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Steve’s parents are finally, finally out of town, so he figures that it’s time for an actual family dinner. Not for bullshit blood ties that mean little more than feeling like a failure at the end of the day, but for the true, unbreakable bonds forged through facing unspeakable horrors together, bearing the weight of saving the world, and, well, yeah, spilling a little blood, too.
He’s been working up a sweat in the kitchen since late morning, layering a lasagna with heaping spoonfuls of ricotta, uncasing sausages for the soup, and chopping crisp, fresh vegetables for the salad. His counters are littered with flour, splashes of cream, and a smattering of discarded vegetable scraps. The lengthiest task has been mixing and kneading the dough for several loaves of homemade Italian bread — a task which has also managed to deplete his entire sugar supply before he’s even gotten to preparing dessert.
Kicking himself internally, Steve washes his hands and picks up the phone. He’s already got Eddie out on an errand for him, but the whole big, home cooked family dinner thing is supposed to be a surprise. As far as anyone but Steve knows, each of them have been invited to his house individually, without being told the rest were coming. It's been a little while since they’ve all been together in one place, and Steve knows he’s the only one who can make it happen.
Eddie agrees to pick up some sugar but when he asks what it’s for, Steve dodges the question, says he’s just noticed that he’s out. Luckily, Eddie doesn’t push it much further and Steve is able to stick his nose back into a cookbook, one on Italian desserts this time. He flips to the page detailing how to craft a limoncello pie and decides to start assembling the ingredients while he waits for Eddie to arrive and his bread to rise.
Steve’s parents never taught him how to cook, surely not , but he can remember his grandmother, his mom’s mom, before she passed, humming church hymns over a boiling soup or the crackle of bacon crisping in a pan. He remembers the way he’d get too close, ask too many questions, and nearly burn his fingertips in curiosity of how hot the pans could get. She would laugh and pat his head, ruffling his hair around, the way he knows he does to Dustin now, and tell him that the kitchen was her happy place. Those are mostly good memories, the ones of his grandma whisking eggs or washing sugar snap peas, but they’re laced with bad, like most of the things Steve can recall from his earliest years, because of his father. As much as Steve loved being near his grandma in her happy place, learning how it all worked, Steve’s dad hated it just as much. That’s women’s work , he’d say.
Still, cooking managed to become a hobby for Steve over the years. One his mother surprisingly encouraged. She’d tell his father that it could be good for him, maybe he’d be a chef one day! It made sense for him to have a practical skill since he, you know, isn’t all there sometimes. So, Steve got away with it most of the time. He even got good at it. Hell, outside of Phys Ed, Home Ec was the only class he’d passed without paying someone else to do the work for him.
Nearly an hour passes before Eddie finally shows up. Steve vaguely registers the jostle and click of the front door opening and closing as he measures out a third of a cup of lemon curd to scoop into his mom’s relatively unused kitchenaid stand mixer. It isn’t until he realizes he’s reached the part where he needs to add three spoonfuls of limoncello to the mix that he turns around and faces Eddie, who is examining the mayhem that is Steve’s kitchen counters with a skeptical smile.
He untucks both offerings from beneath his arms and holds them out towards Steve, his grin morphing into something larger and blinding. “I come in peace,” he says cautiously, dipping slightly to one side to set the newly delivered ingredients on the island counter. “Brought some sugar for my sugar, eh?”
Steve rolls his eyes and wipes his hands on a towel, throwing it over his shoulder when he’s done and crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s impressively cheesy, even for you.”
But when Eddie steps into his space, wraps both arms around him, and kisses his temple, Steve’s demeanor melts. He can’t help the way he smiles into Eddie’s shoulder, or the way he presses in to feel closer, just for a moment.
“You want to tell me what the hell you’ve got going on in here?” Eddie asks, leaning back to look at Steve but keeping both hands on his waist. “It smells delicious but it looks worse than my bedroom.”
Steve laughs, always laughs with Eddie, easy and carefree, like it can always be so. “That is not true. Nothing looks worse than your bedroom, Eds. I mean, maybe worse than your bedroom now that I’ve started cleaning it for you.”
“Pfffft.” Eddie pushes out his lips and furrows his brow, shaking his head and leaning forward until the tip of his nose brushes against Steve’s. “You don’t seem to mind rolling around in my filth.”
A flush rises steady and high on Steve’s cheeks, giving all his cards away. Because that’s all it takes. All Eddie has to do is insinuate the vaguest of ideas about the things they do and Steve goes all weak in the knees. He chews at his lip, the place where the split is finally healed but shiny and red, different from the rest of him save for the places where more physical demons took their share of him.
His eyes fall away from Eddie, to the frosted yellow, long-neck bottle of liquor on the island counter. It brings his head back to the here and now, to the fact that he’s got a job to finish and mouths to feed tonight. His hands come up to Eddie’s shoulders to gently push him back. “Stop that,” he says sternly, giving Eddie the most serious expression he can muster under the circumstances. “I have to finish everything for dinner tonight. The bread needs to go in the oven soon and I still need to make this pie.”
Eddie’s eyes follow Steve’s gesture with his thumb over his shoulder towards the mixer behind him. “Dinner tonight? I thought we were just hanging out. Doing our…” He clears his throat and that fucking grin is back again. “Our usual thing?”
Steve had somehow managed, over the past couple weeks, to give Eddie and all of their friends different stories about tonight. So far, none of the others have figured it out. Which is startling considering exactly who this group of people are.
“It was supposed to be a surprise, Eds.” Steve pushes past him and grabs the limoncello bottle and pivots back towards the mixer, already unscrewing the cap and eyeing the measuring spoons. “Everyone is coming but I’m the only one that knows everyone is coming— well, except you. You know, now.”
Eddie chuckles at him, and it’s right behind his head, before he wraps his arms around Steve’s middle again. He rests his chin on Steve’s shoulder. “I think I’ve more than proved that I’m an excellent secret keeper, Stevie.”
Steve swallows the pill, tries not to let it sour in his stomach, and rests the side of his head against Eddie’s as he pours tablespoons of the lemon liquor and drops them into the mixer. “I know, babe. I just wanted to surprise you, too.” His chest heaves with a release of breath and tension. “Thank you for coming to help me.”
“Any time, sweetness,” Eddie says quietly into Steve’s cheek before kissing it, just long and wet enough to feel like a promise of something more.
“ Eddie ,” Steve warns, leaning his weight back against the rigid warmth of Eddie anyhow. He gestures down the counter to the wire fruit basket near the fridge with his tablespoon. “Why don’t you go grab a lemon over there and the zester? Should be in the drawer just underneath.”
Eddie, to his credit, does untangle himself from Steve and moves to retrieve the items requested. The loss of his supportive frame leaves Steve teetering a little, though, and he has to grip the counter.
“What are these for? What are we making?” Eddie asks, handing Steve the lemon.
“A limoncello pie!” Steve answers with a touch too much enthusiasm, smiling broadly at Eddie and taking the zester from him as well. “It’s something my grandma used to make. My version isn’t as from-scratch as hers was but I like to think it’s pretty good. Even my parents like it, so that has to be a good sign. And, as a plus, you don’t need to bake it! It’s a frozen pie so you basically just prep and freeze. Easy as hell.”
Eddie just stares at him for a moment, the tiniest signs of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his dark eyes sparkle, even in the bright of daylight like that isn’t fucking magic or some shit, and Steve has to look away and start grating some zest off of the lemon to distract his self from the intensity of it.
“What? What are you staring at?”
“You,” Eddie answers, pulling one shoulder up in a shrug and leaning a hip against the counter, standing both too close and not close enough. “You’re adorable.”
That familiar firefly feeling flutters to life inside of Steve, illuminating the hollows of his heart. He ducks his head, pinching the pile of lemon zest he’s amassed on the counter between his fingers and sprinkling it into the mixing bowl to join with the other ingredients. “You’re being very distracting.”
“Yeah?” Eddie sucks in a breath and presses his forehead to Steve’s temple, taking up even more of the space that wasn’t between them. He puts a hand over the place where Steve’s back meets the top of his jeans. “Well. I can’t tell you I’m sorry.”
