He sits on the toilet with his knees drawn to his chest, and his heels rest precariously on the edge of the closed lid because he doesn’t want to put them on the floor and risk someone recognising them from outside. He’s never done this before and he’s kind of nervous, but it’s the mouth-gushing kind of nervous as opposed to the dry-tongue-sweaty-palms kind, and he thinks that will help him out in his upcoming task. That is if anyone takes him up on his offer.
Kyle Broflovshi has always wanted to know what it would be like. He knows it’s dumb and dangerous, but he hasn’t been able to sleep at night since that first day he came into the bathroom and found the hole in the cubical wall, and it haunted him like a ghost of could-bes and maybes and he couldn’t have resisted any longer than he did or doubtless the curiosity would have killed him. He knows (hopes) with all his heart that whoever decides to play with him will understand that, and they won’t judge him too harshly even though they won’t get to see his face or hear his name. He tries to tell himself that they probably feel the same way, because it can’t be just him right? The only guy in the world who notices that some times other boys have nice legs, or kissable lips, or hot asses in their tight navy jeans. But whether or not that is true he has no way of knowing.
He can only really understand his own motivations and feelings, and when this whole event is over then he will have to answer to himself alone. How was it? Did he like it? Was it worth the days of nerves and anticipation leading up to it in the end?
Unfortunately for Kyle, the process isn’t a quick or painless one. One of the problems of this method was that for all its anonyminity, it is tedious, and in the waiting alone in a tiny bathroom stall there is plenty of opportunity for second guessing or fretting about a million little things that might go wrong. What if he chickens out? What if he gets some awful sexually transmitted disease? What if halfway through he realises that some fantasies are sexiest left just as that- fantasies. Maybe he shouldn’t have done this after all…
Three people use the cubicle next to Kyle’s over the next two hours. He waits patiently through long stretches where only guys who need to use urinals as well. Every time the bathroom door swings open Kyle holds his breath and curls his toes inside his battered green Chuck Taylors, but then the toilet flushes or the sound of some stranger having a piss fills the silence, and he feels himself relax again. Only when he is calm he realises that he was terrified. Electrified, but terrified, and impatient twitches are making him fee like picking his cuticles. Digging small stones and glass dust out of the soles of his shoes. His dick is half hard with excitement or maybe it’s just nerves, and when the bathroom door swings open for what feels like the hundredth time, he feels himself blush. He hopes it isn’t just another pair of juniors coming in to wag off classes and smoke cigarettes.
Whoever it is, they spend a moment or two at the sink checking their reflection, turning the tap on and off again, and sighing as though the weight of the world had recently fallen on their shoulders. Kyle feels an affinity for this faceless stranger already, and he hopes against past experience that whoever this guy is, he will be the one. He likes the idea of a guy vulnerable enough to sigh like that. He likes the idea of someone who sounds like they are wearing shabby well-loved shoes as they walk away from the sink. Tenuously, his excitement grows when the person makes their way to the cubicle next to his and locks the door.
He crosses his fingers and bites his lip, and tries to resist taking a peek through the hole next to his shoulder. Was the little note still there, on the other side? He wasn’t sure how to say it, so in the end he just wrote the thing Kenny had said he would use. You know, if he was going to offer a blow on the other side of a glory hole.
Insert tab A into slot B and prepare to be blown away.
It was so lame and gross that it was kind of funny. He had pretended not to think so, and he liked to imagine that if Stan was there at the time (instead of with Wendy- he was always with Wendy and Kyle couldn’t help feeling hugely jealous every time,) he would have pretended with him. God, Stan. What was his problem? Lately it had been like kyle didn’t even exist to him and even though Kyle had thought about asking Stan what he thought before he did this, he didn’t in the end for a whole host of reasons. For one, they had hardly seen each other since senior year began because of Wendy and for two, but he hadn’t wanted his ‘best friend’ to know that at seventeen and freshly out of a long term relationship with Bebe, he was starting to have bi-curious thoughts. That was the domain of perverts like Kenny, or sexually repressed squares like Butters, (who had just gotten weirder and weirder as he got older. But that was none of Kyle’s business).
The invisible man next door hesitates, halfway through undoing his belt, and the sudden silence after the buckle clinking is the thing which makes Kyle realise he is letting his thoughts run away with him again.
What? What’s happening? Oh that’s right.
He almost craps himself when, after about thirty seconds, there comes a little knock through the separating wall and it sounds questioning. Hesitant. As though this stranger had just come in to take a shit and suddenly spotted this bizarre setup in the only free stall. It makes his guts drop and his mouth water embarrassingly. And it takes him a moment to realise that the person on the other side is waiting for a response.
He coughs an awkward little cough, to clear up his breathing ways, and knocks back. Three short taps of his knuckles.
The person on the other side finishes undoing his belt and lets his jeans fall to the ground.
There is a brief moment of disappointment, where he thinks that whoever it is has simply decided not to try, and he contemplates just waiting until they had gone and trying again some other time. The hole wasn’t going anywhere at any time soon, if the school had wanted to mend a hole the size of a fist in their toilet they would have done so six months ago so it wasn’t like he has to do it today or even the next day. He can come back whenever he’s ready and test himself then. Find out if these thoughts are for real or if it’s just some weird kind of phase. Who knows, he might even find his answer between now and then. He might not ever have to do this anyways.
