December 31st, 2016

Craig shows up to Stan's joint New Year's Eve/surprise party for Kyle what he thinks is fashionably late. It's not, and everyone momentarily mistakes him for Kyle when he helps himself through the front door.

"Surprise!"

"That's not Kyle?"

"False alarm, guys. It's just Craig," Stan's voice rings out above the disillusioned chatter. Judging by the lack of attention and blunt objects being thrown Craig's way, nobody cares. Things are already going better than he'd expected.

Stan's apartment is small, the kitchen and living room essentially being one large open space. It's a cluttered mess, with DVDs and video games and textbooks strewn across and underneath the coffee table, and a small three-chair dining table pushed up against the wall near the front door covered in unfolded clothes. Craig's never been here before but it feels like he has. Smells familiar, like coffee and cologne and the more immediate cacosmia of body odor, alcohol, and other questionable office-related scents like burning fax machine and unchanged cat litter from having all his sweaty, buzzed coworkers stuffed into a 700-sq. ft. box.

Stan eventually makes his way over with two beers in hand. "You actually came!" he shouts over the music. Craig is more than aware that he had just walked three miles through a brewing snowstorm to get there. "Kyle should be home soon, so just hang tight. Want a beer?"

"Kyle lives here?"

"Yeah?" Stan says like it's the most obvious thing in the world, which it isn't. But it starts to make sense when Craig notices a pair of Kyle's shoes by the front door and his brown canvas messenger back hung over the back of a dining chair. "Wait, you didn't know?"

Craig shakes his head.

"Huh. Sorry, dude. I thought I mentioned it yesterday. Hope it's not a problem." Stan holds out a perspiring beer towards him again. "Beer?"

"No thanks."

"Want something else? We've got Fireball, schnapps, vodka—"

"I don't really drink."

"Then why'd you ask if there'd be alcohol yesterday?" Stan reaches for his phone with a start. Craig thankfully doesn't have to come up with an excuse for wanting to know his chances of coming across a drunk, handsy Kyle again. "Sorry dude, gotta take this. It's Wendy."

Craig doesn't even question it.

He should probably feel upset knowing that Stan and Kyle share an apartment—or at least feel something, anyway. But he doesn't. Maybe a part of him had subconsciously been expecting it, what with their commuting together, and Kyle smelling like Stan's aftershave, and how there was an 80% chance of them definitely fucking each other on the regular. Regardless, it's going to take a lot more than that to surprise Craig at this point.

Craig snatches up the recliner in the living room when it becomes available; an ideal spot, where he can simultaneously keep an eye on the front door while also not having to sit next to anyone and pretend to care about what they have to say. Clyde ruins it when he plops himself down on the arm of couch next to him, blocking a good half of his view.

"Dude! I didn't know you were coming!"

"Yeah, me neither."

"Why didn't you tell me, man? I would have totally waited for you."

Even with Clyde in the way, Craig can still see most of Stan huddled in the corner of the kitchen with his hand cupped over his mouth. Craig wonders what he's talking to Wendy about. Craig might not feel particularly passionate about Stan and Kyle's living situation, but that doesn't mean he hates Stan any less now than he did the first moment they met; it's just now he has a perfectly valid reason for wanting to punch Stan in the throat.

Bebe soon joins them, a drink in her hand and a smirk on her lips. She snakes an arm around Clyde's shoulders as she leans into his side. "Sorry to break you guys up, but I need to borrow him. How about you find your own boyfriend, Tucker?"

Clyde rolls his eyes. "First of all, ew. That's gross, Bebe. And c'mon—Craig's like the only gay guy in Denver. Maybe try not to rub it in so much?"

"Oh, you poor, sweet, dumb boy," Bebe coos. Then she yanks him up from the couch without warning. At least those two are making progress or something, Craig thinks as he watches Bebe drag his clumsy, lovesick best friend out into an open space to dance. Stan makes a frenzied announcement moments later.

"He's coming! Get ready!"

Everyone settles down, eyes on the front door as if they're expecting a SWAT team to come barreling through any second. They erupt into cheers of "surprise!" and "congratulations!" when Kyle comes in, startling him before he can finish wondering aloud why the front door was unlocked. Wendy is right behind him.

"What's going on?" Kyle asks. Stan takes the paper bags from his arms and puts them on the island counter. "Wait, is this—"

"Yup!" Stan beams. "Surprised, right?"

