❦♰❀ reddie smut ☿✿☆

80. i've been running hot

by: thewordsleep

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Richie's hand slides up Eddie's thigh during the scene about the three seashells.

"This guy's never used the three seashells...!"

"But how do they work?" Mike asks, and flings an m&m at the TV. "Fucking. How?"

Richie shifts again, his hips pushing up under Eddie's for the hundredth time since the movie started, but he just can't help it. He's been rocking a semi since they got here, and especially since he pulled Eddie down with him onto Georgie's purple beanbag. Eddie's legs spread akimbo over Richie's with a thick wool blanket draped over them both by Bev.

The others are sprawled out around them, actually watching Demolition Man. The sound coming out loud from Bill's parents' forty-by-forty inch screen, and the dark room lighting up with each flash. Bill sits squished between Bev and Stan on the couch, a knit blanket thrown on the three of them, and Ben and Mike sit on the floor in front, close to the TV and sharing m&ms.

And it's not the movie's fault--Richie loves this movie, ok? But, he's just not in the mood to watch it right now. Not when he's got Eddie's ass nestled nicely in his lap, his bare, slender leg falling between Richie's (because Eddie's wardrobe is full of shorts for every season, apparently) as he tries but-not-really to squirm away from Richie's touch.

Every now and then when the TV goes bright and lights up the room in blue, Richie can see the red flush on Eddie's neck and cheeks, and notes the way his fingers dig into his knees over the blanket whenever Richie touches him.

"We can't," Eddie whispers to him during a talky scene. Richie watches, almost hypnotized, as Eddie gnaws on his bottom lip, conflicted. "We shouldn't."

Richie counters that by clutching Eddie's small hips tightly and bucking up against him. Because they really fucking can.

"Richie, qui-quit it, we can't," Eddie says again, flustered as he turns to whisper harshly into Richie's ear, his breath hot and uneven, "the movie, concentrate on the movie."

Richie bucks again, his boner pressing insistently against the seam of his jeans and to the back of Eddie's ass. "I've gotta-just, c'mon Eds, " he begs helplessly in a breathy voice, his hips moving more rhythmically now. "Can't we just..."

"No."

"Shh!" Ben says distractedly from across the room, not bothering to look over his shoulder.

Richie presses his mouth flat but glares over at Ben, before huffing and sliding his hand up dangerously high on Eddie's inner thigh. The movement goes completely unseen beneath the blanket.

Eddie's lip slips out from between his teeth, shiny and bitten raw, as he practically convulses when Richie cups him through his loose shorts.

"Richie..."

"No, nuh-uh, shh," Richie murmurs quietly to the side of Eddie's neck, his breath unsteady as he feels Eddie swallow, "let me, let me, Eds."

He clasps a hand down firmly on Eddie's thigh, to which Eddie lets out a short gasp and stills. He glances quickly around the room, but pushes back when Richie urges him to. The TV booms loudly at just the right moment, covering Eddie's choked off moan.

With his other hand, Richie reaches down between them to quickly undo his own fly.

"Fuck, fuck," Eddie breathes out with a little frown when he realizes what Richie's doing.