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Fuzzy Electric

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"Stan. Stan. Stan. Stan. Stan-Stan-Stan-Stan. Stanley. Staniel. Stanjamin."

Richie bounced a little harder on Stan's bed, in case Stan hadn't gotten the message. He was still trying to keep a straight face, Richie could tell, but his eyebrow was twitching in that way it did when he was getting kinda pissed. Stan pressed his nose deeper into Spider-man Spectacular and rolled onto his belly. Ha.

Richie bounced off the bed and pivoted in the corner of the room, preparing himself for the run up. He scraped his socked feet against the carpet a few times, snorted air out of his nostrils.

"Don't, Richie," said Stan. They were the first words he'd said since Richie had arrived, unannounced, to interrupt Stan’s designated comic time. Richie huffed a little louder, hunched his shoulders.

"Richie." Stan said, warning. His shoulders tensed. Richie leaped.

At the precise moment that he would have landed perfectly on the back of his trusty steed Staniel The Magnificent, Stan twisted around and, with unerring accuracy, got his fingers around Richie's balls. They both froze, a half-tangled pile of limbs.

"Ow?" Richie said. It hurt. Stan was squeezing tightly, his eyes dancing with quiet glee, and his fingers were like a fucking vice. The pain signals in his brain were zapping confusedly back and forth, not sure of their purpose, and Richie was suddenly aware of the fact that if he didn't move pretty shortly, he was going to get a very awkward boner.

"Uh, Stan?"

Stan looked serene. He clenched his fingers a little harder. Richie whimpered. His idiot dick wasn’t listening to his frantic attempts to think of something gross (Eddie’s mom, Eddie’s mom naked, ugh!), and was eagerly coming to attention.

“Uhhhh,” he managed, “What, you wanna grab my big fucking dick? Go for it, man.” He aimed for a leer but it came out thin and needy, and Stan gave him a knowing look and raised an eyebrow.

“Doesn’t look like I need to grab it, Rich.”


Stan twisted around like a fucking eel and placed his comic carefully on his nightstand, never letting go of his grip on Richie’s balls. It was starting to really fucking hurt. Richie’s eyes watered.

“Want me to let go?” Stan asked. He twisted a little more, got himself situated with his back to the wall, Richie’s legs splayed over his lap. Every movement sent little jabs of pain through Richie that seemed to spike him everywhere at once. His dick throbbed uncomfortably in his shorts.

“I… uh-”

“Honestly, I’m just amazed that this is what it takes to get you to shut the fuck up for once.”

Even as he said it, he released his fingers, his other hand firm on the small of Richie’s back. Richie wasn’t sure if it was pain that flooded through him or something else, but he heard himself let out another noise as his head thunked forward onto Stan’s shoulder.

“Hm. I have an idea,” said Stan. “Come on, get off.”

“Oh yeah?” said Richie, as Stan tipped him sideways off his lap to sprawl facedown on the bed. “I’ll get off alright, I- fuck!”

Stan smacked his ass. Hard. What the fuck.

“What the fuck, man?” He turned to peer over his shoulder incredulously. Stan’s expression was mild.

“If you don’t like it, that’s fine,” he said. His hand was gentle now, rubbing at the very top of Richie’s thigh where he’d made contact. Richie’s balls still ached, and now there was a sting of pain in his ass too, and Jesus, it was all threading together and making his dick fucking pulse it was so hard.

“You’re gonna fucking spank me, Stanny?”

“Yeah, I think so,” said Stan. “I think we’d both like that.”

“Jesus. What the fuck are you getting out of this?” There was no pretending Richie wasn’t alreading grinding down onto the bedspread at the thought of it.

“Are you kidding me,” said Stan dryly. “If you think I’ve never thought about getting you over my knee... I think most of us daydream about it.”


“Take your pants off,” said Stan. He sat primly near the edge of the bed. His button-down shirt was still neatly done up all the way, his little brown shorts exposing pink knees. Richie hadn’t seen anything fucking sexier in his life. He scrambled to obey, but Stan caught his arm firmly as he started to pull his shirt off.

