Everyone had always joked about how me and Kyle were a little bit married. I guess it was all par for the course, you know? Two guys as close as we were just attracted all that shit. It's the way the world worked.

We didn't help ourselves, the way we acted, the way we squabbled, the things we did together, the amount of time we spent together. The way we were just always together. That's just how it was though, that's the way it was meant to be.

Kenny used to tease us all the time when we were in middle school, he'd tell us we just needed to fuck and be done with it, we just needed to admit our gay little crushes to each other. He didn't realise it wasn't going to be as simple as that. That two friends don't just fuck and deal with it. That when two friends fuck, they fuck up a friendship. That sometimes everything just isn't okay. That sometimes when friends fuck, they fall apart and loose it all.

Kenny muted off when we hit high school, I guess he lost interest in the joke. Cartman took over, his lewd suggestions carrying twice the venom with none of the mirth.

It was a long running joke with everyone though, with Craig and those guys, with random people about town, even with my fucking parents. I didn't care; it was just a joke. Kyle didn't care; he only ever reacted to it when Cartman was irritating him. It was just a fact of life, we were best friends, we were close, we were butt of all the gay jokes. We accepted it, hell, we even joked about it ourselves.

It had its detrimental elements, of course, Kyle and I and our odd little friendship marriage. Wendy hated it, she hated how I was a pseudo married to someone who wasn't her. Envy, jealously, they had always been Wendy's sins. She's a lovely person, one of the best people I know, but everyone has their faults. Those faults were hers. She dumped me because of it, she dumped me a few times because of it, but I never did anything about it, I never pushed Kyle away to get her back. I just waited for her to get over it, get over whoever she was with when she wasn't with me. Token, Gregory, whoever.

No, everyone always joked about me and Kyle, about how the only thing missing from our pseudo marriage was the sex. I never really took it seriously; Kyle was Kyle, that was that. He was my Super Best Friend, of course I loved him, I fucking adored him. Of course I thought he was wonderful, gorgeous, of course I sometimes told him so. Of course I'd bend over backwards for him, of course I'd follow him to another dimension and back. I'd drive him anywhere he asked and I'd wait up all night to buy him those tickets to that Raging Pussies concert he wanted to go to. He was my Super Best Friend, that's just what you do when you have a Super Best Friend. That's just what you do. That's what I reasoned anyway. That was my excuse.

I never ever really realised the realities of actually fucking him, I never really let myself think about it seriously before, not until that night. Not until I kissed him. I never realised the extent of what was happening, the truth behind my actions, the irony in all those jokes, not until it all slapped me across the face. Not until Kyle dangerously enlightened me.

Not until everything became an unsaid game of all or nothing.

Not until my world exploded around me.

Not until highway 285 changed my fucking life.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

XXX

XXX

XXX

"Hey dude, I brought you a present."

He snapped round, book thumping to his desk, all eager and exited at the promise of a gift. I just grinned down at him, clutching the slip behind my back.

"Did you buy me a puppy?"

"Dude, if I brought you a puppy your mother would castrate me."

"A kitten then?"

"You hate cats."

"But I like kittens."

"No, but you're kind of a little close. Try again."

Kyle frowned. "You didn't get me a fish did you? You know those things freak me out."

"Why the hell would I buy you a fish?"

"A rodent of some sorts? A Lemmiwinks?"

"Dude, no, I haven't brought you a pet. If you want one, I'll have to get you one for Hanukah or whatever."

"You have actually brought me something, right? You're not just being a douche and gifting me your algebra homework again?"

"I did that, like, one time. Get over it."

"You've done it at least five times."

"Well I'm not doing it this time. I have actually got you something, so guess."

"Give me a clue."

"You want it."

"I want a lot of things. I'm an awful, materialistic person. Give me a better clue."

Rolling my eyes I dropped the ticket in his lap, stepping back to sit on his bed. Smiling, I watched as he delicately held the paper, clutching at the sides as though it were a particularly precious photograph liable to smudge if he breathed on it too hard.