But then he hears something faintly through the wall, like someone shuffling closer and letting their forehead rest against it. When he sees the tip of what is definitely, unmistakably, undeniably a semi-erect cock invading his cubicle, his stomach clenches and he thinks he might actually throw up from shock.
Oh God. Oh God and Mary and Christ who he doesn’t even worship. This is it then, the moment of truth. His resolve is too firm to back away and even if it wasn’t he has to do it now anyway; those three knocks on that flimsy shared wall? They were a promise.
Swallowing a huge mouthful of spit, Kyle melts off the edge of the toilet seat and lets himself sit on the cold tile floor. He is too weak-kneed to stand up or kneel anyway, and he is quivering all over as he watches the thing, contemplates it almost level with his chest and observes the way that it is not quite hard yet and waiting, wilting, begging for a little bit of attention. The body it is attached to fills the hole, Kyle can see the soft dark hair curling at the base, and the pristine black band of a pair of Calvin Klein briefs bent underneath so whoever it is can let his cock free. For some reason, this underwear is beautifully sexy, and Kyle knows with a sweeping feeling of gratitude that whoever it is on the other side is well groomed with a nice lower stomach. He smells kind of familiar, like a generic body spray of some kind, or maybe Kyle is just imagining it. Who is this guy? Does it matter? He could be anyone, and he is beautiful in the standard kind of way all young guys are beautiful- with their little smiles and their square shoulders and hips which can never keep a pair of jeans up properly. He is everybody and nobody, all at the same time.
Kyle licks his lips, notes with a fluttering in his groin that this guy has an intact foreskin, and lets himself lean in close enough to breathe on it. Oh wow, this is really real isn’t it? The dick twitches, responding to his closeness, and he wants to giggle like a hysterical little girl (because it is kind of funny, objectively,) but he doesn’t because that will ruin the moment. Instead he ignores the dreadful bubbling of laughter in his stomach, and closes his eyes.
From there, gravitating forward until the cock is pressing softly against his cheek is easy, and if he didn’t know with a stomach rolling surety that the thing touching him now was someone else’s dick, it would have felt like any other appendage on his face. Warm. Kind of nice. Smelling like another body, another life.
The person on the other side of the wall exhales shakily, and Kyle takes one last note of what his virgin mouth tastes like. He has to start doing it. He has to start doing it now or he’s going to loose heart altogether. It’s easy in principle, just a single lick and that’s it. Why isn’t he doing it already? How hard can it be?
He absolutely has to do it at this exact second in time!
And panicking, scared that he might find himself on the cusp of backing out, he dives in with a long and admittedly messy lick right up the back of the entire length. It’s more difficult than he thought it would be, and in the end he has to grip the base because he realises that otherwise the cock will just keep slipping off his tongue and rubbing spit all over his face. Not that that isn’t kind of erotic.
The wall creeks, as though a greater weight has been applied to it from the other side. Kyle sucks the tip into his mouth and tries to ignore the rushing of adrenaline in his body in order to focus on what it feels like. What it tastes like. How the knowledge that he is actually giving someone a blow job sits in his skin. The boy tastes like salty skin and heat, and it’s not bad but it’s not comfortable either, having a fat head pressing up against his palate. How can the soreness in his jaw and the cluttered feeling in his mouth be so arousing? That foreskin is pulled back now, and it feels squishy and sleek under Kyle’s tongue. Oh god, it moves when he laps at it, and he tightens the muscles in his thighs as he tries to swallow down as much as he can without gagging. It proves not to be very much, but when the boy on the other side makes a soft, blissful noise, he tries again, and his own dick is throbbing with an uncontrollable heat.
He has never felt like a slut before. He never understood the appeal. All his life he had been the kind of guy who believed in relationships. In intimacy and the purity of pleasure given in affection. He has never felt so vulnerable, so needy, or so horny, and as he sucks he masturbates the parts he can’t reach like he is dying to masturbate himself inside his jeans. Holy shit this really is happening. Holy tap dancing Christ.
It’s so different from ploughing into Bebe like it might make him less pissed off about his life. It’s so different from jacking off to gay porn and having to delete his browsing history just in case Stan comes over and decides to borrow his macbook without asking. It’s different from what he thought it would be, but it’s also so much more real, and it isn’t a perfect experience because it’s kind of messy and kind of gross and it’s dreamlike in the sense that it’s unbelievable - It’s unbelievable that he is sucking at the little bridge of skin connecting a strangers foreskin to the head of his cock, and genuinely moaning in the deepest caverns of his chest about it. The front of his jeans is cramped and straining, and he can feel himself breaking out in a cold sweat across the back of his neck. His breath is short and his vision is blurry but somehow he is noticing every detail of this guys erection, and every smell and taste and texture. It’s so vivid.
The thread of precum which bungees between the tip of that dick and Kyle’s bottom lip when he pulls back glistens like a thread of glass before it snaps and disappears. Kyle realises spit and precum are dribbling over his knuckles where he is gripping this strangers body. The erection is throbbing in his hand, pulsing like it is getting ready to bust, and when Kyle rubs his lips against the back of his hand he realises they are hot and tingling and sensitive, and it feels nice to have something pressed against them.
Oh this was just going too perfectly. God yes.
