that is eddie kaspbrak's first thought when he awakens to the darkness around him, breathing in dust and grim. he should be dead yet he's not and he has no idea just what to with that information. a suffocating darkness surrounds him but he can't bring himself to linger it it for long. he fights, shifts and pushes. it takes hours (days?) but finally he emerges from the ground and takes in the sight of what remains of neibolt. no, that's not right. he takes in the sight of the hole where neibolt once stood but now stood as a grave. his grave.
he feels sick but he throws up little except dirt and dust. his whole body aches but not from the sort of pain you would except from being buried under the earth for god knows how many days. no― the ache is in this throat, an unimaginable thirst that he figures comes from (again) being buried under the earth for days on end with nothing but the earth and dripping of sewer water to keep you company.
oh. the others― where were the others? again that ache is back but more than that he feels something else build in his chest. he died under neibolt, left there and just how would feel if he just suddenly showed up? covered in dried, blood grim and with a hole―
but he touches his chest and finds nothing. a tear in his clothes, dried stains of blood but nothing to show he had ever been impaled through the chest by the clown. again, eddie feels sick. everything is spiraling out of focus and he falls to the ground, sitting and trying to think everything through. he was dead, he wasn't dead, he should be dead but then what was he now? it's then that he realizes something, touches his wrist and knew laughs out a sob. no pulse. his heart wasn't beating yet he was still moving.
something had happened to him underneath derry and eddie was at a loss to just what that was. instead, he stumbles unto his feet and starts walking. he isn't sure where but he knows he has to move. so, perhaps, it isn't a surprise when he ends up at the townhouse. although he considers just waltzing through the front door, eddie instead makes his way around the back and finds the window of the room next to his own. it's only then that he notices it, the smell of blood― his blood from bowers' attack. weird.
with a hard swallow, he reaches down and picks up a pebble to throw at the window. silently, quietly begging: ❫
[It hasn't been long, and Richie's been inconsolable since being dragged out of Neibolt. What started as comfort at the quarry quickly spiraled into self-loathing and resentment. He was angry with Bev, with Ben for convincing him to leave Eddie and wasn't even speaking to Mike who had manhandled him out for most of the way.
The other losers had decided to leave him alone, and Richie who hadn't been much of a crier before in his life. At least not since the first incident with the fucking clown had broken down into nothing but tears. Tears and small intervals of sleep between the bouts. His pillow was soaked through and fortunately he'd been near unconsciousness when a sharp pop jolted him up. Richie rocketed into a seated position so fast that the headboard behind him was still bobbing and in the window, there was a ping pong ball shaped hole, fractured glass like spider-legs stretched across where the missing piece should have been.]
What the fuck?
[Richie's tired, sleep deprived and he's seen weirder shit since slipping into this state of mind. He swore he woke up once and Eddie was with him, but he'd been wrong then. He figured this was another trick, some lucid dream.
He makes his way to the window and carefully pushes it open, another shard falls and slides across the roof beneath it.]
Fuck. Fuck.
[The last thing he wanted to do was replace a stupid window for a stupid town house B&B in the worst place on earth.]
❪ what the fuck is right. eddie hadn't thrown (or didn't mean to throw) the rock as hard as he apparently had. the sound of glass breaking and cracking causes eddie to shudder and he only wants to fall deeper into the shadows when he hears richie's confused voice from inside his room.
he swallows harder once the window slides open and, without thought, eddie takes a step back and considers just running away. where he even run to though? there wasn't a home for him anymore. all he had was the other losers and whatever was left of him at the bottom of that hellhole that was once neibolt.
realizing that he's just standing there dumbfounded, he swallows and cautiously steps forward with a soft, shaky voice in comparison to richie's own. ❫
Rich, Richie― I'm sorry, I don't― ❪ he stammers. ❫ Richie, I don't know what's going on.
[Richie's eyes strain to see clearly against the darkness but all he can make out is a familiar shape until Eddie speaks. The lilt in his voice, the tone, immediately reaches him on the second story. He's heard Eddie so often in his sleep, in the darkness when he couldn't sleep that he doesn't think it's real.
The window is pulled closed not soon after and the audible sound of foot steps can be heard. The only way to prove to himself that it wasn't real was to step outside, catch a breath of the fresh air, and occupy the same space as the vision. It doesn't take him long to get down stairs and across the yard. He's not expecting Eddie to be there, and he stops dead in his tracks when he sees him fresh from death wearing the same clothes like some fucking badge of honor.]
