Here we go. My February story. I started this last weekend but unfortunately didn't finish it in time to post it. I struggled to find time to work on it,but I got it done. Even though it's not very long, more of a drabble really, but still good. Posting it now because I won't have time to work on it this weekend and I didn't want to have to post it at the last minute again. But I'm two for two! Enjoy.

Pete fumbled with the lighter in his hands as he attempted to light his cigarette. It was way too fucking cold, after all. He inhaled the nicotine deeply then licked his lips before exhaling. At least the cold helped him think, or clear his mind, depending on the day.

Tonight, it was thinking. Thinking just for the sake of thinking, really. It wasn't that Pete didn't love him. He did, they both knew it. It's just that Pete was never the best with expressing himself.

Stan didn't seem to mind though. He understood, he himself wasn't entirely comfortable with expressing such sentiments in public. When they were alone, however, Stan was always entirely open with him. He told Pete constantly how much he loved him or how gorgeous he thought Pete looked. It was as if Stan was afraid of exploding with all the thoughts if he didn't say them out loud. Or maybe, Stan felt Pete needed to hear them. Maybe he didn't want Pete to ever stop believing that Stan felt this way. Regardless, never did he really expect Pete to reciprocate such sentiments.

That didn't mean Pete didn't want to, though, he just didn't know how. He always felt like a fucking dork just thinking about saying such things. He couldn't take it if Stan laughed at him. Not that Pete thought Stan ever would, but the embarrassment was overwhelming.

Pete breathed deeply, letting the cold air chill his lungs. He snuffed out his half finished smoke before shuffling back into the house. Normally, he liked to enjoy the full stick but it was still way too fucking cold. Definitely too cold to be out in the middle of the night in only his boxers and his boyfriend's letterman.

He fumbled his way through the dark, making his way back to the bedroom. It took a while for his vision to adjust to the dark. By the time he reached the bedroom, however, his eyes had adjusted enough that he could see the shapes of things. The room was dim with barely any light coming in from the window.

Pete stripped off the jacket and tossed it aside not particularly concerned with where it landed. When he reached the bed, Stan was turned away from him, seemingly asleep. Pete sat gently on the bed, not wanting to cause too much movement, wishing he could see Stan's face. Pete liked to watch him sleep. It was rare to see Stan in such a peaceful state. In the low light, he could just barely make out the line of Stan's face. There was the mop of dark hair that blended into the shadows and a sliver of skin that was barely a glimpse of Stan's check.

Pete sighed, taking in the vast expanse of skin, that is Stan's back. He reached up, cautiously, and dragged his fingers lightly down Stan's spine. He didn't want to press his hand too firmly against the skin knowing his hands were still cold from the outside air.

He was very fond of the dimples at the base of Stan's spine. Pete would have kissed them if he wasn't apprehensive of waking him. He traced his finger over the dimples and up the dip of Stan's back, before pulling his hand away.

For a moment, Pete just stared, watching the even movement of Stan's breathing. Then he brought his hand up once more and began to trace the letters I-l-o-v-e-y-o-u. Then he traced them again, I-lo-v-e-y-o-u, all down Stan's back. He mouthed the words to himself as he traced them once, twice, three more times. I love you, I love you, I love you. He couldn't suppress the smile that spread across his face.

Pete settled himself back into bed and rolled over, turning his back to Stan. He closed his eyes feeling sleep tug at his consciousness. The bed suddenly shifted with movement and Pete felt an arm wrap around his waist.

"Mmmh, I love you too, conformist." Stan murmured in a low voice before pressing a kiss to Pete's shoulder.

Pete stiffened for a moment at the realization that Stan had been awake the entire time. Then he relaxed in to the embrace before speaking. "You're awake."

"Mmm-hmm," was the muffled reply as Stan snuggled closer into Pete's back.

"And you were awake the whole time."

"I was."

"Are you always awake when I do that?" Pete asked suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"I've been awake for it a few times." Stan said with a smile. Pete could feel it against his back. It suddenly felt like his whole body was flushed with the heat of embarrassment. Pete's face was burning. He had no doubt it was crimson red.

Stan knew the silence meant Pete was unhappy, and frowned. "Please don't stop." He whispered, tightening his grip on Pete's waist. His tone was pleading in the quiet night. "I like when you do it."

Pete rolled over to face Stan, not that he could see him very well in the dark. The dim lighting was, however, convenient for covering his own face. Pete was sure his face was still red with embarrassment. "Fine. Only because I fucking do actually love you though." He grumbled trying his best to keep his voice even and unwavering.

And if Pete could see the wide grin of pure joy that graced Stan's lips, his heart would have stopped.