A/N: Kyle's chapters are always long. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, I love hearing what you guys are thinking about where the story is going. Looking forward to hearing what everyone thinks about this chapter in particular!
It's been a long time since Kyle has had a legitimate agoraphobic episode, and he'd forgotten how comforting the first week or so can be, before the days start stacking up around his shoulders like unread newspapers and the guilt sets in. They've been in South Park for four days now, and Kyle has not left the McCormick residence since he arrived here after that incident at the police station. Out there, the town was too much for him, full of eerily familiar smells, and though that police chief was the only resident Kyle met other than the ones who visit or reside in this apartment, Eric Cartman was more than enough to convince Kyle that he's not ready to face what's out there. Even when Kyle was living in Stan's apartment in Akron, he would step out to walk to the market or go to the bar down the street with Stan for Coors Light on draft. Here, he's perfectly comfortable staying indoors, observing South Park through Kenny's living room windows. That's where he's seated now, on the floor with his nose pressed to the cool window, a blanket wrapped around him in a cup of tea steaming in his hands. All that's missing is Stan.
Outside, the sky is gray and bleary, occasionally letting lose a sleety mist of precipitation. Kyle sips his tea and shivers inside his blanket, hoping that Stan will be back soon. He's worried, and annoyed with that Wendy girl for volunteering to drive Stan to meet this supposed 'mother.' Nobody here seems to understand how much finding his mother would mean to Stan, and they've been throwing the prospect that she's right here in town around like it's no big deal, suggesting Stan should stop in for a chat. Kyle begged Stan not to indulge these probably crazy people, but he can't deny that it was Christophe who sent them here, his letter signed with their secret code word from childhood, and Kyle trusts Christophe with his life. He supposes he can now only trust Christophe's memory with his life. He drinks more tea, and though it's piping hot he still feels a bit cold. It's been over a week now since he learned of Christophe's death, and he still can't make himself accept that he's really gone, that he won't show up at Kenny's door, irate with Kyle for believing he would ever desert him.
Kyle continues watching the parking lot, listening to the quiet of this small but oddly welcoming apartment. He had Karen help him clean it, and both of them were a bit clueless about the difference between Windex and Lysol at first, but Kyle carefully read the backs of the bottles before they set to work. Karen grew up in a household where the children didn't have chores because the adults didn't bother with chores themselves, and Kyle always had maids and orderlies to clean up after him. Cleaning the apartment was a strangely rewarding project for both of them, and they bonded in the process. Kyle was careful to give her the non-chemical tasks like vacuuming, and they cheerfully exchanged anecdotes about the travesties of their childhoods while they worked. Kyle considers Karen his friend, more so than Kenny, who continues to alarm him and has a worrying intimacy with Stan, though Kyle supposes Kenny would exercise the same familiarity with him if Kyle didn't jump away whenever Kenny tried to grab him.
When Wendy's car finally pulls into the lot outside the apartment, Kyle watches with a measure of annoyance as she hugs Stan goodbye before driving off. He shouldn't be jealous; he knew this would happen, that people would instantly love Stan if he ever opened himself up to them, but this woman was apparently Stan's girlfriend in some alternate universe, and that's troubling, despite the fact that Kyle has discerned over the past few days that she's in love with Kenny.
"Well?" Kyle says when Stan comes through the door, looking tired and slightly disheveled. Kyle is glad Karen is in her room, taking her usual afternoon nap. "How was it?"
"Um, it was," Stan says, and he doesn't need to go any further, the blasted apart expression on his face describing the experience well enough. Kyle hurries to him and pulls him into his arms. Stan falls against him gratefully, his head resting on Kyle's shoulder, arms winding around Kyle's back.
"Damn that Kenny," Kyle says, his teeth gritted as he pets Stan's hair. "He never should have gotten your hopes up."
"No - Kyle." Stan sniffles and lifts his head. He smells a bit like old coffee filters and puke, but Kyle withholds that observation as he watches Stan's lips tremble. "It was her. It was my mother."
"Wha - but - she recognized you?" Again, Kyle experiences intense, wholly unfair jealousy. He's thought about his real parents so often, secretly. Kenny's claims that they're here in town are the real reason he's afraid to leave the apartment. What if they're worse than his adoptive parents? What if they're better, and they don't want anything to do with him, because why would they?
"No - yeah - sort of," Stan says. His eyes are dry now, but they're red-rimmed, his cheeks splotchy. "We felt - something. She felt it, too. Kyle, she, like. Hugged me."
He loses it then, and Kyle moans, his own eyes growing wet while he holds Stan. Kyle rocks him in his arms, wanting to ask him how he could be sure about this, and if he started crying in her presence before or after she hugged him, but he's not going to question Stan about what he feels is true. That's Kyle's mother talking, all that doubt and sneering disbelief, and it's not his place to protect Stan from what he's feeling, though he wants to, badly.
"Come on," Kyle says. "Come to the bedroom - do you want to change your clothes?"
"Yeah," Stan says, wiping his face with his sleeves, sniffling. "I threw up." He sounds about six years old. Kyle nods and takes his hand, leading him toward the bedroom that Kenny has been - Kyle must admit - very kind to lend to them.
Inside Kenny's bedroom, Kyle shuts the door and leaves the lights off, letting the gray glow from the window illuminate the room. He undresses Stan, pausing between articles of clothing to wipe Stan's face and kiss his cheeks.
"Are you alright?" Kyle asks when Stan is dressed down to his boxer shorts, his fragrant clothes in a pile near the door. "Do you want a shower?"
"I just want to get in bed with you," Stan says. "Um, maybe I should brush my teeth first?"
"If you want to," Kyle says, confused.
"Just, 'cause, um." Stan sniffles. "I want to kiss you."
"Oh - okay - well, you don't need to brush your teeth. I don't mind."
"Don't lie." Stan smiles a little, leaning down to kiss Kyle's temple. "You mind. Or anyway, I don't want to make you kiss - barf. The taste is starting to gross me out, anyway. I don't think I'll ever drink coffee again. Be right back."
