Chapter 12
January passes by way too quickly for Stan's liking, and getting into February is even more infuriating than ever because it's that special time of year when everything is doused in red and covered in hearts. It's not even two weeks away and already Stan's getting bombarded by a litany of asinine greeting cards and commercials for diamonds and shit.
"Man, I'm glad you suck my dick for free," he finds himself muttering as he and Kyle pass a rather large poster of a man and woman gazing longingly at each other over a giant diamond necklace.
"Truth be told, I'm saving up for a yacht," Kyle tosses back absently and sips loudly at his smoothie. They're in the mall, looking for a wedding gift, because even though Shelly told him not to worry about a gift Stan still doesn't want Cartman to have any reason to be an asshole about it. They're registered at places like Williams-Sonoma and Pottery Barn, both of which apparently slap zeros on their price tags like they've got gold pouring out of their assholes.
Stan's in education, okay? He's not exactly rolling in the Benjamins. Lincolns, maybe… and not the paper kind either.
"You're gonna be saving up for a long, long time, dude," Stan smirks as they pass yet another jewelry store. "It's bad enough I've gotta buy something for this demonic union, now I've gotta save up to get your high maintenance ass a yacht on top of everything else? Talk about pressure."
"Yeah, well, your sister and fatass aren't blowing you, so I think I get first priority," Kyle snarks and stops right in front of Victoria's Secret. "You could always get her something in there," he suggests, and Stan has to fight with everything in him not to vomit right there in the walkway.
"You don't get lingerie for your sister, dude!" he exclaims and instead pulls Kyle along by the sleeve of his shirt (a flannel one that he stole from Stan yesterday morning and has refused to give back, thank you) before adding, "That's a thousand different levels of creepy."
"Well, you're not coming up with anything," Kyle frowns. "Fuck, I'm stuck at the mall on a Friday afternoon and I'm not thirteen, what do you want from me?"
"Help?" Stan offers.
"Fuck you, you're the one who waited until the last three goddamned hours before your sister's rehearsal dinner to get her a gift," Kyle points out, and he's right. Stan's been avoiding it like the plague in the hopes that either Cartman or Shelly would piss the other one off beyond all comprehension and send them packing for good. This isn't happening, though, and now it's looking like he's probably going to have to go into Macy's and spring for a high-quality cheese grater or something.
Plus, on top of this he's had to help Shelly with every other fucking aspect of this apocalyptic event, has started looking at schools, has started working out with both his mom and with Kyle to slim down for wedding pictures (which is not working as well as anyone wants it to), and to top it all off there's the little matter of his father not having talked to him in about three weeks.
He didn't think having his dad flat out not speak to him would be an issue. In fact, it's been a dream of his. What's bothering him is the fact that he's stopped talking to Stan because he likes guys—that's what's fucked up beyond all reason.
"Hey, c'mere," Kyle says and drapes an arm across Stan's shoulders. Man, he must look really fucking down if it's enough for Kyle to notice. He's getting better at picking up on Stan's feelings and stuff, but still.
"I'm fine," Stan mutters and pulls Kyle in by his waist. Normally they're a little more reticent to touch in public, just because they don't want to have to deal with dirty looks or anything, but right now everything's a little overwhelming and it's nice to have Kyle close.
"Come on," Kyle tugs him toward Sears. "I think my mom said they've got a kitchen appliance sale going on."
Stan smiles, because if left to his own devices he knows he would still be curled up under one of those fancy ceramics displays at Williams Sonoma, saying last rites for his bank account.
They buy a salad spinner, the nicest one they can find, because it's at least cheaper than anything else they can find and Kyle points out it's yet another way to subtly remind Cartman that he's a fat sack of shit, which convinces Stan to buy it more than anything.
"Fuck," Stan sighs as they leave the store and head through the parking lot toward his car. "My sister's getting married tomorrow."
It's something that's been in the back of his mind for a while now, that his sister, unbearable as she is, is getting married.
"Like, I know they've been together for a while and everything," he continues as Kyle kicks disinterestedly at an empty can of Squirt. "But, like… ever hear of a waiting period?"
"Dude, I think it's different if you've been together as long as they have," Kyle shrugs. "Five years, right? And they've been living together for how long?"
"Two years, I think," Stan yawns. Fuck, he had a long day at work and now he's going to have a long night around his and Cartman's families. This is going to be absolutely hideous.
"Right, so it's like they're married anyway," Kyle concludes. "You think Shelly hasn't been secretly planning this for the last two years? And Cartman's probably just grateful he's guaranteed someone who'll fuck him on a regular basis for the rest of his life."
"Aw, dude," Stan wrinkles his nose and gives Kyle a pleading look. The last thing he wants to be thinking about is his sister and Eric Cartman having sex right now, especially when Kyle's all smiley and pink in the cheeks from the cold and wearing that big ugly trapper hat he hasn't worn in years and years. He tries to conjure up more pleasant thoughts, like Kyle pinning him to the mattress and working him over until he's little more than an incoherent mass of human.
That would be just… aces right now.
