Work Text:
The directions Kenny has handed him for the smoke shop are almost impossible to follow, reminding Kyle over and over of— why does he have to be the one to do this? He could’ve easily given Kenny his money, let him go in and pay for it, like normal, but no, of course he has to do it ‘for once’. Yeah— there’s a plethora of reasons why Kyle despises shopping face-to-face, much prefers laying in the comfort of his room and ordering 24-hour-delivery gifts to himself off Amazon, but the main reason is that he never fails to make a fool of himself. He’s not like Kenny. He doesn’t have this instant, easy going click with every stranger he interacts with, normally, he comes off as rude or even condecsending.
He’s down a side-alleyway which curves inbetween two streets when the google maps voice says he’s reached his destination, and, looking around— seeing a small door with a curtain and a warning ‘18+’ sign, he supposes he has.
After stepping in he’s immediately IDed by a man who looks very non-intimidating, barely at the legal age himself, and after walking down the short staircase into the real place Kyle immediately knows that this is a bad fucking idea. He feels his face growing instantly, blaringly hot, up to his ears, gazing across a sea of penises, vaginas, whips and harnesses. His mouth is agape, and his figure is completely rigid, not knowing where to look, but knowing that he definitely doesn’t want to look at it.
The shop is crammed, and dark, full of adults who definitely look more in place than Kyle— who’s definitely the black sheep, with his tucked-in sweater and khakis. Yeah. He’s out of place here.
He finds his feet moving him stiffly, down directly forward to an isle full of rubber penises. He tries to keep his eyes glued to the ground, but bumps into a woman who’s admiring a long purple thing that realistically would not be attached to any human creature, the bump making her drop the thing to the floor, causing Kyle to loudly exclaim, “Sorry— sorry, I’m so sorry—”
“It’s fine, it’s really fine!” he hears her say, muffled by the pounding in his ears and the loud thought of Jesus Christ, I need to get out of here. His hands scramble for the dildo, grabbing it around the base, going to stand upwards but heading face-first into some poor man’s crotch. He stumbles backward, falling off balance onto his ass, still profusely apologising louder now, grabbing the penis and looking up and seeing—
Oh.
Fuck.
While Kyle finds any man his age in public instantly attractive, there is no denying this guy is hot. His face is soft, not soft in the way of round cheeks and a soft jaw— no, his features are angular but the immediate impression he gives off is one of kindness, mouth pulled into a slight grin, eyelashes, long, dark, and thick. His black hair falls over his eyes, and he’s wearing pants with fall far too low on his waist, his happy trail visible, about three inches until his shirt starts, some band tee which is cropped. Suddenly every possible sound capable of leaving his mouth leaves his body, finding himself gaping stupidly at this attractive stranger.
“Need any help?” His voice seems to match the rest of him, not overly low but still deeply attractive, boyish, and inviting. Kyle only then realises that he’s not smiling— he’s muffling a laugh, which snuck through in his tone. In a wave, words come back to him— “Oh my god, I’m so sorry— I’m really sorry– I–”
The guy has reached a hand out to offer Kyle a lift up, and it suddenly clicks in his brain— this dude works here. He stands, rigid, dying of embarrassment after being pulled up by the strangers warm yet firm hand.
He wonders for a second why the guys staring at him before he remembers he’s holding a penis, and pretty much shoves it into the guys hand, and pervertedly watch as his slim fingers curl around the base of this cock, experienced and place it calmly back on the shelf. The moment passes too quick, Kyle immediately wishing he could’ve snapshotted it for later jerk-off material. They stand for a minute, staring stupidly, and Kyle looks backward, realising the woman has gone off into a different aisle, leaving them alone. He slowly turns his head back, suddenly completely unaware of what to do with his hands, the pit in his stomach leaving his upper body feeling airless.
“What, uh— kind of thrill are you looking for?” the man asks, and the sultry words fail to hit Kyle with the waves of arousal which his other actions have because— this dude is clearly trying to not laugh at him.
“Um,” Kyle is immediately humiliated by the squeak of a voice that manages to leave his throat, “I think I’m in the wrong place.”
The man immediately grins, chuckling and shaking his head. The sound is soft and earthy, watching his eyes crinkle up at the corners. “Yeah, I thought so. Looking for the smoke store?”
Kyle nods enthusiastically, which gifts him pleasantly with another laugh, unaware of exactly how he’s being funny but smiling along stupidly.
“Alright, this way,” and like that, all of Kyle’s senses begin to zone into an empty buzz because he has placed his firm hand on the curve of Kyle’s back, causing Kyle to sit back in his movie theatre brain and watch himself walk through this sex shop, through the mannequins wearing extremely uncomfortable looking lingerie, and through a doorway with yet another loud '18+' warning, as if someone who was already in a store for sex toys would have to be reminded of it, into— yes. The smoke shop. The smell of marijuana badly covered by incense entered Kyle’s nostrils. He only then realises he could’ve used that time talking, being charismatic and endearing, everything he’s not.
