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

[hypochondrias]

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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[hypochondrias]

[ were it any other occasion, eddie would be loathe to interrupt his minimum seven hours sleep, but for richie during these sometimes frightening full moons, he makes an exception. not that he has a choice. eddie is fully aware his apprehension is not as often shared by richie, who tells him he's got it well under control after his whole life, thanks, and that if eddie sits perched on the living room couch with his face buried in his hands for four hours then that's his problem. he's gotten better, but even now, when he's relaxed enough to be able to get a few hours sleep during the change, sometimes the scare catches up with him. the nerves only settle once the curtains have pulled tight enough to let in barely a sliver of moonlight, pouring a silver thread of light over the tile.

richie's taken to sitting patiently, the look on his smiling face so charming that eddie feels his heart flutter. he thinks back to the plethora of internet articles that espouse the benefits of pet ownership and realizes he gets to enjoy all the advantages with few of the drawbacks. plus a little extra, for the nights when they're both feeling extra feverish.

when richie presses himself into eddie's chest, eddie sighs longingly, chuckling when richie's nose brushes up his side. this could mean either richie's picked up a new scent, or just fixated on his. he rests his hands on the top of richie's head and rubs around his ears. ]

What? Do I smell? [ that's not the right question. he clears his throat, once. ] Find something interesting?

[dickwad]

( richie knows that when the two of them became a pair, the full moon became our problem instead of just his own. so used to doing everything by himself, he made the mistake the first few moons they shared together at going at it alone, doing things as they've always been done, not wanting to bother eddie on something as annoying as his monthly, mandatory shift. it took a couple of months to realize that eddie liked helping — or at least found something calming in the routine of things. he likes opening the door for him, likes being there to see him off and to receive him when he comes home. a little bit like a war wife.

on second thought, it's always kind of been like that. when they were kids, eddie always had an extra pair of pants in case someone went wolf when they weren't supposed to — or medical supplies in case one of them (richie) got cut on barbed wire while frolicking about. it used to feel weird, to be cared for in a way that he really didn't expect, but he's since gotten used to it. relying on eddie is probably the easiest decision he's ever had to make.

he lets out a huff that really sounds too similar to the beginning of his human form's laugh, wet nose skating further down until he's nosing at the front of his pants. interesting, yes. his thick tongue laves flat over the bump of his dick and leaves an annoying wet patch as he makes his intentions known. not skipping a beat, richie hunkers down and crawls forward, stuffing his full size between his legs before straightening up, effectively getting eddie reverse cowgirl on his back.

and then up to the bedroom they go. )

[hypochondrias]

[ the thing eddie hadn't expected - about either version of richie, really - was the propensity towards cuddling, an activity they engage in collectively whenever possible. it happens when eddie's home after work, in the morning before he leaves, weekend afternoons on the couch or even as eddie plates the takeout he brings home, richie coming in to circle his arms around eddie's waist, serving spoonful of chicken shawarma in hand.

that richie is no different in wolf form should come as no surprise. by now, it's something eddie's come to rely on, a constant and steady stream of affectionate demands made from moonrise to sunrise. it's what eddie expects now, richie snuffling about his clothes, until the attentions take a sharp right turn into something that sends a warm shiver through his body. the tongue on the front of his boxer briefs leaves little up to interpretation - eddie flushes and begins to say something, but then richie is getting between his legs and lifting him up on his back like a kid at a supermarket merry-go-round ride. ]

Jesus, wait-- [ he starts but never gets past the first protestation, hands immediately gripping onto a rough patch of fur on richie's back, holding on for dear life.

and like that, eddie's carried up the stairs to the bedroom, sliding off richie's back as soon as they hit the wooden flooring, fully red now in a flush that might extend to well past his neck. the ease with which richie can manhandle - wolfhandle? - him provides a rush he can't explain. ] God, carry me over the threshold, you fucking caveman. [ he shoves playfully at richie's enormous shoulder, the movement naturally tempered by the obvious half hard dick in his boxer briefs. for a moment he just stares at richie, animal eyes reflecting the light of the moon eerily in the darkness of the room. heart racing, he extends both arms like a challenge. ] You've captured me now, big guy. What're you gonna do about it?

