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The second time Richie leaves the Townhouse, he uses his little trick so he doesn’t have to sneak. He doesn’t worry about the racket his boots make stomping down the stairs, or what people will think of him as he disappears. Ideally, if he pulls this off, they’ll think he’s a hero- and if he doesn’t... well, he’s kind of expendable, isn’t he? No one’s waiting at home for him like most of the others. He should hustle, though. It’s never a given how much time he’ll have, doing this. He barely ate since dinner last night, and then puked besides, so hypothetically his bounce-back should be pretty fucking slow, but still.
Richie storms through the reception area, where the first few drops of Ben’s next drink float in mid air and Bill is improbably suspended in space, balanced on one foot as he throws himself back into an armchair. They’re frozen, just as they should be. They’ll be safer if they’re not leading their shitbrained charge into battle with absolutely zero advantage, and so will Bev and Eddie, up in their rooms, and Mike in the hospital. He’s not losing anyone else.
Still, the thud of the door behind him turns Richie’s stomach like it did before when he bolted out the back. This is different from when he ran, he has to tell himself. He’s seen the blood now. It was- fuck, sorry Stan, but it was abstract when it was just something reported to someone else over the phone. He can taste it now. If he’d been a moment later getting to Mike? The splash of red on Bowers’ face might not have been his own, leaking from his hateful skull. And what he did to Eddie? Richie just about lost his mind when he saw. That’s when he decided- as soon as he had a chance, he was going to take it.
Richie dashes around the corner of the Townhouse to the parking at the side, batting away a stray leaf that hasn’t quite dropped from its tree, and then he, like everything else, comes to a sudden stop. Next to his rental car is Eddie’s, jostling as an enormous suitcase is muscled into it’s trunk.
“What the fuck?”
The trunk slams closed in a flash of blue. With the obstruction gone, Eddie stands there, open mouth working overtime to form a word that won’t come.
“How-” Quickly, Richie looks around his surroundings, thinking his time’s already up- but the flag on a nearby pole is furled out in the breeze as though it’s been shellacked. He snaps back to Eddie. “What the fuck, man?”
“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” he shakes his head. There are tears in his big brown eyes, making them all the more starry. “I can’t. I don’t wanna fucking die here.”
He’s leaving, Richie realizes. But that hardly matters because he shouldn’t even be able to fucking blink right now, let alone bolt out of town.
“I fucking- uhh!! Time is literally frozen!” Richie shouts, pointing to Derry at large and waving his hands at the sky. There are unfalling leaves and cars seemingly parked in the middle of an intersection just a few blocks down, and a formation of birds stuck overhead. Plus! Eddie was just inside, he must have seen Ben and Bill to get out here. “How the fuck are you moving around right now!?”
Eddie does not take Richie’s invitation to look around at the surreality of their surroundings. He squints at Richie like he has just told a particularly obvious and childish lie. “Because I froze it?” he says, voice lilting in uncertainty.
“What!?” Richie shrieks. “No, you fucknut! I did! I don’t know why, I just can! I always have.”
“How?” Eddie asks, very slowly. “How do you do it?”
Well. Ahem.
Playing coy requires bandwidth Richie just does not have right now in the midst of it all, so he tells the truth. “When I shoot a load everything times out and just fucking stops!”
It shouldn’t be possible for Eddie’s brow to furrow any deeper, but it does. He steps closer, coming between the cars towards Richie. “You? Really can stop time?”
“Yet I don’t have time for this,” Richie hisses, pushing past him, so he can get in his car already. He can’t wrap his head around this hiccup, and he certainly can’t stop and fight about it, he needs to get this show on the fucking road!
Eddie grabs him before he can open the door. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
“Where do you fucking think?”
“Neibolt.” Just as soon as Richie pries his door open, Eddie hip-checks it closed, again. “Why!?”
Richie’s furious- about It, about Bowers, about Eddie, about every fucked up thing that’s ever happened to him in his life since and has yet to happen and Richie wants to sound angry- but instead the words come out like a comfort- “I’m taking care of business.” His eyes zip back and forth between Eddie’s hand on his wrist and his wounded face, incapable of deciding which is more important to linger on, now that he’s realizing this could be the last time they ever touch or see each other. “Eddie. Go ahead. Leave,” he says, finally settling on Eddie’s wide-eyed look of worry. “Just. Please be safe. If I-” If I survive this, he doesn't say, can’t say, when Eddie is looking at him like he actually cares, “-I’ll look you up.”
Something darkens in Eddie’s expression as he fills in the blank for himself. “No. You’re not going alone.”
Richie tries to break away. There’s no way in hell he’s going to risk it. Not when he just got Eddie back and had already failed to protect him this far. “You’re not coming with me! I don’t even want me to be going with me, but I’m the only one who’s got the advantage-”
“You’re not,” Eddie grits, refusing to let go of Richie’s arm. “That’s what I’m trying to say! I can do it, too.”
Richie stops struggling physically so he can mentally wrestle with what’s being said, instead. Uh. He’s gonna need to sound this one out.
“You, Eddie, Eddie Kaspbrak, with whom I shared a puberty and a wallet crippling superhero comics addiction,” Richie clarifies, “-can freeze time when you bust a nut?”
Eddie sighs, but somehow instead of it relaxing his posture, it only makes him more intense. “Yes.”
“And you never told me!?”
True, Richie didn’t tell Eddie either, but to think of all the shenanigans that they could have been pulled as a dynamic duo! The Crank Yankers. The Ball Busters, The Cock Sloppin’ Clock Stoppers! What a lost opportunity!
Finally, Eddie lets go of him. “Not everyone loooves to blab about their fucking dick all the time, Richie!” He steps back and rubs the worry lines in his forehead. “I was already fucked up enough, feeling like I was out of control of my body with the shit with my mom... It was easier to pretend it wasn’t happening. I’d just do it at night when I was already going to sleep and it only lasted like, minutes, back then anyway.”
To be fair, if Eddie had confided in teen Richie a single word of this he would have died of heart failure at a very tender age. Even now, that seems a distinct possibility, but there are other forces at play hoping to kill Richie on this particular day. Can’t leave them hanging!
“Jesus, Eds.” Richie is torn. “I’ve gotta get going.”
Eddie looks up at him, as fiercely as he ever did while showing down with people who loved him so much less. “Richie, please.”
“Uhm.”
He swallows the sudden watery feeling in his throat. It’s been a long time since he’s had someone to watch his back, and he would never forgive himself if Eddie were in his place and didn’t have help. If he lost him for good.
Richie decides. “Well, I hope you’re built for a longer haul these days, champ. Or else my master plan is gonna need a few more reload breaks built into it...”
-
“I’m sorry,” the woman at desk says, unapologetically. “We don’t allow more than three visitors a patient. Figure it out.” With that, she flops three pass cards on the counter so she can get back to her book.
Bill gathers them up. “That’s two left out,” he says, turning back to the group.
“Wow. How does he do that math in his head?” Richie whispers to Eddie. “He must be some kinda genius.”
Eddie snickers.
“You’re definitely going in, you’re tight with Mike,” Ben says to Bill, declining to take a pass card just because he’s standing closest. “I’ll shoot with Richie for one.”
On cue, Bev holds out a fist to Eddie, too, and all four of them Rock Paper Scissors for the remaining cards. Ben clobbers Richie’s scissors, of course, and Bev covers Eddie’s rock.
“But you guys should get to brag to Mike for yourselves,” Bev frowns. “Let’s go again, best out of three.”
“Nah, it’s cool.” Richie pushes down her hand again. “You guys go ahead. I’m sure me and Eds can grease some palms out here. Sneak in.”
Bev considers the staff sitting at the reception desk. “That nurse in puppy scrubs looks like a pushover,” she says, shrewd as ever.
“Richie...“ Eddie shifts uncomfortably at his side, already catching on to his actual idea. God, Richie forgot how much he fucking loves it when they read each other’s minds like this. “We could just wait our fucking turn.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“You sure?” Bill hands over cards to Bev and Ben. “J-just text us when you wanna trade spots.”
Eddie nods. “We can wait, no problem. Just tell Mike hi, and that he’s a slacker, same as the rest of you.”
“Will do.”
One by one, the others flash their cards to the security guard and head in. Eddie mills around the nearby vending machine, yet to be convinced.
Richie slides himself in between Eddie and the glass.
“Fine, I won’t offer you half of my Kit-Kat.” Eddie ducks around to try and check the item number over his shoulder, but Richie keeps moving to block him.
“C’mon Eds, you owe me one just for shits and giggles superfucker team up,” he pouts.
“How do you figure that?”
“...You made me carry the backpack?”
“Duh. You’re taller,” Eddie says. “It was less likely to get wet in waist high water.”
“Yeah, we wouldn’t want all of the delicate blunt objects we lifted off of the second hand shop to get wet.”
Before Eddie can key in his selection, Richie smacks the coin return button, forcing him to start all over. He leans thrillingly close to Richie as he stoops to collect his quarters. “Good to see a near death experience hasn’t changed you,” he grunts.
“Trashmouth Throwback!” Richie puts on a Pepsi ad Voice. “The same classic flavor you know and love!“
“Still a total dickhead,” Eddie concludes, glaring at him in close range. He stands nearly chest to chest with Richie as he drops his coins into the slot again.
“I’m just saying.” Richie raises an eyebrow, trying to look intriguing. “Either we wait around out here, or we wait around in there. But at least we could see he’s okay with our own eyes... maybe get a look at his chart... get you fresh bandage without having to go through the whole ER rigmarole again?”
Eddie’s a junkie for medical data, and even more passionate about wound care. His stitches held throughout their little adventure, and then they showered and changed since Neibolt, but Eddie wasn’t 100% satisfied with the gauze selection in the Townhouse’s first aid kit. He smooths the edges of the tape on his cheek as he thinks.
