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Nobody understands why Kyle and Eric hang out with one another.
Every time they are within the same vicinity of each other, there’s always a clashing of heads, a battleground, a string of profanities being tossed every which way. And anyone who happens to share the space with them is quickly forgotten in favor of the war they waged.
Which, unfortunately, is usually Stan and Kenny.
It was Kenny who brought up the topic originally—the blond can make anything and everything about sex if he so desired. He asked the question innocently enough: who was your best hookup?
Kenny answered his own question with Red, and said he will absolutely not elaborate but he swore he saw God.
Stan had said Wendy, because of course he did.
And Kyle—well, Kyle never hooked up with anyone before. So when all three pairs of eyes turned to him for his answer, he got red in the face. He couldn’t think of anyone on the spot, either, so there was this awkward silence that seemed to thicken the air around them.
Then Cartman bursted out laughing as the realization hit—Kyle didn’t have an answer because…he never did anything with anyone. Stan tried to tell Cartman off and comfort his friend, but Kyle took matters into his own hands and started verbally insulting Cartman. Cartman responded with his own defense barriers, parrying Kyle’s words and insulting him right back.
Which leads them to where they are now—face to face in Cartman’s bedroom, seeing red, and forgetting the world around them.
“You have no right to be making fun of my looks when you constantly look like a fat, fucking slob!” Kyle shouts, jabbing a bony finger into Cartman’s thick chest. “And for the record, you haven’t answered either! So I’m willing to bet that you never hooked up with someone either!”
Cartman rolls his eyes. “That’s where you’re goddamn wrong, Jewboy. I’ve hooked up with plenty of people.”
“We’re leaving, by the way,” Stan announces.
“Yeah, right,” Kyle laughs dryly, ignoring Stan. “What could you possibly bring to the table?”
Stan looks at Kenny, who shrugs. “Let’s just go. Let them duke it out. We’ll check up on them later.”
“For your information, Kahl , I have a lot of gifts when it comes to that shit.” Cartman replies, completely unfazed by the door slamming. “I am very talented.”
“ Talented?” Kyle scoffs. “Please. I have more talent in my left pinky toe than you do in your entire fucking body.”
“Oh really? What sort of talent do you possess, Kahl? Please, enlighten me.” Cartman walks over to the bed and sits down, folding his hands in his lap like it was a therapy session. “Go on. What are all these people missing out on? You say pinky toe, do you perhaps have a talent in the foot fetish department?”
Kyle grits his teeth. “What the fuck? No! It’s an expression, you dumb sack of shit!”
“So it is the foot fetish,” Cartman tuts as he pretends to write on a notepad. “Interesting.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Nuh, uh,” Cartman shakes his head. “I haven’t even shared what my talents are.”
“You don’t have any, besides being a pain in the fucking ass .” Kyle throws his hands up in frustration. “And besides, even if you did, why the fuck would I want to know?”
“You want to know, because you’re curious.” Cartman cackles, smiling with a devilish glint in his eyes. “How does Cartman get laid all the time? He must be doing something right.”
“I do not think about that,” Kyle shakes his head furiously. “And you’re not getting laid. I don’t ever see you with anyone.”
“You’re not with me all the time, believe it or not.”
“And thank fuck for that!”
“The point is, Jew,” Cartman lifts a pointer finger up. “You don’t know what, or who, I do in my spare time.”
Kyle wants to pull his hair out—how can someone be so fucking infuriating? “No, I don’t. And I don’t want to fucking know. I don’t give a shit about you.”
Cartman smiles. “Except you want to know.”
Kyle glares at the man on the bed, fists clenched at his side, eager to just throw hands and punch that gut-twisting smile right off of his pudgy face. Shut him up for good. It could be so quick, so easy, knock his ass out then bolt out of the room.
But fuck—he does want to know. How on Earth can Cartman attract anyone?
It’s like a burning curiosity in the back of his head.
Cartman’s smile widens, turning into a sinister grin, like he knows what Kyle is thinking.
“I’ve got no gag reflex,” he states plainly.
Kyle’s brain halts to a stop so sharp he feels a bit of whiplash. Huh? “Cartman, what the fuck does a gag reflex have to do with—”
Oh. Kyle closes his mouth and blushes furiously. Cartman continues to sit neatly on the bed, hands still folded in his lap. His smile never wavers.
