Waking up in the Testosterone Temple, Kyle pawed at his balls and auburn pubes on his way to the kitchen. It hadn't been Craig (Stan's asshat boyfriend, who was two articles of clothing away from moving in,) that had named the apartment; it'd been Clyde, who'd visited once in a weepy, drunken stupor following his break-up with Annie. It was nearly noon, and the entire place smelled stale—it smelled of stale beer, stale cigarette smoke (courtesy of Craig,) stale coffee, and stale sex. A bit of fresh sex, too. Drowning out Stan's moans from the living room couch was Ryan Reynolds (and his boyish good looks,) in "Definitely, Maybe," playing on Craig's laptop.

More uncomfortable than living with your gay super best friend in a one-bedroom apartment was having him and his boyfriend constantly fucking on the couch at various times of the day. Kyle had been supportive from the very start and had long grown accustomed to it.

He fired up the electric stove, took some frozen burger patties from the fridge and emptied the plastic container onto a plate. With a "thunk," a stack of processed ground beef pancakes dropped on the ceramic. "Burger steak for brunch," he called into the living room.

Stan tried to "mhmm," in response, but a very pornographic moan escaped instead. Craig'd finally gotten Stan's boxers off, and was already stroking his throbbing dick with slender, saliva-lubricated fingers. Craig's gruff, nasal demand for "no gravy," on his followed.

Humming to himself, Kyle dumped the icy patties on a non-stick pan (a housewarming gift from Bebe.) He tugged Stan's sweatpants over his asscrack. It pissed Craig off when Kyle wore Stan's things. Even worse when Kyle wore Craig's clothes, which he often left in Kyle's designated pile-corner by mistake. The redhead liked to agitate Craig occasionally. Usually after the broke production assistant (coffee boy, Kyle insisted,) forgot to throw used condoms away properly or to change the bed sheets or to cover the couch with a blanket.

With a grimace, Kyle poured some chunks of melting slush out of the pan while securing the patties with a fork. The satisfying sizzle and sumptuous smell of meat nearly placed images of last night's Homosexual Adventure with Stan into Kyle's head. Memories of his best friend's sweaty, slippery body against his, Stan's uncut…nail wedging themselves against his shoulder blades and multitudes of other screenplays just almost returned to Kyle.

Instead, Kyle thought about how Craig would react to finding his boyfriend pumped full of Jew-juice. Stan had probably showered, but it brightened Kyle's day to think about Craig's disgruntled, maybe even disgusted expression.

It was not that Kyle hated Craig, nor was he in love with Stan. He would admit that he was jealous of all the quality super-best-friend-time! he'd been robbed of by Craig. The night prior was a one-time thing. To have lasted so long without having sex was a miracle for the very hormonal, (half?) homosexual boys in closed-quarters. It was because Bebe had cancelled on him again that Kyle needed to release some tension.

Kyle slid the hot manly-man-meat onto a plate as Stan cried out for release, arching into Craig's hold and shaking with anticipation.

It was a typical noon-time in the Broflovski-Marsh(-Tucker) residence.