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I didn’t mean to watch. I could’ve slipped out when I heard them coming up the stairs — and I should have, I know, but something took over me, alright? Before I could really think it over I was pulling the closet door closed and backing up against the wall with Stan’s clothes cushioning my shoulders and a cardboard box pressed against my calf. Listen, in my defense, I didn’t know for sure that anything would actually happen; after all, they’re “just friends.”
I hold my breath when they enter the room, and I remind myself as I hear Stan’s bedroom door click shut that if either of them happen to look in here for any reason, I can just fucking kill myself and it’ll be like I was never even here. I hold back a laugh at the thought. Imagine. Stan slides open his closet door to find me hiding behind it like some kind of pervert, and before Kyle can start screaming at me I leap across the room and dive head first out of the window. If that isn’t comedy I don’t know what is. Shit. That’s actually really really funny. I have to bite down on the flesh at the base of my thumb as hard as I can to stop myself from bursting into laughter.
I’m not, by the way. A pervert. I mean— okay. I kinda am, but I wouldn’t usually do something like this. This is way too calculated for me; it’s not my style. This is like, Eric Cartman levels of creepy — and I do know that, but like I said, something came over me. I didn’t have time to think it through, and now I’m kind of stuck here.
Well, anyway. As it turns out, you can see a lot through the slats in the wood if you get the angle just right.
Kyle’s sitting on the end of the bed, and Stan is doing something over the other side of the room that I can’t really make out from here. It’s quiet, and for a moment nothing happens. I start to wonder if they really are just friends, but then Stan turns to face him, leaning his back against the edge of his desk. I take one look at Kyle’s expression, and that’s when I know for sure that we’re all fucking right about them.
“Come here already,” Kyle says, volume low. He’s smiling a little.
It takes a whole two seconds for Stan to cross the room and fall into bed with him.
I knew it, and I knew that I knew it, but somehow it still feels like I’ve just been punched in the gut.
It starts with a whisper; Kyle’s name falls out of Stan’s mouth like it’s the only way he’s ever known how to exhale. Kyle is on top of him now, Stan’s fingers tangled tightly in his curls, knees spread wide, feet flat on the bed.
“Kyle,” he says again when Kyle rolls his hips.
I watch them make out, something I know they’ve been doing since sophomore year—at least—but seeing it happening in front of me is different. Even though it stings, my heart starts to race. My chest feels hot. My stomach flutters. Stan’s brows are drawn together, eyes squeezed shut, toes pointing and curling and fidgeting against the sheets while Kyle rocks against him. Their noses press together as they kiss harder, and the wet noises that their lips make are nothing short of obscene; I can’t help that my dick starts getting hard. I’m only human. Well, probably.
“Fuck,” Stan whispers, and it’s so breathy it’s pretty much all consonants. He tips his head back against the mattress, throat fully exposed as he tries to roll his hips up to get more of Kyle. Kyle gives him what he wants, grinding down against Stan hard enough to earn himself a broken little moan before Stan realizes and slaps a hand over his mouth.
“Don’t do that,” Kyle instructs quietly, shifting his weight on to one forearm long enough to reach up and pull Stan’s hand away from his mouth.
“M’gonna get— they’re gonna hear—”
Stan’s so fucking cute when he’s drunk. He’s cute all the time, but he’s especially cute when he’s drunk and not trying to hide what a sensitive, needy little fuck he is. I want to be Kyle so badly right now, I could cry about it.
“They won’t, I won’t let them,” Kyle says, and he’s clearly drunk too, but he’s not even close to the mess that Stan is.
Stan doesn’t seem to question Kyle’s promise even though I don’t think it makes any sense; I don’t care, though. I don’t want him to worry about making noise.
“I’m so fucking horny, dude—” Stan slurs, tipping his head to one side, still flat against the mattress so that his hair splays out beside him.
“Me too,” Kyle says between the kisses he’s trailing down one side of Stan’s neck.
“Are you gonna fuck me?” Stan asks, and my heart stops for a moment. This is what I’ve really wanted to know for the longest time: are they having sex yet? I already assumed that when the time came, Kyle would top, so that’s no surprise to me. Out of the two of them, Stan’s always been more open to trying new things, and he’s been so pathetically in love with him for as long as I can remember, I think he would’ve agreed to damn near anything if it meant Kyle could be his.
