(no subject)
Title: Songbird
Author: inhisxeyes
Pairing: Stan/Kyle
Genre: Romance (is Sex a genre? It should be)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Kyle is musical, everyone knows this. Stan is about to find out just how musical his best friend is.
Songbird
Deep, deep down, Kyle Broflovski knew he was musical. Ever since he was young, he’d harbored a secret desire to play acoustic guitar and sing. When he was home alone, he would practice singing along to his parents old Journey records.
At age twelve, he began saving up every penny he had, and by thirteen and a half years old, he had enough to purchase a rich mahogany guitar. He named it Ellie, and he treasured it beyond any possession he owned.
His parents tolerated his hobby, but he knew they didn’t approve. They would have rather him be helping the Squirts at Jew Scouts than playing an instrument. In fact, they often voiced their opinions that he should be spending his time being an active member of their Jewish community, instead of playing guitar or playing video games with Stan.
But the good little Jew didn’t feel like obeying the whims of his parents this time. The guitar was his freedom, his passion. He went to his guitar after Cartman would piss him off. He went to his guitar on the rare occasions when he fought with Stan. He went to his guitar when he felt left out because of his religion.
His friends knew he played, but were not fully aware of how often, or how good he was. Over the years, Kyle became a very proficient self taught guitarist. He was perfectly content to sit in his room for hours, singing and strumming on Ellie.
At the age of eighteen, Kyle currently sat in his room, half-heartedly polishing Ellie. He pursed his lips and sighed, resting back against his pillows. He was annoyed. Stan was going out on a date with Wendy this afternoon, again, to see the new Terrance and Phillip movie.
None of this would have bothered Kyle so much if it hadn’t been another one of Wendy’s infamous “I’m-sorry-I-cheated-on-you” dates. She’d done it again, only this time it was Token she’d slept with. Last time it was Craig, and the time before that it had been Clyde.
“Next it’s going to be Jimmy,” Kyle muttered bitterly.
When it first happened, in tenth grade, Stan had been devastated. He had laid on Kyle’s bed for hours, crying; he was crushed (however, when brought up now, Stan vehemently denied tears, and stood by his story that he had shouted and cursed and broken things). However, now, this happened almost once a month. Sad to say, but Stan was used to it. He would even laugh about it. Personally, Kyle thought he was losing it, but that was all a matter of opinion.
Wendy’s latest escapade had been Token. Another victim. A few days later, she’d shown up at Stan’s house (and interrupted Kyle and Stan’s Guitar Hero Four time), sobbing and begging him to forgive her. Kyle glared at her, and if only looks coulr kill. With an almost bored sigh, Stan wrapped his arms around her and let her cry on his shoulder, her tears soaking his hockey jersey. The noirette looked at Kyle over the top of Wendy’s shaking head and rolled his eyes.
Kyle took a little comfort in this, knowing that his Super Best Friend was not hurting because of Wendy any longer.
He hoped Stan would soon see Wendy for what she really was - a manipulative whore. He hoped Stan would move on, find someone worth his time. He hoped Stan would finally see him.
Kyle curled onto his side and groaned, mashing his chilled hands beneath his pillows. For some time now, Kyle had been battling down growing feelings for his friend. Feelings of fondness and desire. When it all began, he was horribly confused, and he had been dating Bebe for several months. After his first wet dream involving himself, Stan, and a few strategically placed strawberries, he’d broken up with her.
He made no moves on Stan, and told no one of his discovery. Instead, he sat on the sidelines at Stan’s ice hockey games (Wendy would insist on sitting next to him; he always made sure to cheer louder than her) and watched as the noirette skated circles around everyone.
Kyle put in a great amount of effort into keeping things as normal and not awkward as possible around Stan. Which meant sleeping separate from him sometimes. Neither of them liked doing that, however. For all of their lives, thus, all throughout their friendship, they’d slept in the same bed during sleepover. When no bed was available, they would find their sleeping bags to be as close as possible. That’s just how they were - Super Best Friends until the end.
There were times when Kyle would swear up and down that Stan had been checking him out; or at least staring at him. Of course, the rational side of his brain would tell him that it wasn’t possible, and to stop being a romantic fool. He had hope, however, and was not going to give up.
It was a cool autumn evening in South Park. Stan still hadn’t called him or sent him a text message to tell him how his date went. Instead of sitting on his ass doing nothing, he picked up Ellie and made his way to Stark Pond.
By the time he got there, the fingers on his right hand were completely numb from gripping the handle of Ellie’s case. Kyle wandered to the opposite side of the pond to a bench, where he dusted off a light layer of snow and sat down, shivering slightly. He pulled Ellie out of her case and set her on his lap. He tentatively plucked out a few notes, stopping at every other one to tune it. Then, he began to play.
It was a quiet, gentle song at first, and it slowly began to increase in pace. He had to stop once or twice to thaw out his fingers, as the cold would hinder his playing. Soon, he began singing, too. Softly, at first, and soon intensifying in volume and strength. Kyle’s voice was better than he gave himself credit for. Of course, no one had ever heard him sing, except for his walls.
Until now.
“Dude,” Stan said quietly.
Kyle was startled right out of his own little world and back into reality. And none other than Stan Marsh was there to welcome him back. He looked up from Ellie and removed his hand from her neck.
“Oh. H-hey Stan,” Kyle said, managing to offer a shy smile. Stan stood in front of him, brown corduroy jacket open, his South Park hockey jersey showing underneath. His hands were jammed in his pockets, and he was staring at Kyle, shocked.
“Dude, what the hell was that?” he asked. Kyle frowned, his brow furrowing.
“Hey, man, if you’re going to make fun-” he began defensively.
“No, dude, no. I’m not making fun of you,” Stan said quickly, his hands coming up in front of him. “That was just really good. I didn’t know you could sing, or play guitar like that. I mean, I knew you played, but I didn’t know you were that good, dude.” Kyle averted his gaze - he’d never taken compliments well.
“Uhm, well…” he muttered. Stan sat down on the bench, close to Kyle, with a chuckle.
“You’ve probably had a lot of time to practice, though. I’m always either at hockey practice or placating Wendy.” Now that Kyle thought about it, it was kind of true. He and Stan hadn’t been hanging out as much lately. Stan was always busy with jockey practice, work, and Wendy. Kyle had AP homework and work. “But we don’t have to worry about Wendy anymore.”
Kyle glance up at him sharply. Stan leaned back with a grin, his hands behind his head. He flicked his blue eyes over to look at Kyle’s questioning face and nodded.
“Yep, I fuckin’ dumped the bitch, once and for all. I went to the bathroom after the movie, and when I came out, she was all over this guy that graduated last year. So I walked over and told her we’re done. So I decided I wanted to talk to someone who wasn’t a total slut, so I hunted you down,” Stan said, nudging his friend’s shoulder with his own.
“It’s about damn time. Took you long enough to see she wasn’t going to change,” Kyle said. Stan rolled his eyes.
“Spare me, dude. I’ve known for a while, I guess.” Stan sighed, paused for a moment. “Just didn’t want to be alone,” he said quietly.
Kyle looked over at his friend, who was staring out over Stark Pond, looking just a little lost. Kyle wanted nothing more than to put his arm around Stan and hug him close. He knew he couldn’t do that, and so settled with resting his hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, dude, you’re not alone. You’ve got me, remember? Who needs women when you’ve got a Super Best Friend?” Kyle asked. Stan’s blank face split into a grin, and he clapped a hand on Kyle’s shoulder.
“You’re right, dude. From now on, it’s bros before hoes. And you are my main bro,” he said, his tone subdued. Kyle smiled and stared down at Ellie, every nerve in his body rocketing signals to the spot on his shoulder where Stan’s hand rested.
Without another word, Kyle dropped his hands back down to Ellie’s neck and began playing again, a soft, lilting melody. He glanced at Stan from beneath his eyelashes. Stan’s eyes were closed and his hand hadn’t moved. A small smile was on his lips, and Kyle resisted the urge to lean over and cover Stan’s mouth with his own. Biting his lip, he strummed on Ellie a few times before beginning a new song, one of his own composure. He closed his eyes and fell away into the music. Suddenly the world disappeared. He closed his eyes and then it was just Stan, the music, and himself. All of his senses dulled but two: hearing and touch.
The only thing Kyle felt was Stan’s arm around him, his hand resting on his shoulder. The only thing he heard were the sounds coming from Ellie, which was like listening to Stan. The song he was playing was written for Stan, though the young man would never know. He had written it after Wendy’s second sexual escapade, only a few months after the first. Stan ranted at Kyle for a while before leaving his friend’s house to hike around Stark’s Pond to clear his head. Immediately upon his departure, Kyle began to compose a song written just for his friend. The song (no lyrics; Kyle couldn’t write lyrics to save his soul. Instead, he let the melody do the talking for him) told the tale of one whose love had been abused, and of one who felt they could heal the other. Eventually, Kyle began to hum along with the music.
The song came to an end, and Kyle opened his eyes a moment later. It took him another moment to realize that Stan was staring at him. The look on the noirette’s face was unreadable to Kyle. This struck a note of discord within the ginger, for he knew every look Stan had ever worn, or so he thought. This was an expression that Kyle had never seen before. It was searching and prying. It was testing and trying. It also, he noted with surprise, was tinged with traces of lust. Kyle averted his gaze back down to Ellie.
“My God, dude,” Stan murmured. “What are you still doing here?” Kyle gazed up at his friend in absolute confusion. His eyebrows knitted together and he stared hard at Stan. “I mean, why are you still in South Park? You could be in big places, like Hollywood or L.A. You’ve got some mad talent with that guitar, dude. Why haven’t you left this mountain?”
Why hadn’t he? There was only one thing that came to Kyle’s mind.
“Well, you’re here. Couldn’t leave you here all by your lonesome,” he said quietly. He then grinned. “Besides, who’s going to cheer you on at your hockey games now?”
Stan grinned and his grip on Kyle’s shoulder tightened. “Come on, dude. Let’s go celebrate,” he said.
“Celebrate what?”
“My freedom from South Park’s greatest slut-in-training, and us, of course.” He squeezed Kyle’s shoulder. “My parents are away for the weekend. Metal-mouth is having more issues with her fucked up snaggle teeth,” he said with a snicker.
