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delivish · 2 months ago

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Ask meme drabbles (2/???)

Next in the series of drabbles from this ask meme, this was requested by @southpark-trashfactory, who wanted either Bunny 23 or Stutters 22. Decided to do 22 with Stutters!

I got so carried away with this one 😭😭😭 I think I would literally pay to have someone continue this for me 😭😭😭

Divorced middle-aged dad Salesman AU, anyone?

22. … trying to play footsie with the other during a meeting - Stutters

Sometimes, Stan was convinced the universe had it out for him.

Wendy had finally left him, for one.

Stan wasn’t stupid; he’d known there were problems there. They had been more like roommates than husband and wife toward the end. Their marital bed had long since turned frosty and lifeless, and the concessions they'd made for weekend sex had eventually dwindled down to a couple times a month and then to only a couple times a year on birthdays and anniversaries, all the affection they'd once had for each other now turned solely toward their only son.

It would have been easy to blame Wendy for all their problems, but it wouldn’t have been fair. Truth was, they’d both been at fault for the breakdown in the marriage; too much time spent navigating life and career and family and not enough time spent on them, on all the things they could do to make each other happy, and by the time he’d realized it they’d been strangers and it was too late.

His drinking certainly hadn’t helped matters. But Stan had been sure—naively, perhaps—that their issues were nothing they couldn’t work through. After all, they’d been childhood sweethearts. He loved her, and Wendy loved him, and they both absolutely adored their son, who just so happened to be the brightest, sweetest, funniest, cutest kid ever—and Stan was well aware that every parent said that about their child, but in Jake’s case it was true.

Stan could be a cynic, but he’d always been a hopeless romantic deep down. It seemed silly now, but part of him had been hoping love would find a way, and he and Wendy could work through their issues—for Jake’s sake, if nothing else.

Stan sighed, zipping his fly and pausing at the sink to pass his cupped hands beneath the automatic soap dispenser.

Every Tuesday, he and the rest of the sales team filed into one of the conference rooms to discuss things in a meeting that, quite frankly, could have been summed up in an email. Their boss was a blowhard who liked to hear himself talk, but they always got lunch on him, so it wasn’t all bad.

Stan scrubbed his hands, eyeing himself in the mirror. He was only thirty-six, but his temples had already started to go gray, and there was salt in the tasteful bit of stumble dusting his chin and cheeks. Age and a persistent taste for beer had given him a bit of a gut, but he had a nice back, thick, strong arms, and big blue eyes that other people had described as his best feature.

Stan was still wearing his wedding ring. He scowled as he snatched up some paper towels and used one to tug open the employee restroom’s door. Wendy had taken hers off the day she served him with the divorce papers. It hurt to consider, but maybe there was no such thing as true love; maybe he’d always cared about her more than she’d cared about him.

Why else wouldn’t Wendy have been willing to give their family another chance?

Wendy kept the house. He wouldn’t have fought her on even if he had wanted it; the separation had been tough on Jake, and despite all their other issues, they’d both agreed that her keeping the house would be what’s best.

Stan had moved in with his old buddy Kyle. It was only ever supposed to be a temporary arrangement. Stan wasn’t too proud to admit that he’d spiraled after the divorce, though. The shock and pain of losing his family and getting fired from his last job had reduced him to a depressed, anxious, drunken wretch.

Stan winced in embarrassment, remembering all the nights he’d cried on Kyle’s shoulder—literally and figuratively. Kyle was his best friend in the whole world, but Kyle’s patience had its limits, and his friend had never been one to coddle him. Stan was honestly surprised Kyle had put up with him for as long as he had, considering what had started off as a couple nights on his couch had turned into a couple months and his own guest bedroom. Kyle had been living a high-flying bachelor lifestyle before he’d come along—Stan was sure having his sad, freshly divorced friend crashing his luxury apartment was hardly helping in the romance department.

But that was all over now—Stan had recently gotten a job as a sales rep for a local security company, and to his surprise, he’d been a natural at it, skyrocketing to one of the leads in a matter of weeks. He’d been sober for the last month, too, which was hardly any time at all, but for someone who’d always had a tenuous grasp on sobriety, it was an eternity. If he could only get a couple more commissions, he’d have more than enough money saved to get his own place.

If.

Stan stepped into the conference room and came face to face with the man who’d been making that goal a difficult one lately.

“Vic,” Stan greeted stiffly. His voice was icy with distaste.

