[ there's a part of richie that wants to riot in the street in protest when eddie pulls back, an animal that hasn't had his fill, resentful even, but the feeling doesn't last long—sinks entirely, in fact, into something giddy and half-remembered, sliding into full recognition. right, he thinks. he could never love someone who didn't push him even half as hard, didn't stretch him to the limits of his wanting, his ability to demand. the fact is eddie ruined him for anyone else damn near thirty years ago, and maybe he spent the intervening years miserable but that dusky look of challenge in his eyes, the slight kiss-reddened tint to his lips, makes it all worth it.

(richie would go back down into the sewer by himself if it meant keeping this. would drift in the deadlights all over again if he could get some kind of guarantee this was what waited on the other side.) ]

Which part you wanna hear first, Kaspbrak. The part where I think you're the most gorgeous thing ...

[ his own hands skimming down, over the lean muscled sides under that suit jacket, richie starting to back him—slowly, look ma he can do slow—towards what he thinks is a doorway, what looks like a bedroom beyond. there's a challenge in his own expression too, though it mostly lives in the wan slant of his not-quite-smile, sharklike and starved. ]

The part where I want you so bad I can't fucking think.