#will be ignoring all school related responsibilities this weekend in the name of easy company

[baura-bear]

What I think my new shirt makes me look like

What it actually makes me look like

[catxsnow]

AFTER HOURS chapter two

Summary: Enemies to the public, friends to their close ones, friends with benefits between them. Rival companies and an attraction that can’t be ignored. 

Tim Drake x reader

Warnings: swearing, mature content, smut, 18+ only, mention death of parents, car crash mentions.  

A/N: Chapter twooooooo it shall be getting more interesting next chapter😏 

Word Count: 3.6k

It seemed that her life seemed revolve around business meetings. Nine in the morning, another at eleven, two at noon but there was no way to attend both, a final one at three. Meeting after meeting, and for what? To hear the same things over and over again? Some people choose to do this for the rest of their lives.

There was something about the busy Gotham streets that always caught her attention. Maybe it was the sound of the horns, or the people yelling within their cars. Gun shots or screams. There was always something to distract her from whatever meeting she was forced to listen to. Maybe it was because she didn't want to listen to it at all.

Of course, running this company was important. Without her parents, she had to take control of it. It was an important company too, just along side WE, they worked to make Gotham, and the world a better place. That didn't mean that she wanted to here about the statistical analysis of it all.

Not to mention that the weight of her parent's anniversary was heavy in her mind. Four years since they had been gone, four years of blaming herself. They went to Gotham to visit her, if they had just stayed home, they would still be home. Car accidents happen all the time, but that didn't make it any easier.

The second that the final meeting was over, she couldn't seem to get out of that room fast enough. She just wanted to be in the privacy of her own office. The door nearly slammed shut as she closed it. Back against the wall, heavy breathing as she tried to hold herself together. It was always hard on that day of the year.

A bright bouquet of flowers was on her desk. With a shaky breath, she headed over to see who they were from. It wasn't rare for her to receive flowers. Gotham's greatest bachelorette - more like people wanted her for sex and money. Without that company, she wouldn't have been idolized like that.

The bouquet was grand: flowers of every color and kind poked out from it. Whoever this was, they had spent a lot of money on it. (Y/N) picked up the small card and read what it said.

For your parents. I know days like these aren't easy, I'm sorry. - T.D.

"Those are pretty."

"Ms. Vale," her jaw clenched at the sound of the voice behind here. Great, this was the last thing that she needed to deal with today. Vicki Vale had a tendency to show up on her worst days. "What do I owe the pleasure of today and who let you into my office?"

"I let myself in," she said. Vicki Vale stood tall and proud. She had a large purse over her shoulder which surely held a plethora of notebooks and pens. Always ready to catch a story and always eager to stir up drama within the city. "Hope you don't mind. Just wanted to ask you a few questions about this new business deal that you're about to make. But, now I'm curious about the flowers, who're they from?"

"Why don't you tell me?" She sat in her chair as Vicky sat in the one across from her. "You do enjoy making headlines about me and my, as you say 'promiscuous life'." There had been many titles about (Y/N) - between her risky clothing, the second that she were talking with a man outside of business, or her attempts for normal dates - she was there.

Vicki casually reached her perfectly manicured finger tips towards the card from the flowers. Before she could even come near, (Y/N)'s palm slammed down on the desk. She pulled the card towards herself and out of the reach of Vicki. The last thing she needed was for the reporter to put two and two together to realize T.D. was Tim Drake-Wayne.

"Another hopeless lover of yours?" She raised an eyebrow. There was no answer. "I just wanted to ask you what you thought about Wayne Enterprise's attempt to stop the progress of your new development? Mr. Drake - sorry, Mr. Wayne, had lots to say on the matter, I hope you do as well."

"As a matter of fact, I don't." WE's attempt to stop the development was futile. Even Tim had told her that. There was no reason for them to try and stop it when in the end it would benefit both companies. They just wanted their name on it rather than hers. Everyone in both companies knew that.

It was for namesake that there was disagreements about the development. She was lucky enough to have beaten Tim to it first. This was going to a be a massive break for the company, one that would sky rocket sales and put you neck and neck with Wayne Enterprises once again.

"Mr. Wayne is your biggest competitor, aren't you worried?" She continued to pry. (Y/N) had gotten skilled over the years of not letting the curiosity of others get to her. She was able to keep her face straight and her mouth shut - even when she had lots she wanted to say. 

"Mr. Wayne has always, and will always be my biggest competitor. Unfortunately for him, I was the one to give the statement first about this new addition to the city. I will become Gotham's biggest economic resources, just as I have always tried to do in the past - and just as Mr. Wayne has always done in the past."

"So, you're saying that you public enemies?" Vicki pressed. She had always known about (Y/N)'s vendetta against the WE, but there had never been a statement that she tried to take the company down so hers could thrive. That was never her intention, they could co-exist always.

"I'm saying, Ms. Vale, that Timothy Drake-Wayne is a smart man. He knows when to push through fights, and he knows when he is losing. This time, he's lost. The next time, I won't be so lucky. Those who are fighting for the same cost are never enemies," she firmly stated.

"Will you be attending the Wayne Gala?" Vicki continued. Of course, there always had to be questions that weren't related to the company. She wanted anything to see (Y/N) with a man, just to make a headline for the decade. In all these years, not once had she been caught in the dating scene.

"No. I've made a donation, but I will not be attending," She answered. The tag from the flowers seemed to burn the skin of her hands. Tim sent those flowers because he worried, not because he wished to impress her. "Don't you have some better reporting to do rather than finding strings to cling onto of my personal life, Ms. Vale?"

"That'll be all for today."

><

Tim's bouquet of flowers felt heavy in her hands. The weight of having to visit her parent's graves was always a hard task to do alone. As time passed, it seemed easier to go visit them. Years of working hard to make them proud, years of showing them how much the business they started thrived.

There was nothing more that she wanted than to make them proud. Even as a child - working hard in school, playing sports, everything that would have brought a smile to their faces. In death, it felt like she needed to work even harder. Then again, as time passed, she forgot the sound of their voices, the crinkle by their eyes as they smiled, she forgot the warmth of their hugs.

As time passed, she forgot that she could be happy.

Work consumed her in the past four years. Late nights at the office, early mornings, weekends even. She lost friends, disconnected from family, deterred everyone away. Running this company had changed her life, and not necessarily for the better. The responsibility of it all was almost too much to handle on her own.

"Mr. Wayne's son bought these for you," she spoke to her parents graves. Tim's flowers sat on the grass, bringing some brightness to that gloomy day. "Surprising, I know. He's very kind, I think you guys would like him if he wasn't running Wayne Enterprises. At this point though I think you would like any man that I talked to.

"I miss you both, a lot. I'm securing a new development in the company, it's really going to pull us ahead this time. Dad would have thought it would have been a risky move, but I did it. I beat them for once. I hope you guys are proud of me up there, I'm really trying to make this city a better place in your name.

"Happy anniversary mom and dad, I love you," she sighed once more before heading back to her car. The walk back seemed long. Her shoulders hung low and she furiously wiped away the hot tears that threatened to spill down her eyes.

To her surprise, Tim was there, leaning against his own car right next to hers. He was reading something on his phone, but as he heard her footsteps, he looked up. "Mr. Wayne, thank you for those flowers, they were beautiful. What are you doing here?"

It wasn't often that they met up in public without there being some sort of business meeting along with it. Tim shoved his phone in his pocket and gave her a smile filled with sympathy. To be honest, he was visiting his own parents. Their chat the previous night had edged him to go visit their graves.

It just happened to be lucky timing that she was there as well. Tim didn't want to disturb her, but he did wish to speak to her. He always wished to talk with her - not just about business. He liked being with her, she was refreshing in his life of darkness. Without evening knowing much about it, it seemed she understood him more than anyone.

"I was in the area," Tim vaguely answered. He knew that he could tell her that he was visiting his parents just like she were but he felt deterred from doing so. Besides, upon seeing the redness in her eyes, he didn't want to worry about anything besides her. She had been crying, it was evident for someone like him. "I'm glad you liked the flowers, they used to be mother's favourites."

"They stirred up quite the fuss with Vicki Vale today," she tried to joke. Tim rolled his eyes at the sound of her name. He wasn't her biggest fan, in fact he was far from it. Vicki had single-handedly meddled into his life and forced him to live an entire year with a fake spinal injury and crutches. He had gotten off of them just before meeting (Y/N).

"She came to see you too, huh?" Tim shuddered at their meeting that afternoon. Question after question about his involvement with Ms. (L/N). Vicki was sure that there was something going on between the two of them - and for once she was right. "The new development or your latest hot date?"

"Considering my latest hot date is non-existent, it was the development. But, she was pretty eager for me to say something about you," She half-smiled. Tim shook his head, of course. Vicki was always trying to start a turf war or make the two of them fall in love. "I know you just came over last night... but I could really use a distraction from today."

A distraction. That seemed that was all he was to her. Nothing more than something to get her mind of the life she was thrown into. Of course, that was what it was all about at the start. Fucking to forget. He knew it, he went into their benefit relationship knowing it but as time grew...

"There's nothing wrong with taking a break from work," Tim changed the subject a little too quickly. In the four years he had known her, she had aged. Worried creases were around her eyes and scattered on her forehead. Dark circles always under her eyes. It worried him. "I'm not saying leave or anything, but you can have fun every once in a while. It's a Friday night, why not go to the bar with your friends? Let loose and live a little."

Tim was right. She wasn't the young eighteen year old anymore that would have been chastised for having a drink. It was legal for her to go out and have fun, maybe tonight was the kind of night that she deserved. Her parents wouldn't want her to sulk over their deaths, they would have wanted her to live her best life.

Going out was exactly what she needed. Not a distraction, not something that would keep her mind busy for a couple hours just to fall back in her pit of despair. She needed a genuine change in her life, and maybe that started with connecting with old friends and making some new ones.

