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Airports are probably the worst place Eddie Kaspbrak could ever find himself. They’re always packed with way too many people who are only paying attention to themselves, making Eddie a prime target to be bumped and jostled and overlooked. He’s spent way too much time in them in the past twenty-four hours, and he can’t wait to leave. 

The five-hour flight from Maine to California was bad enough with Eddie squeezed in the middle seat instead of on the aisle due to a booking error, and as he waits for his suitcases in baggage claim, he fights the overwhelming urge to vomit and simultaneously rub down his entire body with hand sanitizer.

The only thing that’s been keeping him sane throughout this whole experience is the knowledge that he’s now a five-hour plane ride away from his overbearing mother who finally let him transfer and only a few doorways away from Richie Tozier. That thought alone makes his heart leap as he manhandles his heavy suitcases off the conveyor, dodging the airport employees and middle-aged moms who see the college sweatshirt that hangs off of him (an old one of Richie’s that he mailed to him) and ask him if he needs help carrying anything, instead rushing toward the door labeled “pick-up”.

Eddie turns around and walks out backwards through the door, dragging his suitcases with him and glancing around for Richie’s signature rusted-out pickup. He scans the cars lined up on the curb but doesn’t see Richie until he hears a honk from his left and a familiar voice yell, “Eduardo! Over here!”

He turns toward the voice and looks around, but still doesn’t see Richie’s truck. Finally, he hears the honk again and discovers that the Richie who left him in Derry last year is a completely different Richie than the one who’s parked on the airport curb, calling his name loudly and waving him over to the annoyance of everyone else waiting.

The main difference is that this Richie is currently climbing out of a slick, black convertible, wearing brown-lens aviator sunglasses.

Eddie’s jaw drops, and as Richie walks up to him and grabs his suitcases, the only thing he can think to say is, “Please don’t tell me you sell drugs.”

“You’ve always had such unwavering faith in me, Edward,” Richie jokes, towing his suitcases down the sidewalk toward the BMW. And fuck, his voice is deeper. How did it get deeper? “C’mon, I’m getting honked at.”

Eddie stays glued to the spot, shooting Richie a look, and when Richie sees it, he rolls his eyes. “No, I don’t sell drugs; she’s courtesy of Sir Wentworth. Let’s go!”

Richie throws all of Eddie’s stuff in the backseat, and then Eddie ends up spending two more minutes rearranging it so nothing flies out of the back while Richie impatiently drums his fingers on the steering wheel, the car started and engine purring. Once Eddie is sure everything is secure, he falls into the low-down passenger seat, Richie wasting no time before peeling away from the curb and out into the traffic lane with a screech of his tires.

They merge onto the highway, Richie immediately swerving over into the left-most lane, the engine revving and the wind flying through his hair. He throws a lanky arm over the back of Eddie’s seat, relaxing and leaning back. Now that they’re out of the airport and Eddie has the chance to breathe fresh air, he takes a moment to really look at Richie for the first time since the boy left for college a year ago. His dark hair is longer and curlier now, sprinkled with strands of lighter brown that catch in the sun.

“Welcome to Cali, Eds!” Richie calls, whooping and looking over at him.

Eddie snorts. “Eyes on the road, Richie, oh my god.”

Richie smiles, and oh , he has freckles now. Freckles that dot his nose and cheeks and even some down his arms that Eddie can see, and combined with Richie’s curls, Eddie finds himself silently thanking the weather in California.

Eddie came to terms with the fact that his feelings for Richie were past the realm of platonic at the same time Eddie realized he was gay, and as they fill the thirty-minute drive talking and taking jabs at one another, he gets caught up staring at Richie; the glimpses of pale skin he can see when Richie’s tank top catches in the wind, his long fingers resting on the bottom of the steering wheel, the ripped holes in his black jeans. 

Eddie knows he’s blushing almost the whole way, but if Richie notices, he must blame it on the west coast sun.


They dump all of Eddie’s suitcases and bags at the foot of his bed in their dorm room, Richie flopping onto his own bed as Eddie immediately digs out his toiletries and hops in the shower. The warm water feels amazing, and as he scrubs all the airport germs off himself, he hears Richie slide the window open to smoke. Richie knows how much Eddie hates cigarette smoke, so he always tries to smoke when Eddie isn’t in the room. It’s one of those little things he’s done since high school that always makes Eddie’s chest tight.

