Title: Drugs and Late Night Talk Shows are Bad, M'kay? (Part One)
Author: acidspin
Rating: R-ish? Mainly for Kenny's foul mouth and drug use/references.
Disclaimer: I do not own South Park, nor do I claim to. Created by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, property of Comedy Central. Also, this is a SLASH story. Dude love here, people.
Pairings: Just good 'ol fashion Stan x Kyle
Summary: Kyle has Stan, kind of. And Stan has Kyle, kind of. If only Stan would grow a pair so he could quit wasting Kenny's weed on whining.
Notes: Hellooo. So, this is my first jump into SP fanfiction, and I'll admit, I'm kind of nervous. I have been working on this for about a month and a half now. I had originally planned for this to be a hell of a lot shorter but that didn't work out too well. Hopefully it's not too wordy and boring. So, this is broken up into two parts. The story is finished, but I decided to do some last minute edits to part two. I will post the rest once I'm done, which will only be within the next few days. Yay for short wait?
Oh, and I don't have a beta or anything…If there is a typo or a big gaping plot hole, feel free to let me know. I've read this over more times than I can count, but I know I had to have missed some things. Reviews are sososo appreciated because it would be nice to know whether or not this is good or a big steaming pile of crap. Haha.
With that said…Hope you enjoy and happy reading! :)
Edit: Finally! This story has been beta-ed by the lovely miniji. Without her, my embarrassing mistakes would still be floating around in this massive wall of text.
Drugs and Late Night Talk Shows are Bad, M'kay?
(Part One)
Kenny's dealer was a large fat man who was completely unaware of the fact that years had actually passed since 1977. He wore a thick handlebar mustache, slicked back hair, aviator glasses, worn down bellbottom jeans, and a white pleated jacket. He had this distinct and very potent smell about him, too. He didn't smell like pot, which would have made sense, since that's what he was always selling, but he had this stench that reminded Stan of old salmon, beer, and cheap cologne. Stan's only reason for tagging along on Kenny's "refill run" (as Kenny called it) was to witness and smell this eighth wonder of the world.
"You're fuckin' weird, dude." Kenny had told him on the way home from school when Stan voiced his reasoning for coming along again.
The two boys were walking down the stretch of Main Street, towards Kenny's neck of South Park. The scenery changed drastically as they entered the bad part of town. On one side of the block were well kept, middle-class homes; on the other, scattered graffiti and elegant cardboard in place of windows. It was like the asphalt of the street separated the town.
Stan made sure his hands were in his pockets, clutching his wallet and cell phone tightly. He'd been robbed before over here. Although that had been when he was nine, he still never recovered from the long lost $11.50 and blue Terrance and Philip lunchbox that was taken from him.
Kenny always had a strong interest in drugs growing up. His friends first noticed his addiction to mind altering…things back when they were eight and he became addicted to cheesing. To this day, he denies that that incident ever happened. It wasn't exactly his proudest moment, sniffing cat piss. And he especially denied the part about rolling around in his underwear with Kyle's very Jewish and very balding father. But that was the first time the boys noticed that Kenny may have had a little trouble in the self-control department.
He tried the choking game while jerking off a few times, but when he kept dying, he decided it probably wasn't the best idea. Next was huffing glue and air compression. These highs were okay. They kept Kenny feeling good for almost an hour and they were easy to get away with in class, but they were still bullshit, Kenny said.
The first time Kenny smoked marijuana, he was just thirteen, experimenting in his backyard. When he tried it, his lungs screamed at him in a fit of coughs, wondering just what the fuck he was doing to them. Then the only sort of effect he had was uncontrollable laughter. He didn't feel much of a difference, but he couldn't speak without at least getting a mild case of the giggles. It was annoying, if anything, and he decided that this wasn't the right way to do things; he must have inhaled wrong or something. So, he waited for the giggles to subside and tried again.
The second time Kenny smoked marijuana, he swore that he heard birds chirping because he had instantly fallen in love. He leaned into his back step and just sat there for a few hours, watching squirrels eat his garbage. It was totally awesome.