Kyle takes his own clothes off while Stan brushes his teeth in the attached bathroom, and he climbs under the blankets that are piled on the bed. The sheets aren't the cleanest Kyle has ever encountered, but if he wanted to wash them he'd have to leave the apartment and find a laundromat, and there is something strangely comforting about the scent of Kenny. He's promised Stan and Kyle that he's never had sex or even jerked off in this bed, which is odd, especially since Kyle immediately believed him. Kyle and Stan haven't desecrated the sheets in that fashion since they've arrived, Kyle still too worn down by what happened to Christophe to want anything more than intense cuddling. He feels differently when Stan walks out of the bathroom in his boxers, and his legs spread involuntarily under the blankets, because he wants Stan closer than cuddling can manage, inside him again. He holds his arms out and Stan hurries into them, moaning with renewed contentment as Kyle pulls the blankets up to their chins.
"So," Kyle says when they're pressed completely together, overly warm beneath the blankets, though the apartment is drafty enough that Kyle can feel the chill on the back of his exposed ear. "Your mother," he says. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"She had my nose," Stan says. He doesn't seem to be in danger of crying again, his eyes bright with excitement. "And she said that her ex-husband - my dad, I guess - she said he had my eyes."
"Wait, so she recognized you as a long lost child?" Kyle says. "Stan, that's amazing, that's -"
"No, it wasn't like that," Stan says, quashing Kyle's hope that his own alleged South Park family might know him at first sight. "She doesn't remember losing a kid named Stan, or ever having one. But my sister asked for me once, when she was coming off of anesthesia. And my mom - she just - she was, like, me, Kyle, only not exactly. We talked about nursing, and I wanted to stay there all day, but then I thought about Christophe."
"You thought about Christophe?"
"About what happened to him." Stan kisses Kyle's cheek as if to apologize for bringing it up. "And I thought, Jesus. What if whoever hurt him is on his way here? What if he's going to hurt more people?"
"Back up for a minute," Kyle says, not ready to think about that. "How did she react to you? How did she get to the point where she was bringing up her ex-husband's eye color?"
"Well, I told her I wanted a nose job and she said I shouldn't get one, 'cause my face was, um." He blushes, and Kyle kisses him, because, yes, his face is perfect. "She said I didn't need one. And that got to me, for some reason, and me getting all emotional made her emotional, and she made me hot chocolate, Kyle, and it was like, that feeling. That having a mom feeling. I thought I knew what it'd be like, but it was better than anything I could have imagined. It was so real, and I know you think I'm crazy, but it was really her."
"I don't think you're crazy." Kyle strokes Stan's hair, and he's still jealous, still a little worried, but mostly he's happy for Stan, even as he trembles in Kyle's arms under the blankets. "I'm glad you went there. I shouldn't have tried to discourage you, I just - do you think you'll see her again?"
"She gave me her card," Stan says. "But I don't know. What would I say? God, everything's so screwed up. Are you going to try to meet your parents?"
"You say that so confidently. Like you're sure they're my parents."
"I'm not, I'm sorry." Stan kisses him and rubs his back. "It's just - Kyle. I think it's worth it. Even if you just -"
"I can't think about leaving the apartment yet," Kyle says, his breath quickening. He buries his face against Stan's chest and burrows in as close as he can, staying there until his calm begins to restore. He can't shake the feeling that Stan belongs here and he doesn't. Maybe Christophe sent them here to reconnect only with Stan's people. Kyle doesn't belong anywhere, and accepting that was a big part of reclaiming his sanity, once. He'd rather live with that sadness than let it drive him crazy, and as long as he has Stan's arms around him like this, it's enough.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to pressure you," Stan says. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."
"I can't even begin to think about whether or not I'd want it," Kyle says, his voice muffled against Stan's skin. "All of this - it's too much."
"You miss Christophe," Stan says. He's still fixated on this, as if Kyle's grief has some secret romantic counterpart.
"Yes," Kyle says. He lifts his face to Stan's. "I feel like everything good I ever had came from him. He brought me to you. That's everything, Stan. What if I'd never found you? What if I'd never gone to that doctor's office, what if -"
"Hey, no," Stan says. He cups Kyle's face and kisses him, letting Kyle taste the tip of his toothpaste-fresh tongue. "You don't have to worry about that anymore, alright? I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. You've got enough on your mind, so don't worry about stuff that already worked out pretty great." He smiles, and Kyle kisses him more deeply, wishing he could be as comforted by that as Stan wants him to be.
"We should have a code word," Kyle says, breathless when he pulls back. "Me and you, a secret word, the way me and Christophe did, so that no one can ever pretend to be us, or make us act like everything is okay when we're actually being held hostage -"
"That's why you and Christophe had a code word?" Stan says, raising his eyebrows. "You were worried about this kind of stuff as kids?"
"Well - yeah, and rightfully so, it seems!"
"So what was the word?"
"I'll tell you," Kyle says, taking Stan's face in his hands. "But just know that you are the only person I would ever trust with this information."
"Okay." Stan waits, blinks. "I'll keep that in mind."
"You'll never tell anyone this word?"
"Of course not! Kyle!"
"Okay, okay. It's effarig."
"Is that French?"
Kyle laughs. "No, it's the word 'giraffe' spelled backward."
"Uh, okay. Did you guys go to the zoo together as kids?"
"Psh! Christophe at a zoo? My God, I can only imagine it. He'd never shut up about how we're all really animals in cages, paying admission to watch each other sling shit - uh, no, he just always said we knew each other in a past life, and that the word 'giraffe' had some significance for us then, and since our current lives were lent d'esprit - that's like, backward, in French - we should flip it around."
"Kyle." Stan sits up on his elbow. "Christophe said he knew you in a past life?"
"Oh, he was always saying things like that. He was an atheist, though, so it was all metaphorical -"
"Maybe! Or maybe he was talking about South Park!"
Kyle stares up at Stan, who is agitated now, back on the mystery-solving quest. Kyle has to admit that he's been more interested in figuring things out since they came back here, whereas before he was always terrified to encounter anything that might give him a single memory of his past. He's getting the feeling that avoiding the past is not an option anymore.
"It's impossible, though," Kyle says. "He was French."
"Right, but he was young, and kids pick up accents pretty quickly, yeah? God, I don't know, I just - he's the one who told you to come here, and to find me, and he's the one who got killed for whatever he knew. You never considered that he might have meant your actual past life when he said you two once knew each other? Your pre-amnesia life?"
