Chapter Text
It had been a fucking rough week. A really, truly big pile of dog shit, on fire.
But finally, finally, Richie had some time to himself. His agent told him to get a good night's rest. But what Richie Tozier really needed was a drink, a hard drink that would get him drunk and familiar with a toilet bowl. Sadly, the tiny bottles in his hotel room just wouldn't cut it.
That's why he was at the actual hotel bar, a cliche set up nestled just out of sight of the reception with some jazz tunes played by the man at the Grand Piano. At 11:30 at night the bar was mostly empty, give or take the few businessmen still in their suits and ties chatting among themselves.
Richie was alone at the bar itself, with a glass of whiskey settled among too much ice. He downed it in one shot and the taste burnt his mouth. It was going to be a long night and Richie motioned for a refill.
He'd been watching the small television on the wall with a fourth drink in his hand when he heard another voice, one asking for a beer. Without much thought to it, Richie let his attention drift and he looked to the newcomer.
The man had perched himself on the bar stool a few seats down from Richie. He was in a suit, a businessman, with a lanyard around his neck. Richie watched as he loosened the tie around his neck and how he frowned while looking down at his mobile. He went through what looked like walls of text before sighing heavily to himself and sending back a very short reply. A clingy girlfriend? Pissed off boss? Grandmother that just learned how to text?
It was in that moment that Richie realised he had been staring, especially when their gazes met.
His eyes were big and dark brown, almost black, and that effect gave the man a doe eyed appearance. He looked weary… and cute.
Richie swallowed a lump in his throat as he looked away, back to the drink in his grips that wasn't giving the desired effect as quick as he was hoping. Then again, his chest was suddenly tight. Suddenly his brain was buzzing. But was that the whiskey, or the man two stools down?
It was a running joke in his stand up that he was a shit boyfriend. People found the adventures with his ex-girlfriends amusing. Little did they know that Stacey and Veronica were as fucking fake as any silicon valley boob job. Because Richie Tozier is a 38 year old gay man, still locked in the closet and too fucking afraid to admit it to anyone but himself.
To think of this random stranger as cute made Richie nervous. There was a part of him that thought striking up a conversation with this guy was a bad idea. But what was so bad about it? It wasn't like he would blurt out "Hey, you wanna suck dicks?"
No, he wasn't drunk enough for that. Or was he…
When Richie looked back at the man, he had gone back to minding his own business. He was fiddling with the beer bottle in his grip, reading the label with a tired expression.
… A little bit of talk wouldn't hurt, right?
Richie downed his drink for good measure and begged he didn't say something stupid.
"Long day?"
Good enough.
It was enough to grab his attention. However, the guy glanced around the empty bar just incase he was about to awkwardly answer a question meant for someone else. It made Richie exhale what could have been a silent scoff or laugh. "Yeah I'm talking to you."
That made the man frown softly but with no mean intentions behind it. He fiddled with the bottle between his fingers for a second, finally he nodded. "Yeah, I guess you could say that." There was a pause as he took a sip of his beer. "You?"
A bit of talk wouldn't hurt.
Richie motioned for the bartender to fill his glass again before he slipped into the next stool. Now only a single stool sat between them. "More like a long week."
At Richie's openness and his advance, the man arched his brows from their former frown. While he didn't pry further, there was no reason for Richie to stop there. After all, he was a comedian. Talking was his thing. He was called Trashmouth for a reason… he couldn't remember the reason but it was a thing. Richie rested his elbows on the bar.
"My apartment got water damage on Tuesday because the asshole that lives above me bought himself a fucking water bed like it's still the 1980s." That seemed to peak the guys curiosity by the look on his face, Richie downed his drink. "Of course the guy didn't fucking make it properly and I woke up in the middle of the night with water dripping on my fucking face from the ceiling. Turns out there isn't any proper insulation between the two apartments and so water was running down my walls like fucking blood in some horror movie--"
As he spoke he ran his fingers down through the air. "My vintage vinyl collection was fucking ruined -- I can't replace that crap and the guy is trying to say its not his fault. Can you believe that?"
