Ship; reddie

Smut

By ShowMeAHero on Ao3

"Goodnight?" Richie offers. Eddie frowns again. "...Unless?"

"Unless what?" Eddie asks. The two of them look at each other a beat longer before Richie forces himself to open his dry mouth and speak again.

"Unless... I don't know, did you want a drink, or something?" Richie asks.

~

When everybody finally decides to just go to bed and figure everything else out in the morning, Richie finds himself strangely bereft of the joy he'd felt so recently. He tries to remember what, exactly, was making him so happy.

Eddie shoves past him on the staircase just then, saying, "Can you fucking move, dickwad? Who the fuck stops in the middle of a staircase, Jesus Christ, get your fucking bag-"

Aha, Richie thinks, watching Eddie haul his suitcases up to the top landing and down the hall to his room. There he is. Joy himself.

Eddie looks back at him, then rolls his eyes and says, "Move, Richie, you fucking idiot."

Richie does as he's told, dragging his bag up the stairs just to watch it piss Eddie off. It works; Eddie's brow furrows as he glares at Richie's tread up the steps and past Eddie, to his room down the hall. They're not next to each other, which is probably for the best, because Richie does not plan to do any family-friendly activities in his room, and he'd prefer Eddie, specifically, not be the one who overhears those activities. Just in case.

"Goodnight?" Richie offers. Eddie frowns again. "...Unless?"

"Unless what?" Eddie asks. The two of them look at each other a beat longer before Richie forces himself to open his dry mouth and speak again.

"Unless... I don't know, did you want a drink, or something?" Richie asks. Eddie looks completely bewildered, like Richie asking him to get a drink is the weirdest thing that's happened in this entire fucking insane day, and that just makes Richie laugh. "Or not. That's fine-"

"No, I-" Eddie says, then stops. "No, I'd like a drink." He motions to his room, then says, "I'm- Can I-"

"No, yeah, I'll..." Richie jerks his thumbs towards his own door. He's not sure why he suddenly feels so awkward, but most of it is probably the fact that he's about to jerk off about Eddie before he goes and drinks with Eddie, and he has to hide all of that from Eddie. "I'm just gonna- I'll meet you downstairs?"

"Sure, yeah," Eddie says. He unlocks his door and slips inside in a flurry of angry muttered words and suitcases banged in the doorway. Eventually, though, he gets inside, and Richie hears his door click shut behind him; after a moment, the lock clicks, too. Richie raises an eyebrow before going into his own room.

He's pretty sure Eddie's using this time to- to take a shower, or call his wife, or book a plane the fuck out of here, or something. That's what they should all be doing, except Richie doesn't want to shower, he doesn't have a wife, and he's got a rental car he very much plans to drive until the tires are bald the second he sees Pennywise again. So, in lieu of any typical activity to do, Richie locks his own door, dumps his bag next to the bed, and sits down to dig his lube out of the side pocket.

There's nobody there to see him or hear him. Bill's room is to the right of Richie's, and Bev's is to the left; Ben's across the hall, with Eddie next to him, and Stan on Eddie's other side. Richie's not sure if everyone's present and accounted for, but he's also not sure how thick the walls are, so he's taking a gamble if he makes any noise at all. He flicks the overhead light back off in favor of the darkness.

Once he settles back in the bed, up against the shitty pillows, he sighs, shifting his shoulders, trying to relax himself. He undoes his pants and takes his dick out, already half-hard from his brief interaction with Eddie in the hallway, and starts stroking himself: slow at first, then harder, a little faster, as his cock fills up at the fucking image of Eddie's face behind his eyelids. He can't stop picturing him at the restaurant, the way he'd held his glass, the pull of his muscles in his forearms, the dark shape of his eyes, the sharp cut of his mouth, the width of his shoulders and the-

"Fuck," Richie groans, then tips his head back, trying to get a better angle. He shivers, then remembers how Eddie had looked taking a shot, the way his throat had moved, and, involuntarily, he says, lowly, "Eddie."

