The Universal Law of Gravitation and Other Stories
Chapter 5: Summer Awakening — Summer Nights
written by SleepySheep683 - illustrated by FriggingodessWhile munching on his cereal, Kyle looked down at his text messages, most notably the one he had received a month ago from Rebecca which simply said, 'Thanks' and was followed by a winking face. He blushed to the roots of his hair just thinking about what she was so grateful to him for. They hadn't done anything like that since, but Kyle was fine with that. He enjoyed the fairly sensible pace they had been ambling along at on their countless dates, and he was never going to complain about Rebecca's insistence that he felt up her breasts on a regular basis.
Not that they didn't talk about it — the naughty little secret they shared with a knowing smile and intertwining fingers — she just hadn't made any suggestion to repeat it and Kyle hadn't asked. Of course, the 'Lying in bed, thinking of you — x' text message he'd received a ten past midnight last night had left him wondering — and a little hard — for a good half an hour before falling asleep.
"Kyle, hurry up!" his mother insisted as she put her hair up with one hand and packed Ike's little backpack with the other.
"I am hurrying," Kyle replied, while continuing to eat his cereal. His mother glared at him.
"You're not dressed, you haven't brushed your hair—"
Kyle counted on his fingers. "I am dressed, I don't ever brush my hair because I end up looking like Ronald McDonald if I do, and I've been ready for ages." He looked at his mother coolly. "I was making sandwiches for our picnic basket while you were still in your nightie. If you want to moan at someone, moan at Kyle; he's still in the bathroom trying to stick his hair down in just the right way."
He felt his mother's glare burn a metaphorical hole in the side of his head. Just as he returned to his cereal, he noticed she cast her eye over his board shorts, vest top and white unbuttoned shirt dubiously.
"You're going out in that?" It was more of a statement than a question.
"Yup. It's going to be hot today—"
"Don't talk with your mouth full, Kyle."
He swallowed. "Well, it is."
Their conversation was interrupted by Ike tottering into the room in their mother's too-big high heels. Suddenly, Kyle's alleged sartorial disaster was all but forgotten.
"I want to wear these!" Ike sounded both insistent and genuine.
"Ike, Bubbeleh, those are Mommy's shoes."
Just then, the doorbell rang. It seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back, judging from his mother's expression.
"Who in Abraham's name could that be?"
"I'll get it." Kyle scraped his chair back and rushed towards the front door. "It's probably Rebecca and Jenny."
"What, what, what!" His mother sounded horrified at the prospect. "But your Aunt Sarah and I are taking Ike to the pool!"
"We're not staying here to have a mad orgy and slaughter a goat," Kyle shot back. "We're going up to Central Park where there will be plenty of police and passers-by to ensure we don't get anybody pregnant."
"Kyle, don't be flippant. Ike, for the love of... go and put your sneakers on!"
Kyle opened the door just as a giggling Ike minced past.
"Hey," he said casually as Rebecca and Jenny stood in the doorway, arms folded and their bodies angled away from each other. It couldn't have been any more obvious that the two weren't friends. Kyle stepped back to let them in, noticing Rebecca's pretty yellow sundress.
"You look nice," he said, kissing her hand and ignoring the way Jenny rolled her eyes. Yes, he was a little old-fashioned at times. So what?
"Th... thanks," she replied, a pink blush creeping over her cheeks.
Ike waved at Rebecca. "Hi Rebecca; I'm a lady!" he announced in a falsetto voice as he twirled in front of her.
"A... And a very n... nice one you make, t... too," she replied indulgently. Ike beamed and stood on his tip toes in an attempt to kiss her cheek. She bent down and received the offer, giving him a small hug in return.
Kyle steered him away with a hand to his back. "Come on, Ru Paul, get your sneakers on before Mom really does try and make you a lady by removing your testicles," he remarked. Ike shrieked and ran upstairs barefoot, carrying their mother's shoes.
Kyle grinned and nudged Rebecca. "I think he likes you."
Rebecca smiled and took his hand. "Well, th... that's g... good, r... right?"
"Not in ten years' time when you want to trade me in for a younger model."
Rebecca looked a little saddened by this; Kyle hastily kissed her to make them both forget. He'd be going back to South Park in a few weeks, and the prospect of being without her every day was daunting to him.
"Where's Kyle?" Jenny asked, her expression as snooty as ever.
"Getting ready," Kyle replied, slipping his hand around Rebecca's waist. At the precise moment he chose to give a playful little nip to Rebecca's ear, his mother stepped into the hallway, hand on her hips.
"So, this is the Rebecca I've been hearing about," she announced and Kyle cringed more than Dick Cheney when his shotgun went off but the stag kept moving. If his life were a Jane Austen novel, his mother would be Mrs. Bennett.
"H... Hello, M... Mrs Br... Brof... Broflovski," Kyle could feel poor Rebecca's anxiety before she had even opened her mouth. He squeezed her hand in a manner he hoped was reassuring as his mother gawped in amazement. He was close to glaring at her but she seemed to come around and start to act normally.
"It's so very nice to meet you," she said, squashing Rebecca against her bosom as she embraced her.
"Erm. Th... Thank y... you, Mrs..."
"Oh, please; call me Sheila."
"Thank y... you, Sh... Sheila," Rebecca stammered out, clearly shaken by the sudden outpouring of affection.
"Ma, this is Jenny; Kyle's girlfriend." Kyle offered the introduction partly as a distraction for Rebecca, partly so Jenny wasn't left to stare at the menorah on the mantelpiece and the picture of Kyle when he was a chubby three year old trying to eat a goldfish.
"Shalom," Jenny said nervously, having clearly been coached on what to say to the family. His mother took one look at Jenny and shook her head.
"How about you kids go into the kitchen and I'll get your Aunt Sarah out without meeting Jenny here." She smiled kindly and patted Jenny's shoulder. "She won't be fooled by this shiksa for a second."
"Ma!"
"What did she call me?" Jenny asked warily as they sloped off to the kitchen.
"It doesn't mat—"
"Shiksa. Y... Yiddish, r... referring to s... someone not of J... Jewish heritage; often d... derogatory b... but c... can b... be used as an en... endear—"
"Yeah, thanks for that, Rebecca. You got any more dictionaries you want to swallow?"
Kyle glared at Jenny, and an innate need to protect his girlfriend from any who dare try and harm her kicked in suddenly and sharply. When Jenny cowed under his gaze he felt very guilty, though, but fortunately Kyle waltzed in at this point and all tension evaporated.
