Work Text:
The first true holiday was upon them, yet Stan still found himself waking at an ungodly hour to get work done. If anything, he woke even earlier than usual to begin prepping the feast ahead of him.
He opened the refrigerator to find everything exactly where he had left it the night before: the mountains of fresh produce, procured from his favorite local suppliers, and the massive, pink bird still wrapped from the butcher. The list of tasks he needed to accomplish seemed nearly insurmountable, but it was all at Kyle’s request, so he couldn’t have fought it even if he had wanted to.
Certainly, he had done Thanksgiving dinner services before, but usually in a way that was parsed down to allow the guests to focus on individual flavors. An elegant, streamlined menu with multiple courses enjoyed over a long period of time, and with a large team of fellow chefs all working together to create each dish. What he had been tasked with this year, however, was as traditional as could be.
This was going to be an old-fashioned family meal, with plates so stacked full of food it was impossible not to let things mix together in each bite. The kind of smorgasbord that would leave everyone in a contented coma for the rest of the night.
He began with his most tedious prep work: cleaning, peeling, and cutting all the fruits and vegetables he needed for the day. This almost felt routine, though he didn’t normally have this many apples to core, peel and thinly slice. A mandolin would have made this task far easier, but he didn’t want his knife work to become rusty or sloppy. It was an important muscle to exercise at every opportunity.
His mind wandered as those exercises melted into muscle memory, and as the morning sun slowly exposed itself from behind the horizon, illuminating the sky in those pastel hues that so often colored his workspace. The only thing that could have improved this moment was a spot of music and a bit of company, though he knew he couldn’t have both. He was either graced with the distant sound of Kyle playing the piano in the lounge down the hall, or the very close presence of Kyle beside him, watching him intently as he worked.
And while he had a deep appreciation for music, he far preferred having Kyle as near to him as possible.
This thought seemed to have reached the redhead somehow, because before long there was a familiar patter of feet against the tile floor behind him. The coffee pot sputtered, and before either spoke a single word there was a steaming mug placed beside Stan’s workspace on the island.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, chef.” Kyle’s voice was bright, despite likely having just rolled out of bed. Stan could see that familiar red, silk fabric in his peripheral as Kyle leaned back against the counter beside him. “Look at all of this. I’m going to have to save my appetite all day if I want to enjoy everything on the menu this evening, huh?”
Stan chuckled. “That would be far less work for me.” He took a sip of his coffee and glanced up at the clock, then set the mug down near the sink. They only had a few minutes before Leopold would show up with everyone’s breakfast orders.
“Well, we can’t have that. You need to earn your keep.”
“I thought I worked hard enough last night to earn it,” Stan muttered, and his comment was met with a light slap on the shoulder. He glanced briefly at Kyle to gauge if he was truly irritated, and received a coy smile as his answer.
Stan fought the urge to lean forward and press a kiss into those smiling lips.
“It wasn’t your finest work,” Kyle uttered, clearly struggling to wipe the expression from his mouth, so he hid his mouth behind his cup of coffee.
“Oh?” Stan cocked his head to the side slightly. “Were you left unsatisfied?”
“That’s not necessarily the word I’d use…”
“Well then, what word would you use?”
Kyle’s gaze shifted away from Stan, fingers tapping against the ceramic mug he held in both hands. Stan absently licked his lips, admiring the perfectly curled tendrils that fell over Kyle’s delicate shoulders.
“Perhaps-…” Kyle nearly whispered, pausing as the air seemed to catch in his breath. “Perhaps I was simply left wishing for seconds.”
Stan had long since stopped his prep work, hands still against the wooden cutting board as he watched Kyle carefully. The shift of his weight from one leg to another. The flicker of his eyelids as his gaze refused to settle on one spot, and especially not on Stan, who carefully took the mug from Kyle’s hands. He set it down before reaching back out to slide the pad of his thumb along the soft skin of Kyle’s bottom lip. It was met with the slick heat of Kyle’s tongue, which slipped out and grazed his finger.
The door came open, and Stan’s hand recoiled back to his side.
“Good morning, Stan!” Leopold called as he entered. “Happy Thanksgiving!” He paused, both men turned to address him. “Oh! There you are, sir! I went to your room to get your breakfast order, but you weren’t there.”
“I was having trouble sleeping,” Kyle explained, unwilling to fully turn his body towards Leopold. Stan’s gaze flickered downward, noting how little the thin, shiny fabric of his robe hid the way his body was already reacting to Stan’s touch. Or perhaps he had already been half-hard when he entered the room. Stan hadn’t thought to look.
“I see,” Leopold said with a nod, “well, would you like me to take your order now, sir?”
“I can give the chef my order, Leopold.”
“Right, yes, um-…”
“What did the others request?” Stan asked, hoping to redirect this conversation and get Leopold out of the room as quickly as possible.
“Oh! Um, well, let me see-…” He fumbled for the small notepad in his pocket, flipping through a few pages before finding the one he needed. “Yes! Right. Mr. And Mrs. Broflovski have both requested vegetable omelets, though Mr. Broflovski wants his without mushrooms. Ike has requested oatmeal with brown sugar and that scrambled egg thing you do… those were his exact words, I wrote them down.” He flashed the notepad to prove this, as if either of them could read his tiny handwriting from such a distance.
“I believe I know the one,” Stan assured him. “Give me twenty minutes. I’ll also need to account for a fourth plate.”
“Yes, of course!”
“Thank you, Leopold.”
Leopold bowed his head before excusing himself, and Stan’s attention fell on Kyle again. “So what would you like for breakfast, sir?”
Kyle’s gaze had wandered to the clean produce waiting to be prepped on the counter. He nibbled on his bottom lip, and Stan decided to give him a moment to think. He could get started on the others’ meals anyway, so he took the chance to finish slicing the last apple before submerging them in a bowl filled with cold water and a dash of lemon juice.
“I may just have toast,” Kyle suggested, “or something.”
“Just toast?” Stan glanced at him again. “Did you want something special on it? I canned some fruit preserves a couple of weeks ago, if you’d like to try them.”
Kyle blinked at this suggestion. “You’ve made your own preserves?”
“Yes, should I not have?”
“Well, I just-…” Kyle picked up his coffee cup again, as if it were some kind of physical comfort for him to be holding it. Stan supposed it may be, he did often gravitate towards Stan’s warmth when they were in bed together, so perhaps he took some kind of comfort in the heat of it. “It seems like a lot of extra work.”
“Not really,” Stan assured him, “I was able to build off your previous chef’s recipes, they were quite helpful.”
This seemed to pique Kyle’s interest, and soon enough, while Stan was standing over the hot stove working multiple pans at once, Kyle was sampling the offering of fruit spreads. He opened all four jars, selected a spoon for each one, and poured himself a glass of water for cleansing his palette in between. Stan struggled to stay focused on his own tasks, wanting so badly to watch the way Kyle’s tongue curled into the divot of each spoon before pulling the entire thing into his mouth.
“This one’s quite tart,” Kyle commented after tasting the first one. He bent over to read the label on the jar more clearly before lifting it into the light. “Grapefruit, hm?”
