A/N: More technical stuff up in here but it's settin' us a nice little path. I promise.

Enjoy~

He'd managed in the last few weeks to count just how many sprawling star patterns were scattered across the ceiling running along the corner wall above the bed. 52 in a sporadic pattern, lied out above him as a means to pass time as he heard the stranger beside him on the bed still panting. Fingers traced along his arm and shoulder, Kyle finally breaking from the stark white above him after recounting to 36 for the seventh round to the olive-skinned man grinning at him happily.

"They weren't lyin'," he commented offhandedly.

"Who?" Kyle asked, watching with a gulp as the man worked his way back to overtop of him. Round three. Goody.

The hand redirected up to cup his face, tilting his chin up just enough to plant a long kiss down on the dubiously accepting lips. "The guys at the club," he murmured, half-masted cock bearing down on Kyle's thigh. The redhead sighed to himself, reaching down and genially stroking over the hot skin, watching muddled hazel eyes shimmer in pure thrill. "Said you were a hell of a whore."

His eye twitched in the slightest before settling himself down, forcing a seductive smile over his face. "Well, I guess I chose the right profession then, didn't I?"

"Sure as shit did," he murmured. "Worth every penny," he planted another kiss against his lips, Kyle releasing his dick and spreading his legs around him as the man leaned forward, grinding down against him. A slim hand fiddled with a condom packet, tearing it apart as teeth and tongue assaulted his mouth. The redhead managed to slip on the latex, situating himself and pressing up against him alluringly. Kyle's hands came up to clutch around his shoulders, a hiss breaking through his teeth as he found himself being entered yet again. "Fuck, still tight," the man said happily, hips pressing down and down again. Kyle groaned, head falling back and nails digging into unfamiliar skin.

He forgot this man's name already. All he knew was that he had another ten minutes with him, knowing that this last round was only going to last him about six and a half if the last time was any indicator. And he knew that he was being paid $2000 at the end of the night. That's all that mattered.

Kyle could barely feel what the man was doing to him, body stretched and worn from their last hour together, but he knew what these people liked: They liked him to be theirs for the time allotted. They liked for him to be compliant, quiet only when shoving his mouth over their cocks. Even then it was questionable. They liked to know that they had him under their thumbs, that they were the one giving him any sense of 'pleasure'. Sure, they were there for themselves, wanting nothing more than to bust a load in a boy they'd have no chance with in any other circumstance. But they craved the feeling of power. They wanted him to submit himself in every conceivable way he could for the time they "owned him" as Cartman liked to fucking put it.

Passing from hand to hand was wearisome, but routine after five weeks of doing this "professionally", so much longer than that when counting bending over a dumpster for just enough for a trip to fucking McDonalds.

Kyle yelped as the man's hand gripped around the still barely-visible bruise cresting along his hipbone. "Sorry, Sweetheart," the man breathed hotly and automatically redirected his hand to Kyle's slim waistline, remembering very well Cartman warning him not to hurt Kyle anymore than he'd been feeling the last week. A full-fledged lecture from him and a disgruntled blonde had informed him of what the redhead had been subjected to the week prior, cautioning him to tread very lightly and not break the boy underneath him. He'd only gotten a hold of Kyle this week because, as he was told, he "didn't want to do anything weird to him".

Kyle's own mind was whirring with Cartman's words as well: "He's a pansy, he doesn't like hurting people. Don't let him think he's hurting you unless he is."

"No, no," he breathed, sliding a hand up the back of his neck into a receding line of dishwater hair. "You're fine..." he arched up a bit, angling himself better for the man to start propelling him against the sheets despite the fairly gentle thrusting. He closed his eyes as his neck was peppered with kisses, allowing himself to open for the stranger. Kyle nearly sighed to himself yet again, knowing that this man was handpicked by Kenny, someone that he looked at what they wanted and felt as though it kept Kyle safe. He bit his lip, wondering if this was how it was going to be from now on: Ken scrutinizing every fucking bid for him, looking only for those who wanted to play it vanilla. Not that Kyle wanted to complain about that, but... His acting in playing unconscious or angry or sad was fairly strong. Acting physically pleasured in the least was not.

