Chapter Text
Only good pic I could find
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Carlton believed himself to be an intelligent man. No, he knew he was an intelligent man. When it came to anything related to school or business, he knew he was the one to beat. In fact, he took great pride in this fact. Sure, others gave him a hard time for it, but he was merely a genius in hiding.
He also believed that his institutions were insane. He was always the first to sniff a bad idea. Could it be because he was a tad paranoid? Absolutely. Nothing bad could happen to him or would happen to him. Will could hate on it all he wanted, but if it wasn’t for Carlton, they wouldn’t be so well right now.
At least he thought so. All until that hot diggity darned excuse of a gym. (It was actually a very good gym, one he appreciated, but that was unimportant.) He would have been absolutely fine had he not set foot in that stupid gym.
What had happened wasn’t really surprising in itself. It always tended to happen to Carlton; one saw love or anything related, and Carlton could be the one chasing after it.
He had, unsurprisingly, developed a big, fat one-sided crush. He could hardly complain about the situation itself; as he had said before, he always developed these sorts of crushes. A pretty girl would as much as smile at him, and he was ready to drop to one knee. That he had no issue with; someone as single as him was bound to feel that way.
As Will had once told him when he became woeful about his desperation, Look, C, what you need is a good ol’ thing I call the Will Wonder Medicine. A sweet honey in your arms, a good bone rattling in the night, and a de-licous meal in the mornin’.
The only problem now was that his problem wasn’t his woeful desperation. Well, it was still that in a way. Either way, his issue now was in the shape of a big, blonde, and so painstakingly handsome figure.
He was perfect. The way his voice carried through that smelly gym. The way he’d flip his hair to get it out of his eyes when he worked out. The way his sweat dripped from his body after a specifically gruelling workout. The way Carlton’s name sounded on his lips. The way he’d look at Carlton.
He was ruined.
He had first realized something weird was going on when he got ready to go to the gym for the sole reason of seeing Stan. He hadn’t even registered it as something strange to look forward to until he saw Stan, and his heart skipped a beat. He realized what it was when Stan saw him, called him in, and he almost passed out.
At the time Carlton froze, and Stan’s face morphed to one of worry, which sent another set of butterflies to his stomach. It shouldn’t have but to see Stan’s usually stern face actually show concern did things he wouldn’t bother writing. It had been immature, but he ran, ignoring his car, which was parked outside, and didn’t stop running until reaching a sort of park.
He realized then that not only did he feel for Stan what he felt for women, but that they had gotten close, which made it so much worse. They had stopped being trainer and trainee and had developed a strange sort of friendship. Stan had gone from his sales persona to actually being himself.
Calrton liked the attention he got, now that it was real. He liked receiving those stupid smirks from Stan when he saw him. He liked listening to Stan’s work gossip and sharing some of his own. He liked training and working out alongside Stan, competing in the dumbest things, and both of them bursting out laughing at how seriously they’d take it.
He knew it was serious when he heard Stan approach from behind him, out of breath, his eyes radiating worry just to ask if he was okay. He should’ve been ashamed of himself for causing his friend(?) to worry, but he only felt this immense joy in the fact that he had come. The fact that he had left his work just to check on him had left Carlton smiling until he fell asleep.
The issue wasn’t really Stan itself; again, Stan was perfect. It had more to do with the fact that they weren’t even friends.
At first, he had thought that maybe Stan did like him. I mean, he was Carlton Banks, and he knew how irresistible he was.
Then, a few weeks after Carlton’s revelation, a very pretty girl had walked in, and he had flirted with her. Not to sell a product, but actual flirting. In fact, he had even wrapped his arm around her waist. Since then, he noticed each and every time a woman would capture Stan’s attention. Every glance, every sweet lie, every tease.
Overcome with a jealousy-fueled motivation, he tried a bit of his own flirting. It had been disastrous. In hindsight, maybe he should’ve asked someone who knew how to do it, but he just dove right in.
