"Richie, you asshole!" Beverly scolds laughingly.
"How do I beep beep this birthday gift?" teases Mike.
"You m-mean, huh-how do you t-tuh-turn on this birthday gift?" Bill says, and most of the Losers crack up with him. Eddie just stares down at the gift lying in a mess of silver wrapping paper in his lap. Richie claps a hand on Eddie's skinny shoulder and looks exceedingly proud of himself.
The vibrator is a garish, magenta thing made of smooth silicone. Before wrapping it, Richie had tied a large silky black bow around its middle. Its one end is curved and bulbous and entirely vulgar, in Eddie's opinion; the other has a small button. Slightly mortified, he covers it with the loose wrapping paper and cranes his neck up to give Richie the dirtiest look he can muster. Richie just grins down at him and pushes his glasses up on his nose.
"What, Eds? Not your colour?" he asks innocently, and the Losers fall about laughing.
"You know, sometimes you're really a turd, Richie," Eddie says, rolling his eyes and handing the toy over to Beverly's gimme-gimme hands. She turns it over in her hands, inspecting it quite intently. Bill and Mike peer at it over her shoulders.
Richie shrugs and, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice, says, "Takes one to know one, Eds, and you know 'em all."
Eddie pretends to punch him and Richie holds up his hands in surrender. While their friends pass around Eddie's utterly embarrassing gift, Richie reaches into his pocket and produces a cassette tape with something written in his spiky scrawl on its label. He gives it to Eddie, who reads 'Eddie's Sexy Solo Act' on the tape and makes a show of rolling his eyes at his insufferable friend.
"Listen to it later," Richie says with a wink and finger guns.
Then Beverly asks, "Exactly how do you turn this on?" and to everyone's shock (and Richie's delight), Stanley takes the vibrator from her and holds down on the base's button for a few seconds. It comes to life in his hands, the first setting an uninterrupted buzz at a fairly tame frequency. Beverly grabs it back gleefully and clicks the same button to cycle through the different settings - some staggered, slow and fast, some much, much stronger than the first setting, and one bizarrely mimicking a heartbeat.
This discovery generates great excitement and cheering from the others, and Eddie's face glows a shade to rival the toy's. He lunges forward to take back the vibrator (his vibrator, Jesus Christ).
"How did you know how to work it, Stan?" Ben asks.
He shrugs and says, "Innate knowledge."
While the others try to pry a less evasive answer from Stanley, Eddie stuffs the toy into his backpack, face still rosy; then he places the tape in one of the smaller compartments with greater care, because he will definitely be listening to it later. As much as Richie likes to joke around, the mixtapes he usually makes Eddie for birthdays and Christmases are pretty excellent and hold a lot of Eddie's favourite songs.
Predictably, the vibrator ends up shoved in the far back of a desk drawer in Eddie's tidy bedroom that evening. He listens to Richie's cassette and smiles whenever a familiar tune plays, and learns the words to the songs that come straight out of Richie's own music taste and collection. He listens to it a lot.
All in all, it's another hit playlist from one Richie Tozier.
He quickly forgets about the vibrator until a few weeks later, when he empties out his desk drawers to find and throw out his old spare inhaler. The toy lands with a fairly solid thunk, and Eddie pauses, holding his drawer upside down and observing its scattered contents across his desk. The stupid pink thing looks bizarrely out of place among his stationery.
He picks it up gingerly, holding it between his forefinger and thumb despite knowing for a fact it has never been used. Just holding it makes him feel like he's doing something illegal.
It's just a sex toy, he thinks, Not a bomb. You're allowed to own a sex toy.
He turns it over in his hands. The silicone feels pleasantly soft under his fingers, and he wonders briefly if you can be allergic to silicone. He runs a finger along the length of it. It feels kind of illicit. You're allowed to own a sex toy.
You're even allowed to use it.
The thought comes to him unbidden and flusters him. Eddie quickly repacks the drawer and hides the vibrator at the back. He slides the drawer into the desk and moves onto the next one, resolving to put the silly thing out of his mind.
The rest of his evening follows a usual routine: he does some homework, has a TV dinner with his mom, and heads upstairs to shower and brush his teeth (and maybe sneak a dollop of Sonia Kaspbrak's expensive moisturizer). He thinks about Richie's vibrator the entire time.
Lying in bed, lips pressing together tightly and leg bouncing restlessly, Eddie fumes at his preoccupation with the toy presiding in his top desk drawer not five feet away.
I'm not seriously considering it.
Eddie sighs. He slowly lifts his hand, then trails it hesitantly down his abdomen, stopping to stroke the skin of his navel. His brow furrows thoughtfully as he rubs idle circles against his hip bone with his thumb. Then he snatches his hand away as if scalded. Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he huffs irritably. Yes you are.
When he can't take it any longer, he kicks off his bed covers and stumbles over to his desk, hands scrabbling to find the lamp switch. He retrieves the vibrator and sits back on his bed, staring at it intently in the low, yellow light. He tugs the shiny black ribbon loose and holds the vibe at eye-level, as if such scrutiny will reveal compounding reasons as to why he should, in fact, not be considering this.
He finds none.
Curiosity mounting, Eddie clicks the button and - nothing happens. Then he remembers Stan holding down on it for longer, and does the same. It whirs to life, tingling strangely in his fingers, and blood rushes to his face. Jesus.
