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Eddie is in hell.

He thought the date would be a good idea. Actually, to be honest, at first he thought the date was a weird idea. The idea of going on a first date with a man he has known since they were snotty-nosed fifth-graders, now fully thirty-odd years later, when Eddie has been previously married and also has been making out with this same man on couches and in cars and against unsuspecting kitchen counters for four weeks, struck him as distinctly strange. But Richie really seemed to want to. And Eddie admittedly likes the Listen-I-Just-Thought-About-It-A-Lot-As-A-Kid-Okay of it all. It’s cute. And kind of romantic.

What Eddie did not take into account was Richie dressed for a date.

It’s absolutely stupid, because Eddie took into account Eddie dressed for a date. He thought about it a lot, because quite frankly he’s been trying to think of ways to get Richie to ravish him for three weeks now. Like, Eddie has not thought this much about sex in his entire life. Which shouldn’t be surprising to him but it is. He always thought people who talked about wanting to have sex this much were exaggerating. Or disturbed. But Eddie is disturbed. By how much he wants to have sex. He thinks about it all the time. He wants it all. The time. He has the libido of a fifteen-year-old and, quite frankly, a new and improved refractory period that he doesn’t even know if he had in college. He is, as the youths say, practically gagging for it.

But Richie has been a perfect gentleman. He has been very sweet and polite and careful. And Eddie has had enough. He’s ready, right? He’s ready to get dicked down. Probably. He thinks he is probably ready.

So he went all out. He talked to Bev. He tried on more than one outfit. He didn’t shave for three days—Bev told him it looks hot. He put on cologne. He wore a shirt he stole from Richie, a loud, patterned button-up that Bev left open six inches farther down than Eddie would have, and tucked into a pair of black jeans that Eddie would have worn in his 20s if he knew anything about fashion.

“Hot as fuck,” Bev said, and slapped his ass.

And then Richie shows up at his door to pick him up for their date, and Eddie realizes he forgot. He forgot to think about Richie.

What Eddie wanted was a role reversal. He wanted it to be Richie’s turn to be, so to speak, gagging for it. But god dammit. It’s just Eddie again, times one thousand.

The problem is that Richie is so fucking big and broad. It drives Eddie absolutely wild. He’s so fucking wide, and it makes Eddie dry in the mouth for no reason. It makes Eddie think about his thick, soft middle, which Eddie has felt against his crotch when he straddles Richie’s lap. And it makes him think about his big, strong arms, which could easily lift Eddie up against a wall if he wanted to—Eddie knows, because he’s lifted Eddie onto several counters at this point. And it makes Eddie think about his thick thighs, which Eddie thinks would feel really good between his thighs. Or around his dick. Jesus christ.

And now Richie is standing in front of his door, leaning against the frame, and he’s wearing this fucking...white t-shirt under a smart blazer, and while the blazer does absolute wonders for his brick wall shoulders, the shirt pulls just tight enough over his chest that anyone can see, very clearly, the dip between his pecs. And forget dry—Eddie’s mouth is watering. He has to swallow before he can say anything. He can’t believe he didn’t think about this. He didn’t prepare himself at all. He wanted to be the fucking seducer, not the seduced. God fucking dammit.

Richie’s eyes rove over Eddie, top to bottom. His eyebrows go up a little. He says, “Wow,” and for a second Eddie thinks this might honestly be it. He might have done it. And then Richie just says, “Eds, no fucking lie, you look like a gigolo.”

Eddie shuts the door in his face.

Richie laughs for an entire minute before he knocks again—Eddie can hear him. “Come on, Spaghetti, we need to go, the reservation’s at 7. You look cute, I promise. Is that my shirt?”

“Whatever shirt you thought you saw, it’s a garbage fire now,” Eddie tells him, mostly joking but also seriously considering ripping the shirt off.

“Oh, it better not be! Come on, let me in. Or actually, come out. And get into my car. You look great. I love you.”

That eventually gets Eddie out of the house. But he’s not happy about it. Or rather, he’s not happy about having to see Richie again, and having to go to this stupid first date while what he really wants to be doing is climbing Richie like a fucking tree. Also, Eddie is firing Bev forever. What a fucking liar.

But honestly, dinner goes alright, all things said. The amount of time Eddie spends internally thirsting over Richie FUCKING Tozier is balanced out by Richie pulling out his chair for him and nudging their feet together under the table and the somewhat awkward but truly endearing date conversation they have while they eat. It’s cute. Eddie thinks Richie gets what he wanted out of the experience, and that’s what really matters.

