be reigning supreme in his vexed mind.

Ken snorted, "Well, who wants healthy shit anyway? Life's a little more fun with some... spice," he cocked his brow, not giving Kyle the briefest moment to question his inflection before cupping his chin and running his tongue smoothly up his neck and face through the leaking batter. He heard a soft eep break through Kyle's agape lips, pulling back as he hit the Jew's temple and staring at his beaming face.

Kyle stared right back, eyes wide and in momentary shock. What just happened? Did he imagine that? He imagined that, right? That wasn't his tongue, it was a wetted napkin, just had to be. Kenny was just trying to clean him up like a normal friend. He couldn't seem to move, neurons were refusing to fire. On break until further notice, locked down until the manager would come out of his office and give the people what they wanted. His lips fumbled, words that he didn't recognize breaking through into the quiet air of his all-of-a-sudden claustrophobic kitchen. "Cake batter's not spicy," he barely whispered.

The blonde rolled his eyes amusedly, "Well, then I guess we need to add some," he hinted, seeing the walls slowly beginning to dismantle as Kyle came down from his surprise, feeling the boy melting in the palms of his hands. He'd melt in his hands and in his mouth if he'd just fucking say something. He stroked his thumb along Kyle's smooth jawline, feeling it quake under his touch.

Green eyes fluttered closed for a moment, everything trying to sink back into him. This riptide was going to tear him apart in a moment if he didn't find his fucking buoy. "Did that just happen?" Kyle whispered.

"Did what just happen?" Hot breath hit his face, rebounding off the still-wet trail leading up his flushed cheek. He was being smothered, drowned, and Kenny's strong hands still holding his chin, those thumbs and fingers playing with his skin in ways that sent shivers straight up his vertebrae, were the only things keeping him the least bit afloat.

"Did... did you just..." he couldn't find the words, face contorting at the influx of loss hitting him like a goddamn plow.

Kenny shook him a bit, forcing his eyes to open again. "Yeah. I did," he said matter-of-factly. "And... I want to again," he raised his brows.

A question. An open-ended, extra credit question hurriedly scrawled into the end of an exam that only Kyle knew the answer to. It was hidden within the most meaningless paragraph of the text, and it meant literally nothing except to the two people on both ends of the words. It was the difference between doing well and excelling.

Well, Kyle never was one to pass up those extra points.

He launched forward, slamming their lips together, hands coming up and tightening in Kenny's sweatshirt. The blonde blinked before smiling against him, sliding his messy hands around to the back of Kyle's head, threading through his curls and pulling him as closely as he could manage.

Kyle was completely out of air, but welcomed every single asphyxiating moment. Kenny's warm tongue swiped his lips and he opened just slightly, whimpering as the heat flooded into him; a vessel through which the two of them lived. Each heartbeat, each stifled breath, each grated moan passed between their lips; their new secret language that could never be duplicated. Kyle's fingers slid up Kenny's chest, cupping around his face and keeping him down, toes perching in the slightest to try to alleviate some of Kenny's bending.

A vague awareness of being pushed backwards came and went, his legs automatically following Kenny's lead. He'd go wherever he wanted to take him, more than willing to go along for any kind of ride that the blonde might have in mind. He grunted as he was shoved against the cooled plastic of the refrigerator, Kenny trapping him in and slamming his head back against the appliance. A soft moan unwittingly escaped him at the force, eyes fluttering as those lips left him for a moment, Kenny's hot air mere centimeters from his own.

A smug grin curled up Kenny's lips, fingers going to lightly tousle curls stuck with drying batter. Kyle smacked his own, tasting the sugar dancing on his skin, the tingles playing against him something new and foreign and so desperately wanted. "So," a breathy word finally broke between them, fingers still continuing to lightly explore this new, uncharted territory. "Still don't wanna tell me why you're upset?" Ken teased.

Kyle met those blue eyes, head tilting to stare at him straight on, almost buckling under the intensity. "Actions speak louder than words," he managed to croak out breathlessly, voice nearly stolen by the blonde typhoon before him.

"Hm, maybe," he nodded, running a hand back forward and planting two fingers under Kyle's chin, forcing him to look higher. "But I like to hear what someone wants," he said coolly. Kyle stared at him, noting the slight twitch in his right eye and feeling a sliver of relief. Kenny was just as worked up as he was, despite trying so desperately to maintain his controlled tone. That little tic told Kyle all he needed to know; he wasn't just being played with here, Kenny wanted the truth, and he was willing to go with whatever options he was given.

Kyle swallowed dryly, lashes fluttering and nearly tickling against Kenny's chin. He glanced down, staring at a pale, anomalous freckle resting just on the underside of his mandible. He bit his lip, aching need fighting against nerves for dominance. A steadying breath filled his lungs, chest expanding and hitting against Kenny's pressed body just slightly. Fuck nerves, this war was finally his. He was winning.

"I want more than what Token got," he said firmly, fingers pressing against his slim jawline, forcing his eyes to lock back into Kenny's.

Surprise flashed through the blue before a wicked grin settled handsomely. "Oh? Do you now?" Kenny purred, kissing him briskly. "Well I mean, you are the host. It'd be rude to not offer to help you out, wouldn't it?" He grinned.

Kyle smirked. He could recognize that tone anywhere and it put him at ease. "Well now, I wouldn't want to make my guest uncomfortable..."

"Oh, far from it," he chuckled, pressing his lips lightly around Kyle's face and feeling him turning to putty under his touch. "I've never been so willing to lend my services," he nipped against his ear and Kyle shuddered, unable to take it anymore. He brought Kenny's face back towards his own, their lips drawn to each other's automatically. His head leaned back, feeling himself being pressed up against the fridge, which shifted just slightly from their scrawny combined weight. Part of Kyle wondered if, were he in the right state of mind, he'd find this just sloppy; wet and broken breaths, teeth occasionally clicking against each other slightly, as though they were trying to inhale the other, not satisfied with taking mere sips.

Then again, Kyle certainly had nothing to argue against it being so sloppy. He didn't fall for Kenny's finesse after all.

Hands found their way to his hips, thin fingers rounding about his waistline and squeezing. Kyle moaned as Kenny boldly pushed his lower half against his own, grinding in tight lines against him. His eyes tried to roll back, his entire body willing to collapse at Kenny's word. His mind just couldn't seem to settle, couldn't seem to understand just what was happening.

A wet gasp broke through as Kenny redirected his head down against Kyle's neck, relishing in the warmth leaking off the redhead before his lips attached against the skin. Kyle's hand ran up through his hair, groaning as teeth and tongue assaulted his clavicle. Kenny grunted happily at his fingers tightening through his orange and green-coated locks, pressing firmly against Kyle, making damn sure he knew just where he was and what was happening.

Kyle's socked feet kept trying to slip from underneath him, sliding cartoonishly as Kenny continued to place his mark. He smiled happily, head redirected towards the ceiling, imagining just how amazing the mark would look. But nothing could compare to how it felt. Another happy moan slipped out and he felt Kenny's lips curling against him, the boy pulling away from his skin and looking down at him devilishly. "You're a screamer," he observed amusedly.

Kyle blinked, face flushing. "N-no?" He had no idea. This wasn't exactly his area of expertise, but damn it all he couldn't help himself at this point.

"But I like that," he grinned, pecking him brashly. "Lets me know I'm doin' my job right," he winked, sliding his tongue through more drying batter.

Kyle frowned, returning the gesture and feeling Kenny shudder under him. He pulled back and licked his lips teasingly. "You're a shaker," he said primly.

"Only if you're good enough," he smirked, recollecting into his casual stance.

"Considering I haven't done shit and you're already feelin' like you're on a sugar high, I think I've proven enough already," he challenged.

"Aw, that's cute," he taunted, watching Kyle's brows furrow at the word. "You think you have some kind of upper hand."

He rolled his eyes, sliding his palm down and boldly cupping Kenny's zipper, hearing the blonde hold back a surprised yelp, feeling the twitching bulge through his skin and nearly shivering with excitement and pride. "I feel like you want a 'lower hand' from me?" he fluttered his lashes innocently.

"I want whatever you want," he grunted, biting his chin. "Don't wanna make you uncomfortable," he mimicked.

Kyle tongued over his lips. This was it; Kenny was giving him his go-ahead to mark his limitations. His brain whirred confusedly, 'what's the best way to say 'bend me over and make me your bitch' without sounding like... a bitch?' He wondered. He looked to see Kenny watching him expectantly, feeling him press his hips just slightly against his still planted hand and he gulped, forcing a sweet smile on his face. "Well, we're in the kitchen."

"Right... ?" Kenny raised his brow questionably.

"So how about you dish out what you can and I'll tell you how it tastes?" Kyle asked.

Kenny's eyes sparked with life, "Oh? So... you don't just want something simple and sweet?"

"I want the fucking recipe book," he declared, wondering where the fuck this sudden nerve was coming from. Kenny pushing against him again solved that mystery right off, noticing the very prominent tightening of his own jeans.

Kenny let out a chuckle, a pleased, warm sound breaking through the two of them. "Well, well, well, who woulda pegged Kyle Broflovski for someone who likes to grab at samples?"

"Fuck your samples, I want the full course," he cocked his brow.

"Hungry, are you?" He growled, leaning their foreheads against one another.

"Starving," he replied, moving his hands to grab Kenny's hips, pulling him to grind against, both of them letting out long, shaking breaths against one another. They pulled back; getting a good look at one another's disheveled, colored messes. Smears of the rainbow painted their pale faces, but every ounce of disarray was ignored for each other's eyes; looking for one of them to back out, to silently tell them 'wait, I'm not so sure'.

