Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Richie was throwing shirts into his suitcase, not bothering to fold them, when he got Travis's text.

im bored. cum over

Richie rolled his eyes, half affection and half annoyance. Travis was a fucking linguistics professor. Why did he insist on sexting like a teenager?

can't, he texted back. bout 2 catch a red eye. Travis wouldn't ask where he was going, and Richie wouldn't mention Ben and Bev's wedding--in fact, he'd never mentioned Ben or Bev. They didn't really have a knowing-things-about-each-other's-lives kind of relationship. Richie was pretty sure he was saved in Travis's phone as Sex Idiot. That was fine. Travis kept him supplied with orgasms while Richie's heart was free to pine for Eddie.

Oops. He was trying not to think about Eddie--specifically, about the fact that tomorrow would be their first time seeing each other since Eddie's divorce. Just because they were both single and out, now, didn't mean there was any chance of something happening between them, Richie reminded himself. It was stupid to get his hopes up.

But Richie had always been good at stupid.

when do u get in? wanna car pool? he texted Eddie. Ben's hippie ass had his heart set on getting married in Sedona, a two-hour drive from the airport in Phoenix. It had just occurred to Richie that going in on a rental car would be a fiscally responsible decision that would also, by the way, give him extra time alone with Eddie.

when do u cum back? Travis texted just as Richie hit send.

back on tues. get together then?

but im horny now

ill find a way to make it up 2 u, Richie texted, smiling. He had an idea where this conversation was headed. Travis had a great appreciation for Richie's trashmouth, and Richie needed very little encouragement to really get going.

He grabbed a toothbrush and some deodorant and threw them in the suitcase. Most of his mind was occupied with what he should text Travis next. He had just enough time for a quick interlude of sexting and jerking off before he needed to leave for the airport. It would be nice to feel wanted, to shore up his ego for the next few days. Maybe he could take enough of the edge off that he wouldn't pop a semi the instant he laid eyes on Eddie.

His phone buzzed. Richie glanced at the text as he sat down on the bed beside his open suitcase.

What's your plan?

Richie responded quickly.

start by kissing u til u cant breathe

suck on ur tongue

show u how much I missd that mouth

when u start getting weak in the knees

thats when ill get on mine

He set the phone aside to unzip his pants, palming himself through his boxers, already half-hard.

Then he froze.

The text he had just replied to--it was what he'd expected Travis to say, but it wasn't how Travis would say it. That text began with a capital letter and contained punctuation. That text was from--

"Oh, fuck, no," Richie whispered, and his phone rang.

Incoming call: Eds

Richie squeezed his eyes shut and wondered how difficult it would be to fake his own death. No, Bev would kill him if he skipped out on maid of honor duties. Besides, this didn't have to be a disaster, right? People sexted the wrong number. It happened. He'd just explain, and they'd have a good laugh about it, and Richie could wait until after the wedding to throw himself into a volcano.

He took a deep breath and hit Accept. "Eds, I--"

"What the shit, Richie?" Eddie asked. His voice was low. "Warn a guy before you say shit like that."

"Fuck, just let me--"

"What if I was walking around in public with a hard-on like this?"

"I'm so sorry. It…" Richie stopped, shook his head. "What?"

"You don't have to be sorry," said Eddie in that same low voice. He sounded like he was smiling. "As it happens, I'm not in public."

"You… you're…"

"I'm in bed," Eddie said, and Richie's heart skittered in his chest. "My flight out is early tomorrow. And I'm not doing this over text, because looking at screens in bed is really bad for your sleep hygiene." Which shut down the theory that Eddie had been kidnapped and replaced by an imposter; that was the kind of sentence only Eddie's freaky little mind could produce.

"I don't know what the fuck sleep hygiene is, but it sounds hot when you say it," Richie said. He was finally putting the pieces together, as improbable as the finished picture seemed. Eddie had gotten his sexts, thought they were meant for him , and rather than freaking out and blocking Richie's number, called him to voice his approval. Eddie liked what Richie had sent him. Eddie was… Eddie was into it.

Eddie was hard. He had actually just said that.

This was not at all how Richie had envisioned his evening going, but he was nothing if not adaptable.

"So, set the scene for me," Richie said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. "Eds in bed. Give me a mental image."

Eddie laughed. "Is that your way of asking what I'm wearing?"

"Hell yes," Richie said reverently.

"Not much," said Eddie, and Richie bit his lip. "An A-shirt and my underwear."

"Okay, yeah, I can picture it," Richie said. His dick, which had lost some of its enthusiasm when he realized he sexted the wrong person, was hard again, and he brushed his fingers over it, teasing himself. "I could use some more details on the underwear."

"Nothing special. Black boxer briefs."

"Mmm. Nice and tight?"

Eddie chuckled self-consciously. "Tighter than usual. Your text really, uh, came as a surprise. A very welcome surprise," he added quickly. Warmth prickled in Richie's chest.

His phone beeped in his ear, reminding him that Travis was probably texting him, wondering where he'd gone. Oh well, sucked to be Travis.

"I'm glad," Richie said. That came out more earnest than sexy. He needed to steer this back to more familiar waters. "So where were we? I believe the last time we checked in with our intrepid protagonists--"

"Of course you're fucking like this during phone sex," Eddie grumbled. He paused, then said in a different tone of voice, "You were getting on your knees."

" Yeah I was," said Richie. A shiver went through him. This… this was happening. "I was getting on my knees to get a real good look at you in those boxer briefs. Up close." He licked his lips, closed his eyes. "You look fucking good, Eds. So good I can't believe it. I can't believe you're right here, and you're hard for me."

"Believe it," Eddie murmured, low in his throat.

Richie could have burst into tears, but he made himself keep talking, finding his rhythm. He knew how to do this. "I want to make this last, make it so good for you. First I'd put my mouth on you through your briefs, just let you feel me breathing on you."

"God, Richie, your mouth," Eddie said. "I've…" He let out a shaky breath. "I've thought about your mouth a lot."

"Oh, yeah?" Richie swallowed a groan. "What have you thought about it?"

"That I'd like to--you know. See it." Richie pressed his hand against himself through his boxers, imagining the hand was Eddie's. "On me."

"You'd like to see my lips all red and wet and stretched out around your cock?" Richie said.

Eddie's reply didn't sound like a word in any language Richie was familiar with.

"How long has it been since you've had your dick sucked, Eds?"

"Shit. Fuck. I don't know. A long--too long," Eddie panted.

"How about it, then? Should I pull your briefs down and suck you, all wet and sloppy so you know how much I mean it? Lick up the sides like you're an ice cream cone and I don't want to miss a drop?"

" Richie. What the fuck. " Eddie swallowed audibly. "You're--fucking good at this."

"At dirty talk?" Eddie started to say something, but Richie kept going. "Or at taking your cock in my mouth, nice and slow so I don't gag, using my tongue to get you so wet you can just slide right into me?" To really sell it, Richie put two fingers in his mouth and sucked them lasciviously, making an obscene sound into the phone.

"Oh my God. What the fuck are you doing?"

"Sucking on my fingers," Richie said. "Pretending it's your dick."

Eddie made a sound like the wind had been knocked out of him. There was silence for a moment, and then Eddie said, "Take a picture."

"What?"

"Take a picture. Of you sucking on your fingers. And send it to me, so I can--so I can see you." Richie knew there was no way to hear a blush through the phone, but he was pretty sure Eddie was blushing.

Which made two of them. Richie had sent and received his share of dick pics, but this request--a picture of his face --felt intimate in a new way, a way that scared him a little.

"Richie?" Eddie asked, doubt creeping into his voice.

"Anything, Eds. Anything you want," said Richie, hoping Eddie wouldn't understand how much he meant it. "Hang on."

He took a moment to find an angle he liked, then snapped the picture: mouth open, three fingers shiny with spit against the soft red muscle of his tongue. Richie had never felt particularly enamored of his own face, but he had to admit he looked kind of hot here, flushed pink, eyelids heavy, pupils dark and enormous. He looked utterly wanton, feral with lust. Before he could overthink it, he sent it to Eddie.

A long moan on the other end of the line told him it had come through. "God, you look fucking amazing," Eddie murmured. "Look like you're dying to get fucked."

"As a matter of fact," said Richie, laughing a little breathlessly.

"Yeah? Is that what you want? Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Fuck, yeah, I want your dick in me," Richie gasped. There was another sound in the background, a rhythmic skin-on-skin noise that kept time with Eddie's labored breathing. "Eds, are you jacking off?"

"Uh, yeah, dumbass. Isn't that kind of the point?" A pause, a grunt. "Why, aren't you?"

"Not really, not yet," Richie said. "You're too fucking hot for me to stand it. The second I touch my dick I'm gonna explode."

"I want you to," said Eddie. Richie bit his lip to keep from whimpering.

"Okay," he said. "Okay, I will. But you gotta send me a picture too. I want to see what I'm swallowing."

Eddie hesitated for a moment. "Okay, but don't, like, judge me. My photography skills, I mean. I've never done this before."

"You've never sent a dick pic?" Richie laughed a little, and immediately regretted it.

"No! I got married before phone cameras got really good!" Eddie snapped. "Dick pics were, like, barely a thing the last time I was single."

"You've been divorced for three months!"

"I haven't been dating! Or--or hooking up or whatever." Eddie sounded pissed. It was having no effect whatsoever on Richie's erection, which was probably something he should bring up with his therapist, if he ever got around to finding one.

"Why not?"

"Because I've been too busy trying to think of ways to get you into bed with me at Bev's wedding, fuckwad!"

It's like the electricity flickered and the lights went out for an instant, except Richie was the lights. When he returned to himself, he discovered that he was cold all over. "You… you have?" he managed to say.

"Uh. Yeah, well. If you're--I mean, you did send me a text about wanting to suck on my tongue, so it's not like--Not that that means I have the right to, like, expect anything, but--"

"Eddie," Richie cut him off.

A moment of silence, then, "Yeah, Richie?"

"Expect things," Richie said.

It sounded like Eddie tried to whistle, but his lips were too dry. "Yeah. All right. I'm… I'm looking forward to it."

Richie was fucking dizzy. His whole universe had been taken apart and put back together in the span of five minutes. Plus, he was so hard he thought other parts of his body might be going numb from a lack of blood. "Me too," he said. "But I still want to see what I'm looking forward to, Eds. Send me that picture."

