(no subject)
Title: The Need to Wear Flowers
Chapter: Six
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Stan/Kyle
Summary: After coming out to his parents, Stan is moved away from South Park and all of his friends. In this chapter, Gary learns a new word and Kyle dismisses mpreg.
Warning: may contain traces of mush.
Several hours and jugs of sangria later, Stan's friends were slumped over the kitchen table. Phil had fallen asleep on it. Gary was ranting to Giles and Karl about how all reality shows had become even worse in the past five years, but Giles and Karl were too busy groping each other under the table to pay more attention than cursory nods. Finn was half asleep, lazing back in his chair with his eyes closed but occasionally singing along with the background music. It was enough to make Stan want to swear off alcohol. He was relieved that, as Karl had predicted, he and Kyle were sober enough to do well at the game, even if their hosts had been too inebriated to explain it properly. He was also relieved that Kyle kept passing him easy names. Phil had been forced to drink with barely a break to breathe for a full twenty minutes whilst he tried to think of a name that began with a 'U', having been passed Lars Ulrich. Kyle was finally filling Stan in on the South Park news he'd been missing.
“So after you left, there were about a million rumours as to why. The best was that Cartman had gotten high and eaten you when the munchies hit. The weirdest was that you'd been recruited by the MIB to take on a fleet of hostile alien spaceships.”
“Didn't people just ask you what'd happened?” Stan asked.
“Yeah, but I wasn't in a great mood, was I? I told them to go fuck themselves, and sometimes their dog too. So that kind of just made more rumours. Besides, what would I say? I didn't know what you wanted people to know.”
“Yeah, suppose so. How'd people react?”
“Varied. Some of the guys just forgot about it. Wendy kept hounding Cartman, Kenny and I for info. I think she might have threatened to halt shipments of cheesy poofs into South Park if Cartman didn't crack.”
“Bet he scrambled for any info he could give her then.”
“Nah. He told her to go back to Woodstock and go cry about flowers dying. But then the axolotl circus came to town and people stopped talking about you so much.” Gary stopped, mid-rant, and stared at Kyle.
“What the fuck is an axlottle?”
“Axolotl. Kind of salamander.” Gary continued to look confused. “Kind of lizard thing.”
“They had a salamander circus?”
“Sort of. They had tanks of them, made them do tricks and stuff, then sold them. But they turned into giant lizards at night and started eating people's couches.”
“Your mom must have loved that,” said Stan, laughing.
“Huh?” Karl joined Gary in looking confused. “How'd they do that?”
“I don't know, genetic engineering or something.” Kyle shrugged. “The army came and shot them all. Cartman still has giant axolotl brains on his ceiling. Kenny got shot by the army by accident.”
“Your friend got shot?” Giles patted Kyle's shoulder sympathetically. “That's horrible. Is he all right now?”
“Yeah, he's alive again now. The week after that we had a glam rock festival, so everyone wore lycra and dyed their hair pink or blue. There was glitter everywhere.”
“Wonderful!” Giles and Karl chorused.
“What colour was your hair?” Stan asked, smirking. “Pink or blue?”
“Green, actually. But I didn't choose it!” Kyle protested. “Ike mixed the dye in with his shampoo!” Giles and Karl started discussing exactly how amazing bringing glam rock to San Francisco would be, with emphasis on the tight, revealing clothes and sparkles. Gary began thumping the table and insisting that it would be a step away from the amazing musical subculture the city had at the moment.
“Please tell me there are photos.”
“No,” Kyle said, shattering Stan's hopes swiftly. “Not of me, anyway. And Kenny got crushed by a giant set of lips, so there aren't any photos of him either. Think there might be some of Cartman and Butters playing at the festival.”
“God, I can't miss that,” Stan said sarcastically. “Cartman in tight, bright clothes. All my wet dreams have come true at once.” Kyle yawned.
“Speaking of dreams...”
“You want to go to sleep.” Kyle nodded.
“Yeah. We going back to yours or staying here?” Stan checked his watch.
“It's three in the morning. Let's stay.” Kyle nodded and they got to their feet. Stan snapped his fingers in front of his friends who were still awake. “We're off to bed. See you later.”
“Okay,” Karl said, grinning. “Behave, won't you?”
“We'll try our best,” Kyle said, rolling his eyes. “Try not to get into fights about San Francisco's musical future, okay?”
Stan waved goodnight to the others and led Kyle up to the bedrooms. Once in the upstairs corridor, he took him into a guest bedroom that Finn had made up should anyone actually want a real bed, after expressing surprise when Stan asked if he should bring a sleeping bag. Apparently sleeping in a conventional manner was an aberration at their parties. Kyle switched the light on, which was just as well. The floor was covered with boxes that would no doubt have tripped them up had they attempted to hop through in the dark. Picking one up, Kyle frowned.
“Dude, who really needs a smoothie, cottage cheese and yoghurt all in one maker?” he asked Stan, who picked up another box.
“The same people who want a pasta press?” he replied. “I didn't even know you could make pasta at home.”
Kyle shrugged and set the box down again. He stepped haphazardly over to the bed and began undressing. Stan joined him, then groaned as he realised he had to get back to the light switch. He managed to make a path to the switch, turned the light of and made it back to the bed, only stubbing his toe three or four times in the process. Kyle sniggered, but received just punishment when Stan shoved him over and climbed into his side of the bed.