Eddie does not get what he wanted out of the experience, which was Richie somehow being so turned on by his general existence that he follows Eddie into a bathroom to feel him up and then takes him home early, but that’s alright. It was a bit of a long shot.

“So,” Richie says, sitting in front of Eddie’s place to drop him off, engine still running. “Um. Thank you. For this.”

Eddie gives him a dry look. “Richie. You don’t have to thank me for going on a date with you.”

Richie laughs awkwardly. “No, I know, but like. Thanks for...going along with it. And being cool about it. Like, I know it was kind of weird—”

“It’s not weird to go on dates,” Eddie says.

“I know, but it’s weird for us! Like, our situation is...weird. Not weird. Unique.” Richie shrugs exaggeratedly. Eddie decides this is a bad time to lust over his shoulders. “I’m just saying. Thanks for letting me take you on a date. It’s...it was really nice.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “It was.”

“Yeah?” Richie looks stupidly hopeful. “Did you like it?”

Eddie can’t help but smile. “Yeah, Rich, it was… I know this sounds lame as fuck but it was really nice. I had a good time.”

Richie beams. “Yeah. Good. You know, just. It was my first time, and all.” He shrugs again.

Eddie stares at him. “It was your first— What, your first date?”

Richie chews on his lip, shrugs a third time. Might as well use those fucking shoulders for something. “I mean, like. That can’t be that surprising, right? Who the fuck would want to date...Richie fucking Tozier.”

“Me, you moron,” Eddie says, maybe a little too harshly.

Richie smiles at him crookedly. “Yeah, okay. But like. You know, growing up it was just… I wasn’t exactly looking for any long-term relationships. Due to the homophobia, and shit. So. I never really got the whole dating experience, right? Until now.”

Eddie feels like shit for trying to get Richie to take him to bed. On their first date. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah. Well, you did a really good job. I loved it.”

Richie’s eyes go predictably bright and shiny. “Aw, shucks, Eds. I’m glad.”

Eddie chews on the inside of his cheek. In the end, it feels surprisingly natural to say, “You wanna come inside? I’ll make us some coffee.”

“Really?” Richie looks delighted, and Eddie doesn’t think it’s the coffee. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great.”

It feels like this is a real, actual first date, like...like they’re just getting to know each other, somehow, as Eddie leads Richie up to his door and they go in and Richie sits at Eddie’s table with his hands folded while Eddie makes them some decaf coffee. Eddie goes to change into his pajama shorts, because fuck those stupid jeans that did nothing for him, and when he comes back Richie is stirring cream into Eddie’s mug for him, the way he knows Eddie likes it now that he doesn’t torture himself by drinking it black anymore. They move to the couch, and sip their coffees, and chat, and Eddie feels bad, again, about trying to turn this into something else. But he also just feels happy. Content. Glad that he gets to have this, that they get to have this. They both deserve this. Richie especially.

“Anyway,” Richie sighs, when his coffee is mostly gone. “I should maybe...get going?”

Eddie frowns, shrugs. He’s cozy where he is, with his feet tucked up under him on the loveseat and Richie leaning against the opposite arm. They’re just close enough for their knees to brush sometimes. “No rush on my part,” he says. “But if you need to go, feel free.”

“No, no, I just mean.” Richie shrugs. “You know. First date. It’s been good, right? Don’t want to beat it to death.”

“You’re literally so weird,” Eddie tells him. “It’s been good. But if you want to go, go. Dumbass.”

Richie grins at him, and then goes all shy. “Can I kiss you goodnight?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, and his heart beats a little too fast, and he gets up onto his knees to lean over and kiss Richie himself.

Richie hums immediately, hand going up to cradle the back of Eddie’s head, and this, at least, is wonderfully familiar. Richie’s mouth is warm and soft and tastes like sugary coffee. Eddie means to keep the kiss short and sweet, but when it comes down to it, he doesn’t want to pull away. And Richie’s not breaking the kiss, either. Their lips part with a soft, wet sound, and then both of them lean in again, heads tilting, mouths moving. Eddie makes an unbidden mmph sound, and he can feel Richie’s smile in response, which disappears quickly when Eddie licks his teeth.