Kenny bit his lip and nodded to himself thoughtfully. "All right, kitchen puns pushed aside for just a moment," he gestured, pulling his hips back much to Kyle's discontent. "I need you to be absolutely sure," he said firmly, staring him down.

Kyle took a deep breath, fingers still lightly curled through Kenny's occupied belt loops. "I'm sure."

"Because, if you're thinkin' you wanna slow down, we need to slow down," he raised his brows expectantly.

"Kenny," he rolled his eyes, "I'm fucking sure. Do you want to calm it?" Kyle questioned.

"No, but I don't want you to look at me in ten minutes and go 'oh welp our friendship is done now'," he shrugged.

He smiled, trying to avoid showcasing the pure relief that Kenny was putting their friendship above all else. "Only ten minutes, huh?"

"I'm just thinkin' that's how long you take," he quirked his brow amusedly. "Given I could probably cut that time in half with just how amazing I am."

Kyle scoffed, "Bragging isn't your strong suit."

"Hm, but shoving things down your throat could be," he echoed deviously. Kyle's words caught in his larynx, face bursting with heat. A slow, triumphant chuckle left Kenny's lips and he shook his head at the smaller boy. "Now, with step one outta the way, you need to tell me if you were serious about not wanting this to be all nice and slow and pretty."

"Ain't nothing about you that's pretty, McCormick," he said snobbishly.

He grinned, "Well that's why you're here to balance it out," he cupped Kyle's chin and kissed his cheek lightly. "Yer purty little nose and purty eyes," he teased, pecking the tip of his nose and each brow.

"Okay, you can either knock that cutesy shit off or you can leave," he pouted. Kenny leaned against him, laughing. Kyle sighed, taking his hands from Kenny's jeans and looping his arms around his neck, pulling him down to rest their heads together. "What do you want?" He murmured, kissing his chin softly, not wanting to spoil this goddamn moment. This wasn't quite as flawless and smooth-talking as he'd previously envisioned. He'd never pegged Kenny as such a consent nut, a part of him now half-expecting the blonde to whip a contract out of his goddamn back pocket.

"I told ya, whatever you want," he shrugged. "I'm pretty open. I can make sweet, sweet love to you-"

"Oh my god," he rolled his eyes. "Never fucking say that it's so fucking cheesy," he groaned.

Kenny snickered, nodding in agreement. "Orrrr I can slap your ass all night," he quirked his brow, feeling Kyle stiffen at the words and a wild glint flashed in his eye. "I can... tie you up," he purred, pushing against him for more reactions, watching the subtle gulp flowing down that slim neckline. "Can make you beg and scream for me?" Kenny whispered hotly against his face, testing the waters. Kyle's arms shook around him just enough and he smiled. "Well, you weren't kidding. You do want the full recipe." He looked to see Kyle's eyes flittering around and laughed, "Aww, don't be embarrassed," he cooed, pushing his chin up. "Given..." he pressed their hips together and raised his brows. "Seems a little humiliation goes a long way with you, don't it, Kyle?"

"Shuddup," he muttered in a fluster, trying to beat down the all-too-familiar sensation of his stomach tingling, his heart pounding, everything about him trying to fall like a shoddily-strung marionette into Kenny's skilled hands.

"But whyyyy?" Kenny teased, grabbing his earlobe between his teeth, feeling Kyle's shaking breath slamming into his neck. "You don't wanna play?" Kyle bit his lip, an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak escaping with a sharp nip from Kenny and a curious hand running down his backside, gripping his ass and tugging him closer to press against. "You don't want me to bend you over and make you mine?" He grinned sinisterly, Kyle's entire body quaking against him. He peppered his neck, a smug satisfaction settling quite nicely in his chest. He didn't know it'd be this fun. Given he'd had high hopes, but this was just fantastic.

"Will you stop?" Kyle blushed, frustration building fast.

The blonde pulled back and licked his lips. "And just what am I doing?"

"Being a dick," he seethed, narrowing his eyes.

He put his finger on his nose, tapping lightly. "The only way this is bein' a dick is if you're upset that I'm saying and not doing," he taunted.

"And actions speak louder than words, Fucknut," he repeated sharply, leaning up and biting his finger.

Kenny whined, pulling the assaulted digit back and shaking it out with a pout. He flickered his gaze up, catching Kyle's defensive stance and smirking to himself. No doubt the antsy redhead was going to pathetically fight all the way down to 'maintain his pride'; what little Kenny would leave him with anyway. This was going to be fun. "Well then, here's what we're gonna do," he purred. "We're gonna play a fun little game."

Kyle eyed him suspiciously, "What... what kind?"

"Let's call it... Pretty Please," he raised his brow amusedly at Kyle's dumbfounded expression. He traced his finger along Kyle's jaw, watching him carefully. "The objective of the game is to get what you want," he tapped him pointedly. "The only stapilation-"

"Stipulation, you retard," he corrected with an eye roll.

"'Ay, I ain't good with words, my hands and a few other things do the talking for me, comprende?" Kenny hitched his brow. "That's why you are the one who gets to use that pretty little mouth of yours," he dragged his thumb down over Kyle's lips, watching the skin bounce in hunger. "Now, the only stipulation," he mocked dramatically, "is you have to ask me, and you have to say... ?" He raised his brows expectantly.

Kyle bristled, narrowing his eyes. This game was obvious enough; Kenny's shit-eating grin was more than plenty to make him realize that this was set up for his own personal embarrassment. "Pretty please," he muttered.

"Very good!" He praised, petting through his sticky hair, watching Kyle gulp and smiling to himself. Kyle was a goddamn book; open and unwittingly sharing every ounce of compliance with his motions, never having to delve deep enough to interpret the text, he came with his own fucking Sparknotes. He mindlessly fiddled with Kyle's hair, looking up thoughtfully. "And if you want the game to stop and for me to get away from you for a bit—" he paused and chuckled as Kyle's arms tightened around his neck possessively. "Then say... I dunno... Communism."

Kyle stopped in his tracks, looking up at him bewilderedly. "Communism," he repeated.

Kenny shrugged, "Takes ya right outta the mood, don't it?"

"What if communism gives me more of a boner than you?" Kyle teased.

"Well then, I need to fix that," he raised his brow at the challenge. "So, let's test how well you remember." Kyle blinked, not catching Kenny's hand rising and his palm softly slamming into his cheek, snapping his head to the side from the unexpectedness. His eyes burst wide, feeling the light heat settling oh-so-nicely along his buccinator. His lips parted, staring off to the side, reeling from such a gentle slap. He felt open, vulnerable to those hands that promised him so much. He wanted more of that.

Kenny watched him carefully. "Okay, so now you would say..." he urged, rolling his hand between them. Kyle turned back and stared up at him, words caught, unable to bubble out of his larynx. Kenny cocked his head. "Starts with a C... Involves a lot of red..." he hinted with an elongated drawl. "Quite obviously the only true way of liiifeeee," he pressed, continuing to roll his hand more frantically. "Okay, Kyle, what the fuck I didn't even hit you that hard. If you can't remember after that then I'm not doin' more to—"

"Pretty please," a meek whisper broke between the both of them, the blonde stopping in his tracks and hiking his brow.

"Huh?"

His embarrassed flush was creeping down his neck, overshadowed by a certain throbbing that was demanding his complete attention. He flickered his eye to Kenny's assaulting hand and back up to the blonde, watching his face relaxing before being taken over by an absolutely wicked grin.

"Ohhhhh," he smirked. "Well, well, well, who woulda thunk it? Why, Kyle, you kinky little slut," he winked.

His lips twisted into a pout, finding himself caught between unable and unwilling to dispute those words. "Are you just going to fucking make fun of me all night?"

"All night, huh?" Kenny drawled, roughly pushing him by his hips back against the fridge, watching Kyle's head rebound, a soft yelp breaking out of his lips. Kyle shook his head in silence and the blonde took this as a go ahead to continue, "You want me all night?" He wriggled his brows.

"Well I highly doubt you have the stamina. There's a reason you play baseball since you only have to run fucking fifty feet."

"'Ay, it is ninety feet, thank you very much," he scoffed, flicking his cheek. "And I ain't a god of baseball."

He rolled his eyes, "And you think you're a god of this, huh?"

"Well I guess that's for you to judge," he purred, kissing him nice and slow, waiting for Kyle's eyes to flutter shut and hands to tangle once more in his hair. Kyle let out a soft, approving moan as both of Kenny's hands worked down to grab his ass, pulling his hips firmly against his own. A sharp slap against the denim-covered flesh prompted a squeak, the heat between their faces nearly unbearable. Kenny pulled back just a hair and laughed softly. "So, positive you don't just want my sweet lovin'?"

"Fuckin' shit, Kenny," he groaned in frustration. "I don't want to be standing here for hours fucking bantering," he drawled. "Either get on with it or I'm kicking you out and jerking off."

"So vulgar," he teased. "Well, if you insist," he grinned deviously, hands repositioning to tighten around Kyle's hips. The redhead blinked, yelping as he was shoved to the side, stumbling and falling onto his knees on the hard tile. He looked up to see Kenny looming over him, feeling a sudden self-consciousness at his dissecting blue eyes. He bit his lip, watching Kenny prying off his heavy hoodie, turning it inside out and folding it up, kneeling down beside of him and grinning. "Wow, just my sweatshirt and you look like you're about to bust."

He frowned, "Drop the ego, McCormick."

