#because stanley finds ways to go against his command that he thought couldn’t be altered or changed by someone like stanley | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

skeletonscribbles · 6 years

Note

9 & 17 for the prompts!! :D :D :D

hello lovely!!! this prompt has been a joy - thank you for checking in and specifying Stanlon. I’ve actually not written straight up Stanlon before, so I hope I did them justice - and tbh, Richie ended up commandeering the whole thing anyway. I really couldn’t stop him. so - bonus Reddie!!!

Anyways, if you like this fill even half as much as I like you, I’ll consider it a success.

so, here is like a thief in the night, baby’s first Stanlon ficlet prompt 9 (”so you’ve started stealing my socks now”) and prompt 17 (”you owe me a cookie”)

and if you’d rather read it on Archive….here you go :)

It was rare that Mike Hanlon felt that he didn’t know what to do.

He’d grown up knowing that his father would insist upon his being prepared for every minor occurrence, and so he had become a young man that was fastidious about knowing what he was doing before he did it. He researched, he practiced, he did whatever he could do to make sure that he was ready and able to face any task that came his way.

The irony of the fact that it was love (of all things!) tripping him up wasn’t lost on Mike. He’d read countless love stories, and had watched his friends fall in and out of love a zilliion times over the years. He thought he was prepared to take on the challenge.

He was very, very wrong. Love in practice was way different than love in theory, and Mike wasn’t even sure how to talk to the object of his affections, let alone, like…ask the person out or something.

Unfortunately, people were starting to notice his lack of confidence.

“Has everything been all right with you, Mike?” Stan asked him one day as they were preparing to head home after a sleepover at the Toziers’. “Or, rather, is there something you’re upset with me over? We haven’t really talked in weeks.”

“Oh.” Mike had been avoiding Stan, but it had nothing to do with being upset - quite the opposite, actually. “Um. No, we’re good, Stan. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

Stan smiled a rare, warm smile, and touched Mike genially on the arm. Mike felt the pressure of Stan’s hand on his elbow like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. Perfect, straightforward, no-nonsense Stanley Uris, keeping Mike’s life in place without even knowing it.

God…the love stories he’d read hadn’t even come close to describing what it really felt like to have a dizzying, world-altering, soul-shattering crush. This was torture.

“I’m not hurt, Mike, don’t worry. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

“I’m okay,” Mike confirmed, and watched with a knot in his stomach as Stan nodded, confident that he’d resolved things, and walked out of the Toziers’ front door and towards his old blue Ford Taurus.

When Mike went back to the farm, he was greeted with the exciting news that his mother and father were planning on managing the farm themselves that morning, so he wouldn’t be required to join them until the afternoon. Great. More time to himself to mull over how stiltedly awkward his interactions with Stan had become.

If he’d just had more time…if he’d asked Stan to wait a minute (no, that would have been too weird), or offered to carpool (too late - they’d both taken their own cars over, and also they didn’t live anywhere near each other, so that was out), or even offered to take him out to coffee (too much like a DATE, Mike, come on), he could have explained himself, or at least gotten over the stupid mind block that seemed to be popping up every time Stan was within fifty feet of him.

How could he buy himself a few extra minutes with Stanley Uris?

The answer didn’t come to him that day, but rather a few days later, when he was going through his drawers in an attempt to find his favorite purple t-shirt and prove to his mother that she was crazy for thinking that it was in the wash. He’d just about made it to the bottom of his shirts drawer when he saw it: a crisp white button down with navy blue pinstripe patterning.

How had Stan’s shirt ended up in his drawer?

He had a veritable collection of clothing from the rest of the Losers, now, because they spent a lot of time at Mike’s parents’ farm in the summer and as such, lost items weren’t a huge deal, because they knew that everything would turn up again eventually. The current pile included but was not limited to: Bill’s cheap cereal-box watch, an old t-shirt of Ben’s, a belt that was too small to fit any Loser but Bev, tiny tube socks that Mike was pretty sure he’d seen Eddie wearing a few weeks ago, and a pair of Richie’s underwear (it was a long story)…but Stan never forgot anything. Stan kept a detailed inventory of all of his things, clothing included…and even if a shirt had slipped under Stan’s radar, there was no reason at all for it to be in Mike’s drawer.