❪ he swallows hard as the window closes with another shard of glass breaking away. for a moment, eddie thinks that he's been left utterly alone in this strange point of living he's found himself in. before he has a chance to fall into those thoughts, he hears the audible sound of footsteps (clear as fucking day in his ears) as richie makes his way down.
it's hard to just stand there like he is. clothes dirty and stained with blood, face caked in grime and god knows what else. he wants to fall back into the shadows again but he manages to keep calm, keep steady as richie approaches. eddie almost doesn't hear him at first but he shakes his head once the words reach him and gives a notably bitter laugh. ❫
At least you didn't wake up at the bottom of whatever the fuck happened to Neibolt. ❪ he licks his lips, tired and near shaking. ❫ I just-- I don't know what to think anymore. I should be dead... shouldn't I?
No, I didn't wake up in it. I had to leave you there, man.
[Richie's tired - too tired to admit to this specter of his best friend that he thinks he might be an illusion. Getting to talk to him is like rain after a drought and he can't help but bask in it despite himself.]
❪ for what, eddie isn't sure. for richie having to leave him down there or because he died in richie's arms. both have clearly taken a toll on him. carefully, he touches his chest and sighs as he once again finds nothing that says what he had gone through. ❫
Something happened though. I don't know what but... I really need a shower. I need to clear my head.
[Figments of the imagination didn't really need to shower, but at this point he knows better than to question. Richie nods his head slow and turns back toward the house with his palm extended toward him.]
C'mon. Your clothes are in my room now, but- be quiet okay, I don't need the others on my ass again just. Please.
[The tension in his voice makes it clear he's been on round the clock watch from one of the losers and they finally all went to sleep. He didn't need someone barging back into his room, he'd endured enough mournful looks and gentle words to last him a lifetime.]
❪ eddie can only nod as richie repeats his words. thankfully, richie doesn't seem intent on remaining out here and turns back toward the townhouse. eddie is set to follow but pauses, staring at the palm extended toward him while listening to the words being spoken. ❫
O-okay. ❪ he repeats and slowly, carefully reaches out for the other man's hand. despite the dirt and grim what is shockingly clear is just how cold eddie feels. ❫ I'll be quiet, I promise.
❪ he can only imagine what it's been like since they had to leave him in that hell cave underneath neibolt. he imagine it wasn't easy for any of them but its clearly taken a toll on richie. ❫
lol just in case he needs to be invited, tw: suicidal ideations
[Eddie felt real enough, he certainly smelled real enough. If he wasn't so exhausted he would've wretched from the stench alone but the fatigue that creases his eyes was more than just physical and he can't help but think he's dreaming.][Mike had already caught him sleep walking once when he came over to give something to Bill before heading home. Everyone was on high alert, like he was gonna throw himself out the window. If he wanted to end it, it's not like it'd be the first time. No, that first time didn't take back in LA after a show.]
Your suitcase is by the door and um- the towels and everything are still in the bathroom, so.
[Richie sat down on his bed and all but rolled over to curl against one side.]
❪ he follows in silence, hand holding onto richie's as if it was the only thing still holding eddie into this world. hell, for all he knew, that could be just it. still, he lets go once they reach rich's room though eddie lingers in the shadow of the door frame with a slow breath of air. it's only a moment later, once richie is in bed, that eddie steps in and lets the door shut behind him with a shaky sound.
again, he lingers but ultimately before shuffling to his suitcase and gathering the things he needs. although eddie considers checking on richie, he finally shuffles away to the bathroom and quickly pulls off the clothes sticking to his body in ways that he hates. he stuffs all his old clothes away, ready to be done with them and climbs into the shower where he just... sits.
he sits for a long time not doing anything but letting the water run over him. finally, eddie moves to study his wounds or rather his wounds should be. nothing remains though and even small scars and wounds are seemingly gone yet one thing continues to stick out-- no matter how hot he runs the water, he still feels cold. an odd chill that just won't go away.
it's near an hour later before eddie pulls himself from the shower and redresses in clean clothes, stepping out of the bathroom. it's with another shaky breath that he steps close to richie's bed, carefully kneeling on it and reaching out toward his friend. ❫
[Richie's so tired, worn so thin, half of him thinks this is a dream or a dream within a dream. Some weird figment of his imagination that allowed him some comfort in his sleep that he hadn't had until Eddie came back to see him.