"No, because why would he keep that from me? Christophe was pro-honesty. Even if he thought something would rip me to shreds, he'd still say it."
"Wow, what a guy."
"No, you didn't know him, it was out of kindness, it's why I trusted him so much-"
"Alright, okay." Stan sighs and sinks back to the pillows, tucking his arm around Kyle. "I'm just saying. Maybe we should stop trying to focus on the mystery of me and you for awhile and do more looking into who the hell Christophe was. You said he was adopted, right?"
"Right, like me." Kyle sighs and rubs his finger over Stan's chest, spelling the secret word that he supposes is his secret word with Stan, now: E-F-F-A-R-I-G. That word used to make him feel safe, a secret that he could keep from even his parents, and when he saw it at the bottom of Christophe's letter he was devastated. Only then did he really believe Christophe was gone.
"But if you're not ready to think about this," Stan says hurriedly, "We don't have to talk about it."
"I feel like we don't have that luxury," Kyle says. "You know? Like we're already running out of time. Maybe it's just Christophe's death." He groans and presses his face to Stan's throat, Stan's pulse thumping against Kyle's cheek. He thinks of something he read that upset him when he was eleven or twelve years old, about orphaned kittens being set next to an alarm clock covered with a blanket and being comforted by what they would think was their mother's heartbeat. He wonders what his real mother looks like. Kenny told him that she has red hair like him, and Kyle made him stop there.
"I kind of know what you mean," Stan says. "About time. I can't stop thinking that someone is going to come after us, the way they came after him." He squeezes Kyle and sighs into his hair. "Hey, um, Kyle?"
"Yeah?"
"You know how, at your parents' house, you said you needed me, um, like, in you?"
"Yeah." Kyle reaches down to cup Stan's ass, smiling. He was hoping they could have sex this afternoon, even before Stan came home looking wrecked.
"I think I need that," Stan says, looking slightly terrified, blushing deeply.
"You want to be inside me again?" Kyle asks, putting his mouth over Stan's, trying to lick between his lips.
"Um, yeah, a lot, but, like, today? Could I maybe have you? In me? Like, to try it? 'Cause I think maybe I need that. I mean, I feel like I need that."
"Ah - yeah," Kyle says, taken off guard. Stan has gone from warm to boiling hot under the blankets, his face on fire. Kyle sweeps Stan's hair from his forehead and kisses him, wondering how he's going to do this. He's never been a very good top, because he thinks too much when he has to be the one who's in control, and Stan is very much a virgin in this sense. He's probably never even touched himself down there. Kyle gets hard against Stan's thigh, thinking this, and he kisses Stan more deeply, sweeping his tongue into Stan's mouth until they're both sighing, moaning, and touching each other like nervous kids under the blankets, hands shaking. Kyle knows he shouldn't be anxious about being a good top, because Stan isn't asking to be topped, not really, not in the robustly confident way that Kyle can never quite pull off. He's just asking Kyle to be close to him, to make him feel safe.
"You'll have to show me what to do," Stan says when he pulls back. He's so nervous, like that first time at Kyle's parents' house, like he's afraid Kyle will laugh at him.
"You don't have to do anything," Kyle says. "Just relax, okay?" Kyle sits up on his elbow and pets Stan's bright red cheek. "I'll go really slow." He kisses Stan's perfect nose, already holding back something that's not quite tears. Whatever it is, it's the thing that's making him shake. It's just Stan, probably, how trusting he is, and how much Kyle trusts him. "I'll take care of you," Kyle says when Stan's eyes flutter shut. "I promise. All you have to do is tell me if you're uncomfortable, or if you want to stop, okay?"
"Kay." Stan is calmer now, and he opens his eyes to stare at Kyle's shoulder, letting Kyle pet him. "It's okay if it hurts a little, though. It's supposed to, right? At first?"
"No," Kyle says. "It's not. So tell me if it hurts. I mean it, Stan -"
"Okay, okay. I'll tell you." Stan laughs under his breath, like Kyle is being ridiculous for not wanting to hurt him. Kyle will be able to tell even if Stan doesn't say anything. He can feel it when Stan is hurting, and he knows he's hurting now, that the visit with his mother broke him just as much as it excited him. Kyle bends to kiss Stan's neck, keeping his kisses gentle as his hand skims down over Stan's back.
"You're so fucking beautiful," Kyle says. "She must have thought you were out of your mind, asking for plastic surgery."
"She did look at me like I was crazy," Stan says. "But it was good, you know? That she cared about what my face looks like. She knew me, Kyle. She'd missed me, all that time, even if she couldn't remember my name."
Kyle licks up the few tears that come, and Stan sniffles, keeping his eyes closed. He rolls onto his back under the blankets and pushes his boxers down.
"Are you sure you want to do this now?" Kyle asks. He promises himself that he won't ask again, that he'll trust Stan to know what he wants, but he had to ask once. Stan nods.
"I want it," he says, pulling Kyle on top of him. "I feel like I'm in this dream that someone else is having. If you're inside me I'll know I'm still real. Is that how it felt for you? That time, um, when I was in you?"
"Yeah," Kyle says, though those words and even his memories of that moment are inadequate. "And like nothing before you had ever been real, like nothing that hurt me back then mattered anymore."
"That sounds pretty good," Stan says, pushing out a nervous laugh. Kyle kisses him for awhile, then goes to the bathroom for a bottle of baby oil that he found under Kenny's sink last night while searching for cotton balls, which the McCormicks apparently do not own. He's glad to hear no sound coming from the other door that connects to the bathroom, which leads to Karen's bedroom. He hopes Kenny won't come home early from work. He needs this quiet, for Stan, just the distant sound of the wind through the pines and the hum of the central heating.
"Are you okay with using this?" Kyle asks when he returns to the room, holding up the baby oil. Stan laughs and nods.
"I don't think I have a right to be picky," he says. "As a beginner."
"Yeah, you do! Stan! I want this to be perfect."
"It's already perfect," Stan says, reaching for him. "C'mere, hurry, this bed gets cold without you."
"It is freezing in here," Kyle says. He puts the oil on the pillow and slips back under the blankets, scooting over to Stan. "I can hear the heat running, though. This place is damn drafty."