Mike’s mother had been right about the purple shirt, but Mike couldn’t even bring himself to be mad about it. He had an opportunity in his drawer, now, and he was ready to use it.

He pulled Stan aside after the Losers’ next excursion to the Aladdin, and opened his bag awkwardly, hands fumbling with the zipper, and then with the shirt.

Stan’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that mine?”

“Um.” Mike moved a hand up to his face, half mortified and half nervously excited. “I found it in my room. Figured you were probably looking for it.”

“Oh.” Stan gently took the shirt from Mike’s hands, and then smiled softly up at him - and oh lord, had Mike ever seen Stan smile like that? It was like he’d let his guard completely down - there was no sharp, cynical edge to his features at all, only genuine appreciation, and Mike felt all of his resolve shift towards a single goal: getting Stan to smile at him like that more often.

“Right.” Mike found his voice for long enough to shakily respond. “Yes. Right. Um. Did you like the movie?”

Stan laughed softly, and shrugged his shoulders, turning to rejoin the rest of the group. “It was fine. Could definitely tell that it was Richie’s choice today. You?”

Mike stared at him for a moment, and then his legs kicked in, and he was shuffling along after Stan. “I thought it was funny - and it was probably extra funny for me, because I was sitting next to Eddie, who just kept turning redder and redder the whole time. Richie mouthing along to the dumb jokes really got to him, I guess.”

Stan shook his head, and Mike watched his curls bounce, entranced. “Those two are such a mess. I hope they sort themselves out soon…it’s getting annoying.”

It took Mike a minute to process what Stan was saying, but once he’d realized the implication in Stan’s words, the beginnings of a plan lit in the empty spaces of his mind.

“So you’re saying you think Richie needs help with Eddie?” he asked quickly, wanting to make sure he was understanding things right.

Stan paused and looked back towards Mike over his shoulder. “I mean, not exactly my point, but Richie could always use assistance in interacting with other people.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“No reason,” Mike said quickly, trying to figure out the best way to get Richie alone.

—-

Mike didn’t end up having to plan a thing. Richie showed up by himself the next day.

“Buenos dias, Mikey!” Mike looked up from his gardening with a frown as Richie drove his banged-up old truck off the road and over the grass towards where Mike was squatting.

“What do you want, Tozier?” Mike asked, willing Richie to stop before he accidentally ran over an important plant.

Richie slammed on the brakes, and Mike winced at the high-pitched noise they made. Richie really needed to have his car looked at. Mike was surprised that Eddie hadn’t taken a wrench to it already, but considering the state of things between Richie and Eddie, it kind of made sense that normal friend occurrences were falling by the wayside.

“Was in the neighborhood,” Richie said, opening the truck door and swinging himself out. “Thought I’d stop by and pet a chicken.”

Mike crossed his arms over his chest. Richie had pet the chickens exactly one time - one peck on the hand had been enough to get him to swear up and down that they were evil and that he would never touch them again. “Interesting, but why are you really here?”

Richie stopped and stood next to Mike, lanky frame towering over him in the sun. It would have been intimidating if it were anyone other than Richie. “Stan sent me over. Didn’t tell me why, but made that really scary Stan face at me, so I figured I should actually see what he was on about.”

Mike nodded, wondering how Stan knew that he wanted to talk to Richie. That boy was better at social inferences than anyone gave him credit for. “I won’t tell him you’re scared of him if you don’t tell him what I’m about to tell you.”

Richie’s face lit up, and he crashed down onto his ass, sitting cross-legged next to Mike. “Secrets, eh Micycle? I happen to be a master secret keeper, you know–”

“Remember when you told the whole ninth grade that Bill was interested in Kelly Jenkins?” Mike asked flatly.

Richie was undeterred. “Details,” he said flippantly, grinning at Mike. “So, what’s up?”

