Eddie Kaspbrak is a rather intense person.
He has known this all of his life, of course. Even as a small child, perhaps conditioned into him by the overbearing presence of his ridiculously dramatic and frequently hysterical mother, Eddie has never done, nor felt anything, by half. He does not do subtle.
When Eddie is sad, Eddie is sad. He feels it welling up in his chest with a pressure that he often thinks must be similar to drowning, like there’s water filling up all of the little empty cavities in his body, until there’s no room, anymore, and the only way to relieve that pressure, is to cry.
And when Eddie cries, he cries. There’s no gentle sniffling, or silent, almost elegant, glistening tears, like you see in movies. It’s raw, painful, ugly sobbing, the kind that leaves you frantically gasping for breath, your eyes and cheeks puffy, and your throat sore. It’s almost childlike, in its nature, because children are not afraid to cry. They feel no shame in such vocal, visible anguish. Eddie does. But still, he cannot stop.
When Eddie is happy, he is happy. He feels it in his chest, just as much, but it’s not water, this time, that fills him up, it’s more like…light. Like every one of those little, dark spaces in his body, that Eddie has learned to be afraid of, because who knows what could be creeping and crawling around inside them, is suddenly illuminated, and Eddie can see that there’s nothing creeping and crawling around inside him at all. But sometimes, Eddie feels it so thoroughly, that the light hurts, too. And the only way to relieve such a physical force, is to laugh.
And when Eddie laughs, he laughs. There’s no quiet sniggering, or soft, controlled chuckles, or polite, girlish giggling. It’s loud, uncontrollable, full-body howling, the kind that makes your sides, and the corners of your mouth hurt, and hot tears stream down your cheeks, and leaves you feeling breathless and light-headed, afterwards. This, too, is childlike, in its purity. Because children are not afraid to laugh. They feel no shame in such vocal, visible joy. Eddie does. But still, he cannot stop.
When Eddie is mad, he is mad. He feels this in his chest, most of all, as though there’s a vice around his heart, squeezing, harder and harder, forcing it to beat heavier and faster, until his body is pulsing with rage. Sometimes, he lashes out, like this, muscles twitching with the need to move, and to move quickly, perhaps to punch, perhaps to kick, perhaps to butt with his head, in an animal desperation to relieve the tension. But sometimes, the only way to loosen that vice, is to scream.
And when Eddie screams, he screams. There’s no brief, sharp, yell, or weak, strangled groaning, concealed between gritted teeth. It’s fierce, visceral, infuriated roaring, the kind that makes your voice hoarse, and your eyes sting, and the veins beneath your skin feel ready to burst. Eddie’s anger, just like everything else, is childlike, in its simplicity. Because children are not afraid to scream. They feel no shame in such vocal, visible fury. Eddie does. But still, he cannot stop.
There is one thing, though, that Eddie feels, perhaps more physically than anything else, but which is not childlike, at all.
When Eddie is aroused, he is aroused.
He feels this, not just in his chest, but everywhere.
Like a hot, deep, prickling, that starts low in his belly, and spreads through his skin, through his nerves, like wildfire, until every inch, every cell, every atom in his body is wanting. And Eddie knows that there is no easy way to relieve feelings, like this, especially when they surface, without warning, in the most uncomfortable situations. He thought that he was past that point in his life, along with all other men, his age, who surface from the other side of that dark, scary tunnel called ‘puberty’, slightly hairy and dirty, but all the stronger, for it. Eddie, on the other hand, feels like the putrid slime, from the walls of that tunnel, is clinging to him, still, no matter how often he tries to wash it away.
So often, Eddie wakes, in the morning, with a horribly all-too-familiar stickiness in the front of his shorts, and has to rush to the bathroom across the hall, heart pounding in his ears, near tears from the mere thought of such humiliation. Twenty-two years old, and still having wet dreams. Eddie sometimes thinks he’d rather that he still wet the bed, than this.
So often, Eddie feels himself getting riled-up, over the slightest little thing. Perhaps Stan’s hand brushed his while they were both reaching for the orange juice, at breakfast. Perhaps he looked too long at Mike’s broad-shouldered back, while he was washing the dishes. Perhaps he noticed a droplet of sweat cascade down Ben’s neck, after he’d been running. Perhaps Bill’s soft voice caught his attention, too close to his ear. Perhaps even, though Eddie knows that he is still not attracted to women, he glimpsed rather a lot of Beverly’s creamy thigh beneath the hem of her dress, as she reached up to get something from a high cupboard. He cannot help the way his body responds, no matter how hard he tries.
But that’s nothing, compared to the worst culprit of all.
Richie fucking Tozier.
If Eddie has all the intensity of a blazing fire, Richie is the fuel that ignites it, that makes it burn stronger and brighter than ever before. Big eyes, big hair, a big mouth, with an even bigger voice, and a HUGE personality, Richie is just…a lot…of everything.
Eddie remembers, when they were kids, the way Richie would goad him. No matter how hard he cried, before, Richie could always make him cry harder. No matter how hard he laughed, before, Richie could always make him laugh harder. No matter how angry Eddie could get, before, Richie could always make him madder.
And now, no matter how impossibly rowdy Eddie thought he could get, before, Richie can always render him literally incapacitated, with carnal desire, until he can think of nothing else…until his body physically hurts with how much he wants him.
When they were young, and just beginning to explore their feelings, through sloppy, inexperienced kisses, and timid, aimless groping, above their clothes, Eddie thought it was like torture. His body would suddenly react to Richie, in a way only his mind would, before, those long, dirty fingers leaving imprints on his body that Eddie couldn’t scrub away, no matter how often he tried, until he couldn’t even think of any part of his body Richie had touched, without feeling overwhelmed and throbbing. Countless times, Eddie would shrink into the corner of the shower, as though attempting to hide…horribly ashamed, of something his mother had convinced him was repulsive and morally wrong, as he stroked himself, to try to relieve that burning in his belly; only two or three strokes was embarrassingly enough, back then, to reach completion, but Eddie never felt that it was ‘complete’, and he would do it over and over, until he was sore and sobbing against the wall of the shower, feeling dirty and confused and overwhelmed, and wondering why it never felt like enough.