"But how can I?" Kenny feigned a pout, tossing the folded cloth down to the ground and grabbing Kyle's throat, watching his eyes spark with surprise and intrigue. The redhead grunted as his hand shoved him down onto his back, head slamming atop the discarded shirt. His eyes widened as Kenny crawled overtop of him, hovering and pressing his thumb firmly against his Adam's apple. "I'm kinda diggin' how you're drooling over me," he said, kissing him.

Kyle scoffed, forcing the words out past the delving thumb. "I'm not drooling!"

"Guess I'll have to fix that, too," he grinned, kicking Kyle's legs apart and settling between them, closing the distance between their mouths. Kyle was melting, seeping down into a cheap polyester-cotton blend and checkered linoleum. Sticky hands traced up Kenny's draping t-shirt, sliding up around his shoulders to meet behind his neck and keep him planted.

Kenny's fingers twitched in excitement, drumming along the back of Kyle's neck and around his waist in a sporadic rhythm. He grunted, pushing down and creating a nova's worth of friction between their pantlines. Tightening his grip with glee as Kyle arched against him, hot little mouth opening wider for his tongue to explore, his mind became riddled with ideas. He couldn't seem to keep up, wanting to touch, to feel, to smell, to hear everything that he could possibly work out of the redhead. He shifted uncomfortably, knees not wanting to cooperate with the flooring refusing to budge at all.

Well, only one solution for that...

He slid his palms down and grabbed the hem of Kyle's t-shirt, slowly working it up and laughing as Kyle shuddered, feeling the cool material of the floor against his bare skin. Kyle's back arched, shoulders rolling to aid him in disposing of the obscuring nuisance. They clung until the last second before having to separate their lips, the fabric tearing roughly off of Kyle's head. He fell back with a yelp, slamming into the floor again and he let out a squeak of surprise at the reintroduction of the cold. He shook his head with a groan, looking down to see Kenny maneuvering the shirt under his knees and smacked his lips, taking the breather to relish in the taste dancing over his palate. Kenny tasted like honeyed whiskey, so welcoming and sweet but with a nice kick to follow.

No doubt he was about to adopt Stan's alcoholic tendencies at the end of it all.

His eyes slipped closed for a moment, trying to catch his breath as Kenny ravaged his eyes over him predatorily. The blonde bit his lip to conceal his face-shattering grin, blue tracing over the subtle contours of muscle lining the form beneath him. He'd seen Kyle without a shirt several times before, but this time, he could fucking stare without fear of getting punched in the goddamn nads. His fingers began to take a mind of their own, focusing on Kyle's left arm draped ever-so-lightly across his slim stomach. Kyle's ears perked from his wannabe-connoisseur state at the sound of metal lightly clicking together and he reopened his vision to the bright lights of his kitchen. He tried looking down, averted as Kenny lifted his arm a few inches and a thick band snared down onto his wrist, yanking it to the side. He yelped in surprise, blinking as he found Kenny's belt wrapped around the slender bone, following the worn black leather back up to Kenny's gripping hand. He found Kenny's eyes again, words held back from the suddenness of the scenario.

"Up to you," Kenny managed to muster out, far too distracted by Kyle's captive wrist to formulate any thoughts other than 'make sure he's good' and 'holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck!'.

Kyle folded in his lips and bit down on them lightly, forcing himself to calm down for a fraction of a second to weigh his options. Nights dreaming about this and searching through masturbatory fodder the past year didn't come with a damn instruction manual on how to react when this was actually happening. He wasn't sure what he was feeling; he was a bundle of nerves and excitement. He was cold and for some reason suddenly thirsty, growing steadily more self-conscious of his half-naked form sprawled out under Kenny's patient gaze. His eyes hit the refrigerator as he searched for his answer, noting the skewed magnetic notepad with his mom's weekly store list and he had the sudden urge to go correct its positioning.

"Kyle," Kenny's voice brought him back, hand holding the belt slackening and gentle fingers pressing his face back to look into his intense stare. The blonde winced, "Ky, if you don't want to, that's fine," he assured him.

Kyle gulped, feeling the belt resting so nicely against his wrist, the soft leather caressing over his skin tenderly despite its captive grip and metal buckle kissing him with a cool, lightly pressured imprint. "I want to," he worked out through a nervous lump in his throat.

Kenny eyed him skeptically, hand reflexively tightening around his holding end. "You're sure?" He pressed, getting a nod in return, green eyes watching him with an air of curiosity and trust. Ken tried to give him a nonchalant shrug, wondering if it looked as forced as it felt. "Well, you know how to ask for something," he said thickly.

There it was: The connotation of the game, Kenny's main objective. It was Kyle's verbal stamp of approval, the solution to 'is that your final answer?'. It was his chance to back out now before things started getting too heavy for him to handle. He bit the inside of his cheek, feeling the color spreading under the flaking batter still lingering that Kenny's tongue hadn't claimed. "Pretty please," he said softly.

Kenny smirked triumphantly and nodded, seeming satisfied with Kyle's tone, pleased with his answer. "All right," he said, grabbing Kyle's other hand and bringing the both of them together. "Just gimme the word to stop if need-be, a'ight?"

"Don't say, a'ight, it's so out," Kyle rolled his eyes amusedly.

Kenny chuckled, sitting him up and turning his arm to rest comfortably against him, double checking that both thumbs were directed up towards himself and beginning to wrap the tail of his belt around his remaining wrist. He slipped the tail through the buckle, tugging it through and watching Kyle's entranced stare. He brought Kyle's fists together, "Good? Flex your fingers," he directed. Kyle raised his brow but did as told. "Too tight?"

"It's fine," he murmured, distracted by Kenny kicking back into motion, threading his tail through the leather loop back towards the buckle. "Where'd you learn to do this?" Kyle asked.

"Hm?" Kenny asked, checking the tautness with the tip of his pinky.

"Do you tie up all of your flings or what?" He questioned dryly.

Kenny stopped and looked at him, giving a small snort. "A couple. If it makes you feel any better, I've never wanted to tie someone up more," he purred.

He rolled his eyes, "Cut the buttery crap you already have me half-naked. I'm serious."

"So was I," he shrugged. "Look, you tie someone up for the first time and they almost slice open their wrist on the shit you did and ya panic and start figuring out how to actually do stuff," he shrugged, bringing the tail back down and threading a final time through the loop, nodding satisfactorily at the remaining pull. "Not the best material in the world but I can't exactly run to my house to get some actual supplies," he smirked, dropping his bound hands. "How much give ya got?"

Kyle bent his elbows up, eying the wound leather before tugging his arms, watching the minimal give with interest. "Um, this much," he demonstrated.

"Good," he nodded. "Feel okay?"

He blushed, "Feels... fine."

Kenny raised his brow, lips tugging up. "Just fine?"

The redhead scoffed, "It feels nice, Dipshit, fucking happy?"

"So very happy," he purred, tipping his flustered head back up and kissing him. Kyle shuddered at his bound wrists pressing against him from Kenny's chest, fingers clawing up to grab the collar of his t-shirt and keep him down. Kyle let out a happy hum, moving his face to rub noses against Kenny's and smiling at the automatic reciprocation. Fingers lightly brushed through his hair, his lashes fluttering at the gentle sensation. He nearly pouted as Kenny pulled away, teeth lightly taking his bottom lip with him before snapping back against him with the distance. "Hmm," Kenny mused, petting through his curls. "Never thought you'd be so well-behaved," he teased.

He cocked his brow, "Well I can get difficult if you really want me to."

"I can work with either," he chuckled. "I deal with you being a stubborn jackass the rest of the time, why should this be any different?"

"Oh, fuck off," he laughed, Kenny joining him and a momentary lapse of their current predicament flooded the room. This was all Kyle needed: A reminder. Kenny was more than the boy hovering over him and kissing him so nicely and keeping his wrists tied together. Their pathetic battery selves came first before this wonderful happenstance, it was just a nice little bonus; Icing on the cake.

Kyle's laughter stopped abruptly as fingers traced over his pants button, nerves firing once again and shooting his gaze towards the blonde staring at him with an innocent smile. "Yessss?" Kenny cooed.

"Uh..."

"Aww, are you getting shy on me?" Kenny taunted, flawlessly unhooking the button of his jeans and slowly, purposefully letting his eyes drift down Kyle's body, making damn sure he could follow his line of sight.

Kyle furrowed his brow, "You don't have anything off."

"My sweatshirt?" He shrugged casually.

Kyle sputtered, "That doesn't count!"

"Why not?" Kenny breathed, leaning towards his face with a shit-eating grin, thumb hooking to the hip of Kyle's boxers waistband and tugging down sharply, drawing the digit agonizingly slow over his hipbone. "Are you that eager for some skin?" He asked, raising his brows enticingly.

"I just don't wanna be the only one naked," he countered, going rigid at Kenny's other hand mimicking its counterpart, catching blue eyes drifting down to see the peek of hot skin begging to be let out.

"But I want you to be for now," Kenny grinned.

Kyle pouted, "I thought you wanted what I wanted, Fuckface."

A smooth, oily chuckle breeched over his hair and Kenny shook his head. "Fuckface huh? That a request?" He poked his nose. Kyle blinked before going fire-red at the implication, stammering awkwardly for one of his oh-so-witty retorts. Kenny smirked, grabbing his shoulder and shoving him down, watching him collide with the floor with a slight hiss, wincing as he reopened his eyes to see lights dancing around a proud, blonde head. He whined half-heartedly as Kenny snapped his hand back down, grabbing his pants and boxers and slowly working them down his legs, drinking in every centimeter with a smoldering gaze. "Look at you," he murmured happily, noting Kyle's knees trying to come together for some modesty and laughing softly. He ripped off the damnable clothing, snagging his socks along the way and tossing the articles aside, slamming his palms atop the knobby patellae and clicking his tongue.

