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Two Days
Eddie Kaspbrak is living in a new world. And that world contains one Richie Tozier. Almost nothing but him, as a matter of fact. Except for work, and their friends, and of course, life-sustaining things like eating and cleaning.
But when they’re together, which, again, is now almost all the time (not that that’s much different than how they were before, how they’ve been since Derry), everything is a little bit easier.
Or a lot.
Finally being together, finally being able to look at Richie openly, without the burn of shame, without the worry of who is watching, without the desperate hope that Richie won’t catch him staring but also maybe, finally, will, is thrilling.
And now it’s Richie’s hands on him all the time, finally, Richie kissing him, Richie kissing him with tongue, Richie sucking kisses onto his neck, Richie kissing at thinned skin at the inside of his thighs-
But it’s been two days. And Eddie is exhausted. Sleeping is another thing he needs to add to his list of things to care about other than Richie.
“Please, I’m so tired,” he whines down at Richie, who’s more occupied with dipping a curious tongue into Eddie’s bellybutton than listening.
“Mmm,” Richie moans. Eddie stifles a gasp. Richie already has enough ideas, and Eddie is not here to encourage him. He’s in Richie’s bed to sleep.
This morning he had to be up early for a stupid meeting, so they hadn’t spent the night together, just video chatted until the last possible moment and met up again this afternoon as soon as Eddie could get back to Richie’s place. They’ve been fooling around since, making out and blowjobs and making out again, then some handjobs and more making out before breaking for food.
But now he’s in Richie’s bed to sleep. If only his erection knew that.
“Something rather eager is pushing against my shoulder there, Eds,” Richie leers up at him, shifting so he can palm over Eddie’s hardening cock through his briefs.
“Nnngh, I know,” Eddie says, “it’s fucking annoying, you’re fucking annoying.”
Richie snorts. “It’s not my fault you’re easy.”
“Oh my god,” Eddie groans, “it is your fault, that’s the fucking point, this is all your fault.”
Richie doesn’t have an answer to that except for pulling Eddie’s underwear down and wrapping a hand around his dick, followed by his mouth, followed by his tongue and his lips, which makes no sense, really, but Richie makes Eddie feel like he’s lost his mind so he fists a hand into the back of Richie’s hair and holds on.
“I might not be able to come,” he gasps, already shaking at the feel of Richie sliding down to take him further. Richie sucks at him, hollowing his cheeks as Eddie watches him, and Eddie fucking hates him, but then Richie pops off and pants, voice rough.
“Don’t care, baby, just wanna make you feel good.”
His eyes are so kind and gentle, so lacking in their usual guarded cynicism that Eddie wants to kiss him. And he can. It’s still a fucking novelty.
And god, has he been generous with the “baby” shit lately, and Eddie had no idea that was a thing for him until, well. Yesterday.
“Okay, okay, put your- ugh, okay,” Eddie says as Richie swallows him down again, moaning like he’s hungry.
Eddie comes in four minutes, which feels impressive.
When Richie stretches back up to the headboard, shining with, quite literally, a job well done, Eddie’s already yawning. Richie wipes them both off, brushes his teeth (without even being asked, god), and returns to bed to snuggle against Eddie’s side.
Eddie fits nicely under the crook of Richie’s arm, warm and safe, so he presses a kiss to the side of Richie’s chest.
“I’ll let you sleep now, I promise,” Richie says quietly. Eddie hums.
They fall asleep all cuddled up, and right before he’s drifting off, Eddie realizes it’s for the first time.
Six Days
“Fuck, I love you,” Richie sighs into the cup of coffee Eddie is handing him.
They both freeze.
They just woke up after a night of heavy flirting that Eddie assumed would lead to sex, but once they hit the bed it turned into dog-tired cuddling, bodies drooping over each other to touch until they fell asleep early. Eddie wanted to say it then, when he looked down at Richie in his arms, mouth hanging open in a lazy snore, pressed tight against his chest because he loves being the little spoon. And Eddie loves him.
He chickened out, of course. After all the things they’ve said over the past week, it seems like a foregone conclusion. He was building up to it. He was definitely going to say it.
Anger flames at the edge of Eddie’s vision. Now? Now? What the fuck.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Eddie blurts. Richie’s face falls, crumples back into the coffee, still stuck in his hand, floating in the air.
They linger in stunned silence for a second more.
“Rich,” Eddie prods, but Richie hardly flinches, “Richie.”
“I’m- gimme a second, just-”
“Give you a second?” Eddie asks, “You just said you loved me for the first time.”
“I did and it’s fucking scary, so gimme a fucking second,” Richie says it like it’s dribbling stubbornly from his mouth, and Eddie just stares, just shakes and stares because this is not how he thought this would go and he’s not even sure Richie means it.
Maybe he just wanted coffee. Richie really loves coffee. Has it been a second? Eddie doesn’t care.
“Do you really love me?”
Richie puts his mug down at last, scooting his chair out from the table and rubbing at his thighs.
“Fuck, I wanted to be so much smoother when I finally said it,” he says, shaking his head, staring at the ground.
“Finally?” Eddie squeaks. He gulps down air. He’s not going to panic about this. This is good. It’s just overwhelming. “How long have you-”
“Haven’t we been over this?” Richie asks, eyes pleading.
They have, Eddie supposes, but he doesn’t really want to admit it. He wants to hear more about this. Right this second.
“I don’t fucking know, I kissed you and you said you felt the same way, and that you wanted me and that-” Eddie remembers. The look in Richie’s eyes, the things he whispered in Eddie’s ear as he touched him, as he held him. “Oh god.”
“Yeah,” Richie says, like he’s in Eddie’s head.
“You love me.”
“Yep.” Richie stares up at him. “And if my math is correct, I’ve said it twice and you’ve said it, oh, a big ol’ zip zed nada number of times.”
Eddie grits his teeth. What the fuck, is he the asshole?
“You didn’t exactly, uh, say it, the first time,” Eddie says, slowly, grasping at straws. It’s just that he’s reeling, and that Richie has loved him for a long time, and-
Richie’s coughing out a laugh and Eddie almost edges back to anger. Then Richie stands up and starts moving toward him.