He takes his time clicking through the varying vibration settings. He lingers on the heartbeat one, intrigued, his face hot. It takes him a while to realise that he's clicking in a continuous loop; the first setting just follows the last one, instead of turning off. Panicking vaguely at the thought of having to deal with a phallus that throbs for all eternity, he fumbles with it until he thinks to hold down on the button again. The vibrator goes silent, and Eddie breathes a sigh of relief.
Then he begins planning.
He already owns lube; he's long since learned that masturbation doesn't make your palms hairy or your pee bloody. Whenever he buys it from the drugstore, however, he does so with a tense certainty that his mother is hiding in the next aisle over, ready to tell him otherwise.
In any case, orgasms are good for you, which is something Richie will tell anyone who'll listen (and those who won't). Eddie doesn't always take what Richie says seriously - this is the same Trashmouth who convinced an eleven year old Eddie that not shaking off after you pee causes cancer - but Eddie has researched it a bit himself and believes it to be true.
So. What else is there? He appraises the toy dubiously. It sure looks clean, but he knows it's just been gathering dust in his desk for some time. He can also remember his friends passing it around. He decides that if this thing is going anywhere near him (in him, he thinks, and the thought sends a thrill down his spine), he most certainly has to disinfect it first.
The next five minutes are spent rummaging through the toiletry cabinet in the shared Kaspbrak bathroom. Eddie comes up empty handed but for a packet of wet wipes. Not ideal, but he supposes coupling that with a damp, soapy cloth will do the trick.
He slips the vibrator out of the pocket of his pajamas, and in the fluorescent white light of the bathroom, he now sees tiny microfibers from his pocket lining stuck to its surface. Note to self: don't store sex toys in your sock drawer.
He cleans it to the best of his ability. Eyeing their fluffy cream towels, Eddie decides to air dry the vibe instead. He waves it around a bit to shake off the water droplets, feeling foolish. Then he suprises himself by giggling at the absurdity of the situation, and, like water off a duck or vibrator's back, so does Eddie shed some of his anxiety over the matter.
It's no biggie. We're all cool here, daddy-o. Just a boy and his toy.
He's struck by an image of his mom scolding him for owning such a vile thing and him replying, "But, Ma! All the kids are doing it these days!" and is nearly doubled over by silent, heaving laughter.
With a cursory lookout glance up and down the hallway, Eddie legs it back to his bedroom, wielding his bright magenta vibrator like it's some dangerous, temperamental weapon.
He locks his door behind him and clambers onto his bed. The lube is in his bedside table drawer, so he hurriedly fetches it before settling back comfortably against the pillows, half-way reclining.
He inhales deeply, then empties his lungs forcefully. Okay. Let's try this out, then.
Eddie's already half hard from anticipating a really great orgasm, and perhaps also the secrecy of it all. No one has to know about any of this but him; it's something he can do for and by himself. Huh. That's a kinda weird turn-on.
He's feeling all sorts of trepidation about starting off with direct contact to his dick, so Eddie decides to go about it another way. He wriggles out of his pajama pants and kicks them onto the floor. Then he spreads his legs, a thrill shooting through him at being this exposed (even if there's no one there to see him).
One hand starts to draw light swirls on his left leg; the other holds the vibrator against his right inner thigh, avoiding touching his dick, hand slightly shaky but grip still firm. He turns it on and startles at its constant, steady vibration in such a sensitive area.
That's okay. Just get used to how it feels on you, he reassures himself, biting his lip and breathing noisily through his nose. He lies there squirming, thigh muscles in a spasm, simultaneously chasing the feeling yet overwhelmed by its proximity.
After some time, he moves the toy away. The soft skin of his thigh feels a warm sort of tingly. Kinda pins-and-needley. As it fades, he knows he wants to feel it again.
This time he places the rounded head of the vibe against his perineum and gives a full body shudder. He drags it up and down repeatedly, torturously slow but achingly good. Eddie doesn't realise he's humming lowly to himself.
His breathing is getting to be a little shallow, a little wheezy, but he doesn't want to dial it back yet. You should try it out properly now. He fumbles to turn it off, then uncaps the lube and pours some onto his palm. His hand is halfway to his dick when an idea takes form. Instead of taking himself in hand, he coats the vibrator gratuitously, then holds it flush against the underside of his cock. The cold lube makes him wince briefly, but he pushes the thought from his mind.
Eddie swallows painfully, his throat dry. It'll be good, he thinks. He sits perfectly still for a few beats, listening to his own harsh breathing. His other hand feels for the base of the toy, index finger settling on the power button. Just do it already, you weirdo.
Biting his lip, Eddie presses and holds down on the button. The vibrator starts back up with the same first setting: that uninterrupted, low frequency buzz. It's probably a beginner's setting or whatever, but it startles Eddie into flinching forward so that his back lifts off the pillows, spine ramrod straight, breath hitching in his throat.
He appears frozen suspended like this for a second or two, stomach muscles quivering as they hold him up, before he falls back onto the bed.
Holy shit. He wrenches away the toy and takes a gulping breath. Then he tentatively brings it back, wrapping a hand around both himself and the vibrator to keep it in place. Almost immediately his right leg starts juddering uncontrollably. The constant vibration is... a lot. Holy shit. It's almost too much.