"Oh my God. I thought they were all sold out?"

"They are. I ordered them a while back. Thought I'd wait and surprise you."

"Standing as well." Kyle looked up at me, grinning brightly. He loved the Raging Pussies, even though they'd not been good for years, even though they weren't all that great to begin with, he loved them. I'm pretty sure he'll always love them, regardless of how shit they get. "God, you always get me the best presents Stan."

I just smiled at him, stretching out on his bed. "Just wear clothes this time, right? Don't go in just your underwear again."

"Why? What's wrong with me in my underwear? Should I be offended right now?"

"Of course not. Much as I'd love to watch you prance about semi-naked or whatever, I really don't want you freezing to death. It'd be awkward trying to explain what happened to your parents."

"I could wear a coat too."

"You'd go to a gig wearing Y-fronts and a coat? Dude, you'd look like a fucking serial killer."

"Perhaps that's the look I'm going for. Bebe told me serial killer is in this fall."

"Whatever dude, go naked for all I care. Just remember to lie to your parents this time. I think you're a bit too old to make a believable molestation victim."

"I'll have you know I'm still very molestable." He sat up a little straighter in his chair, pressing his thighs together, clutching his hands in his lap. He tried innocently batting his eyelashes at me, I just suppressed a snort. He did look innocent, he naturally looked innocent, all stocky and short, pale and pinkish, honest faced with a gentle personality. He just couldn't act innocent. Anytime he tried to act innocent he ended up destroying his natural innocence, inadvertently making himself seem painfully guilty.

"You're right Kyle, you are so very molestable. You have no idea how hard it is for me to restrain myself in your angelic presence." I deadpanned at him, watching as he tilted up his head, regally posing himself, as though he expected me to start revering him in some sort of Mannerist painting. He'd make a charming painters muse.

"Are the others coming?" He sat back properly, very gracelessly, breaking my train of thought.

"Fuck no. I'm not driving them down to Denver."

"Why?"

"Because Cartman's a massive dick, and if Kenny says one more thing about my car I'm going to do more then just ditch him on some highway, I swear to God."

Kyle smiled at me. "Your car is a pile of shit, dude."

"At least I have a car. Fancy walking to the Pepsi Arena, Kyle?"

"You wouldn't make me walk. You know I don't like walking in the dark. You like me too much to make me walk."

I didn't suppress this snort. "You were always eager enough to prance about at night when we were kids. You're just being lazy; you know I'll give in and drive if you whine loud enough."

"I did a lot of stupid things when I was a kid. It's fucking South Park dude, enough shit happens in daylight; I don't want to push my luck waltzing about when the sun goes down. Besides, it's not like you ever say no when I ask you to drive me somewhere."

"I don't think I ever say no to you when you ask me to do anything. I've known you for, like, my whole fucking life dude. I think I've worked out by now you don't take no for an answer Kyle.

"I take no for an answer. Sometimes. When I need to."

"No you don't, not ever. Regardless, I'm not your personal chauffeur, no matter how much you treat me like it."

"You're kind of my personal chauffeur thought, like, a little bit, anyway."

I grimaced at him. "It wouldn't kill you to fucking walk sometimes, dude."

"It might! It's fucking South Park! For God's sake, Cartman could be lurking around any corner! Besides, I don't see what you're bitching about. It's not like I ever go anywhere without you."

"You cost me a fortune in petrol."

"Whatever, you don't care about that." He said it flippantly, swiping one hand through the air.

I sighed, a small smile quirking the corner of my lips. He was right; I didn't care about the small limb he was costing me in gas. I liked driving Kyle places, I liked having his company, I liked driving my car. I'm pretty sure the memories of my first car will be completely stained with Kyle. Hell, I'm pretty sure every memory of my entire wretched life will be fucking doused in Kyle.

"And dude? I want you to buy me a coral snake for Christmas."

I shuddered, haphazardly throwing a pillow at his head. "I'm not getting you a fucking snake for Christmas."

