Kyle fidgeted with his tie, irritated that he had fallen for Stan's tricks again. He always promised himself this would be the last time, he swore to god, that he'd come along with him.
Stan always dragged Kyle along to his gigs. He was the drummer in a band that played, it seemed, exclusively for events such as weddings, high school proms, and anniversaries. And Kyle always felt left out and embarrassingly immature. At weddings and anniversaries, people asked him when dinner would be served and which way the bathrooms were, confusing him for a waiter. At proms, tipsy teenage girls, the ones no one would dance with, stumbled over to him, trying to pick him up, thinking he was another student. Stan, on the other hand, was the one all the attractive women and girls lusted over. The one all the middle-aged cougars in the room would watch intently. No matter how much Kyle begged with Stan, the sly devil would somehow convince him to go.
He and Stan were fresh out of college, one with a master's in business and the other, an art major. The two had been thick as thieves since god knows when. It wasn't hard to stick together since they'd stayed in South Park and attended the community college there. Almost everyone else had gone off to bigger towns and with that, bigger, more interesting lives.
The red head looked at himself in the mirror, trying to figure out why Stan had stayed with him, even when Wendy had moved across the country to attend Harvard a few years ago. Those two had been The Couple. The one that everyone knew was going to end up married with kids—even Kyle, though the thought always made him feel slightly nauseous. But Stan had said the same thing to her over and over again: "I'm staying with Kyle. I have to," and she'd eventually accepted it and moved on to college, where she'd started dating Eric Cartman (who had lost a considerable amount of weight and become more pleasant after six years of military school). The two had gotten engaged and it was their wedding that Stan's band was playing at tonight.
He gave up on trying to wrestle his hair into something respectable, instead opting for a hat. God, why'd he even do this? Oh, wait, that's right: Stan was his best friend. And Kyle just so happened to be in love with him.
Stan sat on the floor, trying to look like he wasn't watching Kyle carefully place his green hat on his head. He was also trying—though not as hard—to keep his eyes from drifting to Kyle's delicious-looking ass.
It had always been this way. Stan secretly, gradually, and happily had fallen for Kyle over the years. The Big Ah-Ha Moment had happened sometime during early winter in their Junior year in high school. Kyle had been teaching Stan to drive out by Stark's Pond. Stan was insanely nervous. He hadn't been particularly comfortable with cars since their other friend, Kenny, had died in an accident the previous year. So he'd absolutely lost it when they hit a small patch of ice. The car had hardly even swerved, but Stan was freaking out. "Holy fuck…K-Kenny…" was all he could say as tears slipped down his face. Kyle calmly wrapped his arms around his friend, trying to soothe the quaking teenager.
"Shhh, Stan, it's okay. I promise. I'll make everything okay again."
And he always did. Kyle was always there for him. He was the thinker, the more serious one. Stan was the one who'd always want to go out and party. Every hangover he'd ever had, Kyle'd been there, with coffee and aspirin to spare. Every break-up Stan had been through (though the last one was with Wendy, over four years ago), he'd whisk him away to Stark's Pond, joking and laughing until they'd almost peed their pants. Every time Stan had dreamt or thought about Kenny, he'd be on the other side of that phone, working his magic like he always did. Every soothing word, calming touch, and consoling action just made him fall deeper and deeper—until it was totally irrevocable—in love with Kyle.
"Kyle, if you don't hurry the fuck up, we're going to be late." Kyle shot the impatient man on the floor a look. "Again," Stan added.
"God, just hold on. I can't get my tie right."
"Move aside, I'll do it," Stan muttered, pushing himself off the floor. "Every single time you come up with some shitty excuse and we're always late." Kyle dropped his hands to his side, as Stan's came into view, quickly tying the knot and smoothing it down. "I swear to god, it's not happening this time," The whole ordeal took about twenty seconds, but it seemed to be in slow motion to Stan. His heart skipped a beat, as it usually did when in such close proximity to Kyle.
Stan was surprised to see Kyle looking intently at him when he looked up. "What?" he asked, feeling himself blush under Kyle's gaze.
Caught off guard he cleared his throat, trying to shake out the smutty images of Stan that had crept into his mind. "No-nothing. Um, thanks, dude, I can never get those tied quite right."
Stan looked him up and down, skeptically. Then noticing a stain on Kyle's pants changed the subject. "Dude, change your pants. You can't wear dirty pants to weddings," he pointed out. "Especially not this one," Stan advanced on the red head. "You don't want Cartman ripping on you for being a slob on top of everything else." Stan was right in front of Kyle now and had unbuckled his belt. Inwardly, he was extremely nervous. Never had he been so brash towards his friend. He glanced upwards at Kyle.
Kyle's face was beet red and he was speechless. The only thing passing through his mind was shitshitshitshitshitshit, which then turned into fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, as he realized Stan was just seconds away from revealing the fact that Kyle had a stiffy.
"NO!" he screamed. Stan jumped and looked up at Kyle, but it was too late: the pants had dropped. Stan looked down at the fabric around Kyle's ankles, and then ran his eyes up the other's legs. He stopped as soon as he saw it.