"All right." There was some rustling on the other end, and then his phone pinged. Richie saw that he had five unread texts from Travis, but dismissed them without a moment's thought. He opened the one from Eddie.

Richie hissed through his teeth. "God damn." The picture didn't show Eddie's face; it was just his torso, undershirt yanked up to the nipples, showing flawless abs and--"Hang on. I wanted a picture of you, not a porn star."

"What the fuck are you talking about? That is me. I just couldn't get a good shot that had my dick and my face in it."

"You got skewered by a spider alien. I was there. You're telling me you don't even have a scar? After all that, you still look like a fucking Calvin Klein model?"

Eddie scoffed. "I do not look like a model. But yeah, the scar kind of just disappeared."

"This is really you?"

"Yes, it's really me!"

"So that's really your dick." It was gorgeous, so hard Richie could almost feel the heat through his screen, and Eddie's hand wrapped around it looked small.

"Yeah, dude, that's what you asked for."

Richie dropped his voice. "Trust me, I'm going to be asking for it again. And again. I'll beg if I have to, Eds. I'm not proud."

"Oh, fuck," Eddie said. "God. I wouldn't--I'll give it to you, Rich. I wouldn't make you beg." He heard Eddie shifting his weight. "You're jacking off now, right? I don't want to be the only one losing my shit."

"Anything for you," Richie said, and pushed the waistband of his boxers down, freeing his cock. He circled it with his spit-slick fingers and stroked once, twice, biting back a groan. "Shit, Eds, I'm gonna last eight seconds. I'm so fucking close just from listening to you talk." It occurred to him that he was going to mess up his shirt any moment now, but fuck it, he could change.

"I'm close too," Eddie said indistinctly.

"How do you want to come?"

"I don't--Jesus, Richie--"

"Come in my mouth," Richie said.

"Yeah, oh fuck."

"Just like that, baby," Richie said, his hand moving faster. He wondered belatedly if it was okay to call Eddie "baby," but since he was still sighing and swearing into the phone with furious abandon, Richie figured it was probably fine. "Use me. Fuck my face. Grab my hair and pull my head down and fill my mouth up with your cock. Come in my throat, Eds, I want to taste you. I'm so fucking thirsty for you."

Eddie let out a sob. "Shit, your mind is filthy."

That almost sent Richie over the edge, but he stopped, forced himself to take a few deep breaths. He wanted Eddie to come first.

"Yeah, it is," he agreed. "You know what they call me."

"Trashmouth?" said Eddie, and it sounded almost like an endearment.

"Yeah," Richie said again. "So trash my fucking mouth."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, " Eddie moaned, and then his voice got deeper and louder and less coherent, and Richie pumped his fist frantically around his cock, and he was coming too, moaning in unison with Eddie, grinding through wave after wave of pleasure until his whole body was limp and spent.

He lay for a long time, listening as Eddie's breathing slowed.

"Jesus," Eddie finally said. "That was incredible."

Richie smiled, and at the same time, tears filled his eyes. "Pretty fucking great," he agreed.

Eddie laughed. "I've been wondering all week if I'd have the stones to ask you to dance at the reception, but that was a real confidence booster. I think I'm gonna go for it."

Richie's heart leapt at the thought that Eddie had been thinking about him, but he tried to keep his voice even. "Dancing? I don't know, you're moving pretty fast there, Eds. Everyone knows that dancing leads to sex."

"I'm counting on it," said Eddie. Something went through Richie that he couldn't quite define--it was like an orgasm aftershock, but emotional instead of physical. The words I love you teetered on his lips, but he pulled them back from the brink.

"I'm really fucking excited to see you, Eds," he said instead.

"I can't wait. Hey, I never asked, what are you wearing?"

Richie looked down at himself and winced. "Uh, I could make up something sexier if you want, but the truth is I'm fully clothed with my dick out and a stain on my shirt."

"Why the fuck are you fully clothed?"

"Because my flight to Phoenix is in, uh…" He checked the time. "Two hours."

"Two hours? Your flight is in two hours? That's when it leaves?"

"Uh, yeah."

"And you're at your motherfucking house having phone sex? " Eddie's voice was creeping into an octave Richie recognized, his rage as comforting and familiar as a well-read book. "You should have been at the airport a fucking hour ago--holy shit, if you miss your flight I'm going to kill you, and then Bev's going to dig you up and kill you again--"

"Okay! Okay. I get it. I'm on my way." He set his phone down, yanked the soiled shirt off, flung it toward the corner where a hamper would be if he had one, and grabbed a reasonably clean replacement from the floor. When he brought the phone back to his ear, Eddie was still yelling at him.

"Eds," Richie cut him off.

"What?"

"Want to cancel your room for the weekend and go halvsies on mine instead?"

"Yeah," said Eddie without hesitation. "Now get your sorry ass on the plane."

Chapter Text

Richie texted Bev from the cab. IM GONNA GET LAID @UR WEDFING

Middle of the night or not, two days before her wedding or not, Bev could be counted on to text back right away. yessss babe thats the spirit! julian will b there, the model i told u about? rly prty i can intro u

no thx, he responded. got smthn better lined up

better than a gay model who does yoga?????

BEVVVVV he texted, grinning like a friend. ASK ME WHO I JUST HAD PHONE SEX WITH AND AM ALSO SHARING A ROOM WITH AT UR WEDDING

Richie should have figured she'd call him after a message like that. He picked up on the second ring, counted to five, then lifted the phone to his ear.

A five-count wasn't long enough. Beverly was still screaming. Richie winced and held the phone at arm's length. "If you explode my eardrums I'm resigning as your maid of honor, Marsh Madness," he said loudly.

"--king finally! " she was saying as he finished. "Oh my God, it took you both long enough! Ben and I had this whole elaborate plan to lock you in a room together this weekend. I am so glad I don't have to stress about that anymore."

"You did?" Richie didn't know if he was more indignant at her presumption or touched by her thoughtfulness. "Were Mike and Bill in on this too?"

"No," snorted Bev. " Their plan was to get you guys to play spin the bottle after the rehearsal dinner. I told them that was stupid."

"So everyone has been trying to orchestrate a liaison between myself and fair Edward?"

"Well, yeah, since it became obvious that neither of you was ever going to make a move!"

"Pardon me, did you not hear me say we had phone sex?" Richie said loudly. "You and Ben did not arrange for Eddie to jerk off with me just now! That shit happened independently!" The driver glanced at him in the mirror, but her face was completely impassive. This was why Richie would take a cab over an Uber any day, no matter whether it cost more.

"You're right," Bev said. "I'm sorry. I'm proud of you, honey." Her voice was warm. "How did it happen? Did you initiate it?"

"Uh, well, yeah. Kind of… by mistake?" He waited for Bev to say something, but she didn't, so he filled in the silence. "I was gonna sext with this other guy, and Eddie was texting me at the same time, and I may have accidentally told him I wanted to suck his dick, but then he was down, so I just rolled with it. Like, it wasn't not true, you know?"

"I'm less proud of you, honey," Bev said.

"Come on, that counts!" He knew it didn't.

"You know it doesn't." She was smiling, though, he could tell. "Well, obviously the fates were on your side. Did you tell Eddie about the mistaken identity?"

"Of course not! He thinks I was brave and made the first move. I'm not going to fuck that up."

"You're right, lying seems like a good way to start off your relationship with the guy you've been in love with for three decades."

"Sarcasm isn't a good look on you, Marsh."

"Really? Ben thinks it is. It's his word against yours."

Richie laughed, throwing his hands up in surrender even though Bev couldn't see it. "All right, I can't argue with Ben."

"Hey, Richie," Beverly said seriously. "Tell Eddie what happened, okay? If you do, it's funny. If you don't, it becomes a thing."

"You don't understand," he whined, knowing she was right. "It's Eddie. And he wants to jump my bones. " He couldn't figure out how to convey what he really meant, which was something like I don't dare say a word, I don't want to break whatever spell this is, I don't want to remind Eddie that I'm me and not whatever imaginary version of me he's miraculously attracted to, I don't know how this is happening but anything I do or say could ruin it, and I wouldn't survive that.

"He doesn't want to jump you because you sexted him," Beverly said. "That's just, like, extremely not a thing. He was into what you said because he was already into you. "

"That sounds highly implausible," Richie said.

"Like evil-space-clown level implausible?" she teased.

"Okay, a point to Marsh. God, get off the phone, it's the middle of the night. You want to get married with bags under your eyes?"

"Love you, Richie," said Beverly. "And I'm really happy for you and Eddie."

"Yeah, me too," he said. "Love you."

Richie texted Eddie from the airport, trying to persuade him that it would be romantic to share a rental car, but Eddie made a compelling case that it would be more romantic to see each other at the hotel, after Richie had a nap and, quote, "a motherfucking shower, with soap, not just running water on your head." So he drove into Sedona alone, singing Indigo Girls songs out the window when the mountains rising around him splintered the radio signal into static, watching the clear bright Arizona sunrise spill like electric orange juice across the sky.

Knowing Richie's preference for flying at night, when crowds were sparse and he was less likely to be recognized, Bev and Ben had made special arrangements for him to check into his hotel room early in the morning. He closed the curtains against the sunshine, and while he was trying to decide whether to get breakfast before or after showering, he fell asleep.

The sound of someone banging on the door woke him.

"Fuck," Richie mumbled, struggling to his feet, tangled in sticky cobwebs of sleep. His mouth was sour from the Irish coffee he'd drunk on the plane, his eyes bleary. He found his glasses where they'd fallen on the bedspread and shoved them into his face.

The banging continued. "Chill the fuck, " Richie yelled. Scratching his head and grimacing, he threw open the door to stare into the eyes of the only man he'd ever loved.

"What the fuck, dude?" Eddie snapped, shouldering past Richie into the hotel room, dragging two giant suitcases behind him. "I texted you like a million fucking times. I finally had to get Bev to tell me your room number, and she texted me a bunch of heart eyes and wink emojis, so thanks for helping me keep this low-key for the weekend."

Richie blinked several times, not knowing what to respond to first. He pointed to Eddie's luggage. "We're staying for three days," he said, his voice sleep-fuzzed.

"Yeah, and?" Eddie said in his Had About Enough Of Richie's Shit Voice. He'd been in the room for less than a minute; that had to be Richie's all-time record. A normal person, hearing Eddie speak in that tone, would be walking it back as fast as he could.

