Work Text:
Oh baby, do you know what that’s worth? (we'll make heaven a place on earth)
“Oh my god, Robin. You should have seen your fucking face. I thought you were gonna barf all over the floor before you even made it to the front desk. I mean, you were, like, green , dude. Like… kermit green.”
“Can you blame me, Steve? I mean — your ex-girlfriend kissed me. Me! A freak of nature! Your ex-girlfriend! Me!”
“Okay, Robbie, jesus. Take a breath before you spontaneously combust or something.”
Robin is gesticulating so wildly that her bag of popcorn is practically a weapon, and Steve has to duck under her arm so he doesn’t get a face full of hot butter. Tucked at the back of the drive-in lot, Back to The Future playing in the background, one hundred feet of technicolor and blasting surround sound, it’s kind of the perfect place to talk about this. It’s already the hottest summer on record in Hawkins in like the last decade, and it’s not even July yet. So, it’s not like it had been hard for Dustin to convince Steve and Robin to take him, Max, and Lucas to the drive-in for a double feature (despite the fact that Steve had zero fucking interest in seeing Teen Wolf, and it’s not like he and Robin’s memories of Back to the Future were all that fond). The last thing Steve wanted to do was hang out at home alone, and Eddie was at The Hideout tonight performing with his band.
And while Steve that-word-he’s-not-gonna-say-yet-nope’s Eddie, like, a lot (too much, right? Because it’s like, way too soon for that, obviously. Right?) he thinks his head might actually explode if he subjects himself to that level of noise. It’s hard enough getting through the day lately without adding screeching guitars and wailing to the mix.
“Tell me again that you don’t hate me,” Robin says, turning to him with that same crazed expression in her eyes she’d shown up to work with a few days after movie night.
“Oh my god, I’ve told you this like nine hundred times. Do I need to get it tattooed on my forehead?” Steve says, flopping back against the hood of his car, arms crossed behind his head. The first thing Robin had said to him (more like screamed) that morning had been “ I’m sorry!”
It had taken like two hours and two packages of Red Vines to talk her down off the ledge. It had also taken everything Steve had not to laugh at her because, for one thing, he knows what it’s like to be swept up in Hurricane Nancy (in the best way, obviously). But also because it was sweet, he thinks. That she cared. Somehow, no matter how many times it happens, the fact that anyone does where he’s concerned still shocks him.
It’s getting easier, with Eddie. But it’s still new, like the fresh skin underneath a scab that’s just starting to slough off, slightly raw, sensitive.
“A tattoo might be handy,” Robin retorts. “But – I just — if you didn’t want me to —” she says, chewing nervously at her bottom lip.
“Rob, Nancy practically cornered me in the kitchen that night just to, like, ask me for my permission.”
“Ew, don’t say that,” Robin says, making a face as she viciously tears a piece of licorice rope off with her teeth, “ —it makes it sound like you two were negotiating my bride price or something. Like, you’re trying to figure out if I’m worth more than one goat or not.”
Steve laughs. “Come on, Rob. You’d be worth at least two goats. Maybe even three if you put some more meat on your bones.”
“Shut up, oh my god,” Robin says, whacking him in the chest with the back of her hand. Then, it’s kind of like how all the air gets let out of a balloon, how Robin, like, practically collapses next to him with an agonized groan, covering her eyes. “She called me pretty, Steve. Me! Pretty!”
“Hey,” Steve says, “I’ve told you how not-hideously-deformed you are before.”
Robin rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that’s exactly what girls like to hear. And it doesn’t count when you say it. I don’t want to get in your pants.”
Steve pretends to gag, but his face is all mock indignation when he turns to Robin and says, “Psh, you would be so lucky to get in my pants.”
“First of all, disgusting. Second of all,”Robin adds, snickering, “-- it’s not like there’s room in your pants for anyone else when Eddie’s already all up in there.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re so fucking funny.” Steve is thankful the sun has set because you could probably see the blush on his face from space at this point.
“I know for a fact that I am.”
