Kyle only hears about it because Butters says he can't come over anymore.

He's with Kenny now, and their happiness is really starting to grate on Kyle's last nerve.

Mostly because they're fucking disgusting.

Stan is down in Denver with Randy for the day, pretending to be interested in whatever Randy has planned for them, while Kyle is stuck at Stark's Pond by himself, trying to knock off one of the books on his reading list before he gets to school.

Kenny and Butters were there when Kyle parked himself on the bench, skipping stones off the dock, talking and occasionally taking breaks to make out right there in plain sight. Kyle can't hear their conversation from where he is, nor does he care to. They invite him over a few times but he refuses so that he can stare mindlessly at the pages of his book.

Things have been strange with Stan lately. Maybe it's because Kyle has finally admitted his feelings to himself, maybe it's seeing Butters and Kenny so happy together.

Whatever it is, it's definitely starting to make Kyle more irritable than usual.

"Whatcha got there?" Kenny finally comes up and asks. He and Butters are holding hands, which makes Kyle's blood boil in the already too-warm weather.

"None of your fucking business," Kyle clips back.

"Aw, no need to be so grumpy," Butters tuts, and the only reason Kyle doesn't tell him to fuck off is because he knows Kenny will kick his ass.

"Just trying to enjoy some nineteenth century Russian literature in the scorching sun, kids," Kyle grumbles.

"'the fuck, I thought you were into—wait, what are you into?"

"Check the handkerchief in my back pocket," Kyle snarks back, and supposes he should have expected Kenny to hoist him up and check for one.

"Would you get off of me?" Kyle flails and finally wriggles out of Kenny's grip, shirt rucked up and reading glasses askew. "What is wrong with you?"

"Just having a little fun," Kenny holds his hands up.

"Cut that shit out," Kyle rights his shirt, Tolstoy forgotten in the grass. "Fun is awful."

"Kyle, are you okay?" Butters asks, face screwed up in a funny way that makes Kyle want to punch it.

"I'm fucking fine, both of you!" he snaps and grabs his book from the ground.

Kenny shoots him a look that doesn't placate him so much as scare him into submission. He fixes his glasses and holds up his book. "I have to finish this and write an essay on it by the first day of class," he says calmly. "Because apparently this professor thinks I have nothing better to do with my summer than read War and goddamned fucking Peace."

And it wouldn't be so infuriating if he was alone. Or at Stan's house while Stan eats Cheesy Poofs and plays Halo.

At least then he could smell Stan's soap on his skin and ruffle up his hair like he sometimes likes to do, just to have an excuse to touch him.

"Never mind," he finally sighs. "I'm going to go back home and talk to some Assassin's Creed about this."

He doesn't get two feet toward his house before Kenny is beside him, arm draped around his shoulder as they walk.

"This could all go away, you know," he says.

"Fuck off," Kyle bites back.

"Just talk to Stan, you idiot," Kenny rolls his eyes.

"Why, so we can dry hump in public?" Kyle asks.

"Butters and I don't dry hump in public," Kenny defends. "It's so fucking hot, it's like a goddamned swamp down there."

"Okay," Kyle starts walking faster. "We're done here."

"It's not the end of the world," Kenny calls after him, but he doesn't follow. Just as well, since Kyle is about one more, "Hey there!" away from ripping someone a new asshole.

By the time he gets back home, he's just hot and disgruntled enough to plop down in front of the giant oscillating fan with Ike. Ike is barely thirteen, but he looks about three years older—he started shooting up like a weed not long ago, limbs sprouting out every which way, hands and feet massive and clumsy.

He and Kyle both move side to side with the fan, neither speaking until their mom comes in from the kitchen and puts a hand over her chest.

"Just like you looked when you were boys," she chokes up, and Kyle and Ike both roll their eyes in unison. They groan openly when she snaps a picture of them with her phone.

Who taught her how to use technology anyway?

