#uhhhhhhhhhh behold. a man

[mystxmomo]

Divine Intervention

[duskodair]

academic citations are so fun when you get to the boundary of 'do i need to cite this' and ur lecturer is like oh not if everyone reasonably knows the thing and im sitting there with my hands full of allegory of the cave, trolley problem, behold a man like uhhhhhhhhhh

[eddieeatsass]

The Truth Is That I Think I've Had Enough

Summary: For the first time since Stan developed feelings for his best friend, Richie was finally single on Valentine’s Day, and Stan was fully planning on taking advantage of it. He invited Richie on a camping trip, just wanting one night where he could pretend, but Richie had different plans. Pairing: Stozier Rating: E Warnings: Eventual smut, explicit language

Read on AO3

When it came to the list of things Richie wanted to be doing on Valentine’s Day, Stan knew camping was not high up on the register. Richie was a city boy through and through, but he was also a loyal friend, so when Stan suggested they go camping for the weekend, Richie had gone along with it.

They were both single, after all, and it’s not like they didn’t hang out every other day of the year… so why should Valentine’s Day be any different?

Well, as far as Richie was concerned, it wasn’t. But Stan may have been indulging in his yearning just a little bit. For the first time since Stan developed feelings for his best friend, Richie was finally single on Valentine’s Day, and Stan was going to take advantage of it. So sue him if he wanted to pretend for one night that things were different.

But the truth still stood that Richie knew nothing of Stan’s pining, and nothing about camping, which made the trip a little tricky. They’d gone camping a few times when they’d been kids, tagging along with Stan’s parents who had done most of the handy work. All Richie and Stan had worried about was how toasted to make their marshmallows in pursuit of the perfect smore.

But now Richie was standing before him, gazing between the crumpled tent on the ground, and Stan’s awaiting expression, clear confusion boggling his mind.

“You gonna help or am I doing this all on my own?” Stan asked with light laughter.

“Uhhhhhhhhhh…” Richie drawled, unsure of how to proceed. “I mean yeah, of course, I just don’t quite... know... how.”

Richie picked up one of the objects sitting atop the tarp-like material. He jumped back when what started as a small bundle of sticks suddenly snapped out into a series of rods.

“Careful Rich! I didn’t plan on losing an eye today. We don’t have the medical equipment for that.” Stan warned, making sure to keep an ease to his tone so Richie knew he was teasing.

Richie nodded earnestly, taking more precaution as he began to snap the sticks into one long rod.

Stan knew what he was doing well enough to not need instructions, but Richie’s every move was a gamble between helping, or causing the whole tent to deflate. Stan finally took pity on him and assigned Richie the easy task of getting their blow up mattress out of the car, figuring it would be easier to finish the tent without Richie’s helping hands.

Their tent was generously sized, large enough for a twin person air mattress, and then a little extra room for their cooler and bags. Stan assured Richie that there were no bears in the area, so it was safe to sleep with their food alongside them, but Richie was still hesitant. He soothed himself by insisting that Stan sleep on the side closest to the cooler. If a bear attacked, it would be Stanley’s job to keep Richie safe. Stan’s heart fluttered a bit at the trust Richie instilled in him, no matter how hypothetical, or how unlikely he’d be to actually win a fight against a bear. Stan chose to keep both of those hypotheticals to himself and let Richie think him brave.

When Richie trekked back from the car, heavy box in one hand and air pump in the other, Stan was all done setting up the tent.

“God, why is this so heavy!?” Richie complained, plunking the box with the air mattress at their feet.

“It’s the price we pay for comfort.” Stan said, amused.

“At least we don’t have to blow this thing up with our mouths.” Richie conceded, giving the box a swift kick in retaliation for making his arms hurt.

“Psh, you don’t have enough air in your lungs.” Stan teased, taking the pump from Richie’s outstretched hand.

“But I have the blowjob lips to make up for it. One wrap of these puppies around that nozzle and it would blow itself up.” Richie made obnoxious kissing noises, too distracted by his obscenity to notice the way Stan’s cheeks heated up. His pulse pounded in his ears as thoughts of Richie’s lips wrapped around something else crept into his mind.

“Richie, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but blowjobs don’t involve any actual blowing.”

“And how would you know that, Stanley?”

