Closed Starter @disastri – bolded prompt from here
Eddie could feel the sigh about to give way standing here listening to Richie once again try and convince him to do something that went against his very nature. “Richie, I’m old as fuck why in sweet hell would I ever want to do what you are suggesting?” he questioned looking at his long-time friend, it was crazy to even listen to half the things anyone from the loser’s club even attempted to suggest anymore after their last adventure. “Nope, I’m not doing this, find someone else, maybe Bev is around and doesn’t mind going on a hair-brained scheme with you but I’ve got work to do.”
@inhaledlies ; left a voicemail ⸻ KISSES FROM RICHIE!!!???? 🥺🥺
→ kisses ? kisses
BULLSHIT. THE WHOLE GODDAMN SITUATION WAS BULLSHIT. And yet, instead of doing the logical thing and being on his way back to Chicago, he was still there, stuck in his cursed hometown, wasn’t he ? He could have blamed his staying on the alcohol, especially knowing how heavily he had been relying on such in the last handful of years, however truth to be told he could barely feel the buzz of what he had been drinking. He could pretend, of course he could, and he would have done it if it wasn’t that he had never been the best liar, he could fool people that didn’t know him, but that wasn’t the case.
There was a nervous energy crawling under his skin, uncomfortable didn’t even being to describe it, as if every fiber of his being was fighting against the urge to leave, while he was riding an elevator that seemed to go far too slow for his own liking. His own room, that was supposed to be his current destination, and yet his finger had jammed the button to a different floor level.
One knock. two knocks, three knocks, the last one almost having a certain urgency behind it. It was the fourth one that landed on thin air when the door was suddenly opened. A greeting should have been followed, the least he could do at the middle of the night, and yet, nothing came out from his mouth when dark brown hues met the familiar ones of the other. All that nervous energy buzzing inside of him broke free, the last few string that kept him collected snapping. His hands reached up, cupping his face and pulling him in, his mouth capturing Eddie’s.
A resemble of a kiss that only lasted seconds. Not enough time. But Richie still pulled back, lips pressing against the corner of Eddie’s mouth. ❝ This is bullshit. ❞ Muttered words, as his head dropped onto the shorter man’s shoulder, his hands following suit, only for them to not stray that far, fingers closing around the material of his shirt. It was absolutely hilarious the way that despite everything, there was still a sense of ease that the other brought to his mind with just his presence.
[ TAUNT ] : sender is taunting receiver, slowly moving in closer to their lips with no intention of kissing them, to see how far they’re willing to go. ft. @finalhorrors
you could scream right now. scream and shrivel up and fucking die right on the spot, and there’s a brief thought that you’re pretty sure you just tapped into eddie fucking kaspbrak’s train wreck of a mind, but who cares! you’ve realized, way too late, that you’ve gotten a little too comfortable with talking about thoughts you’ve had around stan now that your sexuality is out in the open. thanks, you fucking big mouth, drunk idiot!
like now, the words coming out of you like a goddamn fire hydrant that’s exploded and flooded the streets. you don’t even know how the conversation got started, your mind basically a haze from the marijuana, but what you do know is that you’ve admitted to every fucking fleeting crush you’ve ever had on practically every member of your friend group.
stan thinks it’s hilarious. so hilarious, in fact, he’s decided to test the waters to see if there’s anything there for him. there wasn’t, not really. stan’s always just been your best friend, but he’s invading your space and looking at you like that, and jesus fucking christ, your heart is actually in your throat, right? you shouldn’t be feeling it so strongly there!
“ goddamn you, stan, “ you breath out before you lean forward and press a kiss to his lips. it’s quick in the execution, just to show him that he started a fucking game that you weren’t going to lose, and your hands press into his shoulders to shove him away from you after. “ i don’t fucking lose games of chicken, asshole. “
Eddie's turning forty, goddammit. There's no letter to Santa; no hints, carefully inserted into conversation, to fall on Mommy's deaf ears.
He's gonna buy the fucking Nintendo himself.
And so he does his homework. He spends a few weeks researching serial numbers and variations, watching reviews on YouTube and gaining something of a reputation on /r/retrogaming, until he narrows it down to an '86 original in VG condition being sold by a dealer in Williamsburg.
He leaves early from work to pick it up, pays with his business expense credit card, and mentions none of it to Myra.
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Complete contents of Eddie Kaspbrak's 10 ft. x 12 ft. rental storage unit, as follows: four boxes of clothing (work); three boxes of clothing (casual); one box of shoes (misc.); sixteen bagged designer suits; three boxes of documents, paperwork, and bills (2010-2015); two boxes of income tax filings (1998-2015); two boxes of books; two boxes of assorted personal items; one box labeled BUTT PLUGS! and another labeled MORE BUTT PLUGS! in Richie's chicken scratch handwriting, which Eddie knows are actually his Blu-ray collection; and one box containing the Nintendo, along with eight game cartridges, still pristine in their shrink-wrap packaging.
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"Boom! That's what you get, Kaspbrak!" Richie crows. "I'll take my winnings in non-sequential blowjobs of varying denominations."
There's a smudge on his glasses – grease from the pepperoni pizza they'd split right there in the living room – and his hair is an even wilder mess than usual, but he's flushed and happy and alive in the blue-green television glow, and fuck if Eddie's heart doesn't threaten to swell right out of his goddamned aching, still-healing chest.
Eddie glares at him, taking a swig of beer. "Fuck off, we're going best of seven."
"That's like the tenth time you've changed the rules. If you weren't the birthday boy I might just have to—holy shit, right out of the gate with a triple-hit, I'm on fucking fire..."
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