Work Text:
Everyone knows Richie Tozier talks too much. If you look up in a dictionary what babbling means, you'll find a photo of him as the definition. Because Richard Wentworth Tozier talks like if he does it enough maybe God will hear it. The perks of it include being seen the way he wants to be seen. The downsides of it include not being able to be seen beyond what he makes himself to be; annoying and loud and too much. That's how it's been his entire life and, really, that's not necessarily a bad thing. He always figured it was for the best and things this way were easier.
Then one gorgeous, beautiful day Michael fucking Hanlon called.
Richie was wrong. He'd never admit but he was wrong. But he also was fucking right. Now he has people that see him as he is but ain't that a terrifying motherfucking thing? So now he talks more, talks louder, and talks harsher because if he does, that may hide him a little more. It works but only because they see right through him and take pity on him. That is not cool. Richie's thankful for that but that is so not cool.
So he talks. And he talks. Then, he talks some more.
The fact that they listen regardless breaks him. One day, he accidentally lets himself leak out because of that and Ben cradles him so fucking gently that he cries.
Ben also shouldn't have done that because now he's Richie's confider. He's the one that Richie called when the news of someone's certain divorce came up, the one Richie called when someone announced quitting his job, the one Richie called freaking out when he made an invitation and someone said yes to living together.
Ben would be annoyed about the random calls he got about Richie freaking out over Eddie's freckles or about his wrinkles or, god help him, his thighs, but 1- that'd be hypocrisy on his part since he called Richie for the same reasons and 2- it was actually really endearing. Sometimes. Other times not so much.
Take right now as an example.
Ben sighs. " Rich, I'm sure that Eddie glaring isn't anything new."
"I know, Ben! But I swear, it was different, okay?! He- he just," a groan, his head flopping back against the couch's seat, body sprawled over the floor. " God, maybe I went too far on the jokes but he looked like he was about to- I don't know," a sigh.
" Richie, have you considered just, y'know. Jerking off?"
"You think I haven't?! Dude! It's like you don't even know me."
" I know but you sound very… Frustrated."
"Benny boy, you telling me to go get laid or something?"
" Uh… Maybe?" Ben sounds sheepish now. " Listen, I get it, I really do but… This is a lot. "
"Ugh, imagine what it's like for me. I swear to god, that fucking experimental beard of his," Richie groans again, loud enough to cover up any door opening. "He told me to shut the fuck up and there was this non-said 'or else' and it was like, my dick just perked up, dude. I was five seconds from begging him to fuck my mouth or something, so I'm losing my fucking mind over here, like, if Eddie doesn't make me get on my hands and knees soon, I'll fucking-"
Ben's hitched breath sounds an awful lot like it didn't come from the phone but Richie just brushes it off because he doesn't feel like opening his eyes.
" Richie, " Ben sounds pained. " Please just talk to Eddie about this."
"Ben," Richie mocks his pained edge. "I may be stupid but I'm not that fucking stupid. We talked about this before and this shit's not gonna reach any ears but yours. Maybe Stan's or Mike's but they still like to gossip, so."
" I still think you should just tell him you're in love -"
The front door slams loudly and Richie scurries to turn off the call. Ben's voice cuts out mid-sentence and Richie straightens up on the floor, leaning forwards to peek around the wall. In comes Eddie, looking as beautiful and frazzled as ever with one of those environment-friendly bags filled to the brim with shit. The nonchalant facade slips on automatically.
"Hey, Eds. You got me my snickers?"
"Uh," Eddie shifts on his feet, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. He laughs awkwardly. "Yeah, sure."
Richie blinks. "You okay?"
"Yeah, haha," Eddie says and takes a few stiff steps towards him to handle the bar.
"Who the actual fuck says 'haha' out loud-"
"I need to shower," Eddie nearly shouts, scurrying into the kitchen, disappearing for a couple of seconds before shooting up towards his room.
Richie blinks again, something that feels disgustingly like shame curling around his nape. He takes a deep breath, though, and pushes it off. Then he mutters to himself, "weird motherfucker." because that's what Eddie is and Richie loves him for it.
He questions himself a couple of times that day again about whether or not Eddie had some sixth sense and knew they were talking about him because he catches Eddie looking at him a little weirdly. But he brushes that thought away because if he had, in any way, shape, or form known about Richie's desires, he wouldn't be near him so casually, certainly not. If he knew, he would've flown out of the country already. But Eddie doesn't leave the house in the middle of the night without a warning, then two weeks passes and it's like Eddie never had that weird moment. Richie forgets that shit even happened because he has other shit to focus on, like
"-this stupid fucking joke has gotten fucking old when we were ten , can't you just let this shit go?!"
