fabchick_fic (fabchick_fic) wrote in knees_up,

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Fic, Stan/Didz

Title: Say it once, say it twice, take a chance and roll the dice
Pairing: Didz/Stan
Genre: Fluffy silliness? With a smudge of sexxing?
Summary: Halloween party. See note below.
Notes: 1. calli_thaala and I were talking the other day, and she used her icon of a certain Didz/Stan picture with always makes me giggles because I can't help but think that Didz looks like a priest there, and I suddenly had this urge to write something about it. And the setting had to be a Halloween party, for some reason. Which leads me to note 2. Halloween party, lots of people wearing outfits they should not be wearing, while doing things the Church (Churches?) would probably frown upon. It's pretty harmless, though. 3. The title comes from The Nightmare Before Christmas, in case you're wondering.


Stan feels ridiculous in this outfit. And he hates his band. He hates Didz for requesting they have a Halloween party, he hates Carl for the fucking theme, and he hates Gary for going along with it.

He doesn’t even like Halloween. Sure, it’s fun when you’re a kid, because once a year you can accept candy from strangers, and you get to dress up and feel like you’re staying up late.

Then it’s fun when you’re a teenager, and Halloween is just another word for making out all night.

But this is just beyond stupid.

At least there’s going to be booze, which should make everything better. When he thinks about it, it shouldn’t be that bad once he gets over the whole costume thing.

Carl decided the theme should be “abstinence”, and they would dress up accordingly. Of course, at the time, he’d been fighting with Annalisa, so the abstinence thing made sense. Stan’s pretty sure he regrets it, now.

The theme itself wasn’t that bad, he muses. Could even be fun. Really, it’s the fucking costume he’s unhappy with.

Carl had this idea – they’d all dress up as clergymen. But to make sure they didn’t wear the same costume, he offered they have a draw. The others accepted, so Stan went along with it.

He’s willing to bet they cheated so he’d pick the short straw.

It’s the only way to explain this, he thinks as he studies himself in the mirror.

At first he tried to get out of wearing the costume by pointing he wouldn’t be a clergyman, but the other three had laughed and called him a spoilsport, so he caved in. And he regrets it.

He wants to call Didz and cancel, but he knows how the conversation is going to go. He’s going to make up some shitty excuse. Didz is going to pretend he’s buying it, then ask Stan if there’s really no way he can make it, and he’s going to do it with a pout in his voice. And Stan is going to cave in.

Because he always does. He can’t say no to Didz.

Especially lately.

He knows exactly when things changed. Three weeks ago, on the tour bus, after that gig. They changed when a nearly passed out Didz told Stan he loved him the most. He didn’t really pay any attention at the moment, as he helped Didz into his bunk, the strange phrasing only hitting him later.

He’s still not sure what Didz meant exactly, and that’s what makes things difficult.

He’s also been paying attention to everything Didz says or does, and he’s noticed three things.

One, Didz doesn’t close his mouth unless he really has to, or someone points it out.

Two, Didz spends a lot more time hanging out with him than he does Gary or Carl.

Three, Stan loves the attention.

And it’s the third point, really, that puzzles him the most. He’s not sure what to make of it. So for the moment, he’s decided to ignore it. He still mentally slaps himself every time Didz catches him watching, or whenever he finds he can’t say no to him.

He glances to the side when he hears his taxi stop outside. Too late to back out, now. Sighing, he takes one last look at himself – fucking costume – and heads out.

The driver has the good sense not to laugh, and Stan makes a mental note to give him a generous tip. He repeats the address and stares out the window as the taxi goes.

There’s a lot of people in the street, dressed up and having fun. And they’re wearing normal costumes. Clowns, ghosts, fairies and Playboy bunnies. Stan snickers. Ah, the true spirit of Halloween.

The taxi stops, and Stan pays, keeping his promise as he tells the driver to keep the change.

He stands there for a minute. Inside, there’s people, music, alcohol, and Didz. So he rings the bell. And waits.

When Didz opens the door, bottle of Stella in hand, Stan gapes. The outfit suits him.

Really suits him.

He’s dressed in black from head to toe, the only exception his white collar.

Stan thinks if the priests had been this hot when he was a kid, he might have found it easier to get up every Sunday morning to go to church with his grandmother.

