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I feel the need to write Stenbrough fics to give that ship more content on AO3 but I just know anything I write for them will be incredibly smutty because that's just the kind of writing mood I'm in right now apparently.
At the approximate hour of seventeen-past-four in the morning, and somewhere around the time when it seemed as if the ink itself was lifting off the pages of the books to whisper in his ears, Richie Tozier hit his very first breakthrough.
He was in love before he even fully realized what it meant to love a person like that.
Stanley Uris was in love when he was 11. He was in love when they were riding bikes down the streets in Derry on a hot summer day, the soft breeze playing with his curls. He fell. He bit his trembling lower lip as he tried his best not to cry. He was already 11, he shouldnât be crying like a little boy because in his mind, he wasnât a little boy anymore. He should be old enough to handle a cut on his knee and the blood running down his leg. When he fell, Bill was the first one to hop off his bike and go to him. He had knelt down in front of Stanley and moved Stanleyâs hand that he had covered his hurt knee with. Bill had inspected the wound and then looked up at Stanley with worry in his eyes. Stuttering, he asked how bad it hurt and if he wanted to go home. Stanley had shaken his head and sniffled, and Eddie brought bandaids and tissues to them. Bill had gently wiped the blood off his knee and leg and placed the bandaids on the cut. Stanley was no longer tearing up.
âIs that any better?â Bill asked.
âYeah. Thanks, Bill.â Stanley replied, watching Bill get up and extend his hand to help Stanley up.
Stanley Uris was starting to fall in love, if such a thing was even possible for someone so young.
Stanley Uris was in love when he was 13. He was in love when they fought the clown, he was in love when he followed Bill into the scary old house. He was in love when he swore to come back if It ever returned. Stanley thought Bill was the most beautiful person he had ever seen, looking into his eyes, the warm sunlight highlighting his hair.
âDo you swear?â Bill asked.
Stanley barely heard him. It felt like everything surrounding them was gone. It was just them. Stanley Uris and Bill Denbrough.
He nodded.
Bill cut his hand, and Stanley finally looked away. Bill looked so pained to hurt him, he held his hand so gently.
Stanley Uris was in love.
Stanley Uris was in love when he was 16. He was in love when they were hanging out and Bill told everyone that he might ask a girl from his English class to go out with him. Stanley felt like someone tried to tear his heart into pieces. He felt angry, he felt sad, he selfishly hoped the girl would refuse if BIll ever decided to ask her out. And then he felt bad for thinking such a thing. But he was in love. He was in love with Bill Denbrough but Bill wasnât in love with him. Later, it was just the two of them. They were laying on the grass, shoulder to shoulder, watching the setting sun paint the sky hues of pink and orange. Their hands were touching, and it was such a small thing, but Stanley noticed. Bill probably thought nothing of it. They were quiet, but neither of them minded. Stanley could stay there forever.
âDo you really like her?â Stanley asked. Bill didnât reply for a bit.
âI guess.â He eventually answered, like he was unsure. âWhy?â
âNo reason.â
Stanley Uris was in love. And he hated it.
Stanley Uris was in love when he was 17. He was in love when Bill and him went bird watching together on a beautiful Saturday morning. It was rarely that someone went with him. They packed some snacks and even a blanket. They had set it down and were sitting on it, Stanley looking at the birds through his binoculars, Bill drawing in his notebook. Eventually, Stanley noticed how Bill kept glancing at him. He set down the binoculars and raised his eyebrows as he turned to look at his friend.
âWhat?â He asked and he could have sworn Billâs cheeks went a little red.
âNothing.â Bill said at first. He sounded a little bit embarrassed and Stanley took a quick look at his notebook. It was a drawing of a curly-haired boy. A smile crept onto his lips.
âSorry.â
âFor what? I donât mind.â Stanley chuckled, biting his lip as his smile grew brighter. Bill gave him a soft smile in return and Stanleyâs heart just about melted. It became silent between them again. Bill moved his hand closer to Stanleyâs and linked their pinkies together.
