Chapter 1: No rules in breakable heaven
A thunderstorm is brewing low in the sky, heavy and tense.
It’s like the whole world has gone to shit is what Richie is thinking as he pulls the curtains shut to block out the noise of the wind coming from outside the hotel room. Not that his life was that great to begin with, but things were going pretty okay before Mike’s calls had careened the losers back into the past. It had been an overwhelming few hours, and now here they all were, back together in the one place they all forgot and Richie wished more than anything that he could forget again, and soon.
Seeing the losers again wasn’t bad. He didn’t mind slowly remembering their dynamics. Bill’s quiet yet determined leadership, Ben’s dry wit, Beverly’s unwavering bravery and Mike’s assuredness. And Eddie. Eddie hadn’t changed much either, none of them had. He was still just as neurotic and always quick with a remark. The only difference now between the present group and their past counterparts was how tired everyone looked. It’s funny how 27 years can put so many lines on people’s faces. Richie bites the inside of his mouth to keep himself from smiling as he thinks of his friends. This wasn’t a damn holiday retreat. This was a nightmare. If they made it out with all of their limbs intact and the memories to retell the tale, it would be a miracle.
A clap of thunder sounds out and Richie jumps, suddenly realizing how tense he feels. “I need another drink,” he murmurs to no one in particular except maybe the coat hanging on the closet door knob that’s taken a somewhat humanoid shape in the shadowy room. There will be bigger monsters to fight.
Richie is just about to cross the room to grab that coat and head downstairs to the small hotel bar when a knock breaks through the stagnant air. He brings an eye to the peephole, his eyes straining in the dim light that’s filtering in around the smallish figure in the hallway, just outside his door. Eddie.
He opens the door and Eddie pushes past him, heading right into the room and sitting down on the armchair by the window. “Everyone else is asleep, I think,” is the only explanation he gives before grabbing the remote control and flicking on the small tv. “There’s nothing on except the weather forecast.” Richie is still standing by the open door, brows knitted together behind his glasses. “Eds. Is everything okay?”
Eddie scoffs. “Well, no, asshole. Far from it. OH! Pretty Woman is on.” Richie closes the door softly, shoulders slumping. “Not really in the mood for Julia Roberts right now, buddy.” Eddie doesn’t seem to be listening, instead he begins inspecting the arm of the chair. “I wonder how often they clean this stuff. Looks okay, but microorganisms can live for hours on porous surfaces like this…”
The room is still quiet behind the voices from the tv playing softly in the background. Richie walks over and sits down on the bed, opposite Eddie. “So, this is all pretty fucked up, huh?”
A harsh line forms on Eddie’s face, just above his eyebrows. “Yeah, you could say that.” His eyes never leave the t.v screen.
“I blew chunks when Mike called me.” A small smile threatens at the corners of Eddie’s lips. “Ew. I crashed my car.”
Richie cringes empathetically, the tense in his shoulders loosening somewhat. He leans over, grabbing the remote and flicking the tv off. “Sorry Spagheddie. My room, my rules.”
Eddie looks at his hands, wringing them. “I’m sorry for barging in. Bill is definitely asleep, and I saw Bev go into Ben’s room earlier and I don’t want to risk seeing anything I don’t want to see. I thought of calling My--” he gives up, making a face. “I’m not really sure that’s a good idea.” Richie recognizes the anxiety behind Eddie’s words. It’s palpable in the way he’s rambling, picking at his sleeves, trying to focus on anything but the present situation they’re in.
“Hey, Eds,” he starts, clearing his throat. “Not that I really wanna talk about it but do you wanna...like...talk about this shit?”
“There isn’t much on my mind besides a never-ending chorus of what the fuck, so…”
Richie nods in agreement. “If Stan were here, he’d know what to say.” He smiles fondly, a bittersweet familiarity pooling at the base of his spine. “As much as that pains me to admit. I’ve got nothin’.”
