Stan/Kyle fic: Stanpreg 2000
I sat here trying to come up with a real title for 10 mins, and this is all I got.
Title: Stanpreg 2000
Pairing: Stan/Kyle
Word Count: ~2,800
Summary: Stan is pregnant with twins and on bed rest. Kyle has to handle bananas.
Stan’s favorite part of the whole thing is the permission to be lazy. He had to quit his job at the lab at five months, lest he be discovered as genetically compromised and therefore confined to a cage where his former employers would study the developing phenomenon of male pregnancy. He’s very lucky to have an obstetrician he trusts with his life, this secret, and the life of his babies: Wendy Testaburger, just a year out of medical school. She’s taken good care of him so far, and now that he’s at seven months and as big as a house, she’s put him on strict bed rest, which he doesn’t mind at all, except that sometimes Kyle is in a part of the house where he can’t hear Stan calling for him.
“Dude?” Stan tries, again, hoping not to sound too desperate or demanding when he shouts for Kyle. “Are you still here? Kyle? Dude, can you - oh, hey.”
Kyle appears in the doorway looking tired, like he’d been napping on the couch when he heard Stan’s shouts. It’s Sunday, Kyle’s day off. He teaches history and coaches the girls basketball and volleyball teams at the high school. After some past issues with teacher-student romances, the school was very eager to hire an openly gay man for the coaching positions especially.
“I have to pee,” Stan says, embarrassed that he needs assistance with this. Otherwise, he’s been enjoying the extra attention from Kyle.
“You drank all that milk already?” Kyle says, eying the empty glass on bed stand.
“Yeah,” Stan says, annoyed that Kyle is complaining about this; he brought the milk almost an hour ago. Stan puts his hand out, and Kyle comes to the bed to help him get up. “They’re moving around a lot today,” Stan says, bringing Kyle’s hand to his belly when he’s standing. He’s pregnant with twins, probably because of exposure to Terrence Mephesto’s experiments at the lab, where Stan worked as an assistant technician for three years.
“Wow,” Kyle says, though the twins aren’t moving now. “C’mon, I have something in the toaster.”
“Ooh. What are you toasting?” Stan was sick during the first three months, but now he’s constantly hungry.
“A tuna melt,” Kyle says. “But you can’t - I’m using unsafe cheese.”
“Oh. Even if it’s toasted, I can’t-?”
“Frankly, I’m not sure,” Kyle says, a bit sharply, pulling Stan along toward the bathroom. Their house is small but cozy, and they can’t really afford it without Stan’s lab technician salary, but Kyle’s parents have been helping with the bills since they learned Stan was expecting their twin grandchildren.
Stan can technically still reach under his belly to aim his dick at the toilet, but it’s kind of a chore, and it’s easier to just let Kyle hold it for him. It’s embarrassing, though, and he can see Kyle noticing his blush after he’s helped Stan flick the last drops away.
“Are you feeling okay?” Kyle asks, pressing the back of his hand to Stan’s forehead. “You look flushed - need me to turn the air conditioning on?”
“No,” Stan says, not wanting to jack up the power bill, though he’s been warm all day. It’s late May, one of the most pleasant seasons in South Park and not especially warm yet, but Stan is perennially overheated. Thinking about the time of year, he frowns as Kyle helps him back into bed. “Wait,” Stan says, taking a seat on the mattress, a little breathless just from this much exercise. He’s gained thirty pounds since October, when he was able to talk Kyle into topping him for the first time in years, as a birthday present. “Is it - what day is it?”
“Sunday,” Kyle says, dryly. He’s avoiding Stan’s eyes, fussing with the sheets. “We need to wash these,” he says. Stan’s eyes fill up with tears when he realizes what he’s done.
“Kyle,” Stan says. “Is it. Is today your - it’s your-”
“It’s fine,” Kyle snaps.
“No, it’s not - dude. I’m so sorry, fuck. I forgot your birthday.”
“Stan, stop. It’s perfectly understandable - considering. I’ve read that it can affect your memory, you know. In the third trimester.”
“Kyle, dude, c’mere.”
“I really need to wash these,” Kyle says, pushing the comforter onto the floor. “Could you - maybe you could rest on the couch while I - oh, Stan, Jesus. Don’t cry.”