Even though he’d rather not breathe it in, what Eddie wishes Richie knew is how fucking hot Eddie thinks he looks while he smokes. Watching Richie smoke back in high school always made Eddie’s stomach flip; cigarettes kill, deep down Eddie knows this, but fuck if Richie doesn’t make dying look hot as hell.

Eddie realizes he’s getting hard just thinking about it, and he quickly finishes his shower and towels off his hair before that train of thought can go any farther. Usually he’d indulge himself, but the fact that Richie is in the other room makes him too terrified and ashamed to try anything. He walks out of the bathroom in just his towel, bending over to search through his suitcase for clothes.

“Hey, some guys from the band are throwing a party tonight if you wanna go,” Richie says, and when Eddie looks up, he swears Richie’s face is red before the boy snaps his head back to the window. “It’s mostly audio engineering and SRT people, I think.”

Eddie puts back the lounge pants he’d grabbed, switching them for a pair of light-wash shorts. “Yeah, sounds fun. You might wanna put on something nicer than that, though.”

Richie smirks, stubbing out the last of his cig before tossing it in the trash. “What, you don’t think I’m hot enough like this?” Richie holds his arms out and does a little twirl, his shirt riding up in the back and exposing skin above his waistline. Eddie’s stomach flips over itself, but he covers it with a laugh and a poorly-aimed throw of his sock to Richie’s face.

“No way. You look like a dirty punk,” Eddie teases, straightening up with his clothes in his hands. “You look like you sit around and smoke weed all day.”

“Eds, you wound me.” Richie feigns clutching his chest, and Eddie shakes his head, muttering “don’t call me that” and walking back into the bathroom. He absolutely does not tell Richie how turned on the image of him with a joint between his lips makes him, and as Eddie closes the bathroom door behind him, he makes sure to cover the bit of red lace peeking out from the ball of clothes in his hands.


The party is already in full swing in some house on frat row when they get there, and it seems to Eddie like every person in attendance has greeted Richie in some way as they make their way through the house to the kitchen. Eddie’s in rolled-up shorts and a cropped shirt, already loosening up from the attention he can feel directed toward him as the two of them find the drink station. 

Eddie’s only had alcohol a couple of times, the community college he went to for his first year not exactly allowing for raucous parties like this. He stares down all the bottles and stacks of solo cups warily.

“What’ll it be, Eds?” Richie asks, already grabbing a cup and mixing himself a drink. Eddie doesn’t even know where to start.

“Uh,” he starts. “Make me something you think I'll like.”

Richie smirks. “You got it.”

He grabs a couple of bottles and another cup, mixing up the liquids and squeezing a lime wedge over top of it. Eddie watches as some of the lime juice drips down Richie’s hand, following its path down his wrist. He hands the finished drink to Eddie, their fingers brushing as Eddie takes it from him.

“Lime vodka soda,” Richie explains. “Bubbly and sweet with a little bit of bite.” He winks and walks away, taking a swig of his own drink and leaving Eddie by the table. His body feels hot as he takes his first sip, enjoying the tang of the lime and the soda with the burn of the vodka as it slides down his throat. Damn Richie for knowing him so well.

Eddie drinks around half of it in one go and then gets back out into the living room where most of the people are concentrated, dancing to music being played from a Bluetooth speaker set on top of a cabinet in the corner. Eddie’s content for now to stand against the wall and watch, eyes easily finding Richie in the middle of the throng, head thrown back and swaying to the beat. 

Richie’s wearing his ripped black jeans from earlier but now also sporting a low-cut black v-neck that’s partially tucked into his jeans in the front and a black leather jacket Eddie recognizes from high school. How he isn’t sweating, Eddie doesn’t know, but as he watches Richie dance and drink from his solo cup, he doesn’t think he’s seen anything as fucking sinful as Richie in black on black. 

Richie catches him staring and holds his gaze, rolling his hips to the song blasting through the house. The sudden eye contact makes Eddie feels warm all over, almost like he’s been caught, and his breathing picks up. He’s clutching his mostly empty drink cup so hard that it's bending out of shape, and when Richie doesn’t stop staring, Eddie feels himself start to get hard. The fuck is Richie playing at, he thinks, not daring to break eye contact as Richie keeps rolling his hips, but not daring to move away from the wall either. His gut is rolling and twisting, and he knows he has no way to hide the growing bulge in his shorts.

His concentration is broken by a voice to his left.

“Hey, beautiful,” the voice says. “You new around here?”