"There he is." Kenny pointed to a corner and Stan followed, just like he did the other times that he accompanied Kenny on his not-so-inconspicuous drug deals.
Kenny's dealer was his father's friend, and he'd been spotted around South Park multiple times. It wasn't like he was hard to miss, either. Stan said that he tagged along because the guy was such a character, but it wasn't entirely true. There was a hidden curiosity that Stan had about Kenny's open drug habit. He'd never done anything besides drink alcohol, but he guessed that was normal for the average sixteen year old. Not many kids were drug fiends their age—it's not like this was the city. But still, he was curious.
Every time the two would go through this routine, Stan thought about smoking with Kenny. But he always backed out. They would meet this odd individual, get the "Mary Jane," go back to Kenny's, and then Stan would just watch Kenny smoke his bong like a diabetic kid staring at candy. Kenny never questioned why Stan would never smoke with him, because he already knew. Kyle always preached to Kenny about how he needed to stop this habit, so he just knew that the same opinions of Stan's super best friend were drilled into his head too.
After the all too blatant drug deal on a corner, in the middle of the day, Stan and Kenny walked to Kenny's house. It was Friday, and since Kyle had basketball practice, and Cartman's face was always in a bowl of Cheesy Poofs, this started to become a weekly routine.
What was awesome about Kenny's house was that his parents never cared about what he did. Stan felt bad for seeing Stu and Carol's ignorance towards their child as a good thing, but Kenny elaborated several times that he didn't give two shits about his family. He had friends that meant more to him than they ever did, so he was set, and that made Stan feel better about the situation.
So there Stan was, sitting on the edge of Kenny's bed—a mattress on the floor. He, again, wanted to ask Kenny if he could smoke, just this one time to ease his nagging curiosity. Everyone talks about how great this shit is, why couldn't he just try it to see what the fuss was about?
He was watching Kenny dump the buds of grass out of the plastic bag and empty them into his jar. The glass container had a permanent scent of pot since that's where Kenny's stash was always kept. This was just one more thing that didn't help Stan's temptation. He absolutely loved the smell of marijuana. It was just so enticing because it smelled like nothing else.
As he watched Kenny break the drug up and dispose of seeds and branches in the utmost silence that only close friends feel comfortable in, he heard Kyle's voice echo through his head. "It's bad for your lungs, dude. I know that people say the long-term effects aren't as bad as cigarettes, but think about it. I mean, holding smoke in your lungs for that amount of time has emphysema written all over it."
Kenny had this large bong that he named Marie. All of Kenny's possessions, what little he did have, had female names dedicated to them for no other reason than the fact that Kenny was addicted to females almost as much as he was to the green plant in front of him. The glass bong was about a foot high and was fire engine red. As Kenny packed a bowl and inserted it into Marie, Stan's mouth finally opened to ask if he could smoke too, but stopped himself, yet again.
"And it's a gateway drug. What if you like the feeling of being high? Before you know it, you never want to be sober and you're snortin' crack in an alleyway."
"I doubt it happens like that, Kyle."
"I was watching this documentary the other day, and it was about the horrors of drug addiction. Every person they spoke about started with pot. Half of them are dead now, Stan. DEAD."
"God, I swear, you're like forty. What the hell are you watching documentaries for?"
Kenny sat down beside Stan with the bong and lighter set between his hands. But before he began, he turned to ask the same question he asked every time Stan tried to pull off this charade. Like he just wants to laugh at Kenny's drug dealer. Stan wasn't fooling anyone. Kenny knew why he came along.
"Wanna smoke?" He didn't really expect anything, but he always asked. Just in case.
Stan eyed the red glass in front of him. Every now and then, he walked with Kenny to get drugs with the intention of finally trying to toke up, but all these warning signs kept flashing in his head so much that it always made him back out. By warning signs, he meant Kyle Broflovski picket signs. Stan was getting sick of it.
He found himself nodding in response to Kenny's question.
Kenny's grin grew from ear to ear. "Really?" His smile was bright, a rarity to see outside of his parka.