Stanley Uris was in love and he didnât hate it.
Stanley Uris was in love and maybe, just maybe, he thought, Bill Denbrough might love him back.
Stanley Uris was in love when he was 18. He was in love when they graduated high school. The past year had been filled with holding hands in secret, warm embraces and soft lips against his. Stanley Uris was in love, and Bill Denbrough loved him back. Stanley wanted to share his life with Bill, he wanted to share his life with Bill away from Derry; away from the town he despised with all his being. He wanted to be with the one he loved with his whole being. Stanley Uris was in love and it hurt when he found out that Bill and him didnât get into the same college. He was sad, maybe even angry because he was so scared of losing the most important thing in his life, but Bill promised him he would try to transfer as soon as he could. He promised they would see each other even before his transfer, their colleges werenât too far from each other. Stanley trusted him. He wanted to make it work. Bill was worth it. After all, Stanley Uris was in love.
Stanley Uris was in love when he was 20. He was in love with the feeling of warm lips against his, gentle arms around him and a soft voice saying things so sweet that they almost never failed to make him smile. He was in love with brown hair, pale skin and jade eyes. He was in love with someone who made him feel loved and safe when it felt like the whole world was against him. But he couldnât remember much, and it bugged him. Stanley Uris was in love with a fading picture. And somewhere, Bill Denbrough was in love with curly hair and brown eyes, he was in love with a warm smile and a gentle laugh. Another fading picture, a memory he couldnât quite grasp.
Stanley Uris was in love when he was 25. He was in love with Patricia. She was amazing. Wonderful. And Stanley loved her. But it never felt quite right. It felt like there was someone Stanley loved even more than her, but he didnât remember. He felt like he was missing something, someone. A piece of his life. But Stanley Uris loved Patricia.
Stanley Uris was in love when he was 39. He was in love with Patricia. Stanley wasnât always doing great, but they were alright. They were happy, most of the time. They loved each other dearly. Then he got a call. A call from Derry, from Mike Hanlon.
It felt like something just clicked, like he had found puzzle pieces that had gone missing a long time ago. He remembered how he had felt. Everything came rushing back. Jade eyes, soft voice, sweet words and warm lips against his. Holding hands under the table, fond looks and kisses shared in secret. Stanley Uris loved Patricia, but Stanley Uris was in love with Bill Denbrough.
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i will never forget the fic where bill draws stan as theyâre fucking. i cannot find it and have lost it but.....to the op.....thank u so much. i think about it everyday
Self Indulgent Teen Stenbrough Fic. Also Available on AO3.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/22845556
Come. And Be My Baby
Stanley Uris isnât good at being affectionate.
Okay maybe itâs not that heâs ânot goodâ at being affectionate, itâs more like he just has difficulty showing affection.
He doesnât know why or where these difficulties stem from. Is it just due to his insecurities? Is it his parents fault for not hugging him enough? (That reason sounds stupid to Stan but heâs really just trying to figure out what it could be) I mean he knows they love him, they just arenât very affectionate people. Just like Stan. Maybe it got passed down to him? He doesnât know, but then again it doesnât really matter, because he doesnât need to pinpoint an exact reason. Right? But he kind of wants to.
A lot of the time heâs consumed with these affectionate and loving feelings that are just aching to explode out of him, but there is always that barrier that stops him from being able to do so.
Thatâs especially hard to cope with when youâre dating Bill Denbrough.
He really likes Bill, like really really likes him. He thinks he may even love him.
But he doesnât want to think about that. Cause that word just holds so much meaning and power and Stan doesnât know if heâs capable of handling that much power.
Heâs currently in Billâs room. It may be a little messy, but surprisingly Stan doesnât mind. It smells like cinnamon and ink- an odd combination but it just works because itâs Billâs. Itâs a contrast to Stanâs which is always in pristine shape and smells of soap. He likes Billâs room though because itâs warm and cozy and feels like home.
