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Technically, it’s all Richie’s fault. Because Eddie was generally very responsible about himself, or at least thought he was, his heats had been exactly regular--to the day-- since he was fifteen years old, through a careful combination of birth control and careful calendar-marking. Every three months on the 8th he had a break from school and then eventually work, locked himself in his room, and handled it while getting pestered to drink more water and not get anything on the nice sheets. The first few times after they married, Myra would stay home with him, but eventually it was too much of a hassle to get off work every time, and by the end the whole thing was just a problem to deal with.
Which brings him to how literally the only person to blame is Richie, because Eddie was so thoroughly used to his own internal clock functioning that he didn’t even consider that it could be messed up, but apparently living with an unbonded alpha could do that. Especially when it was Richie, who he’d been in love with for the past 29 years, if he remembers right. He thinks he does, now.
But after it--after IT-- he had gone back to New York and talked for a long, long time with Myra. She was a beta, like his mother, she worried too much for his health, like his mother, but she’d listened to him, which his mother had never once done. Obviously coming home feeling with a stab wound in his face that had already healed itself, remembering all of his most important people that he’d lost for so long, and going, “hey I want a divorce” doesn’t go over that well, but still. She didn’t understand and there was no way for her to, but the divorce process was mostly just super boring. Halfway though he’d packed up his stuff and moved in with Richie, because who else?
Not just that Stan would totally kick him out if he showed up until Patty convinced him otherwise (Eddie should get her a gift sometime), Bev and Ben were out sailing somewhere making heart eyes at each other, and Bill and Mike were at Disneyland, probably doing the same thing if he had to guess, but that he felt like he’s lost the most time with Richie, somehow. Probably the whole loving him thing, but anyways. He knew that an alpha and omega living together, both unbonded, could mess with biology a little bit, but that was rare, and he’d sort of been too busy catching up and trying to not let his feelings get in the way to worry about that. Because they’re together, but not how he wants. Eddie cannot for the life of him figure out if Richie feels the same or if it’s just his own hopes reflecting right back at him. Sometimes, he thinks he’s right, but most of the time it just seems too good to be true.
But his hormones? They just went ahead and decided “oh, you live together and you’re in love with him and he’s an alpha? And also you keep having to awkwardly jack off in the shower like a stupid teenager because you can’t handle it, bitch? You’re gonna go into heat because you’re totally already bonded. Get fucked.” Logically he knew that his body was just doing whatever it thought it was supposed to, but that didn’t make it any more convenient.
It also might’ve been a tiny bit his fault for not picking up the signs sooner, but hey, to be fair, he wasn’t expecting it! But either way, the outcome is this: he goes into heat while watching one of Richie’s shows, in public. Great.
Why was it so hot in here? He ran through his symptoms again, knowing that it wouldn’t help anymore this time than it had the last fourteen--he hadn’t eaten anything he was allergic to and wasn’t any type of sick he could do anything about, but still. Too warm, but not a fever when he’d checked before leaving. Itchy? Maybe, there was something running underneath his skin that he couldn’t make go away no matter what he did. His head sort of hurt, but in the specific way of there being too much on the outside of it trying to get in, which sucks because he’s sitting in a bar full of laughter. And everything smells way too much. Not bad, just a lot. The fancy drink over there has cranberry juice in it, it’s going to rain later, and the alpha to right of him, her long hair brushing his shoulder, is unbonded, and he has to stop himself from leaning in towards the touch. Hey. Hey, wait a second. Itchy, headache, smell, warm --
“Shit, shit, fuck,” Eddie spits out quietly, and feels a black hole open in his abdomen, an electric shiver chase its way all the way up his spine, and himself slick. He’s in heat. Not about to go into heat, but right here, right now. He is also going to kill Richie Tozier.
