Chapter Text
Richie was throwing shirts into his suitcase, not bothering to fold them, when he got Travis's text.
im bored. cum over
Richie rolled his eyes, half affection and half annoyance. Travis was a fucking linguistics professor. Why did he insist on sexting like a teenager?
can't, he texted back. bout 2 catch a red eye. Travis wouldn't ask where he was going, and Richie wouldn't mention Ben and Bev's wedding--in fact, he'd never mentioned Ben or Bev. They didn't really have a knowing-things-about-each-other's-lives kind of relationship. Richie was pretty sure he was saved in Travis's phone as Sex Idiot. That was fine. Travis kept him supplied with orgasms while Richie's heart was free to pine for Eddie.
Oops. He was trying not to think about Eddie--specifically, about the fact that tomorrow would be their first time seeing each other since Eddie's divorce. Just because they were both single and out, now, didn't mean there was any chance of something happening between them, Richie reminded himself. It was stupid to get his hopes up.
But Richie had always been good at stupid.
when do u get in? wanna car pool? he texted Eddie. Ben's hippie ass had his heart set on getting married in Sedona, a two-hour drive from the airport in Phoenix. It had just occurred to Richie that going in on a rental car would be a fiscally responsible decision that would also, by the way, give him extra time alone with Eddie.
when do u cum back? Travis texted just as Richie hit send.
back on tues. get together then?
but im horny now
ill find a way to make it up 2 u, Richie texted, smiling. He had an idea where this conversation was headed. Travis had a great appreciation for Richie's trashmouth, and Richie needed very little encouragement to really get going.
He grabbed a toothbrush and some deodorant and threw them in the suitcase. Most of his mind was occupied with what he should text Travis next. He had just enough time for a quick interlude of sexting and jerking off before he needed to leave for the airport. It would be nice to feel wanted, to shore up his ego for the next few days. Maybe he could take enough of the edge off that he wouldn't pop a semi the instant he laid eyes on Eddie.
His phone buzzed. Richie glanced at the text as he sat down on the bed beside his open suitcase.
What's your plan?
Richie responded quickly.
start by kissing u til u cant breathe
suck on ur tongue
show u how much I missd that mouth
when u start getting weak in the knees
thats when ill get on mine
He set the phone aside to unzip his pants, palming himself through his boxers, already half-hard.
Then he froze.
The text he had just replied to--it was what he'd expected Travis to say, but it wasn't how Travis would say it. That text began with a capital letter and contained punctuation. That text was from--
"Oh, fuck, no," Richie whispered, and his phone rang.
Incoming call: Eds
Richie squeezed his eyes shut and wondered how difficult it would be to fake his own death. No, Bev would kill him if he skipped out on maid of honor duties. Besides, this didn't have to be a disaster, right? People sexted the wrong number. It happened. He'd just explain, and they'd have a good laugh about it, and Richie could wait until after the wedding to throw himself into a volcano.
He took a deep breath and hit Accept. "Eds, I--"
"What the shit, Richie?" Eddie asked. His voice was low. "Warn a guy before you say shit like that."
"Fuck, just let me--"
"What if I was walking around in public with a hard-on like this?"
"I'm so sorry. It…" Richie stopped, shook his head. "What?"
"You don't have to be sorry," said Eddie in that same low voice. He sounded like he was smiling. "As it happens, I'm not in public."
"You… you're…"
"I'm in bed," Eddie said, and Richie's heart skittered in his chest. "My flight out is early tomorrow. And I'm not doing this over text, because looking at screens in bed is really bad for your sleep hygiene." Which shut down the theory that Eddie had been kidnapped and replaced by an imposter; that was the kind of sentence only Eddie's freaky little mind could produce.
"I don't know what the fuck sleep hygiene is, but it sounds hot when you say it," Richie said. He was finally putting the pieces together, as improbable as the finished picture seemed. Eddie had gotten his sexts, thought they were meant for him , and rather than freaking out and blocking Richie's number, called him to voice his approval. Eddie liked what Richie had sent him. Eddie was… Eddie was into it.
Eddie was hard. He had actually just said that.
This was not at all how Richie had envisioned his evening going, but he was nothing if not adaptable.
"So, set the scene for me," Richie said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. "Eds in bed. Give me a mental image."
Eddie laughed. "Is that your way of asking what I'm wearing?"
"Hell yes," Richie said reverently.
"Not much," said Eddie, and Richie bit his lip. "An A-shirt and my underwear."
"Okay, yeah, I can picture it," Richie said. His dick, which had lost some of its enthusiasm when he realized he sexted the wrong person, was hard again, and he brushed his fingers over it, teasing himself. "I could use some more details on the underwear."
"Nothing special. Black boxer briefs."
"Mmm. Nice and tight?"
Eddie chuckled self-consciously. "Tighter than usual. Your text really, uh, came as a surprise. A very welcome surprise," he added quickly. Warmth prickled in Richie's chest.
His phone beeped in his ear, reminding him that Travis was probably texting him, wondering where he'd gone. Oh well, sucked to be Travis.