And it only got worse, not better, as Richie grew taller, and more handsome, as his limbs grew longer, and his features were suddenly no longer comically big, but full, and attractive, on his angular face. And Richie would touch Eddie beneath the fabric of his clothing, now, not just above, and every…single…day, Eddie would pine for his touch, would curve his body into that shameful corner of the shower more often than ever, and press his small fingers into his body as deep as he could possibly reach, searching for relief. He would imagine that those were Richie’s long, thin fingers inside him, that he could feel Richie’s huge body behind him, enveloping his own, protective and comforting, that he could hear Richie’s gritty voice in his ear, encouraging, reassuring…loving. But all Eddie really heard was the sickening screech of his mother as she barged into the bathroom, through a door she refused to allow to be locked, because ‘what if you slipped and fell, Eddie?! You know how delicate you are; you could break your neck!’ The humiliation he felt, then, was like nothing he had ever experienced in his life. He was seventeen years old, and he cried bitterly behind his mother, hair still damp from the spray of the shower, as she dragged him by the wrist, to see their pastor. ‘He’s sick, Father! He’s sick! You have to cure him!’
The next day, Eddie was in Richie’s bed, clawing at his back as he was thoroughly fucked into the mattress.
Their first time wasn’t awkward, or scary, or painful, like Eddie always worried it might be. It was a little clumsy, and desperate, but it was good. God, it was good. And Eddie would have thanked ‘God’, then, for Richie Tozier, had it not been for the fact that he was beginning to question whether God existed at all, and if he did, how he could be so hateful, when all Eddie felt for Richie was love. In the church, with his mother, and their pastor, he heard the words, ‘homosexual disease’, and felt sick. He vomited outside the church as they left, and although Eddie has always been petrified of vomiting, all he felt, then, was that he wished he had vomited inside it.
After he and Richie had sex, the first time, Eddie cried.
And Richie stroked at his back, and curved his long legs around Eddie’s small frame, and stayed silent, as Eddie choked and snivelled into his neck. And Eddie felt his shame lessen, then, melted away beneath Richie’s hands, and suddenly, Eddie thought that they were not fire and fuel, but a single flame; Eddie, the fierce, bright blue at its core, and Richie, the warm, orange glow that surrounds it.
Eddie felt insatiable, after that.
Almost every day, he would find himself in Richie’s bed, morning, afternoon, evening, desperate for more, like an addict in need of another hit. Sometimes, if the situation required, they would even wind up in Eddie’s bed, instead, during the early hours of the morning, when his mother was asleep, cocooned in the sheets, one of Richie’s large hands clamped against Eddie’s mouth to stifle any of the noise he simply couldn’t hold in. Richie would always fuck him slowly, then, for fear of being heard, despite Eddie’s protests, despite the way Eddie would impatiently tug at his hair and dig his fingernails into Richie’s sides and quietly and tearfully beg him to go faster. Eddie would still come, every time, because, in the same way Richie has always been able to soothe Eddie’s overactive mind, even when Eddie, himself, could not, Richie has always been able to satisfy Eddie’s insatiable body, in a way Eddie, himself, has never been able to come close to.
And thanks, predominantly, to Richie, Eddie’s confidence and self-assurance grew, little by little, until he was no longer afraid of sex, or his sexuality, but instead began to embrace it. Eddie would go to church with his mother, every Sunday, perfectly presented, prim and poised and proper, and only a couple of hours later, he’d be bent over Richie’s dresser, with his bottom half bare, and his pressed shirt rucked up under his arms, with three of Richie’s fingers inside him, stretching him out in distinctly un-Godly ways. The first time it was Richie’s tongue pressing into him, instead, Eddie saw stars. But no matter what it was, he would still hear the occasional, distinctive scrape of metal against the wood, from the silver cross around his neck, as it hung there, heavy, and he would begin to feel nauseous.
When Eddie eventually moved out, on his way to college in New York City, he dropped that cross into the drain on the way out of Derry. None of his friends questioned him, but Eddie had one thing to say: ‘I’m leaving it behind, with all of the other shit.’
In college, Eddie felt like a different person, altogether; stronger, bolder, happier, and most importantly, no longer ashamed, of his sexuality, nor his enjoyment of sex. Even the idea of polyamory didn’t scare him, when the issue was first raised, between the Losers. Although his anxiety would peak with each new experience, and with each new partner, it was exciting, and it was exhilarating, and it just felt…right.
Now, almost done with his second year of college, and not only still with Richie, but with five other partners, too, Eddie feels more confident and more open than ever, as though he is gradually evolving into the best, truest version of himself. He still has plenty of obstacles to cross, of course, with his anxiety, with his many phobias, and perhaps, with his aggression, too, but at the very least, Eddie no longer ever has to worry about being left unsatisfied, whenever he is sexually aroused.
Which is lucky, really, because Eddie still finds himself sexually aroused a lot. In fact, he thinks it might be even worse, now that he has five more reasons to be aroused. And some of those times, it can get really, really intense, to the point where Eddie is physically incapable of feeling or thinking about anything else. He thinks of these moments like ‘sexual panic-attacks’, because the intensity of the feelings he has, in both cases, are surprisingly similar. Sometimes, he even wonders if there’s something wrong with him. He talked to Stan about it, once. ‘You’re just a really intense person, Eddie,’ Stan had responded, calmly, ‘You feel things so passionately, it must be exhausting sometimes, but that doesn’t mean that there’s anything wrong with you.’ Perhaps not, but that doesn’t help him when he’s in the middle of a lecture on the genomic and molecular pharmacology of cancer, and all he can think about is how long Richie’s fingers are…how masculine he smells…how he hasn’t gotten off in four days, which doesn’t seem long, but feels like a lifetime to Eddie, and suddenly, he’s really hoping that the rest of his classmates are either absorbed in the lecture, or half-asleep, so they don’t notice the straining tent in his trousers.