“I’m a virgin, not an idiot.” Stan deadpanned.

Truth be told, Stan wasn’t as much of a virgin as his friends thought he was. He hadn’t done much, but because of his religion and strict parents, they’d all assumed Stanley hadn’t even kissed anyone yet. Low and behold it was at Jewish summer camp that he had experienced his first kiss, and his second, and so on. He’d even gotten to second base on the very last day of camp with good ol’ Patricia Blum.

But Stanley was a private man, and as respect for Patty, he hadn’t gone around spreading word of their affairs, even though he was secretly dying to tell Richie and see how far his jaw dropped when he found out Stan had gotten more action than he had. Trashmouth never shut up about sex, but they all knew he’d never had any. Stan wondered if Richie would ask Stan for tips, or ask him to demonstrate how he’d groped Patty down by the lake that day. He could show Richie a thing or two, teach him how to be soft and gentle with his fingers.

“Looks like the sun is already starting to go down.” Richie noted, peering off towards the cliff that overlooked the valley. They’d gotten prime real estate thanks to Stan’s knowledge of the woods. He knew exactly where to go where they wouldn’t be disturbed by other campers.

“We should start a fire.” Stan decided. He’d had enough training in the boy scouts to know it was always better to start your fire before the sun went down. It saved you a lot of annoyance, frozen fingertips, and a much harder time finding resources by flashlight.

“Rich, can you gather some twigs for me? About this big,” Stan picked one up that was by his foot. “and make sure they’re dry.” He handed the stick to Richie, who immediately brought it to his forehead in a fake salute.

“Aye aye captain!” Richie stiffened his limbs, swiveling around and doing his best army march impression as he wandered off in search of sticks.

While Richie was away, Stan got to work on setting up a makeshift pit for the fire to be contained in. He gathered as many rocks as he could find nearby and set them up in a neat little circle. Once Stan was satisfied with his work, he moved on to blowing up the air mattress inside their tent.

As he connected the pump to the mattress and began the repetitive motion that would surely leave his arms aching, he let his mind wander.

In hindsight, there was probably a much subtler way Stan could have found to spend Valentine’s Day with Richie. He’s sure if he’d offered up their usual Chinese food and ‘The Princess Bride’ (Richie’s all time favorite movie no matter what he says to the contrary), Richie would have pounced on the idea. So why had Stan felt the need to make it into a whole thing?

Well, he knew why, but he didn’t want to admit it. The knowledge was coated in shame and guilt, but it was still buzzing in the back of his head like a bug he couldn’t squish. Stan wanted this to be a date. Maybe he even liked pretending it was. He knew that wasn’t fair, but he didn’t have much control over it. If they’d done the same thing they always did, it wouldn’t have felt special.

Once the air mattress was completely inflated, and the pump tucked back into its box, Stan let himself fall forward on to the air filled PVC with an auditory oof.

Face down in the uncomfortable fabric, Stan felt like it was where he deserved to be. Lovesick, lying, dirty little-

“Yo, Stanny, I got your sticks!”

Stan steeled himself, tucking away his intrusive thoughts in favor of less intimate ones.

When Stan exited the tent, he wasn’t expecting to come face to face with a mountain of sticks. Standing before him, Richie was covered in dirt, twigs sticking out from his bush of hair, and arms full of branches towering high enough to shield half his face.

“Get in a fight with a tree?” Stan teased, hurrying forward so he could take half the stack from Richie’s shaking arms.

“Yeah, the tree won.” Richie answered with a matching tone, causing Stan’s heart to flutter traitorously.

“We didn’t need this many, you know.”

“I know, but I figured better safe than sorry, right? What if we suddenly need to build two fires? Or three? Or maybe even a fourth? What if we get stuck out here forever and need to provide heat to the village we create to survive. Our children deserve fires too, don’t they Stan? Don’t they?”

“We’re having children?” Stan questioned, beginning to place the sticks in the small fire pit he’d made.

“Yes.” Richie answered definitively as he plopped down beside Stan.

“I’m not sure that’s anatomically possible, but sure, I’ll play along.” Stan delighted.

“Okay, so we’re gonna have two kids. Twins.”

“Of course.” Stan nodded seriously, entertaining Richie’s wild imagination.

