Chapter 7

Okay, so it's not exactly the crisis situation they think it is, but they're Jews—they have a tendency to overreact, all right? She's just a little more exhausted than normal when she comes to, and when they take her to the hospital they're reassured over and over again that she's just overexerted herself in the last few days, that it has nothing to do with the treatment, and that she'll be fine as long as she rests.

They're all relieved. Even if Kyle had to bail on Stan, if Gerald had to put off more work, if Ike had to remain sober for most of the day, each and every one of them is more than his fair share of thankful that they're all just overreacting nutjobs.

Stan calls the next morning to make sure everything's okay, and even though Kyle says that yes, it is, he still says he'll be over in fifteen minutes, like Kyle's just said that things couldn't be worse. Kyle crawls into bed, because after he's gone on his run and showered, all he really wants to do is be lazy for the rest of the day. He rolls over and looks at the ceiling, knowing that he should at least get his computer and answer emails or something, but he actually feels a little paralyzed. His mom is a month into radiation now, and she still has a few more weeks to go before anyone can say anything for sure, but yesterday… fuck, it just really scared him.

It's that same feeling of terror in his gut that he got when he woke up in a hospital close to the end of his first semester at MIT, hooked up to machines and being told that he'd basically gone into a diabetic coma, that he was lucky his roommates had found him when they had, and that he needed to start taking better care of himself before he actually dropped dead.

Kyle reaches into his nightstand and grabs his little glucose meter. He's not exactly fond of this process, even if he's used to it, but he's worked himself up into a neurotic frenzy and now he has to check. Stan comes in just as the little meter is done reading and reassures Kyle that he's not only fine, but about as normal as he could read.

"Hey," Stan says, crawling into bed beside him and kissing him on the cheek. "You okay?"

"Apparently," Kyle replies and puts the meter on the table. Then he wraps his arms around Stan's shoulders, pulls him close, and kisses him a little too hard. It's been so long since he's been in a relationship-type-thing that sometimes he forgets that he can actually kiss someone after an exhausting turn of events.

What's even more, it's pretty cool to kiss someone who wants to kiss you back. His last girlfriend, a socially inept civil engineering major, had needed just about as much maintenance and upkeep as Kyle usually does—good as far as stress levels went, since Kyle had to do half the work and got to reap about twice the amount of sex, but bad in terms of actual romance. Kyle's nowhere near considering himself a romantic, but it's taken being around Stan to remember that, yeah, just hanging out and kissing and shit is kind of awesome too.

"What's that for?" Stan asks when Kyle pulls away. Kyle shrugs and rests their foreheads together.

"'cause I wanted to," he says softly and pushes their lips together again. He hears Stan whimper against him and smiles. He likes the noises Stan makes for him.

"Yesterday was that bad?" Stan laughs when they pull apart again. Kyle sticks out his tongue and runs his fingers through Stan's surprisingly clean hair.

"What about you?" he asks. "You actually showered. Your day must've been awful."

"Ugh," Stan groans and pushes Kyle back against the bed, shifting them so he's laying half on top of him with their legs entwined and his head tucked under Kyle's chin. "Don't get me started on my day yesterday, dude."

"Are you all right?" Kyle asks, and Stan sighs.

"I'm fine," he says. "Just… fuck it. My dad's a fucking tool—"

"Which we already knew," Kyle points out.

"And he's just, like," Stan sighs, "so fucking overbearing with wanting to spend time with me. Like, that's literally the only thing he wants to do. Last night all he did was try to get me to fix my mom's dryer with him. Fuckin' shit, like I don't have better things to do with my life than sit there and wish I was dead."

"God, I'm glad my father-son bonding thing is watching Jeopardy," Kyle sighs a bit and kisses Stan's hairline. He doesn't know why he fights how good this boy makes him feel, even when he's all whiny and mopey and wishing he would die, because he knows people need every last bit of good feelings they can get in their lives.

The next few days go pretty much the same way—between Kyle taking care of his mom and helping Ike fix his computer, and Stan helping Shelly with wedding stuff, they spend their time making out and giving each other frenzied handjobs whenever they can find a few minutes alone. Kyle likes it—he's got this good feeling in his chest that he wants there always. Stan always gives him that, but now it's special, different…

Which is why Kyle finds himself perusing the internet for sex stuff again.

