South Park, Ain’t That A Kick In the Chest

Title: Ain’t That a Kick in the Chest [Stan/Kyle]
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for Terrence & Phillip-esque dialogue and for Kenny’s dare.
Summary: It’s too damn hot in South Park to do anything. Except play Truth or Dare.
AN: THIS IS WHY MARKS CAN’T LEAVE ME ALONE. I just watched two full seasons of South Park in a row, and there was no one here to stop me! Thanks to musesfool for betaing my shame.

Ain’t That a Kick in the Chest

The grass was green, the sun was shining, and Stan Marsh felt like he was about to melt through the cracks in the floor of his clubhouse.

“Damned global warning,” he said, shifting away from the splinter that was digging his shoulder. It was so hot there hadn’t even been a mob all week, only sporadic handfuls of people every now and then, giving a few lackluster grumbles of “Rabble rabble” before dispersing.

“It’s only seventy-five degrees,” Kyle pointed out, flipping over a page of Terrence and Phillip Issue 197: Down Perineum.

“Dude, you’re just as miserable as I am.” Stan kicked at Kyle’s foot, the only thing he could reach without moving. “You only finally took off your damn hat when we had to take you to the hospital for heatstroke.”

Kyle slouched down behind the comic until only his red humidity curls were poking up above it. “Shut up. And if you say ‘global warning’ one more time, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Stan tilted his head back when Kenny mumbled something behind him. He’d been napping on his stomach, face buried in his arms, blond tufts sticking up in all directions thanks to a permanent case of hood-hair.

“Aw, they never proved anything,” Stan replied, slumping back flat against the planks of the floor. “Speaking of methane production, where the hell is fat-ass?”

“He’s still grounded for eating the last of the Californian Condors last week.” Kyle tossed the comic book aside and kicked Stan back. “Wanna go to Stark’s Pond?”

“Fuck no.” Stan shifted again, but the splinter was a tenacious bastard. “Everybody goes there, it’s lame.”

“How about the community pool?”

“Sick, man, first graders.”

“Then you come up with something, asshole.” Kyle kicked Stan again, harder. Behind them, Kenny rolled over and yawned a suggestion.

“Truth or Dare is a girl’s game, Kenny,” Stan rolled his eyes, then snickered. “Hey, Kyle, remember when you didn’t even know how to play Truth or Dare and you had to ask me?”

“Fuck off.” Kyle peeled his Jewbilee T-shirt away from his chest for a second, then let it snap back. “You thought the whole point of Truth or Dare was to make girls eat bugs, you homo.”

“Oh, that’s it, we’re playing now.” Stan sat up and gave Kyle a shove. “Kenny, get your poor ass over here. Truth or Dare?”

Kenny picked Dare, and Kyle burst out laughing when Stan said he had to eat three ants off the tree.

“Shut up!” Stan snapped while Kenny rolled his eyes and leaned off the edge of the clubhouse to find some ants on the tree branches. “You just brought it up, so it was all I could think of! And everyone knows you’re supposed to pick Truth the first few times!”

“Fine, then, Truth,” Kyle said.

“It’s not even your turn.” Stan waved his hands in exasperation. “You two fucking suck at this game!”

Kenny said, through a mouthful of insects, that Stan was just pissed because he never got any pussy out of this game. Then he swallowed and asked Kyle truth or dare.

“Let me think…” Kyle stalled, then blocked a punch from Stan and said, “fine, fine, truth.”

They spent a few minutes establishing that Kyle had not got a hand up Bebe’s sweater yet, that Stan did NOT think about Brad Pitt when he jacked off, and that Kenny was a virgin because it didn’t count if you didn’t actually shoot.

“Even when we are old enough to drink we’re never going to win a fucking game of Never Have I Ever,” Kyle grumbled, kicking at Kenny, who was curled up in a snickering heap on the floor. “Kenny, it’s your turn, and can I say Dare yet?”

“Oh, who the hell cares?” Stan said, still trying to rub the image of Cartman’s mom in nothing but an apron and rubber gloves out of his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Dare,” Kyle said.

“Hey!” A voice from the bottom of the tree interrupted just as Kenny was opening his mouth. “Is Cartman up there?”

“He’s still grounded, Butters!” Stan yelled back, all three of them sliding over just enough to peer over the edge of the clubhouse floor.