Eddie looks over at the man next to him, a stocky guy he remembers Richie high-fiving earlier. “Uh, yeah.”

The man chuckles, running his hand up and down Eddie’s arm. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

Mad that his moment is ruined but not wanting to pass up an opportunity to flirt, Eddie turns toward the man and flashes a smile. 

“I’m Eddie,” he says. “I just moved here from Maine.”

“No shit,” the guy replies, dropping the act. “Richie’s Eddie?”

Now Eddie’s confused. “What?”

“Richie Tozier,” the guy continues. “I hung out with him a lot last year, and he would never shut up about some boy back home named Eddie. Turned down a hook-up at a party once because of him.”

Eddie’s frozen. His whole body feels weird and tingly, and when the urge comes to look back at Richie, he doesn’t suppress it.

Richie is moving through the crowd, heading straight for Eddie, his eyes dark as he stares at the guy next to him. He looks absolutely livid.

Eddie whimpers.

The guy looks up and his eyes widen in fear. “Whoa, sorry man, I didn’t know—”

“Get your fucking hands off him.”

The man yanks his hand away from Eddie’s arm like he touched something scalding hot, backing up and quickly disappearing into the other room. Richie stares off after him, anger still burning in his eyes and through his rigid stance. His hands ball into fists where they hang by his sides.

“That guy’s a douchebag,” Richie seethes. “He’s probably tried to sleep with every person here.” Richie clenches his fists tighter but seems unaware that he does so. “Doesn’t fucking deserve to put his hands on you.”

Eddie’s not sure if it’s the vodka and lime or Richie’s possessive words that give him the confidence to say what he says next.

“Then who does?”

Richie’s brows furrow as he looks over at Eddie. “What?”

Eddie leans back against the wall, letting his legs fall open more and staring up at Richie through his eyelashes. He sees Richie’s breath catch as he does a sweep of Eddie’s body, his eyes going dark now for an entirely different reason.

Eddie licks his lips. “Who deserves to put their hands on me?”

Richie’s staring at him like he’s not sure if Eddie is real. In all honesty, Eddie’s half-convinced that he’s dreaming—worried that he’s gonna wake up back in his dorm with his dick aching under his covers, Richie snoring soundly across the room.

As it is, Richie is standing in front of him in the middle of a college party looking like he could eat Eddie alive.

When Richie doesn’t answer, Eddie continues. 

“You think you deserve it?” He steps up close into Richie’s space, standing up on his tiptoes so he can talk into Richie’s ear. “You think you got what it takes?”

“Eds,” Richie growls. It sends a chill down Eddie’s spine. “Eddie, what are you—”

“Richie,” Eddie sighs, leaning back and running his hand up Richie’s clothed chest and staring directly into his eyes. “Put your fucking hands on me.”

Faster than Eddie can process, Richie’s grabbing his hips and shoving him back up against the wall, his thumbs rubbing circles on the exposed skin of Eddie’s stomach and his forehead resting against Eddie’s, their lips only inches apart. It makes Eddie dizzy, as he half expected Richie to just laugh it off like he usually does.

“Done,” Richie says, his voice raspy and pupils dilated behind his thick glasses. “Any other requests?”

Eddie savors how close he is to Richie, feels Richie’s rough calluses from playing guitar against his smooth skin, and he grabs onto the open sides of Richie’s jacket. He’s almost fully hard now, and he wants nothing more than for Richie to never stop touching him. It doesn’t even matter how or where.

“Everything,” Eddie answers, already out of breath. He squirms in Richie’s hold against the wall and the fingers around his waist tighten. “Fuck, Rich. Everything.”

Richie breathes out against his face, and then they’re kissing, Richie’s mouth moving hard and desperate against his own. He’s still holding Eddie’s hips, and his hands feel big where they cover and dig into Eddie’s skin. One of Richie’s hands slides up under his shirt, and his thumb rubs back and forth over Eddie’s nipple at the same time his tongue licks at Eddie’s lips. He squeaks and his mouth falls open from the stimulation, Richie wasting no time in crowding closer and shoving his tongue into Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie’s never kissed anybody with tongue before, and it’s a little sloppy and there’s spit on his chin but he doesn’t even care. He cares even less when Richie’s hand moves from his chest to his thigh, grabbing it and pulling it up to wrap around his hip.

