Work Text:
Kyle collapses onto his bed with a groan, wincing in pain as he brushes against the bruise on his side, courtesy of none other than Eric Cartman. They had gotten into another argument which unsurprisingly turned physical, as it always tended to. Cartman had gotten a pretty swift kick into Kyle’s side, and as Kyle lifts his shirt to peer at it, he can see a dark purple formation circling the area. He throws his head back with another groan.
Kyle still likes to think he won that fight, with a firm right hook right to the cheek, which caused Cartman to fall and split his lip. It was at that point that Stan and Kenny stepped in, both extremely exhausted with having to deal with the aftermath of the altercations.
Stan once asked him after a particularly gruesome fight why he even bothered to hang out with Cartman. Kyle shrugged and said that Cartman was fun sometimes. Stan had looked mildly unconvinced but dropped it, not wanting to pursue any further.
Truth is, he likes the fights. Kyle has been a goody-goody, straight-A, golden boy for most, if not all, of his life. Cartman is his foil, the one who brings out the worst in him, but in Kyle’s mind, that’s for the better. It’s so unbelievably boring to continue to play the part of “good kid” all the time, and the only sense of thrill he gets in this godforsaken town is when he’s fighting Cartman, whether it be verbally or physically.
He clenches his teeth as he runs his fingers down the length of the bruise, hissing slightly at the cool touch of his fingers against the inflamed area. Kyle wonders if Cartman’s face is decorated like his side—wonders if a purple and red bruise started to form on his cheek, just under his left eye. There’s something brewing deep within the pits of his core, and Kyle knows that it’s dangerous territory. He pulls his shirt down over his bruise and wills the thoughts away, instead pulling out his phone to pass the time by scrolling through various social media. Instagram shows no promise, just boring pictures of people’s fake lives, decorated with fake smiles and faux romance. Facebook is an abandoned graveyard, no point in even clicking on the app. He has some notifications on Snapchat so he clicks through those, mostly Stan taking selfies with Sparky and Kenny taking a massive bong hit.
Kyle swipes to look at the stories, and a circle with Cartman’s name under it catches his eye. Cartman rarely posts on any social media, and with the mini picture, it’s hard to see what exactly it is. He clicks it out of curiosity and comes face to face with a mirror selfie of Cartman. He’s showing off the left side of his face, a gnarly bruise ever-present alongside a split lip. He’s completely shirtless, showing off his thick chest and broad shoulders. He’s smirking in the photo, and his caption reads “motherfucker had a mean right hook.”
That feeling from before surges through his gut, and he feels a sense of pride wash over him. Knowing he made those marks, and seeing Cartman practically show them off is causing something deep and primal to take over his body.
Before he has time to think, he’s swiping out of Snapchat and into his contact list, scrolling to FATASS and pressing the call button.
Cartman picks up after two rings. “What do you want, Jewboy?”
Kyle’s fist clenches and unclenches at his side. “That picture you posted…” He finds himself trailing off, unsure of what to say.
“Ah, yes, showing off the lovely love-punch from you,” Kyle knows Cartman is grinning on the other line. “What about it?”
Kyle starts to chew at his lip. He acted on impulse and now his thoughts are catching up with him, and he finds himself unable to think of anything to say. “Does…does it hurt?”
“Uh, yeah,” Cartman replies. “Dude, you rocked my shit.”
“Heh,” a smirk overtakes Kyle’s face. “You gave me a gnarly bruise when you kicked me, too.”
“Did I?” Cartman asks.
“Yeah, on my side. The area’s all dark purple now. Hurts like a fucking bitch, too.”
There’s a brief pause on the other line. “...Can I see it?”
“Why?” Kyle asks, but he’s already getting up towards the mirror.
“It’s not fair. You got to see my pretty shiner, only fair if I see yours.”
“You posted yours publicly,” Kyle reminds, his tone light and teasing. He puts the phone down briefly as he takes off his shirt, tossing it to the side and picking his phone back up. “That’s a little different.”
“Meh, technicalities,” Cartman scoffs.
“Alright, give me a minute.” Kyle says into the phone before twisting his body in the mirror, allowing it to display his bruise fully. Kyle is thin and lean, but there are definite traces of muscle outlining his bones, specifically in the arm, shoulder, and abdomen area. Kyle holds the phone at an angle that best captures the entire injury and snaps the picture. He can hear Cartman shuffling around on the other line as he sends the photo. “Okay, Fatass, image is sent.”
