I Wear My Heart upon My Sleeve (Like a Big Deal)

by StrangerThings1975

Summary:

Eddie loses a bet to Gareth and has to give his teacher, Mr. Harrington, a valentine.

Notes:

Don't like; don't read.

Happy Valentine's Day. 🖤

“I’m not fuckin’ doin’ it, man.” Eddie slammed his locker door shut and cast a withering look at Gareth. “You’re insane.”

Gareth wasn’t moved. “You have to.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do,” he insisted. “You said you would do anything.”

“You did agree,” Jeff tried.

“Yeah, I agreed...” Eddie’s voice went high. “To like, mooning the cafeteria, or you know, wearing a dipshit hat on picture day. Not something like giving—shit. This was not part of the deal.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you bet me.”

“I didn’t think you were this fucking sadistic, Gareth,” Eddie bit.

“That’s what you get for doubting me. I told you I could learn Master of Puppets in a day.”

“On the fucking drums,” Eddie muttered. He’d been half high when he made the stupid bet. He should’ve known. Gareth the Great, more like Gareth the Snake.

“What was that?” Gareth raised his eyebrows. “I can dial the dare up to eleven…”

“Dial it up all you want. I’m not goddamn doing it,” Eddie hissed.

“Do you want to DM next campaign?” Gareth challenged. “Because I could invoke rule seven of your doctrine. ‘If any member of Hellfire Club, including the appointed Dungeon Master, does not follow through on the—”

“For fuck’s sake.” Eddie ran a hand over his hair. “You use my own words against me?”

“’Fraid so, dude.”

Eddie glanced at Jeff. “You’re really not gonna back me up?”

Jeff shrugged. “Sorry, Eddie. They’re your rules. And honestly, I’m kinda dying to see what he does.”

“You realize it’s a low blow, right?” Eddie narrowed his eyes. “You know that. You’re fine with stooping to this level? After I confided in you about my—” Stupid fucking crush on Mr. Harrington.

He’d been absolutely blazed when he’d let that spill. Biggest mistake of his pathetic life, apparently. Trusting his so-called friends with such privileged information.

“I accept it.” Gareth’s grin was shark-like. “I would pay good money to see the look on that yuppie’s face when you do it.”

“He’s not a yuppie,” Eddie protested. He totally was, but he was also hot as hell, so they cancelled each other out.

Jeff and Gareth both gave him the eye.

“I don’t even have a stupid Valentine card ready.” Shit, was he actually starting to talk like it was a remote possibility? Giving Mr. Harrington a Valentine’s Day card? Like some lovesick chick? Ugh.

Gareth really was sadistic. Who could even think that sort of thing up? Like, actually? It wasn’t like Eddie hadn’t seen it happen before. Mr. Harrington had been his English teacher two years in a row since he only did senior level classes. Everyone and their mother—literally—had a crush on the guy. It was pretty much the only thing Eddie had in common with his classmates. The hots for Harrington.

Of course, he was the only boy that he knew of who felt that way. Usually it was the girls, cheerleaders especially, who dropped heart-shaped lollipops and rose-coloured cards on his desk every February fourteenth. If any of the guys liked the man, Eddie figured they kept it to themselves, or at least between them and their spank bank.

Eddie had been a stupid fucking idiot and told his friends about his feelings.

And now he was fucked. Because Gareth was right. He had bet him he couldn’t learn the song in a day, and he had foolishly agreed to betting anything. And anything meant anything.

Including giving his very sexy teacher a Valentine’s Day card.

“Eddie?” Gareth said.

Eddie tried again. “I don’t even have a card. Didn’t buy one.”

“So make one,” Jeff suggested. “You know how to draw.”

“Yeah.” Gareth smirked. “You can make it real personal this way.”

“It’ll be real personal when I kick your scrawny ass.”

“Do whatever you want. It’s fucking worth it.”

Eddie slapped his hands down on each of his friend’s shoulders. “Have I ever told you guys I hate you?”

“Every day,” Jeff and Gareth said at the same time.

 

---

 

Eddie was in danger of actually pissing himself as the clock ticked on.

Last period of the day.

Back left seat in the classroom—always his favourite.

Mr. Harrington up at the chalkboard going over the night’s homework. Reading the first act of King Lear.

Eddie hated that he was actually going to do it, too. Not only because he actually liked that type of shit, but because he didn’t want to see Mr. Harrington’s puppy dog eyes come out. He was too pretty for his own good.

