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Richie knows what it’s like to kiss Eddie Kaspbrak. It isn’t a dream, or a hallucination even. The words are right there on his phone, real as the bedding underneath him and the whirring of the air conditioner.
The night before remains locked in a haze of too many shots and pitch black darkness, but there nonetheless. Richie remembers the feeling of his back pressed against the door as soon as it shut. Even though he was intoxicated, Richie was still stunned at Eddie lunging for him.
Richie absently touches his mouth, the mouth that Eddie’s own was against. They weren’t gentle kisses by any means. Richie remembers Eddie working his mouth open, biting and pressing and exploring the roof of Richie’s mouth, the way their teeth would clack, what noises Richie would make if he did something just right.
His fingertips slide down his jaw and towards the patch of skin next to his Adam’s Apple. It feels smooth, but Richie knows for a fact it’s faded and red from Eddie’s teeth. Richie thinks it was an accident, or maybe it wasn’t, but Richie was quick to articulate his approval. Not with words, exactly, but a noise all the same.
Eddie remembers that, remembers all of it, and he still wants this with Richie. He knows how much Richie wants him and still wants to do this. It makes Richie’s chest ache. Of course this is everything he’s wanted for the better part of four and a half years, even more so for the past eight months. But it always felt out of reach, laughably foolish.
And here he is now. Funny how life works like that.
Richie knows Eddie is it for him, has been it for him. Maybe he still doesn’t completely believe what Susie told him back in New Orleans, but Richie hopes she’s right about one thing. If this is truly it for him, Richie wants it to be good not only for himself, he wants this to be good for Eddie, too.
So Richie sets his phone on the nightstand, making sure it’s facedown. He scoots forward until his feet hit the carpet beneath him and waits. He’s waited for so long, what’s the harm in a few more minutes?
Richie’s lungs rattle as he inhales. It feels like he’s on the edge of a cliff, toeing the last inch between stable ground and freefall. Richie has waited, and waited, and waited, but knowing there’s just one more step between this moment and everything he has ever wanted since he first saw Eddie still makes Richie want to slink back. There will always be a part of Richie that wonders if their raincheck gave Eddie the time to doubt.
The bathroom door clicks open. Richie opens his eyes. He didn’t even realize he’d closed them.
Steam curls past the door frame and mingles into the air of the hotel room. Eddie still has his hand on the door handle as his eyes take in the sight of Richie on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. He’s already in pajamas, a threadbare, faded t-shirt that’s just slightly too big and red boxer briefs that are almost laughably bold against the shirt. Richie’s eyes flicker down to Eddie’s toned thighs and slender ankles anyway.
Richie blames the prickle of heat across his skin on the heat from the shower.
The bathroom light flickers off. Eddie hasn’t taken his eyes off Richie. Richie meets his gaze again, desperately searches for any last hesitation. Richie doesn’t know if he could pull back after this, even if Eddie asked. He sits there, putting all his cards on the table. Richie almost feels exposed, begging, See me, touch me, listen to me, know I’m here―
And the thing is― the damn thing is ― Eddie sees this and closes the space between them anyway.
In the whole two feet between the bathroom and the bed, Richie and Eddie watch each other. Even if there is nothing but the sound of the air conditioner and distant city life on the streets below, there’s still a conversation.
Eddie’s head tilts slightly. Is this okay?
Richie’s posture straightens until it’s as straight as a rod. If it wasn’t I would’ve said something by now.
The dramatic line of Eddie’s brow furrows. You can always tell me.
Richie moves his hand from his hip to his knee, palm up. Trust me.
Something in Eddie’s eyes softens. How could I not?
The space between them grows less and less until Eddie’s knees knock against Richie’s. Despite the anticipation, and the knowledge of what’s to come, the hand on Richie’s shoulder burns like a brand, even through the layer of material between them. Richie’s breath hitches, then completely leaves his lungs as Eddie props one knee next to Richie’s hip, then another, before straddling Richie’s waist. Richie’s hands immediately move to Eddie’s waist as Eddie settles.
Eddie places his free hand over Richie’s. “Hi,” he whispers finally.
Richie swallows around the lump in his throat. “Hi.”
Eddie gives his hand a squeeze before moving up to cup Richie’s cheek. His thumb brushes Richie’s cheekbone, so light Richie almost doesn’t register it. But his skin is so finely tuned to Eddie’s and his touch that it wouldn’t ever miss it.
“Are you sure about this?” Eddie asks.
“Eddie, baby,” Richie starts. Richie lets his hands slide up to cradle Eddie’s face in both hands, observing the blush that’s crept high onto his cheekbones. “If you ask me that one more time I might lose it.”
Eddie smiles. Richie feels the edges of it under his palms and it sets his nerves alight.
“I’m just checking,” Eddie snaps with no harshness at its edges.