“What do you think of the guys?” Stan asked, turning to face Kyle even though it was too dark to make any of his features out.
“None of them seem to have any serious psychological issues. It's really weird.”
“You haven't seen Gary ranting about low quality cheese,” Stan said, laughing. “But yeah, they're way more normal than people in South Park, apart from abusing substances more.”
“Yeah.” Kyle was quiet. “Stan...”
“Yeah?”
“You do still want to come back, right?” Stan laughed. He stopped when he realised Kyle wasn't joining in.
“How can you even ask that?” Stan rolled his eyes. “Like I'd want to stay here!”
“It's a lot less weird than South Park. You don't like South Park. And you've made friends. Sane ones.”
“Yeah, but they're not you,” said Stan. He put a hand on Kyle's arm.“It's still fucked up, like South Park, but I've got no one to talk to who understands that. I need you.”
“Thanks.” Kyle sounded relieved. He moved closer to Stan and put an arm around him.“I really want you back...”
“I want to be back,” said Stan, hugging Kyle close to his chest, his bare skin pressed against Kyle's. “I mean it, dude, it sucks without you.”
“It can't be how much South Park sucks without you,” said Kyle. “I feel like I'm going crazy there. Every day something new and weird happens, and everyone just acts like it's completely normal. Without you, there's no one to agree with me, no one who makes me feel like I'm not a total freak for seeing things rationally. Cartman manages to be a bigger douche than ever, Kenny's too busy trying to get laid to give a crap, Butters is just Butters...” Stan cupped Kyle's face in his hands.
“Kyle. I'll be back. I promise.” He sighed. “Trust me, I'm missing you just as much. I still wake up in the mornings, plan what we could do together, then remember we're miles apart. I spend half of my time wondering what I'm missing at home. I ring you and stuff as often as I can, but it's no substitute for actually being with you. Every film I watch-”
“Makes you think of when we watched it together?” Kyle nodded. “I feel the same. I don't want to touch my games, because every one reminds me of when we played them together.”
“I even tried reading,” Stan admitted. “I didn't really do much reading at home, but I figured it would be easier than doing what we did together. But there was always something that reminded me of you in everything I read.”
“Fuck, we really are codependent, aren't we?” They laughed.
“We can't be that bad. My parents haven't even noticed I'm acting differently,” Stan said, sourly. “And grandpa just keeps ranting about how he hasn't died yet. I'm glad Shelly's moved out, or she'd be as bad as they are.”
“Mom's noticed something. She keeps cooking my favourite things for dinner. Dad keeps bringing me diabetic chocolate. Hell, even Ike has been less of a brat. God, I never thought my family would be less douchey than yours.”
“Can I share them?”
“Marry me and they're legally yours.” Stan nuzzled Kyle's neck. He could just smell the faintest tinge of alcohol on Kyle's breath.
“Sure thing. Let's go to Vegas.”
“Dude!” Kyle's expression still wasn't visible in the dark, but Stan could tell he was grinning. “We should consider that as a fall back option!”
“Except we're still too young to do it without our parents' permission. By the time you're old enough, we'll be in college.”
“Oh yeah.” Kyle sounded glum once again. “And I guess they wouldn't believe either of us if we said we were pregnant.”
“Probably not, dude. Still, I'm flattered that you were considering getting hitched to me,” Stan teased.
“I'm not gonna give it up until you marry me,” Kyle huffed, blowing Stan's fringe from his face.
“Aw, baby, but I love you. Give daddy some sugar.” Kyle shuddered.
“That's sick, dude.”
“Be thankful I didn't make some crack about never letting you down.” His hair was ruffled by another of Kyle's contented sighs.
“It's a lie, anyway.”
“Huh?” Stan frowned, disorientated by the jump in conversation. It didn't help that his body was distracted by Kyle's. “What is?”
“I'd probably let you screw me if you came back to South Park,” said Kyle, completely calmly. “You wouldn't have to marry me.”
“Dude. You can't be serious.” Stan unwillingly pulled back from Kyle. Now the idea had been planted in his mind, there was no hope for him. Kyle wriggled closer again.
“Of course I can.” He sounded it, too. “Otherwise I wouldn't have said it, would I?”
“But...dude. You're straight.” Supposedly. If he were any less straight, at least in relation to how he acted around Stan, he'd probably be wearing neon pink lipstick and matching ten inch heels. Perhaps not pink, actually, since it wouldn't go with his red hair. Maybe purple. Light purple.
“It'd be worth it if you were back.” He groaned. “God, I'm lame. Sorry, dude, I really am far too soppy.”
“Kyle,” Stan said, hesitantly. “Are you one hundred percent sure that you do like girls?”
“Well, yeah,” said Kyle. “Of course I do.”
“You don't think it's a little...odd how quickly you've become accustomed to all of this?”
“Er...no?” Stan sighed.
“Kyle, are you sure that you don't like boys, in addition to girls?”
“Yeah. Otherwise I'd have told you.”
“You don't think that your easy acceptance to doing...stuff with me suggests something else?”
“No.” Kyle sounded less certain now. “I mean, I just really want you back.”
“You don't think you're being extra affectionate?” Kyle was quiet, presumably thinking over what Stan had said.
