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It was just starting to get dark when Kyle arrived home after school. He'd stayed late to make up a biology quiz, and now the last light was fading from the early winter sunset. He opened the front door and stepped into his living room. His brother was seated on the couch, watching TV.
"Mom's at the mall," Ike said, eyes glued to the screen.
"Okay," Kyle said as he trudged past.
"She had to stop at Radio Shack," he continued.
"Hmm," Kyle said, eyes on the staircase.
"She said she's still not letting you upgrade your cell phone," he helpfully added.
"Great," Kyle muttered and made his way upstairs.
He shut the door to his room more forcefully than was strictly necessary and let his backpack fall to the floor by his desk with a heavy thunk. He sighed as he flopped down on his bed. He had a little less than an hour before he was supposed to meet up with the guys over at Stan's house, and he really ought to get started on his calculus homework.
He turned his head slightly to look disapprovingly over at his backpack with his calc textbook inside. It wasn't that he didn't believe in the fundamental importance of mathematics, or even in the fundamental importance of completing one's assignments in a timely fashion. It was just that polynomial derivatives were really relentlessly boring.
Kyle sighed and scratched idly at his belly. His parents were out; his brother was occupied. He glanced over at his door, making sure that he had locked it. He shrugged inwardly and thumbed open the button of his pants. What the hell, he thought. I have time.
He slid his hand down into his boxers and just held himself for a moment. He shifted his hips a little and gave himself the slightest of squeezes, feeling himself slowly work his way up to a state of mild arousal. He had just closed his eyes and was starting to relax into his touch when suddenly he froze.
Kyle's eyes shot open and he glared hard at the door. He was almost positive he'd heard a faint creaking sound, like the floorboards shifting under the weight of somebody creeping around in the hallway outside his bedroom. He let out a quick frustrated huff of air and waited to see if anybody would be knocking on his door.
After several long moments with no further sounds or interruptions, Kyle relaxed. He let his eyes slide shut again and gave his burgeoning erection another squeeze. With his free hand he unzipped his pants all the way, easing the pressure on his wrist as he started to stroke himself in earnest. He sighed softly, then froze once once again when he heard what sounded for all the world like an answering sigh echoing back at him from somewhere inside his room.
His eyes darted quickly around the room, scanning for the source of the sound, before landing on the one inch gap of space between his slightly ajar closet doors. Closet doors which, come to think of it, he was pretty sure he'd firmly shut before leaving the house that morning. He rolled his eyes hard at himself and shook his head in a valiant show of disbelief, but made his way all the same across the room to his closet, hitching up his undone pants once before throwing his double closet doors wide open.
"What the fuck," Kyle groaned in dismay.
"Oh! Hello there, Kyle. Good to see you." Cartman smiled up at him from his seat atop Kyle's overturned laundry hamper. "How've you been?" he asked pleasantly.
Kyle sighed and then asked the question which he had always on some level feared he would some day have to ask. "What are you doing in my closet, Cartman?"
Cartman spread his hands as though to indicate that the answer should be perfectly clear. He scoffed indignantly several times when Kyle's expression failed to waver, then finally replied, "Searching for your hidden stash of Jew gold, obviously."
Kyle ignored his rising blood pressure. He refused to be baited this easily. "I'm not hiding a stash of Jew gold in my closet, fatass," he replied flatly.
"A-ha," Cartman announced triumphantly, fighting his way through a brief entanglement with some plastic clothes hangers as he hoisted himself up to a standing position in the closet doorway. "So you do admit to having a secret stash of Jew gold hidden around here somewhere."
Kyle gritted his teeth, counted backwards from ten, and reminded himself of all the reasons why murder was not an acceptable response to this situation. Not so much for ethical reasons, but from a purely practical standpoint. He didn't have any means of disposing of a body.
Cartman smirked at him. "Besides," he said, flicking his eyes down to the vee of Kyle's still-open pants, "what were you doing in here, Kyle?"
Kyle blushed furiously and fought the urge to cover himself with his hands. "What I do when I'm alone, in the privacy of my own bedroom, is none of your goddamn business!" he spluttered, indignant.