"Whatever," Kyle just laughs and shoves lightly at Stan's shoulder with his. "I'd marry you after two months, dude."
Stan feels his face flush just about every shade of red. He knows Kyle sometimes says things without consideration for how Stan might take them. Kyle's still not great with affection, so to compensate he often says stupid stuff like "I'd marry you" because he thinks that's what he's supposed to say. Stan's never quite sure what to make of things like that; in this case he takes to rolling his eyes and giving Kyle a shove back.
"Fuck off, you would not marry me," he says.
"Legality aside, sure I would," Kyle shrugs and then wraps an arm around Stan's shoulders when they get to the car. He extends a hand out in front of them and looks off somewhere far, far away, "Imagine what our lives could be, Stan—you and me, a studio apartment complete with a futon, hot and cold running water, and a lock only you and I have the key to."
"Dude, marriage is supposed to suck," Stan laughs and ducks out of Kyle's arm so he can get in the car, "That sounds awesome."
"Well," Kyle says as he slips into the passenger's seat, "maybe that's our lot in life: we do what other people do, except we don't call it what other people call it and so we have a more awesome time doing it."
"Fair enough," Stan concedes, "Being non-conventionally defined monogamous relationship hasn't come back to bite us in the ass yet."
"Even if 'non-conventional monogamous partner' is a mouthful when I'm introducing you at parties," Kyle nods as they pull out of the parking lot and start heading back to Stan's.
"Certainly befitting of other aspects of this relationship, then," Stan tosses back, and even matches Kyle's "hey-o!" when he goes in for a high-five.
When they get back to Stan's, they find his mom and Shelly madly rushing around in an attempt to get ready, like this is the actual wedding itself that they're about to go to. Kyle intercepts the salad spinner and dashes up to put it in Stan's room before Shelly can see it, while Stan gets dragged into his mom's room to help her choose an outfit.
"Mom, I know I'm dating a guy and everything," he begins as she shows him her first choice, which is a nice sweater and some pants, "But I hate to break it to you that I'm not that kind of gay."
"Honey, I know that," his mom shakes her head as she starts fastening in her earrings. "I'm wearing this, I just thought I'd save you from Hurricane Shelly out there."
"Oh," he says, a little dumbstruck. "Thanks."
"Also, I wanted to talk to you."
"There it is," Stan nods and sits down on her bed. It's got about a thousand pillows on it and it makes Stan want to disappear in it forever and never come out. "What'd I do now."
"Nothing," his mom sighs and sits down beside him. "It's just—if your father doesn't come tonight, it's not your fault. He's being a pill about this, it's his deal, not yours."
"Ah, fuck," Stan mutters aloud and slaps his hands over his eyes. That's the trouble with Kyle: he manages to distract Stan from the issues at hand just well enough to get him not to care, only for everyone to remind him not too long after that he's a piece of shit.
"No," his mom just insists. "Your father's the one who's the asshole here, not you."
As nice and as accurate a statement as it is, it doesn't actually do much to make Stan feel better. He sits up a bit, just in time for Shelly to come in and see them sitting on the bed and roll her eyes.
"Why are you guys sitting around?" she practically whines. "We have to be at the restaurant in an hour and a half."
"Oh god, we'll never get there in time," Stan deadpans, only to have his mom smack him on the arm.
"Stan, if you don't shower and put on some nice clothes, I will castrate you and your assheaded fuckface boyfriend, got it?"
He thinks about being helpful for about half a second before he just shrugs and says, "I don't have a boyfriend."
Expectedly, this only serves to enrage her further, so even though he insists that he showered this morning, she pushes him into the bathroom and almost refuses to let him out until Trapper and Hawkeye start barking like crazy and she finally relents.
"Jesus," he mutters as he wrenches open the door and looks down at where his boys are wagging their tails and grinning up at him happily. "Good boys," he says, and slips back into his room. The boys follow him, but he doesn't mind. This is going to be a ridiculously hectic night, he already knows, and he just wants some time to kick back with Kyle and his dogs before everything goes to shit.
Kyle appears to have already changed into a nicer shirt and a pair of jeans that aren't all torn up. He and Stan have been squirreling away extra clothes of theirs in each other's dressers since they were kids, with all the sleepovers they'd have and everything, but now it feels way more intimate than before. Either way, Kyle's face down on his bed and looking like that's where he's always belonged and it makes Stan's stomach clench pleasantly. He's also joined by Hawkeye after a moment, who drapes himself right over the small of Kyle's back and looks over at Stan happily as Kyle lets out a loud grunt.
"No, dude, you're not heavy at all," he mutters into Stan's pillow. Stan laughs and crouches down beside him, smoothing his hair back a bit before he kisses him lightly on the jaw. He's about to crawl up onto the bed and curl around Kyle for just a little bit before they have to go, but Shelly bangs on his door.
"You two better not be fucking," she shouts, and Stan colors because there's no way his mom didn't hear that. Kyle chuckles a bit and runs his fingers through Stan's hair, which makes Stan whimper just a little bit because there's no reason that a touch should feel this good.
"Promise me you'll kill me before I become a ritual sacrifice," he says softly. "Don't let me suffer."
