Post-Derry, Richie revels in simple domesticity.
He never really thought he was that kind of person. Not that he’s been much of a partier for many years, but for a long time he was a bachelor mainly by choice, and people he slept with were unceremoniously invited to leave in the morning before breakfast, and evenings he could have spent meeting people or developing relationships were instead spent eating takeout in his boxers and getting crumbs all over the couch. Domestic shit just never really appealed to him.
But he likes it, now. After all that shit with the clown and almost dying, he has a slightly different perspective on life, and with Eddie in his house and in his life he’s come to appreciate all that boring, cheesy shit. Making food together and watching TV without even fucking and falling asleep on the couch and Eddie kissing his forehead when he gets home from work. It’s cute as shit and Richie wonders why he never wanted it before he had it.
He likes mornings, now, too. Well, likes them more. Anytime he has to be awake before 9 is terrible but like. He can appreciate aspects of it. Kissing the nape of Eddie’s neck while he’s still dozing and grumbling in bed, and bumping his hip against Eddie’s as they brush their teeth at the same time. Eddie is grumpy as shit in the morning, especially on weekdays, and Richie kind of loves it. Fucking cute.
Eddie is grumpy as shit in the morning, and yet when Richie has to get up stupidly early (7am) on a Saturday to go to a meeting, Eddie wakes up with him, makes Richie actually get up quickly enough that he won’t have to rush out the door, takes a shower while Richie is at the table, lazily eating cereal. He’s still there, scrolling through his phone idly, when Eddie pads into the kitchen on bare feet, damp and warm. He kisses the top of Richie’s head, and then stands directly next to Richie at the table, fiddling with Richie’s cereal box. Richie hums and reaches out to run a hand up the inside of Eddie’s leg, nails scraping very gently over warm skin. Eddie shivers, and Richie smiles at his phone.
Neither of them moves for a minute, Richie reading an article on his phone, Eddie doing—something, Richie honestly has no clue. He doesn’t even look up until Eddie clears his throat pointedly.
Eddie is still standing at the table, picking at the label on the milk jug. His damp hair is combed back neatly and he’s wearing an old shirt and his red shorts. “Oh,” Richie says, a grin spreading over his face. “You’re wearing your fuck-me shorts.”
Eddie coughs out a laugh and doesn’t move. “They’re only fuck-me shorts because they work.”
Richie hums and looks at his phone. “How much time do we have?”
“Twenty minutes, if you shower quick after.”
“I can make it work.”
Eddie hums, and tries to look casual as he braces his hands against the table.
“Eddie, baby,” Richie sighs. “You are the love of my life.”
“Mhmm,” Eddie says, and Richie sees the edge of his smile before he leans in to press a kiss to the curve of his ass through his shorts.
It makes Eddie breathe out a tiny sigh, so Richie slides his hand up Eddie’s thigh, under the hem of his shorts, rubs his thumb over the crease where his ass meets his thigh. Eddie hums and presses back into it, and Richie smiles, does it again, and then pushes his hand farther up into his shorts to palm his ass, squeezing gently.
“Rich,” Eddie mutters, eyes closed.
“What?” Richie says innocently, leaning in to pull up the hem of his shorts to kiss him there, slow and wet.
“I said you have twenty minutes, not two hours,” Eddie grumbles.
“I’m just getting you warmed up,” Richie says, licking at that same crease as before. Eddie has a really nice ass—Richie suspects he does squats but has never caught him in the act.
“No you’re not, you’re being annoying,” Eddie says, even as his breath hitches. “Are you gonna do something?”
“You got any requests?” Richie says, thumbing at the curve of his ass, lifting the hem to suck kisses into soft skin.
“Make me come and we’ll call it even,” Eddie says dryly. And then, “I took a shower.”
Richie smiles, spreads Eddie’s cheeks just a little. He’s damp and warm there. “Mhmm.”
“If you wanted to,” Eddie says, overly casual.
“If I wanted to what?” Richie says lightly.
“I really hate you,” Eddie says. “If you wanted to eat me out or something.”
Richie hums, extremely satisfied that he has succeeded in awakening this monster, and scoots his chair away from the table. “C’mere.”
Eddie glances back at him, cheeks pink and lips pressed together. God, Richie loves him like this. He wishes he could always see Eddie’s face when they’re fucking. “Don’t fuck with me, Rich.”
“I’m not,” Richie laughs. “Stand between my legs.”