He noticed Stan hesitate, so he just passed the bong and lighter to him before he had a chance to rethink his answer. "Here."
Stan grabbed hold of Marie and awkwardly held her because he had no idea what he was doing. He'd seen Kenny do this a million times but the smoking instrument felt weird in his own hands. He glanced apprehensively at Kenny who was just staring at him. This was weird enough considering he'd never done this before. He didn't need Kenny staring down his every move while he tried to do this right and avoid looking like a total jackass.
Oh well.
He flicked the lighter in his hand and hovered it over the small bowl of neatly packed weed. The green illuminated into a bright orange as the embers burned into spinning smoke, encapsulated inside of Marie. He inhaled strongly, not really knowing how long he should suck the smoke into the bong before he was ready to continue the suckage into his lungs.
"Calm the fuck down, dude! You still gotta inhale, you know."
Stan listened and removed the bowl from the cloudy cylinder. Once he did, all of the collected smoke flew into his lungs like the suction from a vacuum cleaner. Of course, Stan immediately started coughing.
A laugh erupted from Kenny, and he grabbed the bong and lighter back.
Stan stood up from the mattress, feeling the intense burn on his lungs. He felt like those fire-eaters that, well, ate fire. How the hell did they do it completely unscathed? He pounded his chest with a fist in nice traditional angry gorilla fashion. "Jesus…" he managed to get out in between his quest to just get oxygen into his lungs without them refusing it, "…Christ…"
Kenny put the bong to his lips, filled it with smoke just a bit more than Stan did, and then inhaled with as much ease as if there was nothing flowing through his lungs but clean air.
Stan frowned, eyes watery and face red from coughing.
Kenny's chest puffed out and he held the smoke like a pro. He slowly let it filter out through his nose and parted his lips into a thin line to let the smoke seep through.
Stan had stopped coughing but rubbed his hand along his throat. "That sucks, dude. I'm not doing that again."
Kenny rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a pussy. Here, you can shotgun this next one I do. It'll be a lot easier on your throat. Sit down."
Stan did so and eyed Kenny curiously as he sat next to him, preparing himself to take another shot at this. "How do I 'shotgun' a hit that you do?" he used little air quotes.
"I take a hit, like I just did, but instead of just blowing the smoke back out, I blow it into your mouth and you breathe it in."
"What."
"I said that I take a hit—"
"No, I heard you, but what the fuck does blowing it into my mouth mean?"
"Just what you think it means, dumbass."
"I'm so not making out with you, dude."
Kenny rolled his eyes again, "I seal my mouth over yours for two seconds, you inhale the smoke, and I back away. The end. I'm not trying to rape your asshole or anything. This is only because you are a pussy and can't take a real hit on your own yet. Do you want to get high or not?"
Stan knew very well that this was in no way a sexual thing. Stan didn't have boobs. Therefore, Kenny wouldn't be interested in him. And he did want to get high. He already endured the torch to his throat, no use backing out now and having gone through that for nothing. If this way was an alternative to lessen the strain in his throat, then whatever, Kenny could pretend-make-out with him if he wanted to.
"Okay, fine. Let's just do it then." He shook himself off and prepared for another hit of unwanted burning, even though Kenny said this would be easier.
Kenny began like before while Stan just sat there awkwardly, staring and awaiting Kenny's chapped lips to close over his. Kenny took a large hit from Marie, filling the bong, inhaled, and then leaned over as casually as possible and parted his lips over Stan's.
Stan slowly breathed in, keeping eyes cast to the floor. He made it a point not to close them or else this would seem a lot more like a kiss than it should. Kenny wasn't the one he wanted to be kissing. He let the hot air slip into his mouth just before Kenny pulled away. He didn't feel any pain to his throat like he did before. This time was much smoother. He just felt a pocket of warm air, sitting patiently in his chest, waiting to leave just as fast as it entered.
"See?" Kenny asked as he watched the dissipating smoke release from Stan's mouth.
He nodded as he exhaled, clearing his throat a bit. "Yeah, that wasn't bad."
