Title: The Graduates
Rating: Rated Teen for Language/Subject Matter
Contest: imaginaaation's "the boys i mean are not refined" fanfiction contest on deviantART
Author's Note: Hey guys, I love love love reviews, they make me actually want to write. If I don't have any reviews, I have no motivation.
So tell me how you like this, I'd love to hear about it!
Disclaimer: I do not own South Park. It would be filled with much porn if I did. u
Warning: BL! It's not hardcore or anything. Just if you don't like SP boyxboy, then DO. NOT. READ. IT.
The empty air was filled instantly with what seemed like thousands of dark caps in just a moment's notice. Kyle shifted in discomfort as the caps rained down on the elated graduates. He glanced behind him, about ten rows back, and saw Stan talking to Kenny, both smiling. They were graduates now. So why wasn't Kyle happy? As the students scrambled to find their hats, and mothers wiped back their endless tears with an endless supply of tissues, Kyle rose uncertainly from the uncomfortable folding chair. The air was heavy around him, and the heat smothered him in his itchy black gown. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, trying to prepare himself for what he was planning on telling his parents. Butterflies filled his stomach in desperate apprehension: Kyle Broflovski planned to tell his parents that he was gay.
It'd taken Kyle till he was thirteen to realize his orientation. As a online friend of his had put it- he liked "dicks and not chicks." It'd taken him another two years to realize how badly he wanted to get into his best friend, Stan's, pants. That realization on its own had been a very interesting story, but I suppose we'll should save that for another time.
Now, for the reason Kyle was so anxious? Well, as most high school graduates plan to do, Kyle planned to go the college. And, also as most high school graduates do, he planned to get the fuck away from where he had grown up. Which meant getting away from his parents. Even with his slightly lacking morals, he felt he owed his parents the thought of telling them, and telling them was going to be really difficult for him. Because of this, he planned on getting it over with. He had to do it right away. Like, now.
"Hey, Kyle!" Kyle saw Stan jogging toward him, and his heart skipped a beat. Or three.
"Dude, we're graduates!" Kyle smiled. He was envious of how ridiculously happy Stan was. Of course, Stan wasn't planning on telling his parents he was gay. "And he probably never will. . ." Kyle thought mournfully.
"Yea, man. It's crazy, huh?" Kyle replied. If Stan saw through Kyle's fake enthusiasm, he didn't show it.
"Hey, dude, we're going over to the bar after we get rid of our parents. You want to come?" Kyle felt like he was nearly blinded by Stan's beautiful smile. But as usual, he shook himself out of it. Kyle thought briefly of the consequences he faced with not dealing with his parents now, but somehow overcame it- as any teenager/now-young adult would.
"Yea, let's just change out of these damn gowns!" Stan nodded in agreement, then grabbed Kyle's hand and dragged him over to his beat-up car.
"W-W-What a-are you d-d-doing?" Kyle stuttered, blushing a fierce red. Stan smirked, and told Kyle to just wait, he'd find out in a second.
They reached the car and Stan let go of Kyle's hand.
"Close your eyes," he ordered. Kyle obeyed.
"Okay, now... No, keep your eyes closed! Now, hold out your hand."
Kyle, not sure what to expect, tentatively held his hand out. Stan smiled and placed a small package into Kyle's open palm.
"Okay, you can open your eyes now." Kyle, curious, stared at the package.
"It's green. . ." He said thoughtfully. Stan blushed, but it went unnoticed by the redhead.
"Yea, just like your. . . Eyes." Kyle looked up to find Stan staring at him. They both blushed awkwardly, and Kyle turned his gaze to the package.
"Normally when someone gives you a gift, you open it." Kyle smirked at Stan's comment and willingly unwrapped the parcel.
"Oh!" he exclaimed softly. In his palm he held a single key. Holding it up to the sun, it sparkled a golden-bronze colour, shining in Kyle's bright eyes.
"What's this for?" He asked, smiling. Stan blushed a little, then turned away.
"W-Well, we're going off to college now... And since we're going to the same university, I figured, why not live together? I mean... We are. . ." Stan paused, unsure,
Kyle finished Stan's sentence:
"Super best friends. . ." Stan smiled, comforted. Suddenly, Kyle hugged him.
"Thank you so much. . ." Came his muffled words from Stan's chest. "I can't wait to leave this place. . ." Kyle trailed off. He could feel Stan smiling, and he was instantly reassured. He could tell his parents, and he could tell Stan.
"I can't believe I haven't told him yet. . ."
They broke the embrace, smiling, and headed off for the bar. Luckily, Cartman hadn't seen them hugging. They would have never heard the end of that.
