Myra gets the house, the car, most of the money, and all their friends. Eddie gets Richie. He knows it's not a fair split, but he can't bring himself to feel too guilty for coming out ahead.
The Losers get together for dinner in honor of Eddie's divorce being finalized. They come up with lots of excuses for shared festivities: Mike's new job at the Museum of Folklore, Bill's film wrapping, Beverly winning her lawsuit against her ex-husband and regaining control of her business. Mike was especially celebratory after signing the lease on his new apartment-- "where I'll live by myself, without roommates, in my own personal space, alone" --which Eddie and Richie agreed was a little rude, but they're also happy for him.
After Indian food and several rounds of drinks, Eddie is pleasantly buzzed, his mouth tingling from spice, the rest of his body tingling from Richie's hand venturing boldly up his thigh. "To Eddie Kaspbrak, on the market again," Bill toasts, and Richie gives him a horrified look.
"Not for an instant," Eddie says, smiling at Richie. "How about, to the rest of my fucking life, which I get to be alive for."
They all drink to that, and then Richie adds "To Stan Uris. May we never need to bother him again," and they drink more. As the rest of their friends drift into a conversation about when Ben's next project breaks ground, Eddie leans over and rests his head on Richie's shoulder.
"Take me home," he murmurs.
Richie can talk for an hour without taking a breath, but it turns out he can also say heartfelt goodbyes to their best friends incredibly quickly, given the proper motivation. It's mere minutes before they're collapsing into the back of a cab, Richie nearly in Eddie's lap.
"Don't get too excited," Richie says in Eddie's ear, which is sending very mixed messages, considering where his hands are. "We have all night ahead of us."
"And no roommate," Eddie reminds him. "Want to fuck on the couch? Dining room table?"
"How about the shower? Get squeaky clean and then get filthy. And then clean again, if we're not too tired."
Eddie laughs. Richie gets him. Their driver turns the radio up so she doesn't have to listen to them, and after that they stop even pretending like they're trying to be quiet.
Richie pants in Eddie's ear outside their front door as Eddie fumbles for his keys. "You look so fucking good tonight, Eds," he says. "All neat and tidy in your jacket and tie. You know that just makes me want to get you messed up." His hands are roaming, cupping Eddie's ass, pulling up his shirt where it's carefully tucked in. Richie scrapes the nape of Eddie's neck with his teeth, then soothes it with his tongue. Eddie finally finds the right key, and they collide and crash through the door, laughing breathlessly.
Richie has Eddie on the couch before he knows what's happening, kneeling between his legs, easing Eddie's pants down. Eddie goes to take off his blazer, but Richie says "no, leave it," and guides Eddie's hands to the crown of his head, instead. Eddie runs his fingers through Richie's hair, but doesn't pull; he lets Richie lead.
After all that rushing to get Eddie's pants off, now Richie takes his sweet fucking time. He trails kisses up Eddie's inner thigh, biting gently, then sucking at the skin hard enough that Eddie knows it will leave a bruise. Just as the sensation verges on too intense, Richie pulls back and blows gently on the sore spot, his breath a salve.
He does the same thing again, higher up Eddie's thigh. Then he repeats it on the other leg. Eddie is still in his boxer briefs, his cock straining shamelessly against the fabric, wetness spreading from the head. "Richie," he whines through clenched teeth.
Richie smiles up at him, then slowly lowers his mouth until it's just barely brushing Eddie's hard-on through his underwear. "All in good time, Eds," he says. "Warn me if you get too close, though, okay? I'm still trying to get fucked tonight."
"You're always trying to get fucked."
"Yeah, and you love it." There's no point denying that, Eddie supposes--not when they can both see how his cock jumps at Richie's words.
Fucking finally, Richie hooks his fingers in the waistband of Eddie's briefs and guides them down. Eddie lifts his hips to be helpful. As his cock drags against the elastic before springing free, he moans with delight and agony. He's leaking on the front of his nice gray dress shirt, but if getting spectacularly laid isn't the whole point of having nice dress shirts, Eddie doesn't know what is.