"Hey! You made it!" He kissed Jenny tentatively and she seemed oddly dispassionate. Then she caught Kyle's eye and suddenly seemed utterly enthusiastic, messing up his carefully arranged hair in the process. He didn't seem to mind, despite having spent a good hour in the bathroom clearly arranging his hair just so.
"Are you ready to go?" Jenny asked, looking around nervously. Kyle imagined she was actively avoiding any chance of meeting Aunt Sarah after his own mother's impressive display of fear-mongering.
"Sure, sweetheart; I just need to sort out the picnic basket. I doubt Kyle would have—"
"It's done," Kyle interrupted nonchalantly. His cousin appeared positively furious.
"What? You've spent the past hour dicking about in the bathroom! I had to do something to pass the time," Kyle protested.
Jenny was already peeking in the wicker basket they had borrowed from Aunt Sarah.
"Wow — this looks good." She grinned at Kyle. "Is there no end to your talents, Mr Broflovski?"
Kyle glared at him; Rebecca grabbed his hand so tightly he thought it might snap off.
"Thanks," he replied, thoroughly confused by everyone's reactions. He pointed towards the stairwell. "I just need to grab my bag—"
"I'll come with you!" Rebecca insisted, and proceeded to follow him up the stairs.
As soon as they were in the relative sanctuary of his and Kyle's room, Rebecca pinned him to the wall and kissed him frantically. He couldn't help but return her affections; she was magnetic North to his magnetic South. Or perhaps it was the other way around; he hadn't quite decided yet.
She broke off their kiss. Her expression was suffused in panic and she was biting her lip so hard, Kyle was worried she would draw blood.
"Y... You like me, r... right?"
"Of course!" Kyle could scarcely imagine a more ridiculous question.
"I m... mean, like like me. M... More th... than anyone?"
He cupped her face in both his hands. "Yes. Totally," he replied, wondering where on Earth this had suddenly come from. "Seriously; you're the only girl I've ever liked. You know, in a tingly way."
She smiled and glanced bashfully up at him. He kissed her forehead. "What's up?"
"I d... don't w... want you to g... go back to S... South Park," she blurted out. "I w... want y... you to st... stay here!"
He held her in his arms and pressed his cheek against hers. "I don't want to be anywhere where you're not," he replied firmly. "But I have to go back." He pulled away from her a little and rested his hands on her arms. "We can make it work. We can email and IM each other. Plus, there's always the phone." He raised his eyebrows at her in a manner he hoped was suggestive with a hint of irony. She blushed.
He noticed her avoid his gaze as she rested her head against his chest. When she squeezed his waist, Kyle reflexively wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hairline.
"We'll... We'll work it out," he said, uncertain as to how but knowing he wasn't going to just give her up when he had to leave in a few weeks.
"I don't know about this..."
Cartman sat on bed and heard it creak under his weight. "It'll be fine. I'll take care of you," he insisted, holding out his hand to the suddenly nervous girl biting her fingernails in front of him.
He was being as calm and reassuring as possible, the way he had with several women he had encountered on this dumb tour of Colorado, but this was different.
Cartman wanted this one intensely.
He couldn't pinpoint what it was about her that got his motor running like a fucking NASCAR racer. Sure, she was skinny and bendy — two important features in Cartman's ideal woman — but there was more. She might be a little shy now, but she had been a firecracker from the moment they met; a core of iron like that would be difficult to break. Difficult, but not impossible.
She took his hand; her dark curls tumbled over her shoulder as she bent her head forward. "You know I'm still a... You know," she said whilst staring at the floor as though ashamed of it.
"It's okay; so am I." Cartman realised with a detached amusement that it was the first true thing he had said to her beyond his name.
"Really?" she looked relieved.
"Really." He steadied his hands on her hips and pulled her onto his lap. She smiled, slid her arms around him as she puckered up for a kiss he was all too willing to give. She felt good — bony and slight — and it made her dangerous to him. Worse still, she smelt amazing; the first whiff he got of her scented skin and he had been ready to bang her right there and then in the square outside some national park.
She'd worn tight jeans and held a bottle of cheap looking wine, flaunting both the age and location restrictions in one go.
"Hey, Tubby," she drawled, and he'd felt pin pricks of rage.
"What the fuck do you want, you anorexic bitch?" he snapped back. The insult seemed to roll off her; he figured he'd need to try harder.
She waved the bottle at him. "Want a drink?"
He shrugged. "Whatever," he replied and reached for the bottle. She pulled away and wagged her finger at him.
"Oi! Either give it or don't, you fucking tease!"
She unscrewed the bottle top and beckoned him over. For some reason he didn't understand, he did as she asked; he even stooped down when silently instructed him with her finger. She swigged from the bottle, pressed her lips to his and poured the wine straight from her open mouth into his own. Cartman was left pretty Goddamn speechless.
She broke the kiss and slung her arms around him.
"Later," she said, gently pressing her finger to his nose.
That was around the time he noticed — without consciously noticing — just how Goddamn fucking good she smelled.
As she walked away with a swish of her bony hips, he knew he had to make her stay; so he hastily grabbed her belt loops and yanked her back.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he drawled in his best sexy voice; the kind that could make a girl cream her panties from ten yards.
The girl appeared uncertain for a moment, but then smiled wickedly. "I dunno; where do you think I should go?"
Goddamn it, this chick seemed to know exactly what did it for him.
So after three hours of fabricated stories and spit-swapping, here they were. Angelica was a college student at the university in Boulder and a cheerleader for their football team; Cartman figured the least she could do was put those horny moves she'd demonstrated earlier that night in Green Mountain memorial park to practical use in his hotel room.
She broke away from their kiss, her ass wiggling infuriatingly against him. "Do you have... you know, protection?"
"Relax, Angelica. I've got it covered," he said, pressing her ass as tightly against him as he could. He definitely had something in his wallet... not that he should do this. She was trouble with a capital everything, and she was a raging slut, and she was... and she was doing something rather nice with her tongue against his ear, so what the hell?
Riding high on a heady cocktail of rage, hate and horniness, Cartman bit down on the tender flesh between Angelica's neck and shoulder; when she gasped in the sluttiest manner possible, he bit down harder until she actually winced. Now that went straight to his dick.
