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Steve should really stop letting Eddie man the radio when they’re fucking.
He can’t handle anymore Black Sabbath or Metallica or whatever the fuck when Eddie’s down on his knees because really all it does is fuck up their rhythm and conceal Eddie’s pretty noises that Steve loves so dearly.
And it’s no secret that Steve hates the music; the heavy metal and shit. It’s a common occurrence, a regularity really, for him to complain, especially when they’re in the van; Eddie rushing to play the mixtape that’s already shoved into the deck so he doesn't have to waste any more time than he needs to before getting pulled into the back.
Steve knows his own preferences can be questioned— having a record collection of Madonna and ABBA and Bees Gees that he has to stash away whenever he has company over, because isn’t that just embarrassing? — but it’s better than anything else, in his less than humble opinion.
And he’s not one of those traditionalist oldies or suburban moms that shuffle their kids away when they see Eddie, who’s not even accused of murder anymore so what’s the point, on the street. He doesn’t think the music Eddie listens to is, like, ruining the kids of America or anything. He just doesn't like it. Sue him for having a not-garbage music taste.
Something whiny and grungy and loud plays across the back of Steve’s head and the movements of his palm that's rubbing into the damp spot on Eddie’s jeans falter. Eddie’s shuddering gasps pause and he grinds slightly into Steve’s hand. Face blotched with pink, lips shiny from long kisses.
“Why’d you — why’d you stop?” He asks, breathless, voice a bit higher than usual.
“What’s the song?” Steve asks, knees digging down into Eddie’s gross mattress, bracketing Eddie’s hips, straddling. He thinks it might be a little unfair that Eddie’s still stuck in his pants while Steve’s just in his boxers — the heat of a mid-July afternoon has made Eddie’s room a little muggy despite the open window — but he’s amused by the desperation of Eddie trying to shove off his tight jeans, the chain hooked onto the back loop rattling.
Eddie stills his frantics to listen, then after a few seconds answers; “Heavy Duty. Judas Priest.” Something like hope then flickers in his eyes, a grin spreading on his bruised mouth, eyebrow raised. “Why? D’you like it?”
Steve wishes he did, then maybe he wouldn't have to use all of the willpower that wants to push his hand back into Eddie’s crotch to reach over to the radio on Eddie’s cluttered desk. Careful to not knock over the glass jar full of those dice he uses for his nerdy games.
Apparently they’re, like, special dice or something. Steve doesn’t know what can be so interesting about fucking dice , but they’re all different colors, so that’s kind of neat.
“Not particularly, no.” He snorts, then shifts through the channels before Eddie can protest. He still does — “What the fuck, man? I was listening to that.” — but it goes through one ear and out the other.
Steve’s had to listen to too many objections these past few months, and even more so after they’d started dating. It hadn’t been a said thing, their partnership or whatever, until recently. They had just, y’know, kind of assumed it. A mutual understanding of sorts.
But Eddie, bless his sweet, blunt heart, had just popped the question (“Do you wanna be my boyfriend?”) during a peaceful dinner of Chinese takeout and Golden Girls (Robin had gotten him hooked.) Steve turned to him, a little wide-eyed around his lo mein, illuminated by the television they sat cross-legged in front of like kids.
“We aren't…already boyfriends?”
Eddie, blinking slow, sent him an odd look; “No…? I mean, I dunno’. I thought we’ve already kind of established that by the fact that we’ve been fucking for months. And, like, we’re not fucking other people. But we haven’t, like, said anything about it yet. So…”
“Oh.” Steve said, feeling dumb. “Well, I — yeah. We’re boyfriends.”
Then Eddie grinned and Steve grinned back and they finished their food a little giddy because fuck, they were fucking boyfriends . And it all came together, tied with a nice little bow, when Eddie had panted into his ear, “I’m all yours, Steve Harrington,” later that night. Fingers in his hair. Steve had smiled, muttering into his shoulder; “You are everything, Eddie Munson.”
So yeah, boyfriends seemed right.
“You always pick the music, dude.” Steve comments, lifting up his hips so Eddie can shove down his jeans, being so courteous as to pull them off his ankles where Eddie can’t reach and fling them down to the carpet.
