#fordlee

This is their third sailing trip, second extended expedition. The sun’s rays are just barely peeking over the horizon, casting a wavering sheet of golden light across the translucent sea.

Their schedules are so in sync by this point that it’s rare for either of them to be up without the other trailing behind five or ten minutes later at most.

They share a bed- for space, obviously. (“Logical, it’s logical.” Ford had said as they piled their blankets and pillows together. Stan had agreed, because what better way to indulge in his favorite torture – trying to keep his treacherous hands off his brother.)

Ford wakes up first, joints popping and cracking as he sits on the edge of the bed. Stan’s eyes are already open, sleepily blinking away the last remnants of a dream where Ford had his hands wrapped around Stan’s sides and his mouth pressed to the swell of his throat.

Ford smiles down at him, and Stan can’t even find it in himself to be guilty about his unconscious desire. Ford is just that perfect.

Then, without fuss, Ford leans over and presses his sea-chapped lips to Stan’s mouth. Stan can feel the still upturned corners of his brother’s smile where they’re pressed together.

It’s incredible. It’s natural.

Ford pulls away just as casually as he leaned over. He holds a hand to his face and yawns, mumbling something about starting a pot of coffee.

Stan watches him go, heart light and head filled with nothing but love for his nerdy brother. It doesn't matter if he's in a dream or not, his devotion never wavers.

...

It isn’t until Stan is halfway through flipping pancakes that the moment fully crystallizes. In his surprise he drops the spatula on the counter, watching it clatter around as his cheeks burn with the very real memory of his brother's lips pressed against his own.

“Ford…?”

Ford is seated at their breakfast nook, going over the expedition plans for the day. “Yes, Stanley?”

Stan has to swallow the lump of nervousness caught in his throat. “Did you… did you kiss me?”

Ford looks confused for a moment before his eyes widen in mirrored realization. His face goes red, and his hands tremble before he clasps them around a coffee cup for stabilization. “I… I’m so sorry-I didn’t realize-“

Stan holds up a finger. He tries to keep his voice neutral, but it wavers slightly with his nerves. “Don’t say sorry unless you didn’t mean it.”

Ford looks about ready to jump ship, but his eyes remain glued to Stan’s own, matching the intensity of his gaze. “...I did.”

Stan grins, and despite the years of torturous romantic pining, this small admission is all he needs.

Lights Out

Stan and Ford are halfway through a seemingly never-ending game of Crazy Eights when the subtle thrum from their generator hiccups, thumps, hisses and goes quiet.

“That doesn’t sound good.” Stan says as he lays down the fifth eight of the deck within the last couple turns.

Ford would have called him out for cheating, but when the lights flicker out, plunging them in an all-encompassing darkness, he has bigger complaints to air out.

“Damn it Stanley, I told you to fill up the generator with gas the last time we were at port!”

Ford hears Stan give a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, well if I’m remembering correctly, you were the one interrupting me with some technical mumbo-jumbo when I was trying to do it!”

Ford massages his temples in a half-hearted attempt at self-soothing. “Alright, alright. Bickering won’t get the lights back on. Come on, we’ll sort this out in the morning when we have natural light to work by.”

Ford can’t see how Stan reacts, but he can hear his all-too-familiar grunt of approval.

Odds are that the generator was on fumes, the real question is why the backup generator failed as well, and in the case that both died they may need to invest in some new power blocks…

Ford stands, but without the visibility provided by the ship’s overhead lamp maneuvering out of his chair has him bumping his hip and whacking his elbow into the table with all the grace of a newborn deer.

Stan hears his unfortunate scuffle and gives a deep chuckle. “Having trouble there, Poindexter?”

Ford rolls his eyes, a gesture that conveys nothing when Stan can’t see him do it. “I’m perfectly-”

Ford trips over something, knees coming down hard against the wooden floorboards. He catches himself with his hands before his head can hit the floor too.

Stan laughs harder, and can he really blame him? He seems to have an unfortunate knack for comedic timing.

Ford feels the tips of his ears burning. “Yes, very funny. Please do laugh at my misfortune like an unruly schoolboy.” Perhaps the dark isn’t so bad if his brother can’t see the embarrassment on his face.

Stan snorts, and a few wayward bubbles of laughter follow. “Sorry Sixer- let me help ya.”

Ford sits up, reaching for the vague direction Stan’s voice is coming from.

Their hands immediately find each other, as if pulled together by forces neither of them could hope to understand- they’re twins, and something even closer than that- so Ford doesn’t question the way his six fingers know their way to Stan’s and knit together with his five, it’s simply a fact of life.

The touch is comforting, almost enough to dull the sting of shame from floundering around in the dark.

Stan pulls him to his feet and steadies him with a hand at his waist. He’s gotten used to the roiling of the boat atop the waves, so why do his legs suddenly feel like jelly?

“Thank you, Stanley.” He mumbles under his breath.

“Anytime, doll.” The husky rumble of Stan’s voice is much closer now, right against his ear. With his sight impaired Ford’s hearing must be heightened, because just those two words send shivers down his spine.

Stan tugs Ford forward, and he follows after him blindly, trusting he won’t be pushed over or run into any more table corners. “We might as well hit the sack- not gonna get anything else done anyway.”

Ford should probably focus on keeping his footing, but his attention is drawn instead to the point of contact between them.

His thumb skates across the arch of Stan’s hand, running along his knuckles. He can feel a barely raised scar running horizontally across the top that he’s never noticed before. Maybe it’s too faded to see- maybe he never bothered to look. “Whatever you say.”

In the dark the callouses of Stan’s hands are more prominent, the planes of his palm more defined. His hands are those of an artist, a craftsman, a mechanic. They tell the story of someone who has worked hard and made their fair share of sacrifices- more specifically, they tell the story of Stanley’s sacrifice for him, his brother.

But if Ford follows that trail of thought he’ll surely find himself falling again, this time in the same guilt trap of regret that’s had him in its grip for the past year and a half.

Tonight is not the time to work himself into another fit of apologies- he promised Stan he wouldn’t do that anymore anyways…

So for now he’ll just be thankful that Stan used those calloused, rough hands of his to pull him back from a life of tireless dimension hopping, or in this case, to their shared quarters.

The Stan-O’-War’s hallway is loaded with knickknacks and trinkets from their various expeditions, and as the two make their way to the bedroom something is knocked off the wall. It clatters around before Stan accidentally steps on it, causing it to snap.

