hey so this is an old draft i turned into a new not-draft. happy belated christmas. this is so gay.
At seven-twenty-two pm on Christmas, as the Broflovski family settles in front of the television with their annual Chinese takeout from City Wok, Kyle gets a text message that reads simply: "meet me outside in 2 secs pls its impt".
Kyle is surprised: the text is from Stan, and it seems very dire that he respond immediately.Be right there is his speedy reply, and Kyle asks his mother if he can leave. "Stan needs me for a second, he says it's an emergency."
From the other side of the couch, Sheila peers at him over a box of fried rice. "Make it quick, bubbe," she nods, motioning towards the door with her chopsticks. Kyle thanks her through a last shove of City Chicken into his mouth and pulls his coat and boots on over his pajamas.
Outside, Stan is waiting in the driver's seat of his mom's car, and as Kyle gets closer to him, he notices that Stan's most definitely been crying. "What happened?" Kyle says once he's in the car, and strokes Stan's hair briefly. In public, Kyle would never do something like that, but in private he's very touchy-feely with him.
"Nothing," Stan says angrily, and his voice is hoarse. "Let's drive. I wanna get away." He starts the car and backs out of the Broflovski driveway, sniffling. Kyle stays silent. Although Stan's not very talkative about his feelings, there must be something awfully wrong if he is angry-crying.
"Are you okay?" Kyle asks, but Stan doesn't answer. Kyle folds his hands in his lap as they speed down the highway and sighs, worriedly. At this point, he's not worried about what time he'll be getting back home– he's more worried about Stan and his wellbeing.
Stan parks the car after an offramp into a very deserted area, where the faint twinkle of Christmas lights on people's houses glimmer in the distance as their only light source. Kyle isn't even sure he knows where they are, or if this area even existed. They're in a thick part of the woods and Stan kills the engine. He looks shaky.
"I need you to– suck my dick," Stan says, a half-murmur, half-grumble. Kyle nods: he knows this is what he needs right now. Stan pulls the lever under his seat to scoot all the way back, and Kyle climbs onto him, briefly kissing his mouth.
Stan moans softly when Kyle crouches down to rub at his dick through his jeans, and it sounds sad, a tiny whine that gets stuck in his throat. Kyle undoes Stan's fly, and grabs hold of his hand to squeeze tightly. Stan twitches when Kyle's mouth reaches his cock– a good sign in Kyle's book– and his other hand finds its way to Kyle's hair. Kyle pays close attention to what Stan needs from his sweet little tics: when he starts making little noises, Kyle goes faster. When he thrusts upwards, Kyle lets him fuck his mouth. When Stan's thighs tremble and he softly sobs Kyle's name, he squeezes Stan's hand tighter and rubs his other hand against Stan's hipbone. Stan comes hard with a whimpery "fuck, fuck, fuck," and afterwards, Kyle swallows and leans back up to kiss his shaking lips.
"My fucking dad," whispers Stan, still seemingly in a post-orgasmic haze, "got piss-drunk and got arrested for public intoxication and disorderly conduct." Kyle can feel fat tears falling from Stan's eyes, and he wipes them away with his thumbs.
"Are you guys okay, though? He didn't, like– what was the disorderly conduct?" Kyle asks quietly, trying to will away his boner.
"He pretended to be Lorde and put on a stupid dress and wig, and then ran around the kids' playground in the dark throwing his clothes off," Stan says, sounding thoroughly humiliated. "He took his fucking underwear off and screamed about 'his huge clit' so loudly that half the neighborhood heard him."
"Holy shit, dude," Kyle says. Randy has been known for his chronic alcoholism since they were kids, but never this bad.
Just then, Stan's phone vibrates from his front jacket pocket, which is literally right on Kyle's thigh, which makes it all the more difficult to get rid of his erection. Stan grumbles and pulls it out to answer it.
"Hey, mom," he sighs, staring at Kyle's crotch. Kyle blushes, only a little. Stan kneads at his cock through his pajama pants, and Kyle has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning while Sharon's on the other line.
Stan reaches into Kyle's pajama pants– he's full-on stroking, now, and Kyle jerks his hips a bit in response. "Do we have to? He's still too drunk to talk to," Stan says, squeezing Kyle's cock every so often. Kyle is so hard he's already spilling precum, so there's absolutely no need for any lotion to help the process along, like it usually calls for. He wants to get fucked, but he knows that's not an option right now. He'll be coming any minute now anyway.