“Yeah,” Kyle whispers, and there’s that question answered. Probably not their first time. “Fuck—” Kyle hisses, and Stan props himself up on his elbows, looking panicked. Kyle laughs a little and shakes his head. “No I just— we didn’t lock the fucking— hold on.”
I watch as Kyle stumbles to the other side of the room; Stan laughs at him. Throws his head back and really laughs, and its such a beautiful noise. It isn’t fair.
“Shut up,” Kyle says, crawling back on to the bed with a grin on his face. Stan’s lying fully on his back again, and Kyle leans over him. “Take your fucking clothes off.”
“I can’t,” Stan says, dragging the word out into a whine. He’s smiling like he knows he’s being a dick about it, like it’s funny. “You have to do it for me.”
Kyle doesn’t even respond, he just runs his palms up the sides of Stan’s legs and up his thighs until Stan is throwing a forearm over his eyes and chewing on his bottom lip. Kyle starts tugging off his sweat pants in an instant, and Stan lifts his hips to make it easier.
“Look at me,” Kyle says, but before Stan can react, he slides his palm over the swell in Stan’s boxers and Stan gasps. Kyle laughs under his breath.
“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Stan says, in the same tone I imagine he tells him he loves him.
Kyle says nothing again, opting instead to shuffle down the bed so that he can lay between Stan’s spread thighs and press kisses to the insides of them. Stan lets out a small, impatient groan. Kyle kisses further up his inner thigh and then starts mouthing at Stan’s dick through the fabric wrapped around it.
“Oh god,” Stan says, hands over his face so that it comes out muffled.
I can see Kyle watching him, smug fucking grin on his face, and I really can’t blame the guy one bit. He cups Stan’s balls through his boxers and I watch Stan’s legs twitch.
“Kyle.”
I wonder if Stan knows any other words.
Kyle hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of Stan’s underwear and slowly pulls them down until his dick springs free. Stan is making desperate little noises to himself when Kyle drags his lips across the skin just above the crease of his thigh, and when he wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and moves to get into position so that he can suck it, Stan’s hand finds Kyle’s forehead and gently pushes him away.
“Dude, don’t— I’ll cum—” he whispers.
Kyle’s grinning. “Okay, okay,” he says, but before he moves away, he presses a kiss right to the tip of Stan’s dick, and then he laughs out loud when Stan’s entire body jerks in reaction as he tries to shove him away.
“Kyle,” he says, and I’m sure it was supposed to be some kind of protest but it just sounds like a full blown moan. He stretches his arms out toward Kyle and makes grabbing motions, and my heart hurts a little. Kyle ignores it momentarily to slip Stan’s boxers the rest of the way down his legs and then off entirely, and Stan’s arms flop back down to the bed at his sides like it was too difficult to keep them outstretched.
Kyle smiles fondly at him as he slips off the side of the bed to stand.
“What are you doing?” Stan asks softly.
“Can’t fuck you with my clothes on— well, I could.”
“No— no no no, not the— the zipper—”
“The zipper incident,” Kyle agrees, “exactly.”
Stan covers his face and laughs into his hands, pulling his knees up and together. Kyle is snickering too as he slips his shirt off, tossing it to the floor to join the growing pile of clothes, and Stan takes his hands away from his face to throw them gracelessly above his head, a drunken smile playing on his lips as he tilts his face to watch Kyle undress.
Straining against my thigh, I can feel my pulse in my dick. I wonder if there’s any possibility they might let me join in some time, you know, an extra pair of hands? Just for fun? I’ll be real, I’m not really attracted to Kyle. Nothing against the guy, he just isn’t my type—it’s pretty rare I look at any dudes like that, honestly—but I swear, I’d let him fuck my brains out if it meant getting to touch Stan.
Kyle glances down at his hands as he unfastens his belt and unbuttons his pants, but he looks up again when Stan starts to sit up and shuffle down the bed toward him.
“Miss me already?” Kyle teases, and Stan looks up at him with a huge smile, nodding like an idiot.
“Let me,” he says, the words slurring together. He lifts his arms to grab at Kyle’s hips, pulling them toward the side of the bed where he’s shifted to sit with his feet on the floor.
Kyle hums, moving his hands out of the way, and I can see the adoration in his face as he brushes Stan’s hair out of his eyes.