He still cringed at the memory.
“Look, I really need to study right now. I have a big test coming up, and if I don’t get 8 hours in, I’ll fail. We can hang out tomorrow, though?” Carlton offered once Stan had taken a small break. He actually just wanted an excuse to hang out with Stan outside the gym.
They had been in the gym for a good hour, and usually, he wouldn’t have an issue accompanying Stan at the end of the gym hours. I mean, c’mon, spending time with Stan and watching him work out? It was pure bliss for Carlton.
Like now, where Stan was sitting in one of those gym benches, dabbing a towel on his face. That meant Carlton could look as he pleased without getting caught, or he would’ve if Stan hadn’t dropped the towel as soon as Carlton finished talking.
“Wait, please,” Stan said, grabbing one of Carlton’s arms, which god, “I swear I’m almost done, I’ll even go and study with you. I could help you with your uh….”
“Spanish?” Carlton offered, not ignoring the way Stan was still holding his arm, loosely but still.
“Si! Hola, and what not, I was a pro back in my own college days,” Stan said, switching to grabbing Carlton’s hand and squeezing.
“I don’t know…,” Carlton said a bit more hesitantly, which Stan immediately picked up on if his smirk was anything to go by.
“Oh, Carlton, you wound me. Am I really that distracting?” Stan asked, pulling Carlton until they were mere inches apart. God really liked testing him, huh?
Unless…?
“With a body like yours?” Carlton asked, a smirk gracing his face, “I’m afraid you’re always distracting.”
Stan’s face turned an unhealthy color of red before his eyes began doing a sort of scan on him, as if he was looking for something. At first, pride came over Carlton, his smirk growing, at rendering him speechless. Slowly, Carlton’s smirk fell as Stan stayed silent longer.
“Sorry,” Carlton said, freeing his hand from Stan’s, “I overstepped. I’m going to let you finish the set, and again, I really have to study.”
“Wait, I–No I-god-I–Carlton?”
Carlton was out of the gym in seconds, pretending not to have heard Stan. He felt an overwhelming sense of shame and guilt. He was his friend at most, and he had taken advantage of the trust placed in him. He was never going to do that again.
The feeling of shame still arose just from thinking of it. Luckily, Stan never mentioned it again, and neither did Carlton. Though the thought remained. He would not act on his feelings and put that on Stan. He had never not acted impulsively on how he felt; he was one to rush, but this was such new territory that he actually wanted to wait.
It was becoming increasingly difficult, though. Like the times when they showered in the gyms and Stan came out wearing nothing but a towel. Like right now, in which Carlton had gone to the gym but had still been forced to wait in the locker room. Carlton, even when he didn’t work out himself, came to visit Stan towards the end of his work, which Stan used to work out. Stan would then force Carlton to wait for him, since this was basically the only time they spent together.
Stan, like always, had come out to talk with Carlton in nothing but that damned towel. He was waiting for some of the other gym members to exit the sauna since it was full at the moment. And of course, it made sense to chat with such a flimsy piece of cloth.
They were currently inbetween two sets of lockers which had a bench in the middle. He was sitting down, since he had been waiting for Stan, and Stan was standing, leaning against the lockers.
“And can you believe Helena actually went on a date with that excuse of a human?” Stan said, producing a chuckle from Carlton. “I did get some money out of it; it’s nice to actually know the person you’re threatening. Works ten times better.”
“Oh ya, I remember the months of us talking before you basically blew my eardrums out,” Carlton said, sarcasm thick in his voice.
“Please, you were, and still are, the most spoiled person I know,” Stan furrowed his eyebrows before correcting himself, “actually, I believe Hilary takes first place, if only by a little.”
“Excuse me for spending another hundred dollars for you to treat me nicer,” Carlton said, stabbing a finger at Stan’s chest, “And I am very humble, thank you very much.”
Stan raised an eyebrow before speaking, “You do realize that the act of spending a hundred dollars for a nice gym instructor is the opposite of humble, right? Not to mention that you don’t pay me anymore, and I’m still nice.”