“Jesus Christ, dude. She’s still having issues?” Kyle interrupted. Stan’s lips puckered and he burst out into raucous laughter, burying his head into Kyle’s shoulder.
“She’s not going to get better if I keep knocking her down the stairs, or hitting her with well aimed hockey pucks,” he sniggered.
Kyle leaned back, a shocked smile on his face. His green eyes sparkled.
“You’re purposely fucking her mouth up, dude?” he asked, incredulous. Stan looked up at his friend, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Hell yes I am, dude. It gets everyone out of the house for at least the weekend, if not longer! Do you know how great it is to walk around naked, knowing no one is there to be scandalized?” Kyle burst out laughing, using this as an excuse to lean even closer to Stan.
“You’re the fucking king, yanno that?” he said. Stan himself leaned in, his forehead touching Kyle’s, grinning.
“I know. Now c’mon. Uncle Jimbo bought me some booze for the weekend, and it’s no fun drinking alone.” He stood up, extended his hand to Kyle. “Care to join me?”
Switching Ellie into his left hand, he took Stan’s hand and hauled himself to his feet. “I’m honored!” He tucked Ellie into her case, smiling like a fool. Tonight he’d be drinking with his Super Best Friend. His newly single Super Best Friend. Kyle nodded to himself. This was going to be a good night.
Stan watched as Kyle tenderly tucked Ellie away into her case, making sure no lingering snowflake sat upon her surface. He watched him lean down to inspect the guitar, watched as Kyle stuck his ass in the air…
Stan Marsh was not really surprised by these feelings. Kyle was his Super Best Friend, had been there for him through thick and thin. He had stood right by his side through every bit of shit Wendy had put him through. He’d supported him when he decided that he would forgive Wendy for all her infidelities, because it was what Stan had wanted.
He eventually saw what made Kyle happy: the red-head was happy when Stan was doing what he wanted to do, whatever it was. Stan eventually came to realize that this was something born out of love. It took him a while longer to see why he kept doing what he was doing: because it made Kyle happy, and when Kyle was happy, Stan was happy.
It didn’t bother Stan overmuch that he loved Kyle beyond the love of a brother. To him, he was just… loving Kyle. It didn’t seem “gay”, though he supposed that in actuality that it was. But Stan didn’t see himself as homosexual. More like Kylesexual. He wasn’t attracted, physically or otherwise, to any other male he’d ever seen. Just Kyle.
Stan had stopped all feelings for Wendy long ago. He had remained with her for so long because it was a routine. It was safe. Because he wasn’t alone. It wasn’t until late in the game that he saw that he’d never been alone, not really. More than Wendy ever was, Kyle was a constant in Stan’s life. He was immeasurably grateful to Kyle, and he wanted to show him how he felt.
Kyle stood to face Stan now, grinning. He lifted his guitar, indicating that he was ready to leave. Stan placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, giving it a little squeeze.
“C’mon. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, dude.”
“And Wendyyyy… is a stupiiiid… SLUUUUUUUUUUUUT!” Kyle slammed on his guitar, slurring his words. Both Stan and Kyle burst into drunken laughter. Stan reclined back on his bed with his beer bottle in his hand; he brought the bottle to his lips and tilted his head back, chugging its contents. When he was done, he tossed the bottle to the floor along with the rest of them. He’d killed off over a dozen beers by himself, and he was proud of his little mountain. He glanced over at Kyle, who was on his sixth pint glass of vodka and orange juice.
As naturally talented as Kyle is with a guitar, after so much vodka in one’s system… Slash wouldn’t be good. Stan was glad when Kyle put down the guitar. He could finally hear Avenged Sevenfold blaring from the speakers. He watched as Kyle dove at his drink and lifted it to his mouth. Some of it spilled and dribbled down his chin. He laughed and moved to wipe it off, but Stan beat him to it. The hockey player’s hand shot out and his fingers rubbed against Kyle’s chin. Stan pulled his fingers back and stuck them in his mouth, tasting the tang of the orange juice and the burn of the vodka.
“Taste goooood?” Kyle asked. After a moment’s pause, Stan nodded.
“It’s sweet, but it’s got bite to it; like you,” he said. He crawled over and curled up next to Kyle, who was near the headboard, relaxing against a huge pile of pillows.
“I’m sorry, dude,” Stan murmured. Kyle looked down at his friend and poked him in the forehead.
“What’re you sorry for?” he asked.
“For dating Wendy. For not paying ‘nuff attention to you lately.” He snuggled closer, and Kyle scooted over to give him room. “I mean, I’ve been such a shitty friend lately. Why are you still friends with me… still?”
Kyle began giggling madly, slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulders.
“’Cause no one else wants to be around your friend-ditching ass,” he sputtered. Stan pouted and hunched down, wishing he had another beer in his hands. Kyle didn’t really think he was a bad friend, did he?
Kyle noticed that Stan wasn’t laughing along with him and he paused, noting the brooding expression on his friend’s face. He squeezed Stan’s shoulder, and brought his other arm around to hug him across the chest. He pressed his nose against the side of Stan’s face.
“You know we don’t think that, right?” he muttered. Stan wrung his hands and gave him a very short, unconvinced nod. “Well, Cartman might, but he’s a douche bag.” Kyle’s eyes flicked over Stan’s uneasy face. He was going to convince him that he was a good friend if he had to…
“Dude?”
“Hm?”
“Why are you chewing on my ear?”
Was he really nibbling on Stan’s ear? Kyle opened his eyes to see that he did indeed have Stan’s ear lobe in his mouth and was gently sucking on it. It was then that an idea was hatched into his brain. It was a risky idea, but if it didn’t work out, he could “pass out” and feign memory loss in the morning. So really, he had nothing to lose.
“I’m showing you how much you don’t suck as a friend,” he murmured huskily. He felt Stan shiver from the vibrations his words sent through his body. Kyle pulled the hockey player’s ear lobe into his mouth, his teeth scraping over the soft skin. He felt rather than heard Stan sigh, and had to adjust himself when Stan leaned back.
After a moment, Kyle released his ear and, slowly and tentatively, moved down the side of Stan’s throat, dropping light, barely-there kisses onto the pale flesh. Stan tilted his head back, pressing his neck further against Kyle’s mouth. Kyle could feel Stan’s laboured breathing and he smirked against the smooth column of his throat. This was working! He couldn’t believe it! Now all that Kyle needed was…
Stan’s hand came up and forced his fingers beneath Kyle’s green hat, meshing his fingers in the curls of thick red hair. The noirette’s large, strong hand pressed firmly against Kyle’s head, encouraging him. Stan let out a hiss of air from between clenched teeth, and that was a green light for Kyle.
Kyle picked his head up from Stan’s neck and, within one heartbeat, claimed his best friend’s lips in a searing, passionate kiss. Stan’s eyelids fluttered for a moment, his eyes rolling back into his head briefly before they fell shut and he let out a rather vulgar moan. His arms wrapped around Kyle, pressing their chests together.
The hand that was meshed into Kyle’s hair moved up, pushing the hat off of his head. Red curls sprung from beneath the hat, but Stan noted that they were no longer the violent, frizzy curls of his youth. Calm, tamed curls fell down into shining green eyes, covered the back of his neck. Kyle shook his hair out of his eyes and grinned down at Stan.
The hockey player thought he had never seen anyone so handsome in his life.
Stan surged forward and caught Kyle’s lips in another kiss; it was desperate and wet and dirty. Kyle’s mouth opened and his tongue darted forward to lick at Stan’s lips. The noirette opened his mouth eagerly and his tongue met Kyle’s before the ginger had time to advance. The pink muscles dueled and stroked and caressed and soothed one another.
Kyle’s hands moved to cup Stan’s head, dragging the other boy up. Stan pulled his legs out from beneath Kyle and raised himself to his knees to join him. His large hands fell to settle on the ginger’s lithe hips. He pressed their bodies together, and each could feel the other’s erection.
Kyle pulled back from the kiss, and Stan almost whimpered at the abrupt loss of contact. When the red-head opened his eyes, they were a hazy, smoky green instead of their usual bright, glittering emerald. As he pulled away, a trail of glistening saliva was left connecting their mouths. His thumbs rubbed small circles on the side of Stan’s face.
“Will you fuck me tonight, Stan?” he whispered. He voice was husky and sensual and all Stan could do was bob his head in mind-blown acquiescence. Kyle blinked lazily at him for a moment, his eyes calculating (as best as he could calculate with all the alcohol in his system), trying to come to terms with what Stan had just agreed to do.
Before Kyle could even open his mouth to say anything, Stan’s thumbs hooked onto the ginger’s shirt and dragged it upward, cutting him off. He quickly tossed it aside and returned his gaze to his would-be lover’s chest.
And nearly had a heart attack at the age of eighteen.
Living in a snowy, cold mountain town did not encourage anyone, especially teenagers (who always wanted to be comfortable) to divest themselves of most of their clothing for the enjoyment or attraction of the opposite (or in this case, the same) sex. Everyone was always covered from head to toe; no one saw anyone’s body unless they were doing exactly what Stan and Kyle were doing now.
Stan had not seen Kyle’s body in a few years, actually. The red-head had opted for more science classes and forsaken Physical Education, whereas Stan and done the direct opposite. Therefore, he would not see the red-head in the changing room. Now Stan stared at Kyle’s body in awe. It wasn’t thin and shrunken or frail looking at all. Kyle was slender, but he’d always been so. Beneath the smooth skin that was dotted with light freckles, was muscle. He could see the faint outline of them; they became more defined with each heavy breath Kyle took. His shoulders weren’t as broad as Stan’s, and he wasn’t as muscular, but he held himself in a way that told Stan that he could take care of himself in a brawl.
Stan reached out and placed his fingertips on Kyle’s chest, delighting in the little gasp that escaped his friend. He let his fingertips flutter in place over the pale skin, just barely touching. He enjoyed watching the gooseflesh rise across Kyle’s body, enjoyed watching as his nipples pebbled and protruded from his chest.
Kyle seemed impatient, however, and he wrapped his hands around Stan’s wrists and pressed the noirette’s hands against his chest. Kyle sighed and closed his eyes. It felt so good; Stan’s hands were cool, and his own skin was hot, and the sensation was incredible.