Stan’s fingers move clumsily as he pulls the zipper of Kyle’s pants down and tries to tug them down his thighs, but he doesn’t get very far before Kyle slides his thumbs under the material at his hips and pushes both his pants and underwear down far enough to get his cock free. I watch Stan as he sighs wistfully, like he’s face to face with a beautiful sunset or a painting, and I have to stifle a laugh — he’s such a fucking faggot, but hey, so am I, because all I want is to be stood there in Kyle’s place.
Kyle pulls at the collar of Stan’s T-shirt, and he helps him when he starts to pull it up and over his head.
“Love you,” Kyle murmurs, and when Stan looks up at him, hair a mess and eyes wide as saucers, I’m convinced he’s going to cry. Maybe Kyle sees what I see, because he distracts him by pulling lightly at the hair at the back of his neck. “Do you want me to take these off?” he asks, using his free hand to gesture with the loose material at the front of his pants.
“Yeah,” Stan says, attention directed back down to the dick three inches from his face.
“Kay.”
They’re both cracking up when Kyle has to hold on to one of Stan’s shoulders while he steps out of his clothes, almost falling over twice.
“I got you,” Stan says with a grin, heroically taking hold of Kyle’s dick to hold him steady. Kyle gasps, not expecting it and then they’re both in hysterics. I’ll admit, they’re really fucking cute together; I try not to resent it too much.
“There,” Kyle whispers with some finality when he’s as naked as Stan is, both hands resting on his shoulders. They gaze at each other for a moment, and then he slides his fingers up and along Stan’s skin to cup the back of his neck.
“Mm,” Stan hums, needing no further instruction, clearly, because he wastes no time leaning forward, dipping his head and sucking the head of Kyle’s cock into his mouth.
I hear Kyle inhale sharply, but he keeps quiet for the most part. Somehow Stan’s still noisier than he is, even with a dick in his mouth. Can’t say I’m all that surprised.
That's when I can’t take it anymore. I finally let myself slip one hand down the front of my pants and take a hold of my own dick. I couldn't tear my eyes away from Stan's mouth if you paid me. I’m unbelievably turned on, and a sick part of me wants to take out my phone and figure out a way to film Stan sucking cock through the gaps in the closet door — you don’t understand, alright? I’ve fantasized about this—Stan with a dick in his mouth, specifically—for so many years. Still, I know that would be crossing a line, and I know what I’m doing right now isn’t much better, but at least there’s a world in which I can convince myself I ended up in this situation by “accident”.
Stan hums—moans, maybe—and his eyes slide shut as he takes Kyle a little further.
Kyle’s dick is nothing to scoff at, and I’d be pissed at the knowledge that he’s just a little bigger than me, but I already knew that. I’ve made peace with it. I like my dick.
“Tha’s really good, dude,” Kyle whispers, slurring for the first time tonight. His eyes are half-lidded as he tips his head to get a better view. I get it. Stan’s so fucking pretty.
Stan’s eyes open and he tries to look up at Kyle through his lashes, but I can’t imagine the angle works very well. I’m slowly stroking my dick, watching intently as Kyle’s breathing gets noticeably heavier. He gently takes a handful of Stan’s hair at the crown of his head, and he leaves him to work for a little bit longer, but then he starts to move his hips in short, shallow motions and Stan just hums again. I can’t tell if it’s a noise of approval or if he’s just drunk and making sounds for the sake of it, but I’m not complaining.
“Hold on,” Kyle says, pulling him away lightly by his hair, and I want to burst out of the closet and hit him. Even I—guy who’s been desperate for Stan’s mouth since fucking middle school—could last longer than this. “Lay down.”
At least I get to watch Stan get fucked. It should be me, but that ship has sailed, so I’ll take what I can get.
“Like this?” Stan asks, sincere and sweet and perfect. He lays down on the bed where he is, on his back, looking up at Kyle.
“Yeah.”
I want to tell them no, not like that, because now they’ll be facing the wrong way and I won’t get to see. I want them to realize that the soft, comfy pillows are up the other end of the bed where they started—go back there, god damn it—but my disappointment doesn’t last long, because I realize what’s happening when Kyle steps closer to the side of the bed, still standing, and Stan turns his face so that his cheek is against the sheets. Oh. Okay.
