Archive of Our Own ^beta

EK Just landed in Boston. Be on the tarmac a while though. We’re early so they don’t have a gate ready.

RT party hat emoji

RT Siri is fucking useless

RT She wrote out party hat emoji didn’t she anyway I’m already on my way

EK Even though we’re early, wow. Someone was stalking my flight info.

RT Well my arms hurt too much after shoveling out the driveway to pick your ass up so I couldn’t jack off and that freed up some time

RT For the natural pain relief you know

RT Trust me

RT I’m a doctor

EK Don’t remind me.

-

As soon as they get back to Richie’s condo, Eddie takes his bags upstairs to unload. Well, that’s not quite true. First thing he does after crossing the threshold is drop everything and kiss Richie, backing him up against the still open front door, because it’s been two days shy of a month since the last time (and the last time was practically the first time). God knows, the three days they had at Thanksgiving weren’t enough to tide him over- not when they had three decades to make up for to begin with. His hands want so much to touch him again, now that he can. Now that it’s his fucking right to touch him, it’s the gravest insult that there are gloves and a winter coat in the way. He bites the thumbs of his gloves to pull them off and jam them in his pockets. They end up on the floor. Richie blinks at him blindly through his glasses fogged by the temperature change from car, to outdoors, to house. He tugs the zipper at Richie’s chin down until the green of his dumb Let’s Taco ‘Bout It shirt is revealed and he can slip his arms around him tight, practically wearing Richie’s dumb puffy coat with him.

Then they go upstairs.

“My, my, straight to the bedroom, huh?” teases Richie, chasing after him with one of his bags.

“I can’t show up empty handed to your sister’s!” Eddie pounds up the stairs. “My pie will take hours to cool and we’re on a time crunch and I need to unpack!” There are some social  occasions at which an offering is mandatory, and declaring yourself the accomplice to a middle aged man’s sexuality crisis is one of them. The best read he could get on Richie’s expectation of his family’s reaction was somewhere between Take It As A Joke and Sob Fest, and either way, a tasty pick-me-up is in order.

This time Richie pins him against the door at the top of the landing. He yanks past the snaps on Eddie’s jacket and pulls down his zipper, too. “Relax,” he says, shoving cold hands into the hem of Eddie’s shirt. The tips of his fingers grip into his waist and cause a guillotine like disconnect between the top and bottom halves of his body. Eddie’s not so sure that he’s still standing on his own two feet, then Richie kisses him again and slides his hands up to his bare ribs and he’s not sure what feet even are. What did he come up here to do again? Luckily for Eddie’s baking plans, Richie doesn’t push it any further than that. He pulls back to smile at Eddie. “Believe it or not, even when I’m an hour behind, I’m still not the least punctual Tozier,” he says. “It’s fine.” Eddie kisses him again until the lingering hands turn warm against his flesh. Firm and sure. Solid ground. 

“Okay,” Eddie exhales. He picks up his bag once again and carts it at a regular human speed into Richie’s bedroom so he can dig out the ingredients he brought with him. He files between several neatly packed sweaters and pulls out a bag of pecans. “I do need to get a few things though. I brought some of my own stuff in case you didn’t have it, but I was out of corn syrup-”

Richie plops down on the foot of the bed next to Eddie’s luggage and pokes through it, too. “We can go to Target, I need to get a crockpot anyway. I keep forgetting mine at Paula’s every year and then I spend all of fucking January craving chili with nothing to make it in.”

“I could remind you to bring home the crockpot, you know.”

“Not if we need to make a quick escape...” Richie pulls a whisk out of Eddie’s delicates compartment and waves it like a royal scepter. “A whisk, really, Eddie? You think I don’t own a whisk? That’s the first thing people give you when you get your own place. I have like, six whisks!” 

Eddie takes it from him and shoves it into the corner where he pulls the next implement from. “Do you have a zester?”

“...No, but I’m shocked you do,” says Richie, eyeing the sharp end. “How’d you get that past TSA?”

“I’m an air marshal.”

Richie looks up at him with bright, admiring eyes. “You checked both these bags, didn’t you? You snob.”

“Well, I didn’t want to carry it around at the gate while I was getting coffee...” Granted that made for a pretty expensive cup of coffee, but after the fight he’d had with his mother on the way out of the house, his hands were shaking too hard to multitask.

“Respect,” Richie nods. “Live your best, unencumbered life, Eds. You deserve it. Really.”

Eddie drops the box of pastry and brown sugar on the bed next to the other things. He steps between Richie’s knees and circles his arms around his neck. It’s impossible not to want to have Richie in his arms when he says things like that, yet he’s been maddeningly intangible this past month. Eddie had had to make do with squeezing his phone extra tight while Richie always had the right thing to say to affirm that Eddie was not being unreasonable in his dealings with Mom. Whatever awful things she said, Richie believed the opposite loud and hard enough, so that Eddie could too. He isn’t sick. He isn’t unloving or ungrateful. He isn’t going to regret living his life for himself. He deserves to be happy.

Richie lays his cheek against Eddie’s chest and wraps his arms around him, too. “I’m really glad you and your spoiled ass luggage are here.”

“Me too, Richie.” Eddie pets his head.

-

As it’s Christmas Eve, Richie nabs a shopping cart while they’re still in the parking lot, rather than holding out for there to be some left inside of the store. Everyone north of the Charles seems to be here for last minute shopping, so it’s no surprise that like the cart return, all the racks and shelves are barely stocked. They weave around strung out moms and empty cardboard displays as they pass the fashion section on the way to Home goods and Groceries. Something catches Eddie’s eye.

“Woah, hold your horses,” he taps Richie on the back.

He skids their cart to a stop. “Are we not rushing anymore?”

Eddie dives into the racks of Menswear. “I think I left my scarf in the overhead bin.”

Richie reroutes off the main path to follow Eddie. “If you need a scarf, I have scarves.”

“I’ll pass, I’ve seen your sense of fashion, Richie.” Eddie picks out the red bundle that caught his attention and unfurls it to check its length. If it's not long enough to wrap the way he likes, forget about it. He folds it in half and pulls it through itself around his neck and checks one of the nearby mirrors. It’s a little brighter than the more maroon sweater he has packed in his luggage, but that doesn’t really make a difference with a coat on, he supposes. “Hey, what are you wearing tonight? I don’t wanna match you.”

Richie appears behind him in the mirror, watching Eddie’s reflection with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want to look like a boy band.” The cranked up heating inside the store makes Richie open his jacket again, flashing that obnoxious green shirt.

Eddie turns around, horror dawning. “Just tell me you own something without a pun on it.”

“I think I still have a Tufts hoodie, but I’m in scrubs like, eighty percent of the time, let me live a little!”

“Just one article of clothing that doesn’t feature fucking palm trees?” Eddie starts scoping out the department, taking in the assortment of stripes and knits on offer.

“It’s my family, they know what I’m like!” Richie throws his arms wide just as Eddie pulls a hanger off a rack and holds it up against him. “I mean. Except for the gay part, or else I guess I wouldn’t be bringing you.” He clears his throat and looks down at the sweater for himself. Eddie might be imagining it, but he looks like he goes a little pale.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t be yourself, Rich,” says Eddie, letting his hand lay steady on his chest through the sweater. He’s really not trying to pick on whatever security Richie needs to get through tonight. “It would just be nice to have a picture of us together where it doesn’t look like we were photoshopped in from two entirely different events. Especially if one of the events is summer school.”

“You want a nice picture of me? That’s adorable, Eddie.” Richie purposely brushes over Eddie’s hand as he gathers the sweater against himself. “But meet me in the dressing room, and I can get you some very nice pictures of us, right now. I promise there are no jokes printed on my birthday suit.”

“You wanna take it all off for me?” Eddie asks, leaning in closer. His nose is only a few inches from Richie’s throat as he swallows hungrily and nods. “Good. Then start with your coat, sleazebag.”

“Tease!”

Richie shrugs off his jacket as told and tosses it in the cart, then presents himself for more accurate inspection. The sleeve length is all wrong for his octopus arms, so Eddie rifles through a few more options before he pulls another sweater- a colorblock with navy and brown. It does something nice for Richie’s coloring, actually. He’s always been good looking to Eddie, but for the first time ever he thinks the thought, I’ve got a handsome boyfriend. A handsome boyfriend who looks at him adoringly as he smooths the fabric across his shoulders, even though there's a hanger hook stuck under his nose.

“Okay, I know we said no presents because we’re just going to end up going out and buying shit anyway so here- ” handsome boyfriend, “-I’m buying you a sweater that doesn’t say anything on it, because it matches your eyes and feels like a goddamned cloud.”

Richie blushes. “Thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and throws both scarf and sweater into their cart. “We still need to hit up the packie for a hostess gift after this, c'mon.”

-

After what seems like an eternity in the Target checkout lane, they finally make it out of there and back to Richie’s. He unpacks the new crockpot and gives its ceramic part a thorough rinse in the sink while Eddie rushes between cabinets and the refrigerator, gathering the things he needs.

“Please tell me you have a rolling pin?”

Richie side steps away from the sink, still drying the pot, and knocks a knee into a lower cabinet. “In here.”