“Sorry, you’re right,” he says, hands falling to Eddie’s hips with an easy smile, “I guess I could have been clearer than ‘I’ve never wanted anyone but you’ or ‘you’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of,’ but I didn’t want to lay it on too thick.”
Eddie pushes at Richie’s chest because that’s fucking embarrassing, hearing it said out loud like that, without Richie’s tongue trailing up his neck or Richie’s hand on his dick. But it’s still- It’s good. It’s really good. So when Richie leans down to nuzzle into his mouth, he lets him.
God, Eddie would let Richie do anything.
“I love you too,” he says into Richie’s mouth, quiet, because it’s just for him. Richie shivers and pulls him closer by the hips.
Eddie takes deep breaths through his nose as they kiss leisurely, partly because his head is still swimming and partly because Richie smells musky and warm and amazing in the morning. And he loves him. Richie loves Eddie. And he’s the only one he’s ever loved. And now they’re making out in Richie’s kitchen.
Eddie breaks them apart before he gets overwhelmed again.
“The coffee’s getting cold, asshole,” he says, tangling their hands together and pulling Richie back to the table.
Three Weeks, One Day
Richie pets tenderly over Eddie’s abdomen before he looks up. “Are you breathing?”
“I’m breathing,” Eddie snaps, every muscle in his body tense.
“It feels like you’re not breathing.”
“How can you even, ugh, how can you even t- tell something- Forget it.”
Eddie stops trying to talk and focuses on the task at hand.
Sitting on Richie’s dick.
They’ve been in here almost an hour, touching and bending and prepping, using almost their entire bottle of lube and ruining Richie’s shittiest set of sheets, which remind Eddie a lot of those paper hospital gowns, so he makes a note to get a sex blanket and tries to ignore them. It’s not too hard, considering there’s a dick slowly pushing its way into Eddie’s ass, and that dick is attached to Richie, who’s holding him around the hips and feathering kisses over his chest and talking to him, and he knew this would be overwhelming, but not like this.
Never like this.
But it might be too much. Eddie’s not sure if he can actually handle the sensations and the emotions all at once.
“I think we should move,” Eddie says, halfway down into Richie’s lap, threading his way toward humiliation but trying to stay determined. Richie stares up at him.
“Yeah, yeah, just tell me how you want me, Eds,” Richie says. Eddie shifts a little.
“I don’t know, it’s-”
“You okay?”
Eddie whines. He wants to be okay, but it’s too much. It feels like too much.
“I’m getting off.”
“Clearly not yet,” Richie snorts as Eddie lifts up on his knees. Richie slips out of him and they both hiss.
“Shut up,” Eddie tells him.
He’s ruining this. Eddie is ruining their first time fucking, and he should have known he would. He grips at the sheets, climbing off of Richie’s lap. When he feels it all well up, he turns to face the wall so Richie won’t see his eyes water. Maybe he can blame it on Richie’s huge dick. Then Richie’s hand is on his shoulder.
“Hey.” He catches Eddie’s eye and plants one on his cheek, his shoulder, wherever he can reach. It’s cute.
Eddie hates it.
“What,” Eddie spits. His erection is flagging and Richie’s pity-glaring at him. He’s been looking forward to Richie fucking him for days. Really, a lot longer than that, but now he can actually have it. It’s staring him right in the face. Literally. And sure, there are plenty of other things they can do, they’ve done a lot of them already, but he wants this.
Richie furrows his brow, leaning closer. Eddie gives in and turns. Richie’s flushed and still sneaking a grin, like he’s kicking Eddie’s ass at Mario Kart, but this time with a giant hard-on. He’s already taken off the condom. Nothing flagging there.
“Why do you look so pissed?” Richie asks.
Eddie huffs. “I’m not pissed.” He crosses his arms over his chest and pushes them hard against his scar. He wishes he could put his shirt back on.
Richie’s eyes are soft and worried.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks, and Eddie falls onto his back.
“No. I mean- yeah, a little, it wasn’t,” he stops, feeling himself getting worked up, “it wasn’t what I thought it would be.”
“Hey.” Richie grips a hand around Eddie’s thigh. His cock jerks at the touch. God, he’s so fucking easy.
“You already said that,” Eddie says, ignoring it.
Richie presses out a small laugh. “Do you need me to go? Do you need to process this sex freak out on your own?” Eddie slaps Richie’s arm - the only place he can reach. His dick is far too hard to go full-slap mode on Richie Tozier right now.
“Don’t fucking make fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun of you!” Richie says, jerking his hand in the air. “You just went from ‘let’s get railed’ to ‘sad, defeated Spaghetti’ in a matter of minutes and I’m trying to keep up!”
“Oh my god,” Eddie says, throwing an arm over his face so he doesn’t have to deal with this. Maybe if he can’t see Richie, Richie won’t see him, and how he’s blushing furiously and how he’s on the verge of a self-and-dick-induced panic attack.
Then Richie yanks his hand away from his face and ruins that.
“Ow, dude what the fuck-”
“Look,” Richie starts, looking like he’s about done, “I don’t know what you’re freaking out about, but, just, fucking, let me help you or something.” He heaves a breath. Eddie stops cold, blinking up at him.
“Rich-"
“If this is about hang-ups or the fucking clown or something, I get it, okay? But I need to know why you’re pulling away from me otherwise I’m gonna start freaking out, and then we’ll both be freaking out, and we’re already nude, so it’s gonna get weird real quick-”
“Richie,” Eddie says again, finally sitting up to look him in the eye. His mouth opens to talk, to explain, to tell Richie he’s afraid of fucking this up, or pushing him away for real, or getting so far inside his own head that everything will freeze up and he’ll never be able to get out again. Richie already knows a lot of it. Most of it.
He’s Eddie’s best friend. And Eddie wants everything with him. All the time.
Eddie leans in to press his lips to Richie’s neck, carefully, and he hopes it serves as some sort of apology, because the words just won’t come. Not how he wants. It’s way too scary.
“Let’s just,” Eddie says, anchoring himself on Richie’s shoulders and swinging his leg over Richie’s thighs. He wants back in Richie’s lap, he liked that, liked their thighs all snug up together, staring down at Richie’s belly, his chest, his cock.
