Work Text:
7:56 PM, lame ass kyle, mallrat supreme.
mallrat supreme: hey
<respond
<ik ur doomscrolling on pinterest reels
lame ass kyle: what?
<you interrupted my scrolling time
mallrat supreme: tolkien’s throwing a party at his place
<go with me or your gay
lame ass kyle: it’s you’re
< why don’t you go with your boyfriend gary?
mallrat supreme: because he’s not into that
lame ass kyle: 🤦
<neither am i
mallrat supreme: i’ll give you twenty and a bag of edibles.
lame ass kyle: i’ll be at your house in ten.
***
Now sufficiently baked and mildly drunk in Tolkien’s kitchen, Stan and Kyle swayed together, laughing hazily over nothing in particular as bass from speakers shook the floor. They gripped on the other like it was their last chance, and possibly because they would fall if they didn’t.
Stan took another hit from a blunt, inhaling deeply with a dopey smile before handing it back to Kyle. “Was it worth the twenty bucks?” He slurred to Kyle, grinning stupidly.
Kyle snorted, nearly dropping the blunt as he inhaled. “You didn’t even give it to me, asshole.” he mumbled, resting his full body weight on Stan.
Stan rose an eyebrow, blinking slowly. “I didn’t?”
“Nuh-uh.”
Stan’s gaze dropped to his lips as his best friend took another hit. Pink. Slick with spit and liquor. His breath retched of cheap margaritas and Mary Jane. He wanted it.
Kyle flicked his forehead with his middle finger, giggling. “Fuck you looking at?”
His heart dropped. He got caught. Stan falsely laughed with him. “Nothing, loser.”
Kyle started wheezing, leaning into him even more. “Liar.” He stated, grinning and pinching Stan’s cheek with his free hand as if he were a baby.
Stan felt his ears flush. “Am not,” He told him, leaning into the counter for assistance.
Kyle handed him the blunt with shaky fingers, his shallow breaths lingering near Stan’s neck. Stan took the blunt, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke in Kyle’s face. Kyle’s previous laughed got even louder,slapping his hand against his chest as the smoke fogged up his glasses.
The sound of joy seemed to trigger something in him. Kyle’s high laughter seemed contagious, like a flu going around. Stan was laughing along with him, clapping his hand on kyle’s back as laughter wracked his body. Kyle leaned in too much, Stan leaned in too little.
“Oh, shit—“
Before either of them knew it, they were on the sticky floor of the kitchen, limbs tangled together. Kyle’s fits of laughter seemed to stir up with the unexpected fall, teary-eyed from the force.
Stan felt himself freeze underneath Kyle, hands awkwardly hovering around his waist— debating between holding or shoving him. He felt his face flush and nausea creep up his throat, and he couldn’t blame it on the alcohol.
Kyle’s breath reeked of weed, the scent fitting him surprisingly well. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy underneath his lopsided frames—it made him even hotter. His lips were pink and glistening, mesmerizing. It was far and few in between that Kyle let go like this—he hates parties. But seeing him like this was rare, and Stan was going to milk it for all it was worth.
“You suckkkkk at staying on your feet.” Kyle slurred drunkenly, giggling at Stan. He dropped his head to lean on him, barely aware of the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
Stan smiled sofly, settling his hands loosely on Kyle's hip. "You're ridiculous," he sighed, laughing along with him.
"Ammm not!" Kyle playfully protested, swatting his arm jokingly. He turned his head to look on the kitchen floor, chuckling slightly. "Whoa," He mumbles, rubbing his eyes as if hes not seeing clearly. " 'Verything looks weird."
Stan looked in Kyle's direction, blinking slowly as he attempted to figure out what he was looking at. "Huh?"
"Looooks....warped. Like Im falling in circles."
Stan snorted drunkenly, staring at nothing as if it'll give him the same affect it gave Kyle. "I see stars." Stan mumbled, getting the fallen joint and lighter on the floor to take another hit. Stan took a deep drag, exhaling with a dopey smile on his face.
"Give me some, asshole." Kyle snatched the joint from in between Stans fingers, taking a deep hit before handing it back to him. His arms wrapped comfortably arund Stan's torso, closing his eyes and leaning against the blonds chest.