"That shit isn't even good for your posture," was the only thing the man said and Richie slammed his hands against the bar. "Exactly! Who the fuck buys a water bed?"
"Asshole neighbours, clearly."
Richie liked this guy.
The man shifted in his stool, finishing his beer before folding his arms along the bar. He focused back on Richie and as he did Richie noticed how almost delicate his facial features were, how good fucking looking he was.
Richie liked this guy a lot.
"Then what happened?"
With the invitation to keep talking, Richie took in a deep breath.
It was a series of unfortunate events that fell from Richie's lips. Stepping in dog shit, delayed flights to New York, crying babies on said delayed flights, his laptop charger left in his water damaged Seattle apartment, poorly organised interviews and meetings --
"And to top it all off my show was a fucking flop."
The whole time Richie ranted, the man was silent. He listened, urging Richie to bitch about everything that was weighing down on him. He hadn't spoken much past “then what?” but at the mention of the show, he finally had something else to say.
"What kind of show?"
It was at that point that Richie realised they hadn't had a proper introduction, he just got straight into complaining and that made Richie flush in embarrassment. He ordered another whiskey.
He was onto nine now. His muscles were relaxing, his mouth more loose. He hardly noticed that the other man had only just ordered his second beer.
"Comedy--" Richie paused to take a sip. "I'm a famous comedian!" He said it proudly with a smug ass smile on his face.
He expected the man, who was looking him over, to quickly put two and two together and know who he was. But instead he thinned his lips and shook his head. "I don't know you…"
Did this guy not get out? Richie leaned back in his stool and the man mimicked. It meant Richie was looking at him properly for the first time, head to toe. He was slim, with no real muscle, with a fucking nice tailored suit to fit his frame. He wasn't just cute, he was handsome.
More importantly, He didn't look like a total shut in. How did he not know Richie Tozier?
"You know Richie Tozier…?" He pointed at himself as if it wasn't obvious. The guy arched his brows and shook his head. "Never heard that name before."
"Are you fucking kidding?"
"Nope."
"I'm on tv -- I got my own fucking Netflix comedy special."
"I don't own Netflix."
Who the fuck was this guy?
Richie frowned deeply in confusion, in response he downed the rest of his whiskey and glanced to the new bartender on shift. He held up a finger for one more, pointing to the empty cup. As it was filled he turned fully on his stool to face the man, his attention focused on the lanyard around his neck.
"Yeah well, I don't know you either Mr --"
There was writing and while Richie could read perfectly with those glasses on his face, he held onto the bar to lean in and read the words.
"Edward Kass...Krassp… K--"
"It's Kaspbrak."
They locked eyes for a moment before Richie sat back and took his drink, downing it.
"Well… Eddie," as the nickname left his tongue, it left with a smile on his lips. It felt too good to say, or maybe that was the alcohol. He noticed Eddie react, glancing away with an emotion Richie couldn't pin down, a warmth to his cheeks.
Richie would refuse to call this man Edward.
"I will get you a ticket to my next show."
"No thanks."
"Why not?"
"Cause you said your show was shit."
It caught Richie off guard and it should have offended him more. But instead he weirdly liked it.
Normally it hurt when hecklers booed or reviews suggested his comedy special wasn't as funny as the media made it out to be. But not with this guy. When he said Richie's comedy was shit he felt no weight behind those words that was meant to offend or harm.
Now Richie was seeing a personality under that sexy tailored suit.
"I didn't say it was shit--"
"You said it flopped - that's just another word for shit."
"Hey -- fuck you." Richie pointed at Eddie and in response, Eddie laughed. It was a soft, light laugh that tugged on Richie’s heart. It clearly caught them both off guard as Eddie cleared his throat quickly after.
"I am a risk analyst -- I can analyse that your show will give me a brain tumour. 99 percent chance."
"99 fuckin' percent!?"
Eddie nodded, taking another long sip of his now lukewarm beer to hide the slight smile. Richie didn't know why his heart was beating hard in his chest, but he liked it. He was scared shitless of it, but fucking liked it.