Richie doesn’t get the chance to finish his joke. It’s a good bit, he’s pretty sure, about the single worst airport he’s ever been in, which was when he was flying home from Derry so his hold on reality was already kind of tenuous. But something changes and every word in his head disappears. He can’t figure it out for a second, not hearing anything, breathing deeply and scanning the room, because there’s something so familiar but also tantalizingly new. It’s only been like half a second since he stopped talking but no one else has noticed it yet, they’re all just looking at him-- oh, it’s Eddie. His eyes are zeroed in on the omega, and he’s standing up, awkwardly, rubbing at the place he should have a scar on his cheek, a nervous habit, the skin flushed. And he’s in heat. Richie’s not really super sure how he can tell, from all the way across the bar when no one else has even smelled him, but he knows.
His mind races along with his heart. Mostly it’s just Eddie, Eddie, Eds, Eddie, get him home, get him safe, outta here , dumb stuff like that, but it takes longer for him to realize that he’s right. They walked here from the apartment that’s now more their’s then his, because it’s just a show that a friend-of-a-friend asked for, so they’re lucky. But he can’t walk home by himself. Not just that he’s vulnerable--Richie is very sure that Eddie is capable of mauling literally anyone on the planet, after the whole killer clown thing. But it sort of looks like his legs are going to give out, and he’s not just going to not help.
“Huh. Okay, show’s over, super sorry, but honestly that was most of my act anyway, there was only like, one real part after this. I can come back and finish if you really want me to, but I gotta, we gotta go. Later Alligator.” He rambles, mouth running on autopilot which means just running in general. He jumps down from the stage and moves through the crowd to where Eddie’s pulling a face at him, but he can’t tell if it’s about his situation or the fact that Richie just totally ducked out of his own show. Not that he hasn’t done it before.
“Seriously? Later alligator?” He grits out, letting Richie get an arm around his shoulders without complaint, and he laughs, even when his brain is kicking into overdrive.
“Hey, it’s a classic!” They are definitely, 100% getting stared at by literally every single person in the bar, but all he’s gotta worry about is getting Eddie home. His body is way, way too warm where it’s pressed against his side and his voice is starting to strain, eyes a little cloudy, and they need to get out before he really, really goes into heat and isn’t thinking straight anymore. Haha, thinking straight.
He kicks open the back door so he can use both hands to keep Eddie on his feet, leading them out into the cool night air. It’s dark and the city seems full, lights on everywhere, a little chilly but that’s good, that’s what they need. He wishes that he could stop breathing, because every inhale means picking up more of Eddie’s heat-scent, which is like his normal scent-- cedar wood and shortbread, not really antiseptic at all, deep down--except a million times stronger, enough to make his mouth water if he thinks about it too long, which he’s not going to do because he is helping and also Eddie will strange him if he gets drool on him, heat or not.
“Hey, uh, I can always crash somewhere else if you want the apartment, or I can find a hotel,” he suggests. Stan won’t be happy about Richie just showing up, but he knows that he’d let him in just to yell at him for still not telling Eddie how he feels, but he can deal with that.
Eds breathes deeply before answering, footsteps shaky but still going. “Uh, hotel. Hotel, please.” It’s a relief he didn’t expect, because just knowing that he’s in heat in his apartment would probably actually kill him. Heat hotels, as they were informally and usually snidely called, were relatively new, from the idea that omegas should have their own space to spend their heats if they wanted, which is probably why they get mocked. He’s never been in one, obviously, but he can be sure that Eddie’ll have everything he needs. Uh, just in terms of like, water and food and things, he is very adamantly not thinking about dildos.
He untangles one arm to pull out his phone and finds the nearest one, about five blocks south, and steers them that direction. He can tell Eddie’s falling into it--he’s breathing harder, more of his weight leaning up against Richie as they stumble their way through the city streets.
“This might be easier if I just carry you. You weigh like what, 40 pounds? Easy-peasy.” He jokes, already knowing the answer.
“No fucking way, asshole. I can walk.” He spits out, and Richie’s reassured that he’s still himself enough to be angry. Still, he kind of shudders against his side, coughing, and his scent deepens enough that Richie has to physically swallow. Definitely getting worse.
For the record, he is so, so proud of himself for not having a boner right then. It’s probably more about him being in action-mode than any sort of real self control, but still. That doesn’t stop his head from swimming, though, and he’s starting to feel way too warm, too. Three more blocks.