"Oh—ah, w-well," was all he could manage, feeling himself resort to much of the same condition. How could he possibly help it when a site he'd longed to see happen stood right in front of him?
On the other hand, Kyle wanted to die. He wanted a big hole to appear and swallow him up in it. "It-it's not what you think. I-I—"
He went silent the second Stan pulled off his own belt and let his pants fall to the ground. Since Kyle's face couldn't have gotten any redder than it already was, his nose started to bleed the least little bit. What the hell's going on, he thought. Stan's got a boner?
"Kyle, I—I don't know how to say this," Stan began, eyes glued to Kyle's boxers. This was it; he was finally going to tell Kyle everything. "But, uh, dude—mmfh!"
Stan was cut off by Kyle springing forward and smashing their lips together, tripping in the process.
Stan's breath flew out of him, and not just because he'd landed on his back with Kyle crashing down onto him. That kiss was one he'd dreamt about, thought about, angsted about, and even written about. This weight on top of him, this perfect, warm, wonderful weight was one he'd wanted—needed—for far too long. Those eyes, shining back at him eagerly and fearfully, had been ones he'd looked into for years thinking I love you, and wanting to say it aloud. And here it was; here was the chance he'd waited for so long to attain.
"I love you."
Immediately, Kyle pressed his mouth back onto Stan's, positioning his lips ever so carefully on those of the person beneath him. His head swam as Stan's expert tongue found its way into his mouth. He felt fingers wind their way up his back and into his thick mass of curls, carefully removing his hat. They broke apart, both gasping for breath.
"What the fuck are you face raping me for?"
Kyle looked down at Stan with dread. "Oh. Shit, sorry, I, um, didn't realize—" he stopped when Stan's finger was placed upon his lips.
"Let me finish. What the fuck are you face raping me for," he began, propping himself up on his elbows, "when you and I both know you want to ass rape me so much more?" He reached his hands up to Kyle's neck and loosened the tie he had just tied minutes ago.
"You're a pervert. You know that? A pervert and a fucking douche," Kyle informed him, unbuttoning Stan's shirt.
"Says the one on top, undressing me," Stan shot back, tugging at Kyle's buttons as well.
"Shut up, before I make you, dude."
"I'd like to see you try," Stan said, defiantly. He looked up at Kyle, who was smiling back down at him.
"I was hoping you'd say that." And with that, he pinned Stan's shoulders to the floor, and forced a heated kiss upon him.
Stan moaned into Kyle's mouth, wrapping his arms around the other's neck and pressed his tongue in to Kyle's mouth. The two fumbled for dominance until they found a suitable rhythm. Kyle let out an ecstatic moan as Stan ground his hips up into Kyle's.
"Jesus," was all Stan could muster once they broke apart, gulping in oxygen.
"You fucking got that right," Kyle panted out. "So…what now?"
"This," Stan replied, shoving his hand down the front of Kyle's boxers, earning a loud yelp. Then, in one fluid motion, he pulled them off, altogether. Stan ran his hand up and down Kyle's length, enjoying the heated moans and whimpers erupting out of his partner. He took this opportunity to roll over on top for better access. He pressed little kisses all down Kyle's chest and abdomen, making sure to use his tongue more, the further he got down.
"Ah, fuck! Stannn….." Kyle chocked out as he felt Stan carefully and slowly lick at the tip of his fully erect dick. He just about saw stars as he began to suck so, so agonizingly slowly, swirling his tongue all the way around. "M-more…I w-want more," the red head moaned out. Stan, further excited by the sexy noises Kyle was making, placed his hand onto Kyle's cock and pumped in time with his bobbing head. Kyle bucked his hips up and dug his nails into Stan's back, crying out as his member was taken completely into Stan's mouth. "I'm gonna cum! Right now, god-fucking-dammit" he yelled, thrusting his hips in time with Stan's sucking. "FUCK!" he yelled, as he exploded in Stan's mouth. The raven-haired male sucked harder, drinking down every bit of it.
"Ohhh, my God," Kyle murmured as Stan crawled back up beside him, wrapping his arms around the post-orgasmic man.
"For fuck's sake, why haven't we done that before?" Kyle just looked up at him and planted a light kiss on his lips, tasting saliva and cum. He let out a contented sigh and was just about to reply as Stan's phone went off.
"Oh, shit!" Stan cried, remembering his friends' wedding he was supposed to be at right then. The two looked at each other for a second before scrambling up and tossing their clothes back on. "You bastard, we're late!" Stan laughed, punching Kyle in the arm. "Again,"
"That was not my fault," he retorted. He was met with a skeptical eyebrow raise. "Dude, it is not my fault you decided to fucking seduce me!"
"Whatever, but as soon as this is over we're picking up where we left off." Stan informed him. "Unless I can't hold out that long; then I just might have to jump you right in the reception room."
"You like it."
"I know," Kyle replied, grabbing Stan's hand.
He didn't let go for the rest of the night.
(A/N: They were too late for Stan to play. Hooray for smex! :D)