“Shit,” Eddie gasps, his head swimming. He feels like he’s drowning and on fire at the same time, Richie’s lips kissing and biting at his neck as his hand rubs and grabs at his thigh.

“This what you want, baby?” Richie says between kisses to his neck, the hand on his thigh moving up closer to the bottom of his shorts. Eddie whines at the pet name, clutching the leather in his hands harder. “Like it when I touch you?”

Yes, ” Eddie sighs. “God, Rich, we should—I want—”

“Tell me what you want, baby.” The tips of Richie’s fingers are under the bottom of Eddie’s shorts now, rubbing back and forth and making Eddie melt. “Anything. Fuck, I’ll do anything.”

Shivers roll through Eddie’s body. The music is still pulsing around them, nobody at the party paying any mind to the spot where they’re tucked up against the wall. He takes a couple of deep breaths and then meets Richie’s gaze.

“Take me back to the dorm,” Eddie says. “Take me back there and fuck me like you mean it.”

Eddie, ” Richie moans. His voice sounds fucked, and it makes Eddie go a little crazier. “Shit, is this real?”

“God, I hope so,” Eddie replies, laughing a little. “‘M gonna wake up so hard if it’s not.”

Suddenly, there are hands on his thighs just under his ass, hoisting him up so his arms get thrown around Richie’s neck and his legs are clamped around his waist, causing their dicks to grind together for the first time. Eddie’s mouth falls open and he moans, hitching his hips forward a couple of times and grinding against Richie.

“So fucking hot, baby,” Richie groans. On slightly wobbly legs, Richie carries him through the house and out onto the street, setting Eddie down only once they get to the convertible but leaving a hand around his waist as he unlocks the doors. They both get in as fast as they can, one of Richie’s hands instantly moving over to rest on Eddie’s thigh once he starts the engine.

“If this is a dream,” Richie says, flooring it down the street and out to the main stoplight, “I’m gonna make it the dirtiest fucking dream you’ve ever had.”

Fuck, Richie,” Eddie whines, reaching down in an attempt to rub himself over the front of his shorts, but the hand on his thigh grabs his wrist before he can.

“No, baby,” Richie says, and there’s a look in his eyes when Eddie meets them. “Only me.”

Eddie’s eyes are wide when he nods.

Richie’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel, running through a stop sign to pull into the parking lot of their dorm hall. They all but leap out of the car, Richie wrapping an arm around Eddie as they swipe themselves in and race up the two flights of stairs to their room. Eddie grabs his key out with shaking hands, Richie behind him kissing his neck and grinding against his ass. He’s so hard, Eddie can feel it as he pushes back against Richie, and knowing that it’s all for him makes him feel like his chest is going to explode. 

“Gonna wreck you, baby,” Richie moans into his neck and grinds harder against his ass. “Gonna fucking wreck you, and you’re gonna love it.”

Shit , come on, come on—” Eddie finally gets the door open and Richie shoves him inside, kicking the door closed with his foot. Before Richie can get his bearings, Eddie whips around and shoves him back against the door, pulling his shirt out of his jeans and running his hands up underneath. Richie’s skin is soft and smooth, disturbed only by a sprinkle of chest hair and the trail under his navel that leads down under the waistband of his jeans.

“Take this off,” Eddie says, voice low but echoing in the relative silence of their dorm room. Richie scrambles to take his leather jacket off, Eddie kissing the slice of collarbone visible above the v-neck. “Take this off and then put the jacket back on.”

“Kinky,” Richie jokes, but his voice is shaky as he pulls the black t-shirt over his head and then pulls his leather jacket back over his arms. Running his hands all over Richie’s lean torso, Eddie looks up at him.

“Still wanna wreck me?” Eddie asks.

“God, yes.”

“Good,” Eddie says, then slowly sinks down to his knees.

“Oh, fuck, ” Richie groans, running a hand through Eddie’s hair. “ Eds.

Richie’s cock is obscenely tenting the front of his jeans, making the already tight fabric even tighter, and Eddie rubs his palm over it lightly. He undoes Richie’s belt, letting it hang open as he unbuttons and unzips Richie’s jeans, pulling them down just over his hips and leaving only Richie’s black boxer-briefs between him and what he wants.

“You look so good in black,” Eddie moans, mouthing over the outline of Richie’s dick and hearing Richie’s head thud back against the door. “These jeans and your shirt and that fucking leather jacket from high school—”

“Eddie, darling, please, just suck my fucking cock, I swear to— oh my god.