“Whoops.” Stan says with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’m sure whatever it is just needs a bit ‘a superglue- that stuff hasn’t failed me yet.”

Ford chuckles too, thinking about the impressive assortment of taxidermy that Stan managed to fill the Shack with while he was gone. For all they know that glue was the only thing keeping the business afloat, keeping their dream alive. Ford is thankful to Stan, and to superglue.

He smiles wide despite the damage, almost giddy that Stan can’t see the sappy reminiscing on his face. He wouldn’t call himself a closed off person, but showing his emotions wasn’t exactly encouraged when the two of them were coming up, so he usually finds himself suppressing his more sensitive reactions. Things are really changing nowadays, and always for the better.

They stumble as a unit, knocking down a few more knickknacks off the wall.

The dark is nostalgic in a way, reminding him of a much simpler time- when their Ma would turn out the light and he and his twin would put together their own sleepover. Ford would sneak his flashlight underneath the heavy plush comforters of Fort Stan and read comics while Stan kept him entertained with hasty scribbles to accompany his spurious spooky stories- it was the perfect escape, definitely worth the risk they took of falling asleep during class the next day.

Ford’s fingers smooth their way up Stan’s arm, tracing the bulging veins in his forearms made prominent from manual labor. It’s easy to get lost in that touch, fingertips skating across every uneven bump and wisp of hair. His brother is a fascinating creature, certainly worth more careful research.

Stan reaches the door to their cabin-Ford can tell because he lets go to push it open.  They only part for a moment, but when Stan reaches back for him it makes Ford cling even tighter.

His brother shoves aside the clutter on the ground as they walk. He most likely kicked their belongings going by the sound of the clothes and pencils that go skating across the carpet. “Moses, I’d like to know which knucklehead left all this crap on the floor. Damn tripping hazard even without the lights out.”

Ford smirks, unable to let go even if he didn’t need Stan’s help finding his way around. “That would be you, darling.”

“Well, that explains it.” Stan says with a cheeky lilt to his voice that says he knew all along.

It was strange at first sharing a room with his brother after being apart for so long, but they stepped back into it so naturally that Ford almost couldn’t believe they’d ever stopped. Stan still left his clothes on the floor and Ford still covered every surface in books and notes and journals, they were habits neither of them were soon to break, and surprisingly Ford has missed his other half’s quirks- even if his half-finished craft projects got in the way sometimes.

Stan moves past the mess and leads Ford to the side of the bed before sitting down with a grunt.

“Last stop, cuz I ain’t feelin’ my way to the bathroom, you can figure that out on your own.”

But Ford still stands, somewhat awkwardly clasping to his brother.

“You can let go now.” Stan says but makes no move to disentangle them.

Ford is grateful for the unintended privacy awarded by their current circumstances, because he must look like a fool trying to formulate a response that doesn’t make him sound like a lovesick puppy. “What if I don’t want to?”

Stan doesn’t immediately say anything. Without being able to read his facial expressions Ford can’t tell if that’s a bad thing.

“Then c’mere.”

With a wave of relief Stan pulls him closer, practically on top of him as he leans back in the berth of the boat.

Ford cozies up next to him, pressing against his side and holding their closed fists to his heart.

In the black night the world seems quieter. The usual noise from their environment fades away, and Ford feels his focus entirely, completely, fully on his brother.

With their bodies so close together he can easily tune in to Stan’s steady breathing, the even beating of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest against Ford’s cheek.

He wants to savor and analyze every bit of it, but he wants more than that too…

Ford spreads his fingers, and Stan mirrors the motion. They bring them together the same too, and Ford is reminded once again that the parallels between them will always be stronger than their differences.

But then he takes the initiative, hooking his fingers around Stan’s wrist and holding him tight before running them down his arm. The soft cotton of Stan’s pajama shirt sleeve catches him before he can get further than his elbow, so he digs his fingers underneath and appreciates the warmth lying below.

His other hand wraps around Stan’s hip, and his thumb slips just barely under the waistband of his boxers.

“Heh, getting’ handsy there, aren’t ya?” Stan mocks with no bite. “Like a teenager trying to cop a feel in the back of a movie theater.”

Ford flushes.

Is that what he’s doing? Is this moment so charged because of the allure of ‘getting away with it’ so to speak?

He lets his hand continue to roam in sensory exploration, until he can cup the soft yet sturdy flesh of his brother’s bicep.

No, it’s not that. This is something more… reverent. Stan is his best friend, his everything, and he ought to know just how thoroughly Ford adores him- every part of him.

He squeezes Stan’s arm and revels the way he can feel him flex under his touch. “I’m simply… loving you.”

Stan lets out a huff of air. “Heh, I get it.” He shifts again, putting space between them that Ford chases to fill. “Must be nice not to have to see this ugly mug once in a while… I guess I could get used to sex in the dark.”

Ford’s heart twinges.

There it is. That painful self-conscious doubt that clings to Stan like a dark shadow, haunting him despite the reality of the situation.

“No.”

Ford’s refusal is probably not as strong without the grimace that goes with it, but Stan still jolts slightly from the force of his conviction.

His fingers curl tighter around Stan’s shoulder and hip, pressing him close. “How many times must I tell you you’re beautiful before you believe it?”

Stan’s breathing is uneven now, his heartbeat arhythmic. “Just cuz you say it doesn’t make it true.”

Ford pinches him.

Really, his brother is being so difficult.

“It is true- it’s always been true!”

“Yeah, yeah…”

He doesn’t know how many more ways to say it, doesn’t know the magic words that will shake Stan of his misplaced body shame. Stan is the one who’s good at talking to people and getting a point across, but if all he has are his words then Ford will continue to try…

“I’m not attempting to engage in intercourse because the lights are off, Stanley- it’s because I’m so irrevocably attracted to you that I simply can’t keep my hands from your person! I love the way you look, and I love the way you feel- and the way you make me feel…”

There’s a pause before Stan speaks.

“…So you are trying to have sex with me?”

Ford groans, dropping his head to Stan’s chest.

“I can tell you’re being purposefully obstinate- but I can’t understand why.” He raises his face only to drop it against his brother’s sternum with more force. “You’re so incredible, Stanley. I only wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

Stan coughs awkwardly. “Well technically I can’t see anything right now.”

That’s the last straw.

“You stubborn, gorgeous idiot.” Ford grates out. “You brought this upon yourself.”

