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And I'll stand before the Lord of song with nothin' on my tongue (but hallelujah)
Before all of this, before Eddie (Steve is realizing, slowly, just how much things in his life are starting to separate so very clearly into Before Eddie and After Eddie), Steve was pretty sure he understood wanting someone. Being, you know, horny for someone. Blue balls, dry spells, raging hormones — shit like that.
Eddie was the first (and god, hopefully the last, that secret so-disgustingly-sappy-it’s-actually-horrifying voice in his head that’s been whispering to him ever since Eddie’d said that word to him that night at the party — murmured it at the same time he’d pressed Steve into that door so hard it was like Eddie was trying to turn them into one person — mine) to make him see how little that was true. That, in reality, Steve had no fucking idea what wanting someone really felt like until Eddie’d kissed him in his bedroom all those weeks ago. How basically every little kiss, touch, scrap of attention he’s offered Steve since then had only solidified that knowledge to him even further.
Because Steve was needy. So needy. Always had been, apparently. And Eddie was the first one to really see it, see Steve for what he really was. And worse than that, Eddie was somehow both the cause and the cure, because of course he was.
Honestly, these days, Steve feels lucky El can’t actually read minds, because god, he would have so much apologizing to do if she could and ever happened to take a peek.
Frankly, it was getting ridiculous at this point. Considering just how much he and Eddie fuck, how much time they spend together, how Eddie seems to be more than willing to satisfying Steve’s evidently insatiable appetite for love and affection, surely it shouldn’t be this bad. Surely Steve shouldn’t feel this insane, this feral, this…out-of-control.
Because somehow this, him and Eddie, it almost makes Steve feel crazier than all the Upside Down shit ever had, if only because even that hadn’t consumed practically his every waking thought the way the older boy seemed to. Wake up, think about Eddie’s mouth, Eddie’s hands, Eddie’s dick — and what all those magical, wonderful things may have done to him at any point in the previous twenty-four hours — eat, sleep, rinse, repeat.
As if Steve wasn’t dumb enough already. Sometimes wanting Eddie like this, an aching need he somehow feels all the way past his skin and straight down to the bone, makes Steve feel stupid — braindead. And since Steve had whispered I love you into Eddie’s thigh that night after The Hideout, it’s only gotten worse.
“Probably should stop trying to fuck all the braincells out of you if it means you’re just going to burn my breakfast afterwards.”
Well, shit. There was Exhibit A, right there, Steve thinks, blinking back to awareness at Eddie’s voice, still all husky and low from his morning cigarette, just in time to flip the smoking, slightly-charred pancake off the pan and onto a plate, cursing as he does. “Shit – shit — sorry,” Steve mumbles. “I was just thinking —”
Eddie smirks over the coffee cup he’s been nursing. “I could see that. Looks like you went somewhere fun.” Steve is slightly confused by what he means by this until Eddie sets his cup on the counter he’s been leaning against and prowls his way over, wearing that ridiculous grin that always means trouble as he does. “You’ve got your fuck me face on. So — handjob for your thoughts?”
Beg-your-fucking-pardon, his what?! “I — I don’t have a fuck me face, asshole, ” Steve hisses, even though yeah, okay, he probably kind of does, but it’s not something he needs pointed out, okay? He feels, like, completely mortified around Eddie on a daily basis already. Why add to the torture? “And oh my god, do you exist on earth just to torment me?”
“Yes, obviously,” Eddie says, tossing his head back and laughing, bark-like, reaching for Steve who moves just out of reach and makes a face that only makes Eddie laugh harder. “Was that not made clear?”
“Oh, no, it’s become very clear, thank you,” Steve grumbles, turning back to the stovetop to prepare a replacement pancake. He doesn’t get the chance to even reach for the ladle he’d stuck in the batter bowl before Eddie’s ringed fingers curl around his wrist, gentle but firm in that way where Steve knows Eddie’s not going to let him go unless he asks him to and brings it to his mouth to press a conciliatory kiss to Steve’s pulse point.
Steve wonders if Eddie can actually feel how fast it races after he does.
“Aww, my baby’s embarrassed,” Eddie murmurs.
