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If someone had asked Edie Kaspbrak a year ago, shuffling angrily into her senior year of high school, what her romantic life would look like leading into graduation, she’d never have fucking guessed. She probably would’ve said something like, “Romantic life? Get the fuck out of my way,” or “Grow the fuck up, I’m going to college.” She’d also ask you to call her Eddie, but that’s neither here nor there.
But, as it turns out, after a career of stupid extracurriculars and good relationships with teachers just to squeeze a letter of recommendation out of them and doing all the extra credit she could get her hands on: her not-so-well-hidden and utterly, embarrassingly sappy dreams have come true. After a long stride through puberty for both she and Richie—Rachel, neither of them appreciate their given names and that’s something Eddie loves about her girlfriend, too—they’re finally here.
Girlfriends. For real. And after all the drama to get to this point, Eddie’s not really in the mood for any more bumps in the road. They’re both already doing tons of damage control over the night they got together; long story short, when they both offered spiteful—and cruel, in Eddie’s opinion, although Richie’s never conceded that point—prom invitations to their other, more male friends, and ended the night screaming at each other in the bathroom until that became fervently making out and a few other things suddenly made a whole lot more sense.
Now they stroll down the halls pinky-to-pinky—maybe they’ll hold hands one day if Eddie gets the nerve up—and Bill and Mike are back to living their own lives without pretending to be their beards. In any other world, Eddie would absolutely love dating Mike. He’s sweet, and gorgeous, and smart as hell, and he was an otherwise perfect prom date. But Eddie is gay.
Eddie is gay for Richie.
“So fucking gay for me,” Richie gasps into her mouth, rubbing strong, long fingers over the slight bulge of her hips where she’s straddling Richie’s lap.
“Shut up,” Eddie hisses, but keeps trying to see how deep she can shove her tongue into Richie’s mouth. The groan deep in Richie’s throat makes the sloppiness worth it; Eddie knows she doesn’t know what she’s doing, but that’s sort of the thrill of it. She gets to do these things for the first time with Richie. She shifts against Richie’s thighs, whose stupidly clad in her usual baggier-than-they-should-be denim jeans, and ghosts a soft hand over Richie’s jaw, down from her earlobe with a squeeze.
“You’re good at shutting me up,” Richie tells her when Eddie pries her mouth open further, because she can’t fucking shut up, Eddie could never make her, and Eddie doesn’t actually want to, but she kinda thinks Richie knows that.
“Mmm,” she hums into Richie’s mouth yet again. She feels electric. Something digging under her skin that makes her want more. Being with Richie makes her feel like this.
Her skirt is already riding up, and Richie’s hands are teasing the edge of the fabric like they always do, and Eddie sits back on her haunches and shoves it down her thighs, like she always does. It feels scary, but also easy. It feels right, but the echoes of her mother play in her brain. Way in the back.
But it’s there. She hears it.
Wrong wrong wrong.
Eddie closes her eyes and presses her chest to Richie’s and drowns it out. After such a surefire move like ripping off her skirt and throwing it clear across the room, Richie’s hands are finally more curious, more confident. They glide over Eddie’s hips, her ass, her thighs, the slicking wet upper part of them that make Eddie gasp. She’s so close, her fingers right there, and Eddie bucks her hips to try to force her to get a clue.
“I get it, Eds,” Richie laughs, breaks the kiss. Eddie scowls against her lips.
“You don’t to have to be so gentle,” Eddie says, and immediately feels bad, she just— she fucking wants it. Richie’s fingers in her.
“M’not gentle.” Richie digs nails into Eddie’s hips to prove the point. Eddie yelps, pleased.
“No,” she gasps as Richie’s fingers keep going, dip between her legs, thumb pressing to the edge of her clit, teasing. “Fuck, no, you’re not gentle.”
“Fuck, Eds.” Richie’s mouth is like a hoover on her neck, but she loves it. Sucking hard and solid, pounding her heart hard in her veins. She pulls back and her face is red and flushed. “I wanna go down on you.”
“Shit,” Eddie hisses, but her brain flares with ringing alarms.
Dirty. Wrong. Unclean.
Her breathing goes a bit shaky, and Richie, having already sensed the pause, is halfway to backtracking.
“We don’t have to. I just… you just feel so good.” She presses a small kiss to the base of Eddie’s throat. Eddie burns for her. It’s ridiculous. Her whole body is alight, and… this is how it’s supposed to feel, right? Why would she feel so good if this wasn’t right?
“I want to,” Eddie tells her, because it’s true. She thinks about it. She’s rubbed one out almost every night to just the thought of Richie’s face between her legs, to Richie’s tongue sweeping lovely wet circles around and inside her. Richie would be good at it. She knows Richie would be good at it.