Cartman's smirk deepened into an all out grin. "Alone, huh?" He stepped forward slightly to come all the way out of Kyle's closet. Kyle took a half step back, then inwardly cursed himself for giving up ground to this asshole. "Don't give me that bullshit, Kyle."
Kyle boggled at him, his irritation at this moment too great for words.
Cartman smiled patronizingly. "You and I both know you saw my keys sitting over on your desk." Kyle jerked his head frantically over at his desk, where sure enough Cartman's keys were resting, half hidden from this angle by a sloppy pile of papers. Kyle wished fervently for a time machine so he could go back ten minutes and throttle himself for not noticing them. Cartman loomed closer. "I think you just like an audience," he said.
"What?" Kyle yelped out. "That's ridiculous." Kyle was acutely and shamefully aware of the fact that during this entire infuriating exchange, his erection had yet to dissipate.
Cartman smirked back at him, eyes traveling up and down his body, expression making it clear that this fact hadn't escaped his notice either.
Kyle took another step back. "Oh, come on," he shouted. He flung his arms out wide, flailing slightly. "Are you kidding me? Is this what you do these days?" Kyle tried hard to bite back on the note of hysteria rising in his voice. "Just hang out in my closet, trying to catch me jacking off?"
"Hey," Cartman said feelingly, his face doing a very good impersonation of actual sincere hurt. "My motives for being in your closet were entirely pure." He looked away before adding peevishly, "I can't help it if you just decide to go ahead and take your dick out while I'm in here."
"Oh for fuck's -- I didn't even take it out yet," Kyle shouted, then immediately regretted clarifying that particular point.
Cartman's eyes lit up with amusement. "So you are still planning to take it out, then," he said and gestured magnanimously in the general direction of Kyle's genitals. "Well, by all means, then, Kyle, don't hold back on my account."
Kyle glared at him. "You're really doing nothing at all to convince me that you're not just here to sneak a look at my junk."
Cartman's expression wobbled, revealing a momentary unease before he shoved it away with a laugh edged with mania. "Please, you pervert, you should be so lucky. You're the last person I want to see touching themselves." He scowled and swallowed hard before continuing, "Right now somewhere on the internet there are at least five thousand different videos of fat, balding old men pleasuring themselves with cucumbers, eggplants, bananas, zucchinis -- basically all manner of unappealing produce is what I'm getting at here, Kyle -- all of which I would watch in full before I watched you touch yourself." His cheeks were flushed as he glared unhappily at something just beyond Kyle's right shoulder and continued, "Besides, I'm not the one who gets off on having other people watch him here."
Kyle took in the heat spreading painfully across Cartman's cheeks, the way his fingers twitched where they rested against his sides in an involuntary tell. Any other time he would have let it go, so that the two of them could slide back into their familiar pattern of bitterly arguing about the least important things either of them could think of.
Any other time but now, when some combination of boredom, or frustration, or just the incredible temptation of maybe being the one to have Cartman on the hooks for a change, had him blurting out, "I don't believe you," before the reasonable part of himself that normally told him not to open this particular can of worms could stop him.
Cartman gave him a deliberatly puzzled look, backing up slightly. "What do you mean?" he asked with a tiny, awkward laugh. "Of course I don't get off on letting people watch me jack off. That shit's fucked up."
Kyle scowled and shot back, "It is not," then forced himself to tamp down his irritation. "And I don't," he added; futilely, it would seem, judging by Cartman's expression of hilarity. He steeled himself and plowed on, "What's fucked up is you hiding in my closet, getting off on watching me."
"What?" Cartman asked, then scoffed. When Kyle didn't answer Cartman scoffed again before spreading his arms and adopting an air of great patience to explain, "Kyle, Kyle. Oh, Kyle. Yes, Kyle, of course it would be fucked up if I were actually receiving some type of sick, sexual pleasure from watching you masturbate. But you see," and here he paused to take a half step forward and place his hand patronizingly on Kyle's shoulder. "Kyle, you are wrong. And I wasn't even watching anyway. So it's not fucked up."
Kyle glanced down at Cartman's hand, the edge of his thumb just barely brushing Kyle's skin where it extended beyond the collar of his t-shirt, then looked back at Cartman with one eyebrow arched. Cartman blushed and snatched his hand back.