Kyle falls into Stan’s outstretched arms, shushing him and kissing his hair. Stan didn’t mean to start crying; he knows Kyle doesn’t like it, that it makes him uncomfortable. Thinking this makes Stan cry harder, and he clings to Kyle, his face hidden against Kyle’s chest.
“I’m sorry,” he says, blubbering. “God, I’m really sorry-”
“No, hey, look - it’s not even two o’clock. You’ve been asleep for most of the day. You didn’t technically forget. It’s still my birthday.”
“But I don’t - I want to get you a present. Or cook you dinner, or something, but I can’t do anything.”
“Well, you’re carrying - my children.” Kyle still pauses every time he acknowledges the twins as such. “So, that’s enough for this year.”
“You’re turning thirty, though. That’s supposed to be special.”
“It’s - shh, oh - fuck!”
Stan can smell it, too: something burning. Kyle gives him another peck on the top of his head and dashes for the kitchen to rescue his tuna melt.
When he’s gone, Stan wipes at his face and drops back onto the pillows, trying to pull himself together. He feels dirty, greasy - gummy, even, like his edges are blurred. He was so relieved when he learned that the thing growing on his stomach was not a tumor, so happy when Wendy told him that, miraculously, his genetically impossible pregnancy was a healthy one, that he was carrying two girls who she believed would survive a C-section after around nine months of incubation. His relief has faded over the months, because he knows Kyle isn’t as excited about this unexpected development. Kyle didn’t even offer any opinions about the nursery decorations, and typically he’s very particular about furniture selection and carpets, lamps, wall trim - all the little details of their home.
Ten minutes later, Kyle returns to the bedroom with a fresh glass of milk and a peanut butter and banana sandwich for Stan. Kyle hates peanut butter and banana sandwiches so much that he typically refuses to even handle them, but for Stan he’s been constructing them almost daily. Stan accepts the meal with a shaky smile, trying to blink away new tears.
“Did your tuna melt survive?” he asks when Kyle sits beside him and strokes his greasy hair.
“No,” Kyle says. “A total waste of fancy cheese. Oh well.”
“Sorry,” Stan says, his voice obscured with peanut butter and banana.
“It’s okay,” Kyle says. He sighs and flops beside Stan on the pillows. “I’ll just eat half a gallon of ice cream instead. Why not.”
Kyle looks depressed, and so tired. Stan wishes he could give him a back rub, or a hard fuck, or whatever he wants for his birthday, but just the idea of climbing onto Kyle seems technically impossible and physically exhausting lately. This is made worse by the fact that Stan’s chaotic hormones have been giving him frequent erections, and that jerking himself to satisfaction is almost impossible with his stomach in the way.
“We should have some people over,” Stan says when he’s finished with his sandwich. “Have a cake, you know, or - pizza?”
“God, no,” Kyle says. “I want a day to myself, no company. I’m screening my mother’s calls, so hopefully she won’t just show up with gifts. I’m too tired for a big fuss.”
Stan accepts that, and leans over to kiss Kyle’s neck, then feels guilty for doing so, because he’s left behind sticky banana residue that Kyle rubs at. He finishes his milk, hands Kyle the glass, and is glad when Kyle settles in beside him, burrowing into Stan’s encircling arms.
“Thirty,” Kyle says, with disgust.
“Our thirties are going to be awesome,” Stan says. He reaches down to rub his belly. “We’re going to be parents, dude. It’ll be so fun, like. Like going through childhood all over again.”
“Oh, my god,” Kyle mumbles, and he lifts his hand to his face.
“What?”
“Stan. What the - parenthood is pretty much the opposite of childhood. I mean, what are you even talking about?”
“Well, I know, but - we can do trick or treating again. And buy toys.”
“With what money?” Kyle asks, and then he seems to force himself to calm when he feels Stan flinch at the volume of his voice. “No - I do know what you mean.” He pats Stan’s giant stomach fondly. “I’m sure there will be some. Fun times, too.”
“I’ll get another job,” Stan says.
“No, no. Don’t.” Kyle sighs and looks over at him, cupping Stan’s cheek. “I like the idea of you as a stay at home dad, actually. If you’d like it.”
“Well, yeah.” It’s pretty much his dream, to take care of a couple of kids he had with Kyle, a thing he never actually thought would be possible. “But. Money.”
“I’ll - we’ll figure it out. I could finish my law degree. My advisor was really sad when I left. I think he was in love with me or something - he still emails me. He could help me get placed at some firm in Denver.”
