This fic picks up off right where "Boys Will Be" ends, so you might want to read that first. Warnings for forced cross-dressing, some unwanted sexual touching between twelve year olds ("I'm Chriiiiiis Haaaaaanseeeeen.") I don't own South Park, or anything of much value. If you sue me, you're going to be very disappointed.

Kyle was fairly confident by the time he got to the bus stop that his mother wasn't following him. Sighing with relief, he slowed his pace to a walk and, checking that no one was around to see him, reached up to run a finger under the lacy leg bands of the panties that constituted a large part of his punishment for losing his bet with Cartman. They were already starting to chafe like a motherfucker. He paused to adjust himself. The underwear was so small he was honestly surprised that the running hadn't sent his junk on a bid for freedom.

Once he was settled as comfortably as possible, he continued his awkward shuffle to the stop. As comfortably as possible still wasn't very. The incredibly constricting nature of the panties made the fact that the body was made out of silk pretty much irrelevant and the lace was so itchy it was nearly unbearable. Not to mention he was freezing his fucking nuts off. Kyle swore, one day he was going to murder Eric Cartman. No one would blame him. Hell, the town would probably give him a medal for it.

He wasn't really surprised to find Cartman already waiting for him at the stop, shit-eating grin firmly in place. From the pained expression on Stan's face, Kyle guessed that the usually tardy Cartman had been there for at least as long as his friend had.

"Well, well, well, Kahl," Cartman drawled. "My, we are looking pretty today."

"Shut up," Kyle gritted out, crossing his arms over his chest protectively.

"Now, now, Kahl," Cartman smiled saccharinely. "You know just as well as I did that I won that bet fair and square."

"Fair and square?" Kyle shrieked. "You would've never made it if Stan's Uncle Jimbo hadn't been testing out that rocket launcher!"

Cartman made a tsking noise with his tongue.

"Kahl, did we or did we not bet that I could jump that semi-truck on my skateboard?"

"Yes," huffed Kyle. "But—"

"And," interrupted Cartman. "Did I or did I not successfully jump over the semi-truck?"

"After Jimbo blew it up!"

"Did I jump over the semi-truck, Kahl?" Cartman persisted.

The memory of watching Cartman hop easily over the vehicle's smouldering remains still made Kyle want to scream with rage.

"Yes," he grit out.

"Then quit yer bitchin'! Christ."

Kyle growled, then took a deep breath.

"Did you do your Math homework last night, Stan?" he asked, turning away from the fatass to his best friend.

"Oh," said Stan, who seemed to be avoiding his gaze out of sympathetic embarrassment. "Yeah."

"Did you end up having trouble with Part B?"

"No, I did okay."

Kyle waited for elaboration and when none came, he glanced around awkwardly, clutching his hands behind his back and watching his own wet, scuffed sneakers kick at the chilled gravel lining the side of the road. A brisk wind whipped past, and he shuddered bodily. He'd left his house quickly out of fear that his mother would discover the full extent of his get-up, but now he was starting to regret it. Noticing that the skirt had begun to ruck up again, he gave the hem a tug. How did girls not fidget with their clothes all the time? He was so uncomfortable that he could scream.

"You're wearing all of it?" Cartman asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes," mumbled Kyle, glaring.

"Let me see."

"No, sicko!" Kyle flushed in spite of himself.

"Just wearing a skirt wasn't the deal, Kyle. If you think I trust your Jewish ass—"

"At least open your jacket, Kyle," prompted Stan, who was looking at them now with something like interest. "He'll never shut up if you don't."

Rolling his eyes, Kyle unzipped his jacket quickly and shoved it aside to give the two of them a look. The blouse that Cartman had selected was plain enough, white with a little lace on the collar and some rouching down the sides, although Kyle had seriously contemplated strangling him with it when he'd noticed that the buttons were little translucent hearts. But that wasn't really the embarrassing part. The embarrassing part was what they knew he could see through the blouse: a red, lacy bra, more humiliating somehow than even the matching panties.

"There," he said, flushing. "Happy now?"

"Not quite," said Cartman significantly.

Huffing, Kyle dug a finger beneath the waistband of the miniskirt and pulled out a lacy leg-band with a snap.

"All right?"

"Damn, if I'd known there was going to be a show, I'd 've gotten here early, too," said Kenny, who had chosen that moment to arrive on the scene. "Guess you lost the bet, huh, Kyle?"