“Oh good.” Eddie kneels down and opens the door to find it, but everything within is clearly foodstuffs, not kitchenware. “Hey!”

Richie grins down at him as the cabinet door bangs shut again. “I just wanted to get you on your knees in front of me- hey, while you’re down there-

“Ugh. Suck my dick, Tozier,” Eddie says, shoving up to his feet again.

“Exactly!” Richie giggles to himself. He puts the pot down on the counter and opens another cabinet, pulling out the rolling pin.

Eddie sticks out his tongue at Richie but takes it just the same. Now that he has everything, he wipes down the counter so he can make his crust. Richie sneaks up behind him and megaphones his hands.

“THIS IS NOT A DRILL,” he garbles in a staticky voice to rival most subway conductors. “I REPEAT: THIS IS NOT A DRILL. EDDIE IS GOING TO COOK IN MY KITCHEN AND I GET TO WATCH.” He tops off his announcement with some siren noises, right in Eddie’s ear and Eddie slaps him away with a flour covered hand.

“I’m literally rolling out a premade crust, not torching a soufflé, this is barely cooking.”

“I’m literally hard right now- this is my wildest fantasy,” Richie sighs, backing into the counter beside Eddie. He hops up to sit on it and kicks his heels happily. “I for sure want to take you out on lots of dates while you’re here, but also I kinda wanna stay in every night and do this.” He picks up the pie tin and spins it on his finger like a UFO in a B-movie.

“Yeah?” says Eddie. “But what kinda dates?” This is so new, they haven’t been on any, he realizes. A real date should be decided upon, then carried out- not just stumbled into because you hooked up in a hotel while on a road trip and had no choice but to spend the next 48 hours together.

“We could go walk around Newbury Street and the Public Garden, with all the lights, tomorrow night? Have dinner someplace with like, cloth napkins and/or candles?”

Eddie snags the pie tin off Richie so he can fit his crust. “Oh, so not the chip aisle at a gas station, again?” he smirks.

“Well, that’s my Plan B if I can’t get a reservation...” Richie holds up a hand before Eddie can say anything. “I already have one! I’m not a complete idiot, I know you can’t book fucking Christmas the day before!”

“I didn’t say anything!” Eddie chuckles. “Fork?”

Richie hands him a fork to crimp with. “You thought it!”

“What am I thinking now, if you’re a such a fucking mindreader?” Eddie stops what he’s doing and gazes into Richie’s eyes with his best smolder.

If you’re an idiot, you’re my idiot. Cloth napkins or a greasy take out bag. 

“A fancy dinner and sparkly lights sounds really nice?” Richie guesses.

“It really does.”

Eddie marks Richie with a second floury handprint on the cheek as he tip toes up to kiss him. Is it normal to already be this gone on someone before you even go on your first date? He kisses his handsome, idiot boyfriend, pulling him so close he nearly pulls him off the kitchen counter.

Richie saves himself, leaning back. “Chill!”

“You want me to stop?” Eddie grins.

“No, you have to chill that crust, remember?”

“Oh fuck, right.”

Eddie hastily pricks the bottom then puts his crust in the fridge and cleans up after the flour. Richie keeps watching from his perch on the counter, smiling dopily.

“Aren’t you gonna get going on your... whatever you’re making?” asks Eddie. Richie hadn’t mentioned yet, but it involves an ungodly amount of cheese, judging by their Target run.

He claps his hands together. “My signature buffalo chicken dip. A load bearing pillar of Tozier family potlucks. Without it, the whole thing collapses.”

Eddie turns on the stovetop to melt some butter, and mentally packs the pharmacy for tonight's heartburn. “...What else do people usually bring to this shindig?”

Richie scrunches his face, thinking. “Mom and Dad usually bring a crudité platter and call it a fucking day. Amy will definitely do stuffing, and those frosted cookies from the supermarket? You know the ones. Uhm... Kris and Jay are also crockpot people. Sweet and sour meatballs, probably. The kids will bake something easy. Paula cops out because she’s hosting and gets something from take-out. Usually Chick-fil-a,” he sighs.

"Ah."

Eddie had kind of forgotten what a crowd the Tozier clan was these days. Kris was just a little baby when they were teens, and now there are in-laws and nieces and nephews in the mix, too. He knew Amy best, because she and Richie were closest in age, but then again they were too close in age and never really got along when they were young, so he sorta didn’t?

When the butter is liquid, Eddie starts adding in the other filling ingredients. But something in Richie’s sigh bothered him. “...Is Paula, like. Cool?”

“She’s still the most Maine, I guess. Conventional. Kind of a pushover. You know- she babysat you, too. Just now she’s married to a guy with the personality of a cement truck. Her kids are rad, though,” he shrugs. Richie contemplates his kneecaps while Eddie whisks his saucepan.

She can’t be any worse than Eddie’s mom, at least. “I’m sure she means well. It’ll be okay.”

“Right.” Richie snaps back to attention. “We just have to get through tonight and then we can hunker down through New Years.”

With that, he hops off the counter and starts determinedly assembling the first step of his cooking process. He’s just grilling some chicken to shred later, but somehow he turns it into an impromptu rock opera. Once he has it at a point where he can ignore it for a few minutes, he stops singing to the chicken about its fate and starts crooning to Eddie instead.

Eddie’s still waiting on his crust before he can pour in the filling, so he lets himself be swept into Richie’s arms as he dances across the kitchen floor.

“You know when you’re the one making it, you don’t have to sing for your supper?”

“Getting heckled by my own boyfriend, fucking rough!”

“Don’t quit your day job.”

“And this is why I’m not gonna take you to the Hong Kong for an open mic.”

“Oh no,” Eddie says flatly. “Not my dream date. Please. Reconsider.”

Undeterred, Richie carries on to the tune of ‘Cheek to Cheek’. “Eddie. Eats spaghetti. With lots of garlic, so he kinda reeeeeeks!”

“Garlic is good for you! It’s a natural antibiotic!” Eddie pinches him.

They slip around to ‘Freak to Freak’ in their socked feet until Eddie’s timer goes off. He pats the remaining flour out of Richie’s shirt and lauds his private performance with a kiss on the cheek. Anything more explicit would be letting on that he actually is, in truth, Eddie’s favorite comedian. Shh.

He stuffs his crust with all the pecans that Richie doesn’t steal, pours the filling, then lets the oven do the rest. While Richie gets into it with the remainder of his recipe, Eddie takes over Richie’s counter top post and snipes at him as he shreds chicken and empties an entire bottle of ranch into the crockpot along with at least three cheeses.

“And a brick and a half of cream cheese?! Fuck.”

“Yep. If you see my dad go in for seconds make sure you stay upwind afterward.”

“Maybe I should lay off, then.”

“It’ll break my heart if you don’t try it. Just be careful. This is weapons grade, one hit and you’re addicted dip, Eddie.” Richie licks his spoon, makes a face, then adds more hot sauce to the pot.

It’s enough to make Eddie’s eyes water, but he knows he’ll try just about anything for Richie, in the end. “I sure hope there’s a rehab program equipped for my recovery...”

“I swear, I will provide the most compassionate treatment,” says Richie.

He sets the crock pot on low, cleans up after himself, and then comes over to Eddie’s spot on the counter. His hands land on Eddie’s knees then slide up, slowly.

“The pie’s cooling, the cheese is melting, and we have about two hours until we’ve gotta go. You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Eddie grins. “We have just enough time to watch Wonderful Life and then get changed?”

“Hubba hubba. Your willingness to subject yourself to my Jimmy Stewart impression is even fuckin’ hotter than my idea.” He tugs Eddie off the counter by his hips and into his arms.

“I know, right? Tell me I’m a scurvy little spider.”

“Why, yer nothin’ but a scurvy lil’ spider!”

“Oh, baby!” Eddie swoons.

-

Before they leave town, they stop in at Dunkin’s for a cup of something to combat the freezing weather. Richie sips his tea and blows the heat out like smoke as they walk back to the car.

“Okaaaay! It’s gonna be okay,” Richie says, but he slows his step to a crawl.

“Richie?”

“I’m good! Just. Fucking nauseous. Hence the peppermint.” He stops entirely and takes another noisy sip.

“All right, just. Not in the middle of the street, ya dingus.” Eddie tows Richie by the elbow until he’s at least out of the main path of cars. “Do you want me to drive? I can drive.”

Although he was the one originally bitching about the cold, Richie doesn’t answer or make a move to get back into the car on either side. “It’s only- the past few days I was just excited for you to come visit! I wasn’t fucking thinking ahead to the part where I was gonna come out to my family and now we’re actually headed over and it’s hitting me. Like, dinosaur extinction meteorite hitting me.”

Eddie stomach sinks. He knows he’s been in a rush all day but he really didn’t mean to rush Richie like that. Not about this. “If you’re not ready-“ Eddie pauses. “Look, I told my mom because I live with her, dude. She kept catching me on the phone with you and wanted to know why the fuck I was going AWOL for both Thanksgiving and Christmas for the first time in twenty years. If I could have shipped her down to North Carolina without it coming up-“ 

“But you did it and it was so fucking brave, Eddie. And now you’re here, and I wish I'd been there for you.” 

“You were there, on the phone.” 

