Hiya, I wrote this for people reading my newest STYLE fanfic, cause I haven't updated in a long time. I feel really bad, and I'll hopefully be updating by Sunday, but I wrote this to make up for my current absence; a little lemon! :D Very mature, very graphic, please choose wisely.


What the fuck.

Stan looked down at his best friend's private journal, of private thoughts that consisted of private secrets and private security in what was privately supposed to be his private privacy. Yet here he was, betraying his best friend's trust right behind his back. Kyle wasn't home; out at track and Stan decided he didn't want to wait for him at the school. He was going to be sleeping over Kyle's house that night and the night after due to his parents being gone on family-visit and his sister out and about, too drunk to care about him. He didn't mind, though, not one bit actually. He loved spending time with his best friend, he loved the way Kyle's fro had chilled into a silky, gloss-coated labyrinth of fire red curls, he loved Kyle's light freckles and nervous smile. He loved the way he chuckled whenever he felt awkward with other people, because after all, he could never feel awkward with Stan. Never. Stan had just realized through these entries of this once private journal that Kyle also harbored much more feelings for Stan. Many more different, silent and confusing ones…

December 3rd, 2008, 1:47 A.M.

Another sleepless night. Am I really to blame here? I feel like I am writing letters, to what I am sure is a ghost. I wonder if I will read back on these entries years from now and be able to pin-point exactly when it was I fell in love with him. No, that's a lie…I think I already know. I mean, I think I was unconsciously falling in love the entire time, completely unaware of my pounding heart and racing mind when I was near him. I used to think of him as a friend, a hero, then a brother and then somewhere along the line…I don't know. I don't fucking know anymore, it was some winter day and I looked into his beautiful fucking indigo eyes and he said something incredibly fucking stupid and then my heart flip-flopped and I realized I was head over heels for the douche! I hate how much I fucking care about him, how he's constantly in every thought passing through my conscious throughout every fucking minute of every fucking day, and I hate how when I see his fucking charming smile my brain craps its pants, unable to move or function any further than realizing the obvious; "I'm in deep shit."

So is it really my fault? If I sleep, I dream of him, if I'm restless, I write about him, if I'm bored, I think about him, if I'm around him all I fucking need or want is him! He's got me tied around that stupid little finger of his, twirling me around and he doesn't even know it! He doesn't even care! He's too busy thinking of Wendy, too consumed by Wendy, too troubled by Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, fucking, fucking, fucking Wendy over and over in his mind, I'm sure of it! What else do I expect, though, huh? Do I expect him to get a hard on when he thinks of me? Haha, a scrawny, freckle-plastered Jew-

boy with sexual-identity crises like me? Oh yeah, that's hot. In any case, he's straight. Not that I'm not. I'm into girls and whatever, I mean…girls are pretty, and sexy and yeah…I could love it. Not like him, though. When I flip through those forbidden magazines I fill my eyes and mind with images that put The Rocky Horror Picture Show to shame, but then when I arch my back and close my eyes I see it…

Angled, uneven, satin, ivory hair flying backward, hungry ocean eyes fluttering, dark fluster across light, but not yet pale skin, thick and worn lips parting as a boyish, pleasured moan escapes him and I want to kill myself! Why does he do this to me?! What the fuck did I do to deserve this?! Holy fucking shit, I wake up in mornings with business to take care of below my belt from heated scenes flashing in my mind during the night, and Jesus fucking Christ, I watch him while he sleeps beside me when he's over. His chest rises and falls, so gracefully, so beautifully, so rhythmically, so cool…and his brows curve in or out or up or down depending on his dream. The other night he was over and I tortured him as he slept. He made a somewhat 'excited' grunt in his sleep and I couldn't help myself.

I leaned down to his ear and begged him as if recited from my very dreams, "Oh, God, Stan…" It was breathy and barely even audible, but he caught it and replied with wanting growls. I tormented his subconscious with those kinds of words. Words of praise, of plea, of pleasure and pardon. He loved it. He wanted it so bad. And, God…I wanted to give it to him so badly…I know I'm not usually so…uhm…graphic in my lingo, but God damn it, he's so fuckable! That fucking adorable pout, his thick, pink tongue, his Listerine-bleached, pearl-white teeth and his childish, wide eyes so fucking gorgeous and fucking hypnotizing. I fucking blame him. I fucking blame him for being so fucking perfect for me. My perfect fucking fit and I can think of nothing…I can think of nothing else. It's so gay. So fucking gay how much I care about him.