"And no one would bring that many clothes for three days, so I'm assuming one of those is full of sex toys," said Richie, who was not a normal person.

Eddie glowered at him. Richie looked back, eyebrows raised, waiting. Finally, a hint of a smile crooked the corner of Eddie's mouth, and he indicated the bag on Richie's left. "Just the front compartment of that one."

Richie grinned, knowing he probably looked slightly crazed, but unable to care much. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," said Eddie, smiling back.

"Can I, like…" Richie didn't know why he felt so hesitant. Twelve hours ago he'd listened to Eddie moaning his name in the throes of an orgasm, but now he was afraid to touch him.

It was different, that was all. It was different because Eddie was here.

Eddie made a move-it-along gesture. "Can you, like, what?"

"Can I kiss you?"

Eddie's face went pink. He stepped toward Richie. Then he stopped and wrinkled his nose.

"Dude, have you showered or brushed your teeth since you entered the state of Arizona?"

"Uh, no." Fuck. Richie had been planning to spruce himself up, to look (and smell) irresistible when Eddie arrived, to make a killer first impression that would lead to insane sex, confessions of love, and Eddie moving in with him, hopefully by the time Ben and Bev were back from their honeymoon. But instead he'd fallen asleep.

Had he fucked things up already? This fast? "I'm so sorry, Eds. I was just exhausted, and I lay down for a minute and--"

"Dude, chill out," Eddie said, looking surprised by the fervor of Richie's contrition. "I'm not pissed at you. I just want you to wash the airplane germs off. Those things are flying petri dishes. I read this study--"

"Hey, you don't have to convince me." Richie shrugged, trying to play off his momentary panic. The space between them was so small, but he had already been forbidden from crossing it. He fidgeted, stuck his hands in his pockets. "But you were just on a plane, too, right? Don't you need to shower?"

"I definitely do, but I'll go second so I can unpack while you're washing."

"Unpack? We're in a hotel."

Eddie rolled his eyes. " Some of us like to actually put our clothes away so they don't get fucking wrinkled as shit." He gave Richie's outfit a pointed look.

"Weird," Richie said. "But I always figured you'd be into weird shit."

"Yeah, well," said Eddie, "we've established that I'm into you, so I guess I can't argue with that."

Richie couldn't keep from smiling, even if he had to look down, away from Eddie's eyes. He felt--so fucking much, right now, so full of hope and apprehension he didn't know what to do with all of it. "Okay," he said uncertainly. "I'm gonna go shower?" It came out sounding like a question.

"Yeah," said Eddie. "And brush your teeth. And after that, I believe you mentioned kissing me until I can't breathe."

Richie couldn't breathe now. "Um, yeah, fuck yeah, that sounds great, I'll just--" He backed into the bathroom without finishing his sentence.

He raced through his shower, running a soapy washcloth over his body so fast he barely felt it. Then he reconsidered. Eddie fucking Kaspbrak was waiting for him in the next room, and Richie was pretty sure he would turn him and and march him back into the shower if he found Richie's hygiene unsatisfactory.

He soaped up again, more thoroughly this time, and took his time scouring every part of his body with hot water until he felt tingling and raw. He washed his hair, then used conditioner, which he never had at home and was honestly not sure what it was for. It smelled good, sort of like gingerbread, so at least there was that.

When Richie climbed out of the shower, the bathroom was a cloud of steam. He was happy to avoid looking at himself naked in the mirror as he dried off, leaving his hair wet and tangled, because there was only so far a man could stray from his true self. Towel wrapped around his waist, he took a deep, steadying breath, then walked back into the bedroom.

Eddie was sitting on the bed, looking at his phone. His suitcases were open, as was the closet and two dresser drawers; he'd stopped in the middle of putting his stuff away. That was weird. "Eds, you having a blood sugar crash? Should we get some lunch?"

When Eddie looked up, there was a strange look on his face, a forced half-smile that seemed to want to be casual. "Sorry, dude," he said, holding up the phone. "I wasn't trying to snoop, but it kept buzzing. Three texts and a missed call." Richie realized that was his phone in Eddie's hand. "Someone named 'Travis, eggplant emoji, eggplant emoji' really wants to talk to you."

"Oh, fuck," sighed Richie, realizing as he did so that it was exactly the wrong thing to say.

"Do you--" Eddie swallowed. "Do you have a boyfriend, Rich?"

"No! Jesus, no. Do I seem like someone who would have fucking boyfriends?" Richie had heard the words emotionally unavailable enough times to wear a deep groove into his brain before he gave up on relationships and resigned himself to a life of short-lived, inconsequential hookups. For a long time he had chalked it up to being closeted, but when he went back to Derry and saw Eddie again, he finally understood why every guy he'd dated had sensed an absence where Richie's heart should have been. He used to wonder whether something fundamental was missing from his makeup. Now he knew it wasn't gone; it was just Eddie's . Had always been his.

Eddie pressed his lips together. "So who's Travis? I mean--" He hesitated, shook his head. Something in his face changed; it was like a door closing, and it hurt Richie to watch. "I mean, I guess it's none of my business. I just wondered."

"He's just--a guy," Richie said, flailing. "He's not…" He's not important, he's not you, he's not the person I dreamed about for twenty-seven years without knowing you were real. Richie couldn't find the words to explain that Travis was not a threat to Eddie without going too far, saying too much, scaring him away. "He's just a guy," he said again.

"A guy you're fucking?"

Richie paused for too long before answering. "No" felt like a lie, but "yes" wasn't accurate either. "A guy I… have fucked," he admitted finally. God, this was all going so wrong. Eddie was talking like he was--some kind of player, which would have been hilarious if it weren't about to ruin the best thing in his life.

He remembered Eddie saying he hadn't dated since his divorce because he was thinking about Richie. Now Eddie looked like he was doing math in his head, the numbers adding up to Richie being a douchebag who just wanted to make sure he got his dick wet this weekend.

"Eddie," he said desperately. "I didn't…" He couldn't think of how to finish. He could come clean, admit everything, the years of aimless yearning when he didn't remember Eddie, followed by the months of obsession once he did; he could tell Eddie you're the love of my life and I'll do anything you ask me to, forever, but wouldn't that scare him off just as much? Why couldn't Richie ever like someone a normal amount; why did his speedometer jump straight from "kinda horny" to "undying passion" with no in between?

"It's cool, Richie," Eddie said, having apparently realized that sentence was going nowhere. "I'm not the boss of you. I'm gonna go shower." He tossed Richie his phone, and Richie almost dropped it. "Call Travis back, okay? He obviously…" Eddie trailed off, shrugged, and headed for the bathroom.

Richie stood there with his phone in his numb hand for a long time. He was trying to get his thoughts in order, to think of how he would explain everything when Eddie was done showering.

Then he got a text from Beverly asking where the fuck he was, the bridal party had been working on floral arrangements without him for a fucking hour, and he remembered that his boy problems were the B plot, this weekend. It was time to focus on the main event. He left the room before Eddie emerged from the bathroom, sending him a quick text explaining where he was going and asking if they could talk later.

But Eddie didn't text him back.

Chapter Text

"So now he thinks I'm some kind of fuckboy," Richie concluded, placing a stem of greenery in between red and orange poppies.

"Wait, why was Travis calling you?" Bev asked, taking Richie's vase and rearranging it, as she had with his last three attempts. He didn't really understand why she thought his presence here would be useful.

Richie shrugged. "I guess because I stopped texting him last night, but like…"

Beverly raised her eyebrows. "Richie," she said meaningfully.

"What?"

"Come on!" she said. "That's a total fuckboy move."

"It is not!"

"It kind of is, dude," said Bill, who had been moving the same three daisies around for the last half hour.

"Thank you," said Bev to Bill. Turning back to Richie, she said, "You were trying to fuck him, but then you got a better offer, so you just ghosted? I love you, Rich, but that's shitty."

"But I wasn't shitty to Eddie!" he protested. "Anyway, why are we even talking about this? It's your wedding weekend!"

"Because I want you two to hook up, and I'm the bride, so you have to do what I say," said Bev with a bright smile.

"I swear I'm starting to feel like you and Ben are only getting married as an excuse to fuck around with my love life," Richie grumbled.

"See, that's why you're my maid of honor, Richie," Bev said. "Because you get me."

After the flowers there was the bridal party lunch, and lots of champagne. Ben and Eddie and Mike were off doing whatever the groom's side does the day before the wedding--"fancy beer and an animal sacrifice, I think," Bev said--and they didn't all see each other again until they were lining up in the garden for the rehearsal. Richie tried to catch Eddie's eye, but Eddie appeared to be totally enthralled by the conversation he was having with Ben. When Richie got a little closer, he could hear that Ben was talking about a poetry reading he'd been to last week, so he knew Eddie was faking his interest to avoid Richie.

The rehearsal was quick and easy; Bev and Ben wanted to keep things simple and get to the dancing, which Richie respected. They just had to practice walking in and back out in the right order. Richie promenaded down the aisle with Mike, who was Ben's best man.

From his place in front of the altar, Richie watched Eddie walking arm in arm with Bill. The two of them were talking under their breath, Eddie's face focused and intense. It was the look Richie had craved as a kid, the look that made him spout endless commentary and stupid jokes just to feel the weight of Eddie's full attention. He still craved it now, felt like he was falling apart without it. He wanted Eddie's eyes on him.

"What did Eds say to you?" he asked out of the side of his mouth as Bill took his place beside him.

"He said we're not in fucking middle school anymore, talk to him yourself," said Bill.

"Up yours, Billdred," said Richie, but the answer made him feel slightly better. If Eddie had told Bill he was never going to speak to Richie again, Bill wouldn't be giving him shit. He'd be making his serious face and acting all sorry for him.

"How's Eds doing?" he asked Mike on their way back up the aisle.

"Nope," said Mike. "I'm not doing this junior-high telephone bullshit."

"Jesus, Mikey, are you and Bill merging into one person? He said exactly the same thing. You know it's good for couples to have some separate interests, right?"

"The day I take relationship advice from you, Richie..." Mike said, then gestured expansively, as if words failed to convey how ludicrous such a day would have to be.

Ben had organized a hotel shuttle to take them to the rehearsal dinner. Eddie hung back, not climbing aboard until it was almost full, then slipped into the empty seat beside one of Ben's cousins. Richie tried awkwardly to make conversation with a woman named Kay, whom Bev had introduced as "my work wife"; Kay seemed nice, but Richie missed most of what she was saying because his eyes kept creeping back to Eddie.