"The moment shit starts going south, I'm jumping ship for Hooters," Kyle mumbles through a smile and pushes himself up so Hawkeye has to move. "If you're good I'll take you with me."
There's another thud on his door, followed quickly by Shelly's nagging, "Kyle, if you wear that ugly fucking shirt tonight, I will end you."
Stan doesn't bother mentioning that it's his ugly fucking shirt she's insulting, just stretches out next to Kyle ( 'oof'ing when Trapper jumps up on top of him) and nuzzles up to him before Shelly decides to use a battering ram and drag them out of this bed by force.
They nap a little, only to be woken up a while later and herded to the car, where they kick at each other and share little smiles every time Shelly goes in on a bridezilla-type rant about flowers or the caterer or some shit.
She's avoiding the Randy issue; Stan can tell. Their mom probably gave her a long and thorough talking to before they left, and Stan has to say he's grateful. He (foolishly) promised Kyle he'd remain sober through tonight and tomorrow, and a minimal amount of bullshit is going to make that a fuck of a lot easier.
It's a hefty gathering, which Stan figured it would be. Shelly invited every last person on their family tree to this damn thing, not to mention most of the fucking town. Anyone who doesn't know her knows either Stan, their mom, or Cartman, and when you don't invite just about everyone in a town like South Park to your wedding and your rehearsal dinner? Well… people talk.
Still, "Damn, Shel," Stan whistles as the four of them get out of the car. There's a giant banner on the front of the community center's banquet hall that reads "Shelly and Eric: Into Forever"
"'Into forever'?" Kyle asks, face all scrunched up like he's never seen anything more disgusting. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean, exactly?"
"Our love," Shelly gives an impatient toss of her hair. "Through marriage we're giving it the opportunity to expand into forever."
"Mm," Stan nods and leans over to Kyle, "Kind of like her fiance's ass."
"I heard that, fucker!" Shelly shouts and looks like she's about ten seconds away from chasing Stan all the way into the hall. Luckily, Sharon gets in between them before anything can start.
"Honey, why don't you just go and see if Eric is here yet," she calmly says to Shelly. "And make sure your great aunt Celia has a place to sit, or she'll make me give her mine when I get in there."
Giving her a task seems to put Shelly back on point and distracts her enough to the point Stan falls out of her path. Stan chuckles with Kyle for a second while they watch Shelly walk toward the hall, only to be silenced a moment later when Sharon rounds on them.
"Now, you two listen to me," she says very carefully. "I've gotten her to stay off of your back about your father, and lord knows she's done her best to keep Eric at bay. You will both shut your mouths from this point until they are on that plane, heading for their honeymoon, you got that?"
Stan and Kyle both stare at her, wide-eyed, and nod.
"Now, that being said," she softens a bit, smiling like she didn't just lay down the fucking law. "I liked that expanding into forever line. Very clever."
It's not until she turns and walks toward the hall herself that Stan inches a little closer to Kyle and says, very timidly, "They've gotten my mother. Those no good rat bastards have made her just as insane as them."
"Looks like it's just you and me now, soldier," Kyle nods and braces a hand on Stan's shoulder.
It's probably the most comforting thing Stan will hear all night.
When they get into the hall, there seems to be an inordinate amount of people there, despite the fact that Stan knew there would be. Most of the kids he knows from school are long gone now, but he sees a few that have stuck around: Craig is skulking in the corner with Tweek, while Bebe and Wendy—
Oh god, Wendy. Stan hides a little behind Kyle as he watches Wendy and Bebe talk like not a day's gone by since high school. It's stupid, but Stan feels a little like he's going to choke on his own tongue. They didn't have a particularly hideous final break-up or anything, and he knew she was going to be here. Hell, he'd sent out her invitation himself. It's just—Stan's hideously bad at hiding things from Wendy, and even if he and Kyle aren't hiding anything between them, he'd rather the focus be entirely off of him for tonight.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Kyle asks when Wendy looks over at them and Stan ducks further behind him. "Dude, are you fucking hiding from your ex-girlfriend?"
"No, I'm just," Stan looks down at the floor, "attempting not to be seen."
"Fuckin' A, dude," Kyle moves so Stan's exposed and gives Wendy and Bebe a little wave. "What's your problem?"
"Nothing, she just, like," he feels himself bristle. "She doesn't know I'm… y'know."
"Half-a-fag?" Kyle offers. "Dude, who cares? My ex-girlfriend knows. You told her."
"I know," he groans, because now Wendy and Bebe are coming over to talk to them and goddamn it why is he not holed up in his room with Kyle and his dogs right now?
"So, it's not like we have to go down on each other in front of them or anything," Kyle says through a smile as the girls get closer. "Jesus, I don't love you that much."
"Thanks, dickhole," he mutters as he rights himself just in time for Wendy to greet him brightly and pull him into a hug.
"Hey there, stranger," she says in that false, cordial way that Stan wishes the world would let him avoid.
"Hey, yourself," he says back and it kills him how awkward he is but goddamn, what do you say to the girl you used to sleep with when the guy you're currently fucking is standing right next to you? "What've you been up to?" is what he decides to go with, and he's not blind to the look Bebe just gave Kyle but it's all he could think to say, all right?
