Kyle in chains / eric cartman x kyle broflovski

4

I really, really shouldn't have had those shots.

After the initial excitement of 'Kyle did five shot of whiskey, woo-hoo!' died down, relative normalcy resumed. I was okay for the first ten minutes or so, just happily sitting at the table waiting for my boner to disappear. It wasn't really helped along by the fact that Cartman had sat down opposite me, his foot accidentally brushing against mine every so often under the table. I guess the ability to drink hard alcohol is something he admires, as he was actually talking to me like I was a human being for once. Or maybe it was just because he had been drinking too.

Then, I began to change. Whenever Cartman said anything even vaguely funny, I started giggling uncontrollably. This appeared to amuse him greatly, so he leaned forward in his chair and told me all of the funniest jokes he could think of. He's actually quite funny when the jokes he's making aren't anti-Semitic. As we sat there, I noticed that we were getting quite a few odd looks from the people we know – like they were thinking 'why the hell are the Nazi and the Jew getting along so well? Why aren't they yelling at each other or fighting over something random for our amusement like they normally do?'

Sorry dudes, we're on a break.

'Well, I'm hungry,' Cartman says suddenly, standing to stretch his back. 'I'm gonna go get some food.'

I might as well follow. As I stand up, my head feels like its spinning. My vision is kinda hazy and I'm really tired all of a sudden, but the last thing I want to do right now is sleep. It's not often that I can hold an entire conversation with Cartman without at least one of us making a death threat to the other at some point. I figure that the world is probably coming to an end – I really don't wanna be asleep for something like that.

Next thing I know, we're in the room where the food is laid out. I have no idea what room exactly - I only vaguely recall walking here.

'What's that you've got?' I ask.

Cartman looks at what I point to on his plate – looks like a little pile of bones.

'Spare ribs.'

'What's those taste like?'

Yeah, fuck grammar - I'm drunk. Cartman smirks, holding one of the ribs out to me.

'Why don't you find out?'

I match his smirk and take the rib from him, deliberately brushing my fingers against his as I do so.

Little do you know, this isn't the first time you've given me a bone.

I relish this mischievous thought as I curiously chew on the sweet tasting meat. I quickly decide that ribs are tasty but they also kinda suck. There's hardly any meat on them. I feel like a tramp who has found someone's half eaten pork chop in a trashcan. The sauce stuff is delicious though - so much so that when I'm done picking the meat away, I decide to indulge myself. I trail my tongue and lips from one end of the rib to the other, suckling and licking at the sauce until I'm left with only a white bone. When I finish, I glance back at Cartman. He's been watching me, smirking with a single eyebrow raised. I can't help but wonder what he was thinking as I sucked every drop of sticky sauce from that bone.

Suddenly, my nice clean bone is snatched from my hand. I turn around to meet Stan's eyes. He doesn't look very happy.

'Kyle, what the hell are you doing?'