He finds a milder setting, one with low vibrations spaced evenly apart. Okay, he thinks, I can deal with this.
Eddie experiments with different grips, shifting the toy around, his breath catching whenever it comes into contact with a particularly sensitive spot. He rests the smoothly curved head of the vibe against the head of his dick, swallowing the sounds that bubble up in his throat.
Wow. It's like getting tiny electric shocks, Eddie marvels.
He begins to pump himself with one hand. The other holds the thrumming toy against the head of his dick. His hips make abortive movements, half-restrained thrusts that peter out when they throw off his rhythm. He knows he's essentially just giving himself a remarkably sloppy handjob with a hint of sex toy, but he's enjoying himself, so why worry? What else is he really supposed to do?
At once, Eddie is struck with a desperate sort of curiosity. His fingers stop moving abruptly and tighten around himself, staving off an orgasm. He repositions the toy lower so that it rests against his hole, and bites down on his lip when a low groan lights aflame in his chest. His knees knock together reflexively, trapping his wrist between his legs. It's a strange feeling, the vibrating weight lying heavy and promising against him; he's a little heady with the thought of where he can go from here, what he can do with it.
Eddie brings the toy back up and awkwardly uncaps the lube with his other hand. He spreads some on its still-vibrating head, then hurriedly presses it back against his perineum and drags it down, down, down to his entrance.
His back is sticking to his sheets now, his own sweat making him feel a little gross, but it doesn't deter him. He brings his knees up to his chest. Gripping the similarly sticky vibrator, Eddie starts tapping it lightly against his hole, adding some pressure once in a while so that it teasingly pushes at the muscle, not quite entering but hinting at the possibility. His wrist finds a steady, repetitive rhythm and he falls into it.
"O-oh. Oh. Fuck," he swears under his breath, eyes widening and toes curling. He wants to press the toy deeper, to thrust his hips down and fuck himself onto it fully, but he knows it's a bit too thick to try take it all straight away. Instead, he closes his eyes, presses his lips together tightly to keep himself quiet, and rocks himself carefully against his vibrator, chasing his release. His free hand wraps around his cock so he can jerk himself in time to his rocking motion.
He turns his face to the side when he comes, trying (a little uselessly) to smother his broken cries into his pillow. He draws out the sensation for as long as possible, his stomach tense and lower back arched off his bed; then he collapses, raised legs falling haphazardly to the side.
Eyes scrunching up tight, Eddie takes in a few gulping breaths, and hopes against hope that he won't be forced to ransack his room for an inhaler he knows he won't find - especially not when his legs feel like they might crumple beneath him should he try to stand. The vibrator is still on, clutched in his hand. Don't put it down and get lube on the sheets, you dweeb.
Once his breathing is controlled and his heart isn't likely to escape his rib-cage, Eddie sits up and gets off his bed. His limbs are shaky and movements uncoordinated, but he makes it to the bathroom without incident. He cleans off both himself and the vibrator, then tiptoes back. The toy is stored in his bedside table; his desk lamp is turned off and his room once again bathed in blueish darkness. Eddie is back in bed with the duvet drawn up to his chin, drowsiness settling in fast. He rolls onto his side and thinks, I can't fucking wait to do that again, before sleep catches up with him.
"Not every fucking plant is poison ivy, Stanley."
"But this one was," Stan insists. He sticks out his arm and rolls up his sleeve, exposing a splotchy red rash across his forearm for the others to inspect. Richie adjusts his glasses and looks at it intently.
"Huh. Guess it was," he says simply, as Ben and Mike offer their sympathies and Eddie offers advice on rash ointments.
"You guess what was?" asks Beverly as she sets down her lunch tray at their table. Bill scoots over to make space for her. Richie grins at Bev and quips, "I guess poison ivy is what Stan deserves for getting down and dirty in the Barrens."
Beverly looks at Stan questioningly, and he shakes his head and holds up his arm for her to see. "Birdwatching. I was birdwatching."
Richie scoffs. "Yeah, 'cause all birdwatchers roll around in the fuckin' grass."
"I was hiding, Richie. So I wouldn't scare off the birds."
"Aw, Stanny, your mug ain't that ugly," Richie crows, and Stan just gives a long-suffering sigh.
The Losers chat while they eat, the mood lighthearted and the conversation flowing fast and teasing. The others laugh when Stan admits he's going back to the same spot after school, against his parents' instructions.
"There've been reports of the South American fork-tailed flycatcher in the area," he says defensively. "I'm not going to miss it."
Bill and Ben clamour to join him down in the Barrens, and Stan relents grudgingly when they swear not to cause a ruckus and scare off the wildlife. Richie turns up his nose at the idea of birdwatching, though, and asks Bev and Mike if they want to hang out instead. Both decline sheepishly; they're rehearsing for the drama club's next stage production after school.
Richie decries the lot of them as, "Lame, like, ball-breakingly lame, you guys," and pesters Eddie into letting him come over to read comics and listen to Richie's tapes. Eddie pretends to think it over, delighting in Richie's outraged reaction until he says, "Yeah, of course, you nerd," and Richie beams at him.
In Eddie's room, Richie launches himself onto the bed and makes the springs creak menacingly. Eddie pauses his search for the birthday mixtape Richie gave him a few months ago and gives him a stern look.