He freezes, his unmoving hand still wrapped around his dick as he listens for anyone in the hall. There's nothing. After a few more silent moments, he focuses back in. It doesn't take much, because he hasn't had sex in a while and he hasn't even jerked off in a few days, and he'd been hard all through dinner, just waiting for when he could get somewhere he could do exactly this.

Down the hall, there's a muffled sound that sounds like Eddie cursing, and then a stifled shout. Richie frowns, and he almost considers going to check on Eddie, except he's so hard now that it would be noticeable and probably make whatever had happened worse, especially since he probably just banged his elbow or something. When another minute passes and the only sound Richie hears is Eddie turning his shower on, he gets back to work; hearing Eddie curse had only made him more turned on, and the mere fucking concept of Eddie in the shower right now is almost enough to push Richie over the edge just on its own.

Richie muffles himself with his own hand, because he can't risk Eddie hearing him the next time, but he also can't help it when Eddie's name keeps spilling out of his mouth, just like it had when he'd done this the last time he was in Derry, before he'd moved out and forgotten everything. He's fucking the tight circle of his own fist, biting off broken variations on Eddie's name into his own palm, when someone knocks on his motherfucking door, though.

"What?" Richie demands, voice breaking slightly. There's a pause.

"You okay?" Bev asks.

"Yup, I'm all good, Bev, goodnight," Richie calls to her. There's a little huff of laughter on the other side of the door.

"Goodnight, Richie," Bev replies. She knocks shave-and-a-haircut on his door, then bangs two bits with her elbow before leaving. Richie groans, collapsing back against his pillows again. He nearly shrieks when there's another knock at the door.

"What now?" Richie asks desperately.

"I thought you wanted to get a fucking drink, you dickhead, let's go," Eddie says. Richie groans loudly. "Are you- What's wrong? Are you okay? What's- Why is your door locked-"

The doorknob rattles, and Richie panics, tucking his dick back into his pants as carefully as he can. He's so hard it fucking hurts, but he manages it, then fastens his pants again and gets up to answer the door before Eddie can pass out.

"Why did you lock the door?" Eddie demands. He looks up at Richie's hair, a crease between his eyes again. His hair is damp, and he's changed into soft clothes, a worn set of pajamas. Richie raises an eyebrow at him.

"I thought you wanted to go out?" Richie asks, instead of answering. Eddie thumps him on the arm, and it's just like they've always been.

"Answer my questions, dickwad."

"I'm assuming the same reason any normal human person locks their door, fuckface," Richie shoots back. "Did I miss the memo about Pajama Night at O'Henry's?"

"We're not going to fucking O'Henry's, they water down everything they serve," Eddie says. "There's a fucking bar downstairs, why would you want to go outside?"

Richie had forgotten about the bar downstairs, in all honesty, and their clerk's friendly exclamation to Help themselves! He glances mournfully backwards, then follows Eddie out into the hall, trying not to be too obvious about his aching erection. He's hoping Eddie's eye won't be drawn down at any point before he can will himself back to a less- less fucking aggressive position, but his dick is not small and he is very turned on.

"You look like I'm leading you to the motherfucking gallows," Eddie comments as they make their way downstairs. "This was your suggestion, by the way. I didn't know if you remembered that."

Richie huffs a humorless laugh. "Oh, I'm well aware of that, Eds, thanks."

"Eddie," Eddie corrects absently. "I mean- Edward."

"You mean Eddie," Richie says.

"Don't you mean Eds?" Eddie replies, and Richie shrugs, heading behind the bar to dig out their options.

"I'll do whatever you want," Richie tells him. Eddie looks at him with those big dark eyes, and Richie just has to look away, reading the labels of the drinks. "Pick your poison, Kaspbrak. I'm assuming you don't just drink rum and Coke that Bev mixes in an old milk jug anymore."

"No, I've got a slightly more sophisticated palette now," Eddie tells him.

"Ah," Richie says. "You use a juice carton?"

"I use a ketchup bottle," Eddie says. Richie grin, which just makes Eddie crack, too, smiling down at the bartop. "I do feel like I should warn you, though, I'm kind of a lightweight."

Richie pauses as memories flood into his brain, and he laughs. "Oh, holy fuck, I forgot about the Kaspbrak Drunkenness Scale! Fuck!"

