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The universe, it seemed, had been determined to wreak havoc on their date. That had to be it. Just Derry’s typical string of weird bad luck. After all, it wasn’t either of their faults that the power had gone out in the middle of the movie. Or that Bill’s truck wouldn’t start. When the pickup wouldn’t budge, they shrugged and took off running as fast as they could towards the Denbrough house to escape the downpour.
Escape was a bit of a loaded word. Because they didn’t actually make it to Bill’s house without getting wet. In fact, both were soaked to the bone by the time they got there, panting and shivering on the porch for a minute before Bill had the sense to fish his keys out of his pocket and unlock the door. Their shoes were muddy, and their clothes dripped on the wood floor. Bill’s mom would be sure to grill him about the mess if he didn’t clean it up before she saw. But he could worry about that later, after they were dry.
Right now, all he was focused on was Stanley, who stood there in the dark, shaking like a leaf. He was rubbing his hands up and down his arms to try and generate some heat, but to no avail. Stan’s curls were plastered to his face, darker than they usually appeared when dry. His icy clothes clung to him, doing nothing to help. The boy shuddered, brushed his hair away from his eyes, and shook his hand off to be rid of the excess wetness. Bill frowned.
“S-some date, huh?”
“Bill, we’re soaked. And I’m freezing.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He whispered apologetically, taking one of Stan’s hands in his own to try and warm it. Stan sighed tiredly, untangled their hands and squeezed Bill’s fingers to get him to look up. When Bill did, he was met with a soft smile and Stan leaning forward to gently bump their foreheads together a moment.
“Hey- it’s fine. A little water’s not gonna hurt anybody. Do you have any clothes I can borrow? Or a towel?”
“Yeah. I’ll get s-some from my room. We can p-put these ones in the dryer in the m-meantime. Towels are in the hall closet.”
“Okay. I’ll get those then.”
Exchanging an awkward chuckle about their disappointing outing, the pair split, Bill heading upstairs to grab himself and Stan a change of clothes, and Stan going to the downstairs bathroom to retrieve two of the large, fluffy bath towels from the hall closet next door. They met up again in the laundry room, each holding their respective bundles. Bill had brought Stan his spare pair of flannel pajama pants, and a green sweatshirt with a noticeable smear of dried blue paint across the torso.
Stan turned the garment over in his hands while Bill struggled with trying to get his clingy t-shirt up and over his head. The stain was old, but the fabric was the tiniest bit stiffer where the blue lingered.
“Have you finally gotten paint on all your clothes, or did you pick this one special for me?”
“I g-grabbed it b-because you were shaking when we came in. It’s my warmest one.” Bill replied simply, flinging his wet shirt into the open drier as he spoke. His hair stuck up in all directions, and Stan felt a sudden urge to reach over and smooth the wayward locks back down. But he didn’t. Instead, he just smiled and leaned in to catch Bill by surprise with a kiss on the cheek.
“You’re sweet. I hope you know that.”
Denbrough turned a pretty shade of red at that remark, then resumed undressing a moment later.
“Just h-hurry up and change! You’re the one complaining about the c-cold.” Bill laughed. He’d been fighting with his jeans when Stan had kissed him, and they didn’t seem to want to let go of his legs, even if they were already past his knees. Stan finally started to change out of his own wet clothes, undoing the buttons on his overshirt before shrugging it off and hanging it over his arm.
His plain undershirt came next, just as Bill managed to finally free one of his legs from their denim prison by hopping around and pulling. The other came easy after that, and he did a quick pocket check while Stan put his shirts into the dryer. Confident that he wasn’t about to throw any non clothing items in with the laundry, Bill tossed his jeans in, quickly followed by Stan’s slacks and their socks. They’d opted to leave their damp briefs as they were for modesty’s sake. Nothing a little body heat wouldn’t dry up in half an hour.
Bill tossed in a dryer sheet and started up the machine. Stan grabbed one of the towels and rubbed at his curls to stop them from dripping before toweling off the rest of his body. The material was soft, and cozy compared to his chilled skin. Given how cold he felt, Stan was a bit reluctant to unwrap it from his shoulders as he went to pull on Bill’s sweatshirt. He did anyway, though, folding the damp towel up and setting it back on top of the washer when he was done. Bill’s own towel had ended up on the floor, Stan noticed. When he looked up, Bill was fixing his hair, standing there in just his pajama pants.
