Girls' Rules

AN: This note is for a certain person only—you know who you are. If you read this, I will die of embarrassment. And then I'll kill you. So don't. You. Dare. *Ahem* Everyone else, please enjoy. I've never written anything like this before, so…meh?

"This is the gayest thing we've ever done," I mutter to Kyle.

"By far," he agrees.

We're sitting next to each other in a big circle of teenagers at Bebe's house. Which wouldn't be so lame if it weren't for the fact that we're playing truth or dare. Because, really, who plays truth or dare anymore at seventeen? The only point of that game is to give shy tween girls an excuse to kiss their crushes. Out-of-town-parents high-school parties are supposed to be wild and crazy with loud music and beer and grinding and drunken sex in the upstairs bedrooms. That's what I was expecting when Bebe invited us all. God knows she's thrown that kind of fuck-ball before. Instead, here we are.

"Okay, let's get started," Bebe says. There's a barely-suppressed smirk on her face that makes me snicker.

"Stan?" Kyle asks quietly. "What is it, dude?"

I shake my head.

"She's so damn excited about this. It's like we're eight again. Remember that time we played this with her and Wendy, and you had to kiss her?"

Kyle pales.

"Oh Jesus, you don't think they're gonna make me do that again?" He looks so worried, that I have to hold back another laugh. He seems to notice my amusement anyway, though. "What? You never had to deal with her staring at your ass! I felt like an object."

"Kyle."

We both shut up as Bebe speaks sharply.

"Yeah?" Kyle says, his voice a bit high-pitched.

Bebe tilts her head to the side and smiles.

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth," he says at once.

I can't keep the laugh from bursting out this time.

"Pussy," Cartman says from across the room.

Kyle flips him off Craig-style, then looks back at Bebe.

"Kyle," she says again, her voice a teasing purr. "Are you a virgin?"

Blood pools in Kyle's cheeks, and he answers quickly.

"No!"

He's lying, and everyone knows it. Kyle's never even had a girlfriend before; he hasn't been kissed since the last time he played this with Bebe. What does Bebe want, anyway? She must have a goal with all this. Or maybe—

My gaze shifts to the black-haired girl next to Bebe. Maybe this is all a plot to get me and Wendy back together. My stomach jerks, but not for the old reasons. I'm done with Wendy. She's hurt me too many times. And she's a controlling bitch.

"Really?" Bebe says, raising an eyebrow. "Who'd you do it with, then?"

"I—uh—just—" Kyle stammers.

"Come on, Bebe, that's two questions," I say, coming to the rescue of my super best friend.

She shrugs. "Okay. Who's next then?"

As she looks around the circle for another victim, Kyle shoots me a grin—his way of thanking me.

"Wait, h-hold on, fellas!" Butters says, raising a hand. "I thought the rules were that you get to ask after you go. S-so wouldn't that make it Kyle's turn now?"

"We're playing with girls' rules, Butters," Wendy says.

"A-and what does that mean?" he says, rubbing his knuckles together.

Bebe shakes her hair out of her eyes and says, "In girls' rules, only the girls get to ask truth or dare. Why don't you go now, Wendy?"

"Wait, what?" Clyde says. "That's no fair, asshole! Girls' rules isn't a thing!"

"Yes it is," Bebe says. "And it's my party, so that's what we're doing. Continue, Wendy."

Clyde grumbles as Wendy looks around.

There's definitely some kind of goal here. The girls have a purpose. I glance at Kyle. He's biting his lip. In an effort to comfort him, I reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. This'll be a long night for him.

"Kenny," Wendy says.

Kenny leans forward, putting his hands between his stretched-out legs.

"Yeah, babe?"

I don't get upset when he says this, and I wonder if that's because I really don't care about Wendy anymore or because it's Kenny and he'll flirt with anything breathing.

"Truth or dare?"

"Dare," he says immediately. Surprise to no one.

The girls all look at each other. Wendy raises an eyebrow at Bebe, but Bebe gives a tiny shake of her head. Because that's not suspicious.

"Go get the beer from the kitchen, please," Wendy says.