They’ve spent months fooling around and sitting in each other’s laps and rubbing and rubbing until they come seconds apart, licking at each other’s mouths like rabid animals. Eddie’s lost her skirts and her blouses and her tanks and her sweaty exercise shorts after track. Richie’s dug fingers into her hips and thighs and armpits and—gently, because of course she’s fucking gentle—the nape of her neck. They’ve gotten far in a short amount of time, and that’s fine. That’s good. That’s actually fucking amazing and Eddie’s been into every second of it, despite assuming she’d be more tripped up. But something about the last few weeks have kicked things into high gear.
August is rolling around. Which means Richie going to Boston and Eddie going to Connecticut. Which means finally having to be apart, and not just like, in their different houses with their different sets of fucked up parents apart, but like… states apart. Different colleges. Different paths in life. Eddie doesn’t like to think about it, but. It’s—
It’s not something Eddie likes to think about it. But she does like to think about Richie going down on her. Again: she thinks about that a lot.
As a reality, though? Richie between her legs? Smelling her? Tasting her? Feeling Eddie writhe and drip and moan right in her face? It’s intimidating, to say the least. But she knows this is right. And fuck if she wouldn’t do it for Richie in a second.
It’s the only thing they haven’t done. They’ve had fingers in each other, and they’ve borrowed Richie’s toys, and they have plans to do some serious purchasing once they’re both out of the house, but.
This. This is new. This is different.
“I really fucking want to,” Eddie says, because she does. She does. There’s been a lot of different. And they’ve gotten through it together.
“Me too,” Richie pants. Her eyes are bright and happy. Eddie kisses her, brushing hands through her long brown hair. It’s usually tied up, hidden behind her giant—adorable—ears, but Eddie loves to unleash it and fist a hand in it. Pull it. Hear Richie whimper while she runs fingers through it. Then Richie leans back, her mouth still wet and says, “Lie back.”
Eddie blinks at her but complies quickly, throwing her shirt over her head while she’s at it.
“Take your shirt off,” she tells Richie, because they always go tit-for-tat, so to speak. Richie’s tats are amazing.
Fuck, that asshole is rubbing off on her. In more ways than one.
Richie pulls hers off easily, wiggling her eyebrows with a blinding smile. She crawls up between Eddie’s legs where they’re bent on the bed, and Eddie stuffs a couple pillows under her head and neck to prop herself up. Richie helps fluff one and Eddie wants to giggle, but she’s a little too light-headed.
Richie kisses her long enough that her nerves almost puff into smoke. She hits all of Eddie’s favorite spots like she’s been spending the last few months injecting all her stupid smarts into studying Eddie instead of for all the classes she would have aced any way. She nibbles at Eddie’s ears and neck and collarbone and the skin around her nipples until she sucks one into her mouth and then the other, leaving a trail of spit in her wake. Eddie’s close to losing her mind by the time Richie’s back between her legs.
“Y’okay?” Richie murmurs, nipping at the points of Eddie’s hips.
Eddie almost forgot what they were doing, but when she peers down at the nervous quiver in Richie’s right eyebrow, she remembers and her stomach drops a bit. Still, she nods.
“Of course.”
Richie squints suspiciously, and Eddie knows she sees right through her. She hates that. But Richie takes a deep breath instead of stopping, or moving up to kiss some more. Instead she leans to the side and tongues gently over a spot on Eddie’s thigh, so close to her pussy she can practically feel the vibrations when Richie moans. Her eyes slip closed, and Eddie tips her head back, dizzy.
“You smell so good,” Richie says, staring down in something like wonder, or maybe abject horror, Eddie has no fucking idea. Her head is spinning. She’s a little short of breath.
“Shuddup,” she mumbles.
Richie’s mouth finds her folds moments later, and Eddie can’t stifle the gasp. She’s slow and tentative, testing the waters while Eddie tries to adjust, then more sure, picking up her pace, getting confident, licking through her in solid motions. She moans when she gets into a rhythm, her own hips grinding down into Eddie’s bed, and Eddie…Eddie can’t shut off her fucking brain.
It’s nothing like her fantasies. She’s not writhing on Richie’s face, hand gripped in her hair, shoving her face deeper and faster and more—
No. Eddie’s just fucking terrified. Worried about how she smells. How she tastes. How sticky or slick or fucking—gross she is, probably. About how Richie was mostly likely lying, because there’s no way she smells good, she knows how she smells, and on days like today, especially! She rode her fucking bike for two miles earlier today and she didn’t even shower. There’s no way she smells like anything but disgusting, sweaty, musty panties and she needs Richie to stop, she needs Richie to—
“Rich,” she gasps, pushing hard at Richie’s shoulder, and Richie pops her head up, looking dazed and a bit sticky, and wipes a hand over her mouth.
