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touching my hand in a darkened room

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Richie can feel someone down the bartop staring at him, so he keeps his eyes fixed down, his face burning. He’s pretty sure it’s probably someone who just saw him bomb at the comedy club next door, and he’s already mortified enough without someone approaching him about it. When whoever it is comes over and slides onto the barstool next to him, it makes his stomach turn, and he sighs.

“Look like you’re having a rough night,” a guy says. Richie glances over at him; he’s tall, broad, shaggy-blonde and square-jawed. Richie doesn’t really want to talk to him.

“Yeah, I guess,” Richie says.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” the guy tells him. Richie looks away, stirring his Long Island iced tea in the hopes that a lack of sustained eye contact will give the guy a hint. “We don’t have to talk at all, if you don’t want to.”

“Look, can you just—” Richie starts, then stops, because he doesn’t even know what to tell this guy. I’m feeling too shitty to entertain any interaction with some stranger who just sees me as another hole to fuck seems too aggressive, but it’s his only real idea, so he just keeps his mouth shut instead.

“Can I just…?” the guy beside Richie parrots, waiting for more. Richie shakes his head, staring down into his drink as he sips it. He’s still fucking miserable, embarrassed and exhausted and sad. “You want another drink?”

“No, thank you,” Richie replies. The guy waves for the bartender anyways. Richie just drops his chin into his hand and keeps looking down into his glass. The guy’s still talking, something about the friends who brought him here and how he just broke up with some other guy and then Richie loses the thread of the monologue.

“You seem down,” the guy says, a few minutes later. Richie hasn’t touched the drink the guy got for him, because he doesn’t want to feel obligated to him, but the longer the guy talks the more Richie wants to drink.

“Yeah, sort of,” Richie says. The guy claps him on the shoulder, then leaves his hand there, holding him tight. Richie finally looks up again, ready to brush him off, but the guy’s right in his face. It strikes Richie that they don’t even know each other’s names.

“Wanna go outside?” the guy asks. Richie shakes his head. “Well, then, why—”

“Hey, sorry I’m late, babe,” another man’s voice says. That’s all the warning Richie has before his head is being turned and his mouth is abruptly a breath away from someone else’s, and the new man whispers, “Is this okay?”

They’re so close that Richie can barely see the man’s face, but what he can see is dark hair and big brown eyes and so he nods dumbly. The man pulls him into a kiss, which isn’t what Richie had been expecting but he really hadn’t been expecting anything, and his entire brain screeches to a halt. He’d been about to respond, to say, “Yeah, this is fine,” when the man had started to kiss him, and so the kiss doesn’t even start chaste; it fucking begins with his mouth already open, and this man just rolls with the punches, pretends it was intentional and licks behind Richie’s teeth.

Richie can’t help but moan into the man’s mouth. He shifts, twisting on his barstool to fully face the new stranger and cup his face in his hands. His attention span is garbage, so he can already feel his bad mood draining out of his body, replaced with a rush of adrenaline from being wanted by someone who looks as hot as this guy and the heat of arousal from being kissed by said guy. It’s only then that Richie realizes his eyes are still open, and he probably looks like a freak. He can’t stop looking at the guy, though.

He’s so fucking handsome, at least half a foot shorter than Richie but with strong arms and a face made of hard, masculine lines that soften when Richie touches them with his fingertips. Richie’s not even the one who pulls back first, it’s the other guy, who looks up at him with his pupils so blown his eyes look black now.

There’s a beat, and then the man is turning to the guy sitting next to Richie at the bar. He says, “Thanks for keeping him company, traffic was horrible,” and then he’s dragging Richie and his glass away. He pulls Richie through a mildly dense crowd to an empty table closer to the front door of the bar and says, “I’m so sorry, but you looked fucking miserable and it was giving me a stomachache watching you go through that.”