“Yeah, I probably am,” he admitted, but he sounded confident again. Stan wished he could see Kyle's face better, see how much was acted. Even better, he'd like to see into Kyle's head, see exactly how those cogs were turning. “I mean, after what Cartman did, I was really shook up,” he admitted, his voice low. “I...I keep wondering about what if something did happen to you. I might not get to say goodbye. So...I think I'm keeping you close whilst I can.”
“Oh.” Stan reached out and pulled Kyle into a tight hug. “Dude. That's...”
“Mushy and crap,” Kyle said, laughing and hugging back.
“That wasn't what I was going to say.”
“But it's true. It's not bothering you, is it?”
“What?” Stan frowned and shook his head. “You hugging me and stuff?” Kyle nodded, his hair tickling Stan's neck. “No way, dude. I kind of like it. Guess I just got my hopes up a bit.”
“Sorry,” Kyle sighed. “If I ever do go gay, it'll be for you.”
“Feel free to turn anytime,” Stan joked. Kyle chuckled and pecked Stan's cheek.
“I'll try, even if you are making it sound like being turned by a vampire or werewolf or something.”
Stan laughed. He nipped Kyle's neck lightly, making the other boy squeal and make very futile attempts to push him off.
“There. You've been bitten. Now you have The Gay.”
“Oh no! Not The Gay!” Kyle moved his hands from Stan's body to, presumably, his face, feigning horror, though Stan couldn't be sure given the lack of light. “Does this mean I'll have to help mom decorate the house?”
“No, worse. It means you have to do hot, kinky things with guys. Failure to do so will mean your death.”
“We can't be having that,” Kyle mused.
“No, we can't.”
“So...what do I do now I've been given The Gay?” Kyle asked, putting a hand on Stan's shoulder. “Are you going to guide me down this scary path?”
“As if I would let you go down it alone.” Stan leaned in and caught Kyle's mouth only through chance. For once, Kyle took a moment to respond, and it wasn't his previous, enthusiastic, confident reaction either. Stan slipped his tongue inside Kyle's mouth, hoping it might provoke more of a reaction. Again, Kyle was slow in his response, yet he gave sounds that indicated enjoyment. Strong, manly hands wove around his back, pulling him in. The only potential owner, assuming Stan hadn't suddenly found himself in a horror film, was Kyle.
He threw analysis aside and let himself be pulled by (presumably) Kyle's hands on top of Kyle himself. Said hands were drifting slowly down his back. He shivered, causing Kyle to break the kiss.
“You okay?” he asked, all concern, as though they had been nothing out of the ordinary. Stan nodded.
“Yeah.” He put his hands on Kyle's shoulders and squeezed. “I'm fine. Really.”
“That's going on your epitaph if you die on me now,” Kyle warned, leaning up to kiss him again. Stan kissed back, making a mental note to look up the word 'epitaph' later on. It didn't sound particularly pleasant and really, he was quite content to let this much more enjoyable path continue, especially if he could confirm Kyle's ailment of The Gay to be critical.
He rolled over, pulling Kyle on top of him and making the other squeal like a girl in the process. He slid his hands down Kyle's chest, teasing the fine strands of hair as he went. He slid a finger into Kyle's boxers and twanged the waistband. Kyle inhaled sharply.
“Are you still ridden with The Gay?” he asked.
“Um. Maybe?” said Kyle. “I'm no expert in the matter.”
“Would you like me to get it...out of you?”
“Out? Oh. Um.” There was a painful pause before Kyle spoke again, rushed. “Yeah. You'd better.”
Stan slipped his hand inside Kyle's boxers. His fingers trembled as he acted. Kyle's gasps seemed to echo in Stan's head. He wriggled under Stan's touch, vocalising no words of encouragement or dissatisfaction. He raised his hips a fraction, then pulled them down sharply. His hand enclosed Stan's and took it away.
“No,” he whispered. “No. I think I lost it.”
“Oh.” Stan withdrew from Kyle, his heart sinking like a stone Titanic. “Sorry.”
“It's okay,” Kyle said, though he lacked conviction. “Night.”
“Night, dude...”
*
Stan couldn't safely state how well he'd slept. He was reasonably sure that he had drifted off occasionally, unless his watch had turned into a random number generator overnight. He was even more sure that he had spent hours staring at the ceiling, watching it develop from pitch black to slightly visible to cracked and uneven. Kyle lay beside him in the bed, unmoving, the whole time. Stan didn't know if he slept or not; he didn't dare do so much as whisper his name, and Kyle had faced away from him the whole night long. It was a far cry from the previous night's cuddles. It was unrecognisable from the nights they had spent, all their lives, whispering to each other from dusk until dawn.
Kyle finally rolled over, smiling, and hooked his fingers into the corners of Stan's mouth in order to force a smile out of his friend. Stan made a show of disgust, though really he felt drunk with relief.
“Morning,” said Kyle, removing his fingers and wiping them on the bed covers. “Or afternoon. Whatever.”
“Morning,” Stan said, tapping his watch. “It's only ten.” Kyle grabbed Stan's wrist and checked for himself.
“It's only just gone ten?” he asked, incredulously. “I thought it was early afternoon!”
“Nope. You up to walking home?” Kyle nodded.
“You think your friends are conscious?”
