A/N: Merry Christmas! This was written for Holly for South Park Secret Santa. Many thanks to Nhaingen for beta-ing it. I'm currently working on a prequel, so stay tuned.
"My dad's having Christmas Eve at his house," Stan says at breakfast on the first morning of winter break.
Kyle looks up from his grapefruit. "So what does that mean?"
"He wants me to meet that Puerto Rican girlfriend," Stan says, tenting his brow. "Ugh, God, and he was like, 'You got some nice girl at school, right, Stan? You should bring her!'"
"Well, what did you say?"
"I told him I was bringing someone, yeah," Stan says, looking at Kyle cautiously.
"Well, beautiful. Because Christmas is the perfect time to come out," Kyle says, stabbing at the grapefruit. "No, you're not setting us up for that. You need to tell him beforehand. Like, as soon as possible."
Stan pinches the bridge of his nose. Kyle is right. He's put this off for too long.
Doing it over the phone would be horrible, so he decides to send an email. Kyle hovers over him as he types, leaning on the back of the chair, which is sort of annoying.
Dad,
I'm bringing Kyle to dinner on Christmas Eve, as my boyfriend. I know I should have told you this sooner, since it's not a recent development – we've been together for a little over a year now. If you want some time to take this all in
"Ugh, don't say that," Kyle says. "It makes it seem like we're the bad guys here. Besides, we are going, right? Work under the pretense you're just giving him a heads up."
Stan holds the backspace button down. "What else should I say then?" he asks, hiding his exasperation.
"Ummm," Kyle wets his lips, his eyes fixed on the screen. "Ask him if he wants us to bring something."
Anyway, do you want us to bring something?
-Stan
"That's fine," Kyle says. Stan hits send, feeling sick to his stomach.
It isn't that Stan has been neglecting to come out to Randy. He just never sees him. Stan lives only a little under two hours away from South Park, but he generally only goes back during holiday breaks. He and Kyle are juniors at CSU, and over the summer, they stayed in Fort Collins to work and take summer classes – it would have been too much of a pain to sublet their apartment anyway. Having a place of their own makes Stan feel like an actual adult. When he goes back to South Park, he feels like a kid all over again, which is frustrating. He hasn't told Kyle this, but Stan actually did try to come out to Randy over spring break. Randy asked if he had a girlfriend, and Stan really was on the verge of saying, "Actually, I have a boyfriend," but some remnant of adolescent self-consciousness shot through him and he ended up saying, "Yeah. Like five."
So maybe he is avoiding telling Randy, but it's not like he hasn't been trying to. Stan knows his dad won't take it as well as Sharon did, and it makes him physically ill to think about Randy's reaction, which could range from complete denial to full-blown hysteria. Stan tries not to think about it, but he's nervous for the next two days, checking his email constantly on his phone.
On Monday morning, Stan wakes up around ten, and grabs his phone from his nightstand to see if Randy responded. His stomach does a flip when he sees a new message in his inbox, and he has to take a deep breath before reading it.
Stan:
This is hard for me to wrap my head around, but I'm glad you told me. I talked to your mom this weekend. I figured you'd already told her. I just kept thinking it was my fault or something. I realize now it's nobody's fault. Your mom said you guys are happy together. I remember when you were little and you'd get so pumped up when he came over. So if you're happy, then I'm happy. I do still want you to come to Christmas Eve at my place, and you should definitely bring him.
And we got all the food taken care of, so don't worry about bringing anything. But if you want, you could bring a dessert.
Love,
Dad
Stan rereads the email three times. Although it's sort of hurtful Randy would first think it was his fault, Stan can forgive him for this, because it's honest, and the rest of the email is genuinely touching. He's excited to go home for Christmas now, and as soon as he gets to his dad's, he's going to give him a hug and thank him, tell him that yes, he is happy.
"I'm in awe," Kyle says when they're in the car, driving to South Park. "Really, more impressed. I think I have a newfound respect for him."
"My mom had a lot do with it, so don't give him too much credit," Stan says. "Yeah, you're right though, it's still a huge fucking relief. I thought for sure he'd flip out."
"Wait – did she tell him you're not gay?"
