#drink some water

[mommy-mortis]

[grandpasnailgroovy]

[happyheidi]

[pythoneon]

not to be annoying about VHS christmas carols against but i’m gonna be bc

i can’t stop thinking about something curt said in his interview with james about starkid and how you can see the seams of the production in each performance, and how it adds to the experience, and i think that’s why so many people love starkid. not only is it extremely accessible for people who can’t afford broadway tickets (which are ABSURDLY expensive without a doubt) and exposes people to the joy of performance in a palpable and fun way. its unpolished sometimes, and not every run goes PERFECTLY, but that only elevates the experience.

as a recovering theater kid who’s also a fairly new starkid & tin can bros fan, its imperfections are what drew me in. my first musical i watched (TGWDLM) is AMAZING and still my favorite, but its not perfect, and i wouldn’t have it any other way. imperfections are human, they’re fun stumbles that can be brought up later as something unique that happened at that showing and no other. it shows the seams and doesn’t take you out of it. you hear people improvise lines to make their costar laugh, you see actors try really hard not to break character, you watch someone cry ACTUAL TEARS during a solo, so engrossed that you’re drawn in with them. you become a part of this world for a moment because starkid is nothing but passion and love for their craft, and they show it through ingenuity, creativity, and craftiness.

just like curt said in that same interview, VHS christmas carols is the embodiment of all that. its a small and intimate stage (MY FAVORITES), so the line between actor and viewer is blurred. there’s parts in the digital ticket where you hear clark laugh at a few line readings, which i love so much. it’s simpler than a lot of their other stuff, band wise and set wise, but what they DO have is excellent. the VHS-shaped stage, the play button on the box lids, the CANDLES UGH. they’re all enjoying themselves, putting their entire heart and soul into each performance, and it shows. even the happy songs brought tears to my eyes. seeing that reminded me of how much i loved being in theater and the friends i made doing it.

VHS christmas carols is like a reminder that starkid isn’t just a production company making high quality musicals for us to watch, it’s also a group of dorky friends having the time of their lives on stage.

[ghostlychief]

if you’re having a bad day, picture your favorite comfort character wrapping you up in a soft blanket and kissing your forehead, and as their lips are resting on your temple, they reassure you that “everything is going to be okay.” they leave another kiss on the top of your head, then wrap themselves around you, holding you until you feel better

[ghosttotheparty]

a mess of holy things 13 also on ao3 // prev // next cw: brief meltdown; subdrop/panic attack during sex; death of guardian (not wayne don’t worry); grief; mentions of child abuse & childhood trauma

“No, I’m just saying you’re turning into a slut,” Robin says lightly, her voice garbled from the gummy bear between her teeth as she tears its head off. She’s laying on her bed with her legs up against the wall, her hair spread around her head.

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I know.”

“How many times have you had sex now?” she asks, rolling her head to look at him, nibbling at the body of the gummy bear now. He shrugs.

“I don’t know. A few.”

She raises her eyebrows.

He raises his back.

“Is it good?” Robin asks lightly, reaching back to the bag of gummy bears that’s resting on her belly. “You’re not getting bored of it?”

Steve scoffs, his head falling back against the wall.

“God, no. Don’t think I could get bored of it.”

She hums for a moment, looking at the ceiling.

“Maybe the guy I was with was just really bad,” she says thoughtfully, and Steve lets out a laugh. “Because it was real boring.”

“Have you considered having sex with a woman?” Steve questions sarcastically.

“Oh, yes, I have,” she says. Steve giggles, reaching over to take some gummy bears. “I just need a woman that also wants to have sex with me.”

“Hm.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and Steve thinks. He doesn’t know very many women.

“Is Nancy dating Jonathan?” he wonders aloud abruptly. “Or like…”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Robin says. “I keep thinking she’s dating Jonathan, but then Argyle will come over and kiss her to say hi, and then Nancy wears one of Jonathan’s shirts but she’s got Argyle hair ties around her wrist… I don’t know.”

“You don’t wanna just ask?”

“Eh.” She shrugs. “Not really a big deal. They’re all happy, you know?”

Steve hums and looks at the ceiling again. He thinks some more. Maybe Chrissy is single.

They’d like each other, he thinks. They’re both silly, funny in their own ways, and they don’t really match exactly, Robin’s rough flannels and mismatched socks and choppy hair that she cut with scissors in her own bathroom compared to Chrissy’s frilly blouses and manicured nails and pink lipstick. But Steve has a feeling they’d like each other.

“Do your parents know about you?” he asks after a moment. She’s quiet.

“Yeah.”

He looks at her. She isn’t eating the gummy bears anymore, but she’s holding one in her fingers, squeezing and squishing it, brushing it against her lips absently.

“How did that go?” he asks quietly.

She sighs heavily, clearing her throat.

“Uh…” Another exhale. “I don’t know. I just told them at dinner one night. Kinda randomly, I just… couldn’t keep it hidden anymore.”

“What did they say?”

Robin looks at the ceiling blankly.

“‘…Don’t tell Grandma.’”

Steve blinks, waiting for her to continue, but she just lifts the gummy bear to her mouth and tears its head off with her teeth.

“That’s it?”

“Mhmm.” She takes another breath. “We don’t talk about it. It just kinda hangs out with us, I guess.”

He looks across the room and thinks some more. About what it might be like if his parents knew. If the fact just dangled around their heads, unaddressed, ignored. If they could do that, just ignore what they would surely despise.

“Are you gonna tell your parents?” Robin asks softly, like she can read his fucking mind. He scoffs.

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “Don’t know if it’s worth it.”

She looks at him, lifting her chin to see him.

“They won’t understand,” he says quietly. “They won’t get it.”

She sits up. Swings her legs around to rest across his lap, letting the gummy bears fall to the side. She’s looking at him curiously, silently.

Steve sighs, letting his head fall to the wall.

“…They raised me to be God-fearing,” he says quietly. “And… pure. They raised me so, like, intentionally… good. And if I tell them, I…” Steve scoffs, laughing humourlessly. “‘Hey, by the way, I’m an atheist and I like it when my metalhead boyfriend shoves his cock up my ass and puts his fingers down my throat.’”

Robin lets out a laugh, and he half-smiles.

“They don’t have to know all of that.”

“That’s all they will know, though,” he says weakly, his smile falling. She looks at him in confusion, furrowing her eyebrows, frowning. He sighs.

“They view homosexuality as… disgusting,” he says after a moment. “It’s just sexual to them. It’s just sin on sin.”

His fingers twist together, and then he reaches for the cross around his neck, lifting it to touch his lips absently.

“If I say I have a boyfriend…” He pauses, his voice weak and soft. “They won’t think about us holding hands or teasing each other or being sweet with each other. They won’t think about…” He cuts off, his throat tightening. “About how he wipes my tears away like he’s scared he’ll break me. Or the way he pulls me closer even when he’s, like, fully asleep. Or the way he cooks for me when I mention I haven’t eaten, or the way he kisses my temples when I have a headache.”

He looks at the ceiling, blinking tears back rapidly when his eyes sting. Robin reaches and holds his forearm.

“They’ll think about us sinning,” he says weakly. “They’ll think about— about him corrupting me, or manipulating me, and— and it’s bullshit, because he hasn’t. He’s— He’s so great.”

“He sounds really great,” Robin says, and her voice sounds thick now, and he hates this, this bullshit that unites the two of them.

“They’ll never see how great he is,” Steve says heavily. Robin’s hand is warm on his arm. “They’ll never get it. They’ll take one look at him and do the fucking Sign of the Cross. I don’t…”

He sighs again, reaching over to take her hand, twisting their fingers together.

“If I tell them… I don’t know what they’ll do. But I think… I don’t know. If the love they have for me is worth keeping. You know?”

She nods. Sighs. Squeezes his arm.

“It sucks,” he says softly, whispering. “Knowing your parents don’t love you the way you want.”

He glances at her when he hears a sniffle, and there’s a tear falling down her cheek. He wipes it away, but she doesn’t seem to notice, her eyes downcast and glassy.

“It sucks,” she says, her voice breaking a little bit. “My own parents don’t love me. Don’t know who can.”

It sends a shard of glass through Steve’s chest. That Robin fucking Buckley can’t see how loveable she is, how precious. How amazing and perfect, and…

“I can,” Steve says quietly.

She looks at him, her eyes shining, gleaming, her lips pursed like she’s trying to stop them from quivering.

“…Really?”

He nods, tilting his head at her.

“You’re my best friend,” he says softly. “You’re so cool.”

She scoffs, sniffling, and her hand tightens on his, squeezing his fingers. Her eyes close, and another tear falls down her cheek, and then Steve’s eyes are burning, and he tugs her closer by her hand.

Their arms wrap around each other, and Steve squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face in her neck. Her shoulders shake when she sobs quietly, and he runs a hand down her back, over the wrinkles in her sweater.

And he feels kind of like he did when Eddie first started being sweet on him, touching him lightly, calling him pet names. It’s different with Robin, of course. Still warm. Familiar. Entirely platonic but somehow more.

They stay there together, arms around each other, legs tangled, as they talk. Robin tells him about every girl she’s ever had a crush on. Steve runs his hand through her hair until it’s untangled as he listens, feeling the way her jaw shifts as she talks and chews the gummy bears. The sun sets outside, the sky dimming, and neither of them moves except to flick on the lamp on Robin’s bedside.

It’s warm here. Safe. Steve lets himself exist quietly with Robin, lets himself become sleepy and giggly and a little bit childish, because she’s doing the same, wrapped in a blanket and rocking back and forth as they laugh about nothing. He thinks that even if their parents can’t love them properly, maybe it doesn’t really matter at the moment. It doesn’t really matter if they have each other.

─────────────────

Steve wakes up before the sun rises.

It’s Saturday. Eddie had been working at the Hideout, but he’s in bed now, hair damp from his shower, eyes closed peacefully. Steve looks at him in the dark, rolling onto his side to face him.

He hadn’t woken up when Eddie came back after work. Eddie must have been as quiet as possible, taking off his jacket and setting his keys down, getting fresh clothes and taking a shower, all while Steve slept peacefully in bed. He isn’t even touching Steve right now. There’s a space between them, a chasm that makes Steve ache.

He pauses, looking at Eddie. At the fan of his eyelashes across his pale cheeks, at the metal studs in his skin. At his cheek that’s squished against his hand, tucked between his face and his pillow. At the strands of hair on his skin.

“Eddie,” Steve whispers softly, hesitantly. He doesn’t expect a response, but Eddie’s eyes flutter open slowly after a moment, and he looks at Steve blearily, tiredly, his eyes not quite all the way open.

“Hm?” Eddie shifts, closing his eyes for a moment before he blinks them open again. “You okay?”

“Mhmm.” Steve gazes at him. “Missed you.”

Eddie smiles sleepily, humming, lifting his chin a little bit, and Steve moves closer, close enough that their noses nudge together. Eddie exhales slowly, and Steve thinks for a moment that he’s fallen back asleep, but his arm moves, sliding from between them to wrap around Steve’s waist. His hand presses into the small of his back, and he tugs him closer.

Steve kisses him, smiling, tucking his hands between them, shrinking against Eddie’s body as their lips part. Eddie hums again, fingers spreading over Steve’s back.

“Sweet baby,” Eddie murmurs when they separate, his lips brushing Steve’s. Steve smiles again, his cheeks flushing with warmth. He sighs, nuzzling into Eddie’s throat as Eddie rubs his back once more.

He could whisper it right now. Right here. Lips pressed to Eddie’s tattooed skin, Eddie’s heartbeat against his hands.

He doesn’t say anything.

─────────────────

Steve sits on the sofa while Eddie finishes putting away the groceries.

He’d cried in the grocery store. He doesn’t know why.

His cheeks are still tacky with tears, and he feels fucking exhausted for no reason at all. All he’s done today is go with Eddie to the grocery store, and he’d managed to ignore the way the overhead lights buzzed and made his head ache, the way the squeaky wheels of other peoples’ carts scratched at the inside of his skull. Until someone passing bumped into him, their shoulders knocking together, and he just burst into tears like a child.

Eddie almost dropped their basket, setting it down and quickly, gently, pulling Steve aside, his voice hushed as he asked what was wrong, what happened, but Steve didn’t have an answer. Nothing happened. Nothing was wrong. He was just crying.

Eddie gave him the keys to wait in the van while he finished up shopping, and Steve took them quietly. He’s been quiet since. Stared out the window in the car as Eddie drove, only tearing his glassy eyes away from the world going by when Eddie’s hand landed on his thigh gently, squeezing and holding him.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut as they start to sting again, his head falling to the back of the sofa. He’s tucked into himself, arms crossed over his belly, knees drawn up, and he listens to Eddie in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets, balling up plastic bags and stuffing them into a drawer.

It goes quiet after a few minutes. And then the couch shifts as Eddie sits next to Steve carefully.

“Hey, baby.”

Steve opens his eyes and looks at him, rolling his head, before he lifts his head.

“Hi,” he says softly, whispering.

“What’s goin’ on?” Eddie asks gently, leaning against the back of the sofa. Steve looks away, across the room, shrugging. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Steve chokes, eyes watering again. “I just…” He shrugs, sniffling. “Feel like shit today. I don’t know.”

“What do you need?” Eddie asks softly.

Steve is quiet, shrugging again, and Eddie just waits for him.

“…Hold me.”

Eddie moves without hesitation, wrapping his arms around him tightly, pulling him close and running his hand over his head carefully. Steve falls against him, squeezing his eyes shut again. His breath shudders. Eddie hushes him gently.

“Breathe for me,” he whispers softly. “Nice and slow, baby, you got it.”

Steve takes a deep breath, reaching to cling to Eddie’s shirt, and Eddie’s arms tighten around him, his hands pressing to him firmly before one of them slides into his hair and tugs.

Steve sags against Eddie, exhaling sharply.

“Harder.”

Eddie’s fingers twist into his hair and pull so it hurts. Steve exhales again.

“There you go,” Eddie murmurs. “That’s it, baby.”

Steve whines weakly, face burning as he buries his face in Eddie’s neck, but Eddie just holds him. Pulls his hair. Rubs his back.

“Just want you to touch me,” Steve says when he can speak again, whispering.

“You wanna get off?”

Steve pauses. And then shakes his head.

“Just want your hands on me.”

“C’mere.”

He pulls Steve closer, shifting to sit sideways on the sofa, legs outstretched, and Steve lets him manhandle him gently, lets him pull him so he’s laying on his chest, their legs entwined.

“There we go,” Eddie murmurs. His hands run over Steve’s back gently, tracing his spine. “Good?”

Steve hums, nuzzling into his neck, hands tucked against his chest.

“Harder,” he says softly.

Eddie’s hands press more firmly, pushing Steve against him, and Steve bites his lips to stifle a groan.