I'm like going through menopause when I'm near him; hot flashes, floods of cold in blood whenever "she" walks by, nervous and moody and damn it…it's so hard to keep from kissing him. It's so fucking hard. Last week he looked at me when we were discussing his little slut and he had soaked in all my fake support. He looked at me and told me, "I'm just glad I have you, Kye." I told him, "Ha, yeah, I know it."

What I should've told him was what I really wanted to say, "Stan…Stan Marsh…best friend since I was four, my hero since I was six, my brother since I was eight and…and maybe…you were…my soul mate from the very start."

I mean, belching contests, Wii competitions, DDR challenges, Guitar Hero battles, running around in the cold with him, laughing with him and beating the crap out of each other just for something to do…he's just fucking perfect. From every cell and fiber from the top of his head to the very tip of his toe. He's just everything I love and everything I need and everything I want and he's all I want. I need him, and I want him. I love him. That's disgusting. It's disgusting, isn't it? I can't imagine the hatred, the utter ill that must wash over when one reads this…hearing about my disgusting dreams of him, naked and panting over me, sweating and cursing and yelling and moaning and—


The charcoal-haired boy looked to the door-way, and who should be standing in the door-way but the perverse poet himself. The horror immediately flooded Kyle's face, turning him a sickly pale as Stan flipped the pages frantically towards the front cover. Stan needed to read this aloud to make sure it was real, the first entry he had read that evening, he read aloud to his friend,

"I don't think it's in the way his satin locks of ivory hair rest against his neck and brush against his shoulders. I don't think it's in his princely laugh, his charming smile or delicious scent. It's something deep inside him, some shining magic deep within him that draws me in every time. And I can't go on without him anymore, I wouldn't be able to get up out of bed if he were gone without thinking, 'What's the point?' and while I'm sleeping my spirit crawls out and searches every crevasse and crease to find his loving arms that hold to Wendy Testaburger so hungrily. And, God, if I were told by you that when I die I could become the One for him, then I would take a dagger to my heart this second; if you told me that when I die I could become the wind of South Park, I'd jump from my very window just to wrap myself around him and tangle myself in everything he is and all of his friendly expressions and loving excuses. But what I want most is to become his guardian. Watch him smile, watch him laugh, watch him cry, watch him gasp. I'd watch him sleep, I'd watch him eat, I'd watch him shower and watch him watch T.V. I would watch him undress and re-dress again, I'd watch him grow up and forget me in the end. But long as I can hold him, long as I can love him then it would be okay. I think I could be okay. I love him. Stan Marsh, I'm actually in love with you. I don't expect you to hear me, and I much less expect a response. I don't want to hear a response. I don't want to hear any hurtful words spill from you onto me and this secret attraction, this silent love…I'll keep it to myself if you don't snuff out my burning desire for you. Please."

Stan looked up to his sickish friend. Stan appreciated the messy look his glossy curls took on after running for so long, he even loved the scared-to-death pallid color he became. What did that mean, though?

"S-S-Stan, h-how could y-you g-g-go through m-my f-fucking…" He trailed off; he looked like he was about to be sick on the spot. I stepped forward and he stepped back…

"Kye…tell me more."

Kyle's emerald eyes sank into his and asked outrageously, "W-what?"

Stan's smile was soft like the burning of a homey fireplace as his cheeks pinked, "I want to hear more off your tongue, Kye. I want you to tell me yourself. I don't want you to recite shit either. I want you to tell me some of this shit that's on your mind right now. I want legit love poetry right now."

Kyle's face was writ with shock, but he could never deny Stanley Marsh anything. Stan was sure of that, and as silently promised Kyle replied insecurely, "I want t-to let the people talk a-as they want, cause when I look a-at you I see a beautiful day in your eyes. Cause out of all the people I've known and the places I've been and all the wonders I've seen, it's you…i-it's you…it's you who leads me on through, you who gets me through the day, the one who makes everything okay. It's you, who inspires me to live, to learn and to l-love, the one who makes a Hell below and Heaven above…when I'm around you, it's the 

time to live, and all I want to do is care for all your wounds…I want to replace h-her…but I know I c-can't."

Stan murmured slowly, "I broke up with Wendy last night."

Kyle's face went more white if possible, his romantic issues were clearly pushed aside as he lurched forward and snapped, "W-WHAT? WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?!"

Stan looked up to his friend and asked, "Do you remember…in the sixth grade you and me made a promise that we would lose our virginity illegally by sixteen? Well…I'll be sixteen in a month and I kept trying to…to do it with her."