Kyle brought his bound hands up, awkwardly turning them in their confines as much as he could manage to hide his face and shake his head. He groaned as he felt Kenny straddling over his upper thighs, those lightly callused hands tracing his hips and waist. A few quick taps on his arm prompted an embarrassed sigh to leave him. "What?"

"C'mon, stop hiding," Kenny teased, gently gripping his fingers and pulling his arms down, Kyle wincing at him as he did so, feeling beyond exposed and vulnerable to that penetrating gaze. He was caught, right smack dab between the excitement of fantasy coming to fruition and the realization that he was fucking naked on his kitchen floor. Kenny stared at his fluster for a few moments, lips curling in delight. He leaned down overtop of him, kissing his lightly-swollen lips tenderly. "Fuck, you're hot," he murmured, grinning at Kyle looking away and twisting his mouth. He leaned back a bit and nodded, "One problem though."

"What? Too fucking skinny?" Kyle rolled his eyes, letting them settle on the underside of the counter, noting clumps of dust piled together that Ike's weekly sweep had missed.

"Nothing like that," he assured him, grabbing his bound arms and pressing them down overtop his head. "But... you're so colored up here," he dragged the back of his finger up Kyle's cheek. "I think you need some... complexion enhancement down here," he said, bending down and sharply biting his chest, Kyle gasping at the shock before melting under the working lips. He let out a shaking breath, feeling Kenny pull from his new mark and lick over it, hands mindlessly tracing along his body. "Hm," Kenny mused, kissing under the mark, lips and tongue genially tracing down Kyle's stomach, rounding down at an angle. Kyle bit his cheek, leg jerking as Kenny's mouth brushed oh-so-lightly over his hipbone. Ken paused, looking at him with wild eyes. "Well, well, are we sensitive here?" He asked, nipping the skin pointedly.

Kyle yelped, leg nearly bolting up into the boy straddling him before a strong hand pinned him down. "Kennnnn," he whined, feeling a slight tremor rocking through his thigh from the blonde's hand.

"I could definitely get used to hearing that," he murmured, leaning down and sucking harshly right on the cusp of his ilium crest, Kyle's moans a pure symphony of disjointed glee. His thumb mindlessly traveled to his other hip, scraping down with his nail and chuckling to himself at Kyle's frenzied shaking.

A chiming tone broke them both for a moment, shooting their heads towards the oven as it sang a digitized tune. Kenny smirked. Perfect.

"Well, I need to check on the cake," he sang.

"Let it burn, we'll make another one!" Kyle groaned, beating his head against the linoleum as Kenny hopped up off of him. He watched as he went over towards the oven and shut off the timer, smacking his lips casually. The redhead raised a skinny brow as Kenny sauntered back over, reaching down and lifting up Kyle's lower back, sliding his sweatshirt under his ass and setting him back down. "What are you—" he started before Kenny grabbed his wrists and began lugging him across the floor, Kyle blinking in confusion. "The fuck are you doing?" He demanded, catching Ken's mischievous smirk.

"Keeping you still," he said nonchalantly, dragging him towards the counter beside the fridge. Kyle watched him walk to the other side of the kitchen and snag one of the heavy wooden table chairs, coming back over beside of him and grinning. He placed a thick chair leg between Kyle's arms, ignoring the boy's stammering as he moved the chair backing to catch on the handles of the tall pantry and shook it, nodding at the limited budge and walking away without another word.

"HEY!" Kyle snapped, tilting his head down, watching Kenny slowly grabbing an oven mitt and a toothpick.

"Yeeessss?" Kenny smirked, prying down the oven door and shaking off the heat blasting against his face as he went to test the cake.

"The fuck did you do this for?!" Kyle demanded.

Kenny slid the thin wood out of the pastry and shook his head, catching the minimal orange batter still lingering on the pick. "Just a little more I think," he said, closing the door once again and setting the timer for another two minutes. He turned and leaned against the counter, cracking his neck and smirking at the very irritated, very naked Kyle trying to break free from his confinement. "You need to learn the art of patience, my dear," he teased.

Kyle gritted his teeth, "Well excuse me. I'll remember to be uninterested in your stupid fucking face next time!"

"Next time?" Kenny smirked. "I'm getting a next time? Without even gettin' to the good stuff yet? Why, Kyle, I'm flattered," he batted his lashes, holding back a laugh as Kyle growled through clenched teeth. The redhead cursed sharply, trying to awkwardly move his arms around the leg between them, ending up doing little more than squirming uselessly on the floor.

Kyle let out a long whine, back sliding listlessly and his sight falling up towards the stark ceiling. He blinked. "Uh... Communism?"

Kenny placed his chin into his palm, leaning on the counter and watching him. "Are ya hurt?"

"...No."

"Are you scared?"

"Only of your stupid face!" He snapped.

Kenny snorted, "Kyle, ya can't use a fucking safety word because you're impatient."

"It's for YOUR safety!" Kyle bit. "Because I swear to fuck if you don't let me out—"

"What?" Kenny cut him off. "Whatcha gonna do? Because if you really wanna use that out for this reason, I'll let you, but then I'm untyin' ya and giving you space. So you won't be gettin' touched regardless." He cocked his brow superiorly, watching Kyle sinking. "So, ya wanna go that route and we just sit on opposite ends of the couch the rest of the night watchin' fucking Netflix? Or do you wanna be a good boy and get rewarded?" He questioned.

Kyle slumped, face twisted in a furious pout that filled Kenny with a pure giddiness. "I fucking hate you," he muttered.

"But you won't hate what I can do to you," he purred, voice filled with promise. Kyle sighed defeatedly, bashing his head back once again. Kenny grinned cheekily, staring at the trapped redhead and laughing softly. "You wanna know what I'll do?" Kenny growled.

"Oh god, don't do this," Kyle shut his eyes and shook his head.

"I think... I'll take my sweet time with you," he said, grabbing the silicone spatula and turning it in his hand, smirking at Kyle moaning exasperatedly. "Keep ya nice and naked all for me. Give your little marks there some buddies," he raised his brow, Kyle feeling the heat from his separate hickeys burning anew. "Maybe keep ya stuck like this for awhile so you can't touch back," he taunted, Kyle whining at the prospect.

"Ken, stop being a dick!" He groused.

He wagged his finger, "No, no, you don't get the dick yet."

"UGH," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. Walked right the fuck into that one.

The blonde shrugged, "Then maybe, if you're good, I'll let you back up so you can touch and kiss all you want..." he paused, breaking into a wicked grin, "And then I'll give you the honor of sucking my cock."

"Honor, huh?" Kyle repeated dryly. "Mighty high opinion of yourself there, Ken."

"You're the one who's lying there naked waiting for me, Ky. I'd say your opinion of me is pretty up there, too," he replied cooly.

He furrowed his brow, "Maybe I don't wanna suck your fucking dick."

"Do you really not want to or is this just you being a stubborn ass again?"

Kyle paused, twisting his lips, "And if I say it's true?"

Kenny shrugged once more, "Well, I won't make ya. I'll be pretty disappointed though..." he walked over and kneeled down beside him, placing the spatula against his cheek and forcing him to turn his attention towards himself. "Been wantin' to see your face on my cock a looonnggg time," he drawled.

Kyle smirked. An upper hand. "Oh really?" He questioned. "And just how long are we talkin'?"

"Eight, nine inches, give or take," he smirked.

"Not what I meant," he hissed.

"Ohhhh," he rolled his eyes amusedly. He looked up as the timer went off again, winking at the redhead and getting back up to his feet, going to recheck the cake. "Bout... two years there abouts," he waved dismissively. "Does it really matter?"

Kyle blinked at him, trying to wrap his mind around how he was saying that so offhandedly. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He snorted, nodding at his clean toothpicks and grabbing the pans out of the oven, placing them atop the stove and shutting off the appliance. He threw the mitt onto the counter, "Well, you're fucking difficult," he emphasized. "If I said somethin' and you said no, you'd either rip out yer hair trying to go overboard with tryin' to make it so I didn't feel awkward or you'd just leave altogether. Stanny boy told me t' back off," he kicked his foot lightly.

Kyle narrowed his eyes, "Stan. Stan Marsh."

He nodded, "You might know him. Lives a few houses down, pretty sure he gets pegged by a Miss Wendy Testaburger."

"Okay, one: Ew," he shuddered, ignoring Kenny snickering. "Two: ...He's been telling you to back off?" Kenny nodded in confirmation and he gritted his teeth. "THAT SON OF A BITCH!"

Kenny chuckled awkwardly, "Ky, calm down. I think he was just tryin' to make sure I didn't—"

"HE'S BEEN TELLING ME THE SAME GODDAMN THING!" Kyle snapped.

Kenny stopped and blinked down at him, "Uh. What?"

Kyle nodded frantically, "That fucker's been telling me for over a fucking year about you to be calm and—"

"Collected," he finished with a frown, getting another nod. They stared at each other for a moment before Kenny's face twisted into a pout. "So I coulda been plowin' you forever ago."

"Yeah. Fucking YEAH!" He emphasized.

He knelt down beside of him again and smirked. "So ya know how some people will smoke as an afterglow?"

Kyle blinked, "Uh, I guess?"

"I say we make ours beating the shit out of a certain quarterback. I'll hold him and you kick his shins or some shit."

He chuckled and nodded, "Sounds good."

Kenny winked, "So, too angry to still screw?"

"Is my still-hard dick not enough of an indication?" Kyle asked dryly.