"You sent Wendy and I out into a snowstorm to get snacks."

"Well I had to get you to leave the apartment somehow."

I thought I told you it wasn't a big deal! And the place is a mess! I mean, you could have at least done the dishes before inviting people over! Or—god forbid—swept!" Kyle's eyes travel to the dining table as if on instinct. He looks about ready to pop a blood vessel. "And what the hell did I tell him about leaving his clothes everywhere!"

Somewhere in the midst of Kyle's impromptu spaz attack, Craig had stood up with the unconscious intention of going over to see him. He stops himself before he takes another step. It's probably not a good idea, judging by not only Kyle's current heated state but also the fact that Kyle's been avoiding him like the plague all month. He hadn't even noticed Craig when he came in.

Kyle's shoulders eventually relax under Stan's hands and Wendy's jovial nudging, and before long Kyle's sour grimace turns to a grin, which turns to a smile, and he's laughing along with Wendy at something that Stan's talking about. Craig watches the three of them from his spot across the room next to a bookshelf, having been displaced from his seat after it'd been taken by someone else. Clyde and Bebe are swapping spit against the wall beside him.

"You're a son of a bitch, you know that?" Craig imagines Kyle telling Stan, which isn't very convincing when they're talking and smiling at one another 30 feet away. Maybe Wendy says it. Ugh. It's still mindboggling that Wendy would date someone like him. Seriously, what does she see in that guy? And behind Kyle's back? Are Stan and Kyle even together? Craig still doesn't know what their deal is, and Stan's flippant attitude toward him even after learning about how he and Kyle were feeling each other up at his welcome party definitely wasn't helping.

Craig finds himself reliving that night again, standing around awkwardly with nobody to talk to and his phone almost dead. Maybe he should actually leave this time. It's only a few long strides to the front door, but it's making it across the room without drawing Kyle's attention that's the real challenge. But then Stan's pointing his finger at him, and Kyle's following his line of sight. Kyle's smile instantly falters and his eyes widen before quickly turning back to Stan.

Craig knew he shouldn't have come.

Hands practically down each other's pants at this point, Clyde and Bebe quietly slip behind the door that they had been making out next to, into what's presumably Stan and Kyle's bedroom. Craig thinks they have the right idea, at least as far as getting away from the crowd goes. He wishes he could disappear too; tries to keep his eyes on the floor, the couch, the chemistry textbook left open on the coffee table—anything other than his bewildered redheaded boss—but it's useless. It's like they're drawn to each other, constantly locking electrically-charged stares from across the room that never last more than a second or two before Kyle caves and looks away. Saying it's uncomfortable would be an understatement.

Wendy is gone, having vanished somewhere between awkward glances. Neither Stan nor Kyle seem to care. Stan is trying to push something that Craig can't quite make out from his position into Kyle's arms, but Kyle doesn't seem to be having it. Then Stan leans in and whispers something into Kyle's ear that makes him light up like a stoplight. Craig's seen enough shitty romcoms to know where this is going, so he takes a page from Clyde and Bebe and helps himself into the nearest room he can find. Judging by the framed and signed The Cure poster on the wall and the heavy concentration of a subtle, familiar cologne that Craig's almost become conditioned to get aroused from this past year, it's Kyle's bedroom. Either Craig's got some seriously dumb luck, or the universe is a cruel mistress that wants him to be miserable forever.

As much as Craig wants to snoop around, he restrains himself. He's already in too deep, standing alone in the middle of his boss's dimly lit bedroom, oddly relieved in knowing that he doesn't share it. Or maybe he does? Whatever—it doesn't matter. Craig plops himself on the edge of Kyle's bed and plugs his phone into the charger sticking out from behind the bedside table.

Sent 11:15 PM
Let me know when you're done. I want to leave.

Clyde does not respond, which is understandable given his current situation. So Craig sighs and waits patiently, hands in his lap and eyes on the floor, until his curiosity finally gets the best of him.

"I didn't think you'd actually be in here."

Craig yanks his hand out from Kyle's bedside drawer so fast that he scrapes his knuckles. Kyle is standing there, a red bottle of Absolut in one hand and two shot glasses in the other. "Stan said he saw you come in but I thought he was crazy."

"I was just—looking for the bathroom."

"And going through my things?"