“One girl and one boy, or, you know, whatever gender they wanna be. We ain’t gonna be those kind of parents.”

That roused a laugh from Stan, knowing too well how strongly Richie’s opinions on parenting styles were. Richie had thought long and hard on what kind of parent he wanted to be in the future. You wouldn’t think Richie Tozier was a sap when it came to children, but tiny tots had him wrapped around their fingers. Richie had been dreaming about starting a family since they were kids, and Stan was no stranger to being ‘the wife’ in the equation. Richie had organized many imaginary weddings for them when they were young. They’d been married seven times in total, and had played house more times than Stan could count. It was almost enough to fuel Stan’s late night thoughts that Richie might actually reciprocate his feelings.

“We’ll name them Pizza and Macaroni.” Richie declared.

“Why in hell’s name would we do that?” Stan scoffed, grabbing the box of matches from his pocket. He ignited one and flicked it into the center of the pit.

“We’re creating a new society, Stan. There are no rules, no norms. Pizza and Macaroni could be the new standard for names. Imagine.”

“I don’t want to.”

Richie wrapped an arm around Stan’s shoulder and pulled him in close, leaving little room between their faces for Stan to breathe.

“Imagine.” Richie repeated with extra vigor.

“Fine.” Stan closed his eyes and paused for a moment. “I’m imagining it.”

“And? It’s beautiful, right?” Richie asked excitedly.

“Oh, oh god, Macaroni just stabbed Pizza with a fork. He’s bleeding everywhere! There’s no paramedics around, the town consists of just us and we never got any medical training. I’m holding our son, Richie. I’m holding him in my arms, oh god, his blood tastes like tomato sauce Richie-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Richie laughed, wrestling Stan to the ground and pinning him in place. “Take it back! Do not eat our son, Staniel!”

“But he tastes so good.” Stan giggled, his eyes still squeezed shut.

“Spit him out! Spit him out or we’re getting a divorce!”

Stan finally peeked one eye open, seeing Richie’s bright smile hovering over him and dark curls falling into his eyes.

“You’ll have to divorce me seven times then.” Stan challenged with a quirk to his eyebrow.

“Huh?” Richie’s face contorted as he tried to pinpoint Stan’s line of thought.

A piece of Stan’s heart detached from itself and fell into the pit of his stomach. Of course he didn’t remember, why would he?

“Nothing, never mind.” Stan laughed shallowly, shrugging Richie off and rolling back on to his feet. He stopped to check that the fire was successfully catching and was moderately pleased with the small flames he saw licking at the sticks. It should continue to grow if they left it.

“Are you hungry?” Stan asked over his shoulder, using it as an excuse to detach himself from what had just happened.

“Uh, yeah, I could go for some food.” Richie answered, mild confusion still evident in his voice.

“Cool, I brought hot dogs and beans-”

“I think I want smores.” Richie’s voice suddenly rang from beside Stan, causing him to jolt. Richie just laughed at the reaction, cutting in front of Stan and jogging towards their tent.

“You can’t have smores for dinner, Richie.” Stan chastised.

“You’re not my mom!”

Stan once again found himself fighting back a smile as Richie’s figure disappeared into the tent.

An hour later Stan found himself sitting on a log they’d rolled over from a nearby fallen tree. He was holding a stick over the fire, a marshmallow precariously hanging from the end of it. The sky had darkened to a navy blue, pin pricked with stars and constellations they had yet to discover.

Stan moved the marshmallow a little farther above the flames, keeping it from getting charred like Richie’s own marshmallow, which was engulfed in flames.

“I can hear you judging me.” Richie quipped, keeping his eyes on his marshmallow as he brought the flaming gelatin towards himself and began erratically blowing it out.

Stan kept his laughter locked behind his lips.

“It’s just… so unnecessary.” Stan responded.

“It’s not unnecessary! It’s fully necessary! This is the only way to get the perfect marshmallow!” Richie defended.

Stan looked over at the gooey black orb Richie was shoving between two graham crackers. He made a fake gagging noise while sticking out his tongue, finally letting his laughter free when Richie punched him playfully in the arm.

“The perfect marshmallow will never include scorch marks.”