It might have been a risk, but Richie took the chance. He scooted into that one last stool and now they sat side by side, arms almost touching. Eddie glanced at him again, those doe eyes watching him. He made no comment and when the buzz settled Richie spoke up again.
"How did you calculate 99 fuckin'percent?"
Surprisingly, Eddie had math behind this stupid banter. It was actually fucking rediculous and probably made up, but Richie fucking hated math and you could have told him 5+6=28 and he would believe you.
It opened up the conversation to why risk analysis? and why are you here?
In short, Eddie was there for a conference, discussing new ways to analyse risks. And why risk analysis? In short:
“I'm scared shitless of a lot of things, math makes it easy to calculate survival."
Richie stared at him for a moment, wondering how freely Eddie normally admitted to that - especially to a stranger. It seemed to show on Eddie's face that maybe it was not too common.
"Sounds like a shit life-- being scared all the fucking time." Richie pointed out while making a face at the glass of water the bat tender had given him.
"Shut up--" Eddie shot back when finishing his third, and last beer. "Aren't you scared of anything?"
The short answer was yes. Richie was scared of a lot. But nothing he would admit to so readily.
Richie Tozier was not an open book, he was a junior highschool girl’s diary under lock and key. As a comedian, you are meant to expose your life in exchange for humouring the masses. But Richie, on the other hand, just handed out brochures with stupid ass jokes that reflected only lies and the aspects that he wanted his fans to see. What he was on stage was not what he was at this bar, ten drinks drunk and finding himself attracted to a man who was terrified of everything for a living. Maybe Richie felt more connected to that than he was ready to admit.
He was silent before he finally sipped at the water. "I'm scared of werewolves."
🎈
They spoke until the bartender ushered them into the lobby at one am, closing the glass doors to the bar behind them.
The warm bar stools that they had frequented for almost two hours were now no longer an option. The playful banter that sparked between them seemed to grow cold, and silent.
Now they were faced with the reality that they had to go back to their separate hotel rooms. This encounter was just a fleeting moment about to come to a close.
But Richie didn't want it to end. A little voice in his head said that maybe it would be for the best that it did. It was scared. But staring at Eddie made his heart race for reasons other than fear. When Eddie looked back at him, Richie thought fuck it.
There was a lump in his throat, but the words that so desperately wanted to come out forced their way up past the fear that had him hesitating.
"I've still got a full bar fridge, if you're interested."
Eddie's eyebrows raised in surprise and Richie felt his breath catch in his throat with that lump. What if he said no? What if--
"A few more couldn't hurt…"
The two exchanged glances. Now that they were standing, Richie noted that Eddie had to tilt his head slightly to look at him. Then Eddie offered him a slight smile, something almost shy, in their exchange and it made Richie feel hotter than it should have.
Eddie's voice brought him back to reality as he started to head towards the elevators. "You coming, funny guy?"
Richie made a face in response, flipping him off, earning another genuine chuckle in response, before joining Eddie at the elevators with a slight sway to his step. Eddie hit the button and one of the three opened automatically, letting the two slip inside.
Richie was on the eighth floor.
So, in classic Richie fashion, he began to press the button to every level. Behind him he heard Eddie go "what the fuck are you doing?" to which he only smiled a shitful smile before standing back beside Eddie while the doors closed.
"What are you? 13?" Eddie questioned at the first floor, when the doors opened and they stared out into the empty hallway.
"I'm actually 38, but thank you for the compliment. I take my skin care routine seriously," they exchanged glances and smiled again.
The doors opened at the second level and Eddie suppressed a sigh.
At the fourth floor, Eddie let out a loud fuuuck and Richie was sent into loud laughter.
Even though Eddie was clearly frustrated, there was no denying the smile on his lips as their banter continued with each empty hallway that the elevator doors opened onto.
Finally, the elevator sounded off the eighth floor with a ding and the doors opened up to another empty hallway. They moved into the quiet halls and Richie lead them both to one of the last rooms on the right, pausing only to pull the keycard from his back pocket.