“How come you didn’t do the reading, Eddie? Do you need some extra help understanding the language?”

And beyond that, he didn’t want his teacher—well, this particular one—thinking he was too stupid to understand English. He didn’t give a fuck what the other teachers thought.

But something about Mr. Harrington was special. He actually seemed like he fucking… cared or something. Eddie didn’t like letting him down.

Which was why English was his best grade, and, actually—

The bell was shrill. Nearly gave Eddie a heart attack to go along with his nearly pissed pants.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he muttered to himself.

No fucking way he was seriously going to go through with this. He could back out. So what he wouldn’t be able to DM the next game. He could live with that.

Better than being kicked out of school.

Better than Mr. Harrington thinking he was gay. Some sort of freak.

Well, he was gay, and he was a freak. But they key was that the man liked him. Was actually interested in what he had to say, wrote nice comments on his essays and assignments, asked how his weekends went.

It was sort of pathetic. Lame. But Eddie didn’t want to jeopardize that.

Eddie also didn’t want to jeopardize his rep with his club, either. Gareth was talking a big game, and Eddie wanted to shut that shit down. If he did this, Gareth and Jeff both would know he was willing to put his money where his mouth was. Follow his own rules. It would give him more credibility when he enforced them.

And, Mr. Harrington was a nice guy… maybe he would appreciate the gesture of a hand-drawn Valentine. Plus, it wasn’t like he was the only one doing it. His desk was already littered with red and pink and white and hearts galore. From his earlier periods. From all the girls.

Eddie’s would probably be deposited amongst them, thrown out. No harm done.

He could do it.

Of course, he had to wait for the gaggle of cheerleaders to giggle and twirl their hair right in Mr. Harrington’s face before he could make his own move.

Chrissy Cunningham was at the forefront. Even put her hand on his forearm. And her fucking cheeks were as red as the card she slipped in the front pocket of Mr. Harrington’s shirt.

Really, bitch?

In her cheerleading uniform too.

It was sickening. Like he could ever compete with that shit. Any red-blooded male had a soft spot (hard spot) for cheerleaders. Eddie was a lot of things, but he was not naive.

As nice as Mr. Harrington was, undoubtedly he’d be jerking off to that image later. Blonde hair all tied up in a bow, toned legs in a tiny, green skirt.

And Eddie, as fucked in the head as he was, would be jerking off to the image of Mr. Harrington jerking off to that image…

There was only so long Eddie could fiddle with his notebook and his backpack before it was obvious he was lingering.

He had no choice but to shuffle up to the goddamn line at Mr. Harrington’s desk. Wait his turn for the humiliation.

The girls glared at him, mouths twisted. What is he doing here?

He glared right back at them. He wasn’t sexist—he hated every fucking person in Hawkins High equally. At least, every jock. Skirt or shorts. They could all fuck themselves as far as he was concerned.

He got so lost in thought he didn’t realize when he finally made it to the front of the line.

Alone with Mr. Harrington at last.

It was only like, the third or fourth time. Those other times had been coincidence. His teacher asking if everything was okay, if he was enjoying the course material.

This was intentional. His choice.

“What’s up, Eddie?”

Ugh and he was leaning on his desk, ankles crossed, bulging forearms crossed in front of his chest. He hadn’t even bothered removing Chrissy’s card from his pocket. It was probably crinkling.

Eddie’s mouth popped open as he tried to formulate a response and failed.

“Well, I uh… Uh. Shit.”

“Question about the homework?” Mr. Harrington tilted his head, brows furrowed.

Concerned and interested like usual. Such an asshole. A beautiful, beautiful asshole.

“No, I um. I sort of like, made you a thing?” Eddie closed his eyes and just thrust the ridiculous piece of paper at the guy.

Didn’t look half as good as the ones he’d already received, but it was all right. He’d spent the period drawing it. No pink, no red. Just black pen.

Good enough.

It occurred to him as he handed it over that there was no way to prove to Jeff and Gareth that he actually followed through. But, Eddie was a shit liar—Wayne always told him so. They’d just have to take his word for it.

Or, they’d know he’d done the deed when he was expelled from school for inappropriate behaviour.

Eddie chewed a hole through his lip while he watched Mr. Harrington read the valentine.

“You’ve critically hit my heart,” he recited.

