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stellarbisexual · 6 years

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Prompt: Secret Lovers

This one’s for @reddieforlove--a belated bday present!

prompt: You know what? I want a really good secret relationship fic. Where they're keeping it a secret because they want to enjoy it just for themselves because they want to enjoy it without having to worry about what anyone else thinks for at least a little while.

HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY!

Reddie / IT fandom

Richie’s sprawled on Mike’s couch trying to not look at his watch every five seconds, leg bouncing, one hand buried in his hair where it’s nice and thick at the back of his head. It’s their first summer back from college, and now that Eddie’s finally home--the seventh piece of the puzzle--they’re having a Losers reunion on the Hanlons’ farm.

Except Eddie’s the last one to arrive tonight, by far, nearly an hour after everyone else had agreed to show up. The others don’t seem to mind, popping popcorn on the stovetop, catching up, drinking beer, laughing all loud like there isn’t a big gaping hole in the room.

“Richie,” Stan starts, his tone mostly teasing with an almost imperceptible hint of genuine worry underneath. “Who should we thank for you being so quiet tonight?”

Just when Richie’s about to reply with one of the usual retorts in his arsenal (Your grandma, she really wore me out last night--who knew I could shoot my wad with Alex Trebek on in the background?), there’s a soft knock on the door. Richie sits up straight as a pool cue, palms slightly sweaty as they rub against the thighs of his jeans.

Mike does a quick little jog down the front hall that feels like an eternity to Richie, voice full of joy as he pulls the door open and shouts, “Damn, Eddie, looking good!”

Richie leans sideways to catch a sliver of Mike lifting Eddie clean off his feet and spinning him through the archway, a flash of blue shirt and wavy brown hair. His heart’s in his throat. He lingers in the living room as the others pull Eddie into the kitchen, checking his own hair in the glass covering one of the portraits hanging on the wall.

Eddie spots him as he appears in the kitchen doorway, shooting him a secret little smile and wave before Ben lifts him off his feet too. “I’m gonna puke, between the two of you,” he says, laughing as he settles back onto the floor, righting his shirt--it’s light blue, sleeveless, and his shorts are a light wash denim, cutoffs, definitely new and definitely not Eddie’s typical summer wear, just short enough to not be an accident.

The others watch as Richie steps into the room, schooling his expression and keeping his eyes above Eddie’s neck as he musses his hair. “Still waiting on that growth spurt, huh, Spaghetti Man?”

“Fuck off,” Eddie says, pulling him in by the back of the neck for a hug, forcing Richie to fold over rather than getting on his toes. Bev lifts an eyebrow at him over Eddie’s shoulder, and he sticks his tongue out at her.

The last time they saw each other was four months ago over winter break. Richie’d snuck Eddie in through the back door of his parents’ house, and they’d made out against the kitchen counter for nearly fifteen minutes before Richie’d urged Eddie upstairs in fear of his father, the light sleeper. They’d synchronized steps up to Richie’s bedroom and picked up where they’d left off on Richie’s bed, Richie shushing Eddie’s little moans and whispering, “I’m gonna miss you so fucking much, Eds” between kisses.

They’d spent at least half the week avoiding their five closest friends in favor of sneaking off to neighboring towns some thirty or forty minutes away just to have some privacy. They’d gone out on a proper date in Bar Harbor, dinner and dessert, Eddie’s foot nudging up against his ankle under the table where no one could see. They’d gone for ice cream in Blue Hill, the owners looking at them like they were insane for even being there in the middle of January. They’d sat in the empty balcony of an old movie theater in Bangor, too, Richie trying to shove peanut M&Ms into his mouth and watch Houseguest at the same time--and absolutely failing at either once Eddie’d leaned in and whispered, “I didn’t think you wanted to actually watch the movie,” then started mouthing at the side of his neck. Richie’d struggled with the arm between their seats before shoving it roughly up and out of the way--and knocking all of his M&Ms onto the floor, plinking and rolling everywhere. Eddie’d collapsed into Richie’s lap, one hand clamped over his mouth as he cackled uncontrollably, the other patrons down below shushing them.

Richie hadn’t even been that upset about the candy. He’d just pulled Eddie into his lap and dipped him over the other seat arm and planted one on him to shut him up--and because he was so fucking in love he couldn’t see straight. He’d said as much, whispered it right into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie’d shot back, “No shit, Sherlock,” and flicked one of the lenses of his glasses.

The sneaking around had actually been Richie’s idea, not because he’s scared of what their friends will think; he knows they’ll be supportive as hell, and Bev and Stan know he’s been in love with Eddie since they were practically babies. He’s just waited for this to happen for so fucking long that he just wants it to be theirs for a while, wants them to have the space to learn each other without their friends teasing or asking questions about their relationship.

Eddie’d agreed, albeit somewhat begrudgingly. His first year of college had been transformative; he’d come out and dated no less than three guys within his first semester at NYU, before Richie’d blurted a drunken confession during one of their late night phone calls. He’s eager to be out and proud in every way, including with Richie.

But it’s both his and Eddie’s first real relationship, and the first one Richie’s genuinely given a shit about. The last thing he wants to do is fuck it up before it’s even begun.

They’d kept it going long distance--cross-country--through the spring semester, the two of them managing to not slip up in the Lucky Seven AOL chat room.

So now here they are, dancing around each other in front of their friends and trying to pretend like they haven’t been whispering laundry lists of what they love about each other between bouts of phone sex since the winter.

They’re having an 80s movie marathon to relive their youth, as Ben had put it, and they’re only fifteen minutes into Pretty in Pink when Richie completely loses interest. Eddie’s sitting dutifully across the room from him, sprawled over one of the big cushy side chairs, shorts riding up high on his tawny thighs, legs rubbing together absently as he picks through his curls with his thumb and index finger, eyes trained on the screen.