Eddie looks doubtful, but he moves to step between Richie’s spread knees, still facing the table. Richie grins, slides his palms up and down Eddie’s bare thighs, kisses the small of his back through his shirt. And then he scoots back another inch, leans over, and presses his mouth right between his cheeks, up against his rim, through the thin fabric of his shorts.
“Fuuuuck, Richie,” Eddie sighs, equal parts exasperated and pleased. “That’s not gonna do shit.”
Richie hums, dragging his tongue wet and rough over the fabric, so that Eddie feels the heat and the pressure. “It’s doing something for me,” he says, shifting in his seat.
Eddie groans and leans heavily against the table, jostling Richie’s empty bowl. “We literally do not have all day,” he says, gasping as Richie presses against his rim through his shorts.
“Then you shoulda come in naked,” Richie says, just before spreading his cheeks a little wider and diving back in.
“Oh, god. You’re so annoying. I can’t just—ah—walk around the house with no clothes on.”
Richie disagrees, but they really do have only so much time, and he’s more interested in making Eddie lose his mind right now, so he focuses on soaking his shorts with saliva, pressing up against his hole, palming his ass with both hands.
“Richie,” Eddie complains, and Richie huffs a laugh and slips a hand up his shorts to press his thumb against his rim.
He’s still loose from last night, though he’s not slick anymore—but still, the tip of Richie’s thumb slips in easily. Eddie moans, arching his back, and Richie makes a pleased noise, draws his thumb back out to rub at his rim roughly.
“God, Richie,” Eddie hisses. “Come on.”
Richie truly wishes he could refuse, but he’s already used up about two minutes of their time, and Eddie will kill him if he doesn’t get to come. Or worse. Plus, there are so many other ways Richie can yet antagonize him.
So he thumbs Eddie’s rim one last time, and pushes up the hem of his shirt to kiss his back, and then drags down the elastic waistband of his shorts just low enough that Richie can duck in and slide his tongue down the dip of his ass and into his hole.
“Fuck!” Eddie barks, one fist coming down hard on the table. “Oh, fuck, Richie.”
Richie sucks on his rim with a wet sound and then pulls away to say, “If I do this you have to talk, that’s the deal.”
“As if I ever don’t talk,” Eddie scoffs, pressing his ass back towards Richie’s face.
“Say some filthy shit,” Richie says. “I’ll love you forever.”
“You already do,” Eddie says, arching his back as Richie kisses his tailbone. “Shit, fine. But you can’t use anything I say against me later or laugh, okay? It’s like the opposite of my Miranda rights.”
Richie snorts and noses down the bottom of his spine. “Deal,” he says, and then kisses the edge of one asscheek one last time before diving back between them.
“Shiiii-iiiiit,” Eddie groans as Richie licks across his rim, hips squirming. “God, Rich, your mouth. Fucking good for something, at least.”
Richie huffs a laugh through his nose, lips and jaw working. The waistband of his shorts brushes Richie’s chin, and Richie kind of likes it, the reminder that Eddie’s still so covered up, that he’s getting his ass eaten out with his clothes still on at the breakfast table.
“Fuck, shit, feels so good,” Eddie groans, toes pressing up against the floor, lifting him an inch higher. “Want you all the fucking time, Rich, ah, think about you fucking me all the time.”
Richie hums, pleased, as he sucks gently at Eddie’s rim and runs his palms over his thighs. It’s not like he doesn’t know that Eddie’s hot for him all the time, but it’s still so gratifying to hear it. It turns Richie on, obviously, but it also makes him feel warm and happy, knowing someone wants him, knowing Eddie wants him. Richie deserves this.
“Love how you feel in me, god, love how you— You’re so fucking annoying and dumb and gross but I still want you to fuck me all the fucking time, it’s ridiculous, I love you so fucking much.” Eddie whines as Richie licks into him, pushes back against his tongue, and says, “God, Richie, I love how you make me come.”
Richie groans, cock jerking in his boxers. He’s fully hard now, despite not having bothered touching himself at all before now, but Eddie’s dirty talk always gets him going. The worst part about eating Eddie out is not being able to reply, not being able to keep him talking. He pushes his tongue deeper into him, licks into him filthily, hopes that’ll inspire something.
“Ah! Richie, Rich, fuck, I’m—” He cuts himself off, grinds back against Richie’s face, gasps, and says, “I’m a slut for it.”
