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Eddie’s having a shit day. A shit week, a shit past year, and a whole shitty goddamn life, if he’s being honest. But today in particular is really kicking his ass.
It started with the itch under his skin. The tightness and the feeling of wrongness around the edges of his scars, the place where new skin or old skin grew over and supposedly healed. Then it morphed, turned into a throbbing ache, the kind he usually only gets when the weather is real bad, only it isn’t today. His body is just a fucking traitor and hates him.
So he’s been moldering in his bed for hours, too miserable to try to move. He’s not sure there’s anything he can do but wait it out — the only thing he knows for sure works is heat, anything to relieve the cramping and tension; but he’s not sure how to get that in the dead of winter. Their shower offers less than ten minutes of warm water at best.
Over the counter pain meds don’t really take the edge off either, and Eddie hasn’t been on the good stuff in a while now.
And the real kicker? Being laid up recovering so long meant he lost his supplier. Rick’s contacts viewed him as unreliable at best, or a dangerous liability at worst — so he’s been going involuntarily sober running on six months now, and still too immobile to scope out new plugs.
So. Nothing for the pain but to wallow and suffer in silence when it gets really bad.
Eddie braces himself, another spasm rocketing through his frame. Part of him thinks it’s more his head than his body; he should be mostly better by now, but sometimes when he gets too wrapped up in the other parts of it — like the way he looks, the way he feels alienated from himself when he looks in a mirror…it tends to precede these episodes. Like his physical form is lashing back for his brain’s behavior, or something.
Another wave surges through him when he hears it. The rattling of the front door, alerting of someone’s arrival.
Oh, shit.
Eddie completely forgot Steve was supposed to come over today.
He struggles to sit up in bed, keep up some pretense that he’s not absolutely dying, but the current bout of pain hasn’t faded enough to manage it. Instead he sort of pathetically curls up on himself, just in time for Steve to let himself in, wander towards the back, and spot him.
“Shit, Eddie, man, you okay?”
He rushes to Eddie’s side, knight in perpetual fucking armor, and Eddie prickles at the extension of his hand, anticipating discomfort where he touches.
Except…it doesn’t come. The warmth of his palm seeps through Eddie’s shirt and eases the ache, just a little, enough for Eddie to suck in a normal breath.
“Fine and dandy, Harrington,” Eddie grits through his teeth, hiding the way Steve’s proximity soothes him through a layer of reliable sarcasm. “Just one of those days, you know how it is. Legs are hurt like a bitch.”
Steve’s eyebrows pinch. “You still get that bad?”
The concern in his tone is something that Eddie usually finds smothering. Too much, too invasive, a sticky trap that gets him reliant on the care that’s sure to split and run when it’s the most inconvenient for him — but it’s also Steve, and Eddie finds all his careful boundaries dissolving when he’s involved.
So he melts into it, into the desire that bubbles up in him to be babied a little, cared for with gentle, worried fingers that chase away the pain with a comfort he can’t quite explain.
“Sometimes,” Eddie admits.
“Is there anything that helps?” Steve asks, with eyes that confess he’d do just about anything to get it for him if there was.
“Massages for the cramping,” he says. “Heat for the soreness between. Or sometimes a really good jerk off session,” he offers a weak grin. “But, uh, don’t exactly have anything like the fancy hot tub I used at the PT facility. Don’t have a tub at all, actually. And I don’t really feel like…well. So, no. Nothing for it.”
Steve observes him with that same pinched brow, unaffected by Eddie’s attempt at teasing. “I have a tub,” he says, blurting it out. “A big one. With jets.”
Eddie nearly groans at the thought of that. “We’re not exactly at your house right now, are we?”
“We could be,” Steve says, seriously.
Eddie worries his bottom lip with his teeth. It sounds so goddamn enticing. “…I can’t exactly move on my own right now.”
Steve shakes his head, before leaning forward, arms slotting underneath Eddie’s legs and looping around his back. “This okay?”
Eddie’s breath catches, both from the position and the sudden relief Steve’s touch brings, more of his body heat seeping through the chill that seems to permeate the whole trailer.
He nods his head before the embarrassment can catch up with him and change his mind, and Steve scoops him up in a hold that’s effortless enough that Eddie vows to start eating more at dinner.