He shrugged, scratching at his caked hair. "Maybe you get a hard-on from the idea of fighting, Dude, I dunno. You go against Fatboy enough I figure that could easily be how you get your rocks off."

Kyle rolled his eyes, "Never ever place Cartman and the mention of my dick into the same sentence. Now, will you shut up and fucking make up for our lost time, here?"

Kenny grinned, grabbing his shirt and ripping it off himself, catching Kyle's lingering stare and laughing. "Sounds good to me," he purred, leaning down and grabbing his face, catching those lips again. Kyle moaned, awkwardly contorting to press himself as far as humanly possible against him.

Ken ripped back all of a sudden and cursed sharply. Kyle blinked, the moment gone all too soon. "What?"

"Dude, I don't have the stuff to goddamn—"

"My room, second drawer of my nightstand, in the J-mart bag," he cut him off hurriedly.

Kenny slowly hitched an amused brow. "Oh really? And just what—"

"You go and get the stuff and I'll fucking tell you later," he spat.

"Magic words?"

"Pretty please," he snapped.

The blonde kissed him once more, letting his lips linger against the younger's. "Don't move an inch, don't wantcha t' get hurt," he poked his trapped binds pointedly. "Back in a flash, just think about me."

"Hard to forget the fucktard who tied me to a chair," he rolled his eyes. Kenny laughed and hopped to his feet, speeding out of the kitchen. Kyle shifted uncomfortably without Kenny's warmth to combat the chilly flooring, sighing happily nonetheless and falling still at the blonde's request. Amazing. Everything about this was amazing. So long to the days of fucking staring at him in class, at lunch, and any goddamn opportunity he fucking got wishing for this moment to come to fruition. It was finally paying off. He smiled, closing his eyes. This wasn't quite what he'd envisioned, dreaming for so long of Kenny merely throwing him down and taking him without a word. But no. No, this was better. They weren't just people there for a quick lay; actors in a shoddy, awkwardly edited four minute porno who were characterized by nothing but a strand of fake moans to get their dirty paychecks. It was awkward and stupid and probably filled with way too much laughter and yelling for some people's tastes, but damn it all, it was amazing.

He looked down at the sound of Kenny's footsteps reentering the kitchen, watching him appear with a couple of pillows and a sheepish shrug. "I ain't takin' the time to move you upstairs."

"I'm not asking you to," he raised his brow. Kenny chuckled, unhooking the chair from its hold and carefully lifting it out of Kyle's arms, shoving it aside before going back down beside of him, tossing his findings off to the side. "I was patient enough?" Kyle rolled his eyes amusedly.

"I think we've both been patient enough," he smirked. Kyle bent his arms up and forward, bobbing them a bit and Kenny caught on immediately, gently grabbing under his back and bringing him upright. Kyle scrambled onto his knees, hooking his arms around Kenny's neck and planting their lips together once again. Kenny hummed appreciatively, sliding his hands down and grabbing Kyle's ass, digging his fingers down before slapping a cheek sharply. A shuddery moan passed into his mouth, Kyle tugging him closer and pressing his naked body against him urgently. The blonde slid his thigh between Kyle's legs, interlocking one another like an organic puzzle. Kenny leaned back a bit and laughed, slapping him again to watch his face contorting pleasurably, a string of smugness rising in his chest. "So, what do ya want?"

"Hm?" Kyle blinked, mind lost in a haze for a brief moment.

Ken chuckled. "Do you want more of this?" he kissed him. "Orrr maybe this?" he smacked his ass a little harder, Kyle biting his lip and arching against him. "Or do you just want my cock in you already?" he smirked.

Kyle paused, feeling said cock pressing through Kenny's jeans onto his thigh and licked his lips eagerly. Nerves were finally being shot down by the fighter pilot of Kyle's goddamn impatience, a boldness slivering through him that he didn't even know he had. But, he was never one for not utilizing his assets as they became available. "Well, yes to all," he smirked. "But..." he bit Kenny's lip. "I believe there was mention of some face fucking earlier?"

Kenny's eyes flickered excitedly, hand sliding up Kyle's back. "Oh? You want that?"

"Pretty. Please," he breathed hotly.

Kenny dove his tongue into his mouth, hands leaving Kyle's back and the rustle of fabric breaking through their quiet moans and sloppily wet sounds. Kyle felt him move his thigh from under his own, fighting hurriedly to get the damnable fabric away from them. A collective thud hit the ground in the distance and they broke apart, Kyle looking down at his earnings and biting his lip, green eyes clouding over with lust. "You look hungry," Kenny teased, petting his hair.

"Starving," he whispered, jerking his head up a bit. Kenny took his note, waiting for Kyle to unhook his arms from his neck and moving up onto his feet. He leaned against the counter, watching as Kyle struggled up to stand tall on his knees, eyes locked on target. The redhead smacked his lips, inching ever closer to the hot skin. A curious tongue darted out, swiping through beaded solution leaking from the head and he shuddered. It was all for him.

He looked up at the blonde for a brief moment, seeing the need in those oceanic eyes for him and him alone and sighed happily. He slowly parted his lips and took in the head, tongue swiping along the foreign flesh as he smiled to himself. He rolled his shoulders back, tied wrists falling in front of him as he began to gradually propel himself along. Fingers came to rest in his hair, a satisfied sigh falling from Kenny and pressing Kyle's gallantry onward. His lips widened to fit along the thick girth, jaw open enough for leftover batter to crack with the stretching skin.

"Shit," Kenny breathed, scratching along Kyle's scalp, watching him move with interest. He smiled as Kyle ventured farther, watching him wince with a gag and laughing quietly. "You don't have t' choke yourself, ya know," he teased.

Kyle looked up at him, sliding his lips tightly off his cock and scrunching his face. "I'll do as I please," he said sharply, returning to the task at hand. Kenny rolled his eyes with a grin, continuing to lightly encourage him along.

A gentle hum came from Kyle's throat, reverberating off of his tongue, the sensation settling like a spiced kick over Kenny's skin. "Fuckin' hell, Kyle," he whispered, free hand clutching around the edge of the countertop like his life depended on it. The show before him was almost too much; Kyle's concentrated expression, bound hands, his slick, hot mouth taking him in so eagerly. He grunted, hips jerking forward in the slightest before he forced himself back down. Kyle let out a discontented noise, flickering those jades back up to the blonde and pressing himself down further as he grew accustomed to relaxing his throat.

Ken hitched his brow at the sound, tightening his fingers in Kyle's hair and getting a happy moan quickly stifled by his skin. He bit his lip excitedly, gripping tighter as he watched Kyle's entire body reacting; fingers twitching, knees pressed against the linoleum shaking as Kyle picked up the pace, green eyes shining with a gleam that Kenny knew all too well: He was enjoying himself. A cruel smirk cut across his face, both hands going to ravel and wind themselves within the dirtied curls, digging his fingers in deep and lightly tugging him back and forth along the skin at a quicker pace.

Kyle's stomach twisted overeagerly, mouth unhinging wider for Kenny to seamlessly slide into. He was overloaded on scent and taste, Kenny's earthy musk replacing every milligram of oxygen. His throat protested as the blonde pressed just a bit farther, Kyle forcing a gulp of air down as Kenny backed up to calm the rebellion. He could feel menial trails of spit rolling down his chin, taste buds rubbing raw as he caressed Kenny's cock with each pass. This was Heaven.

Kenny gave a sharper push, Kyle's eyes bulging as his body tried to jerk from him reflexively. The blonde smirked, giving a few more hard thrusts into the gaping chasm, waiting for Kyle to start sputtering before pulling out all at once, watching his eyes slip closed. The redhead coughed, shoulders heaving as he turned his head in Kenny's grip and spit off to the side, mouth slack as he tried to regain his control.

"Aww, not as easy as it looks in porn, is it?" Kenny teased.

Kyle frowned, looking back up at him and vision spotting. "Well if I did so bad then I won't do it again," he snapped.

"Never said that," he said, tone offended as he dropped back down in front of him. He raised his hand and wiped the drool from his chin, wriggling his brows. "Trust me, wasn't nothin' wrong with that," he winked. Kyle rolled his eyes, moving his jaw to reclaim some feeling from the incessant cramping that'd wormed it's way through the bone.

He shook his head, feeling Kenny moving away from him just a smidgen and reaching up towards the counter. He sighed to himself as his lungs began to descend from their ache, rolling his tongue time and again before jolting back as bright green popped up in front of his face. "What the fuck?"

Kenny chuckled, "That talented little mouth of yours ain't done yet," he waved the spatula in front of him, watching his face contort confusedly.

"What?"

"Open," he instructed firmly, pressing the tip of the utensil against his mouth. His lips parted in the slightest and he shoved the silicone past his teeth, Kyle mumbling protests as his mouth was once more assaulted. "Suck on it," Kenny ordered, Kyle's eyes meeting his own. The redhead shuddered at the loss of the playful stare, replaced by a domineering gaze that he could feel worming its way straight into his core. He closed his lips all he could along the elongated scraper, sucking on the material slowly, saliva loosening caked batter and settling nicely along his used tongue. Kenny grinned, turning and spitting into his hand before grabbing Kyle's cock in one fluid motion.

The redhead moaned as he slowly stroked over him, chest heaving with desperation as Kenny had him completely under his oh-so-precise fingers. A thumb slid over his leaking slit, eyes fluttering as the spatula was ripped from his mouth. "Fuck," he whimpered, hips arching into Kenny's working hand.

"You like that?" He cooed, Kyle nodding briskly and teeth grating over his lip. "You want more of that?"

