Chapter Text
Token drags Craig to the South Park Mall two weeks before their Junior year starts to go shopping for new clothes. Craig wants to tell him to fuck off, but then Token says he’ll throw down for Jamba Juice, and when that doesn’t work, he says he’ll pay for lunch at the Cheesecake Factory across the parking lot, and even risk using his fake I.D. at two PM on a weekday to buy them beers, to which Craig finally agrees. Of course, once they’ve been at the mall for a few hours, Craig realizes in order to get lunch at the Cheesecake Factory, Token would have to actually leave the fitting room he’s locked himself in at J.Crew, and it doesn’t look promising. After staring at the same denim display for over forty-five minutes, he finally goes and knocks on Token’s room.
“Hey,” he says into the wooden door slats, “I’m hungry. Can we go yet?”
Token opens the door to the fitting room. He looks sweaty and exasperated, only wearing a powder blue oxford and Dolce & Gabbana briefs, and he might as well fucking live at the mall for all Craig knows. “As soon as I figure out their denim sizing, man, the waists here are really inconsistent.”
Craig rolls his eyes, and waves Token back into the room. “Whatever. I’m gonna wait outside.”
“Aren’t you going to get anything?” Token asks. He looks so genuinely concerned, like Craig would care about, or even be able to afford some pima cotton t-shirt that costs over thirty bucks. Craig’s mom takes him to Target twice a year and still picks his clothes out for him, holds shirts and pants up to his body while he silently follows her around and sulks.
He doesn’t know what to say to Token, so he just turns around and walks out. The store associate wishes him a nice day and he flips her off, but then he feels immediately uncomfortable when Token doesn’t follow him out and he’s just standing outside the store where the associate is giving him nasty looks. After five minutes of waiting, he wanders over to the nearest cluster of leather chairs and whips out his phone to play Angry Birds until Token finally re-emerges, no doubt with two large paper bags pressing uncomfortably into his inner elbows. Craig should know better by now to fall for promises of Cheesecake Factory. He would leave the mall altogether if Token hadn’t driven them here. He’s so angry about it, and he gets even more frustrated when he can’t achieve all three stars of the Angry Birds level he’s on.
Exasperated, he stares up towards the skylights in the mall ceiling and lets out a sigh, wishing he were still in bed, or quietly stuffing his face full of loaded baked potato tots. He can taste the grease on his tongue if he thinks about it hard enough, and his stomach makes an angry noise.
“Hey,” someone says, blocking his view of the skylights. For a second he thinks Token has finally decided to grace him with his presence, but it just turns out to be Kenny McCormick, who has thankfully pulled his hoodie tight enough around his face that Craig can’t see the disgusting ponytail he’s grown out this summer.
“What,” Craig says. He’s not sure what Kenny is doing here, at the mall of all places, but he doesn’t really give a fuck. Kenny stopped being interesting to him when he stopped dealing weed last spring to get a real job.
“What, he says,” Kenny repeats back to him. “What the fuck are you doing, dude? Just decomposing?”
“Might as fucking well be,” Craig says, sitting up so he won’t have to deal with Kenny hovering over him anymore. There’s another guy with a hoodie obnoxiously up and covering a baseball cap behind him, as well as a preteen girl who looks too poor to be holding such a big bag from Justice. He nods at the bag. “Are they going out of business or something?”
Kenny turns around to see what he’s looking at, and grimaces at him when he realizes. “Ha-fucking-ha. We’re taking my sister back-to-school shopping.”
“Okay,” Craig replies, because he couldn’t possibly care any less than he does right now.
“Did you want to come with us?” Kenny offers slowly, uncomfortably when Craig keeps staring at him nonplussed.
“No,” Craig says. “I’ve already had to deal with enough chick shit today waiting around on Token, the last thing I want to do is help you and your bumpkin cousin pick out jelly bracelets for your sister.”
“We’re getting my ears pierced!” his sister says from behind them, like this makes a difference.
“Maybe, you are maybe getting your ears pierced,” Kenny spins around to tell her, a cool, parental tone taking over his voice. Then to the guy next to her, he says, “you hear that? Craig thinks you’re my cousin. You look poor enough to be a McCormick, dude.”
The guy breaks out into a lazy, shy grin at that, like he’s forgotten how to smile, but is trying really hard to remember. He’s painfully skinny, looks more emaciated than either Kenny or his sister, but his face is contoured more handsomely, and if he gained a few pounds he would go from attractive to devastating. He notices Craig is staring at him, and looks away, rubbing awkwardly at the greasy black bangs poking out from underneath his hat.
And that’s when Craig recognizes him.
“Whoa,” Craig says, trying to not let his usual monotone escape him. “Stan?”
