#I love Eddie so much but as a boyfriend he’s objectively insane

[weewoo911]

If there is an Eddie/Marisol breakup on the horizon I would find it hilarious if after the moving in fiasco Eddie overcorrects in the opposite direction and gets dumped for it

Eddie: You told me to consider slowing down! Things were going too fast..

Bobby: And so what did you decide to do 🤨

Eddie: I may have gotten a teeny… tiny… vasectomy

Bobby:

Eddie: … without telling her

Bobby: no yeah I got that part

[brickstick3000]

yesyesyes

sub!male reader x Eddie Munson

reader is at Eddie's place to smoke when Eddie isn't home (he's allowed to), he gets excited from smelling Ed's pillows and tries to get off quickly, Eddie comes home and smut ensues-

A classic!!! I can't wait to write this anon, thank you, good sir.

❧✎High on you

Dom!Eddie Munson × Sub!male reader

⚠️CW: 18+ | drug use⚠️

Clouds of aromatic white dispersed across the room; hazy and weightless, just as Y/n himself felt. Lying there, slewn across that familiar and rickety sofa with a slouch in his posture- the man inhaled deeply every fume he could catch beneath his nose.

Damn, that weed was good. And even better to smoke it in the confines of Munson's tiny caravan.

Eddie would be back soon, Y/n took a mental note, reminding himself that the campaign session was due to end in a half hour.

'Unless Munson gets caught up in his little Wizard world again...'

With a lazy wrist, the man brought his spliff higher, placing it between parted lips and inhaling. There's a crackling of plants... the aroma of some deep, and indulgent mixture filling his lungs once more... Y/n's eyes defocus.

After having been trapped in a trance for an indiscernable stretch of time, he rose from the sofa, bored of Eddie's living room now and wandering languidly through the vehicle. Y/n's fingers dragged across all the different counter tops and several cupboards above his head, making his way through the stretching and warping hallway. How many steps did it usually take? Wow, this caravan was super long...

And finally, there was Munson's door. So inviting, calling to him---

Y/n entered, leaving the door open a crack before exploring this new-found haven. Deep down, he'd hoped to see Eddie's face behind that shield of wood, but the man knew that if he had, he'd be going insane.

Roaming around Eddie's room in this state  added something intriguing to the experience. It was more... adventurous without Munson there, and everything that caught his eye had a new character about it: as though he could feel his boyfriend's presence held with all of those objects.

Then Y/n took halt once something red and very glamorous caught his eye.

Eddie's infamous 'one true love' hung proudly on his wall.

Countless of times before he'd been warned not to touch, and never had he disobeyed once. But surely no one would notice. Right?

"Ah, so sorry I ain't Eddie, sweetheart," Y/n chuckled, kissing his hand and strumming the guitar... just as his boyfriend does. Every. Day. "He'll be back soon...

That idiot."

Shaking his head to himself, and feeling quite mischievous now, Y/n continued to float around the room, ogling at random trinkets and posters, and making sure to memorize everything before the tour ended.

Sooner or later, Y/n had collapsed against Eddie's sheets.

So snug and welcoming- the mattress hugged his form softly, just as Munson would when laying there together.

Y/n drew another short drag of his joint  before finally stubbing it out against the head board.

Yep, Eddie taught him that move too.

The joint was flicked to the side, hopefully having landed somewhere he would be able to recover it, and Y/n hummed into the air.

More silence...

More sluggish...

Staring into the soft yellow hue that kept the room warm and peaceful. Where was Eddie when he really needed him?

Then, Y/n rolled over- stretching out flat across the bed as he sighed into crumpled up sheets.

'So lonely here...'

By now, he was drifting in and out of sleep, the evening quiet taking a toll on him. Lulling away into nothingness.

Tranquillity...

When all of a sudden,

Y/n took in a profound breath of air.

With one eye smushed into the pillow and his other droopily lifted open, he's now staring into the blur of Eddie's room.

Oh. That smelled really fucking good.

Whether he had meant to or not, the man had already inhaled more of that intoxicating smell, and extracted a much lewder sound from his throat. Y/n man was quite literally turned red on that mattress with the shock of his distorted breathing.

"What the fuck did you put in your hair, Munson?" He murmured, dragging his drunken face flat into the pillow now, and moving to grip the surrounding material.

Something amazing, that was for sure.

His weak knuckles kneaded into the sheets- flexing, relaxing, trying to pre-occupy themselves as Eddie's aroma worked him over like a fucking aphrodisiac.

With another elongated breath in, Y/n broke into a full moan.

"Oh my god."

Whatever was happening now had most definitely everything to do with that weed. Did Eddie put something weird in it? Or was Y/n just losing his goddamn mind?

'Lord, help me,' was the last coherent thought he had that night: those soft sheets, which tightened up below his crotch, being the thing setting him on his joy ride of bliss.

☆

Y/n's wrist was alive: griping at his raging boner as Eddie's rustic smell took control. He rutted violently into those sheets. No dignity at all- morals and reason having completely vanished.

"God, Eddie, please." He groaned, being choked with more of Munson's drug at each sigh and wheeze.

It wasn't enough. Y/n needed more.

In a flash, he'd discarded those awfully tight pants and was rubbing impatiently against a length of straining material. Every part of Y/n's body felt ablaze. Thighs, forehead, chest: all itching with a flame of passion.

"Shit, aha-" he choked on the dampness of Eddie's pillow- unable to breath anymore with all that adrenaline, and flipped himself over.

The cold had Y/n gasping.

And he couldn't stop. His body on full autopilot as whimpers escaped every which way; Y/n's fist had finally breached any fabric that still stood in the way. Alas, his cock was free, springing up right before his hazy and hungry eyes...

...but also Eddie's.

Everything froze. Both of them halted in awe, and staring an unreadable gaze.

Y/n- struggling to conceal his panting- was the first to speak.

"Jesus, Eddie, I am so sorry." His words came out like a slur of hormones and utter garble.

"What the hell got you in such a state?" Munson chuckled, finally, throwing his bag to one side and stalking forward. "Surely a bit of weed can't make you this horny, Y/n. Or did you take something else?"

Sadly, he had nothing to say. Any response would worse than his current situation, and so Y/n just lay there with a hand still shamelessly wrapped around his dick.

Sighing, Munson finally made it onto the bed. He leaned closer, hovering over his boyfriend to brush the loose strands of hair from his face. All kinds of intoxicated thoughts could be seen whizzing behind those distant eyes, and Eddie couldn't gauge even one.

"I couldn't wait to get back to you tonight, baby." He smiled fondly, raking gentle fingers through the other's hair. "But I've gotta be honest, this was the last thing I expected." He leaned down to place a kiss on Y/n's lips.

"Sorry I took so long."

"Eddie, you don't gotta apolo-"

"Don't worry. I'm more sorry for myself than anything," chuckling (with those perfect creases lighting up his eyes) Eddie pulled their mouths together- tongues already dancing a passionate waltz as his calloused palms began to grope across Y/n's chest.

Teeth dragged against skin as his warm hands massaged over Y/n's nipples and pressed a gentle caress over his torso. Easy going. Almost perfect...

But Y/n needed something more.