Right then, he speaks again: “Alright. What are you looking for?”
“Uh,” Kyle says stupidly, eyes blinking rapidly, suddenly aware that, under the bright lights, this dude is wearing the slightest bit of makeup— black stuff, smudged over his eyelid, and has a piercing through his eyebrow, and in both of his ears. Even with a closer look at his skin texture— pimple scars, blackheads, this dude is undeniably handsome, and he’s clearly aware of it.
“Um, I’m looking for like— weed, well, my uh– my friend, he normally comes here, uh, and I’m doing him a favour, y’know, buying it this time. I really, I don’t know any of the terms or anything, really, I’ve never been the one buying it. You might know my friend— uh, he has this like, orange parka, it’s kind of hard to hear him—”
He found that once he began speaking, he was unable to close his mouth, so was grateful when he was cut off by an eager, “Kenny!”
“You know him?”
Kyle stares at this guy— who works at a sex shop, definitely bisexual (earrings, cropped shirt, general gay aura). Yup, fits Kenny’s friendship criteria, he should’ve assumed this already. He nods, “Yeah, he’s a regular. He’s cool, we chat sometimes. You want what he gets?”
“Depends how expensive it is,” Kyle mumbles, knowing Kenny’s habit of spending his whole limited budget on junk food and shit loads of weed.
“Well, Kenny normally gets an ounce, which will be enough for a big group, if that’s what you—”
“No, aha, when we smoke it’s just us, he doesn’t need anymore, honestly,” Kyle mutters the last part to himself under his breath. The guy's face flashes with some unreadable emotion, continuing to lead him through isles of vape and tobacco to closed, locked containers of branded marijuana in different sections.
“ Ah,” he says slowly, “right– well, half an ounce is 3.5 grams, that’s good if you have a higher tolerance, that’s $120, but if you just want a one-time thing between you two, you can get a quarter, which is $60, or an eighth, for $30. Or, you could just smoke a high CBD hemp flower, which won’t give you the high, but it’ll chill you out, and it’s a whole lot cheaper and legal in—”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Kyle says, uninterested in buying not weed. Still, he’s in shock at the prices, having been desperately trying to economise but college and the daily task of keeping himself afloat holding him down. Now, add this to the pile. Perfect.
The guy looks sympathetic. “I know it’s expensive, sorry, but, y’know, legal stuff.” his eyes widen, remembering something, “Wait, sorry, I need to see your ID. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Kyle says, now him being the one having to muffle his laugh, pulling out his ID for the second time since entering this store. He shivers, seeing his awful ID photo— jew-fro frizzy and out out of control, in his more than slightly chubby teenage phase, smiling like someone’s holding a gun to his face, big nose obvious, pre-his discovery of eyebrow plucking, his eyes wide like he’s horrified, his 18-year-old skin still acne-ridden. “Wait,” Kyle laughs, cradling the photo towards himself, “ don’t laugh. When you see it. I know I look bad, okay?”
“Okay!” the worker says, already laughing.
“No! You’re already—” Kyle goes to hand it over, but pulls it back, holding it close to his chest, laughing at himself, making the guy grab at it eagerly, Kyle ignoring the fluttering in his chest from the brush of their fingers and pulling it out of his reach, screeching, “No— no!” laughing hysterically, until the guy finally contracts his slender fingers over Kyle’s, through to the card, and tugs it forcefully out of Kyle’s firm grasp. Kyle’s forced to watch this hot guy spin the card around in his own fingers, eyes widening as his vision adjusts and he looks at the picture.
“Oh my god,” Kyle rubs his hands over his own face, looking through his fingers as the guy fails to contain his snicker, “I know it’s bad—”
“No, no, it’s— it’s not, it’s not bad—” he cuts himself off with a laugh that shows yes; it’s really bad.
“Oh shut up!” He scoffs, trying to snatch it back, just for it to be pulled away from him.
“Wait— wait, we have to do the professional thing!” he exclaims. He holds the card up next to Kyle’s head, a smile tugging at his lips from seeing the photo again, shaking it off. His eyebrows furrow close to each other, squinting. “Kyle Bro…. um… Bro…flow… uh…”
“Kyle Broflovski,” Kyle grins. The guy looks clueless.
“I’m so sorry, can you say that one more time?” and he chuckles again whilst saying it, eyes squinted from laughter.
“Kyle Brof-lov-ski. It’s Jewish,” he cuts himself off from adding a friendly ‘asshole’ to the end of that sentence, remembering he’s just met this guy.
“ Brof-lov-ski,” he says slowly, “Broflovski. Kyle Broflovski. Pleasure to meet you, Kyle Broflovski. And when was your birthday?”
“May 26th, 2003,” he says, trying to keep his voice as steady and neutral sounding as possible but the flutter in his chest breaks through into his tone.
“We’re born on the same year!” he grins, warming Kyle’s heart to the brim. “Gemini, hmm,” the stranger murmurs, handing his ID back, as Kyle scoffs at him knowing that by heart, cut off when his heart flips again when their fingers brush a third time when the card is handed back. “I’m a Libra.”