“Oh, please forgive me, high and mighty,” Carlton said, mock reverence in his tone, “Should I send you a bill for the last five months?”
“Money is a reward for a job, being with you is reward enough, Banks,” Stan said, mockery leaving his tone.
Why did he have to say those things? Was he trying to torture Carlton? It was so much worse considering where they were and in which circumstances. They were currently alone, it was warm, and Stan had nothing but a towel, which was hanging dangerously low.
“When are Helena and Will going out again?” Carlton asked, a not-so-discreet attempt to change the topic.
If Stan noticed, he didn’t comment, instead answering his question, “I think tonight? I do know it’s later today.”
Ugh, that meant no poolhouse for Carlton. If they slept together, which they probably would, Carlton would have to stay in some crappy motel again.
“Wait, hadn’t Helena and Will already, you know? Done the deed?” Carlton asked, a bit confused about who would still go out with Will.
“Fucked, you mean?” Stan corrected, letting out a little laugh at Carlton's appalled face, “We’re adults, Banks, we can talk about it. And yes, they had ‘done the deed’. You do know people still date, right?”
“Well, duh, but who would willingly go out with Will after they already slept together?” he asked.
Stan let out a bark of laughter, that damn towel slipping even more, “I ask myself the same question. Apparently, Helena likes guys who can man-handle her.”
Well, she’s onto something. He would do anything for Stan to have his bastardly way with him. Well, maybe not bastardly because Stan wouldn’t do anything of the sort, but he wouldn’t mind being manhandled by him.
“I really didn’t want to hear that, Stan,” he said, scoffing. He loved his cousin, but he greatly disapproved of his love life and didn’t need specific details.
“You don’t want to hear about Helena’s and Will’s sex life? I’m shocked,” Stan said, mock shock taking over his features.
“I really hope they don’t sleep together after this date,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, “He’s going to kick me out again so they can build a shelf.”
Stan's face crinkled up in frustration before morphing to confusion, “Build a shelf?”
“I-yes? They build a shelf and then when they sleep together, when they get tired,” Carlton stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I have no clue why they don’t want me around, but whatever.”
“Carlton,” Stan said, his voice stern, “Please tell me you're joking.”
“No….,” he said hesitantly.
“Oh my god,” Stan said before taking a deep breath, “How can you be so mature and then be so childish?”
“Excuse me very much, but I am not childish,” he said, mildly offended and looking to the side, “I’m only five years younger than you.”
“And somehow you don’t know they’re having sex,” Stan said, smirking at Carlton from the corner of his eye.
“Shut it, Anderson,” that being Stan’s last name, “I’m not exactly the most experienced sexually, so of course I’m not gonna know that.”
“That just won’t do, Banks,” Stan said, getting closer and-oh god-tilting his chin up, “It would be a real shame not to-”
Right at that moment, a door swung open behind them, interrupting whatever he was going to say.
“Dude, that’s why you don’t fall ‘sleep in a sauna, dumbass,” a loud voice boomed, “Ay, Stan, we cleared it up for you. Get your ass in before someone takes it.”
There were a few more exchanges of words from afar before they disappeared, but luckily, no one walked into the row of lockers. They looked back at each other for a moment and couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed when he let go.
“Bunch of idiots those two,” Stan muttered under his breath while fixing his towel, “Join me, Banks, obviously the two of them left, so there's probably room for two.”
“Well, I don’t really know, I mean-”
“I don’t remember asking Carlton,” Stan said, his voice dropping an octave. He should’ve been annoyed, but his body obviously didn’t get the memo. Actually, he needed to leave now before his body reacted inappropriately.
“I’m sorry, Stan, but I do have to leave,” Carlton said a bit sterner this time, “and last I remember we’re past the bossing around stage.”
