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This is the worst thing Richie’s ever done, bar none.
He leans down and licks into the boy’s mouth anyway, one hand fisted in his hair to tilt his head back, trying to make up for the height difference. Richie’s already hard, shamefully so, but the boy doesn’t seem to mind that much—he lets Richie swallow down his moans, rubs against the thigh Richie pushed between his legs.
“What’s your name?” Richie asks for the second time that night. He slides his free hand under the scrap of fabric pretending to be the boy’s shirt, desperate to feel the smooth skin and toned muscles of his chest. “‘Cause it’s not fucking Ron.”
That’s the name he gave Richie earlier at the bar. He hesitated a second when Richie asked him, and then he said it too fast like he was trying to prove a point. Ron. Yeah, sure.
“Why the fuck do you care?” he snaps, pulling back to glare at Richie, devastating doe eyes set right on his. “Pick a name if you like, I don’t give a shit.”
They’re still up against the front door, thankfully inside the house, so at least no neighbor is getting an eyeful of Richie grinding on a teenager (he didn’t ask the age, but no way this kid is over twenty) ( the worst thing Richie’s ever done). He softens the grip he had on the boy’s hair, feeling guilty for tugging on it so sharply, and moves his other hand to the small of his back so he can press them together again. The kid raises up on his tiptoes, still looking like a gorgeous mix of pissed off and aroused.
“Alright then, Bambi,” Richie says, and has the pleasure of watching the kid’s face scrunch up in disgust.
“Absolutely fucking not.” He looks off to the side, worrying at his bottom lip, and the sudden shyness on his young face makes something dangerous in Richie rear its ugly head. He is scaring himself. He’s not supposed to like this this much. “It’s Eddie,” the kid adds after a moment, and the name sounds way more natural on his lips.
Richie smiles and smacks a wet kiss on Eddie’s cheek just to see him all prissy and grossed out again. “Cute. So, Eds—” He puts some distance between them, but not much, just enough to fish the wallet out of his back pocket and take out whatever money he has left in there.
Come on, he thinks to himself, get this out of the way so you don’t have to think about it later.
“How much for a full night?”
“That’s not my name,” Eddie comments, his nicely shaped arms crossed together in front of his chest—this kid is way too pretty for his own good. Look where it fucking got him. “And, uh—how much do you have?”
Richie furrows his brow. What, no set rate? Shouldn’t he already have a fucking...price list or something? Maybe he just didn’t expect Richie to be as loaded as he is and now he doesn’t want to go too low. Understandable; and it’s not like Richie minds emptying his wallet—it might help with the guilt that’s sure to come as soon as his brain regains control over his dick.
“How’s three hundred dollars for now? I’ve got more somewhere in the house, I can double it after we—when we’re done. How’s that sound?”
Hopefully that’s a reasonable offer. Richie’s only experience with hookers comes from watching Pretty Woman exactly once, and, courtesy of Miss Beverly Marsh, he was drunk on strawberry daiquiris at the time.
Eddie just widens his eyes and nods with a strangled, uh uh, sounds good. The kid is literally selling himself short if he thinks six hundred dollars to have him in his bed all night is anything but the bare minimum. Richie kisses him again, feeling both overprotective and disgustingly turned on by the display of inexperience and breaks the kiss only when the need for oxygen demands it. He mouths along Eddie’s jaw, the kid panting in his ear, and he palms at the soft skin of his thigh until he gets the hint, and raises his leg high around Richie’s hip. Richie slips the dollar bills in the space between Eddie’s sock and his ankle.
“Buy yourself something with pockets,” Richie whispers in his ear, aiming to make Eddie laugh. The boy stifles a giggle and tries to kick Richie’s shin, but Richie’s faster—he grabs his other legs and hoists him up, pinning him to the door. Eddie exhales sharply but doesn’t protest; now that Richie’s gotten rid of the height difference, their erections slot together underneath all the layers of clothes—not many for Eddie, who’s wearing a pair of sinfully short shorts and very little underneath, judging by the outline of his cock tenting the fabric. Coupled with the white socks and the dirty Converse, Richie suspects Eddie was going for an Eighties' nostalgia kinda look, because that’s really popular with the kids nowadays.