Eddie shuffles his gym bag closer to his lap, to try to conceal the lower half of his body, but that certainly isn’t the end of his problem, not by a long shot. Suddenly, his professor’s voice seems to fade out into the background, the room appears a little fuzzy, and the air feels heavy and stifling. He imagines what might happen, if Richie were there, sitting beside him. Richie would definitely notice Eddie’s discomfort, right away; he always does. He would probably find it funny, at first, and he might laugh…quietly enough that he didn’t draw attention, of course, because, as annoying as he can be, Richie doesn’t really have a mean bone in his body. What would he do, next? Eddie knows. Richie would see it as an opportunity, a chance to do something playful and exciting, and he would know, because he knows Eddie better than anyone else, that Eddie would get mad, and embarrassed, but deep down, he would find it exciting, too. He would find it oddly exciting, if Richie were to shift closer to him, so that their legs were pressed hard together at the side, and discreetly slide his hand down Eddie’s lower back, and into his trousers and his underwear, between his body and the chair, because Richie is clever, and used to being bad, and he would know that it would be far more noticeable, if his hand were to travel between Eddie’s thighs, instead. From there, he would slip one of those stupidly long fingers between the cheeks of Eddie’s ass, and gently stroke at his hole, circling around the rim, the way he always does, because he knows Eddie is so sensitive, there. He would gently rub and rub until Eddie was trembling in his seat as he tried desperately to stay still and quiet, slumped against Richie’s side. To anyone who looked over in their direction, it might just appear as though Richie had his arm around him. But underneath, Richie’s finger would be gradually pressing its way inside him, teasing with a few centimetres at a time, until it would finally sink all the way in, deliciously rubbing at Eddie’s insides in a way he cannot ever possibly replicate, himself, no matter how many times he tries.
Eddie feels an uncomfortable, slick, wetness inside his underwear, and is snapped viciously out of his vivid, Richie-centric daydream. He’s painfully hard, now, and he’s suddenly very aware that he’s still in the middle of an important lecture, and that there are around a hundred other students around him. The thought of that potential humiliation, which would be on a scale unlike any other, still isn’t as strong as the urge he has to drive across New York City to the Tisch School of the Arts, this very instant, and forcibly drag Richie from his drama class. The rational side of Eddie’s brain, as small as it may be, knows that he can’t do that, though, so he has to settle for a temporary alternative. Thankfully, there’s nothing too visible, on the outside of his clothing, yet, so he shucks his backpack up onto both shoulders, his gym bag onto one, and hurries out of the lecture hall, doing his very best to ignore how many pairs of eyes follow him as he goes. From there, he seeks out the closest unoccupied bathroom on campus, locks himself away into the furthest stall, and quickly relieves himself into the palm of his hand, before classes are over. He feels rather dirty, and uncomfortable, and deeply unsatisfied, afterwards, as he flushes away the evidence, in a wad of toilet paper, but it’s better than sporting a noticeable boner all day, when he still has cheer practice and boxing to contend with, before he can go home.
He changes into his cheer uniform in the toilet cubicle, doing his best not to touch any of the walls, or any part of the toilet, at all. Thankfully, Eddie always carries at least two pairs of clean underwear in his gym bag, too.
Cheer practice isn’t as fun as it usually is, when you’re feeling distinctly frustrated, as Eddie is quickly discovering. The upbeat pop music they’re starting a new routine to, is surprisingly irritating, today, and to top it off, he gets kicked in the face during a lift; Eddie used to be a flyer, since he’s small enough to be lifted, but since he’s the only surviving male member of the team, and he has put on muscle weight, through boxing, he has been demoted to base. Not that it bothers him, having to be at the bottom of the pyramid, now, rather than the middle, or having to lift and throw people around, during routines, because he’s the strongest squad member, but being accidentally kicked in the face, because of it, isn’t doing much to improve his mood. He leaves cheer practice feeling sweaty, disgruntled, and with a swollen bottom lip.
Afterwards, he walks to the gym; it’s not far from campus, and he doesn’t like driving his car unless absolutely necessary, especially since it’s currently situated in one of the best parking spots NYU has to offer, tucked in beside a large concrete post, that’s not too close that he can’t open any of the doors, but close enough that no other cars can get anywhere near his. At the gym, he changes once more, this time into his boxing gear, a pair of black shorts made of a super lightweight fabric, and a tank top; it’s the kind of thing he would never wear otherwise, but Eddie quickly learned that when the muscles in your arms are almost definitely going to start burning in the middle of a work-out, sleeves are the last things you want. Eddie doesn’t wear underwear when he’s boxing, either. That chafes, too. Although, in this particular instance, it was probably a mistake.
Boxing doesn’t feel much better than cheer practice. He spends the entirety of his session working on the bag in the corner, as far away from everyone else as he can possibly be. Usually, he doesn’t notice the lack of two layers of material, around his groin area, but now, it feels like every tiny shift of his shorts has suddenly been magnified by a hundred. He can still feel the embers of unsatisfied arousal, smouldering deep in his gut, threatening to enflame at any moment, and he has spent the whole day forcing himself not to dwell on it, not to think of anything at all that might spark it to life, because once it comes back, he knows he won’t be able to cope with it, anymore. And that means that he has spent the whole day doing his best not to think about Richie.
Eddie doesn’t even know why Richie has such a powerful effect on him. He’s not the only person Eddie is, or ever has been, sexually attracted to, and he’s certainly no longer his only option, when it comes to sex, so why Richie’s hold is still so much stronger than any of the others, remains a mystery. There’s just something between them…this raw, animal magnetism that draws them together, that has always drawn them together, and that will always continue to do so. Richie is everything Eddie thought he wanted to avoid, he’s messy, he’s disgusting, he never takes anything seriously…and yet, when Eddie thinks about Richie, he gets this strange, violent urge, to be all of those things, too. To be reckless. To be bad. To be dirty.
…he definitely shouldn’t have thought about that.
Seconds later, Eddie’s leaving boxing practice early, claiming that he doesn’t feel well, that he feels light-headed. And in reality, that’s partly true, but the reason Eddie feels light-headed, is because so much of the blood in his body is currently rushing violently south. He ponders what he’s going to do, when he gets home, what he’s going to say to Richie. He’s not good at asking for things, like this, and certainly not initiating them. He’s sure that he can make enough hints, that Richie will catch on quickly, enough, but what if he doesn’t? What if Richie isn’t in the mood? That’s unlikely, but it’s possible. What if Richie is busy? Also unlikely, but, again, possible. Eddie feels oddly panicky, and he curses his brain and his body for reacting so ridiculously over something so trivial, but he can’t help those strange, aggressive waves of adrenaline that are coursing through him completely unnecessarily, making him feel dizzy and shaky, but overwhelmingly rowdy, too. He supposes that he’ll just wind up making an excuse to go to bed early, like he always does, and wait, and hope that Richie comes to him, first.
But nothing prepares him for seeing Richie leaning against the side of Eddie’s car, in the dark, almost fully deserted campus parking lot, lazily smoking a vape.