Steve has no answer to this other than to lob popcorn at Robin’s head until she starts fighting back. Once they stop giggling long enough to calm down, Robin is still brushing popcorn out of her hair when Steve asks, quietly. “So…you like her, Robin? No shit?”
Robin’s got a goofy smile on her face, a really dumb one that Steve recognizes in, like, a heartbeat. Because he’s seen it on his own face looking in the mirror now too many times after Eddie’s left him practically in pieces.
Robin’s got it bad.
“No shit,” she finally says.
“No shit,” Steve repeats, a grin splitting across his face just as Robin starts throwing popcorn at him again.
They’re still doing it when Dustin appears, glowering at them all disapprovingly. “Did you guys seriously miss Back to the Future, again? You guys already tried to get me to explain it to you after the first time. I’m so not doing it again.”
“Sorry we were too busy getting drugged and tortured by crazy Russian scientists to follow the plot the last time, dude,” Steve says, scoffing.
Dustin rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, thanks for the trauma reminder, Henderson,” Robin says, though the way she has to hide her laughter by concealing her face in the crook of Steve’s shoulder kind of undersells it. “We kinda have more important stuff to worry about than flex cans.”
“Flux capacitor!”
“Whatever, Steve’s child friend.”
“You two are such idiots.”
Robin and Steve share a mischievous look before they both turn the remainder of their bags of popcorn upside down, right onto Dustin’s head.
Robin’s gotta get up early to go visit her grandma (“It’s not a visit, Steve. It’s a hostage situation”), so she can’t spend the night. And while yes, Steve pretty much despises being alone in his empty, mausoleumesque house at this point — he’s not quite desperate enough to ask Dustin to stay. Yes, the kid is, like, his best friend (other than Robin) and it’s definitely only a little pathetic, but Steve isn’t quite ready to reach the depths of pathetic required to ask Dustin over for a slumber party.
So, Steve just goes home, figures if he just showers and goes straight to bed, maybe he has a chance of just falling asleep fast enough that he doesn’t have to try to tune out the almost oppressive silence that somehow manages to be loud enough to keep him up at night (and staring at the ceiling).
At least now when he can’t sleep, he has other more pleasant memories to mull over. Though the drawback to that is Eddie’s not here, so it’s more like torture than anything remotely comforting.
Okay. It was kind of comforting.
Water still dripping down the back of his neck, Steve’s just turned out the light, convinced that if he just shuts his eyes and stays still, quiet, that it’ll just happen. He’ll drift off (that’s never how it happens, but hey, the 457th time's the charm right?
But he’s barely looked at the back of his eyelids for, he swears, more than a minute or two when he hears it — a loud thump . Three years of hypervigilance sends him flying down the stairs, whiteknuckling the bat (sans nails) he keeps underneath his bed, stopping at the landing to switch on the light that illuminates the foyer.
“Munson?”
Eddie’s clearly just scrambled to his feet, the coat rack by the door toppled over, a myriad of random coats littering the floor, because he’s brushing his long hair out of his eyes and looking slightly more disheveled than usual. When he meets Steve’s eyes, it’s with a sheepish smile and a shrug. “Can we pretend my entrance was a lot cooler than that?”
Steve drops the bat and slumps against the wall, cursing under his breath. “Jesus christ, you fucking idiot. You’re lucky I’m not Nancy. I would’ve blown your head off with that German luger she keeps in her closet.”
“I’d probably prefer that to being beaten by a baseball bat,” Eddie muses, stepping over the coats to pull Steve close, which he allows, because even though he’s extremely annoyed with the idiot, his heart is racing still and Eddie just helps. “Saves time.”
"Not funny," Steve says, frowning.
"Sorry, sweetheart," Eddie offers.
“How the fuck did you even get in here? Have you heard of like…phones? Knocking?” Steve asks, huffing as Eddie noses apologetically underneath his jaw. Asshole.
“Oh, phones. Describe these magical items you call phones to me, Harrington —” Eddie quips, that coy gleam in his eyes again.
“You’re a shithead.”