Steve turns his head, his forehead meeting Eddie’s and his hands stilling over the buttons of the mixer. He lets out a shaky exhale, tilting his chin up and placing a kiss at the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “It physically pains me to say this, like, it actually does. But. Later, okay?”
“Sure thing, Princess,” Eddie concedes, his demeanor shifting in an instant from that heavy, intense heat he seems to be able to generate on a dime to the more playful, child-like glee he exudes when he’s about to annoy the shit out of someone — especially Steve. “Might as well get some samples with my sneak peak while I’m here.” He juts and arm out and attempts to poke a finger into the mixing bowl, but Steve bats his hand away. “You have to let me taste test this shit! What if everyone comes tonight and it’s terrible? That would be a disaster, Steve. A disaster . Is that how you want your big surprise family dinner to go?”
“ This isn’t even ready.” Steve gestures to the pie ingredients in front of and around them. “It’s not going to taste right yet, so. No .”
Eddie steps away from him and spins in a circle with his arms out, eyes darting from the fridge, to the oven, to the rising loaves of dough still on the counter. “Let me taste something else then!”
Steve holds his palms out and levels Eddie with a look, one that says you’re an idiot but, also, you’re still distracting me . Because, even like this, in his less intense form, Eddie has this inescapable magnetic pull to him that always draws Steve away from anything else with terrifying ease. “I’ll let you taste some of it. But we’re going to do this on my terms. I’ve worked too hard on all of this so far.” He stalks off to the dining room and grabs a chair from the table, bringing it back to the kitchen and sitting it next to the island. “Here, sit. Let me pour this pie filling into its crust and then we can play, like, a game.”
“Oooo, I like when we play games,” Eddie teases, waggling his eyebrows at Steve as he takes a seat.
“Not that kind of game, smart ass.”
Opening a drawer in the island, Steve retrieves a clean kitchen towel, one of the fancy ones with the embroidered farm animals that his mom likes so much. He begins folding it long ways, over and over itself, until it forms a thick but long strip of material. Running his creation through his fingers, he brings it over to present to Eddie. “Can I tie this over your eyes?”
Eddie balks at him. “How exactly is this not that kind of game?”
“Oh my god, shut up .” Steve laughs as he steps around the chair to stand behind Eddie. He loops the towel around Eddie’s head to cover his eyes and knots the fabric together at the back. “Now, can you see anything?”
“I thought you wanted me to shut up?” Steve can’t see his face but he can hear the smile in Eddie’s voice. “This game is getting confusing.”
“ Can you see anything? ”
“Not a thing. Blind as a bat. Which,” Eddie informs him, “is a shame, considering how fucking hot you look playing house.”
Steve chooses to ignore the way that last part sends a shiver down his spine and automatically makes his dick twitch in interest. Instead, he leaves Eddie sitting in the chair and continues about his pie business until it’s ready to pop in the freezer. When he’s finished, he grabs a set of pot holders and pulls the lasagna from the oven where it’s been keeping warm, turning and setting it on the island counter and kicking his heel back to spring the oven door closed. The sound is louder than intended, a distinct metal clank that will probably give this first round away, but Steve presses on, grabbing a spoon from one of the drawers nearest to Eddie who is, for his part, waiting patiently. He’s better at that than Steve, because of course he is.
Steve uses the spoon to carve out a perfectly layered bite of the lasagna, just a small divot near the corner that no one will miss later. “Now,” he says, walking to Eddie and swinging a leg over him to settle on his lap. “I want you to open up for me.”
Eddie’s eyebrows hit the ceiling. “This is new. Sure you don’t want to swap places, sweet thing?”
“Come on, babe.” Steve speaks softly, just loud enough to fill the space between them. “Do you trust me?”
There’s a flash of a smile, just a wry little twist of Eddie’s lips that remind Steve just how stupid fucking handsome the guy actually is. His hands go to Steve’s hips, latching on to the softest part of them, where they bulge just over the top of his jeans, where Steve knows Eddie loves to touch him. “With my life,” he says, then opens his mouth, his tongue protruding just over the sharp gleam of his teeth in a way that reminds Steve of all the things Eddie knows how to do with that one muscle in his mouth.
Steve feeds Eddie the spoonful of his lasagna, waiting as Eddie recovers from the surprise of it and closes his mouth around it, lips dragging over the silver as it slides back out without its cargo. Eddie chews the bite a few times and makes a pleased hum in the back of his throat before he swallows.
“Can you tell what that one is?” Steve asks, sounding more breathless than he should, lost in focus on the fullness of Eddie’s lips.
“Pasta?” Eddie guesses at first, his voice on the hoarse side as well, not faring any better than Steve. He shakes his head and tries again. “Nah, lasagna, right? It’s good.”
Steve giggles, like actually fucking giggles, like a goddamn schoolgirl, and presses his forehead to Eddie’s. “Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!”
“Oh. Is this the game?” Steve can’t see his eyes but he can feel that mischievous glint in them radiating off of Eddie in waves. This must be killing him. Or, at least, driving him crazy, based on the way he tightens his grip on Steve and pulls him down to grind his erection against Steve’s growing one. “Or is this?”
Steve tuts at him and stands, peeling Eddie’s hands from his waist. “I told you , it’s not that kind of game.”
He heads to the fridge and reaches inside for the giant glass tupperware bowl with the blue snap-on lid, the one containing the salad he’d made earlier. Along with it, he grabs another, smaller glass container, this one with a red top, that holds a hand-mixed balsamic vinaigrette. Placing both on the counter, he pops the lids off of each one and grabs a cherry tomato, wrapping a piece of romaine lettuce around it, and dips it in the dressing.
“This one should be easy enough,” Steve says, making his way back over to Eddie. He seats himself back on Eddie’s lap, stifling a gasp at just how hard Eddie is actually getting from all this; it causes a bubble of pride to swell inside his chest. “Open for me again, yeah?”
This time, Eddie does as he’s asked without the sass, but Steve figured it has something to do with the way his breaths are growing faster, more shallow. He rests half of the lettuce-wrapped tomato on the edge of Eddie’s teeth. “Now bite it for me.”
The groan that rumbles in Eddie’s chest is nothing short of perverse as he severs the thing in half with his teeth. Sheer, red juice squeezes out as the skin pops, wetting Eddie’s chin in a way that mirrors the obscene way his mouth looks after he’s had it buried between Steve’s thighs. Steve chases the drip of the juice with his thumb and Eddie tries to bite that, too, so Steve rips his hand away and licks the juice from his own hand, laughing.
“You laughing at me, Harrington? You think this is cute?” Eddie’s tone drops into that dark register that’s only for the two of them, and never for moments this tame. He leans up and uses his nose to feel his way back along Steve’s jaw. When he reaches Steve’s ear, finding it in the dark, he presses his mouth against it. “I’m going to fuck you so hard for this.”
Steve drops the rest of the bite on the counter and tangles his fingers in Eddie’s hair, crashing his lips into Eddie’s, swiping his tongue inside when Eddie gasps in surprise. His mouth tastes tangy sweet and Steve gets lost in it, swirling his tongue around Eddie’s, sucking it into his own mouth and hollowing his cheeks, a lewd allusion to other things. Eddie’s hands slide up Steve’s back, beneath his shirt, gripping at shoulder blades and at the fucking whole of Steve. Steve forgets himself, loses his target, and grinds down against Eddie’s lap.
“That a promise, Daddy?” he purrs against Eddie’s mouth, overcome with desire and all the things he feels when Eddie’s hands are on him, around him.
Eddie’s chest heaves, his steady hands guiding Steve down again, and again. “ Fuck , yeah. Gonna make y—”
The egg timer Steve had wound before Eddie arrived to remind him to put his bread into the oven picks that exact fucking moment to ring, shrill and sudden, causing them both to startle, and Steve nearly falls off Eddie’s lap, spared only by Eddie’s hold on him. “Oh, shit, the bread!” he exclaims, attempting to untangle himself from that very hold.
Eddie’s head tips back, forehead scrunching up as he exhales his annoyance, long and loud. “Are you kidding me ?” He sits back up and hooks his fingers into the back of Steve’s jeans, trying to guide him down again, to keep him there. “Come on, baby, stay .”
