Fic post
Title: Welcome to Yogurt Junction
Rating: NC17ish
Pairing: Stan/Kyle
Summary: Kyle was loathe to discover that he was worth exactly $12.
Notes: I don't legitimately know what I wrote this for. Or why.
It hadn’t been Kyle’s plan to save himself for Stan, but that’s what ended up happening. It certainly wasn’t for lack of trying with other guys, either. From the start of high school Kyle had been attempting to get with basically anyone. In those days, the problem had been that everyone he knew was fucking awful, and few of them were gay. Kyle had ended up all but drunkenly begging Kenny to take him behind the field house on the far side of Stark’s pond, only to receive a pointed, “I’m straight, genius,” though Kyle later swore that Kenny had been egging Kyle on by topping off his mojitos.
Once Kyle got to college he’d redoubled these efforts, joining about eight different gay-student social groups. With no promising developments as he approached the end of his junior year, he submitted his own name to the Jewish Student Union Annual Fundraising Singles Auction. He thought his “Sorry Girls, I’m Gay” T-shirt got the message across, but was purchased anyhow by Shanah Lowenstein for the upsetting price of 12 dollars. He took Shanah out for low-fat soft serve and got himself a large chocolate in a bowl with extra chocolate sprinkles. Then Kyle explained, very carefully, that his T-shirt wasn’t ironic.
“I don’t know,” she said, seductively licking at her chocolate-vanilla twist on a safety cone, little purse tucked under her arm. She had clearly curled her hair after it was already up in a high ponytail. She stunk of hairspray. “I think you like me anyway.”
“I’m into guys, actually, and I’ve never met you,” said Kyle. “I wouldn’t sleep with anyone I let buy me at a charity auction two hours ago.” This was a total lie, as Kyle had already bought new underwear, green apple-scented lube, and a box of Lifestyles 3SUM condoms, the spelling of which bothered him but the shape of which seemed kind of hot. At least, that had been the recommendation Kyle had come up with after reading various condom-review forums, something he hadn’t known existed until recently, but which catered to his well-cultivated neuroses.
Thinking Shanah, if she was anything like most of the Jewish girls he knew, might cry at not getting her 12 dollars’ worth of sex, Kyle was surprised when she said, “Seriously, I think there’s good chemistry here. I know it’s cliché and I’m not saying it to insult you, but, have you ever been with a girl?”
“No,” said Kyle.
“Well, how about a woman?”
“None of them, either.” Kyle was now just eating sprinkles off his ice cream. “I’m actually a virgin.”
“Oh! Then how do you know you don’t like girls? Think about it!” Then she added: “I’m not trying to be patronizing! I’m just saying, you never know if you don’t try!” She took one unsubtle lick of her ice cream cone, starting at the bottom and ending with her lips at the top.
Kyle didn’t feel insulted enough to leave, and he was thinking about it. (He also wasn’t done with his ice cream.) He was 20, and 20 was, in his estimation, kind of ripe. Soon he’d be a 21-year-old virgin, then a 22-year-old virgin. Then he’d be a 30-year-old virgin. Then he’d be dead. Maybe he should just have sex with Shanah Lowenstein. The worst thing that could happen was he’d like it, or he’d cry.
“I dunno,” said Kyle, wishing he weren’t sitting on a wooden bench in front of an ice cream store having this conversation in the proximity of 20 other people. “I’d be more encouraged if you’d paid more than 12 dollars.”
“Are you actually suggesting you’d have sex with me if I’d paid more money for you?”
“Well, kind of,” said Kyle. “But I also think it might not matter to me if I weren’t gay!”
“Ugh, okay, point taken.” She got up and tossed her ice cream in the garbage. “For the record, Kyle, I thought your shirt was ironic!”
“Well, it’s not,” Kyle shouted after her, but she was too far away to hear him, or set on never turning back.
~
Much was running through Kyle’s mind as he unsuccessfully swiped his ID to gain access to his dorm, first once, then a second time. As the metal door slammed behind Kyle, he was wondering how he could be so stupid as to turn down sex, and how he could have been so stupid as to show up to an auction for young Jewish singles and not expect to be purchased and propositioned by a woman. He also regretted eating so much ice cream, which was now sloshing around in his stomach, bathing the eight free slices of pizza Kyle had helped himself to at the auction. It had been kosher pizza, but he’d pretended not to mind. He felt sick about something, anyway, if not the pizza then the ice cream, and if not the pizza or the ice cream, maybe the guilt.
Guilt combined with shock made Kyle more uneasy, and it was certainly shocking to see Stan sitting against Kyle’s door, reading a copy of The Cheese and the Worms on which Stan was writing a paper for his enormous lecture course on early modern Europe, something he wasn’t enjoying. Stan was a medieval and renaissance studies/English double-major, which Kyle would have found surprising if Stan hadn’t planned to go to graduate school and write a dissertation on fairy tales, particularly anything Arthurian, or anything with a lot of homosocial bonding. He liked Beowulf, too, and had a tattoo of Gandalf’s mark, or an Elvish G, whatever. To Kyle it looked a bit like a Hebrew shin and reminded him of Shabbat, something he didn’t celebrate. Stan’s tattoo was on his wrist, at his pulse point. It was the first thing Kyle looked eyes on as he said, “What are you doing here?”
“I came to tell you not to have sex with anyone from that auction.” Stan shut his book and hopped to his feet. “Or at least to find out if you did.”
“I didn’t.” Kyle hoped he didn’t have any chocolate ice cream on his face. “Um, why?”
“Can we go inside?”
“Inside where, inside my dorm room?”
“Yeah, that’s what I meant.” Stan unzipped his backpack and shoved his book back inside.
“I suppose,” said Kyle, shoving Stan out of the way so he could unlock the door. The door was tricky; it had to, somehow, be both pulled and pushed in order for the key to work. Kyle took a moment to force his way in, with Stan behind him. When he did, Stan asked, “Your roommate’s gone?”
“Clearly he’s not here.” Kyle snapped on the lights. It was a pretty standard room, with bunk beds, hutched desks, one barred window. Kyle’s clothes were piled on his desk chair, which embarrassed him somewhat. He began to peel them off and toss them into his hamper, which was really a milk crate next to his garbage can. “I suspect he’s not coming back. Girlfriend.” Kyle’s roommate’s name was Tim, and Kyle wasn’t that into him. They had similar outlooks on room cleanliness, which was to say they were both sloppy.
“Good, that’s good.” Stan had thrown his backpack down by the closet, and was sitting on the lower bunk. This was Kyle’s bed, and it was unmade, olive-colored sheets and beige comforter pushed aside. Mornings weren’t good for Kyle, regardless of whether he’d had a chem lab or slept until 4, which had been the case today. If Kyle had learned one thing in his junior year, it was that he did not like chemistry very much. He also did not like political science, psych, or bio, the three majors he’d declared, and retracted, before landing on chemistry, something he couldn’t get out of because he had run out of time to find a major he liked. His mother thought his waffling was symptomatic of greater insecurity, and Kyle disagreed with her. His waffling was due to hating to be made to do anything.