On the edge of his awareness he knows that people are looking at them, some just rolling their eyes while others look away awkwardly, while some stare, and it’s kind of disconcerting.
Eddie’s gone mostly limp, eyes shut, just breathing, when they’re approached. Everything’s blocked out too much by the waves of his scent for Richie to tell what they are and his first fear is an alpha coming to what--challenge him or something? No fucking way, he’s seen it happen once or twice but that’s mostly with like, rednecks or super crazy wealthy kids who are out of touch with reality. His main plan is to just ignore it, some remark already on his tongue when the person speaks.
“Hey, are you okay? You know him?” They’re talking to Eddie, not him, and he stops. Beta, he processes. Checking to make sure that Richie’s not just some random guy taking advantage of him when he’s in heat, which he would never, ever do, it’s fucking sick--but they don’t know that, he reminds himself. There’s no way for a complete stranger to tell what his intentions are, besides asking. Eddie uses Richie’s shoulder to pull himself up more, nodding.
“Yeah. ‘M fine. We’re gonna hotel. He’s my, he is my…” He trails off, rubbing firm circles into his own forehead, dripping sweat now, all bright red, and Richie expects him to say “friend”, or “I know him” or literally anything along those lines. Instead, he finishes with. “He’s my something.”
What the fuck does that mean? He feels his heart stop from where it’s been in overdrive, but there’s not time to think.
“Okay, just checking. Hey, aren’t you Richie Tozier?” They ask, looking at him for the first time, and all he can do is nod.
“I’d offer to give you an autograph, but we’ve gotta get going.” And with that they’re walking again, except he’s really just kind of dragging Eddie, who’s trying his best to walk but not having a lot of success. They’re almost there, so it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. He’s startled to realize that he’s saying out loud, murmuring reassurance to Eddie when he was thinking it for himself, but now that it’s happening it’s really not going to stop.
Eddie insists on paying for his own room, slamming his credit card down on the desk of the receptionist who looks way too used to this and all but growling at Richie when he tries to argue. It’s kind of hot, but mostly just gets him to back down. He chugs two consecutive bottles of water while Richie makes sure that they’ve got the details worked out, which fortunately doesn’t take very long, because they’re in a bit of a situation. All at once, they’ve made it, and it’s time for him to go.
“Uh, just call me whenever you’re good, okay?” He suggests, feeling very awkward all of the sudden, and he nods. All he can really focus on is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, the flush across his skin, his blown pupils, his mouth, hanging open slightly to gasp in air, the way he smells, so inviting and delicious and--
He clears his throat, loudly, and backs up, because now he is definitely getting a boner and he doesn’t want to deal with that like at all, and that train of thought is too dangerous. Eds is too far into heat to know what he wants, probably.
Richie calls an uber outside of the hotel, pacing back and forth and back and forth like a tiger in a cage but feeling way less cool and powerful, mostly just horny and a little confused. He’s Eddie’s something ?
In the safety of his own apartment, Richie collapses against the inside of his front door, breathing hard. Jesus Christ. He’s got a hand down his pants before he can even think. He’s way too hard already, biting down a curse, Eddie’s scent still all over him, hanging onto his clothes, and it’s so much. He thinks about Eds in the entryway of the hotel, panting, leaking slick, out of his mind with it. He’ll be in his room by now, and he’s got two fingers inside of himself, he knows it, he knows Eddie’s too frazzled to be patient. He wouldn’t even have gotten undressed all the way, his stupid button up still on and jeans around his hips, that desperate for something inside him.
The Eddie in his imagination shifts and he tightens his grip around his cock, breathing hard. He’s on a bed now, maybe, somewhere comfortable at least, on his hands and knees with his legs spread wide, hole exposed and dripping and open and just for him. He can’t think, can’t think about anything but Eddie, so good, on his cock--
When Richie comes, he honest to god pops his knot, which hasn’t happened just from masturbating since he was a wound-up teenager. Which means that he has to just sit awkwardly with his pants kind of off until it goes down, overwhelmed.
