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Though the platform of radio entertainment was practically lying in its grave, Richard Tozier was so damn good that his show had earned itself a small cult following. And oh, how passionate they were. Adults and trashmouth kids alike would treasure the nights when Rich blessed them with his dozens of Voices, each character more outlandish and complex than the last. Someone had created a website that only served as a countdown to his next episode. There were even a few fanfictions where the favorite, “Kinky Briefcase” showed how kinky he could really get.
Richie’s secret to success? He never let a character see the light of day until it made his lover laugh. That uncontainable snort was all the approval Rich needed. It also helped that the execs essentially let Richie write whatever he wanted since he was carrying the station on his back.
And when he wasn’t doing his show, he was a disk jockey, simply speaking as Richard Tozier in between songs and ads. That was what the diehard fans loved the most; they would try to analyze his entire life from brief sentences of nonsense. Sometimes he threw in cryptic phrases or Latin curses just to watch people go fucking nuts.
He would also mention his love life from time to time, but to the public, he was dating a variety of hunky men and voluptuous women, most of whom insisted on staying private. They didn’t know about his boyfriend of seven years, (and hopefully, fiancé, once Richie put together enough cash for a ring) Eddie Kaspbrak. Sure, Rich would mention his "Good Pal, Eds" from time to time, but the details didn’t go beyond a funny story.
Richie wasn’t ashamed of being in love, and he wasn’t ashamed that it was with a man; it mainly boiled down to the two of them avoiding harassment.
And besides, the fiction left a strange element that was, quite frankly, wonderful for their sex life. Richie could gush endlessly about some woman’s flowing black hair, and they would be tearing each other’s clothes off the second they got home from their shifts.
Money was a bit tight since the couple moved into an apartment on the better side of town, but they didn’t really care as long as they had each other. They cut corners where they could and got by. The two of them finally had stable jobs, and in a year or so it’d be smooth sailing (maybe a wedding...maybe kids...).
The young lovers’ careers complimented each other well. While Richie was publically making a fool of himself, Eddie drove famous people to events, premieres, studios, brothels, and everything in between. It wasn’t exactly his passion, but he was good behind the wheel, and it paid the rent. And no matter where they were, he was sure to be blasting Richie’s show.
His ears would alight and his stomach would liquefy when Richie started drooling over his “girlfriend/boyfriend” of the week (Crystal Rose, Eddie believed it was this time (“a whore’s name,” Richie would say)).
1:51pm
It was a sunny summer day. Eddie was working.
“This one goes out to the love of my life. Weird Al, I know you’re listening!” Richie cried.
Eddie giggled at the stupid joke, but his hands tightened on the steering wheel in anticipation. He wasn’t sure if he was about to be pissed off or exalted.
"Perfect" by Ed Sheeran faded in, and Eddie decided to go with the latter.
He must have been blushing to an obscene degree, because whatever celebrity he was driving at the time (they all blurred together) tapped him on the shoulder and asked, “What’s got you so excited, kid?”
“Oh– I, uh...” Was he about to come out to a stranger? Was that happening? He could easily just lie and say that he had heard this fucking song so many times that it was driving him clinically insane. That wouldn’t be far from the truth.
He felt his throat start to close, panic rising, his mother’s voice screaming that he was delicate, that he needed to be protected.
God, maybe she had been right.
Eddie thought of the aspirator sitting in the glove compartment. It was relatively untouched, lying dormant, waiting for anxiety to crack a surprise whip on the poor man's lungs. Eddie thought of how necessary and how far away the little object felt to him now.
He took a deep breath.
“This is my boyfriend’s radio show. He, uh, dedicated this song to me.”
No more voice, no more panic. No need for that dusty, old, worthless aspirator.
“Aww, sweet. He must really love you,” the something-lister said.
Eddie turned from candy red to crimson. “Yeah…yeah, he does.”
2:34pm
Richie grinned like an absolute moron after being greeted by Eddie with a deep kiss. “Yowza yowza yowza, am I getting my dick sucked tonight or what?”
Eddie rolled his eyes and straddled Richie’s lap, the giant leather wheely-chair shifting back a little on the carpet as he did so. “You're an idiot, but goddamnit I love you.”
Richie blew an obnoxious bubble with his gum, and it exploded with a satisfying pop. “I know, darlin’.”
Eddie smiled to himself as he played with Richie’s dark hair. “You picked such a stupid song for me. I mean, "Perfect"? Isn't that a little tired? And just to clarify, it was for me and not Weird Al Yankovic?”
Richie's face grew troubled. “The truth is...honey, I been makin’ sweet, passionate love to Allie for years now. Don’t give me that look, I was gonna tell ya!”
Eddie rolled his eyes, unable to stifle his grin, and gave Richie a shove.
Richie traced his palm along Eddie’s jaw and met his eyes. “But seriously, I picked the song ‘cause I knew you’d like it. And–" he kissed Eddie “–I love you in that stupid way. I just look at your lil button nose–” he tapped his fingertip to said nose “–and everything feels like it’s gonna be okay.”
Eddie blushed and buried his head in Richie’s chest, breathing him in. He smelled like the intoxicated lovechild of flowery laundry detergent and Old Spice.
“I love you, Trashmouth.”