Kyle's face finally showed evidence of color as Stan continued, "And she really…really, really wanted me to…but for reasons that I still cannot adequately explain to myself…whenever I kissed her, I wasn't really kissing her…I kept…" Stan trailed off, coming back a moment later, "I kept on…fuck. I kept…I kept seeing your face every time I closed my eyes."

Kyle still did not move from the doorway. Stan moved his eyes to Kyle's eagerly swallowing every and any emotion he could decipher from them. He couldn't deny it to himself; Kyle's intimidated confusion was quickly turning him on. Kyle closed his door and rested his back against it, his shoulders were lifted near to his hidden red ears as he mumbled, "W-well…well…what…what do you…uhm…no…I mean I…have you cried yet?"

"If I were really that upset about it, I would've been hiding in my room being emo."

Kyle nearly shuddered at the memory of Emo Stan. It was possibly the saddest thing he had seen to this day. Most aggravating too. Stan stepped forward again, hoping that Kyle would not open the door and try to run away. Their eyes met for a moment, then Kyle's gaze very abruptly found the floor much more interesting than Stan. Stan blushed as he looked at Kyle bashfully looking away. He was still misted with sweat from running, his hair was lose, but it was so silky it was never really tangled. His face would have been plastered with red right below his eyes, that being the signature evidence that Kyle had been at track, but right now his face was beat red all over. His ears were red, his eyes were shocked and confused. Stan looked down his face, his neck, his torso and noticed his pants were unbuttoned. He asked as casually as he could, "You know your pants are undone, right?"

Kyle glanced down at himself and didn't look to Stan, but back to the floor as he muttered, "Yeah, I-I know. I was too lazy after I changed out of the track uniform."

"You walked home with unbuttoned pants?"


Stan perked a brow, "You ran here?"

"Yes a-and that's the only reason my heart is pounding, okay? It has nothing to do with you!" Kyle accused.

Stan flustered and told him, "Okay, okay, I didn't know your heart was…uhm…doing what it's doing."

Kyle looked up to him, "You can't hear it?"

"I'd like to."

Stan wanted to snicker as Kyle's face flooded with more blood. Frankly, he was dizzy with affliction and horrifying surprise, but Kyle did not plan on speaking about it because he was scared that the moment he opened his mouth he would cry. Stan stepped forward again, and as he realized that Kyle was not about to run away, he took the last steps that would leave between them a space of seven inches. He looked to Kyle and his jade eyes melted into his, Stan asked,

"Does looking at me…make you think of me without clothes?"

Kyle's eyes widened further, but he almost inaudibly replied, "Uhm…yes."

Stan blushed and interviewed, "Does it make your heart go fast?"

Kyle swallowed what could have been a ball of fire, then he slowly responded, "Yes."

"Can I please hear it?"

Kyle looked away and approved, "I-I guess…"

Stan leaned down and rested his face against Kyle's chest. The sound was somewhat hypnotizing, just as Kyle said his eyes were. It was very quick, but it was a lot of other things too. It made him feel a lot of things there weren't words for. The closest his brain produced was that it was brave, it was harsh, it was smooth but rigid and it was mesmerizing. Although he could hear it loud and clear, he told Kyle, "Can't hear it…not properly."

With that, Stan lifted his shirt, causing Kyle to gasp at his touch. Stan only smiled to himself and cushioned his ear against Kyle's chest again. It was louder, more powerful now and much stronger. Stan tried to memorize the rhythm of it, the beat, the music that his simple touch created within his best friend. He knew he couldn't memorize it, it was too complex, too moving for him to ever revisit any time he wanted. He closed his eyes, simpering as he felt Kyle's somewhat moist, heated flesh against him. It was strange to think, as this wasn't the closest they'd ever been. They had hugged and slept beside each other for years (at sleep-overs, of course), but right now…in that very moment it was the closest he had ever been to Kyle. Physically and emotionally.

Stan, barely moving at all, moved his ear away and lowered his lips to the pink circle of nerves. He felt and heard Kyle intake sharply when his lips rested against him. He let his lips fall away, but there was still curiosity, there was still a strange but familiar (only until recently) desire to explore Kyle's body. He took the flesh into his mouth again, this time flicking his nearly watering tongue over it; the action was rewarded with a jarred whimper and Kyle's back pushing itself completely against the door. Stan's chilled hands reached up and wrapped around Kyle's thin sides, pulling the bud in while pushing his tongue out and around, circling and rubbing, forcing Kyle to quietly moan.