“True, but the phone at The Hideout’s been busted for like three months. And I did knock, Stevie. You just didn’t hear me. So I used the key underneath the frog on your porch and let myself in.”
Eddie’s nipping at Steve’s collarbone now, just hard enough to make him grip instinctively onto Eddie’s leather jacket. Not to keep him there of course. Nope. “It’s a turtle. And how the fuck did you know to look there?”
Eddie laughs, the sound warm and hot puffed into his throat. “Rich people always put their keys in the stupidest places. It’s the money. It makes them blindingly overconfident.”
“You don’t even keep your trailer locked half the time, Eds,” Steve points out.
“That’s because I don’t have anything anyone would want to steal. Plus, everyone’s too scared to venture into Satan’s Lair, remember?”
“Except me,” Steve says, smiling shyly when Eddie presses a charmingly chaste kiss to his mouth.
“Except you,” Eddie says, grinning in agreement.
Somehow it always seems too good to be true, the fact that Eddie just seems to be there, right when Steve needs him. It’s something he’s kind of terrified to get used to, because what the fuck is going to happen if (when) it gets taken away? “So — why are you here?”
“Missed your pretty face, baby, why else?”
“Oh. I just figured you’d be busy after. Doing — band stuff, or whatever,” Steve can literally feel the flush that starts at the back of his neck and travels straight down to his toes. “I was just going to bed, but I can — have you eaten yet? I could —”
“Are you seriously offering to make me dinner after I just broke into your house, babe?”
“I mean, I’m not gonna make you like a four course meal, but — yeah?”
Eddie’s looking at him that way he tends to again. Like one of those predators in those old nature films they used to make them watch in biology class. Where it feels like Steve is what’s on the menu. “Well, you’re a regular Donna Reed, aren’t you.”
“Yeah, all I’m missing are the pearls.”
Eddie wiggles his eyebrows and, if it’s possible, somehow gets an even dirtier look on his face. “I could help with that.”
It takes him about five seconds to process the innuendo behind that before Steve lets out a sound like he swallowed his tongue. “Oh my god, you’re demented,” he hisses, shoving Eddie through the kitchen doorway. “And stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, feigning innocence (it’s the familiar honeyed tone that makes Steve wonder if it’s actually possible to undress someone with just words. If anyone could, it’d be Munson).
Steve huffs and opens the fridge, partly to pull out stuff for sandwiches, but mostly to hide from Eddie because his face might have actually just combusted. Entirely. “Like you’ve got a fork ready and you’re wondering just where to start.”
“Don’t tempt me, Stevie.”
“Shut up and make yourself useful,” Steve says, shoving two cans of coke and two beers against Eddie’s chest before busying himself at the counter. Definitely not so he doesn’t have to look at Eddie leering at him (he’s gonna have a heart attack and die or something if he does. Because it’s not like he can’t feel the heat of Eddie’s stare on his back as it is).
“Oh, demanding tonight, aren’t we, baby?”
Jesus.
Two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (since they’re obviously super mature adults needing a super mature adult dinner) and two beers later, Steve is much more relaxed. How could he not be, curled up with Eddie on one of the pool chairs. Eddie’s doing that thing with Steve’s hair that he’s just so good at, running his fingers through the strands, half caress, half scratch. It probably should feel more demeaning, being literally pet like some kind of house cat, but it’s hard to argue the point when Steve’s practically purring into Eddie’s chest at the moment.
It’s nice. It’s just cool enough to be comfortable out here, despite the heat of the day still slightly lingering. The patio light is on, but other than that, it’s just the moon — not quite full yet, but getting there, just peeking out from behind the roof of the house. There haven’t been clouds for weeks now — all burnt off by the seemingly endless, blistering sun, which was bad for, you know, most things, and people. But it sure did make for some decent stargazing.
If Steve were a girl, he might be gushing about how downright romantic it is (but he’s not, so he won’t, obviously).
“Gotta say, that was better than beer nuts and Miller Light.”
“Yeah,” Steve mumbles sleepily into Eddie’s chest. “There were like two, maybe three whole food groups represented and everything.”