“Right,” he says successfully flatly, “let me guess. We’re compatible, like every other sign with each other?”
“Yeah, actually,” he’s still smiling, rolling back and forwards on the balls of his feet. “Uh… so, wait.” His black eyes screw shut, Kyle briefly playing with the delusion of him being distracted by Kyle’s appearance, before remembering that the kindest way to describe himself is ‘unconventionally attractive’, which sadly doesn’t cut it for boys like the one standing in front of him, so glaringly handsome that it almost taunts him. “What amount did you want?”
Kyle scratches the side of his head, “uh. Can you— can you go over it again?”
The guy smiles, shaking his head and repeating the sentence he probably has to drawl out 65 times a day to braindead stoners, such as, Kyle supposes, himself.
“Um, how much is a quarter?” Kyle finds his brain strategically running through the puzzle of how quickly yet not too quickly he’ll be able to come back here and see this guy, how quickly he’ll be able to test out if he’s worthy to work at a sex store. From the looks of him, smooth and composed, there’s no question about it— if, and that’s a big if, Kyle even got the sliver of hope that this guy would ever consider sleeping with him, he would be far, far out of his depth and even further out of his league.
“60.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Kyle pulls out his wallet reluctantly, both because of the price and because of the fact that this interaction will be put to rest the moment his card touches the illuminant terminal that he’s found himself standing in front of. Well. Fuck.
The guy is writing out some number on it, and has spun it around to face him. Kyle reluctantly raises his hand, and taps it, silently hoping as he watches the screen load that his card will decline so that he can—
Accepted.
Kyle looks up at the guy. He’s smiling.
“Thanks so much, man,” he says, and points toward a door. “Just so you know, for next time, that’s the entryway. You came in through the back door, don’t know how you managed that.”
“Yeah,” Kyle grits his teeth, thinking back to Kenny’s now hilarious directions. Ha. Ha. “Kenny’s doing.”
I wish I could come in through your back door, he thinks defeatedly.
“Alright,” somehow, they’re still talking. “It was really great talking to you. Get through that stash soon so we can talk again, okay?”
He finds himself smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt. “Yeah,” he says, breathily. “Yeah, that’s—- yeah.”
Only after he’s walked out of the door does he realise that he failed to catch that guy's name.
–
Kyle doesn’t love getting high, but he likes it when it’s with Kenny. The way the world around them fades into a soft buzz, his brain detached from his body. Normally, when he’s high, he just gets pretty giggly and sleepy.
He looks over at Kenny, who’s blowing out a puff of smoke into Kyle’s face. He rolls his eyes, coughing, looking away. Kenny’s the closest thing he has to a best friend. He envies those who were born with their forever soulmate, attached to the hip since the womb, and showing it off to everyone around them. He and Kenny knew each other as kids but didn’t start really being friends until they were 10. They had mutual connections with this fat asshole who they still smoke with sometimes, though Kyle prefers not to. He’s slept with Kenny a handful of times, though he’s very aware that Kenny is not interested in anything serious, and he’s not interested in it, either. He’s too blonde, anyways. Good in bed, though. Kyle pulls down the bottom of his parka, and kisses him, softly and briefly.
“What was that for?”
He shrugs. “Dunno. Felt like it.” he took another hit, closing his eyes and feeling the weed run through his veins, push him further towards the roof. He was floating. “Shit, this is good. I should’ve got more.”
“Yeah, you should’ve.” Kenny’s lying next to him now, on the bed. Kyle can’t remember how they got here. He hands Kenny the joint. “Did you meet Stan?”
“Who?”
“Stan. The guy who works there. He’s the son of the owner of this brand.” Kyle rolls over to face him. “He’s your type, right?”
“ What ?” Kyle scoffs sarcastically. He takes another hit. “Yeah, he is. God, he’s hot.” he rolls the joint around in his fingers, testing out the foreign name on his tongue. “ Stan. Huh.”
“He’s all yours, baby. I’ve been good, babe, keeping my hand’s off, saving him up for you.”
Kyle’s cock twitches. He hates how Kenny's habit of objectifying people he likes turns him on, but he’s too high to care. “I’m sure he gets around enough. I wouldn’t be anything special.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Still though.” he looks Kyle up and down. “You’re a sexy guy.” His eyes fixate on Kyle’s semi, grinning. “Hey, what’s this about? He’s very interested in this conversation, isn’t he.”
There is nothing Kyle hates more than someone who refers to his penis in the third person, but his annoyance slips away when Kenny’s hands find their way to his crotch, palming him roughly. Kyle moans and Kenny kisses him on the neck, or more, licks him sloppily.
“Want a blowie, baby?”
Kyle grunts a sound of approval, eyes glued to the ceiling, which has turned into a whirlpool, spinning quicker and quicker as Kenny’s sucks get faster, and when Kyle comes against his face the entire roof gets pulled down the empty drain.