It lands in the growing pile of dirty clothes that’s been there for at least a week. Steve should probably tell him to go to the laundromat soon before they stink up his room even more. But now’s not the time, and Steve will just end up taking them home to his own washing machine anyway. Very domestic.
“Whatever, can you — fuck — hurry up, man? You’re leaving me hanging here.” Eddie huffs, pushing up, but Steve’s leant back just enough to where Eddie can’t really rut into the friction. “Unless I can-” He pauses to swallow, throat clicking as he does, and Steve finally looks back.
“Can I touch myself?”
Steve’s not exactly sure why Eddie’s asking that, they don’t have, like, a rule book on whether or not they can jerk off. But Eddie asking him for permission, putting Steve in some sort of power, letting Steve decide — letting Steve control — has his head spinning. Liquid heat pooling in his gut.
“Fuck,” he breathes because — Yeah. Fuck . Eddie’s eyes are big, they’re always fucking big, they take up half his goddamn face, but they’re wider, desperate. Kind of watery because Eddie, Steve has learned, is fucking senstive.
Always gasping and writhing and — “too much, too much, too much, Steve, ohgodohgod -” — Steve always pauses and Eddie shakes his head. Lets him keep going because it’s too much and he wants more .
“Yeah, yeah, baby. Touch yourself. Eddie, touch yourself for me.” Steve says more than he needs to but Eddie nods quickly anyway, breathes out a shaky “ Fuck .” Spits into his hand even though the amount of precum he’s been drooling that Steve sees when he pulls out his dick from the hem of his boxers should be enough. Arches his back, and lets out a pleased sigh when he finally wraps his hand around his cock.
Steve’s head feels a little fuzzy. Maybe like he’s high but they, surprisingly, haven’t smoked in the past 12 hours so it can’t be that. His gaze focuses in on Eddie, tunnel vision. Studying the way his chest starts to heave as soft pants leave his lips, eyes fluttering shut as the movement of his hand starts to pick up the pace. Dragging from the base of his cock to the red, leaking tip. Slides the pad of his index over his slit and gasps, thighs jerking up, and yeah, okay —
Steve needs to find a fucking song right fucking now .
Lucky for him, the next one he hears seems applicable enough, and he looks over again, singing along with a smile, “ She’s my neighbor, fill me up ,”
Eddie’s eye cracks open. Unfamiliar.
“Talking Heads?” Steve says, a tilt in his head.
“I — yeah, God, whatever. I don’t care, just get over here.” Eddie gives in, shaking his head, curtain of dark brown bangs swishing around. And Steve’s grin only widens in success. He’s glad to make a mental note that if he just gets Eddie horny enough then he’ll finally have more access to the sexy-time song choices. Nice!
Steve wastes no time leaning down, planting a hand down next to Eddie’s head on the pillow — his hair sprawled out like a halo to make him look like some sort of angel — to brace himself. Other hand coming up to cup his warm face. Eddie’s eyes meet his and he smiles. His dimples pop and Steve’s heart melts into a lovesick soup. He has no choice but to kiss him.
His hand trails down his jaw, his neck, gently pressing into the hickeys that cover the column and lines of his pale throat. Making Eddie shiver, lips parting. Steve happily accepts the invitation with open arms and licks into his mouth, bites his bottom lip.
Eddie has a thing for hickeys; likes to feel marked up or something like that. Steve likes it too, but maybe that’s just the possession talking.
His hand travels down further to his smooth chest, rubs the pad of his thumb against a pebbled nipple. It takes a lot of willpower for Steve to break the kiss so his mouth can wrap around it. Eddie curses when Steve bites it and licks, and Steve hums when he feels calloused fingers thread through his hair.
Steve’s puffy lips continue their journey south, index pressing down his happy trail and dragging until it knocks into the back of Eddie’s hand that’s still touching himself. Deliberately slow. More than happy to sacrifice his self-satisfaction to bask in the feeling of Steve’s attention. Because who doesn’t want Steve Harrington’s attention?
Steve bends when he gets to Eddie’s waist, keeps his eyes on him when he starts to peel down his boxers. Moving to the side to slide them down his long legs and toss them on top of his discarded jeans. They’re covered in little skulls and crossbones. They’re a size larger than they should be, he likes baggy underwear.