“I, um.” Mike felt his face going red, and silently cursed. Richie was never going to let him live this down. “I want to….talk to Stan more.”

Richie’s half-surprised, half-elated face looked a little bit like someone had electrocuted him. It was very unattractive, and Mike wanted to tell him so, but Richie was talking before Mike had the chance to say anything. “YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON STAN THE M–PHHHH”

Mike clapped a hand over Richie’s mouth, and braced himself for the inevitable licking. Sure enough, after about three seconds he felt Richie’s tongue against his palm…but he wouldn’t relent, not this time. “Shut your trash mouth, Trashmouth. Yes, I am….interested in Stan…and you are not going to tell anybody. Anybody. Are we clear?”

Mike removed his hand from Richie’s mouth with a jerk, and Richie was left with his tongue hanging uselessly out. He spluttered, took a quick breath, and then nodded, an inquisitive look in his eyes.

“Crystal. Gotta say, though, sexuality-wise I’ve always thought you were more of a Prince than a David Bowie.”

Mike shrugged. “Eh. I just like who I like, I think. Doesn’t really matter. My folks don’t care, as long as I’m being responsible.”

“You and Stan are like…the definition of responsible.” Richie immediately made a face at that realization. “Oh, God, that’s terrible.”

“Anyways,” Mike continued, ignoring Richie’s obvious disgust at being surrounded by people who actually did well with rules and structure, “I think I’ve got an idea about how to buy myself some extra time with Stan without being weird or forward about it, and I need your help.”

Richie held out two fingers. “Two things. One, I don’t know what your plan is at this point, but knowing both of you I guarantee you’re wrong about things not being weird.”

“Fuck you,” Mike said sourly. “What’s the second thing?”

Richie leaned up so that he was uncomfortably close to Mike’s face. “What’s in it for me?” he asked, putting on a voice, and Mike felt like he really had no choice at that point but to shove him.

“Pick an accent and stick with it, dude.” Mike shuddered and stood up, picking up his gardening shovel. “I was thinking I could make sure you and Eddie got some alone time at sleepovers. You know, so you don’t have to keep making up excuses for dragging him off.”

Richie’s eyes widened comically behind his glasses. “Wh–excuses? Me?”

“All of us know that Eddie wouldn’t actually join you for a smoke break.” Mike rolled his eyes,and offered Richie a hand up. Richie took it begrudgingly, and Mike pulled him to his feet. “Admit it - neither of you are smoking out there when you go.”

“Fine, fine.” Richie was uncharacteristically flustered: his ears were red, and he kept fidgeting with his hands. Mike thought it was kind of funny - like watching a cat try and fit itself into a space it was too small for. “How long are we talking, here?”

“Upwards of thirty minutes,” Mike promised. “Way better than the ten minutes here and there that y’all have been sneaking.”

Richie pretended to consider Mike’s proposal, but they both knew what he was going to say. “Deal,” he finally conceded, reaching out a hand for Mike to shake. “Now, what’s this plan of yours? Oh my God, wait - Stan…plan…..”

“Don’t go down that road,” Mike warned, “and here’s what I think I want to do.”

By some incredible miracle, Richie managed to hold off his laughter until after Mike was finished explaining his whole idea. Unfortunately, that meant that when Richie started laughing, he couldn’t stop.

“Mike!” Richie wheezed. He’d fallen back down in his fit of giggles, and Mike was scowling at where he was curled up on the ground. No way he was getting a hand up this time. “That is…….without a doubt……..the STUPIDEST–”

“Will you do it or not?” Mike asked, exasperated.

“Yeah,” Richie said, with obvious fondness in his voice. “You know what, I fucking will.”

—-

Richie was an idiot, but he was an idiot that was true to his word, and two days later, Mike was in possession of Stanley Uris’s watch.

“Stole it from right off his wrist,” Richie had bragged, “arcade finger skills at work. If you ever need a heist team, Richie Tozier’s your man–”

“Thanks, I’m not bailing you out of jail,” Mike had told him, shutting the door in his face and mentally trying to make a list of things that the Losers could do without Richie and Eddie. (It was a long list of things. Richie and Eddie were so loud most of the time that it was often actually more pleasant to do certain things without them.)