“Let it out,” Eddie murmurs. “‘S okay.”

Steve whimpers weakly, pressing closer as Eddie’s hands squeeze his hips firmly. It hurts a little, but Steve likes it. It makes his mind go a little fuzzy, makes whatever is squeezing his chest so tight a little looser. He hums.

“That’s okay?” Eddie checks after a moment, his hands loosening. Steve nods, reaching back to find Eddie’s hand blindly, and he leads it down to his ass, pressing firmly. “Right here?”

Steve nods again.

“Please.”

Eddie kisses the side of his head, and his hands are strong as they press into Steve’s flesh through the fabric of his pants. Squeezing and pushing and gripping like he’s massaging his ass and his thighs, and Steve melts against him, brows furrowed as he focuses on the feeling of Eddie’s fingers on him. He presses his hand to Eddie’s chest and then slides it up to his neck, pressing against his pulse.

“Feel good?” Eddie asks softly. Steve nods.

“‘S, like… grounding,” he mumbles, his hand falling lax on Eddie’s neck loosely. “Like it.”

Eddie hums quietly, his voice rumbling above Steve’s head.

“Bet you’re having fun,” Steve mumbles after a moment, and Eddie scoffs, a sound that makes Steve smile.

“I definitely am.”

His hands squeezes again, and then one of them lifts and taps Steve’s ass lightly, absently, but Steve fucking lights up inside. He hums, his back arching.

“Yeah?” Eddie says, sounding a little surprised.

“Mm. Yeah. Please.”

Eddie laughs softly, doing it again.

“You want me to spank you, baby?”

Steve nods desperately, back arching again.

“Please.”

Eddie kisses his head again, his fingers tightening on his ass, squeezing hard.

“You’re so sweet.”

Steve nods absently, letting out a weak yelp when Eddie’s hand lands on his ass abruptly, hard.

“Color?”

“Green. Again. Please.”

“I got you, baby.”

He does it again. And then again. Alternating hands, rubbing and soothing in between slaps, and they’re both hard, but Steve doesn’t think it really matters. He feels like he might fucking fall asleep here, despite Eddie’s hands forcing feeling into him, despite the way particularly hard hits jostle him.

“Okay?” Eddie asks after a few minutes, hands rubbing over where Steve’s ass is blooming with warmth.

“Please don’t stop,” Steve mumbles weakly, sleepily. “Feels so good.”

Eddie’s hands squeeze tightly. And then one retreats before it slides under Steve’s pants, pressing to his bare skin. Steve whines, nodding before Eddie can ask.

Eddie pushes his pants down carefully, smoothing his hands over Steve’s ass.

“Color,” he says softly, whispering.

“Green.”

“‘S gonna hurt more without fabric in the way.”

“I know,” Steve mumbles. “‘S okay, I want it.”

“Tell me why first.”

Steve exhales sharply, swallowing the lump that’s formed in his throat, and he takes a slow breath.

“Just…” He pauses, pressing his cheek to Eddie’s shoulder, gazing at the bat’s wing around his neck. “Wanna feel it.”

“Why?” Eddie whispers.

“Need it,” Steve says, almost whining. “Need to feel it. When we were in the— the grocery store, there was too much,” he says, his voice softening. “The lights, and the noises, and my— my jacket, and the guy bumping into me, it was just… too much. When it hurts, just— just a little, I can feel it. ‘N I don’t have to feel anything else.”

“Baby,” Eddie breathes.

His hand lands on Steve’s ass with a sharp slap, and Steve jumps with a startled Oh!

Eddie’s hand smooths over the skin gently, squeezing and soothing, and Steve nods, breathless.

The skin of his ass feels hot when Eddie finally stops, rubbing his hips and sliding a hand under his shirt to press into the small of his back. Steve is shaking a little bit, breathing hard into Eddie’s neck, fists clenched in the fabric of his shirt.

“Okay?”

Steve nods, letting out a weak whine.

“Thank you,” he says breathlessly. Eddie turns his head to kiss his temple, humming softly.

“Of course, baby,” he whispers. “You know I’d give you anything.”

Steve nods again, smiling.

Eddie starts to pull Steve’s pants back up, but the fabric scrapes over his no doubt reddened skin, and Steve hisses, wincing. Eddie lets out a thoughtful noise before he holds Steve’s waist, pushing him to the side carefully.

“Stay here a moment,” he says, shifting to get up so Steve can lay on his front on the sofa. Steve groans, reaching for him half-heartedly as he stands, and Eddie laughs lightly, catching his hand and bending down to press a kiss to his knuckles.

He comes back with a bottle of lotion, and he sits on the edge of the sofa next to Steve’s legs. Steve closes his eyes and sighs as he listens to the click of the bottle before Eddie's hand, cold with lotion, smooths over the hot skin. Steve’s breath catches in his throat, and he hums.

“So beautiful,” Eddie murmurs, leaning to press a gentle kiss to his ass. “My perfect boy.”

He pulls Steve’s pants up carefully, slowly, tugging them so they don’t slide over his skin, and he smooths out the waistband of his underwear by tucking his fingers under it and running them along the elastic.

“Maybe we need to get you some silky panties so it doesn’t hurt.”

Steve giggles into the sofa, cheeks warm.

“Could be cute.”

“It would be very cute,” Eddie says lightly. He smooths his hand over Steve’s ass gently, tenderly. “You feel okay?”

“Mhmm.” Steve sighs. “C’mere.”

Eddie moves back onto the sofa and Steve shifts to give him space, settling with his head on Eddie’s chest. Eddie runs his hands through his hair and then over his back, more gently than before.

“Wanna stay here for a little while?” Eddie asks softly. “And then I can go start lunch?”

Steve nods, sighing.

“Yes please.”

Eddie kisses the top of his head, and Steve suppresses a smile, sliding a hand down to slip it under the hem of Eddie’s shirt. Eddie hisses a little when his cold fingertips find his skin, and Steve snickers.

“Sorry.”

“I don’t think you are.”

“Mm.”

Eddie plays with his hair. He breathes.

Steve likes it when he breathes. Which is probably the most insane thing he’s ever thought to himself, but it’s true. It’s almost reassuring to hear Eddie’s breath, to feel the rise and fall of his chest. Steve wishes he could listen to it all the time, wishes it could play on repeat in the back of his mind. He wishes it was possible to get a sound tattooed.

“Do you wanna go out this weekend?” Eddie asks abruptly.

“…Out?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and he sounds shy all of a sudden, like he’s nervous. “Like— Like on a date.”

Steve lifts his head, looking down at him. Eddie’s cheeks are pink.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says again, glancing away, taking a breath. “I just… I just realized we’ve never actually been on a date, and…” He looks up at Steve, his tongue flashing over his bottom lip. “I know a place that’s… that’s, like, queer friendly.”

Steve blinks, smiling slowly.

“…Really?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie smiles, tilting his head at him like he’s fond, like Steve is a cute puppy or something.

“You wanna go out with me?” he asks lightly. Steve suppresses his smile but he can’t, and it grows into a bright grin, and it’s the first time he’s actually smiled all day. Eddie’s eyes drop to his mouth, his expression lighting up like he’s realizing it too.

“Yes,” Steve says, shifting to lay on top of Eddie’s body, their legs entwined, their chests pressing, and Steve’s heart feels like it’s beating harder, like it’s trying to reach Eddie’s through their skin and the fabric of their shirts. “I wanna go out with you.”

Eddie suppresses his own smile.

“Okay.”

He lays back down, kissing Eddie jaw and then his neck, biting teasingly when Eddie’s hand tugs at his hair.

The date is on Friday. They go to a diner that’s just outside the city, on the corner of a block in a colorful neighborhood. Eddie parks the van out front as Steve looks at the building, at the glowing OPEN sign in the window. It looks quiet, a little bit empty; there are a few people sitting at the bar, sipping from white mugs and looking at newspapers and notebooks, and there are two women sitting behind one of the windows, across from each other, laughing. There’s a pink triangle on the entry door.

Eddie holds the door open for Steve, tilting his head politely as Steve passes by him with a suppressed smile, and the woman behind the counter glances up at them when the bell above the door dings cheerfully. Eddie’s hand takes Steve’s, lacing their fingers and pulling to lead him to a booth in the back.

They sit across from each other after taking off their jackets, and Steve looks around again. There are flashes of color everywhere he looks even though it’s mostly brown inside; the seats of the booths are a muted teal, and there are glowing neon signs on one of the walls, reading things like girls girls girls and soups & sandwiches. There are gumball machines and a pinball machine and there’s bunting draping in the air over the door to the kitchen. It’s made up of small American flags, but when Steve looks a little closer he realizes the flags are upside down.

When Steve looks at Eddie again, he’s resting his chin on his hand, watching Steve with a small smile.

“Hi,” Steve says shyly, leaning over the table to look at him, mirroring him with his chin on his hand.

“Hi,” Eddie says softly. “What do you think?”

Steve glances around again.

“‘S nice,” he says before hesitating for a brief moment. “You don’t think they’ll mind that…”

“That they’ve got queers for patrons?”

Steve scoffs.

“Yeah.”

“Nah,” Eddie says softly. “They don’t mind.” He looks past Steve, hesitating before he gestures with a tilting his head. “See those ladies over there?”

Steve looks over his shoulder at the women sitting by the window. They’re holding hands across the table, and their ankles are locked, and Steve can only see one of their faces from where he’s sitting, but she’s beaming so brightly it’s like she’s reflecting the other woman’s expression.

“Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah.”

Steve looks at Eddie again, biting his lip, and he crosses his arms over the top of the table, hiding his hands. His eyes scan Eddie’s content smile, his hands resting on the tabletop and holding his chin. Steve starts to pull his hand out from where it’s tucked against himself but he stops, hesitating, his stomach flipping. Eddie’s smile grows.

“Go ‘head,” he says softly.

Steve suppresses a smile, biting his lip again as he pulls his hand away and reaches across the table, grabbing Eddie’s and pulling it toward himself. Eddie bites back a laugh, amused. Their fingers twist until Steve is holding onto Eddie’s middle and ring fingers, holding them loosely before he squeezes absently, nervously. Eddie brushes his thumb over Steve’s fingers gently. Steve looks away.

“Hiya, boys.”

Steve jumps at the sound of the waitress’s voice, looking up as she approaches their table and sets two menus in front of them. He starts to pull his hand away, but Eddie squeezes, tugging it back in place.

“Can I get you started with any drinks?” she asks lightly. She’s smiling at them, like she doesn’t even see them holding hands.

“Uh,” Eddie says, looking at Steve with raised eyebrows.

“Do— Do you have orange soda?” Steve asks, looking up at her again, and she nods before looking at Eddie.

“Ginger ale.”

She nods.

Steve exhales as she walks away, her ponytail swinging behind her, her shoes clicking on the floor, and Eddie squeezes his hand again.

“Hey,” he says softly, and Steve looks at him. “We’re okay.”

Steve nods, taking a deep breath, squeezing his hand.

“We’re okay.”

They only let go of each other’s hands when their food comes, and Eddie immediately kicks at Steve’s feet to prompt him to move them forward so they can lock their ankles together. Steve feels like he’s thirteen or something, his cheeks flushed with heat because his crush is touching him. It’s ridiculous. But Eddie keeps grinning at him across the table like he knows.

They get pie to share. It’s stupid. Almost embarrassing, especially when Eddie grabs a paper napkin and reaches over to wipe Steve’s chin himself. Steve rolls his eyes and snatches it from him as Eddie giggles. His lips are stained red.

Steve is fucking obsessed with him.

He clings to Eddie’s arm as they leave, no longer scared of being seen, almost wanting it now. Wanting people to look over their mugs and hovering forks to see these two boys, these two men, fingers laced, cheeks warm. Wanting people to see exactly how Steve feels, exactly how his heart beats in time with Eddie’s, how his veins are twisted and tangled in the shape of Eddie’s name.

Eddie holds his hand in the car. Steve can barely tear his eyes away from him, gazing at the side of his face, at the lines in his skin that deepen when he smiles after glancing back at Steve.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice light as he slows at a stop sign and looks both ways, leaning to see past Steve.

Steve shrugs even though he isn’t looking at him.

“I really like you.”

His voice is small.

Eddie’s smile widens.

“I really like you too, baby.”

Steve squeezes his hand, grinning, and he sighs heavily, waiting. Eddie pulls his hand away from Steve’s to turn the van into the parking lot outside his building, and Steve whines petulantly, which just makes Eddie laugh.

“Gimme a second, honey.”

Steve sighs, waiting, and he could swear Eddie is doing this on purpose, pulling into a parking spot and then pulling out again, straightening the van, pulling in again, pulling out. Steve scoffs and hits his head against the headrest, rolling his eyes.

“You’re so annoying.”

“Don’t wanna take up someone else’s spot.”

“Mhmm.”

Eddie is smiling as he finally stops the van and pulls the keys out the ignition, and he turns to look at Steve, eyebrows raised.

“You’re pouting?”

“…No.”

“Baby.”

Steve looks at him. And kisses him, leaning across the center console and crashing their mouths together. Eddie laughs, turning to hold his face. He reaches to unbuckle Steve’s seatbelt;t before doing his own, and Steve just tilts his head to kiss him deeper and he scrambles out of the seatbelt. Eddie hums, caressing his cheeks.

“Wanna go inside?” he mumbles between kisses. “Hm?”

“Mhmm,” Steve hums, nodding, but he doesn’t pull away, his breath catching when Eddie tugs on his lower lip.

“C’mon.”

Eddie holds his hand as he leads him upstairs, their fingers locked. It’s a little dark, the lights lining the stairwell dimmer than they should be. They��re quiet, not even whispering to each other as they ascend the stairs, and Steve steps up close to Eddie as he’s unlocking the door, pressing his face against his shoulder.

They’re kissing before the door is even shut behind them, before Eddie’s even flicked the lights on, and they kick their shoes off, shove their jackets off, clutch at each other. The inside of Eddie’s mouth tastes like cherry pie, sweet and sugary and fucking delicious.

Steve wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck and lifts onto his tiptoes, groaning when Eddie grabs his thighs and lifts him up. Eddie grabs his ass when his legs wrap around his hips, reaching to put one hand on the wall to steady himself as he makes his way to his room with Steve clinging to him.

They pull the clothing off each other’s bodies, breathing hard, touching and kissing and licking, and Steve keeps thinking there’s no way he can ever feel what he’s felt before, what he felt the first time Eddie pressed into his body, but the sun is somehow shining down on him even though it’s the middle of the night and they’re hidden in Eddie’s bedroom. Eddie holds his hand, clutching tightly as he opens Steve up tenderly, as he sucks kisses into the sensitive skin of his inner thighs.

Steve’s hand is tight in Eddie’s hair, holding on like he’ll float away if he lets go of him.