Richie spends the next three days apologizing to the guy who asked him to do the show he walked out on, locking himself in his apartment, and jacking off a lot. Look. What else is he supposed to do? He’s been stupid in love with Eds since they were kids and he just had the guy draped all over him while in heat, he’s gotta handle that somehow.
Part of it’s just kind of a reminder of all the things he loves about him, how determined he is even if he doesn’t know it, so feisty, so dorky and funny and beautiful and perfect. Fuck. He wishes that he could’ve helped, really helped. And yeah, part of it is that he kinda wants to fuck his brains out, but it’s also that he loves him and the idea of just… being there for him, of the kind of intimacy and domesticity and regularity that it would be is also driving him crazy. He’s so fucked.
He gets a call from him three days later.
“Eds? You good?”
“Yeah. Uh, could you come get me? Also sorry you had to leave your show early,” he rushes out, like saying the words faster will make them mean any less. He winces at his voice, all raw and exhausted, and tells him he’s on his way.
He just power walks in to find Eddie in the lobby, wearing the same clothes he’d walked there in, but he’s washed them at least once, judging by the lack of scent, with dark circles under his eyes but smiling. Part of him that he hadn’t even known was worrying instantly relaxes, his shoulders dropping. He gives him a solid pat on the shoulder, not really sure if hugging him would be too much for either of them. He still kind of smells sweeter than usual, like slick, but he ignores that real hard.
“Hey. You doing okay?”
“Mostly I just really want to unconscious, but probably after that, yeah.”
His plan was to walk back to his car as fast as possible to make that happen, but it turns out that Eddie is not really moving that fast just yet, but he doesn’t know if it’s from his legs just being a little wobbly still or if he’s, if he’s sore. That’s another thing he ignores. So they hobble their way out kind of slowly, but they get there.
As they drive back to his apartment, Eddie half falling asleep and spread out enough that his elbow is digging into his shoulder, Richie decides that he cannot physically live like this anymore. He is going to have to tell Eddie how he feels or it is going to kill him.
Because he’s Richie, he lives like that for a solid two more weeks before doing anything about it. Part of it is that Eddie’s recovering--apparently a forced heat like that hits harder, even if he isn’t quite sure why his birth control would just stop working all of the sudden--, and part of it’s that he’s very, very afraid.
For now, they’re sitting together on the couch, watching a horrible high school movie and elbowing each other. His heart feels like it’s going to explode because he loves him so much. At least, that’s what he hopes that’s what that is, and not an artery problem or something.
But Richie is going to be smart about this, he’s going to do it right, which means not right now, and it will be heartfelt and not awkward and he’ll give Eds the chance to back out.
He should not say what he wants to. He should not say what he wants to. He should not say what he wants to.
“Hey, so, uh, when you were going into heat and that beta came up to us, right. You said I was your ‘something’ and I have no fucking clue what that means, so what?” He says, immediately cringing as Eddie stiffens next to him “Shit, wait, we can just--” Pretend that never happened and never, ever talk about it again, is what he’s going to say, but Eddie pauses the movie. Of course he does, he actually wants to see how it ends. He knows immediately that he’s taking this seriously, maybe in a way that Richie is not emotionally prepared for at all, from the way he keeps looking to the right of his head.
“Well, you know you mean a lot to me, Rich. And I, I.” He stops, taking a deep breath, and he thinks that he catches his eyes wander down to his lips. Holy Shit. But Eddie just stops talking, reaching an invisible roadblock inside himself. Fortunately, Richie is very, very good at filling silence.
“You know, I totally wasn’t expecting you to just go into heat like that, crazy right? I mean, you didn’t expect it either, I guess. I mean, I’m also not really an expert on heat at all. Obviously, we were in the same health class sophomore year, but Mr. Hurst sucked at his job and didn’t teach anything. I’ve been with guys in heat before though, just to help them out and stuff, you know.” Beep Beep, Richie, says the tiny Stan in the back of his brain, and he watches Eddie turn red, looking very confused, which is fair. Fuck fuck fuck, why is he talking about other omegas he’s slept with, who does that? “But it was never anyone I cared about.”
