Work Header

Stupid Deep

Work Text:

The first time Eddie saw Richie’s dick, he made a sound that Richie later calls a scream, but Eddie insists was just a...startled yelp. Which isn’t much better, but he stands by it.

They’d only been living together a couple of weeks. Eddie had visited on a whim after signing the divorce papers and then just kind of...never left. And then eventually had more and more of his things shipped in from New York. And then started paying half the rent. And bought his own hypoallergenic sheets. He and probably Richie both figured it was some kind of midlife crisis, the sudden trip to L.A. and the hesitance to go back which turned into refusal. But then he just. Got comfortable there. And the thought of New York and living alone were so repulsive that Eddie just pretended to have forgotten he hadn’t lived here all along.

The point is, it’d been less than a month—Eddie didn’t have the sheets yet—and Richie wasn’t used to having a roommate yet, and he walked out of the shower bare-ass naked, and Eddie looked up from washing dishes at the sink and made The Noise.

Richie froze and stared at him. Eddie stared back. Richie was just…standing there, dripping on the floor, and Eddie just. He just stared. One thought whirled through his brain, pinging off the inside of his skull.

Who the fuck needs a dick that big.

It was just—absurdly big. Eddie remembers, at the back of his mind, Richie making a lot of stupid jokes about his big dick as a kid, and Eddie thought he was fucking joking. He never, never thought Richie’s jokes were anything other than gross over-exaggeration. And maybe they were at the time, Eddie never fucking saw it, but god, now. Just. What the fuck?

And the second thought he had, when he got over the general shock of it, was, Oh my god, I want it in me.

So. That was...something.

It’s been five months since then, and Eddie has spent at least 40% of that time thinking about Richie’s big fucking dick. He spends about 20% working from home, 20% arguing with Richie about dumb shit, and the remaining 30% sleeping—this adds up to 110%, but that’s because there’s overlap between the sleeping and the thinking about Richie’s huge dick in the form of extremely graphic dreams.

He thinks about Richie’s dick in the shower. He thinks about Richie’s dick when they’re watching TV together. He thinks about Richie’s dick when he’s trying to eat breakfast. He hasn’t even seen it hard. But god, he thinks about it. Thinks about it hot and thick in his hand, thinks about it twitching as Eddie strokes it, thinks about it stretching his lips, thinks about it leaking precum all over Eddie’s fingers and tongue and stomach. And, most importantly—most vividly—he thinks about Richie’s dick inside of him, filling him up, fucking him.

At the same time, Eddie also spent a good amount of time, woven through the rest of his daily activities, falling so deeply in love with his best-friend-cum-roommate that it was disturbing at best. There was pining. There were lingering glances. There was lying on Richie’s bed while he was out just to ease the ache in his chest with Richie’s warm, familiar scent, which is disgusting and Eddie hates to think about it. There were, in Eddie’s darkest moments, daydreams about Richie holding his hand and kissing him and telling Eddie he’s in love with him. Like a fucking sap.

But that’s all over now. Finally, it’s fucking over. There was a big Moment, followed by some Scary Fucking Confessions, with a bit in the middle where Eddie really thought everything was going to go to shit and almost threw up but everything turned out fine. More than fine. Because now, they’re making out on the couch, and Eddie is in Richie’s lap with his knees on either side of Richie’s thighs, and their mouths are possibly fused together, and it’s really fucking good. And Eddie does not plan to leave anytime soon.

Eddie whines, curling his fingers tight in Richie’s hair and pressing up against him as much as he can. “Thank god,” he breathes against Richie’s mouth. “Thank god, I really thought you didn’t—”

“I do, I really fucking do,” Richie says, and bites his lip. It hurts, but in a good way. “Eds—”

He holds onto Eddie’s hips with a bruisingly tight grip, and Eddie presses his tongue into Richie’s mouth, breathing hard. It’s late, and Eddie’s already brushed his teeth, but he doesn’t mind having to do it again. Richie makes a sound, which Eddie interprets to mean whatever you’re doing, and I don’t think either of us know, but do it more.

So he does. He licks into Richie’s mouth, against his tongue, behind his teeth. It’s been a hot minute since he kissed anyone like this—has he ever kissed anyone like this?—but he just keeps doing anything that makes Richie make more throaty noises. He pushes one hand down the back of Richie’s collar. He hitches his hips against Richie’s crotch.

Richie makes a gratifying sound. Eddie moans into his mouth and does it again, and if he wasn’t half-hard already, he would be at the twitch he feels even through Richie’s sweatpants and Eddie’s sleep shorts.

“Fuck,” Eddie says, scraping his teeth over Richie’s lower lip. “Can I see your dick?”

Richie pulls back an inch and licks his swollen lip. “Can you— Can you see it?

“Whatever,” Eddie says, dazed. “Can I touch it?”

“God, yeah, Eds. Of course. Anything.”

Eddie promptly shifts back and tugs Richie’s sweatpants drawstring loose, and then kisses Richie hard and says, “Lift up.”