“It’s time sensitive,” Steve explains apologetically, finally worming his way free and regaining balance with a hand on the counter. He’d stay right there on Eddie’s lap forever if he could but, frankly, it’s amusing to see Eddie being the one to beg for once. The prideful smile that takes over his features is something he’s very glad that Eddie can’t see right now.
“Well, throw it in the oven and get back here .” Eddie’s words are too fast, too eager, and so unlike the total control he usually expresses, though not for a lack of trying.
Steve removes the plastic wrap from his rising loaves where they already sit arranged on a metal sheet pan. “I really shouldn’t. We both need to calm down.” He retrieves a carton of eggs from the fridge and a small, clear bowl from the cabinet above his head. “I still have, like, a shit ton to do and playing around with you isn’t helping. No matter how fun it is.”
Eddie groans and adjusts himself, a hand over his blatantly obvious erection to push it down. Steve lets his eyes linger, because Eddie can’t see him do it anyway. What he doesn’t see won’t hurt him. “I wasn’t playing,” he says, voice surprisingly even, regaining his control. “Am I taking this thing off my face or do I get another taste?”
He’s not talking about the food, that much is clear to Steve. He chuckles as he finishes making his egg wash and begins basting it onto the tops of the uncooked loaves. “You’re just trying to get me back over there. I know you, Eds.”
“Mmm, well. True though that may be,” Eddie muses, palms flipping up in a gesture of surrender, I still have yet to taste whatever you’ve got stewing in that giant pot that smells so fucking good.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I feel like you’re robbing me of the full Ristorante Harrington experience, man.”
“Oh, really?” Steve rolls his eyes at Eddie’s obvious ploy as he stoops to slide his tray of dough into the preheated oven. “I suppose I could spare you one last sample. Since you’ve ruined all the other surprises so far.”
When he stands and turns to face Eddie again, a grin is spreading across his face and there’s a playfulness to his full cheeks, a sort of smug triumph, like he thinks he’s won the game. “Again, can’t tell you I’m sorry.”
Steve finds another spoon and lifts the lid of his twelve-quart, stainless steel pot, the one containing another of his grandma’s secret recipes, one she’d whip up on winter nights when, even piled in blankets and huddled to her chest, Steve would complain of being cold. The memory swells in his chest and he’s suddenly very glad that it’s Eddie he’ll share this with first. He dips out a spoonful and walks carefully back to Eddie, his hand hovering just below it in case of any drips.
Stopping just short of where Eddie sits, he doesn’t sit down, opting to stay standing this time, lest he fall back into the clutches of the beast. “This is an old recipe, passed down through the family. See if you can guess it. Ready?”
“You’re not coming back here?” Eddie asks predictably, with a suggestive shifting of his hips, and he sounds— needy .
Steve tuts and reaches out to gently cup Eddie’s jaw, encouraging him to open. He brings the spoon to Eddie’s mouth and sets the edge against his bottom lip. “I’m not as stupid as everyone thinks I am, ya know. Sip . It’s hot.”
“I don’t think you’re stupid.” Eddie puckers his lips around the end of the spoon and draws a bit of the soup into his mouth, smacking and licking them once he’s swallowed. “This is… insanely good. Like, completely not shitting you.”
The compliment crawls inside of Steve and embraces the fragile pieces there, wraps them in blankets and tucks him under its arm. No matter how many times Eddie praises him, for his looks or his humor or his cock or, shit, something as simple as how his cooking tastes, it still makes Steve’s stomach twist all up with the best kind of nerves, the ones that keep his cheeks hurting from how fucking happy he feels. Eddie makes him so happy.
“Thanks,” he says dumbly, trying not to sound as affected as he is. “Any guesses?”
“It’s ahhhhh… soup? Soup!” Eddie claps his hands and beams. “Where’s my reward?”
Steve laughs. “Nice try but…” He looks down at the remaining soup in the spoon and back up at Eddie, at his pretty, dark curls and his painfully cute dimples, at the long line of pale skin and blue veins that make up his neck. Making a decision, he releases Eddie’s jaw and rolls his index finger in the dip of the spoon, coating it in a thin layer of the creamy, white liquid. “One more try. Open.”
Eddie opens his mouth and waits patiently, a gasp escaping him when Steve walks close enough that his left knee slots between Eddie’s legs, spreading them a little wider. He slides the end of his finger over Eddie’s bottom lip and some of the soup gathers at the middle, creating a stunningly salacious image that makes Steve hold his breath. Eddie protrudes just the barest hint of his tongue, lapping at the pad of Steve’s finger and making a mewling sound that makes everything feel inverted, upside down.
“That’s it,” Steve breathes, sinking his finger inside Eddie’s mouth, pressing down against his tongue. Eddie closes his full lips around the intrusion, hollows his cheeks and sucks it clean. It goes on longer than it needs to, neither of them focused on the task at hand anymore, and Steve begins to work his finger in and out, fucking Eddie’s mouth with it and earning more of those fucking sacred sounds. “Eds, goddamn, you’re gorgeous . Don’t tell you enough. You take my fucking breath away.”
Eddie pulls off with a pop, that self-satisfied smile returning, like he hadn’t just sucked Steve’s finger like a dick. “So it’s, like, really delicious soup?”
“Zuppa Toscana.” Steve smacks him lightly on the arm, then wipes his hand clean on the front of his jeans. He takes a step back and breathes deeply through his nose, calming himself, willing the blood back into his brain. “Game over.”
“I was close!” Eddie reaches behind his head and unknots the towel, ripping it away from his head and tossing it onto the counter, blinking his eyes a few times to adjust to the sudden influx light.
Steve quirks an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, I bet you were.”
“You are in so much shit .” Eddie’s trying to sound threatening but his laughter weakens its intent. He jumps from the chair and starts towards Steve.
But Steve holds an arm out straight, palm flattened towards Eddie. “Eddie, red . Stop! I have to finish cooking.”
The color drop halts Eddie in his tracks, his Reeboks scuffing on the tile. Eddie is a rule breaker, he pushes boundaries and laughs in the face of authority, but the one thing he always respects, if nothing else, are the steadfast set of rules they've set up for themselves. His eyes flash with a look of hesitancy, then sadness, before he raises his own palm and presses it flush to Steve’s. He curls his fingers into the gaps between Steve’s fingers.
“I’m not coming any closer,” he assures Steve. “We good?”
Steve smiles and uses their joined hands to pull Eddie to him, placing a quick kiss on his cheek and drawing back again to look him in the eyes. “We’re fine. I just actually need you to stop. And probably go? For now. Come back around six when everyone else shows up.” He throws his arms around Eddie’s neck. “I’m never going to get anything else done with you here, looking like that.”
Eddie sucks in air, like he’d stopped breathing for a moment before, but Steve hadn’t noticed, then exhales it slowly through his nose. “When you’re right, you’re right, Stevie.” His arms loop around Steve’s waist and the feel of it could so easily be their downfall, again . “I’m definitely not going to keep my hands off you if I’m here. And what with you being such a slut for me…”
Scoffing, Steve let’s go of Eddie’s neck to slap at his chest. He takes the towel from the counter and rolls it over between his hands, flicking his wrists to spin it into a tight twist, then pulling it taught and aiming for Eddie’s backside. “That’s it, Munson, out! Out of my house!”
He snaps the towel and narrowly misses as Eddie juts his hips forward to avoid the blow. “I’m going, I’m going ,” he concedes, trotting towards the front door.
“Don’t show up again until dinner! You hear me?”
Eddie swings the front door open and throws himself through, but sticks his arm back through the threshold to point a finger in Steve’s direction. “This isn’t over, Harrington!”
“I said , out!”
**
Eddie arrives back at Steve’s place at about ten past six, just late enough to not be the first one there but not late enough to piss off the host. He lets himself in through the unlocked double doors and is met straightaway with the raucous sound of the kids laughing, arguing, and talking over each other. Intermingled with their voices is the clinking of glassware and silver, and the occasional shout from the Chief for everyone to settle down. Not so long ago, the sound of the latter might have sent Eddie hightailing out of there, kicking up a cloud of dust in his wake, but now, he smiles.
