Possessive

Ever since the first time that Kyle had faced the misfortune of witnessing an extremely inebriated Stan, he'd been of the opinion that Stan and alcohol simply do not mix well.

It wasn't that Stan couldn't form coherent sentences; he could in fact go on and on without noticeable errors in syntax or semantics. And it wasn't that he was obnoxiously loud, as some drunk people tend to be. No, the irritating thing about a drunk Stan was that almost everything coming out of his mouth was complete and utter bullshit.

Now, if Kyle was drunk too, he didn't mind so much. But if he was sober, Moses help him, he just wanted to punch the guy in the face to make him shut up. Needless to say, he made it a point to get more than tipsy every time Stan decided that it would be a good idea to drink.

But unfortunately, sometimes Kyle lost track of Stan, and by the time he'd find out where he was, most of the alcohol would already be about as far gone as Stan was. And given Stan's rather rumpled state on the floor of a mutual friend's apartment, Kyle could easily assume just how far that was.

"God dammit, Stan."

"Mm?" Stan blinked bleary eyes open and yawned. When he saw who was glaring down at him, he smiled brightly. "Kyle! Man, I was just wondering where you were. No party is ever complete without you there, dude."

"Yeah, well, this party's over for you. Come on, we're going home."

"Aww!" But other than an overly dramatic pout, Stan put up little resistance to leaving. Sometimes he could walk all right on his own, other times he couldn't; this was one of those other times, and Kyle was silently grateful that their apartment building was only a few blocks from the one they were leaving.

"Hey Kyle, y'know what?"

Oh god. "What, Stan?" He sincerely hoped that he wasn't about to let loose one of his long bullshitting yarns. Between that and carrying most of Stan's weight, Kyle wasn't sure he could put up with it at the moment.

"There were these huge assholes at the party. They were saying a lot of shit that was pissing me off, right? So you know what I did?" He glanced aside and grinned at his best friend, who currently looked less than pleased. "I kicked their asses! It was pretty sweet, dude. Too bad you missed it."

"You don't say."

"Hell yeah! They kept coming at me, probably thought they were so tough, but I showed them. Didn't even break a sweat."

Kyle sighed and came to a stop. He pulled Stan aside and pushed him against the brick wall of the convenience store they'd stopped next to. "Dude, stop it."

"Kyle?" There was only confusion in those blue eyes staring back at him.

"Do you even realize how ridiculous you sound? Going on and on about how you beat some random guys up! I bet you didn't, I bet the booze is just making you think you did!"

"Dude, nuh-uh!"

"Shut up, Stan!" God, why did he have to do this all the time? Couldn't he figure out how much it pissed him off? Kyle wanted to scream at him, but it wouldn't do him any good, he was too fucking drunk.

"But, but Kyle..." He actually seemed hurt, genuinely hurt by Kyle's anger, and it made Kyle feel a twinge of guilt for snapping at him. "But they really were being assholes... I couldn't just let them say shit like that."

What the hell was Stan talking about? "Shit like what?"

"Saying they were so awesome and could fuck anyone they wanted. Bunch of arrogant pricks..."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "You got yourself all worked up over that? Dude, just ignore it, people blow hot air like that all the time. It makes them feel better about themselves or something. It doesn't really matter." He punched Stan in the shoulder, then grabbed hold of him there and moved to start walking again.

But Stan resisted and pulled back, pulled Kyle back and pushed him into the wall. "It does matter! They're... they're fuckin' assholes! They shouldn't get away with saying that sorta thing!"

"Why the hell does it bother you so much?"

"'Cause they can't." Before Kyle could ask him to elaborate on what he meant by that, Stan growled low in his throat and pressed in close. The rough texture of the wall scratched at Kyle's back through his shirt and jacket as Stan pinned him there, warm hands grasping at his neck and shoulders and needy lips straining against his own. The sudden urgency of Stan's actions caught him off-guard and left him breathless.

They can't...? Oh.

It was in that moment that Kyle decided that a drunken Stan was not always necessarily irritating. Sometimes, he could prove himself to be endearingly possessive.