“So what?” Kyle asked, shoving side some papers to sit on his desk. “What are you doing here?” Stan lived on the other side of campus, in a house run by freegans. Stan was not a freegan per se, but living in the house was inexpensive and some guy Stan had been dating talked him into it. They were broken up now, and Stan got first dibs on anything the dig team found behind the food court. Most members of the house agreed that Nick had been a huge asshole about the whole moving to Vancouver thing. Also, now Nick had moved to Vancouver and Stan was stuck in a freegan house. Kyle refused to go visit him there.
Stan cleared his throat and pushed his hair back. It was kind of shaggy, which Kyle found horribly attractive. Stan was very much his type, which was to say, a lot better-looking than Kyle. It was very frustrating. This was why it was ridiculous that the next thing Stan said was, “Look, I was thinking about that auction. I’m really glad nobody bet on you.”
“Nobody bet on me? I have news for you, some girl bet on me, and she won me. For 12 dollars!”
“That’s what I mean, yeah, I mean - no one for serious bet on you. That’s the worst,” said Stan. “See, I think you’re worth a lot more than 12 dollars. Anyway, yeah, I know that girl bet on you.”
“How? How do you know?”
“Because I was there!”
Kyle’s fist tightened on the hem of his T-shirt. Suddenly he was feeling very sweaty, and it was only early April. “You came to the JSU auction?”
“Well, yeah,” said Stan. “I was gonna bet on you!”
“What!”
“Yeah, I was, but I-”
“God, then why didn’t you? I had to get frozen yogurt, Stan! With a girl! Oh my god, it was so embarrassing. The yogurt I bought her cost almost 12 dollars!”
“I hope you didn’t go to Yogurt Junction,” said Stan. “Their stuff gives me hives.”
“Fuck the yogurt! Why didn’t you bet on me?”
“Because I didn’t have 12 dollars!”
It took a moment for this to sink in. “Wow,” Kyle said, finally. “That’s truly pathetic.”
“I know,” said Stan. “But, at least I can have all the yogurt I want if someone offers it to me out of the dumpsters.”
“I don’t even want to think about it!” Kyle took this moment to surreptitiously reach behind himself and toss his day-old banana peel into the garbage.
“So what I’m saying is, I like you. I have for a while. Romantically.” Stan started playing with his hair again. “That’s all.”
“That’s all?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” Kyle slid off the desk. “Do you want to hang out for a sec? I’ll, um. Go to the restroom.”
“I like your shirt,” said Stan. Kyle noticed he was blushing. Then Stan covered his mouth.
“Yeah, thanks. Just - I’ll be back.”
Kyle left as quickly as possible, fleeing to the bathroom, shoes squeaking on the matted industrial carpet. He wore them like slippers, heels crushed under the weight of his feet. They smelled awful and Kyle didn’t care. His feet, he was told, were slightly larger than average, and that made sliding into shoes kind of difficult. Of course, he could always have untied them, but that would have added an extra, like, minute of shoe-tying to his day. As it was he was a very busy man, slamming into the bathroom door, panting, unaware he’d even been running. He splashed cold water onto his face, which did nothing to stifle his erection. He hadn’t realized he had one, but maybe it was all this talk of sex with Shanah. Or maybe it was just Stan showing up there, reading against Kyle’s door, hair the perfect amount of greasy. Kyle wanted to smell it. It probably smelled like wet spinach or seitan or something.
It wasn’t that he’d never thought of having sex with Stan before; it was just that Stan was in a different league. Kyle had never had a boyfriend; Stan had had, like, 30 boyfriends. Kyle tried to count them, but it was too difficult, because in all honesty he wasn’t sure which of these guys he was remembering Stan had actually dated, and which had just been posers hanging around for sex. It was pointless, Kyle figured, turning off the faucet, embarrassed he’d had it running for a full two minutes. That would never be tolerated at the freegan house. He waddled back to his room with an erection, almost losing a shoe as he turned the corner.
“I don’t want to be a statistic,” Kyle said, coming back into the room.
Stan had moved to the desk chair and was using Kyle’s computer to browse a Tumblr full of goat pictures. Stan quickly shut the computer and slid it back into the desk. “Um, what does that mean?”
“Wha - it means I don’t want to be another, like, Nick.”
“Why, are you planning on moving to Canada?”
“No, but I haven’t had a lot of boyfriends.”
“Or any,” said Stan.
“Yeah,” said Kyle. “Or any. So maybe I’d be nervous that I’d just end up as some next guy on your list of conquests.”
“I was dumped by all of those guys,” said Stan, “not the other way around. If anything I was one of their conquests. Also, maybe you’ll hate me, too, and break up with me. Then maybe I’ll be the focus of even more freegan pity, how much would that suck? I’m taking a real chance here.” Stan bit his lip. “That’s all.”
“Good speech.” Kyle turned around and locked the door.
“Thanks.” Stan was playing with his hair again. He was always doing that. “Can I take my shirt off?”
“I’m a virgin,” said Kyle.
“That’s cool. Can I take my shirt off?”
“Why, because if I say you can take your shirt off you’ll think you can just have sex with me?”
“No, because if I take my shirt off you’ll know I want to have sex with you.”
Kyle narrowed his eyes. “I’ve never been shirtless with a man,” he said.
“Well,” said Stan. “You don’t have to take your shirt off.”
“That might be best, yeah. I have a weird rash on my chest.”
“Well, now I’m really turned on,” said Stan.
“Are you being sarcastic?”
Stan sighed, and took his shirt off, despite the fact that he had not secured permission to do so yet. “How badly do you want this not to happen? Because I still want it, see? Come on.”
Kyle took a step forward. “I did buy some green apple-scented lube,” he said. “And these awful condoms.”
“For me?”
“No, you presumptuous ass,” said Kyle. “For the auction.”
“Well, now who’s the presumptuous ass?”
Something about the word “ass” got Kyle excited, and he gracelessly leaped forward enough that to crash into Stan’s knees.
“Hey,” said Stan. “Watch out.”
“No time.” Kyle was pulling his shirt off, and he managed to somehow fling it onto Tim’s top bunk.
“Aw, that’s not a rash.” Stan sounded disappointed. “That’s just some eczema, dude, you just need some lotion. That’s not bad, I get that all the time. Everyone gets that all the time.”
“Shut up! Just-” Unsure what else to do, Kyle smashed his mouth onto Stan’s. He’d done this twice before, in earnest; once had been with a kid on his Birthright trip who chewed root beer-flavored novelty gum, and the second time was after Kyle had drunk about six green beers on St. Patrick’s day and gone to town on some also-drunk lesbian wearing an emerald blazer that didn’t fit so great. Kyle had no memory of this, but there were pictures of it on Facebook. He later recalled the blazer in particular.
Pushing Kyle away, Stan said, “I’m not coercing you into anything, right?”
“Me?” Kyle wiped his lips. “No, why?”
