Anon Fic - Blog Posts

Richie groaning, with his lap/arms full of Eddie, because he just KNOWS this man is going to kill him, but what's he going to do, tell him to stop? He WANTS those kisses and cuddles and the little bit of grinding and groping that comes with, and sometimes a little nibble or a request for something more from Richie... he's not going to STOP him. He's just going to DIE.

In response to: 

THANK YOU ANON!!

(1) The thing is, Richie knows. He knows this isn't something friends do. He knows that if anyone saw them, it would be... bad. But he also knows that when he touches Eddie's hand, it opens to him, and if he holds on, Eddie holds on right back. He also knows that when they settle close to each other during a sleepover, and everyone else is snoring, if they're in separate sleeping bags, Eddie's arm will steal out, and rest against his own, and sometimes he sees his eyes shining in the dark.

(2) Richie knows that when he teases Eddie, when Eddie shrieks and protests and threatens him, he doesn't mean not to-- not to give him nicknames and tickle him and pick him up and get too close. That he has to say it because he can't, he's not supposed to, like it when Richie touches him and says secret-sweet things. Richie knows that his gut twists every time he sees Eddie flushed and panting and struggling against the brightest, most beautiful grin in the world. He knows what it means.

(3) They're in the room over Eddie's garage, bickering playfully over a comic book, when Richie soothes over the pretend hurt with a kiss. It's supposed to be a joke, it's supposed to be on the cheek, cartoonish playfulness, but it brushes the corner of his mouth and he can feel Eddie's gasp and the soft, warm sigh that follows, and Richie knows that he's crossed a line. But Eddie has let him cross it.

(4) "Eddie?" He whispers, and he knows, he knows, but his voice still trembles, his fingers still tremble as they trace over Eddie's cheek. So soft and so warm, and he knows that if he lets his touch drift down towards Eddie's jaw, he'll feel the first blush of peach fuzz not yet resolved into a beard. He knows that if he brushes his thumb across Eddie's lip, he'll feel that sigh again. "What are we?"

(5) "I don't know." Eddie whispers back, so soft he barely makes a sound, but Richie knows. They are Richie-and-Eddie, and if he takes Eddie past their initials on the kissing bridge and points them out, he knows that Eddie will touch his hand, will give him that look that says 'later', 'alone'. He knows the excited dance of his eyes that comes when they are alone, knowing that they can touch in ways they don't dare do even among the Losers. Doesn't Eddie know, too? "Rich-- I..."

(6) "You can tell me to stop. I will." Richie says, but this, too, he knows. He knows that Eddie won't, because he's always had the power to stop him. He's always invited more. And it's true-- at the mere suggestion that this could stop, Eddie's arms wind around him. Eddie's lips very nearly meet his. They stop short, but Richie knows this for an invitation, because Eddie has always made invitations, has always reached for him and waited for Richie to bridge the gap. It's something they both do.

(7/7) What Richie doesn't know is if he should call this their first kiss, or if he can call it their second. One and a half? He knows that Mrs. K isn't home, and that while she barges into Eddie's room, she prefers not to disturb this space, with its storage boxes and mess of comics, and he knows it's safe to kiss Eddie here for at least another hour of their afternoon. He knows who and what he is, and for the first time the idea fills him with nothing but joy. He is Eddie's.

THANK YOU ANONN !!

(1) "I recognized Eddie right away." Richie gestures towards him with his empty glass, fighting a laugh. Bev almost says 'I bet'-- it wasn't something she saw that summer, the brief time she'd known and loved these boys, she hadn't had the chance to see it and she wouldn't have known it if she had, but she's seeing something now, watching the way he looks at Eddie. "I recognized Eddie right away because he's the exact same height he was the last time I saw him."

OMGGG THANK YOU ANON!! THIS IS CUTE!

(2) "What? Fuck you!" Eddie squawks ('fuck me?', Richie laughs, Richie laughs and laughs, like he's been holding it back for twenty seven years or like he forgot how and he's only been faking it all this time). He throws a pea pod at Richie's head, it bounces off his chest instead. "I'm average height! Okay, you're just, your perspective is skewed because someone put you on the rack and stretched you out, you're a circus freak. I'm not the problem."

(3) "The rack? Kinky." Richie pops the pea pod into his mouth, to Eddie's theatrical disgust. He glows over the reaction it nets him, he sits up even taller in his seat. "I didn't say you were a problem, I just said you were little. Like a teddy bear. Where are you the average height, the Lollipop Guild?" (and he breaks into the song, does the voice and everything, while Eddie says 'The Wizard of Oz, really?', and Bev remembers the ghost of a school play, just for a moment)

(4) "Average height for men worldwide, you can look it up! You can look it up! I'm normal." Eddie bristles, defensive, and her memory sharpens. He'd been the tin man, with a funnel strapped to his head. Richie was the scarecrow, mugging for all the parents. Was it second grade? "You're the statistical outlier, your legs are RIDICULOUS." (Richie egging him on, braying with laughter, gasping out 'my legs?', mock-scandalized, throwing one up on the chair between them for Eddie to kick at...)

(5) "That worldwide average is like... taking in little people, right? And countries where everyone is short because of widespread nutritional problems? Because you are little, dude. You could sit in my lap like a little ventriloquist's dummy." Richie says, and Bev's eyebrows go up a good quarter of an inch as he scoots back in his chair and pats a thigh like he really wants Eddie to go for it.

