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Steve slams the car door shut, stalking after Eddie up the steps to his trailer, stumbling back when Eddie shuts the screen door in his face and stomps away.
“Jesus Christ.” Steve rolls his eyes, yanking the door open and following Eddie into the kitchen where he’s lighting a cigarette, the orange glow highlighting the glare Eddie shoots at him when they make eye contact. “Listen, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be fucking sorry, Steve.” Eddie takes a drag from the cigarette, blowing the smoke out of his mouth and then biting his cheek, turning his body toward the wall. “It’s fine. I get it.”
“No, you don’t—”
“It’s fine when you’re with Robin. Because Robin is a girl, and because Robin is in the closet, and because Robin is your only fucking friend that isn’t either your ex or a fucking fourteen year old.”
And ouch, okay, yeah. But it’s not like Steve didn’t know that. What Eddie’s upset about has nothing to do with Robin, and honestly Steve isn’t really sure what he’s upset about anyway.
“But when it’s me, when everybody in the county knows Eddie Munson sucks cock, suddenly it’s a whole different story to be seen with him in public. Believe me, Harrington, I fucking understand.”
Eddie only calls him Harrington anymore when they’re in bed or when he’s well and truly pissed, like he’s throwing Steve’s lineage and history back at him, like he’s saying remember when you used to be a douchebag and now I’m putting you in your place. The word activates something weird and primal in his chest, some mix of fight or fuck that Steve can’t make sense of.
“I’m not used to this,” Steve says, taking a step closer to Eddie, deciding better of it when Eddie gives him a look that screams murder. “You—you’ve had time to adjust to this, I—”
“Yeah, I did,” Eddie cuts him off. His leg bounces from the rapid way he’s tapping his foot against the floor, taking another drag off the cigarette. “You want a play-by-play of it, you can ask Tommy Hagan. At least he still got me off after making me feel like shit.”
“Tommy? What—never mind, look, Eddie, I like you—”
“What, the way you liked every girl you brought around for the night? I’m not an idiot, Steve. I know your history.”
“I don’t understand why you’re upset,” Steve says, chancing a few more steps toward Eddie, getting up into his personal space, close enough to smell him. Thankfully, Eddie doesn’t move. “Look, I know I don’t get things sometimes, and that being in this kind of relationship is new for me, but did I do something wrong?”
“You can’t even tell,” Eddie laughs. Short and curt and awful. “God, Steve, it’s the way you act. You have two modes when we go out together. One is like you’re scared somebody will see us and get the wrong idea even though we’re dating.” Eddie takes another drag and knocks his shoe into the floor. It leaves a scuff mark Steve would have gotten yelled at over. “And the second one is fucking suffocating. I like the whole chivalrous gentleman thing, but sometimes, I swear to god it’s like you’re playing the role of straight, doting boyfriend and forcing me to be the airhead girl on your arm because it’s the only way you know how to be in a relationship. And I never know which one is the way you really feel. You need to sort out your fucking issues.”
And Steve—Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. What can he say to that?
Eddie gestures to himself, ash falling off of the end of his cigarette onto Steve’s shoes. “Look at me, Steve. I’m a metalhead freak. I’m a dude. I’m queer. You’re queer, for fuck’s sake. No matter how much you try to deny it, that’s the truth. I’m not your little girlfriend.”
Something burning hot rises in Steve’s chest at that, banging on his ribs and begging to be let out, something mean and wrong and not good for solving this problem at all. It’s anger, it’s hurt, but it’s making him fucking horny and god, why does his body always react this way to a fight?
Eddie narrows his eyes at him, scanning his body, and then his eyes go wide and Steve wants to dive back into Lover’s Lake if it means he doesn’t have to stand in front of Eddie anymore. He looks down at the cheap linoleum floor, watches in slow motion as Eddie brushes a finger against where Steve’s dick is tenting the front of his jeans, sees Eddie stub out his cigarette from the corner of his eye.
“Wow, Steve,” Eddie mocks, and Steve doesn’t look back up at him, he can’t, not when they’re having a serious argument and Steve went and got hard over it. “Doesn’t matter what’s happening around you, huh? You’re always ready to go. Just a needy bitch.”
“No,” Steve huffs, wishing Eddie would touch his dick again, trying not to squirm in place and seem any more desperate. “No, I—you—”
Something clicks in Eddie’s brain. “Oh, Steve. You’re more of a slut than I thought.”
Steve still can’t look at him, still can’t admit what he wants, doesn’t even know if he can ask for it since they were fighting a second ago.
Eddie shakes his head. “Here I am trying to have a serious conversation, and you’re thinking about me in a skirt, aren’t you?”