Stan turns back around when Craig says his name, almost looks ashamed. He’s not smiling anymore. “Hey Craig,” he says.
There have been rumors about Stan Marsh being back in town for the last three weeks, but no one has seen him, or taken any pictures of him since he got out of rehab. There have been paparazzi everywhere in South Park looking for him though, ten to twenty guys outside most restaurants, the Sooper Foods, even the Wall-Mart at any given time. It’s been mostly frustrating to Craig, who feels claustrophobic in crowds to begin with, and has hated having his picture taken since he hit puberty, even though his mom claims he’s growing up to be such a handsome young man. He’s not as bad as Stan though; Stan’s got dark hollows under his eyes and cheeks, and his t-shirt and jeans are so ill-fitting they make him look like a child. He’s a far cry from the Billboard 100 idol that South Park had been proudly proclaiming as their own until earlier this year.
And it’s strange, because when Craig’s eyes meet Stan’s dark, sunken ones, his stomach churns like a key turning in ignition, revving to life.
“You look terrible,” Craig says, before he can stop himself. Kenny’s eyes widen, and he looks like he’s about to punch Craig before Stan laughs.
“No shit?” he says, that same, shy smile returning back to his face. “Glad to know you’re still an asshole.”
“Yeah?” Craig says, leaning over the back of the chair on his elbows. He nods his head towards Kenny. “Some people don’t seem to think so. I don’t know why.”
“Kenny seems to think there’s good in everyone,” Stan says diplomatically, nudging Kenny with an elbow. Kenny nudges him back.
“That’s precious,” Craig says, hoping they don’t start bitchslapping or something. Stan thankfully seems to have a sense of self-preservation and stops.
“Yeah,” Stan agrees. “Hey, wanna keep me company while I take these losers to Claire’s?”
“Hey,” Kenny and his sister mock-protest in unison, but Craig isn’t sure if Stan was even kidding. He’s a lot different than Craig remembers, and he kind of likes it. When Stan left South Park at age nine, he had been so sure of himself, so certain of his beliefs and values, so confident in his own talent. He seems somewhat defeated now, weary, too old for his body. It’s refreshing.
Craig looks back towards J.Crew, where Token still hasn’t made an appearance, and then he looks back to the McCormicks, to Stan. He chews the inside of his cheek for a second. “Okay,” he says finally, “but you have to promise me afterwards we can go get Cheesecake Factory.”
“Done,” Stan says, deciding for everyone else in the group. Kenny seems less than enthused, but mostly because he doesn’t want his sister getting her ears pierced, period.
“It’s not in the budget we agreed on,” he overhears Kenny say under his breath when she runs off to grab some water from the water fountain. “We still need to get Karen her school supplies.”
“Relax,” Stan says, and his mouth doesn’t even move when he says it. “I’ve got this covered.”
“Dude, no,” Kenny says, looking like he’s about to pitch a fit. “And Cheesecake Factory?”
“Relax,” Stan says again, much slower. He turns to Craig. “I hope you like the loaded baked potato tots.”
“Fuck,” Craig says, because Stan is speaking his language. Craig isn’t sure if anyone has ever spoken his language before. His stomach approves.
Kenny is quiet the entire time they’re in Claire’s, his mouth an angry, white line. Karen looks suddenly nervous when they start talking to the girl at the counter about getting her ears pierced. Stan notices immediately, and while Kenny starts filling out legal waivers, Stan starts throwing on ridiculous accessories, like a purple feather boa and cat ears to distract Karen. Craig tries to hide from the obnoxious display in the corner, but there is literally nowhere for a teenage boy to hide safely in a Claire’s, and Stan ends up roping him in with a fake string of pearls.
“You look gorgeous, darling,” Stan says, fingers still wrapped around the pearls while he puts a plastic tiara on Craig’s head with his other hand. Karen laughs behind her hands, and Craig against all will and desire to do so, blushes.
“You look fucking retarded,” he replies, but there’s no heat to it. Stan shrugs, looking completely unashamed. And why should he be? Craig has seen grainy TMZ videos of Stan punching a guy trying to take his picture, seen the pictures that the local news would put up of Stan looking high and out of it in paparazzi shots, the bright lights of the camera reflecting the whites of his eyes rolled back in his head. Stan has clearly made his peace with shame.
Craig has not, however, and he quietly discards the pearls and tiara as Stan helps Karen into the little chair in the corner of the store, while Kenny watches, absolutely fuming. Even though Stan is still wearing the stupid boa and cat ears, Karen has resumed looking nervous, and that’s when Stan rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie to show off a poorly drawn guitar tattoo that takes up his entire left forearm.
“Whoa!” Karen says, suddenly oblivious to the woman swabbing a cotton ball against her ear. “When’d you get that?”