“I don’t know,” said Stan. “Clearly you’re new at this. Green apple lube?”
Kyle had no response for that. Suddenly it felt foolish to him, and also, Stan’s hand was inside his boxers. “You’re good at this,” he panted, resting his cheek on Stan’s head.
“Really I haven’t.”
“But you’ll fuck me, right?”
“Right,” said Stan. “If you want that.”
“I want it!”
“I didn’t come here to have sex. I just wanted to tell you how I felt.” Stan said this as his finger was sneaking around the entrance to Kyle’s ass.
“Here’s what I want,” said Kyle, hoping he was being clear and articulate. “I just want to be fucked, okay? It’s been forever. I mean, I never. I mean, fuck, I can’t really think straight with your finger in there.”
“The thing is,” said Stan, “you don’t want to use green apple lube in your butt.”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” Stan was now sort of jabbing two of his fingers around the inside of Kyle’s ass. Kyle wondered if Stan was looking for his prostate, and having some trouble. The exercise felt somewhat indiscriminate. “I mean, it’ll get kinda sticky in there. In here.”
“So?” It sounded like Kyle was hissing, though if he was, it would have been rather involuntary. “Why would I care if it’s sticky inside my ass?”
“It’ll get sticky everywhere.” The tone of Stan’s had become huskier, to the point where he was just about thick enough to make Kyle suck in a sharp breath. “You okay?”
“Great! Don’t stop-”
“Well - before things get busy, let’s get in the bed-”
There followed kissing, real kissing, the likes of which Kyle had never before had. He barely knew which he wanted more, Stan’s fingers shoved up his ass, casually brushing Kyle’s prostate all too briefly every 30 seconds; or for Stan to grab Kyle’s ears and really pull him into the kiss, to refuse to let Kyle go. The latter won out, but only because Kyle suspected Stan might get a better angle, and Kyle’s prostate might see more sustained action, if Stan no longer had to wedge his fingers up into Kyle’s ass through his jeans and underwear, and around the back of Kyle’s torso.
Kyle felt a bit like a kid at some cheap buffet, or maybe he was reminded too closely of cramming his mouth full of charity-auction pizza. Stan didn’t taste like pizza, but the memory lingered in Kyle’s mouth, and he was having trouble focusing on where he wanted this to go. He knew he had borne his virginity too long, like it was a real burden that he now had to be rid of. He’d never stopped to consider how doing it with Stan might shift the narrative. Gross though the situation felt (the banana peel had actually missed the trash can and Kyle had stepped in it while falling into bed), there was also a kind of rightness to it. Stan’s body was good, in Kyle’s estimation; he was neither athletic nor emaciated. There was flesh on Stan’s frame, but not to excess. Under clothing it made the impression of average height and width. Under Kyle’s fingers it felt exciting, and Stan’s skin was very yielding.
Kyle felt worse about his own body, which was disproportionate. He had long legs that were sparsely hairy, hips for millennia, a very narrow waist, a soft chest riddled with eczema, and spindly arms. He wasn’t much shorter than Stan, and Kyle had been told that his self-image was not quite faithful to others’ perception. Still, it was how Kyle saw himself, and it coupled with his inexperienced to make this moment surreal. Just in passing did it occur to Kyle that if this continued, he might never make it with another boy again. Stan didn’t seem as though he was ready to settle down, but then, he was also very concrete about the future, knowing what he wanted to study and faithfully reading his history assignments. Kyle, on the other hand, had only ever wanted to have sex. Now that he was having it, he found himself drawing a blank, even as Stan was sucking at Kyle’s neck in a manner that Kyle was reasonably certain would end with having to wear a scarf for the next month even though it was April.
Pants off, lips locked, Stan slid his erection between Kyle’s thighs. This was the sexiest thing that had ever happened, at least until Stan grunted, “Where’s that lube,” and slid off of Kyle and off of the bed to go find it.
“Bottom desk drawer.” Kyle rolled onto his side, appreciating the way Stan’s thighs framed his genitals, everything nestled in pornographic black hair. It was fine and straight, which was nice, because it didn’t seem too unruly.
“So you just want me to-”
“Yeah.” Truthfully, Kyle was not exactly sure what he wanted, but he wasn’t about to expose his insecurity about the prospect of actually having sex. Instead, he rolled to his side and, facing away from Stan, raised his leg. Being lazy, he hooked his toes between Tim’s mattress and the metal slats that ran horizontally across the bed above Kyle’s. He also reached behind himself and, using his hand, lifted his ass cheek so that Stan could see pretty much everything.
“This is not going to be very effective,” said Stan.
Kyle unhooked his leg and got onto his back again, looking up at Stan, scowling. “Well, why not?”
“For one thing, that hardly seems comfortable. For another, it’s not very sexy.”
“It’s not?”
“No,” said Stan. “I’m getting the feeling you just want to fuck, which is fine, and I get it, but - exposing your ass to me like it’s some sink that has to be unclogged, like you’re disavowing it-”
“I’m not disavowing it! I’m nervous!”
“I get being nervous, I’m nervous too-”
“You don’t seem very nervous!”
“Well, I feel just about sick to my stomach, at this point,” said Stan. “Look, can we just go back to what we were doing before?”
“What were we doing before?” Kyle asked.
“This,” said Stan. “You know…” His fingers were slippery with lube as he grabbed Kyle’s waist.
“Yuck,” said Kyle. “You were not getting me all disgusting with that sticky lube before.”
Carefully, Stan straddled Kyle, pinning him to the mattress, bringing their hips together. He grabbed Kyle’s bare shoulders and dipped in to kiss him, lips meeting gently.
It was the second time Kyle had felt Stan’s arousal, and it seemed like a moment of great personal triumph. Kyle could scarcely believe anyone, let alone someone who’d actually had sex with other people, was finding Kyle arousing. The very thought of having inspired, or at the very least furthered, another person’s erection make Kyle spread his legs, wishing it were easier to look at Stan in this position. Unfortunately, the mattress above them was preventing Kyle from getting the best view. They could either move to the floor or move to Tim’s bed, but the floor was hard and Tim’s bed was four-and-a-half feet from the ceiling. It was really difficult, making out in this dorm room.
“Can we go back to your place?” Kyle asked. He had to remove his face from Stan’s neck in order to do so. As he shifted he could feel the product of Stan’s arousal all over his thighs. Maybe it was both of their stuff combining, all over like that. Pre-come, yeah. That was what. Things were leaky! Kyle liked that.
“I dunno,” said Stan. “It’s full of freegans.”
“How do freegans feel about communal love?”
“You mean, like, some of them joining in? I’m not into that.”
“No,” said Kyle. I meant like, our love, um, in commune - never mind.”
Maybe there was some of that stupid lube mixed in with the pre-come. It did smell vaguely like apples.
Tugging at Stan’s hair, Kyle said, “Just fuck me. Please! I mean it. I’ve been waiting forever.”
“For me?”