He tries not to think about anyone else seeing him being carried out like this to the car, nosy neighbors who always have their eyes over on the weird Munson home, even more now than they did before. Hanging on to the fragile tendrils of his masculinity is hard enough when Steve is around, nevermind actually holding him in his arms — but he doesn’t need the rest of the world to know he’s a blushing loser when it comes to Steve Harrington, the same as everybody else in Hawkins — or so it seemed to him during his (very extended) tenure in high school.
Steve bundles him up, tucking a few extra blankets he had on the passenger side around Eddie — which Eddie suspects are likely Robin’s, because Steve picks her up early mornings for work still, and she’s the only other person he knows near as cold blooded as him.
The ride isn’t all that long, given that only the woods really separates Loch Nora from Forest Hills, but every bump and jostle of the car leaves Eddie wincing and moaning, which, in turn, causes Steve to flinch and grit his teeth and mutter apologies, even as he drives like a certifiable Old Man. Eddie smirks through the aching to tease him about it, and Steve rolls his eyes, but still reaches out to pat him on the knee in comfort.
Eddie sucks in a sharp breath over the way the warmth soaks into the joint again, and Steve squeezes it lightly, and then leaves it sitting there.
Eddie tries his hardest to focus on the way it relieves his pain, more so than the way it threatens to send him into a panic with the way his chest flutters and his stomach goes spinning. God, if he had any less control he’d tuck that away for unsavory usage later, with the way Steve’s splayed fingers feel so goddamn possessive, like he’s used to touching him so casually like this, pressing on the inner part of his knee. Like Eddie belongs to him in some way.
He does, though. Likely more than Steve could ever know; but even then, he has to have some inkling about how obsessed Eddie is with him. Even if he carefully contextualizes it as platonic, if he ignores all the rumors that floated around school about Eddie’s raging homosexuality to pretend he couldn’t know better — he has to have some idea.
And still he touches him. Because Steve is like that. Sweeps him up into a full hold, touches and grabs and comforts him in any number of intimate ways, because he doesn’t care. Not what other people think, and not if Eddie is queer.
Eddie wonders how he’d react if he told him the other part. The part he doesn’t know about yet.
They pull up at the Harrington home, and even for the bumpy ride, Eddie is a little sad to get there, because it means Steve retracting his hand.
Even so, he’s quick to run to the other side of the car and ease him into his hold once again, and Eddie slips his arms around Steve’s neck and buries his face there, breathing in the smell of him this close.
Steve doesn’t even put him down inside, turning instead towards the stairs, which he ascends carefully, trying his best not to jostle Eddie too much. Eddie doesn’t tell him that pressing up against him like this pretty much eases most of his pain — his heart beats too fast at the careful consideration Steve is showing him.
Steve bypasses his room entirely, instead going for his parent’s room down the hall, which is connected to the larger en suite. He sits him down on the rim of the oversized tub, and kneels down at Eddie’s feet so he can look up at his face.
“You gonna be okay getting undressed?” He asks, like he would offer to help Eddie with that part too if he needed it.
Eddie swallows thickly. “I’ll be alright.”
Steve nods. “I’ll get it running then, and run out to get you a cup of hot chocolate or something while you get in. Good?”
Eddie nods. Normally he’d think twice about letting Steve back in after he’d undressed, but he spots a bottle of bubble bath on the edge of the tub that looks about ten years old, but will probably do the trick of hiding anything underneath the water.
He doesn’t really have to worry about his chest, after the bats. He’d lost one tit and barely had anything left of the other, and it was damaged enough that they’d elected to take the good skin there and use it for grafts over worse areas.
If there was one good thing to come out of this mess, he thinks.
Steve turns some knobs, and hits a switch that revs some bubbling jets, and Eddie nearly groans at the sound, imagining the relief they’re sure to bring him.
He backs out of the room then, closing the door behind him without locking, and Eddie makes quick work of his jeans and top while the water fills. It’s just hot enough there’s steam rising, and his muscles are screaming at him to hurry and get in.
Stepping foot in is like ascending to goddamn heaven. He sinks all the way down, stretching out until he’s nearly fully lying down, submerged to his neck, and he really does moan this time, long and drawn out. He wants to lay here and never move again, but he knows Steve will be back soon, so he reaches for the bubble bath and dumps a hefty amount in, underneath the faucet.
With the jets also going, it bubbles up quickly, piling up thick and high, enough that Eddie is satisfied Steve won’t glimpse anything if he’s still enough.
