Sorry, guys. I'll do you all good someday.


Ugh, all of my stories really need to be re-written, I can't believe I was that awful at wording some things. I've improved quite a bit, but eh YOU CANT REALLY TELL BECAUSE THIS IS SO SHORT ffff-


Agent Green Ushanka.

It's late enough to almost be early, dull grey leaking through the blinds when Kyle drifts mostly awake. He and Stan are all tangled up now, having moved closer in the throes of unconsciousness. The noirette's movements are languid and rhythmic, he might still be asleep. His breath is warm and muggy against Kyle's neck, but he doesn't mind. The humdrum orange color that has slowly began to paint the sky makes everything feel hazy and disconnected, almost to the point that Kyle is unsure if he's awake or dreaming.

Stan's lips bring the redhead back from his drifting state, pressing sluggishly against the pliant flesh just under his jaw. Stan is already stiff against the other boy's thigh, and the redhead isn't far off. Kyle exhales heavily, hips twisting until they align with his friend's, "Stan?"

The noirette's breath hitches in his throat, hips starting to rock against the other as he mutters something groggy and unintelligible into Kyle's ear.

"Asshole." Kyle finally responds, and maybe it's just sleep-thick, but Stan likes to think there's something more to it. Something romantic, being together like this, in the strange burnt hour at the very beginning of the morning when only insomniacs and couples are awake.

Every sensation has a syrupy, drawn-out feel as they slide against each other slow and easy, low gasps and groans drowned out by the morning doves and cicadas outside of the window. Their hips find a groggy rhythm, moving slick and smooth, easy, not frantic like they usually are together. Their foreheads collide delicately, lips lingering limply on each other, parting, and then meeting again. They mutter one another's names soothingly in breathy whispers that easily send them both over the edge.

They come laxly, almost at the same time.

Kyle lazily kisses his friend on the lips before squirming slightly, trying to get himself untangled enough to be able to sleep, ignoring the mess they'd both made. Stan grabs at his wrist, "Don't go."

"M'not leaving, dude," Kyle murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed, "Still time to sleep."

The redhead feels the hold on his wrist loosen, "Okay." Stan curls himself up into his friend's chest, "Good night."

The redhead can feel himself starting to drift off, but he catches Stan's hand, fingers intertwining, "Yeah," he mutters hazily, "You too."