Richie pulls back with a groan, mouth wet and lips swollen. “Fuck, Eds,” he mutters. “Tell me your sluttiest thought, right now.”
Eddie moans as Richie sucks on him sloppily. “Richie, god, sometimes I think about you fucking me, fuck, and just. Falling asleep with you still in me, so you can fuck me again in the morning.”
Richie moans right into him, slides his tongue as deep into Eddie as he can, spreads his cheeks with his thumbs so he can curl his tongue a little bit farther. Eddie makes strangled, choked sounds, and Richie breathes deep through his nose, eats Eddie out like his life depends on it. He can’t touch himself like this, not with both hands on Eddie’s ass, but his hips shift restlessly against the seat of his chair, seeking friction he can’t get.
“I love the way you fuck me, god, you make me feel so fucking good,” Eddie rambles, bent over the table with his elbows propping him up now, thighs shaking. “And I love fucking you, too, shit, I’m gonna regret saying it but I love the way you look when I fuck you, like you’re drugged out on it, drugged out on cock, when you want it you want it, and you love taking it.”
Richie hums his agreement, the sound of his tongue inside Eddie wet and obscene. God, he’s so hard.
“I love fucking you but god I’m such a fucking slut for your dick,” Eddie says, clenching around him. “I thought I’d get over it but I’m not, Rich, I want it so bad. God, why are you eating me out? I need you to fuck me.”
Richie pulls back immediately, and Eddie whines at the loss. “Eds, fuck, yeah, what the hell are we doing?”
“I brought lube,” Eddie says, one hand scrabbling across the tabletop and almost knocking the bottle off. Richie didn’t even see it until now. “Use a lot.”
Richie isn’t sure if he doesn’t think he’s loose enough or if he just likes it wet and messy, and doesn’t fucking care. He stands up on shaky legs, pushes his boxers down and kicks them off so he can take a wide stance, so that his cock lines up with Eddie’s ass. He pours lube over his cock, and then dribbles it between Eddie’s cheeks, pushing it into him quickly with two fingers that slide in easily. Eddie hisses at the cold, hips moving restlessly, and then Richie presses the head of his cock just against his loose rim.
“Ready?” he says, because he always, always checks.
“Richie, you piece of shit, I am begging you,” Eddie snaps.
Richie grins and starts pressing in.
Even now, after months of this, he never dares to slam into Eddie like he wants to. He’s too scared of making it hurt, and even more than that, he gets off so hard on the first slow slide. “God, you feel so fucking tight,” he grinds out, pushing in slow and relentless. “Eds, your ass is a goddamn dream.”
“Yeah, I fucking know,” Eddie gasps, bearing down on him. “Ohhhhh. Mm. That’s really fucking good.”
“You always say that, I’m literally just pushing into you Eds, there’s no technique whatsoever, you could replace me with a fucking salami.” Richie bites his lip and pauses halfway in, waits for Eddie to adjust.
“No I couldn’t, dickwad, the shape’s all—ah—all wrong. Your cock was specially sculpted by God to fuck me.” Eddie hitches his hips back a bit, takes a little more. “Put it all the way in me, Rich, fuck. It’s the perfect size, I’m not joking.”
Richie laughs breathlessly, gives a few short thrusts, never pushing more than two-thirds in. “You really won’t replace me?”
“What are you talking about? Fuck me.”
“I’m just asking,” Richie says, pulling out to tease at his rim, smearing lube and precum there.
“Shit, Richie, fucking— You’re so annoying. I like your dick, you know this, fuck. me.”
Richie sinks back into him, but not an inch deeper than he already was. “Be a little patient, Eds.”
“We don’t have fucking time for me to be patient,” Eddie snaps, braced against the table, hips twitching back. “Are you really doing this right now? I like your dick, Richie, it’s big and it’s hot and I like how it feels in me, I like how it comes in me. I like that it’s attached to your stupid ass, although right now not so much. I’m in love with you, you fucking moron.”
Music to Richie’s ears. He grins, and spreads Eddie’s cheeks wide with both hands, and slides as deep as he can go with one smooth push.
“God, yes,” Eddie says, like it’s a revelation. “Oh my fucking god.”
“You like that?” Richie asks—a stock question, because he always loves hearing the answer.
“So fucking big,” Eddie says, breathing hard. He whines as Richie grinds into him, hips flush against his ass. “God, that’s good.”
“What’s it feel like, babe?” A fine sheen of sweat is springing up all over Richie’s body, and he grips Eddie’s ass tightly. God, he’s so hot and tight and wet around Richie’s dick, it’s overwhelming.