Kyle had forgotten that Kenny hadn't survived the rocket launcher incident. He opened his mouth to reply but Cartman cut him off.

"I wanna see the underwear."

"No!" Kyle snapped. "You can tell I'm wearing them!"

Kenny was looking at them both now with a cocked eyebrow and the beginnings of a grin.

"Why would you make him wear girls' underwear, too?" Stan interrupted their bickering to ask. "People won't even be able to tell."

"Why? Why?" asked Cartman as if it were the simplest thing in the world; he turned to look at Kyle. "Kahl, how embarrassed are you right now?"

Kyle didn't answer.

"Are you really, really embarrassed?" he prompted, his nasty grin impossibly wide.

"Eat shit," said Kyle in a low voice.

"That's why, Stan," said Cartman briskly. "Now, Kahl, I want to see the underwear."

"Go fuck yourself," said Kyle, zipping his jacket back up. "That was not part of our deal."

Cartman made one of his patented high-pitched whining noises and probably would have continued pestering him about it indefinitely had the bus not arrived on the scene at that moment. Before it had even come to a complete stop, Kyle could see a handful of students plastering themselves against the windows to stare at him. He took a steeling breath, avoiding Cartman's gaze with purpose as the bus doors slid open. Stan gave him a supportive shoulder-clap before climbing on while, behind them, Kenny was having a fit of muffled giggles. Kyle entered the bus to a chorus of hoots and wolf-whistles. Shrugging off a glare from the morbidly obese drive who obviously blamed him for disrupting his bus, Kyle made his way past the rows of uproarious sixth graders to his and Stan's usual seat across the aisle from Craig, whose bored expression implied that he wouldn't have cared if Kyle's pants had been on fire, much less missing. He was sitting with Clyde today, who left Kyle alone after a single, smirky "Nice."

As soon as the bus was in motion, Butters popped up from his seat to lean on the back of Stan and Kyle's.

"You lose a bet, Kyle?" he asked, careful to keep only curiosity in his voice, though Kyle could tell from the twinkle in his eyes that he would've liked to be laughing along with the rest of the bus.

"Cartman," Kyle ground out by way of explanation.

"Yeah, I made this sweet jump over a semi," came Cartman's faux-casual drawl from his spot a few seats back. "Kahl said I couldn't make it, but I said 'Kahl, now you listen heah—'"

"Shut up, fatass!" Kyle shrieked, turning to glare at him.

"Whatever, Kahl," Cartman retorted. "Say whatever you want; you're still the one in the skirt."

Kyle narrowed his eyes at his fat friend, and Cartman responded with an angelic smile.

"It's a good look for you, Kyle!" Bebe piped up from behind them to a chorus of high-pitched giggles.

He was pretty sure he heard her add something under her breath about his ass and turned quickly back around, face hot. Stan gave him a look that had just a tinge of "I told you so" about it, and Kyle crossed his arms and slumped lower in the seat, spending the rest of the bone-chilling bus ride frowning into the warm collar of his jacket.

If Kyle had expected trouble from the teachers about his new outfit, he was sorely disappointed. Although he got plenty of odd looks from the South Park Middle School faculty, it seemed that none of them really wanted to ask. His conflicts with Cartman were almost legendary at this point, so he supposed it wasn't really shocking that they'd identified the cause of his newfound gender issues, especially since Cartman had been following him around all day looking at him in turn with cruel pleasure and some strange mixture of malice and hunger.

He was not letting up on the underwear thing. It seemed that the ridicule Kyle had met with from their classmates had done little to mollify him. Kyle suspected that a large part of his resolve came from the less than welcoming reception he had gotten the night before when he'd showed up on Kyle's doorstep with the plastic sack full of women's clothing. Kyle hadn't exactly been polite about the whole exchange, and Cartman never had learned to take doors to the face well. So, Kyle was paying for his little show of temper now, and no matter how many times he said "no," from the first time he'd sat nearly bare-assed and shivering on the plastic desk chair of Mr. Garrison's Math class to standing in the line at the cafeteria discreetly tugging the skirt into some semblance of modesty and trying to resist the urge to pick the panties, Cartman wouldn't seem to take it as an answer. It might not have been a new trait, but it was a fucking annoying one.

"You know I'm wearing them," Kyle whispered harshly at the lunch table, rubbing his thighs down with bare hands to try to get the blood circulating again. "I don't have to prove anything to you."

"I don't care," Cartman snapped back, less discretely. "I want to see it."

Kyle made a face.