Richie straightens up from his habitual slouch, one Eddie suspects he adopted to be less. So people wouldn’t notice him when he’s not ready to put on a performance. But this isn’t for show- it’s the realest Richie gets.

“I have to. It’s only fair,” he says evenly. “And it’s obvious. God, It’s so obvious Eddie. I love you.” He looks down at Eddie, earnest eyes wide. “I didn’t want to say it the first night- that’s so tacky- or over the phone, or when we were in a fucking Target...”

“This is a Dunkin Donuts parking lot,” Eddie points out, still catching up. It’s disarming to hear basically his same thoughts coming out of someone else’s mouth when and where he least expects it. He had thought maybe later tonight in bed, or... Man, this must be how Richie feels when Eddie gets the drop on him.

“My point is, I want to be able to say it to you and be able to say it to anyone. Everyone. I want everyone to know. I love you.” Richie’s mouth squirms like it can’t decide between a smile or a frown, but the tender look in his eyes is clear. It is obvious.

“Of course I love you, too, you big sap.” He wraps a hand around the back of Richie’s neck and pulls him down into a kiss. The wet of their lips sticks and stings in the cold air, but if Eddie had to pick a flag pole to get frozen to...

Actually fuck this, it is too damn cold. After one more kiss he rubs his nose into Richie’s instead.

“That’s good to know. I mean, I figured,” Richie babbles. “But to hear it. That’s really good. Worth being nervous as fuck-”

Eddie pulls his nose back. “Wait, but just to be clear- you’re not about to barf on me, right?”

“No.” Richie dots him with a kiss. “I got my tea. When we get there, I can shotgun candy canes if I’m still nauseous. They’re fucking terrible for your teeth but-”

“Its okay, Dr. Dickhead. You can take a day off. It is Christmas.” Eddie kisses him one more time for the road. “Let’s get in the car already, it’s fucking freezing.” He slings his arm around Richie to rotate them both and lets go of him on the passenger’s side.

Richie hands over his keys. “Thanks.”

It takes Eddie a minute to adjust the mirrors and pull up the seat and all that, but then they’re off to Rhode Island. Despite the strange clash of food smells coming from the backseat, by the time they get to the state border Richie seems to be feeling a little better. Enough to spar when ‘Frosty the Snowman’ comes on.

“Not again,” Eddie groans. It has kind of a lobotomizing effect the fourth time around in one day.

“You know me, Eds. I'm a false idol worshiping, dick sucking heathen- but maybe those War On Christmas assholes are right!” he declares. “I’m sick to death of the same ten secular songs. Won’t someone think of the baby Jesus?!”

“Maybe they are. Maybe Frosty is a metaphor,” Eddie suggests.

“For what? The water cycle?”

“Uhhhh.” It’s been a long time since Eddie was in Sunday School. “Transubstantiation? Turns from one thing into another by the power of belief? I dunno.”

“Transsubst - Let’s not get crazy, here. My people are Methodist, Eddie. I will score zero points for bringing home the fucking Pope.”

Eddie snorts and taps the tuner until he runs into some Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

-

A teenage girl who looks like a funhouse mirror version of Richie answers the door at Paula’s house. A little to the side, another girl her age lingers with a stack of board games.

“Hey Uncle Richie!”

“Ashley,” Richie dips in a little bow. His hands are too full of crockpot and bags of chips to do much more.

“You bring the dip?”

“Yeaaah, dog!”

Ashley shoots the other girl a look, like Oh, hell yeah.

“Ashley is Paula’s,” Richie mentions, aside. “This is Eddie. He went to school with me and Aunt Amy.”

“Hi! Yeah. You look a lot like them, it’s wild.” Eddie waves his pie at the other girl, who he’s realizing has none of the Tozier family resemblance and likely is fellow interloper. “Merry Christmas.”

Ashley steps back so they can come in. “That’s my friend Nina.”

“Hey,” Nina waves back. “Finally, I’m not the only rando crashing this party,” she says, more to Ashley than to Eddie, but he appreciates the solidarity.

Richie starts marching down the entry hall toward the kitchen. “Grandma and Grandpa here yet?”

Ashley rolls her eyes and follows along. “Running late!”

“What else is new.” Richie looks over his shoulder at Eddie in silent communication. He knows Richie is eager to rip off the bandaid, but would rather do it just the once.

In the kitchen they run into Paula, who looks plumper and grayer than she did thirty years ago, but still as aggressively normal as ever. She wears the Mainer women’s uniform: a plaid shirt and puffer vest. She does a double take at Eddie.

“Well hey, guys!” She shoves some stuff around on the kitchen island to make room for their food, then gives Richie a hug once his arms are free. “Oh, you’re too skinny, Richie. We gotta load you up. And Eddie, geez! When Richie said he was bringing a friend I thought we were finally gonna meet a girlfriend, but it’s just you!”

Eddie gets a hug that's really only awkward on his end. “Uh. Thanks for having me, Paula.”

“Yeah, how have you been? What are you doing now?”

Richie steps forward and for a fraction of a moment, Eddie’s sure he’s gonna blurt out something along the lines of ME! He’s doing ME! but instead he just plugs in the crockpot.

“I’m in risk analysis in New York.”

“That must be good money! How’s your mom?”

“Oh, err- Fine. I’m moving her to North Carolina in a few weeks.

“I hear it’s nice down there!” she nods. “Well, make yourself at home. There’s beer in the garage fridge just through that door,” she points,”-and the bathroom is thatta way.”

Eddie nods automatically and scans the entrances and exits as she leaves the room, wondering who will turn up next in this gauntlet of introductions. There does seem to be a pause in the traffic, but Ashley is still there on the other side of the island with Nina, eyes narrowed. She must be serious about getting first crack at the dip.

“You gotta give that time to heat up again,” Richie warns her, but he pops open the bag of nachos anyway and crunches on some.

Alerted by Paula, three more kids come piling into the kitchen, the youngest of which chants Dip, dip, dip under his breath.

Richie gets swarmed and does his best to point out which nieces and nephews are which. David, a boy about the same age as Ashley, is Amy’s kid, and a younger girl, Alex, is another of Paula’s. Bobby the dip fanatic is, as well. None of them seem particularly interested in who Eddie is, but Richie does name him.

“Guys!” Ashley, clearly the leader of the pack, hollers. “Wait like, a minute on the dip! It’s cold from the drive and not everyone’s here yet, geez.”

Bobby grabs Richie’s hand and starts pulling him toward the living room, where Eddie can see the yule log channel flickering on the TV through the door. More ‘Frosty’ is playing, too. “Come on!” Bobby pants, all forty pounds of him straining to make Richie budge. “Color with me.”

“Sounds fun,” Eddie says, shoving Richie along helpfully. May as well meet whoever else is in there.

There are coloring books, crayons, and colored pencils scattered all over the floor between the TV and a man in an armchair that Eddie safely assumes is Paula’s husband.

“Hey, Kirk,” Richie holds out the hand that doesn’t have Bobby hanging off of it to shake.

Kirk doesn’t get up. “Hey Rich. Good drive?”

“It was fine,” Richie says, insubstantially.

“Yeah,” Kirk replies, just as limply.

“This is Eddie.”

“Hey.”

And that’s all that’s said about that, because then Amy springs up off the couch, just behind them. “Eddie Kaspbrak, holy crap. Get over here!”

She hugs him immediately. “You look great!” she says.

“Thanks, you too. Are you in Rhode Island, now, or?”

“Nah, I’m in Springfield.” 

“Right, right.”

“Hey, man.” She turns and gives Richie a hug and pat before Bobby finally gets him down to the floor.

“‘Sup!”

While the boys get their art on, Amy crosses her arms and inspects Eddie. “So, how’d you end up here?” she asks. Which is totally fair, because it’s not like anyone from Derry had heard from Eddie until last year. Luckily, Eddie has thought a little bit about how to answer this question without getting into the supernatural.

“Oh, some of our other old friends were having a get together, because Bill wrote a book with characters based on us when we were kids. Me and Richie and all the rest. Remember Bill? Denbrough?”

Amy’s eyes go wide. “Uh, yeah I remember Bill Denbrough, I let him feel me up, once.”

“Gross,” Richie chimes in.

“Are any of us in this book?” she asks, waving a finger around as Paula comes back in.

Eddie clears his throat. “There’s... Not really. He cut it down to just one Tozier sister. She’s not specific, though. Kind of an amalgam.”

“That son of a b- biscuit,” Amy catches herself. “That’s crazy, I’ll have to look up Bill and check that out.”

Richie grumbles at Amy. “You guys are not allowed to reconnect and bone.”

“What’s bone?” asks Bobby, looking up from his coloring.

“Paleontology.”

Eddie looks at Amy apologetically. “Well it’s a horror novel, if that’s... your thing.”

“I’ll read anything. Hey, Paula,” calls Amy. “Bill Denbrough cut us out of his book!”

“I don’t remember who that is?” She looks back at Amy, quizzically. That probably serves Bill right. “Bobby, you didn’t even let Uncle Richie take off his coat,” Paula sighs. She collects it from Richie and offers to take Eddie’s, too.

