Eddie is shamefully aware of how hard and fast he’s fallen for a guy who hasn’t changed out his toothbrush in over a year.
There’s no point in denying that his crush on Richie has spiralled into something irreversible and persistently present. The worst part is, he’s pretty sure that Richie knows.
“Bev says you didn’t show last night,” he says, taking up his usual residence opposite Eddie in their booth (because the table doesn’t just belong to Eddie anymore). There’s an omelette on his plate and Richie has deliberately covered the whole thing in whipped cream. Eddie knows he just wants a reaction and he refuses to give him anything more than a brief stink-eye before he shrugs at the question.
“I wasn’t working last night,” Richie continues. His tongue darts out to lick a bit of whipped cream off his pinky finger and Eddie’s whole stomach bottoms out.
His brain flashes with images of licking whipped cream off Richie’s chest, his own rules about personal hygiene be damned. Immediately, he crosses his legs.
“Oh, you weren’t?” he eventually says, straining to keep his tone as conversational as possible.
“Mhm,” Richie says, airily. “You didn’t know?”
“So that’s not why you didn’t show?”
Eddie is forcefully looking away from him. “Nope.”
“Huh,” is all Richie says. When Eddie eventually summons the courage to look at him again, Richie is shooting him a sly grin. Eddie nearly shoves the whipped-cream-covered omelette in his face and quickly returns to his hash browns.
He’s so fucking sexually frustrated that Stan actually offers to go stay at Patty’s one night so he can invite someone over. Naturally, he does so in his usual, formal way, meaning it lacks any sort of tact.
“Why would I want to invite someone over?” asks Eddie, his mug nearly overflowing with coffee, he’s so distracted by the offer.
“You haven’t gotten laid in a while,” Stan replies, simply.
“Nope. No. We are not having this conversation.” Eddie sets down the coffee pot and begins wildly shaking his head.
Stan only shrugs, leaning against the counter and staring at Eddie blankly. “You’re clearly fucking hung up on that IHOP guy. Why don’t you just bite the bullet and bring him round?”
“Nope!” Eddie shouts, making a swift escape into his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.
In the end, Stan does end up going to stay at Patty’s and Eddie redownloads Grindr. He’s turned himself off the idea of inviting some stranger over to his apartment, but he’s not opposed to teasing himself over his sweatpants and engaging in some pretty standardised sexting. Halfway through though, he realises the only thing getting him hard is the thought of gripping onto broad shoulders and imagining what it would feel like for Richie’s teeth to bite his lip.
He immediately blue balls the guy he’s texting and comes over his own hand while thinking about Richie’s dark eyes staring at him through his glasses.
It doesn’t take long for the embarrassment to sink in and he barely speaks to Richie the next night at the diner, grabbing his receipt with a barely mumbled ‘thanks’ and marching back out to his car.
He can’t avoid Richie for long though, especially when he walks into IHOP the next night to see Bev crying and Ben pressing a scarlet tissue against Richie’s bloody nose.
“What the hell?” Eddie asks, marching over.
Bev wipes at her eyes, spidery mascara lines streaking her face. “It’s – Tom, he just – he came in and…”
“Where is he?” Eddie whirls around, looking for him. Not that he’d win anyway, but Eddie isn’t looking for a fight. He only wants to make sure that the man is nowhere in sight, or that if he is then someone is going to call the fucking police.
“You should see the other guy, Spaghetti,” Richie says, his voice sounding muffled and nasally behind the tissue. He still manages to send Eddie a wink. “And if you do, let me know so I can head the other way.”
His glasses have been removed and his hair is pushed back from his forehead. His face is a bloody mess but as Eddie takes a closer look, he decides with no little amount of relief that there’s no lasting damage.
“Do I still look handsome?” Richie asks as Eddie softly nudges Ben out the way so he can take over. He grabs a clean tissue for Richie and presses it gently against the tender skin of his nose, glad to see the blood flow has stopped.
He catches Richie’s eye and smiles slightly. “You’ll do.”
Richie grins right back before wincing and scrunching up his face in pain.
“Do you guys have an ice pack?” The question is directed to Ben and Bev. “It’ll help bring the inflammation down.”
“Will I live, Doc?” He’s staring up at Eddie so intently that he all but goes cross-eyed. It doesn’t endear him to Eddie any less. “Or will you have to kiss it better?”
