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monologichno · 28 days ago

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Bloom & Break, P1

ok. here it is. the DC AU literally nobody asked for.

it's not beta'd. ive glanced over it for super obvious typos, but i dont wanna lose the zing on this one.

cw: nothing

Most people in Hawkins rarely kept standard business hours or maintained offices. That’s why it made it even more annoying to seek someone who constantly changed addresses when it was currently pouring down rain.

Soaked through and shivering, Eddie entered a dingy, run-down diner looking like a drowned raccoon in seven different hells; all tension wrapped in sarcasm, smudged glitter shadow under one eye, and dried blood under the other. A singular boot, the other socked foot sopping wet and peeking through several holes.

The dampness seemed to only highlight the smell of smoke, cheap booze and desperation that clung to him.

The leather jacket he sported was more of a joke than any protection from the elements; still, he wrapped it closer around himself like armor as he slid into a booth towards the back, cracked pleather creaking, like it wanted no part in the conversation to follow.

Robin didn’t look up from her crossword. “You look like shit”

“Yeah? That answers my question about whether you like the new look. I was thinking of calling it Eviction Chic.”

“Jesus Christ, Eddie. Again?”

Eddie shrugged, “Look, it was a minor explosion. Not even a misdemeanor. Minimal emotional damage. Unless you count the couch.”

He swiped her untouched mug, stirring creamer into it. “It was a controlled fire.”

“You set a couch on fire!”

“The couch knew what it did!”

She closed her eyes. Counted to five.

“Eddie. I thought you were better. You’re supposed to be better.”

“Better than what?” he questioned with a crooked, defiant smile. “Better than I was? Better than with Billy? I am. I’m alone now.”

Robin shook her head. “You’re also freezing, injured, and running out of places to land.”

Robin watched him cradle the mug like it was a drink, much stronger than what she had in her cup now.

“Why not go to Wayne?” she quietly asked, as if trying not to spook him.

He didn’t look at her, instead focusing on the coffee like it held all the answers. “He’s sick. It’s not good for him to be around all the mess.”

A quiet beat passed.

Robin exhales, rubbing her temple before sliding a napkin with a scribbled address on it across the table.

“You’re gonna go here. You are going to be normal. You're gonna say thank you. And you're going to try really, really hard not to get arrested.

“I swear to God, if this is about rehab again–”

“It’s not!” She looked at him squarely before continuing, “This is a friend who owes me a favor. He’s…weird. Lives in a greenhouse and has very questionable social skills. Oh, and vines. Lots of vines. A possibly hentai level of vines.”

Eddie blinked at the last part. “What.”

“His name’s Steve.”

“Tall, dark, broody?”

“Tall, tired, really appreciates a sunny day.”

“Hot.”

“He’s not your type.”

“Everyone’s my type.”

“Fine. He’s not available.”

Eddie leans forward, fingers steepled like he’s planning a heist, before he stops and frowns.

“Wait. Vines….Steve…Steve Harrington? Eddie laughed in a wheezing cough. “That guy? You’re sending me to live in exile with the Swamp Prince?”

“First of all, don't call him that. He’s not any type of royalty and he’s…just a bit reclusive, that’s all. Secondly, you don’t have many options here. You’re out of second chances and safehouses. I’m certainly not letting you stay with me again after you detonated that Hot Pocket in the microwave.”

‘So…what? You’re gonna dump me on the Homicidal Horticulturist because you don't have enough paper towels and patience?”

She sputtered, indignantly. “Paper towels…Eddie! You. Burned. A. Hole. In. My. Microwave. WITH. A. HOT. POCKET!”

She sighed, deflating. “Look,” Robin says softly, “You’ll be safe there. Just try not to set anything on fire. Literally or figuratively.

“Define ‘try’”

“Try, and when you fail, make sure nothing green gets burned.”

“Noted.”

Silence stretched between them, only broken by the faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights overhead.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” Eddie questioned eventually.

“Oh, he’s gonna try not to. Especially if you call him any of those stupid names,” she smirked.

“What if I-”

Robin cut him off with a sharp look.

“Seriously. Just don’t be your usual charming self, and it’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I absolutely will be on my best behavior.”

“Eddie. Promise me.

Tucking the address away, he finished her coffee off with a gulp, dropping the mug upside down on the table as he stood to go, no answer but a wink as he sauntered out.

—----

Steve was in the middle of pruning the grumpy blackberry bush he’d affectionately named The Landlord, because it had lived here before he did, when his phone buzzed:

🌱need a favor. not dangerous. just loud. be kind. please. DON’T kill him. -R

Steve stared at it for a moment. Him? What had Robin gotten him into?

He wasn't allowed long to muse, the Landlord rustling his unpruned branches pointedly.

“Oh, hush, you complained all morning for even daring to trim you, now you’re just being contrary.”

He locked the phone and slid it back into his pocket without responding, then continued his work.

__________

The place Robin sent him to wasn’t on any city map. It boasted no signage, no mailbox, only a singular rusted gate choked by ivy and surrounded by nearly half a block of greenery. Nature was reclaiming its territory from concrete, with vengeance.

Eddie pushed his way through the gate, which didn't creak, but rather whispered; not helping the creepiness factor. At all.

As he trudged up the path, vines parted reluctantly, slithering back over rusted scaffolding like retracting veins.

Something further ahead chirped, hissed, and clicked; all at once.

“Right,” Eddie muttered, nervously fingering a frayed spot on his jacket, “I guess we’re going with a haunted garden motif, with a side of little shop of horrors. Cool. Totally normal. Definitely won’t get eaten by a giant carnivorous plant, not at all.”

Further in, there was a greenhouse; less of a structure than a living biome that tolerated being architecture. No sooner had he stepped over some invisible barrier than everything shifted.

Not visually, nor dramatically. Just a thickening of the air; something taking notice.

His eye roamed over tiles cracked by roots, petals that glowed faintly in the darkening sky, everything blooming. Alive. Wrong.

Then he saw him.

Slightly bent over a raised planter, working pruning shears over a large, thorny bush.

Dark hair pulled back into a messy knot, skin the color of oxidized bronze streaked with dirt like war paint, tank top sticky with sweat on his back.

Eddie grinned, and in his most flourishing voice, called out, “Pardon me, Tall, Dark and Thorny, I’ve come to inquire about the spare room?”

The man pointedly did not respond, nor did he turn around.

“You’re tracking blood into my moss,” he said flatly, his voice way too attractive for the level of unimpressed crankiness it conveyed.

“Oh, don’t worry, Green Goddess, I promise it’s all mine.”

That earns him a glance.

Brown eyes, tinged with green. Sharp. Deeply tired.

He had a stare that saw too much and cared too little. One that made you fidget, even if you didn’t do anything wrong.

“Robin sent me,” Eddie attempted to charm, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Said you could help me out with a place to stay that wasn’t likely to fall prey to spontaneous combustion.”

“She told me. You can stay. Temporarily.”

“Define temporary.”

“As short as possible.”

Attempted.

Rocking back on his heels, Eddie said. “Oof, well, she certainly didn't exaggerate the level of social skills. So, do I just call you Steve? Or are you one of those who likes to go by a cute little codename?”

Steve’s only answer was turning back to the planter.

Eddie’s eyes lit up, sensing a weak spot. “No. You know what, I’m claiming guest rights and giving you a name.”

“Don’t”

“Sorry, it's just with your whole–” he waved a careless hand to encompass the wide area, including Steve, “vibe, it's just not screaming ‘Steve’, y’know? You’re too…pretty. Sharp. Poisonous.”

He snaps his fingers, “That’s it! I’ll call you Pennyroyal.”

Steve froze, nearby a vine twitched.

Looking over his shoulder, he scowled. “Don’t call me that.”

“Too late, Pennyroyal, looks like you’ve been christened.”

Steve stayed where he was, shoulders stiff as he visibly fought down several choice turns of phrase.

“Name’s Oddity, by the way,” Eddie picked up the flourishing tone again (because once he had a bit, he beat it to death), with a sweeping bow and a grin that didn't reach his eyes. “Because I’m Eddie, and I’m a little odd.”

Straightening up, he shot finger guns. “Get it?”

A deadpan stare.

”It’s all branding,” Eddie continued, like it would help. “Keeps the warrants lost, the weirdos away, me in smudge-proof eyeliner and the morals flexible.”

Steve didn’t respond, focusing on the plant instead. Around him, vines rustled and swayed, as if they held a joke no one else was privy to.

“Cool.” Eddie muttered, “Glad we can vibe.”

Seemingly finished the plant he was tending, Steve set the shears down, murmuring a soft goodbye before he turned and faced Eddie.