Richie groans, bucking his hips up as Eddie presses up onto his knees, so that Eddie can push and pull his sweats and boxers down far enough that Richie’s cock can bob free. He has his hand around it before he can even get a look at it, sitting down again on Richie’s thighs.

And it’s a fucking handful.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie says, pulling away from Richie’s mouth to look down his chest. It’s not very well-lit in their living room, and for a second Eddie’s pissed about it, but he sees enough. “Rich, what the fuck.”

“What,” Richie says breathlessly, pushing up into Eddie’s grip with a weak sound.

Eddie stares, as he did five months ago, at the dick in his hand. Not that it was in his hand at the time. “I thought maybe I, like. Exaggerated it in my mind. But it’s really that fucking big.”

“Huh?” Richie blinks at him dumbly, jaw slack and abs tensing.

“Rich, I don’t even know what to do with all of this.”

He’s really—absurdly big. Eddie can barely get his hand around him, though part of that is the shitty angle. Eddie hasn’t seen a lot of dicks, all told, but he knows he isn’t small, and Richie is significantly bigger than he is.

“O-oh,” Richie says, blinking hard now, as if he’s trying to focus. “Uh. Yeah.”

Yeah?” Eddie strokes Richie’s cock slowly, feels it twitch in his hand. “You come to me with this big fucking dick and all you have to say about it is yeah?

“What am I supposed to say?” Richie says, hips moving restlessly, hands on Eddie’s shoulders. “Sorry?”

“You should be sorry,” Eddie says. “I’ve been suffering for five months because of this.” He squeezes his fingers around it, and Richie whines. “God, what the fuck. Do you realize how much I’m going to have to stretch myself out for this?”

“Shit,” Richie says, surging forward so that their teeth clack together. It’s painful, but Eddie’s mind is a little occupied, steadily jacking Richie off with measured strokes.

“It’s going to be a multiple-day affair,” Eddie says against Richie’s mouth. “I don’t even know if it’ll fit. Has no one ever told you this?”

“Not like this,” Richie says, and laughs a little, an overwhelmed sound. “Eds, I’m gonna last like three more seconds if you keep saying shit.”

“Don’t you dare, asshole,” Eddie says. “I need to get my mouth on you.”

Richie lasts less than a minute longer, especially once Eddie sinks to the ground to fit just the head of Richie’s cock into his mouth, licking over it and sucking on it obscenely. It’s really fucking good. He doesn’t even mind Richie coming all over his tongue, the taste of it less repulsive than Eddie expected. (Eddie was there for Richie’s last STI test, because Eddie’s the one who dragged him there when Richie told him he hadn’t had one in years. He knows they’re both clean.)

The point is. It’s good. It’s really good. Eddie anticipates many a sore jaw in the future. He’s already thinking about what he needs to do to get his gag reflex under control.

And then Richie is pulling him up into his lap and kissing his disgusting mouth and wrapping a hand around Eddie’s cock in his shorts and he is no longer thinking at all.


Eddie gets a little preoccupied by sucking cock, after that.

It’s not that he forgets about his true dream of sitting on Richie Tozier’s huge dick. He doesn’t. He still thinks about it a lot. And imagines it. A lot. Mostly when he’s lying around at home while Richie is out doing stuff, or on nights when he and Richie don’t share a bed, which is rare but does happen a few times. He thinks about the stretch of Richie’s cock inside him and the way it’ll settle deep and hot and hard inside him and the way he’ll feel it for days afterwards.

But he doesn’t actually pursue it, somewhat because Richie seems hesitant about it, but also mostly because he’s distracted with a different, slightly less intimidating challenge: sucking cock.

He thinks about that all the time, too. Especially because he’s actually experienced it, and can call upon sense memories—the head of Richie’s cock on his tongue, the pulse of it in his mouth, the stretch of it against his lips. The smell and taste of it, thick and warm. The ever-present desire to take him deeper, suck him longer, swallow him down.

He doesn’t get that good at it. Not in just a couple of weeks, even with fairly regular practice. (Sometimes they don’t get past frotting and handjobs. Eddie still goes off like a livewire whenever Richie touches him.) Richie’s still fucking huge, obviously, and Eddie has no previous cock-sucking experience, and he’s about a thousand lightyears away from deepthroating anything, much less that monster. His blowjobs are sloppy and enthusiastic and not very professional, but Eddie fucking loves them. Richie likes them too, obviously—he really likes them—but Eddie is kind of obsessed. Either he already has an oral fixation or he’s developing one, but regardless he is thinking about Richie’s dick in his mouth for half of the day, and actively trying to get it there the other half.

Richie gives him a blowjob, too, which is also incredible. He also sucks at them, which is only fair, but it feels really fucking good and Eddie comes so hard he thinks he blacks out for a second so. No hard feelings.