“Your baby’s going to dump this bowl over your head if you don’t stop acting like such a fucking idiot,” Steve huffs, sour, but when Eddie slots behind him, pulls him against his chest, he doesn’t bother trying to squirm or get away. Steve knows when he’s good and caught and frankly, when is he not where Eddie’s concerned?
“You only get embarrassed like this when you want something, baby,” Eddie says, and Steve wants to deny this, but of course, it’s true too. All of it’s true because Eddie knows him. Period. “What’s the rule, honey?” How exactly is he supposed to remember, Steve wonders, when he’s saying those words into Steve’s throat like this, practically writing them with the tip of his tongue on the paper of Steve’s sensitive flesh. “Or do you need me to help you remember?”
“No – I don’t,” Steve says, eyelids fluttering shut, voice shaking slightly (the way it always did when Eddie makes him say this because no matter how many times he does, he’s not sure he’ll ever fully believe it’s true) as he whispers, “I deserve to ask for what I want.”
Eddie lets out a pleased hum, pressed against Steve’s throat and punctuated with a lengthy kiss, deep and unsteadying, as always. “Good boy. So, ask.”
It’s not like Eddie’s going to laugh at him. Sure, he teases, but they’ve done this dance long enough that Steve has figured out at least some of the steps. Eddie never laughs at him, not about this. Because for whatever reason he’s, like, made it his life’s mission to make Steve say the most embarrassing shit out loud ( “You mean shit, like, your wants and needs, baby?” “Okay, point made, prick”). But this feels different, mostly because Steve isn’t quite sure how Eddie’s going to react, because it’s something they’ve talked about, but that was before.
Before this, Steve and Eddie, was something…big. And just a little scary. And so fucking exciting. And god, he hopes, he hopes, he hopes — permanent. It’s a secret that he should be too terrified to even try to name, not even in his most sex-addled, fucked out moments, but it’s too little, too late for that.
Not after I love you. Not after Mine.
“I know why we do — I mean, I know we talked about it, sort of, but that was before we—” and yep, Steve is already floundering, his thoughts all scattered and his mouth clumsy. “Shit —”
“Whoa,” Eddie says, and Steve can’t help but sigh a little in relief when Eddie’s hand cups his cheek, the metal of his rings cooling the blush he can’t seem to get rid of. “Breathe, sweetheart.”
No, if he stops and actually thinks too hard about what he’s going to ask for, he’ll never actually say it. Not before they both, like, age and die here in this kitchen, probably. So he just breathes in, only once, and exhales, harsh, before it comes out all at once, rushed. “I want — Iwantyoutocomeinsideme.”
…
If there were actually moments in real life that earned a record scratch sound effect, this would probably be one of them, Steve thinks (and if Robin were here, she would definitely be making it, and oh my god don’t think about Robin right now). Because not only can he see Eddie’s brain basically grind to a halt right here in front of his eyes, it’s like he can actually hear it.
And he’s not sure how long it’s been since somebody’s said something, but it feels like too long, and oh my god, Steve thinks again. Time to run away. Definitely. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have — oh god, I like broke you — I’m just going to —” he rambles, trying to step back, turn away, but Eddie doesn’t let him.
“Where do you think you’re going, Stevie?” Eddie’s face might’ve appeared blank, but his voice has that same familiar bite to it when he wants Steve to pay attention. Expects him to.
It’s always so strangely comforting. Especially right now when he kind of wants the floor to swallow him up. Maybe not Upside Down style, but he’d settle for the center of the earth at the very least.
“To go drown myself in the sink,” Steve mumbles, hiding his face in Eddie’s chest where he’s let it fall, giving up, clearly. “Bathtub would be easier, but you guys don’t have one, so —”
“Hey —” Eddie says, and there it is, fingers twisted just so into the back of Steve’s hair, yanking hard enough to force him to look up and meet Eddie’s gaze, fixed. Firm. “I don’t want to hear that shit, okay? I want to hear you.”