It's a subconscious thing he's always done whenever things start going well with someone. Sex should be done right, and a little information never hurt anyone. It's not just the porn he looks at, either. Kyle will spend hours reading through articles, browsing message boards… he's even camped out in novelty shops and read a variety of special books pertaining only to the subject of pleasure.

This is, of course, where Kenny McCormick would find him: hunched over in one of the more remote corners of South Park's very own Pleasure Trove, reading up on how to prepare someone for anal penetration.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Kyle jumps out of his skin when he feels a very distinctive prodding of his shoulder. Kenny's standing over him, arms folded and brows cocked as he looks at Kyle with that stupid smirk on his face. "What the fuck are you doing?" Kyle clutches at his chest and stands up.

"Stocking up," Kenny replies and holds up a discreet paper bag. "My man and I were out of lube this morning. Figured I'd stock up before he gets home."

"Ugh, 'your man'?" Kyle groans and puts the book back on the shelf where he found it. "You two are disgusting."

"You know, that's what Stan always says," Kenny folds his arms and cocks his head, like he's considering Kyle's words deeply. "Personally, I think he's compensating."

"Yeah, I've seen his dick," Kyle snorts, even if he knows it's not that kind of compensating Kenny's talking about. "I don't think so."

"Oh, really now?" Kenny laughs. "Finally ready to admit you want to join the rest of us in the war against heteronormativity?"

"Jesus Christ, who let you take Queer Theory 101?" Kyle rolls his eyes, hoping the jibe is enough to distract Kenny from the fact that he's strayed toward a little display of lubricants. It hasn't, of course, but what's the least of his worries.

Maybe.

"So, what're you going with?" Kenny asks as he picks up a bottle of lube from the table and shoves it into Kyle's hands. "Quite personally, I favor 'pansexual', but I know my so-called 'better half' prefers a good ol' fashioned 'bisexual'. We both like 'queer', though. That's a good overarching general term."

"What the fuck are you talking about, asshole?" Kyle sighs, not wanting this. Any of this.

"In what way are you going to convey to the world that you've got a hard-on for cock?" Kenny bounces his eyebrows, and yeah, that kind of rubs Kyle in all the wrong ways. He doesn't think he likes guys as much as he likes Stan. He doesn't want to suck anyone else's dick, and the thought of sex–actual sex—with guys kind of makes him a little queasy still. He's not like Kenny, who dives right into things without question or care. Yeah, he wants Stan to do things to Stan, and wants Stan to do things to him, but not because he's a guy. He wants to make Stan feel good because he's Stan, and Stan deserves to feel good every once in a while.

"I'm Marsh-sexual," Kyle just mutters, which only makes Kenny snort and point out that there are many different Marshes to which that could apply, so Kyle amends that he is "Stan-sexual" instead.

Though he wonders if Stan's answer is the same. Stan's always struck him as the kind of guy who'd be interested in guys in general, even if they'd never discussed it together, but it's probably just because he's way more emotionally invested in things than most guys are… and for some reason that's what makes someone gay?

Kyle shakes his head. This is South Park, not the fucking backwoods of the rural south. Things are cool here—strange, but cool.

"Heteronormativity got you down?" Kenny asks sympathetically. Kyle rolls his eyes in response and fiddles with the bottle of lube in his hands.

"Do me a favor," he says. "Shut the fuck up with your social crusading for ten seconds and tell me how to do this without hurting him, please?"

Kenny smiles and folds his arms and smirks in that lascivious way that's always kind of made Kyle's skin crawl.

"Want me to give you a demonstration?" he poses. "I'm pretty good with my fingers."

"God, gross," Kyle sticks out his tongue and tries not to shudder. "Not into it."

"If you wanna wait 'til Butters gets home—"

"Dude!" Kyle snaps and folds his arms over his chest, feeling a little violated, but he lowers his voice a bit when he realizes that the girl behind the desk is looking at him with a cocked brow. "I don't want to watch you finger your boyfriend, okay? Just… I want to know how to do it right, all right?"

Kenny looking back at him with that unsettlingly piercing stare, like he's trying to puzzle together something about Kyle by just looking at him. Kyle doesn't know how he does it—how he acquires such vast amounts of information about people without even speaking, but somehow he manages it. He runs his fingers through his hair and lets out a little breath.

"This is like Rebecca all over again," he smiles a little, sliding back into that taunting air again. "'member that, when you asked me how to eat pussy? How'd that conversation go for you, Kyle?"

