Work Text:
“Rich, can you check my phone?”
“Why can’t you check it?” Richie asks lazily from his seat at the breakfast bar, not even looking up from his own phone. Eddie huffs.
“Because I’m working with raw fucking chicken, Richie. Why do you think?”
Richie finally looks up, “Oh right.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, and then uses the knife in his hand to point at his phone on the counter. “It just went off with a text. See if it’s Stan.”
“I didn’t get any texts, though,” Richie says, but gets up to grab Eddie’s phone from the counter. “Wouldn’t he have texted the group?”
Patty’s been just about ready to pop for almost a week now, which means both of them have been on edge for almost a week now, every time either of their phones lit up with a message. Stan had insisted they wait to fly out to visit.
“Who is it?”
“Oh boy, Eds,” Richie looks up from his phone with a grin, eyebrows raising high into his forehead, “you’re gonna wanna hear this.”
“Is it the baby?” Eddie asks, impatient. He puts the knife down in the sink and pumps out two pumps of antibacterial soap to wash his hands.
“Oh baby, no, this is even more important.”
Eddie absolutely does not flush. Except he does, so he plays it off as frustration, which he is also feeling. He scrubs his hands harder. “What the fuck is more important than Stan’s baby? Richie? Can you read the damn text?”
“Alright, alright, calm your tits,” Richie puts a hand out placatingly. “That is cute you think nothing is more important than Stan and Patty’s baby, though. I’m definitely telling him you said that.”
“ Richie.”
Richie finally clears his throat and starts to read dramatically from Eddie’s phone. “ Boost your confidence ! Hang on, the n is actually an ñ – Boost your conynyifidence! Add inches AND thickness within days. Our pills have been tested and proven–“
“Oh fuck off .”
“ – by countless men who please better than ever before. Eds!!”
By now Eddie has finished washing and drying his hands, and he snatches his phone from Richie’s hands.
Richie is still grinning widely. “What an opportunity !”
“Yeah, Rich, want me to send you the fucking link?” Eddie replies, bitchy as all hell, swiping to delete the offending spam text from his phone.
“Oh, Eddie, I am wounded,” Richie says, hand to heart. “We both know if I was any more big and confident my head wouldn’t fit through the door. And I don’t mean the one on my shoulders.”
Eddie sighs, as if he’s disgusted, and they both know he’s not, but they both pretend like he is. “And you think my coñfidence needs boosting?”
He’s still annoyed, god dammit, because it’s a stupid fucking spam text, but he cracks on the ridiculous coñfidence , mouth twitching up, and Richie starts giggling.
“But inches! AND thickness!” Richie argues, failing to hold in his laughter.
“As if I need it,” Eddie mutters, tossing his phone back on the counter and returning to the stove, checking the heat of the oil.
Richie takes just a second too long to reply, and Eddie absolutely refuses to look at him. He does not want to see anything on Richie’s face that has anything to do with thinking about his dick, because there’s hot oil on the stove, and Richie is his best friend slash gay awakening slash maybe-love-of-his-life, and now is not the fucking time.
But still, Richie pauses. And it makes Eddie panic, for just a second. (And absolutely no part of him perks up like it knows it’s being talked about.)
“Well damn, Eddie Spaghetti. Or, Eddie Penne? Eddie… Ziti? What’s the biggest one? Man, this joke would be way better if I knew my pastas. All I know is bowtie and if your dick looks like that you have much bigger things to worry about.”
“The biggest I can think of is rigatoni , and it wouldn’t have been a good joke either way.”
“Eeeeveryone’s a critic. Even Dirk Diggler over here.”
~~~
He doesn’t need it, really. Not that he’s actually Diggler-y or anything, he’s just, slightly above average in a perfectly respectable, generally pleasing way. Just like being 5’9 is slightly above the global average in a perfectly respectable way. Not that it’s any of Richie’s business. Much as Eddie would love for it to be Richie’s business. Much as Richie tends to make things his business.
That – that pause , though.
Eddie wants to forget it ever happened. Eddie wants to analyze it to death.
Richie had come out, soon after Derry, when Eddie was still in New York, making them all join a group call and telling them he was “gayer than Liberace, and probably even more closeted than him.” Eddie was mostly quiet, save a quick, Thanks for telling us, Rich, that he let get drowned into the background noise of the group pouring out support for Richie. Because it was a lot, it was so, so much, seeing Richie come out, seeing their friends be so positive and good and happy about it, and even though it’s the 21st Century and he knows his friends would never be assholes about it, it still means so much.
Whatever time was right for you was the right time, honey, Bev had said sweetly, and cried a little bit, and Eddie understood, then, how void of love his life had been, all this time, without these people.
So Eddie had started to come out, too, first to his brand new therapist, then to Richie, because Richie had been brave, and had told Eddie that he was brave, too. He did it before he moved to L.A., because it felt wrong to not only move in with your best friend who was out to you and not be out to him, but also a little bit because he suddenly remembered all these feelings, and it felt wrong to move in with your best friend who you were in love with and not let him know that it was, you know. A possibility. And maybe some foolish part of Eddie actually hoped. That the knowledge might change something.
It hadn’t, really. Richie and Eddie worked together, fell right back into being as good as they had always been. Richie was obnoxious and hilarious and surprisingly affectionate, and Eddie was anal and bitchy and completely, entirely head over heels for him. Just like they had always been.
Anyway, dicks. The thing both he and Richie were interested in, the thing he was now panicking about. Specifically, his, and specifically, Richie thinking about it. Not that Richie doesn’t make dick jokes, because, obviously, but he usually jokes more generally, or about his own, or about liking them, not about Eddie’s and definitely not about Eddie’s fucking. Size . Or his goddamn thickness.
Eddie blames the stupid spam text, because it’s what got him into this mental/emotional/horny mess, and he doesn’t know who else to blame. He Googles whether the Do Not Call Registry is also supposed to protect you from spam texts (it’s supposed to, and doesn’t, which is great), and double checks that his number is in the registry anyway.
~~~
It’s only a few days before it actually is Stan texting, and the baby is pink and healthy and perfect , her tiny little head already covered in the fuzzy beginnings of dark curls. They name her Adelaide, after Patty’s mom, and Richie immediately starts calling her Addy.
They sit pressed together on Richie’s–on their –couch when Stan video calls a few hours later, looking tired and flushed with absolute joy before turning the camera to the baby . Richie coos and waves and makes faces through the phone, even though she's asleep and Eddie told him at least twice that she won’t even be able to see his face for another few weeks, especially not through a screen . It still makes Eddie’s heart swoop stupidly in his chest.
“Addy, Addy! You’re gonna love your Uncle Richie the best, right, baby girl? I’ll buy you all the best toys and every time you get in trouble with your dad I’ll tell you about all the rules he broke when he was a kid.”