“But you love teaching. And coaching, and. Denver?”
“Denver’s not that far.” Kyle rubs Stan’s cheek, and this, in combination with Kyle’s smell, his closeness, and his warmth, is enough to give Stan an erection.
“Could we come with you?” Stan asks, and he has to blink back tears again.
“We?”
“Me and the babies!”
“Come with me - what? I could commute. I don’t want to sell the house, not after we paid Kenny a hundred bucks to paint the nursery. Oh, let’s not even think about it. Why are you crying?” Kyle moans and wipes Stan’s eyes dry with his thumb. “Wherever I go, you’re coming with me. These, too,” he says, reaching down to put his hand over Stan’s stomach.
“Don’t call them ‘these,’” Stan says, and this request makes him start to sob, for some reason.
“They’re just very surreal to me right now,” Kyle says, moving his fingers. One of the babies moves under his touch, then the other. Stan can tell them apart; he can feel their distinctness. Kyle grins and tracks their movements with his hand. He seems genuinely happy to feel them shifting around, if still tired. “I just want you to be okay,” he says, his smile draining away. “I worry every day. I’m exhausted - I can’t sleep.”
“What - why? Wendy says-”
“Wendy! What the hell does she know?”
“Um, well, she’s a doctor.”
“Well, I want to believe that she’s right, but I don’t trust her with you. She’s broken your heart before.”
“Dude, she was nine. And I wasn’t really heartbroken, I was just a dumb kid.”
“Oh,” Kyle says, his hand sliding down under Stan’s stomach, brushing his erection. “You’re hard.”
“I’m always hard,” Stan says, whining. “It hurts.”
“Hurts? Like-”
“Like I need to come.”
“Oh.” Kyle’s cheeks get pink, and he smiles when Stan does. “I could-” Kyle says, glancing down at Stan’s cock, which he’s taken hold of, tenderly. “Um, blow you?”
“I should blow you,” Stan says. “It’s your birthday.”
“You’re the one who’s hard.”
“I know you find me repulsive,” Stan says. “Right now - I know.”
“I do not,” Kyle says, but he has an expression of restrained queasiness when he looks down at Stan’s stomach. “I just never anticipated this. I don’t know what to do with it.”
“It’s not like I’ve turned into a woman,” Stan says, growing irritable. “Let go of it if you’re not going to do anything with it.”
“What - your cock?” Kyle’s fingers tighten around it. “I’m going to do something with it, though.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Make you come,” Kyle says, softly enough that Stan groans and throbs inside the tight circle of Kyle’s fingers. Kyle moves his hand, his lips twitching into a coy smile. “I’d like that - for my birthday.”
“You’d like - what?”
“Your come all over my hand,” Kyle says, and he blushes more deeply. Stan nods and presses his face to Kyle’s shoulder, opening his legs as widely as he can. “I’m going down there,” Kyle says, whispering. “So I can see it. Your cock is so - I’ve missed the sight of it.”
“You see it every day!”
“Yes, but. Not like this, not lately.”
It’s been a while since they’ve had any kind of sex. Stan knows he won’t last long, and he props himself up so he can see Kyle squatting between his legs.
“Oh, god,” Kyle says, sounding amazed and a little sad. “You’ve gotten really hairy.”
“How am I supposed to trim?” Stan asks, hurt, until he sees the way Kyle is smiling.
“I think I like it like this,” Kyle says. “It’s very manly looking. Despite - that.” He glances at Stan’s stomach, then refocuses on his cock.
“Want to ride it?” Stan asks, straining to pump his hips. “You could face the other way.”
“What if my ass knocks against the - children?” Kyle asks, wincing, and Stan laughs.
“You could put a pillow between, you know, my stomach and my dick. As a buffer.”
“Ugh, no,” Kyle says. “That’s like - I’d feel like you were fucking me through a glory hole or something.”
“Kyle!”
“Well! No, just eat me out. After you’ve - that would be nice. For my birthday.”
“God, yes,” Stan says, nodding. “Yes, that’s. Good, with me.”
He comes soon after that, just from the idea of getting his mouth on Kyle’s ass at last. He’s missed it so much - he’ll never complain that he wants to try bottoming again. He can’t believe how much he took topping Kyle for granted.
Stan makes Kyle come twice, implementing fingers when Kyle begs for them, and afterward they slump down on the mattress, their feet on the pillows, and kiss tiredly. Stan is sweating; he nods when Kyle offers to get up and blast the air conditioning. When Kyle returns to the bed, he’s still naked, carrying the carton of Oreo ice cream and two spoons.
