stozier + rival pining cops undercover pretending to be married
hhhhh i love your brain
“If we’re going to be married - “
“Shut up.”
“ - I need to know things about you, Uris - “
“I need you to shut up.”
Tozier didn’t shut up though just kept up his horribly delighted grin, the frame of his glasses reflecting in the moonlight. “Like what’s your favorite position, sweetcheeks? Do you like to be tied up? I know I love it so -”
Stan took a deep breath, fingers tapping against the steering wheel to calm himself down as Richie rambled on. This was a extremely important case even though they were just seeking information at this point. Going undercover as married rich gay philanthropists to attend a three day conference hosted by other married rich philanthropists to find out which ones were actually instrumental in the cocaine epidemic that hit New York. Important. Exciting. Stan was all for it.
But Richard Wentworth Tozier as his partner? He was already forming several exit strategies in his head. It was no secret that Stan couldn’t stand Richie. He was everything Stan wasn’t. Sloppy, unprofessional, unorganized - did he say sloppy already? Walking into the station every morning gave Stan a migraine whenever he saw the status of Richie’s desk - styrofoam cups of days old coffee with all his case files laying out of order. It drove Stan all sorts of crazy. Worse of all was that Richie picked up on it, poking fun at Stan’s expense all the time. They had a running log of who solved more cases and much to Stan’s disgust, they were neck in neck.
So naturally he’d be paired up with him for the biggest case in his career. Captain Harrington didn’t even look remotely sorry when he called them both into their office even though Stan shot him several looks of despair. “I’m trusting you both,” he had said. “You’re the best detectives on the force. Let’s try to get something before the feds move in.”
Now here they were in the nicest car Stan had ever been in with Richie in full control of the radio playing nonstop 70s punk rock. Stan was certain he never wanted to listen to The Clash ever again.
“Hey I just thought of something,” Richie said when they finally pulled up to the hotel, unloading their bags. “Is it Tozier-Uris? Or Uris-Tozier?”
“We’re Mr. and Mr Donnell, Arnold,” Stan responded in a harsh whisper. “Or did you not read the goddamn case file.”
“Calm your Jewish tits, Christopher,” Richie muttered back as Stan shoved a particularly heavy bag into his arms. “I’m saying hypothetically. If we actually got married.”
Stan turned bright pink. It was no secret that Stan couldn’t stand Richie. However, it was very much a secret that Stan wouldn’t mind... cleaning up all of Richie’s messes, cooking dinner for him, maybe even cuddling or some sappy shit like that. It was mortifying to have these feelings for Dick Tozier. And to top it all off he had to be pretend to be married.
“If we go alphabetically, it’d be Tozier-Uris. Though between you and me I’m the alpha male, right babe? Eh? Stanley the Manley?” Richie waggled his eyebrows at him and Stan closed his eyes as he slammed the trunk shut.
“Doesn’t matter,” he grumbled back. “Because there’s no way in a million years that I’d actually be married to you.”
He didn’t see the way Richie’s face fell - just for a second - too busy hoisting his duffle bag on his shoulder. “Right,” Richie echoed hollowly. “No way in a million years.”