He’s whimpering, whining and moaning, and Eddie’s fingers feel so fucking good inside him, moving slowly, gently, carefully, fucking in and out of him, forcing soft noises into the air. Steve bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut and exhaling sharply.

When he opens his eyes, he can’t see. His vision is blurred, the light from the lamp suddenly brighter than it usually is.

He opens his mouth for a breath, but there’s something on his chest, keeping his lungs from filling, and a tear escapes his eye. His hand clenches in Eddie’s hair hard.

“Baby?”

Steve exhales sharply.

Eddie moves up over his body, hovering over Steve, and Steve can’t let go of his hair. His hand is clenched tightly, shaking, and he can’t let go. He’s gripping so hard he’s probably, definitely hurting Eddie, and he can’t let go.

“What’s your color?”

Eddie’s voice is muffled, like Steve is underwater, like there’s something between them. Steve’s eyes blink, stinging,

“Steve. Color.”

Steve exhales again, and his voice is weak, cracking like a thin layer of ice when he finally says, “Red.”

Eddie’s fingers pull out of him, and Steve wants to protest, to whine Come back, but he can’t get any other words out.

“Come here,” Eddie says softly, kindly, and Steve squeezes his eyes shut, tears falling down his face, into his hair. Eddie holds Steve’s hand where it’s stuck in his hair, and Steve tries to let go, but he can’t.

“I’m sorry,” he says weakly, almost whispering. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—”

“Steve,” Eddie says firmly, pulling him to sit up. “Don’t apologize, baby, it’s okay. We’re all done.”

Steve takes a stuttering breath, opening his eyes to look at him desperately. Eddie is looking at him tenderly, nodding when Steve inhales, and he’s so beautiful Steve starts to cry again. Eddie reaches up to gently detach Steve’s hand from his hair, and Steve closes his eyes tightly, trying to loosen his hand. Eddie holds his clenched fist in his hand, running his thumb over his knuckles.

“Baby,” Eddie says softly. “Look at me.”

Steve opens his eyes.

“You wanna get dressed?”

Steve pauses, looking at him, and then he nods.

Eddie leans to grab their clothes from where they’re discarded next to the bed. He sits up with a hoodie in his hand, one that was on the floor within reach. He lets go of Steve’s hand to help him get dressed, to help him pull his boxers on and tug Eddie’s hoodie on over his head before he dresses himself as well.

Steve covers his face in his hands, trying to hide, and he weakens even more when Eddie touches him, when he runs his hands over his arms gently, squeezing.

“Stevie, baby…”

“I’m sorry,” Steve chokes, his voice muffled. “I’m so sorry, baby, I— I don’t—”

Eddie shushes him gently, pushing his fingers through his hair.

“Steve, sweetheart, come here.” He pulls him in so their foreheads press together, and he caresses his cheeks, nudging their noses together. “Breathe,” he says softly, whispering. “It’s okay.”

Steve sniffles, reaching to hold his waist, gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly. He tries to breathe, to inhale slowly, normally, but it doesn’t work, and his breath gets caught in his throat, choking him.

“You got it,” Eddie murmurs.

When Steve exhales smoothly, Eddie lifts his head and looks at him, smoothing his hair out of the way carefully, gently.

“I’m sorry,” Steve breathes. Eddie shakes his head patiently.

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

“But…”

But it was a good night.

They’d gone on an actual date, and Steve had had fun, he’d held his boyfriend’s hand in public without worrying, without being scared. He’d kissed him in the car and giggled and blushed, and everything was fucking fine.

“Look at me,” Eddie says firmly, and Steve lifts his head, his vision blurring. Eddie is looking at him intently, tenderly. “You don’t have to apologize,” he says gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you understand?”

“But…”

“But nothing, baby,” Eddie says, leaning forward in emphasis. “You did so good for me, okay?”

Steve’s eyes flutter as he blinks tears out of his eyes.

“I’m so proud of you,” Eddie whispers. “I’m not upset at all, Stevie, okay?”

It must be clear on his face that Steve doesn’t believe him. Because it doesn’t make sense that Eddie wouldn’t be upset; Steve’s ruined their night. There’s no way Eddie isn’t at least disappointed.

“Steve,” Eddie murmurs. “Baby.”

Steve looks at him again, letting him wipe his tears and cradle his jaw.

“I would be upset if you didn’t say anything,” Eddie says gently. “If you didn’t stop me, and you just… let me keep going even though you didn’t want to.” His voice sounds tight. “Okay? You never, ever have to apologize for stopping anything. If it’s… If it’s sex, or if you don’t feel like talking, or if you don’t feel like being touched— anything. You understand?”

And something about the way his voice sounds, so firm, almost demanding, almost authoritative, makes Steve feel a little lightheaded. Makes him melt into his hands.

He’s so nice.

“Stevie,” Eddie says softly. “If you decide that you never wanna have sex with me ever again, that’s okay.”

Steve almost pouts, his head tilting, and Eddie smiles weakly, his thumbs brushing over Steve’s cheeks.

“That’s okay,” Eddie says adamantly, shaking Steve’s head gently, playfully. “You don’t ever have to do anything you don’t want to, okay? ”

Steve nods weakly.

Eddie leans in again, nudging their noses together.

“You don’t ever have to apologize for not wanting something,” he says softly. “For saying no or telling me to stop or asking for more time or fucking anything, you understand me?”

Steve nods, his eyes fluttering again. Eddie holds his jaw and shakes his head playfully again, and it’s kind of condescending, kind of mean, but it makes Steve’s mind go blank.

“You understand me?” Eddie asks again, more intently, waiting for a verbal response.

Steve isn’t thinking. His skull is full of static.

“Yes, sir.”

Eddie blinks.

And Steve’s own voice catches up to him. His face flushes with heat, and his eyes burn.

“I’m—”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Eddie says, half-smiling now. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Steve scoffs weakly, but he’s crying again, embarrassed, and Eddie wipes his tears away, leaning in to kiss his forehead before he lowers his head to press his forehead to it.

“Is that what you wanna call me, baby?” he murmurs. Steve’s stomach flutters. He nods. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, his voice weak again. It’s almost a whine.

“That’s okay,” Eddie whispers. “You can call me that.”

“But it’s weird,” Steve says quietly, shyly, and Eddie huffs out a laugh.

“You know I don’t mind weird.”

Steve smiles weakly.

“I like it,” Eddie whispers softly, the end of his nose brushing Steve’s. “I love taking care of you, baby.”

Steve nods, closing his eyes, exhaling slowly, and their noses brush again.

“I love taking care of you,” Eddie repeats intently.

Steve tilts his head and lifts his chin to kiss him softly, and Eddie lets him, humming quietly and holding his face like he’s something precious.

Eddie guides him to rest on his shoulder when they part, and Steve sighs, melting against him.

“Okay?” Eddie asks softly. Steve nods.

“…Thank you, sir.”

“Of course, baby boy,” Eddie murmurs, and he kisses Steve’s head, running his hands over his spine, and Steve think he might be fucking fine.

─────────────────

Steve’s hair is damp with rain as he makes his way up the stairs to Eddie’s apartment. He feels heavy; his jacket is almost soaked, and his jeans are sticking to his legs, and his bag is weighing his shoulders down. He lets it drop to his elbow before dropping it to the ground as he stops outside Eddie’s door.

Eddie answers within just a few seconds, and Steve smiles, tilting his head at him as Eddie steps aside for him to come inside, but something is off. Eddie’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, dropping his bag next to the pile of shoes by the door, letting Eddie take his jacket. Eddie scoffs, his expression lightening.

“Nothing?”

Steve gives him a look as he toes his shoes off, kicking them aside.

“What’s going on?”

“Uh,” Eddie sighs, an eyebrow raising as he looks Steve up and down, half-smiling. “You don’t have an umbrella?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Steve says lightly, moving closer, setting his arms over Eddie’s shoulders and playing with the curls that have escaped the bun his hair is in. Eddie holds his waist easily. “Also yes, I do, but I forgot it.”

“Ah.” Eddie sighs heavily, slowly, his eyes skimming Steve’s face. “Wayne called.”

Steve blinks. His stomach twists.

He’s never met Wayne. Never even talked on the phone with him. But he loves him.

Eddie has endless stories about it, about his collections of mugs and trucker hats and bottle openers, about his banjo and the quilts that litter his living room. About how he’d stay up with Eddie to help him with his homework or to listen to him rant about whatever book he was reading or whatever campaign he was planning. About how he came home one day and threw a brand-new hairbrush at Eddie a while after he started growing his hair out. About how sweet he’s always been, how loving.

“Is he okay?” he asks, his eyes widening. “What happened?”

“He’s fine,” Eddie says quickly, smiling, shaking his head, pressing a hand into the small of Steve’s back. “He’s fine, it’s just…”

Steve stares at him as he hesitates, his lips parted like he’s going to speak even though he doesn’t say anything. Steve touches his face, brushing his thumbs over his cheeks. His eyes look a little bit red.

“It’s Linda,” Eddie says after a few moments, his hands holding Steve’s waist firmly like he’s steadying himself on him. Steve freezes. “She, uhm. She had a heart attack. She didn’t make it.”

He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, shakily, nodding his head absently. His eyes are glassy.

“How do you feel?” Steve asks softly.

Eddie inhales, laughing humourlessly, letting out a shaky, “Uh…”

“Baby,” Steve says, and Eddie meets his eyes. His eyelashes flutter as he blinks tears back, and his tongue swipes over his lower lip briefly. Steve slides his hands down to his arms.

“Come here,” he says softly, reaching for Eddie’s hand, and he pulls him along gently as he goes to the living room. Eddie follows quietly, sniffling, and Steve’s chest hurts. He pushes him to sit on the sofa, and Eddie falls on it heavily, looking up at Steve helplessly as Steve lowers to sit on his lap, his knees on either side of his hips. “Okay?”

Eddie nods, his mouth quirking into a tired smile. Steve sets his hands on his neck, tracing light lines over his skin.

“Tell me,” he whispers.

Eddie closes his eyes and takes a slow deep breath, relaxing against the back of the sofa and lifts his hands to rest them on Steve’s thighs.

“I, uhm…” He opens his eyes, but they’re hazy, glassy, trained on the collar of Steve’s shirt. It’s a plain t-shirt, grey and loose-fitted, but it’s nothing Steve would ever have worn even a year ago. The cross on Steve’s necklace is hidden behind the fabric. “I don’t know how to feel.”

His hands are kneading Steve’s thighs gently, absently, like he’s fidgeting.

“What are you feeling right now?” Steve asks softly. Eddie pauses before he shrugs.

“Just… I don’t know.” His voice cracks. He looks at Steve, looking into his eyes for a moment before he looks away again, squeezing Steve’s hips. “I’m… Sad. But. I don’t know.” He shrugs again, shaking his head. His head falls against the back of the sofa.

Steve brushes his thumb over his throat lightly, his heart aching.

“I feel angry?” Eddie says after a moment, his expression shifting into confusion. “I don’t— I don’t know why, it— it’s like she slighted me or something, I don’t…” He does that laugh again, that awful laugh that grates on Steve’s skin, that laugh that’s void of joy. “I don’t know.”

“You’re allowed to feel angry,” Steve says quietly, tucking a loose wisp of hair behind his ear. The tunnels through his earlobes are black today.

“It’s not just anger,” Eddie breathes, his hands sliding up to Steve’s waist like he’s pleading with him. “I… I feel relieved.”

He whispers it. Like it’s a secret. Like he’s ashamed.

“That’s okay,” Steve whispers back, but Eddie shakes his head, blinking rapidly.

“It’s not,” he breathes. Steve takes a breath to say something, but Eddie speaks again. “She’s dead. I— How can I feel, like, content with it?”

“She was cruel to you,” Steve interrupts, leaning down with emphasis. “She was mean. You have every right to feel relieved that you don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

Eddie’s head falls back again and he sighs, looking at the ceiling. His eyelashes are wet. Steve traces the bat on his neck, caressing its grotesque face, its intricate wings. Eddie’s hands squeeze his waist, kneading and holding him tightly.

“Talk to me,” Steve says after a few moments. Eddie takes another deep breath.

“Uhm,” he says. His voice wavers, and Steve hates seeing him like this, hates seeing him sad. “I saw her a few years ago.”

Steve nods, caressing his neck.

“I was nineteen. Wayne had… Wayne had had an accident at the plant,” Eddie continues, steeling himself. “He was injured. It wasn’t, like… He was on bed rest, you know? And when he called me, I just… I panicked. I’d only lived away from him a little while, and I just… I went to him. Just in case.”

Steve smiles fondly, nodding. Of course Eddie would go to him.

“He couldn’t really walk. He was still… I mean. Wayne’s a character. He kept tellin’ me I didn’t need to go all the way down there, but he… I could tell he was happy I was there.”

Steve’s smile grows. Eddie’s accent always grows heavier when he talks about his hometown or Wayne. Steve likes hearing his accent.

“So one day, I was…” Eddie sighs. “I was in the kitchen fixin’ up some tea. Wayne was in bed with a book. He took my room after I left town.” Steve nods. “And, uhm… There was a knock.”

He slips a hand under the hem of Steve’s shirt, pressing to his skin. His hand is warm.

“I thought it was gonna be, like, a neighbor, or— or one of Wayne’s work buddies, but it was—” He cuts off, choking on his own voice, and Steve’s stomach hurts. “It was Linda.”

He pauses for a moment, slipping his tongue over his lips, kneading the soft flesh above Steve’s waistband.

“She didn’t recognize me at first,” he says quietly. “I, like, froze when I saw her, and she— she just stared at me. And I could— I could see the exact moment she realized who I was, I mean she, like… Her eyes went all wide. And she looked me up and down, and I— I remember I was wearing just a black hoodie, but she looked at it like…”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly when he doesn’t finish.

“I’d had these done,” Eddie says, lifting a hand and touching one of the piercings on his lower lip. “And I had, uhm, one here,” he says, touching the side of his nose. “I let it close a while ago, but it was, uhm, just a silver hoop.”

Steve nods, smiling.

“She… She just stared at me, and neither of us knew what to do.” Eddie looks at Steve’s chest again, his eyes glassy, and it’s like he’s zoned out completely, like he’s barely even there. “She had a, uhm, like a casserole dish, and a— a Bible. And I just kinda stared for a moment. And then she, uhm, like, snapped at me about… You’re not gonna let me in?”

Steve sighs.

“And I just said no.”

Steve scoffs, and Eddie’s expression lightens. He looks up at Steve’s face, his hands tightening on his waist.

“And I asked what she wanted, and she told me she heard Wayne was hurt so she came by to see him, and I… We started arguing. And Wayne came out of his room to see what the fuss was, and he was— he was limping, and hobbling, and Linda and I both, like scolded him for getting out of bed. And for this… brief moment, we were… one in the same.”

