Chapter Text
Kyle has a million little mannerisms, and Kenny has memorised each one. But that doesn’t mean they doesn’t stop in their tracks to watch as each one is played out, as if it’s the first time they’ve ever been blessed to watch him. Like right now, as Kyle twists the dial code for his locker, just as he’s done every day for the past four years. Kenny noticed on day one that he always tilts his head ever so slightly to the left as it spins anti-clockwise, then ever so slightly to the right as it is pushed clockwise. If asked why, Kyle would probably act confused, and say something like, “Do I do that?” But Kenny never asks. They know he does it, and that it’s adorable, and that’s enough for them.
Kyle tries to open his now unlocked locker, but it’s stuck, so he whacks it, twice. Kenny holds their breath for a third. It arrives with a soft grunt from Kyle. The door swings open, and he sticks his head inside. His mass of ginger curls bobs as he rummages about.
There’s no reason for Kenny to be watching from the side-lines like this. Their locker is right next to Kyle’s, and they actually need to get a couple textbooks out to take home with them for tonight. But they’re in one of their sentimental moods, where they experience the world through rose-coloured lenses, nostalgic for the present, as if they’ve already escaped this hick town and this is all just some sweet, simple memory. Soon, they think. But not soon enough.
Their wistful daydreams are abruptly spoilt by a human grease stain entering the picture, known to the world as ‘Craig Tucker.’ He approaches from behind, hands slithering around Kyle’s waist without announcing his presence. Kyle squeals and folds in on himself, giggling. Craig leans round and kisses him on the cheek, until Kyle turns his head so his mouth can be reached instead. It’s unfortunately very cute, in a sickly-sweet sort of way. Kenny gags, exaggerated enough for them to look over.
“You two are disgusting,” they declare. “Absolutely disgusting.” Ever since Kyle and Craig started dating at the start of senior year, Kenny has made it their life’s mission to bug the hell out of them whenever they can. Getting a rise out of Kyle is like a consolation prize for enduring every lunch hour since September having to perch on the very edge of the bench at their table to make room for Craig, with barely enough space to plant half a cheek down. The worst part is that their exile is completely unnecessary, considering how Kyle practically sits in his lap, but Craig still shoves Kenny out the way all the same.
“It’s not disgusting, it’s romantic,” Craig says, tensing his arms around Kyle like a vice.
“Is it?” Kenny wrinkles their nose. “You guys are gonna cause a cooties epidemic with all this PDA.”
“I don’t think cooties is the kind of STD you should be worrying about, McCormick,” Craig sneers.
“Thank you, Craig. I appreciate your concern for my health.” Kenny strolls towards them with their hands in their pockets. “Now, can you please stop being in love in front of my locker.”
“Sorry, jeez.” Kyle dislodges himself from Craig’s grasp. “We’ll go be in love somewhere else.”
Kenny smiles wide enough to cover the sound of their heart cracking. “Just a half a foot to the left would suffice.” They jerk open their locker with more force than necessary.
“So, are you guys ready to totally fail poli-sci tomorrow?” Craig asks.
“Speak for yourself,” Kenny says. “I’ve got it in the bag. Marxism is when the government does stuff, and the free market is actually pretty expensive. What else is there to know?”
“God, don’t even.” Kyle groans and covers his eyes. “I spent all of last night studying for it and I feel like I know even less than before.”
“Maybe we should head to the library,” Craig says. “A little impromptu study session. Drag Stan, Butters and Jimmy along too, the whole gang.”
What kind of dickhead uses ‘impromptu’ in casual conversation? Kenny thinks, and is about to say just that, but Kyle gets in first.
“That sounds nice,” he says. “A group effort.”
“Oh, yeah, cause that’ll be productive,” Kenny says. “You guys definitely won’t derail it by making out on the table or anything.”
“Oh my god, will you ever let that go?” Kyle huffs. “It was one time!”
“You smudged the ink on the graph I was plotting out,” Kenny sniffs. “It was set to be the best chart known to man and you killed it mercilessly. You should honour its memory, man, honour it!”
“Trust me, I’ve spent many sleepless nights mourning it since,” Kyle says in mock-sincerity.
“Well, sleepless nights doing something, that’s for sure.” Kenny winks at Kyle.
“Actually, that something’s been doing him.” Craig smirks in satisfaction at his own joke. “Look, dude, why don’t you just bring whoever you’re fucking at the moment to the session too? It’d be fun.”
“I would,” Kenny sucks in air through their teeth, “but you’re mom’s busy, unfortunately.” Craig scowls at them, and they add, “I think your dad’s free, though,” just for good measure.
