Work Text:
“Stan, hey.” A faint whisper draws him from his light sleep. Where was he? And who was talking to him? Oh right, the Broflovski’s, and it’s gotta be Kyle poking him awake. He feels a little bad, Kyle had been rambling about something or other for a while and he drifted off. Well, he doesn’t feel too bad, Kyle talks a lot, like a lot. So it’s not really his fault, is it? (He still feels bad, no matter how much he pushes it away. Because it’s Kyle.)
He blinks his eyes and squints to see Kyle staring at him from over the bed. He’d spent the night with Kyle again, which happened more times than he spent the night at his own house. He started around when Shelley moved out. His parents had really stopped caring since she left, mom too distraught of never seeing her oldest and dad too drunk to care. It wasn't that Stan didn’t love his parents, hell he loved his mom, she was the fucking best, (most of the time). It's just that Stan would rather be with his best friend than his shitty dad. Randy was a piece of shit, and no matter how many times he’d acted like he’d gotten better it was still hard to be around him. And no matter how much he loves his mom, he hates his dad more, so Kyle’s house was always better. Gerald paid no attention to him, probably didn’t even realize he was there so often. Sheila treated him like her own, always smiling and offering him something to eat anytime she saw him. And then there was Ike, who was always fun to fuck with, he’s what, 13 now? A weird kid but he always played along with Stan and Kyle's antics. Of course Kyle was there, literally and otherwise. He was always there for Stan to lean his head on and cry, or to double over in laughter when the mood called for it. And the icing on the cake? It didn't smell like weed in every goddamn room of the house. That was probably the best part. (no, that was the second best, his super best friend was the obvious number one.)
Stan tries to rub and blink the fog from his eyes, he covers his mouth and mumbles back to Kyle, who poked his shoulder again. “I can’t sleep.” He whined.
Stan rolled his eyes. “Not my problem.” he cleared his throat, coughing away at the cotton in his mouth. He really needed some water but he wasn’t willing to leave the safety pile of blankets he slept on. It’s not that he was scared to go to the Broflovski kitchen, but that’s where his parents always fought, so he just steered away from all kitchens late at night.
“Staaan. I’m bored.” Kyle pouted. “Do you wanna go on the roof with me?” Stan stares at him, allowing his sleepy brain to process. He nodded slightly, before his brain caught up and he whispered a quiet yes. Kyle sat up in his bed, taking a wide step over where Stan laid on the floor and crossing the room to the window. He made quick work of unlocking the top and shoving it open. He smiled widely when the cold Colorado air hit his face, blowing his red curls every which way. It was cold, maybe he should find his hat, but then it wasn’t really worth it. He loved the way the cold nipped at his ears when it was a bearable cold. But, it was still cold enough for another layer, so he stepped away for a moment, grabbing a pullover, a fuzzy blanket and a pair of slippers sitting neatly by his desk.
“I’m gonna go up, meet me when you’re ready, okay?” Stan nodded and yawned some more.
Kyle had already climbed out the window by the time Stan had gotten up from his blanket pile and slipped a random sweater over his head. He’d grabbed a random one from Kyle’s desk chair. It could’ve belonged to either of them, Kyle’s room was always messy but it was more Stan's mess than it was Kyle’s. Stan felt kinda bad, he knew Kyle’s room would be spotless if he wasn’t here all the time, but Kyle never kicked him out. No matter how many times he offered to leave, there was always a pile of blankets on the floor for Stan to sleep on. Sheila offered to buy an air mattress or something of the sort. Stan almost broke down, he couldn’t be living in their house half the time and have their money spent on him. He refused it, and any time she offered him something he’d turn her down. He wanted the care he so desperately craved, of course his mom was great, but Sheila always made him feel at home. Since the fighting (which was always a thing, if he wanted to be honest and not in denial of the divorce his parents so desperately needed) his mother had withdrawn. She’d been the best mother, until she wasn’t. Stan really didn’t consider his dad's family, calling him Randy more than dad these days. He respected his mom too much to call her by her first name, but that’s all it was, and the respect was draining. Besides the Broflovski’s who offered him a place in their home, he really only considered Shelley his family. They never saw each other, not since she’d skipped town the moment she graduated. She’d protected Stan when they were younger, but now he had to find his own place, which was the Broflovski’s.
