Welcome to my first South Park Fanfic. I just recently fell in love with this StanXKyle pairing, and thought I'd give it a shot. I plan on turning this into a full story later, so keep posted.

*Also: If any of you are wondering why I haven't published the next installment of "Desire" it's because I have been both lazy and busy with homework and THREE softball games pretty much each week. So…patience, please.*

Stan

God dammit.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes tightly closed, like maybe I'd be able to make myself invisible from him. Mr. – um, Ms. Garrison walked back over to her desk and sat down, writing some really pissed-off letter to God-knows-who. I still could not fucking believe she had actually gotten promoted to be my tenth grade science teacher. It was ridiculous. First off, the psychopath didn't know half the shit she was talking about. Second, his/her classroom was right by my locker, which meant I was always near him/her. Like the lonely old He-Woman just couldn't stay away from us.

Speaking of 'us'…

Kenny sat down in the seat next to me, watching me out of the corner of his eye; he had taken down his hood and let the messy, golden hair grown to just below his ear, where he would sometimes put in a barrette or hair ribbon that the girls would give him. Those chicks practically drooled over every word he said; he'd casually, even automatically say "Hey," and it's like he just asked them for their hands in marriage.

Cartman sat down across from Kenny; at 6 foot 4 inches and well over 200 pounds, Cartman wasn't so much fat anymore as just ridiculously huge. Everything about him was thick, from his neck to his ankles. He had mellowed out a bit, and not surprisingly he didn't go out for any sports, being the lazy shit he was. But he was still a jackass of epic proportions.

Kenny ran his fingers over today's blue ribbon that matched his eyes. "What's with that shit-faced expression, Stan? Aren't you happy to see us?" He winked at some girls across the room that broke out in giggles and blushes.

"No. Go away."

I kept my eyes on those red curls near the window. Even though Ms. Garrison had just announced Kyle and me as partners, the red-head showed no sign of moving towards me. I knew why. Kyle knew why. And, unfortunately, Cartman knew why.

I controlled the urge to scream out in frustration and instead buried my head in my arms, trying to hide my black eye from fat-ass Cartman's stupid smirk.

It happened a week ago, during spring break. Cartman's mom and her current boyfriend took him to Disneyland for the entire week, along with Kenny. Pip and Tweek (the nicknames still stuck even today) went on a road trip to California with Craig, who brought like five girls with him.

My schedule consisted of lots of sleeping and Call of Duty on Xbox 360. Mine and Kyle's parents had won a week's stay at the new hotel in Las Vegas, meals and rooms paid for. Kyle's mom won't let her 16-year-old son stay home alone, no matter how much he begged.

"Remember," Mom told me as she was packing her bags, "get to bed at a decent hour, eat three full meals a day, no parties, and I swear if Wendy or that Bebe come over –"

"Mom, chill." I rolled my eyes. "Me and Wendy broke up like a year ago. And Bebe can't stand me."

"Still," she said, walking over to me and giving me a kiss on my forehead, "I want you and Kyle to be careful. Always have your phones on you. Don't answer the door for anyone suspicious. And remember that if you have sex –"

"Mom!" I yelled, covering my ears and running down the hall to my room. Midway there I heard the doorbell ring and felt my heart actually skip a beat as I saw the green silhouette of Kyle's ushanka.

I forced myself to calm down. Come on now, he's my best friend. My male best friend. But when he stepped in through the door, I couldn't help but just look at him for a moment.

He was as lanky as Cartman was tall, and he was skinny, but not in a grotesque way like supermodels are. He was shorter and skinnier than any of our group, and this Cartman ragged on pretty much every day. His eyes were bright green jades, his hair still a fiery red, but much less afro-like and curlier, hanging down past his ears.

I shook off the unwanted dirty thoughts that flashed through my brain and forced myself to slow down to a walk down the stairs.

"Hey dude," I greeted him casually.

The jades looked up at me and smiled. "Hey man. Thanks for letting me stay over."

"No big deal." I shrugged as his mom came in. "My mom wants you here anyway; she says you're a 'good influence' on me."

"Really?" Kyle asked, setting down his bag, "because my mom swears you're a 'bad influence' on me."

It was kind of true. I never did homework unless Kyle nagged me to, and I was always tempting him away from projects wit promises of arcades and giant pretzels at the mall.

We grinned at each other as out moms stared talking. Eventually Dad walked into the room wearing his Speedo, modeling it for us from every angle. Every angle. When I saw how freaked out Kyle looked, (who WOULDN'T be freaked out?)I decided it was time for them to go.