As Munson's fingers travelled and his mouth began it's journey toward Y/n's neck, his boyfriend took a weak handful of brown locks. The man's eyes flicked upward, waiting for a sign.

"Eddie. Fuck me."

"What?"

"Please--- I need you."

Peering from his position of hiding below Y/n's chin, Eddie placed a final kiss against the man's throat before he pulled away, slipping something metallic from his jeans and looking back up.

"Don't worry, baby. Leave it to me."

And he did just that; going limp as Eddie slinked an arm around his back helping Y/n's onto his lap. Eddie embraced him- warm and strong as two vaseline coated fingers trailed a long and steady line down across his skin.

Nose deep in Munson's electrifying hair again, Y/n found himself moaning aloud, before he'd even been penetrated. Oh, it was bliss.

Soon, they were kissing. Y/n groping, and rocking and feverish like never before. His lips hung apart- frozen in ecstasy whilst Eddie's fingers was massaged him open.

"Feel good, baby?"

"Ahhh." Bettee than good. So much good that Y/n couldn't respond. All his body would allow was an endless and desperate fir of rutting. Feeling. Indulging in the sensations Eddie's fingers gifted him. They would slide in and out of him like a burning rod of bliss, and the cold shock of each chunky ring caught against his fiery skin, tormenting and urging his excitement on.

Eddie buried his face into the crook of muscles that flexed with every moan, kissing and sucking wherever he could reach and feeling along Y/n's back with a different set of calloused fingers.

The heavy sound of panting lingered by his ears- muffled whenever Y/n would rock his head back or gulp down dry air. He was a holding a complete wreck, and that wreck just couldn't get enough.

"Y/n. Will you help me take these off?"

"Yeah," that moan was unmatched by any other.  It had Munson's cock screaming to get out. Following Y/n's wrist down toward his trousers, Eddie tried to help undo the too-many buttons and awkward zip.

"Ah- be careful. It's sensitive, baby,"

That chuckle would quickly turn exclusively a moan- Y/n had pried his dick free.

"Don't move."

Hot tears welled in the folds of Y/n's eyes as the slow burn of Eddie's fingers pulled out of him, and now he was being raised higher and then edged lower and now

Y/n's mind had cleared. Eddie groaned into the other's neck. "Oh jesus."

All sounds were flying right past his lover's heae; all he could muster was babbling and some other incoherent sounds, drowning in that sea of pleasure.

Munson pushed deeper- as deep as he could- before the rocking ensued.

Skin dragged and tugged- losing the vaseline's slickness quickly as Eddie picked up the pace. Their skin slapped painfully loud as both halves had completely lost themselves in the moment.

Soon, Munson's fist had slid from behind Y/n's back and in between them; grazing over planes of pink and dripping skin before eventually wrapping around his cock. The fever dream had become much more apparent now as Y/n's intoxication was slipping, and Eddie's fingers were slipping over each bump and pulsing vein in his dick.

"God, Y/n- hmpf. You're beautiful." He could barely whisper it out, hurriedly kissing the latter's chest to conceal another moan as his hips jerked and rocked.

Just perfect. Just right.

With his muscles tensing, and eyes rolling somewhere far, far away, Y/n's orgasm rushed right through him. Silent and colossal as his brain shivered with elation.

The bubbles of semen dribbled over Eddie's fingers as they were urged from his cock, seeming to never end even once Y/n could no longer feel.

"Ah- that's it baby, there you go-" Eddie moaned, eyes holding that grotesque image before them as he jutted uncontrollably into his lover's body.

"Shit-." And he came.

Yeah, this could have been better (shit ending), BUT I've been working on this for 2 days straight and it's 2 in the morning so no more beta-reading, ok? It's the 4th goddamn time 💀.

I hope it met expectations, Anon. Sorry I couldn't make it more ⭐ atmospheric ⭐ (I really tried to.)

[lex-munro]

[Glitter on the Wet Streets: Part 6] Heads Will Roll

The gang hires Jessica Jones to help with the case.  Now they have two photographers, so they can gather twice the evidence.  (That’s how that works, right?)

Chapter 6 of (pretty sure?) 12.

Grumpy!Jess is grumpy.

Warnings:  Canon divergent based on the MCU.  Oblique spoilers for Black Widow, Wandavision, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Hawkeye, Daredevil, Jessica Jones, and The Defenders.  Discussion of abusive relationships (both romantic and platonic) and recovery from abuse.  Brief use of a misogynist pejorative (from a fem, but still).  Cat adoption as therapy.  Language: PG-13 (primetime TV plus s***, f***, and p***y).

Pairing:  Matt/Eddie, minor Eddie/OMC, past Eddie/Venom, reference to Luke/Jess.

Timeline:  A year after the events of No Way Home, but concurrent with the events of Hawkeye (told you it was canon divergent), sort of.

Disclaimer:  I doesn’t owns the movies or the characters.  Or the assorted objects of pop culture reference.

Heads Will Roll

  MJ is putting Eddie’s new info in its own little corner of the board when Matt just opens the door.

“Ugh, you always let me get my finger on the damn doorbell,” their visitor complains.  (“Want you to feel like you’re accomplishing something,” Matt sasses.)

Eddie knows that grumpy voice…  “Jones?!”

She eyes him with her usual level of casual hostility.  “Have we met?”

Ah.  “Not in this universe, apparently,” Eddie admits.

“Explain, now.”

“Uh-uh,” says Matt.  “I call boyfriend privileges, I get first dibs on any explanations about alternate universes.”

“You’re such a trash fire, Murdock…”

“Love you, too, Jess.”

“You said you need an investigator to get something on Kingpin, so here I am.  What’s with all the twelve-year-olds?”

“Seventeen,” the kids all chorus with righteous indignation.

Oof, great start.

“Right,” says Eddie, rubbing his hands together.  “I’m Eddie Brock.  These three are interns at the Manhattan Word on the Street, where I’m currently a staff writer.  Peter, Ned, and MJ.  Please be nice, because this is MJ’s place, the whole weird Kingpin-versus-Hawkeye thing is her scoop, and she is an evil genius.  Also, be nice to my cat, because he’s the reason we have several thousand dollars with which to pay you for your time.  Gang, that’s Jessica Jones, former superhero, currently still super but too jaded to hero.  In my version of things, she ‘n I would trade info—I’d help her crack cases, she’d help me bust scumbags.  Investigative reporting dream team.  In fact, she’s the one who helped me pin down Fat Man Auto Repair.”

“Holy shit,” Jones says, looking ever-so-slightly impressed.  “How is this my life?  Murdock, Cage, Rand, that whole thing with the undead dragon, and now some guy from apparently another dimension who creepily knows me.”

“I’m still waiting on the explanation for the alternate universe thing,” Matt adds.

Eddie is acutely aware of the kids staring silently at his back.  “Uhhh…  Magic spell went boom last December, several alternate universes collided, Spider-Man saved the day.  My life wasn’t great where I came from, so I kinda got adopted into this universe.  Ta-da.”

“That explains nothing,” Jones says at the same time that Matt says, “That explains so much.”