Stan was a bit surprised Kyle could read his handwriting. Even he couldn’t at times, when he had written something hastily. “If I recall correctly, there was a note about you being partial to that particular fruit, sir.”
“I see.”
“Is that incorrect?”
“No, it’s-…”
There was a pause, and Stan glanced over again to find Kyle staring at the jars before him, his arms crossed as he held the cleaned spoon up to his lips. Stan once again left him to his contemplations, carefully flipping the omelets. He wondered if perhaps the holiday had him in a strange mood, and he found himself doing quick mental math to figure out if this would be the first Thanksgiving since their previous chef’s departure. He supposed that must have been the case.
Eventually, Kyle snapped out of his trance and continued testing the preserves, with Stan’s attention still flickering over to Kyle even as he was continually stirring the scrambled eggs Ike had requested. It was a delicate balance to get them just right, though he found himself gradually justifying the possibility of it not being to his usual standards, for the sake of getting to watch another fruity spoonful get scooped against Kyle’s pink tongue.
“I think I like the strawberry best,” he announced, to the surprise of no one. Stan chuckled as he carefully poured the eggs he had been working onto a plate. “What? What’s funny?”
“Nothing, sir.”
Kyle frowned, deepening the creases around his nose. It was one of Stan’s favorite expressions of his, making it impossible for him to hide his growing smile.
“Wipe that look off your face and do your damn job, I’m getting hungry.”
“Yes, sir.”
Stan didn’t stress about making Kyle’s breakfast as hastily as the others, having them ready early and calling Leopold down to pick them up before even cutting the slices off the loaf for Kyle’s toast. He was busy inspecting a crumb of the sourdough he had acquired when Leopold came to fetch the food, so he missed whatever brief exchange he and Kyle had.
“What are you planning for all of this?” Kyle inquired, glancing at the produce still waiting to be prepared on the counter.
“Oh, well I’ll be doing honey glazed carrots, a roasted vegetable medley, mashed potatoes, not puréed, per your request, as well as a hearty stuffing for the bird, and of course I’ll be making a pumpkin pie, as well as an apple cake, because your brother doesn’t like pumpkin.”
Kyle turned to him, his brows together in distress. “No green bean casserole?”
“I could,” Stan began, turning away to put a fresh pan on the heat, “but I think it would be too much with everything else, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Do we have green beans?”
“We do, yes.”
“Then I want green bean casserole.”
Stan took a deep breath. It wasn’t a massive imposition to make this sort of last minute change, but God. Green bean casserole. Of all the side dishes, this was perhaps the one most beneath him. It could be good, he supposed, but he had never cared for it when he had tried it in the past. It was one of those dishes that was popularized in the 60’s after being printed on the side of a soup can, and as far as Stan was concerned that was exactly where the bland slop belonged.
“Sir, I really think-…”
He turned to find Kyle reaching for one of the zucchinis in the pile, watching Stan like a cat preparing to knock a full glass off a counter. Stan’s eyes narrowed, but it didn’t deter Kyle as he snatched the fruit and held it close to his chest.
“Please, sir,” Stan pleaded as Kyle began to back step away from him. Stan took a step towards him. “Don't make me wrestle you for it.”
“Oh, so wrestling is on the table?” Kyle took another quick step back as Stan continued to approach, which prompted Stan to pause. “May I request that for breakfast instead?”
Stan grunted. They had a momentary stand-off before Stan lunged towards him, hand open and grasping for the fruit still held tight to Kyle’s chest. Kyle swiveled away before peeling around the island, grinning as a devious cackle escaped him. Only somewhat exasperated, Stan bit back a smile. He rounded the corner, lunged forward again but this time grabbed hold of the belt that hung around Kyle’s waist. One quick tug loosened the weak knot, bringing the strip of fabric whipping back to Stan as Kyle’s robe fell open, though with his back to him Stan got nothing new to admire.
It was enough to trip Kyle up though, scrambling to tug the robe closed around himself again and giving Stan time to get closer. Close enough to grab hold of Kyle’s shoulder and yank him backwards, his chest heaving with muffled laughter as he fell back into Stan. The robe was closed around the zucchini now, still nestled in the fuzzy valley between his pectorals. Stan slid a hand over it, while the other caressed what he could see of Kyle’s leg, lifting the fabric as he explored higher up the length of Kyle’s thigh.
“Give me the zucchini, sir,” Stan mumbled into his ear, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Kyle’s hips shifted against him. “I don’t mind a little pain.”
For a moment, Stan forgot where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. The heat of Kyle’s body, the movement of his hips and the sweet scent of his hair, the firmness of his thigh as Stan’s fingers squeezed his flesh. It was all a bit overwhelming, and he found himself absently pressing slow kisses into the side of Kyle’s head, traveling down his cheek and lowering himself to reach the tender skin along the length of his neck. Kyle sighed, leaning his head away to allow Stan greater access.
His grip loosened slightly on the zucchini, and Stan barely had the thought to grab it from him before there was another sound in the room. The squeak of the door coming open.
Stan removed himself from Kyle as quickly as he could, though he wasn’t confident it was fast enough. Ike emerged through the doorway, thankfully preoccupied with the cordless phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder, a book open in his hands. Stan wondered how he hadn’t heard Ike speaking before he had entered. He was being rather loud.
“Yeah, I see what you mean,” he spoke into the receiver as he walked across the room, seemingly oblivious to the presence of the other men. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, it’s just-… hold on, I need to put the phone down.”
He got to the refrigerator, and Stan stole a glance in Kyle’s direction, whose face was bright red with one hand clutching his robe closed, the other still tight around that long, green fruit. It was a nice view, the way his fingers curled around the smooth surface, nails nearly digging into the thin skin. Sliding along the length as it was lifted away from his chest and towards his face, that pink tongue making another appearance to lap at the rounded end.
Kyle was staring back at Stan from under his long, light lashes for only a moment. His eyes flickered back towards his brother when he lowered the zucchini. “Isn’t it a bit early to be holding up the landline, Ike?”
“What’s it matter to you?” Ike replied from inside the refrigerator, shifting things around to find what he was looking for. It made Stan’s skin crawl, but he only had to put up with Ike invading his kitchen when he was home from school, so he kept his mouth shut. “It’s not like anybody’s trying to call you.”
“That’s not the point,” Kyle argued, “all you do when you come home is talk on that damn phone all day.”
Ike pulled himself from the refrigerator, holding the pitcher of orange juice he had apparently been searching for. “Yeah, because I have friends, unlike you.”
Kyle’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and Stan found himself watching the zucchini again. Why had he never noticed how phallic they were? He supposed he had had a pretty major change in perspective over the last couple of months. He certainly would have never wondered if the entire thing could fit in Kyle’s open mouth before they’d begun sleeping together.
Ike poured himself a glass, tucked his closed book under his arm and put the phone to his ear again. “Yeah, sorry if you heard that, my brother’s being a prick, as per usual.”
Kyle rolled his eyes, but apparently felt no need to get the final word, standing with his arm around himself to keep decent as he watched his brother leave. Stan took the opening and finally reached out and snatched the zucchini out of Kyle’s hand.