Kyle feels himself flush bright red, but doesn't say anything about it. Embarrassing as it had been, Kenny actually knows what he's talking about with this stuff, and Kyle can now actually boast a pretty impressive prowess when it comes to… well, when it comes to that. He figures Kenny's been sleeping with a guy for however long, he can fucking well at least tell him how to keep Stan's ass intact.

"All right," Kenny shrugs, stuffing the paper bag into his jacket pockets and making—oh for the love of god—making a tight ring with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. "This is—"

"Oh, my god, I know what it is," Kyle hides his face in his hand, which only makes Kenny smirk harder.

"Say it."

"No, asshole!"

"There, was that so hard?"

He whines and clutches his arm where Kyle punches him, but Kyle's of the mind that he fucking deserved it, so. Whatever.

"Fucking twat," Kenny sighs and rotates his shoulder a few times. Kyle can't help but think he's being just a tad overdramatic. "You're the one with the sphincter hang-ups, not me."

He blocks the next punch from Kyle and rights himself, presenting his balled up fingers again and giving Kyle a look that clearly says 'hit me again, fuckface'.

"First things first," Kenny begins, "make sure he's relaxed. If you go in while he's tense or stressed or some shit, you're gonna hurt him. I know it's super fucking gay and you're gonna roll your eyes at me for saying it, but a massage or a hot shower before you try? Never hurt anyone."

"Fucking Christ," Kyle rubs a hand over his face.

"You asked, dickweed!" Kenny snaps, positioning the fingers of his left hand against the right. "Now, lube: no such thing as too much, okay? If he's—he's never done this before so, y'know… he's gonna feel it."

"Dude, would you knock it off with the hands?" Kyle grabs him by the wrists and forces his hands back down to his sides.

"Gee, Mr. Broflovski, you sure are forward," Kenny sticks out his tongue, laughing as he struggles against Kyle's force.

"Um, excuse me?" says the girl behind the counter. "If you're going to buy that could you just, like… do that? I don't need a fight breaking out in here, okay?"

Kyle shoves Kenny, who shoves him back as he approaches the counter to pay. The girl gives them both a look as the exit the shop, and much to Kyle's dismay Kenny replies to this by shoving his hand in Kyle's back pocket and squeezing. The moment they're out on the street, Kyle squirms away from him and gives him an indignant look, all ready to chastise him if it weren't for his phone ringing away in his pocket.

"Oo, the call of a lover?" Kenny teases as Kyle flips him the bird and answers.

"Hey, Brian," he says. It's his roommate, probably locked out of the apartment again and completely unaware that Kyle's still out of the state.

"Hey, man," Brian replies, Boston accent thick and abrasive on the other end. "Look, I'm goin' through the bills here and, ah, I'm lookin' for your rent check an' I don't see it."

"I left it on your desk, dude," Kyle sighs, waving goodbye to Kenny as he takes off down the street in the opposite direction.

"Oh, yeah," Brain nods on the other end. "I got it. Hey, listen, when do you think you're headin' back, huh? I mean, I know you got your shit with your ma an' everythin', but I called you last week about it… got a buddy who's gonna be here next month lookin' for a job, so, y'know, if you're lookin' to sublet you let me know, all right?"

"Fuck," Kyle scratches at the back of his head. "Fuck, I meant to call you about that. It sounds good and everything, I've just gotta come back this weekend and get some stuff and talk to the guys at work."

"Yeah, he won't be here 'til the second anyway," Brian says. "I'll tell him it's a go, though, yeah?"

"Yeah," Kyle nods. "I'll let you know which day I'm coming back, all right?"

"Wicked," Brian agrees. "Later, Broflovski."

"Bye," Kyle sighs and hangs up, resting the phone against his forehead. He hasn't told anyone except Ike that he's going to be staying through 'til February. His mom will be happy, since he's mostly staying for her and to make sure everything goes okay post radiation. Normally he'd talk to Stan about this kind of thing, but—

Wait, why's there a 'but'? Stan's still his best friend, for fuck's sake, cocks involved or no. True, he's a crapshoot in the sobriety arena half to time, so their conversations hardly every err on the side of serious anymore, but it's worth a try. He gets in his car and drives over to Stan's. He's still on break, while everyone else in the house has gone back to work. If Kyle's lucky, Stan will be sober.