“Uh,” Eddie says again, trying to think of a way to keep Peter’s hard-won secret and still satisfy Jones.  “Bad things went down, Spider-Man asked a wizard for help—”

“Sorcerer,” Ned corrects, and gets elbowed by MJ.  “What?  Dr. Strange doesn’t wear a hat, so he’s technically not a wizard!  The new Captain America said so on Colbert.”

“The spell got messed up,” Eddie goes on.  “I helped out, so as a favor I got to stay.”

You didn’t do shit; we helped.

“Shutup,” Eddie hisses under his breath.

Jones slowly nods.  “So.  Your new boyfriend’s insane, got it.”

“How are you such a skeptic after the dragon?” Matt demands.

“Scotch.  Sometimes vodka.  Let’s move on, since you’re paying.  What’s that crackpot tinfoil hat board?”

Eddie snorts with stifled laughter.

MJ glares at them both before going over the board.  “We now know the Tracksuit Mafia is one of Kingpin’s biggest groups of enforcers.”  Front and center, below a portrait of Fisk, the photos of Ivan and the enigmatic ‘K.’  “They showed at the scene of a charity gala, looking for something at a skeevy-rich-people secret auction there.  Somebody dressed like Ronin—who kicked their asses during the Blip—was also there.”  She taps the news still of Ronin saving a dog.  “Next we see of Ronin is at the apartment across the alley from Eddie’s, which belongs to Kate Bishop, Renaissance girl for the ages, whose security tycoon mom we’re pretty sure is working for Kingpin, covering up for his various ventures and their shell companies.”  A scan of the student ID and basic social media info under the heading ‘College Archery Girl.’

“Huh.  Always thought Bishop Security was a little too squeaky to be clean,” grunts Jones.

“Bishop’s apartment gets attacked by the Tracksuits shortly after she’s seen going there with Hawkeye—whole thing burns, along with four other apartments, including Eddie’s.”  News article on the fire, Snowflake’s picture and the GoFundMe link.  “Tracksuits have a hell of a car chase with the archers, giant arrow through the Manhattan Bridge.”  Another still from a news broadcast.  “Days later, Eddie spots a Black Widow at Bishop’s apartment at the same time I get pics of one of the Street’s senior editors taking money from a Tracksuit, leading to us using Eddie’s charms to hack the guy’s phone and find out he’s been taking money to cover up Kingpin’s shit since the end of the Blip.”  Mugshot of the blonde assassin (‘Yelena Belova - Black Widow!!’), incriminating photos and call log (‘Turns Out Rafa Sucks ☹️’).  “Eddie does some footwork, confirms several of the Tracksuit bigwigs and two of their laundering operations.  This stuff here by itself is from his old leads, back in his universe.”

Jones, bless her, is actually looking at the board seriously.  “So.  Kingpin and Hawkeye are after the same thing, but neither one has it yet, or the hostilities wouldn’t be so hot.  Kingpin has press and security both in his pocket, no surprise.  Little Bishop probably isn’t in on it, but might be, seeing as she had a chat with an assassin and lived.  Let’s not even touch the Avengers shit—just use whatever Hawkeye is doing as a distraction.  We might be able to get some real shit on Fisk, like Murdock did before.  We might even be able to make it stick this time, as long as he doesn’t see us coming.”

Matt nods.  “Especially since he gave me his word he would serve his time and wouldn’t hurt people.”

“What the hell?  In exchange for what?” Jones asks suspiciously.

“Not sending his wife to jail.”

“Heh.  Nice.”

Eddie’s phone buzzes.

Rafa how do you feel abt Persian food? like kebabs and buttered rice

Eddie prefers Greek, but he doesn’t say so.  “Sorry, honeypot duty beckons,” he says aloud.

sounds great! what time?

That is almost definitely a trap.  I think he is onto you.  You must not have been very convincing last night.

Rafa my place, 6:30?

“Screw you, I was perfectly convincing, and I told you your dumb plan sucked.”

Matt liked my plan, Venom points out haughtily.

“Oh, no, you do not get to gang up on me just ‘cause you decided you like Matt now.”

MJ hisses urgently.

Eddie looks up from his phone and sees Jones eyeing him like he’s absolutely batshit.  The kids all look mortified.

Matt gives a little sigh.  “Well, I’m glad to hear you two getting along so well.  Venom, would you please introduce yourself to Jess before she decides we all belong in an asylum?”

“Yeah, sure, no point keeping a brain-eating alien a secret,” Eddie grumbles.

Venom apparently decides to be ingratiating.  He forms a cartoonish blob on Eddie’s shoulder with two big milky eyes, foregoing all the teeth.  “Hello, Jess!  I am V, and Eddie is my symbiotic host, but also my ex whom I have recently adopted as a sad loser pet like those ugly little dogs with the protuberous eyes, and Matt is our irritatingly smug boyfriend.”

Jones is still making an intensely skeptical face.  “An alien.  Who you bicker with like an old married couple.”

“That’s about the size of it,” MJ confirms.

Jones closes her eyes.  “How much money are we talking?”

“I’unno, twenty large?” Eddie proposes with feigned disinterest.  “Half in advance?”

“Hnnnnnghfine.  Fuck it.  Fine.”

“Also, V thinks dinner with Rafa is a trap.”

“Meeting up at his place or the venue?”

“His.”

Jones nods.  “Murdock can use his Superman hearing to tail you for a bit.  This Rafa guy doesn’t know me, so I can be waiting at the venue just in case.”

~*~*~

He looks good up there, Venom decides.

Eddie makes sure not to look.  He knows that up on a fire escape across the street, Daredevil is perched in shadow.  “Yes, he does,” Eddie mumbles under his breath, “but let’s please stay focused on not getting our asses kicked by the bad guys or the corrupt editor.  And, just because I know how conflicted you are about his smugness levels, I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

WAIT NO I TAKE IT BACK

“Babe, V says you look good.  I think it’s the perching that does it for him.”

ARGH, you traitor!  You are so lucky Rafa will be here any second, or—

“Hey, hi!” Rafael says as he comes out the front door of his condo and locks up.

“Hi!” Eddie says with a grin.  “So, where’re we headed?  I gotta tell ya, I know zilch about this part o’ town.  You said Persian is like kebabs ‘n stuff, right?  Kinda like Greek food, then?”

“Kinda like,” Rafa agrees.  “Their empires conquered a lotta the same ground.  Little spot called Kebab Palace—awful name, I know, but the food’s great.”  He gently but firmly grabs Eddie’s arm just above the elbow, steering him down the sidewalk and pressing close.

From a girl, it’d seem like a flirty, demure move.  Stretching ‘acceptable’ PDA as far as propriety allows.  From a sleaze-bag, it feels like a threat.

“Oh, hel-lo,” Eddie says with a chuckle.  “Wow, I haven’t had somebody do the romantic-arm-in-arm thing in a long while.  Before, uh…well, you know.”

“V didn’t go in for public displays, huh,” Rafa says pityingly.  “That must’ve been so hard for you, since you’re such a tactile guy.”