He clenches his free hand against his knee and leans back in to kiss at the length. At first it’s just chaste pecks but soon they become languid open mouthed kisses, which seem to really work the other guy up. His noises become less like soft ‘Mmm’s and more like deep groans, and Kyle finally gives in and realises he is close. So close. His company is going to finish soon and Kyle is going to be left sitting on the toilet floor with a lapful of cum and an erection.
He whines when he lets himself start groping between his legs, squeezing and kneading his cock as best he can without undoing his fly. He gives the tip of that alien boner one last, loving lick, before sitting back and jacking it off with hard, well practiced sweeps of his wrist.
Against the wall, nails scrape, and a scratching like someone trying to find purchase against a vertical surface makes the hairs on Kyle’s nape stand on end. The whole wall creeks when whoever it is realises they can grip the top of the divider, and when Kyle sees their fingertips curling over his side far above, pleasure spikes through him. This is a person. Someone real, with a body he is making feel good, and their hands are the hands of an anonymous lover who might be everyone he has ever passed in the hallways and thought about and regretted. He was so ashamed then, and he should still be now. But he isn’t.
Suddenly, he feels like he has blown every guy he never let himself daydream about at once, and it’s that thought which brings him to climax inside his boxer briefs. Through the wall, his company is growing breathless, and vocal.
Kyle is panting, just coming down when he hears it, and the mysterious dick (still being worked by his hand) seems to swell as if loading itself in preparation. Kyle’s stomach drops, and his little moan is swallowed by the loud, breathless fuck piercing the silence in the bathroom. A string of hot cum hits the side of his face and jaw. The rest of it isn’t shot so hard, and it falls on the front of his shirt and onto the legs of his jeans. Under the heavy breathing coming from the other side, Kyle can hear static buzzing, and he isn’t sure if it’s shock or horror rising like bile at the back of his throat. He is still holding the dick in his hand.
“Stan?!” he hears himself asking, not wanting to believe what he thought he heard. The person on the other side inhales sharply. “What the fuck! Literally what the fuck Stan?!”
Kyle releases Stan’s softening dick, and stands up as fast as he can. Unfortunately for him, his legs have turned to cooked spaghetti, and he struggles to remain standing even with his entire weight against the tiled wall on the other side of the stall.
“… Dude!” is the only thing he can say, and his face is on fire with embarassment. There is still ejaculate warm and dribbling down the side of his throat. “Dude oh my fucking god!”
The dick has disappeared back through the hole in the wall. He can hear Stan standing there on the other side completely still. Petrified.
It could have been anyone, really. Any boy he had ever seen and wished he could look at a little longer. But as Kyle lets himself crumple uselessly to the floor that one anonymous face (which could have been any boy, any boy at all,) became the face of the one boy he had promised himself above all others he wouldn’t allow himself to long for.
merry holiday season you guys really wanted a continuation of this so here you go i guess
It’s a long walk home without Stan, but Kyle slips out of study period early so he can avoid meeting him by their locker after class, and he walks with his head down and his shoulders up because he doesn’t want anyone to see him running scared from something that really, he brought upon himself.
How the fuck could he have been so stupid?! His mother had raised him better than that, and his experiences with Kenny should have been enough to convince him that getting some was probably safer when the anonymous factor was reduced to near nil, but Kyle was the kind of person who thought himself untouchable and now he is only metres from his house and he still feels kind of sick.
He wishes he had talked to Stan after the fact, instead of telling him to get the fuck out and not tell anyone. Its one of those things he should have dealt with at the time, and the longer he puts it off the more he feels his stomach sinking because he knows that the next time Stan sees him, he will be pretending it never happened. Stan is great at being in denial. For the first time in his life Kyle wishes he was as well practiced.
He arrives home ten minutes earlier than usual, and as such no one is there to open the door. He fumbles with the keys and manages to get them in the lock, but he doesn’t really feel any safer until he is closing the door behind him and scaling the stairs two at a time. The floorboards creek underfoot and Kyle realises that his hands are shaking. His knees feel weak and he has to keep swallowing his heartbeat because of course, the damn thing won’t stay where it should be in his chest. There is a cumstain on his sleeve that won’t rub off, and the moment he gets to his room he is stripping off his clothing and collecting his things so he can shower.
He spends fifteen minutes trying to scrub the feeling of shame off his skin, before he gives up, and he slides down the slick shower wall and sobs quietly even though he refuses to let actual tears leak out.
This is all Stan’s fault to begin with. Kyle should have known that it would end with him. Stan with his sad smiles and warm voice. With his thin lips and short legs and that way he rolls his eyes when he is trying to insist he doesn’t care, but Kyle knows him well enough to know that he is a fretful little boy in a grown mans body and when he’s miserable his eyes are red rimmed and his lashes look long and black, and when he’s happy his back is a little straighter and his voice a little louder. Kyle knows everything about him, and he adores him, and maybe in a perfect world they would already be together but this is the real world and Stan is cold and Kyle is no good at relationships. They are better off apart.
And when it comes to Stan, there’s too much harm in looking.
Fuck! Any boy in the world, every boy. Let Kyle lie spread eagle and fucked by every man he’s ever met before he admits that he’s desperate for the one guy he cant have, and he has to remind himself of the things he risks loosing if he lets this fuck up his relationship with his best friend. He counts to ten and stands up. When he shuts off the shower and towels himself dry he almost feels human again.
