Archive of Our Own

Richie loves his life.

Sure, he got off to a rough start. Was born gay in a horrifically homophobic town. Got bullied relentlessly by a gang of actual psychopaths his entire youth. Had to fight a little kid-eating, alien-clown-entity thing to the death at the age of thirteen. But other than that totally irrelevant, regular old childhood trauma - everything is perfectly peachy!

He’s got rich, loving parents. And he still gets a monthly allowance, because his rich loving parents want him to ‘focus on his studies’ instead of working through school. Suckers. He’s got an annoying older sister. But she’s also annoyingly cool, which makes him cool by extension. He’s got a whole gaggle of the most supportive friends a guy could ask for. He’s got his own car. He’s six foot and still growing, and some might even say he’s a solid six out of ten on the attractiveness scale. He’s a sophomore at a good college, and gets good grades without having to study too hard, because he’s just naturally smart. And he’s roommates with his favorite person in the whole world.

Best of all, his favorite person in the whole world, the boy he’s been in love with for the majority of his life, is also having sex with him. Sex! Great sex, in fact! Like, on an almost daily basis! Sometimes even multiple times a day, in the morning and before bed! How great is that!

His life literally could not get any better.

Of course, sometimes, when he’s lying in bed late at night, Eddie sleeping soundly in his arms… Richie thinks it would be nice if he could kiss his roommate/bestfriend/fuckbuddy on the lips. It would be nice if he could refer to him as his boyfriend, if he could call him baby instead of dude. If he could surprise him with flowers and chocolates and those cute little teddy bears with hearts on them. If he could hold his hand in public, if he could take him out on dates where he holds the door and pays for everything. If he could tell him how much he loves him.

But Richie doesn’t need to do any of those things. Those things don’t matter. Honestly, he really doesn’t need them! All that extra stuff - it’s just wishful thinking. He’s totally content with what he has now. He loves what he has now!

It’s a miracle Eddie even has sex with him in the first place, it would be unfair of him to start demanding more. He doesn’t need more. Really, he doesn’t!

Richie is completely fine with the whole friends-with-benefits thing they’ve got going on. He’s more than fine with it! He loves it! It’s great! Life has never been better!

At least, that’s what he’s been telling himself these past few months.

But now, he’s standing in a room full of drunk college students, red solo cup scrunched in his fist, pop rock blasting loudly in his ears, and every muscle in his entire body is locked up, frozen in dread - because Eddie is talking to a girl. More specifically, a girl is talking to Eddie. And she has her hand on his arm. And she’s hot. And he’s looking at her tits.

And suddenly, Richie is forced to accept the terrifying, shamefully truth that no, actually. No, he’s not completely fine with it. In fact, he’s the exact opposite of fucking fine with it. He’s completely not fucking fine with it, and he’s fucking pissed the fuck off, and why the fuck is such a hot fucking girl touching Eddie’s fucking arm like that?!

It’s stupid, really. Eddie didn’t even want to go out tonight. Richie had to beg him to come to this stupid fucking party.

“Richie, I literally have an entire presentation to finish-”

“Presentation shemesentation, who cares! It’s Friday, you have the whole weekend to do that boring shit! C’mon, man. We haven’t gotten drunk together in like, two whole weeks!”

“Yeah, and thank fuck for that! Not everyone likes getting wasted every weekend like your alcoholic dumbass.”

“College students can’t be alcoholics, Eds. Everyone knows you get a free pass to binge drink until you hit twenty-six,” Richie had pouted, pulling the cutest puppy dog eyes he could manage, “c’monnnn, please? Please. Pretty please. Pleasepleaseplea-”

“Ohmygod- fine! You big baby. And that’s like, blatantly false. Liver damage doesn’t just wait to start accruing until a certain age, idiot. You know that, right? Please tell me you know that.”

And everything was going fine! Eddie had been following him around like a shadow the whole night, as usual, with a permanently grumpy expression on his face. The same expression he always wears in public. Richie loves that expression so much. Mostly because it’s just plain adorable, but also because it makes Eddie look unapproachable.

Thus, Eddie does not typically get approached when he’s in public. Thus, Eddie does not get flirted with by other people - basically ever.

This is something Richie (shamefully, selfishly) enjoys very much. Not only does it make Eddie much easier to fluster, but it means Eddie isn’t being tempted by anyone else. Tempted away from him. Tempted to seek flirtation and attention and touch from someone else. Because that’s Richie’s job. It’s Richie’s job to flirt and touch and pamper Eddie with affection and attention on a daily goddamn basis - and he knows for a fact that no one else could ever do his job better than he does!

Yeah, of course he’s imagined Eddie getting hit on by some hot guy, and he’s imagined himself brutally pummeling that hot guy to the death, and he’s imagined Eddie being so turned on by his protectiveness and fighting skills that he proclaims his undying love for him right then and there. But that’s his imagination. He wouldn’t want that to actually happen. His fighting skills probably aren’t as good in real life as they are in his fantasies.

So, he protects his job (Eddie) very carefully. No one has ever tried to steal his job before, and Richie was fairly confident that no one ever would.

Then he left Eddie standing alone in the corner of this stupid Kappa-Gamma-Delta-whatever fucking frat house for two fucking minutes to take a piss - and all of a sudden he’s got some random chick pawing all over him. Like, what the fuck? He’s gone for two fucking minutes and someone’s already trying to steal his Ed- his job?!

Richie’s fucking fuming. This could very well be the worst sight he’s ever had the displeasure of witnessing in his entire life. Eddie being so blatantly flirted with by such a hot girl. Well, maybe not the worst, he’s seen some truly horrendous shit after all, but it’s definitely up there on his Top Ten Worst Sights list.

And he can’t look away. Richie just leans against the wall and watches from across the room, his jaw clenched and his face set in a scowl. What the fuck else is he supposed to do? He can’t just ignore it and leave them be, like a normal roommate would, because this is his job we’re talking about. It’s his job to watch over Eddie, to make sure he’s okay. To protect him from everything and everyone.

What if this hot chick is actually a serial killer, and tries to lure his precious Eddie into her murder van, never to be seen again? Or worse, what if she’s just a normal horny college girl, and she tries to lure his sweet, easily flustered Eddie into the bathroom to… to have sex with her?!

This dreadful thought definitely qualifies for Richie’s Top Three Worst Thoughts list.

What if Eddie has sex with a woman for the first time and realizes he’s actually straight? What if he sticks it in and realizes he fucking loves pussy, and hates dick? What if- what if Eddie fucks this super hot girl and decides he doesn’t want to fuck Richie anymore, because Richie’s fucking gross and ugly and man-like, and he actually fucking hates Riche and his stupid gross man dick and never wants to see him again?!

Richie dry heaves. He thinks he’s about to puke into his half empty cup of shitty beer, but he manages to hold it down. Deep breath. He forces his eyes to shut, swallowing repeatedly and swiping one shaky hand over his face.

It’s really not that big a deal. He’s overreacting. He knows he’s overreacting, too, which makes it even worse. He can actively feel himself blowing this way out of proportion like he always does with fucking everything - but he can’t stop the influx of horrible thoughts from flooding his brain.