(6) "You're the dummy." Eddie rolls his eyes, has to turn away from Richie to hide how hard he's fighting his smile. "I can't even believe you right now, I'm a normal adult man, I'm not sitting in your lap. I'm not a puppet or a teddy bear or a munchkin or a-- whatever other dumb thing you want to say, dude, it's just that you're a freaking giant... freaking giant freakish gangly bear man."

(7) "Otter." Richie says, and then his mouth clicks shut hard and his eyes bulge comically as he rushes to cover, as Eddie mouths 'what' at him. "I oughtta just-- you're a tiny baby boy, I oughtta pick you up, I could pick you up because you're so cute and little. You're so small I could like... carry you around, or throw you around, you're-- like I could just pick you up, I could do that, it would be easy."

(8) "I'd like to see you try, bro." Eddie shoves Richie's leg down from where it's reclaimed the chair between them, so that he can move into the seat beside Richie's. "I'd love to see you try to pick me up and carry me. What, you've got-- you're just gonna lift me, old man? You think you can lift me? You got some strong arms, you're gonna pick me up with your giant hands?" (She'd think she was crazy if Ben didn't turn to her at last to whisper 'what?', if Mike and Bill weren't staring, too)

(9/9) From 'strong arms' and 'big hands', somehow they wind up arm wrestling, and if it wasn't some kind of weird Richie-and-Eddie mating dance before, Eddie screaming about taking off shirts and kissing would get that message across. The way his eyes darken when Richie slams his hand down on the table. It feels a little like intruding on something, until the moment passes without either of them commenting on it. Really, she thinks, if they're the last to know, it goes to figure...

(1) When Bill asks them who they had crushes on, Eddie had squirmed a little in his seat and named Greta, because she was the only girl he could think of. He couldn't even name any of the girls in their class, or think of what any of them looked like. Bill had volunteered his own crush and Stan had half-heartedly listed the attributes of girls he thought he might like, if he could get to know either of them well enough to know for sure, but Eddie couldn't think of anyone. Not like that.

(2) When pressed, he tried to say why he liked her. He liked that she was tall. He liked her shoulders, maybe? She's older than they are, and cool, unattainably out of his league, why wouldn't he like her? And she's familiar. But he doesn't feel all dreamy when he thinks about her, the way Bill seems to, and he doesn't want to get to know her better, exactly, like Stan wants to. She's just... there, and he can see her some of the time, and maybe she's... pretty?

(3) Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, uncomfortable with the turn of his own thoughts, Eddie turns the spotlight on Richie, the last to answer. He doesn't want to know who Richie has a crush on-- he doesn't want Richie to start hanging out with some girl instead of with them, which is stupid, he doesn't dread Bill leaving them, or Stan. But Bill wouldn't, he thinks, if Bill had a girlfriend she'd have to join them. What if Richie left them for some girl?

(4) "You know I only have eyes for your mom." Richie says, though for a moment he looks as uncomfortable as Eddie with the whole notion. Maybe moreso. Eddie takes a little comfort in the thought that maybe, Richie doesn't have a crush. Maybe, like Eddie, he's a 'late bloomer'-- that's what his mom calls him sometimes, and she always tells him there's no rush to think about things like girls, and maybe he and Richie just both aren't in a rush, and they'll figure it out when they're teenagers.

(5) The rest of lunch goes smoothly, the guys rib Richie a little for not giving a real answer and just sticking to a joke they've all heard before, but mostly they stop talking about girls and start talking about comic books and plans for the weekend and stuff like that, and Eddie feels a weight lift from his chest the further they get from the subject. And then Richie grabs Eddie's tray and trash to stack with his own, like it's not even a thing, like he does it every day.

(6) "I got you, babe." He winks, and Eddie's world shatters. Babe. The word echoes in his head. He hates taking his tray at the end of lunch, because of the little swinging flaps on the garbage cans in the cafeteria, and the whole awkward dance it takes to push them open with his tray so he doesn't have to touch it with his hand and he can still dump his trash in instead of scattering it everywhere, and Richie knows he hates it, but it's the 'babe' that strikes at the core of him.

(7) He doesn't like Greta-- he doesn't like any girls. He likes Richie, and he likes the sound of his voice and he likes that Richie is tall. Well, at least next to Eddie he is, and his hands are bigger than Eddie's, and he's gross and dirty and he's started sweating way too much and Eddie thinks he likes that, too. He likes Richie, not in spite of his being a boy, but because of it. If he didn't like Richie, he would like another boy. He likes boys. He's... He can't breathe.

(8) “Eddie! Hey, Eddie!” Richie is back at his side, as Eddie is still fumbling for his inhaler. He helps himself to the antibacterial gel Eddie carries with him before he takes the inhaler from him, shaking and clearing it before holding it to Eddie’s mouth, steady, other hand cupping the back of his head. “Breathe, okay?”

(9) Richie presses down and Eddie inhales hard. Once, twice. He likes boys, he likes Richie, and Richie is touching him. Touching him so casually, like it’s not immense, like it’s not dangerous. Touching him so tenderly, like it’s allowed. And Eddie wishes it was, wishes he could stay like this with Richie holding him, with Richie calling him things like ‘babe’, but once he’s breathing again, the moment passes. He feels cold where Richie used to be.