"I'm actually doing a master's program at DU right now," she replies through a positively winning smile. He's kept up with her on Facebook; he knows she was the president of her sorority and fed… Irish peasant children to the rich or some shit like that. Long story short: she spent her college years being the high school version of herself on, like, crack.
"That's awesome," he still smiles back at her. She's one of those people who's going to be running the world one day, and he figures he should always keep on her good side.
"How're you doing?" she asks now, and Stan fights very hard not to mention his drinking or the fact that he's living with his mom, or how he thought he'd at least be the fuck out of South Park by the time he was twenty-three.
"Uh, still working at the school," he nods a little, ignoring Kyle's entirely obvious eye-roll. "Just helping with the music and everything."
"We're fucking," Kyle just comes out and says, and it makes Bebe bark with laughter and stuns Wendy into a state of silent, utter amusement. Kyle rolls his eyes again when Stan gives him a pleading look, "You were going to tiptoe around it all night. Now they no, no harm done, we can get the fuck on with our lives. Bebe, how've you been?"
"After the last thirty seconds?" she smiles. "I'm fucking excellent."
"Wonderful!" Kyle exclaims and points toward the general direction of the bar, which is not so surprisingly manned by a very grouchy-looking Kenny. "I'm gonna go get drinks. Stan, you want anything?"
"Uh, Coke?" he asks and Kyle nods, leaving him at the mercy of both Wendy and Bebe who, though Wendy at least will never admit it, love hearing this kind of gossip.
Sex gossip.
"All right, Marsh," Bebe lays in. "Let's just get it out in the open: who's top, who's bottom? I have to know before this conversation progresses any further."
"Fantastic," Stan nods and, in what's probably way too dickish a move, turns right around to find a hole into which he might crawl and die.
He doesn't get too far before he feels the familiar touch of Wendy's hand on his shoulder and he stops. He'll always stop for Wendy, though; she's the first person he ever love-loved… or, at least the first person he'd ever admitted to love-loving.
"Hey," he says as he turns to look back at her. She's tall—about as tall as him, thanks to the heels she's wearing—and she regards him with the softest smile he's ever seen on that ridiculously pretty face. He misses her, sometimes. As much as Kyle loves him and understands him, there's parts of him Wendy gets that Kyle never will.
Granted, the parts that Kyle gets about him that Wendy will never even get to see greatly outnumber those, which probably says a lot more than Stan wants to admit right now.
"Stan, are you all right?" she asks, and Stan nods. She gives him a look at that and rests her hands on his shoulders. "Stan, it's me, all right? You don't have to lie to me or anything."
"I'm fine, Wendy," he says outright then.
"Things with Kyle are good?" she looks at him imploringly, and Stan nods back again.
"Yeah," he says, because it's true. He doesn't know why he didn't want Wendy to know that, but it feels good to say. "They're really good, actually."
This earns him a genuine smile as Wendy goes to cup his face in her soft hands. She studies him for a moment before shaking her head and pulling him into a hug. "I'm so glad for you," she hums, like she's been waiting to hear this all her life.
It kind of makes Stan uneasy, how cool she is with this. If he'd found out she'd been sleeping with Bebe or something, he'd be a little weirded out. "Uh, thanks," he pulls away a little too quickly and clears his throat.
"I imagine it feels really liberating," she says, smile still not gone. Stan's actually a little confused by that.
"Well, it's a little uncomfortable the first few times, but—"
"No, not that!" Wendy laughs and puts a steadying hand on his shoulder. "I meant about… you know, about liking guys?"she mouths the last part, so as to avoid any possibility for word of mouth gossip to spread. Stan's kind of grateful for that, until he pieces together what she's trying to say and feels himself go beet red.
"Wha-what are you talking about?" he tries to play it off, and Wendy just rolls her eyes.
"Give me a little credit, Stan," she says frankly. "I always sort of figured you did. That you liked both, I mean. I'm just really happy you got to a point where you could come to terms with it."
"Oh, fucking Christ," Stan buries his face in his hands. Nope, this wouldn't be happening if everyone had just let him stay in his room.
"For God's sake, Stan," Wendy rolls her eyes. "Would you get a hold of yourself? I'm just telling you I'm happy for you, all right? Just take that for what it is and leave it at that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find your sister and tell her how happy I am for her."
She punctuates this with an eye-roll, and then gives Stan a smile and a wink before she turns to leave him. He knows he should be happy that Wendy is happy for him, but all he can seem to focus on is the fact that someone thought he was obvious. Sure, that someone is Wendy and Wendy knows him inside and out, but he's not exactly thrilled to hear that he wasn't as good at hiding it as he'd hoped.
He goes up on his toes to look over at the bar; indeed Kyle is still there, talking to Kenny and also now what appears to be Butters. They're not too far away, which Stan thinks will make this a short journey.
