Chapter Text
Richie doesn’t go to the hospital in the end. It would be too complicated to explain how he got hurt and maintain that he didn’t want to press charges in the face of his parents’ concern. Against Eddie’s better judgement, Richie stays in Patrick’s bed until he can bear to stay awake for longer than five minutes.
It feels weird, being in this bed without Patrick, without messing around in it first. It’s nice, because Richie is so tired and his whole body aches and the pillow smells like Patrick, but it’s unsettling at the same time. At the back of his mind, there always seems to be a looming threat. He can still feel Henry’s fists against his skin, can still taste blood in his mouth. His memories are just a hazy blur at the moment but he’s trusting that Eddie will fill in the blanks; he was in the woods, on the phone, then he was on the floor and his whole body was hurting. Then, the next thing Richie remembers, he was being held in Patrick’s arms and carried back towards his house.
It’s a strange sense of deja vu, feeling groggy as he staggers out of Patrick’s bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen. He can hear low, murmuring voices and he follows the sound until the floorboards creak underneath him and a sudden silence falls. Richie freezes.
Shit, he thinks. So much for eavesdropping.
“You gonna stand out there all day, dipshit?” Patrick’s voice, at this point, doesn’t come as a surprise. Richie takes a deep breath and rounds the corner. He’s expecting to see Patrick and Eddie, probably sitting at opposite sides of the table and pretending to ignore the other. He isn’t expecting to see Beverly standing with them, but by the look of it, she has been expecting him for a while.
Richie’s stomach drops. What the fuck happened while he was asleep? His eyes dart between all three of them before finally settling on Patrick accusingly; maybe it’s not fair of him to expect Patrick to keep their secret but Richie feels betrayed nonetheless, like he didn’t do enough to prevent this. Patrick rolls his eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says. “ He invited her. Without my permission, by the way.” Patrick directs that last bit at Eddie, who glares at him in response. Beverly ignores both of them, and before Richie can reply she’s rushing towards him.
“Jesus, Rich,” her fingers pause just centimetres away from his face, tracing the bruises. Her mouth twists with bitten-back anger. “Henry really got you, huh?”
“What are you doing here?” He appreciates her concern, but his face is burning hot with shame. If she’s here then that means she knows, or at least knows enough to put two and two together. Beverly is smart - far smarter than Richie - and he doubts she won’t realise what they’re all doing here, what Richie is doing sleeping off his injuries in Patrick’s bed. He just hopes none of the others know.
“Eddie called me,” she says, watching him limp over to the table and lower himself carefully into a chair. He knocks his knee against Patrick’s under the table and hides a smile when Patrick steps on his toes. It’s as close to holding hands as they’ll ever get.
“Did he now?” Eddie ignores the unsubtle barb.
“She’s dealt with shit like this more than anyone else!” Eddie says tactlessly, as though to defend himself. Then, “Sorry, Bev.”
“No worries,” she says. “But he’s right, Richie. You need to get some ice on your face and make-up to cover the rest if you don’t want your parents to freak. I can help with that. Richie, are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital? Your ribs could be broken.”
“They’d want to get the police involved.” Richie picks at the sleeve of his t-shirt uncomfortably.
“So get the police involved!”
Patrick has been sitting silently this whole time, just observing them, but now he chuckles under his breath. Eddie whirls on him with a furious scowl.
“You’ve been awful quiet,” he says stonily. “Do you have something to add?”
“You know his dad’s the sheriff, right?” Patrick looks between them all with the same exasperated expression, but he presses his thigh firmly against Richie’s as though softening the blow. “You go to the police, nothing will happen. He’ll just say you’re lying and send you away. Besides, I already took care of Henry. He won’t bother you again. No one will.”
Jesus, what did Patrick do? What else did Richie miss out on while he was unconscious? He’d be lying if he said Patrick’s promise brought him much comfort.
“Well that sounds shifty as fuck,” Richie says bluntly. “What happened?”
“I said that you don’t need to worry about it.”
“I’m not worrying, I’m curious.” Sometimes, arguing with Patrick is like arguing with the logic of a small child: enough to give you a headache.
“Curiosity killed the cat.” Patrick levels him with a sarcastic smile.
“Oh really?” Eddie interrupts them, slapping his hands face down on the table. “I thought that was you.”
“You two are a fucking nightmare.” Beverly snaps. She turns on Richie. “You’re going to have to tell the others sometime. You know that, right? You can’t just keep them in the dark.”
“Tell them what?” Richie hopes playing dumb will get him off the hook. Based on the deadpan look Bev shoots him, it’s not going to work. “Listen, I’ll tell them in my own time. Like, a few years from now maybe.”
“Richie!”
“Beverly! Why do I have to tell them at all? He’s not my boyfriend!”
He looks to Patrick as though for backup. Patrick shrugs, unhelpful. Beverly looks between them dubiously, but decides not to say anything about it.
“You have to tell them because they’re your friends, and you respect them as people, and they deserve an explanation. Does that all sound accurate?”