“Uh, Richie?” Eddie says, leaning forward, and he literally has to stop talking before truly outdoing himself in the stupidity department.
So he does all he can think to do and leans forward, moving into Eddie’s space, breathing him in, until their lips are only separated by a breath.
“Can I?” He whispers. Can I have this? Can I have you? Can I get the person I’ve loved so much for so long?
Eddie nods, and he’s gone.
It’s another week before they talk about mating properly. He knows that it’s fast, but considering how long they’ve been in love, he does not give a single shit. It’s a week full of a lot of kissing and a lot of talking, realizing that they should’ve had this conversation almost thirty years ago, but they’re having it now and that is so, so okay. The other losers go apeshit, basically, and there is an incredibly chaotic group facetime full of “I told you so’s” and a lot of laughter, and somehow, that’s what makes it real.
They also have only kind of had sex, just grinding and one very memorable blowjob because neither of them care to keep their hands to themselves, but not all the way. That’s for tonight, along with bonding.
They eat a nice dinner and enjoy each other’s company in front of the TV again, just talking for awhile, but the air already feels thick.
“Where do you want it?” He asks, curiosity getting the better of him, adding “the bite,” when Eddie pulls a confused face.
“My neck,” He answers instantly, looking surprised by his own certainty, and Richie nods, suddenly unable to keep his eyes off of the tan skin there, gaze heavy. There’s a fading scar on Eddie’s wrist from Myra, but it’s almost gone, now.
“You?” He asks, shifting slightly forward, and Richie can’t help but grin as he catches the faint but heady smell of slick.
“Don’t care. Wherever you feel like it.” The important part is that it’s Eds, really, so where he’s marked couldn’t matter less. “Are you wet already?”
“Shut the fuck up!” Eddie growls, crossing his arms, but there’s no denying it. He’s so fucking cute, and Richie says so, crawling across his splayed form to kiss him.
“I am literally not going to sleep with you if you keep being an ass.” He is 100% bluffing, but Richie mocks hurt anyway, doing his best/worst puppy eyes until Eddie giggles. He takes the chance to press his lips to his throat, kissing gently for a moment before letting his teeth just barely graze the skin, a promise of what’s coming. Eddie’s laughter breaks off into a gasp, and god Richie wants him so badly. He moves up to kiss him properly and deeply, licking his way in and nipping at his lip, listening as he gasps again.
“I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you,” he murmurs, not bothering to try and stop himself because he can, he’s allowed.
“I love you too, you big sap,” he laughs, and it sounds like gold. Richie wraps his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and leans back so they’re sitting up, legs all tangled and pressed close together.
“Oh, you think I’m big?” Eddie just shuts him up with another kiss and rolls his eyes. It’s easy at first, but then he shifts in Richie’s lap so that their hips are aligned, and he realizes with a thrill that he can feel a damp patch of slick in Eddie’s dumb shorts, pressed against his thigh. He can’t help but grind upward with a groan, rocking their hips together and watching his eyes go wide.
“Richie, bed,” he half-wines, and he does not need to be told twice. Eds starts to climb off of him, but Richie has a better idea, scooping him up without any grace at all, earning a loud yelp, just because he can. Eddie scrabbles at his back, cursing, until he gets his balance, but he’s laughing too, and he gets to toss him down onto the bed.
“That,” he gasps, now thoroughly red, “isn’t fair. You don’t even work out.”
“You’re just a small dude, it’s okay.” He teases and goes down after him, crawling across the bed with electricity in his veins, feeling like they’re both wearing too much clothing.
“When--When I was in heat, I thought about that. That you can pick me up.” Eddie whispers, staring up at him. Richie honest to God feels his brain short circuit, and he sort collapses the rest of the way to him.
“Oh?” he manages, very, very curious, tugging off his shirt, and they spend a moment shuffling around to get more undressed, both their shirts haphazard on the floor. He decides that Eddie has absolutely no right to be as toned as he is, even if he is very much not complaining. Richie lets his hands wander, tracing up the muscles of his abdomen, like he’s touching some holy statue, but alive and breathing and better and Eddie, and he leans into the touch with a sigh.