Richie's sound asleep when Eddie comes back, and he jolts with a start at the sound of his voice. It pierces through his dream of him and brings him back into reality.]
Eddie. Eddie.
[Richie reaches up and grabs a hold of him by the lapel of the shirt that he's wearing. In the dark of the room he looks every bit the man he'd left behind, his eyes the same intensity they'd always been.]
❪ eddie doesn't move from his spot knelt over richie. he watches carefully as rich reaches up and grabs at the lapel of his shirt before his cold hands work around his hands with a careful sound. he doesn't know what he's doing but there's a part of him attracted to the warmth that richie is giving off and yearns to be closer still.
yet he manages to hold back and simply hold the other's hand in his own with a soft breath of air. ❫
( It's not unfamiliar for Eddie to come with Richie on his tours since adjusting to his new life has been... difficult.
The times when he is alone are the worst so Eddie, not unlike when they were kids, tends to stick close to Richie whenever given the chance. It doesn't go unnoticed by his work team in the year since Derry happened and he died underneath the town only to come back alive as something that was only human in terms of appearance. He's gotten used to it in his own ways— his need for blood, human blood and the sort of psychological torture he goes through every time his throat gets dry.
Animal blood helps, of course but time and time again has shown that it wasn't meant to last. It curbs the wants, the needs but ultimately he always feels like he's playing with fire. It's why he takes from Richie every so often before it gets bad. He's determined (if nothing else) in the knowledge that he would never hurt the person he loves and it works, he's able to go out more and enjoy things without too much worry aside from the strain being in the sun takes on him.
So, yeah, its not unfamiliar because of this little factoid for Eddie to go with Richie which is why they're here in Buffalo in the middle of fucking winter.
Richie is talking brightly and animated to his team and some of the VIP fans that have come backstage while Eddie hangs off to the side nursing a bottle of water. It's not for him, of course but it helps him not stand there awkwardly twiddling his thumbs. He's half tempted to take out his phone, look over what the weather will be for the next few days when suddenly it hits him—
The smell of blood just as one of the stagehands curses and grips his palm where he's cut it open on some set piece. Eddie doesn't even realize he's dropped his water bottle until it rolls back and hits his foot, shaking his out of his stupor and making a mad move to pick it back up while fighting the need to run.
[It's been strange, different - in a way that Richie doesn't think too hard about because Eddie is here, he's alive and not dead and that's the only thing that matters. After the initial bite, Richie had spent nights up on google on Sanguinarian forums, on anything that could give him some insight onto how to live with this. It wasn't a sickness, or a disability, but they had to treat it like one because Richie couldn't keep running and Eddie couldn't handle the constant relocation.
The first time that Eddie bit him the euphoria shot through his veins like a white-hot spike of adrenaline. As a recovering addict, Richie was more into it than someone else would've been and had gotten drunk off of Eddie's blood lust more than once, in private moments between the two of them. They were still suited to each other, even now. Finishing sentences, connected on some near-telepathic level the same way they had been when they were kids.
That's why when Eddie's panic set in Richie turned around to find him in the room. His nerves make the hair on his arms raise, and not for the first time he wondered if Eddie had done some sort of Vulcan mind-meld on him. He excuses himself from the crowd politely and goes to grab Eddie and escort him out. Nobody thinks anything of it, why would they? He's entitled to his free time too. The building he'd performed in was a large one, in an old hotel and Richie escorts Eddie to one of the many elevators so they can get some space to themselves.]
( Eddie tries not to think too hard about how in tune the two of them were now. It went beyond their closeness as children and made him afraid that he might be doing something to Richie that would ultimately result in his boyfriend being like him. Being this blood drinking monster that had to bring in his road rage because he knew (without a doubt) how easy it would be for him to actually rip someone's throat out now.
Not that he thinks he'd ever actually do something like that. At first, sure because he didn't understand his limits or himself and although Eddie still doesn't understand himself, he knows enough about his limits now. Richie too, it seems because before he can excuse himself— Richie is already there and taking him by the hand, escorting him out of the heaviness of that blood scented room and into another space which offered him a distraction with the smell of old, stale air focusing his mind.
Carefully, he swallows and then nods as he brings their joined hands upwards. It isn't an unfamiliar gesture for Eddie to take his hand, pressing the palm against his cool cheek and simply sighing as he visibly relaxed while leeching off his body heat. After a moment for quiet, calming breathing does Eddie nod again and look up at Rich. )
Yeah, yeah— I'm okay now. It was just really sudden and it surprised me, I should have been preparing myself for something like that happening but I guess it just caught me off guard. ( He says with the faintest quirk of his lips. ) Sorry I took you away from everyone. You looked like you were having fun.