Eddie’s heart skips a beat and he’s like ninety-eight percent sure that Richie is flirting with him right now, but every doubt he’s had about himself over the past twenty five years of his life suddenly flares up and he’s hit with a lightning strike of fear. He backs a way only a little bit.
“You’ll live,” he promises Richie.
“And here I thought we’d get to go all out and do the ‘where doesn’t it hurt?’ scene from Indiana Jones.” Eddie doesn’t know whether or not to take the pout on Richie’s face seriously and he chooses to ignore it for his own wellbeing.
“How the fuck did this happen?” he asks instead. He takes the seat next to Richie and wipes firmly at the now-dried blood crusting around Richie’s nostrils. Richie keeps up a mewling string of whining protests and Eddie promptly shushes him when he realises he’s only doing it out of a need to be dramatic.
“Bev’s shitty ex came in again,” Richie says, sobering a little, all traces of laughter gone.
“And you just offered to be his personal punching bag?”
Richie cuts his eyes to the side. “Can you give me a little more credit than that?”
“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight,” Richie explains. “But he started on Bev again and I just saw red. Nobody should talk to Bev that way, especially that piece of shit. So I stepped in and I guess I made some sort of comment about how his attitude towards women must have some direct correlation with the size of his dick and he swung for me. I didn’t see it coming, but as soon as it happened, Ben hauled his ass out the door.”
“He could get in serious trouble for this, right?” Eddie asks. He’s trying hard to push past the nausea that comes with the thought of anyone touching Richie in a way that’s anything less than gentle. His fingers gently skirt the bridge of Richie’s nose, gently checking for any swollen bumps.
“Yeah, so if it means Bev can keep everything that belongs to her then getting hit’ll have been fucking worth it,” Richie says without an ounce of falsity.
Eddie stares at him.
“You can’t be serious. I want Bev to be happy too but you can’t just fucking put yourself in harm’s way to fucking help her. She wouldn’t want you to. You’re a fucking idiot if you think you… you…”
His verbal tirade slowly drifts away from him when Richie reaches up to circle his fingers around Eddie’s wrist. He stares at Richie’s hand, the square angle of his thumb jutting out sharply, his long fingers pressing against Eddie’s pulse point. He can probably feel it jackrabbiting against his skin, exposing Eddie for the fainthearted, lovesick idiot that he is.
Slowly, Eddie lifts his gaze up to Richie’s, his chest filling with a searing heat when Richie stares back. He feels like he’s going to explode.
His fingertips are still skimming the long line of Richie’s nose and he uses his forefinger to tap gently against the skin, not nearly enough to hurt.
“Does it hurt here?” he asks. To his own ears, his voice sounds choked and garbled and not at all sexy, but Richie’s pupils dilate immediately so he must be doing something right. Eventually, he shakes his head.
Eddie leans forward, slowly and deliberately so Richie has every opportunity to pull away. But he doesn’t. He just keeps looking at Eddie.
Carefully, Eddie lets himself press a featherlight kiss to the tip of Richie’s nose, his whole body alight with a frenzied energy and the overwhelming sensation of I can’t believe I just did that.
He doesn’t exhale until he’s sitting back in his seat.
“Where else doesn’t it hurt?” he asks.
Richie, with his hand still wrapped around Eddie’s wrist, guides Eddie’s fingers to his forehead. He doesn’t have his hat (which is a real shame because Eddie really fucking likes it when Richie wears that dumb baseball cap), so it’s not going to be screen accurate, but IHOP waiter Richie Tozier is hotter than any archaeologist Eddie has ever met. Eat shit, Harrison Ford.
Leaning in again, Eddie kisses Richie’s forehead, letting his mouth linger there and, fuck, he can feel Richie’s eyelashes fluttering against his chin.
He doesn’t let himself look away when he sits back and allows Richie to guide Eddie’s fingers to his lips. Because he can’t help himself, Eddie pushes down lightly on Richie’s bottom lip, warm air ghosting over his skin when Richie’s mouth drops open slightly.
They’re both perfectly aware of what’s happening now and Eddie is pretty confident that he’s never had such a clear green-means-go sign before, so he slowly pulls his hand away and leans in towards Richie.
“Eddie, I have your hash browns!”
Richie falls out the chair and lands on the ground and gravity nearly has its way with Eddie too, had it not been for his grip on his own chair.
