Been Daydreaming | Style

Been Daydreaming

He's already thought of this exact scenario many times. Leaning in and locking lips with Kyle, tasting the waxy texture of chapstick on his lips. The slow, tantalizing pace of their first kiss before breaking apart and crashing back in with newfound urgency. The artificial cherry flavor slipping between their tongues and clashing teeth. Hands darting under shirts, then under waistbands, pulling each other impossibly close until their bodies are flush. They had been restraining their lust for each other for the last 17 years, but now their fingers could finally explore each other's skin without the fear of rejection.

It was intoxicating.

But disappointingly, it was just another one of Stan's hopeless fantasies. A wistful thought that would never come true, let alone be possible. He knew that; he knew how dumb and pointless it was, and usually that was enough to shake him out of his erotic daydreams—yet today he allowed his mind to toy with the idea for a little longer.

It didn't help that Kyle was trapped in this bathroom with him, pressed up next to Stan on the tiled counter. He could feel the warmth radiating from his body, faintly smell the shampoo trapped in his ginger locks. If he turned his head toward Kyle, he could press his face into those curls and overwhelm his nostrils with the scent of coconut and shea butter. He tried not to shiver at the thought, redirecting the rush of adrenaline to his grip on the counter.

"Dude," the word derailed Stan's train of thought. It was the first thing Kyle had said since Kenny threw in here, snapping through the silent tension that was coiling tightly in the air. "Wendy's gonna be so pissed at me."

He gripped the counter even tighter, watching as his skin on his knuckles paled to a white. Stan had been so wrapped in his thoughts, lusting over his best friend, he hadn't even considered what his girlfriend might say once they got out.

"Probably," He agreed, partially because he didn't know what else to say and partially because Kyle was right. Wendy had a problem with everything—Stan, Kyle, Stan and Kyle, Kyle and Stan. Even if they sat here unmoving for the entire seven minutes, Wendy would have a problem with it. And if Stan had to guess, she was already outside berating Kenny and the others for voting them into the bathroom together; but he couldn't hear anything over the trashy EDM blasting downstairs.

Kyle jerked up to look at the door suddenly, as if he had come to the same conclusion.

"Do you think they left us?"

Stan looked up at the door too, swallowing thickly. "Probably."

Kyle scooted closer, sighing longingly as he dropped his head onto Stan's shoulder. The contact made his skin prickle even though Kyle has used him as a headrest plenty of times before. Why was this time any different?

"Well, now what?"

Stan hummed absently, not really considering his question. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Kyle's face, framed by the moonlight streaming in through a tiny window. Kyle was a statue like this; under the cascading light of the moon, each curve of his gorgeous face accentuated by the soft lighting. Sharp jaw, plump lips, arched nose, thick and bushy eyebrows perfectly plucked and trimmed... he trailed back down to the glasses resting precariously on Kyle's nose and nearly wheeled back in surprise to find viridian eyes staring just as intently back at him.

There was no question whether Kyle had caught that predatory look in his eyes—yet he did not make a move to scold Stan; his lips remained sealed, pressed together in a firm line that showed he was just as deep in thought as Stan had been.

"Uh, sorry," Kyle finally exhaled, looking away quickly as his thigh brushed against Stan's. The gesture, seemingly small and inane, sent a shock wave of electricity through Stan's body. His mind eagerly filled in the blanks of what it meant: Kyle was trying to tell him something , trying to signal to Stan how badly he needed him, how much wanted this—It was fake, but just as electrifying as the real thing.