A whine leaps out of Steve’s throat before he can catch it, and yeah, that’s exactly what he’s thinking about. Eddie in a skirt and maybe a nice sweater, stockings, maybe even a little bit of makeup—
“Okay. Here’s how this is going to go.” Eddie’s fingers grab his chin and tilt his head up so they’re looking at each other again. Steve’s knees go weak. “Since you clearly can’t focus on anything else, we can do this. But we’re coming back to this conversation afterwards. And I’m not going to be nice.”
A shiver runs down Steve’s spine, the one he gets whenever Eddie promises to throw him around a little, be a little rough with him, the one that has a direct line to his cock. He’s practically drooling over it, can’t believe Eddie hasn’t thrown him out and is indulging him instead, right here, right now. Maybe their whole relationship isn’t ruined after all.
“Steve? Do you understand?”
Steve swallows. “I understand.”
“Tell me your colors.”
“Green for all good, yellow for slow down and talk, red for stop and move on to aftercare.”
“Good boy,” Eddie says, his voice deeper than it was a second ago. It’s the voice he puts on when they play like this, and Steve is addicted to it. Eddie mutters something to himself that sounds a lot like we shouldn’t be doing this, and some part of Steve’s brain agrees; they’re both in weird headspaces, they were fighting just a second ago, they didn’t sit down and plan out the whole scene first and go through what they want and don’t want, but honestly? Steve doesn’t give a fuck right now. If either of them drops, they can deal with it later.
Right now, Steve needs Eddie’s punishing words, needs his long fingers scratching into skin, needs him fulfilling this fantasy of Steve’s that he’s only just discovered he has.
Eddie hovers for a moment, the gears turning behind his eyes, and then his gaze turns harsh. His fingers dig in where they’re still holding Steve’s chin. “Follow me.”
Steve stumbles as he rushes out a yes sir and gets dragged out of the kitchen to Eddie’s bedroom at the back of the trailer, his dick throbbing in his jeans. Eddie deposits him upright onto the bed once they get there and then pulls his bandana out of his back pocket, folding it up until Steve knows what’s about to happen, closing his eyes obediently.
He hears Eddie huff. “Slut.”
Steve proves him right by whining.
The next thing Steve feels is the cloth being pressed over his eyes and tied around the back of his head, Eddie’s fingers brushing over his scalp before pulling back.
“Now you’re going to sit there and wait. I have to put my outfit on.”
Steve makes a noise of protest, his own fingers pressing into his thighs. He’s so hard that he feels dizzy, or that could just be the effect Eddie has on him, but either way, he’s dying and he needs relief.
“Ste-eve,” Eddie lilts, shuffling noises telling Steve he’s rummaging through his dresser drawers. “Come on, now. Don’t you want your girlfriend to look all pretty for you?”
Oh, oh, yeah—yeah, okay, Steve is one hundred percent into this. Especially if Eddie keeps up his promise of being mean to him.
Suddenly there’s a hand in his hair and it’s pulling, yanking his head back and sending dull, beautiful pain throughout his whole scalp. Yes.
“I asked you a question, Steve.”
“Yes,” Steve gasps, imagining the look on Eddie’s face, the harsh way his eyebrows draw together and his jaw sets into place. “Yes, I want that.” And because he knows Eddie will ask him to elaborate… “Want my… my girlfriend… to look pretty for me.”
“Then be patient.”
The hand in Steve’s hair disappears and he feels untethered without it, focusing instead on the sounds of Eddie shuffling through his clothes, muttering to himself as he unzips his jeans, the noises of him existing calming Steve down. Even if Eddie is mad at him in real life, maybe if he’s extra good now, he can fix it.
The noises soon lull Steve into a trance, not sure how much time goes by as Eddie knocks things over on his dresser and swears under his breath, Steve’s cock softening slightly at the lack of stimulation. But there’s still anticipation simmering just under the surface, especially once the shuffling stops and everything goes silent, but Eddie doesn’t come over to touch him.
Steve doesn’t dare speak, isn’t sure if he’s allowed to, so he strains his ears instead. He thinks he hears a hair tie snap into place, and oh god, Eddie is committing to this, isn’t he?
Steve jumps when Eddie’s voice breaks the silence. “You’re lucky I already own a skirt, Harrington.”
And there it is again, Harrington, used only when Eddie’s angry or aroused, and Steve can’t be blamed for the complicated emotions that make his blood run hot when he hears it. Especially when Eddie uses it to tell Steve he owns a fucking skirt. Fuck. Why didn’t they have this argument sooner?
“Last chance,” Eddie says, and his voice is closer, Steve squirming at the end of the bed. “Color?”
“Green,” Steve says. No hesitation. He wants this. Whatever Eddie is going to give him, he wants.
