Fic: Cartman's Silly Sex Crime - Cartman/Kyle: PART I

[roosevelt_hotel]

Title: Cartman's Silly Sex Crime ( Part I) | ( Part II)
Author:
nerdy_leo (Sorcha Rose on ff.net)
Part: Long one-shot is loooong.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Cartman/Kyle
Summary: One day in P.E. class leads to a broken nose, disturbing fantasies, and eventual gratification for our favourite Jew. And who's to blame? Cartman, of course.
A/N: Contains masturbation and blowjobs. I owe
diana_lucifera big time for helping me with this SO much. ♥ What a t-t-terrific audience! Oh, and I got the plot bunny from Wrong Baton by DA artist student-yuuto.  This fic is in two parts because LJ told me the post was too large.  So, second part links to my writing LJ. :D
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Trey Parker and Matt Stone, and I'm not making profit off this.


Out of all the classes Kyle Broflovski took at South Park High School, he liked P.E. the least.  It wasn’t an academic class, and unless they were playing basketball or football-only in the summer months of August, September, and May-he found that elementary recess had been much more enjoyable.  Dodgeball sucked (unless Kyle got to throw the ball at Cartman), kickball sucked (unless Kyle got to kick the ball at Cartman), and track and field sucked (unless Kyle got to trip Cartman).  Quite honestly, Kyle never thought a day would come when he would hate P.E. more than he already did.

“Today we’ll be doing relay races,” said Ms. Shackelford, a stout, plump woman who didn’t look like she’d ever exercised in her life. “Now get dressed.”

“Goddammit, I hate P.E.,” Cartman complained loudly in the boys’ locker room. “It’s always something faggy.”

“You just want to sit on your fat ass,” said Kyle, already tired of hearing Cartman.  He’d reached his bitching quota for the day in science class.

“Shut the fuck up, you Jewish piece of crap!”

“Both of you shut up!” Token shouted.  Stan and Kenny looked relieved for the ensuing silence while Kyle and Cartman continued dressing without remark.

Back outside, Bebe and Red were complaining about how awful the required P.E. uniforms made them look while Wendy tried, in vain, to explain that they were necessary for maintaining proper gender conduct.  Cartman didn’t help matters, since he always made comments about the girls looking “like really ugly dudes” in the outfits, today proving to be no exception.

“Black, you’ll be at marker one on lane three, Broflovski you’ll be on marker two, and Cartman, you’ll be on three.  Stevens, you’ll be on marker one in lane four, Stotch on marker two, and McCormick, you’ll be on three.  Lane five’s going to be Tucker-”

“Goddammit,” Kyle muttered.  Of all the students in their class, of course it had to be Cartman he would have to rely on.

“So, Kyle, ready for our big moment?” Cartman said as they walked to their markers and grinned at Kenny.

Kenny rolled his eyes, but Kyle was sure he’d heard him laugh.  Before he could ask, Ms. Shackelford yelled for them to hurry.

Kyle hated running.  He was naturally thin, but sucked ass at running.  But he was competitive, and he swore if any of the other teams beat his out because of Cartman’s fat fucking ass, he would have his revenge.  When he got the baton from Token, he thought of the others winning and the adrenaline propelled him forward.  He reached the brunette after what seemed like an eternity.

Kyle thrust his left arm forward, holding out the baton, but it was Cartman’s right hand that shot back.  His fingers wrapped around Kyle’s cock, and the redhead yelped and stumbled as Cartman squeezed lightly.  Kyle dropped the baton and tripped, pitching forward on the crumb-rubber track.  His body landed with a hard smack, the bones in his nose making sick crunching sounds.  Butters cried out as he narrowly missed running over Kyle, who was sprawled out over the two lanes.

“Kyle!  Are you okay?” Butters shouted, attracting the attention of everyone else as he kneeled down.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kyle saw Ms. Shackelford barrelling toward him.

“Yeah, I’m fine, except for the broken nose,” said Kyle bitterly, struggling to sit up and dragging the back of his hand across his mouth.  Blood and spittle was slick on his hand.  Grains of rubber stuck in his knees.