“Whatever, man,” Craig says, which is how Kenny knows that they’ve won. It’s an empty victory, but a victory, nonetheless. They pluck their math book from their locker and shut the door triumphantly.
“Hey, Kenny.”
“Jesus, Tolkien!” They jump. “Where did you come from?”
“You know,” Tolkien says, “it’s generally not considered polite to ask people where they’re from.” He’s leaning casually on the other side of their locker, all dark eyes and bright teeth. Correction: attempting to lean casually. Kenny can tell by the acute angle between his shoulders and the neat fold of his plum-coloured turtleneck that he’s not just here for idle gossip.
“I know it’s rude,” Kenny says. “I’ve had to answer ‘the wrong side of the tracks’ to that question one too many times.”
“That’s a good one,” Tolkien says. “Maybe I should start saying ‘the right side.’”
“Don’t steal my bit, man.”
Kyle has finished packing his bag and slings it over one shoulder. “Alright, I’m ready to rumble,” he says. “Tolkien, we’re off to the library, if you want to join us.”
“Actually, I was hoping I could nab Kenny for a minute,” Tolkien says. “Just need to go over some stuff for the lit exam on Friday.”
“Oh, I could help with that,” Kyle offers. For a fraction of a second, Tolkien looks oddly panicked, but Kenny swoops in to his rescue.
“No, Kyle, that’s Tolkien’s polite way of saying he wants to buy drugs off me.”
Kyle’s face drops. “Oh.”
Tolkien scans Kenny’s lax demeanour, then asks, “You sell drugs?”
“No!” They put their hands on their hips. “What I’m more concerned about is the fact that for a split second you two believed me!”
“Well, I don’t know!” Kyle says. “You’re a very mysterious guy!”
“Gotta save up for college some way, right?” Craig adds, unhelpfully. Everything that guy adds is unhelpful.
Kenny sighs and makes the very mature decision not to be offended. “You know I’d make an awful drug dealer,” they say. “I’d smoke it all myself.” Kyle gives them another stark look, and they roll their eyes. “Kidding again! Jesus. You guys get going, and I’ll catch up.”
Tolkien stays quiet as he watches Kyle and Craig depart, hand in greasy hand.
“I take it this is not actually about Lit,” Kenny says, interrupting whatever brooding, intelligent thought was likely going on behind that brooding, intelligent gaze.
Tolkien looks over to them, then gives them one of his million-dollar smiles. “Let’s take a walk,” he says.
*
The ‘walk’ in question happens to be a leisurely stroll towards the football pitch. Practice isn’t on today, and the weather’s pretty grim, so the whole place is deserted.
“This better be one of those fun-type surprises,” Kenny says, flipping their hood up. “And not the murder type.”
“Chill, dude.” Tolkien rolls his shoulders back, and Kenny wonders if he’s struggling to take his own advice. “I just figured this conversation could do with a little privacy.” He leads them up the stairs, to the far corner of the bleachers.
“I seriously was joking about the selling drugs thing,” they say, eyes shifting side to side.
“I know.” He takes a seat in the way a king would assume position on his throne, surveying the pitch.
“Alright, then what?”
“It’s about Clyde, actually.” There it is again, that microscopic fracture in his facade, an ounce of anxiety flickering across his face. “And his relationship to me.”
“Oh.” Kenny cracks a grin. “Are you gonna ask if he’s gay? Because yeah, dude, I’d say so. Gay for you, at least.”
“That’s not—” he clears his throat. “I’m aware of his, ah, affection for me. I have been for some time.”
“And is it, you know,” they assume his tactful and advanced vocabulary, “requited?”
Tolkien hesitates, then gives a slight nod, bordering on imperceptible.
“Oh, dude, sweet!” They knock their fist into his arm. “That’s awesome for you.” They smother the pang of jealousy that stabs in their gut and the urge to add, Must be nice.
“Yes, well, this is my predicament,” Tolkien says. “I know Clyde likes me. I know that he considers me a dear friend, and I know that I’ve well and truly earnt that title. But I’m concerned that if our relationship were to change, I might not be quite so… up to standard.” He swallows. “There’s a sea of differences when it comes to the responsibilities of friends and the responsibilities of lovers.”
“Aw, man, I get that.” Kenny nods emphatically, in a manner that they hope seems empathetic. “A friends-to-lovers type deal can be pretty stressful. Rules change, everything’s up in the air. There’s not a lot of stability. But listen, the important thing to remember is that he loves you for you. Just be yourself and—”
“I’m not worried about how to be a good boyfriend, Kenny. I’ve had plenty of experience with that, and besides, I’ve already practically assumed the role to him in the emotional sense.”