Stan splayed his fingers, pressing each one down individually, trying to memorize the feel of Kyle’s skin. His hands inched over to his nipples and he brushed over them. They were perfectly shaped and shaded and they were like little rocks sitting on his chest. He heard Kyle’s breath hitch in his throat, felt him arch his back, pressing against Stan’s hands. Stan maneuvered his fingers until he had captured a nipple between his thumb and forefinger and gave it a light pinch. Kyle inhaled sharply, a shiver going up his spine. As Stan pinched harder this time, Kyle’s head fell back and he elicited a soft moan. Stan scraped his short nail over Kyle’s nipple, and the ginger cried out, pressing harder against Stan.
His resolve and confidence in his ministrations growing, Stan bent down and breathed hot air onto one of Kyle’s nipples. Before the ginger could even whimper, Stan latched onto the nub and flicked his tongue against it. He relished the cries coming from his friend, and he bit down. It was then that the noises stopped altogether, and Stan pulled away quickly and gazed at his friend in concern, afraid he’d hurt him.
Kyle’s head snapped up and he glared at Stan, making it quite clear that if Stan didn’t put his mouth back on his chest, the noirette would not be too pleased with what Kyle would do to him. With a drunken chuckle, Stan fell back down to Kyle’s chest and continued to lavish his nipples with attention. He nibbled on the nipple, and bit down more when he heard Kyle’s breathless demand of “Harder!”
In fact, Kyle kept moaning for Stan to keep biting, harder, don’t stop. Stan complied, fueled on by the wanton moaning coming from his red-haired lover. Every time he increased the pressure on Kyle’s nipple, he could feel the guitar player’s erection throb against Stan’s abdomen. He pulled away, however, when he tasted the bitter tang of blood. Sure enough, his teeth had punctured through the fine skin of Kyle’s tender nipple, drawing blood, which was beginning to trickle down his chest, mixed with saliva.
“Fuck, ‘m sorry Kyle…” Stan began. He looked up, expecting to see Kyle’s face screwed up in pain, glaring at him. Kyle’s face was flushed, his full lips moistened by the pink tongue that darted out to lick them. His hand was up and was smearing the little bit of blood around his nipple with a finger, his eyes hazy. Stan was surprised that Kyle wasn’t reaming him out - for as long as Stan could remember, his friend had a very low pain tolerance level. Having his nipple sliced open with teeth should have had him on the verge of tears.
But apparently Kyle Broflovski had discovered a kink - pain.
“Fuck, Stan,” he said sluggishly. He leaned in and covered Stan’s mouth with his own, a wet, hungry kiss that was just enough to tip Stan’s scale. He broke away from the kiss abruptly and divested himself of his hockey jersey as quickly as possible. His arms shot out and wound around Kyle, drawing them together. Their warm chests and torsos melded together, and Stan groaned at the contact. Kyle’s hands cupped his face they kissed again, long and lazy and fiery.
They pulled apart, regretfully, after several long moments. They were breathing heavily and staring at each other.
“You sure you want me to do this, Kyle?” Stan asked. Without hesitating, Kyle nodded. His fingertips toyed with the silky strands of black hair that fell along Stan’s face.
“I… I want you to fucking… fuck me, Stanley,” he said. He leaned in a placed light kisses all over Stan’s face. “For a long time… I’ve wanted you.” Stan’s eyelids fluttered closed at his friend’s confession, and a wave of relief washed over him. Relief that his feelings weren’t unrequited, that this wouldn’t be a one time thing. And the hope that, perhaps, they could be something more.
These thoughts were brief, for Kyle’s tongue curling around his ear snapped him back to the here and now. His hands slid down Kyle’s back, over his rear end, which he squeezed. Stan’s forearms rested on his thighs, and his hands cupped his rear. With little effort at all, Stan lifted Kyle from the bed and set him on his lap. Kyle loosed a small laugh of surprise and adjusted to his new position quickly, his knees gripping Stan’s hips. He ground his hips forward, pressing his erection against Stan’s stomach. He hissed aloud at the friction, and cursed his pants for restraining him so.
It seemed that Stan cursed Kyle’s pants as well, for his right hand moved down to Kyle’s groin and began to quickly and efficiently undo the button and pull down the zipper. As soon as he was able to, his hand shot down Kyle’s pants and past his boxers, wrapping itself firmly around the aching manhood waiting there. Kyle cried out loudly, arching his back, his nails digging into Stan’s shoulders.
Stan’s long fingers wrapped around Kyle’s cock, and he brushed his thumb over the head, smearing the pre-come there. He made his way to the base and squeezed, hard, and moved upward again, maintaining the pressure. All the while, he studied Kyle, watching as the red-head twitched and licked his lips and made little noises of pleasure, noises that Stan thought were as beautiful as the sounds that Kyle made on Ellie. Smiling broadly, Stan leaned forward and assaulted Kyle’s neck, kissing and licking and biting and sucking. He drew back and examined his handiwork; there was a beautiful, dark purple mark at the juncture of his neck and collarbone. Yeah, that’d be there for a few days.
Kyle looked down at Stan and grinned drunkenly, then pushed his friend down into the mattress so that he was straddling his waist. He pinned Stan’s arms down above his head and kissed him again. By now their lips were swollen and their kisses were clumsy and fumbling. Kyle began to kiss his way down Stan’s jaw line, kissing down his neck, down his chest. He stopped at a nipple and sucked it into his mouth, tonguing it into a hard nub. He continued his sensual journey down Stan’s stomach, licking and nipping and kissing the hot flesh of his best friend.
He kissed his way across those perfect V shaped muscles. They weren’t chiseled out of his body, but they were there, no mistaking that. They were perfect. Kyle licked at them and kissed them, committing them to memory with his lips. He found Stan’s hip bone and he bit down, gently.
Stan cried out now, his hips bucking. Kyle pulled back and stared at him bemusedly, watching as his muscles twitched. With a wicked grin, Kyle leaned back in and repeated his previous actions on Stan’s opposite hip bone, but with more force. Stan’s voice escalated and he cried out Kyle’s name. His hips bucked upward and he felt, deep in his groin, his libido give a powerful surge.
“Fuck, Kyle… do that again…” Stan growled. With a grin, Kyle complied. He pressed his swollen lips against Stan’s hip and bit down, sucking at it simultaneously. Stan let out a scream that would have surely brought people running, had anyone been around. Kyle laved at his hip, pressing his tongue hard against the skin. He was thriving off of the keening sounds his friend was making - this was most definitely Stan’s “spot”.
Kyle moved away from Stan’s hip, much to the noirette’s chagrin. Slim, deft fingers made short work on the button and zipper of the denim jeans that Stan wore so well. He began to tug them down Stan’s slender, but well built hips and nearly choked on his own breath.
Stan Marsh was not wearing underwear.
Kyle glanced up at him sharply, but with amusement. Stan shrugged, grinning.
“Did I forget to tell you that I went home and removed my boxers before I came and found you?” he asked innocently. He blinked rapidly as Kyle stared at him, shocked. Then, realization dawned on the Jew.
“You planned this!” he accused. Stan’s grin widened, and Kyle’s mouth fell open. He sat up, his face crestfallen. His eyebrows knitted together. “You… planned sex with me?” Stan saw where Kyle’s words were going and his smile disappeared instantly, concern bleeding onto his face. He reached out and took hold of Kyle’s wrists, pulling him back down. Kyle resisted and struggled, hurt, but Stan was stronger than his friend. Once he had him down far enough, he released a wrist and looped an arm across his back, collapsing Kyle onto Stan’s chest. Kyle’s head fell buried into Stan’s shoulder; he didn’t bother moving, or picking it up.
“You planned on getting me in the sack tonight?” he asked quietly, his voice muffled. Stan’s arms tightened around Kyle and he hugged him close.
“Yes, I did.” He felt as Kyle let out a shuddering sigh, felt the sheets crunch up as his friend’s hand fisted in them in anguish. “And tomorrow night, I plan on not wearing any underwear when I take you out to dinner so when we come back here, I can get you in the sack again,” he said. Stan relaxed his arms and he let Kyle sit up. The ginger stared at him intently, tears glistening upon the rims of his emerald eyes.
“Stan… what are you…?” he whispered. Stan pressed his lips against Kyle’s forehead.
“Ky, I can promise you this isn’t a one night stand kinda deal. I… had this big fuckin’ speech planned out, but we started drinkin’ and… now this. And I’m loving this, and I swear I’ll tell you everything in the morning when my brain isn’t malfunctioning.” Stan pressed their cheeks together. He fluttered his eyelashes, and the edges flickered across the smooth skin of Kyle’s face. “You believe me?”
Apparently he did, because Stan felt soft lips kissing his earlobe. With Kyle’s unspoken permission, his hands traveled down his hot torso, his short nails scratching, leaving little red lines. Kyle arched and hissed into Stan’s ear. Kyle crawled back down Stan’s body, kissing and licking and pinching at every bit of exposed flesh he came into contact with. His hands found their way to the denim jeans that were only down far enough to reveal a nest of black curls and he began to tug them down. He sat back, pulling them from Stan’s long, muscular legs.
Kyle held one of Stan’s legs in his grip, kissing the instep of his foot. He made sure to keep it firm and dry, knowing that he could very well get punted in the face if he were not careful; Stan’s feet were the most ticklish part of his body. He moved up and kissed his ankle, then his knee. Stan let out a chuckle.
“Dude, don’t be such a fag,” he said. Kyle looked up from where he was kissing to stare squarely at Stan.
“Your dick is going to be up my ass in ten minutes and you’re worried about me being too faggy?” he asked sardonically. He set Stan’s leg down and stalked back up his body, purposefully ignoring Stan’s throbbing, free erection. Stan gazed at Kyle, who had a predatory look in his glittering green eyes; his body was long and lean and he moved like a great cat stalking its way through the jungle. “You’re going to be moaning my name, pounding into my tight little ass like nobody’s business… and you’re worried about being too much of a donut puncher.” Kyle’s lips were hovering just above Stan’s, full and red and wet.