Richie’s boxers are pulled down and Eddie’s licking and kissing his way from the base to the tip of Richie’s cock, and fuck if all of Richie’s jokes about having a big dick haven’t been true the whole time. His dick is long, long enough to shove down Eddie’s throat if Richie felt like it (and Eddie hopes to god that he does), and it’s thick and already red at the tip.

He leans forward and sucks just the head into his mouth, running his tongue along the underside, mouthing and teasing and loving the deep groan Richie lets out. Richie’s big hand grabs the hair at the back of his head roughly, not moving him forward but grounding him. Eddie sinks a little lower on Richie’s cock, sucking harder and pumping the hand he has wrapped around the base. The smell of Richie so close to him has Eddie hazy as his head bobs up and down on Richie’s dick. The hand in his hair tightens, pulling on the strands, and Eddie whines around Richie.

“Oh, you like that?” Richie asks, voice rough. “You like getting your hair pulled while you suck dick, baby?”

Eddie pulls off of him and nods weakly, diving back in as soon as Richie’s other hand comes down and pushes into his hair. He goes farther down this time, lips meeting his fist, and Richie groans. He keeps himself there but lets his hand drop down to his side, looking up at Richie, not moving. 


He squirms and wiggles his hips when Richie doesn’t do anything; just looks at him. He’s clearly confused, and it takes Eddie placing his hands over the ones in his hair and pushing himself down on Richie’s cock a couple of times for Richie to get it. When he does, Richie inhales sharply, and his face transforms into something dark and dangerous. Eddie’s cock twitches in his shorts.

Richie pushes his head forward, gently at first, and Eddie’s eyes roll back as the head hits the back of his throat. He doesn’t gag, having worked hard on his own time to get rid of the reflex, and Richie’s hands yank at his hair.

“God, you love this,” Richie rasps, moving him faster. “You love having a dick down your throat, baby?”

Eddie makes an affirmative noise, and his nails dig into his own thighs when Richie pushes his head closer to his groin, forcing him down farther. Eddie whines around him.

“Oh, that’s what it is,” Richie says sweetly, starting to snap his hips up into Eddie’s mouth while he moves his head back and forth. Eddie’s done trying to hide how much he wants it, how much he’s aching having Richie over and around him like this. How much he wants Richie to control him. One of Richie’s thumbs traces over Eddie’s bottom lip where it’s stretched swollen and red around his dick, swiping through the spit on his chin. “That’s what it is, baby. You’re just a pretty little cockslut.”

Eddie moans and tries to push himself closer, trying to get Richie to fuck his mouth like Eddie wants him to, his talk making Eddie crazy. He always blushes and squirms whenever Richie makes a joke about something particularly filthy, but hearing Richie run his mouth in an entirely new context is absolutely ruining him. Eddie feels like he’s floating, the hands in his hair the only thing tethering him to earth.

“Look at you,” Richie marvels. He starts thrusting his hips harder, shoving his cock down Eddie’s throat over and over, Eddie’s dick leaking where it’s still trapped in his shorts. “You love being my cockslut, baby? Love choking on my dick?”

Eddie’s being forced low enough every time that his nose gets buried in the hair at the base of Richie’s cock, and there are tears in the corners of Eddie’s eyes from the strain on his throat and he fucking loves it. Richie thrusts a few more times and then yanks Eddie back and off his dick. Eddie takes a large breath and has a hard time focusing on Richie’s face, too out of it to process anything more than the fact that he no longer has Richie’s dick in his mouth. He whines and leans back in, but Richie holds his head back and rubs just the head of his cock over Eddie’s lips, keeping him from leaning forward and taking it in his mouth.

“Answer me when I talk to you, baby,” Richie says darkly. 

It takes a couple of tries for Eddie to finally speak, and when he does, his voice is gravelly and fucked out. “Yeah,” he croaks. “Yeah, Rich, I fucking love it.”

Fuck, your voice,” Richie chokes out. “Shit, baby, get up here.”

The hands in Eddie’s hair tug him up, and Richie pulls him forward to kiss him. He shoves his tongue into Eddie’s mouth, no doubt searching for the taste of himself clinging to Eddie’s tongue and moaning when he finds it. Eddie’s head is spinning, and he stumbles backward when Richie starts walking toward his own bed, both of them toeing their shoes off on the way. Richie ends up tripping on one of Eddie’s open suitcases and falling onto the rug in the middle of the room, landing on top of Eddie and accidentally jabbing his hip bones into Eddie’s stomach. It hurts, but Eddie can’t even bring himself to care because Richie’s sitting up and pulling his jacket off, and the sight he makes with his jeans open and pulled down, cock red and shiny with Eddie’s spit hanging through the opening, makes him moan and rush to yank his own shirt off.