Bill feels like home.
Speaking of Bill, Bill is currently kissing Stan on his bed.
Bill always kisses hungry yet slow, like they have all the time in the world. And Stan feels grateful that in a world where they sadly donât have all the time in the world, heâs lucky enough to be able to receive some of Billâs time.
Stan wants to tell Bill that he would gladly give up all of his time to kiss him.
But he doesnât know how, and he wonât. And heâs afraid Bill wonât understand what he means by that, because Stan himself isnât even sure what he means.
Stanâs thoughts donât make much sense in his head when heâs thinking about Bill because thereâs just so much to think about.
Heâs interrupted by his rambling mind when he feels Bill start to tug on his shirt.
âYouâre s-so beautifulâ Bill whispers when their lips part for a short second.
Stan stiffens.
âStop.â Stan basically pleads.
God why did he say that
He has a love/hate relationship with how Bill compliments him like that because it just comes so easily to Bill, when Stan has so much difficulty trying to express how he feels about this man in front of him. And boy does he feel .
Bill instantly stops what heâs doing.
âIâm s-sorry. I didnât m-mean to push you t-too far.â
âYou didnât! I promise.â Stan tells Bill. It hurts to see Billâs face so apologetic when he really didnât do anything wrong.
âThen w-whatâs wrong. You can t-talk to me babe.â
Babe. Ugh heâs really trying to kill me. Stan thinks
âIâm sorry I actually really was enjoying what we were doing, but when you called me beautiful, it kind of just makes me sad. No, not sad, because I like when you call me that, but I guess I mean frustrated? Ugh I donât know what Iâm saying.â
Stan mentally face palms.
God Stan what the hell are you saying! Nice rambling!
âW-why does it make you frustrated?â Bill asks.
Stan is hesitant to answer his question and Bill can see that in his face. He intertwines both of his hands with Stanâs.
âP-please?â
âItâs just- I donât know! Itâs hard for me, like youâre literally so freaking good at being a boyfriend. And like I wanna tell you how attracted to you I am and like how amazing you are and give you spontaneous kisses, but I canât! Thatâs just not me. Iâm not wired that way. Saying it out loud just feels stupid. But I canât help but feel like youâre getting the shit end of this deal. Like I get an amazing, attractive, sweet, artistic, perfect boyfriend. And you just get me. And I donât understand how youâre okay with that. And I know youâll probably get over me soon and that hurts because Iâm kind of in love with you.â
Lord, he said it. The L-word.
Bills face melts. And he squeezes Stanâs hands tight.
âS-Stan. I love you too. And I donât plan on getting r-rid of you anytime soon. Youâre perfect, and the most s-stunning person Iâve ever seen. Youâre so smart, and f-fascinating and thereâs nothing I would ch-change about you. And itâs okay if y-youâre not âgoodâ at expressing h-how you feel. Thatâs who you are Stan and itâs part of the m-many reasons why Iâm s-so in love with you.â
âIâm sorry I got so emotional.â
âS-stop apologizing. You literally havenât done a-anything wrong.â He says kissing Stanâs cheek lightly.
Stan smiles, at catches a glimpse of his watch. Itâs 10:30.
âCan we just lay down and cuddle now, itâs getting pretty late and I think cuddling is the way I wanna end this night.â
âIâd l-love too.â Bill replies with a huge grin. Probably because Stan initiated the contact.
Bill loves that.
As they lay down Stanâs eyes begin drift off.
Bill starts to whisper in his ear.
âThe highway is full of big cars
going nowhere fast
And folks is smoking anything thatâll burn
Some people wrap their lies around a cocktail glass
And you sit wondering
where youâre going to turn
I got it.
Come. And be my baby.â
He begins.
âWhatâs that?â Stan asks, grinning ear to ear.â
âA p-poem by Maya Angelouâ He replies.
âItâs beautiful.â
âYouâre b-beautiful Stanny.â
Stanley doesnât stop Bill when he calls him that this time.