He could feel Kyle was trying not to enjoy it, trying not to grunt, but the reluctance in the boy's throat only furthered Stan's appetence. His other hand, which had been creating and playing with the opposite, pinked hill, climbed up his shirt and rested against his collarbone. His tongue dragged up heavily, causing Kyle to make a cross of a gasp and a whimper; instantaneously Stan's lips were imprisoning Kyle's. Kyle having been in the midst of his grateful noises left his lips agape, allowing Stan to enter and explore without permission. Stan's right hand still gently held Kyle's side as his left hand traveled out of Kyle's shirt, reaching near Kyle's waist and turning the lock. His right palm returned to Kyle, cupping the boy's jaw-line, just under his ear. Their tongues were hungrily running against each other, their mouths stretching and relaxing in inconsistent intervals. Kyle couldn't break away; after all, his head was just in front of the door, he couldn't move more back.

He pushed forward, nearly shoving Stan back, but flooding Stan with his taste, then he sharply pulled away and tried to catch his breath. Stan knew Kyle wasn't used to making out, wasn't used to the excitement; Stan had grown to tolerate less air while he was with Wendy. He thought it cute and innocent of his red-headed friend. He examined the wine-red shade of Kyle's face as he breathed deeply, his arms still plastered against the door in startle. Kyle's emerald eyes looked up to him, and Stan's heart skipped a million beats all in one. He was nervous, but it was good and he had butterflies, but they didn't want to pour out of his esophagus as they do with Wendy. His eyes were boring through him, tickling his soul, filling him with a giddy and lively flood of emotions; leaving him spellbound. He leaned down, determined to capture his lips again, but before he could, he was stopped by a defiant hand on his chest.


Kyle's expression was almost hurt; hunted. He asked Stan softly, "Why would you do something like that?"

Stan's face flustered as Kyle looked away again, "I-I…I don't understand what…why you…why did you fucking read my fucking…my…my secrets, why would you…why would you steal my secrets, Stan?"

Stan's face was painted a horrid pain and even though he knew full well what Kyle meant he still inquired, "Your secrets?"


Stan cringed at Kyle's sudden, angry volume. Kyle's eyes were glaring at him; not glaring really, but it was an infuriated sadness. A thick coat of mixed, bad emotions was plastered across his eyes, sending Stan's heart plummeting to the bottom of his stomach in despair. Kyle tore away from his hold and leaned on his palms against his desk. His journal was opened, looking up at him. He flipped to one page and muttered,

"Stupid. So very stupid. I can't capture that. I can't take it for my own. It was never offered to me. It's not mine to thieve, it's not mine to hold or kiss or touch. Not mine. Hers."

Kyle looked to Stan again, "What the fuck were you doing and how much did you read?"

Stan's expression drew back into shame as he told Kyle, "I was looking for your yearbook, cause I wanted to see that page with the picture of you and me. The one where we were on the sixth grade trip to New York City and Ms. Collins got that picture of you and me on the bus. We were sweaty from walking for hours and I was so tired that I just let my head collapse onto your shoulder on the way back, and then you fell asleep on top of my head…she thought it was funny. I was looking for it, but I couldn't find the yearbook, then while I was digging, I swore I saw the corner of the picture and I checked, but it was just a bookmark you were using to your…your entries. Then I caught a glimpse of my name, and I know I shouldn't have read, but I couldn't stop myself…I actually…I actually read a lot."

There was a pause and Stan continued, "Kye…about it…when I read it I-''

Kyle was throwing that almost-glare at him again as he stated, "I don't want you to respond."


"No!" His face calmed as he sighed and added, "No. No, I don't want…I don't want to…uhm…no. Just don't. Just don't, please…Stan, I have to look at you for the next two days at the very least…so please, don't tell me. Don't say it, cause I know it already…"


"No." Kyle's eyes very suddenly let slip a single tear that electrocuted Stan's heart and rattled his brain as Kyle begged pathetically, "Please, Stan…please don't say it. W-wait, cause-cause, I know, b-believe me, wait…" Kyle flipped to a specific page and recited, "I can honestly say that I've absolutely never felt this way about anyone, and I can honestly say that I don't think I'll feel this for anyone else ever again. But I'll admire him from afar. Cause I can't have him, I won't have him and I don't deserve him. I'll treasure our strong friendship my whole life, whether it remains until we're old and decrepit or it dies young. I'll never have to make him break my heart that way."

Kyle looked back to Stan and pleaded, "See? See, I know the rules! I get it, I know it, I know what to do and I've done it all right until you fucking cheated! I know what to do, so don't say it…don't. I'd rather hurt in silence than noise, Stan. So please don't say it. Don't tell me anything that's on your mind. Don't tell me that you were weirded out by the entries, but appreciated it and don't tell me all about how you love me, but you don't "love" me, don't tell me how it could never work cause you're "not that way", don't speak, don't even breathe…don't tell me what I know you want to say. Don't speak."