"Jesus– okay, alright, I'll be there soon. Okay. I'll meet you at the house," Stan says. "Hey, Kyle's with me, can he come with? Okay. Thanks. I love you too, bye." The second Stan hangs up the phone he pumps Kyle's dick quickly, and kisses him hungrily. When Stan licks the ridgey surface of Kyle's teeth, Kyle thinks that's pretty fucking gross, but also really fucking hot, and so he comes, moaning and shaking. Stan wipes his hand on a paper napkin from the floor of the car, and stuffs the napkin in his jacket pocket. Kyle is still reeling when he climbs back into the passenger's seat.
Stan pulls the lever under his seat to scoot forward in order to drive. "My mom wants us to go visit my dad at the sobering facility," he says, brushing Kyle's stray curls out of his face. Kyle nods drowsily; he can barely put his seatbelt on by himself, and ends up sleeping the whole way back to South Park. Stan wakes him up with a gentle shake. "My mom's gonna get in the car too, can you get in the back so she can drive?"
Kyle mutters a tired "mm-hmmmmmmm," as he stretches, then climbs into the backseat. Stan quickly sprays some Febreeze to clear the air of the sex-smell and shoves it back in the glove compartment just as Sharon opens the door.
"Hi, boys," she says, and she sounds exhausted. "Oh, Stanley, I'm so sorry." She strokes his face gently, almost tutting, and turns around to address Kyle. "Thank you so much for... bearing with us tonight. We've had a tough night, I'll tell you that."
"It's alright," Kyle says, smiling sympathetically. "We don't celebrate Christmas anyway, you're not interrupting anything."
At the sobering facility– which is a small extension room in the South Park PD building– Kyle can hear Randy drunkenly arguing with the bailiff from down the hall. Stan sighs angrily, and Kyle grabs his hand to bring him back to reality.
"Randy?" Sharon says nervously when they reach his cell; the bailiff sighs with relief for their distraction. "Randy, it's us."
"Oh my god!" he shouts, clutching the bars of the cell excitedly. Kyle can smell the alcohol on him from across the room. "Sharon! Did you see what they did to me?"
"They're keeping you in here for three days to sober up," Sharon says, "and then we'll have to see what's going to happen. You've been arrested for being too drunk."
"That's bullshit," Randy slurs. "This is fucking America. Stanley, stop holding your gay little friend's hand, you're in public."
"Randy!" Sharon shouts at him, and he flinches. "You've got a lot of nerve, since you just got arrested for being a public nuisance!"
Stan shakes his head and tugs Kyle along with him. "Fucking whatever," he mutters. "Mom, we'll be waiting in the car."
"I'm sorry Christmas was so shitty, dude," Kyle says as he's pulled back down the hall and through the police station.
"Well– I'm more worried about Jack, I hope he's doing okay," Stan says worriedly. Jack is Stan's new nephew. Right after college, Shelly announced a pregnancy and an engagement, and now the three of them live in Michigan, where her husband's parents are stable enough to help them out with the baby while they work. Sharon completely understood choosing his parents over her and Randy anyday.
"I'm sure Shelly put him right to bed," Kyle reassures him.
Stan pulls the door to the backseat open and lets Kyle get in first. "He was really riled up by my dad the entire meal," he says, climbing into the car and shutting the door behind him. "The thing about my dad– once he gets started there's no stopping him. He still thinks it's a fucking disease that only God can cure him of. He's just always looking for excuses."
Kyle is silent for a moment. "You're never going to turn out like him, you know," he says when Stan's eyes get teary.
"I know, jesus," Stan says defensively, and sniffles. Kyle knows he was thinking it, though, and kisses his cheek.
Sharon gets back in the car shortly after, and she looks privately flustered. "Sorry, boys," she sighs. "I had to talk to the lawyer they assigned Randy, and he'll have his trial next week."
"Whatever," Stan says. "Sorry, mom, it's not you."
"I know, sweetie," she says simply, and pulls out of the parking lot.
Back at Kyle's house (after a short goodbye with Stan in front of his mother), Ike is the only one on the couch, passed out in front of his laptop on the coffee table with a carton of egg rolls in his lap. Kyle shakes him awake. "Hey," he whispers. "Mom and Dad went to bed?"
Ike pinches his face up and stretches, nearly spilling the rest of the egg rolls onto the couch. "No," he says, sounding as if he's still halfway dreaming. "They're just doing housework together. What's up with Stan?"
"Just some stuff. Don't worry about it." Kyle pats his brother's cheek. "Go to bed, dude. Shut off your laptop."
"Yes, mom," Ike yawns, and Kyle lightly punches his arm. As Kyle walks up the stairs, he hears Pewdiepie's voice coming from Ike's computer, but he doesn't really care. Tomorrow, he'll wake up late and spend the afternoon with Stan fucking and playing video games, and somehow, things will rearrange themselves again.