"Eddie, baby, I am never letting my dear Sonia go," Richie sighs, slowing his stirring, to pretend to daydream.
"She's literally fucking dead , you asshole!" Eddie shouts, and the hand chop makes Richie's grin widen. Especially since Eddie looks like he's about to blow up.
"And yet, she insists on haunting my dreams-"
"Richie," Eddie snarls, and it's low, dangerous and something that curls tight around Richie's guts. He doesn't know when to stop and even if he knew, he wouldn't be able to make himself do it.
"-I can't wait to go to bed and dream of her fat tits-"
"Shut your fucking mouth before I fuck it ."
The spoon Richie was holding slips from his hand and sinks into the sauce. He blinks down at it like it holds the universal truth within. When he turns his head slightly to meet Eddie's eyes, and they mirror his own with the way they're wide as shit. He waits two beats, and instead of taking it back, Eddie raises his chin defiantly. He looks surprised, if not vaguely terrified, but he still holds his ground.
"Uh," Richie swallows. "That- that's certainly one way to shut me up, I guess," he says, and because he hates himself, he adds. "So, you wanna understand why your mom loves this mouth so m-"
Eddie's face hardens and it has Richie's teeth clicking painfully loudly with the way he shuts his mouth. Eddie approaches him, fists the front of his sleep shirt and jerks him forth. Richie follows limply.
"You talk so much shit, Richie," Eddie looks down on him even though he still has to look up despite Richie's slouch. "It makes me think you're just trying to compensate for something."
Richie's going to deny for eternity the way he choked on air. Eddie's forming grin feels vaguely evil. His fist jerks down and Richie follows, unable to keep standing. His knees ache when they collide with the floor with a wince and he sits on his feet.
Eddie's face does something complicated and it's not that hard to pick apart the hesitation, the conflict. Something ugly rears its head in Richie's stomach, but before he can make his worries coherent Eddie's asking him "Is this okay? Not going too far, am I? Are- are you good?"
Richie swallows, his throat clicks, his head's all foggy except for his dick's chants of hot hot hot oh my god this is so fucking hot I'm gonna nut but Eddie's hand leaves Richie's shirt. His hands shoots up to hold onto Eddie's wrist, and he feels wild, and freakishly full of want that settles hotly at the back of his chest so he mumbles something embarrassingly like "I'm- I'm really dope right now, Eds, I- I- really fucking want this, I want- I want."
Eddie softens. Richie wonders, for a second, what face he's making, if it shows how pathetic he feels, how needy, because amusement soothes every edge of Eddie's that he can see, then he sighs. Blinks himself back into himself, says
" Dope ? Rich, you forgot you're forty, not fourteen?" and Richie loves and hates how he doesn't think before he speaks because he delivers back
"Myra didn't have a problem with-" Richie yelps at the way Eddie roughly grabs his jaw.
"Shut up , Richie," Eddie seethes dangerously. Richie shivers visibly. "Or I'll make sure you won't be able to use your voice for a while . Understood?"
Jesus motherfucking Christ.
He says nothing, can't think of a single thing to word, can't do shit except nod desperately so Eddie says
"So, am I right?" A scoff. "You're always running your stupid fucking mouth about how great you are at sex, but," he lets go of Richie's jaw, crosses his arms – Richie could come just at the way his forearms look on rolled up sleeves and a button up, what the actual fuck – and leans back against the island. "I bet you're all fucking talk about that, too."
"I'm good," Richie's mouth goes faster than his brain and he can't bite anything back. "I'm- I'm good, Eddie, I am. Please."
Eddie's face does something that Richie can't pinpoint due to the feeling of patheticness that spreads throughout his chest due his words and his voice crack. His dick doesn't get the fucking memo though. But his eyes flicker to follow movement over his eyesight and the eyeful he gets of Eddie's crotch do make him drool so he swallows before looking back up and Eddie's eyes never leave his face. Arousal and shame walk hand in hand at that.
Eddie's fingers thread through his hair but then he eyes something above and he reaches for something over Richie but fists his hair and pulls his head closer so the front of his khaki shorts rubs against Richie's cheek and Richie fucking feels him twitching. He barely hears the noise of the stove turning off.