“Trashmouth is speechless? Let me get the camera. I need to document this!” Eddie jumps up, now fully smiling. Richie grins crookedly. “Fuck off, dick”.
Eddie’s smile falters then and he sucks in a breath. “Do you think staying was a good idea?” he ponders out loud as he sits down on the bed beside Richie. Suddenly the look is back on his face that reminds Richie of the times when Eddie would have particularly hard days with his mother back when they were kids. Like he was trapped inside his own head sick with worry and anxiety. He still looked like that boy, just a head taller and with a thicker skin.
“I don’t know how any of us ended up back here. But we made a deal. People - people are dying again. It’s fucked up but Mike’s right. We have to do this.” Richie resigns to the decision, even if not long ago he was ready to catch the next flight back out to L.A and forget any of this ever happened for the second time.
He also hoped Eddie would’ve joined him. But for now he’s fine with having Eddie in his room, looking so much like he remembers but at the same time like a completely new person.
“I don’t know how I ever forgot you, Eddie. Any of you.” Richie feels a spot inside of him, an empty spot that has been there for as long as he can remember. Everything feels way too soft all of a sudden, but then again they aren’t the crass, dirty boys they once were. “Even if we can’t beat this thing. I’m glad we got to be together again.” He feels Eddie relax at his words. “Yeah. I’m just. Scared. I know we’re all scared shitless. I just needed to say it out loud. There’s no way I can sleep tonight. I left in such a hurry that I forgot my lorazepam at home and--” Eddie stops, now breathless. “I’m fucking scared”.
Richie’s heart flutters. “I’m scared too.” Eddie leans into Richie’s shoulder, his breathing steadying itself again. “I won’t let It hurt you.”
The air is quiet again, and thick. The thunder has let up, giving way for the rain to pelt the windows and wind to shake the building. Richie breathes in and wraps an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. His stomach flips and drops to his feet and his fingertips tingle. He hasn’t felt this way since he was a fucking kid.
“You’re right,” Eddie whispers, lips almost touching Richie’s neck. “I’m so happy we all got to be together again. I just wish it didn’t have to be because of...this.” His body shudders, prompting Richie to bring his other arm up to the smaller man’s head to stroke his hair. Each touch is punctuated with a message. Life line. Tether. Anchor. Best Friend.
“It’s going to be okay. We’re stronger now.” Eddie nods in agreement, pressing his cold nose to Richie’s neck. “After all of this is over, I don’t want to lose you guys again,” Richie pulls away from Eddie to look him in the eyes. “Don’t even think about packing up and going back to wherever-her-name-is without giving me a way to contact you, little shit.” An uncertain laugh bubbles up from Eddie’s chest. “Don’t make it sound like I’m just waiting to leave you in the dust. I’m not even sure what the hell I’m doing after all this. It’s not like we can put our lives on pause to kill an evil interdimensional shapeshifting entity and then go right back to the way things were like nothing happened.”
“We’ll be on the shrink’s couch together this time next year, then.” Richie hugs Eddie close again, rocking slightly. He’s desperate to change the subject to avoid the topic of Eddie’s wife, waiting for him to come home. “Damn, did you even grow at all, Eds?”
“Shut up. I’m perfectly average height. It’s not my fault you’re a freaky bean pole.”
Richie takes the opportunity to pull Eddie down onto the bed. “So tiny. So cute.” Eddie struggles in his arms, grunting with the effort. “Seriously, I really cannot stand you.”
“I missed this, Eds. Just you and me. Oh, and the bed bugs of course.” At that, Eddie finally breaks free from Richie’s grasp and rolls on top of him, holding his body down with the help of his strong legs. “If there are bugs in here, I’m sure they’ll enjoy feasting on you all night.” Richie laughs and grabs onto Eddie’s hands in an attempt to gain some leverage at the upper hand. He laughs with the effort and can’t remember the last time he roughhoused like a kid. “My back is going to be screaming at me in the morning,” he offers as a plea to get Eddie to let up. He takes the opportunity to put his hands on Eddie’s waist as the man on top of him leans over, hands splayed on the bed spread either side of Richie’s head. Richie blows his hair out of his eyes, too lost in the feeling of Eddie’s warmth to realize he can’t see.