"You're so weird," he said with great feeling, though it was hardly a revelation. "Just leave me alone."

"Kahl, when have you ever known me to do that?"

The other boy frowned.

"Okay, you have a point," Kyle fidgeted with his jacket to keep himself from fidgeting with the bra. He sighed deeply, already regretting what he was about to do and, regarding Cartman with a wary eye, said: "Look, if you'll leave me alone... If you'll leave me alone about it, I guess you can come home with me after school and see, okay?"

Cartman looked unimpressed, but before he could voice his objection, the bell rang loudly, spurring everyone to abandon their half-finished lunches and trudge groaning to their classes. Kyle stood with the rest of them, shuffling along with Stan and Kenny who had apparently decided with silent, mutual agreement to ignore the underwear drama in favour of their long-standing disagreement over who was hotter – Wendy or Bebe – a subject on which they could quibble for hours, Stan listing all of Wendy's most effusive qualities and Kenny describing Bebe's breasts with a series of increasingly perverse descriptions and similes. Since they were discussion such a fertile subject, it was hardly surprising that it escaped their notice when Cartman, charging through the herd of students, grabbed Kyle by the forearm and dragged him out of the stampede and into the bathroom.

"Let go of me, fatass!" snapped Kyle, twisting his wrist neatly from Cartman's grip. "You're going to make me late for class!"

Cartman clamped a meaty hand around Kyle's forearm instead.

"Kahl, I'm seriously—!"

"Cartman, let go!"

The couple of stragglers who had been left in the bathroom when they'd entered looked desperately torn between watching their argument and avoiding being late to their own classes, and when the warning bell rang and they were forced to exit, they did so with looks of great longing and regret.

"Goddammit, fatass! I'll never make it on time now!"

Cartman made a scoffing sound.

"Who cares?"

"I care! What the hell are you— Get off me!"

Cartman began pushing him toward the stalls, and Kyle, stumbling backward, smacked at this arms and chest, shoving back.

"C'mon, Kahl, just—"

"Quit it, fatass!"

"Ow, Kahl—!"

Neither boy was willing to give up, and they scuffled uselessly for nearly a minute before Cartman managed to force the still-struggling Kyle into one of the cubicles. One of Kyle's hits caught his in the chin and he smacked back, the two of them engaging in an almost embarrassingly girly slap fight for a minute, hitting each other mainly on the wrists and forearms, before Cartman drew back.

"Ow, okay, okay! Kahl, stop it!"

Kyle glared back at him, breathing heavily.

"What do you want, Cartman?"

The other boy screwed up his chubby face.

"I told you, I wanna see," he whined.

Kyle stared at him incredulously.

"God, you are such a freak! Let me out!"

Cartman slammed a palm against the stall wall, blocking his way. Kyle saw the stubborn set of his jaw and the cold malice glittering in his eyes and winced. Great. From spoiled dumbass to sociopath in 0.5 seconds. Kyle hated it when Cartman did this. No matter how many years they'd known each other, it still threw him off every single time. Cartman pushed the stall door closed behind him, bolting it.

"Now, Kahl," he drawled. "I think you know what to do."

Kyle felt his stomach sink. He knew that tone. That was the "Kahl, you will suck my balls," tone. God dammit.

"I said I'd show you after school!" he tried, indignant.

Cartman scoffed.

"I'm not going to fall for one of your tricks again, Kahl!"

Kyle huffed a whistling breath out of his nose.

"Cartman, I swear to Abraham—"

"Your Jew promises don't mean anything to me," Cartman cut him off, crossing his arms. "Stop trying to put this off. Unless, of course, you're afraid."

Kyle frowned, squeezed his eyes tightly shut and, swallowing bile, relented.

"At least... At least move back a little. There's barely room enough in here for you, me, and your ass."

Cartman shrugged and complied, but it didn't make much of a difference. Kyle could barely make it out of the range of Cartman's body heat without risking falling in the toilet. Glaring at the other boy from under his lashes, he unzipped his jacket as quickly and efficiently as possible, careful to avoid any appearances of coyness. Kyle was a smart boy; as much as he might have wanted to pretend otherwise, he was perfectly aware of the sexual connotations of Cartman's various fixations. Well, if the fatass was going to read anything about this as sexy, he was going to have to do all of the work in his own sick mind.

It was probably because of this determination that, when Cartman suddenly reached out to undo one of the tiny, heart-shaped buttons on the blouse, Kyle nearly jumped out of his own skin.