"Oh. Uh. I have no idea what she told him. But probably, yeah," Stan replies. He imagines the phone call went something like this: Randy demanding "Did you know our son is gay?" Sharon saying, "I knew he was bi, if that's what you mean. Did he tell you?" cue Randy blubbering about the email, bitterly remarking they made a huge mistake letting them have sleepovers all through high school, at which point Sharon would cut him off and tell him how backwards his thinking was.
They're making good time until they hit traffic in South Park itself. They're only passing the mall now, still about ten minutes from Randy's townhouse, and they're already twenty minutes late. Kyle is fretting, saying they should have left earlier as he strums his fingers over the plastic covering of the chocolate cheesecake he's had secured in his lap the whole ride. Although Stan doesn't really care about being late, Kyle is kind of stressing him out, so he just focuses on driving. At least the streets have been freshly salted – South Park is notorious for not salting the roads after each snowfall.
"We are so late," Kyle says. "This is so embarrassing."
"He'll understand."
"I want to make a good impression!" Kyle snaps.
"I know," Stan says, reaching over to touch Kyle's shoulder. "I'm sorry." Even though they've known each other's parents their whole lives, Stan can relate to Kyle's anxiety – it's still a little weird for him to talk to Sheila and Gerald (especially Sheila), even months after Kyle told them he and Stan were together.
At five thirty, when they finally arrive, Kyle gets out of the car very carefully, cradling the cheesecake in his arms.
"It'll be fine," Stan reassures him before ringing the doorbell. A woman he's never seen before answers the door, and he's horrified for a moment, thinking they went to the wrong house.
"Oh! It's Stan!" she calls out behind her. She welcomes them inside, and Randy appears, tossing his arm over her shoulder.
"Hey! Glad you guys are here! This is Rita, by the way, mi novia," Randy says, and Rita laughs, obviously charmed by this.
"Oh, here, let me take your coats, and this cake! Look Randy, this beautiful cake! Did you make it?" Rita asks Kyle.
"Um, yeah," Kyle says, slowly handing it over.
"It looks delicious," Rita says, smiling brightly.
Kyle is more at ease then, clearly self-satisfied by Rita's flattery, and he seems to be enjoying himself, sipping eggnog and chatting amicably with Shelly. They became friends at some point, which is super weird, but Stan is glad for it. Shelly's boyfriend, this boring engineer named Paul, is unsuccessfully trying to wedge his way into Shelly and Kyle's conversation. Stan actually feels a little sorry for him, but not sorry enough to go talk to him.
So far, dinner is going pretty good. Normal good. Kyle was right, he had to come out to his dad beforehand, otherwise it could've been a disaster.
"I'm glad you decided to tell your father," Sharon says to Stan as she passes him the rolls.
"Well, I was always planning to. By the way, did you tell him – "
Randy dings his fork on his glass, interrupting everyone's conversations. Stan freezes, horrorstruck, certain he's about to say something stupid; he can always tell. "I'd like to propose a toast," Randy says, raising his glass. "A toast to my gay son."
"So you're full gay now, Stan?" Shelly asks dryly, but not scathingly.
"Shhh, Shelly," Randy says, shaking his head dramatically. He's extremely drunk. "This is an important moment." Kyle puts his face in his hands.
"Dad, wait – " Stan interjects, but Randy ignores him.
"You know, I never thought my son would be gay, but – "
"Dad!" Stan says, louder.
"Christ, Stan, what?" Randy says, irritated.
"I'm not gay!"
Dumbstruck, Randy gapes at him. "What?"
"I'm, uh. I'm bi." Stan's mouth has gone dry, and he's going to die inside this stupid sweater.
"Bi?" Randy repeats.
"Bisexual," Stan rasps. Only then does he realize how quiet the room is.
"Wait a second. You like girls?"
"Well, that's part of it, but – "
"Then why would you want to be gay?"
"Oh God," Kyle says under his breath.
"Randy," Sharon warns, much too late.
"What, Sharon? I'm just asking a question, God," Randy grumbles. Stan prays he'll shut up now, but no, Randy is way too smashed to let up. "Wouldn't it just be easier to date a girl?" he asks Stan. "You could get married, even."
Kyle pushes his chair out and gets up, saying, "I – I left something in the car," then rushes out the door.