Ike is home when he creeps down stairs, sitting in the kitchen and talking loudly with one of his school friends. If he notices anything wrong with Kyle as he edges past and digs around in the pantry for a muesli bar, he says nothing, instead he breaks off his conversation with the pretty young girl and says ‘Stan is outside looking for you.’
Kyle feels his stomach turn over and suddenly, he isn’t hungry for the muesli bar any more. He swallows and tries to keep his voice steady.
“Did he say what he wanted?”
“Just that he wasn’t leaving until you talked to him.”
Goddamnit, Kyle had never known Stan to be a particularly obstinate guy, and he never would have thought he would actually go out of his way to try and find Kyle when he was obviously trying to avoid him. It was so out of character that Kyle almost didn’t believe it until he slunk through the lounge and peeked at the doorstep on the other side of the window to check if that was true. The second he saw a short, well shaped figure Standing there in jeans and a brown bomber jacket he felt a fresh wave of panic wash over him.
“Oh my fuck.”
“What’s wrong?” Ike asked from beside him, and Kyle jumped because he hadn’t realised he was being followed. “Did you two have some kind of gay argument or something?”
Kyle hated how close to the truth that may have been.
“God Ike, it doesn’t matter. Please just get rid of him.” Kyle sunk back from the window and glanced at the stairs in the hallway. He wondered if he would have time to dash up them again before Stan spotted his silhouette through the frosted portal window on their door. “Tell him I have violent diarrhoea.”
“You have violent diarrhoea?”
“No! Just tell him that!”
Ike gave him a look like he was particularly weird and incomprehensible, but Kyle decided to let it slide until after the situation was dealt with. The sooner the better.
Unfortunately, he had barely started inching toward the stairs when Stan happened to look in the direction of the lounge window and spotted Ike standing there in plain view. Kyle could have killed the kid when he pointed at him hiding out of Stan’s line of vision and mouthed
He’s right here.
Stan’s eyebrows flew up and Kyle pulled back aghast, his stomach sinking into his toes when a fist falls impatiently on the door and echoes through their empty foyer.
“I know you’re in there Kyle you fucking assbag. Open the door!”
Kyle feels himself flush, and angrily he shoves Ike back in the direction of the kitchen because if Stan says something incriminating, he doesn’t want his brother in close enough distance to report back to his mother anytime soon. “I don’t want to talk to you!”
“Dude I think you owe me an explanation.”
“I owe you an explanation? How about you owe me one! And also, fuck off.”
“Oh man. Great comeback bro.” The door thuds in the frame when Stan kicks it impatiently, and Kyle winces because if his mother caught Stan doing that, she would flip her shit right out. “Let me in!”
“I’m not letting you in!”
“Let me in or I swear to god I will kick the stupid door right in.”
There is a brief moment of hesitance, where Kyle can’t know if he is serious or not because Stan is strong and athletic and in principle, there is no reason he couldn’t beat the thing right in eventually. But it would probably take some time, and Kyle’s parents would no doubt have something loud and indignant to say about that.
“Go ahead!” he yells hotly, and Stan makes an annoyed little groan.
”You’re such a fucking bitch Kyle!”
“Don’t call me that!”
“What? A bitch? Cartman calls you that all the time.”
And that’s the final straw. Pissy and impatient, Kyle stomps to the front door and yanks it open, and on the other side Stan is glaring at him and holding his calc text book in front of his chest like it’s a shield.
“It’s about time.” He says sourly. Kyle grits his teeth and tries not to focus on Stan’s lips, which he had always found handsome, or his eyes which are the particular dark blue of denim.
“I don’t want to talk to you.” He insists. Stan gives him a dirty look and shoves his way through the front door.
“Shouldn’t have opened up then. Want to take this upstairs?”
“How come you’re all bossy so suddenly.”
“This is important! God Kyle!” Stan flushes, and it’s a relief to see the familiar vulnerability on his face once more. “Seriously! Upstairs?”
Kyle glances over his shoulder, in the general direction of the kitchen, and he notices that he can’t hear Ike or his girl companion talking so he can only assume that the little assholes are listening in. Against his better judgement, (because what if they make it upstairs and he embarrasses himself by crying or trying to suck Stan of again,) he nods silently. Stan sets his jaw and tightens his grip on his textbook.
“I couldn’t catch you after school.” He murmurs, leading the way up stairs and watching Kyle from the corner of his eye to ensure he didn’t decide to run away. Kyle shrugs and informs him that that was probably because Kyle didn’t want to see him.
“That’s cold dude.” Stan waits for Kyle to close the bedroom door behind them before he responds, and he drops down on the edge of Kyle’s neatly made bed which makes Kyle’s heart rate skyrocket but he can’t say stand up in case that makes Stan angrier. “I always knew you were a cold person but wow. Right after the act and it’s ‘I don’t want to talk to you any more’. That’s harsh as fuck.”
“Oh shut up Stan! You’re such a fucking girl. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Maybe not at the time but when you ran away you made it mean something. You made it weird, you made it a big deal, and you know I would have been totally cool to just carry on like it hadn’t happened but now that’s not an option and you can’t avoid me forever! People will think something’s up and this whole dumb thing will only spiral out of control.”