Because they haven’t been able to visit each other since winter break, they haven’t gone any further than making out. They’ve talked about it a lot, all the fucking time, actually, Eddie sweet and kind of shy about it but so eager and curious over the phone, whispering his fantasies to Richie’s open ear. Richie hasn’t done more with guys than give a couple of random handjobs at summer camp, so he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, either, but he wants to know, he really, really wants.

He feels kind of guilty for thinking it, but it’s a fucking shame that their first time seeing each other in months is with the others there.

He zeroes in on Eddie’s thighs from across the room, picturing how big his hands would look spread over them, holding them, his fingers pale against Eddie’s bronzed skin. It’s something he’s thought about since high school, and now that it’s actually a possibility, it’s all he can think about.

“I gotta pee,” he stage whispers, shuffling quickly out of the room and blindly making his way to the tiny half-bath near the den at the back of the house. He shuts the door behind him and splashes cold water on his face, wondering if it’d be any easier if they were open about what they were, if it’d take the edge off if he at least got to cuddle with Eddie on the sofa. “Nope,” he decides quietly under his breath, followed by a litany of Think unsexy thoughts a la Homer Simpson.

After a couple of minutes pass, there are soft footsteps and an even softer knock on the door. He turns, pulling it open to find a smirking Eddie on the other side.

“Eds, wh--”

Eddie holds a finger up to his mouth and slips inside the bathroom, closing the door behind them and locking it. Richie stands there dumbfounded, as Eddie takes his hands and plants them on his hips. “Hi,” he whispers, hands crawling up the open halves of Richie’s overshirt.

Richie whines a little before crowding him against the door and kissing him, slow and open-mouthed, Eddie’s clever little tongue slipping out to lick inside, wrists draping loosely over Richie’s shoulders, hands in his hair. Richie’s head is positively buzzing. There’s no way he’s ever making it out of this bathroom, not anytime soon.

He pulls away to take in a deep breath, hands wandering lower, over the rips in Eddie’s shorts, fingertips glancing over that warm skin. “Jeee-sus, Mary, and Joseph, look at how good you look.”

Eddie scrapes his teeth over Richie’s bottom lip, tugging on the hair at his nape. “I like your hair,” he says, referring to the purple Manic Panic Richie’d put in it earlier this week. “Been wanting to get my hands in it since I saw you.”

“Eddie,” he says, feeling helpless, before gripping the backs of his thighs and lifting him off the floor, carrying him to the edge of the sink and sitting him there. Eddie wraps his legs around his lower back to pull him in even closer, mouth lush as it sucks at the skin under Richie’s ear. Richie’s eyes land on their reflection in the bathroom mirror, and he watches his own hand palm one of Eddie’s thick, gorgeous thighs, hiking it higher on his own waist. “Shit. I’m already two seconds away from coming in my pants,” he confesses.

Eddie lets out a triumphant little giggle, his breath tickling Richie’s neck, his teeth a flash of white in their reflection. Richie sees his hand sneak down before he feels it gripping the outline of his hard dick over his jeans. His nails dig into Eddie’s thighs. He’s going to explode, right here and now.

“Can’t we tell them? I can’t stand being in the same room as you and not being able to touch you.” Eddie punctuates his little plea with a squeeze of that hand, and Richie shivers.

“I mean,” he says, swallowing, raising an eyebrow at Eddie. “I don’t think the others would appreciate it if--”

“You know what I mean.” Eddie kisses the sharp corner of his jaw.

Richie takes his hand and gently removes it from his crotch, kissing his palm. “You can touch me in front of them. What do you think we did before this happened? For years, Eds.”

“But I can’t kiss you,” Eddie murmurs. “I want to kiss you.”

Richie spouts a string of quiet gibberish as Eddie opens his mouth against his neck again, sucking that spot right near his Adam’s apple that makes him fucking crazy. Being able to watch it happen right in front of him is somehow even better than how it feels.

He digs deep to find the strength to urge Eddie away from his neck and kisses him sweetly on the mouth. When he pulls away, Eddie’s eyes are still half-closed and his mouth half-open. “You might actually kill me tonight.” Eddie smiles, looking pleased with himself. “How ‘bout this? We leave early, like after the first movie. I’ll say I’m not feeling well--jet lag or whatever--and you offer to take me home. We go back to my parents’ house,” he whispers, caressing Eddie’s thighs, “and I finally get to tear these fucking shorts off with my teeth. Deal?”

“‘Kay,” Eddie agrees easily, giving Richie one more penetrating kiss before sliding off of the edge of the sink, creating a mind melting bit of friction between them. “I’ll go first. I was only supposed to be getting a glass of water.” He pecks Richie’s collarbone, whispers a quick, “Love you,” and slips back out of the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him and leaving Richie staring at his own wrecked reflection in the mirror. He splashes another round of cold water on his face.

By the time he walks back into the living room, Eddie’s halfway done with his water and Blaine and Andy are at the rich kids’ party. Richie settles back onto the couch, their friends seemingly none the wiser--until he pops open a can of Sprite and Stan announces dryly, “We know you’re dating, morons.”

permatag list: @reddie-to-fight @hurleyhugo @raspberrywind @losver-kaspbrak @lilgeorgie @geckolover001 @its-stranger-than-you-think @gazebo-motherfucker @waypunsarelife @reddietofall @happytozier @librablossom @aesteddie @tapetayloe@spagheddi-kaspbrak @sadhelianthus @adhdtozier @justcallme-trashmouth @fuckboyrichie @thetheatregal @bandaids @20gayteeneds @richietoaster @burymestanding @reddiepop@notsugarandspice @peniswises

#reddie #prompts #mah fic #it 2017 #it 1990 #stephen king's it

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