This type of slow moving, gentle 'love making' as so many saccharine-infused couples would call it did nothing for him unless it was with his own love. Getting himself fired up through the imagination department was the only thing that could keep him hard, the only thing that could remind him to moan every now and then, let someone like this believe that they were instilling any sense of gratification on him. After all, no man was here to feel unwanted. And as much as they were paying him, Kyle felt a little more than obligated to at least look and sound like he was enjoying himself. After all, if they were enjoying him, then he had less of a chance at tapping into a docile man's rage. It was a tightrope that he was constantly thrown onto, one with only the safety of Stan and Kenny underneath him should a situation go awry. But he wasn't stupid. Screaming a safe word wouldn't matter if someone snapped his goddamn neck. Wasn't like they didn't have ample opportunity as he laid spread beneath them, completely subject to whatever they wished to do. It was all about gambles at this point, but Kyle had no urge to ever hit The Strip.

"Shit," the man groaned, hands tightening around Kyle, hips more sporadically pressing down inside of him.

Kyle forced out a moan, delving his fingers down into his back and opening his legs just a bit wider. He rolled his eyes, wondering if his sounds were even half convincing. The man bit on his collarbone just beside his scabbed wound, coming to a full stop and panting breathlessly against the ashen skin. Kyle twitched, feeling him genially sliding out of his body a final time and nearly slumping in relief before those strange lips caught his own again.

The man pulled back just a hair, their breaths fighting hotly against one another's. "You didn't cum this time, Sweetheart," he said, a tinge of disappointment edging his voice.

Kyle gulped, forcing another smile onto his face and stroking his hand up his faded hair. "You have better endurance than I do, I guess. I can only be so turned on before it's overwhelming for me," he parried off flirtatiously.

The man grinned, confidence spiking. "Guess we'll have to work on that next time, hmm?" he kissed him.

"Guess so," he fluttered his lashes, biting the man's lower lip just a bit. He chuckled, getting off the top of him and helping Kyle sit back up. Kyle winced, sitting on the sides of his legs, ears barely picking up the man cleaning himself off.

He glanced over as a towel hit his arm, the man looking sheepish. "So...is that an actual okay or..."

Kyle smiled gently and nodded, "Yeah, feel free to make another...appointment," he worked out, cleaning himself off and glancing at the clock. Three minutes left. He felt as though he really should be more concerned about having such an accurate countdown for these men. He waited for the man to slide on his own clothes before redressing himself, another lesson he was slowly picking up over time. Some of them wanted to continue to stare, work him into their mental image before losing sight yet again. It was disgusting and it was disgraceful...But it was money. Kyle grated his lip and shook his head at himself. That's what this all came down to: His fucking wallet. But it was necessary, it was needed...And he had so many plans for all the funding he was procuring.

He yanked his shirt back down over his head and slipped on his shoes, quietly going to tie them before a flash of green caught his peripheral. He glanced down, seeing a stack of bills on the comforter beside him. "$200...I'd give more if I could," the man said quietly. "My wife would kill me though, it was hard enough getting the two thousand out," he chuckled.

Kyle froze before slinking back down, reminding himself of who he was in all this. He was just the employee. He was not the cause of these situations, he was merely the product. He took the money and shoved it into his pocket, smiling again and getting to his feet. "I don't know why she wouldn't appreciate you more," he said smoothly. "You seem to know how to get what you're after," he winked before turning on his heel as soon as the clock hit 10 and walking away.

"See ya next time, Sweetheart!" the man called. He gave him a wave and another little wink before hurrying out of the motel, looking to see Kenny standing beside the door as he slowly closed it behind him.

Ken looked between him and the barrier and shook his head. "Sweetheart? I called you that once and you punched my damn face."

Kyle chuckled tiredly, reaching over and grasping his hand, squeezing it pointedly. "I actually care what you call me," he said sadly. He caught Cartman approaching and dropped Kenny's hand, looking to see Stan on his other side giving him a shrug and he sighed. "Come on," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets and the three of them heading to meet the brunette in the parking lot.

"So?" Cartman asked.

"So what?" he muttered, slipping past him and continuing out to the sidewalk, turning to head back towards Stan's truck parked at the bar down the block.

He scoffed, "So, how'd it fucking go?"

"How do you think it went?" he seethed, dropping his voice into a harsh whisper. "He fucked me, I got paid, and I left. Same as fucking usual," he rolled his eyes, cracking his stiffened neck and sighing.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" Ken asked worriedly.