Eddie laughs, but it sounds kind of funny because of the cigarette clamped between his teeth. “So much snark when I’m clearly nailing this.”
Steve looks up, puzzled, to see Eddie gazing down at him, looking smug. “And what is this, exactly?”
“A date.”
This time, it’s Steve snickering. “So you breaking into my house, having me make you dinner and letting you drink my beer counts as a date?”
“Yeah. I mean, look at the view,” Eddie says. “Look at those stars. We’re practically in Love Story here.”
“Didn’t Jenny die at the end of Love Story?” Steve asks, eyebrow arched.
“Semantics,” Eddie says, waving dismissively before reaching over Steve to put out the still-smoldering butt of his cigarette.
“Yeah, consider me wooed,” Steve drawls, shaking his head.
“I knew it. You can’t resist me,” Eddie says, his eyes, devilish, glinting as brightly as the aforementioned stars as he pinches the inch of flesh between the waistband of Steve’s sweats and the sweater slightly riding up over his stomach.
“Yeah, I’m literally holding myself back here,” Steve says. “You know,” he adds, nestling deeper into the crook of Eddie’s arm, the hand in his hair gliding soothingly down his shoulders, “Nancy tried to teach me once. About the constellations and shit, but they all just look the same to me.”
Eddie, surprisingly, merely grunts. When Steve looks up again, curious, Eddie’s expression is much grimmer. It’s not hard to guess why. “Seriously? You’re still jealous of Nancy?”
“No — that would be ridiculous — “ Eddie says loftily, but his mouth settles in a tight line as he does.
“You have literally zero reason to be,” Steve says, moving to straddle Eddie’s hips, his palms sliding over the smooth leather still covering Eddie’s arms. “Nancy likes someone else. Someone else not me.”
Eddie’s brows knit together. “Who?”
Steve is feeling just a little bit, as Eddie would say, bratty, and it’s not like he’s going to out Nancy (nor would, Steve knows, Eddie expect him to). So, he says nothing, but stares pointedly at Eddie.
“Wait – me? Why would — no way —” Eddie sputters, his voice cracking slightly in a way that Steve probably shouldn’t get so much satisfaction from.
Steve wishes he could say he managed not to immediately start laughing his ass off, but that would be a lie.
Eddie’s eyes narrow. “Oh, you little —” but he never quite hears what term of endearment the older boy chooses to use, because he’s being tickled within an inch of his life.
“You should have seen your face,” Steve gasps, still laughing when Eddie finally stops his torturing. “You looked like you were about to go full Temple of Doom. Like the flesh was gonna melt right off, man.”
Eddie doesn’t say anything, but the way he grips Steve’s hair suddenly and tightly in his fist, jerking hard enough for Steve to automatically bare his throat kind of says it all. Steve wishes it wasn’t, like, reflexive at this point, but the whine he lets out is downright mortifying. Needy. And, entirely pathetic. But it can’t be helped, not when Eddie’s other hand is holding Steve’s wrist behind his back just hard enough to make him feel all tingly. “You’re being mean,” Eddie mutters like a secret into Steve’s now-thundering pulse. “Was planning on being sweet to you. Don’t you want me to be sweet to you, honey?”
God dammit, Steve thinks. It’s like he can see any tiny amount of leverage he’d hoped to have just disappear, carried away by the warm breeze still swirling around them. Because he can hear it, same as he had that night in Eddie’s trailer:
The first time I fuck you, I wanna be sweet to you.
Who can blame him for crumbling right then, right there. “Please, Eddie.”
It’s like he can actually see it happen, Eddie’s pupils blowing wide as windows, all that golden brown practically gone, turned dark and predatory when the older boy pulls back just to look at him, mouth split in a sharktoothed grin. “Please Eddie, what?”
Steve groans. There’s a part of him that wants to squirm in Eddie’s lap, that thinks that might be the quickest way to get what he wants. But the other part is dying for Eddie to finally fuck him, so…of course he answers. Was there ever going to actually be another choice?