Richie stares down at the guy for a second, then laughs, unable to stop from grinning anymore. “Don’t fucking apologize, that was one of the best kisses I’ve—”

The two of them stare at each other, after Richie stops himself. He tips his head back to down the rest of his drink, and the guy’s still staring at him when he looks back down, dark eyes flitting up from Richie’s throat to his eyes again.

“Thank you,” Richie starts over. He puts his empty glass down on the tabletop and holds out his hand before he says, “Richie Tozier, pleasure to meet you.”

The guy looks down at his hand, then raises an eyebrow up at Richie. He puts his hand in Richie’s anyways and says, “Eddie.”

“Eddie…”

“Kaspbrak,” Eddie says. “I just think it’s funny you’re shaking my hand after we’ve already kissed.”

“I just think it’s funny you’re still shaking my hand even though it’s been a minute and a half,” Richie shoots back. Eddie grins, squeezing Richie’s hand a little tighter. It sends a roll of heat down Richie’s spine.

“I lied before,” Eddie says.

“Figures,” Richie tells him, light-hearted even though his heart is sinking. “You’re a hot stranger in a bar who kissed me like a whore. Too good to be true.”

Eddie’s still holding Richie’s hand in between them, but he lifts his other hand to trap Richie’s in between them both, leaning in over the tabletop. Richie feels his pulse thudding in his ears as Eddie says, “Not too good to be true. I lied about being sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” Richie asks, trying to keep his voice low to disguise how choked it is. He has no idea why Eddie’s chosen him to give attention to tonight, but he’ll take it until it’s gone.

“When I said I was sorry for kissing you,” Eddie clarifies. “You’re really hot and sort of funny, so, I’m actually not all that sorry about it.”

Richie’s brain short-circuits. He can’t stop just staring down at Eddie, heart pounding; as the silence grows, Eddie starts to look slightly unsettled, and Richie starts to panic, and so he says, “I just bombed my set next door. I was— I don’t know, just feeling sort of shitty about myself, and that guy wouldn’t leave me alone, I don’t know.”

Eddie smiles, looking down at Richie’s hand in between his. He separates Richie’s fingers, running the line of one blunt nail up Richie’s palm absently. “You’re a comedian, then? If you were next door?”

“Trying,” Richie says, “but I’m almost thirty and I’m not really getting anywhere.”

Eddie looks up at him again and says, “Well, I already think you’re funny and I’m willing to let you get somewhere, if you’ll have me.”

Richie can’t help but laugh, which makes Eddie smile at him again. Richie realizes he wants to make Eddie laugh and smile like he keeps doing as often as he can, which is an unsettling thought to have about someone he just met in a bar, but Eddie doesn’t feel like just someone. He’s also someone who has already given Richie one of the dirtiest kisses of his life, which— Just thinking about it is making Richie half-hard again.

“You’re funny, too,” Richie tells him. Eddie rolls his eyes, and Richie acts on impulse, dropping his head down to catch Eddie’s lips again, kissing him as hard as Eddie kissed him. Eddie takes over after a moment, licking past the seam of Richie’s lips to deepen the kiss. He presses himself along the line of Richie’s body, holding tight to his face and rolling his hips up into Richie’s. Richie groans, trying to keep it quiet even though Eddie is apparently emboldened by the darkness and noise in the bar.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” Eddie asks. “Not to be presumptuous—”

“No, presume all you want, I’d love to,” Richie says. Eddie bites at Richie’s lower lip before he pulls back to call them a Lyft on his phone. They’re downtown, so the Lyft is only a minute away, and Eddie drags Richie back out of the bar and outside into the biting wind and cold air.

“Fucking shit, it’s cold,” Eddie spits. Richie’s a little tipsy, his already-low inhibitions lowered further, so he drapes his arms over Eddie’s shoulders and blankets him by stretching across his back. He buries his face in Eddie’s hair and noses along the shell of his ear.

“Better?” Richie asks. Eddie turns around in his embrace, tipping his head up and to the side to catch Richie’s mouth with his own again. It’s more chaste, this time, but it’s hard, and somehow dirtier for it, because it makes Richie want to spread Eddie’s legs and fuck him right there on the sidewalk. Luckily for them all, that’s when their Lyft pulls up, and they’re forced to separate to get into the car.