"Calm down, Cullen," she teased, only Cartman didn't know what the fuck she was talking about.
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
He instantly wished he hadn't asked; she rattled off some massive gay-assed speech about some vampire douche in some gay books when all he wanted to do was peel off her sinfully tight jeans.
Half-way through her animated explanation about some vampire and some werewolf fighting over some chick, he decided to get the ball rolling by unbuttoning her flies.
She froze. "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" he replied breezily. "I don't give a fuck about gay-ass vampire books. I want to rub your clit like a fucking magic lamp!"
Angelica smirked at this. "You think a genie is going to come out of there?"
"If a genie looks like panty juice," he shot back. "You're going to be so fucking wet, you'll think you've pissed yourself." Cartman was beginning to wish he'd read some of his mother's old Harlequin novels, they'd have been useful for this sort of talk.
She stared at him, he pounced and kissed her. Soon, she was attacking him with equal fervour.
"Come on then; make me jizz, you fat bastard," she hissed, grinding away underneath him.
He roughly tweaked her nipples through her clothes. "I'm not fat. I'm big boned," he growled, pushing her harder into the bed.
She gripped his middle with her thighs. "Whatever; you're fucking fat and it makes me really horny," she panted.
Cartman stopped, his lips against her throat, and pulled himself up to stare at her incredulously.
"Really?" Never in his life had he heard such a statement.
"For sure." She smiled. "Are you going to bite me again? That was so fucking hot."
She arched her back and tilted her head back far enough to expose her skinny neck and send another waft of her damnable scent over him.
How could he refuse?
Kyle was lying on his stomach, the midday sunlight warming his very bones, as he pondered his next move. The black and white of the chessboard seemed to spread across his entire vision.
"Oh, come on, K... Kyle. Th... There's only l... like seven m... moves you c... can take," Rebecca teased.
"Alright, Little Miss Grandmaster; I'm thinking!"
Rebecca had been teaching him the finer points of chess for the past two months now and she clearly felt he had excelled enough under his tutelage to show him no mercy.
"I've g... got th... three chapters of 'The G... Girl With the D... Dragon T... Tattoo' left; sh... shall I j... just go ahead and f... finish them? B... Betsy w...wanted it back f...for her t... trip to B... Boulder."
Staring at the knight, bishop and rook — a sacrificial move was starting to look like the best tactic — he became dimly aware of Jenny's eyes on him as she dangled her feet in the water nearby. Where else but New York would someone build an artificial pond over urban sprawl, as opposed to trying to build urban sprawl over a real pond?
He glanced across at her where she was perched on the edge of the pond next to his cousin, the greenish tinge of the water making her pale legs seem almost radioactive. As he met her eyes, she looked away suddenly. Instead, she took a sandwich from his anxious-looking cousin with a smile.
He felt Rebecca's hand touch his. "It's st... still y... your m... move."
"Sorry." Kyle turned his attention to the chessboard on the grass once again.
"Sh... she's v... very pr... pretty, isn't she?" Rebecca commented.
"Who is?"
"J... Jenny. D... Don't you th... think?"
Kyle glanced back up at the girl in question, his cousin leaning his head on her shoulders as she stared off into the distance.
"I guess." He moved his knight. "Your move."
Rebecca frowned at the board, legs kicking languidly in the air and her breasts squashed between her arms as she lay propped up in her elbows. She moved her pawn; Kyle took it.
"D... Do you... She's pr... prettier th... than m.. me." Rebecca sounded oddly melancholic.
Kyle shook his head. "No, she's not."
Rebecca moved the queen forward one space, taking Kyle's last pawn, and said nothing. Kyle moved his bishop, knowing Rebecca could steal it and banking on that fact. He then leant forward and whispered into her ear.
"Bei mir bist du shayn," he murmured, before kissing her somewhere between her cheek and her lips.
She smiled against him; he could feel her lips at his jawline. Without looking, she reached between the two of them and moved her pawn to the end of the board on his side, five spaces away from his king. She declared it a queen and whispered, "Ch... checkmate."
"Goddamn it," Kyle uttered in frustration, much to Rebecca's amusement.
Kyle and Jenny's friends — who seemed to swap partners every day — laughed at them.
"You're doing better than me," Aaron pointed out. "Rebecca always annihilates me in about four minutes."
Kyle glared as Nathan attempted to disguise the word 'losers!' in a cough. Asshole.
"He's v... very good," Rebecca said with a cheeky smile. "I'm j... just b... better."
Kyle decided the only reasonable retaliation was to pin her to the ground and tickle her into submission.
"St... Stop it!" she giggled in a tone that definitely meant 'proceed', although he ceased just to be sure. That gave her opportunity to tickle him back, which she did with wild abandon.
"Hey, no fair!" Kyle managed to get out between bouts of painful laughter. She was practically on top of him and soon the two of them were rolling about trying to gain dominance while laughing hysterically.
Suddenly, Kyle felt himself roll into something hard. Something hard with a pant leg. He looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun, and saw an angry looking young man stare back at him. He coughed quietly, his dark eyes never leaving Kyle. Just as Kyle realised the angry boy bore more than a passing resemblance to Rebecca, she swiftly let go of him and pulled herself up into a kneeling position.
"M... Mark. H... hi," she said meekly.
"Mark?" Kyle asked.
"M... My b... brother," Rebecca replied, staring at the ground and tugging the grass beneath her fingers.
Mark stared at Rebecca pointedly. "Are you alright? This boy isn't bothering you, is he?"
"N.. No. He's my... my... Th... This is Kyle," she said. Kyle stood up and brushed the grass from his ass before looking Mark in the eye. Well, as best he could when he was a good head taller than the furious sibling.
"Hey," he said, offering his hand. Mark didn't take it. Instead he turned to Rebecca.
"Mother and Father think you're practising chess."
"W... Well, I... I... I a... a... am," Rebecca replied meekly.
"What's it to you what she does; you're not her keeper!" Kyle spat back, feeling rage bubble up at Rebecca's sudden sibling-induced anxiety. Mark fixed him with a furious glare. Rebecca quickly interposed herself between Mark and Kyle.
"W... We.... We were p... playing ch... chess."
"Yeah; Rebecca's been teaching me." Kyle forced himself to calm down for Rebecca's sake.
"Really? That's certainly an interesting tactic," Mark drawled, stepping forward and utterly invading Kyle's personal space. "Have you been teaching my sister a few things yourself?"