“What the fuck!?” Kyle snapped as his head whipped back around. Stan couldn’t fight the smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“It’s going to take a lot more than a lick to ruin this,” Stan commented, walking around the island to wash it, “but I can appreciate your efforts to sway the menu.”
Kyle huffed, his arms still tight around himself as he stood in place for a moment longer. Stan ran the cold tap, focusing on rubbing away the residual saliva from the tip, though he found himself stroking his hand along the entire length of the fruit. The quiet thumping of Kyle’s footsteps moved about the room, and when Stan shut off the water he discovered Kyle had returned to the spot beside Stan at the island. He no longer held his robe closed, allowing it to part and expose the center of his body. Stan’s eyes only made it about halfway down the trail of hair along his abdomen before an arm obscured his view, reaching out to grasp at the zucchini again.
“Sir,” Stan warned, still holding firm near the stem, while Kyle’s fingers curled around the tip. “You need to stop.”
“You need to turn that burner off.”
Ah, shit.
Stan had to let it go, releasing his grip to move to the stove. The dial clicked as he switched it off, knowing Kyle was clearly more interested in distracting him than actually eating breakfast. Strawberry preserves on toast weren’t going to be enough to occupy him, and certainly not enough to sate his appetite.
When he turned around he found Kyle lounging back against the island, trailing the rounded end of the zucchini up and down his exposed skin. “You wouldn’t still serve this to my family, would you?” He purred as he slid it further down the length of his torso, grazing his burning bush, the woody center of which twitching as it came to life. Stan caught himself staring as the zucchini slid lower and lower until the wet skin made contact with that half-solid cock, stroking up and down along the surface. Kyle sighed with the contact, tilting his head to one side as if questioning if Stan would do anything about him defiling his ingredients.
He would, of course, because no defilement went unpunished in his kitchen. Hands beneath his apron, he slowly stepped towards Kyle as he unbuckled his belt.
“I wonder if you can go a single day without being a pain in my ass,” Stan grumbled.
“I’ll do so when you can go a day without being a pain in mine,” Kyle retorted with a smirk.
They had to be quick about this. While Stan wasn’t often interrupted, Ike had already helped himself to something once, and there were still four other people in the house. His eyes flickered to the door, then back down to Kyle as he tugged his belt clean through the loops of his jeans.
Kyle didn’t resist when Stan reached for the zucchini this time, allowing him to snatch it away and set it on the counter beside them. Nor did he resist when Stan took hold of his hips, leading him to turn and face the island. His knees buckled slightly as Stan bent him over the cold marble, whining faintly when his arms were pulled behind his back.
He did try to squirm when the leather of Stan’s belt was snaked around his wrists, attempting to pull them free before Stan could get them secured. Stan grasped Kyle’s wrists in one hand while the other flipped the fabric of his robe to expose the pale skin of his ass, promptly smacking it with an open palm. The sound echoed through the room, accompanied beautifully by a yelp from Kyle.
“Too loud,” he hissed, and Stan supposed he was probably right. A shame, but he could always save a more thorough spanking for later that night. One had been enough anyway, Stan already plenty aroused by the way Kyle’s cheek had rippled upon impact, and the pink handprint left behind. He pressed himself up against Kyle as he resumed tightening the looped, makeshift cuffs around his wrists, though he could barely enjoy the contact through the fabric of his jeans and thick, canvas apron.
Kyle glanced back at him, already flushing across his cheeks. “Doesn’t take much to get you going anymore, does it?”
Stan hummed in response, giving a firm tug on his belt to make sure it was secure. Then his hands wandered, pushing the fabric further up Kyle’s waist to expose his bum fully. His fingers dug into the supple flesh, kneading as he fought the urge to smack it again.
His eyes flickered towards the door, then to the windows, then back down to Kyle, whose chest heaved with labored breathing. He was watching Stan; watching the way his hands flexed, the way his thumbs pressed into the seam, pulling his cheeks apart to expose his tantalizing, puckered hole. It appeared he had recently bathed before coming down, or at least spent time cleaning himself, as the trail of surrounding hair was still slightly matted down with wetness.
It was rare that Stan got to enjoy this view in broad daylight, where he could truly appreciate each small twitch of the opening, and even rarer that he could prod at it uninterrupted. His thumbs pressed against the warm, textured skin, pulling it this way and that to watch the opening contort into a tight little slit.
He tested that tightness with the pad of one thumb, pushing against the opening to see how resistant Kyle wanted to be. The answer was very resistant, his finger pressing into the skin but not being given access to the warmth proper, though he could also tell by Kyle’s raised shoulders that he was tense.
“Are you nervous?” Stan asked quietly.
“Of course not,” Kyle answered, quickly but out of breath.
Stan chuckled as he turned away just long enough to grab the cruet filled with his favorite olive oil, a Peloponnesian extra virgin he special ordered. It was the only kind he cooked with, and certainly the only one he would eat.
“If you need me to be gentle, just ask.”
Kyle scoffed at this, then flinched as the oil was poured over his posterior. His back arched momentarily, relaxing again as the golden liquid dribbled down the contours of his cheeks and through the valley between.
Stray droplets slid down his thighs, and Stan did nothing to stop them. He rubbed the oil over Kyle’s cheeks before parting them again, pulling one away at a time to work the oil through his coarse hair and against his hole. It didn’t feel like enough, and Stan glanced at the bottle as he considered rendering it unusable for cooking.
He carefully maneuvered the pointed tip against Kyle’s entrance, reveling in the sharp gasp it brought out of him as the cold metal was slowly plunged inside, small enough that it met far less resistance than his finger had. He tilted it upward, watching the golden liquid begin to drain from the glass container, slow-moving bubbles drifting to the surface of the oil.
Kyle’s hands balled into fists against his back, jaw clenched and back arching again to lift his ass. He stood on his tiptoes, eyes as fixed as they could be on the bottle of oil spilling into him.
His muscles contracted to close as the spout was pulled away, though a dribble of oil still escaped. Stan scooped it up with a single finger and rubbed it in circles against his hole before carefully plunging that finger in the spout's place. He entered more easily now, though the grip Kyle had on even just one finger made his progress slow as he dove deeper inside.
“Fuck,” Stan breathed, “you’re so tight today.”
Kyle grunted, unusually quiet, though Stan supposed he was likely worried about getting caught. If that had been a serious concern, he shouldn’t have provoked Stan so recklessly in the first place.
He shifted to stand at Kyle’s side, leaning over the counter to press kisses against Kyle’s shoulder. It was enough to help Kyle relax, allowing Stan fully inside, though he still throbbed around the base of Stan’s finger. That ring of muscles tightened again as he grazed that extra-sensitive, soft spot inside, stroking it with a delicate touch because he knew a light tease was far more effective at pissing Kyle off.
It worked, of course, Kyle turning his head away with a huff of frustration. His curls sprawled across the marble surface, giving Stan an idea he wouldn’t be able to resist.
Standing upright again, he dragged his finger back out, drawing a low whimper from Kyle. Even when he was pouting he couldn’t hide his pleasure from being teased open. Oil spilled out in the moment that Kyle’s hole held the shape of Stan’s finger, though the muscles once again closed and prevented anything else from leaking out. There was quite a puddle collecting on the floor beneath them, which Stan was careful to avoid stepping in.
