Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5339798.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      South_Park
  Relationship:
      Kyle_Broflovski/Kenny_McCormick, Kenny_McCormick/Butters_Stotch, Kyle
      Broflovski/Stan_Marsh, Bebe_Stevens/Wendy_Testaburger, Kyle_Broflovski/
      Wendy_Testaburger
  Character:
      Kenny_McCormick, Kyle_Broflovski, Stan_Marsh, Eric_Cartman, Craig_Tucker,
      Wendy_Testaburger, Bebe_Stevens
  Additional Tags:
      Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Friendship/Love, Kyle_Broflovski_&_Kenny
      McCormick_Friendship, Polyamorous_behaviour
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-12-03 Words: 8345
****** Layer Cake ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Kenny presents first out of the four of them. That's on him. The rest
     he's pretty sure he can blame on Stan being an asshole. Or maybe just
     Kyle's asshole.
     (It's a pretty awesome asshole)
     So, for that matter, is Kenny's.
Notes
     This story features, primarily, the kind of tangled, complicated
     emotions that come along with the sex buddy arrangement, and how
     friendship and sex can intermingle in strange and wonderful ways.
     True love can be platonic, is what I'm saying.
     Enjoy!
Kenny presents first. Hypersexualised since pre-school, it isn’t much of a
surprise. The only surprise, really, is that his sexed-up brain managed to wait
until he was fourteen to kick his body into gear. When he wakes up one day with
slick pooling between his thighs and a fever high enough to addle his brain,
Kevin (summoned by the smell probably, ugh) hollers and smacks him on the ass,
leaving to call the local clinic specialist. Kenny has never been so happy to
see a door close in his life and locks it immediately afterwards. He loves his
family, but he doesn’t trust them. There hasn’t been an omega McCormick in
generations. For all he knows they’ll try and sell him on the black market for
some quick cash or some shit like that. Omegas are rare, especially male
omegas, and the purse strings have been a little tight around the McCormick
household since dad gambled two years of advanced pay away betting against the
Navaho casino venture.
Once the clinic doctor sticks a thermometer up his throbbing ass (a singularly
horrifying and degrading experience never to be repeated) and pronounces him an
omega (no shit), Kenny is left with the Healthy Happy Heat Helper ™ and a
rising lust to match his fever. The kit, it turns out, contains a healthy
amount of synthetic lubricant (dear god why?), a string of rainbow coloured
condoms, dental dams, ultra-absorbent heat pads, and a slim-lined purple dildo
with inflatable knot. As Kenny slips it between his legs and feels the greedy
clutch of his hole around the girth, he wonders, head spinning, why his body
waited so long. Getting ass-fucked is just about the greatest thing ever, he
decides as he splits himself on the toy over and over again, screwing down
until he is sore and sweaty and utterly spent. He feels used, wrung out as a
wet towel. It’s awesome.
Three days later he walks into South Park High with sex hair and a smirk,
winking at Wendy when her eyes dart up from a thorough inspection of his ass
and she blushes a lovely pink at being caught looking. Her and Stan hadn’t been
a thing in years. Still, Kenny thinks, with a tinge of regret, better stay
away. Poor Stan would probably expire at the thought of his beloved Wendy
screwing him into the mattress. Even back then, Kenny knew Wendy could never
have been anything but an alpha. Even if no one else did.
Cartman calls him a bitch at lunch, makes jokes about biting pillows and his
ass leaking like a girls vagina. Kenny licks pudding from his spoon and sends
him a filthy smirk.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says suggestively, licking his lips.
Cartman splutters.
“Kyneeee! That’s gross Kyneeee! Don’t sexually harass me Kyneeee!”
Kyle rolls his eyes.
“Shut the fuck up fatass. If you’re sexually frustrated go jerk off in the
bushes or something. Don’t take it out on Kenny.”
“Fuck you Kyle!” Cartman explodes.
“Guys,” Stan complains, head in hands. “Can you please shut up for like, two
seconds? Kenny was saying something important.”
“I think I’m going to fuck Token first when he presents,” Kenny muses.
Stan sighs.
“Black cock is an experience I think my virgin asshole deserves.”
“Ugh! Gross Kyneee!”
“Your ass deserves the best,” Kyle says seriously.
Stan shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Kyle grew up tall and lean and gorgeous, just like Kenny knew he would. At
fifteen, he is all casual elegance and leashed fire. Passion and keen
intelligence rolled into a firmly muscled, whipcord thin body. Alpha attitude,
omega beauty, and beta ambition- Kyle is a puzzle and Kenny isn’t sure what the
completed picture will look like. Alpha, beta, omega. Anything is possible.
Cartman, on the other hand, is obviously going to be an alpha. There is no
question. If Kenny concentrates, he can smell the acrid stench of his
approaching maturity already. Just what the world needs, he thinks, another
bigoted, posturing, alpha asshole. This is why Kenny is quietly hopeful that
Stan will be an alpha, if only to break the mould a little. To have a cool-
headed, gentle soul like Stan present as alpha would be a refreshing change of
pace. Still, Stan, like Kyle, with his alpha athleticism, his omega altruism,
and his cool beta temperament, could go either way.
Kyle swipes his ruddy curls out of his eyes and Kenny watches Stan track the
graceful arc of his hand like the obvious bastard he is. Kenny doesn’t roll his
eyes, but it’s a close thing. Stan’s love for Kyle is the stuff of legends,
preceded only by Kyle’s epic obviousness to the fact. It’s honestly a little
sad at this point.
Kyle explains he’s started tutoring during free period for extra cash, and he
has a session with Bebe in five minutes. Kenny slyly tells him to enjoy their
‘chemistry session’ and Kyle sends him an amused smirk. Cartman tells him he
hopes he catches ‘nerd rabies’ and gets quarantined by the CDC. Stan says
nothing at all, quietly eating his tuna sandwich, eyes downcast.