“Well.” Kyle felt almost overwhelmed, and certainly Stan’s expression wasn’t helping. “For someone, Stan, for anyone. I know I’m not attractive, I don’t smell great-”
“You smell great to me!”
“Thanks.” Again, Kyle lifted his leg to try to shift Stan’s erection more toward the place Kyle wanted it to go. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, or how this is going to feel-”
“If I do it right it should feel pretty good…”
“-but I know I need to have it, so - please?”
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me!” Kyle said, shocking himself with his own sense of urgency.
“Okay,” said Stan. “I can do that.”
Stan positioned a pillow behind Kyle’s head, and one under Kyle’s lower back. He was unable to kneel, but he helped lift one of Kyle’s legs behind the small of his back, which gave Kyle some lift. “Fuck these beds,” Stan said, angling his dick toward Kyle’s hole. This was the first view of it he was getting head-on; it looked so much smaller than it had felt when Stan had just had his hand down the back of Kyle’s pants.
Echoing these thoughts, Kyle said, “Your cock is prohibitively large.”
Stan blushed, because he’d never thought of it that way, and the idea was worrying. “Prohibitively?”
“No, just - just put it in! Please, stop making me wait-”
So Stan did what was asked of him, palming a generous handful of apple lube around his dick before easing it in, leaving his cock green-tinted and sweet-smelling as it slid, slowly, into Kyle’s ass. Kyle sighed around it, even as Stan could only manage to fit gradual portions of it in at one time - first the head, then the sensitive bit beneath the head, and so on. The best part was that Kyle groaned through the process, not in pain but clearly aroused, reaching for his own hard dick. Stan pulled one of Kyle’s hands from his cock and, voice heavy, said, “Allow me.”
From a purely logistical standpoint this was a poor decision, leaving Stan at an awkward angle as he supported his weight all on one elbow, while stroking Kyle in awkward tugs with his other hand. Due to his inexperience, though, or maybe out of sheer joy, Kyle managed not to notice how graceless this moment was, lacking fluidity. He arched his back and moaned in great, long gasps, unsure where to put his hands. One moment he was cupping Stan’s ass as Stan thrust, as if trying to shove Stan in as deep as possible. The next Kyle was pinching his nipples, rolling them to tight peaks.
“You’re good at this,” Kyle said, grasping at Stan’s shoulders, his words breathy and short.
“I’m not that good.” Stan was struggling to maintain his balance, and had to let go of his grip on Kyle’s cock. “You’ve just never done it before so you’ve got nothing to compare this to-”
“Don’t stop,” Kyle said. “I was going to come!”
“I’m not stopping, I’m adjusting. Taking a pause is totally fine.” Bodies pressed together, Stan began to kiss Kyle along his jaw, hitching both of Kyle’s ankles up around the small of his back, bellies touching. “I think this is better. Is this better? For you?”
“Just touch me, that’s all I want.”
“Here, let’s try-” And Stan began to thrust again, slower this time, but deeper, too, using the angle to get as far into Kyle as he could.
“This angle’s not as good,” Kyle remarked, “in my - like, inside, it’s not as-”
“Yah, that’s the-the direction’s wrong,” said Stan. “I’m sorry. But how’s-?”
“That’s pretty good.” Kyle tried thrusting against Stan’s pushes, Kyle’s dick snug between his body and Stan’s, leaking into the creases where his hip was pressed back to hook around Stan’s torso. “That’s - really good, actually-”
“I’ll finger you, after,” Stan said, “to make up for-”
Kyle sighed as he came, nails biting into Stan’s back; though they were blunt, Stan’s gasp caught Kyle off-guard, and he recoiled. Meanwhile, Kyle was coming in brief, soft spurts, no more than six or seven of them, really. After Stan had assured him that “it’s fine, mmf, really” in regard to Kyle’s near-gouging of Stan’s soft flesh, Kyle began to feel embarrassed that his entire orgasm had come, and now gone, and it had been minimally impressive. Actually, it had been sort of pathetic, and though Kyle had enjoyed it, he was now unsure (Stan was still fucking him, though the pace had quickened considerably, almost to a frenzy) why he hadn’t considered that this was what was always going to happen. After all, it wasn’t as if Kyle didn’t jerk himself off pretty much all the time. He was familiar with his own orgasms, how they looked nothing like the commercially viable ones he was used to seeing on YouPorn or PornTube or whatever that stupid site was that he’d bookmarked even though he went there so often, his fingers typed the URL from memory even when Kyle was trying to go to his Gmail.
The worst, though, was that Kyle hadn’t even said Stan’s name. Surely this was better than saying anyone else’s name, but, it just felt like a nail in the coffin for the whole experience. So distraught over this was Kyle that he failed to notice that Stan had come, too, and was now panting onto Kyle’s chest, combing jizz out of Kyle’s public hair, and saying, “Kyle, fuck, I love you so much.”
“Shit, no you don’t,” said Kyle, almost by instinct. “No one who says that during sex really means it.”
Stan looked up. “I didn’t say it during sex,” said Stan, “I said it after sex.” His two chief fingers now slick with sweat and semen and the barest hint of tart green apple scent, Stan eased them into Kyle’s ass. It felt a little looser now, just barely, and as Stan opened him up, Kyle felt the barest trickle of something - more of the same, probably - run down the sensitive space between the globes of his ass.
“What an ass,” said Stan, jabbing toward Kyle’s prostate with disturbing force and determination. He sounded worn out, kind of sleepy. “I mean it when I say I love you, but seriously, this ass.”
Kyle’s cock had softened just slightly, though it felt over-sensitive and Kyle declined to reach for it. “That’s so classy of you,” he said, not minding. The fingering felt pretty good, in a noncommittal way; it was more a mental kind of turn-on, the idea that Stan’s dick had been in there just recently. Kyle yawned, feeling pretty great, and at the same time silly for having felt bad and embarrassed just a few moments before.
“What do you want me to call this thing, then?”
“Ass is fine, I guess.”
“Rump, then,” said Stan. “How’s ‘rump’?”
“That makes me feel like a piece of beef.”
“There are worse things. How about ‘fanny’?”
“Definitely not. That makes me feel super gay!”
“Well, aren’t you?”
“I don’t feel, like, super gay,” said Kyle, who was feeling quite tired all of a sudden. “More just like, regular into-guys kind.”
“Yeah.” Stan slid his fingers from Kyle ass and gave it a little smack. “I know that feeling.”
“You’re super good at this.” Kyle yawned again, wanting to drift to sleep.
“Man, no one’s ever said that to me before.”
“You’ve been having sex with rude people.”
“You’ve been having sex with no one,” said Stan.
“In all honesty, though, I enjoyed it. You’re not going to run back to the freegan house, are you?”
“This bed’s a little small for two people.”
“Then I’ll let go of you after I just rest for a few minutes,” said Kyle. “Be careful not to hit your head on Nick’s bunk, though.”
“I won’t,” Stan agreed, though when he did get up, he managed to do so anyway. His mouth was dry; the lights were on.