When Eddie leans back, he follows, turns his head to nose along the length and the spell isn't even broken by Eddie letting out an amused huff.
"You brag about how you're the man," Eddie mutters, jerks Richie's head back so his lips are touching his clothed erection. "But you look so fucking desperate right now. It's pathetic ."
Richie instinctively grabs Eddie's calves, unable to control his heavening breath.
"You," Richie clears his throat, trying a little too hard to keep his dignity in check. "Say that like your dick's not on my face right now."
Eddie's eyebrows meet and his fist pulls in a way that hurts but doesn't hurt , and it feels so fucking good that Richie moans, high and soft and not at all a noise he's proud of making but Eddie's lips and dick twitch in sync and Richie parts his lips, tongue dragging over the slacks softly, lets his eyes flutter. Eddie's little sigh is the symphony Beethoven never managed to create.
With his free hand, Eddie unzips his pants and Richie can't pull his eyes away, can't do shit except tighten his grip on Eddie, can hardly keep his breath steady. Especially when Eddie hisses out a "Shit!" that doesn't exactly sounds positive so Richie resists the urge to flinch, instead directs his alarmed eyes towards Eddie's, swallows hard, asks
"What? What's wrong?" but before he can ask Eddie if he wants to stop and pretend this never happened, Eddie answers him.
"I don't have any condom with me or in my room," he sighs frustratedly. Richie thinks I have, in my room, I have condoms all sizes no judgment only fun and Richie replies
"I'm clean. I haven't fucked in a while, got tested recently anyway, I'm clean."
Eddie pauses, eyes him like he's seeing Richie for the first time for so long that Richie wonders if he crossed some bros helping bros by sucking dick line and he opens his mouth to say sorry man, we don't gotta do anything at all but what comes out is a broken
"Eddie."
Eddie clears his throat.
"I'm, uh, I'm clean too," And the relief feels so good that Richie can't hold back a snort and a
"Oh, the hypochondriac is clean? Who would've thought-" but chokes on his sentence when Eddie presses his bare heel on his crotch with a glare that feels stupidly sexy, especially the way his jaw twitches, Eddie's beard doing fucking wonders about Richie's pulsing dick.
Still, Eddie's set to action, back on undoing the buttons and shoving his slacks and briefs down in a way that's really not sexy but are staying forever on Richie's spank bank.
"C'mon, Rich. Show me what your mouth's really good for. Prove me wrong," and Eddie holds himself, average size and thicker girth, tip looking enticingly shiny and Richie, feeling the challenge for what it is thinks deriliously I am going to give this short fuck the best fucking head ever known to man so he does just that.
Slowly stretching his mouth around it, tongue swirling tentatively at first before taking a more frenetic undertone as he slaps Eddie's hands away and grasps the base, free hand clutching Eddie's bare asscheek. Shit feels slightly sharpened so when Eddie breathes out, one hand on his shoulder, other hand resting on top of his head, Richie feels a little bit like he's the one getting head except his dick is grumbling at how the only thing it's getting is a fucking foot in it, Richie grants it a little friction with his hips twitching forth.
Eddie laughs breathlessly. "Are you," a sharp inhale, Richie sinks further, the tip sliding over his cheek, thumb massaging the bottom full of purpose, moving his head back and forth a little lazily. "Really humping my fucking foot right now?"
But he doesn't seem all that pissed about it so Richie answers with another twitch of his hips. Eddie huffs in amusement again, getting choked up when Richie's hand slides off his dick to grab his hip, carefully letting his dick slide down his throat with controlled breaths until he can't breathe anymore and Eddie's hand is tightening on his hair and his foot presses down a little harder and his dick thinks nice and Richie hums in agreement and now it's Eddie's hips turn to jerk forward. Richie doesn't choke out of pure mental power. Or dick power. Whichever, all he knows is he's transcending right now because now he knows what Eddie fucking Kaspbrak's cock tastes like.
It tastes real fucking good for a dick. Or maybe Richie's just really happy. Whatever.
He swallows his feelings down because otherwise he'd burst and Eddie seems to appreciate that because he doesn't sound like he can control his breath anymore but Richie's a little rilled up because, he pulls off,
"Weren't you going to fuck my mouth? Make me lose my voice?" Although his voice is raspy. Richie scoffs because he truly has no sense of self preservation, says "Who's all talk, now?"