Before he leaves, Kyle grabs Cartman by the back of the neck and whispers
something low and fierce is his ear through gritted teeth. Cartman swallows his
fear (obvious despite his best efforts to disguise it) and sneers.
“Fuck you Jew!”
Kyles jaw clenches and he looks at Kenny, eyes green and quietly furious. “If
he gives you any shit punch him in the balls. Then tell me and I’ll knock his
teeth out.”
Kenny grins as Cartman stands up and asks Kyle what his fucking problem is.
Kyle rolls his eyes and coolly says, “you being a repulsive fucking dick.
Obviously.”
He slings his satchel over his shoulder and strolls away while Cartman turns
silently, furiously red.
“FUCK YOU JEW!” He screams. Cartman sits down hard and the bench creaks in
alarm. “I’ll fucking kill that Jew one day I swear.”
Stan sends him a withering look and Kenny snorts.
“Kyle would totally waste you man,” Kenny snickers.
Craig sits down in Kyle’s vacated seat.
“There’d be nothing left but dust,” he says in his usual monotone.
“Get the fuck away from me,” says Cartman
In the following year they graduate from freshmen to sophomores, Stan gets
picked for the varsity football team, Kyle becomes the first ever sophomore
student body president and varsity track star, Kenny rides Token hard enough to
give him dick chafe (multiple times), and Cartman presents as the cockiest
alpha to ever fucking exist.
He rides into school one day on a float (a fucking float), complete with
fireworks, multi-coloured streamers, balloons, and ACDC cover band; the whole
thing being towed by a sweaty South American couple probably working for
chipotle and abuse. Cartman has somehow managed to procure a gigantic glowing
sign proclaiming his alpha status, as well as a life-sized gold sculpture of
himself with disproportionately large muscles and cod-piece, in the style of a
Victorian king. Kyle takes one look at the spectacle that is Cartman shrieking
along to horribly rendered ACDC while being towed around the quad by an
overworked immigrant couple, before cracking his knuckles.
“Right,” he says.
Stan pinches the bridge of his nose and looks up at the heavens as though
praying for strength. Kenny takes bets on how long it will take before Cartman
starts crying, because betting on the outcome would just be embarrassing.
After Kyle has thoroughly wiped the floor with Cartman and told the immigrant
couple (who had apparently believed themselves to be in some kind of servitude
to Cartman) to go home, things pretty much get back to normal.
Until Butters presents. As an alpha.
Kenny almost falls off his chair the day Butters walks into homeroom with the
obvious scent of alpha rolling off of him. To his alarm, Kenny’s mouth waters,
just a little, at the smell: warm and musky and completely delicious. He looks
at Butters appraisingly, like he hasn’t in years, noticing the modest, yet
defined muscles of his arms, the shine of his bright eyes, the corded tendons
in his forearms and neck. Somehow, without Kenny even noticing, Butters got
hot.
He strolls up to Butters after class, leaning against his locker in the casual
way he knows accentuates the long line of his body. He peeks up at Butters
through his fringe, smirks when he sees him swallow nervously and smile in that
delightfully shy way of his.
“H-hey Kenny!”
“Butters,” he purrs, part acknowledgment, part suggestion.
Butters bites his lip and his shoulders tense. Kenny sees his muscles moving
under his shirt, sees the peaks of his nipple showing through the cotton and
wants to taste. He licks his lips.
“You wanna go see a movie?” He suggests.
Butters grins, bright and sunny. “Sure!”
They go see the new Transformers and despite every expectation Kenny actually
ends up watching the movie. Every time he leans into Butters suggestively,
tries to kiss his neck or nibble his ear, Butters turns around, bright eyed and
utterly oblivious, and starts whispering excitedly about this robot or that
robot, this explosion or that special effect. Despite Butters inadvertent
cockblocking and the horribleness of the movie, Kenny actually finds himself
reluctantly charmed by Butters honest enthusiasm. He’s kind of, well, adorable.
Kenny doesn’t realise how well and truly fucked he is until he’s reminiscing
about the fishing trip he and Butters took a few months after they started
hanging out, and Kenny started consistently failing to get into Butters’ pants,
and finds himself grinning down at his lunch tray for no discernible reason,
except, perhaps, because the memory of Butters delighted smile when he caught
his first fish is so completely lovely it still takes his breath away.
Kyle catches Kenny’s smile slipping into something akin to horror and raises an
eyebrow.
Kenny lets out a hysterical giggle and slaps a hand over his mouth.
“What’s wrong?” Kyle asks bluntly, a little later.
He’s dragged Kenny outside under the pretence of having a smoke, despite Stan’s
disapproving look, and lights up with the casual flick of one elegant finger.
Kenny watches him blow a smoke ring from that cocksucking mouth and thinks
longingly of the days when that kind of casual hotness would have had him
salivating.
“There’s something wrong with me,” Kenny says gravely.
Kyle squints at him.
“Is this because you’re in love with Butters?”
“Shhh!” Kenny looks around frantically to check they haven’t been overheard and
immediately feels paranoid. The grounds are empty. There’s a literal tumble
weed rolling by. No one comes near the dumpsters except the goths and the
tweakers, and they’re in the cafeteria right now with everyone else. He has no
reason to be worried, except, of course, for the obvious.
“Because that seems a bit dramatic,” Kyle continues blandly.
“I’m not in love with Butters!” He hisses. “I’m just… filled with manly lust
for his hot body!”
Kyle scrunches up his nose. “Really? He’s kind of scrawny.”