Kenny stands up with a huff, obviously disappointed he didn't get ordered to do anything dirty.

When he's back, his eyes are wide, and he's dragging a keg behind him. I stare as he sets it down in the middle of the circle. He puts a tower of cups in front of it, and everyone rushes forward to grab one. There's enough here for a bar, and I know we're going to be completely smashed by the end of the night.

After everyone's filled their cups, we reform the circle.

I watch Kyle as he stares at the drink in his hands. He's never gotten drunk before.

"You don't have to have any, Ky," I say.

His eyes flit to mine for a second. Then he takes a deep breath and chugs the whole glass. When he's done, he swallows one last time and looks at me again.

I chuckle a bit and sit back down.

The game continues as people get drunker and drunker. Mostly the boys go for truth, and we learn some pretty interesting things (like that Butters never jerks off because his parents would ground him). But whenever someone does say dare, the girl giving the dare always looks at Bebe, like they're asking for permission, and Bebe always shakes her head.

I've been given a few dares myself, to arm-wrestle Craig and take a drink from everyone's cup. Nothing weird.

I'm feeling brave, and I know the alcohol's kicking in. Kyle's feeling it, too; I can tell because of what he says the next time Bebe asks him:

"Kyle, truth or dare?"

"Dare."

I give him a sloppy high-five, and we grin at each other.

"I dare you to…." Bebe thinks for a moment, then says, "Take off your hat."

My spine tingles a bit for some reason. I haven't seen Kyle without his green ushanka since elementary school. He never takes it off because he hates his frizzy red Jew-fro. The urge to defend him rises up in me.

But he just shrugs and pulls it off.

I stare. His hair is…beautiful. It's tame and silky and wavy.

"What the fuck?" Cartman says, pointing. "Where's your beehive, Jew?"

"It chilled out in ninth grade, fat-ass," he says. "Didn't you notice?"

Before I know what's happening, I reach out and run my hand through his curls. It's smooth, but lush and full in a way that Wendy's never was.

He laughs loosely but doesn't push my hand away.

Only when I hear Kenny say "dare" do I tear my eyes away from Kyle.

Heidi, the current dare-giver, glances at Bebe. And this time, Bebe nods.

A ripple of excitement goes through the girls.

"Kenny," Heidi says, barely able to talk through her giggles. "I dare you to…kiss Kyle!"

I freeze, my hand still in Kyle's hair.

"Finally," Kenny says as he pushes himself to his feet. "A hot one."

I watch, unable to move, as Kenny walks towards us.

Kenny stops in front of Kyle and holds out his hand, offering it to him with a wink.

And I can move again, I find; I jump up.

"Fuck no," I say, shoving Kenny's chest.

I know how embarrassing it would be for Kyle to have to kiss a boy in front of the entire class. That's why I'm defending him. That's why I'm shaking. That's why I want to break something, preferably Kenny or Heidi.

Kenny stumbles backward a few steps before regaining his balance.

"Stan, calm down, dude," he says, laughing. "It's just a dare."

"No," I growl.

"He has to, Stan," says Bebe. "Those are the rules."

Someone touches my arm, and I glance around to see Kyle, a soft expression on his face.

"It's okay, Stan," he says.

"He's not kissing you!" I say. Why don't they understand this? They are not allowed to touch Kyle.

"There's only one way out," Bebe says. "The dare must be fulfilled. If you don't want Kenny to kiss Kyle, then you can take his place. Girls' rules."

I don't even think. I turn towards Kyle, pull him against me, and smash my lips to his. Because no one else is allowed to touch him. Only me. He's mine.

A second later, I realize what I just thought. A second after that, I realize what I'm doing. And only then do I break away.

My eyes meet Kyle's. I've never noticed how green they are before. They're the same shade as his ushanka.

The beauty of those eyes almost makes me forget what just happened. But then he says my name, and I remember, and I turn, and I'm running out the room and through the door, and I'm fumbling for my car keys, and I'm driving and breathing way too fast because I just kissed him, I just kissed Kyle, I just kissed him.