However, moving through a crowd full of relatives you haven't seen since you were about twelve turns what should be thirty seconds into nearly an hour of stopping to catch up with each and every one of them. Distant uncles who clap him hard on the back and tell him how he should've kept playing football, little aunts who've shrunk considerably since he last saw them, and a few cousins who superficially rattle off their accomplishments of the last 'x' amount of years… by the time he gets to the bar, Stan's feeling tired and over-exposed and wanting nothing more than to hide in Kyle's chest.
"If I have to tell one more goddamned person that I'm 'weighing my options', I'm going to shoot myself," he says decidedly and takes a long drink out of the glass of Coke Kenny sets in front of him.
"I wouldn't recommend that," Kenny just shakes his head and sighs. "I can't believe I fucking agreed to this."
"Aw, it's not all bad," Butters shrugs and turns to look at the rest of the party. "I reckon if we got rid of the Cartman thing, it'd be a real good time."
"Dude, it's just everyone's parents and Stan's weird-ass family," Kenny mutters, and tosses out a "No offense," when Kyle and Stan sort of look at him.
"Ah, I just got a soft spot for gatherin's, I s'pose," Butters heaves a dreamy sigh. Stan knows he's only really here because Shelly's put him in charge of desserts.
"I thought Cartman makes you all nuts," Kyle gives a thoughtful frown as he sips at his Sprite. At least Kyle's staying sober with him, Stan thinks.
"If I know I'm gonna see him, I'm not so bad," Butters shakes his head. "Plus, thanks to Rocky Balboa over there, he knows to keep his distance."
"Damn straight," Kenny nods and goes in for a fist-bump, which Butters gladly gives him. It makes Stan inch a little closer to Kyle so that their arms are touching. It's not nearly enough, but it's something and that's better than nothing.
When it's time to sit down to actually eat, Stan's wishing Kyle would leave him be for ten seconds—just long enough for Kenny to pour him a shot of something, anything, and let him loosen up just a little bit. There are far too many people here, and it's making Stan's chest get all tight and his face get all hot.
He picks at his food, unable to look anywhere but the small mound of mashed potatoes he's constructing into an impressively phallic-looking thing that at least makes Kyle chuckle beside him. When he nudges him a moment later, concern all over his face, Stan takes a few bites of the duck or pheasant or whatever dickheaded bird they're serving him to appease Kyle and let him know he's not dying or anything.
The room is filled with an overwhelming amount of chatter, and it's getting Stan to that very uneasy place, even though no one's actually talking to him. Kyle's talking to Stan's mom about his mom, how she wasn't feeling up to coming tonight and how she didn't want to be a 'party pooper', and suddenly Stan finds himself thinking about how nice it would be to be chilling on the Broflovski's couch with Sheila, watching Extreme Cuponing or some shit.
"Hey, I think I'm gonna get some air," Stan mutters close to Kyle's ear and stands. Both his mother and Kyle give him concerned looks, but he manages to give them a smile before he practically runs out of the hall and into the chilly night air.
He already feels a little better as he leans against the brick wall outside, letting his breathing even out as the smell of wet, snowy asphalt hit his nose. It's oddly comforting, and it lets Stan forget about everything for a few minutes.
He expects Kyle to follow him after a few minutes, so it doesn't come as much of a surprise when he comes out through the heavy back doors and comes to stand out beside him. There's no one out there, thankfully, which allows for Kyle to pull Stan in close and kiss him in his hair.
They don't say anything, and that's okay. Stan's perfectly content to let Kyle hold him until he gets sick of it, declares it too gay, or says they should go back inside. He doesn't know how much time passes, but he gets the feeling it's been a little while when Kyle actually asks, "Are you okay?"
"'m fine," Stan yawns a little and rests his head against Kyle's. "Shit's just crazy. Got a little claustrophobic."
"Shit, I don't blame you," Kyle chuckles a little. "Your mom was worried you came out here to bury yourself in the snow. I said I'd come and dig you out."
"Dude, we haven't even been together for a month, will you hold off on teaming up with my mom?" Stan looks over at him imploringly, and Kyle sticks out his tongue in retaliation. He laughs when Stan licks it, and shuts up entirely when he turns it into a disgustingly inappropriate tongue kiss and backs him up against the wall.
It's a good thing Shelly can throw one fuck of a party, otherwise there would definitely be more of a threat of someone catching Stan with his hand down Kyle's pants. It makes for a good distraction, Stan feels—he could actually lose himself in all the little noises Kyle makes for him, in the way his eyebrows pinch together and how he chokes out his name so desperately when he comes.
"Fuck," Kyle mutters.
"I did not plan on that happening," Stan insists as he looks around desperately for something to wipe his hand on, and settles on the section of the wall right next to Kyle's head. "I think I'm okay to go back in tho—"
Kyle cuts him off with a kiss and grabs him by the shoulders so he can flip their positions. Okay, so reciprocation sounds amazing, actually, and when Kyle sinks down to his knees he may actually whimper in anticipation.
Kyle's mouth isn't on him for two seconds before the back door opens and Kyle flies up to his feet again.
"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ!"
It's Cartman, a cigarette and lighter in one hand while the other is clapped firmly over his eyes while Stan tucks himself back into his pants.