Stan is right. And Kyle hates that he’s right because Kyle hates being wrong. He’s never wrong. And maybe that’s why sometimes people call him a hypocrite and an asshole, and a stubborn piece of shit, but none of that really matters because Stan knows what he is just as much as Kyle knows about the fundaments of Stan. And for some reason, Stan still likes to have him around.
“Well, sorry, but I just found out I was blowing my best friend. Can you blame me for kind of freaking out?”
“If you weren’t ready for it you shouldn’t have put yourself in a position where you ran that risk! What were you even trying to do anyway? That’s weird as fuck.”
“… That’s weird as fuck? Stan, you’re the one running around putting his dick in random holes!”
Stan went red and pulled his shoulders into a shrug.
“I just wanted to see what it was like?”
Kyle sighs and drops down on the bed next to him.
And they recede into a terse silence where doubtless both of them had stuff to say bit neither wanted to be the first one to say it. Should Kyle tell him? About the strange thoughts he’s been having about men and legs and lips and the cute ways guys push their hands through their hair? Stan would understand because he’s a supportive kind of guy – he wears bracelets on his wrists which say things like LOVE IS A HUMAN RIGHT and END HOMOPHOBIA YESTERDAY. But even though Kyle shares these sentiments its hard to admit that here and now, they might be ideas which affect him. Suddenly, he is the one-in-however-many teenagers who question their sexuality. Who don’t know where to turn or what to do and aren’t sure if their comfort zone is defined by ‘I don’t care who it happens to, as long as it’s not me’.
How does he say this to his best friend? Worse yet, how does he say this to the guy he thinks he might be in love with. Just a little bit.
Stan coughs softly and presses his hands between his knees.
“You know I’m not bothered if you’re gay, right?”
He’s always been good at saying things which, unbeknownst to him, are very much related to whatever happens to be on Kyle’s mind at the time. Kyle nods hard, and pulls his shoulders up like it might make him a little smaller and a little less of a long limbed and awkwardly structured person.
“I’m not gay.” He says. He feels Stan look at him sideways, and forces himself not to meet his eyes.
“Neither. But sometimes I think I could try it. Just… you know. To see what happens?”
Oh, Kyle had seen enough of what happens for one day. He feels a loud and nervous laugh escape him, and what it lacks in humour it makes up for in panic.
“I’m not saying that to make you feel better.”
“Yeah. I know. But I don’t think you get that if you don’t like it you can just go back to your pretty girlfriend and say it was a mistake. If I don’t like it them where does that leave me?”
“Get a girlfriend? It can’t be that hard.”
Kyle might have laughed, if the situation wasn’t so goddamned dire. Stan pulls a face as though he has just realised how ridiculous that suggestion actually is. Not because the notion of having a girlfriend is weird, but because the idea of simply picking one up like one might buy a coke from the supermarket is laughable.
“Whatever. My point is, you could have told me. About… whatever this is.”
“Well I don’t know what this is yet! Its kind of private. Maybe I’m trying to figure out if I like dicks without causing a huge drama in our social circle. But I’ll tell you what, when I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Well, okay then. Fine. But just as a preliminary, did you like it or not?”
“Sucking my dick. Did you like it?”
Kyle feels himself flush immediately.
“You can’t just as someone that!”
“Well I kind of want to know! It was my boner remember. It’d be great if you just kind of gave me an idea…”
“What if I told you I enjoyed it? Does that make you feel less… weird?”
His exaggerated hand gestures give away his frustration. Kyle thinks that actually, that makes him feel more weird. His stomach turns over ad he feels his mouth start watering in anxiety again.
“No.” he says, and his voice is weak and thin, like old tissue paper.
“Well, that’s awkward. You can’t… unsuck it you know.”
“I know that!”
Kyle isn’t an idiot. He is well aware of the permanence of what it is he has just done.
Sixty years from now, when he’s buried six feet under the cold hard Colorado ground, his headstone is probably going to read ‘Kyle Broflovski: he sucked Stan’s dick.’ And no matter what he accomplishes in his life from now on this will not be a lie. It will never be a lie.
Kyle lets himself fall back onto his mattress and closes his eyes. He feels Stan wiggle next to him uncomfortably, and their legs touch but only a little. The contact sends a tingle up through Kyle’s hip and he groans lowly. He can’t pretend like he didn’t get off on the whole event. He can’t act like he didn’t love doing the act, before the final moments where revelation made his blood turn cold. He has the cum in his dirty underwear to prove it.
“It was okay.” He says, bringing an arm up to cover his eyes. “Except for the end part I mean.”
“If it was just ‘okay’, then why does it matter that it was me or if it had been anyone else? What if you hadn’t recognised me? Would it have been the same or different?” He sounds suspicious and Kyle wonders if this is it. If this is the moment he has cottoned on to the facts. He grinds his teeth together and they make a gritty sound inside his head.
“You’re my best friend Stan. I don’t want to change the fact that I see you like that.”
But Stan falls unpleasantly silent, and Kyle feels the hair on his arms prickle when he says
“You stopped seeing me like that ages before you ever decided to blow someone in the toilets.”
