hypochondrias | open post;; yeah why's it so fuckin' funny dickwad?

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open post;; yeah why's it so fuckin' funny dickwad?

text/call/action ; open to losers and cross-canon! ; drop a starter or send me a prompt! ; specify era/age if you please

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[ richie's throat runs dry at that smirk, those words. he doesn't dare move as eddie draws closer and closer. he can feel the soft flits of eddie's slightly unsteady breaths against his jawline, the barest sliver of space that separates them charged with something that feels like it could flay him alive if he isn't careful.

he's so tired of being careful—he's spent his whole fucking life careful. richie's only ever gotten what he wanted when he demands it, yells about it, pushes and shoves.

he lets his jacket drop until he's just in the band tee underneath; his hand comes up, then, so he can wrap long fingers around eddie's forearm, thumb pushing at the inside of his wrist, the clean metal of eddie's wristwatch. he doesn't know when their heads got bent so close together until he realizes that's a natural function of their slight height difference, eddie coming closer the way he's been, sinking into his orbit as if that's where he belongs. and it is, of course it fucking is. what the fuck is he doing in new york, what the fuck is richie doing in california? ]

I missed you so damn bad.

[ his voice is uncannily flat, quiet. there's the slight beat of the central air in the airbnb, and richie's sustained awareness, hard-earned, of how eddie sounds when he breathes. ]

I shouldn't have left without you. [ and he knows the alternative didn't make sense—not when they have lives, not when eddie's married—but. that doesn't make it not true. ] I don't want to be anywhere without you.

[ Eddie's aware, in some distant part of his brain, that Richie's getting more undressed all while Eddie stays buttoned up head to toe. He understands what it means, what Richie wants with his fingers wrapped around his wrist, thumb edging under the band of his watch. The watch, incidentally, that accompanied Eddie into the sewers, the one that came into Richie's care while Eddie went under.

Miraculously, the thing still runs. Every time Eddie looks at it, he thinks about the look on Richie's face when he'd returned it. But the watch feels like it no longer belongs to him, like it's Richie's now. Richie's had that effect on a lot of things. A lot's changed in just a few months.

Eddie shakes his head, brows knitting, fingers stroking down Richie's jaw. Sighing in sympathy. ]

I should've stayed, I should've - [ brought you with me, because even five seconds back in Richie's presence means Eddie's back in that place where just the two of them exist, he and Richie against the world ] - told you how much I need you.

[ And that's really the long and short of it. Despite all the complications, the nuance, that's the dominant driving force. That's what has Eddie stealing away time, lying to his wife, flying out Richie on a whim. Eddie swallows, breathless. ]

Don't be without me. Please.

[ it's all richie's wanted to hear since he first laid eyes on eddie back in the jade of the orient, before he even knew he wanted to hear it. some part of him remembered wanting eddie kaspbrak, needing him, some heady knot of sensory and emotional memory, some painful longing he left permanently unattended after he left derry. when he was younger everything felt raw, desperate: every time eddie's attention was elsewhere he felt cold without the weight of his gaze, and then when he forgot derry that wound stayed open, inflamed.

with the benefit of his returned memories and the long weeks they spent together after neibolt, richie knows better. knows they want the same things, have always wanted the same things. they should never have been separated in the first place. every second they spend apart is, to richie, fundamentally wrong. why the fuck did they even survive neibolt if not to fix that one and only wrong?

this close he can see the sweep of eddie's eyelashes, the fine arches of his cheekbones where his stubble's grown out. the slight raised texture of the scar. he drops their foreheads together, rubbing a thumb idly over eddie's pulse in his wrist. ]

I must have thought about kissing you a million times.

[ The way Richie's touching his wrist, Eddie's sure Richie's able to feel it, the wild pulse of his heart beating right on the surface of his skin. The sensation that consumed so much of Eddie in those weeks after surgery returns - an itchy kind of restlessness Eddie recognizes now as being more than just anxiety or the fighting against helplessness. It's much more simple than that.

It's desire. The need to reach out and touch, to feel Richie's hands on him, arms around him for more than the cursory pat on the arm or circular massage on his shoulder. A tactile connection, a deliberate one.

With their foreheads touching, Eddie brushes his nose against Richie's, their mouths ever so much closer. ]

Yeah. Every time you were near me. And all last night. God. All last night, all day. I'm gonna kiss you now. [ Not a request, not an announcement. Just a statement of intent, the thrill of saying it out loud and feeling Richie react against his hands. He moves Richie's hand to press over his chest, giving an encouraging squeeze even if he's breathless himself. ] Okay?