"How," Stan mutters to Kyle, who's swiping his fingers over his lips and trying to right himself. "How is it possible that every fucking person in this family is a cockblock?"
"There's cockblocking and there's being indecent, you fucking fags," Cartman bites out. "Will you both put your dicks away? This isn't a fucking Roman bathhouse."
"You're safe, don't worry," Kyle deadpans.
Cartman peeks through his meaty fingers first before he lowers his hand entirely and, with a reproachful glare, lights his cigarette.
"Since when do you smoke?" Stan asks as he tucks his shirt back in.
"Since you started smoking pole, probably," Cartman glowers and sucks on the end of the cigarette like it's the only thing that's keeping him from straight up murdering someone. Stan didn't realize how butt-fuckingly awful these last few days must've been for him—he's the one marrying Shelly, after all—so he takes any retaliatory comment he could make and stuffs it way deep down inside him.
"Sorry, dude," he just mutters, and catches Kyle roll his eyes out of the corner of his vision.
"Gotta say," Cartman shakes his head a little bit, "I didn't think Kyle would be the cockslut out of the two of you."
"Watch it, dick," Kyle practically growls, and it makes Stan's insides clench. He doesn't want any shit right now, not when he was starting to feel so good again.
"Hey," Cartman puts up his hands, "Just an observation. I just assumed it was the other way around because… well, why wouldn't your dad be here tonight?"
"Dude, what the hell?" Kyle snaps just as Stan feels a heavy aura of despair settle back over him. He knew it was only a matter of time before someone called him on it, and of course it had to be Cartman. "This has nothing to do with his dad, you fucking idiot."
"Doesn't it, Kyle?" Cartman counters.
"No, it doesn't!" Kyle's getting pissed now. "His dad's not here because he's being a fuckhead, not because he thinks Stan likes sucking dick."
"I don't know," Cartman shakes his head, "Randy's pretty cool. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy who'd freak out because his son's a cock-sucking queer, but… there you go."
"Dude, shut the fuck up!" Kyle shouts, and even though Stan mostly stopped letting Kyle fight his battles of him back in middle school, Stan's gonna let him have this one. Mostly because he can't convince himself that that's not the reason his dad's not speaking to him anyway and it makes his stomach hurt even more.
"Why isn't he here, Kyle?" Cartman asks now, flicking his cigarette into the snow by the door. "You look me in the eye and tell me why Randy's not here. It's because his son is a fudge-packing homo and now he can't stand to look at him long enough to come to his only daughter's rehearsal dinner. Good going, Stan, way to make this entire night about—"
Stan's about to jump to his own defense, but Kyle beats him to it, in a surprising upset, by hauling off and punching Cartman.
Right in the face.
Stan cringes as he hears the thud of Kyle's fist meeting Cartman's eye, and with the way Kyle clutches at his hand and starts sputtering, he thinks it was probably more along the lines of hitting a cement wall rather than the flesh of another human.
Cartman doesn't go down or anything like that, but he does hunch over and grab at his eye and shout "What the fuck!" as loudly as he can. "That fucking hurt, Kyle!"
Kyle, meanwhile, looks like he's still on the warpath, and so delivers a swift kick to Cartman's shin in lieu of hitting him again.
"Jesus, Kyle!" Stan exclaims and reaches out to pull him back.
"Well, mother-fucking shit!" Kyle shouts, still holding his hand close to his chest. His eyes are big and red and watery, and even though he's in a rage he looks like he's about to cry. Stan's guessing the punch really hurt, so he lets Kyle descend into a string of obscenely inappropriate curses.
It's totally fucked up, and Stan's utterly mortified to admit it, but
Seeing Kyle lose his shit is kind of a turn on.
"What the fuck is he bitching about!" Cartman bellows out. "I'm the one who has to get married tomorrow!"
"Fuck you, shithead, don't fuck with my boyfriend!" Kyle snaps back, and it makes Stan's face flush.
Boyfriend. Come to think of it, with the way Kyle says it right now, Stan doesn't think being known to the world as Kyle's boyfriend would be such a bad thing. Not that Kyle probably knows what he's saying right now—Stan's punched plenty of people to know that the mix of adrenaline and rage makes people say and do things they don't mean to do.
"Come on," Stan just says and grabs at Kyle's upper arm. His hand looks like it's bruising already, and it's all puffy and swollen and Kyle looks like he's afraid of touching it. "Fuck, I think you broke your hand, you dumb fucker."
"Don't call me a dumb fucker when I just defended your honor," Kyle mutters through a pained groan as they walk over to Stan's mom's car.
"You are a dumb fucker," he mutters as he comes to a stop outside the car and texts his mom, praying she'll get it and come out with the keys. "We are fucked for tomorrow, I hope you know that. Shelly's gonna have both of our nuts in a vise."
"No, don't mention it," Kyle tosses out grumpily. "I live for chivalry."
"If you're gonna pout like a bitch, I'm not going to take you to the emergency room," Stan issues what he believes to be a fair warning. He lets a few beats pass before he inches close to Kyle and pecks him on the cheek. "Kyle Broflovski, you're my hero," he mumbles nasally against Kyle's cheek, and grins when Kyle shoves at him.