“Hey, you have a little scar.”
“What? Oh yeah, that.” He’d almost forgotten it. No one he’d met in years had brought it up before because it was usually hidden by his hair. Eddie traces the small, diagonal mark on Richie’s forehead with a careful finger. “What’s it from? Did you always have this? I don’t remember it.”
“I, uh, no,” Richie begins, his mind yelling at him to leave it alone. He hadn’t even thought about it in years. “I got in this dumb fight, in high school.” Eddie nods, concern drawing his brows close as he listens, piecing together the parts of his friend’s life that he’s missed out on. “This asshole kid was being a dick, so I gave him the trashmouth special. That didn’t work, so I punched him. He fought back, pretty hard. Had to get stitches. My mom was pissed.”
“I would’ve punched you, too.” Eddie smiles too hard for it to be taken as an insult. “You can be pretty annoying.” They’re both quiet for a moment before Eddie pipes up again. “What was the fight even about, if you remember?”
“Fuck, Eds. I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast yesterday. You expect me to remember something from almost thirty years ago?” Eddie chews on his lip, finally swinging his leg off of Richie’s thighs to sit on his heels beside him.
“This asshole kid said I was getting too cozy with his brother. We were friends. We went to the arcade all the time. I asked him to sleep over, play some games. He didn’t like it.” Richie felt sick suddenly, shit he’d been pushing down was coming back up his throat like acid. “He used very unsavoury vocabulary. Even for my standards.” Eddie nods. Richie can still taste the hate like blood, feels the way it stung, can still hear the words. “So fucking stupid. It doesn’t matter now.” If Eddie had picked up on the true context of the story, he doesn’t say. He just breathes. Richie’s heart hammers against his ribcage.
Eddie looks down at him, his expression one of understanding. “I’m sorry we didn’t stay close after...all that other shit.” His eyes are far away now. “Me and the gang, we could’ve been there for you.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Eds. It’s this thing. It clouds you. It makes you forget.” He shivers at the word forget. He doesn’t want to go back to a life where he doesn’t remember Eddie. “It was so long ago. Think I give a shit now?” It’s only half of a lie.
Eddie laughs. “I’m sure all this childhood trauma has has given you some good material to work with, mister comedian.”
Richie tries to laugh casually in agreement but the sound gets swallowed up by a yawn. With a small frown, Eddie fumbles to stand up. “You should try to get some rest, Rich. I can go.” It’s the last thing Richie wants even if he’s afraid to say why. He’s been afraid before. Not like this, not in a long time, but he has. He sits up stoically, following Eddie with his eyes. If this is his last chance before shit really hits the fan, then fuck it if he isn’t going to grab that shit by the proverbial balls. “Please don’t go, Eds.” It’s not like he has to beg. Eddie has hardly made any kind of move to actually leave, to go back to his room. Richie’s sure he isn’t breathing anymore.
The tension is shattered around them by Eddie’s voice. “Not sure about these beds. Not sure about anything in this room…” he trails off, looking around, taking mental note of the state of the small, dimly lit room. “I almost want to turn the light off just so I can’t see any of this.” He nods toward the lamp standing tall in the corner, casting long shadows across the walls with each move he makes. Richie still hasn’t moved an inch, wondering if Eddie knows what he’s doing to him. “I’ll stay, Richie. I won’t be able to sleep anyway.”
For a few minutes, nothing is said. Richie fills the silence by humming to himself as he stands up, pulling back the bedspread and neatening the pillows. Eddie stands at the foot of the bed, looking so unsure and so Eddie. Richie throws him a look, motioning to the lamp. “Be my guest, Special K.” He turns back toward the bed and hears him padding over to the lamp, hears the flicking of the cord being pulled, plunging the room into a rich darkness. Richie drops his glasses onto the small side table before sliding himself into the bed. Feeling stiff as a board, he stares straight up at the ceiling waiting for his eyesight to acclimate to the dark. The bed dips next to him with Eddie’s weight. He hasn’t noticed the rain in a while, it must’ve stopped at some point during their previous conversation. The only sound now is the occasional deep breath coming from Eddie. The space between them on the bed is a heavily charged electric field.