So Stan stood there like an idiot. Kyle wiped away another escaped drop of hurt as it crawled from his thick, dark lashes.

"Fine." Stan told him.

Kyle looked up to him again, his stomach twisting. Stan continued, "I won't tell you how I feel."

Kyle seemed guilted by the way Stan worded himself, but he ignored it and stormed forward. The moment he was only an inch away from Kyle's lost, intimidated eyes he took Kyle's shoulders in his hold and pushed Kyle violently to the floor with a thud. Kyle rubbed the back of his head in pain as Stan towered over him in angered dominance. Stan dropped to his knees, straddling Kyle as he lie sprawled on the floor beneath him and nearly growled, "I'll show you."

With that, he took Kyle's mouth hostage and kissed him more fervently, more passionately than he had ever kissed Wendy Testaburger. Stan entwined his fingers with Kyle's and pushed Kyle's palms down with his own to ensure he would not escape his hold. Stan was nearly devouring Kyle, poetically tasting every edge and angle of Kyle's word bank. Stan tore his lips away, allowing Kyle to intake deeply and start with his guttural breathing to catch up with his lungs and heart. Stan glared at him and barked,

"Did you even stop to think why the fuck I was looking for that fucking picture?! You asshole, you might not care to hear it, but I'm going to tell you how I fucking feel about this. I was looking for that Goddamn picture because lately I can't think of anything except you and being close to you like this. It was evidence of being close to you, of actually resting on you and you have no fucking idea how much I needed that proof that I had truly done it at all! And…and…you know when "it" happened to me?"

Stan paused to appreciate Kyle's jolted expression before continuing, "It fucking happened on the day we went to the beach, in the seventh grade…in the seventh grade we went on a school trip somewhere real warm. Can't remember, but it was sunset and I was looking out on the shores for you. You weren't there and the whole class ended up looking for you, 'member? Then I found you. You were long, long off down the beach. You were on a huge boulder jutting from the ocean and the waves were hitting all around it and you were soaked in all the lighting of the sky and ocean, the wind in your hair, your entire body drenched in water and you were just sitting there…looking out there at the ocean and my brain said, 'Fuck. That's fucking gorgeous…' and I stood for like…ten fucking minutes just ogling you."

Stan breathed deeply and continued, "I didn't want to mess it up. You were so…so…anyway, that night…that night…" Stan leaned down to Kyle's ear, his lashes and silk ivory hair sliding against Kyle's cheek as his lips sounded in his cerebellum, "I dreamt of it."

There was a silence and Kyle stuttered, "I-it?"

Stan released his tongue against Kyle's blood-flooded ear, he bit the lobe playfully before replying, "Fucking you."


Stan's tingling, serious lips rested almost completely against Kyle's ear as he nearly moaned, "Fucking you, Kyle Broflovski. You took me and I took you, and I was licking and gasping and kissing-''

"S-Stan!" Kyle objected.

"Inside you." He licked the boy's ear again and murmured, "I woke up with a moan and a fierce reply in my pants…I've had a lot of dreams like that since then, but that first one…that first one still drives me insane."

Stan rested his waist against Kyle's, the moment he heard Kyle gasp he breathed, "See? Feel what you do to me? "

Kyle gasped again as Stan pressed the bulge further onto the other boy, nearly losing his breath as Stan muttered, "Feel what I want to do to you?"


Stan rose his face from the soft shadow of Kyle's visage and held a gaze with him. Kyle was clearly not expecting it, and that pleased Stan to see such a dramatic emotion played out on his friend's face, but it also made him nervous.

"It wasn't just smut, though. It wasn't just the loud, wet scenes in my dreams that turned me on. It was the meaning behind it…it was…I loved you. I loved you in my dream. I was really, really in love with you. Madly. You loved me too. Then when Wendy kissed me the other night and I kissed her back, but I saw you, and I was kissing you and it just…it just was all rotten inside when I tried to kiss her. My stomach crept up and my face felt limp and…and…and I wanted to kiss you instead. I wanted to kiss you or no one. And my brain said, 'Fuck. That's fucking gorgeous.'…that feeling. I wanted it with me forever. It's here now. It's been here for months. It's been here for years, I was always just able to…to…suppress it before…but now…now I can hardly stand not touching you. I can hardly breathe without you next to me…Kye, I want you so bad."

Kyle's wide eyes traveled to his left hand which had fallen weak and limp under Stan's. Stan muttered to him, "I don't think I love you, though."

