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When Richie had been a child, running around in dirty shoes and skinned knees, he used to dream that one day he’d live with Eddie.

He was too young back then to understand what it meant, but he knew he wanted Eddie close to him forever, and they’d have sleepovers every night and cook dinner together and everyone he met would know Richie was Eddie’s best friend. It was an innocent dream, sweet and dumb and kind of pathetic, but he’d held on to it until middle school, when he looked at Eddie in the wrong light once and understood that what he really wanted was to kiss him.

In sophomore year Eddie had gone to the Sadie Hawkins dance with Marcia Sheldon, and Richie took it horribly – he remembers pacing for days up in his bedroom and hardly ever eating; he snarled and cracked mean jokes and worked himself up to such a state that when the day came around his parents kept him at home thinking he was sick. After the dance Eddie came by to check on him, all dressed up in his best shirt with his hair slicked back, and all Richie wanted was to fall to his knees and put his head on Eddie’s thigh and beg to suck his dick.

Just the thought made him go red with shame, there in his bed with Eddie so close. He can still remember Eddie’s worried little frown, the press of his cool hand against Richie’s forehead, asking if he had a fever. His fingers clasped around Eddie’s wrist, pulling him away. Scrambling in bed, rolling around on his stomach as if Eddie could sense that he was hard under the covers. He wanted everything and he couldn’t have any of it, and just the thought of it was torture.

He dreamed about it sometimes, all the things he could barely admit to himself. Every time it happened he’d wake up sweaty and flushed and awkwardly hard, deliriously in love and scared of his own perverted fantasies.

In the future, Eddie and Richie live together. Richie knows this because he’s staying with them, in a big spacious city apartment with a giant television and marble countertops, and he’s got a bedroom with an unfamiliar bed and his own bathroom with the largest shower Richie’s ever seen. They’re working on how to send him back, says Richie-of-the-future, with his scruff and lined forehead and wry smiles, who stares at him with knowing eyes that make Richie want to disappear.

Eddie of this time calls his future self ‘Rich’, which is still far from ideal but helps Richie think of his older self like he’s a whole different person. He doesn’t want to grow up to be Rich, who’s uncool and underfoot in the house all day and looks kind of frazzled all the time, but still somehow snagged Eddie – and that blows Richie’s mind every time he thinks about it, because Eddie of the future is a fucking dream, handsome and smooth and all put together, and Richie can’t look at him without feeling like he’s going to burst into flames.

They sleep together, the Eddie and Richie of the future, in the same bed just down the hall. Sometimes Richie sneaks out of his room at night and stands there staring at the closed door of the master bedroom, fists clenched and heart in his throat as he wishes and hopes and wants.

 

The first time he overhears them having sex, it’s by complete accident.

It’s not like Richie doesn’t think about it – it’s on his mind all the time, every time he catches a glimpse of that closed bedroom door, of Eddie’s hand on Rich’s shoulder, all the years of efforts to stop himself thinking about Eddie that way gone down the drain in days. He thinks about it every time Eddie’s shirt rides a little too high over his hips, every time he stumbles into the kitchen in the morning to find Rich staring into a coffee mug. His face burns up in flames and he has to turn away, self-conscious, and he prays that at least Eddie doesn’t know how often he thinks about it. Rich is a lost battle. He can’t hide from himself.

He wakes up when it’s still pitch-dark outside. It’s his sixth day in the future, and Richie’s cold and thirsty, goosebumps on his arms from kicking off his blanket in his sleep. He stumbles to the bathroom and rinses his face and eyes with cool water, but he never liked the taste of tap water to drink. He thinks longingly of the pitcher of filtered water in the kitchen, the cartoons of juice in the fridge. Feet bare, he pushes the door open.

Richie holds his breath as he tiptoes lightly down the corridor, feeling the cold of the hardwood floor. Maybe he should’ve put socks on. The kitchen is down the hall but his feet take him the opposite way, standing in front of the mahogany door to the master bedroom. He stares in the half-darkness, blinking hazily, wanting badly to press the palm of his hand to the wood and push the door open.

Then he hears a laugh.

It’s a low rumbling sound, deep and soft, a male voice. Richie stiffens out of instinct, frozen in place.

“Oh, you’re so full of shit.”

Richie jumps back until his shoulder hits the wall, face burning up. That’s Eddie’s voice, older and smoother and confident. And the laugh, again, that has to be Rich– the whole time he’s been here he never heard his older self laugh so freely, unbridled and happy.

“I’m not– I’m serious!”

“Oh, you’re serious.”

Richie’s feels warm all over, heat creeping down his nape. Eddie’s voice is lazy and teasing, hoarse in a way that’s making his head spin just by listening to it. There’s a creaking noise like bedsprings, another deep laugh. Richie squirms in place.

“Let’s see it, c’mon, are you gonna–” And then a hissing sound, barely audible over the tense thumping of Richie’s own blood rushing in his ears.

He stands there, barely breathing, straining his ears in the dark. There’s a muffled groan and the rustling noise of someone shifting on a bed, that same rumbling laugh. Another groan, this time deeper and longer and tinged with something that gets Richie shuddering against the wall. A wet, sticky, squelching sound.

“That’s good, baby, you’re so good,” Eddie’s saying, and Richie never thought anyone could sound like that. “Do that again, c’mon.”

Richie’s hand slides to the crotch of his pants before he can even think about it, half-hard cock pulsating with every frantic heartbeat in his throat. These are sex sounds. He’s listening to himself have sex, and he’s having sex with Eddie. Richie’s shoulders thump against the wall. He doesn’t know if he’s going to throw up or come in his underwear, and he bites his lip and his skin tingles, itching and hot, wanting to be touched.

“Like that, sweetheart?” he hears Rich say, amused and smug, a dangerous edge in his voice. “What if I– hey!”

“Stop talking.”

“Yeah, okay, I’m– fuck, okay.”

Another moan, that filthy wet sound that gets Richie’s toes curling over the slippery floor. He grips his fingers tight around the hard outline of his dick, bucking up into his hand.