Kyle and Stan trailed Cartman and Kenny into the bar. The heat was overwhelming and it seemed as if everyone from the graduation was there. Heavy metal clashed with the sound of people shouting and playing pool, and the smell of sweat mixed heavily with the musky scent of hard liquor. Kenny and Cartman had already disappeared to the pool tables to scam some poor guy, and Stan was sitting at the bar. Kyle, deciding to stray from Stan for a bit, walked over to the juke box and flipped through the plates. Finding nothing of interest, he glanced back towards where Stan was sitting. Wendy was standing next to him, flirting. Her long black hair was messed up, and from the way she kept grabbing on to the bar counter to steady herself, she was obviously drunk. Kyle started to step towards them, but then realized that he couldn't do anything to help and decided to observe instead.
Wendy tried to flip her hair, but lost her balance. About to fall, she grabbed onto Stan's shoulders. He looked slightly disgruntled, but that didn't stop her. In fact, she swooped right down and kissed him messily, leaving Stan there, shell-shocked. Of course, Wendy had been on her fifth beer and she'd had about three shots, so it was no surprise when she turned and puked on the ground next to her. And since Stan is Stan, it was also no surprise when he went running out of the bar to throw up.
Kyle chased after his friend. As he pushed through the bar door and into the cool night, Cartman called out "faggot," and got no laughter in return. (Except his own, of course.)
"Hey, man, you okay?"
Stan was bent over a disgusting trash can, flies fluttering blankly by the streetlight. Kyle timidly placed his hand on Stan's back. Stan coughed a couple times, then stood up. The streetlight made a shining halo in his hair, and his face was pale like an angels. Kyle's heart fluttered, causing him to almost fall over.
"Y-Yea," Stan said shakily. "I think I'll make it." Kyle patted Stan's back awkwardly.
"Dude, I really hope that you puked because she puked. 'Cuz drunk girls are just. . . It's just wrong." Kyle trailed off, worried that he'd said something he shouldn't have.
"Yea, I guess. It was pretty sick." Stan laughed a little. Kyle frowned.
"Which kind of sick?" He thought.
"Man, drunk girls aren't my type." Hearing this, Kyle laughed sadistically, thinking,
"I wish girls weren't your type."
There were plenty of secrets Stan had kept in his life, but he had usually told everything to his best friend. Some things just weren't all that important. Like when he was little, he put peanut butter in his dad's shoes then blamed it on his sister and, surprisingly, never got in trouble. Then there were the bigger things. . . And the things he wasn't quite sure about yet. Stan was slow, he knew this. But something he just realized was that he might just like his best friend. No, no, not like best friends should like each other. More like, "I want to get into his pants so bad... But at the same time, I really love him." But. . .
Well, Stan wasn't sure.
He was slow.
Another thing about Stan was his fear of abandonment. And he didn't want to lose someone, especially someone special like Kyle. He tried to avoid the whole "gay" subject. Especially when he was so unsure about it. So when he and Kyle headed back into the bar to get plastered, he made no effort to confess any secrets to his best friend. Especially ones that involved him wanting to fuck named best friend's brains out.
Drinking Level: 2/10
Kyle lifted up his hand to signal the bartender to get him another beer, then turned to Stan. Stan was smiling like an idiot, staring at the palm of his hand. Kyle chuckled softly, watching his best friend. The warm light from the T.V. made Stan's face glow like a child's. Kyle felt his heart flutter for what felt like the thousandth time that night.
"Dude, what the hell are you doing?" Stan laughed like a little kid, then turned to Kyle.
"I'm trying to read my palm, but I don't know shit about how to." Kyle started laughing.
"You're such a dumbass, I swear Stan." Stan smirked.
Drinking Level: 4/10
Stan got up from his stool, wobbling, and held out his hand to Kyle. Kyle turned, curious, and faced Stan's welcoming smile.
"Come on, Kyle. Let's go dance."
Stan tried to grab Kyle and pull him up, but ended up tripping over himself. On the ground now, he extended his hands, clumsily grasping for the slippery bar stool. Kyle started laughing hysterically at his friend, then tried to get up. He stumbled a little out of his chair, but managed, and smirked at the victory over his drunken friend.
"Okay, you idiot. Prove to me that you can stand up by yourself, and I'll dance with you."
Stan smirked back, a determined spark in his eye. Kyle placed his hands on his hips, frowning slightly.
"Well? Planning on doing this tonight?"
Stan pouted, and Kyle got butterflies in his stomach.
"Oh God, he's so damn cute when he pouts," He thought.
Kyle tried to shake himself out of it, then held out his hand for Stan.