His head whips around so he can glare at Ben who’s proudly holding a plate of piping hot hash browns. Eddie is momentarily transported back to the very first time he laid eyes on Ben and decided he wanted to figuratively kick his ass. That same sentiment is multiplied tenfold now.
“Richie, you okay?” Ben asks, finally clocking onto the fact that Richie is sprawled on the ground, propping himself up on his elbow.
To his credit, Richie doesn’t look nearly as flustered as Eddie feels and shoots Ben a thumbs up. “All good, Haystack!”
“Okay,” Ben replies, taking the answer for what it is and setting Eddie’s plate down on the table.
Eddie’s appetite is gone; or, at least, he’s not exactly hungry for hash browns. But when Richie picks himself up off the floor and laughs to himself, Eddie realises the moment has gone.
“Got carried away there,” Richie says, still not looking at Eddie.
“Carried away?” Eddie’s voice is flat. He stares at Richie.
Eventually, Richie goes still and glances sideways at Eddie, his shoulders lifting in a shrug. “I mean…”
“No, it’s fine.” Eddie doesn’t hesitate to cut him off. “I know what you mean.”
A frown crosses Richie’s face. “Eddie…”
“Can I just eat now?” Eddie snaps. He feels embarrassed and exposed and, in his eyes, that justifies jumping straight to anger. He knows Richie isn’t malicious enough to purposefully humiliate him but the way he’s playing off whatever that had just been is enough to make Eddie want to crawl into a hole and die. Or maybe he’s just regressing.
He thinks of all the ways he’s flirted with Richie over the past few weeks, telling himself that Richie clearly knew what he was doing. There was no doubt about it that Richie had been aware of Eddie’s every intention tonight, and the sheer mortification Eddie feels about letting himself be so fucking transparent is near-enough debilitating.
Had Richie just been humouring him? The thought makes him want to throw up.
“Hey, I’ve got your bill, but you don’t need to-”
Eddie grabs the receipt and balls it up on his fist. He tries to remain calm and composed, but his grip on an even temper has always been tenuous at best.
“Whoa, you treat ‘em all like that?” Richie asks, eyes wide.
“It’s just a fucking receipt,” Eddie snaps, not at all eager to entertain any stupid jokes Richie has tonight. His heart is racing.
Something flickers behind Richie’s eyes and he presses his mouth into a tight line. “Okay then. Thanks for the medical help tonight, Doc.”
“The medical help,” Eddie scoffs, shaking his head. He can see Richie opening his mouth like he wants to say something else but he’s pretty sure he’ll scream if he has to hear it, so he grabs his hoody and awkwardly clambers out of the booth because the universe will apparently be damned if it gives him a smooth and dignified exit.
“Try not to walk into a fist,” Eddie warns Richie, storming away and leaving his hash browns uneaten behind him.
He deliberately goes to the diner on the nights that Richie won’t be there. He sits rigidly in his usual booth and eats the same hash browns as always, pointedly ignoring the worried looks that Ben and Bev give him.
He doesn’t ask them about Richie and it’s pretty clear from their radio silence regarding their friend that Richie hasn’t been asking about him.
It feels stupidly like a break-up and Eddie decides he’ll need to find another diner soon.
“Eddie, you’re not working tonight, are you?”
Eddie’s head appears from the mountain of blankets he’s pitifully buried himself under and looks at Stan. “No, why?”
Stan moves past him to the fridge so he can grab a bottled water. He’s been deliberately ignoring Eddie’s dramatic sighs from the sofa for three days now. He knows Eddie wants attention but refuses to ask for it, and Stan is too fucking stubborn to give into him, so they’ve both been orbiting around each other in their shared living space with knowing, frustrated glances.
“Can I borrow your car to get to work? Mine is in the shop.”
Oh, so now Stanley wants a favour?
“Yeah, sure,” he replies, because they both knew that’s what he was going to say anyway.
“Thanks.” Stan walks past the sofa and absently pats Eddie’s hair before going into his room to call Patty.
The soft click of the door shutting behind him somehow brings with it the realisation that Eddie absolutely need to clean his damn car.
Huffing out a sigh, Eddie stuffs his takeout cups into a trash bag. When he turns to the mountain of receipts in his passenger seat, he sighs tiredly as one flutters to the ground.
“Come on,” he whines, kneeling down on the ground to grab it. When he picks it up, he catches a Sharpie’d scribble of something. Peeling the paper apart so he can read it, he realises it’s a note.