“When I was just a little bit older than you,” Stan tells her, sounding calm when he does so. It was a huge news story when he got it for some reason. Craig remembers it, because he had been fourteen, and his mother had waved the TV remote threateningly at him and said, don’t you go out and do something dumb like that, Craig Tucker. The thing is even uglier in person. But there’s something oddly sweet about how Stan tells her about it in a low, gentle voice, completely capturing her attention so she doesn’t even flinch when the Claire’s employee pierces her first earlobe. Stan says, “see, that wasn’t so bad, right?”
“But what does it mean?” Karen asks, grabbing his arm to get a better look, while the lady awkwardly moves around them to prep her other ear.
“It means I make bad decisions when I’ve been drinking,” Stan replies earnestly, and it earns a laugh from Craig, who absolutely did not expect an honest answer.
“Can I get a tattoo next, Kenny?” Karen yells over Stan’s head, to her brother who is standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, still looking furious.
“Did you not just hear what he said, Karen? Don’t be stupid,” Kenny spits back. Karen frowns, which is when the employee chooses to pierce her other earlobe, and she does flinch this time. Stan is quick to give her multiple high fives though.
“Good job!” he says. “Are you ready for lunch?”
“Yeah!” she says. “Can I get dessert for lunch?”
“Of course,” Stan replies, while Kenny says, “absolutely not.”
Craig texts Token that he’s headed to Cheesecake Factory, but isn’t surprised when he doesn’t get a response. There are two or three paparazzi waiting outside of the mall when they step outside, but none seem to notice Stan as he walks by, pretending to text someone on his phone. When they’ve safely passed them, Stan lets out a shaky sigh, and Kenny reaches out silently to rub at his shoulder. The moment seems invasive, and Craig is briefly uncomfortable witnessing it, like he doesn’t belong. It passes as soon as they enter the restaurant and are shuffled to the side in a large crowd when it’s apparent they arrived during the lunch rush.
Despite his hunger and the suffocating heat of the crowd, Craig finds himself handling the wait just fine. Stan stands close behind him, his chest against Craig’s back like a buffer, his body language clearly reflecting his familiarity with crowds. It makes him feel safe, and less anxious, like Karen in the chair at Claire’s all over again, and Craig wonders if this is just what Stan does. They get seated after a half hour, and when it’s obvious that Kenny isn’t going to order more than a water and a side salad despite looking like he’s starving, Stan orders one of every appetizer and two entrees. Kenny looks angry about this too, and he pushes a lot of food towards Craig like he’s too good for it. Craig doesn’t give a fuck. He’s a growing boy and doesn’t do martyr complexes; he will eat whatever is put in front of him and then some.
Karen talks enough for all three of them, about the summer reading that she’s completed and what she’s most excited for in the eighth grade. Kenny beams at her when she does so, clearly proud of his little sister, and he makes sure to prompt her in conversation to tell both Stan and Craig about the essay contests she won last year, and the blue ribbon she got at the county science fair. Craig could not care less, and proceeds to contribute absolutely nothing to the conversation and shove as much food in his mouth that he physically can. He hopes after this he can convince them to give him a ride home.
“Are you guys gonna stick around after this, or are you headed back?” he asks finally, after Stan has unsurprisingly paid the bill for everyone.
“Well, we do need to get Karen school supplies,” Kenny says, “but if we went right now, Stan would probably buy her a fucking laptop, so I think we’ll wait for another day.”
“Cool,” Craig says, wiping his mouth with his napkin and throwing it on the table. “Can you drive me back to my place then?”
“Sure,” Stan says, a little coolly, giving Kenny an unimpressed look over the table.
To Craig’s complete lack of surprise, their walk out through the parking lot leads to a Stan’s fairly nondescript 2008 Jaguar, if Jaguars can be nondescript in a town like South Park. The interior is littered with old Taco Bell wrappers and dozens of crumpled receipts, and Craig sneers into it before sitting down, although Kenny and Karen don’t seem to mind. He sits in the backseat next to Karen, who keeps leaning over Stan’s shoulder to look at her newly-pierced ears in the rearview mirror.
“You sure you didn’t want that laptop today?” Stan says to her, catching her eyes in reflection. Craig assumes it’s a joke, but Kenny snaps.
“Yeah, the more expensive the better, so maybe there’s some leftover cash when my parents sell it for drug money,” he sneers. Stan sighs, shakes his head.
“Hey, you agreed to let me help, man, don’t fucking jump on my case,” he says. “It’s important for kids to feel confident in themselves at the beginning of the school year, and Karen deserves to feel good about herself. We talked about this.”
“I’m uh, right here guys,” Karen says, a little awkwardly.