He saw Kyle's heart break in his eyes. The feelings he had for Stan quickly rose and flooded his eyes, paling his face and threatening to set off his gag reflex in despair. He felt like a piece of him had just died, it had flown away and it's never coming back. As Kyle pushed the back of his head against his carpeted floor, his eyes tightly shutting closed as two tears simultaneously fell and trailed down his temples. He was about to let out a contained sob when Stan leaned forward, his lips just touching Kyle's as Stan told him simply, "I know I do."

Kyle's eyes opened and he stammered, "Y-you…you what?"

Stan's chest warmed to the feeling of Kyle's words and lips moving against is lips, but not yet kissing. Stan told him, "I know I love you. I know that this is love, cause it's unlike anything. Absolutely gorgeous. It's beautiful and graceful, but also kind of dangerous and clumsy. It's really wonderful, gentle, but…but it hurts. But it hurts good, it's a good hurt…I love you."

He wanted to laugh at the overwhelming amount of unguarded awe on Kyle's face as Kyle whispered, "…y-you…you…you…"

"Love you. I love you, Kyle Broflovski." It still widened Kyle's eyes to hear, so Stan continued, "You're my perfect fit, my soul mate. I'm all flippy-floppy over you too…I would never think this to be disgusting, so later I want you to go into your journal and re-write everything. I'll be reading it later, cause I'm a douche-bag, so you better write about how hot I am, how happy you are that I told you I love you, how much you love me and how badly you want me to fuck you."

Kyle's face flooded with red as his eyes that were desperately sad only a moment ago lit up like Christmas. Stan's heart skipped a beat when he felt Kyle lift his neck a little and close the miniscule gap between them. Finally; Kyle had kissed him.

When the kiss broke, Kyle tried catching his breath and implored, "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Why didn't you ever tell 'me'?" Stan replied.

Kyle smirked, "I guess you're right."

Stan asked, "You know…you know when I asked if you shaved your body cause you're hairless?"


Stan's cheeks were stained with red as he admitted, "That always turned me on. I just never wanted to…you know, fess up."

Kyle smiled bashfully, "'Member when I retorted with some crack about Nair with you?"

Stan chuckled, "Yeah, but at least I get facial hair; you never get anything."

"Shut up, you ass! You do not! You got sideburns, but they were like…stunted when you grew your hair out over them! You liar."

Stan perked a brow and muttered, "What about it? You like your boys hairless too?"

Kyle flooded red and mumbled something incoherent. Stan leaned further down, pleading, "Sorry?"

Kyle glared at him childishly and repeated, "Only you."

Stan blushed and kissed Kyle again, the kiss was heated and hungry, slowly evolving into something dangerous leading to something…something else…

Stan tore away with a gasp; Kyle asked softly, "What's wrong?"

Stan looked to Kyle, then glanced down at their groins crushed against each other. Stan looked back at Kyle and uttered, "I-it just…ugh…hurts."

Kyle's brows curved sympathetically, "Aw, I'm sorry, Stanley, you want your teddy?"

Stan glared to him, "This is your fault with you and your unbuttoned pants and stupid…stupid fuckin' hard-on…"

Kyle blushed, but glowered back, "Well, I'm sorry, I'd have buttoned my pants had I known? You need ba-ba, Stanny-poo? Suck it up."

Stan smirked evilly, "I don't need my ba-ba, but I do think I need a kiss to make it better. You suck it up."

Kyle's face flooded red, but as Stan began laughing he was very suddenly flipped over. His back hit the floor harshly, but when he opened his eyes Kyle was already dragging him by his wrist, and throwing him on the bed. Stan's arms were a little shorter than the entire length of the middle-sized bed. The pillows and bedding were made with goose-feathers, extremely light and fluffy. His hair was perfectly spread across the cloud-like pillows, and when he looked down he saw Kyle sitting on his knees between his own. His shoes and socks were off and sitting by the front door downstairs, so the first thing Kyle dove for was his belt. Kyle unhooked the grey lock and snaked it out from under him, throwing it away to some forgotten corner of the room.

Kyle gripped the hem of Stan's ripped jeans and quickly tore them off, allowing them to crumple to the floor beyond the foot of his bed. Kyle wasted no time in getting to Stan's boxers and allowing them to join the boy's jeans. Stan blushed furiously at the identical fluster on Kyle's face as he admire more than stared at him. Stan was about to make a nervous complaint, but Kyle covered Stan's lips with his, kissing him as passionately as they were on his floor. Kyle's dexterous hands moved from Stan's chest to the top of his white, collared shirt and began unbuttoning him. Once the shirt was unbuttoned and spread out on both of his sides Kyle kissed down his neck, his chest and planted a kiss on both pink buds that was so impassioned that Stan had been reduced to a bundle of groans and whimpers of pleasure.

