AN: Just a oneshot that I've been doing on and off. I was trying to write more of But Sons Do it Better, but I watched latest SP tonight...yeah and now I'm too depressed to write an actual story. I know the show's coming to an end, and I think it should based on the last season or two's repetitive sceanrios, but still. Lol the ep was just kind of a downer, esp the end...I won't spoil it. Anywho, here's some Style.

A groan wakes me up. I can't tell if it was mine or someone else's.

My head is throbbing consistently and rhythmically, tortuously. I think about opening my eyes, willing myself to do it. Open, open open…fail. Fuck it. There can't be anything that worth seeing anyway, not when I feel this shitty. Besides, if I open my eyes I think I might end up puking, which would probably just make me puke more. Ugh, even thinking about it is making me want to vomit.

Sweet Jesus, I am going to fucking kill the next person who says, "One more round!"

Especially Kenny, that fucking bastard, whose "one more round"'s end up being more like three more rounds…or four, or maybe five. Goddammit, how much did we drink last night?

"Nnnn…ugh."

Okay, that definitely wasn't me. I crack open an eye and hiss at the sunlight pouring into my retina. Damn, it must be at least noon. It's a little easier to open the second eye, as my eyes adjust a little to the sun. The curtains are wide open, why the fuck didn't we think to close them last night?

"Nnn."

The groans are coming from the bed above me, where Kenny must be at least half-conscious. I try to look up fully, but my head hurts too much and I grimace with pain. Instead I settle for just looking up with my eyes from my position on the carpeted floor. From here I can see a dirty sock on the foot hanging off the bed's edge and the cuff of a denim-jeaned leg. Kenny must have passed out in his clothes. Thank God for small miracles. If he hadn't been too drunk Kenny probably would've stripped naked on autopilot. I have enough physical ailments right now without seeing Kenny McCormick's naked ass first thing, thank you.

Speaking of naked, it feels entirely too cold in here…and I'm pretty sure I can see my t-shirt lying next to me. Yes, definitely my shirt, no one else here wear's an "MC Driedel" shirt. I wiggle my toes, socks are still on. I sigh a little in relief and try to scratch away an itch on my calf with my toe. Something is terribly wrong there. My socked foot meets no denim leg, no cotton leg, no nothing pants leg. Shit, what the fuck? I squeeze my eyes shut in terror and blindly grope at my thigh. I let out a deep breath I didn't know I'd been holding in. I still have my boxers on, thank you Moses!

Then my hand brushes against a set of fingertips that aren't mine, but are currently hanging off the side of my ass. Suddenly I'm acutely aware of the heavy feeling across my backside. A hand…that's connected to an arm that's draped right above my ass…connected to my best friend Stan…who seems to be in a similar state of undress. I try to wriggle and shift Stan's arm off me, but it's dead weight; damn that guy's heavy! I wiggle harder and succeed…in moving Stan's arm right onto my ass.

Great.

My face is as red as my hair now, I can feel the heat burning me. Dear God, what happened last night?

And then blurry memories start to become a little clearer as they replay in my mind.

A reunion. Right, a reunion of sorts was what we started with: me, Stan, Kenny, Cartman, and Wendy and Bebe. It was a reunion of epic proportions, a celebratory gathering to mark our graduations from college. Stan had graduated from Colorado State along with Kenny, who had joined him after two years at community college. Cartman and I, much to my dismay, ended up being at the same school, University of Denver, much to my mother's dismay. Both Wendy and Bebe had ended up in California, Bebe in San Diego and Wendy in Sacramento.

Really, how we all ended up staying in touch had been complete happenstance. Stan and I had of course decided to stay in touch and our close proximity had allowed us to visit each other fairly frequently. Since Kenny was able to join Stan through a scholarship his addition had made our little trio complete again. Oh, yeah, and Cartman, but I try not to count him. He just decided to keep himself in my life uninvited, frequently coming to my dorm unannounced to take my stuff and eat my food. Apparently I'm just doomed to have the fat fuck in my life forever. As for Wendy and Bebe, I guess they kept in touch cause they were best friends or something. To be honest, I never paid either of them much attention in high school. Stan and Wendy kept in touch as close friends after the romance had ended after high school graduation. So, through a convoluted little connection system, all six of us had ended up together to celebrate in Denver.

Why Denver? Well, disregarding the fact that Cartman bitched and moaned about not wanting to leave his apartment, it was because all of us were delaying the inevitable return to South Park. Most, if not all, of us would probably be getting the hell out of there a.s.a.p. again, but we had all been sentenced by demanding parents to a brief return. So before the hell that was South Park and overbearing parents suffocated us we decided to get together and do what college kids do best…party and get shit faced.