Wordlessly he gestured towards a small corner, broken off from the rest of the room by a trailing latticework of honeysuckle. A mossy couch was just visible.

“You can sleep there. Don’t both the Landlord. Don’t feed anything that talks.”

“Do they talk?”

“Not to you.”

Grinning like he’d just won the lottery, Eddie threw himself on the couch in a dramatic flop. He gave a contented sigh as he settled, one boot still on, one sock now covered in dirt and other detritus.

“Oh. You are gonna love me,” he promised, kicking his feet up. “I’m told I’m excellent at providing entertainment.”

Steve just turned and walked away.

Behind him, he heard Eddie jolt and curse as a vine coiled up the leg of the couch and curled curiously around his ankle.

—

He lingered just past the doorway, until the first soft snore filtered out.

Eddie was sprawled half-hazardously across the couch, jacket half-off, the streaks of glitter catching in the dim glow of the grow lamps.

The plant was still wrapped around his ankle.

Steve let it be.

He turned and went back to his work, muttering, “Fucking Robin.” as he did.

The name Pennyroyal, stayed behind, lingering in the air; stubbornly sweet, like pollen.

P1🌹 / P2 / P3/ P3.5 / P4/ P5 / P6 /P7 / P8 / P9/ P10 / P11 / P12 (maybe?????)

#i love it omg #steddie fic

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monologichno · 29 days ago

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Eddie suddenly becoming really interested in everything Steve has to say and isn’t even calling him a dumb jock anymore. Steve, weirded out, is finally like, “Dude, what’s going on with you?”

“Don’t know if you’re aware of this, Harrington,” Eddie answers easily. “The vibe you’re putting out there is of a man that’s about to off himself.”

“So….youre being nice to me because you think I’m going to hurt myself?”

“Oh, god no,” Eddie shakes his head. “I’m doing this for selfish reasons. I can’t have everyone in this school mourning in black. I’ll look like a conformist.”

That… that actually makes Steve laugh for the first time in months.

Eddie beams at the accomplishment and tells him, “Make my life easier and eat lunch at my table. Don’t wanna have to shout at you from across the cafeteria.”

“You love shouting across the cafeteria.”

“True, but do it anyways.”

Steve, still kinda laughing, nods, “Deal.”

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monologichno · 29 days ago

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push me, sugar

written for @switcheddieweek day 5: 'non-verbal negotiation' + 'dancing' | 4.7k | M | modern college AU, musician eddie, swing dancer steve | ao3

---------------------

“GodDAMMIT!!!!” Frankie smacks the outside of his fist against the exposed brick wall leading to the green room, chest heaving.

Eddie catches him by the shoulders; scans his furious red face. “Whoa, whoa, hey. Hey! What happened?”

Frankie growls. Gareth and Jeff appear in the hallway behind him—Gareth close to pissed-off tears, Jeff translating their collective anger into English with a sigh like a buzz saw. “The scout hated us, man.”

What the fuck?

How??

“Is he fucking deaf?!” Eddie screeches. Gareth makes a strangled noise. Frankie knocks his forehead against the wall with a dull, metronomic thud. Son of a bitch. These kinds of hallways are meant for eyeing up the potential groupies at the end of a killer set, not for fucking…group lamentations for the dead, or whatever the hell’s happening here.

Beside him, Jeff leans against the brick, rubbing a knot in his neck. “He said we sounded great, but apparently we look like shit. ‘Zero fuckin’ stage presence’—his words; not mine.”

Gareth’s little sniffles promote themselves to an outright sob, and Frankie shoulders past them and slams the dressing room door behind him, the hollow-core panel doing nothing to muffle his scream.

---------------------

“Brutal,” Steve sucks his teeth in sympathy as Eddie shares the highlight reel during his shift the next morning. ‘Bruuuuutal,’ Robin mouths behind his back.

Eddie hides a smile in a sip of latte foam. “Delicious as always, my good man.”

Steve glows under the praise and steps out from behind the espresso machine to rest his elbows on the bar, the tanned, olive skin of his forearms in stark contrast with the white counters. Eddie’s not sure if he wants to pin those arms down or be pinned…

Jesus.

Best not to board either of those thought trains when it’s 9 A.M. and he’s wearing his tightest jeans in public.

He sends them both off from the station with an imagined choo chooooo!, retreating to the safety of his sulking. “Just sucks,” he sighs, resting his cheek against his hand. “Like—I mean, shit, man, I just want to play music!” He throws his other hand up and lets it land with a dull smack. “You know music? The reason people go to shows? To listen to music??”

Robin snorts at him in passing as she goes to grab a broom.

Unhelpfully, Steve says, “Sure, I guess, but. They do also go to watch it.”

Betrayal. Complete and utter betrayer-ing. Betrayance!!!

Eddie glares.

Steve laughs, “Sorry.”

“Whatever. I just don’t want to have to worry about my goddamn hips or whatever when I’m communing with my Sweetheart.”

Robin’s on his side of the bar now, sweeping around the self-serve station, and her eyes are twinkling with—well, Eddie doesn’t know what, exactly, but it feels like it’s about to be some seriously impish bullshit at his expense. “Steve,” she says meaningfully, and Steve answers, “Robin,” and there’s a whole ping pong match of microexpressions that Eddie tries and fails to interpret before he swivels toward Robin and goes, “Okay, turn the fucking subtitles on.”

Robin horse-laughs. “Steve can help you!”

Eddie turns back toward him. His cheekbones are starting to turn a real pretty shade of pink, like an oil canvas sunset, and Eddie can’t help but want to add a dot of red into the paint mix. “You some kinda hula hoop champ or somethin’?” he teases.

Steve’s blush deepens.

Success.

Beside him, Robin pipsqueaks, “Even better!!” She’s dancing some kind of goofy waltz with her broomstick, walking forwards and backwards in long strides, twirling it around and swinging her hips in an exaggerated awkward swivel.

Steve’s forehead hits the counter with a thud. “Rob-innnnnn,” he groans, straightening up and frowning flatly at her. He yanks the dish towel from his shoulder and whips it at her in disapproval.

Robin giggles.

Steve sighs so hard Eddie can smell the morning mocha on his breath. “It’s not funny!”

“Oh,” she counters with a long, snorting pfffft—lips clamped, face puffed like she’s about to shoot milk out of her nose. “I hate to tell you this, but it actually so totally is.”

“I’ll laser off my Scoops tat,” he threatens with a finger wag and a hand on his hip.

Robin gasps, “You wouldn’t dare!”

“I would.”

Eddie can’t even focus on the revelation that Steve has a tattoo somewhere(???!) because he’s too busy having a really, just—goddamn horrific moment of self-discovery over Steve’s pissed off gym coach vibes. Is he about to blow a whistle and start barking orders over here? Jesus Christ.

Behind him, Robin concedes, “Okay, I’m sorry! You know I love you, please don’t hurt my boy Butterscotch with lasers.”

“Be nice to me,” Steve squints in warning before he holsters the pointer finger.

Eddie reaches for his drink; mutters over the lip of his cup, “What the fuck is happening?”

The shop’s dead right now, so Robin swings up onto the bar chair beside Eddie and leans in all conspiratorially to inform him that Steve—yes, that Steve, Steve Harrington, the hot guy barista who’s maybe sort of Eddie’s friend in a regular customer kind of way, the dude currently blushing his ass off across the counter—is a regional champion fucking West Coast swing dancer.

---------------------

Half an hour later, leaning against the brick side of the building and sharing a post-shift cigarette with Steve, Eddie says, “I mean, it is kind of funny.”

“Oh, cool, so all my friends are assholes. Love that.”

Eddie huffs a laugh. Tries really hard to tune out the voice in his brain going friendsfriendsfriendsohmygod. “Only because I didn’t expect it. Not that it’s surprising, though. I mean, it goes with your whole…” He waves the hand holding the cigarette in Steve’s direction.

“My what?” He looks vaguely concerned.

Eddie shakes his head with a soft grin. “Just suits you, is all.”

---------------------

Steve’s fucking… so good at this. Holy shit. The way he glides across the dance floor, the way he perfectly directs his partner exactly where he wants her, makes her look weightless under his big hands, it’s uh—

It’s got Eddie’s internal narrator all glitched out, splicing Ye Olde English with braindead horndog internet shit until he actually hears himself think the words ‘prithee, good sir, what them hips do?’ and has to sit on both hands to keep from slapping himself in public.