After another practice run of Stan's newly learned lesson on how to "shotgun," and then eventually getting used to taking a hit on his own, Kenny asked, "You feel anything yet?"
Stan paused in thought. He ran over his motor skills in his head and his everyday sobriety—no signs of anything different.
"Well, some people don't feel anything their first time. I laughed like an idiot my first time, but I didn't feel any different. Second time was better."
But after finishing the bowl, Stan kicked that assumption right out the door. He and Kenny were sitting on the mattress, backs against the wall, talking about the most random shit. Things like who invented paper plates, whatever happened to Mr. Garrison, which mental institution Cartman would end up in when he was older, and just how small were cell phones really going to keep getting?
Stan giggled lightly. He didn't have laughing fits like Kenny's first experience with pot, but he was definitely laughing more than usual. Things just seemed funnier. In fact, everything around him seemed like it jumped up a few slots on the scale of amazingness. All of his senses tingled. He felt like his body was nailed to the mattress but trying to float above him at the same time. He felt kind of numb, but it was kind of good. Kind of really good. He decided that he and Kenny had to hang out more often without Cartman and Kyle.
"Ya know," Kenny began, the back of his head leaned back so far against the wall that the top of his crown was almost touching it, "I can't believe you've never smoked with me before until now. Out of all the fuckin' times you'd come over…I knew you weren't coming along just to see Tee."
Stan barked a laugh. "Tee?"
Kenny turned his head with a relaxed smile on his face. Stan took notice to just how red his eyes were. They were a deep pink and narrowed like he just woke up from a nap. "Yeah, my dealer."
Stan felt awesome. He wanted to sit on the mattress for as long as possible. Getting up was not an option. "Oh, right. I always forget his name, or whatever the hell Tee is supposed to mean." Stan ran his hand over his black, matted hair. He was sporting a nice case of hat hair. "I've always wanted to smoke with you," he confessed, "but—"
"Kyle's always fuckin' preachin', I know." A crooked grin tugged at each end of his lips. "That kid gets in your head, Stan."
He smiled at the mention of his super best friend. "Yeah, I know, but Kyle's still awesome," he breathed out like he was in a daze.
Stan was stoned. This didn't go unnoticed by Kenny who just chuckled lightly at his friend's statement and state of mind. He leaned up from the peeling wallpaper behind him, turned around, and laid down on his back. He pulled his arms back to cross behind his head and looked up at Stan. He felt high as fuck too, but he'd been doing it for so long that the effect wasn't nearly as dramatic anymore. Kenny smoked every day after school. He functioned normally when high, which he guessed made him an official pothead—much to Cartman's annoyance.
"Hey, Kenny?"
"Hm?"
"Would you care if I was gay?"
Kenny arched an eyebrow through the ceiling, completely caught off guard by the random question.
Stan suddenly looked deep in thought. The mention of Kyle had diverted his attention completely and wholly to said subject. For the past few years, he and Kyle had been getting oddly closer. And, when anything was implied closer than the foundation they already had set in their friendship, it was just getting plain weird.
At first, Stan only stared one time. In third grade, when Bebe liked Kyle and said he had a nice ass, this made Stan wonder why he hadn't been drooling over Wendy's ass if that's what kids were supposed to be doing with their crushes. When he noticed Wendy and Kyle standing in the lunch line a few days after Bebe's confession, he decided to take a look at Wendy from behind to see what all the fuss was about. He felt bad and kind of awkward after staring for a few minutes so he looked away. Afterwards, when he still didn't understand this love of asses that was going around, he decided to check out Kyle's to see if there was anything special about it that Bebe was noticing and he wasn't. He found himself studying Kyle a lot longer than Wendy. He felt awkward staring at Wendy—he didn't with Kyle. When Kyle turned around and saw Stan staring, he made a stupid face that involved crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue, before paying for his kosher lunch that his mother demanded he buy every day.
