The Universal Law of Gravitation and Other Stories

Continued from part one.
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EPILOGUE

Chapter Nine: The Broflovski Effect – The Epussany

Wendy checked her watch again; ten minutes and Stan was still in the bathroom. What was he doing? She shuddered and realised she dreaded to think that he was up to in there.

Staring sadly at her half-eaten carbonara, she sighed. She'd always liked that dish and now – thanks to Stan's outburst – she'd never be able to eat it again. She'd tried everything she could think of not to get him going; she'd worn an outfit that exposed as little flesh as possible, she'd done her best not to touch him – her one little accident notwithstanding – she'd tried to be a friendly and non-sexual as possible… but she'd managed to be a cock-tease just by eating.

She slumped her head on the table; this was impossible!

"Is everything'a alright, bella?" their clearly not-Italian waiter asked, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"Yes. Lovely, thanks," she replied quietly. He looked at her sympathetically.

"Can I get you anything else? On the house?"

"Oh, thanks. I'm not feeling all that hungry."

He smiled kindly. "He's just a boy," he said. "I was'a one once. Do you want to'a know something about'a boys?"

Wendy shrugged as he took the flower from the table and with sleight of hand made it vanish before her eyes.

"They're all'a idiots," he said fondly. "Don't take'a it to heart'a. Some of them'a grow out of it; some of us'a don't."

He made the flower appear as though it had been hidden behind her ear all along. Wendy couldn't help but laugh in spite of herself; she knew she should roll her eyes and think it was lame, but she'd always kind of liked magic tricks.

As the waiter walked away and Wendy marvelled at how he didn't break character even once, Stan returned looking very sheepish indeed.

"I'm so, so sorry, Wendy," he said quietly as he sat down. Wendy hated it when he gave her that look; he was gazing at her with those sad, puppy dog eyes for something that had been all her fault.

Stan pushed forward his plate. "Want to swap? I don't mind eating the cum spaghetti. I hear it's full of protein."

Wendy still didn't feel like eating, but she accepted his offer in the hope it would make him feel better; she knew he hated carbonara and so could only be offering for that reason. She also deliberately ate half a baguette of garlic bread, unable to think of a more obvious way to put him off making out with her later. At least that way she wouldn't get him excited when she didn't want to take things any further.

Stan mournfully took the remaining half and gobbled it up; his resignation made Wendy feel even worse.

"I'm sorry," Stan said again.

"Me too," Wendy replied, and he recoiled at this. What more did he want from her? She was really, really trying not to get him all excited when she had no intention of following through and she had no idea how she could be any more transparent.

They spent the rest of the evening in an awkward silence; as they made to leave, their chirpy faux-Italian waiter snuck her a ‘present' of their signature chocolate fudge cake.

"It's world famous in Colorado," he insisted.

Their silence persisted well into the journey home; Wendy terrified that she couldn't stop being such a tease, and Stan clearly in a sulk.

"I can't help it if you're really hot," he said grumpily.

Wendy sighed heavily. "I can't help it, either, you know?" She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, but failed. Damn it, now she was trying to make him feel guilty for the way she was making him feel.

"I said I was sorry!" Stan stared out of the window and started to drum his fingers on the glass. Wendy sighed – why couldn't it be like it was just last year? They had none of these concerns; they just had fun together. Wendy would have thought Stan's behaviour a little insane if Kyle hadn't pointed out that it was apparently normal for fifteen year old boys to obsess over sex; which implied that Kyle, as a fifteen year old boy, also obsessed over sex. That was an image that seemed as crazy to Wendy as the notion that her parents might still do it.

See, this was why she needed to stop getting him so worked up. After all, he was trying to be understanding of her complete lack of interest in… in that sort of thing. It went both ways.

"Just… Look, I'm sorry too, okay?" she replied. Stan looked at her and smiled gratefully, taking her free hand in his and bringing it to his lips. Wendy felt herself blush instantly.

"You're so pretty when you do that," Stan murmured, which only served to create a positive feedback loop of blushing. See, ‘pretty' she was fine with; ‘sexy'? Not so much. It had implications.

They held hands until Wendy had to lock the transmission as she came to a stop outside Stan's house.

"Well, here we are."

Stan looked at her and smiled awkwardly. "Yeah. Thanks for the ride." He sighed. "I'm not going to say we should do this again, but we should try and have another date that I don't screw up."

"Stan, you didn't screw – okay, you kind of did," Wendy conceded. "But there'll be others." She considered mournfully adding, "where I won't be such a cock-tease," but she didn't find it very funny and she was pretty sure Stan wouldn't either.

Stan seemed to brighten at this. "Yeah." He hesitated, then kissed her on the cheek as he squeezed her hand. It was only when he shut the car door and headed back to his house that she realised he hadn't tried to kiss her on the lips. She didn't know how she felt about that, especially given they'd evened out in their garlic eating. Clearly it was another of those things that made him want more, which upset her greatly; kissing Stan was one of her top ten favourite activities.

Once she got home and fielded questions from her parents about her date that forced her to flat out lie, she showered, blow dried her hair and basically did anything she could do avoid going to bed and churning everything over in her mind as she failed to fall asleep. Eventually, she could avoid it no longer. Interminable hours of tossing and turning followed; she stared at the ceiling in the pitch black. Was she even capable of holding down a relationship? Should she just let it go? Was she ever going to want to get as intimate as Stan so clearly did? The questions were too much, and she instead tried to imagine how many flecks there might be in the ceiling.

By the time the clock slowly rolled around to the following morning, Wendy remembered she had switched her phone off in the restaurant. Hoping to perhaps hear from Bebe about her dumb experiment – she knew Kyle would treat her nicely and she probably had fun – she got up out of bed to switch it on, and within a few moments her ears were assaulted with the constant whooshing sound of what her cell phone company deemed an adequate representation of a falling letter. When she looked at her phone, she realised all of her messages were from Bebe.

'16:13 – Hey. In KBs sweet ride. Don't know what 2 say 2 him. Didn't think this thru.'

'16:14 – BTW, he kissed his mom goodbye in front of me. So sweet. I like guys who Rnt afraid 2 show emotion.'

'18:39 – U never told me he was so funny!'

'18:40 – Or so nice. I thought he'd B a-hole, but he cares about what U have 2 say. He didn't say NEthing when I ate chicken like a starving person either; Clyde always has smart-ass comment.'

'19:30 – KB stretching over the balcony. Still has a sweet ass.'

‘19:43 – Support act sucks. KB taking piss with me. We bet there will be a used tampon on the stage before set is over.'

‘20:20 – KB keeps buying me drinks; has he got wrong idea?'

'20:23 – 2 creepy pervs staring at me. Do not want.'

'21:07 – LBB fucking rule! KB cute when he's excited.'

'23:12 – Did a little bump n grind with KB. He got a stiffy but was pretty smooth at trying 2 hide it. In bathroom ready 2 leave. Would kind of like 2 do this again, obvs as friends. Obvs.'

'23:31 – Fuck my life; creepy pervs tried 2 rape me, KB tried 2 take them on! Fucking hell! He's, like, a third of their combined weight at best. Fucking idiot. Police on way; if I die U can have my iPlayer.'

'23:32 – BTW if I am every raped, I want U 2 help me get long, drawn out and horrific revenge. I promise 2 do the same 4 U.'

'23:36 – In first-aid. KB looks pretty messed up; he caused some damage but defo came off worse. His lip is cut, he's had a nosebleed and he's got a black eye. Is it wrong that I find that kind of hot?'

'23:43 – OMG he really is a fucking idiot! He didn't try 2 beat them up, he tried 2 B a human punching bag so I could get away. Fuck me, how is he top of our class? Is it wrong that I find that really hot?'

'00:04 – Fuck, I really, really want 2 suck him off. I could jump him right here in the car. No, no, no. Must resist. Is he cut? Don't answer that, don't want 2 know.'

‘00:06 – I can't stop staring at his crotch. Want him 2 fuck my mouth, think I might have a hero fetish. Text me back and talk me out of being so dumb.'

'00:34 – Thanks a bunch, Wendy. UR a gr8 fucking friend.' Wendy noticed the text was accompanied by a smiley which rolled its eyes.

'00:37 – KB has a rather beautiful cock, BTW. Does he like cinnamon rolls?'

'03:45 – Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can't decide if Heaven is KBs tongue or his fingers. Fuck. Why did U let me do this stupid experiment? I'm so fucking confused. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!'

'04:50 – For such a skinny guy, his chest is v. comfortable. He fidgets in his sleep, though. He reached for me when I got up 2 go 2 the bathroom. I feel so safe in his arms. Fuck.'

'06:59 – KB looks adorbz when he's sleeping. Want to jump him, or ruffle his hair, or kiss him. Or all three at once. My life is ruined. Somehow, this is all UR fault.' There was a winking smiley on this one, and Wendy had no clue how to respond to any of it. What the fuck had Bebe been thinking?

~

The morning after Denver, Cartman was out of bed and ready earlier than he had ever been on a Sunday morning since he turned thirteen. He wolfed down his breakfast and dashed out of the door with his camcorder in his hand. He had to show it to someone, and Kenny was his best bet – Stan would probably just be all butt hurt that his boyfriend had cheated on him.

He hammered on the McCormicks' door – he hated going round to their shithole of a house but he'd put up with it today. Eventually, Kenny's clearly hungover old man opened the door.

"What the… Eric, it's seven thirty," he said in a hoarse voice, shielding his eyes from the pathetically dim sunlight as though he were a fucking trailer trash Dracula. Cartman barged past with a bellowed, "Need to see Kenny!" and opened the door to Kenny's damp-stained bedroom.

Kenny sat bolt upright and appeared shocked he was even there in his own bed; he felt his forehead as though he expected to find something else. What the fuck was wrong with him? Poor people: too many drugs, man. It was kind of sad.

"Huh? Eric?" he asked in a dazed voice. Cartman rushed over and sat on his too-small bed; he practically had to shove Kenny into the wall to fit.

"Kenny, Kenny, Kenny; you have to see this!" Cartman urged, switching on his camcorder and selecting the preview option.

"What is it?" Kenny asked blearily.

"You missed a real show last night," Cartman teased. "Bebe is a total slut!"

Kenny's eyes widened like he was a six year old girl who'd just been given a pony. "Whoa, Kyle got some?"

"See, now you're interested… Lucky for you I caught it all on camera."

Kenny practically barged Cartman's head out of the way to look at the viewfinder. "Did she get her titties out? Did she?"

"Oh, better than that—"

"Fucking hell! Go on, my son!" Kenny cheered with obvious pride. Cartman watched as he gawped, frowned and eventually watched with a puzzled expression.

"Pretty sweet, huh?" Cartman demanded, eager for some kind of response to his sweet, illicit video.

"Umm… Eric? You kind of… You don't really have Bebe captured, do you?"

"What? Sure I do!"

"No. You've got a few truly beautiful moments of her lips sliding up and down Kyle's cock – and really, you should be proud – but…" He trailed off nervously.

"What? What the fuck's up with you, Kenny?" If Kenny was getting all prudish on him, it must be a sign of an upcoming apocalypse.

"There's rather a lot of Kyle, don't you think?" he suggested in a gentle voice. "Like, you've captured Kyle's cock in great detail – far more detail than I ever needed to see – as well as his ‘O' face, and his—"

"Well, duh – he was there, Kenny!" Cartman smiled at the memory. "He's got the most hilariously retarded come face."

Kenny sighed heavily. "Eric, don't take this the wrong way, but… Doesn't it make you wonder?"

"Wonder what?"

Kenny's head drooped and he rested his elbows on his knees. "You keep saying you hate Kyle, but you won't leave him alone. You pull his hair and mime sex acts at him, you get super pissy on the rare occasions there's a chick into him, your methods of trying to ‘humiliate' him have become increasingly sexual the older you've got and you've just wasted seventeen gigabytes of quality HD footage on filming him climax. That doesn't make you wonder? About anything?"

Cartman had to cough away a dry throat at Kenny's insistent stare.

"W… What are you trying to say?"

"I'm not trying to say anything. I'm just suggesting that maybe you should have a good, hard think about what you're doing and why you're doing it."

Cartman stared at Kenny in complete shock. Was he suggesting…? No, he couldn't be; even Kenny wasn't that fucking backwards.

"You're… You're just pissed off that you missed Bebe being a total slut!"

Kenny scoffed. "Dude, I'm glad I wasn't there. I don't want anything to do with you collecting Kyle Broflovski spanking material."

"Shut the fuck up, Kenny!" Cartman felt a rush of blinding hatred towards him at that moment; luckily for Kenny he didn't think it was fair to beat up someone from a significantly lower earnings bracket. "He's a filthy fucking Jew, and if he were standing right here, I'd… I'd fucking punch him in his big-nosed Jew face, okay!"

Kenny sighed again. "Look, Eric. I don't care. Whatever conclusions you come to, you're… I'm your friend and that won't change. For the sake of your sanity, you really should try and figure out what's driving your batshit insane behaviour towards Kyle, okay? It's really gone on way too long."

"Wh… what? This is fucking bullshit, Kenny!"

He flopped back down on his bed. "If you want to hang around and be indignant about it, then whatever. I'm going to sleep," he said miserably.

Cartman watched as he hugged his pillow, leaving only an unruly haystack snuggled up between greying sheets. Mother fucking poor piece of trash. Like he'd ever, ever… He'd never done anything remotely sexual to Kyle! Apart from forcing him to kiss him in Newark, and trying to give him a hand job, and having wet dreams about him, and going to federal court to make him suck his balls when they were kids – like a typical Jew rat, he weaselled his way out of that one, too – and filming him shoot his load into Bebe's mouth…

Okay, there was no proof he'd done anything remotely sexual to Kyle, and that was what counted. It was just circumstantial anyway. You could draw that conclusion if you took the facts totally out of context.

Stupid ass welfare bitch – Cartman sure as hell hadn't done anything weird last night, and had no cause for concern. None at all. None whatsoever.

~

"Stanley! You'll be late for the school bus!"

"Mom, Kyle's picking me up, remember?" Stan called back as he slipped his sheepskin jacket on.

His mom seemed unsettled by this. "Oh. Well, how long has he been driving? Isn't he too young to take the test yet?"

Stan rolled his eyes. "Mom, he's been getting lessons this summer in New York; I'm sure he can handle the roads around South Park."

This didn't seem to calm his mom. "There's a lot more snow here than New York, Stanley. No amount of ‘lessons' in ‘New York' can teach you how to deal with that, and when you're skidding over a cliff, don't come crying to—"

Suddenly, a familiar car horn beeped. Stan grabbed his school bag.

"Later, Mom!" he said, snatching one last slice of toast before heading out of the door and into Kyle's car.

"Hey," Stan said, noticing with horror that Kyle was listening to L'il Bare Bait on the car stereo and that he looked like he'd been on the losing end of a tussle with Muhammed Ali.

"Hey, Stan," he said chirpily, before humming along with the music.

"Dude! What the hell happened to you?"

Kyle shrugged. "Some assholes tried to hassle Bebe."

Sometimes Kyle was utterly baffling to Stan; he'd rant until he was blue in the face about far more trivial things, but something this serious and he just shrugs it off? Weird.

"Umm, wow. So, how did the not-date go?" Stan figured it would be best to get this conversation out of the way before they picked Cartman up – he knew Kyle would refuse to talk then.

He didn't answer, and instead just flashed Stan a maddeningly knowing smile.

"That good, huh?"

Kyle nodded and bit his lip. "Yeah huh. I really feel like… like we made a connection. I won't lie, I really didn't expect to… but then we… and she… Bebe's really quite clever, Stan. Had you ever noticed that? I hadn't."

There were really only two things Stan had ever noticed about Bebe before, but from the way Kyle was babbling he'd clearly noticed hundreds. Still, she was definitely prettier than that Rebecca girl – Stan considered it a decent upgrade.

"So, how far did you go?" Stan teased. "First base? Second base?"

Kyle shrugged. "Whichever base oral sex is," he replied.

As Stan metaphorically picked his jaw up from the floor, he realised Kyle was actually expecting an answer. "Third," he said.

"Right."

Kenny was very quiet when they picked him up; Stan noticed he'd been out of sorts ever since they got back from that road trip. Kyle insisted Kenny was going through the grieving process, but Stan wasn't so sure; he'd only known this Maria girl for a few weeks. Stan had tried talking to Kenny about it, but he just brushed it off.

They stopped at Cartman's, and Kyle frowned as though he was considering driving off without him.

"Oh, wow. Check out the Fagmobile. What's up, you fucking ugly Jew? Someone rough you up while ripping the gold from your fillings?"

Kenny rolled his eyes and leant his head against the window. Kyle whipped around and glared at Cartman.

"Wow, you watched the History Channel this weekend, huh? Must have taken a lot of brain power; I thought I could smell burning. You can always just get the fuck out of my car, you fat fuck!"

"Alright; chill, you fucking queenie Jew princess." Cartman buckled himself in and stared out of the other window.

Stan looked ahead and recognised the car in front of them as Clyde's. He sighed; at least Kyle was happy. He'd been just about ripped open by the whole Rebecca thing. Okay, Bebe seemed like a weird choice, but they say the best way to get over a girl is to get on top of one, and…

And Bebe was cuddling up to Clyde in his car.

Kyle gripped the steering wheel and stared at them as though they were the killers in a horror flick and he was the blonde girl in a tight sweater.

"Oi! It's fucking green, you limp-wristed…" Cartman trailed off as he stared out of the windscreen as well, before he laughed so hard it shook the car.

"Come on, dude," Stan whispered, placing his hand on Kyle's shoulder. "There's probably a rational explanation for—"

Just as the lights changed again, he saw Bebe stick her tongue in Clyde's ear just as they pulled away with a screech of tyres.

"I… I don't believe it," Kyle breathed.

Cartman was still laughing; Stan wanted to punch him.

"Oh my God! Wow, Kyle – your milkshake sure brings all the girls to the yard. You probably scared her off with your freaky cut cock; I bet she thought it tasted of latkes and defeat!"

Kenny shook his head in an apparent display of second hand embarrassment.

Kyle suddenly grew angry; he turned around and yelled, "How the fuck do you know if she went anywhere near my cock, huh?"

For the first time since Stan could remember, Cartman actually shut up. He completely, submissively, shut the hell up.

~

Wendy came out of her AP Calculus class with an overwhelming desire to kill her friend Bebe. Kyle was tense, snappy and robotic in his answering of every question; traits which, thanks to Stan, Wendy could recognise as him being heartbroken.

Of course, Bebe had got back with Clyde now her research was over. As soon as she spotted Bebe, she psyched herself up to unleash the most severe tongue-lashing, but the look of utter torment on Bebe's face shook her resolve a little.

"Bebe, what the—"

"Don't start. Please," she said wearily.

"You broke his heart," Wendy ground out. "And it wasn't exactly in good shape before you did a number on it!"

"I didn't mean to!" Bebe insisted. "I just… Oh, damn it to hell; I just couldn't resist him!"

She slid to the floor and leant against her locker, a stupid grin plastered to her face.

"He just… wow. That mouth, Wendy. I had no idea… I'm going to have to pack a spare pair of panties every time he does a presentation in class, because I'm just going to be thinking about what a better use he could make of those muscles." She fanned herself between her legs with her exercise book, much to Wendy's disgust.

"Bebe!"

"Has Stan ever…"

"What? No!" Wendy protested hotly, feeling humiliated just thinking about it. She cared about Stan a lot, but the thought of doing… well, anything like that just made her stomach tighten; and not in a good way. She tried to push all thoughts of Saturday's disastrous date out of her mind.

"Then you don't get it," she said dreamily. "I tried to get Clyde to do it a few weeks ago. He got down there, stared at it for a bit, and then started crying. For two hours. It's like, he looked into my pussy, and my pussy looked back, only he couldn't handle it." She sat up suddenly. "Maybe Kyle's like the Kwisatz Haderach, but with pussies? He can look into the dark spaces that others cannot?"

The bell rang. Wendy held out her hand.

"Come on; we've got class."

"What is it?" Bebe asked, grabbing Wendy's hand and allowing herself to be hoisted up.

"Biology. We're debating Evolution, remember? Kyle and I are heading each side."

"Really? Fuck, that's my underwear ruined. Do you think if I ask him nicely, he'll finger me behind the bikesheds before English?"

"If you like him that much, just ask him out." Wendy wanted to add, ‘Instead of messing with his head like you have been,' but she decided to keep it to herself. Bebe was in enough anguish.

"I can't!" Bebe seemed horrified by the notion. "He's… He's… Look. He's the kind of guy you can't keep to yourself. That would be selfish. You enjoy him, then send him off into the throng to spread joy throughout womankind with his fearless, inexhaustible tongue…"

She stopped dead in the hallway, and a group of Emo Eighth Graders slammed into her.

"Watch it, bimbo," the tallest one sneered.

"Hey, fuck you, kid. I stared into the face of God the other night, and his fiery curls were tickling my thighs!" She turned to Wendy and smiled beatifically. "I think that's it. I've found God, Wendy. I've had a… you know, a deeply profound spiritual experience."

"An epiphany?" Wendy suggested. Bebe clicked her fingers.

"Right. An epiphany. Kyle's a sexual prophet, and we must follow his teachings to find the way and the light through our own sexual power… I've not just had an epiphany, Wendy; it's an epiphany concerning my pussy. An epussany!"

"Great. Can we go to class now?"

"Sure. I need to listen to the teachings of my new leader."

Wendy shook her head in dismay. "You're actually serious about this, aren't you?"

Suddenly, Clyde arrived with a bunch of rather lovely looking flowers in his hand.

"Hey, Bebe; I almost forgot." He handed the bouquet to Bebe with a fraught expression.

"Oh, thanks. They've very nice, Clyde," she replied, her eyes on the lockers. Clyde hovered awkwardly.

"Want me to walk you to class? Maybe carry your—"

Suddenly, Bebe pushed him aside and rushed towards Kyle the second he got close to his locker. Wow, she wasn't joking about her epiphany; or rather, her… No. There was no way Wendy was going to refer to it as that, not even in her head.

"Hi, Kyle," Bebe said in a simpering tone that Wendy was convinced she'd never heard her use before. Kyle whirled around; he had fire in his eyes.

"What the hell, Bebe?" he demanded.

Bebe's smile faltered. "I don't know what—"

"Don't. Just fucking don't. I saw you, okay. With Clyde."

Bebe at least had the good grace to appear guilty. "Look, Kyle. That's… It was just one date—"

"Yeah; one date where you practically forced yourself onto me, and after everything I'd said about the sanctity of… God damn it, Bebe." He slammed his locker door shut.

"Kyle, wait! Please!" she hovered anxiously. "Let me walk you to class! Maybe I could carry your books for you?"

"I don't need your pity," he snarled, and Bebe appeared startled.

"Pity? Jesus, Kyle – no girl would ever pity you." She reached up and gently stroked his cheek; he pulled away and grabbed her wrist.

"You got what you wanted, now just leave me the hell alone," he said before turning on his heels and storming off. Bebe ran after him.

"Kyle! Hold on! I need you!" she shouted, causing every single student in the area to turn and stare after her. For once, the boys weren't just gawping at her breasts.

Clyde stood rooted to the spot, and the flowers fell from his hand onto the floor.

"Bebe?"

"Apparently experimenting can have unforeseen side-effects," Wendy shot back before walking away. He was partly responsible for this mess, so fuck him.

~

As they got undressed and hit the showers after gym class, Cartman found himself caught between Clyde and Kyle as he carefully hid himself behind the biggest bath towel he could bring in his gym kit.

"Dude, what happened on Saturday?" Clyde begged; he sounded terrified. Cartman wished Kyle wasn't being such a moody fucktard – they could totally have had a bet on when Clyde would cry.

"Don't ask me," Kyle snapped back. "I'm not your girlfriend!"

"Come on, Clyde; a gentleman never tells," Token joked, only for Clyde and Kyle to both glare at him.

"Shut up, Token!"

Token merely laughed. "Just drop your pants and measure for her. It'll save Bebe some time."

Kyle looked disgusted, but Clyde seemed anxious. "Fine, if that's how it has to be…"

Cartman stared at Clyde as he stared to strip down. See? Kenny was spewing balls – he wasn't gay. He could see Clyde has the figure of a football player – despite being on the basketball team – and was in pretty good shape. The slight love handles and soft belly he could understand made him appealingly buff while giving the chicks a little something to cuddle up to. More to the point, he could see all this and wasn't remotely horny.

He turned his attention to Token. His mom always noticed Token when they all came over for his birthday parties. Another basketball player; Token was pretty average build, although Cartman snuck a look to see if it was true what his grandma said about black guys. It wasn't true – he had a penis and not a polluting, fire breathing demon. Again, he felt nothing. Kenny was such a loser.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cartman saw Kenny wander off towards the shower – fucking food stamp boy. He wasn't very tall and he was skinny as fuck, but the girls about town seemed to adore him. Cartman was kind of reminded of a china doll encrusted with dirt; people wanted to scrub away at the filth and reveal the perfect façade, but Kenny had never wanted to get clean.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing?" Stan was staring at him in shock, a towel wrapped around his waist. "Quit staring at the guys in the locker room, it's fucked up!"

Stan. Stan was the acid test; Cartman knew he was a good-looking guy and given Mr. Stotch wanted to pound his ass raw, he must be a fag magnet, too. He took a good long look. Stan had just come out of the shower, and the drips of water were still clinging to his skin, flattening the dark smattering of hair on his chest and leading to his pubes. He was toned, in a naturally active way rather than a steroid-junkie way. His shoulders were broad, his jaw a little square but with a softness that Cartman assumed appealed to ass bandits. He was kind of thin lipped, but his eyes were a vibrant blue; the kind where you weren't completely certain if he was looking right at you, and his hair –

"Quit staring at me!" Stan demanded, hitching his towel up to cover as much of himself as he could.

"Have I got an erection, Stan?" Cartman asked, and Stan's eyes widened in horror.

"What?"

"Do. I. Have. An. Erection?" Cartman demanded. "It's not a difficult question."

"No," Kenny said wearily as he walked past, butt-naked and dripping wet.

"See! Fuck you, Kenny!" he shouted after him in triumph.

Stan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, in that way he always did when he thought he was so much fucking better than everyone else. "Whatever, just quit dicking around and get in the shower. Maybe you can see what's taking Kyle so long."

"He's probably all tuckered out from packing your fudge in there," Cartman shot back and was rewarded by the laughter of the other boys. Stan just rolled his eyes and carried on drying himself.

"Did he hit your clit, Stan? Did he beat your sweet spot? I hope you cleaned up your jizz before you left; I don't want to step in it."

Stan sighed. "Cartman, I don't have a clitoris. I'm a guy."

Cartman noticed with interest that he didn't deny any of his other accusations.

Fortunately, the rest of the class were too busy giggling to notice when Cartman had to do the walk of nakedness between hanging his towel up and getting into the showers. Leaving Stan to his afterglow, Cartman took the opportunity of this distraction and hurried into the showers, only to find Kyle still rinsing off. He turned around and tensed instantly.

"What the hell do you want?" Kyle asked through gritted teeth,

"Oh, I just thought I'd come and finish my math homework; what the fuck do you think I want in a shower?"

A smile played at Kyle's lips as Cartman felt his doe-eyed glance settled on his chest. "Jesus, Cartman. That still hasn't come off?"

"No, Kyle. It still hasn't fucking come off," Cartman grumbled, looking down at the ‘I'm a fat fucking pervert' legend that was still visible on his chest. At least the one on his forehead was such a pale grey it wasn't instantly noticeable.

Kyle went back to washing soap suds out of his hair, apparently satisfied with bringing up one of Cartman's most humiliating experiences. Cartman watched as the lather ran down his back along the tracks of bone and sinew jutting out under his skin; the scrawny little Jew was made of nothing else. Cartman could count every last one of his vertebrae – and a funny long, thin graze along his lower back – as the suds dribbled down his ass crack. Kenny had been right about Stan so clearly taking the ass pounding; Kyle's ass was so God damn tight you'd struggle to get a Q-tip up there, much less a cock.

Kyle whirled around. "What the fuck, Cartman!" he practically growled out in irritation, and Cartman could see the tiny smattering of ginger body hair on his chest and holy shit! His facial injuries were nothing compared to the rest of him. Angry blue-black bruises had blossomed up and down his ribs, contrasting violently with his milk-white skin. There was a particularly nasty one on his hip that Cartman was sure would make him scream out if he pressed it –

"For fucks' sake, Cartman! Point it somewhere else, will you?" Kyle sounded horrified.

"What's crawled up your ass and died? Stan's baby gravy?" Cartman spat.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Stop aiming your erection at me; I know you probably can't see it under your fat fucking gut—"

"Whatever," Cartman blustered, feeling his cheeks grow red. "Just make sure you clean your bell-end thoroughly; if Stan's shit gets in there you could get infected," he shot back before scuttling out of the shower room in dismay.

That… that didn't mean anything. It was just a coincidence. The heat from the showers was making his pecker misbehave. Kenny was still a no good lying fucking shit-stirring asshole.

It didn't take Cartman long to get dressed and dash out of school. He didn't want to hitch a ride with that scumbag Jew, and he didn't want to have to sit on the school bus with those other rems. Okay, it would be a stupidly long walk, but he was in no hurry. Stupid fucking naked Jew. Stupid fucking erection. Cartman figured he could handle it if he were gay – they got to wear pretty fancy clothes and women seemed to think it was cute if they grabbed their tits – but gay for Kyle? No fucking way. It was probably that asshole's fault… Cartman could suddenly think of nothing except Kyle's asshole and the surrounding area. God damn fucking Kyle – it was all his fault; he was probably using his freaky Jew powers on him. How else could they control the media, own all the money and get the Hershey's Cookies and Mint candy bar discontinued?

Suddenly, he was distracted by two freaking massive guys at the side of the road; textbook trailer trash, right down to the tattoos on the one and the wife-beater the other wore in spite of the snow on the ground. They were leaning on a pick-up truck and staring at a map. Cartman was reminded of how two gorillas trying to read an A to Z might look.

"It must be around here somewhere."

"We'll find it. That skinny ginger fag's gonna pay for Saturday night; that beating wasn't enough to teach him some manners."

"Hey, fat boy!" The tattooed dick wad strode up to him and shoved his camera phone in Cartman's face. "You seen this kid?"

Cartman allowed his eyes to refocus on the image mere inches from his nose; it was Kyle dancing away while Bebe rubbed up against him; God damn she was a filthy little slut.

"Why I do, gentlemen. I do indeed. His name is Kyle Broflovski, and he's a God damn filthy Jew whore," he spat. "I'll take you to him if you like."

The missing links stared at each other for a moment, then the one in the wife-beater opened the door to the pick-up.

"Get in, then," he instructed. Cartman obeyed.

He pointed out directions from his seat between them in the truck, until eventually they headed up a dirt track.

"You sure he lives here?"

"Oh, yeah. He lives on a farm," Cartman insisted.

They pulled up outside the cattle farm; Cartman pointed towards the concrete building nearby.

"Go in there; I'll lure him in," Cartman said with a malicious grin as they all exited the truck.

"Thanks," the thick-necked wife-beater wearing one said. "You're alright, fatty," he said as they turned towards the building and began their ascent up the gentle hill.

"Wait!" Cartman shouted in a panic-stricken tone.

"What?" The tattooed one was clearly getting impatient. Cartman felt around in his school bag and found what he was looking for.

"You need to disinfect yourself."

"Why?"

"Because, you'll be near a God damn Jew! Do you want to catch The Jew? Do you?"

The two meat-heads looked at each other, clearly sceptical. Cartman stared at them frantically, and it was this that seemed to make them shrug and allow Cartman to douse them liberally with the contents of his spray can.

"Quick, sneak in there. I'll get him in with you and lock the doors. They're iron-wrought – a bull couldn't get through there, much less a person. Now, go!" Cartman hissed. They obeyed him and ran full-tilt for the concrete building.

Whistling a jaunty tune, Cartman waited until they were inside and bolted every door but one shut. He entered the building via the small tradesman entrance.

By the time he arrived on the podium overlooking the enormous steel fenced pen that was the focus of the building, the two gorillas looked confused, as though someone had just snatched a rudimentary tool from them. Cartman walked over to the PA system behind him and switched it on.

"Greetings, gentlemen," he announced over the echoey speaker system.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you fat little turd?" the tattooed one raged.

Cartman smiled. "Nice, isn't it? Here in South Park we have a thriving animal husbandry industry; here's where the farmers come to sell their prized cattle. On Sundays, they sell bulls here for breeding; obviously the building has to accommodate that, and this one has been specially designed so angry, lumbering, tiny-brained beasts can't charge their way out through the iron gates or—"

The thick-necked wonder tried to leap the fence; a small – but not insignificant – electric shock put him in his place.

"—or at the crowds of buyers; electric fences do wonders for keeping the beasts in their place." He smiled courteously again and gestured towards the only open gateway. "Right there is the bull enclosure. There's only one bull there right now; I believe his name is ‘Rammer'. They haven't been able to sell him for weeks due to his violent temperament, but I'm sure with enough training he'll be fine. Like, if I were to release him into the enclosure you're currently trapped in like particularly dumb rats in a particularly fiendish maze, I'm sure he'd leave you alone. Even with all that pheromone spray I covered you in earlier."

Fear settled around their features. Cartman always loved that moment – when they knew what was coming but could do nothing about it. He never got that with Kyle, of course – idiot Jew never knew when he was beaten.

Cartman beamed down at the trembling trailer-trash apes from his podium, and then dramatically hovered his finger over the gate release mechanism.

"I know; why don't we find out just how tame Rammer is?" He pressed the button and soon enough, a humongous, virile bull charged its way into the enclosure, pounding the dirt with his hooves and spitting with every angry snarl. Cartman couldn't help but laugh as the two douchebags ran pointlessly around their prison, trying desperately to escape Rammer's attention; Cartman particularly relished the moment where he clearly got a whiff of those pheromones and went fucking crazy. Wow; that shit really did the trick. Maybe it was for the best he hadn't ever got around to trying this on Kyle.

He leant against the inert fence of the podium and absently ate a bag of popcorn he found in his bag as he watched the carnage. One of the white-trash losers looked up at him as he was gored up the ass. Cartman briefly saw the question in his eyes as he was tossed in the air – why?

Cartman figured he deserved an answer, so he grabbed the microphone plugged into the PA system.

"Nobody," he said in a low, hate-filled drawl, "but nobody fucks with Kyle Broflovski, apart from me."

Chapter Ten: The Broflovski Effect – The Church of Ladies' Intimate Teachings

For the first time in his life, Kyle was beginning to dread school. Not the lessons – they were more interesting than they'd ever been – but the bits in between.

Everywhere he looked, girls were staring at him, gawping as though he were some kind of alien. At first he'd assumed he had spilled something down his shirt or had got ketchup on his face, but a quick trip to the bathroom disproved this theory. No, he had no clue.

"Dude, what the hell is going on?" Stan asked as the twenty-fifth girl – yes, he'd been counting and it was twenty-seven if you included faculty members – beamed at him as she walked past and simpered, "Hi, Kyle."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "I have no idea," he spat. "No fucking clue."

Kenny leant casually against the lockers as Millie walked past and offered Kyle exactly the same platitude.

"Wow, the chicks are creaming themselves for you, Kyle. You should take advantage." Kenny wiggled his eyebrows, apparently just in case Kyle had missed his already rather obvious meaning.

"Oh, no way," Kyle said firmly. "I am through with women."

"Even Miss Cookson?"

"Dude, she's our World History teacher!"

"She's fucking hot."

"She's, like, forty or something!" Stan apparently found mature women grotesque; Kyle felt it would probably be cruel to point out to him that Nicole Kidman was forty-five.

"Yeah, so she's hot and experienced…" Suddenly Kenny trailed off, slammed his locker door shut and bolted.

"Kenny? What's up?" Kyle called after him, but he either didn't hear or didn't care.

Cartman, who had been uncharacteristically silent up until this point, predictably commented, "I thought you'd been off chicks for ages, Kyle. Must be tough getting Stan to do the same; he just won't leave that beard of his alone… speak of the devil!"

Wendy came up to Kyle, her long black hair neatly tucked into some sort of plait. She poked him gently on the arm.

"Hey, have you looked at our calculus homework yet?"

"I've had a brief look," he replied, ignoring Cartman's loud shouts of, "You know what AP stands for? Ass Pedalling." He instead watched Wendy fiddle nervously with the end of her plait.

"What did you think?" she asked.

Kyle shrugged. "Looks okay. It's a bit annoying that it needs to be in tomorrow because of the game tonight, but what can you do?"

Wendy smiled widely at this. "Yeah, of course. It looks fine. Well, see you later."

Stan had to grab her arm as she tried to walk straight past him.

"Whoa! What about me, babe?"

"Oh, right. Sorry." She quickly gave him a peck on the cheek, but practically squirmed out of his arms when he hugged her.

"Gotta go, bye!" she said over her shoulder as she sped off, leaving Stan bewildered

"Women. What do you expect?" Kyle replied tartly.

"Dude!"

"They just break your heart, okay?" Kyle knew this to be immutable fact; his own experiences had borne this out, although he lacked the robust heart he needed to fully prove his hypothesis.

He grabbed his books from his locker and shut the door, then nearly collided with Red as he turned to leave.

"Hey, Kyle." To anyone outside of South Park High, Red would have sounded cynical and disinterested; Kyle had known her long enough to be taken aback by the sweetness in her voice.

"Umm, hey."

She looked at the floor, rolled her eyes, and then stared at him. "You doing anything later?"

"Got the basketball match," he replied.

"Right. Cool. Wanna do something after to celebrate? Or commiserate? Whichever?"

"Umm… Thanks, but I… I'm kind of not looking for, you know, a girlfriend right now."

Red laughed. "Come on, Kyle. I wasn't thinking we should get married. I just figured we could, you know, have some fun."

Something in her tone caught Kyle's attention, and not in a good way.

"Fun?"

"Well, yeah. Word on the street is you're quite the teacher."

"What?"

Red stifled a giggle. "A lot of girls want to buy what you're selling, is all."

Kyle felt his temper flare up as it suddenly clicked into place – Red's little mime of her index finger sliding into her fist didn't exactly obfuscate things.

"So, let me get this straight. You came over here to ask if I'd fuck you? Is that it?"

He watched in grim triumph as she cast her gaze to the floor. "Well, when you put it like that—"

With a huff of irritation, Kyle shoved past her and walked off to the library.

"Kyle! Where the hell are you going? It's lunchtime!" Stan called after him; he didn't reply. He needed to get the fuck away.

"Ooh, hurry up, Stan. If you get on your knees quick enough, he might hang around and cuddle you after you've gargled his jizz!"

"Shut the fuck up, Cartman." Kyle could just about hear Stan's weary rebuttal as he went upstairs to the library entrance.

Was this what he had to look forward to? Being treated like a piece of meat? Why did every girl he meet just want him for sex? It's not like Rebecca was willing to fight for him like he would for her… Did he have an aura about him? Did he seem somehow unworthy as a boyfriend? Was he really only good for a fuck?

He snuck around the stacks to find his favourite study spot – the small table between where the geography and history shelves intersected – but could hear muffled sobs. He hovered around the Shakespeare books for a short while, wondering if he should leave whoever it was to it or whether he should see if they were okay. Eventually, he found himself walking past the Marlowe plays and finding the poor person making such a racket.

When he saw Wendy face down on the table, sobbing into her textbook, he was shocked.

"Wendy?" he asked tentatively. She looked up and instantly ducked her head.

"H… Hi, Kyle," she said in a shaky voice, wiping her face with her sleeve as though she thought he might not notice.

"Jesus, what's wrong?" Had she and Stan had a fight? He'd already eliminated the menopause on account of her age – his mother occasionally had moments like this and thought he didn't notice – but he supposed anything else was fair game.

"N… Nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing." He scraped back the chair next to her and sat on it so he could lean his arms on the back. "C'mon, what is it?" He gently poked her arm with his finger.

She stared down at her damp textbook and Kyle watched as a couple more tear drops added to the collection.

"I can't do this, okay!" she yelled; Kyle figured now was totally the wrong time to remind her they were in a library.

"Do what?"

"This!" She gestured at her books. "I suck at AP Calculus! I… I got a C Minus in my last paper." The shame in her voice was clearly audible.

"Hey, it's one paper. You'll get better."

"Well, of course you'd say that," she spat. "You're really smart; you probably do our homework in your sleep and still get ‘A's!" she slumped onto the table again. "I should just quit," she mumbled into the plastic. "I'm too dumb."

"Don't be ridiculous," Kyle replied automatically. Wendy was fucking crazy sometimes, but she was deeply clever.

She sniffled a bit, but lifted her head to look him in the eye.

"I'll help you, if you like," he said before he even realised the words were out of his mouth. "I'm fine with graphs and functions, but I've always liked them. Trust me, I'm dreading integrals."

"Really?" She seemed to cheer at this; Kyle knew it was an area Wendy was good with.

"Yeah. So I'm going to want your help when we have to go through that part of the syllabus. Deal?" He held out his hand. Wendy tentatively took it.

"Deal."

She smiled; he smiled back. He also tried to surreptitiously wipe his tear-drenched hand on his jeans without her noticing.

~

"What the fuck is wrong with them! He's just some scrawny fucking ugly Jew!"

Cartman hadn't stopped ranting for the last ten minutes; Stan just ate his greasy lasagne and let him get on with it. He was more concerned with what was wrong with Kyle. Girls were throwing themselves at him and he was pissy about it. Stan couldn't help but think a few practise sessions couldn't go amiss; one of his recurring nightmares involved finally seducing Wendy only to be really, really bad in bed. Wendy would cry and tell him she'd wasted her virginity on him. Then Bebe would show up and laugh, followed by Wendy's other friends. Thankfully Stan generally woke up by the time the townspeople had dragged him to the town square and stuck him in the stocks, although sometimes they'd get a chance to pelt filled condoms at him to express their disgust.

"Oi!" Stan heard fingers clicking at his ears; Cartman was apparently feeling neglected.

"What is it?"

"You weren't listening." Cartman sighed heavily. "I was just explaining how that no good, backstabbing Jew is going to rob us of any chance to get laid—"

"Where's Kenny?"

"How should I know? Anyway, Kyle—"

"He doesn't miss lunch, like, ever." Stan craned his neck to look around the cafeteria. "This is kind of weird."

Cartman rolled his eyes. "He's probably saving his food stamps for a pimping jacket, or something. Anyway, Kyle—"

"Ahem."

Stan looked up and saw three girls he vaguely recognised as being ninth graders. They each held lunch trays with not much lunch on them, had bright shiny smiles and were pretty damn hot in an over-polished way.

"Can I help you?" He tried to be flirty, but half-way through his question he figured he kind of sucked at it.

"Can we sit here? With you?" the apparent leader asked eagerly, the other two nodding in agreement.

Stand and Cartman looked at each other knowingly.

"Sure, whatever," they replied simultaneously; Stan was fully aware of the subtle nod of approval Cartman shot in his direction.

As the girls sat down and picked at their food, Stan heard Cartman clear his throat.

"So, ladies, what brings you to our fine table?"

The girls giggled. "Oh, nothing," their leader said.

Then one of the other girls said the words Stan knew would send Cartman into a rage.

"Is Kyle joining you?"

Cartman slammed his fist down on the table. "Fucking Kyle fucking Broflovski. The god damn fucking Jew!"

As Stan wasn't busy throwing a massive tantrum at these girls, he was free to notice a rather unusual badge they were all wearing.

"Hey, what's that?" He gestured towards the bright pink tulip-like badge pinned to the leader girl's trilby hat – Stan knew it was a trilby because Wendy desperately wanted one and had been dropping the kind of hints that meant he knew he'd be spending the run up to her birthday camped out at Sears.

The girl blushed. "Oh, nothing." She then tried to cover the badge up with her hand, which Stan thought was dumb – why wear it if you didn't want people to look at it?

"Then you won't mind me taking it, will you?" Cartman said as he snatched the badge off the nearest girl's sweater and peered at it.

"Church of Ladies' Intimate Teachings? What the fuck's that?"

"It's for girls," the remaining girl spat. "Not fat assholes like you."

"Whatever, like I'd want to join your gay ass sparkling church," Cartman scoffed. "And I'm not fat; I'm big boned, you AIDS-riddled whore."

The trilby-wearing leader stood up. "Come on," she said. "Clearly He isn't going to Enlighten us today. We must be patient." She walked off, nose up in the air, leaving the remains of her lunch.

"Yeah." The two other girls quickly followed suit.

Stan and Cartman stared at each other in amazement.

"What the hell was that all about?" Stan asked.

"Fuck knows," Cartman replied, reaching across the table and grabbing a left over muffin.

"Dude!"

"What?" Cartman retorted defensively through a mouthful of double-chocolate muffin. Stan figured it was best to ignore him and instead rested his chin on his hands in thought.

"What's up with those badges – the Church of Ladies' Intimate Teachings. Is it some new cult?" he mused.

Cartman shrugged. "Like we need any more?"

"And did you see how desperate they were just to see Kyle?" Stan tried to ignore the look of pure hatred etched in Cartman's features, and smirked. "Wow, even good old-fashioned God botherers can't get enough of—"

He stopped dead as another group of girls – some nerdy but kind of sexy eleventh graders who had come fourth in a regional engineering competition – passed by, and a flash of pink on their jacket lapels caught his eye. Glancing around the cafeteria, he realised that dozens of girls were wearing these badges.

Then it slowly began to dawn on him that every girl who had cooed, goosed or sighed at Kyle had been wearing one of these badges.

"What's up with your face?" Cartman demanded, eating the third left over muffin – a blueberry one this time.

"There's something really weird going on," Stan said, breaking off a portion of Cartman's muffin and popping It into his mouth – he loved blueberry muffins just too much.

"Oi! Quit it, you thieving Jew! Just because your boyfriend's one doesn't make it okay!"

Stan ignored his complaint. "Do you think maybe someone has formed a cult around Kyle?"

Cartman stared at his muffin; Stan could see his cheeks turn red with anger.

"It'd be fucking typical of that manipulative little Jew rat," he spat.

Stan had to smother a smirk at Cartman calling anyone else out for manipulation when the guy practically had a PhD in the subject. "Come on, Cartman. Kyle doesn't have a clue."

"Clearly!" Cartman seemed oddly relieved.

Stan's eyes narrowed at him. "Have you got anything to do with this?" he asked in a warning tone; not that he could threaten Cartman as effectively as Kyle, but it was worth a shot.

"Fuck off, of course I don't have anything to do with this." This time Cartman eyed Stan with suspicion. "How do I know it wasn't you? I mean, come on, Stan. You're practically lapping up his cum every time you see him."

Stan sighed wearily. "Cartman, I am not gay, I am not gay for Kyle and I have nothing to do with this dumb club."

They both stared at the remains of their lunch and were distracted only by the sound of chairs scraping back en masse. Cartman looked up at the source of the noise and raised an eyebrow coolly. "Well, well, well; looks like Kyle's little fapping club has a meeting."

Stan sighed. "If only we knew what the hell went on in there. They could be being brainwashed to kill him for all we know!" He swiftly became conscious of the fact he sounded like the anxious girlfriend in a conspiracy thriller film, and braced himself for yet another onslaught of snide remarks from Cartman. He was surprised to be met with nothing; instead Cartman tapped his fingers together as a frown creased his forehead.

"If you really want to get in there, I think I might have a way," he said.

Stan couldn't decide whether his tone or his expression appeared more devious.

~

"Hurry up in there, or we'll miss it!" Cartman banged on the locked door of the bathroom stall.

"I'm hurrying. God damn, this has to be the most retarded plan I've ever heard, Cartman," Stan moaned from the stall. Fucking asshole hadn't the stomach for this level of investigation, really, but Cartman figured he didn't want to look like a pussy when it came to Kyle.

Pulling the hem of his dress down – not bad, reasonably on trend and the horizontal stripes were surprisingly slimming – Cartman checked out his reflection in the mirrors over the sinks. Not too shabby; the wig he had procured back in Newark when he was just thirteen had lasted pretty well.

The whole game in front of them worried him, though. Not for that they were doing, but why they were doing it. When Stan had suggested Kyle might get killed by these lunatic bitches, he felt as though something sick and cold had crawled into his gut. He'd felt the same when he'd heard those trailer-trash gorillas – well, now ex-trailer-trash gorillas – as they'd attempted to scour South Park to teach him a lesson. He probably deserved what was coming to him, the rotten, stinking Jew whore, but it didn't change how Cartman felt about the very idea of it happening.

Perhaps it was nothing, and his hatred was just turning to pity. Yeah that was it; like you feel sorry for a kitten wearing those lampshade-like neck braces so they can't scratch their stitches, you could feel sorry for the poor little Jew – nothing more, nothing less.

The past week he'd been on a fact-finding mission and used his mom's credit card to buy a whole fucking spectrum of gay porn. He had diligently sat through ‘Dawson's Crack', ‘The Italian Rim Job', ‘Ass Drivers' one, three and four – volume two had sold out for some reason – ‘Whorrey Potter and the Sorcerer's Balls' and ‘Lord of the Cock Ring'. His verdict was that they seemed kind of gross and they certainly didn't make him horny. On the plus side he had discovered some interesting new jacking-off techniques and that he was fucking right about guys having clits up there – these guys jizzed across whole rooms after some guy prodded it for a few minutes.

Still, whatever. He was as straight as a freeway.

The stall door creaked open; Stan had emerged and he looked like a sullen little bitch. He wasn't exactly working the sweet little shirt-dress Cartman had found for him, but at least he'd put on the contrasting belt, fashion pantyhose and jet black bobbed wig.

"Aww, cheer up, you're so much prettier when you smile," Cartman cooed between sniggers.

"Hey! I didn't laugh at you, ass-muncher," Stan grumbled.

"That's because I've got such a bootylicious bod." He patted his hair and pouted.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Let's just get this over with," he insisted as he checked himself out in the mirror with a look of dread. "We're going to get caught. We look nothing like girls."

"Will you relax? We'll pass. Sure, we'll be fucking ugly chicks – well, you'll be fucking ugly with that jawline – but it'll work, trust me. Those bitches will be way too busy rubbing one out over Kyle to pay that much attention."

Stan did actually look kind of hot with his sharp wig and preppy dress; even the Converse sneakers which Stan had refused to give up for ballet pumps worked. At least he'd done it; Cartman was pretty sure Kyle wouldn't have put on a dress if you paid him, which was kind of a shame. Cartman would love to see that gangly Jew drag up…

"Cartman, we're definitely not going to pass for girls if you're sporting a chubby." Stan had shielded his eyes with his hand as though seeing his hard-on would burn a hole through his retina.

"What? I can't help it if you make such a cute girl," he retorted and was rewarded by Stan cringing in horror. Cartman quickly handed him one of the pink badges he had stolen with surprising ease from the girl in the cafeteria and a girl in the halls later – he'd grabbed her ass and swiped the badge when she slapped him.

"Just pin that to your dress and look like a pussy," Cartman instructed. "That shouldn't be too hard for you."

He peered around the door and saw the corridor outside the men's bathroom was empty. He gestured to Stan and they snuck out. Stan looked noticeably awkward and Cartman began to wonder if he would blow their cover with his body-language.

"For fuck's sake, try and look like you're comfortable in that shit!"

"Funnily enough, I'm not!"

"Then fucking fake it! Girls fake shit all the time."

Cartman spied a couple of the crazy bitches heading towards the fire escape. He grabbed Stan's arm. "Come on, Sugar Tits—" he just couldn't resist mocking Stan when he looked so uncomfortable – "let's go that way."

They exited the main school building via the fire escape and followed the group of girls. Cartman soon noticed that it wasn't just crazy teen girls in their midst; there were other townswomen and even some of their teachers.

This couldn't be all about Kyle. It just couldn't.

Soon enough, Cartman could see the crown move towards the community centre.

"Holy shit, dude! There's hundreds of them!" Stan gasped in horror.

"Be cool, Stan. Be cool. We're supposed to be one of them, remember?"

They joined the queue and Cartman saw that the community centre doors had security, namely Red. This presented a problem, on account of her being a moody bitch.

"Shit," Stan hissed. "Shitty shit, shit, shit. We're going to get caught. She's going to notice!"

"Snap out of it, Stan!" Cartman hissed back. "Just think like a girl. Smile. Stick your titties out."

"I don't have any titties," Stan growled. Jesus Christ, was he channelling Kyle or something?

"Neither does Wendy, and she still sticks hers – Ow!" Cartman rubbed his shin awkwardly. God damn, all he'd done was offer Stan some sound advice. No need for him to get all pissy about it.

Even Cartman had to admit to feeling his pulse begin to race as they reached the doors and Red's wary gaze. She checked their badges, and then glared at them. They shuffled past, but froze when she yelled, "Oi! Get back here!"

They shuffled back meekly – Cartman could feel Stan's glare burning a hole in his wig.

"You need to start filling up the left hand side, okay?" Red insisted, pointing towards another entrance to the main hall. They nodded and walked off as directed, Cartman making a conscious effort to sway his hips. His first instincts were to assume it was a trap laid out for impostors like them, but then he saw several other girls filing into the hall from the same direction they had been sent.

They took seats at the back so that could both escape the building quickly and escape being seen. Cartman figured it wouldn't be a problem; there were so many people that he and Stan could easily slip into the crowds.

One thing was for certain, the congregation was entirely female. Sure, there were some unfortunate girls who you couldn't be sure about at first glance, but they were still girls.

Stan appeared to have relaxed a little; he was looking up and peering around the hall, his eyes as wide as saucers.

"Holy crap, it's packed!" he whispered just as the lights started to dim. A skinny girl with red curls shushed them angrily, and Cartman felt a sudden rush of blood to the head that wasn't on his shoulders. Maybe what he'd been feeling had nothing to do with Kyle at all? Maybe he just had a boner for gingers? Sure, it was pretty fucking humiliating, but better than being hot for Jew dick.

A PA crackled into life and the room thrummed with the bass line and sporadic vocals of what sounded like Tori Amos, the rest of the song was just about audible.

Bebe approached the stage full of fervour, her pink badge pinned proudly to her cheerleader's uniform; Cartman remembered that South Park High had a basketball match against those North Park bastards in just a few hours.

"Welcome, fellow worshippers of CLIT; the Church of Ladies' Intimate Teachings," she announced and it took all of Cartman's will-power not to burst out laughing. He glanced across at Stan and quickly looked away; he was as fit to burst as Cartman was.

"Thank you for this amazing turnout; it means so much that you are all giving yourselves over to the power deep within." At these words, Bebe hovered her hand around her snatch and made a circular gesture – Cartman saw Stan bite his knuckles in an attempt to smother his sniggers. Then the other girls in the congregation copied the movement. How Cartman didn't just howl with laughter there and then, he had no idea.

-Friggingodess-

"And we have the teaching of Kyle Broflovski to thank for this enlightenment. Yea, for he marketh the way with his tongue and leadeth the way with his fingers…"

Cartman snuck a look at Stan's horrified expression, and felt glad he wasn't the only one feeling pretty fucking weird about this.

"Ladies, let us turn to page eighty-seven of Cosmopolitan, September issue."

The girls around them swiftly pulled copies of the same chick magazine out of their school bags; Cartman could see the article on page eighty-seven was entitled, ‘Seven Orgasm Myths Exploded!'.

Bebe began to read the article aloud while adding her own commentary, and she enraptured the crowd. Cartman saw in utter amazement as he heard that dumb blonde bitch witter on about pussies and foreplay and shit while her congregation hung on her every word. This was fucking weird; for some reason she was basing her whole… her whole sermon around Kyle and how the fuck would she know what he did when he fucked a girl?

Suddenly, Cartman felt an overwhelming desire to climb up on the stage and snap her pretty little neck in two.

Why the fuck did he even care? He didn't care, except for the fact that scrawny Jew asshole got laid yet again, the mother fucking slut. Cartman hated him, and he hated her for – no, he hated Kyle. Had to focus on that.

Suddenly, he felt someone jab him hard in the arm. Cartman glanced in their direction to find some fucking ugly bitch glaring at him – he swiftly remembered it was Stan.

"Dude, they're staring at us," he hissed.

Cartman looked at his watch – six-thirty. The basketball game started in half an hour, so Bebe would have to finish up soon and they might get out before too many crazy bitches started to notice. Then he cast his eye over the congregation, and noticed a whole gaggle of furious girls glowering in their direction.

Bebe pointed at them. "Behold! They mean to make a mockery of our spiritual enlightenment! They're not girls at all," she boomed, "check out their garments!"

She rushed towards them and ripped Cartman's wig right from his head. The girls gasped.

"Oi, this is totally on trend, you bitches!" Cartman insisted.

"Not with those pumps!" Bebe retorted, and as the crowd began to close in on them, Cartman realised the extent of his folly.

~

"…Who's going to cream the North Park Gulls? Go, go, go South Park Bulls! Yeah!" Bebe's high-kicks and loud chants were whipping the crown up into a fury; Wendy was really only here for her benefit. Oh, and for Stan's, only he was nowhere to be seen. Wendy tried not to look too pissed off, or think too much about what she could have been doing instead of watching some dumb basketball match. Given she wanted to be school president in her last year, it made sense to be seen showing school spirit, after all.

She peered down at the huddled South Park players as they got a team briefing from the fearsome Mr. Anderson – he always gave Wendy the creeps – and could see Kyle's mass of red hair. When he turned around, he gave her a friendly wave; Wendy waved back, only to feel Bebe's furious gaze from the cheerleading spot below.

"Where's Stan?" Kyle mouthed at her, and Wendy shrugged her shoulders. He appeared somewhat disconcerted by this, which made Wendy feel a little better; if she was being deliberately stood up, Kyle would know.

The teams took their positions. Wendy didn't know anything about the North Park players, except that their Point Guard kept trying to get Bebe to join their cheerleading squad. She got the distinct impression it had nothing to do with her rousing cheers.

"…He can do what no-one else can; Go, go, go, Donovan!" Bebe led the cheer with enthusiasm, and Wendy couldn't help but smile at the faint blush that had crept across Clyde's cheeks. As if it couldn't have been any clearer those two were dating. The head cheerleader and the captain of the basketball team; there was a teen movie to be made out of their story, no doubt about it.

As Kyle took his place, Bebe started up the chants again.

" … He's the best, I'll make you see; Go, go, go, Broflovski!" She gazed at Kyle as though enraptured. Even the other cheerleaders seemed to find her behaviour a little odd; apart from Butters, of course. Butters just took everything at face value, including the fact that one of North Park's prettier cheerleaders seemed to be paying him an awful lot of attention.

Kyle appeared a little bewildered – not to mention suspicious – but he merely acknowledged the chant with a little nod of the head, as though he were embarrassed by the attention. Wendy couldn't blame him if he was; Bebe looked ready to drop her panties for him there and then.

Besides Clyde's captaincy, Wendy knew Kyle had taken over as Centre from Daniel Cavendish after he graduated last year, and that Token was near the basket, whatever position that meant he played. Wendy's grasp of basketball was rudimentary at best.

Her grasp of personal dynamics was pretty hot, however, and she could see that Clyde was ready to gut Kyle like a Cajun catfish.

The buzzer sounded and the game began. Wendy followed it as best she could – if the ball got near the opponents' basket, she figured this was a good thing. The South Park cheerleaders were extremely exuberant tonight; in fact the North Park cheer group were starting to look as though they felt somewhat inadequate.