(10) "I'm okay." Eddie says, just a slight wheeze under his voice. Richie is watching him with attentive concern, no longer touching him but still lingering close, and Eddie wants him to linger close forever, and can never ask it of him. When Richie doesn't move away yet, Eddie gives him a reassuring nod, and he settles back into his own seat, but he keeps an eye on him just the same, and it's... nice. Not like with his mother.

(11/11) Richie just says okay, and walks him to his locker-- gives him an exaggerated wink and a 'carry your books, babe?' that makes Eddie's stomach flip, but he doesn't push or hover too close when Eddie says he's fine, and it feels good. It feels right. Richie walks him to his next class, bearing both their English textbooks, his smile so bright it could light Eddie's entire world. Cute, he thinks deliriously. Richie Tozier is cute, cute, cute.

(1) "It's just..." Bev says, her expression wheedling as she holds up the tape measure-- Eddie feels a chill of pure dread run down his spine, because he knows, he knows he hasn't got it in his heart to refuse Bev anything. It would be hard to refuse any of his friends anything, really, but Bev is the sister he never had, they understand each other on a level the others just don't, and he won't say no to this. "I think your measurements are the same as one of my models."

(2) It's menswear. How bad could it be? It's something for a magazine shoot, so maybe it'll be a little more high fashion than the stuff she actually sells for people to wear, but he likes her stuff. Back when he couldn't remember her, or Derry, he'd bought a tie from her spring collection, it's still his favorite tie. He used to wear it for important days at work-- more recently, he's worn it out to dinner with Richie. Saying yes doesn't seem too scary.

(3) Bev takes his measurements and lets out a triumphant whoop when he proves just right-- she's made one round of alterations already and wants to know if she needs to change anything else. She starts him out in a suit. It fits like a dream, and it's a little more... well, 'fashion', than anything Eddie could see himself picking out, but not in a crazy way. Just... too high-end for work. He likes it, though. It's the sort of thing he thinks he'd get married in, if...

(4) There are two pairs of jeans he has to try-- he asks Bev what the odds are of his getting a pair when the casual line drops, because his ass looks fantastic, and she laughs and tells him he can get the pair he's wearing back after the shoot, since any pair he bought wouldn't be pre-tailored. The jeans for Eddie, she jokes, can be Richie's Christmas present. There's a sweater, and a jacket he also likes, a little bit edgy, but maybe New Eddie is a little edgy, too.

(5) And then, she has him try the mesh shirt, with the tighter jeans, the edgy leather jacket, and a mesh shirt doesn't make Eddie think 'fall'-- and it's definitely too edgy even for New Eddie, who dates boys and is back in school for a career he cares about and gives so many fewer fucks what people think than Old Eddie, but he kind of likes getting to play pretend for a little bit. He's not self-conscious like he thought he'd be, not with Bev.

(6) The black mesh softens the look of his scars, though they're visible. The shirt's collar, cuffs, and placket are satin, and he likes the way it all feels, even if there's nowhere on earth he would wear it, and very few people he would wear it in front of. It's when Eddie is just taking off the jacket that the second person he would wear it in front of walks in, Richie's jaw dropping as he takes Eddie in. Black denim, black mesh, half-shrugged out of black leather...

(7) "Wow." Richie takes a halting step forward, and then another, reaches out until his hand just hovers at Eddie's side. He moves over him as if there's a forcefield keeping him just an inch from touching Eddie's chest, his ribcage, his abdomen. "Wow. You look... wow. Can I touch, or will I be killed for crimes against fashion because I wrinkled something? Wow, you... you should get a shirt like this, honestly."

(8) "You can touch." Bev laughs, helping Eddie out of the jacket and hanging it up in its garment bag. "Just don't tear it off him. And don't try to have sex with him while he's wearing any of this, I know you're tempted. Actually, be very careful with that, it's going to be in a magazine shoot this week. And tell me what you think of those jeans, because those are coming back to Eddie after the shoot. You like?"

(9) "Yeah." Richie's voice is soft and shaky, his hands finally landing on Eddie, warm through the mesh. His thumbs rub gentle arcs over Eddie's ribcage, before his hands slide down to rest at his waist, before he leans in for a kiss. It's warm and slow, and Richie is just a little breathless when he pulls away to give Eddie another look-over. "Yeah, I like all of it. Babe, why aren't you modeling for real? I refuse to believe the real model looks better than this."

(10/10) "I'm not modeling this look for anyone else but you." Eddie scoffs. And he knows they'd understand, that if Bev asked her friends to do some kind of concept shoot instead of using real models, he wouldn't be in this, but it isn't really important now. What matters is that he had fun, that he got to play pretend with one of his best friends and be a model for an afternoon. What matters is that Richie thinks he looks good, scars and all. What matters is, New Eddie is happy, edgy or not.

(Eddie and Richie mostly failing at roleplaying fic is now up under the title 'I Got it Bad and I Got it Good', and thank you for being a font of inspiration!)

YOU ARE TOO KIND!! Can't wait to read it!! EDIT: I LOVE IT SO MUCHHH Go read!!

Here's the link, everyone!

(1) Eddie might just be going crazy-- he thinks it's entirely possible, maybe even likely. After all, his mother was crazy. He might just be going crazy, because it seems to him like Trashmouth Tozier's instagram account has gotten... sexier, of late. Like, joke sexy, rather than sexy in earnest, and it's just Eddie's poor luck that he actually finds Tozier... attractive. Shit.