He shot him a soft smile and shook his head, "Trust me, if someone does, you're getting informed right off because I want them beaten to a pulp in front of me."

The blonde chuckled just a bit, "I can do that."

Kyle glanced around Cartman to look at Stan who was staring at him with just as much concern as his boyfriend. "Stan, do you work tomorrow?"

He looked up in thought, "Uh, not until five."

"Good, you two are coming to the apartment," he pointed between him and Cartman.

Cartman scoffed once again, "And just why do I need to do that?"

Kyle glanced between the three of them and shrugged, a small glint passing through his tired expression. "Because...I think I figured out a way to keep us out of jail."

Sitting around Kyle and Kenny's living room was just becoming par for the course at this point, designated as the unofficial meeting place of the 'Kyle is a goddamn whore' club. If only membership had been optional.

Stan and Cartman watched as Kyle dug through a manilla folder on his desk, Kenny walking out of the kitchen with a large orange soup mug in hand. "Here, Ky."

"Hm?" Kyle looked down, seeing the steaming cinnamon coffee swirling in the mug and he smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Babe," he said, grabbing the cup and taking a long sip, relieving himself of the taste of the unfamiliar man. He ran his tongue along his mouth and smacked his lips to assure the flavor of his client was gone before leaning up and kissing the blonde.

"Stop fucking making out and tell us why we're here," Cartman grumbled. "I have work in the damn morning."

Kyle pulled down from Kenny and sighed, "Right." He jerked his head and Kenny followed the gesture, walking over and planting himself down on the couch, all of them watching as Kyle approached, folder and coffee in hand. "All right, here's the deal," he started, setting down his mug and running a hand through his hair. "Ken and I need to utilize our bank account and build back our credit, but us dumping in so much money all the time when I'm unemployed is going to get suspicious and fast," he said.

Cartman rolled his eyes, "Well, then deposit it slowly."

"We have been, but I don't like having so much money lying around the goddamn apartment," he scoffed, grabbing four papers out of his folder and handing two each to Stan and Cartman.

Stan cocked his head, "An i1099? The fuck is this for?"

"You want me to pay taxes for a hooker?" Cartman demanded.

Kyle glared down at him, "No. I want you to take some of my cut to pay taxes for a housekeeper and a personal shopper," he gestured between himself and Kenny. "You're going to be 'paying us' twenty an hour each," he said. "We're going to make it so I 'work' a total of twenty hours a week for both of you as your 'housekeeper'. Then Ken is going to 'work' ten hours each." He glanced at their befuddled faces and he shrugged. "Then what I do is I keep a log of your 'payments', deduct the taxes from my cut and I'll give you the money to pay the fucking government. Kenny and I can deposit $1200 a week if we do this right. Then I'll have a backlog of other 'customers' who don't pay us enough to warrant needing the tax forms for any extra we want to throw into the bank."

Cartman nodded slowly, looking over the pre-printed information. "All right, you got everything we need?"

"Got your EID's already," he said, pointing to a form hiding behind the tax papers. "All you have to do is file. I'll make the arrangements for our W-2's."

Stan looked up, seeming dazed and confused at the information handed to him. "Wait. How...how do I file?"

Kyle rolled his eyes amusedly, "Fine, I'll file for you, Stan, that's not a problem."

"Wait, but what do I have to do about this? Does this affect my taxes? What if we get an audit? What the hell do I do if-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Kyle waved his hands in front of his face. "Stan, stop freaking out. Look, you're not going to get a fucking audit, all right? And even if you do, I'm keeping a log for you, all you have to do is sign some receipts."

He frowned, "But I don't make enough money to be paying you for this! Isn't that a little suspicious?"

The redhead smirked, "Look, if we come across that problem, which is highly unlikely, then our 'jobs' are a gift to you from Fatboy," he gestured to the brunette who knitted his brow. Kyle scoffed at him, "You have the money to pay us a salary like that and still maintain a livable wage. But it'd be a little off to have you paying us forty an hour, that'd just raise the questions even higher. The average pay for these jobs is about $16 an hour. You're both paying us extra because we're friends and you're 'helping us out'. He sharply slid his eyes over the group, crossing his arms firmly. "I'm risking enough here with what I'm doing, I'm not going to fucking have the cops bust down our door because I slipped in an extra wad of cash into our account."