“Thanks,” Kyle says, post-orgasm haze clouding his brain. Kenny’s collapsed next to him, rolling over to his side to lean against him, his erection rubbing at Kyle’s thigh. Kyle returns the favour, putting up with Kenny's awful dirty talk ("Take it, baby, oh slurp it up, little whore" is a common one, followed by "Oh, take that big fat dick"), and afterward, when Kenny's come down his throat, the only thing he says is, “I need to get more of that weed.”
–
Kyle had spent the rest of that week nervously puttering around when would be a good time to go back. He didn’t want it to be too soon, and he didn’t want to look desperate, but he also needed more weed and needed to talk to Stan again. Desperately.
He’d got high with Kenny on Sunday, now four days ago. Luckily, with his college workload, it was easy to forget about irrelevant things such as his love life, but he’d been hit with the strong memory of him in the morning, getting coffee, and with a surge of confidence from getting a lot of creepy-yet-kind messages from some old man on Instagram, he was ready to go. Ask this guy out.
He remembers the directions easily— the block it was in wasn’t that far from his campus. He wondered in vain if Stan would maybe go to his Uni, before realising that someone in Harvard probably wouldn’t be working at a sex/tobacco shop on the side. Kyle stands outside nervously, staring at the warning sign of ‘ 18+’ and the dark, shaded windows, decorated with weed stickers and vibrator ads. He takes deep breaths like his mother taught him, in, out, in, out, in—
His shaky hands find their way to swing open the door.
His first, immediate reaction, is to cough at the cloud of smoke that looms over the store. Second, take in his surroundings. Looks very similar to the last time he was there, except for some discount signs. Third, find Stan. His main objective. He’s uninterested in buying this stupid marijuana if it doesn’t come along with hearing the smooth sound of his laughter, he may as well not get it at all.
But he is not immediately greeted with a loving, “Kyle!” and a reunion hug. Instead, a girl approaches him, with straight black hair and dark eye makeup, Kyle briefly wondering if it’s his sister.
“Hi, what kind of thrill are you looking for?” Her voice is high-pitched, but pleasant nonetheless.
“Um,” Kyle scratches the back of his neck, completely frozen. In none of his fantasies on how this would go down, was Stan just not there. “Uh, I just wanted, um a quarter ounce of weed, thanks.”
She nods, pleasantly leading him over to the container, and pointing at the amount he wanted as Stan had. Kyle shakes his head yes, and gives her his ID with no playfighting and giggling as he had in the past.
“Uh…” She squints her eyes, his ID held up next to his face. “Kyle Bow-flow-sky?”
“Broflovski.”
“Oh, sorry,” she murmurs and makes him repeat his birthdate like Stan had. Kyle rolls on the heels of his feet, bored. He murmurs thanks when she hands it back. It’s awkward, but his mind is too distracted looking over her shoulder and trying to catch sight of Stan, even if he can’t talk to him.
“Is there anything else you’re looking for?” she asks, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Um, yeah,” he says, “this is kind of… weird, but is Stan in here today? I just… I dunno, wanted to say hi.”
“Oh!” her eyes light up. “Yeah, he’s not here at the moment. He works from 12-5 pm Thursdays, and it’s– uh, it’s 10. Why, are you his friend?”
Kyle wonders for a moment if she should be giving out that information to someone who could easily be a stalker, but he guesses he’s grateful for her unprofessionalism, so he can stalk him. “Uh, kinda.”
“Okay, I’ll tell him Kyle dropped by.”
“No!” he squeaks, far too loudly and far too quickly, because it clearly startles her and another customer from across the store looks at him strangely. He lowers his tone, “Uh– no. Sorry. It’s fine. I’ll just, um, come in later. Yeah. Wait, can you maybe— I’ll come in later, I’ll buy this later when he’s in. Um. No offense. No, I mean, not that it’s personal, it’s just—”
She’s laughing at Kyle’s nervous rambling sweetly and takes his weed and puts it back in its sealed container. “Yeah, no problem.”
“Thanks,” he murmurs, completely red.
“I get it, he’s a cute guy,” she laughs as she locks the cabinet, making Kyle only splutter more, which she giggles at. “No, no, sorry! It’s okay! Your secret is safe with me, I swear!” she motions a zipper pulling her mouth closed.
“Okay, thanks, but I really don’t—”
“Yeah, exactly, you don’t,” she winks. Kyle smiles and rolls his eyes, turning away while she’s laughing. Now, he just has to wait for a whole…. He checks his phone. Two hours. He sees the Starbucks across the road, and the weight of his laptop in his tote bag, and walks over, easily taking the opportunity to get more homework done.
—-
Okay, he spent a lot more than two hours studying. Though his eyes were glued to the small digital clock at the bottom right of his computer screen, he didn’t want to go in at exactly 12, because he could be late, or worse, too early, too eager, but he also didn’t want to miss it. So it was 1:30, and Kyle was finally packing up to head over to the store, crossing his fingers and praying silently that he’ll be there.