âSome prophets say the world is gonna end tomorrow
But others say weâve got a week or two
The paper is full of every kind of blooming horror
A/N: (Hello! Havenât been round here in a while, but itâs still lovely; youâre still lovely. And hereâs a dual thank-you-for-filling-my-late-it-cravings and I-miss-stan-he-deserves-some-fix-it-fluff-too thoughts. Hope youâre having a good one!!)
This is so cute!! I loved it, thank you for submitting!! - Raspberry xo
There was a time in Stanâs life where he couldnât remember the last time heâd seen someone get tickled. It might happen occasionally; a poke here or there to accent a point or get someone to shift away. Then Richie decided he rather liked tickling, and wellâ
Itâs not like any of the Losers had a lot of say when Richie wanted something.
But it wasnât horrible, as much as Stan mightâve feared anyway. When half their time dissolved into wrestling matches, tussling and rolling around the carpet of Billâs room, the addition of some wandering, wiggling fingers just meant less bruising (most of the time) and more laughing (all of the time).
This was probably due to the fact that the group, surprisingly or not, knew a lot about each personâs limits, even without saying so.
Richie didnât have any, first of all. He was as content with ticklish tracing down his back as he was getting pinned to the ground and thoroughly taken apart. Of course, none of the Losers went full overboard or anything nasty, but even the more sadistic times they could remember left Richie cherry red and teary-eyed, beaming long after the tickling had stopped.
On the other side of the spectrum, Stan would have to put himself.
Thatâs not to say he had a problem participating in the suddenly numerous amount of tickle fights the group now had. If anything, he might even enjoy them, as long as Richie never found out. The gloating of his âgenius ideaâ would be unbearable and likely result in him getting tackled and wreckedâwhich is exactly what he wanted anyways, defeating the point entirely.
So yes, he enjoyed them, but almost strictly as the one doing the tickling.
Then he started dating Bill.
Dating Bill was easy, especially once their friends stopped their âsubtleâ gawking and lame teasing. It was as cool and natural as their friendship, with the bonus of cuddles whenever Stan so desired (and he wouldnât have thought that heâd want them all that much, but once he got them, he couldnât imagine being without them).
And as their friendship slid easily into their relationship, so did their friend groupâs element of random, frequent tickle fights.
And Stan liked them even more, if he were to be honest.
There is nothing in the world that can beat the sound of Bill Denbroughâs laughter or the look on his face as Stan scribbles quick and nimble fingers up his sides.
Heâs a constant stream of babbling nonsense with no way to understand through his laughter and stutter combined. His hands tug uselessly at Stanâs sleeves, body squirming violently without going anywhere. His eyes get all crinkly with a smile so bright that when Stan stops, he feels more breathless than he thinks Bill might be.
Just the thought of Bill, flushed red and breathing deeply through stray giggles has Stanâs fingers itching for something to do, butâ
Thatâs exactly what he shouldnât do.
Stan blinks, eyes focusing back on his surroundings.
The TV is still on, at some part of the movie, though Stan has absolutely no idea where. He couldâve zoned out five minutes ago or fifty. This may even be a new movie; heâs not sure.
He can feel Bill take a deep breath behind him, chest raising enough to push lightly behind Stanâs back.
Billâs hand lies still on his side.
And thatâthatâs what started Stanâs train of thought.
Because Bill, he was a bit of a fidgeter, at least when it came to touch.
He constantly had his hands moving; winding through Stanâs curls, rubbing over his back, caressing his cheeks. It was nice, one of Stanâs favorite things, actually. But Stan was perceptive, and heâd started to notice something.
He started to notice that Billâs hands would sometimes, and with increasing frequency, come to a dead stop.
It happened when the were in his room, wasting the night away with slow kisses, his hands drifting slowly from Stanâs hair down his neck.
It happened in the night, when he held Stan from behind, a hand clasped over the front of his stomach.