The game was extremely close, in the kind of way Wendy could appreciate as nail-biting. Despite this, the drama playing out on the court was far more interesting. Bebe literally had eyes only for Kyle, and Clyde had noticed. Good God had he noticed. Every time he passed the ball to Kyle he seemed to aim for his crotch.

Kyle, of course, hadn't noticed at all. He was too busy with the business of the game; Wendy had spent enough time with him in their AP classes to realise that when Kyle was focused on something, literally nothing else could penetrate his skull. Coupled with the fact that, according to Stan, he had the emotional intuitiveness of the average gnat, then Clyde was going to have to pin him to the floor and knock his teeth out for him to get the message.

During the half-time team huddle, it seemed that Clyde was going to try seriously forceful tactics to make his feelings known. Token had to break them up, and Mr. Anderson simply shook his head in dismay and glared at Bebe as though she were the Devil incarnate. One look at the confusion on Kyle's face, and Wendy couldn't help but sympathise.

Where the hell was Stan? It was one thing to stand her up, but Kyle? She was beginning to get worried, which she instantly felt foolish for. Like anything could really happen to him between class and the school gym.

~

"This is totally fucked up right here," Stan muttered breathlessly as Cartman struggled to keep up with his insane running pace.

"Just keep fucking running!" he shouted back.

"We're missing the game!"

"We'll be missing our balls if those crazy bitches catch us!" Cartman retorted. God damn, Stan was a moron sometimes.

"Whatever, dude. Wendy's going to be pissed."

They ran up to the school, around the gym hall where the match was clearly underway, but were soon trapped at the gym supply closet by a pincer movement of pre-menstrual sluts. Fucking Bebe and her fucking outsourcing; why couldn't she forgo her cheerleading to face them like men, huh?

As the stood side by side, like a drag version of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid ready to face the bullets, Cartman had his brainwave.

"Stop!" he yelled in his best commanding voice. "You know not what you do!"

The gaggle of girls actually stopped, which kind of surprised him.

"Cartman, what the—"

Cartman silenced Stan's bitching with a wave of his hand.

"Ladies, haven't you ever stopped to consider why you hail the Jew… I mean, Kyle Broflovski, as your god?"

The girls looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"He's not our god, you moron," the one girl replied.

"Oh," Stan commented, apparently relieved.

"No, he's more like our prophet," another piped up.

"Right, but had he personally ever shown you this shit?" Cartman queried, while wondering what the fuck was wrong with women.

The girls appeared suddenly bereft – which Cartman couldn't deny was infinitely pleasurably – although one of them replied defiantly, "He has shown our spiritual leader the path to true enlightenment. With his tongue."

God damn fucking Bebe, that God damn fucking slut. Why the fuck would that Jew bastard go anywhere near her rancid fucking—

"Cartman!" Stan hissed. "Say something!"

The girls had stopped listening to his wise words and started to get restless; Cartman spotted one of them slide the ultimate combination out of her purse – hairspray and a cigarette lighter. He had to think fast.

"Why… why is he responsible for your… your sexual pleasure? You think he should just give it to you? No, it has to be earned; you have to prove yourselves worthy. With blow-jobs."

Cartman practically felt Stan pinch the bridge of his nose in dismay. Well, what the fuck did he know? He should be grateful – at least if Wendy gets sucked into this crazy cult, his BJ quota will sky rocket.

The girls glanced at each other as though a lightbulb had just gone off.

"You're right," one girl exclaimed. Cartman couldn't help but smirk.

"Yeah, we should totally worship Kyle by offering to pleasure him," another replied and the smirk left Cartman's face as though it had been slapped off.

"What?" he demanded.

"It makes perfect sense; if we want to be exalted, we must exalt back!" This girl took Cartman's hand and shook it. "Thank you for showing us the truth."

"Yeah!"

"You should be our figurehead," another insisted. "The boy who thinks Kyle Broflovski deserves to be sucked off for eternity!"

"Hey! That's not what I—" The girls didn't care. They had already begun to wander off, leaving Cartman and Stan alone in their lipstick and dresses.

Stan wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "Thank God for that," he gasped, patting Cartman on the back. "Nice job, dude."

Cartman shrugged, wondering if Stan would ever have paid him such a compliment if Kyle were around.

As they walked off to get changed, Cartman heard Stan chuckle to himself.

"What?" he asked, somewhat defensively.

"What, besides the fact a whole bunch of girls think you want Kyle to get lots of oral?" He shook his head. "Oh, Kyle," he said fondly.

Kyle. It was always fucking Kyle. He never left Cartman alone, not even for a second.

"What about the little Jew faggot?" he enquired, just in case Kenny had put any of his retarded ideas in Stan's head.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Can't you give it a rest for a minute? Call him a fag as much as you like, he's got way more girls interested in him right now than you've ever had."

"Jealous, are we?" Cartman mocked.

"Well, kind of, yeah. I wouldn't mind it if the whole class thought I was a sex god," he replied, fucking missing the subtle nuances of Cartman's dig, the philistine.

"Whatever, like that asshole is interested in pussy or religion. He's a fucking Jew; they just want to make money…" He trailed off as his mind joined up the obvious dots. Pussy. Religion. Money. The three things went together like tacos, chilli and guacamole; and if you've got tacos and chilli, some dumb fucker will always find you the guacamole.

"Cartman?"

Cartman grinned and patted Stan on the back. "Do excuse me, Stan. I have some unfinished business to take care of. Cheer on your little boyfriend for me, will you? He needs all the help he can get, given Jews can't actually play basketball. The school must be getting a grant for having him on the team."

"Goddamnit, Cartman!" Stan spat back, but Cartman was already skipping away; ideas were brewing like Starbucks during rush hour. There were a plethora of dumb, horny girls in Bebe's stupid cult, and they were just waiting to empty their wallets into Cartman's hand in the name of Kyle Broflovski.

~

Kyle deliberately dawdled as he got undressed, neatly folded his basketball kit and dug out his shower gel, shampoo and intensive conditioner. Partly because the amount of stuff he had to use on his hair to stop him looking like Ronald McDonald holding a Van der Graf generator was more than most girls took into the shower with them, but mostly because after his experience with Cartman in eighth grade he had been most reluctant to set foot in a public showering facility ever again.

"Hey, great game tonight, huh?" Token said, towel drying himself off unashamedly in front of Kyle.

"Yeah, we played pretty well," he agreed. Token grinned at him, a little uncertainly.

"Say, you and Bebe…"

"There isn't a ‘me and Bebe', Token," Kyle insisted. "She's dating Clyde again. We're just friends." It was much easier than explaining that Bebe had used him and cast him aside like a post-masturbation tissue.

"Whatever. Friends don't look at friends the way she was looking at you."

"Looking at me how?" Kyle wrapped his towel around himself, a little self-conscious.

"Like, I dunno, like she's in love with you or something. I swear her eyes never left you when she led the half-time cheer."

Kyle did his best to fake a smile. "Seems you were paying a lot of attention to her," he teased. Token shrugged.

"Dude, it's Bebe. Every guy's eyes are drawn to her huge… enthusiasm," he quickly added as Clyde walked past them, dripping water onto the floor.

"Umm, I'd better go and shower," Kyle said, grabbing his stuff and dashing off to the farthest shower head and pulling the curtain shut. He'd got the distinct impression that Clyde wanted to kill him, and was willing to sacrifice the game in his attempts. The asshole had brought this all on himself by being a douche. He supposed he should be happy for Bebe; at least she'd scared him into realising just how much he liked her. Not that it did his fucked up heart any good.

He was half-way through rinsing the conditioner out of his hair when the curtain shifted. To his utter amazement, Bebe was standing in front of him in her full cheerleading costume, pert and perky as water from the shower slowly drenched her. It didn't take long for her nipples to become erect and visible, and for Kyle to hastily find somewhere less obtrusive to fix his gaze.

"Hey there," she drawled. "Great game." She ran her finger down his chest. "And as the head cheerleader, I think I need to show you just how much we appreciated that last-minute score you made today."

She sank to her knees, and Kyle barely had time to ponder how similar the entire situation was to the cheesiest porno ever before Bebe's mouth wrapped around his cock.

"Fucking hell, Bebe!" he hissed. "I thought you were… Ah… I thought you were with…" Kyle had forgotten how difficult it was to form a sentence when someone was blowing you.

Bebe pulled away, her spit trailing from his dick and her expression displaying impatience. "Clyde, yeah. But you're special. You deserve to be, well, worshipped."

She put her lips back around the head and started to suck.

"Wait, what?" Kyle said, fighting the urge to thread his fingers through her hair. "What are you talking about, Bebe?"

Bebe let go of his cock once again and sighed. "Worshipping you. For bringing us enlightenment to true sexual fulfilment and showing us the natural power of our pussies. Now, are you going to shut up and let me blow you or what?"

Just as Kyle was about to respond with, "what the fuck?" the shower curtain was pulled back to reveal the entire basketball team gawping in amazement, Stan with his expression frozen in shock – wait, was he wearing makeup? – and a rapidly purpling Clyde.

"What," Clyde said in a low voice.

"Clyde, dude, I have no idea…"

Bebe turned around and smiled.

"Oh, hey Clyde."

"Don't you, ‘Hey, Clyde,' me!" he wailed. "What the hell are you doing?" He gesticulated in such a way that his towel started to slip and reveal a wobbling flaccid penis; Kyle was sure it would have been hysterically funny were he not naked with the head cheerleader on her knees in front of him while the whole team stared.

He hated communal showers.

"Sucking Kyle off, what does it look like?" she replied airily.

"But… Bebe, you're my girlfriend!"

"Yes," Bebe replied slowly, "but Kyle's my prophet. I'm, like, his disciple."

"That doesn't explain anything!"

"Wait, you're my disciple?" Kyle asked, but his query fell on deaf ears.

"Look Clyde, it's perfectly normal. Mary Magdalen followed Jesus around and washed his feet with her hair. I'm doing exactly the same thing, only I'm washing Kyle's cock. With my mouth."

Kyle tried to hide his face with his hand, but swiftly had to grab Bebe's shoulders and steer her away when she tried to continue what she'd started.

"I am fucking sick of this!" Clyde raged.

"Yeah, well, I don't exactly appreciate the flippant way you treat my religious beliefs," Bebe spat back.

Clyde glared at her. "You don't appreciate…? Every night this week, all I've heard is, ‘Kyle would do that,' ‘Kyle would touch me there,' ‘Kyle reaches the parts other guys can't reach,' ‘Kyle's cum tastes like cinnamon'…"

"Cinnamon? Really?" Stan asked, looking Kyle steadfastly in the eye.

"Dude, how the hell would I know?"

Stan sighed heavily. "You've never peed in the shower, you've never tasted your own cum…"

"You leave my saviour alone!" Bebe snapped, glaring at Stan. "How dare you try and sabotage my meeting, you asshole!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake…"

"What the hell is going on here?" Coach Anderson shoved through the crowd of players and stared at the scene in front of him. He raised an eyebrow at Bebe.

"Get lost on your way to the changing rooms, Miss Stevens?"

"I… I dropped a contact lens—"

"What, and it got stuck in Broflovski's pubic hair, did it? Get out of here." He shook his head as Bebe scrambled to her feet and rushed out of the boys' changing rooms.

Coach Anderson folded his eyes and fixed Kyle with a withering glare.

"Care to explain what you're doing in the showers with the head cheerleader and a crowd of spectators, Broflovski?"

"I don't know, sir," Kyle replied evenly. Coach Anderson raised an eyebrow in distain.

"You don't know." He sighed. "From the captain of the Sophomore debate team, I really expected better."

Kyle felt his cheeks burn with a double whammy of irritation and humiliation. "I don't know, sir. I don't know why Bebe waltzed into the showers and started blowing me. I don't know why she's calling me her saviour. I don't know, frankly, why Clyde is still going out with her if she keeps comparing him and me in… those sorts of ways, and I don't know why my cum tastes like cinnamon. I don't know, I don't know, I don't know!" he spat out the words like rotting meat.

"Ike's a fiend for those Pop-Tarts," Stan pointed out, which snapped Kyle out of his rage.

"What?"

"He loves the cinnamon ones, and the cinnamon spiced oatmeal. You've all been having them for breakfast for, like, three months. Maybe that's why?" he mused

"Could be," Kyle agreed.

Coach Anderson stared at them both.

"What a charming domestic image. Just… just get dressed, Broflovski." He glanced across at Stan. "Marsh, try and keep your boyfriend out of trouble."

Token and Clyde tried desperately to smother helpless giggles. Stan gawped at Coach Anderson.

"Dude, sick! He's not my boyfriend!"

"Dude, what's going on? And why are you wearing makeup?" Kyle asked, wiping a spot of lipstick from Stan's mouth.

"Long story," Stan replied. "Dude, you are not going to believe what Cartman and I just found out."

Kyle figured that whatever it was, it was not going to be good. "What?"

"It's totally a cult," Stan said, just as Clyde walked past half-naked. "Bebe's started some, like, religion around you. There are all these girls who are worshipping you. I mean in a sexual way. It's fucked up."

"Yeah, they think that, like, one touch from Kyle and they'll squirt," Clyde commented nastily.

"Don't girls just do that?" Kyle asked.

"Contrary to what you've seen while jacking off to porn, real girls don't squirt when they come," Clyde pointed out with a definite air of smugness.

Kyle merely shrugged. "Are you sure? Because it's always happened when I've been with a…" He decided not to finish his explanation, given the look of rage on Clyde's face.

Slowly, Clyde walked up to him until they were almost touching each other. He slowly raised his middle finger and shoved it right in his face.

"Fuck you, Kyle," he said in a voice far too calm to be sane. "Fuck. You."

~

Once Kyle had got dressed and Stan had removed the last traces of his make-up, they walked sombrely to Kyle's Lincoln; Kyle hadn't offered a lift home and Stan hadn't asked, it was just implied.

"That's… that's just fucked up!" Kyle said for the fifth time.

"Tell me about it," Stan replied for the fourth time – one of his responses had been an, "I know, right?"

Kyle perched on the hood of his car and wrapped his arms protectively around himself. "Why would they do that? It's fucking insane!"

Stan merely shrugged. He didn't want to say anything in case he came across as a dick, but Jesus Christ! Stan didn't understand why all the women in town wanted Kyle, but he could at least have the decency to take advantage of it.

Kyle kicked a can across the parking lot before leaning back against the windscreen and dragging his hands through his hair.

Stan sat next to him. "Come on, dude. It'll pass. They'll get bored and find something new to obsess over," Stan soothed, trying to keep any hint of jealousy out of his voice. Oh, if only Wendy wanted to worship him, just for a day. Or a night. Half an hour would do. Come to think of it, Stan figured he might only need five minutes, as embarrassing as that was.

"It's just messed up, Stan. Why are they doing this? Why?"

Stan placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "I don't know, Kyle. I don't know."

Kyle sighed and fiddled with the bent aerial on his car. "You want to know something, Stan? I really kind of believed in, you know, ‘the one'. That there was this one special girl out there and we'd be perfect for each other," he commented while twisting the aerial back into shape.

Stan nodded, secretly rather surprised that Kyle held this view. He watched as Kyle lifted his head and fixed him with an intense gaze. "Now I don't know what to believe anymore."

Before Stan could even react, Kyle had cupped his face with his hand and planted a hard kiss smack on his lips.

"Dude!" Stan spluttered afterwards, his mind racing with thoughts of whether Rebecca was a ruse and if Kyle had met a guy in New York who had broken his heart. By the time he'd started running through every moment he'd said a variation on the phrase ‘That's gay' and worried about having hurt Kyle's feelings, Kyle had pulled away.

"Damn it!" he muttered.

Stan looked at Kyle's irritated expression. "I… I'm sorry, dude. I don't… I'm not… but, you know, we're still friends, right? If you want to be… I understand if that's hard for you – excuse the pun – if you like me, you know, that way—"

Kyle stared at him as though he'd sprouted another head. "Stan, relax. I'm not in love with you. I was just seeing if I might be gay and damn it, I'm not!"

"Why would you want to be gay, dude?" Stan couldn't help but ask.

"Because girls are fucking crazy!" Kyle retorted hotly.

There was a very long silence; at least it felt that way to Stan. He eventually punctuated it with a question that had been plaguing him ever since Kyle had locked lips with him.

"Why me?" he asked. "Why pick me to test whether you could get hot for a guy?"

Kyle shrugged. "Dude, if I was going to be gay for anyone, I'm sure it'd be you."

Stan felt oddly touched. "Really?"

"For sure."

"Aww. Thanks, man."

"Any time."

They sat in a more comfortable silence, absently watching the sun dip low beneath the swirling clouds.

"You know," Stan said casually, "I get why Bebe's gone all crazy, kind of. You're a really good kisser."

Kyle looked across at him. "Really? You think?" he asked eagerly.

"Totally," Stan affirmed. "You do this whole hand cuppy thing that's possessive without being obnoxious. It's hot, I think. I reckon chicks like that." He was so going to have to try it out on Wendy. You know, when he wasn't making her feel so God damn uncomfortable with his obsessive desires.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Kyle met his eyes once again. "We should probably never speak of this again."

"Totally," Stan agreed.

~

Cartman stared from the gym fire exit, gobsmacked. Well, he would have been if he hadn't been entirely convinced that Kyle and Stan were gay for each other.

He'd just finished putting the final fly poster up for his first meeting for the Church Of Contemplating Kyle – admission fee a mere twenty-five dollars – when he just happened to spot Stan and Kyle kiss on the hood of Kyle's car. Stan seemed freaked out at first, but he soon came around and by the time they had both clambered into Kyle's car, Cartman dreaded to think what they were up to.

Despite witnessing something he'd always claimed was inevitable, Cartman felt an astonishing amount of things he didn't really understand. There was mostly rage, although he wasn't sure who it was directed at. Maybe everyone? He knew he'd never felt such searing hatred towards Stan before, at best he felt a mixture of pity and irritation at his hippie ways and the way he let that skinny bitch Wendy trample all over his balls. This was different.

He felt a stab of anger towards Kyle, too, the fucking Jew slut. He'd already fucked that nerdy stuttering social reject from their youth, then that fucking dumb bitch who's probably got more sperm in her stomach that Cartman had ever had in his ball sack, and now he was fooling around with that boring hippie douche! The fucking ginger slut needed someone who could keep him on his toes and –

God fucking damn, what the hell was happening to him?

"Oh! Hello, Eric." A familiar blonde boy nudged his knuckles together nervously.

Fucking Butters. That was all he needed.

"What do you want, ass-muncher?"

"N… Nothing, really. Say, have you seen Kenny?"

"No. Why, stalking him, are you? Sneaking a good long look at him in the showers? Following him home so you can watch him sleep? You fucking faggy cheerleader."

Butters, irritatingly, simply laughed. "Oh, you are awful funny sometimes, Eric. No, I just saw him pass by here and wanted to talk to him about our art project." He frowned and pulled at a bit of dead skin on his lip. "He keeps going missing, doesn't he?"

"Huh?" Cartman hadn't noticed. Kenny was probably shooting up, or whatever it was poor people did instead of bettering themselves.

"Ever since we've come back to school he just seems to, well, cut class an awful lot, I guess. He must go away somewhere, because he doesn't answer his phone or the door. Which doesn't make life easy when he's your project partner."

Cartman thought he detected a hint of annoyance in Butters' tone, but it was difficult to tell with that pussy.

"Hey, Butters. If you saw… If you saw two people who were your friends – well, they were assholes, but whatever – kiss, would you feel all pissed off about it?"

Butters looked at Cartman and smiled. "Why, of course not, Eric! I'd probably think it was awful sweet. Unless I was pining after one of them, of course. Then I guess I'd feel really mad, by golly." His voice suddenly became a little dark. "Mad enough to… to want to make them suffer." He snapped out of it almost instantaneously. "Or want to win them over," he added chirpily.

"Right." That little bastard might as well have just stabbed him in the balls.

"Well, see you, Eric!" With those words, Butters trundled off and left Cartman with a terrible sinking feeling in his stomach.

He had to do something about this, and he had to do it quickly.

He rushed to the nearest gas station and bought a few essentials – Snacky S'Mores, film magazine, car battery – then phoned his mother to come and pick him up. The fucking bitch took forever; he had to have been waiting for almost fifteen minutes before she finally pulled up next to him!

"About fucking time, Mom," he grumbled as he climbed into the front seat.

"Well, this is half an hour away from home, sweetie. I had to really hurry to get here when I did—"

"Just shut the fuck up and drive," Cartman ordered. His mother obeyed.

"You really need to stop being such a grumpy guts," she chided softly, and Cartman was reminded that although she tended to do as she was told, she never did it quietly. "Do you want to talk, Eric?"

Cartman rested his elbow on the passenger side and stared through the window at the scenery as they flew by. Eventually, she got the message and drove on in silence.

He ran up to his room the moment he got into the house, grabbed a metal coat hanger out of his closet – it wasn't like he was going to wear that suit – and began building like mad.

An hour later, and there it was. A coil of metal at an angle wired up to the car battery and hammered into a wooden stand. He was not going to have any kind of feelings for Kyle that didn't involve disgust, and if he had to train himself to do that, then so be it.

Hesitantly, he approached the device and unzipped his fly. Pulling out his flaccid penis, he carefully rested it between the coil so no part of it touched the metal.

Right. Here we go.

With a deep breath, he began concentrating on the gay porn he had recently seen; the sweaty bears and panting twinks, the way they shot across a whole room… Good. Nothing, no pain whatsoever. Time to step it up a notch.

He thought about Kyle. The little Jew brat, with his stupid hair and big nose, the way almost every girl in town was obsessing over him because Bebe was a stupid, cum guzzling slut who couldn't keep her trap shut… No, don't think about Bebe. However much of a dumb bitch she was, she was still hot, and that was cool in Cartman's book.

Kyle. Kyle, Kyle, Kyle. Kyle being a sulky asshole in the school hallways; Kyle hunched over his desk taking notes, his forehead puckered in concentration; Kyle's wide-eyed excitement at seeing the results of some faggy science experiment; Kyle in the shower, his red curls soaking wet and the water running over his –

"Argh!" God damn that thing fucking hurt! Cartman didn't realise forty volts would feel that strong. The jolts of battery power seared through his cock as he failed to stop the images coming to his mind. In desperation, he pulled out of the machine and examined his red, flagpole-hard cock. This was clearly not going to be an overnight fix; he'd have to do this many times until his body understood.

First he'd take care of business, he decided, as he grabbed his tissues from the bed stand.

Chapter Eleven: The Broflovski Effect – The War Between CLIT and COCK

Stan waited anxiously by Wendy's locker. He glanced at the clock in the hallway, which claimed it was quarter to nine. She was always in a little early, and Stan was eager to give her the birthday present he had spent all weekend sourcing.

He was also worried about giving her the birthday present. It wasn't any old birthday, it was Wendy's sixteenth birthday. That had implications, sexy implications of the legal variety. Now Wendy was sixteen, they could have sex without Stan running the risk of getting arrested for statutory rape if her father found out. It was a moot point, because Wendy didn't feel ready and as much as he wanted her, Stan was okay with this; she was totally worth the wait. This didn't stop panic settling in his stomach at the thought that she might not think he could control himself, and this was where the birthday gift took on a life of its own. Too little, and Wendy might think he didn't care because she wouldn't put out. Too much, and she might think he was trying to give an extravagant gift in return for her virginity; Stan had received a very classy – and expensive – watch for his sixteenth birthday from Mr. Stotch, and as much as his parents insisted he keep it and that it was such a thoughtful gift, he and all of his friends knew exactly why he had been given it.

"Hey, dude." Kyle was rooting through his locker and glanced at the gift-wrapped box in Stan's hands with vague curiosity. "What did you get her?"

"This hat thing she's wanted for ages," Stan replied. "I managed to find a version with a different ribbon, so hopefully nobody else will have one the same. Girls care about that, apparently."

Kyle nodded. "Nice choice." He stuffed a couple of books into his bag, and took out a brightly coloured sealed envelope. "I got her a card; we've been studying a lot together and, you know, if you two ever do get hitched I'd expect to be best man, so… Is that weird? Is that crossing a line?"

"Dude, it's just a birthday card," Stan reasoned.

Kyle shrugged. "Yeah, I just don't think I've ever given a girl a birthday card before. Could you maybe…" He handed the envelope to Stan. "If it comes from you, it won't seem so… I don't know, so personal."

Stan took the card from Kyle and frowned at him. "I think birthday cards are kind of meant to be personal, but whatever, dude." Stan knew he could try and get his head around Kyle's insane logic, but it probably wouldn't be worth it and just leave him with a headache anyway. Was he worried she'd think it was a declaration of love? In fairness, as dumb as that idea was, Kyle had spent the past few months having to fend off girls who took everything he said as a declaration of prophetic wisdom, so Stan could forgive him for being a little paranoid about being misconstrued.

Kenny strolled out of their classroom and made a beeline for Stan, patting him on the back as soon as he reached him. "Hey, hey! Wendy's sixteen today, right? What have you got planned for this evening? A hotel? The back of her car? Edible body paint?"

"Dude!" Stan felt himself colour up, because he had conjured up several scenarios that used every one of Kenny's suggestions.

"Why don't you ask Wendy and see how long your dick remains attached to your body," Kyle joked. "My bet's for thirteen seconds."

Kenny chuckled fondly. "Okay, okay. I'll leave Stan to his secrecy." He looked at Stan with a very serious expression. "Just remember that Wendy's a class act; if you offer her fries behind the bike-sheds, you'll be dumped faster than Kate Moss after a coke binge."

Before Stan had a chance to retort, he spotted Wendy head straight into their classroom.

"Later, guys," he said, dashing after her.

"Hey! Happy Birthday!" Stan handed her his gift and the cards.

"Hey! Oh, thank you!" Wendy smiled as she opened the envelopes. "Oh, it's from Kyle? That's sweet. Tell him I said thank you, won't you?"

"You could just tell him yourself; he'll be along in a minute."

Wendy appeared a little awkward. "I know, but… Well, if it comes from you, it'll seem friendlier. He won't think he's got some other cult member to worry about."

Stan stared at her. He swore blind at times that he would never fully understand either his girlfriend or his best friend. At times like this, they seemed to be on a different level to him.

Wendy seemed to appreciate his card, which was a relief to Stan as he had just picked it out at random. She perched on the edge of her desk to unwrap her birthday present, just as their other classmates started to filter in. Cartman, to Stan's amazement, was already sitting at his desk. A more deliberate look at him made Stan realise he was fast asleep, however.

"Oh, wow! Thanks, Stan! I've been after one of these for, like, ever!" She looked at him with fondness, but she didn't move forward to kiss him. Stan wanted to, but did she want him to? Would it make her feel uncomfortable if he kissed her?

The moment had passed before he had even come to a decision.

"Kenny, put them down. You're kind of making me uncomfortable!" Kyle and Kenny had sat down at their desks; Kyle was eyeing the way Kenny languidly played with his scissors. Kenny silently placed the scissors directly in front of him, as though deliberately keeping himself away from temptation.

"Thanks, Stan," Wendy said quietly. "It's a really thoughtful gift."

"You're welcome," Stan replied nervously, trying to work out if that was a good thoughtful that made him a caring boyfriend, or a bad thoughtful that said he was trying to get her panties off.

Stan noticed Kyle was staring at him and Wendy, his forehead creased in a frown. He quietly sat back at his desk.

"Everything okay, Stan?"

"Yeah, fine," Stan lied. He didn't know how to explain to Kyle his concerns about making Wendy feel like his prey. Especially when Cartman was snoring loudly at the desk next to him.

"One of us is going to have to wake that fat fucker before Mrs Langstrom gets here," Kyle grumbled.

"You're nearest," Stan replied as he stared to worry about his choice of date venue for tonight. Casa Bonita was fun without giving any suggestion of sexual expectation, right?

~

Cartman felt the weight of the blonde man's hand as it clapped down on his shoulder.

"I like your play an awful lot, Eric, and so do my stars," he said with a smile, his impressive moustache twitching as he did so. "I think we can come to some arrangement."

"Thank you, Mr Stotch—"

"Oh, please; call me Leo." He doffed his hat and gestured towards the open door of the renovated windmill. "Welcome, my friend, to the finest cabaret in the whole of Gay Paree!"

Cartman glanced up and the flashing pink neon sign, ‘Le Moulin Rose'. He'd spent a lot of time here of late. As Leo quickly pushed him through the open doors, Cartman found it easy to ignore the plethora of scantily clad men serving drinks and the crowds of excitable gays of all kinds.

Kyle was on stage. Everything literally stopped for Cartman when that boy performed. He never wore make-up, save for the kind that played up the lights, nor did he have to wear a wig with those fiery curls. The only hint of drag in his drag act was the glittering silvery body, fishnets and high heels. The way he coiled himself around the trapeze which formed the centrepiece of the stage was nothing short of physics-defying, but it was when he seemed to look right at him with those big expressive eyes as though he was the only person in the room that Cartman couldn't tear himself away.

"Forget him," Leo cautioned, handing him a glass of wine. "He's my biggest draw, you know. Why, if it weren't for him, we wouldn't have such an influential patron." He inclined his head towards a handsome, if cold looking, man who was seated in the only box of the whole theatre. His jet black hair was slicked back and he stared at Kyle hungrily; Cartman felt his stomach clench at the sight.

"Stanley Marsh. He's a duke, you know," Leo said proudly. "He came here last year, on the quiet, of course. He worships Kyle and, well, he pays a staggering amount for the privilege."

"Naturally," Cartman said, trying hard to keep the fury out of his voice. Kyle was a courtesan here at the Moulin Rose, and Cartman knew for the past six months that this Duke asshole had been his only client. Apparently the guy was rather possessive.

Once the show was over, Leo took him by the arm and led him back stage.

"I'd like you to show Kyle your latest script," he insisted as they passed through swarms of half-naked men and wig tape. "He really thinks very highly of your work, by golly."

Cartman smiled. Back when they first met, Kyle had mistaken him for this Marsh character; a simple misunderstanding that might have been funny if he weren't so beautiful and Cartman wasn't so lovesick.

Now, when he had to watch the oily Duke kiss Kyle's hand and gaze into his eyes as though he were his and his alone, Cartman could find nothing amusing in the mistake. Kyle loved him, he knew it. Why did he have to compete with this asshole? Cartman could offer Kyle love like he'd never known, but Stanley Marsh could offer him everything else, and Kyle was a very practical man. Cartman couldn't blame him for it, even as it killed him to see that duke place his sweaty palm on the small of his back.

"Kyle? Mr. Cartman is back with the rewrite of the script," Leo announced grandly. Cartman saw the Marsh asshole look at him with a mixture of condescension and disgust.

"Now, Leo. I'm sure Kyle doesn't need to be bothered with such trifles right now." He fixed his blue eyes on Kyle once again.

"I feel very strongly about the performance, Your Grace. It has to be perfect, and Mr. Cartman here is very gifted," Kyle insisted. Cartman felt his cheeks glow warmly at the compliment, which intensified at the dazzling smile Kyle directed at him.

"My dear, you are a true artiste," the Duke conceded, kissing Kyle tenderly on the cheek. He accepted the gesture gracefully; a little touch of the arm to show he returned the affection, or at least he could fake it.

"What is the play about, pray tell?"

Cartman cleared his throat, careful to hide any revulsion he might feel for the asshole who was going to steal his man away. "It's a romance, naturally," he explained. "It's about an evil maharajah who attempts to woo an Indian courtesan, only he – the courtesan – is already in love with a penniless sitar player. What will he choose? The cold trappings of wealth and fortune, or a love greater than any he's experienced?" He tried not to stare at Kyle as he spoke, but it was impossible. Kyle looked away, clearly moved.

"Well, that sounds like the perfect modern-day dilemma," the Duke chuckled. "I look forward to see it." He turned his attention fully to Kyle. "And you, my little kitten," he simpered, before kissing his hand once more.

Cartman fought the urge not to vomit. As if anyone who had known Kyle for more than five minutes could ever call him a kitten. That man was a tiger, and needed to be treated like one – with respect, awe and a little fear. There was no doubt in Cartman's mind that Kyle was very dangerous; he'd certainly conquered him with little effort.

"So, do you have the new lines?" Kyle asked, and it took Cartman a little while to realise they were now alone.

"Yeah, right here," he replied, pulling out the slightly dog-eared script. "I was still making amendments on the train."

Kyle slinked closer to him; Cartman could fell his warm breath fan out against his ear. "So, what wins out?" he asked. "Love or comfort?"

"What do you think?"

"I think love is beautiful, but it doesn't keep one off the streets."

Cartman couldn't bear to be so close and yet so far from this exquisite creature. He took his hand and brought it to his cheek. "It doesn't have to be such a choice, you know."

Kyle pulled away and turned his back to him. "Well, that's the difference between you and I; you can walk away from this place, but I am chained to it."

Cartman slid his hands around Kyle's taut waist. "Then let me make you a key," he urged, turning Kyle to face him.

Kyle pulled away, but not enough to leave Cartman's embrace. "The Duke will keep me for life."

"You never wanted to be kept, any fool can see that," Cartman retorted, the coolness of Kyle's palms pressing against his chest seemed to send fire through his very bones. He removed one hand from Kyle's back and cupped his face tenderly. "I would never keep you. I would cherish you."

Kyle looked away uncertainly, and laughed humourlessly. "Do you know what I thought the first time I laid eyes on you, Eric?"

Cartman shrugged. "Tell me."

"I thought you'd be very, very bad for business," he replied quietly, his lips parting in expectation of a kiss Cartman was all too eager to give.

When Cartman opened his eyes, Kyle was staring right in his face.

"Dude, wake the fuck up! Mrs. Langstrom will be here any—"

Cartman didn't wait to hear the rest of Kyle's statement. Instead he threw his desk to one side and screamed out loud in horror as he dashed to the boys' bathroom.

Safely ensconced in the empty bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face and tried to compose himself. This was bad, this was very bad. When he was having dreams about fucking Kyle up the ass, at least there was some element of power and humiliation going on there. He could reasonably argue with himself that fucking Kyle would humiliate the stupid Jew, and would put Cartman firmly in control. Dreaming about kissing him? Romancing him? He felt sick inside; maybe he was beyond help?

He stepped out of the bathroom and took a deep breath, glancing along the corridor for potential witnesses. It was probably the fault of being surrounded every day by those dumb fucking cock-hungry whores fawning over the Jew asshole. Clearly it was rubbing off on him.

By the time he had decided it was cool, he was cool and he could go back to class and maybe hit Kyle with his textbook to show that he really didn't give a crap about him, Bebe was standing in front of him. She looked like she'd just swallowed a wasp.

"Oi! I want a word with you, Cartman!"

"What's up with your face? Missed your period?" Cartman retorted. Bebe glared daggers at him, which surprised Cartman; he figured she'd be used to those sorts of insults.

"You blasphemer!" she accused hotly. "You peddler of lies! You've twisted the acts of our prophet!"

"You twist the acts of your gay Jew asshole prophet," Cartman retorted.

Bebe snorted at this. "Gay? Yeah, right. You dare to make our sexual awakening all about your cock; he asked for nothing in return!"

"Only because you got on your knees for him like the fucking slut you are! He probably felt guilty; he's a fucking Jew! It's like, their default state!"

Bebe looked horrified for a moment. "How… How do you know about that?"

Cartman smirked. "Charade you are, Bebe. You didn't think he'd tell just about everyone?" If he could get her to hate that Jew asshole, then Cartman would never have to worry about Bebe getting her slutty claws into him again, and – wait, no. That wasn't why he was doing it at all.

Bebe stormed up to him until she was mere inches apart from him. "He didn't tell anyone," she insisted, jabbing Cartman in the chest as she did so. "I had to tell Clyde what had happened because none of his friends knew and could fill in the gaps for him!" Her expression grew suspicious. "Just how do you know, anyway?"

"I… I… I don't have to answer your hateful propaganda!" he spluttered.

Bebe raised an eyebrow at him. "That doesn't even make sense!" she shrieked. Then, without warning, she said the worst thing Cartman could ever have heard from another person in his entire life. "You're obsessed with him."

"That's rich, coming from the dumb bitch who formed a cult over him!" Cartman jeered.

"So? I've got a reason to… and you hate that, don't you?"

"Fuck off!" Cartman scoffed. "Like I give a crap where that fucking Jew sticks his freaky chopped—"

"Enough! You have spread lies about our saviour for the last time!"

"What are you going to do about it? Strap on a bomb and give me a cuddle, you fucking terrorist?"

Bebe grabbed his lapels and with a strength Cartman didn't realise she'd ever possessed, she dragged him forward. "If you want a war, fatass, you've fucking well got one. Tonight, eight pm. My flock and I are going to fuck you up!"

She let go and Cartman struggled to get his breath back. "Fine, you crazy fucking bitch; we'll be there!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

With those words, Cartman realised he must gather his troops. The war for Kyle had begun…

Not for Kyle, obviously, but for the right to make money out of his gullible fapping club.

Cartman reiterated this thought to himself all the way back to class.

~

Wendy waited in her car until Bebe rapped her knuckles on the passenger side window.

"Hey!" she said breezily, though there was steel in her eyes. Wendy tried to ignore the stupid badge she wore with pride.

"What have you done now?"

"I've done nothing," Bebe insisted, "but Cartman? He's taken away, like, a third of my flock! He's led them astray with false promises and I know he's taking money from them, too." She slammed the door closed in an apparent display of her anger, that ridiculous pink badge quivering as she moved… What was it? Stan said it was like a tulip, but Wendy thought it looked more like a mollusc.

As she drove off from the school parking lot, Bebe was in full flow.

"…And he's just teaching them lies! ‘Giveth unto your dude a blow job and, lo, he will reward you…' What a load of bullshit!"

Wendy sensed that Bebe had felt this betrayal herself, and far too keenly. She considered it just another item on the mental list of why she wasn't allowing Stan anywhere below the waist, or anywhere unclothed, for that matter.

"Don't you think you're taking this too far?" Wendy couldn't understand why she even had to ask the question. Two months into this bizarre experiment and it had clearly gone too far before it had even started. Every time she saw Kyle in their AP classes he looked a little more haggard. She'd even taken to offering him sanctuary at her home so he could study away from the dozens of girls camped outside his house singing hymns. Then her own mother came home with one of those pink badges that looked like…

"Oh my God! That badge, it's… it's female genitalia!" Wendy exclaimed, having suddenly made the horrible connection.

Bebe smiled at her wisely. "Only once you see can you truly understand."

"It's disgusting," Wendy spat, her eyes glued to the road.

"See, this is why you need re-educating. To say that you find your own pussy disgusting? That's generations of patriarchal suppression of your desires."

"I'm perfectly happy with my… my bits," Wendy insisted. "I just don't want to wear them on my lapel."

Suddenly, Bebe slapped her hand on the dashboard. "Stop here!" She insisted.

Wendy could see they were outside Kyle's house, where several girls milled around the front garden holding candles and singing ‘One Way Or Another' as one.

"No," Wendy replied firmly. "Leave him alone—"

It was too late; Bebe had already opened the door and barrel-rolled out of the car. Wendy cursed herself for driving past so slowly. She pulled up and got out of the car, rushing after Bebe.

"Bebe! Wait! Stop doing this!" It was no good; Bebe simply shrugged her off and led the girls in a prayer which Wendy recognised as being a ‘Reader's Confession' from Cosmopolitan magazine.

"Wendy? Not you too?" Suddenly, Stan was by her side with Kyle, and looking deeply betrayed.

"Me? Of course not, Stan; why on Earth would I want to worship Kyle, of all people?" Wendy countered, before glancing at Kyle. "No offence."

"None taken."

The girls suddenly started to circle closer and closer to Kyle, like sharks that had sensed a drop of blood in the ocean.

"Hi, Kyle."

"Show us the way, oh Wise One!"

"Let us please you, our saviour!"

Kyle's expression suggested he'd happily carpet bomb every last one of them; Wendy saw his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

"For the last time, I am not your fucking messiah!" he ground out through clenched teeth.

Bebe smiled beatifically at him. "Oh, Kyle. You totally are our fucking messiah."

"And only a true messiah would deny his existence!" a mousey-haired girl nearby exclaimed. Wendy eyed her red plaid coat and realised she'd bought the very one Wendy had been coveting. Bitch.

"Yeah!" The congregation cheered simultaneously. Kyle looked at the floor and dragged his hands through his mess of coppery curls.

"Fine, fine; I am you messiah," he offered.

"See! It's true!" Bebe exclaimed, but before anyone had a chance to respond, Kyle spat, "Now go fuck yourselves!"

"How should we fuck ourselves, oh Wise One?"

Wendy and Stan barely had time to rush through the open front door before Kyle slammed it shut with such force that the pictures on the wall shook.

"Are they still there, Bubbeleh?" Kyle's mother called from the kitchen in a weary tone that told Wendy this had been Kyle's getting home ritual for a long time.

Wendy felt Stan's hand tentatively reach for hers. She took it, grateful that with Mrs. Broflovski around, there was no way it could turn into anything more. Nobody could expect anything from it, and she couldn't be a tease just by holding hands, right?

"Yes, Ma. They're still here," Kyle replied sulkily.

"It's not my fault, Kyle."

Wendy felt like answering Kyle's mother with a retort of, "It's not Kyle's fault either," but then Ike bounded into the front room, the straps of his little back pack on both arms, and loudly proclaimed, "Ma! There's a bunch of girls outside being gross!"

Kyle peered through the curtains and grimaced. "Oh my… Abraham," he said carefully, glancing towards the kitchen.

"Dude, what is it?" Stan asked, walking over to the window and peering through. "Dude!" he exclaimed in a mixture of horror and fascination.

Ike clambered up the couch and joined him at the window. "I know, right?"

Kyle stormed towards the front door, opened it and yelled, "When I said ‘Go fuck yourselves', I did not mean literally!" before slamming the door again. This time, a picture fell from the wall nearby, and Wendy managed to catch it.

"Wow, nice save," Kyle said with a tinge of awe.

His mother peered around the kitchen door and sighed heavily.

"I'll go and get the broom," she said nonchalantly, disappearing into the cupboard under the stairs only to re-emerge with a heavy-duty broom. She walked outside and all Wendy could head was the thrashing of bristles and a repetitive stream of, "Shoo! Go home! Get out of my garden! Oy, vey!"

Kyle kicked an innocent waste-paper basket across the living room. "God damn it!" he hissed.

"Chill, dude," Stan said kindly. "Look on the bright side; you've got loads of hot chicks into you. That's got to be pretty cool, right?" To Wendy's horror, he looked a little envious.

Kyle glared at him. "No, it's not cool, Stan! It's a fucking pain in the ass! They will not leave me alone – I can't study in the library because they congregate around me, they hang around waiting for me after class, they shove their way into the gym to watch me during basketball practise – which pisses the rest of the team off. It's horrible, okay? I'm not even free of it in my own home; oh, and let's not forget that the only teacher who hasn't got involved with this stupid cult is our drama teacher!"

"Mrs. Langstrom?" Wendy asked, a little surprised by this titbit of information. She'd have had earthy, romantic Mrs. Langstrom down as one of the first to join up.

"Dude, then you're guaranteed straight A's no matter what you do; how's that bad?"

"Yeah, because colleges will be totally cool with such blatant discrepancies if it turns out I'm sucking in class and screw up the SATs!"

Suddenly, Kyle fixed Wendy with an icy glare. "What the fuck is wrong with you people? Are you, like, genetically predisposed to fuck with our heads?"

"Dude! Leave Wendy out of this!" Stan glared back at him with an anger Wendy had rarely seen from him.

"Hey! In case you hadn't noticed, I'm playing no part in this insane little cult, thank you." Wendy was surprised by two things; one, that Stan had actually taken her side over Kyle's and two, that Kyle's little verbal attack had actually stung her.

She watched as Kyle's shoulders slumped and he looked at her with big, soulful eyes.

"I'm sorry, Wendy," he said. Wendy knew he meant it, largely because Kyle wasn't very good at being insincere.

Still, she wasn't quite ready to let such a sweeping misogynistic statement just drop. "Well, great. Because sexism's totally okay, so long as you remember to say sorry afterwards!"

"If you're going to be a… If you're going to be like that about it, I wasn't being sexist, I was being misogynistic. There's a difference!"

"I do know! I just doubted that your bitter little man-brain could comprehend such nuances!"

"Now who's being sexist?"

Stan hovered awkwardly between the two of them. "How about I go and get everyone a drink?" he offered before dashing off to the kitchen. Typical; any conflict between his girlfriend and his best friend and Stan would find any way to wheedle out of it.

"Fucking pussy," Kyle muttered under his breath around the same time Wendy did. They smiled at each other, and it seemed to break the tension.

"I am sorry, Wendy. It's just…" Kyle, unusually, seemed to struggle for words. "Fuck, what's wrong with me?" He perched on the arm of the couch.

Wendy couldn't help but smile at his brooding. "I think you've got rather the opposite issue, Kyle. Those girls don't think there's a single thing wrong with you."

He slumped his shoulders yet again and didn't meet her eyes. "I was thinking more along the lines of why they don't stick around afterwards."

Wendy felt a pang of sympathy, and slid her arm around him.

"Don't take what Bebe did to heart," she urged. "Yes, she was an idiot, but she really does like you a lot. It's just that her and Clyde are… well, her and Clyde; spending time with you made her feel really confused as well—"

"I don't mean Bebe," Kyle mumbled, and it suddenly hit Wendy like a ton of bricks. How could she have been so stupid?

"Rebecca," she acknowledged. The poor guy was still totally cut up over her.

"Why wouldn't she fight, huh? Am I really not worth it? I know she said it was for the best but… fuck, how can this be good for us? For me? I'd have walked through fire just to see her again, and she wouldn't even IM me under a pseudonym?"

To Wendy's utter shock, he started to cry. Not the big, heaving loud sobs she tended to have, but silent tears were definitely rolling down his face. She had no idea what to say, so instead hugged him tightly, surprised once more when he leant into her arms and accepted her comfort.

He was skinnier than he looked and though his hands were cold where they curled up into fists and rested on the nape of her neck – Wendy supposed it was his way of keeping the intimacy a stage apart from how she and Stan would hug – she felt close to sweltering where she was trapped within his arms. The weight of his head against her shoulder didn't bother her particularly; she was just glad to have been able to return the favour after her nervous breakdown in the library during the start of their AP classes. Especially because after studying with him, she was back up to her usual A grade standard.

When Stan walked in holding three drinks in a triangle between his hands and glanced across at them, Wendy was uncertain how he'd react. It turned out he merely set the drinks down on the table and hovered by the door frame, as though waiting for the moment where he could return without making anyone feel uncomfortable. In a way, she felt a little peeved at his lack of jealousy, but overall she was glad he respected her enough not to be freaked out by her hugging his teary-eyed friend.

Although it would have been nice if Stan could have appeared a little less aroused by her nurturing behaviour. She caught his eye and they both looked away; she felt ashamed that she kept making him feel this way, and she could see how frustrated he felt.

Wendy suddenly felt a vibration somewhere around her hip-bone; Kyle let go of her and reached into his pocket. He pulled out his cell phone and glanced at it briefly, before looking up at them both as though they were aliens.

"What the fuck's wrong with you two, anyway?" he asked suddenly. "Why are you both acting like you're contagious or something? I mean, Jesus Christ, I've had more intimate interactions with the both of you than you've had with each other recently."

Wendy met Stan's gaze; he appeared as embarrassed as she did. Apparently, Kyle's piercing gaze was like truth serum to Stan; he looked fit to burst with the expression of someone who really didn't want to.

"Dude, I don't want to, you know…" He sighed and looked at Wendy. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable with me, okay? Like, I know you're sixteen today, but it doesn't mean I expect… you know. God damn it, just because we're both legal now doesn't change anything, okay?"

"Stan, I understand; I'm trying really hard not to make you feel that way," she protested. "I don't want to be some… some kind of cock-tease!"

Suddenly, Kyle burst out laughing.

"What? This isn't funny, dude," Stan spat.

Kyle wiped his eyes. "Oh, it is. You two… Aww, man. You're so desperate to make each other feel comfortable that you're putting insane amounts of pressure on yourselves." He looked at Stan. "Dude, it's okay to fantasise about making love to your girlfriend."

Wendy felt Kyle's hand on her shoulder. He smiled kindly at her. "Wendy, a cock-tease is someone who says they're going to put out and doesn't. Making your boyfriend hot for you is not the same thing. Will you two just chill the fuck out?"

Stan looked at her awkwardly. "Wendy? I don't want to push you into anything, but I can't help thinking about you like that. I totally want you, but it's cool that you're not ready. I just want to go back to how we were before that dumb party."

"Me too," Wendy insisted. "I just didn't want you to feel… I thought I'd be being a bitch if we were to, you know, make out and stuff when I didn't want to go further."

Stan gawped at her. "Really? I thought you didn't want me anywhere near you after I'd… you know, the dress and everything."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Will you two just kiss and make up?"

Wendy could see no reason why she shouldn't run into Stan's arms and kiss him like she'd wanted to for the past three months. When he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her hard on the lips, she could have died on the spot. Flinging her arms around him, she kissed him back, enjoying the feeling of his hands roaming over her back as he held her tightly against him.

"Yeah, okay guys. My mom will be back in the house at some point," Kyle warned. Stan let go of Wendy, his expression sheepish.

"So, you wanna go celebrate your birthday? I kind of booked a table at Casa Bonita…"

Wendy couldn't help but smile. "You know, Stan? Tonight I'd rather just go to a drive-thru and make out in the back of my car," she replied.

"Sweet!" Stan looked thrilled. Wendy felt a little flutter in her stomach at Stan's enthusiasm.

She glanced across at Kyle, who appeared a little embarrassed. "Thanks, Kyle. We kind of just needed to say that out loud."

"Yeah; thanks, dude. Why are you so fucking wise about this shit?"

Kyle shrugged. "It's easy to be wise when you're on the outside looking in."

Wendy walked up to Kyle and hugged him; she noticed that Stan did the same.

Kyle didn't appear particularly impressed at his being trapped in a group hug between the two of them. "Great, now get the fuck out of my house and have some fun. There is no way I should be this intimately involved in your relationship," he said in mock weariness.

~

By the time Kyle had trudged to the rendezvous point given in Kenny's text, he was already waiting with a cigarette dangling between his lips.

"Hey," he said nonchalantly through a cloud of smoke.

"Dude, you should really give that up; those things could kill you," Kyle pointed out. To his utter bemusement, Kenny seemed to find this very funny.

"Thanks, Mom, but I'll take my chances."

They ambled along the side street in a comfortable silence, until Kyle broke it with, "Not that I mind, but why do you need me to come with you to hand in your drama homework?"

Kenny gestured towards his grimy jeans and worn duffel coat. "Because I stink of glue and smokes, man. I reckon it'll look bad, given she gave me an extension." He grinned. "I wouldn't mind returning the favour and giving her my extension."

"Dude, what is it with you and our teachers this year?"

Kenny shrugged. "Some of them are fucking hotties. Just saying." He eyed Kyle curiously. "The Eurotrash thing's really working for you, by the way."

"Huh?"

"That coat, for example. That slightly gay double-breasted trench coat with the turned up collar that you wouldn't have been caught dead in until you came back from New York." He grinned. "It's got almost every female in town worshipping you. If I was taller, I'd have raided your closet already."

At least with Kenny, there was no follow-up comment about finding Stan in there. "I don't think I'd have really had an opinion on it, to be honest," Kyle admitted, absently fingering his collar. "It can't be that, though. I was dressed like this before that dumb cult took off."

Kenny shrugged. "It must be something. I mean, guys get new clothes and get their braces taken off all the time, and nobody starts praising them like they're responsible for every girl's second coming, so to speak."

Kyle grimaced. "Yeah, thanks for that, Kenny."

They stopped at Mrs. Langstrom's door; Kyle could see it was ajar. He knocked lightly on the door, but received no answer.

"Just go in," Kenny insisted. "Mrs. L's cool. She made me hot chocolate when I brought around my cultural analysis of ‘Romeo and Juliet'. Plus she helped me to write something more than, ‘they die, it sucks'."

"Well, that's definitely succinct," Kyle agreed as he pushed the door open… and walked straight in on Mrs. Langstrom lying spread-eagle on her couch while a man Kyle assumed was her husband was between her legs. He tried to sneak out, but it was too late; Mrs. Langstrom had spotted them.

"Kyle! Kenny! How did you—"

"Ah! I'm sorry, Ma'am. The door was open and I just—"

"Sweet!" Kenny breathed in awe. Mrs. Langstrom's husband did not appear particularly pleased by this.

"And what exactly are you two boys doing loitering outside our house?" he asked testily.

"Bernie, do calm down," Mrs Langstrom said kindly.

"I just came – ahem – to hand in my assignment," Kenny explained sheepishly, placing his papers on the coffee table. "I'll just leave it there. Thanks for the extension, Ma'am. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

To Kyle's horror, Kenny actually winked at their teacher's husband. In a way, it was comforting to see that her husband appeared to feel the same way as Kyle, although it was less comforting that he seemed to take it out on Kyle.

"I'm surprised you're not busy at your little cult meetings," he said disapprovingly, and this riled Kyle up so much that it didn't cross his mind to ask why he was striking up any form of conversation after being caught giving oral to their teacher.

"They're not my meetings!" he snapped. "I have got nothing to do with that… that insanity!"

"Well it seems to have affected almost every woman in this place," he countered. "All my colleague's wives are wearing those ridiculous badges. Sharon was the last to succumb." He glanced at his wife. "You know Sharon, right?"

"Who, Stan's mother?"

"Oh, for the love of—"

Kyle suddenly felt Kenny grab his arm tightly. "We should leave you to it. See you tomorrow, Mrs. Langstrom!" he called as he dragged them both out of the house.

Kyle shut the door behind them. "Man, I could have lived my whole life having happily never seen that," he said.

Kenny beamed in delight. "I, on the other hand, feel my life has been enriched by the sight. Well, my jacking-off fantasies have been enriched."

"Dude, gross!"

"What's gross about it? Chicks fucking love it, trust me." Kenny's expression was a weird mix of melancholia and desire.

"I don't mean the act of cunnilingus itself. I mean seeing our teacher getting it," Kyle replied.

Kenny fixed him with a surprised glance. "You know about licking the lady Laffy Taffy?"

"If you mean oral sex, then sure." He sighed heavily. "Not that it did me any good with Bebe."

Kenny whipped around at this and grabbed Kyle's lapels. "Wait, did you go down to Bebe's Pussy Town diner and order the ‘all you can eat' special?"

"What the fuck are you talking about, Kenny?"

"Bebe, did you give Bebe cunnilingus?" he asked, his eyes wild with panic.

"Sure." He looked at the floor; memories of Bebe's beautiful unravelling flooded his mind and bruised his heart. "I thought she really liked me, and she really wanted me to screw her, but I couldn't do that on a first date – that would be so weird! So we kind of… I figured it was a good compromise, but she just got back with Clyde like it was no big—"

"Dude!" Kenny cut him off eagerly. "I think I get it. I know what this dumb cult's all about! It's all because—"

Suddenly, Kenny stopped and slumped against Kyle.

"Kenny?" Kyle said uncertainly, before feeling warm wet drops on his hand. He looked down and saw blood. When he looked up to find the source, he saw a makeshift arrow comprised of barrettes and pencils had smashed right through his skull, ear to ear. Kenny was dead, and before he'd even managed to give his answer.

"You bastards!" Kyle whispered as he closed Kenny's glassy eyes.

~

"Oh, Stan!"

Wendy's shocked little gasp was the greatest thing Stan had ever heard in his entire life. He'd have responded, but he was too busy grazing her ear with his teeth and making her writhe against him in the cramped space of her car.

Then she coiled her fingers around the hair at the back of his head and pulled his away until they were face to face. By the time she had crashed her lips against his, Stan was lost in her. The heat of her thighs enveloped him as she hitched her leg around his, and Stan was pretty sure this was the closest he had ever physically been in contact with her.

She pulled away slightly and looked at him. "Are you sure this is okay?" she asked shyly.

"Wendy, this is pretty fucking perfect," he replied, kissing her eagerly again. She halted him by pressing her hand to his chest.

"What's the matter, babe?"

"Oh, nothing. Just hungry," she said.

Stan smiled at her. "Working up an appetite, huh?" he teased, before propping himself up on one elbow and using his free hand to reach into the burger bag. He found Wendy's vegetarian burger and unwrapped it with his teeth – he figured she can't mind his mouth being near her food given that she'd just had her tongue in it – before offering it in front of her.

"Stan!"

"Come on, the birthday girl gets a slave for the evening. It's, like, a law or something."

She tentatively leant forward and took a bite, then continued. Stan discovered that he found feeding her rather erotic.

However, he found Wendy sucking his fingers clean once she was done even more erotic. He hoped against hope that she wouldn't be able to notice his erection poking against her thigh through two pairs of jeans, but the sudden blush that spread across her cheeks suggested she had. Still, she didn't seem freaked out, so that was a definite plus.

She leant forward and kissed him. "You should eat," she instructed, so they took a brief break for Stan to finish his burger and Wendy to eat her remaining fries. As he swallowed the last of his burger and watched Wendy eat her fries rather daintily – she always ate them one at a time, and never crammed a whole handful into her mouth like he or any of his friends would – he couldn't resist grabbing her hand and sucking each salt-coated finger clean.

The way she shuddered went straight his dick.

"Stan? Are you okay?" She sat up suddenly. "I'm not teasing you too much, am I?"

He couldn't help but grin. "Babe, if you teased me for the rest of my life, I think I'd be pretty damn happy," he replied, before sliding his spit-slicked fingers through her hair and kissing her welcoming mouth. He felt her moan against his lips as he pulled her flush against him in his lap, and when he laid her gently on her back in the cramped car, she wrapped her legs around his again. His senses went into overdrive when he felt her gently, almost imperceptibly, grind against him. Panic gripped him for a moment; what should he do? He sure in hell didn't want her to stop, but if he ground back would she freak? Gingerly, he attempted a few meek little thrusts of his hips to see how she reacted. Quite well, it turned out; she gave a little sigh and kept up her motion, so Stan did his best to match it without slamming against her so hard he actually tore through both their pants. It was a definite fear of his; as good as this make-out session felt, he wanted to be in her so much it hurt. On the plus side, he was in for a treat of a masturbating session tonight.

Stan felt Wendy's fingers tentatively start exploring his lower back and creeping closer to his ass; the moment she gave his left ass-cheek a squeeze through his jeans he nearly ploughed her straight through the car door.

A little gasp of surprise escaped Wendy's lips; Stan hoped it was the pleasant kind. He chanced taking things further by letting his fingers walk across the waistband of her low-slung jeans and hover meaningfully at her fly, but she gently batted it away while still kissing him frantically. Still, Stan figured this was good; he could at least try to go a little further while safe in the knowledge she'd be happy to stop him without feeling uncomfortable. He slid his hands up to her waist and roamed everywhere he'd already been granted access to instead.

Suddenly, the car jolted.

"Wh… what was that?" Wendy asked blearily.

"I don't know," Stan replied, propping himself up on his hands to peer out of the window just as another shockwave jolted the car. "Maybe it's an earthquake?"

"In South Park?" Wendy asked incredulously just as Stan saw a nearby shop burst into flames.

"Or maybe not," he concluded as hundreds of women suddenly rushed across the street with flaming torches.

Wendy peered out of the window alongside him. "Are those archery bows?" she asked as a group of women scaled the hardware store and started firing flaming arrows across the street.

Before Stan could answer, the car door was wrenched open and a gaggle of crazy women yanked them clean out of the car.

"What the hell!"