"Just giving it some much needed action," Richie says innocently. Eddie rolls his eyes and puts the tape in his cassette deck.
The two of them flip idly through some of Eddie's older comic books, more focused on their wandering conversation and the music with which Eddie's become very familiar lately. Richie might have been joking about it being a sexy mixtape, but Eddie has taken to playing it on nights when his vibrator makes a guest appearance, volume all the way down so his mother won't hear it. He finds the atmosphere of the song selection to be pretty apt.
After an hour or more, Richie gives up the pretense that he's still reading his comic and throws it down on the bed beside him. He stretches his arms over his head and groans appreciatively when his back clicks horribly. Eddie pretends to dry heave from where he's sitting in his swivel chair, legs resting on the bed near Richie's head.
Richie swats his shin. "Yuck it up, Eds. Go get us some snacks?"
"Not my name," Eddie says pointedly, but he gets up all the same and heads for the door, although not before smacking Richie with his own comic book.
"No 3 Musketeers, please!" he calls to Eddie, who yells from the stairs, "You'll eat what you're given, Trashmouth."
Eddie hears Richie's carrying laughter, and smiles to himself. He jumps the last four stairs and gives a bow to an imaginary audience when he sticks the landing and doesn't eat hallway carpet. He heads to the kitchen, humming one of the tape's songs.
Arms laden with candy, Eddie takes the stairs two at a time, balancing his precious cargo. He elbows the bedroom door out of his way and starts to say, "We don't even have 3 Musketeers, you picky asshole," but the words fizzle and die on his lips when he enters his room.
Richie is sitting cross-legged with his back against the headboard, nodding his head distractedly to the beat of the music. His glasses are pushed up on the top of his head, and his long, pale fingers are spinning Eddie's vibrator like it's a twirling baton. Eddie's eyes dance back and forth between the open drawer of his bedside table and Richie's hands.
He can feel his mouth hanging open and his face turning red, but Richie hasn't noticed yet. And, oh God, oh fuck, Richie. Eddie stares at his vibrator, at Richie's hands all over his fucking vibrator, and wonders if he has maybe started to die without his body taking notice yet. This must be what it feels like, his mind offers a little blankly.
Richie looks up at him and grins broadly. "His Lordship returns! And, ah, with bountiful provisions." He drops the toy into his lap and reaches for a candy bar. Eddie hands it over, not daring to say a word, his gaze fixed on the vibe. He thinks that Richie only hasn't questioned his dumbstruck and mortified expression because he's not wearing his glasses to see it properly.
Eddie sits down cautiously on the edge of his bed, confectionery cradled to his chest in an almost protective manner. He watches Richie eat a Snickers bar, and realises something quite abruptly.
Oh, god. He doesn't know. He doesn't know I use it. He doesn't think I would use it.
Candy bar finished, Richie balls up the wrapper and tosses it at Eddie's head. "Why aren't you eating, Eds?"
Eddie drops the armful of treats and takes a Twinkie, eyes still glued to the vibrator. He chokes on his first bite when Richie picks it up again.
Eddie's now sure of it: Richie is completely oblivious to the fact that he uses his vibrator. And, oh god, he's touching it, it's in his hands, he's inspecting something Eddie has not only used extremely intimately, but also recently.
He's playing with it. He's using it to keep his fucking hands busy, Eddie thinks, despairing.
Richie is talking about some arbitrary piece of music trivia (of which Eddie hasn't heard a single word) when he pauses and wrinkles his nose.
"Why can I smell lemongrass?"
This is, of course, the scent of Eddie's disinfectant spray, which he bought right back after he used the toy for the first time. Eddie's mind goes blank again and he stares at Richie's questioning expression. The silence is long enough that Richie frowns and tugs down his glasses so that they sit correctly on his nose.
Eddie swallows and fumbles with his words. "Th-that's my, uh... my disinfectant. Um, a disinfectant spray," he says in a strained voice.
Richie doesn't get it right away. "What? Why would y-"
And Eddie sees the exact moment it clicks in Richie's mind, can tell by the way his brown eyes bug out of his head and his jaw actually drops, like in one of the cartoons Richie loves to watch.
"Wait. You mean you... this? You actually use this?" he asks, holding up and gesturing at the smooth silicone vibrator. Eddie's cheeks flame red and hot and he feels his hands go clammy. He nods. He sits unnaturally still and waits for Richie to say something - normal, something befitting his Trashmouth best friend. And Richie doesn't disappoint.
"Can you show me?"
Eddie doesn't understand, at first; then he catches on all at once. He surprises himself - and probably Richie, he thinks, vaguely hysterical - by answering with a calmness he doesn't feel. "If you go lock the door, um, sure."
They stare at each other for a few seconds, both waiting for the other to crack a joke or call bullshit. Richie stares at him and swallows hard. Eddie bites his lower lip; his eyes dart between Richie's and his seemingly forgotten vibrator, still held loosely in Richie's hands.
Eddie clears his throat and starts to say, "O-or, uh, not-" but Richie catapults himself off the bed and has the bedroom door locked in seconds. He spins around and presses his back up against the door, looking both exhilarated and abashed with his eyes huge and blinking rapidly.