[dickwad]

( no one's going to give applause to richie for his restraint. frankly, it'd be a little ridiculous if he was forty years old and still having dramatic wolf dreams of intense violence, craving blood or at least something to sink his teeth into to fend off an aggressive itch. no, he's outgrown the reckless years (and has invested in teething toys) and finds himself tamed instead — domesticated in a very literal sense of the word, thanks almost entirely to eddie himself. daydreaming about killing all you friends and loved ones is pretty normal for a kid werewolf chasing after their first kill, but he never had those kinds of fantasies towards eddie — instead, there's a fierce devotion, a bone deep sense to protect him at any cost, no matter the cost.

imprinting, in short. they're mates. he can feel their bond pulsating through his veins like a knife in the chest, spreading something sticky and warm throughout his whole body. his sense of smell isn't the only thing improved on when the moon is full and pulling him different directions like the tide — his sight is, too. off of eddie's extended fingers, he sees stubborn wolf hairs clinging to the webbing, he sees the promise of more pets in the near future, and the way his heart is beating against the veins in his wrist, richie desperate to lick a tongue across it and cover up one scent with his own. it's almost necessary. padding forward, and perhaps briefly toying with the play that eddie's the prey here, richie lets out a loud bark of playful intimidation before licking a slobbering tongue against his extended palm, quickly dodging out of the way before eddie can wipe it back on him.

it ends up allowing him to make a quick circle around eddie, eyeing him all the while. at his backside, he lifts a paw to press a huge pad against eddie's hip, giving a vague attempt at tugging down his underwear but not being too rough with it — he doesn't want to rip the material, and is pretty much destined to let eddie handle it for him.

while he does that, richie helps himself onto the bed, making a few circles around it before he just flops onto his back, facing the foot of the bed so he can watch eddie move. his chest heaves, a little. between his legs is something not exactly human, but not quite dog either — but it is sheathed, a block of skin concealing everything but the hardened, brightly orange head of his overexcited cock. arching in towards it, richie bites at it, helping his dick the rest of the way to lay flat on his stomach. a grower, not a shower — it'd be pretty difficult to run, if this thing was always flopping in the wind. )

[hypochondrias]

[ it's been years but sometimes richie still gets the best of eddie: even if the giant wolf-creature standing before him is the love of his life, he is still not entirely human. he still possesses claws the thickness of his own fingers and a sawtoothed grin with teeth meant to tear flesh and muscle from bone.

unfortunately for richie, now is not one of those times.

richie's bark is too high-pitched to sound threatening, and eddie's nerves are crackling with so much electricity that even the sharpness of the tone hardly startles. it just manages to lower eddie's brows, lips pulling back like he's mirroring the canine smile he sees in front of him. richie is right to assume eddie will wipe the excess saliva back on his fur, though - missing him, eddie stumbles, and when he steps back to right himself, richie is there behind him, a paw-hand on his waist, a claw working its way between the elastic waistband and eddie's skin. ]

Christ, [ eddie mutters, and begins to lay his hand over richie's paw to help guide him until richie moves again and eddie is left to his devices. he sways a little on his feet from the dizzying pace richie moves at, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as the wolfman crawls back on the bed, looking every bit as some kind of mirrorverse reflection of the man underneath.

he looks exactly like richie like this. so close to human. eddie's chest heaves visibly, taking in one long look as he removes his shirt and tosses it aside to the floor. just as he's about to slide his boxer briefs off his hips, richie leans down over his own stomach, and before eddie can leap in to interrupt, does the exact thing eddie would rather never, ever happen in his presence. ]

Jesus! Come on! [ he intones sharply, and practically leaps onto the bed with all the force of a guy who hits the gym three times a week, reaching for richie's muzzle with both hands as though he can force him back. ] Don't make me Cesar Milan you, you prick - what else do you have a boyfriend for? [ flushed, eddie uses his position to push richie's enormous thighs apart, and drags his hands down from stomach to sheath to rub in gentle but firm circles. it's not meant to tease, merely for himself to reacclimate to this other form, to the feel of a double coat under his palms and the heat of richie's cock in hand. a cock that he takes with one hand, the other pulling the fur down to better expose him.

he's big. eddie almost forgets. almost. he squeezes around the base and circles his entire hand around the girth, jaw slacking. any number of options could be on the table for tonight. ]

What're you thinking? [ he doesn't ask to get a verbal answer; he'll be able to read richie regardless, but he'd never deny there's a part of him that relishes richie just moving and positioning eddie exactly where he wants him.

manhandled.

the thumbs the head, over the slit, lips really parted now. how richie's just this side of inhuman, but just as much of a wanton horndog on any other day that ends in y. eddie's not sure the sight of this cock in his hand will ever stop being a source of deep fascination and everything else he doesn't want to name. ] What do you want, big guy?