He opens his eyes again. Watches. Eddie looks so good tonight. He’s not wearing anything special, just jeans and a sweater. But it’s his nice pair of jeans, the pair that hug his plump ass and toned thighs like a second layer of skin.

This hot girl probably spotted Eddie’s pretty face and great ass the second he walked in and decided she needed to have him. She’s probably been waiting for Richie to leave so she could pounce and take his place. Maybe she’s the type of straight chick that has a thing for pegging cute, short guys like Eddie. Maybe she’s got a sparkly purple fucking- eight inch fuckin’ strap on dildo that she wants to fuck Eddie with. Richie scoffs at the idea. Whatever. No fake dick can compare to the real thing. Eddie fucking loves his dick. Yeah. His real dick! Eddie wouldn’t like some super hot girls huge fake dick over Richie’s real one…

But what if he does? What if this girl brings Eddie back to her dorm room and blows his fucking mind? Sucks his cock with her pretty girl lips, and lets him fuck her pretty girl pussy, and then pegs him with her pretty girl strap-on dildo all in one go?! Richie can’t compete with that, man! He’s not… he’s not a pretty girl. How is he supposed to compete with that?

“-chie. Rich. Richie!”

The sound of his name being yelled jolts Richie out of his self-deprecating thoughts. He blinks rapidly (hoping his eyes aren’t watering, because they sting like a bitch for some reason), and turns around to face whoever’s addressing him.

“Dude, are you seriously drunk already? You only got here a half hour ago,” Stan says, a hint of judgement in his tone but mostly just amazement at Richie’s beer chugging abilities. He claps a hand on Richie’s shoulder to steady him when he sways on his feet, taking a subtle glance behind him at where Eddie’s standing a couple yards away… and talking to a shockingly hot girl. Well, that explains the absolutely forlorn look on Richie’s face. Idiots.

“…I pregamed. So what? S’college, man. I can get drunk if I want to,” Richie grumbles, shrugging Stan’s hand off his shoulder. He hates everyone (as in, Stan and Eddie) and their stupid ‘are you really drunk again?’ bullshit. Who cares if he drinks himself into a stupor four nights a week? It’s college! That’s what you’re supposed to do!

It’s not like he’s been getting drunk so much just for an excuse to be extra touchy and cuddly and lovely with Eddie in bed at night or anything. It’s not like he’s looking for an excuse to kiss all over Eddie’s cute face and tell him how pretty and perfect he is and how much he loves fucking him without it being weird. Without it seeming like he’s overstepping his strict friend status. Don’t be ridiculous.

“…right. Is uh- are you good, though? I’m not going to have to carry you back to your room tonight, am I?”

“No. I mean- yeah, I’m good. You won’t. M’great. Fantastic actually. Yeah. Peachy, in fact. Never better, Staniel.”

“Peachy, huh? So you’re not bothered that Eddie’s getting hit on by that girl over there?”

Richie looks down at Stan deadpan, not amused in the slightest. He knew he shouldn’t have confided in Stanley fucking Urine of all people. He hadn’t planned on confiding in anyone ever, actually.

But then, during the first fucking week of classes, Stan waltzed right into their dorm room while Richie was on his knees - mouth stuffed full of cock. Eddie’s cock. Which had been difficult to explain without also revealing he one, loves cock, and two, is hopelessly in love with the boy that cock belongs to.

Eddie wasn’t there for that conversation, of course, but Richie’s sure he and Stan must have had a talk about it on their own. Who knows what Eddie told him about their relatively newfound sexual relationship. Stan refuses to tell Richie any of those details, irritatingly enough.

“No. Why would I be bothered? They’re just- talking.”

“Oh, would you look at that, they’re kissing now-”

Richie whips his head around so fast his vision gets dizzy and he nearly face plants into the wall. The second his eyes focus again they land on Eddie and his new girlfriend… who are still just talking. Stan chuckles knowingly.

“Christ, you really are hopeless, man. Why don’t you just go over there?”

“Fuck you. And do what, beat her up? Pretty sure I can’t beat up a girl, Stanley. I’d get fucking jumped.”

“Obviously you can’t-“ Stan doesn’t even bother to finish his sentence, shaking his head in disbelief at Richie’s stupidity, “just tell him you want to leave. Or that you’re going to throw up or something. Don’t keep standing here glaring at him like a creep.”

“I’m not glaring at him.”

“Dude. Yeah you are.”

“No, I’m not. I’m- looking. Normally. Like- like a normal guy.”

“Rich, believe me when I say you do not look like a ‘normal guy looking normally at his friend’ right now. You look like a jealous boyfriend-”

“Shut the fuck up, Stan! I’m not- he- we’re not- whatever! Fuck you! Stop acting like- like you know shit, alright?! You’re not some wise, all-seeing God that knows everything about everyone all the time! You don’t know shit about shit!” Richie spits out angrily before he can stop himself, his mouth moving faster than his brain. Typical. He shoves his cup unceremoniously into Stan’s hand and starts stomping off - before swiveling on his heels to utter one last thing.

“Just- tell Eddie I didn’t feel well. And make sure he gets home okay. And don’t- don’t let him go anywhere with anyone.”

“What am I, his keeper? Isn’t that your job-?!”

“Just fucking do it, man! God…”

The cold November air hits his face like a punch when Richie steps outside. He curses, pulling the hood of his jacket up and huddling close to the brick wall as he gets a cigarette out. It takes about fifty fucking tries to light it, because his stupid fucking lighter is frozen cold and it’s windy as fuck out, but eventually he manages. Deep breath.

Shit. He’s such a fucking idiot. Throwing himself a pity party, acting like it’s the end of the goddamn world just because Eddie’s talking to some stupid girl at a stupid party Richie stupidly forced him to come to. Stupid girls… he fucking hates girls.

Okay, no. He doesn’t actually hate them. There’s plenty of girls Richie loves. His mom, his sister, Beverly… well, that’s about it. He has a few girl friends on campus that he met in his classes, and they’re fun to smoke and talk shit about people with, but Richie wouldn’t say he loves them or anything.

He contemplates calling Bev as he makes the long walk back to his and Eddie’s dorm. It’s well past ten o’clock, but she’d probably answer - if she’s in her room, that is. All the dorm rooms at USM have landlines. Lucky bastards. It is a Friday night though, which means she’s probably with Ben right now. Richie doesn’t want to disturb them with his stupid thoughts and feelings.

Almost all his drunkenness is gone by the time he makes it inside and plops down on his bed, which sucks, because now he’s just alone, distraught, and sober. And his anxious thoughts get even worse when he’s sober, believe it or not.

Richie thinks about Eddie as he packs himself a bowl. Eddie’s pretty face. His cute grumpy expressions. His small hands. His cheeky voice. His soft skin. His shapely ass. Richie opens the window to blow the smoke from his bong outside. The wind makes it waft back in, but it’s the thought that counts. He looks over at Eddie’s side of their shared room.