“Please be sweet to me, Eddie,” Steve says, just as soft and saccharin as the words he’s murmuring, fluttering his lashes because he’s running out of cards to play anyway, not that it seems to affect Eddie any less if the low growl he lets out is any indication.
“Close, but not quite,” Eddie singsongs, pressing a kiss that is the literal opposite of the filthy tone in the metalhead’s voice right underneath the cut of his jaw, which somehow makes it all the more searing.
Steve can literally feel his mind start to get cloudy. “Eddie,” he absolutely doesn’t whine. Not at all.
“Stevie —” Eddie says, a wry smirk curling the corner of mouth, just so, that makes his dimples downright unfair.
There’s that too-hot–too-hot–gonna-die-of-heatstroke feeling already starting in his chest. All he wants is to feel it spread over the rest of him, the way it always does when Eddie touches him just like this. When Eddie, point proven, devours him.
So, fine.
Fine.
“Fuck me, please.”
…
It’s not like he hadn’t expected Eddie to keep his word, but he hadn’t expected him to be so fucking tender about everything. It’s almost more cruel than when Eddie’s being a little mean, that way he gets sometimes. Because his only response to Steve’s plea was to grab Steve’s hand and lead him slowly, agonizingly slowly, up the stairs to Steve’s bedroom. Stopping occasionally, with no pattern or timing that Steve’s lust-fogged brain can discern, to press Steve up against a wall and kiss him stupid, trailing lips that feel like a sunburn all up and down his throat.
When they make it to Steve’s bed, Eddie doesn’t shove him down or throw him on it. It’s like they’re on their fucking honeymoon with how gently Eddie lays him down and crawls on top of him. “Wow —” Steve breathes, “kind of almost thought you were gonna fucking carry me over the threshold there, man.”
Eddie snickers, but he does it right up against the sensitive skin under Steve’s belly button as he’s pushing the hem of Steve’s sweater up his chest and out of the way, so Steve can’t help but jolt his hips a little in response. “I considered it, but I thought that might be a little over-the-top.”
Steve laughs, but it turns into some sort of weird hiccup because Eddie sinks his teeth into Steve’s thigh as he’s pulling his sweats down his legs. “Yeah, you’ve never been like that, Eds. Not ever.” Eddie sits back on his heels, arms crossed, staring down at Steve long enough to make him squirm again. “Come on — I’m always the first one naked. I — I wanna see you,” Steve begs, reaching up to tug the lapel of Eddie’s jacket, lip clenched tightly (and nervously) under his teeth.
Eddie’s lip twitches, and for a second Steve thinks he’s screwed up, done something he’s not supposed to, but when Eddie opens his mouth, his words are all silk. Honey. Sweet. “All you had to do was ask, baby.”
Steve definitely isn’t feeling slightly dizzy with the power, albeit brief, he’s being offered here. When Eddie’s finally stripped and laid out bare underneath him (Eddie having allowed Steve to switch their positions with a truly shocking lack of complaint), Steve is so overwhelmed for a minute he doesn’t quite know where to start.
“Gonna give me a complex here, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, and Steve knows he’s joking, but the thought that there might even be a small part of Eddie that believes he’s anything less than gorgeous is just plain unacceptable.
“Sorry,” Steve says, smiling shyly. “You’re just — pretty.” And fuck, Eddie really, really is. With his hair, untamed and wild, curls glossy and smooth under his fingertips as he drags them down the older boy’s scalp, relishing the shiver it earns him. Those doe eyes of his, the long, lean lines of his body marked with ink and scars.
“You sure do know how to flatter a girl, Stevie,” Eddie whispers, but Steve can see even through the moonlight streaming through the curtains how his cheeks are flush with color. Can feel the rise and fall of his chest speed up under his spread palms.
Steve doesn’t bother responding with anything other than a bruising kiss, sucking Eddie’s tongue into his mouth with a soft sigh. It doesn’t take long to turn dirty, Eddie licking filthily at his bottom lip before tugging on it with his teeth hard enough to make Steve keen.
“Stop trying to distract me,” Steve grumbles, pushing Eddie pointedly back against the mattress.
