Archive of Our Own ^beta

He's not sure exactly how they got here — here being the state of Eddie's hand wrapped around Richie's neck, eyes glinting in mischief as he's managed to push Eddie past his limits, pushing his buttons until he snaps, because that's just what Richie does — but Richie suspects it's because of exactly that, that he's successfully annoyed Eddie into manhandling Richie into shutting up, but the hold he has around Richie's neck is just as playful as the rest of it all; Eddie's eyes, no matter how close he furrows his eyebrows together in fury, are glittering with poorly disguised amusement. It's Richie's biggest enabler.

Eddie's got one hand wrapped around Richie's neck, one hand holding both of his wrists together, pinned above Richie's head; he's effectively pinning Richie as a whole to the unmade bed, sheets everywhere as a result of their tussle — not that it was neat before, despite how many times Eddie has hounded Richie about making his bed. Do you even wash your sheets, Richie? You know you probably have bedbugs, right?

Richie is effectively rendered useless from the waist up, but is also rendered useless from the waist down because his legs are spread and Eddie's settled himself between them, nearly folding Richie in half, because he's just that stupidly tall. Richie's breaths are laboured, and he's wearing a shit-eating grin. His glasses are skewed.

"Ah, the ol' spread eagle — you know, your mom was—"

"Shut the fuck up," Eddie snaps, cutting his sentence short.

"C'mon, you've got me pinned down and you're choking me, how can I not recall my dearest Sonia?" Richie waggles his eyebrows. He says that to be annoying, obviously, but he also says it so he doesn't have to think about how erotic the position really is.

But it's not erotic. It shouldn't be making him feel hot like it is. He's just filthy and wrong and—

"I guess if you did have sex with my mom," Eddie ponders for a moment, pulling Richie from his thoughts, "it would make sense that she'd end up choking you out. You're so annoying."

"Now, now! If I passed during a good romp with my beloved Mrs. K, we all know it would be because of her massive— ack!"

"Finish that sentence and I will not hesitate to choke you to death." Richie coughs from the sudden pressure against his throat, then lets out a strangled laugh only Richie could manage.

"The Kaspbraks are out to get me! Help!" he shouts, but nobody's home but them; Maggie and Went are at work, or something, and it's likely they won't be home for a few more hours. "No, please, I have so much to do! The world has yet to have its fix of proper Tozier lovin'!"

Eddie scowls just how Richie likes, and then they tussle, curse, and fight more, and every time Eddie ends up the victor. Richie tries to ignore how impressed he is (or, rather, how hot he thinks it is).

"When the hell did you get so strong?" Richie shrieks when Eddie has him pinned yet again.

"When did you get so weak?" Eddie snips back, grinning, but this time he has one hand wrapped around each of Richie's wrists, held down on either side of his head. Richie's legs are spread again, with Eddie settled in between them, and god does Richie try to ignore how Eddie's crotch is right against his ass— “Seriously, you're just one long noodle."

"That's not all that's long, baby!" Richie would give a hip thrust to enunciate his point, but he fears enough already about popping a boner. "Ow, hey!"

Eddie's grip on his wrists tighten, and he leans forward to press Richie down into the mattress further. Richie barely manages to hold back a moan when the movement causes their crotches to rub together.

"Okay, get off me, dude," Richie says, his voice a little shaky as his skin and abdomen go hot. He's afraid to struggle, because that would only make things worse. He dares to shimmy his wrists under Eddie's hands, but to no avail. Eddie is stoic, and when Richie looks up to meet his eyes, his expression is unreadable. "Eddie..."

Richie isn't exactly how they got here, either — here being Eddie moving his hips once against Richie's, eliciting a surprised moan from him, and then again, but Richie has half a brain to bite back his moan this time.

"Eddie, what—"

"Fuck," Eddie gasps above him, and finally, Richie dares to glance up. he meets Eddie's gaze, brows furrowed and eyes dark. Unreadable. "I— I..."

If Richie really wanted to, he could escape. He could yank his wrists free and scramble away, but he- he doesn't want to, so he doesn't act, as much as he knows he should. He could crack another joke, change the subject — but for once, Richie can't get any words past his big mouth.