[It was a close call and despite his trust for Eddie he never wanted the guy to suffer through something he shouldn't have to. It's been tense, on the road, but it's a necessary means to an end. Richie had to keep working to support them both and thankfully his agent helped promote Richie's new tour, after coming out, and the uncensored truth of living life in the closet until 40.
It's an act that's a lot easier to perform and one he's able to create some actual material on his own for a change. Something that renews a sense of pride in himself he'd all but lost. The people he'd been talking with weren't as important as Eddie, and his show was done for the night so he was free until the next and final show at their current location tomorrow night.]
You don't have to explain anything to me, dude. Maybe I'm leaving because I want to, not just for you. I just spent two hours under a bunch of studio lights. I need a shower and some TLC, and it looks like you do too.
( If Eddie hates anything then its the sense of worry that he might sometimes cause in Richie. He knows that he's a ticking timebomb that at any moment could explode but he's done so, so well and gained so much confidence in himself in the time since he woke up at the bottom of that hellmouth.
It's part of the reason why he can smile now, chuckling and letting his lips brush over Richie's palm as he finally lets go. Of course, Eddie doesn't quite move out of Richie's space and might even crowd closer with another warm laugh. )
Oh, yeah? I don't know, I think you still smell pretty good.
( Its all send with a dramatic lean in, sniffing before giving into another chuckle and pressing a kiss to the underside of Rich's chin. )
I wouldn't say no to a shower though or watching you go off to sleep. The hotel they put you up in is worlds above trying to sleep on a fucking tour bus.
[Richie's worry didn't manifest the way it would in a normal person, it's something he's always used like armor. He's gotten good at playing fast and loose with his anxiety, and now that he's not chasing chemicals with booze it's been easier to manage.]
You hungry?
[It's pretty depraved, but Eddie drinking from him didn't feel half as bad as it should have. Most of the time it felt like a shot of white-hot adrenaline mixed with molly and the addict in him didn't mind Eddie doing a little teething on him from time to time.]
Shower or bath tub complete with jets? Or maybe we skip both and go for round two in jacuzzi after it's closed.
( The question earns Richie the sight of Eddie tilting his head with a small, thoughtful noise. Eventually he glances back up almost sheepishly and nods lightly before leaning in to press a small kiss to his neck, sharp teeth grazing over warm skin. )
Little bit. ( He murmurs, lips pursed. ) And, you know, if you don't mind. I know you're probably exhausted after tonight's show.
( And, yeah, maybe it is a little depraved but there was just something near transcendent about drinking Richie's blood. Not that he has a lot of fucking examples especially on the human side of things but he doubts any blood would taste as good to him as Richie. )
Yeah? You think you can be quiet enough for us not to get interrupted while breaking hotel rules?
[Not happening. The teeth don't show to the naked eye but he knows they're there. Enough, that his back curls with the heat of desire. If he hadn't spent the last two hours under stage lights it might be more obvious, but Eddie knew what he was doing. Of that Richie was convinced, he didn't know the specifics but he figured if Richie could smell blood maybe he could tell when blood was pumping a little faster too.]
If I don't, you can gag me.
[It's a fair deal while they're both being lecherous and the dirty talk was half the foreplay for them. An artform.]
You can tell me no wherever you want, you know. You're always so worried about me but you gotta let me take care of you sometimes too.
( Still— Eddie gets it. Just like how Richie seemingly had a Voice for everything then his blood also had a way of singing depending on the situation. They've been easy to learn the more time they've spent together and its his own way of reading Richie without the need for words just like how Rich had always been able to read him. )
Oh, please, you'd be even louder if I gagged you with what I have in mind.
( He can't help but playfully roll his eyes before nudging Rich back gently with a grin. )
Come on, lets go get changed. By the time we do and head back down, they'll probably have already have got everything shut up for the night.
[Richie shrugs off the notion despite Eddie's constant desire to dote on him. Richie's never gotten over the sting of what it felt like to lose him, and sometimes it still haunts him in the middle of the night once in a while and he wakes up cold, clammy, with Eddie's eyes on him in the darkness of the room.