It’s always so clean and tidy over there. One single Stevie Nicks poster on the wall. A few polaroids of them and their friends taped beneath it in a neat row. Bed made. Desk organized. Clothes hung up. Eddie’s so… put together. He’s really got shit going for him, you know? He’s smart, and funny, and caring, cute and hot at the same time, bossy but in an endearing way, snarky but sweet when he wants to be. Ten out of ten. He can have anyone he wants.

There’s no logical reason that someone so perfect would ever want Richie. Not as something more than a friend, or an occasional fuck buddy, at least. It makes sense that Eddie would want someone better than him. Someone as put together as he is. Like that hot girl at the party.

Now, Richie may not be sexually attracted to women, but he can obviously recognize when one is smoking hot. And that girl? On fucking fire. She was tall, taller than Eddie by what looked like an inch or two, so probably 5’8-5’9. She had shoulder length black hair, tons of layers and perfectly coifed in a side part. That trendy style all the hot girls are sporting these days, the one Jennifer Aniston has in Friends. That’s all Richie can really recall about her - oh yeah, besides her phenomenal pair of tits. They were practically falling out of her shirt. Eddie had been peeking at them, Richie could tell from all the way across the room. Stupid fucking tits…

Seriously, how the fuck is he supposed to compete with tits?! Richie is totally fucking gay and even he still appreciates a good pair sometimes (Bev let him touch hers once in high school… it was like squishing huge, soft, fleshy stress balls). So Eddie probably loves them. Probably fantasizes about them all the time. Probably wants to touch one at some point. Maybe even two. God- what if he’s touching them right now? Both of them, one in each of his cute little hands?!

Those hands should be wrapped around Richie’s cock right now, not squeezing some random girls tits. Richie’s the one that deserves those hands. He’s the one that loves them. That loves him.

Richie wants to cry. He packs another bowl instead.

It’s nearly midnight now, and Eddie still isn’t back yet. That anxious, self-deprecating pit in Richie’s stomach is slowly turning into a black hole of dread and… and anger. Even though his brain knows, logically, there’s no reason for him to be angry. Not at Eddie, at least.

Eddie hasn’t done anything wrong. He was just talking to a girl. Like, literally just talking. And even if he is balls deep in her pussy right now, he still wouldn’t be doing anything wrong. It’s not like he and Richie are dating. It’s not like they made rules, not like they discussed any boundaries.

Yeah, Richie has been fucking him to orgasm and cuddling him to sleep almost every night for the good part of this whole past year, but it’s not like he’s his boyfriend or anything. He’s just some guy Eddie uses to get off sometimes. Just his friend. His stupid roommate.

It’s just convenient. That’s all this is for Eddie, a convenient arrangement to keep his physical needs satisfied. He knows Richie will do anything he wants, anything he asks him to, and he’s simply taking advantage of that. Nothing wrong with it. And Richie likes being of use to him. Richie doesn’t mind acting as a placeholder until Eddie finds someone he wants as more than a friend. He’s always known it would happen eventually - Eddie replacing him.

So Richie can’t be angry with him. It wouldn’t be fair. He might as well accept it now instead of continuing to torture himself with his hopeless, pathetic yearning.

Richie hits his bong one last time before slinging a towel over his shoulder and heading to the bathrooms. Maybe a shower will clear his head. Calm him down. Dissolve the urge to punch a wall like a fucking creep that’s obsessed with his best friend.

It helps, a little. But then he gets back to their room and Eddie is sitting on his bed, and every single emotion he felt over the past two hours comes flooding back like tidal wave.

Richie stands stupidly in the doorway when their eyes meet, one hand gripping the towel that’s wrapped around his waist and the other frozen on the door handle. Eddie looks fucking pissed. Richie feels like he might be sick all of a sudden. Why does Eddie look so pissed at him?! 

He opens his mouth to speak, no idea what he’s even going to say - and can’t get a single word out before Eddie’s berating him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Eddie snaps sharply, his face scrunched up in an enraged scowl that would be cute if it wasn’t so scary. Richie gulps.

“Uh-”

“First you force me to go out with you, then you leave me all alone in a fucking frat house? By myself?! Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“I-”

“Like, what the fuck, Richie? I had to walk home by. My. Self! I could’ve gotten taken!”

“Taken?”

“Yes! Taken! By- by fucking murderers, okay?! I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m short! I’m an easy target! You can’t just- just leave me drunk and alone all by myself! Do you want me to get murdered, Richie? Do you?!”

“Wh- no! Of course I-”

“I was waiting outside the bathroom for- like- twenty fucking minutes for you! I basically kicked the fucking door down because I thought you were passed out on the floor aspirating on your own vomit or something! But no- noooooooo- you weren’t even in there! I barged in on a random dude taking a shit, Richie! A shit! Do you even know how embarrassing that is?!”

“I told Stan to-”

“Shut up! I don’t give a CRAP about Stan! Last time I saw Stan he was busy sucking his girlfriend’s face off! If you wanted to- to fucking- get me out of our room for an hour so you could hook up with someone or whatever, you could’ve just fucking asked! You didn’t have to beg me to go to a stupid party and then lie about needing to pee just so you could sneak away like some fucking- fucking- lying abandoning piece of shit!” Eddie’s hands start waving around emphatically while he yells. His voice trembles, and his eyebrows waver slightly, in that way it always does when he’s trying really hard not to cry.

Richie gapes at him in genuine confusion, not realizing he’s still standing in the open doorway until someone walks down the hallway and gives him a weird look. He quickly steps inside and closes the door behind him, approaching Eddie’s bed with long strides.

“Eds- wait, I didn’t- that’s not-” he stammers in a slight panic, struggling to explain himself without also revealing that the mere sight of Eddie being flirted with sent him into an actual mental breakdown. He sits down on the edge of Eddie’s bed, and promptly gets swatted at by Eddie’s enraged little hands because his towel is still wet. He jumps up, mumbling a hurried apology as he swiftly drops his towel and pulls on the first pair of sweatpants he sees.

Eddie is full on glaring at him by the time he sits back down on the damp spot he created, lips pursed and cheeks red, looking like he’s resisting the urge to hit him again. Richie adjusts his glasses, a nervous tic, and starts speaking without thinking - because there are way too many thoughts swirling around in his brain to form anything coherent right now.

“Eds, look, I’m sorry I-”

“Do not Eds me right now, Richie! I don’t need an apology! It’s fine, I don’t even care! You can fuck whoever you want! I just- I would prefer if you let me know next time instead of-”

“But I-”

“-trying to be all secretive about it! As long as you use a condom and get tested afterwards I don’t give a shit who you stick your stupid dick in-!”

“Eddie! I did not fuck anyone! I haven’t stuck my dick in anyone but you in like- a fucking year!” Richie finally forces himself to interrupt Eddie’s painful tirade. His words come out clipped and much too loud, and Eddie flinches a little at his tone. It makes him feel even more guilty. He scoots closer to him on the bed, trying his best to keep his expression placid because he knows he must be coming off as frantic. He always gets frantic when Eddie’s upset with him, he can’t help it.

Eddie only looks at him dubiously, holding Ollie the otter tight to his chest. He already convinced himself on the walk here that Richie must have fucked someone else, and once he convinces himself of something (no matter how outrageous) it’s hard for him to believe otherwise.