At home, when Richie jerks off, he always tries to keep quiet. The more turned on he gets the more he starts thinking about things he shouldn’t – Eddie, of course, but also Stan’s smile sometimes, and Mike’s hands, and the good-looking older men in the clothes catalogs his mom gets at home, and Richie looks at their handsome faces and wants terrible things. He gets himself off with his face turned into the mattress, hips rocking hastily against the bed and hand pumping between his legs, rough and rushed. Sometimes he shoves a pillow down between his thighs and humps jerkily against it until his face burns, sweating and burning with want until he comes all over his hand and his head is clear again.

This is nothing like that. The sounds are loud and obscene; Richie stands there, jaw clenched, eyes closed, hands trembling with nerves and white-hot arousal. It’s a familiar feeling, to be this curious and aroused and ashamed of it, cheeks burning as he rubs at his dick through his pants.

“Eddie, Eddie,” Rich whines, high and breathless, like all the forbidden dreams Richie has ever had. His heart feels like it’s going to burst. “Baby, Eds, please.”

“C’mon, just let me– I don’t mind if you–”

“Yeah?”

“Scoot over a bit, c’mon.”

Harsh breaths and urgent noises, the loud sound of Richie’s breathing. He rubs helplessly at his cock over his clothes, feeling the wetness in his underwear, itching with the urge to slip his hand inside.

“Come on, Rich, scoot up a bit, I’m gonna – I want to come on your face.”

That does it. Richie whimpers, slamming his hand over his mouth just in time, cock jerking against his palm. He turns on his heels and rushes to his bedroom as quickly as he can manage, footsteps heavy on the floor, still rubbing his heavy dick through his clothes, Eddie’s voice in his ears. I want to come on your face. That’s disgusting, depraved. He swallows deep in his parched throat.

He turns his key in the lock and throws himself over the bed, pushing his pants and underwear down his hips, cock jutting out rock-hard.

Richie thinks, again, about taking Eddie’s dick in his mouth. He licks his lips just thinking about Eddie’s cock, full and heavy, the smell of it, his fingers digging into Eddie’s thighs. His mouth waters at the thought and Richie swallows, sucking saliva into his mouth just to hear the suction sound. It’s loud against his heartbeat, wet and filthy – he groans. His right hand’s pumping at his dick, up the shaft and tighter on the downstroke; he uses his left to thumb at his cockhead, smearing wetness around the tip.

Then he raises his left hand to his mouth and slides two fingers past his lips, just to see what it feels like to be filled up like this, sucking on his fingers until his cheeks hollows and he’s swallowing around the salty taste of his own pre-come, eyes closed, hissing and squirming, wondering what Eddie would taste like. He jerks off in a frenzy, kicking off the sheets in his unmade bed, whimpering softly just to feel the vibration around his fingers. He pushes another finger past his wet lips, spreading them open to stretch the corners of his mouth, pushing all three of his fingers down on his tongue until it feels strange and uncomfortable and it gets weird to breathe, and that shouldn’t turn him on more but it does.

I want to come on your face. The thought of Eddie saying that to him makes him dizzy beyond belief. He thinks about his Eddie back home – he can’t picture him saying that, but maybe he would, maybe he’d be into it now that Richie knows what he’s going to grow up into. With a sudden jolt, Richie wonders what this Eddie looks like naked. He’s taller, his chest broader, and maybe there’ll be dark hairs there, like the guys in the underwear ads he used to stare at when no one could see him. He thinks about Eddie’s thighs and his shoulders, and Eddie’s cock –  Richie whimpers. There’s spit all over his fingers and chin and his cock is wet and leaking in his hand, thighs trembling, and Richie doesn’t even know who he’s fantasising about anymore, Eddie as he’s always known him or the Eddie one bedroom over, handsome and fit with the strange scar and the familiar eyes, who drives a sleek car and wears suits and groans low in his throat when he’s about to come. He thinks about getting messed up like that, for Eddie – wet hot come on his face, the taste of it in his lips. His fingers tighten around his cock, abdomen clenching.

He’s going to come, he thinks, clearly, right before it happens. He squeezes his cock and muffles a groan around his fingers, face half-turned into the pillow against the onslaught of obscene images in his mind. He shudders when he comes, half-sobbing, feeling overheated and alone and hungry like never before in his life. Then he licks his fingers clean, squirming in shame and disgust and arousal, wrung out and content.

 

The days that follow drag slow and awkward, hard in every possible sense of the word.

It’s torture. Richie can’t even catch a glimpse of Eddie without his mouth going dry and his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, consumed by guilt and dizzying arousal and the terrible burning certainty that Eddie would look back at him and he would know.

He’s certain that Rich does. He always has that half-amused gaze when their eyes meet, looking at Richie like he knows everything he’s ever thought in his life and thinks it’s all a big fat joke. He smiles at him from the corner of his mouth and keeps calling him ‘kid’, which is incredibly fucking annoying and exactly the kind of thing Richie himself would do. It’s uncomfortable to be faced with his future when his future is staring right back, sarcastic and unpredictable – he’s not sure he likes what he’s looking at, but he could do much worse. Future Rich’s got a nice house and a better pair of glasses than Richie currently does, and whatever job he does that lets him stay in bed until well past ten if he wants to. He’s got Eddie.

Richie doesn't see much of Eddie, and that’s probably for the best. Unlike Rich, Eddie always leaves early for his job, and when he returns he’s dressed in pressed slacks and a shirt that’s always wrinkled and unbuttoned after hours at work, and Richie can’t look at him without making a complete fool of himself. Unlike Rich, Eddie’s kind enough to let it go, without even a look or a meaningful scoff. It’s kind of weird, actually, how this Eddie doesn’t tease him at all, and Richie doesn’t know if he should feel pathetically grateful for it or hide away to sulk in his room.

He ends up in his room a lot. He’s not supposed to go out by himself lest he gets lost but, on the bright side, he’s got a huge television and about thirty years’ worth of comics to read through, which he reads on a thin large screen-thing right out of Star Trek. Rich called it a tablet, and handed it off to him with a wry look and an admonishment to not watch porn on it. That made Richie’s face burn like nothing ever before, red-hot shame shooting up his spine. He grabbed the tablet thing with shaky hands, unable to meet his own knowing eyes, and ran to his bedroom with his tail between his legs.