"Heathen!" a tall blonde woman yelled at Wendy. "You worship a false idol!"

"Excuse me?" Wendy appeared rather angry; as the group of women circled them viciously, Stan felt she should probably be far more scared right now. He knew he was.

"Get the heathens! We must protect the prophet!"

Stan grabbed Wendy and held her to him protectively; slightly gleeful despite everything that she buried herself in his arms. Before the crazy ladies could pounce, Kyle showed up wielding a baseball bat, his coat spattered with blood and dirt.

"Oi! Back off, you lunatic bitches!" he yelled, dead-legging the women nearest them and sending them ricocheting through the group like skittles. He grabbed Stan's arm.

"Come on; we need to get out of here!" he instructed. Stan followed him instantly, holding Wendy's hand as they fled.

"What the fucking hell is going on!" Stan bellowed as they ran full-pelt away from the hoarding womenfolk.

"Some kind of holy war has broken out!" Kyle shouted back. "It's spilled out onto the streets and the whole town's under siege!"

"What?" Stan felt his voice flatten as he replied; it depressed him no end that Kyle's response didn't leave him shocked, or frightened or ever horrified. No, it left him thoroughly unsurprised. There was a holy war. Bebe's cult had got out of hand and they were roaming the streets trying to impose their religion on everyone. It was almost inevitable.

"War. Holy. Between Bebe and…" Kyle frowned as they sprinted down the street. "Who the hell is she opposing, anyway?"

"I have no idea," Stan replied, as they ducked into a side street to catch their breath.

"Maybe… there's been… a splinter group…?" Wendy suggested between gasping breaths. Stan had forgotten she wasn't so much non-athletic as anti-athletic. He rubbed her back comfortingly as she struggled to regulate her breathing.

"We should find Kenny," Stan said. "If they're after you, they're going to come after your friends…" He trailed off at the mournful look on Kyle's face.

"Dude, Kenny's dead," Kyle said quietly, his eyes closed as though in prayer.

Stan felt his jaw drop. "Oh my God! They killed Kenny!" He looked across at Kyle expectantly, waiting for… well, he wasn't exactly sure, but he knew Kyle should have said something to his exclamation.

"I said it earlier," Kyle replied. "But listen; he was onto something. Before he died, he said he thought he knew why Bebe might have started this freaky cult."

"So, what was it?"

"I don't know; he got an arrow through his head before he could finish his sentence." Kyle frowned in thought. "He was talking about cunnilingus before... before he passed away."

"Cunnilingus?" Stan racked his brain but couldn't think of anywhere he'd heard that word before.

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Stan? We need to have a talk."

"Oral sex, but on a woman," Kyle replied, and Stan suddenly felt rather silly.

"Oh, I see. What's that got to do with anything?"

"I don't—"

"Wait, can you hear footsteps?" Wendy's voice had a definite edge of panic to it. When Stan looked over his shoulder, his heart started to race.

"He's here!"

The women staggered eagerly down the suddenly claustrophobic street, clutching copies of Cosmopolitan magazine. Stan grabbed Wendy's hand and yanked her along as they fled.

Just as they reached the end of the small street, they found their way blocked by a security fence.

"Damn it!" Kyle was getting seriously agitated. "Hang a left!"

Stan followed Kyle down a narrow alleyway, but Kyle stopped so suddenly that Stan backed into him, and Wendy backed into Stan.

"Turn back, there's more of them!" Kyle instructed, but instead of turning around and running, he stopped and glared at the advancing armed group.

"Cartman?" he said incredulously. Stan had to crane his neck to see and, sure enough, Cartman was heading the group. Somehow, this didn't surprise him either.

"What the hell are you doing, you fat fuck?" Kyle yelled.

"I'm protecting my people, Kyle," Cartman said evenly. "I'm protecting their right to practise their religion how they see fit. Ladies, behold your prophet."

The group of women sighed collectively.

"He's not their fucking religion, you asshole!" Stan shouted back. "And you? Worship Kyle? Seriously?"

"Hey! I believe, okay? I believe in a better future for female sexuality. I believe in raising money and awareness of these women's plight. Plus, I believe in a good tax break once we're registered as a charitable organisation."

"You are fucking unbelievable!" Kyle raged. "Of course you had to be making money out of it!"

"Yeah, taking money from those gullible women is no better than stealing right from their purses," Stan added.

Cartman coughed quietly. "Ladies, I believe Mr Marsh over there is belittling your faith."

The group of women surrounding Cartman collectively gasped in horror, and then rushed forward with hairspray cans poised and swinging hefty charm bracelets like nunchucks.

"Pull back, pull back!" Kyle ordered, and they ran towards the security fence once more, hemmed in on all sides.

"It's no good," Kyle said. "We're going to have to climb."

"Climb? I can't climb up that thing!" Wendy had turned white as a sheet.

"Wendy, if you stay here, you die. Just climb over; it's not that bad."

"Yes, it is," Wendy retorted.

"It's okay, babe. I'll carry you," Stan promised, as the hordes of women started to close in on them. He looked across at Kyle. "You climb to the top, and I'll pass Wendy over to you."

Kyle inclined his head slightly in agreement, and then scaled up the fence like the lanky human spider he was.

"Stan! I'm not going to be passed around between you two like a beach ball or… or glandular fever!"

"Wendy," Stan said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, "it's either that or you get stuck between the crazy zombie-like ladies who think you're a heathen witch."

Almost on cue, one of the women glared at Wendy and pointed at her. "Look! It's the heathen! Kill her!"

The other females rounded on her with rage in their eyes.

"Excellent point, well made," Wendy said in an oddly high-pitched voice, and allowed Stan to put his hands on her butt and shove her up into Kyle's waiting arms.

"Be careful, dude, she's kind of heavy," Stan warned, and he recoiled at Wendy's icy glare. "In a good way!" he insisted.

Kyle grabbed her under the arms and hoisted her onto the only edge of the fence which wasn't covered in spiky rails.

Wendy screamed as Stan began to climb the fence.

"You're making it wobble!"

"Relax, Wendy. Just get on my back, and I'll take you down," Kyle soothed.

Stan heard Wendy take a deep, steadying breath.

"Okay?" Kyle urged.

"Okay."

Stan watched as Wendy awkwardly swung her legs over Kyle's head and hooked one leg over his shoulder and the other between the crook of his arm. She clung on tightly as she slid her other leg down to grip his waist.

"Jesus, Wendy! I kind of still need to breathe," Kyle wheezed.

"Sorry."

The moment she looked vaguely secure, Kyle climbed his way down the other side of the fence, with Stan hot on his trail. The women on the other side started to bang against the wire fence, as though trying to bring it down.

"Stanley! See the light! Cross over!"

To Stan's horror, his mom was leering back at him through the lattices of the fence, her eyes shining with hope.

"Mom? Not you, too!" he said dejectedly.

Wendy grabbed his arm. "We've got to keep moving," she said sadly.

Stan nodded, and the three of them dashed along another side street and back onto the now trashed main street. Shops were on fire, cars overturned, and a group of fire-fighters were trying to contain the blazes.

"Boys, you need to move back," a tough, butch-looking female cop announced sharply.

"We're trying to," Kyle explained, but the cop stood between them and the route forward.

"Go back!" she insisted.

"But Officer, they're all back there trying to kill us!" Wendy pleaded.

"Move back, heathen," the cop snapped back, and Stan suddenly noticed the flash of pink partially hidden by her epaulette.

"Shit! She's one of them!"

The tried to get around her, but two squad cars squealed onto the street and blocked the way.

"You dare to kidnap our prophet?" the cop roared.

"Whoa, ma'am! You've got it all wrong," Kyle reasoned. "I'm here of my own accord, and we're heading forward because I said we—"

Wendy grabbed Kyle's baseball bat and smashed the cop straight in the face before leaping forward and shattering the windscreens of the two cars.

"If I hear one more fucking person talk about their fucking prophet, or call me a fucking heathen, I am going to fuck you all up!" she shrieked.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stan saw Kyle gawp at her appreciatively.

"Let's get out of here!" Stan shouted, and the three of them made a mad dash across the hoods of the police cars and sprinted through the remains of the main street.

"Let's head to my place, it's nearest," Stan suggested.

"Wow. Nice work, Wendy," Kyle said in an awestruck voice.

Wendy was shaking. "Oh God, oh God – I just attacked a police officer! No Ivy League college will take me now!"

Stan grabbed Wendy's arms and made her face him. "It's cool, Wendy. We'll be your alibi," he promised, although part of him was a little excited at the thought of Wendy maybe choosing a college a little more in his own league.

"Can this wait until we've taken cover?" Kyle demanded, glancing shiftily along the street.

Stan let his hand slip into Wendy's as though it belonged there. "Let's move," he agreed.

Firecrackers squealed across their path – clearly debris from the fighting on the streets. They had to duck and cover when one exploded above their heads and showered wall tacks over them, but they eventually reached the sanctuary of Stan's house.

"It'll probably be empty," Stan whispered. "Dad's probably out looking for Mom."

He opened the door and they crept inside, conscious that so much as putting on a light could attract attention from the crazy ladies tearing each other to shreds outside.

Stan stepped inside the living room, only to find his dad in just his pants watching some film where Shannon Tweed was getting screwed on a pool table.

"Dad!"

"Wha – Stanley! You're back already?"

Stan noticed with interest that his dad changed the channel with startling speed.

"Yes! There's a huge holy war raging outside!" Stan retorted. He watched as his dad looked briefly out of the window.

"Oh, yeah. I did wonder where all that noise was coming from."

"Dad, Mom's out there!"

His dad's jaw slackened in horror. "Oh my God, no! We don't have enough meatloaf left, Stanley! We've only got three meals' worth between us! It's no good, we're going to have to eat each other."

"Dad, who cares about fucking meatloaf? Mom has joined some crazy Kyle-worshipping cult!"

His dad shrugged his shoulders. "Son, there comes a time in every man's life where he has to accept that his wife has hobbies and interests outside of him. Take me, Stanley. I like to watch TV and have a few beers. Your mother, on the other hand, likes to learn about her pussy. It's weird, but that's how it is."

Kyle suddenly fixed Stan's dad with a curious piercing stare – the kind Kyle only exhibited when on the brink of discovery.

"Mr Marsh, do you perform cunnilingus on your wife?"

"Dude!" Stan actually felt physically sick at the thought.

His dad looked rather sheepish. "Now, Kyle. I hardly think that's an appropriate question to—"

"Just answer me!" Kyle raged, grabbing Stan's dad in a headlock.

"Dude! Chill the fuck out!" Stan begged.

Kyle ignored him. "Do you lick on the old ice-cream cone? Do you drink from the furry cup? Do you?"

"Alright, alright! No! It's kind of…" His dad seemed to struggle for the words. "Its gross."

Wendy folded her arms. "Oh, but I suppose you expect your wife to perform oral sex on you, Mr Marsh?"

"Wendy!" Stan really wished his best friend and girlfriend would stop getting such intimate information out of his dad.

"What? I'm just pointing out that there's a distinct double-standard going on here." To Stan's surprise, she appeared very cross.

"That's completely different," his dad mumbled, but Wendy was in full flow.

"Would you, Stan? Would you go down on me?"

Stan felt every inch of his skin burn. "What, you… do you want me to? Like, now?"

"No, I just want to know if you would," Wendy replied.

"Well… I don't know – would you go down on me?"

"Don't shirk the question, Stan!" Wendy retorted, while ironically shirking Stan's query.

Kyle rolled his eyes and tutted impatiently. "Wendy, if it means that much to you, I'll go down on you. Now, just listen because I—"

"Dude, that is not cool!" The very thought of Kyle anywhere near his girlfriend's panties was not a pleasant one. Wendy's flushed face made him feel even worse – he hoped she was just embarrassed.

"Will you both shut up for one minute? I think I know what Kenny was trying to say. I think I know how to stop this."

"What? How?" Stan forgot the awful mental image he had conjured up of Kyle's bushy-haired head between Wendy's perfect legs.

"You both need to round up every guy in town and get him to the community centre," Kyle instructed. "I need to exercise my Powerpoint skills."

~

Kyle tapped his foot anxiously as Stan and Wendy brought the last of the men into the community centre. Once they had closed the door, Kyle locked it. He had already checked the exits; there was no escape.

He pulled the key out of the door and thrust it into the pocket of his jeans before glancing maniacally around the hall. Every male in South Park over the age of sixteen was in this hall, and Kyle was determined to make this work. His very sanity depended on it.

"Right!" he roared, switching on the projector. "You are all going to learn how to lick pussy, and you're all going to like it, because I am fucking sick of this shit!"

He pressed a button and a diagram of the female genitals was brought into sharp relief. Grabbing a nearly pointer, he whacked it at the pubis mons, making a satisfying thwacking noise.

"Let's start at the beginning…"

Five hours later and a bunch of inventive lox bagel props later, and Kyle felt confident in letting his students out to practise their new found skills.

"Dude! The crazy troops are subsiding!" Stan exclaimed. As he looked across the street at the receding crowds, Kyle felt a surge of relief; the nightmare was hopefully over.

That relief was smashed away when he saw Clyde sitting on the steps of the community centre bawling his eyes out.

Tentatively, Kyle sat next to him and placed a hand on his back. "Dude, what's the matter?"

Clyde wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "I can't do it," he sobbed. "It's scary down there, and I can't… I can't satisfy Bebe, okay." He glared at Kyle as though it was all his fault and in many ways, Kyle knew it was sort of true.

"I'm sure you can." Kyle consoled him as best he could when the facts suggested otherwise and he was in no position to test the theory.

Clyde sniffled wetly. "She thinks you're so fucking amazing. I want to be amazing for her, I really do, but I'm just not. We had a fight the other day, and she told me I'm at the bottom of her list of greatest lovers!"

"Bebe has a list?" Kyle didn't care how many times Cartman called Bebe a slut, he still found this surprising.

"Well, it's a list of three. You're top, followed by the head of her power shower, and then me. She fucking worships the air you fart in!"

"Whatever, she doesn't want to date me." Kyle felt a sliver of bitterness at the thought, but after the past few months he really though that having Bebe no longer give a shit about him was far more conducive to his health. "Come on, buck up! Just give it a go; I'm sure Bebe would be happy to let you practice on her," he urged, desperate for Clyde to just fucking make Bebe come so she'd quit thinking he was the only guy capable.

It suddenly dawned on him that this very notion had driven Bebe's behaviour right from the moment he had crawled out of her bed with a cricked neck and sore tongue all those months ago.

"I… I don't know." Clyde sounded as though he was being talked into strolling into a battlefield naked.

"Sure you do. It's not scary; she's a beautiful woman, Clyde, and she's eager for you."

Clyde seemed to flinch at this. "It's terrifying, Kyle! You may be okay with that, but it's pink and wet and hairy. What else do you know that's pink and wet and hairy? I'll tell you – nothing, because it isn't normal!"

Kyle fought back a huff of irritation; this stupid asshole was going to ruin everything. Then he had a brainwave.

"Well, maybe you could kind of use the shower head on her clit when you screw?" he suggested. "She likes that, right?" Kyle assumed that's what she did with it; he couldn't imagine she shoved it up there.

Clyde looked at him as though he'd just performed a miracle. "Yeah!" He stood up. "Yeah!" he said with more confidence, and gave a motivational fist-pump. "I'll just find Bebe and tell her, ‘Hey, sweet thing, how about a threesome: you, me and your power shower!' Thanks, Kyle!" He embraced him as though he'd just saved him from drowning and then ran off, presumably in search of his errant girlfriend.

Kyle offered God a silent prayer in the hope that Clyde would be successful.

"Is that everyone?" Stan asked as the crowds dispersed.

"Yeah. I really hope this works," Kyle replied as the headed back into the main town. Wendy linked arms with the both of them, which made Kyle feel a little uncomfortable, but he let it go as Stan didn't seem to mind.

The sound of every female in town – from adolescent to geriatric – collectively orgasming was music to his ears; finally he'd be left alone.

"Oh, Clyde! Yes, yes, yes! Finally! You fucking watery sex beast!"

Even Bebe's quivering screams made him feel glad to be alive.

Suddenly, he felt Wendy's arm slip out of his and reach across his shoulder. "Are you okay?" she asked, her expression a portrait of sympathy.

Kyle reached over to his shoulder and touched her hand gently. "Never better. Seriously," he assured her.

They reached Wendy's car; the windscreen had been smashed in and the tyres slashed.

"Dude, that sucks! Do you need it towing to the garage?" Kyle offered.

Wendy shrugged and smiled. "I'll be fine, Kyle. I'll just phone up the breakdown people."

"You know they take ages, right?" Kyle commented, although he had a feeling they took ages because they – rightly – prioritised lone women.

"Stan can keep me company," she replied with a bashful smile; Stan looked as though all his Christmases had come at once. When he hugged Wendy and gave Kyle a surreptitious thumbs-up behind her back, Kyle got the message loud and clear.

He left them to clamber eagerly into her smashed up care to continue their make-out date, and continued down the main street. As he ambled home, he relished the peace and quiet, and the fact he didn't have to constantly look over his shoulder for crowds of fanatical women jostling to harangue him.

A buzzing in his pocket distracted him from his reverie. He took out his phone and saw he'd received a text from Bebe.

‘I was rite about U bein R sex prophet. I luv C like it hurts, but I need U 2 know I will always adore U 4 what U did 4 me. Look after urself; if U ever need me for NEthing, just ask – x'

Maybe he'd have felt insulted and enrages a few months ago, or even a few weeks ago. Now, however, Kyle couldn't help but smile; not that he'd take Bebe up on her generous implied offer, but something in the sentiment touched him all the same.

As he headed home, he texted Bebe back.

‘You're a crazy, crazy lady. You're welcome.'

He made sure he added a smiley face.

~

With a heavy heart and bleeding nose, Cartman gathered up the remains of his armoury and threw them in a nearby skip. Despite how his venture had ended – thanks to that asshole Jew – he was still seven hundred and forty-nine dollars up, and that should have pleased him immensely.

The reason it didn't was because of that asshole Jew yet again. He'd practically chewed him a new one for his actions and it fucking well got to him! How could it have got to him? Nothing ever got to him!

Naturally, the only solution to this was to wind Kyle up so much that he snapped at him again and they could have a proper fight where Cartman, obviously, gained the upper hand.

With a feeling of trepidation, Cartman knocked on Kyle's door. He wondered if maybe the bunch of scheming Jews were out or – worse still – he was round Stan's house snuggling up to him. Not that he cared.

Just as he was about to assume there was nobody home, the door opened and Cartman found himself face to collar-bone with Kyle.

"What do you want?" he asked gruffly, as his eyebrows quirked into an irritatingly knowing expression.

"Well, that's a fine way to talk to me after I make all this effort to show up on your doorstep, you fucking no good J—"

"Just get in the kitchen, you fat bastard," Kyle instructed wearily, and Cartman was so surprised, he silently obeyed.

"What? No PMS-ing? No hissy fit?" Cartman mocked.

"I'll be honest, Cartman; I can't be arsed. It's not like I expected anything else of you," Kyle replied, gesturing towards one of the chairs surrounding the kitchen table. "Sit down."

For some reason, Kyle's comment really stung. Cartman scraped the chair back, and was about to launch into a verbal tirade to show that little Jew asshole who was boss, but Kyle bent down to investigate a nearby cupboard. Cartman watched him wriggle about as he reached for something, then Kyle walked over to him with a first aid kit and sat very, very close to him on the kitchen table. He could practically feel the warmth radiating through Kyle's jeans.

Cartman watched Kyle dab a cotton wool bud with some sort of antiseptic and wipe it across his wounds. It stung and made his eyes water, but when Kyle held his face tenderly somehow it didn't seem to hurt as much.

"Stop squirming," he demanded. "You're such a baby."

"I'm not squirming," Cartman mumbled while Kyle took out a pair of scissors. "What the hell are you doing with those?"

"I'm cutting you some butterfly stitches for that cut on your head," Kyle replied evenly. "It looks pretty nasty."

"It's fine," Cartman replied, even though it fucking hurt. He felt Kyle's cool fingers on his forehead as they pressed a number of strips across the hot, sore skin where he assumed the offending gash was.

"There. Better?" Kyle asked, smacking Cartman's hand away when he tried to touch the stick-on stitches.

"How the fuck can I tell?" Cartman spat back, not wanting to let on just how better it felt simply from having Kyle near him.

Wait. What the fuck? That no-good fucking Jew rat made everything worse, always. There was no possible way… It simply made no sense.

"You're welcome," Kyle replied, before frowning at Cartman. "Shit, dude. Your nose is bleeding."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"I mean more than it was, asswipe." Kyle grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of his seat. "Sink, now."

Cartman let himself be pushed towards the kitchen sink. Kyle stood behind him and gently tilted Cartman's head until it was hanging over the sink, then reached for his hand. Confused and suddenly uncomfortably hot, Cartman allowed him to take it in a sickening, heated jolt of electricity. When Kyle placed Cartman's fingers on the bridge of his nose, Cartman was left feeling oddly frustrated.

"Hold it here," he instructed, "and wait for the bleeding to stop." He patted his back gently, and Cartman had to stop himself from leaning into his touch. "You'll be okay."

Cartman said nothing, and continued to stare in the empty sink as his blood dripped onto the chrome. Kyle leant against the work surface next to him and looked at him with a mixture of pity and irritation.

"I'd ask if you've learned your lesson, but I know you haven't," he replied cynically.

"Whatever, you stinking fucking Jew. I got nearly eight hundred dollars out of that," he announced proudly.

Kyle shook his head. "You can't put a price on dignity."

"You can," Cartman retorted. "The market value on dignity's pretty good, I find."

To Cartman's amazement, Kyle laughed. Something in his stomach seemed to glow at the sound.

"When you've finished bleeding into my sink, fancy playing ‘Maimed and Butchered III: Colombian Turf War'? I unlocked the Cocaine Missions," Kyle offered.

"Stan not coming over?" Cartman asked in a more bitter tone than he'd intended. Fortunately, it seemed lost on the emotionally retarded Jew rat.

"No, he and Wendy are out on a date. Well, I think they're just making out in her car."

Cartman took a small break from staring at the pool of blood he was making in the sink to look at Kyle's big, expressive eyes. "That doesn't bother you?" he asked incredulously.

"Why would it?" Kyle asked, his expression one of guarded surprise. Clearly he didn't realise Cartman knew what was going on between them, what with their kiss in the school parking lot.

Cartman shrugged. "Just wondered."

"Yeah, well. Nothing to wonder about." He stretched, flashing a tantalising glimpse of his practically concave stomach and the outline of his ribs, and smiled. "I'm just glad this hot mess is over with; I am through with women, let me tell you."

"Yeah," Cartman said into the sink, wondering if he felt the same. He wasn't sure he'd go as far as to give up women completely, but perhaps it was time to accept the horrible, awful, disgusting truth: He was in love with Kyle Broflovski, and it wasn't going to go away with continued DIY electroshock aversion therapy.

Chapter Twelve: The Play's The Thing – An Unholy Alliance

Cartman glared at Stan's sleeping form; fucking asshole. Just as he'd fallen asleep, Kyle had woken up and now the two of them were left effectively alone in a locked room.

Kyle was still lying on his back, apparently bemused as to why he had Cartman's jacket.

"This yours?" he asked eventually. Cartman nodded, not knowing what to say to the Jew… the Jew… God damn it, he couldn't even bring himself to insult him in his head. Kyle had fucking ruined him.

"Umm, thanks. You want it back?"

"Whatever."

"Okay."

Kyle tucked his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling, clearly oblivious to how Cartman had committed every molecule of him to memory. He knew how he walked – slightly underpronated, and that he jiggled his left leg whenever he was anxious or bored. He knew that he was so skinny he could draw his skeletal structure from touch alone, but he had some lean muscle visible on his arms and chest. He knew he got goosebumps easily, and that he smelled faintly of soap and musk. He also knew that every girl who passed him by glanced at his ass, and that they had good reason to.

In short, he knew more about Kyle than he felt comfortable with, and he knew far more than Kyle would have felt comfortable with.

He felt Kyle's eyes on him, and he didn't have to look at him to read the expression. He just knew Kyle would be looking at him with a slight frown that meant he was deep in thought and wasn't quite sure what to say to him.

To say things were awkward was the understatement of the fucking millennia.

"Are you sure you don't want it back?" Kyle offered again. Cartman considered the proposal; to be wrapped up in the scent of him would be both a comfort and a torment.

"Keep it. We wouldn't want to find you tomorrow morning encased in ice because your pathetically scrawny body can't retain any heat," he snapped, but it was half-hearted; the resigned look on Kyle's face told him all he needed to know. Every insult would be ineffective now, for Cartman had played his hand and been fucking double-bluffed.

"Thanks." Kyle sounded uncertain, as though he were walking on eggshells. Somehow that felt even more insulting. Cartman didn't need handling with kid gloves, he was a bad assed mother fucker who could fucking well take Kyle by force if he really wanted to. Stan was asleep, the cops were silent; it wasn't as though anybody was around to stop him.

He glanced up at Kyle, who was now lying on his front – swamped in Cartman's dinner jacket – with his head buried in his arms. His big, come-and-make-love-to-me-by-candlelight eyes were glancing in Cartman's direction and he knew, deep down, he could do no such thing.

"You know it's okay, right?" Kyle said, his voice muffled by his arms. "Whatever your—"

"Kyle, I've already told you, I'm not gay!" he retorted, and Kyle fell silent. Cartman wasn't sure if he felt pleased or hurt by this.

Kyle turned his attention away from Cartman and towards the bedpost; Cartman felt utterly bereft. Some small part of him ached for Kyle's attention, like a dog begging for scraps, and he hated it. He wanted to claw it out with his bare hands and crush it against the wall.

"What the fuck's happened with you and Stan, anyway?" he asked in an attempt to feed that shameful part of him.

Kyle looked up slowly and shook his head.

"Fine, be like that." Cartman couldn't fathom it. They were having the kind of spat that had to do with unrequited feelings – Cartman was familiar enough with that sensation to know it could drive even those two fags to rage at each other – if it were true that they weren't butt buddies and Stan was dating… No. No fucking way.

Cartman suddenly hated Wendy more than he had ever hated the hippie slut all his life.

~

Stan fanned himself with his hand as he, Craig, Token, Cartman, Clyde and Kenny crammed into the Tuckers' kitchen, peering through the open serving hatch at the four girls sat around the dining room table with Kyle.

"Man, it's fucking hot in here," Stan gasped, stretching his t-shirt in front of him and wiping his forehead on it.

"Tell me about it," Craig said glumly, his short-sleeved shirt unbuttoned almost to his navel.

"What the fuck is up with your heating, Craig," Cartman grumbled, taking off his t-shirt and allowing Stan to see the rolls of fat jiggle whenever he breathed in deeply.

"I don't know. It seems to get stuck, like, every time Kyle comes over to do his tutoring shit." He glared at Stan as though this were somehow his fault. "Your boyfriend's like some kind of heating curse."

Stan was beyond even bothering to point out Kyle wasn't his boyfriend. Even though he and Wendy were fast approaching their fourth year anniversary – counted from the first date they had until now where they hadn't split up at any point – and even though Kyle had moped over his summer love and made Bebe come so hard she founded a religion around him, Stan knew it didn't matter. As far as his classmates – and even some of the teachers – were concerned, they were an item. Fine. What-the-fuck-ever.

"Yeah," Kenny mused as he peered through the open hatch. "It's got nothing to do with them having an excuse to wear skimpy clothes and make Kyle unbutton his shirt, right?"

Craig raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Their little panties are wet for him. They are hot for teacher in every sense," Kenny clarified. Craig shoved him angrily.

"Hey, don't talk that way about my sister!"

Clyde smirked at Kenny. "What about your sister?"

Kenny smiled. "Oh, she isn't interested in Kyle."

"Oh yeah? So your sister's special, is she?" Token said with a chuckle.

Kenny shrugged. "Well, she talks to him like he's a normal person, which makes me think she's not interested in him in that way. Plus, I'm fairly certain she had her sexual awakening the summer before last when she watched Stan help me fix up Dad's truck. I don't think Kyle's her type."

"Dude!" Stan felt his cheeks burn hot. Then he felt Craig's icy glare on his back, which didn't cool him down as much as he'd hoped.

Kyle had been tutoring for a few months now, and he seemed to be making pretty good money out of it. Plus, even Stan had to admit; he was fucking adorable when he set out all his diagrams and coloured notes, like a proper teacher. The fact that all of his pupils seemed more interested in trying to clumsily seduce him would have been the funniest thing ever if Kyle's genuine obliviousness hadn't been even funnier.

This was the reason half the boys in their class were hanging in Craig's kitchen watching Kyle's lessons. Well, part of the reason.

"It's just a crush," Craig fumed. "Just an innocent, stupid crush. An innocent, stupid crush that little girls with no fucking taste would have."

Token nodded. "I don't get it. Kyle's a nice guy, but…" He looked around furtively. "He's ugly, right? We're all in agreement on this. It's not an attack on him; it's just a statement of fact."

"A fucking butt-ugly Jew asshole," Cartman enthused.

"Guys!" Stan felt the need to defend his best friend, but as the others looked at him, he couldn't come up with anything convincing. "He's… His other qualities are stronger."

"Right. Ugly," Craig affirmed.

Clyde shrugged. "Maybe someone should get that memo to the girls." He nodded towards the hatch as three of the girls leaned over the kitchen table and fluttered their eyelashes at Kyle.

"Okay, so what kind of fraction is five thirds?" Kyle had scribbled the figure on a mini flip-chart he had propped up on the table so all four girls could see it.

"Have you got a girlfriend?" a skinny girl with dark bobbed asked, as she leant her chin on her hand.

"Not at the moment. Now, what kind of fraction is five thirds?"

"Why not? You're really nice." Ruby Tucker, Craig's younger sister, had a segment of her strawberry-blonde hair twirled around her fingers as she said this. She stared at Kyle as though he were a particularly tasty flavour of popsicle.

Craig was wearing a hole in the linoleum of his parents' kitchen, eyeing them angrily.

"Umm… Thanks. Now, five thirds—"

"Have you got a boyfriend?" Another girl with long platinum blonde hair eyed him curiously, tugging her bra strap back under her sundress. Stan couldn't quite believe this one was only fourteen.

"No." Kyle sighed. "Look, girls; my relationship status isn't going to help you with your math scores." He tapped at the mini-flipchart with his pen. "Five thirds, fraction type, go!" he ordered.

Three fourteen or fifteen year old girls simultaneously sat up and bit their lips. Stan was pretty sure the Tuckers' upholstery dry-cleaning bill had just shot up.

Karen McCormick, the fourth girl who seemed immune to the insanity, quietly raised her hand. "Improper?" she offered and Stan felt she had just about summed up the entire situation.

"Very good, Karen." Kyle looked immensely relieved that somebody was paying attention. "Five thirds is an improper fraction. Why do we can it an improper fraction?"

"Are you Jewish?"

"Girls, let's get through our fractions work. Then we can talk about my religion all you like."

"Stacey just wants to know if you're circumcised."

"Do not!" the dark haired girl turned crimson.

"Is it true it makes you last longer? Jenna Stevenson says it does because your bell-end's always rubbing against your jeans, and she'd know because her sister's friends with Sally Anderson, who's cousin lives in Washington and she blew some Jewish guy from the college and she said—"

"Girls!" Kyle's voice was low but sharper. "Fractions first, dick questions later." He sighed. "Tell you what, let's have a quick break. Go get a drink or something."

"No, we're fine."

"We'll just stay here."

Stan wasn't sure what was the most surprising revelation he'd had today; that Kyle was so staggeringly emotionally retarded he genuinely didn't realise that these girls wanted him to kiss them far more than they wanted better math grades, or that Kyle had kept his temper under circumstances that would have tried even Stan.

He saw Karen roll her eyes.

"I'm going to get a drink. Do you want anything, Kyle?"

"Thanks, Karen. Whatever's fine."

Karen got up, her lithe ballet dancer physique poised as ever. She ignored the seething glares administered by her fellow tutees, clearly jealous at the casual way she tossed out their tutor's first name.

"Seriously, girls. Go get a drink, stretch your legs, whatever. I'm just going to be checking my phone and being kind of boring. I promise I won't start the lesson until you're all back."

The girls nodded and left the table in a giggling huddle. Meanwhile, Token and Clyde were on their knees in the kitchen, silent tears of laughter streaming down their face.

"He doesn't get it. He actually doesn't get it!" Clyde could barely get the words out.

"He is so hot." The huddle of girls had clearly reached the serving hatch and they were within earshot of Stan and his classmates, if not Kyle.

"I know. I'd gargle his jizz any day of the week; and the way he gets all disciplinarian? Goes straight to my clit, every time."

"God, tell me about it! Last night I had a dream about him putting me over his knee and giving me a good spanking, I have never been so turned on! I barely had to touch anything!"

Craig looked ready to explode; his fists balled tightly in sheer rage. Stan assumed that girl had been Ruby. With a collective giggle and the sound of a French door sliding open, they were gone. Stan stared at the serving hatch, slack-jawed.

"Dude, I don't remember girls in our class being that slutty when we were that age!" he said, barely able to believe his ears.

"Don't call my sister slutty!" Craig hissed.

"Maybe they were, just only to older boys?" Token mused.

"They were that slutty with me," Cartman boasted.

"No, they weren't," every other boy retorted in unison.

The door opened slowly; every single boy in the kitchen straightened up and calmed down. Karen walked in gracefully, but started a little when she glanced at the six sixteen and seventeen year old boys loitering in the kitchen.

"Umm, hi," she said meekly.

"Hey, Karen." Every boy stared steadfastly at the floor, apart from Kenny.

"I'm just… just getting a drink," she said, stepping towards the fridge. "Is that okay?" she asked, looking directly at Craig.

"Sure. Of course. Help yourself. Anything you like." Craig was fiddling with his belt loops and appeared oddly jittery. Stan assumed it was for the same reason the rest of them, sans Kenny, did their level best to avoid glancing anywhere near her in Kenny's presence.

Karen McCormick was fucking hot.

Even Stan, who had a super-hot and amazing girlfriend he wouldn't trade for all the Playboy bunnies of the year from this century, could see that Karen McCormick was fucking hot. She was slender, graceful and mind-bogglingly bendy with big doe eyes and a sweetly shy demeanour that implied that she'd not only be virginal but she would idolise you afterwards. Yes, she was fourteen; yes, it made every boy in that room who wasn't Kenny an utterly despicable, deplorable, shameful pervert for having had exactly the same thoughts. It didn't change the fact that Karen McCormick was fucking hot.

While trying not to notice Karen, Stan had unfortunately ended up staring at the cupboard Karen was now trying to reach. She stretched her incredible body up and gave a little grunt of effort which could be construed as sounding vaguely orgasmic if you were a sick pervert – and judging by the way Token, Clyde, Craig and Cartman all immediately stuffed their hands into their jeans pockets, they were. Karen had small breasts and almost never wore a bra, which had the dual effect of making her nipples tantalisingly visible and her descent from her tiptoes to a flat foot creating noticeable movement in the breast region.

Fuck. Stan was going straight to hell. Although Craig was currently gripping the kitchen counter as though his life depended on it, so maybe Stan wouldn't be going first.

-Friggingodess-

Craig prised himself from the counter and tentatively put a hand on Karen's shoulder.

"It's okay. I'll do it." He reached up with no effort and took a glass from the cupboard, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

"There you go," he said, as though he had just scaled Mount Sinai and returned with some stone tablets. Karen took the glass; Stan saw her fingers accidentally brush Craig's, which coincided with Craig blushing and suddenly becoming utterly fascinated with his feet.

"Thanks. Could… could you maybe get me another one? For Kyle?" Karen looked somewhat nervous and kept her gaze squarely on Craig's right shoulder.

"Sure! Of course! Sure, no problem!" Craig pulled another glass from the cupboard and handed it to her with a winning smile.

"Thanks." Karen set the two glasses on the kitchen work surface, then opened the fridge and bent from the waist to peer in, humming to herself and wiggling her hips in time to the music in her head. Stan had never failed to be impressed by Karen's physical flexibility, although Clyde and Token appeared to be steadfastly ignoring it. Cartman peered with a serious expression, as though he would claim his interest to be academic and detached the second he was pulled up on it. Craig looked as though someone had put a gun to his head; Stan was convinced he could actually see the boy sweating.

Kenny, on the other hand, looked as though he didn't know which of them to knife in the jugular first.

"Craig?" Karen asked in a hesitant, sweet voice, as though she wasn't sure she had permission to use the name.

"Yeah!" Craig replied more eagerly than Stan had known him to reply to anything in his life, ever.

"Have you got any diet stuff? With sweeteners, not sugar?"

"Umm, I think we've got something in the garage…"

"Okay, thanks." Karen spun on her toes and walked out of the kitchen. Craig seemed to come to his senses and dashed up to her, stopping suddenly and stepping back to create some distance between them.

"Wait! I mean… I can help you! If you like!" he stammered, apparently unaware of the look of murder in Kenny's eyes.

Karen smiled sweetly. "That's okay. I'm sure I can find a bottle of diet soda." She skipped off towards the garage.

"Let me know if you need a hand!" Craig called after her. "Or you need help with the bottle; I'm really good at opening things!"

Cartman hung his head. "God damn you're pathetic, Craig."

Craig stared at the open doorway as though he could still see an echo of Karen. "She's really mature. For fourteen. She's a mature fourteen, right?" He glanced around in an apparent search for support. "She's in ninth grade. So, that's really only two years younger than eleventh grade. Even if, you know, some eleventh grade kids are, like, seventeen already." He stared so hard at his Converse sneakers that Stan was convinced he'd burn a hole through the canvas. "I guess I'm just saying, if a guy in eleventh grade like me – I mean, not me, but you know, like me – asked a girl in ninth grade like Karen – I mean, not Karen, but you know, like Karen – to the movies or something, that would be cool? Right?" With what appeared to be a Herculean effort, Craig raised his head to look Kenny in the eye. "Right?"

Kenny unfolded his arms and surveyed Craig coolly. "Sure. I guess Karen wouldn't mind dating a guy in a wheelchair."

"Great! Wait, what—"

"Because I'd break your fucking legs!" Kenny's voice went an octave higher and at least ten decibels louder. Craig stared back down at the floor like a beaten dog; Stan had never known him be so submissive.

"Dude, what the hell's going on?" Kyle was leaning over the serving hatch; Craig swiftly stormed over and punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow; what the fuck, man?"

"That's for giving my sister bad thoughts!" he said grumpily.

"What the fuck are you talking about? I'm teaching her fractions, how's that a bad thought?"

Stan saw Cartman shake his head and mutter the words, "God damn fucking Jew," as he looked out of the window.

"Just… Just leave my sister alone, okay?"

"Kay." Kyle looked utterly non-plussed. Kenny suddenly developed a strange hacking cough that sounded similar to the word ‘hypocrite'.

"So, guys. What did you put for question forty—"

"Shut the fuck up, Kyle!" every single boy retorted. Stan loved Kyle like he would a brother, but Jesus fucking Christ he needed to let the SAT test go. It wasn't even the final one; they got another go in the summer.

"Dude, relax," he said wearily. "There's nothing any of us can do about them, and worst case scenario, we all get to take them again in the summer. Think of it as a practise." Stan felt exhausted; he was fielding exactly the same sort of responses from Wendy as well. He'd banned them from talking to each other all weekend because they were succeeding in getting each other increasingly worked up over the whole matter.

"I can't relax! I think I messed them up," Kyle confessed.

"You didn't mess them up," Stan replied, rehashing the same conversation he'd had with Wendy just last night.

"You don't know that!"

"And neither do you, so just try and take your mind off it."

"Aww, Stan. If you want to take his mind off things, why don't you give you boyfriend a back rub or something," Cartman spat. "Blow him in the bathroom – I'm sure Craig wouldn't mind."

"Craig would mind a great deal, actually," Craig commented nonchalantly.

Stan sighed. Cartman was getting really nasty of late. Sure, he'd always been a dick, especially to Kyle, but ever since tenth grade it had got much worse.

Kyle sighed heavily and ignored Cartman's attack – which seemed to piss Cartman off even more. "Well, how does Wendy take her mind off it?" he asked.

Stan's mind flashed through a series of images, mostly involving Wendy in a state of undress with his hands on her breasts.

"Heavy petting with me," Stan self-censored. "I don't think that'd really help you, though."

"Oh, it would distract me," Kyle replied, "just not in the way I'd want." He glanced at his watch. "Shit. I didn't even get myself a—"

As if on cue, Karen turned up and shoved a glass of cola into Kyle's hand.

"Thanks, Karen."

"Don't mention it." She looked at Kyle warily. "I mean it, don't. Those girls will kill me."

"What?"

When even Karen McCormick glanced at Stan and rolled her eyes, he understood that Kyle's emotional retardation was fast becoming the stuff of legend.

Stan shrugged in response. That boy was going to get himself into serious trouble if he didn't start to recognise when he was being lusted after.

~

Cartman stretched in satisfaction as he waited in class for their teacher. Normally he'd be pissed off that she was fucking late, as drama was such a coasting class it was worth getting involved in, but Kyle was bending over to try and open a window and Cartman's desk gave him a perfect view of his wriggling ass.

He was over denying it, at least to himself. They were eleventh graders now and had just taken their SAT – or as Cartman liked to view it, their practice SAT, given there was every opportunity to take it again in the summer. Whatever, if he was old enough to be forced to fill in a bunch of tick boxes that apparently defined his ability, then he was old enough to want to sink his teeth into Kyle's perfect ass.

Ever since he'd noticed just how delightful Kyle's ass was, he'd noticed how much girls stared at it, too. He didn't really get why girls were so bothered; what were they going to do with it? It's not like they had anything they could really shove up there, or that they could get a decent angle to give it a good spanking when they fucked him.

"What?" Kyle snapped at him, and Cartman realised he'd been staring a bit too long.

"What do you mean ‘What'? You're in the way of my view, you Jew asshole," Cartman spat back, while surreptitiously sliding his copy of ‘A Streetcar Named Desire' onto his lap.

"Oh, your view of the fucking window? I should have known." Kyle began pacing frantically, a live-wire of nervous energy. Cartman was hit with a sudden urge to grab him and just hold him tightly. He'd feel his heart race against his chest and the tremble of his whole body as he tried to find an outlet for his pent-up energy.

Cartman could think of several outlets. Not that he should ever let on.

"What are you PMS-ing over now?" Cartman sighed heavily. "Boyfriend troubles? Didn't Stan take you out for your anniversary? Your little kindergarten harem not putting out?" Cartman knew that even hinting at Kyle's relationship with his tutees being remotely sexual always pissed him off, even though the fucking oblivious asshole didn't even noticed they creamed their panties for him on a regular basis.

Still, if Kyle was that emotionally retarded, at least Cartman was safe from discovery.

"It's results day," Kyle replied tersely, as though Cartman should know exactly what he was talking about.

"What?"

"The SATs, or had you forgotten?" he spat sarcastically.

Cartman had forgotten, actually. "They're practice ones, Kyle. Chill the fuck out; you can take them again in the summer."

"They're not practise! They count! Colleges can request to see any SAT results you've received, no matter how shitty they are!"

Kyle's distress would have been better than an afternoon jerking-off session last year, but now it kind of worried Cartman. The vice-like grip Kyle seemed to have on his balls nowadays annoyed him no end.

"We'll get them when we get them. Quit being such a drama queen," he mocked, despite wanting to stroke his crazy, stylised ginger ‘fro and tell him everything would be alright.

Before he could say anything stupid, Mrs Langstrom wafted in to rescue him from his insanity.

"On your feet, my dears! It's time to warm up!"

Cartman watched as Stan and Kyle exchanged knowing glances, the pair of assholes. They had to be so in synch with each other, with their little private gestures and their apparent complete understanding of one another without saying a word. Fucking Stan; he had that hippie slut, wasn't that enough? He was fucking greedy, and why was Kyle putting up with that shit anyway?

"Eric? You need to take the ball from Leopold," Mrs Langstrom said kindly, stopping Cartman's fantasy of tying Stan to the old railway tracks and chopping his limbs off one by one.

"Sorry, Ma'am," Cartman said sycophantically, because Mrs Langstrom had been the sole reason he hadn't had to repeat last year. He took the brightly coloured softball and ripped off the first scrap of paper he found.

"Forbidden love," he read out. Fucking great.

"Ooh, thank you Eric." Mrs Langstrom turned to the board and wrote the phrase down. "That'll certainly be intriguing!" When she finished, the phrase on the board read, ‘Giant Robot Donkey Defends Forbidden Love'. The class giggled a little.

"Now, Eric, pass it to Kyle," Mrs Langstrom instructed. "Kyle, make sure you take a blue piece of paper."

Kyle held out his hands in expectation, and Cartman did his best to hand it to him in a way that meant their fingers got to touch. He succeeded and was rewarded for his brief moment of contact with a tingling sensation that lasted well after Kyle read out the words, ‘Interpretive Dance' and everyone groaned.

Throughout the group exercise, Cartman kept his eye on Stan and Kyle. The way they interacted was annoying nonchalant; if Cartman hadn't seen them together last year, he would probably have never guessed. What riled Cartman more than anything was how openly affectionate Stan was with Wendy; the way he flaunted his hippie slut of a beard was just… just… He'd treat Kyle better if he had him. That was the crux of the matter.

After he watched Stan give Wendy a surreptitious kiss on the cheek in front of Kyle, Cartman had to stop himself shaking with rage. He'd be a much better boyfriend than Stan. If he was with Kyle, he'd even be the girl now and then; equality and respect were supposed to be important, right? Well, he was pretty sure that fuckworthy Jewish princess would be enough of a pussy to think so, and Cartman could fake it.

The clock hands drifted closer and closer to signifying the end of class, and people were noticeably restless as a result – fucking hell, it was just some dumb test! Kenny was concentrating, but Cartman knew that his unswerving attention was based around imagining Mrs Langstrom naked. God damn, poor people were fucking gross sometimes.

"Before you go, I need to announce who's been given the coveted role of directing our school play this year!" Mrs Langstrom announced excitedly, and Cartman's ears pricked up. His voting campaign had been nothing short of aggressive – if there was one thing he'd been born to do at school, it was this. The rest of the school had better have fucking recognised it.

"Well, unusually, we have a tie. Eric Cartman and Kyle Broflovski got an equal share of the votes, so I guess we'll have two directors this year."

Cartman felt both giddy and pissed off. He looked at Kyle with a view to glaring at the Jew bastard for stealing his thunder, but he looked utterly bewildered. This pleased Cartman; he had vision, he had balls and he'd just be able to tell Kyle what to do. No biggie. Well, it meant he'd have to spend lots of time alone with Kyle, which felt like a brilliant and terrible thing in equal measure.

The bell rang and the entire class rushed to pack their things and leave; the anxious babble was grating. Cartman instead darted out of the drama room eagerly thinking about what play they should put on. Could they adapt ‘A Clockwork Orange'? What about ‘American Psycho'?

Damn, he was a creative genius.

~

"Umm, ma'am? Can I have a word?" Kyle asked Ms Langstrom after waiting patiently for everyone else to leave.

"Of course, Kyle. What is it?" She didn't even look up from her marking.

"I think there's been a mistake in the votes."

"Oh, no. It's perfectly above board," Mrs Langstrom insisted.

"It's just that I never even campaigned and everyone else who wanted to direct made sure they… Hold on; what do you mean ‘above board'? I never asked that!"

Turned out that Mrs Langstrom wasn't a very good actor – something Kyle found rather ironic. She slammed her marking down and met his stare. "Okay, Kyle, there was no joint place. Eric won by a significant margin and good for him! He's imaginative, terrifyingly so, but you know and I know where Eric's imagination will lead the play if it's unchecked."

Kyle couldn't argue with this, but he was amazed that somebody else had even noticed.

"So what, I'm his babysitter?"

"You're the only one in the whole class who has any kind of influence over him," Mrs Langstrom explained. "Please, just go along with it."

Kyle was surprised both by her desperation and the fact she was convinced Cartman reacted to him in any way besides insulting his religion, his appearance, and his friendship with Stan.

"Who, me?" he asked.

"Yes, you. He seems to care about your opinion, which is a miracle given it's not his," she added.

Kyle glanced at his watch. Time was currently measured not by hours and minutes, by hours and minutes until their SAT results were available. Right now it was seven minutes, and the sooner he got away from Mrs Langstrom, the sooner he got his results and the sooner this nightmare of waiting was over.

Still, shepherding Cartman into coming up with an entire production which wouldn't make the audience vomit seemed worse in comparison.

"Kyle, I'm begging you!" Mrs Langstrom insisted. "Do you want me to get on my knees and plead for your help?"

"Not really."

"Because I will!" She actually got off her seat and crawled in front of him. Six minutes and now a reasonable risk someone would pass the open classroom door and get the wrong idea.

"It'll look good on your college applications," Mrs Langstrom added and the deal was cinched.

"Alright, alright," he conceded, and Mrs Langstrom got back up onto her feet.

"Thank you, Kyle," she said with utmost gratitude in her voice – as though Kyle could really have said no. "If you need a letter of recommendation to Harvard, just let me know."

"Huh?" Then Kyle suddenly understood. "Oh. I wasn't really considering an Ivy League college."

"Mrs Langstrom frowned at him. "Why not?"

Kyle shrugged. The truth of the matter was that he had Stan had pretty much decided – without actually discussing it ever – that they'd go to college together. He figured if he tried to explain that to Mrs Langstrom she'd think it was dumb.

Maybe because it kind of was.

He glanced at his watch again. It was time.

"Gotta go!" he said, almost stumbling over himself to get to the school office.

"Good luck!" Mrs Langstrom called after him.

By the time he'd run the distance of the school to the office – and been told at least three times to stop running – Stan, Kenny and Cartman were holding unopened envelopes.

"Where have you been, you asshole?" Cartman grumbled. "We're only waiting because you've been whining like a girl who's trying to have her period."

"Come on, dude. We said we'd open them together," Stan said more kindly.

Kyle dashed over to the school secretary, who handed him a large brown envelope, her expression neutral as she did so. Did she know the results? Did the teachers know? Or were they as much in the dark as he was?

He walked over to Stan, Kenny and Cartman; in the corner of the room, he noticed Wendy dissecting the results with Bebe and Red.

He took a deep breath as he reached the others. "Well, here goes."

"Just get it fucking over with, you pussy," Cartman moaned.

"Alright, alright!" Like ripping off a plaster, he tore open the envelope. For a brief, insane moment he worried that his decision to go ahead and do the tests on Saturday like everyone else might actually have enraged God, but then he saw his scores. Not too shabby. Not too shabby at all.

"Well? What did you get? Stan asked, and Kyle handed him his results sheet.

"Jesus fucking Christ, dude!"

"What, what did he get?" Cartman was trying to prise the results sheet out of Stan's hands.

"I thought you didn't care?" Kyle pointed out.

"I don't; I just care about beating you," Cartman announced with a malicious grin.

"He got seven hundred and ninety-eight—"

"Ha!" Cartman pointed at Kyle. "I beat you, I beat you! I beat you, you asshole!" he sang triumphantly. "Nine hundred and two! That's, like, three hundred and seventeen more."

"No it isn't," Kyle said wearily.

Stan glanced at Cartman with mild contempt "—Seven hundred and ninety-eight in Math, seven hundred and ninety-five in Critical Reading and seven hundred and ninety-six in Writing." He glanced up at Kyle. "Jesus fucking Christ, dude!" he said once again. "Those scores are insane!"

"Maybe there's been a mistake?" Kyle peered at the results sheet to see if any discrepancies stood out.

"What's that, like, twenty-three hundred and eighty-nine? Wow; put's my seventeen hundred and ninety-three to shame." Stan was smiling, but there was an edge to his praise.

"Hey, seventeen hundred and ninety-three's a good score," Kyle replied, recognising the unspoken tension that had come between them. It was nothing to do with jealousy – he knew Stan was pleased for him – but it had everything to do with the unspoken College Question.

Wendy wandered over, having apparently noticed their open envelopes.

"Well?" she asked, snaking an arm around Stan.

He showed her his results. "You beat me, obviously, so I owe you dinner; but Kyle beat you. Does that mean you owe him dinner and I can go in his place?" he teased.

Wendy peered over Stan's results sheet and read it upside down. "Well done, honey," she said, kissing him on the cheek afterwards.

Then she glanced at Kyle's results. "Oh my God, that is so unfair!" she ranted in mock-rage – although Kyle detected a sliver of truth to her words.

"What did you get?"

"A measly two thousand, three hundred and two," she joked.

"Oh, that's awful. How will you get into college with those scores?" Kyle said sarcastically.

Wendy smacked him hard on the arm. "Shut up… Anyway, it's still average for Yale," she said merrily. "Which one are you thinking about attending?"

Kyle glanced at Stan, who was clearly a little hurt. He wondered if Wendy had ever broken the news to him about her Ivy League aspirations before now. Kyle figured he must have guessed – even he had cottoned onto that one; it seemed to be her driving inspiration during their more difficult AP study sessions.

"The whole college application thing is so far away," Kyle stalled. "Hey, Kenny – what did you get?"

"Why are you even asking? He's fucking poor white trash," Cartman said between laughter.

"Nineteen – oh – four," Kenny replied nonchalantly, and it was worth every hour of free tuition Kyle had given Kenny just to see the look on Cartman's face.

"Awesome!" Stan appeared genuinely pleased, but Kenny shrugged it off.

"It's nice, but I'm hardly sponsorship material," he replied neutrally. "We'll see."

"What the fuck? You're poor and your parents are fucking alcoholics – that's like the first two questions on the application," Cartman sneered, and Kyle figured in a really odd way that he might actually be offering encouragement.

"Have you thought about Harvard?" Wendy asked, gently grabbing Kyle's arm. "I mean, it depends what you want to major in, but they have amazing Medical and Law courses, and the reputation is second-to-none…" Apparently she had taken it upon herself to organise his college applications.

"I'll have to think about it," Kyle said, neatly changing the subject with, "I doubt my folks will be so impressed; Ike took the SAT last year and got twenty-three hundred and ninety."

"Isn't he eleven?"

"Yeah. Well, he was ten when he took it."

"Wow, your little brother really is a genius," Stan commented.

"I know," Kyle replied, feeling a little swell of pride. His little brother was indeed a genius; unfortunately, like most child geniuses, he was… well, he had his problems. There were a group of bullies at his old elementary who were just asking to be dumped head-first into the nearest skip the next time Kyle caught them.

"Well, now we've got the Geek Olympics out of the way, I've got a play to select," Cartman announced loftily. Kyle sighed; he had a fuck of a job ahead of him.

"We've got a play to select, Cartman," Kyle pointed out, "and you aren't even slightly worried about your SATs?"

Cartman rolled his eyes. "Some of us don't get our panties in a bunch over a three hour book of tick boxes. Not that you'd understand, you fucking Jew – your bitch of a mom—"

"Don't call my mom a bitch, you fat fucking moron!"

"—Your. Bitch. Of. A. Mom – is probably ready to disown you if you got less than two thousand—"

"What plays did you have in mind, Eric?" Kenny asked. Kyle had noticed Kenny often played diplomat nowadays; it might have been forever ago, but that girl – or whoever – he met on that road trip had really affected him. Maybe for the better.

"Well, I was considered penning an adaptation." Cartman was clearly warming to his subject.

"Good, that sound's interesting," Kenny agreed.

"Yeah, I'm leaning towards ‘American Psycho'—"

Kyle held up his hand. "No."

"Oi! Who asked you, you dumb fucking Jew?"

"Cartman!" To Kyle's surprise, Wendy appeared livid.

"Firstly—" Kyle help up his SAT results – "clearly not dumb. Secondly, no. I am co-director and I'm saying no. Not happening."

"But—"

"No."

Cartman stuffed his hands into his pockets and glared at Kyle. "This is so fucking typical of you Jews. You're the reason movies are nothing but remakes and robot explosions."

"Oh really? And what, pray tell, would your adaptation of ‘American Psycho' have consisted of? Go on, pitch it to me!" Kyle folded his arms and awaited Cartman's rejoinder.

"Well… well! It would have been a thoughtful representation of man forced into a stifling framework created by society!"

"And you would have represented this how?"

"With a bunch of people being chopped up with an axe and two prossies being fucked at the same time while being filmed. Then getting hacked up with a chainsaw." Cartman stared defiantly as he said this. Kyle simply ignored him, ignoring Kenny's tittering and Stan's face palms.

"Fine, fine. I'll pander to your tiny, culturally retarded brain." Cartman said wearily. "How about ‘The Human Centipede – The Musical'?" He emphasised his point with jazz hands.

"No." Kyle felt somewhere in the back of his mind that this should have bothered him more beyond the obvious, but the feeling disappeared as soon as it had arrived.

"Alright, what about, ‘Jon Benet – The Rise and Fall'?"

"No."

"How about ‘Fritzl's Basement'—"

"No!" Kyle sighed. Fucking hell, this was hard work. "Maybe you should consider adapting something on the school reading list, or a classic, you know?"

Cartman glared at him with utmost contempt. "A play about something on our reading list? Who the fuck would want to see that?"

"It's just a matter of picking the right one." Kyle frantically searched his mind for anything that could be construed as bloodthirsty. "What about ‘Lord of the Flies'?"

Cartman snorted in derision. "Please. A bunch of kids are left alone with no adults, so their society goes to pot and they end up sacrificing each other? Like that could ever happen. See, ‘American Psycho' is rooted in reality, Kyle."

"What about ‘The island of Doctor Moreau'? Marlon Brando starred in the film version, and you could so fill in for Marlon Brando," Kyle replied with a smirk. He knew he shouldn't bait Cartman, but when he was being an utter dick – which was effectively a constant – Kyle figured he deserved everything he got. No-one else would call him out on his bullshit, apparently intimidated by something Kyle couldn't see.

Cartman turned crimson with rage. "Whatever, Kyle. That has nothing relatable either; have you ever met a crazy old geneticist?"

"You mean besides the one that lives up the road? No, I guess not," Kyle retorted.

"What about ‘Dracula'?" Stan piped up and Kyle could have kissed him – well, maybe not, given he knew what that was like already, but he figured he might go through the motions out of gratitude.

"Yeah! Dracula! It has sex and violence and guilt; there's even a bit of ham-fisted feminism that serves to patronise the female lead." He felt, rather than saw, Wendy glare at him.

Cartman looked up at him as though he was Santa and he'd just brought him Megan Fox. "Really?" he whispered with hope in his eyes.

"Absolutely," Kyle replied.

Cartman suddenly looked away and fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt. "Well, obviously I'll have to verify your assertions, given you're a Jew and prone to spewing lies from your forked tongue—"

"Fine; you go and check on Wikipedia, then let me know what you think," Kyle retorted lazily. He had never known Cartman to read willingly, although he did seem to make exceptions for anything that held the promise of being utterly offensive. Still, this was a start. If Cartman could be swayed on this, maybe there was hope for this school play after all.

However, Mrs. Langstrom still owed him a massive fucking debt.

~

Cartman hurried to the computer room, his mind ablaze. Did he and Kyle just agree on something? Obviously he needed to check he was being truthful about this ‘Dracula' book but Cartman had seen enough vampire movies to be confident that he could turn it into something cool, even if Kyle was taking out of his tight, pert ass.

The thing he couldn't get out of his head was the way Kyle had said, ‘You could so fill in for Marlon Brando'. He'd seen ‘A Streetcar Named Desire', thanks to it being their drama study and really? Marlon Brando was fucking hot. Was Kyle suggesting he was hot?