“I wouldn't even bet on them being alive.” They got out of bed, stretching and yawning, and clothed themselves again. Stan did not dare raise any questions and Kyle seemed unwilling to bring the issue up and so the mystery of Kyle's mind went unsolved.
They walked out, the houses shielding them from the worst of San Francisco's sea breeze. Kyle chattered easily, but Stan, who was working off very little rest, could only provide monosyllabic replies. After about twenty minutes of this lopsided conversation, Kyle pulled Stan down onto a handy bench.
“I'm sorry,” he said, before Stan could ask what was going on. “I...I just suddenly felt like what we were doing was wrong, and that I was wrong. Then I started panicking and...and...” He shuddered and shrugged, but offered a small smile as peace offering. “Sorry.”
“It's okay,” Stan replied, as his hopes were thrown into a blender. “I'm sorry I put you in that position-”
“Don't be!” Kyle interrupted, taking Stan's hands and squeezing. “Please, dude, don't beat yourself up. Please? I fucked up, not you.”
“But I-”
“Acted on the information you'd been given. I just deviated from expectations.” He frowned, looking genuinely annoyed with himself. “Seriously. Forgive me?”
“Dude. Like you even need to ask that.” He smiled and Kyle hugged him. “Seriously, I wasn't pissed. I'm just exhausted.”
“Awesome!” He stood up again, offering a hand to Stan. Stan accepted the assistance and began to lead the way once more. “You need to take a nap or anything once we get in?”
“I'll sleep once you're gone.”
“Okay. How about some vegetating in front of the TV?” Stan smiled sleepily.
“Fuck yeah.”
*
Too soon the time for Kyle to leave came. Kyle had hauled his belongings into his bag, only getting the mess of crumpled items to close by sitting on it to squish them down. Even so, there was a definite aura of Kyle about the place. Stan's messy room had sporadic touches of Kyle's selectively organised mind. The books were back in the bookcase and his comics were in order. The video games were back in their respective boxes, rather than in the nearest container that they would fit in to. Then, conversely, was the fact that Kyle's belongings kept popping up unexpectedly around the house.
“Kyle,” Stan had asked, as they had lazed before the television. “Why is your watch on my bookcase?”
“Don't be ridiculous,” Kyle had snorted, waving his bare wrist at Stan. “My watch is right...oh, wait...”
But now as many of Kyle's things as they could find had been shoved into his bag and they were in the car, driving to the airport. Kyle was fiddling with the radio, evidently not finding the popular Californian music unsuited to his taste. But then, Stan remembered, smiling, Kyle had once spent half an hour fiddling with the radio in Colorado, hunting for a rap station, and when he found one he had switched the radio off dismissively because it was too mainstream.
“I wonder if I can smuggle you in my baggage,” Kyle mused. Stan laughed.
“Dude, you seen the size of that bag? The only way I'd fit in is in pieces.” Kyle looked Stan up and down. “That was not a suggestion!”
“Aw.” Kyle sighed. “I'm sure we could sew your limbs back on later...”
“No.”
“We could put your head in a jar, like on Futurama.”
“No.”
“You could date Lucy Liu's head!”
“I'm gay!”
“Well, she wouldn't have any genitals...”
“No, Kyle.” Kyle sighed and gave up on the radio.
“Fine,” he said, sullenly. “Stay in one piece. See if I care.” They arrived at the airport. Stan parked up and they walked inside.
“You have got your ticket, right?”
“Yes, mom.” Kyle looked and sounded subdued. “And I packed my toothbrush. I think.” They reached the long queue for check in. Kyle rummaged through his bag for his ticket. The mountain of books and crumpled clothes that he had carelessly thrown in was evidently slowing his search. Stan helpfully took hold of some of the things to allow Kyle access to the deep recesses of his bag, where his crumpled ticket laid. They reached the front of the queue (it was amazing how long it took Kyle to find things he found uninteresting, it really was) and the bored assistant handed Kyle his boarding card whilst conversing with the frizzy haired girl next to her about the latest episode of the latest vacuous teen drama.
“It's not like we won't see each other for ages,” Kyle said suddenly, apropos of nothing, as they walked towards the security gates. “I'll be back next weekend.”
“Yeah, and that's no time at all.” They stopped before the gates.
“Yeah.” Kyle nodded. Stan smiled and hugged him.
“Text me when you get back,” he said. “Or get online. Or something.”
“Sure.” Kyle grinned weakly. “Try and live without me for the duration of the flight, won't you?”
“I think I can manage for an hour or so.” He released him. Kyle walked away, waving until the last possible second.
Stan waited until he could see Kyle no longer before turning and leaving. He drove home, numb, acting on auto-pilot. He headed straight to his computer and logged into messenger, ready for when Kyle got back to South Park. The email notification pop up caught his eye. Sixty new emails was a bit higher than expected, even accounting for the accepted level of spam that snuck in every day. He clicked it and scrolled through the headings. 'Oh my GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!' from Bebe caught his eye first, followed by 'WHAT????', 'WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?????', 'DID YOU EVER CHEAT ON ME WITH KYLE??????' and 'DID I TURN YOU GAY????' from Wendy. Then there was 'I knew it!' from Kenny, 'Fags' from Craig, 'Is it true???' from Powder... Finally, he latched onto the one which should explain them all: 'Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah!' from Cartman.
I played them the messages! Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah! Everyone thinks you're boning! Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah!
