A/N: This is not a one shot story. In total, there will be about 7 chapters. Sorry for any confusion!
Role Models are Important
Stan's home was naturally a safer place for two underage, hungover boys. Stan's mom was so accustomed to Randy's drinking habits that dealing with other people's hangovers was just another part of life. Stan's dad himself, they knew, would just chuckle. The only potential problem was Shelley, who was liable to seize on this opportunity to torment her turd brother by being especially boisterous. But even she was hardly a match for the wrath of Sheila Broflovski, who could well go on a rampage to bring down alcohol in America – and might well succeed.
When the two finally dragged their corpse-like bodies through the door, they were greeted by Stan's underpants clad father. As expected, in response to seeing them both he merely raised an eyebrow and laughed.
"Looks like you two went a bit far last night!" said Randy, completely without irony. "Better get yourselves to bed."
"I can't sleep," mumbled Kyle. "If I'm gone too long, mom'll ring Cartman to find out where I am."
"No problem, I'll ring her for you. I'll tell her you've gone to play basketball with Stan."
"Really? You're the best, Mr Marsh."
"I know, I know. I was young too once and could have done with a dad as great as me. Now you two get some rest."
They didn't need much persuasion. Stan was soon collapsed in his bed. Kyle sunk down onto the floor. This was undoubtedly a dangerous move. There is no telling what is on the floors of teenage boys' bedrooms and Stan's floor was no exception. Through sheer luck, Kyle was sat on no worse than a sweaty football shirt, some pencils and a torch.
"Your floor's hard," he groaned. He pulled some of the collection of objects out from under him.
"Come in here then," said Stan, wriggling over to make room for Kyle. "I can't be bothered getting a sleeping bag."
"Okay." Kyle crawled into Stan's bed. They were quickly dozing. Their slumber lasted what felt like only a few seconds (in reality, they had lost the majority of the day) as they were awoken by knocking on Stan's door. Stan sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked around him, trying to regain his bearings. In bed, but light outside. Bed smaller than usual. He examined his bed. It was not smaller than usual. It merely had an extra occupant. Stan smiled down at the slowly stirring Kyle, but as Kyle's elbow collided with Stan's ribs he realised that this was not a dream. A real, live Kyle was in his bed, and continuing with the course of action that he had just been beginning to formulate was definitely a bad idea.
"Stan? It's dad," Randy called from the other side. Kyle quickly bolted upright and scrambled out of Stan's bed, his usual waking process compressed by fear. They might know that what had unfolded had been entirely innocent, but neither was foolish enough to assume that others would read their actions the same way.
"Come in, dad," called Stan. Randy entered, carrying bags of Kentucky Fried Chicken and a bottle of coke.
"I guessed you two would need this. I've got experience. And, you know, I'm kinda cool..."
"Sure, dad. Thanks. You're the best." Stan's voice was monotonous and frequently interrupted by yawns, but his dad evidently didn't care. He wandered off again, beaming at his new-found status as a cool dad. The boys ate, drank and gradually began to feel more human again.
"Dude, last night was crazy," said Kyle, once he could no longer eat for fear of bursting.
"Yeah, I know." There was a pause in which a thousand words were forced to remain unspoken. "What do you wanna do now?"
"Oh, boys!" There was another knock at the door. Stan rolled his eyes.
"Come in, dad." Randy entered, holding out a six-pack.
"Thought you two could do with a little hair of the dog," he said. He winked, but just gave the appearance of having failing eyesight rather than perpetuating his reputation as a cool, down-with-the-kids dad.
"I don't know if that's a good idea, dad."
"Come on! You guys chicken? You're never gonna stop being lightweights unless you man up!"
"But dad-" Stan's protest was cut short by Randy's chicken impersonations. "Dad, you're embarrassing me!"
"Stanley, unless you drink you will never stop being embarrassed by my ability to drink more than you!"
"That's not what I meant!" The chicken noises and actions continued.
"Dammit, dad, I'll drink!" Stan seized a can, opened it and downed the entirety of its contents.
"That's my boy, son. See you later." Randy went out, closing the door behind him.
"Are you sure that was a good idea?" Kyle asked him. "Remember how crap we were feeling earlier?"
"It got rid of him," Stan shrugged.
Now they were both capable of thinking coherently once more, the events of last night swam before them again. Both contemplated what they had done. Both considered how enjoyable the experience felt at the time. Both hesitantly reached for a can of beer. A can turned into two. The remaining can was shared between the two of them.
"Kyyyle."
"Whaaaat?"
"Take off your hat."
"What the hell, Stan?"
"Just do iiit."
"No!"
"Why not? I'm your best friend forever! An' that's enough to have you taken off life supports for life, so you can at the very least take off your hat!"
"You wanna PSP?"
"No, I just want your hat off!"
"Why?"
"Kyyyyle, it won't be funny if I tell you!"
"Fine!" Kyle pulled his hat off. The afro burst forth. Giggling, Stan reached for an empty can. He placed it delicately on top of Kyle's hair.
"It's staying there! It's staying there! Dude, you can use your hair as a shelf!"
"Very funny, Stan!" Kyle grabbed Stan's hat and tore it off his head. Stan's can rolled onto the floor, unnoticed, as Kyle took another can and placed it on Stan's head. "It's staying-" The can, however, did not share Kyle's plans on that day and topped off Stan's head. Kyle picked it up and put it back on again. "It's staying, see!"
"You're holding it on!" Stan waved Kyle's arm out of the way. The can fell down. Kyle reached for it but Stan grabbed hold of his arms and pushed him to the ground. "You're not doing that again!"
"Yes, I am!" Kyle rolled Stan over and pulled an arm free. Stan grabbed it again. Kyle changed tactics. He tickled Stan's stomach. Stan laughed, swore at Kyle, wriggled, but his grip on Kyle's arms did not break. In spite of the wriggling Stan below him, who was still restraining his arms, Kyle managed to continue his assault. Stan's hold on Kyle's arms finally broke. He grabbed Kyle's shoulders and threw him to the ground beside him. He was on top of Kyle before Kyle even realised what had happened.
"Behave," Stan growled. They were nose to nose, writhing together in an attempt to best one another. Neither knew when they started kissing. Their lips kept touching as they moved. Whether by accident or design, the touches became more frequent until the attention of both boys was entirely focused on the other's mouth.
Kyle's hand slipped up Stan's shirt. He tickled the exposed flesh. Stan squirmed against him. Following the successful expedition of the first, Kyle's other hand followed where no man had been before. His hands travelled upwards, tickling the sensitive flesh of Stan's underarms. From there, flicking Stan's shirt off completely was no challenge whatsoever.
"I'll get you for that, bastard!" Stan rolled off Kyle then seized his top. It slipped off Kyle's body easily. Kyle get up and pressed Stan against the wall.
"Then I'll get you back!"
"No way!" Stan pushed Kyle back onto his bed. Kyle threw the duvet over himself.
"Fine, I'm going to sleep."
"What? In my bed?"
"Yeah!"
"So am I!" Stan climbed into bed beside Kyle, who immediately seized him and began kissing him once again.
It was some time before either fell asleep.
