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It’s been a week.
A week since Cartman proved his lack of a gag reflex to Kyle.
It’s been an awkward week, to say the least. Kyle could barely look Cartman in the eye at school the following Monday, could barely even say two words to him without thinking about the utter bliss he felt with those lips wrapped around his dick. Every time Cartman would speak, Kyle’s eyes would fall right down to his mouth and his mind would graciously replay the pleasurable events. His face would flush instantaneously and he would quickly look away, trying his best to ignore Cartman.
Cartman, meanwhile, acted like nothing had happened. He was still his usual, annoying self, still trying to rile up Kyle and still displaying his typical asshole tendencies.
Though Cartman must have realized that Kyle was having trouble with digesting the whole blowjob thing, because he left Kyle alone pretty quickly. Now, they aren’t talking, barely even interacting, and even Stan has started to notice.
“Dude,” Stan approaches Kyle at his locker. The last bell of the day just rang, dismissing students for the weekend. “Is everything alright with you? You’ve been acting pretty strange.”
“Strange?” Kyle questions, putting a textbook away. “I’m not acting strange.”
“You haven’t said a word to Cartman all week, man.” Stan crosses his arms, leaning against the line of lockers that sit next to Kyle’s. “Not an insult, fatass, fuck you, nada. That’s strange.”
“Maybe I just don’t feel like arguing with him, Stan,” Kyle sighs. He slams his locker shut and whips his backpack over his shoulder. “Is that really so bad?”
Stan chews on his lip, eyebrows knitting together. “I suppose it’s actually more strange that Cartman is letting you ignore him. He’s not even trying to get your attention anymore. Did something happen last Friday? Did your fight with him get that bad?”
Kyle feels heat rush to his face. Something happened. Nothing bad. Definitely nothing bad. “Uh, yeah,” he lies.
“What happened?”
“I—er—I don’t really want to talk about it.” Kyle averts his gaze, hoping Stan doesn’t notice how flustered he is.
Stan studies him for a few moments, and Kyle desperately wishes he is anywhere but under the intense scrutiny. Then Stan lets out a sigh of annoyance. “Fine, you don’t have to talk about it if you don't want to. But whatever it is, maybe you should work it out. This whole ‘ignoring thing’ is stupid.”
“I don’t see why you’re so upset about it,” Kyle challenges. “It’s Cartman.”
“And?” Stan raises his eyebrows. “C’mon, Kyle. It fucks with the whole group when you two get into it. So work your shit out so Kenny and I can stop feeling like we’re walking on eggshells waiting for a bomb to go off.”
Kyle exhales harshly. God, why does Stan have to be right all of the time? He can’t keep ignoring Cartman forever…
…Especially with the burning curiosity still infiltrating his mind—what else can Cartman do?
“Alright,” Kyle replies. “I’ll talk to him.”
Stan clasps a hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “‘Atta boy.”
Kyle snorts. “You're hanging around Kenny way too much.”
Stan shrugs. “That’s because you and Cartman keep getting into these bullshit arguments that Kenny and I just don't want to fucking deal with anymore.”
“Fair point,” Kyle sighs as they start walking down the hallways towards the exit to the parking lot. “I’ll text him when I get home, alright? And make sure everything is cool…or whatever.”
Stan just smiles and nods as he opens the door and holds it open for Kyle. They walk to their cars in content silence before Stan reaches his. “I’ll see you, man.”
Kyle gestures vaguely. “Yeah, see you.”
He continues to walk until he reaches his own car, unlocking it with two clicks and sliding into the front seat. His heart races, hammering in his chest as he hears the blood rushing in his ears. Why is he so nervous to talk to Eric Cartman of all people? Kyle drums his fingers against his steering wheel for a few moments before heaving a sigh and putting the key in his ignition to start his car. His bluetooth connected to his phone and music flowed through his speakers as he turned the volume up.
He tries not to think of the situation as he drives home. But his traitorous brain keeps reminding him of how he was leaning against Cartman’s wall with his hands threaded through Cartman’s dark and fluffy hair and his cock shoved in his mouth. He remembers the feeling of that asshole’s throat closing and spasming around him, not even gagging slightly.
Kyle’s knuckles are white at this point, and he’s sporting a semi in his jeans, and he’s actually contemplating steering into oncoming traffic.
“Get a grip,” he mutters to himself. He turns the volume up even more, pointedly ignoring the way he hears his mother’s nagging voice in the back of his mind: listening to loud music can cause you to lose your hearing!
When he (finally) pulls into his driveway, he notices that his family's car isn’t there. A relief—Kyle doesn’t know if he's able to be put through the third degree about school that day. He shuts off his car, grabs his backpack and phone, and exits his car, going in through the front door using his key.