The mattress springs squeak under Eddie as he turns onto his side facing Richie. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Richie pretends he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “Tell you what, Spagheds?” It’s meant to come out sounding playful but really it just sounds forced.
“You know what.”
It bruises. It stings. It feels like regret, like twenty-seven years worth of repressed, forgotten feelings all coming to light at once. “I didn’t know back then. Or I did, but I didn’t want to deal with it.” Richie’s body turns and his eyes finally focus onto Eddie’s blurry, shadow-sunken face. “Are we both on the same page, here?”
“I think so,” Eddie breathes out.
He’s never said it out loud to anyone before, he’s never had to. Every woman he’s ever been with had assumed he was straight, and every man had assumed he was gay. “So, Eds...I’m-well, I bat for both teams.”
Eddie breathes out a delicate sigh, as if he’d been holding his breath for minutes. “It’s cool, Rich.” Talking about the logistics of his sexuality seems so trivial to Richie when there’s literally an evil force waiting to gobble them up somewhere in the sewers. “I don’t want to talk about the details. It doesn’t matter now. You’re here,” he says, reaching out to rub his thumb along Eddie’s eyebrow, tracing the socket of his eye. “We’re all here. I’ve been waiting for this forever, I think.” Eddie hums. Richie’s on fire.
“Can I tell you something?” Eddie starts, his chest sounding tight. Richie grunts an approval. “I told-I told Myra before I left that I wasn’t sure if I was coming back. I didn’t tell her what was happening. How could I?” He lets out a dry chuckle. “She freaked out. I threw my phone into the river on the way into town.”
“Tell you the truth, you could do a lot better, Eddie.” Or you could do worse and do me. Up to you.
Richie’s struggling not to pounce. He has to maintain composure. The last thing he wants is for Eddie to close up and walk out. He doesn’t think he could survive that. Besides, they have to remain united to beat whatever this thing is that had been waiting for them for the past few decades. In the sanctuary of this small, dark room Richie feels near invincible. He also feels ready to crumble into a million pieces at any second. “I can’t sleep. I’m tired but I know I can’t,” he whispers in Eddie’s direction, sounding more vulnerable than he’s let himself sound in years.
It’s then that he feels the warmth of Eddie’s body leaning fully into him. And it’s wonderful. “Eds.” It’s not a plea, not even a question, but simply a statement. Something breaks between them and their limbs tangle together as if they’re drawn by magnets. “I missed you so much, Richie,” comes Eddie’s voice, small from the crook of Richie’s neck. Richie isn’t so sure, but it almost feels as if Eddie’s pressing a kiss to his skin there, tentative and careful and so so soft. There’s no going back now.
The first thing Richie can think to do once the fog clears from his mind is to snake his free hand down to the waist of Eddie’s sweatpants, toying at the fabric with his thumb. He can’t stand it, and moments later he’s sliding his hand under the pants and down Eddie’s warm thigh. He feels soft tufts of hair and smooth skin and tensed muscle as Eddie presses his lower half closer to Richie but pulls his head away from his neck at the same time to speak clearly. “I really hope there aren’t any bed bugs…”
He’s cut off by the feeling of Richie’s lips grazing his own. Softly, a promise, whisper of what’s coming. “Shhh. Just—shut the fuck up.” And Richie’s mouth captures Eddie’s. He’s sure the thought has dissipated from Eddie’s mind when he feels the vibration of a small whine in the back of his throat. Richie’s hand that’s been resting on Eddie’s thigh inside his pants continues its journey around to squeeze at his bare ass. He growls then, it’s something that comes out of nowhere and rips out of him and into Eddie’s waiting mouth like it’s involuntary. He disconnects their mouths to catch his breath. “You have no idea the things that I’ve thought about. What I thought when I saw you again after all these years. It all came rushing back.” Eddie opens his eyes, a question lingering there. Richie drops his head lower to peck at Eddie’s neck. “I think I’ve wanted this since I was twelve years old.” Eddie laughs and it’s a peculiar noise, breathy and incredulous and excited. Richie trails his lips back up to his best friend’s cheek, pressing a small kiss as if to claim that he’s been there. “I can’t believe I forgot.” His gaze lingers, studying the small lines, the shape of Eddie’s bones under his skin and the sparse dusting of tiny brown freckles across his nose and under his creased eyes.