Stan makes a questioning little grunt before Ford straddles him, successfully pushing out a louder sound of surprise.

“What’re you-”

Ford feels out the hem of Stan’s shirt and lifts it all the way to his collarbone. “Appreciating your body, because you refuse to do it yourself.”

Stan doesn’t have a snappy retort for that one.

So Ford lays both hands on Stan’s stomach, feeling the beautiful, soft expanse of skin for the marvel it is.

Stanley is hefty and strong, he’s always had bigger arms and a bigger chest- it’s one of the first ways their bodies began to really differentiate. Ford can recall a few too many days spent ogling his brother’s changing body, wanting to feel those differences, and fighting off much-too-strong emotions that threatened to surface and overtake him like a literal wave of lust.

He had repressed those desires back then, but not anymore.

He squeezes Stan’s love handles and makes a satisfied noise, rocking just slightly on Stan’s lap. Like this he can focus on every little sensation, and against the pads of his fingers he feels stretch marks- smooth, subtle grooves of slightly raised skin that wrap around Stan’s sides. He traces each one he can find and whispers soft words of praise.

“You’re so gorgeous, Lee. So sexy.”

Stan whines like he always does when Ford attempts to shower him with affection. But Ford knows his brother too well, for as much as Stan protests, he needs the reassurance.

He travels higher up Stan’s body, along the middle of his stomach until he can palm through his coarse chest hair and cup his full pecs.

Ford doesn’t have a favorite physical feature per say…. But Stan’s tits might just take the figurative cake for the most addicting thing to play with.

Stan’s supple breasts are like putty in his hands, and he kneads and massages them to his utter satisfaction. When Stan’s breaths come faster he pinches his nipples, just to hear the way his brother comes apart.

“Shit, Sixer-” Stan’s voice is strained, and comes out even raspier than usual. “You trying to rile me up?”

Ford smirks. “Is it working?”

“Damn straight.” Stan mutters. “Can I get a kiss before you make me cum or is that too forward?” His nonchalant attitude would probably work if Ford couldn’t hear the earnest want in his voice.

He shifts on Stan’s lap, hiking his legs further up the bed so he can easily lean down to kiss him, but his aim is slightly off and he instead presses a kiss to the bridge of Stan’s nose. They both chuckle before trying again, and this time their lips lock together in a kiss that’s light but laced with desperation. The stubble along Stan’s jaw feels sharper, adding to the heightened sensation.

As they continue to kiss, Ford's hands come up to comb through Stanley’s gray curls, carding through the soft locks from his temples down to his shoulders. He’s been growing it out for more than a year now, and his hair has never looked so beautiful and long and windswept and perfect.

After a few more increasingly deep kisses he pulls away to press his lips to Stan’s throat, sucking and nipping at the tender skin there. At the same time he gives a slight tug to Stan’s hair making him gasp.

“Stanford.”

He can feel the way Stan’s adam’s apple bobs against his mouth when he swallows.

“Yes, love?”

Stan shifts underneath him. Then there are hands at his hips, firm holds that ground him even further into the moment, they feel like hot irons against his skin.

“Don’t stop.”

Ford wouldn’t dare.

He continues to leave kisses along Stan’s neck, down to his collar bone and then his chest, he goes further- to his belly and even lower- his lips follow the trail of coarse body hair until he reaches the wiry fuzz just above the waistband of Stan’s boxers.

He hasn’t touched him there yet, but he’s happily surprised to find Stan hard and tenting in his boxers.

He pulls the waistband down and lifts himself up and off his brother so Stan can yank them the rest of the way down his legs. He tries to sit back down but Stan stops him with a hand to his chest.

“Nuh-uh, buddy. I’m gonna need you to even the playing field here a little first.”

So Ford obliges, shuffling out of his sleep shirt and throwing it somewhere to the side, possibly on the floor. He goes for his pajama pants next, shimmying them down before they’re caught around his knees.

It feels different stripping when Stan can’t see him- part of the enjoyment usually comes from Stan’s reactions and the way his eyes rake over him, but like this he can focus more on himself, and less on any potential reaction. It’s… actually nice. Ford isn’t overly self-conscious, but it’s hard not to focus on the scars and embarrassing tattoos that cover his body, even if his brother has mentioned he doesn’t mind them…

Oh…

He's been a bit of a hypocrite then, hasn’t he?

 “Are you naked yet or what?”

Ford rolls his eyes, once again not very helpful in communicating anything at all. “Eager now, aren’t we?” He sits between Stan’s legs, but otherwise keeps his hands to himself.

Stan humphs. “Hey, I wasn’t the one pawing at you like a horned up t-ohhh fuck!”

Ford’s lips wrap around his brother’s cock- it’s even better when Stan can’t see it coming, getting to draw out a surprised moan like that.

He gives a few licks to the head before taking him deeper. He focuses more on the taste than usual, salty- and a bit addicting to be honest. Ford doesn’t give head that often, but when he does it’s always such a pleasing experience, drawing those noises out of Stan and watching as he falls apart.

And plus, he wants to appreciate this part of Stan especially, wants to feel the thick weight of him all the way down his throat. It’s a sensory smorgasbord.

He rubs his thumbs into the divots of Stan’s hips as he bobs his head. Stan makes a litany of pleasing sounds, babbling into the night air like he’s rehearsing a prayer.

“Shit, fuck, Ford-“ He bucks his hips and Ford just barely pulls off enough to prevent himself from gagging. “God- Ford. A-are you gonna fuck me? Cuz I ain’t gonna last like this.”

Ford pulls off entirely, licking his lips. “There’s a novel idea.”

“Nerd.” Stan pulls him up by his hair, getting a teeny bit of payback for before. “I ain’t asking you twice.”

“Needy.” Ford says, but he stretches his way toward the edge of the bed to grab the lube just the same.

His hand swats at where the nightstand should be, and at one point his fingers make contact with something hard but it topples over and onto the floor with a bang. (Most likely a book left on the edge- that could be either of their faults…)

He continues feeling around for the drawer, but to extend his reach he has to drop to his elbows, and their fronts brush together.

All that skin-to-skin contact feels divine- so he soaks it in, draping himself across his brother and holding him tighter.

He would continue his search, but when Ford accidentally rocks their hips together and it leaves them both gasping as their cocks make contact, he gets distracted.

“Fuck, just-” Stan moans when Ford leans forward again and their cocks grind together. “Nngh- do that- do that more.”