It’s a flimsy pretext, for sure, but Eddie doesn’t outright say no. Maybe he’s just curious to have an accomplice for once, or still too elated by their victory to balk at the homoerotic implications of running off to go rub one out with Richie for non-emergency purposes, or maybe- like Richie- he doesn’t give a shit. Whatever his reasoning, by the time the Kit-Kat is gone, Eddie decides. Two minutes later they’re closing themselves into neighboring stalls in the bathroom. They turn the locks in unison before he finally second guesses it.
“Ugh, I don’t know about this,” Eddie groans.
“Pretend I’m not here,” says Richie, unzipping his fly.
Eddie’s shoes tack on the tile floor as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, undoubtedly to avoid coming into contact with any surfaces. “My problem is more with the surroundings.”
“Sorry, Clark Kent, I’m fresh out of pristine Metropolis phone booths.”
A chuckle. “Right, I’ll just rip my shirt open and whip off my glasses, that should help set the mood.”
Okay. Well, maybe this isn’t working for Eddie, but Richie can definitely do something with that mental image. He gulps as he starts to stroke himself. “Yeah. Take your glasses off and you won’t be able to see the toilet,” he reasons. “You can imagine the little red tiles are rose petals or some shit. And the Airwick ain’t so bad for a hospital. Seabreeze, maybe? Piña Colada Sunset? This is downright romantic!”
The screws and brackets of the partition creak and Eddie lets out a long exhale. Richie can’t help but imagine him, leaned back against the door, eyes closed and a hand down his pants. He pictures Eddie getting that soft, open look on his face that always made Richie want to swoop in and kiss him- to prove to him that yes, it’s all right to let his guard down once in awhile. Richie would keep him safe. Eddie keeps breathing deeply, slowly, but he hasn’t told Richie to shut up yet, so he keeps talking.
“This can’t be the first time you’ve done this on purpose, for like, non-horny reasons, right?” It would be great to get a feel of how much of this is just business to Eddie. Or to get a feel of Eddie in general. For horny reasons. “Other than the Townhouse, I mean,” Richie adds.
“No,” Eddie agrees. “First time was that one house party.”
“Oh?” Richie wracks his admittedly addled brain, trying to place goody-two-shoes Eddie at a house party.
“You were freaking out and crying cause you and your sister were drunk and she was saying she was gonna take off in your dad’s car, but then by the time you got outside...”
“You hid it?”
“...Just a few blocks away.”
Richie’s heart flutters. “My hero,” he breathes. Leave it to Eddie to use this weird ability to do something noble. “‘Til now, I- I just did dumb shit,” he admits. Though arguably, curb-stomping a clown is dumb on a certain level, too.
Eddie hums. “That sounds like... you. Switching salt shakers. Filling lockers with... shaving cream.“
The pauses make Richie wild. He‘s definitely not the only one enjoying himself, now. “Yeah... And swiping beer?”
Why is he still so desperate to impress Eddie and please him and get him riled up? Stealing beer?
“Troublemaker,” Eddie calls him, a little throatily. The way he gasps off the tail end of it-
Oh right, because he’s been about six thousand percent into Eddie since they were babies.
“Shit,” Richie squeezes himself in one hand and puts his other arm between his forehead and the wall. “Are you-?”
“Yeah,” Eddie pants. “I’m close.” Only an inch and a half of steel away.
“I don’t know if it- it- has to be the same time? Right?”
“I think... yeah.”
This is like trying to thread a needle with his dick. The thought of sharing this with Eddie is almost enough to send him over the edge right then and there, but he has to try and keep it together. Keep them together. Couldn’t they freeze in two different moments, and wind up alone? That’s what Richie was always afraid would happen. It was hard enough being on the down low, but throw this whole clusterfuck in? To get off with someone normal it would have to be after, and he’s not sure he could guarantee that- and then he’d need to either non-creepily entertain himself (can’t keep touching someone who’s fucking frozen!) for the duration of an afterglow or get crushingly bored and sad and leave, potentially traumatizing someone who thinks they just fucked a teleporter. Both bad options. Richie was the Picasso of dipping before things got too hot and heavy when he stopped bothering with dates entirely.
But Eddie-
No, he can’t fucking keep Eddie. This right here, fantasizing in close proximity, is exactly how far this can ever go and it’s probably already too far. Thinking about him. Not touching him but knowing he almost could. Warning each other by name. Hearing him whine as he finishes and knowing Eddie can hear him, too.
Fuck.
“...Eddie?” Richie asks, his voice small and worried that he’s alone.
He is and he isn’t.
“It’s okay,” Eddie sighs. “I’m still here.”
For once- for the first fucking time, Richie gets to hear the voice of someone he loves, like this. Someone he can’t have, so please- let once be enough.
The whole hospital thrums on one long, drawn out electronic chord that makes Richie feel like he’s chewing on tinfoil when they make it out of the bathroom, but they cross through reception and past the security desk, unimpeded. Silently (but not awkwardly, Richie hopes) they scout around the diorama of an ER where a number of patients are being treated for injuries not unlike Eddie’s. They weave between people and gather some fresh dressing and betadine, then move on to find Mike’s bay before they park themselves.
It’s always for the best to find a corner that’s not out in the open as soon as possible. Richie popped back into time in the middle of the frozen aisle at Ralph’s once, and just about killed a woman with shock. Another time, he was still in the middle of the road- also potentially fatal. The chance of getting bowled over by a gurney isn’t as risky, of course. Eddie seems to have developed the same instinct to keep out of the way, and visibly relaxes when they reach their ultimate destination.
“Someone’s in the can,” Eddie notes, as they investigate the nearest patient bathroom. “You mind being my mirror?”
Relieved that they’re talking again, Richie immediately agrees. “No problemo.” He washes his hands in the examination room’s sink to Eddie’s satisfaction and then takes the bandaging from him. “Pop a squat next to Mike.”
Mike sits up in bed, surrounded by the others. His arms and neck are heavily bandaged where Bowers had injured him, but he’s smiling and not looking quite so ashen as the last time Richie encountered him. They cleaned him up good. Never far away when someone is hurting- Bill stands closest, arms crossed in wariness. Ben and Bev stand together on the other side, his hand on her back.
Eddie takes a seat at the foot of the gurney, and luckily enough, his preoccupation with Mike turns his head the right way for Richie to best tend his cheek.
“He looks all right, yeah?”
“Yes, Doctor K,” agrees Richie. He gently presses the skin away from the tape instead of the other way around, as Eddie himself taught him, long ago. “And he’s being so quietly brave about his stitches! Hasn’t made a peep!”
“Fuck off!”
“Stop scrunching your cute little face, you’ll mess me up.”
Eddie glares at Richie out of the corner of his eye and makes a point not to wince when he dabs the wound clean. “I didn’t pop any stitches, did I?”
“With your O face?” Richie teases. “Or while you were eating your Kit-Kats like a fucking barbarian?”
“I had to finish them before you got your hands on it,” Eddie grins evilly.
“Bastard.”
“This is awful bedside manner.” Eddie turns to peek around a curtain divider. “Nurse!? He called me a bastard!”
Richie giggles and turns his face back with thumb and forefinger. God, Eddie’s got a hell of a chin these days, who the fuck allowed that? What a stud. And that nose? Those cheeks? All of him, absolutely gorgeous. A little stab wound might level the playing field for the rest of the non-Eddie mortals. Is he just staring at Eddie with his mouth hanging open now? Oops. Richie gets a hold of himself and rips open the package of gauze and places it just so.
“Whaddaya think, Eds, should I pack it in on stand-up and go the Patch Adams route?”
Eddie holds the gauze and tries to only talk out of one side of his mouth while Richie uses surgical scissors to cut some tape. “I choose to withhold comment because I recognize you have a sharp implement in your hands.”
“Aw, c’mon. I saw you wail on that whackass clown motherfucker, you could totally take me.”
He keeps quiet as Richie finishes taping him up, but Eddie’s clearly formulating something, all the while. He twists and crumples the bandage wrappers in his hands as though they have personally wronged him.
“All better,” says Richie.
“Thank you.” Eddie looks back up at him. If they didn’t technically have all of their friends right here, Richie might say it was the most intimate look they’ve ever shared. “Thanks... for letting me stay. And like, even after you told me to leave? ‘Cause I know you didn’t want me to get hurt, but- it means something that you’d go through shit with me. Instead of only holding me back. So. Thanks, I guess is what I’m saying. Thanks for letting me maybe get hurt even though that scared you,” he says, holding Richie’s stunned gaze. “It was brave.”
It sucks every molecule of oxygen out of Richie’s body to consider the world in which Eddie didn’t make it. That would have been worse for Richie than dying himself, and clearly Eddie knows it. He knew that going into It’s lair and now he’ll know that forever- here on the other side. It’s a lot, and it’s unbearably close to things Richie would prefer to keep hidden.
“Eddie, you came with me. You were brave,” Richie tells him. Laying a timid hand on Eddie’s shoulder is the closest he can come to acknowledging the rest of it.
“God, I really fucking hope so.” Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a long exhale.
That said, he slips down off the bed again so he can see what there is to see about Mike. After inspecting everything that he’s hooked up to, he flips through some papers on aftercare, mouthing along to key words. Richie could watch Eddie make little unspoken TH sounds all day, with his pretty pink tongue peeking out.
“Memorizing all the things you gotta google later?”
Eddie raises both eyebrows at him. “How’d you know?”
“I got the same shitty superpower as you, remember? I know your phone doesn’t work now. Or-” Richie waves his hand interpretatively- “Not now.” For as long as he’s been dipping his toes in these waters, he doesn’t really have a fixed language for it, since he’s never been able to discuss it honestly with anyone. The gymnastics required to defend his preference for analog technology as not being a hipster douche thing were fucking exhausting. And buying a nice car these days that wasn’t computerized in some way? Forget about it.
