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“You look cute in your bathing suit,” a soft voice whispered in your ear.
Moving your sunglasses down a tad to glower at Stan as he hovered over you, a small blush coloured his cheeks. You pushed his face away with a small, playful smile. “You’re blocking my sun, Uris,” you quipped. He gave a low chuckle, sitting down beside your sprawled out figure on the cheery yellow striped beach towel.
Today was a perfect day.
Technically, perfect would be lounging on a yacht in the middle of the Atlantic, surrounded by all of life’s luxuries, fanning yourself with hundred dollar bills. But c’est la vie. A day at the sunny quarry with your friends was your idea of perfect, and you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
Taking a long breath of air, you couldn’t help the smile that stayed splayed on your face, lazy and all too inviting to Stan’s gentle teasing. “You sure you’re not just nervous about me being this close to you?” he offered lowly. You turned your head to look at him, eyebrow raised. Usually, he wasn’t this outwardly flirty with you, especially not when you two weren’t exactly alone.
“I’m absolutely fine, but how about you? I know you haven’t been out here long enough for that to be a sunburn on your face,” you baited, reaching over to pinch his faint rosy cheeks like a grandmother with a vengeance. He groaned before trapping your hand in his, holding it to his face with a light grip. Leaning in closer as if on instinct, you noted how his gaze was fixed on your lips, just as yours were his.
“Watcha guys doing?”
Mike’s voice startled you of whatever hazy summer love spell you had momentarily been under and acting in total impulsiveness by your panicked mind, you did the one thing you could think of to cover it up.
You lifted your hand marginally away and slapped Stan’s cheek.
“Got it!” you yelled, shuffling slightly away from him as both boys stared at you in unreserved disbelief. “What the hell!” the golden hair boy hollered, reaching up to cup his cheek. “The bug on your face, I uh—I got it,” you fibbed, giving your most innocuous expression. Stanley would know it was a lie, but all you needed was for good old Hanlon to buy it. Judging by the partial skepticism crossing his features, but overall accepting nod, it had done the job.
You couldn’t risk the others finding out about you and Stan.
It had gone on for a couple of months now, this hiding and sneaking about. For years you'd harboured a crush on Stan. As a kid, you had no idea that the feelings you had felt towards him were of the romantic nature. There was a lot of animosity, a lot of confusion and a lot of tension, but as you’d aged, you became exactly aware what type of tension it was. And though you liked him, you couldn’t risk telling him and losing all those things you’d admired from afar; the way his nose scrunched up when he began to think too hard, the grace in which wrapped around his tone and demeanor, and his brilliant but frustratingly challenging mind always pushing you further, to better yourself.
You’d both finally had enough of this stupid, mutual pining at Richie’s last party. The alcohol in both of your systems probably had a hand in it also, but that version was a little less romantic. Not that Stan impulsively throwing you up against the wall to make out with you was necessarily romantic. Just hot.
Both of you had tried to ignore it, pretend it had never happened in a stupid ignorance that made things even more awkward than they had been before. But it just kept happening. And happening. And happening. It was like when you were around each other, it was only a matter of time before you would lock eyes and an invisible force would shove you two together with the heat of two starved bears.
Yeah, at that point there was really no fighting or denying it.
Still, even though you two had officially been dating for two months, you hadn’t told the Losers’ Club yet. It was kind of nice just to have it between you two, having no one else but into your business. Then again, you were mostly just afraid that the relationship wouldn’t last. Not that you didn’t want it to. You really, really did. But it would be easier to try to act like nothing had ever happened if the others had no idea. Richie, for one, would never let it go, and Ben? Ben would be so nervous about having a broken up couple around each other he’d constantly be waiting for a bomb to drop and trying to dilute any awkward tension, in turn, making it more awkward.
At first, Stan had agreed. It was the practical thing to do until you both had truly settled into everything and figured it out. Neither one of you wanted to jump the gun, per say.
Unfortunately, Stan was no longer as apprehensive as you were.
You thought he would be one hundred percent on board with keeping it from your friends, always having been the more anxious one, annoyed with the other’s pestering about him and his personal life. But the past two weeks he’d been on your ass asking ‘when are we going to tell them?’ and complaining that he ‘can’t keep it in any longer, it’s going to slip out, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.’
His puppy dog look killed you when he did that.
“See you later Stan,” you grinned, popping up from your tanning position on the grass, racing up to Mike and jumping on his back, clinging on as you wrapped your legs around his waist in a piggyback fashion. Mike chuckled lowly, carrying you down to where the others were down by the water as Stan hollered from behind you, “you can’t keep killing bugs forever!”
Odd choice of words, but you got the gist of what he was trying say.