He drops his car keys, as they’re half way out of his pocket, and they skid across the ground. He fumbles to pick them back up, against the heavy gym back dragging at his left side, and his backpack, and his shaking fingers. Eddie figures he must look an utter mess, to Richie, right now, shivering with adrenaline, sweaty and flustered, with a bruised bottom lip, and now gravel stuck in one of his knees, as he drops down to finally pick his keys up.
“Eds?” Richie blows out a last, cherry-scented plume of vapour, before tucking the device into his back pocket. He goes to move away from the car, but Eddie gets to Richie, first, colliding against his chest in a tight hug. Probably not his sexiest move, but he feels himself compelled to do so, just so suddenly relieved to see him. He feels Richie’s fingers slide into the back of his hair, against his scalp, as his other arm wraps tight around Eddie’s waist, and instantly, his panic subsides.
His arousal, on the other hand, only peaks. He feels weak with want, in Richie’s arms, surrounded by his enormous body, and the soft, gravelly sound of his voice, and the strong scent of him that’s embedded into the denim jacket he always wears, that probably hasn’t ever been washed.
“What’s the matter, Eddie spaghetti?” Richie coos, as he leans down close to Eddie’s ear, “I thought you didn’t finish until 8.30?”
Eddie doesn’t respond; he wouldn’t even know what to say, if he did.
“Eds?” Richie is persistent, and holds onto Eddie’s chin, now, to lift his head, “You okay? How’d you get this?” Richie thumbs at the blossoming bruise on Eddie’s bottom lip, his permanently relaxed brow, suddenly furrowing.
Eddie feels rather pathetically like jello, all of a sudden, in Richie’s hold, and in the brush of Richie’s rough thumb across his lips. He literally feels his dick throb, in response, and he wonders why Richie’s protectiveness is so appealing, after Eddie has spent his entire life trying to prove that he doesn’t need to be protected, at all. He feels the clasp of Richie’s belt knock against his knuckles, and it sends his imagination wild. His mouth waters. Fuck, has he ever been this pathetically desperate before, in his life? What the heck is wrong with him?
“Rich…” Eddie almost feels like he’s choking on what to say...how to ask. It definitely comes out pitiful and needy, though, and there’s heat in his cheeks, in response.
“Okay, so that narrows down my options, huh? You only call me ‘Rich’, when you’re trying to be really nice to me, like if I’m upset, or, if you’re-”
Eddie holds his breath, at that pause.
Richie’s leg shifts, distinctively brushing against Eddie’s horrendously obvious erection, and his lips curve smugly.
“Don’t…make a joke…I don’t want you to make jokes…I just want…I w-want…”
Eddie feels Richie’s hands tighten on his body, then, and he knows he’s going to get what he wants, regardless of whether he says it aloud, or not.
“What do you want, Eds?”
But he feels a sudden rush of confidence, and of anger, at himself, and it spurs him on, anyway. He raises his hands between them, to Richie’s chest, holding onto either side of his jacket, almost as though he’s threatening him. If Richie doesn’t comply, he thinks he might.
“I wanna fuck.”
Richie’s brow rises, a little; he looks positively giddy.
“You wanna fuck?”
“Then let’s go home.” Richie reaches between them, for Eddie’s car keys.
“What? Why not?”
“I don’t want…I can’t…” Eddie reaches up, then, to slide his hand onto the back of Richie’s neck, and pull him down. “Now.” He demands, although it sounds far more like he’s pleading with him.
“Now?” Richie glances around, although he’s smiling in amusement, and his hands are roaming Eddie’s back, subconsciously; it’s making Eddie feel more and more impatient, by the second. “In the middle of the parking lot?”
Richie laughs, his face close to Eddie’s, clearly revelling in his desperation, thoroughly enjoying the way Eddie’s eyes are following his lips, and the way he’s shifting impatiently in his hold.
“So, let me get this straight, spaghetti man, you rarely even let me inside your car, because you think I’m too messy, but now…” He slowly turns them around, presses Eddie up against the passenger’s side door, instead, still leaning down over him, “…you want me to take you into that same car…and fuck you in it?”
Eddie doesn’t even attempt to suppress the shudder that shows through the length of his body, then, as he nods.
“Yes.” He can feel his confidence growing, now that Richie is here.
“Okay. But first, you have to tell me what’s wrong. And how you got this,” Richie pokes at the bruise on Eddie’s lip again, and it hurts, in a dull, throbbing kind of way, and something about that pain, to Eddie, feels oddly sexual. His lips part eagerly at Richie’s touch, and for a moment, he wants more than anything for Richie to push his thumb between them, onto his tongue. Then he remembers that he doesn’t know where Richie’s hands have been, today, nor the last time he washed them, and he closes his mouth again.
“I just got it at cheer practice, Rich, it’s not a big deal…”
“Alright. Then why are you all tense and shaky?” Richie squeezes him, “You look like you’ve been mugged, Eds.”
“Because, I…” Eddie presses his lips together, brain whirring into action, trying to come up with an excuse, but as usual, Eddie’s brain is not as powerful as his body. And that’s a body, which is currently pulsing with adrenaline and sweat and a pool of fire in the pit of his belly that’s burning for Richie Tozier, and only Richie Tozier, today. He growls briefly in frustration. “Because I’m fucking horny, okay?!” Richie looks slightly taken aback, but mostly amused. “I’ve spent the entire day trying to hide this embarrassing boner because all I can think about is your giant, stupid, hands, and your giant, stupid body, and your giant, stupid face, and I just don’t get why you still have this effect on me after all this time! It’s annoying and it’s dumb and I’m kinda mad at myself, and I’m kinda mad at you, but all I can think about…” Eddie is slightly breathless in the midst of his rambling, now, “…is how bad I want you to fuck me right now…and I don’t even care where we do it, I just want you to fuck me so bad it hurts! Rich, it hurts…”
Richie leans down to kiss him, then, open-mouthed and wet, and Eddie feels himself whimper into Richie’s mouth, but he doesn’t care. He’s not sure he has the capacity to ever be embarrassed around Richie anymore, anyway. Richie’s mouth tastes quite strongly of artificial cherry, overly sweet and just a tad bitter; there’s nicotine lingering on his tongue, too, but Eddie thinks that’s more of a tingling feeling, than it is a taste. Normally, he’d make Richie brush his teeth, first, and rinse with mouthwash, to wash it all away, but right now, he doesn’t just want kissing, he wants Richie, and the distinctly Richie taste of sweet cherry and nicotine is making Eddie’s head spin with want.