Richie is best known for running his mouth. He's secondly best known for not thinking shit through. Mix these two up and at least ninety percent of his life mistakes would be explained. This time is one of them, although Richie's dick doesn't think this is a mistake. The rest of his body is real fucking annoyed at his dick.
Eddie jerks his head back, his fist leaving him even balder, glare heated in a way Richie only ever saw in his dreams.
"What, now I'm the one supposed to do all the work?" Eddie scoffs right back but his other hand is fixing his glasses and, as he straightens up, he cups Richie's jaw. Richie's mouth drops when Eddie's thumb digs hard into the muscle near his ear. He puts his tip back on Richie's tongue and all he can think is shit shit shit I'm gonna fucking cum whilst the other part thinks oh shit oh shit I'm fucked I am so fucking fucked and Richie can't really hear either of these parts because his head is fuzzy as shit. "I didn't expect anything less from you."
His hands slide to the back of Richie's head and Richie's not afraid to bruise Eddie's hips with how tight he clutches onto the last bit of sanity he has but then Eddie's sliding deep, albeit a little gently, and Richie's nose meets his well-groomed skin. He smells fucking delicious.
That's the last coherent thought Richie has because Eddie's gentleness is gone and he's pulling Richie's hair and his foot presses hard enough to hurt a little but god, it's good, and he's breathing out little moans of Richie's name and he fucks Richie's throat like he was fucking made for this shit and Richie burns .
But then Eddie's slowing and instead of fucking Richie's face like a fucking animal he's grinding deep, now, purposeful and slow, and he grunts a
"This is what you, shit , fucking wanted, this is," a gasp, "what you fuck- ing deserve, this is," Richie's definitely lost some locks of hair with this tug, "what you fucking get for being, god , fucking fuck , so fucking big and stupid, fucking- sexy piece of shit ," and then Eddie's looking down at him and thumbing off the teartracks on Richie's dazed face with a groan and a grunt. Then, "You're going to swallow," Eddie says breathlessly. "You're going to swallow everything because – fuck! – because this is your mess," and he keeps babbling senseless things that Richie can hardly make out because Eddie comes down his throat and holds him in place even when he chokes, coughs, splutters, cum dribbling down his chin, dripping on his shorts, onto the ground.
Richie swallows what he can, because Eddie told him to so of course he does. He swallows and still coughs a little when Eddie pulls out, when he slumps backwards onto the island, head thrown back and going boneless. Richie swallows, licks his lips, shakily pushes down his shorts enough to jerk off furiously but it's dry, so he wipes his chin with his palm and hopes for the best because his entire body is aflame and his brain has dripped off his ears and nose and his cock could compare to fucking. Bread from a month ago, harder than a rock. You get the picture.
Eddie clumsily kneels, still panting and when he cups Richie's jaw this time, it's sweeter, and Richie looks at him bleary, panting just as hard as Eddie.
Eddie kisses him. On the mouth. Richie pushes, slaps some tongue into that bad boy and instead of Eddie throwing up, he takes it and gives back twice as much and when he desperately wraps an arm around Richie's shoulders, trying to smash themselves together, other hand sliding down Richie's body to hold his thigh, tentatively sliding up and Richie's gone. Fully blacks out. It's like he's reliving the first time he got drunk.
When he comes to it, he's slumped down on Eddie's shoulder, dick out, one hand covered in cum and knees beating his ass, throat deliciously sore, scalp tingling and Eddie's soothing hand rubbing his back, the other cradling his head close.
Richie straightens up, blinks at Eddie, especially when he moves to put his dick back into his pants, leaving Richie to be the only one exposed.
Eddie's face is a little awkward.
"Man, you gotta help me up," Richie whispers, and Eddie blinks like Richie's not real but he nods anyway. Eddie offers him a hand, and Richie uses the dirty one to grab it. Eddie grimaces, but pulls him up anyway.
"Ow," Richie says emotionlessly as his knees pop. Then, "So? Understood all the hassle Sonia made about me?"
"Literally go fuck yourself," Eddie snaps, but he seems to relax, before he sighs. "Go clean yourself up, dude, I'll handle the kitchen."
Richie hums, walks away like nothing happened before locking himself in his bedroom. He stares emotionlessly ahead for a couple of seconds before he's quickly fumbling for his phone, semen covered hand be damned. The phone rings but not for long.
"Ben, you're not gonna believe what just fucking happened!"
But Ben can probably guess by how fucked up his voice sounds.