It was.  The ‘not in public’ part might be Eddie’s fault, but V wasn’t into physical affection of any kind, until he suddenly was, and Eddie had been essentially untouched except in violence for more than six months by then.  Eddie gives an uncomfortable shrug.  “It, uh…wasn’t no dream, that’s for sure.  But I came out the other side all right, yeah?  And here we are.  Only took me eleven months to get back on the bike, as the sayin’ goes.  I’ve read about some folks—other, um, ones like me, coming from bad situations—taking years to be able to try dating without, like, panic attacks.”

V grumbles quietly in the back of his mind, but pokes around until he finds the first time Eddie tried to date after landing here, and the humiliating moment of abject, unreasoning terror that had sent him running without even going into the restaurant.  Then he projects a sort of soft, contrite feeling.

“You’re doing great,” Rafa assures him with a little pat on his shoulder.

“It’s, uh, exciting,” Eddie says truthfully.  “Being able to be with somebody again.  Being around somebody, and having little intimacies, like hand-holding or bad jokes or whatever.”

Sleeping with Matt pressed against him (probably using his pulse as a kind of white noise generator, come to think of it…).  Breakfast.  Smiling just at the sound of his voice over the phone.

His phone buzzes.  MJ has sent a picture of Snowflake standing on his chair with his front paws on the table, staring fixedly at Ned’s laptop while the kid works.  It’s the signal that they know the restaurant and Jones is in position.

“What’s up?” Rafa asks.

“A little editorial oversight,” Eddie jokes, showing him the pic.

Rafa laughs.  “I better watch out, or Snowflake will take my job!”

They get to the restaurant, they sit, they order.

It goes like a decent date.

Then Rafa asks what he’s been working on.

There’s his way in.

“So, there’s these businesses—two I know for sure, maybe one more—that are definitely dirty.  Like, laundering money for somebody.  Potentially providing muscle, mob-style.  Fat Man Gym, which is closed for renovations, and Fat Man Auto Repair, which declared bankruptcy a couple years back.  Now, the auto place got raided by Ronin during the Blip, which is how it ended up on my radar.  Did some digging, and it’s owned by some, uh, whattayacallit, shell company.  Sloan Limited?  They also own a moving company called Trust a Bro, and one of their trucks was spotted at my apartment fire, and again during a big chase with Hawkeye.  Too stinky to be coincidence, y’know?  Two crooked businesses, another publicly fighting an Avenger?  I think we need to find out who’s behind Sloan.  Have you ever heard of the Tracksuit Mafia?”

MJ texts again.  This time, it’s a picture of her pressing one of Snowflake’s paws to extend his claws, and the caption ‘Dangerfuff McMurdermittens.’  The sign that Matt can hear Rafa getting nervous and it’s time to press.  He grins at the photo.

“Anyway!  So there’s talk of this gang that all wear matching tracksuits, and they definitely do enforcement for someone.  Ronin bashed his way through these guys, too.  Now, I couldn’t help but notice the employees at Trust a Bro all wear matching tracksuits…”  He spreads his hands like the whole thing is axiomatic.

“You’re aware you sound like MJ right now?  You’re not gonna start talking about 5G mind control, or reptilian overlords, or brain-butterflies, are you?”

The last two are real.

“Brain…butterflies?” says Eddie.

“Yeah, insect-like aliens that burrow into your skull and control your brain.  Folks who believe in those also believe Batman’s real.”

“What?  Why would we need Batman?”

“I’m just saying, that’s the popular—”

“We already got the Avengers for big stuff, or that Spider-Guy for more local stuff.  Or Daredevil, over where I live.  You know, one time, he saved me from getting mugged when I was walkin’ home drunk as a skunk?”

“Really?” says Rafa.  He looks like he’s trying to pretend he’s impressed, but Eddie has mastered the art of identifying intense annoyance in his conversation partners.  Another pressure point?

“Oh my God, Rafa, when I tell you this man’s ass is nice enough to one hundred percent reawaken anybody’s attraction to men…”  Eddie makes demonstrative squeezing gestures with both hands.  “Like, I know if my dumb drunk self had tried anything, he woulda punched my jaw outta alignment, but that kinda works for me, y’know?”

“Why are we talking about some psycho vigilante’s ass in the middle of our date?”

Bingo.

Eddie blinks innocently.  “I’unno, you’re the one who mentioned Batman.  Don’t tell me you feel threatened by a little celebrity crush…”

Rafa turns and signals a server.  “Can we get the check, please?”

“Oh, wow.  Okay,” Eddie says with a little chuckle.  “Duly noted.  Well, we had some fun, at least.”

“You’re breaking up with me over one bad date?”

Along his spine, Eddie feels Venom’s hackles rise.  Yeah, red flags multiplying.

“We’re not exactly ‘going steady,’ Rafael,” he points out.  “We been on two-and-a-half dates if you count lunch and the musical separately, and we had some above-average sex.  And I’m breaking up with you—if that’s what you wanna call it—over my trauma telling me I’m seeing some important red flags that I associate with getting slapped around.  Back on the professional side of things:  I know in my gut that Trust a Bro is a goldmine.  There’s this guy with a thin beard, and hair down to here-ish, and some kinda neck tattoo, walking and talking like he’s the hot shit.  I’m gonna see what I can dig up.”

Rafael slips some cash onto the check tray with a sigh.  “You’re right; I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean for my insecurities to make you uncomfortable.  You’re still recovering, and you hoped I could help with that, and instead I was a jerk.  Let me make it up to you.”

Jones puts a hand on the table between them.  “Hey, creepy, put it in reverse and back allll the way up.”

“Jess?” Eddie exclaims like they’re old friends.  “Holy shit, it’s been ages!  How are you?”

She smiles at him.  “Better than you, with this textbook narcissist trying to groom you.  Let’s get outta here.  I’ll even buy you a coffee and commiserate like a good wing-woman.”

“Excuse me,” says Rafa, puffing up.  “You can’t just—”

“Take away your potential victim?” counters Jones.  “Watch me, Fifty-Shades.”

“Now, now, let’s not—”

“Make a scene?  Oh, but I love scenes.  Selfish dicks like you rely on the threat of humiliation to keep your pets from ‘making scenes’ so nobody has a clue what you’re really like.”  She turns to the rest of the dining room and claps her hands.  (Eddie groans and hides his face as people turn to look, because she’s absolutely correct about the humiliation thing.)  “Hey, everybody, this hot Latino is actually a predator who picks up victims of domestic abuse and pretends to save them while he slowly turns them into his own victims.”

All but unnoticed, Eddie’s phone buzzes and shows him a pic of Snowflake curled up on Ned’s napping face, followed by three tombstone emojis.  Matt’s told them Rafa is on the verge of violence.

“I’m an upstanding member of the press,” Rafa says through clenched teeth.  “A pillar of the community.”

“And a whole bunch of Catholic priests molest little boys,” Jones counters.

“You’re going to regret playing with my reputation,” says Rafa.

She snarls and bites the air next to his face, making him flinch back.  “Pussy,” she scoffs.

“Oh my god, Jess, I gotta work with this guy,” Eddie points out, still shading one side of his face with his hand.

“All the more reason to make sure he knows there’ll be consequences if anything should happen to you,” she purrs, grabbing Rafa’s butter knife and effortlessly bending it into a heart while making heavy eye contact.  “I’ll be watching, chicken-shit.”