Steve’s learned all about Eddie’s little, hm, Eddieisms , he’ll call them, after the almost end of the world shit. He’s glad, he’s happy that Eddie lets him see that usually closed off side of himself. His oddities protected by over the top dramatics and sardonics and very much faux fuck-you-and-everyone-else attitude. He’s really just a big softie.
Steve feels honored that Eddie’s let him crack open that shell and crawl inside. Have a look around. Take some things and cradle them like they’re the most important things in the whole fucking world.
And they are.
Eddie’s fucking Bambi eyes stay on Steves when the latter starts to suck a hickey into the tattoo on Eddie’s narrow hip bone. It’s, like, a monster, Steve’s pretty sure. He doesn't know what any of Eddie’s tattoos mean. Maybe one day he’ll get a tour.
He kind of already has. There’s not one inch of skin that hasn’t been claimed, and fuck he can’t believe he can even say that, by Steve’s touch.
“ Steve ,” Eddie gasps, raspy, hips bucking when Steve bats his hand away to finally tug at his cock himself after he sinks his teeth into the monster tattoo and rests his weight on Eddie’s lower thighs. Eddie’s forehead is sweaty. Steve wipes the moisture away with his thumb.
He wants to shove it in Eddie’s mouth, make him suck on it for a little while. Tasting his own sweat. It’s gross. Eddie would probably be down for it.
He’s down for a lot of stuff, evident by the handcuffs strung on his wall. Steve, with a sort of fondness, thinks back to last month when he’d cuffed Eddie’s hands behind his back. Shoved his face into the mattress while he took it from behind.
How sentimental.
“Yeah? What’s up, Eds.” Steve says because he likes the way Eddie flushes at the nickname. Only Steve can call him that. It’s a nice feeling, for both of them. It’s private. Their own thing, Eddie almost got annoyed when Robin had called him that one day during their weekly movie night.
Steve, now a little guilty, had felt a burst of burning pride in his chest at the possibly light-hearted glare he’d sent her. She’d thrown her hands up, laughed. Eddie had smiled and shook it off, and then begged Steve to call him it when they’d gotten home that night.
Eds . It was theirs. Pretty hot, if you asked Steve.
“Can you — Christ — take your — wanna see you, man.”
The need and croak in Eddie’s voice has Steve’s cock kicking, and he realizes just how hard he is. Like, embarrassingly hard. He reluctantly slides off the bed to take off his underwear, then raises a semi-suggestive brow at Eddie. Feels a blush bloom on his cheeks when Eddie stares at him like he’s a five course fucking meal.
Steve Harrington. Blushing . God, this guy has him wrapped around his ring-covered finger, doesn’t he?
He’s quick to get back on the bed, kneeling, and shifts forward, inhaling a sharp breath before taking both of them in his grip. And oh, he would pay any amount of money to hear the noise Eddie makes again. He wants to record it and play it on his Walkman. Listen to it again, again, again. Make his ears bleed. Wrap a hand around his dick and get off to it forever. Drown in it.
“Feel good?” Steve pants, letting his hips roll, the heat and slickness of Eddie’s cock making it easy to slide against his own. Eddie groans and nods, pushing back into it. Wanting. Steve’s happy to give, stroking up, pulling down. Feels his own whine escape from his throat; abdomen muscles jerking. Feeling hot. Feeling good.
“Yeah, man, you don’t even know. You’re, like, fucking insane, Steve Harrington.” Eddie says with humor in his tone. He’s smiling and arching and Steve smiles because it’s really hard not to when Eddie’s smiling. His stupid manic grins. They’re infuriatingly contagious.
“Am I now?” Steve teases, amused. Raises his palm, grips their leaking heads together and pulls and shit , it's something like lightning, like a current of electricity. Pulsing and hot through his head, his body. Eddie ruts up into it, gasping, and Steve may have to slow his roll before he finishes like this.
“Please,” Eddie moans, it’s the prettiest sound in the world and Steve wants to hear him say it over and over and over again. Steve huffs, a little shaky, head full of buzzing bees. He slides down to their bases, strokes up and down. Presses his other hand into Eddie’s thigh and grips the soft flesh hard enough to leave permanent fingerprints. Eddie’s always bruised easily. Like a peach.