"Goddamnit, you're so useless. Let's go see if you can hold yourself up on the dance floor."
Drinking Level: 7/10
They were back at their spot on the bar after their clumsy escapade on the dance floor. For some reason, Kyle suddenly started laughing uncontrollably and couldn't stop. Stan stared at him, curious, then started giggling himself.
"Dude, what the hell's..." He giggled, "Wrong..." Stan stopped and laughed again, "With you..?"
Kyle, still laughing, spat out a garbled mumble, then continue to crack up.
"Boo-... HAHAH! Guh, Boob- 're fu..KING Hah, UGLY." Kyle, unable to stop, sat there giggling like an idiot, and Stan, laughing, asked again.
"I SAID." Kyle paused to laugh, "I said, BOOBS. Are fucking UGLY." And started cracking up again. Stan raised his eyebrow at him, then paused, processing the information.
"DUDE. Fuck, they are!"
They looked at each other for a second, then both started laughing and yelling hysterically.
Drinking Level: 9/10
Out on the dance floor again, the two boys had tripped over each other and fallen to the ground. There were very few people left at the bar, and by the looks of it, Kyle and Stan were about as drunk as anyone else there. Kenny and Cartman had efficiently ripped off half the people there, and used some of the money to get a healthy buzz. Everyone who'd gotten played by the duo had either left or passed out. So, the only people left were our famous quartet, and about ten people from their graduating class.
Kyle and Stan were giggling again, sitting on the floor. Kyle, being slightly less drunk, stumbled to his feet first. He held out his sweaty palm to Stan. Stan, pausing in his laughter, looked up to find green eyes peering into his. The ground suddenly felt cold and hard, and he needed someone to make him warm. The most sensible thing for him to do in his drunken state was to make someone join him. Thus, he began pulling at Kyle's hand. Kyle, surprised, fell right on top of him. Sitting up, he realized he was on top of Stan. Stan was staring straight into his eyes, quiet. Kyle, unable to control himself, kissed Stan. Stan's lips were warm, and he tasted of the sweet liquor they had both been drinking. Stan, though a little surprised, kissed him back. Kyle was shocked, but didn't give any effort to stop the kiss.
They pulled apart.
"Dude, does this mean we're gay?" Stan asked.
Kyle closed the distance yet again, grabbing a hold of Stan's face and running the boy's soft black hair through his fingertips. He titled Stan's face into his own, pursing his lips. His eyes fluttered shut and he wished so badly that they weren't drunk.
"Dude? I already knew that." Which reminded him of his parents. And his decision to tell them. "God damnit."
Stan kissed Kyle now, soft lips enveloping soft lips. Surprisingly soft for boy's lips.
"Well yea? So did I. I knew I was. . ." Stan pecked Kyle again, ". . .gay."
Kyle stopped, a thousand mixed up thoughts sprinting through his alcohol-impaired brain.
"R-Really?" He asked. "Why didn't he tell me? . . . Well, I didn't tell him . . ."
"Yea. Really. Now is there any reason you. . ." He tried to peck Kyle again, but failed and decidedly continued his sentence: "Stopped?"
Kyle wasn't responding. Stan, pouting, waited impatiently.
"Dude, you dated Wendy."
Stan sighed, frustrated. "Does this matter? We could be kissing." They were wasting precious moments.
"So? I didn't know what I was doing. Plus, I didn't want Cartman to call me gay. . ." Stan trailed off.
"Yea, but Cartman made fun of you for dating her! Plus, why didn't you tell me?"
Stan whined again, then repeated his effort to kiss Kyle.
"Why aren't you kissing me back?"
Kyle shook him off, thinking.
"Wait, so . . . If I knew I was gay, and you knew you were gay . . . Then why didn't we try to tell each other?"
This made Stan stop. Thinking, he tried to give his best answer:
"I . . . I guess we were both afraid . . . Maybe of the others reaction?"
"A-Ahh . . ." Kyle trailed off, thinking to himself, but then gave up, succumbing to Stan's gorgeous lips.
They were so wasted. And tired. It was after midnight, and the boys were trying to get home. Luckily for them, South Park is a safe, small town, or they would've had some problems with getting home safely. Stumbling along the streets and making complete fools of themselves, the boys treaded home with their arms linked together. Little did they know, Cartman was trailing them with a camera, taking pictures of them. In their drunken state, they had failed to notice the fact that Cartman wasn't making fun of them. Instead, the whole time, he'd been getting dirt on them in digital form.