“I’m really sorry this happened,” Stan says when they’re sitting together on the bed, spooning ice cream, still sweating.
“What?” Kyle says.
“The, you know. My deformity. I mean, freakishness. I know you didn’t want - this.”
“What, kids?” Kyle frowns. “Yes, I did!”
“Really? But we didn’t talk about it-?”
“I thought it would be depressingly moot! Do you know how hard it is for gay couples to adopt children in rural Colorado? This is - no, it’s not the thing itself. It’s just - seeing you like this. And we’ve never even been to Europe. But then I think about coming home from work and seeing you doing chalk drawings on the driveway with our kids - girls. I can’t believe they’re both girls. Jesus, I can’t believe there are two of them!”
“Yeah,” Stan says, and they grin at each other, momentarily unafraid. Kyle surges forward to kiss him, and pulls back after he has, making a face.
“Bananas,” he says. “And, well. Ass, too.”
Stan starts laughing hard, and Kyle grins again. He helps Stan into the bathroom so he can brush his teeth, and they both groan at the sight of black cookie residue in their toothpastey spit.
“But this is good,” Kyle says. “You should always brush immediately after Oreos.”
“And ass,” Stan says.
“Yes, yes - wash your hands, too, please.”
Kyle has been making Stan watch Stargate: Atlantis, though Stan reliably falls asleep halfway through every episode. They resume their usual places on the couch, and Kyle starts up an episode from the third season. He spoons himself around Stan, who is feeling comfortable under the blast of the air conditioning. It’s late afternoon, the sun going golden outside, and Stan feels almost complete, but not quite. In a couple of months he will be, with his daughters cuddled into his arms. Until then, he’s got Kyle, the comforting boredom of another Stargate episode, the cool dark of their living room, and daydreams about the chalk drawings that will someday cover their driveway. He closes his eyes and imagines Kyle shrugging off his jacket and kneeling down to join them, coming away with pastel dust on the knees of his trousers. Stan knows it’s weird, fantasizing about doing a very specific kind of Kyle’s laundry, but he’s always been weird for Kyle, and it’s served him well so far.
Title: Stanpreg 2000
Pairing: Stan/Kyle
Word Count: ~2,800
Summary: Stan is pregnant with twins and on bed rest. Kyle has to handle bananas.
Stan’s favorite part of the whole thing is the permission to be lazy. He had to quit his job at the lab at five months, lest he be discovered as genetically compromised and therefore confined to a cage where his former employers would study the developing phenomenon of male pregnancy. He’s very lucky to have an obstetrician he trusts with his life, this secret, and the life of his babies: Wendy Testaburger, just a year out of medical school. She’s taken good care of him so far, and now that he’s at seven months and as big as a house, she’s put him on strict bed rest, which he doesn’t mind at all, except that sometimes Kyle is in a part of the house where he can’t hear Stan calling for him.
“Dude?” Stan tries, again, hoping not to sound too desperate or demanding when he shouts for Kyle. “Are you still here? Kyle? Dude, can you - oh, hey.”
Kyle appears in the doorway looking tired, like he’d been napping on the couch when he heard Stan’s shouts. It’s Sunday, Kyle’s day off. He teaches history and coaches the girls basketball and volleyball teams at the high school. After some past issues with teacher-student romances, the school was very eager to hire an openly gay man for the coaching positions especially.
“I have to pee,” Stan says, embarrassed that he needs assistance with this. Otherwise, he’s been enjoying the extra attention from Kyle.
“You drank all that milk already?” Kyle says, eying the empty glass on bed stand.
“Yeah,” Stan says, annoyed that Kyle is complaining about this; he brought the milk almost an hour ago. Stan puts his hand out, and Kyle comes to the bed to help him get up. “They’re moving around a lot today,” Stan says, bringing Kyle’s hand to his belly when he’s standing. He’s pregnant with twins, probably because of exposure to Terrence Mephesto’s experiments at the lab, where Stan worked as an assistant technician for three years.
“Wow,” Kyle says, though the twins aren’t moving now. “C’mon, I have something in the toaster.”
“Ooh. What are you toasting?” Stan was sick during the first three months, but now he’s constantly hungry.
“A tuna melt,” Kyle says. “But you can’t - I’m using unsafe cheese.”