“D-did I get it?” He asked. Stan studied him for a moment, then stepped forward, muttering ‘ here ’ before running his fingers through Bill’s hair to straighten out a flyaway by his ear. His touch lingered a moment, and Bill’s gaze caught his attention when he’d finished smoothing out the wayward lock. Brilliant blue eyes stared right back into his, and Stan felt himself flush. He sighed. Those eyes were always his undoing. Before Stan knew it, his fingers had drifted to cup Bill’s cheek and they were kissing again.
Bill wasted no time in pinning Stan back against the washing machine, the cool metal pressing into the backs of his bare legs. Their kisses grew deeper. Slower, but all the more intense. Bill’s hands tangled in Stan’s hair, gripping with the gentlest of pulls, earning Bill the satisfaction of Stan whining softly into his mouth. It was admittedly one of their more heated make outs, albeit being one of the most short lived.
They’d gotten a bit overeager, and Stan’s freezing hand had wandered and touched Bill’s bare side, giving him a jolt. Bill yelped against Stan’s lips and ended up involuntarily slamming his knee into the washer with a bang. Both of them flinched, fearful of waking Bill’s parents, but were relived when they heard no movement from upstairs. With a whimper, Bill crumpled against Stan and let out a litany of curse words into his neck. Stan’s chest reverberated with a silent laugh, and he wrapped his arms around Bill’s shoulders, shaking his head at the poor idiot he was in love with.
They both ended up laughing after that, arms around each other while they fumbled over words and apologies. Both agreed that they should finish getting dressed before doing anything else, kissing or otherwise, and managed to keep their hands to themselves. Mostly, anyway. After mopping up the mess by the front door and disposing of their towels in the hamper, the pair ascended the stairs to Bill’s bedroom to wait while their clothes dried.
Bill flicked on the lamp as he entered the room and moved to clear off his bed. He gathered up the pile of textbooks and sketch pads he’d left there and put them on the floor so they’d have somewhere to sit. Stan turned on the radio on Bill’s desk and tuned into some late-night station playing soft music. He kept the volume low to not wake Bill’s parents, but up just enough that it provided them with pleasant white noise.
“D-did you want to stay over?” Bill asked, climbing into bed and pulling back the covers. Stan sat down moments later, crawling in next to Bill and sitting back against the headboard.
“What do you think,” he answered, “It’s eleven o’clock, my clothes are drenched, your car’s downtown, and it looks like an ark might come sailing down the road outside at any minute. I don’t think I’ve got much of a choice.”
They scooted closer after he settled, leaning against one another with their shoulders touching. Bill pulled the blankets up over their legs, and both let out a small sigh at the feeling of warmth that surrounded them at last. His knee bumped against Stan’s under the covers, and their fingers tangled together where they’d been touching on top of them.
“Do you need to call your p-parents?” Bill asked, leaning so his head laid against Stan’s cheek.
“They’re in bed by now. I told them I was going to the movies with you and Richie before I left, and that we might stay over at his place depending on when the movie got out, so I should be fine.”
“Oh, okay. S-..sorry again about that, by the w-way..”
“It’s fine. The movie was kind of boring. And besides, I’d rather just spend a night in with you, anyway. This is nice.”
Bill smiled, and squeezed Stan’s hand. Stan turned and pressed a kiss into Bill’s hair, and smiled in turn.
After that, they sat silently for a while, enjoying each other’s company. Half an hour passed, and eventually, somebody yawned. Bill shifted so he could lie down, Stan following suit. The boys wriggled and maneuvered under the covers, eventually situating themselves comfortably so they were facing each other. One of Stan’s legs was hooked over Bill’s hip. Bill’s arm was curled comfortably around Stan’s middle, his hand resting on his lower back. Stan’s head was next to Bill’s on the pillow, eyes already half-lidded with sleep.
“This is nice.” Bill echoed Stan’s previous sentiment, turning his head to give his boyfriend a lazy peck on the lips. Stanley smiled contentedly against his mouth, returning the kiss before pulling away and tucking his face into Bill’s shoulder. Bill reached over him carefully, turned out the light, and snuggled closer before heading off to dreamland himself.
By the time Bill’s mother had come to wake him up the next morning, Bill was already up, and Stan was already on his way home, having gotten up early so he’d have time to grab his school bag before the first bell. And if anyone else had noticed Bill’s truck missing from the driveway, or the fact that his green sweatshirt was gone from the open dresser drawer, nobody bothered to mention it.