When they pulled up in front of the restaurant, Richie couldn't contain a little exclamation of surprise. "Bev, fuck, seriously?"

Bev glanced at him, taking in his reaction to the sign proclaiming Plum Blossom Chinese Cuisine. She knew perfectly well how long it had been since Richie had eaten Chinese. "Their food is really fucking good, Richie," she said. "Don't miss out on a great experience just because you're scared."

"Well that was a little on the nose," he grumbled, but he followed Bev into the restaurant without further protest.

By the time Richie made it to the table, Eddie was already sitting, flanked by Kay on one side and a guy Richie hadn't been introduced to yet on the other. Bev sat down next to Ben and pulled out the chair on her opposite side for Richie, but instead of sitting, he leaned to whisper in her ear. "Get Kay to switch seats with me," he said urgently.

"What's in it for me?" Bev asked.

"A promise that I won't make any jokes about fucking Ben's mom where she can hear me?"

Bev laughed. "Bargain at twice the price." Then she raised her voice. "Hey, McCall! Come sit by me, will you? I've been listening to Richie's running commentary all damn day. I need some girl talk."

"That is reverse sexism," said Richie loudly, then mouthed "Thank you" so only Bev could see it. Kay scooted out of her chair beside Eddie, and Richie rushed to claim it.

Eddie looked at him and rolled his eyes. "Reverse sexism isn't a thing, dickhead," he said. It was kind of sad how Richie's heart fluttered when Eddie insulted him.

"Really? Well, what about--" He stopped, because Eddie had turned away to resume his conversation with the man on the other side of him. The man was telling a story about a broken shoelace and New York Fashion Week, and Richie realized after a moment that this must be Beverly's model friend Julian.

Richie tried to lean forward surreptitiously so he could see past Eddie to Julian's face. Dammit, Julian was hot. He had full lips and a sexy gap between his teeth and cheekbones like what the fuck. In other circumstances, Richie might have been fishing for his number, but right now all Julian aroused in him was the strong desire to physically carry Eddie back to their hotel room, where he couldn't be distracted by all this frankly excessive gorgeousness.

"That reminds me of the time--" Richie tried to interject himself into Eddie and Julian's conversation, but Eddie held up a hand and said "Hang on, he was talking."

To Richie's other side was some dude from Ben's architecture firm, overtly straight in a way Richie found discomfiting, and besides, he was deep in conversation with Bill. Richie sighed louder than he needed to, then pulled out his phone and scrolled through Twitter.

Eddie shot him a look. "How's Travis?" he said, his tone utterly innocuous. Only Richie could hear the intended slap in the words.

"I'm not texting him," said Richie, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice. "I talked to him this afternoon. He probably doesn't want to hear from me for a while."

That was kind of an understatement. Richie had assumed that their whole laid-back deal meant that Travis would be nonchalant about Richie ending things--really, there was barely anything to end--but apparently being dumped by a "washed-up closet-case hack" was a blow to Travis's ego that could not go unanswered. "Dude, I've been out," Richie had protested, to which Travis had responded "Not the point, asshole" and hung up on him.

"What happened?" said Eddie, forgetting to pretend the question was casual.

"Uh, I guess Bev happened. She chewed me out for keeping Travis on the line while I waited for... someone better to come along. Not really fair to him." Richie tapped his fingers anxiously on the table. "And it doesn't make a great impression, when someone better does show up."

Eddie looked like he was going to say something, but just then the waiter came by to take their order, and by the time that was done, Eddie had settled back into his discussion with Julian. Richie tried to tune them out and focus on dinner. Bev was right: the food was amazing. And Ben's straight coworker turned out to be a huge fan of Bill's books, which meant he was hyper-critical of them as only a diehard could be, so he and Richie ganged up and teased Bill mercilessly about the nonsensical conclusion to the Obelisk of Shadows trilogy. As long as Richie ignored the fizzing sensation of his nerves screaming Eddie Eddie Eddie, this was actually kind of fun.

He didn't eat his fortune cookie, though. There were limits.

Instead, as the wedding party grazed over their dessert, he got to his feet and cleared his throat for attention. "Hey, everyone, my name is Richie Tozier and I'm the maid of honor. I was asked to give my toast this evening, when there would be, and this is a direct quote from the lovely groom, 'fewer apologies we have to make if you say something disgusting.'" Several people laughed at that, and they weren't all people Richie knew. "Thanks, guys. I promise this is going to be shorter than my Netflix special."

"Title of your sex tape!" yelled Bev.

"Oh, shit, Bevvie Gets Off A Good One!" Richie said. "Which is, incidentally, the title of Ben's sex tape."

"Oh my God, sit down," Ben groaned. "Beep fucking beep."

"That was it, I promise, no more sex jokes," said Richie. "Anyway, Bev started it." His eyes flicked to Eddie, as much as he tried to look elsewhere. Eddie was gazing back at him, some kind of question in his brown eyes. Richie saw Julian lean close, saying something to Eddie, and with a pang of satisfaction that was almost painful, he saw Eddie shush him.

"I knew Ben and Beverly when we were kids," he said, pulling his eyes away from Eddie's and looking around the table. "We all grew up together, with Bill and Mike and Eddie--" his heart skipped as he said the last name, and he hurried past it-- "and with this amazing guy named Stan, who I'm sorry to say passed away much too young, but who I'd like to think is heckling me from the other side right now." Bill raised his glass to that, and Richie closed his eyes for a moment, picturing Stan's face.

"But when we left our hometown, we all lost touch. Then, a couple years ago, Mike here organized a little reunion. Just like the rest of us, Bev and Ben hadn't seen each other in twenty-plus years. And I was lucky enough to be there when they laid eyes on each other after all that time."

Ben was blushing a little, smiling down at the table where his fingers were laced through Bev's.

"See, if you met these two today, you'd be like, yes, of course, these gorgeous and successful people have chosen to merge their gorgeous and successful lives. They're both perfect, it makes sense." Ben flushed even redder. The man could not take a compliment, which was a shame because, well, look at him.

"The thing is, though, they loved each other before any of that happened, way before any of the money and the fame, before Ben designed the Lost Children's Memorial of Maine or Bev had a spread in French Vogue."

"It was Vogue Italia, you country yokel," said Bev.

"Yeah, I don't care, I'm not that kind of gay. My point is, when Ben and Bev and the rest of us met, we were all losers. Ben was the new kid in school, and he was this giant nerd who read history books for fun. I mean, I had straight A's and Coke-bottle glasses, and I still looked at Ben and went, 'tone it down, nerd.'" A handful of people laughed, Beverly among them. "And Bev got picked on because all her friends were dudes. People called her a lot of dumb shit back then, mostly because no one in rural Maine in the '80s knew the phrase 'fag hag.'"

Bev laughed even harder at that, and Bill and Mike joined in. Even Eddie cracked a smile.

"But these two, they cared for each other. They stood up for each other. I think it would be fair to say that they saved each other." Beverly whispered something to Ben, and he smiled and squeezed her hand. "And when they saw each other again, it wasn't as a couple of beautiful celebrities. It was as those kids, who had each other's backs when the world was scary and cruel. I don't think anyone who wasn't there will ever fully understand how strong and brave and amazing these two people are." Richie's voice cracked, but that was fine. He'd warned Beverly that he was going to cry. 

"I'm so proud of them both, and so glad that they've both found someone who loves them, not for their looks or their money or their achievements, but just for their incredible selves. That kind of love…" He looked at Ben and Bev, their hands entwined, then at Mike with his arm tight around Bill's shoulders. Then he looked straight down at Eddie, hoping that what he felt showed in his face. "Once you've felt that kind of love, nothing else compares."

He watched Eddie's eyes widen, watched Eddie suck in a breath and slowly let it back out.

Richie raised his glass. "So here's to Ben Hanscom, the only man who deserves Bev," he said. "And to Bev Marsh, the only woman who deserves Ben."

"To Ben and Bev," said Mike, lifting his own glass, and everyone around the table repeated the toast. Richie grinned widely, despite the tears in his eyes, and threw back the rest of his drink, then sat down in his chair again. Around the table, the hum of chatter resumed.

"That was a really good toast, Richie," said a quiet voice at his shoulder.

Richie took off his glasses, knuckled tears from the corners of his eyes, and put them back on before flashing Eddie a toothy smile. "You think?"

"You literally didn't mention your dick. Not once," said Eddie. "It was astonishing." Though he was teasing, his tone was gentle. "Sometimes I forget what a fucking sap you are, deep down."

Richie sniffled a little. "Weddings make me emotional, dude, I don't know what to tell you."

"Gay," said Eddie.

"Oh please. You're so gay, you probably thought that toast was about you."

Eddie glanced down, then back at Richie's face, then away again. "Uh. I mean. Was it?"

"What? Like, was that my subtle way of confessing that I've been in love with you since we were thirteen, just like Ben with Bev?" Eddie opened his mouth, but Richie didn't let him get a word in. "Yeah, dude, no shit. The second I saw you again in Derry, I realized what exactly it was that no guy I dated could ever live up to." It was a good thing he was already crying, Richie thought. Otherwise this might be embarrassing.

"Richie, I didn't…"

"No, I know. It's fine. I already fucked this up, but you might as well at least know how I feel." He shrugged. "For some reason I feel better about blowing it with the truth than with a misunderstanding." The tears were coming faster, threatening to overwhelm him, and he shoved back his chair and stood. "Hey Marsh, you got a smoke?" he asked Beverly.

"Thought you quit," she said, rummaging in her purse.

"Thought you quit," he said back. "Anyway, it's a special occasion." She handed him a cigarette. He tipped an imaginary hat to her and walked outside without looking back at Eddie.

The night air was fresh and crisp at this altitude, even in summertime. It smelled dry and sweet and clean, like sun-baked earth and plants Richie couldn't name. He leaned against the wall, turning the cigarette over in his fingers.

Before the door had swung all the way shut behind him, someone was pushing it open again.

"Dude, don't smoke that," said Eddie.

Richie didn't look at him. "I don't need the cancer stats right now, Eds," he said. "I just need to calm down a little."

"No, I mean don't smoke it because I don't like the taste and I want to kiss you, and if you smoke I'll have to wait until after you brush your teeth," said Eddie in a rush, the words tumbling out so fast Richie almost couldn't follow them.