He kind of can’t even believe what’s happening right now to be honest—he’s sitting on a thin vinyl cushion of a folding black plastic chair in what he thinks is a conference center but could be a non-denominational church? Maybe? Whatever, he wasn’t really paying attention when he drove in. He was a little preoccupied thinking about goddamn Steve Harrington, yeah, that Steve, Swing Dance Champion; didn’t even notice his favorite song playing over the van’s speakers until the riff at the six minute twenty-eight second mark.

And now somehow he’s watching the guy he’d been—Jesus, he’d basically been mentally doodling the guy’s name in hearts in the margins of his notebook with a pink feather pen and stars in his eyes—and now that guy is wrapping his huge hands around his dance partner’s slim waist and throwing her down between his open legs, feet planted firmly on either side of her as she goes down and around his thigh like a firepole. Her french-manicured hand trails over his inseam, and Eddie can see the direction Steve’s dick hangs, holy shit. Somebody set up a single tripod of DJ party booth lights at the dance floor’s edge, and it should be tacky as hell, but it’s painting Steve in all these gorgeous pinks and purples, the light shifting like a stormy sunset reflecting off a wave, Steve’s so handsome, and he’s rolling his hips like he’s—and Eddie can see his dickprint through his skin-tight jeans, and—

“Excuse me,” Eddie blurts to the three people seated to his left as he lurches from his seat and crouch-walks down the tightly packed row to the aisle as quick as he can.

Eddie splashes cold sink water on his face. Juts his chin at his scarlet-flushed reflection. He’s not gonna jizz his pants in public.

Eddie splashes cold sink water on his face.

Eddie splashes—

“Ah, shit.”

His shirt’s getting wet.

“Shit.”

His bangs are soaked now, clumping into heavy spirals that splash fat drops all down his neckline. He reaches over and yanks a wad of paper towels out of the dispenser, squishing at his bangs and hoping he doesn’t dry out looking like a poodle. (Never fucking remembers to bring more hair product, never mind the fact that he’s apparently doing this so often that ‘never’ is applicable.)

There’s a hand dryer mounted on the wall, but it’s one of the older models; doesn’t have the little metal flippy thing to point the air up at your face—which has gotta be, uh. Unhygienic, right? Shit. Goddamn convenient at a highway rest stop, though, especially when you just finished a show at some middle-of-nowhere hick venue and you’re sweating your balls off and you don’t even care that you’re blowing hot air directly into your face because you’re too in shock from, like, getting away from that gig without getting hate-crimed and getting paid for it. So yeah. One of those would be awesome.

He doesn’t have one of those. What he does have is weird blotches of hair gel water drying all over his shirt, so he crouches down into a half-squat that feels like he’s making fun of a flamingo and holds his shirt under the downward-pointing hot air stream.

And of course that’s how Steve finds him.

Of course this convention-center-slash-maybe-church doesn’t have a separate bathroom backstage for the performers.

And of course Steve looks…

Goddamn.

He’s all sweaty, but in a glistening magazine cover sort of way—sort of aspirational, you know? Like, you could have this too if you were athletic and hot and tan. His hair is ever so slightly damp at the roots and temples, but not enough to make it limp, if anything it’s just enhancing the sheen, and—

And Eddie’s just staring up at his breathless, sweaty, sort-of-friend-in-a-regular-customer-way like he’s—

“Did you spill something?”

Steve’s got a confused but kind almost-smile on his face as he gestures across his own shirt collar, a scoop from right to left like he’s fingerpainting on a necklace. At least Eddie can blame the hot air from the dryer for how flaming red his cheeks feel.

“Yeah, uh,” he stutters as he straightens up; underhands the wad of damp paper towels into the narrow hoop of the trash can. Half the napkins botch the landing and go sliding over the beveled hump down to the floor. “Shit.”

Steve laughs a little, but he bends down and grabs the small stack before Eddie can get there, rising gracefully and tipping them into the trash can without even looking. “You good?”

“Huh? Uh- yeah.” Jesus. “Yeah, man, I’m, uh. I’m,” he gives up and just starts nodding like a dashboard bobblehead, hoping Steve will get the message.

Steve grins wide, excitement taking over. He’s biting his lower lip, buzzing around the edges. “Sooooo? What’d you think?”

“You’re amazing.” It’s automatic, basically under his breath; maybe Steve didn’t even hear it. “I mean, uh-”

Well, hell.

There’s just nothing else to call it, is there?

“Yeah,” he laughs, owning it. “No, yeah, you were amazing. Holy shit, dude!”

Steve’s face does something incredible. Like, movie-magic compelling. Eddie doesn’t even know how to describe the shift; it’s just soft, and pleased, and endearing, and for a second he gets why so many poets describe their lovers like the sun.

“Really?” Steve asks. His voice… “Thank you. I’m really glad you liked it.”

Eddie splashes cold sink water on his face.

---------------------

Five days after Eddie made a goddamn fool of himself at Steve’s dance night, they agreed to meet up for Eddie’s first official swing dance lesson, because Steve’s chem lab lets out early on Fridays and Eddie’s math class is over on that side of campus and Steve’s dorm building has a ground floor gym that “basically no one ever goes into, dude, don’t even worry about.”

“Are you sure about that?” “Yeah. Seriously, if anyone says anything, just say we’re doing shit for musical theater class or whatever.” “Musical th— are you in a musical theater class?” “No. I mean, I was in freshman year for my fine art credit, but—” “WHAT?” “What?” “Is there footage of this anywhere?” “Yeah, but everyone who watches it dies in seven days. It’s like The Grudge.” “I thought that was The Ring?” “....Okay, I was, like, pretty sure I knew the right answer before you just said that.” “Sorry.” “No, you’re good. Want to watch one of those after our lesson?”

That phone conversation’s been playing on repeat like a Sabbath record in his head for the last three days. He has no idea what he even learned today in math class. (Not that he necessarily has any idea on any other day. Fuck. He should probably take that Barb girl up on her weekly study group.) And now Steve’s building is coming into view across the quad, and anticipation moves like ants under Eddie’s skin, and he really just wants to run away screaming or at least hide around a corner and hit his vape until he calms down, but he refuses to be all loopy and uncoordinated in front the smoothest fucking dancer he’s ever seen, so—

So—

He squares up to the building like a gunslinger preparing to duel. Ever the wordsmith, his mind supplies: UGH!!!!!

---------------------

The lessons are going horribly.

The first time Eddie stepped on Steve’s feet, he was cool about it (relatively, anyway), because Steve had just served him a gracious ‘that’s okay’ on the silver platter of his soft grin and encouraged him to keep going, and it was fine; it was only the first night; Eddie would get there with more practice.

But now he’s had practice. Now he’s been doing stupid little six-count steps in his living room for weeks, and tonight marks the sixth time that Steve has agreed to meet up with him for private lessons—and sure, Steve’s been kind of throwing him for a loop tonight by having him switch between dancing lead and following, but he thought he was starting to get it! At least a little bit! So when he somehow screws it up again and steps down right on Steve’s toes, he can’t stop the frustrated string of curse words that falls out of his mouth.

“Sorry,” he huffs, stepping back from Steve, rubbing his fists against his stinging eyes. Oh, god. Please don’t start anger-crying right now.

“Hey, it’s—”

“Don’t tell me it’s okay,” he snaps; instantly feels bad about his tone and the way Steve winces and flinches back the slightest bit. “Sorry,” he says again. “Sorry, just… Jesus. I fucking suck at this. Is your foot okay?”

“Mmhm.” He lifts his stomped foot off the ground, makes a show of flexing his toes inside his soft-top sneakers, rolling his ankle in a circle. As he steps back in to continue the lesson, his hands find Eddie’s waist, his elbows, gliding down his forearms to his wrists, holding both hands between their bodies.

Horrifically, Eddie sniffles. “Christ,” he laughs under his breath, keeping his head bowed, hiding behind his hair. Steve smells like cedar and citrus, and he’s probably making an unbearably kind expression right now, something tender and guiding and ‘you’re safe with me,’ and Eddie can’t bring himself to look.

“Hey.” Steve’s fingers find the underside of his jaw and press up until Eddie’s head lifts—gentle but insistent, just like all his moves when he’s in the lead. Jesus. Eddie was right about the face he pictured Steve making. “It really is fine, I promise. You think I’ve never thrown a temper tantrum in a dance class before?”

“Can’t really picture that.”

“Yeah, well. That’s because you never saw me in the god-awful costume I had to wear for my 7th grade tap dance recital.”

“Oh, my god.”

“There were coattails involved.”

Eddie snorts, and it’s a gross sound because his nose is still half-full of the tears he didn’t let fall, but whatever. He lifts his hands to Steve’s shoulders with a sigh.

“You want to go again?” Steve asks. “We can start that section from the top.”

