ive been thinking a lot about the dinner scene lately like... they are both so unbelievably horny. like richie really said *blowjob shot* *immediately makes direct eye contact with eddie to roast him about being married to a woman* hes just like i will make fun of YOU for something that is causing ME pain and pretend its funny :) to cope :) also can i suck ur dick. and eddie is just like. SO feral theyre both like vibrating out of their chairs with tension its unreal
Richie really does that blowjob shot and then pointedly, BITTERLY casts aspersions over Eddie’s marriage like he’s not actually gay himself because either Eddie married a woman and he’s just as unattainable as ever, or Eddie married a man which means Richie might have once had a shot, once upon a time, if he was anyone other than Richie Tozier.
How do you make yourself feel better about that!! You get drunk and you get horny for one of your other hot friends right in front of Eddie’s face, but wait what the fuck, Eddie’s agreeing that Ben is hot? He’s checking Ben out?! He’s checking Ben out with the same expression he was using to stare at the side of Richie’s face so hard Richie felt he was gonna crack under the pressure just like Eddie’s death-gripped wine glass. Does Eddie clench his own dick that hard? Does Eddie jerk off like that, like his dick is offending him? Did Eddie ever jerk off back then, maybe at the same time as Richie, in different houses? Does your wife jerk you off, Eds, does she suck you off could she suck you off like I can suck off this shot glass watch me just watch me just fucking watch me I always want you to watch me Eddie listen watch pay attention is he looking
And Eddie!! Holy shit, by unspoken agreement they kept Stan’s empty place between them because he was always the umpire to their insane verbal volleys, always the sharp-eyed heron standing still and watchful as the two of them darted around each other like eager little piranhas and that hasn’t changed, Stan or no. The gulf between their seats is somehow 27 years wide and the same two feet of mandated cafeteria separation, but jokes on everybody else (as usual) because it only makes them louder.
Eddie can’t stop fucking staring and he’s sure everybody knows it, everybody always knew it and it’s humiliating but he can’t stop. Thirty years of carefully cultivated impulse control (impulse subjugation) down the fucking storm drain because suddenly he can see exactly how a round and froggy little face can hew and sharpen into something square and bristly that Eddie wants to feel crunch under his teeth like the cashews that are absolutely in his meal even though he specifically said he could die but he’s gonna die anyway.
He’s gonna die. Eddie will die. He can’t remember the last time his dick throbbed in public like this and he is going to die. If not from the grave-dug yawning trapdoor in his memory he’s sure he’s close to crashing through forever like a rotten floorboard the longer he stays in this town, then from the fucking breadth, the fucking straining violence of Richie’s shirt buttons stretched like a medieval torture rack across his chest (his rack his tits his fucking lung-holder shit what if he still smokes — is he hairy? Eddie can’t breathe, is his body as hairy as his forearms revealed when) when Richie shrugs off his leather jacket.
Sometime between the blowjob shot that Eddie felt like a phantom limb (phantom rim, Jesus) on his cock and Eddie hissing at Richie like an angry goose for pretending not to understand the plot of Inception, he shuffles one seat over. He’s sure Stan won’t mind. If Stan minded he should have bothered to show up, Eddie thinks vindictively, and it is this old and vicious and ragged braggadocio that grips the back of his hot neck and shakes him in its steel jaws, helpless prey to his own repressed instincts. It is all instinct that makes him move from wine to beer to shots to Richie, closer, sweating, grasping like some hungry thing blind and delirious in its death throes. Let’s take our shirts off and kiss he hears it slime and thinks, not it, that’s me, that’s Eddie Kaspbrak who wants to snatch at Richie Tozier’s big sweating hand with the dark flow of hair on his strong wrists, snatch it off the table and shove it down between Eddie’s legs and up infuckingside himself—
Richie’s face contorts in a grin, his tongue pushing down slick at his lower lip and followed by his crooked front teeth. They don’t look yellow with nicotine. Eddie thinks he might have wanted to kiss Richie regardless, and feels sick.
Let’s dance, Richie grins, and this grown man is the same boy that Eddie could never stop thinking about. The blue veins in their bare wrists flex against each other, and Eddie thinks, you were my first wet dream.
Richie’s grin curves the apple of his cheek up against the lower frame of his glasses, and Bill is shouting about bets. Richie doesn’t join in, his eyes only duck to Eddie’s open polo collar and back up, and Eddie thinks, I wanted you so much that I wanted to be you when you only ever wanted to be someone else, and what does that say about me?
Richie has been devastatingly, insultingly funny all night and Eddie watched him tip the viscous white of the shot down his open swallowing throat and had suddenly wanted to shove his tongue down after it with an intensity he literally has not felt since he was sixteen years old, and he thinks, we watched each other grow up. You said you’d get me away from her. You held me when I cried and I held you and you said you wanted to be my friend forever, and Eddie has held this hand before with this same love, but never before with the ruthless wet ache of arousal in his gut at the sight of Richie’s sturdy forearm muscles bunching solid under his skin, the thought slamming his brain open like a torpedo again, I want his fucking body fucking inside mine.
So abrupt and loud. Pneumatic, unstoppable. Eddie nearly chokes on the want of it, and the shock weakens him for the half-second long enough for Richie to wrench his arm over, easily. The others cheer. Eddie laughs, because the trick with Richie was never to act like there had been a competition for him to win in the first place, or he became insufferable. We weren’t competing, Eddie would always scream, and that was because he never wanted to lose to Richie, and that was because he never wanted to lose Richie. Don’t go where I can’t follow was the quote right? Luminous boy, cartoon boy, Hollywood boy. Untouchable. Richie squeezes Eddie’s beaten knuckles once between his own, and Eddie laughs, and Richie lets go to ruffle Eddie’s hair and Eddie wants to cry.
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