Richie slumps in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest, the perfect picture of a sulky teenager. “I guess.” He says, not meeting her eye. She softens.
“Listen, Richie,” her fingers brush the back of his hand and Richie relents, squeezing her hand in his own. “I get why you’re… reluctant. Not gonna lie, it was definitely a shock to hear about you and– and him. But you know they’ll always be your friends, right? We all will, no matter what. We wouldn’t ever tell anybody, or judge you.”
Richie thinks back to Eddie’s disgusted expression in the school bathroom when he first found out, and he has to disagree. He doesn’t say any of this though, because Beverly has got a point. They do deserve to know why he’s been acting weird and distant lately. He’s just dreading the conversation they’ll inevitably have to have about it.
“Besides,” Beverly continues, the last piece of the argument that persuades him. “You’ll have me and Eddie by your side the whole time. And we won’t let Henry ever get near you again.”
Patrick sighs sharply as though annoyed that someone else is taking credit for his work. Richie elbows him, very unsubtle.
“I’ll tell them,” Richie has to concede in the end. Beverly wouldn’t have let up about it until he agreed. “But it’s gonna be so fucking awkward and that’s your fault. I just want you to know that.”
“I think I can live with that.” Beverly rolls her eyes fondly. “How about you, Hockstetter? Do you have anything to add?”
Patrick has mostly stayed at the sidelines as Beverly and Richie talked, but now he leans forward with his elbows on the table and grins wolfishly. “Tozier’s not my boyfriend,” he says simply, echoing what Richie had said just a few minutes earlier. “I don’t give a fuck who he tells.”
“Then it’s settled.” Richie doesn’t want to be the one to argue with Beverly when she’s made her mind up. Evidently no one else does either, because Eddie stands and fidgets, looking anxiously between Beverly and the front door.
“Is that it, then?” He asks. “Can we leave?”
“I think I’m gonna–” Richie swallows back his nerves. He doesn’t need to explain himself to his friends. They already know about pretty much everything, and he can stay if he wants. “I think I’m gonna stay.”
Eddie lets out a long sigh. “Thought so,” he mutters, loud enough for everyone in the room to catch it. Beverly lays a comforting hand on his shoulder and steers him out of the room and into the hall.
“Be careful, Richie,” she says before she leaves. It’s cold outside and the sudden gust of cool air chills Richie’s bare skin. There are droplets of blood on the doorstep– he won’t ask. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
The door clicks shut behind her. Richie stands in silence for a moment, feeling inexplicably heavy and relieved at the same time.
“Jesus,” Patrick groans, standing for the first time in a while. He stretches his arms and grins as his joints crack. “I thought they’d never leave.”
“Are you alright?” Richie doesn’t know what compels him to ask, but something about the way Eddie and Beverly both looked at Patrick the whole time they were there set him on edge. Patrick saved him from Henry. He’s still an asshole, but he hasn’t hurt Richie in a while and he intends to keep that streak going.
Patrick tilts his head, considering, and Richie isn’t naive enough to think he’s contemplating the question. He stays still as Patrick assesses him, just lets himself relax until Patrick finally moves. When he speaks, he does so in a soft voice that Richie has never heard him use before.
“Come upstairs,” he says.
***
Richie tells himself that he’s not nervous. It would be silly to be nervous - he’s been completely naked in front of Patrick before, been sprawled out vulnerable and wanting like this before - and just because this is different shouldn’t make it scary. At least, it shouldn’t be any scarier than Patrick is on a daily basis.
Patrick is with him now, not fully clothed but still protected by the cover of his underwear, knees balanced on either side of Richie’s hips. They’re both hard, both ready to go thanks to the half hour of making out they’ve already done. Richie thinks it might be Patrick’s ‘turn’, but as soon as the thought crosses his mind he dismisses it. They’re past that by now, he hopes. Before, if they’d gone all the way on Patrick’s turn, Richie would have been far more scared. Patrick likes it rough, likes it hard and fast and painful, and Richie doesn’t think he could lose his virginity like that - not even to honour the deal they made.
Now, though, it feels like something has changed between them. Richie isn’t terrified like he would have been before Henry attacked him. He’s trembling with anticipation, not fear. His body feels like a live wire, electric to the touch, tense and ready to blow.
“Patrick,” Richie whispers, eyes locked on Patrick’s, wide and unblinking. “Don’t make it hurt?” It’s a reminder more than a plea, more than a warning. As dangerous as the thought might be, he doesn’t believe Patrick will hurt him on purpose. Not anymore, not even to get himself off. If Patrick decided he wanted to hurt Richie, of course, he could. Richie’s too weak to fight him off properly and Patrick is much stronger than him on a good day. It wouldn’t take much to overpower Richie in his current state.
But, however unlikely it seems, Richie doesn’t think Patrick will try.
“It’s going to hurt,” Patrick says. It’s not a threat. It’s a fact.
“Be gentle,” Richie says instead. Maybe that’s a more reasonable request. He can’t expect it not to hurt on his first time.