He grinned, all canines, all wild. "What if I promise to look after it real good?"

"What if I just refuse to enter your house again?"

"What if I'd like the peace and quiet?"

I quirked my eyebrows. "What if I take offence to that and decide to storm out of your house right now? Would you enjoy the peace and quiet then?"

Kyle just smiled, dropping himself down heavily on the mattress next to me. "What if I say thank you for my ticket?"

"Then I'd say you're very welcome." I paused "And I'm going to buy you a video game for Christmas, and you're going to like it."

"Dude, I'll fucking love it."

"Please Kyle, try to sound gayer."

He just leant back, grinning up at me. "You know you love it."

I looked down at him, a smile quirking my lips. "You know I do."

XXX

XXX

XXX

"Dude, I'm fucking bored."

"We set off ten minutes ago! It takes, like, an hour to get to Denver. You can't be bored already."

"Well I am. I'm fucking bored."

I sighed, pressing down the clutch as I gripped the gear stick. "Well put the radio on or something, I dunno."

"There's never anything on, not on the stations your shit-ass radio can pick up. It's all just generic crap music and boring old people talking about boring old shit."

"I thought you loved listening to boring old people talking about boring old shit? You talk about boring old shit all the time. It's like, your forte!"

He looked at me, all hurt and pouting. "You think I'm boring?"

"Only when you start talking about boring old shit."

"How often do I talk about boring old shit?"

"You have your moments."

"God Stan, you make me feel precious."

I snorted, taking my eyes off the road so I could give him an incredulous look. "You're head of the fucking debate club! Of course you talk about boring old shit. You argue about boring old shit. You argue about boring old shit better then anyone I've ever met. This can't be news to you Ky."

Kyle frowned, and I glanced back at the road. "You think my debates are boring?"

"What was your last debate about?"

"Should the Congressional practice of earmarking, whereby federal funds are allocated to particular projects at the request of individual Congressmen, be banned?" He recited, waving his hands about in a flippant gesture. I raised my eyebrows, glancing at him with a 'well there you go' look. Kyle just snorted, hitting my arm with the back of his hand. "Come on Stan, that debate was interesting."

"No, it wasn't. Two hours of my life and I still don't even understand the question."

"That's because you're stupid and you don't give a shit about politics."

"That's because all that political shit is almost as boring as you debating."

"Well if my debates are so boring, why the hell do you keep coming to them? No one's forcing you to go."

"I go because you come to every one of my boring football games, and a good deal of the boring practices too. I go to support you, Ky, no matter how boring supporting you gets. You're my best friend and shit, that's what we do."

"To be fair, I only go to your stupid practices because I know you'll drive me home afterwards. I don't really give a shit about you or anything, I just don't like taking the fucking bus. Butters always tries to talk to me. It gets irritating."

My lip quirked involuntarily. Kyle could be utterly tactless when he wanted to be. "You could always walk, you know." I said provocatively, casually changing lanes.

Kyle just whined, turning his face away from me. "God Stan, if you like walking so much why don't you just go on a fucking hike."

"Well, would you come with me?"

"Fuck no, don't be stupid. All that nature crap, that's your shtick."

"Hiking's no fun when you're on your own. And it's not like I can ask Wendy to come with me at the moment, not until we get back together again."

Kyle snorted derisively, crossing his arms. "So, take Sparky with you. He'd like a long walk."

I smiled sadly. "Sparky's getting a bit too old for hikes now."

Kyle bit his lip, glancing across at me. "Well, whatever." He paused, fidgeting slightly, "If you really want to go on a hike, I'll go with you on one when the vacation starts. Just, just don't go dragging me up any fucking mountains. Not again."

"But the mountain routes have the best views."

"I prefer the forestey trials. Those ones aren't so bad. They're flat, at least."

"Well, whatever. I like them both."

"I hate it when you guilt me into doing shit."

"I know you do, my little ray of sunshine, but you can't spend your entire life glued behind your PC."

"Shut up. I use a fucking Mac and you know it."

"Whatever."