"That's really none of your business," Kyle snapped back coolly. If there was one thing he hated — really hated — it was people invading his privacy. In fact it was the only thing he and Ike ever got into fights over; nine year old boys didn't seem to have any concept of personal space.
Mark seemed to intensely dislike this response; his lip curled into a snarl, but Kyle figured he could take him on if he needed to. One look at Rebecca's pained expression made it apparent it would be his very last resort.
"She's my sister, I'm making it my—"
"St... St... Stop it! Kyle's m... my b... boyfr—"
Mark folded his arms. "So, I take it you don't have a chess club tournament tonight? No doubt there's some other reason you need to be left alone in the house overnight while Mother, Father and I go to Long Beach?" He glared at Kyle, who had no idea what was going on and so had no rebuttal. He saw Rebecca flush scarlet.
Suddenly, a wiry girl with a long plait tapped Mark roughly on the shoulder.
"Beat it, Cotswold," she said.
Mark rolled his eyes. "Make me, Betsy."
Betsy frowned dramatically as though in thought. "I could show your mother the pictures I have of you and Ben at that house party," she suggested.
Mark went pale. "Fine." He turned on his heel, then whirled back around to face Kyle. "But if you let your penis so much as touch her, I will hunt you down, kill you and make it look like an accident."
Kyle was pretty certain Mark would at least attempt to carry out his threat, so he merely nodded in submissive response until Mark walked away.
Rebecca looked rather distressed, so Kyle held her tightly; the way she pressed her body against him told him he'd made the right call.
"What was all that about?" he asked.
"H... He's o... overpr... overprotective," Rebecca whispered.
"He's a dick," Betsy offered.
"Kyle, this is Betsy. She's m... my b... best friend." Rebecca did an impressive job of introductions despite still keeping her head firmly pressed against Kyle's chest.
"Hey. I've heard a lot about you." Kyle offered his hand; Betsy eyed him warily before shaking it.
"Well, Rebecca won't shut up about you. Plus, if Mark hates you then you must be cool."
"Betsy!"
"Rebecca, I know he's your brother and you love him, but he's a closeted little killjoy determined to make you as fucked up as he is."
Rebecca didn't seem convinced by this assessment — and if Kyle was honest, he wasn't sure he saw it either — but Betsy seemed adamant.
"What was all that about the chess club ruse?" Kyle asked. "Is it so we can still go to Cunningham Park tomorrow?"
Rebecca blushed ever darker; Betsy laughed and patted Kyle's arm.
"Wow — you two are just adorable." She looked across at Rebecca. "You didn't tell him? Have I come all this way to offer my talents and they're not even required?"
Kyle felt panic claw at his nerves. Rebecca wanted a night alone and needed not only him, but her best friend's talents? "What... What exactly would you be doing with me, Rebecca and your talents? Because I really don't think I'm ready for—"
"I... I w... wanted to a... ask if... if y... you w... would like t... to st... stay over. T... Tonight. W... With m... me," Rebecca suggested nervously.
"Just you?" Kyle asked; it was better to be safe than sorry.
"Yeah. I mean, w... we could h... have o... other people o... over, I gu... guess."
"I think that would complicate matters," Betsy pointed out, as she turned to Kyle. "Rebecca's just talking about dinner and a DVD, you know." The way she said 'you know' suggested she thought dinner and a DVD was code for a drug fuelled orgy.
"I... I just th... thought it w... would be n... nice to sp... spend some t... time t...together, alone," Rebecca added and suddenly, the possibilities flooded Kyle's mind; possibilities that were both exciting and terrifying.
"I don't think my mom would allow me and if I snuck out, she'd know; I don't have the alibies I'd have back home," he pointed out sadly, the possibilities popping like soap bubbles.
"Oh, leave that to me," Betsy said confidently.
"Umm, what? You're going to convince my mom that it's totally okay for me to spend the night at a girl's house — a girl she knows I'm crazy about — unsupervised? Good luck."
Betsy grinned. "Hardly. I'm going to convince your mom that she's talking to Rebecca's mom on the phone, who will guilt her into letting you stay over. Does that sound okay to you?"
Kyle could find no other answer save for a resounding 'yes'.
"Oh, one thing I should mention, you might be better off making her think you don't trust me — she's easier to work if you insult me," Kyle advised as Betsy reached for her phone.
Betsy grinned. "You are sly, aren't you?"
"Years of practise," Kyle replied.
"Good — with Rebecca's family, you're going to need it," Betsy pointed out. Rebecca's expression suggested to Kyle that Betsy wasn't exaggerating.
Cartman walked briskly down the corridor to the interview room, or at least attempted to; their suspect strolled languidly along as though the allegation of murder was just another normal fucking day to him. He hadn't even bothered to dress up for the occasion; he was still wearing tennis whites - too tight shorts and a polo shirt with all of the buttons undone.
He pushed open the door and guided the suspect in. A tall man with jet black hair smiled courteously at them.
"I'm Craig Tucker; assistant D.A," he said in a nasally, disinterested voice. "Can we get you anything, Mr Broflovski?"
The damnable suspect smiled genially. "No, thank you."
Lieutenant Black looked up from his desk. "Are your attorneys on their way?"
"Mr Broflovski has waived his right to an attorney," Cartman explained with a wry smile. Broflovski looked at him with an irritatingly amused smirk on his face that Cartman longed to wipe off for good.
"Did I miss something?"
"I told them you wouldn't want an attorney present."
"Mr Broflovski, why have you waived your right to an attorney?" Lieutenant Black asked.
The suspect merely smiled. "Why did you think I wouldn't want one?" he asked, fixing Cartman with a mischievous stare.
"I told them you wouldn't want to hide."
"I have nothing to hide," Broflovski replied, his eyes never leaving Cartman's. The unswerving gaze unnerved him; he sat down between Lieutenant Black and D.A. Tucker. Broflovski sat down casually, pulled out a cigarette case and took one of the cigarettes between his soft lips before lighting it and inhaling.
"There's no smoking in this building, Mr Broflovski," Lieutenant Black pointed out.
He shrugged. "What are you going to do? Arrest me for smoking?" He made it sound like a challenge.
Broflovski fixed his eyes on Cartman and blew a steady stream of blue-grey smoke towards him. Cartman avoided breathing in the scent of tobacco and musk; instead he fixed a steely glare on the suspect. "Would you tell us the nature of your relationship with Mr. Marsh?"
