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Wild and Weary

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It's extremely gratifying how fast Richie has his pants off. It's extremely Richie that, as soon as he does, he twirls them around his head like a lasso and then throws them onto the TV. And it's been an extremely long time--whole seconds--since Eddie was on top of Richie.

But he's not going to jump on him, now. He's going to take his time.

Eddie straddles Richie's thighs. Richie is propped on his elbows, staring at Eddie in a way that's somehow absolutely filthy and so, so pure. Eddie leans back to make sure Richie has a good view, and then, keeping his eyes on Richie's face, he starts to stroke his own cock.

"Richie," he says softly, from low in his throat, and feels Richie's hips buck in response. "Do you know how many times I've done this and thought about you?"

"Fuck." Richie lets out a shocked laugh, drops his head back. "Eds, I swear to God, you're incredible. I gotta--" He reaches out, but Eddie stops his hand.

"Don't you fucking dare," Eddie says. His voice is gentle. "You made me wait, earlier, when I was dying for you. This time I get to say when."

Richie grabs a pillow and presses it over his face, moaning into it theatrically. Eddie laughs. It's been ages since he's laughed during sex. Still smiling, he leans forward, pushing the pillow aside and resting his hands on either side of Richie's face, that sweet, open, vulnerable face. His chest on Richie's chest, his teeth on Richie's neck, the glorious dumb friction of their cocks pulsing against each other. Eddie kisses Richie and grinds his hips at the same time, swallowing Richie's groans. Richie drags his fingernails down Eddie's back.

He remembers what Richie said earlier: No one counts but you. Eddie knows what he meant. Everything feels new with Richie, more real than what he's had before. It's like there's always been a molecule-thin barrier between Eddie and whoever he was with, and Richie is the first person to push the barrier aside and touch his skin.

There is so much to touch and it all feels so goddamn good.

Eddie reaches behind his back to catch one of Richie's hands and raise it to his lips. He breathes open-mouthed into Richie's palm, then tongues his scar. Richie's cock jumps when he does that, so Eddie does it again, and then Richie starts whispering "please" and it's the most wonderful sound Eddie has ever heard.

"Do you have any fucking idea how beautiful you are?" he asks Richie, who stares at him and bites his lip and doesn't say anything. That's fine. Eddie knows the answer is no, but he has no problem being the one to remind Richie, as often as needed. Verbally and nonverbally.

He shifts his weight, slipping one of his thighs between Richie's and rocking his hips gently. Then he starts kissing his way down Richie's neck to his chest, stopping briefly to pay some attention to Richie's nipples, which he's quickly realizing are extremely sensitive. As he slides down Richie's body, the skin of his stomach brushes against Richie's cock. Richie sucks in a hard breath, but doesn't say anything.

"I wish I'd known it would be this easy to shut you up, Trashmouth," Eddie says. He's kneeling on the floor between Richie's legs now.

"Dude." Richie's voice is high and breathless. "What the fuck are words?"

Eddie rubs his thumbs over Richie's bony hips, then grips his thighs, anchoring Richie to the bed. He takes a moment to enjoy the effect he's having on Richie, on Richie's straining cock, which is long and pink and--Eddie thinks, even though he knows it's a strange word in this context--kind of graceful.

Eddie kisses it gently. He licks a pearl of liquid from the tip. Then, in one slow movement, he takes as much of Richie's cock as he can fit in his mouth.

The sound Richie makes is unspellable, unrepeatable, but Eddie burns it into his memory and vows to treasure it forever. That's Richie, Richie fucking Tozier, the first boy Eddie thought about Like That and the last man Eddie will ever love, The One That Got Away, the hole in Eddie's heart that didn't heal for 27 years, the sweetest dream Eddie never thought would come true--that Richie Tozier is outright whimpering while Eddie swallows his cock. Eddie never saw the light at the end of the tunnel when he had his near-death experience, but he might have to start believing in God, just the same.

"Eddie Eddie Eddie, oh Jesus, Eddie," Richie is chanting, pushing his hips up against Eddie's hands. He gives a little sob of disappointment as Eddie pulls away and wipes his mouth.

"You don't have any condoms, do you?" Eddie asks.

Richie shakes his head. "I packed for fighting a demon clown," he says, still sounding out of breath. "I had no idea this trip was going to get so horny. Sorry."

"Damn." Eddie looks down at Richie, so hard and wanting, and bites his lip wistfully. "Because you look so fucking good, but I know you'd look even better with me inside you. Tomorrow we'll stop and grab some, okay?"

He's expecting another litany of oh-Jesus and please-please-please, so he's surprised when Richie scrunches up his face and looks away. "Oh," Eddie says, "if you're not into that--"

Richie takes a shaky breath and looks back at him. "I'm into anything and everything you want to do with me, Eds. I'm yours. On a silver platter, if you want me to go find a fuckin' silver platter. I just… I haven't, uh. Done that."

His face is pink, and Eddie is kind of delighted to see Richie Tozier getting flustered. "You've never bottomed?" he says.

