#Brooke has already teased me till she couldn't breathe I have been suitably chastised

[azrielgreen]

Rooms (Whose Thighs Are Lilac Rose Gardens) Preview: CH2

Eddie wakes with a hot, wet mouth on him.

It’s this thing about Steve, he’s slutty when he’s happy. Like, it’s his natural default, it’s where he lands. Effusive and bright and openly tactile, but undeniably underlined by his tendency to slut himself around and weaponise it for fun.

No surprise whatsoever then to wake up with his pretty fucking mouth wrapped around Eddie’s dick.

OK, yes, maybe some surprise because holy fucking god, the boy’s got no gag reflex and his nose is buried in Eddie’s dense, dark curls—fuck.

Eddie’s back arches before he’s even fully awake, his body responding and he’s barely fucking conscious, but he knows he’s like ten seconds from coming, Steve’s too good, fucking hell.

‘Baby,’ Eddie utters, half slurs. ‘Stevie.’

It’s not an objection, it never would be. Steve can do whatever he wants. He just wants to say his name, just wants to speak it into existence.

Eddie’s arm stings still.

It hurts.

He loves that so much.

And when he looks over, Billy is there too.

Waiting, not like Steve who wouldn’t wait to dispense pleasure, not when he’s so happy.

But Billy waited.

Eddie kisses him.

He thinks there’s a ghost of something caught in a mirror inside him. Shattered, bright and sharp, it’s not normal, none of this is, but it’s so obvious when he’s kissing Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington is sucking his god damned soul right out his cock first thing.

Eddie thinks it’s this house.

Nebraska.

This country.

Earth and the moon, their Momma, as Steve calls her.

Only Eddie knows why.

Only Eddie knows the story of that night.

Maybe Steve will tell Billy soon, Eddie’s not sure.

Billy’s kisses are fresh and minty where Eddie’s are not, but the older boy doesn’t seem to care. He kisses warm and slow, rumbles contentedly, but he grips Eddie hard, almost painful, especially when he comes.

Comes in Steve’s mouth, all over his tongue.

Sharing, nourishing, loving.

Then Steve emerges from the covers, his hair all static-fucked, lips red and cheeks blush pink, eyes bright.

Steve crawls over, nudges against his face, closed mouth secret smile and Eddie grins indulgently, knows what he’s got.

‘You wanna give me somethin’, baby boy?’

Steve strokes his face, nods.

He is the personification of sin; angelic and so lovely it cuts all that it touches, demands nothing less than blood.

Lips touching, but not to kiss, Eddie opens up and lets Steve spit his own come into his mouth.

Eddie swallows, drags Steve against him to kiss him stupid, to fit all that love where he breathes so it’ll live inside.

They’re all cut up, the sheets are bloody and ruined.

Eddie says, ‘I love you,’ to Steve and Steve just smiles.

Then he pulls off, kisses Billy too.

Sharing.

‘Can we make waffles again?’

*

Billy makes waffles and Eddie smokes outside.

It’s cooler in the morning.

His arm hurts.

Eddie touches it, presses down on the sorest parts.

Nicotine and smoke and the low burn when he lets it get too close to his fingers, but it’s good, it helps.

Eddie thinks about the man whose throat opened up when Steve sliced it, he thinks about sharp objects and blades and the first time someone realised they could use tools to kill rather than teeth.

He’s shirtless.

Likes the bite in the air.

Clean and fresh, it runs counterpoint with the cigarette he finishes.

There’s waffles inside, he can smell them.

And he kinda wants to stay outside, look at the sky, but Steve calls him in, so that’s where he goes.

*

Steve eats waffles and drinks milk from the bottle and Billy watches him sometimes, Eddie helpless but to watch them both. This far from the gritty demands of their usual life together, this place, this house is something removed from time.

They’re wearing each other’s scars.

Shapes cut into skin.

Eddie thinks of the first time someone cut him, the shock of it, how he’d cried later, all alone. Didn’t realise he could be split, ruined, hurt in such a way.