Steve’s expression tightens. His lips purse.

“Wayne saw the Bible she was holding,” Eddie continues. “And he…” He half-smiles, tilting his head fondly even though he’s just staring into space. “Goddammit, Linda,” he says in a clear impression of Wayne, his voice gravelly, his accent thicker. Steve smiles. “I told you I don’t want that shit in my house.

“I helped Wayne back to bed,” Eddie continues. “And Linda let herself in. Started to heat up the casserole. I told Wayne to stay put, you know, that I’d deal with her.”

“I assume she didn’t go easily,” Steve says. Eddie shakes his head.

“She, uhm… She argued. Told me she just wanted to speak with Wayne, say a prayer for his health. I told her Wayne wasn’t interested.” He trails off into silence, chewing on his lip. “…She said she wanted to help me, too, but… but that I was already too far gone.”

Steve blinks. Recognizes the words from Eddie’s thigh.

“I told her to leave.” Eddie blinks, looking up at Steve. His lip trembles, and his eyes fill with tears. “That was the last time I saw her.”

Steve touches his cheek. Eddie turns his face into it, taking a stuttering breath.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says softly. Eddie blinks his eyes open, shrugging again. “Eddie.”

“I feel like shit,” Eddie says, a tear falling down his cheek, his voice shaking. “I hate feeling like this, like— like I’m fucking vindicated or something. Like this is justice.” His eyes are wide like he’s desperate to say this, like he needs Steve to hear him. “She’s dead. I should be, like, grieving, but I’m not,” he says despite the tears on his face, despite the trembling of his hands.

“Eddie,” Steve says firmly, holding his face. Eddie’s tears run down his fingers, dampening his skin, and Steve thinks he could use the tears as holy water, could use them to bless himself, to purify himself. “There’s nothing wrong with what you’re feeling.”

Eddie’s breath shudders as he exhales. He looks up at Steve like he’s helpless, like he’s listening like his life depends on it.

“She abused you,” Steve says after hesitating for a moment. “She was cruel. She used God to use you. You have every right to be glad she’s gone. Okay?”

Eddie’s eyes flutter. Steve wipes his tears away tenderly.

“Whatever you’re feeling is fine,” Steve murmurs. “You can be angry, and you can be sad, and you can be happy, it’s… It’s all fine.” He looks him in the eye. He looks tired. “Okay?”

Eddie’s eyes blink at him. His hands are still trembling a little bit.

“…I love you.”

Steve almost startles, blinking, freezing, and Eddie’s expression doesn’t change; he’s still gazing up at Steve, looking at him like he’s fucking reverent.

“I know it…” Eddie pauses, taking a breath. “I know this is really bad timing, but I…” His eyes flutter, and he presses his lips together, hesitating.

Steve leans down and kisses him. It’s a slow kiss, gentle and lingering, and Eddie’s hands slide around to the small of his back, holding him close. When Steve pulls away, he stays close, their noses nudging, their foreheads pressing.

“I love you too,” he says quietly, whispering. “It’s okay.”

Eddie exhales shakily, and he lets out a quiet sob, and it tears through Steve’s body, rips him to shreds right in Eddie’s lap. He kisses him again, holding his face gently, pushing a hand into his hair when Eddie gasps into his mouth. Eddie wraps his arms around his waist, holding him tightly, pressing them together so close Steve feels like their skin might melt together.

Eddie makes a soft noise, a weak groan that slips between Steve’s lips and rumbles into his chest. Steve whines back, his arms wrapping around Eddie’s neck, his back arching when Eddie kisses him harder, biting and sucking on his lip, and it’s like the air in the room has suddenly become hazy. Eddie lifts a hand to grab Steve’s throat, holding him in place as he licks into his mouth.

Steve hums, keening, slumping against him, nodding when Eddie pulls away for a brief moment to look at him. He doesn’t let go of Steve’s throat, squeezing a little bit as his other hand slides around to his back, pushing under his shirt and rubbing his skin. Steve reaches to hold his wrist, gasping for breath, cheeks warm. Eddie is harder under him, and Steve’s blood is rushing.

“Eddie,” he gasps when they part.

“Mm.”

“Do you… Do you wanna have sex?” he asks breathlessly. Eddie grins, his teeth nipping at Steve’s lip.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, pulling away to look at him. His hair is already a mess, and his cheeks are pink, and his eyes are glassy again, but it’s a better shine than before.

“Yes,” he says softly.

“Can we do it here?”

“Do you want…”

“I’ll go get it,” Steve says quickly when Eddie’s hands set on his hips like he’s going to nudge him to get up. “Wait here.”

Eddie smiles lazily, softly.

“Okay.”

Steve goes quickly, tugging his shirt off on his way and tossing it aside as he grabs the lube and a condom from Eddie’s bedside table. They’re sitting in plain view, next to a half-full glass of water and a book Eddie’s been reading, and the sight of them, so casual, so easy, makes Steve happy somehow.

Eddie is pulling his own shirt off when Steve goes back to him, and Steve tosses the lube and condom to the sofa next to him before unzipping his jeans as Eddie watches, hair even messier than before, frizzy and staticy from his shirt. It’s a relief when Steve finally peels his jeans off his legs; they’re still a little damp, but he hadn’t noticed the discomfort until now. Eddie lifts his hips to pull his jeans and boxers down his hips, pushing them to his knees before reaching for Steve, who takes his hand as he kicks aside his clothes.

He falls onto Eddie’s lap again with a sharp exhale as their bodies meet. Eddie’s skin is warm.

“I love you,” Steve breathes, pressing their foreheads together as Eddie reaches for the lube and tugs at the small of Steve’s back to make him arch it. “I love you so much, sir.”

“God, I love you too, baby,” Eddie whispers. The lube bottle clicks twice, and Steve lets out a weak sound when Eddie’s finger presses to his hole, cold with lube. “I’m so fucking grateful for you.”

Steve whines, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck, hiding his face, groaning when Eddie squeezes at his ass, spreading him open. They’re both quiet as Eddie fingers him open, his fingers pushing and prodding, spreading his fingers and making Steve ache in the best way, except the occasional whisper, the soft brush of Eddie’s breath on Steve’s bare skin.

Is that good?

Fuck, yes, sir.

Steve groans when he feels ready, when the heat in his stomach is threatening to overflow, and he reaches back to swat at Eddie’s hand, whining a weak Please.

He lifts onto his knees for Eddie to roll the condom on and spread lube over himself, and he looks down at Eddie, who looks back up at him. They just look at each other for a moment, eyes shining, lips parted as they pant. And then Steve kisses him so hard their teeth clash, and Eddie groans, squeezing his ass. They don’t pull away, feeling blindly for Steve to lower himself onto Eddie, and he moans into Eddie’s mouth as he does.

“Mm, God, Eddie.”

“Fuck.”

Steve lets out a sound that’s high in his throat, breathy and weak, and Eddie’s hands spread over his waist, holding him in place for a moment. He’s trembling now, shaking as he clings to Eddie’s shoulders.

“Shit,” he breathes sharply. “You’re so— You’re so fucking deep—”

Eddie hums, gripping Steve tightly, and they pause there, staying for a moment.

Until Steve shifts on his knees with a weak whines, rising and then lowering, his eyes squeezed shut so tightly he might get a headache. He sounds pathetic.

He moves faster after a few moments, arms wrapping around Eddie’s neck, face buried and hidden, his voice muffled as he whines and pants and groans as Eddie touches him, holds him. Eddie’s hips shift for a brief moment, rising to meet Steve’s movements, and it presses him even deeper, and Steve lets out a fucking wail.

“You okay?” Eddie asks breathlessly, pausing. Steve grinds down against him, whining, breathing hard, nodding into his neck.

“Green, fuck, Eddie,” he whines. “Please, sir, please, please—”

Eddie slides down the sofa a little bit, holding Steve’s hips tightly, keeping him in place, and he fucks him, looking up at him, watching closely, carefully. Steve whines. He’s rambling, mumbling fucking deliriously even as he listens to Eddie’s soft voice, murmuring to him.

“My good boy,” he says softly, so fucking softly. “My baby boy, you’re so perfect.”

Steve sobs, pushing a hand into Eddie’s hair, holding it tightly as he gasps for breath, moving against Eddie’s body, winding his hips, tucking his face into Eddie’s neck. He can feel Eddie’s breath on his shoulder, warm and soft and comforting.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Eddie says roughly, hands gripping Steve’s hips so tightly it might bruise, when Steve moves again, up and down, and Steve groans at the sound of their skin meeting, soft slaps that fill the air like mist. “That’s my boy, there you go, baby.”

Steve whines, and there are tears on his face now. Eddie tugs at his hair to make him lift his head, and he gazes at him for a moment before he pulls him in, and he licks Steve’s tears away, and maybe he thinks the same about Steve’s tears that Steve thinks about his. Steve groans, his eyes closing again as Eddie’s tongue slides over his cheek, as his hand pulls his hair and his other hand squeezes his ass.

Steve grinds against him, reaching up to hold Eddie’s face weakly, his fingertips pressing into his cheeks.

Their faces are pressed together, breath mixing in the air, bodies moving desperately.

“I love you,” Steve breathes. “I love you, sir—”

Eddie whines, licking his jaw before his hand lands on Steve’s ass sharply, the sound ringing out around the room like it’s empty, like there’s an echo.

“I love you too,” he whispers roughly. “Fucking beyond words, baby, I can’t even fucking tell you—”

Steve comes with the words caught in his throat, choking on them as he repeats them again and again and again and again, like a mantra. Like a prayer.

Eddie says it back. Again and again and again and again.

They get dressed slowly. Quietly. Eddie pushes Steve’s hair back after helping him pull on a sweater, and Steve pushes him gently so his back is to Steve, so he can pull his curls back into a ponytail.

Eddie makes coffee. Steve hugs his waist as he pours it into two mugs, resting his face against his back between his shoulder blades, his cheek squishing against him. He can smell the fabric of his shirt, and it’s nice.

They sit in the living room, on the sofa, and then Eddie looks up at Steve, his eyebrows taut.

“Do you… Would you mind if I smoked a cigarette?” he asks. He looks shy.

Steve shakes his head, smiling, and he reaches to set his mug aside.

“Where are they?” he asks as he gets up. Eddie looks up at him, and his eyes are shining again as he smiles.

“Uh, I have a pack in the drawer there,” he says, gesturing to the table by the sofa. “There’s a lighter there too. I’ll open a window.”

They sit on the windowsill, blankets wrapped around themselves, mugs set between them.

Steve holds up a cigarette for him, and Eddie leans to take it between his lips, suppressing a smile. Steve fiddles with the lighter for a moment, staring at it, and Eddie reaches silently to show him, moving his hand so he can flick the lighter and tilt his hand without burning his thumb. Steve tilts his head as he holds the light out, as Eddie leans in and inhales, puffing smoke out of his mouth as he leans back again.

Steve sips his coffee as Eddie smokes, leaning against the window. The glass is cold even through the fabric of his sweater and the blanket that’s wrapped around him, but he doesn’t mind. He gazes at Eddie, watches the end of his cigarette glow brightly, watches the smoke drift around his head and out the window that he’s opened. Eddie drains his coffee and tapes the cigarette ash into the empty mug.

“How do you feel?” Steve asks softly when their eyes meet.

“Better,” Eddie says. His voice is soft, quiet, almost shy. He smiles.

“Do you wanna talk about her?”

Eddie shrugs, taking a drag, sighing the smoke out of his lungs.

“I just…” He’s quiet for a moment, looking out the window, watching the world outside for a moment. “I was so young when I lived with them. And it just feels like… like there’s still this little boy somewhere inside me that went into hiding because of them.”

Steve nods, holding his mug to his face so the steam is on his skin. He wishes he could take it all away from Eddie, wishes he could reach into his chest and pull out all the heartache and sadness. Eddie is quiet, looking at the windowsill between them. It’s white, the paint chipping at the corner of the wood.

“I keep having to remind myself that I didn’t deserve it,” Eddie says quietly. “All the shit they gave me.”

And Steve doesn’t know what to say.

He’s reminded of the things Eddie’s said to him about Steve’s own parents, about the way they talk to him, the way they touch him.

“They turned me into someone else,” Eddie says quietly, tapping the cigarette on the mug again, sighing. “I wasn’t the same when I left their house as when I moved in.”

He looks up at Steve, and he looks like he wants to laugh like that again, to dismiss it and change the subject, to pretend he’s fine. But after a moment, his eyes are gleaming, watering again, and his lip quivers even as he twists his mouth to suppress it. He shrugs, blinking his eyes, tilting his head, and he looks so small Steve wants to tuck him into his chest to keep him safe.

“I was so soft before them,” Eddie says, his voice just a breath, and Steve’s chest splits open.

His eyes burn suddenly, and he nods, blinking tears back.

“I’m sorry they stole that from you,” he says softly.

He pauses for a moment before he leans in, through the air that smells like cigarette smoke, over his mug, and he touches Eddie’s face with his free hand, holding him as he kisses him gently. They linger there, eyelashes fluttering against each other’s cheeks, before Steve pulls away and looks at him, touching his cheek.

He takes a deep breath, looking at Eddie’s piercings on his mouth, looking at the bat on his throat, at the subtle reddish bruise that’s hidden in the bat’s wing from Steve’s teeth. He slides his hand down to Eddie’s chest and presses over his heart like he’s trying to feel the heat of his blood.

“He’s still in here,” he says quietly, looking at his hand pressing over Eddie’s sweater. “Little Eddie.”

Eddie suppresses a smile, sniffling, putting his hand over Steve’s like he’s holding it in place.

“We can… We can make him feel safe now,” Steve says, looking into Eddie’s eyes. “He can exist without being scared now. At home.”

Eddie’s smile wavers. His hand presses harder over Steve’s.

“I love you so much.”

Steve kisses him again, tasting coffee and cigarettes on his tongue.

“I love you so much too.”

♡ permanent taglist: @estrellami-1 @theplantscientist @spectrum-spectrum @carlprocastinator1000 @starman-jpg @romantiklen @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme ♡ holy things taglist: @stevesbipanic @pearynice @ao3whore @slowandsteddie @swordsandflowercrowns @dragonmama76 @mikeys-thoughts @sofadofax @cyranyx @kazalohiku @lostonceandneverfound @strangerfreaks @bitchysteveharrington @nailbatanddungeon @newtstabber (comment to be added/removed to/from either list!!)

♡ art of steve and eddie ♡ pinboard // playlist ♡ buy me a coffee

[windwenn]

*hyperventilating* I adore ur artstyle and i love how you draw michael so so sos soso much

A little michael sketch i never posted just for u anon 💙

[morallyinept]

For anyone that needs to hear this, and I also just want to talk about this for a minute... or maybe several.