Eddie’s place is closer than Richie’s is, and Richie’s glad Eddie offered his place up, because he doesn’t think either of them could’ve made it any further. As it is, Eddie won’t stop putting his hands on Richie in the back seat of the Lyft, drawing his fingertips up the inside of his thigh, lacing their fingers together and drawing Richie’s hand up so he can kiss the back of it. Richie keeps his other hand in a tight fist, knuckles white against his knee where his hand is resting as he tries to get a fucking grip.

They all but spill out of the Lyft, Eddie pulling Richie up the steps to his apartment building by the wrist. Richie drapes himself over Eddie while Eddie’s unlocking the front door, kissing along the line of his throat until Eddie has to push him off to actually open the door. There isn’t an elevator, so Richie has to follow Eddie up only two flights of stairs before Eddie heads towards an actual apartment and drags Richie into it.

The place is dark until Eddie flicks on a lamp, illuminating a neat, cozy place that Richie sees very little of before Eddie’s pulling him down the hall. Eddie’s bedroom has a warm lamp, too, and Eddie turns it on before pushing Richie backwards over his bed.

“Nice place,” Richie offers, flat on his back on Eddie’s soft blankets. Eddie strips his shirt off over his head and tosses it aside, and Richie’s mouth goes dry. “Also very nice.”

“Now who’s the whore?” Eddie asks, kicking his shoes off and setting them aside next to the bed. He unlaces Richie’s boots, then, slipping them off and lining them up next to his own, and something about it makes Richie dizzy.

“Still you, I— I think,” Richie replies. Eddie stands up straight again, one eyebrow lifted as he climbs up over Richie to straddle his hips.

“You think?” Eddie asks. He leans down, one hand landing next to Richie’s head, palm flat against the mattress. His other hand glides up Richie’s stomach, over his chest, to the dip of his throat. He pops open the highest button on Richie’s shirt.

“No, I know,” Richie says, even though he’s not even totally sure what they had been talking about. Eddie grins like he knows, flicking open another button, then another, all the way down until he can push Richie’s shirt open. Eddie sits up again, pulling Richie with him so he can push his shirt back off his arms. He doesn’t hesitate to tug Richie’s t-shirt up over his head, either, leaving him bare-chested, too. Eddie’s hands slide over Richie’s belly, fingertips dragging through his dark body hair. Eddie’s so fixated on the movement that Richie dips his head in to kiss him again and pull his attention back.

It works; Eddie rolls his hips down into Richie’s as they kiss, and all of the air in Richie’s lungs punches out at once, making Eddie grin against his lips. He gets up again, climbing off the bed to tug his pants and underwear down and off before unzipping Richie’s jeans and doing the same to him. He just rips Richie’s jeans down and off with his underwear, all at once, and slips both their socks off, and they’re finally completely naked. Eddie’s just as hot as Richie had thought he’d be from touching him, muscular and hard and strong and compact, a tight body with more than enough strength to push Richie back against the mattress again.

“I’d fully been expecting to ask if I could fuck you,” Eddie tells him, and Richie can’t help the embarrassing whimpering sound that comes out of his mouth, “but your fucking dick— I want that inside me, you’re fucking huge, are you okay with fucking me instead?”

Richie nods desperately. Eddie readjusts himself, sitting back on Richie’s legs so he can run his hands up the insides of his thighs. Richie’s head drops back against the mattress, his eyes slamming shut, and he can feel Eddie’s weight shifting. After a moment, there’s the sound of a drawer snapping open and closed, and then the click of the top of a bottle. Richie lifts his head to see Eddie spreading lube across the fingers of one hand. It’s only a moment later that he’s wrapping his hand around Richie’s cock and stroking upwards hard.