Stan's heart stopped. His body froze under the warmth of Kyle's body, ears turing bright red. What the hell was he supposed to do? The scent of Kyle, his touch--it all drove Stan wild. He'd think about this again; in the privacy in his room, with the door closed.
"SPIN THE BOTTLE!" Clyde yelled while barging into the room, blissfully unaware of what he walked into. His gaze dropped to where the two boys were laying on the ground and snorted. He shook Stan with the edge of his shoe, throwing a teasing look at him. “Everyone’s playing. We’re waiting for you homos.”
The flush that was in Stan’s ears spread to his face. “I—we’re not—“ He nudged Clyde’s shoe off of him, his brain overheating.
“We’ll go right now, bitch.” Kyle cut Stan off, shooing away Clyde. His hand rested almost possessively on Stan’s arm, fingers curling into his hoodie. Clyde threw another look at the two—knowing and teasing, before walking off.
When Clyde walked off, Kyle pried himself off of him, body heat lingering on Stan where he once was. He rose slowly, leaning on the wall for support. Stan got up as well, stumbling a bit as he tried to steady his footing. “We going?” He asked as casually as he could.
Kyle shrugged. “Why not?”
As they walked together to Tolkien’s living room, bass from the speakers rattling the floor. “High schoolers are so fucking stupid,” he slurred quietly, kicking an empty red cup as they walked.
Stan turned his head to look at him. “We are stupid high schoolers.”
“But that’s different.”
Stan smirked weakly. “‘Cause we’re hot?”
Kyle smirked in turn, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Damn right.”
When they step into the circle, Stan’s eyes landed on one girl in particular. Blonde, brown eyes, strapless dress. Her gaze has been on Kyle since she got here. He hates it.
Kyle sat next to Stan, their knees brushing up against each other. Stan’s face flushed for the millionth time that night, absolutely praying that he was too high to care.
Kyle giggled drunkenly about nothing in particular, mumbling something about, “That girl keeps on looking at me.” While nudging Stan to look at her.
“Finally,” Clyde muttered, reaching out for the empty vodka bottle on the floor. “Kyle’s going first.”
He rose an eyebrow. “Why me?”
“‘Cause you’re the drunkest;” He told him. “it’ll be funny.”
He shoved the bottle at Kyle, nearly tipping him over in the process. His hand landed on Stan’s knee instinctively to steady himself, his other clutching the bottle instinctively.
Stan’s heart stopped. He needed to get a grip of himself.
Kyle spun that bottle with shaky hands. It spun. Towards Wendy, near Tolkien, landing on that blonde bimbo.
She smiled, whispering something to the girls next to her as she glanced at Kyle. She looked at Kyle and gave out one of those little breathy laughs that Stan hated.
“Score,” she whispered.
Stan wanted to chuck the bottle at her face.
Kyle turned to Stan with a grin. “She’s hot,” he whispered to her, oblivious to the fact that she was already leaning in.
Stan forced a smile in turn. “Good for you.”
Kyle met her halfway with a quick, polite peck to her lips.
Everyone cheered like it was the most important thing ever.
Stan barely heard any of it through the noise in his own head. Kyle pulled back and wiped his mouth like he kissed a dog.
Stan snickered. “Did it suck?”
Kyle nodded, eyebrows scrunched in disgust. “She tasted like a Bath and Body Works.”
Stan saw the bottle whirl; Bebe and Clyde were next. Craig and Kenny after; Tweek looked like he was ready to pounce on Kenny. Stan even got a kiss with Heidi.
Clyde leaned forward, shoving the empty liquor bottle in Stan’s hand. “Your turn, lover boy.”
His face flushed red. “Don’t call me that,” he mumbled, spinning the glass bottle hesitantly.
It spun. Whirled past Bebe, past that bimbo, past Clyde. Stan thought he landed on himself, until his eyes trailed up to see who it landed on.
Red hair. Black glasses. Drunken smile.
Holy shit.
Kyle’s grin faded into something more teasing, his eyes trailing to his lips before looking back to his eyes. Little shit. He knew what he was doing.