And then Eddie grinds against him again, so deliberately, that Richie gasps and drops his head back, his long, curly hair haloing out on the pillow between where his arms are pinned. His mind — often racing — goes blank, all for one thought lingering in the back of his mind.

"Eddie, I— don't be fucking with me." Please, he wants to add, but he can't choke out the word, can't let Eddie knows how much this — whatever this is — means to him.

"I..." Eddie grunts as he grinds again, and Richie subconsciously spreads his legs wider, his mouth opening into a small "o". "I’m not, I just— want to—"

"What?" Richie whispers, delicately, afraid. he trembles, afraid of the answer, because this is wrong, but it's so good—

"You. Want to— do you."

And then Richie's eyes widen, and he's looking up into Eddie's determined features harboring a similar layer of fear underneath.

"Real eloquent." Richie quirks a brow, suddenly all too worried about this being a facade, a lie—

Want a kiss, Richie?

Something he wants so much, yet frightens him all the same. He swallows.

Eddie frowns then, and Richie can see how years of doing so have affected his face, despite only being seventeen. No teenager should frown that much, Richie thinks. It makes him sad to think about, briefly.

"I can't— I can't explain it," Eddie says, eyebrows furrowing. "I’ve thought about it, when I know I shouldn't. Because it's — it's a sickness, isn't it? But I— I don't care. I’ve spent so many years thinking I’m sick, when I’m not—"

"Eds," Richie says, uncharacteristically gently, with a twist of his mouth — he can see the frustration in Eddie's face, as well as the genuineness that relaxes his own inner turmoil slightly. He wants to reach up and caress Eddie's cheek, but it's too intimate, and his wrists are still restrained. "It's — you don't have to explain yourself. I just wanted to make sure— that you're not fucking with me. Kind of a sick joke to hump your best friend like that and leave him hangin'." It's not the real reason Richie is worried, but it'll do, and the humour seems to somewhat relieve Eddie of his stupor, even if he rolls his eyes. Eddie nods then, and Richie feels himself shiver — not from anxiety, but from the intense determination of Eddie's stare. It's quickly disturbed when Eddie grinds again, a few slow rolls, and each one has Richie slipping away into a different headspace and subconsciously following Eddie's grinds with his own hips.

As it continues, Eddie's grinds get harsher and rougher, and Richie's get sloppier and more needy, eager to follow Eddie's lead. He's the louder of the two in his high, breathy moans, while Eddie's grunts are lower, more primal. They're driving Richie insane, and he's basically panting, mouth wide and eyes half-lidded as he looks up at Eddie, whose face is furrowed in determination and pleasure.

It's always been like this. Eddie leads, Richie follows, and Richie's fantasized that, even in sex, that dynamic remains. He's not surprised to find it true, but he still can't believe it's happening at all.

"Eddie," Richie gasps, desperate for something to cling on to, to know that it's not a dream. It's difficult to tell in his mind's foggy state.

"Richie," Eddie grunts back, and then he's leaning forward — pressing into Richie even further, and Richie can feel his erection even clearer, now — and then there's the soft press of lips to his own, fuller ones. He gasps against it, opening up for more, but then Eddie's pulling away. His face remains close, but he won't meet Richie's eyes. He looks guilty, and it makes Richie's heart wrench. "I’m sorry, I can't— can't do more than that, it's— it's—" Dirty. Gross. The words go unspoken, but they're there.

"It's not you, Rich, I promise, it's— it's me. I can't fucking get over that, I— how fucking stupid is that? I’m seventeen and still too afraid to kiss anyone because I think it's gross." Richie can see the way Eddie's jaw clenches in frustration, and Richie interjects before Eddie can spiral again.

"Kissing isn't all it's cracked up to be, y'know. It is kind of gross, I don't blame you for not wanting to do it. Doesn't make you weird, or anything. You— you're Eddie." Richie's voice, again, is soft. It seems to relax Eddie, and then his brow perks.

"You've kissed before?"