“Butters, take Kyle to the nurse,” said Ms. Shackelford.  Casting a dark glare at a smirking Cartman, Kyle headed toward the school building with Butters, who insisted on wrapping an arm around Kyle’s waist to ‘hold him up in case of blood loss.’

“Boy, you sure took quite a spill, Kyle!” said Butters excitedly.

Kyle gritted his teeth, trying to figure out a good way to say “Yeah, because Cartman manhandled me,” but stuck with silence.  He only explained that he “tripped” to Nurse Starkey, who immediately set out with berating Kyle for his “carelessness” while shoving his nose back into some semblance of place, stuffing gauze up his nose, and shoving an ice pack in his hands.

“Apply that every few hours for ten to twenty minutes at a time until the swelling goes down,” she sat flatly. “Don’t fall again, Broflovski.”

“Thanks,” Kyle bit back a string of obscenities threatening to spill out and walked back with Butters as far as the locker room, where he grabbed his things and headed home.  His last class was Physics, and he could probably skip the rest of the year and come out with an ‘A.’

“Kyle!” shrieked Sheila Broflovski as Kyle slammed shut the door.  “What happened?”

Again, the urge to shout “Nothing, except Cartman grabbed my penis!” was almost overwhelming, but Kyle held his tongue.

“P.E. happened,” he said and sighed.  It was then Kyle made the vow to punch Cartman in the face at the next, best opportunity.  That moment couldn’t come soon enough.

Kyle clenched his jaw and set his eyes straight forward upon entering class the next morning.  He knew if he looked at Cartman, he’d get detention or probably expelled for violence in the classroom.

“Wow,” Kenny remarked, eyeing Kyle’s bandaged nose and blackened eyes. “That’s hot, Kyle.”

“Fuck off.”

Cartman sniggered loudly.

Kyle sat in absolute silence the entire class period, and when the bell rang, he spotted Cartman ducking into a bathroom.  He charged in after him, fuelled by pure adrenaline, and dropping his backpack, shoved Cartman against the wall.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

“Groping you, duh,” Cartman replied, and looking almost bored, rolled his eyes.

Kyle shoved harder, fingers clenched around a fistful of Cartman’s shirt.

“Why?”

“Well, you see Kyle, this one time, I was all like ‘Jews have tiny dicks,’ right?  And then Stan was like, ‘No they don’t, Kyle’s is huge, and you know, I’ve been thinking, you are not fat at all.’  And Kenny said, ‘How do you know what Kyle’s penis looks like?’ and Stan said he saw you in the locker room once.  What a gaywad.”

Kyle’s cheeks burned.

“You stupid asshole, you broke my nose so you could feel me up in the middle of a race!”

“Well, Jesus, Kyle, next time I’ll feel you up in the middle of class.”

“You won’t be feeling me up at all when I cut your fucking hands off!” yelled Kyle.

He hadn’t noticed Craig standing at the sinks until he spoke.

“I always knew you were gay,” he said flatly to Cartman.  His expression was one mixed of intrigue, amusement, and disgust.

Cartman scoffed at least six times.

“Craig, I am not gay, Craig.” Cartman sputtered.

“And you’re not fat, either,” said Craig, rolling his eyes. Stan and Kenny entered then, Stan’s mouth dropping open in horror while Kenny just looked excited.

Kyle stepped closer to Cartman, ignoring the three other boys, and held Cartman’s gaze.

“Don’t you ever touch me again,” he hissed.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” exclaimed Cartman, and wrapped his fingers around Kyle’s balls.

Kyle reacted on instinct and though he knew the intense pain it caused, he also knew he wanted Cartman to fucking hurt, and so he kneed Cartman square in the balls.  Cartman’s ensuing yelp sounded like music to Kyle’s ears, and he released him, the fat boy falling to the bathroom floor in agony.

Kenny laughed wildly, Stan looked between awe and alarm, and even Craig snorted.

“Stan,” gasped Cartman. “Help me.”

“No way, dude.  I’m leaving,” said Stan, shifting his backpack to the other shoulder.

