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tommyplum · 4 years

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- the midlands | tommy/alfie for @boundinshallows’ sholomons prompt fest 2019

May Carleton leaves Birmingham; Alfie Solomons stays. There's no need to let a perfectly good hotel reservation go to waste.

notes: I have a fondness for Alfie bottoming (which is not on trend for this fandom lol) so whoever left this prompt, thank you for the excuse to write this. content warning for sex. - maggie

"As it so happens, Alfie," Tommy said. Just like that, an addendum, a drop into the still that his compatriot in the business could lift to his nose and inhale, or could let evaporate into the ether, as he showed Alfie Solomons out of his distillery after the tour, the critiques, the introductions. "As it so happens, I've a suite at The Midlands booked that's going to go to waste if nobody occupies it, tonight. You don't have to make the trip back to London right away, if you don't need to."

Tommy took a long, dry pull from his cigarette, and Alfie watched as he looked up, away, at a starling whose little toe-claws were skittering along a ceiling pipe. "If you don't want to, that is."

And then Tommy held out his hand, and they pressed flesh, Alfie's middle finger still tingling slightly under his nail from the aid for incurable sadness he'd dipped it in.

Birmingham was still rank with swine flesh when they trundled back out to the car, and Alfie stood in the heavy, grey air for a few moments. The smell of juniper was still high up in his nose, dry, not sweet enough for some quarters and prospective interests, but it did, at least, cut through the trayf.

That was something worth pondering on.

"Ishmael," Alfie said, finally starting towards the car properly and opening his door, bundling himself in and shutting it with a yank of his cane, "find out where the fuck in this dismal shit hole there is what the natives optimistically refer to as a hotel." Ishmael, accustomed by now to his boss giving orders that ran perpendicular, adjacent, or downright contrary to everything that had come before, merely nodded and collared a couple of Small Heathians who were passing as Alfie took the time to not settle himself in for a long ride back to Camden Town.

The Midlands. You couldn't have asked for a more fitting name for this, Tommy my dove, he thought, and lifted his anointed hand to his nose as the car lurched into motion.

---

Tommy Shelby, it seemed, then had the ever-loving fucking effrontery to make Alfie wait -- yet again -- for his hallowed arrival.

"Right, I'm on the verge of taking whatever car you've got for yourself outside and driving me own way out of this facking pustule of a town, Tommy, so you'd best get out of my way." Alfie gestured with his cane, a couple inches away from thwacking Tommy's knee with it, his hands knotting and sprawling to express the full range of his annoyance with this day's being inconvenienced by one tightly-wound Peaky bastard.

"I do apologize, Alfie," Tommy said, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he continued in the same vein of airy nonchalance that he'd cultivated at some point in his fledgling gangster career, Alfie surmised, to sound unflappable and unmoved and just a touch arrogant. It did have a certain charm, if you weren't currently aggravated out of your bloody mind.

Although he couldn't sort out why Tommy also saw fit to unbutton his waistcoat and take off his glasses, placing them very carefully on the sideboard, until Tommy came over, close. Close enough for Alfie to pick out the scent of mint and ginger on his breath, the astringency of his skin. He'd shaved, recently. "There was a bit of last-minute business that delayed me, couldn't be avoided," Tommy continued. "I plan to make it up to you, though. The inconvenience."

Tommy put his thumb briefly against Alfie's throat, to the side of his adam's apple. And then he sank down to his knees.

"This is one hell of an apology, mate," Alfie began, instantly wary, his fingers re-wrapping themselves around the handle of his cane. Just in case. "Not saying it isn't warranted, given the bad manners of both yourself and your festering city--"

"I'd tell you to shut up," Tommy said, almost conversationally. He turned his head, and his nose and mouth and chin pressed against the front of Alfie's trousers, warm, insistent, interested. "But you wouldn't listen."

Tommy raised an unhurried look at Alfie, through the dark spikes of his eyelashes. "And I think hearing yourself talk is what gets you hard, anyways."

Alfie grunted. Half in surprise, half in agreement; and, fuck, it was the fucking Midlands, wasn't it? He'd not been entirely unaware of what this meeting in this for-some-reason unoccupied suite might involve. He was only a little rumbled because Tommy'd presumed that Alfie would wait for him, yet again.

But here he was, having waited. And here was Tommy, undoing Alfie's trousers and reaching inside for his cock, hands considerately warm for a change as he cupped Alfie's balls, rolling, fondling, and grasped his stiffening length to take stock. Finding that Alfie possibly would prefer some encouragement, Tommy took his paw back, licked the palm, and then replaced it, neat as a cat as he kneaded Alfie's sac and tugged at his cock.