He hasn’t even tried to look for porn. He wouldn’t know where to begin – he hardly even knows what a porn video is like, he can barely imagine it, but he still ends up jerking off a lot. He does it several times a day, in between all the reading and the moping and watching movies on Rich’s tablet thing. In the morning in the shower, sometimes around lunch if he’s bored, in the afternoon right before he knows Eddie is going to be home for work because he can’t look at him in his stupid dark suits and stupid ties without popping the most awkward boner of his life.

Every evening he shows up for dinner and manages to keep himself distracted asking dumb questions about the future, whatever the fuck Eddie does at his mysterious job, if they’re any closer to sending him back, and tries very hard to actually listen. He stares at Eddie’s shirtsleeves rolled up over his forearms as he washes the dishes, and he can feel Rich’s eyes on him, like burning. He traces the square edge of Rich’s stubbled jaw with his eyes, watches his stupid large fingers twist around a tablecloth. He watches Rich watch Eddie and he watches Eddie stare back, mouth going soft as he does. He watches and he aches for something that isn’t his yet, and then he goes back to his room and throws himself on the bed, hugging the pillow, craving touch. He sleeps and he dreams and he wakes up, hard and aching and alone.

Sometimes Eddie and Rich go out together, like a date night, and while Richie enjoys having space to himself the thought of what they might be doing sends his mind into overdrive. They’ve done it three or four times in the two weeks he’s been here, and one night Richie heard them return very late, footsteps in the hallway and laughter and the sound of the shower, and the next day he  found a card from a hotel in Brooklyn on the living room coffee table. Rich catches him blinking as he puts two and two together–mercifully, he doesn’t say anything, but Richie’s cheeks flush hot and he rushes back to his bedroom, mind whirring. There’s something sordid about the thought of booking a hotel room just to go fuck in it, and he can’t stop wondering if it was a date thing or a sex thing, if one of them thought it would be romantic or if they just wanted to get loud away from their surprise guest.

Once, when they’re both out of the house, Richie goes snooping into the master bedroom. He’s been there a couple of times, when Eddie gave him a tour of the whole place and when Rich showed him the shelf where he keeps all his old paperbacks he thought Richie might like and, honestly, his future self is not too bad when Richie really thinks about it.

Both times he’s been in here he never looked around too hard, feeling awkward and intimidated by the crushing weight of all the revelations cascading down on him, fiddling with his glasses and trying very, very hard to not look at the bed. Now he goes in determined–he doesn’t even know what he’s looking for, not really, but he opens up drawers and closet doors, throw himself on the stupidly large bed then spends ten whole minutes smoothing creases out of the duvet. He runs the back of his fingers over the smooth silk of Eddie’s work ties, the polished leather in the shoe rack. He opens a drawer in the nightstand and slams it shut immediately, cheeks flaming. He tries on one of Rich’s shirts and watches the cloth pool around his shoulders in the mirror, wonders what it’d be like to fill that up so much that the fabric stretches over his arms, walking around taking up all that space.

Then he puts everything back as it was and slinks off, going back to his room and pretending to read something by the time the both of them get back. Richie lies down on the carpet on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, and stares down at the pages without really seeing them. He misses home so much that he feels it like a hole in his soul–he wants to go out and see his friends and not feel quite so out of his depth anymore; he misses his mother making him breakfast and biking to school every morning and doing calculus homework sitting on the bathroom floor between second and third period because he totally forgot they were even due. But he hates the idea of Derry, how scared it makes him, how he always walks looking behind his shoulder and how much he hates the person he is there. At least, he muses hazily, maybe he’s got half a chance with Eddie when he gets back. Maybe they can talk a bit and see what happens. Maybe things are looking up.

 

The next Saturday, Eddie gets a call. His sleek rectangular phone with the bright screen lits up nosily, and whatever he reads on there makes him frown and look at Richie with furrowed brows and a worried mouth. Next thing he knows, Rich’s standing up and announcing he’s going out, and then he throws Richie a long look and says, “You’re coming along, kid, come on.”

“Stop calling me kid,” Richie rebukes, the way he always does, and Rich rolls his eyes at him and says that he’s forty-one, and everyone under twenty-five gets called kid whether they want it or not. “Get changed, come on. We’re going out for a while.”

Richie is not stupid. He knows he’s getting kicked out so that Eddie can talk about him with whatever Loser was on the other end of the phone, because Rich and Eddie discussed it between themselves as soon as he showed up and decided that Richie really shouldn’t find out more about the future than what he can already guess just by staying with them. He can see the logic in that, begrudgingly, so he goes to change his shoes and allows himself to get distracted, because he’s been in Future New York for sixteen days and he can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he’s actually been out of the house.

He remembers coming here with his parents the summer after tenth grade, decades in the past but not long enough ago for Richie that he feels a particular desire to do all the touristy shit all over again. Besides, he admits to himself reluctantly, maybe his future self is cooler to spend time with than Maggie and Went. They get lunch and go watch a movie that Richie can barely follow, so impressed he is with how cool everything looks on the big screen.

“I guess you’re not actually that bad,” he tells Rich as they’re on the way home, just to see how he’s going to react. The look he gets in return makes it clear he’s being read like an open book, and he doesn’t mind it as much as he used to, now.

“High praise,” Rich says wryly. “Keep buttering me up, maybe next time I’ll get Eddie to show you around.”

“No!” It tumbles out of his mouth too quickly. “No, you don’t really–”

“Kid. It’s okay.” Rich gives him a meaningful look. “I get it.”

“No. No, I mean.” His tongue’s awkward in his mouth, clumsy and heavy. “Really, it’s fine. I–it’s better like this.”

Rich barks out a laugh. “Oh. Oh. Yeah, no, wouldn’t want to make things too awkward for you–”

“Yeah, fuck you too,” Richie mutters under his breath.