Craig does not try coming up with another terrible excuse. In danger of digging himself any deeper by flipping Kyle off out of sheer embarrassment and an overall lack communication skills, he goes to leave.

"Hey—it's alright, you know. Being in here. I know you're not really into crowds and parties and stuff, so it's okay. I'm not mad," Kyle rushes to get out, standing in Craig's path. "I just wish you didn't feel like you have to lie to me. Also, maybe not go through my things without my permission?" He forces a grin. "I mean, that's kinda weird, Craig. Even for you."

"…Sorry," Craig actually manages to apologize without undermining it with an accompanying middle finger or an eye roll. It doesn't even sound hostile.

"Hey, I said don't worry about, alright? It's not a big deal." Kyle nudges him with his shoulder in passing as he heads toward his bed, a cloud of alcohol wafting after him. He knees his drawer shut. "You were going through the wrong drawer, anyway."

Craig watches as Kyle sets the bottle of vodka and the shot glasses down on the table before taking a seat, face indifferent and unreadable, as if he hadn't just openly admitted to having some crazy fucked up sex stuff hidden somewhere around his room.

Wait—was Kyle flirting with him?

"How come you didn't come over and say hi out there?" Kyle says, suddenly back to his normal self. Craig shrugs, which earns him a frustrated sigh. "Well, either way. I'm glad Stan invited you, even if he didn't tell me about it… and I'm glad you actually came. Cause you know, after what happened…"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry about all that, you know? I really am. You're one of the only people in the office that I can really talk to, and I hate things being awkward between us."

Craig nods.

Kyle's unimpressed stare and pursed lips speak volumes about how he feels about this one-way conversation, but he should know by now that Craig is a man of few words, if any. He switches gears once more. "We should have a drink. You know, to celebrate."

"Celebrate what?"

"Things going back to normal with us. And promising to be honest from here on out. No more lies."

Craig doesn't think things are even close to being 'back to normal' with them, and he's even more iffy on the whole honesty addendum. But Kyle seems serious, patting the spot on the bed next to him, and Craig is having a tough time saying no. "I don't really drink, remember?" he says, making sure to keep at least a foot of space between them. Safety measures.

"Oh, c'mon. One isn't going to kill you."

"You don't know that."

"Well then I guess we'll see what happens," Kyle teases, handing him an overfilled shot of vodka. Craig stares down at it with a frown. "I promise it's not that bad. It's raspberry flavored."

"Is that supposed to convince me?"

"Would you just shut up and drink it already? On the count of three. One—"

"I don't think this is a good idea," Craig lies. He knows it's not a good idea, remembers what Kyle was like that night in his office. Craig would be lying if he said he didn't come here tonight with high hopes that he'd get to experience it all over again, but now he's having second thoughts. The possibility is too real. "We shouldn't be doing this."

"Doing what? We're just celebrating our friendship."

"I'd hardly consider us friends."

"Then what about celebrating me winning my award?"

Craig groans.

"Just one shot, Craig. One!" Kyle begs. Craig doesn't even have a chance to contest before Kyle's playing the guilt card and has him hook, line, and sinker. "You're the only one who hasn't congratulated me yet."

Craig sighs in defeat and throws back his shot. It burns going down and tastes nothing like raspberries. He grimaces. "That's fucking disgusting," he sputters between coughs. Kyle downs his without flinching. "How many have you had already?"

Kyle shrugs and reaches for the bottle. "Just a couple."

"So, two?"

"More like three."

Considering Kyle's uncharacteristically indulgent attitude and how oddly laid-back he'd been about catching him red-handed, sifting through his belongings, that makes sense; any other time Kyle would have torn someone's throat out, favorite employee be damned. Craig's shot glass is full again.

"I'm really starting to doubt what you said about not being a big drinker because you don't like losing control," he says, but holds his breathe and drinks his shot anyway. That one was for the New Year, Kyle had mentioned mid-pour, even though it's still 10 minutes to midnight.

"Well I couldn't come in here sober," Kyle argues.

"Why not?"

"Because you rejected me?"

"No I didn't."

"You pushed me off and then proceeded to run away," Kyle reminds him pointedly.

Oh. Right. "I was surprised."

Kyle scoffs and pours them both another drink. For health. "God, you're a terrible liar."