Eddie can't help it; laughter wriggles its way out of him and once he starts, he can't find it in himself to stop. Richie looks at him, perplexed, and walks over to sit down beside him on the bed.
"I swear to god, Eds, if this is just a joke for you-" Richie says, half-joking himself, but also half-worried. Eddie shakes his head, settling down from his bout of hysteria, and jabs a finger in Richie's side.
"No, no, Rich, I'm as serious as you are," he manages past some feeble giggles. Richie grabs at his poking hand and threads their fingers together. Eddie's giggles subside for good, and he smiles down at their joined hands.
Richie uses his free hand to push back his flyaway curls and heaves a large, shuddering sigh. "Well, okay, then. Yeah. Okay."
They sit quietly for a moment, listening to Eddie Mahoney croon about being taken home tonight. The tape is nearing its end and Eddie is struck by the bizarre concern that should he really decide to go ahead and get himself off in front of Richie right now, the tape would finish before he did; then they would be stuck in uncomfortable silence. Fuck. I should rewind the tape. Shit.
Eddie clears his throat. "So, like... when?"
Nonplussed, Richie echoes back, "...When?"
"Uh, now?" offers Richie with a shrug and crooked smile.
"It's... it's 4pm," Eddie argues. He gestures at the window and exclaims, "I mean, it's still light out!"
This prompts Richie to dissolve in laughter and ask, "What, Eds? You think people don't orgasm in the daytime?" and Eddie hits him in the face with his pillow, his cheeks faintly pink.
"I mean, my mom could come home soon. You should stay for dinner and sleep over and then I'll show you."
Richie gapes at him, and Eddie shrugs helplessly. Then the former cackles and Eddie punches him in the stomach over and over.
They wrestle like kids until Richie gets kneed in the face and they call it quits. Eddie puts the toy back in its drawer while Richie wanders downstairs to scavenge in the freezer for something that he can whip up into an acceptable dinner. Mrs Kaspbrak might barely tolerate having Richie around or spending the night, but they have discovered that they can usually sweeten her up with some of his cooking.
They spend the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen, Richie leaving behind messes and Eddie following him closely with a dishcloth and very vocal, exasperated criticisms. It's weirdly normal, but Eddie can't shake off the anticipation of later, later, later.
Sonia, predictably, looks less than thrilled to see Richie when she arrives home, but they placate her almost immediately by leading her to the table, already set by Eddie, and presenting Richie's chicken à la king. Mollified, she doesn't even ask if Richie's staying over, and disappears into the lounge after thanking him for the meal and wishing the boys goodnight.
They wash the dishes together. Richie hip checks Eddie whenever he picks up something slippery and breakable; Eddie shoots him dirty looks and gets him back with a tightly coiled dishcloth and his impeccable aim.
It's as Eddie begins drying the dishes that Richie starts to get twitchy. He's plopped himself down at the kitchen table, one hand propping up his head, the other drumming an antsy beat on the wooden tabletop. He probably thinks he's being subtle but Eddie feels like he could sink his teeth into Richie's nervous energy, it's that noticeable.
Eventually, Eddie puts away the last of the crockery, and turns around to face Richie, leaning back against the counter. He slings the dishcloth around his neck.
Richie slides out of his seat and slinks across the linoleum floor to crowd in Eddie, placing his hands on the counter on either side of him. He has to duck his head to look Eddie in the eyes. Eddie tips his head back slightly, and sees Richie's eyes flicker down to his neck and back.
Richie chews at the inside of his cheek. Then he says, "I had a thought."
"One whole thought? Oof, don't overdo it."
He swats Eddie's side. "It was a good one, too."
"What was it?"
"That maybe I should kiss you?" Richie asks, voice small and hopeful.
"Boy, that is a good thought," Eddie teases. He brings his hands up to encircle Richie's arms, just above the elbow.
Richie's eyes become half-lidded and his voice gets even softer. "Can I?"
Richie leans in close, so very close, and brushes his lips very slowly against the dimple next to Eddie's mouth. He pulls back and plants another one on Eddie's warming, freckled cheek, just below his eye. Eddie thinks he might be shaking - just a bit. Then Richie drags his lips down to catch Eddie's.
They kiss tentatively, their movements halting and exploratory. Richie's hands come up to grab either end of the cloth slung around Eddie's neck, like he needs to hang on to something. Eddie wants to be grossed out by the taste of their dinner, but can't find it in himself to be.
They break apart, startled, when a loud noise from the lounge interrupts them - then smother their laughter when they realise it was only Mrs Kaspbrak snoring. Still, they heed the unintentional warning and head upstairs, Richie pausing to flick the kitchen light switch.
Eddie rummages around in the bathroom cabinet for a new toothbrush for Richie, who shrugs and says, "I'd've just as easily used yours, Eddie spaghetti," and Eddie gives him the finger. They make faces at each other in the mirror while they brush their teeth, and while it's goofy and normal and reassuring, Eddie can feel his heart rate starting to pick up.
Am I really doing this?
He answers himself by locking his door the moment they step into his room. Richie turns to look at him, a little surprised and a whole lot interested. Listening to the nagging voice in his head, Richie closes the space between them with two long strides, grabbing Eddie's face and pulling him in for a heated, drawn-out kiss. It leaves Eddie's mind reeling and his stomach rolling with a familiar, low heat.