“Little more,” Kyle says, motioning for Stan to move closer to the edge of the mattress.
Stan does as he’s told, shifting his entire body, fingers cupped loosely around his own balls as he settles back down and stares up at Kyle with wide eyes. “Better?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah.”
Kyle threads his fingers in Stan’s hair and wraps his other hand around the base of his own cock as Stan tips his face completely to the side again. Kyle waits until he looks comfortable and then guides the dick in his hand so that the tip traces the line of the faint smile on Stan’s lips until he’s opening his mouth and letting Kyle slip it inside. Stan makes a noise around it, his eyes shutting, and I bet it feels like fucking heaven on Earth. I try to imagine it — all the usual, mind blowing sensations that come with getting head, but with the extra knowledge that it’s Stan. I watch Kyle move in and out in slow, careful movements, and I try to touch myself in a way that mimics Stan’s mouth; Kyle gives him maybe just less than a third of his dick, so I don’t let my hand move further up mine past that point either. I only stop briefly to gather spit in my mouth and lick a long, fat strip across my palm before I keep going, and I try my best to match the pace that Kyle is setting.
“You look so good,” Kyle says, sounding more out of it than he has all night.
Stan tries to look up at him without disrupting Kyle’s rhythm. He makes another, longer noise around the flesh in his mouth, and Kyle’s eyes slide closed.
“Fuck...” he sighs, and I can see Stan trying not to smile as his cheeks hollow out a little.
Kyle slows down and then stops entirely so that he can ease his cock further into Stan’s mouth than before. He pulls out most of the way again and then pushes even further in, and I’m genuinely surprised when Stan doesn’t stop him. It’s obviously not in his throat, but it must be getting close to the back of his tongue. I’m fully expecting him to gag and hold out a hand to stop Kyle’s hips at any moment, but he doesn’t, and I have to stop what I’m doing because I’m this close to blowing my fucking load. Actually, Stan looks like he’s really fucking enjoying it.
Kyle reaches down Stan’s body and pushes his fingers away as he slowly fucks his mouth, so Stan lets go of his balls and lets Kyle’s fingers replace his. There’s a wet sound when Stan’s lips open to moan, and his eyes slip shut, brows pinched together. Kyle lets out a small, breathy laugh when he rolls his fingers, squeezes gently and Stan moans again, lips wrapped back around Kyle’s cock this time.
I wonder if Kyle’s ever really fucked his face. I wonder if he’s ever gotten up on the bed with him, knees either side of Stan’s head, weight on his palms and really fucking given it to him. I wonder if Stan would let him. If he’d like it. If he’d ever manage to get it past the back of his tongue and into his throat. If he’d ask Kyle beforehand to keep going even if he struggles— fuck, man.
“Stan,” Kyle says, and Stan opens his eyes again to try to look up at him, not moving. “I wanna fuck you.”
Stan lets him slide his dick out from his mouth before he turns his face to gaze at him properly, lips shiny. “Yeah.”
Somebody up there must be looking out for me for once, because when they both get back on the bed, they reposition so that Stan’s head is against the pillows like before, and I have close to a perfect view from this angle.
I’m too busy watching Stan’s lips as they make out to know where Kyle found a bottle of lube—bedside table, I’m guessing—but I notice it when the cap clicks open. They don’t stop kissing as Kyle squeezes some on to his fingers, and it honestly looks like he’s done this a hundred times before. It’s practiced, confident. He’s one of my best friends, really, he is, but I hate him. At least right now.
They break apart and Stan looks toward his bedroom door, anxiety obvious on his face; Kyle follows his eyes.
“What?” he asks.
“The music—” Stan says, turning his head to try to listen better. “It’s turned way down.” Maybe he’s sobering up, because the music has been lower for a while now.
“Don’t worry about it,” Kyle murmurs, brushing their noses together.
“What if someone—”
“They won’t.”
I’m surprised, honestly. Out of the two of them, I would have expected Kyle to be the one hesitant to have sex at a party full of people, even if every single person downstairs undoubtedly already suspects they’re a thing. It’s South Park High’s worst kept secret, after all.
“Don’t— don’t let me be loud—”
“Okay.”
“I want to be, but—”
“Don’t I know it,” Kyle says, knowing smile on his face, and Stan stops mid sentence to shoot him a half-hearted glare.