Now, it’s just love.

The rose in his arm, the one on Billy’s chest and the newest blossom on Steve’s thighs. They’ll heal well, Eddie thinks.

Steve’s energy though, it’s a little fractured.

His knee is jogging, expression blank and calm as it so often is, but there’s just something off.

‘You OK?’ he asks Steve.

Steve smiles at him, nods and then takes his plate out to the kitchen. Eddie and Billy share a brief look.

‘He’s not OK,’ Billy tells him quietly.

And Eddie, he could be real fucking smug, he could be a bitch, say shit like, ‘Yeah, no, I think I’d know, seeing as how we’ve been together for years, thanks.’ He could say that, remind Billy whose claim to Steve is greater.

Eddie doesn’t want to, though.

What scares him is that he doesn’t even believe that.

‘I know,’ he simply says. ‘It’s the Vegas thing. Always takes a while for… well. Bad shit comes in like the flu for Steve.’

Billy nods slowly. ‘What do you wanna do?’

‘Keep him safe.’ Eddie leans forward, elbows on the table. ‘What do you wanna do?’

Billy’s eyes are blue, they’re steady.

He’s like a mountain.

He is Nebraska.

He’s this house.

‘I want whatever you want.’

*

They go shopping.

It’s a small gathering of local stores; no chains, no big brand names. Billy warns Eddie not to shoplift.

‘I wasn’t gonna,’ he chuckles, and Billy grins, seemingly charmed by the brashness of the lie.

Steve is humming to himself as he wanders through the rows, examining medicine and greeting cards. Eddie thinks he recognises the song, which brings dread to his core. He can count on two hands the number of times he’s heard Steve singing that fucking song and every single time without fail, it has preceded a breakdown.

And because sometimes, Steve would call Billy, because they would talk alone without Eddie in the space of the last (first) time they saw Billy, Eddie’s not sure.

He gets noodles for himself and Lucky Charms for Steve, dumps them in the cart and throws Billy a glance, measuring.

‘What?’ Billy asks.

‘Did he tell you about Texas?’

There’s no reaction at first.

And Billy’s the kind who thinks slow, feels slow, but Eddie’s looking for a specific reaction which, when he doesn’t find it, says all he needs to know.

‘No.’

‘OK.’

He won’t be the one to tell Billy, not in a million years, but he did wonder. They seem like they know each other, those two. Strange familiarity that Eddie sometimes feels side-lined by.

‘Is it to do with the song he’s singing?’

‘Kinda. Doesn’t matter.’

‘He was humming it in the car while you slept.’

‘It’s fine. Just.’ Eddie stops at the dog chew toy section, scans for whatever is cutest. ‘Sometimes, when he sings that song, it means he’s headed for a bad few weeks.’

He chooses a fluffy black dragon without a squeaker. Something that’s intended to be playfully torn apart and shredded, he knows Steve likes to rescue them. Never buys a toy intended for a life of love, only the rescues, the strays, whatever he can keep from the jaws of happy death.

Billy selects a plush squid.

‘I’m here,’ he says.

It’s two words.

They don’t mean much, and yet they mean everything.

Eddie might not have to face this alone.

He’s never had that before.

Risks touching Billy’s hand where anyone could see, grasping it briefly.

Billy’s thumb rubs over his knuckles and then he lets go first, pragmatic as ever.

Eddie won’t trust it¸ of course not.

Billy doesn’t know what Steve gets like sometimes. Nobody does, only Eddie. If anything in the world is gonna shake Billy Hargrove awake, make him see sense about the both of them, it’ll be the storm that’s coming.

I’m here.

Eddie doesn’t fully trust it.

But he dares take a little comfort from it all the same, and feels no guilt in spending Billy’s money at least.

He still shoplifts a beaded bracelet just for the hell of it, Steve will like that he stole it. He’ll like the way the cheap glass beads catch the light.

Old habits die hard, don’t they?

(Touched Preview coming a little later today💜💜💜)