When she goes back outside to tend to her garden, Ike finally looks over and asks, "What's your issue?"

"Mom and dad wanted another child," Kyle clips back and lets his eyes slip shut.

"Oh no, my fragile adolescent psyche," Ike drones. "What ever will I do."

"Build a bridge and get right on over it," Kyle offers, and is pleased to discover that this buys him a few moments of silence. If he believed in meditation, he thinks this might be it—eyes shut, with nothing but the sound of his breathing, the fan, and the lawnmower across the street to keep him occupied.

"Is this about Stan?"

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Kyle snaps. "Will everyone get off of my dick about that?"

"Who's on your dick?" Ike asks. "You're pissy, and it's usually because of Stan."

"What do you want me to say," Kyle moves still with the fan. "That I want to bend my best friend over a table and fuck him until he can't walk right? If you want feelings you might have to give me a few weeks' notice."

"Automaton Kyle," Ike nods understandingly, "My favorite incarnation of you, to be honest."

"Goddamn it."

"Robots can have feelings too," Ike points out. "I don't know if they get boners for their best friends, though."

Kyle pauses in his attempt to become one with the universe to punch Ike on the back.

"I guess you haven't thought about talking to Stan," Ike continues, voice strained.

"Thought about it, yes," Kyle responds. "Execution will not be happening."

"Why?" Ike asks. "'cause you're a pussy?"

Kyle rolls his eyes and pushes himself up to his feet. He's done with being harassed, he thinks, and if he hits Ike again he knows their mom will get involved, so he abstains. He climbs the stairs to his room and abandons the book on his desk, too wound up to read.

He flops down on his bed and hugs his pillow to his chest. Mostly, he's too wound up to do anything, even nap. Not that he naps a lot to begin with, but even so. He opens up his window, since it's much cooler outside than it is upstairs, and turns over to stare at his ceiling.

He would talk to Stan about anything else. He's talked to Stan about his crushes on girls, about what he's done with girls; he's even talked to Stan about his drinking without batting an eyelash, without the hesitance everyone else had exhibited.

"Fuck," he mutters to himself and rolls over to look out the window.

He has to tell Stan, doesn't he? He has to bite the bullet and just tell him.

Goddamn it, he hates it when other people are right.

But he can't just let this fester. He can't spend the last two months he has in South Park living with whatever sickening feeling this is in his stomach.

He shuts his eyes and ends up falling asleep before he can text Stan to ask when he'll be back home.


It's dark when he wakes up.

The smell of dinner still hangs in the air, even up here. Kyle's head throbs as he pushes himself up and rubs his hands over his face. He can't recall his dream, but he knows he's hard and he knows it's because Stan was probably in his dream.

Out of habit, Kyle ignores the insistent arousal in his pants and instead readjusts himself. He doesn't like jerking off right when he wakes up anyway, but the fiery nerves in his brain wouldn't let him if he wanted to anyway.

He has to tell Stan.

That's the only thing he's sure of as he rolls to his feet and scratches his fingers through his hair.

He has to tell Stan.

He waits for his erection to go down before he opens his door and pads down the stairs. His parents are on the couch watching TV with Ike; when they ask him where he's going, he just says that he'll be back later, takes his keys, and heads toward Stan's house.

He has to tell Stan, even if—Kyle swallows the bile in the back of his throat—even if it means that he loses his best friend.

Kyle shakes it out of his brain. He and Stan have been through weirder shit and still been friends on the other side. They can make it through this, it'll just be a little awkward for a while.


Kyle rounds the corner that marks the halfway point between his and Stan's houses and comes face to face with—of course—Stan.

"Oh," Stan stumbles back a few steps. "Hey, dude. I was just coming to see you."

That shouldn't make Kyle's stomach twist up in the way that it does.

"Same," is all he can say back. "Um, is your mom home?"

"No, she's on a date," Stan stuffs his hands in his shorts pockets. "Just me tonight."