All in all, Eddie’s schedule is full of graphic fantasies and dick-sucking for a couple weeks (along with romantic shit and the two of them probably making eyes at each other across every room in a gross way) before he remembers, at an actually useful time, that he has another wish he needs fulfilled.

He’s in Richie’s lap. Again. It’s a good place to be, because Eddie can make out with him while also feeling his cock get hard against Eddie’s ass. And that’s very nice. It’s a good position to tangle his fingers in Richie’s curls and bitch at him about needing a haircut and grind against his crotch, while also kissing him and letting Richie suck marks into his neck. His shirt’s still on—they’re early in the ritual—but Richie’s got one hand inside it, against his chest, rubbing at his nipple. It feels good; Eddie moans. He presses his ass down against Richie’s lap, and Richie moans.

“You have such a good ass,” Richie tells him, right before sucking on his tongue.

Eddie hums, and grinds against him again, and feels Richie’s hardening cock rub right up behind his balls.

“Mmmmm,” he says, rocking his hips slower, savouring the feeling. Richie’s cock slides between his cheeks, through several layers of fabric.

“Want you all the time,” Richie tells him. He’s mouthing across Eddie’s jaw now, and Eddie’s eyes are closed, his breaths a little laboured. “Want you to come on me.”

“Mhmm.” Eddie spends a lot of time telling Richie to shut the fuck up, but he always likes when he talks during sex. He says all sorts of filthy stuff he gets embarrassed about later. “What else.”

“Want to touch you everywhere,” Richie tells him, moving his hand to rub his thumb over the other nipple. “Want to fuck your thighs.”

“Oh, god.” They haven’t done that yet. Eddie wonders suddenly why not.

“Want to fuck your mouth,” Richie tells him on a moan.

“God, Rich.” Eddie sucks a kiss from his mouth. “Get in me.”

“What part,” Richie says with a soft laugh. “Where?”

“Your dick,” Eddie says, feeling it rub against him. “In my ass.”

Richie tenses up, and Eddie thinks, for a second, that he’s made a grave mistake. “What?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Eddie tells him. “Are you— Do you not want to? Are you a bottom?

Richie laughs at that, a breathy rush of sound. “What? No. I mean, I could be?”

“Are you not willing to fuck me?” Eddie asks, pulling back to frown at him. “You should have told me, dude. I’ve been thinking about it for months.”

“I am!” Richie rushes to say. “I am, just. Are you sure?

“Super fucking sure,” Eddie tells him solemnly. “I want your dick inside me yesterday. Why wouldn’t I be? I feel like I mentioned it, like, right away.”

Richie shrugs, eyes darting to the side. His hands are tight on Eddie’s hips. “I don’t know. I’m just. Big.”

Now it’s Eddie’s turn to laugh, a barking sort of noise. “Yeah, you’ve got that fucking right.”

“I thought it was...too much? You’ve never— I mean, I assume you’ve never, and all you could talk about was how I wouldn’t fit…”

“That’s for me to decide, when we actually try it. Rich, please.” He gives Richie a bland look. “I want your dick. Inside me. Immediately.”

“Ah,” Richie says, cheeks red. “Um. Maybe we up to that. A little more slowly.”

“Well, fucking obviously. You think I’m gonna try to take you raw?” Eddie grinds against him, and he’s not sure if it’s supposed to be a punishment for being a moron of if it’s just because he’s horny as hell. “Come on. You can finger me on the bed.”

Richie moans. “I’m not gonna last, Eds. I’m gonna fucking blow just from you saying that.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Eddie says, climbing off his lap and pointing at him warningly. “I said I wanted you to fuck me.

Richie’s throat bobs as he looks up at Eddie from the couch. “I will,” he says. He shifts, and the tip of his cock pokes out from the waistband of his sweatpants. Like a little fucking tease. “I’ll get hard again while I finger you excessively.”

Eddie goes a little weak at the knees, and isn’t sure whether it’s at the thought of Richie coming more than once or at Richie fingering him. Both are...very alluring.

He turns around and crooks his finger. “Come on. We have work to do.”


It’s a bit of effort, getting set up the first time. Neither of them really know...who goes where and how to hold their limbs so that they’re not bumping into each other and how two bodies are supposed to slot together like this. There are so many arms and legs, somehow. And Eddie can only bend so far in any given direction. And Richie still wants to be able to kiss him. (Okay, that’s fucking cute.)

But they get it figured out, eventually. They start out with Eddie propped up against the headboard and Richie sitting next to him but that really doesn’t work and Richie says it feels too impersonal, like he’s performing a procedure. Eddie asks him, concerned, what kind of procedures he’s getting done. But they end up in a much better position after that, with Eddie on his back and Richie on his side next to him, a little bit on top of him but mostly just pressed together, shoulder to toe. Neither of them can really see what’s going on, but they can muddle their way through it blindly, and like this they’re face to face and capable of making out for the entire time.

“So have you...done this before?” Richie asks, rubbing his palm up and down Eddie’s bare thigh.

“Gotten fucked?” Eddie asks, nuzzling against his cheek. “No.”