Then, a few years later, with that incident immediately wiped from Stan's mind because he was still too young to comprehend why he would like to stare at Kyle's ass in the first place (he assumed it was just some stupid girl thing that he didn't understand at the time), he found himself staring at Kyle during classes. Elementary school continued to progress and he kept noticing Kyle's little personal habits. Like when Kyle wanted to answer a question from the teacher, he would just rest his elbow on the desk with his hand raised only to eye level. Then, when the teacher wouldn't notice him, he would raise it higher, his hand just a little bit above his head. And then, if he'd still go unnoticed, he'd throw his arm in the air, and would said the answer totally pissed off like because it took the teacher so long to call on him in the first place. Stan noticed he had three levels of raising his hand. Or how Kyle always chewed the ends of his pens like they were candy. The more involved in a thought process he was, the more wrath the pen felt from Kyle's munching. Stan noticed that Kyle would then give his pens away for people to borrow, like this wasn't the grossest thing ever. Or how Kyle's mom bought him a purple pencil case, and he actually used it. How totally girly was that?, Stan thought, because he definitely noticed how girly it was.
But even with these little staring trances Stan kept slipping into, studying his BFF during classes instead of notes, it still wasn't too odd yet. It wasn't odd through the rest of middle school or junior high either. It didn't start getting odd until his hormones began kicking in to tell him that he had basically been checking out his best friend his whole life just for the sake of looking.
When Stan came to this realization, he started noticing his own personal habits. He tuned classes out a lot. And when he did, his eyes tended to fall on Kyle just to trace over the green hat and tiny little auburn curls that slipped out beneath it. His mind would yell to stop fucking with him and to look at the girls in class like he was supposed to be doing. Kenny was doing it—he should be too.
Then, when the two of them would hang out in groups, he felt the need to always be closer to Kyle than everyone else. They sat next to each other no matter where they went or whom they went with. They even seemed to always be standing near each other. He couldn't explain it. There was just this constant want to be by Kyle's side, like they were two magnets hovering around each other, being pulling whichever way the other was moving. But, maybe it wasn't too odd for Stan, because he started noticing Kyle glancing his way every so often in classes, and he noticed Kyle always coming to be by his side, too.
By the time they were fourteen, that need to be close to each other never left. It extended itself even further into their time alone together. If they were sitting on the couch—just watching television—they were right next to each other, inches apart, making fun of whatever it was on TV. They were so close they could feel each other laughing at the program and their commentary to one another.
Last summer, things surpassed odd into weird when they started getting "touchy feely" with each other. At first, it wasn't anything too out of the ordinary. They'd rip on each other, one would shove the other, then the other would retaliate with another shove, and then, seconds later, they'd be wrestling on the floor together, both struggling for the dominant position to deem himself the totally awesome winner. But then that started happening a lot more, and Stan's hormones told him that the initial shove in the first place, along with the match that came afterward, was kind of like flirting. Was he flirting with Kyle? Or did he just want to slam his head into the floor because the bastard refused to believe that he definitely didn't use the blue-green-green-orange cheat code in Guitar Hero? Thing was, when the two would get into these battles, he had to admit that he started to like it when Kyle won. Because when Kyle won, he would hold Stan's wrists into the carpet with heavy breaths and a flushed face from all of the movement, and he would smile triumphantly as he held him down, letting the victory sink in. Every time Kyle did this, Stan's stomach flipped. It didn't flip in the way it did when Wendy tried to kiss him and he would puke on her, it flipped in the non-puke-inducing way it should when a girl tries to kiss a boy. Needless to say, Stan started losing his mini wrestling matches with Kyle on purpose.
But the super weird thing about last summer was that the masculine aggression that was wrestling (that's what Kyle called it) wasn't the only way they were getting "touchy feely."