"Don't touch me!" he shrieked, in what he was afraid was a decent approximation of a scandalised girl.

He shrunk backward, but he could already feel the cold press of the toilet's rim against his calves and knew he had nowhere to go. When Cartman moved forward slightly, Kyle tried to struggle past him but only succeeded in putting his back against the stall wall instead of the toilet. If anything, there was less space between the two of them now, and Kyle nearly screamed in frustration. Cartman, who'd backed up as much as he could without giving Kyle the space he needed to escape, wore the look of someone trying to calm a panicking animal.

"All right, Kahl," he said, his voice syrupy-sweet. "I won't touch you if you don't want me to. Now, go ahead."

Kyle, not believing him for a second, made a pained face and complied. Flicking each button open with an efficiency bordering on violence, he reached the bottom of the blouse a lot more quickly than he might have liked. Pausing for only a second to take a deep, shut-eyed breath and aware that every moment he lingered made this seem more like a strip tease, he yanked open the blouse.

Kyle stood shivering for a moment, glaring red-faced at a spot on the stall wall just above Cartman's left shoulder, and when he finally caved and looked back, something in his stuttered at the intensity of the other boy's gaze. Kyle glanced down at himself, brows furrowed, completely unable to understand what could be so fascinating about the garment he'd been forced into. The bra was red like the panties, lace-trimmed, with a little satiny bow at the place where the steep slopes of the cups met near the band. The cups themselves were made of some translucent, meshy fabric, lightly decorated with a lacy pattern meant to accentuate the peeking nipples of the wearer. Kyle, who had examined himself in the mirror for some time that morning, knew that the shadows of his own nipples could be seen through the fabric still, but the effect was lost without the slightest swell of breasts.

Cartman had thoughtfully selected an A cup, so the bra cups only pooched out a little from the pinchy underwire, caving in slightly from the lack of support. The band, however, was much too small, and Kyle had spent the entire day wincing as it chafed and cut into the skin beneath his arms; his ribs were beginning to ache from the pressure. The skin around the bra was pink and raw-looking now. Kyle couldn't see anything about the stupid thing that wasn't ridiculous, and he was half convinced that Cartman's fervor was entirely devoted to the way it was making him squirm.

If he'd thought to suppress his own embarrassment for the sake of robbing Cartman of his satisfaction, the fat boy's next comment killed that possibility completely.

"I said the underwear, not just the bra."

Maybe Kyle could drown him in the toilet. As far as he was concerned, it would be a fitting end for the bastard.

"Are you serious?" he gritted out through clenched teeth.

Cartman gave him a wide-eyed, faux innocent look.

"Whyever wouldn't I be, Kahl?"

Kyle growled but, knowing the argument to be completely useless, let the separated sides of the jacket and blouse fall together for the sake of moving his fingers to the hem of the miniskirt, pulling it up over his thighs. He had enough pride not to chicken out now, but he'd be damned if he dropped the skirt entirely. That really would have felt like a strip tease. He pulled the skirt up until the panties were completely exposed, letting the folds rest on his hips before placing his hands on them and glaring at Cartman defiantly, trying desperately to suppress the urge to blush. He knew already how this looked, how the red fabric clung to his most intimate parts and, even though he'd known Cartman forever and they'd seen each other naked what felt like hundreds of times growing up, this was somehow still one of the most humiliating moments of his life.

And Cartman knew it. He must have known it, because he wore that expression of pure satisfaction that always graced his face when he was making Kyle's life a living hell. Cartman reached out both hands, and Kyle stiffened and glared ("I won't touch you"? Yeah, right.), but he didn't make any move to stop the other boy from pushing the jacket and blouse open again and off of his shoulders. Cartman pulled back to look him over. A slimy grin spread slowly across his face.

"You look ridiculous," he said, chuckling.

"I know," said Kyle, clenching his jaw and then added, feeling slightly indignant: "You picked it out."

"That I did," said Cartman, looking incredibly proud of himself. "Hey, Jew. Turn around."

This time, Kyle couldn't stop himself from flushing, and Cartman watched it bloom down his neck and across his chest with fascination. His smile widened.

"Dude, take off your hat. You'll be like a Jewish tomato."

Kyle flipped him off.

They regarded each other for a long moment, Cartman's expression expectant, Kyle's disgruntled.

"Well, Kahl?" Cartman prompted.

"If you think I'm taking off my hat—" Kyle snapped.

"No, not that," Cartman scoffed, then lowered his voice to a near-whisper. "Turn around."