“Did I say anything about your shirt?” he said.

“Shit. No. You want me to… just my pants?” That was… that was fucking humiliating, actually. Richie was already hard, already eager for Stan to spank him, for fuck’s sake, but somehow the suggestion that he leave his shirt on, that he would just pull his pants down and bend over to take it like a… like a fucking naughty schoolboy. Fuck. The embarrassment washed through him like a wave. He felt his face going red, his nipples tingled. His cock, somehow, got even harder.

“Jesus, Stan.” His voice wobbled mortifyingly.

“Will you do it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, fuck.” His face burned as he pulled his pants down. He left them at his ankles, because it felt somehow like that’s what Stan would want. Then he crawled over Stan’s knee and hovered there, unsure what to do next.

“You can lie down,” said Stan.

“But, uh, I’m -” Richie stammered.

“I can see you’re hard, Richie. It’s fine.”

“I’m gonna stain your shorts,” Richie managed. He always got really wet. He was pretty sure he was leaking already and God, the idea of Stan’s perfect, neatly pressed clothes getting his come all over them made him lightheaded. He lowered down, the roughness of the fabric feeling like heaven against his aching dick.

Stan did nothing for a few long seconds, other than place his left hand on Richie’s shirt between his shoulderblades. With the other, he flipped the tail of the shirt up to expose his ass.

“Fuck,” said Richie. He pressed his face into the comforter, hands scrabbling for purchase and ending up gripping the fabric either side of his head. Stan stroked him lightly with his fingers, then, just as suddenly as he’d grabbed Richie by the balls, swung his hand hard against Richie’s ass.

All the air seemed to leave Richie’s lungs at once. It hurt. God, it fucking hurt. He gasped, breathless, but before he could do anything Stan hit him again, a sharp smack that made his whole body shift in Stan’s lap.

“Holy shi-it!” he yelped. Stan wasn’t fucking letting up, just laying into him, one smack after the other, scattering the hits around his ass and his upper thighs. “Ow! Fucking, ow, Stan! What the hell, how are your weedy fucking arms this strong?”

He hadn’t really expected more than a few light, playful smacks. This was…fuck. Stan shifted his left hand from Richie’s back up to his hair and grabbed a handful, tugging it sharply as he brought his hand down again.

“Stan! Fuck, fuck!”

“If you can stay quiet for the rest of this, I’ll jerk you off after,” Stan offered, pausing to draw his finger lightly across one of Richie’s burning asscheeks. Richie almost choked on his own tongue, then pressed his face into the comforter and moaned quietly, hoping that wouldn’t count even as he tensed again in anticipation. Motherfuck. He imagined Stan’s serious face looking down at him, Stan’s firm hand around him. Nobody had ever touched him like that before, unless you counted Eddie dickslapping him while they were fighting and, fuck, it was becoming kind of obvious why that had always made him weirdly horny.

Just as he was starting to enjoy being stroked, Stan smacked him again, open palmed on his upper thigh, a sharp crack that echoed too loudly in his room. Richie jerked and squirmed, whined low through his nose, not sure if he was trying to get away or get more. The stinging sensation merged into a buzz of painful heat that was spreading all over him, threading to his fingertips, to his nipples, to the residual low ache in his balls.

“I should tell the others about this,” Stan said, his voice low and intense. He smacked Richie again, three sharp spanks in a row. “Such an easy way to shut your mouth.”

Richie panted, hard. God. They would know, they would all know. He’d go down on his knees for any of them, and now Stan knew it. Would he really tell them? He was sweating, squirming, had almost certainly leaked right the fuck through Stan’s shorts and he knew with a frantic certainty that he was going to come if Stan didn’t stop.

“Did you get hard when Bill hit you? Did you touch yourself after, thinking about it?” Stan scraped his nails hard over the tender skin of Richie’s ass, then twisted his whole body to draw his arm back, slapped him so hard that Richie’s teeth ground together. “You looked good with blood on your face, Rich.”