Though we probably wouldn't have gotten as wasted as we had if we'd been staying in separate hotel rooms. Despite my already being in Denver, I had had to rent a room as well because I had been living in the dorms for my entire college career. According to my mother the reason for this was so that I didn't miss out on the benefits of student life and living so close to class, according to my reasoning my mom was making sure there was no way I could escape from her clutches once I graduated. So, once we had made the plans to meet up, Kenny and Stan suggested we make a night of it, go all out. Which had led to Bebe's suggestion that all of us, excluding Cartman since the fat bastard's mom had gotten him an apartment, chip in for a hotel suite for the night. Well, more like a motel suite; which was really more like two motel rooms connected by a small bathroom.

The night started at the motel room, I remember that. After all of us had met up at the room and deposited a rather large quantity of apartment and dorm room shit we had headed out to a bar. It was a nice bar, definitely a college hangout kind of place, full of recent twenty-one year old undergrads and graduate students. It was a place both Cartman and I knew, he thought it was lame because it was a rather tame place, but I liked it. It was quiet enough for us to all talk and catch up and enjoy bar food that was better than some questionable peanuts and pretzels lying across the surface of the bar.

I remember lots of talking, and laughing, and a fair amount of drinking. All of us were having a good time, a great time actually. By the time we left we were all red-faced and out of breath from recounts of crazy college times: Stan passing out on a professor's lawn in his underwear "Hey, it made sense at the time!", Bebe's burnout roommate who spent his time smoking weed and playing the bongos naked "Oh my god, this one time I walked in on him and he just said, 'Oh, hey Bebe, wanna play? No, cool',", Kenny's various exploits

We were having such a good time, in fact, that we decided the night was far from over. Our judgment was already impaired, that was sure. We stopped by a liquor store on the way back to the motel room and acquired more than enough booze…I think there was rum and tequila…I'm sure when I taste it again on its way up I'll remember. Ugh.

I know the original plan was along the lines of "okay, just a few more drinks, we all hang out and sober up a little, Cartman goes home and we go to sleep and awake fresh and ready the next morning". That wasn't what happened. Not by a long shot. Why we even thought more alcohol was a good idea I don't know. This is where the night starts to get a little blurry and unclear.

I remember that drinking and stories quickly turned into drinking games, games that started out semi-complex and became simpler and simpler the more we drank. Lots of laughing, lots of shots, lots of booze, lots of music, lots of fun…so, where did the night go wrong?

Oh God. Now I'm starting to remember.

It all began with an unsurprisingly lewd request made by one Kenny McCormick. Just as drunk as the rest of us he had thrust his drink into the air and made a declaration.

"Woohoo! This calls for a girl kiss!"

This wasn't the first time I'd seen Kenny make such a request. Asking two girls to make out was a favorite of his in party situations. I'd actually seen it work at several of the parties I went to with him and Stan. The powers of alcohol and suggestion were stupefying at times. Though really, I can't talk…certainly not anymore anyway.

Bebe laughed a little, Wendy pulled a face, though seemingly more at Kenny's lewdness.

"No, Kenny."

So Kenny asked again.

"Aw, come on Wends…it'd be so hot. Come on, kiss, kiss, kiss…"

Kenny began a little chant that was soon chorused by three other drunk as shit young men. Jesus, why the fuck was did I even join in?

Wendy had started to get a little red. It was hard to tell if it was embarrassment or because she was about to beat us all senseless…not that that would've really changed our mental status at that point.

She opened her mouth, "Guys-!"

Bebe cut her off, "Hold on Wends, come here."

She pulled Wendy so that they had their backs to their male audience of four. Bebe was whispering something to Wendy, she had her arm draped across her friend's shoulder. Every once in a while Bebe's brown eyes became visible as she looked back at us and giggled. For a minute or two she talked very secretly to Wendy while we waited with bated breath.

Finally they turned around. Bebe was grinning drunkenly; Wendy's cheeks were stained pink, whether from alcohol or embarrassment I couldn't tell.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Kenny echoed Bebe in question. Then he had broken out into a wide open grin. "Woohoo! Sweet!"

"Wait!" Bebe was holding up one finger and Kenny stopped mid-"happy dance". "There's one condition."

I remember Kenny's face turning serious, like a lawyer sitting down to prepare the terms of a contract…If that lawyer was drunk and preparing a contract for drunk girl-on-girl action anyway.