Casually I checked the clock. "Hey, doesn't your flight leave in, like, an hour?" Actually our clock had always been two hours fast, but in all their excitement my parents totally forgot and almost screamed.

"God-dammit Sharon! We're going to be late! Where are my pants?"

"Sheila, get the car! Okay boys, have fun!"

"But not TOO much fun, got it?" Kyle's mother said in that God-awful voice of hers. The door slammed, yelling from outside was heard, and then we were alone in a quiet house with no parents.

Awkward pause.

"You…hungry?" I asked in what I hoped was a smooth line.

"Starving, dude."

"Hold on. Let's see what my Mom stashed away for us."

I walked into the kitchen as Kyle called out, "Where do I put my stuff?"

"You can put it in my room. We'll work on your sleeping arrangement later."

"Cool. Be back down in a sec."

Sleeping arrangements…where was Kyle going to sleep? On the couch? No, he was too tall for it. Floor? Maybe, if he brought a sleeping bag. I wasn't really paying attention to his luggage at the time.

What if he slept in my bed? With me? Suddenly I was pulling my blue tee down lower to hide the tent in my pants. I heard Kyle's footsteps coming down the stairs and opened the fridge quickly, scanning over the food.

"Um, okay, we have some leftover lasagna, stuff for sandwiches, cereal…" I opened the freezer and my mouth dropped open. "Holy crap dude! She bought us like ten bags of pizza rolls!"

"Sweet. I love pizza rolls."

"Okay," I said, going through the bags. "Do you want cheese, pepperoni, or combination?" I picked out three of the packets and turned to him, reading the labels. "Personally, my favorite is just good old cheese, but if you…"

It was kind of stupid for me to look up. I mean, if imagining Kyle fully clothed on my bed gave me a boner, the image in front of me might have put me in a coma. I cannot express in words how fucking sexy he looked, but I'll give it my best shot.

First off, he had his hat off, which left wavy curls of red hair flowing around his face. Second, he was wearing a green sweater I had never seen before that stuck to his body like a second skin, showing off his lean torso and really–God this sounds SO gay—bringing out those incredible eyes. His worn jeans were hugging his waist and thighs, and his socks mismatched in the cutest way possible.

I almost threw down the stupid pizza rolls and lunged at him.

A moment passed by, and suddenly Kyle was right in front of me, a pissed off look on his face. "Stan, are you listening? I said cheese is fine—I can't eat pork anyway."

It took me a moment to translate the words from that sexy mouth. "Right…cheese it is." Kyle gave me a look like, Were you dropped on your head as a baby? and walked into the living room.

"Hey, by the way, where's Shelley?"

I turned on the oven and tried to will my, ah, manhood to calm down. "My sister ran off with her new boyfriend like three weeks ago. Mom wasn't too happy about it."

"Does that mean we can trash her room?"

I laughed and slid the tray of pizza rolls in the oven. "Yeah, right, if you want her to castrate you."

I set the timer and walked into the living room with him. Outside it was grey and the air was heavy, all signs that there'd be a storm later.

"I was going to suggest riding your four-wheelers, but I'm pretty sure it'll start raining soon," Kyle said, slumping onto the couch with his legs and arms spread out comfortably.

I can think of another thing you could ride, I thought, feeling my cheeks blush. Kyle looked up and noticed.

"Dude, are you okay? You look like you have a fever…" Kyle stood up and felt my forehead. The moment I felt his cool fingers brush my skin I flinched and held myself back from pinning him down on the floor.

"I-I'm fine, really. C'mon, let's play some Mortal Combat."

Kyle raised an eyebrow but sat down in front of the screen anyway and did some exaggerated stretches. "Fine. But your ass is mine, Marsh." He said with a cocky grin.

Uh-uh baby. It's your ass that's gonna be MINE.

Kyle

For three days all Stan and I did was eat pizza rolls for every meal except breakfast, play video games, go skateboarding once, hung out at the mall and watched tv. And it sounds boring, but it was with Stan. So it was pretty much kick-ass.

On Wednesday we woke up at about two p.m. (after going to bed at three in the morning) and just lounged around in our pj's since it was another rainy day. Stan stood by the window, watching the rain pour down as he sipped a Coke. He was in some sweats and an old Colorado State tee-shirt. I just wore my basketball shorts and a white muscle shirt because everything else was in the washer.

I lifted up my arms to stretch and cringed at the smell wafting from my underarms.

"Ugh. Dude, I need to shower. Can I borrow some clothes?"