“Shit, I didn’t mean it like that,” Stan said, his voice a tad worried, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep-”
“No! No, I was quipping back, I’m ok with that, it wasn’t you. Either way, I do have to go do,” do what Carlton, do what?, “some errands! Will’s probably going to want food in the morning if tonight goes well for him.”
It wasn’t a lie exactly. He did need to restock and was trying to hold out from asking Geoffrey. Ever since the whole idea with his son, he’s been a bit more strung up, which who could blame him. Either way, he was moving out when he got accepted into Princeton; practice was good.
“Perfect then! We’ll go together,” Stan said, talking again before Carlton could protest, “and that’s not up for discussion. We haven’t spent time together aside from here, and I’m not busy.”
“What about the sauna?” Carlton asked weakly.
“Skip the sauna,” Stan responded gruffly, “Friends are more important anyway. Unless you don’t want to spend time with me?”
“Of course not! I always want to spend time with you,” Carlton blurted out.
“Oh?” Stan smirked, an eyebrow shooting up.
“Just go get changed, rascal,” Carlton shot back with little bite.
“At your order, Banks,” Stan said dramatically, bowing to Carlton.
Stan opened the locker grabbing some clothes, and leaving to one of the changing rooms. It was hard enough not to be weird in the gym, now outside? How ever, would he survive? He was even considering asking Will for advice, which reeked of desperation.
~~~
In the end, they actually had fun running errands. It had started as mild chatter between them, and before he knew it, they had been racing to see who could get the most items on his list. Carlton lost immensely, considering how little he actually set foot in a store.
After spending some more time strolling through Be-lair in Carlton's car (Stan apparently always walked home), they somehow ended up in Carlton’s poolhouse. It was safe to say that Carlton’s heart was in his throat. Everything Stan did heightened his nerves.
Stan was currently sitting in the coach just looking around the poolhouse. It was normal considering it was his first time in here. Carlton was preparing a meal in the kitchen which wasn’t normal. He didn’t know the first thing when it came to cooking.
Do you want me to cook something? Carlton had asked out of nerves.
You know how to cook? Sam had responded with an amused chuckle.
Just for that, I’m making you the best meal of your life. Carlton had responded to the response with an offended glare.
Alright Alright, anything’s good. Thanks, Banks. He had said, patting his back. It was by far the straightest thing in the world, but it still warmed Carlton up.
Now he was stuck attempting to cook anything at least halfway decent with a recipe from an outdated cookbook. It was safe to say that he was struggling. He had absolutely no experience and no measuring tools.
“You sure you don’t need help?,” Stan asked for about the third time in 30 minutes.
Yes. “Of course not, what kind of man do you think I am?” Carlton said while adding perhaps a tad too much salt in whatever it was he was doing.
“A man that can’t cook,” Stan replied curtly, getting up to stand opposite him in the mess that was the table.
“Well, you’re really wrong, look at how delicious this is,” Carlton said, signaling at the bowl, which looked an unhealthy green, “Please, you’re a guest, sit back and let me treat you.”
“And what is this specific treat,” he said, signaling to the same bowl,” even called?”
“The, um, huh, uh, Carlton Special,” he said, puffing his chest with pride.
At Stan’s incredulous face, he spoke again, “Just get out of here and watch something on TV.”
Stan only shrugged and walked back to the couch, turning on the TV to some news show. Carlton continued the Kale something something, trying hard to get the ingredients as close as possible. It was hard since he was also trying to do it as fast as possible.
After creating a huge mess and still wasting another half an hour, he was finally satisfied with whatever it was he did. He carefully grabbed the bowl he had been mixing everything in and put it in the oven for 15 minutes.
While the oven heated and cooked the food, he got to cleaning the counter, albeit quietly, so Stan wouldn’t offer to clean. After 5 minutes, and having cleaned most of the counter, he smelt a particularly strong smoky scent. He quickly turned around, recognizing something burning.