Eddie and Amy grab some beers and catch up. The usual Where Have You Been The Last Thirty Years, What Happened To That Old Mall, and Who That We Know Is Divorced From Who? He tells her about his work, and she tells him about David’s dad, who’d rather put his child support towards online poker.

“Sorry,” Eddie sympathizes. “Just another deadbeat out of Derry, I guess.”

“So, what about you?”

“You’re not allowed to reconnect with Eddie, either,” says Richie, still scribbling with his nephew. “I know the names of all your childhood pets, Amy, I will crack your Facebook and delete it.”

Eddie bites back a smile and Amy flips him the bird at an angle where Bobby can’t see.

“Obviously you wouldn’t be tagging along with this dope for the holidays if there was a current Mrs. Kaspbrak,” she says.

“No, I’ve never been...” First Bill, now Amy. What part of exclusively flirting with Richie all through high school gave people the impression he was straight? “Anyway, Richie’s a lot of fun to be with! He-” He has to stop himself, because it's not his place to tell her about dancing around the kitchen or Monsieur Richie, the amorous bubblebath sommelier at Target. Not yet. “Richie always knows how to make me laugh,” Eddie says with a blush. Even that feels like too much of a disclosure, because it really is the most affectionate thing he can say about him.

“Aww, Eddie,” Richie grins down at his coloring.

“Shuttup.”

-

Eddie’s is in the kitchen getting a fresh drink when the next wave of arrivals come through. Kris, who was about five years old the last time Eddie saw her, and Jay, her live-in boyfriend. Apparently while Richie had been with the Losers for Thanksgiving, he had missed the announcement of her pregnancy, so he comes bounding into the kitchen to make up for it.

“Congrats, kiddo!” He hugs her off her feet like she’s still a kindergartner.

“Woah, thanks! Someone hand me a glass would ya?” she asks when he lets go again.

Richie squints at her, while Eddie hands her one of the empties stacked by the vodka and the tank of hot chocolate. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

She just glares at him as she fills her glass with water from the refrigerator. “I’m nauseous from the car.”

“Me too,” Richie admits. “Candy cane?”

Kris passes on it, but Jay takes the stick and puts it in his drink. “Thanks.”

“Oh, good idea. Eddie, mix me one with a candy cane.”

“I’m sorry, are your arms broken?” asks Eddie, undercutting himself by already reaching for another glass.

“It’s like jerking off, it’s just better when someone else does it!”

“Young ears!” Kris hisses. Jay and Eddie try not to laugh.

None of the kids are in the kitchen, so Richie looks at her cable-knit clad stomach. “C’mon. That sweater has got to be noise cancelling.”

“I meant mine.”

Kris and Jay go to sit down, while Eddie makes a big production of pouring Richie a drink even though he’s standing two feet away. “You want me to blow on it for you, too?”

Richie nods to acknowledge Ashley, who comes wandering into the other end of the kitchen, aimless now that her friend has gone home for the night. “Maaaybe,” he curbs the obvious come back.

Ashley ignores them. She just fills a bowl of chips and dip to sneak away with.

Eddie leans against the kitchen island with his own hot chocolate. “I liked your reindeer drawing.”

“It’s too boring and brown,” Richie frowns into his drink. “Bobby had the right idea coloring both his cardinals red.”

“Then they’re both boy birds,” Eddie notes. Anyone who spent a childhood with Stan would know that.

Richie winks.

Eddie thought he was speaking low enough to be lost among the music coming from the next room, but Ashley must be more interested in the bland musings of adults than the average fourteen year old. She approaches them with her bowl, eats a single chip slowly and then motions between Eddie and Richie.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

Eddie bites his tongue.

“Yeah, actually." Richie looks at him. What starts as a small, sly smile cracks into an unmistakable grin. “But uh. If you keep that under your hat until later, there’s an HBO password in it for ya.”

“Thought so.” Ashley nods and eats another chip. “It’s cool. Nina’s my secret GF, too.”

Huh.

Richie looks struck. “Oh, rock on.”

“Dip’s good,” Ashley crunches. And then she leaves.

“Teenagers are a totally different breed these days,” says Eddie.

Richie just gulps his drink, processing.

“That’s one down, dude.” Eddie reaches out for the one of Richie’s hands that’s shadowed in the corner of counter tops and rubs his palm with his thumb. 

“Shit. Yeah.” Richie clings back. “I don’t think I’m gonna luck into any more lay-ups like that, though.”

“Maybe Kirk has hidden depths.”

Richie chokes a laugh, splashing his hot cocoa down his chin. Eddie would give anything to lean in and kiss it off his face, but he’s not about to risk blowing up Richie’s spot unless he starts it.

“Can’t take you fuckin’ anywhere,” he chuckles and pulls a napkin from the roll over the sink.

“Why, thank you. What a gentleman.” Richie dabs his mouth primly.

“You don’t need to do it all tonight, you know. You’re not gonna hurt my 'feelings' or whatever,” Eddie bunnyears, but he means it seriously. That after so many years of hiding himself away, the fact that Richie wants to love him is miraculous enough, whether or not he has the wearwithal to go around shouting it from the rooftops. “I know it’s been like, a month and you have to psych yourself up for it, and there’s a thousand of them. But you’re not doing it for them. Or me. Just yourself, when you want to.”

Richie’s chest heaves with the effort of not pulling Eddie close. “You say something super nice like that and it makes me-” 

“Hey,” Eddie cuts him off. They can play I love you more! / No, I love YOU more! later. “Just take it easy and try to enjoy yourself. It’s Christmas.”

Richie nods. “If it makes it any easier for Ashley, though.”

“Yeah.” Eddie was just thinking the same thing.

“Yeah,” Richie repeats. He downs the rest of his drink, then draws out a burp.

Well, that’s one way to put a button on a heartfelt conversation. “You’re so charming. I’m such a lucky man.”

“Speaking of charming- did you see Paula’s lighthouse collection yet?”

“No?” 

“They’re in the bathroom. She covered them in fake snow and put a pink light in there and now they look like dicks, it rules.”

Eddie snickers, and they slink off to the dick decorated bathroom to go gawk and giggle (and maybe make out a little). 

-

Kris deathgrips her Taboo card and does not blink at all as she tries to clue Jay. “Cinderella, Snow White! Peach! Diana!”

“Uh- uh- fairy tales? Disney?”

“No!” She keeps looking at the hour glass, running out. “She knows the king!”

Jay’s mouth hangs open like a minigolf tunnel. “Elvis?”

Richie smacks the buzzer on the coffee table. “Sorry, kiddo, that’s time! And it’s obviously ‘Princess’!”

“We only got through two cards this round, are you kidding?!” Kris throws herself back into the couch and rubs her belly. 

Eddie doesn’t bother to count their cards as it’s already pretty obvious who’s won.

“We smoked you fools,” Richie crows. He hangs a hand in the air and Eddie high-fives it.

“We should have played Richie/Jay and me and Kris,” Eddie admits. “It’s kind of a hustle to partner with someone you’ve known longer than the other players have been alive.”

“But we’re a couple!” Kris laments. Eddie keeps his face blank. “Ugh. Hon, can you make me a plate?" she asks Jay. "I think I can eat now.”

Jay pushes up off the couch. “Yeah, babe, what do you want?”

“I want the stuffing. But pick out all the onions,” she tells him. “Then crumble some potato chips on it, and the chicken. But get all the skin off the chicken first. And I want some cider!” Eddie waits for the ‘but’ and isn’t disappointed. “-But only if it’s Sell By date is in January.”

Eddie nods sensibly. Cider can be notoriously moldy.

Richie reels back his neck. “Jesus, Kris, you’re worse than Eddie! How does Jay do it?”

Jay takes Kris’s empty water glass off the coffee table for reuse. “I dunno, man. When your woman is pregnant you’ll understand.”

Richie huffs at the assumption, but plays it off by poking Eddie in the side. “Then what’s your excuse?”

Eddie sighs. At this rate it shouldn’t be too fuckin' hard for Richie to find an organic opening in the conversation.

Since their opponents have clearly had enough of losing, they migrate around the house for awhile, after that. Eddie makes an attempt to engage with Paula, but she’s rushed off her feet dealing with a Bobby crisis, so he winds up chatting with Alex, instead, who would like to graduate from baking box brownies. He links her his pie recipe and makes her promise to give it a shot. Richie organizes a campaign amongst the teens to text their grandparents relentlessly so they don’t take any more pit stops, because he has definitely had enough of holding his tongue.

Finally the doorbell rings again, and several rooms away Bobby shouts, “Grandmaaa!”

They let the throng of grandchildren get at the senior Toziers first, and retreat to livingroom. Though Richie has anxiously awaited his parents, they can wait their turn. Christmas is for the kids, and so on. Since Amy, Kris, and Jay have already posted up on the couch, Eddie sits down next to Richie on the loveseat, which is a little on the nose, but he does want to be right by his side, whatever happens.

What happens is a stampede of children who are allowed to open their stockings early, now that the grandparents have come. They scramble to the electric fireplace expectantly, but Dr. Tozier (the original, anyway), nudges them aside. He has a red hat and bulky bag in hand that he holds back from them as he laughs a perfect Ho ho ho.

“No peeking! How do you think me and Grandma will put things in your stockings without you seeing?”