Kenny punches him in the arm without really thinking about it and Kyle dances
out of reach, grinning around his lit cigarette. “Fucking hell, you really are
into him.”
Kenny crosses his arms, uncharacteristically embarrassed and honestly a little
scared.
“I don’t know what to do Kyle,” he admits.
Kyle looks thoughtful.
“Have you tried telling him how you feel?”
Kenny splutters. “Where the hell would I even start?”
Kyle smirks. “Well.”
He sidles up to Kenny, backing him into the wall, bracing an arm next to his
head, caging him in with his body. “You start by getting real close,” he
whispers huskily. Kenny swallows, nervous and a little exhilarated by the
proximity. The chemistry between him and Kyle is completely platonic. Sexually,
however, Kenny always suspected they’d be compatible. Kyle leans close.
Something hot and charged collects in the space between their bodies. “Then you
look deep into his eyes.” Kyle bends their heads together until all Kenny can
see is the fathomless green of his eyes, the deep rouge of his long lashes.
“And you say it.”
“What?” Kenny says, a little short of breath.
“What you’re scared to say,” Kyle says knowingly. He leans close, whispers it
in his ear.
Then, somehow, they’re kissing. Kyle is slamming him into the wall and Kenny is
spurred on by weeks of pent up sexual tension to get a hand down the front of
Kyle’s pants and starting jerking him off fast and hard. Kyle backs them into a
nearby alcove. They’re still out in public, but not so public that it’s likely
that they’ll be caught. It’s exhilarating.
They move quickly from hand jobs to blowjobs. Kyle, as it turns out, has a
natural affinity for deep throating, and his fingers, long and agile, are
practically made for finger-fucking. Once Kenny’s come in Kyle’s mouth and
Kyle’s drawn a secondary orgasm from his ass, his channel spasming, wet and
warm around his fingers while Kenny moans, wrung out and over-sensitised from
the double-orgasm, Kyle pulls away and leans against the opposite wall.
Kenny reaches for the bulge in Kyles pants, but Kyle pushes him away. He looks
at Kenny probingly. “We can mess around,” he offers, “but not if you do
something about Butters. No way I’m getting in the middle of that.”
Kenny snorts. “Of course man.”
They clasp hands and Kenny pulls him in for a bro hug, clapping him on the
back. Once they’ve pulled apart, Kenny looks down at Kyle’s junk curiously.
“Can you still fuck when you’re unpresented?”
Kyle smirks. “Wanna find out?”
They do find out. Many, many times. In fact, Kenny is having so much sex now
that hanging out with Butters is easy in a way it hadn’t been before when he
was practically gagging for it. Sure, he still wants to fuck Butters. Man, does
he ever want to fuck Butters, but he’s sated. Hardly a day goes by when Kyle
doesn’t pin him to some vertical surface and have his way with him.
Kyle, to Kenny’s absolute delight, is a firecracker in the sack. With enough
stamina to go three rounds in one night- easy- and a commitment to chasing
orgasms that would put a top dollar hooker to shame, Kenny spends most his
nights (and a good deal of his mornings, noon’s, and afternoons) getting reamed
within an inch of his life, sucked, licked and bitten over every inch of his
body. They keep visible marks to a minimum, because even though he and Butters
aren’t dating Kenny still feels kind of weird about him knowing, and on some
instinctive level Kyle knows better than to rub Stan’s face in anything.
Kenny’s yet to determine whether that knowledge is conscious or unconscious,
but figures that as long as Stan doesn’t find out they’re fucking it shouldn’t
really matter.
When Kenny gropes for Kyle’s cock beneath the sheets early one morning a couple
of months into their sexcapades and finds him slick with lube between the legs
and positively reeking of omega in heat, Kenny, despite his previously
undecided opinion on his friend’s presentation, is surprised.
“Huh,” he says, before rubbing over Kyle’s asshole curiously, feeling the melty
hot centre of him, a place that he knows must be aching for something long and
thick to fuck up in there. Sure enough, Kyle moans in his sleep, arching into
the press of Kenny’s fingers, looking gorgeous and utterly pliant in sleep.
Kenny licks his lips, cock stiffening in arousal at his friend’s wanton
response. Kyle has fucked him too many times to count. On some subconscious
level they’d both probably assumed Kyle, with his dominant personality,
aggression, and generous (if lean) musculature, was most likely going to
present as an alpha, and structured their sex life accordingly. What a goddamn
tragedy, Kenny thinks, running his hands up the catlike stretch of Kyle’s back,
head spinning as his enticing pheromones fill the air and his body produces
enough slick to welcome any alpha. Or, Kenny thinks, any omega with a cock up
to the challenge. And Kyle would be a challenge, he thinks, with a hunger that
takes him off guard. Oh yes, Kenny would very much enjoy pinning his friend to
the bed and fucking the fire right out of him, would absolutely revel having
the chance to slick him up with come and sweat, get him all kiss-red and
ravaged from his touch.
Kyle gets up on his knees, arching his back suddenly enough that it takes Kenny
off guard, pushing Kenny’s fingers into him up to the second knuckle. Kyle
groans, flexes his toes and rolls his head, naked with relief. He looks at
Kenny over his shoulder, hungry and expectant. “You gonna fuck me or what?”
After that, things change a little. Kyle and Kenny still fuck. Kyle is still a
pushy, demanding bastard. He just also happens to like Kenny fucking him within
an inch of his life. Turnabout, Kenny’s finding, is so much better than fair
play.
When Kyle walks into school Monday morning after a vigorous 48-hour heat
smelling so distinctly of Kenny it would take a sensory-dead baby not to notice
what they’d been up to (they’d tried their best but some scents stick no matter
how hard you scrub, and one of them is omega slick). Stan starts avoiding them.