“Rich, I want you to fuck me,” Eddie whines, again, when their lips part far enough.
“I know, Eds, you might have mentioned it once or twice, already.”
Eddie grits his teeth.
“I want you to fuck me so hard.”
“Geez,” Richie sniggers, before Eddie drags him down closer to catch him again. He parts his lips wide, inviting Richie’s tongue into his mouth, encouraging it in, and when Richie obliges, Eddie latches his lips around it, and sucks. He enthusiastically licks the surface, and then beneath it, against the veiny underside of the muscle, and Richie hums in amusement between their lips, before pulling away. “Shit, Eds, you’re really fucking randy today, huh?” Eddie only pulls him back, parts his lips a little, and when Richie starts to press his tongue back in, tightens them, so that he can acutely feel it slide between them. He sucks a little more, feeling his dick throbbing hard in his shorts, kind of wishing it was a different part of Richie in his mouth, right now. Eddie wonders if he has ever really wanted to suck Richie off before, like…wanted to for himself, and not just for Richie’s benefit. He doesn’t think so. But holy fuck he wants to, now.
“Richie,” he whines into his mouth, reluctant to stop kissing him, even to speak. Richie breaks, so that he can, though.
“I want you to fuck my mouth,” he says, bluntly, staring hard into Richie’s eyes, his fingers clenching and releasing dangerously in Richie’s hair.
“You want me to what now?” Richie looks taken aback, though he’s laughing.
Eddie does not feel amused. Richie is watching him.
Eddie nods, sliding his hands between them and unbuckling Richie’s belt. Richie grabs for his hands.
“Wh…Eds, we’re outside! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I fucking love this side of you, but I hope you know that if we get arrested, there’ll be no fucking at all happening tonight, of the mouth variety, or otherwise.”
Eddie feels his body thrumming uncomfortably. He’s somehow hot and cold at the same time, there are goosebumps all over his skin, and his nipples are so hard through his tank top that they’re actually stinging. He quickly nods, and fumbles for a while with his car keys in his shaking hands, until Richie calmly takes them from him, and unlocks it, opening the door and ushering Eddie inside. Richie takes his bags, and puts them in the trunk, like he’s the chauffeur, and Eddie doesn’t literally do that for a living.
Once Richie has climbed into the back of the car, too, long limbs not allowing him a lot of room to manoeuvre, but making Eddie feel surprisingly excited that Richie’s body fills so much of the cabin, things really start to heat up. The doors are locked, the back windows are tinted, and Eddie is pressed against the seat by Richie’s weight, feeling far more comfortable, and perhaps a little claustrophobic, but in a way that feels safe and immensely satisfying.
It’s not long at all before they’re both panting into one another’s mouths, as Eddie forcefully quickens the grind of Richie’s hips against him, until it’s a hard, needy rut, arching his back and shifting until it’s not the bulge of his crotch, that’s rubbing into Richie’s steadily growing hard-on, but his ass. He moans out a loud, shameless, “Oh, fuck…yeah,” then, as the thin material of his shorts allows Richie’s sizeable hardness to press right in between his ass cheeks. Richie makes this little groan-laugh against Eddie’s lips, and slows the movements, so that he can really push in hard, coaxing Eddie to spread his thighs, which he does, gladly.
“Yeah…yeah right there…Richie.” Eddie pleads, as he gets a firm grip on Richie’s thighs beneath his own, using this as balance and leverage to rock his hips upwards into him. Richie seems thoroughly amused by Eddie’s completely shameless surrender to his libido, and is doing everything in his power to only make it worse, to rile him further. He grabs hard at Eddie’s ass cheeks, squeezing and tugging them apart as he continues to grind down between them.
“Fuck, Eds, your ass is the best goddamn thing in the world. Did you know that?”
“Oh…that feels so fucking good.” Eddie can feel his toes curling already.
“Yeah?” Richie’s fingers slide up the legs of Eddie’s shorts, then, at the back, dragging at his bare flesh, and tucking the fabric aside so that he can give his ass a firm, audible slap.
“Yeah!” Eddie whimpers, pushing his hips up even harder than before, and dragging at Richie’s, sliding his hands into the back of his jeans.
“I’m gonna fuck you so good, baby boy.”
Eddie finds himself nodding frantically, hands blindly grasping at Richie’s t-shirt, and trying to lift it off his torso, but Richie is still wearing a jacket, and Eddie isn’t helping either of them to come off, at all.
“Relax, baby, I got it,” Richie breathes, amidst a chuckle, as he shrugs his jacket off his shoulders, pulls his boots off at the heels, and then lifts off his shirt, one after the other, in quick succession. All the while, Eddie is stroking and pulling and grabbing at Richie’s body, mouth on his bare chest the second it’s exposed to air, his lips tight around one of Richie’s nipples.
Richie hisses a little, at Eddie’s overly enthusiastic worship of his chest, flinching the few times that he’s bitten, but laughing, too. While Eddie is latched onto him, there, Richie holds onto his ankles, one at a time, tugs off Eddie’s sneakers, and admires the flexibility in his legs as he pushes his knee back until it touches his shoulder, distracting Eddie from his sycophancy by scattering kisses across his shin, the inside of his knee, and a little way down the inside of his thigh, where he’s particularly sweaty.
“Richie…” Eddie tugs him back up by his hair, tongue laving across Richie’s lips and then slipping into his mouth in another hot, wet kiss. But then he’s pulling away, and at his hair, again, and purposefully sliding down against the backrest of the chair, to get lower down Richie’s body, “I want you in my mouth,” he says bluntly.
“Shit, you’re killing me, Eds.”
Eddie only grabs at the hard lump in Richie’s jeans, and squeezes, feeling oddly exhilarated, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he hastily works to unfasten them. Richie shifts closer on the back seat, his knees either side of Eddie’s waist.
“What the fuck did you have for lunch, viagra?”
“Turkey sandwich with the crusts cut off…” Eddie mumbles matter-of-factly, as he roughly tugs Richie’s jeans off his hips, and Richie is just staring at him in fond disbelief.
“I fucking love you.”
