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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Love you too

I love you most when you’re on your way

who says I'm not?

fifteen minutes. maybe less

[ And, as promised, there's a honk outside when he gets there. ]

[ Outside his place of employment is a busy commercial street. Usually during lunch hours, there’s plenty of suits and ties wandering around on foot, but since it’s a little late, the sidewalks are bare. Eddie quickly gets into the passenger seat of Richie’s car with one half of him leaned over the center console looking only a little harried. ]

Jesus Christ, you’re like my sex Uber or something. Go around, here, yeah.

[ There’s a parking garage around the corner reserved for a cluster of businesses that they’ve definitely used before — the bottom floor is dark, and at this hour, there are plenty of spaces in the back. Richie’s barely parked before Eddie’s pulling Richie down toward him by the neck, pressing his mouth to warm skin. ]

You’re such an asshole, doing this to me. God. Can’t even wait until I’m off work.

[ He’s talking about himself mostly, but if it applies to Richie too, well. They’re both just as insufferable. ]

That's a good idea, actually. Maybe I should go to Shark Tank. You think O'Leary would go for it? I bet he's a secret freak.

[ He'd go on, but Eddie reaches and tugs as soon as they're stopped and mouth on skin effectively short-circuits the line of commentary, so instead he jerks his seatbelt off to follow after him, reaching to tug at his jacket and shirt, hurriedly working buttons loose to yet at the skin underneath. ]

You picked the car, smart-ass. Could a said no.

[ Eddie sighs, an exhale of breath that shakes with the weight of Eddie's nervous energy. What Richie does to him in moments like these, when he so openly wants, charges Eddie's nerves with electricity, enough that sometimes he shakes, like he does now, hands trembling where they're curling into fistfuls of the crop top shirt.

That crop top. Eddie should thank this ridiculous thing. God, he loves this man. ]

Yeah, I know. But I can't just fuck you in my office for all of Wilshire Boulevard to see. And I can't believe you're wearing this. You're ridiculous.

[ His words are heavy with affection, eyes sliding closed as the tie comes undone, the buttons of his shirt sliding through buttonholes. He's heaving for breath already, and they've barely got any clothes off. ]

Wait. Wait. Backseat.

[ And if anyone's around to see a man with a half undone suit and another guy with a crop top leave the front two seats to slide into the back, Eddie's fine with it. He's living out teenage wet dreams for months and he's not gonna stop now.

You ask, I provide. You're into it, don't lie.

[ He leans in to kiss him again, pressing lips and teeth to his neck, but Eddie stalls it, and he groans in something like frustration. Fine, whatever. He climbs back out of the car and follows him into the back seat where he resumes his efforts, sliding a hand along his chest, dragging a thumb along the scar deliberately slowly and travelling south as he sucks kisses into his neck, dragging teeth against skin every so often. ]

We should make this like a once a week thing.

[ Richie's hands are back on him before Eddie can even catch his breath, eyes closing once Richie's mouth is on his skin, fingers tracing low under the arch of his ribcage.

Christ. Is it the impulsiveness of the moment that's exciting? The way Richie actually came to him when called? Eddie doesn't know, and it's getting harder to think. He chuckles, exhaling, and pulls back enough to be able to look Richie in the eyes, get a hand around the back of his neck. ]

Jesus Christ, that's fucking insane, and it's... really fucking hot.

[ Eddie tugs at Richie's shirt until he helps to remove it, dragging his fingers across his chest. It's a gesture with no symbolism beyond Eddie's particular brand of keyed up want. ]

That's a pretty strict schedule, man, you sure you can keep up with that regularity?

[ He helps to get the shirt off, tossing it back into the front seat before closing the gap again, pressing more nips and kisses against his neck before shifting back, moving his attention lower. ]

Please. I'd come out here to do this every fucking day if you wanted. I just don't want you to get sick of me.

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