"Keep talking, then," Tommy said. Alfie brought the hooked handle of his cane around to the back of Tommy's clipped head, pulling him in as he settled his feet into a wider stance. Obliging of him, that was, and Tommy must have agreed because he slipped both his hands in further past the unfolding material of Alfie's trousers. Helping himself to what he found there, thickening at his touch.

"The secret to great oratory, posy, is to never capitulate to the pressure for a command performance. No matter how enticing the compensation might seem at first glance--" Alfie's words gave way to a low sigh, breath heating up his tongue on the way past his parted lips as Tommy bobbed forward to take the head of Alfie's terribly eager prick into his mouth. Tommy's lips were wet, slicked up with his own spit as he sank right on down without a care as to keeping things tidy, none of the mannered propriety that Alfie occasionally found so ridiculous.

His cane skidded down, to the back of Tommy's neck, but Alfie left it there loose. Tommy was doing all the work already and needed no guidance or encouragement and Alfie rested his other hand on Tommy's face, the heel of his palm against that hollow, hollowing cheek, pressing in now and again to feel the bulbous push of his own cockhead. Onanism as translated through the mouth of Thomas Shelby, Alfie thought, but he let that one go as soon as it formed, nebulous and mocking and perhaps entirely too potent to be part of having his cock swallowed in a shit Birmingham hotel.

Tommy cupped Alfie's balls as he pulled back with wetness dripping in rivulets down the shaft of Alfie's cock, off the ruddied pink of Tommy's lips, saliva and precum both in a bubbling cocktail that brined the air with its scent. "Get me there, eh, Tom," Alfie murmured, "and it'll be apology accepted. Providing that you never again ask that I insult my preferred cobblers by setting shoe leather a step into your wank-stain of a city, yeah?"

Alfie grunted as Tommy -- in reply, he supposed -- pinched the soft skin of his sac, otherwise ignoring the barbs aimed at his family seat of operations, and instead dove the tip of his tongue into Alfie's slit. Poking in, fucking the sensitive orifice, and the handle of Alfie's cane rose to rub against the crease at the base of Tommy's skull as its wielder blinked at the ceiling and its shabby crown mouldings, feeling showers of sparks going off in the corners of his eyes. His cock pulsed, thumping for attention against the roof of Tommy's mouth when the warm wet heat of it thankfully returned en toto, and Tommy's hand slid further back, behind Alfie's balls, the calloused drag of a thumb-pad chasing the push of his middle fingertip. Sticky, and slippery, and when Tommy's finger forced its way into Alfie's hole his whole body jerked, galvanized.

His cane clattered to the floor and Alfie grabbed Tommy's head with both hands, rumpling his raven hair as he strained and bucked forward and came, hugely, incandescently, with a groan that ran circles through his chest before it hit the air and became fully-realized sound. Tommy stayed in tight, and Alfie -- fingers splayed all down Tommy's throat, all over his face, everywhere -- for a moment thought he might black out at the feel and sound of him swallowing all the seed Alfie had to give.

They stayed there for a few long yawning moments, Alfie's blood thumping in his ears, before Tommy moved back. Detaching himself and getting to his feet, drawing the back of one hand over his sloppy, used mouth. Alfie glanced down at his cane -- fuck it, he'd give himself the luxury of tucking back in and doing up his clothes first before he attempted to bend and retrieve it -- and said through a slightly heavy tongue, "Right, then. Make it sweet like that for the Americans, Tommy, and you'll have no trouble finding yourself a market."

He started to fold himself back together, material of his trousers hopelessly creased and possibly somewhat stained, but Alfie found his movements stopped by Tommy's hand on his wrist. "Hmmm?" he thrummed, thinking of the pistol under his coat, but Tommy didn't make any untoward movements.

Instead, he jutted his jaw to one side as he pinned Alfie with a level stare and said, clear and hard as a nail dropping on brick, "Oh, no, Alfie. Not yet. You're in Birmingham now, son, and that's not how we leave things."

And then Tommy was on him. Peeling back layers and layers of clothes, Alfie's coat, his jacket, his waistcoat and prayer shawl and shirt, discarding them all across the reproduction chaise longue that sat foolishly at the foot of the bed. "I'm gonna fuck you," Tommy breathed against Alfie's mouth, chasing him down with his nose and his shoulders and chest as he let go of Alfie to attend to his own clothes, stripping them off with far less care and letting them fall to the floor. "You think that might bring on some fucking oratory? Ay? Is that the kind of command performance you'll agree to?"

He hunched his shoulders forward, and Alfie was by no means a small man in terms of built-up muscle but Tommy was bulling ahead, compact and strong, a goddamn clay-kicker, wasn't he, and Alfie found himself -- body already drunk on the force of his climax -- unbalanced. He dropped back onto the bed with a slight bounce that met with Tommy's body coming down on his, and from there off came the shoes and trousers and shorts and it was the two of them naked, hard, against each other in The fucking Midlands.