Kirk, who hasn’t moved from the room all evening as far as Eddie can tell, finally speaks up. “Get outta here, guys.”

Mrs. Tozier freezes as the kids pummel past her to get out the living room door again. “How many of them are there? Twenty?” As soon as she’s clear she makes a circuit of her children and in-laws, dropping a kiss on each one’s head. She gets to Richie last. “Hi sweetie.”

“Hi Ma.”

“Nice sweater,” she rubs his shoulder. "You look so grown-up!"

Eddie beams. See, Richie?

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. T. Remember me?”

She looks at him for a moment like he’s another in-law that’s slipped her mind. Then recognition lights up her bespectacled eyes, and perhaps that’s just what he is. An Eddie-in-law. He spent a solid ten years treating her house like his own, after all.

“Eddie. Hello, dear! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Then to Eddie’s surprise, she kisses his head too. He has never felt more smug in his life, and he has made an art form of scoring off Richie. Your mom kissed me! he mouths at him, and sticks out his tongue.

Richie sneers back.

Ashley, spokesperson of the next generation, calls in from the kitchen. “Can we come back in or what?”

“All right, all right,” says Dr. Tozier. He tosses his empty bag on the heap of pillows the coloring book crowd had been lounging on, and takes a seat in another armchair next to Kirk.

The kids storm in, mercilessly ripping their stockings down to savage them on the floor.

“What’d you put in there, anyway?” Eddie asks Richie.

“I dunno. Gift cards. Silly string. I’m an uncle, I don’t have to try that hard.”

“Coasting on the dip, huh?”

Eddie sits back and tries to look comfortable without looking too comfortable, like he would much rather be sprawled in Richie’s lap because it’s getting late, and it’s warm in here, and being in a room full of laughing children and music and kindly dads who wear Santa hats is enough to make anyone feel soft. It gets harder and harder to keep from dropping his head on Richie’s shoulder.

Across the room, there’s a debate going on between the Toziers that sounds eerily familiar.

“It’s the best New Years song.” A low-stakes declaration of fact.

The skeptical reply. “Is it a New Years song, or is it actually a Christmas song?”

Mrs. Tozier sits on the arm of Dr. Tozier's chair and scowls at him. “It’s New Years. ‘What Are You Doing New Years Eve’. It’s right there in the damn title!”

“But to be a reasonable question, it has to be asked before New Years. With wiggle room for people to make plans!”

“I already have my plans for New Years by Christmas. You do, too. If anything it’s a pre-Christmas song. Therefore- by definition- not a Christmas song.”

“Maybe it’s a Thanksgiving song?” Dr. Tozier wonders.

Mrs. Tozier hums. “There are so few...”

Privately, Eddie sides with Mrs. Tozier.

Richie gives him a mushy look and Eddie knows he’s been listening, too. “What are you doing, New Years Eve, Eds?” He props up an elbow on the back of the couch and bounces his eyebrows.

“That’s none of your business,” Eddie sniffs.

Down on the floor, Bobby arranges the contents of his stocking by what is for playing with, and what is for giving to Mom for safekeeping. He gets stuck trying to decide the fate of a plastic sprig of berries. He holds it up to his grandma.

“What’s this twig thing?”

Mrs.Tozier beckons him over to her. “Mistletoe, sweetie. Do you know how it works?”

“Batteries?”

She laughs and takes the sprig from him. “You put it over two people like this and they have to kiss!” she explains, and plants a smacking kiss on his chubby little cheek.

He giggles and takes the mistletoe back to make her do it again, then dashes over to the other armchair with his parents, although he can’t quite reach high enough. He just sort of shakes it at them until they give in, but it’s pretty cute. 

“Noo,” David sighs wearily, getting a kiss from his mother.

Alex attempts to butt scoot away on the floor, and when Bobby catches her, she steals the mistletoe and tosses it to Ashley for a game of Monkey In The Middle. Before he can get too frustrated, though,  Ashley stops and holds it over her own head. When Bobby comes to smooch her cheek, she whispers something in his ear.

“Uh oh, watch out!” says Mrs. Tozier as he careens across the room. He dives between the wall and the back of the couches for a sneak attack.

Eddie catches Ashley’s eye and his brain makes dun-nuh, duh-nuh, duh-nuh Jaws noises.

“Oh.” He touches Richie’s thigh in warning. “Oh.”

“Bobby...”

There’s giggling behind them and the clearing of a throat or two, and Eddie looks up. Sure enough- mistletoe. He turns to Richie expecting to see panic, whether that manifests as a blank, deer in the headlight stare, or a plastic grin.

But he’s surprised. The expression on Richie’s face is relaxed. His smile is as easy as though they’re the only people in the room as he takes Eddie’s face in his hands.

“I love you,” he says, just for Eddie, and then he kisses him. Whoever else is watching- that’s just for him, too. Eddie shuts his eyes and kisses back, oblivious to any reactions except for the way Richie sighs against his lips.

“Richie,” is all Eddie can say. He can’t look away from him just yet, but he can hear a palm smack a forehead.

“This is not a goof, by the way!” Richie turns to the others. “Eddie is actually my boyfriend.”

Bobby has already moved on to his next target in a fit of giggles, but Mrs. Tozier speaks up. “Then we’re very happy to have you here, Eddie,” she says kindly.

Eddie settles back into the loveseat, now with Richie’s arm tucked around him. “Thanks, Mrs. T.”

Closest to him on the other couch, he can see Kris mentally replaying a highlight reel of all the times she might have known. Paula looks unaffected as she stacks empty plates from the coffee table. No one looks overtly scandalized, except maybe for Amy who had already friended him, the last time Eddie checked his phone. She grits a Sorry, I’m dumb! at him silently. The kids carry on with their stockings, but Ashley does keep glancing at them with a shy smile.

“You okay?” Eddie twists into Richie, overlapping their knees. Richie immediately touches his leg like a lifeline.

“Super parched all the sudden.”

“I got it, dude,” Eddie covers his hand and gives it a squeeze before he gets up. “I’ll go see if I can find some expired eggnog.”

Richie gags.

In the kitchen, Eddie runs into Paula, rinsing dishes for the dishwasher. He skirts around her to use the water spigot in the refrigerator, with a cursory smile. He feels like he should say something but he has never been in this sort of encounter before, on either side. He’s an only child, of course, and until Richie, he didn't know if the meager number of dates he had came with siblings. It never got that far, and he didn’t want it to, because he wasn’t going to invite them into his fucked up life like that, either. He turns his back while he fills the glass, so he doesn’t accidentally initiate contact before he gets his mouth loaded with something worth saying.

Maybe Paula has a little more experience, being one of four siblings, because she speaks first. “I’m really glad he’s not alone,” she says softly.

Eddie turns around, glass half full. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks.”

She looks more agitated than she had in the living room, her chin starting to do the same puckery thing Richie’s does when he’s upset. A rinsed plate turns in her hands and drips down on to the floor. “I knew he was having a hard time with something, back then. But I went away to college and Mom had Kris, and... Well, I think Rich got lost in the shuffle.” Paula puts the dripping plate on the counter and wipes her dripping eyes instead. “I used to be an extra little mom, you know? Being older. Then everybody else left Maine and even though he only went to Boston, he got farther and farther away, and- I just... I’m glad now.”

Without waiting for Eddie to reply, she turns around again and slides the dish into the washer.

Eddie knows jackshit about good moms, 'extra little' or otherwise, but he thinks he knows one thing. “He’s a great guy. And some of that comes from you, I bet.”

Although she’s mostly turned away, Eddie catches the corner of Paula’s smile. Then Bobby comes barreling into the kitchen, closely followed by Alex. Ashley and David hang back in the doorway.

“Mom! Can we do the silly string? Please?” He jumps up and down with a can of the stuff in each fist.

Paula gives her eyes one last dab. “It’s dark out, you guys, wouldn’t you rather do it in the morning?”

“But we wanna do it now!”

Since they’re intending to drive back to Boston tonight, Richie would miss a Christmas morning silly string war- but Eddie has an idea. “We could turn on the headlights. In the front lawn?”

Paula raises an eyebrow at him. “If you don’t mind?”

“Let me just-“ Eddie raises the glass of water he has yet to deliver to Richie. Ashley and David make way eagerly, so he can go spread word of the plan.

Mrs. Tozier has taken Eddie’s seat and sits with Richie, tucking a messy curl behind his ear. “My baby,” she admires. “Would you mind if we met you for lunch on our way back up, the 28th?”

“That sounds good.” Richie lets her fuss at him a bit more while he drinks. Eddie watches and wonders how long it’s been since the spotlight of his parents’ attention fell only on him. Maybe since he finished school? Is that part of why he followed Dr. Tozier into his field? To be noticed again? Whatever the case, he looks content now.

“It’ll be good to catch up with you guys,” Dr. Tozier adds. He gives Eddie an appraising once over.

“Sure! We’ll see you then. Hey, Rich- the kids are gonna go out for the silly string, you want in?”

Richie gives him a once over, too. “Aren’t you worried it’ll ruin your nice duds?”

“Not if I’m hanging out in the car.”

“We should take that picture first, though,” Richie remembers. He stands up and smooths himself out. “Hey Ma, do you mind?”

