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“If we get caught I’m blaming you.”
“W-we’re not going to get c-caught,” Bill sighed contently and shifted closer to his boyfriend, eyes closed.
Stan watched him, taking in every inch of the other boy’s easy smile and relaxed posture. The sun streamed in from Bill’s bedroom window, sprawling across the wood floor and up onto the very bed they laid in, face-to-face.
Eyes trailing down, the corners of Stan’s mouth twitched as Bill played with his fingers, lacing them with his own and tracing patterns over his palm. Bill had the hands of a writer, of an artist. Spindly, long fingers with ink staining the skin randomly, calluses in places were pens and pencils had been held for hours. The familiar fit of them helped to relax Stan.
He sighed, sounding more resigned than anything, “Both our parents are right downstairs.”
The Uris’ had been invited over for dinner because Bill’s mother, Sharon, had been feeling particularly friendly lately. Andra, Stan's mother, and she had been friends as far back as college and had an on-and-off friendship throughout their sons' lives.
Sharon went through times like this, where she’d become the ideal, nurturing mother for about a week or two before falling back into a slump of disinterest that would last for months. Bill’s father, Zach, just went with it, as did Bill.
“So?”
“So,” Stan rolled his eyes, nudging Bill’s shoulder, “They could come looking for us any second and if they do, they’ll find us—“
Bill’s eyelids slipped open, the electric blue of his irises derailing Stan’s train of thought. Part of him hated how easily Bill could disarm him… most of him loved it. Quirking an eyebrow, the other boy finished, “C-cuddling?”
“Exactly,” Stanley mumbled, hating himself for popping the little bubble they’d been occupying for the last half hour.
Bill’s hand slipped down Stan’s arm, running over the other boy’s side and around his back, tracing his spine as he tugged him closer. Their breaths mingled. Stan felt his heart pounding in his chest and reached out to rest his palm over Bill’s to feel it flutter in sync.
“Who cares?” Bill muttered, purposely tilting his head so that his nose brushed against Stan’s. A stray curl from the boy’s head tickled his forehead and he smiled wider, “C-cuddling is what boyfriends do.”
Stan sighed, using his hand on Bill’s chest to push himself up into a sitting position, “And that’s my point, Bill. As far as my parents are concerned, we’re not boyfriends. We’re—“
“F-f-friends,” Bill scoffed, sitting up as well, “I re-remember.”
Casing his gaze down, Stan’s gut twisted and he grimaced. He began carefully straightening the rumpled sheets on Bill’s bed, trying to distract himself from the guilt welling up within.
He knew that Bill didn’t like keeping their relationship a secret. He knew that Bill only went along with things being that way because it was how he wanted things. He knew it wasn’t fair. He wished he could be as brave as his boyfriend, willing to share his feelings with the world. He hated that he wasn’t.
A hand came up to rest over his, gently stopping him from continuing his nervous tick. Stan followed the limb back up to Bill’s patient expression and understanding eyes. Cheeks flushing, his own eyes darted away, “Sorry.”
He didn’t know what for really…
Sorry I’m not brave.
Sorry my nervous tick is tidying things.
Sorry you have to deal with this.
Bill shook his head, a corner of his lips curling into an endearing half-smile, “D-don’t be.”
He leaned forward and Stan allowed the tension in his body to deflate as Bill’s lips met his and his eyes fluttered closed. His mind — his rushing, screaming, whirling mind — grew quiet for one sweet, blessed moment as he kissed Bill back.
His hands came up, weaving into the feather soft locks on his boyfriend’s head and he hummed in contentment. Right before Bill pulled away, Stan felt him smile once again against his lips. Bill always seemed to be smiling; Stanley loved and envied it.
“We can do suh-something less boyfriend-y?” Bill proposed, raising his eyebrows as he stood up and moved to the large box television his mother and father had practically tossed at him for his birthday a year ago. They’d forgotten it until the day before… the TV was their apology. “I can k-kick your cute ass in Super M-Mario if you w-want?”
“Shut up,” Stan rolled his eyes, snatching the second controller from Bill’s hand. “You don’t stand a fucking chance, Billy.”
“G-game on, Stanny,” Bill laughed, setting the game up.
They began to play, becoming more and more competitive with each level. It was a little ridiculous in the broad spectrum, considering they were technically on the same team, but that did not stop them from battling over power-ups and who got to deliver the killing blow to Bowser.
“And Princess Peach is mine!” Stan cried triumphantly. He laughed, giddily, “You know, I actually like her tiara.” He spun around to grin smugly at Bill.
The other boy stared at him with a blank expression for a moment before huffing, “I’m br-breaking up with you.”
Stan watched as Bill stood up, dropping his controller back to the bed, “I won’t share the tiara if you break up with me.”
“Keep your f-fucking tiara,” Bill rolled his eyes but Stan could hear the light tone in his voice and see him fighting back a smile.
“Well,” He shrugged, “I mean if you don’t want to share…”
He was silenced by Bill coming to stand in front of him, grasping his face and kissing him. They fell back onto the bed together, limbs and bodies tangling together with the sound of their laughter.
Stan’s brain slowed once again to a peaceful pace as Bill’s lips trailed down his jawline to his ear, his boyfriend’s breathy chuckles and his own heartbeat the only sounds that existed in the world at that moment. He ran a hand over Bill’s arm, taking in that feeling of pure electric charge that came with being in contact with the boy he loved.
Bill was the light of Stan’s life. He was Stan’s favorite thing. He made the world a better place. He made life worth living even on the days when Stan didn’t want to get out of bed. He was the motivation to keep moving, to keep trying to do good.
And Stanley loved him so much for it.
The young writer pressed one last kiss to Stan’s collarbone, moving to hover above the other boy with a teasing smile. His eyebrows drew together when he noticed Stan’s wide eyes, “What?”
Blinking to clear his spellbound brain, Stan shook his head slowly, “I just— I really love you, Billy. I know I make things hard for you sometimes but I really do — love you, I mean. Thank you for, you know, putting up with me.”
“Y-you don’t make things hard for me,” Bill rolled his eyes before carefully sweeping down to quickly kiss Stanley once again. Returning to his previous position, he bit his lip, “And I don’t put up with you, Stanny.”
Stan felt himself blush furiously, looking away with a half-hearted shrug, “Still, thank you. I mean it. I can’t tell you how much you mean to…” He trailed off, suddenly embarrassed by his own confession. God, he must sound so pathetic and needy.
Cool lips pressed against his hot cheek while a thumb ghosted over the other. Bill’s scent of paper and ink filled Stan’s head as eyelashes tickled his skin. When the other boy spoke, he spoke slowly, carefully pronouncing each syllable so as to not stutter over the words, “Shh, I know. I love you, too.”
Stan’s eyes slipped closed as he reveled in that beautiful declaration and in the dizzying feeling of being in love and being happy and relaxed for once in his life—
“Bill! Stanley! What are you two up to?! Dinners ready!” Sharon Denbrough’s voice came up the stairs, jolting both boys back to reality.
Bill stood up quickly, helping Stan up. The boy immediately began righting his wrinkled clothes as Bill ruffled his head to get it back to its natural look and not the rumpled mess Stan had made it.
He cleared his throat, glancing apologetically at Stan before calling back, “C-coming, Mom!” Reaching out, he fixed Stanley’s collar that had popped up, “To b-be continued?”
Stan rolled his eyes, cursing the blush that graced his features, and nodded, “To be continued."