"Thanks, Dad. Thanks," Stan says bitterly. He tosses his napkin down on the table and goes after Kyle.
It's pitch black out now, the snow coming down in brisk flurries. Kyle is at the edge of the driveway, kicking clumps of sludge into the street, growling "Fuck, fuck! Fucking – Randy!"
"Kyle," Stan says softly, clasping his shoulder.
"What the fuck is his problem?" His eyes are wet, but he's not crying.
"I don't know, dude. Let's just get out of here for a while."
"For a while? I'm not fucking coming back here. They can fucking keep my cake stand."
In the car, Kyle stares straight ahead, breathing loudly through his nostrils, still fuming. "That fucking marriage comment. How dare he."
"I know," Stan says. He's actually more disgusted than angry, revolted Randy had the nerve to go there. Stan can't believe he'd let himself think Randy could wrap his stupid head around this incredibly basic shit.
Stan pulls into the little parking lot at Stark's Pond. The pavement is completely covered with snow, its soft whiteness dimly illuminated by the glow of the streetlight.
"I hate him," Kyle says, the fury in his voice having mostly faded. "I'm sorry, but I do."
"It's okay. So do I." Touching Kyle's wrist, Stan says, "C'mon, let's get in the back."
Stan squeezes between the front seats and climbs into the back, guiding Kyle into his lap as he sluggishly follows.
"It's true though," Kyle murmurs against his chest.
"What is?" Stan asks.
"That you could marry a girl," Kyle says, his voice low, wretched.
"If I end up marrying anyone, you know it'll be you."
Kyle shakes himself from Stan's arms and moves to the other seat. "Not in Colorado, you won't."
"So? And you don't know that, by the time we're ready they may even have –"
"They won't! They don't even offer civil unions! Jesus, don't you know this?"
"I guess – no, I didn't. But what about California? Or um, Massachusetts?"
Kyle presses his face to the fogged-up window and lets out a long, sad breath. "It's never going to be easy for us. You know that, right?" He keeps his gazed fixed out the window. "You can't hold my hand in public without getting stared at. You can't have children with me. There is so little I can give you, being a man."
"Kyle, no – don't," Stan pleads, moving toward him. "You give me so much. I don't care if things are harder. I don't give a shit if people stare. And why are you saying I can't have kids with you? Fuck that. I'd totally adopt a kid with you, or find a surrogate, and you know those are real ways of having children."
"But you don't have to do it like that!" Kyle exclaims. His eyes are glassy again, and a tear breaks through, falling down his cheek. "You could do it all the easy way!" He stares at Stan for a moment like he's stunned by what he just said, then lowers his head, looking away.
This is breaking Stan; he's toppling down like a Jenga tower does when you remove that one crucial piece. "But I love you." He wipes Kyle's tears away. "I want to have a life with you. It's irrelevant at this point that I'm attracted to women, but does it – bother you?" he asks very carefully.
"No." It might be a white lie. But that's okay.
"I don't care about any girls – or any other guys, for that matter," Stan says. "Just you."
"I'm horrible though – horrible for bringing this shit up, horrible for being self-deprecating just so you'd console me," Kyle says, sobbing openly now.
Stan pulls him into his chest, cradling him in his arms. "You're not horrible. You're human."
Kyle cries for only a minute or two, and he seems composed, even refreshed when he raises his head and moves in close to Stan's face, waiting to be kissed. Stan kisses him deeply, deliberately, praying this physical language will complement his spoken words, make Kyle understand the degree to which he is loved.
"Stan," Kyle says softly. He throws his arms around Stan's neck, letting Stan pull him up as they fall back against the seats. They resume kissing, and Stan can feel how hard Kyle is, pressing into his groin, close but not quite touching his own erection. He moves his hips slightly to the right, connecting them through the fabric, and Kyle moans into his mouth, breaking the kiss to pant against the side of Stan's cheek. Stan slides the tips of his fingers just beneath the waistband of Kyle's corduroys, letting them rest there, at the small of his back.
"Ah, can you get – in the glove box," Kyle murmurs.
"Yeah," Stan breathes. He moves his index finger forward between Kyle's ass cheeks, desperate to feel him there before he has to untangle himself and get the lube from the glove compartment.