He reached across the counter, considering the zucchini for a moment before instead grabbing a rather large carrot from the untouched produce.
“You’re taking too long,” Kyle grumbled, kicking one leg up to knock against Stan’s shin. Stan chuckled, using his unoccupied hand to grasp a handful of those shiny, red locks.
“Good things come to those who wait,” Stan retorted, sliding the fat end of the carrot along that fuzzy trail between Kyle’s cheeks. It was certainly thicker than his finger, and perhaps he should have spent more time working Kyle open — in fact, he would not have minded spending the entire morning with his fingers caught in that vice grip — but he was also getting antsy, so instead he fought the elastic resistance as he pushed the carrot against Kyle’s glistening, oiled hole. Kyle’s breathing hitched, his head wrenched upward as that handful of hair was tugged at the root and the carrot finally penetrated him. Stan wasn’t sure which part had brought the proceeding moan past Kyle’s lips.
His own breathing was quickening, watching as Kyle’s hole expanded to accommodate the width of the carrot. It was certainly smaller than Stan’s cock, but it was a different experience watching something penetrate him that wasn’t directly attached to Stan. He got no physical stimulation, allowing him to focus entirely on the dizzying visual of how Kyle’s body clutched onto the object descending into him. He thrust it in and out, slowly and with a slight twist, totally fixated on the push and pull of the flesh surrounding it. The wet click of the oiled skin throbbing around it. The soft, breathless whimpering that accompanied each laborious dip back into the heat of Kyle’s body.
“Too small,” Kyle remarked, despite his breathlessness.
“Oh?” Stan tugged at Kyle’s hair to turn his head, making visible that bright red face, twisted up as if this puny carrot were plenty big enough. “I don’t know if I believe you.”
Kyle whined, shifting his hips in a fruitless attempt to get greater friction. Stan released his hair to pull his bum open again, wanting a better view. His thumb smoothed back the coarse hair, sticking it down along the curve of his cheek. It still wasn’t enough.
“Jesus-!” Kyle yelped as his leg was suddenly cupped beneath his knee and lifted up onto the counter. It gave Stan a far better view, pulling his cheek taught to keep it out of the way as well as exposing Kyle’s leaking erection, which bumped against the island base and smeared his milky precum against the wooden surface.
“Are you sure you want more?” Stan purred. Kyle hesitated, though Stan suspected his reluctance had more to do with protecting his pride than anything else. As if he had any left, this compromising position already rendered him basically powerless. Stan lowered himself to speak in Kyle’s ear. “I need your explicit instructions, sir.”
Kyle nibbled on his lower lip before whispering his response. “I-… I need to really feel it.”
“You want me to stretch you out, sir?” Stan whispered back, for clarity, and not just because the thought of Kyle admitting to such a thing made his dick throb within the confines of his jeans.
“Fuck, yeah,” Kyle uttered with a quiet moan, “stretch me out. I want that. That’s a fucking order.”
Well, if he put it that way, Stan was obligated to follow that order. He swallowed back his excitement, slowly pulling the carrot out before finally reaching again for the zucchini. He inspected it for a moment before holding it towards Kyle’s mouth.
“Get it wet for me.”
Kyle sized up the thing for a moment, his cheek pressed into the marble and his gaze suddenly uncertain as he appeared to finally realize what he had just asked Stan to do. Still, his eyelids fluttered shut and his lips parted, his tongue rolling out to rest along the underside of the fruit as Stan slowly pushed it towards his mouth.
It had already looked thick before, but it appeared especially so as Kyle’s delicate jaw strained to fit the fat end inside. His breath shook as Stan held his own, absently grasping Kyle’s ass cheek as he watched Kyle’s lips move down the length of the zucchini, very, very slowly.
This thing was a genuine choking hazard, and Stan didn’t want to risk actually injuring Kyle, so he didn’t let him take the whole thing. He certainly was getting it wet, saliva collecting in the corners of his mouth and coating the green skin as Stan slowly slid it back out, Kyle’s tongue flexing along the surface as soon as it had enough space to move.
He gasped for air once it finally left his mouth, strings of saliva connecting his lips to the fruit, stretching until they broke and fell across the surface between. Stan found himself gasping for air as well, desperately jealous of this fucking zucchini but too invested in seeing what it could do to change course now.
“Hurry up,” Kyle uttered, shifting his hips to refocus Stan’s attention. It was highly effective, prompting him to stand upright once more and position this new toy to poke against Kyle’s desperate, quivering hole. He took it in for a moment, the way Kyle’s body clearly craved this. How it once again resisted as the new object was pressed into him, until the stubborn muscles gave in and spread open for it, wider than he had ever seen them open before.
Kyle fell breathless, legs trembling as the first centimeter slid inside. It was quite evidently the largest thing he had inserted before, though the further Stan pushed past that initial tightness, the less obvious that became. His body conformed to it, willingly and with little further resistance, and as it moved further inside he seemed to pull it in himself, sinking far faster as it was sucked deeper into his cavity.
The moan that escaped Kyle as it slid about halfway in was far too loud and went straight to Stan’s dick. He had already been uncomfortably hard, attempting to ignore it for the sake of focusing on Kyle’s pleasure, but it was becoming unbearable.
He attempted to shush Kyle, who seemed to be at least somewhat aware that he had been too loud, as he spoke again but much more softly.
“Holy fuck-… Stan, it’s-… it’s huge…”
“You’re taking it so well,” Stan murmured, once again gripping the firm meat of Kyle’s ass despite wanting so badly to smack it. He knew Kyle wanted that sting of his hand coming down hard against his skin just as badly as Stan wanted to feel the impact against his palm.
His eyes moved to the door again, then to the windows, then back to the door. It had been awfully quiet. Perhaps everyone was preoccupied.
That was what he convinced himself as he spanked Kyle anyway, harder than usual, letting out a low groan himself at the satisfying sting against his hand and the sharp sound that echoed through the room. His own cock was absolutely leaking, pressed against his thigh and raw against the fabric of his briefs. Kyle’s entire body shivered with the impact, though he appeared to be biting back any vocalizations. Stan’s cock decided that was unacceptable, so he spanked him again.
“Shhhh-!” Kyle hissed, but Stan took it as a positive sign. He moved the zucchini just as he had the carrot, though this time much slower, and once again watched as the taught, flushed skin of Kyle’s hole stretched to accommodate the massive guest, pushing and pulling with each slow, deliberate thrust. He lost touch with the reason why they ended up here in the first place. Suddenly every other ingredient on the counter was in the running for being the next one filling Kyle.
His gaze fell on a deep purple, plump eggplant, buried among the other less interesting options. It was even larger than the zucchini currently pushing Kyle’s body to its limit.
“St-Stan…!” Kyle whispered with just enough panic in his voice to pull Stan somewhat out of his horny internal musings. Inspecting Kyle, he seemed physically okay, aside from the redness across his ass and the strain of his hole trying to accommodate for this makeshift sex toy. However, he was wiggling a lot, kicking at Stan with his lifted leg, then motioning with his head towards the windows.