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Stan, I’m gonna come -”

“And you can’t even shut the fuck up for five minutes.” Stan tugged firmly on his hair, Richie’s neck pulling back, his mouth open. “Next time, you’ll get a dick in your mouth.”

“Oh my God,” said Richie, spasming hard as he came against Stan’s shorts, his body on fucking fire. Stan kept spanking him through it, light but fast, scattering hits all over Richie’s ass and thighs as Richie shuddered and moaned and came for fucking ever, holy shit.

His ears buzzed. His brain felt like mushy, half-melted ice cream. His ass hurt like hell. Richie gingerly tipped himself sideways off Stan’s lap and onto the bed to stare at the ceiling. His fingertips felt like he’d attached a battery to them, fuzzy electric pulses still running through his body. Beside him, Stan breathed heavily.

“Y’okay?” he slurred.

“Pretty sure I should be asking you that,” said Stan, stiffly. Richie propped himself up on his elbow for a good look at him, and wow, Stan was a fucking mess. Come all over his shorts, his face red, eyes dark as hell. His dick was pressing against his zipper; it looked uncomfortable.

“Want me to suck you off?” said Richie. “I’ve never… uh. I might be terrible -”

Stan’s fingers clenched in the sheets either side of where he was sitting.

“Get down here,” he said. “On your - on your knees.”

Shit. That buzzing, cotton-wool feeling rushed through Richie’s body again, and he scrambled off the bed clumsily, his pants still tangled around his ankles, to kneel between Stan’s spread legs.

“Let’s see it, then.”

Stan grabbed his hair again with one hand, jerking open his filthy shorts with the other. Richie tipped forwards as Stan tugged at him. His stupid long legs meant he had to sit directly on his sore ass to be at the right height, and every time he moved pain radiated out and make him hiss and squirm.

“Does it hurt?” Stan said, hand hovering over his dick.

“Yeah, dude, it fucking hurts. Jesus. You went to town on me, man.”

“Sorry,” said Stan, not looking sorry at all. In fact, he looked kinda drugged, wide eyes raking over Richie’s face as he gripped his dick in his hand. He didn’t put it in Richie’s mouth, just jerked it at a speed Richie would have said was fucking geriatric, but was clearly working for him. Richie stared at him, not entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing. His leg started to cramp and he adjusted his position, sucking a breath of air through his teeth as he put pressure on the backs of his thighs. Stan’s eyelids fluttered.

“You’re a fucking sadist,” said Richie. “Do you want me to tell you how much my ass hurts right now?”

“Fuck,” said Stan, moving his hand faster.

“I’m not gonna be able to ride a bike for like a week, man. It feels like it’s on fire. Do you think I’ll have bruises? It fucking feels like it. The others are gonna ask me about it, you know. They’re gonna notice when I can’t walk right.”

“What’ll you say?” Stan asked, strained.

“You want me to tell them you got your hands on me? Got me to shut the fuck up for once by hurting me until I came all over you?”

“They’d all know what a little slut you were,” Stan gritted out.

”Fuck," said Richie, shocked by the new wave of heat that washed over him. There was no way he could get hard again so soon, but it was like his entire body twitched in recognition. “Yeah, fuck, they would.”

“Ah -” said Stan, then he was coming into his right hand, the fingers of his left still tight in Richie’s hair. Richie could feel his arm twitching. He stayed still, head caught in place, watching Stan shiver through the aftershocks. Gradually, the tension in Stan’s arm loosened, and he released his grip. Richie sat back on his ass without thinking.

“Fucking, ow. Shit.”

Stan gripped his arm with his clean hand and hauled him upwards.

“Lie down,” he said sternly. “I’ll be back.”

“Whatever you say, Arnie.”