Eddie looks up at him, staring, as he brushes his lips across the length of Richie’s cock through his underwear, and then pulls the waistband down out of the way, taking him into his mouth without a second thought. Eddie doesn’t think he has ever felt so brazenly confident about an act like this, before; normally, it would take him four or five attempts to work up the courage to take Richie fully into his mouth, but, right now, it seems easy…almost feels like a reward, rather than a challenge. Perhaps he’s a little over-enthusiastic, though, because he does gag a bit, at first. Reactively, Richie quickly pulls back, until just the tip is between Eddie’s lips, stroking affectionately at the sides of his face and his neck.
“Woah, take it easy, Eds.”
Eddie pulls his lips away long enough to say, slightly timidly, “Rich, you do it...”
“Okay,” Richie nods, thumbing at Eddie’s bottom lip, gently, “Open up.”
Eddie does as he’s told, and, much more carefully than Eddie opted to be, Richie presses forward and slides back into his mouth, up to just over half-way. He keeps one hand on Eddie’s jaw, and slides the other into the back of his hair to get a light hold on it; Richie’s whole stance feels far more comforting, than it does aggressively sexual or demanding, but that’s distinctly ‘Richie’, and it turns Eddie on more than he would ever admit. That’s just how Eddie likes to be treated, rough…brazen…dirty...but not against his will…not causing him any actual pain, the way Stan likes. No…Richie will always fuck Eddie as hard and as fast as he wants, until he’s literally crying, a lot of the time, but all the while, he will make sure that he’s comfortable, tuck pillows beneath his back, or his hips, or his head, hold tightly onto his hands, smother him with soothing kisses, and whisper constant reassurances and praises into his ears, while he completely unravels him.
“You’re doing so good, just stay right there,” Richie offers softly, as he begins the slow rock of his hips, with a quiet hiss.
Eddie stays still, and quiet; he feels strangely relaxed, just keeping his lips parted, and allowing Richie to slide languidly in and out between them. Honestly, he prefers it this way, with Richie in control. Richie is far more confident, and he has definitely done more ‘research’, as far as Eddie is concerned. He always seems to know just the right speed, and just the right depth, so that it feels good for both of them, and that Eddie never gets overwhelmed.
“Eds,” Richie draws Eddie’s attention to his hand, lifted expectantly, and Eddie lifts his own to meet it, allowing Richie to intertwine their fingers; they’ve done this, before. “Squeeze my hand if you’re okay.”
Eddie squeezes hard, and Richie sniggers. Eddie’s hand is small, hot, and sweaty, and for a brief moment, he feels unworthy, contrasted against Richie’s hand, far bigger, cool, and dry. Eddie wonders, briefly, whether he has really unravelled Richie, before.
He wants to.
“Can I go a little faster?”
Eddie doesn’t squeeze, this time, he pulls his hand away from Richie’s, so that he can brace them both against his bony hips, and, slowly, he slides his lips down until they’re flush against Richie’s groin. He has never been able to take Richie fully into his mouth, before now, too afraid of his own gag reflex, to allow him near the back of his throat, but he can feel him there, now, and the urge to gag is at the forefront of his mind, for a while, until he feels Richie’s hands gripping both of his shoulders, and hears a distinctly shaky, ‘Oh, fuck…”
Eddie draws back to the very tip, and then slides down again until he physically can’t go any further. Rapidly, he feels both of Richie’s hands tangle into his hair, and hears him curse again, and it sends a hot shudder through Eddie that highlights just how hard he is, now. It really fucking hurts.
He doesn’t draw his attention from Richie, though, squeezing tight with his lips and rubbing his tongue back and forth against the underside of his shaft as much as the depth of him will allow. That isn’t much, though, so instead, he starts to move, right down at the base, in short strokes that never leave Richie very far out of the warmth of his mouth. The tip of Richie’s cock is repeatedly pressing against Eddie’s gag reflex, but it’s quickly blurring into the background, smothered by Richie’s gasping and groaning and a myriad of filthy curse words.
Eddie pulls back further, now, but he keeps moving, so that his lips have further to slide. His jaw and his tongue are both aching a little, and he’s wondering how people keep this up for such long periods of time, until he hears Richie say his name in a way that makes Eddie’s whole body throb, and his mind blank briefly. He tightens his lips and his tongue as he moves, eager to give Richie more pleasure.
“You’re doing so fucking good, baby boy.”
Eddie moves faster.
There’s an obscene sound, when Eddie pulls his lips free, and starts jerking him off instead, catching his breath and giving his mouth a short rest. Eddie hasn’t done this a lot, before, and he’s far from mastering the art, especially of learning to control his breathing while he’s doing it. Richie’s fingers glide through Eddie’s hair gently, as they watch one another, but Eddie can tell that Richie is close; he knows that look really well. The thought of being so close to Richie’s dick when he’s about to come feels…exciting? Eddie’s sure it doesn’t always feel that way.
Just as expected, Richie groans and lets out a short, sharp breath, “Shit, I’m gonna come…Eds, I’m gonna come.”
Richie is clearly expecting Eddie to hurriedly back away, at this, but he doesn’t. He does stop moving his hand, and lowers it, but instead of leaning away, he leans closer, brushing his lips against the wet tip, and then opening his mouth, sticking out his tongue a little. In his mind, Eddie knows he’s probably going to regret this, but in the heat of the moment, he knows this is what he wants.
Richie’s palm quickly covers Eddie’s mouth, though.
“What are you doing? Eds you know you won’t like it…”
“I want to.” Eddie’s voice is muffled in Richie’s hand.
“I don’t think you do.”
“Don’t tell me what I want, dumbass.”
“I’m just looking out for you, Eds.”
“Not right in my mouth, just…a little,” Eddie’s voice softens, and he runs the tip of his tongue across Richie’s palm lightly.
“Fuck, why can’t I say no to you?”
Eddie is watching him expectantly, and when Richie finally lowers his palm, he moves so that the tip of Richie’s erection is sitting atop his bottom lip again. Eddie rests his grip against Richie’s thighs, as Richie spits into his hand, and very slowly begins to stroke himself, as though anticipating that Eddie is going to change his mind at any moment.
Eddie keeps teasing at his slit with little kitten licks that are clearly driving Richie crazy, but that’s exactly what Eddie wants, and he riles him with them until Richie starts to speed up his hand. Before long, his palm is moving quickly against his shaft, and Eddie keeps eye contact with him throughout, groaning quietly, himself, when Richie does.
