Man, you are Beautiful | Clyde x Stan (main), Craig x Tweek, Kyle x Kenny
High school AU, drinking, brief mention of weed, implied sexual content, implied cheating, ftm! Stan & Wendyl (he/him), mtf! Marjorine (she/her)x agender! Kyle (they/them), genderfluid! Kenny (he/she)
Kyle x Kenny, Craig x Tweek, Kyle x Kenny x Craig x Tweek, Wendyl x Tolkien, Nichole x Tolkien, Bebe x Marjorine, (past) Stan x Wendyl
It's a late Friday night and Roger Donovan is away for the weekend on another business trip, leaving his son Clyde home alone. Well, he would be alone, if it weren't for the whole of South Park High being inside the Donovan household; just another one of Clyde's famous parties (there's not as many people as you'd think, as South Park has always been a rather small town, though it is still a wonder that so many young adults can fit into one house).
Stan Marsh happens to be one of these party goers and, in true Stan fashion, said teen is drunk off his ass (then again, so is every other teen at this party- or high) and yelling as his super-best friend, Kyle Broflovski.
"Fuck You, Kyle, you're a piece of shit!" With a defeated sigh, Kyle begins to walk away, only to turn around when Stan speaks again. "...Kyle, I love you."
"You're a piece of shit though, fuck you!"
Kyle once again walks away, though this time they don't turn back. Instead, they make their way over to Kenny, Tweek, and Craig (Kyle's pretty sure their girlfriend is trying to get into the couple's pants again), who had been watching the whole ordeal go down, knowing Kyle has never been able to stand an intoxicated Stan.
("He yell at ya again, babe?" Kenny speaks loud enough for Kyle to hear her over the excessive music and throws an arm over his shoulder; Kyle nods.
"Same thing as always." Kyle leans into the dirty blond only to realize a second too late- "Dude! Get your hand off my ass!"
"Heh. Sorry, Ky." Kyle knows by Kenny's tone that she isn't sorry, that and the smug grin on his face that shows off his tooth gap. Perv.)
Stan watches as Kyle walks away, then makes his way to the kitchen muttering to himself. "Fuck this, I need a drink. Fuckin' dick."
As the raven-haired male opens another can of beer, he sees Wendyl kissing Tolkien and scoffs.
"Daaamn, that's gotta hurt, dude." A voice speaks from right next to Stan and he jumps, accidently splashing his beer on himself. "Oh shit!"
"Jesus-fucking-Christ!" Turning to the side, Stan sees Clyde standing there with a sheepish grin and has to hold back the urge to punch the brunet. "The fuck, dude? Warn a guy."
Clyde lets out a little laugh- holy shiiit, he's cute! "Sorry, bro. You can borrow one of my shirts, come on."
Ignoring his thoughts and blaming the alcohol, Stan follows Clyde out of the kitchen and up the stairs, only needing to push through a handful of drunken teens sucking face (Stan thinks one of the couples are Bebe and Marjorine). The two make it up the stairs with no problem, though Clyde did almost step on someone who looks oddly like Cartman in a dress passed out on the top few steps.
"Sorry about Wendyl, dude." Clyde leads the other to his bedroom. "Nichole is gonna be so mad when she finds out."
"Whatever. I though Tolkien was straight though?" Stan tries not to sound pissed off; the grimace on Clyde's face lets him know he failed.
The two males don't say anything else to each other as Clyde rummages through his closet before finally pulling out a blank white shirt that looks a size or two too big for Stan (Clyde is 200 pounds of center, after all), though the raven-haired boy doesn't comment on it, happy enough to just change out of his beer-soaked t-shirt.
"Thanks, man." Stan peels off his old shirt and drops it to the ground, reaching out a hand for Clyde to hand him the other shirt, only to notice the other staring at him. Crossing his arms over his chest in a sudden self-consciousness of the scars there, Stan raises an eyebrow. "What?"
"I think I drank too much. Or you're just like, really hot, bro." Clyde is looking Stan up and down with wide eyes, running his tongue over his bottom lip. "Fuck, I might be gay."
Before Stan realizes what he's doing, the male is already Infront of Clyde, leaning down and gently grabbing his face between his slender hands to press his chapped lips against the others soft, plump ones. He feels the shirt in Clyde's hands fall and then the other is leaning up to kiss him back, his full hands settling on Stan's thin, yet built, waist and gripping at his hips.
A few hours later, deep blue eyes open to a poorly lit room and blaring pop music that only makes the growing feeling of needles piercing through Stan's skull worse. With a groan the male slowly sits up- not slow enough, he finds as he clutches at his head with a pain hiss and shuts his eyes. After a minute or two, the pain fades enough so that Stan can open his eyes without wanting to shoot his brains out and the teen takes in his surroundings.