The boys' finally reached their designated houses, and Cartman practically ran back to his. Jogging, the cool air brushing his hair back, and the moonlight shining off of his huge smile. This was some of the best black mail he'd ever gotten, discluding anything he'd ever gotten of Butters, and he was excited to get a hard copy of it.
Running into his house, he nearly crashed into his mother.
"Maaaam, could you move? I gotta get this dirt on Kyle and Stan on to the compuuuter!"
He paused, looking at his mother. She had a tissue held to her face, and she looked like she'd been crying for hours. She nodded solemnly, and seemed to finally accept the fact that she'd failed to raise her son, and moved out of the way, sniffling.
"Finally," Cartman muttered, and ran up the stairs. He heard his mother call after him in the living room asking if he wanted anything, but didn't care.
All he could think about was getting these pictures to Stan and Kyle's parents. . . Especially Kyles.
"Damn Jew." He muttered to himself, smirking.
Blinding light snuck it's way through clumsily shut curtains, shining directly on poor Kyle's eyes. He grumbled drowsily and turned over.
"Goddamnit, what time is it?" With much effort, he was able to lift up his face two centimeters to glance at his clock.
"Damn, noon already?" He let his face drop back into his pillow, easily falling back into slumber. He managed to do this for another thirty minutes or so, until his wonderful parents came in with some interesting news to share with their innocent little boy.
A loud knocking sound came from the door, sounding twenty times louder to a very hungover Kyle.
"I'm sleeping!" Kyle yelled, but failed to successfully drive his parents away. The pushed their way through the messy room, skillfully treading past the mounds of clothing and various forgotten things.
"Kyle?" His mother asked tenderly, then paused. Kyle, surprised by the tone of her voice, turned his head the slightest bit.
"Why didn't you tell us. . ." She trailed off, her hands flying to her face to muffle her sobs. Kyle was confused by the sudden burst of tears, and tried to push himself up.
"Son," his father interjected, "Were you even planning on telling us?" Kyle continued frowning, thinking to himself. "Planning on telling them what?"
"What, it's not like we were planning it..." His mother burst into a fresh batch of tears. Kyle growled to himself, frustrated.
"What, do you expect me to tell you that I planned on getting drunk on grad night? We ditched grad night, anyway. . ." Kyle trailed off, suddenly remembering his vow to tell his parents. "Oh, no... They couldn't of... Could they?" He shook his head, hoping for the best.
"Son, that's not it. . ." His father then solemnly pulled out a multitude of pictures, holding them out to show the redhead. His mother sobbed harder at this, turning away.
Kyle took them and began flipping through them, slow at first, but as his horror and embarrassment grew, he began flipping faster and faster, until he got frustrated and thrust them to the cluttered ground.
"Who gave you these!?" He demanded, closing his eyes in desperation and anger, and regretting not telling his parent before they had left the day before.
Kyle's mother stopped sobbing for a second, then turned and shared an unsure glance with her husband.
"It's confidential. . ." His father finally mumbled.
"Goddamnit, guys, I was. . . I was planning on telling you. . . Yesterday, really." They looked unbelieving. Kyle cried out in all his frustration, then stormed through his room, throwing on the clothing he could find.
"S-Son, what are you doing?" Kyle continued until he was fully clothed then pushed past his confused parents.
"Kyle Broflovski, you . . . you are grounded!" They stuttered and grumbled, but failed to punish their bitter son.
Stan woke up at 12:30 on the spot. His parents were waiting in the kitchen for him and seemed rather frustrated. Stan rummaged through the cupboards, trying not to let his hangover get the best of him.
"Stan?" He turned and looked at his parents, who were now intently staring at him.
"Morning," He mumbled, then continued his search for breakfast.
"Stan, honey. . . You know, you can tell us anything." He stopped in his tracks. Any normal teenager would know the warnings that this specific sentence brings.
"W-What do you mean by that?" He stuttered, pretending to continue searching.
"Honey, we mean that you can tell us anything. Even stuff you. . . Wouldn't like to tell your parents. . ." Stan sighed. "Fuck it."
"Dad. . . Mom? I was out last night, and I got drunk with my friends. . . And I realized . . . Something. Something important." He tried to keep from getting frustrated, but his massive headache was of no assistance.
Stan had a strange feeling they already knew, but tried to shake himself out of it and continue.
"I'm gay." His parents exchanged glances. Then his father spoke up, smiling:
"We already knew that." Stan jumped back, startled.
"W-What!?" His parents laughed, almost smirking. "How long have they known?" Stan thought. "Even my dumbass father knows?"
"Yes, it'd taken your father a while to accept it. . . But, he got over it."
Stan just stared in shock at his two smiling parents.