"I kinda like it," Stan says. He wraps his arms and legs around Kyle, kissing his face. "It makes it that much better when I'm in bed with you like this."
"I wish I could have been there when you were ten," Kyle says. "And every night, in bed with you."
"Well, you'll be there from now on, every night." Stan kisses Kyle's nose primly and rolls onto his back. "So, should I get on my hands and knees or something?"
"Stan! No! Just, um, lie on your stomach and, uh, spread your legs. Maybe put a pillow under your hips, here."
"Have you ever done this to a virgin before?" Stan asks, sounding a little worried as he arranges himself into position, maybe because of Kyle's obvious nerves.
"Not that I know of," Kyle says. "But I have done it, okay, so don't worry. I know my way around an ass."
"Did you do it to Spencer?" Stan asks as Kyle pops open the baby oil. Kyle snorts.
"No," he says. "He wasn't 'comfortable' with 'anal pleasure.' He was exploring that with his therapist when I left him. His theory was that it had to do with his toilet training."
"What a douche."
"Yeah. Now can we not talk about my ex-boyfriend's toilet training while I deflower you? It's kind of turning me off."
"Kay, sorry."
"Maybe we should get you to where you're okay with me touching your ass before I actually use the oil," Kyle says, poised to dump some into his palm. Stan grins at him.
"I'm okay with you touching my ass," he says.
"I could give you a back rub," Kyle says, his hand beginning to tremble. "Or suck your dick for awhile -"
"Kyle, are you okay with this? You don't have to-"
"No, I want to, I do!" It's true; he wants it for Stan and for himself, wants to be enclosed in Stan's warmth in any and every way possible. "I just don't want to rush."
"No rush," Stan says. "Kenny doesn't get home for like three hours. We've got all afternoon."
Already, Stan is the one calming Kyle down. That's fine with Kyle. With this in mind, he spends some just rubbing his slick fingers through the crack of Stan's ass, moaning when Stan presses his hips back.
"This might freak you out at first," Kyle says when his fingers dig in deeper, sliding down lower. "It's okay if it does."
"Okay-ah, yuh-yeah." Stan's eye is cracked open against the pillow, but his gaze is fuzzed over and sightless already. "I'm, mhm. Okay with that."
Kyle can feel the truth in those words thrumming through Stan's body, just under his skin, moving down his spine like a wave and breaking when his hips roll. Stan closes his eyes and moans, drooling onto the pillow, and by the time Kyle starts to push in he's relaxed enough to take it easily, a pink flush spreading down over his back. Kyle licks Stan's shoulder and rubs himself against Stan's thigh, so hard for this.
"You're doing awesome," Kyle says in a whisper, and Stan laughs.
"Thanks, dude. Keep going." He wiggles his hips, his legs opening a little more widely under the blankets. "Deeper, okay?"
By the time Kyle works a second finger in he's panting just as hard as Stan is, flopped down against Stan and lapping at his mouth while Stan groans powerfully at the slow push and pull of Kyle's fingers. Kyle has to shush him a moments, lest Karen realize what they're up to.
"Sorry," Stan says, not bothering to whisper. "Just, unh, Kyle. Feels so good."
"I'm glad you like it," Kyle says, and it's true. He's never been prouder of anything than he is of reducing Stan to this soft, sweaty, boneless heap beneath him. He knows he shouldn't dare it with the apartment so quiet around them, but he can't resist: he teases his fingers against Stan's prostate, grinning and shushing him when he shouts.
"Jesus Christ," Stan says, sounding almost frightened, his hips pushing back as he searches for that feeling again. "Guh- God Almighty, that was - what -"
"Promise me you'll be quiet and I'll do it again," Kyle whispers.
"Ah - I'll be quiet, yeah, please, please, God-"
Kyle wishes he could remember the first time someone did this to him, but he was drunk. Stan looks amazed and upset all at once, and when Kyle swipes his prostate again he cries out, even louder this time.
"Shh, you promised," Kyle says, trailing kisses from Stan's temple and down to the line of his jaw.
"Kyle," Stan moans, barely coherent at this point. "Ah - guh - can you, ha. Could you do that with your dick? Touch me there, like that?"
He's not asking if Kyle is willing, he's wondering if it's possible. Kyle moans and presses his face to Stan's when he nods.
"Yeah," he says, whispering. "Do you want that now?"
"Please, please, God, Kyle, Jesus-fuck, yes-"
"You're all blasphemous," Kyle says, grinning as he slowly removes his fingers. Stan whines and arches, his eyes closed against the pillow.
"I'm sorry," he says, pushing out a little sob. "God forgive me."
He actually seems upset, or at least overwhelmed. Kyle gently turns him onto his back and spends some time just kissing him, calming him down. He's surprised when he reaches under the blankets and finds Stan's cock soft and sticky.
"You came?" Kyle says. Stan blushes and nods.
"Um, a couple of times," he says, mumbling, and Kyle kisses him hard, trying not to do anything stupid like squeal with appreciative joy.
"That's good," Kyle says, whispering this into Stan's mouth, not wanting him to be embarrassed. "That's so – if you're really, um, sensitive, that'll make it really good, for you."
"God, I want it so bad," Stan says when he pulls back to lock eyes with Kyle, and he sounds amazed, or impressed, because maybe he needed it before, but Kyle has made him want it.
"I'm going to give it to you," Kyle says, nodding slowly, afraid that he'll come as soon as he's inside Stan, long before he's able to connect with his prostate. "Roll onto your back, okay?"
Stan does, and Kyle moves down to kneel between his legs. He drags his nails over Stan's chest, just lightly, and rubs his thumbs over Stan's trembling stomach. This part has always been awkward to him, watching some other man lie down and offer himself like this, but it's different when Stan lets Kyle ease his legs apart. Usually Kyle feels jealous, because he wants to be the one lying there, getting worked on, but right now he just wants to give Stan everything, and especially this, because he deserves it, needs it, wants it.
"I love you, alright?" Kyle says, because he always wanted someone to say that to him before sex. Stan smiles and reaches for him, pulling him down until their noses are touching.
"Yeah, alright," Stan says. "I'll allow it." He grins at Kyle's expression and kisses him. "I love you, too," he says when he drops back to the pillows. "I kind of wished you were with me today, when I met her. I want to do everything with you, like, all the important stuff." His blush spreads down over his throat, to his chest, and he lifts his hips a little. "So, um. Go."