“Honestly?” His thumb taps nervously at the shoulder seam of Steve’s t-shirt. “Look, I really appreciate what you’re doing for me here, man, I don’t want— shit, I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a dickhead, I just— I guess I’m, uh, feeling a little defeated here, Steve. And I’m also not sure what all of this has to do with the type of stuff I play on stage, anyway, you know? Like how does knowing how to do a sugar hop help me?”

“Sugar push.”

“Right, yeah, sugar push. But still, how is this—” He steps out wide from Steve, doing a sarcastic one-armed jazz hand before he reels himself back in. “ —applicable to doom metal? Do you even know what our stuff sounds like?”

Steve doesn’t answer, but his cheeks tint pink.

Eddie looks away; scrubs at the back of his neck. Goddamn, Steve’s one patient saint of a man. He can see their reflection in the full-length mirror spanning the wall to his left, and Eddie looks like a total asshole, his mouth twisted in a weird defensive grimace-smirk, his posture all slumped like a sulking teen goth who just heard they’re going on a family beach trip for spring break. And Steve’s just smiling away! Just as unbothered as can be, a radiant little cherub with his olive skin and blushing cheeks and chestnut waves, a Roman demigod of the harvest or some shit, the sunshiney little—

“Okay,” Steve laughs, snapping his fingers in Eddie’s face. “I have a new plan.”

---------------------

Steve slots in close to Eddie as the song starts—one thigh between his, belt loops almost catching. He plucks Eddie’s right hand up and starts to rock them gently, just getting a feel for it. “Oh, yeah,” Steve says when the first real riff kicks in, like he’s talking to himself, except his breath is hot in Eddie’s hair. “Yeah, this is a good tempo. Jesus.”

Eddie swallows. The hand at his hip pushes with more pressure until he takes a step back, and then another, and usually this is the part where they’d swing away from each other, but Steve stays pressed close, chasing Eddie’s thighs with his own, and he’s practically grinding against him to the music he wrote; that’s Eddie’s voice and Eddie’s guitar making Steve roll his hips like that, all slow and controlled, his breath speeding up a little.

“Switch me,” Steve says.

Eddie’s ears ring. “Huh?”

“Yeah.” It’s raspy. Out of breath. He does something with his hips that sends a tremor from Eddie’s shoulder to the pulsing vein in his groin. “Yeah, switch me.” He guides Eddie’s hand down to his hip. “Take the lead.”

“Steve, c’mon.”

“You come on,” he teases, drawing back to meet his eye. “It’s your song, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He’s already nodding along to the drone of the bass; metronomic compulsion; goddamn, they crushed it on this part.

Steve must be feeling it, too—eyes closed, head bowed, a little smile at the edge of his lips. Their bodies roll in tandem still. “Okay, so perform it then,” Steve dares him, looking from under his lashes. “Pretend I’m the mic stand.”

Fuck.

Over the speaker, Eddie’s voice growls about wanting everything, and Eddie does; wants it so badly, whatever Steve’s offering. His hand drags from Steve’s hip bone to the trim dip of his waist, taking the thin t-shirt with him, exposing a slice of tan skin. Eddie doesn’t think he can get away with pantomiming licking the mic stand, but maybe…

“You chose every word,” Eddie sings along quietly, pushing his weight into Steve, leading him back across the floor, “that I’ve said…”

Steve shivers against him, and Eddie wants more of that; wants to make Steve take what he gives him, watch him go starry-eyed and moldable like clay—Christ, the art Eddie could sculpt at the altar of Steve’s body; the music he could make from all his soft, pretty sounds. Harsh, fluttering breath, the hitch of a syllable caught in his throat, the tacky click of a dry swallow when Eddie’s hand skims his rib cage to tease the outer swell of his chest. Eddie could brush a thumb over his nipple. Make it so casual it could be called an accident.

“Yeah, that’s good,” Steve pants, still coaching. “Flirt with me a little.” He works his hips against Eddie’s in a slow, filthy circle, one foot lifting to climb the curve of Eddie’s calf as he twists his fingers in Eddie’s belt loops, then arches his back and dips himself toward the floor with a gorgeous tumble of brown hair, damp at the hairline, the veins in his neck all exposed, swollen blue and bulging with the rush of his thudding heartbeat; his cheeks flushed cherry red.

Eddie bows over him. Holds him like he’s tipping the mic stand toward a crowd, one hand cupping Steve’s neck while the other wraps around his back to steady him, palm splayed wide over warm muscle. He drags his lips from the base of Steve’s collarbones to the bony jut of his throat, and the answering moan rattles his teeth. Jesus. He’s half-hard against Steve’s thigh, uncomfortably bent in his tight jeans, and his mouth is just— just open against Steve’s slightly sweaty skin, tongue tasting the salt there when he mumbles along with his own lyrics. “I’ll fuck up again.”

“Fuck.”

Eddie doesn’t know who moves first—couldn’t tell you much other than Steve’s moan was probably a G flat and was definitely going to haunt his wet dreams for the rest of his goddamn life. One moment his tongue’s catching on the stubble beneath Steve’s jaw; the next it’s tangled with Steve’s, squirming past wet, wide open lips to get behind his teeth, their faces tilted for a deeper angle, Steve’s sharp breaths hot against his cheek and upper lip. Steve tastes so fucking good, sweat and spit and citrus, and Eddie wants to swallow him whole.

When they break away, they’re both shaking, anticipatory tremor of a good, hard fuck that Eddie can feel all the way down to the arches of his feet. His ears are buzzing. He straightens up and brings Steve with him, and Steve laughs softly in the humid space between them, his forehead pressed to Eddie’s, their mouths still wet with spit.

“Damn,” Eddie smiles.

Steve’s lashes flutter. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm.” He tucks a strand of hair back into place behind Steve’s ear. “My regular mic stand’s really gonna have to up her game.”

Steve’s pleased, preening chuckles carry them all the way back to Steve’s dorm.

---------------------

So they fucked.

Sort of.

Mutual mouth stuff that kind of drove him crazy, made him hump his pillow like a wild animal just thinking about it later—the way Steve so easily flip-flopped between control and submission, seemed to like both just as much as Eddie does, kept throwing him the lead and then taking it back like it was just another dance lesson, smiley and flushed and so, so handsome…

But so what, right?

It doesn’t mean Steve owes him anything.

And yeah, he was really… Actually, he was almost disturbingly sweet about the direct aftermath. Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever blown a guy in broad daylight without immediately being shame-shoved out the door as soon as they got the money shot, but Steve had asked him to stick around. Steve had made eye contact, had lazily cleaned them both up and taken his time getting redressed, his chest hair all puffed up, the dark brown curls turning gold in the shafts of sunlight through the blinds when he asked Eddie to text him details for his next show and promised he’d be there.

Whatever.

Everyone says shit they don’t really mean in the afterglow.

He fidgets with the loose threads at the hem of his shirt, shoulders bunched up to his ears, sweat beading in his peach-fuzz mustache. God, his hands are freezing. And also clammy. This was a mistake, right? He should just— fuck that scout, anyway! Eddie doesn’t have to do some literal song and dance to get peoples’ attention, he’s a goddamn musician, he could just—

“Hey!”

Steve comes jogging around the corner to the end of the grimy hallway, years of overlapped flyers pinned to the walls fluttering in his wake. The can lights overhead make him look like a runway model, and it’s kind of fucking unreal that Eddie got to put this guy’s dick in his mouth.

“Sorry I’m late, parking was a whole—whatever.” There’s definitely a weird story behind that pause that Eddie’s got to ask about later. “You ready? Feeling good?”

“Feeling like I might upchuck Cheetos on the stage carpet.”

“Yeah, don’t do that,” Steve jokes back, easy. His hands land on Eddie’s shoulders and gently push them down, fingers curling around the knots in the tense muscle, and Eddie deflates with a long groan; leans his weight into Steve; rests his chin on his shoulder.

“Forget the show,” he mumbles, nuzzling the crook of Steve’s neck. “Let’s just stay here and do this for an hour.”

Steve’s laugh sounds even prettier when it’s right in Eddie’s ear. “Nah, I paid a cover fee to be here. I want to get my money’s worth.”

Flat palms slide from Eddie’s shoulders down his chest then swing out to cup his waist, his hips. Steve tugs him in more firmly, lets Eddie feel the heat of him through his jeans. He’s wearing a great pair tonight—light wash, faded, tight at the hips and thighs; Eddie bets his ass looks incredible. “Ready to show me what you learned?”

His voice sounds like sin. Eddie doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s making fuck me eyes. He plants a wet kiss below Steve’s ear; slides both hands into Steve’s back pockets. “Sure am, big boy.”