Alfie shoved himself up higher on the mattress, at a curved diagonal, and watched as Tommy had the audacity to reach down into the pocket of his discarded jacket and bring out a vial of oil. Catching Alfie's incredulous look, Tommy tipped his chin to the side briefly with a smirk, lips twitching up at the corner. "Yeah, that's right, Alfie," he said, voice down to a husky tease, "that's how sure I was that you'd end up on your back for me. Everyone who comes to Birmingham does, one way or another."

"Hrrrmm." Alfie went up on his elbows, his cock still half-hard, sloped heavily against his thigh as he spread his legs, letting Tommy in between them with one knee on the mattress. "Is that generally before or after you get on your knees for them, then, love?"

Tommy gave a chuffing laugh, rust-clogged like he'd long since forgotten how that particular expression of emotion worked, and for a distinct moment the air of the hotel suite went still and they looked at each other, blue-grey and gin-blue, and Tommy might have taken that opportunity to close the distance between them and press his mouth against Alfie's.

The moment passed. The air moved again. Stirred by the wings of starlings and kestrels, of jackdaws.

Reaching past Alfie, Tommy clawed up the sheets and coverlet and bunched them roughly behind Alfie's back, down to his hips, and Alfie obligingly raised himself for the bolstering. His thighs parted more easily at that angle, Tommy reaching down between them to slide his oiled-up fingers between the heft of Alfie's arsecheeks, to the tight furl of his hole. Tighter than might be expected, from the flicker of Tommy's eyebrow as he pressed one fingertip in, then two, twisting.

"Been, ah -- a while, right, since I was tended to in that particular fashion," Alfie said mildly, still up on his elbows because he'd be damned if he was going to miss the sight of this, Tommy Shelby pouring oil into the open palm of the hand that currently had two fingers wedged into Alfie's arse. "Circumstances being as they are, as in nobody generally has the fucking wherewithal to attempt to sodomize me." Alfie uncurled and re-curled his fingers, allowing, "--at least, not in the literal sense."

Tommy tilted his hand and the oil ran down the trough of his fingers, funnelling into Alfie's clutching hole, and he shoved his fingers in deep with a satisfied flicker in his eyes as Alfie's breath hitched. "I've been told," he said seriously, "that I have a tendency towards an over-abundance of ambition. Good or bad, Alfie, d'you think? Is that tendency?"

"Fuckin' good , Tommy," Alfie growled, finally sinking back into the crumpled sheets as Tommy followed him, climbing up onto the bed and positioning himself where he could do the most damage. Alfie's gaze dotted over the line of his shoulders, the circle of his tattoo, the various thin lines and ranges of scars, but never alighted in one place too long. This wasn't the first time they'd clinched like this, groping at each other, learning each other's bodies; it was, though, the first time they'd been entirely undressed. Laid out available to see and be seen, to map, to catalogue, to discern the various key components and be dissected in turn.

It was, Alfie found, entirely too much to be dealt with at the moment. Let it wait.

He focused instead on the feel of Tommy's cock, the blunt sticky head of it rubbing along the tender skin between Alfie's legs, circling the over-sensitized thin slick of his hole, the tip of Tommy's thumb pushing in for a moment before he withdrew it and grasped himself anew. Guiding that fat tip to Alfie's hole and pushing, pressing, and then driving in with a lunge, a shout, a tremble that went through his entire body.

Alfie's mouth panted wetly open, his lips feeling swollen despite going unassaulted by kisses, and he rubbed the back of his head against the sheets to bruise out the smell of himself, treacly rum and oven-bricked bread and Portugal water, making it rise to wreath them both. "Fuck," he breathed, and "-- fuck ," Tommy echoed, fitting his hand under Alfie's arm and around his back as he got himself adjusted, other hand pushing Alfie's thigh open so he could get in closer, sink in deeper. Alfie's head was swimming, a peppermint-electric spiderwebbing of sensation through his groin and arse and belly as Tommy's thick cock drove in further and further without mercy, Tommy's breath rasping above him.

"Is it good," Tommy insisted again, then moved back, only a little, and shoved forward again to make a long, desperate groan clamber its way up through Alfie's chest and pour from his mouth. " Tell me how fucking good it is, Alfie. I want it. I want to hear it."

"Then bloody well fuck me, Tommy!" Alfie roared, lifting his head as he reached out to splat his hands haphazardly against Tommy's side, his back, and damned if that wasn't exactly what his mule-stubborn cunt of a partner was waiting for because Tommy snarled back, leaving off holding Alfie's thighs apart to grab his hip and thrust forward, impaling him in one go and then sliding directly into a punishing pounding rhythm. The slap of their skin, oil and sweat, macerating the grunts and moans they punctuated the air with, Tommy's intense single-minded muttered yeah yeah yes fuck yeah and Alfie's pouchy gusts of articulated encouragement on each in-thrust.