Eddie puts the papers back down where he found them and then, having done everything they set out to do, the two of them start to naturally gravitate to the most discrete corner of the room where they can wait this out.
“It really blows, doesn’t it?” Eddie observes, as he slides down the wall to sit on the floor.
Richie sits down next to him. “Major hassle. Completely ruined sex as a concept for me.”
“At the risk of admitting I like, never get laid? Unless I want a nap...” Eddie trails off with a shrug.
Before Richie can stop his stupid, stupid virgin mouth that has no business throwing shade in this arena, he blurts out the obvious question. “Uh, this is like, relationship poison- how the hell does that work when you’re married, dude?”
But Eddie doesn’t react with the indignation he’s expecting. He just thunks his head back against the wall. “It does not,” he says, clipped.
Richie will have to file that away to unpack later. “That sucks, dude, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, it’s not your fucking fault,” Eddie waves it off. “Just tell me you’ve got a book or something remotely entertaining on you?”
“Hmm.” Richie wiggles around so he can feel into his pockets. “I got a knife?”
“We’re not practicing knife throwing.”
“Pretty sure I can do Princess Bride word for word, if that counts as entertaining.” Before Eddie can object to that, too, Richie launches into grunting the tune of ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’ in the closest thing to 8-bit the human mouth can make. “That’s the video game the kid’s playing. Then it goes bwoopa bwoopa bwoopa-“
“Okay,” laughs Eddie. He smiles indulgently at Richie. “Skip to Columbo and maybe I won’t use the knife after all.”
Richie’s Peter Falk is really the crown jewel of the thing, so that works for him. “When I was your age, television was called ‘books'...”
The longer they sit and meander their way through the movie, the further they slither both down the wall and the rabbit hole of their strange, shared experience. As Eddie detours with commentary and vetoes sound cues (Yeah, I fucking get it, Shrieking Eels shriek!), his undamaged cheek is almost resting on Richie’s shoulder. Just a little closer. Maybe by the time they get to Miracle Max...
“I've just sucked one year of your life away,” boasts the evil Prince Richiedink.
“Pfft, tell me about it,” Eddie mutters, sinking a little closer. “Hey. Do you think we’re like, older than we actually are?” he asks. “Are we going extra fast for the normal amount of time, or like, adding more in?”
Richie works very hard not to bodily react to this genuinely alarming question, in case it would make Eddie move away. “You mean like, does this shit totally fuck our life expectancy? That might be why I look like such crap compared to everyone else.”
Eddie chuckles. “C’mon, dude-”
“You look fantastic, though, so that’s a wash.”
In a show of? Thanks? Eddie claps Richie’s thigh. “But like, forget the past,” he says. “Just from here on out, say we get off once a day, adding an average of an extra two hours everyday for the rest of our lives, and we live to be eighty-five. That’s like, almost four years down the drain, assuming our refractory doesn't slow down, which it totally will. Adjusted over a lifetime? We could easily be losing as much as ten. Ten fucking years!”
“I’ve thought about it but I’ve never run the fucking numbers, Jesus Christ, Eddie.” Richie takes a moment to mull that over. “Ten years? ”
He’s never had a very clear picture of what old age would look like. He always figured that was a depression thing, or maybe in keeping with the Hollywood mindset reserved for the elderly- out of sight, out of mind. Maybe it was just never in the cards. He’ll fritter away his sunset years before he ever reaches them.
“Ten fucking years,” Eddie repeats. “Wasn’t thinking about that when I was routinely manufacturing an eighth day of the week to cram for exams in college.” He rubs the heels of both hands into his eyes and covers his face. “Fuck.”
“We coulda bit it forty years early yesterday, but we didn’t,” Richie points out, trying for a little optimism. He turns his head to look at Eddie, feeling at once extremely grateful that he’s alive and here and desperately miserable that this is so clearly a waste of his time.
“I gotta change my whole fucking life,” Eddie muffles into his hands.
“...Yeah.” That’s probably the responsible thing to do. Damnit, Eddie.
They only sit a few moments longer before everything lurches back into motion and they push themselves back to their feet.
“Hey! I heard this guy fake broke his elbow to get outta giving us a hero’s handjob.”
-
The next time the Losers all get together is for Thanksgiving at Ben’s. Richie flies into PDX and manages to pick out a rental car in record time, but Ben’s is about two hours into the woods if he observes the speed limit (which he does not) and his chances of catching everyone still awake are zilch. As he pulls up to the house, it’s apparent that all the lights but one are out, thanks to the windowed walls. Even Mike’s camper is dark, nestled by the treeline.
Ben must have seen his headlights coming up the way, though, because he meets Richie at the door and gives him a solid thump on the back. “Richie, my man!”
He hugs Ben back. “Haystack! Nice pile of bricks you’ve got here. Are there any bricks?” Richie asks, crossing the threshold. It’s pretty fucking modern up in this joint. For all the glass and steel, it might just be a spaceship that Ben landed here, safe from the prying eyes of civilization. Sadly, Richie’s too tired to set up a your ass is outta this world joke.
“A few in the kitchen,” Ben chuckles and thumbs in its direction. “Which you’re welcome to raid, except for the pies.”
“I wouldn’t dream of disturbing their beauty rest before the big day.”
Ben ruffles his own half-formed bedhead. “You gotta be exhausted. I’ll show you upstairs.”
“Yes, please.”
Richie follows him up a floating staircase to the second floor, where he gives the half-price tour in a low voice. “That’s a bathroom,” Ben points. “You’ve got an en suite, though. That’s my library, Bill, me, aaand here’s you.”
“Thanks.”
Ben pushes the door open for him and his bags and looks in on the figure already asleep on the far side of the bed. “I figured you wouldn’t mind bunking up with Bev?”
Richie squints at Ben. “Bev?” He thought that she and Ben were on track to be paired off by now, but he has been sort of preoccupied by getting his career under control these past few months. He might have missed an update.
“Yeah,” Ben says uncomfortably. Then he over-corrects. “Oh! Not because you’re gay and she’s a woman! It’s just, she’s got history with Bill and Mike’s camper is a squeeze and the pull out gets pretty cuddly-”
It’s way too late for Richie to give a shit about whatever manifestation of chivalry this is or isn’t. “You don’t have to show your math, dude.”
“Well-” Ben laughs and waves a hand between himself and Richie. “We can always cuddle.”
Richie grins. “Tempting. But I wouldn’t want to disappoint Bev.”
As they say goodnight, Richie can’t help but think Ben’s is directed into the room, rather than to him. Yep. Update noted. If he sticks out tonight where he is, he’ll probably have the room to himself by Black Friday.
Richie digs out a change of clothes as quietly as possible then heads into the bathroom to wash off the travel funk. Everything in the shower is so Crunchy Granola All Natural it sounds like it could be edible and Richie is fucking famished, but he’s holding out for whatever passes for a snack in Ben’s kitchen. Something quick. Even if he manages to fall asleep the moment his head hits the pillow he’ll only get three or four hours before this hive of early worms starts crawling.
It’s kind of ideal conditions, actually. What the hell, why not?
He splashes off in the spray of water, suspended from the ceiling like a particularly expensive and naturalistic chandelier, after. That’ll buy him a decent night’s rest. And he won’t have to be all that considerate and quiet while scrounging in an unfamiliar kitchen, either.
He whistles his way down the stairs, smearing together two tunes into a personal lullaby he likes to call ‘Still Crazy After All These Cranberries’.
“Richie?”
Eddie steps out from the shadows of the ground floor and Richie nearly misses the last step. “Eddie! Shit, we gotta stop meeting this, eh?”
“Wuh-”
Uh, yeah. Maybe don’t mention it, Richie, you dumbass. But he kind of figured after the scare in Derry that Eddie had quit their little habit along with his job and marriage and insane diets and fake medications and anything else that’s holding him back from making the most of whatever time there is left.
“Good to see ya, Spaghetti.” Richie pulls him into their customary half hug/half noogie. Eddie’s hair smells like they must have had a campfire this evening, and it makes him even sorrier his flight was so late. In his weary state, he can’t think of anything that he’d have liked more than to wrap up in a blanket with Eddie by a fire, where maybe his own admiring glow would go unnoticed.
Eddie squeezes him back. “Yeah, dude. Always.”
Richie lets go and adjusts his glasses. “Sorry if I woke you up coming in.”
“Nah, it’s all right. I’ve been edgy all night.”
“You okay, dude?” Richie frowns.
“Yeah just, you know. Seeing everybody again. I feel like I’m, I don’t know- taking a bad grade home to be signed by a parent. Did I learn from my mistakes? Do I need another life lesson?” Eddie crosses his arms and shrinks in on himself in the eerie stillness.
Why did he stop hugging Eddie? He should be hugging Eddie again! He doesn’t.
“These woods are pretty spooky, maybe we can find another monster,” Richie offers, instead.
That gets a smile out of Eddie, at least. He squints up at Richie. “You kinda look like Big Foot with your hair all wet and stringy. Careful you don’t get sniped by a trophy hunter out there.”
“Mmm. Me ‘Squatch,” Richie grunts. Then he lopes away to the kitchen, swinging his arms like an ape. “Me want food.”
Dutiful a sidekick as ever, Eddie follows along, strenuously reinforcing the warning about the pies. After much debate about whether or not the ice cream in the freezer that’s intended to accompany the pie is fair game, Richie’s rumbling stomach calls for a ceasefire. They rustle up some cold cuts and mustard like they used to after school back in the day, carefully rolled and stacked like Lincoln Logs, then filled with chips.
“Zey asked me for zis recipe at Le Cordon Bleu,” Richie says, twiddling a bottle opener at Eddie.
Eddie snags it along with some beers and then leads them back to Ben’s den, where the pull out serves as their picnic blanket. He must have been watching TV on mute, because the screen is stuck on an image of The Stig in the driver’s seat.