“Oh. Even if it’s toasted, I can’t-?”
“Frankly, I’m not sure,” Kyle says, a bit sharply, pulling Stan along toward the bathroom. Their house is small but cozy, and they can’t really afford it without Stan’s lab technician salary, but Kyle’s parents have been helping with the bills since they learned Stan was expecting their twin grandchildren.
Stan can technically still reach under his belly to aim his dick at the toilet, but it’s kind of a chore, and it’s easier to just let Kyle hold it for him. It’s embarrassing, though, and he can see Kyle noticing his blush after he’s helped Stan flick the last drops away.
“Are you feeling okay?” Kyle asks, pressing the back of his hand to Stan’s forehead. “You look flushed - need me to turn the air conditioning on?”
“No,” Stan says, not wanting to jack up the power bill, though he’s been warm all day. It’s late May, one of the most pleasant seasons in South Park and not especially warm yet, but Stan is perennially overheated. Thinking about the time of year, he frowns as Kyle helps him back into bed. “Wait,” Stan says, taking a seat on the mattress, a little breathless just from this much exercise. He’s gained thirty pounds since October, when he was able to talk Kyle into topping him for the first time in years, as a birthday present. “Is it - what day is it?”
“Sunday,” Kyle says, dryly. He’s avoiding Stan’s eyes, fussing with the sheets. “We need to wash these,” he says. Stan’s eyes fill up with tears when he realizes what he’s done.
“Kyle,” Stan says. “Is it. Is today your - it’s your-”
“It’s fine,” Kyle snaps.
“No, it’s not - dude. I’m so sorry, fuck. I forgot your birthday.”
“Stan, stop. It’s perfectly understandable - considering. I’ve read that it can affect your memory, you know. In the third trimester.”
“Kyle, dude, c’mere.”
“I really need to wash these,” Kyle says, pushing the comforter onto the floor. “Could you - maybe you could rest on the couch while I - oh, Stan, Jesus. Don’t cry.”
Kyle falls into Stan’s outstretched arms, shushing him and kissing his hair. Stan didn’t mean to start crying; he knows Kyle doesn’t like it, that it makes him uncomfortable. Thinking this makes Stan cry harder, and he clings to Kyle, his face hidden against Kyle’s chest.
“I’m sorry,” he says, blubbering. “God, I’m really sorry-”
“No, hey, look - it’s not even two o’clock. You’ve been asleep for most of the day. You didn’t technically forget. It’s still my birthday.”
“But I don’t - I want to get you a present. Or cook you dinner, or something, but I can’t do anything.”
“Well, you’re carrying - my children.” Kyle still pauses every time he acknowledges the twins as such. “So, that’s enough for this year.”
“You’re turning thirty, though. That’s supposed to be special.”
“It’s - shh, oh - fuck!”
Stan can smell it, too: something burning. Kyle gives him another peck on the top of his head and dashes for the kitchen to rescue his tuna melt.
When he’s gone, Stan wipes at his face and drops back onto the pillows, trying to pull himself together. He feels dirty, greasy - gummy, even, like his edges are blurred. He was so relieved when he learned that the thing growing on his stomach was not a tumor, so happy when Wendy told him that, miraculously, his genetically impossible pregnancy was a healthy one, that he was carrying two girls who she believed would survive a C-section after around nine months of incubation. His relief has faded over the months, because he knows Kyle isn’t as excited about this unexpected development. Kyle didn’t even offer any opinions about the nursery decorations, and typically he’s very particular about furniture selection and carpets, lamps, wall trim - all the little details of their home.
Ten minutes later, Kyle returns to the bedroom with a fresh glass of milk and a peanut butter and banana sandwich for Stan. Kyle hates peanut butter and banana sandwiches so much that he typically refuses to even handle them, but for Stan he’s been constructing them almost daily. Stan accepts the meal with a shaky smile, trying to blink away new tears.
“Did your tuna melt survive?” he asks when Kyle sits beside him and strokes his greasy hair.
“No,” Kyle says. “A total waste of fancy cheese. Oh well.”
“Sorry,” Stan says, his voice obscured with peanut butter and banana.
“It’s okay,” Kyle says. He sighs and flops beside Stan on the pillows. “I’ll just eat half a gallon of ice cream instead. Why not.”