“Boo, you’re no fun.” Richie took a stubborn bite of his smore, reaching out with his free hand and tapping Stan’s stick.

Stan watched in horror as his flawlessly roasted marshmallow disappeared into the flames of the fire, immediately disintegrating into nothing but sticky residue.

“Saboteur!” Stan yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Richie’s chocolate covered face.

“Moi!?” Richie gasped, throwing a hand to his chest dramatically. “I would never! But, I am not a heartless man. Please, as condolences for your loss, will you accept the other half of my smore, monsieur?”

Stan wanted to cringe at the terrible french accent Richie adorned, but his cuteness won over and Stan was just left smiling.

“I suppose I’ll eat your ash-cookie.”

“I’d rather you eat my ass, cookie.” Richie shot back without pause, winking slyly as he scooted closer to Stan on the log.

The air around Stan began thickening, heating him up from the inside out and causing his brain to melt just slightly. He watched in slow motion as Richie’s fingers brought the half eaten smore up to Stan’s lips. It should have been gross; Richie’s face and fingers had remnants of chocolate on them, the smore was falling apart and showcasing the awfully burnt marshmallow, and Stan had a strict ‘no-sharing-food’ policy because he didn’t like sharing germs. But regardless of all of those reasons to pull away, Stan found himself leaning in closer.

As soon as Richie’s fingers brushed Stan’s lips it was like something inside him took over. Stan raised his hands to hold Richie’s wrist, and then cocking his head so he had a better angle, he raked his tongue over Richie’s fingers as he gathered all the chocolate he could. It was a lewd gesture, one Stan would never imagine doing any other time, but something about the flickering campfire and the stillness of the wind made him feel like he wasn’t in this world anymore. He was in a world where he could make Richie want him.

“Uhm…” Richie’s shaky breath brought Stan hurtling back to reality fast enough to leave him dizzy.

Stan quickly let go of Richie’s arm, pulling away both physically and emotionally as he chewed his smore with vigor.

“You’re right.” Stan said through a mouthful of goo. “It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be.”

Richie just stared in awe as Stan tried to swallow past the sticky chocolate and marshmallow that stuck to his teeth in defiance.

Once the residue of his humiliation was all swallowed down, Stan stood abruptly, stretching his arms high above his head and producing a fake yawn.

“Jeez, I’m tired already.” Stan lied, hoping Richie would go along with it.

“Makes sense, we did have a long day of travelling.” Richie answered towards Stan’s turned back.

Stan let out a sigh of relief he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding. As he let his arms drop, so did his shoulders, and some of his tension along with it.

“I’m gonna go change into my pajamas.” Stan stated, leaving hurriedly before Richie could respond.

Once in the tent, and hidden behind its nylon walls, Stan was finally able to process what he’d just done. As he slowly changed into his pajamas he went over the course of events in his head, wincing as he recalled the way he’d indulged so passionately in such a platonic touch. It had felt so good in the moment, convincing himself he saw lust in Richie’s eyes, but the remorse he felt now settled over him like a blanket. He didn’t want to ruin his friendship with Richie, he couldn’t, he had to keep himself together.

Stan was startled out of his stupor as the zipper of the tent began to open. Stan quickly pulled his sleep shirt the rest of the way down, hiding away his body and his thoughts alike.

“You decent?” Richie asked teasingly before opening the zipper any wider.

“Yeah.” Stan responded, warmth already licking back up his chest.

Richie opened the tent the rest of the way and as he climbed in Stan could see that he’d put out the fire. He felt a weird swell of pride that Richie had remembered at least some of the camping basics Stan had taught him.

He’d averted his eyes as Richie changed, had curled in on himself as Richie leaned over him to reach their stuff, but now he was laying next to Richie’s warm body with no way to escape. Their proximity seared into him like a burn that he was far too aware of.

“You know, this was way more fun than my usual Valentine’s Day.” Richie offered into the silence, gazing up through the skylight that allowed them to see the stars.

Stan’s heart threatened to break out of his chest.

“The past few years I’ve usually spent it with some equally lonely one-night-stand. The sex was never good enough to make the next day worth it.” Richie admitted.

“Why not?” Stan piped in.

Richie thought for a moment, allowing the silence to lull them a little bit deeper into the comfort of night.