For the second time that evening, Stan is correct.
tbh its really hard to write multi-chapter fics. i loose track of the ideas and moods im supposed to be maintaining throughout and it ends up like 'The Room' of south park fanfictions.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
It’s awkward, but they don’t talk about it for some time.
Stan, of course, still looks the same and he still acts the same, but sometimes when they are in class or at lunch Kyle can feel him watching him, and beads of sweat break on the nape of his neck. When Stan is in gym class and he’s wearing shorts, Kyle notices that his legs are muscular and un-groomed, and when he spots the dark half moons of sweat in the grey underarms of Stan’s T-shirt he feels his knees get soft and marshmallowy. He fumbles an easy catch in basketball, and has to go to the nurse’s office because he says he feels dizzy.
Little incidents start to take over his life and suddenly his days aren’t about classes and assignments and recreation activities - they are about how many times he makes unnecessary eye-contact with his best friend and has to look away. They are about scuttling around the corner when he sees Stan in the corridor because he doesn’t want to stand there for five whole minutes talking to him. They are about sitting in class staring at the back of Stan’s head, and feeling his face turn pink when Stan twists around in his seat and clears his throat.
“You want to come over on Saturday?” he asks.
Kyle is sure this is some kind of a trap, but he goes along with it anyway because Stan is wearing a cute navy scarf and matching mittens today, and it looks so good with his eyes Kyle would have done anything he asked.
When he arrives on Stan’s doorstep he is carrying a laptop case and a spare change of clothes in a plastic bag from Walmart, and Stan answers the door in jeans and a singlet even though outside its twenty something degrees. He smiles, and Kyle thinks he looks tired as hell.
“Hi.” He says. Kyle nods stiffly and shuffles inside. He wants to say ‘I’m only here because I have to be’ but he doesn’t know by what authority. He sets his stuff down on the armchair in the lounge room and Stan gestures to him to make himself comfortable.
They don’t talk to each other all through the wolf of wall street, and its not until halfway through Scary movie five that Kyle plucks up the courage to ask
“Where are your parents?”
“Denver. Shelly has some college thing.”
“Oh well that’s fucking convenient.”
He holds his knees closer to his chest and from the other end of the three seater sofa, Stan sighs.
“Kyle, are you still messed up over that thing that happened?”
“I guess so.”
He expects Stan to brush it off and carry on, but instead he reaches forward to pause the movie with the remote.
“Same. I can’t stop wishing you had told me first. I should have made it so you felt like you could.”
And maybe he should have. Maybe he should have been around more and maybe he shouldn’t have let Wendy slowly start to take up all his time and all his thoughts. Maybe he shouldn’t have become so wrapped up in his little world but Kyle knows there’s nothing to be gained by getting angry about all of this, instead he just lets his head fall back against the sofa back in resignation. Sometimes, when his guard is down, he can still sense the ghostly warmth of Stan’s cockhead on his lips.
“Dude, This is pretty fucked up right here.”
“That’s the thing that I say.”
“Well its true. I don’t know what to do about anything, and I’m no closer to working out if I want to try anything with another guy again.”
The worst part is, he’s been thinking about it all a lot. He’s been thinking about things he likes in men, about faces which make him feel comfortable and voices which make him shiver with longing and adoration. He’s been thinking about long limbs and broad shoulders and the way that boys carry themselves like they have claim to anything and everything they set there eyes on. Mostly, he’s been thinking about Stan, and what might have happened in the aftermath f he hadn’t been so disgusted and ashamed. Maybe it could have ended differently. Maybe Stan could have moved cubicles and fucked him against the cold tile wall, and the more he thinks about all the different ways things cold have gone (and most of them end with him and Stan naked and joined pelvis to pelvis) the more incoherent and meaningless all the could haves and should haves become.
One day, a long time ago, they were only friends. But Kyle has been thinking about that a lot too, about how Stan thinks (knows) he stopped seeing him as a friend a long time ago and yeah. After that, nothing will ever be the same.
Stan looks thoughtful for a moment, and he rubs the back of his neck and it looks good because Kyle can see the line of his throat and the angles in his wrists, and he thinks his stomach has slid out of its cavity and slumped onto the floor by his feet but he doesn’t want to look down and check just in case he sees something he doesn’t fancy.
“Maybe you should try it again. Except this time, make sure you know what you’re getting in to.”
And Kyle nodes because even though it means humiliating himself by admitting he wants to fuck around with guys to an actual nother person, he knows that’s a really good idea.
“Same for you, I guess.”
“Yah. Well, my parents won’t be home tonight so that’s something.” He lifts his eyebrows and exhales deeply while Kyle watches on with slightly narrowed eyes. “That’s an invitation by the way. If you want to.”
And it’s hard to tell if he’s dreaming or if the planets hanging in space far above them have just aligned.
“If you want to fuck, we can. Tonight. Or we don’t have to. It’s up to you.”
And now its Kyle’s turn to feel like he is missing some vital slice of information about the directions of Stan’s sexual interests. He realises that he hadn’t actually believed Stan when he implied he had thought about going with boys before.
“… What about Wendy?” he asks, even though he doesn’t give a fuck about her, it’s just the first coherent thing which comes to mind.
“What about her? I never told you but I’m at least ninety percent sure she’s fucking Cartman. Again.”
Kyle remembers vaguely the incident two years previously. Where Stan found out his long haul girlfriend had actually lost her virginity to their classmate.