Richie laid a hand over his heart in mock offense, and in his best Southern Belle Voice, warbled, “'Trashmouth'? Well, I nevuh! You haven’t called me that since we wuh keeuhds, Spaghetti Man!”
Eddie’s ears turned red at the old nickname, but he couldn’t be mad.
Richie was about to talk some more when Eddie bit the bottom of his lip, coaxing out a low sound from the back of his throat. Richie blindly undid the buttons of Eddie’s shirt with no struggle or hesitation, as he had plenty of experience in the practice. They wanted each other badly, anyone with half a brain could tell. Surely they could squeeze a quickie into their schedules. Eddie slid his hands under Richie’s graphic t-shirt, feeling the skin prickle as-
“Mr. Tozier, y–oh! I am...so sorry, I just-!”
The studio’s intern stared like a deer awaiting the evisceration from a truck, backlit by the hallway’s strong fluorescents.
Richie swiveled to face her. “What is it, hon?” His lips were kissed and raw.
“I just wanted to say you’re on in ten.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
She slammed the door and scurried off.
As soon as she was at a confident distance, Richie and Eddie laughed until tears were streaming down their faces. That was Richie (and Eddie when he was with Richie): always laughing.
After they calmed down, Eddie slid off of Richie’s lap. “It’s okay, I should go anyway,” he said, redoing the buttons of his garment.
“C'mon I didn't even get my shirt off! Can you at least spare me one of your delicious and chuckalicious kisses for the road?” Richie asked with a pout.
Eddie rolled his eyes, but a betraying smile revealed that it was exactly what he’d wanted to hear. “Okay. But don't call them delicious...or chuckalicious.” Eddie leaned in for a kiss, but was caught off guard when Richie grabbed him by the shirt and imprinted a fast but surprisingly gentle hickey above his collar bone.
His face now bright red, flashing a surprised grin, Eddie smacked Richie’s arm. “You’re the worst.”
“Save it for the bedroom, sweetheart,” Richie retorted, leaning back in his big-ass chair, looking so fucking pleased with himself.
Eddie rolled his eyes and flipped Richie off, opening the door to make his exit. “You realize that was a dig at yourself, right?”
“Adiós, mi amor!” Richie called.
“Whatever, asshole, see you tonight.”
“Oh, so you’re addressing it directly now? Skipping the foreplay?”
“God, you are so annoying!”
“Byyyyyeeeeeeeee.”
Back in the car, Eddie was alone with his thoughts. He didn’t have any clients until 5:00, so that gave him a couple of hours of spare time. After weighing his options for a while, a grin finally spread over his face. He decided he’d take a little drive to the market.
1:05am
Eddie nudged Rich out of his hazy half-sleep.
“Hmmwhat is it, babe?” Richie asked, eyes still closed.
Eddie pulled in closer against Richie’s body. “You’re lucky to have me, you know that? You drive me crazy.”
Richie smiled and opened his eyes at that. He even put on the big glasses that nobody ever saw him in but his boyfriend. He was a contact-lens man, loyal and true. Having his thick-lensed, black-framed bifocals broken over and over as a kid while getting the snot beaten out of him had made him a bit wary. But with Eddie it was alright.
Milky moonlight was seeping through the windows, and there was a steady hum of traffic on the LA streets below. The small room had a few dressers, a closet, nightstands, and trinkets of Richie and Eddie’s love: photobooth snapshots from their long-awaited first date, senior year of high school; poorly-written love letters from college; photos of them with their best friends.
“I think of how lucky I am all the time,” Richie said, sounding serious for once. “You bought me chocolate and roses just today!”
Eddie laughed through his nose sleepily, rolling over so that his arms fully enveloped his boyfriend’s torso. The roses had only been a few dollars, and they now lay strewn haphazardly around the bedroom floor, cast aside by the starving lovers (Richie also hadn’t wanted to “get his dick cut up by the thorns”).
The “chocolate” was actually a tube of body chocolate that Eddie had found in a search for something sexy, but rather than properly using it, the couple had ended up squeezing the chocolate directly into their mouths like sugar-crazed demons. “That was just to get you horny,” Eddie murmured.
Richie laughed, fully and heartily, as he always did; whether it was the greatest joke ever told or the most abysmal of circumstances, Richie could always find something to laugh about. “Good god, Eds, I’m rubbin' off on ya!”
“Shoot me when that happens, shithead,” Eddie laughed. "And don't call me 'Eds'," he added quietly, more out of habit than anything else.
“Aw, c’mon, I treasure every second with you, babe.” Richie kissed the top of Eddie’s head and ruffled his hair. “And I know I’m always making jokes, but that’s the truth. I love you and I couldn’t take you for granted if I wanted to.”
Eddie smiled so wide he thought his jaw would fall off, and pressed his lips to whatever part of Richie’s exposed skin was closest to him at the moment, he was too tired to look. He let out a soft yawn, his heart fit to burst. “Alright, dummy, I’m going to sleep for real now. I love you, too. So much.”
Richie yawned as well, slung an arm around Eddie, and tilted the shorter man’s head back to give him a soft kiss on the lips. “You got your praise fix for the night, attention whore?”
Eddie smiled. “Yeah.”
“Alright. Goodnight, babe.”
“Goodnight.”
As the moon fell closer to the horizon, the Los Angeles apartment became nothing but the sounds of their shared breathing.