Leopold—Vic, as he liked to call himself—cocked his head, smoothing down one corner of a mustache that looked as if a thick, hairy blond caterpillar had taken up residence on his upper lip. The rest of his face was smooth, his cheekbones prominent. They were about the same age, but Vic’s blond hair was full without a hint of gray, short on the back and sides and fluffy up top, and when he spoke, it was with a Southern accent like a drizzle of honey on his words, just the barest hint. Vic’s smile was coy.

“Mornin’, Stanley.”

Stan immediately fled to grab a cup of coffee from the Starbucks to-go carafe someone had brought. He didn’t even really like coffee, but he wanted an excuse to get away from Vic.

His real name was Leopold Stotch. No one in the office was quite sure why he insisted on calling himself Vic. He’d been an outside hire, and within a few weeks, Vic had completely dominated sales, bringing in new clients at an alarming rate, much to the delight of management, and had become the new darling of the sales team, bumping Stan from the top spot, much to his chagrin. Management had assured them it wasn’t a competition, but let’s be real here, the company wasn’t in the habit of keeping anyone who couldn’t make commission.

And all that would have been fine (Stan was no longer the favorite, but he was far from danger) if Vic hadn’t gone and stolen a client Stan had been working on right from under him. Ever since then, the man had been enemy number one.

“What’s this dude’s problem?” Stan muttered to Fiona, the coworker he’d been the closest to since starting, as he added a couple packs of raw sugar to his cup. Fiona grinned.

“Is he doing some kind of Saul Goodman cosplay or what?” she joked back. Vic certainly looked like it, with his well-tailored suits, expensive colognes, and glittering cufflinks. God, he was annoying.

“Stan,” Fiona ventured shyly, “some friends and I are heading out to a bar tonight. It’s just a casual thing. “You’re more than welcome if you’d like to come…?”

“Hm? Oh, I don’t drink,” Stan replied distractedly, still glaring at Vic from across the conference room. He had his back turned, speaking animatedly with their manager.

What a kiss-ass.

“O-Oh, neither do I,” Fiona amended quickly, blushing a little. “No worries! It’s an open invitation. We like to meet up at the Blu Oyster, so if you’re ever free…”

“Hm. Yeah, maybe some other time? Thanks, Fi,” Stan said, failing to nice Fiona’s fluttering lashes.

Stan moved to take a seat at the conference table and was both shocked and annoyed when Vic claimed the seat directly across from his own. Vic smiled again, coy as ever. Stan stared stonily. This guy had to know he didn’t like him. What gives?

“Let’s get started,” his manager announced, cutting out the lights and projecting a PowerPoint presentation on a whiteboard.

The meeting was about as boring as he’d expected. Stan sipped his coffee in the quiet, air-conditioned dark, listening to his manager’s droning, but no sooner had he gotten comfortable (discreetly checking his phone under the table) than he felt a light touch at his ankle.

Stan froze, his eyes darting wildly in his head. He glanced around the table, but no one was paying any attention to him, their eyes studiously glued on the presentation. The touch had been so brief Stan was sure he'd imagined it…but, no, there it was again. Soft and teasing, the unmistakable glide of someone's socked feet sliding along his ankle.

Vic.

There was no one else it could be. Vic’s eyes never left the presentation, his expression bored, but Stan sat, dumbfounded, as Vic slowly crawled one toe along his calf, riding Stan’s sensible slacks up higher and higher to expose more skin before slowly coming back down. Caressing Stan’s leg. Massaging one ankle with his toes.

Vic must have kicked his expensive loafers off under the table at some point to play footsie with him, and it was so stupid because Vic was still wearing his socks, and no actual skin-to-skin touching had happened, but Stan's face flushed as if it had.

Stan could have yelled. He could have made a fuss and stopped the meeting, but for some reason, he didn’t. His eyes had gone wide, his heart was hammering in his chest, and he wasn’t even pretending to watch the presentation anymore, but in the darkness, no one noticed.

As he stared, Vic suddenly inclined his head, made direct eye contact with him, and lightly ran his tongue over his lips before chasing the moisture away with his thumb. Stan flinched like he’d been shot, something curling low in his belly.

He stood up suddenly.

“Sorry, sir. Bathroom break,” he mumbled, his face flaming. His IBS issues were well documented. Without waiting for a response, Stan turned and fled the meeting.

#Drabbles #My writing #Stan Marsh #Leopold Stotch #SP Stutters #Middle-aged divorced dad yaoi #South Park

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