"Go?" Kyle laughs and grabs the baby oil.
"I just feel kind of empty," Stan says. "Since you, um, took your fingers out."
"Okay," Kyle says, slicking his cock and trying not to laugh at himself as he thinks of it as a good starter cock, not too long or thick but big enough to leave an impression. "Ready?"
"Uh-huh," Stan says, and he's toying with one of his nipples as he says so, probably subconsciously. Kyle bites his lip and lines up, watching Stan's mouth fall open. Kyle spent a long time stretching him, and the head goes in easily. He watches Stan's eyes for anything resembling panic as he sinks in deeper, a little at a time, trying not to think about the fact that he's never really done this sober and he's already close to coming. It helps that Stan is squeezing his arms so hard it hurts, little shocks of discomfort keeping Kyle's rapidly peaking arousal at bay.
"You okay?" Kyle asks, almost all in now, Stan taking it like a fucking champ. He's sweating, fuzzy-eyed, but he doesn't seem to be in any pain. He nods slowly, staring up at Kyle.
"That's crazy," he says, his voice tight and small. "How – how that feels."
"Crazy, um, good?"
"Real good," Stan says, and Kyle slips all the way in, balls deep. He watches Stan's eyelids grow heavier, his mouth open under Kyle's as it closes over his. "I just, ah," Stan says before Kyle can kiss him. "I never thought I'd feel like this."
"Like what?" Kyle asks. He feels bigger than the room they're in, bigger than the town, godlike with Stan so hot and tight around him, only the pull of Stan's body holding him on earth.
"Like, I feel like." Stan squeezes hard around him, and they both groan, Kyle's forehead dropping down to rest against Stan's cheek. "Full," Stan says, whispering this in Kyle's ear, his fingers stroking through Kyle's hair. "So full, like I've never been empty."
They maintain a slow, dozy pace, exchanging kisses and little moans of encouragement, Kyle's hips moving only in tiny rolls. Kyle feels full, too, like he's never been empty. He knows exactly what Stan means.
Eventually, he gives up on being able to find Stan's prostate with his cock; it's much easier with fingers. He stretches out on his back and lets Stan bounce on him, wiggling around until he's found the right angle. There's no keeping him quiet after he has, so Kyle just lies there and focuses on trying not to come while Stan throws his head back and grinds himself down onto Kyle's cock, shouting about God and Jesus again, falling apart. When his orgasm becomes inevitable Kyle stops trying to do math problems in his head and just lets himself enjoy this: the way Stan is moving on him and the way he looks right now, wanton and mindless and still strangely innocent, tears glittering at the corners of his pinched-shut eyes. Finally allowing himself to come makes Kyle shout more loudly than Stan has all afternoon, and he doesn't care, because he barely knows where he is in the aftermath, just that Stan is here, kissing him, hovering all around him.
"Me too," Stan says, panting, and Kyle has no idea what he's talking about until Stan reaches down to jerk himself and comes again, moaning weakly this time. He presses his face to Kyle's neck and drops all his weight down onto Kyle, his legs splaying out behind him. Kyle somehow didn't realize how much energy he was using by trying to make himself last, but just the effort of lifting his arms and wrapping them around Stan's back is exhausting. Only when Stan shifts on top of him does he remember that he's still inside Stan, and he eases him off carefully, kissing him while their bodies disconnect.
"Um, so," Stan says, leaning up over Kyle on shaking arms. He looks like he thinks he needs to say something profound and feels guilty for not having anything prepared. Kyle shakes his head.
"C'mere," he says, sitting up and pulling Stan toward the pillows, because somehow they ended up far away from them, diagonal across the bed. "Back under the blankets, okay?"
"I think I was too loud," Stan says as Kyle tucks him under the blankets and into his arms. Kyle shrugs and kisses Stan's forehead. They're still sweating, but they twist around each other as tightly as they can, ankles rubbing together.
"Karen will forgive you," Kyle says. He leans back a bit to peer into Stan's eyes, which are sleepy and lidded. "You okay?"
Stan nods. "I wanted to trade places and do you when we were done, but, um, I think I need to sleep for awhile."
"Yeah, you do." Kyle strokes his hair and gives him a little lick across the bridge of his nose. Stan is already heavy in his arms, sighing. Kyle loves him so much that he's afraid he'll tear a hole in the universe from the force of it, because nothing this big can exist without throwing a shadow. He watches Stan sink completely into sleep, kisses his forehead and says prayers to any gods who might be looking out for Stan to keep on doing that, because Kyle can't be responsible for taking care of someone else, especially not someone this good. He knows he should feel elated, that a normal person would, but his happiness in this moment is terrifying. He clings to Stan and shuts his eyes, knowing that he won't be able to sleep. He's exhausted, but his heart is hammering.
Stan is right to be worried about whoever killed Christophe tracing them here. Behind his closed eyes, Kyle sees the sharp slashes of Christophe's handwriting, and hears his warnings again. The letter was in French, which was the language they spoke to each other when they wanted to hide things from Kyle's mother, who pretended to be more fluent than she actually was.
If you're reading this, it's because I've been found out. I'm sure it was staged to look like a suicide, just to humiliate me. I would tell you everything, my little effarig, but I am writing this letter in advance as a precaution, and I can't risk having a written record of what happened existing. The priest who will deliver this to you in the event of my death is a man who I trust, and if I had given him an account of what is at stake here, even if he upheld his promise not to read it, that would be tantamount to murdering him in cold blood. I think perhaps I would kill for you if I could, effarig, but that is against the rules.
The only person who can help you is a retired whore named Kenny McCormick who lives in South Park, Colorado. Go to see him as soon as you receive this.
I've failed you, effarig, unless I've somehow managed to find your missing half and get you to him before you see this letter. If I haven't, I fear that we're all supremely fucked. If I have, there is a slim chance we're not. My feeling always was that once you were returned to him I would be ripped off the earth, so perhaps that is what I'm hoping for as I write this.
God help you all. (A lot of good that did).