Eddie likes so much about Richie, stuff he doesn’t think he’s ever even noticed on other people. The way his jaw slopes. The deepening edge of his hairline above his forehead. The very center of his chest, where it smells most like him. And he definitely likes how Richie’s staring up at him now, hands running nervous lines up and down his back, over his ass, digging gently where he’s still slick and open.
“You gonna make me use the gloves again?” Richie says, hot and insistent between them, spreading Eddie’s cheeks but not going any further. Eddie shifts forward, grinding their cocks together. Richie’s still hard, and Eddie feels like he could get back there easily, but Richie fingered him for a while and he wants Richie’s cock. He wants to feel it. He looks down and it hits him.
“Lie back.” Eddie pushes at Richie’s chest and he goes easily, so Eddie shifts even further forward, tucking Richie’s cock behind him.
“Eddie,” Richie gasps as his head hits the pillow, as his dick slides right in the wanting crease of Eddie’s cheeks, “we don’t have to-”
“Just wanna feel you like this,” Eddie says, grinding back against Richie’s long, hard length.
Richie nods, throat bobbing. His face pinches tight as he clings to Eddie’s hips and watches him.
“We might need more lube,” Eddie says, then reaches back to grip at Richie’s cock. It’s standing at attention, smearing against the small of his back, so Eddie presses tight and Richie nearly bucks him off.
“Fuck, you feel good,” Richie groans. Eddie smiles, biting at his lip, feeling some sort of confidence swelling in his chest. He’s fully naked, sitting on top of Richie, pressing back onto his dick and Richie’s staring up at him like he’d give him anything right back.
Richie’s eyes have been operating on that mode for the past week, and it’s really weird, but it also flutters something in Eddie’s stomach. When they’re falling asleep, or kissing, or watching Netflix together, in their quiet moments, Eddie wonders if this is how Richie is when he’s happy. When he’s in love.
Eddie sets a rhythm with his hips, palming back at Richie’s cock, spreading his chest like he’s on display. With anyone else he would feel ridiculous, full of himself and far too arrogant, but Richie is writhing and gasping beneath him, so Eddie tries to maintain his momentum. He arches his back, clenching his cheeks together around Richie’s cock.
“Oh god,” Richie says, reaching to thumb over the head of Eddie’s dick, sliding over his stomach in a wet line, “can I touch you?”
Eddie’s already groaning at the contact, so he nods and Richie’s quick to shove a whole hand around him and squeeze.
“Shit, oh fuck.” Eddie pushes back on Richie’s dick in turn, still holding it between his fingers, and when Richie’s hand slides up around him faster, he slaps Richie’s dick against his ass in short little jerks.
“Eds, what the fuck,” Richie whines, full-body, so Eddie does it again, the motion ridiculous, but worth it for the wanton sense of pride that is having Richie’s dick all over him. Richie strokes him from root to tip, and when Eddie thrusts back, Richie’s dick slides over his hole, hot and pulsing, and both of them moan together.
“Okay, Richie, get in me already,” Eddie says, falling forward onto his hands to reach for a new condom. He has to dismount, but the promise of Richie fucking up into him, pressing inside him, just like that, is enough to steady his hands.
“You are so fucking hot,” Richie sighs, kissing filthy mumblings into his skin while Eddie rips open the package and holds at the tip so he can get Richie ready.
They both hiss as the condom rolls on, and then again when Eddie gets back into position and slides onto Richie’s dick.
“Hah,” Eddie punches out, and it’s still a lot , definitely almost too much, but he relaxes and fucking breathes and looks down to see Richie’s head thrown back against the pillow, his eyes fluttering, and he’s bottoming out before he knows it.
“Eddie.”
“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, settling against the full pressure of it. It’s different than the grinding, he knew it would be, but calmer than it was before. He tests the waters and tilts his hips, swaying them in a half-circle, and the drag is so close to good he can taste it.
“How do you-”
“Good,” Eddie says, roaming Richie’s chest to find and pinch a nipple, and Richie jerks and laughs, shining up at him with those bright fucking eyes, and Eddie is more than ready to get this ride going. He presses up on his knees, and when gravity brings him back down, stars glide up his spine.
“Richie,” he moans, then does it again, and again, and soon he’s on the verge of blowing Richie’s back out from how fast and hard he’s riding him into the bed. Richie, for his part, doesn’t look too put out, holding Eddie’s ass open and gulping out choked moans.
“Babe. Baby. Eddie.”
Eddie grabs Richie hand off his ass, weaving their fingers together and holding on, and Richie grips back, sweaty and tight. Eddie twists around a little, pushing Richie’s thigh down against the bed to try to get a glimpse of him fucking in and out. He wants so desperately to see where Richie’s grinding into him, making him feel so good, lighting him up. The urge is embarrassing and huge, but he can’t quite make it, and then, finally, his knees start to lock on him.
“I need to lie down,” Eddie says, and Richie blinks up stupidly at him before helping him over onto his side. Eddie moves too quickly to keep Richie from dislodging, but he stretches out against the bed, on his side, and pulls his knee up to his chest, hoping Richie gets the clue.
Richie spoons up against him, and Eddie thanks his knees for giving out as soon as Richie’s cock slides back in. It’s good.
It’s deep in a different way from this angle. Not to mention he can feel Richie all over. All along his back, brushing kisses to his neck, grabbing at his thigh to help him hold it up while Richie thrusts into him. And he’s talking again, too.
“You feel so good, my god you feel so good.”
Eddie smiles into the sheets. “You do, too.”
“Yeah?” Richie asks, strained, pumping his hips. Eddie’s craning his neck down as much as he can, trying to watch, catching the barest glimpses of Richie inside, rocking against him, just beneath his balls. Eddie fists a hand around his own dick and throws his head back.
“Yeah, just wish I could see,” Eddie groans, his chest heaving. Richie twitches up into him faster.
“Oh fuck, you wanna watch?”
Eddie bites at the inside of his cheek and tells himself Richie wants him. He likes this. He wants to know what Eddie wants.
“Yeah, wanna, ah, Rich.” He clenches his eyes tight around the shock to his prostate when Richie hits it, and Eddie is both impressed and overwhelmed, it usually takes him awhile to find it with his fingers, but then he’s bowled over by the absolute pleasure that flows through his veins.