The two boys were always struggling last year to stay up until 12:30 in Kyle's living room because that's when their newfound interest in late night talk shows happened. That June, Terrance and Philip were going on the Really Late Late Show to talk about the book that they wrote together regarding their Canadian television career. After the boys stayed up for that episode, they were hooked on the host's show. Stan told his parents about this interest, and since they knew he was only a few houses away at the Broflovskis', they didn't really care whether he slept at home or over there. They never bugged him about being out of the house that late. But with the early hours of school and Kyle's constant studying for June exams, they often fell asleep before the show even started. When the two would be sitting on the couch next to each other, too close for normal friend comfort, one's head would slowly start to droop with drowsiness to the other's shoulder. Stan didn't really remember how this first happened, but he thinks Kyle fell asleep on him. Then it happened again a few nights later. Even though Stan wasn't sure who started it, he was sure they were both switching up roles on who fell asleep on whom first almost every night just two weeks into the Really Late Late Show. A head would fall upon a shoulder, succumbing to the urges of sleep, and then the other, fighting a losing battle as well, would let his head fall atop the other's and fall asleep. They would wake up an hour or so later, say goodbye, and Stan would go home with his stomach in just as many knots as when he lost in wrestling.
These incidences gravitated slowly to Stan's house because Stan had a TV in his room—and there is definitely more privacy in a bedroom than a family living room. At age fifteen, who didn't want as much privacy as possible from parents?
At first, they'd just sit on the floor to watch television, backs against the bed, and reenacted what happened in Kyle's living room. Then, since they were always hanging out so late and falling asleep, they decided just to lie down and watch TV on the bed. They'd still fall asleep, but it was just next to each other, not like before. But that need for closeness was relentless, and Stan had a feeling that Kyle felt the same way because, eventually, the shoulder pillows happened on Stan's bed and once again, they were entirely too close for normal friend comfort. Kyle started staying the whole night instead of just during the talk show, and Stan's hand slowly progressed over the many nights to wrap around Kyle while they were sleeping, pulling him closer, and Kyle's hand slowly progressed over the many nights to wrap around Stan, moving himself closer. They weren't quite sure how this happened, it just kind of gradually did; but they started having these sleepovers together so often that Kyle's mom had to have a talk with him about sleeping in his own house for once because the Marshes weren't looking into adoption any time soon.
Since that summer, the daily sleepovers switched to weekly, thanks to Shelia Broflovski. Now, every Friday, the two would stay at Stan's house. Everything would seem like a normal weekend night at first. They'd go out with friends, or go play basketball, or just sit in and play video games, but they had a silent agreement with each other that they'd both be sleeping in Stan's bed that night when all was said and done. It wasn't just Kyle's head falling asleep on his shoulder or vice versa anymore. It turned into full on spooning throughout the entire night. The two didn't let go of each other until morning. That flip in Stan's stomach that only Kyle created was addicting. The closer he was to his super best friend, the more he felt it. He was beginning to think he had an addiction almost as bad as Kenny did.
So now, Stan was stuck in this totally weird situation with Kyle. It was just some kind of unspoken agreement they had. They never talked about what they were doing—not once. They just did it. Stan had a feeling that they were both too afraid to acknowledge their actions out loud, out of fear of what they could, and probably did, mean—hence his seemingly random topic with Kenny.
Kenny mulled the question over in his head for so long that Stan almost forgot he asked it. "Gay? …Are you coming out to me, dude?"
Stan laughed at this. He knew he wouldn't have brought up this topic if he wasn't high because if he and Kyle couldn't even talk about it, then he and Kenny definitely shouldn't be talking about it…but he just felt so comfortable. All was right with the world. It felt like a good time to get things off his chest. Kenny was one of his best friends, so maybe he could lend some advice. "No. I don't really know if I am…I'm just asking hypothetically."
Kenny tilted his head and it landed in the crevice of his folded elbow. "You don't know if you are? Holy fuck, dude. You're totally coming out to me, aren't you?"
Stan knew that all the signs were there. It took forever for him to stop puking on Wendy, he'd been checking out his best friend since third grade, he was closer to Kyle than anyone else, and he was just blatantly attracted to him in some fucked up sort of way.
Stan frowned, "I don't know. Just listen, Kenny."
"I'm listening."
Stan furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn't sure how to explain himself. He had all the thoughts in his head but he couldn't word them correctly.
"Well…?" Kenny urged. Stan couldn't just bring up something that important and then not elaborate. Come on now.