“Shit…oh fuck…” Richie bites at his bottom lip as he comes, the same way he always does. The second Eddie feels it hit his tongue he reactively flinches away; it splatters across the corner of his lips, and his jaw, until he moves back to allow the rest to drip out into his mouth. Richie has his hand right in Eddie’s hair, now, on the top of his head, and he’s looking at him intensely, as he slows his stroke to a stop.
The moment he’s done, Richie moves his hand and cups it beneath Eddie’s lips, clearly intending for him to spit, and Eddie knows there’s no way he’s going to swallow, so he does spit it out, into Richie’s palm. Richie leans back long enough to grab a Kleenex from the glove compartment, and wipe off his hand, though the mess on the side of Eddie’s face, he cleans away with his own lips, kissing and sucking gently on Eddie’s jaw as he does so. They share a kiss, right after, and Eddie is a little nauseated by the taste, but it soon fades, mingled in their saliva.
“Do you have lube?” Richie asks breathily between kisses, but Eddie shakes his head, his stomach lurching with sudden disappointment. He can literally feel himself getting tearful; he knows it’s a complete overreaction, but he’s sore, and stressed, and painfully hard, and he doesn’t want to just settle for anything else…he wants so badly to get fucked…until he can’t even walk, based on the way he’s feeling.
“No…but I want to…I really want to Richie I don’t wanna wait ‘til we get home I can’t…I cant…”
“It’s alright, Eds, it’s okay.” Richie kisses down the side of Eddie’s face, and briefly kisses his neck, before he sits beside him to tug off his jeans and his underwear together. And that was clearly just to get everything he needs to do out of the way, so that he can focus on Eddie, because the next thing he knows, Eddie’s lying on his front on the back seat, and Richie’s tugging his tank top off over his head and kissing up and down his back.
“I know another way to get you nice and wet,” he whispers as he leans across Eddie’s back, and tucks his head in beside his ear, “And I think you’re gonna like it.” Eddie feels Richie’s tongue flick out against the shell of his ear, then, and he can’t help the fairly violent shudder that erupts through his body, nor the groan that escapes between his parted lips.
“Thought so,” Richie sounds smug, as he kisses and sucks and licks his way down the curve of Eddie’s back, each little bit of contact between Richie’s mouth and Eddie’s skin sending tense shudders of activity up Eddie’s spine, like static shocks.
Then Richie is tugging down the waistband of Eddie’s shorts, and groping at his bare ass, and kneading at the flesh with his thumbs as he tugs his cheeks apart. Eddie distinctly feels something warm and wet drop against him, before Richie rubs at his hole with his thumb, but he doesn’t have the strength, nor the inclination, at present, to complain about Richie spitting on him, because it feels so…damn…good, already, and Eddie knows it has barely even begun.
“Holy shit, I literally wanna fucking eat you,” Richie hums against the bottom of Eddie’s back, as he continues to rub against his spit-wet rim with the pad of his thumb, admiring the way Eddie’s thighs are trembling, and his hips are lifting towards Richie’s fingers and his mouth, “I don’t just mean eat you out, like I’m gonna, but I mean literally fucking eat you, like consume pieces of your body. Do you have any idea just how fucking beautiful your body is?”
Eddie only groans softly, in response.
“Especially this,” Richie strokes his hand around one pert cheek of Eddie’s ass, slowly, and squeezes, “I mean I have watched a shit ton of porn, and I’m not fucking lying when I say this is the best ass I have ever laid my shitty four eyes on.”
Eddie pushes back impatiently, and Richie watches the movement, and just barely presses the tip of his thumb into him, chuckling when Eddie braces, as though desperately hoping for more. More does not come, though. At least, not of Richie’s long digits. Instead, he dips his head to gently flick the tip of his tongue against Eddie’s hole, watching Eddie flinch and smirking against his skin when he very dramatically whimpers, like a spoiled child not getting its own way.
“What’s the matter, Eds?”
“You want me to eat you out, baby boy?”
“Want me to see how deep I can get my tongue inside you?”
Eddie groans, loudly, gripping at the edge of the leather seat, “Richie please…please…please I want it so bad…”
Richie spits again, slowly, but this time, right after Eddie feels it drip inside him, Richie’s tongue is right behind it, rubbing for a while, and then licking at his hole in slow, broad strokes, each of which, to Eddie, feels like the closest to literal ecstasy he will ever get. His hips reactively lift toward Richie’s mouth every time, whether he wants them to, or not, the feeling so euphoric that his body chases it if its own accord.
Richie hums in amusement against his skin, and Eddie hears him settle down more comfortably against the seat, and feels one of Richie’s arms hook around his upper thigh, fingers holding him open.
Then the real test of Eddie’s self-control begins, as Richie starts teasing at his rim with the tip of his tongue, flicking at it in short, light licks that make Eddie jump every time, as though he’s being shocked. Then he presses down more firmly, tracing across every little ridge and pucker individually, and just barely dipping inside, several times. Eddie feels a little overwhelmed, already; it tickles and itches and feels so impossibly sensitive that he vaguely wonders how he ever sits down without creaming his pants. The pleasure of feeling Richie’s thick, warm, wet tongue against him, is immeasurable.
“I wanna come…” he whines, shakily, “Richie I wanna come I’m gonna come.”
He isn’t, though. If Eddie could think clearly, he would remember that he says so, every time Richie eats him out, like this, but he has never experienced an orgasm from it alone. He does feel a warm buzz of climactic pleasure deep in his body, whenever it happens, though, and he believes that if it lasted long enough, he probably could come, just from being rimmed.
Richie sniggers, as he continues, gripping at Eddie’s thighs when he starts shifting them about far too much, clearly feeling constricted by the shorts trapping them together.
“Oh…fuck I w-wanna come…”
“You’re not gonna come, Eds.” Richie tugs Eddie’s shorts down off his thighs, and manoeuvres his knees to pull them free altogether, “Not yet. Just relax, okay?” He rests one large palm against the base of Eddie’s back, and rubs at it gently as Eddie spreads his knees apart as far as he possibly can on such a narrow surface. Richie leans down to kiss and suck at his hole briefly, as Eddie continues to shift.
“Put your leg over the side,” he offers gently, helping to lower Eddie’s knee off the seat and onto the floor of the car, until he seems satisfied with the open spread of his thighs. “That’s good,” Richie praises, softly, “So good, baby.”