Eddie eventually pulls away to draw in a huge breath, gasping slightly but feeling a whole bunch surer about going forward with it. There's something safe and encouraging about Richie and his kisses. He's starting to feel more excitement than trepidation.
He grabs Richie's wrist and shuffles backwards to his bed, pulling Richie down with him when the backs of his knees hit the mattress. Richie follows him easily, choosing to straddle Eddie's thighs and lean down to kiss up the side of his neck. His added height forces him to hunch over awkwardly, but he can't give a damn when he's kissing Eddie fuckin' Kaspbrak's neck.
Eddie sighs and catches his bottom lip between his teeth. He's getting hard, and he knows Richie will feel it any second, but if he pushes Richie off him and gets on with - on with the show, so to speak - he knows Richie'll see it for himself soon enough. The idea makes him briefly anxious - and then not, because his mind is suddenly chasing the idea of getting to see Richie undress, too.
He gently urges Richie away from his now pinkish, splotchy neck. Richie gets a clue and scrambles to sit himself at the base of the bed, sitting cross-legged and looking for all the world like a kid waiting for show-and-tell.
Eddie huffs a laugh and shuffles back until he's reclining on his pillows. He reaches over to his bedside table and digs around in the drawer. Pulling out both the toy and lube, he chances a look at Richie, who looks enraptured, his stare fixed on the vibrator in Eddie's small hand.
Richie swallows with some effort. The vibrator looks much bigger in Eddie's slim hands than it did in his own. Like, unrealistically big.
But Eddie uses it, he reminds himself, and absurdly, feels like preening. He uses one I bought him.
Eddie drops the lube beside him on his duvet. Not wanting to get the vibrator all... fibre-y, he tugs up his shirt somewhat and carefully balances the vibe in the dip between his hips, neatly below his navel. Richie feels his eyes get hot and dry and unblinking; he believes he wouldn't be able to look away from Eds' soft stomach if you paid him.
"I cannot fucking believe you use it," Richie mutters. "Like I never even humoured the idea..."
"But I thought you were the idea man," Eddie pipes up. Before Richie can mouth off at him, though, Eddie grabs onto a passing swell of confidence and reaches between his legs to grasp at his dick through his shorts. Richie gets all choked up, and Eddie is endlessly pleased with himself.
It's a completely different experience, having an audience (having Richie) watch him touch himself. The slight anxiety is familiar enough; it feels a lot like the night he first tried this. That's because it's made new again, he reasons, which isn't a bad thing.
Eddie squeezes himself tightly and doesn't hold in his low, hummed moan. Richie's intense eyes are boring into him, so he closes his own and bites the bullet, reaching for the button and zipper on his shorts and undoing them hurriedly, self-consciously.
He hears Richie's sharp intake of breath; feels the mattress dip slightly as he leans forward to get a better look. Eddie's face is burning up along with the rest of him, but it's entirely worth it when he takes himself in hand and Richie groans like he's been punched in the chest.
Opening his eyes, Eddie presses his lips together tightly and meets Richie's stare head on as his hand starts to move. He feels a weird medley of brave and embarrassed and fiercely turned on.
Richie wonders if his own face is as red as Eddie's, and if Eds knows how lovely he looks right now. The muscles in Richie's right hand twitch minutely; he's itching to lean over and touch Eddie himself, but he wouldn't dream of doing so without his permission.
He blinks rapid-fire behind his glasses, taken aback, when Eddie lifts his hips and shimmies down his shorts and underwear with no warning. Richie takes in his skinny, mole-speckled legs; the faint marks left imprinted on his skin by the hemlines of his shorts; and, when Eddie draws his feet together and his knees up and apart, the soft, curving lines of his ass sinking into the mattress. Richie inhales so abruptly he makes a wheezy, whistling sound.
Focus on the ceiling for now, Eddie tells himself, staring straight up, his breathing shallow. Don't come before you're ready. Before you've even started.
He feels blindly for the lube next to him, uncaps it, and coats his middle and index fingers, scissoring them to spread it evenly over both. With little preamble, he stretches his arm down between his bent knees and circles his fingers once, twice against his hole before repetitively pushing in and withdrawing the tip of his middle finger with short, pulsing motions. He pushes in deeper after a few rhythmic movements, his finger sliding in smoothly to the last knuckle, and when he clenches his lower stomach muscles, he can feel his finger being drawn in deeper.
He slides his finger out completely and is beginning to tease at his entrance with the tips of both fingers, now, when a large, warm hand settles firmly on his knee. He whips up his head.
Richie is looking at him warily, yet he's smiling when he asks, "Is it all good if I touch you here?" and Eddie's chest sort of aches with gratitude for his consideration.
"All good," Eddie affirms croakily. He decides to watch Richie watching his fingers, not sure if his redirected attention to his ass is better or worse than the steady eye contact from before.
Once Eddie is managing two fingers with ease, he starts pushing up his hips to meet and match the steady rhythm of his hand. Richie's hand flexes around his knee. The other one abruptly shoots out and grabs the vibrator, which is starting to slide off Eddie's stomach as he thrusts.
"Th-thanks," manages Eddie, who raises his free hand to cup the side of Richie's face. Richie melts into it. Then he perks right back up as an idea takes form.