“I’m giving you the green light,” Richie says. His gaze follows the starkness of Eddie’s freckles against the scarlet growing across his cheeks, the white crescent of his bottom lip as Eddie bites at it for a moment.
Richie is still watching it as Eddie takes a deep breath, then finally separates the space between them. Reality sharpens the moment their lips meet and Richie becomes startlingly aware of his heart hammering in his chest, the feeling of Eddie’s hair under his fingers, and the mouth on his own.
It’s leagues more tame than their kiss the night before, or rather kisses. Richie would laugh at how chaste it is, but there is absolutely nothing funny about this. Eddie tastes overwhelmingly of spearmint from his toothpaste. The hand on Richie’s shoulder slides up, skating across the line of Richie’s neck and to the nape of it. Eddie’s hand rests there for a moment before his fingers clutch at Richie’s curls. They tug lightly, but enough that Richie lets out a choked-off hum against Eddie’s mouth.
Somehow this spurs Eddie on and he lifts himself up onto his knees, giving himself a few extra inches above Richie. It causes their lips to part for a moment and Richie takes a heaving breath as he cranes his neck back. His heart rattles in time with the blood pulsing through his veins, his skin nearly buzzing.
When Richie and Eddie’s mouths meet again, it’s with more purpose. Eddie presses against him, midsection firm against Richie’s chest. He radiates heat and Richie leans impossibly closer. With that and the new angle the kiss immediately deepens. Richie doesn’t know where he ends and Eddie begins, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He focuses on the sound Eddie makes in the back of his throat when Richie tilts his head slightly to get the angle even better, their noses brushing for a moment.
Everything feels locked in amber: the air inside the room, smokey and yellow from the cheap bedside lamp, the breath inside Richie’s lungs, the hands buried deep within Richie’s hair and Richie’s own hands framing the sharp angles of Eddie’s face. Richie doesn’t know how long he loses himself into the intoxicating tug and pull of their mouths, still obediently closed. He knows the deep, wet heat in Eddie’s mouth, made himself very well-acquainted with it the night before, and a thrill runs up his spine at the thought of growing even more familiar with it.
Just as Richie fully begins to entertain the idea, Eddie pulls away with a gasp. The crimson blush on his face has spread down towards his neck, and his mouth is bright and raw. He stares down at Richie and he feels like he could be swallowed whole by the sheer want shining in Eddie’s eyes.
“Holy shit,” Eddie rasps out. One hand leaves the curve of Richie’s skull and moves up to brush the hair back from Richie’s forehead. It’s achingly gentle.
“Good or bad?” Richie manages. For a moment he can’t recognize his own voice through the hoarseness.
Eddie blinks rapidly before demanding, “Why are you so good at this?”
Richie finds himself smiling. “At what?”
For a moment, Eddie watches his fingers comb through Richie’s hair again. Richie tilts his chin up, leaning into the touch as best he can. The want in Eddie’s eyes doesn’t lessen, but it grows softer, fonder.
“You’re such a good kisser, it’s stupid,” Eddie finally answers.
Richie finds himself laughing, still rough and hoarse. His hands move back down to Eddie’s waist, pulling Eddie back down with them. Finally, their gazes are even again. Richie gets the unwavering, indisputable sight of what Eddie looks like when he’s been kissed. It isn’t too different from the warm, fond glances Richie has received, but the fact that Richie has finally gotten to do something about the desire that builds in his chest when he sees them makes Richie’s heart skip a beat.
I love you, Richie wants to say. He wants to seal it into Eddie’s skin with insistent kisses so Eddie could never doubt it. Richie has loved Eddie since the moment they saw each other all those years ago, even if he didn’t know quite yet.
Eddie’s hands settle on Richie’s shoulders. “What?”
“I want to kiss you again,” Richie answers, instead of the truth. Well, it’s still true, but slightly removed from the real truth.
Eddie glances down at Richie’s mouth. “Then do it. I told you to kiss me like you did last night.”
Something deep inside Richie unhinges, like those were the magic words he needed. He finds himself surging forward, wrapping a hand around the nape of Eddie’s neck and pulling him in. Eddie hums against Richie’s mouth. His arms wrap around Richie’s neck and tug him closer. They pick up right where they left off, except it’s more demanding. Eddie wants Richie to deliver on his request, and Richie wouldn’t ever say no to him.
Richie pulls away, just enough that they’re still sharing the same air. “Wait.”
“Jesus Christ, what ― ”
Richie wraps his arms around Eddie’s torso and tugs him forward. Gravity pulls Richie backwards until he’s flat against the bed, Eddie letting out a charming squeak. Richie leans his weight over and Eddie is suddenly the one on his back. Richie brackets one knee next to Eddie’s thigh and props himself up with a forearm.
Eddie stares up at Richie with absurdly wide eyes. His pupils are blown, eyes dark and damn-near frenzied. The darkness of his hair and his tanned and freckled body stand out against the stiff, white sheets. Richie grins.