"Honey, we knew that since you were in gradeschool. Anyway, we just wanted to warn you about that friend of yours... Cartman? He's spreading these photos around."
She handed over a pile of photos, and Stan glanced through them quickly, horror like like a fire sprinting through his veins. He gently set them on the table, his hands shaking. The black-haired boy then turned towards the door, making his way slowly, ignoring the idea of even trying to process that his stupid parents knew that he was gay before he did.
"Honey, did you know you're friend is like this? We wanted to know if you'd known he was. . ."
Stan waved them off, then pushed the door open. Fresh air hit him like a shove to his chest. His hands flew to his head as the headache blew full force. He stepped into their yard, pulling his hat down . Walking onto the empty street, he sighed and gathered the courage to find his friend.
Kyle was meandering along the streets, his mind racing with all the thoughts his parents and last night's events had brought him. He needed to find Stan, and he needed to quickly. He sped up his pace, the sound of his shoes smacking against the pavement accompaning the crows' screeching. He spotted a figure ahead, and started running, the slap of his sneakers quickening. But as soon as he saw the silhouette, all hope left him. Resentment and anger replaced it.
The figure was Cartman.
"Hey Kahl! What's up? Enjoy the pictures?" Kyle growled when he saw Cartman's face wildly grinning.
"Fatass, why the hell did you do that?!" Kyle tried to sway his anger, but seeing Cartman's face filled him with increasing rage.
"Oh, Kahl, you know why. I'm just so. . . jealous of Stan!"
The fat boy's snickering grew louder at his joke. Kyle clenched his fists and scrunched his face in frustration. He thought to himself, smirking, "There's no one on this street. . . No one will see. . ." At this, he pulled his gaze back up, now intently staring at Cartman's face. Trying to not let his rage shake him, he stepped slowly, surely, until he was only a yard from Cartman.
"What are you gunna do, jew?" At this, Kyle raised his fist, ready to strike. Still staring Cartman down, he sensed the tiniest bit of fear in the fat boy's face.
"Oh really, you're going to hit me?" Cartman started laughing, the tone of his laugh now more than just a little nervous.
Kyle pulled his fist back, ungloved, then sprung foward. His fist landed messily on Cartman's jaw, snapping that smirking face back. The redhead felt as if time had slowed down, he could see Cartman's spit flying, could see a grimace replace the smirk that had been so engrained previously, and could feel that smirk transfer onto his face. In the distance, he heard footsteps, running, running, and then yelling. Time sped up, abruptly sending Kyle back into reality. As Cartman staggered back, his hands on his swelling face, Kyle turned to see Stan running towards them. Blushing a little, he pulled his hand back and glanced back at Cartman to watch him in agony.
"Fucking Jew, I'll fucking get you!" Cartman was bleeding a little; seeing this brought Kyle great gratification.
"I believe this is called revenge. You already got me." Kyle was smirking wildly, happy with this small revenge after all these years. Stan finally caught up to them.
"You. . . " He gasped for air, then continued, "You guys. . . Need to . . . Stop." Kyle's previous smile disappeared.
"Dude, what did you just say?" Cartman glanced up from his pain.
"Seriously. . ."
Stan glanced between the two. Sighing, he explained:
"I was just thinking. . . You guys have been at it since we were born practically." He sighed again, "We're going off to college now, so shouldn't we start with a clean slate, new, mature? Right?"
Kyle and Cartman shared a quick look, then both laughed. Cartman then spoke up:
"Are you serious? Dude, why would we stop? Especially with this dirt I just got on you guys." He grinned wildly through his semi-swollen face, then spat out two syllables: "Faggots."
Something in Stan snapped. In what seemed like a split second, he was in Cartman's face, fist raised. He was more precise than Kyle, so when his fist hit, it was straight-on and powerful. This time, Cartman's face cracked back in the opposite direction, both cheeks now swollen painfully. Cartman fell melodramatically to the ground, and people started to file around the three of them.
"Now for you, Kyle. . ."
Kyle was staring, shocked. He wasn't sure what Stan meant by "now for you," but he felt extremely unprepared. He noticed his hat had fallen when he'd hit Cartman, and he blushed at the reminder of his Jew-fro. His jacket, he realized, was one of his old and ratty ones, as were his shoes. Both had been nesting in his room for over a year now. Stan, in comparison, was a ragged angel. He appeared as if he'd stumbled through his room to get dressed, but he still looked amazing. As Stan walked calmly towards the redhead, Kyle gave up.
"Screw it," he muttered as Stan cupped his face, pulling him in for a rough, imperfect kiss.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading, again, please review. You don't know how much those mean to me.
Or maybe you do.