He shucks off the backpack of things he’s brought along for later, things meant for the after party , so to speak, with Steve, and leaves it sitting a few steps up on the stairs, then heads for the dining room. The sight of all of them, every single member of their ragtag band of merry men ( and women, and children) all gathered around the long, intricately carved table, faces reflecting the warm glow of the candles perched around the centerpiece — a flowery thing that Steve must have brought out for the occasion — is fruitive enough that laughter bubbles up from Eddie’s chest, untamable joy bursting through.
Mrs. Byers is helping Steve set out the last of the food along the center of the table and adding serving spoons to all the dishes. Mike and El are in their own little bubble, talking with their faces close enough for the Chief to be shooting daggers at them from where he sits at the head of the table. Max, Lucas, and Will are all locked in a heated discussion (and that’s putting it lightly) in the opposite side of the table about something that Eddie can’t make out over the way they’re all shouting to be heard over each other. Next to Will is Jonathan, then Nancy, who are both listening to Argyle tell a story with pointedly confused looks on their faces. There’s another empty chair at the far opposite end from the Chief, presumably for Mrs. Byers. Then Robin next to that, back on the side where El and Mike are. The chairs next to her are vacant. Two of them.
Dustin sits beside El but with his back facing her, his legs stretched out and propped up over the two chairs beside him, forcing Robin into her isolated spot. He shoots an arm in the air and waves a hand around, as if they’re in the giant highschool cafeteria instead of Steve’s dining room, shouting to Eddie. “Hey! Eddie! Over here! I saved you and Steve some seats!”
Everyone’s eyes shoot up to him and Mrs. Byers acts way too happy to see him, like he’s one of her fucking kids or some shit, and wraps him in a greeting embrace before she settles into her chair. He shuffles his way over to the empty chairs Dustin has saved but he chooses the one nearest Robin. “Nice of you to save Steve a seat at his own table,” he quips at Dustin, throwing a thumb back over his shoulder towards Robin, “but I’m gonna sit with her.”
“Your loss,” Dustin chides back, putting his feet back on the ground and swiveling to face the table properly.
Eddie is about to say something like Steve’s loss but loses the fuel to his teasing-Dustin fire when a large, warm hand grips his shoulder with a light squeeze, drawing his attention up. Steve looks even better than earlier, somehow. His face is all lit up and rosy, like he’s had a little wine or maybe like he’s just happy, and he’s wearing a navy blue dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, exposing just a hint of chest hair and collar bones. He chews at his pretty pink lip and makes it flush with even more color, contrasting a flash of perfectly white teeth as he smiles.
“Glad you’re here, Eds,” he mutters before releasing Eddie’s shoulder and grabbing a pre-poured, crystal glass of champagne and a silver butter knife from the table. The entire group falls silent and turns to face him, the same way Eddie is looking up at him, if perhaps a little less enraptured, as he clinks the knife against the rim of his glass to gather their attention.
“Uh, hey guys,” he starts, voice warbling just the slightest, and it’s so endearingly Steve that Eddie wishes he could take his hand, guide him through. He ducks his head and scratches at the back of his neck, clearly hyper aware of all the eyes on him. Eddie wishes he could tell him he’s doing just fine. “Thanks for coming tonight. I know this was kind of unexpected but, it’s been a while since we were all, like, actually all , together. Most of us have just been passing each other in the halls and whatnot.” He shrugs, his eyes coming up and jumping from person to person, from Max, to Nancy, to the Chief, to Robin, before finally settling on Mrs. Byers. “I thought it might be nice for everyone to sit down and have a family dinner. Together.”
“I think it is an excellent idea, Steve,” Mrs. Byers says, eyes twinkling with fondness as she raises her own glass and glances around at the rest of the party. Everyone seems to get the memo and raises their glasses as well, everyone holding them at arm’s length towards Steve, and Eddie does the same.
“To Steve?” Robin asks.
To which the Chief responds, his booming voice commanding the room, “To our family .”
Steve’s head snaps to the Chief and they exchange a look, one that anyone would only notice if they were scrutinizing everything as closely as Eddie is, and give each other a minute nod. There’s an understanding there, Eddie thinks, in them being the dads of the group, the protectors, the party’s fighters. It makes Eddie’s heart twist and reshape itself larger, making room for all the pride, and it aches from the growing pains.
Soup, salad, and bread are doled out in small portions, creating a taste for more but not filling anyone up too fast. Steve wouldn’t dare draw attention from the stars of his show, their main course, lasagna, which absolutely everyone fawns over, but especially the Chief, who claims that he’ll never get over how much he’d missed the dish. He and Dustin rival each other, wolfing down three helpings each to everyone else’s one, and it isn’t until the Chief eyes a fourth that El speaks up and tells him he should save room for dessert, that Steve had mentioned a pie.
Eddie tries to keep his eyes to himself, or on their other friends, he does. He has a brief, hushed exchange with Argyle about where he can grab the best weed in town but Jonathan cuts it off when he catches Mrs. Byers raising her eyebrows at them. Eventually, though, his attention is drawn back to Steve, luminescent and laughing, smiling ear to ear with his eyes aglow as they catch candle flames like they catch Eddie’s breath and steal it away. He’s beautiful, ruffling Dustin’s mop of curls and leaning across him to ask El if summer school is helping her catch up, if she needs help with anything. Eddie wishes he could touch him, wishes he could get closer to that light, right here, in front of all the people they love, so they could all know exactly how lucky Eddie is. He’s so fucking proud to be with Steve, in whatever capacity.
Robin draws him back to the real world with a squeeze of his hand beneath the table. He turns to her and she’s wearing a sympathetic smile, her eyes impossibly kind. How someone so incredibly merciful exists is actually stupid. She flicks her eyes to Steve, then back to him. “You’re doing great,” she says.
When Steve stands to retrieve the aforementioned dessert, he gives Eddie’s shoulder another little squeeze, and Eddie has to fight every nerve in his body not to lean his cheek onto it instinctively. The pie and their secret both come back to the table intact. Steve’s sliced the whole thing ahead of time, so he just uses a cake spatula to serve everyone a slice on tiny, gold-trimmed china plates. To say the crowd goes wild could be considered an understatement in this case. Everyone tries to shout at once about how delicious it is, while Eddie tries not to shout about how much he loves Steve.
“This is incredible, Steve,” Nancy is saying. “I didn’t know you could do this.” She’s got this affectionate look in her eyes that makes Jonathan shift uncomfortably and, if he’s being honest, Eddie too.
“You did this?” Argyle swoops in, always there to dig Jonathan out of the ever-growing hole widening between him and Nancy. “Damn, my dude, this shit is gnarly! Totally premium.” He leans towards Mrs. Byers and tosses her a wink. “Apologies for the language, Mom.”
And Eddie could probably put a finger on it if he tried, but for some reason his chest puffs up with some misplaced indignation, like somehow Nancy not taking note of yet another of Steve’s many competencies is an affront to his own pride, as if he’d had anything to do with anything Steve is capable of. He scoffs at them with an unwarranted amount of contempt and rolls his eyes, leaning forward in his chair, gesturing to Steve with both hands — though he doesn’t dare touch.
“You know he made, like, all this shit right?” He asks, eyes darting around to everyone but mainly sticking on Nancy. “Like, from scratch. Using some old recipes his grandma scribbled in a notebook. Like a fuckin’ chef or something.” When he turns his head, Steve is looking at him in a brand new way, something reverent, like a reflection of the way Eddie is always looking at him. Eddie continues without looking away, “If you paid a little more attention, you’d be surprised to learn what he can do. Harrington’s more than just a mean batting swing and a pretty face.”
Jonathan’s eyebrows hit his hairline and Nancy starts to say something, but then Dustin is clearing his throat and gathering the gang’s attention, claiming to need to make some kind of announcement. Eddie doesn’t take the way Steve grabs for his hand lightly, strokes small circles over his knuckles beneath the table, just out of view, but Dustin goes on to tell everyone that Suzie is visiting at the end of the month and he can’t wait for them all to meet her. Mike says something like I’m still surprised she’s real and the rest of the gang erupts in a debate over what is more believable: Dustin’s walkie-talkie love connection or Mike dating an actual superhero, and who would believe what if they didn’t know each other. Eddie knows, of course, he’s living the most unbelievable romance story of them all.