As no words came out of her mouth, Tim took the time to realize that it was his moment to leave. She was obviously deep in thought with his words. He placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it before getting into his car. "I hate when you call me Mr. Wayne," he told her.

It was true, not only did it make him feel old, but it also made him feel like they didn't know each other at all. That was far from the truth, they both were far closer to each other than they would like to admit. Tim knew of her desire to keep their relationship business - and emotionless sex. They were after all, public enemies.

><

For the first time in years she woke up with a hangover. Pounding head, upset stomach - it was a feeling that she didn't miss. It wasn't rare for her to sleep naked in her own home, but it was to feel a heavy arm across her waist. Dark hair, muscular back - for a second she swore it to be Tim, but this man wasn't nearly as broad as he was.

Aside from the thumping in her head, memories of what happened the night before started to resurface. She had taken Tim's advice and called up her friends to go get a drink. One drink turned to two, which turned to shots and getting plastered. It had been so long since she had seen them all that letting loose was almost too easy.

She knew that she shouldn't have gotten that drunk, but having fun like that for the first time since she started working at that company was exhilarating. Unlike she had thought - her friends accepted her right back in. They knew that she was under a lot of pressure and that making time wasn't easy. They were just thankful for that night.

So, with a small reunion at the front of the bar, they headed in and got hammered. She treated her friends round after round - partially because she easily could and partially for an apology. It didn't take long for them to become a laughing mess while catching up and remembering the old days.

By the time the night was coming to an end, her friend pointed out the man that had been eyeing her up for hours. Whether it was the alcohol, the need to continue her good night, or to show her friends that she was just as fun as ever, she went to the man. Minutes later, they were walking out of the club and into a taxi.

Now, he was asleep in her bed and she had no idea whether or not anyone outside of her friend group knew what had happened. The man stirred. He pulled himself closer towards her as he woke. Warm brown eyes met hers, a genuine smile. What was his name? Jacob.

"Good morning beautiful," his voice was hoarse, sexy. Her mind raced between the option of soaking up some more moments of fun or getting back to her usual self and kicking him out. She went with the first one as he glided his hands along the curves of her side before placing his hand at her jaw.

It made her falter. This man... as good looking and as sexy as he was, he wasn't Tim. He didn't please her like Tim did. He didn't make her feel as good as Tim did. Even the sound of his voice didn't bring her the same amount of excitement. Why did she feel like she betrayed him? They were allowed to sleep with who they wanted.

She pushed away the feeling. Tim was the one to tell her to go out and have fun. Let loose from the burden of running a company and just the kid that she was. Sleeping with men, getting drunk, that was all part of her teen years that she missed out on. Tim wanted her to have this.

"Coffee?" She asked. Maybe that would stop the ridiculous headache she had. Or maybe she was using it as an excuse to get out of bed with him. Jacob nodded. He pulled her in for a long kiss, lingering against her for just a moment too long. The two of them grabbed whatever scattered clothes they could before going to her kitchen.

As the smell of coffee beans filled the air, she checked her phone for the first time that morning. Unlike the endless abundance of emails that she had gotten - there was a plethora of missed calls and texts. This was far from usual. Her eyebrows furrowed as she opened up the one from her closet advisor.

A picture of her and Jacob leaving the club, pictures of them kissing, her taking shots and drinking with her friends. Is she really mature enough to run this company? Black bold letters stared back at her. This was exactly what she was trying to avoid. The media had taken her one night of fun and turned the city against her.

"Fuck," she breathed out.

"What's wrong?" Jacob asked. Genuine concern was in his eyes for why she was suddenly upset. She was frozen in her spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the screen. Jacob stood behind her, hands on her shoulders as he glanced over the article itself. "Oh." He never assumed that the media would do this.

In the bar, he knew who she was. Everyone in Gotham knew who she was, however he never expected her to be that beautiful in person. His friends had been hyping him up all night to go talk to her, but he knew it would never be a success. So, when she came to him, he couldn't say no.

Now, he worried that in one fowl swoop, he had tainted everything that she had worked so hard for.

"I think you should go," she told him, not trying to be rude. This wasn't his fault, none of this was. It was her fault for agreeing to her friends to go after him, it was her fault for agreeing to Tim's idea. Tim. This wouldn't have happened if he hadn't offered. Was this a ploy to get her company to fall so he could come out on top?

"I know it doesn't really mean much from someone like me, but... No matter what Gotham has to say about you, I think you’re the only one keeping this city somewhat sane," Jacob told her. He genuinely thought her to be a good person - not just some chick with a nice ass and easy access. There were people in Gotham that wanted to see her succeed, regardless of her age.

It was a hard idea to get through her head - people believing in her for her brain, not her body. So many articles, just like the one she read this morning, forced her to a life that made her weary of trusting people. She wanted to be seen as powerful, influential - not as a little girl who ran around sleeping with people.

"Thank you," she smiled. "If it means anything, I did have a great time last night." Jacob chuckled, but agreed. He waved a final time and left her home. Reluctantly, she went through the rest of the texts that she had gotten over the night. All of them were the same - reminding her that she was still an immature kid.

The board of directors, her friends, advisors - everyone seemed to have seen it before she had. It was the text from Tim that stood out to her the most. I see you took my advise, hope you had fun last night. Don't worry to much about the paps.

Don't worry? Don't worry? The great Tim Wayne had nothing to worry about, ever. Her on the other hand? She was constantly under scrutiny. In the eyes of society, Tim was the perfect candidate to take over WE. He was smart, cunning, he had a way with the people. It seemed that there was never anything bad for someone to say about him.

Her life on the other hand? She fell under Gotham's microscope and was picked apart until there was nothing left beside the mistakes she had made. This was another mistake, another mishap that would push her back and make her fall under the hand of Wayne Enterprises. The same man that tried to convince her that this was the best thing that she could do for herself.

This was Tim's fault, and she was furious.

@julia-and-comics @unknowntoanyone @willieoo @kindashittywriter @subtleappreciation @yandereforyou @pricetagofficial @because-icanhide @magicisabluewish @hyp-oh-critical @littleredwing89 @boy-georgina @sparkleofpizza @craptainlou @timtimmersdrake @hauntingsonofrobin​ @anothertimdrakestan​ @idkmanicantenglish​ @vvipgot7be​

[cheerfulmelancholies]

Medical Mechanical Ch. 8

As soon as the door latched behind her, Diana dialed Ethan's number. "You were right," she said when he answered. "It is getting worse." She forced herself to keep her breathing steady. Her shaking hands didn't allow her as much control.

Ethan was on high alert instantly. "What happened?"

"I don't know, he was just really out of it. I didn't even know he was home at first. I just went looking for something in the garage and saw him standing there next to his car. It was like he didn't know I existed; he just kept staring at the thing. I think he might've been doing that for a while. Then he just stumbled over to his workbench. He kept mumbling but I couldn't understand it."

"He stumbled? Was he hurt?"

Diana shook her head even though he couldn't see it. "No. Aside from the lapse in memory, he was fine."

"What else did he do?"

"Anyone who knows my dad knows he can work on cars. He was so confused he grabbed the wrong tool and didn't even know how to use it. Every time I tried to say something he either didn't hear me or blew me off. He kept saying he was fine even though he obviously wasn't, and next thing I know he's on the ground trying to pull the front tire off with his hands. Then he just sort of... woke up." She chanced a peek out her bedroom door and heard him snoring lightly. At least he seemed better now.

"That's... I have no idea how to respond to that," Ethan said, brow creased. Though his mother had been unusually chipper these past few days, she was still herself. Much of his interactions with her had been the same as always, albeit on a much more cheerful note. Daniel Ryder's sudden memory lapse was far more troubling and spoke volumes for what little they could unearth about Medical Mechanical.

Diana sighed and sat on her bed. "This is so sudden," she admitted, picking at a hangnail. "Aside from the headaches and being out late, he was fine. Now, all of a sudden, he loses his shit? You should have seen him. I was worried I'd have to take him to one of MM's clinics." If they discovered that whatever they'd been doing to her father had taken effect like this, she might lose him for good.

"Let's not panic, okay? If he's fine now then it just means it was something temporary. Maybe they gave him something, like my mom. Or maybe it's just stress." He knew she would never believe such a terrible excuse but he wanted to ease her worry.

"There's no way you could get amnesia from stress, Ethan. They definitely did something to him."

"I know. And we're working on figuring it out, so don't go rushing in halfcocked. We need to get more info first."

They hadn't gotten much out of any locals aside from the usual conspiracy theories and paranoia-driven nonsense. The only people who knew anything had either left or were working for the enemy. It wouldn't be easy, but they were going to have to get closer to MM themselves if they wanted to find out what was going on.

Diana hummed in thought. "I think I might have an idea."

"Shoot."

"I can try asking my mom," she said, still deciding if it was a good call.

Ethan didn't know how much of the things he'd heard about Keana Ryder were true, so he settled on being neutral. "If you think she'll know anything."

"She might?" Why did she sound so unsure? Of course her mom would know something. She was still in the medical industry, what little of it there was that Medical Mechanical didn't own. Not to mention, she’d had her fair share of their shenanigans before. "I'm sure she's got some kind of insider knowledge." Whether or not she'd have to relay her dad's lapse in memory to get said knowledge had yet to be seen.

He shrugged, trying to remain indifferent. "Sounds good. Let me know if you find out anything."

"Will do. Bye." She hung up and her finger hovered over the image of her mother. She spent a couple of minutes steeling herself and going over what she wanted to say before calling.

Her call was answered on the third ring.

"Diana, long time no chat." Keana closed the laptop's lid and leaned back in her chair. She was surprised to hear from her daughter again so soon, but also relieved.