“Yeah, cause you made that stupid joke, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. At some point I am probably going to need you to fuck me against a wall, heads up.” Richie laughs, but he’s also kind of choking, thinking about it. It’s incredible that they’re together now, that there’s going to be next times for just about everything.
“Oh, we can do that.” Riche’s hands wander further up, tugging lightly at one nipple, and he moans, nodding urgently. He maps his way over his chest, taking his sweet time because Eddie seems really into it, and honestly, anything he enjoys, Richie will enjoy too. His chest gets all flushed, a cute pink color, nipples sensitive and perked, and he has to grind down against the bed for a moment to release some of the tension building in him. His cock is aching already, but he can wait, this is way, way more than enough. After he gets his mouth up there too, trying to work more noises, high, keening and sweet, out of him, Eds pushes on the top of his head, mumbling something unintelligible, but it’s clear he wants more.
Richie scooches back, fiddling with his belt, his too-eager hands clumsy, but he gets it eventually, pulling off his pants and boxers, and Eds, all spread out in front of him, has his head back, chest rising and falling in a rapid rhythm. Richie undresses all the way too, settling himself more comfortably between his spread thighs and giving himself a moment. Holy shit, this is really happening. Wow.
“Richie, I swear to God if you keep just sitting there like an idiot instead of touching me I’m gonna lose it.” Eddie sits up, glaring, but it’s less effective considering that he’s still dripping a little bit of slick out onto the sheets.
“‘M sorry, I’m on it.” Or, really, more like in it, because he presses a finger to the edge of Eds’ entrance, circling once before pressing in, and he moans, loud.
“Jesus, you’re so open already, huh? You’re gonna make a mess of the bed.” He’s not really thinking about what he’s saying at all, just whatever thought first pops into his head (pretty standard), but he’s pleased to see that Eddie’s clearly enjoying it, shoving down further onto his finger with another gush of slick.
“I’ll--I’ll take the laundry shift tomorrow,” He bites back, voice shaking. “Come on, wanna feel you. I didn’t wait this long for you to take forever.”
Richie obliges happily, adding another finger easily, scissoring them slightly before curling, fucking him slowly with his hand until--there. Eddie freezes up and then whines, legs curling up around Richie’s waist to try and bring him closer. Bingo. He adds a third finger just for good measure, shifting so he can tug at his own cock with the other hand. The knot at the base is just barely there already, but he’s harder than he’s ever been.
He tugs his fingers out slowly, watching as his hole flutters around his finger tips, the slick dripping almost all the way down to his palm, he’s so soaked. Entranced, Richie lifts his hand, distantly hearing Eds gasp as he puts ones finger in his mouth, getting as much of him as he can. It mostly tastes like nothing, but around the edges there’s the sweet brightness of Eddie, so it’s more good than bad. There’s a burning in the pit of his belly now, all of him wrapped up in this, their scents mixing together. Reminding himself that they’ll have plenty of time later, he resists the urge to eat him out right there, because tonight they have a goal. He looks up at him as he cleans off the rest of his fingers, smiling around them as he gapes.
“That’s…” he looks like he can’t decide if it’s disgusting or the fantastic, so Richie decides for him.
“The hottest thing you’ve ever seen?” He waggles his eyebrows and gets kicked in the side, even if it’s really just more of a light tap and a breathy sigh. But Eddie Richie lean up and pull him into a sloppy kiss, even moaning into it at the taste of is own slick on his tongue, and he’s dizzy with it. “You ready?”
Eddie looks like he’s going to say something snide, but then just nods, smiling softly up at him. “Can we stay like this? I want to be able to look at you.”
“That sounds perfect.” He shifts himself forward so that they’re closer together, bracing himself on either side of Eddie’s torso as the other man wraps his arms around the back of his neck, and starts pushing in. He goes slowly, half because he doesn’t want to hurt him and half because he’s super overwhelmed by the tight, wet heat all around him. He bottoms out, finally, hips pressed all the way up, Eddie’s legs lifted up to make it work, and he lets out a woosh of breath he hadn’t known he was holding.