The dinner wraps up shortly after, Steve spending too long insisting that Mrs. Byers go home and enjoy her evening rather than helping him clean and the Chief spends just as long wrangling the younger members of their party into various vehicle groups for the ride home. They all say their goodnights and goodbyes, filtering out of the house so slowly that Eddie thinks he can hear the clock ticking as he thinks about his bag on the stairs. Robin stops to hug them both extra long, telling them she loves them so much . Dustin pokes his head between the three of them to whisper, “They’re gay , Robin, not dying .” Then, louder, “Come on, you’re driving me home!”
When the door clicks closed behind Robin, the last one out the door, it’s just Steve and Eddie again. They stare at the door for a moment, both of them seeming to hold their breath, maybe expecting someone to walk back through the door. But no one does. Steve goes to it and slides the deadbolt with a turn of his wrist. The heavy clunk of the lock mechanism creating a barrier between them and the outside world is deafening, yet sets all of Eddie’s senses on end. It’s only been hours, but it feels like it could be eons since he’s last had his hands on Steve. Sweet Steve, his Steve, the man he spends nearly every night worshiping until one or both of them are brought to tears. The man that went and built them both a real family, all on his own, without even knowing he’d done so. The man he craves harder than any drug that’s ever passed through his hands.
“I think that went well,” Steve says, turning away from the door and leaning his back against it. He quirks a half smile at Eddie, meeting his eyes from across the foyer. “Didn’t mean to lock you in. Just figured you’d be interested in staying to help me clean up?” He pushes a hand into his thick mass of hair and glides it back, sweeping the parts that are too long to be called bangs anymore away from his forehead. “Finally stay the night here, maybe?”
“ Maybe ?” Eddie repeats Steve’s last word with a hint of incredulity, then is on top of him before he realized he’d made the conscious decision to walk. But maybe it isn’t conscious, maybe, for as much control as he plays at having, Eddie is a slave to the way he feels for Steve, every decision already made for him because he just can’t get enough.
Their mouths crash together like a breaking wave, powerful enough to erode the shore but not without splitting and rolling back into the ocean to reform themselves over and over again. Eddie licks into Steve’s mouth, tastes sweet champagne and and the tang of lemon peel, fishing his hand into the fabric of Steve’s shirt where it hangs open so easily, where it’s taunted Eddie all fucking night. He just fucking rips it. Buttons pop out of place, like the surface of the rocks washing out with the waves, wearing down what they used to be. They create a clatter as they hit the floor and Steve gasps for air, or maybe in shock, tilting his chin up to escape the onslaught of Eddie’s kiss.
“Hey! I like this shirt,” he complains, but it doesn’t sound like complaining. It sounds strained and whiny, needy for all the things Eddie is needy for, too.
Eddie just keeps kissing him, follows the line of Steve’s neck, licking over his Adam’s apple and sucking at the hollow of his throat. Steve moans when Eddie rips the shirt open further, kissing down over that stupid, teasing tuft of hair and latching onto a nipple. He bites down, and Steve moans louder, pushes weakly at Eddie’s shoulders.
“ Wait wait wait, ” he pleads on a single exhale. “We’ve got to clean u— uhhhuh —”
Steve’s protests die in his throat, strangled off by Eddie palming at his already rock-hard dick through his slacks. He ruts into it, despite himself, and sounds fall from his mouth like a symphony of sex. Eddie thrusts him into the door and locks a hand around his throat, pushing in a little harder than he’s dared before, and the beast arises from the depths.
“You think you could just pull that shit earlier? Fucking teasing me ? And I wasn’t going to put you back in your fucking place?” He spits twice, once at the ground and once right into Steve’s gaping mouth. “You think that’s how this works? Do I need to teach you another fucking lesson?”
Steve shakes his head violently, taking short, sharp breaths through his nose, struggling for it against the pressure at his neck. “No, please, fuck ,” his voice sounds hoarse, as if he’d been on his knees for hours already, taking Eddie’s cock. “I mean yes. Fuck. Eddie I want it. Fuck me up, god. ”
“It’s Daddy to you.” Eddie chuckles darkly, low in his throat, laying on that mean, callous manner that makes Steve go dripping for him. “Can’t even keep your answer straight. My stupid little slut, huh? Can’t think with my hand on you like this.” He rolls the heel of his palm over the head of Steve’s cock, where it’s already creating a wet spot at the front of his pants. “Already leaking for me aren’t you, sweetness?”
“Yes, sir. Yes, Daddy,” Steve rasps, jerking his head in his best attempt at a nod but just kind of thumping it against the wood of the door instead. “Stupid for you.”
“Mhmm,” Eddie hums, finally releasing Steve’s throat and leaning in to swipe his tongue over the pinkened flesh, now rosy like Steve’s wine-drunk complexion. Fucking beautiful . He peppers gentle kisses along the mark he’s made, not stopping until he feels Steve relaxing, feels his wave settling back into the sea. Then, Eddie, a shark in the depths, bites down hard right over Steve’s pulse point.
Steve cries out, pushes again at Eddie’s shoulders, but then the insistent shove of his palms slides up and around. Long fingers curl in and claw at Eddie’s shoulder blades, urging him closer, asking for more.
“Don’t worry, baby.” Eddie grinds his palm harder into Steve’s dick, harder than should be comfortable at all, but Steve just moans for it and grips him tighter. “Daddy brought some things for us to play with tonight. So you can prove to me that you can be better. That Daddy doesn’t need to be so mean.” Steve nods too quickly, so eager for something he doesn’t even know, his eyes already hooded and black, and Eddie’s heart ruptures, becoming the altered stone, for the way Steve will do anything for him. “And if you’re good for me, my sweet, gorgeous girl, I’ll reward you. Okay?” He takes Steve’s face in both hands, waiting until those lust-blown eyes focus on his own. “Give me a color so I can take you upstairs and fucking ruin you .”
“Green, green. ‘M fucking green. Please, please ,” Steve is babbling, face slack, like he’s actually fucking stupid but Eddie knows he’s already high, already so desperate that he just crumbles and molds, like wet, compacted sand. “Ruin me, ruin me . Want it. Want you. Want—”
Eddie dislodges himself from Steve’s hold and smacks him once, right across the mouth, just hard enough for it to sting, quieting Steve’s helpless rambling. “Stop making demands,” he instructs, firm and even. “I’m the one that does that.” He reaches out and grasps the tatters of Steve’s shirt, yanking him forwards, back into Eddie’s bubble. “Now that you’re listening ,” he continues, turning to point at his faded black Jansport that sits comfortably just up the stairs, “you’re going to grab that for me and bring it up to your room. No looking inside. Just walk it up to your room and sit it next to the bed. I’ll be right behind you. Tell me yes, Daddy if you understand.”
Steve looks to the bag, then back to Eddie, eyes alight with determination. “Yes, Daddy.”
They both make it up the stairs without falling into each other again, somehow, though Eddie’s eyes never leave the enticing swell of Steve’s ass until they’re at his door and through the threshold. The fact that this is Eddie’s first time actually inside Steve’s bedroom isn’t lost on him, not when he’s reminded by the garish repetition of white rectangles formed by intersecting blue lines that, for some godforsaken reason, continues onto the curtains, giving the room an eerily multidimensional feel. Like if he tossed on a pair of blue and red 3D glasses he’d be able to stick his hand through the optical illusion of the walls bulging inward to meet them. There’s a lone photo of a red corvette next to the window, over a desk decorated with nothing more than a plain white reading lamp and a piggy bank in the shape of a bowling pin. All of Steve’s sports trophies are on display downstairs, presumably where all his parents’ friends can fawn over them on the rare times they’re present, but none of that is in here. The whole thing is pointedly barren of anything that even remotely resembles Steve, and it would make Eddie laugh if it weren’t so sad.
Eddie’s heart breaks for Steve when he turns towards him. The poor, sweet thing is just waiting there expectantly, having already placed the unopened backpack next to the bed, tapping his fingers against his sides, waiting for Eddie to tell him who to be. How to be.