“Good, baby?” Richie pants behind him, tonguing along Eddie’s arm.
“Fuck, fuck, yes, more.”
“Hold on,” Richie says, and pulls out. Eddie’s mind is simmering a high temperature at this point, burning through his skull and about to ooze out onto the bed, but then Richie pushes him onto his back and wraps hands around both of his thighs.
“You want it like this?” Richie asks, pushing so his ass is in the air, just off the bed. Eddie gulps in response, eyes caught on Richie’s. They’re wide and kind, and Eddie wonders how many different ways they can be for him. How much Richie has to give, because it seems to be never-ending.
“Y-yeah, I can’t- mmm,” Eddie groans when Richie grinds his dick against Eddie’s hole, “I might not- I’m close.”
Richie leers with a smile, casting a shadow over Eddie’s whole body in the lamplight of his bedroom, maybe their bedroom soon, after Eddie finally finds someone to sublet the shitty studio he got when he moved here. It’s not like he’s playing coy anymore. He wants this.
“S’okay, baby, c’mon,” Richie says sweetly, and Eddie sucks in shaky patches of air as Richie’s cock breaches him again.
Richie goes slower this way, holding something back, but he watches Eddie, eyes boring something passionate deep into Eddie’s own. Eddie holds on and moans through it. With Richie holding him this way, pressing his hips up, he can see Richie pounding in, fucking him, and he wants to break with how good Richie treats him, how fucking good he makes him feel.
Eddie didn’t know he could feel like this, and that thought will never stop amazing him and devastating him all at once. He spent years numbing himself with pills and mediocrity, stuck in a swirl of commitments and expectations until he threw it out the window to come to LA after the nine hundredth time Richie suggested it. He wasn’t even sure then. How did he not know?
How could he not know?
“Richie,” he says quietly, gripping at Richie’s arm, trying to pull him closer.
“I might come, Eds,” Richie breathes, his hips stuttering as he catches his breath, “I can’t stop, you feel too fucking good.”
Eddie nods, chin dipped in the hollow of his own throat from where he’s practically bent in half. He’s going to hurt in the morning, but he was prepared for that.
“Keep going,” Eddie tells Richie, reaching down to grab at his ass and encourage the thrust of his hips. His cock starts moving fast, pressing tight to Eddie’s rim, hitting that place inside. Then Richie puts an inch between them, just enough to stroke Eddie’s leaking dick, and Eddie sees the smooth blur of Richie fucking him.
His eyes roll back into his head with a gasp, too breathless to moan. Richie fucks him harder.
“Come for me,” Richie says, and Eddie does, and if he were in any regular frame of mind he would be pissed at his own body for following Richie fucking Tozier’s commands so easily.
But he’s not. All the muscles in his body are clenching around his orgasm, pumping long ropes of come into Richie’s hand and his own chest as Richie pounds him into the bed. Their bodies are bouncing together, creaking Richie’s mattress, their mattress, Eddie wants so badly for Richie to be his, and he is, he is-
“Shit, Eds, I’m gonna pull out,” Richie says above him, and Eddie is too gone to know what he thinks about that, so he lets him, eyes blurry and swimming as he watches, body twitching with the aftershock and already humming with the knowledge that Richie fucked him so well.
Richie’s barely out before he’s groaning, jerking himself over the condom and clinging to Eddie’s thigh. Eddie suddenly wishes he could kiss him. Pour his heart out and watch Richie listen, know how loved he is, how beautiful he is, even in this desperate moment, coming on a shout into the condom. A flash of an ache passes through Eddie, too, wanting Richie to come on him.
His cheeks heat, so he tucks it away, to explore later.
It’s not that late in the day, but they clean each other up with wobbly legs and giddy smiles, then change into sleepwear.
Eddie passes out almost as soon as he hits the bed, at eight, with Richie holding him tight.
He wakes up at three the next morning, but he’s still got a dumb smile on this face.
One Month, Six Days
Christmas with their friends has quickly grown to be Eddie’s favorite holiday. It’s only the second year in a row, but now that he knows himself better, knows himself at all, he has a feeling about these things.
And this year he and Richie are together , and Eddie isn’t still vaguely recovering from a horrible wound and they’re a year and some change away from the worst event of all of their lives and much, much closer to the future they’re all building together. It’s all new and shiny, all heart-shaped glasses and rose-colored lenses, or whatever the fuck, but really the point is that Eddie is happy, and it’s free from strings or bad marriages or shitty, clown bullies.
“Isn’t it kind of shitty to order delivery on Christmas?” Richie asks, slinging an arm around the back of Eddie’s chair. Bev explodes in some sort of demonic moment of rage.
“I am sick of this, how many times do I have to explain,” she says, violently mixing salad in a bowl, “I’m sorry I didn’t want to make enough food to feed you bottomless pits. Instead, because I am intelligent, I elected to order a fuck-ton of pizzas and tip the delivery person really well.”
Mike’s shaking his head. “You fucking better.”
“Who do you all take me for?” she asks. Everyone remains silent. “That’s what I thought.”
“We can’t forget to pour one out for Staniel and his lovely wife,” Richie says, holding up his beer and tilting it over the table. Eddie’s hand blocks the imminent spill and the other slaps Richie on the thigh.
“Don’t you fucking dare, it can be metaphorical, jackass,” he tells Richie.
“Stan just sent me a new picture this morning,” Ben says, wiping his hands clean on the back of his jeans and pulling out his phone. When he shoves it in Eddie’s face, Eric is, well, mildly grimacing back at him, a pudgy baby face squeezed into a tiny snowsuit, evidently about to go on his first sojourn into-
“They live in Atlanta,” Eddie says, frowning at Ben’s phone, “what the fuck does a baby need a snowsuit for?”
Bev rolls her eyes over her shredded salad. “Oh my god, it’s cute, Eddie.”
Richie pats him on the back with a laugh. When his hand stays, curled around Eddie’s shoulder, Eddie leans back into the touch. God, it feels so good. Tingly, and he knows he’s a mess, but he’s a mess in love, and it’s amazing. His own little Christmas miracle, and that’s how he knows he’s in love, because of thoughts like, this is his fucking Christmas miracle.