Stan had been far more startled to see the watch than he had been to see the shirt.

“Where did you get this?” he asked incredulously when Mike handed it to him outside of the ice cream parlor. He’d asked Mike to hold his ice cream while he re-fastened the watch to his wrist, and Mike had acquiesced excitedly - it felt kind of official, to be holding Stan’s ice cream like that. He wondered if that was how Richie and Eddie felt all the time.

“Found it in my bag when I got back from the Aladdin a few days ago,” Mike lied. “Must have fallen off and in…lucky it didn’t land on the floor of the theatre.”

“Strange,” Stan frowned, “I thought I had it when I got home from the movies…”

Mike shrugged helplessly. “Minds are weird things. Yours must be playing tricks on you.”

Stan sighed and shook his head, holding out his hand to indicate that he’d like his cup of ice cream back. “It’s too much time with Bill is what it is. He’s making me forgetful by proxy.”

Mike jolted upright at Stan’s words. Had Stan and Bill been hanging out together? Privately? He could see why Bill might want to spend time with Stan - Stan was the funniest Loser, after all, and the smartest, and the bravest, and oh God, Bill probably had a crush on Stan, didn’t he? He would be stupid not to….but…was Bill even gay? Did Stan even–

“Not that I spend time with Bill outside of group hangouts, of course,” Stan continued, interrupting Mike’s frantic train of thought, “but still.”

Mike shifted, embarrassed at the path his thoughts had taken. “Do you spend time with anyone outside of group hangouts?”

“No,” Stan said, turning to face Mike. “Not really…but I’d like to, with some people.”

Mike felt his eyes grow wide, and he swallowed hard, not knowing how to respond. “Well–”

“You guys coming?” Bev called pushing her bike up next to them. “Hurry up and finish eating, slowpokes. We want to swim.”

“We’ll be right there,” Stan promised.

“I think it might take Richie and Eddie a while, though,” Mike quickly added, trying to uphold his end of the bargain he’d made. “Eddie spilled his and had to get a whole new one. They’ll probably be late.”

Bev rolled her eyes. “Idiots. Anyways, hurry up. Bill, Ben and I are leaving.”

Once Bev was out of earshot, Stan turned back to Mike with a bemused grin. “Eddie spilled his ice cream, huh?”

“You don’t want to know,” Mike muttered, and begrudgingly began making his way towards the trash can.

—-

Mike’s plan was short-lived for two reasons: Richie was a terrible thief, and Stan had excellent attention to detail.

The ice cream cover-up had assured Richie that his arrangement with Mike was mutually beneficial, and so he’d agreed to continue smuggling items over for Mike in exchange for the occasional cut-out with Eddie. Unfortunately, he was stupid enough to try and make a grab for Stan’s stuff on the night of a sleepover at the Uris residence, and Stan was a notorious stickler about people touching his things.

The confrontation had gone down in Stan’s room, while most of the Losers were curled up in the Uris living room watching Nightrider. Mike had noticed Richie sneak off, and had subsequently noticed Stan follow Richie upstairs with suspicious eyes, so he figured it was probably in his best interest to follow both of them to make sure they didn’t end up in a no-holds-barred brawl.

He had, of course, been right.

“So you’ve started stealing my socks, now?” Stan was hissing on the other side of the door when Mike reached the top of the stairs. “What the fuck are you doing in here, Richie? Are you just trying to mess up my stuff to make me mad, because–”

“No, dipshit,” Richie shot back, “I’m looking for my bag–”

“Your bag is downstairs and you know it,” Stan snapped. “What is going ON with you? I thought you’d be happy with the fact that Mike’s trying to give you and Eddie some space, not try and sneak off on your own to cause chaos, you idiot.”

“You know about the space stuff?” Richie sounded confused, and a little upset. “Wait, how much of my agreement with Mike are you in on?”