“Stan, don’t leave me here to die, you asshole!”

“You’re on your own with this one.  See ya, Kyle.”

The door slammed as Stan fled the scene.

“Kenny!  Kenny, help me!  Kyle’s gone crazy!” Cartman cried, still curled up in the fetal position.  But Kenny was laughing too hard, and Craig just looked amused.

“I swear to Abraham, Cartman,” said Kyle, finally straightening his shirt and hoisting his backpack over his shoulder. “You touch me again and you’re dead, fat boy.”

“Fuck…you…Kahl.”

“No, you won’t,” said Kyle sternly.

He turned and left with a giggling Kenny in tow.  God, that felt amazing.  He’d have to do it more often.

“Stan!” yelled Kyle upon seeing his best friend in the cafeteria.

“Oh, God,” moaned Stan, squeezing shut his eyes.

“What the fuck, dude?” he demanded.  “Why would you talk to Cartman about my penis?”

“Okay, here’s what happened,” Stan sighed. “Cartman said something about your dong being small, and I told him not to be a gaywad, and then he said Jews were tiny like the Japanese.  So I told him that’s not true.  Kenny asked how ‘the fuck I knew’ what your junk looks like, and then Cartman called me a fag.  Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

Kyle narrowed his eyes.

“How do you know, dude?”

“We’ve been friends since we were, like, two.  Are you saying you’ve never seen my dick?”

“That’s not the point!  The point is that Cartman knows how big my penis is, and I have a broken nose because of it!”

“So, what exactly did he do?” Stan asked hesitantly.

“He grabbed it during P.E.!  That’s why I fell!”

“Jesus Christ!” exclaimed Stan. “I didn’t know, Kyle-I’m sorry!”

“I’ll give you my medical bill, then.”

“Long as you don’t kick me in the nuts,” Stan said with a slight grin as they entered the lunch line.

Meanwhile, “Told you Cartman’s gay,” said Craig to the boys at lunch.  “He grabbed Kyle’s dick at P.E. the other day.  Clyde, you owe me twenty bucks.”

“What?” exclaimed Token. “Why would he do that?”

“He heard from Stan it was big.”

“Well?  Is it?” asked Clyde.

“Apparently,” shrugged Craig. “Cartman seemed to think it was adequate.”

“Craig, you are such a fag for calling me gay,” said Cartman loudly, plopping down uninvited at their table.  “Kyle and I are having a fight.  Can’t sit with him so I might as well sit with you fucking losers,” he said with a deep sigh before shovelling a meatball sub in his mouth.

The boys were silent for a few moments before Butters burst out laughing, pointing at Cartman.

“You’re a faggot!  Hey everybody, Eric’s a faggot!”

“Goddammit, Butters, you asshole!  Like you don’t love taking it up the butt!”

“Eric, f-f-fuuuuuhhhh fuuuuuuh? F-fuck off.” Jimmy said.

The disabled boy took at least forty-five seconds to finish the sentence Cartman knew what Jimmy was going to say after five.

“Well, fine!  If you guys are gonna be assholes then I won’t sit with any of you!  Have fun with your faggy little orgy!”  Cartman yelled, storming off to sit at a table by himself.  It wasn’t his fault Kyle had such an awesome peen, anyway.

Kyle dealt with the curious stares in class with clenched fists beneath his desk and didn’t know if he’d ever been so happy in his life to hear the final bell ring.  Stan and Kenny followed him to his house to play a new video game Ike had gotten the week before.  Kyle lay on the floor, an ice pack balanced on his nose, while Stan and Kenny sat on the sofa above him.

“I just don’t know what the hell Cartman’s deal is,” said Kyle, imagining kneeing Cartman in the balls over and over again.

“Dude, he totally wants to fuck you,” said Kenny.  Kyle was sure if he hadn’t already been lying down, he would have fallen over.

“What?  Yeah, right.”

“Remember that time when we were nine and Cartman always wanted you to suck his balls?” said Stan. “I think Kenny’s right.”

Kyle pulled a face and moaned.

“That’s so disgusting.  God, I wish you hadn’t brought that back up.”