He found the Wikipedia entry and saw that it was all about some crazy dead guy who wanted to buy a castle, eat a lawyer and slowly possessed and killed the bitches of the men who tried to stop him. Nice; Cartman liked his style. He even had three hot bitches that he got all pissy about when Jonathan tried to bang them. A quick look at a few Sparknotes essays suggested it also showed all the men being scared of horny women and trying to destroy them. Fucking awesome! Kyle hadn't been lying; this would be a perfect school play!

Wow. Kyle had hinted that Cartman was hot, he'd been honest about this Dracula thing; couple that with all the time they'd be spending together and maybe… maybe it was worth a shot. He might not understand Kyle's horrific Jewness, but he could accept it; wasn't love meant to mean you took the bad with the good anyway? He could show Kyle how he felt, how he'd be so much better that Stan. Fucking Stan, who paraded Wendy about like a trophy right in front of Kyle like he didn't even matter, who didn't even acknowledge their apparent relationship in public. Kyle deserved someone better than that, and Cartman was that man.

With a smile, he began gathering research, while silently thanking whichever assholes voted for Kyle as a potential director.

Chapter Thirteen: The Play's The Thing – The Immaculate Conception

Stan waited in line with the other hundred-odd pupils. He could just about see the ‘Dracula Auditions' sign written in Cartman's not-so-fair hand from his position in the queue and, not for the first time, he marvelled at how Cartman had generated so much interest. Kids from all their grades had been chattering eagerly about the auditions for days – presumably because Cartman had been posting enigmatic Twitter messages for a fortnight. Just when the school collectively couldn't take anymore, he'd revealed the play title and now everyone was clamouring for a piece of the action. You had to hand it to Cartman, he was good.

Wendy leant against Stan and traced patterns on his hand with her finger. "How long are we going to have to wait?"

"A while," Stan replied.

She sighed irritably.

"Want to go?" Stan offered, but Wendy stubbornly shook her head.

"No way! Participating in things like this looks good on my college applications! Plus, I think this'll be fun."

"Fun? With Cartman? Who are you and what have you done with Wendy?" Stan joked.

"I trust Kyle, okay? He'll make sure this doesn't descend into chaos."

"Mmm." Stan kissed the top of Wendy's head, thoroughly unconvinced. As much as he knew that Kyle would fight Cartman over every transgression, he still clearly attracted insanity. Stan honestly wasn't sure which would in out in the end.

"Damn it! That's so unfair!"

"I would have made an awesome Dracula."

Jason and Kevin walked past muttering crossly.

"Whoa, they filled the part already? Can they do that?" Wendy sounded intrigued.

"It's their play. I wonder who got it?" Stan mused.

At that moment, Kyle stormed past looking furious. He clearly spotted them, for he turned on his heel and walked back up to them.

"You won't believe what that fat fucker has done now," he fumed. Stan took this to be as close to ‘hello' as he was going to get.

"Picked some douchebag to play Dracula already?"

"Well, he fucking picked me, so that really depends on your opinion."

"Wow. Congratulations, Kyle," Wendy offered.

Kyle smiled thinly. "Thank you, Wendy. Now have either of you considered why he might have picked me?" He asked this in a way that strongly hinted he expected them both to know the answer.

"Because you gave a good audition?" Wendy suggested with a cheeky smile. Stan was acutely aware that Kenny was somewhere else right now, because of the absence of a response like, "Because you gave good head?"

"Clearly he's using this against me," Kyle replied hotly. "This is going to turn into another of his Jewish agendas; the monstrous, corrupting creature who is repelled and eventually defeated by Christianity? You and I both know what he's trying to do. Well, over my rotting fucking corpse!" he vowed.

"Dude, you're being paranoid," Stan replied, but even as he said it, he knew it just wasn't true; unless you still classified it as paranoid even when they were actually out to get you. Kyle didn't even dignify his comment with a response. He simply stared at him contemptuously.

"Kyle, you won't give him the satisfaction," Wendy assured him. "You have the power to halt his every whim. Enjoy it. Make his life a fucking misery – you owe it to so many of your classmates," she said evilly.

God damn, Wendy was scary when she was bad. Scary and really fucking sexy. Unable to help himself, he pulled her close and kissed her hard. She patted his chest and pulled away, her cheeks flushed.

"Stan, I was in the middle of a conversation," she said a little tersely, glancing carefully at Kyle.

"Sorry, babe," he whispered into her ear, suddenly remembering that Wendy wasn't really big on PDA.

Kyle looked at Stan, then Wendy and smiled. "So long as I'm not expected to punctuate our conversations with kisses," he commented idly, and Stan noticed Wendy blush ever harder.

"Dude! Quit embarrassing my girlfriend!"

Kyle shrugged. "You started it." He glanced at his watch. "Gotta go, guys; I need to do some prep for my tutor group this evening. Oh, and practise my evil laugh," he deadpanned before producing a full on hammy laugh worthy of a Fifties horror, which made Wendy giggle.

"You got a tutor session today?"

Kyle nodded. "No doubt Cartman will tell you to tell me to get some condoms, or some stain remover for the blood, or whatever other vile insinuation he's going to make about me having sex with a bunch of underage girls. Anyway, good luck." He directed this at the both of them.

"Thanks, man," Stan replied as Kyle walked away. He wasn't sure if he was that fussed about being in the play, but Wendy was, so if he didn't get involved somehow they'd hardly see each other – it was difficult enough with his new football captaincy and Wendy's AP classes. How Kyle fit in AP classes, basketball and tutees while still finding time to dick about with them, he didn't know.

By the time he reached the audition room, Cartman appeared as though he was in his element. He even wore a beret and a shirt with rolled-up sleeves.

Cartman looked down at his list. "Ah. Stan Marsh, is it? Do take a seat."

"Cartman, you know who I am," Stan sighed as he sat down. Cartman pulled out a sheet of typed paper and laid it carefully on the desk in front of them.

"I've been looking at your résumé," he continued, steepling his fingers and staring appraisingly at Stan. "Very impressive: Narrator of the third grade nativity play, John Keller in the fourth grade production of ‘Helen Keller'." He frowned. "A bit of a dry spell after that – second monkey in the eighth grade adaptation of ‘The Wizard of Oz', but ninth grade saw you take the part of ‘The Artful Dodger' in ‘Oliver!' Nice. Very nice; a little too socialist for my tastes, but I appreciate the honest and unflinching portrayal of Jews in the piece."

"Cartman, just get on with—"

Cartman put his finger to his lips in the international gesture of silence. "So tell me, Stan, what part did you have in mind? I trust you've read the entry on the school website detailing the roles?"

"You mean the Wikipedia link? Yeah, I read that," Stan said casually, racking his brains to try and think of any names he had read that sounded male. "Umm, Jonathan seemed like a role I'd be good at," he offered.

Cartman slammed his hands on the desk and leant forward, eyeballing him in a way that bordered on psychotic. "The lead male, huh? You fancy yourself as a hero? You think you've got what it takes to be the moral compass of our show? The lynchpin of goodness?"

"Whoa, chill out, Cartman! I can play the part, okay?"

Cartman sat back down in his seat, but did not appear remotely appeased. "I'd like you to do a reading, Stan Marsh. I'd like you to perform it in the manner you would envision Jonathan Harker," he challenged.

Stan gulped away a dry throat. "I could always, you know, be an extra, or help out behind the scenes."

"No, no, no, Stan. You think you can be Jonathan Harker; I want you to prove it." He dropped his voice to a low but dangerous whisper. "Show me how fucking noble you are, Stan Marsh."

He pushed another sheet of paper across the desk; Stan picked it up. It was a piece that he didn't recognise, but he went ahead and tried to read it in a manner that suggested innocence, virtue and bravery.

"Long I pondered my King's cryptic talk of victory. Time has proven him wise. But from free Greek to free Greek the word was spread that bold Leonidas and his…" Then it started to become familiar. "Dude, is this ‘300'?"

"Just read the piece, Stan," Cartman said in a weary voice.

Stan cleared his throat and continued, uncertain whether his interruption had cost him; Cartman's expression was inscrutable.

Just as Stan was moving from timid uncertainly to sure-footed insistence, Cartman halted him with a cursory wave of his hand.

"Thank you, Stan. I'll be in touch."

"But, I hadn't finished—"

"I'll be in touch. Next!" Cartman called and Stan had no choice but to leave. He shrugged to himself; he'd tried.

"Oh, and tell your little Jewish princess to wear a condom when he's fucking his baby groupies; don't want to give the dumb infants AIDS, do we?" Cartman shouted after him.

Stan merely gave him the finger in response.

~

"Well, there are my suggestions. What do you think, Kyle?" Cartman asked as he tacked wallet-sized photographs of their prospective actors next to each character name.

Kyle hadn't cracked a smile since Cartman had halted auditions for the part of Dracula after seeing him goof around with the monologues. In those moments he was everything Cartman imagined for Dracula: tortured, sadistic, charming… and he didn't even realise it.

"I don't know, Cartman. I haven't seen half of the auditions, have I?"

Cartman couldn't understand why he was in such a mood. He was his muse, and he was the lead in his visionary play. What more did the selfish fucking asshole want?

"Just trust me, Kyle, I've got a knack for this. I spotted you, didn't I?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Great, that makes me feel so much better."

So that was it. Kyle didn't think that he'd be any good? Cartman felt like an idiot. Clearly, Kyle just needed some encouragement. It was kind of weird, though; Kyle had pretty much cornered the villain market in their school plays ever since his turn as Fagin in ‘Oliver!' – which, again, had been all Cartman's idea. See, he knew what he was doing.

Tentatively, he placed a comforting hand on Kyle's shoulder and did his best to ignore the rush of heat that coursed through his whole body. "Relax, Kyle. You'll be great. Think about how good you were in ‘Oliver!' hmm?"

For some reason, this seemed to annoy Kyle further. "I knew it. I fucking knew it!"

"Knew what?"

"Don't play fucking coy with me," Kyle sneered and for a brief, sickening moment, Cartman thought Kyle had figured him out. Not that it stopped his dick reacting violently to the tone of Kyle's remonstration.

"Kyle, I really don't know what you're bitching about," Cartman spat back as reflexively as he could. "It's well-documented history that Jews are evil, conniving villains, so it's only natural that—"

He was completely shocked when Kyle lunged at him and wrestled him to the floor.

"I am not going to stand by and let you mock my people!" he growled, his long fingers coiled roughly around Cartman's wrists and his lean, taut body pinned to him; knees gripping Cartman's thighs like a vice. Cartman silently prayed that Kyle wouldn't move any closer; he didn't know if he could hold out.

"I'm not, you fucking fag," Cartman retorted, using his weight to flip Kyle over onto his back and pin him instead. "You were… you were…" God damn it was hard to think with Kyle underneath him; he'd dreamt about it so many times of late.

"Oh, come on. You can do better than that!" Kyle goaded, surprising Cartman by shoving his arm back and making him lose his balance; Cartman fell backwards and Kyle fell right on top of him. For the first time ever, Cartman was exceedingly grateful for his generous footballer's physique – it was the only thing stopping his painfully hard erection from poking Kyle's inner thigh.

"I don't have to, you paranoid Jew fag," Cartman taunted, because it was better than giving Kyle a chance to discover how fucking turned on he was. "You're the one playing to type with your persecution complex!"

Then, just in case he never got the chance again, he briskly stuck his hands up Kyle's shirt and gave him a skin-on-skin titty twister.

"Ow! You fucking asshole!" Kyle drew his fist back; it was worth the resulting blow for that fleeting feel of his thin, warm body.

The tussled for a little longer on the carpeted floor of the drama studio; an endless sweeping overload of grunts, sweat and heat that threatened to send Cartman over the edge.

"Alright, alright! Get off me, you Jew Fag – unless you're trying to rim me, or something." He flashed a grin that he hoped was a little sexy. Softly, softly, and all that.

"Oh, stop it," Kyle spat. "You're being pathetic!"

Cartman was grateful Kyle didn't seem to know just how true his words were.

They fell silent as they each got back up on their feet – Kyle far more quickly with his skinny, lithe frame – and stepped away from each other. Cartman quickly sat down so he could hide his ridiculously tented pants, but he still snuck a few glances at Kyle, wondering if maybe – just maybe – he'd felt something too.

Instead, Kyle strode over to the desk with Cartman's lovingly created cast photos and leant over to peer at the list again. His ass was shown off to perfection under his tight jeans and Cartman could even see a sliver of pale skin where his shirt rode up over his pants and exposed the arch of his back. Fuck, he was beautiful. Even if he did wear underpants from Target.

"If you don't agree with my choice, we can change it. That's the whole point of a collaboration," Cartman found himself saying. God Damn, that Jew asshole had his nuts in a fucking vice.

"It's not that I disagree, exactly." Kyle's voice had a thoughtful tone to it now. He picked up the photos of Stan and Wendy pinned next to Jonathan Harker and Mina Harker respectively. "Life imitating art, I see?" he chuckled.

Cartman shrugged. "I figured it would be easier on them – they have even less acting to do this way, right?" he offered innocently, checking Kyle's reaction. If he could really shove Stan and Wendy in his face, then maybe he'd see how much of a two-timing asshole Stan was, and then maybe Kyle would start to look for better, more manly alternatives.

Of course, there was the other reason for choosing Wendy as Mina. From what Cartman could gather from the weird girls who had vampire blogs online, Dracula and Mina were the real love story – in a sexy, murdering kind of way – and maybe it was about time Stan got to see what it was like when he had to watch the love of his life cavort with someone else; by choosing Kyle and Wendy, he'd covered all of Stan's potential objects of desire.

Kyle hid his shock well. Instead he suggested something which nearly knocked Cartman straight on his ass.

"I think you should cast Bebe as Lucy," he said, and for a second Cartman felt as though the air had been punched clean out of his lungs.

Lucy was Dracula's first – and very willing – victim. Cartman knew in his mind's eye how this would play out on the stage – essentially humping with some blood – and the idea that Kyle wanted to act it out with that God damn riddled whore made him feel sick. It's not like Kyle could have merely been curious, as he'd already had a go on the exclusive funfair that was Bebe's body and had clearly enjoyed himself.

"But Red has the right hair," Cartman retorted. Lucy was a ginger in all the pictures he'd seen online.

"We can get Bebe a wig," Kyle replied, with a bite of impatience, before he glanced warily at Cartman. "Are you okay?" he asked, his upper lip curled ever so slightly in the way it always did when he was trying to hold back a smile.

"Of course," Cartman replied, and he saw Kyle's gaze settle on his hands.

"You might want to let that pen know," he replied breezily. Cartman glanced down and saw that he had crushed his biro.

"Shit," he hissed, trying in vain to wipe his hands clean of ink. He gave up and dashed to the nearest bathroom.

So, Kyle had upped the ante, huh? Cartman tried not to think about Bebe and her obvious man-stealing charms as he watched the soap and ink dribble into the sink as dark lather. Cartman wasn't sure he could stand watching Bebe all over Kyle like a rash that she'd probably caught to begin with, but he couldn't refuse Kyle's request in case he figured it all out. Kyle's Jew brain was quick and the time wasn't right to make his feelings towards him known. Damn it to hell!

When he got back to the drama studio, he could still hear laughing, but this time it was accompanied by a tinkling female laugh.

"Really, Kyle? That's so patronising!" Wendy had shown up.

Cartman relaxed a little – Stan's little beard was probably Cartman's best chance of making Kyle see that Stan was a no-good two-timing asshole, so he let her carry on.

"Hey, it's Dracula – the evil, bloodsucking fiend. He'd hardly sneak his way into Mina's bedchamber and say, ‘Mina, I really respect your independence and intellect,' would he?" Kyle retorted. Cartman peeked through the open door and saw Kyle reclining on one of the desks wagging his finger in a ‘come hither' motion. Wendy was neither coming nor hithering; if Cartman had been on the receiving end of that, he'd have done both copiously, and he didn't even know what hithering was. Fuck, how had it taken him so long to notice how God damn hot that boy was?

"Cartman! What are you loitering outside for?" Kyle called languidly, his leg dangling over the edge of the desk.

Cartman was about to try and make up some convincing lie, but then an excuse showed up in the form of Ruby Tucker, who clutched her schoolbag nervously.

"One of your little pupils has arrived," Cartman said knowingly, ignoring the silly little slut as she glared at him. She poked her head around the door and Cartman was satisfied by the way she gawped at Kyle. Yeah, he wasn't the only one who had noticed.

"Oh yeah, she's arrived, all right," Cartman commented. The girl looked like she was going to arrive all over the carpet because they don't come much more posh than that.

Kyle looked up at the Tucker brat with his Bambi eyes. "Sorry, Ruby. Am I late?"

"No! ‘Course not," she replied breathlessly. "I just happened to be around and figured I'd see if you… I dunno, maybe you'd let me bum a lift again?"

As if that little tart in training hadn't gone out of her way to hang around here.

Kyle shrugged. "Sure. I was going to take these guys home anyway – there's room for one more."

Cartman saw Ruby's face fall. "Sure. Great," she said, a little moodily. She gestured towards Wendy. "Her too?"

"Yeah, my car's in the garage being repaired," Wendy explained. "Kyle's been kind enough to be my chauffeur this week." The way she smiled at Kyle made Cartman want to vomit, and he knew she only had simpering eyes for Stan. Ruby must have wanted to carve her face off with a flick knife and feed it to her pet hamster.

Kyle must have noticed Ruby's expression and completely misinterpreted it like the emotional retard he was, for he looked at her and said, "Wendy's going to play Mina in the play. She's going to be my undoing," he joked, slinging an arm across Wendy's chest and pulling her against him as though capturing her.

Cartman had to stop from shaking his head. How could a guy who got near perfect SAT scores be so oblivious to what was right in front of him? He hoped he wouldn't be so dense when it came to writing the play; and yes, he was going to get Kyle to write it under his watchful gaze. Why keep a dog and bark yourself?

"Guys, what the hell are you doing?" Stan asked as he stared at Cartman's living room. Cartman and Kyle were sat in the middle of the room surrounded by DVDs, books and newspaper articles; all of which were to do with vampires. It was like being in the room of a twelve year old Hot Topic dweller.

"Research," Cartman said, as though that explained everything. Kyle had his nose in a book with a black cover and an apple on the front, and he looked appalled by what he was reading.

"Oh, God," he moaned. "This is awful. This is actually melting my brain-cells, it's so bad. How can an author have this little grasp of the English language? Ike could write better prose than this, and he's eleven!"

"Dude, what are you reading?"

"Those ‘Twilight' books. God, it's dreadful! How did this sell any copies? How did this even get a publishing deal?"

Wendy let go of Stan's hand. "How far are you into it?"

"Page five," Kyle replied.

"Of which book?"

"The first one… Oh, Jesus, I can't do it anymore!" He flung the book across the room in disgust. "Just give me the gist of it, Cartman."

Wendy eyed Cartman sceptically "You've read these?"

"Yeah," Cartman replied, stretching. "They're awesome, Kyle. You're really missing out."

"I so don't think I am."

Wendy continued to stare at Cartman. "You read these and liked them?"

He sighed wearily, as though he couldn't understand why he needed to explain this. "Of course; what's not to like? They're all about some outcast smart girl who finally learns her place, which is behind the kitchen sink, popping out babies. She marries some rich guy who emotionally blackmails her to do whatever he wants her to do, and she totally goes along with it. He even beats the shit out of her when they fuck and then makes her feel like it's her fault; how fucking awesome is that? He's my hero. And there's a bunch of Native Americans who fight them all the time until they finally realise they aren't as worthy as the white guys and become subservient to them. The chick who wrote these? She totally gets how the world should work. I can really relate to her vision of the future."

Kyle glared at Cartman. "God damn it, Cartman! Why do you have to twist everything to fit your sick, racist, homophobic, misogynistic world view?"

"In fairness, Kyle," Wendy piped up, "that's pretty much what happens in the books."

Stan saw Kyle's expression fall, as though he were genuinely disappointed in humanity. Wendy gave him a kindly smile, as though she sympathised.

"You want a drink, Wendy?" Stan asked.

"A soda would be nice," Wendy replied. "Thanks."

"Oi, this is my house! Stop helping yourself to my stuff!" Cartman said angrily.

"I'll have a soda, too," Kyle said, while flicking through an extensive notebook of his scribblings.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Dude, I'm asking my girlfriend, not you."

Kyle shrugged. "Fine; I'll have a soda, and give you a kiss when you bring it over."

"Dude, sick!"

"Or I'll suck you off, whatever; so long as I don't have to move." Kyle didn't so much as lift his head from his notes.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Fine, but you've got to deep throat me," he said as he stomped off to the kitchen.

"I've been hanging around with Cartman all day. I'm pretty sure my gag reflex has worn off."

"Oi!"

Grabbing a couple of glasses from the draining board and a bottle of soda out of the refrigerator, Stan caught Wendy's nervous glance and instantly panicked. Did she expect him to expect her to…? Not that he didn't want her to – he really, really wanted her to – but only if she wanted to. Even though he fantasised about it during most of his history lessons, his fantasy involved her being just as enthusiastic as he was.

He poured out some of the soda into each glass and managed to carry three of them in a triangle formation into the living room, passing one to Wendy.

"Here you go, babe," he said, kissing her on the cheek in what he hoped was an affectionate gesture with no hint of sexual longing behind it. She smiled in thanks and sipped on her drink in a way that had him feeling nothing but sexual longing, so he quickly turned away and jokingly thrust his crotch against the back of Kyle's head seconds before he realised that such behaviour would only be funny if he didn't actually have an erection.

Fortunately Kyle had such thick curls he didn't seem to notice. He did, however, lift his hand in silent request for the soda Stan had brought him. As Stan put the glass into his cupped palm, he said, "Oh, it's so big, I don't know if I can handle it all," in the most sarcastic manner possible.

"Oh thanks, dude. Now I've gone right off the boil," Stan remarked dryly, as he sat on the couch and gestured for Wendy to join him.

"So, how's the play coming along?" she asked as she nestled herself next to Stan and tucked her long legs under her. He couldn't help but rest his hand on her stocking-covered knee.

"Not bad, not bad," Cartman said. "We're almost done with the first draft."

Kyle coughed loudly. "Well," he said eventually, "there are a few changes we need to make—"

"No, Kyle," Cartman snapped. "They're called ‘creative differences'. And your differences happen to be wrong."

Kyle sighed wearily. "Cartman, Mina and Lucy are going to prance around in leather and, quote, ‘slap each other's titties about' over my dead body." He languidly made finger quotes with his left hand.

"What? It's an integral part of the legend!" Cartman looked to Stan for back-up. "We have watched tons of vampire flicks, and every time I get a kick-ass piece of inspiration, Little Miss Sandy Vagina here has to try and shoot it down in flames! We watched ‘Interview with a Vampire'…"

"We are not having Dracula start necking eighth graders," Kyle interrupted.

Cartman rolled his eyes. "We watched ‘Queen of the Damned'…"

"We are not making Dracula a rock star."

"We watched some Russian film with subtitles that had loads of flies everywhere…"

"We are not making Van Helsing a drunken abortionist."

"We watched ‘Vampyros Lesbos'…"

"No. Just, no."

"And we watched ‘Underworld' just before you guys got here."

Stan looked at Kyle in expectation. He blushed to the roots of his red hair.

"I… Kate Beckinsale was in a PVC body suit. I don't really remember much else," he confessed. Kenny grinned.

"Wow, you do have a functioning dick down there, Kyle. Who knew?"

Kyle said nothing; merely rolled his eyes. Stan understood. Kyle was pretty private about that sort of thing; his Kate Beckinsale confession was more than Stan had ever expected him to say in public about his sexual feelings. What Stan knew about Rebecca and Bebe were very much confidences, not bragging.

"The point is," Cartman continued, "that this priggish Jew was the one who kept telling me that ‘Dracula' is all about sex, but when I try to put any sex in the play, he gets his panties in a bunch!"

Kyle slammed down his notebook. "I said that ‘Dracula' has erotic subtext. What you keep trying to do is just put in pornography!"

"I don't see any difference," Cartman pointed out.

"The difference is massive, you idiot," Kyle spat. "Pornographic is showing some chick getting fucked on a bed. Erotic is showing her fingers gripping satin sheets while she arches her bare back and moans in longing. Pornographic is some guy getting his dick sucked; erotic is a whisper of a promise against a throbbing pulse point that sends shivers down your spine. Am I getting through yet? It's suggestive, subtle. You can have two characters never so much as touch and it aches with sexual energy, more than any number of naked women rubbing each other's nipples. That, Cartman, is the difference, okay?"

The room was heavy with silence. Kyle folded his arms and stared at the blank TV. Wendy inspected her own hands and didn't meet anyone's eyes.

"That is why I'm perfectly happy with adding the sexual subtext to Dracula's obsession and seduction of Mina that was in that Francis Ford Coppola version, but I'm not happy with adding the rapey werewolf!" Kyle added crossly.

Cartman huffed and held a cushion close to him. "Well, thank you, Doctor Broflovski. Maybe Stan should get a say on the matter; after all, he's playing Jonathan and I did write him a pretty epic scene where Dracula's brides stick their titties in his face…"

"Who's playing the brides?" Stan asked before he realised Wendy was right next to him. He braced himself for her death glare but she barely seemed to have heard him. Her attention was focused on the back of Kyle's head. Stan hoped she wasn't too pissed off with his friend.

"Heidi, Red and Millie," Cartman replied. Stan nodded. He could live with that.

"There will be no titties in anyone's faces," Kyle said firmly. "And I also don't get why you don't like the Victorian setting."

"Because it's old, Kyle. Kids today want new, modern. We need to set it on a spaceship in the future, or in the back alleys of the Bronx."

"Oh, brother…"

"Victorian's good," Wendy piped up. "There's lots of corsets and high-necked blouses to be ripped open, plus it fits with the theme of repressed sexuality."

"Jesus Christ, are you two channelling each other or something?" Cartman moaned. "That's exactly what he said." He jabbed a fat finger in Kyle's direction.

"Well, two against one, man. Maybe you should just go with it," Stan suggested. He never felt entirely comfortable when Kyle and Wendy seemed to be on the same wavelength – which was increasingly often nowadays – so any encouragement he could give Wendy to show how much in tune with her feelings he was, he'd give it.

"Whatever, just put the next movie on, you fucking Jew."

"You do it, you fat fuck. You need the exercise."

Cartman pinched the bridge of his nose. "Kyle, I've just got comfortable with my cushion…"

Kenny silently got up and stuck a DVD in the player. He examined the cover.

"Slutty the Vampire Layer?" he queried. "Not that I'm complaining."

"Dude, you can't put porn on in front of my girlfriend!"

"Depends on whether Wendy wants to watch it, surely?" Kyle remarked. Stan kicked him in the back of the head.

"It's the last one on our research list," Cartman said. "So shut up and enjoy it. Kyle, you'd better be taking notes."

Kyle rested his notebook on his lap. "I was just wondering if your mom was going to be in it."

"Shut the fuck up, Kyle!"

"Hey, it was made ten years ago. It's possible," Kenny replied, staring at the cover. "Tonight's looking up."

The film played; a no-budget rather than a low-budget affair. A woman in a ridiculously fake blonde wig stalked around a polystyrene set of gravestones in tight leather boots, a tiny pleated skirt and a leather corset.

"That's your mom," Kenny said firmly. "I'd recognise that ass anywhere."

"Shut the hell up, that's not my mom!"

"Ooh, I've got to find vampires to stake. There must be some around here. What about in this empty grave?" The blonde-wigged woman sucked her finger and bent over, wiggling her ass in the direction of the camera. Cartman covered his face with the cushion.

"Yeah, that's definitely your mom," Stan pointed out. Kyle peered more closely at the screen.

"It doesn't look much like her," he confessed. "But that might be the wig throwing me off."

"I don't want to know," Cartman mumbled into the fabric.

"Well, well, well; if it isn't Slutty the Vampire Layer," a man in tight leather trousers and an impressive moustache said. Plastic fangs threatened to fall out of his mouth as he spoke.

Wendy giggled at this. Stan looked at her.

"You okay watching this?" he asked. Wendy nodded.

"It's pretty funny," she said, and while it wasn't quite the reaction he was hoping to get from her when watching porn together, it was way better than her freaking out about it.

Kyle and Kenny's heads were effectively blocking the screen at this point.

"It's definitely her voice," Kyle agreed. "I'm not sure about the face, though."

"She's covered in make-up," Kenny added. "It makes it hard to tell. Plus, you're thinking of her now, not ten years ago when she was super-hot."

"Kenny! My mom is not hot!" Cartman shouted angrily.

"Ha, you're not going to stake us, Slutty; we're going to stake you!"

Guitar music filled the room, along with moans of, "No, no! Unhand me you evil undead… Ooh, you're such big boys!"

"Well, they're staking her good," Kenny pointed out dispassionately.

"They're staking her at both ends… Oh wait, there's another one. Where the hell's he going to…? Ah, I get it now." Kyle sounded vaguely fascinated, as though he were watching a nature documentary on dolphin mating rituals.

"Cartman's mom is very efficient," Kenny mused. "You can't take that away from her. She's doing the work of three ladies up there, and she seems completely aware of the camera angles. That comes from experience."

"Lots and lots of experience," Kyle added, laughing.

"Hey, can I borrow this tonight? I'd like to watch it alone," Kenny said.

"Can I borrow it after Kenny?" Kyle asked. Stan saw him glance at Cartman and his expression softened.

"Alright, alright. We've had our fun." He switched off the DVD player.

~

"You okay, babe?" Stan asked, squeezing Wendy's arm as they walked towards her house.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she lied. What was she supposed to say? That she'd spent most of the evening fantasising about his best friend? Wendy hated the word ‘fantasising'; it carried with it the awful implication that what she had been thinking was a desire of hers, rather than an involuntary thought process. She decided to lay the blame firmly at Kyle's feet. He was, after all, the one who had spouted off halfway through the evening about the finer points of eroticism and made it almost inevitable that her mind would tumble into hazy images of black satin sliding over pale skin; her body naked and vulnerable as Kyle cupped her face and poured illicit promises into her ear like wine; long fingers tracing her neck and collar bone, thrilling the very bones of her…

When Stan started kissing her neck in the midst of all this, hitting that little spot near her pulse that always made her brain fog, she felt as though she would die on the spot.

"You're so damn beautiful," he murmured into her ear, his hands gentle caressing her lower back. "Let me take you home."

"You're taking me home, Stan," Wendy replied, a little breathlessly.

"I mean back to my ‘home'," he explained. "My parents aren't back until late."

Wendy was about to protest, but Stan placed his hand under her knees and picked her up as though she were his new bride and South Park high street was their threshold. She instinctively slung her arms around his neck.

"I'll take you anywhere you want to go, Wendy," he said earnestly. His smile was bright and dazzling, his blue eyes wide and eager. He was handsome and wonderful and why hadn't he taken the lead in her fantasy?

"Umm, can you take me back home? Please?" She felt hot and sick having to turn him down like this. It felt cruel, but she just couldn't. Not yet. She wasn't ready, not quite. Wendy felt as though she were in some strange transitory phase where she yearned for and recoiled from sexual exploration in equal measure.

Stan appeared disappointed for a brief moment; then he kissed her gently on the lips and shifted his weight slightly.

"Sure; I'm still carrying you, though," he announced, and proceeded to walk down the street with her in his arms. As cute as his behaviour was, Wendy was a little concerned he would slip on the snow and drop them both, or he'd strain a muscle under her weight. Sure, she was kind of skinny, but she was tall. Taller than Stan by a hair's breadth.

"Urgh; school tomorrow," he said as he walked along the street with her in his arms.

"I know, but I can't wait to see what Kyle and Cartman come up with for our script," Wendy added.

Stan smirked. "Yeah, if they don't kill each other in the process. I swear Mrs Langstrom must have been at the gin when she suggested they run this jointly."

Wendy shrugged. "Well, Cartman is kind of good at this sort of thing…"

Stan eyed her suspiciously. "Wait a second. I'm not going to have to fight Cartman for you, am I?"

"What? I'm just saying he's pretty good at bossing people around for his own gain. Plus, you have to admit, Kyle is good at bossing Cartman around."

"Fine, fine… I just remember you kissing him in front of everyone during that town debate."

Wendy stared at Stan. "Who, Kyle?" she asked, briefly terrified that her guilty thoughts from earlier had somehow been readable to him.

"No, Cartman."

Wendy was flummoxed. "When was this?"

"In third grade. We did that debate on our town flag, and you just got up and kissed him in the middle of your speech!"

"I don't remember that…"

"I'll never forget it. You broke my little heart, Wendy Testaburger."

"Wait, did you say third grade?" Wendy adored Stan, but sometimes he took the tiniest of things way too seriously.

"Yeah."

Wendy couldn't help but giggle. "Oh, Stan. I was eight. No wonder I don't remember!"

"God damn it," he muttered.

When they reached her house, Stan set her on her feet. Just as she was going to place her hand on the front door handle, he grabbed her arm gently.

"Hey," he said, his expression suddenly very serious.

"What's the matter?" Wendy always felt a little sickening jolt when he looked at her like this. She was waiting for the moment where she was deemed no longer suitable for the position of Stan Marsh's girlfriend on account of being ‘frigid'. She was getting there, but she knew for a fact Cartman went on about whether she put out at every given opportunity; he was too stupid or too selfish to bother censoring himself when she showed up. It always made her wonder what the others guys said to Stan when her back was turned. She absently wondered if Kyle ever stood up for her; she knew he'd done things with at least two girls that made her blush just thinking about, but after their phone conversation the other year, she figured he might understand given he only wanted to properly hand over his v-plates on his wedding night.

"About... About earlier. You know I really like you, right?"

"Yeah." Wendy was very careful not to give anything away. If there was any danger of being dumped, it was all you had.

"And you… I mean, you like me too, right?"

"Of course."

He looked at the floor and rubbed the back of his neck. "I just… Look, I don't want to be the asshole boyfriend that's always pushing for sex, okay? I know I say stuff, and I'm always asking you to come back to mine, or find somewhere to be alone." He took a deep breath. "I just want to make it clear; I only want to do that stuff with you if you want to, okay? I like you a whole lot. Not just your body." He looked her up and down; Wendy saw a blush creep into his cheeks. "I mean, it's a really nice body. A super frickin' hot body… but I like your thoughts and your smiles and the way you get super-competitive at ‘Dance Dance Revolution', too. So, if I'm, I dunno, if I'm being too pushy or just a dick about it, tell me. And maybe slap me too; sometimes I need my messages reinforced."

Wendy didn't really know how to convey her sudden rush of feelings into words, so she kissed Stan hard on the lips instead.

"I guess that was an ‘okay', huh?" Stan asked sheepishly when they broke apart, his grin so wide Wendy wanted to kiss it off him all over again.

Stan cupped her face with his hand. "Love you, babe," he whispered, before stuffing his hands in his pockets and striding down her driveway towards the street.

Wendy watched him leave and felt suddenly bereft.

"Stan?" she called, and he whirled around.

"Yeah?" his gaze was expectant.

"Do you want to come in for a bit?" She wondered if maybe she needed to explain, but the grin on his face told her otherwise.

~

Wendy's house was unusually loud, and unusually closed off – normally Wendy's mom loved to leave every door open, but the living room door was shut tight. It didn't stop the shrieks and giggles from escaping, however.

"What's going on, babe?" Stan asked as Wendy took his hand and pulled him towards the stairs.

"My Mom's having some lingerie party or something," she replied. Stan suddenly felt a little queasy.

"Please tell me that's not the party my mom said she was going to…"

The familiar giggle he heard told him it was.

"Oh, brother."

"Cheer up, Stan." Wendy's smile was devilish and enchanting. "We get to be alone for a while."

"Okay, that sort of makes up for it," he said, grinning back, just as he heard Craig's mother loudly proclaim, "I don't know what it is about geography teachers! Sometimes, I get my Thomas to dress up… Oh, lordy!"

"I'm not sure I'll ever be able to obtain an erection ever again, Wendy. Can you still be my girlfriend?" he asked. Wendy smiled.

"Relax, honey. We can play chess and become voyeurs," she dead-panned, opening her bedroom door and kissing him all the way to her bed.

"You know what? I think maybe I'll be okay after all," Stan said, pulling her into his arms.

"So," she said between heated kisses as they sank back into her many pillows. "You're going to be my husband?"

Stan suddenly felt bewildered; when had he ever suggested anything like that? Then he caught Wendy's cheeky smile.

"The play?" she pointed out.

"Right. Yeah, so I am," he replied, kissing her neck. "And Kyle's going to try and murder you."

"Or seduce me," she said nonchalantly.

"Hmm?" Stan suddenly felt a little nervous, but he carried on pressing kisses down Wendy's throat and slipping his hand up her sweater.

"It depends how you interpret Mina and Dracula's struggle. You could argue that Mina is repressed in every sense; intellectually, spiritually, sexually—" the sudden, sharp gasp she gave at this Stan took to be a direct result of his fingers gently caressing her left nipple under her bra— "and Dracula offers her fulfilment of her desires, at a price."

"Or he's just a murdering demon that needs to be destroyed," Stan suggested, before adding, "I love your breasts. They're amazing."

"You really do follow the principal of Occam's Razor, don't you?" Wendy mused, apparently paying no attention to his compliments. Stan shrugged and pressed another long, lingering kiss to her lips.

"I don't know," he commented upon pulling away. "I guess I don't really overthink things like Kyle does."

"Well, that's Kyle. It means his mind's always whirring on overtime, but it does make AP English Literature interesting. It'll definitely make this play interesting."

Then, for the first time ever, she casually took off her sweater. Stan simply gawped in awe. The only glimpse he'd ever had of her in her underwear was back in eighth grade, and she definitely looked different now. Her breasts were bigger, but still small and perfectly encased in a shiny purple bra. He could sort of see her ribs when she stretched, and her milk-white skin had swiftly become covered in tiny goosebumps.

Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around herself protectively.

"Is… Am I okay?" she asked, her eyes fixed to the comforter.

Stan gently prised her arms away. "You're perfect," he assured her, pulling her into his lap to kiss her. As she relaxed and slid her arms around him, he leant forward and laid her back onto the bed, kissing her frantically and wondering just what he should do with this newly exposed territory. Well, he knew what he wanted to do. As he felt Wendy written beneath him, he decided that maybe he should just go for it.

Nervously, he tucked his fingers under Wendy's bra straps and slid them down so they hung near her elbows. As she didn't seem to mind this, he moved into phase two: Operation Bra Cup. Somehow taking the whole thing off seemed like it might be kind of scary to her, so he pulled the fabric of her bra cups down until her breasts sat on top of the ruffled material. She stroked his arm in an encouraging way. He kissed her neck because he figured he probably should, then moved down to her breasts as soon as he thought he could get away with it. When her fingers tugged at his hair, but pulled him closer, he felt every muscle clench with excitement.

She moaned quietly and wriggled underneath him when he sucked on her nipple; it kind of surprised him, but he wasn't complaining. He kept going in elation. After years of dreaming, he had Wendy's nipple in his mouth, and he wasn't about to let it go in a hurry. When she grabbed his ass through his jeans, he kept on lashing her nipple with his tongue. When he moved to her right breast, she moved her hand away. He was about to ask her to keep touching him, but he felt her strangely hot hand gently grip his junk through his jeans and he nearly popped out of his skin.

He gave a strangled moan and tried not to rub up against her invitingly warm palm; he completely failed, but she seemed happy enough. Grunting, he glanced up at her face, and saw her eyes were closed and her lips were parted. For a brief, panicked moment he thought she had fallen asleep, but she gave a little gasp as he flicked his tongue over her wet skin.

Jesus fucking Christ. He was sucking on her breasts and she loved it so much she was letting him hump her hand, sort of. He must be dreaming – he simply couldn't believe the day had finally come.

Then, to Stan's utter embarrassment, so did he. He stopped dead, and Wendy sat up a little.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, her expression fraught.

"Yeah. Umm, fine," Stan said, before figuring he should maybe just admit the truth. "I kind of got a little, um, carried away." He felt his cheeks burn red with every word he spoke.

Wendy looked confused for a moment, but when realisation dawned, she only seemed surprised. "Wow. Did I do that?"

"Definitely," Stan replied. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what action had caused it – it was probably a combination of her hand, her wriggling, her moaning and her breasts – but it was definitely Wendy-induced.

To his amazement, she bit away a smile.

"It's not funny," he insisted.

"No! I'm not laughing. It's just… Wow. I did that." Wendy appeared suddenly bashful.

"And I'm very grateful," Stan insisted, at which point they both burst out laughing. He sat next to her and let her head rest against his shoulder.

"I should probably go and get cleaned up," he said after a short while.

"Sure," Wendy replied, reaching for her sweater. Stan felt a little mournful that she was going to cover up her beautiful breasts.

"Umm, do you want me to return the favour?" he offered, waggling his fingers. Wendy blushed and shook her head.

"Not yet," she replied.

"Okay." Stan opened the door and wandered to the bathroom, when it suddenly dawned on him the significance of her words. Not yet. That wasn't the usual ‘No' that slowed down every make-out session; it was a suggestion of a near future where Stan's fingers would be all over her pussy like a living gusset of flesh. Or like something far less gross sounding.

He tried not to whistle his way to the bathroom just in case any of the scary party upstairs headed up for a pee break, but God damn he wanted to.

Chapter Fourteen: The Play's the Thing – The Three and Three-Quarter Year Itch

"I like the play," Bebe enthused. "Did you write it, Kyle?"

"Some of it," Kyle replied. In all honesty he'd written all of it in the end, but then when he opened up the copy of the script Cartman had printed out for them, he found that Cartman had butchered a whole load of sections.

Bebe frowned. "Even the scene where Dracula turns Lucy? Or Mina?" She didn't sound particularly convinced.

"Of course he didn't write those bits," Wendy said, having clearly overheard their discussion. "Cartman made some last-minute amendments of his own, right?" She looked at Kyle with hope in her eyes,

Kyle briefly wondered whether it would be funny to tell Wendy that it was all his work, but instead he truthfully replied, "Yep. Cartman decided that those sections ‘lacked bite', so he ‘improved them'," he made air quotes around those phrases he had copied from Cartman's early-morning email, and Wendy giggled.

"It's kind of… pornographic," Bebe settled on.

Clyde leant over and jabbed Kyle in the arm. "Nice one, Kyle. This is a great way to get your hands on our girlfriends!"

Jesus Christ, it had been over a year ago and Clyde just wouldn't let it lie. Before Kyle had a chance to angrily tell Clyde it was none of his idea and he hadn't been the one pursuing Bebe, while they were at it, Wendy piped up instead.

"Shut up, Clyde; he clearly didn't write those parts."

"Oh, and how would you know?"

"I recognise Kyle's voice in this, and it's mysteriously absent from any of the more… obvious scenes."

She smiled knowingly at Kyle, and he felt himself turn crimson. Holy fuck, she knew that he'd been writing Stan's love poems to her. She had to know. He thought he'd been clever by avoiding words like ‘incandescent' and ‘prostrating', and by alluding to breasts which, although nice, weren't the first thing he'd have waxed lyrical about in romantic poetry. He was close to Stan, but when it came down to it, he wasn't really that much like Stan.

"Stan? Aren't you bothered by this?" Clyde challenged, and Stan merely shrugged.

"I trust Kyle to look after Wendy when he, ‘Throws Mina to the bed and rips her top open, like that film with the crazy woman who gets shot by Michael Douglas after she boils his kid's pet rabbit, but not like that because he doesn't grab her titties… or does he?'," Stan deadpanned.

Wendy glared at Stan and Clyde. "I can't believe either of you! So, I'm Stan's property now, am I? Shall I phone up my dad and make sure he forwards you my damn dowry?" she spat.

"I can't believe you think I'd write something that obtuse," Kyle said, glaring at Bebe and Clyde.

At that moment, Cartman entered the drama studio and shut the door behind him.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to our very first read-through. I think we should start off by giving ourselves a round of applause and really showing the love that's going to nurture our foetus of a play until it's ready to be birthed into the world with blood, sweat and that icky gunk babies are covered in when they first plop out of a vagina."

Cartman started to clap. Kyle noticed everyone look at each other uncertainly before they awkwardly joined it.

"Nice, very nice," Cartman agreed once they had stopped.

Kyle raised his hand. "Cartman, I have some serious reservations about the script—"

"Kyle, once we've done the read-through, you can bitch as much as you like," Cartman said with a tone of finality. Kyle sighed and pulled out his red pen, ready to make notes on anything which displeased him.

Two hours later, and Kyle's manuscript was littered with red inked scribbles – some on his own work that he felt didn't hold up when hearing it read aloud for the first time, but most of it was on Cartman's hastily added fuck fests. He'd especially noticed how mortified Wendy looked when they read out the pivotal scene where Mina is turned by Dracula and is left with mere days to be saved from becoming a vampire. Kyle couldn't blame her; the whole scene read like an excerpt from a porno.

"Cartman, we need to have a serious talk," he insisted, trying to keep the rage out of his voice.

"Kyle, anything you have to say to me, you can say to us all," Cartman replied calmly.

"We'll be here for the rest of the day if I do that! Some of do have classes we actually think are important to attend!"

"Well, in that case, perhaps I can continue, Kyle?" Cartman folded his arms, silently daring Kyle to challenge him. For some reason, Cartman always seemed to think Kyle would back down.

"No, we'll go over the most serious issues now!" Kyle countered, suddenly aware of the whole group shifting their glance from Cartman to Kyle as though watching a particularly gripping tennis match.

He slammed his hand against the manuscript. "There is no way you can put all this fucking in the play. It is ridiculous, and the school will just ban it."

"So? Everyone knows that anything of any worth ends up being banned somewhere," Cartman replied defensively.

"I see your argument, and I raise you, ‘Human Centipede II'."

He and Cartman stared each other out of a moment; Kyle felt the eyes of every student on him.

"Touché, Kyle. Touché. I trust you have a better idea? Maybe you should act out one of the scenes and show us how you would improve it with your genius touch?" Cartman's expression was most dubious, but the ball was firmly in Kyle's court and he figured he had to serve it as best he could.

"Fine. Bebe, would you help me out? We'll do the scene where Dracula turns Lucy, okay?" Kyle requested, doing his best to ignore Clyde's glowering. The simple fact of the matter was that, in the nicest possible way, Bebe had no shame. She would happily act out the nonsense in the script, plus he knew she wouldn't be weirded out by him touching her in vaguely inappropriate ways, which the scene called for in spades.

Bebe shrugged. "Sure thing," she replied breezily, before bounding up to him in the centre of their circle, script in hand. They found the right page and, with a cough and a shuffle, they began.

Bebe looked up at the imaginary stars and sighed deeply. "Oh dear, what am I to do? Three gorgeous suitors and I have to choose between them? That's, like, so unfair. If only this wasn't the Victorian times so I could have a foursome or something. Woe is me."

Kyle marvelled at how Bebe kept such a straight face with those lines. He tucked his script under his arm and swooped towards Bebe.

"Ah ha! It is Lucy Westerna, is it not? My, how the moonlight flatters your titties!"

The rest of the cast burst out laughing; Kyle felt a little bad for Cartman, but he figured he would find a way to shrug it off.

"Why, thank you, kind sir; they are most bounteous, are they not?"

"What are you doing out so late in the hour? T'is the time for whores and murderers, is it not?"

"Oh, I'm just lamenting my incredible hotness," Bebe said, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead as stipulated in the script. She let her hand fall, then asked, "So, what are you? A whore or a murderer?"

Kyle grinned evilly. "Why, both, my dear!" before fake-biting her neck. He knew Bebe could scream, but damn, she nearly perforated his eardrums.

They both had to look at the script as they tried to manoeuvre themselves into the required position; Bebe shoved Kyle's head right into her cleavage, while shouting, "Unhand me, you naughty undead man!"

Kyle did his best to grab hold of Bebe's butt and hoist her up; Bebe instantly locked her legs around his middle.

"Oh, stop it! This is so wrong!" she gasped.

"Yeah, and then some," Kyle thought, before continuing with the script's instructions and thrusting against her.

"But it feels so right!" Bebe swooned, arching back as per the script and, judging from the sudden dead weight Kyle had to hold up, she had left him to support her gymnastics; her legs were akimbo in perfect realisation of Cartman's stage directions, and Kyle felt like he was fake-fucking a windmill.

Kyle could hear the whole cast burst into hopeless hysterics – even Clyde.

Cartman, on the other hand, looked pretty pissed off. Halfway through Kyle's reading of the line, "Time for you to get on your knees and taste my life-force!" Cartman loudly shouted, "Alright, alright, you bunch of fucking philistines!" and sat down in a sulk.

Kyle gently let Bebe down, ducking to avoid her right leg as she swung it over his shoulder, and looked at the script again.

"The idea is good, Cartman," he soothed – and his did pain him to say those words – "we just need to be more… subtle about it. That was we can get it past the school board while still getting the message of sexual temptation across."

Cartman appeared thoughtful; the whole group seemed to collective hold their breath as he tapped his chin with his finger momentarily. Cartman locked eyes with Kyle and asked, "What did you have in mind, then?"

Kyle gently touched Bebe's hand. "Fancy some improv?" he asked.

"Sure," she replied, staring at the imaginary stars once again with a thoughtful smile on her lips. When Kyle approached her and stood by her side, she shivered and wrapped her cardigan tightly around herself. Kyle thought that was a nice touch.

"Beautiful night, is it not?" he offered.

"Indeed." She smiled. "It's a night for secrets."

Kyle glanced at her curiously. "Something to hide?"

"You're the one stalking young women," she retorted, a little flirtatiously.

He smiled and shook his head. "Is that really how you perceive yourself? Forgive me for my impertinence, but I rather feel you're selling yourself short."

Bebe looked at him with mild vexation. "I have three suitors and I don't know who to choose. Don't accuse me of selling myself short!"

Kyle placed his hand carefully on her shoulder, and Bebe shivered again.

"If you weren't selling yourself short, you'd take all three of them. Or none of them."

Bebe pulled off an impressive combination of scandalised and excited. The look in her eyes was deeply intense, but then she let her shoulders droop. "That's what I'd been thinking myself," she confessed.

Kyle took her hand. "Do you what to know what I think?" he asked, keeping his eyes on hers.

"Of course," she replied, not breaking their stare and acting as though hypnotised.

"I think you should turn down all three and take a more exciting offer," he replied darkly, without looking away from her.

"Such as?"

"I could set you free, Lucy. Free from all this… this banality. I could make you mine for eternity, and I would show you everything you've yearned for." Unsure exactly where else he could take this, he yanked her flush to him. Bebe seemed to understand exactly what he was trying to accomplish, and followed his every move as though possessed. When he fake-bit her throat, she acted as though torn between desire and fright; her hands dangled limply by her sides, yet they twitched in expectation.

They both pulled away and ended their scene. Before Kyle even had a chance to ask, "So, what do you think?" the whole cast had burst into applause.

Cartman, however, simply stared in apparent disbelief, his jaw slack. Eventually he seemed to pull himself together, and slammed his hand down on the desk before pointing at Kyle.

"You get me something like that for all those scenes, Kyle, and we're in fucking business!" he ordered gleefully.

Wow. Not the reaction Kyle had been expecting.

Wendy tentatively raised her hand. "When you say ‘all those scenes'… What precisely do you mean?"

Cartman rolled his eyes. "All the scenes where Dracula's turning bitches into the hot undead, of course. God damn!"

Wendy did not appear comforted by this, but she said nothing more. Kyle glanced at Stan for support, but he didn't appear to be paying attention. Damn it, he didn't exactly want the job of coaxing an erotic performance out of his best friend's girlfriend. It was… well, it was fucking weird. Still, he realised they were going to have to work together on this one to help keep the insane balance between Cartman's wishes, Wendy's comfort zone, and something the parents wouldn't grab pitchforks and torches to drive out of town.

Maybe he should have suggested ‘The Importance of Being Earnest'?

~

Wendy leant back on Bebe's mountain of pillows just as Bebe held two DVDs in front of her.

"Okay, we've got ‘the Ugly Truth', or ‘P.S. I Love You'. I'm in a Gerrard mood tonight," she said with a smile.

"Whichever," Wendy replied, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. For some reason, she felt really wound up by Bebe as she danced happily around her room without a care in the world. "I hope you're hungry; Mom kind of went overboard with the pizzas," Bebe said. "Oh, and I got some straighteners. I've been dying to try them out on your hair and make it all curly; there's this bit in the manual which says…"

Wendy glanced up at the ceiling and tried not to cry. Ever since that read-through, she'd felt all churned up and nauseated. First, the idea that Cartman wanted her to basically stage porn with Kyle was just… she couldn't even put it into words. No doubt about it, he was insane. Completely insane. The very thought of Kyle being… having his hands… She nearly quit there and then, and when Kyle stared acting out that scene with Bebe? She didn't know where to look. Even just hearing them seemed to put her whole nervous system on edge. To her relief, Kyle had an ulterior motive, but somehow what he had in mind as an alternative to Cartman's pornography didn't settle her nerves remotely. Once again she remembered Kyle and Bebe cavorting, which bothered her greatly. The fact that it bothered her greatly bothered her greatly, too. Why did it matter to her? She was sure they were both over each other, but still. Bebe shouldn't play with Kyle's heart like that, and he shouldn't be fooling around with her when she's got a boyfriend anyway.

"Wendy? What's up? You weren't listening to a word I said!" Bebe sounded a little peeved.

"Nothing!" Wendy protested, but Bebe seemed entirely unconvinced.

"It's not ‘nothing'. You've been acting odd all day." She sat on the bed next to Wendy. "Now, it can't be schoolwork because you're loving your AP classes with Kyle and you have your little homework club together, it can't be boyfriend trouble because you and Stan have been sickeningly adorable recently… Is it college applications? Because they aren't due for ages."

"No," Wendy assured her, "although you need to apply earlier for the Ivys – I must let Kyle know about that."

Bebe looked at her curiously. "Are you freaking out over the play?"

"A little," Wendy confessed. "I don't think I can do the stuff Cartman clearly wants us to do?"

Bebe laughed. "Do you really think Kyle's going to do the stuff Cartman wants? Not going to happen. Anyway, it's Kyle. He won't make you do anything you're not comfortable with," she assured her.

"I know that!" Wendy snapped and Bebe gawped at her.

"I'm sorry, Bebe. I didn't mean to—"

"Oh my God! You've got a crush on Kyle!" she squealed.

"No, I haven't!" Wendy protested. "How on earth did you come to that conclusion, anyway?" Wendy couldn't see how anything she or Bebe had just said could lead her to such a crazy conclusion, and it was a completely insane conclusion to draw.

Bebe said nothing and merely smiled knowingly. Irritatingly knowingly.

"What?" Wendy folded her arms defensively.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of—"

"Yes, it is! I have a boyfriend!"

"Ah ha! So you admit it?" Bebe challenged.

"No!" Wendy picked up the nearest pillow and hugged it, while Bebe playfully tried to pull it away.

"What? You've never wondered what it would be like to kiss him?" she teased.

"No!" She'd briefly wondered what it would be like to have him caress her naked body while whispering all the filthy things he wanted to do to her, which wasn't the same thing at all and was all his fault anyway.

"You've never thought about him while you're having your special shower time?"

"My what?"

Bebe's grin fell into a look of pity. "You don't know about Special Shower Time?" she asked, miming what appeared to be a shower head near her nether regions.

"Bebe!" Wendy gasped in horror.

"Don't look so horrified – you're the one missing out."

"What exactly do you do in… with your ‘Special Shower'?" Wendy stammered. "You can't just… I mean, would it fit?" she asked cautiously.

Bebe burst out laughing. "You don't shove it up there," she insisted. "You just… Look, next time you have a shower, just take the thing off the wall and have a little explore. You'll work it out."

Wendy felt her entire face burn with heat.

"Anyway, you're avoiding the issue at hand," Bebe continued. "Do you see him with other girls and want to claw their eyes out? Even if said girl is your best friend? Who's just acting? Like we're supposed to be?" Bebe snatched the pillow from Wendy's suddenly limp grasp and put her face right in front of Wendy's.

Overwhelmed, Wendy started to cry. "I'm sorry, Bebe!"

"Oh, Wendy. It's okay, don't feel bad," Bebe soothed. "I was a total bitch to you when you got your awesome SAT scores."

"No, you weren't," Wendy replied tearfully.

"I was," Bebe insisted. "I clearly just hid it better than you."

"I didn't realise… Do I really have a crush on…? Oh, God! I do! This is dreadful!"

Bebe patted her back gently. "Oh, don't be so melodramatic. You and Stan have been dating for ages; you're bound to notice other guys. It's like, the three-and-three-quarter year itch. It's no biggie."

"No biggie? I fantas – I think about Kyle… about other guys in a… a sexual way, and that's nothing to worry about? What about me and Stan? I… I love him!" Unless this meant she didn't? She tried to picture her life without Stan and it was impossible. She saw them getting married and having children together – after she'd majored in environmental studies, done a law conversion and helped get the US to ratify the Kyoto agreement. He'd propose at the top of the Eiffel Tower and they'd have an intimate ceremony where she'd wear deep-blue, not white, because they'd been living together for years and it seemed hypocritical… but Kyle would be the best man, wouldn't he? He'd be looking after Stan throughout the ceremony, wearing a dapper morning suit with a cummerbund which matched her dress just as Stan's did. He'd be required to dance with her at the reception. He'd hold her in the traditional style, his cool fingers pressed confidently on the small of her back, caressing the fabric. He'd tell her she looked hot as they danced close together, and she'd feel curiously frustrated at the chasteness of it all until he leant her backwards during the dance and used the opportunity to slide his hand up her thigh… Jesus Christ, he was infiltrating her ten year plan fantasy!

What about when she and Stan had babies? She'd have to take maternity leave and be equally enthralled with her new bundle of joy and lonely for her old life. Kyle would obviously come over to see his new Godchild, who Wendy couldn't get to stop crying, and be completely adorable with the baby until Wendy cracked and burst into tears. He'd get the baby to go to sleep, and then he'd comfort her. She'd confess she hated her postpartum body, he'd tell her she would always be beautiful to him as he tenderly ran his fingers through her hair…

Oh, God. He'd infiltrated the twenty year inevitability plan, too. He was right there, cooing over her fantasy baby and making out with her on the fantasy couch.

She actually screamed out loud and felt Bebe's comforting hands on her shoulders.

"Wendy! Wendy! It's okay," she soothed, handing her a brown paper bag. "Breathe, breathe."

Wend inhaled deeply, then exhaled deeply into the paper bag and felt herself calm down.

"It's okay to fantasise about other guys, Wendy – do you seriously think our boyfriends don't do the same?"

"What, fantasise about other guys?" Wendy joked, wiping her eyes. Bebe nudged her gently in the ribs.

"You know what I mean. Although when it comes to your boyfriend, I'm not so sure."

"Funny."

"Look, I love Clyde, right?"

"I know."

"But sometimes, Gerrard Butler makes a few booty calls in my head. That doesn't mean if he showed up here in South Park, all oiled up and muscular, slung me over his shoulder and insisted on having his wicked, manly way with me in every possible position until my whole body ached from overuse…" Bebe's eyes seemed to glaze over. "It doesn't mean that I'd… Okay, that's a bad example. I totally would," she sighed.

"What about Clyde?"

"Oh, I'd let him do it up my butt to make up for it," Bebe replied nonchalantly, and suddenly Wendy felt that old lingering terror creep back in. Was that what she could look forward to after losing her virginity? Would Stan want to do that? Would Kyle? Except it didn't matter to her what Kyle would want to do, of course… This was getting too much.

