The Talk

A/N: This is the sequel to Pass the Salt, but it can be read alone. I had briefly thought about doing a sequel as I was writing Pass the Salt, but it was really FFN user Kay-chanLufU who convinced me to actually do it, hehe.

So, this time it's Stan's family that gets the good news!


"It's okay, Kyle, I can do this."

"You can do this?" Though the words were formed as a question, Kyle's tone was flat, and he had one eyebrow raised at his companion in blatant condescension.

Stan, the aforementioned companion, scoffed. "Don't you trust your best friend slash boyfriend?"

"I can certainly trust my best friend slash boyfriend to allude to our sex lives during family dinners."

The noirette's face reddened at the memory of that one painful Broflovski dinner night, but he was quick to defend himself with yet another statement about how it wasn't his fault, that it was an accident, Kyle, and it happened two months ago, so why don't you just let it go? For his part, Kyle responded with some colorful words regarding how this "accident" made him unable to meet his parents' eyes for the entirety of the first month following the catastrophe, and to this day Ike still giggled at him whenever he saw the two of them walking home together after school.

This quieted both of them for the duration of their walk to Stan's house, though the tense air between them had vanished by the time they reached the front door. There wasn't a word spoken by either of them for a moment, then Kyle finally looked up at the other and sighed. "It's your own family, okay?"

"I know."

"So you can do it."

"I know I can."

"There's no dinner affair this time, either. We just walk in and tell them that we're dating." This was accompanied by a vague hand gesture on Kyle's part to signal that it would be over with quickly.



Stan agreed with an echo of the Broflovski's previous word, emphasizing his point with a quick nod and then breaking into a sudden mischievous smile. "This time I won't accidentally tell everyone that you call me 'daddy' in bed."

Kyle laughed and smacked his boyfriend on the shoulder. "Shut the fuck up, Stan."

"But I should tell 'em that you like it rough."

"Oh, my God, dude."

"And that you're really into BDSM."

"Come on. That was one time."

"But you liked it."

The redhead rolled his eyes. "What if I only told you that so you'd feel better, huh?"

"Then you're a gifted faker when it comes to screaming at the top of your lungs."

"I think I am."

Stan flashed a grin, then bent over a bit to give the other a quick kiss before he straightened up again. "All right, Mister Faker. We can use the gag tonight to save you the trouble."

Kyle's face was now flushed a rather alarming shade of red, but he was too involved in a fit of laughter—that he was trying, in vain, to stifle—to actually care. "Oh, God, Stan."

"I predict I'll be hearing those words again sometime later."

The curly-haired male's response was a particularly impish grin that gave Stan goosebumps; he looked away to avoid Kyle's gaze, only to catch sight of his father, who stood not five feet away with grocery bags in his hands.

Stan stared, unable to properly react due to the sudden short circuiting in his brain. Randy stared back with a completely straight-faced expression, looking first at Stan, then at Kyle, who'd just realized the man was there and had taken up a mortified expression reminiscent of family dinner night two months prior.

They held their three-way stare for ages, until Randy finally turned around and walked back to his car, got into the driver's seat, and drove away.

Kyle fought the urge to slam his head on the Marsh's front door and instead groaned, "How much do you think he heard?"

"He heard it all, Kyle," Sharon Marsh responded flatly from inside the house, where the two boys immediately affixed their panicked gazes. "I know because I did, too."

"Good fucking going, Stan," the redhead muttered, putting his face in his gloved hands. "I'm going home."

"Wait, Kyle—"

"I'll see you later, dude. I need to try and shower away the intense wave of shame I've just been drowned in." With nothing more to add, the Broflovski left the premises, leaving a nervous-looking Stan behind under his mother's surprisingly calm gaze.

"Well, honey," she began lightly. "…I suppose it's a little late for The Talk, huh?"

Stan sighed.