“Truth hurts,” Kenny shrugged.

They played a while longer, Kyle taking a break to join in, and watched the new episode of Terrence and Philip.  Later, once Stan and Kenny dispersed for dinner, Ike wandered in during another one of Kyle’s icing periods.

“Dinner’s almost done.  So what happened to you, anyway?  You look like shit.”

“Cartman grabbed me during P.E. yesterday,” Kyle said flatly. “I tripped.”

“Grabbed what, your junk?” Ike smirked.  “Oh, wow, who saw that one coming?”

Kyle sighed, squeezing shut his eyes.

“Christ, not you too.”

“Dude, he sneaks into your bedroom.  The thought never crossed your mind that he might have the hots for his favourite Jew?”

“Oh, shut up, I get it,” said Kyle, sitting up. “And how did you know about that?  Just how much does he sneak into my room?”

“I don’t know.  All I know is one night, I got for some water, and he was walking around.  I asked if you knew he was here, and he said ‘Not yet.’ That was pretty creepy.  I’m pretty sure he cackled.  Yep, he wants to do you.  Probably violently.”

Kyle shuddered.

“Boys!  Dinner!” Sheila shouted from the kitchen. “How were your days?” she asked once all four were seated.

Well, I kicked Cartman in the balls so it was pretty great, Kyle wanted to say, but merely replied “Fine.”

Ike sniggered, but scowled when Kyle kicked him beneath the table.

“It was good,” replied the younger Broflovski sibling.  “I made a one hundred on my Algebra III test.”

“Oh, Ike!  That’s wonderful!”

Kyle remained silent through most of dinner, and immediately after, retreated to the shower then crawled into bed.  He couldn’t sleep well; no surprise, since Ike had been so generous to tell him about Cartman’s nocturnal wanderings.  As gay as it sounded, Kyle thought about Cartman the entire time he was in the shower, replaying the conversations he’d had with Stan at lunch and then with Kenny and Stan before dinner.  Maybe Cartman’s obsession with Kyle went beyond being a force of habit.

By three A.M., Cartman hadn’t appeared and Kyle hadn’t heard any footsteps or other signs of life in the house, so he drifted into an uneasy sleep.  Unfortunately, he couldn’t keep the fat boy away, as much as he tried, even in his dreams.

“You thought you got rid of me, didn’t you Kyle?” said Cartman, and reached down to grab Kyle again, squeezing lightly around the base of his cock.  Kyle’s body reacted quickly, as much as he tried to control it, and Cartman’s grin only widened.

“Get off me!”

“Get you off?  Whatever you want, Jew-boy,” said Cartman almost…huskily?

Kyle sat up, knocking the nonexistent hand of Eric Cartman out of the way.  He blinked around blearily at his empty room then turned his gaze to his own crotch, where a painful boner made its presence quite known.  Glancing around the room and even beneath his bed to make sure that Eric Cartman had not, in fact, decided to drop by for a nightly visit, he shoved his hand beneath his boxers and curled his fingers around his shaft, a strange hybrid of cursing and moaning escaping his lips.  Applying more pressure, he began pumping in a harder, more erratic rhythm, sliding his thumb over the head to catch the precum.  The slippery texture increased his sensation, and his back arched up off the bed as he squeezed his cock tighter.  As his other hand drifted up to twist his nipple, Cartman’s face swam in front of his, a smirk wide across it, his breath hot and fast across Kyle’s face, but Kyle was too close to care; his hips bucked wildly as he came, as he whispered Cartman’s name in the darkness-something that effectively destroyed the euphoria of post-orgasm.

“Cartman,” he repeated, more loudly this time, sitting up and looking around wildly.  No trace of the brunette could be found, and Kyle glanced down at the mess he’d made.  He scrambled out of his boxers and mopped himself off, buried the garment at the bottom of his laundry basket and fished out a clean pair.  At least maybe now he’d be able to fall into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Stan pulled him aside in the hallway.

“What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“About Cartman,” said Stan, glancing around furtively.

“What the hell do you mean, what am I going to do?  I told him if he touches me, I’m going to kill him.”