“I’d wake up feeling disappointed because the person next to me was never who I wanted it to be.”

Stan’s ears perked up. He angled his body towards Richie, cushioning his head in the crook of his bent elbow as he contemplated his friend’s profile. This was the first time Richie had ever alluded to having a crush.

“Who did you want it to be?” Stan asked shakily.

Richie turned his head towards Stan, locking eyes with him and seeming to search for something.

“What about you?” Richie asked, flipping the question around without answering it.

“What do you mean?”

“Who would you choose to wake up to every day?”

The question leered above their heads, threatening to fall and crush the thin veil of tension that had formed between them.

Stan gulped audibly, wanting nothing more than to shy away from Richie’s gaze, but he held strong.

“It doesn’t matter, they don’t want the same thing I do.”

“How can you be sure?” Richie murmured challengingly.

Stan’s mouth gaped open and closed like a fish out of water as he tried to wade through the chaos in his head.

“All I know is I’m glad I’m waking up next to you tomorrow.” Richie said, turning his head back to the sky.

Blood pounded in Stan’s ears as he tried to decode Richie’s words. Was he saying what he thought he was saying? Or was Stan just reading into things, spurred on by his unrequited feelings and juvenile hope?

“I’m glad too.” Stan breathed out.

Richie didn’t miss a beat before answering.

“Glad enough to kiss me?”

Stan’s entire body froze, something inside him shattering as the butterflies finally escaped his stomach, filling up their tent until Stan couldn’t see anything but Richie.

Slowly, as if scared one wrong move would make Richie run, Stan propped himself up on his elbow, peering down at Richie’s expectant face. He kept his pace steady as he slowly dipped down and braved a single kiss.

It wasn’t much of anything, just a chaste peck, a quick dip into the pool to test the water. But that one kiss was enough to erase all of Stan’s trepidation, leaving him as bare and open and vulnerable as Richie was. And it felt liberating.

The next few minutes passed by in a flurry. Richie surged up to reclaim Stan’s lips, no longer just a peck but now a full-blown kiss that left Stan’s legs shaking. Richie flipped them over so he was hovering above Stan, using his leverage to kiss up Stan’s neck, the line of his jaw, and back to his lips. It was quick to turn feral, their teeth clanking against each other as desperation took over. Stan had never felt so terrified and turned on at the same time, his hand trembling as it fisted into Richie’s lush curls and pulled him closer.

Stan’s breathing was labored, his swallows dry as he tried to steady his quickening pulse. Richie was everywhere, blanketing all of Stan’s senses. The smell of Richie’s laundry detergent swirled around them, melding with the lingerings of their campfire. His tongue tasted sweet like the chocolate they’d eaten, and the sound of Stan’s own meek noises were swallowed up by Richie’s own deep growls. If all that wasn’t already over-stimulation enough, Richie’s was consistently rutting himself against Stan, causing his arousal to become less and less subtle with every passing moment.

Stan broke away with a heaving breath, peering up at Richie through hooded eyes.

“I’m a virgin.” Stan blurted.

Richie stared deeply into Stan’s eyes, churning his gut with intensity until what felt like several minutes had passed. When Richie finally spoke again, the sound nearly startled Stan.

“Me too.”

Stan smiled, thankful that Richie felt safe enough to be honest with him. He reached a hand up and gently cupped Richie’s cheek, who immediately leaned into the touch.

“We don’t have to, uh, do anything.” Richie stuttered out, his eyes gently closing as he relaxed into Stan’s hold.

“I know. But if you wanted to…” Stan trailed off, leaving the offer open-ended.

Richie’s eyes popped back open, searching Stan’s face for further explanation.

“I brought stuff… uh… just in case. I guess I was kinda hopeful about tonight.” Stan admitted, averting eye contact. “Can I make a confession?” Richie whispered, his voice going a bit rough at the end. “I was kind of hopeful myself…”

“What do you mean, exactly?” Stan asked.

“I sort of fantasized about the way tonight might play out. I’ve had some… personal experience with receiving, so I made sure to clean myself in case my wildest dreams suddenly came to fruition. But I can also top! Uhm, if that’s your preference.” Richie rushed in addition.

“Personal experience? I thought you were a virgin?” Stan’s tone held a lick of jealousy, which he tried to cover up by clearing his throat.