Kyle just sighed at me, lifting up his legs, resting his feet on the dashboard in front of him. I frowned.

"Dude, take your fucking shoes off my dashboard."

"Why? I'm fucking comfy."

"You'll fucking scuff it up."

Kyle snorted, shoes still firmly glued to my dashboard. "God knows I wouldn't want to do anything to ruin the aesthetic appeal of your car Stan. It's such a beautiful, perfect machine, after all." He bit it back sarcastically, pulling his phone out his pocket as he did, absently pressing a few buttons.

"Off Kyle."

"I'm not a dog, you know. Barking commands at me won't work." He frowned slightly at his phone, so frowned slightly at him.

"What's wrong?" I asked, carefully checking behind my shoulder as I merged onto the highway.

"Kenny's getting a bit snippy we didn't ask him to come. I think he feels left out."

"Tell Kenny I would've brought him along if he'd learnt to keep his big mouth shut. My car is not that bad, I swear to God."

"I'll tell Kenny you're an overemotional pussy, don't worry."

"Thanks Kyle."

"Dude, we're really fucking early. The concert doesn't start, for like, two and a half hours. Can we stop off to get something to eat? I'm fucking starving."

"Sure. What do you feel like? There's the Burger King, or would you rather the K.F.C?"

"I don't mind. Which would you like?"

"I honestly don't give a shit. You're hungry, you can choose."

"Can we go to K.F.C then?"

"Of course."

"Thanks dude."

Despite stopping for some food, we still arrived at the arena early. There were already quite a few cars already milling about though, and the carpark was filling up fast. Humming, I rounded a looping bend, came across an empty spot, and neatly swung into it. Next to me, Kyle whimpered.

"Oh, don't park here. I don't like this spot."

"What's wrong with this spot? This spot is fine."

"It's too crowded in this part. Go park nearer the edge or next to a tree or something. It'll be easer to find the car afterwards."

"We'll find the car just fine. It's not as though it's a common model." I said it fairly proudly, brushing the steering wheel of my rusty old Chevvy. My retro Chevvy.

"Well, not now, no. Last millennia I'm sure this model was all the rage. Now let's go park somewhere else. The dude parked next to me is too close to the line anyway. He's left no space for me to get out."

"Just open the door carefully and wriggle. You're not Cartman you know, you can fit out just fine."

"What if I don't want to fucking wriggle? Go park somewhere else."

"Oh, for God's sake Kyle, I'm not slave to every one of your fucking whims! This spot is fine. When you're the one driving, you can choose the spot."

He paused, looking at me all wide eyes and badly faked innocence. "You're not a slave to my every whim, I know. But can we park over there instead." He pointed, and paused for a heartbeat, just looking at me. "Please?"

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. He had me fucking whipped, he had me fucking whipped better then Wendy had ever had me whipped. He had me fucking whipped and he knew it. Thanking God Cartman wasn't here to watch this, I put the car in gear, I reversed out of the space, and I let him decide where we parked.

XXX

XXX

XXX

We were shot high on the atmosphere, on adrenaline and endorphins, on the music and the people and simple energy of it all. It was nearly over, the set was coming to a close. Everything was accumulating, everything was pent up and ready.

We'd fought our way out of the main throng, out of the way of the pits and the crush, we were just hovering on the edge. Kyle was laughing, covered in beer and sweat and concert skank. He was ignoring the stage and looking at me, his eyes bright and gleaming. He was clutching at my arms and laughing. He was stunning, all high cheekbones, all regal and soft and strong and temperamental. His hair was sodden at the ends, it could've been sweat, beer, water, anything, everything; the weight of the liquid was too heavy, it was muting his manic poof, darkening up the colour.

He was damp all over, his t-shirt was slightly clinging, his jeans marked with wet splashes. He must be hot, or exited or nervous, he was sweating like a bitch.