Outside, crouched down to inspect the covered pool, was Kenny. Thankfully his back was turned to them, and he was seemingly distracted, but this came as little relief to either of them. Kyle’s panic became perfectly justified.
Impulsively, Stan grabbed the belt holding Kyle’s wrists together and used it as a handle to yank him off the counter. Kyle stumbled slightly as he was set on his feet, then with both hands on his shoulders Stan shoved him down. His knees buckled and he lowered easily, effectively hidden behind the island and leaning his unsteady weight against Stan’s legs.
Stan kept his hands on Kyle’s shoulders as he watched Kenny, unsure how to go about acting as if nothing were happening. There was oil absolutely everywhere, his hands were hardly clean enough to begin prepping again in earnest, and he was concerned that Kyle would collapse if left without something to support him. So he stood there, like a deer in the headlights, willing Kenny to finish his inspection and leave them.
Air caught in his lungs when there was pressure against his trapped erection, glancing down to find Kyle pressing his cheek against the hardness over his apron, panting, knelt with his legs spread, his own painful looking erection spilling even more milky precum. It then occurred to Stan that he hadn’t removed the zucchini before pulling Kyle off the counter.
His eyes scanned the floor, wracking his brain to recall hearing the thing hit the tile, but no such noise could be conjured in his memory, nor was the green beast anywhere to be seen. Which could have only meant one thing; it was still inside Kyle.
He turned to look towards Kenny again, who made extremely brief eye contact before wiping his head back around to resume his inspection.
Shit. He definitely saw.
His eyes bore into the back of Kenny’s head, fighting to maintain some kind of air of intimidation despite how desperate he was to melt into the sensation of finally getting some kind of physical stimulation. Even through three layers of fabric, the contact against Kyle’s cheek was enough to make him want to give it all up. To throw away his apron and his dignity with it. To let Kenny watch if he wasn’t going to get the hell out in the next sixty seconds.
Thankfully, he seemed to have gotten the memo. He stood, gave Stan one last glance, then a thumbs up, before finally taking his leave and disappearing from the visible portion of the backyard. Stan wasn’t totally satisfied, but he would take it.
Kyle didn’t seem concerned with Kenny anymore, perhaps emboldened by the protective cover of the island. When Stan turned to him again he was tugging at the strings of Stan’s apron with his teeth, wetting the end of the fabric tie with his saliva. Against his better judgement, Stan found himself also willing to put a lot of trust in that island.
He loosed the tie of his apron, pulling it from his body and tossing it aside before undoing the button of his jeans, then Kyle nudged his way in and caught the metal pull of Stan’s zipper between his teeth, tugging it down until the denim flaps hung open. Stan finished the job, freeing himself through the opening in his briefs, allowing his erection to spring free and rest on Kyle’s face, twitching against the side of his nose.
Stan braced for some kind of objection, but it never came. Instead he received the heat of Kyle’s held exhalation, then the wetness of his tongue as he lapped at the veiny base.
“Fuck, sir-…” Stan managed with some difficulty, his hands finding their way back into Kyle’s hair, this time to hold it back out of his way. He seemed more steady on his knees now, sitting upright to run his hot, pink tongue along the underside of Stan’s cock. They both moaned with it, probably a bit louder than they should have.
“I want you to come down my throat,” Kyle breathed, his low voice almost as demanding as it was desperate, “that’s what I want for breakfast, a hot load straight from the source.”
Stan couldn’t have said no even if he wanted to, already close to bursting as Kyle’s plush lips closed around his swollen head. He struggled to breathe as Kyle’s tongue explored him, sliding beneath his foreskin and teasing him in tight circles. He struggled even more to hold back his voice as Kyle pulled him deeper into the damp warmth of his mouth, cheeks concave as he created tight suction around Stan’s shaft.
It felt illegal, these moments where Kyle would do things unbecoming of someone of his status. When he would get so lost in his own desires that he no longer worried about the loose control he had over Stan — over their entire situation, really. There was no manipulation, no ulterior motives in those dreamy, emerald eyes. There was only pure, unrestrained lust.
He scooted closer to allow Stan to dip further into his mouth, clearly determined to take him all the way. Stan had no objection there either, though he did sort of wish they could be lying together, positioned so Stan could see the way Kyle’s lower half reacted to being fed. He reached down to grab at the back of Kyle’s robe, tugging and balling the fabric into his hand to expose Kyle’s skin, where he could see the tail end of the zucchini poking out of him.
It had gone much deeper since Stan had a hand on it, and was dangerously close to disappearing altogether. Kyle didn’t seem to mind, and Stan didn’t want to interrupt him as he moved even further along the length of his cock, slowly bobbing his head and releasing low, vibrating moans. It would probably be fine, but to be sure he decided he had better make sure he got off quickly as possible.
His hips twitched, assisting in Kyle’s effort to pull him deeper inside. Kyle’s eyes had closed, and he stilled and loosened the suction in his mouth to presumably allow Stan greater room for movement, a freedom he was eager to take full advantage of.
Hands braced against the back of Kyle’s head, he started with slow, shallow thrusts. Kyle leaned towards him, back arched and hands still secured behind him, fingers twitching as each plunge brought Stan’s engorged head closer to the back of his throat.
Stan’s pace quickened as he brushed against the soft, fleshy threshold of Kyle’s tonsils, pausing as he pushed himself all the way inside once he knew Kyle wasn’t going to immediately gag on him. He did gag at that depth a little, the warm flesh of his throat constricting around Stan in pulses as his body attempted to swallow him down.
It was bliss.
Kyle had no real way of asking Stan to stop, so after a moment he unsheathed himself, thickly coated in dripping saliva and somehow even heavier than before, throbbing as he allowed himself to rest once more against Kyle’s face.
“I can take it,” Kyle huffed, teary-eyed and drooling. He lapped at Stan’s erection again, faster and with clear need. An unfathomable need to Stan, but who was he to argue with such a gift.
Stan took a fistful of Kyle’s hair in one hand and the base of his cock in the other. “Open up then,” he uttered, “your breakfast is ready.”
Kyle did exactly as he was told, sitting back against his feet and parting his lips with a satisfying pop. Stan sank back inside, maintaining eye-contact even as he pushed into that sweet spot at the back of Kyle’s throat. Kyle blinked away tears, more drool slipping past his lips and dribbling down his chin, but he gave no indication of surrender. Stan, however, was not so resilient.
It only took a few, frantic pumps to bring him to the point of no return, drowning out the faint choking noises coming from Kyle with his own guttural moans. Hands lost in Kyle’s mane and mind lost in the ecstasy of bruising the back of Kyle’s throat, he got only a few more solid thrusts in before he pressed Kyle against his pelvis.
He came with a groan, tugging Kyle away halfway through and allowing the rest of his load to spurt across Kyle’s face. Kyle coughed as he gasped for air, but didn’t flinch at the unexpected facial.
Stan cupped Kyle’s face in his hands, breathing hard as he took this moment to admire the absolute mess he had made, saliva smeared across Kyle’s mouth and strings of semen coagulating over his ruddy cheeks, the bridge of his nose and down the edge of one eyebrow. Stan swiped that last bit away before any got in his eye.