No, Doc. That’s not an Epi-pen in my pants. I’m just happy to see you.
The receipt is dated from the fourth or fifth time he went to the diner.
Immediately, he grabs another one and unfolds it, smoothing out the creases and finding another message written there.
Do you have a stethoscope? Because my heart is racing! he reads.
With shaking fingers, Eddie grabs a handful of other receipts and reads them all.
Can I take your temperature? Because you’re looking hot today!
Another reads, ICU in my dreams.
Are you a cardiologist? Because I want to give you my heart! comes from the day Richie found out that Eddie was as big a Star Wars nerd as he was.
There’s You wanna go study anatomy? from the first day Eddie noticed that Richie constantly thumbs at his front teeth every time he laughs like he’s trying to stop them being on display. He’d hated seeing them disappear.
He laughs out loud at, Are you my appendix? Because I think I need to take you out. and You just need to look at my pants to see what’s up, Doc.
Pressing his hand against his mouth, he opens up another receipt to see the same chicken-scratch scrawl. He quickly realises not all of them are cheesy pick-up lines.
You’re always a hero in my book, Doctor Spaghetti, is scribbled on the receipt he took with him the day after his panic attack, when Richie had let him sit on the hood of his car and talk freely about his job.
At this stage, Eddie is fully sitting on the ground, his ass growing steadily colder as he leans against the open door of his car but he barely notices.
He eventually finds his most recent receipt, the one from the last time he’d seen Richie at the diner, when he’d stormed out and refused to look back. Part of him almost doesn’t want to unfold the receipt but he can see the black ink of Richie’s Sharpie peeking through the white paper and slowly smooths it out.
I never hurt when I’m around you.
Eddie feels like the wind had been knocked out of him but he quickly recovers and immediately scrambles to his feet. He shoves the receipts back into his passenger seat and swiftly makes his way to the other side of the car, dropping down behind the wheel and turning his key in the ignition.
He’s pretty sure that if he actually stops and thinks about what he’s doing then he’s going to chicken out and go right back home. So instead, he thinks about Richie and his curly hair and stupid glasses and worn out IHOP shirt that’s never seen the underside of an iron in its life. He thinks about how Richie makes him laugh and plots out elaborate practical jokes simply to entertain Eddie. He thinks about the man who sat with him in a dimly-lit parking lot after a panic attack and the man who put himself in harm’s way to protect his best friend and the dumbass who’ll pour inappropriate condiments over his food just to see Eddie’s horrified reaction.
He can’t stop thinking about the idiotic, selfless, dorky son-of-a-bitch that gave Eddie his last hash brown and immediately made him fall in love with him.
Swinging into the parking lot, he stops across two spaces but who the fuck is here to yell at him?
Eddie slams his car door behind him and marches into IHOP.
Richie is standing behind the podium, looking tired and bored and Eddie’s heart throws itself against his ribcage with enough ferocity to nearly shove him off-balance. But he remains steady on his feet and continues to make a beeline towards Richie, who’s only just noticed him.
“Eddie.” He looks surprised to say the least, but that’s nothing compared to how he reacts when Eddie stops in front of the podium, fists a hand in his stupid IHOP shirt and drags Richie down into a kiss.
It’s a clumsy, frantic press of lips and Eddie’s pretty sure his bottom lip gets more of Richie’s chin than his actual mouth, but it’s still the best thing Eddie’s ever experienced in his whole life.
He only lets himself linger for a little bit because Richie hasn’t given him any sort of sign that he was totally onboard with what Eddie just done so he slowly pulls back and cautiously looks up at Richie. He releases his grip on Richie’s shirt, the bunched up material loosening from his fingers, but his hand remains where it is over Richie’s chest. He can feel his heart beating wildly beneath his palm.
Richie is staring at him, eyes blown wide with shock. But he doesn’t look angry.
“Does it hurt here?” Eddie asks softly.
There’s a beat of silence and then Richie is surging forward to kiss Eddie again, and this time Eddie can let himself just melt into it. He can feel Richie’s hands coming up to cup his face and his own hand slides up Richie’s arm to grip his shoulder because it’s about damn time he got to do that.
Richie opens his mouth and Eddie immediately lets his tongue run along the underside of Richie’s front teeth, a full-body shiver coursing through him as he presses himself flush against the other man.