Richie finally looked up. Eddie was standing much closer to him than Richie had realized, almost within arm's reach. The warmth of his body was incandescent in the cool darkness.

"Oh," said Richie. "Okay." He threw the unlit cigarette into the parking lot.

Eddie took a step forward and put his hands on Richie's hips. The heat of his palms steeped through Richie's body. Eddie's dark eyes looked up into his. "Can I?" he asked.

Richie cupped Eddie's face in his hands and kissed him. He figured that would do well enough for an answer.

Eddie's mouth was soft, his lips pressing against Richie's as though he were asking a question but trying not to pry. His hands curled around Richie's hipbones almost protectively. An inch or so of air thrummed between their bodies, their hands and lips the only points of contact, and Richie held his breath with anticipation.

Then Eddie surged against him, crashing into his body like a wave against the shore. Richie gasped, a small bruised sound that disappeared into Eddie's mouth. They were pressed together, now, chests and bellies and hips and thighs colliding in a line of aching heat. Eddie's fingers dug into Richie's sides like he was trying to drag himself through Richie's rib cage. God, this was everything Richie had ever hoped for, only a thousand times better.

Eddie tangled his fists in the front of his shirt and kissed him again, deeper, his tongue searching Richie's mouth and finding every desperate groan Richie tried to stifle. Then he pulled back just a little, smiling as Richie whimpered and sought his lips. "Does Travis kiss you like that?" he murmured. "Do you make those kind of noises for Travis?"

"No, fuck, Travis who?" Richie panted. "There's only you. I'm yours, Eds."

"Mmm." Eddie traced his tongue lazily over Richie's bottom lip. "Say it again."

"I'm yours, I'm so fucking yours." Eddie licked and kissed down the side of his neck. "I gotta say, possessiveness is pretty hot on you."

"I didn't wait for you all this time just to fucking share you," Eddie growled, and Richie melted, dropping his head back against the brick wall behind him as Eddie sucked the tender skin above his collarbone.

"Leave a mark where people can see it," Richie begged, his voice thin. "I want to make Julian jealous."

"Julian? Who--oh, Bev's friend? What the fuck, Richie, did you sleep with him too?" Eddie's hand slid into Richie's back pocket, gripping his ass like Richie might try to wriggle free--which he wouldn't, Jesus, not ever.

"No!" he said. "He was trying to sleep with you. "

"I think you imagined that," Eddie said, his lips grazing Richie's jaw. "We were just talking. He's… honestly, Rich, he's really fucking boring."

"Then why'd you talk to him instead of me?"

"Because I was trying to make you jealous, dumbfuck." Richie felt the words in his nerve endings, in his teeth, in his groin. The idea of Eddie wanting Richie to be jealous was a thrill he'd never considered before. It felt good.

"Were you done eating?" he asked, moving his hips so Eddie couldn't miss the shape of his cock hardening through his jeans. "Because I think I'm ready for dessert."

The door slammed open again. "Richie!" yelled Bev. "You out here? We're gonna--" She stopped short, seeing Richie and Eddie tangled in each other against the wall.

Sober, Bev might have slipped discreetly back inside, but after three or four drinks at dinner, Richie knew there was no hiding her enthusiasm. Still, he wasn't expecting her to actually yell "Hooray!" and punch her fist in the air. That seemed excessive.

"Shut up, " Eddie hissed, trying to hide his smile.

"Yes! I knew it! It's my wedding miracle!" Richie couldn't help laughing at Bev's exuberance. "All right, lover boys, get yourselves decent. The shuttle will be here in five minutes to take us to karaoke."

"Um," said Richie. "You know, Bev, I think we might actually…"

"Nope! Fuck you!" she said cheerfully. "You two have the next fifty years to screw each other's brains out, but this is the last time I'm ever getting married and you're not skipping my bachelorette party."

"Is it really a bachelorette party if Ben's there too?" Eddie asked, but he shrugged at Richie like, I guess this is what we're doing.

Richie knew better than to argue with Beverly right now. "All right, Marsh, lead the way," he said. He and Eddie followed her back inside, holding hands.

Chapter Text

The karaoke bar was packed, but Bev led the wedding party to a table with a RESERVED placard, tucked away in a corner. Two bottles of champagne chilled in ice buckets on the table. Richie, seeing that there weren't enough chairs, grabbed one and flung himself into it before someone else could.

He patted his thighs and grinned up at Eddie. "I saved you a seat."

"Oh, you two are friends again?" Mike asked. He pulled out a chair and gestured chivalrously for Bill to sit.

"Is friends what you'd call us, Eds?" Richie said with a leer.

"It's a stretch, considering that I barely find you tolerable," Eddie said, but any sting the words might have contained was soothed by his warm, solid weight as he lowered himself into Richie's lap. This was what Richie had wanted, but he froze up as Eddie settled in, swiveling his hips from side to side more vigorously than strictly necessary. Suddenly, Richie didn't know what to do with his hands.

Eddie seemed to know what he was thinking. He smiled over his shoulder and leaned his back against Richie's chest, then grabbed Richie's hands and arranged them around his waist.

Richie held on, his heart surging with something perfectly balanced between gratitude and desire. He wanted so much more, and yet having Eddie in his arms, in public, where anyone could see them, was the answer to years--no, decades--of hopeless daydreams. His skin was singing. His heart was doing the fucking Mashed Potatoes all over the inside of his sternum.

He needed a goddamn drink.

"Would it be bad manners to open the champagne?" he said, letting his lips brush Eddie's shoulder. God, Eddie smelled good. Underneath his soap and cologne and the breath mint he'd popped after dinner, there was the smell of comic book pages on long summer afternoons, of late nights watching horror movies, of ice cream and fresh-cut grass. Eddie smelled like the vast blue thrill of leaping into the quarry and the first lungful of air after surfacing, and Richie loved him like the sun.

"Do you even like champagne? I've never seen you drink anything that didn't contain whiskey," said Eddie. It gave Richie a sharp sweet feeling, knowing Eddie had observed him, picking up details and filing them away.

"I do not like champagne," he admitted. "But I need to put some alcohol in my face so I can calm the fuck down."

"Richie," said Eddie, shifting his weight again--no, not shifting, grinding his ass into Richie's lap in a slow circle, a movement that probably looked innocuous to everyone else but definitely didn't feel that way to Richie's swelling cock. "Is something making you tense?"

Richie leaned forward so he could whisper hot into Eddie's ear, "That's fucking mean."

The glance Eddie gave him was heavy-lidded and dark. He spoke almost soundlessly, but Richie could see the words on his lips: "Don't pretend you don't love it."

Richie bit back a groan. God dammit, the bastard was right. Wasn't like he could deny it when Eddie had the evidence pressed up against his ass. If anything, knowing Eddie was torturing him on purpose was turning him on more. He wondered if it was a pavlovian response left over from alternately antagonizing Eddie and furtively jerking off to him throughout their teenage years. Maybe he'd gotten some wires crossed in his dick.

"Eddie," he said quietly, pushing his hips up so his hard-on pressed against Eddie's ass. "I'm afraid I have wires crossed in my dick. Can you check?"

"Sure," Eddie said brightly, at a normal volume. "I'll go get you a drink, Rich." He hopped out of Richie's lap, and Richie frantically scooted the chair in, hiding the evidence of his arousal under the table.

He glared at Eddie, who was smiling innocently back at him. "You're such a bitch," Richie groaned. Then he shrugged and added, "Scotch and soda?"

"Sure thing," said Eddie. Richie didn't bother to pretend he wasn't staring at Eddie's ass when he walked away.

A second later, his phone buzzed with a text from Eddie.

I think we both know which of us is whose bitch.

But I can remind you when we get back to the hotel.

Richie bit his lower lip, hard, almost squirming in his seat. It wasn't fair that Eddie could get him this worked up just by being mean. That was like his natural state; it required no effort whatsoever. Richie might as well get a stiffy every time Eddie breathed.

He pictured Eddie breathing. Actually, yeah, that was hot. Hunching over the table in a way that probably made it all the more obvious what he was trying to conceal, Richie replied to Eddie's text.

i learn best while getting dicked down

im a phallic learner

gotta fuck that knowledge str8 into me

make me scream about it

that way ill rmember

He put his phone away and tried to catch up on the conversation Bill and Mike were having, but they were speaking the kind of couple shorthand that leaves out all the most important words: "Wait, was it the guy from the--" "Yeah, so then she had that--" "Oh, right, because of that one time!" It was incredibly annoying, and Richie couldn't wait to sound like that with Eddie.

Beverly came back to the table holding a giant three-ring binder and a clipboard. "Everyone does a song, no exceptions," she said, pointing a warning finger at Richie, as though he needed peer pressure to make an ass of himself. Mike immediately grabbed the book and started flipping through it, debating song selections with Bill in heated tones.

Richie's phone hummed against his thigh with another text from Eddie.

"Phallic learner"? That's idiotic.

You're lucky I find it hot when you're dumb.

Richie grinned. thats my secret, cap, he answered. im always dumb. only wys to shut me up is fuck my brains out.

This time Eddie's response was immediate: What brains?

"Earth to Rich," said Mike. "You can sext Eddie later. Pick a song so we can give the book back."

"Is it really sexting if it's just him telling me how stupid I am?"

Mike exchanged a look with Bill, and in unison, they both said "Yes."

"Name-calling is foreplay for you two dipshits. We all know that," Bill said. "Now pick a damn song."

"Dipshits? Bill, are you hitting on me right in front of Mikey?"

"You wish," said Mike.

Sighing theatrically, Richie flipped through the book until he found something that sounded fun, and scribbled it at the bottom of the sign-up sheet. He handed the sheet back to Bev, who set off again through the crowd to find the emcee.

As soon as she was gone, Richie pulled out his phone again, but was interrupted by a touch on his shoulder, a warm hand gliding up the back of his neck to ruffle his curly hair. "Scotch and soda for the gentleman," said Eddie, setting the drink on the table beside his own glass of what Richie knew without asking was Pinot Grigio. He nudged Richie to scoot his chair back, allowing Eddie to reposition himself in his lap.

"What gentleman?" asked Ben.

"Hey," Richie protested. To Eddie, he added, "You don't have to get me drunk. I'm gonna put out either way."

"I see your point," Eddie said to Ben.

"What are you gonna sing, Eddie,?" Bill said. "Everyone has to sing a song, Beverly's orders."

