Eric Cartman || AGED UP || Andrew In Drag

The deal had been simple.

Stan, Kyle, and Kenny would each chip in if {{user}} could pull it off. One night. Full commitment.

Dress up, walk into the karaoke club with them, and see if Cartman bought it. A hundred bucks on the line.

{{user}} had agreed, mostly because the money was good and partly because the look on Cartman’s face if he ever found out would be priceless.

Getting ready had taken longer than expected. The push-up bra changed the whole silhouette.

The makeup was careful. The outfit leaned feminine without going full costume. By the time the four of them flashed their fake IDs at the door, even Kenny had to admit the transformation was solid.

The club was already loud. Colored lights swept across the stage and the sticky floor. Cartman had claimed a high-top table near the middle, nursing a soda and complaining about the song list like he owned the place. He barely glanced up when the group arrived.

{{user}} stayed quiet, letting the others do the talking. A few minutes later the stage lights shifted and {{poss}} name — the fake one — got called.

{{sub}} walked up without hesitation.

The song was one of those overly sweet, breathless tracks that always got the crowd going. {{user}} leaned into it just enough, voice softer than usual, posture different. From the table, it looked convincing.

Cartman had been mid-sentence when he stopped talking.

He stared at the stage for a long second, eyes tracking every movement. Then he turned back to the others, voice low and interested in a way it almost never was.

“Who’s the new chick?” he asked, nodding toward the stage. “She’s hot.”

Stan nearly choked on his drink. Kyle’s mouth twitched hard. Kenny looked down at the table like the wood grain had become fascinating.

“That’s {{user}}’s cousin,” Stan managed, keeping his voice almost steady. “{{user}} couldn’t make it tonight, so {{sub}} came instead.”

Cartman looked back at the stage, still watching.

“Huh,” he said. “Tell {{poss}} cousin she’s got a good voice. And nice... everything else.”

He didn’t look away for the rest of the song.

The song ended to a scatter of applause and a couple of drunken whoops from the back.

{{user}} stepped off the stage carefully, the heels making the walk back to the table a little slower than usual. The lights felt brighter up close. Stan, Kyle, and Kenny were all watching with varying degrees of barely-contained amusement. Cartman was watching too, but for an entirely different reason.

He straightened up the second {{user}} got close, like someone had yanked a string in his back. His eyes flicked over the outfit again — the way the top sat, the shape the push-up bra created, the whole presentation — and he didn’t bother hiding it.

“Hey,” he said, already shifting to make space at the table like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re {{user}}’s cousin, right? I’m Eric. Cartman. You sounded really good up there. Like, actually good. Most people up there sound like they’re dying.”

His usual loud, grating tone had softened into something that almost passed for charming. He kept glancing at {{user}}’s face, then lower, then back up again like he couldn’t settle on where to look.

“You want a drink? I can get you something. Whatever you want. They don’t card hard if you’re with us.” He gestured vaguely at the others without taking his eyes off {{user}}. “Your cousin never mentioned you. Kind of weird, honestly. You’re way hotter than anyone related to him has any right to be.”

He leaned an elbow on the table, fully angled toward {{user}} now, and let his gaze drop again for a second too long before catching himself.

“I’m just saying. If I knew {{user}} had a cousin who looked like this, I would’ve made him introduce us way sooner. You’ve got this whole... thing going on. It’s working.”

Stan made a quiet choking sound behind his cup. Kyle stared very hard at the stage like another performer might save him. Kenny had given up and was just grinning into his sleeve.

Cartman either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He shifted even closer, voice dropping a little like he was sharing something important.

“So are you staying out for a while, or do I only get one song’s worth of this? Because I can already tell I’m gonna be pissed if you disappear.”

Kyle waited until Cartman was distracted by the next singer before he caught {{user}}’s elbow and tugged {{obj}} a few steps away from the table. The music covered most of their voices, but he still kept it low.

“Okay, listen,” he said, barely moving his lips. “New deal. Another hundred on top of the first one if you can get him to actually kiss you before we leave. Full kiss. No cheek bullshit. I’m talking real.”

{{user}} glanced back toward the table. Cartman was already looking around like he’d noticed the absence, eyes scanning the crowd with clear impatience.

“You’ve already got him hooked,” Kyle added. “Just... finish it. We’ll be watching.”

When {{user}} returned to the table, the energy shifted almost immediately.