Like when he was absolutely positive that the pimple on his shoulder was skin cancer, or that the dust in their vents was black mold, or that the mole on his neck was skin cancer, or that the dirt in their AC was black mold - or that Richie fucked someone else.

“I promise, I really didn’t,” Richie repeats softly when Eddie doesn’t respond, about to put a hand on his knee before he thinks better of it, “I literally have zero desire to fuck someone else. I would rather cut my dick off than stick it in anyone but you, okay? I- I’m sorry I left you at the party, I didn’t-“ he pauses, knowing that if he tells the truth, Eddie will probably figure out he’s head over heels in love with him. But sometimes the truth is needed. Irritatingly enough.

“I just- I saw that girl flirting with you and she was, like, really hot and I thought- I-I dunno- I just thought something might happen and I didn’t want to wait around and see in case it did. So I left. But if it did- I mean, i-if something did happen- with her- its-”

“What the actual fuck are you talking about?” Eddie cuts him off, his turn to look at Richie in genuine confusion, “girl- what- what girl?!”

“Oh, c’mon. That girl that was touching your arm? Tall? Black hair? Hot? Big boobs?”

The ‘big boobs’ descriptor seems to be what does it. Recognition washes over Eddie’s face. It’s followed by a hint of fondness and a subtle twitch of his lips, almost like he’s about to burst into laughter - then his expression shifts back into a scowl, annoyed all over again.

“You mean Jess? My friend from macro? Seriously, Richie? You got jealous over Jess?! I’ve literally told you about her before!”

Richie blinks. Jess. Jess. He quickly racks his brain, trying to place the name. He usually blacks out every time Eddie brings up someone he doesn’t know, so he doesn’t get overwhelmed by his unnecessarily jealous thoughts and feelings. Oh, Jessica. Eddie’s friend from macroeconomics that he studies with on Wednesdays, the one he described as “Kate Moss but with big boobs.” Richie has hated her ever since he was first informed of her existence, and he’d never even seen her before.

Why the fuck is Eddie calling her Jess anyway, when her name is fucking Jessica? What, they’re so close they’ve got nicknames for each other now?!

“I- okay- w-well- whatever! How was I supposed to know that?! And I wasn’t jealous, I just- she obviously wants to fuck you!”

“What?! No she doesn’t!”

“Yes, she does! She was touching your arm!”

“Ohmygod- so my friend touching my arm means she wants to fuck me? Do you even know how ridiculous you sound right now?” Eddie scoffs out a laugh, shaking his head incredulously, “as if she’d ever be interested in me. She’s like, a fucking model, dude.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Uh, it means someone like her would never go for someone like me, fucking obviously. You did see her, right?”

“Great. That’s real nice, Eds. What am I then, chopped fucking liver?”

“Fuck off, man. You know that’s not what I-”

“Whatever!” Richie snaps, not even wanting to hear Eddie attempt to explain that one away. His heart is pounding uncomfortably from the adrenaline of the argument that is no doubt about to occur, but he can’t stop digging himself a deeper and deeper hole, “it’s fine. I get it. A girls never been into you before so you don’t know the signs-“

“The signs? Give me a fuckin’ break- she was just drunk! She’s a touchy person!”

“So you wouldn’t fuck her? If she made a move on you?”

“I- what?! I don’t even- no! Richie, why are you-”

“You don’t need to lie. I saw you staring at her tits-”

“Wh- shutthefuckup! I wasn’t staring at them, they’re just- they’re hard to ignore! And I’m not lying! She’s not even my type-”

“Hot girls with big tits who look like ‘a fucking model’ aren’t your type? Really, Eds? I find that pretty hard to believe.”

“I don’t give a fuck if you believe it, it’s the truth! Why are we even talking about this? You’re literally freaking out over nothing!”

“I’m not freaking out. I’m just saying, like, if you want to fuck her you can. I’m sure you want to fuck a girl at some point, so-”

“What?! Richie, what the hell is up with you tonight? Did you take too many hits or something? How many times do I have to fucking say it?! I. Do not. Want. To fuck her! Or anyone! Girl or boy! Why would I want to fuck someone else when I can fuck you whenever I fucking want?”

It’s less a question and more a declaration.

Eddie’s tone is one of sincere bewilderment, like it should be blatantly obvious, like he honestly can’t believe Richie’s even accusing him of such a thing. Like Richie should just know he doesn’t want to fuck anyone else. Like it’s a given. It has Richie’s heart fluttering in his chest - and his cheeks flushing red with sudden embarrassment at his own jealous tantrum.

“…w-whatever! Fine! Don’t fuck her then, I don’t give a shit!”

“Fine! I won’t! And- and you don’t fuck anyone either!”

“Fine! I wasn’t planning on it!”

“Fine! Good!”

“Good!”

“Great!” Eddie blurts, always needing the last word. The adrenaline of the argument has him huffing and puffing like he just ran a 5k. Richie is too, but less so, considering he’s not as drunk or pissed off as Eddie is right now. Even though he drank probably three times the amount Eddie did. Stupid low tolerance… one vodka cranberry will have him buzzed for the whole night.

The sudden silence makes the room heavy. Richie’s got his head down and his eyes trained on the floor like a puppy that just got yelled at. He hates when Eddie’s mad at him - and he’s a little scared that Eddie’s like, really, seriously mad at him this time. Not regular mad or joking mad, when he’ll just call him an idiot a couple times and forget about it in an hour. Seriously Mad Eddie means no flirting, no cuddling, no sex… no attention. And he needs Eddie’s attention like he needs air.

He doesn’t know what to say. He never does when Eddie’s seriously mad at him like this, after he’s really fucked up. It’s like all his brain wants to do is slip into a corny accent and rattle off some self deprecating jokes… and that course of action has never gone over well. Richie kneads the blankets as he tries to think of something to say.

What would Bev tell him to say? Probably apologize again. Yeah. Just keep apologizing.

“Eds… I.. shit- I’m such an asshole, I’m really sor-ah!”

Richie’s pathetic attempt at an apology ends in a squeak of surprise, and suddenly he's flat on his back with Eddie straddling his hips and kissing his jaw. He blinks rapidly, sputtering in confusion as his hands instinctively move to rest on Eddie’s waist. A moan is forced from his throat at the unexpected sensation of Eddie’s crotch rubbing against his, grinding on him with an almost feral passion.

“Uh- E-Eddie?”

“Shut up. Just shut up and fuck me, you fucking idiot. God- you’re so hot when you’re jealous, whatthefuck-” Eddie mutters hastily into Richie’s neck, nibbling at his bobbing adam’s apple. His fingers hurry to grasp the hem of Richie’s sweatpants, wanton in his struggle to yank them down past his hipbones.

“Oh- wait- wh- huh?” Richie stammers dumbly, barely even understanding what’s happening, but his hips still lift to help Eddie get his pants down, “you- but- I thought- are you not mad at me?”