“You good?” Moving isn’t really an option until he’s sure, even though every single part of him is demanding it, telling him to let go and wreck him.
“Yes, yes, super fucking good, more than good, literally incredible.” He’s doing the thing where he talks so fast it’s hard to keep up, but Richie’s had plenty of practice. His voice is raw, though, which is new and wonderful. “I would be even better if you started moving, though.” Yeah, yeah, he can do that.
Richie pulls out almost all the way and drives back in, groaning at the sensation as Eds gives half a shout, gasping in ir. He gets a rhythm going, rocking forward into the easy give of his body as Eddie’s hands wander of his back, holding on tight.
“Oh, oh, Jesus, Richie, yes, yes, can’t wait for you to claim me,” he babbles in between whines, rocking himself down against his cock. “Gonna be yours.” Richie can’t help but moan at that, driving in deeper.
“Gonna be so good. Gonna bite you, mark you, make you mine while you’re on my knot, you want that? Want my knot?” He shifts so that Eddie’s a little more above him so that he can slam into his prostate, knowing he’s done it when he lets out a choked-off moan, nails scrabbling down his back. It stings, but he can’t really give a shit about anything but Eddie, making Eddie feel good, making him know he’s loved. All he manages is a jumbled mess of yes’s and please’s, throwing his head back against the pillow.
It’s an invitation, baring the empty skin of his beautiful throat. But not yet, not yet, just a little longer. He uses one hand to reach down and start jerking him off, his flushed cock leaking along with his hole, and Eddie isn’t even saying words anymore, just making sweet, sweet noises. He can feel his knot starting to swell at the base, not pushing in yet, and knows that they’re both close.
“Gonna knot you soon, Eds, gonna fill you up all the way and keep you there, stuck on my cock, just how you want.” He’s ramming into him as hard as he can now, making him shake with every touch to his prostate, eyes locked on his.
“Rich--” Eddie starts, but he doesn’t finish. He tightens instead, making a high pitched, wavering noise, eyes closing and body tightening as he comes. Fuck fuck fuck he’s so beautiful, smells so good, so tight around him--Eddie’s teeth sink into his shoulder, the first half of their bond, and Richie makes a noise he didn’t know he could make, somewhere between an actual growl and the word “fuck”.
It’s just a few more thrusts, Eds tightening around him, still making little ah, ah, ah noises with each one, before before Richie comes too. He lifts Eddie up again and drives his knot in, all the way, as it expands and he comes deep inside of him, pressing their bodies as tightly possible as he can. With stars behind his eyes, he marks Eddie too, baring his teeth into his neck in something animal and wild.
It takes him a second to be fully conscious again, but when he’s aware, the first thing he notices is Eddie poking him in the side.
“Richie, you’re still biting me, dude.” Wow, he really is. He unclamps his teeth from a wound that looks like it actually really, really hurts, just to find a bit of blood trickling from his own shoulder when he pulls back. They both try to apologize at the same time, but that just leads to a half-delirious fit of giggles from two middle-aged men. Carefully, he maneuvers them so that they’re both on their sides and he’s not crushing the love of his life--and his new bondmate.
“Well,” says Eddie, sounding just as dazed as he feels. “That’s definitely the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had in my entire life, so thanks for that.” Richie snorts.
“Anytime. And when I say anytime, I mean that-- I could literally be defusing a bomb or something and you could ask me to eat you out and I would, right there. The bomb can wait.” Eddie doesn’t hide his smile, even if it’s accompanied with a light punch to his shoulder.
“I’m not going to worry about that because I know that literally not a single person on the planet would let you anywhere near a bomb, dumbass.”
They lapse into peaceful silence for awhile, just staying in each other’s company. In a half hour or so when his knot goes down he should go get them both some water and maybe get them into a bath, and tomorrow really is going to be a hell of laundry day, with the amount of slick, come, and now blood on the sheets, but for now, he’s going to take a nap with his new bondmate.
“Love you, Eddie Spaghetti,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss him on the nose.
“I love you too, Richie.” Eddie gives a proper kiss and doesn’t correct the nickname.