Richie lived through the Eighties, and he looks back at them through the not-so-rose-colored lenses of someone who was bullied in school for the majority of the decade, but this outfit is absolutely, 100% doing it for him.
Eddie wraps his arms around Richie’s shoulders and drags him closer, forces Richie to look up at him instead of staring at their crotches like an idiot—imagining what it would feel like to roughly shove those shorts halfway down the kid’s legs, keep him pinned against the door with his thighs flush on Richie’s chest, and sink to the hilt inside him over and over.
“What now?” Richie asks, one breath from Eddie’s lips.
The boy manages to hoists himself higher, very obviously rubbing his cock on Richie’s stomach in a move so languid it risks sending them both tumbling to the ground when Richie’s knees go weak. He leans down, and Richie tilts his head, expecting a kiss, but Eddie stops right before their lips meet. There, he whispers, “Now you can get your money’s worth and fuck me.”
Oh, God. Richie’s going to Hell.
And I deserve it, he thinks as he makes his way to the kitchen with Eddie still wrapped around his middle.
The bedroom would undoubtedly be more comfortable, but he doesn’t remember the state he left it in this morning, and he knows that he has condoms and lube stashed in one of the kitchen drawers from the last time he restocked and got too lazy to put them somewhere more appropriate.
The point is, the stars are aligned for Richie to christen his kitchen table, and who is he to say no to the stars? He can’t even say no to an underage boy trying to make some money.
“Is this okay?” he asks when he lowers Eddie to sit on the table.
The kid looks nervous as hell, but he’s still straining his shorts, so he jots it down as trepidation and not actual fear of what they’re about to do. Of what Richie’s about to do to him. “Yeah,” Eddie says and offers Richie a small smile. “You’ve got a really nice house, dude.”
Richie hired an interior designer back when he got his first sizable check for his comedy, and she did a good job with the place—it’s still a bit too generic, even after all these years, but that’s Richie’s fault more than hers. “Thanks, pal. Buddy. Fam.”
Eddie snorts, visibly relaxing—Richie counts it as a big victory. If he’s doing this, doing it f or real, he can at least make sure the kid gets a good experience out of it. “Okay, okay, I get it. Do you prefer ‘daddy’ or something?”
“Nope, we’re not going there.” Richie looks at the ceiling, looking for strength. He doesn't find any. “I’m already a sleazy old bastard, don’t make this any worse.”
Eddie stifles a laugh, apparently delighted by Richie’s suffering, which unfortunately confirms that he’s pretty much Richie’s exact type: pretty and mean.
“You’re not that old.”
“Way too old for you. Don’t tell me your age! Shut up!” Richie grabs the hem of Eddie’s shirt and pushes it up until the kid raises his arm and lets him slip it off. “I already know you’re not legal, jailbait. I’m pretending you turn eighteen at midnight for my own piece of mind.”
“Thank you for the birthday gift, then,” the kid says, pointing at the money in his sock.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re fucking welcome,” and then Richie’s kissing him again and touching his fill of the abs Eddie was hiding under that one-size-too-small t-shirt.
They make out for a while, wet, exploring kisses that leave Eddie like putty in Richie’s hands, pliant and happy to let Richie slip off his shorts and the cute, almost threadbare briefs he had underneath. He leaves the shoes and socks on, because a part of his brain suggests that it makes the kid look slutty, and he’s helpless not to follow its direction tonight.
When Richie takes a step back to take in the whole picture, he finds Eddie blushing from the tips of his hair down to his chest. His cock is hard and curved up to his stomach, precum leaking down the shaft in a way that tempts Richie to fall to his knees and lick it right off.
Eddie taps his fingers on the table, impatient. “Well? Don’t just stare!”
“Didn’t I pay you to do what I want?” Richie replies, but he takes pity and touches Eddie again—just his hands sliding up and down his thighs, for now, never going closer to where the kid obviously wants him to. “Maybe I paid you to literally stand there and look pretty.”
Eddie spreads his legs, a clear invite. “What a waste. You shouldn’t be trusted with all that money.”
“You’re cute, kid,” Richie says, and kisses him again once, twice. “But you asked me to fuck you, and I have already said yes to a lot of bad things tonight, I’m not about to stop now.”