He pulled the sweater over his head. It’s got some college on the front, so definitely not his, and by the wear of the was once fuzzy insides it’s probably one of Kyle’s favorites. He shakes his head, paying no attention to the smell of Kyle's favorite cologne infiltrating his nostrils and ignoring the tightness in his stomach when he breathes it in longer than he should. It’s just his best friend's jacket, no need to feel weak in the knees and let his brain fog over when he smelled the cologne on the shirt. It’s not like he wanted to run out the front door, taking this sweatshirt with him until the smell faded and he’d have to come back. He would never do that. Never, probably.
He dug through his bag, grabbing whatever bottle he’d stolen from his parents bar in the basement. There was so much, it’s not like they’d ever notice, and when they did Stan was too inebriated to care.
He finally stepped out of the window, crawling to join Kyle where he sat at the top. He moved in close, his hip almost touching Kyles, and paid little attention to when Kyle shifted slightly closer. It was just to toss the other corner of the blanket over his shoulder, right? Of course, nothing special, just trying to share a blanket when to beat the chill of the Colorado nights.
Kyle grinned, he wasn’t looking but could hear it in his voice. “Glad you decided to join me, sleeping beauty.” Stan elbowed him in the ribs, to which Kyle just laughed.
He leaned back, watching the sky and its dark blues to inky blacks and bright whites to faint yellows. The air smelt fresh, when he could get a sniff. It was like Kyle had drowned this pullover in his cologne. Which made sense with Stan’s earlier guess of this being his favorite.
Kyle turned to him, “I’m hoping you brought alcohol?”
Stan’s eyebrows raised, hiding the whiskey bottle behind his legs, “What's that supposed to mean?” He shot back playfully.
Kyle rolled his eyes, lightly shoulder checking Stan, where he laughed as he stumbled.
“You bring alcohol every night you spend here when you spent the last one with your parents. If you hadn’t I’d be a little concerned and throw you off the roof so your brains scrambled back into place.”
Stan laughs, pulling the bottle into the moonlight. He goes to open it when he notices the label. Shit. This was one of his dads high and mighty whiskies, like the fancy one they owned. “Only to be brought out for the best guests”, that had never been brought out before. Out of all the bottles his dumbass had to grab the most expensive one that his dad would definitely notice the absence of, and by the way he talked about it there was no way Stan could replace it. Sweat dripped down his neck before Kyle penetrated his cloudy wall of thoughts.
Kyle set his hand on Stan’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Dude, is something wrong? If you don’t wanna drink we don’t have to. If you’re not in the mood just toss it back inside I don’t mind. I was just teasing you.” He rambled on before Stan shook his head.
”No, no, it’s not that it's just-” He stopped, taking a break because did he really care? Randy was a bitch, and he was never home anyways. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” he opened the bottle and threw his head back. He drank until his throat burned and his brain stopped, then handed the bottle to Kyle.
For a “high and mighty whisky” it really tasted like shit, not like he was complaining though, it was alcohol. And really, if it was only for the best guests who else would he share it with but Kyle? If it hadn't been brought out yet then it’d sit in a cabinet until Randy died from alcohol poisoning.
Kyle takes his own sip, much smaller and sets the bottle down, gently placing the lid on top. He sets in between them, in the small space between their knees that if either shifted they’d be touching each other. Stan wanted to, he wanted to lean on Kyle and just watch the stars. He wanted to lay down in the moonlight, his head on Kyle’s chest and listen to his heartbeat. Maybe Kyle would start talking, run his fingers through Stan’s hair until they were both fighting sleep. One of them would urge the other to get up and go back inside. He wanted it so bad, more than anything, but the fear of being sent away was too much. This wasn’t even his second home, he spent so much time here he considered it his first, and if he was kicked out that would mean going back to falling asleep to endless fighting every night and he really couldn’t take that anymore.
They took turns between the bottle, it was about a quarter empty and Kyle was feeling it. He was a lightweight, always had been. Choosing himself as a designated driver to every party Stan convinced him to go to. It’s not that he hated drinking, he was just too scared to embarrass himself in front of crowds. He wouldn’t touch the alcohol in public, letting Stan get drunk off his ass until he was about to vomit or pass out, which he usually ended up doing both. Then Kyle would pull him up and out to the car, they’d ride home while Stan drunkenly spouted bullshit for about five minutes until he passed out again. Then Kyle would fill the silence by telling half asleep Stan about his day. It was nearly a routine at this point.