Kyle opens his eyes and lets out his breath. Outside, the sky is getting a bit darker behind the clouds. He has his back to the bedroom's window, but he can see the day fading as the dimness of the room deepens, making the apartment feel cozier. He can hear cabinets opening and closing out in the apartment, and he should get out there and start helping Karen make dinner. He's got an elaborate one planned, beef stroganoff with a pineapple upsidedown cake for dessert. It's the least he can do for these people who have suddenly surrounded him like a makeshift family, the only one that's ever felt real.
He tries to stop thinking about Christophe's letter, but for the past four days he hasn't been able to. He keeps running over the more cryptic elements, until they start to wear away and blur together. The last line bothers him the most, though he can't say why. Christophe was always saying cynical things about God, and Kyle had always interpreted it as atheism, assuming he was talking about the idea of God when he said that God was the biggest bitch of them all, one of his favorite refrains. Being called effarig in the letter convinced Kyle that it was authentic, but why would Christophe appeal to God to help them? It could just be a throwaway thing, a colloquial way to wish them good luck, but Kyle's mind keeps catching on it, and on the parenthetical statement attached to it.
"Kyle?" Stan mumbles as Kyle carefully tries to extract himself from Stan's grip.
"I'm going to start working on dinner," Kyle says, whispering. He kisses Stan's eyelids. "Go back to sleep."
"Nuh – I'll help –"
"Shh, Karen can help me. Get some rest." He has to stop himself from calling Stan 'effie,' which was what Kyle and Christophe used as an endearment when they were in mixed company, to keep their actual code word a secret. For Kyle it doesn't signify Christophe himself so much as someone sacred and invaluable, but considering Stan's insecurity about Christophe, Kyle decides he'd better not start calling Stan that. He kisses Stan once more before slipping out of bed. Stan is already asleep again, his arm hugged around Kyle's pillow.
Kyle washes up a bit, dresses and walks out into the living room area, closing the bedroom door behind him as quietly as he can. Karen looks up from the onion she's chopping and smiles.
"Hey, there you are," she says. "Is Stan asleep in there?"
"Yeah, he had a long day," Kyle says.
"Sounded like you were having some pretty awesome sex," Karen says, and Kyle laughs, embarrassed only on behalf of Stan's purity.
"Sorry if we were too loud," he says. He goes to the fridge for a beer, wishing he had some gin. Based on what Karen has told him about her brother's substance abuse problems, Kyle wouldn't want to bring hard liquor into the apartment, but the novelty of beer has long worn off.
"Nah, it's fine," Karen says. "I'm glad someone in this apartment is finally getting laid."
"Kenny doesn't date?" Kyle thinks of what Christophe wrote in his letter; he's been wondering how literal 'retired whore' could possibly be. Kenny is good looking and charming in a hayseed way, but there is something a bit off about him, and Kyle can't tell if he returns Wendy's feelings or not.
"Kenny dating?" Karen laughs. "Yeah, no. He doesn't think he could handle it. They tell you at those rehab places that you're not supposed to date for a year. I think Kenny heard 'ten.'"
"And you – you and your, um, the father of your baby? That relationship is over?"
"That's what I'm supposed to tell everyone," Karen says, mumbling. She's still chopping onions, unevenly, and Kyle wants to take over or at least demonstrate proper technique, but he restrains himself. "It's fucking humiliating," Karen says when she looks up. "Can I tell you something?"
"Sure," Kyle says, confused.
"I mean, this is a big secret," Karen says, holding up the knife. "Even my brother – especially my brother, he can't know about this. But I'm tired of people thinking I'm some tramp who let Craig Tucker knock her up."
"Craig," Kyle says. The name sounds vaguely familiar, from one of Kenny's rants. "He's the father – or – wait, you're saying he's not?"
"You seriously can't tell Kenny," Karen says. "Or anyone – not even Stan!"
"Okay," Kyle says, fully planning on telling Stan.
"Everyone thinks I'm some dumb slut," Karen says. "And you'd have to be dumb to sleep with Craig, though I guess if you were a gold digger it'd be a good idea. I never let that asshole put his hands on me. I've been with the father of my baby for a long time, okay? Probably since I was like, geez, seven years old. He used to bring me daisies."
"Who is he?" Kyle asks, cheered by this gossip. He hops up on the counter and drinks from his beer. "Someone Kenny hates more than Craig? Oh – God – it's not that police chief, is it?"
"Cartman? Hell no!" Karen laughs and winces. "No, Kenny doesn't hate him, he doesn't even know him. No one in town does. That's what I like about him. Well, that's what I liked, for all those years, like he was my secret. When I was little I thought he was my imaginary friend, but now I'm pregnant, and he's never here, and this whole mysterious boyfriend thing is getting a little shitty, especially since I have to tell people it's Craig's."
"Why would you have to tell people it's Craig's?" Kyle asks. His idle curiosity about this is giving way to something else, an uneasy feeling.
"For the money," Karen says, her mouth quirking. "We're blackmailing him. It was Damien's idea."
"Whoa," Kyle says. He rears back a little and drinks more beer. "Damien? That's your boyfriend?"
"Yeah," Karen says. "I wish I could show you a picture of him. He's so beautiful, oh, gosh – and he has black hair, like Stan! And like Craig, so it's convenient that the one guy Damien knew how to blackmail and who also happens to be rich has the same hair color that my baby will probably have."
"I'm so lost," Kyle says. "Why would your boyfriend want people to think someone else was the father? Just for Craig's money?"
"Well, apparently Damien went to school here for awhile when he was a kid," Karen says. "And, like, some stuff happened with his father, and he thinks the whole town is against him now? So he just made me promise early on not to tell anyone about us, and believe me, I know how dumb that sounds, but he's really loyal. He's a violinist, so he has to travel all the time, 'cause he does all these international concerts and stuff. He's, like, a prodigy, he's been doing this since he was a kid, traveling the world and playing the violin. But he always comes back to me, and, I don't know, before I was pregnant, like I said, I was okay with the secrecy thing. He's convinced that Kenny would forbid me from seeing him if he knew who he was. He won't even tell me his last name, so that I won't be able to look up whatever happened with his father in South Park back in the day. He's really ashamed of his family. He never talks about them."
Kyle stares at her for awhile, drinking beer. He's made it to the bottom of the bottle, and he plunks it on the counter when it's empty, waiting for Karen to tell him that she's joking about this. She doesn't exactly strike him as one of the brilliant minds of her generation, but no way is she this clueless.