They don’t see him at lunch for weeks, and in class he doesn’t sit with anyone,
not even Cartman, who, it should be mentioned, takes unholy delight in rubbing
Kyle’s face in his presentation until Kyle grabs him by the balls and twists
hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, threatening to do worse if he ever
tries to degrade him for his secondary gender ever again. Seriously, it’s epic.
People applaud.
The pattern of Stan’s avoidance holds until one day Kenny notices Stan noticing
the rather vivid hickey Kenny had sucked below Kyle’s ear that morning in a fit
of pique after being denied a third orgasm in favour of breakfast. During
football practice, Stan takes him to the ground in an unnecessarily brutal
tackle that knocks the breath out of him and makes something in his back strain
uncomfortably.
“Sorry,” Stan says coolly, and Kenny thinks he’s never heard Stan Marsh sound
so completely insincere in his entire life.
Later, Kenny will think, viciously, that if Stan wanted to be angry at him for
screwing Kyle, he should have had the balls to do something about it first,
instead of pining away like some pathetic lovelorn Romeo. At the time, he’s
just sore and vaguely dizzy.
Butters runs over from the offensive huddle, shooting Stan a confused look as
he passes, and pulls Kenny to his feet. Butters braces him with an arm around
the waist and smiles, small and unsure.
“Stan shouldn’t have done that,” he says. “He aint got no right to be mad. I
never did see no brand on Kyle’s hide.”
Kenny chuckles, listens to the sound get pulled away by the wind. “Stan
shouldn’t have done a lot of things.” Kenny looks down at his grass stained
hands. “Always waiting too long, expecting miracles.”
Butters looks thoughtful. “I don’t think Stan expects a miracle Kenny. Maybe
just a dream come true.”
Kenny feels something warm gather in his chest and finds himself grinning.
“Butters are you a romantic?”
Butters ducks his head. “Aw shucks,” he rubs the back of his neck. “Don’t make
fun of me Kenny.”
Kenny feels himself melt, just a little, and hopes to god his face doesn’t look
as soppy as he suspects it does. This infatuation crap is really becoming
inconvenient. “Trust me, I’m not.”
When Butters starts looking at him thoughtfully, Kenny makes his excuses and
sees coach about skipping the rest of practice. Coach tells him to ice his back
and to make sure to strap it during their next session. Kenny hightails it out
of there before Butters reaches the obvious conclusion. No use sticking around
for disappointment. If Butters wanted him, he would’ve done something about it
by now.
Kenny hears whispers about him and Kyle. It’s something of a scandal for two
male omegas to be fucking when there are a bunch of single alphas around who
could be doing the job –as the general consensus goes- much more effectively.
Those people, Kenny decides, have never had soapy slick shower sex with Kyle
Broflovski. Nor have they ever been fucked on all fours long enough and
vigorously enough to come multiple times before being licked out, straddled and
ridden hard enough to hurt. Seriously, people who think two omegas can’t have
perfectly amazing orgasms together have no fucking clue what they’re talking
about. Sure there’s no knots involved, but that’s what toys are for. Also,
knots are kind of useless for anything except breeding. Who wants to be plugged
up with penis for an hour when it could be ramming into you, making you come
over and over? Point is, he and Kyle are perfectly happy with their sex life
and those gossiping bitches and misogynistic knot-heads can go fuck themselves.
The week before Kyle’s seventeenth birthday, one month after the start of their
junior year, Stan starts a rumour that Kyle is a beta. Kenny hears it after
it’s been in circulation for a couple of days, so he’s one of the last people
in the school to hear it, and by then it’s been warped into a something that
paints Kyle as a lonely sex-hungry whore, so desperate to be desirable that he
bought illegal sex hormones from a dealer and is actually just posing as an
omega to get attention. When Kenny hears this he has to try very hard not to
punch the person telling him through a wall. Primarily because it’s Butters,
and he knows by the way he turns red and stutters over the words that he’s
repeating what he’s been told word for word and is not telling him to rub his
face in it, but also because he is so fucking pissed on Kyle’s behalf it
honestly takes him off guard. Somewhere between the fucking and the late night
post-coital advice, he and Kyle have developed a kind of friendship that
Kenny’s never had before, an openness that only happens when you’ve been skin
to skin with someone- vulnerable in way that has nothing to do with pleasure
and everything to do with primal, naked emotion. He’s seen Kyle with his
defences down. He understands why Kyle has his walls, and what it takes for him
to carve out a place for you to walk through them. He knows that there are
perhaps only three indefensible positions, three holes, in the wall protecting
Kyle’s heart: one for Ike, one for Kenny, and one- the largest and the most
generous- for Stan. For Stan to do something like this, to try and ruin Kyle,
to degrade him for something as petty as jealousy, makes Kenny mad enough that
he has to take a moment to just breathe, to focus on uncurling his hands, to
clear the haze of red from his eyes.
“Kenny?” Butters questions nervously, wringing his hands.
“Stan said that?” He asks, deathly quiet.
Butters bites his lips. “I’m not sure—”
“Butters.”
“That’s what Annie said, but you should—”
Kenny turns and Butters hauls him back around. Kenny is so taken off-guard by
Butters manhandling him that he lets it happen, lets Butters crowd in close,
looking conflicted.
“You need to talk to Stan first.” Butters looks into Kenny’s eyes, sincere and
completely devastating. “He aint never hurt Kyle on purpose before. He loves
him something fierce.”
Kenny’s temper sparks.
“Just because you love someone, doesn’t give you a free pass to be a dick.”
Butters clasps his shoulder, and stares like he’s looking through him.
“No, but people do crazy, hurtful things when they’re in love.”
Kenny crosses his arms, dislodging Butters hand, suddenly uncomfortable.