“You will not, ” Stan says, firmly, but then the baby opens her tiny little mouth and everyone melts again.
Eddie asks after Patty, who is getting some well-earned rest, and they chat quietly, not wanting to wake the baby up, but not wanting to miss such a precious moment. Richie takes approximately 1,000 screenshots of both the baby, and of all of them chatting together, even though they’re using Eddie's phone.
Eventually they say their goodbyes, Stan himself having earned some rest, too, and it's not until there's no phone held up in front of them that Eddie realizes just how close they're pressed together. Just–Richie, warm, huge Richie, pressed against him from shoulder to knee, the curve of the couch making them lean into each other a little bit. It's warm. Eddie's cheek is so close to resting on his shoulder. What had it looked like to Stan? He didn't say anything. Not that Eddie would have wanted him to say anything.
Richie isn't exactly shy about touching Eddie, for the most part–he pushes him, or claps his shoulder when they joke around, he throws his feet on Eddie's lap when they watch movies or just hang out on the couch. Sometimes he hugs Eddie, when one of them has had a long day, or when they haven't seen each other for a while. He wrapped his long, warm arms around him the night he showed up at Richie's door, freshly divorced and freshly out, ready for a new start.
This sort of closeness, though–Eddie hasn't had it in a long time. Hasn't truly had it since he was a teen, pressed against Richie in the hammock or in his bed, reading comics or talking about dumb shit. He never really wants to leave it.
And then his phone lights up with a text.
Ever fuck a hooker? The text starts, and Eddie slams it face-down back into his lap. This, of course, is the most conspicuous reaction physically possible, and he instantly regrets it.
"Eddie," Richie says slowly, suspiciously. His voice is so fucking close. "What's up?”
" Nothing ."
"Mhmmmm," Richie hums.
"It's nothing, Rich."
"Sure, sure, sounds like it."
Eddie huffs. "It's just another stupid spam text -"
"Eddiiiieeee!"
"- even though my number is on the fucking Do Not Call registry, and this is super illegal, so I will be reporting it to the FTC, again , but I still keep fucking getting them. "
"Wait, you get these regularly? ” Richie sounds absolutely delighted.
“Yes, it’s annoying as hell! Do you not get spam texts?”
“Oh, no, they’re only targeting you. They just want you to have that extra thickness. Even though you apparently don’t need it.”
“Can you let it go? ” Eddie near shrieks. “These texts are bullshit. And illegal!”
“Okay, but Eddie. Eddie Spaghetti, Eddie Rigatoni ," Richie practically whines. "You can't tell me all this and then not let me read the text . They’re funny!"
There's a pause, and then he reaches for Eddie's phone. Eddie lets him take it with a deep, heavy sigh.
Richie practically wiggles with excitement.
" Ever fuck a hooker?" Richie reads out loud, and then barks a loud laugh. "Oh my god, they jump right in, huh? Ever fuck a hooker? You need DICK PILLS - that's in all caps - to come prepared - whether it’s your wife or the little slut next door. You’re an - wait, I need to unlock it to read the rest. "
"Is that really necessary," Eddie says, annoyed, but Richie is already holding the phone up to Eddie's face to unlock it. Eddie just glares at him. It unlocks.
"Yes, it is, this is gold, okay. ...Your wife or the little slut next door. You're an old man -" Richie stops to burst into laughter again, clutching his chest, and Eddie is determinedly not thinking about how he can feel how Richie's laughter shakes his whole body, pressed against Eddie's own. "You're an old man, and you need a big hard dick that stays hard. You know it and I know it. Then there's a link. God, this is great."
"Alright, that's enough," Eddie says, trying to grab his phone back from Richie, because the emphasis on big hard dick was really way too fucking much to hear from Richie's mouth. Especially when they're sitting this close.
"No, wait, wait, there's just a little more!" Richie holds the phone just out of Eddie's reach, continuing to read with enthusiasm, like he's voicing a damn commercial, " You owe this to yourself, Eddie! Okay, it doesn't say Eddie, I added that. Experience stronger orgasms, a harder cock and explosive summertime confidence! You’re gonna love it. ”
He's fully laughing by the time Eddie gets his phone back, punching Richie's arm and pushing him away, which only makes them fall back into the couch again, back into each other. Richie rests his head fully back now, though, still belly laughing.
"Minus the hetero shit, these are obviously meant for you, Eds. You're an old man, " he quotes, again, face scrunching up in laughter, and Eddie is so sick of him, and so gone for him.
"We’re the same age, asshole, what does that say about you?"
"Hey, I have no problems with how old I am! I, too, am an old man who needs a big, hard dick that stays hard."
"Shut the fuck up."
"Now their first mistake was obviously assuming that the big hard dick you need was your own, they should make some more gay friendly–“
"Beep beep, Richie," Eddie says, because if he hears Richie talk about dicks for a second longer, he's gonna spontaneously fucking combust. "Fucking hell ."
~~~
So listen, Eddie may be brave, but he is not the strongest man.
So if he finds himself lying in his bed hours later, thinking about having Richie pressed beside him, warm and happy and present, and if he comes, a little bit later, thinking about the way Richie's mouth formed around words like big hard dick, well.
He never said he was strong.
~~~
WORKING HARD EVERY DAY? You’ve earned a BIG HARD DICK, haven’t you?
“Fucking shit ,” Eddie says, far too loudly to be acceptable at work, but also, the fact that he had to read this text while at work was to blame, first. Then he sees that the text isn’t actually from a random spam number. Eddie clenches his jaw. He opens the text.
Richie : WORKING HARD EVERY DAY? You’ve earned a BIG HARD DICK, haven’t you? Just one pill gets you HARD and READY within MINUTES. Don’t believe us? Check it out: bigharddick . com !!! YOU DESERVE THIS.
Eddie : I will fucking kill you.
Eddie : I’m at work!!
Richie : hey, I’m working too! there’s never a bad time for some big hard dick pills. they WORK!
Eddie uses all of the will power within him to ignore the absolutely humiliating and severely inappropriate heat that rushes into his belly. He puts his phone back to sleep and turn back to his work. It lights up again not 30 seconds later.
Richie : eddieeee
Richie : spaghettiiiii
Richie : don’t ignore me
Richie : fine
Richie : Oh, can you send me some of the screenshots from last night? Stan is not sending enough baby pics to the group chat.