“So what if one of us decides we don’t like it?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not going to be an issue.”
“…Yeah.” Kyle says honestly, letting his eyes drag up Stan’s body and linger for a moment on his beefy upper arms. “Same here.”
There are a few seconds of tension, where no ne says anything and no one moves, but then the sofa underneath them creaks as Stan shifts his weight and Kyle realises his chest is probably exploding and his head feels lighter than the air he is pulling into his lungs because Stan iis kissing him. The area between his thighs feels like he had never known the relief of unarousal.
Stan’s lips are smooth and soft like freshly laundered linen, and his hands are moving to touch Kyle’s throat and his jaw and the back of his neck which makes his whole body weak and trembly like he is standing outside naked in the freezing cold. It kills him to pull away, but the sofa is really a less than idea place to be doing this kind of thing because it’s old and uncomfortable and kind of makes Kyle feel like he’s doing something twice as filthy as he actually is. Stan’s parents sit on this sofa.
“Upstairs?” He breathes, and his voice is so much thicker than usual.
“What’s wrong with this?”
“I’m not fucking you on a sofa! That’s tacky as hell.”
“Fine. Fine.” there is a hand slipping under his t-shirt and the fingers caressing the angle of his waist makes him feel insubstantial and tingling all over, so at first he thinks he mishears this completely. “Get up then.”
He gives Kyle a little push. And then they are hurrying but trying not to look like they are hurrying, and they make it to Stan’s bedroom whish isn’t really very tidy but that doesn’t matter all that much – Kyle falls straight into the bed and Stan digs around in his desk drawer for a condom and some lubricant. Of which he has plenty.
“Ever let Bebe play with your ass?” he asks, peeling off his shirt and revealing the same fit body he always has, except now his shoulders and chest are reddish and patchy and Kyle is surprised because Stan is a dark looking boy who doesn’t seem like he would flush like that. It’s kind of weird and in some way Kyle doesn’t really understand its sexy as hell. He pulls off his hat and shakes his head.
“No. Why would I?”
Stan shrugs and tugs his jeans off his legs.
“Just wondered. Undress for me?”
Kyle has to bite his lip to stop from saying something about Stan’s boxer briefs, which are lumped up tellingly in the area of his crotch. He fumbles with his jeans because his hands are shaking so much – he’s so nervous he cant think straight and the whole experience is taking on a surreal sense of self-awareness. Have his fingers always been so hard to use? Has his shirt always felt this way against his skin?
The bed sinks when Stan crawls up onto it and pushes Kyle down gently, and he falls against the mattress with a quiet ‘oomph’, his jeans only halfway down his thighs and his t-shirt bunched underneath his armpits. He wonders if he is as red as he feels. If his brain is getting enough oxygen, and if the unreadable look in Stan’s eyes is one of lust or fear. He’s nervous, but it’s a completely different nervous to the nerves he got thinking about sucking a stranger. Stan looks at him like he is trying to read his mind, like he is thinking and hoping that Kyle will give him something, anything, to cling to. But Kyle cant. He’s concentrating too hard on breathing.
His eyes flutter closed when Stan leans in close and presses his mouth against his ear.
“I’m going to make you come.”
Kyle really, really hopes that’s a promise.
At first its hard to tell what he’s doing – the lightness of his mouth makes every hair on Kyle’s body bristle, and the places he is breathing seem to be spreading from his neck to his chest to his navel even though Stan’s lips are still exploring the angles of his jaw. He can feel Stan’s erection on his thigh, and the hands which are pulling his hips closer, and his jeans are still restricting his ankles so he tries to kick them off as best he can while Stan touches him, plotting the points of his anatomy with the palms of his hands.
“Don’t be nervous.” Kyle insists, because he can tell from the way Stan is wasting time groping him that he is struggling too figure out what to do next. “I’m nervous enough for both of us.”
“You can’t hog all the nerves.” Stan tells him, his left hand slipping inside the leg hole of Kyle’s briefs. “Now this is seriously happening I need a moment to figure out what to do.”
“You know what to do.”
And of course he does. They both do. But Stan is right – it’s different to actually do it, and Kyle notices this when a strange hand brushes against his semi-stiff cock and it’s all together different to every time he has ever touched himself.
“I’m going to start by taking these off?”
“If it helps?”
Stan pulls Kyle’s underwear down and pushes open his legs, and he does it so fast that Kyle doesn’t even have time enough to be embarrassed.
“Hold my hair.” Stan tells him, and he digs his thumbs into Kyle’s hips in a way that makes him gasp. His hair is of course smooth and fine, and it feels wonderful between his fingers as Stan moves down his belly between his legs.
It’s been a long time since Kyle had his dick in someone’s mouth, and it’s like he’s melting against the sheets because Stan’s mouth in particular is so hot and wet and it’s the kind of sensation he forgets after a while – it can’t possibly be that great? But it is that great, and Kyle hears himself moaning as he pushes up against Stan’s tongue, and the hand pinning him down seems firm but kindly – Stan’s other hand is rubbing against his balls and underneath, and when they slide over the bridge between the base of his junk and his ass Kyle has to push Stan away because he feels as though he is inches from finishing down his throat.