“– But for what it’s worth, you know, it’s not like Eddie minds. He thinks you’re very cute.” He ignores Richie’s glare. “I think he’s having the time of his life. He’s getting an ego trip with the way you act around him and that’s pretty cute.”

“I don’t ‘act’–”

“You do,” Rich cuts him off, easily. “I get it, really, it’s fine.” Then he laughs again. “You wanna talk about something else?”

“Yes please,” Richie says fervently. 

“Great. So, look, I get that you have bad tastes and no frame of reference, but that movie you just lost your shit at, that was a shit fucking movie, you know? Like, I get it looks cool, but come on–”

Richie listens to himself criticize his own taste all the way home, and that evening he’s emboldened enough that he doesn’t disappear immediately to his room just because Eddie’s around. Instead, he sits on the living room couch, flipping through an old book of Rich’s that’s actually pretty cool. He has about one hundred pages left when he goes to bed, feeling way less jumpy and self-conscious than he has any other day of his stay here so far.

The next morning he wakes up late. He’s feeling lazy, restless, after lunch he finishes up his book and naps half-heartedly until he wakes up with a terrible taste in his mouth, feeling disoriented. He brushes his teeth and stumbles out of his room, pacing down the length of the corridor, and this time when his feet take him to the master bedroom he just pushes the door open. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing, bored and out of sorts as he feels, so he ends up checking out Richie’s bookshelf behind the door, neck craning to glance at the titles.

Richie doesn’t hear the footsteps until it’s too late. The door jolts open, and he jumps behind it before he can think – it’s not like he was doing anything that he shouldn’t, but still. Embarrassed, heart pounding, he holds his breath.

Then he hears the noises, and he wants to sink to the bottom of the earth.

It’s both of them, Rich and Eddie, and they’re making out. He can hear it perfectly, just barely inches away, and at any point now one of them is going to shut the door closed and they’re going to see him there, and then he’s probably going to spontaneously combust.

He can hear ragged breathing, clothes rustling, a soft moan. He should clear his throat loudly and jump out and apologise profusely and leave but instead he’s frozen in place, paralysed like a statue and listening to his future self sucking a hickey into Eddie’s throat, or at least that’s what it sounds like. Cold sweat pools down his back, and the worst thing is that he’s actually getting turned on hiding like this, listening to those low groans and Eddie’s voice calling his name.

“Baby, you’re so pretty,” Rich whispers, hoarse. “Fuck, I wanna fuck your face.”

Richie yelps, jumping immediately out of his hiding place.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, arms held up in front of him like a shield. “Sorry, sorry, holy shit. I came to–uh, books? And then I didn’t–” He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes. They’re probably as horrified as he feels, maybe disgusted. He stares at the floor so hard he might dig a hole in it and jump in. “I didn’t know how–I’m just gonna go away now, just don’t–”

“Kid,” Rich calls after him, one second too late. “Kid, hey, it’s not–”

“Richie, hey.” There are footsteps after him, a gentle hand on his arm. Richie wants to shrug it off, but instead he lets himself be touched, shoulders slouched, embarrassed stare still trailed to the floor.

“Hey, look,” Eddie’s saying. “It’s not that bad, alright. I mean, kind of awkward, but. We really thought you were sleeping.”

He sounds guilty, and that only makes Richie feel worse. “I was sleeping,” he rushes to explain, “I just woke up, I was gonna...”

Rich stops him. “Kid, it’s fine, really. We don’t have to talk about it, you know.”

“‘Kay,” he says, still turned so he doesn’t have to look at them. “Uhm, I’m just gonna…”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Richie, wait.” Eddie’s voice freezes him mid-step. “Look, will you just… come over here?”

“Eddie, I don’t think–”

Shh.” There’s the noise of someone sitting down on the bed, and Richie wants so badly to turn around and drink in the sight of Eddie like this. “I mean, if you want? You could stay here a bit.”

“What the fuck, Eddie.”

Shut it. Look, you don’t have to feel embarrassed – I mean, that was awkward, but you don’t have to feel bad because you’ve had thought about–”

“Eddie, I don’t think–”

“Rich, I swear to fuck. Look, we can talk about it, if you want…”

The last thing Richie wants is to talk about sex while Eddie’s in the room. Talking about sex to Eddie. He feels hot all over and his voice shakes as he says, “I’m good.”

“Are you sure–”

“Jeez,” Rich cuts him off. “Eddie, let him go. He just wants to go to his room and jack off, okay?”

Richie freezes.

There it is, what they all know and no one’s said out loud till now. He’s reeling, angry and ashamed and still half-hard in his pants, and he turns around to throw Rich a venomous look over his shoulder.

It’s a mistake. He hates the way Rich looks right now, with mussed hair and his shirt in disarray, glasses askew and smug. He’s jealous of his own self and angry, he doesn’t know if he wants to be Rich or march up to him and–

“Kid, ‘m just teasing,” Rich says, shaking him from his thoughts. His lips are red and spit-wet, his brows furrowed. “Look, we don’t have to – we can just forget about this. Or we can talk if you want, some other time?” He gives Richie a bright obnoxious grin. “Unless you wanna stay and watch.”

Richie whimpers.

He slaps his hand over his mouth, but it’s too late. His lips are warm; his whole face is burning hot, vision swimming. He sways in place, feeling like he’s just been punched in the gut by the arousal that’s threatening to overwhelm him right now.

“I’m just gonna,” he croaks. He can’t believe he gave himself away like this, because of a joke. He sees Rich staring at him through narrowed eyes, Eddie’s stunned expression. “‘m gonna go. Please.”

“Come here.”

It’s Eddie, unfairly kind. The last thing Richie needs  right now is Eddie letting him down gently. He shakes his head minutely. “I don’t–”

“Please.”

His feet take him to the edge of the bed before he can think better of it. Eddie’s hand comes to lie down his shoulder, and Richie doesn’t know where to look – he can’t look at Eddie’s face right now, self-conscious and mortified; he can’t close his eyes. He can’t look down to with the way Eddie’s sitting, spread legs framing his crotch directly in Richie’s line of sight. When Richie swallows, his mouth feels dry.

Then Eddie says, “What if I kissed you right now?”