The sheets under him bunched tighter as they fucked, Tommy's arse rising and falling with his galloping pace and snorted breath, the whinny of his oncoming release, and as much as Alfie wanted it, his body clutching and clenching in remembered desire as Tommy's cock dragged into that sweet spot inside him, he knew he'd be laid up the next day, more likely than not. Thoughtful sheet-bundle under his hips or not. "Come on, then, Tommy, yeah, that's my boy," Alfie rumbled through gritted teeth, pushing up until he could grind his bearded chin against Tommy's shoulder, rub it against the freshly-shaved skin of his neck. "Give it to me, since you're in a giving mood, that's it, because we are who we are, hmmm?" Alfie wrapped his hand around the back of Tommy's neck, bearing down on the hammering thrusts that were beating him open, demanding, not to be denied.

"We do all our killing at close range, don't we, Tommy, we do it personal ."

Tommy grabbed Alfie tighter, colliding with him, bowling him over as he drilled Alfie into the mattress until his thrusts, increasingly erratic and impassioned, stopped short. He dropped his head forward and bit into Alfie's shoulder, blood tipping the ends of his teeth yellow-red when he removed them from torn flesh, throwing his head back in a short, anguished howl. And Alfie watched, committing it all to memory, jotting it all down in the box of his brain and the meat of his body, soaking up Tommy's spunk as it spurted deep inside him.

"Jesus," Tommy muttered when it seemed he could breathe normally again, and Alfie murmured, "--not the right Jew, darling, but I'll take it as a compliment."

Tommy made an explosive little sound that could have been a laugh, and eased out and rolled off, causing the bed to dip to one side before Tommy got to his feet. Turning his back on Alfie and reaching down to his coat again to get his cigarette case and lighter, as Alfie blinked up at the crown mouldings and felt cum trickling out of him and the little oil bottle bumping against his thigh, realizing that Tommy'd let all the oil they hadn't used spill and soak into the mattress. How many of his erstwhile paramours, Alfie wondered as Tommy's smoke started to make trails, did Mr. Shelby of Watery Lane rent this suite for? How many ruined bedclothes left in his wake?

Alfie rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes as he stretched experimentally; the ache in his lower back was making its long approach, yet, for which he was grateful as he pushed himself up on his elbow -- only to see Tommy fastening up his trousers, shouldering into his shirt. Everything about the way he was moving, the way he was holding himself -- finger-combing his blue-black hair into place, his stare retreating into that remote still sky-blue -- telegraphing what the next move was. The next move that this suite at The fucking Midlands had seen a dozen times over, a score of times.

And so Alfie let himself sink back down into the bed, gingerly bringing his legs up onto it properly and twitching the covers to lie in a damp twist over his hips, trailing down the backs of his thighs as he turned to face the window. "Yeah, go on then, get out of here," he said, waving Tommy off as if he were no more than a pestering maître d'. "I'm sorted and from what I hear, this suite's unoccupied and therefore mine for the night, and I'd like to get some rest before I make the long trip back to civilization in the morning."

The slight patter of Tommy's lips blowing out smoke sounded loud in the room. That was the only sound he made, save one: the gentle tik of Alfie's cane, when Tommy picked it up from the floor and leaned it upright against the bloody chaise longue. The door didn't even make much of a noise when he opened it to leave, shut it behind him.

"Come to Birmingham," Alfie said to himself, letting his eyes drift shut. "Be damned for breathing. Go to The Midlands ... and find a way to damn yourself even further, is that it? Ahhrrnn . Eradicate your incurable fucking sadness, yeah." His sore, strained body slumped into the mattress, too worn from the drive and the day's events and the unexpected fucking it had taken to sustain awakeness any longer, and Alfie sighed, letting himself go under, letting go of the thought that had been circulating in his head for days. Weeks.

Big fucks small.

He'd come back to that, when the time was right.

/end

#peaky blinders fic #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #tolfie #sholomonsfest2019 #sholomons

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allthefilmsiveseenforfree · 5 years

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Aquaman

My first film of 2019 and oh boy is it a doozy. Here’s the thing - I know it's gonna be bad when people keep telling me, "I can't wait for your review for this one." That does not inspire confidence in quality filmmaking because, I think we can all agree, the reviews are most beloved when I am being a petty bitch. So it’s time for 2018′s last big tentpole superhero adventure, DC’s solo Aquaman movie, starring Human Sex God Jason Momoa and Amber Heard doing shockingly bad Little Mermaid cosplay. See, Momoa plays Arthur Curry, the son of the queen of Atlantis and a mere mortal lighthouse keeper, so he has the heritage and the birthright to take the throne of Atlantis from his scheming brother (Patrick Wilson) and unite the land and the sea, if he wants to that is (he doesn’t.) There’s a lot going on here that could be wildly entertaining if handled right, so the real question is does this movie, ahem, sink or swim? Well...