"What?" Kenny was waiting in anticipation, waiting for fulfill any demand made.

"We want reciproctation!" Bebe shouted in triumph, mimicking Kenny's previous actions.

"Reciprocation," Wendy had muttered in automatic correction.

"What?" I couldn't tell whether Stan was asking what that meant or what they wanted.

"We wanna see some hot boy-on-boy in return. Whatever they do, we'll do. Gender equality!"

"Bebe, that's not what that means," Even drunk Wendy was aware of women's lib, it didn't hurt that that had been her final thesis project, which she had summed up over our dinner catch-up session.

"Fine, I'll make out with someone," Kenny had volunteered himself quickly with a shrug and then he started to look around at us, singling out a potential "victim".

"Nu-uh," Bebe was wagging her finger, "We get to choose." For all of Bebe's "we's" it appeared that she was the one in control of these supposed "negotiations".

"Well you bitches aren't gonna get me to make out with some dude!" Cartman was quick to protest. I rolled my eyes, something told me he wasn't their, or Bebe's rather, target.

"Cartman, no one wants to see you make out. It's not sexy, you're just an asshole." Bebe wrinkled her nose.

"Fuck you Bebe!"

Bebe ignored him, as did we all. I think he started to pout, he was quiet anyway…thank God for small miracles. But then Bebe was tapping her chin with her finger as she glanced between the three of us still in the running. Wendy was getting redder and redder, slinking down into her shoulders. Now I was sure it was in embarrassment at these proceedings.

"I choooooose," Bebe paused for dramatic effect, "Stan aaaaannnnnddd…Kyle!"

"What?" I remember shouting it. Why I was so surprised I don't really know. Obviously there was a two-thirds chance of me being one of the parties, but still, I wasn't really expecting it.

What I remember being even more surprised with was Stan's lack of surprise. He merely turned to me, shrugged his shoulders, and slurred, "Dude, we've known each other forever. How bad can it be?"

The "we've known each other forever" part would've been my counter-argument, but no sooner had I opened my mouth than Kenny had whirled on me.

"Kyle, please, please, please," his hands were held as if in prayer, "Please, for me? And if you don't I'm never speaking to you again."

"Dude, you have how much porn on your computer?" the alcohol was making my words thicken, "do you really need this that fucking bad?"

"Aw come on Kyle, don't be such a party-pooper!" This time it was Bebe egging me on. God, she and Kenny must be twins separated at birth or something, they're both super horny super bossy drunks anyway.

I looked over at Wendy, who was looking like she might die of embarrassment of the display, kinda like I was starting to feel. I wondered briefly how much our friends would be rag on us if I grabbed her hand and we both ran like hell. But then I remembered how drunk we were; running was more likely to end in us falling down a flight of stairs than making a successful escape. All in all making out with a best friend was probably the better option. Probably.

So with Bebe, Kenny, and, oddly enough, Stan all watching me for my answer, I held up my hands in surrender and sighed.

"Alright, fine; but if any of you assholes are going to be assholes I'm getting up and sleeping in the hall."

"Haha! I always knew you were a fag Kyle!"

"Shut up Cartman!" Kenny came to my supposed rescue, though more likely for the sake of his girl make out fantasy than for my sake.

"Alright, go already!"

I don't remember who said that part. I do remember turning to Stan and feeling extremely awkward. Not only was the idea of kissing Stan new, but kissing on command is always awkward and uncomfortable; it's supposed to just happen, not be planned and forced. So I did the only thing I could think to do, I closed my eyes and planted the quickest and barest of kisses on Stan's cheek. It was more of a brushing of my lips on his skin than a real kiss, actually.

Bebe copied this barest of touches on Wendy. Kenny groused.

"Oh come on!"

"Hey, I said equal. Tit for tit."

"Tit for tat, Bebe," Wendy was still blushing.

"Whatever," Bebe giggled and waved her hand flippantly.

I had been watching this little display, but then I turned back to Stan. There was a funny look on his face, a pinkish tinge on his skin and a sense of…anticipation? apprehension? arousal? shock? Then Stan leaned forward and copied my previous motions, only this time on my lips and for a fraction of a second longer. Just a quick little peck. I saw Wendy follow Stan's example with a little more hesitancy out of the corner of my eye.

Then something happened.

I don't know if it was that all of the alcohol had finished settling in or if the embarrassment had finally vacated our systems, but whatever it was it seemed that all four of us quickly became stripped of what self-control and restraint had remained.