“You fucker,” Eddie breathes out.
With his free hand, Richie cradles Eddie’s jaw. “What’re you gonna do about it?”
He’s met with Eddie elegantly gaping up at him.
“That’s what I thought,” Richie says, then kisses him again. The passion of it presses Eddie deeper into the mattress, and Eddie lets out another hum. He uses the arm around Richie’s neck to press against the expanse between Richie’s shoulder blades, pulling him closer.
Richie’s breath hitches in his throat at the sudden tongue sweeping across his bottom lip. Eddie must hear it because he does it again, more insistent. Richie immediately opens his mouth under Eddie’s. It's met with enthusiasm, a small moan escaping from Eddie. A distant heat has begun churning deep in the pit of Richie’s stomach, but the sound goes straight there and the heat brightens in intensity. That heat expands, trickling into every movement they make; the inside of their mouths, wide and greedy, the millimeters separating both their hammering heartbeats, the hands that grasp and wander with abandon.
Eddie wraps his legs around Richie’s waist and links his ankles together, barricading Richie in. Richie’s hand moves from Eddie’s jaw and down to one of his thighs. Richie almost startles with the searing heat radiating from Eddie’s skin before cupping the back of it. He feels the muscle shift and flex under his palm. When his fingers dig into the skin there, Eddie lets out another moan into Richie’s mouth. It sends another thrill down into the pit of Richie’s stomach.
Richie moves his hand again, this time letting it wander down Eddie’s chest. He feels the plains and valleys of skin underneath his t-shirt, the way Eddie’s heart hammers underneath Richie’s palm. Richie slips a little lower, to the sliver of space between Eddie’s chest. The knowledge of the scar that rests there makes him hesitate.
Eddie pulls away. “You don’t have to,” he says, because of course he knows. “I know it’s not nice to look at.”
His mouth tips downwards, and Richie immediately presses a kiss to the corner of it. He hates that it’s probably something Eddie has had to tell countless other people, had people see it and move away from Eddie like he’s something broken. Richie sees it, feels it, knows of it, and remembers with a rattling adoration that Eddie is the bravest person he’s ever fucking met.
He ducks down, sliding between the tight space that Eddie has him trapped in, and kisses the scar through the thin layer of material. It’s soft from years of wear and washes, the scent of lavender laundry detergent tinged with age. The logo on it is so faded that Richie can’t begin to figure out what it used to be, but he knows this was his own shirt. Richie presses another kiss to Eddie’s chest.
“Richie,” Eddie gasps from above him. His fingers tremor as they slide into the hair at the crown of Richie’s head and curl. The fist that forms isn’t tight by any means and Richie knows that he could pull out of Eddie’s grip if he wanted to. But he really doesn’t.
Richie looks up to find Eddie watching him. The expression on his face gives Richie pause for a moment, until he realizes what exactly is written all over Eddie’s face. It’s an expression of full, unadulterated desire, the exact same desire Richie feels.
He shoots upward, catching Eddie’s lips with his own. Eddie outright moans into it, parting his mouth to give Richie full access. He doesn’t waste a moment nipping Eddie’s bottom lip and swiping his tongue over the mark to soothe it. Eddie’s legs tighten around Richie’s waist.
Suddenly, an innocuous beep pierces through the room. Richie’s heart drops, and he immediately breaks away from Eddie. Eddie looks just as startled.
“What the fuck was that?” Eddie demands, voice gravelly.
There’s another beep, more insistent this time, to Richie’s left. His head whips over to follow the sound, and he looks directly into the lens of the camera set up next to the bed. Richie’s blood runs cold at the realization that it’s been running this whole time. Because they’re in their hotel room. And filming for an episode of the show they work on. As their jobs.
It must click for Eddie at the exact same moment, because he lets out an impassioned, “Oh, fuck."
“The battery,” Richie says faintly.
They look at each other. A moment passes.
It isn’t until the camera beeps again, warning of a low battery, that Richie’s brain catches up. “I can― can turn it off. Right.”
Eddie nods. “That’d be nice.”
Richie’s legs feel like jelly underneath his own weight as he heaves himself off of Eddie. He stumbles for a moment, blindly reaching for the nightstand to steady himself. Eddie laughs.
“You got me all worked up,” Richie says. He winces at the sound of his own, wrecked voice.
Eddie’s gaze slides up and down Richie’s front, brimming with heat. “I can tell.”
Richie’s chest constricts. “Jesus,” he mutters, but still manages to get over towards the camera, where it’s set up on a tripod. He makes a quick, mental apology to whoever sees the footage already caught on the camera before switching it off. The screen clicks to black.
Richie turns to Eddie. He’s moved since Richie got up, propped up against his elbows. He watches Richie’s eyes slowly track up his body, until their gazes meet again.
Richie clears his throat. “Now where were we?”