"Oh God! I have to do a play laced with erotic subtext with Kyle!" she said, suddenly panicked.

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Bebe replied, "You get a legitimate reason to play around with him and get it out of your system, right?"

Wendy thought about Bebe's positive spin on the situation. She had a point. She had a very good point. Wendy knew she loved Stan; getting this slightly seedy opportunity to spend time with his best friend where they'd have to spend a reasonable amount of time touching each other in mildly inappropriate places couldn't possibly go wrong.

Wendy merely buried her face in the pillow and cried in response.

~

Three sliding tackles, a touchdown and being crippled by two fouls, and Stan was sure his bruised, muddy figure told the story; some days, football practise was a bitch. It didn't help that Dean Winters from twelfth grade kept finding excuses to try and to stomp on his head because he wanted to date Wendy.

"Great game, St… Stan," Tweek stammered out, his bundle of nervous tics threatening to burst through his padding.

"Thanks, you too," Stan replied. He and Tweek were the only eleventh graders on the team, for some reason. All the others were burly twelfth graders, apart from one aggressive tenth grader who allegedly got on the team as part of some anger management thing after he ran over a cow when it refused to move out of a dirt road. Stan had seen the dent in his car and the curious dark red stains; he believed the rumours.

As he wandered over to the changing rooms, Stan found himself distracted by the under thirteen's ice hockey team hanging outside their practice rink, jostling another player.

"Get lost, you nerd!"

"Yeah! What are you even doing on the team, nerd! Get back to your calculus!"

"Yeah, Geek-lovski!" This kid – who Stan thought might be as big as he was – grabbed Ike and yanked his underpants up as far as they would go.

The kids laughed cruelly. Stan couldn't help but be amazed at the epic force of that particular wedgie, but Ike's vulnerable expression shook that thought right from him. Then, as soon as he had seen it, a mask of rage slid over Ike's features.

"Leave me alone, asswipe!" he snarled, while surreptitiously adjusting himself.

"Ooh, look at the tough guy!"

"Yeah, you want to be careful; doesn't look like your brother's around to fight your battles for you!"

"We're going to get your asshole brother next time, too!" the apparent leader promised, all rage and lean muscle. Stan had to stifle a smirk at this; when you'd spent most of your life battling with an enormous fat bastard who was almost twice your weight, you became pretty handy in a fight. He was reminded of this when he noticed one of the brats seemed to turn a shade paler; he recognised the boy as one Kyle caught here when he arrived early to pick Ike up from hockey practise. Kyle had dragged the kid into the shower block and effectively waterboarded him for twenty minutes. Stan almost felt sorry for the little snot.

"Get bent!" Ike yelled back as the boys started to crowd him. Stan picked up the pace and rushed towards them to break it up – Kyle would kill him if he left Ike to get pummelled – but just before he reached them, Ike swung an inexpert punch which happened to connect with the lead kid's lip. There was a surprising amount of blood.

The kid looked up with murder in his eyes. "You're going to get it," he threatened, but to Stan's amazement, he stopped upon seeing him walk over to the group of rage-fuelled kids.

"Hey, Ike," Stan said casually. "You wanna come to the football lockers? I'm waiting for Kyle, too."

"Sure," Ike said casually, but his expression displayed extreme gratitude.

One of the boys – a zit covered one with lanky hair – snickered. "Whatever, hide behind your brother's butt-buddy," he hissed, only for the lead guy to punch him in the gut.

"Alright, Marsh?" he asked casually. "I saw your touchdown last Friday. Nice work, brah."

"Umm, thanks," Stan replied uncertainly, hastily dragging Ike along before he ended up chatting to Ike's bully about the Colorado high-school leagues.

Stan watched Ike as he sat on one of the benches in the changing rooms and took out a book. He appeared to be in deep concentration as Stan washed off the mud from his skin and hair. He felt bad for Ike, but in all honesty? He was an awesome little dude, but he was weird. He was a good year younger than all his classmates, he took the SAT last year and aced it, and now he'd transferred to the special genius school up near Middle Park. His name was mud. It seemed inevitable, if unfair, that he'd attract bullies. Stan tried to point this out to Kyle once – never again. He could honestly say he had never seen Kyle so angry in all his life; even Cartman had failed to get such a furious reaction from him, and he'd been trying since playschool. They'd ended up in a bit of a brawl over it – Kyle accused him of siding with the bullies, Stan accused him of being a dick when he was just saying it would be a factor and wasn't condoning it – Kenny broke them up in the end. Cartman just watched gleefully. Asshole.

"Dude, why do you even go to hockey anymore?" Stan asked as he rinsed himself down. "You're at the Browning Institute, you don't need to hang out with those losers."

Ike didn't so much as life his head from his book. "Because I like hockey, and they don't have it as an option at BI." He then lifted his head and looked Stan straight in the eye. "Why should I be driven out of the game because of a bunch of jealous assholes?"

Stan sighed. Ike may be adopted, but he was a Broflovski through and through.

Once he had dried off and got changed, the two of them waited for Kyle in the usual spot – under the tree at the edge of the parking lot. Ike was unusually quiet.

"What's up, dude?" Stan asked.

Ike shrugged. "Does it bother you that everyone thinks you and Kyle are gay together?" he asked in a blatant attempt to distract Stan from his original question.

"Nah," Stan replied, "and it's not everyone."

"It kind of is."

They were silent for a while; Stan checked his watch and saw Kyle was about twenty minutes late now. Presumably his tutoring sessions had overrun.

"Kyle is a lot like Ma, don't you think?" Ike asked inexplicably.

"Huh?"

"Well, he's got her hair and her temperament, although I guess he's got Dad's eyes and his intellect. He's really tall, but so was Grandpa Broflovski, apparently."

Stan could think of nothing to say to this, so he just said, "Oh."

"I don't think I'm really sure who I take after," Ike commented, and Stan suddenly realised where this was going and prayed for a miracle so he didn't have to deal with it. That miracle arrived in the form of a Lincoln Estate, driven by a very ashen Kyle.

"Hey, look. Kyle's here," Stan announced, neatly side-stepping the awkward question and picking up his backpack as Kyle pulled over.

"Hey, dude," Stan said in greeting as Kyle opened the door.

"Hey." Kyle didn't move his dead-eyed stare away from the windscreen.

"Umm, dude? What's up?" Stan asked as he slid into the front seat, ignoring Ike's complaining.

"You're smaller, dude, get in the back," Stan ordered and Ike grumpily complied.

"Dude?" He snapped his fingers in front of Kyle's face.

"Oh. Right." He drove off as though on autopilot.

"Dude? Want to talk?" Stan asked carefully, as Kyle gripped the steering wheel so tightly that the skin on his knuckles looked close to cracking. Stan suddenly noticed he was missing a few shirt buttons.

Kyle shook his head, and then suddenly slammed on the breaks.

"Shit! Where's Ike?" he yelled in a panic-stricken voice.

"Right here. Nice to know how cherished I am," Ike replied sarcastically.

Kyle seemed to shake himself out of his panic. "Sorry, Ike."

"Dude, what happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Kyle said dully as he sped up.

"Is Cartman still trying to get you to make Dracula all hardcore? No, you were doing tutoring this evening—"

"I. Don't. Want. To. Talk. About. It," Kyle ground out, clutching the steering wheel tightly again.

"Alright, alright; Jesus," Stan replied angrily, slouching in his seat. God damn, Kyle was in a shitty mood tonight.

They drove ahead in silence. Just as Stan was considering trying to make conversation again, Kyle said in a broken voice, "Ruby Tucker tried to seduce me, Stan."

"Huh?" If Stan was honest, he'd seen this coming a mile off.

"She tried to seduce me." He had the haunted expression of a man who'd fought in Vietnam and lost a limb; no, he looked even more shell-shocked than his uncle's friend Ned did whenever he saw more than thirteen seconds of ‘Apocalypse Now' on TV.

"How? I mean, what did she do?"

Kyle shook his head and kept his stare fixed to the road, his harder grip on the steering wheel his only betrayal of emotion.

"Come on, man," Stan soothed. "You can't keep it all bottled up. You need to talk about it, Kyle. You need to let go."

At first Kyle's stoicism didn't change. Then, just as Stan had given up hope, he heard a cracked, "I was just gathering my things after the session; the others had left."

He continued to stare at the road; Stan gently squeezed his hand where it gripped the steering wheel. "It's okay, dude. Take your time."

"It was… I didn't see it coming. It was all so… She asked if I could check her math homework; I said yes, of course. I sat down on their couch – Ruby had already set their table for dinner, see. She brought her little exercise book over and as I was checking it and showing her how to demonstrate her working for algebraic equations, I felt her hand on my wrist. I didn't think anything of it; I figured she was just trying to get a better look." He sounded pleading, as though he thought Stan might not believe him.

"I know, I know," Stan soothed, as Kyle took a deep, shaky breath.

"The next thing I knew, she was on my lap. Like, right on top of me. I tried to move, but I couldn't. She had me pinned; fuck, fourteen year old girls are stronger than they look. So, I tried to move her and she took it completely the wrong way." He shuddered. "I had to prise her off me like a cat that's sunk its claws into a frog to rip out its tiny lungs, Stan."

"Wow. Dude."

"She bit my ear, Stan. I kind of like that, you know? But I'll never be able to like it again, because she did it to me." Kyle's expression was eerily blank. "She grabbed my crotch, too. I don't think I'll ever be able to masturbate again."

"It's going to be okay, dude. Did you tell her you're not interested? You told her, right?"

"Of course," Kyle snapped and Stan felt grateful that a little of his fire was still burning. "It had no effect. I'd have been better off telling the kitchen table."

"Did you tell her mom?"

"She wasn't there," Kyle replied. "Do you think I should?"

"Well, what if Ruby tries to claim you started it, like in that episode of ‘90210'?"

"Shit!" Kyle hissed. "You've got a point."

Suddenly, Kyle's phone started to buzz.

"It's just a text," Kyle replied.

"Want me to get it?"

"Sure."

Stan reached over and pulled the phone out of Kyle's pocket. He looked at the screen and saw it was a photo message. Without thinking, he opened it and in the space of five seconds, he felt as though he'd been right alongside Kyle in ‘Nam.

"Jesus fucking Christ, dude! Ruby Tucker just sent you a naked picture of herself!"

"Can I see?" Ike piped up.

"No!" Stan and Kyle shouted back simultaneously.

"Oh my God, you can see her snatch, dude! Look at it!"

"No fucking way, dude!" Kyle said chirpily, clearly pleased at having avoided the sight.

"You can stop fucking smirking; it's on your phone."

Kyle's face fell quicker than Tom Landry's once Jerry Jones took over the Cowboys.

"She's got really nice boobies, though," Ike commented. Stan craned his neck and realised Ike had been watching over his shoulder.

"Ike!" Kyle remonstrated, but Stan glanced at Ike's self-satisfied expression. He hadn't seen anyone look less guilty about their actions in his life.

~

"Hi, Mrs Tucker? It's Kyle… No, I haven't left anything. It's about Ruby… No, her homework's okay, it's improving…"

Cartman watched from his lounging position on Kyle's bed, console controller in hand. He'd decided reclining on Kyle's bed was tantalisingly close to reclining in it, which in turn wasn't too far off from lying in it with him. He imagined he'd be able to smell him on the duvet, only he'd look pretty fucking weird to the others if he tried.

"I just think it's sad that Kyle didn't let us see it," Kenny commented idly.

"Trust me, you don't want to," Stan replied darkly, but then he was a pussy. As far as Cartman was concerned, if some jailbait slut wanted to flash her cum-catcher like a hooker, then he would have been doing her a favour by looking. He figured Ruby was probably worth a poke, and if she and Kyle tag-teamed? He was suddenly assaulted with the image of Ruby on her knees before him, and Kyle with his hands parting his ass cheeks behind him… Fortunately, Kyle was still on the phone, pacing up and down the room in his usual pent-up way. Cartman always felt that if Kyle ever caught his eyes during one of his fantasises, that he'd figure it out. Cartman knew neither of them were ready for that.

"The thing is, she's kind of… Well, I think she might have a little crush on me, and I'll be honest, I'm not sure how to… I don't think it's that funny, Mrs Tucker… No, really. Please stop laughing, I'm serious…" Kyle seemed quite offended by Mrs Tucker's response, whatever it might have been.

"Why didn't he just keep it for blackmail purposes, instead of just fucking deleting it," Cartman asked.

"Because he's not a dick?" Kenny offered. "Well, not as much of a dick as you."

"He also said it's illegal. Something about possessing pornographic images of a minor?" Stan offered.

"What, even if the minor's sent them herself like a fucking whore who's asking for it?"

"I think the argument is that a minor can't be held responsible, on account of being a minor," Kenny offered up, a sliver of sarcasm to his voice. Yeah, whatever. Fucking white trash – his mom pushed him out of her vagina when she was what? Fifteen, sixteen? She seemed to be pretty fucking responsible for that one.

"Of course I'm still going to tutor her, so long as you're okay with it… Well, fine. I'll see you tomorrow, Mrs Tucker." Kyle snapped shut his phone and hissed, "For fuck's sake!"

"Didn't go well?" Kenny asked innocently.

"She doesn't believe me," Kyle replied. "In fact, I got the distinct impression she found the idea of anyone having a crush on me rather amusing."

Cartman felt his cheeks start to glow.

"Dude, I swear she was one of the first members of Bebe's dumb cult last year," Stan pointed out.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Please don't remind me; I've consigned that moment of my life to the blacked-out memory portion of my brain."

"How full is that getting now?" Kenny asked. Kyle simply grunted in response.

"Boys! Your pizzas have arrived!" God damn, Kyle's fat bitch of a mom had a voice that could peel paint. Cartman tried to shake the thought from his head; if he was going to seduce Kyle, he'd have to be nice to his mom. Fucking Jew bastard Mommy's boy. Still, he could fake it; he was pretty confident Kyle's mom thought he was a fucking angel anyway.

"Thanks, Mom!" Kyle grabbed their small stash of notes – Cartman noticed that Kyle was silently subbing Kenny, yet again – and headed downstairs. Stan followed him eagerly.

"I'll give you a hand, dude," he said nonchalantly, but Cartman knew what he had in mind; a few stolen moments away where he could sneak him a quick kiss, or grab his beautiful ass, or rub up against him like a dog in fucking heat. Then he'd leave Kyle all confused and trot off back to that hippie slut Wendy. Fucking Stan, he thought just because he was the handsome captain of the football team that he could do whatever he wanted to everyone around him. Asshole.

Kenny got up and stretched his scrawny figure like a cat ready to lick its own arse. "I'm just popping to the pisser," he announced, leaving Cartman alone in Kyle's room.

Cartman did some quick mental calculations. Five minutes to pay for the pizza, re-slice it because they could never fucking slice pizza properly in those places, Stan to get Kyle semi-hard by doing whatever the fuck Kyle let him do to him while Kenny finished his whizz and washed his hands – he'd better fucking well wash his hands if they were going to handle his pizza – meant Cartman had five minutes alone in Kyle's room.

He was going to make the most of it.

Hurriedly, he opened the closet door and ran his hand over one of Kyle's neatly pressed shirts, fingering the buttons and imagining what it would be like to undo them while Kyle was wearing it. He opened Kyle's underwear drawer and took a good, long look at what he was wearing under his jeans. He wandered over to Kyle's computer desk and felt the soft leather of his chair, wondering what it would be like to caress Kyle's shoulders and feel him arch his back in pleasure. Then, just because he could, he pressed his face against the leather seat and breathed in deeply. It smelled of sweat and ass and frankly, it wasn't as great as he'd imagined, but it was still Kyle's scent and if he jerked off to porn in this chair then he might be smelling a soupcon of jizz –

"Umm, what are you doing?"

Cartman tilted his head and saw Ike leaning in the doorway looking fairly creeped out.

"What are you doing?" Cartman retorted, struggling to come up with a decent excuse.

"Getting some of Kyle's textbooks for our study group," he replied, reaching up to a nearby bookshelf and taking three of Kyle's AP textbooks. God damn Ike and his God damn group of little genius freaks – Cartman had completely forgotten they were hunched around the dining room table like wilting plants hidden from the sun.

"Have you got permission to rifle through your brother's stuff?"

"Have you got permission to shove your face in his ass grooves?" Ike countered coolly.

"If you must know, you little pecker, I'm trying to adjust the seat," he lied.

"Then you want the button to the left," Ike replied, pointing at a button just under the seat. Cartman genuinely couldn't tell if he'd bought his story or not.

"Oh. Thanks," he said, pressing the button and shifting the chair into a position he didn't much want it in to keep up the act. "Now piss off back to your little freak group—"

Cartman soon realised Ike wasn't paying much attention to him. He was staring at his reflection in the nearby mirror. Vain fucking dick.

"Eric? Do you think I look more like my mom or my dad?" he asked, poking at his nose inquisitively.

"How the fuck should I know?" Cartman replied. "You were adopted."

Ike turned white as a sheet. "No, I wasn't!"

"Yes, you were."

"You're… You're lying, you asshole."

"Call me what you want, it's true." Cartman sat down in Kyle's seat and briefly entertained the idea that he could get Kyle to sit on his lap when he returned. "Look on the bright side, at least you're not really a Jew—"

Ike had dashed off. How fucking rude; he was right in the middle of a speech! Worse still, now his five minutes were up and he'd have to content himself with staying awake until Kyle fell into the part of his sleep cycle where he twitched and thrashed around a little. The first time Cartman had noticed this during a sleepover had been by accident; Kyle had woken him up by smacking him in the leg. When Cartman realised Kyle was actually asleep, he lay back and watched him as he kicked off the tangle of bed sheets and exposed his skinny, near-naked body, illuminated only by the bluish tint of moonlight. When Cartman had gingerly pulled the sheets back over him, he'd been able to trail his fingertips over the smooth, hot skin of Kyle's chest, punctuated only by a faint smattering of hair. Cartman's ultimate goal during one of these night-time fidgets was to find an opportunity to cup Kyle's ball sac. Maybe tonight would be the night.

"Hey, Ike… Hey! Watch it!" Kyle entered the room with a bunch of pizza boxes. Stan followed behind with some glasses and a bottle of cola.

"What's up with him?" Stan asked. Kyle shrugged.

"Beats me… Oi! Get out of my chair, you fat fuck."

"Make me!" Cartman retorted, hoping for a bit of a tussle.

Kyle just glared at him. "Just shut up and get on my bed," he ordered.

"Fine, whatever," Cartman grumbled, rushing over to the bed in the corner of the room. God damn, that boy was going to ruin his underwear one of these days.

~

Wendy ran as fast as she could to the door of the Broflovskis' house. It was pouring down with rain, and she cursed herself for not taking the car. Then she felt guilty, because taking the car for a journey that took ten minutes on foot was grossly irresponsible, given the current carbon footprint of the USA as a whole.

A flash of lightening distracted her from her reverie; on the bright side, it lit up the view a little better – about five minutes into her walk, all the street lights had gone out. Wendy glanced at the rows of blacked out houses; clearly there had been a power cut, which sucked because that meant Kyle's house would have no power and she wouldn't be able to chuck her clothes in the tumble dryer… which, again, would be terrible for the environment. Sometimes she was simply awful at being ecologically sound.

Kyle opened the door before she could even knock. To her shock, he was bare-chested and slick with sweat; his hair damp and starting to frizz at the ends.

"Jesus, Wendy; you must be freezing!" he exclaimed, ushering her in before she could say a word.

"We could have left this until tomorrow," he said.

"No, I want to get this over and done with," she relied, feeling a little awkward as Kyle bent over and threw a few chopped logs onto the now roaring fire. Clearly that's how he'd been working up a sweat while Wendy felt her whole body tremble from the cold.

He walked up to her. "Relax, Wendy. There is no fucking way I'm going to let Cartman turn Dracula's biting of Mina into porn. We will find a subtle, yet erotic, way of conveying this to the audience that does not involve nudity or thrusting; you have my word." He squeezed her arms, then let go suddenly. "You're drenched. Come upstairs; I'll get you some towels and you can raid my closet for something warm while your clothes dry."

Wendy followed him upstairs and into his bedroom. She'd never actually been here before, although she wasn't surprised by the mountains of brimming bookshelves and the computer parts stacked up in one corner of the room. As Kyle lit a few candles, she could see a poster from that ‘Underworld' film of Kate Beckinsale wearing PVC and holding guns – which Wendy knew was a new addition as she'd been with Stan when he bought it for him ‘for a laugh' – along with some traditional Japanese artwork and a poster for ‘The Serial Killer Barbies' latest world tour.

"The bottom shelf of my closet's got some old hoodies on it, I've got some tank-tops and boxers in the dresser… Just help yourself – you won't find anything creepy. All my porn's on my computer," Kyle assured her before he walked out of his room and along the landing.

Wendy still felt a little uncomfortable at the notion of Kyle and porn being in an interlocking Venn diagram, but she began to peel off her soaking wet clothes anyway. Even her underwear was soaked through.

"Kyle? Have you got a clothes horse or something for these?" she called out, holding her clothes aloft while unable to stop them dripping all over the carpet.

"Huh?" Kyle wandered in with his arms full of towels, and she squealed, dropping her clothes and covering her wet – and see through – underwear as best she could. She could feel her cheeks burning hotter than they probably ever had before in her entire life.

"Jesus! Sorry, Wendy!" He covered his eyes with one hand and thrust the towels at her with the other. "I had towels, and I didn't catch what you said and… Fuck, I should have knocked. I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay," Wendy stammered, snatching the towels from him as though they were a lifeline and wrapping the largest around herself for both modesty and warmth.

"Are… Are you decent?" he asked, still covering his eyes with his hand.

"It's fine. You can look," Wendy replied. When Kyle moved his hand away, she saw he was as red-faced as she felt.

"I'm really sorry," he said again. "I'm a fucking idiot."

"I should have said," Wendy offered, although she did think that, yes, he should have checked before barging in. He couldn't have made it any clearer that he was unused to girls in a cohabiting environment.

Kyle paced across to his dresser and pulled out a number of items, including a sports hoodie in the familiar South Park Bulls colours with his surname and position emblazoned across the back.

"Shit," he hissed. "I've got everything except pants that will fit you. I got rid of my middle school stuff ages ago…" He surveyed her with interest. "Actually, my track pants might be okay on you."

"Kyle, it's fine. I can pretty much guarantee I'd trip up in them. I'm not that tall, you know," she teased.

He smiled at her bashfully. "I was just thinking I could roll the cuffs up or something?"

"I'll see how I get on with these," Wendy replied, staring at him expectantly. Instead of leaving so she could get dried off and changed, he just stood there with his hands in his pockets looking oddly awkward.

"Umm, Kyle? I kind of need to get changed?"

Suddenly, his expression registered understanding, and he covered his face with his hand again.

"Shit. Of course. Sorry. Wasn't thinking," he stammered out. "I'll… I'll be downstairs. Let me know if you… If you need anything."

Wendy didn't have time to reply before he had bolted out of the room.

By the time she had dried off and slipped on his too-big tank top and hoodie – and worryingly well-fitting boxers – she found Kyle in the kitchen heating up water in a saucepan on the gas hob.

"Hey," he said without turning around. "I figured I'd try and make coffee. Want one?"

"That'd be great, thanks," she replied, leaning against the door jamb. "I hung my clothes over the bath, is that okay?"

"Yeah, fine." He finally turned around and looked her up and down; the very action made Wendy's skin prickle all over.

"Cute," he said with a little smirk.

"Well, I was thinking of taking it to New York fashion week," she joked, suddenly painfully aware of how bare her legs were. Not that she was cold, just that… Well, her bare, slightly spindly legs were on display in front of Kyle and Kyle alone. Even when she wore short skirts she tended to wear thick pantyhose. This wouldn't have crossed her mind quite so much if she hadn't been conscious of Kyle staring at them.

"You can borrow a pair of socks if you want," he mentioned. "Don't want you to get cold. I've got feet the size of a cruise ship, but Ma—"

"Trust me, Kyle. Yours are more likely to fit," Wendy replied as she let her toes touch in an attempt to make her feet look slightly less obtrusive. What could she say? She was tall. "Anyway, you know what they say about big feet…" The moment she'd made the joke, she wished to every deity that she hadn't. Kyle fortunately didn't seem to notice her comment or her clearly crimson face.

"Yeah, we need big shoes," he deadpanned, and Wendy laughed too hard out of relief.

He shooed her away with a flick of his hand. "Go and sit by the fire. I'll bring the drinks in."

"Okay." Panic flooded her as she made her way to the living room and sat on the inviting rug in between the fire and the heavy wooden coffee table. Had he just wanted her to get warm, or was he trying to make her go away? Was he imagining her practically naked, as he'd seen her just a short while ago? He must have seen her nipples; her bra was white, it was wet and she was cold. At some point between him walking in and her covering up, he must have noticed. Oh, God. If there wasn't a rule about not letting your boyfriend's best friend see your nipples, it was because everyone thought it was so obvious there was no point creating a rule for it.

By the time she had reminded herself that this was Kyle, there was no reason he'd be thinking about her naked, and why was it preoccupying her so much anyway, Kyle entered the living room and handed her a mug of black coffee.

"Here, this'll warm you up," he said in a low voice, touching her shoulder very gently. Wendy jumped at the contact.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't. I just… I wasn't expecting it."

Kyle didn't sit down as she had anticipated; instead he started lighting more candles. The glow of the fire was diffused by the additional flickering flames and turned the room from oppressive and creepy to cosy and intimate. He put his mug down on the coffee table and picked up his copy of their school play; Wendy could see the angry red scrawl that littered the white spaces.

"So," he said, sitting close to her and fixing her with his penetrating gaze. "Where should we start?"

"Umm…" Wendy felt oddly speechless. "I guess we should start with what happens in the book? I'm not all that familiar with it."

"Well, the moment where Dracula bites Mina and gets her to drink his blood is kind of… well, it's kind of rapey," Kyle pointed out.

"I take it that's why Cartman has you, erm, pinning me to the bed by my wrists and forcing your… yourself on me until I… until I give in and start to beg for it?" As much as Wendy could feel herself colour up, she was grateful that she felt her eyes roll in disgust at the last part. Even if she was trying to fend off unwanted images of Kyle wrestling her to the floor and pinning her to the rug with one hand while tugging away her boxers with the other, cumulating in a mess of brain-melting thrusts, friction burns and her pleas for him to stop, which were utterly unconvincing when they shook with orgasmic pleasure.

Dear God, she was having a creepy pseudo-rape fantasy and the perpetrator was right in front of her.

"Wendy, relax. We're not going to do that, okay?" he assured her, resting his hands on her shoulders comfortingly. Wendy gently shook him off her – she couldn't bear to feel his touch after what had just flashed through her mind.

"Sorry," he said bashfully, letting his arms fall by his sides. He stared hard at his script. "I definitely think it should be consensual – I mean, in the heat of the moment. Mina should be seduced, not coerced. Then when she's helping Van Helsing to defeat Dracula, it looks like she's successfully fighting her urges or she's being successfully repressed by the men in her life, depending on how you want to view it."

"Yeah, that sounds good," Wendy enthused, wishing she wasn't finding the way he said words like ‘consensual', ‘seduced' and ‘urges' quite so erotic. She took a deep drink from her mug of coffee and tried to put all thoughts of Kyle and sex out of her mind, which wasn't exactly easy when sex, or the subtle metaphor of it, was the focal point of their entire meeting.

After a good fifteen minutes where each of them said, "How about…? No," several times, Kyle stood up.

"I'm getting the chess board. Do you play?" he asked.

"I've played chess with my dad," Wendy replied. "Procrastinating, are we?"

"It helps me think," Kyle replied, dashing upstairs and leaving Wendy to stare into the crackling fire. She wandered into the kitchen to look at the LCD display on the microwave, but there was nothing. The power was still out.

By the time she had returned, Kyle had set up the board on the coffee table. A pair of white and green sweat pants also lay across the couch.

"I found them," he commented, jerking his head slightly towards the couch. "You can try them if you like."

"Thanks," Wendy replied, although she sat down next to him on the rug and inspected the chess board instead.

"White or black?" he asked as Wendy hugged her legs to her chest.

"Umm, white," she replied. "Seeing as I'm playing the good girl."

Kyle smirked; Wendy noticed that his upper lip curled slightly. "I always thought that in chess, the white pieces were evil. Does that subconsciously make you a bad girl, Wendy?"

"Maybe it means you subconsciously want me to be a bad girl, Kyle," she retorted coolly, unable to ignore the tingling sensation deep in the pit of her stomach.

Kyle simply smiled. "Your move," he instructed, and Wendy slid one of her pawns two spaces.

Everything about him was taut, Wendy decided, once they'd reached a mid-point in the game and Kyle was contemplating his next move. He was like a tightwire stretched to breaking point, yet you knew he could take whatever weight he was given to bear. His shoulder blades jutted out whenever he took a deep breath, and the flickering flames somehow made him appear even more angular. She felt a sudden, cheeky desire to tickle him, or barrel into him; anything to just slacken him a bit.

He looked up at her sharply. "What about hypnosis?"

"Huh?"

"Dracula. It's one of his major powers, mind-control."

Wendy suddenly realised he was talking about the play and had forgotten to clue her in. "You mean have Dracula hypnotise Mina?"

Kyle nodded. "Yeah, it's much scarier than brute force. I mean, your mind is the only thing you really have that's just yours, right? Nobody else really knows what you're thinking about."

"Thank God," Wendy thought, but didn't vocalise. Instead she replied, "I guess so."

"Exactly. Anyone could throw you against a wall if they trained hard enough, and you could probably throw them back. Getting into your mind? Nobody should be able to do that." He grinned. "We can even keep Cartman's weird obsession with seeing girls getting coerced, but this way the parents aren't going to freak and we don't have to do porn."

"Okay. How did you imagine it?" Wendy asked, dreading the response. What if he demonstrated on her? What if he didn't?

Kyle glanced at the Knight in his hand and put it down on the board – irritatingly taking her Queen with it – before clambering to his knees and facing her dead on.

"Constant eye-contact, too-close body language," he said, summarily invading her personal space and keeping his eyes locked on hers. "Everything he does should seem to be at the invitation of Mina." He reached experimentally for the zipper on her – well, his – track top. Wendy grabbed his hand and moved it away.

"I think…" She didn't finish vocalising her thought, and instead kept looking in his eyes as she slowly unzipped it herself.

"Nice touch," he whispered. "She should appear utterly lost in him. That, in itself, means he gets a little lost in her."

"But not so much that he forgets what he's after," Wendy whispered back, tilting her head a little to the side and exposing her neck.

"He takes his time though," Kyle murmured. "Just because he can. His actions are part predator, part lover. I think somewhere inside, he feels something for her."

"You think he loves her?"

"No. Maybe. I don't think he knows. It's supposed to be all about the game of revenge; maybe Mina's a game-breaker? The wild-card that throws everyone off?"

Wendy took in a sharp breath as Kyle's hand supported her head, keeping her in place for that innocence-stealing bite. His fingers wound their way into her hair, and she couldn't avoid him or his piercing gaze. Her mind was a litany of "I want you to kiss me, but don't kiss me. I don't want you to kiss me, but I do want you to kiss me." She could hear herself swallow thickly, the anticipation unbearable as she was caught between Kyle's potential action and inaction, yet she wanted him to do neither.

The door slammed, and Wendy jumped out of her skin. As soon as they broke eye-contact, it seemed to restore the levity; Kyle laughed gently.

"Kyle? Bubbeleh?"

"We're in here, Ma. The power's out."

Wendy felt her cheeks burn hot as Kyle's mother, father and little brother entered the living room. His mother in particular glared shrewdly at them.

"I thought you were doing homework?" she queried coldly.

"We are," Kyle replied nonchalantly. "We're working on the school play."

"What on Earth kind of school play is it?" His mother appeared horrified. Wendy instantly felt like a wicked, wicked slut.

"Dracula. You interrupted me from turning Mina into one of my undead love slaves. Damn it, now I'll have to be content with my three wives," he said in a fake melancholic tone. "Thanks a lot, Ma."

Mrs Broflovski stared at Kyle for rather a long time before she turned her attention to Wendy. "I'm sorry about my son," she said. "He's a little strange."

"Are you staying for dinner, Wendy?" his father asked. "He should really offer, given you've been helping him with his tutoring," he added inexplicably.

"Dad, I don't tutor on Mondays," Kyle said, which appeared to thoroughly bewilder his father.

"Oh, because… Oh. Okay. Anyway, Wendy, you're very welcome if you wish to join us."

For some reason, this felt all too much. Wendy stood up, ignoring the sudden head rush she felt. "Thank you, Mr and Mrs Broflovski, but I'd better head home," she said.

Kyle jumped up to his feet. "Do you want me to walk you back?"

"I'll be fine," Wendy replied hastily, finding her still-wet shoes and sliding Kyle's sweat pants on. They did indeed need rolling up rather a lot, but they would be good enough. "I'm meeting Stan anyway, you know?"

"What about your wet clothes?"

"I'll pick them up later," she replied. "I'm sure we've still got more to discuss."

"Umm, yeah. Sure. You sure you're okay?" He looked both perplexed and worried.

"I'm fine, really. See you later!"

She jammed her shoes on and dashed out of the house, hearing Kyle's mother call, "Kyle! Have you seen Ike…? Well, he's been really quiet. It's not at all like him," as she shut the door behind her. What was wrong with her? What the hell was she doing reacting to Kyle the way she was? She wrapped her hoodie tighter around herself, then realised she was wrapping his hoodie tighter around herself. She let go immediately.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it," she hissed to herself as she walked down the street, hastily texting Stan.

~

Grabbing his jacket and whistling a jaunty tune, Stan rushed down the stairs and headed for the front door.

"Stanley, dear? Dinner's nearly ready!" His mom wore an apron and had clearly been doing some serious cooking; there were flour marks and everything. That tended to happen when only the gas hobs and oven were working.

"I won't be long, Mom," Stan assured her. "Is it okay if Wendy comes over for dinner?"

"You could have warned me, Stanley," his mom said with a weary sigh. "I'm sure I can stretch it out with some more vegetables."

"Thanks, Mom," he called, before leaving the house and walking briskly up towards Kyle's house, hoping to meet Wendy on the way. He'd drop everything for Wendy, no matter how insane or sudden her whims were; not only because she was his girlfriend and he loved her, but because for the past few weeks, she'd been getting pretty horny around him, and he wasn't going to pass up any potential opportunity to help her alleviate such needs.

It didn't take long for him to find her, only Ruby Tucker had spotted her first. She peered over a copy of a book titled ‘Boy Vey!: The Shiksa's Guide to Dating Jewish Men' as she sat on the brick wall outside Kyle's house. As soon as Wendy passed her, she stuffed the book into her back pack and jumped off the wall shouting, "Oi! Testaburger!"

"Ruby?"

"What are you doing with my man?"

"Your man? What are you talking about, Ruby?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about, you skanky bitch; digging your claws into my future husband! Why else were you hanging round his house, huh? Oh, and wearing his clothes? What the fuck's that about?"

Wendy looked utterly perplexed. "Ruby, I already have a boyfriend. Kyle and I were…" She suddenly glared at Ruby. "I don't have to explain myself to you. Run along home, little girl," she sneered.

Ruby's eyes flashed with rage, and Stan had to break into a run once he saw her grab a fistful of Wendy's hair and tug down hard.

"Ow! Get off me!"

"You listen here, you evil slut! Stay the fuck away from my man, or I'll mess you up!"

"Hey! Get off her!" Stan yelled, but before he even got a chance to loosen Ruby's grip on Wendy's silky locks, she'd already let go as though she'd catch something.

"Whatever," Ruby taunted, rolling her eyes before walking off as though it had all been her decision.

Stan gently rubbed Wendy's back comfortingly. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Stan," she said in a slightly shaky voice. "It's not my fault Kyle attracts batshit crazy girls!" she yelled after Ruby, who simply flipped her the bird.

"Babe, didn't Bebe like him last year?"

"My point still stands," she replied firmly, though her body was still trembling a little.

Stan held her in his arms. "It's okay, babe," he soothed. "Why are you wearing Kyle's basketball sweats, anyway?"

"Got caught in the storm," she replied. "My clothes were soaked."

"I see," he replied, kissing her gently on the lips. "You look kind of hot. Is that freaky?"

She smirked, then slung her arms around his neck and kissed him back with the heat of an inferno. Fuck, she was on a course to totally destroy him when she was like this.

"Let me see; you've just informed me that you find the sight of me in your best friend's clothes erotic. You tell me if that's freaky," she teased, threading her fingers through his hair.

"I'd find the sight of you out of my best friend's clothes even more erotic," he assured her, and was a little surprised when she shoved him against the wall outside Kyle's house and pressed up against me.

"You're a bad, bad boy, Stan," she whispered. Holy fuck, what had got into her? And how long was it going to stay?

"Babe, not here," Stan pleaded.

"Scared Kyle will see?"

"Yeah, that's fucked up," Stan insisted, walking her down the next alley along. He could see the Spencers' house opposite was clearly unoccupied at the moment, which suited him fine. Having their Math teacher catch sight of them would be something of a passion killer.

He shoved her up against the wall. "I don't want anyone but me to get to see you when you're this hot," he insisted, kissing her again and sliding his tongue into her mouth the second she parted her lips. He felt her moan in gratitude, and it made him surprisingly hard surprisingly fast. That alluring combination of horny and needy got him going like nothing else, and the fact that it did made him feel deeply ashamed. He was supposed to be all New Man and supportive of equality and…

"Oh, Stan! Please!" Wendy begged, as she unzipped Kyle's top and exposed her erect nipples. She walked her fingers down over the tank top and started to caress her left breast.

This was all kinds of wrong. Stan couldn't have been more thrilled.

Unable to even think about being careful or slow, he yanked the tank top as high as he could get it and lavished Wendy's breasts with the undivided attention of his hungering mouth. As he continued, she panted like she'd just run a marathon. A very sexy marathon. Her hands gripped at his hair, pulling him closer, and when he felt a cool hand slip down his pants and underpants to squeeze his bare ass cheek, the overwhelming primal urge he felt to tear off her clothes and fuck her right there in the alleyway with the force of a haulage truck kind of scared him.

He pulled away, and the look on her face was both haunting and deeply, deeply arousing.

"Stan?" she begged, all desire and worry.

"Sorry, Wendy. I just… I need a minute," he said.

"Did I do something wrong?" Wendy didn't look scared by this, merely curious. She casually pulled her tank top back over her wonderfully sensitive breasts, and Stan had to stop himself from mournfully waving them goodbye.

"No way! I just… I need to get a bit of control, you know?" He sighed. "You're so fucking hot, I could die."

She leant back against the wall and smiled. "Am I, now?" Her fingers drummed against the brickwork, and she seemed to just know exactly what she was doing. Stan had never, ever seen her own her hotness the way she did right now, and it was… odd. Nice, very nice, but odd.

"Yes, you are," he replied. A multitude of sins were on his tongue: "take off your clothes," "turn around," "get on your knees." He kept them all to himself.

The insanely sexy moment between them seemed to pass. Wendy smiled sweetly and slid her arms around him, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. He wrapped his arms around her waist and gazed into her eyes.

"Do you want to come over for dinner? My Mom's making… Well, I have no idea what she's making, but it involves flour," he offered.

"Sure," Wendy replied, and they walked arm in arm towards his house. She showed no hint of the hot and heavy feelings which appeared to have engulfed her earlier.

Stan glanced over his shoulder at the alleyway, wondering briefly if it possessed some sort of magical power.

Chapter Fifteen: The Play's the Thing – Dangerous Liaisons

Wendy clapped sedately as the leather ball rolled towards the croquet hoop. The normally temperate English sun was beating down in an almost oppressive manner, so she took out her fan and wafted it delicately next to her bosom.

"Don't you think our boys play so wonderfully?" Bebe said next to her, clapping enthusiastically as Mr Donovan doffed his hat towards her.

"Indeed. Even when they are losing, they are most gracious," Wendy agreed, watching as Mr Marsh accepted another defeat at the hands of Mr Donovan.

Soon enough, Mr Black was at their side.

"Miss Stevens, Miss Testaburger? May I introduce Mr Broflovski? He has only just arrived in town, and from London, no less!" he said, gesturing towards a most unusual – yet very appealing – looking red-headed stranger who knelt down and kissed her hand. Wendy felt quite a flutter.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Testaburger," he said, his big eyes fixed on hers in a way that made Wendy feel he was looking deeply into her very soul.

"Do you play, Mr Broflovski?" Bebe asked, casually gesturing towards the game of croquet being played on the lawn.

"Oh no, Miss Stevens. I must confess I prefer more… physical recreation."

Wendy had to grab her fan and bat it far more vigorously than ever before.

Suddenly, that wayward croquet ball rolled past her feet and landed in the nearby lake with a splash.

"Oh, blast!" Mr Marsh exclaimed and Wendy was most scandalised by his language.

"Mr Marsh! I do declare that most unseemly behaviour!" Bebe scolded.

"My sincere apologies, Miss Stevens, but it appears that is our only croquet ball and as such, the match may have to be forfeit," he reasoned.

Mr Broflovski surveyed the lake. To Wendy's shock, he took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and simply dived right in! He emerged quickly, holding the croquet ball in his right hand and proceeded to bowl it towards the croquet lawn. The game continued without a hitch.

"Mr Broflovski! You'll catch such a chill!" Wendy fretted leaping up and rushing towards him. He put out his hands and steadied her from crashing into him.

"Miss Testaburger, I can assure you I shall be fine," he said in a low drawl. Wendy looked up at him – from the wet shirt clinging to his taut chest right up to his darkened curls hanging more loosely around his face – and she suddenly felt drips of water land on her skin.

"Mr Broflovski," she said nervously. "I beg of you, keep a little distance. Your proximity is making very, very…" She trailed off, embarrassed and ashamed.

Mr Broflovski smirked in a manner she could only describe as indecent. "Perhaps you would care to take a walk with me, Miss Testaburger? I can see that croquet is of as little interest to you as it is to myself, and the countryside in these parts is most beguiling in this balmy weather."

He held out his hand. Even though she knew it was wrong, and that a man with such a wicked smile as Mr Broflovski could only draw her into trouble, she took his hand and followed him over the country lanes.

They had been walking for a while when they entered a most picturesque clearing; long grasses tickled at Wendy's legs under her skirts, and the whole area was secluded from view.

"Hmm. It appears that Mother Nature has afforded us the perfect setting for an intimate tête-à-tête, Miss Testaburger," Mr Broflovski murmured, and Wendy felt acutely aware of the way his hand lingered on her shoulder. It made her blush just to think about it.

"Mr Broflovski, don't you think it a little improper to touch a lady in such a manner?" she said primly, trying to ignore how violently her body ached for more.

"Miss Testaburger, don't you think it a little improper to find yourself alone with such a man as I?" he teased back, although something in his eyes told Wendy he was very serious. He caressed her cheek with his hand and kissed her hard on the lips. Unable to ignore her passions, she kissed him back eagerly, but came to her senses and pulled away.

"Mr Broflovski! I am engaged to be married! This is most immoral!" she gasped, only for Mr Broflovski to pull her tightly against his wet, supple figure.

"What's immoral is this beautiful creature being untouched for so long," he relied smoothly. "Do you not yearn for a little pleasure of the flesh? I can see it in your whole demeanour, Miss Testaburger; you feel stifled of your desires." He kissed her throat, and Wendy felt her vision start to blur. "If I offered to lay you down and make love to you with such wild abandon that you cried out in joy to the heavens, would you really resist?"

"I… I…" Her mind started to swim as he splayed the fingers of one hand over her covered breast.

"I can feel how hungry you are for release, Miss Testaburger, and I confess that your most radiant beauty and wilful personality rather give me the raging horn," he whispered in her ear.

"Mr Broflovski! Your words are shocking and verily touch me where no man has ever touched me before!" she gasped, suddenly feeling faint with shock. When Mr Broflovski caught her in his arms and laid her down in the long grass, she felt her heart hammer wildly in her chest.

He knelt before her and slowly slid her gown from her shoulders, pressing delicate, teasing kisses to her newly bared flesh. Unable to control herself, she let out a little whimper of desire, which seemed to please him.

"Why, Miss Testaburger, I do declare that you are most desirous of further advances," he said, unbuttoning his fly. She stared eagerly at the treasure hidden within.

"Does my cock frighten you, Miss Testaburger?" he asked, grasping it in his hand like a sabre.

"On the contrary, Mr Broflovski," she breathed. "I find it most agreeable."

"May I humbly request your permission to rip off your panties and pound your pussy forthwith until such moment that you scream my name to the heavens?" he asked, raising a single eyebrow in expectation of her consent to the proposal.

"You may, and I exuberantly concede to your request to use my body as your playground," she replied, eagerly lifting her hips to allow him to remove her underwear with greater speed.

Wendy lay back and took in the sight of both the rippling sunset and Mr Broflovski's assured expression. She felt his hands grasp her thighs.

"Miss Testaburger, I implore you to spread your legs," he whispered, and she eagerly obeyed.

The moment of union sent spasms of unimaginable pleasure coursing through her whole body; she simply couldn't stop the screams and moans that she seemed to drag from a most unholy place.

"Why, Miss Testaburger, you are exquisitely loud," Mr Broflovski grunted approvingly as he thrust away like one of the pistons on those new-fangled steam-powered printing presses. She let her fingers grasp at his bare buttocks as though clinging on for dear life.

"Mr Broflovski, you are simply exquisite," she panted, matching every thrust.

"May I assume that you are arriving at this very moment?" he panted back, steadying himself by placing one hand hard on the ground beside her shoulder for purchase.

"Oh, Mr Broflovski! I am indeed arriving, and with great haste!" she moaned, squeezing her eyes shut when she felt stars begin to burst all around her.

Eventually, she opened her eyes, and struggled to regulate her wildly out of control breaths. Mr Broflovski was gazing down at her, and he stroked a damp tendril of hair from her face.

"My dear Miss Testaburger, I must confess that the flush of love-making has quite transformed your beauty into something otherworldly," he murmured, kissing her tenderly on the lips. She sighed happily and let her arms rest on his back. All she could really muster was a breathless, "Oh… I… Oh!"

"I would dearly enjoy the possibility of recreating that flush again and again, all evening long, until your legs are trembling like a newborn colt," he whispered into her ear, just as he caressed her bared nipple with his thumb and made her arch her back in desire…

"Wendy! Time to get up!"

Wendy woke up with a start, damp with sweat. Momentarily disorientated, the memories of her dream came flooding back. Did she really have to have a dream like that just before school? Not only had it left her rather… well, excited – and the realisation made her blush a little – but the object of her fantasy was going to be sat next to her in their first class of the day, sharing a microscope with her and chattering about blood cell types. Not to mention they were due to demonstrate to Cartman, of all people, something that made Wendy feel sick with nerves just thinking about.

The timing of her subconscious was just crap.

~

The clock ticked and the big hand moved to twelve. Cartman looked at his watch for confirmation, then at the shut door of the drama studio. God, fucking nerds and their fucking AP classes – didn't they realise how important this play was? They'd better have a damn good replacement for his epic Dracula and Mina scene – that shit had been gold. He had been particularly fond of the, "Don't fight it, bitch," line he'd given Kyle; partly because the subtle sexual undertones seemed rather clever to him, but also because Kyle sounded fucking hot when he delivered it. Wendy, being the frigid bitch she was, had just got embarrassed when he whispered it into her ear whilst straddling her.

From his position perched on the teacher's desk, Cartman heard the door handle turn.

"What the fuck time do you call this?" he said without looking up.

"Well, pardon me for having classes I actually bother to attend." Kyle slung his bag in the corner of the studio and sat right next to Cartman on the desk. Why did that asshole have no concept of personal space all of a sudden?

"Where's the hippie bitch?" Cartman asked.

Kyle patted Cartman's knee. "Relax, she's just in the bathroom. She'll be along in a bit… Is it even worth me pointing out that she has a name?"

Did Kyle have any fucking idea what he did to him? Or was he playing the long game, too? It made Cartman's head swim to think of it, so he just enjoyed the cool weight of Kyle's hand on his leg instead.

As if on cue, Wendy rushed in, all flushed and bright-eyed.

"Sorry!" she panted. Kyle jumped up and placed his hand on her back.

"You okay?" he asked. Wendy looked up and nodded, leaning a little into his touch. This was perfect – how fucking jealous would Stan be if he saw his beard and his boyfriend cosying up like this? Yeah, Marsh, how do you like it?

"Come on, I haven't got all day!" Cartman demanded, eager to get their little display of egotism out of the way so he could prove that his direction was far superior.

"You ready?" Kyle asked gently. Wendy gulped, nodded, and then clambered onto one of the tables and pretended to sleep.

"I thought we could have some dry ice here, you know so it looked like Dracula had transformed and slipped under the door," Kyle pointed out.

"Yes, yes, just get on with it!" God damn priorities, people! What use were props when the performance wasn't horny enough?

"Okay, okay! God damn," Kyle grumbled, before smoothing down his shirt and getting into character. He moved slowly but confidently up to Wendy's sleeping form and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand in a way that was both possessive and affectionate. She stirred and whimpered in a way that, to Cartman's amazement, went straight to his cock.

Kyle whispered something in her ear which sounded like, "Come to me, Mina." Cartman watched as Wendy sat up as though sleepwalking, then started to scream at the sight of Kyle. When he put his finger to his lips to shush her, it seemed as though he literally stole her voice away.

Their eyes met and never once looked away from each other as Kyle beckoned Wendy over. She followed as though hypnotised, all wide-eyed and bitten-lipped. Kyle gestured towards her collarbone, and she unbuttoned her shirt, using one hand to expose her neck and collar area at his bidding. Kyle gently grasped her arms and tenderly nuzzled her, before suddenly yanking her flush against him and biting down on her neck, tilting her back so far that he was the only thing stopping her from toppling to the floor.

Wendy let out a strangled cry and bit down on her lip, seemingly torn between pain and pleasure. Her hands trembled before she clung to him in desperation. Kyle pulled away and looked her up and down – her eyes followed his as though she couldn't tear herself away from his compelling gaze. She sat on the desk and looked up eagerly at Kyle as he displayed his finger and pretended to nick it with a knife. He offered it to her, and she took it deep between her soft red lips and sucked hard, still maintain eye contact with her nocturnal visitor.

Fucking hell, if for some crazy reason Kyle and Wendy ever made a sex tape, Cartman knew he would buy every last copy.

They both stopped and Kyle looked right at him. "Well?" he demanded haughtily. That fucking asshole knew exactly what he was doing to him.

"You guys, that was beautiful," Cartman replied, dabbing his eyes theatrically. "It touched me, Kyle. It touched my balls. They're throbbing, Kyle." Unable to resist, he grabbed Kyle's hand and shoved it between his legs. "Feel them throb, Kyle." Jesus fucking Christ, Kyle's hands were cold! Cartman cursed himself for wearing such thick jeans and missing out on the sensation reaching his junk.

Kyle snatched his hand away. "Get off!"

Wendy looked desperately embarrassed. "Excuse me," she mumbled before fleeing the drama studio. Crazy fucking bitch.

"So, if we do that instead of your scene, you'll be happy?" Kyle asked.

"I'd be over-fucking-joyed, Kyle," Cartman replied. "Now, get the fuck out of here."

Kyle stared at him, then shook his head. "We worked fucking hard on that! Do you really have to be such an asshole about it?"

"Well, that's like your type!" Cartman blurted out. His retort was met with a withering glare.

"What the fuck are you talking about Cartman?"

Cartman felt his stomach plummet to his shoes. "Nothing." Deny, deny, deny.

"No, you meant something. Why else would you say that? Not that it makes any fucking sense."

Damn it. Kyle was too fucking smart for his own good sometimes. Cartman was going to have to evade his questions.

"Piss off, Kyle. I want to be alone so I can have a little tug over how hot Wendy looked when she was being all submissive and shit." Well, he was torn between that and thinking about how hot Kyle was when he was dominating her.

"Shut up, Cartman."

Just to really labour the point and to make Kyle so uncomfortable he'd leave, Cartman unzipped his fly and stuck his hand down his pants. He made a good show of pretending to jerk off. "Oh, Wendy! Suck it, Wendy! Oh, you're so good at it, you filthy little slut—"

"Shut the hell up, Cartman!"

"Oh, you like that, Wendy? You like the feel of it between your pretty little lips, huh? You're such a good girl, Wendy. You're such a good little girl; all the boys love your hungry little mouth, huh?"

"Shut your filthy fucking mouth, Cartman!" Kyle yelled. He looked so angry – his face was red and Cartman could have sworn a vein at his temple was throbbing. He simply smiled and retrieved his hand from his pants.

Kyle glared at him. "You are unbelievable! How can you… I don't even know what half of that was, but it was still… Just don't do that again!" He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Yeah, of course Kyle didn't want to hear that. He didn't want to be reminded of how hot Wendy was to boys. To Stan. Clearly he knew, deep down, how he wasn't enough for that dickface Stan.

Cartman understood he was going to have to make Kyle face the truth before he could see what was right in front of him, ready for the taking. He felt as though he'd made a bit of progress.

~

Wendy rushed into the girls' bathroom, and felt relieved when she saw it was unoccupied. She splashed her face with cold water and tried to steady her hands. That didn't happen. That did not just happen.

Shaking, she dashed into a cubicle and inspected her panties. It did just happen. Well, fuck.

Wiping herself down as best she could – and feeling unbelievably grateful for the secret-keeping powers of her biological makeup – she rearranged herself and stepped back out towards the communal sinks.

As she washed her hands, she felt torn between shame and delightful warmth. She could honestly say that had never happened with another person before; it was a first. A first she should have really had with her actual boyfriend.

The door creaked open and Wendy stilled as though she was a deer and a hunter was turning the handle.

Bebe's familiar breasts and mass of blonde hair poked through the door before the rest of her. Wendy had never felt so grateful to see her.

"Hey, Wendy," Bebe said casually. "I'm so glad you're here. Have I got cum in my hair?"

"Wh… What?"

"Cum. I was sucking Clyde off in his car and he had a little accident," she said matter-of-factly as she stood on tiptoe in front of the mirror. "I think I got it all, but I'm not sure about the back."

"It looks fine," Wendy assured her, not wanting to know how in the act of fellatio she managed to be in danger of getting semen on the back of her head.

"Thank God for that!" Bebe patted her chest and gave a little gasp of relief before fixing Wendy with a small frown.

"What are you doing hiding out in here?" She smirked. "Did Kyle's sexy Dom Dracula get too much for you?"

Just as Wendy felt her cheeks flush even more than they had in Kyle's arms, Bebe gawped at her.

"Oh, boy! He really did? Wow. I didn't think he was the type." Bebe appeared a little disapproving, and it took Wendy a little while to work out why.

"No, no, no! He didn't do anything! I mean, not on purpose… Oh, Bebe! I was just all worked up and he bit that spot on my neck just as he pulled me close and—"

"Fuck me, you lucky bitch!" Bebe gasped. "I would literally murder babies to have one of those without direct stimulation."

"It's not lucky!" Wendy insisted. "It's awful! How am I supposed to cope with this every rehearsal?"

Bebe shrugged. "Extra thick panty-liners and a smile?" she offered.

Wendy sighed and sank to the floor. "This is awful!" she cried. "I dreamt about him last night, too."

"So?"

"It was a sexy dream!" she blurted out guiltily. "We were at a croquet match in what I think was the Regency period, and we went for a bracing walk. He had his wicked way with me in the rolling English countryside and… and, oh God; does this mean I don't love Stan anymore?"

"It doesn't mean anything, Wendy," Bebe assured her. "This week alone I've dreamt about being fucked on Clyde's kitchen table by his dad, having my panties pulled down by Mr Spencer during Math class and getting spanked in front of our whole class until I could successfully recite the order of operations, and being a Hylurian Madam who accepted Link's offer of fifty-seven rupees and his fishing rod for a hand job because he was the Chosen One and Zelda was a cocktease…"

"Bebe! I loved it!"

"Again, so? I can categorically state I shouted, ‘Oh yes, Clyde's Dad,' begged Mr Spencer to spank me harder and informed Link he had the biggest cock I'd ever seen – but I think in the last dream I was lying to bolster his self-esteem… The point is, they're just dreams. They don't mean shit."

Wendy sighed. "You're right," she said, and wasn't surprised by how unconvinced she sounded. Bebe smiled pityingly at her and gave her a hug.

"There, there. It's okay. Everyone has silly little crushes now and then," she soothed, rubbing her hand in comforting circles on Wendy's back as she let her head rest against Bebe's shoulder.

"How many more rehearsals do we have?" Wendy mumbled her query into Bebe's collarbone.

"Don't think of it like that," Bebe urged. Wendy assumed she did this because there had to be dozens and dozens to go.

"But it feels never ending," Wendy sighed.

"It isn't. Just enjoy your little crush, and you'll be over it before you even realise," Bebe promised.

Wendy said nothing in response; she actually felt deeply affronted that anyone could treat Kyle as such a romantic inconvenience.

She kept this to herself, however.

~

When Stan arrived at Kyle's house, he found Kyle pacing the kitchen and clutching a letter, which he appeared to be engrossed in.

"What's up, dude?" he asked, only for Kyle to hastily stuff the letter back in its envelope and into the pocket of his jeans.

"Oh, nothing… Say, have you heard from any colleges yet?"

Stan laughed. "No, dude. Applications aren't for ages!"

Kyle suddenly appeared very bashful. "Right. Of course."

Stan grinned and slammed his bag on the kitchen table. "I got a flower print note pad and a sports cup with a straw attached to it; does that scream ‘Personal Assistant' to you?" He giggled. "Or does it spell ‘Personal Ass-isstant'?"

Kyle merely raised an eyebrow querulously. "Are you sure this will work? Because I'm getting pretty desperate right now." He shuddered. "Stacey tried to play footsie with me under the table with me last night, only she seems to think it involves rubbing my crotch with her bare foot."

"Well, relax, dude. Once we're done with your tutees today, they won't be lusting after you any more, guaranteed!" Stan felt rather proud of his plan. Kyle was plagued with a threesome of over-horny tutees who were too busy fighting over him to do any actual work and instead were hampering Kyle's tutoring skills. Said girls were in dire need of some metaphorical cold showers. Cue project ‘Let's-Show-Kyle-Is-Really-A-Gay', as Stan had named it in absence of anything catchier coming to mind.

The plan was simple; Kyle tutors at his house, Stan helps him out by bringing his drinks, turning his flip-chart, rubbing his shoulders, basically anything which would make them look like a hopelessly in love couple. Sure, he was going to have to throw in a few, "You know, Wendy's totally for show," comments, but he was sure Wendy wouldn't mind if it resulted in her no longer being threatened by those pint-sized bunny boilers for daring to so much as talk to Kyle. Oh, he had so many ideas; the only worry he had was that Kyle wouldn't be able to keep a straight face.

"How would you feel about the nickname, ‘silly buns'? Or do you want something more manly?" Stan queried as he helped himself to a cola.

"Dude! You've never been camp, like, ever. If we're going to be a gay couple, fine, but if we're going to be a camp gay couple, they will smell a rat. It's really not like either of us," Kyle pointed out.

"Okay, no ‘silly buns'. I take it ‘love pirate' and ‘golden cock' are out, too?" Stan grinned as Kyle fixed him with a despairing look.

The doorbell rang; Kyle's face took on a deathly pale complexion.

"They're here," he whispered.

"What, all three of them? It's, like, half an hour before the session!"

