Kyle was fairly sure there was no greater sight in the world than the one waiting for him as he approached his house: Stan Marsh, sitting on the porch leaning back on his elbows, grinning at him like they hadn't seen each other in years. When Kyle used to come home late from school on a Friday (normally after tutoring someone to make a little extra money) Stan would always be waiting in that exact position. He never went inside because he didn't like the awkward conversations with Sheila, but now Kyle supposed he just didn't have a key, something which just didn't seem right. Eight-year-old Kyle (hell, even fifteen-year-old Kyle) would have thought Stan would always have a key to Kyle's place, not least because it would be Stan's place too. Even so, he was glad it let him have that nostalgic moment of seeing his best friend sitting there waiting for him to arrive, and he had no control over the stupid grin he could feel spreading over his face.

"Hey!" Stan half-shouted, pulling him into a warm hug. Kyle pulled away after a couple of moments, worried he had lingered a little too long. "How was work?"

"Actually…" Kyle started, leaving an accidental dramatic pause as he rummaged around in his pocket for the front door keys. "It was pretty damn good!"

"Wait, what happened to your hand?" He was looking at Kyle with a suddenly serious expression as he spoke, frowning and gently holding the hand up to inspect it.

"Oh, I caught it in the door, it's not too bad…"

"It looks bad to me, and you haven't even gone to the hospital, this bandage is coming loose." They shuffled inside and sat down together on the couch. "You need to get that looked at, Kyle."

He didn't dignify that with a response, since Stan could guess he had been winging it as far as medical insurance was concerned, and he couldn't afford to see a doctor.

"At least let me look at it then, I did a first aid course for some stupid 'team building' week at work. C'mere." Stan held out his hand, waiting for a response. He relented, placing his swollen fist into the outstretched palm and watching silently as Stan began to unravel the crude binding.

"Shit, be careful – ah." Kyle winced, though Stan was already being extremely gentle, his strong hands moving slowly and applying only the softest touches. It reminded Kyle of all the injured animals Stan used to nurse back to health when they were kids.

"So what happened at work then?" Stan was looking at him so fucking expectantly, like he'd been furiously hoping for good news even more than Kyle had.

"Let me get you a drink first, what do you want? I don't have anything exciting, but I can get you water, or juice-" Kyle moved to get up but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"I brought some beers actually," Stan interrupted, holding up a carrier bag with some bottles inside, "if you're interested?"

Kyle just nodded, and uttered a small 'thanks'. It took a lot of self-restraint for him to accept that without getting bitter or angry about being given charity treatment. He had decided to let go of the little things, and pick his battles more carefully. A beer just wasn't worth fighting over.

"So what's the news?" It seemed Stan had picked up on his somewhat annoyed vibe, but was maybe expecting it, since it didn't seem to dampen his own spirits. He pulled his coat off, draping it over the back of the couch before sitting back down.

"I got a big raise!" Kyle replied, finding that just remembering it was enough to lift his spirits. "Token said he'd made a mistake and he'd found more money in the accounts."

"That's insane!" Stan said, leaping at him and almost suffocating him with another embrace. "Does that mean you're out of the woods, y'know, money-wise?"

"I – not quite!" Kyle managed to splutter, which prompted Stan to release him from the vice-like grip. "It makes a huge difference though…"

"Congrats anyway man, you really deserve it." Stan opened his bottle using his keys, an old trick he'd learnt when they were about sixteen, then did the same with Kyle's. They chatted idly for a while, about the ever more rapidly approaching reunion and which part they dreaded most, which was apparently seeing 'that asshole Craig' for Stan, and Kyle said he was least looking forward to seeing the undoubtedly uber successful Testaburger rubbing everyone's nose in whatever fantastic job she had.

"Seriously dude?" Stan asked, "not Cartman?"

"Oh" Kyle replied, realising that his choice (for obvious reasons) not to mention Cartman probably seemed bizarre to Stan. "Well I kind of assumed he wouldn't be coming I guess…"

"He does live in Denver apparently." Stan said softly, looking up from his beer to make eye contact with Kyle. "But don't worry about it, we won't let him ruin the party."

"Luckily he can't ruin something that's going to be shit to begin with." Kyle laughed, though he knew full well that Cartman could take shit to a whole new level.

"Holy fuck!" Stan suddenly exclaimed, and Kyle followed his line of vision down to his hand, now completely exposed. It was quite a shocking site, inflamed more than any injury Kyle had ever seen, bulbous and angry looking. "How hard did you slam that door?" Stan asked, staring at him so intently and with such sadness that it was impossible to look away.