Mrs. Tozier sits at attention and scopes the room. “Oh! Okay. Where’s this happening? In front of the tree, maybe?”

She takes Richie’s phone and Richie takes Eddie’s hand. He leads him to a spot where the background won’t have any goony objects poking into the frame, and even goes so far as to correct the positioning of an ornament. Making it as nice as Eddie could ever hope. Richie puts an arm around him, and Eddie doesn’t grab his butt until the very last second.

“Fff-hey!”

Mrs. Tozier chuckles. “I’ll get a few...”

-

After he gets sneak attacked by an alliance of the eldest cousins, Richie gives the rest of his can of silly string to Bobby. “Avenge me!” he says, and slips into the safety of the car with Eddie and his Christmas carols.

“They creamed you, old man,” Eddie snickers.

Richie claws at some purple string, crusting in his hair. “Used to be they couldn’t get me in the face, but they got so fucking tall?! When did that happen? Shoulda seen this coming when I put it in their stockings.”

Eddie sits back and smiles. Yeah, fourteen or so had been when Richie had shot up overnight, too. He’d always been taller than Eddie, but it was like the difference between a bungalow and a two story, and then a bungalow and a fucking radio tower.

He gives Richie a hand, combing more flecks of purple out of his hair. “You could have told me you put mistletoe in there. I would have acted surprised.”

Richie cross-my-heart-hope-to-dies with a finger. “I swear it wasn’t me.”

“No? You didn’t get Ashley in on it?”

“Just dumb luck,” Richie shrugs.

Eddie laughs. “You should have taken credit, dumbass- I woulda thought you were really clever.” He brushes the last of the silly string off of Richie’s coat collar and hauls him in by it for a kiss.

“Mmm- I can be clever,” Richie objects. He waggles his eyebrows. “Hey Eddie, tonight, you be a stocking, and I’ll stuff you. Or, I’ll be a chimney, and you come down me.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself-”

“Yeah, I know you need to work up to that, just appreciate the joke.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes and lets go of Richie. “Okay, all right- get it all out, Tozier. Right now.”

Richie grins with maniacal glee. “I’ll be homo for Christmas. Is that anything?” Eddie sighs. “You can sit on my lap and tell my ‘little helper’ what you want - unless, of course, you’re on the Naughty List.” Richie cracks himself up so hard he can barely get the rest of it out. “D- do you- do you know why they call it a White Christmas, Eds?!”

“You can do better than that,” Eddie shakes his head.

“Make the Yuletide gay.” With that, Richie launches himself at Eddie again, burrowing past his scarf to press a kiss just under his jaw.

“That’s not even a joke,” Eddie laughs. “You’re just quoting.”

Richie digs his cold fingers- because he still won’t put on some fucking gloves- into the loop of Eddie’s scarf and tries to undo it. “All jokes aside, when we get home I wanna lay you down under the tree. Unwrap you,” he purrs. He sucks at the sliver of sensitive neck he can get to, since he can’t figure out how Eddie’s scarf works.

“It’s a pretty fucking small tree, Richie,” Eddie huffs. It's a good thing Richie's tangled up, because his resolve to stay wrapped right now is rapidly evaporating. Not a great look for when the kids eventually come knocking on the window.

“Well, maybe not under under!”

“We’re definitely getting a bigger tree next year.”

Richie hangs back at that rather presumptuous comment. He searches Eddie for any sign of sarcasm, like his teasing about eggnog or New Years.

“Next year-“

“I wanna be with you,” says Eddie. “Every year.”

His brain says they’ll have to talk about what that means at some point, but the radio is playing ‘Frosty The Snowman’ again, and Richie leans back in, and his heart goes thumpitty thump thump, thumpitty thump thump much louder.

When the cans of silly string are all spent, the veterans of the battle make their way back inside. Eddie lingers in the kitchen where Paula is wrapping leftovers in saran wrap, while Richie makes some extended goodbyes. The pecan pie was as much of a hit as Richie’s dip, so there are none of their own leftovers to bring home, but Eddie lets Paula force some cookies on him. He has the crockpot washed and chock full of baked goods by the time Richie wanders into the kitchen with their coats.

“You remembered?” Richie looks at him as softly as though he had drawn his portrait from memory.

Eddie grins. “You’re surprised? You know how petty I can be.”

Richie gathers him into his already coat-laden arms. “I’m sorta counting on your genetic inability to let things go.”

-

Richie’s Christmas tree is the kind of afterthought one might expect from bachelor who has never hosted the holiday. It’s small and generically decorated, and Eddie suspects, probably a cast-off from his office. In a previous life, it might have sat on in the waiting room for the month of December, and lived in a box between crates of impression trays the rest of the year. Despite such an unassuming pedigree, it’s somehow the perfect welcome home that night, shining in the window.

They don’t turn on the light in the kitchen as they unpack, instead they brush past each other by the soft glow of the tree. Eddie puts the food into more suitable tupperware, and Richie stows away the crockpot and takes something out of his coat before putting those away, too. He sidles up behind Eddie as he closes the fridge and drapes himself around him like garland. He hands Eddie a folded piece of paper- one of the Winter Wonderland colorings Richie and Bobby had spent the evening with. Kaleidoscopic snowflakes swirl around two red cardinals, nuzzled together on a berried branch.

“I asked if I could keep it,” says Richie. He headbutts Eddie lightly. “I need something to put on the fridge besides pictures of me and you, so I don’t look like a fucking stalker.”

“Yeah, you already dress like one,” Eddie teases. He sticks the page in place with an I Heart Raleigh magnet he recognizes from the hotel during their road trip, and a lobster, then turns around in Richie’s arms.

He pouts at Eddie. “I thought you said I looked very handsome tonight.”

“Well.” Eddie fans his fingers against Richie’s chest. It’s soft and warm and he didn’t spill anything on it all night. A real victory. “I guess it’s a nice sweater,” Eddie allows.

“Thank you.”

“-Someone really special must have bought it for you.”

Richie snorts at him. “Oh, are you gonna suck your own dick, tonight? I had plans, but I guess that’d be fun to watch, too.”

Thinking about Richie’s mouth on him again, or his mouth on Richie- Eddie’s pulse can’t help but race. They’d only had one exhausted night on the road, and then two much more chaste nights on Stan’s air mattress before Richie flew home. As fun as it was to bounce each other off of a glorified pool float in their sleep, that hadn’t been nearly the tumble he wanted.

“...There was some talk of unwrapping,” he says, running his hands up and over shoulders, around Richie’s neck.

Richie makes an agreeable noise and circles his arms tighter. “I saw your matching pajama set, earlier, Ebeneezer. I must ruin them. It is my Christmas wish.”

Eddie strokes his thumb at Richie’s nape. “Do you mean the plaid ones? Or the satin?”

Richie wheezes. “There was satin?” 

“Let’s get ready, then.” Eddie slips out of Richie’s arms. “If we’re not in bed by midnight Santa would be totally justified in skipping us.”

The clock on top of the stove indicates that it’s already 11:34. Richie immediately follows after Eddie, up the stairs to get his things. “Fuck! Move, move, move!”

He gives Eddie the first crack at the shower, then stands around the door between the bedroom and ensuite, brushing his teeth and watching as Eddie towels off his hair.

“Care to join me?” he asks through a froth.

“Nope,” Eddie grins and grabs his toiletry bag and hangs his towel on a hook at the back of the bedroom door.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“To lock myself into the downstairs bathroom!”

Richie scrambles to spit before he tracks toothpaste across the room while trying to follow Eddie. “Are you serious?” he calls after him. “We’re about to touch butts and you won’t let me see you brushing your teeth?”

But Eddie is already halfway down the stairs. “I learned my lesson the first time!”

“You know by hiding it, you’re making it more alluring, right?! This is how fetishes develop, Eddie!”

For all his talk, when he comes back upstairs, Richie is sitting on the edge of the bed, not stark naked like Eddie expects, but comfortably clad in sweats and a t-shirt, skimming his phone before putting it down for the night. He looks up at Eddie. “Oh for fuck’s sake, they’re fucking monogrammed.”

“Yeah, uh. They were a gift from Mom a few years ago. But. You know. I never wore them.”

Richie licks his lips. “So this is a world premier on Eddie Kaspbrak, be-silked seductor? No one else has seen this?”

Suddenly Eddie feels very self conscious of the way he crosses the room to stand at Richie’s feet. Is he seductive? In his limited romantic career, he’s only ever initiated things with Richie. If he hooked Richie, he didn’t do it by being anything other than his friend, as far as he can tell. But then he reaches Richie and one touch proves it was always something more than that. He kneels into Richie’s lap. Richie- the hot, center point in a cold room and a cold universe. Eddie doesn’t burn like this with anyone else- never has.

“What kinda sicko wants to fuck a guy in silk pajamas his mother gave him?” he asks Richie with a grin.

Hands skate up his back, feeling the slippery material. Just as firey and consuming as the rest of Richie. “Same kinda sicko that has sterile gloves in his nightstand, just in case?”

“You washed, right?”

“I did.”

“Then we’re good,” says Eddie. “To be clear. I do not have, like, a medical kink. I’m just... kinda fucked up.” He wilts a little, but Richie quickly kisses that worry away.