He turns on the toy, then presses it firmly against Eddie's groin area - below his navel but above the base of his dick. Eddie shudders and whines, which mortifies him but delights Richie to no end.
Eddie finds himself speeding up, jabbing his fingers a little harshly but not wanting to go any slower. He attempts three fingers, and bites down hard on his lip when they finally brush up against where he needs them. He's feeling less coordinated than usual, more urgent and sloppier, and he's certain it's because of Richie looming right over him, in his space. His nearness is overwhelming, but in the best way possible.
"Okay, okay, stop tickling my- my stomach, and give that to m-me," Eddie demands breathily, leaning up on an elbow and holding out an expectant hand. Richie hands him the vibrator immediately. Eddie holds down on the power button to silence it.
He coats it with lube and places it at his entrance. They both hold their breath, unconsciously, while Eddie painstakingly nudges its rounded head inside himself.
Eyes screwing up, Eddie takes a few breaths to steady himself. Richie watches on in something akin to awe, knowing he's the luckiest guy in Derry since forever. Eddie pushes the rest of the toy inside, carefully and unrushed, unlike before.
Then Eddie looks up at him with bright eyes and orders him to, "Pick a pattern, Rich."
"My fuckin' pleasure."
Richie's hand shakes as he covers Eddie's fingers over the vibe's end. Curiosity makes him push it in with the tiniest amount of pressure, and Eddie throws back his head, eyebrows furrowing and clenched jaw muscles working.
"I swear to god, Richie."
He settles his thumb over the power button and holds down on it. The vibe powers up, and Richie jumps when Eddie wails and tries to squirm away from it.
Richie starts to pull it out, alarmed, but Eddie seizes his wrist and glares at him.
"Don't you dare, Richie Tozier."
Richie laughs incredulously. "Seriously? Why, Eds, you're a sucker for punishment."
Richie clicks through the settings until he comes across the one like a heartbeat. Eddie slaps a hand over his eyes, muttering embarrassedly, and at the questioning noise Richie makes, answers, "That's my favourite one." Richie doesn't click through the rest.
He withdraws his hand and steadies the one braced against Eddie's knee. "Go for it."
Eddie readjusts his grip on the toy's base. Taking deep, slow breaths, he starts to push and pull at the vibrator, hesitantly and with care. He slips into a faster, smoother rhythm after a while, and Richie can't keep his eyes off the shifting expressions on Eddie's face. Eddie's panting, his face screwing up in alternating degrees of concentration or pleasure. Richie becomes vividly aware of his own heart beating; of the twist of Eddie's hand, of the way his hips squirm in small circles whenever he pushes in.
He breathes out, "Holy shit, Eds, if I knew you were gonna use it for real, I'd've gotten you a real nice one, an expensive one, not this cheapo toy," and Eddie lets out a startled laugh.
"I think I still will. Buy you a classy uptown vibrator, I mean. Or hey, what about one of those glass-blown dildos?"
Eddie gives him a Look, the seriousness of which is ruined a moment later by Eddie's voice cracking over a moan as his wrist turns a little too viciously. Richie is sidetracked for a beat or two, going nearly cross-eyed staring down at the vibrator disappearing inside Eddie.
He shakes his head a little, like a dog emerging from water. "Yeah, a dildo you could stand on the mantel like a piece of art and none of ya guests would be the wiser."
He leans in closer. The hand he has on Eddie's knee slides up and inward, as high as he dares, so that he's cupping Eddie's inner thigh. He can feel the muscles there bunching and relaxing under his touch. He feels a heady, heightened consciousness of his place between Eddie's legs and the splay of Eddie's slight, half-naked frame on his bed; of Eddie's thin but strong wrist getting himself off with practised twists and thrusts. He's done this before. He does this, with my gift. Maybe thinking of me, too.
"Do you think of me? When you do this?" he blurts out, unable to keep it in. Eddie's got sweat rivulets running from his brow down the sides of his face, clinging to the ends of some of his curls. Richie watches one in fascination as it drips onto the cotton duvet. "Suh-sometimes," Eddie lies through gritted teeth. Every time.
Richie exhales shakily and presses a light kiss to Eddie's pale inner thigh. Eddie jolts at the feeling of his lips and fumbles with the vibrator.
"Good," Richie murmurs against his skin, causing Eddie's leg to bounce uncontrollably in a way that would have made Richie laugh were he not painfully, dizzyingly turned on and kneeling with his head between two very lovely, jittery thighs.
Eddie's lube-and-sweat slicked hand fumbles his grip on the vibrator again, and he lets out a frustrated string of expletives. This gives Richie an idea.
"Hey, your angle's a little janked, isn't it?"
Eddie raises his eyebrows at him but doesn't say anything except, "Shit!" when he loses his hold on it for the umpteenth time.
"Want me to take over for ya, Eds?"
He doesn't think Eddie will refuse, but he's not expecting him to sob out a moan as he nods enthusiastically and gives Richie the green light. He abandons his grip on the vibrator and reaches for Richie's hand, placing it over the toy.
Richie is exhilarated and terrified to try, but before he can even begin, Eddie gets an idea.
"Wait," he says, "I can get in an easier position," and he sits up to wriggle out of his shirt, then rolls onto his stomach, wincing because the vibe is still halfway inside. He stretches his left leg out straight, then bends his right one so that his knee slides all the way up to rest beside his chest. He's now lying with his legs spread and his ass angled up, and it's Richie's turn to wonder if he's dying.