Ford gets a better idea. He grabs Stan behind the knees and carefully hoists his legs up in the air, pinning his thighs together.

“How about this? Can I fuck your thighs?”

Stan groans his approval. “Fuck- yes- please.”

Ford uses one hand to hold Stan and one hand to stroke himself, he spits in his hand to get just a bit more lubricant before happily sliding himself between the soft skin of Stan’s thighs. He moans at the heavenly feeling as he grinds forwards and back, letting his jaw drop open as he lets out repeated grunts of pleasure.

And then he gets the angle just right, massaging himself between Stan’s thighs and successfully grinding against his brother’s cock when he pushes all the way forward.

“Fuuuck, Six- feels amazin’.”

The sensation sends a shiver of pleasure down Ford’s spine. All that friction in just the right places… a bit of precum leaks from his tip, leaving a wet streak against his brother’s skin.

Stan squeezes his thighs together tighter and the pressure increases to a level that has Ford seeing little stars light up in the dark.

It’s not easy to keep his composure like this, not with the dirty sounds and the way Stan has him locked in place, milking him for all he’s worth. Each sensation feels strengthened by the deprivation of his environment- and with just a few more clumsy thrusts he feels himself already teetering on the edge of an orgasm.

But his brother beats him to it, shaking and moaning and twitching against him as he comes. Usually there’s some visual cue- some warning, but now they’re reduced to the physical- the minute tremors in his thighs, the shaky exhales that signal he’s reached his climax.

He feels Stan’s release rub against their cocks, slickening his thrusts and smearing across the sensitive skin of his dick. If he wasn’t close before this surely would’ve been enough to drag him over the edge.

As it stands, he’s desperately trying not to cum- just to experience a few more seconds of this heaven on earth- his cum-slick cock rubbing between Stan’s thighs and giving him an overdose of serotonin that feels downright overindulgent.

But he can’t hold off the tidal wave of his satisfaction, and soon his hips are stuttering as he loses his composure. The blood rushing in his ears seems louder, the pressure at his groin stronger, and his peak is imminent. He lets his mouth fall open, rambling. “I’m close- oh Stanley! I love you, I love your body- your thighs- I love-fuck-”

Stan only squeezes him tighter, caging his cock between his supple thigh meat. “Do it, cum all over me. Show me how much you love me, Sixer.”

Ford loses all restraint at that, grunting forward with one last uncoordinated thrust before he spills over onto his brother.

His legs can barely keep him up, and he quivers as he comes down from his powerful orgasm.

It’s amazing, and more intense than he thought possible.

And he wants to say something sappy, the kind of thing that Stan will complain about and call him a sentimental knucklehead for but that they both know needs saying anyway. Something like 'I don't need to see when I already have the light of my life-'

But then the lights come back on.

It’s nearly blinding at first- being in the dark for that long had his eyes adjusting to the low light, so being suddenly assaulted by the overhead lamp has his pupils shrinking to pinpricks and leaves him blinking through a series of colorful afterimages and black spots. The jump from a post-coitus bliss to an all-out assault on his senses makes him groan in discomfort.

But after suffering through the pain of his overtaxed photoreceptors Ford is finally able to see clearly.

And the sight is breathtaking.

Stan is still splayed out against the pillows, cheeks ruddy and flushed as he rubs at his eyes. His gray curls are mussed and sticking up at odd ends, messy and loved thoroughly by Ford’s fingers. His chest is tinged pink and sheens with sweat as he takes deep breaths, his shirt is still rucked up and only kept in place by his gorgeous swollen chest. Ford looks down at his brother’s stomach to find it splattered with white-a mix of his and Ford’s release, and Stan’s cock is still flushed and draped against the curve of his gut.

When Stan lowers his hand Ford gasps.

His face, his expression- it’s almost too much.

Stan looks so cheeky and satisfied, and the line of drool running down his chin is more than enough evidence of his submission to debauchery. Not being able to see his descent makes the redness of his lips and the hickies blooming at his throat even more noticeable.

He’s perfect.

“Heh. Watch’ya starin’ for Six? You look like this is the first time you’re seein’ me like this.” Stan’s voice is hoarse from overuse. It’s incredibly hot.

“It may as well be.” Ford says, unable to keep the reverence from his words. “You’re so enchanting I feel as though this is the only sight that matters.”

When Stan genuinely smiles and blushes at the praise, Ford takes that as a well-deserved win.

He’s not going to solve all of Stan’s body issues today, and chipping away at that shame piece by piece will take a lot of time and effort.

But luckily, that’s exactly the thing he wants to dedicate himself to- he always did love a challenge, after all.

“You know Ma’s going to be positively fuming about the suits.”

“Eh, I kind of expected as much.”

“And I’ll bet Pa’s going to have you working the shop all winter break just to pay for them.”

“Probably, and just after I finished paying off El Diablo… promise to keep me company? “

“If I can stand to hear you whine about the dusty antiques I might.”

“Heh, well you know it could be worse.”

“And how could it be worse?”

Stan turns to him then with a grin that shines a million times brighter than the tacky disco ball the school had hanging above the dance floor. “Could have been just you standing out there soaked through to your boxers in punch.”

Ford forces out an annoyed sigh, but he can’t keep his amusement out of it. Stan had been so foolish, what was he thinking pulling a stunt like that? Stan wasn’t the one with the lousy come-on and the awkward attempt at flirting. What did it really accomplish when at the end of the day here they were; with their expensive rental tuxedos stained, no dates to speak of, and smelling faintly of cherries and alcohol (Someone had spiked the punch bowl- and Ford had a hunch it might’ve been his very own brother) “You’re ridiculous.”

“But it made you feel better, didn’t it?”

Ford tucks his face into his knees.

It did, their shared misfortune was nothing compared to the brief moment he had felt so hopelessly alone. Like the freak everyone makes him out to be... but it didn’t last for long. They may be experiencing twice the humiliation, but together they could take just about anything. It really did feel like something they could openly laugh about down the road, however many years it took.

“Yeah, it did.”

Stan smiles quietly to himself. There had been no question about it, for as many dumb mistakes as he had made in life, this felt like the right thing to do. Seeing his brother getting humiliated out there had been terrible, so he did the first thing he thought of. They did everything together, why not this too? He didn’t care if he got in trouble for it, didn’t care if their Ma found out he had ruined his suit purposefully and made him do chores all month, anything to make his brother feel better. He was a bit overprotective like that.