“I’m fucking pissed at you. And m’gonna be even more fucking pissed at you if you don’t get your stupid big dick hard and fuck me with it right fucking now,” he takes Richie’s soft cock in his hand as he speaks, stroking and rubbing without bothering to spit in his hand or anything. He hates spitting in his hand. Richie winces, whimpering a little and quickly grabbing Eddie’s wrist to stop his frantic movements. Which he has literally never done before, and it physically pains him to do so, but getting furiously jerked off by a bone dry hand hurts worse… also, he’s honestly kinda intimidated.

“Eds- Eddie, ohgod- okay, okay- ah- jus- just let me get the lube and-”

Impatient, and hornier than he’s been in perhaps his entire life, Eddie spits in his free hand and wraps it around Richie’s cock instead, his strokes gliding easier now. He’s not used to using his left hand for such an activity, so it’s a little difficult, but he needs to make this cock hard now. It’s his cock. Yes, it may technically be attached to Richie’s body - but it belongs to Eddie. And he wants it.

Now.

“Take my pants off, takemypantsoff,” Eddie mumbles incoherently in his lustful daze, not even attempting to get his right hand out of Richie’s hold. He mouthes at Richie’s throat while he strokes his cock, rubbing himself on Richie’s thigh desperately.

Richie is helpless to disobey. He releases Eddie’s wrist to reach for the button of his jeans instead, finger trembling as they pop it open, tug down the zipper, and start wiggling the denim down. They’re tight, and Eddie refuses to stop humping him for even a second, so it’s pretty hard to tug them past his ass - but eventually he manages. His underwear goes with it, coming down to his thighs just low enough to expose his ass and erection.

“Fingerme. Your fingers- hurry, Rich-”

“Jesusfuck- Eds, ba- dude, s-slow down a little, okay? I’m- my dicks not going anywhere, I promise. I should really get the-”

“Dontcare- I don’t care- just spit, s’okay,” Eddie murmurs in a low, needy voice, switching hands and stroking Richie’s growing cock with his right. He grabs Richie’s wrist with his left and brings it up to his mouth, spitting it in before guiding it back down to his ass, trying to push his fingers to his hole. Normally he would find such a thing disgusting. Spit is horribly unhygienic - and do you even know how much bacteria lives in saliva, Richie? But the idea of pausing his touch, of Richie getting up and making the long, time-consuming, four step journey across the room to retrieve their lube right now, is unimaginable.

“Fuck, okay- a-are you sure? Tell me if it hurts, okay-?”

“Just put your fingers in my fucking ass, Richie! Do I have to fucking beg-?! ah- mmm-” a gasp slips past Eddie’s lips as Richie’s middle finger slowly sinks inside him, the stretch stinging more than usual from the lack of proper lubrication - but somehow that just turns him on even more.

“Is this-?”

“Shutup, shutup-” Eddie pants, pushing his hips back desperately when Richie’s finger stays still inside him, waiting for him to adjust. Yes, to be fair, that is usually what he likes. Richie patiently keeping still until he’s given permission to move, until he’s given permission to add another finger, going slow and steady. But he doesn’t care about that right now. He doesn’t want to go slow. He wants Richie to fuck him like a fucking man. To treat his ass like it belongs to him, “another. Do another, Rich, now, now- please, want it-”

A second finger gently pushes in alongside the first, long and thick inside him. He moans into Richie’s neck, hand momentarily stilling on his cock as he focuses on the feeling. The fullness. He rocks back and forth, riding Richie’s fingers, wanting to get himself stretched as fast as possible. The sooner Richie’s cock is inside him, the better. He needs to feel full. Needs the reminder that Richie is his.

Richie curses repeatedly under his breath, firmly grabbing Eddie’s hip with his free hand in an attempt to calm his feverish rolling. He’s still in a mild state of shock at this turn of events. He’s never seen Eddie so riled up before, so desperate for it - for him. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever fucking witnessed… and a bit concerning. Hopefully Eddie didn’t get possessed by some horny, insatiable sex demon in the short time frame he was left unattended. With their luck, though, that definitely could have happened.

The spit dries up quickly, and it starts getting hard to continue thrusting his fingers, so Richie is forced to make an executive decision. He carefully withdraws his fingers, and before Eddie has a chance to demand he put them back in, he’s grabbing his waist and flipping him over, laying him down on the bed. Eddie gasps at the unexpected change of position (and how easy it was for Richie to maneuver him like that), looking up at him through eyes glazed with lust. The sudden emptiness has a small noise of protest leaving his lips, his hole fluttering for attention - and fuck, Richie’s never wanted to fill him up so badly.

“Richieee-”

“I know, I know baby, hang on, I’m gonna- just gotta get the lube,” Richie stammers in a daze, not even noticing he let the pet name slip as he jumps off the bed. He nearly face plants the instant his feet touch the floor, because he goes to take a step and forgets his pants are still bunched around his knees. Making a fast recovery, he kicks his pants the rest of the way off on his way across the room, practically flying to retrieve the lube bottle and a condom from his bedside drawer.

By the time he has both in his clutches, he turns around to see Eddie’s legs flailing wildly in the air as he struggles to get his jeans off, the denim caught around one ankle. The sight is so adorable Richie would’ve paused to coo and tease him about it if he didn't want to fuck him so badly. He tosses the items on the bed and courteously removes Eddie’s jeans and underwear for him, standing at the edge of the bed between his spread legs. His hands caress up the newly exposed skin of Eddie’s thighs from knee to groin, reverence in his gaze as he admires the body laid out willing and wanting beneath him. Pretty as a picture.

Richie drizzles some lube on his fingers and brings them back to Eddie’s hole, gently rubbing his rim for a moment to let him know he’s there before he pushes two in. Eddie lets out an impatient huffing noise, wrapping his legs around Richie’s waist and twisting his hips, trying to pull him onto the bed again so he can get back on top.

“Rich- Richie, c’mon, sit- sit down, wanna ride you.”

“I will, I will, just let me finish stretching you first-”

Eddie abruptly grabs Richie’s biceps and yanks him down onto the bed, swinging one leg up and over his hip to reclaim his straddling position. How his skinny arms are so strong, Richie does not know. Maybe his drunken horniness is giving him super strength. He doesn’t waste a second, lifting himself up a bit and reaching down to grab Richie’s shaft, guiding his cockhead to his hole. He tries to sink down on it, and Richie quickly puts both hands under his ass to stop him.

“JesusChrist- Eds, I-I haven’t put the condom on yet!” Richie says hurriedly, voice heavy with arousal and a hint of trepidation, “please let me do three fingers first, okay? You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Eddie groans loudly in frustration, smushing his face into Richie’s neck and biting at the pale skin there until he yelps. He loves making Richie yelp for him.

“Fine- fine, fucking hell, hurry up,” he grumbles, remaining on his knees with his ass hovering over Richie’s cock for now. He gives slow strokes along Richie’s erection as three slick fingers slide inside him, biting his lip to hold back the needy moans that want to slip out. The stretch is less intense now that there’s more lube, and he can feel Richie purposely avoiding his prostate - which he’d normally appreciate, but right now it’s just making him want to hit him upside the head.