“What do you know about being in love?”
Butters looks at him sadly. “More than you think.”
Kenny loses his breath because, well, he could be wrong, but he doesn’t think
he is. He could make a complete ass of himself by even bringing it up, but, for
some reason, he’s quietly confident he and Butters are on the same page this
time.
“Crazy, hurtful things,” he muses.
Butters nods.
“Like screwing your best friend while being romanced by possibly the most
generous, kind, gorgeous alpha to ever exist? That kind of crazy?” He asks
quietly, heart beating fast. Butters breath catches. “That kind of hurtful?”
“Not hurtful,” Butters says, smiling small and strained. “Just… hard.”
Kenny swallows, feeling ashamed. Not because of Kyle. No, he could never regret
that. But that it caused Butters pain and he didn’t notice.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
Butters shakes his head. “I never said nothing. It aint your fault.”
“I could have told you. I was just scared.”
“Scared? Of me?”
Kenny laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Of, uh, love, actually.”
Butters leans in, eyes bright and close. “Can I kiss you?”
Kenny is instantly charmed, a warm beat thrumming in his chest.
Kenny pushes their lips together instead of answering, slipping his hands up
Butters’ warm back, feeling the shifting muscles through his t-shirt. He hums
into the kiss, the noise turning into a groan when Butters slips his tongue
inside his mouth, uncharacteristically bold, and pulls Kenny flush against his
body. Kenny feels the coiled strength of him against his body and feels dizzy
with desire. They pull apart, flushed and wanting. Butters looks more than a
little dazed, and Kenny can’t help but grin stupidly. Then he groans.
Butters looks at him in alarm and Kenny rubs his temple.
“Kyle is going to be impossible about this.”
Butters looks worried. “I thought you said you guys weren’t—”
“Oh not like that,” Kenny waves him off. “Kyle told me before we started
sleeping together that I should just tell you I was in love with you and all my
problems would be solved. He’s going to be so smug about this.”
Butters looks at him with a heavy gaze. “I think Kyle’s a bit occupied with
other things right now Kenny.”
Abruptly, Kenny remembers Stan. He remembers the rumour, and the social ruin,
the embarrassment, and the degradation Kyle is probably pretending not to care
about right now.
His eyes narrow.
Kenny finds Stan surrounded by his football buddies, a bunch of transfers from
Mill Park who Kenny never bothered to learn the names of.
“Get lost Neanderthals, I need to talk to this asshole.” He points at Stan, who
looks away, ignoring Kenny like he’s been doing for the past six months, ever
since he found out about him and Kyle.
“How dare you.”
Stan raises an eyebrow.
“How dare you do that to him. You. Do you understand how much you’ve hurt him?”
Stan glances over to a table near the middle of the cafeteria where Kyle is
chatting with Wendy and Bebe, head thrown back, laughing.
“Looks fine to me,” he says, bored.
“You idiot,” Kenny says scathingly.
Stan looks a little shocked, probably taken aback by his venom, or maybe it’s
just the fact that Kenny is in his face, telling it like it is. So few people
have ever had the balls to tell Stan Marsh when he’s being a self-absorbed
asshole. The golden boy, the perfect, reasonable, level-headed one- that’s what
people have always said about Stan. He forgets sometimes that he’s also the
melodramatic one, the selfish one, the arrogant one, the one who needs other
people to pull him off his pedestal before he falls off and breaks something he
can’t afford to lose. Kyle used to do that for him, but Kyle’s not interested
anymore. Kyle made himself stop caring the day Stan walked out of his life, to
spare himself the pain. Kenny knows Kyle now, knows him down to the bones, in a
way he never thought he would. Stan should have known what his abandonment
would cost him, should have known that Kyle would never break first, never beg
to be let back into his inner circle, never repent for any perceived wrong
doings. Stan can make as many new friends as he wants, look past Kyle as many
times as he thinks he needs to to make Kyle want him, look as bored and
unaffected as he desperately wants to be, but Kyle will never come running
back. You can’t run back to what you never left, you can only chase, and Kyle
will never let himself be led by anyone. Not even Stan.
“He’s laughing because it’s all you’ve left him with. What did you expect him
to do? Cry?”
Stan should be ashamed, but instead he just looks pissed off, mutinous.
“What, is Kyle getting you to fight his battles for him now?” Stan smirks, but
it comes across like a sneer. “And here I was thinking it was you taking it up
the ass. Guess it’s hard to know who’s fucking who when bitches roll around
together.”
Suddenly, Kenny’s had enough. Enough of Stan, enough of his bad attitude,
enough of his entitlement.
Kenny cracks him one across the face, hard.
Stan’s head snaps back and blood sprays across the floor. He raises his head,
dazed, hand rising to cup his rapidly purpling nose, groaning low and pained.
Kenny breathes heavily, so incensed he has to blink his vision clear of spots.
“I don’t know what happened to you Stan Marsh, but whatever the fuck it is I
hoped I knocked it the fuck out of you!” He growls.
Kenny closes the distance between them, looks into Stan’s blood-shot eyes, sees
the anger, the disgust, the pain there that has nothing to do with a broken
nose.
“Clean yourself up, get your shit together, and get on your fucking knees
prepared to grovel if you ever want Kyle back in your life,” he instructs, low
and deadly. Stan clenches his jaw, quietly furious, but doesn’t argue. “Knot-
head misogynist is not an attractive look on you Stan Marsh. I thought you were
better than this.”
Kenny’s walking away when Stan calls after him.
“And I thought you’d never fuck my best friend.”
Kenny freezes, looking over his shoulder to see Stan’s sad, mean smile.
“I guess we both knew less than we thought we did,” Stan continues, voice
cracking, just a little, on the last word.