[ it occurs to richie that the past few days have passed like a dream, his brain on autopilot since he saw the airline ticket confirmation in his inbox. if he wakes up in fucking tennessee by himself he's going to lose his shit.

the words don't register so much as they sink into his skin and take root. his eyes sink just a little further shut the closer eddie gets: he catches a whiff of some indistinct person smell that he had gotten used to in derry, all that time spent together in close quarters. at the words i'm gonna kiss you now richie feels his brain turn to hot murky liquid, his whole body taut under eddie's wandering hands.

and even now it takes effort not to push, because his kneejerk responses are along the lines of please please please if you don't i'm gonna lose my fucking mind, don't make me beg. ]

Okay.

[ Permission granted, Eddie halts for just a second, brain stuttering. Was it that easy? Just asking? Would it always have been as easy, even while Eddie was hurting, miserable, and bedridden? Before he can drown in the circle of self-doubt that constantly drags him through the mud, Eddie feels himself move, pressing his mouth to Richie's for the first time.

Eddie had tried not to imagine what a kiss would feel like, but he's only human and the loneliness of his current predicament has left him feeling more isolated than ever. So there's a long series of fantasies, none of which can compare to the reality of the combined desperation that churns beneath them both.

His lips part in the next instant, head tilting first one way, then the other. His movements are languid and unhurried, exploratory, but if Eddie seems casual then his breathing betrays him. When he forcibly breaks, it's with his hand around the back of Richie's neck, practically panting. Darting his tongue out to wet his lips, he sighs, eyes closed. ]

Fuck. You wanted me to want it, to wanna give it to you like it's my idea. So do I have to ask you to touch me or not?

[ the brush of eddie's lips on his is electrifying and achingly sweet all at once, the painful culmination of too many forcibly abandoned thoughts. he lets out a shaky breath against eddie's parted lips, pushes back with gentle pressure, lets him set the pace for a minute. the first sweep of his tongue over eddie's lower lip alone could break his heart. he's thinking about things he long laid to rest: what kissing eddie had been like twenty years ago. how long he's loved him and didn't even know.

the clipped, near-shattered tone of eddie's voice would make him laugh if he wasn't so fucking feral. he takes eddie's face in his hands obligingly, fingertips sliding over the sharp angles of his jawline to tilt him up at a better angle. all this so richie can kiss him hotly, hungrily, biting his mouth open harsh and sharp so he can shove his tongue inside. ]

[ It's a dangerous proposition to push Richie, Eddie knows. That had been the case all their lives regardless of context. But in doing so now, it's practically like he's placing his life in Richie's hands. The note of desperation in Richie is definitely something Eddie shares, but there's something else he's just given permission for: urgency.

It's there in the way Richie speaks, in the way he'd accepted the offer to come to New York without so much as a pause for breath. It's in his eyes, half-lidded with want, in the way Richie takes Eddie's face in his hands and angles him up just so. It's exactly what Eddie had expected, the kind of barely-contained force of nature that's Richie Tozier all over. What Eddie doesn't expect is how the fight rises in him at the same time, letting out a soft noise of protest before sucking Richie's tongue into his mouth. Which only lasts another few seconds before he drags their mouths apart, pulling Richie against him by the shoulders, hard. ]

Didn't you hear me? I said slow.

[ There's a challenge buried there, the hallmark defiance that's informed this relationship their whole lives. He's smiling, but the kind that doesn't reach his darkened eyes. ]

You owe me. What you said on the phone. What I wanted you to tell me.

[ 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.

[ There it is. Of course Eddie can bring it out of him, almost at will. That hint of playfulness in Richie's eyes, in the tone of his voice that Eddie's so fond of now. Richie's special brand of nonchalant irreverence has been missing from Eddie's life these past few months; two minutes in and Eddie's both invoked it and decided there is no scenario where he can live without it.

This might be the best weekend of Eddie's life and it's barely started. ]

Ahh. Fuck. Fuck.

[ Disarmed, Eddie's eyes slide closed. Naturally Richie's come to visit under the pretense of telling Eddie the whole truth, but that part where Richie expresses his attraction hadn't figured into the equation yet. Eddie's fingers dig into Richie's shoulders as they walk backwards, leaning into Richie's lead with all the trust of a dutiful golden retriever.