“I meant, like, this part. Getting fingered.”

“Oh.” Eddie shivers as Richie clumsily squirts lube onto his hand and drips some onto his stomach. “Not by someone else.”

“By yourself?” Richie asks, voice hoarse. His crotch is pressed up against Eddie’s hip, and he shifts against Eddie slightly.

“I’ve been living in sexually frustrated hell for almost six months,” Eddie says. “Thinking about your dick inside me. Yeah, I’ve fingered myself once or twice.”

“Nice,” Richie says, like he’s fourteen. He presses a cold, slick finger against Eddie’s rim.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Eddie says, and crushes their mouths together as a distraction.

He really has fingered himself, in the past. Not too often, because it’s a complicated ritual and extremely messy and takes way longer than jacking off. But he’s done it, and it feels good. But also makes his wrist sore. In a weird way, it feels almost nothing at all like Richie sliding a finger into him, slow and easy. The angle’s all different, and Richie’s fingers are thicker than Eddie’s, and they are, most notably, not Eddie’s. There’s something about the unpredictability of it, and the not being able to feel the other side of things, and. He doesn’t know. It just feels different.

It feels fucking good.

“Yes,” he moans softly. “There we go.”

“Good?” Richie pants against his jaw.

“Fucking great. Just do this a bit. With one.” He hums as Richie pumps his wrist slowly. Fucking erotic. “You ever done this before?”

“To someone else?” Richie asks, breathless. His hips are shifting again.

“Either. To yourself, someone else.”

“To myself a few times,” Richie mumbles, like it’s embarrassing. When Eddie just admitted to the same thing. “Never, uh. Like this. To a dude.”

“Nice,” Eddie says, mimicking his tone. Richie curls his finger a little, and it turns into a high, reedy moan. “Another one.”

“Huh?” Richie catches on a moment late. “Oh.” A second finger prods at his rim, and then slides in.

“Why are we talking so much?” Eddie asks, spreading his legs a little wider. The stretch doesn’t hurt, but it is a stretch. He likes it. “I thought you wanted to make out.”

“I’m chatty,” Richie says. “I like talking.”

“Yeah, well, I like making out,” Eddie says, and tips his face towards him. Richie scissors his fingers apart, and Eddie moans again, reaching out to drag Richie in and press a biting kiss to his mouth. God, Eddie can’t wait to get fucked.

They do that...for a long time. Eddie’s breaths pick up minute by minute, and his kisses become sloppier as Richie stretches him achingly slowly, adds a third finger. That feels like a lot, but not Richie’s-huge-cock a lot. So he bears down, sucks on Richie’s tongue, hitches his knee up to make more room. Richie groans softly, pulls his fingers out to scoop up some of the lube dripping down his ass and pushing it back in. Eddie whines high in his throat and bucks his hips mindlessly, and then chokes off a scream when Richie bites his lip and simultaneously rubs over his prostate.

Fuck,” Eddie says, breathing hard. “Fuck, Richie.”

“Mhmm,” Richie says, spreading his three fingers inside him.

“I am going to fucking die here,” Eddie tells him, and then slides his hand down from where he’d been playing with his own nipples to push one finger into himself alongside Richie.

“Ohhhh, fuck. Eds.”

“Fucking need it,” Eddie tells him, dizzy with lust. “Feels so good.”

Richie presses against his prostate again, and Eddie’s back bows off the mattress. “You like it?”

“So good,” Eddie repeats, and slides a second finger past his rim.

Richie groans. “Holy fuck, Eds. I don’t think I’m that big.”

Eddie barely hears him through the rushing in his ears. “I’m not taking any chances,” he says, slurring a little. He squirms as he finds his prostate on his own, mostly by accident. “Fuck, shit. Anyway, it feels fucking good.”

“Thought you wanted to get fucked,” Richie says, rubbing his fingers inside him, stroking him, making Eddie slowly lose his mind. “God, can I look at you?”

Eddie thinks he must nod, because Richie starts to sit up, but he’s so overwhelmed by the fingers inside him that he can’t tell for sure. When he hears Richie swear, though, he wrenches his eyes open, and sees Richie looking down at him, at their fingers disappearing into him, at their fingers fucking him. Eddie’s fingers speed up against his will, and he whimpers.

“You look so fucking good,” Richie tells him, voice wrecked. “All stretched around me.”

Eddie whines, and Richie’s fingers nudge against his prostate again, and his whine turns into, “Oh shit, oh fuck, Richie, Rich—”

He comes, hard, lights dancing behind his eyelids. His hips jerks off the mattress, his cock pulsing in time with the shocks of pleasure racing up his spine. He hadn’t even been fucking touching his dick.

“Shiiiiit,” Eddie moans, blinking through the haze of it. “God fucking dammit.”

Richie hums, rubs his heaving stomach with his clean hand, warm and soft. “Feel good?”

Eddie struggles to catch his breath, shivers of pleasure still wracking his body. “God, yes, of course it did you asshole. But I wanted to get fucked.”