"Yes," he whispered through a raw, abused mouth. He wandered along in stimulated bliss for a few heady moments before everything snapped with clarity, a sharp hit against his ass propelling him back into reality with a yelp. Eyes shot open, looking to see Kenny turning the spatula in his fingers and raising his brow.

"How about more of that?" Kenny smiled saucily. Kyle's breath threatened to stop, feeling the impact point giving off a pleasant heat, the resounding stinging nothing but a barrage of wonderful static that webbed through his nerves, demanded his attention. He blushed, nodding once again. Kenny chuckled, releasing his dick much to Kyle's whining dismay and grabbing the back of his neck. He blindly fumbled to his side with his weapon-wielding hand, not taking his eyes off his prey. He snagged a pillow and put it on the floor in front of Kyle. "Get on your knees here," he tapped the fabric pointedly. Kyle gulped, awkwardly shuffling on top of the pillow, realizing the pained ache of his patellae all at once as they settled comfortably onto the cotton. "Bend over," a sharp order broke his momentary relaxation.

Kyle looked over at Kenny's expectant gaze and twisted his lips, an infamous Jersey-bred, podunk town-raised short temper beginning to flare at being commanded, stomping down the majority of himself that was more than willing to bend to Kenny's every whim. "Who put you in charge?"

"You did," he reminded him, grasping and wriggling his belted arms for emphasis. "But if you wanna be difficult, I'll just stand here and jack off and won't let you touch anything. Yourself included," he raised his brows in warning. "So I'd suggest you decide just what you want from here."

He pouted and let out an irritated groan, flames of defiance flickering down into sparse embers. "Asshole." Kenny just smiled cheekily, watching as Kyle struggled a bit to find a stabilized position before reaching out his bound arms and slowly lowering himself towards the ground.

"Good boy," he whispered, petting along his back, eyes scanning over his lithe form hungrily. Kyle merely grunted in response, leaning onto his forearms, body stretched out in a long slope for Kenny to ogle. He cringed embarrassedly, looking and noticing Kenny staring blatantly at his upturned ass.

"Excuse me, can you not stare at my ass like it's a freak show?" Kyle snapped, feeling flustered.

"Don't deprive me of art, Kyle," Kenny murmured dreamily, reaching up and gripping his smacked cheek, squeezing roughly, ears picking up the soft groan from Kyle's lips. "Head down," he directed. Kyle opened his mouth to protest before sighing and doing as told, letting his head fall between his arms, staring at the grout and mortar beneath him. He tensed, feeling the moistened spatula lightly brushing over his skin. "You want this again?" Kenny asked, Kyle nodding. "Then ask for it."

Kyle bit his lip, fists and eyes clenching. "Pretty please?" He whispered. A sharp crack flew through the air, Kyle's body lurching forward with a cry, stopped short by a strong hand gripping his slouched shoulder. Kenny watched him carefully as he recovered, straightening back into his position and back heaving with labored breaths.

"Too hard?" He questioned, getting a head shake in response. "Use words."

"No, it's fine," Kyle breathed, entire body set aflame from the assault.

Kenny chuckled. "Every time you want it, I expect you to ask," he drawled.

Kyle gulped, "Pretty please—FUCK!" He squeaked as another hit slammed into him right away. He gave himself a good five breaths before allowing himself to speak again. "Pretty please," he said once more, the slap coming down on the opposite cheek and startling him all over again. He felt Kenny's free hand lovingly caressing his heated markings; gripping him, touching him, enjoying him. "Kenny?" Kyle whispered.

The blonde snapped himself into attention, "Yeah?"

A few moments passed before a shy, embarrassed, "Harder... pretty please," came through.

Kenny grinned wildly, twisting the utensil in his hand and cracking his wrist. "Well how can I say no to such a polite request?" Kenny said smoothly, ignoring his body shaking with excitement. He reared his arm back, letting it fly and slap down hard against Kyle's ass.

A high-pitched howl rang through the kitchen, Kyle's entire body jerking in shock. His mouth fell open, pained tears flooding his eyes. "Fuck," he groaned, feeling Kenny stiffen behind him. Kenny reached over, calmly kneading the hit skin and watching his reactions worriedly, mentally cursing himself as Kyle shook. The redhead took a shaking breath, body still reeling, elevating into a near zen-like state. This was a nirvana that Kenny had crafted just for him, setting him down and striking him before nice pets and pretty words lulled him back to consciousness. Back and forth he swung, pain and pleasure dancing along alternating pendulums. The heaviness of the paroxysm within his nerves drifted beside the airiness of his elation until their different weights fell into harmonized time, a steady metronome clicking through.

"Kyle?" Kenny's soothing voice breached the timing, lulling him down even further. "Kyle, are you all right?"

"Pretty please," he mumbled, eyes drooping almost sleepily.

The blonde eyed him skeptically. "Are you sure?"

He nodded, "Yeah... I-I'm sure. Pretty please."

Kenny shrugged to himself, steadying his own growing nerves and hitting him again, watching him jolt and cry out once more, catching him before he toppled over. Kyle was drunk; completely out of his typically keen state. The world was colors and smells and Kenny's gentle touches. The cooled linoleum beneath him caressed his flushed skin; the crisp lemonade against the burning inferno that was Kenny McCormick's influence over him. He felt his cock throbbing desperately between his spread thighs, Kenny's fingers back to working their magic, just waiting for his next words, any indication to stop what he was doing and get Kyle up and back into reality. Kyle didn't want reality, he wanted this lovely little corner that his mind created for him, filled with warmth and gentle breezes and the smell of stale American Spirits and raspberry Pop-Tarts.

"Kenny?" He whispered again.

"I'm not hitting you any harder," Kenny said firmly.

Kyle shook his head, bound hands turning just enough for his nails to scrape over the floor beneath him. "No... I..." he paused, blinking the burning tears out of his eyes, letting them dance on his lashes like stars before being flung off into the night to burn in the atmosphere.

Ken's hand moved to his back, rubbing over him soothingly. He put the spatula down and reached up into Kyle's hair, petting through the curls and watching his blank expression as he stared off at the underside of the cabinets. "I need you to use words, Kyle," he murmured, eyeing the markings beginning to settle along Kyle's ass and fought down a stubborn bout of pride. 'Fucking later,' he chided himself and redirected his focus.

Kyle tongued over his lips, letting them curl into a lazy smile. "Fuck me," he whispered, letting his vision cloak over once more. "Pretty please."

Kenny's hands stopped all at once, a wide grin sneaking over his face. "Well twist my arm," he chuckled, reaching forward and grabbing the second pillow and Kyle's snagged J-mart bag. He tore open the loosely tied plastic handles as he fumbled onto his knees on his own pillow, grabbing a bottle of lube from the confines and a small box of condoms, setting it down beside him as he popped the cap of the tube. He glanced over the words 'water-based' and nodded to himself before dousing the fingers of his right hand in the substance, biting his lip in anticipation. "So," he started with a smirk, grabbing Kyle's leg and pulling it, watching him follow his guidance and spread out for him.

"Hmm?" Kyle murmured dreamily, biting his lip and arching back as he felt a cool, wet finger rubbing over his hole genially. He let out a soft grunt at the digit slowly pressing itself inside of him, feeling Kenny's observant eyes watching his every reaction. He was being sculpted by this master artist, and fuck did he already feel like Kenny's chef-d'oeuvre.

"You told me you'd tell me the story of this bag," he teased. "I'd like to hear it while I do this," he wriggled his finger just a tad.

Kyle shifted a bit, letting a long sigh escape him. "Is it... nngh... so important?"

"I'd like to know why you have condoms and lube when according to you, you've never slept with anyone before," he cocked his brow, finger slowly thrusting along, waiting for Kyle's muscles to relax around him.

"More, Kenny," he mumbled. "I can take m-more."

"Oh can you?" Kenny said amusedly, complying and gently working in his second finger.

Kyle's mouth fell open a bit, "Ah... ahh fuck yeah," he whispered as Kenny began to stretch and scissor him from within.

Kenny grinned, "C'mon, Ky, tell meeee," he prodded, pressing his fingers down and tottering against him.

"M-maybe it was just... waiting for... f-fuck!" He yelped, shaking with Kenny's precise aim. "For today," he finished with a gulp.

He chuckled, "Then why is the lube half gone and there's..." he glanced over and smirked, "two condoms missing from the box?"

Kyle groaned, pushing his hips back against Kenny's fingers, demanding that they delve deeper inside him. "D-don't do this now," he begged.

"Oh, I'm going to," he said stubbornly. "If you want my cock so badly," he urged, teasing with his third finger, waiting for Kyle to press back for his permission grant. He gripped under Kyle's hip as he twisted the final finger to join its counterparts, lost in the tight heat beckoning him in. "You're gonna tell me or I'm going to stop."

"Don't stop!" Kyle pleaded in a whining tone.

"Then tell me," he ordered, shoving his fingers in roughly and spreading the three of them.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Kyle's brow knitted, mouth open as he panted. "Fuckin... I have a fucking dildo are you fucking happy?" He demanded.

Ken smirked, knowing it full and well as he had caught sight of it peeking from its confines in Kyle's nightstand drawer, but he loved hearing the words coming from that mouth. "You fuck yourself on it often?" Kenny asked, voice sultry and smooth like warm caramel pouring over Kyle's body.

"Yes," he admitted in a whisper, moaning at Kenny thrusting his fingers against his prostate as his reward.

"Whaddya think about when you're fucking yourself?" He grinned.

Kyle dove his head down onto his arms, taking a shuddery breath. "You," he whimpered as Ken twisted his fingers inside of him giddily. "A-ahh fuck, Kenny, just fuck me," he pleaded, pushing against him again.