"You don't even know his last name?" Kyle says.
"I know, it sounds crazy." She groans and picks up the cutting board, dumping the chopped onions onto a plate. "But Damien promises it'll be different once the baby gets here, that we'll be together all the time and I'll know everything about him. And I know what you're thinking, but he was really excited when I got pregnant. I felt terrible when I told him what happened, that the condom must have ripped or whatever, but he was ecstatic. He just loves me so much, you know? He's really happy we're having a baby together."
"How old is this guy?" Kyle asks, picturing some nasty little European violinist with a bald spot and a pot belly.
"He's Kenny's age," Karen says. "Just a few years older than me – twenty-six. Oh, you'll meet him. He says that after the baby comes, after we have this unbreakable connection, he'll introduce himself to my family, and to everybody in South Park. He figures that they'll forgive him for whatever happened with his dad once they see that he's a good dad himself. He's so sweet, Kyle, you'd love him, really."
"Sweet?" Kyle says, raising his eyebrows. "What was this about blackmail?"
"First of all," Karen says, "Craig Tucker deserves everything he gets. He goes out of his way to make everyone miserable, then he became a freaking millionaire off of making unblockable pop-up ads. Plus, he has the nerve to be having an affair with a married man and thinking he can get away with it. So, frankly, I don't really care about the fact that he's paying for my baby's prenatal care. You wouldn't, either, if you met him."
"Why can't Damien just pay for this stuff himself?" Kyle asks, aware that he's treading dangerous waters here. Karen shrugs.
"He could, he's got plenty of money, but someone has to be the father, right? This way, nobody asks questions, and Damien can keep on being anonymous until the baby comes."
"And Craig went along with this?" Kyle asks, sputtering now. Karen seems so calm as she tells him this, but he supposes it's in her nature to take things in stride. She barely batted an eyelash when Kenny moved two strangers into their apartment, claiming they were his long lost friends.
"Well, he has to," Karen says. "Damien will tell Wendy about what Craig's doing if he doesn't cooperate with us."
"What does Wendy care?"
"She's married to the guy Craig is having the affair with," Karen says. She smiles at the look on Kyle's face and gets another beer from the fridge, opening it before handing it to him. "Sorry," she says as she watches him gulp from the bottle. "I guess it all sounds a little crazy out loud. It's just nice to be able to finally tell someone."
"Karen," Kyle says, not even sure where to start with all the reservations and red flags that popped up while he listened to that story. Before he can say anything, they hear the rattle of Kenny's keys outside the apartment door.
"You can't say anything!" Karen says, her eyes going wide. "Seriously, Kyle, you have to promise. Don't tell Kenny about any of this." Her voice has dropped to a whisper now, and she looks panicked. Kyle wonders what she's really afraid of – Kenny's disapproval, or Damien's.
"I promise," Kyle whispers, and it's sincere, for now. He'll have to consult with Stan about this later. Kenny comes through the door looking chipper, his hair damp from the sleet that's pelting the windows.
"Hey!" Karen says when Kenny walks over to kiss her forehead. "How was your day?"
"Pretty good," Kenny says. He grins at Kyle, who gives him a wary smile in return. Kenny's enthusiasm for Kyle and Stan being here makes Kyle nervous, though he's sure at this point that Kenny is harmless. "How about yours?" he asks as he walks past Kyle, clapping him on the shoulder.
"It was fine," Kyle says. "Stan went to see his – Sharon."
"Yeah, Wendy told me," Kenny says. He grabs a beer from the fridge and opens it with his teeth. It still makes Kyle cringe, four days after he first witnessed this. "Sounds like it went really well."
"I don't know if I'd say that," Kyle says. He gets the pasta pot from the dish rack and fills it with water. "There were good and bad elements."
"Wendy said he got pretty upset," Kenny says. "But I guess that's to be expected."
"What about any of this is to be expected?" Kyle says, scoffing. Kenny is unperturbed by Kyle's irritation, as usual, and he grins at Kyle like he knew he would say that.
"Touché, Broflovski," Kenny says. "Where is Stan, anyway? In the bedroom?"
"Sleeping," Kyle says. "He's really worn out, so try to keep it down."
"Kyle spent most of the afternoon wearing Stan out," Karen says, smirking when Kyle gives her a look.
"Cool," Kenny says, and Kyle isn't sure if that went over his head or he's just not surprised. "So Stan is okay, though?" he asks, hovering at Kyle's shoulder while he adds salt to the pasta water.
"He's okay," Kyle says. "He's worried, though, and I am, too. I hope we're not putting you guys in danger by being here. Considering what happened to my friend."
"Nah, we're fine," Kenny says. "As long as we're all together."
"Of course," Kyle says, rolling his eyes. Kenny stands behind him and squeezes his shoulders. "Did you make any progress with that police chief?" Kyle asks, letting Kenny rub his shoulders. There's no point in resisting his physical affection, and as creepy as it can occasionally be, it is nice to be around someone who is always so ridiculously happy to see him.
"Cartman's a lost cause," Kenny says. "I was hoping Butters could help me work on him, but I think those two are having issues. I'm hoping Butters is finally waking up to what a piece of shit Cartman is, but there's no telling. At this point, I don't need to see the fingerprints on that trophy, anyway. The whole town feels different already, you know?" He looks at Karen, who shrugs.
"The apartment definitely feels different," she says. "Thanks to Kyle."
"Do either of you have any plans to leave this apartment anytime soon?" Kenny asks.
"I'm fine here," Karen says. "Let everybody gossip about me without a visual aide."
"How about you?" Kenny asks. He releases Kyle's shoulders and stands beside him. "Now that Stan has met his mother –"
"You know, this is all very easy for you to talk about," Kyle says, glaring at him. "But can you calm down for two seconds and imagine what it's like for us? We don't remember these people, and they don't remember us. If Stan felt some sort of connection with Sharon Marsh, that's great, but what's he supposed to do now? Invite her over here for dinner? They can't have any kind of real relationship."
"Okay, okay, sorry," Kenny says, squeezing Kyle's shoulders again. Kyle cringes and steps out of his grip, going to the pantry for the egg noodles. Kenny follows, of course.