He doesn't call, because he never does when he drops by Stan's, so he's not entirely surprised when Stan's in front of the TV, playing Xbox and eating out of a bowl of Froot Loops in nothing but his underwear when he walks through the front door. Stan smiles when he sees him, a mouthful of cereal and a rather unkempt look about him. It's kind of endearing, if only because this is the kind of Stan Kyle loves. He's a big kid under that adult exterior—it's frustrating a lot of the time, but when he's doing things like eating brightly colored cereal out of a bowl that's three sizes too large for normal human consumption, playing games they used to play when they were kids, it's hard not to feel a little swell of something good in his chest.

"Hey there, stud," Kyle snorts and goes to sit beside him.

"Hey," Stan beams and kisses him on the corner of the mouth. It still sends a little spark of something sailing down Kyle's spine, feeling Stan's lips on him. "I'm enjoying my rare day free from tyranny. Care to stick around while I set up guitar hero?"

"Actually," Kyle deflates and leans back against the couch. "I kinda just wanted to… like, maybe talk to you or something?"

Stan frowns at this and pauses his game, setting the controller down in front of him as he does. He reaches behind him, grabbing a shirt from off the back of the couch and pulling it over his head in an effort to make himself more presentable for whatever conversation is looming. Kyle appreciates it, even if he likes it when Stan foregoes a shirt.

"What's going on?" Stan asks, reaching over and running his fingers through the hair on Kyle's temples. It's a simple touch, but it somehow releases the tension from Kyle's back and shoulders. He feels the weight lift off his chest a bit, but only so much so that he can breathe and actually get out what he's attempting to say.

"My mom's got cancer," it comes out, his voice distant and tinny, like it came out of someone else's mouth in another time and place. "She's been in radiation for a few weeks, but… that's why I came back. And I'm gonna stay here through next month... or until she's done with treatment and we're sure she's okay."

Stan's silent, like Kyle's words have paralyzed him and there's no telling what he wants to say—all he can do is stare blankly back and wait for him to speak again. Kyle sighs and pulls his knees up closer to his chest, half-wishing he hadn't said anything but knowing fully well that he'd had to. He hasn't felt right keeping this from Stan, and he knows that's what's been making him feel so out of sorts about everything else. He already feels better, though he doesn't think he can say the same for Stan.

"Dude," Stan finally blurts out. "Dude, what the fuck! Is she okay?"

"She's doing a lot better than her doctor thought she would," Kyle lets out a shaky breath. "You know my mom, though. Normal people get cancer, they think it's the end—she gets cancer and is offended that it's taking time out of her fucking Angry Jewish Mother Cause Number 5,387."

Stan laughs at this, resting his forehead against Kyle's temple and hooking his arm around his neck. There's something nice in the way Stan tries to comfort him, kissing him and nosing at his cheek and giving him this feeling, like… he can keep talking, and it will all be okay.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Stan asks, pulling away a bit so as not to suffocate or anything of the like. Kyle appreciates it.

"Because I didn't want this to be your thing," Kyle shrugs and sits up a bit. "This is my thing, y'know? I have my things, you have your things, and they stay your and my things."

"Kyle," Stan cocks his head and gives him a look that's apparently supposed to make Kyle feel like an idiot. "Are you fucking new, dude? You're my best friend: when have our problems ever been our own?"

Kyle gives him a little smile and shifts, but doesn't say anything else. So, Stan just rests his chin on his shoulder and holds him close.

"Are you scared?" he hears him ask, and Kyle just

Fucking

Loses it.

He doesn't even get the usual heat behind his eyes that he usually does before he feels tears leaking out of his eyes. He hates crying, which is why he doesn't make a habit of doing so on a regular basis, but he recognizes that it's a normal human thing that needs to happen every once in a while and, as much as he'd like to deny it, he is, indeed, a human being.

He wipes the tracks from his cheeks, accepting the tissue Stan hands him and using it to blow his nose instead of wipe up the tears he's not crying. Stan doesn't touch him or kiss him while he cries, which Kyle's grateful for. He thinks that that will cause a system overload and that he might shut down for good if Stan dares do something as loving as kiss him and tell him everything is going to be okay. He's back in best friend mode, which… thank the powers that be for that.

"I don't want my mom to die, Stan," he manages to make himself say through a bout of pretty obvious sobbing.

"I know you don't, dude," Stan replies softly.

"But like," Kyle shifts. "Statistically—"

"Dude, fuck statistics," Stan tosses back. "Your mom's tough. So's your dad, and Ike, and so are you. You're all gonna get through it no matter what happens, right?"