“Eh, agree to disagree,” he grins.

“About which?”

“Either/or!”

Richie did go out of his way to think of Eddie, though. It’s easy to see. Historically, he was never the most fastidious person with his personal space, but the linens are fresh, there’s space on the bureau for Eddie’s suitcase, extra towels, even a spare phone dock and bottles of water on the second nightstand. It was a good bet that if Eddie opened the drawers, he’d find one empty and waiting for his things.

“You made everything so cozy.” His breathing deepens in time with the sweep of Richie’s touch on his back. “You nested,” Eddie realizes. Like a brightly plumed bird who sings for his mate, and everything.

Richie shines under the recognition. “I want you to want to stay.”

Eddie pushes his weight into Richie, flattening him to the bed. “Then you’re doing a fucking spectacular job,” he says, and then kisses him deeply.

He does want to stay. He wants to never be so far from Richie that he can’t at least hear him whistling to himself a few rooms away. He wants Richie’s hands on him every night- whether it's just to pass him in a narrow hall, or to hold him so close that Eddie can hardly breathe. He’s not sure who’s breath he’s hearing right now, actually.

“What’s that sound?”

Richie glances up, a little bewildered. “Uh, the humidifier.”

Eddie clambers from his elbows to his hands to see over the edge of the bed. “You have a humidifier? Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.”

“Winter is very drying, and if you don’t have a steady production of saliva it can wreck your gums and give you-”

“Oh my god.” Eddie smothers him with a kiss. “I love you.”

Richie giggles. “See, you like the doctor thing at least a little bit.”

They screw around on top of the covers for awhile, palming each other until neither can hold off from taking it to the next level. They strip each other's shirts and Richie’s sweatpants, then burrow under the blankets where it’s warm, kissing and touching until it’s practically a sauna. There’s some trial and error while Richie figures out how exactly to get his dick between Eddie’s satiny thighs, but eventually he finds his groove.

“Sorry, this is kinda messy,” he apologizes to Eddie. “Feels really fucking nice, though.”

His sweaty chest tacks against Eddie’s back as he ruts into the crook below his ass. Grinding into the mattress has got the front of Eddie’s pants soaked through, so he can only imagine what the lube they’d been jacking each other off with earlier is doing to the seat. He is imagining it, though. Wet and shiny, with Richie’s gorgeous cock going in and out. His hips stutter thinking about it, feeling it. Eddie hadn’t been sure they should all-out fuck their second time out of the gate, and had already told Richie as much, but the cavelike heat and smell of them under the blankets has unlocked some primal part of him. He can feel the demanding hardness of Richie’s cock against him, and his body aches to answer it with welcome. He wants to be opened and unwrapped, as Richie said, so he can be boxed back up with Richie inside of him where he can keep him forever. Richie would know how to take care of him, and make it good- make it sweet and funny, even. He always does. Eddie just has to ask.

“I want you,” he confesses to the pillows. “I want you, Richie.”

“You got me,” Richie swears with a kiss between his shoulders. “I love you more than fucking anything.”

“Would you- ? Wait a minute, let me-” he tries to start over, “I want you- you,” Eddie stammers. Why the fuck has he come over so fucking shy all the sudden?

“Anything,” Richie says. He slows to a standstill except for the hammering of his heart against Eddie’s back. He kisses his neck and keeps his mouth there, nibbling at him. “You get anything you want, love.”

“I know.“ They just breath together for a minute.

Love. He is Richie’s love, and Richie is his and they’re in love and- oh fuck, he doesn’t want to be fucked he wants to be made love to like in a fucking powerballad. No way Richie ever lets him live it down. But then again? That’s sort of the goal. He wants to be flustered and tormented by him until he’s dead. He doesn’t want Richie to leave him alone, or for Richie to ever be alone again. 

Eddie wriggles and swats, and Richie moves to let him flop onto his back.

“Oh, Eddie,” he breaths, ghosting a hand down his chest and covering the darkened patch on his pajamas. He grips at it and strokes him. “Tell me what you want, my love.”

“God, fuck. Fucking love. Just touch me like that,” Eddie pants. “Touch me like that until I come. I’m gonna- I’m so close.”

Richie bends to kiss his neck again as he keeps rubbing at him. “Good, I want you to feel good.”

Eddie flushes, heat rippling through all the way to his toes. They curl as Richie tightens his slippery fist. “Then- and then I want you... to make love to me.”

Richie yelps a laugh. “Excuse me, what?”

“Intheasswithyourdick.”

“Woah, rewind!” 

“You fucking heard me,” Eddie snaps. “Let’s fuck.”

“Yeah I heard, but not the word choice or the way around I was expecting!” Richie stares at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Shuttup and keep-” Eddie bucks into Richie’s hand with a shudder. “Hnngyeah.”

Richie doesn’t stop, but he doesn’t shut his mouth either. “Hello, 911? Eddie ‘Don’t Call Me Baby’ Kaspbrak just asked me to make love to him, and I’m worried he’s having a stroke!”

He really shouldn’t enjoy it so much when Richie tries to make him laugh and come at the same time. God knows he can’t function in daily life with that kind of Pavlovian conditioning, getting a boner anytime Richie does something the least bit amusing. It’s hard enough as it is. He hangs onto Richie’s shoulder for dear life and uses it to muffle his ecstatic delight.

“Rich, Rich m’gonna-”

“That’s it, buddy,” Richie encourages, and Eddie finishes wrecking his pants. Richie presses several wet kisses to Eddie’s cheek. “No, operator, his face is perfect. But he does have slurred speech and arm weakness- oh, wait, no. That last one’s me.” He shakes out his hand and Eddie belly laughs.

Sucks to be you, he tries to joke, but his internal wiring is too stupid at the moment to do more than hiss.

“Uh oh, I don’t think you made it. Eddie. It was nice knowing you.”

Eddie shuts his eyes and sticks out his tongue like a cartoon. Richie chuckles to himself as he tosses back the covers and gets out of bed to get something to clean up with. He helps Eddie unstick himself from his pajamas as he mourns.

“Edward Kaspbrak, died age forty one of accidental romance. Insurance professional and valued friend. Tremendous asshole. Survived by his boy toy Richard Tozier, of Watertown, Mass, who was quoted as saying ‘Shucks, that was my one chance to top.’ To be interred beside Silky Pajama Pants, who passed away in the same accident.”

Richie crawls back into the blankets beside Eddie and kisses him and Eddie is very, very glad to be alive. It could all have ended as terribly as one of Bill’s books.

“I don’t want flowers, though.”

“No?”

“People have allergies,” he hums. “And despite everything, I love a balloon.”

“That’s messed up,” Richie chuckles. They kiss again, and Richie keeps their lips and tongues, and now their hands, too, all connected as he shifts from his side to on top of Eddie. He pins Eddie’s hands by his head and crams his cold toes under his legs.

“Ah! Fucking dick! I can still go sleep on the couch, you know.”

“Okay, but it’s fucking Antarctica down there,” says Richie. “Lemme warm you up first.”

As he mouths at Eddie’s neck, his hands slide down his body to his waist. Richie grips and rolls their hips together, with his needy, heated length slotted next to Eddie’s, already spent. Gotta do something about that. Eddie wraps his hand around Richie’s dick and rubs his thumb over the head, thinking how it will feel. Fucking massive, probably. Grounding, too- being pinned like a postcard on a corkboard. Greetings from Boston- Having a great time getting railed! Wish you were here!

“Who’s getting who hot, huh?” Richie pants. “I’m cancelling ThermOil next year. I’ll heat my condo by Eddie-power instead. Stay in bed with you all fucking winter and never leave. Leave the door open and just get fucking Postmates for everything.”

Eddie drags Richie eye to eye with both hands. “You’ve got me in your fucking bed now, dumbass, what are you gonna do about it? Three guesses- first two don’t count.”

“...Sleep?” Richie laughs like this is the height of wit.

“Clearly none of the blood in your body is currently going to your head. You could die if left untreated. I gotta get you in me, like, right fucking now.”

Richie sits back on his heels, the blanket capeing at his shoulders. “Yes. That. Fuck yeah.” He wrestles over to the nightstand and grabs a condom and another thing of lube, since the first disappeared into the bedding, long ago. Without the covers, Eddie shivers until he returns to the middle of the bed.

Richie trembles a bit, too. “So how d’you wanna do this? On your knees, on your back?”

Anything more creative is probably beyond them at this hour. Eddie shimmies around in the pillows, where he already is, and drops his knees open. “On my back-” 

Richie smirks and gets between his legs. “Fuckin’ lazy.”

“Fuck off!” Eddie kicks his heel into Richies hip.

“I can fuck you, or I can fuck off- pick one!”

It’s so cold, Eddie doesn’t have the wearwithal to pretend to struggle with this ultimatum or be polite. He throws his head back and groans. “Fuck me.” 

Richie snaps open the bottle and coats his fingers. “That’s not how you phrased it earlier. Remind me, Eds. I think it rhymed with something like, Take Glove Roomy?”