The heat soaks right through his skin, relaxing a lot of the tension, and chasing away the pain. God, he could get used to this.
There’s a knock on the door, and Steve steps tentatively in, asking with an inquisitive look whether the bath is helping at all.
Eddie smiles a little, heaving a pleased little sigh, and nods. “Feel like I’m getting the full princess treatment.”
Steve pauses, then his face morphs into something funny, something a little childish, like it sometimes gets when he’s messing around with Dustin and forgets he’s four years older than the kid.
He swoops down, descending to one knee in a dramatic gesture that Eddie thinks he should probably be jealous of, since drama is really his schtick, and he extends the warm mug of cocoa like a treasure being offered to royalty.
“Your hot chocolate, your majesty.” He says, in an absolutely terrible British accent, and Eddie slips a little further into the water, giggling.
“You’re ridiculous, Harrington.”
“Whatever gets you to smile like that,” Steve counters, straightening back up, his lips still quirked.
He sets the mug down on the rim of the tub, and Eddie gingerly reaches for it, pulling it towards his mouth to taste.
It’s rich, thick and flavorful, and Eddie knows instantly that this isn’t a powder packet mixed with water from the microwave. This is the real shit, and there’s probably whole milk in it or something. Eddie bets he even boiled it on the stove and everything. Maybe with a kettle, like stupid rich kids tend to have instead of normal pots like everyone else.
“You’re going to spoil me,” Eddie whines, like it’s an actual complaint.
Steve’s mouth twitches. “I could really spoil you, if you wanted.”
Eddie’s eyes slide over to Steve. Oh, but the connotations of that offer. He wonders if Steve hears himself, if he’s aware. He feels like Steve “The Hair” Harrington has to notice; but all the same, he’s sometimes a little oblivious, and a lot too sweet for his own good, so tentatively, Eddie asks, “…How?”
Steve shrugs. “I could give you a massage.”
Eddie blinks at him. “You wouldn’t find it weird?”
“The guys all used to do it for each other after games or a harsh workout. I know what I’m doing.” Steve raises his hands and wiggles his fingers around.
The whole room is warm, steamy, filling everything up with a haze that Eddie blames for getting to his head and allowing him to say, “Yeah, alright.”
Steve sits down on the edge of the tub, down by his feet. Eddie bites his lips as Steve sticks a hand into the water, and calls out, “Just keep your eyes to yourself.”
Steve, rolling the eyes in question, snarks, “Don’t go getting all shy on me now, Munson.”
Eddie’s never been shy a day in his life, but this is different; and he doesn’t know how to tell Steve that, so he stays silent, and lets him think what he wants.
Dutifully, Steve casts his eyes the other way, even though Eddie thinks the surplus of bubbles is likely to be cover enough.
His fingers grasp around one hairy ankle, and Eddie suppresses a shiver. They start there, working in methodical circles, rubbing on either side, and Eddie leans back into the water, relaxing more.
“There you go,” Steve encourages, moving a little up his calf, bit by bit. His thumbs dig a little deeper, working at one of the sorer places, and Eddie whines under his breath. “Close your eyes and just feel your muscles letting go.”
Eddie does as he says, unable to do otherwise when Steve asks him to do anything — slips into the dark, drifting in the warmth and the continuous pressure of Steve’s hands over his aching leg.
He goes to the other leg, thumbs pressing into a spot on that side that send the soreness shooting through him as Steve works it out, and Eddie whines a little, caught off guard by the suddenness.
“Shhhh,” Steve soothes him. “Relax. I got you.”
Again, Eddie can only do as he’s told. The water cradles him, warm and making him feel nearly weightless, and the air is thick and hazy, and with his eyes closed he feels like he could just drift away, if not for being anchored by the achy relief Steve is massaging through his tender limbs.
He tries to focus on the way his muscles throb in the wake of Steve’s touch, rather than the fact that Steve’s touch is causing a different sort of throb a little higher up. Tries not to let his mind wander, imagining if Steve were to venture further. It’s harder when he’s got his eyes closed, and his brain feels like it’s melting out of his ears.
Steve reaches his knees. “How far up do they hurt?”
“As far as the bites go,” Eddie mumbles.
Steve works his thumbs in above the knee, and Eddie groans. His head tilts over the back of the tub, and he feels like he’s somewhere else right now, somewhere very far away. He feels so good, the kind he sort of thought you only feel when you’re having sex, but this is something else. Or, well, mostly; but his dick doesn’t seem to understand that, pulsing while his pussy slicks itself, all from the weight of Steve’s touch on him.