He goes to unfasten his belt, but Eddie slaps his hands away and gets to work himself. Richie studies his face as he does so, notices the focused look in his eyes and the way he clenches his jaw, like he’s defusing a bomb instead of unzipping a guys’ jeans—an action he’s probably well acquainted with, right? Right?
“Hey, Eds—” he starts to say, but at the same time Eddie slips his fingers under the waistband of Richie’s boxers and pushes both those and the pants down.
Eddie’s eyes go wide, and he pales a little. “Fuck. You’re big.”
That’s a reaction Richie’s used to, except it’s usually more of a pleasant surprise to the guys Richie sleeps with—Eddie looks worried sick. “I—thanks? You okay, kid? If you changed your mind just tell me the word and we stop.”
Eddie looks up at him with naked fear in his eyes. “No! No, please, I don’t wanna stop, I need this money—”
“No, no, hey,” Richie interrupts him, taking hold of both of his hands in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. “You can keep the money even if you decide to stop, that’s not a problem. I know you must meet a lot of douchebags in your, ah…line of work, but I’m not that shitty of a guy.”
Eddie spends a long minute trying to calm his breath, and all Richie can do is stand there with his pants down to his ankles and rhythmically brush his thumbs on the back of the kid’s hands. After a while he seems to regain control of his breathing, and his shoulders sag with a relieved exhale.
“I don’t,” he murmurs, avoiding Richie’s gaze. “Meet a lot of douchebags. I mean, I do, but not because of my ‘line of work’. I don’t have a line of work, this—this is my first time doing this.”
Richie’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “I’m your first client?”
Eddie finally meets Richie’s eyes, looking sheepish. “You’re my first everything.”
Wait. Run that back. What?
“What?” Richie pushes up his glasses to rub at his eyes, trying to process what the kid is telling him. “You’re a virgin?”
“Only kind of! I’ve done some hand stuff! And, like, grinding, I guess,” Eddie defends himself, counting off his fingers. “Obviously you’re not my first kiss, either, and...I’m a quick learner, too, so there’s that.” He sighs again, and unleashes on Richie the saddest puppy dog eyes Richie’s ever been on the receiving end of. “Please, Richie. My mom...she was making my life a living hell. I came all the way here to get away from her, but I need to make some money fast or I’ll need to live on the streets, or worse, fucking go back. Give me a chance? I’ll be good to you.”
And what the fuck, what is Richie supposed to say to that? “I—okay, kid. You know I can help you without having to fuck you, right?”
“Yeah, but I want you to.”
Straight to Hell.
☆☆☆
“Oh fuck, fuck, ggh—”
“Yeah, you like that? That feels good, kid?”
Eddie looks completely overwhelmed, face red and lashes wet, as he gazes down at where Richie is fucking into him. His fingers dig into the underside of his thighs hard enough to leave bruises, the white socks slipping down his toned calves, Richie’s money still peaking out of one elastic hem.
Richie took it slow, started with one finger and waited for the kid to sob for more, then kept going until he was a teary mess begging Richie to just fuck him, already. Richie was painfully hard by the time he finally gave in and pushed inside Eddie, but it was so worth it just to see the boy’s eyes roll back in his head, all previous worries about Richie’s size forgotten.
They started with Eddie’s legs draped over the crook of Richie’s arms, but soon the kid let them fall on the side of his chest, like it’s no big deal that he’s flexible enough to stay comfortably folded like a pretzel with a cock splitting him open.
Richie puts one elbow on the table, leaning down to suck a mark on Eddie’s neck. He hears the boy moan at the change in angle and figures he finally found the right spot to make him lose his fucking mind—he amps up the rhythm of his thrusts, pushing in and out of the tight heat of his body, praying he can make Eddie come before he does. He’s already mortifyingly close, and the way the kid is bent and spread open underneath him doesn’t help.
“You’re so fucking tight, God,” Richie pants against the damp skin of Eddie’s collarbone, and licks at the sweat blooming there before raising his head. “Like a fucking vice around my cock. I’m gonna leave you gaping.”
Eddie almost sobs, back arching as best as he can given the position when Richie slides almost all the way out and slams back in, hard and fast. “Shut—shut the fuck up, oh my God,” he whimpers and bites his already abused bottom lip to keep the sounds in.