“I know.” Richie pokes a fingertip into his navel, and then moves the hand to brush through his sweaty hair. His other hand is still tucked inside of Eddie. “Now what, baby?”

“Don’t you dare call me that,” Eddie says, but actually doesn’t really mind. “Just give me like...five minutes. I’ll go again.”

Richie’s breath catches audibly. “Yeah?”

Yeah. God. I want it, and I’m not sleeping until I get it.”

Richie chuckles breathlessly, and bends over to kiss him, right on his sore, swollen lips. “God, I love you.”

Eddie blinks his eyes open, meets Richie’s gaze. His eyes are as warm as they are dark, and it makes something tug behind his ribs. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Love you too.”

Richie grins, like Eddie’s just granted him a wish. It’s fucking cute.

“Stop shining at me, jackass. Lie down. I want to cuddle before you fuck me.”

Richie makes a noise between a hum and a groan. “Yeah, okay. Sounds like a plan.”


All things said, it doesn’t take that long for Eddie to feel like he’s ready to go again, especially with Richie’s dick hard and pressed up against his hip and Richie’s thick fingers still inside him, twitching.

He’s not hard again, by any means. He’s forty years old, and he just came five minutes ago. He’s not even firming up at this point. But the aftershocks have worn off, and the post-orgasmic haziness, and he’s pressing back against the hand caressing the side of his face as Richie kisses him, and clenching down around Richie’s fingers inside him. Usually after Eddie comes once he is wiped, he is no longer even horny, but there’s something about Richie that makes Eddie want him basically all the time. Maybe it’s the part where Eddie’s in love with him. Or maybe it’s just his huge dick.

“Alright,” he says, pulling away from Richie’s lips with a wet sound. His hands are up the front of Richie’s shirt—he’s still in a shirt and boxers, although his cock is very much poking out through the slit—and he’s raking his fingernails gently along Richie’s chest. Richie presses into it, and then makes a choked sound when Eddie trails his fingertips over his stomach. “Alright,” Eddie says again, distracted. “Let’s do this thing.”

“Mmm?” Richie says, licking at his lower lip. Eddie’s mouth is going to be so raw tomorrow.

“It’s time,” Eddie says, scratching idly at the drying come on his own stomach. “I want you to fuck me now.”

“Oh.” Richie pulls away and looks at him, pupils blown wide. “Oh. Are you sure?”

Eddie grins. “Yeah. Fucking get inside me.”

“Yeah,” Richie breathes, and spreads his fingers wide, like he wants to get in one more good stretch. Eddie moans.

“But go slow,” he adds hastily, as Richie kisses him one last time and then starts to sit up. “You better go fucking slow, Rich, I don’t want to—”

“I know, fuck, I will.” Richie pulls his fingers out of Eddie slowly, and it makes Eddie feel raw and exposed. “Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?”

“As if I wouldn’t,” Eddie scoffs, and swallows thickly as Richie slides off his boxers and climbs back onto the bed, kneeling between his spread legs.

“Hey, can I like. Keep on my shirt?” Richie asks, fishing around for the bottle of lube again.

Eddie frowns. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Being totally naked just feels there’s just so much skin. And there are just so many parts of the human body that are not sexy.”

“What?” Eddie never knows what the fuck he’s talking about. “Dude, I’m naked.”

“Yeah, but you’re hot all over, and I like looking at you. I have very little going for me, and also if we’re both totally naked, it’s just. That’s just so much naked.”

Eddie has no clue what’s going on, but he does know that it’s prolonging the time between now and him getting fucked. “Whatever,” he says. “I’ve seen you shirtless before and I thought you were hot but if it makes you feel better, go for it. All I need from you right now is your huge fucking dick. Your huge dick, fucking. Me.”

Richie grins at him, and pours lube over his hand, and then strokes his cock with it. He hisses at his own touch. “God, Eds. I’m so worked up. You should have jacked me off earlier after all.”

“Well don’t tell me that now,” Eddie says with a groan. “Richie, if you come immediately once you’re inside me I will not forgive you. Have some self-restraint.”

“I can make no promises.” Richie leans over him, kisses the corner of his mouth, and then starts to shift into position, tugging Eddie’s hips up and lowering his own. “We’ll have lots of opportunities to get this right.”

“God, yeah,” Eddie breathes, wrapping a hand behind Richie’s neck and holding on. “Gonna ask you to fuck me all the time.”

“Whenever you want, babe,” Richie murmurs. “Every day.”

“Let’s be reasonable, Rich. I’ll be sore for a week after this.”

Richie laughs, and then the head of his cock is pressed up against Eddie’s rim, and then neither of them is laughing.

“Ohhh, fuck,” Eddie breathes, eyes fluttering closed. “Hell, Rich.”

“You still good?”

The pressure against Eddie’s rim, thick and blunt and hot, is already overwhelming. He’s thought about this so many times. “Yeah. God, I can’t wait.” He reaches down, between his legs, and wraps his fingers around Richie’s thick cock.