Eddie sighs and finally picks his phone back up, glad that Richie has moved on already, because he is, once again, at fucking work. He taps over to his camera roll, to the pictures he had purposefully not looked at yet, because he knows that he is a weak man, whose heart can only take so much. Sure enough, he opens one, his eyes darting straight to the little capture of him and Richie together in the corner, looking so together, their faces almost touching, both smiling widely, warmly, and it makes his heart just, just–
Eddie : [5 attachments]
Richie : awwwwww look at us
Richie : I lied, I just wanted to see the little picture of us in the corner, since you refuse to take selfies with me.
Eddie : We’re 41 years old, we are too old for selfies.
Richie : wait
Richie : are you implying that you’re an OLD MAN??
Richie : Are you admitting that you need a BIG HARD DICK that stays hard??
Eddie closes his eyes, and fucking gives up.
Eddie : I do work hard every day, so I think I’ve earned it, haven’t I?
Richie does not respond immediately. Eddie regrets nothing. This is completely normal, innocent joking around, like he and Richie always do. This is not flirting. He tells himself this, repeatedly, as he returns to the email he was typing, and his face stays a perfectly average temperature, and does not flinch when his phone finally lights up again a full minute later.
Richie : well then you’d better get to bigharddick dot com ASAP
Richie : poor Stan is the one who looks like an old man though, I haven’t seen him look that wiped since we killed a clown together.
Richie : the new father glow is definitely a better look than post-clown-murder glow!!
Eddie lets out a long breath of relief? Disappointment? Arousal? It feels stupid to be disappointed that Richie was completely unphased and changed topics so quickly (he wasn’t weirded out by it, was he?), because this has all been a joke, and Richie is just being Richie. It’s not like he was about to start actually flirting with his best friend.
Eddie tells himself this, and it doesn’t stop him from feeling disappointed. If anything, it makes him feel worse.
~~~
They hop on a flight to Atlanta the following Friday morning, only going to visit Stan and Patty for the weekend, because Eddie is afraid to take too much time off at his new-enough job and, for some reason, Richie wants to travel with him, even though he could easily stay for way longer. Eddie assumes it’s because he handles all the planning and booking, which leaves Richie free to worry only about buying his new self-proclaimed niece way too many presents.
“She won’t even have a chance to wear all these onesies before growing out of them, Richie,” Stan says that night, looking down at the sizeable pile of baby clothes littering his coffee table. Richie had had to check a bag for their flight, even though it was just a weekend trip.
“But they’re all so cute! Look, this one has a bee and a pot of honey. She’ll look like Pooh!”
“I think they’re lovely,” Patty says, sweet as ever, looking up at Richie perched on the arm of her chair. “Also, Stan is lying. Addy spits up enough that she needs new clothes at least four times a day, so we’ll definitely use them all. They’re perfect, Richie, thank you.”
Richie beams. Patty offers him the baby, who’s just waking up, and he takes her with such care, his hands gentle, tucking the tiny bundle of baby and blanket into his arms. Eddie watches from the couch, his heart in absolute tatters. Richie looks down at her so lovingly and it makes Eddie’s heart clench, as it’s been clenching since they first arrived at Stan’s house. Or, if he’s being fully honest – which he doesn’t particularly like to be – like it’s been since the day he walked into that restaurant and saw Richie Tozier’s big, ridiculous glasses, and big, ridiculous smile.
Then Richie opens his big, ridiculous mouth.
“She’s just so tiny,” he coos, voice going soft in baby talk. “Hi Addy, baby. Wow, you’re even smaller than Eddie. I didn’t think that was possible. You’re a wonder. Addy and Eddie, my tiny babies.”
The fact that Richie is holding a literal infant is the only thing stopping Eddie from catapulting the throw pillow in his hands directly at him. All he can do, at the moment, is narrow his eyes.
“Fuck you, dude.”
“Language!” Richie covers the baby’s ears, acting scandalized.
“She’s a week old!”
“She knows. I just know it, we have a connection. Right, Ads? You love your favorite big gay uncle.”
“Hey! Maybe I’ll be her favorite gay uncle,” Eddie retorts, before realizing that–um, okay, fuck, he’s not actually out to Stan and Patty. Yet. Well. Until now. His eyes go wide.
Richie rolls with it, because he’s the best, despite all the very violent thoughts that Eddie had just thunk approximately 30 seconds ago. “Hey, I said favorite big gay uncle. You can be her favorite small gay uncle.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m perfectly average?”
A single eyebrow raises into Richie’s forehead as he looks up and meets Eddie’s eyes. It’s unfortunate, because now Eddie can see with perfect clarity as Richie glances down to his crotch, and then back up. “If you say so, Dirk.”
“Okaaaay, ignoring that, can we back up here for a second?” Stan says, and it’s maybe the only thing that could possibly bring Eddie out of the sheer mortification of Richie looking at him like that. And the sheer mortification of maybe feeling some blood rush south because of it. In his best friend’s living room. Surrounded by said best friend and his wife and newborn. All who he just accidentally came out to. “Eddie?”
Eddie takes a single breath and turns to Stan. “Yeah, alright, I’m wicked gay. Surprise?”
“Well. Not really,” Stan says, but not unkindly. “But thanks for sharing.” He’s smiling, and Eddie finds that it’s not as earth-shattering as he always assumed coming out would be. It feels like–like an exhale .
Patty stands up and sits beside Eddie on the couch, pulling him into a hug, smiling hugely. “Oh, Eddie, we love you. Thank you for telling us. Even if it was kind of on accident.” And then, as she lets him out of the hug, she stage whispers into his ear, “And my bets are on you for Adelaide’s favorite gay uncle.”
“I heard that!”
~~~
The weekend is far too short, two and a half whirlwind days of friends and baby naps and video calls with the other Losers.
It’s even harder, Eddie realizes, when it’s just the two of them with a married couple, not to feel like it’s double date-y, but simultaneously feel the distinct absence of the coupley-ness that Stan and Patty have. They work around each other in the same way, so comfortable and casually affectionate.
But Richie and Eddie don’t peck each other goodbye or hello or when they’re feeling particularly full of love. They go back to their hotel, and sleep in their separate beds, and Eddie absolutely refuses to jack off in the fucking hotel shower thinking about Richie glancing down to his crotch with his stupid eyebrow cocked and that stupid smirk on his stupid lips. He watches his come swirl down the drain and sighs.
Eddie makes sure to leave Stan and Patty with plenty of easily re-heatable food, putting an entire pot of pasta– not spaghetti or rigatoni, thank you very much–into a stack of Tupperware in their fridge.
Richie makes sure to leave them with at least 1,000 kisses (minimum) to Addy’s little head. He claims it’s just as important and helpful. No one can really argue with him on that.
They’re standing in Stan’s doorway to say goodbye, Addy in Eddie’s arms–which, honestly, still terrifies him, because two days hasn’t been enough to get comfortable holding her, because she’s absolutely miniscule and can’t even hold her head up on her own, and what if he fucking drops her, but it’s fine, they all trust him not to, so he can do this–when his phone dings with a text.