When he walks over, he doesn’t give himself time to contemplate, he just slams the door open, walks in, and looks around. Okay. More crowded. He scanned the crowd; not Stan, not Stan, not Stan, not Stan, not—
“Oh, hey!”
Kyle spins his head, looking up slightly at the man who stands in front of him. His stomach plummets and flips. Oh, thank you, God.
“Hey, it’s Kyle, right?”
Oh, this day is a blessing.
Kyle nods, his chest swelling, desperately, desperately trying to calm his breathing, to say anything other than—
“You remembered.”
Oh. Well, he said it.
Stan grins, and Kyle notices that he has the grin of a post-nerd, toothy and gummy, like he’s going to chuckle like he’s Goofy, and Kyle’s Mickey Mouse, a herr, herr, kind of laugh. Kyle’s horrendously enamored.
“Yeah, you left an impression, for sure,” Kyle’s stomach flips, though Stan just tossed the words out, all nonchalant— oh, by the way, I remembered you coming in and getting weed. “What took you so long?”
“Oh, um,” Kyle barely remembers how to talk, “Kenny and I went through it slowly.” A lie, but whatever, he’s sure Yahweh can forgive him this once, considering the fact he’s managed to forgive his deeply impure thoughts of what he wants to do to this guy, or worse, what he wants done to himself.
“Ah,” Stan grins. “Want some more?”
“Yes, please,” God, could he sound any more eager? Kyle curses his mother for her insistence on his good manners, they’re really ruining his appeal of ‘big, sexy hunk’. Luckily, Stan doesn’t seem to mind, smiling wider, even, leading him over to where he’d been just hours before, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“A quarter, again?” and Kyle’s chest swells because he really did remember.
He nods and then exclaims when he sees Stan’s grin— “Wait, you don’t get to see my ID again, fuck off. You’ve seen it before, you know I’m of age, hand it over.”
He’s surprised by the familiarity of talking to Stan, the way they instantly fall into conversations as if they’ve known each other their whole lives. Kyle hasn’t sworn at a stranger so easily since he was 10, but Stan immediately matches his energy— “No, no, no, let me see! One more time. Can I take a picture?”
“No, Stan.”
And it slips out far too quickly, Kyle slamming his hand over his mouth. Right. He’s not supposed to know his name.
“Kyle, how do you know my name?” Stan says it quickly, grinning. “Cause I didn’t… I didn’t tell you my—” his face lights up, and he cooes, “Kyle, have you been talking about me?”
Kyle rolls his eyes, blushing furiously. “Okay, I might’ve mentioned you to Kenny, but—”
“Ahah!” he exclaims, like a pirate or a man from the ’50s, raising his finger to point at him— I’ve got you.
“Oh, shut up—”
“Wow, to think you went home and gushed about me to your friends. Wow, I really make an impression, don’t I?” he’s beaming. “What did you say— ‘ Kenny, I met this super cool, hot guy—’”
Kyle screeches laughing and shaking his head. The type of laugh where you can’t breathe, you’re just squealing and wheezing and giggling. “You’re— you’re—”
“Oh, you’re so cute,” Stan grins ear to ear. “It’s okay, I mentioned you to Wendy, too.”
Kyle comes to realise over the next few weeks, as this becomes a part of his routine that Stan is actually really cool. Not just cool in the way every attractive guy upon first meeting is cool, cool as in genuinely, thoroughly, charismatic and nice. Their attraction to each other (romantic or not) was instant. Talking to him once Kyle has surpassed his nerves flows easily, he was pleasantly surprised when he realised that their enjoyment of each other’s company was completely mutual, unlike normal, where Kyle has to chase, always catch up to them to win their attention. No, Stan would be waiting for him to walk in every Thursday at 3, to buy his usual quarter. It immediately became the highlight of Kyle’s week. Stan got his quiet-ironic sense of humour, and played off it easily, bouncing off of him quickly and instantly. Once they began talking, they didn’t stop until Stan was inevitably pulled away by a coworker or his boss. It was awful, him having to work. Even if he didn’t end up actually together with him, he would love to be his friend. He often spent half of their limited time together forgetting about asking him out, then remembering, and nervously preparing himself— just for Stan to have to go back to work.
Whilst Kyle did have a tendency to be completely delusional, he was pretty sure Stan liked him back. Pretty sure. He had created a list in his diary of reasons why, titled; “DOES STAN LIKE ME?”
It read:
Pros:
- Bisexual
- Called me cute
- We get along really well
Cons:
- He is so, so out of my league it’s not funny
- Probably has some rich hot blonde girlfriend
3/2— pros are winning. Call him crazy, but he might, might actually have a chance. The chance is further proven in little moments, little moments where he slowly finds himself sifting further and further into Stan's life, a prominent side character. Where he has a role, of the guy who pulls him out of his work to talk about everything other then sales, making Wendy (the girl from earlier, he realised with horror) roll her eyes at them, far too knowing and far too confident. Kenny mentions it, too, an annoying amount of times-- "You really like this guy, don't you?" And yes, he does. He really does. It's all he can talk about, how much he likes this guy. It's teetering onto his usual slightly crazy, manic obsessions he gets. He's trying to contain it. He's trying to keep it together.