Although it pleased Kyle to no end, hearing Stan's soft cries, he could feel Stan's bigger issue pressing into his abdomen and he decided he needed to take care of him. Kyle kissed down Stan's fit stomach, his glossy curls leaving a trail of tingles, momentarily stopping to dip his tongue into Stan's belly-button, which Kyle knew would be clean due to Stan's one very strange hygiene OCD. Kyle kissed down the corner of Stan's thigh and throbbing passion, when he returned to his abdomen, he repeated the teasing to the opposite side. Kyle heard Stan open his mouth with clenched teeth, and listened as Stan began to grind, "Y-you b-basta—ah!"

Stan was cut off my the incredibly abrupt change of Kyle's direction; his best friend's tongue was twisting around his hurting tip. Slowly Kyle's mouth welcomed more and more of Stan in, allowing Stan's cries and gasps to gradually evolve into powerful groans and yelps. Every rake of his teeth along the top, bottom, every circle his tongue outlined was sending Stan closer and closer to the edge. Stan's head flung back, his chest and waist bucking forward the moment Kyle took nearly all of him into his mouth. Stan's pride and joy was not only being care for by the best friend he's ever had, but currently, Kyle's mouth felt as if he were enjoying a Jolly Rancher green-apple lollipop and the moisture and heat was driving him insane. Kyle's hands moved under Stan's thighs, groping Stan's end; Stan and Kyle himself were both surprised with the pleasured "Mmhmm" that escaped Kyle. Stan tried to make a mental note to ask Kyle about it later, but was too overcome with tantalizing sensations rushing up and down his body to actually dedicate it to memory.

Stan gripped the sheets, his knuckles turning white as his knees shook and his waist bucked, his face and ears a brilliant red. His teeth were bared, heart pumping wildly, wave after wave of pleasure washing over him, hitting him over and over and he knew he had to warn Kyle. He had to tell him without speaking, seeing as Stan wasn't sure if he was breathing or not. Stan couldn't recall what it was exactly, but some noise he made must have gotten Kyle's attention. Stan's lust-fogged eyes conveyed his important message, but when Stan was sure Kyle was moving away, he only started bobbing on him. Covering him completely, lifting only to tickle the tip with his hungry tongue. Every swoop down coated Stan more thickly with slaver, his tongue massaging it in like a thick, heated lotion. Finally Stan yelled out, nearly shaking the house, "OH, GOD, KYE!"

Stan felt himself empty in the deep cavern of Kyle's mouth. Finally his friend pulled away and he watched in shock as Kyle smiled at him and swallowed bravely. Kyle leaned forward, crawling into the space between Stan's legs and licked Stan's jaw-dropped mouth. Stan's head was nearly spinning, so lost in his high; he looked to Kyle and murmured, "Y-you…swall-''


Stan's eyes shot open as he spat, "Y-Yummy? Yummy did you just say?!"

Kyle smirked, blushing, "Yeah…I liked that…"

Stan's face filled with red as he muttered, "I knew you'd be freaky in bed."

Kyle glared, "Hey, fucktard, I just treated you to something fucking beautiful; appreciate it."

Stan smiled evilly, sitting up on his elbows and kissing Kyle again. He muttered after their kiss broke, "Not enough…"

"Not enough?" Kyle asked incredulously.

"Not enough…I want you."

Kyle replied, "You…you have me already…"

"No…" Stan topped Kyle, his hands spread beside either of Kyle's sides, he bit Kyle's ear and whispered, "I want your purity, your virginity, I want to fuck you, Kyle…"

Kyle blushed wildly at his choice of words again and stammered, "F-Fuck? Are you fucking serious?"

Stan licked his ear again and inquired, "Is that a yes or no?"

Kyle thought a moment, then pulled Stan's face close to his again. Stan didn't know what Kyle was about to do, but he looked incredibly adorable, gazing up at him as he was. Kyle brought Stan's ear to his lips and pressed them against Stan, replying, "Do you love me madly?"

"Call me the Mad-hatter."


"Deeper than any ocean you use as a metaphor for my eyes, dude."

Kyle chuckled; Stan asked, "You wrote it, but you didn't…you didn't say if you…were…"

"I'm in love with you, Stan. You don't have to question that."