And well, his overprotectiveness wasn’t the only reason…

It’s still too cold to stand sulking outside so the brothers took up a spot in the hallway, leaned against the wall and listening faintly to the party still going on inside the gymnasium.

The muffled sounds of voices, laughter and outdated rock songs slip through the tiny crack in the door, making the hallway feel like an awkward vestigial extension of the party. They haven’t really left, but they didn’t stay either. Pretending like everything was okay after being rejected wasn’t Ford’s cup of tea, and coming home so many hours early would only raise more questions with their family than either of them wanted.

So they sit, shoulder to shoulder on the cool tile.

It isn’t an awkward silence, but Stan would much rather have a reason to hear Ford laughing than sitting and twiddling his thumbs.

“Which pickup line did you use on her anyway?” He nudges his brother with his elbow playfully. “The one about Uranus? Or maybe the Bunsen burner?” His voice is bright and teasing, but there isn’t a shred of mockery to be found.

Ford chuckles. He and Stan had gone over so many crummy 'scientific' pickup lines- but of course he’d fumbled the singular one he tried. “The one about covalent bonds actually, not that I got the punch line right anyway.”

“You sure got the punch, though!”

Ford punches Stan’s elbow, but he can’t help laughing harder. “You jerk.” If he was any more heartfelt, they would have been smack dab in the climax of a Hallmark movie.

“Hey, don’t sweat it bro, maybe she’s more into meatheads.” Stan slicks back his coif, whose wet strands are slowly falling out of their meticulous updo. “Although anyone with a brain wouldn’t go after a snob like her- especially now.”

That gets Ford thinking. Stan hadn’t secured a date for the prom either, but it’s not like he couldn’t have. Despite his cheeky attitude, he has a certain… charisma. It had worked on girls before, and maybe more than just girls…

“Why didn’t you bring a date?”

Stan pauses in his failing attempt at salvaging his hairstyle. It’s not that he didn’t want a date, but the idea of actively trying to get one just didn’t sit right with him. Not this year, not after these… feelings started bubbling up.

“Eh, I don’t know. Didn’t feel like it I guess.”

If Ford knew the real reason, he probably wouldn’t be so comfy to sit and chit chat about it.

“Oh.” Comes Ford’s soft reply. “Well, I think that’s fine. You don’t need to bring a date to these things.”

“Yeah.” Stan agrees, in all honesty he did have one person he wanted to bring as a date… but he doubts that would have gone over well. Besides, the photos their Ma took on the Pawnshop stairs before they left were as close to a prom couple picture as he wanted.

The conversation dies down again, so Ford picks it up this time. “I suppose I could have taken a page out of your book, maybe then we wouldn’t have found ourselves here…”

In truth he doesn’t know why he tried so hard to get a date in the first place… it’s not like he really wanted one either. Like usual, it came down to the social pressure, he’s already so different that he feels beholden to at least try and fit in. He probably tries harder than anyone, but when you’re a freak it doesn’t come easy….

But it didn’t matter if he fit in when it came to Stanley, Stanley always has his back.

He doesn’t need a date when he already has Stan.

Stan tries to brighten the mood. “Hey, it’s alright! I’m happy to help ya.” He could stop there, but he presses on. “And it’s not like I really needed a date when I already have you.”

Ford stares at him with widening eyes.

Shit, was that too candid? Too obvious? He had been so caught up in the moment, just speaking his mind, but he may have just revealed more of his hand than he realized. “Uh, I mean-”

“That’s funny.”

“What?” Stan asks, still trying to find his words.

“I just thought the same thing.” Ford smiles, bright and big, and it’s the best thing Stan has seen all night.

He turns his head so the reddening of his face isn’t as obvious. “Funny.” Stan says, when what he wants to say is ‘I love you.’

“A shame we didn’t get to dance though...” Ford mumbles. It’s barely above a whisper, and somehow it’s the most forward he’s ever been.

He doesn’t know if Stan will take the bait, and he can’t tell if he’s coming off too strong, but for once Ford lets himself take this terrifying leap, because if there’s anyone in the world that will catch him- it’s Stan.

“Yeah.” Stan says as he builds up courage.

It’s hard not to imagine that he’s reading into it, but another part of him so desperately wants to believe. They’ve always understood each other; would it be so impossible to imagine Ford could want this too?

“Care to dance with me, Sixer?”

That’s how they wind up trying not to step on each other’s toes as they sway together, dancing to music Ford can barely hear, especially over the blood rushing in his ears and the hammering of his heart.

After a particularly egregious misstep on Ford’s part Stan shakes his head and laughs. “Ruined suits and scuffed shoes, terrible sons we are.”

Ford rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to buff it out with your toothbrush later.”

Stan suddenly dips him, causing Ford to let out a little shriek.

“You were saying?” He’s wearing a grin that’s the perfect mix between a corrupt car salesman’s toothy smirk and an award-winning silver-screen smolder.

Once righted, Ford grabs Stan by the waist and spins him.

There had never been a proper leader in the first place, but now the twins take any and every opportunity to push and pull and manhandle each other in a loose parody of a ballroom dance. Honestly how did they expect to dance with anyone else when this is as coordinated as they could muster?

Ford trips backwards over his own feet at some point and falls against the gymnasium door, finally pushing it closed with a click.

And before he can pull himself up, Stan is there to take the next step.

“Got ya.” Stan says before bracketing his brother’s legs with his own. “Can’t spin me now, huh?” He asks with a teasing lilt to his voice. Their dance was sloppy and unpracticed, but he couldn’t have had more fun dancing with anyone else in the world.

Ford smirks that devilish little grin he wears when he’s about to fire back with some ultra-lame comeback, which makes the next words he speaks even more unexpected.

“You have me.”

Stan blushes, suddenly narrowing in on every single point of contact between them. Their chests that are brushing together, Ford’s hand interlaced in his own, the hand his brother has at his hip…

He tries to find something to say back, but all he can do is stare.

There’s a loud voice in his head that tells him to look away, but he couldn't if he tried...

Stan has gone silent, and the silence between them stretches ever longer, accentuated by the almost complete muffling of the party happening a few feet behind them.

They could pull away now, laugh about their impromptu dancing and try and forget whatever moment this was, but Ford knows himself better. This tension between them is tangible, and if he had a free hand he feels like he could play it like a guitar string. But whose move is it in this unchoreographed routine?