Okay, so Eddie hadn’t intended to kiss him with tongue. This is supposed to be their first date—this was Richie’s first ever first date. He was going to be the gentleman, this time. But now Richie is opening his mouth, and tugging on the front of Eddie’s shirt a little—Richie’s shirt—and Eddie is sliding, completely impulsively, into his lap.

It’s not that they’ve never done this before. Obviously. Eddie sits in Richie’s lap to make out with him on this specific couch literally all the time. But this is...this is the first time they’ve made out like this after a real date, and Richie has stripped out of his blazer and is just in his slightly-too-tight white t-shirt and he’s so hot and Eddie is losing his mind. There’s something about all of this that feels so juvenile in such a good way, in a way that Eddie never got to experience as an actual teenager. Making out like this after dates and trying to impress someone he has a crush on and getting excited about getting to third base on a Friday evening in the living room. Eddie is forty years old and his knees are fucked up and his job stresses him out and he doesn’t understand new technology but today he feels young and exhilarated and, to be quite frank, youthfully horny.

He really is trying to rein that in as he straddles Richie’s lap and holds his face between his hands and slips his tongue into Richie’s mouth. They’ve been making out without going any further for weeks now, and Eddie’s good at it. Well, maybe not that good at kissing, because his experience in that area is tragically limited mainly to the past four weeks, but he’s good at not asking for more. He pushes his hands into Richie’s hair, and opens his mouth against Richie’s, and breathes hotly against Richie’s tongue. He groans at the feeling of Richie’s hands pushing up the back of his shirt, and arches his spine, but he doesn’t grind against him, no matter how badly he wants to. And he doesn’t beg for Richie to devour him, despite the overwhelming urge.

Richie moans softly against his lips, and scrapes his teeth over Eddie’s jaw, against the grain of his stubble, and okay, maybe Eddie loses it a little. He kisses Richie with a ferocity bordering on feral, all teeth and tongue and somewhat sloppy enthusiasm. It’s lacking in finesse and probably not even that good, but Richie makes a noise like a desperate whine into Eddie’s mouth, and that just encourages him. And Richie is so—so fucking big, Eddie’s knees are spread so wide around his hips, and he can feel Richie’s barrel chest against his ribs, and the press of his stomach against Eddie’s abs through the fabric of their shirts and it’s so hot. It’s so hot and it’s unfair because Eddie wanted to be the hot one tonight but it’s always Richie because Eddie is so fucking into him, it’s actually insane.

“God, Eddie,” Richie groans, one hand smoothing down his back, fitting into the curve of his waist, pressing him in closer. “Fuck.”

Eddie makes a vague noise of agreement and moves his mouth to the soft skin under his ear, at the hinge of his jaw. He sucks hard, there, and knows that it’ll probably leave a mark and that he should have asked first but god, he’s losing his mind, and Richie just makes a sound like hnnn and palms his ass and Eddie loves that.

“Sorry,” Eddie pants against his throat, “you’re just so, you’re so—” And then he forgets how to speak again, and instead ducks his head to suck gently on the bump of Richie’s adam’s apple, and tongue along his throat, and then before Eddie knows what he’s doing he’s pushing up the front of Richie’s shirt and meeting his eyes a little desperately and saying, “Can I?”

Richie clearly has no idea what he means, but his eyes are dark and his mouth is red and he just says, “Fuck, yeah.”

Eddie has to scoot his ass all the way back to Richie’s knees and arch his back somewhat painfully to do it, but it’s all worth it when he finally manages to fit his mouth over Richie’s nipple and lave his tongue over it. Richie jolts, one hand in Eddie’s hair, and says, “Holy fuck, Eddie,” but he doesn’t tug Eddie away, so he thinks it’s probably fine. He just—god, he’s been looking at Richie’s chest all night, the way he could see the exact shape of his pecs, the outline of his nipples if his blazer shifted. And he didn’t know he wanted to put his mouth on them so badly until he was actively trying to get them there. And now his, his fucking mouth is dripping with saliva, he’s pretty sure he’s slobbering all over Richie, slicking up the hair on his chest with it, but Richie is not complaining.

Instead, he’s moaning softly, and saying things like, “Eddie, oh my god, fuck, please, please,” and Eddie doesn’t know what he’s begging for but it makes him so hot that he is. He wants Eddie to do something for him. He wants Eddie.