"No," said Eddie. He didn't elaborate further.

"Eddie, she's the bride, " Ben said nervously. He looked like he was picturing Eddie and Beverly having a public screaming match. Richie tried to decide whether that would be funnier than Eddie actually doing karaoke. It was a close call. Either one would definitely cement this as the best day of his life, even before he went back to the hotel to have sex with the first person he'd ever masturbated about.

"Just because she's the bride doesn't mean I sing in public," Eddie snapped.

"Hey, look, will you please do this for her?" Ben reached across the table to grab Eddie's hand, and Richie felt Eddie stiffen, preparing to tell him off. "It would make her so happy, and I'd owe you forever. I really want this whole weekend to be just the way she wants it. You know how her first wedding went--" Richie didn't, actually, and he suspected Eddie didn't either; they knew the broad outline of Bev's horrific previous marriage, but she was tight-lipped about details-- "and I just, fuck, she deserves everything to be perfect this time. She deserves everything."

Ben was so earnest and adorable, Richie could fucking cry. He got it, too: he'd cut a bitch to make sure everything was up to Eddie's standards at their wedding, not that he had ever imagined them getting married, shut up.

Richie felt Eddie's body relax as he dropped his head back on Richie's shoulder in an exaggerated gesture of resignation. "Jesus, fine," he said. "But only because you're too cute for me to disappoint you, Ben."

Ben's smile sparkled. "You're a good friend, Eddie," he said. "I'll get you the book."

"Nah, just grab me a list," said Eddie. "I know what I'm gonna sing."

Just then, the emcee announced, "Up next, we have a duet from 'the future Mr. and Mrs. Beverly Hanscom!'"

"Oh, shit, that's me," said Ben, looking genuinely nervous. He dashed for the stage, where Bev was already standing with a microphone and a hand on her hip, leaving Bill to wrangle a sign-up sheet for Eddie.

Richie laughed with delight when he heard the opening riff of Meat Loaf's "Paradise by the Dashboard Lights," but he whooped when the intro was over and Bev started singing the Meat Loaf part.

Well I remember every single thing as if it happened only yesterday

Parking by the lake and there was not another car in sight

No, I never had a girl looking any better than you did

And all the kids at school, well they were wishing they were me that night.

Wearing a rock star sneer, she strutted across the tiny stage to grind playfully on Ben. He stared back at her in open adoration. They'd obviously practiced this; Ben joined in on the harmonies, and they sounded kind of great. Richie was smiling so much his cheeks hurt. It was so beautiful, seeing Ben love Beverly the way she deserved to be loved.

Eddie acquired a sign-up list from somewhere and was writing on it in his small, fussy penmanship while Richie sang along to Bev's Meat Loaf impersonation. When he stood up with it, Richie realized he hadn't even looked at Eddie's song selection. He wondered if it would be something sexy, but tried to quash that hope. Eddie wasn't the serenading type.

Ben's voice wasn't as good as Bev's, but he more than made up for it with enthusiasm when it was time for him to sing Ellen Foley's verses. There was no parody in his performance. He was playing it totally straight--Ben in a nutshell, Richie thought--which only made it funnier. Ben wrapped both hands around the microphone as he belted out:

Will you make me so happy for the rest of my life?

Will you take me away? Will you make me your wife?

I gotta know right now, before we go any further

Do you love me? Will you love me forever?

By the time Ben and Bev finished the song, half the crowd was singing along, and the applause was raucous. "That's my husband, bitches!" Bev yelled. Everyone hollered their approval. "As of tomorrow," Ben clarified, but no one heard him.

When the emcee got back on the mic, she was laughing too. "You two have a beautiful future together, I can tell," she said. "All right, we're gonna move the list around a little bit, because up next is a guy who slipped me a twenty to, quote, 'get this cock-shit over with.'" Richie, knowing exactly who would say something like that, gave a wolf whistle. "Please welcome Eddie!"

Richie's heart leapt as Eddie walked into the spotlight. He looked supremely irritated, which--listen, if Richie wasn't into that, there's no way his infatuation would have lasted all those years. Eddie also looked fucking good in his French-tucked button-down; Richie loved the way his style was evolving since coming out, even though he annoyed Eddie by describing his aesthetic as "business twink." It would be fun to help him take that shirt off, lingering over every button, licking a path down the skin underneath until… Anyway.

"Bev made me do this. Blame her," said Eddie, and Richie dragged himself out of his lust coma as a Latin rhythm started to play.

"Is this--" Mike asked, sounding both amused and annoyed.

"It fucking is, " Richie said.

Ben, who had just arrived back at the table, said "That doesn't count!"

Beside him, Beverly just said, "This bitch."

Eddie stood on the stage without moving, his arms folded across his chest. He didn't so much as tap a toe as the horn section kicked in, although people throughout the audience were laughing in recognition and swaying to the beat.

"I think it's within the letter of the agreement," Bill said, just before Eddie leaned toward the microphone, and in an absolute deadpan, said, "Tequila."

"This is not even a song," Ben fumed. "It has one fucking word of lyrics."

"It was a number-one hit," said Richie. "Which is pretty incredible considering it's a B-side. I think you have to count it as a song."

"Why, literally why, do you know that?" said Ben, turning toward Richie with the full force of his anger. It was like being yelled at by a bunny rabbit. Richie fought the urge to giggle.

Bill said, "If you don't want to hear random music trivia, don't invite Richie to shit. You know this."

"Yeah," said Richie, not sure if Bill was defending him or insulting him.

"Tequila!" yelled Beverly, in unison with Eddie. He still hadn't moved, but Richie thought he saw a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Bev, meanwhile, was laughing with her whole body, face flushed and leaning on Ben for balance. Ben smiled down at her, his indignation softening. It might have had something to do with the glass of champagne in her hand, but mostly, Richie knew, it was just Eddie, standing on stage doing nothing, sending her into hysterics.

Choosing a karaoke song with practically no words was hilariously passive-aggressive, and so fucking Eddie. He would make a show of resistance, but he'd do what Bev wanted, because he was a cranky little bitch who loved his friends and wanted to make them happy. Richie wanted to jump on his dick right then and there.

When Eddie reached the last "Tequila!" the rest of the Losers thundered it along with him. Eddie finally cracked a real smile-- those dimples-- and Richie laughed, and yearned, all at once. He jumped up from his seat and hurried to the side of the stage.

"You're such a dick," he said to Eddie as he came down the stairs. Then he wrapped his arms around Eddie's waist and kissed him. Eddie was tense and jittery in his embrace, but he relaxed as his tongue grazed over Richie's lips.

"Did Bev like it?" Eddie asked, pulling back.

"She laughed her tits off," Richie reassured him.

"Well, shit, that's gonna make her wedding dress fit all weird."

"Should have thought about that before you decided to be hilarious, asshole," Richie said, and kissed him again. Eddie's hands settled on his waist, pulling Richie's hips flush with his own, and moving against him in a way that made Richie remember very clearly his ultimate goal for tonight.

"Think we can sneak out now that I sang?" Eddie asked, reading his mind, or more likely the bulge in his pants.

Richie was tempted, so goddamn tempted, but… "Bev said everyone has to sing," he said.

"That's true," said Eddie, doing something with his hips that made Richie's breath snag in his throat. "She did say that." His hands slid up Richie's back, under his shirt.

"Eds, come on," he panted. "We can't just--it's their wedding, we have to--"

Eddie groaned, dragging his fingernails down Richie's back. "Fucking fine," he said. He kissed Richie's again, deep and dirty, and pulled away too soon. Richie followed him back to the table with his metaphorical tongue hanging out.

Julian was onstage singing some minor-key pop song when they got back to the table. "What is this?" Eddie asked.

"I don't know," Richie admitted. "Whatever the cool young gays are listening to these days."

"I know we're technically middle-aged, but you guys don't have to, like, lean into it quite so hard," Bev interjected. "Check out a song that came out this decade sometime."

"Don't talk back to your elders," Richie said.

Mike went after Julian, singing an acoustic ballad that Richie vaguely recognized. It was beautiful--Mike's voice matched the rest of him, the handsome bastard--but it wasn't funny, which as far as Richie was concerned meant Mike was missing the entire point of karaoke.

Then he glanced over at Bill, staring at Mike moon-eyed with his chin in his hands, and revised his assessment. Karaoke wasn't just for making people laugh. It was also for getting laid. Richie raised his glass to Mike, although the spotlight meant the gesture went unseen.

After that, someone they didn't know sang "Walking on Sunshine," and Bill did a spirited if imprecise rendition of "Welcome to the Jungle," complete with air guitar.

"All right," said the emcee, "up next, please welcome Ricky!"

Eddie slid out of Richie's lap. "I think that's you, dude," he said in response to Richie's blank look.

"Ricky?" asked the emcee. "Uh, it's hard to read--maybe it's Richie?"

"Go on, Ricky, " said Bev, patting him on the back.

Eddie clapped his hands, chanting "Rick-y! Rick-y!" Several people joined in.

"I fucking hate you," Richie mouthed to Eddie, and Eddie blew him a kiss.

"My name's actually Richie," he said when he got to the microphone. "So thanks for that new nickname that my friends will definitely get over in a day or two, like fucking normal people."

"Never," Bill yelled.

"Anyway, uh…" The music was already starting, but Richie still wanted to say this. "I'm dedicating this song to Eddie, because, well, hopefully he'll be my man." Screams, hollers, and whistles, and not just from the table where the Losers sat. Richie wished he could see past the spotlights to the look on Eddie's face. He grabbed the microphone from its stand so he could move around the stage, and started singing.

Any man of mine better be proud of me

Even when I'm ugly, he still better love me

And I can be late for a date, that's fine

But he better be on time.

"Any Man of Mine" was the perfect song for him and Eddie. Richie was a mess and Eddie was perfect and Richie was just going to go ahead and soak up all that perfection he didn't deserve. Sure, he could have done a love song, but Eddie already knew Richie loved him. Richie wanted to make him laugh.

He strutted like Shania in the music video, tried a little twirl, and almost got tangled in the mic cable. The sound of laughter from the audience hadn't faded since the opening chords, and Richie was in his element.

He's gotta be a heart beatin', fine treatin'

Breath takin', earth quakin' kind,

Any man of mine.