"Hey, Mom. How's stuff been?" She thought a casual approach would be her best bet.

"Oh, frustrating as always. You know how it is." She heard Diana hum. "Is everything alright there?"

"Yeah, everything's good. I just wanted to talk some more. Unless you're busy, that is. I know that's why you couldn't come over so soon." She felt horrible for playing her mother like this, using her wounded daughter act to get her to talk. She just didn't want to use the alternative.

"No, no, of course not, honey. I'm always here for you. Anything new at school?"

She hadn't been planning on revealing Ethan so soon, but then she realized it would be the perfect opportunity to bring up her father. "Well, not really," she said, injecting just enough insecurity into her tone.

"Not really?" Keana parroted, not missing the awkward phrasing.

"Well, ok, I guess I'll tell you. There's this project I've been doing and, uh, I've got a partner on it. His name's Ethan. You're not allowed to tell Dad though; he's already caught on and he's giving me flak over it." She wasn't lying, she told herself.

"Aw, sounds like you've got a crush."

"Mom..." Though she had known it was coming she was still embarrassed. "I mean it. This is between us, got it?"

"Any reason why you're keeping your father out of the loop?" Diana was just as close to Daniel as her. Sometimes she wondered if they weren't closer because of how little she saw them.

Here went nothing. Diana took in a silent breath before speaking. "He's just been... kinda distant lately. He's always so tired now. All he does is work and sleep."

Keana was silent for several moments.

"Mom?" She thought she'd gotten disconnected when her mother finally spoke.

"Just how much does he work?"

The question took her by surprise and she couldn't think of a response right away. "Um, a lot," she said finally.

"A lot of what? Days? Nights? Hours?"

"All three, if I'm being honest. But he's always worked like crazy." As she said it, she was questioning if it was true. Her father had always thrown himself at his work--so much that it had cost him his marriage--but had he always lived for it? How long had this been going on for? The complete one-eighty on his views of MM was bad enough, but had he really always worked this hard for them?

"Doesn't he get any time off? He used to have weekends, remember?" Keana asked, cutting into Diana’s daze.

Diana blinked. He did used to have the weekend off. Occasionally he'd get called in but that was normal. Now that she thought about it, he'd once taken a week off in an attempt to fix his and Keana's relationship. It hadn't worked and he'd gone back the following Monday in a mood so foul they sent him home for another four days.

"When was the last time he had a day off?"

Despite this being the conversation she wanted to have, the seriousness in her mother's tone coupled with what had just transpired in the garage made her mouth go dry. "I don't remember. He usually goes in before I'm even up for school and sometimes he doesn't come home till late night." The way her tongue stuck as she spoke grated her nerves.

"How late?" The Daniel she knew never would've been that devoted to his job. He certainly never was with her.

"Sometimes around nine, six if he's really lucky, but a lot of the time he doesn't get off till way later. I'm either in bed or leaving for school." The silence on the other end gave her goosebumps. Her mother definitely knew something. "It's... It's weird, isn't it? He never used to work so much. I think he's at that facility more than he's at home. I have no idea why; he won't tell me."

"I'm not sure myself, honey. It was bad enough then. This is something else entirely."

"Did he ever tell you what he does there? He could be a janitor for all I know. I can't get anything out of him." Silence. "Please, Mom? I just wonder." She almost said worry.

"Research," came the response. "He was hired in for research. They offered me the same thing."

"Research on what?" She was so close.

"They wouldn't say unless we agreed. You know I can't stand them, so I told them to buzz off, but your father..." She sighed. "He was just as against it as me, but then they approached him with some sort of offer. I don't know what it was about, but whatever they said to Daniel put starts in his eyes like I'd never seen. He was hell-bent on taking the offer. I told him it was a terrible idea and that we should stick to our guns, but he ignored me. He said he needed the job. Wouldn't tell me why though. Just that it was important."

"I didn't know that." Her parents had never made her privy to the real reason behind their separation. Sure, her dad's workaholic nature and sudden trust in a company he'd previously hated hadn't helped, and her mother's stubbornness only added fuel to the fire. She knew deep down that it was something more though. Something more than the fights, the failed private practice and even MM themselves. Something within one of her parents caused a divide between them.

"I've got no clue what sort of research they needed him to do," Keana was saying. "Daniel was never one for the medical business. I always assumed it was something machine related. The man loves to tinker."

"But... I thought..." Diana took a moment to compose herself. "It's Medical Mechanical. I mean, yeah, mechanical is in the name but they've never put out health care robots or anything." And thank goodness for that. The last thing she needed was to imagine the sight of humanoid robots going rogue and tearing into people for the sake of 'science.'

"I used to think they would, back when they first started here. I figured that was what had Daniel so intrigued. With what you've told me, I'm not so sure now. With him on board, they would've had at least three generations worth of mechanical assistants by now."

"So what else could it be? Dad's not a nurse but I'm sure he can-"

"No, honey, you don't understand. You know your father's never even seen med school, right?" Her phone notified her of another call and she pulled it away from her ear to look. Cursing, she brought it back. "Listen, baby girl, I have to go but I'll call you back as soon as I can. I've been waiting all day for this call."

"Wait, Mom-"

"I love you."

Diana stared at the screen, at a loss. She had more questions than ever now, all pertaining to her father and his devotion to MM. The one that bothered her the most? Why had they hired him? He had a degree in engineering, nothing more. She hadn't put much thought into it before but it was odd. Here was Daniel Ryder, a man ill-equipped to be a nurse, let alone a leading researcher for a medical firm, and yet they seemed to rely on him for almost everything. And it was apparently mutual. He had wanted--desperately--whatever they had offered him. He had deemed it to be worth his family and mental well-being.

Her mother had left her with quite the revelation.

[yallreddieforthis]

I’ll Stop By Your Room

Fandom: It (2017)

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Rating: T (for language, talking about sex, mentions of past sexual situations)

Words: 7.1k

Movie canon-compliant but not book. Aged-up (16-17) Also posted on AO3

The Greater Fool Series: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 (NSFW) | Part 5

“Oh God,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes and whacking his head on the seat in front of him because he can’t believe he was so stupid as to think that maybe once in his entire life he could just have a goddamn normal, boring-ass field trip where nothing humiliating or life-changing happens because he just had to go and develop feelings for Richie, who never lets anything be boring or normal. Not even Eddie.

As he steps onto the bus to head back to Derry High, Eddie is prepared for the first time in his entire school career, to declare this field trip A Success.

He’s made it almost halfway through tenth grade without ever having gone on a field trip where no disastrous shit went down—either for the class in general, or just specifically Eddie-related shit. There was one in sixth grade where the bus driver got lost and they didn’t get home until after five, and Eddie’s mom had already gotten the police involved by the time the bus pulled into the parking lot of Derry Elementary. Or the eighth grade one to the botanical gardens where Eddie got stung by a bee. Or when they went to the zoo in second grade and some asshole monkey managed to fling his shit far enough out of his enclosure that it splattered Bill right in the chest and like, okay, maybe that was more of a tragedy for Bill than it was for Eddie but Eddie was standing right next to him when it happened. It was scarring for everyone, okay?

Well, maybe not for Richie, who laughed so hard he almost peed his pants and still brings it up anytime anyone mentions monkeys, even in passing. Like someone will say this is so easy, a monkey could do it, and Richie will invariably butt in with haha, hey Bill, remember the time…

In fact, Eddie thinks that a large part of what has made this art museum field trip such an unmitigated success is that he has managed to stay as far away from Richie as possible. Not the actual art part; that was boring as fuck. Bill and Ben were the only ones who got anything at all out of that shit—Ben was all, did you know that this painting was commissioned for Colonel Assface during the War of Whateverthefuck in the year Long Enough Ago That No One Cares Anymore, and Bill was quiet the whole time but his eyes were all lit up and Eddie could practically hear him thinking about color and brushstrokes and shit. Which is fair, because Bill’s art is starting to get really good. He drew Richie during chem last week and Eddie liked the sketch so much he managed to muster up the courage to ask Bill if he could keep it. He’s positive that if he’d bothered to pay any attention at all in the gallery of Frou Frou di Fifi or whoever, he’d be able to see influences from the trip in Bill’s sketchbook.

But he didn’t. He spent the whole time glued to Stan, because Stan is terrified of paintings (which is understandable, Eddie thinks), and Eddie felt bad that he was forced to come on this field trip. Usually, Bill would be the one to partner up with Stan and like, be supportive or whatever, but Eddie and Stan both knew that the lure of a real art museum was going to be too tempting for him, and Stan’s best bet for company would wind up being Eddie. Stan was miserable the whole time anyway, and Eddie doesn’t blame him. It’d be like if Eddie had to go spend the day in a lab staring at Petri dishes full of diseases and then write a two-page essay about how much he loved it. Like, fuck that shit. He suppresses a shudder at the thought.

So he stuck with Stan, inching along the far wall away from the artwork, and avoided Richie, who mostly told jokes over Ben’s A History Of Everything In the Art Museum lecture and spoke at Bill, who uh-huhed him in the middle of sentences so many times that Eddie thinks even Richie might’ve eventually caught on that he wasn’t listening. Avoiding Richie, especially for Eddie, is usually very difficult for a multitude of reasons, the chief of which being that Eddie is in what essentially amounts to a relationship with Richie. Today, it was surprisingly and suspiciously easy.

It’s not that Eddie doesn’t want to be around Richie—he does, actually always, to an alarming and almost disgusting degree—it’s just that Richie is super inappropriate and keeps Eddie in a constant state of worry about what he’s going to do next. Sometimes, for example, he acts like he’s going to start macking on Eddie in public which...they haven’t really discussed it out loud before, but Eddie thinks they have a mutual understanding about not doing shit like that because Richie has never followed through on it. He’s not exactly embarrassed about the...relationship or whatever, at least not very—Eddie figures he has no more reason to be embarrassed of Richie than Richie does to be embarrassed of him—but he knows and he prays to God that Richie understands that obvious PDA would be just as bad as painting a target on his forehead. A big rainbow target.