"Okay, let's go to your place," Kyle nods, turning him by the shoulders back toward his house. "My parents will eavesdrop like crazy."

Kyle realizes that that says probably more than he intended, and Stan picks up on it too. Kyle swears he sees him blush out of the corner of his eye as they make the short walk back.

The moment they're in Stan's house with the door shut behind them, Kyle doesn't give Stan a moment before he starts in with, "So I'm in love with you."

Not very graceful, and Stan's eyes are about the size of dinner plates now, but at least it's out there and—fuck it all—everyone was right again.

He does kind of feel better.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Stan asks.

"Yeah, Stan," Kyle rolls his eyes. "Doesn't this sound like the kind of thing I'd fuck around with?"

Stan's eyebrows furrow together, "You know, if you want this to go even remotely well, you might with to drop the whole 'dick' thing."

Kyle opens his mouth to retort, but quickly snaps it back shut when Stan shoots him a look.

"You're in love with me?" Stan asks, eyebrows high on his forehead. "Not just, 'you love me'? In love?"

"In love, Stan, yeah," Kyle nods, and when Stan blinks at him, demanding an explanation, Kyle throws up his hands and continues, "I don't know, dude. It just… happened. I don't know how, but like. You're my best friend, dude, and I guess one day you started making my dick hard. And when I think about it, you're the only person I ever want to be around anyway, so it just kind of fits? I don't know. I've always loved you and now I'm in love with you and if you don't want to talk to me for a while, I get it. It's pretty fucking weird."

Kyle pulls back, dizzy and breathless with unexpected confession, and leans against the couch.

"In love," Stan reiterates.

"Yes, in love!" Kyle clips back. "Fuck!"

"I'm in love with you too," Stan says then, and suddenly all the ire is gone from Kyle's body.


Well then.

"Are you serious?" Kyle asks, but Stan only needs to give him another look before he realizes that, yeah, Stan is serious.

"Fuck," Kyle laughs then and runs his fingers through his hair. He wants to grab onto it, but it's still too short—that's the only thing he misses about his curls.

"Yeah," Stan nods back and shoves his hands in his pockets again. "Um… what do we do?"

"I don't know," Kyle shrugs. "What do you want to do?"

They look at each other for about two seconds before they fly forward and smash their lips together. Kyle's nose is way too big and knocks awkwardly against Stan's, but that doesn't deter them. Their hands roam over each other's bodies, both grabbing maybe a little too hard and eventually losing their balance.

Stan topples back onto the couch and pulls Kyle down with him, both of them laughing as they fall together. Kyle hasn't smiled this big in a long time, part with relief and part with seeing just how broadly Stan smiles back at him.

"Oh, my god," Stan lets out a delirious laugh and wraps his arms around Kyle's shoulders. "I've wanted to do this for so long."

"Really?" Kyle asks. "I thought you… I thought you liked girls."

"I thought you did too," Stan shoots back, and Kyle shrugs.

"Fair enough," he says and dips back down to kiss him. Stan's lips are nice and soft, and feel good between Kyle's. They shift into a more comfortable position, legs intertwined and teeth snagging where they're too impatient to be careful.

"Wait, wait," Stan pulls back, big hands splayed over Kyle's chest. He goes glassy-eyed at that, and murmurs, "Fuck. Do you—should we go slow?"

"Do you want to?" Kyle asks, sitting up slightly. That's probably something he should have anticipated, but if they've never done this before—

"Not really," Stan cuts him off. "Do you?"

"Fuck no," Kyle chuckles and brushes Stan's dark hair off of his forehead. "Do you have, um… stuff?"

"Stuff?" Stan laughs back, and Kyle sticks his tongue out. He pushes his hands up Stan's shirt and caresses the warm skin there. He knew Stan was fit—he's been on a sports team ever since he was a kid—but with every dip his fingers catch, with every small whine of satisfaction that comes out of Stan's throat, Kyle gets more and more aroused.