Stan lunged forward and kissed me hard and passionately. It only took a second to feel his teeth pulling at my lower lip, his tongue pressing for entrance. Stan initiated it, but I was certainly no innocent party. I reciprocated his efforts just as violently and quickly. I wasn't watching Bebe and Wendy, but from Kenny's commentary I could guess that they were following suit just as eagerly as us.

Stan and I broke apart for air. I removed my fingers from his hair; when had I moved them there? We were both panting a little from lack of oxygen and excitement. We didn't stop to think about our actions. Unspoken we decided to leave the embarrassment, the awkwardness, and the possible regret for the morning. For right now we were too intent on whatever odd pleasure we had stumbled upon.

And then something very weird happened.

I remember that somehow my lips were connected to Stan's and then were moving; down his neck, where they sucked and bit, to his ear, where my teeth nibbled, anywhere that I knew might elicit a delightful low moan. I received many of those little moans and whispers of my name and each time I heard one I felt victorious, even more encouraged to further my ministrations. In the background Kenny had begun a commentary, like, an actual commentary, like he was a demented NASCAR announcer or something.

Then without our furthering our actions Bebe took things a step beyond with Wendy. Her graceful hands had begun to roam over the layers of the noirette's clothing, whose breaths were coming out hitched. They were not any more lewd than us, but certainly appeared to be more passionately embraced than Stan and I. Whether it was because of Stan's competitive streak or something else I can't say, but they seemed to strike a nerve in him. He suddenly pushed up against me and gained access to my own neck, his hands slid under my shirt and up my chest. Then his hands kept moving upward, going as far as my arms, pushing my shirt up over my head and tugging it off. It flew to the side and landed by the bed.

"Oh, and now Stan's just ripped off Kyle's shirt! Very sexy Stan; Bebe, he's beating you, are you going to stand for that?" from the sound of it Kenny was enjoying watching me and Stan as much as he was watching Bebe and Wendy.

I think I saw Bebe's tee go flying to the floor, but I had been more focused on Stan. My own hands were on his back while his lips attended to my throat. He bit a sensitive area and I moaned loudly. Under his shirt I pressed on his back, pushing him closer to me, his hips against mine. Our stiffened dicks met against the fabric of our jeans and we both moaned.

From there on the night was almost entirely gone. I vaguely remember more intense making out. And pulling down Stan's pants. And him pulling down mine. And then more intense making out. I'm sure that nothing else happened, but still…intense…yeah, that's the only word for it. Intense.

We must have passed out rather soon after that. So here we are now. On the floor in our boxers one step away from cuddling. I'm not really worried that this will end our friendship or anything like that, but still, when Stan wakes up this could be for an interesting morning. "Day after" conversations suck.

Speaking of which, Stan does seem to be waking up, or at least he's twitching. Okay, now he's groaning, that's definitely a sign of being awake, I think.

"Jesus Christ, my head fucking hurts," his voice comes out raspy; I'm not sure if he's talking to me or himself, "How much did we fucking drink?"

"Somewhere between way too fucking much and death levels," I say. He must've been thinking aloud because he appears as startled as he can in his hungover state.

His head turns slightly to look at me more clearly. "Morning," he greets me with little vigor.

His hand doesn't move and neither does he and he doesn't say anything else. Actually I'm pretty sure he's really not aware of any of the above since he's staring at me blankly. It looks like I'm going to have to be the one to start this.

"So," I start slowly, "how much do you remember about last night?"

I watch his eyebrows furrow and eyes look up as he tries to reclaim alcohol-colored memories. It takes several agonizing seconds of silence before I see a change in his expression. Due to his shocked look I'm guessing he's starting to remember at least some parts of the evening.

When he looks back at me his eyes are wide. "Oh," is all he says.

"Yeah."

"So they?"

"Yeah."

"And we?"

"Yeah."

"And I?"

"Yup."

"Oh. Wow."

I clear my throat a little. "Yeah, something like that."

His arm still doesn't move, but I can't tell if it's by choice or if he hasn't yet realized its position on my boxers.

"Well, that wasn't so bad," he says it slowly and cautiously; now he's clearing his throat.

"No, it wasn't," my words came out just as slowly and cautiously, but truthfully. To be honest, such actions had never crossed my mind before, but I hadn't found it objectionable. My physical reaction had been very telling to say the least.