Cringing, Richie nods. "A few girls. Didn't like it." Didn't like it because I don't like girls. He hopes Eddie doesn't press. "So... we don't have to kiss."

"No kissing," Eddie repeats, and then— "but I wanna... I wanna go all the way, Richie."

Richie blanches, like he doesn't believe his ears. He's sure his eyes are gigantic under the magnifying lenses of his glasses. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, yeah, I mean— only if you're— if you're okay with it, obviously, I don't wanna—"

"I want to," Richie assures, a spike of confidence following, and then he says, unabashedly, "I want you to fuck me." He thinks about tacking on an annoying nickname, but he doesn't. He doesn't want to lose what he's sure can slip through his fingers at  any moment.

"Okay. Okay," Eddie says, as if he's reassuring himself. "I want to fuck you, Richie."

"You really know the way to a woman's heart, don't you, Eds?" Richie grins then, unable to stop himself from humouring, and Eddie rolls his eyes in a way that Richie is sure is fond.

"Yeah, been practicing on your mom."

At that, Richie honks out a laugh so loud he startles himself and Eddie, who can't hide his chuckle following. "Eds gets off a good one!"

"Shut the fuck up." And then their dynamic is so familiar, so easy, Richie feels majority of the discomfort slip away from him. And shut up he does indeed, because Eddie thrusts against him again, and Richie can feel Eddie's dick so clearly he's nearly salivating. He wants it. He wants Eddie, so, so much.

They're both impatient, and it's Eddie who finally moves things forward. He lets go of Richie's wrists, and Richie rotates them gently, flexing his hands to get some feeling back, but he already misses the amount of powerlessness he felt when Eddie manhandles him like that. He loves when Eddie gets domineering, at any time, in any situation; now, in particular, it renders Richie a whiny, needy mess, and he needs more. He turns his face to the side against his pillow, his face heating up as Eddie pulls away completely, and Richie feels exposed despite being fully clothed. He rarely feels embarrassment, but he feels it now as Eddie's eyes rake over his lanky body. His legs are still spread like that of a whore's.

"Can I undress you?" Eddie says, then, and Richie keeps his face shielded, his glasses digging uncomfortably into his face, but nods. He lifts his hips appropriately after Eddie pops the button to his jeans and begins to pull them down, along with his Star Wars boxers. This is really happening.

The waft of cold air against his bare skin makes him shiver when he's completely naked from the waist down, his pants and boxers being tossed to the side. He isn't wearing socks.

"Fuck, Richie..."

"That's the point, I think." Richie's voice is muffled against the pillow, but it's clear enough for Eddie to hear and scoff at.

And then reality sets in as Richie lay spread open and naked from the waist-down, clad only in a ratty shirt covering his top half, but it's ridden up over his belly and he shivers again.

"Need to, um..." straightening his head, Richie's mind is still foggy as he finally looks at Eddie who’s kneeling between his legs, but he remembers something important. "Need to... prepare."

"Oh," Eddie says, his big, doe eyes widening, like he had forgotten and only just remembered. Or didn't know at all.

"I’ll do it. I’ve, uh, done it before," Richie murmurs, and Eddie looks at him like he's grown two heads.

"Wait, you've done— you've done this before? Like... this?" he does some big gesture, as if to indicate the whole situation, and Richie shakes his head. He lets the opportunity for a mom joke to slide.

"Not with anyone else, just— just by myself. My fingers. And, uh—" Richie licks his lips, looking away briefly, and shrugs. "Dunno, I used a cucumber once."

Now Eddie's looking at him like he's grown three heads. "You've done what? Oh my fucking god, Richie, please tell me you washed it and put a condom on it and then threw it out—"

"Nah, went bareback and then made a salad." Richie honks out another laugh when Eddie full-on gags and looks like he's about to strangle Richie. "No, the fuck? Of course I threw it out!"

"Christ, Richie, you're so weird."

"I make do!"

Eddie chops the air with his hand. "Okay, whatever. Do you have lube? A condom? I fucking hope so, considering you fucked yourself with a goddamn cucumber."