Richie had been in his share of failed relationships. Men, women, all of them wildly different and all of them faceless in his mind’s eye. None of them were Eddie. No experience he’d had with anyone has ever felt this safe. He’s never known anyone in a second the way he knows Eddie, even after all this time. His chest tightens at the realization. Every breath he takes burns at his ribs and he’s sure he’s never felt so fragile or exposed and yet held together at the same time. It was Eddie’s turn to let out a shaky, burning breath. “Richie.” His deep eyes search Richie’s face, flicking back and forth. Waiting for him to breathe, say anything.
“Is this okay?” Richie asks, bending his head down to return to that beautiful neck and down farther towards Eddie’s exposed collar bone. He feels him nod and gulp before letting out a squeaky “yes, Richie”. Richie is done with holding back now, but a nagling thought lingers in the back of his mind, throbbing like a paper cut. “I don’t want this to happen because we’re both scared and lost and clinging to a past that doesn’t exist anymore,” Richie lets out finally, looking back up. Eddie shakes his head no, eyes hooded, lips plush and wet, open, waiting.
“When all of this is over, I want to keep you, Eds.”
Chapter 2: Fever dream high in the quiet of the night
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
When all of this is over, I want to keep you, Eds.
It wasn’t meant to come out that tender, really. It was meant to be a casual thing, wasn’t it? Supposed to just become one day, manifesting itself like a dog that follows you home. When Richie imagined this happening, years and years ago, he never thought it would happen like this. But, he guesses, that the current way he and Eddie are connected is an easy thing. It just happened.
He likes how this is happening. It’s a struggle just to keep up with every minute movement, every lithe slide of his body against Eddie’s. It’s overwhelming. It’s hot and wrong and right and theirs . His hand retreats from underneath Eddie’s sweatpants sliding up to cup his hip, the other curled in his short hair. Eddie gasps lightly as Richie pulls experimentally on a lock of it, effectively tilting Eddie’s chin up higher as he continues to suck a mark beside the stretched tendon on his neck. He feels nails digging into his back, holding on for dear life. Richie rolls them so that he’s on top, pressing one of Eddie’s legs to the side to slot his own between them. He grinds his hips down and his stomach erupts ridiculously with butterflies. He licks into Eddie’s mouth, tasting bright mint toothpaste that reminds him of sleepovers and late nights giggling under a blanket fort. Their teeth catch and clank together clumsily as Richie thumbs at Eddie’s pulse point, desperate to feel everything, to take control of this moment. It pounds under his touch and he presses down lightly, savouring the way Eddie responds eagerly to his every move. He’s starting to moan and it’s beautiful, kind of breathy, Richie thinks. He lets out a sound of his own, letting it bubble out from his chest unrestrained and it feels damn good to finally let go and let himself feel. Really feel. “Fuck,” he whispers, hips still working slowly at taking them both apart. “You sound so good. You feel so good.” And yeah, he’s still a bit overwhelmed.
Eddie’s eyes are half-open, watching like his mind his merely a passenger. His arousal is clear in the stiffness growing against Richie’s thigh as he whimpers out a response. Richie wants to throw up, cry, dance, and suck Eddie off all at once. He opts instead to slide a hand under Eddie’s loose sweat shirt to run his fingertips over the warm, inviting skin of his abdomen. Eddie shivers, his dopey smile making his nose bump against Richie’s cheek as he leans in for another bruising kiss. “So fuckin’ cute, Eds.”