"I'm glad," Richie said. That came out more earnest than sexy. He needed to steer this back to more familiar waters. "So where were we? I believe the last time we checked in with our intrepid protagonists--"
"Of course you're fucking like this during phone sex," Eddie grumbled. He paused, then said in a different tone of voice, "You were getting on your knees."
" Yeah I was," said Richie. A shiver went through him. This… this was happening. "I was getting on my knees to get a real good look at you in those boxer briefs. Up close." He licked his lips, closed his eyes. "You look fucking good, Eds. So good I can't believe it. I can't believe you're right here, and you're hard for me."
"Believe it," Eddie murmured, low in his throat.
Richie could have burst into tears, but he made himself keep talking, finding his rhythm. He knew how to do this. "I want to make this last, make it so good for you. First I'd put my mouth on you through your briefs, just let you feel me breathing on you."
"God, Richie, your mouth," Eddie said. "I've…" He let out a shaky breath. "I've thought about your mouth a lot."
"Oh, yeah?" Richie swallowed a groan. "What have you thought about it?"
"That I'd like to--you know. See it." Richie pressed his hand against himself through his boxers, imagining the hand was Eddie's. "On me."
"You'd like to see my lips all red and wet and stretched out around your cock?" Richie said.
Eddie's reply didn't sound like a word in any language Richie was familiar with.
"How long has it been since you've had your dick sucked, Eds?"
"Shit. Fuck. I don't know. A long--too long," Eddie panted.
"How about it, then? Should I pull your briefs down and suck you, all wet and sloppy so you know how much I mean it? Lick up the sides like you're an ice cream cone and I don't want to miss a drop?"
" Richie. What the fuck. " Eddie swallowed audibly. "You're--fucking good at this."
"At dirty talk?" Eddie started to say something, but Richie kept going. "Or at taking your cock in my mouth, nice and slow so I don't gag, using my tongue to get you so wet you can just slide right into me?" To really sell it, Richie put two fingers in his mouth and sucked them lasciviously, making an obscene sound into the phone.
"Oh my God. What the fuck are you doing?"
"Sucking on my fingers," Richie said. "Pretending it's your dick."
Eddie made a sound like the wind had been knocked out of him. There was silence for a moment, and then Eddie said, "Take a picture."
"What?"
"Take a picture. Of you sucking on your fingers. And send it to me, so I can--so I can see you." Richie knew there was no way to hear a blush through the phone, but he was pretty sure Eddie was blushing.
Which made two of them. Richie had sent and received his share of dick pics, but this request--a picture of his face --felt intimate in a new way, a way that scared him a little.
"Richie?" Eddie asked, doubt creeping into his voice.
"Anything, Eds. Anything you want," said Richie, hoping Eddie wouldn't understand how much he meant it. "Hang on."
He took a moment to find an angle he liked, then snapped the picture: mouth open, three fingers shiny with spit against the soft red muscle of his tongue. Richie had never felt particularly enamored of his own face, but he had to admit he looked kind of hot here, flushed pink, eyelids heavy, pupils dark and enormous. He looked utterly wanton, feral with lust. Before he could overthink it, he sent it to Eddie.
A long moan on the other end of the line told him it had come through. "God, you look fucking amazing," Eddie murmured. "Look like you're dying to get fucked."
"As a matter of fact," said Richie, laughing a little breathlessly.
"Yeah? Is that what you want? Do you want me to fuck you?"
"Fuck, yeah, I want your dick in me," Richie gasped. There was another sound in the background, a rhythmic skin-on-skin noise that kept time with Eddie's labored breathing. "Eds, are you jacking off?"
"Uh, yeah, dumbass. Isn't that kind of the point?" A pause, a grunt. "Why, aren't you?"
"Not really, not yet," Richie said. "You're too fucking hot for me to stand it. The second I touch my dick I'm gonna explode."
"I want you to," said Eddie. Richie bit his lip to keep from whimpering.
"Okay," he said. "Okay, I will. But you gotta send me a picture too. I want to see what I'm swallowing."
Eddie hesitated for a moment. "Okay, but don't, like, judge me. My photography skills, I mean. I've never done this before."
"You've never sent a dick pic?" Richie laughed a little, and immediately regretted it.
"No! I got married before phone cameras got really good!" Eddie snapped. "Dick pics were, like, barely a thing the last time I was single."
"You've been divorced for three months!"
"I haven't been dating! Or--or hooking up or whatever." Eddie sounded pissed. It was having no effect whatsoever on Richie's erection, which was probably something he should bring up with his therapist, if he ever got around to finding one.
"Why not?"
"Because I've been too busy trying to think of ways to get you into bed with me at Bev's wedding, fuckwad!"
It's like the electricity flickered and the lights went out for an instant, except Richie was the lights. When he returned to himself, he discovered that he was cold all over. "You… you have?" he managed to say.
"Uh. Yeah, well. If you're--I mean, you did send me a text about wanting to suck on my tongue, so it's not like--Not that that means I have the right to, like, expect anything, but--"
"Eddie," Richie cut him off.
A moment of silence, then, "Yeah, Richie?"
"Expect things," Richie said.
It sounded like Eddie tried to whistle, but his lips were too dry. "Yeah. All right. I'm… I'm looking forward to it."