The Jew’s tongue came out and touched Stan’s lips, tracing over them very lightly. Stan closed his eyes and lifted his head up to capture those perfectly fuckable lips in a kiss, but all he connected with was air. His eyes flashed open and he saw that Kyle was no longer there. In fact, the ginger had moved from the bed completely. Why had he NOT felt Kyle move off of him? Did his friend really have such a profound effect on his drunken mind? He heard movement to his right and looked over to see Kyle wriggling out of his jeans. He opened the drawer of Stan’s nightstand and pawed through it, eventually pulling out the tube of lube that Stan didn’t know anyone else knew about.
Kyle crawled back onto the bed, resuming his position straddled over Stan’s hips. Their erections touched, and both boys cried out. Kyle began to gyrate his hips against Stan’s, causing their cocks to move against each other. The friction was beautiful and hot and Stan threw his head back, clutching at the sheets. As Kyle humped at Stan’s crotch, he’d popped the cap off the lube and squirted some out onto his fingers. He reached around to his own entrance and slipped the slicked up digits past the tight ring of muscle there. He cried out as one went in easily. He wriggled it around a bit before inserting a second finger. Now it was tight and slightly uncomfortable - it had been a while since he’d done this to himself.
He scissored his fingers, stretching himself and waiting for the muscle to relax. As he pressed a third finger into himself, he looked down at Stan. The noirette had the best look on his face - a euphoric, stoned, appreciative expression as he watched Kyle finger-fuck himself. All the while, the ginger kept up the slow grinding on his cock.
For fuck’s sake, Kyle was damn good at all this. Stan knew his friend was a virgin - Kyle would have told him if he’d ever done anything with anyone. Maybe he watched a lot of porn. Maybe he was a virginal nympho. Maybe he had a crazy big stash of toys that he practiced with. What if he was just the most naturally sexually talented person in South Park?
He watched as Kyle wriggled his fingers in his ass, squirming and moaning. And then he did something to himself that made him whimper, made his legs quiver. Stan’s grip on Kyle’s thighs tightened; he wanted to make Kyle’s body quake. He wanted to find that little bundle of heaven buried deep within his friend and make Kyle scream. He quickly grabbed the tube from Kyle’s hand and squeezed a generous amount into his palm. He reached down and grasped his rock hard cock in his hand, coating it liberally with the slippery lube. He knew that shoving anything as large as his dick into something as tight, sweet, and firm as Kyle’s ass couldn’t not hurt at all, and he wanted to make it as easy as possible for his lover.
Kyle saw Stan lube up his cock and he stopped grinding against him, withdrew his fingers from himself. Kyle sat back and pulled Stan up with him. Their lips met once more, and Kyle found himself whimpering into the noirette’s mouth in anticipation. Now it was Stan’s turn to press Kyle into the bed, tenderly stroking the side of his face, not once breaking the kiss. Kyle instinctively spread his legs, and Stan positioned himself comfortably between them. The ginger reached down and grasped Stan’s cock, pressing it against his entrance. Stan looked down at Kyle; they had both come down from the high of the alcohol. There was strong desire and joy in Kyle’s emerald eyes, and affirmation and excitement in Stan’s blue ones. Stan bent his head and covered Kyle’s mouth with his as he slowly pushed his hard length into the lithe ginger.
Kyle closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, wincing around Stan’s mouth at the pain. It wasn’t a horrible splitting pain. No, he had prepared himself well. He was relaxed, but his three slender fingers we nothing compared to Stan’s sizeable length and girth. It was a dull, filled kind of pain, and it was fading quickly as the well-lubed member slid further into him. He could feel Stan shaking as he pressed into Kyle, probably from suppressing urges to pile drive him. Kyle’s legs and arms wrapped around Stan, bringing them closer together.
Stan opened his eyes when he was fully sheathed within Kyle. He looked down to see his lover grinning at him from ear to ear, and his stomach fluttered. He hadn’t seen the Jew smile like that in a long, long time. The noirette grinned back, his left hand coming up to curl against Kyle’s cheek. Stan leaned down to kiss his friend again; God, he couldn’t get enough of those lips. Their kiss now was gentle and soft and filled with promise. It was sweet and new and everything Kyle had ever imagine kissing Stan would be.
The legs wrapped around Stan’s waist gave him a squeeze, pressing the noirette further into his lover. The head of Stan’s cock brushed against something inside of Kyle, who whimpered into his friend’s mouth. When they broke apart, Kyle was gasping for breath, his eyes gleaming.
“Fuck me, Stan,” he whispered. “Fuck me through the bed.” Stan’s libido writhed in his groin. Fuck he loved when Kyle talked dirty. Well, if his little ginger wanted it rough, Stan was going to deliver. He pulled out so that all but his tip was exposed, then pushed back in. Kyle’s eyes closed and his head drifted so that it tilted to the side. Stan gave a few more experimental thrusts, testing the waters, trying to find a comfortable angle.
And when he found just the right angle, Kyle let him know. The Jew’s head rocked back, his eyes flew open, and he cried out loud enough to wake the neighbors. He sang out into the silence of the room, the music having ended long ago. Sure, he’d hit the spot with his fingers before, and he knew it was the best thing that God could have put into the human body, but dear Moses on stilts, this was unbelievable. Kyle’s back arched off the bed, urging Stan to keep going.
With a smile, Stan adjusted the position his knees were in to better angle himself to hit that sweet spot within Kyle over and over again. He began to piston his hips and soon found a rhythm that must have worked, for Kyle was singing out his name over and over again. He thrust in and out roughly, quickly, his senses completely overloaded by one thing - Kyle’s incredibly hot, tight body encasing his slick cock.
“Harder,” Kyle moaned, tightening his grip on Stan with both his arms and legs. Stan complied, thrusting wildly into Kyle. Stan leaned down and crushed his lips to Kyle’s, swallowing his moans and cries. He could feel Kyle lifting his hips to meet his every thrust, could feel himself sliding deeper and deeper into that volcano of Kyle’s ass. The sound of skin smacking against skin hard enough to bruise was intoxicating. Stan was vaguely aware of Kyle clawing at his back in a desperate attempt to push them closer together. He didn’t care about the marks that would be there in the morning. All he could concentrate on right now was the fact that Kyle’s ass was cradling every curve of his cock, tight and hot and slick and fuck did he ever not care if he didn't get into Heaven for bungling his best friend.
Kyle’s hands meshed in Stan’s hair, pressing his head back down to his lips for a breathless, hard kiss. He could feel himself inching up the bed with each thrust of Stan’s powerful hips, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He could feel the heat in his stomach building rapidly, and he moaned loudly.
“O-ohh, fuck Stan. Fuck, Stan… gonna come…” he growled huskily. Stan leaned down and nipped at Kyle’s ear, accentuating the action with a series of sharp, hard jabs to his prostate.
“You gonna come for me?” Stan asked, his voice deep and hazy. He reached down and grabbed hold of Kyle’s cock and began pumping it in time with his frenzied thrusts. Kyle mewled loudly, his hips bucking wildly.
“Ah! Stan, I - fuck, STAN!” Kyle cried out his lover’s name loudly has he came, his entire body shuddering violently. His come shot from his body in thick ribbons, falling across his chest and into Stan’s hand. He spasmed uncontrollably, every muscle in his body contracting and moving. He had no voice; he could only gasp for air.
Stan watched as Kyle reached his climax, thinking that he’d never seen anything as stunning as Kyle arching up into him, crying out his name, clutching blindly at his bed sheets. He felt his lover’s body convulse around him, squeezing his cock in wet, hot, iron grip. It took only a few more erratic thrusts for Stan to lose his cool; he came within Kyle so violently that his arms gave out and he fell on top of his lover. His hips jerked, riding out his orgasm with his face buried in Kyle’s shoulder. No words left his mouth - he could only groan with pleasure.
The two of them lay still for several moments, breathing heavily and simply basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Stan eventually recovered a bit of strength in his arms and picked himself up. He gazed down at Kyle, a sloppy, satisfied grin on his face. Both boys’ eyes were nearly glowing with pleasure and happiness - vivid blue meeting glittering green. Kyle picked his head up from the bed and pressed his lips against Stan’s, kissing him lazily. Stan kissed him back lazily, his hands cupping the sides of Kyle’s head. When they pulled back from the kiss, Stan touched his forehead to Kyle’s and he grinned down at him like a fool.
Summoning the last reservoirs of his strength, Stan gently withdrew his now soft cock from Kyle’s body and flopped over next to the ginger. He immediately flipped to his side and curled around Kyle’s body, entwining their legs together. He wrapped his arms around his torso, pulling the Jew close to him. Kyle smiled and buried down under the thick comforter with Stan. They hunched down in the bed, each daring the other to smile harder than the other. Kyle sought out Stan’s hand and grasped it within his own, lacing their fingers together.
“How long, dude? How long did you know you wanted all… this?” Kyle asked quietly. Stan shrugged.
“Can’t say exactly, but it’s been about a year, maybe.” Kyle gaped at him.
“You’ve been after me for a year and you tortured me for this long?” he asked incredulously. Stan mock-glared at the Jew.
“Shut up.” He placed a kiss on Kyle’s forehead, then tucked Kyle’s head against his own collarbone. Their not-so-little adventure had left him exhausted, his alcohol high having long since vanished. The adrenaline that had pumped through his bloodstream was ebbing quickly, and he craved sleep. “You have me now, don’t you?” He paused for effect, and he could feel Kyle inhaling, preparing to say something. “I promise I’ll be here in the morning. Then I’ll make you breakfast, with all your favourite non-kosher foods.” Stan could feel Kyle smiling against his neck, felt him nod slightly.
“Then I’ll make you sing again over the table,” Stan murmured, his voice deep. Kyle shivered at all the dirty, vulgar things he could imagine Stan doing to him on his family’s kitchen table.
“Sing?” the ginger asked, quirking an eyebrow. Stan chuckled.
“Dude, you’re a fucking songbird.” Stan’s hand came up to bury itself into Kyle’s hair, and to keep him from looking up and glaring at him or chewing him out. “You sing in the sack, man.” Kyle made muffled sounds of discontent, squirming in Stan’s arms. “It’s fucking sexy,” he purred. He couldn’t see it, but he knew his lover was rolling his eyes.
Stan pressed a kiss against the top of Kyle’s head, tightening his arms, hugging his friend a little closer. He heard Kyle sigh and snuggle in, curling his hand against his chest.
“Good night, dude,” Kyle murmured sleepily.
