❦♰❀ reddie smut ☿✿☆

16. any way you want it

by: anon
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Post-Derry, Richie revels in simple domesticity.

He never really thought he was that kind of person. Not that he's been much of a partier for many years, but for a long time he was a bachelor mainly by choice, and people he slept with were unceremoniously invited to leave in the morning before breakfast, and evenings he could have spent meeting people or developing relationships were instead spent eating takeout in his boxers and getting crumbs all over the couch. Domestic shit just never really appealed to him.

But he likes it, now. After all that shit with the clown and almost dying, he has a slightly different perspective on life, and with Eddie in his house and in his life he's come to appreciate all that boring, cheesy shit. Making food together and watching TV without even fucking and falling asleep on the couch and Eddie kissing his forehead when he gets home from work. It's cute as shit and Richie wonders why he never wanted it before he had it.

He likes mornings, now, too. Well, likes them more. Anytime he has to be awake before 9 is terrible but like. He can appreciate aspects of it. Kissing the nape of Eddie's neck while he's still dozing and grumbling in bed, and bumping his hip against Eddie's as they brush their teeth at the same time. Eddie is grumpy as shit in the morning, especially on weekdays, and Richie kind of loves it. Fucking cute.

Eddie is grumpy as shit in the morning, and yet when Richie has to get up stupidly early (7am) on a Saturday to go to a meeting, Eddie wakes up with him, makes Richie actually get up quickly enough that he won't have to rush out the door, takes a shower while Richie is at the table, lazily eating cereal. He's still there, scrolling through his phone idly, when Eddie pads into the kitchen on bare feet, damp and warm. He kisses the top of Richie's head, and then stands directly next to Richie at the table, fiddling with Richie's cereal box. Richie hums and reaches out to run a hand up the inside of Eddie's leg, nails scraping very gently over warm skin. Eddie shivers, and Richie smiles at his phone.

Neither of them moves for a minute, Richie reading an article on his phone, Eddie doing—something, Richie honestly has no clue. He doesn't even look up until Eddie clears his throat pointedly.

Eddie is still standing at the table, picking at the label on the milk jug. His damp hair is combed back neatly and he's wearing an old shirt and his red shorts. "Oh," Richie says, a grin spreading over his face. "You're wearing your fuck-me shorts."

Eddie coughs out a laugh and doesn't move. "They're only fuck-me shorts because they work."

Richie hums and looks at his phone. "How much time do we have?"

"Twenty minutes, if you shower quick after."

"I can make it work."

Eddie hums, and tries to look casual as he braces his hands against the table.

"Eddie, baby," Richie sighs. "You are the love of my life."

"Mhmm," Eddie says, and Richie sees the edge of his smile before he leans in to press a kiss to the curve of his ass through his shorts.

It makes Eddie breathe out a tiny sigh, so Richie slides his hand up Eddie's thigh, under the hem of his shorts, rubs his thumb over the crease where his ass meets his thigh. Eddie hums and presses back into it, and Richie smiles, does it again, and then pushes his hand farther up into his shorts to palm his ass, squeezing gently.

"Rich," Eddie mutters, eyes closed.

"What?" Richie says innocently, leaning in to pull up the hem of his shorts to kiss him there, slow and wet.