It’s a tangled mess of yes and no, but honestly the problems DC has making a movie of the caliber we KNOW superhero movies are capable of sinks this whole ship. Call the Heartbreakers, cause I’m about to get Tom Petty up in this bitch.

Our story begins with a voiceover about the hero’s parents because that’s always a good sign. The Queen of Atlantis, Atlanna (Nicole Kidman) washes up on shore and enjoys some light Stockholm Syndrome with Tom, a lighthouse keeper in Maine (Temuera Morrison), leading to the birth of Arthur Curry, aka our main Aqua type Dude (Jason Momoa). Some Atlantisians - Atlantians? That just sounds like they’re from Atlanta. Some sea people come to forcibly take Nicole Kidman home after at least 2 years, like wow are these people bad at tracking their queen, but then suddenly they just know where she is? And she’s like “I have to go back, they will always find me” um well not for at least 2 years they won’t, ma’am. Anyway so she heads back into the sea and Tom is left to raise baby Arthur alone until he’s probably 8 or 9 and then the sea people’s vizier (Willem Defoe) comes to land and starts training Arthur how to do sea people stuff because he’s heir to the throne. But it’s pretty clear Nicole Kidman is no longer in Atlantis and he’s not allowed to see her...and everyone’s really mad at her for having a “half-breed” son with a land-dweller. So why is Willem Defoe here training him like a half-melted wax figurine of Mr. Miyagi? HANDWAVEY DISTRACTION so anyway, now Arthur’s all grown up doing Aquaman shit but like on the DL, cause he doesn’t want to be all obvious about it. His forced love interest Mera (Amber Heard) comes to Maine to tell him that his half-brother King Orm is planning a huge war against the land-dwellers in order to become Ocean Master and the only way to stop him is to find this Sacred Trident and take his rightful place as king. Honestly a bunch of other shit happens too but if you’re as hung up as I am on the Ocean Master thing, I think we can all agree we have enough info to proceed.

Some thoughts and also questions because this movie demands questions:

As I’m sure you can guess, the script is just....it’s just so bad. Within the first 15 minutes, we got to hear the following exchange - Nicole Kidman, crying and marveling at the wetness on her face: "Our tears are always taken by the sea." Tom: "Not here. Here we feel them." This is meant to be a scene in which a woman is leaving the love of her life and her infant child, presumably forever. And we got sea tears.

The gravity with which the phrases "ocean master" and "sacred trident" are spoken is just something I was not emotionally prepared to deal with. This makes it sound like I can’t handle Maguffins in comic book movies which I absolutely can! But it helps if they at least sound otherworldly or mysterious. Ocean Master sounds like a game of I Spy you made up at SeaWorld to get your little nephew Caydlen to stop trying to crawl into the touch tank.

Every location is SOMEWHERE IN THE ____ SEA. I understand that the ocean is vast and contains multitudes. But you can’t be any more specific than that? You can’t be any more specific than that ten times?

I like how, at one point, there is scientist on cable news talking about the existence of Atlantis, and he is being depicted as SO crazy that the audience is meant to think he's ridiculous when we literally know he's telling the truth. The conspiracy theories he’s touting are the exact thing that is going on in the movie, but he comes across as a fool because...we’re....meant to feel foolish? For believing in Atlantis? Does no one work in marketing at DC or Warner Brothers? I’m legitimately asking whose choice this was.

This is all coming across as very negative, so let’s focus on some good. 1) Jason Momoa. The man is basically a human god, so the casting is excellent - he’s funny, he’s disarming, he’s cool, he’s the bad boy you wanna take home to mom. He plays the part excellently and even manages to make some of the world’s clunkiest dialogue sound kind of ok.

2) Some sequences really, really work - the trench sequence was a particular fave, and I think speaks mostly to director James Wan’s horror movie street cred. It was visually rich, atmospheric, and terrifying.

That’s pretty much it for the positives.

Why the fuck is Dolph Lundgren here?

I don’t think I mentioned this above, but more movies need to have viziers.

There’s a literal octopus playing the drums during a fight to the death like the filmmakers expected us NOT to immediately mentally sing “Under the Sea”?? During the first climactic battle between our hero and his main nemesis??? Like what tone is this even going for? Is it supposed to be silly? It takes itself too seriously. Is it supposed to be a 60s era Saturday morning cartoon? There’s too much “the land-dwellers are poisoning our oceans and killing our people so we need to start a holy war” for that. Is it supposed to be a wayward manchild finds his raison d’etre origin story? Did you read the thing about the octopus.