Their mouths move against each other and Eddie can fucking hear Richie’s ragged breaths as he kisses Eddie back.
“Eds, Eddie,” Richie mumbles against his lips. Eddie wants to keep kissing him but understands that Richie obviously wants to say something. He finds an easy middle ground by trailing his mouth along Richie’s jaw instead. It’s so fucking sharp.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Please tell me this isn’t some – okay, fuck – some weird Indiana Jones meta shit? Like are you just a superfan or do you actually like me, cause - jeeze,” Richie’s breath catches when Eddie’s tongue darts out to lick a stripe up the juncture where his jaw meets his neck.
“Are you trying to make my brain melt?” Richie asks.
“No,” Eddie says eventually, tipping his head back to look at Richie. “And this isn’t a weird Indiana Jones thing. I’ve liked you for weeks.”
“What?” Richie stares at him.
Sheepishly, Eddie reaches into his pocket and pulls out the last crumpled receipt he’d gotten from Richie and presses it into his hand.
“I hadn’t been reading them. I didn’t know that…” he trails off with a disbelieving shake of his head.
“Holy shit. That was some of my best material! And you just ignored it?”
“I didn’t realise that – you’re kidding,” Eddie says, huffing out a relieved sigh when he catches sight of the grin on Richie’s face.
“You like me?” Richie asks again.
“I like you.”
Richie tilts his head to the side. “More than hash browns?”
Eddie reaches up to pull him back in for another kiss, rolling his eyes at the little noise of protest Richie makes.
“That’s not an answer,” he whines, but he’s slipping his tongue back into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie teasingly pokes his side, humming amusedly when Richie flinches.
He jerks his head back. “Hey, you didn’t tell me if you liked me back!”
Richie throws him a look, the effect dimmed slightly by the hazy way he’s staring at Eddie’s lips. “Did I or did I not basically imply on one of those receipts that I wanted you to use my dick like a surgical tool?”
Eddie rolls his eyes as he moves closer, slipping his hands into the back pockets of Richie’s jeans. “That could have been a joke.”
“It wasn’t,” Richie says quickly. “I really fucking like you, Eddie.”
That’s all it takes for Eddie to lean in again and they’re making out like the world will end if they break apart. It doesn’t occur to either of them that it’s ten minutes past midnight and they’re three seconds away from heavy petting each other in an IHOP, but at least Beverly Marsh decides to show up and remind them to get a hold of themselves.
“I’m pretty sure that’s a health and safety hazard,” she says, appearing from thin air and making them spring apart.
“Jesus, Bev!” Richie curses. His lips are red and swollen and Eddie might need to grab a fucking menu to cover his crotch if the realisation that he did that lingers in his brain for any longer than the next five seconds.
She stands and watches them smugly. Her hand is propped against her hip and there’s a pink crayon tucked behind her ear.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Eddie shakes his head just as Richie bluntly replies, “Yes.”
Bev laughs. “I’m just glad you guys got your shit together. Seriously, Eddie, the more you came in here, the more I was convinced that Richie’s dick was going to develop a Pavlovian response to the sight of a hash brown.”
“You’re an evil woman, Marsh,” Richie replies. His hand is still resting against Eddie’s neck and Eddie wants to lean into it but he also knows that he’s so close to jumping this man in a public eatery and he doesn’t want to scar Bev for life.
“I’m leaving early,” Richie announces.
“What makes you think you can just do that?” Bev asks but her tone is playful and Eddie knows she isn’t going to stop them.
“I have a note from my doctor.” Richie squeezes Eddie’s shoulder so he stands to attention. “That’s you by the way.”
“Oh yeah.” Eddie squares his shoulders. “He needs to leave. Preferably right now.”
Bev cackles again and shakes her head at them both. “Get out of here, you horndogs.”
Eddie’s fingers don’t stop shaking when he hastily types out a text to Stan politely asking him to get the fuck out of their apartment because he’s bringing someone home.
He gets a reply when he’s back behind the wheel of his car: Finally.
Eddie’s bedroom door nearly rockets off his hinges when it slams open and lets both him and Richie spill inside, dropping their jeans in their wake. They’re too busy making out and licking into each other’s mouths to concentrate on where their clothes land so when Richie trips over his own pants, he ends up falling backwards onto Eddie’s bed.