Kyle never minded, he would lose his mind if something happened to Stan at a party and he wasn’t there to fix it, which thank God. Stan said Kyle worries too much but Kyle doesn’t care when he’s saved Stan’s drunk ass more times than he can count. Fighting, almost dying, making the wrong decisions, Kyle saved him from it all. Stan felt guilty, because it was always Kyle. None of his other friends cared like this. So Stan promised himself, as many times as Kyle could save him while drunk in public, he’d let Kyle be the drunk one when they were alone. He felt it was fair and promised himself that. He brushed off when Kyle would ask why he never got drunk with him. He wanted to pay back Kyle. Maybe Kyle didn’t realize what Stan was doing but Stan felt it was worth the effort.
Eventually, Kyle had laid back, letting Stan take the blanket as the alcohol warmed his body. The bottle was left alone, maybe less than half full now. Maybe they should put it back inside, but neither of them was willing to get up and do that.
Kyle was obviously drunk, by the slur of his words and the random nonsense he was spouting. Stan watched over him, sitting with his knees to his chest and the blanket wrapped tightly around him.
The conversation drifted, Kyle had run out of topics for his drunk brain to spout incorrectly, so Stan was pointing out the stars. (In all honesty, Stan knew very little about stars, maybe bits in pieces that he’d heard teachers say over the years. He just wanted to impress Kyle.)
Kyle turned and looked at him, not for the first time that night but the first time with that look that night (it wasn’t the first time he’d ever looked at Stan like that, if he’s honest he did it all the time, just usually when Stan couldn’t see his face). His eyes were starry, flickering greens in the streetlights. There were so many emotions in his eyes that Stan couldn’t place his finger on. (if he had to guess, when he was sober, he would’ve joked that Kyle was trying to eye fuck him, which was close but not quite. It was more like admiration, maybe love, but neither wanted to dwell on it too long.)
Stan readjusted the blanket over his shoulders, moving it so it’d stay in place when he let go. Kyle’s eyes drifted down to the cologne scented sweater and he smiled. “Hey! That one’s my favorite.” He said bubbly, poking Stan in the chest, right where the label was. Stan smiled back, he’d guessed right. “’S really nice” He wrapped his arms around himself tighter, hoping to ward away the cold. “Smells good too.” Maybe he shouldn’t say that, but it was too late now.
Kyle tilted his head, soft smile still on his lips. “Take it.”
Stan did a double take. “What do you mean?”
“If you like it you can have it, that color looks nicer on you anyways.” Stan looked down at the faded red covering his arms and torso. Kyle was giving him his sweater, was this real? God wouldn’t play with him like this, would he?
“You’re sure.” He said it carefully, waiting for Kyle to laugh and take it back and let him sit on the cold roof.
Kyle nodded, looking back to the stars before speaking again. “Absolutely”
“But you said it’s your favorite.”
“‘nd you’re my favorite person.” Kyle giggled childishly. “I wancha ta have it.” Kyle was slurring his words more than usual, an obvious side effect of the alcohol. But he was also nicer than usual. Sure, Stan was his favorite person but no way would he say that sober. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have even given Stan that sweatshirt even if he had a thousand like it while sober.
Stan smiled, laying back so he was next to Kyle, their hands centimeters apart, if Stan twitched his fingers ever so slightly he would be touching Kyle’s, but then he might be tempted to grab it. (would that really be such a problem?)
They sat in silence for a while, each waiting for the other to stay something.
Stan wanted to speak. Only slightly tipsy but God he could spill his guts and ruin the only friendship, only family, he had left. Maybe it would be worth it. Kyle didn’t know he was bi, (no one did) so he didn’t know Stan was head over heels for him, but it’s not like Kyle would judge him. Kyle didn’t know he’d loved him forever, probably even before he loved Wendy. Kyle was the only one who ever understood him. Kyle was the only one who he would tell his darkest secrets. Kyle was the only one who would love him even after all the stars burned out and they were nothing but dust.
There was more silence, each drowning in their own thoughts.
Kyle, drunk off his ass, cursing his lightweightedness, had to bite his tongue every time he wanted to speak. Stan would listen, but Kyle wouldn’t remember in the morning and he didn't want to say anything awful that would kick his ass later.
