Craig hated parties. Parties meant bad food, bad music, and worst of all bad guests. Meaning people in general, and a lot of them. Especially the uninvited ones.
Like Kyle, currently standing around in the corner, drink in hand, looking bored and cunty as usual.
"You're not supposed to be here Broflovski," Craig says, walking over. "It's invitation only and I didn't invite you."
"You invited Kenny, Kenny invited Christophe, and Christophe invited me because the only thing he's worse at than being a boyfriend is picking out dates." Kyle sneers and takes a long draft of whatever's in the solo cup. Alcohol probably.
"He doesn't want to be your boyfriend, he wants to hump your mouth. Marsh wants to be your boyfriend," Craig says, immediately regretting it. Kyle never needed an excuse to start wailing about his unresolved sexual tension problems, but always jumped at the opportunity regardless.
Instead of launching into the usual melodramatic monologue Craig had come to expect, Kyle rolls his eyes and mumbles something that sounds like a mixture of whatever and fuck you. They stare at each other for a few seconds, and Craig's about to move on when Kyle starts talking again.
"So. So how are things with you now? The big eighteen. You're an adult now, can buy your own smokes and everything," he slurs out a bit, giggling. Definitely tipsy at least, which is good because the only time Craig finds Kyle even remotely tolerable is after he's had a few.
"I buy my own smokes anyway, dipshit. I haven't been carded since the eighth grade."
"Right, I forgot. You're all mature for your age and whatnot. Fine, no need to be an ass about it. And what about presents, get anything good?"
Craig glances at the table stacked with unopened gifts, and almost cracks a smile at how dense Kyle gets like this.
"I dunno. Probably not. You didn't get me a gift though."
"How can you tell?"
"Every box is wrapped like shit or covered in newspaper. When you do it, they look like something from a Macy's display."
Kyle preens at the non-compliment, and steps closer to Craig.
"Well what do you want then, birthday boy?" he says, voice lowered and eyeing Craig steadily.
"My dick sucked," Craig says. He's only half joking. At this point into the party, especially with Clyde attempting to get a game of charades going, oral sex is the only thing that could salvage the rest of the day.
Kyle looks him up and down, and takes another drink, still staring at Craig.
The linen closet is cramped and each thrust means bashing the back of his head into a shelf, but with the way Kyle works his mouth around Craig's cock, he really couldn't give a shit.
It doesn't take long for Craig to shove his way down Kyle's throat, gripping the back of his head and rutting harder when Kyle moans like the stupid little bitch that he is. His thoughts drift to Marsh, wondering what he'd do if he could see his precious little angel deep-throating dick like a porn star. He'd probably cry. While touching himself of course, because Marsh would be that kind of pussy.
Kyle starts sucking at the head, jerking him off and Craig pulls out his phone, snapping a picture the moment he unloads on Kyle's face.
He doesn't know Stan's number, so Craig mass texts his entire list of non-family contacts when he leaves Kyle in the closet. It'll get to him eventually, and give everybody something to do on the weekend.
The smile on Craig's face when he blows out the candles during cake is genuine.