Chapter: Six
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Stan/Kyle
Summary: After coming out to his parents, Stan is moved away from South Park and all of his friends. In this chapter, Gary learns a new word and Kyle dismisses mpreg.
Warning: may contain traces of mush.
Several hours and jugs of sangria later, Stan's friends were slumped over the kitchen table. Phil had fallen asleep on it. Gary was ranting to Giles and Karl about how all reality shows had become even worse in the past five years, but Giles and Karl were too busy groping each other under the table to pay more attention than cursory nods. Finn was half asleep, lazing back in his chair with his eyes closed but occasionally singing along with the background music. It was enough to make Stan want to swear off alcohol. He was relieved that, as Karl had predicted, he and Kyle were sober enough to do well at the game, even if their hosts had been too inebriated to explain it properly. He was also relieved that Kyle kept passing him easy names. Phil had been forced to drink with barely a break to breathe for a full twenty minutes whilst he tried to think of a name that began with a 'U', having been passed Lars Ulrich. Kyle was finally filling Stan in on the South Park news he'd been missing.
“So after you left, there were about a million rumours as to why. The best was that Cartman had gotten high and eaten you when the munchies hit. The weirdest was that you'd been recruited by the MIB to take on a fleet of hostile alien spaceships.”
“Didn't people just ask you what'd happened?” Stan asked.
“Yeah, but I wasn't in a great mood, was I? I told them to go fuck themselves, and sometimes their dog too. So that kind of just made more rumours. Besides, what would I say? I didn't know what you wanted people to know.”
“Yeah, suppose so. How'd people react?”
“Varied. Some of the guys just forgot about it. Wendy kept hounding Cartman, Kenny and I for info. I think she might have threatened to halt shipments of cheesy poofs into South Park if Cartman didn't crack.”
“Bet he scrambled for any info he could give her then.”
“Nah. He told her to go back to Woodstock and go cry about flowers dying. But then the axolotl circus came to town and people stopped talking about you so much.” Gary stopped, mid-rant, and stared at Kyle.
“What the fuck is an axlottle?”
“Axolotl. Kind of salamander.” Gary continued to look confused. “Kind of lizard thing.”
“They had a salamander circus?”
“Sort of. They had tanks of them, made them do tricks and stuff, then sold them. But they turned into giant lizards at night and started eating people's couches.”
“Your mom must have loved that,” said Stan, laughing.
“Huh?” Karl joined Gary in looking confused. “How'd they do that?”
“I don't know, genetic engineering or something.” Kyle shrugged. “The army came and shot them all. Cartman still has giant axolotl brains on his ceiling. Kenny got shot by the army by accident.”
“Your friend got shot?” Giles patted Kyle's shoulder sympathetically. “That's horrible. Is he all right now?”
“Yeah, he's alive again now. The week after that we had a glam rock festival, so everyone wore lycra and dyed their hair pink or blue. There was glitter everywhere.”
“Wonderful!” Giles and Karl chorused.
“What colour was your hair?” Stan asked, smirking. “Pink or blue?”
“Green, actually. But I didn't choose it!” Kyle protested. “Ike mixed the dye in with his shampoo!” Giles and Karl started discussing exactly how amazing bringing glam rock to San Francisco would be, with emphasis on the tight, revealing clothes and sparkles. Gary began thumping the table and insisting that it would be a step away from the amazing musical subculture the city had at the moment.
“Please tell me there are photos.”
“No,” Kyle said, shattering Stan's hopes swiftly. “Not of me, anyway. And Kenny got crushed by a giant set of lips, so there aren't any photos of him either. Think there might be some of Cartman and Butters playing at the festival.”
“God, I can't miss that,” Stan said sarcastically. “Cartman in tight, bright clothes. All my wet dreams have come true at once.” Kyle yawned.
“Speaking of dreams...”
“You want to go to sleep.” Kyle nodded.
“Yeah. We going back to yours or staying here?” Stan checked his watch.
“It's three in the morning. Let's stay.” Kyle nodded and they got to their feet. Stan snapped his fingers in front of his friends who were still awake. “We're off to bed. See you later.”
“Okay,” Karl said, grinning. “Behave, won't you?”
“We'll try our best,” Kyle said, rolling his eyes. “Try not to get into fights about San Francisco's musical future, okay?”
Stan waved goodnight to the others and led Kyle up to the bedrooms. Once in the upstairs corridor, he took him into a guest bedroom that Finn had made up should anyone actually want a real bed, after expressing surprise when Stan asked if he should bring a sleeping bag. Apparently sleeping in a conventional manner was an aberration at their parties. Kyle switched the light on, which was just as well. The floor was covered with boxes that would no doubt have tripped them up had they attempted to hop through in the dark. Picking one up, Kyle frowned.
“Dude, who really needs a smoothie, cottage cheese and yoghurt all in one maker?” he asked Stan, who picked up another box.
“The same people who want a pasta press?” he replied. “I didn't even know you could make pasta at home.”
Kyle shrugged and set the box down again. He stepped haphazardly over to the bed and began undressing. Stan joined him, then groaned as he realised he had to get back to the light switch. He managed to make a path to the switch, turned the light of and made it back to the bed, only stubbing his toe three or four times in the process. Kyle sniggered, but received just punishment when Stan shoved him over and climbed into his side of the bed.