Richie maneuvered around the dark room to reach the bedside table and turned on the reading lamp.
Mood lighting.
Well, it would have been more romantic but… his room was a mess.
Richie had only really been in the room for about 3 hours between his flopped show and his sudden need for a hard drink. The suitcase was still open on the queen sized bed with clothes that seemed to be crawling our, like creatures in desperate need for air. There were flannelette shirts, Luau shirts, a wind breaker jacket, jeans, and t-shirts with really stupid shit on them that, for a 38 year old, made him look so lame.
(And he kinda was)
At the small table sat his open laptop, dead from forgetting his charger. There were papers scrawled with jokes scattered across the surface where Richie had, in a panic, been trying to bullshit the last ten minutes of his act without access to his documents.
"You're a pig," Eddie spoke up as he stood in the middle of the small room.
Richie moved to the bed and in one movement just shoved the suitcase off the bed and onto the floor. It thudded on the ground, out of site where the rest of the contents had most likely just fallen out everywhere. He looked back at Eddie, brows arched as if to ask satisfied?
Eddie simply shook his head as he started to undo his tie.
Richie had somewhat sobered after three glasses of ice water (but not really.) While Eddie was still sober enough to carefully fold his tie and put it in his suit pocket. The top few buttons of his shirt were then undone and now Richie could see the edge of a collar bone. It left Richie seriously contemplating the last time he kissed a guy.
When he realised that Eddie was watching, he quickly felt the heat in his cheeks. He was surprised there wasn't drool on his chin and he cleared his throat.
"Make yourself comfortable," Richie motioned to the room. "Mi casa su casa, amigo," he spoke, in one of those many voices he had, as he moved to the bar fridge in the hallway and took the two beers that cost more than his water damaged apartment.
He turned back to Eddie perched on the edge of his bed, running his hands through his nicely cut hair before shrugging off his jacket.
Without anything but each other in that messy hotel room, it was easy to find that their attention kept falling back to the only important thing - each other.
Richie couldn't put his finger on the feeling in his chest. But he swallowed the lump in his throat and offered Eddie one of the bottles. He took it with a thanks and smiled that shy smile. Richie believed that smile was designed by the gods to make him weak at the knees.
It was lucky he had sat his ass down, right beside Eddie.
Thighs and shoulders pressed together, elbows knocking one another. Yet, neither bothered correcting and instead the two clinked their beers together in a cheers.
And now that they were there, sitting close together in Richie's trashed hotel room, Richie had no fucking idea what to do. He had extended this invite with no plan. Richie wondered whether it was his heart or his dick that had made him blurt out those words in the lobby.
"I didn't even ask you why your day was shit," he finally spoke up, taking a long sip afterwards and Eddie looked towards him.
"I over abused my inhaler this morning and it was empty by the time I checked into the fucking hotel."
Of course this guy has an inhaler. As if he wouldn't. It made Richie breathe a small laugh, drinking more of his beer. Eddie frowned at his amusement.
"What's so funny? I could die if I don't have my inhaler…"
"Then why are you alive right now?"
"Because I drove the hour and a half back to my pharmacy and picked up a new inhaler, I don't keep my script on me and so I was late to my tal--"
Again, Richie laughed, even more so at the frustration in Eddie's voice at having to explain himself.
"For a risk analysist, not keeping your script on you at all times seems like a stupid risk, Eds."
"Shut up -- it's stupid not to pack your charger with your laptop."
"Yeah but I don't need that shit to breathe."
"You clearly need it to make good content for your shit comedy."
Richie almost choked on his mouthful of beer when Eddie made another jab at his comedy. As he glanced at Eddie he couldn't help but note the way Eddie downed half his beer, so much faster than how he had messed around with the beers given to him at the bar.
It left a smile on Richie's lips when he looked away, taking a swig of beer again.
"Shut up Kaspbrak--"
"Make me."
Make me?
It was the most childish thing to say. But when Richie looked at Eddie again with his mouth open, ready to spit some banter, he paused at the expression on the others face.