“No wonder you never want to stay here,” Eddie comments, crossing in front of Steve to crouch in front of the bag and pull the zipper halfway open. He reaches inside and fumbles for the feel of silk. “Take off your clothes and sit on the bed for me.”
Steve doesn’t bother trying to save the shirt. He fists either side of the already torn opening and rips it the rest of the way apart. And, yeah, that catches Eddie’s eye. It reminds him how strong Steve actually is, how much he lets Eddie do to him, and that has the waters of arousal rising around him, an unexpected high tide drawn in by the proximity of the moon itself. He shrugs as he discards the shirt, hands moving to unbuckle his belt, the taught muscles of his chest squeezing in and creating a line between his pecks that Eddie wants to fucking lick.
“I’ll like the place better when you’re fucking me stupid in it,” Steve says as he seats himself on the edge of the bed, finally free of all his clothes.
Eddie’s hand closes around the item he's rustling for just as his eyes fall hard on the sight of Steve’s cock, standing proud and shiny-slick at the tip. He licks his lips and stands, dragging a royal blue strip of silk out of his bag as he does, allowing it to trail so that Steve can take in the full length of it. “You know what this is?”
It’s Steve’s turn to lick his lips. His eyes go wide and frantic, searching his own mind for the answer. “Is it for my wrists? Gonna tie my hands the way you like them?” His excitement is palpable, voice going small and breathy. “Or for my throat? Gonna really take my breath away?”
And the prospect of that makes Eddie’s balls throb, makes the creature inside him scream to breach the surface, makes him want to choke Steve within an inch of his life before letting him gasp for survival as he comes, but. That’s not what he’s planned for tonight, nor something he thinks he has the willpower to control, yet . His beast is still a wild animal in a cage, not a tame thing to be trusted implicitly.
He runs the dark, reflective material through his fingers, the moonlight through the window reflecting in its folds, and tears his eyes away from Steve’s body long enough to look him in the eyes. “Another time, sweetness.” He takes a few steps towards Steve, so that he’s standing just in front of him, their knees nearly touching, and snaps the blindfold taught between both hands. “You remember our game earlier? I’m going to need you to trust me and let me put this on you.”
Steve laughs, still taking on that breathy, erotic tone that Eddie swears he does on purpose, reaching out to rub his hands up the sides of Eddie’s thighs. He cranes his neck up to look at Eddie, eyes honeyed and cheeks cherubic, looking like an actual fucking angel. “You don’t have to ask me to trust you, Eds.”
Eddie leans down to place a soft kiss to each of Steve’s rosy cheeks, then stands and loops the silk around Steve’s head so that it covers his eyes, knotting it at the back. The deep blue he’d chosen when procuring different things for he and Steve to try out together really does go beautifully with Steve’s peach complexion, sultry and rich like the freckled skin beneath. Eddie sits a palm at either side of Steve’s neck and uses both thumbs to tilt Steve’s head back. Then he looks. Just really looks, for a moment, at the deep curve of the bow in Steve’s top lip, at the long, sharp line of his nose, at the two beauty marks on the fat of his cheek, at the two deep, horizontal lines that only appear when he furrows his brow… Eddie just looks.
He presses the pad of one thumb to the inside of Steve’s bottom lip and is rewarded with Steve’s tongue darting out to taste it. “This color was the right choice. You look good in it. Royal blue, fit for the King.”
Steve shakes his head, those lines in his forehead deepening. “Don’t call me that.”
“ My King,” Eddie tries again.
But Steve still protests around Eddie’s thumb, his voice smaller than maybe Eddie’s ever heard it. “Y— your princess?”
“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, his insides victim to an ocean of choppy waters stirred up by the coming storm. He doesn’t know if it’s his own hands or Steve’s jaw doing the trembling. “Yeah, my princess .” He releases his hold on Steve’s face and points to the bed, forgetting for a second that Steve can’t see the gesture. “Why don’t you go ahead and get up on the bed, princess? On your knees and elbows. Ass in the air. You know how I like to see you.”
Steve, without a moment’s hesitation, turns and clambers his way onto the bed sideways, following Eddie’s instructions to go down on his forearms, tucking his head low, and pulling his knees under himself so that he has to arch his back at an extreme angle to keep his ass lifted into the air. The fucking sight of him , performing tricks like a goddamn show dog, heeding his master’s every word, sends Eddie’s head reeling and when the beast growls with hunger, Eddie does, too.
“Now wait patiently for me, just like that,” he instructs, stopping to retrieve his bag from the floor and unzipping it the rest of the way open. Carefully, he removes each item he’s chosen for their game tonight, along with a jar of Vaseline, and lays them out on the mattress next to Steve. He drops the bag off to the side and places his palm to Steve’s ass, board straight so that his fingers don’t touch, and smooths it in a deceptively calming motion. Then, he swings it back and brings it down hard. Steve’s whole body jerks forward with the slap but, to his credit, he maintains form. “ Good girl ,” Eddie praises him, taking the plastic tub of Vaseline from the bed and twisting off the pale blue cap. “We’ll see if you do as well with the toys I brought for you. Gonna have to set you straight after that stunt you pulled today in the kitchen.”
He tosses the cap back onto the bed and lifts out a liberal amount of the lubricant with two fingers, then sets the tub aside for the moment. “Gonna have to remind you which one of us takes it,” he says, and swipes the Vaseline down the cleft of Steve’s ass, pressing in just a little at his entrance so that enough gets caught there for what’s coming next. “Gonna remind you which one of us is the desperate slut. Which one of us takes the other’s cock up their ass so rough it bleeds and begs for more.” He rests one knee on the bed and bends to fist a hand in Steve’s hair, yanking his head up and back. “Which one of us is that, baby?”
Steve utters a wanton little whine, but keeps his form all the same, linking his own hands together to have something to hold onto, to brace himself. “Me, Daddy. It’s me, me . ‘S why I teased you. Wanted you to hurt me. To fuck me .”
“I fucking know that.” Eddie has to suck in air too loudly, because he didn’t know, doesn’t know, will never understand how he could get so goddamn lucky. “You’re not going to get your way without some repentance first, Stevie.” He shoves Steve’s face into the bed and turns his own to take in the sight of that gorgeous bend in his back, those soft hips and that pretty, red dick swaying between his legs as he struggles. Eddie lets go after a moment, allowing him to raise his head and breathe properly. A wicked, wolfish grin grows on his face, the beast baring its fangs. “Now for the fun part.”
He crawls backwards off the bed and grabs the first toy from the line up. It’s a matte black, silicone, beaded anal wand. Starting at the tip with a bead about the size of Eddie’s thumb knuckle, it descends towards the handle with beads that increase in size, the last being the width of around three fingers. The handle is curved, whipping back in on itself and tapering off to a point like a wisp of smoke. It’s simple, yet refined in a way that Eddie can’t put his finger on, much like the man before him. He coats it in a thin layer of lube and moves to stand between Steve’s ankles where they hang off the side of the bed.
“This one,” he starts, lining the tip up with Steve’s hole, “will be the easiest to take. Not too big, stretches you as we go. Daddy’s being easy on you, you see?”
Steve keens and that arc in his back gets impossibly deeper as he pushes his ass up towards Eddie. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“Fuuuck,” Eddie groans, as he leans his weight against the toy, sinking the first few notches into Steve. The pink ring of muscle, fucking pink enough to make Steve’s lips look devoid of color, clenches against the intrusion before it widens, accepting each bead and closing around them as they slip inside. And fuck , there’s no part of Steve that Eddie doesn’t go fucking insane for but this , the privilege of it, of being the only one to touch Steve here, to know him this way, is Eddie’s fucking favorite .
As hard as he’s trying, Steve’s legs quiver as Eddie gets the last of the beads inside him, his hole all bulged out around the end of it. He pants into the crook of his arm and twists his hips the slightest amount, trying to adjust to the fullness while maintaining the pose Eddie has set him in. Eddie takes pity on him, because how could he not? He begins to pull back on the looped handle, sliding the beads back out one by one.
“Any guesses on what it is?”
“I— uh— nnn— no.” Steve bucks a little as each bead pops out of him, shaking his head where it hides in his folded arms. “I— I don’t know. Never felt that. ‘S different.”