“Stay there,” Eddie cautions him, pulling his own shirt off and then climbing into Richie’s lap. He can already feel Richie’s hardness pressing against the curve of his ass and he rocks his hips forward to let Richie know.
“Fuck, this is really happening. I mean, this is really happening, right?” Richie asks. Eddie presses forward to draw him into another kiss, the base of his spine delighting in the way Richie’s teeth nip against his bottom lip.
“It’s really happening,” he assures him.
Then Richie is reaching up to take off his IHOP hat and Eddie catches his wrist to abort the motion, blushing when Richie looks curiously at him.
“I kinda want you to fucking keep it on.”
Richie raises an eyebrow. “What, IHOP baseball caps turn you on?”
“I’m learning a lot about myself tonight,” Eddie notes, surging forward to Richie again. Now that he’s in Richie’s lap though, the height difference between them has evened out and nearly pokes his fucking eye out on the brim of the cap.
“Ouch, fuck, okay. Get rid of that fucking thing,” he demands. He tears it off Richie’s head and throws it across the room. It lands neatly on top of his lampshade.
“Bullseye!” Richie cries, fist pumping the air before he’s muffled by Eddie’s mouth as he presses him back against the mattress.
“Are you gonna talk this much while I get you off?” Eddie asks, mouthing at the skin beneath Richie’s jaw.
“If you want me to shut up, I’ll shut up,” Richie promises. His hands slide down Eddie’s back, not stopping until they firmly take hold of his ass to pull him down so they can grind against each other.
“Fuck,” Eddie breathes. “Fuck no, I don’t want you to shut up.”
Richie’s stubble scratches against his lips and all Eddie can think about is how it would feel between his legs. Immediately, he moans aloud at the thought.
“What do you want?” Richie asks, pushing his hips up so Eddie can feel him, all of him, through his boxers.
Eddie’s traces his fingers along Richie’s jaw, brittle little hairs poking against his skin. “I…”
The words stick in his throat and he clamps his lips together. It barely takes a second for Richie to catch onto his sudden nervousness, because he reaches up to kiss the tip of Eddie’s nose and Eddie is floored by the feeling that gives him, the sweetness juxtaposing everything else happening right now but not bringing him down from his high any less.
A smile flickers across his lips and Richie mirrors it with a hopeful one of his own. “Tell me,” he says softly.
Eddie taps his stubble lightly. “I kinda wanna feel this against my thighs.”
Something darkens in Richie’s eyes and suddenly he’s rolling them both over so Eddie’s underneath him now.
“My brain just fucking broke hearing you say that, I hope you fucking know that. I don’t even have a good enough joke to make right now. Fuck, I just wanna suck you off,” he babbles. His fingers dip under the waistband of Eddie’s briefs and he pauses. “Is this okay? Can I take them off?”
“I’m going to fucking explode if you don’t get them off of me right now. I’m not coming without you touching me,” Eddie warns him.
He lifts his hips to help Richie get his briefs off, and when they’re gone he realises he’s butt fucking naked in front of Richie who’s still in his work shirt and boxers.
“Shirt off,” he says suddenly, clicking his fingers to get rid of the dazed look on Richie’s face.
“Do you mind? I was enjoying the view,” Richie mutters, but he reaches behind him to pull his shirt upwards anyway. Once it’s off, Eddie immediately moves forward, finally living his three-week old daydreaming of running his tongue up Richie’s chest, minus the whipped cream but they can talk about that later.
“Fuck, Eddie,” Richie moans, threading his fingers in Eddie’s hair. “I’m supposed to be helping you.”
“I just wanna touch you,” Eddie says.
“You can do that while I’m blowing you,” Richie says. “Pull my hair.”
“You like that?” Eddie asks, allowing himself to be guided back against the pillows again because of course Richie is going to be a fucking gentleman about this and make sure Eddie is comfortable.
Richie nods eagerly and starts pressing a trail of kisses down Eddie’s chest, his rough hair catching Eddie’s skin in all the best ways. Eddie slides his hands into thick brown curls, hair slipping between his fingers as he gently clenches his fist, trying not to be too rough. Richie’s answering moan travels all the way up his torso and he presses his head back against the pillows, his breath catching in his throat.
“So you do like that,” Eddie says, mainly so he can pretend he still has some control over the situation even though his insides are currently going buck fucking wild as Richie settles between his legs and begins kissing the inside of his thighs.