"Yup. See, they'll always try to be the first to arrive, I guess so they get to be alone with me. So they'll follow each other to try and pre-empt that. Logical conclusion? They all show up at the same time to sabotage the attempts of any of the others to gain my advantage," Kyle replied hollowly.

God damn, girls were complicated.

Stan decided it would be best if he answered the door, as though he was so at home here he could act as host. He nearly dropped his glass in shock when he was the three of them plastered in makeup and wearing the tiniest clothes imaginable. They looked like slutty clowns, and it was truly horrific.

"Oh, hey. Come in," he urged, beckoning them forward with his hand. "Kyle! Your little pupils are here!" he called out in what he hoped was a blood-boiling patronising tone – he'd studied Cartman intently during the past few rehearsal sessions.

The girls looked at him with the slack-jawed blankness of insolence before following him inside.

Kyle had already set up the kitchen table as though it was a mini classroom; Stan had the dubious pleasure of watching Ruby, Stacey and that other girl who looked about twenty suddenly switch into seduction mode. It was cringe inducing.

"Hi, Kyle," Ruby simpered, playing with her hair. She was soon shoved out of the way by the old-looking one.

"Hey there, Kyle. I like your shirt," she said, placing her hands on her hips and sticking her chest out so hard a button on her shirt threatened to ping off. Stan had to fight the urge to smack his face with his palm in sheer derision.

Meanwhile, as those two were jostling, Stacey sidled up to Kyle and sweetly said, "I've done my homework for you, Kyle." She held her exercise book out to him, but let it slip through her fingers before Kyle could reach it. She sighed prettily – not that she was all that pretty – and bent right over to pick it up, clearly angling herself so Kyle couldn't help but be forced to see her ass cheeks poke out from beneath her tight mini-skirt.

Jesus Christ, this was an absolute freak show!

"Okay, girls, does anyone want a drink before we get started?" Kyle asked.

"What about Karen?" Stacey asked.

"She's on her way. She's been held up at ballet class," Kyle assured her. Stan instantly felt the prickle of tension that filled the room; the notion that Karen had clearly made private contact with Kyle did not please the others.

Kyle, naturally, was oblivious to this and instead got up to grab a few glasses. Stan thought this would be the perfect time to start their operation.

"Let me do it, Kyle," he said in a soft, honeyed tone, letting his fingers stroke Kyle's as he reached for the glass in his hand. The girls appeared puzzled, and glanced at each other as though looking for answers none of them had.

"Thanks, Stan," Kyle replied nonchalantly. Stan let his hand caress Kyle's shoulder briefly, noticing with triumph that the girls watched his every move.

Despite this, his efforts seemed to have done Jack shit. As Kyle went through his introduction to ordering functions, the girls went back to vying for his attention. There was even an accidentally-on-purpose soda spill when Ruby felt the need to sabotage Stacey's old-school move of leaning over Kyle's shoulder to get a better look and letting her hair brush against his cheek. That was around the time Stan learned that the blonde girl who looked about twenty was called Andie, because Ruby had jealously taunted, "Andie, your tits are totally bursting out of that shirt – do you think maybe you need the next size or two up?"

After ten minutes they took a break – Kyle had explained to Stan that the girls seemed to work much better in short, sharp bursts – and while the girls were texting on their phones, Stan grabbed Kyle and whispered in his ear.

"Dude! We need to take it up a notch. Let's go to your room," he said, grabbing Kyle by the hand. "Umm, excuse us, ladies. I need Kyle's help to find my, umm, textbook in his room."

Stan made a point of stammering, and also of ignoring Kyle's bewildered expression as he dragged him upstairs.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Kyle hissed once Stan had pulled the door ajar so there was enough peeping room without it looking deliberate.

"They're not biting," Stan replied, peeling off his shirt. "We need to make it more convincing. Take off your clothes."

Kyle's eyes widened in horror. "Dude, I know I said I'd do anything to get them off my back, but I draw the line at your ass!"

"Jesus Christ, Kyle, we're not actually going to have butt sex, we're just going to pretend. Anyway, who said you'd be fucking my ass?"

Kyle smirked as he unbuttoned his shirt. "Come on, Stan. We both know if this—" he gestured between the two of them— "were real, then I'd be doing the butt fucking."

"Wendy finds me very rugged, manly and able to take the lead," Stan grumbled.

"That's sweet, Stan, but I'm not Wendy. Now, how naked to we need to get for this?"

Stan glanced at Kyle's bed. "If we get under the covers, I reckon we can keep our underpants."

Kyle began to unzip his fly, his expression full of disgust. "This had better fucking work, Stan, that's all I'm saying."

"Wait!" Stan demanded, grabbing his hand. "I should unzip them."

"Fuck off!"

"I'm serious! We've got to make it look real, and by the way, I'm on top."

"They're not even upstairs yet!" Kyle's eyes narrowed. "If this is your way of asserting your alpha-male status, might I propose an arm wrestle instead?"

"Just be quiet and do as you're told," Stan retorted, yanking down Kyle's pants and shoving him towards the bed.

After artfully arranging their clothes on the floor so it looked like they had been ripped off in the throes of passion, Stan got Kyle under the duvet and positioned himself so it looked as though he was in his ass.

Kyle glared over his shoulder at him. "I am seriously disturbed by how much this seems to please you," he commented. "I think I need to warn Wendy about this chest-beating caveman side of you."

Stan scoffed. "Like your caveman side is so fucking refined. I remember last year how Bebe told anyone who would listen about what a tease you are. At least I'm not making anyone beg!"

Suddenly, Stan heard footsteps and giggling.

"Here they come," he hissed, thrusting his hips back and forth in an exaggerated motion. "Try to sound turned on."

Kyle rolled his eyes, then made a great show of gasping and moaning.

"Dude, you've got to do it too," Kyle insisted mid-moan. "Otherwise it makes no sense."

"Oh, right." Stan started to make as many over the top noises as he could. Soon enough, he felt Kyle glare at him.

"Dude, what the fuck is that?"

"My sex noises."

Kyle started to snigger, and Stan felt rather insulted. "Don't you dare try to tell me how I should come," he retorted.

"It's just not very manly and alpha to whimper, ‘I'm a slave to your asshole', is it?" he teased. "Aren't you supposed to be feminising me, or something?"

"Well, how should I come, oh guru of ass-piracy?" Stan demanded.

"I don't know, like however those guys do in pornos when they're doing some chick up the ass," Kyle snapped.

"But they always sound like they're taking a shit!" Stan hissed back.

"Then clearly that's manly, so just do it," Kyle retorted, just as they heard stilted giggles. Stan kept up his rhythm and grunted as loudly as he could, feeling slightly distracted by Kyle's loud and over the top commentary.

"Oh, yeah… That's it, right there… Fuck, you make me so horny… Pound my ass, Stan! Pound it like the little bitch I am…"

Stan leant over until his lips were inches from Kyle's ear. "Could you sound anymore sarcastic?" he hissed, only for Kyle for start laughing.

"Dude, why do you care so much about how I'm pretending to reach climax?" he whispered back.

"You think this is easy?" Stan grunted as he pounded away and shouted, "Oh, baby! Your ass is like… like fucking Disneyland!"

Kyle looked over his shoulder and pulled away. "That's it," he said. "I'm taking over."

Kyle and Stan swapped places, which was a little tricky under the duvet, and Kyle began slowly thrusting against Stan's ass.

"Oh yeah, you like that, don't you? You dirty little bitch." Kyle slapped Stan's thigh, presumably to create the sound of him being spanked.

"Ah!" Stan gasped in what he hoped sounded like a mix of shock and arousal.

"Yeah? You like that? Beg for more, then. Beg Daddy for more," Kyle taunted, presumably to get his own back for Stan taking the lead in the first place. God damn, he was an asshole.

"Please, Kyle! I love it when you spank me like a naughty schoolgirl!" Stan groaned. "I love it even though anyone else would think you were a complete fucking pervert!"

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Kyle stopped mid fake thrust.

"Shit," he muttered. "Karen."

The patter of rushing feet echoed down the stairs. Kyle hastily pulled away and jumped out of the bed. Stan did the same and quickly dressed himself. Once Kyle was clothed, he carefully opened the door. Nobody was about, but Stan heard the front door creak open.

"Oh my God, Karen! You will not believe what we just heard! Kyle and Stan were…" Ruby seemed unable to get the words out.

"They were fucking!" Stacey blurted out, apparently unable to control herself.

Stan grinned at Kyle. "What did I tell you? I knew that would totally put them—"

"It was so fucking hot, I could have died!" Andie exclaimed.

"What?" Stan said in shock, already feeling Kyle's glare beating down on him.

Light footsteps echoed along the staircase and before Stan had even finished pulling on his t-shirt, Karen was standing in the doorway with her arms folded and her expression one of knowing pity.

"Karen, we're totally not gay," Stan insisted. "We were just trying to put those crazy girls off Kyle and—"

Karen hushed him with a finger to her lip, before staring at them both disparagingly. "Seriously? You pretended to have sex together – which they could witness – to make them less hot for you? Seriously?" She shook her head in despair and walked away from the door and back downstairs, muttering something about naïve idiots under her breath.

Stan felt Kyle's angry glare bore down on him once again.

"Erm… Oops?" Stan offered as meekly as he could.

~

Cartman gawped through his binoculars as he hid in the bushes of Kyle's back yard. He'd known this had to be going on, but to actually see it? Well, he could only describe it as weird. Watching Stan and Kyle take off their clothes and crawl into bed together kind of hurt like hell, but just like any decent car crash, Cartman couldn't look away. He felt kind of disgusted by it all; he thought he was getting through to Kyle, but apparently not, given the way he was eagerly letting Stan smuggle his cock up his asshole. God damn it!

Mind you, seeing Kyle get ass fucked was hot, there was no two ways about it. He looked beautiful when he was horny, and the heated glare he gave Stan when he looked over his shoulder sent Cartman's pulse racing. He could imagine that Stan was whispering sweet little nothings to try and appease Kyle; only Kyle was finally starting to grow a backbone and see through his lies. If Cartman were in Stan's position, he'd make every second count; he'd worship Kyle and make him come so hard he saw stars. He'd stay with him afterwards and hold him tight. He'd even make him breakfast in the morning; well, he'd get his mom to do it, but that was pretty much the same thing. Kyle was so skinny; he probably could do with a few hearty breakfasts.

At some point during Cartman's musing, they had switched; now Kyle was fucking Stan from behind, and Cartman felt himself grow hard at the sight of Kyle in complete control. Stan appeared to be crying out, as well he should. He should feel fucking honoured to have Kyle ride him like that; Cartman knew he would happily beg for Kyle's cock like a fucking stray dog would beg for access to Denny's trash cans.

Okay, that was maybe going a bit far. Cartman figured he needed to stop himself from being quite such a little pussy – he wasn't Stan, after all. Still, Cartman gazed at the sight and allowed his body to react without feeling anything but the dull ache of not being able to act upon it. When Kyle was like that, all composed and in control, it made Cartman want to be the girl, just for a little while.

Then he noticed Kyle's expression, all smirking and kind of angry. Clearly he was enjoying being in control or… or maybe he was punishing Stan? That thought was given extra weight when Cartman saw Kyle give Stan what looked like a spanking under the duvet. Perhaps he was getting through? Perhaps Kyle was getting fed up with Stan's behaviour. Fucking hell, how could he do this to Kyle? Normally, Cartman would wholeheartedly approve of Stan's dickishness, but Kyle was different. Kyle wasn't to be treated in such a way and if Stan was too much of an idiot to notice, then he deserved what was coming to him.

Cartman let his hand slide down into his underpants as he contemplated this. Maybe Kyle wasn't going to take Stan's two-timing ways for much longer? Maybe he'd need a shoulder to cry on? Maybe he'd need some cock to heal his broken heart? Maybe Cartman could be that shoulder, and that cock? He needed to be kind and caring, ready to listen to Kyle's bitching until he could utter the immortal words, "Kyle, if I were Stan, I'd pound your ass and yours alone." Then Kyle would sigh and say, "Oh, Eric! I thought you'd never ask!" Then they'd fuck on his couch and Kyle would be all, "Oh, Eric! Your cock is so much bigger than Stan's!"

Suddenly, Cartman felt release. He felt release all over his right hand, and hastily wiped the sticky mess on the leaves of the bush he was hiding in. He could hardly be blamed, although by now Kyle had stopped their fuck fest and they were both quickly getting dressed.

Cartman smiled to himself. He just had to bide his time.

~

"So, what if they ask you about your greatest achievement? What will you say to that?" Kyle's mother demanded as they drove along Route 90 from the airport.

"Surviving this trip?" Kyle deadpanned. Despite being the one driving, his mother took the time and risk to glare at him.

"Harvard's an incredible opportunity, Kyle. Don't be so flippant!" she scolded.

Kyle looked out of the window at the train lines and skyscrapers that ran sporadically past the freeway." I know, Ma," he said quietly. He'd only applied at the insistence of the school careers counsellor – getting a near-perfect SAT score suddenly meant a whole sub-section of the school who paid you no mind before now apparently gave a crap – and if he was honest? At the time, he simply didn't care. He'd filled in the application form, got the testing centre to send out his scores, pulled together his last two school reports and some teacher ‘evaluations', knocked out a personal essay and listened patiently to Wendy as she insisted on correcting it and making him redraft.

Everything changed when he received the letter asking him to attend an interview. Suddenly, attending Harvard was a very real possibility, and as Kyle had started to research his course under Wendy's watchful glance, he could actually see himself there.

He'd kept this to himself, however. The only one of his friends who even knew was Wendy, and he'd sworn her to secrecy. Cartman would probably find some way to sabotage it out of spite, he'd feel bad about rubbing Kenny's face in the fact that – thanks to his father being an equity partner in a law firm, his parents' judicious saving and his many Bar Mitzvah gifts towards his college fund that had pissed him off at the time – he didn't have to worry about the exorbitant fees, and Stan? Kyle felt incredibly guilty about not telling Stan, but he reasoned that there was no point unless he actually got an offer.

"Where do you see yourself in five years' time, Kyle?" his mother asked sharply.

"On ‘America's Most Wanted'," he retorted.

"Kyle! This is serious! You need to practise your interview technique!"

"What do you think I've been doing for the past week? I'm freaking out enough about it, okay? I don't need you adding to it with the pop quizzes!"

His mother shook her head. "Well, Kyle, sometimes I get the impression that you just don't care about this!" Her voice went oddly high pitched, and Kyle knew she was two statements away from either crying or screaming at him. It's not as though he could gently hint at her seeing a doctor or enquiring about HRT – he'd tried months ago, and it had not ended prettily.

"I care, Ma. Trust me," he replied as gently as he could. He did indeed care a great deal about the outcome of today – he just wasn't sure what he wanted it to be.

As soon as Kyle saw the eclectic mass of modern buildings and nineteenth century architecture line the road into the campus, he felt his stomach start to clench as nerves began to kick in.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come in with you?" his mother asked as they parked up.

"Ma, I'll be fine," he replied, unbuckling his seatbelt and kissing her cheek. He knew that however panicked he felt right now, having his mother there to butt in unnecessarily would just make things worse.

"Good luck!" she called as Kyle shut the door to their hire car. For the first time, Kyle realised she might be even more nervous than he was.

Walking through the well-kept streets, passing greenery and eager students rushing to classes, Kyle decided the outside space was a definite plus. There were laminated signs pointing the way to the open day students, and Kyle soon found himself in a large, old-fashioned room decorated with paintings of historical alumni. Sure, it was pretentious, but you had to expect a little of that in a place like this. Twelve students were already there, excluding their parents. Kyle swiftly felt conscious of both his loner status and the fact he was the thirteenth arrival. Unlucky, if you believed such things.

He sat in the nearest seat next to an icy looking blonde girl who was chattering animatedly with another blonde girl who could have passed for her sister, only judging by their discussion about their vacations, they clearly weren't. Both of the men with them – Kyle assumed they were their fathers – were swaggering about and shouting loudly into their cell phones about bears and shorts.

"Hey," Kyle offered by was of a greeting to the girls. They both looked at him as though he'd just crapped on their shoes.

"Hello," the girl furthest from him said in a frosty voice, before turning her nose up at him and resuming her conversation about the other girl's ‘summer retreat' in Tuscany. The girl nearest to him barely even looked up. Fucking hell, if this as a taster of the kind of students he might have to share classes with, then they could just show him the door right now; no matter how strong their engineering courses were.

Suddenly, a guy with the face of a sixteen year old but the body of a heavy weight boxer plonked himself next to Kyle with such force that both chairs bounced.

"Sorry, Bro," he said sheepishly.

Kyle shrugged. "S'okay. I'm Kyle, by the way."

"Luther," he replied, "and yes, I am."

Kyle surveyed Luther's wry smile. "At least you're named after someone cool," he offered. "I'm named after my uncle, who died from asphyxiation when he got stuck between some lap dancer's fake titties."

Luther instantly burst out laughing, then covered him mouth in horror.

"Go ahead, it's pretty funny," Kyle assured him. "My cousin and I were both born around three months later. It makes family gatherings a little confusing."

"Oh, so you're Ashkenazi Jewish?" Luther asked and the fact he even knew there were different ethnic groups floored Kyle momentarily.

"One of my friends in Michigan is Ashkenazi," he explained. "His grandpa died just before his little brother and around seven of his cousins were born. All the boys were called Walter."

"Yeah, it's a thing," Kyle replied, just as the bitchy blonde near him suddenly became very vocal.

"Well, nowadays it's not so exclusive. They'll let anyone in really," she said, glancing not-so-subtly at Luther.

"Oh, hell no. You did not just go there, B!" he shot back.

"She's right though," Kyle replied sarcastically. "They seem to be calling people for interview based solely on merit. How appalling! I mean, you're black, I'm Jewish…"

"I'm a lesbian," a cute girl with trendy thick-rimmed glasses and purple hair added, and Kyle couldn't help but think it was a bit of a shame. He glanced briefly at Luther and could see he was thinking much the same thing.

Kyle gestured towards the girl. "Right. See? Totally going to the dogs. Heaven forfend, you might meet some foreigners, too!" Kyle pulled an exaggerated fearful expression and mock-bit his fingernails.

"Like me," an older girl with plaits in her hair and a very sassy demeanour added. It turned out that she was called Isla, she was their student guide and she was from Scotland, which only transpired when one of the parents present made the apparently dire mistake of stating, "I love your English accent!"

Isla showed them around the campus and chatted amiably about the history of the college and the various courses. Despite himself, Kyle found he was deeply impressed by the enormous library, the many museums the school sponsored and… well, everything. This complicated matters; he was hoping to hate the place as some great bastion of moneyed pretension.

Kyle and Luther were joined by the unfairly cute lesbian – who introduced herself as Casey – and a cheerful jock-type guy from Denver called Ryan, who outed Kyle as a redneck the moment the "Where are you from?" conversation happened during lunch.

"Yeah, I try to balance my stereotypes," Kyle deadpanned, which seemed to make Ryan laugh. Luther begged Kyle to tell the story of how he was named, which bizarrely prompted another girl at the table to ask, "Whoa, is your cousin in New York called Kyle Schwartz?"

Casey rolled her eyes in an exaggerated way. "Come on; he's not going to be related to every Kyle in New York, is her?"

"Crazily enough, that is his name," Kyle replied. "He goes to Queens Gate High."

"That's the shmendrik," the girl said.

"huh?"

"Shmendrik, right? That means a jerk, doesn't it? I mean, I don't know if it covers being a life-ruining cad."

"Yeah, I don't think it does." Kyle couldn't think of anyone who less fit that description. "Why, what has he done?"

The girl's eyes widened. "Shit, you don't know? He totally got this girl at Nim's pregnant."

If Kyle had been drinking his soda, he'd have spat it all over the table in shock. As he hadn't, he merely gawped.

"What the fuck?" He was dimly aware that a few of the congregation seemed to flinch at his swearing.

"You didn't know?"

"No! Well, my aunt would have kept it quiet, I guess…"

Soon the discussion moved away from his fecund cousin onto more important matters.

"So, Isla, what's the interview like?" Casey asked anxiously, and the whole table of people fell silent.

"It's okay," she replied airily. "They want you to do well; they just like to make sure you're a good fit and you haven't lied on your application form. If you've done a bit of interview practise, you'll sail through it. Although, if you've got Professor Tranter, you drew the short straw. He's… well, he's a bit of a wanker."

Kyle had memorised Professor Tranter's name ever since he'd first read his interview letter. Fucking great.

Suddenly, an apple rolled onto his lap. Kyle picked it up and just as he wondered where it had come from, he noticed the blonde girl who had steadfastly refused to say a single word to him looked as though she had just stepped on a live wire, her hand gripped in a distinct apple shape. She looked so worried that, despite their previous interaction, Kyle felt compelled to say something nice.

"It won't be that bad," he assured her, handing her back the apple. She looked even more terrified for a moment, then took the apple while keeping her eyes completed downcast. It suddenly dawned on Kyle that she might be painfully shy, rather than a bitch.

Her friend rolled her eyes in disgust. "Who asked you? Just because you've never ventured out of Hicksville doesn't mean the rest of us as so naïve as to not appreciate what real tension is!"

Kyle really wasn't in the mood. "Oh, can it, you stroppy bitch," he retorted lazily. He was both surprised and delighted to see her stare at him, open and close her mouth like a goldfish, then remain silent. He also noticed Casey wink at him appreciatively, and for the first time in his life, he felt saddened by his lack of a vagina.

The interview portion of the day came all too soon, and Kyle found himself waiting in the reception of the engineering department staring at the various tension models mounted on the wall. Oddly enough he didn't feel nervous at all; he already felt like he didn't stand a chance, though he still ran over potential interview questions in his head – he was at least going to give it his best.

Suddenly, the door to Professor Tranter's office burst open and the blonde girl who had dropped her apple earlier ran out, sobbing hysterically.

"God damn it," Kyle muttered under his breath, before getting up to try and calm her down.

"Hey, hey," he said in soothing tones. "Come on." He put his arms around her and was kind of surprised when she clung to him like a limpet and sobbed into his shoulder. It seemed inevitable that he was going to get makeup all over his new-ish suit, but he guessed he was a sucker for a damsel in distress.

"Kyle Broflovski," a gruff voice called; Kyle assumed that was Professor Tranter.

"Coming, just give us a minute," he said, hastily trying to find a clean tissue for the crying blonde girl.

"Kyle Broflovski!" The voice grew incredibly impatient.

"Go," the girl sobbed. "I don't want you to mess up your chance, too."

He awkwardly patted her shoulder, handed her his handkerchief – embarrassingly monogrammed – and sloped off for his interview covered in tears and mascara stains.

"Hmm. I hope you're not in the habit of keeping your professors waiting," Tranter said grumpily.

"Apologies, Sir. I'm just not in the habit of leaving crying young women all alone," he retorted smoothly.

Everything about Professor Tranter screamed modern academic; from his turtle-neck to his glasses with the invisible frames, and his haircut which could only have looked right on someone twenty years younger. Everything about the way he sat down behind his desk and smirked a little before steepling his fingers and casually offering Kyle a seat screamed dickhole, however.

Professor Tranter glanced deliberately at his notes, and Kyle was reminded of Cartman when he was playing at entrepreneur.

"So, Mr Broflovski. I see you live in… South Park, is it?"

"That's correct." Fucking hell, he was a douche. Yes, it was a small town that he was clearly trying to imply was of no consequence, but it consisted of two very simple words that were quite easy to read and the effort just came across as idiotic.

"Hmm. It's rather different to Cambridge. How do you think you'll manage the transition, Kyle?"

"I lived in New York for a few months. That was fine," he replied. "I can't imagine Cambridge would be that much of a culture shock in comparison."

Professor Tranter nodded inscrutably. "Your school reports describe you as, ‘upstanding', ‘very bright', ‘compassionate towards others', and ‘very forthright' – which is a polite way of saying you're argumentative." He made air quotes, and no man over forty should ever do that. "What do you say to that?"

"I think it's fair," Kyle replied. "It's easy to be labelled as forthright when you're surrounded by people who like to be wrong with impunity."

Professor Tranter smirked at this, and Kyle wasn't sure whether it was a good or bad thing.

"Hmm. You play basketball for the school team? Seems rather… incongruous with the rest of your academic record."

"I suppose so, but Harvard has a reputation for both academia and athletics as well," Kyle retorted. Jesus Christ, this was just the kind of irritating tit-for-tat that Cartman would dole out.

Good thing he had extensive experience of handling it.

~

Wendy stared out of the window of her dad's car as they drove into Denver. All they had really said to each other since boarding the plane from Tweed-New Haven was a nervous, "So, how did it go?" from him and a snapped, "I won't know until they tell me!" from her. Wendy couldn't stop going over and over the Yale interview in her head. Could she have talked up her class presidency more? Did she make a fatal error by showing excitement at being able to do a minor in English alongside her Environmental Sciences major? Had she screwed up her chances by not being single-minded enough? Professor Roebuck was such an eminent name in the ecology field; Wendy was certain she couldn't have matched what must have been her lofty expectations.

Suddenly, her father pulled over into the parking lot of Sam's No 3.

"Come on, Wendy. Let's get some dinner and celebrate your achievement," he said with a gentle smile.

"Dad, we don't know whether I got through. It's a bit premature to be celebrating anything."

Wendy's dad got out of the car and opened the passenger door. "We can celebrate you getting the interview. Wendy, that's huge, regardless of what happens as a result," he insisted.

Wendy reluctantly agreed, uncertain if she could even muster up a semblance of an appetite. She barely mentioned her tenth grade project studying the distribution of the Boreal toad in forests versus meadows…

The place was packed, although the queue for a table was relatively short. Wendy forced a smile at the waitress who handed her a menu. She was ready to find the tiniest thing on the menu – which wasn't going to be easy in a place that proudly advertises burritos that are the size of your head – until she was distracted by the conversation of the two people in front of her.

"So, what did you say then?" That sounded a lot like Kyle's mother.

"Oh, I told him to go and fuck himself, then stormed out of the interview artfully. Nobody offers me a college place in return for sexual favours." That voice was unmistakeably Kyle. When Wendy looked up from her menu, she realised the hair was as well.

"Don't be sarcastic, Kyle!" There was a tense pause. "You are being sarcastic, aren't you?"

"Of course I am," Kyle replied wearily. "Ma, there's no point raking over this. Either I got in or I didn't, and given I got the most asshole professor in the whole department interviewing me, I wouldn't bank on the former."

"Kyle! Language!"

"I'm just being succinct." He didn't sound that upset about it, but Kyle had really kept his cards to his chest on the subject of Harvard.

"Kyle?" Wendy ventured, poking him gently on the arm. He whirled around, and the smile he flashed her seemed to soothe away every frazzled nerve – which it certainly should not have done.

"Wendy, hey!" he said cheerfully. "How did it go?"

Wendy's body language must have told him all of her fears, for she felt him wrap his surprisingly strong arms around her and hold her close.

"I'm willing to put money on it having gone at least forty percent better than you think it did," he murmured into her ear, and Wendy suddenly felt… well, surprisingly relaxed in between the thudding of her heart and the butterflies in her stomach.

"I don't know," she mumbled into his shoulder, and she felt his ribcage vibrate with gentle laughter.

"Let's forget about it," he urged. "We can't change anything now."

Wendy felt a tingle as his fingers trailed briefly over her scalp, then withdrew just as quickly.

He let go of her suddenly, and Wendy found she missed his touch like crazy. She concentrated hard of conjuring up images of her sweet, handsome, kind boyfriend Stan, and was only vaguely aware of Kyle's mother proclaiming, "Well, why don't we all get a table together?"

Her father seemed to cringe at this. "Oh, we wouldn't want to impose, Mrs—"

"Nonsense! The more the merrier; and maybe your girl can get more out of my boy than gunisht," Kyle's mother replied loudly, glaring at a beaming Kyle.

"Well, when you put it like that, why not?" her father replied meekly, and it suddenly dawned on Wendy that he was a little scared of the formidable Mrs Broflovski.

They eventually got a booth near one of the windows; Kyle and Wendy sat opposite each other and next to their respective parents. Their sunny young waitress introduced herself as Tina and took their drinks orders.

"Excuse me, is your meat kosher?" Kyle's mother asked in that impressive way she had that meant the waitress was bound to feel guilty if it wasn't.

"I'll just go and check," Tina said nervously, dashing off.

Mrs Broflovski shook her head. "It can be such a pain eating out sometimes," she said to Wendy's father, who looked as though he was weighing up what would be the safest response.

"Only if you eat meat," Kyle replied airily. "If you eat fish or go vegetarian, it's not a bother."

"Don't start, Kyle."

"I'm not starting anything, Ma." Kyle's voice was even, but firm. Wendy imagined he and his mother probably had many spectacular rows – not because they didn't get on, but because they were so similar. These were people who wouldn't give an inch when it mattered. Their arguments must be legendary.

"So, how did your interview go, Kyle?" Wendy asked in an effort to stop their impending row.

"Oh, not you as well," Kyle moaned theatrically. "I was interviewed by an asshole professor who made the girl before me run out crying, he said very little about my academic achievements and instead interrogated me on my home life and extra-curricular activities as though I wasn't worthy. Dick. Course, I didn't take it, so… Yeah. I think I'm unlikely to be accepted." He said all of this without so much as looking up from his menu.

"What, what, what? Why didn't you say something before?" Kyle's mother looked apoplectic with rage.

"I'm going to go for the fried cod fish sandwich. I'm in the mood for fish tonight," Kyle commented airily.

"He has no right to judge you on that sort of thing… Why didn't you tell me?" his mother demanded.

"Because I knew this is how you'd react, Ma. It's fine; if I don't fit in, I don't fit it." He put down the menu and frowned. "He even made a detour to come and talk to me when I came out of the bathroom later on, and he was all, ‘Oh, hey Kyle, what do you think of the campus?' I was polite, but seriously? What a dick. He's already made his mind up, and then he's asking me stuff like that?"

"Umm, Kyle? I don't think the professors who interview you often go out of their way to make small talk about college life unless they actually quite liked you," Wendy pointed out.

"Definitely!" His mother looked as though she'd already seen his acceptance letter. "That's a great sign. Now, when he asked you what you thought of the campus, how exactly did he—"

"Mom, we're not having this conversation, okay!" Kyle met her eager gaze with a fierce one of his own, and after staring each other out for a short while his mother surprisingly dropped the subject.

They soon moved on from the touchy conversation of college interviews to the even touchier subject of kosher butchers – Kyle insisted they were humane while Wendy pointed out they were fully conscious when they were being slaughtered.

"Oh, and you think an electric bolt through the head is humane?" Kyle challenged.

"I think it renders the animal unconscious quickly so they can't feel anything," she replied, "which is better than slitting its throat and waiting for the blood to pour out until it dies."

"The animal dies pretty much instantly when its throat is slit. Anyway, sometimes those bolt guns miss, so they hit another part of the brain and it doesn't knock the animal out for ages. Even if it does, how do you know the cow doesn't feel anything? All you know is that you can't see its pain. If you ask me, that form of humane killing is humane to people, not to the animals. A shochet—"

"Huh?"

"Kosher butcher – is trained to do the job effectively with a very sharp knife and a precise depth of cut. It's probably just as quick – quicker, even – than jamming a bolt gun between some poor cow's eyes and shoving ten thousand volts through its brain until it collapses."

Wendy surveyed him coolly. "You know, there's a reason I'm vegetarian," she replied, feeling his leg brush against hers as he shifted in his seat. He didn't move it, so the contact remained. They were leg to leg; his leg on the inside of her, almost penetrating the space between her knees.

He leant forward, so his face was inches from hers. "See, that's what I like about you, Wendy. You practise what you preach."

Wendy felt herself blush. "I do my best," she replied quietly, guiltily savouring the intimacy. His hand brushed against hers all too briefly; then he suddenly sat up and broke their connection. Before Wendy could really react, Tina had arrived with their meals.

"Cheese enchilada," she said, placing Wendy's food in front of her. Wendy was glad they had stopped here now; she was starving.

Tina dished out their parent's meals, then turned to Kyle and said, "and one fried cod fish sandwich with house fries," before placing the plate of food in front of him.

"Thanks," he replied, just as someone rushed past and knocked Tina straight into him.

"I'm so sorry!" Tina said, clearly mortified.

"It's cool, really," Kyle said, offering her the sort of smile that would have looked sleazy on anyone else. He gently supported her back while allowing her to get onto to her feet. "Are you okay?"

"I think so… thanks," she said as a pretty pink blush crept over her cheeks. The bitch probably did that on purpose just so she could cosy up to him. Around the moment that Kyle was loosely holding her hand while she tucked her bobbed hair behind her ear, Wendy suddenly realised her father was trying to prise her fingers free of the salt shaker.

"Wendy," he said in a warning tone, "I'm not sure it's going to withstand this pressure."

Deeply embarrassed, Wendy let go as though it were contagious. To her horror, she caught Mrs Broflovski's knowing expression as she glanced from Wendy to Kyle and back again.

The meal passed by in a flurry of animated conversation, and Wendy stealing Kyle's fries every so often while he gently smacked the back of her hand in mock-annoyance. Despite being so committed to avoiding food earlier, now Wendy rather fancied a dessert.

"You not having one?" she asked Kyle as she put in her request for a hot fudge chocolate chip cookie sundae.

"I can't, really," he replied.

"Why not? I'm sure you could stand to gain a few pounds," she teased.

"No, it's more to do with the diabetes. I mean, I could have a bit, but I have to be careful," he replied, and Wendy suddenly remembered her knowledge of his transplant that she wasn't supposed to know about.

"Well, feel free to steal some of mine, then. It's only fair," she admitted.

When the sundae arrived – with two spoons and a sly wink from Tina that made Wendy's whole face burn with shame – Wendy jammed her spoon eagerly into the gloopy cavity waiting to happen. Without even thinking, she offered it to Kyle.

"Want some?" she teased. To her surprise, Kyle simply leant forward and sucked the spoon clean.

"Not bad," he replied, before grabbing the spare spoon and offering her a spoonful of her own dessert.

"Really?" she said, folding her arms.

"Really," he replied smoothly, waggling his eyebrows in a jokey fashion.

Despite her misgivings, Wendy leant over and allowed Kyle to feed her spoonfuls of delicious ice-cream and chocolate chip pieces, giggling at the silliness of it all and grabbing his wrist at one point when he tried to be all clever and take the spoon away at the last moment.

As she looked up at him while sucking the spoon clean, she noticed him staring intently at her. Their eyes locked and it was almost like that scene in ‘Eric Cartman's Dracula' – yes, that was the working title which Kyle had made his personal mission to change – between Dracula and Mina. Wendy felt as though he could have asked her anything in that moment and she'd have done it. The lack of control she felt around him terrified her, not least because he wasn't her damn boyfriend and this shouldn't be happening.

Suddenly, Kyle handed Wendy the spoon and pulled away.

"Sorry. I got a bit… You're clearly old enough to feed yourself," he said with a nervous chuckle that was notable for being completely out of character. Wendy tried to catch his eye, but he was staring steadfastly out of the window.

"I don't know about you, but I'm glad it's Saturday tomorrow," Kyle said, his eyes still on the passers-by outside. "I'm going to be knackered tomorrow."

"Yeah , me too," Wendy agreed.

"You and Stan got plans?"

"Not really," Wendy replied.

"You should. The weather's supposed to be nice, maybe you could go for a picnic or something together?"

"Yeah, that'd be a good idea," Wendy said, feeling her stomach double up in knots. God, she was a horrible, horrible girlfriend. She'd spent a good half an hour not-quite flirting with her boyfriend's best friend! How could she be any worse?

She knew exactly how she could be any worse, and when Kyle looked up at her through his lashes, she started to imagine her potential worse behaviour in great detail.

They left the diner soon after that; the memory of Kyle's cool hand brushing against hers as they put their spoons in the sundae dish at the same time still lingered heavily in her thoughts.

"Oh, Wendy, I do hope you get accepted," Mrs Broflovski said with genuine feeling.

"Thanks, Mrs Broflovski—"

"Please, call me Sheila," she said. Wendy stopped dead at this. She'd only ever called Stan's mother by her first name. Was Sh—Mrs. Broflovski implying something?

As they said their goodbyes and Wendy climbed into the passenger seat of her dad's car, she heard Kyle exclaim, "Ma! We're just friends!" in horror.

Oh God, she was getting worse at hiding it. Oh God, she was supposed to be in love with Stan, but kept daydreaming about his best friend. Oh God, Kyle just… with a flush of shame she gave the thought form in her head: Kyle turned her on with barely a smile. Was this really just some dumb three and three-quarter itch? Would she really just get over it after doing this ridiculously erotic play and the ridiculous rehearsal sessions that just made a terrible mess of her panties? Would she just forget all about it in a few weeks and go back to being uncomplicatedly in love with Stan?

Come to think of it, had she even actually been in love with Stan?

Of course she had! Stupid, stupid question.

As they drove off along Route 25, Wendy could feel the tears run down her cheeks. When her father handed her a pack of pocket tissues, squeezed her arm in a comforting manner and said, "Oh, sweetheart; we've all been there," she felt about ten times worse.

She stared out of the window and realised with a start that for the first time ever, Kyle had hugged her tonight without trying to bunch his hands into fists.

Chapter Sixteen: The Play's the Thing – Reclaiming the Art of Keeping a Secret

With a heavy heart, Kyle made his way to the shul downtown. It wasn't his usual Saturday ritual – he tended to go on Shabbat eve – but he needed some guidance. Not that he really imagined the big guy upstairs was ready to solve his niggling problems like some helpdesk worker, but he found the peace and quiet helpful.

It was all his mother's fault. Well, okay, that was completely unfair, but she had exacerbated it with just two sentences on the drive back from Denver last night after Kyle had insisted for the third time that Wendy was a friend and she was going out with Stan:

"Well, you want to be careful, Kyle. That girl's extremely fond of you, any fool can see that."

Kyle clearly wasn't any fool, because he hadn't seen that at all. Now his mother had pointed it out… he'd tried to reason it all away, but the more he thought about the way she touched him, the way she smiled at him – the way she'd let him feed her ice-cream last night in a way he felt utterly guilty for – it kind of made sense.

He could maybe have lived with that if he didn't feel the same way.

Kyle pushed open the shul doors and tried to pinpoint the exact moment he had fallen for Wendy. He couldn't. He recognised logically there must have been a single defining moment where his ‘I like Wendy as a friend' status morphed into ‘I'd like Wendy to sit on my face', but it eluded him. It just seemed to have grown organically, much like a huge, pulsing zit – for it too was useless and painful. He'd never act on his feelings because of Stan, who loved Wendy with all of his heart and a few other organs, too. There was just no way he'd even think about doing anything with his useless yearning because of Stan. Hell, he even felt guilty fantasising about her whilst masturbating.

That, of course, led him to be deeply confused over Wendy. If his mother was right, then was Wendy as conflicted as him? Why was she still with Stan if she didn't love him anymore? Maybe she did love him and Kyle was just some sexy curio – it wouldn't be the first time that had happened to him. Should he tell Stan? Should he just leave it alone? Jesus Christ, he sucked as a friend on every level.

At that moment, he heard the doors swing open and a familiar voice hum the title song of ‘Jesus Christ Superstar'.

"Jesus Christ, circumcised; a dick from his hip reaching to the skies—" Jesus stared at Kyle like a boy who'd been caught with porn by his mother.

"Hey, Jesus," Kyle said as casually as he could.

Jesus seemed to take the opportunity to try and make Kyle forget what he might have just heard. "You're sitting here way before the Shabbat service? You must be troubled, my child. Perhaps I can help?" he offered.

Kyle shook his head. "No thanks, Jesus – you're kind of not my prophet, remember?"

"I know, but I have been Jewish for around two thousand years longer than you. Maybe I can offer a different perspective. Anyway, how many times has my dad actually answered you when you talk to him?"

Kyle thought about pointing out that his faith meant he thought all of Jesus' talk about his dad was bullshitting, and that he never expected God to actually answer, just to give him space to think about things. Instead he shrugged.

"Okay; I think I'm in love with my best friend's girlfriend."

"And?"

"And… Well, I don't know. I think she might like me."

"So, what's the problem?"

Kyle stared at Jesus in dismay. "The problem is that it's immoral, cruel and definitely breaks a good number of commandments – remember how we've got, like over six hundred of them?"

Jesus patted Kyle on the back. "So, we can be forgiven for forgetting a couple now and then."

Kyle raised his palms in the air. "Hold up. Are you actually suggesting I should pursue my best friend's girl?"

"No!" Jesus put his feet up on the seat in front of him and criss-crossed his fingers behind his head. "I'm saying that if she likes you and you like her…"

"Dude! He's my best friend! I'm not going to betray him."

"Fine; if you don't want to be balls-deep in pussy—"

Kyle glared at him. "Aren't you supposed to offer moral guidance?"

Jesus shrugged. "Kid, you're seventeen, right?"

"Sixteen."

"Exactly. You really ought to be thinking about getting married. Now isn't the time to get picky about whether she's pretty enough, or smart enough, or if she's dating your best friend."

"I'm sixteen!"

"So, you've only got a few years left."

"Great; this is what your two thousand years of experience can offer? An outdated opinion on the institution of marriage?" Kyle grumbled, sinking into the seat.

"I don't know why you're even here," Jesus said. "You've made your mind up that you want to deny your feelings for the sake of your friend. What more is there to discuss?"

"How I keep doing it," Kyle replied glumly, glancing cross at the ner tamid.

~

Stan knocked nervously on Wendy's door. He should have been elated really – Wendy had phoned him last night and suggested a picnic up at Everglade Peak, which meant she was going to make him lunch and that they'd probably get to make out a whole lot in one of the many secluded dells. The trouble was that he was terrified about Wendy's interview and he felt truly awful about it. The bottom, selfish line was that Stan kind of hoped it hadn't gone that well. He'd follow Wendy anywhere, but following her to an Ivy League school just wasn't feasible for him – even if they took bribes, Stan's college fund would barely cover their tuition fees, and he wasn't convinced they'd accept sexual favours as an alternative to an amazing GPA.

"Hey, Stan!" Wendy greeted him so enthusiastically that Stan thought he might topple over backwards as she launched herself at him.

"Hey, babe. How did it go?" he asked, hugging her back.

"I'm not sure," she confessed, holding his hands. "I'm trying to forget about it until I hear one way or the other."

Before Stan had a chance to offer any words of comfort, Wendy ducked inside and returned with a laden picnic hamper.

"Check it out; I've made sandwiches – pastrami and mayo for you because I know how much you love it, roast pepper and goats' cheese for me – and there's also fruit and chips, and I even made cupcakes!"

"Wow, you've really gone to a lot of trouble; that sounds great," Stan enthused, a little surprised by her sheer dedication to this date.

They walked to the mid-point of the peak, carrying their picnic basket between them. They had their own little spot; a secluded area to the west behind the community tree-planting project and the Sneezing Panda memorial. Nobody ever went to the pretty little spot under the shade of a pine tree which looked like all the others, except that Stan was carved his and Wendy's names into the bark with a pen-knife and framed them with a single heart.

Wendy laid down a waterproof sheet, then the picnic blanket – although it was unusually warm, the ground was still cold and wet. She knelt on one side of the blanket and patted the space beside her. Stan sat down where instructed and pulled out the soda and plastic tumblers which had been the only offering Wendy would allow him to bring.

"Did you like it? Yale, I mean?" Stan ventured after half a pastrami and mayo sandwich, unable to stand the suspense any longer. Maybe she hated it? Maybe she was all set to go to Berkley, or some other place he could drive to, if not get into.

The way her eyes shone told him that was not the case. "Oh, it was amazing, Stan! Their ecology department was so extensive, and the people knew so much, and…"

Stam smiled encouragingly, but he felt his heart sink a little. He personally had no doubt that Wendy would have aced the interview, even if that selfish part of him didn't want her to. Still, there must be decent colleges in driving distance from Yale that he could apply to.

After he'd finished a couple of sandwiches and washed them down with soda – Wendy would never kiss a meaty mouth on principle – he felt her hand rest against his on the blanket.

"Do you know where you're applying to yet?" she asked in a sweetly soft voice.

Stan shrugged. "I've been looking at a few placed. Really, though, I'd just like to go somewhere near you," he admitted.

Wendy stared at the plaid blanket all of a sudden, before looking at him with tears in her eyes. She didn't say a word, and instead kissed him softly on the lips, over and over. Stan closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink into the sensation of her pliant lips, her hands in his hair, on his chest, sliding down to his crotch and unzipping his fly.

Wait. What the fuck?

Stan opened his eyes to see if what he imagined was really happening. Yup, Wendy had her cool little hands all over his junk – she was currently unbuttoning his boxers and exposing him to the afternoon air.

"Wendy?" he queried, gulping away a dry throat.

"I love you, Stan," she said, before dipping her head down and putting her lips around his cock.

Jesus fucking Christ! Stan would have had to pinch himself to check he wasn't dreaming were it not for the fact that, as it turned out, getting your dick sucked was pretty unmistakeable. Wendy had tried to get the whole thing in, and when she coughed, it tickled the head to the point that he was worried he'd spurt right down her throat. She clearly gave up on that and just sucked what he could fit in. Tentatively, she wrapped a hand around the base and slid it up and down in a way that suggested she wasn't sure what to do with it. Stan wondered if it would be rude to offer her an encouraging pep talk applauding her efforts, but it didn't matter, for all that came out of his mouth were garbled moans of, "Fuck," "Baby," and "Ah!" It wasn't just the warm, wet vacuum around his dick, it was the little things such as the way her long hair brushed against his balls with every movement, the way her hand shook a little as she slowly pumped it up and down his shaft, the way she concentrated – eyes half-closed and her lashes fluttering slightly – that made him feel she cared so much about what she was doing for him.

Not that Stan figured he'd be able to let her keep going for long – a few encouraging strokes at the nape of her neck and a strangled plea to heaven later and he came before he could even warn her. She looked startled for a moment, then slowly slid her lips from his dick with a soft sucking sound before staring as though uncertain what to do. As hot as that blow job had been, and as grateful and thrilled as he was, Stan had to struggle not to laugh at her expression.

Eventually, she leant over and spat out his spunk in the grass near the tree.

"Don't laugh," Wendy ordered. "I've never done that before!" She looked so self-conscious, it knocked the amusement right out of Stan. He pressed a lingering kiss to her lips, to express his love, devotion and overall gratitude… and eww, she tasted kind of gross. Wow, Stan really felt bad that he'd shot his load in there – it can't have been much fun for her. He was impressed she didn't gag or anything; she took it like a pro.

"That was totally amazing," he whispered into her ear as he held her tightly and kissed his way along her jaw. She leant her head against his shoulder, but said nothing. Instead, he stroked her hair tenderly with his hand.

"You know, babe, I'd totally eat you out if you wanted," he said, letting his fingers trail over her thigh to illustrate his point.

"Yeah, I don't think… Maybe another time…" Her voice wavered in a way that made Stan's heart plummet.

"Wendy? Are you crying?" he ventured warily.

"I'm fine," she insisted, but Stan saw her wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. "I just… It was a bit scary."

Stan held her even more tightly in his arms. "Oh, babe. You never have to do anything for me, okay? If you're not comfortable, we stop. It doesn't matter how far we've gone, okay? You matter way more to me than a blow job." He paused momentarily. "I love you, babe," he added, before he kissed the top of her head again.

He felt Wendy squeeze his hand.

"I know, Stan," she said, and he thought her voice sounded oddly melancholic.

~

Kyle was running through his lines again – he pretty much knew them off by heart now, but it didn't hurt to keep on top of it – when his mother burst in without knocking.

"Ma!" he yelled. "Don't just barge in uninvited!"

"For Abraham's sake, Kyle – it's one time!" she yelled back.

"I could have been masturbating into my Tefillin over shark porn for all you—"

"Kyle! Have you seen Ike?" His mother was clearly thoroughly exasperated and he could tell his jokes were making things worse.

"No, I haven't," he replied. "Isn't he with Dad?"

His mother shook her head. "I already asked him; he thought he was with you." Her voice had that familiar edge of sheer panic to it, and Kyle knew he had to do something before she veered towards a nervous breakdown.

"He can't have gone far. Do you want me to check his after-school clubs?" Kyle offered.

"Thank you, Bubbeleh. I'll check his friends' parents," his mother replied before dashing off to grab the phone.

Before Kyle went to put his sneakers on and make the drive to Ike's school, he took a quick look in Ike's room just in case the little sod was messing about. He passed the airing cupboard and noticed Wendy's clothes were still there – damn, he wished she'd pick them up; every time he walked past he got a faint scent of her and it was beginning to drive him mad. He was going to have to just dump them round hers one day.

Peering around the doorway and entering Ike's freakishly tidy room, Kyle could see that Ike clearly wasn't there, but just as he realised Wendy's underwear was missing from the airing cupboard and that was fucking strange, he saw a sealed envelope on Ike's pillow addressed to ‘Kyle, Sheila and Gerald'. That was even fucking weirder than the missing underwear conundrum.

He turned the envelope over in his hand and ripped it open. Pulling out the letter within, he read Ike's short, yet worryingly to the point, note in his neat script.

‘Dear Kyle, Sheila and Gerald. I know. I've known for a while. I don't know where I fit in anymore. I was made to feel like I don't belong in elementary school, I don't belong in my hockey team, I'm not nerdy enough for BC and now I'm not even a Broflovski. Do I fit in anywhere? I feel like a lost jigsaw piece of Niagara Falls that everyone keeps trying to shove in a puzzle of the Statue of Liberty. I need to find my Niagara Falls jigsaw. Don't worry about me. Thanks for everything, Ike.'

Kyle hastily checked Ike's closet – very little was missing, but it was enough. Most importantly, his Ben 10 back pack was gone.

Fuck.

"Mom!" Kyle ran down the stairs three at a time and nearly fell flat on his face.

"Kyle?"

He silently handed her Ike's letter and had to watch her turn three shades paler.

"Gerald!" Her voice was quiet and brittle; for a moment Kyle thought she might faint.

"What is it, honey?" His father ambled in from the kitchen, dishcloth in hand. When his mother silently handed him the letter, Kyle could see his heart break as he read it.

"Kyle, did you talk to Ike about him being… being adopted?" he asked.

"Of course not! If he'd asked me anything, I'd have told you!" Kyle snapped, before grabbing his jacket and shoving on his sneakers.

"I'll see if I can find him; he can't have gone far," he announced, picking up his car keys. Somebody had to do something and clearly his parents were in too much shock to deal with it effectively.

"Kyle?" he had never heard his mother sound so helpless.

"Dad, phone the train and greyhound stations, see if they can stop him getting on – they'll at least know if he bought a ticket. Phone the airport, too."

"The airport? Kyle, he's eleven; how could he get on an airplane by himself?"

"Mom, it's Ike," Kyle replied simply. "I'll check the stations, his hang outs… anywhere I can think of."

His mother nodded silently. Leaving his father to comfort her, Kyle left the house and clambered into his car.

God damn it – why didn't Ike say anything? How long had he even known? Jesus fucking Christ, even if he felt cut off from everyone else, he could have talked to him… who wasn't adopted and thus part of the family he didn't feel he belonged to. Fuck! Someone must have told him; if he'd been researching on his computer, Kyle would have known – he always had to clear porn off it at Ike's embarrassed request, so he would have seen any genealogical records. If Kyle ever found out who told him without letting him know, he'd fucking kill them. Slowly. Meat hooks would probably be involved.

He tried the ice-hockey rink first; it was closest and Coach Thompson was always there on evenings – he knew all the kids and could probably ring around for him.

Kyle found him sorting through pucks in the gym cupboard.

"I'm sorry, Kyle. I haven't seen him," he said, "Come to think of it, he has been really quiet this week. It's not like him; he's usually smacking the kids about with—"

"And it didn't cross your mind to let any of us know?" Kyle retorted icily. God damn it, how long had poor Ike been nursing all of this?

After giving Coach Thompson terse instructions to try the rest of the team and to phone him the second he got any information, Kyle barrelled into his car, desperate to continue his search.

~

Normally, Cartman was rather adverse to any form of physical exercise, but he found he tended to think more clearly on a walk. This evening, he had a lot to think about, such as the play – which was rapidly approaching its debut, to his SATs – which he realised he really was going to have to do something about, as bullshit as he found the whole affair… Well, to be honest, he had a lot to think about, but every time he tried, his mind took a wander down to Kyle Street and stayed there. Fucking Kyle.

Although, maybe he could get Kyle to tutor him…? No, bad idea. He'd never fucking concentrate on anything except Kyle's big Bambi eyes, and this as exactly the problem. If he was going to give a fuck about anything, it ought to be his cock, or his ass, or something like that. Not his fucking eyes, that was just gay.

Jesus, he had it bad. Right, that did it; time to forget about the obnoxiously beautiful Jew asshole and concentrate on that tricky shift between Lucy being turned and Mina being rushed down the aisle by Jonathan.

Just as he'd considered the merits of showing the two scenes side by side on stage to highlight the contrast between both Lucy and Mina's sexual awakening – it was the sort of shit Kyle would approve of – he heard sniffling. He looked down at the sidewalk and nearly tripped over a familiar dark-haired little Canadian brat. Ike was crying into his sleeve like some Emo douche.

"What's up with your face?" Cartman demanded. Ike barely looked up.

"Oh, it's you," he mumbled, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"What's up?" Cartman asked again, trying very hard not to give the little snot the verbal smackdown, because he knew it would piss Kyle off.

"Everything I've ever known was a lie!" he yelled, tears streaming down his face.

"Chill, you little pecker; don't go slitting your wrists over it." For some reason, Cartman found himself sitting next to Ike on the sidewalk.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" Ike lamented. "Was it some kind of joke? Why did I have to find out from you?"

"Find out from me?"

"Yeah, about being adopted."

Whoops. Cartman hoped to God Ike hadn't mentioned this to Kyle. He had to do some swift damage control.

"Maybe they just don't' care? I mean, Kyle totally sees you as his little brother," Cartman offered.

Ike simply sniffled. "Nah uh."

"Sure he does. You know, years ago, when you were probably still crapping in your diapers, the Canadian government took you and gave you back to your birth parents."

"Really?"

"It was awful." Cartman felt himself tear up at the memory. "The whole town gave their Christmas money to your family to help them fight to get you back. We had no presents. I was nine, Ike, and Christmas got cancelled." He grabbed Ike's arm and twisted it hard.

"Ow! What the fuck was that for?" Ike grumbled, rubbing his arm.

"Nine year old me made a promise I'd do that once you were older," Cartman replied, suddenly surprised that he hadn't done it sooner. "Anyway, my point is, your douchebag of a brother dragged us all away across the ass-end of Canada to make the government give you back."

Ike stopped sniffing and looked up at Cartman. "He… He what?"

"I know; we missed Christmas. I know it means fuck all to you Jew assholes, but it was fucking weak. Whatever, he's got to love you to go to all that trouble."

Ike appeared rather thoughtful. "Yeah. You wouldn't do that, would you?"

"Fuck no. I'd have left you there – I don't know why he had to fucking drag us into it," Cartman pointed out crossly.

Ike seemed to brighten a little at this. "Yeah. Thanks, Eric. I think… I think I need to get my head around all of this," he said as he got up from the sidewalk and wiped his eyes.

"Yeah, whatever Just keep this between us; there's no need for your dickwad of a brother to find out," Cartman urged, grabbing Ike's shoulder. The last thing he needed was for Kyle to find out before he was ready; what if he just freaked out and ran into Stan's handsome, devious arms? No, Cartman wanted the time to be right. It needed to be when Kyle understood what Stan was putting him through and would let Cartman show him how good a real man could feel. He'd literally kiss his ass; he'd lie him face down and naked on his bed like a masseur, then spread apart his ass cheeks and kiss him right on the anus before licking him slowly up and down, murmuring how Stan would never do this, Stan would never devote his tongue to him like this, Stan would never take the time to make him so deliciously drenched with his spit before grabbing his cock and shoving it right up his –

"Okay. I'm going to go now." Ike sounded quite perturbed as he pulled away from Cartman's grip, then stepped away and ran off into the night. Cartman glanced down at his tented pants and sighed. God damn it, did Ike seriously think…? That was all he needed. Fucking Kyle fucking Broflovski.

~

Wendy was crossing the street to Bebe's with her overnight bag on her shoulder, when she had to leap out of the way of an oncoming – and speeding – car.

"Hey, watch it!" she yelled after the offending vehicle, only for the car to stop and reverse up to her. She instantly regretted her outburst; her handful of Judo lessons probably wouldn't help against some burly, angry man ready to rip her a new one for daring to cross his path.

To her relief – sort of – the tall rangy figure that stepped out of the car was Kyle.

"Fuck! Sorry, Wendy." He looked deeply agitated, and against all of her better judgement, she went up to him and placed her hand on the small of his back.

"What's the matter, Kyle?" she asked.

Kyle ran a hand through his unruly curls. "Ike's run away. Some asshole told him he was adopted and he just went." He looked near tears. "He left a note about how he needed to find himself – we'd fucking help him find himself!" Apparently needing something to take his frustration out on, he kicked his rear tyre.

"Kyle, come on. It'll be okay – have you tried the Greyhound station?"

"I've tried the Greyhound station, the train station, his school his hockey coach, his friends, two of his bullies, the airport, all the gaming haunts—"

"You went to Denver?" South Park didn't have any gaming haunts, to Wendy's knowledge.

"Yeah, nothing." He slumped on the hood of his car. "I'm out of ideas, Wendy."

Wendy knew what she should do; she should tell Kyle how awful that was, tell him she was sure Stan would be around to help him and gone on her merry way to Bebe's house. Instead, she squeezed his hand and said, "I can help you look," and clambered into the passenger seat of his car, because she was that much of a moron and couldn't resist his sad eyes.

Wendy hadn't been in Kyle's car before, and it seemed really, really small – which made no sense as he was pretty much driving a boat with wheels. Everywhere with Kyle felt too close.

"What sort of things does Ike like to do? I mean besides play video games?" Wendy asked.

"Gah – he likes dinosaurs?" Kyle offered anxiously. "Umm… rockets? Books?"

Wendy watched Kyle as he stared at the road as though it was an opponent to be fought. She'd never seen him this freaked out before; he needed a hug. Not from her; she shouldn't offer Kyle a hug, as much as she wanted to… she didn't! She didn't want to!

Suddenly, Wendy felt Kyle's cool hand press down on hers.

"Sorry, Wendy. I really appreciate you being here, but for the love of Abraham, quit tapping out ‘Careless Whisper' on my dashboard," he insisted, his long, thin fingers sliding between hers.

"Might he try and hideout in the library?" she suggested in an attempt to distract herself from the awful, wonderful, feeling his touch elicited inside her. "I know it's closed, but maybe he snuck in? It wouldn't be too hard to—"

Without any warning, Kyle took her hand and brought it to his lips.

"You're a fucking genius, Wendy," he said excitedly, before suddenly dropping her hand and speeding off down the road. She could still feel a tingle from where he had kissed her.

The library looked completely closed and deserted as Kyle slowed to a crawl and did a circuit of the town square. He soon pulled over.

"I'm going to check it out on foot. Coming?"

"Sure," Wendy replied fairly certain he could have asked her to accompany him to the ninth circle of hell and she'd have accepted. This worried her greatly.

Their little late-night stroll around the library building soon took them to a window that looked wide enough for a small eleven year old to crawl through. Kyle yanked it open further.