He loosens his tie because he's dying, and Richie's eyes are crinkled in a smile as he looks up at Eddie, tormenting him, breathing on him. "God, I love the way you smell, Eds," he says. "Especially when you're… mmm… all wet like this." He fucking licks his lips and Eddie could weep.
"Get me wetter," he pleads, and that's all it takes. Richie has his mouth around the head before the words are fully out. He stays there for a moment, probing Eddie's slit with his tongue, making him gasp; then Richie opens his mouth wider and melts down onto his cock.
If Eddie had a little more self-control, he'd stifle the ragged, desperate sound he makes when he feels the back of Richie's throat, but right now he's too far gone to care. Richie anchors Eddie's thigh with one hand and wraps the other around the base of his dick. The heat and the pressure are fucking exquisite as Richie envelops him with his tongue.
Don't come, Eddie reminds himself, and takes deep breaths, trying to bank the fire at his core. His thighs are shaking as he tries to keep himself from thrusting. Richie's lips are stretched so red and raw around him, humming against Eddie's most sensitive skin as he grunts with effort.
With a wet, obscene noise, Richie pulls his mouth off Eddie. "I changed my mind," he says.
"What?" Eddie will actually stop being alive, right here and now.
"I changed my mind. I want you to come like this," says Richie. "I want you to fuck my face until you come in my mouth."
"Oh," says Eddie, idiotically. "Okay."
Richie grins. "When you can't think of a sarcastic comeback, that's when I know I'm bringing my A game." He doesn't wait for a reply, which is good, because Eddie really doesn't have one.
Richie drags his tongue up Eddie's length before swallowing him down again. Eddie's back arches. I want you to fuck my face, Richie said, and Eddie lives to give Richie what he wants. He reaches for Richie's hair again, and this time he grabs it in handfuls, using it to hold Richie's head in place while Eddie fucks into his mouth. Richie groans around him in rhythm with Eddie's thrusts, sloppy, frenzied sounds that spark every nerve in Eddie's body.
"So fucking good, baby, I'm gonna come," Eddie gasps, and then he's falling apart as Richie somehow takes him even deeper. Eddie's whole body turns inside out and pours into Richie's yearning mouth. He roars through his orgasm, head thrown back so far his throat closes up, veering dangerously toward the black edge of consciousness. Richie holds his hips and kisses his thighs and waits for the storm to pass.
When it's over, he feels like the aftermath of an earthquake, ruined in the best possible way. After a few minutes, Richie climbs up and sits on the couch beside him. He's still fully dressed. Eddie reaches out with a weak hand to palm the bulge in his jeans (they argued earlier about Richie wearing jeans to a nice restaurant, but Eddie had to admit they made his ass look great).
"You know what I hate about sucking your dick?" Richie says, and laughs at the expression on Eddie's face. Eddie would have guessed with a high degree of confidence that there's nothing Richie hates about sucking dick. "I hate that you're not fucking my ass at the same time," he explains. "It's the twenty-first century. I should be able to do both."
"Greedy," Eddie says, unzipping his pants. "Insatiable cock slut."
"Fuck yeah, I am," says Richie, as Eddie's hand finds him aching and hot.
"Sorry I can't fuck you right now," Eddie murmurs.
"Oh my God, you can't? Eds, what happened, how did you lose your hands?" Richie says in mock alarm.
Eddie laughs, fizzy with pleasure and love. "Okay, bed," he says. "I don't want to finger you on the couch."
"Your wish is my command," Richie says, and they race for the bedroom, shedding clothes as they go.
Eddie could die happy at the sight of Richie sprawled on the bed, legs open and cock hard, massaging lube into his hole. Richie really is insatiable. He could get fucked three times a day and still want more. Eddie doesn't know where he gets the energy. Except, as he glances down at his own dick, starting to rise again in defiance of all laws of nature and forty-year-old man, he thinks maybe he does know. Maybe it's magic.
He crawls up Richie's body and covers his mouth with a kiss before settling in, slinging one of Richie's knees over his shoulder for a better view. Eddie's first two fingers slide easily into Richie, finding the rhythm he likes by muscle memory. "Christ, Eds, yeah, just like that," Richie hisses, fucking back against Eddie's hand.