(2) He finds him attractive. He's married, he has a wife, he's-- he spends a lot of time telling himself he's straight, but... he feels something looking at pictures of some unfunny comedian that he doesn't feel any of the times he's supposed to feel something. Well... no, it's not that he's unfunny. His jokes are unfunny. His instagram is... he actually seems like he is funny. But the joke 'sexy' photos...

(3) He makes these ridiculous faces, like no one could actually find him sexy, like it's all a big gag, and then he lifts his shirt in the mirror or he poses on his bed, or some other thing that's a clear parody of people who actually take sexy photos, but the thing is, he's... well, Eddie can't tell exactly how tall he is, but he's tall, and his hands are enormous, and he has nice biceps, not like... built, but nice. Like, arms Eddie can easily imagine holding him. Tight.

(4) And that's not crazy, noticing that. It's some new goofy thing he's doing and he's clueless about how hot he really is and that's honestly kind of cute, it's just... it only started happening after he'd commented on a very unsexy picture (only it wasn't unsexy, he'd kept thinking about those enormous hands, on him, he was thinking about those hands when Myra had-- during the span of time he usually tried to think of nothing at all), and he hadn't realized...

(5) Well, he hadn't realized Tozier would reply, or that he'd start following Eddie of all people, though that might have been a random follow-back deal, he doesn't know, he doesn't know anything anymore because Tozier had made a joke about Eddie talking dirty to him (literal dirt, he was talking about literal dirt) and now every other picture is weirdly actually sexy and if Eddie wasn't going crazy before, he might just start.

(6) He resolves not to overthink the coincidence, and then Richie Tozier posts a professionally taken picture, and his jeans are tight and his legs are spread and he had clearly been ordered not to make a funny face and you can see him struggling not to, out of sheer reflex, and Eddie can imagine him being self-conscious with something earnest, and he looks really good and Eddie is officially overthinking it. He hates himself a little. He needs a divorce.

(7/7) And then, the phone call comes, and Eddie is sitting in an airport looking at his phone and that's Richie, that's his Richie, and it all rushes back to him... and he really needs that divorce, he really does. It's going to be a while before he expects either of them will check social media, but he leaves a comment on Richie's airport selfie. If something goes wrong, with this reunion, at least... at least he's said he remembers him, and... maybe it's enough somehow.

(1) A week. He spends a fucking week in the deadlights, a week in a world that has the fucking balls to keep on turning without Eddie in it, a week after he watches him die, a week tasting Eddie's blood no matter how many times he rinses his mouth, brushes his teeth, slugs back hard liquor. He spends a week in the deadlights living with Eddie dying in his arms. He doesn't say the words but everyone knows. He recarves their initials on the bridge, and while he's doing it, he hears Eddie calling.

(2) He should probably be more disturbed than he is, hearing Eddie calling for him when Eddie died in his arms a week ago, but after everything else, all he can think is that it's fucking Derry. He hasn't been able to leave and maybe it's because he knew Eddie's ghost would come back for him, if he didn't stray too far. He hears Eddie call his name and he calls back, promises he's coming, he'll find a way to him, and that should also be disturbing, but it isn't. And suddenly, suddenly...

(3) Suddenly he's flat on his back beneath the house on Neibolt and Eddie is over him, alive and filled with worry-joy-relief, and he's seen how this story ends. He's seen too much of what comes after the end. He rolls them to the side and the claw rips through him instead, but not the way it had ripped through Eddie. It gouges into him, and it destroys everything he's wearing above the waist, but it doesn't punch through him, it's more a deep graze than anything.

(4) "Pathetic fucking clown!" He screams-- well, there's an inarticulate scream first, and then a loud 'motherfuck--', and Eddie is dragging him to safety, but then he screams something useful. Eddie is whipping off his sweater and trying to staunch Richie's bleeding, but he catches on fast, he knows. He's hurt It before. And Mike is able to rally the others with what they have to do. It goes a lot smoother than it did in the deadlights, he thinks, watching Eddie tear into It.

(5) Mike and Ben manage to carry him out, Eddie running alongside them fussing over him the whole way. This time, when they carry him out, he isn't fighting them, so it figures they'd do that smoother, too. And then he's in a hospital room, he's in a hospital room where he's been stripped and scrubbed and stitched and now he's carefully positioned on a row of pillows in his bed, so that he's not lying on the healing wound that wraps around his back and side, and Eddie is in the room.

(6) "I called Myra, you know. While you were in surgery." Eddie is saying, already in the middle of whatever running monologue he's kept up while Richie was unconscious. He's behind him, hand gentle in Richie's hair. Even if he wasn't talking, Richie thinks he'd know him. "I asked for a divorce. I can't live a lie like that anymore now that I remember... now that we've done what we've done. Even if you couldn't-- even if I'd be alone I had to leave. But Rich, you've gotta know, I've always..."

(7) "You won't be alone." Richie says, hoarse. He can't really reach for him or turn to him, but it doesn't matter-- soon Eddie is on the other side of the bed, facing him, leaning down to meet his eyes and touching his face like he's a miracle, even though Eddie's the miracle, Eddie died in his arms in the deadlights and now he's here before him and on the verge of saying everything Richie's ever wanted to hear. "Come out to LA with me. You won't ever-- you won't be alone, Eds. Promise."

