Bubbly: KennyxKyle one-shot now turned STORY that I've always wanted to write! I hope you like it! Inspired by my own art and antics, this is the gift for you guys!!

I'm sorry, but I think I'm gonna put WtFiY on hold for a while...But, it's fine. It's not really interesting. Oh, well. But it won't be paused for long, okay? I'm gonna start working on this now. Because, while meant to be a one-shot, I decided to change it into a type of Kyle's point of view type of journal thing! I know, I know, that 's exactly how WtFiY was supposed to turn out, but I changed it at the last minute. I wanted to actually do something like that, and I'm kinda fickle!!

Again, I'm sorry!

I'm out!!

Disclaimed.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

7:18 am, Sunday, February 25, 2007

I'm laying on the bed in Kenny's room, just awoken from a 3 hour nap, and his parents, brother and sister are out for the night.

I cast my green gaze to the window. The skies were a muted, old lace yellow, embattled with a discourteous battalion of aggravated clouds.

I love narrating my own life with overly dramatic, run on sentences like that. It keeps me in touch.

'We just missed the rain.'

The air from the room's AC ripples sleepily in wintry torrents, and I pull in a momentary ration of frozen mouthfuls. I cast my gaze to the wide-awake-and-watching blonde sitting cross-legged and chain-smoking in the chair across from me.

"Morning, sunshine."

"Mehrgh...?"

"And I love you, too, honey shnookums," he cooes in mock delight.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We had just come home (to Kenny's) from a night of gratifying vandalism, the skin of our faces and forearms caked with swollen marigolds of orange, green and red paint.

I was actually quite the artiste. Who knew? After weeks of pleading and planning, I had gotten my fellow blonde artist to agree to my deed...

I mean, who else could I have asked? Stan? Fuck no, last time I mentioned something like this, word somehow got back to that prude, Wendy. Traitor. She probably bribed him with animal crackers, again.

Anyways, I knew for a fact, that whenever Kenny was working on a major art project, that he got pretty into it.

And I mean, really into it. Like, sweating, shirtless and swearing, into it. Damn, that sounds hot. Oh, sorry. Getting off topic again.

Well, he was quite surprised, to say the least. I don't blame him. I'm not exactly known as the most defiant junior at Park High. But it was well worth it. We had tore along the school's back wall at almost four in the goddamned morning, donning black hoodies, waffled-soled sneakers and our jeans, armed with a load of lead-based spray paint.

I did have to take precautions, though; we took a break every 20 minutes, resting against the unpainted areas on the wall and eating from a pack of Oreo's we had bought from a mini-mart on the way.

I mean, Kenny and paint fumes? Especially, lead-base? Doesn't exactly match, ya know?

To my extreme frustration, he did die once, though, (by lead poisoning, or drive by shooting, I'm not really sure) and I watched and waited as he lay slumped against the wall, inadvertently and unconsciously (literally) leaving a big ass smudge in the paint job.

I made him pay for that.

For lack of creativity, I painted a distorted, swollen blue heart on his cheek. You know it.

Yeah, I said heart. Pathetic, I know.

But, I made sure to rag on him pretty hard when he came to around 45 minutes later.

We finished it up by taking pictures of our handiwork on Ken's digital camera, and making sure to sign the bottom left corner of the wall with our usual, joint stage names: Mr. and Mrs (I was the Mrs.) Luvcox.

I know, I know, completely Kenny's idea.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I pulled closer into my (technically Ken's) black hoodie, enjoying the faint scent of cigarette smoke, fresh linen and vanilla. I yawned sleepily, and offered him a tired, why-the-fuck-did-you-wake-me-up look.

He's smiling at me now, and I feel as the blush blooms disobediently across my face. I see his charm is still in effect, no matter how ungodly the hour gets.

"Stop looking so cute over there, Broflovski. I almost creamed my jeans, I'll have you know."

That smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, and an undignified, irritated squeak erupts from my throat.

"Dude, do you ever sleep? You should cut down on the caffeine, you're creepier in the morning," I say pointedly.

He smirks triumphantly. "Sleep? Not with Mr. Jimmy Legs here. You kicked me in the neck when I tried to get under the covers, Kyle. But don't worry, I didn't die this time."

"Shut up, man," I grin stupidly, "You're ruining the afterglow."

He seems to muse over this comment, and a devious expression passes along his features.

"Afterglow? But we didn't even--"

I chuck my left sneaker at his head, effectively ending the attempted joke. He pouts and I try hard to glare, failing miserably.