“Yeah, is that what your last swagger coach told you? That looking cool and wealthy will make you more confident? Hey, isn’t that what that married guy who worked on your record told you right before he made you suck his dick?”
Craig will give Stan credit for not slamming on the breaks right then and there, but he can hear the squeak of leather as Stan’s grip on the steering wheel becomes much, much tighter. He doesn’t say anything.
“What’re we supposed to do when you decide that treating your friends like a charity case isn’t fulfilling anymore, huh?” Stan just sighs and shakes his head. Kenny tries a little bit louder, “Huh? What the fuck are we gonna do then, Stan? What happens when you suddenly feel like we owe you a debt?”
“Don’t be that way,” Stan says finally. He gives Craig a sidelong glance. “Welcome to the past three weeks of my life back in South Park.”
“Jesus,” Craig says under his breath despite himself.
“Uncomfortable,” Karen says, like she’s agreeing with him. The rest of the car ride is tense, and Stan turns on the radio a little bit too loud, only to shut it off when one of his own songs comes on, leading to five minutes of uncomfortable silence before they finally pull up in front of the McCormick residence. Kenny lets himself out of the car without so much as a “goodbye,” managing to slam the seatbelt in the door. Karen wraps her arms around Stan’s neck in a small hug from the backseat. “Thanks again for everything,” she tells him, and he just nods before she gets out.
The car idles for a few seconds, until Stan leans back to face Craig. “Well?” he says, his every angle looking dangerously sharp from where Craig is sitting. “Are you going to just sit back there?”
Craig wordlessly gets out of the backseat and into the front, rescuing the seatbelt from where it’s been caught in the door.
“Where do you live again?” Stan asks, hand tapping on the gear shift, which is dangerously close to Craig’s thigh.
“Uh,” Craig says, thinking too much about Stan’s hands and his own thighs, and how great of a combination that could be. He’s been trying not to notice Stan all day, trying not to be charmed by his antics, or intrigued by all of the things he hasn’t said but are reflected in his cautious movements, the sad, faraway look he gets when he thinks no one is watching. “Same place. Just up a few blocks on Boulder--”
“Oh right, I remember,” Stan replies, pulling away from the curb. He had once lived just a few houses away. “So hey, uh, sorry it got weird there for a bit.”
“It didn’t get weird,” Craig replies. “It started out weird. Kenny is weird. This whole day has been weird. For it to get weird, that would require a normal baseline.”
Stan huffs out a shallow laugh. “I guess so. Thanks for surviving. And well, Kenny isn’t weird, he just has a lot of pride.”
“No, he’s weird,” Craig says. “He’s definitely super weird.”
“You probably think that about everyone,” Stan says. Craig shrugs.
“It wasn’t very nice,” he says, and he doesn’t know why. Maybe watching Stan be charitable all day makes him want to attempt the same. “What he said about you. About the married guy.”
“Why?” Stan asks. “Because he was married? Or because he was a guy? Either way, it was one-hundred percent true. Out of place, maybe, but it’s a truth I’m already dealing with.”
And that kind of guts Craig. He doesn’t know what to do with that information. Eventually he croaks out, “how?”
“‘How’ what, Craig? How did I sleep with a married guy? How did I not? I was fucking coked out of my eyeballs, and he made me feel good about myself, isn’t that how it happens?”
“I don’t know,” Craig replies honestly. He got Clyde drunk enough to make out with him once, but he’s never had sex, has never felt the urge to have sex with anyone in South Park without feeling dirty and incestuous about it. “It’s never happened to me, so. I wouldn’t know.”
“Never? Like, wait, never-ever? But you’re, you know.” Stan doesn’t take his eyes off the road as he waves his right hand aimlessly at Craig like it’s an an accurate way to describe someone.
“Sure,” Craig says. “I am definitely whatever things you were trying to convey. So what? It doesn’t mean I deserve anything, and it doesn’t mean I want to sleep around with anyone from fucking South Park.”
“Really?” Stan asks. And he flashes a brief smile at Craig, the one that used to frequent the cover of TIGER BEAT a lot, practiced and handsome despite everything. “No one in South Park?”
“Are you hitting on me?” Craig asks honestly.
“Yeah,” Stan replies. “Is that weird?”
“Kind of,” Craig replies. “I mean, considering the subject matter, but, you know. Also not. In other circumstances it wouldn’t be. I don’t know. Turn left here.”
Stan does, pulling onto Craig’s street, the street that they used to share. He finds Craig’s house without being told which one it is, and pulls up in front. There aren’t any cars in the driveway, and Craig sits there for a few seconds considering, before he faces Stan.
“We could,” he says, intentionally vague. “If you actually wanted to, I guess.”