It was morning.
Rating: NC17ish
Pairing: Stan/Kyle
Summary: Kyle was loathe to discover that he was worth exactly $12.
Notes: I don't legitimately know what I wrote this for. Or why.
It hadn’t been Kyle’s plan to save himself for Stan, but that’s what ended up happening. It certainly wasn’t for lack of trying with other guys, either. From the start of high school Kyle had been attempting to get with basically anyone. In those days, the problem had been that everyone he knew was fucking awful, and few of them were gay. Kyle had ended up all but drunkenly begging Kenny to take him behind the field house on the far side of Stark’s pond, only to receive a pointed, “I’m straight, genius,” though Kyle later swore that Kenny had been egging Kyle on by topping off his mojitos.
Once Kyle got to college he’d redoubled these efforts, joining about eight different gay-student social groups. With no promising developments as he approached the end of his junior year, he submitted his own name to the Jewish Student Union Annual Fundraising Singles Auction. He thought his “Sorry Girls, I’m Gay” T-shirt got the message across, but was purchased anyhow by Shanah Lowenstein for the upsetting price of 12 dollars. He took Shanah out for low-fat soft serve and got himself a large chocolate in a bowl with extra chocolate sprinkles. Then Kyle explained, very carefully, that his T-shirt wasn’t ironic.
“I don’t know,” she said, seductively licking at her chocolate-vanilla twist on a safety cone, little purse tucked under her arm. She had clearly curled her hair after it was already up in a high ponytail. She stunk of hairspray. “I think you like me anyway.”
“I’m into guys, actually, and I’ve never met you,” said Kyle. “I wouldn’t sleep with anyone I let buy me at a charity auction two hours ago.” This was a total lie, as Kyle had already bought new underwear, green apple-scented lube, and a box of Lifestyles 3SUM condoms, the spelling of which bothered him but the shape of which seemed kind of hot. At least, that had been the recommendation Kyle had come up with after reading various condom-review forums, something he hadn’t known existed until recently, but which catered to his well-cultivated neuroses.
Thinking Shanah, if she was anything like most of the Jewish girls he knew, might cry at not getting her 12 dollars’ worth of sex, Kyle was surprised when she said, “Seriously, I think there’s good chemistry here. I know it’s cliché and I’m not saying it to insult you, but, have you ever been with a girl?”
“No,” said Kyle.
“Well, how about a woman?”
“None of them, either.” Kyle was now just eating sprinkles off his ice cream. “I’m actually a virgin.”
“Oh! Then how do you know you don’t like girls? Think about it!” Then she added: “I’m not trying to be patronizing! I’m just saying, you never know if you don’t try!” She took one unsubtle lick of her ice cream cone, starting at the bottom and ending with her lips at the top.
Kyle didn’t feel insulted enough to leave, and he was thinking about it. (He also wasn’t done with his ice cream.) He was 20, and 20 was, in his estimation, kind of ripe. Soon he’d be a 21-year-old virgin, then a 22-year-old virgin. Then he’d be a 30-year-old virgin. Then he’d be dead. Maybe he should just have sex with Shanah Lowenstein. The worst thing that could happen was he’d like it, or he’d cry.
“I dunno,” said Kyle, wishing he weren’t sitting on a wooden bench in front of an ice cream store having this conversation in the proximity of 20 other people. “I’d be more encouraged if you’d paid more than 12 dollars.”
“Are you actually suggesting you’d have sex with me if I’d paid more money for you?”
“Well, kind of,” said Kyle. “But I also think it might not matter to me if I weren’t gay!”
“Ugh, okay, point taken.” She got up and tossed her ice cream in the garbage. “For the record, Kyle, I thought your shirt was ironic!”
“Well, it’s not,” Kyle shouted after her, but she was too far away to hear him, or set on never turning back.
~
Much was running through Kyle’s mind as he unsuccessfully swiped his ID to gain access to his dorm, first once, then a second time. As the metal door slammed behind Kyle, he was wondering how he could be so stupid as to turn down sex, and how he could have been so stupid as to show up to an auction for young Jewish singles and not expect to be purchased and propositioned by a woman. He also regretted eating so much ice cream, which was now sloshing around in his stomach, bathing the eight free slices of pizza Kyle had helped himself to at the auction. It had been kosher pizza, but he’d pretended not to mind. He felt sick about something, anyway, if not the pizza then the ice cream, and if not the pizza or the ice cream, maybe the guilt.
Guilt combined with shock made Kyle more uneasy, and it was certainly shocking to see Stan sitting against Kyle’s door, reading a copy of The Cheese and the Worms on which Stan was writing a paper for his enormous lecture course on early modern Europe, something he wasn’t enjoying. Stan was a medieval and renaissance studies/English double-major, which Kyle would have found surprising if Stan hadn’t planned to go to graduate school and write a dissertation on fairy tales, particularly anything Arthurian, or anything with a lot of homosocial bonding. He liked Beowulf, too, and had a tattoo of Gandalf’s mark, or an Elvish G, whatever. To Kyle it looked a bit like a Hebrew shin and reminded him of Shabbat, something he didn’t celebrate. Stan’s tattoo was on his wrist, at his pulse point. It was the first thing Kyle looked eyes on as he said, “What are you doing here?”
“I came to tell you not to have sex with anyone from that auction.” Stan shut his book and hopped to his feet. “Or at least to find out if you did.”
“I didn’t.” Kyle hoped he didn’t have any chocolate ice cream on his face. “Um, why?”
“Can we go inside?”
“Inside where, inside my dorm room?”
“Yeah, that’s what I meant.” Stan unzipped his backpack and shoved his book back inside.
“I suppose,” said Kyle, shoving Stan out of the way so he could unlock the door. The door was tricky; it had to, somehow, be both pulled and pushed in order for the key to work. Kyle took a moment to force his way in, with Stan behind him. When he did, Stan asked, “Your roommate’s gone?”
“Clearly he’s not here.” Kyle snapped on the lights. It was a pretty standard room, with bunk beds, hutched desks, one barred window. Kyle’s clothes were piled on his desk chair, which embarrassed him somewhat. He began to peel them off and toss them into his hamper, which was really a milk crate next to his garbage can. “I suspect he’s not coming back. Girlfriend.” Kyle’s roommate’s name was Tim, and Kyle wasn’t that into him. They had similar outlooks on room cleanliness, which was to say they were both sloppy.
“Good, that’s good.” Stan had thrown his backpack down by the closet, and was sitting on the lower bunk. This was Kyle’s bed, and it was unmade, olive-colored sheets and beige comforter pushed aside. Mornings weren’t good for Kyle, regardless of whether he’d had a chem lab or slept until 4, which had been the case today. If Kyle had learned one thing in his junior year, it was that he did not like chemistry very much. He also did not like political science, psych, or bio, the three majors he’d declared, and retracted, before landing on chemistry, something he couldn’t get out of because he had run out of time to find a major he liked. His mother thought his waffling was symptomatic of greater insecurity, and Kyle disagreed with her. His waffling was due to hating to be made to do anything.