Back on the 29th April 2023, (I know, this year is going TOO fucking fast 😵‍💫) Pedro attended The Last Of Us For Your Consideration Event at The Director's Guild of America in Los Angeles, with his lovely co-star, Bella Ramsey.

The above video appeared by Deadline from the event, with Pedro explaining to Bella, after they queried, as to why he puts his hand over his stomach. "Do you know why? My anxiety's right there." He can be heard saying to them.

And the whole of Pedro's fandom fell in love with him all over again. I mean, you just would, wouldn't you? I know I did. 😍 What a man.

Why? Because he demonstrated that he's human. Relatable. Pedro recognised and embraced his vulnerabilities publically, and by doing so - whether he knew it or not - made everyone who has ever felt the crippling weight of anxiety crush them, feel seen and heard.

Back in 2019 Pedro said in an interview with The Guardian, "anxiety is something that I’ve lived with since I was a child, so it’s a part of my chemistry. I don’t know what kind of person I’d be without it. It’s something that I manage, but it’s also part of what makes me, me."

"I know that I have to put myself in high-stress situations to be happy. I mean, within reason. But there’s a certain level of anxiety that helps me do good work. It helps me be aware of the things I need to be aware of,” Pedro added.

So why does Pedro put his hand over his stomach/sternum area specifically? What is it about that pose? We often see him doing it, even dating as far back as 2005, so for almost 20 something years it's been a part of his red carpet and public appearances.

But what does it mean?

Well, putting your hand on your stomach/sternum area can symbolise many things if you scrutinise body langauge. I'm no expert, but I've worked in fields where I've had to study it and teach it, and it's really interesting at how much you give away about yourself to others in your body language, without even realising it...

Ever heard of WORDS, MUSIC, DANCE? 🎵🎶 In a nutshell (because I could totally talk your damn ear off about all this! 🤪) WORDS is what we verbally say, which is made up of only 7% of our communication. I know, small right? MUSIC is how we say it at 38%, i.e. the tone of our voice. Finally DANCE is our body language, which is 55%. Think about that for a sec. 55% of how you communicate with someone is without even opening up your mouth. 😳

Your stomach - or gut - is a very vulnerable part of your body; a lot of vital organs are smooshed up in there, so by placing a hand over it, you're protecting yourself from harm or attack. It's also a similar thing we do when we feel unwell or sick; we rub our tummy to feel better, right? It's an unconscious protecting motion that stems from our primal selves Think of the foetal position; you curl inwards towards your stomach. The abdomen walls contain significant muscles (some vital for our health ☝🏻) and we can carry tension in here too, so by 'holding' them or protecting them, we feel at ease within our core and can relax better. (#nerdalert 🤓 I love science!)

Some people do it as a means of comfort. Others do it purposefully. Pedro's stance is him possibly trying to rebalance himself. Focus on his breathing and stay grounded in the moments of utter chaos spilling out around him. He also breathes steadily in through his nose, deeply. You can see him do this in various clips, as well as in the one above. His shoulders drop back and you see him relax almost instantly when he does it. Deep breathing is another tactic that is known to keep anyone suffering from anxiety or panic, calm in the moment.

It's incredibly admirable for a man to expose such a personal vulnerability like that, especially in such a public forum. Sadly, mental health is still not a subject that is spoken about or advocated for enough, despite being in the 21st century. We're doing better as a society, but there is still much work to be done. As a man, it can still be seen as very 'unmasculine' or 'weak' to talk about it. So, I really admire Pedro's honesty and the fact that he feels confident enough in himself to recognise that he is just a human being, who sometimes goes through some shit.

Speaking out can only help those, who suffer too, feel validated and that they are not alone. And you're not alone. Anxiety is often stigmatised or not taken seriously, yet it can be terribly debilitating and can cause further issues such as panic attacks and lead to chronic depression if not addressed with help and support.

Pedro has always been open and forthcoming about his own anxiety, and has been quoted in several interviews talking about it, and on his - now deleted - Twitter/X account about how he deals with it.

As someone who has had their fair share of anxiety, I've personally found that meditation has helped me tremendously. 🧘‍♀️ Breathing exercises are really helpful and really do work. I use an app called Balance (not sponsored/affiliated with) and for 10 minutes a day (or whenever I need it) I can breathe, focus and come back to myself. I also find that doing something I really love, like reading (smut), or going for a long hike, really helps. Creative hobbies are brilliant for channelling that negative emotion into something positive. Singing off-key in the shower, dancing crazy like a loon - even though my neighbours can probably see me through the window headbanging in my pants 🤘🏻 - painting, drawing, writing, photography, cooking... These are all things I do myself and love, and would encourage you to try, if you're not already.

Hell, even whacking on your fav Pedro movie makes you feel good too, right? Name your favourite Pedro movie in the comments, GO! 🎬 Mine's Prospect, d'uh. 😏

It's said a lot, but hydrating really helps. Drink that water, bishes! 💦 And eat some greens. 🥦🥬🫑🍏 What you put into your body also helps into what you'll get out of it long term. Food is fuel. 💪🏻🧠 If you eat crap, chances are you're going to feel like crap, capiche?

And I cannot tell you how much a good night's sleep can really turn things around. As a chronic insomniac, sleep can often be the enemy, but it really is vital for your mental wellbeing to rest and switch off for a bit. So put down your phone and get some shut eye. (Ideal time for some hot, mustached Latino man dreams too... 🥲)

And failing that, talking to someone about how you feel can also help. 🗨 A family member, a trusted friend, your cat (personally I'm a dog person 🐶 Woof); a Tumblr mutual... My inbox is always open for a chat FYI. You'll never be judged in Jett's place. 🖤 I'll make you a figurative cup of green tea. Not literal, I mean, I'm not a fucking miracle worker... ✨️🧚‍♀️

What was the point of this long-ass ramble, Jett? I know, I hear ya, I hear ya...

So, to anyone out there who feels a tad (or a helluva lot) anxious from time to time, please know that you're not alone. And also remember to stop and take a moment; breathe deeply in through your nose and slowly out through your mouth three times. Do it with me now. One... two... three. There. You good?

And remember, more than anything, that you are more than enough. You're stronger than you think you are. Your anxiety doesn't define you, nor does it control you. It's just a little shit that likes to come out now and again and try to tell you that you suck. You really don't. (Unless your name is Max Phillips 🧛‍♂️) You've got this. Trust me. You've really got this.

And just like the rather fucking awesome Mr Pedro Pascal, you're fucking awesome too, babe. 🖤

🖤

[themostefficientwaywithwater]

I've seen a lot of people are as excited as me for a Zelda game that focus on how Ganon's constant reincarnations affects negatively to Zelda, Link and even Ganondorf. We've already seen this theme subtly in BotW (Zelda chastised for not awakening her power, Link unable to speak and enjoy himself because of how the Hero's title burdens him). However, I normally wouldn't expect "the harm the vicious cycle of reincarnation makes on it's unwitting pawns" to be the theme of a Zelda game. After all, it's Nintendo, and we know they don't like to stray so far from the "evil is bad and we must defeat it" plotline and they wouldn't dare to criticize the goddesses' plans...

Oh, wait, they already did it.

The Wind Waker is about letting go of the past and how being unable to move on will harm you and future generations. Daphnes and Ganondorf can't let go of their kingdom, and they die with it because they can't imagine themselves living without it. It harms Medli and Makar, who are taken away from their home and family and are confined into the heart of a dungeon so the Master Sword can maintain it's full power. It harms Tetra, too, who sees her whole individuality taken away in favor of performing her role as "Princess Zelda". And it harms Link, who is treated as a pawn by Daphness to do the work of the Hero of Legend, despite literally being Just A Kid (TM) who just wanted to rescue his sister.

But, despite everything, they manage to break the cycle, as Ganondorf no longer appears in other titles situated in the Adult Timeline (neither do Hyrule, or the Triforce or the Master Sword, or most classical elements of TLOZ). By killing Ganondorf, Demise's hatred could no longer persist in the world, thus breaking the eternal cycle of death and reincarnation. But how could that happen? Sure stabbing a whole man in the head usually turns to be fatal, but that's been done before and they only managed to seal him away. Why did this time work?

I think he just gave up.

He realised he would never get Hyrule, that even when everything was at his favor (the Hero gone, the Princess at his power, the Master Sword was weakened, he even managed to get the Triforce of Courage from Link!) he still lost. He gave one last fight, but he didn't even transform to Ganon (it's only appearance is as a puppet, another symbol if he being treated as a pawn by a higher power) and after Link delivers the final blow, he accepts his fate and passes away.

Even though he's been treated as the major villain in the series, he's been as much as a pawn from the gods as the multiple Heroes and Princesses from the series. He may not have been the best man before OoT, but he was a victim of his circunstances and his initial motives where to grant his people a home where they could live in peace instead of fearing death day and night, turning into thieves just to survive. But he was corromped by anger, by revenge, by malice, and he turned the perfect vessel for Demise's curse. I think that BotW's Ganon was the same but it's been so many centuries that the man he once was can not be recognised, he's more of a beast now. But I still have hope, and now that his "mummy" has awakened, maybe we could get a more humanized version of Ganondorf instead of a simple "demon of malice". The old leader of a desert tribe who just wanted to give a better life to his people, and went too far.

I find this to be very unlikely, but not impossible. While WW's Ganondorf had it easier, as he was more collected and thoughtful, there's still the possibility that Ganondorf "awakes" from its Ganon-self and shows a bit more of characterization and his motives. Who knows, we could even break the cycle in BotW-TotK's timeline if Ganondorf refuses to continue this endless cicle of destruction and give up on Hyrule's conquest (a little more optimistic that being stabbed on the head, please and with sugar on top). But we may have to pay a big price to make it. After all, the cycle was broken in WW, but a great sacrifice was necessary...

Hyrule's destruction

[feral-teeth]

[ephiesoul]

Chibi Darkiplier reminding you to drink some water 💧

If you enjoy my art please consider supporting me on Patreon for I can continue making Chibi’s 💜 or check out my Etsy for stickers and commissions 💕 links in bio 💕

[amberlynnmurdock]

and nope matt doesn't get jealous when karen bitch page sucks frank's dick (like the braindead hoe she is), matt just rightfully recognizes her hypocrisy and points it out, hope this helps 🫶🏼

kinda pathetic y'all preach karen to be this independent strong woman yet cheer whenver she reverts into a brainless, braindead dicksucker and bootlicker for frank 💀 that's what a strong female character looks like to y'all? embarrassing.

does AI know how to use the ask feature now? that's crazy

also what's with the misogyny and sexism?

[feral-ass-raccoon]

hey, you.

yes, you.

i know you might not think so, but you're pretty great. and you deserve good things :)

whatever you're going through, whatever bullshit you're dealing with rn, you got this. alright?

now take a breath. in... and out. stay a while. relax, nothing will happen while you're here.

and when you're ready, go give em hell. I believe in you <3

[dkmshaboogie]

Howdy once again folks, I return from the grave of professional school almost a doctor and with my first attempt at published smut!

This work is inspired by @distant--shadow's western AU artwork that absolutely rots my brain in the most delicious way (Please let me know if you don't want this out there!)

I hope you enjoy and that my writing hasn't suffered too much the past 3 years!

[ghosttotheparty]

a mess of holy things 10 also on ao3 // prev. // next

Two essays have been turned in. A third is halfway through its final draft. There are two stacks of flashcards stacked on Steve’s desk by the window, the corners of the cards curled from how many times Steve had shuffled them.

And Steve is tired.

He’s tired in a way he’s never been before. Not just physically tired, but completely drained. He barely wants to open his eyes when his alarm clock rings, barely wants to move enough to turn it off. He can barely think, barely focus his own eyes.

But it’s Saturday, and Steve hasn’t seen Eddie in two days. So he forces himself up. Forces himself to get dressed, brush his teeth, fix his hair, barely even noticing himself do it all, like he’s in a daze.

He’s grabbing his keys from where they hang from the doorknob when his phone rings, and he stops short. Looks at it.

Somehow he knows it’s his mother.

He sees her in his head, lounging on the sofa in the hallway, holding the phone, idly flipping through a catalogue. Waiting for Steve to pick up, to ask him how his classes are, go pretend nothing happened when he was home last. To make conversation for a minute and then to say Alright.

He doesn’t pick up.

The phone is still ringing when he shuts the door behind himself. And it’s like he can still hear it ringing even as he walks down the sidewalk, as he finds an empty seat on the bus, clanging around his head like it’s haunting him.

It only stops when the door swings open, and Steve’s eyes meet Eddie’s. His head falls quiet, and he wants to fall to his knees right there in the doorway.

“Hi.”

“Hey, beautiful.”

Steve cracks a smile, and he reaches up to wrap his arms around Eddie’s neck, stepping forward so Eddie can pull him inside, hugging him as Steve kisses him. Steve closes his eyes, lets his weight fall against Eddie, vaguely hears the door shut behind him. Eddie tilts his head, holds Steve’s face in his hands, kisses him harder.

Steve lets out a weak noise, and he gasps when they part.

Eddie’s thumbs brush over his cheeks. His lips brush Steve’s when he speaks.

“I got a client in my room right now, you wanna wait in the living room?”

Steve nods without opening his eyes.

“It should only take a few minutes, okay?” Eddie says softly, like he knows how desperate Steve is.

“Can I have another kiss first?” Steve asks quietly, almost whispering, and Eddie smiles, kissing him again. He licks across Steve’s lips, and Steve gasps, opening his mouth for him, fingers grasping the neckline of Eddie’s sweater. He clutches at him, clinging to him desperately, and Eddie’s hands are strong and warm as he holds Steve’s jaw and pulls away, teeth tugging at his lower lip.

“Open,” he says softly, and Steve looks at him, letting his head tilt back as his mouth falls open. Eddie is smiling, rough fingers pressing so gently into Steve’s skin, and he pauses before opening his own mouth. Steve sees his tongue flash, and he lets out a weak whine as Eddie’s spit falls to his tongue.

Eddie kisses him again as he’s swallowing, still holding his jaw, and then he whispers into his mouth.

“Gimme your jacket.”

Steve shrugs it off, lets Eddie take it, and it’s like his body is getting more and more tired with every second he spends here.

“Good boy,” Eddie murmurs, reaching past Steve to hang the jacket up on a hook. “Go on and wait in the living room for me, I’ll be right there.”

Steve nods, kissing Eddie chastely one last time before he goes, toeing his shoes off and pushing them aside. He hears a man’s voice as he’s grabbing a blanket from where it’s tossed into the corner of the sofa and wrapping it around himself.

“The fuck’s taking so long?”

And Eddie’s voice, sharp but still quiet like he knows Steve can hear them.

“I was saying hi to my boyfriend, you got a fucking problem with that?”

Boyfriend.