—-
It takes multiple weeks of casual banter, clicking for under 30 minutes like Kyle’s never clicked with anyone before until something definitely happens. Happens-happens. They’re standing outside Stan’s job, Kyle distracting him on his break, when Stan says it:
“We should get high together.”
Kyle blinks, looking around him like he just said something naughty. “Like, now?”
“Yeah, dude.”
“Is that even allowed? Will I have to pay more?”
Stan grins. “Nuh-uh, sweetie. On the house, just for you. We have pre-rolled joints in the back, gimme a sec.”
And that’s how they ended up high, in an alleyway right by Stan’s work, eyes bloodshot and laughing their asses off. The stuff Stan’s got is stronger than his usual, so Kyle’s teetering off into scared-high territory, rather than fun-high. Saying stuff he shouldn’t unable to close his mouth, high. Not his best look.
It slips out when Stan innocently asks him what he does in a day, like— what does he do other than buy weed too often.
“The usual, you know. Go to uni, study all day, get high, fuck Kenny, repeat.”
The Kenny detail slips out too easily, and it’s bad because to both of them, Kenny has become some urban myth, some guy they both know exists but have never interacted with together. He comes up often in conversations, and now that Stan knows he’s a tiny bit more than just a stupid friend he has, Kyle goes red. “Um. Sorry. I dunno why I said that.”
“No, it’s okay,” Stan’s looking at him like he can see through him, like he has x-ray goggles which see past him, through his bones, through to the wall he’s leaning against. His eyes are red from the weed. He’s so beautiful.
They just stare at each other and smoke in silence for a bit. Kyle made it awkward. Oops.
“So, is Kenny… like your… um…” Kyle is all aware of the fact that Stan’s eyes are glued to his lips as they wrap around the joint and suck slowly. He hands it back, and their fingers touch.
Kyle shakes his head. “No, it’s not like that. Not at all. Kenny… it’s just kinda how he is with all his friends.” He tries to muster the most genuine, serious look to get Stan to understand. “It’s really not serious.”
It’s not.
“Really.”
“Yeah, it’s really not.”
“Like…” Stan blinks, slowly. Or maybe it’s not slow, but everything seems to be on 0.5 speed when Kyle’s high. “How… not serious?”
“Like, really not serious, man.”
“Really?”
“Seriously. ‘S not serious.”
And then they’re both laughing. When Stan laughs, he snorts and his head leans forward, and his shoulders shake. He has a full-on chuckle, sometimes he slaps his knee. Kyle forgets to laugh because he’s so enamored.
“Man, I wish I had a Kenny,” he wipes his eyes.
“You mean, like, to fuck?”
“Yeah,” he blows out smoke. Kyle’s mouth is suddenly really dry.
“Oh.”
It’s a stupid response, and he opens his lips to say the obvious thing he should’ve said but Stan’s already talking: “I mean— I kinda do, but not really, you know? Man, it’s just been so long since I’ve got laid.”
It leaves his mouth too quickly, “How long?”
“Five months.”
“Oh, shit.”
And Stan’s looking at his lips, and then it hits Kyle like a stack of bricks— this is it. They’re going to fuck. Tonight. He’s about to kiss him. He stares at Stan stupidly, waiting for him to do it, or trying to work up the courage to kiss him himself, but like usual, his entire body turns frozen and he becomes unable to move. Stan’s staring at his lips.
“So, uh…” he whispers, and Kyle’s really, really aware of how close their faces are, feeling Stans's soft exhale before he licks his own lips. Stan’s staring at Kyle’s mouth. Kiss me. Kyle’s internal monologue pleads, please. I know you want to. Have your way with me, let your tongue explore the depths of mine.
But Stan doesn’t. Instead, he looks to his feet, over his shoulder, and hands Kyle the rest of the joint. “Uh… I should— I should go.”
“Yeah,” it comes out far too airy.
“Um,” Stan’s eyes travel down to his lips once again, and then he blinks, hard, and takes a step back. “T-thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Yeah, aha.”
Stan walks away disgracefully and awkwardly, stumbling quickly away, nearly tripping over. Kyle takes another hit. Damn.
—
It’s the following day, and it’s all Kyle can think about. All he can think about. When he wakes up, he thinks about Stan’s lips over his, when he has breakfast, and when he goes to class when he does his homework. He’s living in a Stan-driven haze, so it’s no surprise when it’s 9 pm on a Saturday, outside a certain tobacco/sex store.
It’s nearly closed, he has 30 minutes. He lets his feet lead him inside. When he’s in there, it’s darker than he’s ever seen it, and Stan’s at the counter, the only person in the shop other than him. He’s on his phone, and he doesn’t even look up, probably doesn’t hear the soft, nervous steps of Kyle walking over to the front desk.
“Hey.”