Kyle’s eyes fluttered open, watery but no less dazed. He still hadn’t come, and it must have been excruciating. Stan collected more of his seed from Kyle’s skin onto his fingers, and when he dipped them into Kyle’s mouth they were eagerly sucked on.
“How’s it taste?” Stan asked softly.
“Mmm,” Kyle hummed, letting Stan’s fingers go when they were pulled away from him. “So good…”
“We’ll get caught if we keep this up,” Stan pointed out, clarity of thought returning to him. They’d already spent an unreasonable amount of time fucking around, and now that he had released some of that frustration his mind was beginning to wander back to how much work was ahead of him that day. All this cleanup, on top of the prep that should have been done some time ago, and he had to make changes to his menu, per Kyle’s request.
Those thoughts did begin to fade as Kyle continued to nudge at his softening cock, pressing delicate kisses against it. It was still rather sensitive, so even the small contact made Stan twitch.
“Sir,” he breathed, “please.”
“Just a little more,” Kyle murmured, “I don’t need much, I-… fuck, it’s so deep.”
Oh shit, the zucchini.
Stan glanced back out the window to ensure the coast was clear before grabbing hold of Kyle and pulling him up to his feet. Kyle shivered and moaned, the change in position clearly adjusting the zucchini inside of him. Stan reached around to feel for it, relieved to find it hadn’t been fully pulled inside of him, not yet at least, though there was so little left that he couldn’t get a good grip on it.
“Deep is right,” Stan grumbled, hands now fumbling to untie the belt from around Kyle’s hands. “We need to get this out of you.” Kyle remained strangely calm as Stan got him back up on the counter, laying on his back with his legs spread. It was certainly a sight, that rough green stem the only thing sticking out of Kyle. Stan grabbed it as best he could, barely getting three greasy fingers around the end. “Okay, I need you to push.”
This seemed to finally snap Kyle out of whatever haze he had been living in, sitting upright and glaring at Stan from between his legs. “Excuse me?”
As if he chose that moment to remember to feel shame. Glazed with spit and jizz, basically naked and sprawled across the counter with an erection so full it may burst from a single touch. But flexing a few muscles was a step too far.
“Unless you’d rather they take it out at the hospital, you need to push.”
Kyle craned his neck to see what was actually happening down there, wincing when he realized how deep the thing really had gone. “O-..okay,” he mumbled, though skepticism still colored his expression. Stan couldn’t blame him, as he now found himself wondering how the beast even fit inside in the first place.
They took a deep breath together, then Kyle braced and flexed those tight muscles, and Stan was relieved to watch it move. Slowly, and it took a couple of firm pushes for Stan to get a good enough grip on the slippery thing, but it still worked. The strain on Kyle’s face was obvious, even as Stan was able to pull it out. It probably had been too big, in retrospect.
Stan took it slow, attention flickering between Kyle’s gradually relaxing expression and his still flexing hole. When it finally came free Kyle let out a heavy sigh of relief, but Stan found himself struggling to breathe.
Kyle was so open, holding the girth of the fruit for a moment before gradually retracting again. Even then, it was the widest Stan had ever seen him, the damp, pink flesh inside fully visible. He found himself desperate to explore it, his fingers tracing around the tender, outer rim before they curled around the edge, holding him open at this width.
“Don’t stare,” Kyle demanded, quietly and with little true authority.
“How does it feel?” Stan asked, his eyes still fixed on the churning flesh as Kyle’s body adjusted to the emptiness.
“Um, open, I guess.” Kyle laid back against the counter, his hands smoothing over his own thighs before meeting Stan’s hands at his hole. “How does it look?”
“Delicious,” Stan breathed. Kyle let out a snort, then a faint whine as his hands were brushed away. Stan crouched down, leaning in closer to get a better look at the damage that zucchini had done. Kyle’s hole throbbed, wanting to close but held open by Stan’s grip, then further tested as he sunk two fingers deep inside, then a third, then even his pinky slipped in. All four fingers curled upward to caress Kyle’s prostate, and he let out a moan at the contact.
Stan shushed him, then began pressing wet kisses into the soft skin of his inner thighs, savoring the flavor of his skin. Kyle held the back of one hand over his own mouth to muffle himself, though it hardly helped. Stan didn’t know how much he cared, reveling in the echo of his voice as it mingled with the sloshing of Stan’s fingers moving inside of him.
There was a moment where Stan nearly tried fitting his entire hand inside, but he hesitated when he remembered that eggplant he had been eying earlier. He let his fingers slide out, reaching across the counter to grab that lone eggplant, as well as the soiled cruet. He lathered the fat, purple fruit with oil, focusing on the thicker end, away from the stem.
“You can’t be serious,” Kyle commented from between his legs, grasping his own cock and pulling it slightly to the side to get a better view of what Stan was doing. Stan smiled up at him.
“You told me you wanted me to stretch you out.”
“Yes, I know, but that’s…” He flinched when Stan leaned in and dragged his tongue against the still slightly open hole before him. “Fuck, don’t tease me like that.”
Stan’s tongue slid inside, facing little resistance as he savored the taste of Kyle’s tender flesh mixed with the bitter, faintly fruity flavor of the oil he had poured inside. His hands worked more oil over the eggplant, before dragging his mouth away and replacing it with the purple monster. He rubbed it against Kyle’s hole, smearing more shiny oil over his skin and hair before slowly pressing in, unsurprised by the resistance he was met with this time. The thing was huge, and he didn’t even know if inserting it was possible, but Kyle didn’t object. In fact, his legs lifted further to allow Stan more space, his hand moving on his erection in long, slow strokes.
When that resistance finally gave way and the fruit began its descent, a cry began to erupt out of Kyle. He swallowed it back, once more covering his mouth with his hand.
His hole expanded to swallow the eggplant, and Stan ran his tongue along that taught skin, as best he could at least, utterly fixated on not only the way his body conformed to the shape of such a large object, but the way he seemed to willingly accept being penetrated like this. How his thighs trembled and he fought back moans. How his cock leaked with each pump of his hand, which began moving faster as the eggplant descended deeper.
Perhaps most importantly, the way he looked down at Stan from between his legs, hand trembling over his agape mouth, that dreamy, tearful glisten returning to his eyes.
Stan got it in about a third of the way before slowly pulling it back out, the muscles releasing it with a satisfying, wet pop. He quickly moved back in to taste the skin, tracing the opening with his tongue, then sucking at it as it tightened again His fingers once again tugged at the puckered skin to hold it open further, desperate to reach every inch, to relish the flavor of his hot, writhing flesh. When he had his fill he plunged the eggplant back inside, let it slide in a few inches, then pulled it back out and went back in for another taste.
He kept this up for some time, each re-entry becoming easier and each taste becoming longer and more drawn out as Kyle’s hole maintained its gaping shape for longer. Eventually though, as Kyle’s stroking became more frantic and his voice higher pitched, Stan accepted that he wouldn’t be able to tease him much longer.
Instead he stood, pressing the eggplant to Kyle’s still rather open hole, though he didn’t push it inside again just yet. He leaned over the counter, free hand planted against the hard marble as he loomed over Kyle, who let his calves settle against Stan’s shoulders.
“Are you ready to come?” Stan asked in a near whisper.