Every time he sang that line, Richie pointed to approximately where he thought Eddie was sitting in the invisible crowd. Halfway through the second verse, it occurred to him that he was a minor celebrity and this was definitely going to end up on YouTube--which meant there was no excuse for half-assing it. He threw in some high kicks, pouring extra twang into his voice as he burned through the key change.

At the end of the song, he even improvised a little line dance. Richie had never practiced, or even closely observed, line dancing. Still, he thought he pulled it off, in that he remained mostly upright.

"Your move, Tom Holland," he shouted. Some of the laughter he heard was probably more at him than with him, but the high was the same.

Eddie met him at the side of the stage. "That was the dumbest thing I've ever seen," he said.

Richie draped his arms over Eddie's shoulders. "Yeah, but you're into that, right?"

Eddie pulled him in for a kiss. "I'm not dignifying that with a response," he said into Richie's mouth. "But we're leaving right the fuck now."

Chapter Text

Sedona might kick LA's ass when it came to scenery, fresh air, and weather, but in the Getting A Cab After Midnight event, big cities were still the champs. They decided it would be faster to walk.

"We could Uber," Eddie suggested, although they were already moving in the direction of the hotel, the moon a bright smile above them.

"I don't do rideshares. Those motherfuckers will sell you to the tabloids in a hot second," said Richie.

"Right, I forgot about The Incident," Eddie said, rolling his eyes.

"That was fucked up. I was drunk, and I entrusted that guy with my safety, and he exploited me in a vulnerable moment for his fifteen minutes of fame."

"Oh my God, it wasn't even that embarrassing! It's not like you puked in his car. Or jerked off in it."

"No, either of those would definitely have been less embarrassing."

*I'm sure you're not the only person to have cried in an Uber while watching Adele videos on YouTube."

"Yeah, well, I'm the only one that got a headline about it." Richie shrugged, feeling agitated. "You know it was about you, right?"

Eddie frowned. Another thing Richie shouldn't have found sexy, but definitely did. "The Adele video was about me?"

"The crying, shithead," Richie said. "Actually, the getting drunk in the first place was about you, too."

Carefully, keeping his face neutral, Eddie asked, "Why?"

"I don't know. Because I'm an idiot." Richie regretted mentioning this.

"You've always been an idiot," Eddie pointed out affectionately. "You're not always drunk and crying in the back of an Uber."

"It was the day your divorce was final," said Richie, looking down at the ground as though his feet were fascinating. Yep, there they were, end of his legs, just like always. "I went to a bar to--well, it was supposed to be to celebrate. Have a drink in honor of your freedom, you know?"

"Okay," said Eddie.

"And then I was… I don't know. I kept thinking about how you were single, and out, and you could start dating guys now, and here I was on the ass other end of the country. So I had more to drink, and felt sorry for myself, and thought about how there was nothing stopping me from telling you how I felt, but I still couldn't do it." Eddie stopped walking, tugging gently on Richie's hand so he stopped too, but he kept looking down at his feet. "There was nothing holding you back from being with me, but you still weren't with me. And I didn't think you ever would be."

"Richie," said Eddie softly. Richie focused intensely on his shoes.

"So I got plastered, and cried in an Uber, and then I was on a bunch of gossip sites being a shitfaced lovesick mess. Which would never have happened if I'd taken a cab," he finished.

"Richie, look at me." He did, finally. Eddie was staring at him with drops of moonlight in his big brown eyes, so kind and tender Richie could hardly stand it. Eddie moved closer and laced his fingers behind Richie's neck as he said, "That's incredibly fucking stupid."

"Enough sweet talk, just kiss me already," said Richie.

Eddie did--but just a soft press of the lips, barely more than a peck, before he was leaning back to look in Richie's eyes again. "You never asked, " he said. "You got so fucked up you had a semi-public meltdown, but you never just fucking asked me if I wanted to be with you."

"Why would you?" said Richie quietly.

"It's not a hypothetical, dumbass. I do. "

"You do?" They hadn't really talked about this--what they were, what it meant. "Like, for tonight? For the weekend?"

"Why?" said Eddie. "You got a hot date with Travis next week?" But his tone was gentle.

"You know I don't," Richie said, leaning his forehead against Eddie's.

"And I already told you I'm not seeing anyone else."

"So…" Why was Richie so afraid to ask the question, when Eddie was taking pains to make his answer clear? "Can we do this?" He was shivering as he said it, though the night wasn't very cold. "I mean, will you?"

Eddie smiled, his fingers tracing the back of Richie's neck, like writing a message Richie could almost read. "You asking me to go steady, Tozier?"

"Yeah," said Richie breathlessly. "I guess I am"

This kiss was longer and sweeter. Eddie's mouth caught Richie's and held it, demanding nothing, just lingering in the pleasure of touch. One hand cupped Richie's cheek--so gently, like he was something delicate and rare. "Then I'm saying yes," Eddie breathed against his lips.

"Really? Even with the distance and everything?" Some part of Richie kept wanting to give Eddie chances to back out, to realize he could do better. "You're just barely single again. You could be out getting laid."

Eddie grinned. "I happen to know that you're fucking spectacular at phone sex."

"Well, that's true." Richie might be an insecure, self-deprecating sack of shit, but he wasn't a liar.

"But I'm definitely going to need some vivid memories to get me through the lonely nights while my boyfriend is on the other coast, so, like, can we get to the hotel already?"

"Fucking yes, " said Richie, and he grabbed Eddie's hand and practically skipped down the street.

Richie had envisioned making out in the hotel elevator, but Eddie dragged him for the stairs. Eddie was faster, but Richie's legs were long enough to take the steps two at a time, and they made it to the top side by side. As Eddie unlocked their door, Richie pressed up against him from behind, letting Eddie feel that he was already half hard. Eddie laughed, frantic, and then the doorknob turned and they both stumbled into the dark of the room.

Blind even with his glasses on, Richie felt his way to the bed, following Eddie's warmth, the sound of his breathing, the smell of his hair. Richie bumped into the mattress, and then Eddie was pushing him down, climbing on top, straddling him. He heard the pounding of his own pulse and Eddie's soft, insistent growl as he spread Richie's mouth wide open with his tongue.

Richie yanked ineffectually at the buttons on Eddie's shirt, desperate to feel more of his skin. Instead of helping, Eddie pulled away, sitting up while Richie moaned in protest.

"I need light," said Eddie, flicking on the lamp on the bedside table.

Richie made a face. "Do you really?"

"Yes," said Eddie, like it was obvious. "I don't know if I've been too subtle about this or what, Rich, but I'm actually fucking dying to see you naked."

"I like the naked part," Richie said, trying to joke. "The seeing is where it gets dicey."

Eddie frowned. "What's this about?"

"Nothing. Never mind. Let's just--"

"No, wait. Do you not think you're good-looking or something? You think I don't want to see your body?" Eddie ran his hands heavily over Richie's chest, and Richie's breath caught. "Richie. For fuck's sake. You think I like you for your mind ?"

That made Richie grin against his will. "Well, when you put it that way."

Eddie pushed Richie's shirt up around his rib cage, and Richie drew back a little at the thought of what he was seeing: the softness of his belly, pale skin under rough dark hair. But Eddie was looking down at him like he was a cold beer at the end of a long day, like Richie was all he wanted or needed.

"Don't take this the wrong way," said Eddie. "You have lots of good qualities. But mostly, I'm in this for the hot piece of ass." He rolled his hips, grinding exquisitely slowly against Richie's erection. At the same time, he pulled Richie's shirt the rest of the way up and over his head.

"So I'm just a sex object to you?" Richie said, as Eddie flung his shirt to the floor.

"I didn't say just, " Eddie corrected. "I said mostly. "

Richie lay back, fighting the momentary impulse to cover himself up. He might not understand it, but the expression on Eddie's face wasn't feigned, and neither was the noise of satisfaction he made as he swept his thumb over Richie's nipple. Eddie was staring down at him with a hungry fire in his eyes. Eddie wanted him.

"Besides," said Eddie, "you said you were mine."

"I am," Richie whispered.

Eddie smiled, slow and dangerous. "If you're mine, then I get to look at you." He ran his hands over Richie's shoulders, down his arms, threaded their fingers together. "And anything else I want."

"Oh my God," Richie groaned, as Eddie pinned his hands down on the mattress above his head.

"I wish you could see yourself right now," he murmured. "You're so fucking sexy. Christ, your shoulders, Rich. Your arms. Your big fucking hands. " His hot tongue traced Richie's collarbone. "When you carried me out of the Neibolt house, you had your arms around me, and I was up against your chest, just covered in you--I thought, holy shit, what a bad time to realize I'm gay. I'm going to be so pissed if I die before I get to fuck him."

"Eddie," Richie said helplessly.

"You're so gorgeous, Richie, your body is fucking perfect and I want to eat you with a spoon, and I know you don't know how beautiful you are, but I'm going to show you, so pay attention."

As if he needed to be told to pay attention. As if every nerve in his body weren't absolutely laser-focused on Eddie, every time they were in the same room together, much less sprawled on a bed with Eddie's weight just above his cock, Eddie's breath wet in his ear. As if anything else in the world even existed, while Eddie was sitting on top of him, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

Then Eddie leaned back, and Richie got so caught up in the way his abs moved that he briefly forgot his own name. When he regained sentience, he realized Eddie had been reaching for something in his back pocket--his phone.

Richie just lay there, staring up at him without processing what was happening, until Eddie had already taken several pictures. "Uh, Eds, what's this for?" he asked.

"For jerking off to, dumbass," Eddie replied. The hand that wasn't holding his phone slid up the inside of his thigh to the bulge in his pants, stroking it gently until Richie's mouth was watering. "For when you're so far away, and I'm fucking dying to be inside you, and I'm so hard for you--like this--" He reached for one of Richie's hands and guided it to his belt buckle. "So I can look at this picture of your big broad chest and imagine I'm coming all over it."

Richie made a strangled sound. What the fuck. Eddie had not talked like this on the phone. Richie didn't know whether it was the drinks he'd had earlier, or the rush of seeing Richie writhe with every filthy word, or fucking… jet lag, or what, but it was amazing.

Eddie rocked his hips, pushing his hard-on into Richie's hand through his pants. Richie could take a hint. He hurried to get Eddie's belt undone and his fly unzipped. As his cock sprang into Richie's hands, hot and leaking, Eddie moaned.

Richie slicked his fingers with precome, then brought them to his mouth and slowly licked them clean. Eddie, he thought with a sigh. This is what Eddie tastes like.