“Aw, shucks!” Butters ran hands through his hair, spiking it up worse than Kenny’s, and Kyle and Stan exchanged a glance because who the hell was upset when Cartman didn’t show up? “He’s supposed to help me move furniture for my mom!”

“Are you sure he’s not supposed to BE furniture for your mom?” Kyle asked.

“You guys wanna help?” Butters looked up pleadingly.

“It’s too fucking hot!” Stan shook his head, shoulders slumping at even the thought of manual labor.

“She’ll give us twenty bucks!”

Kenny was shimmying backwards over the edge of the clubhouse, feet kicking for the first step nailed to the tree, before Stan and Kyle could even blink.

“Hey!” Stan said suddenly. “What about Kyle’s dare?”

Kenny stopped, chest still level with the clubhouse floor, then pushed himself up a step to whisper something in Kyle’s ear. Kyle turned beet red, and Kenny was laughing as he disappeared down the steps.

“What he say?” Stan wanted to know.

“He dared me to kiss you,” Kyle blurted, eyes wide.

Down below them, there was a sudden crash and Butters yelling, “OH MY GOD.”

“That bastard,” Stan said, turning red himself. “Good thing he’s not here to see whether we did it or not, huh?”

“Are you gonna tell him you didn’t?” Kyle asked, still staring. “Or that you did?”

“I…” Stan could have sworn the sun was beating down on them even hotter than before, even through the leaves of the tree. “What the hell are you talking about, dude?”

“Well,” Kyle swallowed, “if you tell him you did, he’ll call us fags, right? But if you tell him you didn’t, he’ll say you welshed on a dare.”

“Oh fuck,” Stan scowled, realizing that Kyle was right and Kenny had them by the balls whether he was there or not. “I thought poor people were supposed to be stupid.”

“You kissed Wendy yet?” Kyle asked, and when Stan grumbled that it wasn’t his turn, snapped, “forget the stupid game, have you?”

“Have you kissed Bebe?”

“I don’t even like Bebe!” Kyle protested. “She just grabs my ass a lot and…no,” he finally admitted. “But neither have you! So we should practice.” Stan stared, trying to ignore the way his mouth felt suddenly dry. “You know, for later.” Stan continued to stare and Kyle added, “For girls!”

“Clyde told me that he caught Wendy and Bebe practicing kissing behind the movie theater,” Stan said without thinking, then had to look away for a second and shift his seat.

“There you go then,” Kyle said, but his voice sounded a bit higher than it had a minute ago. “You don’t want them to win, do you?”

“Dude, we can’t lose to girls,” Stan agreed. He sat up a little higher on his knees and rubbed his palms on his jeans. “So?”

“It can’t be that hard.” Kyle got his knees under him as well and slid closer, close enough that Stan could smell the Snacky Cakes still on his breath from earlier. Then Kyle darted forward to press lips to Stan’s for a split second, both of their eyes wide open. “Well?” he asked.

“If that’s what Clyde saw Wendy and Bebe doing, he’s having the weakest wet dreams ever,” Stan responded before his brain caught up with his mouth. “Um. I mean. Try again?”

“Okay.” Kyle ran his tongue over his lower lip. “But, close your eyes, man. You’re freaking me out.”

“Okay.” Stan obeyed, and the loss of sight made his heartbeat sound a lot louder, and it seemed to take forever for Kyle to just get on with it, and Stan was just starting to believe that Kyle had told Stan to close his eyes just so he could make a run for it when suddenly Kyle’s lips were back against Stan’s, wet this time, long enough for Stan to feel how soft they were against his own, except for the split from the fistfight they’d had last weekend.

“HOLY SHIT!” Ike’s voice made Stan and Kyle throw themselves apart, both landing hard on their asses. Ike was standing on the ladder, staring at them with eyes the size of Canadian quarters, but a grin was starting at the corners of his mouth. “Mom sent me…you have to…holy shit, ahahahaha!”

“Ike!” Kyle was babbling, “Ike, don’t you dare, it wasn’t, it was a dare, a DARE!” but Stan was already drawing his foot back while Ike laughed harder and harder, barely clinging to the edge of the treehouse.

“Don’t kick the baby!” he gasped in between laughing and fending off Stan’s kicks, and Stan answered, “Kick the baby,” before nailing him right in the chest.

It felt even better than kissing Kyle.