Steve likes that. He smiles to himself as he crawls onto the sofa and lays down heavily.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Eddie lowers his voice, and Steve lets his eyes fall shut, pulling the edge of the blanket up to his face, taking a deep breath, inhaling the faint smell of cigarettes and cologne. He drifts somewhere between awake and asleep, his body heavy on the sofa even though he kind of feels like he’s floating above it, like his body is falling. The floor outside the living room creaks after a while, and he hears Eddie’s voice, hushed and muffled.

“You wake him up and I’m never selling to you again. Get outta here.”

Steve smiles into the blanket. He hears the door open and shut, hears Eddie go to his room and tidy up, hears him go to the kitchen and wash the dishes. And Steve falls asleep.

He wakes up to Eddie’s fingertips trailing over the side of his face, light and gentle. His eyes flutter open and he inhales as they focus on Eddie’s face; he’s crouched on the floor next to the sofa, almost eye-level with Steve.

“Hi,” Steve says softly, sleepily.

“Hi, baby,” Eddie says. “You sleep okay?”

Steve nods, his cheek squishing against the sofa. Eddie’s fingers tuck his hair back, brushing it out of the way gently.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly. Steve shrugs weakly.

“Tired.”

Eddie keeps touching his face, tracing a line between two moles, caressing his cheek.

“What time’d you go to bed last night?”

“…Midnight. Ish.”

Eddie lets out a breath like he’s disappointed, and Steve suddenly wants to cry.

“I have a big test coming up,” he says shakily, hand tightening on the edge of the blanket. “I was studying.”

“Studying ain’t gonna do much if you haven’t been sleeping.”

“I know,” Steve says softly.

“You’re gonna burn yourself out, Stevie.”

Steve looks away. He wants to hide his face under the blanket, but that would make it so Eddie can’t touch him. He wants Eddie to touch him.

God, he wants Eddie to touch him.

“You gotta rest,” Eddie says gently.

“I don’t know how,” Steve says, looking at him again. “No one ever taught me to rest.”

Eddie lets out another breath, but he just looks sad now.

“How do you want to rest?”

Steve shrugs.

“I don’t…” He hesitates, and he doesn’t want to make Eddie sad, but Eddie somehow silently prompts him to speak. “I don’t feel like I can rest.”

Eddie blinks, brushing his knuckles over Steve’s cheek.

“Like you’re not allowed? Or like you literally can’t?”

Steve pauses.

“…Both?”

Eddie clicks his tongue.

“Baby…”

Steve sighs and pushes himself to sit up. Eddie’s hand falls away, but he stays on the floor, looking up at Steve as he sits cross-legged, tugging the blanket so it’s wrapped around his shoulders. Eddie moves closer, shifting onto his knees and leaning so he can rest his face on Steve’s knee.

He looks up at Steve like he’s begging for something, like he’s a puppy, and he’s so adorable Steve can’t suppress a smile. He reaches out to touch him, running his fingers through his hair.

He touches his face next. Runs a fingertip down the bridge of his nose, over his piercing.

“You’re cute,” he says quietly.

Eddie blinks at him, smiling.

Steve traces his smile, runs his fingertip lightly over his lips. Eddie kisses it. He straightens his head when Steve leans down to kiss him.

Eddie smiles against his mouth, tilting his chin up to reach, and his hands are gentle when they find Steve’s knees, holding him lightly.

“I missed you,” Steve whispers into his mouth.

“‘S two days,” Eddie murmurs between kisses.

“God, I know,” Steve whines, and he knows it’s stupid that he’s so damn clingy, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, whispering a soft Oh, baby under his breath before he kisses Steve harder.

Steve holds his face, shrugging his shoulders, furrowing his eyebrows with the desperation of it. Eddie kisses him back just as desperately, rising onto his knees before he moves even closer, moving slowly, carefully, like he’s worried about scaring Steve off as he moves up onto the sofa.

He sits next to Steve, holding his face tenderly as he sucks on his lower lip. Steve hums, his shoulders falling. He bites back after a moment, his teeth catching Eddie’s lip, and Eddie grins, fingers sliding to hold Steve’s neck.

And the way he’s gripping him feels almost possessive, like he’s never going to let Steve go. And Steve likes it.

He lets out a weak noise, and Eddie pulls away. Steve’s eyes flutter open.

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks quietly.

Steve nods and reaches for his face, pulling him into another kiss.

“‘M resting,” he mumbles against his mouth. Eddie laughs, grinning, and Steve is kissing his teeth now, but he doesn’t mind. He wants to kiss anything he can, anything he can reach.

He whines when Eddie licks into his mouth, clutching at the front of Eddie’s sweater before he pushes him back. Eddie pulls away again, his mouth open as he breathes hard, lips shining, and Steve pushes him again until he falls back against the armrest of the sofa.

Eddie grins again, tugging Steve down with him.

“Alright?” he checks as Steve makes his way onto Eddie’s lap, as they get situated breathlessly, and Steve nods.

“Kiss me.”

“Gladly,” Eddie mutters, pulling him down. Steve lets him, smiling, holding his face, and he slides his fingers to Eddie’s neck. He’s warm here, and Steve can feel his pulse under his skin.

And then Steve can’t hear anything except Eddie’s breathing, except his soft hums and the wet sounds of their tongues sliding, licking, pressing. Eddie’s hands are firm as they run over Steve’s sides, squeezing and pulling.

When they part, they’re both panting, and there’s a string of spit between their mouths. Steve catches it on his tongue without thinking, and Eddie groans, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back.

“Sorry,” Steve breathes.

“The fuck are you apologizing for?” Eddie says, eyes still closed. Steve giggles, and Eddie smiles lazily.

He opens his eyes, and they’re dark and shining as he looks up at Steve. His hair is caught on the armrest, spread around his head, and he looks…

Heavenly.

Or something.

Eddie’s eyes drift. They find the cross hanging from Steve’s neck.

It’s dangling down, hanging in front of Eddie’s face, glinting in the light from the window, and Steve wants to rip it off and throw it across the room.

The air is tense as their eyes meet again, and Steve blinks his eyes as they start to sting. He wants to apologize, to move off of him and hide his face.

But Eddie just lifts his head a little bit, moving forward enough to catch the cross between his teeth. And he rests his head again, letting the cross fall into his mouth, past the line of his teeth, into the dip under his tongue.

Steve exhales, eyes tracing the gold chain that’s draping in the air, leading from his neck to Eddie’s mouth, and his whole body aches.

He leans down and kisses him.

The chain is cold where it’s pressed against Steve’s lips, but Eddie’s mouth is so warm. Eddie’s hands press more firmly against Steve’s waist, and Steve’s hands move to his neck, pressing under his jaw to find his pulse.

He pulls away after a moment. Eddie looks up at him.

Eddie opens his mouth after a moment, his tongue flashing at Steve as it dips to pick up the cross, and then he’s holding it out to Steve.

Steve looks at it. It’s shining, glistening with Eddie’s spit, resting on his tongue like a communion wafer.

Steve leans down again, kisses him open-mouthed and desperate, and Eddie lets out a small noise. Steve squeezes his eyes shut, furrowing his brows, hands pressing harder.

Eddie’s tongue slides between his lips, passing the cross into his mouth, and a moan escapes Steve. It’s warm from Eddie’s mouth, slick and clicking against Steve’s teeth as he kisses him. He pushes it back into Eddie’s mouth, smiling when Eddie’s breath catches.

Eddie’s hands tighten on Steve’s waist, squeezing him, and then he pushes himself to sit up, holding Steve in his lap. Steve whines, squeezing his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck, burying his hands in his hair. Eddie shifts again, pushing Steve back, carefully, gently setting him on his back, pressing him into the sofa. The cross falls into Steve’s mouth, clattering off his teeth.

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie murmurs, lifting his head to look at him blearily, and Steve likes how he says his name. He usually prefers Stevie, sweetheart, baby, but just Steve’s name is enough like this: breathless and soft and tender.

Steve lets out another whine, closing his mouth and sucking on the cross, pressing it to the roof of his mouth. Eddie lowers again and kisses him.

Though kisses him may be a generous phrasing; it’s more tongue than lips, slipping across the seam of Steve’s mouth, and Steve groans, melting into the sofa, hands grasping the fabric of Eddie’s sweater. Eddie does it again, and he’s just licking Steve now, lapping at his lips, at the corners of his mouth.

Steve’s mouth falls open.

Eddie shifts to rest his weight on his arm, and he reaches up with his other hand, hooking a finger on the chain and carefully pulling it so the cross comes out with it. Steve watches it go. It’s gleaming with his spit, and Eddie’s eyes are trained on it before he lifts it to his own mouth, sucking on it for a moment before he lets it fall back to Steve’s chest.

Steve grabs Eddie’s hair and pulls him into another kiss, and it’s messy now, desperate and starved, like they’ve been away from each other for years.

Eddie’s teeth catch on Steve’s lip, and his tongue is slick as it presses into Steve’s mouth. Steve feels like he’s floating, like Eddie’s spit is some kind of drug, and he wonders how something so good can be bad.

Eddie lifts his head enough to spit into his mouth, and Steve groans, his eyes rolling back into his head. He wraps his legs around Eddie’s hips, pulling him closer.

When Eddie pulls away, gasping for breath, Steve’s skin is slick with spit.

“Okay?” Eddie says breathlessly.

“Mm.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “…Like it when you kiss me like that.”

“Like what?” Eddie whispers. His breath cools the spit on Steve’s skin.

Steve swallows, exhaling.

“Messy.”

“Yeah?” Eddie murmurs again, leaning down to brush his nose against Steve’s. “You like it messy?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and then he gasps and exhales shakily.

“Breathe,” Eddie whispers slowly.

Steve’s eyes flutter open, and he looks up at him.

He inhales slowly, and Eddie nods.

He exhales, almost sighing, and for a brief moment, it’s the only sound in existence. The soft rush of his breath, and then silence.

“Good boy,” Eddie says softly. It’s gentle in a way no one’s ever been to Steve, like he’s small, like he needs it. Steve’s eyes sting, and he blinks.

Eddie caresses his cheek gently, tracing a line over his skin, and he seems to hesitate for a moment, eyes flickering across Steve’s face.

“…You know I’d give you anything,” he murmurs.

Steve nods.

“You wanna feel messy?” Eddie whispers.

Steve nods again.

“You remember your colors?”

“Yes.”

Eddie smiles.

And it’s like the sun is beaming down at Steve. Like the sky has opened up above him, like the clouds have parted like the Red Sea.

Steve has never felt like this. He’s never seen anything like this, anything that’s made his heart skip a beat, that’s made his stomach do a somersault. He’s never seen anything so beautiful that he feels beautiful just by looking at it.

“God,” Steve breathes.

Eddie blinks.

“What?”

Steve blinks tears back, and his throat is tight as he looks at him. At the freckles on his nose, at the warm flush of his cheeks. At the metal pierced through his skin and the shine of his eyes.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Eddie blinks again, and his lips curve into a slow smile.

“You’re the only person that’s ever said that to me.”

Steve shakes his head.

“…That makes me mad.”

Eddie laughs lightly, leaning down and kissing his cheek gently.

“You’re sweet.”

Steve gazes up at him.

Eddie’s hair is falling around them like a curtain, and the weight of his body is pressing him into the sofa, and he’s surrounding him.

“I like how you make me feel,” he says softly.

“How do I make you feel?” Eddie asks, leaning down to nuzzle into his cheek again, his hair tickling Steve’s face. Steve closes his eyes.

“Good,” he breathes. “You make me feel so good.”

Eddie hums softly, pressing lazy kisses over Steve’s cheek.

“You deserve to feel good.”

Steve exhales, lifting a hand to hold the back of Eddie’s head, pushing his fingers into his hair.

A whimper escapes Steve’s throat when Eddie’s tongue brushes his cheek.

“Okay?” Eddie whispers against his skin.

Steve nods desperately. Eddie does it again, leaves a wet trail on Steve’s skin.

And he knows it’s odd. Eddie licking his cheek like this, like he’s ice cream or something.

But it feels good.

And when Eddie slips his tongue over the shell of Steve’s ear, the sound of it sends a chill down Steve’s spine. He clutches at Eddie’s hair, gasping. Eddie hums softly when he tugs at it.

Eddie kisses his cheek again, pressing kiss after kiss after kiss to him before he moves downward, his weight shifting over Steve’s body, and he kisses Steve’s jaw. Steve lifts his chin, taking a breath. Eddie’s teeth catch on his skin, and he lets out a whine.

“God, you sound so good,” Eddie whispers into his neck.

Steve hums weakly, pressing his head into the sofa, wordlessly begging for more.

“Is it okay if I leave a bruise?” Eddie asks softly.

“A bruise?” Steve repeats, his voice slurred, mumbly. Eddie hums affirmatively, pressing a slow, wet kiss to Steve’s neck, just under his ear.

“Right here.”

“Mm. Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, please.”

Eddie hums, nosing at his neck.

“So polite, baby.”

Steve beams up at the ceiling, humming as Eddie kisses his neck again.

“Wanna be good for you.”

“You are,” Eddie breathes. “Always so good for me.”

─────────────────

He’s glad this lecture is scheduled for the afternoon.

Because if he had to wake up even an hour earlier than he got up today, he would have just skipped and hoped for the best.

But it starts at one, in a few minutes, and he’s got a paper cup full of coffee set next to his notebook and the sleeves of Eddie’s hoodie pull down to cover his hands, the ends gripped in tired fists.

His eyes watch his professor prepare her notes, flipping through some sheets of paper. It’s quiet in the lecture theatre, his classmates talking quietly amongst themselves, laughing and passing papers back and forth.

He’s started by a hand landing heavily on top of his head, and he looks up to find Robin dropping her bag onto the ground, holding Steve’s head like a basketball.

“Morning,” she says dryly.

“It’s not,” he says in response, watching her sit down and draw her legs to her chest. She’s wearing colorful plaid pants, one pant leg yellow and the other red, and Steve realizes after a moment that they’re covered in patches of different plaid patterns, color-matched and hand-stitched.

“Why would I care?” she asks, leaning back in her seat, her shins resting against the edge of the desk in front of them. She looks at him, her eyes covered by her overgrown bangs, and Steve’s face flushes with heat when her eyes skim down to his neck and her eyebrows raise. “Fun weekend?”

“Yep,” he chirps, looking away bashfully, and she grins. “You’re not getting details.”

Her grin turns into a grimace.

“I didn’t ask,” she says before she leans closer, looking at him intently. “But if you’re offering—”

“I’m not—”

“C’mon,” she complains. “Gimme the hot goss, Steve-o, did you guys fuck?”

He looks at her sharply, glaring, face hot, and she grins again.

“Did you want to?”

“I didn’t even answer you.”

“You don’t have to, I can read your mind. Did you want to?”