And she waits for Eddie to leave first.

“I make great bait, it’s a character flaw,” Eddie mutters as he waits for Jones to join him outside.  “Now he’s got no incentive to protect me and every reason to want revenge.  Any time now, he’ll tattle on me to K or Ivan or the Fat Man himself.”

“Come on,” says Jones.  “Danny’s favorite coffee place is just a block over, full of hipsters and entrepreneurs and probably a rich white boy who can punch holes in a tank.”

“We gonna need one of those?”

“Nah, but it’s as good a place to wait as any.  Murdock or the kids will let us know when it’s time for the next step.”

Eddie puts an earbud in so he can talk to Venom without looking completely bonkers.  “Thanks for stepping in, even though V had me covered.”

Always, my Eddie.

“You didn’t need your last abuser protecting you from your next one,” she grunts.

Venom wriggles with discomfort (or self-consciousness…though that would be a first), squeezing Eddie’s stomach a little and making him belch.

“Oof, ‘scuse me…  Who, uh…who told you about…”

“You’re real fuckin’ obvious, Brock.  But I was also eavesdropping at the restaurant.”

“V could feel him gearing up for something,” he notes.

He wanted to hurt you.  Could smell it.  He thought he owned you.

Eddie feels sick.

“You’re looking a little green.  Let’s change the subject:  tell me more about that giant cat.”

So he tells her the full tale of Snowflake’s adoption, when he was in the deepest throes of his depression.  He tells her how that’s what convinced Mrs. DiPazzi that he was a good person (who needed an adoptive granny to fuss and feed him).  He tells her how Snowflake can ingratiate himself with anyone, how he’s an excellent judge of character, how he likes walks and car rides.

They get a pair of coffees (black for her, foamy cold brew mocha for him) and settle by the window.  She scrolls through his Instagram and its treasure trove of cat videos.

Eddie’s phone rings.

And only one person would have had access to his phone and the idiocy to use that access for something so immature.  “You been back less than a day, you’re already poking around in my damn phone?!” he hisses under his breath.

Incoming Call From Dat Ass

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you, asshole!”  Eddie hurriedly accepts the call.  “Hey, babe, what’s up?”

~“Wow.  Sorry, just, I love hearing your voice… He’s arranged a meet with K—short for Kazi, by the way—dangling the fact that you know him by sight.  It’ll be worth recording the meet, but even better if we can also get photographic evidence of an attempted attack or an extortion.  Play dumb for now, but make sure you give plenty of openings after the next signal.  Tell Jess to have her camera ready.”~

“Got it.  Be safe.”

~“Look who you’re talking to.”~

“Very funny.  Love you, bye.”  And he hangs up at exactly the same time that he realizes what he’s just said.

“Your face is so red!” Jones says with a shit-eating grin.

what is HAPPENING

Shut up.  Shut. UP.

He clears his throat.  “Rafa’s meeting K.  They got that covered, but I’m still playing bait.  When we get the signal, we gotta split up so that you can be ready with your camera.  And bear in mind, me ‘n V are a lot harder to kill than a regular human—maybe don’t intervene unless we tell you.”

“You sure?  On a scale of Murdock—who would die to a gunshot but can dodge bullets—to my sometimes-boyfriend—who can literally bounce bullets off his skin—where would you fall?”

“Uhhh…bullets hurt, but we can fix it?  Somewhere in that whole middle region.  But fire is a no-go.”

“Eddie!  We can breathe water and regenerate but are vulnerable to fire, and we have a black cat.  We are a witch!” Venom concludes with a disproportionate amount of pride.

“We’re not a witch—you hate magic.”

“Oh.  Hm.”

Jones eyes him.  “So…healy but not fireproof?  Like a troll?”

“What?”

“Y’know, D&D.  My friend is really into it, and I’ve kinda accidentally absorbed some of her knowledge.  Apparently, there’s a lot of hot celebrity guys who play.  And the trolls in it are really sturdy and regenerate, but they’re weak to fire.”

Eddie can’t quite figure out where his life went wrong enough to land him in this conversation.  “That’s some nerd-ass shit, right there.”

“Perhaps the guy whose self-image is currently hinged on the opinion of a blind man shouldn’t be so judgy about what people like,” Venom has the balls to point out.

“I am this close to letting him blast you outta me and stick you in a jar.”

MJ sends a picture of Snowflake stalking a catnip mouse.

“That’s our cue.”  Eddie gets to his feet, and Jones follows suit.

“It was good to see you again.  Hey, I mean it about the skeevy bad date—you tell me if he tries anything.  And if he fucks with your job over it, I’ll go find his car and fold it up like origami.”

“Thanks, Jess.  You’re a good friend.  I’ll seeya around.”

He heads out at a sedate pace.

She is following very discreetly.  She’s almost as good as the one in your memories.

He acts like he’s just enjoying the fresh air after a shitty date.  He figures he’ll hail a cab in a block or so, get out about a block from Matt’s place, look like an easy target, get a snack somewhere.

Turns out not to need all that; a white Caddy pulls up beside him while he’s walking, hands in pockets (keys in one, recorder in the other like any half-decent nightcrawler).  He can see a broad silhouette in the back seat.

“Eddie Brock, reporter?” the driver asks.

“Who’s askin’, tough guy?”

“Mr. Fisk has a business proposition for you.  Get in.”

“Oh, gosh,” Eddie prevaricates with his most charming smile, turning on the recorder in his pocket.  “That’s real flattering, but I got a full-time position at a paper already.”

“At the Manhattan Word on the Street?” the guy scoffs.  “A rinky-dink little hipster rag.  Mr. Fisk can offer ten times what they’re paying.  A wise man would hear him out.”

“I’m good where I am.  I like the team, and I like small papers.”

“That kinda thing’s fine until something goes wrong.  Like how your apartment burned down last week.  Damn shame.”

“I got that covered, thanks.”

“Staying with a minor without her parent’s knowledge?”

“I’m packing tonight to move somewhere else tomorrow.”

“Sometimes terrible things happen.  Mr. Fisk is a man with a lotta connections; he can make a lotta things easier.  And hey, what happens if your editor starts harassing you?  Doesn’t seem like a guy who takes no for an answer.  Word is, you and a friend made a public scene, and he wasn’t about it.”

Eddie squirms.  “And Fisk, he can do something about that?”

“Maybe.  If you’re working for Mr. Fisk, you don’t gotta worry about that creep no more.  So.  Get in the car.”

“Ah—I dunno, man.  My mom always told me not to get in cars with strangers.”

“I insist,” says the driver, casually resting his hand on a clumsily concealed pistol in his jacket.

If this Jones is anywhere near the caliber of the one in his universe, she’s got a gorgeous shot on a silver platter.

“Oh,” Eddie says faintly.  “Well, since you insist.”

The hulking shape in the back is indeed Fisk, and Eddie finds himself shoulder-to-shoulder with the man.

“Good evening, Mr. Brock,” the Kingpin rumbles.  It’s like listening to a mountain talk.  If a mountain wore good overpriced suits with bad overpriced tropical shirts.