"Oh, God, so did I," Eddie says pitifully. He groans. "Fuck. You don't still remember all of that, do you?"

Remember it? Richie fucking created the Kaspbrak Drunkenness Scale. When they were in high school, while Bev was making her milk jug moonshine and they were all drinking bootleg liquor in the Clubhouse after dark, he realized Eddie was actually a tremendous lightweight and a hilarious drunk. Every time he has another drink, another Eddie would come out.

"Oh, I remember the Kaspbrak Drunkenness Scale in its entirety," Richie assures him. "We only ever got up to Six Drink Eddie, I think."

"Stan and Bev and I got to Seven Drink Eddie once," Eddie tells him. He takes the shot of vodka Richie offers him, clinking shot glasses with Richie's when they're both in hand. He drinks it in one deep swallow, then hands Richie the glass back. After a moment, he smiles up at him.

(This will, delightfully, be the night that Richie will reflect back on for many years to come. This is the night he first met Seven Drink Eddie, and it's a story he tells all of their friends and families, their children, and even their fucking grandchildren, much to the chagrin of their aforementioned children. Because Seven Drink Eddie is the most important Eddie of them all.)

(But Richie doesn't know that yet. He only puts this part in when he tells the story.)

"And?" Richie asks, when Eddie hasn't finished talking, and starts to seem like he has no intention to.

"And what?" Eddie asks right back.

"Oh, yes, it's One Drink Eddie," Richie says excitedly.

"What was One Drink Eddie?" Eddie asks. He puts his chin in his hand, looking up at Richie with that damp, mussed hair starting to curl dry, falling into his face.

"One Drink Eddie is Spacey Eddie," Richie reminds him.

"Oh, the Space Case," Eddie recalls. That had been Richie's fond nickname for One Drink Eddie, and it warms Richie from the inside out that that's what Eddie remembered first, even while he's in One Drink Eddie mode. He's also still painfully hard, and this isn't helping, but he's working on it. "Right. That was funny."

"Mm?" Richie asks, starting to pour them both rum. Eddie shakes his head, then laughs.

"Wait, what?" Eddie asks, still laughing. That just sets Richie off, and then Eddie's laughing so hard he wheezes a little. Richie's weirdly proud when he doesn't reach for his inhaler. One Drink Eddie is when Eddie gets slightly out of focus, a little confused about what's going on around him. Richie slides him his rum.

"Come on, Two Drink Eddie," Richie encourages, and Eddie downs his rum with two swallows and a tight grimace. "That-"

"Gah," Eddie groans, then turns back to Richie, exclaiming, "Fuck, why didn't you tell me to sip it?"

"Loud Eddie," Richie says, handing Eddie his own rum. "I forgot how fucking loud Two Drunk Loud Eddie is."

"What?" Eddie demands. He drinks Richie's rum, then shoves both glasses back. "Match me, fuckhead."

"Oh, you're on," Richie tells him, and does as instructed, pouring himself two rums and downing them each in one swallow before looking back to Eddie. "Welcome to the party, Three Drink Eddie."

"What's the next drink?" Eddie asks, a little messy already. Richie hesitates with his hand over the vodka bottle. "Why are we mixing our liquors, Richie?"

"Because I fucking forgot what I was doing before, Eddie," Richie retorts. He pours them each another shot of vodka and puts a bit of grenadine in the shot. It's not much, but it'll do for flavor, he thinks. He hands the shot over. "Still feeling good, buddy? You're slurring a little bit."

"Don't call me buddy," Eddie orders him. Richie snaps off a little salute, then downs his shot. Eddie does the same, never one to be outdone, before telling Richie, "And I'm not slurring, and also that tasted disgusting."

"Classless," Richie tells him. He leans his chin in his hand, starting to feel pretty fucking good himself. He's an experienced drinker, for better or for worse, and it's clear Eddie doesn't get out to drink much, but he's got a pleasant buzz starting to hum. "What do you want for your fifth drink?"

"What's your favorite taste?" Eddie asks, his voice dropped a little bit. Richie's achingly hard dick twitches in his pants, and he has to grab the counter in one hand, his nails biting into the bartop.