My parents are gone when I get home (and Shelley's at college, so I'm alone). I slam the door shut and fall onto the sofa. I'm trying to come up with excuses—I'm obviously drunk—but all I can think of is Kyle and his hair and his eyes and the way his lips felt so warm and soft. He tasted like beer and Colgate, but somehow I've never had anything better.

I'm curled up in the fetal position staring at the wall when the doorbell rings. I don't move. It's probably everyone from the party, here to laugh at me. Or worse, Kyle.

The door creaks open. Only one person outside of the family knows where we keep our spare key.

"Stan?" Kyle's voice echoes through the dark living room.

I'm being childish—I know, but I can't help it. I dash upstairs for my room, but he sees me and follows.

"Stan!"

I make it to my room, but before I can slam the door behind me, he runs past the threshold and tackles me to the floor.

He's going to beat me up for what I did, and I'm going to let him because I deserve it.

I can't look at him, so I close my eyes.

"Stan," he says again, panting. "What…the…fuck?"

"I don't know!" I shout. "I don't know, I'm sorry! I don't know what happened!"

"Why…did you…leave like that?" He's really out of breath.

It occurs to me then that Kyle doesn't have a car. Bebe's house isn't far from mine, but it's still a long way to sprint.

"I'm sorry," I tell him again.

"Would you just…look at me?" he says.

I shake my head.

"Stan, please."

His voice is pleading, almost terrified.

I bite my lip and open my eyes.

Kyle's crying, wet tracks sliding down his pale cheeks.

I clench my teeth, bile rising to my throat. I've hurt him. I've really, really hurt him. I've lost my best friend.

"I'm sorry," I choke out.

"Please don't leave, Stan," Kyle says in a small voice. "Please don't leave me."

"What?" I have no idea what he's talking about now. He should be the one who wants to leave me.

"We can still be just friends if you want, Stan, so don't leave me!"

"I won't leave you ever, Kyle, what are you even—"

He throws his arms around me, pressing me against the floor.

"I know it's because you're drunk, I know!" he says into my neck. "Don't think you've fucked up our friendship and leave! I don't care what we are as long as we're together."

I don't say anything. All I can do is touch his back, but I'm not sure whether to pull him off or pull him closer.

"Kyle," I say, my lips moving against his ear. "What's wrong with me? Why am I thinking this kind of weird shit about you?"

Kyle's right hand moves to my head. My hat's fallen off, so I feel his fingers against my skin through my hair.

"It's not weird," he says. He winds his fingers into my hair. "I've been thinking that kind of shit about you since eighth grade. But…I know for you, it's just the beer. You can forget all this or pretend to if you want, and we'll just—"

"No!" I shout and pull him tighter against me.

Kyle raises his head and looks at me.

"What?"

"I'm not forgetting," I say. "I don't want to forget."

He blinks, and a tear falls from his eye to the tip of my nose.

"Why?" His voice is quiet and broken.

"Because I don't want to forget how beautiful you are right now."

"Stan," Kyle says. "I'm…completely in love with you, and I have been for a while, and I know it's gay, I just really, really want you."

And somehow I know it's not the alcohol controlling my words when I say, "I love you, too, dude."

He stares at me, his mouth half open. His lips are so red, like cherries and strawberries and apples and hard candy. I raise my head a bit and brush my lips with his, running my tongue gently along his lower one.

When he shudders, I pull away, my heart knocking against my ribs.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't stop."

He's looking directly into my eyes, and his own are fiery, determined, even though his face is scarlet.

"I said, didn't I?" His voice sounds breathless still. "I want you."

Those words, the way they're spoken—shyly but with a hint of a purr—send a tingle down the whole length of my spine.

I nod and reach up with my hand to cup his cheek, running my thumb across both his lips. He shudders again, and this time I know it's not from fear.

He opens his mouth a bit and catches my thumb with his tongue. He begins to suck it and run his tongue around it, occasionally giving it a soft nip. I watch him do this, continuing to stroke his cheek with my fingers. When he opens his mouth again at last and touches my hand with his own, a deep groan escapes my throat.

I pull him down and push our lips together. He kisses me back, stronger than before, moving my hand into his silky hair. I wind my fingers into it and slip my tongue into his mouth. His palms brushing against my chest, clutching at my shirt, are warm.