It's not something they've talked about, but there are no words for it. Eddie knows and Richie doesn't see any reason to diagnose it any more than they already have.]
Okay, first you get a nightcap, then we can change for the jacuzzi. Deal?
[The elevator opens with a ding to their suite, it wasn't quite a penthouse but it came close and the balcony overlooked the same pool they were going to have a caper in once it closed and the coast was clear.]
You first.
[Richie's already in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt and stepping out of his loafers on his way through the threshold. Watching Eddie made him ravenous too, in a different way. The beams of pride and the half-hidden laughs in his palm at a terrible joke the small glimpses he'd caught from the stage had done him in early.]
( Yet it isn't something that he ever pushes or fights over. Despite the lack of words, Eddie knows that Richie still vividly remembers the emotions born in the time after his death. Because, yeah, he's here now but the fact remains that he died and despite being here, breathing and smiling up at Richie— a part of him died down there and never woke back up.
He thinks they should probably talk about it but everything still feels so fresh, so new and he doesn't want to destroy it. )
Yeah, alright, deal.
( He follows, pressing in close and enjoying the warmth of Richie's body. He doesn't want to peel away but does as they enter their room. He slips into the bathroom, gathering up a hand towel and wetting it in the sink before returning to where Richie is undressing. He offers him another warm look, reaching up and brushing the wet cloth over his face before tracing it down to his neck and then his shoulders. )
I'm so proud of you, you know. ( He murmurs with a grin, eyes warm and once again seemingly reading the unsaid thoughts between them. ) You're so amazing when you're up there in front of all those people. It's like they can't look away from you— not that I blame them, you do that to me always.
[Richie's not as spirited as he would be usually, age hasn't made him as virile as some and he's out of shape despite the lankiness he never quite grew out of. Eddie had this way of completely disarming him in moments like these when they were alone together.
The tenderness he felt that he never deserved growing up made him crazy for him now, and Richie melts into the softness of the warm towel that he's using to soothe him.]
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that is eddie kaspbrak's first thought when he awakens to the darkness around him, breathing in dust and grim. he should be dead yet he's not and he has no idea just what to with that information. a suffocating darkness surrounds him but he can't bring himself to linger it it for long. he fights, shifts and pushes. it takes hours (days?) but finally he emerges from the ground and takes in the sight of what remains of neibolt. no, that's not right. he takes in the sight of the hole where neibolt once stood but now stood as a grave. his grave.
he feels sick but he throws up little except dirt and dust. his whole body aches but not from the sort of pain you would except from being buried under the earth for god knows how many days. no― the ache is in this throat, an unimaginable thirst that he figures comes from (again) being buried under the earth for days on end with nothing but the earth and dripping of sewer water to keep you company.
oh. the others― where were the others? again that ache is back but more than that he feels something else build in his chest. he died under neibolt, left there and just how would feel if he just suddenly showed up? covered in dried, blood grim and with a hole―
but he touches his chest and finds nothing. a tear in his clothes, dried stains of blood but nothing to show he had ever been impaled through the chest by the clown. again, eddie feels sick. everything is spiraling out of focus and he falls to the ground, sitting and trying to think everything through. he was dead, he wasn't dead, he should be dead but then what was he now? it's then that he realizes something, touches his wrist and knew laughs out a sob. no pulse. his heart wasn't beating yet he was still moving.
something had happened to him underneath derry and eddie was at a loss to just what that was. instead, he stumbles unto his feet and starts walking. he isn't sure where but he knows he has to move. so, perhaps, it isn't a surprise when he ends up at the townhouse. although he considers just waltzing through the front door, eddie instead makes his way around the back and finds the window of the room next to his own. it's only then that he notices it, the smell of blood― his blood from bowers' attack. weird.
with a hard swallow, he reaches down and picks up a pebble to throw at the window. silently, quietly begging: ❫
Richie, please.
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The other losers had decided to leave him alone, and Richie who hadn't been much of a crier before in his life. At least not since the first incident with the fucking clown had broken down into nothing but tears. Tears and small intervals of sleep between the bouts. His pillow was soaked through and fortunately he'd been near unconsciousness when a sharp pop jolted him up. Richie rocketed into a seated position so fast that the headboard behind him was still bobbing and in the window, there was a ping pong ball shaped hole, fractured glass like spider-legs stretched across where the missing piece should have been.]
What the fuck?
[Richie's tired, sleep deprived and he's seen weirder shit since slipping into this state of mind. He swore he woke up once and Eddie was with him, but he'd been wrong then. He figured this was another trick, some lucid dream.