“Yeah, what d’you want, huh? Tell me baby.” He says, a little eager himself, but tapers it down when Eddie takes a second to breathe. He’s flushed and sweating, it’s hot in his room still and the added tension doesn’t exactly help. That’s okay, a post-coytle blowjob in the shower sounds nice anyway.
Steve breathes with him; and he likes this. Likes that he can take moments like this and just relax. Sex with girls is nice, obviously, but sometimes he thinks all they want is go, go, go . Steve gives it, of course he does, because he’s a giver and if a girl wants him to fuck her then by God will he get the job done.
But they don’t usually want to stop and smell the roses along the way. At least with the girls he’s been with. Lots of drunk sex, maybe that’s why. It doesn’t matter anyway, he’s just grateful for Eddie and his shitty music and his nerdy games. His ear-to-ear smiles. And everything else he does and is, because Eddie Munson is fucking perfect. Just a fact.
“I want you.” Eddie finally says, low and rumbly, the tone he uses when playing his Dungeon and whatever game. Lids hooded, eyes black. Neck tilted back a little, like he’s showing off the blooming bruises. Showing off what Steve’s created. He’s fucking intense. Steve shivers and bats his eyelashes.
“Gotta be a little more specific than that, baby,” He goads lightly, letting his hand fall down to Eddie’s leg. Hearing a soft whine of detest when the hold on his dick is freed. Steve trails his fingers to the bite mark on Eddie’s hip and circles.
“I mean…” He trails, heart thumping along with the pulsing and throbbing of everything else. He feels like he’s being, like, microwaved. An easy smirk slides onto his face. The one he uses to charm the ladies. “Do you really think you deserve it?”
Hook, line, and fucking sinker.
And it’s all about power, isn’t it?
Because Eddie’s nodding and his chest heaves with need and want and he does that — “ more, more, more ” — without even needing to say it. Steve doesn’t even know what exactly that is, but he feels it in his stomach anyway. Like metal sparking. Sometimes he feels bad, making him wait, making him plead. But they’re having fun, so it's fine.
“I — yeah. Steve. Please, I-I need it, man. C’mon, please. M’begging here. Please. Need you. Need you so bad , fuck, I want — I want you, man, I want everything , want everything you ha—”
Steve kisses him like he might die if he doesn't, lunging forward, thanking himself for working on his core. Hands on everything. It’s messy and sloppy, all teeth and sliding tongues. Wet noises when they part to breathe and dive back in. There’s another song playing, and behind the static in his head he hears something that must be by Depeche Mode. Dark and moody. It’s not Steve’s usual taste, but it’ll do.
“You’re too fucking good for me, y’know that?” Steve says, pulling away so he’s back to sitting on Eddie’s thighs, panting. And it’s true, because what did Steve do to deserve him? Deserve this?
Sometimes he thinks Eddie should still hate him; King Steve is long gone, sure, stuck in the past. But he can’t take back the things he did. He’d shoved countless so-called-freaks into lockers. Eddie probably one of the many. Called him a now unspoken word in the locker room. Because it wasn’t like Steve didn’t know. Steve knew when he’d called Jonathan Byers a queer, shoved his shoulder. Got the daylights knocked out of him afterwards. Deserved it.
He knew what those words meant, they were purposely sharp on his tongue. Because his dad and Tommy. H and everyone else said it was, like, a disease or something, right? That it was bad? So why would Steve question it?
Jesus, if only Steve then knew Steve now. He’d probably kill himself.
“Steve, please, fuck,” Eddie moans, all yearning and needy, raising his hips. Pushing into Steve. Wanting. Steve wants too, God, does he want. He has everything in his hands right now. Everything he’s ever wanted. “Need your fingers — please,”
Steve grins again, manic like Eddies dumb beaming when he likes something. Dials up the Steve Harrington Charm. Raps his fingers across Eddie’s thigh to the drum beat of the song. “Want me to fingerfuck you, baby?”
“Oh my god, Steve, Jesus Christ ,”
Steve takes that as a yes.