“If you can read my mind, why are you asking me any questions at all?” Steve asks dryly, looking at her.

“Haven't quite honed my skills,” she says dismissively. “Did you want to?”

“Jesus, I— I don’t know. Maybe.”

She squeals, reaching out to poke his face, and he shushes her.

“It’s not a… It’s not a thing,” he says, quieting his voice as he swats at her once more. “We just… It’s new. Kind of.”

Kind of.

The kissing is new. The licking. The spitting. The humming and murmuring and whining. The soft babys and good boys.

But the fuzzy, floaty feeling that Eddie gives Steve isn’t entirely new. He hadn’t really noticed it until recently, but every time Eddie talks to him all gently and kindly, every time he touches him like he’s bound to break, Steve feels like he melts. Like he becomes a little less human and a little more… whatever he is.

Robin pokes Steve’s side and he jumps. She’s grinning when he looks at her.

“You’re so annoying,” he says.

He looks down at where their professor was, but she’s gone. She’s always forgetting something before the lecture starts.

Steve exhales. Robin is still looking at him as though in anticipation.

“Okay,” he says finally, turning to face her, twisting his fingers together nervously. “I’ve never actually dated anyone, or had… relations.”

“God, I forgot you’re from a cult.”

“It’s not a cult.”

She waves a hand dismissively.

“Go on.”

“I… Okay. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Like…”

He gives her a look, and realization dawns on her.

“Oh. Just experiment,” she says lightly.

“Experiment.”

“Okay,” she says, turning to face him, stretching a leg out to rest it on the edge of Steve’s seat. Their faces are close, and their voices are hushed so they’re almost whispering. Steve is very glad there’s no one around them. “Is this person you’re seeing nice?”

“Very.”

“So…” She shrugs. “Talk. Say you don’t know what you’re doing and try things together. See what you like.”

“Oh, God.” He lowers his head and covers his face, and she giggles, ruffling his hair.

“Or just experiment by yourself. See what you like before you do it together.”

“By myself?” he repeats, looking up at her, cringing. She gives him a look, raising her eyebrows. “Like… masturbating?” he says quietly, weakly, his face hot, and she laughs again.

“Yes, Steve, masturbating.”

He covers his face again, and she pokes his shoulder.

“Come on,” she says, keeping her voice down. “It’s normal. People do it.” He looks up at her. “Just give yourself a little—” She whistles, making an up and down gesture with a loose fist. “And Bob’s your uncle. You know what you like.”

Steve groans weakly.

He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about it. Touching himself like that.

He thought about it last night.

He’d been working at his desk, and he’d set his hand on his neck as he leaned over his textbook. The heel of his hand pressed into the bruise Eddie gave him.

The pressure of it felt good. Not as good as when Eddie made it, when he dug his teeth into Steve’s skin and sucked hard enough that it ached. But good enough that it was distracting.

Steve’s thoughts wandered.

To Eddie’s mouth. To his teeth. His tongue.

His hands.

To the way he lifted his head when Steve whimpered to check on him. Asked him for his color, eyes shining with worry. And the way he lightened and smiled like the sun again when Steve chokes out a Green, Eddie, please—

So Steve kind of already knows something he likes.

Because obviously Eddie biting his neck had hurt. But he liked it.

God, he liked it.

So when he finally went to bed, stared up at the ceiling in the dark, he thought about it again.

He couldn’t not.

It wouldn’t leave him alone. The thought of Eddie’s teeth on him. Of the sound his tongue made against Steve’s ear. Of the weight of his body holding Steve into the sofa.

And Steve had…

Well.

His body responded.

So he took a cold shower.

Robin pokes him again and he startles. She’s grinning.

“You’re thinking about it.”

“Shut up,” he says, pushing her leg off his seat and turning away, but she just cackles. Steve hesitates, scanning the room for the professor again, but she isn’t there. “Uhm, have you…”

“Fucked?”

He huffs.

“Yeah.”

She takes a breath, finally looking away.

“I hooked up with a guy in high school, but I…” She trails off, gaze still averted. “I don’t think it’s really my thing.”

He pauses, looking at her curiously. She doesn’t say anything else, her nails flicking as she picks at the skin around her thumbnail, the same place Steve bites when he’s stressed. Her cheeks are tinted pink now.

“…Guys?” he asks softly, and she glances at him.

And then nods.

And he hates how scared she looks. Like he’d ever have a foul word to say about her.

“‘S my thing,” he says, shifting to face forward again, and a moment passes before her head turns toward him. He looks back at her, and their eyes meet.

Hers are wide, her lips parted, and then her eyebrows raise.

“His name’s Eddie,” Steve says quietly. “This hoodie’s his.”

“I knew you didn’t listen to Megadeth,” she hisses, and a laugh bursts out of him. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” Steve says shyly, turning toward her again. “He, uhm… He’s really great.”

She stares at him, and her eyes are shining more than usual, like she’s about to burst into tears.

And then she’s throwing her arms around his neck, nearly falling off her seat as she hugs him tightly, and he’s hugging her back before he even processes what’s happening. He squeezes his eyes shut, and a moment it feels like Steve’s been waiting for her all his life. Like she’s supposed to be here, in his arms, her hair tickling his face.

His arms tighten around her, and a part of him wants to pull her into his lap, but the lights dim and the professor’s voice sounds from down by the projector. They let go of each other and Robin turns her head away, her hair falling into her face as she grabs her bag and finds her notebook and a pen.

She scribbles down some notes with a shaky hand, and he wonders if anyone else knows about her. If he’s the first person she’s told.

He reaches over and holds his hand out, the back of it pressing to the cold surface of the desk, and she looks at it before she takes it, lacing their fingers. Her nails are painted red, the polish chipped and cracked. He squeezes.

─────────────────

He can’t stop thinking about it. It might not be healthy at this point.

He hasn’t done it. But he’s considered it.

But every time he’s thought about doing it, it’s like the crucifix on the shelf is glowing, burning a hole into his head like the red laser point of a sniper rifle. Like if his hand shifts even an inch toward his lap, God will take him out.

So he thinks about Eddie.

If Eddie touches himself. What he looks like when he does it. What he sounds like.

Steve likes how he sounds when they kiss. The soft hums and breathy murmurs he gives Steve like they’re gifts, carefully wrapped with a ribbon, tied with a bow. And he likes how Eddie touches him. Gently, tenderly. Like he’s tracing Steve’s veins from over his skin.

And Steve kind of longs for it. For Eddie’s touch.

He wants him to touch him everywhere. To cover Steve's skin with his fingerprints, his palm prints, to wipe away every inkling of fear Steve’s ever felt. To cleanse him. To make him brand new, born again.

It kind of feels like what’s what he’s doing every time he touches Steve. Even like this, just brushing his fingertips over the back of Steve’s hand, absentmindedly, like touching Steve is second nature.

They’re watching a movie. But Steve is distracted.

He watches Eddie’s hand touching his, looks at his trimmed nails that are covered with chipped black polish. (His ring fingernail is completely bare.) He looks at the way the lines of his tattoos have blurred a little bit. At the veins that stand out on his hand.

Steve spreads his hand open and lets their fingers lace. Eddie squeezes gently.

Steve looks at the side of his face. His expression is light, his eyes shining, reflecting the shifting lights of the movie and the golden light of the lamps.

Eddie lifts Steve’s hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to the back of it before he loses it and rubs his thumb across it like he’s rubbing the kiss into his skin.

And Steve gazes at him. He feels settled here, like his body is heavy, falling into the sofa, into Eddie. Safe.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, baby.”

“…Can I ask you a question?”

Eddie squeezes his hand.

“Yeah, ‘course. What is it?”

Steve hesitates, watching the way Eddie’s eyelashes flutter when he blinks.

“Do you… Do you touch yourself?”

His voice is soft, nervous, and Eddie smiles at the television for a moment before he rolls his head along the back of the sofa, looking at Steve with shining eyes.

“Sometimes, yeah.”

Steve looks away, at their hands. He fidgets with Eddie’s fingers, squeezing.

“How?”

Eddie squeezes back like he’s reassuring him.

“My hand usually. Occasionally I’ll use a toy but my hand usually suffices.”

Steve’s mind reels at the idea of a toy, spinning as it tries to imagine what it could look like, what it could do—

“Can I see?” he asks quietly.

He finally lifts his eyes, looking at Eddie, who’s gazing back at him, amused, smiling.

“You wanna see me jack off?”

Steve’s face flushes with heat as he realizes what he just said, what he just asked for, and it’s so weird, why would he say that—

“If— You don’t have to,” he stammers out, shifting where he’s leaning against Eddie, and Eddie’s fingers tighten on his so he can’t move away. “It’s weird, I—”

“Hey,” Eddie says gently.

He pulls at Steve’s hand, and Steve looks at him. Eddie’s eyes are dark, and his tongue teases the corner of his mouth for a moment as he looks at Steve, scanning his face.

“You remember your colors?”

Steve nods. Eddie’s lips quirk into a smile.

“You can change your mind,” he says softly. “Whenever. You tell me to stop and I will.”

“You too,” Steve says, shifting closer. “You don’t— You don’t have to.”

Eddie looks at him, smiling.

“You’re sweet,” he says.

“‘S bare minimum shit, Eddie.”

Eddie’s smile spreads, and he leans in to kiss Steve, nipping at his bottom lip.

“Alright?” he asks when they part. Steve nods.

Their hands detach, and Steve shifts to face him more, some space between them to watch as Eddie reaches down to his lap and rubs himself over his sweatpants. Steve swallows.

“What do you think about?” he asks quietly. The movie is still on, but neither of them are paying attention to it.

“Lately? You.”

Steve blinks.

“Really?”

“Jesus. Yeah.”

Steve thinks about it.

Eddie touching himself, thinking about Steve. Laying in his bed, his hand pressing over his crotch like he’s doing now, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.

“What do you think about?” Steve asks, eyes trained on Eddie’s hand, rubbing over his sweatpants. He’s grown under the fabric, tenting it, and Steve kind of wants to touch him.

Eddie looks at him, hesitating.

“Tell me,” Steve whispers, shifting forward a little bit. “I— I’ll tell you if I don’t like it, I just… I wanna know.”

Eddie’s head falls to the back of the sofa, hissing out an exhale, and he slides his hand under the waistband of his sweatpants. The hem of his shirt slides up, and Steve can see the edge of a tattoo on his stomach.

“Fuck,” Eddie says softly. “Just…”

“Tell me,” Steve whispers again.

“Think about…” His hand shifts under his pants, moving up and down, and he winces, gritting his teeth, his brows furrowing. “Shit. How fucking pretty you are.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie hums breathily, nodding, his hand moving again. Steve watches.

“What else?” he whispers.

Eddie is quiet for a moment, and Steve hears a soft, wet noise that makes his mouth water. His eyes follow the movement of Eddie’s hand under the fabric of his sweatpants.

“How fucking good you look under me.”

Steve’s cheeks are warm. He shifts closer and lifts a hand to trace a line over the side of Eddie’s neck.

“Feel good under you,” he says softly. Eddie groans, his hips shifting, pushing up into his hand, and he bites his lower lip. “Tell me more.”

Eddie’s eyes flutter open, and they’re glassy when they look at Steve. He looks like he’s going to cry, like he’s desperate, like he’s begging Steve for something he can’t say. And Steve wants to give it to him.

“Your body,” Eddie says quietly.

Something floods Steve’s veins, rushing through his body.

“What about my body?”

“Shit, Steve.”

“Please,” Steve says weakly, so close his chest brushes Eddie’s shoulder with every inhale. “I wanna know.”

Eddie looks at the ceiling as though praying for strength, and Steve smiles, gazing at the flush of his cheek.

“Your ass is fucking perfect,” he says, his voice wavering. Steve’s face lights up. Eddie scoffs.

“What else?”

“Your arms.”

Steve giggles, hiding his face in Eddie’s shoulder, tucked against his side. Eddie laughs lightly, shaking his head.

“My arms?” Steve says, still giggling, smiling brightly.

“So fucking hot, Steve.” They’re laughing, and Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. He lets out a soft moan, still grinning. “And your hands, fuck…”

“Really?” Steve laughs.

“God, yeah, you’re so…”

“What else?” Steve asks, setting his chin on Eddie’s shoulder, looking at him. Eddie is smiling absently. The wet sounds come faster, and Steve bites his lip, humming.

“The pretty noises you make when you feel good.”

“You like how I sound?” Steve asks softly, almost whispering. Eddie nods, furrowing his brows, his jaw clenching.

And Steve doesn’t know why, but it hits him hard. Eddie liking how he sounds, Eddie wanting to hear him.

No one’s ever wanted to hear Steve. He’s always been told to lower his voice, to keep quiet, to shut up.

Steve’s chest aches.

He lifts a hand and takes Eddie’s chin, turning his head toward him before he leans in and kisses him. Eddie lets out a surprised hum, his lips parted.

Steve kisses him desperately, holding his face, sucking at his lower lip, and Eddie hums again, turning toward him, grinning against his mouth when Steve lets out a groan. Steve’s whole body feels hot.

He opens his mouth. Lets Eddie lick his tongue.

And he moans softly, low in his throat.

Eddie hisses, pulling back, furrowing his brows again, eyes squeezed shut.

“Shit,” he says sharply. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—”

He breathes heavily, and Steve looks at where his hand has stopped moving, holding himself tightly. There’s a damp spot on his sweatpants.

“Can I see?”

The words escape him before he can even think properly, and Eddie smiles loosely, lazily, kissing him again. He looks away, still close to Steve as he reaches down, pushing the waistband of his sweatpants down, bringing his boxers with them.

The skin of his hips and thighs is pale, milky white, dusted with dark hair, and Steve is mesmerized by it. There’s a tattoo on his upper thigh, the ink greyish-blue and faded, of an open safety pin. It’s small.

Steve’s eyes trail over his skin, tracing the soft blue veins that are visible beneath his skin, over the lettered stabbed into his skin, over the burning church. Until he finds where Eddie’s hand is wrapped around himself, fist loose as he shifts the skin up and down. The tip is flushed, and Steve’s favorite color might be red now.

He realizes he’s staring, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. He’s touching himself idly, stroking and pushing like he’s performing for Steve.

Who kind of wants to touch him. To feel the heat of his skin, the sticky wetness, the soft thatch of curls.

“Fuck,” Steve mutters.

His eyes jump to Eddie’s face, and Eddie is already looking back at him, eyes wide, a smile teasing his lips.

“Say it again,” he says softly.

Steve’s eyes fall to his mouth. His lips are shining, his bottom lip reddened from his teeth tugging at it.

“Fuck.”

Eddie grins, fingers touching Steve’s chin to pull him into a kiss, rewarding him sweetly for saying something so filthy.