No one appears to be home, making Kyle wonder if Ike has some sort of sports game going on, but he’s not complaining. He heads up to his room and shuts the door before collapsing onto his bed, letting out a grand sigh as he stares up at his ceiling.
And as if on cue, thoughts of Eric Cartman flood his brain once more.
“Fucking damn it,” Kyle curses as he pulls out his phone. This is getting ridiculous. He unlocks it and clicks on his messages, scrolling to the last conversation he had with Cartman about two weeks ago. Cartman had sent him some weird TikTok that was admittedly pretty funny, but Kyle hadn’t responded.
Kyle sucks in his breath as he types a simple message: hey.
He lays his phone down on his chest and his hands fly to cover up his face, which, for some odd reason, seems to be heating up. His heart pounds furiously in his chest.
All this just because he’s sending a text?
His phone buzzes against his chest and he inhales sharply before picking it up.
Was wondering when ud talk to me again
Well here I am.
What do u want
To talk. Clear the air.
The air is fresh as a fucking daisy on my end ur the one who was flipping a shit cuz i gave u head
At that, Kyle feels his face flush. God, Cartman was always so blunt. No walk-arounds.
Well put yourself in my position! You’d feel a bit awkward too.
So…
Like imagine u giving me head? Ok.
Kyle rolls his eyes, and ignores the image that pops into his mind.
Ugh. You’re ridiculous.
Look. jewboy. No offense or whatever but its not a big deal. I proved u wrong, i proved to u that i have an exceptional talent and i got a little bonus for winning. Not like we have to do it again.
Kyle stares at the message for a brief moment, rereading the last line. Not like we have to do it again. It’s true, they don’t have to do anything ever again, and Kyle thinks that’s probably for the best.
Until Cartman’s annoying, arrogant voice rings into the back of his mind: “I’ve got multiple talents.”
Seriously, what else can he do?
His phone buzzes—apparently he took too long to respond.
Unless u wanted to. Idc.
Who says I want to? I don’t like you.
Im not saying u want to, im just saying if u did want to i wouldnt be surprised. My head game is fire.
I mean, u knew that already tho
Kyle finds himself gritting his teeth in frustration, but whether it’s frustration stemming from dealing with Cartman’s bragging or the semi pressing in his jeans is unclear. His mind keeps switching back and forth between logic and horniness.
I actually hate you. I really shouldn’t ever talk to you. I don’t know why I even bother.
Bcuz im cool. Also, if u stopped talking to me, u wouldn’t get to find out my other talents. Which is a real fucking shame.
Who says I want to know your talents?
Cuz u do. U did last time. U do now. I dont blame u, tho.
Will you shut the fuck up?
Fine, jew, be curious. But ik ur thinking abt it. Bc i proved u wrong last time.
But whatever. Ur loss. See u whenever.
Kyle knows it’s bait. He knows Cartman so routinely, so thoroughly, and he knows Cartman is just trying to reel him in. And he shouldn’t fall for it, shouldn’t take it. Should just ignore the message and win for once. Should turn his phone off, take a cold shower, and do his homework like the good student he is.
Yeah, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.
Ok, fine. I am curious.
Cartman replies almost immediately, proving to Kyle that it was, in fact, bait.
LOL no shit. Alright, bc u MUST know…
Im fuckin amazing at talking dirty.
Kyle rolls his eyes. Dirty talk? Anyone can do that. He scoffs as he types up his reply.
I mean, shit always comes out of your mouth, so I’m not surprised.
Haha oh wow ur so funny. U wanna be a comedian jewboy?
How can one be amazing at talking dirty? Doesn’t seem very hard to master. Not impressive.
Maybe to u bc ur a lame ass virgin whos so vanilla ur name is on the ice cream shop’s menu.
You’re not helping your case, dude.
My dirty talk is pristine, jewboy. I can make anyone nut just from it. Haven’t failed yet.
They probably just wanted it to be over quickly so they didn’t have to hear your fucking voice.
U have no faith in my abilities still, which is surprising considering how wrong u were last time.
Sorry, I just don’t see how anyone could get off on your voice, let alone your dirty talk.
Well, why dont u call me and find out.
Kyle stares at that message, his stomach flipping as he reads it over and over again. He knows he walked himself into this one.
Maybe he wanted to walk into it, considering his now full erection is pressing against his zipper uncomfortably.
Or maybe that’s just his body reacting, and he truly is just curious.
That’s what Kyle tells himself when he presses the call button.
Cartman answers immediately, and Kyle doesn’t even have to see him to know that he is smirking on the other line. “Well, well, well.”
“Shut up,” Kyle grits his teeth.