And it happened just now, when his hand slipped from doodling small patterns over the sleeve of Stanâs upper arm to lay over his side.
Stan had noticed, though he hadnât said a word. And heâd spent the week trying to put the pieces together, though it hadnât really clicked until last night.
They were lounging around Billâs room, splayed out over his bedsheets. It was all casual conversation when Bill shot off a snarky comment that had Stan poking a giggle out of him, a sound Stan felt compelled to chase after. And then after heâd wrestled Bill down and made him cry mercyâ
Bill had sat up, a glint in his eyes.
A glint that had Stanâs eyes widening, skin prickling.
And then the look left, and Bill tugged him into a gentle and tired cuddle.
And it sounded dumb at the time, when Stan had tried to work out what just happened, but now-
Did Bill want to tickle him?
The thought sends heat crawling up Stanâs neck; itâs dumb and embarrassing, but-
It makes sense, if he thinks about it.
While Bill did get his fair share of attacks in the group, heâd never been one to turn down revenge. Heâd even start a fight or two, if one of their friends looked a little bored or put out, just to liven them back up again.
Having a younger brother, Bill did have some of the most experience in this niche topic. Heâd definitely sent more than one of the Losers into hysterics with his skilled, probing fingers.
And just the image of Bill, straddling a friend Stan canât bother to conjure into better focus, with his head tilted, grin teasing, a devilish glint to his eyesâ
Stanâs wants so badly to turn and check that Bill canât feel the heat thatâs burning his ears, but thatâd probably look even more suspicious than what his paranoid brain is coming up with now.
So, what?
The problem had been found, mostly, kind of. Itâs the closest thing to an answer Stan can reason to anyways, what with the small amount of information heâs gathered.
So this would be the part where he plans out the solution.
Butâ
Stan shifts in muddled discomfort before he can really think about what heâs doing. He masks it as repositioning and settles back more snuggly against Billâs chest, hoping his boyfriend hasnât noticed.
He settles for worrying at his lip, still lost in thought.
He doesnât know how ticklish he is. He doesnât even know if he is ticklish.
When tickle frights became a normal thing in the Losersâ Clubâand even the thought has Stan rolling his eyesâheâd been hesitant.
Alright, more than hesitant, heâd been opposed.
The thought of being squished against the floor, hands ruffling through his clothes, while he made any number of weird snorting (Bill), shrieking (Eddie), or combined (Richie) kind of noiseâ
It unsettled him.
And bless him, somehow all of his friends, down to Richie âno boundariesâ Tozier, had gotten it without being asked and let him be.
But nowâŚ
Now he hears a thump and screaming laughter and heâs not scared. Heâs sometimes annoyed, sometimes entertained. But now, itâs the new normal andâŚ
His eyes roll more forcefully, almost rolling right out of his head.
Itâs the new normal and he kind of wishes someone had just gotten him involved already so he didnât have to go through the process of giving his boyfriend permission to tickle him.
The movie is still going, but Stan is 100% sure Bill isnât paying attention. If he were, heâd have already gone back to some mindless, endearing movement, but his hand still lies fixed on Stanâs waist.
So Stan flips forward onto his stomach before pushing himself up to straddle Billâs legs. Now Bill seems to be paying attention, though he only get a small âw-wha-â out before his mouth seals shut at Stanâs hands, slipping under his shirt to drum lightly on his stomach.
He immediately goes to bite his lip, fighting to keep the twitching of his mouth to a minimum. Stan canât help the smile that takes his own face. And though he knows what his goal is, he canât help a quick swipe of fingers that has Bill tensing, eyes shutting, and mouth puffing in a startled breath, before he continues the steady tap-tap-tap.
âS-Stan, come on. Are you r-re-really-â
Another gratuitous scribble of Stanâs fingers catches Bill mid-speech and pulls a bright laugh out of him before his mouth zips shut once again, stubbornly refusing to let Stan catch him off guard.
