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It starts in a bar, smoky and hazy with a bass that thumps in rhythm with her heart. Her whiskey, neat, burns a trail down her throat that warms her weary soul. This wasn’t the worst first date she’d ever been on ( that honor goes to one Patrick Hockstetter who she thought would skin her alive if he had ever gotten the chance to see where she’d lived ), but it was close. Tom Rogan was boring and condescending, a combination she wouldn’t normally have tried, but she really wanted him to stop asking her. Also, if she was being honest, it had been a long time since she had been on a date and, despite his numerous faults, Tom was gorgeous. He had dreamy eyes and shoulders to die for, but was it worth drinking alone in this crowded club ( where had he gone to anyway )? Her apartment was a 5 minute walk away and her couch and a glass ( bottle ) of wine was sounding better and better.
“You look like you could ruin my life and that makes me interested.” Beverly turned. Perhaps this date wasn’t a bust after all. The stranger shouldn’t be attractive. He was so skinny that even she was a little self-conscious. Prominent hip bones peeked out from the top of well-worn black skinny jeans. He was wearing Converse that might have gone through the original World War and offered a glance at the purple socks he was wearing beneath. She allowed her gaze to travel back up, trying not to get too distracted by the monstrosity that was his neon green t-shirt, until she reached his face. Brown eyes obscured by thick and outdated black-framed glasses held up by a nose that had been broken at least once. He definitely should be ugly, but his jawline was sharp enough to cut and his crooked smile made her weak in the knees.
“Beverly Marsh, certified life-ruiner at your service.” As the stranger’s smile turned into a smirk, she felt warmth ( though, not from the whiskey ) pool between her legs. What a beautiful mistake she might make tonight.
“Richie Tozier, pleased to make your acquaintance Ms. Marsh,” here he kissed the hand not holding her drink, causing her to grin, “want to dance?” With her couch far gone from her mind, Beverly pulled him onto the dancefloor.
It had been literal ages since she had danced. Between running her company and designing the clothes, she never had time to relax. She was definitely relaxing with Richie, who despite his awkward looks, was an excellent dancer. He kept the rhythm easily, pressing his body into her as she danced on him, and keeping pace when she would spin away from him. Every so often his hands would find her hips and she wondered if they could hold her against a wall.
In between songs they deemed good, they would talk and laugh in the bar line, making idle chit-chat and taking turns buying each other the most obnoxious drinks.
“Richie, I’m serious, you can’t take blowjob shots with your hands.” Beverly giggled excitedly. He waggled an eyebrow at her, but had no trouble getting it down. “Not enough whipped cream in the world to gag me baby.” Richie turned back to the exasperated bartender and ordered their next drink. “There’s no way there’s a shot called that!” She protested, even as the bartender darted away to make it. “You’ll see honey. It’s damn good too.” He laughed at her disbelieving face. The next shot set in front of them was an acid green that almost completely matched Richie’s t-shirt. “Why would frog cum be green?” She asked, a little disgusted at the idea of drinking it down ( even though, she had to admit, he hadn’t given her a truly gross drink all night ). “It’s not easy being green Bev. It’s probably for camouflage.” And he seemed so serious that he probably would have gotten her if he had been able to keep his laugh inside. “Richie, oh my god, I can’t be hanging around liars.” And so they went, shot after shot, and drink after drink.
It was one of their last shots ( if she had been counting, she might have been a little worried about how much alcohol they had just consumed ) that she felt it. A burning need in her mouth that caused her to stop in her tracks. She leaned close to Richie, stumbling a little in her stupid heels, “If I don’t get a cigarette in the next second, I will spontaneously combust and die. Come outside with me?” His eyes were glassy, but he grinned at her and led her outside, pushing past writhing bodies in the still very full club.
The night air was cold, it would usually bring goosebumps to Beverly’s exposed arms ( one more thing that makes her freckles stand out ), but the liquor made her hot and the dancing hadn’t helped. She fumbled for her case in the back pocket of her jeans, but Richie beat her to it. “Don’t you have your own,” she asked, giving him a smirk so he knew she wasn’t serious. He plucked two from her pack and put them to his lips, mumbling around them as he answered, “None so fancy they get to have their own case.” He handed her case back, then drew a lighter from his own pocket to light them. After, he handed her the lit cigarette, his fingers brushing her face as he brought it to her lips. She took a few, very much needed, drags before asking, “you a big film buff?” And he laughed. “I have to be into film to know one of the most iconic movie scenes of all time? You wound me. I learned this move to impress people I wanted to get into bed. Is it working?” Richie waggled his eyebrows at her.
She pondered it. Richie was far from her usual type. She was usually very into men who wore suits or other fashionable clothes, not men who looked like they got their shopping done from a donation bin. She was still technically on a date, not that she actually knew where Tom had gotten off to. She was as drunk as a skunk and so was he. She really shouldn’t, but she thought of his hands and looked at his lips and said, “Yes.”
Beverly had a chance to see his eyes darken before his mouth was on hers. Oh God, you are in trouble Beverly. Richie’s lips were chapped, but soft, and she let her cigarette fall as she threaded her fingers in his surprisingly clean hair. His hands found her hips and he pulled her against him as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She could feel him hard against her leg, and she can’t remember the last time she made a man hard from just kissing ( not that she was much better under her jeans ).