"What," Richie chokes out. His knuckles are white, he's gripping the wood so hard.

"I bet you've got a girlfriend or something now, right?" Eddie asks. Richie feels like the room is spinning. He sets the vodka bottle aside.

"No, I don't have a girlfriend, Eds," Richie tells him. "Where the fuck did you get an idea like that?"

"Just-" Eddie shrugs, then shifts on his barstool. "I don't know. I figured you would."

Richie looks down at him. He feels so lost, he needs a fucking map to get back to Eddie's half of the conversation. "Why me, specifically, Edward?"

Eddie's nose crinkles. "Don't call me that."

"Eddie Spagh-"

"Because," Eddie interrupts him. He makes a frustrated groaning sound, then gestures lewdly with his hands. Richie's heart starts hammering. "You know."

"Is that- Is that supposed to be penetrative sex?" Richie imitates the gesture, then says, "Is this my dick going into a vagina? Because, Eddie-"

"It doesn't have to be," Eddie says. He leans over the bartop, just a little. Richie's heart is really fucking going now, leaping against his ribcage.

"Have to be what?" Richie asks, choked.

"A vagina," Eddie tells him. "Could be anything. Is all."

Richie feels like his head is fucking spinning before he remembers, and then he sighs, disappointment and relief getting all tangled up inside of him. "Right. Four Drink Eddie."

"What?" Eddie asks.

"Four Drink Eddie," Richie repeats. "Four Drink Eddie is a little bit of a perv. You make a lot of sex comments about the people around you."

"Only about you," Eddie says. Richie sweats.

"What?" Richie demands, not for the first time tonight. He has a horrible suspicion it won't be the last, either.

"It's not my fault," Eddie tells him. "You're a hot piece of ass."

Richie pushes his glasses up into his hair and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, exhaling sharply. After a moment, he drops his hands again. Eddie's still there. He drops his glasses back into place and says, "Fucking excuse me?"

"So are Ben and Mike," Eddie continues. "And Bill's- I don't know, he's sort of cute. I kind of thought he'd be taller. Stan's handsome, though-"

"No, by all means, list our handsome friends in order before me," Richie interrupts him. "It's a good feeling. Thanks-"

"Richie, you're the hottest," Eddie tells him. Richie scoffs.

"You're the hot one, Eds," Richie says. He stiffens, frowning down at the bartop as he realizes what he's said, but he also has no idea what's going on or what sort of thing Four Drink Eddie is after here. "What do you want for your next drink?"

"Something sweet," Eddie tells him. Richie had been expecting this, at some point, so he mixes up a few fruity-sweet flavors he finds to make a Frankenstein drink for the both of them. They raise their glasses and clink them.

"It may be time to retire Pervy Eddie," Richie says, as Eddie drinks half his drink. He looks pleasantly surprised, so Richie drinks half of his own glass before starting to work making more of the drink. "I'm a little nervous about Five Drink Eddie, to be honest, though."

"I don't remember why," Eddie tells him.

"Five Drink Eddie is Weirdly Confident Eddie," Richie reminds him. There were so many times they got up to five drinks and stopped there, because this is usually the point where Eddie would challenge Mike to an arm wrestling match, or would call his mom and scream at her, and Richie doesn't really need anything along those lines happening tonight.

"What's wrong with me being confident?" Eddie demands.

"It's not the fact that you are confident," Richie says, "which is a look I totally have always dug on you, by the way. It's more about the fact that Weirdly Confident Eddie becomes a really... sort of aggressive Eddie. Very assertive. Not that there's anything wrong with that," he tacks on, seeing Eddie's expression change. He doesn't look mad, though. He looks thoughtful.

"Maybe," Eddie says. He finishes his drink, then passes it back. "You wanted Seven Drink Eddie?"

"I mean, yeah, but don't kill yourself," Richie tells him. Eddie motions towards the vodka, so Richie lines up four shots, two for each of them. As he pours, he says, "You're sure, man?"

"I always wanted to do this with you when we-" Eddie starts to say, but he stops himself. After a beat, he takes his next shot; then, raspily, he tells Richie, "I was always into you, you know."