Richie busts out in a snorting laugh. “You were jacking off to Top Gear?”
“I didn’t-! I went to the-! Wh-what? You were jacking off in the shower!” Eddie stammers.
“A time honored tradition.”
“Not in someone else’s home!”
Point of order! Richie raises a finger. “Did you or did you not tell me you once rubbed one out at my house party?”
“That was different!” Eddie squeaks. “That was an emergency!”
“An emergency in yo’ pants!”
Eddie scowls. “See if I ever do you any fucking favors ever again.”
“You’re literally opening my beer, right now,” Richie says, adoringly.
“Yeah, yeah, but after this, the free ride is over!” Eddie hands Richie his bottle and clinks it with his.
Richie happily chases a swig with a roll of ham and cheese. It really hits the spot in a way that’s contentment is paralleled only by the present company. He pops another and starts getting comfy, tucking his toes into the turned down blanket. “I hope you don’t mind that once my meat lust has been satisfied I’m gonna pass the fuck out in your bed.”
“If I had a dime for every time I’d heard that.” Eddie scoots over a bit so he can stick his feet in, too. He watches the unmoving woods outside the window as he crunches on some chips. “At least your weird Sasquatch musk will ward off predators.”
“Just doing my part,” Richie salutes.
They make their way through the rest of the snacks while he fills Eddie in on the visit with his parents that made him late for Ben’s. He knew he needed to see them after Derry, and find out where things actually stood, now that he was done running away from home. Some of the old resentments have crumbled, knowing what he knows now, and Dad’s got a wood shop and Mom’s doing watercolors. Seeing them, gray and cheerful, helped flesh out the mental picture he’s forming of his own future, now that he’s looking forward to having one.
“You won’t catch me retiring to Arizona, though,” Richie says, putting aside the empty plate so he can burrow in for the night. He’s very careful not to spill any crumbs, lest Eddie should decide to kick him out after all.
Eddie simply fluffs his pillow, making no indication that he expects Richie to get up and leave now that he’s going to bed. “The taxes and air quality are supposed to be good,” he notes.
“Landlocked,” Richie counters. “I wanna be one of those old geezers who doesn’t realize he’s too wrinkly and hairy to be wearing his cabana shirt open, introducing his dog to everyone on the boardwalk.”
“Oh yeah,” Eddie laughs. “That’ll be you- the fucking mayor of the beach.”
“I’m flexible on which coast,” Richie adds quickly, in case Eddie is trying to imagine where he’d be at the time. There are beaches in New York!
There’s a skylight overhead, Richie realizes, as he lays back. It’s pretty enough, he supposes, but the glass and the dark of space, pin pricked by stars make him think of Ben’s spaceship again. A silent, lonely capsule and timeless days. It’s not too far off from what he imagines being frozen forever would be like. It could happen one day, he thinks, and then he’ll be a ghost- unable to be heard or hear anything ever again. But it’s different, here and now, whenever now is. He can hear Eddie breathe and rustle the blankets. Maybe it’s only whispers, but it’s so much better than nothing.
Richie rolls over to his side instead, facing Eddie. A much better view. “I usually hate how quiet this is,” he tells him.
“I can see how that would be challenging for your loud ass.”
“We’re literally in a glass house Eddie, I don’t think you wanna throw stones.”
Eddie grins at him. “Shut up.”
“Your mouth says no, but your eyes say ‘Sing Modern English at the top of your lungs to me, Richie’.” Richie gasps for deep breath to belt on, but before he can throw himself into a too obvious rendition of I'll stop the world and melt with you Eddie kicks him under the covers.
“I’ll go sleep with Bev!”
“Ben won’t see that one coming.”
The sleepy, low note of Eddie’s belly laugh is the best sound that could possibly fill the silence. He makes a yikes face at Richie and then pauses to wet his lips, forming a new thought. “It is really nice,” he says. “Having you to talk to.”
“Mmm.” Richie takes off his glasses and shuts his eyes to reduce the peril of giving away what a victory that is to hear. Maybe this bullshit isn’t so bad, if they’re in it together. “That’s what I’m sayin’, Eds. We should coordinate a schedule and rig tin cans and a string so we can always do this.”
“Or a telegraph?” Eddie suggests.
“That could work.”
Richie reaches out and taps his fingers on the flat of the bed between them. He can only remember about half of the letters of Morse from reading books about secret codes as a boy, but he only needs three.
Dot. Dash dot dot. Dash dot dot. Dot dot. dot.
Whether or not Eddie recognizes his own name, he taps back some long nonsense and awaits a reply.
“The fuck is that supposed to be?” Richie yawns.
“Send dick pics.”
Richie giggles himself to sleep.
-
They don’t set up a regular cross-country spank schedule because that’s insane and too indefensibly gay, even for newly-out-but-still-crass Richie, but they do plan a one-off.
Richie can’t believe he’s not the one who suggests it. We should do a big reveal, Eddie says, when Richie tells him about the decorations he bought for Christmas. All the Losers are coming to LA, some staying with Richie at his cozy little place, some with Bill across town- but Richie’s got the backyard with a tiki bar and a six person hot tub that really make a party. As part of Eddie’s Christmas present, Richie meticulously documents the hot tub’s professional cleaning and compliance to CDC guidelines and provides daily readings of its chlorine and pH levels in the lead up to holiday. When the day comes, everyone will gather for appetizers in full view of the sliding doors to the patio, and then be dazzled when briefly after sundown, the backyard is transformed into a winter wonderland. Richie pre-hangs several strings of lights, but other than that- it will be him and Eddie making magic, so to speak.
They play bocce out back, a masterstroke of an idea he had to really highlight the before and after on the yard.
“You’re kissing my balls, Mike!” Richie hollers. “Full on frenching them!”
Mike walks over to the far end of the play area to see whether or not landing his latest throw next to Richie's moved the pallina. Unfortunately for him, it’s been nudged a few inches in the commotion, giving Richie the advantage. “What’s the rules for a mulligan if one of the players had surgery on his throwing arm?”
Eddie, who is on Richie’s team, naturally, raises his own. “I’ve got eight pins in this thing and I’m throwing like dog shit, can I get a redo, too?”
“You’re both throwing better than me!” Bill stoops to pick up his balls, also nowhere near the rest.
Bev bends down to make a ruling in her capacity as Keeper of the Tape Measure. “That’s two points for team Balls Deep.”
“What’d we already have?” Richie asks.
“Ten," Eddie supplies.
“Oh shit, you Sons of Be-occes better bring it,” he gloats to Bill and Mike. “We could take it next round.”
“Unfair home court advantage,” Mike disputes.
“We can play at Bill’s next time and we’ll beat you there, too!”
Eddie looks extremely skeptical about this, but grants Richie a Top Gun high five. He grabs the pallina to start the next frame. “Knock on wood.”
Richie raps his knuckles on his own skull.
“Blockhead,” Eddie grins and rolls his eyes.
Off to the side again, Bev rejoins Ben at the grill. “I knew we should have waited to name our team until after these guys,” he says.
Bev pouts. “Aw, I like Love is a Boccefield.” To make up for it, she leans in to give him a kiss.
They lock up at fourteen versus fourteen for two whole rounds by dusk, when they decide to call it a tie and head in for dinner.
“All right, everybody back into the bunghole!” Richie hollers. “Drinks on the house!”
Eddie hangs back behind the others, smirking. “Did you buy a bungalow specifically so you could say that, Richie?”
“So I could graciously invite people into my bunghole? Why yes Edward, I did,” Richie says, slinging his arm around Eddie’s shoulders and dragging him in. “I’m oh so hospitable like that.”
Once they’re inside, people start to scatter for bathroom breaks and phone chargers and to sift through the options in Richie’s hootch hutch.
“If I’d realized you had room for it I would have brought over my cornhole set,” Bill says, dangling a beer in the direction of the yard.
“There’s always tomorrow,” Mike points out.
Ben grimaces as he lays down a tray full of grilled kebabs. “I don’t even wanna know what Richie would name his cornhole team.”
But Richie is too busy trying to decipher Eddie’s body language to workshop a suitably vulgar name for their amusement and/or disgust. He’s holding up a fist by his ear and giving Richie an intensely focused stare from across the room. Is he threatening him into good behavior? Richie puts up double dukes, and Eddie rolls his eyes and sticks out his thumb and pinky, too. Phone.
Richie fishes it out of his pocket, feeling like he’s passing notes during class again.
EK Saw the boxes for inflatables hidden under the guest bedding, but where’s the fake snow?
RT in my big booty
EK That’s not helpful.
RT in my capacious caboose?
EK It’s not in your butt.
RT no that would be silly!
EK I’m trying to figure out if there’s a closet door we need to keep people from standing in front of JFC.
RT i keep telling u i have junk in my trunk
Mike taps Richie on the shoulder. “Can I put the wings in to warm up?”
“Oh hell yeah, man. Let me get the apps out of the way.”
In a mad dash around the kitchen, Richie trades out the stuff in the oven and sets up bowls to take into the dining area. The others rotate through, carrying what they can and generally preventing Richie from having a moment alone to conspire. He curses his open concept.
EK OH
EK In your car.
EK You could have said.
RT tryin to get u in the mood with a lil wordplay as foreplay
RT sue me
EK I will if I contract legionella going near that hot tub.
RT did u bring your trunks and floaties?
Now that most of the stuff from the kitchen has been taken care of, Richie pauses for a moment. He can clearly see that Eddie is busy discussing whiskeys with Bill and Bev, but he takes advantage of his non-response anyway.
RT no? oh hot we r going skinny dipping nice nice nice
Finally Eddie sits and checks his phone again. He swirls his glass a few times and looks at Richie for a long moment without blinking quite as much as would be normal before typing again. If he didn’t know any better, Richie would call it a challenge.
EK You didn't eat much yet, right? This is gonna be a squeaker.