"I know, but fuck, man," Kyle leans forward, putting his head between his knees and taking a few deep breaths. "Cancer," he says and sits back up. "That's fucking heavy, right? That's what everyone's afraid of, this thing that's like... no one knows if you're going to live or die, if it's gone or if it's going to come back until you're lying there in a fucking box, you know? I don't want that to happen to my mom. Like, what if the radiation doesn't help, and she has to go on a shitload of drugs, and she gets so sick that she can't even stand, or something goes wrong and she just wastes away until she's nothing. I can't fucking take that, dude… Like, it makes me a horrible fucking son or whatever that I don't even care how she feels about it, but what the fuck ever. I can't watch my mom go through that. I can't just sit here and do nothing while my mom dies. God, I'm so fucking useless."

Kyle feels a little empty when he finally breaks to breathe, like he was unaware that his body could hold so much in it without bursting at the seams. Then again, he supposes that's why he started crying, ill-advised as it was. He doesn't look over at Stan, but he doesn't have to to know that he's sitting there all concerned-looking and wishing he had the right words to apply to the situation. Kyle knows he's going to try to find them.

"First of all," Stan says softly. "You said that she's doing better than expected, right? So that's good. Second… dude, it's okay to be selfish about this. It's fucked up. You're allowed to have feelings about it."

"Yeah, but it's happening to her," Kyle rubs at his temples. "Like, I have the audacity to be offended that she's dying?"

"She's not fucking dying," Stan rolls his eyes. "And, y'know… she's worrying enough about what's happening to her without you having to worry about it too. Worry about what's happening to you and how you're handling it, dude."

Kyle looks over at him at that, sort of stunned into silence for a second before he says, "Wow. That was pretty fucking prolific."

"Yeah," Stan frowns, like he's a little surprised by it himself. "Guess some of that shit my shrink used to tell me actually stuck."

Kyle smiles and, in a fit of spontaneous stupidity, leans forward and kisses Stan right on the mouth. He feels better, lighter than he normally does, and he knows that it's because he's just verbally purged—he feels the same after he pushes himself during a run, or after he punches something. He pulls back a bit and smiles at Stan, wondering what this warm feeling is in his gut and why no one told him kissing someone could be so fucking therapeutic.

"You, uh," Stan pulls back a little, color high on his cheeks, and picks up the controller. He offers it to Kyle. "You want a turn?"

Kyle nods vaguely and turns to the screen. He's playing Black-Ops, and if there's one thing Kyle usually needs to feel better, it's shooting the shit out of everything in first-person shooter. Except…

What he's feeling is decidedly unusual.

"No," Kyle says softly instead and pushes the controller back to the ground. He doesn't think he could concentrate on a game right now if he tried—he's all foggy and feeling much too heavy in the head. Then he takes a deep breath when he realizes that Stan is waiting for a cue from him, because he doesn't think he knows what he wants. That doesn't happen to him very often… at least not often enough for him to be aware of it.

"We could go upstairs," Stan shrugs. "I have my laptop up there—oh fuck! Hang on a sec," he says, and puts a finger up to keep Kyle in his place when he goes to run upstairs. He returns with a DVD case and, regrettably, pants. He sits beside Kyle and, with a big grin, holds the case out for him to see.

"Holy shit!" he exclaims and snatches it. "You found The Life of Brian?"

"Well, I don't think it's hard to find," Stan laughs, "but yeah. I got it for you."

Kyle pauses at that and looks back to Stan. "For me?" he asks. Stan's got that earnest, puppy dog look about him as he nods.

"I know you don't have it," he rubs at the back of his neck. "I mean, I wanted to give it to you the other day, but it kinda… didn't work out. You wanna watch it?"

"Fuck yeah," Kyle grins and, without so much as a thought, brings Stan into one of those stupidly long lingering hugs that they always get made fun of for sharing. Kyle hops up onto the couch as Stan pops in the movie, and laughs when Stan comes to sit back beside him, already going through his favorite quotes before he's even hit play.

They fall asleep halfway through, Kyle's head on Stan's shoulder and Stan's resting atop Kyle's, which Kyle only knows because that's how they wake up when the end credits are rolling. It's oddly intimate, which, Kyle supposes, is why it's his automatic instinct to kiss Stan.