Richie takes his next shot. He looks Eddie in the eye and says, heart pounding, palms sweating, "No, I didn't know, but if you'd care to elaborate, I'd be thrilled."

Eddie looks sad, for a moment, his eyes going all glassy. Richie pushes his shot towards him, the coveted seventh drink.

"Six Drink Eddie is Weepy Eddie," Richie reminds him. "He's just sad. We have great conversations, but you also start to get all sad and then you feel sick and it's not good. So," Richie motions to the shot again. "Go, Seven Drink Eddie! Come meet your maker!"

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he takes the shot. Richie follows suit, hitting what Eddie once affectionately called Lap Dog Richie, because it's the phase of Richie's drinking where he starts getting particularly touch-starved and needs more attention than normal. Richie makes himself focus on Eddie, though, so he can bear witness to Seven Drink Eddie.

Seven Drink Eddie puts his empty shot glass down, then looks at Richie like his eyes are made of fire and he could burn him from the inside out. Richie's not sure another human being has ever looked at him like that before; he's actually not sure that another human being has ever looked at another human being like that before.

"Didn't you say Stan and Bev saw Seven Drink Eddie?" Richie asks. Eddie pushes up off of his barstool and comes around the bar like he's stalking Richie, predator versus prey. Richie just keeps his eyes glued on him.

"They did," Eddie tells him.

"And?" Richie asks. "Is there a name? What's he like?"

"First, I need you to tell me something," Eddie says. He looks up at Richie and says, "I want you to fuck me, but I don't want you to top me. I was in love with you when we were kids and I think I love you now. If that's too much, I totally get it, but you need to tell me now."

Richie's entire brain explodes. He manages a terrified, "What?"

"Richie, I swear to God, you have to get it together," Eddie orders him, and so Richie does. He compartmentalizes and he figures it out and then he nods. "You good?"

"Yup," Richie says. "I just wanted to tell you- And this is hard, I've spent a lot of time not saying this, so-"

"Richie-"

"Yup, yup, sorry," Richie repeats. "I just wanted to tell you I was into you, too. In love with you, actually. And probably still am. If I think about it."

Eddie looks up at him incredulously, like he hung the moon and the stars, but also like he possibly wants to consume him whole.

"What's the second thing?" Richie asks. Eddie blinks. "You said, 'First, I need you to-'"

"Oh, fuck, that's right," Eddie says. "Bev and Stan named Seven Drink Eddie, Feral Horny Eddie."

Richie snorts a laugh. "Feral Horny? What, like you go through Pon Farr?"

"Sorta," Eddie says, and then his palm is coming down slowly over Richie's heart, pressing there, flat and gentle. "But very you-specific."

"Right now?" Richie asks.

"Always," Eddie tells him. "Even then. It made Bev and Stan miserable."

"I'm sure it did." Richie puts his hand over Eddie's. "What's your second question, then?"

"Will you fuck me?" Eddie asks. Richie nods jerkily, the words I want you to fuck me, but I don't want you to top me ringing in his ears. Eddie is the most insanely hot person Richie has ever met in his entire fucking life.

"Absolutely, yes," Richie tells him. "Are you- I mean, you're drunk, I-"

"I have been in love with you since I was eleven," Eddie cuts him off. He points towards the staircase, then says, "I jerked off before I came down here, just so I wouldn't get too worked up and- I don't know. Make an idiot of myself."

The two of them are silent. Richie's completely fucked up over the fact that Eddie had gone into his room and jerked off so he wouldn't be too much for Richie. When the quiet stretches, though, Eddie's face starts to wrinkle up again, all disgruntled and grumpy.

"Hey, no, what's this?" Richie asks.

"Have I?" Eddie asks.

"Have you what?"

"Made an idiot of myself." Eddie looks up at Richie, and he looks so vulnerable that Richie can't help but reach up and cup Eddie's face, smoothing away the frustrated line near his eye.