“Oh, holy shit,” Richie curses. He reaches up to catch Eddie’s hip in his hand, but Eddie doesn’t miss a beat, finding a steady rhythm to jerk Richie off until he’s impossibly hard, whimpering and thrusting up into Eddie’s hand. There’s heat gathering in his groin, dripping down his spine to pool in his cock, and he manages to get out, “Eds, Eddie, I’m— Fuck, I’m really close, come on, don’t you— Don’t you want me to fuck you, man?”

Eddie strokes him once, twice more, then stops, pulling his hand off Richie’s dick and looking him over contemplatively. His own cock is incredibly hard, too, Richie can see, flushed red and pressing into his stomach when he leans over Richie to kiss him again.

“No,” Eddie tells him. “I’m going to fuck myself on you.”

Richie makes a sound he will forever deny making in response to that, but it makes Eddie grin, in the moment, so it’s worth it. He drops his head to kiss Richie again, his clean hand cupping Richie’s jaw to hold him in place as he kisses him so hard and dirty that Richie can’t stop his hips from bucking up into Eddie’s. The motion drags their cocks together, and Eddie breaks the kiss by whining into Richie’s mouth, which sends another shot of arousal straight to Richie’s dick.

“Finger me,” Eddie orders him, and Richie grabs the lube off the mattress and slicks up his own hand. Eddie readjusts himself over Richie’s lap, shifting so Richie can get a good angle on him, slipping one finger in to the first knuckle while Eddie’s straddling his thighs. Eddie makes a soft sighing sound, like all's right with the world now that he’s got something in his ass. Richie pushes in to his second knuckle just to give him more of what he wants.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” Richie tells him. Eddie kisses him again, opening Richie’s mouth to deepen the kiss as Richie slips a second finger in and starts scissoring Eddie open. Eddie keeps his hands fisted in the sheets, shaking while Richie fingers him, apparently unwilling to touch either of their cocks until they’re ready to go. It’s so fucking hot that Richie kisses him harder for it.

“Come on, Richie,” Eddie tells him, encouraging him, and it activates Richie’s instinct for praise. He adds a third finger and works harder at opening Eddie up, and Eddie moans above him, giving him a stream of, “Fuck, Richie, you’re doing so good, amazing, you’re amazing,” until Richie’s pretty close to coming untouched between them. He sits up, shifting Eddie back to reach deeper into Eddie, kissing him harder as he finally brushes his three fingers against Eddie’s prostate, and Eddie gasps, loud and sudden, head falling backwards as his chest heaves.

“Kiss me,” Richie pleads, and Eddie does, pulling himself together enough to drop his head down and kiss Richie hard, cupping his face in his hands so he can lick between his teeth and press their cocks together, hips knocking as he straddles Richie properly. Richie pulls his fingers out of Eddie and almost laughs when Eddie pulls back again just to pull a condom out of his bedside table and toss it on Richie’s chest.

“Open that,” Eddie instructs him. Richie scrambles to do as he’s told, snatching up the condom and fumbling with lube-slick fingers until he manages to tear it open. Eddie takes it back from him, leaving Richie with the wrapper. Richie just tosses it over the side of the bed, earning a playful glare from Eddie.

Eddie rolls the condom down over Richie’s hard cock, and Richie has to drop his head back. After a moment, Eddie climbs off of him and pushes at Richie until Richie gets the hint, scooting backwards until he’s propped up against Eddie’s pillows and Eddie can straddle his lap properly. He slicks Richie’s cock up with more lube, now, over the condom, and Richie’s gasping for breath only minutes in, grabbing at Eddie’s shoulders.

“If you want to ride me, you better fucking start soon,” Richie tells him. Eddie pulls away from him just to lift himself up onto his knees, lining Richie’s cock up with his loose hole and sinking down over the head. Richie holds him up by the thighs, helps lower him down, helpless to do anything but be incredibly fucking turned on as he helps Eddie fucking spear himself on his cock.

“Fuck,” Eddie hisses, when he’s only halfway down. “Holy fucking shit, Richie, people have fucking— People have fucking told you your dick is insane, right?”