Stan leaned down, kissing Kyle again. He realized Kyle was gradually needing less and less breaks for air the more they kissed. As they explored their mouths, Stan finding an after taste of himself, he readied his hands under Kyle's shirt. Once they broke for air, Stan quickly lifted it over Kyle's arms and curly locks, throwing it aside. He lowered down, slipping off Kyle's socks, then slipped his digits beneath Kyle's boxers and jeans, ripping both off in one swipe and tossed them aside with his shirt. He looked to Kyle's evidence of gender and painted a coy smile, announcing, "I suppose…I suppose I was just expecting you to be…just cause…well…you're Jewish…but…you're not…uhm…"

Kyle glared, his face a deep red, "Not all Jews have small ones, dude."

"Each one but you, apparently."

Kyle rolled his eyes and jokingly replied, "Fuck you."

"Please." Stan leaned down and kissed Kyle again as he shook off his shirt, leaving it along with the other articles.

Stan broke their kiss, crawling back slightly and taking Kyle's ankles in his hold. He set the boy's legs over his shoulders and brushed his Kyle-lubricated boyhood against his entrance, retrieving a beautiful gasp. They made eye-contact, Kyle simple told him, "I-it's better if you just do it…i-it's like diving into a cold pool…'cept it'll be…a lot more fun than floaties."

Stan laughed nervously, then steadied himself. He closed his eyes, silently counting down until finally he bucked forward and found that he was immediately inside his hot, tight hold. Stan's eyes shot open, thrown back a little as he took in a deep, sharp breath. He looked to Kyle and muttered, "A-are y-you-''

"K-Keep going."

Stan nodded and backed out, only to thrust in again. An audible whimper escaped the boy below him, but a groan escaped his own mouth. He felt bad, but he could hardly control it. He did feel, however, the space stretching for him. The pattern continued, Kyle slowly, very slowly, became used to Stan's size, the muscles fit around Stan, shivering waves of passion into him. Stan was specifically keeping a rhythm, that he supposed Kyle caught onto, because Kyle met him on the beat and released a pleased moan. Stan was becoming used to Kyle's whimpers of pain, and concerned he stuttered, "K-Kye?"

"G-good—it's really g-good-ah!"

Stan's greedy ears swallowed all of Kyle's breathy, gasping words and it forced his heart to pump faster. Their sweat-coated bodies were meeting and falling away in time, their racing hearts in sync as each moan and cry was one of overwhelming want. Stan had nearly collapsed onto Kyle; unable to support his body in the wonderful physical shock. Kyle's legs eventually found their way wrapped around his upper-sides, his lanky arms and fingers caught up in his pillows and hair. Stan's sweat was falling from the back of his neck, down his back, falling in drops from his hair and forehead. They would meet in passionate kisses when they could manage to catch their breaths. Stan soon whimpered, "K-Kye, I c-can't h-hold…c-can't-''

Before he could even complete his statement he saw Kyle's eyes shut in blinding, pained pleasure as he yelped, "AH, STAN!" and came; the very scene sent Stan over the edge and he spilled in Kyle. Stan finally let himself fall onto his friend-made-lover, his head tucked into Kyle's neck. He was kissing and nipping and licking at the sweat-covered flesh; he didn't mind, Kyle's flesh tasted sugary sweet which was ironic against his diabetic condition.

"You were always…made for me." Stan told him softly.

Kyle was still basking in the after-shock as he muttered in response, "I love you."

"Fuck. I love you too…fuck."


Stan laughed, "Ah-ha-ha…no, no…no, I think I'm pretty spent…the spirit is willing, but the flesh is tired and limp…"

Kyle chuckled, "You're funny…but in all seriousness, I am madly in love with you…you know that now, right?"

"I know. I do, I promise, I'll be holding it against you the rest of your gay life."

Kyle sighed, "Ugh, this makes us gay, doesn't it?!"

Stan snorted a laugh, "You didn't realize that before I fucked you?"

"I dunno…I was too…"

"On for me to see through to my evil plan."

Kyle laughed, "Yeah, I guess so, you narcissistic bastard."

"What's narcissistic?"

Kyle smirked and ran his hand through Stan's wet hair, replying, "Oh…it means sexy, Stan. It means sexy."

Stan grinned, "Oh yeahhh."

Stan looked up at Kyle and kissed him again, but when they broke away, Stan told him, "Just so you know…you're a much better kisser than Wendy."

"Thanks, dude."

"You're a much better everything than whatserface."

Kyle smiled, "You do have a way with words."

"I love you."

"I love you."

Finally, Kyle was rewarded with a restful night beside his best friend, his hero, his brother and his true love.


Okay, everyone can "EW" now.

I know. Fluff, totally lovey-dovey, but I had to write it. Read the top to see why.