“I didn’t see a bug,” Mike hummed, as you rested your chin on top of his head. “It was tiny,” you stated, “a tiny, tiny bug.” Mike nodded his head, but you didn’t need to see his face to know that his gaze reflected disbelief. “If you say you saw a bug, I believe you,” he mused, “because that’s what friends do. They believe and support one another,” he quickly continued as the smile on your face dropped.
Well, shit.
As you got to the shoreline of the water, you slid off his back and patted his shoulder, avoiding the eye contact he was trying to make. You always cracked under eye contact.
“It’s just a bug, Mike,” you replied with a small shrug and hesitant smile, “it’s not that deep.”
Mike stared at you for a long beat and you knew he was debating on further confronting you on the matter or not. Jesus, your heart was beating so much faster than it had when you and Richie were kids and you ripped a worm apart and both ends started moving. At least then your heart was beating in excitement thinking you two had life healing superpowers. Now it was beating in pure, unadulterated dread and anxiety.
“Okay,” Mike said.
“Okay,” you sustained.
Staring at each other in some type of friendly, ‘what do we do now’ face off, you were broken from the awkward spell as Stan came stumbling from the spot he was before, eyes locked with yours. Yikes. He looked determined. Determined to talk.
You were determined to not.
“Well, see ya in the water!” you yelped, quickly turning around and racing right into the cool, sunlit reflected water. Wafting your way through the waves to the rest of the Losers' Club tossing around a football in the water, you hollered, “pass it my way!”
At the corner of your eye, you saw Mike cast Stan a look, but the golden boy was way too preoccupied giving you a stare of his own to even notice. Damn, he looked fed up. Deep down you knew he wouldn’t reveal the truth of your relationship to the others so long as you weren’t okay with it. He was a good guy and pushing you that far would break the trust you two had developed. But you also knew that you couldn’t force him to keep it a secret and expect him to be fine with it and stay with you. You would do it eventually, but now? Now you just wanted to spend a nice day at the quarry with your friends.
You mouthed a small ‘sorry’ to Stan as you turned towards Bev, stretching your arms up to catch the ball she threw towards you.
Before you knew it, two hours had passed. You had floated on, bathed in the sun, and even built a sandcastle with Eddie that Ben accidentally tripped over. You’d also successfully managed to evade Stans every chance to get you alone, but from the unhappy antsy look on his face, that really wasn’t something you should have been proud of.
The sun had now begun to set, painting the sky with yellow-orange hues, casting hazing warm shadows on everyone’s faces. The warm breeze that wrapped around you was distracting enough, but the anxiety of the impending conversation was eating away at your nerves.
You would do it. You had to do it. Just not here. Not now.
And then a fucking Frisbee hit your face.
“How’s La La land, Baby Cakes?” Richie hollered over to you, a wide grin spread across his features as he laughed. Shooting him a nasty glare, you snapped back, “it was fine before you showed up, asshole,” chucking the Frisbee back at him with as much force as you could. He raised his arms up to block it, still laughing away.
“Holy shit, you’re bleeding,” Stan’s voice suddenly called out from where he sat around the recently built fire. Instinctively reaching up, you put a tender hand above your brow, removing it as you felt a warm stickiness to look at the red slightly coating your fingertips.
Damn.
“Y-You okay?” Bill’s troubled eyes looked at you, standing up from his spot to glance at the wound. Stan was very quick to join him, reaching up to inspect the most likely minuscule cut. “It’s fine,” you grumbled, trying to bat his hands away before he trapped your wrists with his gentle grip, giving you the stern ‘no-nonsense’ look you knew all too well. It shut you right up as your eyes fell to look at your suddenly fascinating shoes. Was that a freaking stain? What the hell was on your shoe? Who the hell dropped—
“We’re going back to the truck to clean it up.”
“What?” you squeaked as if someone had squeezed your sides and pushed all the air right out your lungs. “Stanley, I’m fine,” you argued with a breathy scoff, stepping away, stumbling only a bit with lightheadedness. His arms quickly shot out to grip your shoulders, pulling you back closer to him. His warm eyes shone a weird mix of concern, frustration, and inexplicable smugness. The bastard. “You sure about that?” he quipped, as you mumbled under your breath, “that could have been from too much sun exposure.” He didn’t even humour you with a reply as he just began hauling you off.
You almost flipped Mike off as you caught him giving the tiniest of chipper smiles your way.
Silent on your small trek to the truck on the off road parking area, Stan only let you go to swing open the door, patting the driver’s seat saying an expecting, “up you go.” You crossed your arms over your chest, shooting him a scowl. “I’m not a dog,” you disputed.