And then makes a face. This is so wrong. He did not just think that. There’s nothing hot about a priest outfit, not the way the pants cling to Didz’s legs, not the way the shirt is perfectly cut, or the way the colour of the outfit means that Didz’s face looks even paler, his eyes more vibrant.

Stan groans. He is so going to Hell.

Didz is oblivious as he hugs Stan tightly, reaching up to ruffle his hair, trying hard not to laugh as he studies Stan.

“Nice.” He finally says.

Stan rolls his eyes as he brushes past him to get to the drinks.

“Don’t start, man.”

Didz just laughs and wraps an arm around Stan’s waist, guiding him to the living room.

Stan helps himself, pouring a drink and taking a look around.

Didz must have spent hours preparing this, because the whole place is decorated. Stan smiles.

“How long have you been preparing for this?”

Didz shrugs.

“Just a couple of days. Nico helped, she’s the one who put all those spider webs on the furniture. She’s with her mother tonight, though. Figured it’d be too much of a mess here for her.”

“She must have been disappointed.”

Didz laughs and carefully picks some kind of mini-sandwich, popping it into his mouth as he replies.

“She was. Kept asking where Uncle Anthony was.”

“You could have called me. I didn’t have any plans earlier.”

“Didn’t want to bother you. Plus, I figured it’d be harder to get her to go without making too much of a fuss if you weren’t around. I think she’s got a crush on you.”

“Can’t blame her.” Stan chuckles.

Didz watches him, smiling softly.

“You’re right.”

Stan stops laughing and watches Didz, who doesn’t seem to realise he’s said that out loud, and is having another finger sandwich.

He’s about to say something when Gary interrupts them.

“Hey, man. Looking good.”

“Oh, fuck off, Gary.”

“Hey, hey, it’s Archbishop Gary to you.”

“I’m not calling you that.”

“I’m going to excommunicate you.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Oh, give it a rest, you two” Didz laughs.

Stan rolls his eyes and excuses himself. He spots Carl at the other end of the room – hard to miss him, really, he’s the Pope making out with a nun.

Stan groans and finishes his drink.

This party is going to give him nightmares, he can tell.

He stands in a corner for a while, right by the kitchen so he can get fresh drinks anytime he wants to. Around him, an entire congregation of priests and nuns is getting drunk, high, and ready to fuck.

He can’t take it anymore.

He slams his empty bottle onto the kitchen counter and makes his way through the people. Some of them have left already, which leads him to think it might be getting late.

He would call a taxi and go home, but he’s starting to feel dizzy and he doesn’t want to end up emptying his stomach on the backseat of a cab dressed like… this.

He just needs to close his eyes a minute, that’s all. So he makes his way to the bedroom, kicks off his shoes, and flops down onto the bed.

It smells like Didz – aftershave, and for some reason, chocolate. Stan sighs and buries his face in the pillow. Just a few minutes, until his head stops spinning so much, and he’ll leave.

He groans when he feels the bed dip.

“Stan? Anthony? You all right?”

He lifts his head and tries to make out who’s talking to him in the near-darkness of the room.


“Who did you think it was gonna be?”

“No one. Sorry.”

He sits up, only now noticing the silence, and frowns.

“Did everyone go?”

“Yeah,” Didz laughs, “they’ve been gone for a while. I kicked Carl and Annalisa out last, and cleaned up a bit. I thought you’d left without saying goodbye.”

“No, I just… I wasn’t feeling so well, so I thought I’d lie down for a minute. I’ll go home, now. Sorry about that.”

He’s getting up, but Didz grabs his wrist.

“You can stay here.”

Stan turns around.

“I, errr… I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not? Worried I’ll take advantage of you in your sleep? I’m sworn to celibacy, mate.”

“What?” Stan frowns and looks down. Didz is still wearing the priest outfit. And smiling softly at him, stroking his wrist.

Stan swallows audibly. He’s still pretty drunk, and he’s willing to bet Didz is, too. But maybe it’s what they really needed. A chance to do what they really want to do, alcohol stopping them from being too scared to act.

“Something the matter, my child?”

Stan quirks an eyebrow and eyes Didz.

“You did not just call me that.”

“What if I did, choir boy?”

“Oh, great. I managed to make it the whole party with anyone commenting on that, and you’ve got to ruin it.”

“Sorry. If it helps, I doubt a lot of choir boys look as sexy as you do. That robe is a nice little number.”