Steve lets him lick his mouth open, reaching to hold his wrist in his hands, and he hums softly. His eyes are closed as their tongues slide, and he hears Eddie’s hand speed up again, smiling.

“Shit,” Eddie hisses into his mouth, his hand holding the side of his face. He’s breathing hard again, his forehead pressed to Steve’s, and Steve wants to take every breath straight from his lungs.

“God, Eddie.”

Eddie looks at him blearily, and Steve kisses him before he can have any doubts.

“Don’t stop,” he murmurs.

“Fuck.”

They look at each other. Eddie’s cheeks are red and his lips are parted as he breathes and his eyes are shining, and the movements of his hand jostles him enough that the thin ends of his hair sways a little bit.

And then he stops. Groans. Drops his head. Shudders.

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

He lifts his head, panting, and then he’s releasing himself, lifting his hand between them.

“Spit in my palm,” he says breathlessly.

Steve looks at his hand. His palm is slick, shining, and Steve can’t help but reach to hold his wrist, pulling his hand closer so he can slide his tongue over it.

It’s a little salty, but he likes it.

He looks up at Eddie, head still lowered, and he feels oddly beautiful under his gaze; he’s looking at him like he’s in awe, like Steve is beautiful or something.

Steve holds his gaze as he gathers spit in his mouth, and then he lets it drop, watching Eddie watch him.

He releases his wrist, and Eddie pulls him into another kiss, sucking at his lip. Steve sighs, reaching to hold his face, and as he pushes his tongue into Eddie’s mouth, he wonders if he can taste himself. It makes his face flush with heat.

“Thank you, baby,” Eddie mumbles against his mouth. “Such a good boy.”

Steve whines, kissing him again.

Eddie hisses out a breath again, and the wet sounds resume, somehow louder than the movie that they’ve both forgotten about. Steve pulls away to watch, breathless, and Eddie takes the opportunity to kiss his cheek and then down his jaw and his neck. Steve lets him, tilting his head, letting out a soft noise when Eddie’s teeth tease his skin, watching Eddie’s hand move, watching him twist his wrist just right, sliding his skin back and forth.

“Does it feel good?” Steve asks, his voice rough. Eddie moans into his neck, nodding.

“Fuck, yeah,” Eddie chokes. “Feels so fucking good.”

His lips brush Steve’s neck as he speaks, and Steve hums, burying a hand in his hair, tugging lightly.

“I’m gonna fucking come, Stevie,” Eddie says against his skin. “I’m gonna come, I—”

“‘S okay,” Steve says breathlessly, whimpering when Eddie’s teeth close on his neck, biting as he grunts, his hips pushing up into his hand.

“Fuck—”

Eddie lets out a whine, breathing hard, and Steve feels like he’s fucking hypnotized, watching as Eddie comes, as it spills over his fingers, drips over his knuckles. Eddie lets out a choked off moan, his body shaking, and the air fills with the sound of his hand moving, his come slicking his way even more, until he finally slows to a stop with a shaky exhale against Steve’s neck.

“Fucking hell,” he grumbles into Steve’s neck, his hand falling away. Steve grins, running a hand over the back of his head, combing through his hair. The room falls quiet except the dialogue from the movie they were watching, but it sounds sort of muffled now, like Steve is underwater.

“You okay?” Steve says softly. Eddie hums. He’s still breathing hard, and Steve watches his stomach rise and fall, eyeing the end of the tattoo, wondering what it is.

“You?” Eddie asks roughly. Steve scoffs.

“I’m great.”

Eddie finally lifts his head, looking at Steve like he has to make sure, and Steve kisses him before he can say anything. Eddie’s come-covered hand lifts into the air like he doesn’t know what to do with it, like he’s surrendering, and Steve’s chest feels warm at the notion that Eddie doesn’t want to get him dirty. (He would let him.)

Steve licks into his mouth, moving closer, shifting onto his knees, and Eddie hums, tilting his head back to meet him.

“You’re so hot,” Steve murmurs into his mouth, and Eddie beams, squeezing his eyes shut. Steve kisses his teeth.

“Yeah?”

“Mm. Yeah. Fuck.”

“God, I love it when you say that.”

Steve giggles, wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing him again. Eddie lets go of him long enough to tuck himself back into his sweatpants, and then he pulls him closer with his clean hand, his dirty one still hovering in the air.

And Steve realizes he’s hard.

He doesn’t stop kissing Eddie. He tugs his hair a little bit, draws the curls into a fist and pulls, listens to the way Eddie moans softly. He lowers back down so Eddie’s head isn’t tilted back, and he holds Eddie’s face in his hands, cradles it, hums at the way Eddie’s hand finds his neck and holds it the way Steve apparently loves, with his palm to his throat, fingers wrapped around it.

“What do you want?” Eddie murmurs when they part to breathe (because unfortunately they both still need that; Steve wishes he could hold his breath longer, for hours on end, just so he could kiss Eddie endlessly).

Steve kisses him again as he thinks.

Because he wants a lot. He wants this. He wants Eddie.

He wants Eddie to touch him the way he’s thought about. All over, gently and tenderly and reverently, wiping away his sins and his fears. He wants to make Eddie moan again. He wants to come.

But the thought of it makes his stomach flip unpleasantly.

And he knows Eddie would give him anything.

“Just this,” he breathes, his lips brushing Eddie’s. “Just this for now.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, already kissing him again.

They’re there for a while before Eddie finally pulls away and says, “I need to wash my hands,” having forgotten about the come on his skin, tacky and unpleasant now. And Steve giggles brightly, peppering kisses across his face before he finally lets him go. Eddie goes to his bedroom and then the bathroom, carrying a pair o f fresh boxers.

Steve goes to the bedroom and lays down, looking up at the ceiling, listening to the tap running in the bathroom. He rolls onto his front, sighing, closing his eyes, tired like he’s the one that orgasmed.

He doesn’t open his eyes when Eddie comes back, listening to his footsteps across the floorboard, listening to the floor creak under him, and he smiles against the pillow he’s laying on when Eddie says, “Remember what I said about your ass?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re giving me a great view right now.”

A laugh bursts out of Steve, and Eddie joins him on the bed, climbing on top of him and laying on his back.

“I’m sure you’re appreciating it.”

“Oh, I certainly am.” Eddie shifts to set his chin on Steve’s shoulder, softening his voice so he isn’t too loud in his ear. “That ass is a miracle, baby.”

Steve giggles again, and he hums, tilting his head, when Eddie tucks his face into his neck and kisses him. He knows Eddie is leaving a bruise on him again, and he thinks maybe Eddie likes to do that.

Leaving his mark on him.

Steve likes it too.

He drifts off in Eddie’s arms, his back to Eddie’s chest, Eddie’s heart beating against his spine. And Steve thinks he might be falling in love with the way Eddie’s heart beats. He can also feel it between his fingers when Eddie holds his hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently as his breathing slows and becomes heavier. The pulse on Steve’s hand is steady, small and gentle against the thin skin between his fingers.

It kind of feels like Steve is holding Eddie’s heart in his hand, and as his mind darkens, as his body feels a little like it’s floating and spinning, in some odd, fluid space between wake and sleep, he kind of wishes that he could hold it in his hands. That he could cradle it against his own chest, that he could press it to his own until their veins and arteries twine together like vines, inseparable. Until their shades of red are the same, until Steve can’t tell his own pulse from Eddie’s.

His hand tightens on Eddie’s like he’s squeezing his heart gently, and Eddie sleepily pulls him back against himself more firmly.

─────────────────

He can’t stop thinking about it. Again.

Eddie takes up a fair amount of real estate in his mind.

Steve finds himself getting distracted while he’s working on homework, on essays, while he’s getting ready for bed, while he’s walking to the bus, to class. Even when it’s been less than twelve hours since he’s last seen him, he misses him.

But along with Eddie, Steve also can’t stop thinking about what Robin told him.

It’s normal. People do it.

It makes his face hot to think about. The way Robin poked at him, the way she teased him. She’d called it his homework after their lecture, and he’d wanted to push her pencil bag into her mouth to shut her up. As they said goodbye, walking down the hallway in opposite directions, Robin made the up and down gesture again, winking exaggeratedly, and Steve’s face turned red as he rolled his eyes in a begrudgingly fond way.

He does his best to not think about it (it being Eddie, Eddie’s hands, Eddie’s voice, Eddie’s dick) while he works (and while he’s in public, lest his body respond again), but his efforts are largely for nought. It’s all still there. Sitting in his head. Taunting him.

It’s worse at night. When there’s nothing to distract him, when he’s surrounded by the dark and the sound of his own breathing, as he wishes he could be listening to Eddie’s breathing instead.

He’s been trying to fall asleep for at least an hour now, staring up at the ceiling and waiting. But sleep doesn’t come to him.

It’s been like this for a while, usually on nights he spends by himself instead of with Eddie. He doesn’t even feel particularly tired. He feels like it should be mid-day, like the sun should be shining through his window as he just sits here, looking up.

He sits up against the wall, sighing heavily as he flicks the light on.

He supposes he could read, even though it usually gives him a headache. Maybe it’ll bore him enough that he’ll fall asleep.

But he doesn’t feel like reading.

He feels like kissing Eddie.

He always feels like kissing Eddie lately.

Kissing him. Touching him. Listening to him.

Steve huffs, letting his head fall back against the wall behind him. His hand itches to reach for his lap, but something holds it back, like his wrist is pinned to his side. He swallows, blinking as his eyes get used to the dark, to the dim light from outside.

He thinks about how Eddie did it, sitting next to Steve on the sofa, how he groped himself over his sweatpants like it was the easiest thing in the world, like it was normal. How he exhaled, how his eyes fluttered, how his voice became breathier as he talked to Steve.

Steve bites his lip, closing his eyes again, listening to Eddie in his head. Hearing his soft Fuck.

Such a good boy.

Steve furrows his eyebrows, his hips shifting, his hands clenching into tight fists. He fucking loves when Eddie says stuff like that.

He wants to be good for Eddie. Wants to be his good boy.

He holds back a weak noise as he slides down the wall, squeezing his eyes shut, and he finally tears his hand away from where it’s pressed to his leg, reaching for his lap and touching himself.

It feels good.

He exhales sharply. Presses his lips together and bites down. Somehow hears Eddie’s voice say That’s it, baby, there you go.

“Fuck,” Steve gasps, his hand tightening again, shifting, pulling, squeezing. He wants to call Eddie, to listen to his voice and let him know. To hear his gentle encouragement, his soft praises, to be good for him. But Eddie is working at the Hideout tonight.

Steve whines, his back arching, his head pressing to the wall. He’s already breathing hard, panting, his other hand gripping his blanket tightly.

He pauses for a moment, pulling his hand away, blinking his eyes open in the dark again. His eyes adjust, and after a few moments he can see himself in the dark, straining against the fabric of his sweatpants. He stares for a moment before closing his eyes again, taking a breath.

He slides his hand under the waistband of his sweatpants. His head falls forward when he feels the heat of himself against his hand, his skin hot to the touch like his blood is boiling. He copies what Eddie did, sliding his hand up and down slowly, hesitantly, his mouth falling open as he holds back another noise.

He buries his face in the crook of his other arm, squeezing his eyes shut, whining again.

And he really wishes Eddie was here, talking him through it all. Telling him what to do, whispering in his ear. Telling him how good he’s being.

Steve hisses as his hand chafes against him, wincing, and he withdraws his hand, pausing to catch his breath, hesitating before he lifts his hand to his mouth and spits in his palm. It’s gross, but he whines pathetically as he reaches down again.

It feels better.

“Oh, God.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, stifling a groan in his arm.

Eddie’s voice echoes in his head, murmuring softly.

Such a good boy.

There you go, sweetheart.

Steve’s muscles somehow tighten even as he melts against the wall, moaning softly.

He wants Eddie to touch him.

He really wants Eddie to touch him.

His head falls forward as he imagines it, as he thinks about Eddie’s hand touching him like this, leaning close to murmur in his ear. Kissing his jaw, his hand warm, his rings becoming slick—

“Eddie—” Steve chokes, leaning forward with a groan, and he bites his lip to silence himself, realising with a flush of heat that he doesn’t know how thick the walls here are.

You deserve to feel good.

Steve exhales roughly, letting his head fall back against the wall, his other arm tight around himself as his hand shifts again. His back arches as he gasps, his fingers tightening, and he lets out a moan that doesn’t even sound like him, high-pitched and whiny. He almost sounds like a girl.

He claps a hand over his mouth, breathing hard, and his face flushes with heat again when he realizes he’s fucking drooling, his chin wet. And it just makes him think about the way Eddie’s tongue feels against his skin, and then he’s thinking about Eddie licking his spit away, hungrily, desperately, and Steve feels like he’s losing his mind.

He’s crying.

But it doesn't feel like it usually does when he cries, when he feels small and helpless and pathetic, when he’s scared and miserable.

He feels so fucking good.

He lets out a quiet, stifled sob, and he wants Eddie, he wants Eddie, he wants—

“Eddie, fuck, please—”

He cries into his arm, his hand moving rapidly now, desperately, and he knows there’s no one to beg right now, but he wants to. He wants to fall to his knees and plead for it, tears in his eyes, to beg to come.

It’s so good.

Until it’s suddenly less good. Overwhelming. Too much.

Steve jerks his hand away, letting out a whimper into his palm, and then he’s gasping for breath, crying.

Bad crying, this time.

He’s trembling, and he wraps his arms around himself, squeezing, shutting his eyes tightly as he tries to catch his breath. He buries his face in his arms as he curls up into a ball, like he’s trying to hide from the dark, from the moonlight, from the crucifix on his shelf.

And he stays there when he finally stops crying, when he wipes his tears away on his sleeves, as he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to will away the cloud that covers his body. Every inch of him feels filthy, but it doesn’t feel good the way Eddie makes it feel. He feels like he has to scrub his skin clean, like he needs to scrub it until he’s bleeding, until he can’t even remember what he did wrong.

His lip trembles as he tries to fall asleep, as he tries to pretend it never happened, as he pushes away to feeling that he needs to pray, to repent, to confess. He feels sick.

He wants Eddie to make it go away. To make it all go away.

♡ permanent taglist: @estrellami-1 @theplantscientist @spectrum-spectrum @carlprocastinator1000 @starman-jpg @romantiklen @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme ♡ holy things taglist: @stevesbipanic @pearynice @ao3whore @slowandsteddie @swordsandflowercrowns @dragonmama76 @mikeys-thoughts @sofadofax @cyranyx @kazalohiku @lostonceandneverfound @strangerfreaks @bitchysteveharrington @nailbatanddungeon @newtstabber (comment to be added/removed to/from either list!!)

♡ art of steve and eddie ♡ pinboard // playlist ♡ buy me a coffee

[being-a-human-isnt-very-fun]

Hello fellow weirdos! How has your day been?