And then theyâre silentâwaitingâtension growing with every bored tap of Stanâs fingers.
And Stan, he was just going to say it.
Rather, his plan was to just go out and say it.
But for some reason, the words, âYou can tickle me, if you want,â are stuck somewhere beneath his windpipe. And in the time it takes for Stan to wrestle them into his mouth, Billâs smile has shifted from one of light torment to full-bodied amusement.
He raises an eyebrow, when Stan finally meets his gaze, a repressed huff of laughter shaking his chest even though Stanâs fingers have stilled.
And damn it if this deviates a little from the plan, but sometimes Bill is just asking for it.
So Stan decides to take the scenic route to his destination, scribbling his fingers over Billâs lower stomach and admiring the view when his shocked expression quickly crumbles into unrestrained laughter.
Bill does as Bill always does, grabbing ahold of the fabric around Stanâs wrists without really doing much to block the movement of his fingers, spidering up to his rib cage and back down. He just needs something to hold onto and the thought would make Stan smile if he werenât already.
As his fingers travel along the familiar space, tracing nonsense onto Billâs stomach, kneading along his sides, and scratching at the bone and spaces of his ribs (maybe sneaking a poke or two under his arms when heâs dumb enough to keep them up), Billâs squirming only grows more wild.
Itâs kind of funny actually. Here Bill is, able to pin any one of them down in a wrestling match (or whenever he finds it necessary to help someone else get some well-deserved revenge), and yet he never tries to use any of that strength to just, say, buck his torturer off.
Itâs really not that hard a conclusion to come to, even if your mind is preoccupied with something moreâŚpressing. But Bill still manages to let that slip his mind entirely, every time, and instead squirms and jolts and writhes around until heâs spent.
Sometimes Stan thinks Richie isnât the only one whoâs taken a liking to this new pastime of theirâs. But Stan is a nice boyfriend, so he wonât embarrass Bill with that conclusion yet.
Thereâs enough pink in Billâs cheeks now to see in the dark of the living room, lit only by the television long forgotten in the corner. The color starts somewhere beneath the collar of his shirt and washes up to the tips of his ears. Stanâs fingers travel with a mind of their own, slipping up the side of Billâs well-travelled torso to follow the path of color.
And although Billâs movements had calmed slightly as the tickling went on, fingers spidering up the side of his neck are enough to get him going again. His shoulder flinches inward, hands moving to fist in Stanâs shirt and push him marginally back. A desperate and semi-clear, âp-p-plehehease!â squeaks out through the blubbering.
Stan lingers, long enough for Billâs nose to scrunch up and deliver an unfairly adorable snort, kicking the color in his face up a notch, before he finally stops, leaving his hand to play with the wild hair mussed up around the nape of Billâs neck.
It doesnât take Bill too long to get his breath back, though the tingly feeling of Stan playing with his hair does punctuate his breathy âcalm downâ laughter with a sharp giggle or two every now and then.
Itâs a sight Stan canât get enough of and who could blame him?
But then, heâs reminded of exactly how this all came to be and exactly what is waiting for him.
One hand slips loose of Stanâs shirt, settling behind Bill for him to use as leverage. He pushes himself up, a smile on his face, but one much more controlled, more devious than the one Stan had put on his face moments before. His eyes are sparkling with left over laughter and steely with a quiet determination.
The hand still gripping one side of Stanâs shirt, hovering over his side, is suddenly all Stan can think about.
But all too soon, Billâs gaze starts to go soft again. Stan latently thinks of what he must look like, the deer-in-the-headlights look, the spike of fear that muddles the strange anticipation in his gut. Itâs got to be this that has Bill backing down before heâs even touched him.
âYou know, you can-â Billâs eyes find Stanâs from where heâs begun settling back into the pillows. Stan has to take a second to refocus. He swallows.
âYou can get me back, if you want.â
And that seems to be the last thing Bill was expecting, if his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline means anything. His mouth hangs open for a second, trying to speak with no sound coming out. Bill clears his throat.