For a few minutes we rest in an uneasy kind of silence, perfectly still. I think both of us want to say something, but are waiting for the other one to go first. If only either one of us knew what to say in a situation like this, it's kind of hard to give the one night stand speech,
wham bam thank you ma'am, to someone you've known since preschool. Oh yeah, and his arm is still resting on my ass, which isn't helping my thought process.

"I've wanted to do that," Stan blurts it out suddenly, his face is a little red. "For a while now." The last part comes out a little more quietly, uncertainly.

"Oh," it's all I can think of to say at first, "Why didn't you?"

His astonishment is hilarious, if I didn't have a headache I'd be laughing my ass off. "Uh, well I wasn't quite sure how'd you react to me ramming my tongue down your throat and ripping your clothes off. Hell, if I'd known sooner you weren't going to deck me I probably would've."

"Well, maybe you should've," I say it teasingly, but he chooses to take it seriously.

"Hmm, maybe I will."

"I'll pencil you in," I roll my eyes.

"Really? How often do you do this sort of thing Kyle?" he throws back at me with a little grin.

"I was kidding jackass."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, that's what they all say."

There are a few moments of quiet again after we finish our mutual teasing.

"We should do this again sometime," this time Stan actually does sound genuine and sincere and a little hopeful.

I smile a little, just as genuinely. "Yeah, I think we should."

Finally his arm does move, and I realize now he must've been aware of it the whole time, up to my waist. He wraps his hand around me and clutches at me lightly. We just lie there and smile sweetly at one another. Our serenity doesn't last long though.

"Morning bitch-" Kenny doesn't finish before he sees us and doubles over in laughter. Then he stops and holds his head a little. It gives me some satisfaction to see his suffering; he's the one that started this damn thing anyway.

"Goddammit, shut up."

Cartman must be awake by now too and judging from his tone he's feeling just as shitty as the rest of us. Kenny ignores him and plops down on the floor beside us, he's obviously not as hungover as the rest of us, goddamn his insane alcohol tolerance. Alcohol-enabling bastard.

"You two put on quite a fucking show," he says it cheerfully with a waggle of his eyebrows. Apparently he's already recovered from his headache. "If I had a camera I could've made a fucking fortune dudes, just put that on the internet, link it to all your online accounts…"

"If you did Kenny, I would murder you and mutilate your body beyond any repair and distribute all of the millions of your body parts in the worst places I could find," I deadpan.

Kenny rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay Kyle. Besides, doesn't look like you two are too unhappy, huh Stan?" He's looking down at where Stan has laid a rather possessive claim on my abdomen.

Cartman's face appears over the side of the bed and he mimics Kenny's actions. "Knew it. God you guys are such fags; at least now you're actually fucking each other." I'm actually amazed how kindly it comes out, for Cartman anyway; it's kind of like his own way of congratulating us.

Suddenly Kenny seems to realize something.

"Hey, where are Wendy and Bebe?"

"No idea dude," Stan shakes his head a little, wincing at the movement.

"They probably crashed in the other room after your little gay fest," Cartman yawns.

"We should probably go check on them," I say. I know it's the right thing to do, but between Stan and the hangover, I really don't want to move.

All of us shakily, save for the instantly recovered Kenny, rise and stagger to the Jack-and-Jill bathroom that attaches the two rooms. Stan and I don't move to pull on our pants or shirts; we'd probably both fall over if we tried. When we cross the space to the door of the adjoining room, which feels infinitely longer than it did last night, Kenny laughs.

"Well I guess you guys won last night. There's no way that Bebe and Wendy beat you guys out. What?"

He looks at the three of us, who had all stopped listening as soon as Stan pushed open the door, and our gaped mouths. Then Kenny turns and sees exactly why we're standing around fish-faced.

"Holy fucking shit."

If my brain was working I'd agree. Strewn around the bed are the remainders of Bebe's and Wendy's clothing: shoes, socks, pants, bras…panties. But that's not the most shocking part. No, the most shocking part is that Wendy and Bebe are lying under the covers blissfully asleep, wrapped in each other's arms quite tenderly and apparently completely nakedly too. Kenny opens his mouth to exclaim something again, but with quick thinking Stan slaps his hand over his mouth and pulls him back. I, as quickly and quietly as possible, shut the door closed again.

All four of us are just standing in the cramped bathroom now, still reeling and fish-faced. Stan's mouth keeps opening and closing. Cartman looks shell-shocked and stunned. I'm actually afraid Kenny might be about to have a heart attack, judging by his face. After a minute or so Kenny is once again the one to break the silence.

"Dude," he looks back between me and Stan, "I take it back. They totally beat you guys."