❝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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When Richie was invited to that Halloween party he had been so excited. He loved parties, but it's not like they came in abundance in the small town of Derry, so when there finally was one happening he could barely contain all his excitement. However, one by one his friends had cancelled, and by the time the night of the party rolled around the only losers who were still going were himself and Stan. Which wasn't a problem at all (yes it was), it was just that Richie might be good at concealing his stupidly obvious lusting while sober, but he got notoriously open about everything after a few drinks.
That's fine though. He and Stan were very different types of party people. While Richie liked to run around the party making new friends, drinking straight vodka and dancing (if you could call it that) until he could barely stand, Stan was more of a stand in the corner clutching a single beer kind of guy. It was fine. It was cool. He didn't even have to talk to Stan at all during the entire night, making the risk of him slipping up and letting something along the lines of "Hey Stan so I know that we're friends, but I'm bi and you're hot and I've wanted to fuck you for ages" slip absolutely nonexistent. It was perfect, really. They could each do their own thing. And so they did.
Well, for a while at least.
Somehow, sometime during the night, Pony by Ginuwine had started blaring from the speakers. Richie had found himself, despite his better judgement, frantically searching the venue for a certain curly haired Jew, and upon finding him practically begging Stan to dance with him. Grabbing his hand he dragged him to the dance floor and started swaying his hips to the loud music thrumming though the air. It was late, the night was dark, alcohol was flowing through his veins and he could allow himself to have this tonight. He could allow himself to indulge. He could always blame it on the booze.
Reassuring himself with that thought, Richie turned away from Stan and grabbed both of his hands, placing them on his own hips. Before he could even start worrying about making things weird, about making Stan think he was weird, some annoying ass who had to make everything sexual, Stan curled his fingers around Richie's hipbones, pulling him flush against himself. Yes, yes, yes! was all Richie could think to himself, grinding backwards, throwing his head back and leaning it on Stan's shoulder. He brought his right hand up behind him to tangle in Stan's hair, and that's when he could feel Stan starting to grind back on him, his cock already semi hard. It made Richie's blood, already thrumming with alcohol, flow hot with arousal.
Stan brought his lips to Richie's ear, mumbling about how maybe they should go outside, and he responded with a small keening sound in the back of his throat, tilting his head to the side. His hand still tangled in Stan's curls gave a slight tug, and Richie thanked every deity above that Stan got the hint and pressed his (perfect, kissable) lips to his neck. Richie tried to stop the small moan from escaping his lips, but Stan still noticed judging by the way his lips stretched into a smirk. Richie responded in turn by letting his left hand sneak in between their bodies and tracing the outline of Stan's hard cock.