“Like that’s ever stopped him,” Stan rolled his eyes, and as if to prove his point, Cartman sidled up to them.

“Hey guyyyyys,” he said, grinning pretty damn broadly for someone who’d been kicked in the balls the day before.

“Fuck you,” retorted Kyle, blushing as his body reminded him of what he’d fantasized about last night.

“Sounds like a challenge,” said Cartman gleefully.

“Told you,” said Stan.

“What did you tell him, you asshole?!” shouted Cartman.

“ERIC CARTMAN!  GET TO CLASS BEFORE I GET YOU TO IT MYSELF!” shouted Mr. Peel, the math teacher who had had Cartman two years in a row for Algebra I.

“I don’t know, dude,” said Kyle as he and Stan walked off towards their next class. “I’ll figure something out.  Maybe there’s someone I can ask about that sort of thing.”

Stan snorted.

“Like who, Mr. Garrison?”

“Mr. Garrison?” Kyle poked his head in his class during lunch period.  As luck would have it, Garrison had followed them into middle school and then high school, where he taught history (which had been a scary experience).

“Yes, Kyle?”

“I need to talk to you about something very personal,” Kyle sat in the seat next to the desk.

“Well, sure,” Garrison looked befuddled as to why Kyle would trust him.  But with Chef gone, Kyle didn’t have much of a choice.

“I think Cartman likes me more than is…well, normal, I guess, or healthy.”

“Like Eric Cartman’s the epitome of healthy, but please continue, Kyle.”

“Well, the other day in P.E., he felt me up.  That’s why I look like this.”

“I was wondering why you look like a domestic abuse victim,” said Garrison with a short chuckle; Kyle felt the urge to punch him, but sat patiently.  “So you think Eric’s got a man-crush on you.  Well, stop the fucking presses, Kyle, I could have told you he’s gay as a daffodil in third grade.”

Kyle growled.

“In my defense, I try not to think of Cartman’s sexual preferences.”

“Well, that may be best, Kyle,” Garrison looked relieved. “I don’t blame you.  Just tell Eric to fuck off.  Worked well enough for me, I guess.”

Kyle sighed out of pure hopelessness.

“I’ve been telling him that for my whole life.  It doesn’t work.”

“Christ then, Kyle, just do him already, and maybe he’ll shut up.”

Kyle felt his face grow hot and his cock twitched almost mockingly.

“…thanks.”

“All right, Kyle, feel free to come to me with your gay little problems any time.  Now get your buns outta my classroom.”

Over the next few weeks, Kyle mulled Garrison’s words over in his head, his notes for classes filling with flowcharts and lists, ones Cartman tried to peek at constantly.  If Kyle did end up having sex with Cartman just to shut him up-something Kyle did not foresee happening-he wondered if it would work.  Probably not, but then again, he had been talking about his genitalia in conjunction with Kyle’s for years, and that probably hinted at some underlying psychological attraction he’d felt since he was old enough.

When Kyle wasn’t psychoanalyzing his fat “friend,” he was masturbating to fantasies that always ended up turning into Cartman near the end.  He still did normal-Kyle stuff, like play basketball with the guys, or do homework, or complain about his nose while it healed.  But on the list of activities Kyle participated in, masturbation and psychoanalysis were at the top.

Aside from Cartman taking an interest in Kyle’s notes, he acted the same.  He was the same whiny dickwad, spewing anti-Semitic hate-speech and manipulating others-including making fun of Wendy’s latest speech in Health on pancreatic cancer, which was a stupid fucking move after the breast cancer fiasco in fourth grade, but of course, Cartman never thought of consequences unless it involved Christmas.

Kyle didn’t encounter any nocturnal visits from Cartman the first week after the P.E. accident, and while it always flickered in his mind before he fell asleep, he gave up on staying up to make sure Cartman wouldn’t climb through his window or burst out of his closet, and fell asleep sooner-usually with a little help from the sleepiness jacking off provided.

One thing was for sure.  Kyle Broflovski would never, ever forgive Eric Cartman for this.

Reviews greatly welcomed, of course!