He makes his way to the window and carefully pushes it open, another shard falls and slides across the roof beneath it.]
Fuck. Fuck.
[The last thing he wanted to do was replace a stupid window for a stupid town house B&B in the worst place on earth.]
God Dammit!
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he swallows harder once the window slides open and, without thought, eddie takes a step back and considers just running away. where he even run to though? there wasn't a home for him anymore. all he had was the other losers and whatever was left of him at the bottom of that hellhole that was once neibolt.
realizing that he's just standing there dumbfounded, he swallows and cautiously steps forward with a soft, shaky voice in comparison to richie's own. ❫
Rich, Richie― I'm sorry, I don't― ❪ he stammers. ❫ Richie, I don't know what's going on.
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The window is pulled closed not soon after and the audible sound of foot steps can be heard. The only way to prove to himself that it wasn't real was to step outside, catch a breath of the fresh air, and occupy the same space as the vision. It doesn't take him long to get down stairs and across the yard. He's not expecting Eddie to be there, and he stops dead in his tracks when he sees him fresh from death wearing the same clothes like some fucking badge of honor.]
I really must be going crazy.
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it's hard to just stand there like he is. clothes dirty and stained with blood, face caked in grime and god knows what else. he wants to fall back into the shadows again but he manages to keep calm, keep steady as richie approaches. eddie almost doesn't hear him at first but he shakes his head once the words reach him and gives a notably bitter laugh. ❫
At least you didn't wake up at the bottom of whatever the fuck happened to Neibolt. ❪ he licks his lips, tired and near shaking. ❫ I just-- I don't know what to think anymore. I should be dead... shouldn't I?
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[Richie's tired - too tired to admit to this specter of his best friend that he thinks he might be an illusion. Getting to talk to him is like rain after a drought and he can't help but bask in it despite himself.]
You were dead. You - You died in my arms.
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❪ for what, eddie isn't sure. for richie having to leave him down there or because he died in richie's arms. both have clearly taken a toll on him. carefully, he touches his chest and sighs as he once again finds nothing that says what he had gone through. ❫
Something happened though. I don't know what but... I really need a shower. I need to clear my head.
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[Figments of the imagination didn't really need to shower, but at this point he knows better than to question. Richie nods his head slow and turns back toward the house with his palm extended toward him.]
C'mon. Your clothes are in my room now, but- be quiet okay, I don't need the others on my ass again just. Please.
[The tension in his voice makes it clear he's been on round the clock watch from one of the losers and they finally all went to sleep. He didn't need someone barging back into his room, he'd endured enough mournful looks and gentle words to last him a lifetime.]
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O-okay. ❪ he repeats and slowly, carefully reaches out for the other man's hand. despite the dirt and grim what is shockingly clear is just how cold eddie feels. ❫ I'll be quiet, I promise.
❪ he can only imagine what it's been like since they had to leave him in that hell cave underneath neibolt. he imagine it wasn't easy for any of them but its clearly taken a toll on richie. ❫
lol just in case he needs to be invited, tw: suicidal ideations
Your suitcase is by the door and um- the towels and everything are still in the bathroom, so.
[Richie sat down on his bed and all but rolled over to curl against one side.]
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again, he lingers but ultimately before shuffling to his suitcase and gathering the things he needs. although eddie considers checking on richie, he finally shuffles away to the bathroom and quickly pulls off the clothes sticking to his body in ways that he hates. he stuffs all his old clothes away, ready to be done with them and climbs into the shower where he just... sits.
he sits for a long time not doing anything but letting the water run over him. finally, eddie moves to study his wounds or rather his wounds should be. nothing remains though and even small scars and wounds are seemingly gone yet one thing continues to stick out-- no matter how hot he runs the water, he still feels cold. an odd chill that just won't go away.
it's near an hour later before eddie pulls himself from the shower and redresses in clean clothes, stepping out of the bathroom. it's with another shaky breath that he steps close to richie's bed, carefully kneeling on it and reaching out toward his friend. ❫
Richie?
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Richie's sound asleep when Eddie comes back, and he jolts with a start at the sound of his voice. It pierces through his dream of him and brings him back into reality.]
Eddie. Eddie.
[Richie reaches up and grabs a hold of him by the lapel of the shirt that he's wearing. In the dark of the room he looks every bit the man he'd left behind, his eyes the same intensity they'd always been.]