“Okay, ready- ready, m’ready-” he grabs Richie’s wrist and pulls his fingers out himself after only a measly minute or two, too desperate to wait any longer. Richie feels genuinely giddy from how eager Eddie is for it (for him), swiftly rolling the condom down his erection and coating himself in more lube before Eddie tries to sink down on him again.

“Yeah? You sure you’re ready?” Richie lets himself tease, just a little, and promptly gets shot a withering look from the boy on top of him. Okay… maybe he’s not in the mood to be teased.

“Fuck you. Put it in.”

“Awh. So demanding. No please?” Richie pouts playfully against his better judgement, gripping his shaft and lightly slapping his tip to Eddie’s hole. Eddie fucking glares at him, pushing his hips down everytime Richie’s cockhead grazes his rim, making futile attempts to get it inside. He almost whines and pleads his little heart out like Richie so clearly wants him to do - but he’s not that far gone. Not yet, at least… he’s mostly just pissed off still.

“Richie. Do not fucking tease me right now, I’m serious- Isweartofuckinggod I’m gonna smack the shit out of you if you don- oh- fuuuck-“ Eddie’s empty threat fades into a drawn out moan when Richie finally breaches him. He tries to sit down fully right away, but the hand Richie’s placed under his ass prevents him from doing so. He can only rest his forehead on Richie’s shoulder and grip tight to his biceps as Richie ever so gently pushes inside - and he’s starting to take a personal affront to how slow Richie’s moving right now.

Did he not make it clear he wants to get fucked? How many times does he have to tell him to hurry up before he hurries the fuck up?! It’s like Richie’s purposely trying to enrage him at this point… definitely just wants to hear him beg for it, the perverted bastard. Fuck that. Eddie does not beg!

Growing tired of Richie’s languid pace, Eddie guides Richie’s hands to rest on his waist, just to get them out of the way - before slamming his ass down and effectively impaling himself on his cock, only wincing a little at the abrupt stretch.

“Ohmyg- Eds! Fuck- be careful,” Richie says with a sickening amount of concern in his voice, and Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes. What is he, a piece of glass? They’ve been fucking for weeks now, he can take a dick up the ass no problem! Maybe he’s just drunk and feeling indignant, but he’s honestly offended Richie believes otherwise.

“No. Stop talking.”

“No?! What do you mean n- oh- shit-” Richie groans, already embarrassingly close. It’s not his fault, truly! He never lasts long when his dick is inside Eddie’s perfectly tight ass. And the way Eddie’s holding onto his biceps and riding his cock with so much urgency, like they’ll both spontaneously die if he slows down for even a second, might just be the hottest thing he’s ever experienced. So, yeah, holding back his orgasm is going to be harder than usual.

He wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, sliding one hand up the back of his sweater. He doesn’t squeeze too hard as to not impede his movements, but he holds him closer, pressing their chests together. He can feel Eddie’s cock hitting his stomach with every rise and fall, and he wants to touch it so bad - but he knows he can’t. Eddie doesn’t like to have his dick touched while he has Richie’s inside him. The dual stimulation gets too intense for him, makes it hard for him to focus on riding.

“Eds- Eddie, Eddie, you feel so good- so hot- ohmygod- you- I’m gonna cum if you- fuck-”

“Cum- you can cum,” Eddie breathes heavily into his neck, his abdomen clenched tight and his thighs burning from the exertion of his frantic bouncing, “not gonna stop though. I want- wanna fuck all night. Want you in me all night. ‘Till you can’t take it anymore.”

That does it. Richie cums to the sound of the permission and filthy promises, moaning his name and giving a few stuttery thrusts of his hips. He can never control himself when Eddie starts talking dirty like that. It’s like his sense of self vanishes into thin air and he becomes Eddie’s dumb, devoted plaything. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Holyfuck- fuck- Eds,” he whines, toes curling as the overstimulation starts to set in, “I’ll take it- I-I can take it- whatever you want ba- oh- please-”

Eddie shushes him, switching from bouncing up and down on Richie’s cock to just rolling hips back and forth now, mercifully giving him a chance to recover… and making sure he stays hard. He likes overstimulating him (and he does quite often without even meaning to, because Richie does have a habit of ejaculating pre-maturely), but not to the point of pain.

“I liked when you called me that,” he murmurs, tactically keeping his face hidden in Richie’s neck so he can’t see the red in his cheeks. Richie gulps, breathing heavily and rubbing his palms along Eddie’s warm back and waist. The statement catches him off guard, his post-orgasm haze preventing him from understanding what Eddie’s referring to.

“Wh.. huh? Call- called you wha..?”

“Baby.”

The petname has Richie’s eyes going wide in bewilderment, blinking rapidly behind his glasses. He didn’t even realize he had called Eddie that. When did he call him that?! He thought he’d been doing such a good job of keeping it inside… it must’ve slipped out without him noticing. Fuck. Heat of the moment, he supposes. At least Eddie isn’t freaked out by it, like Richie always thought he would be.

“You- uh… you did?”

“Yeah. You should say it more often.”

“…I should?”

“Mhm.”

“Oh… heh. Okay. C-Cool. Will do, heh.”

Eddie bites his lip to suppress a giggle, bringing one hand up to tangle in Richie’s hair as he presses a lingering kiss to his jaw. Richie’s so sweet when he’s like this, all fucked out and flustered. He really does want to ride him all night. Until he’s nothing more than a whimpering puddle of goo beneath him. If only it wasn’t such a physically demanding activity.

He starts again, toned thighs working to lift himself up, then lower back down. Again, again, and again. Richie lets out a whiny curse, his face scrunching up and his eyes squeezing shut at the sensitivity, but he sits still and takes it. Just like he said he would.

Eddie adjusts the position of his hips with every bounce, eyebrows pinched in concentration, trying to find his sweet spot. He moans when he finds it, tugging Richie’s head back to suck at his throat while he fucks himself on his cock. It takes practice to be able to ride cock as effectively and efficiently as Eddie does. And he’s had a lot of it.

Cowgirl is his favorite sex position, after all. It makes him feel the most in control. Being on top. Being able to control the pace and the angle, being able to stop and start on his own without having to say anything. Richie may be the one penetrating him, but this way, Eddie is still in charge.

“Fuck… Richie,” Eddie breathes, an almost pained whimper escaping his throat, “close, m’close- y-your hands, help-”

His thighs start to quiver - how they always do when he’s approaching his orgasm, in that adorable way Richie looks forward to so much. But they’re trembling from exertion now too, Eddie’s rhythm getting unsteady as he struggles to maintain his fast pace. So Richie, dutifully, obliges his plea. He places two big hands on Eddie’s hips and grips the soft flesh tight, moving him up and down, giving him the extra momentum he needs. Bouncing him on his cock, essentially.

“I got you, Eds-” he pauses, hesitating, “I’ve got you, baby. Fuck, so pretty. You’re so pretty- cum on me, please. Want you to cum on me-”

Just before his orgasm hits, Eddie wraps one hand around his cock and presses the head to Richie’s stomach, cumming all over his freshly showered skin. He was going to anyway (he wouldn’t want to dirty his nice sweater of course), but it’s always cute when Richie asks him to. He’s such a little cumslut sometimes. All the time, if we’re being honest.