The suspect smiled fondly, and met Cartman's eyes. "I had sex with him for about eighteen months. I liked having sex with him. He wasn't afraid to experiment, he liked to please me. I like men like that."
Cartman tried to swallow away a dry throat. He had to ask his questions; had to do his job. It didn't matter how uncomfortable this seductive asshole made it.
"Experiment, hmm? Did you engage in sado-maschocistic behaviour?"
Broflovski pressed his lips together in thought; Cartman was acutely aware of the way they reddened as they slid against each other. "Well, well. Whatever did you have in mind, Eric?"
Cartman felt suddenly flustered at this unexpected use of his first name. "Did you... did you tie him up?"
"Oh, no. Stanley liked to use his hands too much; and I like hands. And fingers." Broflovski nonchalantly trailed his hand along the collar of his polo shirt; Cartman felt a sudden urge to loosen his tie.
"It sounds a lot like one of your novels, Mr Broflovski," Lieutenant Black chipped in. "Retired rock star murdered in his own home, only a white silk scarf to be found..." He let the accusation hang in the air, but the suspect merely sighed in pleasure at some unknown memory.
"Oh, I do like the feel of a silk scarf against my naked wrists," he mused. "Or against someone else's."
Cartman pounced on this. "You said you didn't tie men up!"
Broflovski actually had the nerve to waggle his finger solely at Cartman. "Now. Now, Eric. I said I didn't tie Stanley up. You need to stop getting so... distracted." He let his finger trail over his lip before raising an eyebrow at Cartman and smiling. "I'm almost insulted you think I would write about a murder in my novel and the commit the exact same murder. It offends both my intelligence and my creativity. And I'm terribly creative, Eric." He sucked deeply on his index finger, his eyes never leaving Cartman's.
Cartman thumped the table, his temper — and libido — getting the better of him. "Oh, so writing a novel about the murder gives you the perfect alibi, doesn't it?"
"Why yes, I suppose it does." His expression turned mournful for a moment. "But no. I didn't kill him. I loved Stanley, in my way."
"In your way?"
"I loved fucking him. I loved the way he felt inside my tight little ass. I loved the way he used to spank me while he was pounding my ass like a pneumatic drill; my ass was the concrete, he wielded that cock-shaped drill like a pro. He used to butt fuck me so hard I'd hurt my hands trying to keep steady on the couch."
Cartman shifted position and tried to cover up the erection that was currently threatening to pitch a tent inside his pants.
"Did you ever do drugs with Mr Marsh?" D.A. Tucker asked.
"Sure." Broflovski was so fucking nonchalant, Cartman wanted to teach him a good lesson in manners. A lesson that heavily involved the use of his cock.
"What kind?" Tucker continued dispassionately.
"Cocaine." Broflovski looked across at Cartman again. "Have you ever ass-rammed a man on cocaine, Eric?" He smiled, and uncrossed his long limbs, displaying a healthy set of firm, smooth balls through the legs of his tight white shorts before crossing them with maddening slowness again. "It's nice."
Cartman stormed across the room and slammed his hands on the arms either side of the suspect's chair. "You like playing games, don't you," he sneered.
"Cartman, back off," Lieutenant Black said firmly, but Broflovski merely smirked.
"It's fine, Lieutenant." He met Cartman's eyes defiantly. "I majored in psychology, Eric. It goes with the territory." He smiled again. "Would you like a cigarette, Eric?"
"No."
"Would you like something else tubular in that hungry little mouth of yours?"
"Do you two know each other?" D.A. Tucker enquired.
"No. I've never met Eric before in my life," Broflovski replied with a dangerous level of sarcasm in his voice.
"Right, that does it. Everyone out," Cartman demanded. "I need to interrogate the suspect personally." He glared down at Broflovski, but something in the suspect's eyes told Cartman he hadn't won.
D.A. Tucker and Lieutenant Black looked at each other, shrugged, and left. The door was barely slammed shut before Cartman had grabbed the suspect's shirt with a single hand and dragged him towards him, crashing his lips against his and thrusting his tongue as far and deep as he could get it.
"You evil fucking slut," he ground out once he had ceased their violent kiss. Broflovski laughed right at him.
"You're so easy, Eric. So embarrassingly easy."
With a grunt of effort, Cartman pulled him to his feet and stared tearing his clothes off with a combination of his hands and teeth. He bit down on his shoulder just as he had wrenched Broflovski free of his underpants, leaving him naked except for his tennis shoes and socks.
"I'd say you were pretty fucking easy yourself," he spat back after being rewarded by ripping a guttural moan from Broflovski. Silently, he picked him up and shoved him onto the desk, Broflovski wrapping his legs around his waist eagerly.
"Oh, Eric; you make me so fucking hot!" he gasped, frantically unfastening his belt as Cartman grabbed a handful of ice cubes from the icebox on the desk — where it had come from he neither knew nor cared — and rubbed them over Broflovski's nipples.
"Oh, yeah? Then you need to cool down. Yeah, you like that, don't you?" he growled into Broflovski's ear as he writhed against him.
"Yes, oh yes. I love it," he whimpered, just as he tugged Cartman's pants and underpants down in one fell swoop. He started to unbutton his shirt.
"I love a man in uniform," he murmured, and Cartman shut him up with a hard kiss on the lips. Their dicks slapped together as they wrestled against each other, tongues dancing a fucking Paso Doble. He grabbed more ice-cubes and threw them between the two of them, feeling them slowly melt as they ground against each other. Broflovski took a handful and popped them into his mouth with a shuddering moan.
"You like having your mouth full, don't you, my little Jew whore?" Cartman panted, his sweaty forehead pressed against Broflovski's. He merely nodded, and spat the ice cubs out over their chests. They settled between their pelvises; the cold burn of the ice nestled somewhere between excruciating pain and mind-blowing pleasure.
"Bend over, you dirty little slut," he instructed. The suspect eagerly obeyed, steadying his hands on the side of the desk as Cartman slapped his hard cock against Brofloski's pert ass.
"Do you know who I am?" he urged. Kyle shook his head wildly.
"I'm the butt-pirate, and you're about to be boarded!" he hissed, gripping Kyle's thighs and savouring the shuddering moan that escaped his lips as Cartman entered him.
"Yo ho... oh!" Broflovski gasped, as Cartman slammed into him. "Pound that clit, Cartman! Pound it hard!"