And what the fuck is going on with this soundtrack. The crunchy NUH-NUH-NUHHH guitar chord every time Momoa tosses off a horrible one-liner in his first scene. The techno-battle music that’s aping the far superior Daft Punk soundtrack to Tron: Legacy during a high-speed foot chase in fucking SICILY. And then Pitbull shows up to perform the audio equivalent of a used condom found in the back of a 2003 Hummer, a bafflingly ill-conceived cover of Toto’s “Africa.” Do you know how bad a song has to be for it to be the worst cover of “Africa” in a year where WEEZER covered “Africa”???

I literally don’t even have time to get into the out-of-nowhere secondary villain, Black Manta, who could have had potential if he weren’t playing his scenes like he’s in a 1988 Steven Seagal movie. I’m all for “this is kinda stupid but I’m still having fun” movies. I genuinely enjoyed last year’s The Predator and The Hurricane Heist! But the only person who seems to be having any fun here is Momoa, and even then it’s amidst a bloated, overstuffed mess of a script. I’m not going to say I had a bad time watching this movie, but I certainly don’t think it’s for the reasons any of the filmmakers were intending.

#119in2019 #aquaman #aquaman review #jason momoa #amber heard #willem dafoe #patrick wilson #nicole kidman #temuera morrison #dolph lundgren #james wan #movie reviews #film reviews

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willgayers · 6 years

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ladies and gentlemen ,,, and others

fans of tattoo!reddie headcanons

i proudly present to you

THE STORY I AM TURNING IT INTO! YAY! this is the first chapter and it was beta read by @tohzier <3 thank u for correcting some mistakes my non-american ass might make

Things were working out pretty great in the life of Eddie & Richie — the couple had moved into their mutual apartment two months ago, Eddie was spending his mornings at college and his evenings working at the diner near their apartment.

Meanwhile, Richie was "working" from home; aka, trying to work on some monologues for auditions. Eddie had been kinda cool with it when his boyfriend proposed the idea of his staying at home, since Eddie knew his partner wanted to become an actor in the future. Though Eddie had silently wondered who would hire a boy tattooed from head to toe, (since the makeup artists would have a lot of work hiding them) but he didn't point it out to Richie.

And it wasn't like he wanted to rush Richie into things; if Richie wasn't emotionally ready to get a "real" job, Eddie didn't wanna force him to do that. Richie didn't exactly have the easiest past, so he understood. Also, Richie staying home meant he was keeping the house clean and Eddie didn't have anything against that; the boy would've been tired as hell if he had to study, work and clean the house after the whole day.

One of the reasons Eddie was doing all of this, letting Richie stay at home while he was out there studying and bringing money home for the two of them, was the sad fact that Richie couldn't afford college. The only reason Eddie could was because his father had started saving for his future son the second he found out his wife was pregnant, and every month Eddie's mom would add a little to the savings. Richie's parents had never thought of their son's future plans. The whole thing was sort of a taboo; they both knew that opening the conversation would lead to nothing good.

Therefore they hadn't even considered talking about it.

Not yet, at least. They were too busy living in their perfect little relationship bubble.

"I'm home!" Eddie called out as he stepped in to their condo, closing the door behind him, a paper takeaway bag in his other hand.

"Baby! Hi!" Richie answered, excited, from their bedroom, soon walking out to greet his boyfriend face to face.

Richie had a wide smile as he made his way over to Eddie and grabbed his face, pressing a kiss to his lips; even though the two lived together and saw each other every morning and every night, Richie still missed his boyfriend like crazy during the daytime.

Of course Eddie missed him too; but Richie was always a little more needier, even if he didn't admit it. But he didn't really have to.

"What do we have here?" Richie asked after the kiss, grabbing the paper bag from Eddie's hand.

"A double cheese burger—"

"With chili fries?" Richie's eyes widened in excitement.

"Yes, with chili fries." Eddie smiled with the other side of his mouth, watching as his boyfriend did a little fist in the air and then made his way to the living room. Eddie followed, sitting opposite Richie on the sofa.

"There's also my burger." He noted as they sat on the couch, and Richie nodded, handing out the regular cheese burger that Eddie then grabbed.

"God, Eddie—" Richie mumbled with his mouth full of burger. "You're the best boyfriend ever."

Eddie, who hadn't still taken a bite out of his, smiled wide.

"Why thank you, Richard." He said.

"You're very welcome, Edward." Richie gave Eddie a goofy smile before nudging his leg gently with his own.