They wait for a good fifteen minutes, Kyle gradually calming and realizing how much pain he's actually in while Stan drags his fingertips over the back of his neck in an attempt to be comforting, until his mom comes out to them, car keys in hand and looking about as confused and appalled as Stan feels.
"What on earth is going on out here?" she asks as she drops the keys into Stan's hand. "Eric's got a black eye, your sister's going crazy—Kyle, what on earth happened to your hand?"
"What do you think, mom?" Stan sighs and runs his fingers through Kyle's hair, fluffing it up a bit before he tries to smooth it back. He's not used to Kyle being the irrational idiot out of the two of them, and he's not sure that he likes it.
"I think you might need to go to the emergency room, Kyle honey," she says through a resigned sigh. "It looks like it's already swelling up pretty bad."
Kyle looks down at his hand and sighs, "Fuck." Stan sees it too—it's all puffy and looking a little bruised, and Stan can tell that the twitching fingers aren't just nerves, but Kyle trying to move them.
"Shit," he mutters. "Come on, dude, let's go get it checked out."
"I'm sure Eric will give me and your sister a ride home, sweetheart," his mom says and kisses him on the forehead. She does the same for Kyle, which is… fuck, it's endearing is what it is, and it makes Stan feel like he doesn't ever need his dad to be okay with this, because his mom is already okay enough for a thousand parents.
They drive to Hell's Pass in mostly silence, and Stan is having a really hard time not laying into Kyle for this. He knows what nagging does, because he watched his mom nag his dad for years and nothing good came of that. He doesn't want anything like… well, like that to happen to him and Kyle, especially since they've only just gotten together.
"I'm just—" Stan can't keep himself from saying. "You know how fucking dumb that was, right?"
"Yes, Stanley, I am aware," Kyle bites back, and Stan shrugs.
"Just checking."
When they get to the hospital, it's an unusually quiet night in the ER. They don't let Stan go in to see the actual doctor with Kyle, because he's not family or a spouse or anything, so he's sort of stuck in the waiting room until Kyle comes back. It's less than ideal, because he wants to be there to make sure Kyle is okay and to pet his hair and tell him everything's okay, to thank him for being stupidly sweet without even meaning to be.
Even if he feels a little weird at how corny it is that Kyle tried to protect him, he imagine Kyle feels even worse in fracturing his hand in doing so.
There's an old episode of Cheers flitting across the TV screen when Kyle finally emerges at the side of the doctor, holding a folder of x-rays and looking suspiciously happy about it.
"Hey, dude," Stan says a little tentatively as he stands, and Kyle beams at him.
"Hey yourself, stud," he shoots back and wraps his good arm around Stan's neck.
"Jesus, what happened to you?" Stan flushes a little and laughs. Kyle wrinkles his nose and pushes a kiss to Stan's cheek, while out of the corner of his eye Stan can see the doctor grab awkwardly at the back of his own neck.
"Well, he broke two bones in his hand," the older man begins, "They were fairly clean breaks, but we still had to set them. We gave him a dose of Vicodin and this just sort of… happened."
Stan looks over at Kyle, who offers him a big smile and another kiss before trying to nuzzle himself into oblivion in his neck. The doctor hesitantly hands a prescription to Stan for more painkillers and coughs, "My wife threw her back out a few months back, and the painkillers they gave her for that… hey, some people take two and go to sleep, others take two and…" he doesn't finish, so much as just holds a hand out and indicates everything Kyle's doing.
Stan thanks the doctor before helping Kyle over to orthopedics, where a buxom older woman swaths up Kyle's hand and forearm rather cheerfully.
"All right, hon," she says and opens a drawer full of brightly colored fiberglass rolls. "What color you want? Keep in mind, you're gonna be seein' this big ol' thing on your arm for a long, long time."
Kyle bites his lip, eyebrows pinched together like this is the most important decision he will ever make, and Stan can't help but think that it's mind-numbingly adorable, okay? He lights up and points to the most abrasive neon green color in the world, only to falter a moment later and pick up the blue.
"Can I have both?" he asks, eyes all big and looking at her like he might die if she says no. She smiles and nods.
"'Course you can, sug'," she smacks him lightly on his good shoulder. "This is America, you live how you wanna live."
"Excellent!" he declares and looks over at Stan, like he's divulging some big secret, and says, "I like her."
"I'm glad, dude," Stan chuckles a little and smoothes his hand over Kyle's hair.
They leave the hospital with a bag full of pills and loudly growling stomachs, but it's almost midnight and all Stan wants to do is go home and crash on Kyle's bed.
"Hey," Kyle pipes up after a few moments of silence. "Know what sucks the worst about this?"
"What?" Stan asks.
"I am very obviously unable to jerk off for the next, like, six weeks or something," Kyle yawns. "That's fucking torturous."
"Ha," Stan grins. "Well, y'know… I may be able to assist you if you ask nicely."
"Mm," Kyle nods serenely and thuds his head against the back of the seat. "Thank God you submitted your resume and a sample of your work when you did, or I'd really be in trouble."