The shuddering, drawn out fuuuck Steve whispers makes his head spin. God, he wants to fuck him. Or be fucked? No, definitely the first option—he wants to spin Steve around and shove him against the wall of flyers, make his breath hitch and his hair catch on the plastic ends of stray thumb tacks, make him moan so loud even the rustle of papers behind his back won’t cover the sound. He wants to suck hickeys over all his pretty moles and ruck his shirt up so anyone who walks past to get to the bathrooms will see him shaking under Eddie’s hands, the heaving quake of muscle under soft, thick body hair, flattening with sweat as he rocks helplessly on Eddie’s thigh. Fuck. Fuck. Eddie squeezes Steve’s ass through his back pocket, his other hand moving up to press into the small of Steve’s back, trapping him in place, grinding his hips just like Steve taught him.

“You’re perfect,” Steve praises.

“I had a great tutor.”

“Hey, asshole!!” They both jump at the noise; whip their heads toward it like spooked prey animals. Gareth’s stomping down the hallway looking like a pissed off kitten in his green flannel and leather cuffs. “Quit screwing around! Everyone’s waiting on you for sound check.”

Eddie steps back with a laugh, color flooding his face, but Steve looks so smitten that Eddie can’t bring himself to care; would happily make a fool of himself every day to see that expression.

The crowd’s loud now—rising sounds of a room filling up, the air getting humid with the buzz of shared anticipation. Eddie’s got this. Never mind the scouts, or the labels, or the world; he’s gonna put on the most metal concert in the history of Steve’s life.

He sneaks in one more kiss and dances them backwards down the hall, Steve’s laugh as he twirls like sugar crystals in a snow globe, falling around them forever, a magic spell for perfect luck.

---------------------

ty for reading <3

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monologichno · 29 days ago

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monologichno · 29 days ago

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Tales of Eddierotica Chapter 1: Argh Me Matey

Eddie writes the world's worst erotica about characters who are just poorly disguised versions of himself and Steve. One day, Steve finds out exactly what's been going on inside the mind of his roommate all these years.

Rated E | 4.3k words | Ao3 link [Chapter 1] | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 Overall tags: crack treated seriously/porn with a plot, modern/no-UD AU, friends to lovers, bisexual Eddie AND Steve, steddie as roommates, switch Eddie/Steve, vers Steve/Eddie, Eddie has a crush on Steve (and is horny about it), writer Eddie, the prose is so purple it has passed out from a lack of oxygen, friend fiction/erotica, so many bad puns and word play Chapter-specific tags: pirate AU, pirate Eddie, sailor Steve, pegging, rope bondage, non-con bondage, sexual frustration, orgasm denial, edging, and penis sword fighting (mind the tags but the erotica is at all times silly)

Written for the @switcheddieweek event, fulfilling the "art" prompt!

Find the full chapter on Ao3 to read it in all of its comic sans glory, but enjoy a snippet below the cut (as well as tags). Pink is Eddie's writing below.

“Theodore!” Stevenson growled manfully, as a man might. “You’ve gone too far this tiiiiiiimmmoohhhhh, too far this time! I demand you release me at once. Let us settle our differences as men of honor might.” The raven-haired roguish rascal grinned. “Why Commander, are you asking little old me for a duel? Your weapon is certainly impressive, but I promise, my own morning wood is far more dexterous in the afternoon!” Stevenson craned his neck. From where he was bound, he could just make out the captain’s trouser sword, the red tip shining merrily in the half past two o’clock sun. True to the captain’s word, it bobbed and waved in the breeze with quite agile ease. Still, what choice did Stevenson have? This unceasing torment would surely be his undoing. Even if he managed to reach his peak, la petite mort would be far too great for his tired body and overcum soul. “Yes, I do challenge you to a duel, you dastardly fieeeeend!” Anything to ease the ache in his pale twinned coconuts. The more Steve read, the less convinced he was that this was revenge. It was way too silly. Definitely weird and fucked up. But ‘pale twinned coconuts’ was something guys would say in like, a comedy porno. And now that he thought about it, Eddie had left the notebook where Steve could find it by accident. Maybe this was why the two of them got along so well, his roommate would turn his annoyance at whatever Steve had done into stupid porn to laugh at. Which was in fact very Midwestern of him after all. Mercifully the pirate captain holding him captive decided he’d had his fill of watching the commander writhe and groan. His loyal crew mates pulled Stevenson back onto the deck, giving him a much needed reprieve from the peg he’d been impaled upon. Though blood flowed back into Stevenson’s limbs, his body still spared some to hold his mighty spear aloft. For Stevenson’s johnson was truly a weapon to behold and envy. Even under clothes, its size and girth served as a source of distraction for those who shared the room with it. Steve glanced down at his pants and the super obvious outline of his dick. Okay so maybe these sweats were a little too tight to wear in public, but in his defense, Eddie had walked into a wall or tripped over his own feet every day since the two of them had met. How was he supposed to know some of those accidents were dick-related? Once the commander recovered his strength, he stood to his full height. Standing but one inch over his opponent only due to his stupidly attractive voluminous hairTowering over his opponent, he grasped his Not So Lil’ Stevie[son] and prepared to fight.

Read the rest on Ao3!

Tagging folks who have been scarred by wip weekend snippets:

@hbyrde36 @pearynice @eriquin @queenie-ofthe-void @yesdangerpls

@fkinkindagauche @helpimstuckposting @augustjustice @apomaro-mellow

@onirislanding @sidekick-hero @shares-a-vest @dreamwatch @stellarspecter

@zombiethingy @wynnyfryd @griefabyss69 @stevesjockstrap @runninriot

@sourw0lfs @dame-zoom-a-latte @pentapoctopus @soaringornithopter

#i love it #steddie fic

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monologichno · 30 days ago

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You’re not depressed. You just need $250,000 in your bank account.

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monologichno · 30 days ago

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Eddie confesses his love for Steve who very awkwardly explains he’s straight and not into him like that. Eddie is surprisingly okay with this, like he didn’t expect anything else, claiming he just wanted to tell him so he knew how loved he was. That sentiment does things to Steve but he doesn’t really know what, just knows it makes him warm and almost wish he wasn’t straight just so he could accept all the love Eddie clearly has to give. At first Steve thinks they’ll go back to normal and they kind of do, now with the shadow of Eddie’s love peeking through but not a hinderance, until Eddie tells them he’s going on a date with a cute guy and Steve? Steve sees green. Had no idea he was even capable of being this jealous but suddenly he realizes that lingering bad feeling has been regret. He regrets turning Eddie down, he regrets not taking what was his when he had the chance, he regrets not realizing he isn’t straight fast enough. Steve does his absolute best not to speed on his way over to Eddie’s and is so relieved to see him through his window still home. He practically stumbles into the house in his haste.

“Don’t go on that date,” Steve says before the door even closes behind him.

“Why?” Eddie asks in complete confusion.

“I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?”

“I didn’t know I loved you.”

“Oh.”

“Do you…did you stop loving me?”

“Never.”

“Then don’t go on that date.”

“Canceled. You’re serious?”

“Come here please,” Steve says and draws him into his arms.

When Eddie kisses him he truly doesn’t understand how he could have ended up anywhere but here, like this, with someone he loves. Someone who loves him back.

#i love it #steddie fic

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monologichno · 30 days ago

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three things

for @switcheddieweek prompt 'spit' (a little) and 'non-verbal negotiation' (mostly this one tbh)

rated e | 5395 words | also on ao3 | cw: under-negotiated kink | tags: switch eddie, switch steve, friends with benefits, bisexual steve, bondage, banter, frottage, spit kink, anal fingering, anal sex, dirty talk, choking, not actually unrequited feelings, open ending but we can play clue together

⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕

Steve’s jittery and it’s making Eddie fucking jumpy. From the second he walked in the door, Steve’s been bustling around, moving things he doesn’t need to, taking sips of Eddie’s drink, knocking into things. Eddie’s ready to tie him to a chair and—

Well, that’s an idea.

Just as he considers acting on it, Steve groans.

“Do you think I’m too high strung?” He asks as he paces the floor anxiously.

“In this moment or in general?” Eddie has to tread carefully here. Whatever’s got Steve on edge like this needs to be taken seriously. One wrong word and Steve will shut down and it’ll be a long fucking night of trying to pull him back in.

“Like, always? Or most of the time.” Steve stops pacing, sets his gaze on Eddie where he’s sitting comfortably at the kitchen table. “Do you think I think too much about little things?”

