Work Text:
Richie is convinced that a January seaside excursion would be the best fun they'd have all year. And to be fair, he might be right on some level - it's not like the rest of their year is particularly filled with fun activities and interesting events. So by all accounts, a day trip to the beach should be great. Thrilling.
Turns out the only thing that's even vaguely thrilling is the cold. The freezing bloody cold. Even the sweat on Richie's forehead is beginning to freeze.
As they step onto the train platform, the icy chill hits them, Eddie's hat being instantly blown off down the grimy floor, rolling to land neatly by an old lady with a shopping trolley who passes it back to him with a sneer. "Should count yourself lucky my dog didn't pee in that." she snaps, glaring at Eddie.
"Oh piss off you old bat." Richie replies, guiding Eddie away before he took a drunken swing at her.
They trudge out of the train station, heading in the direction of the small crowd of three; hopefully leading them in the direction of the coast. The grotty pavements are devoid of the supposed tourists, instead littered with seagull shit and general rubbish; the bleak sky above them looks dangerously close to pouring it down very shortly. It's very picturesque, in Richie's eyes anyway.
"Ah well", He says while clutching the pile of tourist brochures he'd grabbed at the ticket office. "you know what they say, Eddie. The best time to go to the beach is when it's quiet."
"No they don't! It's quiet for a bloody reason, Richie! Because it's freezing the tits off anyone remotely normal!"
"But you don't have tits? At least, as far as I can see." Richie takes a prolonged look at Eddie's chest, being quickly elbowed away with an additional blush.
"Piss off. And what would you know? They might have frozen off in the last five minutes." He takes a swig of the current toxic substance from his battered hip flask.
"God, you're such a grump. You could at least try to have fun, Eddie." He says with a pout.
"We haven't bloody been anywhere yet! The stations only just behind us!"
"Well yes, but there's no harm in trying!" Richie suddenly beams, having spotted a greasy fish and chips takeaway in the small row of shops, the name 'BATTER 'N' OIL - The nation's favourite' emblazoned on the front with a few peeling letters. Eddie doubts it's even the local's favourite chippy, nevermind the nation's. "Oh good, we'll go in there."
"And you're paying, are you?" Eddie says, eyebrow raised.
Richie rolls his eyes. "That would depend."
"On what?"
"Whether I've brought my pennies, you know, the ones left behind the telly."
Eddie takes another gulp from the hip flask. If he remembers correctly, those pennies were spent an hour after Richie had placed the damn things there. On a half-pint of lager down the pub. Shit.
"Not gonna get much with pennies, are you Rich?"
"Well you never know. There might be a deal on." He says, annoyingly optimistic as per usual.
"Again, not very bloody likely. It'll be tourist prices only here."
"We are tourists!"
"Yeah. But not the loaded kind." Eddie grunts, watching Richie's face fall. "So did you bring them then?" He asks, knowing full well the bastard didn't.
"...No."
Eddie sighs, deciding to clean the condensation off his glasses. "Some bloody date this is then, penniless and hungry."
Richie's face falls more. "...I suppose."
They sit in silence, on the bench just across from the chippy, Eddie starting to feel a strange emotion that may or may not be mild guilt. He's not a fan of guilt. It often leaves him shelling out his remaining crumpled cash for the sad bastard next to him, lest he start making Eddie feel worse.
"Tell you what, Rich?"
The man in question looks up, eyes round and hair greasily blowing onto his face from the harsh weather. "Hmm?"
"What say I get the chips? And fish if they have any?"
"Would you really, Eddie?"
Eddie sighs, resigning himself to a more impoverished state than he was this morning. He briefly wonders if a fiver will be enough to cover the cost, but then again, it would probably just be the greasy bastard eating them anyway. Eddie could stick to his alcohol; it had kept him going long enough anyway. And besides, he wasn't all that hungry.
"Absolutely, skip. I brought my special note for an occasion just like this one." He replies with a smile, a soppier one than he'd usually permit. Ah well, everyone makes mistakes.
Richie grins, sitting up against the cold metal of the bench. "Oh. That's awfully nice of you." He frowns suddenly. "...What's the catch?"