“Oh, so that’s it,” Rich says. “That’s what you’re doing?”

Richie stands there in place, too confused to react. He feels like he’s slipping away, anchored only by Eddie’s touch, only conscious of his body where Eddie’s warmth is sipping through the layers of his clothes. He looks to Eddie’s handsome face and finds him frowning slightly, rolling his eyes in Rich’s direction.

“Rich, look me in the eyes and tell me that in his place, you wouldn’t–”

“Fine, fine.” Rich throws his arms up in the air. He throws himself to sit on an armchair in the corner, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Whatever. Go for it.”

“Uhm,” Richie says.

“Hey.” Eddie pats his hand gently. “So, I thought – since you’re, like, you’re him.” He points with his thumb to Rich, still staring between the two of them from his spot in the corner. “And we’ve talked about what it was like, at your age, for the both of us. Do you want me to do it? Kiss you?”

“Uhm,” Richie says, again. It’s like his brain has shut down; he can’t believe that he went within minutes to the terrible fear Eddie would hate him for spying on him to Eddie offering to kiss him.

Licking his lips, he nods.

Eddie’s hand moves from his shoulder to his neck, brushing at his jaw. The touch is like sparks; Richie wants to fold into it, let himself crumble.

“You have to say it.”

He stares into Eddie’s big expressive eyes, feeling dazed. “What?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

His tongue feels heavy and unwieldy in his mouth. Richie clears his throat. “I’m–”

“I need you to say that you want this,” Eddie says, patient and infinitely stubborn. “Or I’m not gonna do it.”

Richie nods again. “Yeah, okay. Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Eddie, you smug little tyrant,” Rich calls out. And then, to Richie, “He’s getting off on this. He likes it when you beg.”

Oh. Richie registers this new information, knees buckling under the weight of it. A small smile crosses Eddie’s face, sharp and confident, and he touches Richie’s face again.

“I do like to hear you say it,” he admits. “But if you want me to stop you can just tell me, okay?”

“Yeah, no, I’m–” He draws in a breath. “I’m good. I want you to kiss me. Please.”

Eddie does. He cradles his warm hands around the sides of Richie’s face and draws him in, pressing his half-open mouth to Richie’s lips. He breathes sharply into it, almost a sob – his lips are tingling with it, and Eddie smells amazing, sharp and masculine and like everything Richie’s ever wanted. He’s never kissed anyone like this, wet tongue prying his lips open like Eddie’s doing right now, sucking on his bottom lip until Richie lets out a half-choked sob.

When Eddie pulls away, he shudders at the loss.

“Good?” Eddie asks, kind and wide-eyed and yeah, okay, more than a little smug.

Richie nods.

“Good,” Eddie says again. “Uhm, d’you wanna–”

“Yes,” Richie says immediately. He doesn’t even know what Eddie’s asking, doesn’t care. Anything.

Eddie chuckles a laugh. “Yeah, okay. I was going to ask if you wanted to do something else.”

Richie’s heartbeat is thumping in his ears. “Something…” His voice breaks. He swallows. “Something like what?”

“You should blow him.”

Richie jumps. He almost forgot about Rich, sitting there in his chair and watching everything, staring hungrily like a shark. He’s got another of those sharp knowing smiles as he returns Richie’s gaze, taking in Eddie’s hand on Richie’s waist, Richie’s kiss-bitten lips.

Eddie lets out a small humming noise. This close, their breaths are mingling together. He traces Richie’s wet bottom lip with his thumb. “Is that something you want?”

“I didn’t mean you, Eds.” Richie watches his older self smile lazily, the way his throat works as he swallows and nods with his jaw in Richie’s direction. “I mean, he should blow you. He’s never gonna ask, but he’s dying to.”

Richie doesn’t mean to whimper – it just happens, just like the hot spark of arousal that’s coiling in his stomach, the way his dick goes hard as a rock just at the thought of it. He clenches his thighs on reflex, hissing as his cock rubs against the edge of the mattress. He watches Eddie’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he blinks, squirming in place, hyperaware of the feeling of Eddie’s thumb against his mouth.

“Oh,” Eddie says. “You want to?” He does the thing with his thumb again, pressing it down against Richie’s lip, sliding it up into his mouth until the tip of it hits the barrier of Richie’s teeth. Richie’s face has been flushed pink from the moment he found himself in this room, but he can feel it burning now, hotter than the worst fever he’s ever head. He feels naked, all of him on display, like every dirty fantasy he’s ever had in his life hanging bright and lurid over his head.

“Kiss him again,” Rich urges from where he’s sprawled on his chair, and Eddie does it immediately, using his wet thumb to tilt up Richie’s chin as he kisses into his mouth. It’s nice; Richie stands there and savours the feeling of Eddie kissing him, Eddie’s tongue sliding into his mouth, making him whimper, Eddie’s touch a solid anchor as his own arms flay uselessly at his side.

“Eds, come on,” Rich scoffs. Richie hears him stand up, soft footsteps getting closer. “Kiss him for real.”

This time, when Eddie kisses him, Richie shivers. Eddie’s hand on his chin is holding him still as Eddie brushes kisses against the corner of his lips, his throat, the side of his jaw. Richie trembles against it, soft noises spilling from his lips, and Eddie’s other hand brushes up his neck and over itself over his nape, tangles through his hair and pulls – Richie groans, fingers curling at his sides, his cock full and hard where he’s rutting against the edge of the bed.

“Can I,” he asks into Eddie’s mouth. “Can I–take your shirt off?”

Eddie pulls back, breath brushing against Richie’s wet lips. “Sure.”

Richie blinks past his awestruck haze as he watches Eddie reach back behind himself and pull his shirt off. He drinks in the sight of him, nicely muscled shoulders and the powerful curve of his neck, and he wants – Richie doesn’t know what he’s doing when he leans in closer to put his mouth there, kissing and licking, sucking into the skin. 