Stan retrieves the lube and crawls back to Kyle, who's flat on his back, his hand under his shirt, moving over his chest. The streetlamp's hazy orange glow is flickering gently, making his hair look vibrant even in the dim light. They shed their clothing, clutching each other the second they're both naked, drinking in the heat of each other's bodies. Stan thinks maybe this is what peace is: a quiet that's almost dreamlike, soft brushes of heat from the air vents whisking over his back, and Kyle beneath him, sighing with relief as Stan works him open.
The moment he's completely inside Kyle, Stan feels the floodgates break way, a fresh influx of desire and affection rushing through him, and he can't stop himself from blubbering, "I love you, I love you so much, more than anyone, anything."
"Stan – Stan, shhh, I know, I know you do," Kyle says consolingly, locking his legs around Stan's back. He raises his neck and presses his lips to Stan's collarbone.
Stan starts thrusting then, feeling more confident, calmer, the tides having slowed to the point where he can organize his love into something determinate, something he can give Kyle. For each time he pushes in, for each breathy moan Kyle makes, Stan senses a more intricate level of connectedness compiling between them – by shedding his final defense, Kyle bared the last loveless valve of his heart, giving Stan free reign to fill it with his every devotion.
They come almost simultaneously – Kyle spills himself over Stan's hand, and barely a second later, Stan sinks into Kyle's ass with one final thrust, stars in his eyes as he feels Kyle tightening around him, like he's saying, "I'm keeping you here, I'm so ready for everything you want to give me." Stan groans, his hips twitching in shallow bursts as he unloads. He collapses onto Kyle, their bodies calming together, and a greater, truer sense of peace washes over Stan: a wholeness born from cohesion, each of their loose threads having spun into tight knots.
"I love you, too," Kyle says, and Stan pushes himself up enough to look at him, to see his flushing cheeks, the earnest expression in his eyes. Stan cradles his face and kisses him, both astounded and eternally grateful he has been this blessed: to be so loved, and to have someone so perfect to love.
Sharon comes home shortly after they've both showered and are sitting on the couch eating cereal – they hadn't gotten the chance to eat much at dinner.
She sits down at the dining room table. "Your father," she says, shaking her head.
Stan stares at his cereal. "I should have told him in the email."
"He was still an idiot," Kyle is quick to say.
"What happened after we left?" Stan asks Sharon, sort of afraid to know.
"Oh, you know, he was saying he didn't know what the big deal was, why everyone was mad at him. It was Shelly, actually, that went on a tirade defending you, Stan. As soon as it clicked for him, he went running outside, yelling for you to come back, saying he was sorry. But of course you'd left by then. He did feel terrible though, so that's something."
"Well. That is something," Stan agrees. Although he knows Randy was just talking out of his ass, that his words weren't backed by any hate or malice, Stan is glad he feels bad; he should feel bad.
Kyle looks at Stan disbelievingly.
"I'm not saying I forgive him," Stan says.
Before Kyle can rebuke that, Sharon gets up and says she's going to bed. "Oh, and I brought your coats back – they're down in my car. So is your cake tray, Kyle. It was a real hit," she says, but it's sort of sad.
"I guess this was my first real Christmas," Kyle says once Sharon's gone upstairs.
Stan tosses his arm over his shoulder, pulling him into a half-hug. "Sorry it sucked."
"Ah, well. At least he knows now. I just wish I could have seen Shelly chew him out."
"I bet it was brutal."
"Oh, I can imagine."
Like always, Stan wakes up early on Christmas morning. He watches Kyle sleep for a while before getting out of bed around nine. Sharon is downstairs in the kitchen, sliding a tray of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls in the oven.
"Merry Christmas, Stan."
"Merry Christmas," he says, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table.
She sets the timer on the oven, then goes to the cupboard for a bag of coffee grounds. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yeah. You?"
"More or less," she says. She places a filter in the coffee machine and dumps the last of the grounds in. "I realized I should have told your father you're bi when he called last week. I don't know how it didn't come up, actually."
"Mom, no, don't worry about it."
She gives him a sympathetic look. "Is he okay?" she asks.
"He was mad. But yeah, he's okay. He'll probably hate him forever, though."
Sharon sighs. "I don't blame him."
