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“Have you ever played chicken?”
Fucked. Stan is absolutely fucked and he knows it, deep down in his teenage heart- even as it beats impossibly hard against his ribs. He feels each shiver down his spine, each pulse in its wake. He doesn’t know why or how he’d let himself agree to something so idiotic, yet here he is, face to face with Kyle, filling to the brim with nerves.
“Well, have you?” Kyle asks again after a brief silence. Stan must’ve been frozen in place.
“Yeah, I’ve played chicken before. What do you take me for?” He scoffs nervously, his answer way too suspicious. There’s a moment where it seems like Kyle is never going to respond and Stan almost collapses on the spot from the sheer heat flooding his lungs- but Kyle smiles back in that cute, determined way.
They’re sitting in the empty living room in the dead of night and they’d already paused their regular sleep-over duties (which consisted of eating junk and laughing at trashy, decade-old movies).
“It’s funnier with a guy, though. I’m sure you know that.” Kyle’s gaze burns through him.
Stan nods knowingly, though he really doesn’t know what Kyle’s on about. He’s just buzzing with bouts of tense energy and letting them out at random intervals, hoping Kyle won't see through his panic.
“You have no chance against me.” Stan says, leaning back on the couch, gulping when Kyle stands up and walks from across the room to sit right beside him.
“Rock, paper, scissors?” Kyle chirps, holding out his hands as if he wants Stan to hold them.
“To decide who goes first.” He confirms when Stan stares at him like a clueless puppy.
Stan nods, lifting his hands too and initiating combat. He enjoys taking the lead and cherishes the short moments he has while doing so because Kyle is dangerously close to gaining the ability to bend Stan right over and have his way.
“Nice,” says Stan. He’d lost. Of course he had. His measly paper did nothing to save him against Kyle’s mighty scissor, and he couldn’t blame it because he’d barely been paying attention to the game anyway. Kyle’s hair is ridiculously long and falls haphazardly over his shoulders in crazy squiggles, yet he manages to make it look beautiful.
Stan sits back and breathes deeply, before his thoughts turn sexual, and tries to imagine bugs and spiders as Kyle inches closer to press a tender kiss against the base of his neck- above his collar bone.
“Starting off strong, are we?” Stan’s voice wobbles. Kyle pretends not to notice.
“Of course, dude. What do you take me for?” He mocks.
Stan laughs, though he really wants to cry. He knows the rules of the game: make each other uncomfortable. He has to top every move, making it worse than the last. So, he acts on instinct, turning slightly to face his friend and sliding a hand across his thigh. He ignores how close his fingers are to brushing against the crotch, and instead focuses on the warm puffs of breath skimming his lip every few seconds. He almost, almost, dies when Kyle shuffles closer and stretches his legs open to allow more room for groping. And he hadn’t even made his second move yet, he was only attempting to make Stan’s arm comfortable.
“Your turn,” Stan whispers, suddenly wary of the volume of his voice. He dreads the nights he’ll have to lay awake in bed and remember this moment. He knows he can back out any time but his pride won't allow him. Stan doesn’t have much pride, really, so maybe he doesn’t want to waste an opportunity to touch Kyle inappropriately without any questions.
Suddenly, there are red curls bouncing in his face and Kyle is climbing into his lap with no hesitation, not even an attempt to act disgusted or uncomfortable. It’s a dick move.
“Dude.” Stan deadpans. He’d been struggling to fight off an erection ever since he’d caught a glimpse of a nipple down the top of Kyle’s shirt 13 minutes ago. He can’t even begin to imagine how much harder it will be now that they’re practically humping.
“Wait.” Kyle grins, holding up a single finger and turning to face away from Stan. He leans his back against Stan’s chest and makes an effort to discreetly grind his ass down.
“Just give up at this point,” Kyle says, his body bouncing as he giggles.
Stan is going ballistic with each second and he knows his breathing is terribly irregular against Kyle’s back because Kyle is suddenly confident he’ll win.
“No way.” Stan mumbles, screaming internally. He can’t muster up the courage to make his next move, stuck rigidly in place. His fingers twitch as Kyle does nothing to end his suffering.
“Time is ticking.” He says.
“Shut up.” Stan says, moving his hands up to cup Kyle’s chest as if he were sporting breasts. He presses down with his palms and relishes in the feeling of pointed nips against his skin- though they’re through Kyle’s thin sleep shirt.
“Weak,” Kyle says. Stan becomes terrified when the room goes quiet. There’s no way his cock is soft anymore. He can practically hear Kyle thinking about what his next move will be.
Kyle hums in a way that’s so mocking it’s impossible to tell whether he’s felt Stan’s boner or if he’s thought of the best moves to pull. Either way, it’s nerve wracking.
When Stan’s fingers make contact with skin, he knows he’s absolutely done for. He doesn’t even need to look down to confirm that Kyle’s pulled his shirt up, out of the way, continuing to squirm teasingly in Stan’s lap as he throws it onto the floor.
“My turn,” Stan says through a clenched jaw, his eyes burning. Kyle doesn’t respond however, clearly in the middle of unfinished business. He leans back, perverse and pornographic, and wraps both arms around the back of Stan’s neck. His torso is twisted enough for his ribs to poke out and his eyes to peer up innocently into his friend’s.
“Dude, what the fuck. That was- at least worth three turns. You’re cheating.”
“What’s wrong, Stan? Are you calling quits?” Kyle batts his eye lashes in such an exaggerated manner that it’s impossible to tell if he’s joking anymore.
Meanwhile, Stan’s erection is jutting awkwardly in his underwear: It fights for release under Kyle’s ass. He is struggling to keep it at bay, especially now that Kyle’s giving him a promiscuous look as he waits for the next turn.
“No. Not yet.” Stan withholds a groan of shame as he brings one hand around Kyle’s throat and the other to scratch at the hem of his pyjama pants. Kyle pretends not to be affected by the sudden shift but the small gasp he lets out is all telling.