A/N: Hello! Once again, just another quick story that has come to mind! I'm trying to practice my descriptive tendencies as well tack on a few more words to my vocabulary! :) Let me know what you guys think!

Chapter 1

"Shit, fuck shit," His breath puffed in him as he stumbled down the frozen alley. The alcohol had reached his limits far faster than he had expected. But hell, Cartman wasn't supposed to just show up on his doorstep either. "Fuck," Kyle hicced as he nearly lost his balance. A soft grin found its way to his lips when Eric's laughter echoed down the alley.

"C'mon Ky, walk straighter man. Your mom is gonna know you're wasted if you don't." Cartman's overly warm hand planted itself just between Kyle's shoulder blades. It nearly sent the redhead reeling into the snow. "How much did you drink?"

"Enough!" Kyle hummed happily as he struggled to straighten himself up. The floor swayed beneath his feet, which found the redhead leaning against his super best friend; who was definitely, in no absolute manner, holding him closer than he should. Nope. Because Eric Cartman was irrevocably, one hundred percent, as absolute as infinity is never ending, straight.

"Hm," Eric scuffed arching a brow as he stumbled along with the redhead—the one who had, just a month back, been a partyless prude that did nothing but study. It was crazy, to think how much could really change within a month.

He only wished that he had been the cause of the change.

January 3rd

Kyle was angry.

That was the only way Eric could break it down. Typically, the redhead was agressively verbal; not afraid to yell at the person closest to him for even breathing. It was erratic, erotic, and eruptive. Watching Kyle lose his temper was certainly one of Eric's favorite thing. There was nothing, after all, like watching his friend's skin bubble and boil until it flew from his mouth in raging sputum. After which, his face would flush when the embarassment of showing such raw emotion set in. He would sink into himself, and then hunker off to some corner of the school, and the rotund boy probably wouldn't see him again until the end of the day. Notably, after Kyle had a chance to calm down.

So when he stormed into the classroom, his books held tightly to his chest, and his face well flushed with the pending rage...well Eric found himself leaning forward in his seat.

"Jew," He whispered, making sure his breath hit Kyle's neck just right. It sent a thrill up his legs when he noticed the blood rush even further into Kyle's face. But Eric didn't let it travel too far, before he managed to stamp it out. He would never let it reach the one part that he kept protected; he would never let it reach his heart. Because if he allowed it to reach his heart, then he had lost the war to hate him. But, wouldn't that just be poetic? To love a man, if only, because you hate him? Even Shakespeare couldn't write such a tragedy. "What crawled up your vagina?" Eric leaned back, watching; waiting for the words to sink into the brain of the boy before him.

It took approximately .13 seconds. Kyle's hair first turned the same shade of red as his hair, and the vein on the upper left occipital pulsed under the porcelain skin. A flower was about to bloom; Eric had fed it enough light for it to grow, even when locked inside a closet with no access to photosynthetic particles.

"Shut the fuck up, fatass." Kyle hissed under his breath. He couldn't be too loud; couldn't be caught by the teacher. Because if there was anything that was absolute about the redhead (other than his temper), it was that he was an assured teacher's pet. Fuck, there were days where Eric could almost imagine a set of bright orange tabby cat ears perched on top of Kyle's head as the boy purred under the teacher's compliments. Once, after he had called him out on it, Kyle had simply sneered and suggested that it was to get ahead.

Of course, Kenny had to go and ruin the moment by snickering at some adult joke to be made. But Eric had his high; had gotten Kyle angry enough to see the sparks ignite. Some days, luckily, that was all he needed.

Today, was not one of those days. No, today, Eric wanted to see Kyle Broflovski explode in what could only equate to Mount Vesuvias. He wanted to watch the boy build up and build up until he mentally, physically, and emotionally couldn't take anymore. Then, when the tip of the iceberg began to hit the titanic, and the ship was bound to sink, Eric Cartman planned to make Kyle his. He planned to be the bandaid that mother's applied only to be ripped off later. It was a genius scheme, the brunette had told himself several times in order to clear any confusion. A scheme that called for him to do things to, for, and with Kyle that he would never do otherwise. But first and foremost, Eric had to get the redhead's trust. And to do that, Eric had to play selectively nice.

"Tsk tsk," Eric clucked his tongue. The vein was starting to throb; pulsing in time with the boy's heart as a tempo began its own rhythm inside Kyle's body. "I just wanted to know what made you angry."