Once more, he presses in between Eddie’s cheeks, licking, sucking, and prodding at his hole with his tongue, this time, until it starts to slip inside.
Richie pushes harder, until his tongue is fully inside him, now, and Eddie gasps, back arching, toes curling, moaning so loudly and wantonly that he even surprises himself, with the sound of it.
“It feels so good Richie it feels so good please…please…”
Richie begins to gently dip his tongue in and out, and Eddie feels so dizzy with pleasure that he’s worried he might actually black out; it’s always intense, like this, but he’s wound so tightly, today, that it’s amplifying everything tenfold.
“Ohhh, fffuck…I wanna come so bad…I wanna come so bad Rich please…please I wanna come so bad…” Eddie feels tears welling in the corners of his eyes, and he drops his head forward to rest against his arm, weakly, feeling completely at Richie’s mercy.
Richie is clearly moved by Eddie’s tearful pleading, and stretches out one final, wet stroke of his tongue before pulling away, stroking himself from semi to full hardness in a few jerks of his fist as he rubs at Eddie’s back and admires the needy writhing of his sweaty, tan body.
Eddie seems to quickly spring back to life at the suggestion of what’s coming next, pushing himself to his hands and knees and watching Richie over his shoulder.
“Yeah…fuck me,” he groans, pressing his body back towards Richie’s.
“You want it rough?” Richie knows the answer, though; even without any other cues, he can read the tone of their ‘session’ in Eddie’s eyes.
Eddie nods quickly.
“Tell me if it’s too much. Just shout ‘stop’, okay?”
Eddie nods again, impatiently.
“Okay, baby boy. Let’s sort you out, huh?”
Eddie barely has time to brace before Richie thrusts into him, fast and fully, knocking him forward so that Eddie has to slap his hand against the window. But, God, it feels good. He says as much, through gritted teeth, as Richie begins to rock his hips.
“Oh, yeah,” Eddie breathes, through a heavy sigh, reaching back to grip at Richie’s thigh, encouraging him to keep up the pace he has going right off the bat, quick and rough and deep.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” Richie hisses, as he digs his fingers hard into Eddie’s hips, and Eddie groans aggressively in response, rocking back to meet each one of his thrusts until it’s rough enough of a slap each time that both of them are breathless and moaning in seconds.
“F-feels so fuck…fucking good…” is all Eddie can muster as Richie continues to fuck him down hard into the back seat. Minutes in, and Eddie is flat against it, with only his hips raised, chasing Richie’s, and allowing the best angle for deep, thorough penetration.
“Is this what you wanted, Eddie?”
“Yeah,” He whimpers, weakly, small, but impossibly strong fingers gripping the leather so hard that the strain in the fabric is audible. Eddie would be worried about damaging the interior of his car, if he was capable of any coherent thought beyond ‘Richie’.
The stinging slap of their bare skin together, echoes around the heated cabin, for a while, as Eddie moans and whimpers and scrabbles at the seat like he can’t quite cope, and Richie holds his hips firmly, and whispers dirty praises as he watches him, transfixed.
“I’m gonna make you come, now, baby boy. You wanna come?”
Eddie nods frantically, making a choking sound from his throat that’s similar to a sob.
“Okay, baby, c’mon.” Richie slides his arm around Eddie’s waist to pull him upright, shifting them closer to the side of the car so that Eddie can brace himself against it on his knees. From there, Richie continues his rapid, rough thrusts, but now, he can far more easily get his hand around Eddie’s body and wrap it around his painful-looking erection, quickening and intensifying his climax.
Eddie is clearly inarticulate with pleasure, now. He pants out a few jumbled words that seem as though they may have been variations of Richie’s name, as his breath steams up the window, and his sweaty palms leave smudgy imprints on the glass. Then, it’s nothing but ‘yeah’, over and over and over, whimpered in a tone of such a high pitch that Eddie would be embarrassed if he was capable of feeling anything other than ecstasy and heat.
“Come on, Eds, you gonna come for me?” Richie pants into his ear, as he strokes at him in time with his thrusts, and Eddie goes silent, hands darting to whichever parts of Richie he can reach, for stability, as Richie continues to fuck into him fast and hard, and Eddie steadies himself for his inevitable climax.
And when it hits him, it hits him hard.
Eddie barely remembers anything but blinding pleasure, and the feeling of Richie’s arms gripping tight around his waist, as he comes. His vision blacks out for a couple of seconds, although it feels like longer, and when he comes to again, it’s almost like he has just been woken out of a vivid dream. He huffs out a short, heavy breath, and then he’s gasping for air, while Richie holds him steady and kisses at his neck and his shoulders and the side of his face. When he looks, properly, he can see the milky splatter of his own release up the inside of the car window, and he groans.
Richie’s hips have stopped, now, and he pulls free from his body, but Eddie knows it isn’t over. He leans against the window, cheek pressed into the cold, tinted glass, and breath fogging it further, and arches his spine, watching Richie over his shoulder. He watches him stroke himself to completion, a second time, and pushes his hips back against him, feeling Richie’s knuckles brushing against his ass.
“You can come on me,” Eddie breathes suddenly, bumping his hips back against Richie’s, again, “I know you want to.”
That seems to hasten Richie’s release, because he moans, seconds later, and does just that, decorating Eddie’s tan back with thick droplets of white liquid. Eddie wouldn’t usually allow something like that, but now that it has happened, he thinks it just looks like cream. He admires the way it contrasts his skin, the way it trickles down into the dip at the small of his back, and the dark glitter in Richie’s eyes as he stoops down to sweep it away with a few slow strokes of his broad tongue. A tongue which then follows the ridges of Eddie’s spine up to the back of his neck, and slips between his lips in a kiss. Eddie groans into it, contentedly.
“You feeling better?” Richie asks, cheerfully, pushing his glasses up into his hair, so that he can rest their cheeks together more easily.
“Yeah…” Eddie breathes, eyelids dropping, seeming so thoroughly relaxed that Richie laughs.
“You wanna go home and take a shower?” Richie sits back, and starts picking up various items of clothing from the floor of the car, but Eddie stops him, knocks them back out of his hand, and slowly climbs into Richie’s lap, to settle there.
Richie watches him, looking immensely amused, “Why not?”
“I didn’t get to finish my boxing class.”
“So…” Eddie holds onto each of Richie’s hands, and traps them together above his head, his hips shifting a little restlessly in his lap, “Are you ready for round 2?”