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❪ eddie doesn't move from his spot knelt over richie. he watches carefully as rich reaches up and grabs at the lapel of his shirt before his cold hands work around his hands with a careful sound. he doesn't know what he's doing but there's a part of him attracted to the warmth that richie is giving off and yearns to be closer still.
yet he manages to hold back and simply hold the other's hand in his own with a soft breath of air. ❫
I don't― I don't know what's going on anymore.
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stumbles in late with starbucks
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The times when he is alone are the worst so Eddie, not unlike when they were kids, tends to stick close to Richie whenever given the chance. It doesn't go unnoticed by his work team in the year since Derry happened and he died underneath the town only to come back alive as something that was only human in terms of appearance. He's gotten used to it in his own ways— his need for blood, human blood and the sort of psychological torture he goes through every time his throat gets dry.
Animal blood helps, of course but time and time again has shown that it wasn't meant to last. It curbs the wants, the needs but ultimately he always feels like he's playing with fire. It's why he takes from Richie every so often before it gets bad. He's determined (if nothing else) in the knowledge that he would never hurt the person he loves and it works, he's able to go out more and enjoy things without too much worry aside from the strain being in the sun takes on him.
So, yeah, its not unfamiliar because of this little factoid for Eddie to go with Richie which is why they're here in Buffalo in the middle of fucking winter.
Richie is talking brightly and animated to his team and some of the VIP fans that have come backstage while Eddie hangs off to the side nursing a bottle of water. It's not for him, of course but it helps him not stand there awkwardly twiddling his thumbs. He's half tempted to take out his phone, look over what the weather will be for the next few days when suddenly it hits him—
The smell of blood just as one of the stagehands curses and grips his palm where he's cut it open on some set piece. Eddie doesn't even realize he's dropped his water bottle until it rolls back and hits his foot, shaking his out of his stupor and making a mad move to pick it back up while fighting the need to run.
Fight it, fight it, fucking fight it.. )
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The first time that Eddie bit him the euphoria shot through his veins like a white-hot spike of adrenaline. As a recovering addict, Richie was more into it than someone else would've been and had gotten drunk off of Eddie's blood lust more than once, in private moments between the two of them. They were still suited to each other, even now. Finishing sentences, connected on some near-telepathic level the same way they had been when they were kids.
That's why when Eddie's panic set in Richie turned around to find him in the room. His nerves make the hair on his arms raise, and not for the first time he wondered if Eddie had done some sort of Vulcan mind-meld on him. He excuses himself from the crowd politely and goes to grab Eddie and escort him out. Nobody thinks anything of it, why would they? He's entitled to his free time too. The building he'd performed in was a large one, in an old hotel and Richie escorts Eddie to one of the many elevators so they can get some space to themselves.]
Hey. You okay?
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Not that he thinks he'd ever actually do something like that. At first, sure because he didn't understand his limits or himself and although Eddie still doesn't understand himself, he knows enough about his limits now. Richie too, it seems because before he can excuse himself— Richie is already there and taking him by the hand, escorting him out of the heaviness of that blood scented room and into another space which offered him a distraction with the smell of old, stale air focusing his mind.
Carefully, he swallows and then nods as he brings their joined hands upwards. It isn't an unfamiliar gesture for Eddie to take his hand, pressing the palm against his cool cheek and simply sighing as he visibly relaxed while leeching off his body heat. After a moment for quiet, calming breathing does Eddie nod again and look up at Rich. )
Yeah, yeah— I'm okay now. It was just really sudden and it surprised me, I should have been preparing myself for something like that happening but I guess it just caught me off guard. ( He says with the faintest quirk of his lips. ) Sorry I took you away from everyone. You looked like you were having fun.
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It's an act that's a lot easier to perform and one he's able to create some actual material on his own for a change. Something that renews a sense of pride in himself he'd all but lost. The people he'd been talking with weren't as important as Eddie, and his show was done for the night so he was free until the next and final show at their current location tomorrow night.]
You don't have to explain anything to me, dude. Maybe I'm leaving because I want to, not just for you. I just spent two hours under a bunch of studio lights. I need a shower and some TLC, and it looks like you do too.
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It's part of the reason why he can smile now, chuckling and letting his lips brush over Richie's palm as he finally lets go. Of course, Eddie doesn't quite move out of Richie's space and might even crowd closer with another warm laugh. )
Oh, yeah? I don't know, I think you still smell pretty good.