“Oh.  Um.  You, uh, must be…”

“Wilson Fisk.  I’m a great supporter of independent journalism—a patron of the arts, you might say.”

Eddie fidgets.  Venom is slithering around his spine in a worrying way, and he tries to send stern feelings at the symbiote.

Don’t fuck this up with your temper or your possessive bullshit, he thinks as loudly as he can.  We’re bait.  Our job is to look harmless and maybe get our ass kicked.

Kingpin smiles.  “To be very blunt, Rafael asked me to…repay you for the embarrassment he suffered a few hours ago.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t think Rafael truly understands romantic love.  He seems to have approached the matter with limited patience and compassion…very disappointing.  Have you ever been in love, Mr. Brock?”

Eddie swallows.  “Coupla false alarms,” he says, thinking of Anne and Venom.  “But, uh, yeah.  Yeah, I think I’m in love with somebody.  The way your driver talked to me, I think maybe I shouldn’t go into detail.”

“Don’t mind Seth,” Fisk reassures him (in a very insincere way).  “I take it one of the false alarms was the one who beat you.”

“H-how’d you…yeah,” Eddie says quietly.

“Anyone—especially an artist—who suffered such a betrayal would necessarily be cautious in matters of the heart.  Rafael has a disappointing lack of empathy for trauma, it would seem.  I understand your pain, Mr. Brock.  No matter how close the friendship between myself and Rafael, I could never bring myself to punish you for protecting yourself.”

“S-so, you’re not gonna…like, bust my kneecaps or get me fired or something?”

The crook’s face of sad compassion is almost as disturbing as the reassurances.  “Such measures would be beyond repugnant.  If we can build a mutually beneficial relationship, it would never even cross my mind.”

“Wait, w-whattaya mean by ‘mutually beneficial’?”

“I’m a powerful, prominent figure, Mr. Brock.  A man in my position requires the utmost discretion from the press, especially with a history of so many little misunderstandings.  It’s so easy to twist good deeds to appear malicious, I find.  Rafael is, as aforementioned, somewhat lacking in subtlety.  You could fill a niche in my ecosystem, Mr. Brock.  And if you join my little family, any trouble with Rafael would of course be a thing of the past.”

Venom bubbles and writhes somewhere in the vicinity of Eddie’s appendix.

BAD GUY

I know, STOP IT.

“So…I don’t gotta kill anybody, or shake anybody down,” Eddie draws out, doing his best doe-eyed airhead impression.  “I just neglect to follow some leads, put a positive slant on stuff other papers use for smear, that kinda thing, and you’ll make sure Rafa doesn’t, like, wait for me in the parking lot with a baseball bat?”

“You’re a smart man, Mr. Brock,” Kingpin says with what’s probably supposed to be a fatherly smile.  “I have your number; for now, just wait to be contacted.  If no one calls you, just write your pieces like it’s business as usual.”

“Wow, thank you so much, Mr. Fisk, sir!”  He grabs Kingpin’s hand and starts shaking it enthusiastically.

The big man’s grip gets very, very tight.

“Ah—that’s a, uh, pretty strong grip, uh—”

“I trust you’ll remember how polite this conversation was, and that family don’t betray one another.”

“Oh—y-yes, sir, Mr. F—ow—Fisk.”

“Take care, Eddie.  And give my regards to young Michelle and her…scrappy little amateur detective friends.”

He DARES threaten MJ?  I will chew him like a gummy candy animal!

“I will, sir, thanks again.”

He scrambles out of the car and keeps taking the path he’d been on before.

I WANT TO SPREAD HIS BRAINS ON A BAGEL!

“Gross,” Eddie mumbles as he watches the Caddy pull into traffic.  He switches off his recorder as he walks.  His phone rings.

Eddie grimaces but immediately answers.  “Eddie Brock speaking.”

Incoming Call From ID Blocked

~“Just checking, Mr. Brock,”~ the Kingpin rumbles at him.

“Oh, Mr. Fisk!  Should—how does this work?  Are you always gonna call me on this number, or should I just answer any unknown caller?”

~“I generally won’t be the one to call you, Mr. Brock.  Be ready to trust strangers who give you the following passphrase:  better the devil you know.”~

“I like it—literary, political, catchy…”

~“Goodbye, Mr. Brock.”~

Fisk hangs up on him, so he hails a cab.  They already know about MJ’s place; he might as well stick to the narrative.

~*~*~

They add a transcript of the recording to the Board.  Twenty minutes later, Jones shows up with some amazing photos of Kingpin’s driver clearly threatening Eddie, and Eddie subsequently getting into the car.

It only takes Ned thirty minutes to get a facial match on the driver, and then they add a mugshot to the Board.

Eddie’s phone rings just as Jones and Ned are heading home for the night.

“Hey, babe,” he says as he heads to the guest room.

Incoming Call From Dat Ass

Matt makes a sulky groan.  ~“I miss you already.  My awesome bed is shaped wrong without my awesome human pillow.”~

“Spoiled,” Eddie accuses with a grin.  “We had some moderate success on our side tonight; how’d Team Red do?”

~“Well, I can’t exactly judge for myself, but I’m told Peter is an excellent photographer, and he says he got some gorgeous shots.  Foggy called—he wants to have lunch with you, which really means he wants to make sure you’re good enough for me even though he should probably be warning you of my laundry list of personality flaws.  I can tell him I’m a big boy till I’m blue in the face, but he’ll insist people can and will take advantage of me.”~

“Nah, it’s fine.  Totally understandable.  I know firsthand you’re far from helpless, but even I kinda wanna put you on a nice, safe shelf somewhere.  It’s that face of yours, baby—people just naturally wanna take care of you.  Honestly, I think you ‘n me are gonna be a damn trash fire for the first month or so of cohabitation, but you are so fuckin’ worth it.”

~“…yeah?”~ Matt asks, sounding coy again.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

~“Has V told you what that note said?”~

“All he said was that it’s super-romantic and I’m being wooed—wooed, he literally used that word.”

Matt chuckles at him.  ~“Go find a Braille alphabet online somewhere and translate it.  Get some sleep.”~

“Yeah.  G’night.”

Peter can read Braille, Venom says loftily.

Eddie ignores him and hangs up the call.

  .End.

[stellarbisexual]

Reddie prompt: NSFW in which Eddie tells Richie all the things he loves about him. I am not getting enough Eddie giving Richie love these days! Please and thank you!

Paired this with another anonymous prompt:

reddie prompt richie compliments eddie all the time but eddie doesn’t compliment richie as much (not on purpose, that’s just not how he talks) but richie has a low self esteem moment and eddie helps

Not super NSFW, but here it is - and it’s finally finished!  I’ve been posting this in parts as I’ve been writing it.  But now ‘tis complete.  Enjoy!

permatag list: @reddie-to-fight @hurleyhugo @raspberrywind @rebel-eds​ @losver-kaspbrak​ @lilgeorgie @geckolover001 @its-stranger-than-you-think

Richie nearly ejects off the couch at the sound of Eddie’s voice by the front door.  (“Rich?”)  He’d gotten Eddie a spa gift certificate for his birthday, since he’d said he’d always wanted to try it–and grad school’s been stressing him out to the point of near insanity.