And I was laughing too, laughing with him, laughing at him, his joy, his euphonium. Kyle hardly ever let himself go like this. He got angry at the drop of a hat, sure, he always had. It was easy enough to get him hissy and furious and lashing out. But to get him to release, unwind, to get him euphoric and laghing and excitable and shaking; that was rare. He was liberating when he was liberated, his freedom, his ecstasy, it was contagious. I felt it claw at me, grip me, urge me on; Kyle's energy, his blatant sex appeal, all of him, it was suffocating. I couldn't bear it.

So I kissed him, for some reason, some stupid, ridiculous, dangerous reason I crushed him against me, jarring our mouths together. For a second he was rigid, frozen, for a second I thought he was going to pull back or kick me or something. Then his hands were gripping my t-shirt, he was pulling himself closer, he was letting me invade his mouth deeper. One of my hands went to his back, hovering dangerously low. I tangled my other in his hair, clutching the messy, matted dampness, gripping his manic twists.

Someone wolf whistled, someone shouted, someone swore at us, neither of us reacted. Kyle's hands were now round my ribs, he was hugging me, pressing himself against me. I could feel the dampness of him, his warmth, the shapes and lines his body made.

And that kiss, God, it was excited, explosive, sloppy, damp. Kyle wasn't practiced, he wasn't rhythmical or flawless, he wasn't technically faultless, but Christ, he didn't need to be. The way his tongue swiped powerfully, wildly, the way he moved his mouth, the way he clutched and those slight, faint, moans, moans nearly lost in the din, moans I felt rather then heard. It was all perfect.

The music stopped, but we didn't. Around us the crowd was cheering, shouting, jostling, jeering. I just focused on Kyle, I focused on the kiss, on rubbing his back, on petting his hair. Then this massive dude slammed into me, tearing us apart, nearly bringing me down. He apologised drunkenly, holding both hands up and slurring over the racket, but it was too late, we were both being shuffled to the exit, swept away with the crowd.

The fresh air had brought us down, and the implication of what I'd done was slowly, painfully gripping my chest. Kyle looked blown, his eyes wide, his skin clammy and pale. He looked terrified. We walked in silence, fighting through crowds of people.

It took an age to find my car.

"Look, dude, I-"

He cut me off, shaking his head, pawing at the passenger side door handle. I bit my lip and looked down, unlocking the car, watching as he climbed in. For a moment I stood outside, I stood there and let myself panic. What if he never talked to me again? What if I'd ruined it? What if he hated me? Hated me for doing it?

What if I couldn't make this right?

Pinching the ridge of my nose, I took a few deep breaths, before climbing into the seat next to him. Kyle didn't acknowledge me. I glanced at him. I turned on the car, I glanced at him again. I clicked up the heater, I glanced at him again. I started to pull out, I forced myself to focus on the road. I didn't try talking again, I didn't want to push him. This was something I couldn't push. I'd screwed up, I should never have done that, have put him in that position. It was up to him now, up to him to decide whether he felt like talking, talking about it, or whether he wanted to break the silence to ignore it, pretend it hadn't ever ever happened.

But he didn't talk. Not one word. I got us out of the carpark, which seemed to take hours and hours, out of the aria, out of the concert rush, out of Denver. The road signs and traffic lights blurred past me, I'm pretty sure I ran a red light, ran a stop sign, broke the law at least five times. It was shit dumb luck I wasn't pulled over, it was even shitter, dumber luck I managed not to hurt anyone, run anything down, total my rustheap. Thank God it was too late for traffic on the main roads, thank God it was a quiet night in Denver.

We hit Route 285, and Kyle still hadn't said anything. My vision was blurred with fear, my legs shaking with stress. I nearly stalled the car sliding off the clutch countless times. My hands were gripping the steering wheel, gripping it so hard I could feel my knuckles turning white. It wasn't safe for me to be driving like this, so pent up, so hyped and hyper alert. My heart was in my throat, my mind racing. I tried to ignore it all, to focus on the road ahead and nothing but the road ahead.