In response Richie held up his hand and wiggled his fingers, hoping that Stan got the message.

“Fuck that’s so hot.” Stan groaned, letting his head fall back against his pillow. He felt open mouth kisses being peppered down the column of his neck and keened embarrassingly loud.

“I’ll be honest, the thought of splitting you open on my cock does sound appealing.” Stan murmured.

Richie’s head shot up, his eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Stan thought he’d said something wrong until Richie was suddenly shucking his clothes as quickly as possible, dizzying Stan with his pace.

“Slow down! Rich- Richie- there’s not that much room in the tent!” Stan laughed, trying (and failing) to get Richie to sit still. When he finally stopped moving, Richie was stripped down to his underwear.

It’s not like Stan and Richie had never seen each other in their underwear before, but apparently context did a lot, and in this context Stan’s whole body was thrumming at the sight.

“Fuck, we’re really doing this, huh?” Stan whispered, trailing his gaze down Richie’s lean torso.

“Only if you want to.” Richie assured.

Stan wanted to. He wanted it more than anything. But words were failing him as he took in this brand new Richie, bathed in moonlight from the tent’s open skylight, eyes wide and vulnerable with lust.

So instead of talking, Stan took action. He locked eyes with Richie as he began stripping off his own clothes, doing so much slower than Richie had. It was purposeful, a confirmation that he was all in. Their gaze didn’t break until Stan was bared to the same degree as Richie, his navy blue boxer briefs a stark contrast to Richie’s hot pink flamingo print.

Stan was the one to surge forward when their tension peaked, knocking Richie on to his back and giving himself room to straddle him. Richie’s hands were slow burning coils against Stan’s skin, lighting him up everywhere they touched. Stan rolled his hips down experimentally, feeling Richie’s responding twitch between the thin fabric that separated them.

“Off.” Stan demanded, pawing at the waist of Richie’s offending boxers.

Richie complied, but did one better. In the same fail swoop, Richie hooked his thumbs under both of their waistbands and pulled them down in conjunction.

The action resulted in a collective moan as their oversensitive cocks finally broke free and rubbed against each other.

It didn’t take long for Richie's hands to slither back up their thighs and in between them, grabbing them both in one hand. Stan hissed at the contact, clenching his teeth in an attempt to hold back the wave that already threatened to crash over.

“Fuck, Stanny. Who knew you were packing?”

The comment was so un-sexy it made Stan puddle into laughter, his head falling to Richie’s shoulder as the chest underneath him rumbled in tandem.

“Sorry, I don’t think I’m very good at this whole dirty talk thing.” Richie admitted between giggles.

“I don’t want dirty talk.” Stan murmured, placing a gentle kiss on Richie's temple. “I just want you.”

Richie nodded, evidently calmed by the notion that he didn’t have to perform, he just needed to be.

Richie experimented with another flick of his wrist, causing Stan to jerk away instinctively.

“Rich- if you keep doing that I’m not gonna last.” Stan admitted.

“Damn, I’m that good?”

“Shut up and teach me how to finger you.” Stan smirked as he wiped the smile right off Richie’s face.

“It might be better if I just… show you.” Richie shifted out from under Stan and got to his knees.

“You said you have lube…?” “Oh!” Stan exclaimed, bouncing up and reaching for his backpack. He immediately procured the lube and condoms he’d brought.

“Thanks babe.” Richie said casually, missing the way Stan spluttered at the pet name.

Richie reached for the lube as Stan tried to recover, but he didn’t have much time to do so as he watched Richie squeeze a little bit of lube on to his fingers and immediately reached behind himself.

Stan’s heart went mad, bouncing against its confines like it was a prison. He couldn’t help but stare at the way Richie’s face contorted into an all new type of expression, one Stan had never seen on anyone’s face before.

His eyes trailed down Richie’s torso, stopping to admire the way his thin body strained around muscle, how his pale chest flushed pink with arousal, and the delicious way his cock stood to attention just begging for praise. But it was the space between Richie’s spread thighs that mesmerized him, where he could see his hand moving behind him.

Without thought, Stan’s hand drifted to his own cock, acting on instinct as his mind went hazy. He held it gently, not stroking it so much as just giving it the pressure it craved. He watched as Richie’s index finger disappeared inside himself, making Richie moan lewdly.