There’s a moment of silence before he hears the faintest of gasps out of Cartman. “Holy shit,” he whispers.
“Yeah. Gruesome, isn’t it?” Kyle falls back onto the bed, once again cringing at the pain. “Though at least I can cover it up with my shirt. Yours is on proud display.”
Cartman snickers. “True that. Fuck, dude, I’m looking at it, it takes up most of your side. You sure I didn’t break any of your fragile Jew ribs?”
Kyle rolls his eyes. “Don’t hold yourself to such a high regard, Fatso. You’re lucky you even got a hit on me.” He puts Cartman on speaker, knowing no one was home to hear the offensive drivel. He swipes back to Snapchat, clicking on Cartman’s story again. “How’s your lip?”
“Not as bad as the face,” Cartman mutters. “My teeth swiped it when you punched me. But overall pretty mild.”
“Mhm,” Kyle screenshots the photo, knowing Cartman will be able to see he did so but he doesn’t really care. He goes into his photo album and opens the screenshot, pinching his fingers against the screen to zoom in more. “That’s gonna really swell up tomorrow.”
“My face?” Cartman replies. “Yeah, kind of dreading it. Thanks a lot.”
“Of course,” Kyle responds, smirking as he moves the zoom to Cartman’s chest. His face starts to flush as he zooms out quickly, his heart fluttering a bit.
Eric Cartman is attractive. He’s big, burly, with softness in just the right places and muscles to boot. Kyle loathes to admit it, but it’s true. In the photo, his hair is a mess, sticking out all over, like someone had run their hands through it. An image of himself being the one to rile up Cartman’s hair flashes in his brain, and he feels a heat pooling in his groin, his dick starting to twitch in interest. Fucking hell.
Add the fact that he has a mark made directly from Kyle’s fist, and suddenly he finds himself very, very horny.
The shuffling he hears on the other line brings Kyle briefly back into reality, remembering that he was still on the phone. “What are you doing?” He asks.
“Getting comfy,” Cartman replies, and a loud, static noise causes Kyle to wince. “Sorry, brushed against a pillow.” There’s a pause. “Actually, I’m not sorry. Fuck you.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever Fatass,” Kyle says, his eyes rolling as they typically do when talking to Cartman. “You’re just mad because I beat your ass.”
“Um, no, you didn’t. The Hippie and Kenny stepped in before anything. I totally could have won. That bruise on your side would have been the least of your worries.”
“Yeah?” Kyle sucks in his breath, his hand subconsciously traveling down the side with the bruise. “What would you have done? I had you on the ground, fucker.”
“Well, for starters,” Cartman began. “I would have flipped us over so you were beneath me and completely at my mercy—”
Oh fuck. Kyle bites his lip as the words shoot down his spine and straight to his dick, which is filling up more quickly than his liking.
“—and if the other two hadn’t fucking stepped in, I would have hit you so hard you’d see Jesus.”
“I don’t even believe in Jesus.”
“Exactly, Jewboy. I’d have punched the Jew out of you.” Cartman growls into the phone, his voice deep.
His traveling hand hits the bulge in his jeans, and Kyle gasps at the contact. He tries to play it off by making it sound sarcastic. “Oh, I’m so scared.”
“You should be,” is the other’s reply.
Kyle stops his hand—hesitant to continue. He can’t possibly think about palming himself while on the phone with Cartman…especially when the conversation is about them fighting, and what would have happened had they not been stopped.
But fuck, it’s all so thrilling.
“Please, I would have easily stopped you from flipping me over. You’re forgetting I had the advantage of being above you. It was you who was at my mercy.” Kyle knows his voice is getting a little husky, but he can’t help it. “Could have knocked you out if I wanted to.”
He hears Cartman suck in his breath over the line. “In your dreams, Jewboy.”
Kyle presses down on his crotch, hissing at the pleasure. “No dreams, just reality, Fatass. You might be bigger than me, but I’m an infinitely better fighter than you.”
“Yeah?” Cartman breathes, and he hears more shuffling. “Maybe we should fight again— without the other two to hold us back. We’ll see who really wins.”
Kyle has to suppress a moan as he palms himself, his inner turmoil fighting with the need for relief. “I’ll be down for that, hot-shot. Give you a couple more shiners. You’d probably like to show them off.”