"You go first; that way I can catch you if you fall," he said, before grabbing her under her butt and shoving her upwards. Damn, he had strong hands… Wendy shook all thoughts of Kyle's hands, their properties and their proximity to her sensitive areas and instead crawled through the open window and into the library. Jesus, what was she thinking? Breaking into a dark local library at eight o'clock in the evening was an utterly ridiculous thing to be doing, especially for someone that wasn't her sibling.

She almost jumped out of her skin as she felt Kyle's unmistakeable hands on her waist.

"Oi, shift your ass!" Kyle hissed, shoving her aside as he scrambled ungainly through the window and half-rolled, half-clambered to his feet.

"Can you see anything?" he asked.

"Well, no; it's pitch black in here," she whispered back, holding her breath as she felt Kyle's warm body brush against her own. She heard a click, and saw his face illuminated eerily by flashlight.

"Were you planning on doing some breaking and entering this evening, or do you always carry one of those?" she asked sarcastically.

She heard the rustle of fabric as Kyle shrugged. "I was a Jewish Scout. Always prepared."

"I thought Jewish Scouts was all about religious learning?" Wendy asked, but Kyle didn't elaborate further. Instead, he shone the flashlight above their heads and hammily remarked, "Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania." He strode off before Wendy could respond with the appropriate Shakespeare quotation.

There was something really rather creepy about their tiny town library in the dark; Wendy found herself reaching for Kyle's hand irrespective of her feelings and found herself grateful when he squeezed it comfortingly. The rays of light from his flashlight licked up at the signs above each room; Sci-Fi and Fantasy, Fiction A-Z, Geography. It wasn't a total shock to find Ike sitting in the Local History section in front of the single shelf of genealogy information, but she squeezed Kyle's arm in a comforting motion all the same.

"Hey, buddy," Kyle said gently, aiming his flashlight just above Ike's head.

To Kyle's apparent bewilderment, Ike simply looked up at him, walked over and quietly took his hand. Wendy couldn't help but tidy his books away – that was at least something useful she could do.

She felt Kyle's arms around her almost immediately. "Thanks, Wendy," he whispered against her ear, before suddenly letting her go, and leaving her oddly cold.

~

Ike was worryingly silent as Kyle drove Wendy back to Bebe's. All throughout the journey, Kyle had been desperately thinking about what to say and how he could reassure his little brother, but he had drawn a blank. Usually he was so good with words.

He reached Bebe's house and Wendy jumped out of the back seat, and then stood by his open window with her bag slung over her shoulder.

"I'm glad you found him, Kyle," she said in a kind voice, before reaching through and touching his shoulder gently.

"Thanks, Wendy," Kyle replied as he watched her leave, grateful for her brainwave… and her company, which he felt agonisingly guilty over. He knew what he should have done when Wendy offered her assistance – he should have politely declined, said he would call Stan and left her to her evening with Bebe. He was a fucking moron sometimes.

"I don't want to go home," Ike suddenly announced from the front passenger seat. "Not just yet."

"Okay," Kyle replied softly, as though speaking to a dangerous psychopath who could snap and take out a street of shoppers if he said the wrong thing. "Where do you want to go?"

"Just around."

Kyle shrugged and took the car on a slow-ish crawl around town. He said nothing, and instead waited for Ike to speak. Sadly, he realised very quickly that Ike wasn't going to crack before he did.

"I'd have told you if you'd asked, dude," he said quietly. "But whatever, you're my little brother."

"I know," Ike replied in a relatively cheerful voice, which floored Kyle.

"You do?"

"Sure," he said and flashed a genuine smile – Kyle could spot a fake Ike smile at ten paces. Then, to Kyle's amazement, he grabbed him around the waist and hugged him tightly. Kyle had to pull over to hug him back, and to avoid crashing into the nearby parked cars.

"Our folks were fucking terrified, by the way," Kyle pointed out as Ike slowly let him go.

"Sorry." Ike looked a little frightened. "Is Mom going to kill me?"

"I think you'll get away with losing a limb," Kyle replied with a wry smile.

They drove along the main street for a few minutes before Ike completely changed the subject. "She likes you."

"Huh?"

"That Wendy girl. She likes you." Ike clarified his point by making exaggerated kissing noises.

"She does not," Kyle retorted, though he felt his cheeks start to glow. "She's Stan's girlfriend and has been for years."

Ike shrugged. "Whatever. She likes you." He giggled. "She wants to marry you and have your babies," he insisted in a weird singsong voice.

"Shut up, idiot!" Kyle shoved Ike on the arm to further elucidate his point. Ike merely responded by making further kissing sounds, punctuated only with, "Oh, Kyle! You're so handsome!" every so often.

"Quit it, asshole!" Kyle said with a smile as he grabbed at Ike's t-shirt, only to reveal a distinctive shiny black strap across his arm.

"Dude, is that Wendy's underwear?" Kyle asked, doing his best to keep his voice neutral and calm. He supposed it at least explained the mystery of Wendy's missing lingerie, although the prospect of some pantie-sniffing pervert raiding their house at the dead of night didn't seem quite so horrific.

Ike looked as though he'd been caught with the worst porno since ‘Animal Farm'.

"I like that they're silky," he stammered, before falling silent for a brief moment. "You promise not to tell anyone?"

"Dude, trust me. I don't want to have to explain this to anyone," Kyle insisted. "Your secret's safe with me."

~

By the time Wendy arrived at Bebe's, she was astounded that she hadn't just simply burst into tears. Everything was so confusing – she didn't even realise it was possible to feel so much all at once.

Bebe took one look at her and ushered her upstairs to her room.

"What happened, Wendy? You look awful!"

"Oh, Thanks," Wendy quipped, but her heart wasn't in it. Instead she sank onto Bebe's bed, feeling utterly defeated.

"Talk to me," Bebe urged, lying beside her.

Wendy didn't even know where to start. Stan, Kyle, Kyle, Stan… it was just all consuming. Wendy was relieved she had completed her SATs already, because she was genuinely beginning to doubt her ability to study for them adequately. She loved Stan, she knew this. They'd been dating for years, they'd got to third base together – kind of… but she just seemed to click with Kyle intellectually. He'd gone from being Stan's annoying best friend who was always in the background to being her friend too, but what scared her the most was the single dark secret she scarcely dared to admit even to herself – while she felt a little anxious when Stan's hands stared to roam towards places they probably shouldn't, she couldn't imagine wanting to stop Kyle's. That thought alone made her feel exquisitely guilty, tortured and excited all at once.

"Erm, Wendy?" Bebe ventured uncertainly after Wendy had babbled this out with red hot cheeks and an uneasy sloshing feeling in her stomach.

"Yes?"

"Let's… Let's just suppose I was wrong when I said this three and three-quarter itch thing would just blow over," she offered awkwardly. "For argument's sake."

"Okay," Wendy replied nervously, feeling her whole body tense at the prospect of what was to come.

Bebe started to fiddle with one of her many satin cushions, not quite meeting Wendy's desperate stare.

"So what? You think I should just kiss Kyle and get it out of my system?" Wendy suggested hopefully. All she wanted was to get over these weird feelings for Kyle and get things back to normal with Stan.

"No!" Bebe was surprisingly insistent.

"Oh, I get it. You're jealous," Wendy teased. "You' hate it if I ever made out with Kyle because you once—"

"Oh, for God's sake, Wendy, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why can't you see what's going on?" Bebe snapped, stunning Wendy into silence.

"Bebe?" Wendy ventured after a long, awkward pause.

Bebe sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "It isn't complicated, Wendy," she said, finally looking right at her. "You're in love with Kyle. That's all there is to it. You don't love Stan anymore, you love Kyle."

Wendy felt as though all the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room and she'd been given a tank of nitrous oxide in return. She giggled nervously. "What?"

Bebe sighed – not impatiently, but with pity. "Every time we talk about anything these days – literally anything – you bring Kyle into the conversation. Your eyes light up whenever he says hello to you. I've watched you in rehearsals and, frankly, I'm surprised Stan hasn't said anything to you, because it's really, really obvious that you want to be locking lips with Kyle." She sat back with an expression of grim satisfaction on her face, as though she was almost pleased that Wendy was suddenly left drowning.

"N… No, that's not true," Wendy protested. "I gave Stan a… a blow job just last week!"

Bebe stared at her. "Seriously?"

"Yes! He… you know, and everything!" Wendy felt herself blush furiously at the memory.

"Did you swallow?" Bebe challenged.

"Not exactly… No, I didn't," she admitted, "but it tasted pretty disgusting—"

"You'd have swallowed if it was Kyle," Bebe shot back and Wendy felt her face burn.

"That's lies and slander, Bebe Stevens!" she retorted crossly. Bebe merely raised her palms in surrender.

"I just meant his jizz tastes alright – seriously, it's way better than Clyde's." Her eyes suddenly narrowed sharply. "Did you think about Kyle to get through it?" she asked.

"Of course not! How… How awful!" Wendy stammered, as a little niggle in the back of her mind made her wonder. Bebe sat back and folded her arms, but said nothing more; Wendy felt the silence was more incriminating that anything else she could have said.

"Look, I love Stan, okay!"

"I'm not saying… You two have been together for a long time and I'm sure you still care for him deeply, but answer me this: when you imagine what it would be like to make love to them – and I know you have imagined it – who's the one you'd have to struggle to stop yourself from giving up your V plates to? Who's the one who just destroys your self-control?"

Wendy tried desperately hard to push away thoughts of Kyle's cold hands and warm body, skin on skin contact of long fingers and soft red lips, red curls brushing against pale thighs and a quiver of ecstasy as she surrendered to his firm guidance.

"I love Stan, okay!" Wendy yelled. "And to prove it, I'll give him my V plates! My parents are out of town the night before the play – I'll do it then!"

Bebe looked horrified. "Jesus, Wendy – listen to yourself! You're going to screw Stan to prove a point to me? Not only is that a shitty reason to have sex with anyone, but it's totally against everything you've ever said about the matter since we were thirteen. Just… Just get over yourself and admit you're head over heels for Kyle. If not to me, then please just admit it to yourself!"

Wendy felt as though she had just been slapped. "I… I love Stan, okay?" she insisted. "Now, let's just change the subject."

Bebe sighed. "Alright, Wendy," she agreed, "but on your head be it."

~

When Stan read the note Wendy had hastily stuffed into his hand during Geography – one of their few lessons together – he wasn't sure which head would explode first. The note simply said:

‘Parents out tonight. Come over at 7:30. I'll cook, you can spend the night ;) – x'

What had got Stan all flustered wasn't the thought of Wendy's cooking, but the little winking face she had included. No supervision, winking face, the pretence of food, the stopping over… Stan knew what had to be on Wendy's mind, and it was the sole reason he was waiting at Kyle's locker for him to finish his AP Physics class. If there was any time he needed his best buddy, it was now.

He saw Kyle head towards him, deep in thought as usual.

"Dude!" he shouted the second Kyle was within shouting distance.

"Hmm?" Kyle looked at him, his backpack slung over his shoulder. Stan casually handed him a ziplock bag.

"There was another one. I sorted it for you," he said, gesturing towards the pair of used panties within. Kyle's tutees had got increasing desperate of late; Kyle was wearily bagging the evidence as it showed up draped over his locker.

"Great," Kyle replied sadly, holding the bag between his thumb and forefinger as though it were toxic waste before dropping it into a generally unused section of his backpack.

Stan showed him the note as Kyle was twiddling the combination of his locker, and he saw Kyle freeze mid-way through.

"I know. Pretty sweet, huh? I'm so fucking nervous!"

Kyle still had his hand on the locker door, his combination unfinished. Stan laughed, Kyle was even more surprised than he was! He reached over to finish the combination for him and Kyle jumped as the locker opened.

"Dude?" Stan queried. He was expecting his best friend to be at least a little excited for him. Then Stan suddenly felt guilty – Kyle wasn't in any position to join him in losing his virginity anytime soon; maybe be felt like he was rubbing his face in it?

Suddenly Kyle looked up and grinned. "Wow. That's cool, man," he said, although to Stan his smile seemed a little forced.

"Yeah… Are you okay, dude?"

Kyle shook his head a little. "Yeah, of course."

Stan felt Kyle slap him hard on the back. "Congrats," he said before his expression suddenly turned serious. "You will use protection, right?"

"Of course! Dude, I've had a stash ready since, like, the second I turned sixteen and it's all still in date!" Stan felt butterflies flare up in his stomach just from the thought of finally being able to use his ‘Trojan Her Pleasure More-Gasm' pack with Wendy.

Kyle switched his books with the speed of a bullet. "I've got to go, man, but we can catch up later, yeah?" he said before practically dashing off, leaving Stan staring at his rapidly shrinking back. What the hell was up with him?

Regardless of Kyle, Stan couldn't stop thinking about tonight. He looked at his watch and willed the numbers to change to 7:30 more quickly.

~

Kyle rushed to rehearsals and pretended to study his script so as to avoid seeing Stan and Wendy canoodling in the back. God damn it, he was being pathetic. He had no right to feel anything other than happiness and relief for Stan, but the thought of him with Wendy, undressing Wendy, inside Wendy, made him feel quite nauseated and had resulted in him re-reading one paragraph on ligands seven times in his Chemistry class. Even just watching Stan glance excitedly at his watch made Kyle want to stab things.

He tried to pull himself together during the dress rehearsal – no matter how hot Wendy looked in the weirdly cute period piece Bebe had rustled up for her, it wasn't his place to care. Nevertheless, he did allow a little of his frustration to seep out during the scene where Dracula turns Mina, and to his shame he grabbed Wendy more roughly than usual and definitely bit her neck harder than he would have ordinarily done. When she looked up at him, all pink cheeked and shocked, he felt a stab of guilt. God dam it, he wasn't even any good at being spurned.

"Sup, Jew?" Cartman sat beside him, and Kyle braced himself for some sort of personal attack – even though Cartman had been suspiciously polite to him of late, he was waiting for the change.

"Shouldn't you be directing?"

"It's the dress rehearsal, asshole. You lot someone managed to do as you were told and make this work, so my work here is minimal. Thanks," Cartman added in a grudging tone as he glanced up at him. Kyle made a great show of clutching his heart.

"I'm truly touched by your outpouring of gratitude," he said in his most sarcastic tone. Cartman glared at him momentarily, then looked at the floor.

"Whatever, Jew. I mean it, you've been… you know." He stared at his hands as though he was awaiting an extra finger to appear. "You doing anything tonight? I mean after the rehearsal?"

"Kenny's taking his sister ice-skating, and Stan's—" Kyle tried not to think about Stan slowly uncovering Wendy's doubtlessly beautiful naked form and tasting the salt of her skin— "Stan's busy as well."

Cartman shrugged. "Seeing the hippie bitch, is he?"

"Yeah," Kyle replied, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. "And don't call her that."

"Let's go out," Cartman announced suddenly, clasping his hands together as though it were a done deal. "My treat."

This made Kyle sit up and feel instantly wary.

"What? You're tighter than a wrestler's pants; what's the big deal?"

"I said you'd been a help, and I know your Jew blood won't allow you to turn down a free lunch, so let's do it. Denny's and a movie tonight, what do you say? You're fucking driving, anyway; don't expect me to sub the gas." Cartman insisted without meeting his eyes. Kyle was almost certain there was a mother of an ulterior motive to this grand plan – it was Cartman, after all – but it still seemed a better idea than hanging around at home thinking about all the many and varied ways Wendy's cherry was getting popped.

"Fine. Cool," Kyle replied. "But not Denny's – I keep Kosher now that I'm a man. Not that I'd expect you to—"

"Denny's had a new menu – they'd got a Jew-friendly section," Cartman replied before Kyle could finish. Kyle nearly fell off his seat – since when was Cartman remotely considerate? Especially to him?

~

"Where the hell is her house?" Shelley demanded as she drove Stan to Wendy's.

"Near Kyle's," he replied crossly. "You didn't have to do this, you know. I could have walked."

"Dad would have got all pissy if I let his favourite son walk to a girl's house," she said with a smirk. Stan figured that he and Shelley got on better now they were both older, but he often wondered if it was just because she was at college and he didn't see her that often.

This drive to Wendy's house just caused the butterflies in Stan's stomach to multiply rapidly. What if he didn't measure up? He'd tried to compare himself to other guys in the locker room, but you couldn't really tell when they were soft and Kyle had refused to show him his when it was hard – Stan had blurted out the request last year and Kyle had told him in no uncertain terms that although their friendship had few limits, this was one of them.

What if he didn't know what he was doing? Well, he didn't know what he was doing. He'd never done this before, but then neither had Wendy. What was she expecting? Did she assume he'd just somehow know? Would he even be able to last long enough to make a good impression? He'd never seen Wendy naked before and a small part of him was terrified that the sight would be more than enough to make him pop.

"So, you do this often? Sneak off to your little girlfriend's house when her parents are out and screw her?" Shelley asked casually.

"What? No!" Stan felt himself grow very red-faced.

"Thought not." Shelley smirked again. "Nobody who's actually done it before uses ‘Trojan Her Pleasure More-Gasm'," she teased. Stan clutched his bag to his chest.

"Did you go through my stuff?" he demanded.

"Whatever, Stan. Relax," Shelley soothed. "It's your first time; you're going to suck big time, but if it's her first time as well, she's not going to know." She patted him on the shoulder and Stan figured that in a really odd way, she was probably trying to be helpful.

"Yeah. Thanks, Shelley," Stan grumbled. "Don't you have anything better to do tonight rather than hassle me?"

"Ooh, well excuse me for doing my little brother a favour," she mocked. "Well, maybe when I'm done, I'll see how your friend Kyle is."

Stan didn't like the smile that crossed Shelley's face. "What?"

"Is it just me, or did he get kind of hot since I last saw him?" she mused. "Has he got a girlfriend? Or would he appreciate someone to practice on?"

"Urgh – shut up, Shelley!" Stan groaned, covering his ears.

By the time they arrived at Wendy's house, Stan wished he could wash his brain out with bleach – he could have happily gone through his entire life never hearing what his sister thought of his best friend's ass.

Once he heard Shelley drive away, he knocked on Wendy's door and watched it creak open.

"Hi, Stan," Wendy said in a very timid voice, opening the door fully and allowing him in.

"I'm just going to freshen up," she announced almost immediately, her hand trembling in his. "Help yourself to drinks. I'll start cooking in a bit." She leant against the wall. "I thought I'd make spaghetti Bolognese, along with some bread – not garlic, obviously…" She laughed nervously, and Stan pulled her into a deep embrace.

"That sounds perfect," he assured her, a little relieved she seemed as nervous as he felt.

As Wendy dashed upstairs, Stan poked around in the kitchen for the perfect drink - nothing too gassy like soda, but nothing that could make his breath seem rancid like milk always seemed to. He eventually plumped for orange juice, and poured Wendy a glass as well to ensure they had compatible breath.

He made to sit on the Testaburgers' comfortable couch, but he barely made it to twenty seconds before his leg started to bounce in a nervous tic he thought he'd grown out of years ago. He got up and began to pace, feeling increasingly anxious the longer Wendy took. What was she doing up there? Stan began to wonder if she had a team of stylists up there sorting her out – he couldn't measure up to that; he'd only had chance to wash his balls in the sink at school before meeting her.

By the time Stan was at breaking point, Wendy shyly emerged in some dark blue dress that appeared to be held up solely by the bow tied at her neck. God damn, he wanted nothing more than to untie it. Maybe he could make an argument to forget about dinner and just head on upstairs?

~

"Oh my God, did you see the bit where the back of his head just randomly exploded? So fucking funny!" Kyle was in exuberant spirits as he drove Cartman home, and Cartman felt his enthusiasm rub off on him.

"That was so killer," he agreed. "What about the chick, when she ran after the killer, only he turned out to be carrying her boyfriend's severed head?"

Kyle laughed. "I know, right?"

Cartman had to admit, he had outdone himself this evening.

Somehow, they'd managed to get a small booth together at Denny's for dinner, and Kyle had been impressed by the menu.

"Wow, they actually have a Kosher section. Who knew?"

"I told you," Cartman pointed out. "You should trust me more often, Kyle."

"Yeah, right," Kyle had replied, but the smirk he had aimed at Cartman went straight to his dick, via his fast-beating heart.

"You're not seriously calling the play ‘Eric Cartman's Dracula', are you?" Kyle had asked suspiciously, and Cartman figured it was the perfect opportunity to show Kyle just what he was willing to give up to have him.

"What do you think we should call it, Kyle?" he has asked sweetly. "The posters and programmes are being printed in the morning."

He was rewarded with Kyle's curious glance; fuck, that boy had beautiful eyes.

"Well, I don't know… what's wrong with just ‘Dracula'?"

"We're redefining a classic, Kyle. Just calling it ‘Dracula' doesn't convey that."

To Cartman's amazement, Kyle seemed to seriously consider this.

"Good point, Cartman," he said thoughtfully.

They had eventually decided on ‘Dracula Unbound' and with a chink of their soda glasses over a dipping platter, it was a done deal; Cartman felt it was a shame they couldn't have had any candlelight.

They went to see ‘Killer Instinct III – The Murder Mansion' on the grounds that it was the only thing on and that it would be hilariously bad. Cartman was secretly very pleased; scary films gave your date every opportunity to grab you and bury their face in your chest, after all.

Alas, Kyle wasn't the burying his face kind of guy, despite Cartman giving him ample opportunity. Instead he had just sat, resting his chin on his steepled fingers, and watched intently, giving Cartman the chance to study him closely. His angular physique was poised, his expression stoic. When Kyle burst into laughter, his entire body reacted and became animated. Cartman had never noticed how pleasing Kyle's laugh was when he truly let go.

So now, in the passenger seat of Kyle's car, sniggering away over every stupidly hilarious moment of ‘Killer Instinct III – The Murder Mansion', Cartman felt strangely warm and happy. Things were going incredibly well – he wasn't sure he'd ever seen Kyle laugh so much and he was acutely aware that Stan's name hadn't cropped up once in their conversations.

They arrived at Cartman's house all too soon. Cartman watched as Kyle pulled over but kept the engine running.

"Thanks, man," he said with a shiny smile. "I had a great time tonight."

"Me too, Kyle. Me too," Cartman agreed, slowly unbuckling his seatbelt and wanting to stretch out the evening as long as possible. "We should do it again sometime, huh?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we should," Kyle agreed, and Cartman had to use all of his self-control not to jump him there and then. Give him time, just a little more time, and he would melt into his arms.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow," Cartman said casually as he opened the car door and clambered out. Always leave them wanting more.

"Sure thing; opening night and all," Kyle said happily, waving as Cartman turned around and walked to his front door, willing himself with every step to play it cool and not turn around.

He was still convinced he didn't hear Kyle drive off until he reached his doorstep. Cartman put his key in the lock with a real sense of satisfaction. They had a wrap party after their one and only performance of ‘Dracula Unbound' tomorrow night; right now, he was quite happy that silly bitch Bebe has insisted on black tie. The formal attire and the heady atmosphere of post-stage giddiness would provide the perfect surroundings to tell Kyle how he felt. That was the time Kyle would fall for him, he was certain.

~

Wendy locked the bathroom door and began to pace frantically. She was ready for this, she was ready for this, she was ready for this. Stan was waiting in her parents' bedroom for her and she was totally excited and not at all scared.

She sat on the side of the bath and tried to compose herself. She loved Stan and she wanted this. They'd had a lovely meal together – where Stan had made it abundantly clear that he was eager for dessert, and he didn't mean the chocolate torte Wendy had left on the kitchen table to defrost.

She splashed her face with cold water, patted it dry with a towel and unlocked the door, ready to endure… no, not endure! She wanted this; she wanted her and Stan to finally consummate their relationship.

Her heart melted a little at the sight of Stan perched on the end of her parents' bed, nervously examining a condom packet. He caught her eye and stuffed it awkwardly in his back pocket as he stood up.

"Hey, Wendy. You ready? I mean… Hey." Stan's blushing and obvious nervousness made Wendy feel a little better.

"Hey yourself," she replied, walking up to him and letting him slide his arms around her waist. He kissed her lips gently, languidly parting them and allowing his tongue to explore.

Wendy wrapped her arms around his neck and let his fingers explore familiar territory. It was almost comforting to feel Stan's hands dancing over her bare skin, although she was surprised when his hands crept down to her panties.

"Wendy," he murmured as he kissed her neck while delicately probing at her underwear. "You're so wet."

Wendy giggled nervously. She knew exactly why she was… well, how she was, and it had everything to do with Kyle's rather rough handling of her during the dress rehearsal where Dracula turned Mina.

Stan gently walked her to the bed and as she lay down, she silently berated herself. What the hell kind of new-wave feminist is turned on by being roughly manhandled? She couldn't bring herself to speak to Kyle all evening – outside of the lines they spoke to one another – out of sheer embarrassment.

She looked up from the bed and saw Stan take off his shirt as he knelt between her legs, his expression one of intense concentration.

"You sure about this, Wendy?" he asked huskily as he steadied his hands on her knees.

"I'm sure," Wendy replied, sitting up and attempting to unbutton his fly. Through nervous giggles and a team effort, they managed to get Stan's pants off, although Stan topped into Wendy when he tried to kick them away.

"Sorry, Wendy," he said between blushes and gentle laughter. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she replied, hugging his practically naked form close. He felt comforting and familiar; the warm weight settled against Wendy's chest felt nice and kind of safe. The way Kyle handled her today was pure danger.

With a loving smile, Stan tucked his fingers under her neck and untied her dress.

"I've wanted to do this for so long," he whispered as he tenderly peeled off her dress. Wendy couldn't help but giggle; she felt a bundle of nerves as her skin was exposed.

Stan gazed at her hungrily, and his hands trailed down to her underpants. Wendy wound her fingers into Stan's hair almost as though she was bracing herself. He was so handsome and kind; how could she want anyone other than him? As she thought this, the sudden, sharp memory of Kyle's hands pulling her flush to his angular form assaulted her; his breath, his bite, the dark tone of his voice commanding her to him…

Suddenly, Stan had squirmed out of her grip and was staring at her, aghast.

"…The fuck?" he stammered out, wide-eyed and horrified.

"Stan? What's the matter?" Wendy asked, growing cold from both his stare and his missing body heat.

"You just called me Kyle!" His voice had a tremor of fear to it. "Why would you do that?"

"I… I… Did I?" Wendy didn't recall saying anything of the sort, although she could feel her cheeks burn hotly.

"Yes, you did." Stan sounded pissed off now. "You grabbed my head and when I got your panties down over your butt, you said, ‘Oh, Kyle!' Don't try and deny it!" He sat on the edge of the bed and hung his head in his hands. Wendy hastily pulled on her panties and scrambled across the bed until she was kneeling next to him.

"Stan?" She reached over to touch his arm, but he pulled away sharply.

"Where did that even come from?"

"I… I don't know—"

"I mean, it's hardly some kind of nervous tic you've been hiding for years… do you think about Kyle when we're together? Is that it?"

"No!"

"Then why, Wendy?"

"I don't know!" she cried. "I don't know why I said… I didn't mean to!"

"I should fucking hope not!" Stan shouted back, before his shoulders hunched up again.

"Stan, please; it was just nonsense," Wendy pleaded. "Let's just get back to what we were doing and forget about it."

"Wendy, I can't just forget about it!" Stan replied, standing up. "We were… We were, you know, and you called out for Kyle! We were about to screw and you were thinking about my best friend!"

He started hastily gathering up his clothes.

"Stan, wait!" Wendy begged as he pulled on his jeans. "Just… Just hold on!" She got up and attempted to hug him. "It didn't mean anything! I love you, Stan, and I'm right here," she added shyly, gesturing towards her near naked frame.

Stan simply hung his head. "I'm sorry, Wendy. I can't just forget about it," he said, pulling away from her and buttoning up his shirt. "Would you? I mean, honestly, if I'd called out Bebe's name when we were both naked and ready to go, would you be able to just carry on like nothing had happened?"

Wendy said nothing as she folded her arms over her chest. He was right, of course.

He finally looked up at her, and she could see he had tears in his eyes.

"Stan," she whispered futilely as he left the bedroom, his footsteps echoing on the stairs before she heard the front door slam shut.

Unable to contain herself any longer, Wendy simply curled up on the bed and sobbed herself to sleep.

Chapter Seventeen: The Play's the Thing – Climax and Resolution

Kyle rang the doorbell and gripped his acoustic guitar anxiously. He hoped to Abraham this would work. He had an early morning tutoring session to make up for the fact he was busy with the play this evening, and he figured this would be his last ditch attempt to get their libidos off his back.

"Hel… Oh." Ruby sounded deeply disappointed.

"Hi!" Kyle said with fake enthusiasm. "It's algebra day today! I had a great idea for getting you guys to remember quadratic equations." He patted his guitar.

Ruby stared at him with a mixture of horror and disgust. "Sure. Come in."

The other girls were sitting around the table. Their expressions soured as they took in Kyle's corduroy jacket with the leather patches in the elbows, his starched white shirt, his sandals and his guitar.

"What's with the guitar?" Andie, the blonde girl who looked about twenty, asked.

"I had a neat idea! I thought I'd help you guys to learn about quadratic equations with a little song!"

He caught Karen's eye for a moment; she was giggling so hard he had to look away, else he'd explode into laughter as well. The crucial element to being this much of a dickless wonder was to take it more seriously than the Pope took mass. He made a great show of tuning his guitar, took a deep breath and started to play.

"Quadratic equations won't cause you to rage and vent,

If you use coefficients!

Just plug them in and you will see,

Quadratic equations are as easy as can be!

But to ensure you have the right result,

Check your solution using the discriminant!"

Kyle glanced at the girls' horrified expressions, and it was this that prompted his next words, words he knew would make it physically impossible for them to have any remotely sexual feelings towards him ever again.

"Come on, girls; join in!"

"Umm, that's cool, Kyle," Tina, the dark-haired girl, said darkly. "How about we just do the lesson plan, huh?"

An hour of solid work later, where Kyle was convinced they had got through more material than they had in the past month, he poured himself a well-deserved cup of coffee while the girls huddled together and chatted in the garden, looking over every so often at him with vague disgust.

He sighed happily.

Karen nudged him in the leg with her knee, holding her own cup. "Forget what they say about Ike; you're definitely the genius."

"Thanks. You think it worked?"

"Like a charm. I don't think I've seen anyone so sexually repellent before," she said in a congratulatory tone.

"Awesome," Kyle replied, just as part of him wondered if maybe he shouldn't have gone the whole hog. He needed all the help he could get when it came to girls his own age who weren't dazzled by a few extra years and a mini flip-chart.

It was around then that Karen moved her hair and Kyle saw an ugly swollen bruise on the side of her face.

"Whoa, Karen. What happened?" he asked, gently running his thumb under the swelling. She pulled away instantly and arranged her hair so it fell over the mark.

"N… Nothing," she stammered. "It's nothing."

"It's not noth—"

"Okay, okay." She sighed heavily. "Some guys came looking for my parents last night. I told them they weren't in and… well, I guess that was the wrong answer."

Kyle immediately felt his blood start to boil. "The fuck, Karen? Did you call the police? What about Kenny? Hell, you could have called me, I'd have sorted it out."

Karen started to laugh. "That's sweet, Kyle, but you really couldn't."

"Well, okay, but I could have got my ass kicked in your place."

"I'm okay, Kyle. I'll sort it out," Karen said quietly. "But thanks for caring," she added, kissing him on the cheek before skipping out to the garden to join her friends. Kyle was left somewhat worried about her.

Just as he set his cup down on the kitchen top, he heard Mrs. Tucker's voice.

"Tom?"

Kyle turned around. "No, Mrs Tucker. Just me."

Mrs Tucker surveyed him with a strange look in her eyes. "Why hello, Kyle," she drawled. "You… Do you usually…" She gestured with her hand at his attire.

Kyle laughed. "Funnily enough, I think I'm going to keep it up," he replied, turning back to pick up his cup. "Do you want me to wash this or should I just—"

His voice rapidly left him as he turned back around and saw Mrs Tucker had unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor, exposing her shiny red lingerie. To Kyle's horrified amazement, she tugged on a little string under each bra cup and her nipples were suddenly on display like starlets on a stage during the curtain call. He didn't know where to look, so decided on the floor. The floor was definitely a good place to stare right now; he'd never noticed how the linoleum had little grey flecks in it before.

"I think you should keep it up for a long time, sugar," she said, stepping forward and pinning him to the kitchen counter. Not knowing what else to do, Kyle hastily grabbed his guitar and interposed it between him and Mrs Tucker's breasts.

"Umm, I could sing you a song about quadratic equations?" he offered uncertainly.

~

With a bouquet of flowers in his hand and hope in his heart, Stan knocked on Wendy's door. He nervously checked his breath just as the door creaked open, revealing Wendy looking breath-taking in a pretty blue dress.

"Hi, Stan," she said, leaning against the doorframe. "Come on in."

She turned on her heel, swishing her perfect ass a little as she looked over her shoulder and took his hand.

"Why don't you come upstairs, Stan?" she offered. Stan gulped away a dry throat.

"S… Sure," he said, practically tripping up the stairs in his eagerness to follow Wendy.

They arrived at her parents' bedroom; the white sheets and chrome headboard were both familiar and new to Stan. Not that he had much time to consider this, for Wendy beckoned him over with one finger and he leant in for a kiss.

"Oh, Stan," she sighed as he pulled away. Just as Stan was about to reach to undo a button on her dress, he was distracted by an almighty crash.

Wendy ducked behind the bed with a squeal and Stan shielded them both from the glass which shattered across the room. He looked up and saw Kyle swing into the room on a giant rope. He landed on his feet and put his leather-gloved hands on his hips, drawing Stan's attention to his leather thong.

"Kyle! What the hell are you doing?" Stan demanded. "And what's with the ridiculous moustache?"

Kyle smiled and his teeth seemed to gleam in the dim light. "What do you think, Stan? I'm here to fuck!" He flicked his unruly curls back and winked at Wendy, who had stood up from her hiding place and stared at him with dilated pupils.

"Oh, Kyle!" she purred, before she rushed up to him and ran her hand over his skinny chest.

"Wendy!" Stan remonstrated, and she looked up at him a little indignantly.

"Stan, I can't help it! He's just so sexy," she sighed. Kyle shrugged and smacked her ass – the sound seemed to reverberate around the room as a gasp of shocked desire escaped from Wendy's lips.

"That's right, baby. Come to Daddy," Kyle growled, giving her left nipple a tweak through her dress. Wendy's eyes rolled a little in desire, and her dress mysteriously fell to the floor, revealing her beautiful figure, naked save for stocking and suspenders.

"Kyle!" she gasped in outraged excitement, her hand flying to her chest as though to calm her wildly beating heart while Kyle caressed her ass cheeks with a single gloved hand.

"Don't worry. I'm here, baby," he murmured, tilting her back and kissing her hungrily. Stan couldn't look away, as horrified as he was, and had to witness Wendy sliding eagerly to her knees and going to town on Kyle's dick.

"Wendy!" Stan cried out.

"Mmm," she moaned. "It's so big, and it tastes just like cinnamon!"

Kyle effortlessly lifted her up and flung her onto the bed. "I've got better uses for you, darling," he crooned as he exposed his eye-wateringly humongous cock. "Spread your legs for me, baby." He quirked his eyebrow and the action seemed to stoke Wendy's libido further.

To Stan's horror, Wendy eagerly obeyed and cried out in ecstasy when Kyle plunged inside her, slinging her legs over his shoulders to get deeper access.

"Oh, Kyle! Yes, yes, yes!" Wendy gasped, gripping at the bed sheets and arching her back.

"Oh yeah. You like that, don't you, baby?" Kyle grunted, thrusting deeply and slowly with apparently no effort at all.

"Ooh, I love it," she moaned back. "Ride me, Kyle! Ride me like a rodeo bull! Ride me like a pony!"

"Then giddy up, filly," Kyle panted, giving Wendy a loving pat in the side of her ass as he thrust in and out of her like he had a power tool attached to his crotch.

Stan couldn't even find his voice as Wendy's excitement – and volume – grew.

"Yes! Oh, God! I'm going to die, but fuck they'll struggle to wipe the smile off my face for the coffin!" Wendy screamed.

"Who's my little fuck bunny?" Kyle cooed as he caressed her breasts.

"Ooh… Ooh… I'm your little fuck bunny!" Wendy groaned. "I'm your filthy little fuck bunny!"

"Wendy!" Stan begged. "You were meant to be my little fuck bun—"

"Oh, Kyle! More, more, more!" Wendy cried out.

"You want more, baby?" Kyle replied in challenge.

"Oh, God! Yes! I need more, don't ever stop!"

Kyle chuckled softly. "Relax, Wendy. I won't stop until you pass out from sheer orgasmic pleasure. Then, when you're revived, I'll keep going all over again… Hey, look Stan – no hands!"

Stan woke up with a scream, tangled up in his own bed sheets. When he remembered what had caused him to creep back into his bedroom late last night, suddenly his horrible dream didn't seem so awful. At least that was just some dumb fucking dream – the reality was that he had Wendy practically naked in his arms last night, and she cried out for Kyle.

He showered and dressed in a bit of a daze, unable to shake Wendy's confession – or her tears – from his mind. How fucking confusing? He was mad at her, yet her distress still hurt like a knife to his balls.

As he sat down for breakfast, the worst thought entered his head – were Wendy and Kyle seeing each other behind his back? He dismissed it almost instantly, because neither Kyle nor Wendy would do such a thing… or so he'd assumed.

"Umm, Stan? What are you doing here?" his dad asked, spatula in hand and with an expression of puzzlement o his face. "I thought you went to Wendy's last night?"

Stan felt his face colour up. ""Wh… what? No! I just went over to, umm, study!" Stan protested.

His dad turned to the stove and slipped over a pancake. "What, with a pack of ‘Trojan Her Pleasure More-Gasm'—"

"God damn it!"

Stan soon found a plate laden with pancakes in front of him. His dad sat next to him and squirted maple syrup on his own pancakes.

"So, what happened? Her folks find out?" he asked.

"Dad!"

"Sorry. It just seemed…" His dad sighed heavily and patted him on the shoulder. "Son, you don't leave your girl alone the first night you… You've got to stay with her, make her feel loved and secure. That way she might let you try anal next time—"

"Dad! Nothing happened, okay!" Stan yelled, slamming his fist against the kitchen table. His dad simply ignored him and carried on eating his pancakes.

Stan sighed, the sound of his dad's chomping too much for him to bear. "I think Wendy likes someone else," he said eventually, and heard his dad's fork clatter into the plate as a result.

"What makes you say that?"

"We were… We were, you know, about to… and she said Kyle's name, not mine." Stan felt his cheeks burn and his heart sink all at once.

His dad stared at his plate for a while, clearly pretending to cough. Stan glared at him as he watched his dad's shaking shoulders.

"Dad! It's not funny!"

"Sorry, Son." His dad wiped his eyes on a nearby dishcloth. "There's no way Wendy likes Kyle over you, okay?"

"Why not?" Stan asked hopefully.

"Because… Well, son, because it's Kyle. He's fallen out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down." His dad chuckled again. "I figured you hung out with him because he made you look good."

Stan sighed. "Dad, girls think Kyle's hot."

As his dad continued to laugh so hard he was in danger of collapsing into his breakfast, Stan noticed Shelley stomp down the stairs.

"Stop making so much noise! Some of us are on break!" she complained.

"Shelley, do you think Kyle's hot?" Stan asked dully, only to see Shelley predictably appear a little flustered.

"Why – has he said anything to you?" she asked.

The only grim pleasure he got from the whole thing was that he had shut his dad up.

"I'm going to school," Stan muttered, leaving his breakfast barely touched as he left the house.

~

Kyle knocked on Stan's door, feeling a little confused and – if he was perfectly honest- a little violated. He would have showered and changed back home, but his mother had given him such an interrogation about his tutoring session that he'd figured it was safer to duck and run.

He was surprised when Stan's father opened the door – usually Stan was in a hurry to avoid Kyle having to experience much contact with his parents.

"Umm, hi. Is Stan ready?" Kyle said, just before it suddenly dawned on him that Stan probably didn't come home last night; he'd been working overtime to block any thoughts of Stan and Wendy together, along with practising his ‘Wow, congratulations!' response in the mirror until he no longer resembled a Doberman chewing a wasp.

"Or, he might have stayed at Token's last night to do his science report," Kyle added hastily. "I forgot he mentioned that—"

"It's okay, Kyle – I know he was at Wendy's," Mr. Marsh replied. "He was here, actually. You just missed him."

"Oh." It seemed strange to Kyle that Stan wouldn't have hung around to wait for him; he must have assumed he wouldn't have bothered calling, given he knew what he was up to last night.

Kyle soon became acutely aware that Mr. Marsh was staring at him rather oddly.

"Umm… Are you alright, Kyle?" Mr. Marsh asked eventually, gesturing awkwardly in Kyle's general direction. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the Marsh's hallway mirror and saw his ripped shirt, hair sticking out at all angles and the lipstick smudges on his face and neck.

"Fine, Mr Marsh," Kyle insisted. "I merely executed my final plan to destroy Ruby Tucker and her cronies' libidos for good."

"Okay." Stan's dad appeared a little confused. "Their libidos?"

"I simply made myself a dickless geography teacher to make myself as sexually unappealing to fourteen year old girls as possible."

Stan's father eyed him cautiously. "Umm… did it work?"

Kyle looked at him, and managed what he hoped was a relaxed smile.

"I won the battle, but I believe I lost the war," he said in a calm tone that didn't match how he felt inside. "Now, if you'll excuse me, seeing as Stan isn't about, I'm going to sneak into the school gym to take a long, hot shower before my lessons start."

As Kyle left the Marsh's house, he realised why his mother had asked so many questions as he tried to leave for school.

~

Cartman piled up his tray in the canteen and met the canteen lady's querulous stare with a, "What? I've got a busy day, bitch," before paying his bill.

He found Kyle alone at a table, apparently contemplating his veggie burger and fries with deep interest – Cartman knew Kyle always avoided meat in the school canteen after the whole ‘Beef burgers containing twenty percent pork' fiasco towards the end of eighth grade. He'd gone fucking crazy, and it had been hilarious. Their canteen lady at junior high school had been genuinely scared, although that might have been because she knew who Kyle's bitch of a mom was.

"Sup, Jew," Cartman said casually as he sat next to Kyle.

"Oh. Hey, Cartman," Kyle replied, still gazing at the fat fry impaled on his fork as though it contained the secrets of the universe. Cartman found him endlessly fascinating when he was like this; quiet, calm and constantly turning things over in his mind. Still, there was an element of melancholy surrounding him that made Cartman feel a little cold and sick inside – he'd accepted now that when Kyle was unhappy, it made Cartman feel unhappy too.

"What did that fry do to piss you off?" Cartman asked. "Just fucking eat it and put it out of its misery."

Kyle turned to face him, all sharp angles and soft eyes. "I think Stan's—" he glanced at Cartman's tray in disgust – "Dude, what the fuck?"

"What? It's the night of the play, I need my fuel!"

"You only need that much fuel if you're personally powering the fucking lights," Kyle quipped.

"Whatever, Jew. I need my strength. Anyway, where's Stan?" Cartman asked, not wanting to miss the confession Kyle had on his lips earlier.

"I think he's avoiding me," Kyle replied, and Cartman felt his heart skip a beat.

"What makes you think that?" he asked as casually as he could.

"The fact that he's been avoiding me all day," Kyle replied, inclining his head towards a table where Stan was talking with Craig, Token and Clyde. Cartman was slightly surprised, because Stan only seemed to tolerate Clyde because he was screwing the hippie bitch's friend and he had once openly stated he thought Craig was a dick. He couldn't help but wonder; had Stan been pissed off that Cartman whisked Kyle away for a romantic evening of pancakes and serial killers last night?

"What's crawled up his ass and died?" Cartman asked instead.

"I don't know," Kyle answered, looking genuinely confused and dropping his fork onto his plate. Cartman wanted to kiss a smile back on his sharply beautiful face. He wouldn't play dickish games like Stan, not with Kyle.

"Forget him," Cartman urged, clapping a hand on Kyle's sharp, bony shoulder. "We've got an important play tonight, and you need to chill." Taking the opportunity, Cartman put both his hands at the base of Kyle's neck and slowly kneaded at the knots along his spine.

"Yes, sir," Kyle sighed, pushing his tray further along and folding his arms on the table. When he leant his head against his arms and seemingly submitted wholly to Cartman's touch, Cartman had to concentrate hard on not coming right there in his pants. Jesus fucking Christ, he would be happy worshipping Kyle and his beautiful body until the end of fucking time.

Suddenly, Kenny sat next to them with his food stamp tray. Cartman bristled, expecting Kyle to sit up and their moment to be over.

"Why the fuck are you letting Cartman molest you, Kyle?" he asked, but Kyle merely chuckled.

"I know, Kenny, but he's actually pretty fucking good at this." He turned his head a little and looked at Cartman with a deliciously languid expression on his face – Cartman was terrified he'd started blushing.

"You should do this professionally," Kyle commented.

"Yeah, some of those old ladies would pay you loads if you went a little lower with your fat fingers," Kenny said with a snigger.

"Shut the fuck up, you poor piece of trash!" Cartman spat. Professional his ass – nobody got to experience this except for Kyle.

"What's up, Kenny? You look exhausted," Kyle said, and when Cartman glanced across at the white trash asshole, he could see his point. Kenny had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and was clearly in need of a good sleep. Thank fuck Kenny had been doing set design and wasn't really needed tonight – Cartman didn't want anyone screwing things up this evening.

Suddenly, Kyle sat up and Cartman had no choice but to cease caressing his warm skin.

"Kenny," he said in a worried tone, "did Karen mention she'd been—"

"Yeah. Don't worry, I know," Kenny said darkly. "I'm on it."

"Okay. She said she could handle it, but dude, she was so freaked out…"

"Kyle, if there's anything up with Karen, I always want to know," Kenny replied. The two of them exchanged this fucking annoying little nod, like they were members of some exclusive big brothers' club.

Cartman glanced around the room, and to his amazement, noticed a very upset Wendy huddled together with Bebe at a table. Not that he could blame her – if he wanted comforting, Bebe's huge bouncing titties would be a good place to start.

Suddenly, the cogs started to turn and he finally figured it out – Stan was getting all pissy because he was losing his hold over Kyle! He must be taking it out on Wendy too, which is why the hippie slut was so miserable. As far as Cartman was concerned, this meant Stan must be starting to realise he can't have both of them – his worry was that he'd think he could have Kyle.

As Cartman watched Kyle jam his fingers through his unruly curls while leaning his head on his hand, he knew there was no way he was going to let Stan win this one.

~

Kyle figured that maybe he should be feeling more anxious, given tonight he was going to be on stage in front of three hundred and forty-nine people – if the ticket sales were anything to go by. As he opened the door to his home, he found he was more concerned with Stan avoiding him as though he was contagious. He couldn't think of anything he'd done to piss him off – he'd been helpful and encouraging when Stan crushed his heart to rubble with his news about his and Wendy's virginity-losing project, as that was the last time they'd really spoken.

Not that he had much time to deliberate over Stan's mood, as he found his mother in the kitchen, crying her eyes out.

"Mom? Is everything okay?" he asked stupidly, hovering awkwardly by the door. Yeah, everything was fine – that's why she was sobbing into the granite work surface.

As he approached her, he saw a letter in her hand – the knuckles oddly bruised and swollen – with the Harvard crest emblazoned across it. His heart sinking, he took it from her.

"I'm sorry, Bubbeleh. I couldn't stand waiting any longer—"

Normally he'd be furious that his mother had gone through his personal correspondence, but this time he could sympathise a little. "It's okay, Ma. I said I didn't think I'd get in," Kyle replied at around the point he read the ‘…would be delighted to offer you a place on our engineering course…' part of the watermarked letter.

Oh. Well, fuck. Why the hell was she crying?

"I'm so proud of you, Kyle," his mother said, hugging him. "Just wait until I tell your aunt Sarah; my boy's off to Harvard. That'll show her for all the years she's smugly gone on about the cultural limitations of small town living—"

"Hold up, Ma. I don't know if I'm going to accept!" Kyle spluttered; the news was so unexpected, he hadn't even considered how he'd react.

His mother stared at him as though he'd just been caught with a dead body and a shovel. "Kyle! It's an incredible opportunity! How can you even consider not accept—"

"I just… I just need to think about it, okay!" he retorted, rushing upstairs to his room, letter in hand.

Like he needed anything else to think about right now.

~

Stan hung around backstage as Red refitted his costume, his eyes surreptitiously watching Wendy smooth down her dorky period dress, and Kyle pace frantically in the corner of the room. He was trying to be rational, really he was, but every moment he managed to convince himself that Wendy had just babbled anxious nonsense in the heat of the moment last night and she had eyes only for him, he saw her glance at Kyle with concern in her eyes.

Eventually, Stan saw her walk over to Kyle and touch his arm. She said something to Kyle, who then showed her a letter of some description that made her smile and reach to hug him – she stopped herself suddenly. This made Stan even more suspicious – why stop if there was nothing to hide?

"Quit wriggling!" Red hissed. "Unless you want me to stab you with my fucking needle?"

"Sorry," Stan said dully.

"Is everything okay?" Red asked, and the concern in her voice shocked Stan – mainly because Red never showed any concern to anyone.

"Yeah, fine," he replied. "Thanks," he added as an afterthought, only Red steadfastly refused to look up at him to acknowledge it.

Soon he was sent away looking like the perfect Victorian dandy, which made him feel even more of a loser.

"Right, gather around, everyone!" Cartman roared, clapping his hands and urging the cast into a small horseshoe formation of Victorian pussification. God, they all looked ridiculous – Kyle looked like he belonged in a Goth band.

"This is our one chance to impress. I've worked my ass off for this moment, so if any of you dickholes fuck this up, I will personally kill you." Cartman's expression could have frozen Hell, until he suddenly turned on the charm. "Okay, places everyone! Good luck!" he added gleefully. Stan didn't doubt he'd at least attempt to carry out his threat.

Stan hadn't paid that much attention to the dress rehearsal – he knew his lines and he hadn't had anything thrown at him, so he'd assumed he was doing okay – but now he was watching the performances with a critical eye. His scenes with Kyle in Dracula's castle had a definite edge to them; Kyle really was good and Stan couldn't help but be swept along with it. He did his best to relish his erotic moments with Red, Heidi and Millie in the hope that it would piss Wendy off, but she barely seemed to notice.

The first warning siren went off in Stan's mind as he watched Wendy watching Kyle and Bebe from backstage during their highly charged scene where Dracula turns Lucy. They had just performed Jonathan and Mina's hastily arranged wedding and as Mina had said ‘I do,' and the lights on them had gone out to camouflage their exit, Dracula had seduced Lucy. God damn, Bebe could scream sexily. Even the adults in the audience were looking a little uncomfortable at her, or were they shifting in their seats at the way Kyle somehow pulled this dark fucking act where he seemed to be almost getting off on her pain? Good lord, how had he never noticed this before? How the fuck were they even getting away with showing this? Sure, it wasn't in your face, but you could hardly ignore it!

He'd glanced at Wendy to try and maybe break the ice a little and share his astonishment, only to see that she was cringing at the sight. Stan would have assumed her clenched fists and locked jaw were maybe directed at Kyle for being so brutally sexual with her friend. Now he was beginning to wonder if it was aimed at Bebe for being on the receiving end.

The second warning bell rang hard in Stan's head; he was amazed he didn't get a migraine. He had to confess during all the rehearsals of Dracula turning Mina, he'd always been dicking about with Clyde, Token and Kevin – who played Holmwood, Seward and Morris, respectively – while Craig would check his stunt crossbow and complain about trying to ‘get in the zone'. Craig took it way too fucking seriously – he'd even attempted to grow a beard because he felt Van Helsing would have one.

The upshot of all this was that he'd never watched the way Kyle appeared through the dry ice as though he'd transformed from the very mist that flooded under the bedroom door on set. He'd never watched the way he approached Wendy's pretend sleeping form, how he stroked her hair lovingly from her face before she stirred, started to scream in fright, but fell silent at a wave of his hand. He hadn't noticed the way Wendy gazed into Kyle's eyes, the way she unbuttoned her nightdress and exposed her neck to him, the way he stalked around her as though it was only a matter of time before… holy fuck, the way he ran his hand tenderly along her throat to her chest before his lips searched for her pulse point. The way she cried out in ecstasy as he pulled her close and nipped at her pulse point – what the fuck, that was her little hot spot, how did he even know?

He glanced out at the audience, and even they seemed a little uncomfortable – although it was difficult to tell with Mrs. Tucker due to the dark glasses she was wearing; which was kind of weird, given it was indoors.

Stan felt a sharp shove between his shoulder blades.

"That's our cue!" Craig hissed in his ear, and Stan was forced to go out on stage and confront Kyle while his girlfriend hungrily sucked his finger in a way that basically looked like porn to him. Craig had to hold him back at one point while doing his speech about Dracula's evil intent and Mina's inevitable demise. Craig and Kyle were something to watch – they both seemed to inhabit their characters, and you could cut the tension with a knife as Kyle challenged Van Helsing to stop him.

Stan held Wendy as she acted dazed, confused and eventually horrified, occasionally touching her bleeding neck. Despite the thick theatrical make-up they were all wearing, Stan was certain he could see a blush on Wendy's cheeks – a quick glance down and he noticed her throat and chest were all red and blotchy.

Towards the end of the play – where Van Helsing, Jonathan and all Lucy's suitors are led by Mina's connection with Dracula to the Count's castle – Stan knew he was stage fighting with Kyle a little too roughly, but he couldn't help it. In a way, it was probably for the best that Cartman and Kyle had changed the ending. If Stan had the chance to slit Kyle's throat with that stage curved knife, he might have gone too far.

Still, when Wendy struck the final blow to Kyle's chest and he slowly died in her arms, Stan was convinced he felt a little bit of vomit rise up his throat.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Wendy croaked, cradling Kyle in her arms. "I had to save you."

Kyle reached up and cupped her face with a trembling hand. "I only wish,,, I could have done the same for you, dear Wilhelmina," he whispered, before theatrically slumping to his death. Stan watched as Wendy appeared confused for a moment, then suddenly sad, still clutching Kyle's hand. That was the theme Cartman and Kyle had conjured up for their retelling of Dracula – for all of the Count's menace and rage, he genuinely loved the women he turned, especially Mina. The idea was that he thought the life of a Victorian woman was a life wasted, and Mina's sadness was a reflection of this realisation – that her life with Jonathan would be one of sexual repression and unfulfilled ambition. At the time they had first read the play, Stan hadn't given a shit. Now, he felt it was something of an insult to Jonathan.

As Stan put his arms around Wendy and said the line, "It's alright, Mina. It's finally over," he started to wonder whether Wendy was feeling much the same way about their relationship.

~

Once the play was over and they'd taken their final curtain call – where Stan had let go for her hand the second they were out of view of the audience- Wendy rushed to the changing rooms and found the most secluded area she could before she started to cry. This was all such a mess.

She was as miserable as sin over what had happened with Stan – and the fact he couldn't bear to even speak to her outside of their lines – yet she couldn't get over how weirdly hot Kyle looked in his full costume. For God's sake, she was supposed to be fixing her relationship, not getting distracted by the way Kyle's hair could only be slicked back into waves, or how his overly pale made-up face had such exaggerated cheekbones and lips stained red, and how fetching she found his dark velvet housecoat and billowing white shirt.

She'd had another knee-trembling orgasm the moment her character was turned, a combination of the intense way Kyle ground her body against his, the brush of his soft lips on her bare skin, the sweet pain of his bite… she had to snap out of it. She'd even forgotten to keep quiet this time, and had let slip a breathy gasp of ecstasy that her microphone hadn't failed to pick up and reverberate around the entire room. Given Cartman had come up to her after the scene and whispered, "Damn, Wendy!" appreciatively, at least it hadn't ruined her performance.

Wendy briskly undressed and washed off her make-up while listening to the chatter of her excited classmates as they rushed in and out, congratulating each other and talking about the audience reaction – from what Wendy had overheard, it had been received as controversial, but in a good way. She put on the purple body-con dress that Bebe had practically demanded she wore tonight. Bebe had organised their wrap party – if it hadn't been for that, Wendy would have just snuck off home. Listening out for silence as she pulled on her thick black pantyhose and purple high heels, she eventually emerged into the main changing area when it appeared to be empty. Catching sight of her tear-streaked mess of a face, she attempted to put on a bit of make-up to try and cover the damage.

Just as she had made herself look vaguely presentable, she was the reflection of Kyle in the mirror, bare-chested and hastily towel-drying his hair. In her shock, she dropped her compact. Kyle rushed over, towel now around his shoulders.

"Sorry, Wendy. Didn't mean to scare you," he said, ducking down and retrieving her compact.

"Thanks. You didn't, I was just startled," Wendy insisted. She glanced up and saw his damp curls. "You didn't like the slicked-back look?"

Kyle shuddered. "My head looks like a sex toy – I was gifted with my ridiculous hair for a reason." With those words, Kyle took a pot of some kind of serum from his pocket and worked some of it into his curls. Despite herself, Wendy couldn't help but smile, especially when she saw a patch of white make-up on his neck.

"You missed a bit," she said, taking a tissue out of her bag and wiping it away.

"Uh, thanks," Kyle replied bashfully, and that in itself gave Wendy tingles. She backed up against the benches, only for Kyle to follow and reach past her. She leant to the side and realised he'd grabbed his shirt from a nearby hook. He slipped it on and started to button it up; Wendy could see where it soaked up tiny damp patches on his skin.

He fingered his bow tie with a serious expression on his face. "I don't suppose you know how to tie these things, do you?" he asked, tucking the black fabric under his open collar and letting it hang around his neck.

Unable to stop herself being an idiot, Wendy reached forward and held the two ends of his bow tie in her hands. He leant one arm on the row of coat pegs just next to her, and Wendy felt entirely too close to him.

"I don't have a clue, sorry," she breathed, feeling herself colour up as he looked at her intently.

"You look nice, by the way," he said casually. "That dress, it's… nice." Something in the way he said such a polite, off-hand compliment made it feel so much more intense.

"Thanks. You don't looks bad yourself, actually," she stammered out. Damn it, there was just something about formalwear that made everything about nine times sexier to Wendy. She was so close to just throwing caution to the wind and kissing Kyle –

"Thought I might find you two here." Stan had entered the changing area, already in his formal wear, with an elasticated bow tie. Though his voice was light, his expression was darker than Wendy had ever known. "What's going on?"

"Oh. Hey, dude," Kyle said airily. "Wendy was just helping me with my bow tie."

"She can't tie those things," Stan replied coolly.

"Yeah, we'd just got to that," Kyle said. Wendy noticed he looked rather confused – at least now she knew Stan couldn't have told him about last night.

"Right, I've had enough of this," Stan said suddenly. "How long has this been going on?"

"Has what been going on?" Kyle asked, and Wendy felt her heart plummet.

"Stan, seriously, there's nothing going on. Just… Just leave Kyle out of this," she insisted.

"Why the hell are you defending him? He's not your Goddamned boyfriend!" Stan shot back.

"What the fuck are you two going on about?" Kyle was beginning to sound really pissed off.

"Kyle," Wendy begged, but Stan cut her off with a, "You two. Either you've got something going on behind my back, or… For fuck's sake, did you even notice what you were like on stage?" Stan yelled.

"Dude, we were acting. It was a play," Kyle pointed out through gritted teeth.

"Shut the fuck up about acting! Wendy's clearly got the biggest hard-on for you, and you're just revelling in it!"

Kyle stared hard at Stan when he said this.