Steve whines, in part due to the flash of pain that tingles all the way down his spine. Also in part because he doesn’t want to keep talking, but he’s going to. They both know he’s going to. “I remember what we talked about the first time. I know why we use them, but I just — it all feels, um. Different now. More. And I just thought —”
“You think you’re the only one?” Eddie asks, the hand in Steve’s hair softening to a slow caress, a stroke of his palm sliding down his back. “Thinking about it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe,” Steve whispers, only a little miserably. “So, you’re not, like, pissed? I know it’s important to you. The, um, safe thing. And it is to me, too. But now, I’m sure. I don't ever want to be with anyone else. Not, like, ever and —”
And yeah, okay, hadn’t meant to say that, but maybe it was the exact right thing for him to say, because Eddie clearly likes the sentiment if the way Steve finds himself slammed up against the cabinets is any indication of feeling.
“You know, I didn’t mean right now,” Steve quips, though it’s hard to feel like joking much when Eddie’s sinking his teeth into his shoulder like this.
Eddie laughs. “Obviously. We gotta get tested first — but I don’t need a swab up my dick to come on your face, sweetheart, so —”
“Jesus fucking christ, Eds.”
…
It’s not like Steve had expected it to just happen right away. Obviously. Eddie was, of course, right. Had to be responsible, take precautions, get the tests done — all of which they had both finally managed to do by the end of the week. All good, all clear.
Fucking finally.
But then, of course, because the universe hates him and wants to see him suffer, both he and Eddie hardly get to spend more than a handful of hours together for, like, five whole days after that. Robin had gotten a horrendous summer cold, which meant Steve was pulling doubles most nights covering for her at the video store. It also meant when he wasn’t working, he was running to the pharmacy and bringing soup to both Robin and Nancy, because if Buckley had a cold, obviously Wheeler did too. And somebody had to take care of their pathetic, sniffly asses.
It also helped keep him busy, playing nursemaid, if only to distract him from the gnawing, vacuous hunger to be touched, possessed, consumed by Eddie in a way that neither one of them has had time for lately. Because Eddie had been just as busy, his usual gigs in addition to a few days of work painting houses that Gareth had convinced his uncle to throw his way.
It’s not like Eddie could turn down the money, and Steve wouldn’t ask him to, anyway.
He can be patient. He can wait.
Apparently, he was very wrong. About the patient part, at least. Because, finally, fucking finally, the week from hell ends and he’s at home, lying in bed and staring anxiously up at his ceiling. Waiting. Waiting for Eddie to get here because they can finally spend an actual night together that didn’t just involve them collapsing next to each other in a very exhausted and very unsexy heap. Not that Steve didn’t enjoy those parts too. Anytime he gets to sleep in Eddie’s arms is a win in his book.
It’s just — it’s just that he’s also just dying to get fucked.
Because it’s not just the fact that Eddie’s going to give him exactly what he wants tonight, it’s the fact that Steve feels like he’s about to scratch off his skin, that’s how needy he is. That’s how much he just wants. And it’s so close he can practically taste it. Might already be right this fucking second.
If Eddie wasn’t late.
It’s only a few minutes past eleven. Certainly not enough time to worry about things he’s definitely not wanting to worry about tonight, like monsters or having to fight for their lives, shit like that. Steve only wants to think about good things. Things he wants. Things like Eddie’s mouth against his, how good it’s going to feel when Eddie opens him up with his fingers, his tongue. What it’ll really feel like with nothing between them when Steve finally gets Eddie’s cock in him tonight exactly the way he’s been gagging for.
Steve’s hand is past his waistband and gripping his own cock before he even realizes what he’s doing. His lizard brain deciding for him, apparently, that patience was now getting thrown out the window. Eddie will be so fucking pissed if (when, Steve thinks, stomach flipping traiterously at the thought) he walks in on him like this, but he doesn’t care. Not in this moment when Steve’s already hard and he’s barely even touched himself beyond palming gently, almost teasing himself, hiding his face behind his arm to muffle the whine that’s already ripped its way so unceremoniously out of his throat. Just from this. Maybe if he doesn’t come, Eddie won’t be —
“So rude. Getting started without me, baby? You know how I feel about manners, Stevie —”
Steve yanks his hand out of his pants and jolts up so quickly he nearly tumbles right out of bed. Probably would have if Eddie’s palm wasn’t spread over his chest to stop him, pressing him back down into the mattress. When he dares to open his eyes, he sees Eddie staring down at him, his eyes dark and his mouth twisted in obvious disappointment.