“What do you think of the guys?” Stan asked, turning to face Kyle even though it was too dark to make any of his features out.
“None of them seem to have any serious psychological issues. It's really weird.”
“You haven't seen Gary ranting about low quality cheese,” Stan said, laughing. “But yeah, they're way more normal than people in South Park, apart from abusing substances more.”
“Yeah.” Kyle was quiet. “Stan...”
“Yeah?”
“You do still want to come back, right?” Stan laughed. He stopped when he realised Kyle wasn't joining in.
“How can you even ask that?” Stan rolled his eyes. “Like I'd want to stay here!”
“It's a lot less weird than South Park. You don't like South Park. And you've made friends. Sane ones.”
“Yeah, but they're not you,” said Stan. He put a hand on Kyle's arm.“It's still fucked up, like South Park, but I've got no one to talk to who understands that. I need you.”
“Thanks.” Kyle sounded relieved. He moved closer to Stan and put an arm around him.“I really want you back...”
“I want to be back,” said Stan, hugging Kyle close to his chest, his bare skin pressed against Kyle's. “I mean it, dude, it sucks without you.”
“It can't be how much South Park sucks without you,” said Kyle. “I feel like I'm going crazy there. Every day something new and weird happens, and everyone just acts like it's completely normal. Without you, there's no one to agree with me, no one who makes me feel like I'm not a total freak for seeing things rationally. Cartman manages to be a bigger douche than ever, Kenny's too busy trying to get laid to give a crap, Butters is just Butters...” Stan cupped Kyle's face in his hands.
“Kyle. I'll be back. I promise.” He sighed. “Trust me, I'm missing you just as much. I still wake up in the mornings, plan what we could do together, then remember we're miles apart. I spend half of my time wondering what I'm missing at home. I ring you and stuff as often as I can, but it's no substitute for actually being with you. Every film I watch-”
“Makes you think of when we watched it together?” Kyle nodded. “I feel the same. I don't want to touch my games, because every one reminds me of when we played them together.”
“I even tried reading,” Stan admitted. “I didn't really do much reading at home, but I figured it would be easier than doing what we did together. But there was always something that reminded me of you in everything I read.”
“Fuck, we really are codependent, aren't we?” They laughed.
“We can't be that bad. My parents haven't even noticed I'm acting differently,” Stan said, sourly. “And grandpa just keeps ranting about how he hasn't died yet. I'm glad Shelly's moved out, or she'd be as bad as they are.”
“Mom's noticed something. She keeps cooking my favourite things for dinner. Dad keeps bringing me diabetic chocolate. Hell, even Ike has been less of a brat. God, I never thought my family would be less douchey than yours.”
“Can I share them?”
“Marry me and they're legally yours.” Stan nuzzled Kyle's neck. He could just smell the faintest tinge of alcohol on Kyle's breath.
“Sure thing. Let's go to Vegas.”
“Dude!” Kyle's expression still wasn't visible in the dark, but Stan could tell he was grinning. “We should consider that as a fall back option!”
“Except we're still too young to do it without our parents' permission. By the time you're old enough, we'll be in college.”
“Oh yeah.” Kyle sounded glum once again. “And I guess they wouldn't believe either of us if we said we were pregnant.”
“Probably not, dude. Still, I'm flattered that you were considering getting hitched to me,” Stan teased.
“I'm not gonna give it up until you marry me,” Kyle huffed, blowing Stan's fringe from his face.
“Aw, baby, but I love you. Give daddy some sugar.” Kyle shuddered.
“That's sick, dude.”
“Be thankful I didn't make some crack about never letting you down.” His hair was ruffled by another of Kyle's contented sighs.
“It's a lie, anyway.”
“Huh?” Stan frowned, disorientated by the jump in conversation. It didn't help that his body was distracted by Kyle's. “What is?”
“I'd probably let you screw me if you came back to South Park,” said Kyle, completely calmly. “You wouldn't have to marry me.”
“Dude. You can't be serious.” Stan unwillingly pulled back from Kyle. Now the idea had been planted in his mind, there was no hope for him. Kyle wriggled closer again.
“Of course I can.” He sounded it, too. “Otherwise I wouldn't have said it, would I?”
“But...dude. You're straight.” Supposedly. If he were any less straight, at least in relation to how he acted around Stan, he'd probably be wearing neon pink lipstick and matching ten inch heels. Perhaps not pink, actually, since it wouldn't go with his red hair. Maybe purple. Light purple.
“It'd be worth it if you were back.” He groaned. “God, I'm lame. Sorry, dude, I really am far too soppy.”
“Kyle,” Stan said, hesitantly. “Are you one hundred percent sure that you do like girls?”
“Well, yeah,” said Kyle. “Of course I do.”
“You don't think it's a little...odd how quickly you've become accustomed to all of this?”
“Er...no?” Stan sighed.
“Kyle, are you sure that you don't like boys, in addition to girls?”
“Yeah. Otherwise I'd have told you.”
“You don't think that your easy acceptance to doing...stuff with me suggests something else?”
“No.” Kyle sounded less certain now. “I mean, I just really want you back.”
“You don't think you're being extra affectionate?” Kyle was quiet, presumably thinking over what Stan had said.