“Okay,” Stan says, and he turns off the engine. Craig leads him into the house, and calls for his mom, or his dad, or his sister just incase. When there’s no response, he puts his phone down and turns to offer Stan a glass of water or something, but he moves into Stan’s open hands instead and finds himself being pushed roughly against the foyer’s narrow console table.
“Huh,” Craig says, and then Stan is kissing him.
Kissing Stan is like speaking Spanish; he knows the basics, and he’s practiced it half-assed with his peers, but he’s never tried speaking it with someone who is fluent. And Stan is fluent in kissing, slowly licking his way past Craig’s teeth, biting at his upper lip as he rocks their mouths together sure and steady. He still tastes a little like cheesecake, and Craig tries to not be too enthusiastic chasing the taste of him, but Stan still laughs into his mouth a little when Craig gets his tongue halfway down Stan’s throat.
“It’s okay,” Stan says quietly, like a secret, before kissing away from Craig’s mouth to his jaw, to his neck. He’s got Craig pinned by the hips, and Craig feels absolutely helpless with it. His shoes are still on, and he has no idea what to do with his hands, and then his brain shuts down completely with the sensation of Stan sucking bruising, wet patches into his neck, kneading slivers of skin between his teeth. All he can do is choke back the desperate groans that are fighting their way up his throat.
“As soon as I saw you today,” Stan says hot against Craig’s skin, his fingers slowly making their way down to play with the hem of Craig’s shirt. His nails feel so good as they brush soft against the bare skin of Craig’s stomach and start to trace along the band of his boxers. “I couldn’t think of anything else. I just hoped, hoped you might want to.”
Craig tries to say, “yeah?” but he’s so beyond keeping it cool, he just nods quickly, clenching his fists against his sides.
Stan moves back up to kiss him with a predatory ease as he slowly thumbs open Craig’s jeans. “This okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, but,” and Stan eases off instantly, hands hovering inches away and Craig is briefly relieved. He’s worried he’s going to bust a nut if he sees Stan get any closer to his dick at this point, but then Stan starts eyeing him with a sort of concern that is making him feel dumb and childish. “I don’t want to lose my virginity with my shoes on. And we should probably go upstairs.”
The fact that they are in his parent’s foyer, where anyone could walk in on them is kind of blowing his mind. Craig hasn’t given much thought to the minute details of what his first time would be like, nothing past thinking it would probably be awesome and he would be older than he is now, and it would take place basically anywhere that was not here. He’s not even really sure how it’s going to work, because he’s done the curious teenage boy thing and watched an unhealthy amount of gay porn, but-- it kind of freaks him out. He’s not sure about the butt stuff. He’s actually kind of terrified of the butt stuff.
And worse, Stan seems to know what he’s doing, seems to be aware of how to touch another person in places Craig has never given thought to, never knew felt so good; Stan’s mouth on his neck, warm breath on his ear had felt like a revelation. Stan isn’t all Hollywood show, and owns up to his bad reputation with practiced movements, the confident way that he occupies Craig’s space.
“Okay,” Stan laughs, looking relieved. If he knows Craig’s nerves have caught up with him, he doesn’t show it. He toes off his shoes and kicks them over near the door. “Lead the way.”
They walk upstairs with a little more distance between them, their body language similar to the way Clyde or Token or Tweek usually follow him upstairs to play videogames. It’s a lot warmer on the second floor, something Craig hadn’t thought about until it hits him and he starts obsessing about the way his t-shirt is clinging to the sweaty small of his back. When he opens the door of his room, he’s briefly thankful for the breeze emanating from the window he left open last night, but then is stricken with how childish his room must seem to Stan. It still has a lot of the same posters and furniture that Craig’s mom bought for him when she decided he needed a “big boy” room in middle school. The twin looks too small, and his blue tie-dye bedspread suddenly seems extra dorky, and there are a lot of bad movie posters tacked into the wall. He feels like he should apologize for it.
The door slams shut behind him though, and before he can get a word out, Stan is against his back again, licking up his neck to his earlobe. Craig manages a drawn out, “fu-u-u-ck,” his body seizing up entirely.
“Is this okay?” Stan asks, his fingers crawling back up under Craig’s t-shirt, where his skin feels too sticky with the heat.
“Yeah,” Craig says, but he sounds miserable. He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m just. New. I don’t know what to do.”
Admitting such feels like defeat, but he’s so nervous he’s back down to half chub. Stan’s hands come down to his hips, and he hooks his chin over Craig’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s cool, man. I’ve got you, okay? If you want, we can stop, or slow down.”
“Can we slow down, maybe a little bit?” Craig asks, feeling so fucking stupid. He chances a look at Stan, who smiles back at him and wraps his arms full around Craig’s waist.