"Door?" Kyle wondered, his mind a little clouded by how nice it felt to have Stan's warm hand on his, which seemed to be a more powerful pain killer than anything he'd tried so far. "Oh, shit, yeah. Pretty hard I guess." He'd caught his mistake, but judging from Stan's expression maybe a split-second too late.

"Jesus, it looks like it's been run over by a fucking truck or something…" Stan was whispering now for some reason, his thumb gently stroking Kyle's hand as he held it.

"You had bad injuries like this, playing football. I'm okay." He replied, genuinely wanting to ease the worry that was etched across Stan's face.

"That's different." Stan asserted, though Kyle wasn't sure how it could be. He held his breath as Stan started wrapping his hand again, doing it neatly, almost professionally. "Tell me if it hurts too much. It needs to be tighter than you had it though."

"Fuck" Kyle groaned, a sharp pain suddenly shooting through his knuckles. "Keep going."

"I'm so sorry." Stan kept saying, until finally it was finished and Kyle had just managed to keep himself from crying, though his eyes were moist. He watched as Stan slowly lifted up his hand and kissed the bandage, sending his heart into overdrive suddenly. "It will heal faster like this. You'll be alright." He whispered.

"Thanks." He replied, suddenly noticing how close their faces were, Stan's breath smelling of spearmint, though not completely overpowering the hint of Doritos underneath. Stan reached up and cupped his cheek before pressing their lips together, and the cliché of time standing still couldn't have been further from the truth, since it was over before he could react. He felt himself lean forward and reconnect them, not sure if he'd even made a conscious decision to do so, and this time he made sure to take in every second s it. Stan's tongue probed at his lips and he parted them slightly, and he noticed that his good hand had found its way to Stan's hair, tugging on it gently. He tasted something salty, realising that now he was crying, an isolated tear having found its way to his mouth. Kyle wasn't sure if it had lasted a few seconds or a few minutes, but he felt like he was floating, the only thing tying him to reality was the discomfort of his erection straining against his pants.

"Shit, what the fuck!" Kyle shouted, regaining his senses as soon as physical contact was broken. "Why the fuck did you let me do that? Jesus. Fuck!"

"No, Kyle you don't understand-"

"No you don't understand Stan! I'm trying to get over this, and I know you know how I feel but whether you pity me or whatever it is, this will only ruin our friendship! I just-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Stan shouted, and instantly Kyle stopped; Stan never spoke to him like that, ever. "Sorry, just I need you to let me speak, just listen. Can you do that?" Stan seemed to take his silence as the response he wanted and carried on, "Look, I know that summer, before college, you didn't want what I did. That's okay, maybe you weren't ready, or you're still not ready, but some part of my brain keeps telling me that deep down you feel the same way I do. I can't take another minute of wondering 'what if?' I need to at least give it a shot."

"What do you mean, I didn't want what you wanted? What are you talking about?" Kyle was on the back foot suddenly, when he thought he could get the situation under control; he could hear the blood rushing through his ears, each pulse growing louder.

"I kissed you. I told you how I felt! You tried not to hurt my feelings by saying you felt the same but we couldn't because of college, and I-"

"You were drunk!" Kyle shouted, "I loved you and you were wasted and experimenting, that kiss fucking haunts me still! I was just thinking out loud, about college and what would happen, and you were the one who said we should pretend it never happened!" He couldn't really explain why they were both angry, it just seemed appropriate.

"I thought you were trying to give me a way out…" Stan muttered quietly, his face etched with confusion and fear. "I thought you were trying not to hurt my feelings…"

"You're straight, you've always been straight!" Kyle could feel himself hyperventilating and shut his eyes, trying to take long, deep breaths instead of shallow, panicked ones.

"You loved me." Stan said, and it occurred to Kyle that they weren't really part of the same conversation any more, but were just speaking to themselves. "You don't love me anymore, then."

"You let me think I had a chance with you!" He screamed, his ears too full of noise to process anything. "Being the star quarterback with gorgeous girlfriends wasn't enough for you was it? You had to torment your nerdy friend by letting him have hope! As much as I tried I couldn't stamp out that stupid, naïve hope…"

"Have you even been listening?" Stan said, shaking him by the shoulder until he was forced to look him the eye. "How could you say that about me? That I would do that to you?"