"Fuck. Off." Kyle seethed sinking lower into his seat. His shoulder's hunched forward, as if he was trying to sheild himself from an oncoming storm. If only the redhead knew exactly what Eric had in store for him. Luckily for the latter, Kyle was not a psychic, nor was he able to predict the future. So when Cartman sighed dramatically against the back of Kyle's neck, leaning back in his seat slowly, he had no idea it would send goosebumps up his arms; or that the simple motion of warmth spreading across the nape would cause a pleasure that very quickly skyrocketed from his toes to his head.

Cartman could almost see the hair stand on end. Kyle ground his jaw to keep himself grounded; the reaction was marvelous. Eric could almost taste the frustration that seemed to ooze off the redhead in stroves; fuck, he could almost see it if he squinted hard enough and tilted his head just so. A soft pleasured groan escaped from the back of his throat. It was nearly orgasmic to watch the redhead squirm.

Alas, as good things do, class began and Cartman had to pay attention and take notes lest he fall behind. Then where exactly would that put him? A lower grade, and having to catch up, which, in turn, would leave him with less time to bug Kyle. Fortunate as he was though, class didn't seem to last as long as the clock hand said it had. Lunch would be in a nother two hours, and he was without the redhead for his next class. Not a big deal, for he would certainly see him at lunch—the most dreaded hour.

Why?

Because Eric Cartman hated sharing, and what's more, he hated sharing the attention of his affection with a certain raven haired football player.

It certainly wasn't Stanley's fault that he was the apple of Kyle's eye. He hadn't gone into their friendship thinking to land Kyle in the sack, or whatever term of endearment the other's were using now a days. Fuck if Cartman knew. It wasn't like the husky boy had ever had someone he wanted to cling to, or talk to constantly. In elementary, and middle school it had been sickening. Eric couldn't recall a day passing by when he didn't feel that ball of sickening vomit build up because of the bond that stretched between the two. Or, he couldn't until he had reached eighth grade. That's when the damned butterflies started.

Kyle had been red faced and screaming at him like it had been entirely his fault for the nude photo being leaked. It was, but Cartman wasn't going to claim that, why make it so easy? Kyle was always angrier when he didn't know exactly where to place his anger. Cartman had noted that it was like watching a confrontation all of its own. But the best part, was it was internal to the redhead. Eric could watch the play by play going on inside Kyle's head through his eyes.

And don't even get him started on the disgusting greeness of those eyes. They were too bright and too vivid to belong to anyone other than the damned ginger jew. He was pretty sure that they put even the purest of emerald to shame in; and made any peridot as jealous as jade could get. That had been the very first thing he noticed when he first met the kid. Either way, he digress.

"How rude," Eric purred leaning back in his seat. "Wasn't that rude Butters?" He glared at the blonde that fidgeted beside him; he was a tool. Butters nodded quietly as he pushed his pointer fingers against each other. His eyes darted between Kyle and his desk, but he followed his directions well enough. "See Kyle, you should apologize. I was just asking what was wrong."

"Cartman," Kyle seethed angrily. His hands formed fists around his notebook and papers. "I fucking swear, I will break your nose." Had they been outside, Eric was damn near positive that he would see smoke simply from the amount of rage that Kyle seemed to be holding back. However, that's what he wanted to see; he wanted Kyle to throw all matters to the wind and blow up. He wanted to see Kyle get so angry, and fired up that he wouldn't speak to anyone for the next three days.

If only because that's when Kyle was at his most beautiful.

"Fine," Cartman hummed crossing his arms. Kyle's shoulders slumped in relief, but Cartman wouldn't let them stay so for long. He would let him stew; brew in his own anger until it was just a matter of words for him to lose it. And it would be wonderous. It would be so beautiful, that even Van Gogh's art couldn't compare—and so brilliantly worded that even Hemingway would be jealous. Whatever left the redhead's mouth would probably be written down, and passed on throughout history text books. Children would read it, and then...only then, would his true beauty be realized. But Cartman knew what he was viewing; like a connoisseur, he would taste it and savor it. He would pass it around in his mouth from taste bud to taste bud, and then he would swallow, and it wouldn't just be Kyle's rage.

Oh no. It could never be that simple. Eric planned to swallow Kyle himself. He wanted to see him so crash; crash so hard that the American Stock Market would be jealous. But it would take time, and Eric had to be patient.

Patience wasn't a virtue he had though. And certainly not one provided by his heart; an organ that he had forgotten to account for when it came to the beauty that was his plan.