Stanley sighed, taking small strides towards you. Cupping your cheek with his gentle palm, he bent his head down lower to a more eye-level position and the sudden change in his demeanor made your mouth slightly gape open in shock, unsure. His voice softened due to his whispered tone as he breathed out your name, and you wanted to argue that the wind caused the sudden chill that shot through your body but that was a big damn lie.
“I just want to check out the cut, okay?” Gently brushing his thumb tenderly over your cheekbone, you unconsciously leaned into his touch, craving more. A small, fond smile tugged at the corner of his lips, pleading tenderly, “you’re hurt, and I don’t want to see you hurt, so let me fix it.”
There were only a few inches separating your face from his, sharing almost the same breath as you just gazed into his comforting eyes. You barely nodded your head, mumbling, “okay,” in defeat. The genuine, loving smile that found its way on his face constricted your heart, and as you closed your eyes and leaned in for a soft kiss to finish what both of you had started earlier in the day, his hand suddenly dropped from your face as he stated in a loud tone, breaking the tension, “I’ll go grab the first aid kit!”
His previous smile had turned teasing; he knew exactly what he was doing. You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop your own amused smile as you groaned, “I deserved that.”
Sitting on the raised seat of the truck, facing out of the open door so your feet dangled outside, Stan quickly rushed back with the small kit in hand, already having an antiseptic wipe in hand. Scooching over a bit so he could plant himself right next to you, you tried your best to face him in a way that made your legs comfortable, but you couldn’t find a spot. Stan just raised an eyebrow at you as he set the things down, grabbing your hips and sliding his hands down a little more slowly then he needed to, positioning your legs so they wrapped around his torso, pulling you closer.
“Better?” He offered.
“Much,” you affirmed with a small blush.
Picking back up the wipe, he ripped open the small travel sized package and leaned in closer, raising his hand over the cut. “This will sting,” he warned, his eyes entirely focused on your upper brow. You scoffed, replying back with, “I think I can handle a little—“ but as soon as the coolness of the cloth touched the cut and a dull stinging pain shot through that small section, you hissed and winced back in pain for dramatic effect.
Stan immediately ripped his hand away looking utterly horrified. Grinning, you released the fake tension in your shoulders and sing-songed, “just kidding,” as he stared at you with the cutest frown of all time, pressing the antiseptic wipe back on your face with a vengeance. “Please laugh at my joke, it sucks when the only person who validates my humour is Richie,” you complained as he continued to work. Stan gave you the driest, most sarcastic “Ha Ha,” in return, but you appreciated the effort.
Sitting in silence as he finished his work, you took the time to unabashedly study his face. As a kid, he had always been a lot more mature than the rest of your friends, and his perfect posture and ever-neatly pressed clothes reflected that. As he aged, it was no different. His angular face grew more fitting, becoming an elegant kind of handsome. The only part of him that ever seemed slightly out of place was his unruly, curly hair. It was adorable, and you’d taken the advantage many times of running your hands through with it or playing with it when you were alone.
He was patient but tough. As much as you were always frustrated with how much he pushed you, you knew it was his way of showing he cared. It was never hurtful or done in malice. You respected him so much. He was a brilliant light, and suddenly a pain constricted your soul at the knowledge that keeping your relationship a secret had hurt him. Was hurting him. You wanted him to be happy, and you had avoided him. How could you do that to someone you loved?
Because you did love him.
Looking at him now, there was no doubt in your mind that every single part of you loved every single part of him.
“What are you smiling at?” Stan asked with an inquisitive look after he was done, rubbing his hand up and down your arm in a soothing motion you weren’t sure he even noticed. Utterly caught up in the moment and your thoughts, you couldn’t even process that your mouth had started moving, words tumbling right on out in a matching soft caress.
“I’m in love with you.”
Stan froze up like he’d just gotten shot of all things, and you swore you’d never seen someone so motionless in your life. “Pardon?” He sputtered out, his honey brown eyes opening wider.
Then your brain finally caught up to what you had said.
Gripping his face between your hands in a wretched panic, your own terrible, cold shock took over your body as you tumbled out in an unstoppable stream, “wait, oh God, that was too sudden, wasn’t it? Please, please don’t get freaked out, I was just staring at you and I was so distracted, and it just kind hit me, and Stan, I’m so sorry about today, I’m so sorry if I’ve hurt you by keeping this a secret, we can go tell everyone now, I just can’t lose you, you know? I was just scared--“
Suddenly your breath was cut off when his lips crashed into yours, unexpectedly, greedy, and utterly intense. Melting into it, your hands slipped to the back if his neck, his weight leaning into you comfortably. You groaned as he just as suddenly pulled away, but slowly and painfully. He pressed his forehead against yours, whispering a quiet, “breathe.”
You did as he said and sucked in a much-needed breath.
“I love you too,” he smiled with a breathless laugh, squeezing your sides which he gripped so desperately, “I love you so much.”