Steve’s stomach curls again, less pleasantly this time. Eddie clearly hadn’t even stopped to change trying to get here, still dressed in his rattiest clothes that he’s been wearing to work all week, and splattered with paint. The sight of which makes Steve flush with guilt. “I’m sorry — I just needed —”
“And you couldn't wait for me to give you what you need?” Eddie asks, expression imperious, at odds with the tender way he’s stroking Steve’s pink cheeks with his other hand. “Didn’t trust me to do it for you?”
Steve shakes his head, his voice cracking, desperate. “No – no — you were late and I just missed you so much. I’m sorry, Eds. Please —”
“I rushed all the way over here, you know. Was going to drag you into the shower and reward you for being such a good, patient boy. But now —” Eddie trails off. “Now you’re just going to have to show me how patient you can be, because now I’m not so sure —”
He’s only slightly thrown off when Eddie starts to undress, pulling off his shirt and tossing it on the floor. It starts to make sense, what’s happening, when Eddie points to the headboard and tells him to sit up against it and put his hands behind his back. No handcuffs, no handkerchief, no nothing. That means Eddie’s leaving the room, because Eddie never uses anything to tie his hands up if he’s not right there to get Steve out the second he needs him to. It’s things like that. Things that only Eddie knows about him, knows sometimes without Steve even trying to say it, that makes him so sure he wants this forever. Always.
Steve is trying to pay attention, because he is very aware he’s about to get some, admittedly deserved, punishment here. But it’s so fucking difficult because Eddie’s so beautiful, and he’s currently taking off his pants, so what can he expect, really?
But Eddie notices of course. Because of course he does. He fucking notices everything. “Tsk, tsk, Stevie,” Eddie tuts, standing there, gorgeously naked, his cock, hard and swollen and mouthwateringly close, practically taunting him with it. Which is the point, obviously. “ — can’t even pay attention to your own punishment, baby? What am I supposed to do with you, huh?”
Fuck.
“I’m sorry — I’m sorry, I’ll be go—”
“Enough.” There it is, Eddie’s voice, sharp and crackling like electricity under Steve’s skin, lighting him up from the inside. “I don’t want to hear any whining, so while I wash off, you’re going to sit here and wait for me like the good boy I know you can be,” Eddie says, glowering as he unbuckles his belt and folds it in half, “ — and if this is still in your pretty little mouth by the time I get out, I’ll give you exactly what you need, honey. Can you do that?”
“Please?”
…
If Steve thought the waiting before was torture, this — this is agony. It’s not like Eddie’s going to make him actually wait that long — Steve knows this, like, intellectually or whatever. That doesn’t mean every second that ticks by, his teeth clamped firmly on the strip of black leather hanging out of his mouth, isn’t making him feel like he’s going to burst into flames right here in his own bed. No assistance from Eddie even required.
Because his shoulders ache slightly from him trying to keep so still, the urge to squirm and wiggle just to get even some phantom sensation of friction against his cock straining almost unbearably against the waistband of his boxer shorts. His chest is damp from sweat, and from the drool he can’t quite contain as it drips down his throat. His eyes are itchy and warm, maybe a little from shame, maybe a little from guilt, but also just from pure, blinding lust.
He hasn’t cried yet, but he’s damn near about to when he hears the water stop, Eddie emerging from the bathroom with a cloud of steam following him. When he looks at Steve, clearly pleased by what he sees, the smile on his face is enough to make Steve forget all about his suffering.
Still, Steve makes a point to remain perfectly still until Eddie comes to his bedside and strokes his cheek in that loving, sweet way he did, tugging gently on the belt until Steve opens his mouth and lets it fall. Eager, he tilts his face up for a kiss, but Eddie still has his jaw caught, and it takes a second for Steve to realize what he’s doing until he feels the thumb wiping the sides of his mouth and his throat clean, before Eddie's pressing his saliva-covered finger against Steve’s lips.
Eddie doesn’t even have to ask. Steve is more than happy to open up, licking the digit clean with a greedy moan and feeling only slightly smug when it tears a similar noise from Eddie.
“Fuck — want me to fill your mouth up with something even better, pretty boy?”