He wastes no time stretching back to the desk, feeling Eddie’s eyes on him. Watching the way the muscles in his back shift and flex as he opens the drawer and fumbles for lube.
Steve’s not vain or anything, he doesn’t think he’s, like, magazine model material. But he’s attractive, he knows that. He’s got a good face, toned arms, tan. Covered in moles. An above-average dick according to this girl Maggie something he’d gotten with junior year (before Nancy of course) that had apparently slept with the whole football team. Steve has to give it to her now, that was pretty impressive.
He’s just happy, and a little surprised, that Eddie’s stuck around for Steve and not just his dick, to be frank. That’s what most of the girls he’d been with pre-Eddie did, anyway. Let him take her on a not-terrible date before bringing her back to his place. Waking up to an empty bed in the morning. His bed was rarely empty anymore, only on those days when Eddie needed his alone time.
Which Steve was fine with, he knew he could be a little much sometimes. Like, his head was full of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Needed his hands on Eddie at all times. Felt a pang in his chest whenever they weren't in a close radius of each other. He just had a big heart, that’s all. A big, needy heart. And Eddie liked his big needy heart, had expressed it many times. But time apart, even for just a few hours, was important. To both of them.
“Noisy today, huh?” Steve teases, twisting back to face him, shaking the lube in his hand. Relishing in the way Eddie whimpers when he spreads his thighs, easy, wrapping them around Steve’s waist. Shuffling closer as he covers his fingers in lube, tingling, anticipating. But he takes his time, why rush?
“Shut up.” Eddie huffs, color rising to his cheeks. Red and pink on heated skin. His hips shift when Steve circles his index around his rim, rolling forward. Nods, lets him know he’s good. Steve nods back, rubbing soothing infinity shapes into Eddie’s side once he presses in.
“ Jesus ,” Eddie’s tight, tense, eyes squeezing shut. He breathes, in and out, Steve reminds him. Because sometimes he forgets. Steve moves around a little, Eddie swallows and opens his eyes. Big and blown out. Steve wants to see them shiny, wants to, like, lick them. Wet with spit, tears. In a fucked up sex way, not in, like, a sad way.
“Relax, sweetheart.” Steve murmurs, kissing up his stomach, his chest. Eddie’s hands fall to his shoulders, holding on when Steve prods another finger, just slightly. Eddie tells him to go for it. Steve smiles against his petite pec.
It doesn’t take too long until Eddie’s giving him the thumbs up to keep moving. Steve does. He feels around, stretching, praising; “You’re doing so good for me, Eds. So fucking good. Wish you could see yourself right now. Such a mess already, just from my fingers. So fucking pretty, just for me.” And Eddie jerks at that because he’s a sucker for sweet talk, whining, panting. Wanting again. Steve’s wanting again too. He hasn’t stopped. Not now, not ever.
Steve’s pushing and curling until he hits the sweet spot. The jackpot, and Eddie’s fucking wailing — ” Steve ,”— spasming, and Steve holds his twitching thighs down to steady him. Precum spills onto Eddie’s stomach, cock jerking, throbbing and red.
“You okay?” Steve asks, even though he really doesn't need to. He knows the answer, but it’s good to check in. Eddie groans, arching, and it’s too much too much too much again, he knows it. Too much, and he needs it.
“Fuck. You.” Eddie grits out. Steve raises an eyebrow, crooks his finger, his strokes firm. Eddie throws his head back, shuddering hard. After a drawn out moan, he rasps, “Sorry. I’m good. I’m ready.” He breathes. A pause. And then, “Thank you.”
“You’re so very welcome.” Steve grins and kisses him. Chaste, but sweet. Eddie’s lips shine with spit, cherry red. Steve presses their mouths together again, just for good measure. He thinks he could kiss Eddie forever. Until he runs out of oxygen, and then just use Eddie instead, breathing him in. Greening out on the smell of sweat and BO and woody incense. The cheapest of colognes.
When he pulls out, his fingers are wet and dripping. Eddie’s wrecked already; spread out and trembling, leaking and unfurled. Hair sticks to his forehead. He’s fully on show, scattered tattoos and svelte form. Open and ready.
All for Steve. He shivers. The spark in his stomach growing into a flickering flame. Steve could probably light a joint with it.