That, and Kyle's got a raging post-nap hard-on, and he sees that Stan's in a similar predicament. They make the move upstairs without too much fuss, because it would be just their luck that they start getting hot and heavy on the couch only for Sharon or Shelly to walk in on them.

So they take to falling over each other on Stan's bed, both trying to wriggle out of their clothes and only succeeding about halfway before they get caught up in kissing each other. Stan's back down to his boxers, while Kyle's gotten as far as taking off his shirt, his shoes, and his socks. Kyle sighs as Stan moves to kiss down his jaw and his throat, feeling his erection strain uncomfortably against its confines. Apparently, along with mousey girls with high IQs and impressive sex drives, it also really enjoys awkwardly clumsy guys with cute smiles and unhealthy amounts of plaid flannel shirts.

"Stan?" Kyle hears himself, without much of an intention.

"Yeah," Stan mutters against Kyle's skin. Fuck, now he has to say something.

"I like your smile," he settles on lamely. It must be the right thing to say, because it's got Stan grinning from ear to ear, so Kyle makes a mental note of it. Stan's not a bad-looking human—in fact, he's one of the better-looking ones—but something tells Kyle that he probably doesn't think this about himself. So, he rolls over so he's on top of Stan and keeps kissing him everywhere he possibly can. Stan's pretty receptive, kissing back whenever he gets the chance and whispering words of encouragement as Kyle kisses him lower, and lower, and lower…

Kyle stop short of pulling off Stan's underwear and instead tries to think of the proper way to convey what exactly it is he wants out of this particular romp.

"Hey can I fuck you" sounds way too blunt and stupid, while "I'd rather like to put my dick in your ass" sounds way too polite. It's just a weird thing to ask in Kyle's mind, at which point he realizes that every girl he's ever slept with has brought it up first. He doubts Stan will bring it up, and he's actually getting a little too muzzy to play him into saying it. Goddamn, he's just gonna have to do it, isn't he.

"Can I fuck you?" he asks, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping Stan doesn't shove him off the bed.

"Yeah… yeah, dude."

Oh.

That was easy.

"Uh," he gulps, shakily pushing himself up onto his knees. "I have stuff in the car—"

"What," Stan frowns curiously, "like, lube and stuff?"

Kyle nods, only to color further when Stan reaches under his bed and pulls out a bottle of lube. It's a little slippery around the neck, making it almost impossible to catch, but Kyle manages. It's also the same kind Kenny picked out for him back at the shop.

"You opened it?" Kyle finds himself asking as Stan shucks his underwear and tosses them aside.

"Yeah, I—" Stan pauses for a second, like he's unsure of whether or not he should continue on his little sharing endeavor. He's hard, harder than Kyle's ever seen him, and Kyle can't help but wonder if it's in sheer anticipation of being fucked.

"You… what?" Kyle clears his throat. He wants to lean down and take him into his mouth for a few seconds—he's had more than enough time to get used to the taste and texture of Stan's dick, and found that he actually likes it more than he thought he would.

"I wanted to try it," Stan fumbles through the words. "On myself."

"You fingered yourself?" Kyle asks, all sorts of distracted now by the thought of Stan face down on the bed and pumping his fingers in and out of himself.

Okay, yeah, he's been wearing pants long enough now. He tosses his pants and underwear off somewhere and struggles with the cap of the bottle. He squirts a generous amount of the liquid onto his fingers before remembering that he's supposed to make sure Stan's relaxed. Stan's looking at him with an air of nervous anticipation, so Kyle bites his lip and wonders how he's going to get Stan to calm down without massaging him or finding a hot tub or anything retarded like that.

Kyle looks down at his dick again and it clicks. Getting his dick sucked always relaxes him, it'll damn-well work for Stan. He accidentally grabs Stan with his slippery hand and kind of makes a face around Stan when his lips come into contact with what is decidedly not flavored lubricant. He goes slow, to make sure Stan doesn't get too wound up too quickly, and when he appears to be in a particularly gelatinous state, starts circling Stan's entrance with one finger.

"Fuck," he hears Stan mutter when he pushes his finger inside. Oh god, it's hotter and tighter than anything Kyle's ever felt. He can already tell it's going to be incredible, being inside Stan, that he's going to have a tough time going as slow as he'll need to. If it's possible, he knows he's harder than he was just a minute ago just at the thought.