Eddie files into a window seat on the bus so that he won’t get carsick and hopes Stan will fill in next to him so he doesn’t end up having to sit with someone mean.

Eddie gets picked on enough already, for plenty of reasons. People had been calling him gay for years before he realized he actually is, in fact, gay. Like, the gay was totally always there, tapping him on the shoulder occasionally like hey, uh, It’s Raining Men is a pretty great song, you should listen to it on a loop for six months... and Eddie was just ignoring it until the whole Richie situation sort of forced him to turn around and look it in the eye. And once he did it was like my guy, listen. Dudes. Dicks. Richie. Rodgers and Hammerstein. Eddie sometimes wonders if other people were actually able see it before he could. Were they just calling him gay because people do that, or because they knew? Like maybe he’s been walking around leaving a trail of glitter behind him without realizing it?

There’s no way of knowing for sure without asking someone, and since Eddie hasn’t technically ever said the word gay out loud yet… Presumably, Richie is aware that he is—even if that understanding is based on nothing but the fact that their lips are touching more often than not when they’re alone together—but Eddie hasn’t managed to work up the balls to even talk to him about the implications of being gay. Let alone the implications of being gay in Derry. Jesus, Eddie doesn’t even want to have that discussion mentally with himself, much less verbally with another person.

As soon as he spots Eddie, Richie weasels his way past Stan to cram in next to him. Stan rolls his eyes and gets pulled along into another row. Well, fuck.

Luckily, the museum is about a half hour drive from school, so Richie only has thirty minutes left to work his magic on upholding the streak of shitty field trips. The bus driver turns on the engine and Eddie realizes that he’s picked one of the wheel seats, which will ensure that his legs are numb from the wheel vibrations by the time they reach school. Awesome. Richie drops his backpack in between himself and Eddie, which is only notable because he uses its cover to grab Eddie’s hand where no one can see it. At the very, very least, Richie still remembers that subtlety is the name of the game here.

Not that Eddie really thinks the other Losers will care. That time in the sewers...everything they’ve been through together...Eddie doubts there’s anything he could be or do that would make them hate him. He could kill someone and they’d all just be like yeah I bet he deserved it and you need any help burying the body? He’s aware that he has the best friends on the face of the earth and that once he gets around to telling everyone about him and about them he’s probably going to feel a lot better. Hell, they might even already have guessed. He doesn’t know why he’s putting it off. He keeps telling himself next sleepover, next weekend, tomorrow at lunch and then backing out. It just feels so...daunting. Like—

“So, what do you think about blowjobs?” Richie asks Eddie, in a completely normal tone of voice. Which is to say loud. Richie’s normal tone of voice is very loud.

Jesus Christ.

“You wanna say that a little louder?” Eddie hisses at him.

“SO, WHAT DO YOU THI—”

Eddie clamps his hand over Richie’s mouth and gives him his most murderous glare. Richie just shakes his head and stares at Eddie with his best puppy eyes. Yeah, those eyes that Eddie used to be able to match with a dead-eyed stare and now they just make him feel all melty and gooey and shit because Richie really does have the longest, darkest, most beautiful eyelashes and his eyes are soft and—

Richie uses the momentary hesitation to lick Eddie’s palm. Eddie automatically draws his hand back in disgust.

“BLOWJOBS,” Richie shouts the second his voice is no longer muffled in Eddie’s hand. Eddie elbows him as hard as he can in the ribs and almost remembers to stop holding hands with him under the backpack. Almost.

No one even turns around. From the front of the bus, Mrs. Eisner calls back a vague “that’s enough, Richard,” but that’s the only response he gets.

“See?” Richie says, turning back to Eddie. Eddie wipes his wet hand viciously on the front of Richie’s shirt. “No one’s listening. Say whatever the fuck you want. I like you like you. You’re hot. I wanna suck your dick. See?”

“Oh God,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes and whacking his head on the seat in front of him because he can’t believe he was so stupid as to think that maybe once in his entire life he could just have a goddamn normal, boring-ass field trip where nothing humiliating or life-changing happens because he just had to go and develop feelings for Richie, who never lets anything be boring or normal. Not even Eddie.

He spares a single thought for Richie saying you’re hot. Did...did he mean that? Was he just saying that shit because he was trying to demonstrate that no one was listening? Like, does Richie really think Eddie is hot?

“So, what do you think about blowjobs?” Richie asks again, in exactly the same tone of voice he used the first time, which makes Eddie feel like if he’d just given a real answer way back five minutes ago, in a simpler time before he knew Richie thought school buses were an appropriate setting for sex conversations, then it would’ve been easier.

Also, Richie doesn’t seem likely to drop this topic anytime soon, and when he gets like this Eddie has found that the best course of action is to just grit his teeth and plow through the conversation until Richie is satisfied with his answer, after which they are typically able to move on with their lives. The last time this happened was a Power Rangers versus Ninja Turtles debate that lasted for forty five minutes. Hopefully they can breeze through this one before they get back to school, because Eddie doesn’t relish the idea of Richie passing him terribly drawn notes with diagrams of dicks and tongues during math.

So that’s what makes him decide to take a second and actually consider the question. Blowjobs and sucking dick are things Richie talks about regularly—not with any real seriousness, of course—but Eddie’s never given the idea too much thought because honestly? Gross.

He’s gotten almost all the way past the ickiness of kissing on the mouth and like, in the face-area—mostly by just refusing to think about germ transfer rates and mononucleosis—because Richie has made that worth his while. It took a couple months for him to really get the hang of it, but now they’ve got that shit down; Richie knows how to kiss Eddie’s neck to make him go jelly-legged, and Eddie can get Richie all red-faced and panting just by sucking on his ears the right way, and once they get going, kissing on the mouth is the furthest thing from icky. Eddie sometimes feels like there are moments where he will internally combust if he can’t kiss Richie.

So it’s not that Eddie doesn’t think a blowjob would feel good. The opposite, actually. Just...it feels like asking for some kind of nasty disease.

“Nuh-uh,” Eddie says, shaking his head and staring out the window as they pull onto the main road leading to the highway, “I don’t think I can like...do that. Dick in the mouth. Nuh-uh. Nope.”

“No I mean me give you one,” Richie presses. “I’m not afraid of your germs.”

Eddie bristles a little at that because it implies that Eddie is afraid of Richie’s germs which...okay, maybe he kind of is, but Richie didn’t have to say it. He knows that’s not really what Richie meant though—it’s not a jab at Eddie—he’s actually trying to be reassuring. Trust Richie to accidentally backhanded compliment his way into sex. What a fucking catch. And now he’s looking at Eddie with this earnest smugness, like he knows he’s going to convince him to let him do it and he’s stoked. But why does he even want to? Like, what’s in it for him?

Does he really think Eddie is that hot?

“Did you mean it?” Eddie asks, before he can stop himself.

“Totally,” Richie says, giving Eddie’s hand a squeeze under the backpack. “I’d take a faceful of your jizz over splashing around in graywater any day.”

Ew, what the fuck?!

“No,” says Eddie. “What is wrong with you? I don’t mean—I meant when you said I was…” Eddie drops his voice to a whisper, “... hot. Do you really think I’m hot?”

“Of course I do, dumbass,” Richie says. “Don’t you think I am?”

Eddie’s first instinct is to say no, dipshit, because “hot” is a word reserved for like...like Ethan Hawke or River Phoenix. Not people like Richie, who has been at peak teenage awkwardness for what feels like a decade at this point and looks to be in real danger of staying that way forever. He has terrible taste in clothes and the glasses and the crazy hair and as a package he’s just...so overwhelming, and that’s not hot. Not even a little. It’s—

“I’m just messing with you,” Richie says cheerfully, knocking his knifepoint-sharp elbow into Eddie’s arm. “Everyone knows you’re the beauty and I’m the brains.”

“God, I hope not. We’re really fucked if you’re the brains,” Eddie says before he can stop himself.

Richie snorts and squeezes Eddie’s hand in such a way that it makes a fart noise and Eddie yanks it out from under the backpack. He folds his arms across his chest and Richie spends the rest of the journey home trying to coax him back into holding hands. By the time they get back to school, Eddie is red with both embarrassment and suppressed laughter, and he thinks about how this kind of thing happens so often that he’ll probably never blush again without thinking of Richie.

As is customary on school nights, Eddie goes straight home after his last class. He’s not allowed to have friends over or go to the arcade unless it’s a weekend, which he used to think was because his mom wanted him to have plenty of time for his homework but now feels more like one of her arbitrary, controlling restrictions because she doesn’t seem to actually care all that much about his grades. It feels like it’s more about just...having him home while she watches The Young and The Restless by herself in the living room. Why exactly Eddie’s presence in the house improves this activity, he doesn’t entirely understand.

Richie took to sneaking in during the night years ago, which always makes being alone for the afternoon slightly more bearable. He’ll get on his bike after last period and turn to Eddie and say I’ll stop by your room after I’m done doing your mom, which is actually a polite offer for company in disguise. Eddie will either say if you really have to or I’ll make sure to put the lock on the door then and Richie has never not respected the answer.

Today he said it and Eddie told him to get lost because they’ve got an essay due tomorrow on the impact of our trip to the art museum and Eddie had had a feeling that writing it was going to require some premium-grade bullshitting. He’d been right, too; he didn’t get done with it until ten. But it’s not like that’s really what ate up his entire evening, because then he’d debated internally with himself for half an hour before caving and rewatching Footloose. By the time he’d brushed his teeth, put on pajamas (his warmest ones—reindeer-printed and made of fleece—because it’s chilly and it’s not like anyone is going to see them anyway), and gotten into bed, it was after midnight. So now he’s still wide awake and feeling kind of like he wishes he’d invited Richie over after all, despite the fact that he really should already be asleep.