“Mmm… fuck. Holy shit,” Eddie murmurs through heavy breaths, giving himself one slow stroke and rubbing his tip on Richie’s belly to make sure all his cum is out, “that was so fucking hot.”

“Yeah,” Richie agrees immediately, “fuck. Heh. You uh- I mean, wow. I guess I need to get jealous more often. Didn’t know that would- uh… get you going like that, heh.”

“Me neither. You were being really stupid and annoying at first, which wasn’t hot, obviously- but then I realized you’re just super insecure. And like, possessive. Which is kinda sweet. And hot.”

“…oh. Right. Well, uh… thanks? I guess I am- uh… those things. A-About you, heh.”

“You’re welcome. And yeah, you definitely are. You literally threw a tantrum because a girl touched my arm.”

“Okay, it was not a tantrum-”

“It totally was.”

“It- whatever! It wasn’t only because she- I mean- it just looked like-!” Richie stammers defensively, feeling himself getting worked up again - until Eddie giggles and shifts on his lap, reminding him of the fact that his cock is still inside him.

“Richie, it’s okay. Don’t get all red and huffy again. I already told you I think it’s hot. Now can you lay me down and fuck me please? I’m too tired to keep riding you.”

“I- oh. Wait, were you serious about wanting to go all night? I thought you were just, like, dirty talking me.”

“Um, yes, I was fucking serious. Do you not want to-?”

“No! I mean- yes, yes I want to, of course I want to! You’ve just never- I mean- you’re usually too sensitive to go more than once.”

“I know. But now I want to. So are you gonna keep asking stupid questions, or are you gonna fuck me like I’m telling you to?”

Richie blinks slowly, tiny pink hearts in his eyes.

“I- I’m gonna fuck you.”

“Okay then. Good. Are you gonna do it now or-”

Eddie’s back hits the mattress before he can finish his sentence. He moans softly as Richie’s cock slides deeper inside him from the change in position, surprise washing over his face. It isn’t often Richie manhandles him like that, mostly because he’s too scared of accidentally hurting or overwhelming him. Eddie likes to pretend he doesn’t like it, he’s in charge after all… but yeah, it is pretty hot how easily Richie can toss him around. It’s the single positive to being so fucking short.

“Now. Gonna fuck you now,” Richie murmurs, voice low and… uncharacteristically vehement. Determined, almost. His hands are bracketed on either side of Eddie’s head, arms extended to keep himself upright. He loves getting to fuck him like this. Missionary. Gazing down at his pretty face.

It’s more intimate this way. Feels like they’re making love instead of just fucking. Which sounds stupid, Richie knows it’s stupid, and he cringes at himself every time that thought crosses his mind. But it’s true. Plus, it makes him feel manly, for reasons unknown to him. Something about having Eddie spread out beneath him, moaning his name and tugging on his hair while he pleasures him with his cock… well, let’s just say Richie would happily do this every single day for the rest of his life if he could.

He starts slow. Giving deep, gentle rolls of his hips, just how Eddie likes. He makes sure to angle himself properly to avoid his prostate for now, knowing how sensitive it must be so soon after his orgasm. If there’s one thing Eddie hates - it’s being overstimulated.

At least, that’s what Richie thought. Now… he’s not so sure. Because Eddie lifts his legs up and hooks his calves behind Riches thighs, pulling him closer. Because Eddie grabs Richie’s hips with both hands, pulling him in deeper. Because Eddie looks up at him under his lashes, eyes stormy with desire, and says “more, Rich. Give me more.”

More. He’ll never know how badly Richie wants to give him more.

Cautious, tender thrusts turn fast. Passionate. And it feels different this time. Richie doesn’t know if they’re fucking, or making love, or both, or something in between - but it feels like more. It is more, Richie knows in his bones and in his heart, even if Eddie doesn’t, that it’s more.

This isn’t something friends do. Friends don’t fuck (make love to) each other like this, don’t hold each other like this, don’t gaze into each other's eyes and moan each other's names like this. And maybe Eddie doesn’t love him. Maybe Eddie doesn’t feel like Richie’s making love to him. Maybe he thinks this is just regular fucking between casual fuck buddies. And that’s okay. Because at least, for right now, Richie knows they’re more than just friends.

“Fuck, Eds- god, you’re so perfect- feels so good, youfeelsogood, I love-” he pauses, swallows the word, “f-fucking you. I love fucking you. S-So much- is this good? Does it feel good, baby?”

“Yeah, yeah- yes- doing so good, Richie, don’t stop. Keepgoing, keep- fuck, like that-”

“Yeah? Like this? Right h-here, Eds? S’good?”

“Yes- yeah, good- sogoodRich, you- mmm- you’re fucking me so fucking good,” Eddie hardly hears the words leaving his own mouth, doesn’t even register that he’s saying them. He’s too focused, too spaced out at the same time. Focused on Richie’s face. Focused on Richie’s voice. Spaced out on Richie’s cock.

Spaced out on how fucking badly he wants Richie to kiss him right now. He can feel that want like an ache in his chest. Like he’s going to burn from the inside out if Richie’s lips don’t touch his.

“Kiss me.”

Richie leans down without a flicker of hesitation, pressing his lips to Eddie’s neck. His throat. His jaw. Eddie wants to smack him. Wants to scream at him for being such a fucking idiot. Can’t he feel him burning? He grabs his nape instead. Tilts his head. Meets his eyes.

“No, Richie. Kiss me,” he repeats, slow, deliberate, “kiss me.”

Richie’s hips stutter, going still for the shortest of seconds. He looks down at Eddie with an expression he can’t quite place. Confusion in his brow, hesitation in his parted lips, doubt in his eyes. And for a brief moment, Eddie thinks he fucked up. Thinks he ruined it - whatever it is. Made it weird.

Then their lips are touching. And they’re kissing. Kissing on the lips. And Richie’s glasses knock into Eddie’s nose from how urgently he smushes their faces together. And Eddie giggles into his mouth when Richie hurriedly apologizes and flings them onto the floor. And Richie giggles back, nervously, and kisses him again. And it’s not weird.

Fast thrusts grow slow again while they kiss, practically nonexistent. As if Richie’s so elated by the fact that he’s kissing Eddie’s sweet lips for the first time, he forgets they’re in the middle of having sex. Eddie’s tongue tastes like vodka and his lips taste like strawberries, soft and plush from his chapstick, and Richie decides right here and now that kissing is way better than sex. And that’s really saying something, because sex is pretty fucking phenomenal.

Eddie clenches on his cock, and smacks Richie’s butt with his ankle, and arches into him - bringing Richie’s attention back to the task at hand. Right. Sex. Eddie wants sex. Kissing can come later. Wait, will it come later? What if Eddie only wants to kiss during sex? What if Eddie only asked to kiss because he’s super drunk and super turned on by the super hot sex they’re having, and it doesn’t even mean anything? Richie squeezes his eyes shut and kisses him harder, dismissing those dreadful thoughts.

He’s kissing Eddie right now. On the lips. That’s all that matters. Embrace the present, don’t fear the future - or something like that. Future Richie can deal with whatever this unexpected kiss means. Present Richie’s job is to pleasure his lov- his fr- his Eddie, so that’s what he’s going to do.