"No," says Richie, and then Eddie realizes that he isn't just flustered, he's embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I'm… ugh, why am I so bad at this?" He's almost in tears.

Eddie scrambles back up the length of Richie's gangly body and wraps him in his arms, dropping the teasing voice, forgetting about his own erection or anything other than comforting Richie. "You're amazing," he says, "and we don't have to do anything you don't want to."

Richie buries his head in Eddie's shoulder so he's not looking him in the eyes when he says, "I do want to. I've just never… I guess I've never trusted anyone enough."

Eddie twists a lock of Richie's hair around his finger. "Do you trust me enough?"

"Oh my God, yes."

Eddie could cry at the longing in Richie's voice. He understands, suddenly, a little bit of how Richie felt in the shower earlier, because this feeling right now is its perfect opposite. After all these years, he is still going to be Richie Tozier's first. It's a gift he never expected, and he flushes with joy and desire.

"Tomorrow, then, baby," Eddie says, and he loves how easily the word "baby" comes to his tongue, and how Richie squirms happily when he says it. "Tomorrow I'm gonna take care of you." He reaches down and wraps his hand around Richie's cock, stroking in pace with his words, steady and slow. "I'm going to make you feel so fucking good, Richie. I'm going to go so slow for you until you're as full as you can stand. I'm going to make it so good for you, baby." Eddie keeps talking as Richie gasps and arches against him, licking and biting his neck, thrusting into his hand. Eddie refuses to speed up even as Richie clings to him, begging, shamelessly needing, even as Eddie's own cock is desperate to be touched, Eddie makes them both wait, panting into each other's mouths, until all Richie's half-formed words dissolve into a groan and he sinks his teeth into Eddie's shoulder, hard, and comes.

"Hey Eds?" Richie says a long time later.


"I liked it when you called me baby."

Eddie smiles, tracing Richie's lips with his thumb. "I could tell, baby," he says, cherishing the softness in Richie's eyes. "I'll make sure to do it again."

"What can I call you?"

Eddie takes a deep breath. Richie has shared a secret, he remembers, has offered up part of himself, red and unguarded. He doesn't deserve Richie if he can't do the same.

Looking his newfound, lifelong love straight in the eyes, he says, "I love it when you call me Eds."

Richie actually screams with delight. Then he laughs so hard for so long he starts to have trouble breathing, and Eddie scrambles to grab his inhaler. But Richie's waving his hand and shaking his head no, sputtering "it's okay, I'm okay, come back," until Eddie lies down beside him again, crimson and glaring.

"Oh Eds, my Eds," says Richie when he's finally calm again. "I knew it. Why didn't you say so before?"

"Because you're a fucking prick," Eddie snaps, "and me hating something was basically a guarantee you would do it."

"That's true," Richie says. "But only because I didn't realize you loving things I did was an option."

"I love everything you do," Eddie says, and Richie kisses him, one of those deep searching kisses that Eddie would come back from the dead for again and again.

"My Eds," Richie says in wonder. Then he grins. "My cute little Eds."

"There's a line, dickhead," Eddie says. "Don't call me little."

"That's fair," Richie agrees. "Especially since you're--" his hand slides down to gently cup Eddie's dick, and how did this turn from sweet to sleazy so fucking fast?--"definitely not little where it matters."

It's the worst line, absolutely terrible and embarrassing, and there's no way it would make Eddie insanely hard except for the fact that he's been desperate to fuck Richie for literal hours and also he recently almost died, which he's heard can be a turn-on. That's the only explanation for the way Eddie tips his head back and cries out as Richie tightens his grip.

"Tell me what you want, my darling Eds," says Richie.

"I want to know what that mouth can do besides talk endless shit," Eddie says, and he could swear Richie's eyes actually turn into cartoon hearts in the brief moment before he lowers his head.

Eddie has thought a lot about Richie's mouth over the years: how fucking annoying it is, and how pretty it is, and what it would taste like, and yes, he's imagined in great detail what it would be like to watch his own cock disappear into that gorgeous mouth, but this… this is so much better. It's the joy in Richie's eyes as he looks up at Eddie; it's the bone-deep knowledge that this is both of their dreams coming true.

Richie is making wet little moaning sounds and Eddie clenches his teeth, digging a hand into Richie's hair, knowing this isn't going to take long.

Deliriously, Eddie flashes on being fifteen and seeing "RICHIE TOZIER SUCKS FLAMER COCK" scrawled on a bathroom wall. He remembers swelling with indignation--that's his best friend--and curiosity--did he really?--and a huge question that he didn't dare put into words.

Now he thinks, that wall is gone. Their high school is gone. The person who wrote the graffiti is probably gone too. Derry is a crater, and he and Richie are still here, fucking each other, in love and alive. The thought makes his heart race with a ferocious joy, and he gasps "Baby, I've got to, can I--?" Richie hums an affirmation and Eddie is gone, falling to pieces, sobbing Richie's name.

A little while after that, for the first time since he left a town that doesn't exist anymore, Eddie Kaspbrak falls deeply asleep in the arms of the man he loves.