“Good night, songbird.”
Author: inhisxeyes
Pairing: Stan/Kyle
Genre: Romance (is Sex a genre? It should be)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Kyle is musical, everyone knows this. Stan is about to find out just how musical his best friend is.
Songbird
Deep, deep down, Kyle Broflovski knew he was musical. Ever since he was young, he’d harbored a secret desire to play acoustic guitar and sing. When he was home alone, he would practice singing along to his parents old Journey records.
At age twelve, he began saving up every penny he had, and by thirteen and a half years old, he had enough to purchase a rich mahogany guitar. He named it Ellie, and he treasured it beyond any possession he owned.
His parents tolerated his hobby, but he knew they didn’t approve. They would have rather him be helping the Squirts at Jew Scouts than playing an instrument. In fact, they often voiced their opinions that he should be spending his time being an active member of their Jewish community, instead of playing guitar or playing video games with Stan.
But the good little Jew didn’t feel like obeying the whims of his parents this time. The guitar was his freedom, his passion. He went to his guitar after Cartman would piss him off. He went to his guitar on the rare occasions when he fought with Stan. He went to his guitar when he felt left out because of his religion.
His friends knew he played, but were not fully aware of how often, or how good he was. Over the years, Kyle became a very proficient self taught guitarist. He was perfectly content to sit in his room for hours, singing and strumming on Ellie.
At the age of eighteen, Kyle currently sat in his room, half-heartedly polishing Ellie. He pursed his lips and sighed, resting back against his pillows. He was annoyed. Stan was going out on a date with Wendy this afternoon, again, to see the new Terrance and Phillip movie.
None of this would have bothered Kyle so much if it hadn’t been another one of Wendy’s infamous “I’m-sorry-I-cheated-on-you” dates. She’d done it again, only this time it was Token she’d slept with. Last time it was Craig, and the time before that it had been Clyde.
“Next it’s going to be Jimmy,” Kyle muttered bitterly.
When it first happened, in tenth grade, Stan had been devastated. He had laid on Kyle’s bed for hours, crying; he was crushed (however, when brought up now, Stan vehemently denied tears, and stood by his story that he had shouted and cursed and broken things). However, now, this happened almost once a month. Sad to say, but Stan was used to it. He would even laugh about it. Personally, Kyle thought he was losing it, but that was all a matter of opinion.
Wendy’s latest escapade had been Token. Another victim. A few days later, she’d shown up at Stan’s house (and interrupted Kyle and Stan’s Guitar Hero Four time), sobbing and begging him to forgive her. Kyle glared at her, and if only looks coulr kill. With an almost bored sigh, Stan wrapped his arms around her and let her cry on his shoulder, her tears soaking his hockey jersey. The noirette looked at Kyle over the top of Wendy’s shaking head and rolled his eyes.
Kyle took a little comfort in this, knowing that his Super Best Friend was not hurting because of Wendy any longer.
He hoped Stan would soon see Wendy for what she really was - a manipulative whore. He hoped Stan would move on, find someone worth his time. He hoped Stan would finally see him.
Kyle curled onto his side and groaned, mashing his chilled hands beneath his pillows. For some time now, Kyle had been battling down growing feelings for his friend. Feelings of fondness and desire. When it all began, he was horribly confused, and he had been dating Bebe for several months. After his first wet dream involving himself, Stan, and a few strategically placed strawberries, he’d broken up with her.
He made no moves on Stan, and told no one of his discovery. Instead, he sat on the sidelines at Stan’s ice hockey games (Wendy would insist on sitting next to him; he always made sure to cheer louder than her) and watched as the noirette skated circles around everyone.
Kyle put in a great amount of effort into keeping things as normal and not awkward as possible around Stan. Which meant sleeping separate from him sometimes. Neither of them liked doing that, however. For all of their lives, thus, all throughout their friendship, they’d slept in the same bed during sleepover. When no bed was available, they would find their sleeping bags to be as close as possible. That’s just how they were - Super Best Friends until the end.
There were times when Kyle would swear up and down that Stan had been checking him out; or at least staring at him. Of course, the rational side of his brain would tell him that it wasn’t possible, and to stop being a romantic fool. He had hope, however, and was not going to give up.
It was a cool autumn evening in South Park. Stan still hadn’t called him or sent him a text message to tell him how his date went. Instead of sitting on his ass doing nothing, he picked up Ellie and made his way to Stark Pond.
By the time he got there, the fingers on his right hand were completely numb from gripping the handle of Ellie’s case. Kyle wandered to the opposite side of the pond to a bench, where he dusted off a light layer of snow and sat down, shivering slightly. He pulled Ellie out of her case and set her on his lap. He tentatively plucked out a few notes, stopping at every other one to tune it. Then, he began to play.
It was a quiet, gentle song at first, and it slowly began to increase in pace. He had to stop once or twice to thaw out his fingers, as the cold would hinder his playing. Soon, he began singing, too. Softly, at first, and soon intensifying in volume and strength. Kyle’s voice was better than he gave himself credit for. Of course, no one had ever heard him sing, except for his walls.
Until now.
“Dude,” Stan said quietly.
Kyle was startled right out of his own little world and back into reality. And none other than Stan Marsh was there to welcome him back. He looked up from Ellie and removed his hand from her neck.
“Oh. H-hey Stan,” Kyle said, managing to offer a shy smile. Stan stood in front of him, brown corduroy jacket open, his South Park hockey jersey showing underneath. His hands were jammed in his pockets, and he was staring at Kyle, shocked.
“Dude, what the hell was that?” he asked. Kyle frowned, his brow furrowing.
“Hey, man, if you’re going to make fun-” he began defensively.
“No, dude, no. I’m not making fun of you,” Stan said quickly, his hands coming up in front of him. “That was just really good. I didn’t know you could sing, or play guitar like that. I mean, I knew you played, but I didn’t know you were that good, dude.” Kyle averted his gaze - he’d never taken compliments well.
“Uhm, well…” he muttered. Stan sat down on the bench, close to Kyle, with a chuckle.
“You’ve probably had a lot of time to practice, though. I’m always either at hockey practice or placating Wendy.” Now that Kyle thought about it, it was kind of true. He and Stan hadn’t been hanging out as much lately. Stan was always busy with jockey practice, work, and Wendy. Kyle had AP homework and work. “But we don’t have to worry about Wendy anymore.”
Kyle glance up at him sharply. Stan leaned back with a grin, his hands behind his head. He flicked his blue eyes over to look at Kyle’s questioning face and nodded.
“Yep, I fuckin’ dumped the bitch, once and for all. I went to the bathroom after the movie, and when I came out, she was all over this guy that graduated last year. So I walked over and told her we’re done. So I decided I wanted to talk to someone who wasn’t a total slut, so I hunted you down,” Stan said, nudging his friend’s shoulder with his own.
“It’s about damn time. Took you long enough to see she wasn’t going to change,” Kyle said. Stan rolled his eyes.
“Spare me, dude. I’ve known for a while, I guess.” Stan sighed, paused for a moment. “Just didn’t want to be alone,” he said quietly.
Kyle looked over at his friend, who was staring out over Stark Pond, looking just a little lost. Kyle wanted nothing more than to put his arm around Stan and hug him close. He knew he couldn’t do that, and so settled with resting his hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, dude, you’re not alone. You’ve got me, remember? Who needs women when you’ve got a Super Best Friend?” Kyle asked. Stan’s blank face split into a grin, and he clapped a hand on Kyle’s shoulder.
“You’re right, dude. From now on, it’s bros before hoes. And you are my main bro,” he said, his tone subdued. Kyle smiled and stared down at Ellie, every nerve in his body rocketing signals to the spot on his shoulder where Stan’s hand rested.
Without another word, Kyle dropped his hands back down to Ellie’s neck and began playing again, a soft, lilting melody. He glanced at Stan from beneath his eyelashes. Stan’s eyes were closed and his hand hadn’t moved. A small smile was on his lips, and Kyle resisted the urge to lean over and cover Stan’s mouth with his own. Biting his lip, he strummed on Ellie a few times before beginning a new song, one of his own composure. He closed his eyes and fell away into the music. Suddenly the world disappeared. He closed his eyes and then it was just Stan, the music, and himself. All of his senses dulled but two: hearing and touch.
The only thing Kyle felt was Stan’s arm around him, his hand resting on his shoulder. The only thing he heard were the sounds coming from Ellie, which was like listening to Stan. The song he was playing was written for Stan, though the young man would never know. He had written it after Wendy’s second sexual escapade, only a few months after the first. Stan ranted at Kyle for a while before leaving his friend’s house to hike around Stark’s Pond to clear his head. Immediately upon his departure, Kyle began to compose a song written just for his friend. The song (no lyrics; Kyle couldn’t write lyrics to save his soul. Instead, he let the melody do the talking for him) told the tale of one whose love had been abused, and of one who felt they could heal the other. Eventually, Kyle began to hum along with the music.
The song came to an end, and Kyle opened his eyes a moment later. It took him another moment to realize that Stan was staring at him. The look on the noirette’s face was unreadable to Kyle. This struck a note of discord within the ginger, for he knew every look Stan had ever worn, or so he thought. This was an expression that Kyle had never seen before. It was searching and prying. It was testing and trying. It also, he noted with surprise, was tinged with traces of lust. Kyle averted his gaze back down to Ellie.
“My God, dude,” Stan murmured. “What are you still doing here?” Kyle gazed up at his friend in absolute confusion. His eyebrows knitted together and he stared hard at Stan. “I mean, why are you still in South Park? You could be in big places, like Hollywood or L.A. You’ve got some mad talent with that guitar, dude. Why haven’t you left this mountain?”
Why hadn’t he? There was only one thing that came to Kyle’s mind.
“Well, you’re here. Couldn’t leave you here all by your lonesome,” he said quietly. He then grinned. “Besides, who’s going to cheer you on at your hockey games now?”
Stan grinned and his grip on Kyle’s shoulder tightened. “Come on, dude. Let’s go celebrate,” he said.
“Celebrate what?”
“My freedom from South Park’s greatest slut-in-training, and us, of course.” He squeezed Kyle’s shoulder. “My parents are away for the weekend. Metal-mouth is having more issues with her fucked up snaggle teeth,” he said with a snicker.