“Like it fits in me perfectly, except half a size too big,” Eddie moans. “Shit. Stuffed full, Rich.”
“Yeah?” Richie skates one thumb down the edge of his asscheek to rub it over his rim where he’s stretched wide around Richie’s cock, teasing at the edge of it. “You definitely couldn’t fit anything else in here, huh?”
Eddie groans in frustration. “I’ll fucking die, Richie, I’ll die.”
“But you want it,” Richie says knowingly. He makes a couple short, easy thrusts, and Eddie arches and moans.
“Let’s not get into it right now,” Eddie gasps. “Can you just fuck me, please? I really wish you would fuck me.”
“I’m fucking you,” Richie says, palms sliding up his sides, pushing up his shirt as he goes.
“No you’re not, you’re aggravating me,” Eddie snaps.
Well, he’s not completely wrong. “I can do both,” Richie says, and then pulls back a couple inches to thrust in deep.
“Oh, fuck yes.” Eddie’s breath stutters out of his chest. “See, fuck, it’s not that hard.”
“You don’t know how many temptations I have to resist,” Richie gasps, setting a quick pace, never pulling out far, always fucking in deep. “God, Eds, you look so good. Love watching you take my cock.”
“My view, ah, could, fuck, use improving,” Eddie grits out, ass tight and flexing around Richie, muscles in his back tensing.
“You’re the one who wanted to get fucked over the table,” Richie reminds him, thumbing at his rim again, spreading lube there. His toes curl against hardwood with pleasure. “God, babe, you’re so wet. I know it’s just lube but you’re soaking.”
“Feels good,” Eddie gasps. “Use more.”
He definitely just likes the sounds. Richie pulls out halfway, pours lube over his dick, fucks it into him. The slick, filthy noise of it makes Eddie keen softly, pressing up on his toes to catch a better angle.
“Yes yes yes yes yes,” Eddie hisses, spine jolting. “Oh, Rich, right there.”
Richie closes his eyes against the too-much, too-good sensation of Eddie clenching around him. The way Eddie revels in getting fucked is just incredible to him every time. “Tell me what to do.”
“Keep fucking me, just don’t stop, fuck.” Eddie works his hips in time with Richie’s thrusts, whining every time he gets a good angle. “Deeper.”
“This is as deep as I can go,” Richie laughs breathlessly, but holds onto his waist obediently, grinds in hard.
“Gooo-ooood,” Eddie says, voice rough. “It’s so fucking good every time, how is it so good?”
Richie hums, and pulls all the way out, and then slides all the way back in with one deep stroke that makes Eddie shudder. “Eds, I hate to tell you like this, but it’s just because you’re a size queen cockslut, and I have a big dick.”
Eddie coughs out an overwhelmed laugh, and then makes a desperate noise and says, “God, can you go a little harder? We don’t have that much time. And could you say something nice to me, for once in your fucking life?”
“You want me to sweet-talk you, baby?” Richie asks, voice somewhere between saccharine and rough with arousal. At the same time, he leans forwards a little, reaches out and around Eddie’s torso to slides his hand up his sweat-slick stomach, to thumb at his nipple. He likes the breathy sound it always squeezes out of him.
“As if you’re capable,” Eddie hisses.
Richie scoffs, and interprets that to mean, in Eddie-speak, yes, please, for the love of god. “God, Eddie, you’re so good,” he says, voice low. It’s nothing he’s never said before—Richie does say nice shit to Eddie sometimes, whenever he’s not harassing him—but Eddie shivers nonetheless, clenching around him. Richie thrusts into him harder, not too deep, and Eddie chokes out a noise. “You’re so good for me, you’re doing so good, you’re taking it so well. You’re a dream.”
“Richie,” Eddie grates out, and Richie knows he’s doing something right, so he keeps going, fucking him a little bit harder, letting more words pour out of him.
He doesn’t even have to think about them before he says them. “Doesn’t it feel good? I love making you feel good, Eds, you’re perfect, you’re so good, you’re so tight and hot and you were made for this. Want to fuck you in every room in this house, anywhere you want, however you want it. Want to make you cry with how good you feel. Want to work you over for hours, worship every inch of you, watch you come. You’re incredible, god, you love it and I love you so much, I love you so fucking much.”
“Rich, fuck, please, please.” Eddie bucks his hips desperately, one fist thumping against the table.