But Stan couldn’t take the silence, it was suffocating. He was stuck under the waves of tension and needed to be let out.
“Have you ever kissed a dude?” Stan broke the silent waters, biting the bullet, probably with something he shouldn’t have said but it didn’t matter, it was too late.
Kyle bit his tongue, hard. He could answer truthfully, or he could lie, but it was Stan, he’d laugh but it wasn’t like he’d tell anyone. “I’ve never been kissed before.” Kyle admits. He couldn’t say this sober, the embarrassment filter in his brain long gone, melted by the alcohol in his system.
Stan looks back at him. “Really? Come on dude, you’re messing with me. There's no way you’ve never been kissed.”
Kyle bites his lip and shakes his head again. “Never.”
“But you had girlfriends in middle school.” Fair point.
“I never really liked them. I mean, they were good people but they always asked me out first. I didn’t like them like they liked me.” Kyle said softly, eyes on the stars to avoid Stan’s gaze.
Stan had shifted over, still laying down but facing Kyle and watching the slow rise and fall of his chest.
“I mean I guess I knew I was different. When you’d throw up every time Wendy looked at you and Kenny had a new girlfriend every other week.” Stan snorted.
“Hey! I had a nervous stomach, and well, Kenny was just a whore.” They both laughed.
“I thought I was okay because Cartman couldn’t pull but then he got Heidi, Jesus. I think I knew I was fucked then. Especially when Wendy kissed him, that was insane.”
Stan laughed, stopping when he didn’t notice Kyle laughing. “I’m sorry dude.”
Kyle shrugged. “‘S fine, not a big deal. I mean you’d think I’d at least gotten kissed by my senior year but I guess not. Maybe when I head off to college.”
“You’ve seriously never been kissed? I mean like, I’ve really only kissed Wendy, and like one guy, but at least that was someone.”
“You’ve kissed a guy?”
Stan laughed. “Yea, we were both high off our asses and Wendy and I were on a break.”
“Who was it?” Stan laughed.
“Mccormick.”
Kyle laughed. “You kissed Kenny? You bastard!” Kyle laughed harder, holding his stomach from laughing so hard in his drunken state.
“Hey! What can I say? He was persuasive, and good. Like really good.”
“‘S cause he’s such a whore.”
“Not anymore, he got with Marjorine and now he’s whipped. Dudes just a simp now.”
“Thas cute though. Good old MJ.” He paused for a second. “Was it different than kissing Wendy?”
Stan shrugged. “Well, I was high and like really touched starved cause I missed Wendy so I probably wanted it more. I mean he was good, not like earth shattering but he definitely knows how to kiss. Wendy was my first so it's different there too. It wasn't totally different, like they weren’t better than each other. Pretty equal reactions I guess.”
They fell back into silence.
“So if you kissed Kenny, you’re gay then?” Kyle’s heart had leapt into his throat. Taking control of his mouth.
Stan shrugged, “A bit of both, I’m not too picky. I’d probably pick a girl if I had to though.” That was a lie, if he could pick anyone he’d pick Kyle. Again and again, if given a choice he’d pick Kyle over everyone in the world. If picking Kyle meant the world ended, he’d still pick him.
Kyle’s heart sank back down. Of course, he’d dated Wendy longer than anyone. Kyle cursed himself for getting his hopes up. Sure Stan loved him, but as a friend. There was no way Stan would ever love him back the way Kyle loved him.
“What about you?”
“I’m gay, Stan. You know this.”
“Nuh uh. You never said that.”
“Stan!” Kyle sat up and threw his hands in the air. “I told you this years ago.” Stan sat up and looked at him blankly. “That night we snuck out and went to the park? I cried and came out to you. How do you not remember?”
Stan looked away. “‘M sorry dude.” His cheeks flushed red. How was he this stupid? He’s a goddamn alcoholic who can’t even support his best friend coming out.
Kyle sighed. “It’s alright. Maybe it’s better. ‘S not like everyone would celebrate like Tweek and Craig. They’re a cute couple, I’m just a lonely fag who’s never kissed anyone.”
Stan tilted his head, he couldn’t breathe as the words sat on his tongue. His mouth weighed down, cotton replacing his tongue.
“I could kiss you if you’d like.” Stan said softly. He made eye contact with Kyle, staring at him like he hung the stars in the sky.