“Jesus Christ, dude. She’s still having issues?” Kyle interrupted. Stan’s lips puckered and he burst out into raucous laughter, burying his head into Kyle’s shoulder.
“She’s not going to get better if I keep knocking her down the stairs, or hitting her with well aimed hockey pucks,” he sniggered.
Kyle leaned back, a shocked smile on his face. His green eyes sparkled.
“You’re purposely fucking her mouth up, dude?” he asked, incredulous. Stan looked up at his friend, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Hell yes I am, dude. It gets everyone out of the house for at least the weekend, if not longer! Do you know how great it is to walk around naked, knowing no one is there to be scandalized?” Kyle burst out laughing, using this as an excuse to lean even closer to Stan.
“You’re the fucking king, yanno that?” he said. Stan himself leaned in, his forehead touching Kyle’s, grinning.
“I know. Now c’mon. Uncle Jimbo bought me some booze for the weekend, and it’s no fun drinking alone.” He stood up, extended his hand to Kyle. “Care to join me?”
Switching Ellie into his left hand, he took Stan’s hand and hauled himself to his feet. “I’m honored!” He tucked Ellie into her case, smiling like a fool. Tonight he’d be drinking with his Super Best Friend. His newly single Super Best Friend. Kyle nodded to himself. This was going to be a good night.
Stan watched as Kyle tenderly tucked Ellie away into her case, making sure no lingering snowflake sat upon her surface. He watched him lean down to inspect the guitar, watched as Kyle stuck his ass in the air…
Stan Marsh was not really surprised by these feelings. Kyle was his Super Best Friend, had been there for him through thick and thin. He had stood right by his side through every bit of shit Wendy had put him through. He’d supported him when he decided that he would forgive Wendy for all her infidelities, because it was what Stan had wanted.
He eventually saw what made Kyle happy: the red-head was happy when Stan was doing what he wanted to do, whatever it was. Stan eventually came to realize that this was something born out of love. It took him a while longer to see why he kept doing what he was doing: because it made Kyle happy, and when Kyle was happy, Stan was happy.
It didn’t bother Stan overmuch that he loved Kyle beyond the love of a brother. To him, he was just… loving Kyle. It didn’t seem “gay”, though he supposed that in actuality that it was. But Stan didn’t see himself as homosexual. More like Kylesexual. He wasn’t attracted, physically or otherwise, to any other male he’d ever seen. Just Kyle.
Stan had stopped all feelings for Wendy long ago. He had remained with her for so long because it was a routine. It was safe. Because he wasn’t alone. It wasn’t until late in the game that he saw that he’d never been alone, not really. More than Wendy ever was, Kyle was a constant in Stan’s life. He was immeasurably grateful to Kyle, and he wanted to show him how he felt.
Kyle stood to face Stan now, grinning. He lifted his guitar, indicating that he was ready to leave. Stan placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, giving it a little squeeze.
“C’mon. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, dude.”
“And Wendyyyy… is a stupiiiid… SLUUUUUUUUUUUUT!” Kyle slammed on his guitar, slurring his words. Both Stan and Kyle burst into drunken laughter. Stan reclined back on his bed with his beer bottle in his hand; he brought the bottle to his lips and tilted his head back, chugging its contents. When he was done, he tossed the bottle to the floor along with the rest of them. He’d killed off over a dozen beers by himself, and he was proud of his little mountain. He glanced over at Kyle, who was on his sixth pint glass of vodka and orange juice.
As naturally talented as Kyle is with a guitar, after so much vodka in one’s system… Slash wouldn’t be good. Stan was glad when Kyle put down the guitar. He could finally hear Avenged Sevenfold blaring from the speakers. He watched as Kyle dove at his drink and lifted it to his mouth. Some of it spilled and dribbled down his chin. He laughed and moved to wipe it off, but Stan beat him to it. The hockey player’s hand shot out and his fingers rubbed against Kyle’s chin. Stan pulled his fingers back and stuck them in his mouth, tasting the tang of the orange juice and the burn of the vodka.
“Taste goooood?” Kyle asked. After a moment’s pause, Stan nodded.
“It’s sweet, but it’s got bite to it; like you,” he said. He crawled over and curled up next to Kyle, who was near the headboard, relaxing against a huge pile of pillows.
“I’m sorry, dude,” Stan murmured. Kyle looked down at his friend and poked him in the forehead.
“What’re you sorry for?” he asked.
“For dating Wendy. For not paying ‘nuff attention to you lately.” He snuggled closer, and Kyle scooted over to give him room. “I mean, I’ve been such a shitty friend lately. Why are you still friends with me… still?”
Kyle began giggling madly, slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulders.
“’Cause no one else wants to be around your friend-ditching ass,” he sputtered. Stan pouted and hunched down, wishing he had another beer in his hands. Kyle didn’t really think he was a bad friend, did he?
Kyle noticed that Stan wasn’t laughing along with him and he paused, noting the brooding expression on his friend’s face. He squeezed Stan’s shoulder, and brought his other arm around to hug him across the chest. He pressed his nose against the side of Stan’s face.
“You know we don’t think that, right?” he muttered. Stan wrung his hands and gave him a very short, unconvinced nod. “Well, Cartman might, but he’s a douche bag.” Kyle’s eyes flicked over Stan’s uneasy face. He was going to convince him that he was a good friend if he had to…
“Dude?”
“Hm?”
“Why are you chewing on my ear?”
Was he really nibbling on Stan’s ear? Kyle opened his eyes to see that he did indeed have Stan’s ear lobe in his mouth and was gently sucking on it. It was then that an idea was hatched into his brain. It was a risky idea, but if it didn’t work out, he could “pass out” and feign memory loss in the morning. So really, he had nothing to lose.
“I’m showing you how much you don’t suck as a friend,” he murmured huskily. He felt Stan shiver from the vibrations his words sent through his body. Kyle pulled the hockey player’s ear lobe into his mouth, his teeth scraping over the soft skin. He felt rather than heard Stan sigh, and had to adjust himself when Stan leaned back.
After a moment, Kyle released his ear and, slowly and tentatively, moved down the side of Stan’s throat, dropping light, barely-there kisses onto the pale flesh. Stan tilted his head back, pressing his neck further against Kyle’s mouth. Kyle could feel Stan’s laboured breathing and he smirked against the smooth column of his throat. This was working! He couldn’t believe it! Now all that Kyle needed was…
Stan’s hand came up and forced his fingers beneath Kyle’s green hat, meshing his fingers in the curls of thick red hair. The noirette’s large, strong hand pressed firmly against Kyle’s head, encouraging him. Stan let out a hiss of air from between clenched teeth, and that was a green light for Kyle.
Kyle picked his head up from Stan’s neck and, within one heartbeat, claimed his best friend’s lips in a searing, passionate kiss. Stan’s eyelids fluttered for a moment, his eyes rolling back into his head briefly before they fell shut and he let out a rather vulgar moan. His arms wrapped around Kyle, pressing their chests together.
The hand that was meshed into Kyle’s hair moved up, pushing the hat off of his head. Red curls sprung from beneath the hat, but Stan noted that they were no longer the violent, frizzy curls of his youth. Calm, tamed curls fell down into shining green eyes, covered the back of his neck. Kyle shook his hair out of his eyes and grinned down at Stan.
The hockey player thought he had never seen anyone so handsome in his life.
Stan surged forward and caught Kyle’s lips in another kiss; it was desperate and wet and dirty. Kyle’s mouth opened and his tongue darted forward to lick at Stan’s lips. The noirette opened his mouth eagerly and his tongue met Kyle’s before the ginger had time to advance. The pink muscles dueled and stroked and caressed and soothed one another.
Kyle’s hands moved to cup Stan’s head, dragging the other boy up. Stan pulled his legs out from beneath Kyle and raised himself to his knees to join him. His large hands fell to settle on the ginger’s lithe hips. He pressed their bodies together, and each could feel the other’s erection.
Kyle pulled back from the kiss, and Stan almost whimpered at the abrupt loss of contact. When the red-head opened his eyes, they were a hazy, smoky green instead of their usual bright, glittering emerald. As he pulled away, a trail of glistening saliva was left connecting their mouths. His thumbs rubbed small circles on the side of Stan’s face.
“Will you fuck me tonight, Stan?” he whispered. He voice was husky and sensual and all Stan could do was bob his head in mind-blown acquiescence. Kyle blinked lazily at him for a moment, his eyes calculating (as best as he could calculate with all the alcohol in his system), trying to come to terms with what Stan had just agreed to do.
Before Kyle could even open his mouth to say anything, Stan’s thumbs hooked onto the ginger’s shirt and dragged it upward, cutting him off. He quickly tossed it aside and returned his gaze to his would-be lover’s chest.
And nearly had a heart attack at the age of eighteen.
Living in a snowy, cold mountain town did not encourage anyone, especially teenagers (who always wanted to be comfortable) to divest themselves of most of their clothing for the enjoyment or attraction of the opposite (or in this case, the same) sex. Everyone was always covered from head to toe; no one saw anyone’s body unless they were doing exactly what Stan and Kyle were doing now.
Stan had not seen Kyle’s body in a few years, actually. The red-head had opted for more science classes and forsaken Physical Education, whereas Stan and done the direct opposite. Therefore, he would not see the red-head in the changing room. Now Stan stared at Kyle’s body in awe. It wasn’t thin and shrunken or frail looking at all. Kyle was slender, but he’d always been so. Beneath the smooth skin that was dotted with light freckles, was muscle. He could see the faint outline of them; they became more defined with each heavy breath Kyle took. His shoulders weren’t as broad as Stan’s, and he wasn’t as muscular, but he held himself in a way that told Stan that he could take care of himself in a brawl.
Stan reached out and placed his fingertips on Kyle’s chest, delighting in the little gasp that escaped his friend. He let his fingertips flutter in place over the pale skin, just barely touching. He enjoyed watching the gooseflesh rise across Kyle’s body, enjoyed watching as his nipples pebbled and protruded from his chest.
Kyle seemed impatient, however, and he wrapped his hands around Stan’s wrists and pressed the noirette’s hands against his chest. Kyle sighed and closed his eyes. It felt so good; Stan’s hands were cool, and his own skin was hot, and the sensation was incredible.