Richie cracks a lopsided grin, then gestures broadly to the side of the bed. "Bottom drawer of my nightstand."

It takes Eddie a minute to find the items amongst all the clutter, but he does, and so he chucks the small bottle of lube at Richie's chest while keeping the small foil packet for himself. He sits back on his heels and waits for Richie, because clearly he has more experience in this arena. Eddie's read books and such, but never actually tried anything himself, and he's not sure he can handle fingering Richie — not without gloves, anyway, and he's not about to ruin the mood to go get some.

Sitting up a little more, Richie leans back against the headboard before inhaling and exhaling, feeling Eddie's gaze burning into him. "Here goes nothin'. Just going to stick my fingers in my ass in front of my best friend, no big fuckin' deal." He's trembling again, at the prospect of Eddie watching him, but there's something hot about it, too. Here goes nothing.

Popping the cap of the lube, Richie squirts a generous amount on his fingers before reaching down between his legs. He doesn't need to look up to know Eddie's intently watching him, and with another deep breath, Richie finds his hole and begins to prod at it with one lube-lathered middle finger. He sighs at the contact, and he can feel his muscles subconsciously loosening as he circles his entrance, preparing to enter. When he does, he gasps, taking himself easily up to the first knuckle, closely followed by the second. The chill of the air on his bare skin is quickly replaced with the heat of his arousal, coupled with Eddie's gaze, but Richie still can't bring himself to look up. His eyes squeeze shut as he drops his head to the side, lifting his free arm to rest his hand beside his head as he slips the finger in deeper. Richie's mouth parts wide in a moan when he crooks his finger experimentally inside of himself, his free hand gripping the pillow for support.

“Shit, Rich," he hears Eddie gasp. Richie dares to glance up then and sees that Eddie's freed his own erection and is stroking it slowly to the sight before him. It makes Richie feel even hotter, knowing that he's the cause, that he's the one making Eddie hard like that; it spurs him on to fuck himself deeper with his finger, and when he's sure he's used to it, he opts to add another. His own cock is hard and twitching against his stomach, beginning to leak already.

"Fuck," Richie says then, through a moan; he's never been quiet on his own, but he's even louder, now — he can't help the noises of pleasure slipping from his lips as he begins to scissor and properly stretch himself for Eddie, and Richie's never felt so delightfully dirty in his life. He's spread and moaning like a whore, near shameless; he dares to look up again, watching Eddie as Eddie watches him. Taking a closer look at Eddie's cock, he sees that Eddie isn't particularly long, but he's thick as hell, and Richie finds himself subconsciously spreading his legs wider. He's unable to think; his loudmouth is rendered to nothing but a place for the lewdest of noises to escape from.

"God, Richie, you're so hot," Eddie murmurs, and Richie fucking flushes. "Do you... do you do this a lot? To yourself?"

Nodding, Richie turns his head away once more. "Y-yeah. Feels good." He doesn't tell Eddie how often he fantasizes about him whilst doing it.

"I wanna- wanna make you feel that good, Richie." Richie's breath hitches as he hears it, moaning again, his fingers scissoring him wider, adding a third soon after. He's nearly ready to take Eddie, and he wants to get there fast.

"Please," Richie practically begs, his shame gone and fully replaced with need. "Want you to fuck me... Make me feel good... Fuck." Never had he imagined saying those words to Eddie, but he is, and he can't take them back. He wants it.

"Are you ready?" Eddie asks, and Richie gives himself a few more scissorings before nodding. He reluctantly slips his fingers from himself, wiping them on his thigh — much to Eddie's distaste — and he whines at the loss, but he knows the emptiness he now feels will soon be replaced. "Okay, okay, I’m gonna..."

Thinking he hears the foil packet being ripped open, Richie looks over to see Eddie hastily trying to put the condom on. Richie can't help but snort.

"You good?"

"Shut up. I know what I’m fucking doing," Eddie snaps, while Richie sends him a lazy grin in return. Eventually, Eddie does get the condom on without help; Richie knows he wouldn't let him even if he offered. Independence is something Eddie craves.