Stan laughs at that, and laughs even harder when Kyle spots a Domino's and demands that they stop. He's even lucky enough to have Kyle put his request to the tune of Yankee Doodle ("I want pizza with some cheese, I want it pizza just for me." "Jesus, dude, we've gotta put you on Vicodin more often. This is fucking awesome."), so he stops and gets an extra large meat lover's pizza, just to see the contented smile on Kyle's face when he opens the box and starts breathing in the pizza fumes.
They get back to Kyle's house to find that the lights are still on in his mom and dad's bedroom.
"Man, they're probably watching the Daily Show or something," Kyle yawns as they get into the house. He smacks the box of pizza down on the coffee table and plops down right in front of it. Stan goes to sit next to him and toes off his shoes while Kyle starts devouring his first slice of pizza.
"Hey, Kyle?" Stan says as he picks up his own slice and takes a bite.
"Yes, master commander," Kyle replies through a mouthful.
"Since I know you're gonna hold this over my head for the rest of our lives," Stan swallows, "I figured I'd just come out and thank you now for being a pretty goddamned good guy."
"Ugh, gross," Kyle wrinkles his nose, but nudges Stan's knee with his under the table and gives him a sidelong smile.
"What?" Stan laughs a little. Kyle just leans over and gives him a big, smacking kiss on the lips before he pulls back and shouts "I love you, Stan Marsh!" loud enough for Kyle's parents to be disturbed enough by it to come downstairs and see what the commotion is.
"Boys, what are you doing here?" Gerald asks. "We thought you'd be sleeping over at Sta—"
"Kyle, what happened to your hand?" Sheila interjects.
"Oh, fuck," Kyle looks at his cast and laughs, like he forgot about the whole thing altogether. "I punched Cartman in the face. I'm probably not going to do the wedding thing tomorrow."
"Kyle Broflovski, you hit someone?" Sheila comes to stand before them, hands perched on her hips and looking not unlike she did back when she'd catch them doing something bad when they were kids. "What in the world would possess you to do that?"
"He was being a dick to Stan," Kyle shrugs and grabs another slice of pizza.
"Honey, Stan can take care of himself," Sheila says imploringly.
"But mom, Stan's my boyfriend and I had to defend him," Kyle whines, like it makes the most sense in the world, and slings an arm around Stan's shoulder. He awkwardly pinches Stan's face as best he can with his broken hand and looks up at his parents, who're looking back at them like they've each grown two extra heads. "How could I not defend a face like this?"
"Um," Stan chips in when Gerald and Sheila don't say anything further. "They gave him Vicodin at the hospital? I think they may have given him a little too much."
There's another beat before both of Kyle's parents launch into separate rants about how violence is never the answer, how could he be so careless, have such little regard for another human being's safety. Stan looks over at Kyle then, who just shrugs like this is exactly what he was expecting and stands.
"Okay, well," he stretches while they're still trying to berate him. "I'm gonna go to bed or something. Love you."
Stan sits there uselessly for a moment, watching along with Sheila and Gerald as Kyle thumps happily up the stairs, humming a little to himself and displaying a general lack of regard for anyone's concerns. He stands after a moment and closes the pizza box, ready to put it away in the fridge before Sheila puts a hand on his forearm.
"I'll take care of that," she says. "You go make sure he hasn't strangled himself trying to get out of his shirt."
Stan just nods and makes his way over to the stairs. He knows they're staring at him, and his face is bright red because of it, so he turns to give them a final look.
"Uh, you guys…" he begins lamely. "You guys got that we're together? Like, together-together?"
They both just look at him like he's grown a second head.
"Right, okay. Dumb question," Stan nods. "See you in the morning."
Stan runs up the stairs and into Kyle's room, where Kyle is lying shirtless on his bed, arms spread out to his side as he stares up at the ceiling.
"My body is ready," is all he says when he hears Stan come in.
"Oh, my god, you freak," Stan laughs to himself. He gets dressed in the spare pajamas he keeps in Kyle's bottom drawer and grabs a shirt he can pull over Kyle's head when he flops down beside him. "I don't want you to freeze, dick."
When Kyle makes a petulant noise, Stan cuddles in close to him and noses at his cheek, "Because you're my boyfriend, remember? I like you warm. And alive."
"Meh," Kyle sticks out his tongue. "Boyfriend."
"Hey, you're the one who keeps saying it," Stan points out.
"Yeah, well," Kyle shifts so that he and Stan are face to face, and puts his good hand on his cheek. "That's 'cause I kind of like it. And I like you. And I like your stupid puppy dog face."
Stan doesn't have time to offer a response, just lets himself get swallowed in Kyle's kisses. He'll worry about Shelly tomorrow, if indeed he's still invited to her wedding, that is. For now he'll just make out with his boyfriend until they fall asleep.
Boyfriend.
As per usual, I thank everyone for reading, and I thank you guys for leaving feedback. I can't tell you how awesome you all are.
We're getting close to the end, as you may have guessed. I won't put a number on it, because I'm notoriously bad at that, but we're almost there!
