#as is 'temptation' which will probably end up being a companion to the already-posted wlw!steddie ficlet

[laundrybiscuits]

Spotify Wrapped #33?

lift your hearts to the horizon / leave your fears upon the shore / this one life is for the living / and we ask for nothing more

“Settled in yet, Harrington?” Steve nearly jumps as Eddie swings down from the rigging. “Not missing your feather bed?” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m crying myself to sleep every sundown.”

“Poor baby. Need someone to hold you through the night, huh? We’re a little short on lusty lasses out here, but your good pal Eddie’s always available.” Eddie flutters his eyelashes in that teasing way he always has, and Steve laughs.

“Okay, Munson, I’ll be expecting you in my bunk at six bells.”

Eddie winks, smirking. “It’s a date.”

He shuffles in to lean his elbows on the rail next to Steve, squinting out at the bright morning light splayed over the waves. The salt water stretches out in a blue so deep and pretty that Steve thinks it could pass for a completely different world from the sea he saw last night. 

“Seriously,” he says. “You doing okay? I know it’s…not what you’re used to. The first storm’s always the hardest, and we caught a real nasty one. You want to call it quits after this, you’re not on a long-term thing, no one’s gonna say shit to you.”

“What?” Steve twists around. Eddie’s staring up at the cloudless sky, stray curls escaping from the frayed scrap of linen binding up the bulk of his hair. There are grey shadows under his eyes; he probably didn’t get much rest last night, either.

“I’m not gonna quit,” he says. “Didn’t even cross my mind.”

“Sure. If you change your mind in the next few weeks before we reach port, though…”

“I’m not gonna quit,” says Steve again. 

He’d stepped onto the gangway for the first time less than a fortnight ago, but it’s true that he hasn’t once thought of going back. At least not yet. 

“It’s different out here, isn’t it,” he hears himself saying. Eddie hums in agreement but doesn’t say anything else. 

“I mean,” says Steve, when the silence stretches out. “Everything’s just, like. It matters or it doesn’t. ‘S just easier.”

“Like you can breathe, right?” Eddie nods. “No distractions. Just the stuff you do to stay alive and sane and moving in the right direction. All the bullshit falls away.”

Steve does feel like he breathes different here. The wind has a taste, and it seems to reach every corner of his body when he shuts his eyes and inhales deep. 

And yeah, when he opens his eyes again and there’s nothing ahead except the endless distant edge where the sea blurs into sky, all the shit that he cared so much about even a month ago—the broken engagement, the rejection from the Academy—none of it seems all that important anymore.

There’s just the sea before him, and the sky above him, and the man leaning into the wind at his side. 

—

It’s well past dusk when Eddie shows up at the doorway to the cramped quarters Steve shares with a few other guys. One of those guys is Eddie, so it’s not weird for him to be there, but he lingers in the entrance, fingertips drumming a quick pattern on the rough lintel. 

Even in the low light, Steve can tell he looks a little different. He’s freshly scrubbed, hair unbound but tamer than Steve’s ever seen it before. He’s even shaved the patchy scruff that he’d been sporting earlier in the day.

Eddie looks like he’s made some kind of effort, and it’s that, more than anything else, that sends a near-painful spasm of fondness through Steve.

“Six bells was a while ago,” says Steve.

“I know,” says Eddie, too fast. “I mean. Fuck, this is so stupid, I know you were just kidding—”

“Yeah,” says Steve. He’s not agreeing so much as he’s just saying yeah. “I could be—not kidding, though. If that’s something…”

“It’s something,” says Eddie. He moves closer, into the glow of the lantern hanging from the top bunk. 

Steve’s eyes slip down the column of Eddie’s throat to where his shirt is hanging unlaced, crudely inked lines just barely uncovered at the edge. “Jeff,” says Steve, not looking away. “I got a full bottle of port that’s all yours if you fuck off for, uh…”

“Don’t come back until first light and I’ll throw in the knife I won last winter,” says Eddie. He folds gracefully to kneel between Steve’s legs, hands sliding up his thighs. 

“Pox on both of you,” Jeff groans. “Hand me that port and I’ll go sleep on the deck. Just keep it down, will you?”

Steve looks at Eddie’s dark eyes, his smiling mouth, the capable shape of his hands. Even through the rough breeches, Eddie’s grip feels like the air before a storm.

“No promises,” says Steve, and leans down.

Send me a number between 1-100 and I'll write a ficlet based on the corresponding song from my Spotify Wrapped! It will definitely be gay and may possibly be musical theater