Eddie wished he could’ve melted right into the linoleum.

He’d drawn a huge, cartoonish, anatomically-correct heart getting hit in the face with a d20.

To: Mr. Harrington

From: Eddie

There was no way he even understood the reference. It made absolutely no sense. But that was what Eddie was counting on. He could laugh it off as an awkward nerd thing. It wasn’t exactly suggestive.

The last thing he expected was Mr. Harrington beaming at him. “Crit hit, huh? That’s a hell of a compliment.”

Eddie widened his eyes. “Y-you know D&D?”

His crush had just spawned into complete head-over-heels love. Could one man be so perfect?

“I don’t really play, but I spectate my nephew’s games sometimes. They get pretty into it, so… I’ve picked up a few things.”

“O-oh. Uh, that’s cool. I guess.” It was fucking epic.

“I guess,” Mr. Harrington echoed.

“So um, what keeps you from really playing?” Eddie asked. “Scared you’d get your ass kicked?”

Mr. Harrington straightened up. “Hell no.”

“Then what? You don’t like the game?”

Please say no. Make me hate you.

“It’s an awesome game. Actually…” He put on his toothpaste commercial smile in full force. “I just wouldn’t want to embarrass my opponents by kicking their asses.”

“Oh please,” Eddie scoffed.

Mr. Harrington licked his lips. “Hmm. I forgot. I’m talking to the D&D expert. Mr. Dungeon Master. Head of Hellfire Club.”

Oh my God. He pays attention to me?

“That’s right.” Eddie tried desperately to seem more confident than he felt. “Mr. Harrington.”

“I bet I could beat you.”

“An interesting thought, but I’m not actually taking any bets right now. They get me into way too much trouble.”

“How’s that?”

Fuck. More like his big mouth got him into too much trouble.

“Well, I… You know.”

“I don’t. Tell me.”

Eddie adjusted his backpack on his shoulder. Wait, what? What was the question?

“Uhh. Sorry. What?”

“What kind of bets are you taking that get you in trouble, Eddie?”

Without thinking, Eddie gestured to the paper in Mr. Harrington’s hands.

“What?” Mr. Harrington frowned, his puppy dog eyes on the verge of appearing.

Shit.

He had no idea how to talk his way out of this one, so he remained silent. For once in his life.

Mr. Harrington ran a hand over his hair.

“Giving me this was a bet?”

“I—”

“Was it?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Mr. Harrington didn’t look mad, only confused. A little hurt.

“Eddie,” he pressed. “Tell me.”

“I—I don’t—” Eddie tried again. But nothing was coming to mind. It was like he physically couldn’t lie. “My friends.”

Mr. Harrington waited. It was his favourite technique. Standing at the front of the classroom with a bored expression on his face if the chatty kids wouldn’t settle down. He never even had to yell. Nobody liked disappointing him.

Especially not Eddie.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie sighed. “This was—I didn’t mean to. I’m just gonna go.”

“You’re not going anywhere until you explain yourself.”

Eddie bristled. Couldn’t help it. No matter how much he liked Mr. Harrington. “I don’t have to explain shit.” He plucked the paper out of his teacher’s hands and made for the door.

A heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

“Eddie. Explain. I won’t say it again.”

Mr. Harrington squeezed his hand and made him heel.

Eddie stopped and turned around to face the man. Annoyingly, he looked bored. The only betray of intrigue was the slightest of quirks at the corner of his lips.

He seemed almost playful.

Eddie narrowed his eyes. If Mr. Harrington had a question, he could ask it outright. Passive-aggressiveness was not something Eddie appreciated.

Unfortunately, it seemed like they both had the same idea.

Eddie caved first.

“What?” he bit. “What do you want?”

“Simple. I wanna know who dared you to give me this and why.”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really. I have my suspicions. Just wanna hear you say it.”

Eddie was rendered speechless yet again.

“What’re you gonna do? Expel me for giving you a card? Everyone else did. It wasn’t just me.”

“None of them did it because of a bet.”

“And I bet,” Mr. Harrington continued, “that’s an important distinction.”

Eddie’s knee-jerk response was, what the fuck do you know?

But this was Mr. Harrington. He was special. Different. Something about his expression endeared Eddie even when it really shouldn’t have.

“Is there a question?” he said instead. Not exactly not-bitchy, but less bitchy. It was something.

