❝and when i say i'm in love with you,❞ a long pause lays between his words, so much emotion lacing throughout his eyes, ❝i fucking mean it.❞
-⚘ in which i had a smut book with 400k reads and it got deleted. now, i'm writing new, original chapters (l...
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Stan absolutely hated the sound of the static that had been pulsing in his head since he'd stopped taking Pennywise . When he'd mentioned it to Bill, he'd been assured that it did go away eventually, but it had been three months now and it was still there. It had lessened a considerable amount, more like a dull buzzing now or even a thumping, but it still irritated him.
Today was no different. On the weekends he stayed with Richie. It had been the Trashmouth's suggestion for him to do this since it gave him a place to relax and be him . A place where he didn't have to fake it. Sometimes Bill and Eddie were there, and sometimes they weren't.
Tonight was one of the times they weren't there, and Stan prefered that. It wasn't that he didn't like Bill or Eddie. He just hated people seeing him acting like some kind of clingy child because he hated that he was so damn clingy. He hated that whenever Richie so much as brushed him with a hand that he would reach out to lace their fingers together because he needed that.
And if Richie hugged him, Stan would tightened his arms around him, never wanting to let go. Richie indulged every touch. He laughed and called it cute, but Stan just didn't get it.
Bill had called him touch starved.
Stan agreed. Every touch had Stan on edge like he was being sucked in reality all over again, and it was no different now, sitting directly in front of Richie on the bed; knees touching and the two of them leaning forward every couple of minutes to connect their mouths with Richie's arms hanging loosely around Stan's waist and Stan's own arms draped over Richie's shoulders where his fingers could idly toy with the loose curls at the back of his neck.
But it wasn't enough.
Richie just wasn't touching him enough.
Stan shifted closer to Richie, one hand spreading out against the back of his neck. He needed to be touching him more. He depended on it. It was like a drug to Stan, and Richie seemed to catch onto that as he broke the kiss for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour, sinking his fingers into the back of Stan's shirt and shifting to stretch his legs either side of him.
And that definitely allowed Stan to get closer to him, but it still wasn't enough, so Stan moved his hands as Richie reconnected their mouths, his fingers delicately tracing down Richie's spine.
And Richie shivered . Stan paused, detaching their mouths again as he trailed the hand back up the way it had come down, watching the hitch in Richie's throat and the way his eyes fluttered slightly behind the lenses of his glasses, pupils blown from what Stan felt was such a simple action.
Stan swallowed, running his fingers back down the shirt under he reached the hem, slipping them inside to touch at the bare skin of Richie's back; drawing a shaky sigh from him. Stan wondered, briefly, if Richie was just as touch starved as he was.