Wherever Richie goes, Eddie follows. ]

I was gonna say, [ he begins, voice low, ] the part where you tell me what you want. But now I think I just want you to tell me everything that goes through your head.

[ Eddie's found himself backed up against an old steamer chest at the foot of the bed. On it Eddie's left his overly packed luggage. Good. Easy access if he needs it. ]

Everything you say. God. I don't wanna live without it.

[ he stops compliantly when the backs of eddie's shins hit the steamer trunk. his gaze flickers briefly over eddie's shoulder to the luggage and he suddenly has to suppress the urge to laugh, delighted. of course eddie overpacked for three days in a brownstone in the same city he calls home, because of course he did, but it also means something else. means he is, against all odds, here. and plans to stay.

he does grin, though, white teeth and nose to nose with him, his leg shifted just so past eddie's in a way that suggests he just wants to cover him with his body, all obstructions—furniture, luggage, clothes—utterly forgotten. ]

Gonna need to see ID before you can buy tickets to the inner mind theater, Eds. [ he wants desperately to kiss him again, so he does, a wet bite of a kiss and then him continuing: ] It's NC-17.

[ his hands, experimentally, are slinking their way back inside that suit jacket. he thumbs covetously over the clench of muscle in eddie's lower belly, ducks in to kiss him again, baby steps in the form of starting to ruck up eddie's shirt to get at warm skin underneath. ]

[ Were this anybody but Richie, Eddie might find the grinning unnerving. There's an instinct in him to assume that he's always being ridiculed. But this is Richie, the guy that kept vigil at Eddie's bedside before he was even conscious, through some of the worst days of Eddie's life and did it all with the kind of patience and good humor of a saint. Richie's smile is, if anything, conspiratorial - like they're both in on a joke nobody else but the two of them could understand.

He winds an arm around Richie's neck when drawn into a kiss, releasing a soft noise of protest when Richie's the one that stops. ]

I'm looking for something else, actually. You know, ah - [ he says, lapsing into a sigh when Richie's hands find his skin, fingers playing just above the waistline of his trousers ] - like a membership. Lifetime, if you can swing it.

[ He should be proud of the way he can still speak, given the mix of nervousness and excitement building up under his ribcage. How he's managing to sound even ten percent as confident as he feels is beyond Eddie's understanding. At a loss of what else to do, he begins to undo and remove his tie, then lets his hands rest on Richie's shoulders. ]

Undress me.

[ just the order is enough to make richie groan, helpless and needy, swaying in for another kiss before he can help himself. this one is biting too, hungry, his hands coming up to push the suit jacket back from eddie's shoulders. once it's off he runs his hands greedily over eddie's upper arms just to feel the corded muscle underneath, and then he's reaching for eddie's tie with both hands to pull it loose from around his neck.

once it's off he lets it drop, and then he starts herding eddie around the chest at the foot of the bed. ]

Come on. Bed, let's go.

[ the humor's slipped from his voice again, his hands tugging the button-down up further so he can push eddie onto the bed with hands on his waist. he leans over him, a knee on the edge, but stays at a distance for a second, eyes dark and singular in purpose. ]

Still good?

[ Oh. Right. The flip side of Richie's playfulness is this, a kind of animal hunger Eddie's just barely discovered in him let alone in himself, too. It's part of that push and pull that's been characteristic of their relationship all along, a natural inclination in Eddie to rise to meet Richie at any level he brings. Including in the kiss, Eddie chasing after Richie's mouth even as Richie draws back to remove the jacket and tie.

It's one of Eddie's nicest suits, probably his favorite. But even as meticulously as he cares for his clothes, both items fall to the floor, momentarily forgotten.

He sits back against the bed and slides a hand up from Richie's knee over the top of his thigh, swallowing dryly. ]

Yeah. Good. [ It's not a lie even if it seems like one, Eddie's fingers twitching against Richie's knee. ] Just nervous, I guess. Didn't think I'd be nervous about something I want so bad. [ His thumb stokes over Richie's bottom lip, and he smiles. ] What about you?

Edited 2019-12-12 04:13 (UTC)

[ at the brush of eddie's thumb over his lip richie's eyelashes twitch, eyes nearly sinking fully shut with the desire to just collapse into him. wrap him up in his arms and never let go. he compromises halfway, takes the back of eddie's hand in his so he can push eddie's palm up against the side of his face and turn his lips into eddie's hand, breathe against the skin, not quite a kiss. ]

Yeah. I'm good.