“Eds, your ability to be angry at a cute baby picture is one of the many reasons why I love you,” Richie says, hand jostling Eddie back and forth by the neck.
Eddie blushes and pushes at him, point of his shoulder stuck in Richie’s armpit, the shape of their bodies folding together under and above the dining room table. Eddie feels so warm in the light of his friend’s house and with the anticipation of handing out the gifts he and Richie pulled together last minute, once they finally decided they could all make it work this year. He wants to burst with happiness.
So he reaches for Richie’s hand under the table.
Eddie’s never really loved holding hands. Firstly, it’s never felt very good. He couldn’t get the angle right, or someone would get too sweaty, and it always seemed… unnecessary. Until now.
Richie’s fingers slot perfectly between his. Eddie’s not really sure how he could have so royally fucked up holding hands before this - this feels easy. Simple and good. Warm and comfortable and safe, which is how Richie makes him feel every day. God, Christmas makes him sappy. His friends make him sappy. And Richie makes him really goddamn sappy.
Apparently the feeling is mutual. Either that, or Richie’s short-circuited.
Richie’s frozen, eyes glassy as the marbles they used to shoot in Mrs. Keppler’s sixth grade classroom when it was too rainy for recess.
“Rich,” Eddie whispers low, since so far, no one has noticed Richie’s complete lack of movement or participation in their conversation about their next visit to Atlanta.
Richie’s mouth opens and closes like a wound up trap.
“Fuck,” Eddie groans to himself. Richie’s eyes tip to take in the sight of their hands clasped together under the table.
Eddie smiles.
Ben starts bringing some simple appetizers to the table, but stops halfway there when he sees Richie.
“Why does Richie look like he’s seen a ghost?” Ben asks, and that starts a trail of eyes flowing their way, Bill and Mike and Bev, all gaping at a stricken Richie.
Richie looks up, bubbling out audible puffs of air. Eddie squints at him for a moment, hoping maybe the words will find him.
“Is- what is going on?” Bill turns to Eddie. “Did you break him?”
Eddie sighs. “I’m holding his hand outside the house for the first time and he’s freaking out.”
There’s a combined chorus of understanding “ohhhh’s” and disgusting “awww’s” that make Eddie simultaneously horrified and amused.
It takes six more minutes for Richie to finally come back to himself, knuckle driving a soft line over the hair on Eddie’s thumb. Eddie knows this because he's been paying close attention to Richie's pulse since he went catatonic.
“When will the pizza be here?” Richie asks.
Eddie leans over to bite him on the shoulder.
One Year, Three Weeks, Five Days
“Aw, Eds, this is the first time we’ve ever had phone sex,” Richie says, all dumb and fond, the rustling sounds of his belt and pants flying off in the background. Eddie squirms on the bed, hand already around his dick.
“Not this again,” Eddie sighs. He throws his phone onto the pillow next to him, Richie’s pillow, then shakes that thought away and hits speaker.
“I’m sorry that I like to mark these occasions a little, man, oh fuck,” Richie groans, “I’m already worked up, Eds.”
Eddie swallows hard. Truthfully, he is, too. Richie’s been on the road four days and this is the first time they’ve been able to talk while they’re both fully conscious.
It got dirty fast.
Eddie fills his palm with lube and spreads it out over the head, driving a wet line down his dick, and then back up. He hisses.
“Fuck, Richie, keep going,” he begs.
“What?” Richie says, fucked out and adorable. God, Eddie misses him. He fucks through the tight circle of his fist, pretending it’s Richie’s, imagining his long fingers around him. Fuck-
“Keep talking, you were blowing me.”
Richie groans. “You always make me do all the work.”
“Rich-”
“Okay, okay,” Richie says, “I’m blowing you.”
“Yeah.” God, he’s stupid. Eddie’s so fucking hard it hurts.
“I’m licking you messy all around the head, fuck, I miss your fucking dick, want it in my mouth so bad,” Richie pants. Eddie hears the quiet slapping of his hand on his cock and speeds up to match it.
“Do it.”
“God, yeah, Eds, you taste so good, so fucking hard against my tongue.”
Eddie whines. He rubs a closed fist around the head of his cock. He wants to talk, wants to tell Richie how much he fucking wants it, how good his mouth always feels, wet and split open for him, every single time, just for Eddie-
“Wanna stuff my mouth full of you, baby, god, I want to take you down my throat.”
“Richie, please,” he pants, this is all too much, he’s used to hearing Richie’s running mouth at home, but something about him explaining what he wants to fucking do, god it’s driving him insane. Then Richie gulps down air and exhales a thready moan, disembodied through the speaker.
“You wanna come down my throat, Eds?” he asks, and Eddie’s pumping himself fast now, wet from his second dose of lube, and there’s lube soaking the sheets next to him in a dirty puddle because he’s got very little coordination.
Now that he knows how fucking good Richie sounds, even when he’s hundreds of miles away, he’s going to ask for this every single night they have to spend apart. This is a fucking treasure trove.
“Want you to fuck me,” he moans. Richie deserves it, he’s doing so good, and Eddie’s so turned on, burning bright with lust for his boyfriend, he could come right here. He squeezes at the base of his dick.
“Fuck, yes, yes, I’m gonna fuck you, Eddie.”
“I’m close, I can’t-”
Richie’s jerking himself hard on the line, and Eddie wants so badly to touch himself but he knows he’s about to go off, he’s going to come so fucking hard, listening to Richie come, too, oh god-
“I’m fucking you hard, just like you like it, slapping into your ass with my hard fucking cock,” Richie says in a filthy rush, and Eddie’s hand flies over himself before he can stop it. Fuck.
“Oh my g- Richie, what the fuck,” he whimpers, and he already feels it there, peaking in him.
“You like it, baby?”
“Huh-huh, oh-”
“Yeah, I always fuck you so good, just hard enough, touch you just right.”
Eddie nods, damp fingers desperate for skin, pinching his own nipple, wanting Richie’s tongue all over him, wanting Richie inside him, wanting to feel him pounding in, like he did right before he left, when he bent Eddie over the end of the bed, both of them bucking together so hard Eddie still has bruises on his ass from the points of Richie’s hips.