(I didn't receive (8) but I'm hoping it was a miscount otherwise I'm SO SORRY)

(9) "I love you." Richie nods, reaching for Eddie in return as relief floods him, a happiness he never thought he'd know. His hand is shaking so bad he can see it shaking, and he doesn't have his glasses, and it's not that he lacks the strength to lift it, but the enormity of the moment... It wasn't so long ago that he thought he'd never be happy again, that he thought he'd lost any hope of this. He hadn't had hope, or needed it, but he'd had knowing Eddie was alive and then he lost that...

(10/10) When his hand meets Eddie's cheek, Eddie's free hand is there to hold it in place, over the fresh bandage. Eddie winces a little before they adjust the way they touch, mouths the word 'stitches' and then kisses the heel of Richie's hand. He's still shaky, maybe he'll never stop shaking, but Eddie leans in close enough that even without his glasses, Richie can see him clear enough. For now, that's all he needs.

(1) "Wait, never?" Richie's eyes just about bug out of his skull, and Eddie feels his stomach churn. He regrets EVERYTHING. He's not even drunk! The others are at least tipsy, he's pretty sure, except maybe Mike. Their first real big weekend home from their respective colleges, the only thing Eddie had felt he needed to be drunk on was getting to see everyone's faces again, getting to be near them all. At least he and Richie are together, but they've both missed the other Losers.

(2) At least, Eddie had been missing them all, up until someone brought up sex, and Richie had been drunk enough that he’d blurted out he really was a virgin, after posturing since twelve or thirteen about his ‘expertise’, but then he’d mentioned making out with a girl in his drama class and the conversation had softened a little from that panic-inducing place, to dating and kissing, and Eddie had gone and admitted, stone cold sober, that he’d never done even that.

(3) “It’s not a big deal.” He huffs, except by now they’ve all had experience kissing, and it feels like maybe it is, and Bev and Stan both look contrite and Bill and Mike and Ben are all trying to be encouraging, nodding and talking over each other to say the right one is just around the corner and he shouldn’t rush himself just to tick kissing off a checklist, he should wait until he meets a girl he really wants to kiss, and he doesn’t know how to say that’s the problem, even to himself.

(4) “Fuck that, I’ll kiss you right now!” Richie says, pushing his way into the spot next to Eddie, worming between him and Bill, his hand warm on Eddie’s cheek, tempting. He could chalk it up to Richie being stupid, he could laugh it off after, just Richie making a joke. He could let him, and then he’d know what it was like… and then the scent of alcohol wafts into his face and he pulls back. Drunk. Richie is drunk and Eddie is sober, and Eddie knows exactly what he’s doing, but does Richie?

(5) “Gross, no.” He pushes him gently away. “You’re going to burp into my mouth– if you don’t vomit up booze all over me, you animal. No– Bill and the guys are right, someone… someone will want to kiss me. That’s when I’ll know it’s the right time, when– when someone wants to do it. When someone– Ugh, I’m cutting you off, you’re a mess. No more drinks for Richie, sober you would be appalled at your behavior.”

(6) The others laugh it off– Bill is quick to agree that Richie must be ready to call it a night and to take his glass away, and to leave him in Eddie’s keeping, and the conversation turns to easier subjects, to things that don’t leave Eddie nauseated, that don’t make his heart pound and his palms sweat. He doesn’t want to kiss a girl, especially not sober, maybe he’s better off not kissing anyone after all. He weakly cites germs before talk turns to classes, and the others accept it.

(7) In the morning, Eddie goes to make breakfast in Mike’s kitchen, since they’d all crashed in his little apartment, and he expects to have the morning to himself, given he’s the only one who hadn’t gotten drunk over the course of the night. They might not all have killer hangovers, but he suspects even Mike will appreciate a little quiet time to sleep in, and maybe an aspirin. He’s surprised when it’s Richie of all people who pads quietly into the room to pour himself some orange juice.

(8) “Hey, are you making pancakes? Make me some and I’ll do eggs.” He bargains, starting the coffee pot up. His hair is wild and his glasses slip down his nose and his pajama bottoms hang low on his hips. When he stretches, Eddie can see the dark line of hair leading down from his navel and he tells himself it’s wrong, the way he looks, but he looks. Eventually, he notices Eddie staring– mercifully not at that part of him. “Hey, flip that before it burns. What?”

(9) 'Oh, nothing’, Eddie thinks, feeling slightly hysterical. 'I’m just noticing your body and your skin and your hair and all the ways I want to touch you, because I’m sick and I’m dirty and you’re perfect and I wanted to take advantage of you last night, did you know that?’– but he can’t say that. He clears his throat, for all the good it does him. “I’m just surprised you don’t have a fucking killer hangover, dude, but okay, if you make me some, I’ll make you some. Put cheese in mine.”

(10) “I know how to make scrambled eggs.” Richie scoffs. And then his cheeks go pink and his expression softens. “I wasn’t really that drunk. Last night. I was just nursing one real drink, mostly. I– I– There’s just so much shit you can’t say sober, not even to your closest friends, and… I don’t know. I thought maybe if I was just a little– I could be a little buzzed and fake it, and everyone would forget anyway. But I was still– I still couldn’t– tell you the thing I never told you.”

