Chapter Text
CLINK
Richie frowns as he struggles to tear open his eyes from the deep slumber. He briefly wonders what has woken him up so late and blinks several times before something in the room catches his attention. A squeak escapes his throat when he registers the blurry outline of a person near the window. He jumps upright bumping into the headboard.
“Sorry,” A whisper cuts the night’s silence.
Richie narrows his eyes.
“Eddie?” He replies hoarsely, shaking off the remains of sleep. Now when he has adjusted to the dark, he can see it is Eddie. Eddie in nothing but a t-shirt and sleeping shorts. “It’s fucking freezing outside, Eds, what are you doing?!” He whisper-shouts, pulling the boy onto the bed.
His hand is cold, and he is shivering a bit. Well of fucking course he is. It is late autumn, yet Eddie has dressed like he is out for a summer stroll. He hastily grabs a blanket and coats the boy in the soft fabric. It is not like him to come to Richie’s house in the dead of the night, let alone through the window. Usually, it’s the other way around.
“Can’t keep away from me even at night? Like mother like son, eh?” He shoots a joke, but Eddie stays silent. Wow, that’s a red flag, Tozier. If he doesn’t groan or at least scowl at your mom jokes, shit’s bad. He gulps. “What’s wrong, Eddie?”
Sharp white moonlight illuminates his pretty face, light scattering across the cheeks and dropping shadows from the long eyelashes; a loose strand of hair gently sways from Eddie’s irregular breathing. In the night, Eddie always looks different. More tamed but also wistful. Vulnerable and thoughtful. Quiet. Sometimes it seems like Richie is the only one who sees this part of him, who is allowed to see it. Yeah, the Losers have sleepovers, yet it’s not the same whenever there is just two of them. Eddie makes it feel so intimate.
Richie places a tentative hand on Eddie’s thigh to get his attention, not too high, mostly on the knee (Don’t touch the little boys Richie!). Eddie’s eyes dart to it and then meet his, and fuck. The one part of this Eddie which Richie isn’t on board with is the stares. Richie will do or say something, and Eddie will watch him with that intense piercing look, making his insides curl into the knots. He, for the love of God, can’t discern what they mean and that bugs him to the bone.
And right now Eddie is giving him that stare. Richie takes a deep breath and tries again more sternly.
“Why are you here, Eddie?”
“I don’t know,” Eddie replies feebly, and his eyes glister, making him look like those creepy porcelain dolls in antique stores. Richie hates those - they are unnerving and bring him unpleasant memories.
Oh.
“Are you having nightmares again?” And Eddie’s look says it all. Richie wonders if he was shaking from the dream rather than cold.
They both turn their heads to the window as heavy rain suddenly drops outside. It plays few beats on the roof before Eddie speaks.
“I haven’t had them in a while.” Since it is no longer a complete hush, it seems that he is more amenable to talk. Richie hums in agreement and watches the boy wet his lips.
“Was it about IT or… you know, your stuff? The weird ones?” Because they all did have - and still occasionally do - these dreams which are similar to the manifestations of their fears Pennywise used to conjure up. Oh, it could be argued which ones are the worst. The actual memory from that summer or an abstract vision which leaves an immersive sense of dread and irrational panic long after they have woken up.
“It’s…” Eddie cocks his head to the side, thinking. “Let’s say it was an inspired piece of my messed up mind mixing things up in one big boiling pot of fucked up.”
“H-huh?…” Richie furrows his brows in question which in return makes Eddie look down in uncertainty.
“I—I am always afraid that people around me will be sick and contagious, but what if it is the opposite. I am so grossed out by them… maybe they should be disgusted by me.” He lays his forehead on Richie’s shoulder, causing shivers to run down his spine like little ants. “Mum says I’m sick,” His voice cracks a bit at the last word.