Richie groans. “Careful.”

“My ass is gonna be much tighter than this,” Eddie warns him, and then rocks his hips down against it.

Just the very tip of Richie’s enormous cock presses into him, breaching his loose rim. Eddie moans, and Richie sucks in a sharp breath, grips Eddie’s hip tightly with the hand not gripping his cock. It’s not really more of a stretch than their combined fingers had been, but it feels huge. Just...thick and hard and throbbing. Eddie’s body sucks at it desperately.

“More,” he says. “Fuck. Slow.”

Richie eases into him, millimetre by fucking millimetre. Eddie moans the whole way, fingers scrabbling at the front of Richie’s shirt, curling in his hair. It’s agonizing, not in a painful way, but just. It’s so much, and it’s so slow, and it’s so fucking good.

“Shit, shit,” he mutters, hissing. “I like it, I like it.”

“Good, yeah,” Richie breathes, forehead beading with sweat. “Fuck, Eds. You’re tight.”

“No, Rich, you’re just fucking huge.”

Richie makes a wheezy, laughing sort of sound, and it forces his cock another three millimetres deeper.

“Shit, no, stop,” Eddie whines.

“Stop?” Richie freezes. His thighs are trembling.

All of Eddie is trembling. “Yeah, just. Stay still. Let me push onto you.”

“Ah. Okay. I’ll, fuck, I’ll try.”

Eddie breathes deep, eyes closed, and then rocks his hips up and then down. It feels like more progress than it is, because he pulls off a little before he pushes back on, but the slide of Richie’s cock inside of him is satisfying in a way Eddie has never experienced before. He moans softly, and then does it again and moans more loudly. In the back of his mind, he’s embarrassed about how much noise he’s making, but he can’t stop, hissing and whining and making wordless vowel sounds as he takes more of Richie’s cock into him, feeling it spread him open, press up against him on every side.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” Eddie says with feeling, so stuffed full he might actually just die. It still doesn’t necessarily hurt, because he’s going so slow, but there’s so much pressure and his body is clenching around it and it’s just big.

“You okay?” Richie says hoarsely. “You want to stop?”

No, Richie, I don’t want to stop.” Eddie sinks another half-inch onto him and swears up a storm. “There’s just a huge fucking dick in my ass, okay, it’s a lot to process!”

Richie laughs at that, rubbing his hand over Eddie’s stomach, circling a lube-slick finger around one nipple. It feels really good; Eddie arches up into it.

“God,” he says, panting. “How much more is there?”

Richie pulls his gaze away from Eddie’s face, down to where they’re connected. “ half?”


“I’m sorry,” Richie says, laughing helplessly.

“You’re a monster,” Eddie tells him, rocking his hips back and forth stubbornly. “There’s something wrong with you. Who needs a dick that big, huh Richie? Who? For what reason?”

“For fucking you,” Richie says, eyes squeezing shut as Eddie clenches around him.

“Yeah, god. And you’re doing it really fucking well.”

“I’m not even doing anything,” Richie huffs. “I’m staying still.”

“And it still feels this good? Heretical.”

“I don’t think that—fuck—makes sense. God, Eds. You’re perfect.”

Eddie grins, and urges Richie deeper into him. “Yeah, I fucking know.” The pressure is incredible—Eddie has to whine again. His eyes feel wet.

“You don’t have to take the whole thing,” Richie tells him.

I fucking want it.”

So they keep working at it. Inch by thick fucking inch, Richie sinks into him, and Eddie rocks back against him, making pathetic noises and touching Richie wherever he can. He regrets allowing the shirt now. It’s a hassle to find the hem and push it up so that Eddie can press his palms into warm skin. But he does it, because the contact feels good, and it soothes Eddie when he thinks he’s one second away from flying apart.

When Richie finally, finally bottoms out, Eddie almost screams—he sobs instead, a harsh hiccup of sound. “Don’t fucking move,” he babbles, bearing down on it, his whole fucking cock inside him. “Don’t fucking move, let me just. I need to—”

“Okay,” Richie says soothingly, but his expression is as wrecked as Eddie feels. “Yeah, babe, it’s okay.”

“It’s fucking cute when you call me that,” Eddie says, and knows he’ll regret it later but isn’t able to stop himself right now. “God, fuck, Richie. You’re fucking deep.”

“I know, shit. You feel so good.”

Eddie squirms and moans. “No, like, fucking deep. Like I can feel it in my throat deep.”

Richie’s arms shake on either side of Eddie’s head, braced above him. “Good?”

“Yeah, Rich, it’s so good. It’s so much. God, don’t fucking move, I’ll explode.”

Richie breathes harshly, makes a noise as Eddie clenches around him. “You just need to—fuck—relax, Eds.”

I’m very relaxed!” Eddie snaps at him.