“Take- take my… off-” Eddie mumbles incoherently between frenzied kisses, struggling to get his sweater over his head. He usually likes to keep his top on, he feels more comfortable that way, but he’s getting overheated from the cashmere. And, he doesn’t really know why, but he’d prefer if every inch of his skin was touching every inch of Richie’s skin right now.

It’s off in an instant thanks to Richie’s quick hands, and no more than a second passes before their lips are back together. Eddie would giggle at how enthusiastically Richie is fucking and kissing and groping him, but he can’t do much other than whimper and moan at the current moment. He wraps his legs around Richie’s waist and his arms around Richie’s torso, holding onto his back and pulling him impossibly close. The position makes it a little hard to keep kissing, considering Eddie is essentially bear hugging him now, but Richie doesn’t let it stop him. An actual bear couldn’t even stop him.

“Holyfuck, Eds- your lips… so soft, perfect- fuck- are y… you g-gonna cum? Wanna make- want you t’cum first. Soprettywhenyoucum-”

“Mmhm- so close, R’chie, so- h-hold me-”

The request comes out small and needy, almost shy. Like Eddie’s scared to voice such a thing, yet powerless to stop the plea from slipping past his puffy, kissed lips.

Richie feels it everywhere. He lets himself rest entirely on Eddie, being careful not to crush him under his weight. His arms slide down to wrap around Eddie’s waist, holding him tight, chests pressed together, Eddie’s cock nuzzling up under his stomach. The position breaks their kiss, but it’s okay, because Richie’s sure this is the closest they’ve ever been. The most they’ve ever touched, their sweat slicked skin sticking to each other like… like they’re one.

“Cum for me, Eds- s’okay, cum on my cock baby, I’ve got you. Fuckfuck- there you go, c-cum with me, Eds, baby, you’re okay-”

Eddie cums to the sound of Richie’s encouragement, his reassurance, his protection. He twitches and trembles all over, body jolting upwards on the bed with each one of Richie’s forceful thrusts. It’s intense, a little too intense, honestly, and he feels helpless.

Helpless, but held safe in Richie’s embrace. And suddenly Eddie’s crying, silent tears pooling in his eyes, and everything’s too much and not enough at the same time. And Richie’s cumming in him, kissing his neck, moaning his name, murmuring praise, squeezing him so tight, touching him everywhere, his cock so deep inside him - and Eddie’s not in control.

He’s not in control, and it’s okay. It’s okay because Richie’s in control. Richie is holding him, Richie is taking care of him, making him feel good, keeping him safe. Richie is here. Eddie doesn’t need to be in control, not now, because Richie is here. Richie won’t hurt him. Won’t take advantage of him. Won’t exploit the power he wields. Richie is safe.

“-fuck. Eds? Hey, w-what’s wrong? Are you- why’re you crying ba- buddy? Is- was that too much? Shit- did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, Eds, please don’t cry-”

The words sound hasty and concerned, Richie’s previously soft, encouraging voice going high - panicked. Eddie opens his eyes to see Richie gazing down at him, his face blurry but his worried expression perfectly clear. He feels two big hands cupping his cheeks, feels Richie’s body lifting off him, feels his cock gently sliding out of him, and Eddie wants to beg him to come back down, to put it back in. He just shakes his head instead, taking in a few shaky breaths.

“Nono- no, you didn’t, I’m okay,” he says quickly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and forcing a small smile, “sorry. I dunno why I- it just- just, um, felt really… intense, I guess. Sorry. I’m okay.”

Richie’s eyes search his face, and his concerned expression doesn’t go away. The sight of Eddie crying always has bright red alarm bells blaring in his head. Did he fuck up? Is Eddie crying because of something he did? Did he make Eddie fucking cry?! His brain can’t function until the tears stop, can’t think of anything else. He brushes Eddie’s hair up and presses a chaste kiss to his forehead.

“Are you sure? I know I got a little rough. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay-”

“No, really, I-I didn’t mean to, like, pin you down like that, I promise I-”

“I liked it.”

“-won’t do it ag- oh… you did?” Richie asks dubiously, concern fading to surprise, “I thought- uh… I thought you didn’t like to be- you know- like, smothered.”

“Me too. I mean, I thought that too. Before. And I don’t. But I liked that position. When you were… hugging me,” Eddie can feel his cheeks warming as he says it. God, he probably sounds like such a dork. He has to resist the urge to cover his face, “it was kind of a lot at first, but then it made me feel, like… safe? I dunno. That probably sounds stupid.”

“No! No, it doesn’t. It doesn’t sound stupid,” Richie reassures immediately, “I really liked it too. I like- uh- making you feel safe, heh. I mean, I like hugging you! Like, normally. So, like, hugging you while also fucking you was like- wow, double like, y-you know? Heh.”

Eddie smiles, laughing under his breath, and Richie smiles back.

“Double like. Yeah,” he echos fondly, fingers tracing absentminded circles on Richie’s back, “um… I know I said I wanted to go all night, but can we just… cuddle for a while?”

“Yeah, yeah of course, Eds. Whatever you want,” Richie glances at Eddie’s lips, contemplating. Too soon. Too risky. He kisses his forehead again. Safe.

A dense fog consumes Eddie’s mind as Richie gently cleans him up. It feels like he’s floating outside his body, not really here. He doesn’t know if it’s a result of the alcohol, the pain he felt earlier when he thought Richie abandoned him, the argument, the two orgasms, the thorough pounding he just received - or the fact that he’s now relatively certain he’s in love with his roommate/bestfriend/fuckbuddy.

Whatever the cause, Eddie chooses to ignore it. He doesn’t need to think about it right now. Future Eddie can deal with it. All present Eddie has to do is close his eyes and drift off in Richie’s arms. Because Richie is here, and Richie is taking care of him, and even if he is floating, he’s safe.

After ridding the lube and cum from his skin, Richie carefully scoops Eddie up in his arms and transfers him to his clean bed across the room. He quickly cleans himself up and strips Eddie’s bedsheets (Eddie will be horrified if he sees the mess left on his linen in the morning), before climbing under the covers with him.

He settles on his back and pulls Eddie close, guiding his head to rest on his chest. Eddie just makes a sleepy noise and nuzzles into him, slinging an arm over his stomach. It doesn’t seem like he’s up for talking anymore. About what happened. About the argument, about the kissing, about the crying. So Richie doesn’t speak. He simply places a hand on his waist, and the other lightly strokes through Eddie’s hair, petting until he falls asleep.

He thinks about it, though. What happened. The things Eddie said.

I liked when you called me that. Kiss me. Hold me.

And Richie lets himself believe, briefly, wistfully, that maybe Eddie does think of him as more than a friend. Maybe he can call Eddie baby all the time now, if he gets the courage. Maybe Eddie will let him kiss him on the lips again. Maybe Eddie will even kiss him when they’re not having sex! The prospect, however outlandish, makes Richie giddy with anticipation.

He didn’t think it was possible - but his life is even better now than it was this morning.