Kyle had been hearing warning bells going off in his mind since Cartman had shown up at his house the night before with a sack-full of women's clothing and fire in his eyes, but now they were deafening. Keeping a suspicious gaze on the other boy, he turned slowly until he was glaring at Cartman over his own shoulder.

"Can't see," said Cartman casually.

Kyle bristled.

'Kill him. Kill him,' he chanted in his head. 'I'm going to kill him.'

He tugged the jacket up so that he was completely exposed and had to look away, embarrassment burning hot in his chest and stomach more strongly than it had all day. He could feel Cartman's gaze on him and shifted under it, pretending to be very interested in the graffiti in front of him proclaiming that Craig Tucker was a faggot. Behind him, Cartman was laughing softly to himself. Kyle heard the rustling sound of him shifting, felt the body head teasing his back intensify and clenched his fists.

Kyle was freezing, trembling now in the drafty, winter-whipped bathroom, and he hated Cartman for stepping forward almost as much as he hated himself for gratefully accepting the heat that seemed to be rolling off the fat boy in waves. Cartman moved until the cloth of his jacket was lightly brushing Kyle's back, until his mouth was barely an inch away from Kyle's ear.

"Hey, Kahl..." he breathed, and shit, even his breath was hot.

Kyle swallowed hard and didn't answer.

"How embarrassed are you right now?" hissed Cartman, repeating his question from earlier at the bus stop. "Are you really, really embarrassed?"

He drew the last "really" out obscenely, his breath coming in warm puffs against Kyle's ear, and Kyle tensed because Cartman was standing way, way too close. Kyle felt a gloved hand come to rest on his leg, just above the knee, and his eyes went impossibly wide. He tried to say something like "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" but all that came out was a strange, strangled noise.

"Sorry, what was that, Kahl," asked Cartman, and Kyle could hear the smirk in his voice.

To Kyle's horror, Cartman's hand began moving upward. The cloth brushed against the skin of his thigh, making the fine hairs there stand on end, and Kyle felt a shudder run through his body that had nothing to do with the cold. Deep inside of him, where the tension had been gathering since Cartman had showed up at his door with that damn sack of clothes, coiling tighter and tighter all day, something snapped.

He turned swiftly and struck Cartman with all of his strength, sending the other boy tumbling to the ground with a shout. Anger burning fiercely in his chest, Kyle found that it wasn't punishment enough and, baring his teeth, he aimed a vicious kick between Cartman's legs. Cartman shrieked, but Kyle must have mainly hit him in one of his meaty thighs, because he was on his feet again by the time Kyle had hastily shoved his clothing into place and was fumbling with the door latch.

"What the fuck, Jew?" Cartman demanded.

He was panting, his face flushed pink with something that might have been anger, embarrassment, or some mixture of the two. He reached out to grab Kyle again, and Kyle struggled, smacking him in the face.

"DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!" he yelled, beyond caring if the noise got them caught skipping class by a passing teacher.

He managed to pull the door open and practically tumbled out, Cartman at his heels.

"Kahl, stop!" Cartman demanded from behind him.

Kyle ignored him, stomping toward the door. Cartman reached out and grabbed a handful of his jacket, yanking him backwards.

"I said 'stop,' Kahl!"

Kyle turned and shoved Cartman with enough force to send the bigger boy stumbling backward. He slammed heavily into the metal trashcan with a sound like a thunderclap, sending the mountain of brown paper towels scattering.

"YOU STOP!" Kyle yelled at him, and then, not sure anymore what he meant: "Just STOP!"

They were both breathing heavily now, glaring at each other across the bathroom like wrestlers waiting for the bell. The place on Cartman's cheek where Kyle had hit him was already starting to purple.

"I swear, Kahl," said Cartman finally in a low voice, something sharp and strange in his eyes. "I swear, one day..."

"One day what?" demanded Kyle. "One day fucking what?"

Without waiting for an answer, he turned sharply on his heel and shoved open the wooden door, stomping out into the hall. He gave the door a forceful push behind him, hoping to slam it, but it had been made for silence and insisted on simply gliding shut with a muffled thump.

He walked briskly down the hallway, every so often looking over his shoulder warily, but Cartman seemed to have decided against following him. Kyle huffed out a frustrated breath. He should have felt better after hitting and yelling at Cartman. He should have felt victorious. But he was still wearing women's clothes, still late for his class, it was still goddamn cold, and—

"One day..."