“Baby!  How was it?” he crows, turning the corner into the foyer and smiling at the far-off, dreamy look on his boyfriend’s face as he lets his coat fall off the ends of his hands and onto the floor.  Richie laughs.  “You look drugged.”

Eddie turns to him, his gait all floaty, that relaxed smile plastered to his sweet face.  “Hi, gorgeous.”  He throws his arms over Richie’s shoulders and pulls him down for a slow, open-mouthed kiss.  

Richie’s face flushes, and he all but squeaks into Eddie’s mouth.  He nuzzles their noses together as they part.  “Mm.  Remind me to send you to the spa every fucking day for the rest of our lives.”

“You wanna make me your kept man, huh?  I’ll quit school, buy a pair of Lululemon yoga pants, and call it a day.”

“I’m definitely into you in yoga pants.”  His hands drift down his boyfriend’s sides and underneath his soft henley, thumbs caressing the lines of his flat stomach.  “Did you get a treatment?  How was your treatment?”

They’d spent much of the last few weeks lowkey making fun of the spa menu and working the phrase treatments and experiences into their lives as often as possible.  

“I got a hot stone massage,” Eddie purrs, hands pushing gently through the hair at Richie’s nape, “and a pedicure.”  He brings his mouth right next to Richie’s ear, finishing with a whisper, “And I got waxed.”

An electric coil starts buzzing in the pit of Richie’s stomach.  He’s breathless.  “What?  …Where?”

They’d spent almost as much time talking about the possibility of Eddie getting something waxed.  Richie hadn’t been against it, per se, but, as he’d explained to Eddie, he thinks his boyfriend is totally fucking perfect from head to toe just the way he is, thank you very much, right down to the peach fuzz at the small of his back.  (Richie loves that peach fuzz–and anything else Eddie has to offer him.)

Eddie keeps his mouth right where it is, whisper still intact.  “See for yourself.”  He guides Richie’s hands down the back of his sweatpants.  He pulls back a little, watching Richie’s face as he experiences the closest thing he’s ever felt to an aneurysm.  

Richie shivers, his legs jelly, nearly falling to the fucking floor as his fingers glide over the top of Eddie’s ass, a span of skin so familiar to him made suddenly new in its smoothness.  

“It’s still a little bit irritated,” Eddie explains with a coy smile, “but that’s normal.  It’ll be perfect tomorrow.”

“It’s so soft,” Richie says, fingers creeping down to gently palm both cheeks.  

“It didn’t really hurt, either,” Eddie says, pressing a kiss to Richie’s jaw.  “I’m not supposed to let you play with it for at least twenty-four hours.”

Richie whines outright at that.  “Ba-by.  Seriously?”  

“Esthetician’s orders.  I’m not supposed to shower, either.”

“No fun at all, then.”

Eddie shakes his head vehemently.  “We can still have fun.  You can still have lots of fun.”  He palms Richie’s face, catching his bottom lip between his teeth.  “I feel very well taken care of… and I’d like to take extra special care of you, as a thank you.”

Richie groans.  Eddie never talks like this.  Eddie never acts like this.  And Richie loves him for it, but seeing this side of him…  “Eds, you’re fucking killing me right now.”  His words string together to make one single, agonized one.  

“Well, come let me kill you in here,” he says, extracting Richie’s hands from the back of his sweatpants and guiding him to their bedroom.  

Richie watches with an incredulous expression as Eddie clears a couple of his open textbooks from the bed, tossing them carelessly to the floor as if their contents haven’t been at the epicenter of every conversation they’ve had over the last three months.  “What did I do to deserve you?” he says offhandedly before launching himself onto the bed, the whole mattress bouncing from the impact of his tall frame.

Something shifts in Eddie at what he’s said, though; he can tell by the way he sits gingerly at Richie’s side and just looks at him.

“…What?”  Richie chews on his bottom lip.

Eddie picks up one of Richie’s hands, playing with it.  “I can’t look at my man?” he jokes, putting some sass on the end of it.

“Not much to look at,” Richie laughs, gesturing to his horribly mismatched outfit and everything else that makes him a giant walking eyesore.  “‘Sides, I’d rather you touch.”  He wiggles his fingers along Eddie’s side, imploring.

Eddie’s expression remains serious.  His voice is soft.  “Why do you say that?  …Do you really think that?”  Richie rolls his eyes, ready to sit up and kiss the hell out of Eddie as a reply–it usually works–but Eddie pushes him back down flat.  “No, I’m serious.”  He reaches for Richie’s face, palming his cheek and staring again.  It’s unnerving.  “Do you really think that you’re not much to look at?”

A broken, frustrated exhale explodes from Richie’s mouth.  He spazzes on the bed in frustration.  “I mean, yeah, sometimes.  ‘Specially compared to you, Eds–I mean, look at you.”  He waves an arm helplessly, gesturing to all of Eddie.  Everything about Eddie is precise and adorable, elegant, even, right down to his tidy little fingers and toes.  Sometimes Richie can’t believe it took him so fucking long to look at Eds in that way, he’s so objectively gorgeous, but he supposes he’d been busy falling in love with his fiery little self-righteous spirit first.

“No, I’m looking at you right now,” Eddie says.  Richie huffs again, though he makes far less of a show of it this time, avoiding Eddie’s eyes.  Eddie gently brackets his chin with his fingers, forcing him to meet his gaze.  “Rich.  You’re beautiful.  I’ve always thought so.”

Richie rolls his eyes again.

“Wow.”  Eddie actually giggles at that.  He presses his palms into Richie’s shoulders, to better pin him there.  “For someone who loves being the center of attention, you have a really hard time just sitting and taking a compliment.”  

Eddie’s hazel eyes go wide and fiery; he looks inspired as he climbs onto the bed and straddles Richie.  

Richie’s hands fall to his hips.  “Are you gonna Clockwork Orange me or something?  Force me to listen to your compliments until I die from the torture?”

“Something like that,” Eddie murmurs, those eyes looking their fill at Richie and making him thoroughly uncomfortable.  

“Eds, come on, can we just–” Richie starts, long thumbs stroking Eddie’s skin underneath his shirt, trying to distract, but Eddie’s gotten snagged on whatever it is he’s trying to prove.  

“I’m gonna start at the top,” Eddie says, pushing both hands up into the unruly hair at the sides of Richie’s head, where it’s nice and thick.  “One of my favorite places.”  

Richie’s next protest quickly dies in his throat.  “You little minx,” he breathes.  Eddie knows he goes gooey when he so much as grazes his hair.  When he plays with it or pulls on it, he’s an absolute goner.  

“Your hair is more you than anything else, probably.  It’s how I spot you in a crowded room.  It’s how my body recognizes you.  I still get that feeling in the pit of my stomach when I spot this head of hair from far away.”

“Seriously?”  Richie blushes, a little embarrassed that he’s already taken with Eddie’s play at making him feel less pathetic about himself.  

“Yeah.  It’s you.  And it’s so gorgeous, Rich.  The way it twists and turns, every single strand with a mind of its own.  You know how crazy it makes me when you’ve just washed it and it’s really curly and soft.”  Eddie pushes his fingers into the hair at the top of Richie’s head and pulls straight up, gently, prompting a shaky little exhale from him.  “And it’s so dark, but when you’re in the sun, it’s got red and orange in it.”