Kyle nodded quickly. “Yeah, fuck-…”
The eggplant began its final descent into Kyle, and he let out a low moan with it.
“I want you to come on this.” Stan bent his elbow and leaned down further. “Show me how hard you get off when you’re opened this wide.”
“I-…I will. Fuck.” Kyle struggled to get his words out, eyes closed and head tilting back as his back arched. “It-…it’s so big! I-… I’m so close!”
Stan got the eggplant nearly halfway in before tightening his grip and testing how fast he could drill it in and out of Kyle. The answer was, surprisingly, rather fast.
Kyle had opened so well for him that it slid in and out with little difficulty, and Stan found himself pounding into Kyle with no hesitation. They held each others’ gaze, Kyle’s eyes wide and his jaw tight as he suppressed more noises, the air coming in ragged puffs through his nostrils. Stan was breathing hard as well, and especially so when he dipped down and kissed Kyle deeply, allowing those held vocalizations to be muffled into him.
It was sloppy and wet and absolutely delicious. The salty flavor of his own cum on Kyle’s tongue, mixed with those sweet preserves and his nutty coffee.
He distantly enjoyed the squelch of the oiled eggplant moving in and out of Kyle, but he was far more focused on those breathless, muffled moans escaping his throat. The hand that found its way into the hair at the back of Stan’s head, fingernails digging into his scalp. The tremble of Kyle’s legs against his chest, twitching more with each thrust.
It wasn’t often that Stan was able to enjoy satisfying Kyle while mostly clear-headed, focusing solely on soaking in the ecstasy of bringing pleasure to his partner rather than simultaneously chasing after his own. It wouldn’t last much longer though, refractory period be damned. He tried not to give attention to the blood migrating back into that spongy tissue between his legs.
“I-I’m gonna-… fuck, Stan!” Kyle managed to get out between kisses, and knowing he was close sent Stan into overdrive. His arms tensed as Kyle’s entire body tightened, able to truly appreciate the way Kyle’s hole clamped down around the eggplant. It certainly made it difficult to keep moving, though it didn’t stop him completely.
Their lips parted and Stan glanced down just in time to watch Kyle ejaculate, shooting thick ropes of cum across his own stomach, settling in the divots of his musculature and catching in the trail of hair there. He pulled back to get a full view, allowing his hand to gradually come to a stop. Kyle’s hand fell away from him, flopping back against the counter as his body slowly relaxed, left trembling even as his legs fell forward. His robe hung loose around him, splayed open and the silk fabric darkened where splashes of oil, spit and cum had made contact with it.
Stan pulled the eggplant free, very slowly, pleased by the small, raspy whimper even that elicited from this mess of a man sprawled out before him. His gaping hole throbbed, and Stan traced a delicate finger over the sensitive skin as he watched it gradually close, though not entirely. He wondered how it might feel around his own cock, though there was certainly not going to be enough time for that. More importantly, he didn’t keep condoms on him in the kitchen, though this incident made him wonder if he should start.
The next thing Stan thought to do was clean up, so he wet the corner of a towel and leaned over the counter again, carefully swiping the drying residue from Kyle’s handsome face: his reddened, freckled skin, the contours of his pronounced cheekbones and the smooth skin of his brow.
“You have such nice skin,” Stan muttered, and Kyle looked back at him with drowsy confusion.
“What?”
“You have so few wrinkles.”
“I stay out of the sun,” Kyle provided, though Stan suspected there was more to it than that.
“Do you burn easily?” Stan asked, earnestly.
“A little.” Kyle scanned Stan’s face for a beat. “How is this the time you choose to grill me on my skincare?”
Stan cracked a smile again. “I was just admiring your face,” he confessed, hoping it would fluster Kyle a bit. It did, prompting him to cover himself with the hand that wasn’t currently covered in jizz. “Aw, don’t do that. I want to see you.”
“Shut up and help me get up.”
Stan obliged him, assisting him as he sat up, then helping him down off the counter, careful to avoid the mess on the floor. He was a bit unsteady on his feet, wobbling like a newborn fawn as he tugged the flaps of his robe closed over his body.
“Do you want me to help you clean up more, sir?” Stan offered, concerned that the stain Kyle’s ejaculate would cause might not come out when washed.
Kyle shook his head. “No, I’m going to go bathe.” His gaze lingered on Stan’s groin before flickering back up to his face. “You should probably focus on yourself, I can’t imagine it’s safe to cook with your cock out.” Stan chuckled and tucked himself away, unable to argue. “I hope dinner will be edible tonight,” Kyle continued, crossing his arms over his chest. His face was still quite red, his voice just a touch softer than usual. “I’d hate to make you cook me something else after you've spent so much time preparing everything.”
“Would you prefer I not plan for that, then?” Stan inquired, his head tilted slightly.
“I-… well, perhaps you should be prepared, even if I do partake in tonight’s dinner.”
Stan glanced at the door, then out the window, then back down at Kyle, who would not meet his eyes. His hands came up to cup Kyle’s face within them, gently pulling his gaze up towards Stan. “I hope you’ll partake in tonight’s offerings, but I can make a special delivery either way.” He slowly rubbed his thumbs over Kyle’s blushing cheeks. “Would that be satisfactory?”
Kyle nodded slightly, his attention falling to Stan’s lips as he spoke. “That will suffice, yes.”
When Stan leaned in to press a soft kiss to Kyle’s lips, things nearly felt normal. For a single beat, as Kyle’s lips parted to press against his, it felt as though they were something mundane, rather than something that needed to be hidden from the light. In that moment they were just two people, bound by their physical connection, sharing a tender moment in the quiet kitchen of the home in which they co-habitated. It was nice, even if it was incredibly short-lived.
He tore himself away when there were footsteps through the servant’s hall, and he quietly directed Kyle to leave through the dining room. Kyle hid his discomfort well enough, walking with only a slightly unusual gait as he disappeared through the doorway, just in time for Leopold to poke his head into the room through the servant’s entrance, a door that Stan had hardly paid any mind to, given he was pretty exclusively the only person that utilized it.
“Stan? Are you-…” Leopold’s eyes moved over the mess left across the counter, seemingly noting Stan’s discarded belt and apron, but not saying anything about it. “Oh, I see you’re busy. I’ll come back-…”
“What do you need, Leopold?” Stan interrupted, somehow calm despite his workspace being in such a state.
“Well, I was looking for Kyle. The others are getting ready to go to the parade, his mother asked that I track him down, and Ike said he last saw him in here with you.”
Stan highly doubted Kyle would be joining them anytime soon. “Well he just left, I think he was headed for his bedroom.”
“Ah, of course.” Leopold let out a heavy sigh. “He’s so hard to pin down.”
“Not in my experience,” Stan quipped without thinking. Thankfully it seemed to go over Leopold’s head, who was preoccupied checking his watch.
“Well if he isn’t ready soon they’re going to leave without him,” Leopold continued, “and it’s a real shame to not spend a holiday like this with your family.”