Kenny walks away. He doesn’t say, he wasn’t yours, because it’s not entirely
true. He doesn’t say, it was Kyle’s decision, because that‘s just one more way
for Stan to pass the buck. He doesn’t say anything.
Another six months go by with Stan pretending like they don’t exist. It’s made
easier by the pretty omega girlfriend (another transfer from Mill Park) that
hangs off his arms all hours of the day. They even push their desks together
during class— but only the classes that Kyle has with them. Kenny tries not to
roll his eyes too hard when he notices. Can’t Stan even try not to be a
pathetic douche? He can’t believe poor Cathy hasn’t figured out she’s being
used yet. Even his beef-headed football buddies know the score, if the entirely
unsubtle smirks and whispers are any indication.
Kyle, for his part, remains outwardly unaffected by any of this. He still gets
into fights with Cartman, still manages to beat up knot-headed morons who think
it’s okay to grab his ass, or grab Kenny’s ass for that matter. He’s student
body president for a third term, and made track captain at the beginning of the
year. He’s even started flirting with Wendy- a move Kenny still isn’t
completely sure wasn’t orchestrated to piss off Stan to the fullest extent
possible. When he thinks about it though, they have a lot in common. Both
smart, ambitious, gorgeous, athletic. Really, if there was an alpha more
perfect for Kyle it would have to be pre-douche Stan, and Kenny doesn’t see him
making an appearance any time soon. So, really, Kenny’s happy for them.
Honestly.
Kyle has a dreamy look on his face, smoking a cigarette upside down on his bed
with the window open. Kenny sitting on the floor next to his head, letting Kyle
press the end to his lips every now and again, taking deep, pungent drags,
missing the taste of Kyle’s mouth despite his best efforts not to. Kenny’s
happy with Butters, but sex with Kyle isn’t something you can quit cold turkey
and not be left wanting.
“Her hands man,” Kyle groans. “I mean, not as good as yours, obviously, but we
had a lot of practice. Give her a little time and I think she might actually be
able to fuck me stupid. I almost couldn’t talk when she was done with me
today.”
Kenny looks at him, frowning. “I’ve done that.”
Kyle smirks. “No you haven’t.”
“Yes I have!”
“Moaning counts.”
“Moaning does not count.”
“Does.”
“Doesn’t.”
They lapse into silence.
“Okay fine, moaning counts. I’ve still done it.”
Kyle squints. “You know. We had sex so many times I don’t actually remember.”
“It was that time with the candlesticks. The ones your mother brought back from
London.”
Kyle’s eyes light up. “Oh yeah. Fun night.”
Kenny grins. “I’ll say.”
“Is it bad that I miss having sex with you?” Kyle asks.
“Oh god, you too?” Kenny lets out a relieved breath. “I thought it was just
me.”
“No way. Last night I had a dream about deep throating you, making you come,
tying you up, teasing you hard again by licking you all over- and I mean all
over- before I rode you hard enough to break the bed.”
“Did we keep fucking?”
“What?”
“After we broke the bed, did we keep fucking?”
“Duh. Then we fucked in the shower.”
“Of course.”
Kenny tells Butters he needs to fuck Kyle again, a goodbye fuck to get it out
of his system, and Butters takes the news with the kind of good-natured
awkwardness Kenny had expected.
“Oh, ah, alright Kenny. Just, ah, just this once though okay?”
Kenny kisses him on the nose, grins, and decides Butters is the best boyfriend
ever.
Of course when he and Kyle actually have their goodbye fuck it lasts an entire
weekend. They barely leave Kyle’s bedroom, and never for anything that isn’t
food or water. Kyle tells his parents Kenny is in heat, even though they’re
both on heat suppressants, because it’s honestly the only reasonable excuse for
a marathon sex weekend. Somehow Kenny doesn’t think Kyle telling his parents
that they’re so sexually compatible that they legitimately need an entire
weekends worth of sex before they can function, is going to fly with Mrs
Broflovski.
Kyle goes down on him, tells him he’s missed the taste of his slick, that alpha
women don’t slick up like they do, before brutally tongue fucking him to
orgasm, barely giving him enough time to soak in the aftershocks before it’s
followed by his cock. Kyle fucks him on the bed, the floor, up against the
wall, in the computer chair, across the desk, in the shower. Then once he’s
good and spent, muscles shaking from slinging Kenny around like a well-loved
sex doll, he lets Kenny lay him and out and fuck him where he’s red and open,
neglected and weeping. Kyle loves cock orgasms, but there’s a little part of
him, still smarting from not presenting as an alpha, that is ashamed of his
vaginal orgasms, of the pleasure he feels being fucked, stimulated down below.
Of all the things they’ve done, Kyle has never once asked to be fucked. Because
asking means admitting he wants it, and even with everything they’ve done,
there’s still shame attached to this for Kyle. More than anything, before Kenny
relegates their time together to memory, Kenny wants Kyle to know what it feels
like to want this, unashamed.
Kenny starts by touching his thighs, spreading Kyle’s legs, watching the
involuntary blush climb up his cheeks as he’s exposed to Kenny’s gaze, watching
as he tries to disguise his embarrassment as passion.
“Don’t,” Kenny whispers. “Let me see.”
Kyle’s mouth drops open a little. Kenny sees him swallow.
“Kenny.”
“Please.”
Kyle tilts his head back, arms losing their tension, knees spread to touch the
bed, pelvis curving upwards. Kenny watched the steady rise and fall of his
chest, take in the lazy contentment in his eyes and the knowing curve of his
lips.
“So it’s like this,” he whispers.
“It’s the only thing we’ve never done,” Kenny says honestly.
Something soft and sad, broken open, appears in Kyle’s expression and Kenny
realises he’s just as scared as Kenny that they’re time together is ending.