Eddie’s brow furrows. Where the hell is this even coming from? Steve’s not usually high strung. He gets anxious sometimes, like when he knows they have to do their annual check in with the government doctors, but that’s not unreasonable. If he knows one of the kids is flying, he gets a bit nervous, but Eddie just keeps him distracted as best he can and it passes.

“Suzie mentioned that sometimes I get stuck on small problems and they ruin my day,” he continues. “Do you think that’s true?”

Suzie is going to school to be a therapist and likes to psychoanalyze her friends. It’s equal parts fascinating and annoying, especially when she talks to Steve. He takes everything she says seriously, even though she isn’t licensed yet and probably shouldn’t be giving her professional opinion to him anyway.

“I think that you do what every normal human does sometimes and catastrophize a little when you worry. It’s probably the trauma,” Eddie shrugs and stands, moving close to him, but leaving him space to get away if he needs to. He’s acting a bit like a cornered animal right now. The last thing Eddie needs to do is actually corner him. “If you think it’s harming you, maybe you could talk to a licensed therapist.”

“Suzie’s as good as licensed.” Steve folds his arms across his chest. “And she said I rely too much on you.”

“Did she?” Eddie scoffs. Steve doesn’t. Steve doesn’t rely on fucking anyone. He’d be better off if he did rely on someone more. “What made her come to that conclusion?”

“Apparently I talk about you too much. She thinks you’re my only friend.” Steve sighs. “Now that I say it out loud it does sound wrong. I have friends.”

“No shit.” Eddie grins, leans in until he can smell the cologne Steve always wears to work. “I’m just your best friend.”

“Other than Robin.”

“Other than Robin,” Eddie agrees. He straightens his back and nods his head back towards the chair he was sitting in before. “You wanna sit while I heat up leftovers?”

“Oh, not sure I can stay.” Steve suddenly won’t meet his eyes. “I uh, I have a date.”

Eddie ignores the way his heart clenches in his chest, painfully tightening. Steve’s still antsy, he can tell. He’s gonna go to his apartment and pace and worry until he has to pretend to be fine for his date. And the date won’t realize he’s faking it, that he’s pretending to be fine when he’s not. Eddie can’t let that happen.

“You should cancel.”

Steve gives him a look, one that says he knows what Eddie’s doing and he isn’t gonna fall for it. He has before, though. He probably will this time.

“She’s nice. I’m not gonna cancel just for us to fuck around. What about that guy you saw last month?” Steve snaps his fingers while he tries to remember the quite frankly unremarkable guy Eddie sucked off at a club. “Jeremy? Joey? James?”

“Isaac.”

“I was close!” Steve claps.

“Alphabetically, sure,” Eddie groans. “He was boring. Didn’t even fuck my face when I told him to. He’d probably run screaming if I showed him my plug.”

“I almost ran screaming when you showed me that thing,” Steve laughs. “I’m gonna head out. You find someone more interesting than Isaac.”

Eddie could beg. He’s done it before.

He could go along with it and wait for Steve to inevitably show back up at his place later when he didn’t get what he wanted from whoever this woman is. He’s done that before, too.

He could turn on the waterworks and guilt him into staying. That’s not something he’s tried before. Bound to work, though.

Before he can muster up the fake tears, Steve is walking around him and staring at the chair.

He looks back at Eddie and squints, then back at the chair.

Eddie waits because that’s all he can do. Steve’s either gonna leave and go on his date or he’s gonna stay and they’ll fall into their comforting pattern of being the only people who understand what the other needs.

Steve walks to the phone on the wall, grabs a piece of paper from his wallet, and angrily dials.

“Julie! Hey!” Eddie rolls his eyes, mouths Julie and makes kissy lips while Steve’s back is to him. “Sorry this is so last minute, but they need me to close tonight. Maybe next week?”

Eddie watches as Steve’s shoulders slowly relax. Julie’s probably letting him off the hook, thinking he’s such a hard worker for staying when asked. Maybe she thinks he’ll be up for a promotion, making the big bucks soon.

Eddie knows that Steve’s gonna fuck him up tonight.

He doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation, only focusing back in when the phone drops back on the hook and Steve laughs.

“You should get the ropes.”

It’s not a suggestion as much as a demand, and Eddie doesn’t hesitate to do it. Steve doesn’t like getting tied up, not even if Eddie’s the one doing it, but he loves tying intricate knots around Eddie’s wrists and ankles, sometimes his chest and neck if they have time. It helps ground him, keeps his mind from wandering into anxious territory.

It’s perfect for tonight.

Eddie keeps his ropes in his closet, hung up so they don’t get tangled together. He grabs all of them, in too much of a rush to make a decision about which ones to use.

Steve’s pulled the chair to the center of the room and he’s wringing his hands together like he needs something in them. Robin mentioned getting him a keychain that doubled as a silent clicker so it would keep his hands busy when he needed it, but Steve turned it down. Maybe Eddie can convince him later.

After.

Eddie sits, holds the ropes in his lap, and waits.

Steve circles him like a predator circles their prey before they attack. He’s hot and his heart is racing, and he hopes that he can be forgiven for being selfish enough to get Steve to stay.

He kneels in front of Eddie, grabs his face in his hands, and grins.

“You wanted this.”

It’s true. But he never said it explicitly. Steve just knows. It’s why they work so well.

“I wanted you.”

It’s a bit too honest for them, but Steve doesn’t stop to take Eddie’s words in. He’s up and grabbing the rope from his hands, shoving his shoulder back until he’s almost worried it’ll bruise. Eddie’s pale and Steve’s rough and as much as he likes the reminders of what they do, he’s going to visit Wayne this weekend and doesn’t wanna risk him seeing it.

“Hey. Easy,” Eddie says with just enough bite to make Steve pause. “No bruises.”

Steve nods, apologizes, but continues his work. Eddie lets him.

He closes his eyes and breathes.

There’s something peaceful about letting Steve tie him up, making him helpless in the middle of his own apartment. He knows he’s safe, they’re both safe. He doesn’t have to feel the emptiness inside that he feels when Steve’s not with him.

He feels full, even without the plug.

“Eddie. Look at me.”

Eddie does. His eyes feel heavy for a moment and then he sees how dark Steve’s eyes are, how blown his pupils have gotten. How long has Steve been working on him? Seconds? Minutes? Hours?

“Too tight?” Steve asks, for what must not be the first time. Eddie shakes his head. “Okay. I’m gonna grab the plug.”

Eddie’s not sure why, but he knows it’ll come to him eventually. He nods and waits. Steve’s only gone for a moment, familiar enough with where Eddie keeps everything to be quick.

He sets the lube and plug on the table, then turns to Eddie.

Eddie’s a bit in love with him, he has to admit. It’s pretty terrible to be in love with your best friend, especially when it’s a guy who has made it pretty clear he’s never gonna be ready for a relationship with any man, let alone Eddie.

But he drops everything to do this with him, and he comes here right after work even when he’s exhausted, even if it’s just for a few minutes, even though it’s two miles out of his way. He sleeps in Eddie’s bed when they get too high for him to get back to his place, curled up into his side or around his back. He uses Eddie’s soap in the shower and wears Eddie’s shirt when he forgets to bring the clothes he keeps here home to wash them. He leaves notes around the apartment for him to take his meds and to call Dustin and take out the trash. He does everything with love and it’s hard for Eddie to separate it sometimes.

Steve straddles his lap and waits.

It’s Eddie’s turn now. Focus.

“Gonna be good and listen to me?” Eddie asks him, voice rough.

Steve shivers in his lap. “Yeah. Tell me.”

Eddie uses all his strength to sit up a bit straighter, appear bigger. Steve loves when he’s tied up and bossing him around. He loves being told what to do while Eddie’s like this.

“You gonna stay dressed?” Eddie asks, not caring much either way. Might be hard to get the plug in, but they don’t have to do anything with it if Steve changed his mind.

“For now.”

“Then touch yourself.”

Eddie watches as Steve runs his hands down his chest, skims the edge of his shirt, slides them underneath. He wants him to strip it off, wants to see the way his nipples harden under his own touch, the way his chest hair darkens as sweat beads on his skin the more worked up he gets. He doesn’t make any noise when he pinches his own nipple, just lets out the breath he must’ve been holding for a while.

“Now the other one.”

Steve listens, stays quiet and obedient, just the way Eddie likes him.

“Feel good?” Eddie asks, but he already knows it does. Steve’s nipples are sensitive. He loves having Eddie’s teeth on them, tugging and sucking them into his mouth.

“Yeah, but I want more.”

“Greedy, but fine.” Eddie glances behind him, sees the bottle of lube. “You planning on using that or no?”