He should probably be more concerned about that, about the compromising situation he’s put himself in, but he can’t really bring his brain around to focus on it. It’s a distant problem, one in the background of Steve working his way up, all the way to his thighs.
He feels too amazing to care. He can’t; not when he feels dreamy and floaty, and he’s just being good and doing what Steve told him to do, letting Steve do what he wants. Trusting him, to coax away the bad and replace it with good, the way his touch always does.
Steve’s hands splay over his thighs, inching further and further out of the bounds of what could be considered decent or friendly. He hears Steve lick his lips.
“Hurts up here too?”
“Yes,” Eddie breathes.
“And here?” Steve tests, working his fingers towards the inner creases of his thighs.
“Mhm.” Eddie moans, in lieu of outright begging him to go further.
Steve, to his credit, keeps up the pretense. Keeps massaging him, easing the tension, even though his hands are shoved between Eddie’s naked legs.
“Think you’re aching somewhere else too,” Steve says, a flirtatious lilt to his tone, and Eddie whines, his heart thudding in his chest and his cunt throbbing and needy, wanting so very badly for Steve to touch him there, to follow through on the inevitable conclusion of all of this.
His hand inches up, crossing the final distance to meet in the middle, the space between his now trembling thighs. He spreads his palm out, large and flat, right over Eddie’s pussy — and then he pauses.
And Eddie remembers.
His eyes fly open, and he springs up into a sitting position.
“I —“ He stammers, taking in the perplexed look on Steve’s face. “I can explain—“
“Hey, no, it’s okay.” Steve stops him, hand on his shoulder, pushing him back into the tub.
“What?” Eddie gapes at him.
“You’re supposed to be relaxing, you don’t need to explain anything right now. This isn’t about me.”
“Then you…you get it?”
“Not really,” Steve shrugs. “But you can explain after. If you want me to continue what I was doing, I mean.”
Eddie feels like he’s got whiplash. “You mean you still —?”
Steve’s hand is still between his legs, and he gives a curious brush of his thumb over Eddie’s dick.
Eddie hisses, his hips jolting.
“I want to make you feel good,” Steve confesses, and Eddie can hear the honesty in his voice. Always so straightforward, the way he always is.
He’s nervous; scared, really, because what else could he be here, in this position? But also…he still wants. Just as badly as he did a moment ago, and he still feels the fluffy, cloudy feeling like cotton in his head, when he let everything else go away and he just trusted Steve — to do exactly that, to make him feel good.
He looks in Steve’s eyes, and he realizes he still does.
His knees fall a little wider apart, allowing more access.
Steve takes his invitation, and rubs his hand across the space between Eddie’s legs, seeking the deeper part where more heat is gathered. His fingers trail over the folds and the heel of his palm grinds against his dick, and Eddie stutters out uneven breaths.
Steve seems to take confidence from his reaction, and he slips and slides in the water over Eddie’s cunt, rubbing and teasing all along the outside until Eddie is squirming back into his touch, trying to get some pressure.
Steve pulls his hand back just enough to refuse him, chuckling while Eddie chases him with a whine.
“Can I touch you inside?” Steve asks, low and rumbly in a way that makes Eddie’s toes curl.
“Please,” he breathes. God, he so would not be above begging for it.
Steve’s hand tucks back between his legs, pressing up, and Eddie gasps as his middle finger breaches the outer folds to run over the more sensitive, inner parts, the tip of his finger resting right over his hole.
He bites his bottom lip as it goes in, just a little push to test how receptive he is. He sort of thought there might be more resistance — he has a hard time with it himself sometimes, always so tight — but not for Steve, apparently. His body can tell the difference between his own fingers and Steve’s longer ones, and it caves, making space for him like that’s what it was meant to do.
And isn’t that an idea? Made for Steve…Eddie wonders if there are other things that would be easy with Steve. Other things his body would fit perfectly.
Steve slides his finger back and forth, and Eddie fights the urge to slam back against it, to control the pace. He’s never done this with anyone else before, and it takes conscious thought to remember he’s not just masturbating here like he normally would be.
Steve crooks his finger, drives a little deeper than Eddie can reach, and it makes his stomach swoop and the nerves come alive in his fingertips.