Kyle looks depressed, and so tired. Stan wishes he could give him a back rub, or a hard fuck, or whatever he wants for his birthday, but just the idea of climbing onto Kyle seems technically impossible and physically exhausting lately. This is made worse by the fact that Stan’s chaotic hormones have been giving him frequent erections, and that jerking himself to satisfaction is almost impossible with his stomach in the way.
“We should have some people over,” Stan says when he’s finished with his sandwich. “Have a cake, you know, or - pizza?”
“God, no,” Kyle says. “I want a day to myself, no company. I’m screening my mother’s calls, so hopefully she won’t just show up with gifts. I’m too tired for a big fuss.”
Stan accepts that, and leans over to kiss Kyle’s neck, then feels guilty for doing so, because he’s left behind sticky banana residue that Kyle rubs at. He finishes his milk, hands Kyle the glass, and is glad when Kyle settles in beside him, burrowing into Stan’s encircling arms.
“Thirty,” Kyle says, with disgust.
“Our thirties are going to be awesome,” Stan says. He reaches down to rub his belly. “We’re going to be parents, dude. It’ll be so fun, like. Like going through childhood all over again.”
“Oh, my god,” Kyle mumbles, and he lifts his hand to his face.
“What?”
“Stan. What the - parenthood is pretty much the opposite of childhood. I mean, what are you even talking about?”
“Well, I know, but - we can do trick or treating again. And buy toys.”
“With what money?” Kyle asks, and then he seems to force himself to calm when he feels Stan flinch at the volume of his voice. “No - I do know what you mean.” He pats Stan’s giant stomach fondly. “I’m sure there will be some. Fun times, too.”
“I’ll get another job,” Stan says.
“No, no. Don’t.” Kyle sighs and looks over at him, cupping Stan’s cheek. “I like the idea of you as a stay at home dad, actually. If you’d like it.”
“Well, yeah.” It’s pretty much his dream, to take care of a couple of kids he had with Kyle, a thing he never actually thought would be possible. “But. Money.”
“I’ll - we’ll figure it out. I could finish my law degree. My advisor was really sad when I left. I think he was in love with me or something - he still emails me. He could help me get placed at some firm in Denver.”
“But you love teaching. And coaching, and. Denver?”
“Denver’s not that far.” Kyle rubs Stan’s cheek, and this, in combination with Kyle’s smell, his closeness, and his warmth, is enough to give Stan an erection.
“Could we come with you?” Stan asks, and he has to blink back tears again.
“We?”
“Me and the babies!”
“Come with me - what? I could commute. I don’t want to sell the house, not after we paid Kenny a hundred bucks to paint the nursery. Oh, let’s not even think about it. Why are you crying?” Kyle moans and wipes Stan’s eyes dry with his thumb. “Wherever I go, you’re coming with me. These, too,” he says, reaching down to put his hand over Stan’s stomach.
“Don’t call them ‘these,’” Stan says, and this request makes him start to sob, for some reason.
“They’re just very surreal to me right now,” Kyle says, moving his fingers. One of the babies moves under his touch, then the other. Stan can tell them apart; he can feel their distinctness. Kyle grins and tracks their movements with his hand. He seems genuinely happy to feel them shifting around, if still tired. “I just want you to be okay,” he says, his smile draining away. “I worry every day. I’m exhausted - I can’t sleep.”
“What - why? Wendy says-”
“Wendy! What the hell does she know?”
“Um, well, she’s a doctor.”
“Well, I want to believe that she’s right, but I don’t trust her with you. She’s broken your heart before.”
“Dude, she was nine. And I wasn’t really heartbroken, I was just a dumb kid.”
“Oh,” Kyle says, his hand sliding down under Stan’s stomach, brushing his erection. “You’re hard.”
“I’m always hard,” Stan says, whining. “It hurts.”
“Hurts? Like-”
“Like I need to come.”
“Oh.” Kyle’s cheeks get pink, and he smiles when Stan does. “I could-” Kyle says, glancing down at Stan’s cock, which he’s taken hold of, tenderly. “Um, blow you?”
“I should blow you,” Stan says. “It’s your birthday.”
“You’re the one who’s hard.”
“I know you find me repulsive,” Stan says. “Right now - I know.”
“I do not,” Kyle says, but he has an expression of restrained queasiness when he looks down at Stan’s stomach. “I just never anticipated this. I don’t know what to do with it.”
“It’s not like I’ve turned into a woman,” Stan says, growing irritable. “Let go of it if you’re not going to do anything with it.”