Shelly comes over around eleven, they have lunch and exchange gifts, but it doesn't feel like Christmas at all to Stan. He and Kyle head home early in the afternoon, and Stan's grateful for the distraction that driving offers, because it's really eating at him, this bizarre anti-Christmas Christmas.
There's a voicemail from Randy on their tape when they come home. It's one of those long, blubbering apologies that are not so much Randy being sincere as trying to get Stan not to be mad at him anymore. Randy is certainly not addressing any of the problematic things he said, and Stan can sense Kyle boiling up next to him, so he deletes the message before Randy can even finish. It's not worth it; Stan knows Randy isn't going to apologize for the marriage comment. Even if he hadn't been so drunk, he's way too dense to realize how damaging it was.
Five years later, they're making the same trip back to South Park. It's Christmas morning, and they haven't passed a single other car on Rt. 285. Kyle's driving, thank God, and Stan has his seat reclined way back, drifting in and out of short naps that are only making him feel more tired. He ended up drinking too much last night.
"I hope Randy doesn't call me 'son' again," Kyle says.
Stan laughs dazedly.
"It's not funny!" Kyle retorts. "Ugh, he probably said it a dozen times at the wedding."
"He wants you to like him."
"I like him fine. I sent a very nice thank-you note for our refrigerator, didn't I?"
"Mmhmm," Stan murmurs. It was a long note. Kyle had put the refrigerator on the wedding registry on a whim, not expecting anyone to buy it.
Stan sits up, yawning, and pulls the seat back. He drinks the last of the lukewarm coffee in Kyle's thermos, thinking they should stop somewhere and get more, until he remembers it's Christmas and everything is closed. He tries to pep himself up a bit before they get to his mom's house. Ever since Randy married Rita, Shelly and Paul had twins, and Sharon started seeing this guy from the hospital about a year ago, Marsh family events have gotten hectic. Stan does enjoy seeing his niece and nephew, it's just that getting together with his whole family these days can be draining, and he's feeling pretty zonked right now. Hanukkah at the Broflovski's is a lot less frenzied, although Sheila does have a tendency to be overly inquisitive.
They get to South Park just before eleven, and Kyle drives slowly to their old neighborhood so they'll be "appropriately fashionably late."
Shelly lets them in with a mere "Hey guys," takes the container of lemon snowdrops from Kyle, and heads to the kitchen, nearly running into Paul, who's precariously transporting a deli tray to the dining room. Sharon is in the living room, near the tree with Vivien and John, and as soon as the twins see Stan and Kyle, their faces light up and they come rushing over.
"What did you get us?" Vivien asks, peeking into the bag of wrapped presents Stan has set down by the front door. Her brother is already trying to pull some out.
"Hey – hey, aren't you even going to say hi first?" Stan says, squatting down and dragging them away from the bag.
"He-lloooo," Vivien says with an overdramatic flair, doing a curtsy with her velvet Christmas dress. John laughs at this, then they both run away, giggling hysterically.
Sharon comes into the foyer, pulls Stan into a hug, and says, "Merry Christmas, boys. We're just waiting on Randy and Rita, then we can eat."
Stan gets some coffee and goes to sit on the couch with Kyle, where Vivien is explaining to him in great detail the kitchenette that Santa Claus brought her. She's calling it a "kitch," and Stan can tell it's taking a lot for Kyle not to correct her. The doorbell rings, and the twins scramble to the front door, shouting, "Grandpa's here!"
Stan is stunned to see how dark Randy is. He'd forgotten his mom had told him Randy and Rita spent a week in Puerto Rico last month visiting her parents. It is not a great look for him, and neither is the hibiscus print shirt he's wearing. Kyle has his lips pressed together, holding back a smirk. He keeps looking at Stan like, "Are you seeing this?" Stan nods, long and slow.
Everyone is eager to eat, so lunch is promptly served. Stan doesn't realize how hungry he is until he takes the first bite of his sandwich. He ends up eating two of them.
"So what's it like being a married man, Stan?" Randy asks. He laughs a little, probably because of the rhyme. Rita looks at Stan expectantly.
"It's great," he says sincerely, hoping this conversation is not going where he thinks it might be, considering how much Randy loves being a grandparent.
Inevitably, Randy asks, "You two thinking about kids yet?"