It wasn't working. With him sitting there, so close. I could sense him, his warmth, his scent. His real scent, the scent almost completely hidden under the skank of the gig, cheap bear and bitter sweat, the obligatory, persistent second hand smoke. The silence between us was breaking my heart, choking me. I thought about putting on the radio, putting on one of those late night traffic shows or all night shitty music channels, anything to fill the cloying silence. I didn't though; if Kyle wanted the radio on, he'd turn it on. That's what I reasoned.

"Pull over!" He startled me, his sudden bark literally made me jump.

"Kyle, are you alr-"

"Fucking pull over!" He was speaking through gritted teeth.

I did. Just like I'd do anything he asked. I wasn't sure if I pulled off on a dirt track, or if I simply careered off-road into a field. Whatever I did, my car didn't like it, whining and chugging at me until I turned off the engine.

I'd expected Kyle to get out the car, to go throw-up in a bush and refuse to let me drive him home. Refuse to acknowledge me ever again. But no, he unbuckled his seatbelt, and I felt my chest begin to constrict, thinking he was leaving. Then he was gripping me, he was crawling across my gearstick, he was across my lap, straddling me.

He was heavy, heavier then I'd expected him to be. Forcing himself against me, I could feel him, every little bit of him, every curve and line and angle his body made. Everything. I could feel how warm he ran, how warm he was, how excited he was. He was shaking, quite badly shaking, I don't know if it was nerves or excitement or what, but I'd never seen him shake this bad. Automatically I put my hands on his hips, trying to reassure him, trying to physically keep him still.

Then we were kissing. We were furiously, angrily kissing. Harsher, faster, stronger then we had in the arena. He was grinding himself against me, bucking over my lap, and fuck, it was scintillating, exciting in all the right ways. I dug my fingers into his hips, gripping him hard, so hard I'm sure it hurt. His hands were around my neck, clutching my shoulders, pawing, gripping me.

I jolted, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt, yanking it up, trying to get it off. Briefly he pulled back, lithely wriggling out of the fabric, limber and agile, relentless. Then his hands were on my hem, forcing up the fabric, barley giving me time to lift my arms before he'd pulled it off, my hands banging against the fuzzy canopy of the car roof.

Before I'd managed to fully comprehend the situation, I felt him crush himself against me, skin on skin, he just kind of, slotted there, the slight curve of his stomach pushing against the dip below my ribs, his chest high against mine. Against my collarbone I could feel his heart beating, heavy and fast, faster even then mine, and that was a feat to be proud of.

Immediately I was gripping at him, clutching my hands round his ribs, his back, his thighs, whispering impossible, beautiful promises into his pale, damp skin, peppering him with kisses. He was groaning as I stroked him, whimpering, clutching me right back. I was nuzzling him, pawing his strong thighs, rubbing his sides, massaging his kidneys, my fingers ghosting over the faint ridge of his scar. Kyle was clutching my upper arms, kissing down my neck, wriggling about on top of me.

Catching the edge of his collarbone in a kiss, I began to nip at him, holding him still as I started to suck, firmly marking him, marking him with a reminder, proof, leaving some tangible evidence this thing we were doing was really happening. Making sure he'd know it had too.

When his panting reached painful levels, he pulled away, brushing his forehead against mine, letting us both catch back our breaths. Blinking, I just looked at him, taking in his quaking, soft limbed form, smooth lines and pale, flushed skin, the slight shadow of fluff trailing down from his navel. He was watching me, all wide eyed, pink lips slightly parted, hands resting softly on my shoulders.

And God he was regal, royal, all perfect cheekbones and masculine delicacy and inherited curves. Evergreen eyes and manic hair, everything about him so familiar, so painfully familiar, but shirtless and panting, blown pupils and lusting, that was brand new. So perfectly shiny, so very brand new and so very lovely.

Slipping my hands round his back I pushed him against me, hugging him tightly, caressing his pale, shaking form. He made some innovative whining moany grunt sound, pushing his face against the crook of my neck, nipping at me, sucking at me, marking me right back. Groaning, I pushed a kiss against his shoulder, nipping him, hissing as he worked, leaving a bunch of perfectly bruising lovebites.