“Eddie…” Richie puts his other hand to rest on Eddie’s neck. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to but seeing as the boy doesn’t protest he leaves it there. “You know it’s all bullshit, right? She says it all the time and every single one of them she is wrong. You are not sick, or contagious, or whatever! And there is definitely nothing disgusting about you. You are—” Perfect. Breathtaking. Magnificent. “You are so tough. Your body has like a protection shield around it or something with all that medicine you used to take. Any disease will die tout de suite!”
“If,” Eddie interrupts, taking a deep breath. “If I am sick, will you still be my friend, Richie?” He continues, playing with the hem of Richie’s shirt.
And oh. Shit. Yeah. Shirt and boxers are the only things that Richie has on himself right now. He becomes very aware of their proximity and lack of clothes in this exact second. Not like they haven’t seen each other in more compromising outfits, but right here, right now it is too personal. It makes him feel very exposed like any wrong move will scream “Hey look at me, I am so in love with you!”.
Maybe some small part of Richie wishes they weren’t friends, that he didn’t know him. Maybe then it wouldn’t have been so hard because he wouldn’t have known what love is. He wouldn’t have to hide it so vigorously.
He shifts uncomfortably. “I—Of course Eddie. Even if you’re sick - which I’m sure you’re not, what the fuck are you talking about - it wouldn’t change anything.”
“Even if I will infect you?” Eddie slightly pushes himself away while his hand slithers up from where it was leaning on Richie’s chest to his cheek.
“I—You—Um… W-wha?” Richie can’t structure a coherent answer too focused on how Eddie’s fingertips burn against his skin. But Eddie doesn’t move, staring right into his eyes, awaiting a response. “Yeah, I… I will always be your friend, no matter what. You can trust me on that. “Friends forever” remember? Y-you… You are an important part of my life, I wouldn’t just give you up.”
Eddie’s tense face smooths out into something akin to amused, and he traces his thumb up and down Richie’s jaw. Then he does something which shuts the work of all synapses in Richie’s brain: Eddie leans forward and kisses him. Right. On. The lips. Eddie Kaspbrak kisses him. Mouth to mouth, lips to lips. Well, almost like that since his mouth is still somewhat agape so Eddie’s top lip rests on Richie’s teeth, but you get the gist.
Maybe Richie didn’t wake up, and this is all a dream. And if it is then Richie is not the one to refuse its nice bonuses. Following this logic as soon as their lips separate Richie doesn’t allow Eddie anything other than a small inhale before he dives back in. The boy elicits some sort of surprised noise but presses back nonetheless.
It gets heated pretty fast. After the first small hesitant touches, Eddie grasps both Richie’s cheeks more firmly and opens his mouth, pulling him into the deeper kiss. They are full-on making out, and Richie can’t think about anything else aside from how Eddie’s tongue slides alongside his, how it wanders to taste the inside of his cheeks and teeth. It’s so dirty. Does Eddie even notice a small trickle of saliva dripping down his chin?
He is being shoved and a second later finds himself on his back while Eddie climbs on top continuing to smash their mouths together like his life depends on it.
Okay, if it’s a dream then it’s a pretty fucking good one, Richie concludes letting his hands drift to the boy’s waist.
Eddie abandons Richie’s swollen lips with a wet click and creates a trail of small pecks up his jaw ending with a tender kiss behind the ear. It’s such a new unexpected sensation that Richie gasps and they both freeze at the sound. Eddie slowly sits up, looking frightened.
“F-fuck, I’m so sorry I—“ He stutters out.
“It’s okay.” It is more than okay.
Needing to see the boy's face, - it's dark, and he doesn't have his glasses - he perches up, putting one hand on the small of Eddie's back, supporting himself on the other one. Eddie’s owlish eyes ask a silent question of “Really?”, and Richie nods. His heart beats audibly in his ears, and he is very glad it’s dark enough for the scarlet of his face to be unseen. Anxious energy still stings his bones, but it is not as scary under the heaven's vault - calm and secluded, a safe space only they exist in. Feeling pretty daring, he brings them closer, connecting their lips.