And Eddie wants to do whatever it is, but he can’t stop sucking gently on Richie’s nipple, rubbing the tip of his tongue over it, and then the flat of it, and the hand not holding Richie’s shirt up is roaming over his chest and stomach and shoulders, circling the other nipple, pressing into it. He’s making disgustingly wet sounds against Richie’s skin but he doesn’t fucking care, he’s so horny he can’t breathe.

“Please, Eddie,” Richie whines, accompanied by a puppyish noise. “Get up here, please.”

It’s the first direct request Richie’s made, so Eddie follows it, hooking an arm around his neck, hauling himself back up. Richie grabs him by the waist and helps him bring his hips closer again, drags him in, and Eddie is—Eddie is sitting directly over his dick, which is thick and hot and hard even through his jeans, and Eddie’s dick is pressing into Richie’s stomach, god.

“God,” he breathes, overwhelmed, and before he really knows what he’s doing, he’s rolling his hips forward, chasing that bit of pressure. Through his boxers and his shorts, his dick ruts into the soft, warm swell of Richie’s stomach, and it’s fucking heaven. “Oh.”

“Fuck,” Richie says, and he doesn’t tighten his hands on Eddie’s hips to still him, or tell him to stop, or push him away.

But still, Eddie feels like he should say, “Richie?”

“Huh?” Richie sounds completely drunk, and Eddie’s hips are still twitching, rocking slightly back and forth, trying to chase his pleasure. Richie’s mouth is on his throat, and Eddie thinks he might be sucking a hickey into it.

“Can I—” God, Eddie’s mouth is so clumsy. “Is this?”

“Yeah,” Richie says breathlessly. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” Eddie rocks into him again, a little harder, to make sure Richie knows what he’s asking this time.

“Yes, Eddie, fuck.”

“You’re so,” Eddie says, and then rolls his hips forward, whines at the sensation of his cock pressing into Richie’s stomach, at the bulge in Richie’s pants rubbing up against his ass. “Fuck, god, I’m going to—”

“Christ, yeah,” Richie agrees. “Eds, come on. You’re so fucking hot.”

Eddie laughs a little hysterically, kissing sloppily against Richie’s temple, the only bit of skin he can reach. “Me? Fuck you, Rich, I literally— I’m literally losing it, I can’t stop wanting to—” He cuts himself off, grinds his hips forward, lets Richie’s hands guide him into a steady rhythm that makes his spine tingle.

“Yeah,” Richie agrees. “Do it, fuck.”

Eddie doesn’t know what he’s asking him to do and Richie obviously has no idea what Eddie was going to say but it sets him on fucking fire, the idea that Richie wants him to do anything. And Eddie wants to do a thousand things but all he can do right now is keep rocking his hips, pushing his dick into Richie’s stomach, chasing the waves of pleasure spreading through his crotch and thighs and lower back. He whimpers pathetically at the feeling, at how good it is, how addictively sweet and almost painfully sensual. “I really wanted to do this,” he admits in a gasp.

Richie kisses his jaw sloppily, and then pulls back to look at him, his gaze searingly hot, intense. “Eds, fuck,” he breathes, pulling Eddie in, steady as the tide, big and strong and wanting. “You have no idea how much I thought about this.”

Eddie moans helplessly, leans in to press their foreheads together, damp with sweat. “When?”

“As kids,” Richie says, “all through high school, fucking always.”

“Like this?” Eddie asks, rocking against him, heat flowing through his veins like lava.

Richie’s fingers dig into his ass, pull him in for a sweet, deep grind. “Like this, a thousand times, probably the—fuck—probably the first fucking thing I ever thought about like that, me and you—”

Another moan hitches in Eddie’s throat. “Fuck, yeah, Richie—hnn—just like this. God, you’re so fucking hot, I want you all the, fuck, all the time, I wanted this so bad—”

“You’ve got it, come on baby, shit, I never thought, god, Eddie—”

Eddie gulps down air desperately, knees aching, back cramping, and rolls his hips fiercely against Richie, drinks in the feeling of the bulge of Richie’s cock pressing up behind his balls, the dampness at the front of his boxers, the way they’re chafing against his dick, the thick softness of his stomach pressing against Eddie over and over and over. Everything is so exquisite, even though it’s uncomfortable and rushed, and Eddie’s mind is buzzing, pure white static. “Richie,” he says, kissing him again, their teeth knocking together. “God, Richie, I think I’m going to—”

“Yeah, please, please—”

And it’s that, Eddie thinks—Richie begging him, regardless of what it’s for—that tips Eddie over the edge, coming hard, hips jerking, cock pulsing. Eddie keeps rocking against him, chases every last drop of pleasure through his bones until he’s completely wrung out, moaning weakly. He gasps for breath, and slumps against Richie, face mashed into his broad shoulder, and says, with the last dregs of his energy, “Fuck.”