Stan splayed his fingers, pressing each one down individually, trying to memorize the feel of Kyle’s skin. His hands inched over to his nipples and he brushed over them. They were perfectly shaped and shaded and they were like little rocks sitting on his chest. He heard Kyle’s breath hitch in his throat, felt him arch his back, pressing against Stan’s hands. Stan maneuvered his fingers until he had captured a nipple between his thumb and forefinger and gave it a light pinch. Kyle inhaled sharply, a shiver going up his spine. As Stan pinched harder this time, Kyle’s head fell back and he elicited a soft moan. Stan scraped his short nail over Kyle’s nipple, and the ginger cried out, pressing harder against Stan.
His resolve and confidence in his ministrations growing, Stan bent down and breathed hot air onto one of Kyle’s nipples. Before the ginger could even whimper, Stan latched onto the nub and flicked his tongue against it. He relished the cries coming from his friend, and he bit down. It was then that the noises stopped altogether, and Stan pulled away quickly and gazed at his friend in concern, afraid he’d hurt him.
Kyle’s head snapped up and he glared at Stan, making it quite clear that if Stan didn’t put his mouth back on his chest, the noirette would not be too pleased with what Kyle would do to him. With a drunken chuckle, Stan fell back down to Kyle’s chest and continued to lavish his nipples with attention. He nibbled on the nipple, and bit down more when he heard Kyle’s breathless demand of “Harder!”
In fact, Kyle kept moaning for Stan to keep biting, harder, don’t stop. Stan complied, fueled on by the wanton moaning coming from his red-haired lover. Every time he increased the pressure on Kyle’s nipple, he could feel the guitar player’s erection throb against Stan’s abdomen. He pulled away, however, when he tasted the bitter tang of blood. Sure enough, his teeth had punctured through the fine skin of Kyle’s tender nipple, drawing blood, which was beginning to trickle down his chest, mixed with saliva.
“Fuck, ‘m sorry Kyle…” Stan began. He looked up, expecting to see Kyle’s face screwed up in pain, glaring at him. Kyle’s face was flushed, his full lips moistened by the pink tongue that darted out to lick them. His hand was up and was smearing the little bit of blood around his nipple with a finger, his eyes hazy. Stan was surprised that Kyle wasn’t reaming him out - for as long as Stan could remember, his friend had a very low pain tolerance level. Having his nipple sliced open with teeth should have had him on the verge of tears.
But apparently Kyle Broflovski had discovered a kink - pain.
“Fuck, Stan,” he said sluggishly. He leaned in and covered Stan’s mouth with his own, a wet, hungry kiss that was just enough to tip Stan’s scale. He broke away from the kiss abruptly and divested himself of his hockey jersey as quickly as possible. His arms shot out and wound around Kyle, drawing them together. Their warm chests and torsos melded together, and Stan groaned at the contact. Kyle’s hands cupped his face they kissed again, long and lazy and fiery.
They pulled apart, regretfully, after several long moments. They were breathing heavily and staring at each other.
“You sure you want me to do this, Kyle?” Stan asked. Without hesitating, Kyle nodded. His fingertips toyed with the silky strands of black hair that fell along Stan’s face.
“I… I want you to fucking… fuck me, Stanley,” he said. He leaned in a placed light kisses all over Stan’s face. “For a long time… I’ve wanted you.” Stan’s eyelids fluttered closed at his friend’s confession, and a wave of relief washed over him. Relief that his feelings weren’t unrequited, that this wouldn’t be a one time thing. And the hope that, perhaps, they could be something more.
These thoughts were brief, for Kyle’s tongue curling around his ear snapped him back to the here and now. His hands slid down Kyle’s back, over his rear end, which he squeezed. Stan’s forearms rested on his thighs, and his hands cupped his rear. With little effort at all, Stan lifted Kyle from the bed and set him on his lap. Kyle loosed a small laugh of surprise and adjusted to his new position quickly, his knees gripping Stan’s hips. He ground his hips forward, pressing his erection against Stan’s stomach. He hissed aloud at the friction, and cursed his pants for restraining him so.
It seemed that Stan cursed Kyle’s pants as well, for his right hand moved down to Kyle’s groin and began to quickly and efficiently undo the button and pull down the zipper. As soon as he was able to, his hand shot down Kyle’s pants and past his boxers, wrapping itself firmly around the aching manhood waiting there. Kyle cried out loudly, arching his back, his nails digging into Stan’s shoulders.
Stan’s long fingers wrapped around Kyle’s cock, and he brushed his thumb over the head, smearing the pre-come there. He made his way to the base and squeezed, hard, and moved upward again, maintaining the pressure. All the while, he studied Kyle, watching as the red-head twitched and licked his lips and made little noises of pleasure, noises that Stan thought were as beautiful as the sounds that Kyle made on Ellie. Smiling broadly, Stan leaned forward and assaulted Kyle’s neck, kissing and licking and biting and sucking. He drew back and examined his handiwork; there was a beautiful, dark purple mark at the juncture of his neck and collarbone. Yeah, that’d be there for a few days.
Kyle looked down at Stan and grinned drunkenly, then pushed his friend down into the mattress so that he was straddling his waist. He pinned Stan’s arms down above his head and kissed him again. By now their lips were swollen and their kisses were clumsy and fumbling. Kyle began to kiss his way down Stan’s jaw line, kissing down his neck, down his chest. He stopped at a nipple and sucked it into his mouth, tonguing it into a hard nub. He continued his sensual journey down Stan’s stomach, licking and nipping and kissing the hot flesh of his best friend.
He kissed his way across those perfect V shaped muscles. They weren’t chiseled out of his body, but they were there, no mistaking that. They were perfect. Kyle licked at them and kissed them, committing them to memory with his lips. He found Stan’s hip bone and he bit down, gently.
Stan cried out now, his hips bucking. Kyle pulled back and stared at him bemusedly, watching as his muscles twitched. With a wicked grin, Kyle leaned back in and repeated his previous actions on Stan’s opposite hip bone, but with more force. Stan’s voice escalated and he cried out Kyle’s name. His hips bucked upward and he felt, deep in his groin, his libido give a powerful surge.
“Fuck, Kyle… do that again…” Stan growled. With a grin, Kyle complied. He pressed his swollen lips against Stan’s hip and bit down, sucking at it simultaneously. Stan let out a scream that would have surely brought people running, had anyone been around. Kyle laved at his hip, pressing his tongue hard against the skin. He was thriving off of the keening sounds his friend was making - this was most definitely Stan’s “spot”.
Kyle moved away from Stan’s hip, much to the noirette’s chagrin. Slim, deft fingers made short work on the button and zipper of the denim jeans that Stan wore so well. He began to tug them down Stan’s slender, but well built hips and nearly choked on his own breath.
Stan Marsh was not wearing underwear.
Kyle glanced up at him sharply, but with amusement. Stan shrugged, grinning.
“Did I forget to tell you that I went home and removed my boxers before I came and found you?” he asked innocently. He blinked rapidly as Kyle stared at him, shocked. Then, realization dawned on the Jew.
“You planned this!” he accused. Stan’s grin widened, and Kyle’s mouth fell open. He sat up, his face crestfallen. His eyebrows knitted together. “You… planned sex with me?” Stan saw where Kyle’s words were going and his smile disappeared instantly, concern bleeding onto his face. He reached out and took hold of Kyle’s wrists, pulling him back down. Kyle resisted and struggled, hurt, but Stan was stronger than his friend. Once he had him down far enough, he released a wrist and looped an arm across his back, collapsing Kyle onto Stan’s chest. Kyle’s head fell buried into Stan’s shoulder; he didn’t bother moving, or picking it up.
“You planned on getting me in the sack tonight?” he asked quietly, his voice muffled. Stan’s arms tightened around Kyle and he hugged him close.
“Yes, I did.” He felt as Kyle let out a shuddering sigh, felt the sheets crunch up as his friend’s hand fisted in them in anguish. “And tomorrow night, I plan on not wearing any underwear when I take you out to dinner so when we come back here, I can get you in the sack again,” he said. Stan relaxed his arms and he let Kyle sit up. The ginger stared at him intently, tears glistening upon the rims of his emerald eyes.
“Stan… what are you…?” he whispered. Stan pressed his lips against Kyle’s forehead.
“Ky, I can promise you this isn’t a one night stand kinda deal. I… had this big fuckin’ speech planned out, but we started drinkin’ and… now this. And I’m loving this, and I swear I’ll tell you everything in the morning when my brain isn’t malfunctioning.” Stan pressed their cheeks together. He fluttered his eyelashes, and the edges flickered across the smooth skin of Kyle’s face. “You believe me?”
Apparently he did, because Stan felt soft lips kissing his earlobe. With Kyle’s unspoken permission, his hands traveled down his hot torso, his short nails scratching, leaving little red lines. Kyle arched and hissed into Stan’s ear. Kyle crawled back down Stan’s body, kissing and licking and pinching at every bit of exposed flesh he came into contact with. His hands found their way to the denim jeans that were only down far enough to reveal a nest of black curls and he began to tug them down. He sat back, pulling them from Stan’s long, muscular legs.
Kyle held one of Stan’s legs in his grip, kissing the instep of his foot. He made sure to keep it firm and dry, knowing that he could very well get punted in the face if he were not careful; Stan’s feet were the most ticklish part of his body. He moved up and kissed his ankle, then his knee. Stan let out a chuckle.
“Dude, don’t be such a fag,” he said. Kyle looked up from where he was kissing to stare squarely at Stan.
“Your dick is going to be up my ass in ten minutes and you’re worried about me being too faggy?” he asked sardonically. He set Stan’s leg down and stalked back up his body, purposefully ignoring Stan’s throbbing, free erection. Stan gazed at Kyle, who had a predatory look in his glittering green eyes; his body was long and lean and he moved like a great cat stalking its way through the jungle. “You’re going to be moaning my name, pounding into my tight little ass like nobody’s business… and you’re worried about being too much of a donut puncher.” Kyle’s lips were hovering just above Stan’s, full and red and wet.