"I'll be the one who decides what gets pounded," Cartman snarled. "It's a good day to take over your cabin and blow your amidships, my little Jewish princess," Cartman growled, his lips at the suspect's ear while he thrust harder against him. He whimpered; he knew exactly what was coming — Cartman. In his ass.
"I'm going to blast your hull apart." He grabbed Broflovski's mass of ginger hair and yanked his head back. "In fact, I'm not going to stop until I've sunk you." He trailed tiny little bites along the back of his neck, marking him.
"Oh, fuck," he moaned, legs trembling against Cartman. "Plunder my booty, you sexy beast!"
Cartman woke up in a bundle of sweat-soaked sheets. He pulled himself free and noticed they were drenched with fluids other than sweat, despite the fact he was still rock-hard. Wiping his sweaty forehead with his hand, he glanced at the clock — six A.M. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why couldn't he dream about dumb blonde girls with big, soft titties like in the magazines he worshipped?
He was distracted from his thoughts by the sounds of heavy breathing coming from the room next door; a delicate rhythm of "Oh, Ken!" followed by "Mmm, Maria!" like some sample in a rap song.
Cartman felt something move next to him. Looking down, to his surprise he saw Angelica shift in her sleep beside him.
Hastily, he pieced together the events of the evening and through the muffled 'Oohs', 'Ahhs', 'Yeses' and a weirdly gasped 'Yummy' that filtered through the plaster, it all started to fall into place.
Cartman stared at Angelica's peaceful, vulnerable figure; the notion that he could do anything to her right now increased his erection even more. He gingerly lifted up the duvet — not wanting to wake her and ruin his fantasy — and saw her naked body was covered in nasty, bruised bite marks. She looked as though she had been pummelled to within an inch of her life and, for a brief moment, Cartman felt his stomach sink a little; which made no sense, because seeing some scrawny chick damaged by his own hand was one of the best things ever.
He pressed a gentle kiss to the most prominent one just above her chest bone, and then carefully got up out of bed. As he stood up on the synthetic shag pile of the hotel room, he wondered what on Earth had made him do something so gay.
Not that any of it mattered; there was really only one thing on his mind as he grabbed his cell phone from his jacket pocket.
Kyle.
Rebecca's room was full of pastels and science posters; Kyle was trying to memorise her periodic table in order to distract from his fluttering stomach. Perched on the end of her bed — big enough for two if you were skin-to-skin close — he waited for Rebecca to emerge from the bathroom.
Betsy had managed to convince his mother that staying over at Rebecca's would be under strict parental supervision and in separate rooms, and Kyle had arrived to a harangued-looking Rebecca attempting to cook dinner.
"I... I j... just w... wanted it t... to b... be nice," she said with a quiver in her voice.
Kyle took her hands in his and said, "It will be. Here, let me help."
Two hours and a charred saucepan later, Kyle had stroked the soot from Rebecca's face and ordered pizza.
"I s... suck at c... cooking," Rebecca cried.
Kyle hugged her. "Hey, you didn't destroy a pan."
"I suppose," she sniffled. "B... But the w... way you t... took the p...pizza boxes and p... pulled the slices apart w... was a w... work of g... genius."
They had started watching a movie, lost track a quarter of the way through due to making out, then during the end credits, Rebecca had stared at him shyly and said, "Let's go to bed."
Picking at a stray thread on Rebecca's quilt, Kyle wasn't entirely sure he was ready for this. He felt self-conscious in just his boxer briefs —the support of a Y-front without the dork factor — and worried about what Rebecca would make of his pasty, matchstick form that could guide ships through the night with his luminous skin.
"I... I don't really h... have anything s... sexy," Rebecca called form the doorway.
"Neither do I, unless you want to lend me a bra," he replied. He heard Rebecca giggle; then the door creaked open.
Rebecca entered the room in a pink plaid pyjama shirt, her legs bare and her expression shy.
"Well?" she asked, staring at the floor. "Is t... this okay?"
Kyle thought it was more than okay and crossed into the realms of damn sexy, but he figured that might be a weird thing to think, so he settled with, "You look great."
She blushed and continued to stare at the floor as she fiddled with a curl of her hair; for a brief moment all of Kyle's anxiety left him and he wanted nothing more than to unbutton her pyjama top and guide her into his arms — and guide other bits of him into other bits of her. The moment she eyed his crotch and smiled, all of his nervousness came rushing back.
"Y... You lo... look h... hot," she whispered, walking towards the bed until their knees touched. Kyle felt his cheeks glow. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him deeply; his hands rested on her hips as he kissed her back, his cock unabashedly trying to break free from the restraints of his boxers.
She pulled away and carefully undid the top two buttons of her shirt, her eyes on his. He watched and gently removed her glasses, exposing her brilliant almond shaped eyes. When she moved her hands away from her shirt, her throat and décolletage were exposed to his hungry gaze. Twitching fingers found their way to the rest of the buttons, his other hand pressed to her hip as though it was keeping her from leaving, his fingers tracing the cotton of her panties. She kissed him again and suddenly straddled his lap. Kyle had never felt a vagina anywhere near his penis before, so feeling it between only two sets of underpants nearly drove him out of his mind. She was so warm, so desirable.
So terrifying.
He grabbed her hips before she tried to move.
"I'm sorry, Rebecca. I don't think I'm ready," he blurted out. The look of disappointment on her face crushed him like an abandoned car at the junkyard.
"Oh. Is... Is it m... me?" she asked, her eyes full of sadness. "D... Did I d... do something w... wrong?"
"No! No way! You did everything right." He hung his head. "It's me."
Rebecca's bottom lip started to tremble. "It's y... you. D... Do you m...mean...? Don't y... you l... like m... me any... anymore?"
"I still like you!" he insisted. "I really, really, totally like you! I'm... I guess I'm just not ready to have sex yet."
A look of horror flashed across Rebecca's face. "What?"
"I said I'm not ready for sex." Kyle felt a little more confident in his assertion as he said it out loud — he just wasn't ready and that was okay.
Rebecca leapt off him and backed into her closet door, wrapping her arms around herself protectively.
