AN: Ok, so I posted this story a while ago without really reading through the chapters because it had been sitting on my desktop for ages. Thing was, it was absolute rubbish. I've gone through and tried to fix up the chapters I posted, deleted a few and hopefully just cleaned it up a bit. Please review for mee. =)

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Stan threw his hat against his wall as hard as he could, furious, confused and frightened.

A kiss. A kiss?! Where the fuck had that come from?! And why had it taken it six seconds before he'd shoved Kyle away angrily and stalked off? Six seconds! That was practically hard-core mouth sex. He'd had mouth sex with his best friend. With his red-headed, freckled, Jewish, oh-so-suddenly appealing best friend.

He groaned, and collapsed onto his bed in the most melodramatic fashion he could manage. Things had been going as usual, hanging out at Stark's Pond, mucking around in the snow. And then what? Stan wracked his brains, trying to remember the fateful events that had lead up to this earth-shattering, world-ending mouth sex. They had thrown snowballs, yes, and then... and then Kyle had been laughing because his green trapper hat had been knocked off his head, so that little droplets of melted snow were clinging to the fiery curls that surrounded his face, and dripping off the end of his nose, and then he'd started squirming because he'd had cold water running down his back. What next?

Stan closed his eyes, his brain addled and confused. He couldn't remember what had happened next, and anyway it wasn't really important. The only important bit was the part where Stan had scooped up a fistful of loose snow, leaned in real close so that he could dump it straight on top Kyle's head, and been completely distracted from his genius, evil plan when Kyle had pressed their lips together. It had been a cold kiss at first, cold and numb because of the weather, but then... then it had warmed up because they were both suddenly moving with frantic haste and there was friction and there were tongues and Stan had fallen backwards and Kyle had fallen with him (Stan refused to even acknowledge the possibility that he had pulled Kyle on top of himself) and then, and then... Ugh! He had woken up from the stupid, idiotic daze that the kiss had captured him in, pushed the red head off him as hard as he could, and walked as fast as he could until even the memory of what had happened was out of sight. Once he rounded the corner and was out of Kyle's view, he'd began to run. Straight home. He'd passed Kenny on the street without as much as a smile. At the front door, he hadn't even bothered to remove his snow-drenched coat and shoes, leaving soggy wet footprints behind him as he sprinted up the stairs and into his room, the door of which he'd slammed behind him with enough force to satisfy a tiny bit of the fury that had him filled to the brim.

Fury, because best friends didn't kiss, and they didn't think things about each other, not the sort of things that even now were flying around Stan's head, bursting with the prospect of a whole new way of feeling and all new things that best friends did not do. The truly infuriating thing was that now that they had shared a kiss, Stan was desperate for more, for anything more that might help to fill the gaping void that he could now feel burning beneath his heart in his chest, the one that had appeared as soon as he had broken contact with Kyle, as soon as he had seen the fearful, stricken expression on the boy's face as he was sent sprawling away and onto the cold ground. Now that Stan was alone, all he could see were those big green eyes, hurting. And he wanted to make them stop hurting. And start smiling.

He had a girlfriend, of course, and she could never find out, because she would lose control. Not just at Stan, but at Kyle too, and then all of South park would find out, would find out that they had kissed, and were feeling things, and were... Oh God. No. Wendy could definitely not find out.

And how could he go to school tomorrow? How could he meet Kyle at the bus stop, walk to school with him, sit in class next to him, eat lunch next to him? How could he do that without attacking him, because now that he was alone with his thoughts all Stan wanted to do was attack Kyle, and punch him, and pin him down, and bite his neck, and pull his hair, and, God, he had such soft hair...

He crammed his pillow on top of his face in despair, groaning loudly. This was a mess. He had kissed Kyle, and now he wanted Kyle, and couldn't face Kyle, and couldn't face Wendy, and he was going insane. Best course of action? He was seriously considering just jumping into the pond and letting himself freeze to death, but then he would have died without ever, you know, experiencing life properly, and really, that couldn't be done. So what else could he do? Play sick, skip school for a few days while he gathered his bearings? Sure, but then Kyle might think he was afraid, too afraid to face him, and then their friendship and whatever else they had right now would crumble away because Kyle would realise what a wimpy, stupid loser Stan was, and would find somebody better, like... like Kenny, or Clyde, and then they'd be happy, and Stan would grow up with Wendy and they'd have Christian babies with black hair and his life would be empty, and, and, and - at this point he took a gasping breath, because for that entire stream of thought he had forgotten to inhale - and then he would die never knowing what it felt like to wake up beside Kyle in the morning. Which he suddenly wanted more than anything.

This was so not normal. And it was All. Kyle's. Fault.

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AN: Review!