Fingers slide into Richie’s hair, and he hums from the pleasant sensation. Eddie must regard it as some sort of encouragement because he also brings a second hand to pull softly at the curls on his nape. It feels so exceptionally nice that Richie disconnects the kiss to sigh against the boy's neck. They stay like this for a moment catching their breaths until Eddie awkwardly climbs off. Richie nearly embarrasses himself by the pathetic noise he was about to make at the loss of contact. Eddie is too far away for his liking. Did he do something wrong?
Eddie looks at him pointedly like he wants to communicate something, however, Richie gazes back confused and sheepish. After 5 seconds of pointless staring, the boy rolls his eyes presumably giving up on wordless explanation and roughly yanks Richie by the shirt into another kiss. His hands encircle Richie’s neck, and he leans back, tugging him down. Oh, position change. O-kay.
He scoots forward, so he is in between Eddie’s legs, and gently lays him on the sheets. The movement makes their crotches rub against one another, and they both moan into the kiss. Before he can get embarrassed, Eddie hooks his feet to Richie’s calves and uses it as a leverage to rut his hips up. Richie’s head swims with arousal, and it eradicates any concern or question he has about the current situation - this will be the trouble for the Future Richie.
Present Richie wonders if there are any restrictions. Though seeing as they are literally grinding against each other - and Eddie’s hands are everywhere on him - he tests his luck sliding one of his own under the boy’s shirt. When Eddie gasps at the contact Richie takes an opportunity and copies Eddie’s previous endeavour, trailing kisses along his jawline and down the neck. He rolls the shirt higher up and traces his mouth across the smooth freckled skin of Eddie's ribcage and stomach. This is rewarded by every little tug on the hair and a whimper from Eddie.
“P-please…” Richie feels a firm pressure on the shoulder and hastily rises his head worried he had done something wrong. Instead of saying anything, Eddie grabs Richie’s hand which squishes his waist and guides it further and further down to—Oh, fuck. God. Jesus fucking— “Can you?…” As soon as their eyes meet Eddie turns away flustered.
“You want me to?…” It is pretty clear what he wants. Like. Transparently clear. Richie asks the question only because he can’t rack his mind over the fact that Eddie—
“Yes, fuck, Richie, I want you to touch my dick. What don't you understand?” He says, a tiny bit too fast and aggravated, and it shouldn’t, but it makes Richie’s own extremely hard cock twitch.
“Okay.” He squeaks under his breath and just gets to the task at hand - HA - because if he will tarry, he is afraid he is going to have a heart attack.
The speed with which Richie pulls down Eddie’s shorts together with the underwear and squeezes his cock is probably too rapid for Eddie to prepare for because he throws his head back and moans a tad too loud. They go stock-still, and Richie listens to any indication that will guarantee the shame for the rest of his life and parents who will presumably disown him. Maybe he could wriggle out a lie about merely jerking himself off. That is a less compromising situation than being busted with the dick of your best friend in your hand.
The house is silent, though and his nerves unwind. He glances back at the boy, who has his face buried in his hands, and then at the stiff mass in his hand. He swallows from a sudden urge to get it into his mouth. Excuse him but he can’t control his thoughts, especially in a situation like this.
This idea goes to the back of his mind, and, instead, he gives it few experimental strokes. In his peripheral, he catches a glimpse of Eddie shifting but can’t take his gaze off the beauty which is his leaking dick.
When he decides to look up again, Eddie's mouth is covered with his hand - likely to avoid any identical slips - while the other is knotted into the pillow beside his head. Richie must have missed it, entranced by how his own hand slides up and down Eddie’s length making the boy wriggle and thrust into the touch. He doesn’t know what the fuck is going on anymore aside from the soft noises Eddie makes from behind his hand in an attempt to stay quite. He can feel muscles on Eddie’s thigh tense up under his palm with each stroke, and the realisation drives him fucking crazy.
Since this had happened oh so fast and impromptu his hand is currently not so much gliding but rather brushing against the dry skin. If he uses his saliva Eddie will be hella pissed. Getting an idea, Richie rubs his thumb over the swollen head, collecting some precome, and spreads the liquid across the shaft in slow circular jerks. Judging by how Eddie’s legs squeeze his torso, he might have done something right. Even if this is a dream, the only thing he still wants to do is make Eddie feel good. Maybe, maybe he has some kind of a people-pleaser (more of an Eddie-pleaser) kink. Not like this comes to him as a surprise seeing as he is constantly begging for attention and approval.