"Not yet," Kyle says, a bit too curtly. Randy looks disappointed. Rita pats him on the shoulder, laughingly telling him not to pressure them, which Stan appreciates. Stan appreciates, too, that Randy wants them to have kids, but it does make for bad conversation at Christmas lunch. Kyle's looking down the table at Shelly trying unsuccessfully to get Vivien to eat some sweet potato. He sighs and goes back to picking at his fruit with his fork. Stan puts his hand on his thigh under the table, half-expecting Kyle's reproachful "Don't get me hard right here" expression, but Kyle doesn't even look at him. Once again, Stan is wishing Randy had some tact. He and Kyle have only been married for a little over four months, after all.
Kyle seems a little off even after everyone raves over his lemon snowdrops. The twins are pleased with their gifts, and Stan is happy for that, but he's had enough family time, he wants to go home and spend the rest of his Christmas alone with Kyle. Sharon packs them up some leftovers, and they leave around three thirty.
"Hey, I'm supposed to drive home, remember?" Stan says when Kyle opens the car to the driver's seat.
"Oh. Right."
Kyle is quiet in the car, and though it may be partly because he seems tired, Stan figures it's mostly Randy's comment. Stan wonders if these family gatherings are even worth it. Sure, Randy doesn't say anything nearly as horrible as the shit he said at Christmas five years ago, but he still manages to say something that ends up rubbing Kyle the wrong way. This time, however, Stan isn't so sure what the underlying reason is for Kyle's listless mood. They've talked about having kids someday, in the general sense of what it'd be like to be a parent and what names they'd pick for a boy or for a girl.
"I wish you could just – I don't know. Impregnate me," Kyle says.
"Kyle – "
"It's not fair, that I can't – I can't have that." His voice has gotten very low, almost morose. "I don't get it sometimes," he says, laughing sadly. "Biologically-speaking, I do, obviously, but – ah. Never mind. I don't know what I'm saying."
"No, I know what you mean," Stan says. He rests his palm on Kyle's knee, unsure what else to say. Stan's thoughts about kids have been more along the lines of realizing the amount of work applying for an adoption or finding a surrogate would be – and how do you even do that, where do you find those people? It must cost a lot too, so it is almost confounding, how easily straight people can have children. Kyle is right, it doesn't seem fair.
It feels appropriate that their house is dark when they come home: both of them are still sort of sad, and drained from the two hour drive, from the whole day, really. Kyle grabs Stan's hand as they climb the steps from the garage to the kitchen, silently leading him through the house to their bedroom. Kyle drops to the bed and Stan sinks down around him, enclosing himself around Kyle's smaller frame, wanting to squeeze out his every pain and frustration, or at least warm him enough so that they don't feel as painful or as frustrating.
"I'm not mad at your dad," Kyle says. "What he said, it just – got me thinking again, is all." He rubs his head into Stan's chest, moaning.
"We can still have a baby, you and me. Do you want to?"
"Not like – right now, but. Within five years, yes."
They have slow, wordless sex, with all the lights still off. When Stan comes, spilling his seed into Kyle, his heart crumbles, wondering if Kyle is thinking what he said earlier in the car.
"Stay in me for a while," Kyle says, clenching around him.
Stan does so, too tired to get up anyway. The rest of the evening passes in a sort of foggy haze. They take a bath, make sandwiches again for dinner, watch some TV, and are in bed by eleven thirty.
"You'd be such a good dad," Kyle says once Stan has shut his bedside lamp off.
"So would you."
"I guess."
Stan falls asleep easily, and that night he dreams they have a kid, a miniature girl version of Kyle, who's just as smart, and just as loving, though more openly, in way that reminds Stan of himself. They're in the Broflovski's backyard, and she's running around, giggling, while Kyle, exasperated, struggles to catch up with her. Kyle is all huffed up, asking Stan, "Would you please help me catch her so I can pull her damn hair up?" Stan breaks into a dash, running after her, and easily scoops her up in his arms. She clutches his neck, still laughing, and as he carries her to over Kyle, Stan can't help but smile hugely – the world is so bright, so deeply alive: the warm breeze is humming with the sounds of summer, and the cicadas are singing in the same way as the love bursting through Stan's chest: constant, harmonized, and loud enough for the whole world to hear.