Something hard is pressing into my thigh. I move my leg slightly, pushing up on it, and Kyle moans into our kiss. God, the sound of that moan—if sex were a noise, that would be it. I can't hold back anymore.

I pull his hips closer to mine and grind against him. Tingles of pleasure shoot through me as Kyle arches his back, his lips leaving mine. This time when he moans, I can hear it more clearly, and damn…if I had any doubts about sleeping with my best friend, they've just been obliterated.

I push him up, moving him onto his back, and lower myself over him. His face is flushed and shining, his green eyes clouded over with lust. I want to use a moment just to stare at him, to take in how beautiful he is, but then he thrusts his hips upwards.

"Stan," he says, his voice barely a breath. "Please."

I'm painfully hard now, but I want to take this slow. I move my face to his throat and nuzzle his neck, gently kissing at a spot right above his pulse. His ragged breathing fills the room. His hands clutch at my back, tugging at my shirt. I let him pull it off, giving his neck one last nip. He looks at my chest—not staring, exactly. More marveling. He begins to move his hands across it, tracing the lines of muscle on my stomach, trailing his fingertips higher.

When he brushes one of my nipples, a strange growl escapes my throat, and my hands start to move on their own. I almost rip his shirt off, pulling it roughly over his head, then slide my hands down his slender stomach to clutch his sides. Without pause, I press my mouth to his nipple and run my tongue over it. Kyle's moans grow louder as I lick and suck.

"Stan!" he says again. "Fu—ah!"

He cries out when I rub my palm against the bulge in his jeans. His body's wriggling beneath me, and he wraps his legs around my back.

I touch his zipper and pull it down before popping open the button. Moving his legs to my right side, I work off his jeans, his heavy panting pushing me on.

When I remove his boxers, I can't keep myself from looking at him. The sight of his dick, glistening with pre-cum, sends another surge through my stomach, straight to my groin.

I don't plan to do it, but somehow I find myself leaning over his hips.

"Stan?" Kyle says. "What—"

He gasps, cutting himself off, as I slowly lick him from base to tip. When I reach the top, I press my tongue into his slit, closing my mouth around him. And I'm rewarded with the sexiest moan of the night.

I move my head further, taking him deeper into my mouth, till he's touching the back of my throat. I almost gag, but somehow I manage to hold it down. When I'm used to the feeling, I start to suck, bobbing my head.

It's not exactly pleasant, but the sounds coming from Kyle's lips make it all worthwhile.

When Kyle starts to shake, I take my mouth off him.

"Stan…?"

I gulp, then blurt out, "I want us to come together."

He stares at me for a second, then gives me a bleary smile and nods.

With that, I flip him over, so his top-half is pressing into the carpet, and lift his hips.

I tear off my own jeans and boxers.

I've never done this before, but I do know something about it, mostly from Kenny's chatter and porn.

Blushing slightly, I stick three fingers into my mouth, rolling my tongue around to coat them with saliva.

When they're wet enough, I take them out.

"Kyle?" I say. "I'm….Is it okay if I…?"

"Fuck, Stan, just do it!" he pants. "Please!"

I let out a long breath and push my index finger inside him. A sharp gasp from Kyle, and I freeze.

"Are you—"

"I'm fine," he says, his voice trembling. "Just feels a bit weird."

I lean over and kiss the small of his back before sliding my finger further. When it's all the way in, I gently push another one down to join it. I scissor them a bit, then slip in the third finger. When I touch a certain spot, Kyle groans loudly.

"Sorry!" I say, beginning to pull out. "I—"

"Stan, there!" He's almost shouting. "Do that again!"

I hesitate, then push against that same spot again.

My cock twitches at the sounds he's making. I can't stand it anymore. I take my fingers out, then realize something and jump up. I run to my dresser and pull out a condom, putting it on as I sprint back to him. I kneel down and position myself against him.

"Ready?"

He nods. "Please….Stan…."

Slowly, I push inside him. My eyes close as I'm engulfed in his tight heat.

"Fuck," I say. "Kyle…."