“Good. I mean, I’m—I’m glad,” you laughed out, utter relief washing through you with a tension you hadn’t even known you’d been holding. Stan’s own beautiful laughed joined in with yours, as you leaned into to give him a tender kiss.
Reluctantly pulling away, you slid your hands away from his neck, moving down to grip his hands, still needing to feel him anchored to you in some way. “Are you sure you want to tell everyone?” Stan questioned, lowly still, and you nodded your head. “Yes. I’m sure,” you stated, surprising yourself at how resolute you sounded. “I’m sure about us, and I don’t want you to feel like I want to hide this or that I’m ashamed. I never was, I just didn’t want it to change anything.”
The pure joyous smile that suddenly spread across Stan’s face was almost worth all the stress of today.
“They’re never going to let this go,” he added in a teasing warning, giving your hand a small squeeze. You let out a small laugh, biting your bottom lip. “I’m ready to deal with it if you are.”
Stan didn’t even need to voice a response, instead of letting his lips meet yours again in an unrelenting kiss, hands wandering up and down your body as you fought to get a proper grapple on him. You two had had intense make-out sessions before, there was no doubt about that, but this… this was something on an entirely different playing field. It was like the boy had held back on you all these months, and he was just letting out all of that pent up energy, nervousness, and everything he was ever unsure about. It was a raw need.
Moving forward a bit, you pressed your hands to his chest and successfully maneuvered your legs already wrapped around him to straddle his sides, trapping him in his place against the seat. Giving a cheeky little grin against his lips, Stan’s hands moved down to squeeze your upper thighs before moving them to rest on your lower back just under your shirt. His lips never once left yours, the utter tenderness making your heart feel like it was going to give out any second.
A mild moan left your lips as Stan moved down, leaving a trail of kisses from your cheek, to the corner of your jaw, under it, to where he settled in the crook of your neck. You couldn’t stop the breathy sigh of his name as it escaped you, and as you began to tangle your hands into his hair that you loved so much, you could have kicked him as he breathed against your neck, “I love hearing you say my name.” Cupping his jaw, you moved his face back up, muttering, “shut up, you idiot,” before pressing your lips against his in a once more greedy kiss. He obliged.
Leaning his head away, he gave a gentle nip at your bottom lip before opening his eyes to gaze at you under his heavy lashes. His lips were slightly swollen, breath heavy, face a little redder than usual. You probably mirrored the same image.
“Let’s wait to tell them tomorrow,” he stated. Bewildered, you pulled back and let your hands slide down to rest on his arms. “You’re okay with that?” you questioned hesitantly. Dang, you hoped this wasn’t some weird elaborate trap. Stan nodded his head, his shy smile returning to his face. God, he was so cute. “Yeah. I want it to be just us for a little while longer if that’s okay?”
Returning his smile with your own beaming one, you gave him a final gentle, but lingering kiss. “Of course it’s okay,” you offered, maneuvering yourself off your position on his lap and jumping out of the truck to the gravelly ground. Stan followed suit.
Grabbing his hand for one last bit of contact, both of you made your way back to your group.
As soon as you found your way squished in around the little campfire surrounded by your friends, immediately you knew something was up the moment everyone stopped talking abruptly. Turning to give a questioning side glance at Stan, he shrugged his shoulders, looking equally as perplexed as you felt.
After about thirty seconds of silence, you threw your hands up and exasperatedly bit out, “what!”
“Is that a, uh, burn mark on your neck?”
The question was directed from Ben who was sat beside you, but by the sudden look of pure horror that crossed Stan’s face, you knew without even looking that the thing he was talking about certainly wasn’t a burn mark. It was a god damn hickey.
Mother fucking shit!
“Oh, Ben sweetie, no,” Bev tsked as she gave an all too amused smirk at him, trying to cover up her chuckle beneath a hand. You felt a certain blush of heat rise to your cheeks as you shot up in embarrassment.
“Doctor Stan, I’m pretty sure there are rules against fucking your patients,” Richie laughed out. Both you and Stan returned it with an aggravated, “beep beep Richie!”
“I’m allowed to give the person I’m dating hickeys!” Stan shot out in defense, as the group replied with a hearty chorus of “whats” and “dating?” Soon, so many questions began to be directed your way, your friends overlapping themselves in a loud, desperate attempt.
Mike Hanlon, the saving grace he is, finally hollered out, “hey!” and successfully shut them all up, all eyes turning to him.
“Anyone want to roast marshmallows?” he smiled.
And just like that, everyone nodded their head in agreement, moving past it just as quickly as the news had come. Rolling your eyes, you sat back down on the log made bench and gripped Stanley’s hand in yours.
It was still a perfect day.