It’s been close to two years, Kenny realises, since they started this thing.
Two years of near constant companionship. Of fucking his best friend. Of loving
his best friend in a way so few people ever get to experience. It’s not
supposed to be easy to give this up. He’s allowed to be sad, to treat this as
something important, as a goodbye that means something. Because it does. Kyle
means something. More than Kenny could ever put into words.
Kyle seems to understand because he whispers, “Kenny,” in a way he’s never
heard before, stretches his hands above his head and rolls his hips back to
expose himself. “Kenny.”
Kenny swallows, dizzy with gratitude and arousal. God he’s so beautiful. No
wonder Stan was jealous enough to change his whole personality. No wonder he
tore at himself and ruined everything to spare himself the pain of losing him.
Because losing him will be devastating, Kenny already knows. He loves Kyle.
Maybe not romantically, but as close as two people unequipped to love
themselves could possible get. He and Kyle are too similar to really fall in
love, but damn if Kenny doesn’t think he loves him anyway, just a little, just
now.
Kenny touches Kyle where he aches, giving him slow fingers and lovingly, filthy
words that spur him closer to vaginal orgasm. His cock isn’t hard, a sure sign
that his orgasm is completely omegan in nature, something that makes Kenny
flush with heady arousal. Kenny has never seen Kyle embrace his secondary
gender like he is now, making it the most obvious part of his sexuality, his
primary erogenous zone, his only pleasure. Kyle gasps, throws his head back
when Kenny rubs along his uteran opening, teasing it open with his fingers like
a knot would, bringing forth a fresh wave of slick. “Ah!” He cries, bucking up
against Kenny’s fingers, wanting them deep, wanting them like a knot. For a
single, crazy moment, Kenny wishes he was an alpha so he could give it to him.
He wants to give Kyle everything in that moment. Anything to keep him like
this. Flushed, wanting, unafraid.
Kenny touches himself and finds, to his immense surprise, that he’s hard.
Despite Kyle’s best efforts to fuck the horny out of him earlier, apparently he
hadn’t counted on the sight of his wanton self writhing in the bed sheets,
arching his spine, tilting his hips to get more of the fingers inside him.
Kenny withdraws his them slowly, watching Kyle fist his hands in the sheets,
part protest, part desperate yearning. His expression is clear and open, eyes
alight with desire, lips bitten red, cheeks pale and clammy with sweat.
Kenny guides the head of his cock against the soft, yielding core of him,
watches his eyes flutter, his mouth part.
“You’re made for this,” he says.
Kyle blinks up at him.
“There’s no shame in it.” Kenny jerks his hips pointedly, his cockhead sinking
inside the molten heat of him, just a little, just enough to tease at fullness.
Kyle whimpers, needy. “This is part of who you are. Fundamental. You’re more
beautiful because of it.”
“Kenny,” Kyle says, shocked, something desperate in his eyes. “Fuck me. Oh god,
please fuck me. I need you inside me. I need to remember this, you, like this.”
“I love you,” Kenny says, suddenly desperate, choked, not really understanding
why.
Kyle smiles, a real smile. Not shocked at all. “I love you too.”
Kyle lets his legs fall open and Kenny hooks them over his elbows, driving into
Kyle in one long push, revelling in his gasp, repeating the process over and
over, listening to those gasps turn high and thready, mutate into whimpers and
moans and expulsions of hot air over his ear and against his neck.
Kenny turns him on his side, pulls one sweaty knees up to his chest and fucks
in, back to chest, kissing up the back of his neck, resting his face in his
curls. Kenny finds the place where they’re joined with his fingers, touches
around the rim, rubbing until he gets a finger in alongside his cock.
Kyle shudders and shakes, makes a sound like a sob, whines “Kenny!”, comes
around his cock, mouth pressed open and wet into the pillow. Kenny turns him on
his back, notices the dazed look in his eyes, the soft red of his cock, the
rhythmic clutch of his hole as the aftershocks rock his body. Kenny starts
thrusting gently, giving him just enough friction to keep the aftershocks from
abating, slowly working Kyle up to a second orgasm. Kyle moans, stretches,
tilts his neck back. Kenny doesn’t think he’s even seen him so utterly
debauched. He pulls Kyle’s hips into his lap, raising his lap well above the
rest of him and fucks in a little harder, screws deep and thorough. Kyle starts
making these fucked out little sounds on everything breath, the tiniest
whimpers, involuntary aborted moans, high pain noises that aren’t pain noises
at all. “Oh Kyle,” he says, awed and honoured. “So this is you.”
Kyle looks at him through sleepy, aroused eyes.
“You knew,” he accuses.
“Not like this,” he whispers.
Kyle pulls him into a kiss that feels like hello and tastes like goodbye,
climbs into his lap and lets Kenny do all the work, lets him dig bruises into
his hips, fuck up into him while he’s wrecked from the inside out, spill inside
him, leave a little piece of himself behind, lingering like a forgotten bruise.
They don’t talk about it afterwards. It’s a chapter of their story kept
private, even between them. Butters finds all the places Kyle left his mark and
touches them with a peculiar kind of reverence Kenny only understands a little.
Wendy and Kyle have an enjoyable fling that ends in predicable fashion when
Bebe declares her undying love for Wendy during a jealous fit in front of half
the school and the two of them end up fucking so savagely in the janitors
closet that not even PC Principal is brave enough to try and split them up.
Most nights, Butters fucks him slow and gentle, kissing him everywhere, making
him feel safe and loved and cherished like Kyle never could. Other nights, he
fucks him hard and holds him down in a way that always makes him think of Kyle,
of the orgasms he could fuck out of him as easy as breathing. It’s not that he
misses sex with Kyle. He loves Butters and the sex is fucking awesome. It’s
just that sometimes he misses someone knowing him that well, knowing exactly
where to touch and what to do. No one knows him better than Kyle. Thinking
about it is almost like masturbating, actually. Creepy as that may sound.