“Wanna try that again?” Mr. Harrington offered. His voice and demeanour were calm, but his eyes were hard. A look Eddie had seen on the man only a handful of times when he really needed to discipline the class.

It made him look even hotter than usual.

“I—” Eddie frowned. He was so lost. What were they even talking about anymore?

Mr. Harrington popped off the desk with a flex of his hips. When he wasn’t leaning, he was a good few inches taller than Eddie.

“I guess I’m not being clear,” Mr. Harrington mused. “The question, Eddie, is why did you give me this?” He ripped the Valentine from Eddie’s hands, pinched it between two fingers and dangled it in front of Eddie’s face.

Eddie couldn’t have imagined feeling this humiliated. He’d anticipated it on some level, but this? His cheeks were about to burst into flame. Butterflies threatened to tear out of his stomach.

What was he supposed to say?

“Why do you think?”

Eddie lowered his head and stared at the floor, wondering how hard he had to want it before physics would bend to his will and let his molecules disperse so that he may evaporate out of the fucking classroom.

Mr. Harrington was quiet. So quiet that Eddie was forced to look up. He wasn’t sure what he’d find, but he hadn’t expected smug satisfaction.

“Are you gonna like, say anything?” Eddie mumbled.

Mr. Harrington ignored him. Brushed past him.

Eddie could only watch when the man’s hand wrapped around the door knob and pulled the door shut. He locked it.

Eddie swallowed, and the butterflies were threatening to eat him alive now.

What the fuck was happening right now?

Before he could think, Mr. Harrington’s hand was cupping his cheek. Hot and sure. He rubbed his thumb back and forth across his cheekbone. So soft, so affectionate.

Eddie leaned into it instinctively. His eyes fluttered shut.

Wait.

He jerked away. “What the hell are you doing?”

This had to be some sort of joke. Some sort of trap.

“Eddie, relax,” Mr. Harrington soothed.

“I don’t understand.”

“You like me, right?”

Eddie looked up into his teacher’s eyes, earnest and inviting.

Eddie’s voice was small when he admitted to it. Even with the man’s hand on his face, and how close their bodies were to one another… he wasn’t sure he could trust it.

What would Mr. Harrington want with him? He put more effort into English class than into all of his other subjects combined, sure. But what did that mean to Mr. Harrington? To him, he was just troubled youth. Undoubtedly he knew his address, his whole tragic family backstory. Knew he was an outcast freak. Could see he wasn’t the least bit handsome. Not many guys in school had long hair. And the ones that did… well, theirs wasn’t as frizzy and dry as his. If Mr. Harrington even liked boys, why should he like Eddie? Mr. Harrington, with his khakis and polos…his gorgeous coif.

“Good,” Mr. Harrington breathed.

“Good?” Eddie’s face crinkled, not in disgust but skepticism. “You think it’s good that the freak likes you?”

“I think it’s fucking fantastic.”

Eddie froze when Mr. Harrington moved forward and pressed their lips together. His eyes didn’t even close. Only blinked, his teacher close enough that his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks.

Mr. Harrington pulled back. “Are you okay?”

“S-sorry,” Eddie stammered. “Never really, uh. I never—”

The man’s eyes softened even more if it were possible. “I’m your first kiss?”

Eddie nodded. Returned his gaze to the floor.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, I mean I get it… kids are idiots. I should know. I used to be just like ‘em.”

“And now?”

“Now I can see just how beautiful you are. How pretty.”

Eddie couldn’t help the snort that escaped his mouth and nose. He all but scoffed. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“I’m not kidding.”

Mr. Harrington’s gaze became so intense that Eddie had no choice but to look away.

“Hey,” he said, framing Eddie’s chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I mean it. You’re fucking beautiful, Eddie. Do you even know how hard it is to see you every day, knowing I can’t have you? It’s torture.”

“That seems a little drastic…” Eddie’s heart wasn’t in the skepticism. He wanted to believe it.

Wanted to believe he was beautiful. And not just in the low-stakes platonic way, or the familial way. Like when Wayne said he was a bright kid, a good soul. Or when Jeff, and Gareth, and the guys told him he was awesome.

He wanted to be wanted. And not in some crude, meaningless way. The kind of way where he was just a secret, behind-the-bleachers blowjob to some closeted jock on the basketball team. He’d been offered a few times. Never said yes even though he sort of wanted to. Couldn’t give in that way, give them something else to hold over his head.