"So what you're telling me is," Kyle said with a smirk. "If I were to whip it out right now and start jacking it," -- here Cartman's eyes drifted back down to the open fly of Kyle's pants before jerking guiltily back up to his face -- "You wouldn't try to watch."
"If you," Cartman began, then faltered. He looked helplessly at Kyle. "You, if you..."
"Mm hmm?" Kyle asked placidly, inwardly delighting at the lost expression on Cartman's face.
Cartman shook his head once sharply as if to clear it, then blurted out, "Fuck no, I wouldn't fucking watch you."
"Okay," Kyle said, then sat down on his bed. Cartman's eyes followed him helplessly. Kyle registered a voice in his head repeating bad idea bad idea bad idea; then he looked straight at Cartman anyway and said, "Prove it."
"Uh," Cartman said, seemingly transfixed by the way Kyle's open fly framed his still prominant bulge. "Uh," Cartman added again, then swallowed. "You want me to -- wait, what?" he asked, alarmed.
Kyle shrugged with one shoulder, then nodded over at his computer desk. "You can sit at my desk. I'll let you know when I'm done."
"You're not--" Cartman started, then trailed off, bewildered. He blinked comically several times. "You can't be serious," he amended.
Kyle sat up straight on the bed and fixed him with a haughty expression. He pressed his palms hard against the bedspread so that they sank into the fabric and hoped that Cartman couldn't see his fingers shaking. "Of course I'm serious," he said. "Hey, you interrupted me. And since it's not like you care about me jacking off, right?"
Cartman frowned and spat out, "Of course not."
"Of course not," Kyle repeated agreeably. "So then you shouldn't have a problem not watching me for a little bit longer while I finish up."
"Yeah, right. No problem," Cartman echoed, a confused half-smile hanging awkwardly on his face like any minute now Kyle was going to explain the punchline to his little practical joke here and Cartman didn't want to be caught off guard when it happened.
"Great," Kyle said, then continued more sharply, "So sit."
Cartman's smile fizzled away. He backed up the two steps he needed to reach Kyle's desk chair, crossing the short distance slowly with the fingers of his right hand outstretched behind him. He sank down, knuckles white where they gripped the seat on either side of his thighs. He stared at Kyle, eyes wide and slightly scared.
Kyle glared at him pointedly. "Turn around," he said. "You're not proving anything if you just keep sitting there and staring at my junk."
Cartman's eyes flicked involuntarily back down to the partially obscured view of Kyle's erection, lingering for just a moment before he kicked off gently with one of his feet, swiveling Kyle's desk chair around to face the blank monitor on top of his desk. "Fuck, fine, you fucking pervert," he grumbled. "Just hurry up, I don't have all night."
Kyle stood up for a moment and let his pants fall to the ground around his ankles, then sat back down to kick them the rest of the way off. He stared at the pink tips of Cartman's ears and wiped his sweaty palms against the fabric of his boxers.
Kyle continued to stare dubiously at the back of Cartman's head as he stroked himself through the fabric. Cartman looked tense, leaning forward in the chair with his shoulders slightly hunched. Kyle was fully erect in his shorts, and growing frustrated with the sensation of rubbing himself through the cloth. He lay back in the bed and arched his hips to shove his shorts all the way off, then quickly sat back up.
Cartman hadn't moved an inch, however. He just sat hunched in Kyle's chair, presumably staring straight ahead at nothing. Kyle sat with his legs spread slightly, feet braced against the metal of his bed frame. He stroked himself slowly, pointing his dick slightly forward as though he were presenting it, the way the way he sometimes saw guys do in the amateur videos he would never admit to watching on the internet. He sighed and rubbed his palm over the head, spreading the gathering moisture over his shaft on the down stroke.
Cartman still sat hunched in Kyle's chair, obediently facing away. His fingers were clenched in the fabric of his khakis. At this point Kyle was starting to get a little offended.
Kyle gave a soft, involuntary moan of frustration as he slowed his hand further, almost to a stop. Cartman made a quiet, strangled sound and shifted slightly in Kyle's chair.