He pulls Stan's shirt off and Stan does the same to Kyle, both of them giggling at how their heads and limbs get tangled together. Kyle makes such a violent twist that he ends up on the floor, laughing so hard that his stomach hurts.

"Oh my god, you're such a fucktard," Stan laughs back and slides onto the floor with him. He has a light smattering of dark hair over his chest, and a thick trail of dark hair leading into the waistband of his jeans.

It makes Kyle's throat go dry.

"Off," he commands, and crawls on top of Stan's legs, pinning him down as he undoes his fly, and Stan does the same for him.

Then they're naked and it's strange.

Strange because it's not all that strange.

They've been naked around each other before. Granted, they've never had massive raging boners when they were naked around each other, but that's what makes it even better.

"Fuck," Stan breathes. "You're, like… sexy, dude."

"You too," Kyle nods, and crawls forward to kiss him again. It's a little more tender than the ones before. This one makes his heart skip a beat, makes Stan follow when he pulls back.

Kyle's heart hurts from beating so hard, and he thinks that if he's going to have a heart attack, he may as well have one now.

Stan scoots closer toward Kyle and brings him into another kiss, heat radiating off of him and making Kyle dizzy again. He kisses Kyle all over his face and jaw, down his neck and over his chest, licking over Kyle's nipples, one and then the other, and it's making Kyle's limbs twitch.

"You wanna fuck me?" Stan asks, looking up at Kyle with his puppy dog eyes, and Kyle lets out a low whine.

And then he reaches down to stroke over Kyle's cock and the whine strangles itself in Kyle's throat.

"You ever done that before?" he hiccups.

"No," Stan shifts. "But I want you to do that for me. I want you inside me."

Kyle gulps, reaching up to cup Stan's face with trembling hands. "I don't wanna hurt you or anything, dude, I—I'm not exactly an expert at this, dude."

"I know," Stan nods, "I trust you, though."

If Kyle's heart doesn't explode from that, it won't explode from anything.

"Lube?" Kyle asks, and Stan has him wait there while he scrambles to the downstairs bathroom and returns with a bottle of unscented plain hand lotion.

"Good?" he offers.

"If it's good enough for your ass, it's good enough for me, dude," Kyle lets out an incredulous laugh. "Um, I'll be careful."

"I know you will," Stan's lips quirk up in a smile, and it makes Kyle surge forward and kiss him again.

It's nice to be able to kiss Stan when he wants, even if he's not quite used to it yet.

He gulps as Stan lies back and spreads his legs, offering himself up to Kyle like a feast laid out before him. Before he does anything, Kyle crawls over him and kisses him everywhere he can get his lips on, all the way down to Stan's stomach.

Then he takes Stan's cock in his hand.

And then takes the tip into his mouth and sucks softly. Stan whines above him and places a hand on the back of Kyle's head.

Suck dick like a straight boy… Butters can kiss his ass. He bobs his head and tries a few things that Butters seemed to like, but it seems to have triple the effect on Stan. He pants and writhes against Kyle's ministrations, and thrusts up a little too sharply a few times and makes Kyle choke.

"Sorry," Stan moans. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Kyle coughs, throat a little sore. "You want me to, um-?"

"Yeah," Stan nods, and Kyle thanks whatever deity might be up there that there's a human on the planet he doesn't have to explain every last one of his thoughts to.

Kyle squeezes some of the lotion into his hand and warms it between his palms before slathering his fingers. He gulps, the taste of Stan still on the back of his tongue, and presses a finger inside Stan's impossibly tight heat.

"Fuck, dude," he swallows again. "This doesn't hurt?"

"Kinda," Stan says, "But I like it. I've done it to myself before a few times."

"Yeah?" Kyle's finger inadvertently speeds up.

"Yeah," Stan nods quickly. "Feels good. Gimme another."

Kyle complies, and Stan tosses his head back against the worn carpet. Kyle works his fingers in and out of him, and even though he doesn't believe Stan when he says he can take another one he definitely can.