“Not like this,” Richie admits, honest to a fault in the face of Eddie’s blown dark eyes.

“Then I’ll tell you,” Eddie says. “Your dick is insane.”

He sinks down another inch, then inhales deeply before pushing down the rest of the way. Once he’s fully seated, Richie slams his eyes shut, dragging deep breaths in as fast as he can to try and keep from coming the second Eddie moves. Eddie’s still adjusting, ragged breaths rasping in and out of his chest as he adjusts to the feeling, presumably, but then his hands drag over Richie’s chest, and Richie has to force his eyes open.

“Can I move?” Eddie asks. Richie nods, and so Eddie moves, lifting himself slightly just so he can push back down. Richie makes an embarrassingly high sound, and Eddie grins, rolling down again. The grin falls away, becoming a groan as he says, lowly, “Fuck, fuck, you’re fucking huge—”

Richie grabs Eddie’s hips and pushes up just as Eddie rolls down again, and Eddie shouts out loud, an indiscernible burst of noise as Eddie’s hand slams down next to Richie’s head in the pillows. Richie can almost see the lightbulb go off above Eddie’s head in the moments before he grabs onto the headboard with both hands and starts fucking himself hard enough on Richie that Richie has to put his own hand back against the headboard to stop his head from banging into it.

“Eddie, fuck—” Richie manages, before Eddie drops his head down and kisses Richie hard. He opens Richie’s mouth for him and kisses him dirty, sloppy and open-mouthed, and it’s the hottest thing Richie thinks he’s ever experienced in his fucking life. His brain’s all white noise, just Eddie’s name and face and cock playing on a loop through his mind and behind his eyelids, whenever he closes them.

He never keeps his eyes closed for long, though, because Eddie’s fucking him hard enough that he’s being forcibly shoved closer and closer to the edge. When Eddie finds his own prostate, though, it’s a wonder they don’t both lose it immediately.

“Holy fuck, Richie, fuck,” Eddie gasps into Richie’s mouth. Richie kisses him again, deeper, harder, one hand at the back of Eddie’s head, Eddie’s sweaty hair curling around the tight grip of his fingers. Richie sits up fully, Eddie’s arms wrapping around his shoulders as he buries his face in Richie’s throat and fucks himself down, hitting his own prostate almost every time. Richie embraces Eddie like a hug, arms around his waist, knees along his back, biting into Eddie’s chest.

Eddie’s cock is trapped between them, but they’re so close that he’s fucking the space between their bodies, getting enough friction against Richie’s belly that he’s the one who comes first, stifling a shout of Richie’s name into Richie’s shoulder with his teeth, biting hard enough that Richie’s hips stutter up, forcing him deeper into Eddie just as Eddie sinks down on his own orgasm, ripping Richie’s orgasm out of him, too.

Richie sees fucking stars, his vision blacking out so fast he has to slam his eyes shut behind his glasses as he comes inside Eddie, pulsing as Eddie’s tight walls fluttered around him, tight as he rides out his own orgasm.

Eddie calms down first, forehead dropping into Richie’s shoulder. Richie’s still shaking as Eddie lifts his head and kisses Richie, soft and thorough, cupping Richie’s face with his dry hand, pushing Richie’s sweaty hair back from his face, slick along his scalp.

“Holy shit,” Richie manages. Eddie laughs as Richie swallows, trying to get his dry mouth to function. It’s rendered unnecessary, though, when Eddie kisses him again, solving the problem for him when he licks into Richie’s mouth as he lifts himself up and off his cock. “Oh, you motherfucker—”

“Shush,” Eddie tells him, and Richie does as he’s told, falling silent as Eddie digs through his nightstand and comes up with a package of baby wipes. He carefully pulls the condom off of Richie, tying it up and setting it in the wastebasket next to the bed. Eddie’s broad hands carefully clean Richie completely of sweat and saliva and cum, scrubbing him all over with the baby wipes before he cleans himself off, too. Eddie tosses all the baby wipes away, then finds the condom wrapper on the ground and pointedly throws that away, too, before climbing back into his bed beside Richie.