He wants to touch and so he does, trailing the palm of his hand down the curve of Eddie’s shoulders, the plans of his back, feeling unfamiliar fuzz of light hairs under his touch. He likes the shape of this new Eddie, the taste of his mouth, the rough sounds of his breathing as he licks into Richie’s mouth. Eddie’s hand is on his lower back, right above his ass, like he knows Richie’s hard and he’s telling him to go for it, to thrust his dick against the solid shape of Eddie’s thigh and make himself come like that. Richie’s knee sneaks between Eddie’s spread legs without even meaning to, and he can feel the shape of Eddie’s cock against his thigh, humping him in time with the rhythm of Eddie’s breathing in his ear.

“Take off your pants.”

Richie throws back his head to see to see Rich staring down at the both of them, looking with darkened eyes as Eddie twists over the bed to kick off his pants down his thighs. He’s wearing boxers underneath, and Richie holds his breath and stares as Eddie moves to slip those off too, his dick half-hard and curved to the side, the cockhead flushed dark, his heavy balls pressing against the waistband of his boxers. He swallows.

“You sure you want–”

“Yes,” Richie says, immediately. He feels like he’s drooling just looking at it – he wants it in his mouth right now, wants to feel the taste of it and the weight on his tongue, wants to feel like he’s choking when it gets too much.

His fingers curl into the fabric of his own pants – he’s afraid to take those off, too nervous to expose himself even more than he already has, worried that the moment the air of the room brushes his bare dick he’s gonna go off like a rocket. Eddie’s fingers tilt his chin up again, his touch gentle.

“Hey.” He leans in to kiss Richie again, and Richie closes his eyes and hums into it. He can’t believe he’s gone all his life without getting to kiss anyone like this, and now he’s being kissed so deeply and tenderly – Eddie is kissing him, over and over, so much that he’s dizzy with it.

“Look, so. You’ve never done this before, right?”

Somewhere to the right, Rich barks out a laugh. “Eddie, really. Of course he’s never done it before.”

“Do you have to talk?” Richie snaps at him, voice charged with the weight of his nerves. He digs his nails into his palm as he glares at his older self, who just laughs again like he’s trying to make Richie mad on purpose. Faced with himself, Richie has to admit it – he’s really fucking annoying.

He watches Rich sit down on the bad, down at the corner of the bed, far away enough that he has to stretch out to reach Eddie and tug him in for a slow kiss.

“Do you want me to jerk you off?” Rich whispers into Eddie’s mouth, loud enough for Richie to hear. “You want me to jerk you off and get you all hard and ready, and then you’re gonna teach the kid here how to suck cock?”

Even as he’s kissing Eddie he turns his head to give Richie a challenging look, like he’s daring him to say something about Rich talking too much. He’s doing it on purpose, that much is clear by now, and it’s working – Richie’s annoyed at his older self and frustrated and unspeakably turned on, too worked up to remember to feel shame. He watches Rich’s large hand pump Eddie’s gorgeous dick, taking note of the way he does it, the flick of his wrist on the upstroke, the way his other hand slides down to cup at Eddie’s balls. The sounds Eddie makes as he groans into it, eyelids falling closed as he bites down on Rich’s lower lip.

Richie watches and waits and wants, hands trembling with the urge to touch, cock hard and wet and leaking into his underwear. He presses the palm of his hand between his legs to relieve some of the aching pressure, hissing to himself.

“I think that’s enough,” Rich says, pulling off Eddie’s mouth with some reluctance. Eddie smiles at him and pats his cheek, and Richie’s heart aches at the sight.

“So, are you alright with…” Rich frowns slightly as he adjusts his glasses with the tip of his finger, the way Richie does. “I mean it, kid, if you wanna do something else, I’m sure Eddie would–” Next to him on the bed, Eddie nods. “–or I could, I mean, I figure if it’s you and I, anything we could do it’d just be like jerking off–”

Richie barks out a laugh despite himself. At some point, the nerves and the crippling awkwardness all spilled out of him, leaving nothing but want – he hardly ever feels nervous anymore, honestly. Just so hard that it’s gotten kind of painful, and really, really wants Eddie’s dick in his mouth right now.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I’m– really, I want to.”

“Yeah, bet you do,” Rich says, because he’s still an asshole.

“Ignore him,” Eddie says. “Hey, look, come here. How’d you wanna do this? I could just lie down if you want? I think it’s more comfortable, but kind of tricky if you’ve never done it before. Or you could– move over here, get on your knees?”

“That,” Richie says, so embarrassingly fast his face probably flushes all over again. “That, I wanna–”

“That’s fine,” Eddie says with a little laugh. “Here.”

He kisses Richie again before pushing down on his shoulders, and Richie drops to his knees so fast that his head’s spinning, mouth watering like he can’t wait anymore. The head of Eddie’s cock is wet now, red and slick, tender at the touch when he brushes his fingers over it. Eddie makes an inviting noise, thighs shifting, looking down at him with clear eyes.

He bows his head, fingers wrapped around Eddie’s cock, licking his lips as he feels it twitch in his hold.

“Lick the head,” Rich says, the words washing through him and making him dizzy. Richie does, tightening his fingers around the root of Eddie’s dick so he can keep it still as he swirls his tongue against the head. The taste is strong and kind of odd, but not unwelcome – it’s Eddie, he reminds himself, he’s finally doing what he’s wanted all his life, and even if it’s not his Eddie he still gets to do this to him and learn what his Eddie would like. He presses the flat of his tongue against the slit, relishing the way Eddie moans at the touch. He does it again and Eddie presses up into it, thigh muscles trembling under Richie’s palm.

“Yeah, like that,” Rich says. “Open your mouth, just suck on the tip.”

He does it, breathing through his nose and enjoying the sound of Eddie’s heavy breathing, the warm steadying touch of Eddie’s hand on his neck, sliding up to tug at his hair.

“Like that,” Rich urges. “He loves that, c’mon, do it again…” Richie doesn’t know if he’s talking to him or to Eddie, but he bends his head again and sucks Eddie’s cock into his mouth like he did to his own fingers the other night, hollowing out his cheeks, slurping up around it. He likes the hand in his hair, the twitching of Eddie’s thighs under his hand urging him on. The sharp scent of spit pooling from his mouth mingles with that of Eddie’s skin, the smell of sex in the air.