Cartman’s breath hitches. “You clearly love it when I do.”
“Oh yeah?” Kyle sneers, his hand slowly undoing the zipper of his jeans. Fuck, is he really about to do this? He should hang up the phone and just rub one out, but something about the language they’re using, the words Cartman is saying, it’s sending signals straight to his cock and he can barely think straight. “What makes you think that?”
“You called me,” Cartman replies. “And you screenshotted it.”
Kyle’s face flushes and his hand stops. “I wanted to be able to zoom in on the bruise to see it better.” He regains his composure through his fluster, his hand starting back up again as he pushes down his jeans, revealing his black, tented boxers. “I needed to admire my handiwork. And how about you? You’re the one who wanted a picture of the bruise you gave me.”
“And I very much enjoy it,” Cartman practically purrs into the phone and Kyle grips himself through his boxers, a low moan escaping his throat. His face reddens after, there’s no way Cartman didn’t hear that.
There’s a pause on the other line. When Cartman breaks the silence, his voice is wavering.“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Kyle answers immediately, a little too quick for his liking. “Just hit my bruise.”
“No,” Cartman answers. “You didn’t.”
Kyle is fucked.
And his mind is even more fucked as his cock is rock fucking hard and just aching to be touched, even with the prospect that Cartman may have just caught him.
Fuck. It. Kyle slips a hand in his boxers.
“...You’re right, I didn’t.” Kyle’s voice is hoarse and low. “I’m just thinking about fighting you again.”
“...Are you now?” Cartman’s breath is heavy in the phone.
“Yeah,” Kyle exhales, slowly moving his hand up his shaft, biting his lip as he reaches his head and oh, he’s very much leaking. “Thinking about leaving bruises all over you. Knock that smugness right out of you.”
“Jesus Christ,” Cartman whispers. “Okay.”
There’s a loud shuffling on the line, and he heard Cartman mumble “ where the fuck is it” before returning to the line.
“What are you doing?” Kyle asks.
“Thinking about fighting you, too.” He replies, his voice trembling just a touch.
Kyle’s eyes widen, his heart rate increasing tenfold. Is Cartman turned on as well?
He pushes his boxers down, allowing his erection to spring free from its prison. He has to tread cautiously. “And what would you do to me?”
“I’d— shit.” Cartman curses, which causes the corners of Kyle’s lips to quirk upwards. “I’d fucking knock your ass down. Maybe I’d put my weight on you so you couldn’t move, have you begging for me to get off of you.”
“Fuck,” is all Kyle can say as he starts a slow pace on his cock, relishing in the pleasure and willing all uneasy thoughts to the back of his mind. “I could flip you over. I did it before.”
“Yeah,” Cartman tries to suppress a moan but fails, and it’s like music to Kyle’s ears. “You could. Fuck , I mean, you wouldn’t be able to.”
Kyle finds himself smirking as Cartman slipped up. “I don’t think you want to win this fight.” Kyle begins, his pace increasing. After placing the phone next to him on the pillow, his other hand glides to one of his hardened nipples. He gasps at the contact and arches upward.
“I do.” Cartman huffs. Kyle can hear the sound of a bottle cap opening, which completely confirms that Cartman is just as into this as he is. An image pops into Kyle’s head of Cartman on his bed, phone next to him, stroking himself to Kyle’ words, and Kyle shudders.
“No,” Kyle teases his head, words forming through clenched teeth. “You don’t want to lose. But I think you want me to win.”
“Yeah?”
“I bet you’d love it if I slammed you against a wall or pinned you on the ground. I know you like it when I mark you up, pepper you with bruises of all kinds,” Kyle growls. “It’s like you’re nobody’s bitch but mine.”
Cartman lets out a groan that goes right to Kyle’s cock. “Jesus fucking Christ, Kyle. Okay— fuck, Kyle,” his voice is straining but somehow serious. “Please tell me this isn’t about fighting anymore.”
Kyle moans at the desperate way Cartman sounds. “No, it’s not.”
“G-good,” Cartman whimpers. “Because you sound fucking amazing and this metaphor shit is killing me.”
Kyle is leaking heavily at this point, spreading his pre-cum all over his dick as a lubricant. His hand is sliding faster. “Not a metaphor. I’d really fuck your shit up.” Another image pops into his head and he exhales heavily. Maybe it’s time to bypass the metaphors.“Then I’d force you on your knees.”
