Stan is sitting cross-legged on the carpet of Kyle's living room, working a video-game controller with an expression of intense focus on his face. Kyle lounges on the couch above him, eating Cheesy Poofs and frowning at the ceiling. He got bored of the game a while ago, but Stan kind of has a one-track mind. Kyle distracts himself with trying to find shapes in the water stains on his ceiling, listening to Stan's occasional strangled yelp of excitement or horrified groan. Finally, there's the telltale doot-doot-doot sound that means he's died for, like, the millionth time that afternoon, and Stan chucks the controller down onto the carpet with a noise of frustration.
"That game sucked anyway," he sulks briefly before climbing up next to Kyle on the couch, pushing vainly at Kyle's legs while trying to make room for himself before giving up and just flopping down halfway on top of Kyle, sighing in annoyance and adjusting himself fussily. "You're such a bitch sometimes, Jesus."
Kyle just waits patiently for Stan to get the memo, doing a little bit of well-timed squirming in order to help him along. It's been colder outside than usual, and more boring, and Kyle's kind of been wanting to do this for a while.
Right on cue, Stan's eyes widen with understanding and his face shifts easily into a smile as he leans down to kiss Kyle without preamble. He's still kind of careful about it, but more sure of himself than he'd been the last couple times. It's been a while since they started doing this, and Kyle's been worried that at some point it would turn awkward or strange, but so far it just seems like a natural progression, new but familiar.
Stan's a good kisser, slow and sweet and somehow earnest, and when he drags his teeth slowly along Kyle's bottom lip and moans a little, it makes Kyle feel distinctly dizzy. Until recently Stan's been firmly in the friend-zone of Kyle's head, so getting to figure out firsthand why all the girls at school are so hot for him is intriguing to say the least. It also kind of makes Kyle want to tell everyone just so he can gloat about it publicly. It's hard to think about gloating when Stan is kissing him, though. It's hard to think about anything.
Instead, Kyle wraps his arms around Stan's strong football-shoulders and makes an embarrassing sort of noise in the back of his throat, feeling kind of girly himself.
He kisses Stan back ardently, making up in enthusiasm what he lacks in finesse. He sucks on Stan's tongue a little and Stan makes a garbled sound that might have been words at some point, rolling his hips up against Kyle's and dropping his head down to breathe hotly against Kyle's neck.
Kyle lets out a muffled groan, pleasure curling up his spine as he does his best to move with Stan, jeans feeling tight and constricted. Even though it's maddening, Kyle can't help but think how much he likes it this way, likes the rough slide of denim against the confines of their pants. He's sure at some point he and Stan will get naked together, and that point will be awesome, but currently it just seems kind of terrifying.
For right now, Stan is just kind of holding Kyle's hips in place and rutting up against him in an agonizingly slow and thorough fashion, and it's embarrassingly early but Kyle is already getting kind of desperate. It sets him over the edge when Stan leans over and tongues almost lewdly at that one spot behind Kyle's ear, whispering hoarsely that he's been thinking about this for a while. It's unlike him to admit something like that, and it's enough to make Kyle twitch and come right in his jeans, collapsing bonelessly into the couch and thanking God that his parents and Ike are out doing whatever the hell they did on weekends.
Stan looks down at him fondly, breathing hard, and it's then that Kyle realizes he's still totally drilling a hole in Kyle's thigh. Happy to oblige but still kind of apprehensive, Kyle rubs the heel of his hand hesitantly against the front of Stan's jeans. His hand catches on the zipper and Kyle winces, certain that he's a total failure at this whole servicing dudes thing until he looks up at Stan's flushed face. His black hair is sticking up every which way and he's breathing hard, pressing back subtly against Kyle's hand like he's totally into it but doesn't want to alarm him.
It only takes a few more seconds and then Stan is giving a full-body shudder and coming too, slumping against Kyle when he's done even though the front of his jeans is gross and sticky. Kyle gives a squawk of indignation and tries to squirm out from underneath Stan, grabbing a handful of his dark hair and tugging sharply, but it doesn't do any good. When Stan is in cuddling mode, Stan is in Cuddling Mode, and woe betide anyone who tries to get away. Kyle had learned that the hard way, several times.
He settles back in grudgingly, smoothing his hand through Stan's hair as a silent apology for pulling on it. Stan is resting his head on Kyle's chest, eyes closed and face open. He couldn't possibly be sleeping yet, but he looks like he might be close to it. Shrugging and wiping his hand off on the couch, Kyle reaches for the Cheesy Poofs, which had been knocked to the floor in the scuffle. Looking back up at the waterstained ceiling, he wonders absently what on Earth his mother will say when she sees him like this, and decides he doesn't really care.