“Fuck yeah, hey, sorry,” Stan says easily, while walking Craig over to the twin bed that’s pressed against the wall. He rolls down onto it and pulls Craig with him, and then maneuvers both of their bodies so they’re lying on their sides, facing each other. “I just got really excited. I haven’t gotten off with anyone in weeks and uh, you’re kind of really hot.”
“Thank you,” Craig says, hating himself the second it slips out of his mouth, but not knowing what else to say. Stan smiles and kisses him again, slow enough to make Craig’s insides feel like syrup. They make out for what feels like hours but is really more like twenty minutes, long enough for Craig to get brave about it--long enough to try and find out how and where Stan likes to be touched.
“Is this okay?” Stan asks every few minutes when he does something new, like put his hand back up Craig’s t-shirt to thumb at his nipples, or move his knee between Craig’s thighs to feel where he’s achingly hard again. Craig tries to reciprocate, smoothing his palms down Stan’s sides and cupping his face hungrily. Stan hums at the back of his throat whenever Craig grabs him a little more aggressively, and he chases those needy noises without finesse, their kisses becoming more teeth, their soft pets turning into pinches; Stan moans uncontrollably the first time Craig grabs a fistful of his ass and squeezes.
“Fuck,” Stan says breathily. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple from where his bangs are sticking matted and wet. Craig leans forward to lick it, savors the salt on his tongue when Stan whines and grabs at his thighs hard enough to bruise. “Please let me get you off, man, I am actually dying here.”
“Okay,” Craig says, feeling a little less out of his comfort zone now, and much more turned on. Stan kisses him again, delicate this time, while he works open Craig’s jeans. He sighs contentedly with his fist finally around Craig’s dick for the first time, just the thin layer of Craig’s boxers separating them, and Craig can’t help the noise that works its way out of his throat when Stan actually strokes; having someone else touch his junk is more of a religious experience than sixteen years worth of sundays spent at church.
“Has anyone ever blown you before?” Stan asks, his fist languidly pumping in small pulses up and down Craig’s cock.
“No one’s ever anything’d me before,” Craig replies, closing his eyes to try and keep himself from coming.
“Right,” Stan says, like he forgot. “Okay. Can I blow you?”
“Sure.” Craig almost laughs. “Be my fucking guest. Fuck.”
Stan peels Craig’s boxers down to his thighs with the rest of his jeans, which at this point are drenched with sweat. He gives Craig’s dick a few more curious tugs now that it’s naked. Craig feels like he’s suffocating with the sight of it and has to look away again.
“You have a really nice dick,” Stan says, and Craig does laugh this time.
“I honestly have no idea how to respond to that,” Craig says. “That is the weirdest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Stan beams at him, before gently pressing on his shoulder until he’s on his back. Stan scoots down so he’s facing his crotch, and Craig watches him press his face into Craig’s pubes and kiss at the crease where his thigh and dick meet. The heat alone from Stan’s mouth is making Craig writhe around with want.
“No teasing,” he groans, gripping tightly at his stupid tie-dye comforter. “Just please, suck me off, please.”
“Okay, shh,” Stan says, as if to Craig’s dick instead of Craig himself, before putting the entire head in his mouth and sucking gently. Craig feels like he’s falling apart. He thinks he makes an embarrassing noise or three, but he can’t be sure. He brings one shaky, uncertain hand up to hold his cock at the base, but Stan swats it away and puts his own there instead.
“You just,” Stan says, his mouth coming off Craig’s dick with a wet pop, “just let me do the work here, dude.”
And then he licks an obscene stripe up the underside, tongue flicking over his slit at the tip, and Craig whines. Stan smiles, looking victorious, and goes back down to sucking, twisting the hand around the base to meet his mouth as he bobs up and down. Craig can’t help but chance a few looks at Stan’s swollen mouth, bright red and wet with spit, eagerly sucking Craig into him deeper and deeper.
“I don’t know if I can,” Craig says feebly, his balls aching and tight, unable to stop himself from thrusting up into the wet heat of Stan’s mouth a few times. “I can’t--I’m--”
Stan hums into his dick a little “mmhm?” and looks up at him with big, patient eyes, and Craig is suddenly, painfully coming down his throat. Stan continues to nurse hungrily at the over-sensitive cockhead as each shock rolls through Craig, making shameless, muffled noises until Craig’s dick stutters to a stop.
“Was that okay?” Stan asks, pulling himself off and casually climbing back up Craig’s body, like that wasn’t the greatest pleasure that Craig has ever experienced in his short life. Craig nods dumbly, and let’s Stan kiss him, semen breath and all. Stan’s still got his erection pressing against Craig’s thighs, eager to get out of Stan’s jeans.