“Rich?” Eddie wiggles to show which pocket his phone is in to Richie, who’s already reaching around him–around the back, instead of just walking around him to reach it like a normal fucking person–to dig his entire hand into Eddie’s pocket and fish around, completely unnecessarily. “It’s probably just Bev asking for more baby pictures. Can you not? ”
Richie finally digs the phone out, pleased smirk on his face. He finally goes to read the text, and looks at it for a confused second before bursting into laughter.
“Oh Goddamn fucking shit, not again. ”
Eddie is getting a new number. He’s calling Verizon the second their flight lands and getting a new phone number. He tries to calculate the chances, actually, that if he calls now, if they could have it done by the time they get to the airport.
Stan looks at them, severely confused. “Do I want to know?”
“ No, ” Eddie says, at the same time Richie says, still fucking laughing, “Yes. Oh my god, this one is good. So Eddie’s been getting these spam texts for dick pills and penis enlargement and shit and they’re always, like, ‘you deserve a long, hard dick to fuck your wife!’ and shit like that, it’s fantastic.”
“It’s infuriating, actually,” Eddie says, and Richie laughs more.
“This one starts with LOL in all caps,” Richie starts, and breaks out into laughter again. “Okay, okay, sorry. It says, LOL at your age –“ He snorts again. “– at your age you can’t have a microscopic penis. This stuff’s better than Viagra - and it’s free. Get it ROCK HÅRD in 5 min. Check this ñews –yes that’s another ñ– check this ñews article. And then there’s a link.”
Richie finally looks up from Eddie’s phone, looking between him and Stan with a grin.
“Do you report them?” is all that Stan asks, very practically, because he’s Stan.
“Obviously! They still keep texting me!!”
“Rock hard in only 5 minutes, Eddie! Start the fucking timer, man, it might be your best time yet!”
Patty comes back into the entryway with the neck pillow she’d promised to give Eddie for their flight.
“What are we timing?”
“How long it’s gonna take me to kick Richie’s ass after giving your baby back to you.”
Patty laughs as she takes Adelaide back, trading her for the pillow. “Okay, have at it.”
“You don’t even know what I did!” Richie complains as Eddie yanks his phone out of his hands.
“Okay, I am absolutely not kicking you out,” Patty says, before it has the chance to escalate even further, “but it is almost time to feed the baby, so I do need to say goodbye. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
Eddie pockets his phone–still distantly thinking about calling Verizon–and picks up his bags, following Patty out to their rental car in the driveway. Patty chats about how lovely it was to see them, and they’d better start making Thanksgiving plans, and I know we hosted last year but we promise we really don’t mind, plus it’s so hard to travel with a small baby, you know, and–
“You’ll be here, right?”
Eddie finishes throwing his bags into the trunk and turns back to her.
“Of course we will,” Eddie answers, smiling, and then realizes Richie is still at the door with Stan, and he’s talking in we. “I mean, I–I know I will be, because I don’t really, um, have anyone else. I’m assuming Richie will be too, since he usually only goes to his family at Christmas, but that’s. You know. Up to him.”
Patty smiles, and Eddie feels seen , but–she’s smiling, so maybe it’s not the worst thing ever.
“I love you, Eddie,” is all that she says in response, and gives him as good of a hug as she can with one free arm. “We love you both.”
“We know,” Eddie says, also slipping back into we, but not particularly caring. He can speak for Richie, on this. Patty doesn’t mind. Patty knows. He glances back up to the door, where Richie and Stan seem to be talking surprisingly seriously. Stan’s arms are crossed.
“You better,” Patty says gently. “I’m proud of you too, you know.”
“I know,” he repeats, this time for himself. Patty smiles again. Eddie gives a last kiss to Addy’s fuzzy head. She’s really so tiny.
“And I’m sure Richie deserves it, but don’t kick his ass too hard, okay? I think he needs that.” And then she fucking winks, and turns around, and leaves Eddie to have to just fucking process that .
“ Stan ,” he yells, after a moment, as Stan and Richie finally make their way down the porch stairs. “You’re my only friend, suddenly. Congratulations.”
He can hear Patty laugh as she goes back into the house. “Bye boys! Love you!”
“I’ve always been the best friend, anyway,” Stan says, factually.
“You know, I can’t even argue with that,” Richie says, tossing his own – considerably lighter now–suitcase into the trunk and slamming it shut.
“Wow, thanks,” Eddie says, deadpan.
“Oh, come on, Eds, you don’t count,” Richie says, slinging his arm around Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie refuses to look at him or even consider what Richie might mean by that, but it backfires, because now he sees Stan’s reaction to it, which is just–eyebrows up , slowly, looking between them, as if to say, are we talking about this, now? But Richie misses it, too busy digging the keys out of his pocket, other arm still hanging around Eddie’s neck. “You ready to go?”
“ Yes , we have a flight to catch,” Eddie says, looking at his watch.
“Not for another four hours, Eds.”
“And it takes 40 minutes to get to the airport without traffic, Richie, we talked about this.”
“I know, I know, and I’m here and ready to go, aren’t I?” Richie says, gesturing at himself with both hands, the one around Eddie’s neck waving an inch from his face.
Eddie barely registers it, though, because Richie’s looking down at him, so fucking close, looking at him, just – expectantly. Eddie nods in acknowledgment.
“Yes, you are,” he admits.
Richie smiles so brightly. Eddie can barely stand to look at it. He can’t look away. He smiles back.
Stan sighs.
“Always a joy to have you two over,” he says, entirely deadpan. But they all know he means it.
Richie finally lets go of Eddie to give Stan a hug. “See you at Thanksgiving, Stanley. Excellent work fucking your wife and then letting her do all the work.”
Stan ignores him. “If Adelaide is sleeping through the night by then, you know the guest room is all yours.”
He’s looking between them as he says it, even though he must just be talking to Richie.
“Oh hell yeah,” Richie says. “Suck it, Bev and Ben. They’d probably fuck every night and you’d have to listen. And then they’d wake the baby up.”
“Hilarious you think anyone is louder than you,” Stan says.
“Actually, you know what, you’re right. They’d be making sweet tender love every night.”
“And you won’t?” Stan asks pointedly, still inexplicably looking between the both of them as he talks, and Eddie blanks. Who the hell would Richie be making love to in Stan’s guest bedroom? For a millisecond Eddie thinks that Stan knows something, that–that Richie has somebody, somebody to bring to Thanksgiving. Somebody to fuck in a guest bedroom on Thanksgiving. Somebody to fucking – to fucking make love to . The thought makes a knot form in Eddie’s stomach instantly.