“So what?” Kyle asked, shoving side some papers to sit on his desk. “What are you doing here?” Stan lived on the other side of campus, in a house run by freegans. Stan was not a freegan per se, but living in the house was inexpensive and some guy Stan had been dating talked him into it. They were broken up now, and Stan got first dibs on anything the dig team found behind the food court. Most members of the house agreed that Nick had been a huge asshole about the whole moving to Vancouver thing. Also, now Nick had moved to Vancouver and Stan was stuck in a freegan house. Kyle refused to go visit him there.
Stan cleared his throat and pushed his hair back. It was kind of shaggy, which Kyle found horribly attractive. Stan was very much his type, which was to say, a lot better-looking than Kyle. It was very frustrating. This was why it was ridiculous that the next thing Stan said was, “Look, I was thinking about that auction. I’m really glad nobody bet on you.”
“Nobody bet on me? I have news for you, some girl bet on me, and she won me. For 12 dollars!”
“That’s what I mean, yeah, I mean - no one for serious bet on you. That’s the worst,” said Stan. “See, I think you’re worth a lot more than 12 dollars. Anyway, yeah, I know that girl bet on you.”
“How? How do you know?”
“Because I was there!”
Kyle’s fist tightened on the hem of his T-shirt. Suddenly he was feeling very sweaty, and it was only early April. “You came to the JSU auction?”
“Well, yeah,” said Stan. “I was gonna bet on you!”
“What!”
“Yeah, I was, but I-”
“God, then why didn’t you? I had to get frozen yogurt, Stan! With a girl! Oh my god, it was so embarrassing. The yogurt I bought her cost almost 12 dollars!”
“I hope you didn’t go to Yogurt Junction,” said Stan. “Their stuff gives me hives.”
“Fuck the yogurt! Why didn’t you bet on me?”
“Because I didn’t have 12 dollars!”
It took a moment for this to sink in. “Wow,” Kyle said, finally. “That’s truly pathetic.”
“I know,” said Stan. “But, at least I can have all the yogurt I want if someone offers it to me out of the dumpsters.”
“I don’t even want to think about it!” Kyle took this moment to surreptitiously reach behind himself and toss his day-old banana peel into the garbage.
“So what I’m saying is, I like you. I have for a while. Romantically.” Stan started playing with his hair again. “That’s all.”
“That’s all?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” Kyle slid off the desk. “Do you want to hang out for a sec? I’ll, um. Go to the restroom.”
“I like your shirt,” said Stan. Kyle noticed he was blushing. Then Stan covered his mouth.
“Yeah, thanks. Just - I’ll be back.”
Kyle left as quickly as possible, fleeing to the bathroom, shoes squeaking on the matted industrial carpet. He wore them like slippers, heels crushed under the weight of his feet. They smelled awful and Kyle didn’t care. His feet, he was told, were slightly larger than average, and that made sliding into shoes kind of difficult. Of course, he could always have untied them, but that would have added an extra, like, minute of shoe-tying to his day. As it was he was a very busy man, slamming into the bathroom door, panting, unaware he’d even been running. He splashed cold water onto his face, which did nothing to stifle his erection. He hadn’t realized he had one, but maybe it was all this talk of sex with Shanah. Or maybe it was just Stan showing up there, reading against Kyle’s door, hair the perfect amount of greasy. Kyle wanted to smell it. It probably smelled like wet spinach or seitan or something.
It wasn’t that he’d never thought of having sex with Stan before; it was just that Stan was in a different league. Kyle had never had a boyfriend; Stan had had, like, 30 boyfriends. Kyle tried to count them, but it was too difficult, because in all honesty he wasn’t sure which of these guys he was remembering Stan had actually dated, and which had just been posers hanging around for sex. It was pointless, Kyle figured, turning off the faucet, embarrassed he’d had it running for a full two minutes. That would never be tolerated at the freegan house. He waddled back to his room with an erection, almost losing a shoe as he turned the corner.
“I don’t want to be a statistic,” Kyle said, coming back into the room.
Stan had moved to the desk chair and was using Kyle’s computer to browse a Tumblr full of goat pictures. Stan quickly shut the computer and slid it back into the desk. “Um, what does that mean?”
“Wha - it means I don’t want to be another, like, Nick.”
“Why, are you planning on moving to Canada?”
“No, but I haven’t had a lot of boyfriends.”
“Or any,” said Stan.
“Yeah,” said Kyle. “Or any. So maybe I’d be nervous that I’d just end up as some next guy on your list of conquests.”
“I was dumped by all of those guys,” said Stan, “not the other way around. If anything I was one of their conquests. Also, maybe you’ll hate me, too, and break up with me. Then maybe I’ll be the focus of even more freegan pity, how much would that suck? I’m taking a real chance here.” Stan bit his lip. “That’s all.”
“Good speech.” Kyle turned around and locked the door.
“Thanks.” Stan was playing with his hair again. He was always doing that. “Can I take my shirt off?”
“I’m a virgin,” said Kyle.
“That’s cool. Can I take my shirt off?”
“Why, because if I say you can take your shirt off you’ll think you can just have sex with me?”
“No, because if I take my shirt off you’ll know I want to have sex with you.”
Kyle narrowed his eyes. “I’ve never been shirtless with a man,” he said.
“Well,” said Stan. “You don’t have to take your shirt off.”
“That might be best, yeah. I have a weird rash on my chest.”
“Well, now I’m really turned on,” said Stan.
“Are you being sarcastic?”
Stan sighed, and took his shirt off, despite the fact that he had not secured permission to do so yet. “How badly do you want this not to happen? Because I still want it, see? Come on.”
Kyle took a step forward. “I did buy some green apple-scented lube,” he said. “And these awful condoms.”
“For me?”
“No, you presumptuous ass,” said Kyle. “For the auction.”
“Well, now who’s the presumptuous ass?”
Something about the word “ass” got Kyle excited, and he gracelessly leaped forward enough that to crash into Stan’s knees.
“Hey,” said Stan. “Watch out.”
“No time.” Kyle was pulling his shirt off, and he managed to somehow fling it onto Tim’s top bunk.
“Aw, that’s not a rash.” Stan sounded disappointed. “That’s just some eczema, dude, you just need some lotion. That’s not bad, I get that all the time. Everyone gets that all the time.”
“Shut up! Just-” Unsure what else to do, Kyle smashed his mouth onto Stan’s. He’d done this twice before, in earnest; once had been with a kid on his Birthright trip who chewed root beer-flavored novelty gum, and the second time was after Kyle had drunk about six green beers on St. Patrick’s day and gone to town on some also-drunk lesbian wearing an emerald blazer that didn’t fit so great. Kyle had no memory of this, but there were pictures of it on Facebook. He later recalled the blazer in particular.
Pushing Kyle away, Stan said, “I’m not coercing you into anything, right?”
“Me?” Kyle wiped his lips. “No, why?”