Patrick slides his hand over the outside of Richie’s thigh and curves it inwards at the dip of his waist; he drags his nails down Richie’s chest and over a nipple. Richie’s body jerks against the mattress and Patrick lays his other hand flat over his chest to hold him down. Richie groans, sensitive and so aroused his cock is beginning to ache.
“Easy,” Patrick murmurs, twisting his torso to reach for the lube in his bedside drawer. Richie watches the way the muscles ripple under his skin, the way the knobs of his spine stand out. He wants to reach out and trace the tip of his finger down Patrick’s back but he feels too tired, too lethargic. He can’t even raise his arm.
“Please,” Richie breathes, squeezing his eyes shut. The bottle opens and closes with a sharp click. There’s a moments silence where time feels suspended - then Patrick’s hand slips over Richie’s thigh and spreads his legs wide. With the other hand, he traces a wet finger over Richie’s hole. They’ve never even done anything like this before and Richie, for all his eagerness, has never touched himself here either. It feels strange, sensitive in a way that’s almost too intimate. He has to force himself to relax and lets the tension drain out of his muscles.
Patrick’s first finger slips inside without warning. It doesn’t hurt and it doesn’t feel particularly special, but Richie groans anyway. Sweat beads on his forehead already and Patrick is breathing heavily, his fingers digging in tight to Richie’s thigh. Richie shakes his leg a little and Patrick blinks and relaxes, as though waking up from a trance.
“Ready for another?” Patrick asks, thrusting that single finger in and out loosely. Richie just nods, overeager. Patrick says, “You know there’s no rush?”
“What?” Richie’s tongue feels too heavy in his mouth.
“You don’t have to rush through this bit to get to the next.” Despite this, he adds another finger on his next thrust in. Richie throws his head back at the sudden stretch and clenches around Patrick’s fingers without meaning to.
“S’all– fuck. Leading up to one thing, isn’t it?” He pants desperately.
“One day,” Patrick curls his fingers and pleasure explodes like flashing bulbs behind Richie’s eyes. “I’m gonna stretch you out just like this, play with you for fucking hours. Get you to come on my fingers till you can’t anymore.”
Richie’s cock jumps against his belly. Precome wets the head and leaves a damp spot against his stomach. Patrick takes his fingers out.
“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he says, his voice no more than a low growl. Richie groans, feeling hopelessly empty without some part of Patrick inside him, and his toes curl against the bed.
“Then do it,” he says.
The first push in hurts more than Richie was expecting. He should probably have told Patrick to give him a third finger but he’s so desperate to have Patrick’s cock inside him that he doesn’t want to waste any time. The stretch leaves him speechless and gasping for breath; his nails dig into Patrick’s shoulders and he leaves deep scratches without even meaning to. It’s so much, almost too much, but Richie is so hard he might just come untouched.
“You’re tight,” Patrick grunts, thrusting without giving Richie any time to get used to the new sensation. He keeps his movements slow and steady though, which Richie has to appreciate.
“You’re so fuckin’ romantic,” Richie says, voice strained.
“Shut up,”
“No, I’m serious.” It’s difficult to talk with his brain all scrambled, but Richie has never been good at shutting his mouth. “You say the nicest things.”
It happens slowly. The corner of Patrick’s mouth twitches up, he smiles and shakes his head, fucking into Richie, his chest vibrating with laughter. Richie’s body thrums with electric pleasure.
“You’re such an idiot,” Patrick whispers, and then kisses him. It’s difficult to focus on kissing when each thrust has Richie’s mouth hanging open in a silent moan, pushing him closer and closer to the brink of orgasm, but he does what he can. Patrick trails wet, open mouthed kisses down his neck and over his collarbone, where he digs his teeth in. Richie’s cock jumps.
“Gonna come,” Richie warns him. Patrick doesn’t stop and he’s deep, so deep that Richie can’t breathe with how good it feels. “Patrick, fuck.”
He comes all over himself and it smears over Patrick’s chest when he keeps fucking into Richie. He feels sore and oversensitive, his orgasm having sapped him of all energy, but Patrick chases his own pleasure like Richie knew he would. When Patrick comes as well, it’s deep inside him; Richie feels it, wet and gross but so fucking hot.
Patrick rolls off him and they lay there, staring up at the ceiling to catch their breath.
“Wow,” Richie says.
“Don’t start.” Patrick groans. “I already know everything you’re about to say. Just don’t.”
“Asshole,” Richie laughs, shuffling closer to Patrick and pulling the covers over their bodies. They’ve never done anything like this before, anything even remotely close to cuddling, but Patrick doesn’t tell him to stop so Richie doesn’t. His body is still aching - new pain on top of old - but when Patrick throws an arm around him lazily he barely feels the hurt.
“Don’t fall asleep,” Patrick tells him. “You can’t stay.”
“I know,” Richie says. He just wants to lie still for a few more minutes, just wants to savour this moment. He never thought he’d get something like this. It’s nice.
Patrick shouldn’t make him feel safe, and Richie still feels a little uneasy around him sometimes, but for the most part, he’d say things were going pretty well.