[dickwad]

( there are some different iterations of the shift that richie can force — werewolf is man and wolf of course, but it's not a black and white defining line between the two. there are parts of him capable of being both at once, bipedal but furry, a long snout but with opposable fingers — all the better to grab you with, my dearie. it happens, from one bone crackle of magic to the next, as richie lets out a panting cackle at eddie's shouting. if he were feeling more obnoxious, he's lick his previously dick sucking tongue on eddie's cheek, but he's instead more taken by the squeeze of his hand, amicably filling out his palm with a soft exhale of arousal.

what does he want? he watches eddie with hooded eyes for an extended amount of time, almost comically letting his pink tongue lick across his lips in thought, like he's debating how best to eat eddie, which parts should come first. realistically, it's not that different from what's really crossing his mind — indulgence to eat like indulgence to fuck, the push and pull of the moon crossing some hairs along the way, or maybe just amplifying the constant horny richie has in reference to eddie. is it even fair to blame it on the moon?

making a decision, richie is slow while he sits up, gently nosing into eddie's space as one large hand wraps itself entirely around his thigh, the other around his bicep as he eases him down onto his back, huge body keeping him spread out and pinned down as richie lowers himself further. well. he had the chance to get rid of his underwear, so richie imagines that he won't much miss these if he just — drops the hold on his thigh and slides a careful claw around the center strip of his briefs, slicing it off with one, quick motion, following it up by ripping the elastic waistband the rest of the way off. exposed now, richie moves his massive head downwards, tongue licking a hot stripe across his dick, big enough to cover the entirety of it and still have plenty tongue left over to flatten on the low part of his belly.

he looks suspiciously smug, having eddie at his literal mercy — and yet all the bloodthirsty beast wants is to pull out his own teeth, so he can suck cock better. instead, he settles on just licking, hot tongue wrapping around eddie's cock until he's dripping with saliva. )

[hypochondrias]

[ in the beginning when eddie had first been reacquainting himself with this particular idiosyncrasy, there was a lot to process. most notably a certain thread of stomach-churning revulsion that came hand in hand with the physical transformation of flesh and muscle moving over a lengthening skeletal structure. it's disgusting, objectively, to hear the bones and cartilage snapping and readjusting as richie takes a different physical form, but much like what he suspects happens with medical students, eddie's come to accept this brand of medical horror as a natural course of his month.

and anyway, the better for richie to fuck with, apparently, if he's got opposable thumbs to hold him down with.

when eddie's moved back, he lets his body go slack, and before he's able to rid himself of his last layer of clothing, the decision's made for him. crudely, too, richie's clawed hand making quick work to avail eddie of his boxer briefs, the cotton shredding easily in his paw. ]

Hey! [ he tries, but the way his dick is red and straining against his lower belly might render this protest toothless. ] I liked those. They were new, you fucking barbarian. [ and richie is, on many normal days as well as the ones where the moon hangs full and silver in the sky, but he has the strength of a beast now, and it's nothing if not also thrilling to be wanted so forcefully.

richie wastes no time before ducking down to run his warm, pink tongue over his dick, drawing a soft gasp from eddie's throat. it's hard to appreciate the difference in sensation between human tongue and otherwise until it happens again, friction and slickness and heat covering his whole length at once before he can even utter richie's name. swearing, eddie clasps a hand to his forehead and drops his chin to watch the massive, black furry head hunched over his body, lapping at his cock like he's drinking from a water bowl.

whatever switch flipped in eddie's brain to find this arousing he doesn't know, but he files it as yet more trauma leftover from growing up in as fucked up a town as derry, maine. ]

Fuck, [ he murmurs, threading the fingers of his free hand into the fur at richie's cheek. it feels good, so good that eddie knows he can give himself over to it entirely even if he's fixated on richie's own dick that he knows must be dripping precome on the sheets between their bodies. ] Don't... nngh. Before I can touch you.