That elicits a loud gasp over the phone. “And then what?”
“Maybe I’d let you sit there for a moment while I admire the picture. Maybe I swipe my thumb across the split lip I had given you. You’d probably say some dumb shit, maybe call me a greedy Jew like you always fucking do.” Kyle’s other hand leaves his nipple to grip the bed sheet. “Then maybe I shove my cock down your throat to shut your fucking ass up.”
“Oh fuck,” Cartman whines. “I’d take it. I could. I’d suck you dry.”
God, Kyle is completely and utterly wrecked . “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” Cartman hisses, the sound of wet skin slapping becoming much more obvious on the line. “I’d let you fuck my mouth, you know. Could take the entirety of your cock. You’d have to brace yourself against something because my mouth is just that fucking good. You’d want nobody’s mouth but mine on there once I’m done with you.”
“Holy fuck Cartman,” Kyle whimper, feeling a familiar heat pool in his core. He’s so fucking close. The hand on his cock is moving so fast he’s sure to get a cramp if he keeps it up, but he doesn’t care. “God.”
“Kyle,” Cartman sounds like he’s close too, his voice teetering on the edge. “Do you know how many times I touch myself after we fight?”
Kyle finds himself shaking his head desperately, even though Cartman couldn’t see it. “N-no.”
“Every time, Kyle. You get me so worked up, so riled up. Everything about you just makes me fucking crazy. From your voice to your red curls that I just want to fucking pull—”
“Cartman!” Kyle gasps.
“—to your ass that I just want to fucking eat, to your everything. Crazy. You drive me fucking insane.”
“God, talk about crazy?” Kyle hisses, his hips bucking into his frantic fist. “Let’s talk about that photo. The way you showed off the bruise I gave you, the whole sex-hair thing you got going on. Everything about you drives me up a wall. You make me so mad, so fucking frustrated, I just want to put you in your place every once in awhile.”
“Oh, and how would you do that, Jewboy?” Cartman’s voice starts to crack.
“I’d fuck you, Eric. I’d bend you over and I’d fuck the absolute shit out of you. Fuck you so hard you forget how to fucking speak.”
Cartman lets out a string of curses and moans and shouts Kyle’s name over and over like a mantra and this causes Kyle to topple over the edge, crying out as his hips buck wildly, spraying cum all over his fist and chest. He strokes himself through his orgasm, whimpering as he tries to catch his breath. He can hear the heavy breathing of Cartman through the phone.
“Holy shit,” Cartman manages.
“Yeah,” Kyle feels his face heat up. Oh God, what did they just do?
There’s an awkward silence as the two try to recover their breaths. Cartman’s the one to break it. “So, you still want to fight?”
Kyle chuckles. “Are we speaking in metaphors again?”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Thanks for the clarity.”
“You’re welcome, my dear Jew.” Kyle doesn’t need to see him to know Cartman is grinning.
“You’re kinda insufferable, you know that?” He rolls his eyes in amusement.
“Yeah,” Cartman chuckles. “I know. Least we know now how you can deal with me.”
Kyle grins. “So when did you want to fight again?”
“Tomorrow, after school, my place.”
“I’ll be there,” Kyle replies.
“Perfect. See you around, Jew,” Cartman hangs up the phone with a click.
As Kyle stares up at the ceiling, panic starts to arise in him. What did he just do? What are he and Cartman now? Are they anything? Should they be something?
His phone buzzes beside him, and Kyle reaches for it with his clean hand and unlocks it with his face after seeing a message from Cartman.
Cuz you said you liked it so much.
Attachment: 1 image.
It’s another picture of Cartman, this time of just his face. His hair is all messy and he’s clearly still lying in bed. The left side of his face is still swollen, but his split lip seems to be bigger than it was, and seemed to be actively bleeding. It’s unbelievably attractive, and if Kyle wasn’t so tired, he’s sure his cock would harden in interest again.
Your lip looks worse.
Bit it when I came. Thx for that.
Kyle grins.
You’re welcome. Try not to do it again tomorrow.
No promises. See you tomorrow, Jew.
Peace, Fatass.
Kyle shakes his head in amusement before swinging his legs over his bed and stands up, grabbing a towel from his closet and heading to the bathroom to shower. He takes a look at his bruise one last time before stepping in, a grin plastered to his face.