"You sure this doesn't hurt?" Kyle asks, even though his lips and tongue don't feel quite like they're keeping up.

"No," Stan groans back in a way that isn't entirely convincing. "God, I want you so bad, dude. Fuck me, please."

Kyle gulps, "Okay. You have a condom or anything?"

"Can't wait," Stan shakes his head. "Do you care?"

The logical part of Kyle's brain knows he shouldn't be shaking his head. The logical part of him knows he shouldn't be slicking up his erection without a condom, but the logical part of his brain isn't in right now. Instead he lines himself up against Stan's entrance and slips in as carefully as he can help.

Stan pulls him down once he's fully seated, kissing him haphazardly all over his face. It feels like forever until Stan tells him to move, but when he does it's like—everything good Kyle has ever experienced wrapped up in one.

Kyle rolls his hips into Stan, and Stan rolls back against him, all sorts of sweet noises pouring out of him as they move together. Kyle can't keep his thoughts straight—his entire world, his entire being devolves into Stan.

Not that it always hasn't been Stan.

Not that it always won't be.

"Fuck," Kyle hides his face in Stan's neck. "I'm gonna come."

He's quick to follow, rolling into Stan probably a little too hard, but Stan just tosses his head back and groans so loudly it reverberates off of the crystal in the cabinet by the TV. Kyle has just enough sense to pull out and finish on the inside of Stan's leg, hoping that will at least count for some preventative measures (but knowing full well that it doesn't).

His whole brain has gone fuzzy, thoughts backed up for miles; he only opens his eyes when he feels Stan shake beneath him, and realizes that he hasn't come yet, that he's still hard, and that he's jerking himself off.

"Ah, fuck," Kyle slips down Stan's body with a wince and removes his hand. He enjoys the whimper that pours out of him just a little too much and asks with a dopey grin. "Wanna come in my mouth?"

"Hell yeah," Stan laughs, and with a final smile Kyle dips and closes his lips around him again. Stan writhes beneath him, trying to grip at his hair, at the carpet, at anything he can find. He comes without warning on the end of a low, throaty groan, and Kyle swallows back as much as he can until he's overcome by a coughing fit.

There's come all over his chin, he knows it, and he knows that's why Stan's laughing so hard. In retaliation, Kyle grabs Stan's shirt from where it lies draped over the coffee table and wipes his face clean.

"Aw—Aw, come on, dude," Stan chuckles breathlessly. "Uncool."

Kyle almost comes back with something snarky, but he looks down and sees a mix of come, lotion and—his heart stops—blood.

"Dude, shit," he inspects more closely. "Shit, are you okay?"

"I'm so fucking awesome, I can't even tell you," Stan laughs back. "We fucked. Like, I could die now and be happy."

"Doesn't this hurt?" Kyle croaks and then tries to clear his throat.

"Yeah, but it feels awesome," Stan hums. "Like I'm yours, y'know? And you made my ass bleed, so obviously you're my bitch forever."

Kyle tosses his come shirt at Stan's face, and laughs when Stan throws it back at him. He lies down beside Stan and brings him into a kiss, another of the heart-stoppingly tender variety.

"I love you," he repeats, and Stan smiles back at him.

"I love you too," he murmurs and kisses the tip of Kyle's nose.

"God, keep my nose out of this," Kyle turns his head.

"Hey, I like your nose," Stan chuckles and kisses him there again. "Fuck, my back's gonna be all sorts of torn up, isn't it?"

Kyle raises an eyebrow, and then realizes that Stan was rutting fast against the wiry, worn carpet beneath them. "Oh, fuck… probably. Do you, like, an ice pack or something?"

"Nah, I kinda just wanna lie here until I can muster up the will to move," Stan yawns. "Just wake me up if you hear my mom come home."

Kyle chuckles and wraps himself around Stan.

This is right, this is good.

His world could be Stan for the rest of his life and he'd never be upset.