“Wha?” she asks, and Eddie shakes her head vigorously.
“Stop for a sec.” She sits up when Richie gives her space, pulling herself to the edge of the bed.
“Are you okay?” Richie asks, concern laced deep in her voice. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, what? No. How could you hurt me?” Eddie snaps.
Richie shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe I got you with my teeth. I’m new to this whole eating pussy business.”
Eddie groans, covering her face with her hands and flopping back on the bed. She can still feel the trails of Richie’s spit between her thighs, on her hips, on the small pouch of skin below her tummy. Right when her fingers itch to clean herself up, she feels Richie’s hands trail softly over her bare arms. They linger down near her hip and stop, hesitant. Eddie sighs.
“You didn’t hurt me, I just—” She feels stupid. Embarrassed. Richie is probably staring at her, wondering what the fuck is wrong, wondering what she did wrong. Eddie’s screwing this all up. “I just don’t think I can come right now. Like that.”
“Oh,” Richie huffs quietly. “That’s fine, Eds.”
“Stop calling me Eds. Eddie is already a fucking nickname, you doofus,” she says with no bite, because she kind of loves it when Richie calls her Eds. She loves it when Richie calls her anything, her mouth slanted like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Eddie loves her.
She just needs to say it one of these days.
Richie snorts, trying to duck down and find Eddie’s eyes to no avail. Eventually, she gets to the floor between Eddie’s legs, poking at her knees until Eddie finally looks up.
“You’re annoying,” Eddie says without thinking, crossing her arms over her naked stomach. Richie smirks, leaning up to press their mouths together.
“So are you,” she says. Eddie kisses her again, unwilling to let that point slide. Kissing Richie is so good. It calms her down, brings her back home to the point when they’re bickering, or somehow makes it even more thrilling. Richie kisses her slowly, carefully, and for once, Eddie’s kinda into it. Hands find her hips. Fingers slide down her thighs. Richie’s not going to touch, but she’s soothing her, and it brings Eddie back to her body. Out of her brain so much. When Richie pulls back, her eyes big and cloudy with lust, Eddie stares down at her and thinks:
I want her mouth on me.
Richie makes her feel brave. She pecks Richie’s lips once more, then strokes an errant piece of hair out of her face. With her glasses still on, and so close, she looks magnified. Eddie admires her blue-green eyes and her long eyelashes before she licks her lips and calms her heart.
“Let’s try like this,” she says, nodding down at Richie.
Richie’s eyes go wide with interest and trepidation. “Yeah?” She licks her lips, a mirror of Eddie when she’s nervous. It’s stupid and flattering. “Like this?”
Her gaze flicks down to Eddie’s crotch, and Eddie nods, sparkly and keyed back up with want. Richie dips her head down, shuffling her legs back so she’s basically face-planting. Eddie opens her legs and lets it happen. And right from the first touch of Richie’s tongue, it’s… better.
Then, Richie pauses, popping her head back up with glossy lips and saying, “You take control, kay? You can, like, pull my hair and shit, alright?”
Eddie gapes. “P-pull your—”
“Yeah, just give me your worst, little Edie,” Richie snorts into her, and Eddie isn’t sex-drunk enough not to yell at her.
“I fucking hate that jo-hoooo— ohhh,” she moans, because Richie spreads her legs further and licks a stripe straight down her cunt, laving around the hole, tickling inside just long enough to get Eddie to squirm. “Oh fuck.”
“Mhm,” Richie hums into her, that arrogant bitch. She always thinks she knows best. She thinks she knows what Eddie wants before she says it, and maybe that’s true, but Eddie will be the first to admit she’s bad at hiding her true feelings. It’s not like Richie’s a fucking genius. In fact, it took so long for Richie to realize she liked her that there might be something seriously wrong with her, considering her goony, lovesick eyes and unhealthy obsession with arriving at play rehearsals early every night the week Richie was scheduled to practice her kissing scene with Connor Bowers.
Jealousy isn’t a good look on Eddie. Luckily, now she’s the one with full access to Richie’s mouth. And it’s absolutely going to town on her. Richie moves so smoothly, and so quickly, that Eddie barely has the wherewithal to stay on the bed. Her legs shiver into jelly as soon as Richie starts thrusting a tongue in and out of her, fucking her just like she does with those long fingers, but wetter, and better somehow. All her muscles and useless, so she slowly slides until she’s almost off the bed, and ends up landing with an awkward plop onto Richie’s face.