He flattens his palm against the back of Eddie's thigh and runs it up, pushing into the crease between his ass and thigh before sliding it up one smooth cheek and over the dip of his lower back. He positions it between Eddie's shoulder blades and puts some of his weight on Eddie's back, his body hovering taut over him. His other hand feels for the end of the vibrator. He gives it a tug, thrilling when Eddie moans and arches his back. Eddie uses the leverage of his bent leg to dig in his toes and thrust back into Richie.
Leaning down, Richie leaves open-mouthed kisses at the base of Eddie's sweat-damp neck and starts up an unrelenting pace with the vibrator. His lips tingle against Eddie's skin thanks to Eddie's rumbling groans. Somewhat deliriously, he thinks, so, this. This is what Eds looks and sounds like. This is what it's like to fuck him.
Eddie buries his face in his arms. Having another person control the speed and force and timing is, like, worlds apart from doing it yourself. He can't predict what Richie'll do, and that knowledge makes him lightheaded and unbearably hard.
He shivers at the sensation of Richie's damp breath on his neck, and digs his fingers into his forearms. He twists around to look over his shoulder at Richie, whose face nearly splits in half as he grins back down at him and gives him a dorky thumbs up. His glasses are slipping down his nose because he's getting similarly worked up and sweaty. Eddie's uneven breathing hitches in his throat because Richie looks so good. Like, really good.
He's getting a bit desperate; a familiar tugging sensation in his lower abdomen is growing, intense and insistent. He clenches around the vibrator when Richie thrusts it in particularly forcefully, and revels in Richie's pained groan when he tries and struggles to pull the vibe back out.
"Tryin' to kill me, Eds?" he hears Richie ask in a strained voice.
"Trying to cuh-come, genius," he grouses. He reaches behind him blindly and nearly smashes a fist into Richie's glasses. His hand eventually finds Richie's hair and sinks into it. He pulls as gently as he can for each word he says next.
"Make. Me. Come. Richie."
Richie laughs in a hoarse voice. He pulls out the toy, ignoring Eddie's furious yelp, and rocks his own clothed erection against Eddie's ass.
"Make you come on what?" he taunts, and it should piss off Eddie to no end; instead, he buries both his face and his groans into his duvet, shoulders tensing up as he comes with a shudder that wracks his body.
Richie isn't sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn't a sudden and fierce orgasm. He blinks down at Eddie's heaving, freckled back; at the hard line of his dick pressed up between the cheeks of his ass. At the vibrator in his hand. He turns it off and gingerly sets it down on the blanket.
Eddie eventually turns his head to side-eye him, smiling contentedly. He wriggles until Richie gets off him, turning to lie on his back - and grimacing as he remembers too late that he'll be lying in his own wet stain. Oh well. Gross but fixable.
Richie sits back on his calves between the sprawl of Eddie's boneless legs. His shirt is clinging to him uncomfortably thanks to his sweat, and his glasses are steamed up. His jeans are awfully restraining. He feels fantastic. I think I just rocked your world, Eddie spaghetti.
He says as much out loud, and startles a laugh out of Eddie. His voice is husky. It's incredible.
"Sure it wasn't the other way around?"
"I dunno yet. Jury's out and still a little riled up," Richie says cheekily, gesturing to his dick.
Eddie reaches out so he can palm at Richie's arousal, moving slow enough that Richie can voice if he's not okay with it. Richie is very much okay with it.
Eddie squeezes his fingers, appreciative of the way Richie tips his head back and pushes his hips into Eddie's hand. "Shall we help them reach a verdict?"
Richie snorts. He wants to say something snarky back, but Eddie's hands are fiddling with the zipper on his jeans and he loses all the air he needs to say something witty.
"Well?" Eddie asks, eyes bright and knowing. "What do you want?"
"I-I want to comeonyourstomach," Richie blurts out, face on fire, still trying to find the air to fill his lungs adequately.
Eddie pretends to consider it. "Yuck," he says plainly, pulling Richie down so he can kiss him, heated but still tender. He starts to tug down Richie's jeans and wraps his aching thighs around Richie's waist, where two large hands settle on them and squeeze. "Go for it."
"-just don't understand how all three of you didn't realise it was poison ivy," Mike says in exasperation.
Ben at least looks sheepish, while Bill shrugs and scratches at the rash on the back of his hand. Mike slaps away his hand. Beverly and Richie can't stop laughing at how miserable poor Stan looks with his rash now extended to his shins and calves.
"It's because you lot decided to be bird nerds in the great outdoors instead of hanging with us," Richie jokes.
At this, Beverly looks over at him and innocently asks, "If you two weren't outside, though, where did Eddie get his dreadful rash from?"
They all stare at her, puzzled, until she enacts her role as an agent of chaos and leans over to tug down Eddie's shirt collar with her finger and reveal the splotchy, red hickeys on his neck and collarbones.
Eddie's eyes widen comically, and Richie belts out a laughing, "Holy shit, Bev!" as the rest of the Losers either crack up along with him or unleash a barrage of questions. As Eddie splutters and burns a ferocious red, Bev sits back, delighted, and takes in the mayhem her boys make.