“That would be going against the point, Kahl,” Cartman tuts. "Are you in your room?”
“Yes.”
“Door shut?”
“Yes, why?”
“Because,” arrogance drips from Cartman's words. “You’re not gonna want anyone to hear you moan when you cum.”
Kyle swallows thickly, clenching and unclenching his thighs. “You seem awfully sure of yourself, Fatass.”
Cartman chuckles. “I am. I know my worth. I know my skills.”
“Well, then prove it.” Kyle challenges, his voice somewhat hoarse.
There’s shuffling on the other line before Cartman speaks again. “You’re insatiable, you know that? It wasn’t enough that you fucked my mouth until you came down my throat. Now you want me to speak filth into your ear.”
“That’s not—” Kyle feels himself flushing. “That’s not what—”
“But it is, Kahl, let’s be real. You haven’t stopped thinking about me sucking you off. You haven’t stopped thinking about how you threaded your hands into my hair and fucked my throat nice and hard. You probably couldn’t even look at me without picturing me on my knees in front of you with my lips wrapped around your cock. “
Kyle’s breath hitches. “N-no.”
“Yes,” Cartman’s voice is deep, lower than it usually is. “Can’t say I blame you, though. It probably felt so nice, not having to worry about a gag reflex, knowing you could just have me choke without worrying of anything coming up. I was just free-use, yeah? Just a mouth to fuck.”
Kyle bites back a whimper, determined not to let Cartman know just how fucking turned on he was. His cock strains uncomfortably against his zipper, begging to be released from the confines of its denim prison.
It’s a losing game, apparently, because Cartman lets out a chuckle. “I bet you’re already hard, huh? Just from me talking about it.” There’s more shuffling on the line. “You probably want to touch yourself so badly. Go ahead, Kahl.”
“S-shut up,” Kyle manages. “Your voice is irritating, not hot. I have no desire.”
“Is that so?” Cartman sneers. “Then I bet you fucking my throat felt even more satisfying, then. With your cock shoved down my mouth, there’s no way for me to speak. No way for me to annoy you with my irritating voice. You shut me up so good, Kahl.”
Kyle’s eyes squeeze shut, his hips involuntarily bucking and fist clenching at his side.
“Is that what you want to do right now, Kahl? Do you want to shut me up by pushing me down to my knees and forcing me to suck you off? Do you want me to choke on your cock, filling my throat up entirely to prevent any words from ever leaving these lips?”
It’s at this moment that Kyle realizes he is completely fucked. He gives in, his free hand fumbling with his zipper. It’s hard to manage with one hand, and with a growl in frustration he places the phone down to quickly push down his jeans and boxer briefs. The cool air feels heavenly on his newly freed cock, and he hisses with pleasure. He puts the phone back to his ear and says “no. I don’t need to do that to shut you up.”
Bait, Kyle thinks.
“Oh, but it’s one of the best ways, Kahl. Having your dick hit the back of my throat, your hands gripping my hair tight as you hold me down. My eyes would be watering, oxygen limited, and it would feel so good. Having power over me like that, forcing me down a peg. Putting my awful mouth to use like a cheap whore.”
Kyle wraps a hand around himself, a moan escaping his lips. He hears Cartman gasp slightly.
“That’s right, Kahl,” Cartman sounds hoarse himself. “Touch yourself. Think about the way my throat felt wrapped around you.”
“God,” Kyle breathes. “Y-you—”
“I think about it too, you know. I love having my mouth fucked. Could do it all day. Could get off on it alone. Have before.”
Kyle groans, his hand starting to move slowly. He’s leaking already. It’s almost embarrassing.
Cartman continues, and more shuffling is heard. “I thought about it a lot. You fucking my throat, cumming down it without a care in the world. How my tongue caused you to whimper and moan so loudly. H-how—” he pauses, his breath hitching in his throat. “How you jacked me off afterwards. Couldn’t look at your hands the same way.”
“My…my hands?” Kyle glances down at his hand speeding up on himself.
“Y-yeah,” Cartman’s voice is wavering a bit. “Not just from you wrapping them around my cock, but from pulling and gripping my hair, forcing me to inhale your dick.”
“Fuck, Cartman,” Kyle relents, hips stuttering.
“God, listen to you,” Cartman groans. “Touching yourself and moaning. I bet you’re imagining me sucking you off again, yeah?”
Kyle whimpers, an image of Cartman kneeling before him flashing in his mind, his eyes twinkling as he stares up at Kyle beneath his cock. “Fuck.” His eyes squeeze shut, his pace increasing. Waves of pleasure course through his veins.
“Go on, Kahl, tell me,” Cartman swallows. “What are you thinking about while you stroke yourself?”
Kyle tries to reply, but a choked sob comes out instead.