-

They cool down for a few minutes before pulling up the covers again, adjusting to the dark and the idea of sleeping beside someone they love, night after night. Richie chugs most of a bottle of water and collapses next to Eddie. “Sorry to break it to you, but I don’t think we’re boyfriends anymore. I think legally I have to say, ‘Allo, I am Monsieur Richie, and this is Édouard, my luh-verrr.’”

“I was going to start introducing you as my dildo, but your thing sounds better.” Eddie steals the rest of the water from him, but he’s still so shaky he only gets down about two thirds of it.

Richie giggles at him and stashes his glasses on the nightstand. He runs his hand up and down the length of Eddie’s spine, laid out beside him, from his love-bitten neck to the top of his fresh pajama pants. “You got a cute little behind, you know that? I know I talked a lot of shit in the past,” he says. “Asshole, this, Asshole, that. But really- I’m a big fan. It was an honor to collaborate.”

“Ask me how ‘honored’ I feel in the morning,” Eddie groans as he stretches. 

He still prickles, inside and out. His hips feel like he just just took up snowboarding or some other extreme sport, and his thighs burn. It’s a happy kind of strain, though. Like when you dump an armful of heavy groceries on the counter, and know you got it all in one trip. Everything on his list has been crossed off.

“Well, the good news is, our dinner reservation’s not until seven,” says Richie. “We can spend the whole day on the couch recovering.”

Eddie rolls onto his side and finally pulls up the blankets. Richie rearranges his limbs too, so Eddie can snuggle up against him.

“Will you make me a bubblebath?” he pouts. He deserves a little pampering after the workout Richie put him through. 

“But of course, mon cherie!”

“No chance you’ll let me enjoy that by myself, right?”

Richie kisses his head. “None at all. That bathtub’s gonna be Elbow City.”

Eddie doesn’t object. There are worse fates than being warm and slippery and shoulder to shoulder with Richie. “What else do you wanna do?” he asks. “Besides tomorrow.”

“Well, you already heard my parents wanna do lunch that one day. And Mike’s gonna be in town day after that. Could go bowling with him. There’s like, one candle pin place left,” Richie yawns.

Then Richie will be the one bellyaching on the couch the next day. Eddie should make sure to capitalize on his infirmity and play Couch Commando while he has the chance- Richie sure will. There’s bound to be a day long sci-fi/fantasy marathon in his future.

“Are you gonna make me watch that old ass singing otters movie you that makes you cry?”

“...I am now.”

Eddie laughs. “Shit, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“They only have each other, Eddie! It’s sweet.”

He reaches out and pets Richie’s cheek. “You're the expert.”

-

There’s one day of the holiday break where Richie has no choice but to go into the office for a few hours. Some equipment delivery that needs to be signed for and documented before the end of the year, or whatever- which is fine. Eddie has been letting his inbox slip, and there’s a few things he needs to keep an eye on, if only so he can keep ignoring them with an informed conscience. That sort of thing.

He’s spent long enough in Richie’s house, now, that being there without him isn’t all that lonely. He knows which of the throw blankets in the living room Richie prefers for its length, and which coaster he keeps missing, marking a milky ring on the wood of the side table. He clears away their glasses from the night before, and while he’s in the kitchen, finds that Richie left him the last bagel. It was with the most grudging suppression of his New Yorkerness that Eddie had admitted to liking that particular kind the day before.

He does a small load of laundry, since he’s about halfway through his visit, and some of the socks are getting pretty ripe from tromping around the city, sightseeing. One of Richie’s chapsticks turns up in the washing machine, and he adopts it for the day, not a little bit because it tastes like his kiss.

Richie gets back in around two o’clock, jingling his keys along to ‘Wake Me Up Before You Snow-Blow’ (I Don’t Want To Drink Cocoa Solo). He finds Eddie in the kitchen as he empties the dishwasher.

“Uh oh.”

One of Richie’s arms is tucked awkwardly behind his back. “Hold out your hands and close your eyes, and you shall have a nice surprise!” he sing songs.

“I hate this,” Eddie grimaces. “I don’t want it.”

“Don’t be such a fucking baby. When have I ever handed you something nasty?” Richie laughs, but that bastard knows full well.

Eddie backs away until he comes up against the fridge. “You made me touch a rat that one time!”

“It was a cute little mouse- from a pet store - to feed to Stanley’s snake! And you lived to tell the tale.”

Eddie gives him a skeptical look.

“It’s just food,” Richie promises.

Peeking through his eyelashes, Eddie holds out his hands to take a middling sized white box, that does not squeak or ooze or anything else terrible.

“In lieu of golden rings, please accept on this fifth day of Christmas: five Mike’s Pastry cannolis.” Richie dusts a telltale smattering of confectioner’s sugar off of his jacket. “And yes, before you open it, there were a half dozen in there to begin with, but the T took forever and then I thought of the joke, so.”

Eddie cracks open the lid to select one for himself and puts the rest on the counter. “Shit that’s good,” he munches. “But do you mean to tell me I shoulda racked up ten other presents by now?”

Richie tosses his jacket over the back of a chair. “There was the thingy from the museum, and the comics. And bagels! And-” Richie crowds him against the fridge. “If you’ll remember, a certain special package.”

“Who could forget?” Eddie snorts and takes another lascivious bite of his cannoli while maintaining eye contact. It took him four ibuprofen and a full twenty four hours to stop walking funny. He’s still mid-cannoli when Richie swoops in and kisses him. Magnets slide between his back and the fridge. “Mmm.” Welcome home. “How was your thing?”

“The Orthopantomograph OP 3D Pro? The new love of my life?” Richie sighs dreamily.

“Oh ha ha.”

Richie reaches over Eddie’s shoulder to realign the coloring book page stuck to the fridge. “Not gonna lie, it’s fucking dope as hell. Definitely looks like a mind control machine. Cool software. Weighs something like five hundred pounds. You shoulda seen the dudes who rolled it in, though, they were tinier than you. I don’t know how they did it.” Eddie glowers at him and finishes his cannoli. “Best part wasn’t firing it up though.”

“Let me guess, best part was getting in one last write-off on your taxes?” Eddie grins.

Richie shakes his head slowly. He leads Eddie away from the kitchen, walking backwards into the living room. “Guess again.”

“Did Todd quit?” Eddie snickers. 

“Nope.”

Todd was Eddie’s least favorite of Richie’s coworkers, even though they had never met. Richie didn’t particularly dislike the guy, even, he just sounded like a douche, and Eddie was hotly anticipating seeing him at the office’s New Years drinks thing to find out if he looked as punchable as he sounded. Not that Eddie wanted him out of a job- he had entertainment value. And Eddie knows where this is really going. He spent some time on LinkedIn while Richie was out.

He kisses Richie as they settle onto the couch and climbs on top of him, then pulls over a throw, too. The frames of Richie’s glasses are still cold to the touch, and he didn’t wear a substantial enough underlayer while he was out, for Eddie’s liking. Better provide some of that Eddie-power.

Richie looks up at him with a serious, seriously in love expression. “Best part of having to go into the office was getting to come home to you,” he says. His chest rises and falls rapidly under Eddie, because he knows this is a big deal, too. It’s all fun and games for them to meet up in the weird liminal space that is the holiday, but that’s not the real world. The real world has commutes and sensible bedtimes and runs out of monthly freebie weekends one or the other of them can fly out, sometime around President’s Day.

Of course Eddie kisses him, Me too. I feel the same! “You know, I was talking to someone over at John Hancock today,” he tells Richie. “I know it’s- it’s really soon to be talking about making a move. But I don’t wanna leave here without knowing when I’m coming back.”

Richie pats his cheek. This has become his go-to Calm down gesture in the past few days, while they finetune the body language they’ve always had as friends. “I’m gonna come see you in New York. Right after you get your mom out of there. We have got to do it in her bed at least once.”

“It’s getting moved to Raleigh with the rest of the furniture-”

“In the room then, bareass on the fucking rug,” says Richie. “Work with me here!"

"You're such a creep."

"But it shouldn’t all be on you to change your whole fucking life for me-”

Eddie lays a finger on Richie’s lips. “Richie, it just makes sense. I don’t own part of a practice- you do. I can find something else. You have roots in New England, and the bagels here don’t suck that fucking bad, and maybe I need a clean break from Mom and all the shit she put on me, and if I sell in New York, we could put the money away for a kid, or-”

Richie gulps.

“You’re telling me you want to move in and have a kid?”

“First of all, Kris and Jay’s kids are gonna need some cousins the same age. Secondly-”

“Multiple fucking offspring, Jesus Christ,” Richie laughs. He takes Eddie's face in both hands again. “Don’t get me wrong, I said I wanted you to want to stay. Because I love you, and I do. I want to come home and find you here everyday, Eddie. Just give me a heads up before you go in on cemetery plots. I wouldn’t want to get you doubles for your birthday.”

Eddie stops. He looks around at the room, with the tiny tree that’s sort of growing on him because it leaves room for them to stretch for a run. The stack of movies they’ve binged while curled up with leftovers. A pair of reindeer slippers he bought Richie so he’d stop attacking Eddie with his icy toes. This place is already turning into home so quickly that he doesn’t need to push. “Okay, okay, I’m hearing myself now.” He digs his toes into the arm of the couch for the little bit of leverage to push up and kiss Richie. “How about I hear back from that recruiter first?”

“Deal.”