Steve follows his gaze, hands never leaving his chest. “The lube or the plug?”

“Either. Both.”

Steve shivers. “Maybe. Rather you do it later.”

Eddie’s not opposed. He likes watching Steve, but if he gets to have his hands on him later, have his plug in him, then he can wait.

“You gonna get yourself off like this then?” Eddie thinks he might be able to if they play their cards right. He’s never come just from playing with his nipples, but it doesn’t seem impossible. He’s riled up right now. On edge in every way. It might be time to try it out.

“Don’t think I can,” Steve admits, pouting his bottom lip out. It should look ridiculous, but it makes heat coil in Eddie’s stomach. He wants to bite it, suck it into his mouth and taste the spit pooling on his tongue. He wants to make him bleed so he can taste that too, find out if it’s as sweet as the rest of him. “Not without a hand on me.”

“I think you can.” Eddie laughs when Steve groans at him. “C’mon. I’ve seen you do harder things. Find a way.”

“Don’t have to be mean. I canceled a date for you,” Steve bites out, pinching his nipples again and scooting forward in Eddie’s lap. His dick is hard in his jeans, but he’s not gonna find what he needs with the way Eddie’s chest and stomach are pulled back with the ropes. Not unless he gets real close. “I’m not doing it all by myself.”

“You tied me up,” Eddie snorts. “I assumed that meant you were gonna do it yourself.”

Eddie’s own dick is straining in his jeans. It’s getting a bit uncomfortable, but he knows Steve will be pissed if he asks him to unbutton his pants. He’s supposed to sit here and take it, and Steve will sit there and do what he says. That’s how this works.

“Sit still then.” Eddie hasn’t moved, but he wants to now that Steve’s made the demand. He scoots even further up, so his dick is rubbing against Eddie’s stomach. It’d feel better if he took his pants off, but he’s stubborn. “I’m gonna get off like this.”

He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince Eddie.

“I’ll wait.” Eddie smirks when Steve narrows his eyes at him. “Go ahead. I’ve got all night.”

His legs are a little numb from being tied and having Steve’s weight on them like this. The dining room chair isn’t exactly comfortable to begin with. He’s a little shocked it’s holding both their weight like this.

Steve ruts forward once, twice, groans before he drops his head to Eddie’s shoulder. He isn’t gonna get as much friction as he wants like this, but he can get the job done.

“That’s it. You just need something to rub your dick on, huh? Anything would work,” Eddie teases, voice low. “So desperate.”

He tries to sound annoyed or uninterested, but he knows he sounds a bit awed. Steve’s hips move faster as he talks, the room gets hotter, and the air gets thicker. Eddie gets impossibly harder in his jeans. If it’s possible to break a zipper, he may do it any minute.

Steve whimpers as he bites down on Eddie’s shoulder. He’s a bit sweaty from the day, and he knows his shirt can’t smell or taste good. Steve doesn’t seem bothered.

“Can’t believe you tied me up just to hump me like a dog,” Eddie grins around the words. “You know there’s better ways to do this.”

Steve pauses in his movements, but doesn’t sit up or move his face away from Eddie’s neck. It’s all Eddie needs to know that he can keep going like this.

“So stubborn. I should make you use the wall next time.” Steve whimpers and ruts forward. “You’d love it. I could sit here and watch. Probably hurt after a while, huh?”

Steve nods, but doesn’t say anything. Eddie smiles to himself.

“You like when it hurts though. That’s why you can’t stop what you’re doing now.”

“Mhm. Like it when you hurt me, though.”

Eddie bites his lip. God, he does love hurting Steve. He’s so good at being hurt. Takes it so good and then gives it right back to Eddie as if he isn’t covered in bruises and scars left by Eddie’s teeth and fingers.

“I like it too,” Eddie allows himself to say. It’s important to keep the boundaries there, but sometimes he can be vulnerable. If Steve starts it, he can follow. “You gonna let me touch you?”

“Maybe in a minute.”

“You’re only hurting yourself, baby.” Eddie rolls his shoulders, breath hitching at the way it tugs the ropes tighter around his wrists for a moment. Baby is allowed. Steve said it first months ago, one of the first times they did this, and it stuck. It’s fine, especially when it’s slightly mocking like this. “I could make it feel so good. You know I take care of you.”

Steve tenses, almost like he’s going to come, then groans and pulls his head back, looking at Eddie with wide eyes.

Eddie looks back at him, calculating, trying to get a read on what’s going on in his head.

He’s still unsure what truly caused his panic earlier, other than Suzie’s words. Something had to, though. He’s still sifting through it, not quite over the tension.

And then it hits him.

His date.

Steve hasn’t had a real date in months. He’s definitely done questionable things in bar bathrooms, but he hasn’t taken a girl out since…

Since they started this.

Eddie rushes to think back to what Suzie told him, thinks about things Steve probably left out of his explanation. How quick he was to cancel the date once he knew what was on offer.

Steve struggles with being the one to call the shots. Not just in bed, but always. He always asks others to choose what they do, and usually tries to leave another adult in charge as often as he can.

Other than life or death situations, Steve Harrington likes to follow someone else’s lead.

This thing they have, whatever it may be, it works. Eddie calls the shots a lot, but there’s still times when Steve’s in charge. Like now, when Eddie’s tied up, completely at his mercy. He may be encouraging Steve to do things, but he’s not the one making the decisions, not really.

It’s Steve’s safe place to call the shots. Eddie’s his safe space. Not this girl he was going to take to dinner or a movie or back to his place.

“Hey.” Eddie wants his hands free, but it’s selfish. His mind is reeling as he thinks of a way to do this without making Steve lose the control he has. “You’re gonna do something for me.”

It’s another demand, but he knows Steve will listen.

“What?” Steve asks, flushed and struggling not to find any more friction.

“Tell me three things you want me to do.”

Steve’s shaking and Eddie doesn’t know if it’s from being so close to the edge or from nerves or from being overwhelmed with all of it at once. He’s never looked so unsure when they’re doing this, not even the first time when they hadn’t figured out how to communicate yet.

“Like…now?”

“I want you to answer now, but it can be stuff you want me to do later.”

Everything shifts again; A whine marks the moment that Steve gives in.

“Can you-”

“No.” Eddie leans in, gets close enough that he can feel Steve’s breath against his own lips. “Don’t ask me. Tell me.”

Steve lets out a shaky breath, closes his eyes, and relaxes his shoulders. Eddie watches, waits patiently. His legs are starting to get tingly, almost painfully so. The feeling comes and goes as Steve shifts in his lap, moving weight from one leg to the other and then settling on both.

“Open me up.” Steve says so quietly Eddie almost asks him to repeat it. “I want four fingers.”

“Four? You sure?” Eddie’s never given him four. Steve’s never given himself four as far as he knows.

“Yeah. I can take it.”

“Okay. That’s one,” Eddie wants to kiss him, but he won’t. He can’t. Even if he weren’t tied up, he wouldn’t. “Another one.”

“I want you to fuck me.” Steve pauses like he’s going to say more. Eddie waits again, less patiently now that he knows what the next hour might entail. “In your bed.”

The silence that follows his request is louder than their breaths, louder than the thud, thud, thud of their hearts beating in their chests.

They don’t do that. They do a lot of shit, but they don’t do that. They fuck on the couch, the chair, against the wall, the shower, the floor. Never the bed. Not Eddie’s, not Steve’s.

It’s like kissing, in a way: silently forbidden.

Steve tenses when Eddie doesn’t respond. He starts to scoot back to get up, but Eddie lets out a noise close to a whine. He wants to move his hands, grip Steve’s hips so hard that there’s no way he doesn’t have bruises in the shape of his fingertips in the morning.

“What’s the third thing?” Eddie asks, making sure he knows he needs to stay right where he is.

Steve doesn’t say it. He’s pushing Eddie, seeing how far Eddie will push back. He could get up right now, go to Eddie’s bed, and they’ll forget all about the third thing. Eddie will let it be left in this room, never to be mentioned again.

“I’ll tell you later.”

He should insist on it now, but he won’t. Steve’s taking the reins now.

“Untie me.”

Mostly.

Steve works quickly, letting the ropes fall to the floor as Eddie slowly moves his limbs to get feeling back. He shivers when Steve’s fingers brush against his wrist, pulse speeding up under his careful touch.

“Anything hurt?” Steve asks, checking in the way Eddie showed him to the first time. Eddie taught him a lot of things. “Need anything?”

“No, baby, I’m good,” Eddie smiles, a real one, a soft one. Something almost too gentle for what they’re doing. “Let’s get in bed.”