“Is that okay?” Stan asks him, and the tip of his finger is still rubbing, making Kyle want to writhe and squirm against the sheets. He nods and Stan bites his lip.
“I put the lube on the side table.”
Kyle grabs it for him, and watches with glazed eyes as he tears the sachet and empties it onto his fingers.
Kyle opens his thighs a little more and lies back with his eyes closed and his fingers curled into the pillow in preparation. His pulse is racing, or maybe it’s stopped and he hasn’t noticed. The lube feels cold and when Stan’s finger first starts to press in, he feels his whole body tensing.
“Oh my god this is real.”
“Calm down. Do you want me to stop?”
Kyle has never wanted anything less in his life.
It’s funny, all those times he thought about being with men he has never really thought about being with a man. At least not in the way that he might have if he ever thought it would happen. Kissing and touching someone was possible, even easy, but to feel someone break into him and become a part of him was special. A one of a kind experience that he could only have with someone he adored. Maybe it made sense then, that Stan would be the one. He was always the one, even way back when they were only friends. And he doesn’t want to stop because he isn’t meant to stop. And Stan’s boner is so big and hot and god. God now he is remembering what it tastes like. What the weight of it feels like against his lips. He feels his dick twitch against his stomach and Stan presses in further.
“More fingers?” he asks, pulling out and re-entering with two. The stretch aches, and Kyle has to curve his back up to contain the feelings he is having, and even though physically he is experiencing no great pleasure from this process, he realises he feels good. Really good. Sexy.
“Fuck me with them.” He has to push a few loose curls off his brow, and there is sweat he hadn’t noticed beading there – it’s making the roots damp and his fingers sticky. “You can put in more.”
Three fingers, however, is his limit. When Stan starts thrusting in and out, he feels his ties curling and his body shuddering. There is something inside which is making him short of breath and hungry for more. Stan keeps missing it, but Kyle can feel it enough to know its there somewhere, just out of reach, just a few millimetres away from where Stan is pressing in.
“Ready for my dick, Ky?”
And Stan hasn’t called him that in a long time. Not since they were twelve, and they used to share a bed at sleepovers.
“Yes! Please do it.”
It only takes Stan a few seconds to have his cock wrapped, slicked and ready, and thank god for that because Kyle is dying for it. He is pretty sure that if he doesn’t have something in his ass in the next minute he is going to start crying. And that perfect dick looks like it might have been designed for the job. It eases in inch by inch, and its thicker than Stan’s fingers – it reaches the places that digits had not.
“Oh fuck Stan.”
“Christ Kyle. Oh fuck, that’s really fucking good.”
Kyle whines and pulls on his hair in frustration as Stan hovers over, his face a strange mixture of pleasure and desperation as he focuses on keeping himself from coming. Kyle digs his heals into the back of Stan’s butt and the hand not gripping his hair clutches his hip desperately.
Kyle mouths, and Stan’s eyes flutter closed in agreement. When he rocks his hips forward, it sends a thick and wonderful rope of bliss coiling up his partner’s spine.
And Kyle remembers that now, they are joined just like he had fantasized they might have been in that school bathroom. Like they might have been if Kyle had just said something to Stan straight up when he very first realised he wanted to. He has lost awareness of his own body boundaries but has become particularly aware of Stan’s. Of his hard dick and his firm muscles. Of his shaking breath and the soft grunts and gasps he is making as he thrusts. This is real. This is really genuine and they are having sex. And Kyle is starting to feel dizzy because every time Stan moves he touches that place which makes him feel like he is going to burst. The relief of climax seems so close, but a million miles away.
“Touch me.” He pulls one of Stan’s hands between his legs and curls the fingers around his length, not caring that the steady stream of precum Stan is pushing out of him has made his cock and navel slippery and humid. The friction of that palm works in perfect sync with Stan’s fucking. He feels his back curve and his body wind up like he is going to shatter any minute. He’s so close to coming and it’s entirely because of this man. This boy he has loved forever and coveted for months, who is breathing irregular and making sounds like he is getting really close too. Almost too close. And he’s starting to whisper things like come for me Kyle, come on baby I wanna watch you come.
Kyle is hardly in the position to deny him that.
The feeling relief comes from somewhere so much deeper than usual, somewhere behind his navel which turns hard and then blooms like a flower breaking open and spreading petals of bliss down his arms and into the bowls of his palms. His breath catches and the word seems to gutter around him, like a light bulb switching on in a dark room, and against his throat Stan says something sweet and perfect and full of adoration that he doesn’t understand. It’s the dull ache of fingers digging into his side that bring Kyle back down, his awareness of the mattress beneath him returning and slowly and reminding him that he’s alive. Stan is breathing hard and fast, and with arms that feel like they are made of sand Kyle holds him while he finishes, combing his hair back and hoping that these perfect seconds never, ever end. It’s the exact opposite of that time in the bathroom, and this time around Kyle isn’t going to miss the opportunity to say what’s on his mind.
“I love you.”
Stan groans quietly and kisses the only part of Kyle’s body he can reach – the curve where his shoulder meets his neck. The boy weighs a lot more than he looks like he might but Kyle, made of string, doesn’t give a fuck.
“I love you too.”
And whatever that means for Kyle’s identify, his friendships, and his future, doesn’t matter.
Right now, everything makes perfect sense.
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