Steve grabs for the lube, coats his hand and drops it to his cock. Mouth opening, eyes shutting for a moment. Waves of warmth thrumming through him. Gets a little distracted. He peeks an eye open when he hears a broken noise to see Eddie shaking, white-knuckling the sheets. Watching him intently, jaw slack. Gaze glued south.
Oh, right. Yeah. Keep it rolling, Harrington.
“Basically drooling for my cock, aren't you, honey?” Steve hums, leaning forward so his hands bracket Eddie’s head, back bowed. Eddie squirms when Steve lines himself up with a gaping entrance, their eyes meet. Eddie kisses him. Uses tongue. Steve gets lost, and forces himself to pull back.
“Ready?”
“Shut up.” Eddie says again. “Yes.”
Steve starts to push in, slow and steady, pausing when Eddie hisses and gets his hands on Steve’s back. He’s the one to tense then, reminded of the deep, silver and white scars that line his lower shoulder blades, stretching to his back. He licks the inside of Eddie’s wrist, sinking his teeth in. Kissing it afterwards.
“Move your hands up. On my shoulders.” Steve says, shrugging him off. Trying not to get caught in the heat of Eddie clenched around him when he slides in further. He’s wet and warm around his dick. Which is, like, gross to say. But how else is he supposed to say that he’s like, surrounded by…soaked? Ew, that’s fucking awful . Steve’s brain is awful.
Eddie blinks, mouth opening in confusion, then closes it. Squeezes Steve's shoulders, stretched out. “Oh, yeah, right. Your back is fucked.”
“Evil fucking demobats.” Steve smiles, shaking his head. Blowing away a string of hair that falls into his line of vision. Eddie hums, a little broken because he’s aching, leaning up to kiss the space between Steve’s eyebrows. Falls back against the pillows, a puff of air leaving his lips. He looks pretty, flushed and lax. Kind of shiny.
“You’re doing good, my good fucking boy.” Steve breathes in slow when he bottoms out and Eddie’s eyes close. Gasping. Rolling up and fingers digging into Steve’s collarbones. Steve presses forward so their chests flush together. Dark hair against bare skin.
He had kind of considered waxing his chest again after it had been pointed out by the kids. Who was he trying to impress, anyway? It wasn’t like any more girls were tripping over their feet running to him with a ring around his throat and covered in gashes.
But Eddie likes it, had said he wants to kiss it and grasp and run his hands through it the first time they’d hooked up. Steve had laughed, this guy was weird — which was ironic considering the fact that all Steve does now is think about absorbing Eddie and, like, climbing into his body — but felt flattered enough to keep it anyway.
Steve notices the angle is a little awkward, doesn’t give him much room to really move the way he wants to. He gets back to kneeling at the edge of the bed and lifts Eddie’s hips, wraps them around his torso. Fingers sprawled on the back of alabaster thighs, near the bruises he’d left earlier. Better leverage.
He tilts forward, pushing in deep, and Eddie keens , a heavy moan ripped out from his flushed chest. Dick leaking against his belly. He presses back, desperate. Needy. Full, but wanting to be fuller. Like, to the brim. The fire in Steve’s stomach gets bigger, a real flame now. Like, a campfire type of flame. Crackling, spitting out embers.
“Shit, shit , Eddie.” He pants when he pulls in and out, slow, deep, rolling along with it. Eddie’s eyes get watery again, noises of all different pitches and raggedness leaving his lips. Steve sees a tear slide down his cheek and pulses inside of him, groaning and throwing his head back.
What is he, a fucking sadist? He doesn't want to, like, hurt Eddie, but he just likes to know that whatever he's doing is good enough to reduce him to splinters. It feels good, maybe a little self-centered, prideful, but whatever. Eddie feels good too, so that’s all that matters.
“I — fucking — holy shit ,” Eddie gasps, arching and shaking when Steve snaps his hips forward, back to clenching the sheets, shifting up for more, more, more. Steve gives it to him, sets a fast, almost methodical pace. Sliding in and out of warmth. It’s quick now. Easy. Eddie’s placid and loose enough to give up everything. And Steve takes it all, greedy. Fucking greedy.