"Fuck," Eddie said. "And you think you're not beautiful. Baby, you're gonna kill me."

At the word "baby," lightning flashed down Richie's spine. He arched under Eddie's weight, thrusting desperately for friction that wasn't there.

Eddie laughed, staring down at Richie with his big dark eyes. "Oh, you like when I call you baby?"

"Yeah," Richie breathed.

"What else do you like?"

Richie couldn't think of anything to say. That… that never happened. His whole body was buzzing like a plucked guitar string, halfway to delirious and Eddie had barely touched him yet. He couldn't remember the last time he was so furiously hard, or the last time he cared so little about when or if he would come.

"I like… this," he finally managed.

"Yeah?"

"I like you on top of me," Richie said, reaching for the lust-strewn fragments of his coherence. "I like the way you look at me. I like that you're a bossy little fuck in bed. I always thought you would be."

Eddie ducked his head, looking shy for the first time. "I'm not, usually," he said. "I mean, I haven't been before. You bring something out in me."

"Please don't get self-conscious on me now, Eds," Richie said. "This is--" he pushed his hips up so Eddie could feel him, hard along the cleft of his ass-- "this is really working for me. Keep telling me what to do."

"Take your pants off," said Eddie immediately. He sat back on the mattress, watching with voracious eyes as Richie followed his instructions. "Those too," he added, gesturing at Richie's boxers. When he saw Richie's cock, he actually licked his lips.

"Kind of unfair, don't you think?" asked Richie. Eddie was still half-dressed, his dick jutting from his open pants in a way that was somehow much more obscene than nudity.

"Who told you life was fair?" Eddie said. He leaned over Richie, raking a hand through his hair where it splayed across the blanket, kissing him wet and deep. Then he pulled back, leaving Richie gasping after his lips, and reached for the drawer in the nightstand.

"What are you--" Richie started, but stopped when Eddie held up a bottle of lube. "Did you stash that there earlier? Way to be prepared."

"This is why you should unpack in hotel rooms," Eddie said.

"If you were there to fuck me every time I stayed in a hotel, I fucking might."

"I could," said Eddie. Richie raised his eyebrows. "I mean, not every time. But, like… when you're on tour, I could fly out and meet you somewhere. That's something long-distance boyfriends could do."

"I love you," Richie said, because there was no way he could hold it back.

"I love you too," said Eddie.

There was a ringing in Richie's ears, a burning behind his eyes. He'd said it half a dozen times that day, but Eddie--Eddie hadn't said it at all before.

Eddie's voice was gentle. "Hey, baby," he said. "Head in the game." He tossed the bottle of lube, and Richie, numb-fingered, almost dropped it.

"Open yourself up for me," said Eddie in that same caressing tone.

"Fucking Christ," said Richie, not sure whether to cry or come.

Eddie bent over and kissed him again. "Please," he added.

Richie closed his eyes, swallowing down a wave of emotions that threatened to capsize him. Then, rubbing lube onto his fingers, he began to do as Eddie said. One thick finger, just to the first knuckle, then another--it had been a long time since he'd touched himself like this, and the angle of his wrist felt weird, but Eddie was staring down at him and groaning and there was no way he was going to stop to adjust.

"Oh, that's good," Eddie said roughly. "You look so fucking good, baby. Jesus." He knelt up on the bed beside Richie, jerking himself in long, lazy strokes. Richie breathed deeply, relaxing enough to slide his fingers further inside. With his other hand, he reached for his own cock.

"I didn't say you could touch yourself," said Eddie.

Richie brought his hand to his mouth instead, biting down on his knuckles to stifle a scream. "You're a goddamn sex demon, Eds," he said.

"And you're a work of art," said Eddie. "Can I take a picture of you like this?"

Richie's face and neck and chest got warm--well, warmer. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. This is the hottest thing I've ever seen."

"It's just me, Eds."

"Exactly." Eddie's eyes were so intense Richie had to look away. "It's you."

He fought the urge to say something else--make a joke, avoid acknowledging the desire in Eddie's face, the naked lust Richie still couldn't believe was for him. For a moment the only sound in the room was the wet slide of Richie's fingers inside himself and Eddie's heavy breathing.

"Okay," Richie said finally.

Eddie grabbed his phone where it had fallen among the pillows. "You're perfect," he said, looking from Richie on the bed to Richie on the screen and back, his other hand still working his cock. "Can you take another finger?"

"Fuck. I--yeah, I think so." Gasping, he pulled out his hand to add more lube, then eased a third finger in alongside the other two. The stretch was deep and satisfying. He rocked his hips, thrusting into the air.

"Good boy," said Eddie, and Richie whined. "How does it feel, baby?"

"Feels like I'm going to go insane if you don't fuck me," Richie choked out.

"Say it to the camera," said Eddie.

Richie looked straight into the phone's lens. "Split me in half on your big fucking cock," he said in dead earnest.

The phone bounced off the mattress next to his head, and the next instant Eddie was on him. His hard-on dragged against Richie's as he flattened him against the bed, pushing his legs apart. "Like this?"

"Let me turn over," said Richie. He scrambled to his knees, turning his back to Eddie and bracing his hands against the headboard. Behind him, he heard the sound of the drawer opening again, the rustling of foil as Eddie unwrapped a condom. Richie let his head drop onto his forearm and tried to slow his breathing.

"Eddie," he said quietly, his voice thick with feelings he couldn't count, let alone name.

"I know, baby," said Eddie. His hand wrapped around Richie's hip, strong and grounding. "You ready?"

Thirty years of yearning, of fantasies and nightmares, of midnight cigarettes, love poems scratched out and thrown away, drinking his feelings or just running away from them, of hoping and hating himself for hoping, and he'd do it all again in a heartbeat to get to this moment when he could say "Yes."

Eddie went slow. Richie sucked air through his teeth and tried to relax into the stretch, the sweet burn of Eddie's cock tenderly pushing him apart. A sob was gathering like storm clouds in his chest as Eddie let out a low, velvety moan.

"Oh my God, Richie," Eddie said. "You're so--you feel fucking--oh my God. "

"Yeah, Eds, come on," Richie urged. One hand still anchored to his hip, Eddie reached out the other and covered Richie's where it clutched the headboard. His chest rested against Richie's back, breath hot on his neck, cock buried to the hilt inside him.

"Baby," said Eddie, and Richie felt the vibrations of the word everywhere they touched, everywhere that existed, in his dick and his hands and his throat and the soles of his feet and the lightless spaces of his heart. The world, the entire fucking universe, was nothing but Eddie.

"Please fuck me," he said, and Eddie did.

He was tentative at first, thrusting shallowly, pausing to make sure Richie was okay. But after a minute or two, with Richie begging for more, harder, baby, I can take it, Eddie's reservations seemed to melt away, and he slammed into Richie like stars colliding, burning bright and wild.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, fuck, just like that," Richie panted.

"So good, " Eddie murmured, as though astonished. "So fucking good for me." The praise made Richie damn near swoon. Then Eddie adjusted his angle just slightly, and Richie's vision actually blurred.

"Holy fuck, Eds," he said when he could speak again. "You really know--ummmf, fuck --really know how to throw a dick, babe."

Eddie laughed, a sweet surprised sound, and dropped his forehead onto Richie's shoulder. "Wow, was that Shakespeare? I can't believe you get paid to talk."

"Truly--" He groaned. "Truly a waste of my God-given talent for getting railed." Another peal of laughter from Eddie, and if Richie was being honest, that felt almost as good as the things Eddie was doing with his cock. Richie was on the verge of falling apart from every possible angle.

"Yeah," said Eddie. "You're missing your true calling as a trophy bottom."

"Never too late," Richie said. "You hiring?"

Eddie's voice was a low rumble in his chest, humming over Richie's sensitive skin. "Where do you see yourself in five years, Mr. Tozier?"

Richie could hear his own pulse. Jesus, Eddie was too fucking hot. It was unbearable. "Hopefully bent over something with you fucking my brains out," he gritted.

"You seem like a good fit for the position," Eddie said. He wrapped his hands around Richie's waist and dragged him back on his cock, making them both cry out. All Richie's attempts at banter dissolved as Eddie lovingly shattered him, again and again.

"Eddie," Richie said, his throat raw. "I'm--fuck, I need to--" The heat in his spine, his belly, his groin, was almost unbearable. Eddie was an electrical storm raging around him, and he was a lightning rod. Distantly, he wondered if he'd even survive this orgasm.

"I want you to come on my cock," Eddie said. "You can do it, baby. I know you can. You're so good for me, be a good boy and come while I fuck you."

The world fell away. A tsunami crashed over and through him. Richie white-knuckled the headboard and let out a wordless shout as, for the first time in his life, he came without being touched.

Distantly, he heard Eddie roaring through his own orgasm. Richie wanted to tell him yes, give it to me, just like that, but the words were beyond him. Finally, Eddie collapsed against his back, both of them soaked and gulping air like survivors of a shipwreck.

They drifted like that for a long time, Richie occasionally shivering with aftershocks, Eddie softly kissing up and down his spine. "Fuck, Eds," Richie said eventually. "I've never done that before."

Eddie laughed into the crook of his neck. "Yeah, me neither," he sighed.

Richie twisted his head around to look at him. "Wait, was that--"

"That was confirmation," said Eddie. "It's official. I'm extremely fucking gay."

"You're a goddamn prodigy is what you are," said Richie. A quiet warmth curled in his belly. He was the first man Eddie had been with-- and the last, he silently hoped.

"I love you, Richie," Eddie said again. "That was incredible."

Richie murmured his agreement as Eddie nuzzled his shoulder. "We should get cleaned up," he added a moment later. "We have to be awake in, like, five hours."

"Ugh, right, fuck." He felt Eddie's grimace against his skin. "Not just awake. We have to pose for wedding photos."

Richie shifted around until he was lying on his side, Eddie against his chest. "Well, we're not the first people in history to show up at a wedding with a sex hangover."

"A bangover," said Eddie.

"Fucking excuse me," said Richie. "I tell the jokes in this relationship."

Eddie grinned. "Sorry."

"You'll be hearing from my lawyer." He kissed Eddie on the forehead, reminding himself that he couldn't fall asleep without showering, but somehow his eyelids had gotten very heavy and he just needed to rest them for a moment.

Through the haze of sleep, he heard Eddie say, "I'm gonna have to send Travis a fruit basket."