"I'm not angry, Stan. I'm sorry for shouting. It's just you aren't helping me by giving me what you think I want. I know you care, but you're not lifting my spirits with a little kiss. It's easy for you, like a little gift that you know I want so badly, but it only torments me, it's a taste of something I can't have. Please just let me move on."

"For a genius you're a fucking idiot sometimes." Stan was laughing now, and Kyle pushed down the feeling of anger and embarrassment that started climbing from his chest. "I wasn't sure I'd be able to…well, express myself…and clearly I haven't, so I brought something I want you to read." Kyle watched as Stan rummaged around in his back pocket before producing a crumpled sheet of ancient looking paper, holding it out towards him.

"What is it?" He asked, unfolding the sheet and beginning to read. The writing was scratchy and wavered from the lines, but Kyle learnt long ago how to deal with Stan's awful handwriting, proof reading his essays and even sometimes forging work for him if it was urgent. He could probably even place Stan's age by just the way the letters were formed, if he looked for long enough.

My hero is Kyle Broflovski. I look up to Kyle because he's clever, and he stands up to people when their greedy or selfish, and he always does what's right.

Kyle stopped briefly, he didn't remember this at all, though judging from the use of 'their' instead of 'they're' that hadn't been corrected he was pretty sure he'd never seen it before.

Sometimes I feel really fed up, and everything seems really pointless so I just want to give up, but I know Kyle wouldn't do that. I know I annoy him when I can't be happy, and he doesn't want to be friends with me anymore, but Kyle Broflovski will always be my best friend, even if I'm not his.

"I was going to hand it in, for that English assignment in fourth grade, but I couldn't go through with it. I just handed in some crap about John Elway…" Stan was looking down as he spoke, but didn't seem on edge anymore. "Back then I just thought you were the best friend anyone could have, but it was more than that. I've always loved you, Kyle."

Before he'd had a chance to process any of what had just happened he was on top of Stan, their lips moving together frantically; it was like his body was finally fed up of his neurotic worrying and had taken over proceedings, declaring in the classic way to whoever was in charge, 'Not anymore you're not!' He could feel Stan's hips bucking upwards against his, and was elated to feel Stan was hard as well, and to think that he had done that.

"You're so fucking corny." Kyle muttered, as they broke apart for a second.

"Fuck you, it worked didn't it?" Stan replied, laughing now as well.

"Dude, strolling in and dropping your pants would have worked. Probably faster, too." He grinned down at Stan, who flipped him over in retaliation, pinning his arms above his head and attacking his ears, kissing and licking what he somehow knew to be one of Kyle's most sensitive spots. It elicited a moan from Kyle, who hated himself for it when he saw the smirk on Stan's face.

He felt Stan's hand reach down and slide beneath the waistband of his black work trousers, wrapping around Kyle's shaft.

"Fuck." He muttered, trying to work Stan's belt open to try to return the favour, but struggling against the tight confines of the narrow couch, and with so much of his brain side-tracked by screaming 'it's really happening!' over and over in his head.

Stan reached down to help, having to remove his hand from Kyle's cock as the other was needed to keep himself propped up. Kyle was glad though, because he was seconds away from blowing his load after just a few strokes. "I forgot you're one handed at the moment." Stan said, removing the belt and returning to his work.

"Holy shit dude." Stan was big, quite a bit bigger than he was anyway, but it felt natural when he wrapped his hand around it, like finally slotting in the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle. It didn't take much more for Kyle to lose it, desperately bucking up into Stan as he shouted obscenities and spilled onto Stan's hand and into his underwear. Stan wasn't too far behind, and he sank down next to Kyle once he was finished, both panting heavily and a little overwhelmed.

"I think it's all endorphins up here now." Kyle said, pointing to his head. "There's no actual brain left."

"Only you would say something like that after being jerked off." Stan laughed. "But I know what you mean."

"For every corny comment you make I can say something nerdy. It's weird, but it works."

In all of his little fantasies about moments like those Kyle had been annoyed, angry that he'd wanted Stan to be the one in control, that he'd even wanted Stan to be bigger than him; it was as if the successful job and his total ownership of Kyle's heart wasn't enough, he had to be some kind of hung sex god as well.

"We didn't last long did we?" Stan joked, and when Kyle looked at him all of that was suddenly blown out of the water; he'd made it some kind of weird competition in his head, but it had never been like that, not to Stan anyway.

"We lasted twenty-three years. That's pretty damn good."

X

Sorry it was late! I'm useless, I know…