Eddie's expression was soft in the lamp light, his grip on the mostly empty beer bottle was tight, and across his cheek bones was that rose tint of a blush. And while Richie had drunk that whole night, his throat went dry when he realised Eddie Kaspbrak was flirting. Not only flirting but daring him to do something that Richie had wanted to do for the past two hours.
They stared at each other for a moment in silence, breath caught in throats before Eddie shifted. His thigh pressed against Richie's.
"You heard me, Richie…" Eddie spoke again "Make me."
Richie gulped, swallowing the lump in his throat. But every part of his being, even the parts that were terrified, told him that not doing this would be the worst decision in his life.
Richie's eyes fell towards Eddie's lips, so soft in appearance. They parted slightly, Eddie biting his lower lip.
Fuck it--
Richie grabbed the lanyard still around Eddie's neck and pulled him into a kiss.
It was the first time he had kissed a guy in fucking years. Richie was scared shitless, yet he couldn't deny how warm he felt at the sensation of kissing someone he really wanted to kiss.
Eddie leaned into it. He kissed Richie back, his hand shifting to press gently into Richie's thigh and even that simple touch left Richie feeling like he was a giddy teenager all over again.
When the first kiss parted, it opened something in Richie that he had tried to keep under lock and key for many years.
The need to want someone, to show affection, to love someone.
Richie let go of the lanyard and pressed his hand to Eddie's neck. He pulled him close again, kissing him again and deeper this time.
Eddie responded, opening his mouth for Richie and he squeezed his thigh harder. They melted at each other's touch, they fit together, it felt so right.
🎈
Richie hadn't sucked cock since he was in his early thirties. He was at some house party in Seattle when he went down on a guy he hadn't met before or saw again after that night. He had been ashamed at himself that night, and had burrowed himself deeper into the closet.
But with Eddie naked on the bed, his slender legs on either side of Richie's head, he was going to suck him off as if he did it every second day.
By Eddie's little moans, he knew he was doing okay. There was a hand curling in his messy hair, begging him not to stop. Maybe better than okay.
With Eddie in his mouth, there was a jitter of nerves and fear inside of him, screaming at him to stop, made his fingertips tremble. They screamed that he was exposing his biggest fear, his biggest secret to a stranger.
But when Richie glanced up at Eddie and saw the other watching him, big eyes admiring him. He told that fear to shut the fuck up.
Eddie had one of his legs hooked over Richie's shoulder with the ball of his foot digging into his back. Richie expected the other to cum right then and there until he felt Eddie tug tightly on his hair.
"Rich--"
The strained, soft voice above him accompanied by a pleading tone made Richie stop and pull his lips away. The two stared at each other for a moment, faces flushed and both trying to steady themselves.
Then Eddie, after collecting his breath in hesitation, spoke up.
"Fuck me…"
Richie's blush darkened fifty fucking shades as he processed the others plea. He could see by the redness in Eddie's own cheeks that this wasn't a usual thing for him either.
Yes, Richie had sucked cock before, he had fucked around with guys. But each time he did, there was regret, disgust, hate towards himself. He was afraid that in this aftermath, those feelings would come back. But then Eddie tugged gently on his hair, fingers curling in the strands.
This was something different, what it was was neither could properly pin down. Like the kiss, it would be a regret to say no.
"Need me to grab your inhaler?"
The joke slipped past Richie's lips and caused Eddie to kick Richie's shoulder as a fuck you. But in the seconds following a small pause Eddie replied.
"... Maybe."
The two of them laughed, out of breath and Richie planted a kiss against Eddie's inner thigh before he pulled himself away. He found Eddie's inhaler in the abandoned jacket on the floor and tossed it on the bed.
For once Richie wouldn't just have condoms and lube in his suitcase for show. And he didn't want to admit how fucking good that felt.
🎈
The aftermath of sex had been what Richie was going to call sweet and almost cute. He had never laughed so softly at someone's displeased expression to the fact their stomach was covered in cum.
He helped Eddie off the bed and the two joked in the bathroom while washing off what remained in a quick shower. Being clean pleased Eddie's germ-phobic tendencies just as it relaxed Richie's deeply twisted homophobia towards himself. Being covered in sweat and cum from both himself and another man was not helping that despite the bliss that came with it.