âS-Stan, are you-?â
The question fades out and Stan has absolutely no idea why it has him feeling twitchy. The need to slip off Billâs lap, out of his hold, grows strong in the back of his head.
âI donât know,â His tongue feels dry. âBut you canâyou can try.â
The statement ends high, like a question, with Stan shifting his position at how awkward it all sounds. Bill doesnât move his hand an inch, from where itâs still fisted in his tee, but Stanâs own movements have the fabric ghosting against his side and tingling in a shockingly new and sensitive way.
And they just sit there, in silence. Bill probably still staring up at Stan; he wouldnât know. For some reasonâdespite how confusing this situation is making him feelâhe knows for a fact that heâll blow a fuse if he keeps looking Bill in the eye after finally spitting that out, so he doesnât.
They sit there so longâat least it feels ridiculously longâin such a tense silence that Stan feels the sudden need to apologize.
Maybe he got it wrong. Maybe Bill was just forming new habits and Stan read too much into it. Maybe now heâs gone and asked Bill toâto tickle him, basically, and now heâs weirded out!
Stan gets so caught up in his own internal rambling that he doesnât recognize the soft yet persistent pinching against his side until heâs jerking away and into the couch cushions.
It stops upon impact, but as soon as Stanâs pushed himself back upright, itâs back and worse.
A gasp catches in his throat and his left arm is pushing at the feeling with no thought as to what is could be, just that it needs to stop.
Then three things happen, in rapid succession.
First, Stanâs fingers tangle with Billâs.
Next comes the realization of whatâs happening, a realization Bill seems to have at the same time.
Then, Billâs sly grin makes a reappearance, and Stan feels breathless all over.
Of course, thatâs nothing compared to what real breathlessness can be, Stan finds out.
Because itâs a quick tussle that leads to their positions reversed, Stanâfrazzled and still in minor shockâpinned underneath Billâwhose smile seems to grow with every second.
And then Billâs fingers are tripping up Stanâs sides, clumsy in their excitement, but very, very effective.
Theyâre so devastatingly effective that Stan doesnât actually realize heâs laughing until the room is echoing with it.
It sounds almost foreign to his own ears, high and frantic and loud. He canât remember the last time he laughed so long or hard, but itâs not the most prominent thought on his mind at the moment. What is front and center is the tingling, electric, and down right debilitating sensation sparking along his body.
If Stan could get a coherent word, or even thought in, he might compliment Bill on his thorough technique. All that comes out though is a series of mortifying squeals and varying degrees of laughter. Ironically enough, this seems to be all the compliment of skill Bill needs.
His hands work methodically to trace, prod, and spider over every conceivable tickle spot Stan might have. And while it answers Stanâs lingering curiosity of his body, he did not need to know with such depth (or any depth, really) the different pitches of his own laughter that come from Bill drilling into each and every one of his ribs. Of course, Bill finds this to be critical information, and it might drive Stan a little crazy.
Itâs only once Bill wriggles his fingers into the space under Stanâs arms that he squeals and latches onto Billâs wrists.
Oh, yes, self-defense is a thing. Maybe Stan wouldnât judge Bill on forgetting that quite so harshly next time.
But even with Billâs hands in his grasp, Stan canât justâŚpush them away.
He couldâphysically. Despite the barrage of giggles pouring from him, he knows he could shove Bill onto the carpet or at least away from his shockingly sensitive armpits with enough effort.
But when he peeks through damp lashes (when did he start tearing up?), Bill looks the happiest Stan can remember seeing in a while. And beneath all that giddiness is a look so fond, it warms Stan in a way even his useless struggling hasnât done yet.
So heâgives in.
His hands stay clamped around Billâs wrists but do little more than squeeze tighter when Billâs mouth joins the fray, dotting kisses into the crook of Stanâs neck and making him squeak externally and groan internally at the sappy picture they must make.