They still go home together most days. Force of habit, really, since Stan
ditched and got newer, stupider friends and Butters started working at the
Wholefoods after school to save money for college. They’re going to be seniors
after this summer. Real, proper adults. He’s not sure he’s ready.
They’re watching one of the Scary Movie movies when Kenny turns over in bed
(because they still share a bed even if nothing happens in it) and says what
he’s needed to say for a while now.
“You’ve got to let him know there’s a chance.”
Kyle turns the volume up. Kenny takes the remote from him and hits mute.
Kyle’s jaw clenches.
“He’ll never come to you unless you make the first step.”
“I don’t want him to.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Lie.”
Kyle turns to face him, eyes deep and fathomless, something lurking just
beneath the surface.
“I won’t let him win,” Kyle says, and he means it.
“He doesn’t have to.”
“It’s the only way he’ll be satisfied,” Kyle argues.
“He wants you more than he wants to win.”
Kyle laughs and it’s not a kind sound.
“I used to think that too.”
“He thinks you don’t want him.”
“I don’t want him.”
“He thinks you never did.”
This shuts him up. Kyle blinks, the fire gone out of him, wounded and
sceptical.
“You’re bullshitting.”
“I’m not.”
“There’s no way he didn’t know I wanted him. He’s the one who never made a
move. He’s the one that stopped talking to me the moment he found out we were
fucking, like some kind of jealous asshole. What right does he have to be
jealous? If he wanted me, he could’ve had me. But he didn’t. He only wanted me
after he thought I was already taken. I’ve never had time for those kinds of
games Kenny. That’s not love. I loved him, and I was never going to settle for
anything less. He should’ve known that.”
Something clenches painfully in his chest. Idiots, Kenny thinks, massive
fucking idiots. This whole time.
“He didn’t know. Trust me, he didn’t know.”
Kyle’s expression cracks open, raw and vulnerable underneath it all.
“Then he should’ve,” he whispers.
“Yeah,” Kenny says, drawing him in, “yeah he should’ve.”
Kenny doesn’t see what happens between Kyle and Stan not speaking and Kyle and
Stan making out against the same wall Kyle pressed Kenny against a couple of
years ago, but when Stan walks over and stands beside him after school, waiting
for Kyle to swing around in his blue ford, and says, simply, “you were right,”
Kenny understands that it must have been fucking epic. Like, Nicholas Sparks
level epic. He tries not to be too pissed off at how simple it was for them to
fall back together in the end, too scared at the prospect of losing his best
friend to the one who came before, too mad at Stan for being human and flawed
and, as it turns out, a fucking alpha after all.
“I won’t tell you not to hurt him, because that’s stupid.” Kenny says, instead
of a million other things he could say. “What I will say is that if you
diminish him, if you dull his spark, or feed his shame, or make him in anyway
less than spitfire I’ve come to know and love, I’ll make you regret it.”
Stan looks half wary, half amused. Like he wants to laugh but he’s not sure
it’s allowed.
“You’ll beat me up?” Stan says eventually, touching his nose ruefully. “Yeah,
already got the message thanks.”
Kenny shrugs, smirking.
“Actually, I was going to threaten to start fucking him again.”
Stan’s face drops.
“Too soon?” Kenny asks innocently, a shit eating grin spreading across his
face. Kyle rolls down the window and asks what they’re doing just as Stan
lunges.
Kenny laughs and ducks out of the way of Stan’s swipe, laughing harder when he
growls “that’s not funny,” and attempts to strangle him over the central
console. The effect is kind of ruined by his own grin, though. Kyle watches
them, a bemused smile on his face, something deeply at peace in his expression.
Kenny hasn’t seen that look in a long time.
He watches them together later. Kyle takes him by the hand and leads him to the
computer chair, tells him he wants Kenny to watch. Stan is nervous, palms
sweating, but Kyle distracts him, looks him deep in the eyes and makes him
understand that sometimes the two of them are going to need this. Even if they
won’t touch, there’s still love between them, a connection rooted in pleasure
that isn’t easily forgotten. Kenny watches them fuck, gentle and slow for the
first time, watches Stan’s wide open, wrecked expression as Kyle sinks down on
him, takes him in with the kind of strength and dexterity that comes from years
of good practice. Kenny watches them move together in the half light and feels
hazy with arousal, glossed over by warm contentment and the softness of love.
Love, he thinks, is like a layer cake. You need all the different flavours to
come together in harmony to make something delicious. And they are delicious,
he thinks, all of them. Like this. Together.
Later, Kenny will call Butters and invite him over for post-coital pizza and
beer. Later again, Butters will fuck him into the Marsh’s couch with the soft
gleam of eyes watching in the dark. Later still, Butters and Stan will starts
whispering, plotting, planning- the kind of plans that make Kenny and Kyle
smirk at each other, that make the old hunger stir to life. Even later than all
of that, Kyle will have Butters in bed, three fingers deep, broadening his
horizons in more ways than one. Stan and Kenny will share a beer as their
boyfriend’s fuck, laughing about Cartman’s engagement to himself, discussing
their plans after college. Kenny will let himself be pulled into Stan’s side,
let himself get lost in the feel of him, the smell of their combined arousal,
the oil-smooth way Kyle and Butters move against each other on the bed. But
that’s later. For now, Kenny is content. Kyle meets his eyes, sweaty and
gorgeous as ever, rolling his hips, lost in sensation, in love. It’s all
Kenny’s ever wanted.
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