"C'mon, I won't even have to strip you down! See, you're doing it already!"

He triumphantly holds up my sneaker. And I glare. Icily. I turn away and bury my face into the pillow.

One. Two. Three...Oh, Moses, here it comes...

"Ky...?"

Dammit.

My lungs (and somewhere a little bit lower) are now tight with that feeling of suffocation, and I dread the feeling his voice is causing me.

I open my mouth a little, taking in a biting drag and filling my lungs with the satisfying, artificial breeze. My lips are sore, and I bite them until they anesthetize.

"What, Ken?" I choke weakly, sparing him a unconvincing glare.

Blistering channels of syrupy blood pound in my ears, and I close my eyes.

"Nothin'."

I frown; I can practically hear his smile in his voice. Weird.

Intangible plumes of expended breaths begin to puff out in front of me, and my chest feels strict and knotted.

I open my eyes again.

Kenny's handsome face leaves me with a complacent expression. My limbs tangle up in warm braid, and I close my eyes once more, as concentrated thunder erupts in my chest. It feels good in here. With Kenny, the cigarette smoke, the expended spray paint cans and the cold.

'God. What the fuck is wrong with me? Kenny's just a friend, I hate cigarettes, paint fumes make my nose bleed, and I just fucking hate the cold...'

"..."

I hate it when I lie to myself like that.

That almost intolerable feeling saturates my core, and my throat convulses and lurches instinctively. My eyes snap open as I feel someone in front of me.

Saccharine, watery, streetlight blue eyes are regarding me with an air of instinctive curiosity and concern, and tacit sentiment spills out between us.

'He's worried about me. Kenny, you fucking sweetheart. I know you too well...'

"Heya, sweetness. Don't be mad at me?"

I study those sugary, soda blue eyes, and the shaggy, dusty blonde bangs spilling along his handsome face.

"I'm not mad. And don't call me sweetness."

"Wha--mmph!"

I press my lips onto his, delighting in the velvety, smoky sweet. I feel his arms envelop my waist, lifting me up as I wrap my arms around his neck.

My probing tongue elicits deep, sultry moans from the blonde. Makin' out at 7:37 in the morning? I knew I was a morning person.

(INSERT HAWT MAKEOUT SESSION, CUZ I'M TOO LAZY TO WRITE ONE, CLASS ENDS IN 8 MINUTES, AND THERE'S SOME CREEPY CHICK READING OVER MY SHOULDER. THAT'S RIGHT, I'M TALKING TO YOU!!)

We're resting with our foreheads pressed together, our breaths coming in transient, labored plumes, sprawled haphazardly against the mattress.

I reach up and shyly touch the blue heart on his cheek. He smiles a dopey smile, and god, I swear it's contagious.

I bite my tongue in concentration, and reach into my hoodie pocket and retrieve an inking pen. He tilts his head obediently and I sign my name in a highly structured loopy thing.

"There."

We're smiling like idiots, legs tangled up in an agreeable braid of flesh of fabric, hair disheveled, the sense of contentment almost suffocating.

To prove my point, Kenny actually coughs a few times and winces. But he's still smiling, the dumbass.

My dumbass...My sweet, sweet dumbass.

Fuck yeah.

I flip our positions, effectively straddling him. My fingers sift up under his shirt, ghosting along a ribbon of flesh. He gasps, and I smirk.

He glances at the digital clock resting sublimely on his desk beside the bed, and gazes up at me with questioning, pretty, bottle blue eyes.

"The bus'll be here in 35 minutes, and we each have time for a ten minute shower. Enough time for you?"

I respond by slapping the clock off of its dresser and smirking.

Kenny whimpers childishly. "Hey, man, I enjoy the hot impatience and stuff, but I'm poor. And that cost me---"

I dip down and pull his lower lip into my mouth and smooth over it slowly with my tongue, pulling back to admire the reaction I had caused.

"Oh my."

I laugh.

"Ken, you're such a rockstar." He smiles contentedly. "And you're my groupie."

My face blanches, and Kenny liberates an amused snort.

God, we're so cheesy.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bubbly: How was that? God, I loved writing it! I don't know, I had just finished a major art proj., and this came to mind!! Weird how inspiration strikes you! I'm really sorry about the progress of WtFiY. I've written out the chapter, I'm just not liking how it turned out.

Well, thanx to all my reviewers!!

I'm out!

REVIEW YOUR HEARTS OUT!!!