“Could feel everybody’s eyes on you in that fucking crop top,” Richie says, peeling his jeans and briefs off and kissing down Eddie’s neck. His thumb goes back to rubbing Eddie’s nipple, and it makes him whimper and whine in desperation. “Wanted to mark up your neck just so everyone knew not to fucking look at you.”

Eddie’s head is spinning, and the carefully placed filter he usually keeps around Richie has been obliterated, making it easier to tell Richie exactly what he wants.

“So do it, Richie,” Eddie replies. “Do it.”

Richie chooses a spot high enough up that it can’t be covered by any collar or scarf and sucks, Eddie throwing his head back and holding Richie to his neck by a hand in his hair, toes curling. Richie is sucking hard at his neck, and Eddie glows at the knowledge that the mark will be there for at least a couple of days. He hopes Richie means it, hopes it’s not just sex talk that has him leaking in his shorts, and when Richie pulls away with a pop and starts kissing the mark, Eddie’s chest swells.

Richie’s sucking on one of Eddie’s nipples when he reaches down to unbutton Eddie’s shorts, pulling them down and helping him kick them off. He slides a hand up Eddie’s thigh, and when his fingers brush over Eddie’s underwear, Richie gasps. He pulls away from his chest quick as lighting and looks down, seeing the picture Eddie knows he makes in the red lace panties, his cock hard and pink inside of them.

Baby ,” Richie breathes, rubbing his thumb over the spot where the tip of Eddie’s dick made the fabric wet. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

Eddie bucks his hips up and Richie’s face contorts before he scrambles up to dig through his bedside table. Eddie whines at the sudden lack of attention, turning his head around toward Richie’s naked figure.

“Richie, where—”

“Can’t help it, baby,” Richie says, turning back around with two things in his hands and crashing down to his knees. “You look so fucking pretty.”

Richie throws one object to the side and holds up the other one, revealing it to be a Polaroid camera. Eddie moans, throwing his head back and shutting his eyes. He loves the idea of being on camera, of creating a moment in time captured forever for Richie’s eyes and Richie’s eyes only. The thought makes him hot, and he pinches his own nipple right as he hears the camera click and whirr out a slip of film. Eyes still closed, Eddie feels Richie put his hand on his thigh, pushing his leg open a little more and snapping another picture. Eddie’s not surprised to feel the waves of shivery warmth run through him despite the fact that he’s laying almost naked on the floor, and when Richie pulls one side of his panties down over his hip bone and the camera clicks again, Eddie whines.

“Come on, Richie,” Eddie pleads.

“Wait, baby, one more,” Richie says, and he grabs his leather jacket from the floor. “Put this on for me?”

Eddie exhales shakily.


He sits up and grabs the jacket from Richie, sliding his arms in and pulling it up over his shoulders. It’s obscenely big on him, one of the shoulders sliding off and down while the sleeves go down almost to the ends of his fingers. It’s worn-in and warm, and it smells like Richie. The air between them is thick as Richie stares, and Eddie lays back down and gazes up at him.

Shit. Yeah, that’s it,” Richie whispers, and after the camera clicks, he says, “Okay, you can take it off.”

Eddie hesitates, grabbing the sleeves and shuffling further into it. “Can I keep it on?”

“Shit, really?”

Eddie nods.

Richie throws the camera and the slips of film to the side and leans back down over Eddie’s body, kissing him and pulling his hips up so he can slide Eddie’s panties down and off. Eddie’s so hard it hurts, and when Richie slides his hand down his side to rub his thumb across the head of his dick, his hips buck up into the touch. 

“God, Eds, you’re so…”

“Yeah,” Eddie gasps. Richie kisses over the hickey on his throat and reaches over to grab the other object from earlier, the sound of the cap snapping revealing it to be lube. “You too.”

“Like you were made for me,” Richie groans, and Eddie’s so overwhelmed that he isn’t consciously aware of Richie coating his fingers in the lube, but suddenly Richie’s asking him if he’s ready, and all Eddie can do is say yes, yes, always yes .