[ he opens his eyes again, looks him over: the rumpled shirt, the flush staining his bared throat and high cheekbones. the hand on his knee, burning a hole right through him. he lets out a long, unsteady breath. ]

You're so fucking sexy.

[ the gesture is so simple, the way richie turns his face into eddie's hand, but it still has a rush of affection blooming in his chest. his fingers curl against his palm, wanting to cradle richie against him, to know how richie's lips feel against every part of his body.

he shivers with richie's answer, mouth falling open on a sigh that quakes in his chest as it releases. ]

Jesus. I'm... pretty sure just you saying shit like that does things to me.

[ he drags his hands down richie's shoulders to his waist, wanting him closer. ]

You gonna get on top of me?

[ richie's stomach swoops at the words. he drops a knee on the bed, gingerly at first, as if he doesn't quite trust the bed to hold them both—or maybe it's that he doesn't trust any of this to be real. they've both seen fucked up shit in their lives, things that he might have called magic if they weren't gruesome bullshit; how can he be trusted to tell reality from hallucination at this point?

that and he's wanted eddie kaspbrak for so long he barely trusts his own hands to hold him. his mouth curls to cover a tremble, and then he's bracing a forearm by eddie's head. the watch eddie gave him glints a little in the orange daylight streaming in through the bedroom curtains, the signs outside of a setting sun.

he leans down to kiss him again. slow this time, and hot. there's a part of his brain, ever fearful, that thinks if this all isn't a hallucination then it'll be too good to be true another way—eddie can always change his mind and richie will never have any choice but to let him. but he gets to kiss him at least twice today if he's lucky, taste the remnants his chapstick, the inviting inside of his mouth. that's not nothing, he tells himself. nothing about any of this is nothing. ]

[ Eddie often appears as a man full of dichotomies. One minute he’s pulling Richie back, asking him slow down, take their time. And the next he’s urging Richie on, rolling words and phrases off his tongue simply to enjoy the look in Richie’s eyes when he does. One could assume these contradictions occur unknowingly, but the opposite is true: Eddie is well aware of when they happen even if he’s powerless to stop the urge.

A fear creeps in slowly even as Eddie reaches up to frame Richie’s face with his hands, fingers resting lightly over the crest of cheekbones. What if he’s wrong? What if this isn’t what Eddie wants after all? What if he’s putting his marriage at risk for some kind of fleeting fixation, some obsession with putting all of those missing pieces in place?

But as Richie’s tongue brushes his bottom lip, sending a little electric thrill through him, Eddie knows. Richie is worth the risk. He’s worth every risk.

Breaking the kiss, Eddie smiles, biting his bottom lip to stifle a noise that sounds close to a laugh. He looks emotional, almost relieved to know Richie’s here and just as lost and desperate as he is. ]

I’m so glad you’re here, [ he breathes, leaning their foreheads together, lips searching for Richie’s, just to feel him, feel them move together, constantly. ] You’re all I think about.

[ when eddie pulls back the surge of alarm that richie feels is less severe this time, like his bones are remembering that whenever eddie is overstimulated his steady breathing is the first thing to go; so richie lets him collect himself, glasses fogging up briefly between them. when the haze recedes richie blinks owlishly down, because eddie is like, fucking shining up at him, eyes glimmering in the light, sweet and just this side of euphoric and more than he can stand.

he shifts up a little, puts his weight on one hand to look at him better. his hand comes up between them to fiddle with eddie's shirt buttons. ]

As soon as I saw you again I wanted you.

[ he huffs out an almost laugh of his own, this side of wry, but there's a kind of giddiness creeping up his spine too, commingling awkwardly with how hard he's been since he walked in. a million words he bit back in derry and they're all trying to explode out of him, all at once, and it's only the dryness of his throat that saves him.

he wets his lips, slides his fingertips up again beneath the hem of eddie's shirt in lieu of words. the pads of his fingertips brush rough and warm up the clench of eddie's abs; it makes his dick jerk painfully in his jeans. he wants to joke but he can't, his head swimming with lust and how much he wants and how much he wants this to last.

and then his hand meanders back down over eddie's belt buckle, thumb first. ]