Richie lay face-down, listened to the sound of the tap running in the bathroom, wriggled a bit at the threads of pain that kept pulsing through him when he moved. Stan returned in a clean pair of shorts and a soft looking t-shirt, a bottle of lotion in his hand.

“Ooh, baby,” said Richie. “You know, normally a guy’d take me out to dinner.”

“Shut up, Richie,” Stan said kindly. He sat sideways on the bed and squirted some lotion onto his hands, then smeared them over Richie’s ass with no warning.

“Ohhhhh, fuck.”


“It’s cold. Shit. That feels good.” He shivered. Stan smoothed the lotion over him, down over his thighs, then massaged it gently into his skin. Richie felt liquid, syrupy, as if he would slither down off the bed if it weren’t for Stan’s hands holding him steady.

“You’re all red,” said Stan. He sounded a little odd. His hands petted at Richie. Richie twisted around to look, and Stan’s gaze was fixed on the skin under his fingers.

“Well, yeah, man. You really fucking whaled on me.”

Stan’s eyes flicked up to meet Richie’s. He looked, for the first time, a little uncertain.

“I liked it, if that wasn’t obvious by how I just creamed myself on your shorts.”

“I… uh. I liked it too.”

“Fucking duh. So can we do it again?”

“Oh my God.”

“You know I’m just gonna annoy you until you make me shut up, now. With your dick.” Richie stuck his tongue in his cheek and gesticulated lewdly. Stan tapped his ass lightly.

“Shit, ow! Okay, shutting up now. Jesus.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Stan, but his hands were warm and gentle as they swept over Richie’s skin, even though all the lotion had already been smoothed in.

“Are you really gonna tell them?” Richie said after a few minutes of hazy bliss, because clearly he couldn’t ever just keep his fucking mouth shut. Stan paused.

“You want me to?”

Richie turned his face away. He did, and he didn’t at the same time.

“I won’t, if you don’t. Obviously. It just seemed like you might.”

“I don’t… uh.”

“I wouldn’t tell them anything you didn’t want me to.” His hands started moving again, petting Richie soothingly. “They’d all be jealous, though. I think you were silent for like, two entire minutes.”

“Ugh, fuck off. Okay.” Richie squirmed away from Stan’s grip and wriggled his pants back up, managing not to gasp at the burning sensation as he dragged them up over his thighs and ass. “I think I’m good.”

Stan gave him a severe look. “Hmm,” he said. “I guess.” His curls had flopped over his forehead, frizzy from sweat. There was a soft little crease between his eyebrows.

“Can I kiss you?” said Richie, without thinking. Stan’s tongue darted out, but he didn’t say anything. Richie was just about to open his mouth to make a joke of it, ha ha, kidding, that’s fucking gay, man, when Stan leaned over and grabbed the back of his head. He was… kind of a terrible kisser, actually. Too much tongue, too wet, and Richie was about to pull back and rag on him a little when Stan bit his bottom lip and Richie forgot everything apart from the ping that sent through his entire body.

“Shit,” he mumbled, against Stan’s mouth. Stan bit him again, then pulled away, mouth gleaming wet. “Such a fucking sadist, man. Ow.” He touched his bottom lip; it felt tender under his fingers. Stan’s eyes tracked the movement.

“I’m gonna. I should go,” said Richie.

“Cool,” said Stan. He leaned sideways to grab Spider-man from the nightstand. “You should put some more lotion on tomorrow.”

“Uh. Okay.”

“Say you’ll do it, Richie.”

“Fuckin’ okay, man, I’ll do it. Jeez.”

Stan’s gaze bored into him, until finally he nodded, seeming satisfied. “Good.”

“Okay,” said Richie. He grabbed his bag and hovered awkwardly in the doorway. “Right. Great. Bye, Staniel. See ya later, baked po-tater! Pip pip, toodle-oo -”

“Fuck off, Richie!” But he was looking at Richie over the top of his comic, a little smirk hovering on his mouth.

“Going, going!” Richie blew him an elaborate kiss, then skipped down the stairs, his ass aching with every step.