"Me and Kyle…I don't know…we're in a weird situation."
"Like…?"
"Well…we fall asleep with each other every Friday night."
Kenny arched an eyebrow. "What the fuck does that even mean?"
Stan ran his hand over his hair again, a habit he had when his hat was off. This was harder to explain than he initially thought. "Like…every Friday, we hang out, watch TV, and then just sleep together."
"You're fucking Kyle?"
"What?"
"That's cool if you're fucking Kyle, whatever. I don't care about that shit. Don't mention it to Cartman though. He'll tear you guys new assholes."
"I'm not fucking Kyle! Jesus Christ, Kenny."
"What the hell are you talking about, then?"
Stan shrugged. He knew the situation was weird, but saying it out loud was even weirder. "We just…I don't know, what is there to get? We fall asleep together. We don't do anything, we just…sleep really close."
Kenny leaned up to support his weight on his elbow. "That's weird, dude."
"I know it is."
"No wonder you're thinking you're gay! That one step away from a pride parade."
Stan laughed, feeling outside himself. There was a corner in his brain telling him to just shut the hell up, but he wasn't listening. "I know…and lately, I keep getting this urge to kiss him."
Kenny scrunched up his face in disgust. The thought of his two friends making out was kind of gross, but he immediately changed his facial reaction because he didn't want to give Stan the wrong impression. It didn't have anything to do with homophobia; Kenny had just known them for so long that it was weird to think about. He felt Stan and Kyle were like his brothers (Cartman was more like some asshole cousin) and the thought of his brothers kissing was weird as balls.
Kenny knew this was a serious situation though, because Stan had only come to him with personal troubles a few times. For everything else, he had Kyle. He felt kind of bad that Stan had to be high to tell him this though. He didn't want his friends to think they couldn't come to him about things, even shit as out there as this.
He sat up, and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "Then just do it. Who cares?"
"You can't just kiss your best friend, dude."
"Why not?" Kenny smirked, "We just kissed."
"Shut up, we did not."
"Your lips are real soft, Stan. Kyle might like them." Kenny's smirk went to full on laughing.
"Knock it off. This is serious."
Kenny composed himself. He did want to help. It was just kind of funny, too. "I don't get why this shit makes you so nervous, dude. Okay, you may not be into girls, but puking on Wendy every time she came near you is a little dramatic, don't ya think? You can stand up to the entire town for the stupid shit we do, but you can't kiss your best friend?"
Stan ignored his point because he knew he was right. He didn't know why, but the boy-girl, or in his case boy-boy, situations made him really nervous. "There are consequences if it's not received well. Kyle is my best friend. I can't fuck that up. I don't know what I'd do without him."
"Oh, come on, you two are sleeping together every week and you think some kiss won't be 'received well'?"
"Well…" Stan looked away from Kenny and began picking at his fingernails.
Kenny rolled his eyes and punched Stan in kind of a playful yet don't-be-such-a-dumbass kind of way. "Quit over-thinking things and just do it. If Kyle reacts badly to a kiss while you two are cuddling—which he won't—you two will get over it. You guys have been in fights before and you always get over it."
"Aw, dude. Don't say that. We don't cuddle."
"Then what do you think you're doing?"
"Okay, fine, maybe we do…but don't call it that. That sounds really gay."
"Last time I checked, cuddling with a dude is pretty gay."
"If I'm gay, I'm gay, but that just sounds gay."
"Well, you were real into that metro-sexual craze…"
"Dude! So were you! You bought a furry blue parka, for chrissakes."
"One, I stole it. I can't afford lunch let alone a fucking fuzzy parka. Two, I could walk around with a lisp and a limp wrist and no one would question my sexuality."
"Just…I dunno, dude. What if I freak him out and he doesn't want to talk to me again?"
Kenny just shook his head. Stan was worrying about this way too much. "Don't be. That definitely won't happen."
"You can't be sure of that."
"Yeah I can. I get real insightful and think I'm a genius when I'm high. Let's just stick with that. Now come on, I'll pack my bong again."
X X X