"How was school?" He asked.

"It was okay." Eddie shrugged. He didn't want Richie to know that everyday went slow as hell because the poor boy was all by himself.

"What about work?" Richie then asked.

"Same old, same old." Eddie murmured with his mouth full of burger. "My boss was an asshole, though. Again."

"Do you want me to hit him?" Richie asked, and Eddie let out a laugh.

"Even if I did, you shouldn't do that. I might get in trouble." Eddie said.

"Fine." Richie said. "But if he gets too asshole-y..."

Eddie smiled; it wasn't like he was gonna ask Richie to hit his boss, but the fact Richie would kick somebody's ass for Eddie— and he would— somehow made his heart warm. Even though violence wasn't good, Eddie couldn't help but be happy with the idea his hot tattooed boyfriend would wanna protect him.

Oh, yes.

His hot, hot, tattooed boyfriend...

Then Eddie flinched back to the moment, the dreamy smile (that Richie wasn't even noticing as he was too busy gobbling his burger) washed off from his lips fast and he bit his burger.

"What about you?" He asked with a slightly muffled voice, mouth full; but then he swallowed so he could speak clear now. "The monologues coming out well?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Richie shrugged.

"When will you act one out for me?" Eddie asked, a small smirk on his face, that immediately caused a blush to creep up on Richie's.

"Never." He said and Eddie laughed.

"What? Why?!" He asked.

"Too much pressure, that's why." Richie said.

"Oh, come on. I'm sure you're at least as good as Tom Cruise." Eddie said.

"Tom Cruise? Honey, I'm better than Tom Cruise." Richie said and Eddie laughed again.

"Okay, sure you are," he said.

Even though Eddie always went with onion rings and Richie with chili fries, they always ended up leaning over to grab the other one's side dish.

"So... are there still any hot girls at your college?"

"Richie!" Eddie blurted out.

"Just kidding, babe." Richie smirked, and Eddie shook his head in disbelief.

---

Most days passed like that for the couple.

Eddie's alarm would ring at 7 a.m., and he would get up and go make himself some tea while Richie would snore in the bed. Kaspbrak would drink his tea in his pajamas while he went through the news, and once the clock read 8 a.m. he'd start getting dressed— after that he would wake up Richie with a gentle nudge on his shoulder or waist or something, and once Richie opened his eyes, he would always be greeted by a smiling Eddie.

"I'm heading to school." He'd say.

"Okay." Richie always said, before making a pouty kissy face, and Eddie would kiss him.

"I love you. See you tonight."

"Mhm, I love you too," Richie murmured sleepily— Eddie was living in the belief that Richie did wake up at 11, but usually the boy slept till 12. At least.

"Kick ass." Richie would say as Eddie was already at the door, and he'd turn around to give his boyfriend a loving smile even though the boy in the bed had his eyes closed.

"Sure." Eddie would answer before leaving.

It took Eddie approximately 30 minutes to get to his school— they were still living in Maine, but this was a little more of a distance than they were used to.

They weren't living in Derry anymore; none of the losers were. They had all moved all across America, and unfortunately weren't as close as they used to be. Sure, they were in touch; but they definitely weren't as tight as before. Bill and Eddie were sending texts regularly though, and the only one Richie had really stayed in touch with was Beverly.

Eddie wasn't really big on friends at college either; he was shy when it came to new people.

And by really big, I mean: Eddie had zero friends.

However— while Eddie had been driving to school, jamming out to all kinds of songs played loud from his speakers (Africa by Toto being one of them, obviously) he finally arrived at the college...

Richie had just gotten out of bed, made himself some coffee and then enjoyed it with a cigarette smoked on the balcony.

It was a miracle they'd ended up with a condo that even had a balcony; Eddie had always complained how Richie's room in his parents' house smelled like cigarettes due to him smoking out of the window.

While Eddie was at school, attending his classes and studying quietly, marking down all kinds of important things in his notebook...

"-And I will promise you, Lorelei...."

Richie was standing in front of the mirror in their bedroom, holding a pout and a frown.

"I am never. Never, ever... leaving youhhhh..."

He gave himself a serious glare.

Staring at his reflection for a moment, he then cursed loudly and turned away from the mirror, before stomping the floor.

He would repeat until he was finally pleased with the outcome. Which was usually never.

The day passed fast and Eddie would hop in his car again, jam to some more music, and then stop at the diner. He'd walk in, switch to his working clothes (a black apron, black pants and a purple t-shirt with a patch of the diner's name, Hungry Henry) and start repeating sentences like; "Hello!", "Here you go!", "Thank you sir/madam!", "Aaaaand this is for you— this one's for youuuu—", and "Thank you, have a great day!" (Depending on whether he was at the cash desk or if he was a waiter.)