“Fuck,” she hisses, lifting herself by her shaky limbs and staring down at Richie. “Shit, are you okay?”
But Richie is just blinking in her direction.
“What the fuck,” she whispers, and Eddie curses again.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, I just couldn’t keep myself—”
“No, no, Eds, I—” Richie stands in a hurry, climbing onto the bed next to her. “Here,” she says, then lies down on the stack of pillows Eddie has previously been using to prop herself up.
Eddie quirks a brow. “You’re already angling for your turn?”
“No,” Richie laughs, her cheeks high with color, her cheekbones strong and sharp in the twilight. “You climb on top, baby.”
“Don’t call me—”
“Sit on my face, Eddie,” Richie says more deliberately, and that’s—
Well that’s interesting.
Richie’s fingers wiggle while she waits, just like her hips, strong and thick against the comforter, and Eddie wants to kiss and lick and bite at them, but she— she has to focus. And the thought of climbing on top of Richie’s face, bucking and humping and… using Richie. It’s—
“Are you sure?” Eddie asks, reaching down to prod at herself. Her fingers find slippery wet folds and swollen lips and fuck. She wants Richie’s mouth back on her, like, now. Richie nods enthusiastically, flicking fingers toward her in a stupid come-hither motion that definitely does not make Eddie even wetter.
“I’m really fucking sure,” Richie assures her, “and I’m pretty sure you really want to.” She licks at her already-wet lips, and Eddie groans aloud.
“Okay, fine,” Eddie says, and stops touching herself. Her first orgasm of the night should be on Richie’s face. She knee-walks her way up the bed until she’s parallel with Richie’s arrogant smirk, then swings one leg over Richie’s stupidly supple breasts and the sexy dip of her neck that somehow smells like cantaloupe and mint. “Like this?” she asks, bracing her hand on her own headboard, staring at the rose-tinted wallpaper her mother put up when she was six.
“Exactly like that,” Richie says with a nod.
Eddie starts to lower herself, the muscles pulling in her thighs, but hesitates.
“You’ll tell me if you’re like… if it’s too much, right? I’m not taking you to the hospital if you don’t tap out in time.”
“Eds,” Richie says, her big hands perfectly circling Eddie’s thighs. “It would be my honor to die by means of pussy suffocation. Fuck, put that on my gravestone. Or my urn. I haven’t really decided how I want—”
“Oh my god.” Eddie wants to smack her, but settles for lowering herself down onto Richie’s face because, well. It’ll achieve the same thing in the end.
Richie, in keeping with her dying wish, is immediately smothered in Eddie’s pussy, opening her mouth wide to accept what she’s given. Eddie mewls as they make contact, the swipe of Richie’s tongue suddenly overwhelming. It’s different from this angle. She digs her hands into the pull of her headboard and tries to rock back and forth slowly, tries not to let her head start swimming with arousal. She can’t crush Richie. She needs to focus. But that doesn’t last long.
The wet, delicious glide is intoxicating. She hates to admit Richie is right, but she has a lot more control this way, and something about that tugs at that spot right behind her bellybutton. Hands come up to grip at the globes of her ass, pulling her closer, down, faster, like Richie… like Richie really wants this. And that breaks something in Eddie’s resolve. She gasps, pulling herself up with her arms to peer down and yell at Richie.
“Take off your stupid fucking—”
The last word is lost in a jumble of consonants when she sees Richie’s face. Her glasses are fogged, her mouth sticky and panting, her whole expression smeared into longing, lustful desperation. If it weren’t so gross, Eddie would climb off and kiss her.
“My wha?” Richie mumbles, one hand on Eddie’s ass and the other snaking around to rub at her clit while she waits, like she can’t keep her hands off. Eddie hisses at the contact, bucking into her fingers.
“Your— uh. Well.” She smacks Richie’s hand away, needing the extra brain cells for at least a few seconds. “Your pants.” She pauses, then adds, “And your glasses. You’re gonna slice up my thighs with those huge things.”
They wrestle off each other like a couple of adolescent boys, Eddie’s foot catching in Richie’s face as she tumbles down onto the bedspread, her hair sprawling into her open, laughing mouth.
“You love my glasses,” Richie protests as she rips them off melodramatically and slots herself on top of Eddie, chest to chest. Eddie throws her arms around Richie’s neck.
“They’re fine,” she lies into a kiss, “but they’re also gonna end up crushed if you don’t take them off.”