Eddie’s thighs suddenly twitch, and his hand flies from his mouth to clutch Richie’s, nails digging sharply into the skin. He bites his lip, hard, at the moment as a small, high pitched whine escapes his throat and he comes all over Richie’s hand. His back arches, and its the most beautiful fucking thing Richie has ever seen. Well, this is by far the best erotic dream Richie had about Eddie. Top tier.
Seeing Eddie’s relaxed and numb body gives Richie some sort of consolation. He hates how Eddie is always so tensed up. Don’t get him wrong he loves when the boy is all stirred up and flaring, muscles flexing so beautifully. But there is a difference between playful annoyance and excitement, and real soul-eating anxiety. His shoulders lock-up, his neck hurts a lot, his lips twitch - it’s just… not something Richie wants Eddie to feel.
He must have spaced out a bit because when he comes down to Earth there are hands smoothing down his sides and Eddie is impossibly close. God, he looks angelic - his hair tousled, curling a bit behind his ears, dark freckles somehow even more prominent in the dim light. Richie is once again too bewitched by the boy’s perfect frame that he jolts when fingers graze his skin under the waistband of his boxers.
“E-Eddie…” Richie stutters out, and Eddie looks up but doesn’t stop.
It feels impossibly slow and so hot - every small drag of his fingers against the skin lights all of Richie’s nerves on fire. He hisses and immediately glances down because fuck it is Eddie’s hand on his dick. An abrupt whimper comes out his mouth when the boy starts to hesitantly move his fist up and down. And. Oh. Jesus. Oh, fuck. This is a million times better than anything he could ever do to himself. Fuck, this is going to be embarrassingly short, especially with how intensely Eddie is staring at him.
His legs ache a little with how he has them bend, so he leans back, outstretching his hand to hold himself. This also opens an option to rut his hips up, just the smallest bit. Short pants escape his throat due to the increased friction, and his head drops. Eddie dips his own head, chasing Richie’s eyes which sends a shudder down his body.
Why are you doing it, why are you looking at me like that? Do you enjoy it? What is this?… He wants to ask, but if he speaks, the only words he will muster up will be a string of “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie…”.
A barely audible “Richie” Eddie sighs into his mouth finally takes him over the edge, and he bows his head to the side, biting his tongue to suppress a groan. His eyes screw shut as waves of pleasure jolt through his body, and his grip on Eddie’s shirt tightens up to the point of it almost hurting.
When his head stops swirling, he slants forward and buries his face in Eddie’s chest, breathing heavily.
So that happened. Here comes the Future Richie, and he still doesn’t know what is going on and what the fuck to do. There are too many thoughts racing through his hazy, post-orgasm mind, and he doesn’t know on which ones to focus.
“Rich,” A soft voice tickles his ear, and Richie hums in acknowledgement. “Can I sleep here today?”
“Sure.”
And they do just that. By the time Richie gets under the sheets Eddie already lies on his side toward him, face half-hidden in the pillow. Is he asleep? Not knowing what he’s supposed to do he just sprawls on his back near - not far but also not touching.
A minute passes and Eddie uncertainly shifts closer, nuzzling into Richie’s shoulder with a huff. Richie’s hands twitch from where they rest on his stomach from the sudden warmth. Eddie’s chest is pressed so tightly to Richie’s upper arm that he can sense boy’s stammering heartbeat. Not moving an inch - afraid that whatever illusion it is will break - he lies there until Eddie’s breathing evens out. Noting that he must’ve fallen asleep, Richie turns slightly and presses his lips to the top of boy’s hair. He really hopes they would talk about… whatever had just happened in the morning. For now, the mollifying heat shimmering from Eddie’s body is enough to lull Richie into the dreamless sleep.