❝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...
42: YOU'RE SLEEPING IN A SPOTLIGHT by: mathgoat (ao3) r+e
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Richie wakes to a dull throbbing deep inside his ass, and the press of a silicone disk against his cheeks.
His mouth is dry when he tries to swallow, and he blinks blearily at the vague but punishing line of light leaking in through the gap between their blackout curtains. His whole head feels full of fog, like someone plugged a smoke machine into his ear and let it rip. He can't think clearly. The last thing he remembers is climbing into bed after chugging more Zzzquil than was strictly doctor-approved. Eddie had fussed about it as Richie fell asleep to the melodic cadence of his angry ranting. Eddie going off about something relaxed him; when Eddie was spouting off, everything was right with the world.
With a pathetic groan, Richie rolls over onto his back, and grimaces as the act forces the bedsheet to peel away from his stomach like a bandaid. "What the fuck?" he blurts, voice gritty from sleep. He slaps a hand out to the side, patting along the nightstand until he knocks the bottle of Zzzquil onto the floor and finds his glasses. He shoves them onto his face.
There's dried come crusted all over his stomach, clinging to the hair of his treasure trail. Jesus, that's a throwback. He hasn't had a wet dream in... well, he's 41, it's been a while. He better change the sheets before Eddie gets home.
He throws a leg over the side of the bed, and only then remembers there's something in his ass. He cringes at the sensation, rolls over onto his hip, and reaches down to get a better feel for the situation.
There's definitely a plug in there. He doesn't remember putting it in—he and Eddie hadn't even fucked last night. But he grasps the edge of the stopper and pulls, slowly, gently, until the rim of his hole gives and the plug slides out. His asshole burns, sore.
It's not their biggest one, he realizes as he looks at it. Not the one he would have chosen if he'd put it there himself. But the really shocking thing about it is the state of it. Not only is it slick with lube—it's greased with come.
The jizz was kept damp and pearly white by the heat of his ass, and there's a glob of it clinging near the tip of the plug. This in itself isn't an unusual finding; Eddie likes comeplay, likes to finger his jizz back into Richie when it leaks out, to stopper it into him like he's a particularly foul-mouthed container of some kind. Except Richie knows they didn't fuck last night.
At least, not that he remembers.
His body reacts to the realization before his groggy brain can fully get there. He goes hot all over as his eyes slide to the bottle of Zzzquil on the floor. His stomach clenches in a way that makes him feel vaguely nauseous, like he gets sometimes when he's gone too long without eating. His blood rushes in his ears, and he feels like he's swimming, waves crashing into him, around him, even as his cock starts to thicken between his legs.