Kyle swallowed loudly and nodded. “Yea?”
“If that’s what you want, I could...” Stan trailed off, waiting for Kyle to laugh and push him away. Tell him that his joke was just sooo funny.
Kyle tilted his head. “You’d do that?” Kyle was ready to smash his face into Stan’s, but he waited. He bit back the years of infatuation that threatened to jump out of his throat and jump Stan’s bones right there on the rooftop.
Stan nodded, leaning into Kyle and combining their personal space. Their foreheads almost touching, he can almost taste the goddamn peppermint chapstick Kyle applies every five minutes. He’s always hated peppermint, but now it’s all he wants.
“You’re sure you want this? You can back out at any moment and I’ll go home, just tell me. I don’t wanna mess this up, Kye.” The damn nickname. Kyle was weak.
Kyle shook his head. “I want this, promise.” That's not what he wanted to say, but it was close enough. He wanted to tell Stan that he needed this, needed him. Needed to kiss his best friend, drunk on a tuesday night under the stars. They’d wake up hungover tomorrow, headaches kicking their asses so bad they’d have to call someone to drive them, then they’d sleep through first hour and maybe second. They wouldn’t remember this at all, not a single moment since they’d opened that whiskey. He needed Stan to know if he could stop time, he would just to stay in this moment together. Under the stars with his best friend and all the tension between them. The words wouldn't form in his brain but they were there. He’d tell Stan he’d loved him since forever and would love him until the day he dies, and even after that. He needed Stan to know that, but not now.
Stan hesitated, breathing in the shared air between them. He licked his lips, grimacing at the slight dryness before he pressed in slowly, letting Kyle’s lips mold on his own. Kyle took no time to adjust, bringing his hand from his side and moving it to Stan’s jawline, holding him gently like he was scared he’d shatter at any moment. Stan’s hand drifted from the roof tiles up to the base of Kyle’s neck, just barely threading his fingers through thick red curls to push Kyle closer. Kyle took his other hand, and wrapped around Stan’s lower back, curling his hands into the fabric of his shirt.
They separated for a moment, Stan watching Kyle as his chest heaved. Waiting for the go ahead to continue, or the stopping and being sent back home. Kyle jumped back in. He cupped Stan’s face in his hands and kissed him hard. This wasn’t the soft nervousness he’d started with. This was pure want, this was everything Kyle wished he could say sober, when his brain wasn’t fogged over with alcohol. But even then he wouldn’t have the courage to do this. He wouldn't be able to hold his best friend like he was made of glass while kissing him like he was going to die tomorrow.
And Stan kissed him back with everything he’d had. He’d never felt like this when kissing someone. Maybe it was because he loved Kyle. He loved Wendy but kissing her never felt like this. Wendy was soft flowers swaying in the wind, Kyle was fireworks exploding in his veins. Kissing Kyle made him want to fix everything he’d ever done wrong. Made him feel like he could fix everything. Because if Kyle thought he was good enough to kiss maybe he was good enough.
Kyle wrapped his arms around Stan’s neck, attempting to pull him closer like they weren’t nearly on top of each other. It was wrong, so wrong. He wasn’t sure what was worse, kissing a dude or kissing a dude who is his best friend. Maybe it was both, and maybe Kyle should pull away and forget this ever happened. It was simple, take his lips off of Stan’s and just send him home, but the taste of Stan was more intoxicating than any alcohol he’d ever had. If he weren’t already drunk he would’ve sworn he was getting drunk off this kiss.
Later, he thinks, he’ll probably regret this. Not now when Stan’s tongue is down his throat and that’s all he can think about, but maybe when the moon has passed and all he can think about is right now. How his best friend’s hands are in his hair and when he pulls the red strands slightly and how it feels so right but he knows it’s wrong. It’s wrong by every definition of the word. (But he won’t regret this, not a single second, this could kill him and he wouldn’t regret it.) But it still felt wrong.
Kyle pulled back abruptly, scaring Stan as he dropped and pressed his face into his shoulder. He choked, breathing deeply before he spoke again.
