Summary: Taron likes to keep the light off when they fuck. Richard prefers the opposite.
Contains: close to smut - screaming - pain
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Taron likes to keep the light off when they fuck.
Richie prefers the opposite. He won't ever say it out loud, but it's not hard to figure that out by how he responses. T tries not to read too much into it. He always starts with drinks, then carries on to a few shared cigarettes, and eventually reaches for the light switch in the guest bedroom. By now they probably have had sex on every single surface in Taron's house except the real bed in his bedroom. Everywhere else, he lets richie make use of.
They see each other on and off, some years more frequently than others. T has long stopped to find himself an excuse.
They make out on the sofa sometimes. Those occasions are getting rarer, not only because taron actively avoid them. Richie comes in less often, although T hasn't heard that richard finds anyone special. "I'm running a bit low on meself, recently." The taller man explains casually. He doesn't sound more bitter than necessary.
Taron can get high solely on the way richard looks up into his eyes. He knows T is not gonna give him the answer he wants, yet richie comes back. He comes back for conversations and arguments that never seems to change taron's mind. He comes back for sloppy kisses dropped on the corners of his mouth and intoxicated sex in the darkness. He comes back for richie, again and again, likely always.
T doesn't know how he ends up in this position. 5 in the afternoon, his bathroom is clear and bright. His ribs dig painfully onto the edge of the sink. Another finger is pushed inside him too soon, making taron's forehead drop heavily onto the cold marble. He grips the tap tightly, chest heaving with broken, wanton sighs.
It's been a while, and he surely misses the feeling of richie opening him up, then filling him fully with one undeniable, swift move. T is alright with screaming for him. He can't quite control himself anyway, not when dickie keeps this punishing pace and keeps leaving telling bruises on his hips. A hand winds into the mop of tangled hair on the back of his head, pulling taron's head up.
"Keep you eyes open, T." Whispers richie, other hand circling to the front to find Taron's perked nipple, mercilessly nipping it with his blunt nails. Taron clenches around him uncontrollably under the stimulation, making both of them moaning in pained pleasure. His eyes flutter open under the command, and immediately taron burns red with the humiliation of seeing his own reflection in the mirror.
His face is dampened by a mixture of sweat and tear as richie bends down, grinding into T in this new angle. Another loud gasp escapes out of taron's mouth. "What can ya see, babe?" He asks darkly, forcing a thumb between taron's teeth to keep his head from turning to the side. Taron watches himself as he drools helplessly, yet wordlessly begs Richard for more. Richie stares at him as well, his eyes burn so bright that T almost forgets it's the sun that drives away shadows.
He's close. Taron can tell from the brutal pounding he receives. He can do nothing more than whimpering in a blissful daze as richie' face distorts with ecstasy. He doesn't tear his eyes off T for half a second, coaxing a scream from taron with a few encouraging strokes and a longing gaze that feels just as good as a real caress.
However good it feels, it's also so overwhelmingly terrifying. Taron can't bring himself to protest when richie helps him into the shower, then kisses him gently on the lips. Richard kisses like he means it. He kisses without holding back so that taron can taste the bitter truth on his tongue.
It's right there: If taron wants, he can have richie' heart in hand with no price to pay.
T doesn't ask for it, though. In silence they share the shower, use one clean towel and get under the same blanket. Richard snuggles up against him and breaths out heavily. "T," He starts, but this time there's no sarcastic remarks, no accusation. "I think about ya all the time."
"You're here." Answers taron, drawing hesitant patterns on richard' shoulder blades. When it's dark and his head's not clear. "That's good enough for me."
"Of course it is." taron feels more than hears richard' chuckle, being pressed against his chest. It doesn't sound like a smile, though. "I know you'd say that."
"dickie," taron warns him. Every time richie goes there, it scares t, even though this isn't nearly new. "You know I can't."
To that richie doesn't reply. He quietly tightens the hug. Taron finds it almost hard to breath. Tired and lightheaded and not yet recovered from the fright, taron feels his heart racing when richie says good night with a brief kiss on top of his hair.
Eventually taron relaxes under the touch, letting himself enjoy this last-minute lover's game they get to play. Tonight they fall asleep next to each other, tomorrow when the sun wakes up the room tarln will be lying on his own. Not in richard' arms, until next time richie comes back to his door.