“Oh, fuck, oh, oh—“ Eddie bucks against Steve’s hand, and Steve rests his other hand against his thigh, keeping him still and in place.
“There we go, baby,” Steve purrs, and Eddie fucking melts.
Baby.
A second finger nudges in along with the first, and Eddie doesn’t find it as much of an intrusion as he expected — it also slips right in with hardly a stretch, his body open and wanting right now on a level he’s never experienced before.
It's more comfortable for Steve like this, able to control the thrusts of his hand with more precision, which he does with finesse; making sure to grind against Eddie’s dick with the heel of his palm on every other thrust for good measure.
Eddie can’t keep his hips still, rising and falling with the momentum of Steve’s wrist, writhing against the heat and the pressure against his cock.
Moans are falling out of his mouth, and he doesn’t know when he started, but he couldn’t stop them now if he tried. His head tosses back, his back arching just enough to force Steve’s fingers a little deeper, and he sees stars.
Steve picks up his pace, realizing he’s found the best angle. Drives in with speed and a controlled force, and Eddie all but yelps, his legs attempting to squeeze shut from the pleasure of it all, but Steve’s spare hand forces them apart.
Eddie curses his use of bubble bath now. He’d do just about anything to see the sight of Steve’s big hand touching him, his fingers disappearing inside of him. But just the thought of it, knowing that’s what’s happening — it’s enough to tip him over the edge.
“Nnnnng!” Eddie tries to keep his voice under control as his hips jolt, his belly clenching and his pussy fluttering and spasming around Steve’s hand.
“There we go, easy, baby. Just like that.” Steve’s hand caresses Eddie’s cheek, something proud in his tone.
Eddie’s eyes roll back in his head and he feels another wave surge through him.
“Oh, fuck!”
Eddie comes apart so fully on Steve’s hand that his legs begin to tremble, and his body shudders with the aftershocks.
Steve runs a hand through his hair, streaking water and soapy residue through it, muttering something under his breath that Eddie can’t quite make out, but the sound of it soothes Eddie nonetheless.
“God,” he gasps, when he can finally manage words again. “Don’t tell me all your locker room rub-downs ended like that?”
Steve shrugs. “I actually never participated in them. It was mostly Tommy and the other guys.”
Eddie sits up, gaping at him. “But you said—“
“I said the guys did it,” Steve points out. “And I watched them enough to know what to do.” Steve bites back a smile, glancing away. “I wanted to help you. And I also really wanted to touch you. Win-win, right?”
Eddie can’t help it, he barks out a laugh. “You really are something, Stevie.”
Steve’s smile breaks all the way out. “Can I wash your hair for you?”
Eddie beams back at him, relief coursing through him at the request, half expecting it to have gotten weird afterward; but Steve sits comfortably next to him, which allows Eddie to hum an easy affirmative.
Steve leans him back against the side of the tub, and he reaches for a cup to fill with water to soak the rest of his brown, frizzy mane. Eddie stares up at the ceiling while Steve combs carefully through the wet curls, and he swallows back a sigh at the inevitable.
“So…I guess you have questions.” He starts.
Steve pauses. “I do,” he says, slowly. “But I’m not going to push you for answers unless you actually want to tell me.”
Eddie laughs a little. “Do I have Robin to thank for that?”
“Of course.” Steve snorts. “She trained me well.”
Eddie settles a little easier against the tub as Steve resumes his work on his hair. “I don’t mind. I’d actually...really like it if you understood me.”
“I have a little bit of an idea,” Steve says.
Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh yeah, Big Boy? Let’s hear it.”
“Well, you’re a guy, right?”
Eddie nods, his heart thudding in his chest over the fact that Steve still accepts that.
“Then it’s like being gay.”
Eddie blinks. “Gonna have to expand on that for me, Stevie.”
“It’s, ah, like…” Steve trails off, biding time to find the right way to express it by grabbing the shampoo and lathering it up. “It’s like, when you’re gay, you’re a guy the wrong way, because everyone thinks being a guy is all about being this macho, masculine dude who pulls a lot of chicks. Except, maybe you don’t like all that shit. And you don’t like girls. So you feel like you’re a guy the wrong way. And you’re also a guy, but not the way everyone thinks you should be, right?”
Eddie swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, and navigates around commenting on the fact that Steve seemed to be drawing on something personal there for that comparison. “Yeah, that sounds about right. It’s called, uh,” he clears his throat. “It’s called being transsexual. I’m a boy, but my body didn’t get the memo, so I fix it with hormones and shit.”