He almost forgets to grab the lube and plug on the table behind him, but remembers when he watches Steve adjust himself in his pants and awkwardly half-waddle out of the room. He wants to use them when they’re done, after Eddie’s fucked him until he can’t talk.

Steve’s finally undressing, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor. It feels like they belong there, like they could find a home in Eddie’s laundry basket, and then in his closet. Like pieces of Steve could stay.

Steve looks good in his bed, on his back, parting his legs. His hand cups his balls, lifts them as if he’s showing off exactly where he wants Eddie to go. Eddie’s dick leaks at the thought of being inside him.

He could probably lick him open and shove inside him with no argument, even though it would be uncomfortable and probably a little too painful even for Steve’s taste. He likes feeling the pinch of too much, the drag of skin that should be wetter. Maybe next time.

Eddie’s not gonna be mean like that, but he is gonna be quick. He’s not patient enough to take his time the way Steve may have thought he would.

He spits on Steve’s dick as he settles between his legs.

“Keep touching yourself. Don’t come,” he orders, pouring lube onto his fingers. “If you come, we stop.”

Steve whimpers and nods, accepts the challenge for what it is. His hand moves slow, languid in finding the perfect level of pleasure to keep him on the edge but not sending him over.

Eddie starts with two fingers, a happy medium between the pain Steve likes and the pain Eddie wants to try someday. It’s still enough to have Steve tighten around him, letting out a noise he’s never made before.

Eddie pauses and raises a brow up at him. Steve relaxes. Eddie continues.

He’s not gentle, but he could be a lot rougher. He has one purpose: open Steve up. He doesn’t even try to find his prostate until he’s ready to add the fourth finger that Steve wanted so bad.

Steve’s barely moving his hand anymore, just squeezing the base of his cock like it’s the only thing keeping him on earth. He’s burning up inside and out, sweat building on his thighs, darkening the hairs just enough to be noticeable.

As soon as Eddie pushes the fourth finger into him, Steve goes still and silent. Any sign of the anxious mess of a person who was pacing his kitchen floor earlier is long gone.

Eddie only gives him a second before he moves, pulls his fingers out and pushes them back in. It’s tight, really tight.

“Gotta relax or I can’t fuck you like you wanted,” Eddie reminds him. He looks down at where he’s stretching Steve, watches his hole flutter around his fingers as he desperately tries to relax. “Bet I could get my whole hand in if I used more lube.”

Eddie’s actually not sure he could with how tight Steve is now with just four, but Steve pants, nods like he agrees. Maybe they can try that, too.

Now that the bed is an option, Eddie could try a lot of things. So could Steve. Eddie thinks feeling his entire hand inside him might be enough to send him over the edge, dick untouched.

Steve finally relaxes enough around him so he can move and there has to be a direct connection between his fingertips and his own dick with how it jumps when he stretches his fingers. He’s sweating now, too, using his free hand to brush the hair off his shoulder for a moment.

“Your hand’s so big,” Steve whines, lifting his legs back further with what little strength he has left. ”So much.”

Eddie agrees. He’s watching how much he’s stretching him out and thinks it should be impossible.

He feels lost right now, shocked into watching what he’s doing rather than doing what the logical next step is: getting his dick inside Steve. It’s mesmerizing.

“Eddie?” Steve’s voice is unsure. “Look at me.”

Eddie’s eyes snap up to his face, unblinking.

“You need me to tell you what I want?” Steve asks, letting his legs fall to the bed. The new angle shifts his fingers so they brush against Steve’s prostate. He bites back a moan, but so does Eddie. “Let me.”

Eddie nods. He can’t fucking think for himself right now. Some switch flipped when he saw the way Steve took him, and he’s not sure he can switch it back by himself.

“Touch yourself. Get yourself wet.”

He does it. How can he not when Steve is taking deep breaths to keep himself calm? How can he not when he’d do anything that Steve asks of him?

He misses Steve around his fingers, misses the heat of it, the warmth that ran from his hand to his chest. The direct link is gone, even if just for a moment.

Eddie spits on his hand, makes the glide of his hand easier. He knows not to come, but he knows he could. Steve’s eyes are on him, watching and assessing, figuring out what he’ll do next.

Steve isn’t the type to drag this on. He doesn’t like delaying his own pleasure. He’ll make Eddie come inside him the way they both want, he knows that.

But he still worries this will be the time he can’t hold back, that Steve will watch him until he comes and then the night will be done.

“Just the tip.” Steve’s words make Eddie whine. It’s not enough, but it might be too much. “Take it slow.”

Eddie leans down, lines himself up. The moment he’s inside Steve, he groans and his brain resets, focuses.

He waits for Steve to say he can give him more. He wants to give him more, he needs-

“More.” Steve is barely holding it together at this point, Eddie can tell from the way his voice shakes and his hand grips Eddie’s shoulder like his life depends on it. “Slow.”

Eddie goes slow. One inch further, one degree warmer.

Another inch and Steve’s grip is harder, bringing him back to earth.

He shares a look with Steve, sending the message that he’s good, he wants to take things from here. Steve will let him.

“You’re so good,” Eddie groans against his mouth as he kisses him, pushes in until he feels tight heat surrounding him completely. “Always so good for me.”

Steve tightens around him, legs wrapping around Eddie’s back and tugging him closer. It feels too much like something he can hold onto, something way more than what it’s supposed to be. He doesn’t comment on it. He can’t.

Steve tilts his head back, lids heavy as he begs Eddie for something only Eddie can give him.

He wraps a hand around Steve’s throat, squeezes once, and fucks into him hard.

Steve’s hand moves to Eddie’s wrist, his silent permission to keep going, understanding of what he has to do for this to keep going.

They’ve never properly talked about this. It’s stupid and Eddie knows he needs to be careful.

He is. He’s always careful with Steve.

He only does it twice more, but it’s enough to have Steve pushing back against him, asking for more. Eddie removes his hand, grazes it down his chest, grips at his chest hair and tugs.

Steve yelps and Eddie smirks. “Thought you liked when I was mean,” he says to be extra mean. “You beg me to be rough all the time.”

“Be rough. But slow.”

Eddie is too close to go slow, but he thinks Steve’s in the same boat. He can probably get away with a few minutes of being rough before he comes.

“Wanna taste you,” Steve says, and it sounds like it might be the third thing he wanted. Eddie’s not sure what he means, though. They don’t kiss so it can’t be that. “Please, let me taste you.”

Eddie holds his chin, considers his next move as he fucks into him once, twice, grinds into him until they’re both breathless. He digs his fingers in, keeps Steve’s jaw open.

He leans in close enough to feel Steve’s breath in his own mouth.

“You wanna taste me?” He whispers.

“Yes.”

Eddie licks Steve’s bottom lip, so quick he could almost convince himself it didn’t actually happen.

Then he spits. Right in Steve’s mouth, watches it pool on his tongue.

Steve swallows it without being told to, closes his eyes and groans. He looks blissed out, cheeks red and forehead shining with sweat. He’s never been more beautiful, never made Eddie want to devour him quite like this.

It’s hard to keep things slow after that, but god, he tries. He would do anything for Steve, but he’s only human. He can’t be this close for much longer.

Steve’s eyes open and he doesn’t have to say anything for Eddie to know he’s too close to keep going.

They come seconds apart, so close Eddie’s not even sure who got there first.

Eddie fucks into him until he physically can’t anymore, wincing when it’s too much for his softening dick. He always pushes too much.

Steve lets out a laugh as Eddie falls to the side, grunting when his cheek smacks against Steve’s arm. He sighs and rests his lips against the skin there, scared to bring attention to it, but not wanting to put space between them yet.

It’s quiet for a while, their breathing evening out slowly as they come down. He still doesn’t move, but his brain’s starting to catch up and he’s left wondering something. He probably shouldn’t ask.

“What’s the third thing you want me to do?” Eddie asks anyway.

Steve is still, and Eddie thinks he hears his breath hitch.

His other hand comes up, resting gently on Eddie’s head. It’s a heavy weight on him, making him hotter when he’s already overheated. A comfort when he’s been giving and taking so much.

“Love me.”

Eddie should be more surprised to hear it maybe. He doesn’t even have a reaction at first, just soaks in the words.

Loving Steve Harrington has been easy so far, even though it’s been in silence. Understanding who he is, what he likes, what makes him tick, all of it has been a gift.

Even when he overthinks things, even when he’s high strung.

But loving Steve Harrington loudly, in the way he needs, the way he craves, might be even easier.

So he lets his lips pucker, kisses Steve’s arm.

“Is that all?” He asks, looking up at Steve with a smile.

#i love it omg #steddie fic

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