(11) “You said you would kiss me.” Eddie has to take his pan off the burner, because he is not going to be able to pay attention to pancakes. His heart is in his throat and he loathes himself so completely, but he loves Richie more. He wants Richie more. He feels sick with himself, but not at the thought of germs. “Richie, you said– And you weren’t?– Richie, did you want to kiss me?”

(12) “Only if you want.” Richie shrugs, but Eddie can see it in the way Richie looks him up and down, hungry. But… hungry in a nice way, in a way he likes. A way that makes his own hunger feel safe. “The– the girl, from drama– it wasn’t– I didn’t– She wasn’t you. Nobody’s you, and I– It’s okay if you don’t want to. I’d just– If you did, I would. If you wanted anything in the world, I would. Since we were kids, if you wanted anything in the world, I would.”

(13) “I want you.” Eddie says, and then Richie is kissing him, sweetly and slowly, his hands cupping Eddie’s face. He has such big hands, he’s so big and he makes Eddie feel so safe. The kiss is unhurried, undemanding, and there are a lot of things Eddie might want that he isn’t ready for, but Richie doesn’t push any of those. He only kisses him until he’s dizzy with it, and then he pulls away with a soft sound, with a warm sigh.

(14/14) “Then I’m yours.” He says, before breaking away. He gives Eddie a smile, one of those secret smiles he never seems to give anybody else, and then he turns to the eggs and the shredded cheese and the butter in his own pan. The world keeps on turning– he’d kissed a boy and the world keeps turning! “You can have another one of those any time. Two eggs?”

okay I can't put a link in an ask, but I just posted a little fic to AO3 based on your imagine post about Richie pretending to be Eddie's boyfriend at a party, titled 'Boyfriend' (because titles are hard). It was just too cute an idea not to write about!

I GOT YOU! THANK YOUU ANON!!! I’m SO EXCITED TO READDDD Here’s the link everyone! https://archiveofourown.org/works/21196031

(1) He'd gone to college as far away from his mother as possible, even though he knows he'll only go back to her when he graduates. It feels crushingly inevitable, a thing he can feel when he makes his dutiful evening calls home. He doesn't really know how to break away, and after he'd gotten retrograde amnesia at fifteen, his mother had been so concerned about his delicate health. He vaguely remembers being in the hospital as a kid, and not much else before moving to New York.

(2) Eddie Kaspbrak doesn’t know much about himself, as a result of said amnesia. He knows he was sickly as a kid, that he’d had bronchitis and then asthma, and whatever other things his mother sometimes worries about. He knows he broke his arm once, though he doesn’t remember it. It aches in the winter, which makes him glad he’s attending UCLA instead of staying up north where his mother wanted him to go to school. And he knows one other thing about himself, something he’d rather not know.

(3) He knows his mother knows, though she won’t admit that it’s him, because when they talk on the phone, she tells him to be careful who he spends his time with. Not to run around with any dirty boys, boys who are trouble, boys who will only make him sick. She doesn’t say the words but he hears them just the same. Once, she’d said ‘if it wasn’t for that dirty boy, you would never have broken your arm’, and then refused to say more about it, left him with his imagination.

(4) Sometimes, in his braver hours, he imagines that he broke his arm climbing out of his window to meet someone, someone his mother could never have approved of. A boy. He doesn’t think that’s right, really. He doesn’t think at thirteen he could have had a boyfriend, or that he would have climbed out the window. He doesn’t know what story his bedroom window would have been on in the Maine house. He likes to imagine it anyway, and then he feels sick with himself.

(5) Eddie meets Richie Tozier at a party, and he hears his mother’s voice in his head, he can hear the way she would say Richie’s name. ‘Eddie-bear, I don’t want you talking to that filthy Tozier boy, that kind is no good for you’, that’s what she would say. Among other things. Richie is a drop-out, even though he hears someone say he’s smart enough for a degree. Richie is a stand-up comedian. Eddie just wants to be close to him in ways he doesn’t dare define.

(6) “My mother thinks that going to college in California means there’s an army of boys trying to corrupt me and take my virginity.” He says, when they’re sitting on the roof, a house party thrown by people Eddie doesn’t even know. But he’s watching Richie, who isn’t smoking only because Eddie had mentioned his asthma, and Richie is wild and shocking and Eddie wants to shock him. And because somehow it feels safe to talk to him. “She thinks if I’m not careful I’ll come home gay.”

(7) “That’s dumb.” Richie fidgets, and looks away, his jaw muscles tightening, and Eddie burns to touch him. “She really thinks you can turn gay? I mean, not to besmirch your mother’s intelligence, I’m sure she’s a beautiful woman. A real dream. As sensitive as she is wise. Um… are– do a lot of guys– like, try to get somewhere with you? Not that– I mean just because you’re cute and guys like you, that wouldn’t make you– you know. It’s a weird thing to worry about.”

(8) “No, I feel kind of cheated, honestly. She keeps telling me not to let any dirty boys put their hands on me, and so far none of them are trying.” He says, and his heart is soaring, and he doesn’t think he could ever have been as brave before as Richie Tozier makes him feel. “If you know any dirty boys, you should give them my number. So I can get the real California college experience.”