Stan turned and looked at me with sea-blue eyes. "Sure, but I can't promise they'll fit…on account of my huge, manly muscles." He struck a few poses. I rolled my eyes and laughed. It was relaxing to have him acting like himself again. Lately he'd been kind of zoned out and acting nervous and he'd make up some bull-shit excuse for it. I think it started around the time he and Wendy had broken up for, like, the twentieth time a few months ago.

"You saying I'm not manly?" I asked in mock anger. I picked up a pillow and threw it at him; direct hit in the face. Stan had always had slow reflexes. I tackled him, the way we used to wrestle, and started to force him on the floor.

"Now who's got huge muscles, Stan?" I laughed as he grunted in surprise. Then he got over the sneak attack and easily pushed me off.

"I kicked your ass in Mortal Combat, I'll do it in real life, Kyle," he grinned evilly. "I am the king."

With a laugh I pivoted away from him and ran up the stairs, hearing his breath behind me the entire time. "You'll have to catch me first, video game nerd," I shouted as I turned the hallway and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door close.

He knocked to get in, but I locked the door. "Leave some clothes for me outside, will ya?" I called in a victorious voice.

I heard him kick the door, then mutter on his way to his room. I smiled as I undressed, turning on the hot water and finding the shampoo. My knee accidentally knocked over a red bottle of Swiss Army body wash that was half-full. As I picked it up I caught a smell of the woodsy fragrance coming from it, and thought it smelled familiar. I realized this must be Stan's shower and blushed, quickly putting it back.

After drying off I gripped the handle; it was unlocked. Had Stan gotten it unlocked from the outside? With a jolt I realized the clothes I had been wearing were gone. He had snuck in while I was showering! Rolling my eyes I opened the door and felt for the clothes Stan got for me. I felt the fabric under my fingers and grabbed them, quickly shutting the door. I didn't want anyone to see me naked.

I looked down and almost screamed.

It was a pink nightgown. A lacey pink nightgown. And I didn't see any boxers or anything.

I was going to fucking kill him. The bastard had thought it through; take my old clothes and leave nothing else for me to put on. Too damn bad, I wasn't wearing it. I tied the towel around my waist and stomped down to his room, pissed. I'd just get some of his clothes myself. I turned the knob.

It was locked.

Now I was going to kill him twice.

What little patience I had was used up and I ran down the stairs, gripping the nightgown in my hand. I burst into the living room where Stan was trying way too hard to not notice me.

"STAN!"

He turned and looked at me.

During this point, I would have expected him to laugh his fucking head off and fall on the flooring laughing so hard he pissed himself. There I was, standing pretty much naked with just a rather small towel around my private regions, holding a frilly pink nightgown in the cool air, with water dripping off my stupid hair and on my arms and chest. Damn, it was cold. In retrospect, it was amazing my nipples didn't pierce through the doors.

But what actually happened threw me completely off guard. Stan was absolutely motionless—I don't even think he was breathing—and I was worried he'd gone into a coma or something. Then all at once his entire face turned holy hell-red and he jumped up and ran into the downstairs toilet.

As you can imagine, I wasn't really sure of what I was supposed to be doing. I walked cautiously over to the door, throwing the freakin' nightgown on the couch. I listened to the door and heard muffled sounds coming through.

"Stan?" I asked quietly. I heard something like a whimper. I swear to you, it was a whimper or some shit like that.

"Are you…crying?" No reply, but more sounds came from behind the door.

"Kyle," I heard him say all breathy, "I-I'm not f…feeling good. Dammit…" I heard another moan. "Just…go away…ungh…for a while."

For some reason my heart was speeding and my face heated up bright red. My palms felt sweaty, and the rest of my skin was clammy. But worry for my friend overcame any kind of stupid thing I thought might be happening.

"No way," I said loudly, grabbing the handle. "You sound like you…

I turned the knob.

"…need some…"

I opened the door.

"…help. What's—"

HOLY. FUCKING. CHRIST.

Stan was standing against the opposite wall, facing the door and giving me a good look at him with his hand down his pants. His eyes were squeezed closed, his mouth partially opened and making small noises, his face red.

His eyes opened and he saw me. We stared into each other's gazes.

And then he shook all over and his cum dripped on the floor.

What the hell—what was he—why was he—

I just stood there. Uncertainty froze me in place. What was I going to do? Did Stan just masturbate to me?

Stan's eyes opened again and he looked at me.

"It…it was suppose to be a funny joke…but I—I didn't think you'd be all…wet…I'm sorry. I wish things would be…normal, again." Another shudder ran up his body. And, unfortunately, one ran up mine too. I couldn't help it. His voice was husky, and the entire bathroom smelled of lust, and, well…it wasn't like seeing Stan jerking himself off to me wasn't erotic. I suddenly found myself with a very obvious erection poking at my towel.