“Yeah, shit, Eddie.” Richie thrusts quick and hard, reaching around to stroke Eddie’s cock at the same time. He has no idea how much time has passed at this point, but he has the feeling he should probably not be taking his time. So he fucks Eddie good and deep, a little more roughly than he would usually dare to, drinking in Eddie’s overwhelmed noises and satisfied moans. Eddie’s nonstop chatter turns into fucked-out sounds and broken words, and his body goes hard and tense, and Richie fucks him a little wildly, biting his lip hard, head swimming with pleasure.
When Eddie comes he does it with his whole body, arching and shuddering and squirming, like he’s chasing every last bit of his orgasm all the way to his extremities. Richie fucks him through it, groaning, until Eddie gasps, “Pull out, Rich, fuck, I can’t—”
“Yeah,” Richie says, sliding out of him quickly, knowing he must be pretty raw from that. Eddie never asks him to pull out unless he really can’t take it.
“Here,” Eddie says, still slumped against the table, shuffling his feet an inch apart. He pulls up his shorts.
“Fuck,” Richie breathes. There's already lube dripping down Eddie’s thighs—the way is slick and warm when Richie pushes his cock between them. Eddie presses his thighs back together, and Richie gasps at the feeling, at the soft, erotic warmth of them. “Hold on,” he says, wrapping an arm around Eddie’s waist, feeling the fine tremble in him from coming. He presses a kiss to the middle of Eddie’s spine.
And then he fucks Eddie’s thighs fast and hard, his red shorts brushing against Richie, his thighs hot and slick around his cock. Eddie moans softly, braced against the table, and Richie squeezes his eyes shut, chases his own climax.
Eddie groans, drops a hand between his legs. Richie can feel his fingertips against the head of his cock, poking through the other side of his thighs. It makes Richie want to swallow him whole. Fuck him until he can’t breathe. God, he’s so fucking hot.
“Come on, Richie,” Eddie urges him between deep breaths. “Come on, come on me.”
“Yeah, yeah, yes—” Richie feels his orgasm build in his lower stomach and thighs and tight in his balls, and it feels so fucking good that it makes tears spring to his eyes. God, it’s always so good. “Eddie—”
“Yeah, Richie, love you—”
Richie blacks out, more or less, when he comes, hard and strong, but he still has the presence of mind to pull back, stroke himself tight in his fist, yank down the waist of Eddie’s shorts. He comes across his ass and his shorts, sticky and hot, and Eddie moans again at the feeling of it.
“Shit,” Eddie sighs, as Richie sinks back into his chair, lightheaded.
“Mhmm,” Richie says dizzily.
“I’m really gonna feel that for the rest of the day.” Eddie peels himself off the table and turns around, finally—his face is red and his neck is splotchy and there’s come splattered across the front of his shorts, too.
Richie tries desperately to catch his breath enough to say, “Did I hurt you?”
Eddie grins and shakes his head, reaching out to run his hand through Richie’s hair as another aftershock wracks him. “Nah. It was good. It was really good.”
“Good.” Richie sighs. “God. Your thighs, Eds. Your ass. I love you.”
Eddie laughs a little. “You have four minutes to take a shower, hot stuff. Brush your teeth, too.”
“Shit!” Richie stands bolt upright, and then sways on shaky knees. “You bastard, how am I supposed to stand?”
“You better figure it out,” Eddie says, unrepentant. “And you better hurry.”
Richie hisses expletives at him through his entire ice-cold shower, and then mumbles more through a mouthful of toothpaste as Eddie gently blow-dries his hair for him. Eddie smiles and kisses the back of his shoulder, and then when Richie’s done brushing his teeth he catches him by the waist and kisses him full on the mouth, licking into it languidly.
“Thank you for fucking me,” he hums when he pulls back.
Richie blinks dazedly, and grins like an idiot. “Anytime, babe.”
“I know you mean that, and that’s why I love you,” Eddie says, patting his cheek.
“I knew it,” Richie whispers, and kisses him again.
It lasts for about ten more seconds before Eddie says, “Okay get out, I have to rinse off again and you need to leave.”
Richie groans. “Don’t miss me too much.”
Eddie smiles, and kisses his eyebrow, and says, “That fucking will last me a few hours at least. Go be an adult.”
“I love you, Eddie Kaspbrak,” Richie sighs.
It’s unnerving how much he means it every time. Eddie just grins, and shoves him out the door.