It used to be that whenever Eddie said yes, Richie would come straight over after the sun went down. Eddie could always tell if they’d all gone swimming without him because Richie’s hair would be damp and he’d smell like quarry water and the grass at the top of the cliff, and he’d flop onto Eddie’s bed and get those smells all over his sheets. Those nights, Eddie would always go to sleep wondering if Richie was just wearing wet briefs under his shorts or going commando. He was never sure which idea he liked less.

Since this summer though, I’ll stop by your room after I’m done doing your mom has taken on a connotation that sets off a shivery, churning feeling in Eddie’s gut. Sometimes Richie will lean over and whisper it in his ear—sometimes he leaves off the last part too. I’ll stop by your room, he breathes out, warm air hitting Eddie’s neck, and Eddie bites his lips and goes all hot because it means that that night, sometime around eleven or midnight or so, he’ll hear a dun dun dun dadadundun tapping at his window. Eddie is still not sure if that’s a reference to Under Pressure or Ice Ice Baby and he honestly thinks he doesn’t want to know.

He’ll wedge a towel under his bedroom door to soundproof it as much as he can. Then he’ll lift the latch on the window and open it as far as it will go. Richie just barely fits now. A couple of years ago it was nothing for him to hop through, now he has to fold his long legs every which way and his skinny arms flail around and his big feet get caught on the other side of the sill and sometimes he whacks his giant head on the wall as he tumbles through. It’s never a quiet process, unfortunately; there’s always some swearing involved, and Eddie lives in fear of the day Richie looks at him from the other side of the wall, moonlight shining off his glasses, and says “well, fuckity fuck, I’m stuck.”

That’s a problem for Future Eddie to deal with though, because once Richie’s in, well. Once he’s in the room, those skinny arms are immediately wrapped around Eddie’s waist and the long legs bump into Eddie’s as Richie backs them toward the bed. And then they get there and...god.

Eddie turns over onto his side and fiddles with the sleeve of his pajama top, thinking about how if Richie were here, the shirt would be gone before the backs of his knees even hit the mattress. Richie is always the first to start taking clothes off—he does it like he’s starving for him—like touching Eddie is what he lives for and he can’t hold off another second. It’s...feeling like that, like someone wants him so bad...it’s kind of wonderful and powerful and scary.

Every time they do it ends basically the same—they take everything off and then they touch each other until they can’t anymore and their fingers are gooey and sticky and then Eddie has to shove Richie out of bed or he’ll fall asleep right there—naked and on top of Eddie for Eddie’s mom to find them the next morning. It hasn’t happened yet, thank God, but it’s a closer call every time because it’s getting harder and harder to kick Richie out after.

In fact, Eddie has taken to spending a worrying amount of time just sort of lying there and stroking Richie’s naked back or smoothing his hair over his head. After is always kind of awkward for Eddie, because he can’t think of anything to say that isn’t incredibly embarrassing, and silence feels weird too. So far he’s managed a that was good twice, which he was super proud of both times even though he also wanted to roll over and hide as soon as the words left his mouth.

Richie does not appear to suffer from the same affliction, because he always starts talking again pretty much as soon as he catches his breath, and Eddie is usually too tired to complain about whatever stupid shit he says. Richie’s pillow talk typically includes such topics as: an enthusiastic play-by-play of what they just did (during which Eddie always just mumbles please stop every few seconds), complete with commentary, which is as complimentary as it is mortifying; a detailed tactical gamplan of what they should do in the event of a zombie outbreak; who Richie would cast if they made a movie about the X-Men and for some reason wanted his opinion; and a ranking of his favorite types of candy based on the logistics of building an edible house. As long as he keeps blabbering, Eddie can privately enjoy that sick-happy feeling in his chest and put off kicking him out. If he’s being honest, Eddie just wants to hold him super tight and close and stay there until he can watch the sunrise illuminate the faded freckles on Richie’s nose.

Eddie snuggles deep down in the covers and thinks about his favorite parts—between when Richie squeezes into and out of his window—and lets himself relish in the fluttery, fidgety excitement that comes with the memory of Richie, shirtless and pale and glowing faintly red in the light from the numbers on Eddie’s alarm clock. The way his mouth looks after they’ve been kissing, soft and full and open, how his wild hair splays across Eddie’s neck when he bends down to breathe warm air onto Eddie’s nipples. His hands unzipping Eddie’s pants, rubbing him over the front of his underwear like he can’t even wait the two seconds it’ll take to pull them off. The way his back looks as he arches into Eddie’s fingers, the way his head falls forward when he gasps and the way he moans like Eddie’s mom isn’t literally two rooms over oh my god, Richie, shhh. The way he exhales sometimes, like he’s so turned on he doesn’t know how else to express it but with those shuddery breaths that almost sound like the ghost of laughter. Eddie’s whole body goes warm at the memory because it’s the hottest thing he—

And then it’s like Eddie’s brain douses him in ice water because it is. It’s hot. It’s hot as fuck and Eddie remembers that Richie asked him on the bus a few hours ago if he thought Richie was hot and he did not give him an unequivocal yes. And that’s obviously bullshit because Eddie was totally getting ready to start jerking off just now thinking about how fucking hot Richie is when he’s naked and they’re in bed together. Eddie had somehow been under the impression that hot is this kind of ethereal concept that only applies to celebrities or strangers, when hot has literally been sucking face with him for months. He is officially the biggest dumbass ever. Eddie wonders if there’s any other obvious shit staring him down that he hasn’t picked up on yet.

And suddenly Eddie cannot stand the idea that Richie might be sitting at home thinking Eddie doesn’t find him hot. It’s Thursday...well, technically it’s Friday but it still counts as Thursday night and there’s no way Richie isn’t planning on coming over for some sweet handjob action tomorrow night, but this can’t wait until tomorrow. And he can’t call, his mom will want to know why he’s using the phone at this hour and it’s possible that someone other than Richie might answer and then Eddie will have to come up with some reason besides I’m sorry to bother you at this hour Mrs. Tozier, but it’s an absolute emergency because I have to tell Richie right now that he’s hot and thinking about him naked gives me a boner.

Yeah, not likely. This situation calls for desperate measures, like an entirely unprecedented course of action. Eddie puts on his sneakers, throws on a sweater, and walks to his window.

If Richie can still get in, it’ll be nothing for Eddie to get out. He’ll just close the window most of the way from the outside, but not so much that he won’t be able to get back in. His mom might come in (unlikely, Eddie can hear her snoring) and find him gone and completely blow a gasket, but that’s a big might and the fact that he needs to see Richie right the fuck now is a definitely, so. Down he hops, quiet as can be.

It’s early December and fucking cold. Cold as fuck. Eddie hops back and forth from one foot to the other while he untangles his bike from where the garden hose fell on it and tries not to think too hard about how the frigid wind in his face is going to feel when he gets going.

The less that can be said about the seven minute bike ride to Richie’s house, the better. The word frostbite comes to mind more than once, as well as death by exposure. Eddie thinks it’ll be unfortunate but understandable if his dick decides never to make an appearance again; he’s pretty sure it has retreated up into his body for good. He can’t feel his hands but manages to peel his fingers off the handlebars nonetheless, leaning his bike up against the side of Richie’s house without bothering to hide it because, according to Richie, Richie’s parents are heavy sleepers. Eddie wouldn’t normally just take Richie at his word on something like that, but he figures they would’ve had to have caught their own son sneaking out at least once out of the hundreds of times he’s done it if it wasn’t true. Eddie walks around the back and looks through the curtains of Richie’s room.

Richie, wearing the same pajama bottoms and old tee shirt he usually shows up at Eddie’s in, is so deeply involved in Sonic that Eddie wonders if he won’t hear him rapping on the window, but he does it anyway. Dun dun dun dadadundun.

It’s Under Pressure, Eddie whispers to no one in particular. Richie doesn’t hear that or the knocking.

Dun dun dun dadadundun. Eddie knocks again, a little louder.

This time, Richie turns around. He does one better, actually: he does a double take and his jaw drops wide open, hair flopping into his face. He looks utterly stupid by any account and yet the first thought that pops into Eddie’s head is beautiful.

Richie drops the controller onto the floor to live amongst the general covering of junk that populates his bedroom before loping over to the window and opening it.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, staring out at Eddie like he can’t believe he’s here, which is kind of annoying because like...Eddie has a bike too. Just because it’s always Richie who appears at Eddie’s house in the middle of the night doesn’t mean Eddie isn’t capable of reciprocating every once in awhile. It’s just that it’s obviously nicer to get it on in Eddie’s room than in the garbage heap Richie inhabits.

Richie reaches out a hand to help Eddie clamber inside. He must have the heat cranked up full blast because Eddie starts regaining feeling in his extremities right away when Richie shuts the window.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I just needed to—” Eddie starts, then clamps his mouth shut.

In that moment he realizes that he’s just shown up at Richie’s house at one in the morning on a school night without warning, wearing fleece reindeer pajamas, sneakers without socks and a sweater, and he has literally no idea what he wants to say other than I just needed to tell you you were hot. Right now, apparently.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Richie demands, in what might sound like a normal tone of voice to an outsider, but Eddie instinctively recognizes it as being seconds away from abject panic.

Eddie looks up into his eyes and god damn, how has he never managed to see how insecure Richie really is? Of all the millions of things Eddie could be here for… He could’ve had a fight with his mom. Winston from the Sweet Valley High books that Eddie definitely doesn’t read could’ve been killed off. Eddie could just be horny. He could have a homework question—well, probably not that one because going to Richie for homework help would be worse than just not turning in the assignment and taking a zero—but a breakup? Like, that’s what he jumps to? A breakup? Really?

