hollycomb

Stan's hair was damp at the temples, sticking up funny, and by the time Kyle realized that they'd been staring at each other for way too long there was no turning back: Stan fell onto him, and they dry humped their way to paradise together, their kisses so sloppy and hungry that they both had sore, bitten lips when it was through.

He grabs Stan's face and kisses him deeply, moaning into it, wanting to get down on his knees and thank Stan for being alive, for being weird, for everything.

"We were ageless," Kyle says, starting to fall asleep, not sure he's making sense. "For at least a few minutes there. We were bigger than numbers."