RT we could always go for a bonus round
EK What's the signal?
RT once everyone is sitting ill clear some dead soldiers. u too.
RT then go into the VIPee lounge
The sun has gone fully down, now, but Ben is still standing around, inspecting some framed posters hung on the wall. He’s not so in the way that they’d risk knocking him over while moving things around in a time-out, but since Richie just told Eddie the plan, he probably shouldn’t change it. That’s too eager. He’s confident now that while Eddie enjoys spending extra time with him, the sexual aspect of it is the unmentionable, inconvenient means. That’s okay, though. Richie could jerk off to a well cooked pork chop- that’s not special- but they can only do this together.
EK Both of us?
Case in point. Richie should have been more clear.
RT i take the loft.
RT unless u wanna switch
RT u r welcome to go beat off in my room but i figure u appreciate walls
RT i can be sneaky ;)
EK No that’s gross.
EK We should do it together for the timing.
Richie bites his tongue to keep from swearing out loud.
Considering they’ve accidentally joined up more times than they’ve purposely coordinated, that’s debatable? A set of three isn't really enough for a meaningful statistic. And it might be too much for Richie, having Eddie right there. It won’t be like before when there was a partition. Unless they stand back to back, he’s going to see Eddie and Eddie is going to see him and how terribly Richie wants him.
He almost calls it off entirely. Just enjoy the evening as is. Then Ben sits. And he’s already hard and slightly tipsy and Eddie is looking at him across the room like they’re sharing a secret because they fucking are.
“Great job on the kebabs, Ben!”
“Wait, switch with me, hon, I need to be closer to this dip.”
“You’re not eating the pineapple? Here, give me that.”
“Have you heard the joke where three guys die on Christmas Eve?”
“Uh oh, is that a threat, Bev?”
“You’re safe, Mike.”
“Phew!”
Slowly, Richie stands and gathers up a few beer bottles and an empty bowl. Without saying anything, Eddie gets up and takes the rest. He follows hot on Richie’s heels and stands by impatiently as he gives the bottles a quick rinse before tossing them into the recycling.
“Quit stalling,” he says under his breath, when Richie takes up the dish towel to dry the bowl. Eddie backs out of the kitchen and into the bathroom without shutting the door.
Richie gives the party a circumspect glance before following him in. Everyone else is still laughing and feeding each other bites of strange flavor combinations. Coast is clear.
“All right, eager beaver,” he says, once inside. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Shh,” Eddie reminds him.
He backs up into the cushion of one of the towel racks, and Richie can either take the other next to him, or lean against the counter directly opposite. Unless he wants to go stand in the tub and pull the curtain, but that seems kind of needlessly dramatic. He goes for the first option.
It’s a relief to unzip his pants and get a hand wrapped around himself, hot and ready, and he can hear Eddie sigh next to him too. He gives his dick a few top to bottom strokes and then looks up and realizes. The whole wall across from them is mirrored, and there’s him and Eddie in the reflection. And Eddie- Eddie is not staring at the ceiling or the floor or closing his eyes. Instead, they fall on Richie.
It must be hard not to look. A little curiosity is natural- especially if, like Eddie you haven’t come into close contact with someone else’s cock before. Maybe he should move to the door? That’d be less... something. But then he would be watching Eddie in profile. Wait, that’s a pro not a con, Eddie has a gorgeous profile. Or is it a con? Because then there’s no step of removal with the mirror and it would be Richie, looking at a beautiful man he’s in love with, trying not to be devastated by how one-sided the most meaningful sexual interaction of his whole fucking life is. Richie pauses, trying to cover himself. “I could turn off the light?” he offers quietly.
Eddie shakes his head. “Don’t stop. Just do what you usually do.”
“Okay, uh. You too.”
Yeah, Eddie, just picture Angelina fucking Jolie or whoever the fuck the straightest men in the world go for.
Just do what you usually do. Fucking hell.
Richie is absolutely positive Eddie does not mean for him to bend over the sink and stuff a few fingers up his ass. And he probably wouldn’t love it if Richie bust out the camera roll on his phone for pictures of Eddie posing with the firewood Ben had chopped at as though it was his own handiwork. All smirky and proud, making muscles. Or their post-turkey food coma selfie when they were sprawled out on the floor together, content and a little sweaty with their cheeks pressed together.
He doesn’t need the pictures though, the real Eddie is right here and plenty inspiring. His pants are pulled down enough to show the lean architecture of his hips, moving like a dance as he fucks into his hand, and he’s got that adorable little crinkle between his eyebrows. Eddie drifts the hand that isn’t pulling his dick (longer than Richie had imagined and perfectly pink) (it’s natural to be curious) up his shirt. How Richie would love to run his hands over more of Eddie like that. Feel where he’s soft and where he’s solid or coarse, and what it does to Eddie to grip him hard or touch him light or scrape his nails down his body. Through the mirror he watches Eddie make more of himself bare and then unconsciously he starts to do the same.
He should stop looking. Fuck fuck fuck, he’s way too much of a pro at jerking off to Eddie.
“Too fast,” Richie hisses, clenching his eyes shut for a few moments. This isn’t as stimulating for Eddie and if he comes entire minutes before him there’s no fucking reason this should work.
He feels, more than sees Eddie move then. He pushes off and turns around, landing his left hand on the wall by Richie’s shoulder. “Stay with me, Rich.”
Richie slows down. Eddie’s standing right in front of him now, right where he could reach out and have him in his arms. They almost touch, fists racing inches apart, but he can’t allow it. Take a breather before you blow your load on him, you moron.
Doesn’t Eddie know how unfair this is? Even though he doesn’t know how Richie feels about him in particular, he should know that this is a lot. Richie would never like, make fucking eye contact with one of his female friends in this context. He wouldn’t show off how ridiculously perfect a mate he is just so he can refuse it later. But he can’t be mad at Eddie. He's right in his ear, his forehead almost bowed to Richie’s shoulder as he shushes him and talks to him softly like he’s gentling a wild creature.
“That’s good. Ease up.” Eddie licks his palm so he can get himself a little wet. “You good?”
Richie nods. A shiver runs through him as he relaxes into Eddie’s pace. “Yeah. I can... I can hold on. Just got ahead of myself.”
“Home court advantage?” Eddie chuckles.
“Gotta- hhff defend my turf.”
There’s a knock of Eddie’s knee into his. “Stop trying to win, you dick.”
This Richie can do. Their back and forth always puts everything right with them. “I see. You want a friendly game.”
Right? We’re still friends?
“Yeah, that’s- that’s it,” Eddie says, breath hitching as he keeps touching himself, nearly touching Richie. “We’re having fun.”
“Yeah. Oh yeah.” This is fun. Richie can count a tie as a win. “I’m a good sport.”
“I wouldn’t go- fuck- that far.”
The heat of Eddie’s breathing on his shoulder threatens to melt Richie like crayons left in the summer sun. Those cheap ass RoseArt ones, with so much glitter in them that it kept them from marking correctly. He feels too-sparkly and colorful and so so fucking good. He can’t help the little whine he makes when Eddie’s shaking elbow buckles, bumping them together. Eddie’s cheek is on his shoulder and Richie’s mouth is in his hair. It’s like a miracle. It really is Christmas.
“Shit, Eddie.”
Eddie grunts and picks up the pace. Even if he had intended to back off of Richie, he’s locked in for the finish now. “Almost,” he gasps. “Same time, Richie... c’mon.”
Richie is only too happy to do as Eddie says. He comes with a shudder so deep that it sets his heart loose, rattling around inside his rib cage. Eddie’s here, too, moving against him where their shoulders are pressed together.
Would it be weird if-
“Would you kiss me?” Richie asks, still breathless and too mush headed to think better of it.
Eddie straightens out his elbow again, pulling them apart. “You want me to?”
“Anyone,” says Richie, hoping to save a little face. “I never got to- to kiss anyone after sex, I mean, cause that would have been super fucked up. AndbecauseIneverhadsex.”
“Richie,” Eddie frowns.
But because he’s Richie’s best friend and the only person there is who can understand this stupid fucking way they live their lives, Eddie tip toes up. His eyes flicker to Richie’s lips for a moment like he’s not sure of the angle of to safely approach an ice cream cone, but then he decides. He kisses Richie once, but slowly, with the slightest lick of his lip. If Richie weren’t all sticky right now, he’d take his face into his hands and make sure to keep him there for another.
That’s asking too much. He already shouldn’t have asked for this. Shit.
Though it makes him scream inside to do it, Richie extricates himself to go wash his hands and fix his pants. He watches Eddie in the mirror behind him, leaning against the wall, perfectly still. Not in the off-putting way that they’ll see their friends when they leave the bathroom in a minute, of course- just a quiet, contemplative way.
“Is this sex?” Eddie asks.
A sharp stab of panic makes Richie go light headed. Uh. Great question. Whatever it is, it ranks better than the shitshow of dates Richie’s had up until this point. He stands there stupidly, water dripping off his hands. “By like, the fucking MPAA standards or a dictionary definition?” Like a total asshole, Richie laughs at his own joke.
Eddie clears his throat. “So. Like, no, right? Not really?”
Richie moves away from the sink and grabs a towel so he can bury his facial expressions in some privacy for a moment while he thinks. Maybe if its not sex to Eddie, then it’s not like, a whole fucking thing he needs to have some kind of gay crisis about and they could keep doing it? With the kissing? Maybe? He may not be compatible with Eddie’s idea of a fuckbuddy, but before it crosses that line they can still ‘have fun’, like Eddie said.
“This could be, uh, a bros with benefits thing?”
Eddie takes the towel from him to dry his hands, too. “The benefits being-?”
“That we can get off together without going Super Mario ghost on each other? Someone to fucking talk to?” Richie doesn’t really have that much to offer. “I don’t know, some of whatever the fuck normal people have that we can’t.”