Luckily, it wasn’t much since the smell was weak. He opened the oven door as creak-less as he could and saw that the bowl was starting to burn. Crap. He grabbed the bowl straight out of the oven without gloves realzing his mistake when the impossibly hot bowl fell to the ground due to the heat.
“Son of a burning biscuit,” he said in a highly embarrassing octave.
“Banks, what’s w—holy shit, Carlton, are you okay?!” Stan’s voice had gone to the one he used in the gym, which meant loud.
Carlton ignored him, grabbing a rag from one of the drawers and dropping to clean the mess he made. God, he was so embarrassed, he should’ve just asked Geoffery, but no, he had to lie. The food was hot, which meant it hurt, but Carlton bit back whatever curse was threatening to come through.
“No, you get up and put that hand in cold water,” Stan said, his voice leaving room for no discussion, “I’ll take care of this.”
“But, you’re the guest, and I made the mess, and truly I’m–crap–ok,” he said, swatting Stan’s hand away.
Stan grabbed both of his hands to stop him from cleaning, “Put them under cold water now, I’ll clean.”
Carlton could only nod, trying to tame the blush that was threatening to flush his face. He got up slowly, still maintaining eye contact with Stan, only breaking it when he finally went to the sink. They were both quiet as Stan cleaned, and he stood there uselessly.
Once Stan had cleaned the floor and finished the counter, he went back to Carlton. To his perfect luck, Stan stood amazingly close, directly behind him, actually, and his arms wrapped around Carlton’s, their hand touching under the water.
When Stan spoke, his voice was just barely above a whisper, “It doesn’t seem that hot anymore. Does it hurt?”
Carlton only shook his head, not trusting his voice not to crack. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and kiss Stan senseless, but he restrained himself. If he leaned slightly backward to press their bodies closer, that was no one’s business but his own.
Stan turned off the stream of water, leaving them just standing there. He returned his hands to Carlton’s, leaving them there. There was no reason to stay there, but he prayed Stan wouldn’t move
“Perfect, now I’m going to prepare a pack of ice for you, ok?” Stan had leaned down, asking the question directly next to his ear.
“Mhm,” was Carlton's only reply, which sounded closer to a groan than an actual sound.
If Stan noticed, he didn’t say anything, only letting go of him to get the ice. Had it been anyone else, he would’ve been overjoyed. Actually, he would’ve already tried every trick in the book.
Sadly, it wasn’t anyone else; it was a guy, which meant that anything he did would’ve been much more perverted. It didn’t mean he was incapable of getting certain reactions. He turned his head around to look at Stan, who was currently looking for ziplock bags.
“Third cabinet to the left,” Carlton said softly, not wanting to disturb whatever this was.
“So you do know your way around a kitchen,” Stan said teasingly.
“Oh shut it,” Carlton said, rolling his eyes, “The accident had nothing to do with my cooking skills.”
Stan had already gotten the ziplock and filled it with ice before speaking, “Then you know that plastic and the oven don’t mix, Banks.”
“I was simply trying something new. The plastic said it was oven safe. I’m sorry for believing it. Had you le–uh,” he stammered to a stop as Stan stopped right in front of him, squaring his shoulder and looming over him.
He had no right to feel as turned on as he did right now. Helena was definitely on to something. Stan could bend Carlton over right now, and he would let it happen.
“Had I what?” Stan asked softly.
“What?,” he asked, confusion clear on his face.
“Interesting,” Stan said before stepping back and grabbing the ice he had left at the counter.
He was still aroused, but confusion was overcoming him greatly. What the heck was Stan–Oh. The oven thing. Flip, Stan had once again rendered Carlton speechless, and once again Carlton didn’t mind.
“Here, hold these and go sit on the couch,” Stan said, plopping the ice in his hands, “Allow me to cook something at least edible.”
“But you’re my g-” he got cut off by a finger to his mouth, which was rude.
“Nonsense, like a wise man once said, ‘sit back and let me treat you’,” Stan said while smirking.