I go further, till I'm all the way in.

And I start to move. I pull out, then thrust back in. God, it feels so good. I move more roughly, harder.

Kyle's hands are curled into fists. I want him to feel this, too. I change my angle, searching for that spot that made him go crazy.

I know when I find it from his loud cry. Aiming for that spot, I grind into him.

His hand moves down, and he starts to stroke his dick in time with my thrusts. Kyle touching himself might just be the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

I'm nearing my edge, and I can tell from Kyle's frantic movements that he's close, too.

"Kyle," I say. "I'm—"

"Me, too," he pants out.

"Together, okay?"

"Forever."

He shudders, and it is this word, this show of innocent love, that finally does it. I groan with one last thrust and finish. At the same time, his stroking gets fiercer, and he comes in his hand.

We stay like that for a moment, exhausted. At last, I pull out.

I grab some Kleenex from my desk, and we clean ourselves up.

When we're done, I sink into my bed, laying my head against the soft pillow. I open one eye and look at Kyle.

"You coming?" I ask, too tired to be embarrassed.

He smiles and stretches out next to me. It's kind of hot in the room, but we don't need to cuddle to be close. I reach out, searching the covers until I find his hand. We twine our fingers together.

"Why did it take me so long to realize I love you? Why did I need to be drunk to get it?" I ask after a while.

The bed shakes a bit as he laughs.

"Really, though," I continue. "It took me seeing your hair tonight. Dude, I fell in love with your hair."

"Is that the only part of me you love?" he asks in a soft voice.

"No," I say. "You've also got a great ass."

He snorts, and I squeeze his hand tighter.

"But you're also my favorite person in the world," I say. "That might be a contributing factor."

He squeezes my hand back.

"I love you, Stan," he says.

"I love you, too, Kyle."

Kyle and I are holding hands beneath the table at the cafeteria the next day, sitting with the usual crowd, when Bebe, Wendy, and the rest of the girls walk up to us.

"So," Bebe says, looking at me and Kyle. "How was last night?"

"Shut up, Bebe," Kyle says, a red tint creeping into his cheeks.

"Ha!" Bebe laughs and turns to Wendy. "I win."

"The fuck you talking about?" Cartman asks, his mouth full of pizza.

Bebe's beaming. "I ship Style, all the way. You two are so cute together, I've always thought so. I was worried Heide would get K2 going first, with that dare to Kenny, but you took control so nicely, Stan!"

We're silent for a moment.

"Style?" I ask at last.

"K2?" Kenny says.

Wendy sighs. "Stan x Kyle: Style. Kyle x Kenny: K2. Your pairing names. Obviously."

"Heidi's a K2 fan," Bebe adds.

"I still prefer Kyman," Red says with a sniff.

We stare at them.

"You made up pairing names for us?" Kenny says.

Bebe nods.

"Why do I get the feeling you set us up?" Kyle asks.

"Because we did," Bebe says. "And don't worry—it wasn't just the beer. Nonalcoholic."

"What?" Cartman yells.

"It wasn't real beer. You only thought it was," Bebe says.

"Placebo effect…sort of," Wendy adds.

"You believed you were drunk, your inhibitions faded, and you were free to express your true feelings," Bebe says, grinning. "Trick we learned from a '90s sitcom."

"Wait," Cartman says, swallowing at last. "What the fuck is Kyman?"

"You and Kyle, moron," Bebe says. "What's it sound like?"

Cartman slowly looks at Kyle. Both his and Kyle's eyes are wide in disgust.

"No way I'd screw a Jewish bitch like him!"

"You think I'd want you to, fat-ass?"

"This is why you're a pair." Red shakes her head, giggling.

I watch Kyle as he starts another screaming match with Cartman. His face is bright red and fiery.

After a while, he glances at me. I must be smiling, because he says, "What?"

"Nothing." I shrug. "Think I'm kinda getting into the whole Kyman thing, though."

He glares at me, and I burst out laughing.

Suddenly, he pulls me forward into a deep kiss.

When we break apart, he looks into my eyes.

"Well," he says. "I ship Style."

"Yeah," I reply. "Me too."