“Holy fuck,” Richie agrees, breathless. “Eddie.”

Eddie shivers through an aftershock, feeling kitten-weak. “Oh my god,” he says, muffled against Richie’s shirt. “I think I died.”

Richie laughs, both delighted and overwhelmed. “I think you killed me. I mean, fuck, Eddie.”

Eddie groans. “Sorry,” he says, his brain slowly returning back to him in an hourglass-trickle. “God. What a disaster.”

Richie scoffs. “I beg your pardon?”

Eddie turns his head to hide his face against Richie’s throat. “God. Sorry. This was like...your first date, and I was trying to be less horny about it, but I couldn’t fucking keep it in my pants.”

Richie laughs again, breathless. “You actually ended up keeping it all in your pants,” he says. “Can I—can I see?”

“What?”

Richie tugs at the front of his shorts. Eddie pulls back, confused, and Richie must take that for a go-ahead, because he hooks his fingers into the waistband of both his shorts and underwear and pulls them away from Eddie’s stomach, tipping his head to look down at him.

Eddie’s underwear are completely fucking soaked in come, his half-hard dick and pubic hair practically dripping with it. Eddie’s face flames hot. Christ, he really just came in his pants, didn’t he? Like a fucking teenager. He never even did this as a teenager. “God,” he says, burning with embarrassment.

“God,” Richie says, like he’s agreeing, except he’s still staring like he wants to take a fucking picture. “Holy shit, Eddie. This is so hot.”

Eddie huffs a laugh. “What, me ruining my underwear?”

“Yeah, jesus christ. For me. Fucking…on me.”

Eddie swallows thickly, still feeling the ghost of Richie’s body against his cock. “Yeah. Sorry. Shit. I was...like, just unreal horny.”

“For me,” Richie says again, like he can’t believe it.

“I mean— yeah, Rich, I. Like, honestly it’s your own fault for fucking...seducing me.”

Richie barks out a laugh, finally looks up at him. He doesn’t let go of Eddie’s waistband, though, keeps it stretched out and his mess on display, which makes Eddie burn. “Me? How?”

“By looking so fucking hot,” Eddie says, with feeling. He squirms—Richie’s hand is almost touching his dick.

“Me?” Richie says again, but he’s grinning. “I asked Audra what to wear tonight.”

“That monster,” Eddie says. “She did a way better job than Bev.”

Richie touches the front of Eddie’s shirt with his free hand. “Bev dressed you?”

“Yeah, and a lot of good it did me.”

Richie laughs. “Are you kidding? You look incredible. She’s a fucking genius. Wanted to bite your collarbones so bad.”

Eddie flashes a little warm. He shifts his hips again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You must be fucking blind. I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

Eddie snorts. “You called me a gigolo.”

“A sexy gigolo,” Richie says. “God, what a date. Not joking, I think this entire thing could have been a fantasy dreamed up by sixteen-year-old Richie.”

Eddie licks his lips, glances down at his crotch again. Richie’s knuckles are brushing the come-slick skin below his navel. “Yeah?”

Richie’s eyes are hot. “Yeah. God, when you climbed into my lap...this is exactly what I wanted to happen.”

“What, me coming in my pants and then you just sitting there, blue-balled?” Eddie says.

Richie hums, looks perfectly content. He strokes his fingers over Eddie’s stomach. “I would gladly sit here with blue balls forever if it meant my hot boyfriend coming in his pants from rubbing off against me.”

Eddie flushes. His cock twitches optimistically. “Well, I mean,” he says. “I could...help you out with that.”

Richie grins. “Yeah?”

“Or—” Eddie stops, coughs. Wonders if this might be embarrassing, too.

“Or?”

Eddie shrugs. “I mean. Not gonna lie, Rich, if you give me like six minutes I could probably, like. Go again.”

Richie’s eyes flash, and he searches Eddie’s face. “Seriously?”

Eddie chews on the inside of his cheek, but the heat in Richie’s gaze makes him say, “Yeah, like. You would not believe how quickly I can get it up again when it comes to...you.”

Richie grins. “Eddie my love. I think this date is just getting started after all.”