“But you make it so easy —”
We’ll see.
Steve loses track of how long they trade kisses, long, slow, sloppy. Eddie’s so hard underneath him, hissing every time Steve rocks his hips — all he can do at this point, because when he’d tried to curl his fingers around Eddie’s cock at one point, the older boy had growled and batted his hand away. “Do that and we won’t get very far tonight.”
By the time Steve’s finished outlining every single one of Eddie’s tattoos with his tongue, the ridges of his abs, the tendons strung taut on the side of his neck, Eddie’s grip in his hair is so tight that Steve’s honestly surprised he hasn’t ripped any out by the roots (it still hurts in that good way where Steve never, ever, ever would ask Eddie to stop. If anything his cock just twitches and throbs between his legs even harder with every tug).
“Okay,” Eddie finally growls, his big hands wrapping around Steve’s wrists, holding them in place, “ — enough.” Steve could break away if he wanted to, and Eddie obviously knows that. But they both know, just as sure as Steve knows that he’s going to end up with Eddie inside him before the night is over…
he won’t.
“Fuck, Stevie — never get tired of looking at you like this.”
Eddie’s mouth grazes his ear before he drags it, achingly slow, glacial, down the ladder of Steve’s spine. Every time he flicks his tongue, catches a bead of sweat dripping down the slope of Steve’s back, Steve trembles, full body, his cock pressed almost painfully at this point against the mattress as Eddie fucks into him with his fingers.
It’s been years. It has to have been that long, because Steve is so ready to be fucked he’s practically crying. Well past begging. Begging walked right out of the building what feels like hours ago, probably after Eddie’d spent so long opening him up with just his tongue that Steve had felt like he nearly blacked out.
“Eddie, please — I can’t — I need —” And words. Those are starting to go too. If Eddie wants to fuck a living, breathing person, he might wanna get on with it soon, Steve thinks, albeit slightly deliriously as Eddie sucks what feels like yet another hickey onto his shoulder.
“What the hell are you doin’ back there?” Steve had murmured after the first few bruises started to sting, just barely, as Eddie nipped at the small of his back.
“Counting,” was all Eddie had said before resuming even more torture.
“Come on, come on, come on — you promised. You promised to be sweet to me, Eds.” It is perhaps the most pathetic he’s ever sounded in his life, but Steve doesn’t care, because sure, Eddie’s got three fingers inside him, twisting, teasing, but it’s not enough and the bastard knows it. He might not be able to see Eddie’s face, but he can, like, feel him gloating. It’s maddening.
“I don’t remember those two words ever leaving my mouth, sweetheart.”
Asshole.
Finally, finally, finally, Eddie apparently decides that he’s ready (of course Steve’s ready — he’s been ready since the first time Eddie had brushed his fingers over that spot inside him that always made him feel like his soul was about to fucking evacuate his body).
“Turn over,” Eddie murmurs, kissing the nape of his neck, and this is it, yes, yes, yes, Steve thinks. So of course he obeys, of course he’ll be good. At this point, if Eddie wanted him to like, just lay down and let him step all over him, Steve’d probably let him.
Fuck, Steve has had plenty of sex before. Plenty of good sex, but he’s never felt this strung out and desperate before. Not ever. Not for anyone. Not before Eddie.
It’s a relief though, not to be the only one who’s a little nervous, because Eddie — Eddie with all his cockiness and bravado, is shaking slightly too as they both watch him roll a condom on and slick himself with lube. Eddie doesn’t ask, not with words, before he starts to slide in, but Steve can see it in his eyes. So all he can do is just reach up, cup Eddie’s face and steal a kiss. “M’ready. Trust you. Please? Please? ”
“Fuck, Stevie —” Eddie breathes, leaning down to nuzzle sweetly at Steve’s damp forehead. “Why the hell would you do that?”
“Just do,” Steve hums, letting his head fall back against the pillow, arching his back and baring his throat in a way he knows Eddie won’t be able to say no to. Steve isn’t completely stupid. At least not about things like this.