”Go on, Romeo,” Clyde pushed. “We don’t got all night.”
”Yeah, Romeo,” Kyle whispered, fingers barely skimming against his arm. “I’m waiting.”
Stan’s breath hitched. His heart stopped beating in that moment.
“You let Heidi kiss you,” his breath was warm against his face. “Let me have a turn.”
That broke something inside Stan.
He leaned in first; Kyle met him halfway. Their lips met in the wet heat of desperation and alcohol. Kyle tasted like that strawberry margarita he was drinking and smoked weed—Stan couldn’t imagine the flavor on nobody else.
His fingers tangled in Stan’s hair, tugging like he was desperate. His hands were fisted in Kyle’s hoodie as he shifted him onto his lap, his palms digging into his hips. His glasses shifted with the movement, landing on the floor with a clatter. As he adjusted his grip on his hips,Kyle actually let out a noise, half surprise—half pleasure, against his mouth. That was the hottest noise he's ever heard from somebody.
Someone wolf-whistled. The rest cheered. All of that was just background noise for them—it was only them in their world.
When Stan pulled back, Kyle’s pupils were dilated, his lips pink and wet with spit from the two of them. He was smiling like a kid who finally got something he wanted. Fucker.
Then reality hit.
Gary.
His face flashed in his mind—his stupidly attractive blonde hair, deep blue eyes like the sky. Guilt pitted him deep in the stomach. He couldn’t look at Kyle; not after what he did.
“I—uh, I gotta go—“ he stammered out awkwardly, shoving Kyle off of him as he ran off. He couldn’t look at his face, he couldn’t look at nobody’s.
Stan didn’t know how far down the hall he ran. He stumbled into the first empty bedroom he saw, and locked himself inside.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ He thought, his knees bucking as he slid his back on the cool wood door. He reached for something—anything, to hold onto while he broke internally. A pillow on the floor, perfect. The blond grabbed towards his chest, clutching it like a vice.
He shoved the face in the pillow.
Stan screamed into it.
Fuck.
He knew he inflicted this on himself—he should’ve never done that. They both knew Stan has a boyfriend, they knew it was wrong. They knew they shouldn't have kissed each other the way they did. It was wrong, he knew it. How the hell was he supposed to look at him—both of them, the same way?
He barely heard the knock outside the door through all his internal monologue.
”Stan?” Kyle called out, small and hesitant through the door.
He rolled his eyes at the sound of his voice—it just had to be Kyle, didn't it?
“Go away.” Stan stated bluntly.
The other ignored him. “Can I come in?” He asked.
“No.”
Kyle shrugged against the door, even though he knew Stan couldn’t see. “I’ll just stay here until you give in.”
Stan let himself bury his face in his hands. Of course he couldn’t go away like a normal person. “Go away, Kyle.”
“No.” He told him simply. “I’ll wait here until you give up.”
The blonde let out a long, frustrated groan. He hated how he could hear the smirk in Kyle’s voice; and how he felt the flush creep up his neck. “Seriously, dude. Go away.”
“I know why you ran.” Kyle’s voice dropped to a whisper, saying it in this tone that made stan melt like butter. “You’re not slick, Stanley.”
“Kyle—“
”Uh uh,” he chided mockingly. “He doesn’t have to know. you didn’t react that way when you kissed Heidi. What’s the difference?”
“Kyle, please—“
“I think I know,” Kyle cut him off, his voice teasing Stan on the worst way ever. “You wanted it, right? You think I haven’t noticed how’ve you been looking at me all night? Or how you looked like you wanted to fight that blonde girl after she kissed me?”
Stan couldn’t talk; Not without saying something utterly ridiculous.
”I noticed how you kissed me downstairs,” He mentioned, like he knew Stan was folding behind the door. “I kissed you back the same way because I wanted it too.”
”He’s not here. Let me in so I can kiss you again.”
Stan didn't remember opening the door; just the way Kyle’s hands latched onto his chest as he kissed him.