Carlton swatted his hand away and stomped to the couch, popping in A League of Their Own. It was, in his honest opinion, the best movie ever made. He wasn’t mad at Stan shushing him, but he was humiliated, and this movie was the best distraction.
About 20 minutes of the movie had passed before Stan appeared before him, bearing a toothy smile and a very appetizing meal. He paused the movie grabbing the plates, as Stan sat down and then gave Stan one of them.
Carlton kept his stare fixed on the plate when he spoke. “Thank you for the meal, it looks very good,” he took a breath before continuing, “I also apologize for my outburst earlier and for lying about being able to cook. I was nervous, I guess. You’re really cool, and I want to impress yo,u but you can see how that turned out. I’m not saying I’m a loser desperate to have friends or anything, I have plenty. I mean, just ask–” he was cut from his rambling by Stan titling his chin towards him.
“Hey, it’s ok, don’t apologize, and I’m sorry for hushing you,” Stan said with a soft smile on his face, “And it’s an absolute pleasure cook for you, no need to thank me.”
“Now, we have a chick flick to watch,” Stan said, turning on the TV.
“First of all, it is not a chick flick,” Carlton said, pausing the TV again to gain Stan’s attention. “Second, it happens to be one of the best movies created.
“So what I’m hearing is, ‘I’m definitely going to sob at the end of this movie’,” he said, his head leaning on his hand.
“Excuse me? I never cry, thank you very much,” Carlton said, ignoring how close they were. Ignoring the way their legs were brushing and how easily he could slide his hand to Stan’s shoulder.
“Really? Not even after a full workout?” Ah, right, he tended to do that.
“You,” he said, shoving Stan’s chest, “are wrong. I was merely sweating from my eyes.”
“Mhm,” Stan hummed, his face radiating disbelief. His hand was still in his chest, just resting there, but Stan didn’t say anything, so Carlton kept it
“What!? It’s true,” Carlton exclaimed, only making Stan smirk.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”
“Your face did.”
“Oh my god,” Stan muttered with a fond eye roll, “I wasn’t aware you could read my face, Banks.”
“But of course,” Carlton said, daring to do small rubbing motions in Stan’s chest, “I’m a really good reader after all.”
“Oh, I know,” Stan said, and was he closer than before? “If your grades are anything to go by I don’t doubt it.”
“And how do you know my grades?” Carlton asked, whispering for some reason. He was so close now, and he was actually massaging his chest. He felt like he could explode from the adrenaline currently coursing through his veins.
“You brag about it all the time, Banks,” responded Stan, his voice a bit out of breath, and that was much more attractive than it had any right to be.
“What can I say? I’m very proud of my—” he was cut short when he felt a very wet something fall into his other hand that was holding the plate. He turned his head down to look at the plate, and to his horror, the food was slowly falling into his hand.
“Darn it,” Carlton muttered, moving his other hand from Stan’s chest to push the food back into the plate, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to spill your food.”
“Don’t you dare apologize for an honest mistake,” Stan said, grabbing some napkins and handing them to Carlton, “It wasn’t your fault you were distracted.”
Carlton flushed at the mention of what happened. “When committing a mistake due to being distracted, it is called negligence. When someone commits an act of negligence, then whatever incident occurred is that fault of said person. Though it is argued that in some cases, or some distractions, this act of negligence can be the other party’s fault.”
“So your saying it’s my fault?” Stan asked with a touch of teasing is his smirk was anything to go by.
Carlton let out a little tsk before speaking, “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Anyway I think the food got cold so lets just start the movie.”
“Oh,” Stan said about to say something, stopping, and then speaking, “Sure, the not chick flick chick flick.”
Carlton gave a small smack behind Stan’s head causing him to burst out laughing before pressing play. Carlton couldn’t help but smile as he ate his food. He hadn’t gotten a good bone rattling but he did have someone beautiful by his side and a very good meal in his lap.
He desperately wanted something more between them but if this was all it could be, he was ok with that. As long as he could be with Stan Anderson he’d be happy.