“Tempting,” Richie says, “but I prefer to make sweet tender love to Bev and Ben in private. ”
Eddie rolls his eyes. Surely he’d know if Richie was seeing somebody, though, right? He wouldn’t keep that from Eddie?
“The hotel is close by, at least,” Eddie says, awkwardly, forcing himself to focus on the conversation at hand. “You can fuck Ben and Bev there, not that they’d let you.”
“ Ouch . And as if I’d let you have Stan’s guest room all to yourself?”
“You were gonna have it all to your self!”
“Sure he was,” Stan says, sarcastic, and Eddie feels some mixture of confused and a little sick again. “Go catch your flight. We can figure out Thanksgiving plans later. Love you both.”
“Lord knows why,” Richie says, walking around the car to get in to drive, and Eddie gives Stan a hug before getting in the front seat.
~~~
The sick feeling doesn’t quite go away until they’re sitting outside their gate, a safe two hours early, and Eddie is more focused on researching how to stop spam texts than on the thought of Richie making love to someone. Well, to someone who is not him. Being in love is so fucking embarrassing
“Why do they bother you so much?” Richie asks, tapping his fingers against Eddie’s thigh. “It’s just a text, like, maybe once a week, if even.”
“They’re nefarious , Richie.”
Richie very clearly holds in a laugh at that, and it makes Eddie simmer.
“Okay, but they take, like, two seconds to delete. Or report, or whatever you do.”
“Yeah, two seconds to report and delete it, and then three days straight of you teasing me about my dick.”
“Okay, we’re talking about dicks here, so that’s three days gay , first of all. And I wouldn’t keep teasing you about it if you weren’t such a show-off, Eddie Rigatoni ,” Richie says, putting an Italian accent on rigatoni , and Eddie just catches at the edge of his vision that Richie has once again glanced pointedly down at his crotch as he said it.
“I haven’t shown you anything! ”
Richie’s eyebrows disappear into the hair covering his forehead. “Well don’t tease me . We’re in public, you little vixen.”
Richie’s voice is teasing, like it always is, but then he sort of – readjusts, in his seat. One of his ankles comes up to rest on his knee. His legs are so fucking long.
But then, Richie is always fidgety, Eddie reminds himself.
“Shut the fuck up,” is all he can manage to say, frustrated and suddenly way too horny for being at an airport, before a six hour flight, where he’ll be squeezed next to the source of that horniness the entire time. Suddenly he needs to be literally anywhere else . “I gotta piss.
~~~
Unlike the hotel shower, where you’re allowed to be weak, Eddie actually does refuse to jack off in an airport bathroom , because there are some very hard lines that should never be crossed. But he does put cold water on his face and stare himself down in the mirror, ignoring the few other people in the bathroom.
He’s gonna have to move out, he thinks. He’s gonna have to move out, and ruin this perfect, pathetically platonic housemate/best friend partnership that they have going, because he cannot be popping boners every time Richie makes a dick joke, like they’re both thirteen again. He weighs the pain of seeing Richie considerably less against the mortification of situations like being half hard in an airport bathroom and also feeling ill for an hour at the thought of Richie with someone else, and attempts to calculate how much moving out would actually affect the frequency of said situations. The math calms him down, and after about a minute and a half reaches the conclusion that any amount of Richie exposure will always have this affect on him, and the only way to stop it would be to cut Richie out of his life entirely. Which is clearly not even an option. The only viable option is to just… grimace and bear it.
He takes another deep breath. The bathroom smells awful. He washes his hands again and goes back to his seat beside Richie.
~~~
Richie : hey Eds guess what
Eddie : What?
Richie : Did you know… that there are BEEFY BEARS IN YOUR AREA waiting to FUCK YOU? Go to DILFS . COM NOW
Eddie : I can block your number, you know. I know how to do that.
Richie : but then I won’t know what you want for dinner
Richie : I was thinking Thai
Eddie : I can always just tell you what I want and then block you.
Eddie : I’ll just have my usual. Put the order in at 5, I think I’ll need to stay a little late tonight.
Richie : please, everyone knows I'm the #1 eddie expert.
Richie : boooooo but okay will do!!!!
Richie : you want any sides or appetizers? their egg rolls are always good
Richie : nice and girthy
Eddie doesn’t respond.
~~~
Richie gets the egg rolls, and Eddie has to watch him shove almost an entire one into his mouth in one bite, which is fucking obscene. Sometimes, when Richie does this kind of shit, Eddie wonders if he knows. He’s always done the most obnoxious things possible to get reactions from Eddie, since they were kids, because Eddie always delivers, because Richie knows exactly how to get under his skin. But if Richie knows — Could he know? That doing this shit goes straight to Eddie’s dick, and does it just for the fun of it? What an asshole. He’s so in love with him.
“Did you give a good tip to the driver?” Eddie asks, desperate to think about anything other than Richie’s lips, and any related trains of thought, and the fact that he’s in love with him.
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Richie says through a mouthful of food. “He was kinda cute, too,” he adds, twitching an eyebrow in interest. Eddie can't tell if he's joking, because he's always fucking joking.
Eddie snorts. "That your type?” He tries to come off as joking more than jealous . Because it’s the fucking delivery guy. God, being in love is so fucking humiliating .
Richie's eyebrows pop up, smiling like he knows . He shrugs, "Oh, I don't know. Maybe. He was kind of small. You know I like 'em small." Eddie flushes, and then Richie adds, "Well. In some ways," and Eddie flushes more.
"Maybe you should've invited him in , then," Eddie says quickly, fully aware that he's both deflecting and dripping with jealousy. Talking about Richie hooking up with someone is enough , he can't take more of Richie's fucking teasing about his dick on top of it.
"I'm sure he'd be tripping over himself to fuck a middle aged, washed up comedian such as myself, but I'm saving myself for marriage."
"Sure," Eddie rolls his eyes. "So you don't plan to make sweet love to our Thai restaurant delivery guy in Stan's guest bedroom at Thanksgiving?"
"No,” Richie laughs. “I'm thinking a clandestine affair in the moonlight with our delivery guy would be more fitting. Making-sweet-love-slash-fucking-loudly in my best friend's house is sacred . Gotta save that one for somebody special."
"Oh yeah? You have someone in mind?"
Eddie keeps his eyes on his food, because as much as he's trying to joke about it, the bitterness in his voice is fucking unmistakable to anyone in a 10 mile radius, probably, and he hates himself for it. It's been weeks since Stan's. He should’ve been able to let this go by now.
He'd tried to think about it a few times since, like some fucked up exposure therapy - Richie with someone else, dating them, traveling with them, having them over the fucking house . Kissing and fucking in the fucking house . Their fucking house. Every time just leaves him as miserable as the first time. Turns out exposure therapy just turns into willing self-torment when you're as far gone for someone as Eddie is for Richie.