So damn cute. Richie goes to caress his face, and ends up holding it instead, Eddie’s chin digging in his palm, his thumb sinking in the soft skin of his cheek. He marvels for a moment at the contrast in sizes, at how much bigger Eddie’s delicate features make his hand seem, then he finally kisses him on his pursed lips, a playful smack more than anything.
“Oh, cutie, are you embarrassed?” he asks. “You didn’t think you’d like it this much?”
The kid’s legs start to tremble. He seems more and more gone with each time Richie drives his cock into him, and yet he’s biting his lip bloody and doesn’t let anything louder than a quite ah, ah! spill out. He doesn’t answer, but he does glare at Richie with big watery eyes, tears finally spilling to wet his temples—there’s a touch of genuine hurt there that breaks Richie’s heart.
“I’m glad you do, I’m glad you feel good,” Richie is quick to add. “You’re taking me so well, Eds, you feel incredible. You don’t want me to hear the pretty sounds you make?”
“Fucking—it’s fucking humiliating,” Eddie finally gasps. But there must be something about that feeling that he likes, because as he says it his body squeezes tighter around Richie, and it almost makes him come on the spot. God, this kid is gonna fucking kill him before their time together is over.
“Let me help,” Richie offers. He shifts his hand until two of his fingers rest on Eddie’s lips, and the boy takes the hint almost immediately, opening his mouth so that Richie can slide two in. “There, that should keep your mouth busy, Bambi.”
Eddie shoots him a look that could kill if he wasn’t already earnestly sucking Richie’s fingers, cheeks hollowed and tongue working.
“Shit, alright, that backfired,” Richie mumbles. He’s trying not to blow here, and the added stimulus of Eddie’s hot mouth is not exactly what he needed. He feels himself lose the rhythm he’d picked up, the need to come making it almost impossible to slow things down. “Okay, fuck, wait, let’s—”
He somehow forces himself to pull out, and Eddie whines like he can’t believe Richie would do this to him. Richie frees his hand and wraps both around the boys ribs, lifting his torso off the table until Eddie’s plastered to his chest with a surprised oof!.
“Why the fuck did you stop?” Eddie complains, annoyed, but lets Richie lick into his mouth for a deep kiss.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says when the kiss breaks off. “I just needed a minute, I was about to come.”
Eddie furrows his brows and hops off the table on unsure legs, still pretty much flush with Richie’s body. He shifts his hips until he can press his cock, slick with precum, to Richie’s thigh with a relieved sigh. “You could have, you know, right? ‘T’s not like I would have stopped you.”
Richie slides his hand down the kid’s sides to feel the lean muscles and soft skin. His fingers travel lower, squeezing the firm roundness of his ass before sinking them inside his hole. They both groan at the feeling—Eddie’s sloppy and wet with lube there, gaping slightly like Richie knew he would be, and he takes three fingers easy with barely a broken-off moan. Richie plays with him some more, adoring the way the boy lets Richie take all his weight, raised up on his tiptoes so Richie has more leverage to lazily finger him.
“I know you would have.” Richie feels like everything is reduced to the need to sink his cock inside that tight heat again; he can barely think. “I just didn’t want it to be over already. Fuck, kid, you’re so shot. Turn around, please, I wanna see you bent over for me.”
“Jesus Christ, yeah, let’s do that,” Eddie says. He hisses softly when Richie slips his fingers out, but he happily complies with Richie’s request: he turns and lowers his chest on the table, head resting on his arms, and tilts his hips up when he feels Richie’s hand grab at them.
He spreads his cheeks mostly to see if Eddie will get all embarrassed and annoyed again, but the kid seems far beyond the point of caring what Richie does, as long as it ends with him having an orgasm, so Richie is rewarded the sight of his hole, red from the earlier abuse, just begging to be filled. Richie quickly lines up again, heart in his throat, feeling weak in all his limbs, and pushes in with no warning.
Eddie lifts himself up on his elbows when he does, moaning a long string of curses, and remains there with his head hanging low as Richie takes him and takes him and takes him.
They’re soon back to square one, a.k.a Eddie’s ass feels fucking amazing and Richie is having trouble holding back.
The kid looks pretty from all angles (unsurprising), but the tilt of his spine and the way his back muscles shift at every minute movement would be enough to finish off a better man than Richie. And as this evening has proven, Richie is a very bad man.