The blonde chuckled deviously, spreading his fingers again and gauging his reaction, nodding to himself. "Well, I guess you did fulfill your end of the bargain," he said innocently, deliberately sliding his hand out and away from Kyle, watching the redhead take a few shaking breaths. "So, was I in all your fantasies?"

Kyle rolled his eyes, laughing quietly to himself. "Well, you and Brandon McManus."

Ken cocked his brow, grabbing the last condom from the box and carefully tearing at the slit, grabbing the gummy latex from its confines. "Who?"

He shrugged, shifting in his uncomfortable position and listening to Kenny slowly prepping himself. "Some Broncos player. You know that poster Stan has of the team?"

He snorted softly, "Yeah?"

"Stayed over one night. Couldn't fall asleep and I swear the fucker was staring at me all night."

Kenny laughed, rolling the condom securely over his cock and grabbing the lube, re-moistening his hand. "Didn't know football players were your type," he teased.

Kyle chuckled, "Look, he didn't say a word and he has a nice set of arms, all right? Perfectly acceptable for one night of boredom."

"Hm," he mused, stroking over his dick and scooting closer behind him. "So is that all I am?" Kenny asked, leaning over him and clean hand gripping his hip. "Just a way to pass some time?"

"No," he shook his head, biting his lip and gulping as he felt hot skin tracing up and down his entrance. "Far from it."

He leaned down, nipping his back gently. "Same to you," he murmured against his skin, holding him steady and slowly cresting his hole. Kyle gasped, entire body stiffening and mouth faltering to comprehend word structure as Kenny pushed inside him.

"Oh f-fuck," he cried out, leaning his head back down and biting his arm, fighting the influx of heat trying so desperately to overwhelm him. Kenny watched his shoulders rolling, spine straightening in discomfort. He brought his hand up and placed it on the back of his neck, rubbing softly as he shoved himself down to rest fully inside of him, biting his lip and feeling Kyle's spread legs twitching.

"Tell me when," he worked out, leaning his head down and taking a collecting breath as Kyle continued to spasm.

The redhead groaned, body trying to familiarize itself with skin versus plastic; scorching, pliable heat versus stiff, lifeless cold. He took his teeth from his arm, noting the indentations in his skin as he moved his legs to spread farther apart, forcing himself to open for Kenny, reassuring his body that he was a more than welcome guest.

Taking a shuddery breath, Kyle nodded, his bound arms pressing firmly against the floor to push himself back in the slightest against Kenny's stomach. Ken grinned, hands sliding to wrap around his hips, pushing Kyle forward before yanking him back down on his cock. "FUCK!" Kyle yelped, Kenny halting in an instant. "Don't stop, don't stop," Kyle begged. "Pretty please, pretty please, pretty please," he rambled much to the blonde's amusement.

He paused before a nearly cruel chuckle left his husky throat. "If you insist," he growled, tightening his grip and beginning to move the Jew, Kyle's body subject to his whim. Kyle gasped, hiccuping down startled, garbled sounds as he was impaled time and again, eyes blown wide but not quite seeing. Kenny grunted with effort, propelling his hips forward to meet with every pull against Kyle's hips, their skin slamming together and echoing in the tiled space. He glanced down, watching his cock so smoothly sliding between the round globes of Kyle's bruising ass and he grinned, tonguing over his teeth. "Is this how ya dreamed it?" Kenny purred, fingernails digging deep into his flesh.

"Better... s-so much... better," he managed to reply, letting out a long moan as Kenny pressed his hips down further to lower him, his dick angling well enough to glide almost torturously over his prostate with each thrust. "Ungh... Kenny," he shook his head frantically, knees trying to slide off the pillow at every movement.

He smirked triumphantly at the utterance. "Yeah... I can definitely get used t' that," he hummed. A calloused hand left Kyle's side, sliding up along his back and twisting in his curls, ripping his head to the side with an airy yelp. He gripped his hair tighter, pulling him back and exposing his pale, slender throat. "How's that?" He hissed.

Kyle's eyes scrunched closed, legs moving to Kenny's rhythm and slamming himself back against the hot and heavy skin, nearly branding him from the inside. "More," he croaked. "Ken, more."

He screeched as Kenny ripped his head back further, other hand releasing his hip to slap his ass with a strong palm. "Like that?" Kenny smirked.

"I-I..." his mind was overrun, colors and cakes and French words spurring through his frazzled mind. He couldn't seem to find himself, too lost in this hazy new world that he'd been placed into. He wasn't sure what he wanted; all he knew was that he wanted everything to come from Kenny. The blonde slapped him harder, the resounding howl breaking Kyle through the surface and back to life, falling out of their steady rhythm and faltering, only his head keeping sturdy by Kenny's captivating fingers. "Shit. Kenny... I-I... Oh god," he moaned, fingers twitching and scraping uselessly against the floor as his body tried to fall back into the blonde's relentless rhythm slapping against him, mind and limbs simply too overstimulated for him to be able to catch up to.

Kenny licked over his lips; bending forward just a tad more and letting Kyle's curls loose. The boy's head slumped for a moment before a strong arm wrapped gently around his throat shot it back up. Kyle gasped as he was yanked up; body following Kenny's instruction with a lordosis of his spine. He cried out as the new position allowed the blonde to slam against his prostate, loud, echoing screams breaking through the room that Kyle couldn't even be bothered to take note of the decibels. His head fell listlessly back against Kenny's shoulder as he kept him propped, arms coming up and clawing at his own chest, fingers hooking listlessly around Kenny's restraining forearm.

"Unnghh, Kenny," he breathed.

"That's right," he murmured hotly, curling his tongue up along his ear. "Kenny's gotcha, Babe."

"Jesus Christ," he whimpered, feeling his own cock begging for attention. "I... I want... p-pretty..." he struggled for the words, trying to reach down to take care of himself and griping in frustration at the angle preventing any contact.

Kenny watched the show with a grin, biting his neck and slowing his hips, tediously grinding up inside him at a snail's pace. "Whaddya want, Ky?" He whispered. "Talk to me."

Kyle grunted, pulling Kenny's arm off his chest and flinging his bound arms into the air, bending himself awkwardly to hook them around Kenny's head. "Please," he begged.

"Please what?" Kenny hissed from between his shoulder blades, giving him a hardened thrust.

"Please... I-I wanna... I need to..."

He bit him once more, suckling on the crook of his neck before breaking off and staring at his contorted face. "Come on, spit it out," he demanded.

"I wanna cum," he whimpered, head pressing back against Kenny's shoulder, trying to meld himself into the warmth behind him. "God, pretty please, Kenny!" he screamed.

Kenny laughed mischievously. "Atta boy," he praised, his slicked hand reaching around and gripping tightly around Kyle's cock. Green eyes rolled back, consciousness drowning. The pesky, intrusive thoughts of the day were swept in Kenny's tide, dust and skewed notepads and barreled cheeses fading far off and away as Kyle was drawn back into his coveted state. Every ounce of energy went into feeling, a rare escape from his brain settled over him; a blanket of fog that smelled like a bakery and Kenny's sweat and Kyle salivated at the combination.

Kenny grunted, teeth latching onto Kyle's shoulder wrinkled up like fine silk sheets, freckles and one stubbornly prominent mole peeking through the valleys. "Fuck," he murmured, grinding his jaw against the redhead, mussed curls tickling his brow and cheek. His hips were on a course of their own, hand steadily stroking Kyle's cock, his own enveloped in such a tight heat his head tried to spin. Kyle's legs kicked wide around his own twitched and settled, each push inside and tug on his dick sending the younger into a fit of spasms. His ears were filled with Kyle's wide range of noises, tone shifting from guttural grunts to yelping shrieks that seemed almost out of rhythm, each one with their own indications hiding behind them that Kenny couldn't wait to take time in the future to decipher. Kyle's tied hands pulled him in closer, his eyes drifting over his slim, arched form and he smiled warmly, giving a series of sharper thrusts that made Kyle gasp his name brokenly. Kenny shuddered, the utterance a pure cacophony of pleasure that riled him almost too much.

Kyle's stomach was coiling, everything about the moment drawing him closer and closer to leaping straight off the edge. He was falling through the clouds, and he just wanted to enjoy the free fall for as long as he could; but the ground was fast approaching, and his parachute was beyond ready to pop. "Ken... Ken," he whined, the blonde's expert hand and precise aim sending him into over-riddled shock.

"Come on, Ky," Kenny grunted, clamping his jaw and hand alike on the quivering form. "Fucking cum," he ordered through his mouthful of skin.

The redhead gulped, eyes scrunching shut in a nearly pained expression. "A-ahh... ahh... Fuck," he whimpered under his breath, going completely silent sans hot and heavy pants. Kenny could feel his body restricting, every inch of Kyle pulling taut and bringing him right along for the ride. Three more firm strokes and three perfectly timed hits against his prostate ripped Kyle out of his concentrated silence into a long, squeaked moan. Heat flashed through his body as he uncoiled, spilling onto the linoleum and Kenny's working hand.

"Shit," Kenny spat, feeling Kyle beginning to fall limber in his grasp as he came down, the sweat of his back pressing against his heaving chest, cooling him with each pull back. Time and again he pushed inside the constricting muscles, jaw trembling. He let out a long groan, forehead falling onto the back of Kyle's neck as he toppled over his own limit, condom filling as every muscle in his body seemed to escape with the haze of sticky white.