But here, now? With Mr. Harrington?

Nobody had ever called him beautiful before. Nobody had cupped his cheek and kissed him his first kiss and asked him if he was okay.

“Say the word,” Mr. Harrington said. “If you want to go, you can go. I promise… I’m not—I’ve never. Shit.”

Eddie smiled. Mr. Harrington, usually so well-spoken and confident… The guy was starting to sound like him.

“I just mean… I want you, Eddie. I want you a lot. And I know it’s fucked. I shouldn’t be justifying it just ‘cause I know you’re not a teenager… it’s still, you know. You’re a student. But you’re just—I like you.”

“You do?”

“I do,” he confirmed. “A lot. You’re so bright, and funny… Charming. And those big eyes, those lips? Fuck, Eddie. You have no goddamn idea what you do to me.”

The words were a trigger.

Eddie rushed forward so fast he bumped Mr. Harrington into the desk hard.

A little burst of air left the man’s lips just before Eddie kissed him again. His second kiss.

This time, he wasn’t frozen. He jammed his tongue into the man’s mouth with absolutely no finesse. Just wanted to taste everything, like if he kissed him well enough he could absorb the compliments and praise he’d just spoken. Tongue to tongue, lips to lips. I like you. So bright. Funny. Charming. Beautiful. Pretty.

Out of all the cheerleaders, and the preps, and the nerdy suck-ups. Mr. Harrington wanted him, Eddie Munson, the weirdo, metalhead freak.

Fuck you all very much, you fuckers. I win.

He might have to consider flipping Gareth a twenty for his efforts. An unknowing matchmaker.

It was difficult to kiss when Mr. Harrington smiled against his mouth.

Eddie didn’t let it deter him; he pressed on. Went harder with his tongue.

“Eddie, baby,” Mr. Harrington soothed. “Slow down.”

“Not good?”

The only thing that staved off the pang of rejection was the fact that Mr. Harrington had called him baby.

“It’s great, but let me take the lead. Okay?”

“Sorry. Don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“You’re cute.” Mr. Harrington smoothed a hand over his hair. “I like how eager you are, just let me show you a few things, okay? You trust me?”

“Y-yeah. Show me.”

Mr. Harrington kissed his jaw right near his earlobe, and it sent shivers up and down his spine. His hips thrust forward of their own volition. He slammed them into Mr. Harrington’s, once more sending him into the desk with a grunt.

“Shit, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart. I told you. Like how eager you are. Fucking hot.”

Eddie all but whimpered when the man pressed his lips even closer to his ear sucking at the sensitive skin between his neck and jaw.

“Arghh, holy fuck,” Eddie whined. He was torn between scrunching his face down into his chest to avoid the tickling sensation and tilting his head back to expose the entirety of his neck to his teacher. The result was him shaking pathetically with indecision, hard and straining in his jeans.

“You like that, Eddie?” he breathed.

Eddie clutched at Mr. Harrington’s shirt, wordlessly begging for more.

“Eddie,” he urged. “Answer me.”

“Like it.”

The man hummed and continued. Like some sort of blood hungry vampire, all he did was lick and kiss and suck at his neck. He grazed the shell of his ear with the tip of his tongue before he nipped at the junction of his neck and shoulder, and Eddie thought he might actually pass out.

He’d always thought of kissing as the first step of getting to the good stuff, but at this rate he was going to come in his pants before they even reached second base.

“Please. Please.”

“Please what?”

“More. Want more, Mr. Harrington.”

“Hmm. Mr. Harrington’s quite the mouthful, don’t you think?”

“Mouthful, huh?” Eddie joked.

The man chuckled against his neck while he gripped his waist, held them flush together. Eddie had never felt as safe and desirable as he did in Mr. Harrington’s arms. The warm breaths against his oversensitive skin made him crumple, even more pliant in the man’s grip.

“Call me Steve.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah. Steve.”

“I don’t know… Mr. Harrington kinda has a nice ring to it.”

“You really wanna call me what everyone else does?”

“No. Guess not.”

“I mean, you can… but I think it’d be kind of funny if you moaned out Mr. Harrington while you were coming.”

And wasn’t that just a punch to the dick? A pleasurable, exquisite, caressing punch…

“Done it before,” Eddie admitted.

“Fuck, really?” Steve’s voice went husky.