He drapes his back over Eddie, letting the kid take some of his weight—who knows, if he’s like Richie, he might like the feeling of a warm body over him—and takes his neglected cock in one hand. He strokes him fast, in time with his thrusts, tries his best to send him over the edge before following him there.
“Oh fuck, ohmygod I’m gonna come,” Eddie moans. He pushes his hips back to take Richie in deeper and then up to fuck into his fist, choked off sounds spilling out of his lips like he has no control over his mouth anymore. He seems to have lost all earlier inhibitions, but Richie still slides two fingers past his lips again. “Oomph, ‘uck,” the kid says, because Richie is not letting him close his mouth, he’s just pressing the fingers on his tongue and forcing him to throw his head back, almost hanging off his arm as Richie fucks him fast and hard.
“You’re so fucking pretty like this, drooling all over my fingers. You gonna let me fuck your mouth later, Eds? I want to see it stretched around my cock. I’m gonna pay you double, kid, give you all I got. Will you let me?”
More tears go roll down Eddie’s face. His eyes flutter close and open again a moment later—Richie has him practically standing now, one arm pressed on his chest to hold his weight, up on the tip of his Converse to make up for the height difference. He gives Richie a striking look, which is to say he just holds eye contact, lets Richie see the red flush high on his cheeks and the desperate curve of his brow, makes a gurgling sound low in his throat—and that’s all she wrote.
Richie’s hips falter, the tension snaps, and he comes buried deep in the kid’s ass so hard his vision goes white for a few seconds. When his brain comes back online he hoists Eddie closer with what strength is left in his arms, and he resumes the rhythm of his hand on the boy’s hard and leaking cock.
He slips his fingers out of Eddie’s mouth as he jerks him off. The kid takes in a wet breath and shakes in Richie’s arms.
“Come on, Eds, you close, baby? You gonna make a mess of my kitchen table?”
Eddie groans and finds it in himself to roll his eyes. “You’re—ah, fuck—y-you’re so f ucking annoying ,” he sutters, and then, “oh God yes yes please, Richie—”
He comes all over Richie’s fist and his own chest; some of it indeed spills over the table, which from now on Richie won’t be able to use without popping a boner (kind of inconvenient, but he thinks he’ll live).
Before his legs give in and he ruins everything by collapsing to the ground and scaring the shit out of Eddie, he gently pulls out—and takes care of the condom while he’s at it—and sits on the closest chair.
He spreads his legs and pats one of his thighs. “Take a seat on Santa’s lap, kiddo.”
Eddie makes a gagging sound but does sit down, still naked apart from his shoes and long socks. The sight alone is hot enough to make Richie’s spent dick stir in interest. The Kid lowers himself on Richie’s thigh very gingerly and Richie smirks, one arm already circling around Eddie’s slim waist, still too blissed out to feel like a terrible fucking person. “If you wanted to roleplay as Santa and one of his elfs, I’m glad you didn’t say so earlier ‘cause I would have left.”
Richie laughs and smacks a kiss on Eddie’s sweaty hair. He looks incredible, all flushed and sated, and Richie would be lying if he said he already regrets stuffing this kid’s sock with money and taking his virginity. He’s sure he’ll change his mind in the morning...maybe. Maybe he’s just as awful as he’s always suspected.
“Thank fuck I kept my candy cane fetish for myself, then.”
The kid pretends not to laugh and goes to pinch Richie’s stomach, but Richie wrestles him into letting him suck on his tongue instead. When he pulls back Eddie’s breathing has gone fast and shallow, lids heavy over his eyes—someone save Richie’s soul, but he looks just about ready to go again, and Richie has no intention of letting him down.
“So,” he asks and has to stop to clear his throat. “How do you rate your first time?”
Eddie thinks it over for a second, lips pursed. “Mh, I don’t know. I don’t have enough data to work with.”
This kid is a delight. Richie’s buying him a condo and paying for his college tuition. “Oh, gotcha. I could take you to my bedroom and eat you out until you’re sobbing—for science, that is.”
He has the pleasure of watching Eddie’s face go back to a bright shade of red, and his lips open in a bashful, hungry smile. “Well...you did pay for the entire night.”
Richie grins. Yep, worst thing he’s ever done, bar none.