Stan’s eyes look jolt up from his phone and lets out a delicious half-gasp when he sees Kyle. He straightens his back and shuts the device off. “Kyle.” he sounds surprised. Hell, Kyle’s surprised.
“Hi,” Kyle says stiffly, shifting on his feet. He nervously chuckles after an elongated silence— yup, it’s still awkward.
“So, um,” Stan rubs his mouth, where Kyle can see the beginning of a stubble forming. He wonders what it would feel like to kiss him, like this, with stubble. “What— what are you looking for?”
The words spill out far too quickly, unnatural, as they’ve been circling around Kyle’s head for far too long and he just had to say it. “Can I have a look back there?”
It’s a stupid question. He knows what’s back there. What’s back there is written in large, A2 letters on the door. All he’s been thinking about for the past month is back there, Stan’s secrets, Stan’s sensuality, his real-life behind pleasant smiles and chatter about weed and other useless shit. It’s Stan, ready for him, prepared, and experienced.
He watches as Stan’s lip curves upwards into a slightly goofy smile, and his pale face slowly turns red like inflating a hot air balloon. He watches him gawk at him like he just asked him a much dirtier question than what he asked. But Kyle guesses he kind of did.
“Uh,” his voice is boyish and low like he suddenly really needs to cough. “You want to look— back— back there?”
He nods, suddenly shy. Stan coughs. His suspicion was correct.
“Um… okay,” Jesus, he’s nervous. In all of Kyle’s fantasies, he’s never nervous. He’s strong, and he’s prepared, and he’s not nervous. Kyle wonders for a second if he’s completely misread every signal thrown his way— and this guy does not like him like that. He watches his hands fumble with the door, and follows him through the corridor, leaning under the low roof. When they make it into the sex toy room, Stan walks into a mannequin, bumping into it and grabbing it’s leather harness back into place. It lightens the thick air between them, letting them release some tension with a laugh. Kyle doesn’t realise how badly he needed to laugh, properly, before he starts, and can’t stop. By the time his hollers have faded into little giggles, he’s wiping tears from his eyes. It really wasn’t that funny.
Stan stares at him, in the way he does, like he can see through every artery and blood vessel in his body, into his brain, through his thoughts. “ So…”
“So.” Kyle’s nervous, now. “I was… I was thinking— Mmm! ”
The noise of surprise is because Stan has grabbed his face and pulled it forward to his own, kissing him deeply, smiling into it. Kyle’s hands find their way to his hair, getting the best angle to kiss this guy how he needs to be kissed, recreating what he’s thought about far, far too many times. He pulls on it slightly, and Stan moans, and everything is far, far too quick and far too overdue. When Stan pulls off, they don’t have time to laugh off the tension again, only staring at each other, ravenous.
“Take your clothes off,” Stan orders, staring deeply at him. Kyle nods, fumbling with his belt, nearly tripping over his own feet and kicking off his shoes and pants. When they're off, he's embarrassed, feeling like he's too hard, too into this.
Stan’s the first to move, falling to his knees— slightly ungracefully, grunting with a slight “ow” sound before slicking a line up Kyle’s cock, causing a drawn-out whimper to leave Kyle’s hollow chest, involuntarily grabbing onto his hair and pulling him down deeper, going to apologise before he realises that Stan isn’t choking, instead, he’s deepthroating him efficiently, Kyle overwhelmed with pleasure, only catching slight glimpses of Stan’s hollowed, red cheeks, and closed eyes. And this is it’s supposed to feel like— because Kenny’s good, but Jesus Christ. Stan pushes as far down as he can, his right hand jerking off the parts he can't reach, rubbing his balls, and Kyle feels a pang of jealousy, unable to think anything but he's done this before, he's done this before.
He pulls off far too quickly with a pop and stands and hovers over Kyle’s lips, whispering huskily, “Want you inside of me, can you do that?”
Kyle nods— yes, yes, he can definitely do that, definitely. Stan’s right hand is still pumping at his cock, kissing him, and Kyle can’t breathe because holy shit, holy shit. He fumbles with Stan’s fly, pulling his pants off quickly, and to his shock, Stan turns around, presenting his pale ass to Kyle, and bending over. Kyle inhales. Oh. Oh, wow, okay. This is happening.
“Just— just get lube from over there, it doesn’t—”
“Isn’t there security cameras?” the moment the thought enters his mind, he has to voice it, and Stan rolls his eyes, scoffing.
“It doesn’t matter, it’s just my dad. Please, please, dude, I—”
“Okay, okay,” he mutters, ripping open a container of lubricant and a condom, and rubbing it against his fingers. He wants to ask how long before this he showered but realises that would probably ruin the mood, wasting no time slicking up his middle and index finger, sliding them in. Because he loves foreplay, but he does not, not have time for it right now.
Stan moans, full-on, pornographic, moan-moans, arching his back and pushing himself back onto Kyle’s fingers. Kyle’s way, way too warm, the only thought circling his buzzing mind; ‘oh my God, this is happening, this is happening, this is really, really happening’. And Stan pushes him back into reality with another desperate whine, fucking himself back onto the fingers.