“Mike’s helping you and Eddie,” Stan said carefully. “That’s it, right?”

Richie gave a short laugh. “Ohhhh, nope. Stan my Man, you are in for quite a…como se dice….surprise–”

“That’s enough, Richie.” Mike entered the room before Richie could do any more damage. He knew what that probably meant as far as what he’d have to admit to Stan, but it was better coming from him than it was from Richie, even if that meant that Mike’s stomach was currently doing Olympic-level backflips. “Go back downstairs. Eddie’s wondering where you are.”

Richie looked as if he kind of wanted to stay and find out what the outcome of the Stan and Mike discussion was going to be, but the mention of Eddie’s name was enough to lure him back downstairs. “Aight. Good luck, friends. Thoughts and prayers to you in this trying time.”

Richie departed as quickly as his gangly limbs would allow, and Mike was left staring back over at Stan.

“What was he talking about, Mike?” Stan asked quietly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I asked him to take your stuff,” Mike explained, unable to meet Stan’s eyes as he confessed.

Stan jerked backwards in surprise. “Why?”

Mike took a deep breath, concentrated on Stan’s forehead, and said, “I wanted to have an excuse to spend more time with you.”

Stan’s eyes widened, and he blinked at Mike for a few silent, agonizing seconds.

Then, he burst out laughing.

“Mike!” Stan was doubled over, almost in tears already. “Oh my gosh, Mike - I did the same thing!”

Mike squinted at him, unable to figure out what was so funny. “I don’t follow.”

“I made sure that shirt was in your dresser!” Stan wheezed, looking up at Mike with bright eyes. “I wanted an excuse to talk to you!”

Oh. OH. That made a lot of sense - there was really no way the shirt would have gotten into Mike’s dresser if Stan hadn’t put it there himself. Oh.

Oh.

Stan had stopped laughing, and was moving slowly towards Mike - shyly, like he almost expected Mike to turn him away.

“Of course, I might be misunderstanding,” Stan said in a low voice, and the air suddenly felt heavy.

Mike willed himself to look anywhere but Stan’s lips when he responded, “I don’t think that you are.”

“Good,” Stan whispered, close enough to pull in and….and….

Mike had never felt less prepared for a moment in his life, but it was upon him: Stanley Uris was brushing his lips against Mike’s lips, and every single one of Mike’s nerve endings was on fire.

Stan pulled back far enough to be able to examine Mike’s face, and seemed to be satisfied with what he found there. He smiled, brushing his fingertips against Mike’s cheek.

“You want to spend some time together, maybe?” Mike asked, words like a waterfall out of his mouth. “You and me? Alone? Together? That was what you were talking about at the ice cream place, right?”

“Very good,” Stan nodded, beaming. “I was, and I would like to.”

“Adorable. Fucking disgusting, actually.”

Apparently, Richie hadn’t left after all. Mike and Stan turned to find him leaning against the doorway.

No, wait - Eddie was in tow. He’d left, and then come back.

“Is there something you want, Richie?” Stan asked coldly.

“Yes.” Richie jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Get out.”

Stan gaped at him. “This is my room!”

“And Mike owes us some alone time,” Richie said, gesturing between himself and Eddie, who looked absolutely mortified at Richie’s behavior, “and you, Staniel, promised me a cookie for sneaking that shirt into Mike’s drawer, and here I am, cookieless, so the least you could do is clear the room and let Eds and I get busy on your bed–”

“Not on the bed,” Stan hissed at the same time that Eddie yelped, “Gross, Richie!”

“Okay, okay.” Richie held up his hands. “Not on the bed, clothes stay on, and so on and so forth. Now scoot. Bill only sleeps in thirty minute increments. Fucking psycho.”

Mike and Stan looked at each other, and Stan proffered a hand out to Mike.

“You ready to take this outside?”

Mike smiled. Finally, finally, finally, the reins were back in his hands - finally, he knew what to do.

“Let’s go.”

#stanlon #stanley uris #mike hanlon #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #losers club #it 2017 #Stephen King's IT #stanlon is so pure i'm so happy

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