Stan noticed.

"W—wait!"

I held out my arms to stop him, but he grabbed my wrists and pulled me into him, and his hungry mouth met mine.

Stan moaned into the kiss as his tongue delved deep into my mouth, swirling it around and running it along my tongue. My head spun and I pulled away, gasping for air. Stan took it as an opportunity to push me over to the couch and shove me onto the cushions.

"Stan, wait! Cut it out, you bas—mmph!"

His lips were on mine again, twisting his head and angling his mouth to deepen the kiss. His hands were on my biceps, and I felt his right one slide down my chest over a nipple. It was like a jolt ran through my body and I threw back my head, disconnecting the second kiss.

"A-ah!" I cried like a fucking girl as he sucked my neck hard, than licked at the mark he'd made. He kept kissing my neck and rubbing his palm on my nipple, making me writher. All rational thought had been pushed out of my mind. It's like nothing mattered except for his mouth on my throat, his hands on my—?

"What are you doing?" I squeaked out as he placed his hands at the top of the towel. He raised his head to look at me and I saw his pupils were huge, his mouth parted and letting out pants.

Stan leaned forward and brushed his lips against my ear.

"Nothing you won't like."

He bit down on the shell of my ear and a moan flew from my mouth as he pulled off my towel at the exact same instant.

"Ooh…oh, fuck…"

I felt him grip my dick with a steady hand and start moving up and down, ever so slightly twisting his fingers at the end. My entire body felt on fire, every skin cell he licked and touched exploding. He gave me one long stroke that curled my toes and made me arch my back off the couch for a moment.

"Oh, GOD YES!"

Stan started stroking faster and harder, his breathing growing more erratic in my ear. I realized he must have been enjoying this even more than I was.

"Fuck, Kyle." He rasped into my ear, "Your voice…and you're…just so…" He grunted as he squeezed my length and bit down on my shoulder.

My body felt air-light and my stomach muscles clenched. I started shouting things I can't even remember as the moment came and I screamed Stan's name as he kept pumping, only aware of the brilliant feeling that sent my brain into white light and my entire body zinging with pleasure.

We laid there until our breathing slowed and I was able to think again. First embarrassment, then anger, then confusion hit me one by one like a brick wall. Almost blind with rage, I stood up and yelled, "You MOTHER-FUCKING PERVERT!" And slammed him hard in the eye with my fist.

He cried out and recoiled as I stomped away, picking up the towel and covering myself with it until I reached the drier; my stuff was only half-dried, but I didn't care. I got dressed and found my sneakers at the front door.

"Kyle! Hold on!"

Stan ran over to the hallway, his eye already swelling.

We stared at each other.

"What!"

He scratched his neck. "I…I'm s—"

"You're 'sorry'? You're 'sorry' about molesting your best friend? You asshole, don't tell me you're fucking sorry. I'll get my stuff later," I walked out and slammed the door behind me, running home in the rain.

Stan

On Monday, I went straight to his locker and found him putting his books in his bag half-heartedly. He looked up and when he saw me, glared and full-out ignored me.

My eye had stopped swelling, but it was still purplish-black, and I noticed that Kyle wore a turtleneck today. With pride I remembered my hickey I'd given him, and then felt extremely guilty.

"…Hey Kyle."

No response.

"I want to talk about—"

He slammed his locker close and glared at me. Even pissed off, he was so sexy and—focus, brain!

"We are never talking about that again. Ever. You molested me, there, it was said, and you're a bastard. Now fuck off, Stan. I've got to get to class."

I felt my heart sink as he stalked off, pushing past a gang of giggling girls. I couldn't remember a time I had felt more rejected in my entire life; I suppose I should have counted myself lucky that he even spoke to me still and didn't just punch me again.

I heard a familiar chuckle from behind the corner and Cartman came waltzing out, a half-eaten Pop-Tart in his hand.

"Well, well, what have you done to poor Kahl?"

I felt a moment of fear. "Nothing. We just…had a fight." A fight that gave me more wet dreams in a few days then I'd had for weeks.

He took a bite, crumbs falling on his jacket in a not-so graceful manner. "I heard quite a different story from Jewboy…Fagboy," he directed at me, smiling like a fucking demon. I turned away and went to class, dreading third period when I'd have chemistry with Kyle.

Um…I was kind of blanking on what Cartman should say, so…yeah. Review please! (oh, and watch out for that nightgown—it WILL make another appearance :3) ((Unfortunately, it won't be anytime soon))