"Sex? Did we just have sex?" Her eyes widened. "Were you w... wearing a condom? Oh, f... fuck! What if I'm p... pregnant? I'll get th... thrown out of t... the h... house and h... have to dr... drop out of sc... school to r... raise the baby all a... alone on f... food st... stamps—"
Kyle got up and grabbed Rebecca's arms, holding her still. "Rebecca, relax. We weren't having sex, and I'm pretty confident you can't get pregnant through two layers of underwear." He frowned at her. "And I would totally stick by you if I got you pregnant, okay?" He felt a little insulted her panicked future hadn't included him.
She pulled away from his grip and sat on the bed, sinking her head into her hands.
"I'm s... such an id... idiot!" she moaned. "I didn't m... mean; I j... just w... wanted; I just m... meant I'd c... cook and you c... could st... stay over; we'd sleep in m... my bed and k... kiss a little and... I'm such a moron."
Kyle sat beside her and put his arm around her trembling shoulders. "You're not a moron," he replied, kissing her. "Okay, so there was a bit of a misunderstanding... but trust me, your idea of what tonight would involve appeals far more than mine."
"Really?"
"Really." Kyle felt immeasurable relief, yet he also felt a twinge of disappointment. God damn, sexual feelings were confusing.
Rebecca smiled and patted her quilt. "Shall we?" she asked, slipping between the covers. Kyle smiled in agreement, and followed her into her bed.
Rebecca's bed was cosy and they were pretty much flush against each other, making the quilt pretty unnecessary between their own combined body heat. Collectively they kicked it away and remained under the sheets.
"This is nice," Kyle mused, trailing his fingers down her cheek and over the soft fabric of her pyjama shirt. "I've not shared a bed with a Rebecca before."
She smiled and slipped her arm around his waist; Kyle could feel her hand fluttering against the small of his back. "I've n... never sh... shared my bed w... with a Kyle, either." She rested her head against his chest, and he rolled over onto his back to accommodate her.
"What's your verdict?" he asked, his breath hitching just slightly as Rebecca slipped a soft, smooth leg over his.
"Well, I th... think I would r... rather l... like one h... here every n... night," she replied, sighing as Kyle's hand reached over and caressed her thigh as though it were programmed to. She nuzzled closer to him; Kyle could feel her breasts squash against his rib cage through her night shirt.
"That's a coincidence; I think this Kyle would like to be here every night, too," he murmured, pressing a kiss against her hairline. "I really need to thank Betsy."
Rebecca nodded. "Sh... She's a g... good f... friend." Her expression darkened momentarily. "I d... don't un... understand how her s... sister t... turned out s... so differently."
"Her sister?"
"Y... Yeah. She's a h... hateful b... bitch."
Kyle laughed. "Wow; don't sit on the fence there, Rebecca."
"Well, s... she is!" she protested. "S... She's a.... anti-semetic, r... racist, d... deceitful..."
"Wow; how old is she? I'm thinking I know someone who might just love her." He shuddered involuntarily at the thought of Cartman and this unknown girl ever meeting in later life and breeding.
"Th... Thirteen, I th... think," she replied. Kyle shrugged; close enough.
They talked for a long time, and the next thing Kyle knew, his cell phone was blaring and it was eight o'clock in the morning.
"Wh... What is th... that?" Rebecca slurred, pulling herself away from Kyle's chest; the sudden cold he felt from her absence was truly horrible and he longed to pull her back into his arms.
"My stupid fucking phone," he grumbled, feeling around for the offending item in the jeans he had slung near his side of the bed. When he retrieved the phone and saw who was calling, he wanted to dash it against the wall.
Cartman.
"W... Who is it?" Rebecca asked blearily.
"One of my asshole friends," he replied.
"Aren't y... you going to a... answer it?" she asked and it was this that prompted him to actually speak to the fat fucker who had interrupted his blissful sleep with his beautiful girlfriend.
"What?" he pretty much growled down the phone.
"Why, Kyle! You sound so grouchy! What's up, bro?" Cartman sounded irritatingly joyful on the end of the phone, which could only mean he was going to brag about something.
"What do you want, Fatass?" he spat back, knowing already that he was going to spend most of the morning explaining to Rebecca why he was calling his supposed friend names.
"You know what? It sounds like you need to get laid. Yeah, you need to plunge that clipped cock of yours into some juicy poon—"
Kyle rolled his eyes. "If you don't get to the point in the next seven seconds, I'm cutting you off."
He heard Cartman sigh heavily. "Kyle, Kyle, Kyle. I guess I should expect that kind of impetuousness from someone so... so naïve in the ways of the world—"
"Cartman!"
"Okay, okay! Jesus... I guess that someday, when Hell has actually frozen over, you too will know what it feels like to have sexual intercourse with a woman. Just like I did last night — oh yeah!"
"Wait, you phoned me up at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning just to tell me you had sex? Like I'd ever believe you."
"It's okay to feel a little jealous, Kyle. It's normal for a little virgin like you to feel embarrassed — ashamed, even — that your more mature, handsome friend has got some serious action before you did, and so pretend that I'm making it up. Just accept that you lost this one, Kyle."
"Since when did sex become a competitive sport?" Kyle asked.
"Since I banged a college cheerleader and you're still banging your hand!"
Kyle felt Rebecca's arms slip around his waist. "W... What d... does he w...want?" she whispered into his ear as she rested her chin on his shoulder.
Kyle kissed her on the nose. "He's just being a dick," he replied.
"Who the fuck is that?" Cartman's voice sounded suddenly sour.
"Rebecca," he replied. "My girlfriend."
"H... Hello, K... Kyle's f... friend," Rebecca said cheerfully down the phone.
Kyle was met with silence on the end of the phone. Then, just as he was going to end the call, Cartman's hateful belly laugh assaulted his ears.
"Oh my God, that is fucking priceless! Please, please, please; let me t... t... talk to Rebec... c... ca!"
Kyle felt his very veins burn with fury. "You shut your fucking mouth, you fat fucking lump of toxic waste!" he roared, feeling Rebecca jump in shock against him.
"Oh, come on! I only want to say 'Hello'. Let's face it, anything more and I'd need to free up my whole day for her t... t... to g... g... get her w... w... words out!"
Before Kyle could retort any further, Rebecca grabbed the phone from his hand. "L... Look. I d... didn't h... have t... this st... stutter before K.... Kyle—"
Kyle figured that either Cartman's laughter was getting increasingly loud or his mouth was getting increasingly close to the receiver. Nevertheless, Rebecca carried on.
"B... Before Kyle m... made love t... to m... me all n... night."
Suddenly, Cartman's laughter stopped as though it had been switched off by remote control.