“Thank you for answering honestly, baby. You’re doing so well.” Eddie stops before the last bead is out and begins pressing forward again, and he revels in the long, raspy moan that tumbles out of Steve’s chest and just keeps going until Eddie’s got him all the way full again. “This is a beaded anal wand, silicone.” He pulls it out again, faster this time, spreading Steve’s cheeks apart with his opposite hand, then shoves it back in quicker. “It’s kind of elegant looking, ya know? ‘Course I thought of my girl when I saw it.”
“Thank you,” Steve says on a sigh, exhaling heat and yearning into the space around them, creating their very own atmosphere. He begins to roll his hips as Eddie holds the toy still inside him, grinding that sweet spot inside him against it. “So good to me, Daddy.”
“Don’t be so hasty,” Eddie laughs, pulling the toy entirely out and away from Steve with a swift, sudden motion that leaves Steve’s hole gaping a moment before it begins to pucker back to its original width, that leaves Steve, himself, whimpering like a whipped pup, babbling nonsense that resembles please, more . “We’ll see how you do with this next one, hm? Maybe that will decide how good I am to you.”
Steve is mumbling apologies, twisting his hands in the sheets to steady his body as his thighs quake with the effort to keep his ass in the air, and Eddie, well , Eddie is once again struck with the overwhelming awe of just how fucking out-of-this-world lucky he is. Not just a pretty boy, not only a good man, not simply great in bed, but the single most determined person to make those he loves happy, even in this way. It makes Eddie’s stomach whirl to count himself amongst those that Steve Harrington loves, even if it’s not in the way he dreams of, even if it’s not forever. Instead of focusing on that , he tears his eyes away from the beauty spread out before him to grab their next toy.
This one, Eddie has to take his time layering with lubricant, running a coated finger around each delicate spiral. It’s blown glass, dusky grey and cloudy with several lines of deep cobalt streaked through, following the spiral from where it starts after the straight, clear handle, all the way up to the tip where the toy is rounded at the end for a smooth entrance. Intricate, yet chaotic and otherworldly, like the things he and Steve share only with each other. He holds the toy by the handle in his fist, the length of it standing upwards. The spirals vary the slightest amount where they curve in and sweep up to start forming the next spirals in the line and the toy rounds out at a solid eight inches, not including the handle.
Eddie rubs the side of the glass shaft down along the crease of Steve’s ass, drawing a slippery line all the way down until the rounded tip rests at Steve’s hole. Without warning, he reaches over Steve with his free hand and rakes his nails from just below tensed shoulder blades, to the sweat-slick dip at the small of Steve’s back. Steve arches his back impossibly further, defying the laws of physics the way he defies everything Eddie ever thought he knew. He starts to hiss, or maybe say something, but Eddie stifles whatever it might have been when he sinks the toy fully into Steve, making no stops along the way, until the red, abused muscle is flush to his fist.
“Ho— holy— hooooly fuck ,” Steve wails , finally remembering how to breathe. He begins swirling his hips the way he’d done with the beads, desperate to feel anything against his prostate, and, when that seems to fail, he starts to fuck himself on the toy, rocking himself in slow, almost unnoticeable thrusts, forward and back. “Holy fuck, oh my God .”
“Keep that up and I’m gonna get a complex.” Eddie laughs but it doesn’t quite sound like a laugh, and he knows it doesn’t reach his eyes. No, those are transfixed, entirely bewitched by the fucking obscene experience of witnessing Steve Harrington, all winter-pale save for a smattering of freckles but flushed bright fucking pink all over, fucking himself onto a glass dildo. It takes his breath away and if this is the way he makes Steve feel then fuck maybe he’s got a shot. He licks his lips and begins moving it in and out of Steve, only halfway. “How’s this one feeling for you, baby?”
“Oh, fuck you ,” Steve sobs but, then, seems to remember himself, remember what that bratty shit will get him. And, like he feels the weight of Eddie’s eyes on the back of his head, like he can hear the beast roar, see it’s face beneath Eddie’s, Steve slows his breathing and goes entirely still. “No, no, ‘m sorry. Fuck I didn’t mean— it’s just. I want it. Want you. Nothing’s like you.”
Eddie grips Steve’s hip hard enough to leave bruises, never light enough to not, and pulls the toy almost entirely out slowly just before pounding it back in, repeating the whole thing six times in quick succession, each pump increasing in speed. Steve slurs out a string of apologies, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth to bead up, then sink into the quilt below him. By the sixth time Eddie’s fist slams into Steve’s rim, tears are falling nearly silently over Steve’s cheeks and holy fuck , Eddie knows that whatever the afterlife may bring, there’s no better place than this. Being able to do this to Steve, to make him weep with pleasure, is the closest Eddie will ever get to something like heaven, he knows.
“You need to shut the fuck up.” Eddie digs his fingernails into the cushiony swell of Steve’s hip, long enough that he knows it will leave a mark for days, then releases it to work open his own jeans. He can’t help it, doesn’t even try to fight the urge to take himself in hand and stroke himself to the sight of Steve, at the sight of what Steve will do for him, at the sight of Steve taking eight inches of glass up the ass over and over just because Eddie’s asked it of him. “Make your guess. Tell me what I’m fucking you with.”
“I think it’s— it’s ah— it’s glass! I think,” Steve spits out without missing a beat, knowing he’s walking a fine line, knowing exactly what a brat he can be. But, still, he’s trying to play sweet and Eddie wants to forgive him, wants to be kind to his baby. “It feels like it’s textured somehow? Like— mmmnnnnyuh — like maybe it’s beaded like the last one? But different.”
“Good girl, Stevie. Smart girl.” Eddie beams and angles the toy down by pressing up on the handle, driving it into that spot inside that drives Steve wild. “It’s a spiral, blown glass dildo. Looks like it’s got this grey smoke trapped inside or something.” He sinks the toy into Steve again and begins to crank it around in slow circles. “Really fucking beautiful. Like you.”
Steve whimpers, a defeated little sound, like he’s given himself over completely to the sensation of slick glass pulsing into his prostate, to the way his shoulders quake and his body rocks into it. “Eddie, Eddie, Daddy , if you don’t stop I’m going to—”
Eddie chooses that very moment to remove the toy, toss it aside on the bed, and use both hands to hold Steve’s frame steady. Steve wails at the loss and chokes on his own spit, forgetting to swallow again. “You don’t come until I say you do.” He brings an open palm down hard against Steve’s ass cheek, rubs it around a few times over the reddening flesh, then draws back and spanks him again. “Am I clear?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, not a coherent one anyway, and releases his hold on Steve to retrieve the third and final toy Eddie’s brought with him: a smooth, metallic anal plug, gold in color and adorned on the flared base with an imitation sapphire. It sparkles, even in the low light, looking far more expensive than it actually is. He slides two fingers around either side of the neck and presses the narrow end to Steve’s entrance. “This one,” he explains as he begins to push in, “is going to widen considerably, but. Once it’s in, you’ll close around it. And it’ll get easier.”
Steve nods, breathing deep and slow through his nose, his tears having subsided for now as he claws at the remaining tatters of his self control, trying to grasp something but just making new tears, popping open all the seams. Eddie can’t rip his eyes off of Steve’s profile, of the way his face contorts and pales as he takes the widest part of the plug, the sounds he’s making forming into a solitary, continuous whine. He can’t stop his own sounds, bellowing out from the depths of him, at the sight of Steve’s pretty, red, stretched out hole fluttering closed around the neck of the plug.
“Jesus Christ, Stevie, baby, you’re a fucking sight .” Eddie has to touch himself again, relieve a little pressure from his own leaking dick, at the way Steve’s biceps tremble with effort. He can tell Steve is trying with all he has left not to rut back against the pressure of the plug just teasing over the hypersensitive bundle of nerves inside him, if only because he is still rocking a little. No matter how hard he strains, he’s still completely beholden to his traitorous impulses, unable to fight the need for release even for Eddie. “You’re trying so hard for Daddy, aren’t you? Being so good for me?”