“Fuck, Richie, I’m there, baby.”
It spills forth with no warning, he never fucking calls Richie baby, but he wants him so bad, wishes he was here, loves him so fucking much. And he started it first. Richie groans, loud and wet.
“Eddie, Eds, come on my cock.”
“Oh god.” And Eddie’s shooting all over his stomach, too out of his mind on Richie’s deep, throaty voice to think about controlling himself.
“Yeah, baby, give it to me.”
Eddie’s hand slides easily through his own come, spreading over his dick, the sounds of Richie losing his shit a background buzz, keeping him grounded and drawing his pleasure out. He loves how Richie sounds when he’s coming, sometimes he even laughs with it, at how good it feels, at how good Eddie makes him feel, and Eddie’s cock dribbles out a last effort at the thought.
“Eddie,” Richie sighs, cutting through the stream of their panting in the aftermath. Eddie wants to giggle. He also wants to reach out and pull Richie to him, bury his face in Richie’s broad, hairy chest. But he’s not there. He clenches his eyes closed.
“Pretty good for our first time,” Eddie says, and Richie laughs, and it dries up the tears he wants to cry, at least for now.
“You okay over there?”
“No,” Eddie says, without thinking, because it’s really, really true. He wants to cry, and he hates crying. Especially after such a good orgasm.
Richie makes a noise, like he’s holding in a laugh. Eddie sighs.
“I miss you,” he says, turning the phone off speaker and pressing it close to his ear. It helps, but he hates being apart. Being so far away. It’s so clingy and codependent and it should ring all the alarm bells in his head. But it doesn’t. He just feels better when Richie is around.
“I know, me too, Eds,” Richie says, slow and tired. Eddie yawns like a Pavlovian response. Plus he just came his brains out.
“I’ll let you go to sleep,” Eddie tells him. Richie smacks his lips in a kiss.
“Night night, deary. And hey,” he says, and then lower, like gravel, shooting right to Eddie’s softening dick, “one more day and I’ll get my hands all over you.”
“Richie-”
“We can do it.”
Eddie turns to look at Richie’s pillow, missing the usual sleep-soaked indent in the cushion of it.
“Love you,” he says. Richie laugh hisses slow out of him.
“Love you too, Spaghetti.”
Two Years, Five Months, Three Days
“I, Richard Tozier,” Richie starts, and Eddie slaps a hand over his mouth.
“I thought we had a deal,” Eddie says, glancing around to make sure no one heard. Luckily the clerk filing their paperwork has gone to get their ducks in a row. Richie smiles against his hand.
“Well we gotta make it official somehow!” he mumbles. His face has been some shade of bright red all day.
“Yeah, yeah, buy me dinner and maybe we can do vows alone later.”
Richie raises his eyebrows. Eddie flushes.
“I’d say that’s a better deal than the first one.”
Four Years, Eight Months
Eddie holds a treat in one hand and presents his other with an open palm. Wide, uninterested eyes meet him back.
“I swear, she was doing it before,” Eddie says, wiggling his hand in front of the cat’s face. She seems more annoyed than intrigued. Bev pats him on the back.
“I’m sure she was,” she whispers into his ear. Eddie groans.
“She was doing it for me, you’re just too tense,” Richie says, crouching down next to him and grabbing a treat from the tray.
Sure enough, Richie’s palm goes up, and Muffin’s paw bats at it in a sloppy high five.
Everyone cheers while Richie awards the monstrous Maine Coon a treat. Eddie regrets inviting them here to meet their cat.
As both he and Richie stand back up, Stan comes up behind them, clasping them both around the shoulders.
“Can’t believe it took you so long to get a pet, guys.”
“Yeah,” Bev adds, “what is it, almost five years for you two already?”
Eddie has to think on it, he knows when their anniversary is but it’s not like he’s-
“Four years, eight months and like, well, I guess half a day? We technically got together in the mid-afternoon and it’s not even,” Richie’s flipping through his phone while everyone watches him, “ten yet, holy fuck, I really am old, I can’t believe I’m awake so early for all you bozos.”
Eddie squints over at him.
“What are you looking- why did you check your phone for that?” Eddie points at Richie’s phone before he shoves it frantically back in his pocket.
“What? Nothing, I just-”
Eddie crowds Richie into the counter to try to reach, but Richie grips hard around his wrists to stop him. Their eyes catch each other with enough heat that Eddie pulls away immediately. Their friends are here. He knows what that look means. Nothing but trouble.
“Right,” Eddie says, stepping back to take a breath, “you just happen to know exactly how long we’ve been together. Off the top of your head.”
Richie’s jaw flinches.
Stan huffs a laugh from his spot at the table. He’s leaning down and rubbing soft fingers through Muffin’s dark hair. If Eddie weren’t so focused on why the fuck his husband is being so weird his heart would be melting. He knew Stan would love their choice of cat. Chill with an attitude. Just like him.
Eddie’s definitely not going to mention that Richie first suggested they name her after Stan because of the patch of curly, light hair around the top of her head. Or that he almost agreed.
“Do you still have that app thing?” Stan asks Richie. Eddie turns back to Richie, whose hands are now clenched around the edges of the counter, glaring daggers at Stan.
“I greatly regret making you my best man, Staniel,” Richie sighs, shaking his head.
“You didn’t have a best man because you two snuck off to the courthouse, but you still managed to tell me multiple times you would have chosen Beverly. You two were chanting ‘Best Man’ to each other when we were all drunk on your honeymoon.”
Bev lifts a hand for Richie to high-five. Eddie’s brain is a fog of anger and confusion.
“We’re losing focus here. What app are you talking about?” Eddie asks.
Richie whines. “It’s just this thing I downloaded when we first got together, okay?” He fishes out his phone and taps at it a few times before handing to Eddie.
At first, all Eddie sees is floating hearts on the screen. There’s a pink and red background, curling white font and a large printed date at the top. Their anniversary. Their first anniversary, the day they kissed. There are various increments of time beneath, counting how long it’s been since the date in days, weeks, months, years.
Eddie blinks at it a few times before he sees the title Richie entered: How Long I’ve Managed to Keep Eddie.