And in what must be the most surprising revelation of the night, Stan finds that heâŚdoesnât hate this.
He didnât expect to truly despise it or anything (though he canât say the thought didnât cross his mind). But even so, the fears heâd had beforeâabout losing control and feeling sillyâhavenât really been an issue. And the unexpected pros of Bill being touchy, fixed with that sunshine-bright smile, and leaving him with the pleasant ache of a good laughâ
Itâs actually kind of nice.
Damn it, Richie.
Stan doesnât have the mind to follow that thought though, or any other matter-of-fact, because as soon as it enter his head, Billâs fingers have slipped into the dips of his hip bones and started drilling in.
And he may haveâno, definitelyâspoken too soon, because itâs not until that point that Stan really does loose his mind.
Itâs like the tingles thatâve floated through his body have all decided to ricochet towards one unbelievably sensitive point, and the shriek leaves his mouth before he can even get the breath for it.
Stanâs hips buck up instinctually, trying frantically to displace the sudden, overwhelming feeling. He can hear weird shrieking and loud laughter that canât possibly be coming from him, but he canât place it over the number one priority of getting enough air in.
He doesnât know what to do, what to say. His body and mind are live wires that wonât connect, so he does the only thing he can think to do.
âB-Bill, plehease!â Stan gasps out, andâjust like thatâBillâs hands are rubbing firm, soothing, and decidedly non-tickly strokes over the lingering prickle in Stanâs hips.
Stan is still gasping, like heâd just run a marathon if not for the intermittent strings of laughter. When Bill slides off Stanâs legs and into the space beside him, Stan canât comment, but he does shift closer to smother the last of his soft giggles into Billâs chest.
At that point, Stan is put together enough to realize that Bill is laughing, albeit without making any noise, but still laughing at Stan. So Stan smacks his shoulder, without any of the force that he should be using, before snuggling back into Billâs arms. It has the opposite effect in making Bill laugh more, but Stan canât be bothered to care; all he wants right now is to nap.
And with Billâs hand rubbing softly up and down his back, sometimes trailing lightly in a way Stan now recognizes as a little bit ticklish, itâs all he can do to not pass out then and there.
But first, his voice comes out low and slurred.
âYou are not telling the others about this.â
Bill laughs again, this time out loud. The shaking of his chest earns another smack from Stan. But between that and the kiss he leaves on Stanâs forehead, Stan falls into a peaceful sleep, a soft smile still on his face.
(Of course, the others do end up finding out. And Stan knows Bill didnât say anythingâat least purposefullyâby the shock of his wide eyes and the apologetic gaze he offers Stan when Richie throws the first teasing comment.
Stan figured this would happen honestly, but that doesnât stop him from rolling his eyes and flipping Richie the bird.
Things donât change too drastically, even so. Sometimes Richie will tase his sides to steal Stanâs attention away from his books. Sometimes Eddie will poke at his ribs to check if heâs paying attention to his lectures.
Once in a while someone will try to catch him unaware and launch an attack. And sometimes heâll justâlet it happen. Because itâs really not that bad and it can feel nice to laugh with friendsâespecially when Stan knows he can turn the tables at any moment.
The only thing that does worry him for some time is the thought of someone slipping their hands a little lower than his sides. Call it baby steps, but Stan doesnât feel quite ready to let that loose in front of a crowd.
But thanks to the fact that Stanâs hipbones are secured safely underneath the band of his pants, a place even Richie wouldnât venture in his little experiments (if only because of Billâs glaring), Stan feels sure enough that his secret will stay safe.
As safe as possible, anyways, with Bill already abusing the information.
Because as many times as Stan thinks, and even calls, Bill a monster for using that secret so liberally when theyâre alone, Bill will always shoot back, smiling ear to ear, that heâll stop as soon as Stan asks him to.
And well, behind the lingering smile and buzzing warmth in his stomach, Stan finds himself ignoring the teasing comment and diving right back in to make sure Bill knows the same is true for him too.)