“Shut up. Just— come here.”
“Come where?” Kyle asks and he snorts when Stan tries to give him the same look again, but not half a second later they’re kissing and laughing against each others lips as Kyle shifts to kneel between Stan’s legs.
My brows arch up high when there’s not a trace of hesitation in Kyle’s slicked-fingers as they slide between Stan’s ass cheeks — he’s always been a bit of a germophobe; I was really expecting Stan to have to do most of this part himself. Credit where credit is due, I guess. Can’t say I’m not a little disappointed; I really thought that'd be an area I could easily win points against him.
They make out, slow and wet and so obviously in love with each other it feels more intimate to watch them kiss than it does to watch the way Kyle rubs little circles against Stan’s asshole.
My toes flex in my shoes; I genuinely had no idea jealousy could get this intense.
Stan’s breath hitches and he clutches tightly at Kyle’s shoulder; Kyle hasn’t even put one finger inside him yet and he looks about ready to cum. He spreads his legs wider and I have to still my hand again; I’ve never seen anybody look so fuckable before. I think about letting myself orgasm now in the hopes they go at it long enough that I could get a second one in, but I decide against it. It's fine; I'm no stranger to edging.
When Kyle finally starts to push his middle finger inside, they stop kissing so that he can watch Stan’s eyes shut tight as he gasps and grips his shoulder harder. He’s making these perfect, needy little noises, quiet but desperate, obviously on another planet as Kyle works his finger deeper, and I see Kyle’s dick twitch when a particularly pornographic sound escapes Stan’s throat.
They take their time, making out and murmuring things to each other—cute shit, like if it feels okay, if Kyle should get more lube, tiny “love you”s and “me too”s—and Kyle is careful as he slowly stretches Stan open, ring finger eventually joining the one already buried inside him. Stan probably doesn’t need this much time, considering how often they have “sleepovers to study”, but it’s sweet. It makes sense.
Kyle manages to get up to three, his fingers pushed together in a triangular fashion to make it easier on him, and he makes a slight twisting motion with his wrist as he slowly pushes them in and out. Stan has his brows drawn together, eyes shut in concentration, breathing ragged against Kyle’s mouth. They aren’t making out now—Stan doesn’t seem to be able to—but Kyle keeps pressing little kisses to his cheek and his parted lips.
After what feels like forever—not that I wasn't enjoying watching—Kyle slides his fingers out and leans away for a moment to grab Stan’s T-shirt where it’s lying forgotten down the other end of the bed. He sets it to one side, reaches for the lube again and then after he's sufficiently slicked up his cock, he dries his hand with the shirt and tosses it to the floor while Stan just watches him, lips parted and pupils huge. He looks high.
I feel like I’m as desperate for it as Stan is when Kyle finally lines up his cock and pushes inside him. I’m honestly impressed; I would have bet good money against Kyle fucking him with no condom, but here we are. Stan moans fucking loud — and I mean loud, to the point where Kyle has to press his fingers against his lips to shut him the fuck up.
“Oh my god,” Stan says, drawn out and rough when Kyle’s hand leaves his mouth; he sounds completely fucking wasted again, like he did at the start. “Kyle—”
Kyle shushes him softly and then presses their lips together as he sinks inside Stan a little deeper.
He swallows another girlish noise straight from Stan’s mouth and replaces it with his tongue, and they make out, slow and deliberate as Kyle starts to fuck him. It’s careful at first. Small, leisurely rolls of his hips. I’ve got a great view as Kyle inches inside him deeper, bit by bit, taking his time, letting him get used to it before he gives him the next half an inch or so.
I’m so jealous I could puke, but I’m glad he’s gentle with him; I knew he would be. Stan likes to pretend he’s not a person that needs to be handled with care, but he is, in almost every sense. I don’t doubt that this is no different, and I always imagined it would be a lot like this if I ever got lucky enough to fuck him myself.
“Dude,” Stan gasps, eyes screwed shut and arms wrapped tight around Kyle’s neck and shoulders.
“Yeah,” Kyle says, and he doesn’t sound even half as collected as he did five minutes ago.
“Dude,” Stan repeats, toes curling.
I almost start laughing, because I can’t believe they still talk to each other like they did when we were kids — even during sex. Then again, I can’t really imagine anything different. I think if they started calling each other babe or something, the three of us might burst into flames.