“That’s right, Kahl,” Cartman stands up. “No gag reflex. I can deepthroat anything. You know how many people dig that shit?”
Kyle shakes his head. “No way. You’re fucking lying.”
Cartman rolls his eyes. “Of course you don’t believe me.”
“It’s not true!” Kyle rubs his face in disbelief. “Everyone has a gag reflex. It’s only a natural part of human anatomy and evolution!”
“Well,” Cartman crosses his arms. “I don’t.”
“Fucking bullshit,” Kyle retorts. “You’re a goddamn liar. You don’t get laid, you don’t have any talents, and you certainly don’t not have a gag reflex!”
Cartman clenches his teeth. “I do. Fuck, you want me to fucking prove it?”
Kyle looks at him with a weird expression. “What?”
“I’ll fucking prove it, Jewboy. I’ll swallow your dick right here, right now, and it’ll be like nothing .”
“W-what?” Kyle sputters, backing away suddenly. Did Cartman just—
“You heard me,” Cartman is angry, as he typically gets when someone tells him he can’t do something. “I’ll fucking prove it to you. I’ll shove it down my throat, as far as it’ll go, and you will fucking see how talented I am.”
Kyle is completely red at this point and has backed up against Cartman’s wall. His mind is short-circuiting. Is Cartman actually suggesting to suck his dick?
He feels blood start to rush south. Oh no.
“D-dude, what the fuck. ” Kyle tries, his voice suddenly dry and raspy. “Are you insane?”
“No, I’m hellbent on trying to prove something,” Cartman responds. “You want to know how talented I can be? I’ll show you. It’ll shut you up for fucking good.”
Kyle narrows his gaze, trying to ignore the fire currently present on his face. “You’re…you’re bluffing.”
“Am I, Kahl?” Cartman sneers. He invades Kyle’s space, leaning a hand right next to Kyle’s face against the wall. “I can assure you, Kahl, that I am absolutely, positively, unequivocally, not bluffing. ” He leans in, lips inches from Kyle’s ear as he whispers. “Just say the word, Jew. And I’ll do it.”
Kyle shudders and suppresses a whimper. The way Cartman’s hot breath brushes against his ear is sending all sorts of electricity through his body. He feels his pants tightening against his will. Why is this affecting him so much? This is Eric Cartman.
He’s never had a blowjob. But he’s seen plenty in porn. And he knows that it’ll feel so fucking good.
But from Eric Cartman? Why is his dick so far away from his brain? And why does it want this?
Cartman kneels down and looks up at Kyle, his heterochromatic eyes barring deep into his soul with his blown out pupils. He glances at Kyle’s crotch and smiles at the bulge in his jeans before trailing his eyes back up. “Well?”
Kyle swallows. “...Okay. Prove it.”
He’s never seen Eric Cartman move so fast in his life.
Cartman makes quick work of Kyle’s button and zipper and pulls his jeans down, revealing black boxers with a red waistband. Kyle’s breathing falters as Cartman’s hands lightly ghost him. There’s a desk next to him, thankfully, so he grips it tight as he steadies himself. Cartman slowly and teasingly grips the waistband and lowers the boxers, subconsciously licking his lips as Kyle’s cock springs free.
“So,” Cartman smirks. “The carpet does match the drapes.”
“Shut up.”
“Gladly.”
Kyle gets no chance to retort before Cartman takes his cock and wraps his lips around it. Kyle lets out a muffled cry and clenches at the desk and wall, trying desperately to hold himself steady. It’s a feeling unlike anything he’s felt—a warm mouth wrapped around him. So much different, so much better than a hand. It’s almost overwhelming—emotions and nerves all bundled up and shooting rapid-fire style towards his brain. He wants more. He needs more. “ Fuck, ” Kyle moans.
Cartman hums, sending more waves of pleasure up his spine. Then he takes his hands and puts them on either side of Kyle’s hips, takes a deep breath, and shoves Kyle towards him.