Stan knows what comes next, he’s thought about it enough times to drive himself crazy. He wants to kiss him. Kiss his brother. Kiss Ford!

But that’s crazy! It would change everything; he would be risking so much… So why does he feel like doing it anyway?

Ford can’t help staring at Stan’s lips. It’s so improbable, so ridiculous, but even so he finds himself absurdly wishing that the feelings threatening to overtake his entire being when Stan smiles at him just right could be reciprocated. He prepares himself for anything as he sends up a silent prayer.

Stan wants to share everything with Ford, his dreams, his life, his love… Ford is his best friend, surely he could understand, right? If there’s anyone that understands him it’s his brother, he has to understand. Stan sucks in a breath as he lets his heart wish.

Please let him feel the same.

Please let him feel the same.

Their lips meet without another word.

It’s feathery light, and somehow the most meaningful physical contact they've ever made.

The twins melt into each other’s grasp, muscles relaxing as everything falls into place.

They move together in perfect synchronization. Ford drops his hands to wrap around his brother’s waist as Stanley pulls him ever closer.

It’s perfect, sticky sweet and tastes faintly like cherry punch.

Ford doesn’t know who parts their lips first, but soon they’re licking at each other, tasting more of that fruity goodness on each other’s tongues.

Ford feels a heavy fog coming over his senses, numbing anything that isn’t this exquisite point of contact between them. The sensation of Stan sucking on his tongue sends his mind into a frenzy, leaving him shuddering and moaning into his first kiss.

Their fronts are entirely pressed together now, hands desperately clawing at saturated silk. It’s the pinnacle. It’s everything.

They barely part for air- lips meeting again and again.

And then the door at Ford’s back flies open, sending both boys stumbling forwards and backwards respectively. Stan barely catches himself before falling onto his ass, and Ford stumbles right into his brother’s chest.

“Huhh?”  The intruder mutters, stepping into the hall. “Pines boys...? I thought you two went home...” It’s one of their classmates, and he’s a bit inebriated judging by the way he stumbles around.

Ford wipes at the saliva clinging to his lower lip with the cuff of his baby blue suit jacket. “Uh, we, um-” The truth is almost too hard to believe, just how far would they have gone if they hadn’t been interrupted?

“We were just leaving.” Stan cuts in, saving him from whatever flimsy excuse was dancing at the tip of his tongue. “What do you say, bro. Wanna ditch this popsicle stand?”

Ford nods dumbly, and Stan takes him under his arm.

It’s a short walk to the parking lot where Stan has his precious car parked. The cool night air makes his still damp shirt practically freeze against his skin, but Ford's warmth pressed against his side helps to ease the chill.

Ford digs his face into the crook of Stan's neck before clearing his throat. “So… we…” He starts before stopping.

But Stan knows what he’s trying to say, he’s certain of that now.

“I love you.” Stan answers, pulling Ford closer. “More ‘n anything.”

Ford smiles, worries abated and heart packed so full of happiness it feels close to bursting. “I love you too.”

They hug, tighter than either would usually allow for fear of their suppressed emotions seeping out. But now there’s no fear, just the secure embrace of someone they love so dearly.

“I can’t believe… I mean I never expected…” Ford has trouble finishing any thought to completion. “Who would have thought?

Stan pulls his brother even closer. “Well hey, can’t help that we’ve got great chemistry.”

Ford laughs, and the sound makes Stan's ears flush pinker than the suit he’s wearing.

“Are you seriously using those crappy pick-up lines on me?” His brother questions with a playful pinch to his side.

“Is it working?” Stan asks with a squeeze back to Ford’s hip.

Ford bites his tongue, trying not to crack. “I wish I had a cup of punch to throw at you, but it seems you’ve taken care of the job already.”

Stan pecks him on the cheek, and the casual affection shuts him up pretty fast.

“Hmm, I think I just thought of a better way to occupy ourselves while watching the shop.”

“Oh? And what might that be?”

“Hey, take off your jacket.”

“What? Trying to undress me already…?”

“Don’t need you staining my interior leather that’s what!”

“…Just what kind of stains are we talking about?”

“Perv.”

“Knucklehead.”

“Love you.”

Stan isn’t surprised to get an invitation to the senior grad party. He has friends around school, it’s just that nobody is as close to him as Ford. (And he likes it that way.) 

Equally unsurprising is his plan to bring Ford along with him. The two are practically attached at the hip- and what better place to help his inexperienced brother boost his confidence with picking up chicks?

Ford has never had a girlfriend before, and seems almost completely uninterested in romance, but when he begs him to try, Ford finally caves and agrees to go with him. 

Stan spends the whole day hyping up his brother for the party. He picks out an outfit for him that doesn’t make Ford look quite as dorky. (Even if Stan personally doesn’t mind that about his brother.) He runs through pickup lines with him, gives him pointers on how to stand and what to say… Ford only fights back when Stan tries to put some gel through his hair.

Everything is going perfectly, until they actually get there that is….

…

“Okay Six, now what do you say when she asks what you’re into?” Stan questions as they shuffle past the host of the party who’s currently rallying people to go get more drinks. (Alcoholic, no doubt.)

“Uh- Football and Cars?” Ford tries, glasses tilting with the unsure smile he has plastered on his face.

“Good.” Stan feels bad for feeding Ford answers that don’t necessarily fit with his personality- but his initial response of ‘Going to the library and doing math homework’ probably isn’t going to fly with this crowd. (Even if it is endearingly true.)

Stan pulls Ford out of the way before he knocks into a fellow partygoer, and then they sidestep a pair of girls who give them each a look up and down- followed by a  friendly smile. Stan returns it easily, but Ford ducks his head and mumbles something under his breath. 

Stan pulls his brother closer by his shoulder and speaks into his ear soothingly. “Loosen up, you look good.”

Ford blushes with embarrassment, pushing him away weakly. “Sh-shut up. I’m exceptionally ‘loose'."

Stan snorts at his brother’s awkwardness. (It's almost cute how sheepish he is.)

But that’s okay, hopefully once Ford talks to a girl he’ll see there’s nothing to worry about.

As they walk through the crowded hallway and into the living room Stan spots the drinks table and makes a beeline to it. Everyone knows the best conversation happens by the refreshments- plus it’s free food! Win-win!

Ford follows, trailing him like a lost puppy dog. “My, there are a lot of people here…” His voice is just barely audible above the enthusiastic chatter.