Stan considered this as he looked around at the mess he had made, and all the work he still needed to get done. He recalled Thanksgiving in his childhood, when his mother would spend all day prepping their own feast while he spent the morning seated on the living room carpet, watching the parade on the little black-and-white television. His sister would help in the kitchen, learning to cook as a labor of love for the man she would marry some day. Stan would spend the afternoon outside, gathering the other neighborhood kids and making the most of their time away from school, and of the limited time they had of their youths.
“Yeah,” he muttered, “I suppose it is.” He turned to look at Leopold again, but he was already gone. Left alone in a silent kitchen, for perhaps the first time since he had come to work for this family, he wondered what his own family was up to.
He didn’t have much time to consider this though, and once he had cleaned up he was left with a massive list of tasks and very little time to get them done. The rest of the day flew, Stan barely registering the movement of the sunlight across the space as he worked, forgetting to eat and nearly forgetting to breathe in the process.
As the sun set and he lifted the final pie from the oven, he finally took a true, deep breath. The lattice crust was perfectly golden, the fragrant filling bubbling as it was set on the cooling rack beside its pumpkin brother that had been placed there just a few minutes prior.
“Stan!” Leopold called from the doorway to the dining room. “Are you ready?”
He wasn’t sure he was, but he didn’t have much of a choice. The oven mitts came off, and his legs carried him towards Leopold. Stepping through the threshold, he found all of his days’ work laid out across one end of the table. It was an absurd amount of food for just four people, but that was what Kyle had asked for, so that was what he had gotten.
“What do you think of the centerpiece?” Leopold asked as Stan took the table in. He’d hardly noticed the woven cornucopia that sat in the center of the feast, bursting with fresh fall foliage, likely taken directly from the grounds of the estate.
“It’s lovely,” he answered, “did Kenny help you with it?”
Leopold blushed, folding his arms behind himself as he rocked back and forth on his feet. “He did. We had a nice time picking everything out together this afternoon.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
They chatted briefly about the wine Stan had selected — a Riesling that he recalled Kyle enjoying in the past — until the massive double doors came open and the Broflovski family entered the room. Stan moved to open the bottle while Leopold hurried to greet and direct everyone to their seats. An unnecessary gesture, but one he often made regardless.
“As you can see, dinner will be served a bit differently this evening,” he began as he took the bottle of wine from Stan and began filling each glass. Stan found himself, as usual, only watching Kyle, who winced slightly as he took his seat, his own eyes taking in the spread before them. He had cleaned up considerably since Stan had seen him last, his hair back in a bun and his glasses perched on his nose, his upper body hidden beneath a plush, burnt orange mock neck sweater.
“Everything looks perfect,” Kyle stated, and the obvious glee in his voice caught everyone off guard. They turned to look at him, though he didn’t pay them any mind. “Who’s carving the turkey?”
“Shouldn’t Dad do it?” Ike commented, looking less enthused than his brother by the spread, but not entirely disinterested.
“I think our chef should,” Kyle said, turning those crystal clear emerald eyes to Stan. “After all, he’ll know which parts taste best.”
“Works for me,” Gerald decided without much thought.
“Go ahead,” Sheila encouraged Stan with a smile, motioning to the utensils sitting on the table beside the massive bird. He reached for them, reluctant to take on the task considering it was usually the job of the patriarch of the family, but he didn’t want to seem disrespectful by refusing. Besides, he did know which parts tasted best, and he would far prefer they enjoy those bits.
There was a momentary quiet as everyone watched the first slice come free from the turkey, juice spilling as the carving knife penetrated the tender flesh. Conversation began to flow as plates filled, Ike following Kyle’s lead as both men began to help themselves to the offerings. Gerald and Sheila didn’t object to allowing their boys first choice, though Stan made a point to serve the parents their thick slices of meat first.
Eventually, Stan and Leopold excused themselves to allow for the family to enjoy their time together, and while Stan wouldn’t get to enjoy a full view of Kyle eating his meal, he got a momentary glimpse of him scooping a forkful of that god-forsaken casserole into his mouth, a smile on his face and a glimmer in his eye. That was satisfying enough.
First helpings turned to seconds, dinner transitioned to dessert, and eventually the room cleared. Kyle, for once, was the last to leave, lingering with the remains of his second glass of wine, holding it to the light as he slowly swirled the nearly-clear liquid. Leopold remained in the kitchen to prepare his and Kenny’s dinners from the leftovers, while Stan cleared the plates off the dining room table.
“Was this meal satisfactory?” Stan inquired as he removed Kyle’s nearly licked-clean plate from its place before him on the table.
Kyle hummed as his eyes lingered on his glass for another moment before flickering over to meet Stan’s gaze. “It was sufficient, yes.”
“Is there anything you’d like me to do differently next year?”
“Oh, so you think you’ll be here next year?”
“Mm, I do.” Stan smiled down at Kyle. “And the year after, and then the year after that as well.”
This was apparently amusing to Kyle, who chuckled as he set his glass down. “And what about the year after that?”
“Well, I try not to plan too far ahead, but I suspect I’ll be here for that as well, yes. Unless you get bored of me, of course.”
Kyle glanced at the main doorway, then back up Stan. “I don’t see that happening.”
Stan chuckled, continuing to collect the dishes left on the table. One plate at a time, though he would have far rather yanked the table cloth off, cleared it all in one go and tested how much more Kyle could physically tolerate for one day against the hard, wooden surface. The thought made his face grow suddenly hot.
“Well,” Kyle spoke as he stood, just as Stan lifted the last dish, “thank you for humoring me today. It was nice to have a normal Thanksgiving, or as normal as we can have in this family, anyway.”
The sincerity in his voice caught Stan a bit off guard, and it took him a moment to respond. “Uh-… of course. I’m glad you enjoyed the holiday, sir.”
“Hm. Well I hope there will be more to enjoy this evening.” Kyle tapped a finger against the table. “Even after all of this delicious food, I still somehow find myself craving something more.”
“I can give your second course to you in, say, an hour?”
“Thirty minutes.”
“Forty-five.”
Kyle’s eyes wandered over Stan as he bit his lower lip. Stan puffed his chest out just a little bit more.
“Fine. Forty-five, but I’ll be ready in twenty.”
They parted ways as Kyle left for his bedroom and Stan returned to the kitchen. Kenny had joined Leopold, and the two huddled together at the counter, laughing as they worked in tandem to clean what remained of the bird. Stan set his dishes in the sink, then, finally, took the time to prepare his own plate. He took a bit of everything — even the green bean casserole — and settled down at the island alongside Leopold and Kenny.
He wondered again about what his own family was doing. If they were enjoying the holiday together, Shelley with her husband and hellion kids, his mother breaking her back to prepare dinner for all of them. His father, probably working, just like he himself had been, though he doubted his father was enjoying such good company.
“Let’s make a toast!” Leopold offered, holding up his first forkful of food instead of a glass. “To, um, gettin’ to spend the holidays with good people, and enjoying delicious food!”
Kenny chuckled and raised his own forkful. “To good friends, and great sex.” Leopold cackled at this, the sort of unbecoming laughter that only Stan and Kenny got to hear. It was charming, in its own way.
Stan collected the perfect bite from his plate, a carefully balanced collection of every dish, before lifting it and tapping it to the other men’s utensils.
“To found family,” he began, took a breath, then continued, “and stuffing holes.”