Richie laughs, the movement of it making him jerk inside Eddie, and then he opens his eyes and looks down at Eddie with the softest expression Eddie’s possibly ever seen on him. He still has his glasses on, and his eyes are huge and dark behind them, but as he looks down at Eddie silently, they start to shine, and his smile turns into something sweeter, and then sadder. His throat bobs.

“God,” he says, soft and raw. “I just can’t believe you’re here.”

Eddie swallows thickly, thinks for a second about something other than the cock inside him. Thinks about Richie, above him, and Richie telling him, weeks ago, that he’d waited so many years for Eddie to say that he loved him. That he thought, for so long, that it would never happen. His heart judders in his chest. “You sap,” he rasps, fingers digging into Richie’s hips. “I’m here.”

“I know,” Richie says wetly. “I know. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Eddie says. He reaches up, touches the side of Richie’s face.

Richie smiles, and then leans down and kisses him, long and slow and devastating, and Eddie whines and says, “You fucker, I told you not to move—” and then kisses him back and keeps kissing him, clinging to him, panting into his mouth, feeling Richie against him and inside him and all around him, like they’re the only people who matter and everything else is fading away. Richie’s fucking the brains right out of him, and Eddie loves it.

“Okay,” he pants, gripping the backs of Richie’s thighs. “Pull— Pull out a little. Or a lot, but slow. Not all the way.”

Richie follows his instructions perfectly, for the first time in his entire fucking life.

Eddie moans loudly at the feeling of his cock sliding out of him. “Fuuuuuuuuck. Oh my god, Rich. That’s—that is something.

Richie huffs a laugh against his mouth. “Good?”

“I don’t even know. Okay, just. That’s good. You can start moving now. But, look, I took your whole fucking cock, but don’t thrust all the way in, I think I’ll die. We will— We’ll work towards that. Over the course of the next. Forever.”

“Whatever you want, babe,” Richie says, and hitches his hips forward, fucking into Eddie for the first time.

“Oh, shit. Ohhhhh fuck. God fucking shit.”

Richie laughs again, but it sounds distinctly overwhelmed. “That good?”

Shit, Richie.” Eddie tilts his hips up, takes the next thrust at a slightly different angle. “Oh, fuck. God, I forgot I had a fucking prostate. I was losing my mind just from you being in me.”

“Did I get it?” Richie asks, thrusting slow and shallow.

“Only kind of. Put a pillow or something under my hips.” He throws his hand out, scrabbling for one.

Richie helps him out, shoving the pillow from the other side of the bed under Eddie’s lower back, adjusting his position a little, and then continuing to adjust it every few seconds. He’s breathing hard, red in the face, but he’s trying, hard, to make it good for Eddie, and it makes Eddie want to kiss him for the rest of his life.

“Oh, shit, fuck. Almost, almost— No, fuck, lost it. Just— Fuck!” Eddie arches his back sharply, and it presses Richie’s cock a little too deep into him, stretches him a little too wide. “Oh, fuck, fuck. Rich, right there, fuck.

“Yeah,” Richie breathes, one hand braced next to his head, the other on his hip. “Just, fuck, just take it. You feel so good.”

“You too, fuck, fuck.” Eddie keens high in his throat as Richie gets the angle just right, rubbing over his prostate on every couple of thrusts. “Oh fuck, Rich. You feel so good.”

“God, you too,” Richie says, shaking his head like he’s shaking off a fog. “Eds, I want to come so bad.”

Eddie wants to say not yet, he wants to say almost, he wants to say just keep doing that, but all he can do is make a stuttering “uh uh uh” noise as Richie fucks him fast and intense. He’s not balls-deep, but he’s still deep, Eddie’s still stuffed full, stretched out and strung out, like his skin is too hot and too tight and god, fuck, he’s so hard it hurts.

“So good, Eds, fuck, I love this,” Richie says.

“Me too,” Eddie manages, scrabbling at the front of Richie’s shirt. “I’m so glad— this is happening—”

“Oh, shit.” Richie’s hips stutter. “Eddie—”

“Touch me,” Eddie says urgently, feeling Richie jerk inside him.

Richie’s a fucking idiot without his brain melting out his ears from fucking Eddie. Eddie obviously wants him to touch his dick, but instead Richie presses his palm just above it, over his lower stomach, right above where he’s fucking into him, like he can feel his cock inside Eddie. Eddie has no idea if he can—doesn’t care either way—but Richie obviously likes it, because he swears loudly, and then moans, and then his hips jerk and his cock twitches inside Eddie and he’s coming hard, making pathetic sounds and shivering and fucking him through it.

“Shhhit,” Eddie says, feeling warm come fill him up where he’s raw and so sensitive it almost hurts. Richie’s still thrusting, shallow and erratic, and it makes wet sounds, filthy and erotic.

“Sorry,” Richie gasps, pressing his forehead to Eddie’s, breathing hard. “Oh, god, Eddie.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, petting his face clumsily, fucking his hips back against his cock before it softens. “It’s okay, you lasted a long time.”