Richie chuckles again, but it's... strained. Eddie finally looks up, but Richie is staring at his food too.
"Maybe I do," he shrugs.
Eddie puts his spoon down, decidedly not hungry anymore. There's an empty feeling in his stomach, despite having just eaten.
"Well," he clears his throat. "Good luck, I guess." He thrums his fingers against his knee and doesn't give Richie a chance to answer. He absolutely does not want to hear any more about this. "Wanna watch a movie or something?"
Richie takes a second to answer, also setting his food down. "Sure."
~~~
It's not... tense, but it's not exactly relaxed, either.
Well, Eddie is always a bit tense, but Richie is usually the loose one, slowly easing the day's tension out of Eddie with a foot wiggled under his thigh, a running commentary on whatever they're watching that gets Eddie laughing until he's relaxing back against the couch, arm thrown over Richie's leg.
But even Richie is tense tonight, and Eddie is even tenser than usual.
So, okay, it’s tense.
They’re only a half hour into the movie—Texas Chainsaw Massacre, because apparently Richie hasn’t lived through enough horrific shit in his own life to actually stop loving horror movies—when Richie takes his phone out.
Which, Richie never looks at his phone during movies. It’s a whole thing for him to not use phones during movies, and he’s yelled at Eddie enough about immersion or whatever that Eddie barely dares to even check the damn time anymore if they have a movie on.
He stares at Richie in disbelief as he taps at his phone, phone tilted just away from Eddie enough that he can’t really see what he’s doing. It takes a while to type out whatever he’s writing, Eddie watching him the whole time, and by the time he drops his phone back down onto his lap, still not making eye contact, there’s a tiny hint of a smile on his face. It’s the face he makes when he’s trying not to smile too big but can’t hold it back entirely. But it’s also… softer than usual.
Eddie opens his mouth to say something about it, because what the actual fuck —who and what could possibly make Richie actually break his own sacred rules and text during a movie? And smile like that? He must be seeing someone, right? Why hasn’t he fucking told Eddie ?—when his own phone lights up.
“Shit,” Eddie says under his breath, because he forgot to put on Do Not Disturb when they started the movie, but when he looks at his phone he sees that he has a text. From Richie.
He has to unlock his phone to open and read it, because he turned off text previews after the umpteenth time Richie saw his phone before he got to it.
Richie: hey man have you been RIPPING YOUR PARTNER’S ÄSSHOLE APART with your MÄSSIVE CÖCK? we know sometimes you are just TOO BIG... get that huge döng back down to size so you can Please your Man… but HURRY, we only have a few bottles remaining <<< TOOBIGHARDDICK . COM >>>
By the time he finishes reading it Richie is fully shaking with suppressed laughter at the other end of the couch, and when Eddie slides his eyes over to him, slowly, he releases it all in a loud cackle.
“You should see your face, Eds,” Richie says, wiping tears from his eyes.
“I fucking hate you,” Eddie says, but it’s also through laughter. God, Richie always knows how to break through Eddie’s tension. “I can’t believe you texted me during a movie, I’m gonna fucking kill you for all the times you bit my head off for checking my phone during movies.”
“That’s because you check your fucking work email! That’s totally different and wrong on so many levels.”
“My work is important, Richie! And I did stop after you yelled at me a thousand goddamn times. Fucking hell,” Eddie shakes his head, their laughter finally settling down. He picks up the remote to turn the volume of the movie down. “I thought you were texting whoever it is you’re seeing , or whatever.”
Richie pauses. “What?”
“I don’t know, whoever you’re seeing?” Eddie repeats, shrugging to convey the carelessness he does not feel an ounce of. “You must be seeing someone, right? If you have someone in mind to bring to Stan’s?”
Richie’s mouth opens. And then closes. And then opens again. He squints at Eddie, and his voice is still utterly lost when he says, “You think I’m dating someone? Like behind your back? Is that why you’re so—oh, wait. Oh?”
“ What, ” Eddie says, now also severely confused, and particularly confused that Richie sounds like he’s figured something out. “Why I’m so what? And behind your back makes it sound like I’m your b—your mom or something, what the fuck.”
“Why the hell wouldn’t I tell you if I was seeing someone, Eddie?” Richie’s voice is still… weird, like he’s trying to figure something out.
“I don’t know!” Eddie says, turning his hands up.
“Who the hell would I be seeing? ”
“I don’t know!” Eddie says, louder, waving his hands more frantically. “You have friends and coworkers that I don’t know, and stuff! I don’t know what you get up to.”
“Eddie,” Richie says, a little more gently, now. He repeats Eddie’s name and waits until Eddie finally looks up at him, and then says to his face, “I’m here with you practically every night. I’m not seeing anybody.”
Eddie sighs, sinking into the couch, and hates how fucking obvious he is about it. And Richie sees it, he knows he does.
“And I’m not bringing anyone else to Stan’s for Thanksgiving. Jesus.”
“Well, I don’t know! You said you had someone in mind, and then you got all smiley looking at your phone and shit, during a movie, no less! It’s a normal assumption.”
“I was texting you! About your massive dick!”
“Oh my god, Richie,” Eddie says, elbows on his knees and letting his head fall into his hands. Something inside of him finally breaks under all the pressure of the whole night, the whole fucking— months that he’s been living with Richie and slowly just losing it with how much he just wants.
“Fucking— stop !” He nearly yells, standing up to pace around their living room. “You and these fucking texts are driving me insane I swear to God I never know when I look at my phone if it’s gonna be something normal or if I’m gonna have to see some bullshit spam and then hear you talk about my dick for a whole day and make me want to fucking— die because you have some stupid fixation on it and like yes it’s normal to joke around about dicks and you’re Richie and you’ve always been like this but something about you talking about me and my dick so much like that just—” He stops abruptly, and swirls furiously back toward Richie. “If you’re not gonna do anything about it can you at least shut the fuck up about it?”
Richie just stares at him as he spills all of this out, barely stopping for air.
Then he just repeats, slowly, “‘Do anything about it’?”
Eddie swallows. The beginnings of panic shoot down his spine.
“About…” Richie trails off, glancing down to Eddie’s crotch.
“Yes, Richard , I mean about my dick,” Eddie says, impatient. His face must be the temperature of the fucking surface of the sun because he had never really planned to let Richie know that this shit was actually affecting him but Richie needed to fucking know, and now he does know and is looking at Eddie with— with—
The corner of his mouth turns up.
“Alright , I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page here, Edward .”
And then Richie is getting up from the couch and backing him against the wall, and then Richie’s hands are on his hips and Richie’s lips are on his and Richie is kissing him .