“Yeah, I probably am,” he admitted, but he sounded confident again. Stan wished he could see Kyle's face better, see how much was acted. Even better, he'd like to see into Kyle's head, see exactly how those cogs were turning. “I mean, after what Cartman did, I was really shook up,” he admitted, his voice low. “I...I keep wondering about what if something did happen to you. I might not get to say goodbye. So...I think I'm keeping you close whilst I can.”
“Oh.” Stan reached out and pulled Kyle into a tight hug. “Dude. That's...”
“Mushy and crap,” Kyle said, laughing and hugging back.
“That wasn't what I was going to say.”
“But it's true. It's not bothering you, is it?”
“What?” Stan frowned and shook his head. “You hugging me and stuff?” Kyle nodded, his hair tickling Stan's neck. “No way, dude. I kind of like it. Guess I just got my hopes up a bit.”
“Sorry,” Kyle sighed. “If I ever do go gay, it'll be for you.”
“Feel free to turn anytime,” Stan joked. Kyle chuckled and pecked Stan's cheek.
“I'll try, even if you are making it sound like being turned by a vampire or werewolf or something.”
Stan laughed. He nipped Kyle's neck lightly, making the other boy squeal and make very futile attempts to push him off.
“There. You've been bitten. Now you have The Gay.”
“Oh no! Not The Gay!” Kyle moved his hands from Stan's body to, presumably, his face, feigning horror, though Stan couldn't be sure given the lack of light. “Does this mean I'll have to help mom decorate the house?”
“No, worse. It means you have to do hot, kinky things with guys. Failure to do so will mean your death.”
“We can't be having that,” Kyle mused.
“No, we can't.”
“So...what do I do now I've been given The Gay?” Kyle asked, putting a hand on Stan's shoulder. “Are you going to guide me down this scary path?”
“As if I would let you go down it alone.” Stan leaned in and caught Kyle's mouth only through chance. For once, Kyle took a moment to respond, and it wasn't his previous, enthusiastic, confident reaction either. Stan slipped his tongue inside Kyle's mouth, hoping it might provoke more of a reaction. Again, Kyle was slow in his response, yet he gave sounds that indicated enjoyment. Strong, manly hands wove around his back, pulling him in. The only potential owner, assuming Stan hadn't suddenly found himself in a horror film, was Kyle.
He threw analysis aside and let himself be pulled by (presumably) Kyle's hands on top of Kyle himself. Said hands were drifting slowly down his back. He shivered, causing Kyle to break the kiss.
“You okay?” he asked, all concern, as though they had been nothing out of the ordinary. Stan nodded.
“Yeah.” He put his hands on Kyle's shoulders and squeezed. “I'm fine. Really.”
“That's going on your epitaph if you die on me now,” Kyle warned, leaning up to kiss him again. Stan kissed back, making a mental note to look up the word 'epitaph' later on. It didn't sound particularly pleasant and really, he was quite content to let this much more enjoyable path continue, especially if he could confirm Kyle's ailment of The Gay to be critical.
He rolled over, pulling Kyle on top of him and making the other squeal like a girl in the process. He slid his hands down Kyle's chest, teasing the fine strands of hair as he went. He slid a finger into Kyle's boxers and twanged the waistband. Kyle inhaled sharply.
“Are you still ridden with The Gay?” he asked.
“Um. Maybe?” said Kyle. “I'm no expert in the matter.”
“Would you like me to get it...out of you?”
“Out? Oh. Um.” There was a painful pause before Kyle spoke again, rushed. “Yeah. You'd better.”
Stan slipped his hand inside Kyle's boxers. His fingers trembled as he acted. Kyle's gasps seemed to echo in Stan's head. He wriggled under Stan's touch, vocalising no words of encouragement or dissatisfaction. He raised his hips a fraction, then pulled them down sharply. His hand enclosed Stan's and took it away.
“No,” he whispered. “No. I think I lost it.”
“Oh.” Stan withdrew from Kyle, his heart sinking like a stone Titanic. “Sorry.”
“It's okay,” Kyle said, though he lacked conviction. “Night.”
“Night, dude...”
*
Stan couldn't safely state how well he'd slept. He was reasonably sure that he had drifted off occasionally, unless his watch had turned into a random number generator overnight. He was even more sure that he had spent hours staring at the ceiling, watching it develop from pitch black to slightly visible to cracked and uneven. Kyle lay beside him in the bed, unmoving, the whole time. Stan didn't know if he slept or not; he didn't dare do so much as whisper his name, and Kyle had faced away from him the whole night long. It was a far cry from the previous night's cuddles. It was unrecognisable from the nights they had spent, all their lives, whispering to each other from dusk until dawn.
Kyle finally rolled over, smiling, and hooked his fingers into the corners of Stan's mouth in order to force a smile out of his friend. Stan made a show of disgust, though really he felt drunk with relief.
“Morning,” said Kyle, removing his fingers and wiping them on the bed covers. “Or afternoon. Whatever.”
“Morning,” Stan said, tapping his watch. “It's only ten.” Kyle grabbed Stan's wrist and checked for himself.
“It's only just gone ten?” he asked, incredulously. “I thought it was early afternoon!”
“Nope. You up to walking home?” Kyle nodded.
“You think your friends are conscious?”