Eddie scowls. "None. But don't get bloody used to it."
His companion smirks, looking significantly happier than his depressing life should allow. "If you say so, Eddie. Are you going to go and buy them then?"
"Nah, you are. I'm exhausted."
"Oh go on, I'll only get confused with all the options."
"It's a fish and chips place, Rich. How many options could there possibly be?" He says, slumping back on the bench.
"Well I wouldn't know! I'm used to home cooking, as you know."
"Home burning, more like." Eddie retorts, grinning.
Richie scowls slightly. "I try my best."
"Yeah. Well. In a chippy, it tends to be fish...chips...and a sausage or two if you're lucky."
"Oh really?" Richie raises an eyebrow.
"If you like."
"Alright then," He snatches the fiver from Eddie's outstretched hand, quickly kissing him on the cheek and smiling shyly. "I'll be back in just a tick."
Eddie sighs, wondering if the sea air happened to make Richie extra soppy. Still. It might be nice while it lasts.
Twenty minutes later they're sat on the stony wall, still freezing, facing out onto the sorry excuse for a beach. A lone seagull keeps patrolling by their dangling feet, giving them evil glares every now and then as they continue to share a polystyrene cone of chips. The fish - if you could even call it that - hadn't been worth buying; an oversaturated lump of grease and batter, but heavily overpriced.
"Not exactly England's finest, are they, these chips?" Richie says, crunching loudly on a grisly one that almost definitely contains 0% potato.
"Nah, not really matey. But I dunno what you were expecting, Rich, it's a British seaside town in the winter. It's probably not much better in the summer."
Richie sighs, offering the cone to Eddie who lightly bats it away, preferring another swig from the last of his toxic drink. "Still better than Hammersmith though. Especially since the window was smashed in by that new priest last week."
"Oh yeah. What was it he threw again?"
"A New Testament Bible, a bit battered now though. I hope he's got a few more knocking around, or else the sermons will be pretty pointless."
"You're right there, Rich. To be fair though, you did chuck a hot pan of oil out the kitchen window at him."
"Well it is our window! He just happened to be standing in the way outside." He snorts. "You can't always help these little accidents, Eddie."
"Bet that's what your mother said after she'd birthed you."
"Oh don't spoil the day, now." Richie says fondly, as if his very existence hadn't just been insulted. Then again, it was probably Eddie's way of showing affection or something.
They people-watch as they nibble on the remaining chips, gawping as an old guy falls over in the sand and a dog pisses over someone's forgotten beach towel. Predictably though, Richie only lasts roughly thirty seconds before launching into inane conversation again.
"God, this is just so great, isn't it Eddie? Sand, sunshine... well. A glimpse of sun. Chips, good company..."
"Dunno about that, mate."
"...relaxing atmosphere, the fresh smell of sea air..."
"Pretty sure that dog just did a shit by your foot, Richie."
The man in question snaps back into vague consciousness. "Ew, so it has. Well come on Eddie, time to go to our next activity!"
"Oh, what? I thought this was the end of it!" Eddie grumbles, sighing.
"Nope." Richie grins manically. "We're going on the penny arcades!"
"Thought you didn't have any bloody pennies."
"...Yes. I know. But that won't be a problem!"
"We're not going to have to steal off kids again, are we?"
"No, no, nothing like that. People leave all sorts of coins in the metal trays on the slot machines. There's bound to be some we can take, right?"
"If you say so, matey. But you'll have to do most of the coin dropping and prize collecting. I'm not sure my coordination is exactly at it's peak."
"Don't you worry, Eddie. With our luck it's pretty unlikely we'll win anything anyway." He jumps (well. More like flops) off the stone wall into the sand below. "Get a move on then!"
Eddie rolls his eyes. God. He's missing the grubby sofa and knackered telly back at the flat already. But resigned to his fate, he stumbles along on the sand, avoiding the dog shit as best he can.
The machines are rigged as always in these bloody places, and the flashing lights are giving Eddie a headache. Then again, that's just as likely to be from alcohol withdrawal; it's been an hour since he had a decent swig of something strong.