The Jew’s tongue came out and touched Stan’s lips, tracing over them very lightly. Stan closed his eyes and lifted his head up to capture those perfectly fuckable lips in a kiss, but all he connected with was air. His eyes flashed open and he saw that Kyle was no longer there. In fact, the ginger had moved from the bed completely. Why had he NOT felt Kyle move off of him? Did his friend really have such a profound effect on his drunken mind? He heard movement to his right and looked over to see Kyle wriggling out of his jeans. He opened the drawer of Stan’s nightstand and pawed through it, eventually pulling out the tube of lube that Stan didn’t know anyone else knew about.
Kyle crawled back onto the bed, resuming his position straddled over Stan’s hips. Their erections touched, and both boys cried out. Kyle began to gyrate his hips against Stan’s, causing their cocks to move against each other. The friction was beautiful and hot and Stan threw his head back, clutching at the sheets. As Kyle humped at Stan’s crotch, he’d popped the cap off the lube and squirted some out onto his fingers. He reached around to his own entrance and slipped the slicked up digits past the tight ring of muscle there. He cried out as one went in easily. He wriggled it around a bit before inserting a second finger. Now it was tight and slightly uncomfortable - it had been a while since he’d done this to himself.
He scissored his fingers, stretching himself and waiting for the muscle to relax. As he pressed a third finger into himself, he looked down at Stan. The noirette had the best look on his face - a euphoric, stoned, appreciative expression as he watched Kyle finger-fuck himself. All the while, the ginger kept up the slow grinding on his cock.
For fuck’s sake, Kyle was damn good at all this. Stan knew his friend was a virgin - Kyle would have told him if he’d ever done anything with anyone. Maybe he watched a lot of porn. Maybe he was a virginal nympho. Maybe he had a crazy big stash of toys that he practiced with. What if he was just the most naturally sexually talented person in South Park?
He watched as Kyle wriggled his fingers in his ass, squirming and moaning. And then he did something to himself that made him whimper, made his legs quiver. Stan’s grip on Kyle’s thighs tightened; he wanted to make Kyle’s body quake. He wanted to find that little bundle of heaven buried deep within his friend and make Kyle scream. He quickly grabbed the tube from Kyle’s hand and squeezed a generous amount into his palm. He reached down and grasped his rock hard cock in his hand, coating it liberally with the slippery lube. He knew that shoving anything as large as his dick into something as tight, sweet, and firm as Kyle’s ass couldn’t not hurt at all, and he wanted to make it as easy as possible for his lover.
Kyle saw Stan lube up his cock and he stopped grinding against him, withdrew his fingers from himself. Kyle sat back and pulled Stan up with him. Their lips met once more, and Kyle found himself whimpering into the noirette’s mouth in anticipation. Now it was Stan’s turn to press Kyle into the bed, tenderly stroking the side of his face, not once breaking the kiss. Kyle instinctively spread his legs, and Stan positioned himself comfortably between them. The ginger reached down and grasped Stan’s cock, pressing it against his entrance. Stan looked down at Kyle; they had both come down from the high of the alcohol. There was strong desire and joy in Kyle’s emerald eyes, and affirmation and excitement in Stan’s blue ones. Stan bent his head and covered Kyle’s mouth with his as he slowly pushed his hard length into the lithe ginger.
Kyle closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, wincing around Stan’s mouth at the pain. It wasn’t a horrible splitting pain. No, he had prepared himself well. He was relaxed, but his three slender fingers we nothing compared to Stan’s sizeable length and girth. It was a dull, filled kind of pain, and it was fading quickly as the well-lubed member slid further into him. He could feel Stan shaking as he pressed into Kyle, probably from suppressing urges to pile drive him. Kyle’s legs and arms wrapped around Stan, bringing them closer together.
Stan opened his eyes when he was fully sheathed within Kyle. He looked down to see his lover grinning at him from ear to ear, and his stomach fluttered. He hadn’t seen the Jew smile like that in a long, long time. The noirette grinned back, his left hand coming up to curl against Kyle’s cheek. Stan leaned down to kiss his friend again; God, he couldn’t get enough of those lips. Their kiss now was gentle and soft and filled with promise. It was sweet and new and everything Kyle had ever imagine kissing Stan would be.
The legs wrapped around Stan’s waist gave him a squeeze, pressing the noirette further into his lover. The head of Stan’s cock brushed against something inside of Kyle, who whimpered into his friend’s mouth. When they broke apart, Kyle was gasping for breath, his eyes gleaming.
“Fuck me, Stan,” he whispered. “Fuck me through the bed.” Stan’s libido writhed in his groin. Fuck he loved when Kyle talked dirty. Well, if his little ginger wanted it rough, Stan was going to deliver. He pulled out so that all but his tip was exposed, then pushed back in. Kyle’s eyes closed and his head drifted so that it tilted to the side. Stan gave a few more experimental thrusts, testing the waters, trying to find a comfortable angle.
And when he found just the right angle, Kyle let him know. The Jew’s head rocked back, his eyes flew open, and he cried out loud enough to wake the neighbors. He sang out into the silence of the room, the music having ended long ago. Sure, he’d hit the spot with his fingers before, and he knew it was the best thing that God could have put into the human body, but dear Moses on stilts, this was unbelievable. Kyle’s back arched off the bed, urging Stan to keep going.
With a smile, Stan adjusted the position his knees were in to better angle himself to hit that sweet spot within Kyle over and over again. He began to piston his hips and soon found a rhythm that must have worked, for Kyle was singing out his name over and over again. He thrust in and out roughly, quickly, his senses completely overloaded by one thing - Kyle’s incredibly hot, tight body encasing his slick cock.
“Harder,” Kyle moaned, tightening his grip on Stan with both his arms and legs. Stan complied, thrusting wildly into Kyle. Stan leaned down and crushed his lips to Kyle’s, swallowing his moans and cries. He could feel Kyle lifting his hips to meet his every thrust, could feel himself sliding deeper and deeper into that volcano of Kyle’s ass. The sound of skin smacking against skin hard enough to bruise was intoxicating. Stan was vaguely aware of Kyle clawing at his back in a desperate attempt to push them closer together. He didn’t care about the marks that would be there in the morning. All he could concentrate on right now was the fact that Kyle’s ass was cradling every curve of his cock, tight and hot and slick and fuck did he ever not care if he didn't get into Heaven for bungling his best friend.
Kyle’s hands meshed in Stan’s hair, pressing his head back down to his lips for a breathless, hard kiss. He could feel himself inching up the bed with each thrust of Stan’s powerful hips, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He could feel the heat in his stomach building rapidly, and he moaned loudly.
“O-ohh, fuck Stan. Fuck, Stan… gonna come…” he growled huskily. Stan leaned down and nipped at Kyle’s ear, accentuating the action with a series of sharp, hard jabs to his prostate.
“You gonna come for me?” Stan asked, his voice deep and hazy. He reached down and grabbed hold of Kyle’s cock and began pumping it in time with his frenzied thrusts. Kyle mewled loudly, his hips bucking wildly.
“Ah! Stan, I - fuck, STAN!” Kyle cried out his lover’s name loudly has he came, his entire body shuddering violently. His come shot from his body in thick ribbons, falling across his chest and into Stan’s hand. He spasmed uncontrollably, every muscle in his body contracting and moving. He had no voice; he could only gasp for air.
Stan watched as Kyle reached his climax, thinking that he’d never seen anything as stunning as Kyle arching up into him, crying out his name, clutching blindly at his bed sheets. He felt his lover’s body convulse around him, squeezing his cock in wet, hot, iron grip. It took only a few more erratic thrusts for Stan to lose his cool; he came within Kyle so violently that his arms gave out and he fell on top of his lover. His hips jerked, riding out his orgasm with his face buried in Kyle’s shoulder. No words left his mouth - he could only groan with pleasure.
The two of them lay still for several moments, breathing heavily and simply basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Stan eventually recovered a bit of strength in his arms and picked himself up. He gazed down at Kyle, a sloppy, satisfied grin on his face. Both boys’ eyes were nearly glowing with pleasure and happiness - vivid blue meeting glittering green. Kyle picked his head up from the bed and pressed his lips against Stan’s, kissing him lazily. Stan kissed him back lazily, his hands cupping the sides of Kyle’s head. When they pulled back from the kiss, Stan touched his forehead to Kyle’s and he grinned down at him like a fool.
Summoning the last reservoirs of his strength, Stan gently withdrew his now soft cock from Kyle’s body and flopped over next to the ginger. He immediately flipped to his side and curled around Kyle’s body, entwining their legs together. He wrapped his arms around his torso, pulling the Jew close to him. Kyle smiled and buried down under the thick comforter with Stan. They hunched down in the bed, each daring the other to smile harder than the other. Kyle sought out Stan’s hand and grasped it within his own, lacing their fingers together.
“How long, dude? How long did you know you wanted all… this?” Kyle asked quietly. Stan shrugged.
“Can’t say exactly, but it’s been about a year, maybe.” Kyle gaped at him.
“You’ve been after me for a year and you tortured me for this long?” he asked incredulously. Stan mock-glared at the Jew.
“Shut up.” He placed a kiss on Kyle’s forehead, then tucked Kyle’s head against his own collarbone. Their not-so-little adventure had left him exhausted, his alcohol high having long since vanished. The adrenaline that had pumped through his bloodstream was ebbing quickly, and he craved sleep. “You have me now, don’t you?” He paused for effect, and he could feel Kyle inhaling, preparing to say something. “I promise I’ll be here in the morning. Then I’ll make you breakfast, with all your favourite non-kosher foods.” Stan could feel Kyle smiling against his neck, felt him nod slightly.
“Then I’ll make you sing again over the table,” Stan murmured, his voice deep. Kyle shivered at all the dirty, vulgar things he could imagine Stan doing to him on his family’s kitchen table.
“Sing?” the ginger asked, quirking an eyebrow. Stan chuckled.
“Dude, you’re a fucking songbird.” Stan’s hand came up to bury itself into Kyle’s hair, and to keep him from looking up and glaring at him or chewing him out. “You sing in the sack, man.” Kyle made muffled sounds of discontent, squirming in Stan’s arms. “It’s fucking sexy,” he purred. He couldn’t see it, but he knew his lover was rolling his eyes.
Stan pressed a kiss against the top of Kyle’s head, tightening his arms, hugging his friend a little closer. He heard Kyle sigh and snuggle in, curling his hand against his chest.
“Good night, dude,” Kyle murmured sleepily.
“Good night, songbird.”