A sharp whistle cut through the mood as a bachelorette party came out of the club. “Yas! Get it girl!” And it’s nice for a moment, even as she puts some space between herself and Richie ( when’s the last time her face was this red ), that these people are cheering and clapping and supporting what she thinks might not be a mistake after all. Richie laughs and puts her arm in the air like a boxer, eliciting laughs from the party and Beverly. As they pass, he looks back at her, glasses smudged and mouth a little swollen. “My place is about 20 minutes away.” She brings her arm down, but keeps hold of his hand, even though it dwarfs hers. “I’m around the corner.” The usual short walk turns a little longer as they encounter some obstacles. They’re both still drunk. It’s only practice with Kay in college that is keeping her from falling off her heels, or stripping them off and walking the street barefoot. Richie is his own obstacle. She keeps looking at him and he keeps looking at her and then they’re kissing again.
They finally get to her apartment and stagger up the stairwell, pausing every so often to catch their breath. “Damn Bev, you had to have the penthouse?”
“You’ll see Tozier, the view is worth it.” And it really was. She paid premium prices for a small balcony. It might not overlook any greenery, but the city lit up at night was magical. And in the morning, when it was just her and her coffee, she felt a peaceful serenity that she hadn’t found in many other places.
She opened her apartment door and it felt like she had opened the gates of heaven. She immediately kicked off her heels, then turned back to Richie so she could show him the balcony. She didn’t get the chance. His mouth covered hers and he backed her gently into one of her walls. Beverly let out a breathless laugh, “don’t you want to see my balcony? I pay so much for it.” His hands slid up her shirt and left behind searing heat as they palmed her waist. “I’ll see it in the morning.” She let herself lean in so she could kiss him again.
People always called Beverly fiery ( they insisted it was for her personality and not her hair, but she knew better ), but she had never felt fire like this. Richie’s touch set her ablaze and if she wasn’t careful, it would consume her. She balled his stupid shirt in her hands and tried to tear it off him, which made him chuckle. He took a step back and easily pulled it over his head. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours Red.” She bit her lip as she just took him in. His chest was sparsely covered in black hair, a happy trail leading to the jeans he was unzipping. Beverly took off her own shirt and started walking towards her bedroom, confident he’d follow.
In her bedroom, she pulled her jeans off her legs, making sure to give her a visitor a small show. She was rewarded with a low whistle and hands on her hips, fingers slipping into the sides of her panties and sliding them down. She startled when she felt Richie’s breath on her ass. “What are you doing back there?” She tried to look down at him, but he pushed her into her bed, causing her to bend at the waist. “I was looking at heaven sweetheart, now I’d like to taste it.” Beverly swore she didn’t mean to flip herself around so fast, she didn’t mean to kick him in the leg as she inched her way up the bed. “We were just dancing and sweating, no need for that, I’m good to go.” And she really was. Richie had been making her wet since she saw his mouth and all the kissing they had done had only made it worse. He smiled at her, more gentle than he had been so far tonight and followed her onto the bed, lounging next to her. “I don’t mind a little sweat. And I definitely don’t mind eating dessert before dinner. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable though.” Oh. It had been a long time since she had been with a guy who was that considerate. Even her high school boyfriend had been a little pushy on it, he insisted that he only wanted to make her feel good, but the idea of someone’s mouth down there was already uncomfortable ( the idea of someone’s mouth down there after a night of heavy sweating, no thank you ). Beverly smiled at him. “I appreciate the thought, really, but it’s never been my thing.”
Richie’s hands travelled lightly up her thighs, “what about fingering?” She didn’t mean for a whimper to come out of her lips, especially not one he heard as his smile broadened, but she really did love it. It came with liking giant hands. He kissed her again as his hand made its way between her legs. He doesn’t go slow, but he is gentle as one finger fills her, a thumb swiping at her clit. She’s already ridiculously close to cumming, so when he adds a second and a third finger in quick succession, she bites her lip to keep her moans of ecstasy inside. Richie chuckles at her anyway, bringing his fingers to his mouth as she comes down from her orgasm. The sight of him sucking her cum from his fingers as he makes intense eye contact with her makes her wet again. “You should fuck me right now,” and her voice was a bit more gaspy than sexy, but it worked. Richie moved his body on top of hers, meeting her lips in another toe-curling kiss.
“Condoms?” He asked and Beverly felt tragedy strike. “Oh fuck, no?” She rolls over to check her nightstand drawer, but she already knows the answer. Why would she bother buying condoms when she hadn’t been laid in several months ( 13 to be exact )? But, Richie is right here and she just really needs this. “Are you clean?” And his eyebrow raises, but he nods. “I’m on the pill. So, if you’re good at pulling out?” Her offer stands in the air for a moment, but then his mouth is on hers and he’s pulling her into his lap.