“Wouldn’t lie.” He had jerked off plenty a time to the image of Mr. Harrington fucking him over his desk.

“No, don’t think you would.”

Steve had his hands all over him, then, and before Eddie even registered the maneuver, he was sitting on the top of the desk. His legs were parted, Steve standing in the space between them; his arms slung around the man’s shoulders.

“So beautiful,” Steve murmured. “You’re perfect.”

With that, Steve finally put his lips on Eddie’s, showing him what he had wanted to show him in the first place. He kissed slow and deliberately, and despite the measured pace, Eddie could feel how much the man was holding back. And that made it all the sexier. The restraint, Steve taking his time and licking along his lips and teeth, sliding their tongues together like he had nowhere else he’d rather be… paired with how tight the man was holding him, the tension in his body, the urge to fuck roiling beneath his skin. It was tangible, in the air. Eddie could taste it in his teacher’s mouth.

Eddie followed Steve’s lead and matched the intensity of his kiss, the violently gentle pace he was setting. Suddenly, the man’s earlier words about watching Eddie being torturous didn’t seem so drastic. Because Eddie felt the same. This restraint was torturous. He wanted to fucking go. Rut against Mr. Harrington’s pants and explode in his jeans. Wanted Steve to bend him over and fuck him full. He was so empty. He was right on the edge. Wanted it quick and hard. Didn’t care how pathetic it was. How much it highlighted his lack of experience. Who gave a shit when he was going to come? Always alone in his dingy room, always into his own hand.

Now he had a body against him. Warm skin, and kind words, praise from the man’s mouth—spoken and performed. He was wanted. Mr. Harrington was trying to make him feel good. He liked him.

What a fucking headrush.

“Please, Steve,” Eddie begged. He tried to inch his way off the desk, closer and closer to the strong form before him. The goddamn, khaki-clad, polo-wearing yuppie Mr. Harrington. Tall and tan, and smart and handsome as he was. His curly scrawl on the chalk board. His easy, perfect smile. His adorable laugh and the way he put his hands on his hips when he was pissed off. Those long, manicured fingers sliding through his honey golden hair when he was exasperated or excited about a lesson.

Eddie was vibrating out of his skin, feral. Managed to slide his way off the desk so that he was pinned between it and Steve. He wasn’t shy when he fucked forward against the man. Let him know he was hard; it was his fucking fault anyways.

“Jesus fuck, Eddie.”

At the encouragement, Eddie thrust forward again. He could feel the man’s own hardness against him. And he was big. He’d had his suspicions, caught his eyefuls, but this confirmation...

Holy shit.

Eddie brought a hand down to feel Steve up. He kept his touch light, as horny as he was, he was also hesitant. Only dick he’d ever felt before was his own. He wasn’t sure what Steve did and didn’t like, actually wasn’t sure how far he wanted to go. Were they going to have actual sex? Would it stop at kissing? He wanted to get off, but he wasn’t quite as packing as Mr. Harrington. It was embarrassing, really. Did he have the guts to get naked?

Eddie’s mouth actually watered when he cupped his hands around Steve’s cock through his jeans. Ridiculous. His worries faded from his mind at the feeling.

“Shit, you’re big.”

Steve’s expression was smug again, and it should’ve been unattractive. A total turn-off. Arrogant prick. But it so wasn’t. He was hung, and he knew it. Knew Eddie knew it. Knew he was impressive.

Eddie gripped him harder, elicited a toe-curling moan from the man’s pretty, pink mouth.

He felt powerful, getting such a noise from his teacher. From Mr. Harrington. Steve.

“Please?”

“Please, what?” Steve was panting now, rocking his hips back and forth into Eddie’s hand, not showing so much restraint anymore.

“Wanna suck you.”

Eddie got the ultimate satisfaction in Steve’s mouth popping open, his eyes hooding into near slits. And he could’ve fucking sworn Steve’s cock throbbed in his hand. Even through his pants, he was pretty sure.

“Never done it before… but uh, always wanted to.”

“You sure, baby?” Steve was back to showing restraint. His voice was soothing, smooth. But his eyes were pleading, like he might die if Eddie took his request back.

“Wanna try.”

“Okay, yeah. Fuck. You can try, Eddie.”

Eddie didn’t wait. Sunk to his knees with a thump. A bit painful, but who was he to complain? It added to the experience.