"I really was, though," Craig insists in the sincerest tone he can muster, but with how flat and unwavering his voice is it kind of just sounds like he's calling Kyle a paranoid idiot in the nicest way possible. "And I didn't run away. Clyde broke the table, I couldn't just leave him there."

"You still pushed me."

Because you smelled like him. "I said I was surprised."

"Yeah, well I don't know why. It's not like I've been dropping hints for like a whole year or anything," Kyle jokes bitterly. The next shot is for nothing in particular. Craig doesn't even think about it when he throws it back, and he doesn't blink when Kyle pours them another. "You seriously haven't noticed?"

"No, I have."

"Then… why—" Kyle hiccups. He puts his shot down, unfinished. "Why haven't you said anything?"

Craig shrugs. "Safer not to."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means what it means."

Kyle seems to be done drinking for the night, which is good. Craig isn't all that familiar with how Kyle handles his liquor, and he doesn't want to have to shell out $50 on another pair of shoes. He should probably throw in the towel, too.

The booze hits him all at once when he leans across Kyle to set his own glass down. It'd only been four shots, but for someone on an empty stomach and who hardly drinks it's enough to make him second guess his balance. Kyle is too fixated with his phone to notice, the bright glare illuminating his flushed face and glossy eyes. Craig can only imagine how Kyle must feel with seven of them in his system.

Craig tries to peek at Kyle's phone but only ends up almost swaying into his shoulder. Is he texting someone? Stan? Craig remembers hearing bits and pieces of his hushed conversation with Wendy yesterday. Should he say something about that? Should he tell Kyle the truth, that he's being lied to? Outside the music fades and the countdown starts.

"There's something I need to tell you."

"Can it wait?" Kyle asks, still staring at his phone. "Does it have to be right now?"

"I think you'll want to hear this."

"Later."

"It's important."

"It's almost midnight—"

"It's about Stan."

"Jesus, Craig, are you serious right now?" he snaps, speech slurred, slamming his phone face down on the bed between them. "What is it with you and your obsession with Stan? It's like you're—" He hiccups. "You're in love with him or something."

"What? No I'm not."

"Then prove it."

"How?"

Craig is caught off guard once again when Kyle leans over and kisses him without warning, shouts of "Happy New Year!" and obnoxious noisemakers flooding in from underneath Kyle's bedroom door. Craig's head is swimming, both in shock from the sudden ambush and the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream, but he doesn't let Kyle pull away. Not this time. He reaches up and holds Kyle's cheek. Stan is the last thing on his mind.

Aside from the need to breathe, neither of them break away from the kiss. Kyle tastes terrible, pungent and bitter from the Raspberry-flavored alcohol along with traces of something vaguely sharp and cinnamon-flavored, but Craig doesn't care; it's not like he tastes any better.

He's not really paying attention when he feels a hand slide into his lap, and it's not intentional when he spreads his legs to let it happen. Kyle pulls back a little, chuckling into their kiss. "You're honest," he tells him. Craig's puzzled expression gives way to something more depraved when he feels that same hand ghost over him, half-hard, through his jeans. He reflexively responds by pushing himself further into Kyle's hand.

With nobody to interrupt them, one thing quickly leads to another until they're well past the point of no return. Craig knows he should stop Kyle when he sinks to his knees between his legs, and he's more than aware that he's making a huge mistake when he not only lets Kyle unbuckle and pull down his pants, but helps him do it. Whatever reservations he once had about keeping his boss at arm's length are immediately forgotten the moment Kyle's lips are wrapped around the head of his cock.

"H-hey," Craig warns when he's getting close. How long has it been since he last had his dick sucked? He simultaneously wants to push Kyle away and shove himself further down Kyle's throat, but he restrains himself by trying to focus his attention on how soft Kyle's hair feels between his fingers instead.

Just when he thinks he can't hold on any longer, Kyle pulls off with a wet pop, kissing along the shaft and nuzzling it against his cheek. Craig's stomach flips, both from having been left on edge and from the pure, unbridled lust in Kyle's hazy eyes. What Craig wouldn't give to have a picture of this forever.

Kyle is already back on his feet before Craig can make a decision, and by the time he's reaching for his phone, Kyle is in his lap. The fact that he's naked from the waist down doesn't quite dawn on Craig until Kyle not so gently shoves him back onto the bed; it's in this position that Craig gets his first view of his boss's cut cock. He groans when Kyle rubs back against his own when he reaches for something.