“Yep.” Stan pours them both a solo cup full of soda. Hopefully it hasn’t been spiked yet. (Although, some booze might help Ford relax.) “All the better for chick-spotting. See anyone you like?”

They scan the room together. Stan sees a few girls that pique his interest, even some guys-but he’s not looking for himself. He’s looking for his brother, but for some reason no-one feels… special enough. He's usually not so picky when selecting his own targets.

“U-um. Maybe her?” Ford points, before tucking his hand behind his back as if suddenly remembering his abnormality. It’s a habit Stan wishes he could physically shake out of him (because Ford’s hands are perfect), but for the time being he ignores it, instead following Ford’s pointed gaze as he nods his head in a particular girl’s direction.

She looks cute- long brunette hair, and some chic blue cat eye glasses. 

Stan gives his brother a wink and a pat on the back. “Go get ‘em, hotstuff!”

Ford stumbles forward, and some soda jumps up and over the rim of his cup, but he charges on, shuffling in front of the girl and smiling. 

Stan can’t hear what his brother says from here, but he does see the girl smile back, although subtle. Maybe she found his clumsiness charming, maybe she just likes the look of him.

She says something and Ford laughs- if a bit too forcefully. 

Overall, it seems to be going pretty good. 

So what is that horrible feeling in his chest? 

The longer he stares at them the worse he feels. It’s like every smile Ford gives and gets is sending a zing of pain through him. 

So Stan looks away, taking a long sip of his drink and ignoring the discomfort building inside him.

He doesn’t have to wait long before Ford is rejoining him at the snack table, wearing a wide smile. (And this one is just for him. That seems suddenly important.)

“Stanley! Your advice worked!” Ford looks ecstatic, and his smile is contagious. “I talked to a girl for a whole hundred and twenty seconds and she didn’t so much as spit at me!”

Stan chuckles. “Congratulations, tiger.” He pats his brother on the back again, this time letting his hand continue to rest there. 

How could he have been upset when Ford was finally connecting with a girl? He should be happy for his brother, so Stan forces an even bigger smile on his face. “Seems like you two hit it off! You get her name?”

Ford hits his palm against his forehead and blushes, apparently only now realizing his faux pas. “Oh shoot! I forgot to even ask!”

Stan laughs, feeling a bit of that pressure in his chest release. “No worries bro, you’ll have more chances.” He ignores the urge to pull Ford closer, and instead refocuses on the task at hand. “Say, what about her?”

Stan points to the couch, where a more reserved looking girl is reading a book. “She looks more your speed, eh poindexter?”

Ford clears his throat. “Yes, you’re right.” He takes a long sip of soda before setting his cup down and squaring his shoulders like he’s preparing to go into battle. “Time for the approach!”

Stan watches him as he goes, already walking with more confidence.

He can’t hear Ford’s opening line, but it successfully gets the girl out of her book, so that’s already a win.

His brother is more bold, sitting down next to her as he continues to speak- maybe he’s talking about what she’s reading? Ford has read a ton of books, so it isn’t weird to assume he might recognize hers. 

What do nerds talk to each other about anyway, their favorite equations? Which molecules are sexiest?

Stan watches as the girl uncrosses and crosses her legs, leaning further into Ford’s space.

Oh, she’s into him.

And the thought of it makes his stomach churn.

Ford leans closer too, still rambling about something he probably wouldn’t understand. 

Why? Why does watching this unfold make his skin crawl?

It’s like he’s angry that Ford is getting attention.

Not giving him attention.

Stan shuts his eyes, he doesn’t want to see the way Ford is looking at that girl.

In a way he’s never looked at him.

Shit, it’s undeniable, he’s jealous.

Stan's heart beats harder at that realization, Ford is his brother! He shouldn’t be upset that he wants to talk to girls! He needs to encourage him! He’s the reason Ford agreed to come here in the first place, and now he's messing it all up with his weird feelings!

“Stanny?”

Stan opens his eyes, surprised to see who decided to join him. “Carla?”

Carla smiles. “What’s wrong with you? I’ve never seen you look so mad at a free muffin.” She gestures jokingly towards the snacks, but in her eyes he can see genuine concern.

He and Carla have an okay relationship. Things were awkward after that fiasco with Thistle Downe, but once the hippie proved to be as flighty as Stan expected, Carla had apologized and they had since been on more friendly terms. Still, running into an ex-girlfriend wasn’t at the top of his list for party activities- especially while he’s in the middle of dealing with all these Ford-feelings…

“Eh, I’m fine.” Stan lies, physically recoiling at the way Ford’s arm curls around the back of the couch, cradling the book-worm’s shoulder. (Oh great, he’s already mentally insulting her!)

Carla narrows her eyes. “Well ya look like someone took a crap in your shoe.”

Stan sighs. “Carly-” The nickname comes out too easily, and Stan has to bite his tongue. “I’m fine, Carla. Just here to help Ford pick up girls- which he’s doing great at since I’m an amazing teacher.”

She follows his gaze, looking to where Ford and the girl are cozying up. “Ohh, she’s cute, huh?”

Stan holds back a grimace. “Yep!”

Carla hums. “They look pretty good together, wouldn’t you say?”

Stan’s palms feel sweaty against the plastic of the solo cup. “Yeah…” He averts his eyes.

“I think she’s gonna kiss him!”

“What!?” Stan whips his head back, and sure enough the girl is leaned forward- within kissing distance. 

His feet move before he can consciously think about it, strutting over to his brother and placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

The girl leans back to stare at him. Her eyes are wide and an almost affronting shade of blue.

“Hey there!” Stan starts and stops, not sure what more to say. (That isn't 'Hands off my brother, book-witch!')

Ford turns to look at him over the edge of the couch cushion. “Oh! Emily, this is my twin brother, Stanley. I mentioned him earlier.”

She nods. “Hi Stan.” Emily’s voice is deep and alluring- damn it all!

“Mind if I borrow him real quick?” Stan asks with a tug at Ford’s shirt. (Not like he plans to bring him back.)

“Sure.” she says, voice still silky smooth. “See you around, Stanford.”

Ford waves goodbye as Stan drags him up and off the couch, practically carrying him.

“Woah! What’s wrong, Stan?”

Stan doesn’t even entertain the thought of telling the truth, so he laughs jovially and pushes Ford in front of him. “Nothing! I mean uhh, Carla! Carla wanted to talk to ya!”