“Are you-” Eddie is doing his best to compress Richie’s towel into a diamond with his bare hands. “Will you want me to kiss you again?”
Right fucking now would be great, if Richie wasn’t pretty sure that would make him pass out cold, thereby voiding his one use to Eddie.
“You could,” he shrugs, as casually as he can. “Like, a little bit. After, sometimes? That’s it though, like. Nothing else,” he assures Eddie. He needs to stop giving the hard sell. They have got to get out of this room and this conversation, he can’t wheel and deal his heart’s desire and throw a banging party at the same time. He grabs the towel from Eddie and pitches it into the tub. “Look... We’ve got a lotta stuff to get started on with the decorations.”
“Right.” Eddie goes to peek out the door, and gives him a thumbs up. All quiet. “I’ll grab those boxes if you wanna get the stuff from your car.”
“Yeah, deal.” Richie follows him back into the house.
Before he can head out the front to the driveway, Eddie turns on his heel and grabs his elbow. As he draws himself close to Richie again, he hopes for a moment-
“What about extension cords?”
“In the pantry with the step ladder.”
Eddie grins. “You’re telling me that you need a step ladder, beanstalk?”
“For the arbor. It’s ten feet up.” Richie pats Eddie’s cheek consolingly. “Are you gonna have to shut your eyes while I’m up there so you don’t shit yourself?”
“Fucking show-off.” Eddie pushes Richie out the door so they can get on with it.
When they have all the supplies gathered out back, Richie sets to putting up garlands and draping the top of the tiki bar with sheets of fake snow. He watches Eddie’s technique with the snow on the fence and the outside of the jacuzzi, trimmed into wavy, drizzled shapes and does his best to match it. He gets the same funny flippy feeling in his stomach that he gets from those lumberjack pictures when Eddie hauls around two of the big boxes of inflatable outdoor decorations, one balanced on each shoulder.
“Wait, no no. Carry those over there,” he points, from atop his ladder. “Oh. Nope. I’m looking at the whole thing now and that’s all wrong. Back over there.”
“What are you- would you keep a hand on the fucking ladder?! Please!?” Eddie huffs at him.
Richie squints one eye and holds his hands up like an old fashion camera with a crank. “Work it, macho man.”
“Get a grip, they weigh like, twenty-five pounds max...Just cause all your mass is made up of fucking mozzarella sticks,” Eddie grumbles and sets down his boxes. “You gonna help me with these or what?”
“I’ll set those up. You should do the patio furniture. You’ve got the touch.”
He bought some throws and pillows shaped like giant peppermints and presents that Eddie and his eye for detail ought to make something nice out of. He’ll have to remember to get Eddie to pose for a picture in the middle of it all, later.
When everything’s set up and ready to go, they hang out on the floor in the kitchen, snarfing cookies and playing Crazy 8’s. Eddie plays the five of spades, but all Richie can seem to pick up from the draw pile is hearts.
“Don’t look at my cards!” he cries, when Eddie gets up to get another drink from the fridge.
“Then put some fucking pants on them!”
Richie shields his hand against his chest. “Grab me something, though?”
“Have you got champagne?”
“Fuck. No,” Richie realizes. “We’re gonna need some for New Years, huh.”
He got distracted by planning the decorations and food, and since the Losers tended to be very BYOB what with their varying tastes- that particular holiday staple must have slipped through the cracks.
“Don’t sweat it,” Eddie says, passing him another beer instead. He gives Richie a smirk. “We can always do a last minute booze run.”
“Oh. Yeah,” Richie gulps. “I guess.”
When Eddie sits back down, Richie draws an eight and changes the suit to hearts. He’s gotten rid of his cards again by the time the punchline of a Christmas joke from the other room finally comes.
“And the guy says- Oh, these are Carol’s!”
Everyone who heard the set up laughs uproariously, while Richie can only smile a little sadly.
“Private party is over,” he tells Eddie. “Head back in. I’ll wait a minute.”
Eddie crawls on to his knees to pick up the cookie platter and his drink before getting up. He pauses close to Richie. “‘Til next time,” he says, and then he stands up and goes.
It’s longer than a minute, that Richie spends sitting on his kitchen floor. As long as he sits here where no one can see, he doesn’t have to return to reality where there are a million other things vying for Eddie’s attention. Eddie has better things to do than to make up games to keep them occupied, or to make Richie jukebox the parts of a song stuck in his head that he can’t quite remember the words to. He doesn’t need Richie to talk to or to kiss.
“Eddie, are you staying here or at Bill’s?” Bev asks.
“Oh please, like you can’t guess,” says Bill.
“Well, he’s the only one of you with any taste in bagels. I brought some from home on the plane.”
“New Yorkers,” Ben scoffs.
“Ooo.” Eddie sounds hopeful. “Are we all meeting for breakfast tomorrow?”
“Depends on what kind of extreme measures it takes to drag some of these night owls out of bed before noon.”
Richie rubs his eyes dry and bolts up. “Fuck you guys if you think I’m not gonna be up before anyone else, jumping on your beds Christmas morning.”
Ben throws his hands up in surrender as Richie comes back into the room. “Hey, I’m including myself in that.”
“It’s horrible,” says Bev. “Plus our time difference? Ugh.”
“You should see her little sleep mask, though, it’s adorable.” Ben mimes some faux eyelashes.
Mike grins at them both. “So when are you guys gonna pick a coast and move in together, already?”
Ben looks at Bev. Bev looks at Ben. Richie looks at Eddie, and- why the fuck is Eddie looking back at him?
Since he has deep empathy for people being put on the spot about their love lives, Richie claps his hands together for attention. “It’s getting dark out there, huh? I should hit the lights.”
Eddie sits back into the couch and laces his fingers behind his head, biting back a smile. They set up the extension cords and a power bar to run behind the couch, so it would be just one switch for the whole thing. It takes a second for one or two of them to register that he’s not just talking about the floor lamps or the small, understated Christmas tree in the corner, but when the lights from outside streak across the glass of the sliding door there’s an audible gasp.
“Holy shit, Richie.”
“Did you- you were here, did you hire someone for this? This is wild.”
“How did we not see this happening?”
Eddie shoots him a wink.
“You guys are just really unobservant,” Richie shrugs. “I bet you didn’t even notice Eddie’s got a Slipknot chest-piece.”
“Do not!”
“Hot tub’s a really good place to prove that.”
-
There is a last minute champagne run for New Years, and a squeezed in hang sesh when Richie is working in New York later that month. His schedule is tight, this time of year! They get together with the rest of the Losers when they can, or in smaller groups- and they never plan it like they did with Christmas, but it keeps happening. Sometimes it’s his idea, and sometimes it’s Eddie’s- but isn’t it for the best that they sober up before driving somewhere, or take the time to make sure they didn’t forget to pack something important before dropping each other off at the airport? And the time they got lost while hiking with Mike, well! They needed a few more hours of daylight to get back to camp safe.
“I don’t know about you, but I feel really at one with nature right now,” Richie giggles. For lack of a better option, he wipes his hand off on the bark of the tree they’ve been leaned up against.
“Semper paratus,” Eddie says, pulling an envelope of Wet Ones for them out of his fannypack.
“I’m sure this is exactly the scenario the Boy Scouts were thinking of when they chose their motto.”
Once Eddie has cleaned himself he steps up between Richie’s slightly spread legs, takes his face in his hands and kisses him, just the once. He always does, every time. It’s always a nice kiss, and it’s nice that he cares enough about Richie to put aside his lack of attraction. That’s a kind of love, isn’t it? That’s what Richie tells himself to make it okay that he’s roped an unwitting Eddie into being his kind-of-lover, but hey. Is it gay if it only happens outside of the conventionally perceived space-time continuum?
-
It’s a mystery to Richie how anyone can put on mascara, half because he’s a dude, and half because once he takes his glasses off, he’d be lucky to find the fucking thing. He’d probably stick a tube of lipstick in his eye. He clenches his teeth as he watches Bev do her makeup and tries not to make any sudden movements as he helps with her hair.
“Can you grab my phone?” she asks. “I think I heard it buzz.”
“As you wish, m’lady.” Richie unspools the lock of hair on the curling iron and makes a lightsaber noise as it waves through the air, putting it down safely on the vanity.
Eddie is striding across the main part of the hotel room, frantically hanging up pieces of Ben’s suit as he finishes steaming them. Even so, he spares the time to point out Bev’s phone on the desk as he dives into Ben’s luggage to find a button-down that works with the rest. “That better be the fucking alterations or else we’re gonna have to stick the dress to her with my kinesio tape.”
“That could be the ‘something blue’,” Richie coos as he scoops up the phone.
“You’re really taking the maid of honor thing seriously, huh?”
“You starched and ironed Ben’s fucking underpants, and you’re not even his best man.”
Eddie grins. “What, you jealous?”
Richie scrunches his nose at him. “My underpants get stiff all on their own.”
“Phone!” Bev hollers from the bathroom.
“Aw shit,” Richie says, actually looking at it.
BH 911
BH Me and Bill are still at the jeweler :(
BH Won’t make it to the officiant in time to put down the deposit.
He passes it to Eddie to read.
“Motherfucker. This is what you get for eloping, Beverly! Fucking chaos!”
They both storm into the bathroom, Eddie demanding details- What time is the deposit due? How much? Why didn’t Ben give him all this information earlier? We still have to get the dress and pick the music and dinner! while Richie demands he not frazzle the bride.
He wraps both arms around Eddie from behind, covering his mouth with one hand to keep him quiet a moment. “You’re giving her worry lines for pictures, shush,” he says. “But can’t we like, venmo them, or something?”
Bev keeps curling her eyelashes throughout this hubbub because she fears nothing. “Vegas’s only Marky Mark impersonator doesn’t work for anything but cash under the table,” she says, which- fair.
Richie lets go of Eddie so he’ll stop trying to elbow him in the gut.