He hesitated a moment, unsure of the etiquette. If he was supposed to undo Steve’s belt, unzip his zipper. Or if Steve should do it himself.

Waiting turned out to be the best decision of his life so far, because Steve reaching down to unbuckle his belt, the clanking of that metal and the thick slip of leather sliding against leather. The sight of it dangling open like an invitation. His fingers sliding expertly to flick the button through it’s containing hole… the sharp clicks of the zipper.

The sounds were seared onto the surface of Eddie’s brain for all eternity. Like a Pavlovian dog, his mouth was watering.

Right in front of his face, Mr. Harrington’s pants undone… All he had to do was slide the pants down a bit, get his boxers down under his balls. Just enough to get what he wanted.

Eddie stowed his fear of not being talented enough, of ruining this whole thing somehow with his virginity, and just fucking went for it. A blowjob was a blowjob. And he was sure Steve would tell him if he was doing something wrong.

But he was pretty sure all the fantasizing he’d done up until this point was enough to carry him through. And despite what his other teachers thought of him, he was no idiot. No teeth. Take it deep. Wet the way with his spit. Swirl his tongue. Make up for what he couldn’t take with his mouth by taking it with his hand.

What else was there to fucking know? Sucking dick wasn’t rocket science.

Eddie pulled Steve’s boxers out of the way and could do nothing but stare. Heat and musk less than an inch away from his mouth. Looking up to see Mr. Harrington’s mesmerized expression, parted lips, eyes so dazed he looked high.

Eddie could taste the salt before he even put his tongue on Steve’s cock, and then when he finally did…

It was nothing to sink further and further. Taking Steve to the back of his throat didn’t even leave his cock fully sheathed; he was that big.

“Oh fuck,” he bit. Steve’s hands were in his own hair, pulling it back hard enough to tilt his head along with it. “That’s fucking… Fuck, Eddie.”

Eddie hummed, pleased with the compliment. He hadn’t even done anything special. His tongue pressed to the underside of Steve’s cock, and his lips tight around him, hot and wet… there was nothing to it.

Eddie put his hands around the back of Steve’s knees for leverage before he fucked his face further onto his dick. To get his mouth flush with the man’s body, he had to take his cock even further than his tonsils.

It was a lot. It was uncomfortable. And he only managed to hold it for a few seconds before he had to pull off, heaving.

“S-so-rry,” Eddie grunted, trying not to cough.

Steve put his hands in Eddie’s hair, stroking, threading his fingers through his curls. Ever soothing. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. You don’t have to do anything else… this is more than I could’ve hoped for.”

“No, no.” Eddie nearly panicked over the possibility of Steve stopping them. “Wanna keep going, promise. Just need a sec.”

“You’re so fucking good. Such a good boy for me.”

Eddie’s reaction to the praise was visceral. It was like every cell in him stood at attention, craved more of the wonderful words Steve was offering. Good? Him?

Eddie was back on Steve in less than a second, and with those hands in his hair and the sounds Steve was making, his hips rocking lightly in and out of his mouth… Eddie felt like there was nothing he couldn’t do.

He adjusted his grip on Steve’s knees up and up to his thighs and eventually his ass, until he was gripping him from behind and pulling. Forcing the man to fuck his face.

“You sure, baby?” Steve’s voice was wrecked.

Judging by the wet salt that was continuously flooding Eddie’s tongue, he was close… was probably holding back, making himself last because he was obviously good at that given how long it had taken for him to make a move when it was apparently torture for him to even be in the same room as Eddie...

On his knees, Eddie had never felt more powerful.

“Take what you want.” Now his voice was the one totally goddamn wrecked. Like Steve’s cock was neutralizing the performance of his vocal cords with every thrust.

“Relax,” Steve directed. “Just let your mouth hang open, nice and easy…”

Eddie could barely nod or hum his assent, with Steve filling up his mouth as much as he was… but he managed to communicate the yes. The total, utter, fucking yes that it was for Mr. Harrington to fuck his face.

He didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything more than this. Being good for Mr. Harrington.

Sucking dick was one thing, but Steve fucking his face was entirely different. All Eddie could do was kneel there and let it happen. Every once in a while he’d adjust his tongue to swipe over Steve’s cockhead, lap up the leaking precome, let it add to the collecting pool of spit at the back of his throat.