He suddenly wishes they were alone. He locks the phone and gives it back to Richie. Bev squeaks behind him.
“Hey, I wanted to see!” she says, but Eddie’s shaking his head.
“You’ve all met the new kid, let’s get some breakfast, I’m starving,” Eddie says, staring up at Richie. Richie bites his lip, reaching out to fold their hands together.
“Me too, I’ve been dreaming about these red velvet pancakes for weeks ,” Richie moans. He winks at Eddie and lifts up their joined hands to press a kiss to Eddie’s thumb.
When they get home later that day, Eddie takes a break from the commotion of their friends to research vacations to Paris for their five year.
Five Years, Six Months, One Week, Three Days
Eddie fidgets at the front desk, waiting for the receptionist to swipe his card. She hands it back to him with a fake smile.
“Have a seat, someone will call for you shortly.”
He nods tightly, turning around to survey his options. There aren’t many people at his dentist’s office on a Thursday afternoon. And that’s exactly why he took a few hours off to make it happen.
Eddie hates the crowd of waiting rooms. He also hates taking time off work, but if avoiding the intense anxiety of a room full of children is in the cards, he’ll use all his banked vacation days if necessary.
There’s never a good assortment of magazines here, so he pulls out his phone and becomes one of those people. But who fucking cares. It’s the future.
His thumb stalls over all of his apps. He opens messages and finds Richie’s name at the top.
At the dentist. Nothing but fucking Highlights and Time.
The three dots appear within seconds. Too bad you’re not seven and/or seventy.
Eddie bites his lip to keep from laughing. There are only two other people here, but the desk worker seems bitter and he’s not in the mood to be judged for giggling over his phone like a lovesick teen.
He’s a married lovesick man.
They’ll probably call me soon. Just wanted to complain. Maybe ruin your afternoon, Eddie types.
Eddie stretches his back against the uncomfortable lobby chair. There’s a fucking fish tank here. He really needs to find an exclusively adult dentist. Those things are full of bacteria. A text lights up his screen.
Yeah, leave me alone. I hate messages from sexy men. You’re distracting me from scratching my balls and eating cereal on the couch.
Eddie knows it’s a deliberate poke, but the image of a half-dressed Richie pouring milk and Lucky Charms between the couch cushions incites something feral in him. His fingers are flying over the keys when a hygienist appears from behind a door.
“Eddie Kaspbrak-Tozier?”
He drops his phone onto his lap.
The hygienist watches him glare at her, then looks to the chart, then back up to him in question.
“Ed- Eddie?” She asks, pointing to him. “Are you Eddie?”
Eddie stands up. “Oh.”
“Mr. Kaspbrak-Toz-”
“I’m fine, hi, I’m here, sorry about that,” Eddie rambles, panicked at the thought of hearing it again.
He’s been so wrapped up in everything else that he totally forgot they actually did it. They changed their names. And then, after one determined set of breaks at work, he had called around to every medical provider to make sure they made the update. He was Edward Kaspbrak-Tozier on all the paperwork that mattered, and even on some that didn’t, and the next day he did it with Richie’s stuff, too, just so they were even.
His phone is stuck in his hand as he wanders down the hall, through the mysterious door that separates the patients from the rest of the practice.
Just as he’s about to slide into the chair, shaking off the new name, he checks his phone one last time before turning it off.
See you soon, cutie.
Eddie blames the swoop in his stomach on the collection of sharp tools to his right.
Five Years, Nine Months, Two Weeks
“I can’t believe I fucking agreed to this.”
“Eddie.”
Eddie digs his thumbs into his eyes. The last thing he needs is a stress migraine. He’s probably not going to sleep for the next… what, eighteen years? Good god, this is a lot.
“I know,” Eddie sighs, taking a seat at their kitchen table, “we talked about this, I know. But it’s fucking scary now that it’s happening.”
They had talked about it. A lot. Thought about every single option, planned, mapped things out, opened up accounts, drained more accounts, and okay, Eddie had done most of it, but Richie was supportive and always listened and gave what amounted to semi-mature opinions so Eddie was a pleased husband.
In the end, fostering was where they ended up. They were always more than open to being co-parents with biological parents, and while they don’t know much about it now, their case worker assured them there would be plenty of family interaction. Eddie and Richie have now spent many years with haphazard and overwhelming familial interaction, and there’s not much biological about their group of Losers, either, but blood and water and aliens and turtles and all that.
They were used to fudging it. And so what if they didn’t get to use their fancy, new hyphenated name? Eddie liked it anyway.
It was all a little on the fly, and Eddie hated that it made more practical sense for Richie to pick up the baby when they got the call earlier this afternoon, and now he’s sitting, vibrating, almost dying, in his goddamn kitchen, while Richie is driving their almost-probably-child to their house.
Eddie just hopes his three tutorials about car seats sunk in.
“Oh my god, am I on speaker? Should I not be swearing? I better fucking be on speaker, Richard, you are not holding the phone and driving like a dumbass-”
“Eds, language, my god, of course you’re on speaker.”
Eddie slaps a hand over his mouth.
“Okay, I know this is a big ask right now,” Richie starts, slowly and calmly, and Eddie slides his hand up to cover his eyes and takes a deep breath, focusing on the sound of his voice, “but I’m gonna need you to calm down. We’re going to be there in a few minutes, and then you can inspect her all you want, and we’ll get this first kid thing started.”
Eddie’s fingers clench around his temples.
He and Richie were over forty years old by the time they got together for good, so there was very little expectation they would be each other’s first anything. They usually find themselves trading off, Richie’s first marriage, Eddie’s first time kissing a dude, Eddie’s first time in LA, Richie’s first time taking it up the ass, you know, the classics.
Honestly, even when given the opportunity, they fuck most of their first times up. Because they’re normal, human men, within reason, thank you very much, and because Eddie doesn’t particularly pay much attention to many of their firsts. He’s not a fourteen year old girl, or a sappy old man. When he does notice, it’s because of the slightly-organized chaos of it all. The reminder that they’re both a little difficult in the ways they show and give love, and luckily they somehow found each other amongst all the madness and combined their brands of chaos into something they could each be proud of.