Richie was fucking dizzy. His whole universe had been taken apart and put back together in the span of five minutes. Plus, he was so hard he thought other parts of his body might be going numb from a lack of blood. "Me too," he said. "But I still want to see what I'm looking forward to, Eds. Send me that picture."
"All right." There was some rustling on the other end, and then his phone pinged. Richie saw that he had five unread texts from Travis, but dismissed them without a moment's thought. He opened the one from Eddie.
Richie hissed through his teeth. "God damn." The picture didn't show Eddie's face; it was just his torso, undershirt yanked up to the nipples, showing flawless abs and--"Hang on. I wanted a picture of you, not a porn star."
"What the fuck are you talking about? That is me. I just couldn't get a good shot that had my dick and my face in it."
"You got skewered by a spider alien. I was there. You're telling me you don't even have a scar? After all that, you still look like a fucking Calvin Klein model?"
Eddie scoffed. "I do not look like a model. But yeah, the scar kind of just disappeared."
"This is really you?"
"Yes, it's really me!"
"So that's really your dick." It was gorgeous, so hard Richie could almost feel the heat through his screen, and Eddie's hand wrapped around it looked small.
"Yeah, dude, that's what you asked for."
Richie dropped his voice. "Trust me, I'm going to be asking for it again. And again. I'll beg if I have to, Eds. I'm not proud."
"Oh, fuck," Eddie said. "God. I wouldn't--I'll give it to you, Rich. I wouldn't make you beg." He heard Eddie shifting his weight. "You're jacking off now, right? I don't want to be the only one losing my shit."
"Anything for you," Richie said, and pushed the waistband of his boxers down, freeing his cock. He circled it with his spit-slick fingers and stroked once, twice, biting back a groan. "Shit, Eds, I'm gonna last eight seconds. I'm so fucking close just from listening to you talk." It occurred to him that he was going to mess up his shirt any moment now, but fuck it, he could change.
"I'm close too," Eddie said indistinctly.
"How do you want to come?"
"I don't--Jesus, Richie--"
"Come in my mouth," Richie said.
"Yeah, oh fuck."
"Just like that, baby," Richie said, his hand moving faster. He wondered belatedly if it was okay to call Eddie "baby," but since he was still sighing and swearing into the phone with furious abandon, Richie figured it was probably fine. "Use me. Fuck my face. Grab my hair and pull my head down and fill my mouth up with your cock. Come in my throat, Eds, I want to taste you. I'm so fucking thirsty for you."
Eddie let out a sob. "Shit, your mind is filthy."
That almost sent Richie over the edge, but he stopped, forced himself to take a few deep breaths. He wanted Eddie to come first.
"Yeah, it is," he agreed. "You know what they call me."
"Trashmouth?" said Eddie, and it sounded almost like an endearment.
"Yeah," Richie said again. "So trash my fucking mouth."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, " Eddie moaned, and then his voice got deeper and louder and less coherent, and Richie pumped his fist frantically around his cock, and he was coming too, moaning in unison with Eddie, grinding through wave after wave of pleasure until his whole body was limp and spent.
He lay for a long time, listening as Eddie's breathing slowed.
"Jesus," Eddie finally said. "That was incredible."
Richie smiled, and at the same time, tears filled his eyes. "Pretty fucking great," he agreed.
Eddie laughed. "I've been wondering all week if I'd have the stones to ask you to dance at the reception, but that was a real confidence booster. I think I'm gonna go for it."
Richie's heart leapt at the thought that Eddie had been thinking about him, but he tried to keep his voice even. "Dancing? I don't know, you're moving pretty fast there, Eds. Everyone knows that dancing leads to sex."
"I'm counting on it," said Eddie. Something went through Richie that he couldn't quite define--it was like an orgasm aftershock, but emotional instead of physical. The words I love you teetered on his lips, but he pulled them back from the brink.
"I'm really fucking excited to see you, Eds," he said instead.
"I can't wait. Hey, I never asked, what are you wearing?"
Richie looked down at himself and winced. "Uh, I could make up something sexier if you want, but the truth is I'm fully clothed with my dick out and a stain on my shirt."
"Why the fuck are you fully clothed?"
"Because my flight to Phoenix is in, uh…" He checked the time. "Two hours."
"Two hours? Your flight is in two hours? That's when it leaves?"
"Uh, yeah."
"And you're at your motherfucking house having phone sex? " Eddie's voice was creeping into an octave Richie recognized, his rage as comforting and familiar as a well-read book. "You should have been at the airport a fucking hour ago--holy shit, if you miss your flight I'm going to kill you, and then Bev's going to dig you up and kill you again--"
"Okay! Okay. I get it. I'm on my way." He set his phone down, yanked the soiled shirt off, flung it toward the corner where a hamper would be if he had one, and grabbed a reasonably clean replacement from the floor. When he brought the phone back to his ear, Eddie was still yelling at him.
"Eds," Richie cut him off.
"What?"
"Want to cancel your room for the weekend and go halvsies on mine instead?"
"Yeah," said Eddie without hesitation. "Now get your sorry ass on the plane."