Tugging gently on Richie’s hair to get him to moan again, Eddie can feel Richie’s unshaven cheeks rub against his skin and it makes him ache.
“Richie,” he moans as a hickey is sucked into his thigh. “Richie.”
“Yeah?” Richie pants against his skin.
“Need your mouth. Please.”
In a matter of seconds, Richie’s taken all of him in his mouth and Eddie is seeing fucking stars. His first instinct is to grip onto whatever he can hold, which means he all but fucking scalps Richie and feels the groan shooting right up his dick.
“Sorry. Shit. Sorry,” he apologises, but then Richie’s tongue moves against the length of him as he takes him deeper and Eddie realises there was no apology necessary.
He’s already embarrassingly close. He’s been wound up since he read that first receipt from Richie though so, honestly, he’s proud of himself for lasting this long.
“That feels so fucking good. Fuck, Rich.” He’s petting his hair and tugging gently at its roots and Richie is moaning against him. “Can you – fuck, can you look at me?”
Richie’s eyes flick up, dark lashes framing them as he moves his head up and down, his cheeks hollowed out and his hair a fucked up mess from Eddie’s fingers and it pushes Eddie over the edge. He hisses loudly as he comes, Richie’s name falling from his lips as he flops bonelessly back against the cushions. His limbs tremble from the feeling of Richie licking him clean and all Eddie’s good for at that moment is pushing his hips up slightly to chase the feeling that’s all but knocked him clean out.
“Holy shit,” he manages, sliding one of his hands out from Richie’s hair to clap it against his eyes. He feels Richie shift and a thumb gently presses against the newly-sucked bruised on his thigh, causing a whimper to tear from throat.
“Was that good?” Richie asks and Eddie immediately drops his hand to stare at him.
“Good?” he asks and it takes him a moment to realise it’s not a rhetorical question. Richie is still sitting by his hips, boxers tented in a way that convinces Eddie’s dick to twitch again. His eyes are round and wary and Eddie is shocked to discover that, holy shit, Richie is asking because he doesn’t know if that was good or not.
“Fuck you, Richie. Was that good? Are you kidding me, you just – come here,” Eddie reaches out to pull Richie forward. He collapses on top of Eddie and it’s a welcome weight.
Without hesitating, Eddie kisses him deeply. He can still taste his own come on Richie’s tongue, but it’s not nearly as gross as he thought it might be.
“That was so fucking good, I’m not gonna be able to think about your mouth again without getting hard,” Eddie confesses and the moan that sounds from Richie is like music to his ears.
“How do you want me?” he asks Richie.
A gentle kiss lends itself to his cheek and Richie has the absolute fucking audacity to say, “Anyway I get to keep you.”
Eddie nearly has a fucking coronary.
His hand slides under Richie’s jaw so he can get him to look at him. He stares up at him, wondering how the hell he managed to get a man like this to like him back. “You’ve got me,” he promises.
Richie gives him a small nod, his face melting into a warm smile and Eddie sort of wants to bawl his eyes out. He’s so gone for this man.
“In that case,” Richie says. “I want you to jerk me off while saying some really dirty shit to me.”
Eddie grins. He’s really fucking gone for him.
He reaches between them, his hand slipping under Richie’s boxers to stroke him gently and after pressing his mouth to Richie’s ear and telling him everything he wants to do to him today and tomorrow and the next day, Richie comes undone, spilling over Eddie’s hand with a quiet moan.
“I’ve been waiting fucking weeks for that,” Richie says, collapsing next to Eddie and immediately pulling him in by his waist.
“If you had just fucking told me you’d been writing me dirty love notes on my fucking receipts, this could have been happening for weeks,” Eddie argues, but his words are softened by the way he’s kissing Richie’s shoulder, nuzzling against the soft skin.
“I thought you’d be the kind of guy to check he didn’t get overcharged, how the fuck was I meant to know you were tossing that shit in your trash can of a car?” Richie snickers.
Eddie wants to defend himself and his car but his eyes feel heavy and Richie is kissing the crown of his head and it’s the happiest he’s felt in years.
“You’re gonna be here tomorrow, right?” Eddie asks. His heart jumps when Richie’s fingers slide through the gaps between his.
“You gonna make me breakfast?” comes the teasing reply.
“I’ve even got mayo.”
“Only the best.”
A kiss to his forehead and then, “Well then, you’ve got it, Doc.”