And luckily, as he knows now, Richie keeps track of the time for the both of them.
But this is a first he’ll always remember. And it’s probably their scariest one, demon clown be damned. That was about their own fates.
This is someone else’s tiny, little fate in their hands. It’s a first they can’t possibly fuck up but most definitely are going to.
And at first sight, Eddie Kaspbrak is in love.
He’s never quite believed in love-at-first-sight before. He certainly didn’t love Richie the first time he saw him, covered in dirt and burrs, whining and bloody because he’s never been able to handle any amount of pain, but he’s also always willing to follow through on a dare if goaded.
But then Richie walks through the door of their house, and Eddie squints his eyes to separate the soft, errant brown curls on the baby’s head from Richie’s own mop of hair. She’s slung over his shoulder, hanging off just a little, mouth open in slumber, and something in Eddie’s heart shifts.
Richie grins when he sees Eddie staring.
“I told you we’d get here safely,” he says, and Eddie suddenly wonders why he didn’t meet them outside, why he didn’t help Richie get her out of the car or carry her to the door and his eyes are burning again at the sight of her, at the desperate need to reach out and-
“Can I take her?” he asks. He sees something flash over Richie’s face, a pinch of worry. It nearly kills him. This is going to be so much more than he ever expected. And he’s been expecting a lot. For more than a year.
“Isn’t there some thing about not waking a sleeping baby?” Richie whispers, pressing a hand to the baby’s back. Eddie moves closer and covers Richie’s hand with his own. They’re both so warm.
He loves them. His family.
A completely unfamiliar calm blankets him. He smiles up at Richie, whose starting to look a little panicked, unloading the giant diaper bag onto the ground between them.
Eddie walks a half-circle around them, rubbing at Richie’s back as he goes. He presses up to kiss Richie’s cheek and hums.
“Let’s put her to bed,” he says, and Richie nods, breathing heavy through his nose, “that crib’s been waiting for weeks.”
They usher themselves into the extra room they set up, just in case, both swearing they weren’t being too hopeful, just prepared. The crib sits in the center, the showcase, now with someone finally there to fill it.
Richie lays her down gently while Eddie parrots the motion, as if that’s helping.
They both lean back and watch as she stretches against the thin mattress, chubby hands holding tight to nothing. Eddie wants so desperately for her to wake up, to see her eyes and the motion of her face while she’s awake, but he know they’ll get there. He should probably sleep. He turns to Richie.
“What’d Donna tell you?”
Richie looks to him, bags under his eyes. He had a long day of shooting, and Eddie knows he’s probably dead on his feet.
“Oh, uh, four months.” Eddie looks down. Seems about right. “They don’t think there’s much chance of reunification ‘cause there’s a lot of issues, but- You know,” Richie says, shifting his eyes toward the ground.
Eddie knows. Fostering means temporary, at least for now. They both know. Eddie clears his throat.
“What’s her name?”
Richie’s eyes light up. “You are never going to guess.”
“No, probably not, just tell me,” Eddie says, voice at a rough whisper.
“Clara.”
Richie stares at him.
“Am I supposed to intuit something from you right now? Clara’s nice, I like that.”
Richie’s shoulders sag. “Back to the Future, man!”
“Back to the-”
“The third one! Cowboys and flying trains and shit,” Richie says, slapping a gentle hand over his mouth when he catches the curse. They check that Clara hasn’t woken before turning back to each other.
“She’s named after someone in the third Back to the Future movie and you’re geeked about that?”
Richie rolls his eyes. “Uh, yeah, dude. We just watched it, you know I love that movie.”
“Your taste leaves so much to be desired.”
“Hey,” Richie points him in the chest. Eddie wants to kiss him. It’s been a long day. “I probably just have a thing for tiny guys with too much pride.”
Okay, Eddie wants to punch him. And kiss him. He always wants to fucking kiss him.
“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie says, taking a step away from the crib to muffle it. It probably doesn’t work. Richie follows him.
“Hey, do you think you could get that get-up from somewhere?” Richie gestures at Eddie’s waist. “You know, the little onesie with the butt-flap?”
Eddie fumes, but considers it. It would be pretty easy access. And they might need that considering they will now forever be short on time and privacy.
“I’ll look into it,” Eddie admits, then thinks. “So you’re tall with crazy hair, does that mean you’re Doc?”
“Eddie, are you insinuating that Doc and Marty are fucking?” Richie blinks down at him with a knowing smile. Eddie rolls his eyes.
“You’re the one-”
“Because that is offensive to both Mary Steenburgen, and her titular character of Clara,” Richie says, hands on his hips. Eddie scoffs.
“Titular means the movie was named after her, dipshit, the movie wasn’t called Back to the Future III: Return to Clara.”
Richie breathes a laugh. “Well it should have been.”
Eddie pushes at Richie’s chest where they’re hovered away from the crib, standing in the dark, arguing the stress from each other’s bodies. They both take a step back together. Clara’s sucking her thumb, eyes still pinched closed.
“We’ll have to watch that, especially once she gets teeth,” Eddie says, and Richie’s hand rests at the small of his back. “Sucking your thumb can pull back dental development quite a bit.”
“Alright, we’ll watch it, Eds,” Richie says, mouth stretching around a yawn. Eddie wants nothing more than to drag him to bed, cuddle against his side and fall dead asleep. His brain probably won’t let him, but it’s worth a try. At least Richie will probably get some shut eye.
“Wanna lie down?” Eddie asks. Richie nods, rubbing at his slack and stubbly jaw.
“Yeah, we should probably try, huh?”
“Mmm,” Eddie says, wrapping around Richie in a hug. The fatigue is hitting him fast now that sleep is an option.
Richie holds him while they listen to Clara breathe. Eddie presses his ear tight to Richie’s chest to hear it in stereo. His two hearts.
“C’mon, babe,” Eddie says, and he’s close enough to hear Richie’s breath catch, sleepy and slow, but it’ll never get old, “let’s get to sleep.”
He takes Richie’s hand as they walk toward the door.
“And you’ve got first shift when she wakes up,” Eddie tells him, expecting a fight, but Richie just yawns.
“Whatever you say, Eddie, my love.”