(9) “I don’t have your–” Richie starts, but Eddie is already pulling the Sharpie out of his fanny pack. He takes Richie’s hand in his– big hands, Richie has such big hands– and he writes his number on his forearm, neat, puts a little 'E’ next to it and doesn’t write his full name out. Knows Richie shouldn’t have a boy’s name written on his skin, but he’ll know when he sees it in the morning, he’ll know well enough. “Oh. Your number.”

(10) “Yeah. My number. You know… just in case you know any dirty boys. Really filthy boys. Boys who might want to put their big hands on me? Guys like that.” He shrugs, releasing Richie’s hand reluctantly, imagining it at his waist, spread across his ribcage, his chest. He’s never– he doesn’t think– been kissed before, but he knows what he wants. Richie Tozier, holding him, kissing him, making him feel real for the first time. “Do you know any boys like that, Rich?”

(11) “I know one guy.” Richie licks his lips, and Eddie can hear it when he swallows. “Like, a guy who thinks you’re cute. He, um… People call him ‘trashmouth’, so I figure that’s dirty enough for your mother. Or– did that come out wrong? Like I mean he thinks your cute and he’s definitely filthy. He would– he would go to town on you. Like anything you wanted. And– you know, buying you dinner or something, not like just a hook-up.”

(12) Oh. Eddie hadn’t hoped that hard, but the idea of going out, of Richie wanting to buy him dinner first, or after, or on an unrelated occasion… It’s a heady thing and it sings through his veins, going on a date with Richie Tozier, trashmouth extraordinaire, college dropout, the kind of filthy boy his mother wouldn’t want him near… and one who’s spent the past hour itching for a smoke and not having one because he’s with Eddie.

(13) “Tell him to ask me to go to the movies Friday night.” Eddie leans in, their shoulders gently bumping together. He wonders if he dares reach out, touch his arm. It takes him a moment to decide he does. “Tell him he could make out with me right here on the roof if he wants to– but only if he wears glasses. I like a guy with glasses. A tall guy. Who makes me laugh. He could have me whenever he wanted to. Hypothetically.”

(14/14) And then Richie kisses him, and the world is right. He lays him down, right there on the roof, and he’s tender, and his mouth tastes like buffalo wings and ranch from down in the party, that his breath mint didn’t quite cover, which is kind of gross, but he guesses not as gross as it could have been. The mint helps a little and Richie’s hands help a lot, and Eddie wants to tell the whole world that a boy has kissed him. For now, he settles for kissing back.

(1) "Why would you bring me here?" Eddie asks, shifting nervously. He still lets Richie walk him over to the bridge, leaning on him a little, shaky on his feet after how much time he'd spent bedridden during his recovery. The kissing bridge isn't exactly home to a lot of warm, fuzzy memories. Unless... No. No, he's sure that's not possible. But Richie has an arm around him, and seems nervous himself-- nervous, but certain-- and so what can Eddie do but follow?

(2) “When we were kids, I… Okay, feel free to tell me this is stupid, but– You know that summer? Well… I just want you to know I was thinking about you, I guess.” Richie glances down at the carved initials as they reach the spot, his fingertips brushing over the E. “There’s a lot I might not remember still, maybe there are still things I never will, but… I remember that, and I remember you. How it felt not to see you, when I thought I’d never go more than a day without you…”

(3) “Rich…” Eddie winds his arms around Richie’s neck, leaning into him. He breathes him in a long moment before he moves in for a kiss. There’s more, he thinks– more old pain from that summer that Richie remembers, that they might talk about in time, when it doesn’t feel so fresh again. Now that they remember the bad times, they can actually process it all and move on, at least. But this is what he’d deemed important, this testament to young love, then unspoken.

(4) “And… shit, and I know everyone knew about me, and I was so afraid of what would happen to me if I couldn’t convince them they were wrong… I was afraid the whole time I was writing it, but I didn’t care. If that makes sense. I just wanted to pretend that it was all right, just for a minute, because I was sick of being scared and I was sick of pretending you weren’t it for me. You always have been.” He strokes Eddie’s cheek tenderly, thumb tracing his scar. “You still are.”

(5) The memory hits him then, the more Richie talks about how he’d felt and why he’d overcome his fear just enough, just in secret, to leave their initials on the bridge. Kneeling in the dirt, his heart pounding in his throat, his arm still in a cast. Knowing his mother would be upset at how long he took to come home, knowing she would be upset with the dirt, and being so angry with her because he hadn’t seen any of his friends in days, and he missed all of them, but Richie was different…

(6) “Richie, look down.” Eddie kisses his jaw, soft, then points out the R, encircled by a slightly wonky heart. “I knew I’d… I knew I must have done something here, and I didn’t remember, until– It was that same summer. And don’t be an asshole, it looks like that because I was in a cast, I–” And Richie cuts him off with a kiss before he can defend his own carving ability, one arm firm around his waist, one hand in his hair, and maybe with a kiss like that, he wouldn’t mind a little tease…

(7/7) “It’s perfect.” Richie says, and kisses him again, and then a third time. “Really. It’s the most perfect. It’s… You’re perfect. You, too? All this time, and– Yeah, yeah. Okay. Perfect.” He kisses him one last time, before offering his arm, and pulling out his phone. He gets a picture of the two engravings on the bridge, grinning, and then he leads Eddie back to the car. They’ve got a future together now, far away from Derry… but after twenty-seven years, it’s nice to know.