"What? I… what? Oh, forget it – I literally have nothing to say to that," he spat out. Wendy noticed his hands began to tremble a little before he bunched them into fists.

"Stan, stop it," Wendy begged. "It's… God, Stan, this is really embarrassing—"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Wendy. You've spent all evening acting like you want to blow my best friend! You called out his name when we were about to fuck last night! I've spent the past twenty-three hours going out of my mind trying to figure out if you still love me, but as long as you're not embarrassed…"

Wendy felt tears well up in her eyes, her cheeks burned red with humiliation.

"Dude, this isn't helping," Kyle urged, and Wendy nearly sobbed when he placed his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. "Whatever's gone on between you two, this isn't the best way to resolve—"

"Kiss," Stan demanded suddenly, folding his arms.

"What?" Wendy exclaimed around the same time she heard Kyle voice a similar reaction.

"You heard me; kiss. If there's nothing going on, it'll be no big fucking deal, right?"

"Stan, have you gone insane?" Kyle appeared living, but even he failed to match Stan's rage when he shouted back, "Just fucking kiss!"

Wendy stared helplessly at Stan, unable to believe he'd do this. Kyle sighed heavily, aggression seemingly leaking out of every pore.

"Fine," he said angrily, and Wendy felt him grab her roughly and tilt her backwards, forcing his lips against hers in what was clearly meant to be an exaggerated, hate-fuelled kiss with no desire behind it, but Wendy's heart was beating like a jack-hammer. Every rough graze of his lips against hers had fire coursing through her veins and made the very pit of her stomach flip over like she was on the scariest roller-coaster. She couldn't deny it anymore. God, she wanted him to fuck her. No lie, if he wanted to rip off her clothes and take her right there, she'd not only let him – she'd help.

Suddenly, he pulled her upright and ended their kiss.

"There. Happy, Stan? Or maybe I should just finger her. Would that help you out more?" Kyle demanded angrily.

Overcome by everything she'd been feeling for the past few months, Wendy slapped Kyle with all her might – even she was shocked as the sound rang throughout the changing rooms.

Kyle rubbed his face a little – and it was definitely red where she had struck him- before grabbing his DJ.

"Well, I think that's all the evidence you need, Stan," he said hotly. "Now, why don't you both do whatever you need to and leave me the fuck out of your relationship!" he roared, before storming off and slamming the door unnecessarily behind him.

"Kyle, wait!" Wendy begged, but to no avail.

"Wendy, sit down," Stan said wearily. "We need to talk."

~

Stan watched as Wendy sat dejectedly next to him, her face stained with tear tracks and mascara, her skin flushed. She looked a fucking mess. She was still utterly beautiful.

"I get it, Wendy. You're hot for him," Stan replied as evenly as he could. He wanted to kill her; he actually wanted to throttle her slender neck and not let go until she said she wanted him, but it wasn't going to help.

"Stan, I—"

"Wendy, just be quiet and let me talk," Stan snapped. "I just watched you tangle your fingers up in Kyle's belt loops. I know what's running through your mind when you do that. I saw how flustered you were after that whole Dracula turning you scene… I know, Wendy, and so do you."

She started to cry again, and it irritated Stan how much it got under his skin.

"I'm sorry, Stan," she sobbed. "I just…"

"Have you two…"

"No! I promise you, Stan, nothing is going on between us!" Wendy insisted, and Stan believed her utterly. It didn't make the pain in his heart lessen any.

"How long?" he asked. "How long have you felt this way?"

Wendy sniffled. "I don't know. It just sort of… crept up on me."

Stan dragged his hands through his hair. He felt as though all of his emotions were draining out of him, leaving him numb and empty. He literally felt as though his life was ending and he was powerless to save himself.

"It's just a crush, right?" he asked hopefully. "Just some silly crush? I mean, I had a crush on Eva Mendes for a while; I got over it. You'll get over this, too."

Wendy shook her head, then wrapped her arms protectively around herself. Suddenly, Stan had become the enemy, the thing she needed to shield herself from and not the person who could protect her. "I… I don't think that'll fix things, Stan."

"Have you even tried?" Stan asked angrily. They'd been together for years! They'd come through all sorts of hard and stupid issues, this couldn't be it.

"Yes, Stan. I've tried," Wendy snapped. "I've been trying for ages. I do love you, Stan, but if I have these sorts of feelings for other people, then I guess I'm just not in love—"

"Don't," Stan ground out through gritted teeth. "Don't even finish that sentence."

They sat in a very uncomfortable silence for a while, until Stan braced himself and asked, "Does he feel the same way? Is Kyle crushing on you?"

"I don't know," Wendy replied. "Does it even matter? It's a dumb crush, there will be other dumb crushes. That's the problem."

"It matters because it's ending our relationship," Stan spat. "Maybe you don't give as fuck, but I do."

"I give a fuck!" Wendy spat back. "I give a whole load of fucks! We've been together for years, I don't want to just throw it away!"

"Then don't," Stan begged. "We can get through this, right?" All he needed was for Wendy to agree. They could get through it…

"We can't, Stan," Wendy said sadly. "What happens the next time I get a silly crush on someone? What happens when we go off to college and meet a whole new set of people; a whole new set of potential crushes? It's not fair on you, Stan. It's time we just let it go."

He saw a tear trickle down Wendy's face as she said this, and it just made him feel angrier.

"Not fair on me? Oh, how fucking magnanimous of you, Wendy!"

Wendy stood up on trembling legs. "You. Me. Whatever makes it easier, Stan. I do love you. You're a great guy; handsome, kind, funny and clever. I really hope you meet a great girl who—"

"Stop it, Wendy! Fucking stop it—"

"Who's crazy about you and makes you happy and is way less frigid—"

"Wendy, seriously, shut up. Just shut the fuck—"

"Goodbye, Stan," she said with a wavering voice, before fleeing the changing rooms – he could hear her crying as she went.

Just like that, the bottom and sides fell away from Stan's world, leaving the unsupported top to crash over his head. He stayed sitting on the bench and curled his knees up to his chest.

He must have sat like that for ages, as when he heard the door crash open, it was pitch black outside. Craig stood in front of him looking tired and confused.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked.

"Wendy dumped me," Stan mumbled.

"Wow. That sucks." The bench shook as Craig threw himself at it and somehow ended up in a seated position. He uncovered a bottle of single malt whiskey and dangled it in front of Stan.

"Fancy a drink?" he asked.

Stan didn't reply. Instead he silently grabbed the bottle and swigged deeply from it.

"Hey, give it back!" Craig demanded.

"Fuck off," Stan replied, taking another gulp.

~

Kyle dragged his feet through the snow as he allowed the swing to lazily slosh between potential and kinetic energy, taking him with it. He should probably have grabbed his coat, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Fucking women. Fucking friends. Fucking everything.

He knew Stan and Wendy must be talking, but he didn't know what he hoped would result. Did he want them to work things out and stay together, or fall apart amid bitter recriminations? He figured it didn't matter; he'd be fucked either way. It took the piss that he was being cast as the villain in their relationship when all he'd try to do is stay the fuck out of everything. The moment he realised he was developing feelings for Wendy, he left the hell alone – well, as best he could when they had been cast as sexual predator and willing prey, fighting both for and against the innocent man stuck in the middle. He might as well have just dragged her into the back seat of his car and screwed her for all the good it had done.

"Sup, Jew?" Cartman was standing in front of him, hands stuffed in his pockets and his expression irritatingly knowing. The last thing he wanted right now was to have to converse with him, so he merely pointed up at the sky.

"Funny, asshole. Want a push?"

"Fuck. Off."

Kyle heard a clink of chains; Cartman had taken the swing next to him. They sat together in silence for a short while; if you could count Cartman's overdramatic huffing as silence.

"What's your problem? The play went brilliantly; I did the rounds, and everyone was raving about it." He looked at Kyle curiously. "Especially you."

Kyle said nothing; instead he kicked at the snow beneath his feet and sent it up into tiny flurries around his ankles.

"Are you not listening? They fucking loved you; Shelley was crying over Dracula like a little bitch. Said she really felt your longing and desperation to claim someone you never could." Cartman sounded bitter.

Kyle felt as though his veins were flooding with hot, bitter bile. He stood up and grabbed Cartman's swing chains, facing him dead on. "Great. Send her some flowers, or something. I don't give a fuck!" he snarled. He was a child again, and the world was telling him, ‘No. You can't have what you want; you can't be who you want.' Given that the childhood voice to these hinted ideas had always been Cartman, Kyle was left with an unfair desire to pummel him into dust.

Instead, Kyle sat back down on the swing and looked away from Cartman. He heard the swing creak in relief as Cartman got to his feet.

"Kyle, this is ridiculous," he said quietly. "You've got to stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop this… this pining!"

Kyle felt his blood run cold. "What?"

"You, pining for someone you can't have. It's stupid; you're… you're…" He sighed deeply. "Kyle, there are other people out there, okay?"

"Cartman, I'm warning you – stay out of this!" Kyle hissed. This whole mess between him, Stan and Wendy was horrific enough without him sticking in his wooden spoon and stirring everything up for his own amusement.

Cartman sighed, and paced in front of him. Kyle looked away again and stared up at the dark, endless sky; taking deep, calming breaths in an attempt not to break down and cry.

"Kyle; I can't. I can't just stand here and…" He stopped suddenly; Kyle's peripheral vision was still once again.

"Look, I get it. You've had your heart fucked about with by some asshole who doesn't know what they want. That's not your fault. Just… Just open your Goddamn eyes for a moment and look around. There are other people who know you; know everything about you. Who know what you need. If you'd quit mooning after Stan for just one second and look at what's right in front of you—"

Kyle suddenly felt as though he'd been watching the Food Network but it had turned into the DIY Network without warning. "Cartman, what the fuck are you—"

He stopped quickly, because Cartman was standing barely an inch away from him and his wet lips were lunging towards him. There wasn't a decent escape route; Cartman's hand had slid across his on the swing chain and his other was either cupping his face tenderly or gripping it so he couldn't move – with Cartman it was remarkably difficult to tell. Kyle could feel Cartman's boozy breath fan over his mouth.

Kyle stared wildly as he felt saliva-slicked, chapped lips push roughly against his. Cartman's thumb rubbed against his jaw; his tongue poked out and tried to force its way into Kyle's mouth. He kept his lips firmly pressed together, and after a few moments of jabbing and thrusting – as though he was trying to unlock a hotel door with a broken key card – Cartman gave up and pulled away, staring at Kyle as though he were an end of level boss he'd tried to defeat with some fool-proof solution and was amazed when he'd lost a life.

"Kyle?" Cartman broke the heavy silence with a somewhat accusatory tone.

"What was that?" Kyle figured he should start with the obvious questions.

"What do you think it was, Kyle?"

"You going fucking insane?" he offered. To his utter bewilderment, Cartman actually looked hurt.

"Fine, Kyle. I'm not Stan. Stan's confused. Stan messes you about and expects you to keep hanging on while he flashes his bitch beard about. I'm here, and I'm yours." He pushed his fat fingers through Kyle's mess of coppery curls; he swiftly grabbed his wrist and pulled him away – wincing when Cartman's fingers got caught in a knot and nearly yanked a clump of hair clean out of his scalp.

"Cartman; I'm not gay. Neither's Stan, while we're at it."

Cartman shook his head. "You don't have to lie to me, Kyle; I know. I've seen the two of you. I know what's going on."

"Cartman, what are you talking about? You do know when the guys at school call me his boyfriend that they're taking the piss, right?" Kyle was beginning to think Cartman had actually dreamt the two of them dating and had somehow got it confused with reality.

"I'm taking about you kissing him last year. I'm taking about him using your study break with your little harem to pound your ass until you came last month!" Cartman sounded indignant.

"Shit. Cartman, we weren't…" Kyle sighed heavily. "We weren't having sex; we were faking it to try and turn my tutees off me."

Cartman eyed him incredulously. "You tried to stop a bunch of girls from being attracted to you by faking a sex show with another hot boy? Seriously?"

Kyle glanced at the ground beneath his feet. "We know now the extent of our folly." He met Cartman's intense stare again. "And the kissing thing? I was messed up after the Rebecca and the Bebe thing and… I was just… I was kind of hoping I was, you know? And I wasn't. I'm not gay, Cartman."

"That's cool," he replied, a weird little smirk plastered across his face as he rested his hand on Kyle's shoulder. "Neither am I."

"I think you'll find you are."

"No, Kyle. I like girls, and I like you. I want girls, and I want you."

Cartman was edging dangerously close; Kyle effectively jumped off the swing when he tried to squeeze his thigh.

"Come on, Kyle. Think about it; you and me – it makes sense."

"No it doesn't!" Kyle started backing away.

"Face it, Kyle; it does. The passion, the fire; that spark has been between us ever since we were kids—"

"Cartman, that's not passion. That's hatred. We have hated each other since we were five and for some reason, we still hang out."

"Exactly. Why? Why do I hang out with you even though you're a filthy stinking Jew rat? It's because of this." He gestured between them at some invisible thread. "Because of you." He smiled and shook his head. "Can you honestly tell me you've never thought about me when you've jacked off?"

Kyle was starting to wonder if this was an elaborate prank on Cartman's part. "Yes, Cartman. I can honestly say I have never thought about you when I've jacked off."

He felt Cartman's hand circle his waist. "Then maybe you should try; because I never come as hard as I do when I think about you on your knees—"

"Cartman!" Kyle yelled, prising Cartman's wandering hands from his hips. "I'm cool with you liking guys, but please stop. Just stop talking!"

Cartman looked to the floor, then glanced coyly up through his lashes. "I don't want anybody else, when I think about you I touch—"

"Or singing," Kyle added firmly, trying – and failing – to unlatch Cartman's fingers from his. As he tried to move away, he backed into a tree. Cartman trapped him against it with alarming speed for someone clearly a little affected by the spiked punchbowl. Silently, he rested his forehead against Kyle's, and ran his fingers down Kyle's chest.

"You really aren't feeling anything when I do this?" he murmured into Kyle's ear, nipping at his earlobe. Kyle practically jumped out of his skin.

"Only mild revulsion. Oh, and ow!" He smacked Cartman hard in the gut. He gasped for breath and dropped to his knees. Kyle was torn between helping him up and running away, but Cartman pulled himself to his knees before he had made a decision.

"Kyle, come on." Cartman grabbed his right hand in both of his. "No one else could make you feel like I do, I do, I do. No one else gets that deep inside you, as I do—"

"Cartman, quoting Alice Cooper lyrics at me isn't going to change my sexual orientation," Kyle said firmly, pulling his hand from Cartman's grip and walking away. He glanced briefly over his shoulder to see Cartman still on his knees in the snow; he looked utterly heartbroken. Kyle felt terrible, but he knew Cartman too well; if he went back to him now, he'd think there was a chance. He was like a child, or a pet – you had to give him clear boundaries, and you could never bend them.

"I'm… I'm sorry, dude," he said, before stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking away.

~

The night air was starting to feel biting on Wendy's skin, but she didn't move from her position perched on top of the hood of her car. She had avoided the whole wrap party – having managed to let Bebe down as well as screw around with Stan and Kyle. All in all, she was having a pretty shitty day. She was merely relieved to have got an acceptance letter from Yale – something which she should have been ecstatic about – because after everything that had gone on, the idea that she'd be leaving South Park next year was the only thing keeping her going.

Despite the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that she felt whenever she thought about Stan and the way she left him, she was still in turmoil over Kyle. That made her feel guilty enough, but she couldn't shake that image of him as he stormed off out of the changing rooms. Did he hate her? Of course he hated her; she'd messed everything up and potentially driven a wedge between him and Stan. Then her thoughts strayed to his angry clinch, his hands gripping her tightly, his soft lips and bruising hard kisses… she vaguely recalled the sensation of something poking against her thigh and Kyle's heavy breathing when he pulled away. Did he…? It didn't matter if he did.

Suddenly, she felt someone sit next to her and put a light jacket around her shoulders.

"You're going to fucking freeze out here," Kyle said softly, gently rubbing his hands up and down her arms as though to warm her up. Wendy could do nothing but burst into tears at this undeserved kindness.

"I'm so sorry, Kyle," she sobbed, and Kyle didn't let go of her.

"It's okay, Wendy. Don't be sorry. Don't be sorry," he soothed until she calmed down.

"Me and Stan, we broke up," she said eventually, realising that Kyle was the first person she'd told.

"I'm sorry," Kyle said quietly. "How's Stan taking it?"

Wendy managed a pained laugh at this. "How do you think?"

Kyle nodded, but said nothing.

"Sorry you got dragged into it," she added, and Kyle shrugged his shoulders.

"That's how it goes, right?" There was something in his faraway look that made Wendy suspect he thought it was inevitable.

"What happened?" Kyle asked, before shaking his head. "No, forget it. It's none of my business."

"I told Stan I didn't love him anymore," Wendy confessed. "I told him that I was crushing on other guys, so I obviously couldn't be in love enough for us to keep going." She sighed. "I lied to him, basically."

Kyle started at that. "Lied?"

"Yeah." Wendy took a deep breath. "See, what really happened is that ever since we were twelve, I've been going out with Stan and I've had to put up with his best friend, who I always thought was an arrogant asshole; he drove me crazy! Then, as I got to know him, it turned out he was a pretty okay guy. That was cool, except that recently, I started thinking he was more than an okay guy. I started thinking about him a lot, actually."

Kyle didn't look at her. "Did he still drive you crazy?"

"He drives me wild," Wendy admitted, her cheeks flushing as she spoke.

"In a good way?"

"The best. I could hardly tell Stan that I'd fallen in love with his best friend, could I?"

"I guess not."

"Not that it matters; he'd never go out with me because it would hurt Stan. He's quite moral like that," Wendy explained. "It's one of the things I like the most about him, actually."

Kyle blushed, and Wendy found yet another thing she quite liked about him. "Well, Stan's been his best friend since pre-school. So why split up if you knew that?"

"Because I can't keep dating Stan knowing he's not the one I love the most. It's not right," Wendy replied.

Kyle nodded in understanding. "No, it isn't. I think that's…. that's quite the moral choice. I'm sure Stan will appreciate that one day."

Wendy shrugged. "I'd understand if he doesn't. As for his best friend… he must hate me for messing about with Stan like this."

Kyle sighed heavily. "I'm sure he doesn't hate you," he said. "He'd understand."

"You think?"

For the first time in the whole conversation, Kyle looked right at her, and she could see how upset he really was. "We are talking about me, right?"

"Yes, Kyle. Yes, we are," Wendy replied. Jesus, he was the smartest guy she knew, but emotionally? He needed some work. Despite the whole horrible situation, she had to struggle to suppress a smile. The she became swiftly aware of Kyle's pinkie brushing against hers on the hood of her car.

"Then I understand. I know you never wanted to hurt Stan; you had feelings, you tried to bury them, and it just all became a confusing fucking mess."

Wendy nodded. "Congratulations on Harvard, by the way. I didn't get the chance to say before." She managed a smile. "I got into Yale."

"I knew you would," Kyle said confidently. "Are you accepting?"

"Of course!" Wendy replied, suddenly realising that for Kyle, he had clearly never been so certain. "You?"

"Three hours ago, I didn't know. Now? Yes. Unequivocally." He smirked. "At least my mom will be happy."

"I hope you're going because you want to, not because it seems like a good escape," Wendy commented, and was surprised when she felt Kyle bristle.

"It's a little of column A, a little of column B," he confessed. "I guess today has just shown me the downside of being in a place where everyone knows everyone; everything is magnified. I think maybe it's time for a complete change."

They sat in silence for a while; Wendy felt her knees bump against Kyle's as she looked out over the night sky. There was something in Kyle's words that she thought might always haunt her; the idea that even Kyle, the guy who always seemed to have an almost aggressive power of making the world fit around him, felt the need to escape South Park. If he couldn't make it here, who could?

"Kyle?" she asked suddenly, unable to put it off any longer.

"Hmm?"

"Do you feel the same way?"

"About what?"

"About me. Do you love me?" she asked in probably the quickest time she'd every asked a question in her like. She felt both stupid for querying and eager to know the truth.

She jumped as she felt Kyle's hand squeeze hers. "Does it matter?" he asked sadly.

A sudden wave of fury flooded Wendy. "Yes, it matters, you asshole!" she exclaimed. "I poured my heart out to you! I've confessed my darkest secrets to you, and I know I handled this whole thing really badly, but the last thing I need is for you to punish me just for asking—"

Kyle's soft lips against hers silenced her as he cupped her face in his hands, and rained delicate kisses on her tingling lips. Her mind started to haze as his fingers slid into her hair and his lips pressed longer and harder against hers. All too soon, he stopped.

"Wendy," he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. "Does that answer your question?"

"I want to hear the words," she begged, as she flung her arms around his neck.

"I love you," he said quietly, "and I'm sorry I can never make this happen for us."

Wendy gulped away a sob; she knew that however he felt about her, that part would never change. She understood they couldn't even be friends anymore, not really. The longing between them would be too much, and Stan would be devastated enough that they had so many lessons together, time where he wouldn't be able to see how they interacted. It was all over. She hadn't just lost her boyfriend, she wasn't going to just lose her crush – she was going to lose two friends as well.

"Tell me what you would do if you could," she asked, her voice wavering.

"What's the point?" Kyle asked softly, his hands resting on her shoulders as though he really was her lover.

"If you tell me, you have to stay here to do it, and I'm not ready for you to walk out of my life just yet," she tried to say strongly and clearly, but it turned into a whimpering mess.

Kyle wrapped his arms around her as he rested her head on his shoulders. "Okay. I guess I'd ask you out on a date. There's a new exhibition in the Nature and Science museum in Denver. They've got loads of stuff from Pompeii, and I figured that'd be kind of interesting… I wouldn't just be a geek, though. I'd take you on a picnic by Lake Mary; I make a mean vegetable wrap, I promise you."

Wendy was torn between amusement and sadness; Kyle was quite funny when he was being self-deprecating, but that actually sounded like a pretty perfect date to her and it served to remind her just how good things could maybe have been between them.

Kyle sighed, clearly deep in thought. "I guess I'd always offer to drive, but if you wanted to, that'd be cool. I imagine we'd make out in my car a whole bunch, but we'd get caught by my mom and she'd force you to come over for family meals every so often; seriously, I think she'd start planning our wedding. She's only ever known me to have one girlfriend, I think she'd be desperate to make sure you didn't get away."

"Would you?" Wendy teased.

"We'd make love for the first time after prom," Kyle continued, smoothly bypassing her question altogether. "It wouldn't be planned, but we'd be safe. Everyone would be really drunk during the post-prom party and we'd just go off for a walk together. We'd just be talking and getting a little sad that we'd be heading off to different colleges, then one of us would remember that our parents were away for the night, so we'd head off back to that house…"

"And head to our parents' bed?" Wendy finished, but Kyle shook his head.

"We wouldn't make it that far. We'd start undressing each other the moment we closed the door and I'd just kind of lay you on the nearest table – I said it wasn't planned."

"Do I see stars?" Wendy joked.

"No; it's actually a bit crappy – I come too quick and you get cramps… I make it up to you with an hour of cunnilingus, though, so don't be too disappointed," Kyle deadpanned, and despite the utter heartache Wendy was feeling, she couldn't help but laugh.

"We'd have a long distance relationship in college," Kyle continued. "It'd be a bit rocky; we'd both be kind of paranoid the other would meet someone better. We'd get through that, though, and once we had private dorms, we'd take it in turns visiting each other on a Friday evening, go to bed and we'd pretty much stay there until Sunday night."

"Even in the summer?"

"We might take it outdoors when we're feeling brave, but there'd be a lot of sex," Kyle replied nonchalantly. "Then it'd go sour. I'd get a PhD offer in England, you'd get a lucrative job with Greenpeace working in South America. You'd accuse me of putting my career before our relationship; I'd accuse you of being a hypocrite and challenge you to move to England with me. You'd call me out on my bullshit, because couldn't I do my PhD in Brazil? Then we'd have angry sex, and we'd keep going through the same destructive cycle for a month. I'd be confiding in my lab partner – a nice girl who's also going to England, so we've got something in common. You follow us and think we're having an affair, so you fuck some ridiculously hot young athletic star that becomes obsessed with you. Eventually, it all comes out because the athletic star tries to fight me for your heart, we both cry a lot and the whole thing implodes in a heady mess of emotions and bitter recriminations," Kyle finished.

Wendy stared at him. "You have to be the single most pessimistic man I've ever met. You can't even have an optimistic fantasy!"

Kyle shrugged. "Look on the bright side; you're well out of it. I was an asshole. I know I might seem like the injured party, but one night I yelled that I thought about my lab partner when we were screwing."

Wendy thumped him hard on the arm. "Just shut up, Kyle."

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I just… fuck, I don't want to even entertain what could be, okay?"

Wendy said nothing, and instead kissed him hard on the lips. When he kissed her back, it felt like the end of the world; if she just clung tightly enough, if she kissed him hard enough, maybe they'd survive. Even as his hand slid briefly up her leg before resting at her waist, she knew it couldn't last. However much they both craved this, it would never be.

Eventually, they pulled away; Wendy felt cold and desperately lonely when deprived of Kyle's touch.

"Goodbye, Wendy," Kyle said quietly, before pressing one last kiss to her lips.

"Goodbye, Kyle," she replied, letting him walk away and holding her breath when their fingers slipped out of each other's grasp. She knew from then on, they'd have to be strangers to each other. Her tears flowed even harder – getting your heart broken once in a night was painful, but twice? For a brief moment, she wondered how the hell she could survive it, until she realised that she'd just have to.

~

Kyle walked away crying like an absolute fucking pussy. He briefly thought about his fifteen year old self who thought the world was over when Rebecca dumped him. If he could, he'd go back in time and punch him in the face, because that was fucking nothing compared to how he felt after walking away from Wendy. He even stopped and ducked behind the bike sheds until he could compose himself. Fuck the wrap party, he was going home. He couldn't take much more.

Alas, Bebe was running towards him and he wondered briefly if she was planning to strong-arm him into the fray.

"Kyle! Thank God," she panted. "You need to do something about Stan!" She stared at him as she got closer. "Are you okay?"

Kyle realised he must look a complete mess, but the last thing he wanted was to be scrutinised over his heartbreak.

"I'm fine," he said dismissively. "Now, Stan. What's up?"

"He's just…" Bebe shook her head. "He's just going crazy."

"It's cool, Bebe. I'll sort it," Kyle replied, grateful in a way to have something to take his mind off the emotional fucking mess that was his life over the past few hours.

Bebe smiled at him. "Thanks, Kyle. I don't suppose you've seen Wendy, have you?" She appeared a little anxious; Kyle wondered if she knew the things Wendy had told him?

"Yeah," Kyle replied, suddenly feeling leaden. He was sharply reminded of Wendy sat on the hood of her car, with a tear-stained face and kiss-reddened lips, and he had to shake the thought away. "She's… she's in the parking lot."

"Kyle?" Bebe asked, just as he made to walk away. "What's going on?" Her voice had a slight accusatory tone to it.

Kyle headed towards the gym without so much as a second glance.

The wrap party was in full swing; the music was loud and people were dancing exuberantly – there was a level of joy in the air that made Kyle want to puke. It didn't take long to find Stan – he was swinging from a climbing rope while yelling the lyrics to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody', which was interesting, seeing as what was actually playing over the PA sounded like a Rhianna song.

"Stan?" he called up at the twirling boy in his rumpled tuxedo and glowing cheeks, whose jet black hair was in disarray.

"Kyle!" Stan called back joyfully, sliding to the floor and holding his arms aloft for a manly hug. Kyle noticed with some trepidation that he was swaying from side to side.

"Hey, dude," Kyle said kindly as he approached him.

Suddenly, Kyle's whole face felt like it had exploded, as Stan slammed his forehead against the bridge of his nose with all his might.

"You fucking cunt!" he heard Stan scream at him, as Kyle tried unsuccessfully to stop the blood streaming from his nose and down onto his shirt.

"What the—"

"You stole my girl, you dick!"

The entire room of cast and crew gasped in shock. Kyle noticed they were all watching the scene unfold.

"I did not steal your girl," Kyle spat back, his vision starting to blur slightly.

"Yes, you did!" Stan screamed. "You stole her away, with your… your stupid curly hair! And your… your shoes! And… and your kisses that make you feel like you're the only girl in the world!" Stan wobbled on his feet again as he flung his hands skywards.

Kyle noticed the crowed switch from their gasps of shock to murmurs of confusion. He tried to be calm for Stan's sake, really he did, but the simple truth was that he could never steal Wendy away, and Stan was the reason why. If he couldn't see that, then what the hell had been the point of the last eleven years of their friendship?

"You stole her away," Stan continued ranting, "because… because you can't get a girl of your own! Yeah – you fucking… Just because you can't keep a girlfriend for longer than, like, a month, you have to ruin mine! You're… bitter. You're fucking bitter, because nobody loves you—"

To Kyle's utter amazement, Cartman stepped forward and punched Stan right in the face. Kyle was torn between dark amusement; because really, right now he was having the exact opposite problem to the one Stan was claiming, anger; because Stan knew that was something that kind of ate away at him in his weaker moments and he was deliberately dredging it up to score points, and worry; because Stan was clearly tanked and Cartman wasn't the kind of person who'd give a fuck if Stan toppled over and smashed his skull in.

"Stop it, just stop it!" Kyle yelled, just as Stan toppled forward and swung an inexpert punch across Cartman's jaw, sending him staggering backwards.

"What the fuck do you care, you fat fuck?" Stan roared back. "I bet you're loving this! You've always been fucking jealous of me and Kyle…"

Kyle rushed forward and pinned Stan to the ground as best he could; he didn't even have to look at Cartman to know he was gearing up to literally murder him.

"Cool it, Stan. Fucking cool it!"

"Make me, you home-wrecking asshole!"

Before he even knew what was happening, he was tussling with a drunk, rage-fuelled Stan on the floor. He winced as Stan punched him in the gut a few times, and in the end, all he could do was grab him around the throat to stop him from attacking – he couldn't deny he wasn't enjoying throttling Stan a little bit after everything he had come out with.

Suddenly, they were both distracted by a loud crash that accompanied the gym doors flying off their hinges.

"What the fuck?" Kyle muttered to himself just as Stan slurred the same words.

"Quit fucking copying me, you dick," Stan grumbled.

A flurry of fighting had broken out as a small figure in purple was dashing around a gang of tattooed meatheads.

"Kyle!"

He looked up, and saw Karen rush towards them, looking terrified.

"Karen? What's going on?"

"They… Those guys tried to kidnap me," she panted. "They said my parents' owed them for… for crack. Mysterion… saved me!"

"Myster – oh, Jesus fucking Christ!" Stan slurred. "Kenny, take it somewhere else! Me and Kyle are trying to fight!"

"Kenny?" Karen said, her expression suffused in bewilderment.

"Karen? Are you okay?" Craig had seemingly teleported to her side and was looking at her intently.

"I'm fine, Craig," she replied quietly, hiding her face.

"That looks painful," Craig muttered as he examined her swollen eye.

"It's fine, really." Karen shrugged him off and stepped backwards away from Craig and his earnest concern.

Meanwhile, Kenny was trying to fight off three knife-wielding drug runners, and although he was speedy, Kyle was pretty sure he'd bitten off more than he could chew.

"We've got to help him, "Kyle said.

Cartman shrugged. "He's fine. Look at him," he said happily, as Kenny got a fist straight to the face.

"You fucking help him," Stan growled. "Maybe you can impress Wendy—"

"Shut the fuck up, Stan!" Kyle shouted at the same time Cartman did.

Not knowing what else to do, Kyle hastily called the police and quickly gave them the address and the situation.

"Whoa. Check it out!" Stan said in awed tones, just as Kyle had ended the call. He looked up, and sure enough, Kenny had somehow managed to tie up the three drug-runners and take away their weapons. His face was swollen and puffy from where he had been punched, and his mask had been pretty much destroyed, but apart from that, he seemed in good shape.

The entire cast and crew stared at him in awed shock as he calmly scribbled on a piece of paper.

Karen, however, looked horrified. "Kenny? Seriously?"

Kenny looked up sheepishly at Karen. "Yeah. It's me, Karen. It's always been me."

"Oh my God! I… I had a crush on you when I was eight!" she wailed.

"Wow, that's wrong," Craig commented idly. "Did I ever tell you how much I like wrong?"

Kyle would have paid more attention to Karen's disgusted expression, except that Stan had gripped at his hair and was trying to pull it out with all his might.

"Come back and fight, you fucking pussy!" he demanded.

"Get the hell off me!" Kyle shouted back, tilting his head forward and slamming Stan's hand into the pine wood floor until he eventually let go.

"Get the hell off him!" Cartman shouted, and shoved Kyle out of the way to get closer to Stan. In a desperate attempt to prevent Cartman from killing Stan, Kyle tried to interpose himself between the two of them.

"Guys! Stop fighting each other!" Kenny begged. "This isn't going to help; you need to talk—"

That was when Kyle heard the creaking.

He didn't think too much of it, until a ceiling beam came crashing down and impaled Kenny to the floor through his stomach.

"Kenny!" Ignoring the others, Kyle rushed over to him. "Jesus fucking Christ! Are you—" he didn't bother to finish. Was he okay? Stupid fucking question; he had a six foot wooden beam through his stomach.

Suddenly, Kenny convulsed and threw up all over Kyle, leaving him pretty speechless. He heard Stan laugh drunkenly in the background.

"Sorry, man," Kenny croaked.

"It's alright," Kyle soothed, squeezing his hand. "It'll be okay. We'll get an ambulance and—"

That was when the second ceiling beam crashed to the floor and crushed Kenny's skull until it popped in a mess of red mulch and pinkish-grey brains.

"Oh my God! They… they… Fuck!" Stan apparently gave up on his sentence and instead chose to vomit over the floor; Karen had to jump to the side to avoid it.

"You bastards!" Kyle shouted, because… Well, it seemed appropriate.

"You're the fucking bastards!" Stan slurred, crawling over to him and hitting him on the side of the head with a burlap sack from the gym store.

"Not now, Stan!" Kyle snarled.

"Yeah now, you fucking pussy!"

"I'm going to fucking kill you, Stan!" Cartman shouted, grabbing Stan by the legs and dragging him across the room.

At some point during the confusing brawl, Kyle became vaguely aware of police sirens. In between being clawed at by an increasingly uncoordinated Stan and stopping a raging Cartman from attacking Stan, Kyle saw police officers take away the tied-up drug runners, examine Kenny's corpse, and retrieve some kind of note from Kenny's clenched fist – which had clearly stiffened from rigor mortis.

When Sergeant Yates cuffed them and quietly said, "I think you boys need to come with me," Kyle literally had no fight left in him.

"Sir, please! They didn't do anything!" a tearful Karen begged, while Craig held her in his arms. "It was the—"

"Ma'am, I know what I'm doing," Sergeant Yates said, holding what appeared to be an envelope in his hand.

Epilogue: Intervention

-Friggingodess-

Waking up after a death was always disorientating. Even now, Kenny still found it hard to adjust; everything was too cold, too bright, too… too real. His head swam and his body fought to keep up with where it should be. Then he remembered; the pressure all around his head, the crunch of bone, the weird sense of relief at the release and the agony one can only truly appreciate if they too have had their head crushed into mulch by a roof beam.

Feeling the familiar lurching sensation in his stomach, Kenny grabbed the bucket he kept under his bed for such occasions and hurled his guts into it. When he ran out of anything to hurl up – which was rather quickly, given he always came back on an empty stomach – he dry-heaved until his throat burned.

Casting the bucket to one side, he flopped back onto his back and stared at the ceiling. The same damp patches, the same cracks across the plaster. It was oddly comforting. As Kenny glanced along his bed, he could see the sheets tented around his crotch. It always seemed like an absolute fucking mockery that every time he came back, he was hard; life forcing its way through death, a desperate plea from his very cells to spread his seed in case next time, he didn't come back.

Kenny sighed and mechanically gripped his dick in his slightly numb right hand. The only place he was going to spread his seed right now was over his fucking bed sheets. This routine – the confusion, the vomiting, the jerking off – had become second nature; a curious mix of comfort and mind numbing tedium. He even saw the same images flash through his mind every time; Maria's arched back, Maria's moans of ecstasy. Maria writhing in his lap, or gripping the headboard as she bucked underneath him. Maria on all fours thrusting against him, panting and sweating and groaning his name like he was God – no, like he was the Devil. Ken, Ken, Ken.

He moaned right back. Maria, Maria, Maria. He didn't fucking care who heard him, who walked in on him and slammed the door in horror or told him to keep it down. He'd had his head crushed to a pulp and spent what felt like a week but was probably closer to seven hours listening to Muammar fucking Gaddafi drone on about calendars and some fucking green book Kenny didn't give a shit about. He fucking deserved to yank himself to climax as loudly and obnoxiously as he wanted.

God, she was beautiful. She was beautiful in life, she was beautiful in death. Her smile, her laugh, her thoughtful expression – where she bit her lip and frowned with her head tilted a little to the left – her melancholy, her anger, her come face… everything about her was beautiful. Every time he did this, every time he remembered Maria while steamrollering along to his inevitable orgasm, he felt a little ache just under his ribs. Like he felt empty, or something.

"Guess."

"No."

"Come on, I'm curious."

"Nope." Maria smiled winsomely; it tugged at Kenny's very guts.

"I know how old you are," he reasoned as he sat on the edge of their hotel room bed.

"And I don't want to know how old you are," she retorted with a cheeky smile, turning her back to him. Her pert ass was tantalisingly close.

"Scared you're corrupting me? Maria, I'd considerate it an honour and a privilege to be corrupted by you." He reached out and spanked her firmly on that exquisite ass. "And who says I'm not already corrupted, anyway?"

She whirled around and glared at him with mock indignation. "Kenneth McCormick, you are young and callow and you have no idea what you're letting yourself in for!"

"Maria…" Fuck, he didn't even know her surname.

"Barnes," she replied.

"Maria Barnes." He savoured this new piece of information about her as he reclined against the headboard and spread his legs. "Maria Barnes, I may be young, but I am widely read in the erotic genre and eager to learn and you have no idea what you're letting yourself in for!"

As he started to unbutton his shirt, Maria's expression suddenly changed. Her exuberance seemed to dribble away into sadness.

"Okay, I'm cocky," Kenny confessed, trying to salvage the situation. "I also take direction well. Seriously, you show me what you like and I'll make it happen. Scout's Honour!" He even did the three fingered salute.

To his horror, he saw a tear trickle down Maria's face. He sat up instantly.

"Maria?"

"You know why I don't want to know your age, but do you know why I want you to know mine?"

Kenny frowned. "I figured you didn't want to know if you were about to tap some prime jailbait hotness," he joked, "but I don't know why you want me to know. I don't care about your age."

"I care," she said quietly. "I care that you know what you're letting yourself in for. I care that you are making an informed choice here, because you're not the one facing death every day. You're going to have to live with this decision, and for a very long time, I hope."

Kenny had to try hard to stifle a smile, given he knew how serious she was being. When it came to death, between the two of them, she was a rank amateur.

"Maria, I want this. I want you. It's not even up for discussion—"

"You don't know what you're getting, okay!" Her voice came at close to snappish as Maria's ever could. To Kenny amazement, she started to peel off her clothes, but there was nothing sexual in it. The act was rushed, defiant. Somehow, he knew he could fuck her brains out against the wall of this hotel room and she would never be as intimate with him as she was being now.

"Maria, you don't have to—"

"I do!" she said in a choked voice. "I need you to know, okay?"

She turned her back to him, tearing off her jeans and her vest top with wild abandon and tossing them across the room. Kenny felt a prickle of jealously; he wanted to be the one wrenching her stupid body-covering clothes away from her. She slid out of her panties and he wished she'd let him be the one to peel them off her perfect ass. He didn't really understand what her problem was, until she unclasped her bra and threw it at him. It was all padding. There was literally nowhere for even a nipple to go.

Kenny suddenly felt deeply stupid.

"Just… If you're going to freak out, I'd appreciate it if you kept it to yourself," she replied, before her shoulders rose and fell as she took a deep breath. She then turned around and showed him her truly naked body.

He couldn't deny that it was the first thing he noticed. A painful looking scar ran from each armpit across her chest, but apart from that it looked quite clean. He'd wondered if it would look like burn tissue or something.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"Not really," she replied. "I don't even need to drain them anymore."

Kenny gazed at her. He had a million questions, and all of them seemed like things he should never ask; why didn't she have reconstructive surgery? Had she always been a 34D as her bra suggested, or had she picked that size afterwards? Did she wear that same bra under her bathing suit and if so, was it waterproof or did it just absorb like a sponge?

Then he gazed at her differently, and took in her shy expression, her beautiful skin, her shapely ass and the tattoo of an airstrip she'd had done around her Brazilian. Suddenly, those questions seemed dumb and insignificant. She had just laid herself bare to him, but wasn't asking for his approval; this was who she was, take it or leave it.

He'd never wanted a woman more than he'd wanted her in that moment.

She wrapped her arms protectively around herself. "It's cool, Ken. I get it if this… you know, it wasn't what you were expecting."

"I guess it wasn't," Kenny admitted. "But whatever. You're hot."

She looked at him, clearly puzzled. "Look, Ken. You really don't have to lie to me; you're young – I'm not an idiot – and I know this would put you off. I'm just not going to lie to you, okay?"

Kenny wasn't sure how else to prove his point, so he unzipped his fly and exposed his erect penis.

"Me and the trouser snake think you're hot, okay? My dick never lies," he assured her.

Maria shook her head and giggled. "You are unbelievable." It sounded like it might be a compliment.

"I'll just put that away for the moment," Kenny added sheepishly, zipping himself back up. "Seriously, I'm just as eager. I'm kind of more eager, actually. Nobody's ever been this honest with me before." It stung a little when he realised how true those words were.

Before he knew it, Maria had jumped onto the bed and straddled his lap. "You sure about this, Ken?"

He kissed her in response, infected by her child-like giddiness. When she yielded to his touch, he felt like he was winning a marathon. When her breath hitched as he sucked gently at her neck, he was close to a personal best.

"One thing," he asked.

"What?"

"The scars. Should I avoid them? Or can I touch them." He felt himself blush. "I don't want to miss a millimetre of you."

She cupped his face and kissed him tenderly on the lips. "Just be gentle, and it'll be fine."

When he felt her unzip his flies, he was sure all of his Christmases had come at once.

"Hang on, don't we need a condom?" he asked quickly, when she was positioned tantalisingly close.

"Umm, Ken; I can't exactly get pregnant right now, and with all due respect, you can't do shit to me," she replied, before suddenly slapping her palm to her forehead. "Sorry, I'm being an idiot. I'm clean, but I totally understand if you want to—"

The shuddering gasp of longing that poured from her lips as he grabbed her hips and thrust her onto him nearly undid him completely.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" he groaned, only for Maria to start giggling.

"Oh, please don't!" he begged. "I'm one punchline away from coming!"

"Well, we can't have that," she teased, and thus began a night of education Kenny would never forget. He knew if he reached old age – if he even could wither and die – that he would never, ever forget the wondrous things Maria taught him that night, and for many nights to come. He certainly wouldn't forget how he sobbed unashamedly into her shoulder how much he loved her when his world unravelled and exploded in her expert care. He'd never forget how she kissed him and assured him she loved him, too.

He'd never forget her, and he didn't want to.

Figuring he'd probably spent enough time lying in his own sweat and jizz, Kenny got up to take a shower, passing Karen's room as he did. Suddenly remembering how Craig was sniffing around her like a fucking dog last night, he pushed open the door. She was asleep, and alone. Relieved, Kenny carried on to the bathroom.

The water was luke-warm as it ran over his head and body, which made a nice change from cold and a little brown. When he'd been searching for apartments the past six months, he'd put that at the top of his list – hot running water that didn't occasionally turn to sludge. He thought about the letter tucked away in his bottom drawer, the one from that solicitor on behalf of the Barnes'. He didn't know why he kept it, really – it just contained a lot of bullshit about how grateful they were that he'd been with their daughter at the end, how her letters had spoken fondly of him… what the fuck ever. He would have given his front fucking teeth to have those letters instead; just something of her that had her handwriting, her scent, her thoughts. He hadn't sniffed at the cheque with more noughts on the end than he could ever have imagined holding in his life – turned out Maria had been working for a company that had amazing employee insurance before her illness took a hold – but it wasn't going to bring her back. He'd considered contacting her parents and asking for one of those letters, but it seemed pretty heartless to try and take all they had left of her now.

That day was still seared into his brain as the absolute worst experience of his whole life, and countless deaths. Getting crushed to a pulp by roof beams had nothing on the moment he woke up – sore in all the best ways – leant over to kiss his sleeping beauty awake, only to find he was holding a cold, empty husk. Even now, he still had nightmares about it.

The weird thing was what he chose to do after that moment. For some reason, he couldn't get the idea out of his head that she wouldn't want to be found like that – naked in the way she'd reserved only for him – so he spent an hour before he even considered phoning the police dressing her in her nicest clothes and doing her make-up, ensuring her padded bra fitted just so. As he waited for the cops, he just held her and cried, futilely hoping she might come back because he'd done such a good job.

That had been a fucked up year. Looking back, Kenny realised that everything had boiled down to the fact that he missed Maria terribly, but at the time, he started to question everything. The whole not-staying-dead thing had just been something he'd learnt to accept and not mess about with, but now he started to wonder if he could find Maria. Not to stay with her forever, but just to see if she was okay. Of course, if she was okay he could spend time with her, and if he could spend his death with her, all he'd have to do when he woke up was kill himself again and he could be with her a little longer… He figured Hell would be a good place to start – for one, it was a fuck ton easier to get there, and for two, most people ended up there. Even the glorious beings like Maria. Kenny figured she'd find Heaven deathly dull, anyway.

The first time he'd ever shot himself in the face was the scariest, and he'd only been ten. Five years on, and it had been a cake walk. Baths with toasters, hanging from the rafters of the gym store, drinking sulphuric acid from the chemistry lab – that had taken ages, he'd never tried that one again – whatever got him dead and wandering the afterlife the quickest, he went for. Sometimes he tried to have a few martyr's deaths, in an attempt to gain access to Heaven and make some enquires, but it never worked. He figured God must have known what he was up to, so even if Mysterion lay in a pool of his own blood after saving some woman from being gang raped in Denver, it didn't mean a thing.

Until the one time he threw himself under a train one morning and found himself facing God and Satan in what he could only describe as a charming granny's house.

"Kenny," God has said with a weary sigh. "We need to talk."

"About what?" Kenny asked defensively – for some reason he felt he'd done something wrong. He knew, deep down, he had.

"Satan tells me you've been spending a lot of time in Hell," God said, pouring a pot of tea into three cups.

"It's been a rough few months," Kenny replied nonchalantly.

Satan sighed heavily. "We know what you're doing, hon. It won't work."

"Huh?"

"Take a seat, Kenny," God said, gesturing towards the chintziest sofa this side of ‘The Waltons'. Kenny gingerly sat down and felt himself sink into the cushions like they were marshmallows. Damn, god had some good couches.

"Tea, Kenny?" God asked, passing him a cup before Kenny could even reply.

"Umm, thanks," he said quietly, as God surveyed him warmly.

"I'm sorry, Kenny; you just won't be able to find her," God said, while taking a spoonful of sugar and popping it in the nearest teacup.

Satan nodded sadly. "It's the afterlife, Kenny. Everyone who's ever died comes here. There's billions upon billions of people spread out amongst infinite space. The chances of finding one girl?"

"As good as winning the lottery?" Kenny mumbled, though still hopeful. People still won that thing, after all.

"As good as winning the lottery thirty times in a row, and being hit by lightning exactly when the last number is picked and Fidel Castro has ejaculated into the gas tank of a Mini Cooper at the exact same moment," God clarified after a sip of tea.

"Oh." Kenny felt his heart plummet towards his shoes.

"Don't feel so down," Satan said, resting a friendly hand on his shoulder. "She's moved on. She's happy."

"So you know? You've seen her?" Kenny asked eagerly, only for Satan to suddenly stare at the paisley patterned carpet.

"I would have seen her at some point… and she's probably happy."

Kenny drained his cup in two mouthfuls. "So what? I can find her when I die – I mean properly die, because I'll have forever… Wait, will I ever properly die? What happens when I get old? How does this whole thing work, anyway?"

God stood up suddenly. "Oh, wow… I think I left the oven on. Yeah. I'd better see to that," he mumbled before disappearing entirely from view.

"Hey! No fucking fair!" Kenny shouted. "Answer me!"

"Kenny, Kenny, Kenny! Stop!" To Kenny's amazement, Satan actually looked terrified.

"What? Why?"

Satan's shoulders slumped as he reached over to the hostess trolley and helped himself to a Custard Cream – Kenny hadn't even noticed they were there. He wondered if they had Bourbons. He didn't even know what Bourbons were, but they sounded good.

"The thing is, Kenny," Satan said between mouthfuls, "God is omnipotent, omnipresent, infallible."

"I know," Kenny replied. "So why doesn't God answer—"

Satan clapped his hand over Kenny's mouth.

"So," he said, hand still covering Kenny's mouth and ignoring the bites he was placing to force him to let go, "there can't be a single thing God doesn't know. If someone was to ask a question that God didn't know the answer to – not that there is such a question – everything God is, and everything God made, would crumble into nothing, because everything God is would be a lie. Do you understand, Kenny?" Satan asked, his eyes wide with apparent panic.

"I… I…" Slowly, miserably, Kenny understood. He understood he'd probably never know about Maria, or himself.

Kenny dried off and liberally patted himself with cologne – Lynx wasn't going to get the chicks creaming – before wandering naked to his bedroom and getting dressed. As he passed Karen's room yet again, he reminded himself that he needed to find an apartment fast – there was no way she could stay here much longer. Karen was a delicate flower, and he'd be damned if he was going to let her be poisoned by this toxic fucking house.

When he went outside, he found Craig pacing around his front yard.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Tucker?" Kenny snarled, spying the flowers and the mix CD Craig had tried to hide behind his back.

"I just wanted to—"

"Stay the hell away from her; I'm not fucking kidding," Kenny said in as threatening a tone as he could muster. He'd rip Craig's dick off with his teeth if he had to.

Karen's bedroom window opened and Kenny watched her lean out.

"What's going on?" she called out.

"Hey, Karen," Craig called up and Karen – horrifyingly – blushed and smiled.

"Nothing; he's just leaving," Kenny said firmly, pushing Craig away from the door.

"Chill the fuck out, Kenny," Craig pleaded. "You know me—"

"Exactly!"

"Hey! Since when have I ever screwed a girl over? Since when have I even dated a girl?" Kenny noticed Craig's whole face colour up as he said this. "I think Karen's really nice, I don't even know if she'd give me a second look!"

Something in Craig's earnest expression made Kenny soften a little. That and the fact he could feel each individual item from Karen's rock-pool collection hit in in the back; damn she had good aim.

He held open the door. "Fine, but if you get her pregnant, I'm disembowelling you."

"I just wanted to ask her to the movies," Craig mumbled awkwardly before dashing inside.

"I mean it!" Kenny shouted behind him. "I'll make Uwe Boll look like he directs My Little fucking Pony films!"

"Whatever, dude. Uwe Boll sucks dick," Craig shouted back.

Kenny sighed heavily. He supposed it was probably time to get his asshole friends out of jail.

~

By the time Sergeant Yates gave him the keys to the cells – there were advantages to being a vigilante who the police actually liked – Kenny was impressed to find Stan, Kyle and Cartman weren't dead. They were remarkably placid, in fact.

"Dude, I'm sorry I called you a cunt," Stan whispered.

"It's okay," Kyle replied at normal level, only for Stan to wince.

"Dude, keep it down! Anyway, you're really just an asshole."

"I know."

"Why are you being so fucking passive?" Stan sounded pissed off now.

"It's because he's fucking won," Cartman said angrily, though Kenny could detect the pain in his voice. "He's won and he knows it."

"For God's sake, Cartman, nobody's won! This is just a huge fucking mess and I'll be glad to leave it behind."

There was a deathly silence.

"What?"

"Just… You know, college."

"Nobody's applied for college yet," Stan said, sitting up. "Unless…"

Cartman smirked. "He's not going to an Ivy, Stan. He's not that fucking good—"

"I am, as it turns out," Kyle said quietly.

Kenny actually felt rather pleased for him. He wanted to rush up to the bars and congratulate him, but the mood inside the cell was incongruous with that.

"You're leaving? Well, that's a relief," Cartman said, but he was fooling no-one with that exaggerated tone.

"Dude! Since when?"

Kyle sighed; Kenny saw him hang his head. "I had an interview a few weeks ago. I got accepted."

"But… but you're not going?" Stan said in a shocked voice. "We were supposed to go to college together—"

"Stan, he just Jewed you out over Wendy, what the fuck do you care?"

"What the fuck do you care, Cartman?" Stan spat back.

"I don't give a crap."

"Whatever." Stan snorted with laughter. "All this time you've been going on about me getting my ass pounded by Kyle – you were just transferring your own fucking fapping fantasy—"

"Shut the fuck up, Stan!" Cartman roared in Stan's ear, and Stan moaned in agony.

"Yeah, that'll teach you, you fucking soak."

"Dude, nobody says soak anymore," Stan groaned, lying face down on the concrete floor.

Kenny figured it was about time to make his presence known.

"Hey, guys," he said casually, dangling the key between his fingers. "Cooled down enough yet?"

Kyle glared up at him through the bars.

"This was your doing? Goddamn it, Kenny, let us out!" he raged. Kenny used to be upset by the fact nobody remembered him dying, but now he found it fascinating – Kyle's impotent rage at him was in stark contrast to the way he held his hand as he died. When it came to getting killed, Kenny liked to have Kyle around. He was good at handling it. Stan couldn't deal; Kenny understood why, for who wants to see a friend die? He didn't know if Kyle's comforting way meant he cared more or less. Perhaps he was detached from it all? It wouldn't surprise him.

"In a minute," Kenny teased. "Where did you get in, Kyle? Which school?"

"Harvard," he answered eventually.

"Congratulations, man. You deserve it," Kenny said, and the look of relief on Kyle's face made him feel as though he'd returned the favour for all those times Kyle had stayed with him until the end.

"Were you going to tell me?" Stan asked quietly.

"Dude, of course. I just… I didn't know if I was going to accept," Kyle admitted.

Cartman laughed heartily at this. "You didn't know… Yeah, right. Like anyone would be enough of an idiot to turn that down!"

Even Kenny was surprised by how hurt Stan looked. "Jesus, Kyle. You were going to sneak off to college, you tried to sneak off with my girl – I thought you were my friend!"

"Stan! I wasn't doing any sneaking!" Kyle spat back. "I wasn't trying to steal Wendy, and I was going to tell you about Harvard as soon as I'd made a decision – but you weren't exactly in the mood for talking last night…"

"Quit acting like you're so high and mighty, Kyle," Cartman snarled. "You've been messing about with all our feelings; hope it was fun, you dumb fucking Jew."

"Yeah," Stan agreed.

"I didn't mess about with anyone," Kyle hissed. "You invented a whole scenario in your head just to convince yourself I was gay! And Stan, he thought we were fucking each other."

"What?" Stan looked shocked. "Sick, dude!"

"Guys, knock it off!" Kenny yelled, and was amazed when they all fell silent. Well, apart from Stan.

"Why does everyone have to keep shouting?" he grumbled.

"Look, Stan. I get that you're heartbroken because Wendy and you broke up," Kenny said calmly, "but you can't really blame Kyle for that. Do you really think Wendy's such an awful person that she'd run after your best friend just because? Do you really think Kyle's such an asshole that he'd try to chase her anyway? You're both seventeen; you're young. She fell out of love with you. It sucks, but it happens. If it wasn't Kyle, it would have been someone else."

He was gratified for a moment when Stan sat up and appeared thoughtful.

"Kyle," Kenny continued. "Yeah, you didn't chase Wendy, but you can't deny you were attracted to her. Could you have done more to turn her away? Maybe, but it doesn't matter. You did what a friend would do and tried to keep out of the way. Be a better friend and just try to accept that Stan's going to be hurt; he's just broken up with the girl he's been dating for almost a third of his life! Give him a break – you've given Cartman less of a hard time, for Christ's sake!"

Kyle nodded and glanced over at Stan sympathetically. "Sorry, dude. I just… you're my best friend, and I'd never want to hurt you. I don't understand why you can't believe that."

"I do," Stan replied softly. "I just… The way she looked at you, man. I'm not sure she ever looked at me that way."

To Kenny's relief, Kyle didn't protest. He just squeezed Stan's shoulder and said nothing.

"Fucking girls, man," Stan muttered and the two of them managed a pained laugh.

"Eric." Kenny shook his head. "I just… I don't even know where to fucking start. Why did you think…? How did you…? I give up."

"Oh, come on! Those two are like an old married couple!" Cartman protested.

"Whatever, something amazing has come out of this," Kenny said.

"What the fuck are you talking about? That Jew asshole's fucking ruined me like Michael Bay ruined Transformers!"

"I mean, Eric, that you have feelings. You actually cared about another human being," Kenny replied, fairly convinced that for Cartman, it was still very much in the present tense. "Some of us thought this day would never come. Revel in it, revel in your humanity!"

"Just shut the fuck up, you poor piece of crap, and open the Goddamned door!"

Kenny shrugged his shoulders. Two out of three wasn't bad.

As they emerged blinking into the midday sun, Kenny felt an odd sense of change; like the pieces in their friendship had fractured and rebuilt around the wounds. The pain was still there – Stan and Kyle were still aching over Wendy and the realisation that they had accidentally done the worst to each other, Cartman was still aching over Kyle and the fact that this time, he had lost the game that he saw his life as – but it was okay. It was grown-up and mutable, something that would bind them as closely as it was tugging them apart right now. Something that would give them space to find their own way in the world and still come back to each other.

"Dude." Stan was whispering at him groggily.

"Yeah?"

"How did you know, man? How did you know all of that stuff? I mean, we didn't know all that stuff until last night!"

Kenny shrugged. "I just pay attention," he replied sadly. He kind of had to – every time he died he missed chunks of their lives. He had to keep up somehow.

"Oh." Stan paused thoughtfully for a moment. "Have you thought about where you're going to college?"

Kenny found it amusing that Stan simply assumed that would be his next step. "Have you?"

"Well, I was going to find somewhere close to Yale, because… You know. I guess maybe I could look at places in Cambridge," he wondered aloud.

"Or, you could go to a college you want to attend?" Kenny suggested sarcastically. When Stan stared at him in wonder, he instantly felt bad – Stan had clearly never thought about it outside of where his girlfriend or his best friend were heading.

Just like Stan – and Kyle, and Cartman – Kenny had his own needs. Maybe college was an option, but what he really needed to do was get him and Karen away from their parents. Once she was settled, he could go to community college and transfer when she was old enough. He considered telling the others, explaining to them how frightened he was for Karen, and how her slipping Math grades that had prompted Kyle's tuition had been the tip of the iceberg. He thought about how they could maybe help him house hunt, and what a laugh it could be to poke fun at the absent owner's décor or photos.

As he watched them walk along the street – deep in their own thoughts, yet oddly in tune – he decided to remain silent. He too could find his own way in the world, and still find his way back home.

The End

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Layout credit: domolovesyou@LJ
Art/banner credit: Nhaingen
© 2012

Disclaimer

South Park belongs to Matt Stone and Trey Parker. This parody website is strictly for fan and entertainment purposes; no profit is being made.