It’s zero to a hundred in one second flat; one moment Eddie’s hips are bumping into the wall behind him and the next moment Richie’s tongue is in his mouth and he’s bending his head back to open up for him even more, and his hands are on the back of Richie’s neck to pull him down, down, closer, hotter, hungry . Richie kisses him like he’s been craving it for his whole fucking life, like Eddie has, which is just, impossible, unthinkable, and Eddie goes even more light headed at the thought, at the way Richie sucks on his tongue like he also just fucking wants .
And then Eddie pulls desperately at the hair at the base of Richie’s neck, and Richie lets out a whimper, and Eddie’s soul leaves his goddamn body. He rolls his hips up into Richie’s and they both let out another, more guttural moan right into each other’s mouths, and Eddie never wants to hear anything else in his fucking life. He shoves his other hand higher into Richie’s hair and grabs.
“Eddie,” Richie gasps, finally breaking off from his mouth and moving to kiss down his jaw. “ Eds. You drive me fucking crazy.”
Eddie is alight. His breath heaves as Richie bites at the skin just beneath his jaw, moving down his neck, and something about the way his stubble scratches at Eddie’s skin sends sparks out through his entire body. Eddie can feel them both hard in their sweatpants, pressed against each other.
“You’re all talk and no action, Tozier,” Eddie teases, but his voice gives him away. He sounds exactly as he feels. Fucking wrecked .
“ Me ?” Richie says into his neck, still not pulling away. He sounds fucking wrecked, too, and it’s—it’s so much. “That’s rich coming from you, Rigatoni.”
He accentuates his point with a pull on Eddie’s hips up into his own, causing both of them to gasp.
“Fuck off, it’s not like I’m that big—”
“Massive until proven microscopic, Eds,” Richie says, finally backing away from Eddie’s neck.
And then he falls to his knees. He fucking nuzzles Eddie’s crotch, mouthing up the length of Eddie’s cock through his sweatpants, and Eddie feels himself twitch at the contact.
“ Rich ,” Eddie says, and it comes out hoarse and impatient.
Richie fucking smiles up at him, and it makes Eddie wish he was sitting down, because he feels weak at the knees, the way Richie looks at him and knows, that he wants it, that Richie wants to give it. Richie pulls his sweats and boxers down in one go, and Eddie’s cock springs free, almost hitting Richie in the face as it does, and Eddie would laugh if he wasn’t so fucking turned on, because Richie Fucking Tozier is on his knees, licking his lips, inches from his dick.
He looks up and meets Eddie’s eyes again, smiling even bigger, now.
“I knew it,” he says, and then his mouth is closing over the tip of Eddie’s cock. One of his hands is coming up to wrap around the rest of the length of it, and Eddie lets out an embarrassing squeak at the wet heat of Richie’s mouth.
Despite all their hungry desperation leading up to this, Richie swirls his tongue around the head, still smiling and taking his sweet fucking time. Like he’s enjoying it, like he’s fucking savoring it.
“Rich,” Eddie breathes out, because it’s all he can fucking say , and Richie flicks his tongue again, and then takes most of him down, lips meeting where his hand is wrapped around the base. Both his heart and his dick were not fucking ready for this, Eddie thinks, as Richie starts sucking in earnest, bobbing his head with hollowed cheeks and closed eyes in fucking contentment, like he’s so utterly pleased, so fucking thrilled to have Eddie’s cock filling his mouth. “ Fuck .”
Eddie lets his head fall back onto the wall, because watching Richie suck him off has him genuinely a little worried for the stress he’s putting on his heart. The stupid movie is still playing on the TV, volume low enough he’s tuned it out in favor of the sound of Richie’s fucking slurping on his dick, but his eyes zone out on the TV as he gets lost in the feeling, in the heat building low in his chest, in the way Richie’s mouth and hand feel jacking him off, in how much he fucking loves this man on his knees before him.
A sudden jumpscare in the movie jolts Eddie out of his haze of pleasure, making him jump, and he accidentally bucks into Richie’s mouth.
“Fuck,” Eddie rushes out, breathless, because the back of Richie’s throat is so fucking tight around his cock. Richie’s eyes go wide with surprise as he looks up at Eddie, and there are fucking tears wetting the corners of his eyes. “Sorry. The fucking movie scared me.”
Richie hums a laugh in response, and Eddie can fucking feel it, but then he’s pulling off entirely.
“Getting distracted?” Richie asks, looking up at Eddie with amusement, and even though he’s teasing, his voice is gravelly and worn. The hand still on his cock keeps jerking him off lazily.
“Fuck off,” Eddie says. “I’m gonna come in like two seconds if I keep watching you.”
“Knew there had to be something wrong with you,” Richie says, shaking his head in mock pity. “Think they make pills to help poor Two Pump Chumps like yourself?”
“Oh my god,” Eddie groans, because Richie is so fucking annoying and still so fucking hot with his worn out voice and his hand on Eddie’s cock it makes him feel insane . “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
Richie just laughs. “You can kill me after I make you come,” he says, moving to put his mouth back on Eddie’s cock, and then pausing again to add, “and preferably after you make me come, too.” And then he finally closes his lips back around the tip of Eddie’s cock.
Eddie feels himself twitch at the thought—Richie coming, his cock in Eddie’s hand, or in his mouth, Richie kissing Eddie as Eddie fucks him through his own climax. So many fucking ways to make him come, and Eddie wants to see them all, cause them all.
Eddie looks down at him, eyes closed again in contentment as he takes Eddie down, going deeper with every bob, and a tear finally escapes from the corner of his eye, slowly rolling past the resting frames of his glasses and down his hollowed-out cheek.
Eddie puts a hand out, brushing it away with a gentle swipe of his thumb. Richie looks up at him, and Eddie slowly pushes his hand into his hair, tangling his fingers into his curls. Pull it, Richie says, with the way his eyes are locked on Eddie’s, wide and teary and desperate, so Eddie does.
Richie moans around him, again, his eyes falling closed, and another tear escapes his wet eyelashes as he takes Eddie deep again, hand moving with his head, letting him lead but keeping a grip on his hair, and it’s everything.
Eddie finally notices that Richie’s other hand is between his own legs, palming at himself, his hips moving just the tiniest bit to get himself off just on sucking Eddie off. It sets a fucking fire in him.
“Fuck, Rich—I’m gonna— fuck— ”
It’s all Eddie can get out before he’s coming, climax rushing through his every vein, spilling out and filling Richie’s mouth. Some of it dribbles out of the corner of his mouth as Richie sputters, backing off of Eddie to swallow it down.