“What - your cock?” Kyle’s fingers tighten around it. “I’m going to do something with it, though.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Make you come,” Kyle says, softly enough that Stan groans and throbs inside the tight circle of Kyle’s fingers. Kyle moves his hand, his lips twitching into a coy smile. “I’d like that - for my birthday.”
“You’d like - what?”
“Your come all over my hand,” Kyle says, and he blushes more deeply. Stan nods and presses his face to Kyle’s shoulder, opening his legs as widely as he can. “I’m going down there,” Kyle says, whispering. “So I can see it. Your cock is so - I’ve missed the sight of it.”
“You see it every day!”
“Yes, but. Not like this, not lately.”
It’s been a while since they’ve had any kind of sex. Stan knows he won’t last long, and he props himself up so he can see Kyle squatting between his legs.
“Oh, god,” Kyle says, sounding amazed and a little sad. “You’ve gotten really hairy.”
“How am I supposed to trim?” Stan asks, hurt, until he sees the way Kyle is smiling.
“I think I like it like this,” Kyle says. “It’s very manly looking. Despite - that.” He glances at Stan’s stomach, then refocuses on his cock.
“Want to ride it?” Stan asks, straining to pump his hips. “You could face the other way.”
“What if my ass knocks against the - children?” Kyle asks, wincing, and Stan laughs.
“You could put a pillow between, you know, my stomach and my dick. As a buffer.”
“Ugh, no,” Kyle says. “That’s like - I’d feel like you were fucking me through a glory hole or something.”
“Kyle!”
“Well! No, just eat me out. After you’ve - that would be nice. For my birthday.”
“God, yes,” Stan says, nodding. “Yes, that’s. Good, with me.”
He comes soon after that, just from the idea of getting his mouth on Kyle’s ass at last. He’s missed it so much - he’ll never complain that he wants to try bottoming again. He can’t believe how much he took topping Kyle for granted.
Stan makes Kyle come twice, implementing fingers when Kyle begs for them, and afterward they slump down on the mattress, their feet on the pillows, and kiss tiredly. Stan is sweating; he nods when Kyle offers to get up and blast the air conditioning. When Kyle returns to the bed, he’s still naked, carrying the carton of Oreo ice cream and two spoons.
“I’m really sorry this happened,” Stan says when they’re sitting together on the bed, spooning ice cream, still sweating.
“What?” Kyle says.
“The, you know. My deformity. I mean, freakishness. I know you didn’t want - this.”
“What, kids?” Kyle frowns. “Yes, I did!”
“Really? But we didn’t talk about it-?”
“I thought it would be depressingly moot! Do you know how hard it is for gay couples to adopt children in rural Colorado? This is - no, it’s not the thing itself. It’s just - seeing you like this. And we’ve never even been to Europe. But then I think about coming home from work and seeing you doing chalk drawings on the driveway with our kids - girls. I can’t believe they’re both girls. Jesus, I can’t believe there are two of them!”
“Yeah,” Stan says, and they grin at each other, momentarily unafraid. Kyle surges forward to kiss him, and pulls back after he has, making a face.
“Bananas,” he says. “And, well. Ass, too.”
Stan starts laughing hard, and Kyle grins again. He helps Stan into the bathroom so he can brush his teeth, and they both groan at the sight of black cookie residue in their toothpastey spit.
“But this is good,” Kyle says. “You should always brush immediately after Oreos.”
“And ass,” Stan says.
“Yes, yes - wash your hands, too, please.”
Kyle has been making Stan watch Stargate: Atlantis, though Stan reliably falls asleep halfway through every episode. They resume their usual places on the couch, and Kyle starts up an episode from the third season. He spoons himself around Stan, who is feeling comfortable under the blast of the air conditioning. It’s late afternoon, the sun going golden outside, and Stan feels almost complete, but not quite. In a couple of months he will be, with his daughters cuddled into his arms. Until then, he’s got Kyle, the comforting boredom of another Stargate episode, the cool dark of their living room, and daydreams about the chalk drawings that will someday cover their driveway. He closes his eyes and imagines Kyle shrugging off his jacket and kneeling down to join them, coming away with pastel dust on the knees of his trousers. Stan knows it’s weird, fantasizing about doing a very specific kind of Kyle’s laundry, but he’s always been weird for Kyle, and it’s served him well so far.