Kyle's eyes glanced over reflexively to where he saw the movement reflected in the blank screen of his computer monitor. His cock twitched hard when he realized he had a perfect view of Cartman's flushed face staring, lips slightly parted, at Kyle's own hand on himself.
Just then Kyle watched Cartman's brows furrow slightly, probably confused about why Kyle was just sitting there holding his erection. Cartman's eyes flicked up to glance at Kyle's reflected face. Kyle saw Cartman freeze, expression deliberately blank despite the flush still high on his cheeks.
Kyle felt instantly gratified. He smirked slightly and opened his mouth to let fly some smart remark, Caught you, or I told you so, or anything else to make Cartman twist uncomfortably in his seat, but the words caught in his throat and all that came out instead was a low, breathless moan.
Kyle briefly closed his eyes, suddenly embarrassed, and sped his hand on himself. When he opened them a few long seconds later, Cartman had rotated back around in Kyle's swivel chair and was staring openly at him. Cartman's hands gripped the base of the chair on either side of his thighs. His erection was obvious, the tip highlighted by the slowly spreading circle of moisture where it was pressed up against the pale fabric of his pants, just to the side of his fly.
Kyle groaned as he jacked himself. Cartman shifted to press his hands against his thighs, slowly dragging his hands up and down to wipe his palms against the fabric of his pants.
Kyle was close. He was really close. He was a little disappointed in himself. He felt like he needed to drag it out as long as he could, just to show off. He sighed noisily as he stared at the way Cartman's fingers twisted in the fabric of his pants where they bunched slightly just below the crease of his thighs, his erection obscenely obvious.
He moaned softly as he dropped back to lean on one elbow, his other hand continuing to jack himself quickly. He heard Cartman make another sad, strangled noise halfway between a groan and a sob. He pressed his feet hard into his bed frame, thighs tensing. He came with an awkward grunt, cupping his hand over the head of his penis so that his come coated the insides of his fingers in warm spurts.
He laid back fully on the bed and waited for his breathing to slow. He risked a glance up at Cartman. He was still seated, frozen in an awkward hunch, staring at Kyle's softening cock.
Kyle groaned and sat up. He grabbed his boxers off the floor and cleaned himself off with them, then stood up to toss them in the closet next to his upside down laundry hamper. He fished out a fresh pair of shorts and quickly pulled them on. He avoided making eye contact until he'd also retrieved his jeans from off the floor and had them securely fastened over his hips.
Fully clothed, he looked back over at Cartman. He remained seated in Kyle's chair, leaning back now, still breathing quickly. His hair stuck sweatily to the skin of his forehead.
Kyle brushed invisible dust off his hands and announced cheerfully, "All right, time to get going."
"Nnghh," Cartman replied.
Kyle made a show of looking at the time on his bedside alarm clock. "Come on, I'm supposed to be at Stan's in twenty minutes. You coming or what?" he asked, playing up his impatience.
"Uh," Cartman responded, brushing his sweaty bangs sideways and off his forehead. "You go on ahead, I'll meet you guys over there."
At this Kyle barked out a bitter laugh, feeling sincerely irritated once again. "I'm not leaving you alone in my room, fatass. Now get the fuck up, I'm leaving."
Cartman grumbled to himself as he slowly got to his feet. "All right, Jesus Christ, we're leaving." His blush deepened and he added, "Let me just. I'm using the bathroom first."
Kyle bit his cheek to stop himself from grinning until after Cartman had stiffly made his way down the hall and locked himself in the upstairs bathroom. He smiled to himself as he made his way over to his closet and set to work righting his laundry basket and placing all his dirty clothes back inside.
He took a quick inventory of the contents of his closet just to be safe, but he wasn't particularly worried. As he thought, some things were out of place but nothing was missing.
Kyle shook his head sadly. Searching for your hidden stash of Jew gold. Honestly. When would that fat asshole learn?
After all, it wasn't the fifteenth century anymore. Neither Kyle, nor any other Jew alive at any point in the past two centuries, kept a stash of gold hidden in their closets.
Kyle rolled his eyes and sighed as he fingered the tiny brass key he kept on his key chain.
After all, like any idiot should know, that's what his safe deposit box was for.