“Christ, needed you so f-fucking bad. You’re — shit — so fucking hot like this. Wanting me, I want you too, baby. You’re fucking perfect.” Steve rambles, drops of sweat on his back, his brow. He’s losing himself a little, the fire in his stomach big and beautiful. He glows. Eddie glows back. Fireflies, giving back, giving in. They tremble together.
“I’m — I’m yours. Fucking take whatever you — whatever you want.” Eddie moans, he’s ruined, messy. Ah-ah-ah’s into Steve’s thrusts. His hips buck forward and Steve wraps a hand around his cock.
Eddie sobs and grinds back into it. Doesn’t know whether to press into Steve’s cock or grind into his touch. Ends up alternating between both. Reduced to something like nothing. Something like everything.
And Steve catches ablaze, ignites. Like a lit match hitting oil-soaked wood. It’s a burning building now, wrist snapping to match his pistoning. A rubber band in his gut, stretched. Ready to release. All warm and gooey in his waist, makes it a little hard to stay upright. Frantic and fast.
“I’m g-gonna fucking come — Steve — gonna — ah —” Eddie pants, eyes crinkled and fingers tight in the sheets. Thighs clamped. Clenched around Steve’s aching cock. It’s almost not fair how gorgeous he is. He’s an angel right now. Above everyone else. In the clouds. Shining.
“I know, I know — baby, fuck, I’m close too. Fuck .” Steve says, breathless, shivering and vibrating. Alive . It only takes a few more strokes, a few more snaps of his hips before Eddie’s arching and letting out a strangled cry of something that sounds like Steve’s name but too garbled to tell. Spilling into Steve’s fist.
Eddie tightens around him, hard, and Steve burns .
The building topples and crashes and a forest ignites into flames, buzzing and hot and flashing bright behind Steve’s scrunched eyelids. Scorching in his veins, and it almost hurts . His head is thrown back, a loud noise he can barely hear over the ringing in his ears ripped from his throat. Everything shakes and he pulses. Hot ropes of white spilling out. Uncaged and free.
It takes a moment to recover afterwards. Feeling tired. Exhausted. Drained of energy. The flame burns out as quickly as it erupted and he finds himself slumping over Eddie’s form. The top of his head hitting Eddie’s heaving chest. They pant together, twitching and jerking, aftershocks of a lightning storm. An earthquake.
“You’re sweaty.” Eddie says, hoarse and broken. He brings up a shaking hand to push at Steve’s forehead, who groans in protest but forces himself to get up. Barely being able to stand. Limp and heavy like lead. Once he pulls out, he watches in something like weird fascination as white drips out from a gaping entrance.
If he wasn’t so ruined, he’d be hard again.
Steve, with great effort, manages to get his underwear on and throws Eddies onto the bed. He grabs one of those dirty shirts from the pile next to the bed and cleans them up. Yeah, he’ll definitely need to do some washing tonight.
He flops back down next to Eddie on the bed, starting to catch his breath and gain feeling back in his limbs. He rolls over onto his side and waits until Eddie finishes pulling on his boxers to kiss him. It’s not so much of a kiss as them just open-mouthed breathing into each other’s lips. But Steve leans forward more and they actually press together. Lazily kissing for a while.
“Everytime we fuck you, like, steal a bit of my soul.” Eddie says when they break. Staring up at the ceiling. Blinking heavy, dried tears on his cooling cheeks.
Steve’s eyebrows furrow. Confused, a little intrigued. “In a bad way?”
Eddie shakes his head and pushes back his damp hair. “No, not in a bad way. Just, like, you take parts of me. Y’know?”
Steve sort of understands. The loss of control, Steve guesses Eddie’s trying to say. Steve takes and keeps it in himself. Holds it for his own. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Eddie hums and closes his eyes, blindly fumbling for Steve's hand. Once he finds it, he brings it to his lips. Kisses it. Steve feels warm again, but like, a fuzzy way. Butterflies in his stomach. He smiles and shuffles closer to Eddie, throwing an arm over his chest and nuzzling into the crook of his neck.
He’s not sure if they actually fall asleep, but they drift in and out of a haze for a while, calm and serene. Legs tangled, fingers intertwined. Feeling everything. Light and sweet.
Warm together.