Richie purses his lips, genuinely surprised.  “It does?”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs.  His hands slip down the sides of Richie’s face, thumbs drifting toward the corners of his mouth and parting his lips.  “Your mouth.”  Eddie’s pupils go wide as he stares at it.  Richie’s not sure he’s ever noticed that before.  He’s been too busy looking at Eddie, he guesses.  “So full and soft and sexy.”

Richie squirms.  He’s really, really not fucking used to Eddie talking to him like this.  Hell, it’s a huge part of the reason they don’t do phone sex on the rare occasions that they’re apart for more than a day or two.

Eddie leans in and licks along Richie’s bottom lip, then the top, making him hum.  Eddie confesses into his mouth.  “Your mouth feels so good on me, sometimes I think I’m going to die.”

“Jesus, Eds.”

“Sit up.”

“Okay,” Richie breathes, bending at the hips, pressing a fierce kiss to Eddie’s mouth before he eases off of him and sneaks behind him, sitting propped up against the headboard, Richie’s tall frame tucked between his legs, leaning against his chest.  Richie looks over his shoulder playfully.  “You there to talk about my butt?”

“No.  Your shoulders.”  Eddie hooks his hands over them from Richie’s front and presses his face between his shoulder blades.  “Remember when you had that growth spurt?  Between junior and senior year of high school.”

“Yeah.  When I shot up from five-ten to six-three.  My mom was so pissed.  I didn’t fit into any of my clothes anymore.”

“Your shoulders got wider, too.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh.  I really noticed when we went to the quarry that summer.”  Eddie presses a kiss to the back of his neck, and Richie can feel him smiling.  “You took your shirt off by the edge, and I just couldn’t stop staring.  I could see your muscles shifting under your skin, and your skin was all pink and freckly from the sun.”  Eddie pulls at the ends of the sleeves of Richie’s tee, silently urging him to take it off, so he does, tossing it over the side of the bed.  Eddie presses open-mouthed kisses along his spine and speaks into his skin.  

Muscles.  Richie’d laugh if Eddie weren’t so obviously serious.  He’ll admit, he’s not as scrawny as he used to be, but he definitely doesn’t work out or anything–and he still considers his body the opposite of impressive.  

“Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I’ll just reach out and let my fingers trace your shoulders until my brain shuts up.”

Richie smiles softly.  “Wake me up next time, sweetheart.”

Eddie bites one of his shoulders.  “I do.  …Sometimes.”

Richie’s stomach muscles clench when Eddie’s cold fingers drift over them.  It’s strange, he realizes, for him to be shirtless and for Eddie not to be.  And it’s strange that that’s strange, especially considering how long they’ve been together.  Maybe he doesn’t let Eddie take care of him as much as he should.  

Eddie’s fingertips dip into Richie’s belly button, and Richie folds over a bit, laughing.  Eddie smiles against his neck, breathless.  “This.”  Eddie’s fingers spread over the pattern of dark hair around and underneath his navel, drifting down and disappearing under his jeans.  “All this.  So sexy.  The way it smells, the way it tastes.”

“Eds, I literally want to pin you right now.”

“You’re not allowed,” Eddie chides, pinching just under his navel.  “This is about you.  Oh.  And your laugh–before I forget.”  He kisses Richie’s neck sweetly.

Eddie wiggles closer, extending his legs alongside Richie’s as long as they’ll go, toeing at his calves with socked feet, both hands resting on his stomach, fingers dipping just below his waistband.  

“I think I know what’s coming next,” Richie says, raising an eyebrow.  

“Legs,” they both say together.

“Legs, legs, legs, legs, legs,” Eddie confirms, then sighs deeply, shivering a little behind him.  “I just love how endless you are.”  

Richie feels Eddie’s face go hot against his neck.

“Remember when I avoided you for, like, two weeks the beginning of senior year?”

“Yeah?”

“Legs,” Eddie explains.  “One of our last trips to the quarry that summer… You picked me up and threw me into the water.  I doubt you remember; you used to do it all the fucking time.  But that one time, I totally got hard and spent the beginning of the school year freaking out.”  Eddie laughs a little.  

“Ohhh, I like this information.”

“I could barely sit still looking at you, just… how tall you were, knowing you could do that to me so easily.  I was still only, like, five-four then.  I hated how much bigger you were than me… and I loved it.  Still do.”  Eddie intertwines their legs.   “I avoided all the Losers for a while, actually.  I thought everybody knew.”

Richie turns his head just enough to purse a kiss to Eddie’s jaw.  “You don’t think I look like a muppet?”

“Well,” Eddie starts, his sharp eyebrows raised in amusement.  “You act like a muppet.  Sometimes.  But the rest of the time–usually when we’re alone–you’re actually really graceful.  The way you own your space.”  He slips his fingers into the spaces between Richie’s.  “When you’re smoking or playing your acoustic.  Your long fingers… big, beautiful hands.”  He raises one of said hands up and mouths at Richie’s thumb.  

“Shit.”  Richie’s teeth scrape over his bottom lip.  

“Your voice,” Eddie continues, his own voice vibrating against Richie’s knuckle.  His tongue sneaks out to lick the skin there.  “The way it sounds when I do this.”

Richie moans.  He can’t take his eyes off of Eddie’s mouth.  

But just then, Eddie drops his hand back into his lap, swiveling back around to Richie’s front and perching himself there, knees on either side of Richie’s hips.  He takes Richie’s glasses off, pushes his hair out of his eyes, and frames his face with his own hands.  “Your heart.  The way you look at me… the way you love me and protect me.”

“I do,” Richie whispers, leaning up just enough to accept a soft kiss, head tilted back.  “Fucking crazy about you.  Always have been.”

“I know.  Me too, honey.”

The corners of Richie’s mouth curl up in a smile.  He surges up for another kiss.  “I can’t believe you didn’t say anything about my eyes.”  He lets out a playful gasp.  “Or my sense of humor.  That’s it.”  He tips Eddie sideways onto the mattress.  “I’m getting a new boyfriend.”

“Hey!” Eddie protests, laughing, and effortlessly pulls Richie back onto the bed by curling one leg around his waist.  They knock into each other, Richie poking Eddie with one of his gangly elbows, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, pulling Richie in for another kiss, one that turns slick and sexy.  

“Seriously,” Richie says into his mouth, “I wasn’t kidding when I said I was gonna send you to the spa every day for the rest of our lives.”  Eddie smiles, kissing a hot trail down Richie’s neck.  “I don’t think I can afford that, though.  Maybe I’ll just slip you an extra Xanax every once in a while.  It’ll probably have the same effect.”

Eddie bites his neck and pushes him onto his back, laying out on top of him and pressing his hands into the pillows above his head.  “I told you to shut up and let me thank you.”

“‘Kay.”

Things are different between them after that–and, more importantly to Eddie, within Richie.  He walks a little taller, laughs a little louder, and walks around pantless way more often than he used to.  And even though Eddie didn’t think it was possible, he loves him just a little more.