“I think you fucked my soul out of my body,” Richie tells Eddie breathlessly. Eddie kisses his cheek, then his lips, tipping Richie’s head down to get a better angle. He reaches up to slip Richie’s glasses off in the next beat.

“You can stay here tonight if you want,” Eddie tells him. He folds Richie’s glasses up and sets them aside on his nightstand. “Only if you want. No pressure.”

“No pressure,” Richie agrees, settling in. Eddie grins at him before leaning over to flick his bedside lamp off, throwing them into the darkness again. He shuffles in the shadows, pulling his covers up and over them, tugging Richie down until he’s almost horizontal. Eddie pushes at Richie’s limbs, fussing with him until Eddie’s comfortable, his head on Richie’s chest, arm thrown across his middle, their legs tangled together. Richie drags his fingertips up Eddie’s spine and kisses the top of his head.

“I’m really not sorry,” Eddie says. It takes Richie a moment before he remembers, but then he laughs, burying his face in Eddie’s hair.

“Yeah, me neither,” he tells him. “Now let me sleep, I’m serious, you fucking took my soul.”

Eddie laughs at him, but he does settle down, finally going quiet and starting to doze off. Richie’s not sure when he falls asleep, though, because he’s out in seconds after that, exhausted.


The next morning, Richie wakes up to an empty bed. He sits up, frowning, and then yelps in shock as Eddie’s bedroom door is lightly kicked open. Eddie’s on the other side, face creased and brow furrowed as he shoves the door the rest of the way open with his elbow, his hands full with a tray.

“Shut up, it’s seven in the fucking morning,” Eddie scolds him. He’s in a tight pair of pajama shorts, but that’s apparently it, according to how much Richie can see when Eddie climbs up on the bed beside him and sets the tray down in between them. He’s got a breakfast on it that Richie’s only seen in television ads as part of a balanced breakfast: pancakes and bacon and orange juice and a fucking daisy in a glass of water.

“You’re a fucking sap, aren’t you?” Richie asks, picking the daisy up between his fingers. “I thought you were a sex beast but you’re a sentimentalist.”

“I can be both, shut the fuck up,” Eddie tells him. When Richie glances up at him, Eddie’s face is all red, so Richie decides to break the tension, leaning in and kissing him. When they pull back, Eddie leans past him to grab Richie’s glasses and slip them on for him, settling them over his nose.

“What’re you doing today?” Richie asks. Eddie’s nose scrunches up.

“I have work,” Eddie tells him. He reaches down and pushes one of the plates on the tray towards Richie, and Richie takes the hint, grabbing silverware and starting to eat his pancakes. “I’ll have to leave around eight.”

“Oh,” Richie says. His chest feels tight, but he forces himself to keep eating, looking down at the tray and saying, “Yeah, alright, that’s fine, I can be— I’ll get—”

“But I get out of work at five,” Eddie cuts him off. Richie stops compulsively sawing his pancakes into tiny squares and looks up at Eddie, grinning when he sees the smile on Eddie’s face. “If you want to do something tonight.”

“Yeah, I want to do something tonight,” Richie tells him.

“Don’t—”

“You,” Richie continues, and Eddie laughs, burying his face in his hands. He’s still so fucking hot that Richie’s half-hard just by looking at him in his tight little shorts, but he’s also adorably endearing and bitingly funny and Richie’s fucking gone over this guy that he’s known for twelve fucking hours.

“Play your cards right and you can do exactly what you want tonight, then,” Eddie says, face and chest still flushed all red. Richie reaches out and pulls Eddie into a kiss over their pancakes and the ridiculous fucking daisy.

“Thanks for saving me,” Richie murmurs. Eddie twists around to deepen the kiss, and Richie’s heart jumps into his throat.

“Anytime,” Eddie says, “and I mean it.”