- - -

ANON THIS IS SO SWEET. I’ll come fix the cut when I’m not on my phone ;;

(1) "What-- uh, what-- Hey." Richie hates himself, just a little, or maybe a lot. His brain started dribbling out his ears the moment he saw Eddie in those short shorts. If anything, shorter shorts than the ones he used to wear, and it's not like he has to pretend he's not attracted to the guy--sure, they're in kind of a holding pattern, what with Eddie dealing with his divorce and his recovery, but they live together, they share a bed, it's just kind of a weird time and kind of a weird start.

(2) “You’re taking me to physical therapy today.” Eddie looks at him like he’s being an idiot. “Hence my workout clothes.” And he gestures to the whole thing, the tiny shorts and the just-cropped-enough top, as if he’s been dressed like that the whole time, which Richie would have noticed. Gone are the track pants and fairly modest top of old, this is… Is it that the weather is warmer now? Or does God hate Richie Tozier and want him to suffer an inconvenient boner?

(3) “Yeah.” He swallows. Eddie is so… wow. He’s in good shape, clearly he got some mileage out of his workout gear before the PT necessary to his recovery, but it’s more than that. Those bare legs come with a lot of memories that Richie is more than ready to overwrite with current Eddie, not to mention every fantasy he ever had in his teen years, which could be real now, or soon enough. “I’ll get my keys.”

(4) At the PT clinic, Richie tries to focus on reading waiting area magazines and playing with his phone, he honestly does, but half the time he has the perfect view of Eddie hard at work, and how is he supposed to ignore those legs, that little strip of abdomen? How is he supposed to ignore the way it feels knowing Eddie isn’t just alive, but really recovering from everything, strong, resilient… ready to throw himself at yesterday’s limits.

(5) After they take him into the back and do their thing with ice packs and heat packs and pulses of electricity and massage, he comes back to Richie, a little wobbly, the good kind of tired, relaxed and ready to go– and more importantly, ready to come in for a long hug before confirming his next appointment. A hug where Richie gets to lean down and indulge in the scent of a little sweat in Eddie’s hair and the feel of wrapping him up in his arms. Well, he gets to do that all the time.

(6) It’s the sweat that’s different– he’s only really sweaty after PT, they’re not yet at the point where they do sweaty things in that bed they’re already sharing. They’re at the point where they’ve admitted to wanting to, and the cuddling is plentiful but the kisses are still chaste. It’s good, he thinks– they both need to deal with their own emotions before they can be good for each other, he has to process some stuff and so does Eddie, but… no one expects him not to want.

(7) “Perv.” Eddie accuses gently, as he always does when he catches Richie smelling his hair, whether it’s for the scent of post-workout sweat, or because he’s just out of the shower and smells vaguely tropical. And Richie can only hum in agreement this time, because he absolutely is. He fingers the hem of Eddie’s short, short shorts, and thinks about the way it feels to wrap him up completely in a hug, and he absolutely is.

(8) “Can’t help it if you’re cute.” He says, when Eddie gives him a gentle shove that in no way means he should let him go– Eddie knows how to ask if he really wants space, but he craves the physicality of being able to push and tug and wrestle, that hasn’t changed one bit. And now he’s strong enough to be able to, at least a little, and he’s living for it. And he is cute, Richie always used to think he was cute, used to love how little he was because… well, because that was cute.

(9) Now, though… now it’s not just cute, now he’s realizing what he really likes is that he’s bigger. Some of it he knows comes out of wanting to protect him, he’s always felt protective of him, not in a coddling kind of way, but he’d always put himself between Eddie and trouble if he had the chance. And some of it is the joy of winding up on top, he thinks, whenever Eddie starts a tussle. He’s looking forward to getting to do that properly. To claiming kisses with his victories… and more.

(10) “Hey– tomorrow is my follow-up with the doctor to see how PT is going, and… you know, tests and shit.” Eddie says, as Richie walks him to the car with an arm around his shoulders. There’s a forced air of casualness, and Richie kisses his temple. Tests, Eddie hates tests the way he hates hospitals. At least these aren’t bullshit like when they were kids, but still. He doesn’t want to go alone and he doesn’t have to.

(had to pause there for bit but there’s more! 11) “Say the word and your devoted chauffeur will escort you to your appointment, my dear Edward. Mister Spaghetti, if you’re nasty.” Richie says, patting Eddie’s leg absently, and then having an internal Moment because he pats his leg all the time when they’re cuddled on the couch and Eddie’s in his pajamas, but now his hand is resting on warm bare skin. “Or is it Mister Spaghetti if I’m nasty?”

(12) “It’s never Mister Spaghetti, and you’re always nasty.” Eddie’s hand comes down to cover his, to trap it against his leg, his leg, his bare leg, hair somehow coarse and silky at the same time, skin impossibly warm. “No, I just– I wanted to let you know, I was planning on asking. Um, asking my doctor if my progress in physical therapy meant I could engage in… other physical activities, without a professional present.”

(13/13) To his credit, Richie doesn’t make a dumb joke. His expression is probably a dumb joke, but he behaves himself pretty well. He lets go of Eddie’s leg so that he can bring his hand up to be kissed, once he has any semblance of control over himself again, and he nods, not trusting his mouth, and Eddie gives him a smile before settling back into his seat for the drive home. Home… home with a tiny cute man in his tiny cute shorts, and nothing could be better.

- - - ThIS WAS SO CUUUTE THANK YOU ANON OMGOSH