“I don’t know,” said Stan. “Clearly you’re new at this. Green apple lube?”
Kyle had no response for that. Suddenly it felt foolish to him, and also, Stan’s hand was inside his boxers. “You’re good at this,” he panted, resting his cheek on Stan’s head.
“Really I haven’t.”
“But you’ll fuck me, right?”
“Right,” said Stan. “If you want that.”
“I want it!”
“I didn’t come here to have sex. I just wanted to tell you how I felt.” Stan said this as his finger was sneaking around the entrance to Kyle’s ass.
“Here’s what I want,” said Kyle, hoping he was being clear and articulate. “I just want to be fucked, okay? It’s been forever. I mean, I never. I mean, fuck, I can’t really think straight with your finger in there.”
“The thing is,” said Stan, “you don’t want to use green apple lube in your butt.”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” Stan was now sort of jabbing two of his fingers around the inside of Kyle’s ass. Kyle wondered if Stan was looking for his prostate, and having some trouble. The exercise felt somewhat indiscriminate. “I mean, it’ll get kinda sticky in there. In here.”
“So?” It sounded like Kyle was hissing, though if he was, it would have been rather involuntary. “Why would I care if it’s sticky inside my ass?”
“It’ll get sticky everywhere.” The tone of Stan’s had become huskier, to the point where he was just about thick enough to make Kyle suck in a sharp breath. “You okay?”
“Great! Don’t stop-”
“Well - before things get busy, let’s get in the bed-”
There followed kissing, real kissing, the likes of which Kyle had never before had. He barely knew which he wanted more, Stan’s fingers shoved up his ass, casually brushing Kyle’s prostate all too briefly every 30 seconds; or for Stan to grab Kyle’s ears and really pull him into the kiss, to refuse to let Kyle go. The latter won out, but only because Kyle suspected Stan might get a better angle, and Kyle’s prostate might see more sustained action, if Stan no longer had to wedge his fingers up into Kyle’s ass through his jeans and underwear, and around the back of Kyle’s torso.
Kyle felt a bit like a kid at some cheap buffet, or maybe he was reminded too closely of cramming his mouth full of charity-auction pizza. Stan didn’t taste like pizza, but the memory lingered in Kyle’s mouth, and he was having trouble focusing on where he wanted this to go. He knew he had borne his virginity too long, like it was a real burden that he now had to be rid of. He’d never stopped to consider how doing it with Stan might shift the narrative. Gross though the situation felt (the banana peel had actually missed the trash can and Kyle had stepped in it while falling into bed), there was also a kind of rightness to it. Stan’s body was good, in Kyle’s estimation; he was neither athletic nor emaciated. There was flesh on Stan’s frame, but not to excess. Under clothing it made the impression of average height and width. Under Kyle’s fingers it felt exciting, and Stan’s skin was very yielding.
Kyle felt worse about his own body, which was disproportionate. He had long legs that were sparsely hairy, hips for millennia, a very narrow waist, a soft chest riddled with eczema, and spindly arms. He wasn’t much shorter than Stan, and Kyle had been told that his self-image was not quite faithful to others’ perception. Still, it was how Kyle saw himself, and it coupled with his inexperienced to make this moment surreal. Just in passing did it occur to Kyle that if this continued, he might never make it with another boy again. Stan didn’t seem as though he was ready to settle down, but then, he was also very concrete about the future, knowing what he wanted to study and faithfully reading his history assignments. Kyle, on the other hand, had only ever wanted to have sex. Now that he was having it, he found himself drawing a blank, even as Stan was sucking at Kyle’s neck in a manner that Kyle was reasonably certain would end with having to wear a scarf for the next month even though it was April.
Pants off, lips locked, Stan slid his erection between Kyle’s thighs. This was the sexiest thing that had ever happened, at least until Stan grunted, “Where’s that lube,” and slid off of Kyle and off of the bed to go find it.
“Bottom desk drawer.” Kyle rolled onto his side, appreciating the way Stan’s thighs framed his genitals, everything nestled in pornographic black hair. It was fine and straight, which was nice, because it didn’t seem too unruly.
“So you just want me to-”
“Yeah.” Truthfully, Kyle was not exactly sure what he wanted, but he wasn’t about to expose his insecurity about the prospect of actually having sex. Instead, he rolled to his side and, facing away from Stan, raised his leg. Being lazy, he hooked his toes between Tim’s mattress and the metal slats that ran horizontally across the bed above Kyle’s. He also reached behind himself and, using his hand, lifted his ass cheek so that Stan could see pretty much everything.
“This is not going to be very effective,” said Stan.
Kyle unhooked his leg and got onto his back again, looking up at Stan, scowling. “Well, why not?”
“For one thing, that hardly seems comfortable. For another, it’s not very sexy.”
“It’s not?”
“No,” said Stan. “I’m getting the feeling you just want to fuck, which is fine, and I get it, but - exposing your ass to me like it’s some sink that has to be unclogged, like you’re disavowing it-”
“I’m not disavowing it! I’m nervous!”
“I get being nervous, I’m nervous too-”
“You don’t seem very nervous!”
“Well, I feel just about sick to my stomach, at this point,” said Stan. “Look, can we just go back to what we were doing before?”
“What were we doing before?” Kyle asked.
“This,” said Stan. “You know…” His fingers were slippery with lube as he grabbed Kyle’s waist.
“Yuck,” said Kyle. “You were not getting me all disgusting with that sticky lube before.”
Carefully, Stan straddled Kyle, pinning him to the mattress, bringing their hips together. He grabbed Kyle’s bare shoulders and dipped in to kiss him, lips meeting gently.
It was the second time Kyle had felt Stan’s arousal, and it seemed like a moment of great personal triumph. Kyle could scarcely believe anyone, let alone someone who’d actually had sex with other people, was finding Kyle arousing. The very thought of having inspired, or at the very least furthered, another person’s erection make Kyle spread his legs, wishing it were easier to look at Stan in this position. Unfortunately, the mattress above them was preventing Kyle from getting the best view. They could either move to the floor or move to Tim’s bed, but the floor was hard and Tim’s bed was four-and-a-half feet from the ceiling. It was really difficult, making out in this dorm room.
“Can we go back to your place?” Kyle asked. He had to remove his face from Stan’s neck in order to do so. As he shifted he could feel the product of Stan’s arousal all over his thighs. Maybe it was both of their stuff combining, all over like that. Pre-come, yeah. That was what. Things were leaky! Kyle liked that.
“I dunno,” said Stan. “It’s full of freegans.”
“How do freegans feel about communal love?”
“You mean, like, some of them joining in? I’m not into that.”
“No,” said Kyle. I meant like, our love, um, in commune - never mind.”
Maybe there was some of that stupid lube mixed in with the pre-come. It did smell vaguely like apples.
Tugging at Stan’s hair, Kyle said, “Just fuck me. Please! I mean it. I’ve been waiting forever.”
“For me?”
