Work Text:
*
There should be nothing more terrifying than almost getting eaten alive by a clown. A humongous, needle-toothed fucking clown. Richie figures if he can survive that… then he can survive all of puberty and his stupid crush on Eddie Kaspbrak.
He fearlessly leads the way into the Capital Theater, pulling Eddie by his jacket-sleeve along and hiding from the ushers.
"… Don't tell me we're really gonna sneak into an R-rated movie," Eddie says, panting.
Richie pops his head out the corner, squinting his eyes and inspecting the hallway for adults. "Okay, I won't," he declares, ignoring Eddie's fretful whine, tugging on his friend roughly and diving them through the entrance of Child's Play 2 premiering.
Sure, it's illegal. They're newly fourteen, and technically not old enough to see a horror movie.
(But they also nearly died multiple times in real life. As far as Richie's concerned on the subject, he's earned this.)
On their way up the darkened theater-steps, Richie spots the empty aisle-seat next to Greta Keane's dad. He nabs onto the large Coke sitting the cup-holder, shoving it at a baffled Eddie and rushing into the furthest back row as the opening credits end. Richie plops down into his cushioned, gum-sticky movie theater seat, having also stolen Mr. Keane's extra-large popcorn.
The rest of the movie-goers crowd the seats up front, paying no mind to intruders. Richie cackles victoriously to himself, propping up his sneakers and mumbling on a handful of buttery popcorn. Eddie grumbles under his breath, cowering.
Eddie's not a big fan of horror movies. He can admit that. Last time Bill got him to see "I Was A Teenage Werewolf" at a late night drive-thru showing, hopping the fence, Eddie had nightmares. Of himself spawning into a drooling, snarling werewolf, fur and claws and all. He chased down a helpless, screaming Richie in the middle of the woods, biting off his arm and killing him.
He shivers, queasy and lightheaded, focusing on the brightly lit movie-screen.
After another eight or nine minutes, Eddie's body slowly loses tension. He sneers, hitting Richie's arm. Getting overly cocky. "This isn't so scary—" Eddie hisses, and proceeds to let out a shrilling howl when the Chucky doll jumps up on-screen.
People's heads turn in their direction, craning. Richie shushes him, hunching himself down, walloping Eddie's collar-bone.
"DUDE, shut the fuck up!"
"Aughhaawd… g'nna be sick…" Eddie breathes, scrambling to unzip his fanny-pack. He bends over, sucking on his inhaler frantically.
*
They get bored of the movie for a little bit, slouching in their chairs.
Richie listens to Eddie's hyperactive whisper-ramble about his progress with Ben and Mike building a one-seater car for the annual Derry Derby come springtime. It's been hiding inside one of the broken-down slaughterhouse sheds on Mike's property. You have to be under eighteen to compete, but you have to be thirteen and over to enter with a parent's permission.
He knows Eddie's mom would not only refuse, but cry a lot and lock Eddie up in his room until he's forty. Psycho bitch. Which is why Eddie has been working twice as hard on his dream. And, well, practicing forging her signature. Richie's mildly impressed.
Eddie's much braver than he thinks. It's partly why Richie likes him so much. He's a warm-hearted person. Almost fiery.
But more importantly—Eddie can keep up with Richie's sense of humor.
Richie's stomach gurgles faintly. He rummages back into the greasy, delicious popcorn, fingertips brushing over Eddie's hand. A thickening kind of heart-pounding silence falls over them. Eddie lifts his hand out carefully, making a low, dumbfounded noise.
"Geez, why are you so sweaty?" he murmurs, thankfully not really asking for an explanation.
There's no eye-contact from Richie. He can't do it.
Richie pretends to huff, leaning back and rubbing on his cheek. Hoping it's too dark to see him blushing. Eddie notices, however, but doesn't know what quite to do with that information yet. He props up his leg, squirming and trying to get his heart to calm down, tapping Richie with his knee as the horror movie sound-system blares. He smirks to himself when Richie groans irritably.
"Could you get your noodle-leg out of my face?"
"Make me," Eddie retorts, gleefully kneeing him. What he doesn't expect is Richie to lean over and bite down on his skin.
Another shrilling howl escapes him.
People glare.
*
An usher walks in, pacing the lower aisles and completely missing Richie and Eddie.
They straighten up, no longer hiding, and tune into the movie. Eddie nearly chokes on a sip of Coke, as a jump-scare freaks him out. He grabs onto Richie's shoulder-sleeve occasionally, inhaling loudly, and—Richie doesn't mind it. Feels nice.
Eddie's downed half of the popcorn bag, much to his annoyance. When he reaches again, Richie yanks it away.
"Nope," he says, giving him a lively, shit-eating grin. "You gotta pay the toll, Eds,"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Eddie demands, attempting to reach again, struggling against Richie's arm blocking him.
"You heard me."
"Dumbass, you stole that popcorn."
"And the Coke, you're welcome," Richie adds cheerfully. He laughs, seeing a determined wrinkle sets in Eddie's brow. An unrecognizable look in the other boy's dark eyes. Richie's expression softens. "I'm just funnin' with you—mmfn!—"
Eddie's mouth clashes to his lips, opening slightly. Wet and warm. That's the immediate sensations. Eddie's kissing him—a whole hand turning Richie's head towards his, flattening and pressing to the side of his face. His dark eyes fluttered shut. Richie's too alert, staring cross-eyed at Eddie in mounting awe. Glasses slanting.
And then, it's over.
Just like that.
Richie gapes, stunned, as Eddie rearranges himself back in his theater-seat. Everything tingles. But especially Richie's mouth.
He passes Eddie the popcorn bag, rigidly facing forward. Richie's heart thudding in his wind-pipe. He doesn't know it's the same for Eddie, even if he doesn't appear as nervous. They kissed in a public place. And, to be honest, Richie's breath sticks.
Eddie tries to focus on anything but his nerves, but Richie is too close. Mesmeric. Undeniable.
"Was that for real…?" Richie mumbles finally, exhaling shakily.
The kiss.
"No," Eddie blurts, defensive at first. "Maybe. I don't know… … yeah probably."
Another jump-scare blares out, making him jump. Eddie moans, stressed out. He glances sharply at Richie lying his hand to his. There's nothing mocking or teasing in his pleasantly wide smile. Like don't worry, I'm right here, Eds.
Eddie shifts his hand, gripping onto Richie tightly and smiling back. Their entwined hands dangle against the armrest.
It's not filthy. Dirty. He's not sick, for once. Not around Richie.
It could be their secret.
This handhold.
Born of courage and love.
*
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