Like he even has to ask, Steve thinks, crawling forward and reaching out to take Eddie in his hand and stroking once, twice, before ducking his head and taking him down his throat. This is something he never thinks he’ll get enough of either, that all-consuming, too-much, can’t-breath feeling of Eddie fucking his mouth hard enough for Steve’s brain to go all fuzzy and cloudy and warm. The way it always did when Eddie put his hands on him.
“Your mouth was made for fucking, sweetheart — but if you don’t stop, I’m gonna come down your throat and I don’t think that’s where you want me right now.”
All Steve can do is whine around Eddie’s cock, feeling out of it enough already that he needs Eddie to grab him by the hair and pull him off, sighing happily when Eddie pushes him back onto the bed and straddles him.
Thankfully, Eddie doesn’t seem inclined to make him play this patient game any longer (maybe he just can’t wait either), because he’s thorough but rushed, clearly, fucking Steve with his fingers just long enough to curl, only once, against that bundle of nerves that makes Steve feel like he’s dying. In the good way. It’s so good and over so quick that he lets out a sob, swallowed quickly by Eddie, who licks into his mouth and sucks on his tongue, all heat and filth, even as he fumbles slightly with the lube he’s using to slick himself.
Steve is shaking, digging his nails into Eddie’s shoulders as the older boy lines himself up, sliding teasingly against his hole but not slipping inside. Not yet.
“Are you su—”
“Christ, Eddie. Please — just do it, do it right now, please —”
Eddie doesn’t answer, not with words, thrusting inside, hard enough to make Steve let out a sound he will deny upon pain of death is a squeal, bottoming out inside him with a long, shuddering moan. “Holy fucking shit, Stevie — you feel —”
“So good,” Steve gasps out, because it is. It’s not like he doesn’t know what it feels like, Eddie fucking him, but it’s somehow different. More. Because there’s nothing between them, nothing separating them anymore. It’s all skin and heat and Eddie filling him up so good, so right, so fucking perfect.
Eddie nods, which is shocking in itself only because Eddie’s almost never rendered speechless, not by much of anything, so it’s hard not to feel flush, warm with pleased satisfaction when Eddie grunts again into his collarbone, kissing and licking and sucking at every bit of bare skin he can reach.
“Eddie — please — more, more —”
“God, you’re always so fucking greedy, aren’t you, Stevie? Is this what you needed then? Me fucking you stupid, filling you up? Need everyone to know who you fucking belong to, don’t you?”
Steve can’t even believe he manages to answer beyond the steady cries of ah, ah, ah that Eddie fucks out of him with every exquisitely and agonizingly raw drag of his cock hammering his insides. “Just you. Feel so good inside me. Just you, Eddie, always, please —”
Eddie barely even has to reach down and touch him — Steve is so fucked out and sensitive and close to the edge already by Eddie slamming into him over and over and over again — before he comes with a shout, a fractured cry that he muffles biting hard enough into Eddie’s forearm that the older boy curses and bares his teeth.
One more snap of his hips and Eddie’s gone too, spilling inside him, which feels so weird and good and it’s so fucking exactly what he wanted that Steve can’t stop the tears this time, whimpering weakly as Eddie collapses against his chest.
It takes a while for the buzzing in his head to stop long enough to hear the delicious praises Eddie’s been whispering in his ear. So fucking perfect, Steve. So good. Love you so much. Gonna keep you forever.
“Promise?” Steve murmurs, reaching up to lazily run his hands through Eddie’s sweat-soaked curls hanging over his shoulder.
“Mmmm,” Eddie hums in agreement. “And I was so totally right about the fuck me face, by the way,” he adds.
“Really? You’re gonna be a dick right now?” Steve asks, unable to stop himself from letting out a ridiculous laugh, swatting Eddie away and groaning when the older boy licks up his throat. He’s too blissed out to even pretend to be all that offended.
“Next time I’ll fuck you in front of the mirror so you can see that I’m right.”
“Something is so very wrong with you.”
“Aww, cranky already? If you give me twenty minutes and a sandwich, I bet I can get you smiling again, baby.”
Eddie’s the one who only narrowly avoids falling off the bed himself this time.
And not at all because it’s Steve who shoves him.