“Okay, okay- uhh uhm we can take care of this,” Eddie says, starting to pace again, but this time in the much more confined space of the bathroom.
“Really?” Bev holds her breath.
“We can get that done and get the dress and meet you at the venue? Right? Richie- you- you have cash in your room?”
In Richie’s room? He’s always got cash on him, how else does Eddie think he’s been makin’ it rain every time Eddie so much as takes off his jacket. “Nah, I blew it all on strippers,” he teases.
Eddie whirls around and starts pushing Richie out. “No, Richie, I’m pretty sure you have cash in the safe in your room, let’s go. We’ll catch you later, Bev.”
“Omigosh, thank you, guys!”
“Don’t worry about a thing, girl! I’ll text Ben back and let him know what’s up,” Richie promises as he finally figures out what Eddie is suggesting. He’s never had first hand experience of being in a wedding before but it looks like it’s kinda true what they say about inter-party hookups.
They run into Mike in the hallway as he returns from a snack run, which is both lucky (because they should loop him in) and unlucky (because Richie is pitching a tent so big they could rent it out to other wedding parties and actually turn a profit on this weekend). He steps behind Eddie for cover and leans against his door, a few down from Bev and Ben’s.
“Heyyy.” Nothing to see here.
Eddie grabs Richie and turns them both around, toward the door, insistently tapping on his back to open the damn thing already. “Mike, can you finish ironing Ben’s shirt? And pick a tie that matches in case he wants one- he said he didn’t, but we should have options, just in case. And help Bev decide on the music and text me about it. And make sure she drinks a glass of water for every glass of alcohol-”
“Hey, yeah, I got it. Everything okay?” Mike asks, puzzled.
Richie fumbles with the key-card. “We need to get a cash deposit to the officiant by six and go waterboard the seamstress until she gives up the location of Bev’s fucking dress.”
Mike goes to pull out his wallet. “I got cash? You need cash?”
“That’s okay, I’m robbing Richie,” Eddie says, squeezing the hand parked on his waist. “Stick ‘em up.”
“Uh, right. If you think you have time for that, I guess...”
The door clicks open. As he pulls the handle, on top of everything else, Richie makes a mental note to buy Mike’s silence with an entire frat party's worth of booze tonight because he absolutely thinks they’re about to go bang, huh.
“Thanks Mike, see ya!”
They get inside the room and immediately start shimmying out of their pants.
Eddie hops on one foot. “Be careful crossing the street, all right? It’s busy out there- I don’t want you getting unstuck in front of a fucking party bus, Richie-”
Eddie’s so fucking cute when he’s worrying in his underpants. He’s cute all the time, but this is for sure a deluxe model. His phone drops out of his pocket as he tangles with his pants and Richie’s heart does one of those cartoon awoogah’s straight out of his body.
“I know, Eds, I know. I will.” Richie picks up his phone for him and then claws out his own before it suffers the same fate. “Shit, I gotta text Ben first,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed, only stripped as far as the thigh.
RT me n eds will take care of marky mark and shit
RT just meet us at the venue
RT but like
RT do hustle ur bustle lol
Richie stares for a moment, waiting. Then he almost drops his phone entirely, because someone’s mouth is on his bare neck.
“Uh.”
“You done yet?” Eddie asks, crouched behind him. He presses his chest to Richie’s back and kisses him just under his jaw, and they don’t do this. When the dicks are out, they don’t touch if they can help it, and they definitely don’t kiss until after. This is what keeps Eddie from nopeing right out, and Richie from losing his shit. This is what makes it work.
“Uhh? I should wait for Ben to respond so I know we’re cool?”
Eddie huffs. “I know you said you don’t- you don’t want me to do anything but kiss you, but we have like, less than twenty minutes of real time here, dude.” He keeps dragging his open mouth up and down Richie’s neck, hands creeping at his hips. “So if you’re gonna keep waiting... but only if you wanted me to? I could totally do us both-”
All the sense has been punched out of Richie’s brain. It burns. His eyes burn. His skin burns, because Eddie would touch him like he wants, and he’ll do it now- all Richie has to do is say yes.
“I- I want, I want,” he stammers. Then he moans, because next thing he knows Eddie’s hand is exploring him, gentle and foreign. He gets a real grip on Richie and keeps kissing his neck, making his spine turn to mush from both ends. Richie whimpers and his head falls back against Eddie’s shoulder as he starts playing with Richie in earnest, rubbing his thumb over the head of his dick and drawing the tight circle of his fist down around him and what?!
“Is this okay?” Eddie asks. “I know you don’t like sex with other people, so like, I don’t want to fuck up and give you more reason to not want it.”
“Eddie. Eddie Eddie. Wait, uhm-” Richie is getting the sense he might have overplayed his aloofness with this whole arrangement to keep it from getting too real, but he never intended for Eddie to feel all icky on his behalf. “I know I’ve been majorly cagey about it but- oh my god I want sex. I’m just- you, you’re the one- you don’t want sex,” he reminds Eddie.
“I don’t want sex!” Eddie laughs against Richie's neck like this is one of his better jokes, nearly to the point of wheezing, but then suddenly stops. He lets go of Richie and scrambles back on the bed as Richie turns around to figure out just what the fuck is going on.
“Richie, I- I super wanna have sex with you,” Eddie says, as wide-eyed as Richie has ever seen him. He sits back on his heels, chest still heaving from the fit he almost gave himself laughing. “Because I love you, not just because we can.”
Stop stop stop- no, wait. Richie bangs a mental U-ey. Go!
“We can,” Richie nods vigorously. “We definitely can. With love. I love you, Eddie, I-”
He crawls up to Eddie and tackles him around the middle as Eddie grabs his face. His chest is bursting- if he doesn’t kiss Eddie right fucking now -
“Yeah?”
Then Eddie’s lips are on his lips and they’re laying together and kissing and touching even though it’s real right now. Everything that’s happening fucking counts and they both want it to. For the first time, Richie lets himself kiss Eddie back as though he wants to be kissed by him specifically, not some shapeless ‘anybody’. That’s not so hard to do when it’s always been true.
Eddie pulls back a second. “I really wanna kiss you even when we’re not having sex, or having Not Sex. Whatever the fuck it was we told ourselves we were doing while having fucking orgasms together.”
“You should, dude!” Richie swoops in on Eddie again, getting another kiss in. “I should. I will! All the fucking time!”
“And I want to sleep next to you,” Eddie adds, feverishly quick.
“We can do that again. More. A lot. Tonight?”
Eddie confirms that with a clumsy, nodding kiss. Richie could cry. He’ll be sleeping in Eddie’s arms in this very bed to-fucking-night. And then a buncha other places too, because he’ll be damned if what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
“And I want to talk to you everyday-”
“Done. Anything else?” Richie asks. “I will say yes to anything. This is a great time to con me into buying a timeshare in Nebraska.”
Eddie looks at him, his expression cycling through all the greatest hits. Surprise, happiness, love- all focused on Richie. “And, and! One day, I totally want to mismanage the ever-living fuck out of a surprise wedding and make all our friends run around like fucking dumbasses trying to fix it.”
“Eddie,” Richie smothers into his mouth.
He kisses Eddie as hard as he can- yes! fucking yes!- so enthusiastically that he pushes Eddie onto his back and climbs on top of him, unable to climb through him. He’s living an old Groucho Marx joke. If I were holding ya any closer, I’d be behind ya. Insert cigar chomp here.
“You mean it?” Richie has to ask, once, just to be sure he’s not dreaming. “You wanna waste your time with me. A total fucking lunatic. Permanently.”
“I wasted so much of my life without you,” Eddie tells him. Richie couldn’t be happier to be corrected. “But,” says Eddie- ”We are like, definitely burning precious time right now.”
“Oh shit, yeah.”
Richie twists and rolls around looking for his phone. He lays back and raises it over his head to unlock and- yes! Ben has replied. Eddie ducks through the loop of his arms and spits in his palm before slipping a hand down between them.
BH Do you have the time to get over there, though? It’s kind of a hike.
BH It’s across town from you.
Oh god. Fuck, Eddie works fast. He types back one last message over Eddie’s shoulder while their dicks slide together in his grip.
RT Areadyyy OMW. nearby no probleww m
That’ll have to do.
Richie tosses his phone away and then kisses Eddie again. Holy shit, again. He’s kissing Eddie multiple times, like some kind of spree criminal.
“Wait, let me-” Richie wriggles so he can get his pants all the way off. This is ridiculous. He’s wearing clothes! So many clothes that they’re intending to wear later! And this is gonna get filthy, if Richie has anything to say about it. “Get naked! Let’s be naked, right now!”
Eddie, who so very cleverly already took his pants off before he started all this, automatically sets to getting the rest of the way out of his shirt and briefs. Richie can’t take his eyes off him, he’s so beautiful, happening all at once. Arms and legs and easy grin and the glistening head of his cock, all for Richie. Eddie lays down on top of him as soon as he’s naked and ruts into him.
“You know you can start blinking again. Anytime now, Rich. Starting to freak me out.”
“Ahah.” The desperate drag of Eddie’s body against his makes him close his eyes and see stars, anyway. “I’m still adjusting to the breaking news that you’re into me, please excuse my shock.”
“Well, hurry up and adjust. We’ll do this really... fucking... slow... later.”
Richie bucks into Eddie with a growl. “We’re gonna have to. I’ll be stopping literally- hnnng- every other second to pinch myself.”
“If that’s what you’re into, weirdo,” Eddie smirks. “Now use your big fucking hands on me so we can save this wedding, so you can be my date to it.”
-
There are boxes in every room, and the movers are coming to load Eddie’s stuff tomorrow. Well, calendar tomorrow- who knows how long tonight might actually take? The only boxes yet to be sealed are in the bedroom. There’s room for the lamp to be packed, along with the bedding, last minute kitchen items, and whatever sundries are left in the bathroom. The most vital of the nightstand’s contents are still scattered about- but there’s no available box of kleenex? What a shame.