“Yes, yes, yeah, please .” Steve loses control, begins thrusting back to meet Eddie’s fingers around the neck, chasing the relief of friction and fullness. “Been so good. Your good girl. Your sweet princess. Please. Want you. Want it to be you. Wanna come on your cock, Daddy, please .”
And that’s just the key, just the right combination of words and fucking tender proclamations and begging , to untether Eddie from whatever control he was pretending to have. He wants Steve, too.
Pulling the plug free, Eddie pushes and pulls at Steve’s weakened form to move up the bed and lay down on his side, facing away from him. He shucks his pants the rest of the way off and swipes his shirt off over his head before he crawls onto the bed behind Steve. Looping his arms around Steve’s middle, Eddie pulls him back flush against his chest so that his dick is nestled snugly in the crevice of Steve’s ass. They both gasp as Eddie cants his hips back, allows his dick to fall out straight between them, and moves forward again, his dick sinking inch by inch into the soft, wet, all-consuming fire at the center of Steve.
It slides in so easily, after all the play, that Eddie is gut punched by the unrelenting tightness, the clench and throbs around his cock. He groans, open mouthed, against the curve of Steve’s neck, a lock of too-long chestnut waves sticking to the corner of his mouth. “Oh my fucking god , Steve .” He digs his fingers into whatever expanse of skin his hand smacks into, something that feels like the hard muscle of Steve’s quads, and rolls his hips, grinding against the place he knows Steve needs. “There you go, sweetness. There you go.”
Steve is wet all over. Wet with tears, wet with sweat, and wet between his legs. He burning hot like he’s got a goddamn fever and he’s moaning like somebody’s fucking paying him for it. “Oh, fuck, thank you. Ohfuckthankyou .”
“Like it that bad? Like my—” Eddie sucks a bruise into Steve’s shoulder, bites down to make it last. It all feels so fucking good that Eddie almost forgets their game. He laughs in spite of himself. Only Steve can make him lose control like this . “Why don’t you guess this one, too, babygirl?”
“Wha— what ?”
Eddie keeps driving up into Steve, smiling against the shell of his ear. “Guess this one, and I’ll take off the blindfold…” he starts to pull out, slowly enough to draw out the threat, “ or , I can just stop fucking you.”
“No! No, no, no. ” Steve’s head thrashes into the pillow and he uses his pinned shoulder to push himself down and back, trying to get back the little bit of Eddie that he’s lost. He’s soaked and writhing, begging like a whore, and Eddie’s never loved anything so much. “Please, don’t stop. ‘M so close. Don’t stop, don’t stop. ”
“Then guess,” Eddie growls, the capacity for patience that his beast manages to maintain, and not for lack of effort, is wearing thin. He thrusts forward again, filling Steve up until their bodies are flush together once more, then grinds his hips in a circle, using both hands to guide Steve to move his as well. Pretty soon, it’s like they’re doing some kind of languid dance rather than fucking. If they were being judged, certainly they’d take home the whole fucking show, because nothing could possibly beat out the way every exhale Steve breathes sounds like a moan or a curse, or the way their bodies slot perfectly together, like puzzle pieces that were crafted to fit together long before they were poured into a box with all the others and told to create a bigger picture.
“It’s you!” Steve shouts, so loud that if anybody were home, it would have woken them. His head falls to his chest and his breaths come in erratic pants, drowning out any other sounds in the night, the buzzing of street lamps and passing of cars far away from them now. “You’re— you’re inside me, Eds. I’d fucking know you anywhere.” He lays his broad hand over one of Eddie’s where it still holds tight to his hip, laces his fingers through and under, and grips it so tight that Eddie thinks he feels his knuckles crack. “I’d know you anywhere.”
Eddie swipes the blindfold off of Steve’s eyes with his free hand, pulling it over the top of his head and losing it somewhere behind the pillows. He moves his lips over Steve’s temple, pressing them there and feeling the crescendo of Steve’s pulse as they fuck in earnest, now, Eddie spearing into Steve and Steve meeting every thrust. “So good for me, fuck. So perfect, my fucking angel ,” he murmurs into the corner of Steve’s mouth. “You can come for me, baby. You can come.”
Steve turns his neck to the side so that he can look at Eddie. Their eyes meet briefly, pupils locking onto each other’s, before Steve’s flutter closed and his mouth falls open, no air passing in or out as his climax swells and bursts through, come dribbling from his cock. Eddie picks up his pace, angles himself so that the head of his dick is slamming into Steve’s prostate every time he slides fully back in. Steve finally inhales a ragged breath as his orgasm comes faster, messier, and he screams like he’s in pain. “Eddie, Eddie ,” he pants, his whole body tensed and shaking as he continues to come, Eddie milking every drop from him. “Oh, fuck, it keeps coming. Eddie. ”
“I know, baby. Daddy knows. I’ve got you.” Come is pooling and cooling on the quilt below Steve’s cock, a seemingly endless stream still tapering off. Eddie squeezes his hand a little tighter, feeling a sudden gathering of sensation and the tensing of his balls. Steve just fucking came from Eddie fucking him, and that alone. The thing inside him puffs his chest like it’s proud, but this was Eddie. All Eddie. Steve is his, not the beast’s. “Can I come inside you, sweetness?”
“Yes, yes, want it.” Steve is nodding, jerking with every aftershock that Eddie’s cock drives into him. “‘M yours. Yours to fill. Yours to knock up, Daddy. ”
“Holy fuck! ” Eddie shouts, partially in sheer fucking disbelief of what kind of fucking good karma he put out in the world to earn this stunning creature he gets to defile in ways that would make Satan himself blush like a school girl, but mostly because his own orgasm shoots through him like a bullet. It bursts like fireworks, like white hot light that blinds him and drips serenely down his thighs, up his back, too bright to witness its beauty. He comes hard and fast, filling Steve up until he’s dripping around Eddie, a wet, sloppy fucking mess. His beautiful fucking mess .
A stillness settles over the dark of the room, a calm that is only found in the middle of the night in places where you don’t need to pretend or hide anything away, as Eddie loops his arms back around Steve’s waist and stays laying there inside him. Their labored breathing fades back to a regular rhythm and the faint sounds of crickets and branches rustling in the wind return to Eddie’s ears. He uses his nose to push some stray hairs from Steve’s forehead and kisses just above his eyebrow, then at the corner of his eye where it crinkles up because of Steve’s dopey, blissed out smile.
“You’re incredible ,” Eddie whispers into Steve’s sweat-slicked skin, and the words sound too loud, too fucking honest because he fucking means them. “You’re a fucking dream, Harrington. You have no fucking clue how much I— how much I care for you.”
Steve turns his shoulders, tidying his back so that he can stare up at Eddie without dislodging Eddie’s softening cock. He leans up just enough to bump his nose against Eddie’s, eyes hooded and unfocused, his head in the clouds. “You’re right,” he says, giggling around the words in a way that makes Eddie’s beast shy away in the presence of that more powerful thing. “I have noooo idea.”
He’s being so sweet and pliable in his post-sex, subspace haze, and Eddie knows that now isn’t the time, if there’s ever going to be one for them, so he just kisses Steve’s pretty mouth, and kisses it, and kisses it, loving the way they keep clashing teeth because they’re smiling so big. “You made me really proud tonight, Steve. Proud of you.” He kisses Steve again. “Proud to be with you.”
“S’all I want.” Steve blinks up at him with owlish eyes, reflecting every fragment of light that ever resides within Eddie, if any at all, and blushes a deep crimson high on his cheeks. “Wanna make my guy proud.”
And Eddie could fucking collapse, could fucking rewrite the stars and tear down the throne rooms of Gods with the surge of power he gets from that, the pure, unadulterated happiness of hearing Steve call him that. His guy. Eddie is Steve’s guy. Hell, you could shoot him with a hundred rounds and he still wouldn’t fall, not with that armor.
Instead, he reluctantly works himself free of Steve and climbs out of bed to go start the shower they both need desperately now. On his way out the door, he grabs his bag, where he’s also packed a spare set of clothes for the night, and turns back towards where Steve is waiting patiently on the bed.
“Always proud of you, sweetheart.”
Steve, soft around the edges with goodness and leisure, just smiles back at him, lit up like it’s already morning. A sunrise in the shadow.