Kyle just about screams. Cartman takes him all the way until his nose is buried in the red curls that rest above his cock. His hands fly to Cartman’s hair and threads his fingers through his thick, brown hair. There’s a slight stiffness to it that indicates it has been gelled, but Kyle’s not focused on that right now. Cartman moans at the contact but holds his position. His hips buck a bit, gasping loudly at the movement. Cartman remains steady, not even affected by the jolting movement. Shit, he really didn’t have much of a gag reflex. He wants to move so bad. It’s a warm, wet, seductive heaven and he craves it.
Cartman stares up at Kyle, his eyes gleaming and he pulls off, a trail of saliva connecting them briefly before he wipes his mouth. Kyle retains the eye contact, breathing heavily, hands still connected to Cartman’s hair. His face is completely flushed and eyes blown wide with lust.
“Told you,” Cartman says. And Kyle thinks it's over, he proved his point, and now his punishment for thinking he couldn’t do it is being left like this.
It’s why he lets out the most guttural moan in his life when Cartman engulfs him again, hands still placated on Kyle’s hips as he bobs his head.
“Cartman,” Kyle groans. “Fuck!”
He’s still gripping Cartman’s hair when Cartman removes his own hands from Kyle's hips and puts them behind his own back, stifling his movements and meeting Kyle’s eyes. He slowly purses his lips and moves back to the tip and pauses, eyes flickering back down and up.
Kyle stares at him, bewildered. “What are…what are you doing?”
Cartman rolls his eyes, because how could Kyle not get the hint? So he takes his hands and places them over Kyle’s in his hair, and pushes himself down to the hilt, then quickly back to the tip before putting his hands behind his back again, staring up sweetly.
Kyle feels his legs quiver. Cartman wants him to fuck his mouth.
And he’s never wanted to do anything more.
Kyle pushes Cartman back down again before thrusting his hips, gasping praises as the slick heat of Cartman’s mouth envelopes his cock. He can feel it hitting the back of his throat and Cartman is just taking it. So much better than a hand. Cartman is moaning too, which makes Kyle move faster, the vibrations doing wonders for the sensitive nerves. It’s like everything in his body is on fire and he’s drowning in ecstasy.
He lifts Cartman off of his cock to breathe as the other man gasps for air, lips slick with a seductive mixture of spit and pre-cum. Seeing Cartman like this—eyes lustful and mouth agape and cheeks flushed—it is a sight to behold, a beautiful painting he desperately wishes to frame.
He hates him. No man as much as an asshole as him should look this pretty. God, Kyle hates him so much.
Kyle shoves him back down, clenching his teeth and gripping Cartman’s hair so tight that Cartman whimpers against him.
He feels a familiar heat pool in his stomach, and Kyle knows he’s almost to the edge. He moves faster, holding Cartman’s head in place, who is now using his hands on Kyle’s hips to brace himself as his moans reverberate around Kyle’s dick.
“God, Eric, fuck! ” Kyle shouts as his mind explodes into fireworks, leaning over Cartman with his hand pushing his head to his groin as he cums down Cartman’s throat. He sees stars as Cartman hums again, before Cartman forces himself off, wiping his face and swallowing. He grimaces a bit as he does so.
“You know,” Cartman says, and his voice is husky. “It’s common courtesy to give a warning before you shoot your load in another guy’s mouth.”
Kyle leans back against the wall, panting heavily. “S-sorry.”
Cartman smirks. “S’fine. I won. That’s all I care about.”
“Y-yeah,” Kyle stutters as he sinks down to the floor, now eye level with Cartman still on his knees. He sees Cartman adjust himself awkwardly, and he looks down to see a bulge in his sweatpants. “You…you’re hard.”
Cartman blushes. “Well…yeah. I just sucked a cock. Shit turns me on.”
Kyle reaches for Cartman’s pants but is stopped by a hand around his wrist.
“Kyle,” Cartman is serious. “You don’t have to.”
“You didn’t have to finish me off, either,” Kyle replies. “Could have stopped after that first time you deepthroated me and left me with the worst case of blue balls ever recorded.”
Cartman turns beat red. “I…err…well…”
“So let me,” Kyle says softly, shifting so he’s on his knees as well. Cartman swallows as he nods before leaning back to allow Kyle access to his pants. Kyle reaches in and grasps Cartman’s cock, eliciting a whimper that made his dick twitch even through post orgasmic bliss. He pulls it out and swallows when he sees it—it’s shorter than his own but thicker and Kyle is mesmerized.