“You okay?” Kyle breathes, reaching up to brush Stan’s bangs out of his eyes.
“Uhuh,” Stan says, but he sounds absolutely wrecked.
“Feel good?” Kyle asks, and it’s so sweet and sincere a question, it makes it difficult to be as pissed at him as I really want to be.
“Yeah,” Stan says, sounding like he’s on the verge of crying.
Kyle kisses him, long and hard and Stan whimpers into his mouth when he pushes inside him that very last inch. Their mouths part, but they stay with their faces pressed together, breathing against each other’s lips. Kyle doesn’t pull out at all, but he rolls his hips forward against Stan’s ass and Stan’s face screws up again. He looks like he’s in pain, but when he chokes out a sob, grasps fistfuls of Kyle’s hair and starts rocking his own hips, it’s pretty obvious that he isn’t.
“You okay?” Kyle whispers, checking a second time, but he’s already started moving again.
Stan doesn’t manage words, he just lets out another little sob and nods his head desperately, eyes still shut.
I squeeze my fingers around my cock, wondering how tight Stan must feel. Does Kyle know how fucking lucky he is? Does he really understand?
“Ky—le—”
It doesn’t take long for Kyle to pick up the pace. I still think I could outperform him in terms of stamina, but I have to give the guy props. He’s obviously good. Stan has his legs spread as wide as he can, one hand clutching desperately at the back of Kyle’s neck and the other still tangled in his curls. He’s trying to keep quiet, gasping and opening and shutting his mouth as Kyle fucks him harder. Every now and then it seems like he’s trying to say something, but before he can fully form the first word he’ll be interrupted by the slam of Kyle’s hips and it’ll just come out as noise instead. I’ve never seen anything as fucking hot as this, and I mean it. I’ve seen a lot, too, but this is different; I feel like Stan’s face was made for this. Kyle must feel the same, because he can’t take his eyes off it either.
I don’t know how long it lasts, how long we stay like that: Kyle fucking Stan into the mattress, Stan letting out little whimpers and broken sobs and me in the closet, edging myself while I watch. When Kyle starts flagging, he pushes himself up off of his forearms until he’s sitting up on his knees, careful not to pull out of Stan completely. Stan makes a little sound, and I can’t tell if it’s protest or just something generally needy, but it’s so hot I wish I could get it on tape somehow and use it to cum to every night from now on.
Kyle’s catching his breath when he hooks his arms underneath Stan’s thighs and carefully pulls his body closer, and Stan’s breath gets caught in his throat when it naturally pushes Kyle further inside him again.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” Stan whispers, finally exhaling.
Kyle nods once, satisfied as he laces their fingers together. His other hand finds Stan’s hip, and he shuffles forward a little until he’s got a good angle.
Stan’s eyes are glassy as he slips his free hand down his stomach and takes hold of his own erection; he’s so rock-hard it looks borderline painful.
“Are you gonna cum, soon?” he asks before Kyle starts up again.
Kyle moves his hand from Stan’s hip to take hold of the back of his thigh and push his legs apart more. “Mmhm,” he answers, sounding far away as he leans back a little to stare at the way Stan’s pretty hole is stretched around his cock.
Stan tips his head at an angle against the pillow, watching Kyle for a moment. There’s a small smile on his lips, his eyelids heavy; Kyle hasn’t noticed, he’s still staring. He lets him for just a little longer.
“Kyle, fuck me.”
I nearly cum again when he says it. I have to pull my hand away entirely and tense my whole body.
Kyle makes a noise in the back of his throat, something close to frustration. He pushes deeper inside again, all the way in, and Stan tips his head back and moans like such a fucking whore I have to take my hand off my dick again. I wonder if he’s always this vocal, or if it’s just when he's drunk. If it’s the latter, then Kyle’s a better man than me; I'd have him wasted every fucking night.
After a couple of slower, more careful thrusts to make sure Stan is still good, Kyle unlaces their fingers and holds him by his hip and his thigh as he starts slamming into him again with more force than before. Stan clamps his newly freed hand over his mouth, barely containing how fucking loud he is as he alternates between jerking himself off and gripping at the sheets with his other hand.
“C— Let yourself— cum—” Kyle manages, breathing hard and uneven, brows pinched in concentration.