Richie slides a finger inside him, and holy shit . Eddie’s done this to himself before plenty of times but Richie’s finger is longer and more confident, easily pushing all the way and rocking in and out, and Eddie shudders as he gasps Richie’s name. He doesn’t think he could string a sentence together right now if he tried, and when a second finger rubs around his rim before pushing in with the first one, he forgets everything but the feeling of them inside him.

“Doin’ okay, baby?” Richie checks, leaving gentle kisses along his stomach and hip bones. He leans over to press his lips just under the head of Eddie’s cock, sitting back up and picking up the movement of his fingers inside of him. Wrapped up in Richie’s leather jacket and being the center of his attention, Eddie feels more overwhelmed and turned on than he ever has in his whole life. He nods, and Richie moves up to kiss him hot and desperate to distract Eddie as he works a third finger into him. 

When he pushes his fingers up and rubs over Eddie’s prostate, Eddie throws his head back and sobs, his hands snapping up to dig themselves into Richie’s hair. They scratch over his scalp and yank on the curly strands, giving him something else to focus on other than Richie about to make him come completely untouched and causing Richie to moan into his collarbone. 

“Richie,” Eddie begs. He doesn’t even have to elaborate; Richie knows what he needs.

Richie digs through the pockets of his discarded jeans for his wallet, pulling out a condom and ripping it open. Eddie notices that Richie’s hands are shaking as he rolls it on, but he quickly covers it up by leaning back down over Eddie and brushing his hair back, lightly tugging and making Eddie whimper. Eddie pushes his hips up so the head of Richie’s dick rubs over his hole, and Richie groans.

“You want my dick so bad, don’t you, baby?”

“Yes,” Eddie whines, shivering when Richie starts deliberately rubbing his dick around Eddie’s rim. 

“You gonna take it like a good boy for me?” Richie starts to push just the head in, and Eddie moans high in his throat while he pushes against Richie, trying to get more of his cock inside him. “Oh, so eager, baby,” Richie coos. “I’m gonna give you what you need.”

Richie presses forward and Eddie feels every inch of Richie’s dick slide into him until Richie’s hip bones are flush against his ass. The hand Richie has locked around his hip and digging into the skin already has Eddie shivery and on edge before he even takes the dick inside him into account, never mind the fact that it’s Richie’s dick that’s filling him up. That thought alone has been enough to make him come for years, and now that it’s actually happening , Eddie thinks he could die a happy man after this is over.

He squirms a little on Richie’s dick and the grip on his hip tightens, Richie letting out a little oh, and shit, Eddie wants to hear that sound again. He wraps his legs around Richie’s hips and pulls him in closer, shoving his dick that much deeper inside, and Eddie whines loud enough that their neighbors probably heard.

Eddie doesn’t give a flying fuck.

When Richie does nothing but stare at him with half-lidded eyes, his pupils blown out and eyes filled with lust mixed with something just a little deeper, Eddie rolls his hips up, grinding himself on Richie’s cock.

“Fuck me, Richie,” he breathes, his cheeks heating up even in their current position.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Richie replies, starting to roll his hips slowly. He doesn’t pull out that far before slowly pushing back in again, but the easy drag against Eddie’s prostate makes him whimper and wriggle like his body can’t decide if it wants more or if it’s too much.

Despite this, Eddie begs for more anyway. Turns out, he really is a slut for Richie’s cock.

Richie starts to pull back more before pushing back in, picking up the pace and holding himself up over Eddie with a hand on the rug by Eddie’s head. Eddie’s clinging to Richie like a koala, his arms wrapped around Richie’s back and his nails digging into the pale skin, leaving angry red lines when Richie snaps his hips particularly hard. It’s good, it’s fucking amazing, but Eddie remembers being promised something.

“Thought you were gonna wreck me,” Eddie gasps out in between thrusts. “Thought you were gonna fuck me like you meant it.”

Richie stops and stares at Eddie, and he looks fucking animalistic . Eddie squirms, making little circles with his hips to get some friction until the hand on his hip pushes him against the floor and holds him there.


Richie slowly pulls out until only the head of his cock is still inside Eddie, then speaks, low and rough.

“Baby, we were just getting started.”

Richie slams back into him and Eddie screams, digging his nails harder into Richie’s back as Richie sets a pace that’s fast and brutal and makes Eddie’s head spin. He leans down so he’s almost laying on top of Eddie, and it’s then that his mouth starts back up again.