“You can use your hand on him, just jerk him off.” 

Richie nods, pumping at the shaft of Eddie’s cock, pressing his thumb flat against the twitching vein on the underside. He pulls back and dips his head lower to trace at it with his tongue, licking up the shaft. Eddie groans, tugging at his hair.

“That’s good,” Rich says, like he’s about to grade his cocksucking. “Try and get more of it into your mouth – not all of it, don’t worry. Use your hand. “

Richie presses the flat of his tongue against the underside of Eddie’s cockhead, basking in the moans he gets from that, then pulls back and swallows around Eddie’s dick, as much of it as he can take, until the tip of it hits the roof of his mouth and he has to pull back, choking slightly. Eddie lets out a muffled groan.

“Don’t be greedy,” Rich reprimands. “I know you love having a cock in your mouth – when I was your age I was gagging for it, but there’s no rush.”

The way he says it is doing things to him. Richie squirms on his knees, feeling inebriated by the words as much as by the heavy weight of Eddie’s cock on his tongue. There’s a familiar squelching sound to his right, and a muffled groan – Rich’s probably jacking off just watching this, he realises, and suddenly he feels hot and aware of his own neglected dick, hard and leaking in his pants. He wants to touch himself desperately, but he can’t get to it right now, he needs his hands to get Eddie off. He shifts forward instead, cock pressing against Eddie’s bare shin to relieve some of the aching pressure, and he groans at how good it feels. That sets Eddie off, moaning in turn, hips jerking into Richie’s mouth.

“Eds, baby,” Rich urges. “You should tell him how his mouth feels. Tell him he’s doing well.”

Eddie mumbles something he can’t understand, brushing Richie’s hair back from his forehead with a soft touch, fingers knocking against the edge of his glasses.

“Louder,” Rich encourages. “He’s really into it. Looks like he’s about to come in his pants just from having your dick in his mouth. You know how I get,” his voice turns lower, dangerous. Richie squirms. “He’s worse, just look at him. Looks fucking blissed out just from slobbering all over your cock.”

Fuck,” Eddie says, echoing the thought in Richie’s mind. “You’re so good, Richie, hey, look at me.”

He does, staring up at Eddie with his wet lips stretched around Eddie’s cock, his cheekbones streaked red, drool pooling from his mouth down to his fingers, damp hair sticking up with sweat. Eddie’s face is flushed, eyes wide, and Richie groans just looking at him, dizzy with the euphoria of seeing Eddie undone and knowing he got him that way.

“You’re doing so well.” Eddie’s hand is still playing with his hair, his leg pressing up between Richie’s thighs, against his cock. He’s so close– he thinks about coming in his pants just from blowing Eddie, and he has to close his eyes, overcome and dizzy. “I’m gonna, okay. I’m close. You wanna pull off?”

Richie thinks about it – he pumps Eddie’s cock with his hand in time with the flicker of his tongue against the shaft, hums into it just to make Eddie groan, and Richie looks up at him and thinks he wants all of him. He shakes his head no.

“Of course you don’t.” Rich’s voice washes over him warm and condescending, sickeningly sweet. “Come on, kid let’s see it.”

Richie can tell Eddie’s close from the erratic twitching of his hips and the soft noises he’s making, louder and louder, sounding just like he did that night when Richie had been on the other side of the door. He swirls his tongue  and feels the sharp bitter tang of pre-come, and maybe he should mind what he’s about to do, but he can’t when it’s Eddie. He pulls back enough that he can press the tip of his tongue into the slit of Eddie’s cock, jerking him off with his hand like he saw Rich doing earlier, and he knows he did well when Eddie’s hand tightens in his hair and his legs go stiff under Richie’s touch, and then Eddie’s choking out a groan as his hips buck up into Richie’s mouth.

He wasn’t ready for it. Richie sputters and coughs, pulling back sharply, his scalp stinging as he tugs against Eddie’s hold. There’s come dripping down his chin when he pulls away, come in his nose and on his cheeks, tiny warm dollops clinging to his face, over his glasses. He blinks, shuddering.

Then Richie licks his lips. He’s kneeling there at Eddie’s feet with Eddie’s come all over his face, and his dick is harder than it’s ever been in his life.

“Sorry,” he croaks. His voice sounds wrecked.

“Shit, no, I’m sorry,” Eddie says. “Do you want– can I get you some water?

Richie swallows. “If you have it.”

“Sure,” Eddie says, standing up quickly, and Richie sways on his knees and presses his forehead against the edge of the mattress.

“Hey kid, come over here.”

He blinks up to see Rich staring down at him, sitting splayed on a corner of the mattress with his hands propped up behind him. His shirt’s all pulled up and his pants are down to his knees, and he clearly was jerking off – he’s rock hard, his cock red and leaking at the tip, incredibly familiar.

“Come here,” he insists, sounding totally sincere for once. Richie’s knees feel strange when he stands up, and he lets Rich grab him by the wrist and tug him closer to sit next to him on the bed.

“Was it good?”

Richie blinks again, then remembers that it’s glasses that are smudged. Annoyed, he wipes the lens with a finger, but that only manages to smear the mess further. He swallows, smacking his lips, still wet and bitter with come.

“Yeah,” he says, slowly. “Yeah, I’m – I liked it. A lot.” It’s hard to find the right word, like all of his wit got fucked out of him with the drag of Eddie’s cock through his lips. Unexpectedly, Rich smiles, giving a small nod that looks very self-satisfied.

“I figured,” he says, and then he’s grabbing Richie’s face to kiss him deeply, like Eddie had done earlier, his tongue licking firmly into Richie’s mouth, sucking on his wet lips, then pulling back to kiss all over his come-stained chin. Richie shivers into the touch, feeling overwhelmed and more aroused than ever – kissing Rich feels so good, even better than kissing Eddie had been, and he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s gotten the hang of it or because Rich knows better how he likes to be kissed.