Slipping his body down, Richie's laying flat on his back with his head on a pillow, arms on either side of his head like they were during the tussle. His wrists feel lonely without Eddie's hands on them.

"I liked it when you were holding my wrists," he blurts then, spreading his legs wide as Eddie settles himself between them. Eddie pauses to glance at Richie, whose face is red and flushed under all his faint freckles. "I like it when... when you're forceful like that."

It's Eddie's turn to flush now. "Okay. I’ll do that again. Just let me... put it in." The sound of the cap of lube flipping is heard again.

"Aye aye, cap'n." Richie gives a lazy salute — anything to distract himself from the level of exposure he feels and to mentally prepare himself for what's coming. He checks it as a victory when Eddie rolls his eyes for the nth time. "Oh, fuck." He drawls out the u when he feels Eddie beginning to push in, gasping. He makes sure to keep his muscles as loose as possible.

"Are you okay?" the worry in Eddie's voice is clear, so much so that it makes Richie's heart ache. "I don't wanna hurt you—"

"Eds, please. Who do you think you're talking to?" Eddie's face goes from worried to annoyed — just how Richie likes. "I stuck a cucumber up my ass. I think I can take your pipsqueak dick."

"I do not have a pipsqueak dick!" Eddie shrieks, and then it's drowned out by Richie's boisterous laughter. "Stop laughing!"

"Sorry, sorry," Richie says as he dramatically wipes an invisible tear from under his eye. "Your dick is huge, Eds. Biggest piece of meat I’ve ever seen in my life. There, that stroke your ego?"

Inhaling deep, Eddie makes the exasperated face that would accompany his annoyed karate chop, sans the hand movement because both of his hands are occupied: one holding his dick, one hooked over top of Richie's thigh.

"Fuck you. You are so annoying."

"Fuck me yourself already! Maybe I’ll shut up."

"That's promising." And then Eddie wastes no time slowly pushing the head in more. Tilting his head back, Richie squeezes his eyes shut and moans as he starts to take Eddie in. It's not painless — there is a slight burn — but it's bearable, and seeing Eddie looking so determined and eager above him makes it beyond worth it. Richie winces despite it, but waves a hand dismissively.

"It's fine. Keep going," Richie says hoarsely, then moans loudly once he feels the head sink in completely. "Ohh, fuck."

"Richie," Eddie gasps then, his face relaxed in bliss while his brows are furrowed in determination. "Holy shit." He continues to push in until he's buried fully. Richie takes it like a goddamn champ.

"Move, fuck, please," Richie pleads, beginning to completely lose himself again in the fog of pleasure and desire. He rocks his hips impatiently to get Eddie moving, and luckily, Eddie does; he pulls out and thrusts back in gently. "Harder than that, fuck."

Complying, Eddie gives a harder thrust, earning a moan from Richie. Then, Richie feels himself being folded almost in half as Eddie's leaning forward to grab hold of Richie's wrists, effectively pinning the beanpole down. That's when Richie feels himself crumbling completely under Eddie's domineering demeanor, relishing in the force that's being exerted over him, rendering him unable to do anything but writhe, moan, and take Eddie's cock.

The grip Eddie has is tight, leaving Richie unable to move; he's completely pinned underneath Eddie, his spine curved into a C as Eddie thrusts mercilessly — it feels so fucking good to be full, Richie feels his eyes begin to prick with tears, and it's certainly not helping that the one making him feel so good is none other than the boy he's been in love with since he was thirteen.

"Eddie, Eddie— fuck!" Richie's voice is hoarse and shaky as he attempts to speak through his moans and mewls. Eddie's beginning to hit that special spot that has Richie gasping loud. "There! There!"

"Richie." Eddie's voice is low, primal; it makes Richie feel even hotter than he already is, and it's beginning to pool in his abdomen in the familiar way he knows. When Eddie hits the spot particularly well, Richie pries his eyes open amidst a loud moan to look at Eddie, red-faced and panting above him, and that's when the waterworks begin. "Richie? Richie, are you crying? Why are you crying?"

Eddie's stilled his movements and his voice sounds frantic; Richie shakes his head just as frantically as he attempts to find his own voice.