“I wouldn't even bet on them being alive.” They got out of bed, stretching and yawning, and clothed themselves again. Stan did not dare raise any questions and Kyle seemed unwilling to bring the issue up and so the mystery of Kyle's mind went unsolved.
They walked out, the houses shielding them from the worst of San Francisco's sea breeze. Kyle chattered easily, but Stan, who was working off very little rest, could only provide monosyllabic replies. After about twenty minutes of this lopsided conversation, Kyle pulled Stan down onto a handy bench.
“I'm sorry,” he said, before Stan could ask what was going on. “I...I just suddenly felt like what we were doing was wrong, and that I was wrong. Then I started panicking and...and...” He shuddered and shrugged, but offered a small smile as peace offering. “Sorry.”
“It's okay,” Stan replied, as his hopes were thrown into a blender. “I'm sorry I put you in that position-”
“Don't be!” Kyle interrupted, taking Stan's hands and squeezing. “Please, dude, don't beat yourself up. Please? I fucked up, not you.”
“But I-”
“Acted on the information you'd been given. I just deviated from expectations.” He frowned, looking genuinely annoyed with himself. “Seriously. Forgive me?”
“Dude. Like you even need to ask that.” He smiled and Kyle hugged him. “Seriously, I wasn't pissed. I'm just exhausted.”
“Awesome!” He stood up again, offering a hand to Stan. Stan accepted the assistance and began to lead the way once more. “You need to take a nap or anything once we get in?”
“I'll sleep once you're gone.”
“Okay. How about some vegetating in front of the TV?” Stan smiled sleepily.
“Fuck yeah.”
*
Too soon the time for Kyle to leave came. Kyle had hauled his belongings into his bag, only getting the mess of crumpled items to close by sitting on it to squish them down. Even so, there was a definite aura of Kyle about the place. Stan's messy room had sporadic touches of Kyle's selectively organised mind. The books were back in the bookcase and his comics were in order. The video games were back in their respective boxes, rather than in the nearest container that they would fit in to. Then, conversely, was the fact that Kyle's belongings kept popping up unexpectedly around the house.
“Kyle,” Stan had asked, as they had lazed before the television. “Why is your watch on my bookcase?”
“Don't be ridiculous,” Kyle had snorted, waving his bare wrist at Stan. “My watch is right...oh, wait...”
But now as many of Kyle's things as they could find had been shoved into his bag and they were in the car, driving to the airport. Kyle was fiddling with the radio, evidently not finding the popular Californian music unsuited to his taste. But then, Stan remembered, smiling, Kyle had once spent half an hour fiddling with the radio in Colorado, hunting for a rap station, and when he found one he had switched the radio off dismissively because it was too mainstream.
“I wonder if I can smuggle you in my baggage,” Kyle mused. Stan laughed.
“Dude, you seen the size of that bag? The only way I'd fit in is in pieces.” Kyle looked Stan up and down. “That was not a suggestion!”
“Aw.” Kyle sighed. “I'm sure we could sew your limbs back on later...”
“No.”
“We could put your head in a jar, like on Futurama.”
“No.”
“You could date Lucy Liu's head!”
“I'm gay!”
“Well, she wouldn't have any genitals...”
“No, Kyle.” Kyle sighed and gave up on the radio.
“Fine,” he said, sullenly. “Stay in one piece. See if I care.” They arrived at the airport. Stan parked up and they walked inside.
“You have got your ticket, right?”
“Yes, mom.” Kyle looked and sounded subdued. “And I packed my toothbrush. I think.” They reached the long queue for check in. Kyle rummaged through his bag for his ticket. The mountain of books and crumpled clothes that he had carelessly thrown in was evidently slowing his search. Stan helpfully took hold of some of the things to allow Kyle access to the deep recesses of his bag, where his crumpled ticket laid. They reached the front of the queue (it was amazing how long it took Kyle to find things he found uninteresting, it really was) and the bored assistant handed Kyle his boarding card whilst conversing with the frizzy haired girl next to her about the latest episode of the latest vacuous teen drama.
“It's not like we won't see each other for ages,” Kyle said suddenly, apropos of nothing, as they walked towards the security gates. “I'll be back next weekend.”
“Yeah, and that's no time at all.” They stopped before the gates.
“Yeah.” Kyle nodded. Stan smiled and hugged him.
“Text me when you get back,” he said. “Or get online. Or something.”
“Sure.” Kyle grinned weakly. “Try and live without me for the duration of the flight, won't you?”
“I think I can manage for an hour or so.” He released him. Kyle walked away, waving until the last possible second.
Stan waited until he could see Kyle no longer before turning and leaving. He drove home, numb, acting on auto-pilot. He headed straight to his computer and logged into messenger, ready for when Kyle got back to South Park. The email notification pop up caught his eye. Sixty new emails was a bit higher than expected, even accounting for the accepted level of spam that snuck in every day. He clicked it and scrolled through the headings. 'Oh my GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!' from Bebe caught his eye first, followed by 'WHAT????', 'WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?????', 'DID YOU EVER CHEAT ON ME WITH KYLE??????' and 'DID I TURN YOU GAY????' from Wendy. Then there was 'I knew it!' from Kenny, 'Fags' from Craig, 'Is it true???' from Powder... Finally, he latched onto the one which should explain them all: 'Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah!' from Cartman.
I played them the messages! Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah! Everyone thinks you're boning! Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah!