5 naked guys part III

[formerdinosaur]

When they emerge from the bathroom everyone appears to be still sleeping, Cartman snoring faintly, his arm thrown across Butters' back. Stan is apart from them, curled up with his arms tucked to his chest, and they look at each other before hurrying to him, both of them a little ripped apart by the fact that he looks cold. They climb onto the bed as carefully as they can, Kyle spooning himself up behind Stan and Kenny sliding down between him and Butters. Stan is sleeping deeply, and he doesn't seem to register the renewed warmth. Kenny reaches down to find the only blanket that isn't crushed under one or several of them, and he pulls it up over all of them. Butters gasps when Kenny settles down beside him again, his eyes flying open wide.

"Kenny!" he says, whispering. He glues himself to Kenny's side, wrapping a leg around his waist and moaning a little. "I had a bad dream about you," he says.

"It was just a dream," Kenny says. "I'm right here, I'm fine." He can feel Kyle staring at the back of his head as he says so, thinking this untrue. Kenny tucks an arm around Butters and kisses his temple. Butters always smells so good, so untouched, even like this, his neck dotted with hickeys and someone's come drying under his jaw. Kenny flakes it off for him and tugs on one of the nightie's straps. "You want to leave this on?" he asks.

Butters shrugs. "It itches a little."

"Here, then, c'mon." Kenny helps him out of it, and they both sigh when it's been tossed to the floor, Butters squirming against Kenny's freshly cleaned skin.

"That feels good," Butters whispers, and they've all said that and thought that a million times tonight, but for Kenny it's never meant more. Butters is soft and sleepy, squirming against Kenny's chest and pulling Cartman more snugly to his back. Cartman grumbles and wakes partially, narrowing his eyes at Kenny from over Butters' shoulder.

"What the hell time is it?" he asks.

"I don't know," Kenny says, and he's afraid to look. He's avoided the digital clock on Stan's bedside table all night, and in fact intentionally threw his shirt over it at the start. He can hear Kyle moving it aside when he leans up to check the time.

"Jesus," Kyle says. "Almost four in the morning."

"Well, fuck me," Cartman says.

"No thanks," Kyle says.

"I didn't - dammit, Kahl! There is one more thing I wanted to do, though."

"There's like a billion more things I wanted to do," Kenny says, rubbing his hand through Butters' hair. "But look, Butters is tired. Stan is passed out. Maybe we should just quit while we're ahead."

"M'okay," Butters says, muttering this against Kenny's collarbone, his eyes closed.

"Quit?" Cartman says, sitting up. "Hell no! Look, Kyle's still awake, you're still awake. Butters is up for anything and you know it. Fuck Stan, let him sleep."

"Sleep through what?" Kyle asks. He's huddled over Stan, glaring at Cartman.

"A contest," Cartman says, grinning. He still seems a little dozy, his eyes puffy and his cheeks flushed. "Between me and you."

"Christ, is that all you ever think about?" Kyle says. He frowns. "What sort of contest?"

"Well, Butters wanted to get fucked by everyone here," Cartman says, rubbing his hand over the back of Butters' neck. Butters arches into the touch, mewling. "And my little slut gets whatever he wants. That means your dick up his ass, Kahl, but let's make it interesting. I'll fuck Kenny in the meantime, and whoever makes their bottom bitch come first wins."

"I'm all for it if Butters is," Kenny says, and he's pretty sure Butters is, because he's getting a little hard against Kenny's stomach already.

"Yeah," Butters says. He yawns and sits up on an elbow. "Let's do it."

"It's not a fair match up, though," Kyle says. "I - I've never even done this, and Butters is all tired, and Stan wanted me to-"

"You can still fuck your precious Stan later, Kahl! You guys already lost your virginity to each other, gah, you really need to lose your reverse virginity to each other, too? Stan fell asleep, so that's tough shit for him. Are we doing this or not?"

"Oh, we're doing it," Kyle says. "But the contest isn't who can make the other person come first. All you'd have to do is jerk their dick, bam, you're done."

"We could make a no touching dicks rule!"

"No, Cartman, listen. It's whoever lasts longer. And no cheating by just lying there. The person on top has to be moving the whole time."

"Why does it have to be a contest?" Kenny asks, because he wants Cartman in him, but not if he's going to drag himself out as slowly as possible in order to beat Kyle.

"Because it just does Kenny, okay!"

"Shh!" Kyle says, pressing his hand over Stan's ear. "You're gonna wake him up."

"Oh, Jesus, Kahl, fine. If you'd rather lie there licking Stan's ass than give poor Butters his dying wish, be my guest. I guess I can fuck 'em both if you're not man enough."

"I didn't say that!" Kyle says, hissing. "I just said to keep it the fuck down. C'mon, we'll do it on the floor."

"Sweet," Cartman says, smiling again. "I am so going to be better at this than you."

"Yeah, we'll see."

It's definitely the weirdest fuck Kenny has ever had, and not just because it's Cartman back there, huffing and sweating as he stretches it out for a long as possible. It almost feels like an inner body massage more than a fuck, Cartman staying continuously in motion but just barely, his arms shaking as he struggles to hold himself up over Kenny's back. Kenny has his cheek pressed to the floor and his ass just slightly lifted, enjoying the view as Kyle fucks Butters.

Butters is on his back, his legs wrapped around Kyle, and Kyle's strategy seems to be to distract himself with kissing. His hips aren't even moving especially slowly, and Kenny can't decide if the little squeaking noises Kyle makes with every thrust are intentional or not, because they've definitely caught Cartman's attention, and Kenny can feel Cartman's cock twitch inside him whenever one of Kyle's squeaks gives way to a moan. Butters is being perfectly quiet, as commanded by Cartman, but he seems to be enjoying all the kissing, and he and Kyle look cute as fuck as they lick at each other, exchanging panted breath.

"Yeah, here it comes, right, Kyle?" Cartman says, sounding winded. "He's probably clenching around you pretty hard, right? Getting you super close? You're clenching, right, Butters?"

"No, Eric, that would be cheating!"

"Shut up, Cartman!" Kyle says, still humping Butters, and Kenny has to stuff his hand in his mouth to keep from cracking up. "No talking between teams, remember?"

Kenny loses it then, laughing hard, and Cartman flops down against his back, panting hot breath against Kenny's neck.

"Kahl, seriously, I need a time out," Cartman says. He's already stopped moving, and the feeling of being pressed to the floor by his heft while still impaled on his dick is pretty much right up Kenny's alley. "You can have one, too, just, eh. I've fucked more people tonight than you have, um, like, including you? So, um, I'm more tired than you? So actually, maybe you shouldn't get a time out."

"Whatever," Kyle says. "If you get a time out, I get one, too. Ah, not that I need one." He ducks down to kiss Butters, who has both his hands in Kyle's hair, his toes curling up when Kyle licks into him.

"Don't kiss him so much," Cartman says.

"Why the hell not?" Kyle asks, breaking away in mid-kiss.

"It's not fair! I'm not kissing Kenny."

"Well, you could be if you'd just flip him over. Kenny, dude, are you okay down there?"

Kenny laughs and gives Kyle the thumbs up.

"I love how you said that like I'm in a well that I just fell down," Kenny says.

"'Ey!"

"Well, that's how he said it!"

Kyle laughs then, too, and Butters grins, and suddenly Kenny can't stop laughing, because it's hilarious, this, the supposed last night of their lives, and they're not even drinking, not even eating a decadent last meal, unless this counts, because maybe they're having each other for a last meal. Yeah, they are.

"Stan!" Kyle says, and they all turn toward the bed, Kenny pressing his other cheek to the floor. Stan is sitting up on his elbows, looking groggy, and he's smiling.

"Uh," he says. "What the fuck are you guys doing?"

"It's a fight to the death," Kenny says. "And me and Butters' asses are, uh, the weapons? The arenas, actually, I guess."

Stan snorts and stretches his arms out toward the headboard, resting his forehead against the mattress, still smiling, and even Cartman would have to admit that Stan looks perfect like this. He looks like someone who is okay with what he thinks will be the last night of his life, because everything he loves is here, and because it will still be here after he's gone. Maybe Kenny is just projecting, though he wouldn't really know. If the last night of his life ever catches up to him, he won't see it coming.

"Cartman, are you falling asleep back there?" Kenny asks, and everybody laughs again, even Butters, who does a full body giggle that makes Kyle moan and drop his head down to Butters' chest.

"Fuck you guys, seriously," Cartman says, starting to drool onto the back of Kenny's neck a little.

"Hey, I got a proposition for you," Kenny says to Cartman, canting his ass back. "You want to just lie back for awhile, take it easy?"

"You guys don't even know," Cartman says, mumbling. "I fucked - this is three now, right? Yeah, three of you. Nobody else here's done that many."

"Butters has taken four," Kyle says. "I'd say that's harder." He kisses Butters between his eyes, and Butters smiles up at him appreciatively.

"You guys, don't be so hard on Eric," Butters says. "He hasn't been sleeping well."

"Shut up, Butters!" Cartman says, reviving a bit.

"What I'm trying to offer is to fuck you, Eric," Kenny says. "If you want to lie back and just take it for goddamn once."

"Ah - no - that's-"

"It's your last chance, Cartman," Stan says, leaning up onto his elbows again. "Kenny's done it, I've done it. You don't have to feel bad about it. It's pretty great."

"Seriously, dude," Kenny says, squeezing around him. Cartman whimpers and tugs on Kenny's hair, making him moan. "You can pull my hair while I fuck you, if you want," Kenny says, though he actually sort of has other plans.

“Stan, you have not done it,” Cartman says, his mouth moving on the back of Kenny's neck.

“Kenny did it to me with his fingers,” Stan says. “At least let him do that. It's awesome.”

“Yeah, c'mon, fat boy,” Kenny says, reaching back to rub his fingers through Cartman's hair. “I'll make you feel good.”

“Don't call me fat,” Cartman says, and Kenny actually feels kind of bad.

“You're not fat,” Kenny says. He reaches down to pinch Cartman's ass, and groans when Cartman shifts inside him; he's gotten so used to the feeling that he almost forgot he was in there. “You're big boned,” Kenny says, clenching around him.

“Eff you, Kenny,” Cartman says. He licks the back of Kenny's neck and sighs, pulling out of him in a long drag that makes them both groan. “For the record, I'm only letting you do this because I'm too tired to move.”

“Sweet,” Kenny says, his own exhaustion hitting him as he struggles up onto his hands and knees. His ass is still sort of gaping, and he's hard as hell, won't last long.

“So I won,” Kyle says, huddled against Butters' chest and looking like he might fall asleep there, Butters' arms and legs wrapped around him. “I won, right?”

“No!” Cartman says. He's propped against the side of the bed, letting Stan pet his hair. “I forfeited. But, like, whatever, hurry up and come in him.”

“Yeah, Kyle, hurry up,” Stan says, and Kyle seems re-energized by the look that passes between them, like Stan just told him a secret in their super best friends telepathic language. Kenny is pretty sure the secret is that Stan wants him next and can't wait much longer. Kyle grins and looks back to Butters, mouthing at his jaw.

“You want it?” Kyle asks him.

“Uh-huh,” Butters says. He puts his arms up over his head, inviting Kyle to pin them there, and he does. Kenny watches them until he's distracted by the sound of Stan kissing Cartman, which is pretty fucking weird. Kenny stares openly, but they don't seem to notice. When Stan pulls back Cartman is glowering at him, blushing.

“You're such a dick,” Cartman says, like Stan just threw a pie at him or something. Stan smirks and looks at Kenny.

“Don't hold back, okay?” Stan says. “He's needed to get the shit fucked out of him for, like. Ever.”

“Don't tell Kenny what to do!” Cartman looks at Kenny, still blushing. “And, like. News flash, okay, um. Butters doesn't fuck me. So, like. Don't act like I've, like. Done this. 'Cause I haven't.”

“No kidding,” Kenny says. He climbs into Cartman's lap and pinches both of his bright red cheeks. “I'll be gentle with you, darling.”

“Sick, Kenny!” Cartman grabs Kenny's wrists and pulls his hands away. Stan is laughing hard, rolling across the bed. Kyle is panting, whining, pretty obviously worn out, and Kenny wonders if he'll even be able to get it up again after this. They're all watching him and Butters now, Kyle's skinny hips pumping as hard as he can manage, his hands clawed around Butters' wrists and his teeth gritted, head tucked to his chest.

“Come on, Kyle,” Stan says.

“Jesus, I need it, I need to, I just -” Kyle says, panting, eyes closed.

“Hurry up, asshole,” Cartman says. “You're making him sore.”

“No shit, ah, why d-do you think I can't finish?” Kyle glares at Cartman, still humping himself into Butters. “Ah - shit - Butters - want me to just stop? I'll stop, I just-”

“It's okay, Kyle, don't listen to them,” Butters is a little shaky, but he's still got his legs locked around Kyle's back, holding him in place. He leans up to lick Kyle's cheek. “You can do it, buddy,” he says, whispering. “Put that come in me, Kyle,” he says. “Put it in there, real deep.”

“Uhngh, yeah.” Kyle deflates, shuddering as he pumps his orgasm into Butters. They're both exhausted, eyes closed, chests heaving as they soak up each other's relief. Kyle pulls out and Butters sighs, hugging Kyle back down to his chest while he leaks onto the carpet. They've all come in him tonight, and Kenny is kind of jealous, but Butters should have that for himself, the only one who can claim it.

“Hey,” Cartman says. He sounds irritated but looks worried. “Butt munch? You okay?”

“I'm good, Eric,” Butters says, giving him a drowsy smile. “You should try it. You're gonna try it, right?”

“Right, Eric?” Kenny says, pressing his face to Cartman's, trying to strike a note somewhere between obnoxious and endearing. Cartman rolls his eyes and heaves a dramatic sigh.

“Fine,” he says. “If that will make you guys feel better about yourselves.”

Kyle snorts. “'Cause that's always been your mission in life.”

“Geez, look at you guys,” Stan says, and he scrambles off the bed while Kenny gets the lube and lets Cartman watch him pour some into his hand.

“Oh, Jesus, Stan we're so impressed,” Cartman says, and Kenny turns to see Stan hoisting Butters up into his arms. Kyle is clinging to Stan's back, his legs wrapped around Stan's waist. Stan carries them both to the bed, and Kenny thinks he was actually pretty smart to have slept for as long as he did. Now he gets to be the only who isn't punch drunk and dragging. He sets Butters down on the bed, kisses his nose, then helps Kyle get under the blankets, too. Kyle moans and reaches for him, pulling him down for a kiss.

“Stan,” Kyle says, dreamy and half asleep, rubbing his hands through Stan's hair as Stan stretches out on top of him. Cartman is watching them, tense. Kenny puts his fingers on Cartman's jaw and turns his head.

“Ready?” he asks, and he kisses Cartman before he can answer. He can taste how tired Cartman is, or maybe he's just delirious himself, but it feels like a real kiss, and Cartman's body is strangely comforting, so much padding to press against, so many squeezeable places.

“I want it on the bed,” Cartman says when Kenny pulls away to kiss his hot cheeks.

“Alright,” Kenny says. He assumes Cartman just wants to interfere with Stan and Kyle's moment, but when he clambers onto the bed he avoids them and tucks himself in beside Butters. Cartman puts the blanket over himself, and Kenny is pretty sure he's holding Butters' hand beneath it.

“Well, are you fucking me or aren't you?” Cartman says to Kenny.

“Stay on your back,” Kenny says when Cartman starts to turn over.

“Don't think you can order me around just because I'm being the girl for you,” Cartman says, but he settles down again, still on his back.

Butters kisses Cartman while Kenny works him open, and Kenny watches them, letting Cartman slide a hand down to his ass under the blanket. He expects Cartman to try to get a finger inside him, too, as some measure of control, but he just squeezes Kenny's ass, the tightness of his fingers indicating whether or not Kenny is rubbing a particularly good spot. Cartman mostly stays quiet, which Kenny wasn't expecting. He doesn't think it will last, can see Cartman starting to crumble, hiding his whimpers in Butters' mouth.

“Why'd you ever let me do this to you?” Cartman asks Butters when Kenny has two fingers inside him and a firm grasp on the location of his prostate, teasing it with little strokes that make Cartman jerk and shut his eyes.

“You don't like it?” Butters says.

“Nuh - I - it, it's pretty okay - don't stop, Kenny! Just, um.” Cartman stares up at Butters, who is hovering over him, cupping his face. Kenny glances over at Stan and Kyle to see if they're watching, and he grins at Stan when he sees Kyle tucked against his chest, the little spoon, fast asleep.

“I just mean, like,” Cartman says, and Kenny keeps his fingers still, because Cartman looks like he's figuring something out, and he doesn't want to interrupt. “Like, why. Why did you let me. Me - why - I mean, did you know it would be like this?”

“I didn't know anything,” Butters says. “Eric, oh.” He puts his lips to Cartman's ear, but Kenny can hear what he whispers there: “I just wanted you to keep kissing me. I think I would have done just about anything, as long as you kept kissing me.”

Kenny's plan was to get Cartman to call him a poor piece of shit, or white trash, or any of the other things he's said over the years, and to pummel his ass in retaliation, but it doesn't really shake out that way. He sits back on his knees and fucks Cartman slow while Cartman gasps into Butters' mouth, and it's like he's fucking him for Butters, standing in as a surrogate, or just showing them both that Cartman can be like this, too, wide open. Cartman says Kenny's name when he comes, and it's nice to know that he remembers who's inside him. When Cartman reaches for him Kenny takes his hands and pulls him up, away from Butters, toward his mouth.

“I want this on my tombstone, okay?” Kenny says, biting at Cartman's lip. “Here lies Kenny McCormick - he took Eric Cartman's virginity.”

“Fat fuh - fucking chance, you goddamn crack baby,” Cartman says, and there's something gleeful in it, like he had the same plan Kenny did when this began. They get close to enacting it toward the end, Kenny pushing him down and fucking him hard, demonstrating the raw power of white trash cock. Cartman shouts when Kenny shoves in with his last unhinged thrust, coming harder than he has all night, and Kyle wakes with a start. Kenny is buzzing while Stan updates Kyle on what's going on, and Cartman doesn't push him out, just puts a clammy hand on the back of Kenny's neck and lets him rest atop the pillowy landscape of his chest. He rides Cartman's heaving breaths until they start to slow, feeling as light as a feather on the surface of a lake.

When Kenny finally gathers the energy to dismount, Stan pushes the Broncos mug into his hand. Kenny drinks half the water in it and gives the rest to Cartman. He rubs Cartman's fat knee and crawls over to lie between Butters and Kyle, who is trying to remain awake, his eyelids drooping while Stan kisses his neck, still spooned up behind him. Kenny rests his forehead against Kyle's and Kyle cups his cheek, his thumb twitching in an exhausted attempt to pet him.

“You're so good,” Kyle says, and even though Kenny is pretty sure this isn't what he meant, he realizes then that he's been inside all of them, and that he's the only one in this room who can claim that. The only one in the world.

“You're better,” Kenny says, and it's true, and it's why he's going to show up at Trent's door tomorrow morning.

“Sleep, Kenny,” Stan says, reaching over to put his hand on top of Kyle's. Behind them, Cartman is already snoring a little, and Butters has passed out, too, wrapped up in Cartman's arms under the blanket. “It's okay if you sleep.”

“No,” Kenny says, but it's happening against his will, his eyelids growing heavier.

“Yes,” Kyle says, and Kenny doesn't have the heart to refuse him. He sleeps.

Dawn is glowing just faintly through the window when he wakes to the sound of someone crying. If he wasn't so spent he would leap into action, but he's glad when he doesn't, because as he wakes a bit more he realizes it's not crying, though it's something close. Kyle is on top of Stan, inside him probably, and they're trying to keep quiet, panting against each other's mouths. Kyle is moving in careful little undulations, shifting the mattress as little as possible, his hands pressed to Stan's face.

“Yeah,” Stan whispers, and he's the one who's crying, or they both are, or maybe neither of them are. Kenny watches them through netted eyelashes.

“You're not - going anywhere,” Kyle says, wet little gasps between every word. “I won't - let you, won't let you -”

“Shh,” Stan says. They kiss, and Kenny lets his eyes fall shut. He falls asleep to the sound of their crying, or fucking, or whispering to each other, all of it mixing together until it's just the sound of them, helping him sleep because it means they're close to him, still here, still safe.

He doesn't sleep for long, and when he wakes again they're all quiet, sleeping. He sits up in the middle of the exhausted pile of them, these people he'd go to hell for a thousand times. Cartman is so huge around tiny Butters, and the way he holds him reminds Kenny of that frog doll Cartman used to sleep with. Kyle is lying on his stomach, Stan's arm tossed across his back, his hand stretched out toward Kenny. He wants to touch Stan's fingers, to curl them up and kiss them, but he needs to leave now. As soon as he moves, Stan grabs his wrist.

"Jesus Christ," Kenny says, whispering. Stan lifts his face from Kyle's back, one eye still closed. "You scared me."

"Sorry," Stan says. He's still holding Kenny's wrist, staring him down, unblinking. "Where are you going?"

"Just outside for a minute, for a cigarette. I've never had that much sex without a smoke afterward. I'm dying here."

Bad choice of words. Stan holds his gaze, his fingers tightening around his wrist. Kenny will punch Stan's lights out if that's what it takes to keep him here, warm under this blanket with the others, where he belongs. Stan might know this, because he lets Kenny go and puts his hand over the bump of Kyle's shoulder blade, resting his cheek on Kyle's back again, still staring at Kenny.

"Did you get to do everything you wanted?" Stan asks. "Everything on your list?"

"Almost," Kenn says. "There's one more thing."

"Yeah?"

Kenny leans down to Stan, smoothes his dark hair off his forehead and kisses him once, softly, on the lips. He pulls back, his eyes burning a little, but it's no worry. He's never really been a crier.

"I love you, dude," Kenny says. He smiles at Stan's bewildered expression. "Stanley Marsh. I love you so much."

Stan's eyes widen, his brow pinching as he tries to figure out how to respond to that. Kenny leans down to Kyle, tucking a bright red curl behind his ear.

"Love you, Kyle," he whispers. "A lot, God, so much." He kisses Kyle's temple, soft enough to let him go on sleeping. He can feel Stan staring at him as he turns toward Butters and Cartman, and it hurts, being looked at like this, by someone who is waiting for an explanation that won't be given, but he's always been willing to take bullets when he has to. He runs his fingers over Butters' shoulder, and pulls the blanket up over him when he shivers, tucking him back in. "Love you," he whispers, letting his lips touch Butters' ear, because even if he wakes, he'll let Kenny pretend that he hasn't. "Butters, Marjorine, Professor, Mantequilla, Leopold. I love every fucking inch of you."

He lifts his head and looks at Cartman, grinning to himself at Cartman's expression, his eyebrows slightly pinched as he battles his way through some dream. He looks like he's kicking asses in whatever universe he's visiting. Cartman had a thousand ideas about how they could get rid of Trent, but Kenny has never wanted to see him become as evil as he thinks he is. It's the bullet he can take for Cartman, because somehow his innocence matters most of all, maybe because it's so small and tattered. It's still there; Kenny can see it when he sleeps.

"Hey, Eric, I love you," Kenny says, stroking his fingers through Cartman's light brown hair. It's fine and soft like a baby's, even silkier than Stan's. "You can put that on my tombstone, too. Here lies Kenny McCormick. He loved Eric Cartman."

Cartman huffs in his sleep, frowning more deeply. Kenny strokes his hair again, and his expression softens. He twitches when Kenny takes his hand away, but he's still asleep. Kenny turns back to Stan. He's not crying, which is a relief, but he still refuses to blink, his eyes drilling into Kenny's.

"So go smoke," Stan says. He's angry; his voice is tight. "We'll be here when you get back."

"I know you will," Kenny says. He doesn't really know anything about his deaths, about what he can count on to be there when he returns, but he's come to believe that they're the ones who bring him back, without even knowing how. He doesn't need them to know how, just why. He touches Stan's face and climbs out of the bed, dresses in the dark and slips out of the room without looking back at them.

He knows Stan will run to the window to watch him, so he exits the house through the back door and stands out on the porch, digging into the pocket of his parka for his cigarettes. It's cold outside, and they've had some flurries, but no big snow storm yet this season. Kenny can see his breath in the air, and the light that's creeping into the sky is menacing, a deadline, an ultimatum. He stares at the rusted old swing set in Stan's backyard while he smokes, and smiles when he hears the sliding glass door opening behind him, though he shouldn't be happy about this.

The footsteps that rush across the frosted porch could belong to an eight year old, and Kenny doesn't have to turn to know who's followed him out. Stan hits him hard, moaning, his arms winding around Kenny's chest, squeezing. Kenny sticks his cigarette between his teeth and reaches back to rub Stan's ear. He's not a crier, but if he turns around he might turn into one, and it's too late for tears.

"I love you, too," Stan says. His voice is pretty fucked, raw. "Okay? Alright? Kenny? I love you, I love you, we all do, you know we do, so don't - don't -"

"I know," Kenny says, and maybe he didn't until he said so out loud. He rubs his fingers over Stan's arms, his other hand still hooked around Stan's ear. "I know. Dude, it's okay. I'm just having a cigarette. Everything's fine."

"Oh, yeah," Stan says, scoffing wetly. He lifts his face from Kenny's shoulder and presses it to his neck, sniffling. "Like hell it is."

"Trust me, dude," Kenny says, wanting this so much, more than anything. "Everything's okay."

"Kenny, I-"

"Would I be this calm if I didn't believe that? Look, I know it seems impossible right now, but Monday morning? At that bus stop? We're all gonna be there, and we're gonna be fine. Cartman is going to be full of shit, and Kyle is going to call him on it, and you and me are going to laugh, and Butters is going to worry about a science quiz or some shit, and it'll be fine. Please, dude, believe that. Everything's going to be fine."

"But how could it be?" Stan asks. He's shaking. It's cold outside, and he's in short sleeves, sleep pants, bare feet. Kenny stubs his cigarette out against the porch railing and throws it into the backyard. He steels himself, turns around.

"I wish I could tell you how, but I can't," Kenny says, and he knows this won't be much of a comfort, because Stan just thinks he's talking about his impending sacrifice. He takes Stan's face in his hands and kisses him, trying to tell him like this, without words, though they've never really had their own wordless language. He realizes that he did this for the same reason Kyle did, at least partly: so he could finally kiss Stan.

"Come back inside," Stan says when Kenny is just breathing his visible breath against Stan's face, waiting to know if he'll needs to punch him or not. He doesn't want to, can't imagine hurting him, but he'll do anything, anything.

"I will," Kenny says. "Just let me have one more cigarette, okay? That last one kinda got cut short. Not that I'm complaining. And dude, you're shivering. You're shoeless. You go back in, okay? Go keep those guys warm for me. We're gonna figure this out, I promise." He grins, realizing what his way out will be, a small door opening. "You know I only played this whole Trent thing up so you guys would fool around with me like this, right? I mean, classic Kenny, yeah? And it was fun, and I'm glad I did it, but he's not going to kill us. He's just one guy, and we're five. We're the points of a fucking star, dude. So no worries." He kisses Stan again, wanting to drink the newly bewildered expression on his face like straight whiskey, because it's the payoff, Stan is buying this. "Go inside. I'll be right there. Just one more cigarette."

"Oh, um. Okay." Stan blinks, hesitates, then starts walking backward. Kyle wouldn't fall for this, and for that matter, neither would Butters. Cartman certainly wouldn't. The fact that Stan will, and does, makes Kenny love him more than anything anywhere, if only for just now, in these few seconds while he watches Stan get closer to the sliding glass door. He left it open, heat leaking out in the uncaring wilderness. Kenny waves, which is the wrong move, so he hurries to get another cigarette.

"I won't be long," Kenny says, and it's true, as far as he knows.

He turns toward the backyard again and smokes. He feels Stan watching him for awhile, and as soon as he knows that Stan has headed back upstairs, he bolts for the stairs on the porch. Down them in two strides, he flings the backyard gate open and races to Stan's car. It's possible that Stan isn't checking the windows now, but if it he is, Kenny needs to act fast.

He'll give Stan money for new tires; he has no time to carefully let the air out. He uses his pocket knife to make two slashes in the back tires and runs to his truck, which is parked on the road. If this is one of those mornings when it won't start, God hates him. It starts. He peels away from the curb.

He checks the rearview mirror a thousand times, though he knows that no one will follow. Stan's car was the only one in the driveway. Everybody lives within walking distance. He wipes his dripping nose with his hand and turns on the radio, but all the songs grate on him, so he flips it off again.

Trent lives two streets over from the McCormick residence. Blond, poor, angry - Kenny hasn't missed the parallels. The only thing that matters is that, at four years old, Kenny was the one they trusted. They knew he was poor, bad, dangerous. Kids know those things; in a small town like this they're hard to miss. Trent was the one they feared. He was the one outside the circle, the one who was expendable. Kenny sits in his truck for awhile, his knee bouncing, his heel tapping the floor board, and he slams his eyes shut when the sun breaks the horizon. He makes himself think of the way Stan's grin shows in his eyes, the way Kyle blushes when he knows he's right, the way Butters does an unintentional tap dance when he's insanely happy, and the way Cartman laughs when it's so fucking inappropriate. He opens the door of the truck, gets out. His vision tunnels.

If Trent's household is anything like Kenny's, and Kenny knows that it is, no one will be expecting a caller at this hour. Trent will be sent to the door because he's the man of the house, because, like Kenny's, his father isn't worth a shit and is either passed out inside this house or elsewhere, wherever he fell down when he found the thing he's always looking for: the deepest and darkest indifference there is. Kenny thumbs the pocket of his jeans, feeling for the bag of meth that he planted there so that the cops will call this a drug deal gone bad. No one will flinch at the story: two kids from the wrong side of the tracks fucking each other up over drugs. People will flip to the next page of the paper, rolling their eyes, clicking their tongues.

Trent answers the door. He looks tired. Kenny swallows that down and pushes it away. He waits for Trent to recognize him, waits to be attacked. Trent blinks, and it's so familiar, too human. Kenny has to look away.

"Uh," Trent says. "Yeah?"

"You don't recognize me?" Kenny says.

"I do," Trent says. Kenny stares at Trent's hand, watching it close into a claw around the door, his nails scraping the wood. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Um." Kenny thought Trent would lunge at him, that there would be no dialogue, no chance to recognize the smell that emanates from this house, something like Pop Tarts and formaldehyde, familiar and terrible. Trent is staring at him, daring him to look him in the face, and Kenny is a pussy because he can't do it. He stares at an elder bug on the door frame. They should all be dead by now; it's too cold for harmless insects.

There's a sound in the driveway, and Kenny knows before looking that it's another truck. He turns, leaving himself vulnerable to anything Trent might want to plunge into his chest. Kenny still has his right hand in his pocket, poised to press the button on his phone that he's rigged to send a recorded message to the police. The truck that's pulling into the Boyetts' driveway is brand new and shiny clean. His dealer, maybe?

The guy who gets out of the truck isn't immediately familiar, though Kenny probably passes him in the hall at school all the time. Gary is one of those people that Kenny has always looked past, because he's not a potential accomplice for anything worth doing, incorruptible, and Kenny has always had a chip on his shoulder about Mormons for afterlife-related reasons. Gary seems to recognize Kenny right away, and there's more angry tension emanating from him than from Trent, though he's smiling as he walks to the door.

"Hey, Kenny," Gary says. His eyes flick to Trent's, and Kenny wonders if he was wrong about Gary, if he's been corrupt all this time and is here to help Trent fuck him up. "What are you doing in this neck of the woods?"

"I live in this neck of the woods," Kenny says. He takes his cigarettes out of his pocket and then puts them back, because if he lights one they'll see his hands shaking. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was just picking Trent up for seminary," Gary says. "We go every Sunday before church. You're welcome to join us if you'd like."

"No, he's not," Trent says, and Kenny turns to him, able now to look him in the eyes. He looks like he'd quite enjoy bashing Kenny's head in with a tire iron, and also like he's not going to do it.

"You're a Mormon now?" Kenny says, barely holding in a nervous laugh.

"It's none of your fucking business what I am," Trent says. "What'd you come here for? What the hell do you want from me?"

Gary steps closer to Trent while they wait for Kenny to answer. Gary has a dorky satchel strapped across his chest and his hair is neatly combed, his shirt tucked in, but despite the lamb-like expression on his face, he's the one who's thinking seriously about kicking Kenny's ass. Kenny can feel it in the air between them, whereas Trent, unwashed and ashen, muscles bulging beneath his dirty t-shirt, just seems like he wants to curl up somewhere and go to sleep. Looking back and forth between them, Kenny realizes that Trent must have told Gary what happened, what they did to him.

"I don't know what I want," Kenny says. He takes a step backward, suddenly very aware of the emptiness in his stomach. "I think, ah. I'm confused. You guys are friends?"

"We met through my youth mentoring program," Gary says. "When Trent was still in jail." The way he pronounces that last word strikes Kenny like a blow, and his ears are ringing.

"No, I, I do know why I came here," Kenny says. He looks down at their feet. Trent is in socks, and Gary is wearing expensive looking boots. "I think, I mean, you probably don't want to hear it, but I guess I came here to apologize."

"You can save that shit," Trent says.

"Trent, let him talk," Gary says.

"Why should I? You're Catholic, aren't you?" Trent says to Kenny. "Go confess to one of your fucking priests if you're feeling guilty. I've made my peace with what you assholes did to me, and excuse me if I'm not real fucking interested in making you feel better about it."

"Okay," Kenny says. He holds up both his hands and backs away. "I got it. I'll leave you alone."

"Wait a minute, Kenny," Gary says. He slides his arm around Trent's shoulders and draws him in close. "I think you need to do it like we talked about," he says to Trent, not quite whispering. "I think it would make you feel better."

Trent groans and puts his hand over his eyes. Gary rubs Trent's shoulder, letting him think about it. They're standing awfully close. Kenny feels like he's dreaming. He's running purely on adrenaline, so tired that he's swaying a little.

"Fine," Trent says, and he looks at Gary the way that Kyle looks at Stan when he's been talked into tolerating Cartman. For you, he's saying, so clearly that Kenny thinks for a moment that he heard it out loud. I'd only do this for you.

Nothing could have convinced Kenny that Trent would live a quiet life in South Park and leave them alone, except this. He's in love with somebody and wants to be good enough for him. Trent turns to Kenny, narrowing his eyes.

"I could tell you what you put me through, but that's in the past," Trent says. "I spent a lot of time thinking about what I would do to you guys if I could, but that only made me feel worse, and lower, more helpless and fucking pissed off. You think you ruined my life, McCormick, but you don't have the power to do that. You were just a dumb kid, and what's done is done, and I forgive you." He puts his hand out toward Kenny. "You're forgiven."

Kenny is afraid that he'll burst into flames when he touches Trent's hand, but it would be no less than he deserves, so he reaches out and shakes with him. Gary watches this, looking pleased, that angry buzz in the air fading somewhat. He's still got his arm around Trent.

"Thanks," Kenny says when Trent has let go of his hand. He steps backward and stumbles a little, catching the splintered porch railing for balance. "I have to - go, I think, I - I'm kind of. Freaking out, so."

"Are you okay to drive?" Gary asks, and his concern is so sincere that Kenny laughs, though it comes out sounding like the noise somebody makes when they get punched in the stomach.

"I'm okay to drive," Kenny says, nodding, making his way down to the dirt path that leads to the driveway, still walking backward. "I just, ah. I gotta go."

"Well, alright," Gary says. "I suppose I'll see you at school."

"Uh-huh." Kenny will never again not notice him when they pass in the hallway.

"I gotta get changed into my church stuff," Trent says to Gary, muttering. "C'mon." He pulls Gary into the house by the strap on his satchel, and Kenny is left standing there, staring at the door after it's closed, trying to remember what he was doing. He can feel the sun on the back of his neck, climbing higher. He thought he'd be bleeding out on this unpaved driveway, listening to approaching sirens. He touches his intact, growling stomach, glad that he can keep this particular body for a little longer. This one is special.

He drives back to Stan's, trying to imagine how this will play out. He was so prepared for the other alternative, so certain, and he didn't think about what it would be like if they remembered everything. He's fairly sure his death would have erased their memories of last night along with all of the dread related to Trent's release. Kenny's biggest fear was that, when everyone forgot his death, Trent would get out of jail again. He'd considered killing him just to prevent that from happening, the guy who just shook his hand and told him he's forgiven. Kenny wants to pull over to the side of the road and sob, or throw up, or something, but he's speeding through the streets, because this feels like a dangerous miscalculation. What if there was something else he should have feared, not Trent, but some other certain doom that's racing toward them now, faster than him, stronger, ready to laugh in his face when he shows up too late?

He parks crookedly on the street outside of Stan's house and barrels out of the truck. His stomach lurches as he runs across the yard, but he swallows that sick feeling down again, because he doesn't have time for it. He needs to see them, to know they're okay, and he feels like he always does when he comes back and hurries to find out what became of them in his absence. They always tell him he's acting weird on those days, and what he acts like is someone who wants to gather them against his chest and cling until the world feels real again.

They're all there at the foot of the stairs when he throws the front door open, which he didn't expect. Stan has his jacket on and Kyle is holding Stan's arm, his face wet. Cartman is wearing a robe that barely contains him and Butters is wrapped up in a blanket that drops away from him when he runs toward Kenny, beaming, a pair of Stan's sweatpants sagging around his hipbones.

"Kenny!" Kyle shouts, and then they're all running toward him, even Cartman. They all crash into him at once, the questions they have for him blending into a cacophony of exclamations, their hands on his face, his back, and pushing through his hair, their arms around his shoulders, his neck, everywhere they can reach, holding him tight. Kyle is crying again, Butters is worming inside his parka, Cartman is pinching the back of his neck as if to keep him from getting loose again, and Stan is just staring at him, his hands cupped around Kenny's cheeks while the others keep asking questions.

"We were so worried!" Butters says, trying to wrap a leg around Kenny, too, his arms tight around Kenny's chest, slipped inside the jacket.

"Where did you go?" Kyle asks for the eight hundredth time, sniffling. "Did you see him? Are you okay?"

"Is this crack?" Cartman asks, pulling the bag of meth out of his pocket.

"Yeah," Kenny says. "It's not for me, though. I was going to plant it, sort of. I had this whole plan." He's looking at Stan while he speaks, letting Kyle and Butters kiss his neck.

"Are you okay?" Stan asks. His hands travel down Kenny's neck and slide along his chest, and he shifts Butters aside as if he's checking for injuries. Butters moans and resists, clinging tighter.