( Its all send with a dramatic lean in, sniffing before giving into another chuckle and pressing a kiss to the underside of Rich's chin. )
I wouldn't say no to a shower though or watching you go off to sleep. The hotel they put you up in is worlds above trying to sleep on a fucking tour bus.
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You hungry?
[It's pretty depraved, but Eddie drinking from him didn't feel half as bad as it should have. Most of the time it felt like a shot of white-hot adrenaline mixed with molly and the addict in him didn't mind Eddie doing a little teething on him from time to time.]
Shower or bath tub complete with jets? Or maybe we skip both and go for round two in jacuzzi after it's closed.
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Little bit. ( He murmurs, lips pursed. ) And, you know, if you don't mind. I know you're probably exhausted after tonight's show.
( And, yeah, maybe it is a little depraved but there was just something near transcendent about drinking Richie's blood. Not that he has a lot of fucking examples especially on the human side of things but he doubts any blood would taste as good to him as Richie. )
Yeah? You think you can be quiet enough for us not to get interrupted while breaking hotel rules?
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[Not happening. The teeth don't show to the naked eye but he knows they're there. Enough, that his back curls with the heat of desire. If he hadn't spent the last two hours under stage lights it might be more obvious, but Eddie knew what he was doing. Of that Richie was convinced, he didn't know the specifics but he figured if Richie could smell blood maybe he could tell when blood was pumping a little faster too.]
If I don't, you can gag me.
[It's a fair deal while they're both being lecherous and the dirty talk was half the foreplay for them. An artform.]
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( Still— Eddie gets it. Just like how Richie seemingly had a Voice for everything then his blood also had a way of singing depending on the situation. They've been easy to learn the more time they've spent together and its his own way of reading Richie without the need for words just like how Rich had always been able to read him. )
Oh, please, you'd be even louder if I gagged you with what I have in mind.
( He can't help but playfully roll his eyes before nudging Rich back gently with a grin. )
Come on, lets go get changed. By the time we do and head back down, they'll probably have already have got everything shut up for the night.
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[Richie shrugs off the notion despite Eddie's constant desire to dote on him. Richie's never gotten over the sting of what it felt like to lose him, and sometimes it still haunts him in the middle of the night once in a while and he wakes up cold, clammy, with Eddie's eyes on him in the darkness of the room.
It's not something they've talked about, but there are no words for it. Eddie knows and Richie doesn't see any reason to diagnose it any more than they already have.]
Okay, first you get a nightcap, then we can change for the jacuzzi. Deal?
[The elevator opens with a ding to their suite, it wasn't quite a penthouse but it came close and the balcony overlooked the same pool they were going to have a caper in once it closed and the coast was clear.]
You first.
[Richie's already in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt and stepping out of his loafers on his way through the threshold. Watching Eddie made him ravenous too, in a different way. The beams of pride and the half-hidden laughs in his palm at a terrible joke the small glimpses he'd caught from the stage had done him in early.]
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( Yet it isn't something that he ever pushes or fights over. Despite the lack of words, Eddie knows that Richie still vividly remembers the emotions born in the time after his death. Because, yeah, he's here now but the fact remains that he died and despite being here, breathing and smiling up at Richie— a part of him died down there and never woke back up.
He thinks they should probably talk about it but everything still feels so fresh, so new and he doesn't want to destroy it. )
Yeah, alright, deal.
( He follows, pressing in close and enjoying the warmth of Richie's body. He doesn't want to peel away but does as they enter their room. He slips into the bathroom, gathering up a hand towel and wetting it in the sink before returning to where Richie is undressing. He offers him another warm look, reaching up and brushing the wet cloth over his face before tracing it down to his neck and then his shoulders. )
I'm so proud of you, you know. ( He murmurs with a grin, eyes warm and once again seemingly reading the unsaid thoughts between them. ) You're so amazing when you're up there in front of all those people. It's like they can't look away from you— not that I blame them, you do that to me always.
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[Richie's not as spirited as he would be usually, age hasn't made him as virile as some and he's out of shape despite the lankiness he never quite grew out of. Eddie had this way of completely disarming him in moments like these when they were alone together.
The tenderness he felt that he never deserved growing up made him crazy for him now, and Richie melts into the softness of the warm towel that he's using to soothe him.]
Is it better now that I write my own material?
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don't mind the prose, I'm on mobile and lazy
don't mind it at all
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