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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hey you made the face scar sexy
don't see why that wouldn't be true for ole new jersey on your chest

i was gonna say you can be ronald mcdonald but then i remembered we both have clown based trauma so nevermind
even though you just described me as a horrifying gargoyle monster i will take this as a compliment

cute cute cute eddie
i just wanna pinch your little cheeks
will you be happy or pissy if i get off on these texts
it's happening anyway i just wanted to get a vibe check

You're not a horrifying gargoyle monster
You're just aggressively tall for no reason fuck you
See if I say anything nice to you ever again

So important question
You always get off on people awkwardly flirting with you?
Also I'm not sure why I'd be pissed
I'd really have to hate myself

don't be mad that those kaspbrak genes kept you tiny and cute your whole life

10 out of the last 10 times i've gotten off it's been to you
and i didn't have you calling me your boyfriend then so
if anyone could find a way to be pissy about this i know it'd be you my beautiful and hilarious eds

Unfortunately my question still stands and that's
You get off on being awkwardly flirted with?
Or thinking I'd be mad apparently but we don't have time to unpack that one

[ maybe richie's implication should annoy eddie but he can't muster even light annoyance. for all the years of richie's inappropriate jokes, maybe he's not really wrong about this one. ]

You gonna talk to me about those last 10 times or what?

i guess i do
i'm learning a lot about myself too dw

( he's actually not, because for as long as he can remember he's been intimately aware of his so called type — or, those lanky boys with perfect haircuts and giant brown eyes, people with more grit than their cherubic outward appearance might imply. he can remember a lot about the duality of eddie, the way the threshold of his front door divided the man, the myth, the legend, and the syrupy sweet little momma's boy that would kiss her on the cheek before leaving.

despite previous statements, he doesn't often think about eddie's mom while getting off. the real joke of it all is that richie found it all too easy to hate her, every time she said eddie couldn't come out to play, every time she cast a sneering look in his direction like she knew some truth about richie that richie didn't even fucking know. on the other hand, your mom jokes got eddie angry or flustered, and sometimes when eddie was flustered he'd pinch him or punch him or otherwise touch him, and that made the grumpy tummy at the thought of going anywhere near that woman all worth it. )

i got off in my hotel room after the wedding thinking about fucking you in the banquet bathroom
it was pretty tempting at the time
and then again thinking about what might've happened if you came to my room with me
which was also pretty tempting and i don't really have a good excuse for it besides being nervous which is literally nothing
i could go on

Yeah I'm sure you are

[ we both are should be the follow up, and it almost is except then richie's typing and the texts that come through knock the wind from eddie's chest. he stares, watches each subsequent message come in in real time, each adding fuel to the fire. it's something close to discovering a christmas present early: eddie knows these impulses and images exist somewhere in richie's mind, he's just got to find them. ]

Fuck
You think about fucking me?

[ it feels like cheating to do this now while they're apart, but eddie's not really one to stick a pin in such a revealing topic of conversation to revisit some other time.

he's waited long enough already. ]

Can't decide if I should demand you elaborate or if we move on to scenario #3 so
Dealer's choice

since i saw you for the first time again in derry
yeah

( he is allowed to be a degree of embarrassed to admit this, behind a cell phone screen and all the way across the country, where eddie can't pick up the scraps of nervous babbling, the way it'd be coming out of his mouth if they were together right now. obviously, it's more than a sexual thing. obviously, he thought about holding his hand and kissing his cheek before he thought about bending him over the revolving table and nailing him into the chop suey — but there's a time and a place for it, and his boner is currently demanding he stop thinking about kissing every joint in eddie's hands, and start thinking about what his dick tastes like.

probably good. eddie, despite paranoia, has a good diet. richie as a side mission sends in an ubereats order to get some pineapple juice to the house. he's going fucking crazy. )

what can i say it was a really fucking nice suit
im suddenly craving spaghetti
i should've just blown you there
under the table like a horny fucking teenager
the knee ache would've been worth it

[ it's not like eddie's asking because he needs some kind of confirmation, or that he's at all surprised there are detailed sexual scenarios lurking in the foreground of richie's mind, but it's nice to see them written out in plain text so eddie can revisit them again when the need calls for it. that richie doesn't hesitate to continue to go into detail also seems about right, though there's something about the force of it, the glint of some kind of animalistic urge eddie finds himself fixed on.

being wanted so wholly and desperately wanted drains the blood from eddie's brain; the speed with which it all rushes to his dick leaves him lightheaded.

his fingers hover over the keyboard, thoughts racing. ]

It wouldn't be your knees you'd be hurting it'd be your back

[ it's easier to begin with this when his mind is a spinning roulette of sex and possibility. he swallows, letting impulse carry him. ]

I wanted to touch you at the wedding
I wanted to get you out of that suit
So I could see you
Get my hands in your boxers

[ a brief pause, and then: ]

What do you wear?
Boxers or boxer briefs?

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