"Always," Richie says this time. Eddie smiles. "Obviously fucking not, Eddie, I'm- I tried to do literally the same thing, I was just stunned into silence by our hivemind. I'm just blown away that you got to get off and I didn't-"

Eddie's eyes darken, and his hand fists up in Richie's shirt.

Feral horny, Richie thinks.

"You didn't get to finish?" Eddie demands.

"You dragged me out of my room before I could, you asshole," Richie snaps back. Eddie fists both hands in Richie's shirt, then hauls him in and kisses him, bruisingly hard. He cups the back of Richie's head in his hands, then, sliding his hands hard through his hair, nails dragging. Richie can't help but moan loudly, so loudly that Eddie pulls back.

"Take me upstairs," Eddie tells him, so Richie grabs him by the wrist and abandons their bottles and dishes to all but drag Eddie up to his room.

"Where do you-"

"It doesn't matter," Eddie says, almost too fast to understand. Richie drags him to his own room, pushes the door shut and lets Eddie shove him backwards onto the mattress. "I love you."

"I love you," Richie replies, a thrill going through him. He's been hard for at least half an hour now, though, so when Eddie drops down in his lap on the bed, he can't help but whimper, his head falling back into the pillows.

"God, you're fucking big," Eddie comments. It makes Richie shut his eyes, exhaling shakily. "Can I-"

"Anything you want," Richie says, and so Eddie leans up and grabs Richie's lube off the nightstand where he'd left it. "Eds- Eddie, we're still wearing clothes, man-"

"Shit," Eddie curses. He tosses the lube aside, then proceeds to rip all of their clothes off in record time, Richie's fuzzy brain barely able to follow the paths of the fabric. All he knows is Eddie's hands on him, and then having him back in his lap. Eddie's fully naked, muscular and tan and hot, all dark hair and toned form. It turns Richie on fucking immensely, the masculinity of him and the strength, almost makes him fucking feral horny, too.

"You should've kept the tie on," Richie tells him. Eddie bites into his mouth, silencing him for a moment before pulling back. "Or the suspenders."

"Not the khakis?" Eddie asks.

"I think it's the allure of the suspenders," Richie says. "Like, why're you wearing them in the twenty-first century? Did nobody tell you that we-"

"You really never shut the fuck up," Eddie tells him, before doing it for him, kissing him so hard Richie can't help but whine into his mouth and buck up into his hips. Eddie's just gone fucking batshit, hands pinning Richie's wrists back into the pillows, grinding down over and over on Richie's cock. "Fuck, I was scissoring myself in the shower but I'm not sure if I can take you-"

"Why were you doing that?" Richie asks brokenly. Eddie pulls back to lube up his fingers and slip three into himself, making Richie hold his breath in sympathy. Eddie knows what he's ready for, though, apparently, because he just shifts further down onto them.

"Because I was still thinking about you," Eddie says. "And I wanted your dick in me."

"For the love of fuck, Eddie, you can't-"

"Yes, I can," Eddie tells him, still working himself open. He gets to four fingers, then coaxes Richie into using two of his, too, just to make sure. Richie's hesitant, because Eddie's tight and hot and small, like this, and that just makes Richie feel like a bull in a china shop, which he expresses to Eddie when they're slick and lined up. Eddie just laughs, says, "Do not compare my ass to a china shop," and that's when Richie remembers that this is Eddie. People have underestimated him forever, but Eddie has always known what he wanted.

"Are you sure?" Richie asks, one last time, just to be absolutely certain.

"Surer than I've ever been," Eddie tells him. "Are you sure?"

"Oh, you fucking bet I am," Richie replies. Eddie shifts forward, then, sliding down onto Richie's cock inch by laborious fucking inch. The burn of it is clearly tremendous for Eddie; Richie helps hold him up so he doesn't sink down too quickly. In return, he doesn't thrust up, but it is a dangerous fucking line they walk.

It takes literal minutes for Eddie to be fully seated on Richie's cock but, once he is, he's wriggling and trying to find the right position, murmuring, "Fuck, fuck, so fucking good," which just makes Richie flush all over. Eddie's cock is between them, big and hard and fucking perfect; Richie wants him so bad he could cry.

"I love you," Richie says again. "Can I- Are you ready? Can I move?"