Wanted to put my mouth on you. [ a frank admission, low-voiced. and then a slight tremor ripples through his shoulders and richie is amending, relenting to himself, letting out a huff of a laugh at last— ] I wanna lick your fucking abs. And this fucking hip vee. Every inch of you. I think it still counts as slow if I wait to blow you, I don't know, Eds, what do you think—

[ every moment since the phone call from mike has been burned into eddie's memory. but unlike normal memories that seem to recede further into the shadows, these stay fresh and surface-level, and are prone to opening again like paper cuts. when richie speaks, jade of the orient comes floating back, richie's words conjuring sesame oil and round dining tables and a roiling, unsettling mixture of trepidation and jealousy and hurt. the instant regression of eddie's approval seeking tendencies, laid at the feet of a man eddie didn't know he missed.

hearing now what he does, that richie wanted him, really wanted him tempers so much of the bad, enough that eddie warms from a place in his gut all the way to the tips of fingers and toes. he sucks in a breath, shaking, forcing words out of parted lips. ]

Oh, god. Fuck.

[ how long had richie felt that? through eddie's surgery? his recovery? richie saw him safely through the worst three weeks of his entire life, and here he was, undressing eddie still, about to uncover the scar eddie can't avoid noticing every time he changes his shirt. it's a reminder of an event eddie would prefer to avoid looking at in the mirror except for the days when he's feeling especially angry or despondent or lonely. his nearly fatal mistake, forever etched with scar tissue. ]

Jesus, you're gonna make me come in my pants. Look, uh. I don't know how you possibly expect me to wait now that I know you wanna go down on me, and I do, God, I want it so bad, you just. [ he stops himself, takes a breath, holds it a second like he needs to think. ] I haven't shown you what this looks like now. [ he gestures with a hand, feeling his face redden in shame that he's making such an event out of this. but there's also a pull in him to make himself known, for richie to see him exactly as he is. ]

[ they’re doing so much talking and richie usually loves running his mouth—especially when it involves eddie running his mouth right back, the two of them locked in some stupid yap-off forever, other people’s voices and possible protestations fading away. but his blood keeps pulsing in his ears, his heart steady and pounding hard in his chest, and every second he doesn’t taste eddie somehow, right on his tongue or maybe in the back of his throat, feels more than a little wasted.

he has to force himself to listen, though. and when eddie gestures at his chest he frowns. there’s genuine confusion in his eyes, mercury-quick. he knows what eddie’s talking about instantly; he’d looked the wound over a million times, committed its contours and raw angry ridges to memory. but at this juncture, everything presumably all healed up, it hadn’t really occurred to richie to worry.

it also hadn’t occurred to richie that eddie would worry. he softens a little. the tension doesn’t drain from his body, everything in him straining towards eddie like a magnet, but he does settle back a little. his lower back protests over him bending so closely over eddie’s belly, his hands making their way to the front of the shirt proper. ]

Can I ... [ he trails off, lets the question finish itself with a fingertip hooked in a button. the corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile. ] Please.

[ he wants to see all of him so fucking bad it aches. wants to memorize every inch of him, all over again. ]

[ it should come as no surprise that richie seems unperturbed and undaunted by the idea of looking at eddie’s chest now in broad daylight. he had, after all, seen much, much worse, been up close with the blood and the bandages with tender, careful hands and a gaze that didn’t falter. in the evenings when eddie slips his tie off his neck after a work day, he thinks about exactly this — richie’s fingers on his shirt buttons, helping to undress him like he had so many times back in derry.

eddie tries to stay even but can’t, mouth pulling into a frown as he nods, anxiety stretching him into the kind of guy that nearly hyperventilates just getting his shirt off.

god, he’s pathetic.

but richie doesn’t say that. doesn’t even seem like that thought occurs to him. with gently trembling hands, eddie begins to help with the buttons, drops them after richie seems more than capable doing it himself. in the time it takes for the shirt to unbutton and open, eddie’s heart climbs into his throat, the long, ugly scar uncovered at last.

were it just the raised thread of scar tissue from open heart surgery, that’d be one thing. but there’s discolored, puckered marks around it too, where skin had been folded back in, grafted from other parts of his body to frankenstein him back together. and if a matching splash of a scar on his back isn’t bad enough, eddie is sure that they both look too much like the sharp, raised spikes of the clown’s lair. if there isn’t enough irony in his life, now there’s that.

when he can’t bear the few seconds of silence richie’s looking at him, he breaks the heavy silence between their breaths. ]

Rich?

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