“Well.” Kyle felt almost overwhelmed, and certainly Stan’s expression wasn’t helping. “For someone, Stan, for anyone. I know I’m not attractive, I don’t smell great-”
“You smell great to me!”
“Thanks.” Again, Kyle lifted his leg to try to shift Stan’s erection more toward the place Kyle wanted it to go. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, or how this is going to feel-”
“If I do it right it should feel pretty good…”
“-but I know I need to have it, so - please?”
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me!” Kyle said, shocking himself with his own sense of urgency.
“Okay,” said Stan. “I can do that.”
Stan positioned a pillow behind Kyle’s head, and one under Kyle’s lower back. He was unable to kneel, but he helped lift one of Kyle’s legs behind the small of his back, which gave Kyle some lift. “Fuck these beds,” Stan said, angling his dick toward Kyle’s hole. This was the first view of it he was getting head-on; it looked so much smaller than it had felt when Stan had just had his hand down the back of Kyle’s pants.
Echoing these thoughts, Kyle said, “Your cock is prohibitively large.”
Stan blushed, because he’d never thought of it that way, and the idea was worrying. “Prohibitively?”
“No, just - just put it in! Please, stop making me wait-”
So Stan did what was asked of him, palming a generous handful of apple lube around his dick before easing it in, leaving his cock green-tinted and sweet-smelling as it slid, slowly, into Kyle’s ass. Kyle sighed around it, even as Stan could only manage to fit gradual portions of it in at one time - first the head, then the sensitive bit beneath the head, and so on. The best part was that Kyle groaned through the process, not in pain but clearly aroused, reaching for his own hard dick. Stan pulled one of Kyle’s hands from his cock and, voice heavy, said, “Allow me.”
From a purely logistical standpoint this was a poor decision, leaving Stan at an awkward angle as he supported his weight all on one elbow, while stroking Kyle in awkward tugs with his other hand. Due to his inexperience, though, or maybe out of sheer joy, Kyle managed not to notice how graceless this moment was, lacking fluidity. He arched his back and moaned in great, long gasps, unsure where to put his hands. One moment he was cupping Stan’s ass as Stan thrust, as if trying to shove Stan in as deep as possible. The next Kyle was pinching his nipples, rolling them to tight peaks.
“You’re good at this,” Kyle said, grasping at Stan’s shoulders, his words breathy and short.
“I’m not that good.” Stan was struggling to maintain his balance, and had to let go of his grip on Kyle’s cock. “You’ve just never done it before so you’ve got nothing to compare this to-”
“Don’t stop,” Kyle said. “I was going to come!”
“I’m not stopping, I’m adjusting. Taking a pause is totally fine.” Bodies pressed together, Stan began to kiss Kyle along his jaw, hitching both of Kyle’s ankles up around the small of his back, bellies touching. “I think this is better. Is this better? For you?”
“Just touch me, that’s all I want.”
“Here, let’s try-” And Stan began to thrust again, slower this time, but deeper, too, using the angle to get as far into Kyle as he could.
“This angle’s not as good,” Kyle remarked, “in my - like, inside, it’s not as-”
“Yah, that’s the-the direction’s wrong,” said Stan. “I’m sorry. But how’s-?”
“That’s pretty good.” Kyle tried thrusting against Stan’s pushes, Kyle’s dick snug between his body and Stan’s, leaking into the creases where his hip was pressed back to hook around Stan’s torso. “That’s - really good, actually-”
“I’ll finger you, after,” Stan said, “to make up for-”
Kyle sighed as he came, nails biting into Stan’s back; though they were blunt, Stan’s gasp caught Kyle off-guard, and he recoiled. Meanwhile, Kyle was coming in brief, soft spurts, no more than six or seven of them, really. After Stan had assured him that “it’s fine, mmf, really” in regard to Kyle’s near-gouging of Stan’s soft flesh, Kyle began to feel embarrassed that his entire orgasm had come, and now gone, and it had been minimally impressive. Actually, it had been sort of pathetic, and though Kyle had enjoyed it, he was now unsure (Stan was still fucking him, though the pace had quickened considerably, almost to a frenzy) why he hadn’t considered that this was what was always going to happen. After all, it wasn’t as if Kyle didn’t jerk himself off pretty much all the time. He was familiar with his own orgasms, how they looked nothing like the commercially viable ones he was used to seeing on YouPorn or PornTube or whatever that stupid site was that he’d bookmarked even though he went there so often, his fingers typed the URL from memory even when Kyle was trying to go to his Gmail.
The worst, though, was that Kyle hadn’t even said Stan’s name. Surely this was better than saying anyone else’s name, but, it just felt like a nail in the coffin for the whole experience. So distraught over this was Kyle that he failed to notice that Stan had come, too, and was now panting onto Kyle’s chest, combing jizz out of Kyle’s public hair, and saying, “Kyle, fuck, I love you so much.”
“Shit, no you don’t,” said Kyle, almost by instinct. “No one who says that during sex really means it.”
Stan looked up. “I didn’t say it during sex,” said Stan, “I said it after sex.” His two chief fingers now slick with sweat and semen and the barest hint of tart green apple scent, Stan eased them into Kyle’s ass. It felt a little looser now, just barely, and as Stan opened him up, Kyle felt the barest trickle of something - more of the same, probably - run down the sensitive space between the globes of his ass.
“What an ass,” said Stan, jabbing toward Kyle’s prostate with disturbing force and determination. He sounded worn out, kind of sleepy. “I mean it when I say I love you, but seriously, this ass.”
Kyle’s cock had softened just slightly, though it felt over-sensitive and Kyle declined to reach for it. “That’s so classy of you,” he said, not minding. The fingering felt pretty good, in a noncommittal way; it was more a mental kind of turn-on, the idea that Stan’s dick had been in there just recently. Kyle yawned, feeling pretty great, and at the same time silly for having felt bad and embarrassed just a few moments before.
“What do you want me to call this thing, then?”
“Ass is fine, I guess.”
“Rump, then,” said Stan. “How’s ‘rump’?”
“That makes me feel like a piece of beef.”
“There are worse things. How about ‘fanny’?”
“Definitely not. That makes me feel super gay!”
“Well, aren’t you?”
“I don’t feel, like, super gay,” said Kyle, who was feeling quite tired all of a sudden. “More just like, regular into-guys kind.”
“Yeah.” Stan slid his fingers from Kyle ass and gave it a little smack. “I know that feeling.”
“You’re super good at this.” Kyle yawned again, wanting to drift to sleep.
“Man, no one’s ever said that to me before.”
“You’ve been having sex with rude people.”
“You’ve been having sex with no one,” said Stan.
“In all honesty, though, I enjoyed it. You’re not going to run back to the freegan house, are you?”
“This bed’s a little small for two people.”
“Then I’ll let go of you after I just rest for a few minutes,” said Kyle. “Be careful not to hit your head on Nick’s bunk, though.”
“I won’t,” Stan agreed, though when he did get up, he managed to do so anyway. His mouth was dry; the lights were on.
It was morning.