His mouth was messy, hot, and fucking perfect. The redheads glasses clashed into Stan’s nose as he got pinned against the door, his hands sliding under his hoodie and onto the warm love handles underneath. Kyle’s leg hitched up around his waist, letting out a satisfied groan against his mouth as he ground onto his hips.
And Stan? He couldn’t get enough.
His breath hitched when Kyle’s cold hands slid under his hoodie, gently skimming his back with his fingernails. That fucking tease. Stan pulled away from Kyle’s mouth, enjoying the little whine when he pulled away. He tried to take a mental photograph of him at that very moment, because goddamn— he looked great.
Kyle’s hair was messy and undone, random pieces falling into his face that looked stupidly good on him. His glasses laid lopsided on his nose, and the emerald green eye had blown out pupils from pleasure and adrenaline. His face was flushed, and his mouth was openly panting.
“Why’d you stop?” He questioned him, hands gripping onto his waist. “Getting cold feet?”
“Fuck you.”
That was Stan’s bitter response before crashing his mouth into Kyle’s again.
Neither of them cared about the consequences of tonight—that could all wait in the morning. All that mattered was the heat of each other and the stolen moment they had in the guest bedroom.
Besides, who cares about consequences? They could wait until the morning.
***
Sunlight seemed to slap Stan in the face when he woke up the following morning. His head pounded like someone took a rock to his cranium, and he was half sure that he was going to throw up whatever edibles and tequila he had the night before.
He rolled onto his side—
and nearly pushed Kyle off the bed while doing so.
He looked like if the word “disaster” took human form and sprawled awkwardly next to him. His glasses were askew somewhere on the bed sheets, his hair puffing out is every which way, and his shirt somewhere on the floor. He also noticed the red and purple marks on his skin. Guess he got to score.
“Dude,” Stan rasped out. “Where the hell are we?”
Kyle groaned in response, mumbling something incoherent before saying. “Like fuck do I know.” He rolled onto his back and groaned in discomfort. “Holy shit,” he murmured, covering his eyes with his arm as a feeble attempt to block the sun. “My sugar feels fucking low.” He stopped before adding an afterthought. “And my head hurts like hell too.”
Stan decided not to question why they were in the same bed. He’ll think about it when he gets over his hangover.
“Wanna—“ He couldn’t finished his thought, not when he felt the wave of nausea in the back of his throat.
He assumed Kyle must’ve gotten the hint, so he groggily passed the small trash can to Stan. He didn’t even get the chance to thank Kyle before the first wave of vomit came. He ducked his head into the trash can on instinct, letting the distrusting spill of god-knows-whatever-fucking-party-drug he took last night and cheap liquor.
After what seemed like an eternity, he finally lifted his head from the god-dreadful trash can, panting and shaking. Weakly, he passed it to Kyle, who seemed like a shade a pale green to him. Or maybe his hangover was affecting his vision. Was that true? Hell knows.
“You need it?” Stan asked, gesturing vaguely for Kyle to take the can if needed.
He didn’t get a verbal response to that.
Kyle took the trash can and turned onto his side, already gagging. “Oh, fuck—“ Was his warning call before retching into the trash.
Stan placed a singular, comforting hand to his back, rubbing gently as he vomited his stomachs contents.
“Oh,” Kyle complained into the trash can. “I hate margaritas, I hate alcohol, I hate stupid fucking teenagers who throw parties.” He dry heaved, once before gagging out whatever he had left in his stomach.
“You realize that we are stupid fucking teenagers who throw parties, right?” Stan teased jokingly.
Kyle flipped him off as he continued to throw up in the can. When he lifted his head up to catch his breath, he placed the bin next to him on the floor; just in case. He laid flat on his back, staring at the ceiling as he seemed to think.
“You good?” Stan asked, tugging on Kyle’s hair gently to get his attention.
“I’m craving something greasy.” Kyle said casually, like he didn’t just throw up a whole bottle of vodka. “Like—‘you can’t eat it without making a mess’ type of greasy.”
Stan smirked. “Wanna go get something?” He offered, amused at how Kyle’s expression changed when he asked.
“We’ll be ready in ten?”
“Bet, dude.”
Did they ever find out what they did that night? Not really.
Did they care?
Probably not.