“Oh my God, Stan,” he says, in awe. He has never, ever had sex with someone this shameless. Even Kenny, who’s explicit and inappropriate, understands the line between what is appropriate and what is too far within their understanding, and pressing back into someone's fingers like some bitch in a porno when anyone could walk in is definitely, definitely past him and Kenny’s agreement of what’s allowed. Thank god he's not Kenny.
“In, in, in,” he’s saying, and Kyle’s pulled his fingers out, and rolled the condom on, lining himself up and bottoming out in one hard, fast thrust. They both moan in unison, Kyle’s embarrassingly higher than Stan’s, more of a pained whimper— but Stan clearly doesn’t seem to mind, panting; “Move, Kyle, move, right now.”
Kyle’s working his hips as calculated as he can, trying to fuck this guy good, like he deserves, and wondering how the hell anyone has let him go five months without this. Kyle pounds into him, pushing the table Stan’s leaned against forward with every thrust, making him gasp, and moan, and the toys displayed next to him rock.
He stops for a second, catching his breath, pulling out. Stan turns over his shoulder, his loud whines dying out, breathily asking from the bottom of his throat, “Why’d you stop?”
And Kyle freezes, barely remembering why he stopped, before spinning Stan over so he can see him, and picking him up almost too easily, grateful for his added weight from college and his teenage basketball years, that and the fact that Stan’s so thin that it’s almost concerning. He holds him, like a baby, one hand on his ass, one on his back, and pushes him against the wall, leaning down and lining himself up once again, and god, this is a hard angle to work at— but he pushes up, into him, and succeeds in his plan to hit him directly in his prostate, Stan gasping and scraping at Kyle’s back, legs wrapping around his middle, and it suddenly feels very easy to move his hips. Kyle is overtly aware of the fact that he’s too close right now, having hoped that the brief break would lend him some more time, because he hates being the first one to come. But he raises his gaze and meets with Stan’s face, catching sight of his open mouth, red lips, eyes lined with tears, and kisses him. When he kisses him, Stan’s still moaning into his mouth, but he makes an effort to stop, simply focusing on their tongues against one another and realises that with the absence of his noises, he was the one letting out the loudest, whinest moans. Stan’s are low, grunting, yet still lined with some feminine accent Kyle tries his hardest to hide himself. He’s letting out loud, ‘Mmm, mmmm’s which only push Kyle further towards his inevitable orgasm. He pulls away from the kiss, and like they’re in some animation, a line of spit connects their lips, popping once Kyle’s pulled away properly. He moves to Stan’s neck, desperately wanting to hear him, selfishly hoping the poor ongoers can hear what a whore Kyle Broflovski has made of this guy. Kyle Broflovski with his glasses, with his pimples—- fuck you all, he’s about to make the hottest guy he’s ever met come from his dick alone.
He licks and sucks at Stan’s neck, the pace of his thrusts quickening rapidly so, biting down slightly, and Stan’s murmuring, “‘M gonna come, ‘gonna come, Kyle, gonna—”
“Okay, me too, me too—”
“Love your big cock— fuck, so good, so good, filling me up so deep—”
Kyle comes instantly at that, hard, and Stan comes a matter of milliseconds after. Kyle’s always been deeply ashamed of dirty talk, but he liked that, he really liked that. He holds Stan, trying to fuck him through his orgasm, try and ride it out, but there’s no use— his own erection’s died down, so he just lets the translucent liquid spill against his upper chest, even hitting the bottom of his neck.
They pant, still against the wall, and Kyle realises how tired his arms and legs are, pulling out carefully and immediately collapsing onto the table. He rolls his head over to see Stan slide down into an asian squat, holding his head in his hands, already laughing to himself.
“So,” he looks at him.
“So.” Kyle nearly lets out a comically bad ‘that just happened’ in his post-sex state, like he’s in a 90’s sitcom, the laugh track playing. Instead he just grins.
“That was great,” he manages when Stan says something. He’s aware of how stupid and boyish he sounds, but adds on, “You’re— you’re great. I really, really like you, Stan. A lot.”
Stan looks up at him, like he’s surprised. “Really?”
He has to have known. It was obvious. He finds himself following the script he’s practiced and failed to recount so many times until then; “Yes, really. I really want to spend more time with you. Um, if you wanted, we could go out. Like, for dinner, or lunch, or something. It can be on me, I don’t mind,” when he realises his babbling, he quickly adds, “No pressure, sorry.”
Stan is grinning. “Like, a date?”
“Yeah,” Kyle sits up, the smile hurting his cheeks. “I know I probably should’ve done that first, before this— it’s not that gentlemanly of me, I know, I just—”
Stan pulls him close to him and kisses him, deeply, but not sensuously. Full of romance. Full of something which Kyle already knows will blossom into something huge, something that will consume an entire portion of his life— Stan. Like he’s just turned the page of the book titled Kyle Broflovski to Chapter 20: Stan Marsh. And he’s perfectly okay with that.