“Wow,” Steve marvels. “Is that how your voice got deep?”
“Yup,” Eddie confirms, popping the ‘P.’
“How did you…how did you, like, know?” Steve asks.
Eddie shrugs. “How did you know you were a boy?”
Steve stops to think about that one, God bless him, to actually ponder it. “I guess…my parents told me I was?”
That draws Eddie up short. “No other underlying feelings about it?”
Steve’s mouth pinches down. “I…don’t know. What feelings are supposed to be there?”
Eddie opens and closes his mouth a few times. “Uh, okay. Putting a pin in that for later, but there are definitely feelings there for me. I just feel like a boy. Always have. I know it. Told my mom when I was four, I think, and I don’t know if she ever got it, but she let me pick boy’s clothes out at the Salvation Army next time we went, and she and Wayne never called me anything but Eddie after I insisted on it.”
“That’s nice,” Steve says, but in a way that means it, like there’s a longing little ache of someone who never knew nice like that.
“Yeah,” Eddie says, his voice a little tight the way it always is whenever he talks about his mom.
“Okay, you’re ready to rinse.” Steve interrupts the slight tension.
Eddie lets him do that part for him — Steve’s attentiveness not letting anything run into his eyes — enjoying the final bit of babying from him he can get.
“How are your muscles feeling now?” Steve asks when he’s done.
Eddie grins at him. “What did I say? Heat and getting off do the trick.”
Steve looks relieved at that news, his face and posture relaxing. He fetches something from the closet, and comes back bearing the biggest, fluffiest towel Eddie has ever seen.
Eddie reaches out with reverent fingers to take it, but Steve pulls back. He opens his arms, spreading the towel wide in a gesture for him to get into them, and Eddie fights off the furious flush that threatens to overtake his skin.
He stands up out of the tub and focuses hard on the fact that Steve has already been inside of him, rather than thinking about the fact that this is the first time Steve has seen all of him. He rushes into the open towel rather than offering him a chance to look closer, and Steve’s arms fold around him, enveloping him in the warm, fuzzy whiteness.
Steve’s meticulous, drying him from bottom to top, before tucking the towel around his sopping head like a hood. Eddie peers up at him, unsure where to go from here.
“What now?” He asks, just above a whisper.
“Now,” Steve leans in, his nose brushing Eddie’s. “Whatever you want.”
Eddie frowns. “What do you want?”
“I—“ Steve starts, and then stops. He licks his lips. “What I want usually scares people off at this point.”
“Tell me.”
“I got you here now, and I sort of don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to stop taking care of you, I want to be there every time it gets bad again. I want you in my bed, even if it’s just to wake up before you and feel you breathing against me, to just be glad you’re there. I want — I want you. ” Steve confesses, his eyes shining.
Eddie’s breath catches. “So don’t. Don’t let me go, don’t stop.” He says, feeling the way a fire takes over his cheeks. “Kinda the opposite of scary, there.”
“Yeah?” Steve lights up like a child on fucking Christmas, his arms closing tight around Eddie again, trapping him inside the towel, all pressed up against his chest.
“There’s one other thing I want,” he admits, leaning in just a little closer.
“What’s that?” Eddie mumbles, already feeling a little intoxicated by how close Steve is to his face.
“Didn’t get the chance to do this.” Steve closes the distance between them, lips meeting Eddie’s own.
Fuck.
Eddie dissolves into the kiss, something ugly and pathetic working its way out in the form of a whimper, devouring whatever Steve gives him like a man who has been starved of it for twenty-one years — which he has.
Steve pulls away and Eddie pretends like he isn’t obviously, humiliatingly desperate for it, like he doesn’t go following his lips like he doesn’t want to let them go.
Steve grins, like he knows anyway, and nuzzles their noses together.
“You said something about a bed?” Eddie pushes.
Steve laughs, his breath puffing over Eddie’s mouth. “Are you going to let me pamper you some more?”
“What, I didn’t get the full Harrington treatment already? You have more things up your arsenal to spoil me with?”
Eddie barks out a surprised shout when Steve scoops him up, then, hands braced beneath his bare ass.
“Oh, you have no idea.”
Eddie buries his face in Steve’s neck, arms clinging around to hold on tight as Steve carries him towards the direction of his room; and he decides he is more than prepared to find out.