"Just— just so happy," Richie croaks out, blinking away tears. "You make me so happy."

"Goddammit, Richie." And then Eddie is letting go of Richie's wrists, planning his forearms on either side of Richie's head, and burying his face into Richie's neck. Richie takes the opportunity to wrap his legs around Eddie's hips and pull him close, and then Eddie's fucking Richie harder, rougher, than he was before. Their moans and gasps grow louder — particularly Richie's — as they approach orgasm.

"Wanna see you," Eddie mumbles into Richie's neck before pulling away far to soon for Richie's liking. "I wanna see your face when you come, Rich."

"Fuck, Eddie, please." Richie's begging again, but he doesn't know for what. His eyes are cloudy, and his mind remains foggy, but he's aware of Eddie looking at him. His cock is aching; tentatively, he reaches down to stroke himself, and then—

"Eddie!" with a cry and some particularly rough, fast thrusts from Eddie, Richie is coming hard, with his mouth parted in a wide "o" as his moans are choppy and high-pitched. The heat within him is smoldering, and the tension approaching the orgasm has dispersed, leaving him pulsing and twitching as Eddie fucks him through his own orgasm.

Seeing Richie so blissfully fucked-out is what drives Eddie over the edge. With his own low string of groans he's thrusting erratically and coming into the condom inside of Richie, all while watching as Richie comes down from his own high.

"Holy fucking— holy shit, Eddie," Richie pants, chest heaving, his eyes half-lidded and his face flushed. His mind begins to clear and the reality of what happened is setting in. "You just— we just—"

"Yeah," Eddie says as he slips out from Richie, takes off the condom and throws it in the nearby garbage. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, and he's smiling, Richie notes, and then he is, too. "How do you feel?"

"Like I just got fucked into next Tuesday. In other words, fucking phenomenal. Wow." He rakes his eyes over Eddie then, taking in his unusually disheveled hair and flushed face. Richie loves him. "And you?"

That's when Eddie grins, and Richie's heart soars. "Like I’m on top of the goddamn world."

"Is my ass that good?" Richie jokes, because it's what he does, but he knows that's not what Eddie means.

"Get off your high horse, dipshit," Eddie snips in the midst of putting his shorts back on, but he's smiling lopsidedly. Then, he gives a pointed look to Richie, who’s sprawled out and looking like he's not going to move anytime soon. Eddie sighs. "You can't lay there in your own filth, Richie."

"No? I can't?"

"No, you can't!"

"What, are you gonna clean me?"

Eddie clenches his jaw, because yes, he will, and Richie knows he will. How annoying.

He goes to fetch a towel.

Grumbling, he cleans them both up and then helps Richie dress his lower half like he's a toddler before collapsing beside Richie on the even-more-unmade bed than before.

"Eds?" Richie's voice is uncharacteristically timid.

"Hm?"

"Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Have sex with me, dude," Richie says, almost exasperated, like he doesn't want to say it.

"Okay, first, don't call me 'dude' after we just had sex, dude." Eddie slaps his hand over Richie's mouth when he opens it to speak, probably about to spew a bunch of disgusting pet names. Eddie takes a deep breath before continuing, laying down so their shoulders are brushing. "Second, I did it because... well, I wanted to. I wanted to have sex with you because I- I like you. And I wanted to silence the voice in my head — my mom's voice — about how sick and filthy people like— like that— like me are. I’m not fucking sick."

"You're not sick," Richie repeats, grinning so wide it's making his face hurt. He flips over onto his stomach, laying his head on Eddie's chest, looking up at Eddie with big, magnified eyes. Then, his eyelids flutter closed. His voice is muffled when he speaks again. "I love you."

"You l- you love me." It's not a question, it's a statement. Richie hums, nodding his head against Eddie's chest. "What the fuck. I love you, dumbass."

"Never change your pet names," Richie says sleepily with a smile before he officially nods off on Eddie's chest.

If Maggie comes home later and sees her two favourite boys cuddled up on Richie's bed, she doesn't mention it when she calls the two for dinner — but the knowing smile never leaves her face.