“Tell me, Kahl. What are you thinking about?”
“Y-you.” Kyle manages.
“What am I doing, Kahl?” Cartman sounds husky. “Am I sucking your cock? Swirling my tongue around your head while my hands play with your balls?”
“Gah—fuck— yeah. Yeah. You are.”
“Maybe I take my mouth off of your dick for a moment to suck your balls. I bet you’d like that.” Cartman growls harshly. “All that time I spent wanting you to suck mine but instead it's me, sucking your balls.”
The thought is almost overwhelming, with a loud groan slipping through Kyle’s lips. The pre-cum leaking out of his tip allows for an easier slide on his cock, and fuck, it's just feeling so fucking good. “Oh my God.”
There’s a gasp on the other line. “You’ll want to touch my hair again, thread your fingers through it, tug on it. That's what you want to do, huh? Make sure I suck each ball thoroughly a-and—” he inhales sharply. “A-and e-evenly.”
“Cartman,” Kyle whimpers. “Cartman, are you—are you—”
“Touching myself? Y-yeah,” Cartman replies. “You think I'd let you be greedy and have all of the fun? I told you. I think about sucking you off all the time now. I tug at my cock while imagining me deepthroating yours.”
Kyle’s hips buck into his fist, and he’s conjuring up an image of Cartman in his bed on the other line, stroking himself as quickly and as desperately as he is. He starts to feel warmth building in his core, his climax nearing. “F-fuck. Cartman…”
“You’re close, yeah? You gonna cum like you did down my throat? Maybe you’re imagining that now. Or maybe you’d pull out of my throat last minute and paint my face with your cum.” Cartman’s voice is unsteady and he moans that last bit.
“Oh, God,” Kyle groans. “Fuck.”
Cartman continues. “What will it be, Kahl? You have me at my knees, fucking my throat. You have two options. You can pull me in, force me down, and shoot your load down my throat until I choke, or you can pull out and cover my face. W-wouldn’t that be a pretty picture? That asshole, Eric Cartman, on his knees and face painted in your cum?”
“Fuck, fuck,” Kyle grits his teeth, squeezing his cock. He’s so fucking close. That image of Cartman with his face all messy, cum in his hair flashes in his mind. He needs it. Fuck. “Wanna—wanna cum on your face.”
“Fuck,” Cartman moans. “Then do it, Broflovski. Cover me in your cum. Paint me like the whore I am.”
Kyle cries out as his hips buck, his orgasm overtaking him, his cum shooting out in thick ropes over his fist and stomach. “ Gah! Holy fuck! Cartman!”
“That’s it, fuck, that’s it.” Cartman groans loudly. “Fuck!”
He lets out a lengthy moan over the line just as Kyle starts to come down from his high. It’s so fucking hot that Kyle’s hips buck involuntarily again, overstimulation causing more cum to shoot out. “Aah!”
Kyle’s hand collapses against the bed, chest heaving with each pant. He hears Cartman in a similar state over the phone. No words are spoken between them for a bit, just the sounds of catching their breaths.
It’s Cartman who cuts the tension. “You believe me now?”
“...Yeah,” Kyle swallows. “I do.”
“You should really start believing me right off the bat,” Cartman tuts.
Kyle just grunts in response, still trying to catch his breath from the single most earth-shattering orgasm he’s had in his life.
All from Cartman talking dirty.
Fucking Christ. He was not lying.
“Yeah, well,” Kyle wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “How else am I supposed to get you to prove it to me?”
He can hear the smirk in Cartman’s voice. “ You can just ask me what else I can do.”
Kyle scoffs in disbelief. “...What else can you do?”
“Lots of things,” Cartman purrs. “I’m a man of many talents.”
“How vague.” Kyle finds himself rolling his eyes, but his stomach twists as the thought. He smirks. “And if I say I don’t believe you?”
“Guess I’ll just have to prove it to you, then.”
“Yeah, I guess you will.” Kyle says.
“Come over tomorrow,” Cartman tells him. “And I’ll prove to you how talented I really can be.”
“Alright, Fatass.” Kyle’s heart hammers in his chest, a mixture of nerves and excitement all bundled up together. “Show me what you’re made of.”
“See you tomorrow, Jewboy.”
“Bye, Cartman.”
The line goes dead before Kyle can hang up, and he tosses his phone across the bed, letting out a shaky breath as he stares up at the ceiling.
It’s a bad idea, probably, indulging in Cartman's sexual antics. Annoying, obnoxious, arrogant Cartman.
He reaches over to his nightstand and grabs a couple of tissues, cleaning himself up, noticing a few stains in places he never thought he could reach.
Satisfaction brought the cat back, indeed.