"I'm fine, dude," Kenny says. "You guys aren't going to fucking believe this, but Trent? Ah, he's Mormon now. Or, like, getting some Mormon ass, anyway. He's not going to hurt us. He forgave me. He shook my hand."

"Son of a bitch," Cartman says. "Butters, go call Air Tran and see if we can get those tickets to Mexico refunded."

"Not yet, Eric," Butters says. His eyes are closed against Kenny's chest, and he's smiling, nuzzling him. "Give me a minute."

"I thought he was going to kill you," Kyle says, sobbing again. "Stan did, too, we were freaking out, oh, fuck, Kenny, fuck." He moans and holds Kenny tighter, wiping his wet face on Kenny's neck.

"You're okay," Stan says. He seems a little dazed, his thumbs moving on Kenny's cheeks. "Dude, you're okay."

"Yeah," Kenny says, and he beams, trying to get his arms around all of them, mostly succeeding. This is what he's wanted more than anything since he was five years old: to come through the door and have them run to him in relief, to know that they missed him when he was gone.

"Alright," Cartman says, dislodging himself from the tangled, trembling mess of them. "I'm fucking starving. Stan, do you have eggs and milk?"

"I think so," Stan says. He gives Kenny a sharp kiss on the cheek, and it feels a little like a scolding, or a warning: Don't do that to me again. "Are you hungry?" he asks.

"Fucking starving," Kenny says.

"Butters, make us some waffles," Cartman says.

"Yes, sir!" He's still holding on to Kenny, though, squeezing him.

"Wait, what was this about Trent getting Mormon ass?" Kyle asks, lifting his head from Kenny's shoulder, and Stan laughs.

"Yeah, I was kind of wondering about that, too," he says.

"Well, pull up a fucking chair, dudes. I'll tell you the whole story."

Stan helps Butters make the waffles while Kenny tells them everything, leaning against the kitchen counter with Kyle still pressed to him, tucked under his arm. Cartman lingers close, too, drinking orange juice from the carton and laughing uproariously at the idea of Gary the Mormon kid and Trent Boyett having a secret romance.

"I don't really see how it's so different from your own situation," Kenny says, offended on behalf of those two.

"What? It's totally different." Cartman blushes and drinks more juice, scowling. "Butters, will you put a goddamn shirt on? Your nipples are making me hard."

"Sorry, Eric," Butters says, covering himself.

"Jesus Christ, Cartman," Stan says. He pulls off his sweater and gives it to Butters.

"What?" Cartman says. "My cock needs rest. It can only do so much for you people."

"So, um," Kyle says, lifting his head from Kenny's shoulder. "We're not going to die."

"We're really not," Kenny says, and in the moment it feels like it will always be true, like they've achieved a kind of invincibility that's actually worth something.

"So, last night," Kyle says. He clears his throat and looks at Stan when he turns from the waffle iron. "Yeah. That, uh. Happened."

"Kyle, don't get your lace panties in a goddamn wad," Cartman says. "I say we start doing that every Saturday night."

"I don't know about that," Stan says. "But, like. I mean, uh. I'm okay with - it. If you guys are."

"I'm just glad we're all alive," Kyle says, ducking the question. He puts his head on Kenny's chest again, his ear pressed over Kenny's heartbeat.

"It was the best sleepover ever," Butters says cheerfully. He looks hilarious in Stan's sweater, dwarfed by it.

"Damn straight," Kenny says.

"I think we could top it," Cartman says. "This coming Saturday. Yeah? Huh? What do you guys think?"

"Goddammit, Cartman," Kyle says, but he's grinning.

They go back to Stan's bed after eating, all of them reeking of maple syrup now. Kenny pulls his clothes off but leaves his underwear on, and everyone else follows suit, except Cartman, who wasn't wearing anything under the robe. They arrange themselves so that Kenny is in the middle, Kyle and Butters clutching at his chest and Stan and Cartman spooned up behind them. They're touching Kenny, too, their hands resting on his shoulders. He doesn't usually sleep on his back, but he can definitely live with this arrangement, and he's so tired that he could probably sleep standing up if he had to. Cartman falls asleep first, snoring into Butters' hair, and Butters isn't far behind, as if that sound is like a lullaby to him. Kyle moans and fidgets a little, still sniffling, but he's out pretty quick, too. He'd be horrified if he knew that he's drooling onto Kenny's chest, but Kenny kind of likes it; it's cute. He looks over at Stan.

"You asshole," Stan says, but he doesn't look mad, his fingers closing more tightly around Kenny's shoulder.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. You lied to me."

"No, I didn't. I told you everything would be fine. And it's fine, right?"

Stan sighs. He pushes his face down against the back of Kyle's neck, blinking heavily, trying to stay awake.

"I was gonna come get you," Stan says. "Kyle didn't want me to, but I wasn't going to let him stop me. I would have saved you, okay? If you needed me to. I know you don't think I could, but I will if I have to."

"It's not that I don't think you could," Kenny says.

"You don't always get to be the hero," Stan says. "Not always."

"I didn't feel heroic. I still can't believe he forgave me. Us. I don't think I would be big enough to do that."

"Don't underestimate yourself," Stan says, muttering, starting to fall asleep. "You're bigger than you think you are."

Kenny pets Stan's hair as he sinks into sleep, watching the tension ease out of his features, his lips parting on Kyle's neck. He does feel big, maybe just because Stan said so, or maybe because of the way they're all clinging to him, like he's their raft. He would be that for them if he could, if they needed it, but he's a point on their star, and that's where they need him, right here. That's why they're holding on so tight.

~~THE END~~