They’re both breathing so heavily now, making the room that much warmer. Richie sits up to push Eddie’s shirt to his chin. He obliges, lifting his arms over his head to allow Richie to discard the item without a thought. Richie dives back down, the exposed skin a new playground for his mouth. Eddie grabs onto Richie’s head and tangles his fingers in the soft hair he finds, lip caught between his teeth, hips canting up to search for more friction. “Do you even know what you’re doing to me?” Richie says to Eddie’s belly button, his eyes shyly glancing up toward his flushed face. He presses a kiss there, and one to each hip bone, and one to an angular rib peeking out from underneath blotchy red skin. He runs his hands over the sparse patch of Eddie’s chest hair, scratching up and down softly with his nails. Eddie reaches for Richie’s shoulders and pulls him back up to meet his mouth. “I want to see you,” is what he whispers then. It catches in his throat like a cry and goes right to Richie’s groin.
Richie shifts so that he’s straddling Eddie’s hips, huffing as his throbbing boner gets constricted between his and Eddie’s thighs. Lifting up again, he peels off his own sweater and throws it to the floor. Eddie’s eyes trail down from his face to his chest, appraising him silently, mouth agape. Richie feels somewhat self conscious all of a sudden, fighting the instinct to curl into himself under the piercing gaze of the eyes below him. Eddie seems to sense this, though, as he brings a hand up to Richie’s face, stroking his cheek assuredly. “It’s just me.” The warmth that floods into Richie’s heart nearly makes tears spring to his eyes. The familiarity of hearing Eddie’s voice floods through him and he responds by pressing their chests together. He isn’t usually one to get performance anxiety or care what people think, but this is important. The reassurance feels like coming home.
They’re kissing again. It’s slower now, as if time has stopped and they have an unlimited amount of it, even though Richie knows very well that they don’t. Tomorrow this could all be over, just a sweet dream in the midst of a horror story, a small bright streak across an otherwise pitch black sky. The thought makes his stomach twist, makes him sniff and bunch up his nose to stop the cries that scratch and heave at his chest, begging to be set free. If tonight is all they have, he wants to make the most of it.
In an instant he’s grabbing hold of Eddie’s waistband and tugging at it, opening his eyes to make contact with the man under him. “Can I take these off?” Eddie responds with eager nodding of his head. Richie wastes no time in tugging the soft material down past Eddie’s hips, pulling them around his thighs and ass, Eddie lifting off the bed to help. And he’s naked, pliant and warm under Richie’s hands and it’s all so much, really. He plants a palm against Eddie’s stomach, rubbing, teasing, going down, wandering towards where he wants so badly to touch, where he’s been avoiding looking if only to stretch this moment out longer and longer. Before he gets there, though, he pulls away and up to clumsily remove his own bottoms. Eddie sits up to help, his deft fingers popping the button of Richie’s jeans and fumbling with the zipper. “Come on, Rich. Wanna see you.” Eddie looks up and his eyes are far too big and sparkly in the surrounding darkness. Richie’s gut swoops once more. The warm air of the room hits his legs as his pants are tugged down by soft, smaller hands and he gasps when Eddie wastes no time in palming him through his underwear. “Hey,” Richie breathes, his jaw going slightly slack, “we don’t have to go farther than this, if you don’t want…” He can hear rather than see Eddie’s smile when he answers. “I want.” His hand stills. “Do you? Is this alright?” Richie wants to cry again. “Shut up, asshole. Of course I do.” It comes out with a small laugh that makes Eddie’s toes curl with amusement.