“Maggie would not be happy about that,” Richie agrees, breaking away to gingerly rest them on Eddie’s bedside table before attacking her pants.
In record time, she’s back in her original position, but blessedly nude this time, and it’s like Eddie is presented with a dessert buffet of delicious treats. She digs in eagerly, starting with Richie’s large, pointed nipples and blooming stretch marks around her belly and thighs. She kisses up to her crooked knee from two years of ice hockey and across to the soft grain of hair she never bothers to shave on her upper thigh. The smell of her sweat is almost sweet, tinted with the familiar musk of her, stronger between her thighs and under the folds of her breasts. Richie squirms under the attention, but Eddie doesn’t stop. Her heart twists with the love she feels when she sees this body, laid out and vulnerable and secretive and all for her.
Richie doesn’t see what she sees. She can tell by the way Richie’s arms come up to cover herself, how she flushes a particular shade of red that even touches her ears, how her long, talented fingers spread silly and insecure over one eye, peeking out with a pasted-on grin. So Eddie gives in and gives up, takes a mental picture, and climbs back up to correctly position herself over Richie’s beautiful, glasses-free face.
“Ready?” she asks for good measure, and Richie nods with another big smirk. Her curly hair is dark and gorgeous against Eddie’s sunshine pillow. Eddie wishes they could wake up together tomorrow. She nods and lowers herself.
It’s quicker from the start. The pause didn’t do anything to cool Eddie down, and she feels her stomach and fingers tingling as Richie spreads happy, curious palms all over her hips and ass all over again. She rocks her hips with increasing speed until it seems ridiculous that Richie could be enjoying this, but she’s nothing but smothered moans and enthusiastic fingers with no indication she wants to stop. Her eyes are clenched shut in pleasure, so Eddie keeps going, keeps pushing, and rocking, and eventually she realizes she’s moaning, too, because it feels so fucking good.
Nothing has ever felt like this before. It’s like Richie is touching every single inch of her. It’s like she’s being pulled apart by every flick of Richie’s tongue. Everything is so close and wet and loud and she vows she’ll do this to Richie as soon as she works up the nerve. Which should be like, soon. Like, really, really soon. She wants to make Richie feel this way. She wants to show Richie how much she loves her, even if she can’t say it. She wants to take Richie apart, because she’s the only one who knows how to put her back together.
Working on significantly fewer brain cells and the noise of Richie’s endless groaning, Eddie takes one hand off the headboard and reaches back behind her, finds where Richie’s legs part and rubs her where she’s already dripping.
“Fuck, Rich,” she whimpers. She’s slick and open and Eddie feels triumphant, circling her thumb and forefinger over Richie’s clit before dipping to tease down inside of her. Richie visibly shivers but Eddie pulls back. She wants Richie to come like this, with a little contact and a lot of Eddie blowing all over her face. She wants to drive Richie crazy, just like Richie does to her.
Richie hums a frustrated little, “Mmmph,” into her, so it must be working.
“You like that?” Eddie asks. It would feel stupid if it weren’t for how Richie almost nods her head off, her mouth doubling down and spreading Eddie open like she’s trying to zero in, and it fucking works. “Oh fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come.”
Richie makes a small sound of victory before pulling Eddie’s thighs closer, leaving her no choice but to give up and let all her weight rest on Richie’s face. She grinds and grinds and swirls herself over Richie’s tongue, hearing the sloppy breaths and gasps below her. She tries her best to keep touching Richie while she’s coming, but Richie’s already there, her hips pumping off the bed and into Eddie’s palm, both of them coming together, and—
Holy shit. They’re coming together.
“Richie,” Eddie pants, desperate and in love, “Richie, yes, fuck—”
Richie pulls off and gasps a shaky breath. She wraps a hand back around Eddie’s thigh to keep swiping a thumb over her as she comes down, both of them humping into each other’s hands until they tire out.
With a groan, Eddie slowly rolls away, crawling up to cuddle under Richie’s arm, like they do every night they can spend together. She feels safe there. Warm and protected and wrapped up and with all of Richie’s encouraging words and fresh off the most amazing orgasm of her life, a swell of emotion tears up through her chest and into her throat. A blubber almost bursts out of her, but she holds it back, digging her nose into the side of Richie’s boob and inhaling deeply instead.
“God, you’re gross,” Richie snickers, kissing Eddie’s forehead. “You love my stink.”
“Mmm,” Eddie whimpers, hugging Richie as tightly as she can manage. “Maybe.”
“Maybe,” Richie repeats, and Eddie thinks she probably knows.
She presses a small kiss to the sticky edge of Richie’s jaw and cuddles back in.