"You're so pretty, baby," Eddie says, and feels Richie tighten around his fingers with a gasp of pleasure.
"Yeah?" Richie lifts his head to look down at Eddie, his face flushed, sweat beading in his hair. "You like how I look when you're fucking me?"
"The way you look, the way you sound…" Eddie lowers his head to lick the crease of Richie's inner thigh. "The way you taste." Richie makes a high, soft noise. "I love how bad you want it. You're such a cock slut, but only for me. This…" He twists his fingers just a little, then pushes deeper, treasuring the way Richie's jaw goes slack. "This fucking perfect ass, it's all mine. No one gets to have you like I do."
"Only ever you, Eds," Richie keens.
"Me too, baby. Only ever you."
Richie gasps as he speeds up the pace. "Feel so fucking good. God, don't stop."
"Can you take another finger?"
"Fuck, yes, more." Eddie obeys, and Richie sighs his name. "Wish it was your cock, though. You're right, I need it all the fucking time."
Eddie smiles. "Actually, I didn't want to distract you, but seeing you like this is really working for me. I'm hard again, if you want--"
"Oh, yeah. " Immediately Richie pulls away from Eddie's fingers, with only a small groan of disappointment. "Get the fuck up here, I want to ride it."
As Eddie lies back, Richie rubs the lube between his hands to warm it, then slicks it directly onto Eddie's skin. They both tested negative for STIs as of last week, and fucking without a condom is still deliciously novel. Richie positions himself over Eddie, and Eddie catches his breath, savoring the moment of anticipation that seems to last forever and vanish instantly.
Richie braces his hands on Eddie's chest, and they both moan out loud as he lowers himself onto Eddie's cock.
"Richie," says Eddie, entranced.
Richie takes a moment, adjusting, then begins to move. His eyes are hot on Eddie's face as he slowly rolls his hips, rising a little and settling back, angling Eddie just the way he wants him. Eddie stares up at Richie, feeling like the world is falling away, like there's no more air or time or gravity, just Richie's body, and Eddie buried in him up to the hilt.
"Come on," says Richie, and Eddie grabs him by the hips and fucks up into him in earnest. "Oh, fuck, Eddie Eddie Eddie-- " Richie's voice goes higher and higher, the consonants crumbling away until he's just saying eh eh eh, riding Eddie so hard and fast it feels like flying.
Richie's cock pulses between them. "Should I touch you?" Eddie says. "Or can you come from getting fucked like this?" Richie makes a little sobbing sound and shakes his head. "No, don't touch? You want me to fuck you until you come all over both of us without even touching your dick?"
"Eddie," Richie says, like it's been dragged out of him.
"Yeah, Richie, come on," Eddie pants. "Come for me, baby. You can do it. Ride my cock until you come. I know you can, I can feel you getting close, you're so fucking tight for me, baby, I want your come all over me--"
Richie arches his back and makes a devastated noise. Come shoots hot over Eddie's stomach and chest, and he holds tight to Richie's waist, guiding him through the aftershocks. Eddie feels like he's in fucking free fall, soaring through space, untethered to anything except this man, this beautiful man. "Richie," he says, like it's the only word he knows.
After a moment of stillness, Richie starts to move again, clenching around Eddie, hot and loose-limbed and shivery. "You don't have to," says Eddie, but Richie opens his eyes and says "I fucking want it," and then Eddie is coming too, in a furious explosion that outshines the known universe.
Richie holds him, Richie strokes his hair, Richie whispers his name. As Eddie regains control of his body, he discovers that he and Richie have rolled onto their sides, Richie's forehead against his, Richie's legs wrapped around his waist. Eddie smiles and nuzzles against Richie's neck.
"Eds," Richie says. "Little help here?"
Richie gestures to their entwined bodies. Eddie looks around, taking in their surroundings. He and Richie are bathed in a golden glow, like sunrise--which is weird, since it's the middle of the night. The light seems to be coming from Eddie's chest. Also weird.
The other weird thing is that they're floating in the air, orbiting each other in a lazy spin, six feet above the bed.
"Huh," says Eddie. "That's new."