Medium blue walls adorned with various movie and playboy posters; a long, white desk with a thin, open laptop atop it on the opposite wall of the bed Stan woke up in, and an old blue and green toy chest with the word "football" poorly written on the front sitting to the pristine desk. Next to the bed, on Stans left, is a wooden dresser that also acts as a nightstand, as shown by the half-empty water bottle laying on its side that sits on top of said dresser; in the corner of the room, right next to the dresser/nightstand, is a huge full-length mirror outlined in a yellow gold. There's one window in the room and its closed, though the blinds are open, letting moonlight seep into the room.
As for the bed Stan currently resides in, the sheets are a dark red wine color and there's a lumpy Red Racer blanket on Stans right- suddenly the blanket shifts, revealing chestnut brown hair and a chubby face.
"Clyde?" The blue-eyed boy whispers with confusion, though the male in question doesn't stir. What the fuck...? Why am I at Clyde's- oh. Oh- "shit!"
Putting the pieces together, Stan is quick to stumble out of the bed and grab his shoes (which are conveniently placed next the bed). Next, he searches for his jeans and shirt (he almost trips over the latter, though catches himself in time (Clyde must be a heavy sleeper)). Stan quickly notices how his shirt is damp and grimaces, deciding he could go shirtless for the time being and then exits the room and rushes down the stairs (is that Cartman? and is he wearing a dress?), careful not to trip over any passed-out teens or half-crushed cans of beer.
When Clyde wakes up a few hours later, his head is pounding, and he internally curses the sun for existing. Too damn bright.
The brunet slowly stumbles out of bed and closes the blinds, briefly relishing in the newfound dimness of his room before throwing on the first clothes he pulls out of his dresser drawers. Clyde then heads downstairs to rummage through the pantry, taking notice that everyone who attended the party last night must've gone home.
Hmm, gummy snacks? Nah. A muffin? No, those are dads. Pop-Tarts? Score! Clyde grabs a package of cinnamon and brown sugar Pop-Tarts.
"Hey, Clyde!" The male in questions shrieks throwing his breakfast in the direction of the voice. "Ow! Oh- sweet, Pop-Tarts!"
"The fuck, dude?!" Looking at the "intruder", Clyde realizes it a parka-less Kenny, who is now eating what was supposed to be the brunets breakfast. Grumbling to himself, Clyde turns around to grab another Pop-Tart. "What're you still doing here?"
"Got lucky last night." Kenny speaks through a mouthful of his- Clyde's- food. "Ya might wanna clean your dads' sheets, bro."
Clyde takes a moment to process what the dirty blond says, a bit confused. Clean dads' sheets? Why would I- "Sick, dude!"
Kenny only laughs as Clyde glares at him and gags.
"You got lucky too, yeah? Who was it?"
"Huh?" The brunet squints his eyes, having no clue what Kenny's going on about. "Man, I can't remember shit from last night."
Kenny raises an eyebrow. "Dude, whoever it was must've been good, you were so loud I could hear ya over Craig. And he's the loudest dude I've ever been with- hell, he's louder than any girl I've been with."
Clyde tunes out the other, not wanting to hear about how loud his best friend is in bed and tries to remember last night. Short, black hair, tiny tits and scars, tall- "You were with Craig last night?"
"Uh, yeah?" Kenny is the confused one now. "Kyle and Tweek, too. Why?"
"Because whoever I was with looked like Craig, but like, if he was a girl with the smallest tits I've ever seen. And scars."
"Yeah, she had scars on her chest, like right under her tits." Clyde goes quiet as the realization sits in and Kenny looks ready to tell him off. "Oh fuck. I hooked up with a trans guy, didn't I?"
"Probably, dude." Kenny doesn't look as mad now, though her voice holds an ounce of annoyance and cautiousness.
"That means I fucked a dude... I had sex with a- but I- I'm not..." Clyde is pacing now, walking circles in his kitchen as he begins to panic. "I'm not gay, Kenny."
"Never said ya were, Clyde." Kenny sounds concerned, feeling like he's just gone through the stages of grief with how fast his emotions have changed throughout this conversation. "Y'know, ya could be bi."
The brunet stops his pacing and stares right at the blond, who seems to be typing something on her old phone. Clyde blinks. "What?"
Right as the word leaves Clyde's mouth, a shirtless (covered in hickeys) Craig walks into the kitchen.
"Craig! Thank God you're here!"
Craig immediately turns around.
did u hookup w clyde last nite ?