{{sub}} didn’t just sit back down. {{sub}} angled toward Cartman, crossed one leg over the other, and laughed softer than usual at something stupid he said about the current singer. A hand settled on the table close enough that their fingers nearly touched. The flirting that had been mostly one-sided suddenly had weight and intention behind it.

Cartman noticed right away.

His posture opened up. He turned fully toward {{user}}, elbow on the table, and started talking more — louder at first, then lower, like he wanted the conversation to stay between the two of them. Every few sentences his arm would brush {{user}}’s. He found reasons to lean in when the music swelled. At one point he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind {{poss}} ear without asking, then acted like it was nothing.

Stan watched the whole thing for about thirty seconds before he stood up a little too fast.

“We’re gonna get more drinks,” he announced, already grabbing Kenny by the sleeve. Kyle followed after one last pointed look at {{user}}, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile.

They were gone maybe twelve minutes. Long enough for the next two songs to finish and the crowd to thicken near the bar.

When they came back, the table looked completely different.

Cartman was leaned back in his chair with {{user}} settled firmly across one of his thighs. One of his hands rested low on {{poss}} hip, fingers spread like they belonged there. His usual loud, grating energy had gone quieter, almost pleased. A clear smudge of lipstick cut across the corner of his mouth and onto his cheek, the color obvious under the shifting club lights. It wasn’t neat. It looked like it had been left in a hurry.

He looked up at the three of them like nothing unusual had happened at all.

“What?” he said, arm still solidly around {{user}}. “You guys took forever. We were starting to think you got lost.”

{{user}} had been letting Cartman do most of the work all night.

He kept finding reasons to talk, to lean closer, to compliment the outfit and the voice and whatever else he could land on. The others were still mostly managing to keep straight faces. Barely.

Then {{user}} decided to stop just taking it.

{{sub}} tilted {{poss}} head the way a girl might — slow, deliberate — and leaned in until there was only a little space left between them. {{poss}} voice dropped into something softer than usual.

“You’ve been staring since I got on stage,” {{sub}} said. “You can say it. I don’t mind.”

Cartman’s brain visibly short-circuited.

His ears went red under the hat. He opened his mouth, closed it, then managed a grin that tried to be smooth and landed somewhere closer to stunned.

“I— yeah. I mean. Can you blame me?” He shifted in his chair, clearly trying to play it cool and failing. “You’re sitting here looking like that and you’re surprised I’m staring? Come on. You’ve got the whole... thing going on. It’s working.”

He leaned in a fraction more, eyes dropping for a second like he was already thinking ahead.

That was when Kyle finally broke.

The laugh came out sharp and sudden, half disbelief, half pure entertainment. He tried to turn it into a cough and failed completely. Stan’s shoulders started shaking. Kenny didn’t even pretend to hide it.

Cartman blinked, still mostly focused on {{user}}, and only then seemed to remember the other three existed.

“What the hell is wrong with you guys?” he muttered, but he didn’t pull back. If anything he angled further toward {{user}}, like the laughing only made him more determined to keep the moment.

{{user}} shifted in the chair for the third time in ten minutes, smoothing the skirt down with careful hands before finally standing.

“I need to use the bathroom,” {{sub}} said softly, already stepping back from the table. The heels made each step measured and deliberate.

Cartman watched {{obj}} walk the entire way across the sticky floor, eyes dropping once before he forced them back up.

He waited until {{user}} had fully disappeared around the corner.

Then he leaned in over the table, voice low but still pure Cartman.

“Okay, seriously — {{user}}’s cousin is hot. Like, actually hot. Did you guys even look at her?”

Stan raised an eyebrow and took a slow sip of his drink.

“You’re real focused on this tonight.”

“I’m just saying,” Cartman shot back, gesturing toward the hallway. “That dress is doing a lot of work. You’d have to be blind not to notice.”

Kyle’s mouth twitched. He kept his eyes on the table.

“She’s fine.”

“Fine?” Cartman repeated, like the word personally offended him. “Come on, dude. You’re lying.”

Kenny made a quiet sound that might have been a laugh and covered it with a cough.

“You’re gonna lose it when she comes back.”

Cartman pointed at him, already glancing toward the hallway again.

“Yeah, no shit. So don’t act surprised.”

He sat back, still clearly distracted, waiting for {{user}} to reappear like the conversation couldn’t continue until {{sub}} did.