“God, no,” Eddie says, and then the next words come out of his mouth with absolutely no leave to do so from his brain. “Why the fuck would I do that? I love you.”

Richie sits down hard on his bed and just...stares. And Eddie a little bit wants to freak out because I love you sounds like a really big deal but like...is it? Is saying it that big of a deal? Feeling it is, maybe, but if Eddie’s being honest with himself, he’s been feeling it for like forever. He might not have always been willing to admit that, but if you take a dump in a toilet and call it a flower, it’s still shit. Saying it doesn’t change that.

“Actually I just wanted to tell you you’re hot,” he continues, fidgeting with the zipper on his sweater and still standing awkwardly by the window. That part comes out easier, probably because he just dropped a live one with I love you and nothing else he has to say could possibly be as enormous as that. “Cause on the bus, like I didn’t. But you totally are. Hot. You’re...hot. Like super hot, like…” Eddie gestures vaguely up and down with one hand, “all of you. Your hair and your back and shit—I mean, your...yeah. So I just wanted to tell you. Bye.”

And because every single word after you’re hot has increased his discomfort exponentially, Eddie feels like this is as good a time as any to make his exit. Actually, about fifteen seconds ago might’ve been better, but it’s certainly only going to get worse if he just stands there doing nothing, so he turns toward the window and prepares to bail. This apparently snaps Richie out of it because he gets up, still staring.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Richie asks.

“‘Why the fuck am I here, where the fuck am I going,’” Eddie repeats, one leg already out the window. It is so fucking cold outside and like, this whole thing was such a bad idea, Eddie wishes he could go back in time fifteen minutes just to smack himself in the face and tell himself to stay in bed. “Where the fuck do you think I’m going? I’m going home. It’s a school night.”

“Uh, no way,” Richie says, striding toward him. He wraps a hand around Eddie’s wrist. “You don’t get to say something like that and then just like fuck off. Nah, come back in here and let me blow you.”

Let him what now?! It takes a second for Eddie to make the connection—like why Richie is bringing that up—but then his mind presses rewind on the part from the bus when Richie said Eddie was hot and...right. The conversation was originally about blowjobs. Why do they always seem to have these important discussions about feelings in conjunction with sex stuff? At this rate, Eddie’s never going to have a cute story about their relationship that’s fit for mixed company. Like he’s gonna tell the others at a sleepover, so then I said “I love you, Richie,” and he was like, “that’s sick dude, lemme suck your dick.”

He’s about to say no because ew, but...it’s Richie. And Richie is looking at him with his big brown eyes and Eddie knows that Richie would be a hundred percent cool with it if Eddie truly didn’t want to, and if Eddie says not gonna happen, Richie will probably never bring it up again. But he can also hear the excitement in Richie’s voice, and it seems...crazy, like it’s crazy that Richie really wants to blow him that much.

“I didn’t say that shit because I wanted a blowjob,” Eddie tells him.

“I know,” Richie says.

“I don’t think I can really stay,” Eddie says, although he also pulls his leg back in the room and allows Richie to shut the window again. “It’s a school night.”

“Fuck yeah, it’s a school night,” says Richie, in what he clearly thinks is a California Surfer Dude voice, but it’s new to his repertoire and still sounds more like he’s having a mild stroke than anything else. He grins and gets straight to work pushing Eddie’s sweater off his shoulders. “Think about how tired we’re gonna be in first period tomorrow. I’m gonna get hard just looking at those bags under your eyes.”

“What the fuck?” Eddie whispers back to him. He shrugs his cardigan back on. “You say the weirdest shit Richie, I swear to God. Is think about how tired we’re gonna be in first period tomorrow supposed to be like, dirty talk? Because uh, that’s not sexy. I—”

“But you love me,” Richie interrupts, “so everything I do is sexy.” He yanks his own shirt over his head and smiles down at Eddie.

“Yeah, that’s not how it works,” Eddie says, placing both hands on Richie’s bony chest and trying not to focus too much on how good his skin feels because he is not going to get distracted by the lure of impending nakedness.

“Yeah it is,” says Richie immediately, sliding a hand up under Eddie’s pajama top. “We’re in love, so everything is like automatically a million times more sexy.”

“Oh really? What so...so, my...like when I had to shove Tylenol down your throat when you had a 102 fever last month? You find that sexy?”

“Hell yes,” Richie replies immediately, “you can play doctor with me anytime, baby.”

“Don’t you dare start calling me ‘baby,’” Eddie warns him.

“Try and stop me,” Richie laughs, and he pulls Eddie in closer with his hand on the small of his back. Fuuuck, no way is Richie going to let that go. Eddie hates the nicknames, but he knows it’s a losing battle because Eddie Spaghetti eventually got replaced with Eds and he can already imagine baby gaining ground on Eds. In fact, Eddie would bet his whole allowance that baby is going to eventually turn into babe. He can see babe sticking long-term. He’s just gonna have to get used to the idea.

“Oh, fuck me,” Eddie sighs, resting his forehead on Richie’s shoulder.

“Dude, I’m trying,” Richie says, grinning his shit-eatingest.

Eddie starts to giggle and has to put the brakes on it because he’s not getting sucked in. He’s not. He came here with a mission and he accomplished it. Just because it’s kind of making him die a little inside to leave right now doesn’t mean he can’t suck it up and do it anyway.

“I have to go,” Eddie says again. He stands on his toes and kisses Richie a little harder than usual, and hopes that Richie understands he’d much rather stay here. Someday, Eddie wants to tell him...someday they’ll finish high school. It feels like a million years from now, but then he knows he’s going to blink and he’ll be holding a graduation cap and a college acceptance letter. And Richie will be there too, holding...well, Eddie’s hand, at the very least. He really would get good grades if he applied himself, like all his teachers say, but Eddie doesn’t love him any less for his 2.7 GPA.

“Tomorrow,” Richie says. Eddie’s not sure if it’s a promise or a question. But either way, the answer is yes. If Richie wants to do what they usually do or… whatever else. Eddie’s down for it. One great thing about Richie—one of many, Eddie thinks—is how he doesn’t really try to force Eddie to stay. It’s kind of like when he goes to high five Stan and Stan gives him that please die now look, and Richie just immediately cuts his losses and moves on. He’s like that a lot. Eddie sometimes wishes he could just let shit go the way Richie does.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Eddie tells him. “Definitely.” He can’t quite bring himself to say how much he’s looking forward to it—so much, so so much—but he thinks Richie can tell anyway. They lock eyes and there it goes, that melty feeling, like the first sip of hot chocolate after playing out in the snow. That’s what should’ve tipped Eddie off that he’s—that they’re—in love. It’s love or fever delirium. Either way, he’s such a goner.

Eddie steps away from Richie and turns toward the window. Once they finish school they’ll leave Derry and only be forced to come back for like, Christmas or whatever. They’ll get a dorm or maybe an apartment together—some cheap place in a horrible neighborhood, probably—and Eddie will eventually have to break it to his mom that Richie’s a lot more to him than a roommate, but it’ll all be so worth it because—

Eddie steps on the uneaten crust of a forgotten PB&J on his way to the window. This is it, the future he has chosen for himself. No one goes from being the kind of person who tosses sandwiches on the floor to a liveable human being in the span of a few years. Someday, it’ll be their room and Eddie will be getting up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and stepping in peanut butter, and he’ll have no one to blame but himself. He picked this idiot—this somehow super hot idiot—he went and fell in love with all that hair and those dark eyes. He fell in love with Richie’s knobby knuckles and his bitten cuticles too. And his strange, infuriating, perplexing mind. Richie never lets anything be boring. Eddie can look forward to an entire lifetime of being, at the very least, kept on his toes. If not literally, to avoid stepping in discarded food.

“You know,” Eddie says, swinging his leg out of the window and back into the icy wind, “I hope you plan on getting a good job, because I’m going to be stuck cleaning up after you as a career.”

Eddie only realizes when he’s halfway home that he just essentially admitted out loud to Richie that he wants to spend the rest of his life with him, which in hindsight makes Richie sound like a really smooth motherfucker for saying, “Nah, I was already planning on hiring us a housekeeper,” without missing a beat.

Eddie slams on his brakes and there, in the middle of the street in the freezing pitch-black night, he comes to his third Big Realization of today. This, Richie and him, it’s the real deal. The things he’s been thinking about—an apartment, a shared bed, a shared life—are not daydreams. They’re plans. Shared plans.

Eddie’s so rarely sure of anything—like how he used to think there was no such thing as supernatural, shape-shifting killer clowns—but he's always sure of Richie. He’s sure of how he feels about Richie, and of how Richie feels about him. Even the fact that he’s out alone so late and not panicking can be attributed to Richie. Eddie used to be afraid of being by himself and the dark, but Richie gives him courage just by existing within a ten-minute biking radius.

Someday isn’t soon enough, but living with Richie is going to have to wait. He can’t believe he’s excited about the idea of Spaghetti-O’s every night and yelling at Richie for leaving the heater on and brushing crumbs off his sheets before bed but, God help him, those things can’t come soon enough. Just a couple more years, Eddie tells himself.

Tomorrow isn’t soon enough, either. His teeth are chattering, mostly because he’s actively freezing to death but also from the almost tangible ache in his chest that started when he walked around to collect his bike from the side of Richie’s house and left Richie watching him from the window. It’s what Eddie usually does when Richie leaves his house and God, Eddie’s not sure how Richie manages to do it twice a week. It almost made Eddie want to cry. He still feels like he might cry. If he goes home and gets into his bed alone right now, he will undoubtedly cry.