“Oh?” Ford glances over his shoulder, and Stan ignores the urge to force his head away from that stupid couch. “I didn’t know she was here.”

“Over by the snack table!” Stan says as he shoves Ford forward. “I’m going to the bathroom! Okay bye!”

Ford stammers something but the party is loud enough that just the few feet between them drowns it out.

Stan practically runs to the restroom, frantically splashing water on his face while he tries to keep it together.

He tells himself over and over that he’s happy for Ford, but the more he says it the faker it sounds. 

He’s in deep here, much deeper than he initially thought.

By the time he rejoins the party, Ford has found Carla and the two are in discussion. Carla spots him first, giving him a questioning look over Ford’s shoulder. 

Then she rests a hand on the curve of his brother’s elbow, and Stan’s skin prickles.

Ford doesn’t push her off, instead he cocks his hips to the side, casually leaning in to the touch.

It makes Stan’s face feel numb. The only thing that cheers him up is knowing that it’s his pants that are hugging Ford’s curves like that- his tips that have eyes drawn to Ford’s easy demeanor. His advice that has Carla hanging onto every word.

But it’s Carla that gets to openly prod and preen at his brother….

Shit, is he really getting jealous of his ex-girlfriend?

Ford probably wouldn’t date her… But just the idea has him practically bolting towards the couple. 

He clears his throat loudly, getting both of their attention. 

Carla raises an eyebrow while Ford practically glares.

“Stanley, what has gotten into you?”

(He wonders what they were talking about... were they talking about him?)

Stan forces out his fakest laugh of the night. “Nothin’! Hey, how’s about we get some fresh air. This place is stuffy.”

Ford doesn’t have a moment to object before Stan is steering him toward the front door. 

“Stanny!” 

“Bye Carla!” Stan says, continuing to push his brother away from his ex. (He didn’t think he was the overprotective type, but he’s learning a lot about his feelings for Ford today.)

Ford struggles against his grip, and by the time they reach the front porch steps he breaks free, wheeling around and fixing Stan with a pointed look. “What is your problem!?” The party noise is muffled out here, making Ford's accusation even more booming.

Stan shuffles back. “What are you talking about? I ain't got a problem!”

Ford’s eyebrows knit together and he lets out a frustrated groan. “Don’t lie to me, Stan! I can read you from a mile away. Just tell me what’s wrong!”

Stan opens his mouth but Ford presses a finger to his lips.

“And if you say ‘nothing’ one more time I will punch you.”

Stan would honestly like to see him try- (and for him to keep that finger pressed so delicately against his mouth) -but he concedes to his brother’s demands before things get nasty. “Okay okay. I guess I just….” His voice gets softer. “Got a little jealous.”

Ford’s eyes are wide. “You? Jealous of me?“ His glasses slip halfway down his nose when he looks to the ground. “Stan, you’re great with girls. For the first time in my life I’m not fumbling like a fish out of water and you’re jealous? I saw plenty of girls your type in there, couldn’t you just try to be happy for me this one time?”

Stan’s ears are tinged red with shame. He tried to be happy, he did. But his heart had other plans. “I… I’m sorry, Sixer.” 

Ford scrunches his face up in distress. “You… you don’t know what it’s like, Stan. To be so… socially awkward. Everyone loves you! Me…. I can’t even be myself around these girls.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Nobody will ever love the real me…” 

Stan feels his brother’s words settle on him like a hundred pound weight. “That’s not true-”

“It is!” Ford cries. “My interests, my mannerisms, my deformities- they’re all wrong! Something to be changed or hidden just so a girl won’t step on my shoe or slap me for trying to strike up a conversation!”

Stan’s heart sinks.

This is his fault, he was the one trying to change his brother. Making him feel inadequate.

He was the one who made him feel ashamed just to be himself.

But god damnit, there’s no one else in the world who loves the real Ford more. And certainly no one more willing to prove it.

“You’re wrong.” Stan steps closer, bringing Ford into the circle of his arms. “You don’t gotta change a thing about yourself, Sixer. Cuz… I love you exactly the way you are!” It’s cheesier than anything Stan would imagine himself saying, but high school parties were practically made for grand romantic confessions, after all.

Ford shuffles in his arms, hands coming up to hug him loosely. “Thank you, Stan…”

After that Stan should let go, play this whole thing off as a brotherly affair- but he can’t.

He has to let him know just how deep that love runs through him.

“For the record, I wasn’t jealous of you, Ford.”

Ford shifts in his hold, pulling back enough to look him in the face but keeping his hands at Stan’s side. “Could you elaborate?”

Stan smiles reassuringly, useless with the way it faulters as he speaks. “I was jealous of the girls- jealous of, well.. the attention you were givin’ em…” His cheeks feel like they’re on fire. 

Ford’s lips part as he absorbs the information.

Stan should really let go at this point- but he tightens his hold, pressing Ford against his front and relishing in the way they seem to fit together so perfectly. “I couldn’t stand the way they looked at you, the way you looked at them… I guess I’m the possessive type. Sorry…”

Ford gasps, the cogs in his brain finally working to make sense of Stan’s confession. “You… like me?”

Stan snorts, he should probably be embarrassed, but the incredulous way Ford says it has him seeing the humor in this situation.  “I think I just said love, didn’t I?”

Ford stammers. “But- but I thought you meant-“ His face is crimson. “Oh my goodness- Stan!”

“Yeah?”

Ford is practically vibrating in his hold. “I- I love you too!” 

“Huh?”

Ford squirms free, matching the confusion on Stan’s face with pure unadulterated relief. “I do! I only agreed to this dumb chick-hunting thing because you were so excited about it!” He plants his hands against Stan’s front. “I… love you.”

Stan kisses him like he’s wanted to kiss him since the first flirty look that night. Since so much longer if he had just confronted his feelings about it.

But that doesn’t matter... because now?

Ford is his.

When the two of them finally separate Stan is breathless, but it’s hard to tell if it’s from the rush of emotions or the kissing.

“For the record…” Ford cradles Stan's cheeks in his (perfect) hands. “I'm always looking at you like that. Perhaps you’ve simply gotten used to it... I have been pretty awful at hiding it.”

Stan nuzzles into his touch. "Well now I'm looking back."

Ford grabs him by the front of his dress shirt, yanking him further down the lawn. "Come on, I'm sure you'll have just as much fun taking these clothes back as you did picking them out."

Stan blushes and stutters worse than Ford did all night.