“I guess someone’s just gonna have to lick it off,” Richie smirks.
Eddie curls his lip in betrayal. “That’s how people get yeast infections, you know.”
“Not on their noses.” That’s where Richie smeared a fingertip’s worth of the syrup from the drizzle at the top of his glass. It looks a little like an exclamation point.
Eddie!
“You think I don’t know where this is going?” Eddie says, voice gruff and hungry.
Richie sips his chocolate milk as demurely as a man can, who was just fingered by his boyfriend for the better part of twenty minutes. He just wanted something to drink before they kept going at it, but he's nothing if not an improviser. When he gets to the bottom of his glass, he reaches out and touches the rim to Eddie’s collarbone, making more of the syrup streak onto his skin.
“Oops,” he pouts.
Eddie chugs his drink like a man who’s been slamming back liquid breakfast since the early aughts. He takes Richie’s glass and leaves it beside his own on the nightstand, then rolls over from his seat at the head of the bed. He lands between Richie’s knees and pulls him down to the flat of the bed by his hips and it is back on.
For a moment he noses at the center of Richie’s chest, where his skin is still damp with sweat from where they left off before Richie’s kitchen pit stop. When he looks back up at Richie, the chocolate on his nose has been rubbed off.
“There, how do you like it?” he asks, then starts licking.
Richie squirms under him. “Hhhff. I like it a lot.”
Eddie grins against him. “We’ll see how good a job you do cleaning me up, maybe I’ll let you do this on purpose sometime.”
Visions of Eddie spread out on his bed- wait- their bed in LA swim through his mind. A chocolate heart with their initials in the middle on his chest, maybe, or a delicious treasure trail drawn down the length of his whole body. Very soon he’ll have near constant access to do all sorts of annoying shit to Eddie in the name of seduction.
Richie rolls them over so he can make his case.
“I can’t wait to get you home, Eddie,” he mouths on him. Eddie usually tastes sort of sweet, being as meticulously groomed as he is, but this is next level. He swipes his tongue all along the ridge of his collar bone and into the notch at the base of his throat. “I’ll taste you every day, just like this,” Richie promises. Just one more lick and Richie will have it all lapped up, but of course he’s not going to stop there.
“Get me home,” Eddie quotes, experimentally. He knows too, how incredible it is that they’re talking about one, same place.
“First thing I’m gonna do is throw out all the plates.”
“What the fuck,” Eddie laughs. His hand comes down in Richie’s hair, indulging him with a scratch despite his nonsense.
“Mmm. We’ll eat everything off each other's bodies.”
“Genius.” Eddie cranes his neck to watch Richie slide down his body with his tongue. “Still not letting you put chocolate syrup directly on my dick, though.”
Richie half shrugs and gets a hold of Eddie. “As long as you’ll put me directly on your dick,” he figures.
“You still want to?”
“Well, we already packed up all the electronics, what else are we gonna do, braid each other’s hair?”
Eddie snickers and Richie gives him a mutually appreciative stroke. “If you’re ready, I’m ready.”
“Yeah, dude. Just needed to wet my whistle before I wet yours,” he assures Eddie. Then he swallows him down.
“Oh fuck, Richie.”
They’ve had some false starts before, so he can’t fault Eddie for being a little unsure they’ll get there tonight. But they’ve talked through his anxieties about having a misfire, now. There's a plan for every scenario, (thanks Mr. Risk Analyst!) and Richie’s not so worried about disappointing Eddie anymore. ‘I’m not gonna be offended that I fucked you so good you came uncontrollably’ is a hell of a reassurance. And a fucking turn on.
Once he’s got Eddie’s perfect dick perfectly hard, Richie pops off to go root through what’s left of the nightstand. Eddie’s got an hourglass in there, because he prefers to know how much time is passing, of course, along with the necessary condoms and lube. He tosses one to Eddie and scratches his head.
“Where d’you want me?”
“Everywhere,” Eddie says sweetly, rolling his eyes at himself as he hears it come out of his mouth. He sheaths himself and then kneels up to Richie, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and kissing him. “I want you everywhere, all the time.”
Richie’s face is surely red. “Cute. I just figure you’re the one who’s read every single wiki and has a fucking opinion.”
“Yeah? Got a problem with that?” Eddie glares at him, but he’s still smiling. “I checked, but they don’t have any listicles called Best Positions for Topping a Mouthy First Time Bottom When You’re Both in Peril of Teleporting Mid-Sex.”
“That’s shocking,” Richie purrs and kisses him again. “Peril, you say?” The suggestion of such a thing makes his dick jump.
“I don’t think it matters so much how we start, we just wanna make sure we’re not trying to finish in a position where someone could get hurt-”
Richie shivers. “Is it fucked up that now I really wanna do like, suspended congress or some crazy gymnastic shit?”
“Yeah. We’re forty.”
“YOLO.”
“I want us to fuck more than once, though, and we can’t do that if I crack your fucking skull open.”
Richie sighs heavily. “I guess now I know our love is conditional. No major head wounds.”
“That’s right.” Eddie runs his hands up Richie’s neck and cradles the back of his head. He looks at him very seriously, those big brown eyes full of care. “I’m in love with your dumbass brain, so keep it on the inside, please.”
He tips Richie to him so he can kiss his forehead, then he tips the rest of him back down to the bed, pulling a helpful pillow into the mix, as well.
Richie lays back, heart racing as Eddie settles between his legs. He’s excited and still a little nervous, but they planned for that, so he tells Eddie his Plan B. “Hey, if I come like, immediately, I’ll be in the bath, polishing off the ice cream, okay?”
Eddie chuckles as he arranges himself. “Someone’s gotta finish the stuff in the fridge.”
“That’s why you invited me over to help you pack!” Richie beams.
“You didn’t do much actual packing,” Eddie agrees. He bends to kiss Richie as he slips two fingers into him, making sure he’s still good to go. He hushes against Richie’s lips as he scissors them, in and out. “Relax, buddy. I got you. I’ll be right here.”
The idea of chilling out in bed with a frozen Eddie is too much for Richie, but Eddie has promised, again and again that he wouldn’t go far if they get separated. He’ll be there to hold Richie as soon as he can, one way or another. But he shouldn’t worry about that. For now, Richie has Eddie right here next to him, with him, almost inside him. He does his part to make that happen, breathing out and taking Eddie in. It’s slow and sort of backwards of all his impulses, but that’s kind of how they got into this mess, isn’t it? If it worked once...
“Okay, uhm. Just hang on for a sec,” Richie says, peeking one eye open and T-ing his hands. “Where we at? If you say you’re only one inch in, I’m gonna cry.”
Eddie licks his lip. “Just about the opposite, actually.”
“Oh, awesome. Right on.” What a relief to find out, several decades into being a gay man, that Richie can in fact take a dick like a champ. His mother will be so proud.
“Let me know when to-”
“Move.”
“I’m already moving in with you,” Eddie teases. He replants his fists on either side of Richie and keeps pushing in.
“Yeah,” Richie breathes, feeling like the luckiest motherfucker on the planet. “Fucking score.”
When Eddie starts to pull out again, Richie starts to shake. He locks his ankles at Eddie’s back so he can keep him close. He needs him close. Forever. If they ever both get stuck for all time, it should be like this. Eddie pushes in, again and again, until it’s easier on both of them.
“This is like, life ruiningly good,” he grunts. “I hope this gets boring. I can’t- I can’t be constantly fucking you. Making one day last fff-four months.”
There is a danger of that, huh? They’ll never see any new movies. Worth it, though.
Richie huffs a laugh. “If it works for the Arctic.”
“Arctic’s not this hot. Fuck.” Eddie starts to move faster, his hips making that satisfying smack as they meet Richie’s ass. “Oh my god, Rich.”
He gets into it then, pumping away harder, even as the rest of him gets looser so that he can bend and keep his mouth sealed to Richie’s. Soon, even that amount of control is beyond them, and they gasp apart, tucking into each other’s necks, haphazard.
“It’s so good, it’s so fucking good, Eddie.” As he jolts with pleasure at every thrust, Richie can’t keep his ankles together. He ragdolls out and knows it’ll be any second now- “Eddie. Eddie right now. Yeah. Come with me, come in me I’m-“
Eddie sobs an uhn for him, spasming as he does, and Richie knows it’s perfect and there are tears in his eyes and he’s in Eddie’s arms and he’ll stay in Eddie’s arms because they’re together, now and not now, and he lets himself go.
The sound of the weather outside statics into nothing, and Richie can’t yet comprehend what that means, but he will. For now, everything goes quiet, except for him and Eddie catching their breath and the soft crush of the bedding as they go limp.
“Still here,” says Eddie, softly. He bumps his lips to Richie’s cheek then carefully pulls himself away.
“Good. Super good.” Somehow, Richie wills his body to move just enough for Eddie to snake an arm underneath him so they can roll side by side. There’s nothing left in him to lift a hand to fix his glasses as they go askew, but he can still see Eddie, smiling and sweaty beside him, back-lit by the window so that the edge of him shines.
“It was raining,” Richie realizes.
Eddie takes his word for it and doesn’t look away. “Just in time for a shower,” he jokes.
“Imagine fucking in a tropical rain forest...”
“Jesus, already? Be content for like, ten minutes, I just blew my back out for you.”
Richie laughs and cuddles closer, sweeping a lazy but appreciative hand up and down Eddie’s spine. “Well, we missed the like, one month where there’s rain in LA and it’s too cold here.”
“At least you’re talking some fucking sense,” Eddie grumbles, obviously relieved that he’s not going to have to chase a naked Richie out into the streets of New York.
“I swear to god, I have no hi-jinks in mind right now.”
“Me neither,” Eddie laughs.
For once.