"I h... had s... so many or... orgasms that I c... can't sp... speak p... p... properly. So, sh... shut the f... fuck up!" With those words, Rebecca firmly pressed the 'call end' button and switched his phone off.
"You're amazing," Kyle declared as he gazed into her big soulful eyes. Then he promptly burst out laughing.
"H... He w... won't be m... mad at y... you, w... will he?"
"Oh, I really, really hope he is," Kyle replied, kissing her cheek. Then she started giggling, clearly proud of her own joke.
"I'm sorry. About my asshole friend," Kyle said once they had calmed down.
"P... please. L... Like I haven't h... heard that s... seven th... thousand times," Rebecca replied airily, before straddling his lap and kissing him languidly on the lips. He was powerless against her desire, so kissed her right back, savouring the softness of her mouth and the slightly rancid taste of her morning breath; a reminder that he had spent all night with her.
She pulled away and looked at him curiously. "W... Why are y... you f... friends w... with him?" she asked.
"I really don't know. Force of habit, maybe?" It was a question that had continued to stump Kyle ever since fourth grade.
She stood up, taking his hand in hers. "Come on. I'll m... make b... breakfast," she promised. Kyle got up and followed her, only for her to stop dead in the doorway and turn to face him with a thoughtful frown etched into her features.
"What is it?"
"You're t... the only p... person w.... who l... lets m... m.... me f... finish my s... sentences," she said, flashing a soft smile. "N... Not even m... my p... parents c... can d... do that." She kissed his cheek and turned around, pulling him gently towards the landing.
Kyle silently followed. It wasn't often he was left speechless.
Cartman stared at his phone in shock. Not only had that little slut taken Kyle's innocence, but she'd had the fucking nerve to switch his phone off. What a bitch.
He left Kyle a short, angry voice mail warning him of the dangers of letting some slut get a vice-grip on his balls before putting the phone back in his jacket pocket. Just as he was about to crawl back into bed, he saw Angelica stir into consciousness.
"Good morning, lover," he said. Kyle could have glued that bitch's vocal cords together with his cum for all he cared; he couldn't take Angelica's broken hymen away from him.
"What time is it?" she mumbled, pushing her hand through her mop of unruly curls.
"About half six," Cartman replied, stretching languidly. "So, how does it feel to have been banged for the first time, hmm?"
She looked up at him and smirked. "We didn't have sex, Eric."
"I think you'll find we did," he replied.
"No; you jizzed over my stomach and fell asleep," she pointed out breezily.
"Oh." Cartman wasn't sure if he felt more ashamed or disappointed. God damn it, Kyle got laid last night. Fucking Kyle! This wasn't fair! Out of all of their friends, Kyle was the one he was certain he'd beat.
He felt a gentle touch on his arm. "It's okay," she replied with a shy smile. "I... I had fun."
Cartman couldn't help but glance at her hideous bruises. "Are they... does it hurt?" he asked, a little afraid of what her answer might be. This confused him; why did he even give a shit?
She poked at one of her bruises and winced. "You're a nasty little bastard," she said, in a tone of voice that suggested she was thrilled about it. "Is there anywhere you didn't sink your teeth into?"
"I left anywhere below the elbow and below the knee," he replied nonchalantly. "It's not my fault you're so fucking tasty." He was pretty certain he'd spent a good half an hour leaving his mark over as much of her pert little ass as possible; this was confirmed the moment she got up and he could see the patchwork of red and purple over her buttocks. He had a sudden sharp memory of putting her across his knee and spanking her; why she hadn't just run the fuck away he had no idea.
Angelica started to pick up her clothes; Cartman watched helplessly as she wiggled into her panties.
"Do you want a coffee, or something? I think I've got some Pop-Tarts." He didn't really know the procedure for the morning after the night before you leave some college cheerleader black and blue, but he really didn't want her to leave without some kind of breakfast.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
She smiled. "Actually, a Pop-Tart sounds great; I don't care what flavour."
He got up and dug around for the box of Pop-Tarts, then switched on the two irons he had managed to find and sandwiched the wrapped Pop-Tarts between them; it was his preferred method for cooking them in this toaster-less hotel room.
Angelica was now dressed, and peering in dismay at the bruises across her neck and chest not hidden by her clothes.
"I'm so fucked," she moaned.
"If you've got some make-up, I could maybe help cover them," Cartman suggested.
Angelica raised an eyebrow incredulously. "You know how to apply make-up?"
"There's a lot you don't know about me," he replied, suddenly wishing he'd been honest with her from the get go. He pushed that silly thought away.
She shrugged and handed him a compact from her little clutch bag. "Okay. Go wild."
Cartman sat her down on the bed and dabbed the cover-up over her bruises with a sponge. She hissed in pain.
"Sorry," he mumbled, taking greater care as he hid the garish purple marks with steady layers of foundation. Once he was finished he could see it wasn't a perfect job, but they were barely noticeable.
"Thanks," she said, standing up. "I couldn't have covered them that well." She smiled. "I'd hug you, but I kind of don't want to smudge this before I see my dad."
"Your dad?"
She blushed furiously. "Umm, yeah. He's coming to visit me on campus today."
"Oh. Well, that'll be nice."
"Yeah... Listen, I really enjoyed last night. Would you, I dunno, maybe want to meet up again later this evening?"
"Yeah! That'd be great!" Cartman replied enthusiastically, breaking every rule he had ever set himself on this trip about never seeing the same girl twice.
"Cool. I know where to find you, right?"
"I'm here for the week." He dashed over to the irons, pulled them apart and retrieved the Pop-Tart. "It's done." He did his best to ignore the white-hot burning sensation as he peeled the foil wrapping away.
Angelica giggled. "Who knew those things were so... so versatile?"
"Yeah." Cartman handed it to her. "Careful. It's hot."
"Well, duh." She smiled and glanced briefly at the floor, pulling the corner of her toaster tart off and popping it in her mouth. "Well, thanks for the toaster tart. And the brutal foreplay." She kissed him on the cheek and left the room.
Cartman felt strangely bereft, and wondered just what he should do with the rest of his day. Perhaps he could get those gay-assed vampire books and start reading them so he would have something to talk to her about... Just to keep the illusion going, obviously. Seeing her twice was a dangerous game. He really should find a way to get out of it, only the smell of her perfume and sweat lingered in the air.
He was seeing her tonight, come hell or high water.