“Are you,” Craig asks between much slower, yet fervent kisses, “Is this the part where you fuck me?”
Stan stops, his whole body freezing, and he puts a hand on Craig’s chest. Very gently, he asks, “would you like me to fuck you?”
“I don’t know,” Craig replies honestly. “It looks really uncomfortable.”
Stan shrugs and nods a little. “Well, yeah. If you--listen, I was just gonna see if you wanted to blow me and let me come on your face, if that’s alright.”
“I’ve never done that before either,” Craig tells him, but he’s got his fingers threaded through the belt loops of Stan’s jeans, and eyeing Stan’s tented jeans curiously.
“You don’t have to,” Stan says.
“I didn’t say I didn't want to,” Craig snaps. “I just don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Oh,” Stan says, and his mouth quirks up with excitement. “I could, you know, help you.”
“Okay,” Craig says, mouth watering a little bit already at the thought of it. He moves to crawl down Stan’s legs, like Stan did to him, but Stan stops him by swinging his legs over Craig’s body and sitting on his chest.
“Uh, if it’s alright with you, I really like it like this,” he says. “Like, if you propped yourself up on your elbows--yeah, like that--and uh, let me feed you my dick.”
Craig nods slowly, and Stan undoes his fly with a pained sigh of relief, pushing his pants and briefs down so his dick springs up against his stomach. Stan grabs it near the head and holds it against himself, cradling the back of Craig’s head with his other hand.
“Is this okay?” he asks, holding his dick out like an offering. Craig leans forward, and with one last glance upward, cautiously takes it into his mouth. Stan’s cock is thin, but softer than the rest of him, much less intimidating even when erect.
“Oh, fuck,” Stan sighs, content, his hips stuttering forward in little thrusts. Craig tries to relax his throat, his mouth getting thicker and thicker with spit as Stan continues to slide his dick past Craig’s lips. “Your mouth is fucking world-class, ugh, just--can you suck a little for me? Jesus christ.”
Craig tries to suck a little bit and Stan reacts by bringing his other hand up so he’s cradling Craig’s head with both, tugging at his hair and thrusting with less precision, completely fucking his face. Craig almost chokes a few times as Stan goes deeper; his dick is a pretty average length, but it dizzies Craig to see the whole thing disappear into his mouth. Stan praises him for it, especially when he tries to suck and lick despite feeling so full, and it thrills him that someone like Stan Marsh is towering over him, shaking and vulnerable.
“You’re so good,” Stan tells him, voice getting pitchier and movements getting more erratic. “So, so good, Jesus, Craig, such a good fucking cocksucker.”
Craig is half hard again by the time Stan pulls out of his mouth to jerk himself off vigorously. He’s getting off to me, Craig thinks dumbly, and he can only watch, dazed and feeling somewhat pleased with himself as Stan comes all over his face with a shout.
Stan rolls back onto his heels and looks toward the ceiling, catching his breath. Craig brings a hand up to his cheek to feel where some of Stan’s spunk landed. He drags his thumb through it, smearing it across his face into his mouth for a taste. It’s salty and bitter like the rest of Stan, and Stan laughs when he notices Craig’s grimace. He pulls his t-shirt off and brings it up to Craig’s face to wipe the semen away in an almost matronly fashion.
“So hot,” Stan says, leaning down to kiss him when his face is clean. He throws his t-shirt to the side of the bed and uses his weight to flatten Craig back down onto the mattress. He’s much more muscular under his shirt, like a tightly strung cord of muscle and bone with no body fat in sight. Craig brings up a hand to absently stroke at his well-defined ribs until Stan grabs it and laces their fingers together. He brings their joined hands up to his mouth and kisses each of Craig’s knuckles, eyeing him warily. “You sure you’ve never done that before?”
“Pretty fucking sure,” Craig replies, staring up at him. He looks so different compared to how he looked in the mall, hiding under ill-fitting clothes, faking normal for Kenny and his sister. He looks much more confident and capable with his clothes off, and Craig isn’t sure what that means.
“I’ve never slept with a virgin before,” Stan confesses. “I was worried I would hurt you somehow. You seemed a little freaked out at the beginning.”
“It was weird,” Craig says, feeling a little embarrassed. “Am I still a virgin?”
“That’s up to you, man,” Stan says with a shrug, before grinning slyly. “Why, do you feel different? Are you having a moment?”
Craig scowls up at him and tries to shove him off, but Stan grabs him by the hands and pins him back down on the bed. They stare at each other, breathing a little heavy, before Stan leans in to kiss him again, his still-swollen lips soft and tender against Craig’s own. Before long, Craig realizes he’s fully hard again and mindlessly rubbing his dick in the space between Stan’s balls and inner thigh. Stan makes him take off his pants, and then gives him the hottest, most adept handjob of his life. He’s gasping, tears at the corners of his eyes by the time he’s coming again all over Stan’s hand.