It’s a fucking school night, but Eddie is rapidly losing his ability to care. He sits there on his bike in the middle of the road for a second before…

“Fuck it.” He shakes his head, smiles out into the darkness, and swings his handlebars back in the direction of Richie’s house.

[decadenttimetravelmentality-blog]

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Breast Reduction/Will my insurance cover it?

I submitted my request through my primary doctor and of course they denied it. However, they sent me an approval to see a plastic surgeon, so I went. She said I was a great candidate and that she will send pictures and notes to my insurance. The insurance hasn't approved the reduction, but again they sent me an approval to get a mammogram done. is that normal? i got it done and of course everything is fine. I called the PS and they are resubmitting my request a long with the mammogram results. Am i on the right track? Do you think they will approve it?""

General costs to buy and insure a 50cc moped?

Okay so I don't know what moped it will be so i'm simply looking for averages and general help. I'm 17 and am thinking of getting a moped for the next 6-7 months, cost pending. I was just wondering how much would insurance cost me for it, not a brilliant bike just a cheapo 400-500 think as I shant be using it every day and is there any way to insure it for only 6 months rather than a year that's cheaper? On a whole how much do you think it would cost me in total if i bought a 400 50cc moped to insure for 6 month (year if you can't do 6 months) + tax + exam you have to take P.S. I live in England - South East - Dover/Folkestone Area""

Texas Motorcycle Insurance - I need a policy for less than 40-50$ a month?

Does anyone know of places who dish out basic insurance? I'm not too worried about wrecks etc. I'm driving on the interior of a college campus running a block grid, so there isn't much opportunity for bad to happen. I just need the basic amount required by law. Who can give that to me the cheapest? I've heard of people getting covered for 9.50 a month.""

What is the cheapest car insurance?

I'm 18 and i have a 2000 honda civic. Please help

Car Insurance companies?

I have car insurance on my 2010 ford focus. When i signed up with them they never asked me about my title. it does have a salvage title but they never asked me if it had one or not. I have been insured with them for approximately almost 2 years with A+ plus driving history. I had some small damage that has been done to my car by a citizen of whom I have no idea but that scratch the sides of my vehicle with I guess the key or some type of odd objects. I put a claim in to have my car to be looked at and to have them to pay me the value of what my vehicle was worth. I've been paying full coverage since the day I started with them. when I put the claim in is when they discovered that it had a salvage title. Theey did send me a check for the amount of damages. this is an out of state check so its not able to be cash immediately. I have two questions I would like to ask. 1. are they able to put a stop on this check. 2. the retention department has been calling me what is the retention

Best ways to lower the car insurance for a 17 year old male?

Hiya. :) And yeah, this is a lovely situation, lol. :P I'm aware that no matter how I look at this, the price is going to be a punch to the head. But I'm in need of a car ...show more""

""Can Doctors offices charge you, when they lost your medical insurance card?""

I got my appendix removed in California and used the state insurance at the time (since I was low income and never had insurance). All the hospital bills are payed for; however, the surgeon has charged me an additional 1,445.00. I never even saw the surgeon after the hospital. I went in for follow-ups to his office but would always miss him. I gave my insurance card to front desk girl and she told me she didn't need it but just in case she made a copy. Now two years later I come to find out that there is this bill. What can I do?""

What is the average limits that you have on you auto full-coverage insurance?

I live in Chicago Illinois. The lowest limits are 20/40/15.

Mazda Miatia Insurance Costs!!!?

I am 18 years old and am in the process of buying a mazda miata. I am looking to buy one between 2002-2005. how BAD will the insurance be on it for someone my age? LIke minimum coverage, just Liability and Uninsured Motorist.""

UK Cheap Insurance Cars for 17 year old...?

Hello, I am 17 and i have just started to take driving lessons and will soon hope to pass my test here in the UK and then get a car for use to and from college (and if i can gen an apprentice job then to work as well as college one day a week) and some driving for social use (but very very little) and looking for some recommendations for good car for cheap insurance that would not look out of place at college here in the UK. Thanks""

Whatt is the mileage and insurance on a ferrari 348 spider?

http://cgi.ebay.com/ebaymotors/Ferrari-348-Spider-/330770734365?pt=US_Cars_Trucks#ht_21892wt_1170 that is the car, i want to know how much it would cost for gas if im using it as daily driver(is it possible to use one of these as daily driver?). how much would the insurance be monthly? i live in bergen nj and im 17.""

At what point does an insurance company own your car when it is stolen?

I live in the state of California and my car was stolen. I was paid out for it by my claims adjuster, but the paperwork is still in the process of being transferred from my name to the insurance company's name. Is the car relinquished? If it gets found, am I liable for towing expenses, etc and is it legally still mine?""

What is a good long-term health insurance policy for international stays?

I am planning to move to Germany in spring and require acceptable, long-term and affordable coverage. What is a good company and policy for me to look in to? I've seen several offers but only one I could afford because it had a deductible of 10k$. Is there better?""

""If my friend owns a car, can I have full insurance on it?""

If my friend owns a car and I am making payments to him to eventually own it, is there a way that it can be fully insured in my name?""

What are the consequences of switching to cheaper car insurance company? As in what would you lose out on?

What are the consequences of switching to cheaper car insurance company? As in what would you lose out on?

How much is Motor Cycle insurance?

I'm 21 years old female and have had my license for 3 years, I went to driving school. So what would be my car insurance for a motor cycle each month? Is it more or less than a car? and if you don't want to answer can someone direct me to a source? Thaaaanks! <3""

Is there any insurance available for getting braces?

Is orthodontic dental insurance legit? How about medicare, will that cover it???""

Car insurance?

im 17 and learning to drive my mum has a black small car ( not sure what make) im a girl houw much would insurance be any sites help

Is there any way I can stay on my dad's insurance?

I recently graduated from college and I will begin working full time in about a week. In the fall, I will be a full-time graduate student. Since I will still be classified as a student, will I still be able to stay on my dad's insurance, or do I have to take the insurance package my employer offers me?""

State farm teen quote?

State farm teen quote?

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/p-plater-car-insurance-help-anthony-pierce/"

[chrisabraham]

The nation has split into political tribes. The culture wars are back, waged over transgender rights and immigration. White nationalists are on the march.

Amid this turbulence, a surprising group of Americans is testing its moral voice more forcefully than ever: C.E.O.s.

After Nazi-saluting white supremacists rioted in Charlottesville, Va., and President Trump dithered in his response, a chorus of business leaders rose up this past week to condemn hate groups and espouse tolerance and inclusion. And as lawmakers in Texas tried to restrict the rights of transgender people to use public bathrooms, corporate executives joined activists to kill the bill.

These and other actions are part of a broad recasting of the voice of business in the nation’s political and social dialogue, a transformation that has gained momentum in recent years as the country has engaged in fraught debates over everything from climate change to health care.

In recent days, after the Charlottesville bloodshed, the chief executive of General Motors, Mary T. Barra, called on people to “come together as a country and reinforce values and ideals that unite us — tolerance, inclusion and diversity.”

Jamie Dimon of JPMorgan said, “The equal treatment of all people is one of our nation’s bedrock principles.”

Walmart’s chief executive, Doug McMillon, criticized Mr. Trump by name for his handling of the violence in Charlottesville, and called for healing.

And in a rebuke to the president, who suggested that both the racist groups and the counterprotesters marching in Charlottesville were to blame for the violence there, a wave of chief executives who had agreed to advise Mr. Trump quit his business advisory councils, leading to the dissolution of two groups.

The forthright engagement of these and other executives with one of the most charged political issues in years — the swelling confidence of a torch-bearing, swastika-saluting, whites-first movement — is “a seminal moment in the history of business in America,” said Darren Walker, the president of the Ford Foundation and a board member at PepsiCo.

“In this maelstrom, the most clarifying voice has been the voice of business,” he said. “These C.E.O.s have taken the risk to speak truth to power.”

This transformation didn’t happen overnight. Chief executives face a constellation of pressures, and speaking up can create considerable uncertainty. Customers can be offended, colleagues can feel isolated and relations with lawmakers can suffer. Words and actions can backfire, resulting in public relations disasters. All this as a chief executive is expected to constantly grow sales.

Even this past week, it was easy to discern careful calculations made by executives who chose to speak out against Mr. Trump. Many faced calls to resign from the presidential advisory councils, and the prospect of boycotts if they did not.

But they also faced notable and new kinds of pressure from within — from employees who expect or encourage their company to stake out positions on numerous controversial social or economic causes, and from board members concerned with reputational issues. In the past week, business leaders have responded with all-staff memos and town-hall meetings.

In short, while companies are naturally designed to be moneymaking enterprises, they are adapting to meet new social and political expectations in sometimes startling ways.

“Not every business decision is an economic one,” said Howard Schultz, the chairman of Starbucks, who was one of the country’s first company leaders to proactively address social issues. “The reason people are speaking up is that we are fighting for what we love and believe in, and that is the idealism and the aspiration of America, the promise of America, the America that we all know and hold so true.”

Looking for Controversy

Companies have reckoned with issues of race, class and gender for generations now.

On Feb. 1, 1960, four black college students sat down at the segregated lunch counter at a Woolworth’s store in Greensboro, N.C. The civil rights sit-in movement was born, and five months later, Woolworth’s desegregated.

Decades later, activists called on American companies to divest from apartheid South Africa. Under pressure, many big companies, including General Motors and Pepsi, pulled out of the country.

But for the most part, companies got political only under duress. Rarely have chief executives gone looking for a controversy. Instead, the prevailing view was one articulated by the economist Milton Friedman in The New York Times in 1970: “the social responsibility of business is to increase its profits.”

By the 1990s, some corporate actors began taking the initiative. Apple, Disney and Xerox extended health care benefits to partners of gay and lesbian employees, helping to pave the way for broader acceptance of gay rights. Still, promoting inclusion and advancing diversity were hardly part of the curriculum for emerging titans of industry.