Now, it seemed only natural for the two to part ways. But again, Richie wasn't ready. Instead he took Eddie's hand and lead him back into bed.
The two found themselves at 2:30 in the morning naked on Richie's bed. Each on their own respected side, a small gap between them. They watched each other in silence, Richie admiring Eddie and Eddie blushing deeper every time he recognised it. It made Richie smile a stupid smile.
But then Eddie's gentle expression fell into one of thoughts, a small frown on his face. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped, thinning his lips and looking away. Suddenly Richie was nervous.
"What…?" He urged Eddie to speak.
Richie's heart started to beat quicker in his chest, unable to take his eyes off Eddie in that moment. When Eddie finally looked at him, there was an expression that Richie couldn't really place. Eddie seemed to hesitate for words.
"Maybe we have met before..."
It took Richie back, it wasn't what he expected. He had been daydreaming of something horrible.
"You said I didn't even looked familiar…" Richie pointed out while adjusting the glasses on his face.
"I know but I can't shake this feeling that I know you -- I don't know." Eddie frowned in his own confusion and Richie quietly watched him.
While it seemed strange, Richie couldn't deny how comfortable it had felt to fall into place beside Eddie. In their banter and nicknames, in their movements and contact, he found himself content. It felt weirdly natural for Richie, a man who was terrified of flirting with any man he found attractive.
Eddie was watching him, face pressing against the feather filled pillow, waiting for Richie to get that glazed look from his eyes as this all ran through his head.
Richie could have made a joke, but he didn't. Instead his hand shifted along the sheets, fingertips curling gently against the hand Eddie sat in the gap between them.
"I get what you mean, Eds…"
His voice was quieter than before, their fingertips curling together. There was a moment of hesitation from Richie when he looked at the ceiling, exhaling softly and Eddie watched him with those big eyes. A few more seconds passed before Richie looked back at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Almost serious.
"This dick is pretty unforgettable."
Richie's serious expression fell away into a smile and laughter broke as Eddie roughly shoved him and Richie rolled onto his back.
"Fuck you Tozier!"
"Don't be a coward and fuck me yourself."
Eddie, while his cheeks flushed red, didn't seem to hesitate in crawling onto Richie's lap. He grabbed the comedian's hands when Richie went to protest between his laughs and pinned them over Richie's head.
Their faces came close, Eddie's breath brushing over his lips. He had a playful smile and Richie could see the small set of crows feet pinching at the corners of Eddie's eyes.
Richie felt warm, he felt warm in even the deepest, darkest corners of his being.
He was pinned to a hotel bed, by a man he had just met. But Eddie had been right, Richie felt like he had known the other for a long, long time.
Their naked bodies were pressed together, Eddie's thighs squeezing his hips and Richie couldn't get the stupid smile off his lips.
That was when he exhaled, a long sigh.
"I am so happy I could die…"
The words left him without a thought in his mind, pushed into existence by the sheer bliss of that moment between them. But when he caught up to the words that had slipped out, his cheeks flushed red. The smile fell from his expression as Richie began to hesitate.
Above him, Eddie's playful smile had fallen away as well. The comedian had been talking shit all night, and Eddie recognised just as well as Richie in that moment that this had been the first genuine thing to pass Richie's lips.
"I…" Richie wanted to try and explain away what had been breathed with such a relieved tone. But he let his words fall away when Eddie let go of his hands and instead Eddie took Richie's glasses from his face. He took a moment to lean over, carefully put them on the bed side table.
When he shifted back, all he was in Richie's vision was a warm blur.
Eddie leaned in, his nose brushing along Richie's.
Richie felt his heart drumming in his ears. Eddie pressed his hands gently against Richie's cheeks and whispered softly on his lips.
"Shut up and kiss me, Trashmouth."
His words echoed in Richie's head as their lips locked again in a deep kiss. Richie brought his freed hands around Eddie and embrace him, never wanting to let go.