Richie kept on repeating words like; "Don't you see, Gerard—?! I am bleeding!", "She is the wicked witch of this town!", "I saw it in his eyes... before he was murdered...!", "No— King Felix Third is not my father!", and "I will come back to haunt you, ALL of you!"

And every day at 9 p.m. Eddie finally got home.

Tuesday and Thursday were burger days, because those days Eddie was working the same shift with the cool chef who didn't want any food to go waste, so Eddie could easily sneak some leftover burgers back home to himself and Richie. Always making sure Richie got his favorite.

But that Friday, around six thirty five p.m., things would start to change.

"Eddie, you have to go serve a table."

Eddie frowned as he stared up at his boss from the kitchen floor where he was at the moment, scrubbing some burned grease off of it.

"Me?" He asked. "I'm not even on waiter duty."

"I don't care," his boss shrugged. "Stacey isn't doing her job fast enough and the customers have been waiting for fifteen minutes already. They're gonna get pissed."

Eddie just stared at him.

"Chop chop, Kaspbrak!" The boss said and walked away.

Eddie closed his eyes and cursed the man inside his mind, before he tossed the rag from his hand to the floor and got up.

He washed his hands and walked to the public side of the diner. He didn't even have to look at the table when he grabbed the tiny notepad and a pen; everything was way too unfortunately memorized inside his head.

However, he stopped as he was on the other side of the desk now, and stared at table number six.

There were four boys, most likely Eddie's age, all wearing either leather or worn out jean jackets. They had messy hair and piercings and tattoos. One even had a tiny green mohawk. They looked like they were gonna be mean– but Eddie knew he didn't really have a choice. He was gonna have to take this table.

So he breathed in and out, before making his way towards it.

"Hello," he said, and everyone at the table lifted their heads.

"About time." Said the green mohawk guy in an annoyed tone of voice, and Eddie felt his stomach turn a little.

"Now, now, Tony. Let's not be mean." Said a guy from the right side of the booth, and Eddie turned his gaze to him.

The boy had dark brown hair, a ring in the middle of his lower lip, and his other ear was pierced all the way from the lobe up to the cartilage. His eyes were green and he had long lashes; and Eddie had no idea why he was taking his looks in so detailed of a manner.

"Hey," the boy said, a flirtatious smile on his lips.

"H-Hey," Eddie blurted out, and some of the guys chuckled.

"Eddie, right?" He asked.

Eddie raised his brows.

"Huh?" He asked. How did this guy know his name?

"Eddie." The guy said again, before nodding at his shirt. "It says so in your badge." Eddie glanced down at his shirt.

"Oh." He said. "Right."

A smirk spread on the guy's face.

"Hey." He said.

"Hey." Eddie said, a little bothered and blushing lightly; the guy was straight up flirting with him, with no shame.

"So-" the guy now cleared his throat and started giving the orders, pointing each friend at the mention of their name. "Tony will get a chicken-bacon burger, Joe will get a chocolate cone, Kevin will want a..."

"Do you guys have a vegetarian option?" Said the boy in the corner. Eddie was a little surprised because this guy was bald, wearing a spiked collar and his eyebrow was pierced.

And he was a vegetarian.

"Um, yeah." Eddie said. "It's a falafel burger."

"I'll take that." The guy said and Eddie nodded, writing it on the end of the list.

"And I will take..." The green eyed boy spoke, staring at the menu. "A double cheese burger."

He was holding the menu at Eddie, waiting for him to grab it.

"With chili fries."

Eddie raised his brows.

"What?" The guy asked.

"Nothing," Eddie rushed to say and grabbed the menu from him. "Drinks?"

"Coke." They all said in unison and Eddie nodded, writing that down too.

"Got it." He said.

"Thanks, cutie." The boy said and Eddie almost dropped the menu from his hands.

"Okay..." he just mumbled and walked away, hearing some of the guys laughing again.

What the hell? He thought. Why did this random guy flirt with him? And most importantly, why was he getting all flustered?

"Hey, Eddie— good news!"

His work buddy Jenna said, grabbing Eddie by the arm.

"Remember when you did my shift last Wednesday?" She asked.

"Yeah," Eddie said.

"Well I can take yours now."

"Really?" Eddie raised a brow.

Jenna nodded.

"Yeah." She said. "What table?"

"Six," Eddie said, handing the girl his notepad.

The girl read it through fast, before nodding.

"Okay— I'll take this." She smiled. "Have a good Friday, Eddie!"

Then she took off to the kitchen. Eddie was left to stare after her a little confused; but then decided it was probably for the best.

He made his way to the changing rooms and switched back to his regular clothes, before going out through the backdoor. Maybe it was better he didn't take that table.

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