Eddie’s eyes widen a little, and he looks so much like he wants to say something, but Steve doesn’t want to talk anymore. He doesn’t — he just — he just wants.
Okay, baby. Okay. I got you.
It doesn’t hurt the way he thought it would, but then again, Eddie’s gotten Steve’s wires entirely crossed where pain and pleasure are concerned, so who really knows at this point. It’s certainly not comfortable, not at first, not until Eddie finally bottoms out, Steve’s ankles digging into his back, his nails scratching frantically at Eddie’s forearms for some kind of purchase, anything, something to hold onto and not let go of. Because finally, he’s there, right there, so good Eddie, please, please, please don’t stop.
Everything blurs together after that. Because it’s all sweat and cum and the spit that Eddie drips into his open mouth that Steve swallows eagerly because holy shit he just wants as much as Eddie wants to give him, all of him, inside. For as long and as much as he gets to have him. By the time he’s so close to coming, Steve knows, mortifyingly, that the sound he was sure couldn’t possibly be coming from him was definitely him. Sobbing into Eddie’s shoulder. Because he’d do fucking anything at this point. Just to get more, more, more.
“You’re gonna come so pretty for me, aren’t you, baby?” Eddie all but croons, cradling Steve’s chin so gently that it makes the dirty way he licks at Steve’s cheeks, tasting his tears, all the more shocking.
He can’t speak at this point. His tongue is fat and useless in his mouth as he clings to Eddie for what feels like dear life, so he just nods. Nods so hard it feels like he nearly knocks his own teeth out.
“Fuck, fuck — m’never gonna let you go after this, Stevie,” Eddie hisses, pulling out just enough to make Steve panic, just a little, thrashing like a wild, feral thing underneath him. “But you don’t mind, do you? No –” he mumbles, leaning down to kiss him like he’s dying of thirst and Steve’s mouth is the last drink of water in the desert, “ — you don’t. Because my baby is so greedy.” And then he’s kissing Steve so hard that Steve is convinced his lip splits under Eddie’s teeth, because he tastes blood, which only makes him whine even more pathetically.
“Yeah, greedy just for me, aren’t you sweetheart?”
All Eddie has to do next is just fist his cock, a few hard jerks, and that’s it. Steve comes so hard he thinks he really does black out this time. Because when he opens his eyes, Eddie’s looking down at him, mouth open, looking dazed, almost awestruck. “You’re fucking incredible, you know that?”
Steve couldn’t move if he tried, his body completely limp, too heavy, like he’s covered in invisible sandbags and they’re pressing him down into the mattress. Eddie’s still hard inside him – Steve’s aware enough to feel that at least, and he wiggles his hips, whimpering pitifully when every oversensitized inch of him seizes underneath the older boy still gently rocking into him.
“Come on me,” Steve pleads, because if Eddie can’t come inside him, he wants to feel it somehow. Feel it on his skin. Proof that it happened. Although the soreness he’s sure to feel tomorrow, he guesses that’s pretty good proof too.
“You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me,” Eddie hisses, but he doesn’t say no. Of course he doesn’t. Not to Steve and not tonight. Steve might not have this whole thing entirely figured out, but he knows that. Because it’s Eddie.
And Eddie takes care of him, always.
It’s just as world-altering, watching Eddie come. Somehow, even moreso, because it’s somehow more intimate, Eddie spilling onto his stomach, pressing his mouth everywhere he can reach until they both stop shaking, stop gasping for breath long enough for Eddie to clean them up.
Surprisingly, the silence they fall into is easy. Steve drifts, drowsy, letting out the occasional purr of approval when Eddie strokes his hair or kisses his throat, half-sprawled over Steve’s stomach, toying lazily with his chest hair. Steve falls asleep to the increasingly familiar lullaby of Eddie humming in his ear.
If a ten ton truck kills the both of us, to die by your side, the pleasure, the privilege is mine.
Eddie’s still there, thigh slung possessively over Steve’s, his face buried in Steve's collarbone when he wakes up to light streaming in through the open curtains.
It’s the best sleep Steve’s gotten in three years. Period.