Eddie writhes for another moment, finds the spot he's looking for, and then exhales softly. He ducks his head over Richie's and kisses him hard.

"Yes, please move," Eddie tells him, and Richie doesn't wait another literal millisecond before he's helping lift Eddie up and drop back down. It doesn't take long for Eddie to take control over him, pushing Richie's big hands down to his hips and fucking himself on Richie's cock instead.

Eddie's hands are smaller than Richie's, but still big, broad and long-fingered and strong, and he digs his fingertips into Richie's hips on his path up his body. He presses his palms flat over Richie's soft belly, his nails making crescent imprints in his skin. Richie groans.

"Fucking shit, Eds, what the hell," Richie manages.

"Is this okay?" Eddie asks, voice low and deep and rough, husky in his throat. "I just- You're so fucking hot, you make me go insane, Richie, just look at you, look at your fucking- Look at your chest, fuck, and your shoulders-"

"Eddie, please," Richie gasps out, but Eddie just keeps fucking himself on Richie's cock, palmfuls of Richie's flesh in his hands.

"You're so hot," Eddie tells him again. "You've been driving me insane all night. I wanted you to fuck me in the bathroom at the fucking restaurant, that's how desperate I got. I was almost willing to fuck in a bathroom."

"Almost."

"If you'd gotten seven shots in me, it would've been definite," Eddie tells him, which just makes Richie's half-thrust stutter as he's hopelessly aroused again. Eddie doesn't even seem to notice, just leaning up and over Richie to get his angle correct, finding his prostate inside himself as he keeps going, "You don't get how fucking hot you are, Rich-"

"I'm n-"

"Shut the fuck up," Eddie snaps heatedly. His curly hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat; when Richie reaches up impulsively and runs his hand through, it's plastered back against his head. "Look at you." He drops his head, bites at the soft skin, and his hard, perfect cock leaks down over him, trapped hopelessly between them.

"Eddie," Richie groans.

"I thought I heard that earlier," Eddie says into his skin. He digs his nose into Richie's chest, holding tight to the flesh of his waist in his hands, gripping him hard and clinging to him. Richie can only cling to him tightly in return. "Was that when you were jerking off? Thinking about me?"

"Yeah," Richie answers, which is almost more than he can manage. "Yeah, I was- I was thinking about you tonight-"

"Hopefully a lot longer than that," Eddie says. Richie grins, and almost laughs, but then Eddie starts fucking him in absolute earnest, using his grip on Richie's sides as leverage as he fucks himself down on Richie's huge cock. It's doing something for Eddie, apparently, because his hard dick looks almost purple between them. Richie's touch-starved, so he reaches out, but just the barest brush of his fingertips over Eddie's dick makes him cum in between them, all over their chests and bellies.

"Oh, fucking-" Richie manages, because that's the hottest fucking thing he's ever seen, and he holds Eddie's thighs when he helps fuck into him and finds his prostate again. He hears Eddie make a shuddering sound.

"Richie," Eddie groans, so close to his ear, and Richie cums inside of him, unable to stop himself from pulling Eddie in for a savage kiss and pulling them together, inch by inch, so there's nowhere they're not touching skin-to-skin.

Richie can barely breathe, the oxygen catching in his lungs as heat spirals out from his core, filling his limbs and spreading like wildfire along his muscles. His very bone marrow throbs with knowing Eddie this way. Richie holds him tight, and Eddie holds him, too, murmuring incoherently in his ear.

"You did so good," Eddie says, the first thing Richie manages to hear. Richie shivers. He's finally calming down; Eddie takes the initiative, slipping off of Richie's cock and heading off into the bathroom. Richie hears water running before Eddie comes back with washcloths to wash them both off. "Hey. I love you."

"Hey, I heard," Richie replies. Eddie runs his hand over Richie's belly, up his chest, then cups his face and kisses him hard.

"Let's get outta this place," Eddie suggests, and Richie smiles.

"Thought you'd never ask," he says. He snatches the washcloths from Eddie's hands and tosses them to the floor so he can drag Eddie back in and kiss him over, and over, and over again, to make up for lost time.