When he looks up at Eddie, there’s a smile on his face. Eddie blinks down at him in disbelief, speechless for what feels like it might actually be the first time in his life. He just watches as Richie stands, groaning slightly as he slowly stretches his knees straight.
“Fuck. I might be getting too old to do that,” he says, finally standing back up to his full height. He’s towering over Eddie, like always, but this time Eddie has just come down his throat, and Eddie can still see a tiny spot of his own come at the corner of Rich’s mouth. He stares at it. He just came down Richie’s throat.
Richie stares back at him for a long moment, almost cautious. He licks at his lips, catching the tiny spot of come.
“...Speechless, huh?” Richie says, finally. “Good to know my head game is—”
He’s cut off by Eddie yanking him down by his stupid fucking Weird Al US Tour 2011 t-shirt to crush their lips back together.
They surge back against each other, and Eddie can feel Richie’s still-hard cock immediately pressing against his lower belly. Eddie reaches his hand down Richie’s stomach and slides it under the waistband of Richie’s sweats, only to find that Richie’s not wearing anything else. Of fucking course he’s not.
Eddie’s cheeks flush as he wraps his hand around Richie’s cock, which is stupid, because he’s already come into his mouth, but fucking Christ he’s thought about Richie’s dick too much to not feel overwhelmed at the weight of it in his hand. He gives it one dry stroke, and Rich breaks his lips away from Eddie’s to groan, his breath hot across Eddie’s face. He rests his head against Eddie’s as Eddie gives him another slow, dry stroke and revels in the way it makes Richie’s fingers dig into his sides.
“Eds,” Richie says, strained.
Eddie twirls his hand around the head, smearing precome down along his length to ease the drag, and then starts to pump in earnest.
“ Eddie,” Richie says, moans , and Eddie’s heart soars.
And then Richie is groaning, grasping tightly at Eddie’s shirt as his hips twitch forward and he comes, spurting hot over Eddie’s fingers. His head falls heavy onto Eddie’s shoulder, his breath heavy.
Eddie slowly pulls his hand out from Richie’s sweats. He wonders what to do with his hand for a second, before just wiping it on Richie’s hip. The sweatpants are dirty now anyway. Eddie’s sweatpants are still pooled embarrassingly around his feet, and he feels hot, and sweaty, and sticky, and absolutely content.
He rests his hand back on Richie’s waist, feeling the slow expansion of it as Richie breathes deep.
“Rich,” Eddie starts, his voice weak. “What was that you said about Two Pump Chumps?”
Richie laughs. And then laughs harder, still buried in Eddie’s neck. He curls further around him as he laughs, capturing Eddie up in a hug. It’s contagious, like it always is, and Eddie joins him in laughter, his own joy bubbling through him.
“Seriously, dude, that was like twenty seconds,” Eddie says.
“Oh fuck off,” Richie says, still laughing as he starts to loosen his grip around Eddie, backing into a looser embrace. “There’s gotta be a special non-chump exception for when the guy you’ve been in love with your entire fucking life touches your dick.”
“ I still managed to last,” Eddie says, before he can even fucking process what Richie just said.
In love with. Entire fucking life .
They stare at each other.
Richie opens his mouth. “Because you. You mean—”
“Yes, I mean I’m in love with you too,” Eddie interrupts, sounding annoyed. Like his heart isn’t actively turning somersaults in his chest. The guy you’ve been in love with. “Since forever.”
“Oh,” Richie says, still staring at him. And then a smile breaks across his face. And then his face twists up in emotion. “Oh,” he says again, almost watery. “Really?”
“ Yes, really,” Eddie says. “Why the fuck would I lie about this?”
Richie’s face still seems torn between crying and smiling, which would be a laughable expression if Eddie wasn’t so very deeply fucking in love with him. And if it wasn’t because he was apparently deeply fucking in love with Eddie too. Fuck.
“Oh,” Richie says again. And then kisses him again.
Richie nearly picks him up this time, circling his arms back around Eddie and pulling him so close, kissing him so hard that the top of Eddie’s head bumps lightly against the wall behind him. Eddie slides his hands up Richie’s body to his neck, pulling him down, down, closer.
When they finally break apart, Richie scans Eddie’s face, another smile slowly lighting his own. Like he’s really, actually in love with Eddie.
“Say it again,” Eddie says, needing it.
“I’m in love with you,” Richie answers immediately.
“Fuck,” Eddie says.
“Yeah,” Richie agrees.
“I’m in love with you too,” Eddie says back, and he watches Richie’s face twist up in emotion again. In happiness.
“Fucking hell, Eddie,” Richie says weakly, and then buries his face in Eddie’s neck, holding him in another tight embrace. “I didn’t— I didn’t know,” he mumbles into Eddie’s throat.
Then he pulls away quickly, looking between Eddie’s eyes. “Wait, so that is why you were so upset when you thought I was dating someone else?”
Eddie’s face flushes in embarrassment.
“Because you like me?” Richie adds, like they’re twelve again. He’s still smiling wide. Eddie rolls his eyes.
“Yes,” he says, quickly, hoping to move them past this particular discussion.
“Eddie,” Richie says, smiling widely, fondly. “Eds. There’s no one else. There’s never been anyone else.”
Eddie already knows this already, by now, of course. But it still feels like a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders, from his big, stupid, aching heart.
Richie’s smile softens. “It’s always just been you.
“Me too,” Eddie says, stupidly.
“Well, you were married,” Richie points out.
“Yeah, and she fucking sucked,” Eddie says, matter-of-fact. “You’re the only one I’ve ever actually loved.”
“Eddie,” Richie whines, throwing his head back with a groan. “You can’t just say romantic shit like that while standing here in just a t-shirt like Winnie the Pooh.”
“I wasn’t being romantic, it’s just true,” Eddie says, shuffling his weight awkwardly as Richie glances down between them at Eddie’s bare bottom half.
“That’s what makes it romantic,” Richie argues, and then shakes his head when Eddie refuses to agree. “Whatever. It’s inherently romantic because I love you and you love me, and we just got off to Texas Chainsaw Massacre together.”
“That was not what got us off.”
“I literally saw you watching it while I blew you.”
“I fucking told you I was just looking away and trying not to come in five seconds,” Eddie says. “Unlike some people.”
“I can’t wait to tell Stan that chainsaws turn you on.”
“I can’t wait to tell Stan that you last under 30 seconds in bed.”
“First of all we’re not in bed, and second of all I would argue that a chainsaw kink is way worse,” Richie says. “But I can work on my stamina. By the time we get to making sweet love in Stan’s guest room I’ll be able to last all night.”
A smile pulls on Eddie’s lips. “We’ll have to do a lot of training.”
Richie smiles back.
“You’re on, Rigatoni.”
~~~
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