"I wanna ride you, so don't come yet. Okay?" Kyle whispers, slow and languid. Craig swallows and nods. It'd be hotter if he didn't have to help keep him from falling over while wrestling out of his sweater, but Craig's not complaining. His dick twitches when he hears a bottle cap pop open.

The adrenaline coursing through Craig's veins has him both anxious and impatiently excited as he watches Kyle work himself open above him, eyes closed and face twisted in bliss as he grinds his swollen cock over and over against his stomach. This is a new and unexpected side of Kyle that Craig never knew existed. Sure, it's liquor-induced, but what does that matter? This is really happening. Craig is seriously about to go against the biggest rule he has and have sex with his boss.

When Kyle finally lowers himself onto Craig, it's only a matter of minutes until he explodes, having been so worked up and on the brink of orgasm already for the past ten minutes; it's anticlimactic to say the least. He'd probably feel embarrassed if he wasn't busy digging his blunt fingernails into Kyle's thighs, trying to get him to stop; but Kyle continues to ride him with reckless abandon, his own needs still unfulfilled, drunkenly oblivious to the fact that Craig is overstimulated and crawling out of his skin. Kyle says something, mumbling incoherently about how good it feels and how big Craig is, but all Craig can hear is his own hissing and the sound of his teeth grinding themselves down to a fine dust with each bounce. There are tears in his eyes. Kyle is actually going to fuck him to death, and every short, breathy moan is just another nail in Craig's proverbial coffin. Somewhere between the painful second orgasm that Kyle milks out of him and two missed calls from Clyde, Craig is put out of his misery and he passes out.

Craig wakes up a few hours later to a silent apartment, with his pants around his knees and dried cum on his shirt. He gropes around for his phone, permanently blinding himself when he turns the screen on. It's 4:23 AM.

Received 12:43 AM
Yo you still here man? Ready to go?

Received 12:46 AM
Craig?

Received 12:52 AM
OK well nobody knows where you are apparently so I guess you prob went home already.

Received 3:19 AM
Seriously dude where are you? You OK?

Craig groans and drops his head back onto the bed, causing Kyle to grumble and stir next to him. Craig turns to face him, finally having a peaceful moment to really take him in and admire the curve of his spine, maybe even trace the faded surgical scar along his side. Craig just glares at him, snoring softly and blissfully unaware of the fact that he could probably be charged for attempted murder. Kyle Broflovski is an animal.

Despite this, Craig can't stay mad at him. Not right now, anyway. He sits up and cards his fingers through Kyle's messy red hair, careful not to wake him up, before trailing his hand down along Kyle's bare shoulder; Craig's heart skips a beat when he lets out a little sigh. It's a strange but not completely unwelcome feeling, Craig decides, as he pulls the blanket over the two of them.

Whatever illusion he's trying to sell himself is broken when a dull thud outside the room brings Craig back to reality. He tears his hand away from Kyle as if he'd been burned.

This isn't his room.

This isn't his apartment.

This is his boss, the guy who writes his checks, the guy who pays his rent. The guy who smells like another man's aftershave.

Stan's aftershave.

Craig shoots up out of bed so fast that he stumbles forward, struggling to untangle his underwear from his jeans and pull them up. This isn't like last time. Things were really fucked now, completely ruined. He can't just show up to the office on Monday and pretend like nothing happened, like he hadn't fucked his grossly-intoxicated boss while his pseudo-boyfriend was in the next room over. There's no coming back from this. He could kiss his free Amazon Prime subscription goodbye.

The small inkling of rationale fighting to be heard in the back of Craig's mind is squashed quiet as he gathers his belongings. It doesn't matter what Kyle and Stan's deal is; he doesn't care anymore. Even with the possibility that they really aren't together and Stan isn't currently waiting outside to punch his lights out, it's not like it makes a difference. Relationships are a ticking time bomb, and it'd only be a matter of time until things went south if the two of them seriously gave this a chance. Going forward, Craig doesn't know what his next move is going to be, but there's two things he's absolutely certain of: that a relationship with Kyle is never going to happen, and that he doesn't want to stick around and find out what will happen when Stan finds them.

In his rush to get out of the apartment without confrontation, he doesn't notice a familiar head of messy blonde hair turn and call his name from the living room couch.