Work Text:
"I think I met something in Chicago, Eds. Or something met me, but I... It's..."
"Show me."
The room is dim, the only light filtering in from evening sun. It paints Steve in yellow-gold as he peels his top off, revealing that same hairy chest Eddie has loved for years, that he lusts after even in dreams.
No, not the same. Inky black crawls up Steve's body, just under his skin. When Eddie places a tentative touch on his belly, the black concentrates around the warmth of his hand and pulses beneath it. Steve moans, and Eddie jerks away.
"That hurt?"
"No, it…" Trembling, forehead shining with sweat, Steve hesitantly pushes down his joggers. Black extends even there, crisscrossing his cock like climbing vines, undulating. Steve's hard as a rock, pre-come coming out so fast—too fast—that it drips onto the floor like a broken faucet. Eddie slides his hand slowly down Steve's body just to watch the ink react.
"Oh fuck." Steve's knees give, and he half-falls against the wall, hips bucking into nothing. His eyes flutter shut as Eddie's hand glides across his hip, and when he opens them again, there's only blackness there, a moonless night on the deep ocean.
"We want you," Steve says, and his voice is legion, punctuated only by a soft rhythmic drip, drip, drip onto the hardwood.
Eddie should say no. If he had any fucking sense of self-preservation, or if Steve wasn't always a huge blind spot for him in terms of being sensible, he'd say no. He'd call in their friends, and they'd try to figure out what this was.
But Eddie doesn't have those things.
What he has is impulse control about as strong as uncooked spaghetti plus a lifelong love and rampant horniness for Steve Harrington that has all manifested in a gold band on his ring finger and a body that screams yes.
So what Eddie says instead is, "How?"
Steve reaches for Eddie's other hand and puts that on him too. Eddie holds his waist, petting his sides. Groaning, Steve nearly knocks him unconscious when he lets his forehead fall against his, breath heating the air as Eddie stares cross-eyed into the dark, watches it fade into hazel-brown, watches it go black again.
"Sorry," Steve says. "I'm being rude." And he gets a hand on him, jerking Eddie hot and fast inside his pajamas.
Everything falls away, dissolving into familiar pants and moans. Into unfamiliar Other tones leeching into Steve's voice. The ink crawls from Steve's hand into Eddie's skin, and Eddie can feel it too, something bone-deep and clawing and so fucking good that he feels like the universe just before the big bang.
"I'm…" Steve's voice pitches high, free hand finding its way into Eddie's hair.
"Yeah," Eddie rasps. Because he is too, and he does. And so does Steve, but not before massive wings unfurl, dripping black down the wall as milky white paints Eddie's skin.
Fuck, Eddie should call someone. He really should.
Instead he hugs Steve close and watches the ink run.