“Goddamnit Stan.” Stan’s heart sank. He’d fucked up, he’d pushed Kyle too far and now a decade of friendship was gone. Down the drain because Stan couldn’t keep it in his pants. Kyle would send him home and he’d wake up tomorrow remembering how he’d kissed his best friend and ruined the only relationship he’d put effort into. Oh god, he couldn’t handle this. This wasn’t real. God was playing with him. His hands twitched and his breathing quickened. The world was coming to an end because Stan had kissed Kyle.
He jumped back, giving Kyle the space he wanted. Closing his body in on himself, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around. He watched as Kyle looked up at him. Glossy eyes through thick lashes.
“Shit man. I- I’m sorry Kye. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I’m sorry dude. I’ll go home.” Stan rambled on, wiping the heavy tears from his eyes. “I’ll leave dude. I’m sorry, I won’t tell anyone so you can pretend like this didn’t happen.” He started to take the faded blue sweater off. Kyle would definitely want that back.
Kyle stared at him. Head tilting before it clicked. “Did you not- was I not good enough?” That set Kyle off. The fact he’d kissed his best friend and it wasn’t good enough? His first kiss, and he’d done bad. Jesus, Kyle was going to throw himself off this roof into a coma so he didn’t have to think about it. He choked on his heaving breaths, his hands going straight to his hair and pulling the red curls. “God Stan, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I made you kiss me. I’m sorry it wasn’t good. You can still stay the night cause- cause I know your parents are like that. You could even have my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch and I can still take you to school tomorrow. Dude I’m so sorry.”
Stan paused his own spiral, slowly processing Kyle’s before scooting closer, pulling Kyle’s hands from his hair and taking them into his own. He pulled both sets of hands into his lap and gently rubbed the pads of his thumbs over Kyle’s knuckles. “What? No dude, I- man I loved it. I love you. I always have. Jesus dude, it was perfect, I felt like I died, went to heaven, and came back down just to do it over again. Why wouldn’t you be good enough? You’re perfect. I’m not good enough for you.”
Kyle snorted. “Dude there’s no way I’m better than you, stop fucking with me.” Kyle slouched down, burying his face into Stan’s collarbones again.
Stan grinned, pulling one of Kyle’s hands up to his lips and kissing each knuckle. “Dude you’re perfect. If not to yourself, then to me. you're the only person I could spend days with and still look forward to seeing you again. I've loved you longer than I can say, and I'll love you even after we're nothing but specks in the grand universe." Stan paused, collecting himself. “Damn I didn’t know I was poetic like that”
Kyle grinned, taking Stan’s face in his hands. He pressed a soft kiss to his lips, lasting not nearly enough time for Stan to memorize the feeling of Kyle’s lips on his. He could still taste the peppermint. Hating the taste of mint but loving the taste of Kyle on his lips.
“If this becomes a regular thing I’m gonna need you to change chapsticks.”
Kyle laughed. “And I’m gonna need you to wear some.”
Stan smiled. “Sorry my lips are so dry, can you kiss them again to make it better?”
Kyle snorted, muttering something about how Stan was so grossly corny before following through on the request and pressing another soft kiss to Stan’s lips. He pulled back, laying his head back on Stan’s shoulder. Taking in his favorite cologne on the stolen sweater mixed with whatever deodorant that Stan had probably stolen from Kyle’s bathroom, because of course Stan would steal his shit when he was over because he was at Kyle’s house more often than not.
“Jesus fuck dude, you’re a good kisser but the peppermint is going to kill me.”
“That sucks, it’s my favorite.” Kyle mumbled softly into Stan’s collarbone, pressing short small kisses up and down his clavicle. Stan smiled at the domesticity of it all. He would love to sit under the stars with Kyle forever but Jesus , it was getting cold.
“Kye, let's go inside.” He spoke softly, fingers carding through red coils.
“Nooo, you’re warm. I don't wanna move.” Kyle whined, burying his head even deeper into Stan.
“Your bed will be warmer.”
“But I wanna cuddle with you.”
“We can still do that in your bed.”
Kyle looked up at him with a softness in his eyes. “Can we?”
“Yea dude, just get back inside before we freeze.”
Stan went first, gathering the few things they’d brought up and slipping back through the open window. He set the things down, before sticking his head back out, watching carefully as Kyle slipped back in. With his drunken slight lack of body control, he managed to get in perfectly fine, but fell as soon as his feet touched the ground.
Stan dropped down quickly, taking Kyle’s face in his hands as he checked for injuries. “Oh my god I knew I should’ve helped you, are you okay?”