“K— Fu—uck—”
“Cum, dude— I’m not gonna— last—”
All Stan manages in response is a noise somewhere between a moan and a sob as he takes hold of his dick again and pumps his fist as fast as he can. Kyle hangs his head and his eyes close, jaw tense as his knuckles turn white around Stan’s thigh. I really do have to give him credit; the guy can fuck.
Stan cums first. I watch his eyes screw shut and his fingers curl around the edge of the pillow behind him so tight it’s a wonder he doesn’t tear the fabric. I didn’t know a guy could cum that loudly; I actually think he could give most of the girls I’ve fucked a run for their money. For a moment, I genuinely think he might be sobbing for real as Kyle fucks him through the last of his orgasm, and it’s that thought that has me covering my mouth and cumming all over the inside of my boxer shorts.
I try to steady my breathing against my sleeve as wave after wave of aftershock-pleasure rolls through me, and I open my eyes again just in time to watch Kyle fuck Stan at an absolutely brutal pace—I think Stan really is crying now—for maybe another thirty seconds max before he’s groaning and unloading inside him.
Kyle rocks in and out of him a few more times, much slower, stopping momentarily each time he’s as deep as he can get and stroking his thumb over the finger-marks temporarily etched into the back of Stan’s thigh. Stan is lying limp below him, cum drying on his stomach, mouth open as they both try to catch their breath.
“You okay?” Kyle asks for the millionth time tonight.
Stan just nods, chest still rapidly rising and falling, eyes unfocused. I try to soak in every detail of him like this and commit it to memory, even as I’m starting to feel just a little terrible about all of this as I come down from my own orgasm.
For a little while, they just stay like that, staring at each other, unmoving aside from Kyle reaching for Stan’s hand so that they can thread their fingers together again.
“I love you.” Stan’s voice comes out rougher than I’ve ever heard it.
“I love you too,” Kyle says, also sounding pretty wrecked. He pulls out easily now that his dick is softening, and Stan’s legs flatten against the mattress.
I watch Kyle lean over the side of the bed to reach for some wet wipes, and I’m a little floored by just how intimate it is when he starts to carefully clean Stan’s stomach with one. Stan winces when it touches him—it must be cold—and Kyle whispers a ‘sorry’ and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. I watch a slow, sleepy smile form on Stan’s lips; his eyes are shut. “S’okay,” he says.
Kyle’s gentle with him when he pulls a fresh wipe from the package, rolls him on to his side and slips his hand between Stan’s ass cheeks, and I feel bad for all the times I’ve talked shit about Kyle to Craig — about how he’d be bad at this side of things.
Maybe he loves him as much as I do.
I’m pretty sure Stan has fallen asleep by the time Kyle gets up from the bed and disappears into the bathroom, because he doesn’t acknowledge it. If he was, he wakes up again when the bathroom door reopens. He peels his eyes open and blinks at him as he walks back over to the bed, and Kyle gently tugs the sheets out from under Stan’s body so that they can curl up together beneath them.
The lights go out, and I can’t make much out now, but I can hear them kissing a little. I feel worse than I have in a while, but I probably deserve that, all things considered.
I wait until I’m completely confident that they’re both fast asleep to slide the closet open as slowly as I possibly can, and I wince at the sticky feeling between my legs as I tiptoe to the door. I hold my breath when I turn the lock, terrified that one of them will call out from the darkness to ask ‘who the fuck is there’, but nothing happens. I wait a moment longer, and then I slip out of the room and shut the door behind me as softly as I can.
Hopefully they had enough to drink that when they wake up tomorrow morning and find the door unlocked, they’ll just think they forgot to lock it. Hopefully, nobody will walk in on them tangled up together beneath Stan’s sheets before that happens.
As I walk home, I start the process over again: convincing myself I don’t have any real feelings for Stan, and that it’s just about sex. Maybe I’ll let myself think about it a little more tonight, though. What it must be like to be Kyle. Getting to wake up next to him, pull him close, hold his hand. Kiss him until he looks at me like I hung the moon and the stars. Whisper and laugh against his lips as we find new ways to sneak around, in our own private little world that we’ve been building together for years. In the morning, I don't doubt that that’s what they’ll do. But by then, I’ll be normal again. I swear.