There really wasn't enough room for us to be doing this in the front seat of my retro car. His lower back was pushed against the steering wheel; I could feel the cold plastic biting at his tailbone. Reluctantly taking my hand off him, I began to grope down the side of my seat, looking for the adjusters. With a sudden jolt, one that broke Kyle's (perfectly eccentric) rhythm, nearly jarring him right off me, the seat jumped back, giving us that slip more room, making the whole process so much easier.

Slipping my hand back round him, I rubbed the spot the steering wheel had been biting, pressing a reassuring kiss against his chest.

"Thank you." He was whispering it directly into my ear, his warm breath painfully arousing.

"You okay?" I pecked his neck, tracing kisses up to his jaw.

"Yeah."

Then we were attacking each other within a kiss again, and I was tugging at his jeans, yanking them down, desperate to free him. And he was pawing my crotch right back, catching me, causing me to whimper some random, pathetic promises. We managed to free each other, free ourselves, strip right down to naked (which was hard to do in such a boxy fucking car, but fuck were we determined).

Holding him steady with one hand, I lunged down the side of my seat, searching about in my door's compartment, pulling up some cheap hand cream.

"Dude?" he was panting, exited and reenergised, rearing and ready. I just continued to grip at him, sitting back up straight. "Why the fuck do you have hand cream in your car? That's kinda gay."

I'm sure that statement would have held more weight had he not been straddling me in a very fucking gay way during its delivery, but I didn't point this out. Lord knows I didn't want to say anything that would make him stop.

"My mom brought it for me. The cars heaters make my hands dry."

Kyle smirked. He was gorgeous. "How manly."

I quirked an eyebrow. "We can try do this without it, if you want? It'll fucking kill."

Kyle hesitated, glancing down at me, his hands clutching my shoulders. "I'm pretty sure this'll hurt no matter what."

Biting my lip, I cupped his chin, gently stroking his cheek. "If you want to stop, just say so, yeah? No worries."

"God no! I'm okay, just-just…"

"I'll know. I'll be careful, yeah? Please, don't worry."

He nodded, catching me in another kiss. I lifted one leg up, bracing it against the dashboard, positioning him and me. Then we just, kind of, well, did it. I'd some rough idea on how the logistics of it were supposed to go, Kyle seemed figure out the rest, and we just did it. We got ready, we prepared, we bucked and rutted, and we christened the front seat of my car.

And God, it was perfect. The night, the road, my car, my life, Kyle, everything, it was all perfect.

Kyle was exhausted. I didn't blame him, he'd done most of the work. He'd done it like he'd been versed and rehearsed in it, with strength and energy and muscles I didn't know he had, I didn't know any human being had. He was incredible.

He was laid against me, on me, panting heavily, completely spent. I doubted his position was comfortable, arms messily, firmly looped round my ribs, still pseudo-straddling me, mostly just sitting on me, his legs resting against the parts of the car he'd used for leverage, the passenger seat, the space next to the drivers seat, the drivers side door, wherever. In the cloying cobwebs of the afterglow neither of us gave a damn about anything.

I'd always known he was lithe, but he'd surprised me just how lissom he could be. I could feel his heart still pounding, his faint chest heaving. His face was pushed against my throat, I could feel his short, sharp breaths, his gasping pants, his damp hair brushing my shoulders.

Wrapping my arms around him, I pulled him firmly against my chest, clutching him close to me. Occasionally I'd push a kiss against his cheek, his neck or his shoulder, any part of him I could reach. Occasionally I'd whisper something to him, promise him something worthless, tell him how beautiful he was. Mostly I just held him, hugging him, occasionally rubbing my hands across the smooth curve of his spine, tracing the faint shadows along his side, the slight arching lines etched out by his ribs, gripping, caressing his hips, his waist, his perfect, perfect ass. I felt his breathing soften, slowing, regularizing, I felt his heart calming, long after mine already had, the eccentric, quick beats steadying themselves back into slow, gentile thumping.