He clutched around Kyle's waist as his hips gradually slowed their tempo to a halt, carefully pulling himself out of the redhead. The both of them panted in exhaustion, minds wallowing aimlessly in a dopamine-infused wonderland. Kenny's fingers traced over Kyle's stomach, Kyle's head leaning back and nuzzling tiredly against the blonde mess behind him.

Kenny let out a shuddery breath, falling back onto the sides of his legs and taking Kyle back with him, settling him on his lap. He smiled lazily, hands reaching up to help him gently pry his aching arms from around his head and dropping them back in front of him. "Wow," he murmured, peppering his sweated neck with soft brushes of his lips as his fingers busied themselves unraveling his belt from Kyle's wrists. "How ya feelin'?" He whispered breathlessly.

"... Wow," Kyle repeated with an airy laugh, looking down as the foreign sensation of freedom as Kenny cautiously slid his arms from their confinement. He looked down at the stark red marks now pressed firmly into his pale skin, smiling fondly. He raised his limbs in front of him, twisting and turning to admire the markings.

Kenny smirked, "Ky, I'm serious. How're you feeling?"

He turned to look and see Kenny's head resting on his shoulder, a happy contentedness spread along his complexion. "I'm great," he chuckled, stretching his arms out and bending his elbows to reclaim a hint of normalcy. "You?"

"Amazing," he winked. He raised his clean hand and softly petted through Kyle's curls, watching him sinking happily back against him. They both sighed, heads pressing against one another's, Kyle's right arm coming back to lazily hook limp, trembling fingers against the back of Kenny's neck. "So... that was a surprising turn of events," Kenny commented.

Kyle nodded, "Do you like... regret it or something?"

"Not in the goddamn slightest," he said firmly, giving him a light squeeze. "You?"

"God no," he sighed happily, pressing himself further back against the blonde. Kenny smacked his lips, keeping them hooked around one another and sliding his pillow back towards the counter, scooting the both of them over to rest his back against it. He peeled and tied off the condom, tossing it lazily on top of the J-mart bag to their side. His fingers went back to busying themselves in Kyle's hair, their breaths still struggling to fall back into a steady pace. "Hey, Ken?"

"Hmm?" He murmured from his back, face nuzzled down against it and inhaling Kyle's spiced scent.

"What happens now?" Kyle asked, hating to spoil the moment, but unfortunately, there was no longer a cock in his ass to ward off his thoughts once again.

Kenny was silent for a moment, shifting and clearing his throat. "Depends, what do you want?"

He tongued over his lips and smirked, "We already catered to me. Let's cater to you this time. I want whatever you want."

Kenny smiled, hearing the silently deafening opportunity that Kyle was offering him. "Well... I'd like to continue this little thing we have goin'," he said smoothly. He cleared his throat, rubbing his cum-coated fingers together and grinning deviously. "We could even add a title for the... icing on the cake," he purred, swiping his coated digits down the length of Kyle's cheek.

The redhead was silent for a moment before growling and turning in his grip, listlessly punching his chin. "Puns are a dealbreaker, you corny fuck," he snapped tiredly.

"Well then, just call me Corncake," he winked, laughing as Kyle slapped his shoulder and sighed irritably.

"Please, I am begging you to not make this an instantaneous regret," he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Kenny snuck in under his hand, planting a brisk kiss against his frown. "I can't make promises like that."

"And yet against my better judgement, I'm still going to agree with you," he laughed tiredly, kissing him back and leaning their foreheads together. "You're even willing to take on a title, huh?"

He looked up thoughtfully, teeth breaking into the light. "The Soldiers of Nom."

"Kenny," he bit with a groan, rolling his eyes at his incessant laughter picking back up. "That was physically painful."

"You like a little pain, though," he winked. Kyle crossed his arms and 'hmphed', the blonde kissing him again. "But yes, title sounds good to me," he assured him. "So long as you're okay with such an agreement."

He snorted quietly, "Considering I let you defile me on my kitchen floor, I'd say you should already know your answer."

"I mean I know I'm no Brandon McManus, but you'll make do with plain ol' me?" He batted his lashes playfully.

"Your arms suit me just fine," he teased, squeezing his upper arm pointedly. "And when you're not making puns I'm pretty good with your talking," he kissed him softly.

"Good, because you're not gonna get me to shut up for awhile if you really wanna do this," he wiggled his brows. "You cool with that?"

He nodded, "I guess... if you say the magic words," he cocked his brow superiorly.

The blonde rolled his eyes amusedly. He'd let him have just this one, he was well-behaved enough this time around. But he wasn't stupid, the boy in front of him with that haughty 'ah ha, now I hold the cards' expression plastered over that face was only going to get more difficult with time. Not that Kenny particularly wasn't looking forward to it. "Pretty please?" he batted his lashes mockingly.

"I guess," he smirked, giving him another kiss; a final stamp on the deed, signatures scrawled and ready to be filed.

Kenny chuckled quietly, running his hand through Kyle's curls and catching on a clump of yellow batter. "We should probably shower," he observed.

"Hm, soon," Kyle murmured sleepily, leaning his head down on Kenny's shoulder and letting out a long sigh. "I just kinda wanna stay here for a few minutes." Kenny nodded, wrapping around him again and bringing him against his chest, the both of them silently planting random kisses against one another, basking in the warmth of each other and the pleasantly innocent aroma of cake settling hazily around them.

Stan's ears perked at a knock on his front door, hitting the pause button on his Playstation controller and glancing at his phone. He cocked his head, it was seven thirty, the back of his mind reminding him that Wendy wouldn't be done with her outing until at least eleven.

He hopped off the couch and smacked his lips, tearing the door open to see Kenny and Kyle staring at him with smiles. "Hey, Stan," Kyle greeted.

"Hey," he blinked, stepping aside and letting them in. "What's up?" His eyes drifted down as a flash of color caught his peripheral, noticing the bright red marks prominently displayed on Kyle's ashen wrists. "Dude, what the fuck happened to-" he paused, looking up and catching the purple splotches peppering both of their necks and smirked. "Fucking finally," he chuckled.

Kenny grinned back slyly, wrapping an arm around Kyle's waist, "Yeah. Woulda been reeeaaaallll nice if this coulda happened forever ago, dontcha think, Marsh?"

He rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what he was getting at. "Guys, look, I just didn't want to be your middleman, okay? We're not in fucking elementary school, you idiots had to get there yourselves."

"Some assistance might have been nice," Kyle said dryly.

"Hey, you got there, right?" Stan shrugged. "So... you two...?" he pointed between the both of them.

"Why yes, I did tap dis ass," Kenny proclaimed proudly, swatting said ass. Kyle yelped with a wince, grabbing at his rear and hissing through his teeth. "Sorry," Kenny cringed, reaching up and rubbing Kyle's shoulder comfortingly.

"I meant are you two going out now, oh my god," he rolled his eyes disgustedly.

Kyle straightened back up and re-crossed his arms, "Yeah. No thanks to you. Well..." he paused, looking at Kenny who shrugged sheepishly and he took a long, calming breath, plastering his Super Best Friend grin back across his face. Stan couldn't help but feel his eye twitch at the innocent stare so violently combatting the sin plastered across Kyle's neck. "Okay, that's not true. We came over because we wanna thank you," he smiled softly at his best friend.

Stan blinked, looking between both grateful faces and grinning, "Happy to help. You morons needed it," he laughed.

"So," Kenny continued, "We brought you a thank you present."

He chuckled, "What?"

"Look, just fucking accept it all right?" Kyle scoffed. "Close your eyes."

He eyed them skeptically. "Uhhh, what?" Stan repeated.

"Close 'emmmm," Kenny whined. "C'mon I so rarely get to give preseenntttss," he stuck out his lower lip and let it wobble.

Stan cringed guiltily and nodded, slipping them closed. "Hold out your hands," Kyle's voice directed. He did so, raising his brow as he heard the rustle of thick fabric and felt something light and squishy being placed into his out-turned palms. "M'kay, open 'em up!"

He blinked, looking at a wide-mouthed open ziplock full of lumpy, gelatinous colors staring him back. "What the fuck is this?!" Stan shrieked as Kenny slapped his hand up under his own, the baggie slamming against his face. "AW AW AWWW!" he screamed, dropping it and rubbing his hand against his profile, creaking his eyes open to see a rainbow smeared across his palm, feeling it cooling along his face with the wisp of the air conditioning. "WHAT THE FUCK!"

"Have fun with some raw food dye, Assfuck," Kyle said smugly.

Kenny cackled, "You look like part of a fucking clown bukkake!"

"GUYS!" He protested, gritting his teeth and the both of them laughing louder at his furious expression under the smears of color.

"It'll be a fun next few weeks," Kyle cocked his brow. "Thanks again, Stan!" They turned and high-fived each other, heading out the door and slamming it behind them.

Stan stared after them blankly before growling and ripping the door back open, seeing them walking hand-in-hand down his walkway laughing with each other. His shoulders dropped and he sighed tiredly, shaking his head. He looked back at his stained palm and rolled his eyes, giving them a final glare before going to endure no-doubt hours of scrubbing. "Fucking idiots."

A/N: I love me my sugar-coated idiots.

Could I have cut this down about 40%? Probably. Did I want to? Yes. Did I make the effort despite the fact it's literally been sitting here in front of my face and finished for the last three-ish weeks? Nooooppppeeee.

Everyone go wish Kris a happy birthday now and read all their fics. Seriously. I fucking mean it take my stories and times the quality by about a billion and you have Kris' work I'm not fucking kidding GO NOW. (Well after you recover I know this was probably ridiculously taxing. Try rereading it everyday for almost a month in panic over quality ahahahahaha /sobs quietly in the corner)

Thanks for R&Ring!