He lets Rich kiss his lips and his face and his neck, and when Rich’s hand slides down between their bodies he presses up against it insistently, grinding his aching cock against Rich’s touch. His other hand is thumbing at Richie’s cheek, cleaning it up with his fingers and pushing them against Richie’s lips for him to suck at, and afterwards Rich kisses him again, licking the taste of Eddie’s come from his mouth.

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathes behind them, and Richie turns around – Eddie is naked but for his socks, and that’s such a stupid Eddie thing to do, and he looks so damn good that Richie can’t believe he isn’t dreaming.

“I got water,” Eddie says, uselessly, unscrewing the lid and throwing back his head to drink straight from the bottle. Tiny drops of water fall from Eddie’s lips and down his neck, and Richie wants to lick them all up. He watches Eddie’s throat bob, eyes rapt.

After he’s drunk a few sips, Rich kisses him again.

“I’m gonna get you off,” he says, and Richie nods immediately, feeling like he’s about to burst. He feels like he should’ve come hours ago, balls heavy and full, cock jutting out wet against his stomach as soon as he slides off his pants and wet underwear. He lets takes off his glasses, too, messy and dirty as they are, and lets Rich manoeuvre him to sit on his lap, with his knees folded under himself and his forehead pressed against Rich’s shoulder.

“Eddie’s gonna watch, alright?” Rich mouths into the skin of his throat, like Richie could ever say no to anything when Eddie’s involved. “It’s his turn to get a show.”

He whispers it into Richie’s ear, warm breath against the side of his face, and Richie’s suddenly very aware of his position – in Rich’s lap with his legs spread open, his back and ass on display, his red flushed cock leaking against Rich’s stomach.

“Are you–” He can’t even say it. He’s never done this to himself, even with all the times he thought about it, and now he’s so turned on he thinks he’s going to die and Rich’s large hand is skimming down his back, fingers wet with lube, head spinning and limbs trembling with anticipation.

“I’m going to.” Rich kisses his jaw and it itches with the prickle of stubble; Richie presses up into it, eyes closed. “I’m going to finger you open and you’re gonna love it.” He says it with absolute certainty, like he knows Richie better than he’s ever known himself, and Richie believes him. He lets himself be guided like Rich wants him to, arching his back just so, rolling his hips up so he can get some friction rubbing his cock against Rich’s half-hard one, and every time he pushes back down the rim of his hole catches on Rich’s wet fingers, working him open.

The touches are teasing at first, circling him gently, massaging the soft skin there until he’s primed for more, fluttering with anticipation, and every teasing brush of the pad of Rich’s finger against his wet hole makes him wish he’d just push inside. He shudders when Rich presses inside of him – the feeling is unfamiliar and uncomfortable, but his cock his leaking steadily from how worked up he is, and then Rich does something with his hand and curls his finger just so and Richie yelps.

“There.” He sounds insufferably fucking smug. “Like that, come on. Told you you’d like it.”

“Not as much as you like it,” Eddie says. Richie jumps – Eddie has been so silent he forgot he was watching at all, and now the thought of it fills him with a strange pleasant warmth.

Above him, Rich laughs. “Not as much as I do, fair.”

He pulls his finger away from a brief moment and Richie whines despite himself, but when Rich’s hand gets back it’s even wetter, fingers drenched with lube. He’s patting softly over the outside of his hole and Richie clenches – his knees kind of hurt a bit when he pushes himself up to thrust his cock against Rich’s body, chasing the friction, and then he pushes down back against Rich’s hand wishing he was still inside him.

“I’m gonna give you two, alright?” Rich asks, and Richie’s head jerks with how fast he’s nodding. This time, when Rich’s fingers press inside of him it feels good right away, like sparks running up his spine, and Richie’s ready for it – he grits his teeth around a loud moan, hips jolting. Rich’s fingers are making noises inside of him, wet and filthy, and Richie can’t get enough of it, the squelch of Rich’s fingers dragging in and out of his hole, stretching him open, circling that spot inside of him until they flicker straight against it, making him whimper.

“I know you love it, you’re gonna like this so much,” Rich whispers, sucking marks into Richie’s neck as his fingers tap steadily inside of him. He’s close, he’s so fucking close

“I’m gonna–” His voice breaks. Rich makes a satisfied noise in his throat.

“Yeah, do it. Jerk yourself off, I want you to come like this. Spread open. Eddie’s watching, he’s gonna watch you come with something inside your ass–”

As soon as Richie wraps his hand around his dick, he knows he’s not going to last long at all. Rich’s fingers are pressing up mercilessly inside of him and he pumps his fist around his cock – once, twice, three times, and then he’s coming with a strangled moan all over Rich’s lap clenching around the fingers inside of him and fuck, that makes it so much better. He grasps his cock more tightly and grinds back against Rich’s hand like he never wants to let go of the pressure inside of him.

When Rich’s fingers slide out of him, he groans. He’s wrung out and dead tired, his thighs and abdomen sore with the aftermath of his orgasm and his ass uncomfortably wet and open, almost wishing for more. He blinks hazily as Rich jerks off with the hand that was just inside of him, still mouthing at his neck, coming in a warm spurt between their bodies. It’s messy and disgusting and he relishes in it, head spinning, empty hole clenching around nothing. He’s shuddering from the aftermath, overwhelmed, and looks up at Rich’s blurred face, wishing he had his glasses.

“There,” Rich whispers, patting at his shoulders as they both come down from their high. “I just saved you, like, at least five years of really bad sex trying to figure out what you like.”

Richie’s knees buckle when he tries to stand up.

“Oh?”

“Hey, here.” Rich’s hand on his shoulder steadies him. “That was a joke.”

“Is it, really?”

That’s Eddie’s voice; Richie turns in his direction just as Rich cracks a low laugh. “Okay, the bad sex definitely happened, but – one day it’s all gonna be fine, alright? I mean, for you. I’m doing pretty fine already.”

“Yeah,” Richie says, slowly. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“Okay, don’t be a smartass, kid. Do you want to take a shower? Wanna lie down for a bit?”

Richie thinks about it. “Can I stay here for a bit?”

“Sure,” Eddie says, just as Rich makes a noise of assent. “Sure, whatever you want. You can stay as long as you like.”