“When I went to business school, you didn’t see anything like this,” said Marc Benioff, the founder and chief executive of Salesforce. “Nobody talked about taking a stand or adopting a cause.”

Now, Mr. Benioff is at the vanguard of a group of executives who are more connected — to customers, employees, investors and other business leaders — than ever before, and who are unafraid to use their influence.

In 2015, after Indiana passed a law that would have made it easier for religious conservatives to refuse service to gay people, Mr. Benioff canceled all Salesforce events in the state and threatened to relocate employees away from Indianapolis.

The outcry from Mr. Benioff and other business leaders helped force politicians, including Vice President Mike Pence, then the governor of Indiana, to reverse course. Ultimately, lawmakers passed a watered-down version of the law.

“C.E.O.s wield economic influence,” Mr. Benioff said. “Nobody wanted to lose those jobs in Indiana. But we had to make a statement that we were going to withdraw if they were going to create laws that were going to discriminate against our employees.”

The business community’s triumph in Indiana emboldened progressive executives, and many have become more willing to confront controversial topics unprompted.

Randall Stephenson, the chief executive of AT&T, recently reflected on racial tensions in America at a meeting of 2,000 employees. “Black lives matter,” Mr. Stephenson said, “we should not say, ‘All lives matter,’ to justify ignoring the real need for change.”

Hamdi Ulukaya, the founder and chief executive of the yogurt maker Chobani, has hired hundreds of refugees — drawing the ire of the far right, but making him a cause célèbre for progressives.

And even before the showdown in Indiana, Timothy D. Cook, the chief executive of the world’s largest company, Apple, came out as gay — the most prominent executive to make such an announcement. “I’m proud to be gay, and I consider being gay among the greatest gifts God has given me,” he wrote.

None of this is to say that all corporate leaders are now beacons of morality. The Uber co-founder Travis Kalanick was ousted amid a mushrooming sexual abuse scandal at the company, and reports that he had cultivated a frat house culture. Martin Winterkorn, a chief executive of Volkswagen, resigned amid his company’s emissions scandal.

But faced with circumstances they cannot in good conscience accept, more and more chieftains appear unafraid to act. In June, after the president withdrew the United States from the Paris climate accord, Elon Musk, the chief executive of Tesla, and Robert A. Iger, the chief of Disney, resigned from presidential advisory councils, setting the stage for this past week’s revolt.

“The C.E.O.s of big public companies don’t walk out onto the plank of social and political leadership by default,” said Nancy Koehn, a historian at Harvard Business School. “But today, to keep silent is to jeopardize the reputation of the company.”

‘Many Sides,’ One Voice

Last weekend, as white nationalists protested the removal of a statue of the Confederate general Robert E. Lee in Charlottesville, chief executives were paying close attention to the president’s response. Among those watching was Kenneth C. Frazier, the chief executive of the drugmaker Merck and one of dozens of executives who had agreed to advise Mr. Trump on economic issues.

Mr. Frazier disagreed with the president’s stances on immigration and climate change, but he believed it was important to have a seat at the table. Yet for Mr. Frazier, the son of a janitor and the grandson of a man born into slavery, the president’s remarks — in which he blamed the violence on “many sides” — were too much to bear.

On Monday morning, Mr. Frazier said he would step down from Mr. Trump’s manufacturing council. “As C.E.O. of Merck and as a matter of personal conscience, I feel a responsibility to take a stand against intolerance and extremism,” he wrote.

The president took to Twitter, lacerating Mr. Frazier and attacking Merck, bluster that alienated more chief executives. By the end of the day, the chiefs of Under Armour and Intel had dropped off the same advisory group. The following morning, three nonprofit business leaders also quit.

As the manufacturing council fell apart, another presidential advisory group was also tottering. The Strategic and Policy Forum, a group with chief executives of some of the country’s biggest companies, held a conference call and agreed to disband.

The reaction from business leaders extended well beyond the confines of the presidential advisory councils.

James Murdoch, the chief executive of 21st Century Fox, pledged to donate $1 million to the Anti-Defamation League. The gesture was all the more remarkable because Mr. Murdoch is the son of Rupert Murdoch, a staunch supporter of Mr. Trump, and because his company operates Fox News, known for its favorable coverage of the president.

“What we watched this last week in Charlottesville and the reaction to it by the President of the United States concern all of us as Americans and free people,” the younger Mr. Murdoch wrote in an email to associates. “I can’t even believe I have to write this: standing up to Nazis is essential; there are no good Nazis. Or Klansmen, or terrorists.”

Technology companies severed ties with white supremacist groups. Google and GoDaddy dropped domain registrations for far right publications. Facebook deleted articles that celebrated hate crimes. Spotify took down music by white power rock bands.

And in Seattle, Mr. Schultz held a town-hall meeting for more than 1,000 employees where he condemned bigotry and called for unity. “I could sense the anxiety,” he said. “I felt a need to create a safe and loving environment.”

All week, the business world’s actions went beyond the donations to charity and pledges to plant trees that once defined corporate social responsibility.

“For a long time, corporate social responsibility was a buzzword marketing tool, walled off within an organization,” said Alan Fleischmann, president of Laurel Strategies, an executive advisory firm. “Now it has to be central for the C.E.O., part of their everyday responsibility and leadership.”

The Cost of Speaking Out

Kevin Plank, the founder and chief executive of Under Armour, the athletic apparel maker, built a brand that celebrates diversity, sponsoring athletes like the basketball player Stephen Curry and artists like the ballerina Misty Copeland. Yet when asked to serve on the president’s manufacturing council early this year, Mr. Plank agreed, voicing his optimism about Mr. Trump.

His star sponsors made their displeasure known. “I strongly disagree with Kevin Plank’s recent comments in support of Trump,” Ms. Copeland said. Mr. Curry also expressed his distaste for the president.

So on Monday night, when Mr. Plank stepped down from his advisory role, he might have thought his troubles were over. Instead, Mr. Trump’s supporters have risen up, calling for a boycott of Under Armour.

“The leaders of corporate America have demonstrated the courage to call out something that is unacceptable,” said Mr. Walker of the Ford Foundation. “But speaking truth to power can come with huge costs.”

Because companies have inherently diverse customers and employees, taking a stand can be a no-win situation for chief executives. For every employee, investor and customer they make happy, they may well make someone else unhappy.

When Pepsi this year released an ad featuring Kendall Jenner offering a police officer a soda in the midst of an apparent Black Lives Matter protest, the condemnation was swift. Two years earlier, Starbucks drew wide ridicule when, as part of an effort by Mr. Schultz to start a national conversation on race relations, baristas were encouraged to write “race together” on coffee cups.

Companies on the conservative end of the ideological spectrum are also increasingly willing to stand up for their principles, and just as likely to face criticism. After it was revealed that the family behind the fast-food chain Chick-fil-A supported groups that opposed same-sex marriage, gay rights protesters targeted the restaurants.

Hobby Lobby, the craft-supply chain run by a conservative Christian family, challenged a provision in the Affordable Care Act that required family-owned corporations to pay for insurance coverage for birth control. Despite drawing the ire of the left, Hobby Lobby took its case to the Supreme Court and won.

Critics of Mr. Plank’s decision cast their net wide, going after all the chief executives who quit the president’s business advisory groups. “This is a remarkable moment in history,” said Lou Dobbs, a Fox Business Network host. “Every one of those C.E.O.s, mark my words, is a coward — and the president is exactly right — a grandstander in the service of the left. And no one should make any mistake: This is a coordinated, orchestrated attack against this president.”

John Carney, a business editor for Breitbart News, the conservative news site, wrote that “corporate America is part of the opposition.”

“The confederacy of the media institutions, the American left, and Corporate America has aligned itself against the populist uprising that brought Trump to the White House,” Mr. Carney wrote. “The battle lines are clear.”

Those executives who go out on a limb know the risks. “We all recognize that with every decision we make, there is group of people that are not going to agree with us,” Mr. Schultz said. “But you must define you core purpose for being. We stand in the interest of something greater than just making money.”

A Diversity Paradox

Diversity — of opinions, ideologies and religions — is what makes taking a stand on moral issues so treacherous for C.E.O.s. Yet paradoxically, it is also diversity — of races, genders and worldviews, among customers and the work force — that makes many of the executives, when forced to take a stand, come down on the side of inclusion, tolerance and acceptance.

Business leaders looking to the future are accepting that it is unwise to isolate swaths of the population by coming off as racist, sexist or intolerant. Instead, for the sake of the bottom line, it is imperative that they appeal to the widest possible audience. “Business leaders aren’t threatened by an America that is browner, an America that is more diverse; they welcome that,” Mr. Walker said. “Business leaders are bullish on diversity.”

What’s more, some executives have concluded that speaking out on issues of morality can improve more than their reputations — it can benefit recruitment, morale and even sales. “Our employees come here knowing that this is something that is extremely important to us,” said Mr. Benioff of Salesforce. “Business is the greatest platform for affecting change.”

If the voices of business leaders seem amplified, that is perhaps because in such partisan times, few politicians can speak to both sides of the aisle, leaving a vacuum for business leaders to fill. This last week, the executives on Mr. Trump’s business advisory councils piped up, led by Mr. Frazier of Merck.

The black chief executive of a $172 billion company — a multimillionaire who was born in a poor neighborhood, a former lawyer who fought for civil rights and had agreed to advise the president — Mr. Frazier offered remarks that set the tone for the business world at large.

“Our country’s strength stems from its diversity,” he wrote, adding, “America’s leaders must honor our fundamental values by clearly rejecting expressions of hatred, bigotry and group supremacy, which run counter to the American ideal that all people are created equal.”

The C.E.O.s had found their voice.

Follow David Gelles on Twitter @dgelles.