Stan wipes it off on Craig’s shirt, and Craig scowls. “Guess you have to get naked with me now,” he says, so Craig begrudgingly does.
“My parents or my sister will probably be home soon,” he tells Stan, because he’s never spent any time naked with another person, and he’s starting to feel overwhelmingly exposed.
“Oh,” Stan says. “I guess I should probably get out of here. My mom really only let me go out today because she trusts Kenny.”
“You let your mom tell you if you can go out or not?” Craig asks, surprised, because he thought parents became obsolete once you made your first million.
“I’m in a very delicate legal situation right now,” Stan says, and it comes out practiced enough that if Craig were anyone else, he would pry. “If I get caught with certain people or doing certain things I could be in a lot of trouble.”
“That sucks,” Craig says.
“Yeah,” Stan agrees, toeing at his shirt on the floor. “Hey, could I borrow a t-shirt though? Mine is really gross.”
“Won’t your mom be curious?” Craig asks.
“I’ll tell her I got it when I was out shopping or something,” Stan replies. He gets off Craig’s bed and strides over to the dresser to dig around through Craig’s carefully-folded laundry for a clean shirt like he lives there. He pulls one out and tugs it on, but brings the collar up to his nose to smell it. “It smells like you.”
“Because it is mine,” Craig says. “I expect to get that back at some point.”
“You will,” Stan says, grabbing his boxers from where he’d kicked them to the floor earlier, and stepping back into them. “I should be around for awhile. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”
We better, Craig wants to say, thinking of how reverent Stan looked with his dick in Craig’s mouth, how good it felt to be adored. He can’t imagine anyone else in this stupid town he’d want to do the same for; he knows everyone else here too well that he knows they’re too stupid to trust with his dick or his heart.
“How much longer are you staying for?” he does ask, pulling a pillow over his naked chest.
“Indefinitely,” Stan admits, and he looks so sad about it that Craig feels like an asshole for asking. “Not that you’re interested but uh, I fired my manager--I mean, my dad--and my publicist, and my label dropped me, and so did my secret forty-two year old boyfriend, who I’ve been told by half a dozen people deserves to go to jail, and I’m starting to agree with them. So. I mean. I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”
“Oh,” Craig says. “That sucks.”
Stan laughs a little to himself while he puts his pants back on. “Yeah. It really does.”
“Well uh. If you get bored of Kenny, you know, I’m here. You could call me. We could like, hang out or something,” Craig offers awkwardly.
“Or something,” Stan says, giving Craig a lecherous smile, before pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “Give me your number, I’ll text you mine.”
Craig does, and Stan types away at his phone for a second, before smiling. “Okay, got you.”
“Cool,” Craig says.
Stan pats at himself for his keys, which he holds up triumphantly as he finds them. “Well, I’ll see you around, I guess. It was uh. It was good running into you.”
“Yeah,” Craig agrees, and he’s not sure what the proper etiquette is for saying goodbye to the guy who taught you how to give a blowjob, so he just holds his pillow tighter against his chest. Stan rolls his eyes, and leans down over him, holds his head in both of his hands, and kisses him one more time.
“Don’t be a stranger,” he says when he pulls away. He ruffles Craig’s hair before he leaves, and the silence in the room is achingly thick after Craig listens to the front door downstairs open and close, the sound of a car engine starting outside and pulling away.
He lies back down and puts a hand to his mouth and tries to remember what Stan felt like sliding slick and heavy in and out of him. He does feel different, loathe as he is to admit it; he feels emotionally compromised having seen Stan Marsh with heavy-lidded eyes and wet open mouth looking at him like he’s the best thing on earth.
Eventually he puts clothes back on and goes downstairs, where it’s cool and where he put his phone down before getting ravished by Stan. When he checks it there’s a text from an unknown number with a message that simply says STAN :)!, and three others from Token, each more concerned than the last.
Token
yo dude im out are you still at cheesecake factory
Token
youre not at cheesecake factory where are you did someone give you a ride home
Token
are you dead what happened where are you????!!!! im sorry i made you go to the mall with me!!
He groans, because no way in hell is he ever thanking Token for abducting him to the mall, but today it seems appropriate. He hits the little phone icon next to Token’s name.
“Hey! You’re alive! Where are you?” Token’s tinny, stressed-out voice comes through almost immediately.
“Far away from the goddamned mall, that’s for sure,” Craig says, catching his reflection in the decorative mirror. He doesn’t look any different than he did this morning, and yet. He clears his throat, because Token is going to get every last, disgusting detail whether he likes it or not. “Hey, you know how Stan Marsh is back in town?”