“So good, Eds,” Richie whines, like it’s Eddie’s fault.

“Yeah, you feel so good,” Eddie tells him. “I need to come, Rich, let me—”

“Let me,” Richie says, catching his breath, arching his back so that there’s space between them for him to wrap a hand around Eddie’s leaking cock.

“Ohhhh, fuck,” Eddie moans, arching into it. “Richie, Richie—”

“Yeah,” Richie says, reaching out with his free hand to drag Eddie’s hand down, pressing it over his own stomach, where Richie’s had been before.

Eddie definitely can’t feel Richie’s cock inside him through his stomach, but he can feel it when he presses down on his stomach, the way it presses down on Richie’s cock, feels the shape of Richie inside him. And it makes him hyperaware of the feeling of him, still deep inside him, still filling him up, and the feeling of his come, wet and warm inside him. He moans brokenly, and bucks his hips up into Richie’s fist, where he’s stroking Eddie quick and hard.

His climax build fast and intense, and Eddie makes desperate sounds all the way through it, voice cracking as it finally crests. It cracks through him like lightning, up his spine and through his skull, throbbing in his tongue and pulsing through his lower back. Eddie moans through the aftershocks, hand tight over his stomach, the other on Richie’s neck as he leans in and kisses every other sound out of Eddie’s mouth. Tears gather at Eddie’s eyelashes. It feels that good.

“Holy shit,” he says, slumping back as the feeling fizzles out. “Oh my god. Richie.”

“There you go,” Richie says, kissing him softly. “You okay?”

Okay?” Eddie says. “I am fucking shattered. I am a changed man.”

“Eds, virginity is a social construct,” Richie says teasingly, easing himself down to lie on top of him, ignoring the wet come between them.

“You know what isn’t? Your massive fucking cock, fucking my brains out. Shit, Richie.”

“So it was good?” Richie asks, obviously just fishing for compliments at this point.

“I genuinely feel sorry for every other person in the world who will never get to be fucked by Richie Tozier,” Eddie says.

He can feel Richie’s grin against the side of his face. “I love you.”

“Shut up. I love you too. Get off me, you’re crushing me.”

Richie pulls out of him slowly, and Eddie groans at the loss, wheezing a little. He feels cold and empty as Richie rolls over to slump down next to him, an arm still around his waist. Eddie’s still floating on a high, and he figures Richie is too, both of them too boneless to go get something to clean up.

“Take off your shirt,” Eddie mumbles, shifting against the sheets, which feel scratchy in his hypersensitivity. “Wipe this come off me, I’m disgusting.”

“I like this shirt,” Richie mumbles, but pulls it off and does as he’s told.

Eddie feels a little better after that, but still cold, and still shockingly empty. “Hey,” he says. “Put your fingers in me.”

Eds,” Richie groans. “I can’t go again. I know you went twice but I’m so wiped. I’m dead.”

“No, I just like how it feels,” Eddie says. “I’ll get a cramp in my wrist if I do it. You have longer arms.”

“You’re so hot,” Richie sighs, and reaches down to slip two fingers into him, through wet come and lube and his loose rim.

Eddie hums in satisfaction, and turns his head to kiss Richie’s face—he thinks he gets the edge of his eyebrow. “I don’t know how long it will take me to recover from this, but I’m making a rain check, right now. You will fuck me again, and soon. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after. I don’t think I can wait longer than that.”

“Go to sleep,” Richie moans. “Stop talking about sex. I said I’m dead.”

“I can’t sleep like this,” Eddie says. “That’s disgusting. I’m sweaty and the sheets are filthy.”

You’re filthy. No one has ever wanted my dick this bad before.”

“It’s huge, Rich,” Eddie tells him seriously. “I am gagging for it. I want it in me all the time.”

“I said stop talking about sex. God, are you a teenager?” Richie kisses his jaw softly. “Hey, do you want me to eat you out?”

Eddie jolts a little. “Now?

“No, dickwad, tomorrow morning or something. I will eat you out tomorrow morning if you stop talking right now.”

“I didn’t even tell you if I wanted you to,” Eddie says, very much wanting him to.

“I only asked to be polite. It’s the exact kind of thing you’ll say is gross but just want more because it’s gross.”

Eddie hates it when he’s right. “You have to let me shower first.”

“This time,” Richie relents. “I’m closing my eyes now.”

“They’re already closed.” Eddie tugs his glasses off his face. “We are waking up in twenty minutes and cleaning up.”

“Mhmm,” Richie says, and then falls silent.

Eddie stares up at the ceiling and grins. He’s a little sore, not in a bad way but he can definitely feel it. Richie’s still got his fingers tucked inside him. His body is still sparking with the aftershocks of really good sex. He’s never felt this good before.

And this was just the first time. Eddie knows it’ll just get better after this. And they’ll have—years. They’re not getting any younger, but they’ve got years, decades if they’re lucky. Decades of fucking. Decades of—this. Lying together in their bed. Being together.

Damn. Life is good.