“Shit,” Cartman curses as Kyle moves his hand. “Don’t stop.”
Kyle twists his wrist, thumbing just the underside of the head, a trick he loves himself. Cartman practically melts against him, leaning forward to rest his head on his shoulders, panting heavily. It’s weird, touching a cock that isn’t his own, and especially weird knowing it’s his longtime frenemy. But Kyle is absolutely relishing in Cartman’s sounds as he mewls in his ear, feeling his hot breath ghost his neck as he jerks him.
“K-Kyle,” Cartman moans. “Fuck. I’m close.”
“You’re okay,” Kyle’s tone is gentle. He speeds his hand up, and Cartman’s breaths start becoming more shallow and his moans start becoming more desperate.
“Gonna cum,” Cartman shudders. “Kyle, oh my god—”
And Cartman lets out a strangled moan as he buries his face in Kyle’s shoulder while Kyle strokes him through his climax. Kyle coaxes him through it as Cartman paints his hand and their shirts with cum. Kyle is almost fully hard again as he drinks in the intoxicating noises. Cartman pants against him for a moment before lifting his head slowly.
“Thanks,” he murmurs. He stands up and grabs the box of tissues on his desk and hands them to Kyle, who takes a bunch and wipes himself down. Cartman does the same and pulls his pants up. The two redress in awkward silence, faces flushed and tinged with slight embarrassment.
“Why—” Kyle coughs after his voice comes out hoarse. “Why did you say I didn’t have to, uh, ‘return the favor?’”
Cartman shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t expect it from people.”
Kyle blinks. “Do…do people not?”
“No. They don’t.” Cartman sits on his bed and rubs at his face.
“Oh,” Kyle replies. He quietly sits down on the bed next to Cartman. “Why?”
Cartman shrugs. “Reasons. I don’t really feel like talking about it.”
“Okay,” Kyle nods. “I understand.”
Another awkward silence. It weighs heavy on Kyle’s heart. Why don’t the people Cartman is with ever return the favor? Do they not realize how utterly perfect he sounds when he’s cumming?
Kyle blinks— perfect? One blowjob and suddenly he’s describing Cartman as perfect?
“Congrats on proving me wrong, by the way,” Kyle pipes up, smirking a bit. “You definitely shut me up.”
Cartman returns with a smile.
“And I may have nothing to compare it to,” Kyle rubs the back of his neck. “But that was fucking amazing.”
“I know.” Cartman chuckles. “I did it. I told you specifically that I am talented.”
“You have a talent for getting on every single one of my nerves,” Kyle mutters.
“Mmm,” Cartman hums, running a hand through his tousled hair (no thanks to Kyle). “I’ve got multiple talents.”
Kyle grins. “Yeah, you do.” He collapses backwards onto the bed, putting his arms underneath his head and staring up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe you just sucked my dick.”
Cartman falls back next to Kyle. “I can’t believe you let me suck your dick. Never thought you’d let me go anywhere near your firecrotch.”
Kyle narrows his eyes at him. “Hey, don’t make me regret it.”
“I don’t think you could even if you tried,” Cartman smirks.
“Yeah,” Kyle sighs. “You’re right.”
Cartman laughs. “Damn, I’m on fire today. That’s twice you’ve admitted I’m right. Should we go for three?”
“Don’t push it.”
“Tell me, Kahl, how does it feel to be wrong?” Cartman pretends to hold up a microphone to Kyle’s face.
“Seriously?” Kyle shoves his fist away, but his face is riddled with amusement. He stands up, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “I should probably go. Er, thanks. You know, for the blowjob.”
“No problem, Jew. Thanks for rubbing me out too.”
Kyle glares. “Fatass. You’re welcome.”
“Now get out of here,” Cartman grins and points to the door. “And let me know if you want to be proven wrong again.”
Is he saying he would do it again? Kyle could feel his dick twitch at the possibility of Cartman sucking him off again. His life is strange—here he is, in post orgasm haze with his lifelong frenemy who he never gets along with, and he’s insinuating on wanting to do it again. And Kyle wants to.
“I’ll be sure to,” is what Kyle replies, sharing a smile with Cartman once more before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.
And if his mind starts to wonder about the other “talents” that Cartman claims he possesses, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.