"It's not actually that easy for me to talk about," Kenny says. "I mean, it wasn't, before you came. And now that you're here – I'm sorry, okay? I'm just happy. I can't stop being happy about this."
"Well, maybe your spirits will be dampened when there's more bloodshed," Kyle says, muttering. He feels guilty for that and turns to Kenny, who doesn't look upset or afraid.
"I used to be a superhero," Kenny says. Kyle raises his eyebrows.
"Of course."
"Seriously." Kenny grins. "So don't worry about it. Nobody's laying a hand on you guys, not without going through me. My only problem is I feel like we should be doing something in the meantime, and I don't really know where to start. I need a clue or something."
"Stan was saying we should do more looking into Christophe's background," Kyle says, sighing. He presses the bag of pasta into Kenny's hand. "Boil that, will you? I'm going to start on the cake."
"You're going to start on the cake." Kenny is beaming, and Kyle has to duck away when he leans to try to kiss Kyle on the forehead.
"What is your deal?" Kyle asks, pushing past him. "You're awfully starved for affection, aren't you? If you're going to randomly kiss someone, try it on Wendy. I think she'd be more receptive."
"Wendy's married," Kenny says, following Kyle back to the stove. Kyle wishes Stan would wake up so that he could absorb some of Kenny's clinginess. "Though, actually, her husband is cheating on her."
"What?" Karen yelps, looking up from the carrots she's peeling at the sink. Kyle tries to meet her gaze, but her eyes are locked on Kenny's, wide and startled. "She – you – how do you know that? Does Wendy know?"
"No, but I think I'd better tell her," Kenny says. "She has a right –"
"You can't!" Karen says, shouting. "You can't tell her, Kenny, she – she'll be devastated."
"I don't know about that," Kenny says. "Aren't you even going to ask me who Tweek is cheating with?"
"It's none of our business," Karen says. She glances at Kyle, pleading, but he doesn't know what he can do for her, and if her plot to blackmail Craig is foiled, it might be the best thing for her, bringing all of this ridiculous secrecy to light. Kyle still can't get his mind around why exactly this Damien person needs to remain anonymous, but he gets the feeling that the reason isn't magnanimous, or as simple as Karen believes.
"Well," Kyle says when Karen continues to give him that beseeching look. "Selfishly, you might not want to be the one who tells her. She seems like the type who'd be prone to shoot the messenger."
"Exactly!" Karen says, pointing a half-peeled carrot at Kenny. "She'd hate you, Kenny. She'd be so humiliated if you were the one to tell her."
"Whatever," Kenny says. He finishes his beer and lines up the empty bottle next to Kyle's. "I don't even know if I should tell you who he's cheating with," he says, poking Karen.
"I don't want to hear it," she says, going back to the carrots. "You know how I feel about gossip." Kyle can feel Kenny giving him a questioning look, but he avoids Kenny's eyes, returning to the pantry for the cake-making supplies. Kenny's bedroom door opens, and Kyle is glad for the distraction when Stan walks out, yawning and rubbing at his eyes, his hair still a sex-wrecked mess.
"Hey, there he is!" Kenny says, bounding to Stan like a dog who's recognized his beloved owner. He hugs Stan hard enough to make him stumble backward a little. "I heard it went pretty good with your mom," he says when he pulls back.
"Yeah," Stan says, looking to Kyle desperately.
"Don't make him talk about it, he just woke up," Kyle snaps.
"Sorry," Kenny says. He reaches up to clumsily reorder Stan's hair. "I'm just really happy for you, man."
"Thanks," Stan says. He pats Kenny's chest and walks around him, into the kitchen. Kyle is sifting flour, and he smiles when Stan comes to stand behind him, his hands settling on Kyle's hips. Stan presses his cheek to Kyle's when he leans down to watch him work, and Kyle turns to kiss him.
"It's a pineapple upside down cake," Kyle says. "Well, so far it's just flour and baking soda. But it will be a cake."
"I believe you," Stan says, and Kyle grins.
"You guys are so cute," Karen says, still peeling carrots. She's got a distracted little smile on her face, and Kyle wonders if she's thinking about Damien, imagining the life they'll have together after her baby is born. He wonders if she really believes that, or if she just needs to convince herself that she does. When he looks up at Kenny, he's watching them from over the bar that looks into the living room, and Kyle thinks he looks sad, though he's smiling a little, too.
"What did Wendy bring you for lunch?" Stan asks Kenny, and Kyle smirks down at the flour, because that will cheer Kenny up, and that's why Stan asked, and they all know each other well, it's true.
"This awesome Philly cheese steak," Kenny says, brightening. "It was really good. Wendy's the best," he says, pointedly, to Karen, but she doesn't look up from the carrots.
"Well, I hope you won't mind having beef again for dinner," Kyle says, and for some reason this makes Kenny laugh hard. Stan laughs, too, like this is some inside joke he has with Kenny, and he kisses the back of Kyle's head.
"I don't mind," Kenny says. He folds his arms on the bar and leans down to rest his chin on them, watching Stan and Kyle like they're a fascinating TV show. "I don't mind at all, dude."
The sleet hardens into hail, and they all stand at the window to watch the parking lot get covered with little white balls that jump around on the frozen asphalt like marbles. The stroganoff is in the oven, the cake is cooling on a rack, and Kyle knows it's stupid, misguided, maybe even dangerous, but what Kenny said feels true: they're safe here, for now. As long as they're together, no one can touch them.
Still, there's something nagging at him, something that won't let them linger in this quiet for long. Maybe it's that disturbing information about the real father of Karen's baby, or the idea that Kyle's real parents might be so close by, watching the hail from some other window, or the fact that Christophe seemed to have known all along that someone would kill him for what he knew. Kyle feels an almost physical discomfort, low in the back of his skull, and he's felt it before, when he was away from Christophe for too long. He pulls Stan's arms more tightly around him and thinks about the one thing in Christophe's letter that comforted him: he said they'd have hope as long as Kyle found his other half by the time Christophe died. So much of what is happening is still indecipherable, but Kyle has no doubt that he's found the half of him that was missing. He can feel it when Stan holds him like this, wrapped around him from behind, keeping him warm as they watch the worst of the storm draw closer.