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    Summary

    Arms laden with candy, Eddie takes the stairs two at a time, balancing his precious cargo. He elbows the bedroom door out of his way and starts to say, "We don't even have 3 Musketeers, you picky asshole," but the words fizzle and die on his lips when he enters his room.

    Richie is sitting cross-legged with his back against the headboard, nodding his head distractedly to the beat of the music. His glasses are pushed up on the top of his head, and his long, pale fingers are spinning Eddie's vibrator like it's a twirling baton.

    UPDATE: 30/12/2020 (betcha didn't see that coming!)

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