“Okay,” they say slowly, frowning. “Then what’s the problem?”
Tolkien sighs and laces his fingers together. “I want to learn how to top someone, Kenny.”
They blink at him. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Because I’ve only ever been with women before, I don’t really know that I’d know my way around—other parts.”
“Well, you’ve got them yourself, haven’t you?”
“Sure, but you know that’s different. You can’t practice kissing with just one person, nor can you practice sex.”
“Depends where you’re aiming your lips,” Kenny says. “And how flexible you are.”
Tolkien gives him a withering look, and Kenny bows their head, chuckling to themself.
“So, you want some practice,” they say.
“Precisely.”
“Well, I’m pleased to inform you that you don’t need it.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s what a first relationship is for, man,” they say. “You experiment together. You figure out what works, what doesn’t, what hurts and what hurts, y’know.” They wiggle their eyebrows suggestively. “And—I mean, you trust Clyde, right?”
Tolkien nods.
“Then I can’t think of a better person for you to have your first time with.”
“I know,” Tolkien says, but there’s a hesitant edge to his voice. “It’s just that what he likes about our dynamic is my security. My confidence. My… control. And I just don’t think I could authentically carry that in the bedroom without a better understanding of the, ah, practical side of things.”
“Well, then, let me introduce me to my old friend the internet.” Kenny tugs their phone from their pocket and jabs the code into their cracked screen. “I’ve got a couple articles I could send you, a little reading, so that—”
“I want experience,” Tolkien interrupts. “Guidance. Real life practice.” His looking at Kenny with a meaningful expression, eyebrows tilted, and cheeks taught. They just stare blankly back.
“What are you saying?” they ask.
“I’m saying I want your help. Hands-on.”
“My… hands-on help?”
“Indeed.”
Kenny narrows their eyes. “You want to fuck me as a practice round for fucking Clyde?”
Tolkien’s eyes grow wide. “Well, when you put it like that, it makes it sound—”
“Like you’re soliciting me for prostitution?”
“No!”
“I mean, is that not what you’re doing right now?”
“I’m just asking for your help! From one friend to another.”
“I don’t know what kind of stuff you get up to with your other pals, but in my experience, that’s not part of the deal.”
“Look, I know it’s not a conventional request,” Tolkien begins. “But I mean, it’s not as if you and I have a particularly conventional relationship.” Kenny narrows their eyes and him, and he splutters, “I mean, we’ve hooked up before, haven’t we? So—”
“So, what?” Kenny scoffs. “You think that just because you know what my dick tastes like I should let you fuck me, free of charge?”
“No one said anything about it being free.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I’d pay you.”
“A twenty isn’t going to—”
“Five hundred dollars.”
Kenny gapes at him. “Excuse me?”
“Listen to me.” Tolkien takes both of Kenny’s hands and clasps them in his own, and for some reason, they let him. “I am willing to pay you five hundred bucks if you will teach me how to be a good top. You can set whatever boundaries you like; lay whatever groundwork you want. I’ll even write you up a fucking contract and sign it in my own god damn blood if that’s what it takes.” He takes in a shuddering breath. “I need this, Kenny. I—I really need this.”
It's the tremor in Tolkien’s voice that makes Kenny hesitate. That compels them, just for one moment, to consider the offer. It’s not the prospect of Clyde being disappointed that’s getting to them, but the realisation that this really would be more for Tolkien’s sake. “You’re scared,” they whisper, “that all these years of build-up with him will lead to nothing but a let-down.”
Tolkien swallows. “I just want to make him happy,” he murmurs. “I just want to know that I can.”
Kenny leans back in their seat and stares out across the vast, empty football field. “Five hundred is a lot of money,” they muse after a moment. “I guess it would take some pressure off at college.
They feel the tension in Tolkien’s body release beside them. “You said you only got a partial scholarship, right?”
“Right,” they says, pleased that at least someone pays attention to the stuff they say.
“Well, y’know,” he says, “I’d always be happy to help out later on, too, if you’re in a tight spot.”
“Oh, save it.” Kenny waves a hand. “I don’t want your pity pennies.”
“But you’ll take my non-pitiful pennies,” Tolkien’s eyes twinkle, “right?”
Kenny gives a guttural sigh. “Not one word of this to anyone, you here?”
They’ve never seen Tolkien smile so bright.