“Pulling out and praying is my go-to method of doing things: fucking, swiping my debit card, looking for food in the fridge,” Richie joked as she pulled off his boxers. “I think you’d be funnier out of my bedroom.” His large hands lifted her by the waist and settled her into his lap. “Don’t be like that baby, this is how I got you in here.” She giggled, reaching down and adjusting his dick so it would slide into her. It slid in easy, causing a moan to erupt low from Richie’s throat. “Fuck, baby.” He wraps one arm around her waist, giving her support as she bounced up and down, the other playing with her breasts ( “such perfect fucking tits, holy shit Beverly. Look at your freckles, fuck.” ). When his mouth wasn’t occupied with an almost endless stream of conversation, he was kissing her neck or sucking her nipples.
She’s almost there, but Richie’s hands move to grip her hips, grinding her onto him. His breath is hot on her ear and she can feel her hips unconsciously moving, trying to find her own release. “Babe, I’m so fucking close, if you keep moving like that, I won’t be able to pull out.”
“So?”
And they both freeze. It takes Beverly a moment to realize what she just said, to realize what kind of trust she’s asking Richie to put in her. She chuckles nervously, “Sorry, heat of the moment.” She moves to get off him, but she is suddenly flipped over onto her back, Richie staring down at her with a fervent look on his face. He enters her again, pressing close to her body so he can whisper in her ear.
“Do you want me to fill this pussy baby?” And it sounds so pornographic, Richie’s husky voice in her ears, the slapping of his balls against her ass, the wet gliding noise his fingers are making as they slide quickly across her clit. She tried to say yes, but everything feels so good and she knows she’s moaning loud enough to wake her neighbors, but she doesn’t care. She feels the sting of Richie’s teeth on her neck, hears his muffled moan, and then his hips stutter and oh, fuck. Feels so good. Beverly feels boneless as he pulls out of her and lays beside her. They make eye contact and she’s not sure if she can ever let him go. She feels her vagina, getting cum on her fingers as she tries to see how much is spilling out of her. She brings her fingers to her mouth and keeps eye contact. Richie lets out a quiet, “fuck.” She swallows, “you tasted mine, I had to return the favor.” He kisses her again, not urgently like it was before, but strongly. His hands cup her face and she wants to keep him ( forever ).
Richie kisses her forehead and stands up, stretching as he goes. “Water and Advil,” he announces, then looks at her, “do you want a towel, or are you gonna make a run for it?” She laughs, “Towel please. I can’t get cumstains on my carpet, I’ll lose my deposit.” He laughed as he went to her bathroom. After a few minutes of almost dozing on her pillow, Richie came back and threw the towel at her face, startling her. “I’ll get us some water, if you get the Advil. I try not to look in medicine cabinets in case someone accuses me of stealing their Oxy.”
“Has that happened before?” She asked, holding the towel up like a sad cloth diaper as she waddled to her bathroom. “You don’t think I have oddly specific stories for no reason do you?” He shouted back from the kitchen. She sat on the toilet and felt a little gross as everything came out of her body, but she knew that she’d have a raging UTI by tomorrow if she didn’t pee right now (thank God she learned that lesson earlier in her 20's). She washed her hands and got the painkillers from her medicine cabinet, heading into her bedroom where Richie was sitting on the end of her bed, holding her most ridiculous mugs ( “#1 Dad” and a mug with a 3-D face on it that she had named Jeffery ). She sat beside him, handing him the Advil. “Here’s your Oxy, Daddy.” He laughed at her and handed her her mug.
And they sat and joked, nursing their water and trading stories. When they finished, Richie asked what kind of spoon she wanted to be, and they got into bed. As they laid there, her wrapped around his back like a jetpack, she wondered what was wrong with him. There had to be some small or large flaw. His out of date glasses weren’t a flaw; they kept the intensity of his gaze in check. The crooked teeth she just knew had given her a hickey weren’t a flaw either; made that smile still crazy sexy, but relatable. He did have a juvenile sense of humor, but to be honest, so did she. It’s why she didn’t get many dates. Men were drawn in by her red hair and perky tits, but didn’t stay when she unveiled the unsophisticated jokes and venomous sarcasm. As Richie’s steady breaths lulled her to sleep, she decided she would figure out his flaws in the morning ( and hopefully, the mornings after that one as well ).
Beverly wakes up suddenly, her head pounding only a little. She looked around to see what had woken her and saw only an empty bedroom. She sighs. She had found a flaw after all. She got up and stretched, seeing Richie’s t-shirt on the floor. She shrugged and pulled it on, smelling liquor and cigarettes and a small hint of cologne. She hugged herself a little, then decided to put it into the past and go on with her day.
Or so she thought. Beverly walked into the kitchen and stopped short. Richie was sitting on her counter next to her coffee pot, which was brewing coffee. She walked over and settled herself between his legs, looking up at him. He greeted her with a smile and a forehead kiss. “Looking mighty fine Red.” And she melted into him, wrapping her arms around him. He laughed at her and hugged her back. “Okay? So, I’m making coffee, but I can’t cook to save my life. I’ll buy you breakfast and Plan B, if you want?” And his voice sounded a little strained, almost like he thought her answer would be anything but yes. She reached up and kissed him. They both tasted like morning breath and old alcohol, but that wasn’t a flaw either.