I was smiling absently, delicately at the situation, clutching Kyle, carefully and determinedly. I'm pretty sure Kyle fell asleep after a bit, but I didn't gee him up to check. We were okay being silent for now, okay bare skinned, bare everythinged, okay bare and pressed against each other.

I kept my leg locked on the dashboard, supporting him, even though my thigh was cramping, I didn't fucking care. Hours passed, literally, with us locked like this.

It was only when the Colorado coldness got that bit too biting, when all our warm that leaked out of the cracks in the door, it was only then we relented and pulled apart, unable to keep each other warm enough any longer. We dressed in cramped, confined silence, wriggling about in the car to find our clothes. I found mine easily enough, Kyle had mostly just dropped them neatly over the gearstick, but I'd been a bit more vigorous in disposing his. I'd finished dressing whilst he'd been retrieving his jeans, clumsily leaning through the gap in the seats to pull them off the back shelf.

It was awkward, to say the least. I tried talking to him, asking if he was okay, but he brushed me off with a nod, kneeling upright on the passenger seat so he could yank his jeans back up, glancing down as he buttoned his fly.

He winced slightly as he sat back down, biting his lip as he slid his shoes back on. Again, I asked him if he was okay. Again, all he did was nod.

Sighing inwardly, I forced my car into gear, performing a U-turn (ignoring the engines screeches) before bumping back onto the highway. Clicking up another gear, I felt a weight on my wrist. Glancing down, I watched Kyle wrap his fingers around my carpel bones, clutching me tightly. Smiling slightly, I briefly guided his hand up, kissing his fingertips, before lacing my hand back round the wheel.

He didn't let me go the entire hour it took us to drive back to South Park. He didn't look at me, he didn't really say anything. Occasionally I'd ask him something, make a pathetically nonsense remark just so I could hear his voice, just so I could reassure myself he was still there. He answered me, equally as nonsensical, equally as insubstantial, reassuring me he hadn't thrown open his door and bailed across the highway.

That weight on my wrist was the only thing that kept me able to drive, kept me vaguely level headed. I was pretty sure once we reached South Park, once he let go, I was going to panic.

Pulling up outside his house, I clicked the engine off, turning to look at him. Smiling weakly. Only now did he stiffly detach his fingers from my wrist, clutching his hands together in his lap, adamantly refusing to meet my eyes.

"Dude, Kyle, please talk or something."

He shook his head determinedly, keeping his eyes fixed on the glovebox. I just forced myself to keep on smiling, my hands frozen still, clutching the steering wheel. For a while we were silent, just sitting in that car. Me staring at him. Him staring at the glovebox. It was unbearable.

"Dude, what happens next?" He sounded scared, terrified. Horrified. The forced smile on my face faltered and failed, and I shut my eyes with sigh.

"I-I don't know dude. I just… just don't know."

A/N – I wrote this story back to front, quite literally. It was rather odd, but hey. There you go. This whole thing is occurring roughly two years before No One Ever Said That Life Was Fair, but they're not going to be all that related to each other. Just a few little tangents, because I like linking random lint together.

Oh, and my actual real life has started getting stupid and hectic again (uuurghhatetherealworld) and is bugging the whelp out (seriously, seriously urrgh), so I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up, sorrysorry. Hopefully I'll manage it before Easter, it's just with the real world turning around me, I might not be able to mass upload like before. I might have to be more slower, so awh le sigh and sorrysorrysorry and cries and stuff because I really hate the idea of having to go slow. Stupid degree actually taking effort, yelch, stop it.

Like before I've written the ending already, as well as a few key scenes, so if I do run out of vavavoom or energy (not likely, I adore writing Stan and Kyle, as clichéd as they may be), I'll still be able to roughly finish it. I hate leaving things unfinished.

But on the bight side, I break up for summer in, like, two months. I can writewritewrite the very stars out the sky when I have more time. It's gorgeous.

So thank you for reading, I hope you like it, I hope hope hope so. Loves loves loves.