He felt drunk, eyes rolling into the back of his head, consciousness fading in and out, face numb and tingling, limbs loose. He was like liquid, finally melting into the floor and evaporating like he’d originally wanted. His entire being reduced to Steve’s cock in his mouth, using him to get off.

After only a couple minutes, he barely had the energy to keep his eyes open or jaw lax. Didn’t have the energy to curl his tongue to give Steve that little extra sensation. He barely registered the words being spoken into him, except every so often a good, or a perfect would slip through the haze of his mind.

“Oh fuck, fuck, Eddie. Gonna—gonna fucking—shit.”

It was the only warning he got before the man’s come was flooding his tongue and throat. He’d been on a back thrust when he finally shot his load, which meant it didn’t just go wasted, untasted down Eddie’s throat. It spurted hot against the roof of his mouth, across his tongue, on the side of his cheeks.

Mr. Harrington, a real mouthful after all.

Eddie moaned around his shaft, sealing his lips tight, letting the man grip his hair tight while he rocked his hips to ride himself through his orgasm.

He swallowed down everything Mr. Harrington had to give. Proud, nearly ecstatic. He’d made someone come. With his own mouth. He was good. Worthy.

“So good, so fucking good, Eddie. Baby. No idea how pretty—fuck.”

He made Mr. Harrington babble out praise. That’s how good he was.

He was barely on Earth when the man hauled him up and sat him back on the desk, barely registered when his jeans were ripped open and a hand was engulfing his own dick, tight and fast. Barely lasted a few seconds before he was spilling into Mr. Harrington’s hand with a pathetic cry.

It was just the cherry on top when Mr. Harrington brought his come-covered hand to his mouth and licked Eddie’s mess off.

Eddie was trembling, sweating from the intensity of it all. First time making someone come, first time someone else making him come. Mr. Harrington. Steve.

“Steve,” he whined. “Please.”

“What else do you want, baby? I’ll give you anything. Just ask.”

“Kiss?”

When Mr. Harrington bent over him and let their mouths meet once more, he could taste himself, and he imagined it was the same in reverse. Both of the tasting their own spend from each other’s mouths.

Eddie was still hard. Greedy, he wanted more. Steve fucking his throat and getting him off wasn’t enough. He wanted anything else, everything. Wanted to keep being good, wanted to keep being wanted.

They kissed and kissed, kissed so long that the light through the classroom windows turned dim.

Eddie couldn’t bring himself to look at the clock, but he knew it was well past dinnertime from the shade of darkness competing with the fluorescents.

So deep and so full of desire that Eddie lost count of how many orgasms he had. Wet and dry, some in Steve’s mouth, some in his hand, some just spilling from his dick and across his chest with no warning.

Mr. Harrington wasn’t young and needy, virginal like him… so he had to work for what he wanted. Jerked off hard and fast, fist flying over his tip until he was calling Eddie’s name and shooting for a second time across Eddie’s stomach. Steve licked up his come, tongue flicking across Eddie’s sweaty skin, salt combined, over and over. Each time Steve made a little lick, he met Eddie’s mouth and brought their tongues together so Eddie could taste everything Steve was cleaning up.

After that, they clung to each other, just breathing and mouthing kisses wherever they could reach, room noticeably humid and heavy with the scent of their sex.

Eddie went so long without speaking anything but murmurs of Steve’s name and mumblings of how good he felt he forgot what it was even like to string together coherent sentences.

“Mmm. Mr—Steve.” Even after everything, he blushed at his fumble.

The man chuckled against him. “Mr. Eddie.”

The teasing had his cheeks heating, even more than the face fucking…

“What now?” He knew the question was pathetic, wanton, but he didn’t much care.

“Now, I’m gonna take you home.”

Eddie felt a thrill at that. Riding in style in Mr. Harrington’s Beemer.

Eat your fucking heart out, Chrissy Cunningham.

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“And then what…” Eddie’s stomach flipped at the thought that this might be a onetime only thing.

“That’s up to you, sweetheart,” Steve said. “Do you wanna do this again?”

“Is that even a fucking question?”

Steve kissed his forehead. “Yes. What’s your answer?”

Eddie looked from side to side, searching for the piece of paper he knew was hanging around somewhere. Undoubtedly crumpled and fucked up… kind of like him.

His fingers closed around it, and he shoved it against Steve’s chest. The valentine.

“What do you think?”

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Running with the Devil