Kyle stared at him for a moment, stars in his eyes as he laughed. and he laughed loudly. Stan was quick to shush him, as much as he loved Kyle he didn’t need to wake up the whole house and let them see their brother/son drunk off his ass.
“Kyle shut up, you’re gonna wake someone up.” That didn’t work, neither did holding his hand over Kyle’s mouth cause then he just licked him. Ew. So instead, he placed a soft kiss on his lips. Now that was effective.
“Damn, I wish I knew that kissing you shut you up earlier.”
“Hey!” Kyle smacked him lightly on the shoulder. Stan just laughed. He pulled Kyle up from the floor and pushed him towards the bed, where he flipped on top of the pillows.
Stan busied himself with putting away the whiskey back into his bag. Of course he wanted to flop on the bed and curl into Kyle, but he didn’t want to overstep Kyle’s boundaries, even if he had said that he wanted to. So as soon as he was done he laid back down on the pile of blankets littered on the floor that made up his makeshift bed.
“Stan.” Kyle spoke, leaning over the edge of the bed to peer at him on the floor. Weird, this was the same position they were in when Kyle woke him up earlier.
“Yea?”
“Get up here. I wanna hold you.” Stan smiled at the pitiful frown that decorated Kyle’s face. He pulled his own blanket from the pile before sliding in next to Kyle. It was weird, sitting shoulder to shoulder. He wasn’t sure if he should move or if Kyle would first. The tension was there, neither wanted to make the other uncomfortable. (Which would’ve been hard, they’d made out on the roof not even an hour ago and were only cuddling.)
Kyle quickly flipped over, shuffling and squirming until he was comfortable. They ended up with Stan sorta on his back but still kind of on his side, back pressed to the wall, and Kyle on top but also next to him. Kyle’s head was on his chest, Stan’s hands in his hair. They laid there for a while in silence, drinking in each other’s presence. They were both scared to break the silence. It was peaceful, and it would be a shame to ruin it.
Kyle shifted nervously, finally tired from the silence. “Does this make us boyfriends now?” Kyle spoke hesitantly, burying his face into Stan’s chest. If he was sober it would’ve been obvious, but his alcohol cloudy brain was turning up full of excuses.
“Jesus dude I sure hope so. I didn’t pour my heart out to you and have the most earth shattering kiss of my life just for you to ditch me.” He laughed, smiling more when Kyle buried his face further into his warm chest.
“‘M sorry, I just didn’t wanna be wrong.”
“Dude, you’re fine. Don’t apologize. I get it, you’re drunk and you’re tired. Just go to bed.”
Kyle whined. “Noo, I wanna stay up and talk to my boyfriend.”
Stan smiled, ‘Kyle’s boyfriend’ was a term he could get used to. That made him giddy, now he could call Kyle his boyfriend. He leaned down, pressing soft kisses to Kyle’s temples. “Dude, go to sleep.”
“You’re not gonna keep calling me dude, are you? We’re dating now! You’ve gotta call me like babe or something cute.”
“Damn dude, that sucks.” Stan kept placing kisses on his hairline, he was sooo going to be bullied for how soft he was being.
Kyle laughed. “I love you.”
“Love you too dude.”
Kyle groaned. “Get out of my bed, you are such a weirdo.”
“You just said you loved me!”
“I take it back.”
“So I can’t call you dude but you get to call me a weirdo? Unfair.”
“Whatever, I'm gonna ignore you and sleep now.”
Stan smiled, dropping his arms down to wrap around Kyle’s waist, pulling the boy closer.
“I love you.” he pressed a kiss to Kyle’s lips. Nothing like the heady kiss filled with urgency they’d shared on the roof, or the soft kisses they’d shared right before. It was more middle ground. There was still the layer of want, just as strong just not pushing as far through, but the softness of the short kisses showed through. This was a soft and slow need for each other, they pressed on slowly. Kyle didn’t need to respond with an I love you, his lips silently saying everything as they pressed to Stan’s.
Kyle bit back the urge to jump Stan’s bones, as much as they both wanted it not now. Not when Kyle’s brother and parents were still in the house. Not when they were drunk and nervous. Maybe another day.
They separated from the kiss, still clinging to each other like lifeboats, fell back into silence and drifted off to sleep.