Richie didn’t take long to get all three fingers inside himself, getting more and more into it as the minutes ticked on. Richie now had his eyes shut and his head thrown back as he fucked himself down on his digits. Stan almost didn’t want to stop him, wanted to see how long Richie could ride himself until he made himself cum, but even more than that, he wanted to feel Richie’s tight heat constricting around his shaft. “So are you gonna let me fuck you or what?” Stan’s voice seemed to jostle Richie out of whatever place his mind had gone to, causing him to look around the tent for the culprit of his ceased pleasure.

“Stanny, fuck, please-” Richie’s voice was completely hoarse as he crawled towards Stan eagerly. “Come here, let me take care of you.” Stan ushered Richie forward, pulling him flush against his chest and kissing him as passionately as possible.

“I want you to ride me.” Stan whispered against Richie’s lips.

“Yes, please.”

Stan laid back down, pulling Richie on top of him for the second time that night.

They kissed for a while longer, grinding into each other as Stan’s cock teased at Richie’s entrance. Keeping their lips locked, Stan reached for his condom, tearing it open expertly and bringing the latex down between their bodies.

Richie sat up on his knees, giving Stan room to roll the condom down over his dick, but as soon as it was situated snug against Stan’s pelvis, Richie wasted no time coating it in lube. He threw the bottle behind him, moving impatiently as he fumbled to line Stan’s cock up with his hole.

“Rich...” Stan reached for Richie’s free hand and entwined their fingers. The gesture gave Richie pause and he finally let out a sigh.

“Sorry, I’m just… I’ve wanted this for a long time.” Richie said quietly.

Stan’s heart swelled. He squeezed Richie’s hand in reassurance.

“Me too, but that doesn’t mean we have to rush. I’m not going to suddenly change my mind, we can take our time with this.”

Richie bowed his head, a shy smile flashing pearly teeth. Stan took the opportunity to slink his own hand around his cock, joining Richie’s. Together, they held it still as Richie slowly sank down until the head popped past his rim.

They both gasped as the new sensation washed over them.

Richie started cursing under his breath, sinking down a little bit lower every few seconds until he was fully seated in Stan’s lap.

Stan held an iron grip on Richie’s hips as he tried to ground himself, the feeling of Richie clenching around him almost too much to bare.

“Why haven’t we been doing this all these years.” Richie whined, pulling himself up until the head of Stan’s cock threatened to slip out, before pushing back down at a satisfyingly slow pace.

“Because we’re idiots.” Stan answered, raising his hips to meet Richie as he came down.

“H-huge idiots.” Richie agreed, nodding along with his thrusts.

“We have a lot of - hnnnng fuck - a lot of time to make up for.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Rich, I would literally stay in this moment for a lifetime if I could- ahhhh.”

“Your dick might shrivel up.” Richie noted, speeding up his rhythm upon hearing Stan’s moans.

“Worth it.” Stan swallowed thickly, getting lost in the sight of Richie’s cock bouncing against his stomach.

“I wanna suck you off.” Stan blurted, no longer able to filter his thoughts through the haze in his brain.

“Fuck, Stanny- you’re so perfect- nnnnggggg ohmygod-” Richie’s entire body tensed up as he reached his peak. Stan watched as his cock twitched, releasing strings of cum that shot impressively far. The feeling of Richie clenching around him paired with the sight of him completely unraveling tipped Stan over the edge along with him.

His orgasm felt like it lasted a lifetime, draining every ounce of energy out of him and leaving Stan completely boneless by the end. He vaguely processed Richie slipping off him, heard the sound of the tent unzip, and then felt the warmth of Richie’s body saddling back up beside him.

“You okay there?” Richie’s voice drifted through the tent, but it still felt light years away. Stan nodded meekly, his bearings just starting to come back.

Stan peered down at his spent cock, giving it a small nod in appreciation for its performance.

“Where’s the condom?” Stan asked drearily.

“I put it outside the tent.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Would you rather we sleep with it next to us?” Richie asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Mmmmm- shut up and spoon me.” Stan grumbled, turning to his side and pulling Richie’s arm over him.

“As you wish.” Richie whispered.