"Dude," Stan whines, propping himself up again so he can run his fingers through Kyle's hair. "Dude, your—"

Kyle chances a look up and sees Stan bending his finger. He gives a confused hum, but crooks his finger anyway, puzzled as fuck when it appears that this is what Stan was trying to say. Then he hits a little lump and remembers, oh yeah, there's that. Wow, he's gotta be fucking gone if he doesn't remember all that shit he's been reading for the last few days. He adds another finger, working slowly up to a third before he dares withdraw and ask for a condom.

It becomes insanely real the second Stan pushes the foil packet into his hand. They're about to fuck. Kyle's about to fuck his best friend. Stan's actually willing to let Kyle shove his dick in his ass and hump him until he comes. There's too much for him to feel, so he just does the next best thing and starts laughing. Stan frowns, about to say something, when Kyle surges forward and kisses him.

"Not you," he says softly. "This. How fucking ridiculous is this."

"I don't know," Stan shifts. "But it feels like you're laughing at me."

"I'm not," Kyle shakes his head, kissing him again. "I'm not laughing at you. You're fucking perfect, okay?"

Stan's eyes get big at that.

"Yeah?" he rasps, grabbing the condom out of Kyle's hand and opening it. Kyle nods and sighs as Stan rolls the rubber down over him. God, he's feeling a little delirious, this is all getting so real.

"I love you, dude," he whispers, out of a lack of anything else to say, and cups Stan's face in his hands. "I love you—of course you're perfect."

Stan kisses him hard at that, laying back and letting Kyle lift his legs over his shoulders and suddenly Kyle's pushing his way into him. He's got to be on some sort of autopilot, because he's pretty sure if left to his own devices he wouldn't be whispering such nice things or kissing Stan so softly, or telling him just how good he's doing or how tight he is. By the time he's in all the way, he feels whole—complete—like he's finally done searching for fillers for the voids in his life. Stan fills every void perfectly, and he always has. Kyle's just been a little too dumb to realize it.

"Kyle," Stan's voice is thin, breakable, and so Kyle kisses him. Kisses make that kind of thing better, right? Stan whimpers into it, bent in half almost entirely, just happy to be paid attention to and loved on for once.

Kyle thinks maybe he should love on Stan a little more, but he can't be sure because Stan's so fucking tight and he may be at that point where everything starts short circuiting up in his brain parts.

It's another few minutes before they start moving together, slowly at first before they pick up a nice, steady rhythm. Kyle makes sure to kiss Stan at every moment he can, to reach down and stroke him in time with his thrusts, because Stan likes that sort of thing and Kyle likes making Stan happy.

Everything turns into a frenzied haze as soon as Kyle starts hitting that little spot inside Stan again. It's clumsy, and Kyle's a little too sweaty for his own tastes, but he has to keep going. He has to keep these shocks of pleasure running through him, keep that slack-jawed look of absolute bliss on Stan's face for as long as he can.

"Shit," Stan coughs a bit, thrusting up against Kyle as best as he can and screwing his eyes shut.

"Coming?" Kyle asks. Stan gives a frantic nod about half a second before he lets out a guttural noise and comes in sticky white spurts all over Kyle's hand. He clenches down hard enough to send Kyle's hips spazzing into him erratically. It's when the smell of Stan on his hand hits his nose that he knows he's done for. He comes with a hoarse cry, slamming into Stan probably a little too roughly, but he'll apologize later. He rolls off of Stan and tries to will himself to melt into the bed so he never has to leave.

He can't remember the last time he came that hard.

Kyle knots up the condom and tosses it in the trash. He misses narrowly, but he doesn't care. He rolls back over and buries his face in Stan's neck, nuzzling and shifting until he finds a comfortable position. Stan smells sweaty and musky and sexy and fuck, Kyle needs sleep before he actually tries to start forming thoughts again. He's almost there, content in Stan's arm around him and chest moving against his, when Stan speaks.

"I love you too, y'know," he murmurs into Kyle's hair.

"I know," Kyle yawns.

"And you're perfect too."

"I know."

Kyle laughs as Stan jabs him in the ribs, and decides that he's content no matter what, as long as Stan keeps holding him like this.


Happy Monday guys!

So, we're at the point where things will start picking up, I believe. Also, there's been a lot of sex the last few chapters. I don' t know whether to apologize or not, but I figure an acknowledgement is just as good.

Thank you for reading and for all of your feedback! Legitimate smiles have been (and are always) had on your behalf.