Eddie’s hand struggles to get back to work as Richie kicks off the last bit of his jeans. He gently removes Eddie’s hand and he’s about to protest when he watches him thumb the elastic of his boxers and bring them slowly down his legs. When they’re gone, Richie leans over him again, breathing into his face and laying himself out over top of Eddie. It feels like everything and nothing all at once. When he grinds down this time, Eddie can’t hold back his voice. He winces in pleasure and keens high in his throat at the feeling of Richie’s skin, Richie’s hair, Richie’s lips on him, Richie’s dick that’s currently sliding deliciously against his own. It’s slick between them there now, loosening the drag and making each movement feel smooth as velvet. It’s all Richie can do to not just go totally insane, humping Eddie’s thighs like an overly excited teenager, even if that is exactly what he feels like. He’s trying to make up for years of lost time in one night, but he doesn’t want to rush.
He doesn’t know how long they continue, doesn’t care. He only gauges time by the hot feeling building low down in his abdomen, lips attached to Eddie’s like they’re the only thing keeping him attached to earth. Eddie’s soft moans and whispers of encouragement fill the tiny space between them. They move together in a clumsy rhythm and Richie closes his eyes, wanting to ignore his other senses and just feel everything. He feels skin sliding against his body. He feels pillowy, wet lips trailing his jaw, up and down and everywhere they can reach. He feels nails digging into his back again. And then he feels Eddie suck in a sharp inhale as his hips lock into place. He feels a shudder pass between their bodies and then warm wetness on his stomach. It breaks the already fragile thread inside him then and he follows, moaning a soft answer to Eddie’s sounds, petting through his hair, grazing bitten lips over salty skin.
He’s nearly out of any last bit of breath left in his lungs by the time he finally speaks again. In between the lingering kisses and the tingling trail left by Eddie’s tongue on his chin and lips, Richie doesn’t really know if he’s going to survive this trip back home, after all.
“Fuck me. Where have you been all my life?” he chuckles shyly at his own stupid line, sitting up to reach for his forgotten sweater to mop up the drying mess on their bellies. There’s a moment where Eddie’s eyes open fully and he sits up to place a firm grounding hand flat on Richie’s chest. “Hey. We should maybe talk about this.”
The seriousness in his tone doesn’t worry Richie at all. “What’s there to talk about, asshat?” he teases. Eddie smirks, eyes on Richie’s mouth, and yeah, he’s right. There’s nothing that can be said now that they haven’t already conveyed, and clearly. Richie sighs deeply but says nothing more, laying back down to pull Eddie into a hug. The rest will just be ironing out kinks and that shit can wait, really. “Ew. There’s still come on me. You too! I really need a shower,” Eddie grunts out, frowning and attempting to shimmy himself out of Richie’s grip. “Oh, save it you spaz,” Richie laughs, squeezing him harder to which Eddie resigns, huffing out an annoyed breath. “If I get a rash, I’m blaming you.”
Richie just wants to lay on this stupid tiny hotel bed forever. “So, you’re speechless again? Oh how times have truly changed,” Eddie muses with a very exaggerated, mystified inflection. “I used to have to beg you to shut up. None of us could even hear our own thoughts over your rambling sometimes, and now I have to beg for you to tell me what’s going on in that humongous head of yours? Incredible.” It isn’t an attack or an accusation, Richie knows. He smiles, tilting his head, narrowing his eyes as if coming to a great realization. “I guess I’ve grown up.”
“Hardly,” comes Eddie’s snort of indignation. “You just got bigger and louder. Even if you do occasionally shut the fuck up.” Richie slaps his shoulder, resigning with a grin. This might just be the best night he’s ever had, right smack dab in the middle of his worst fear come to life. The thought bubble breaks when Eddie pushes up out of Richie’s arms to stand and bend to reach his clothes from the ground. “I’m definitely having a shower. You coming?” And maybe Richie’s eyes linger on Eddie’s ass a bit too long, and yeah, maybe he momentarily forgets the bigger issue they have to face in the morning.
“Honestly, that dumb clown can go fuck itself.”
this ended up being a lot less sad than the previous chapter. sad gays? not on my watch! I really enjoyed writing again. If you've made it this far, thanks for reading! we all float down here