Richie grapples uselessly with the controls on a claw machine, attempting to win a sad-looking teddy with his few stolen coins. Turns out they did have to raid the ten-year-olds of their pocket money after all.
"This is bloody hard you know! It's like this teddy doesn't want to be freed from his glass cage." Richie says, frustrated.
"Probably doesn't. Best just to leave it, eh? We'll try another."
The greasy bastard pouts, sulking. "No. I want this one, it's looking at me with the taste of freedom in it's eyes, Eddie."
"Pretty sure that's just the reflection of the glass on it's button eyes, Rich. Come on, it's just a vaguely-stuffed bear."
"A special stuffed bear. One that I've been trying to win for the past twenty minutes."
"Surprised that kid had enough coins to keep this game going twenty bloody minutes." He eyes Richie with growing frustration as the idiot keeps guiding the metal claw practically the opposite direction of where it should be going. "Oh- oh just give it here." He bats Richie's hands away and takes over.
Astonishingly, even with his drunken clumsiness Eddie seems to be having more luck. He grapples with the red plastic gearstick, sweaty from Richie's clammy grip, shaking it violently in the hopes it would grab onto a fabric bear ear.
Even more astonishingly, he manages it, hooking the right arm of the floppy excuse for a teddy only just in the claw. Richie is delighted, beaming as he collects his prize from the bottom of the machine.
"Oh thank you, thank you, Eddie!!" He clamours, yanking Eddie into an overly-sweaty hug. The small group of teenagers over by the next machine snigger until Eddie gives them a murderous glare. He struggles in Richie's awkward grasp, pulling faces dramatically.
"Yes, yes, alright matey. I'm glad you're happy. Now can we please get back on that bloody train? Emmerdale Farm's on at 7 and I need a bloody drink before I combust or start becoming sober!"
Thankfully, Richie complies, smiling fondly and shoving the teddy into the inside pocket of his coat.
The train rattles as it leaves the station, squealing on the tracks over the layer of customary rubbish. Other passengers had walked by this particular carriage, but either the musty smell or general unpleasantness probably put them off, so they have the place to themselves. Eddie can tell his greasy companion is clearly dying so say something; likely a random thought that's lodged itself in his immature mind. Then again, Eddie's hardly one to point the finger at others with immature minds, he's not that bloody hypocritical.
"...Eddie?" Richie whines, scratching at the grime by his ear.
Oh here we go, Eddie thinks. He really was remarkably tolerant, because any other idiot would have left this prat long ago. "What?"
Richie is gazing at him, now with those big, wide, doe eyes (the ones Eddie would only slightly hesitate to call cute under certain circumstances). He prepares for the inevitably loaded question that is to follow.
"Will you do it to me tonight, Eddie? When we get back to the flat."
Eddie swallows, glancing away. "Dunno what you mean."
Richie sighs in exasperation, looking sheepish. "You know!" He says in as much of a hushed tone as he can manage.
"No I do not! I've got no bloody clue what you're going on about, Rich." He glances over to the dirt-smeared window, avoiding looking at the sweaty bastard. The view hasn't improved much since leaving the station, that's for sure. Richie, unfortunately, is still looking at him pointedly - there's no avoiding eye contact with this one. "Tuck you up in bed? Drag you away from the QVC lady on the telly?"
Biting his lip, Richie swats a greasy hair strand away from his face. "No Eddie. I mean I want you to fuck me."
Well. Perhaps not that inane after all.
"What!? Right here?" He exclaims in mock horror.
"At the flat, stupid. After we've had dinner and watched whatever crap is on the telly."
"Well that depends on a number of factors really."
"Hmm?"
"Like if you've brushed your teeth first, and aren't wearing those god-awful pink stripy pajamas."
"But they're the only ones I have!"
"I know."
Richie blushes. "Oh."
Clearing his throat, Eddie looks back at the soppy prat. "Also depends if I...you know. Can."
"Well don't drink any more of that 'till tomorrow!"
"Sorry matey, I've already drained the flask dry." He says, shaking it upside down onto the table below. Not even a customary drop makes an appearance. "Live and hope then, I suppose."
Richie rolls his eyes, makes a show of crossing his arms and sighs. "Yes. We live in hope."