“So good for me, baby, so fucking hot. You feel so good around my dick. That what you want? To make me feel good?”

“Richie,” Eddie cries. “Yeah, yeah, fuck, I—”

“Shh, just take it, baby. You were the one begging for my hands on you back at that party, weren’t you? You were so desperate, god, Eds , what the fuck was that about?”

“Wanted you,” Eddie rasps, Richie alternating now between fast, hard thrusts and grinding his dick as far into Eddie as it could get, keeping it there and pulsing his hips against him. It’s almost making Eddie drool. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Yeah?” Richie asks, turning his head to mouth at the mark on Eddie’s neck. “How long?”

“Like, freshman year of high school,” Eddie admits, his self-preservation instincts gone, destroyed by Richie’s dick repeatedly pushing against his prostate. “ Richie , god, don’t stop—”

“Eds, holy fuck . You can’t just—shit, I’m—”

Richie’s movements get faster, pulling out less every time, and Eddie can tell that he’s close to coming. Eddie feels a flash of pride, a quick fuck, I’m making someone come, I’m making Richie  come, before Richie wraps a hand around his flushed and leaking cock and his vision whites out. He comes between them with Richie’s hand around his dick and Richie’s name on his lips, his back arched and his head thrown back. Eddie discovers that coming around his own fingers is nothing compared to the feeling of clenching around Richie’s dick as he rides it out, and by the time he’s finally done, he’s shaking. 

Eddie comes to in just enough time to see and feel Richie come, letting out a raspy Eddie as his hips jerk unevenly and he attaches himself to the mark on Eddie’s neck. He grinds slowly into Eddie until the last of his orgasm is over, slowly coming to a stop and burying his face into Eddie’s shoulder.

“Shit,” Richie mumbles, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over Eddie’s skin.

“Yeah,” Eddie replies. He wiggles a little and makes a face at the come drying on his stomach, looking down between them. “I think I got come on your jacket.”

Richie gently pulls out and tosses the condom, rolls off of him, and looks down at his leather jacket wrapped around Eddie’s torso. He rubs his hand over where some of Eddie’s come landed on it, and he swallows.

“I’m never washing this jacket again.”

“God, Richie, that’s so gross.”

Richie smirks. “What, me walking around wearing a jacket with your come on it doesn’t turn you on?”

Okay, so it might, but Eddie would never in a million years admit that to Richie. “Absolutely not. People will think you’re a creep.”

They look up at each other and Richie smiles, this soft, wonderful thing that makes Eddie’s heart skip a couple of beats and then beat extra to make up for it, and he’s close enough that he could lean in and kiss Richie but he doesn’t know if he can. They didn’t really talk about that part.

As if he can see exactly what Eddie’s thinking, Richie turns serious.

“Hey, Eds,” Richie says softly, skimming his fingers over Eddie’s cheek and down over his lips, “this wasn’t a one-time thing, right? I mean… you meant what you said?”

Eddie’s breathing picks up. He’s imagined this happening a million times, but never in those moments has he imagined it would actually happen, and he rushes to get everything out before Richie’s face can fall.

“No! I mean, no, it’s not a one-time thing,” Eddie gushes. “And I, uh, I meant what I said. I’d like to… do this. With you. If that’s okay.”

Richie’s eyes sparkle behind his glasses. “And what exactly does ‘this’ mean?”

Eddie leans forward and kisses him, just a light press of their lips together, and pulls back. Might as well go for it. 

“Everything,” he says, and he means it so much more than when he said the same thing earlier. “I want everything with you.”

Richie’s looking at him with so much emotion in his eyes, and Eddie knows what Richie is feeling, and he’s terrified and exhilarated about it all at once. He thinks he sees Richie’s eyes tear up, but then Richie is rolling away from him and yelling in his dumb British accent.

“Jolly good, Mister Kaspbrak!  What do you say to dinner with me next week, ol’ chap?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, scooting back closer to Richie and throwing an arm around him. “God, I hate you.”

Richie reaches up and gently cards his fingers through Eddie’s hair, Eddie pushing himself closer to Richie. He feels disgusting, and he knows in a few minutes the feeling will take over and he’ll have to get up and shower, but right now he’s content to lay in Richie’s arms.

“No you don’t,” Richie counters. Eddie looks up at Richie and smiles.

“No, I don’t.”

They lay in silence for a few moments before Richie turns his head and makes a strangled noise.

“Shit, the pictures developed.”

Eddie groans.