Cartman stroked over his chin, leaning back and nodding. "Gotta hand it to you, Jew, pretty damn crafty. You're still making way too much for it to lower all suspicion, though."

"We're still going to keep a lot of the cash," he said quietly. "I'm buying us a safe tomorrow. But this is vital for Kenny and I to be able to pay off our debts," he said firmly. "Paying in cash at the grocery store is one thing, but handing $2000 in hundreds to our damn credit card company would raise some eyebrows," he sighed. He turned and sat beside Kenny on the couch, staring intently at Cartman. "Fatass, do you handle the books for your company?"

He cocked his brow. "Yeah, I do."

He bit his cheek and nodded, "Hire me to do it instead."

"Oh hell no," he bit. "I am not letting some low-lying Jew work on my books!"

He narrowed his eyes, "One: You know I am fully capable of doing so, probably even more so than yourself. Two: You don't even have to pay me, you just have to employ me and say you're paying me. Then if I'm handling the books, I can keep a hold of the money that's supposed to be my salary and funnel it back into the company."

Kenny let out a long sigh, rubbing his temple, "Jesus fucking Christ, Kyle. You're talking about laundering."

"I'm glad you can keep up," Stan muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"How is it laundering when the money is coming directly from the owner of the company?" he asked innocently, gesturing to the adjacent brunette. "I cash the check, give him the salary from our own supply of petty cash, and he decides what to do with it from there. No one's going to question it if the check is deposited and I'm not taking out that exact amount, right?" he raised his brow at Cartman.

Cartman leaned back and let out a long breath through his nose, gnawing on his bottom lip. "I don't want you in my building, that puts you on too personal a level if someone starts suspecting you if we're seen together much."

"Buy me fucking Quickbooks and I'll work from home," he rolled his eyes. "You're always bitching about that aspect of your job anyway, so hand it off to me. I'll do the accounting from here, you pay me a controller's salary, and we're fucking golden for the last months of this bullshit you've forced me into," he glared at him sharply. "Not to mention, that gives me some goddamn job experience and maybe I can finally get one once I'm done flashing my dick for old geezers."

Cartman sighed irritably, rubbing his forehead. "Yeah...yeah that would make sense, wouldn't it?" He flickered sharp eyes back into Kyle's and his face took on a smarmy grin. "Look at you, Kahl. You're getting just as cutthroat in this as I am," he purred.

"No, I'm getting smart," he corrected with a sneer. "I'm not going to jail for you, Moob Boy."

"How much are you expecting to be paid?" he questioned.

"What would be anyone else's starting wage?" he countered, leaning back against Kenny and letting his arms worm around his waist, settling comfortably into his chest.

Cartman looked up in thought, "For a controller? I'd probably start them off on $26 an hour."

He nodded, "Sounds good to me." He looked at the skepticism lingering on Cartman's face and narrowed his eyes, "Look, Fatboy. Drop your fucking anti-Semitic train here and listen to me: You are fucking humiliating me on a weekly basis. And you said yourself a prime objective is keeping me safe while you're selling me. This will keep me fucking safe..." he paused, letting out a long sigh and reaching back to clutch Kenny's knee. "If you do this, if you agree to let me utilize an asset dancing in our face...You get all six months from me, I'll drop the three month trial run deal."

"Kyle!" Kenny hissed.

Cartman's face brightened immensely at the offer. "All six months? No Jewing out?"

"No Jewing out," he muttered. "Keep up your end and I'll comply...With the exception of course that I'm severely hurt. Or one of them," he gestured to Stan and Kenny sitting there with shocked faces. "Any bones broken, anything that puts us in the hospital, anything that makes us somehow incapacitated from injury...that breaks the contract and we're done. For good," he emphasized.

The glutton nodded, "Sounds good to me, Kahl," he reached his hand out, Kyle taking his back and both of them staring coldly at one another as they shook. A sharp, cold grin sliced up Cartman's face and he chuckled, "One month down, Jewboy. Only five more to go."

A/N: Is it bad I thought of this last year when working as some lady's housekeeper and figuring out if I had to be taxed? PS I didn't yay. But go Kyle with your Jew skills that I didn't even realize were stereotyping until literally this second hurrayyyyy

And now we have a full more five months to work with this fun, provided I don't break his arm along the way. Honestly with me it's always a possibility we'll have to see.

Thanks for R&Ring!