“Oh, god, stop it.”

“What did you just say? ‘God’? Oh, you’re in trouble now.”

Stan can’t help but laugh.

“Ass. Seriously, drop the act, you’re freaking me out.”

“No way”, Didz shakes his head, looking serious again. “Not before I get a confession out of you.”

“I don’t have anything to confess.” Stan lies.

“You sure about that? It’ll stay between us. And you’ll get the absolution, I promise. Or whatever it is you call it.”

“You’d make a terrible Catholic priest, you know?”

“You going to confess, then, choir boy?”

“If you stop calling me that, maybe.”

Didz pretends to hesitate, then tugs on Stan’s wrist, effectively making him lose his balance, and he ends up sitting in Didz’s lap on the bed.

“Fine. I’m listening.”

Stan stares at him, lips parted. Then he stares some more. Licks his lips. Closes his eyes.

“I have a confession to make. It’s this friend of mine. We’re in a band together, you see. And for some time now, I’ve been wondering about him. I love him as a friend, but it’s occurred to me there might be something more to it.”

Stan can tell Didz is struggling to keep his voice even.

“H-him? This friend you speak of is male, then?”

“Yes. That’s the problem, you see. I’m not sure he’ll want what I want.”

“You won’t know until you ask.”

Stan opens his eyes, and brings a hand up to cup Didz’s face.

“I’m asking now.”

The first kiss is soft, hesitant, awkward. Lips pressed together, bodies tense, ready to bolt. They look at each other, embarrassed smiles playing on their lips.

Then comes the second kiss. And the third. Stan loses count after that.

Soon enough, he’s tugging on Didz’s shirt while the other man is fumbling with Stan’s white robe.

A priest and a choir boy. It’s so hilarious Stan suddenly drops his forehead to rest on Didz’s shoulder, shaking with laughter.

“Oy, what’s so funny, choir boy?”

“All this. It’s like one of those stories you hear about. The dirty old priest preying on the young and innocent choir boy.”

“Who’s old and dirty, now?” Didz laughs, poking Stan’s ribs.

“Well you’re the one wearing the priest outfit, aren’t you?”

“Are you telling me I should get rid of it?”

This is it. The leap of faith, so to speak.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Stan kisses him again and gets up, standing between Didz’s legs, slowly pulling the robe off, throwing it to the floor. He is wearing black jeans underneath – unconventional, but that’s all he owns – but no shirt, so that he’s standing there, wearing only jeans, while Didz is looking up at him and unbuttoning his shirt. Slowly. Teasingly slowly. Asshole.

Stan’s had enough.

He pushes Didz down and straddles him, fumbling with the remaining buttons, opening the shirt and leaning down to kiss Didz’s chest.

Didz lets out a surprised sound which turns into a moan, and his own hands come to rest on Stan’s hips, pulling him closer as their lips meet again.

“Didn’t think you’d want to.”

“Didn’t know you did want to.”

Stan feels like he’s going to lose his mind soon, and he buries his face in the crook of Didz’s neck, sucking and biting gently at the skin, loving the way Didz’s back arches up.

He trails his hand down Didz’s side, smiling as his fingers brush over the scar – he loves that scar. He doesn’t know why, but it fascinates him in a way. It’s so… Didz.

But right now he’s got more urgent matters to attend to, so he reaches down, undoing Didz’s pants and sliding his hand inside.

He wraps his fingers around Didz’s length, twisting and pulling, until Didz is all but thrashing beneath him.

Of course, that’s when Didz decides to pay him back, and unsteadily reaches into Stan’s jeans.

Stan can tell Didz hasn’t done that much, if ever, but it still feels good – at this point, he’s pretty sure anything would feel good, as long as it’s with Didz.

He smiles as Didz stiffens under him, mouth opening even wider than usual he comes. He’s so busy watching Didz’s face that his own orgasm almost takes him by surprise.

They lie there, panting, until Stan rolls off of Didz, settling by his side instead.

Didz smiles and cuddles up to him, tangling their legs together. They lie in comfortable silence, aware that they’ll have to talk in the morning but not worried about it. Content for the moment.

Just as they’re going to fall asleep, Stan kisses Didz’s forehead. It makes sense, now.

“Hey, Didz?”


“I love you the most, too.”
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