Steve is shoved back onto the mattress, Eddie’s hands pushing him up the bed until he’s on one of Eddie’s pillows, his hands landing over his head by muscle memory. He’s still fully clothed, but he’s okay with that because Eddie is too, and he can’t fucking wait to see how. He feels Eddie settle down on his waist, ass just above where Steve really wants it to be, running his hand up underneath Steve’s shirt to feel his skin.
“I should have known you would be into something like this,” Eddie says, an edge to his voice that Steve is addicted to. “You were always chasing the Nancy Wheelers of the world. I always thought it was because you were still in love with her, but no, you just have a type. Don’t you, baby?”
“Uh-huh,” Steve answers, praying that the blindfold comes off soon.
“Yeah? You just want your girlfriend to order you around, huh? Make you follow orders? Maybe slap the shit out of you a little bit?”
“Yes,” Steve chokes out, the phantom feeling of sharp pain sending a jolt through his cock. They haven’t done anything as hard as that yet, Eddie wanting to work him up to it, but everytime it gets brought up, Steve finds himself craving it. It doesn’t make sense; he should hate it after everything he’s been through, after how many times he’s taken a hit to the face and just wanted to run home and cry, but with everything he’s seen? He doesn’t really expect things to make sense anymore. He rolls with the punches, metaphorical and physical.
“Yeah?” Eddie asks, sounding out of breath, and Steve feels Eddie’s knuckles brush against his cheek. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. “Color?”
“Green,” Steve answers. It comes out like he’s begging. “Green. Please.”
And Steve can’t see Eddie winding up, doesn’t know when the hit is going to come, his whole body tense and taught just waiting for it. His cheek tingling, bracing for the hit, and Eddie waits long enough that Steve starts whining, squirming on the bed, and then the slap comes.
“Eddie,” Steve whines, loud and needy as pain shoots through his face, hot pressure radiating out from where Eddie’s hand came down on his skin, rings and all. It fucking hurts. Steve is drooling precome all over his boxers. “Again, please.”
“No.”
Why? Steve whines and squirms underneath his boy—girlfriend, not-so-silently vying for another hit, but Eddie grabs his jaw instead.
“Fucking sit still.” Eddie shoves Steve’s head into the pillow before letting go, finally grinding himself down once over Steve’s cock. “You don’t want me to end this before you get to put your dick in my cunt, do you?”
Shit, shit shit shit, Steve has to squeeze his eyes shut behind the blindfold and think about shelving movies to keep from coming then and there. His voice comes out strangled when he replies. “No, no I don’t, I’m sorry. I’ll be good.”
“You fucking better.”
And then Eddie’s hands are on either side of Steve’s head and he’s sliding the bandana up and off. Steve’s eyes take a second to adjust to how bright the lights are, but when he finally blinks them open, Eddie is sitting up on Steve’s hips, showing himself off with a smirk. And Steve… Steve’s brain has short-circuited. Shit. Fuck.
Steve’s eyes catch on Eddie’s hair first. The parts closest to his face have been pulled back into a bun, the bottom half still falling around his shoulders in the chaotic way it always does, little silver hoops dangling from his ears. He has something dark and black smudged around the edges of his eyes, elongating them the way Steve’s seen on some of the goth girls that went to their school. Eddie even looks like he’s wearing lipstick, something sheer but still enough to darken his lips to a shade that Steve’s only seen on his mother when she drinks too much red wine.
His eyes fall lower, scanning over the tight black tank top clinging to Eddie’s torso, the dainty cross necklace that’s replaced his usual guitar pick resting over the hollow of his neck. Steve can see pieces of Eddie’s tattoos peeking out from underneath the fabric, and for some reason it’s more erotic than seeing him shirtless, these little glimpses of his body. And when Steve’s eyes scan lower, Eddie’s thighs are splayed out over his hips and and covered by a skirt, a fucking black leather skirt that Eddie’s had this whole time and never thought to bring up in conversation. Steve is sweating, his face burning from embarrassment and lust and the slap to the face Eddie gave him earlier, his t-shirt sticking to his chest as it rises and falls with his shallow breaths.
“It’s like you’ve never seen a girl before,” Eddie finally says, rocking his hips down again and laughing when Steve’s cock jumps. Steve doesn’t think he’s going to last for this at all, fuck. He used to be known for his stamina, always making sure the girl he was with came before he did, but it’s like Eddie knows every single button to press to make him fall apart as quickly as possible. It’s embarrassing and Steve loves every second of it. “You want me to take your cock out, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Steve gasps, nodding dumbly as he stares up at Eddie. “Please?”
“God, you’re pathetic.” Eddie tugs at Steve’s hair instead, running his other hand over Steve’s cheek right where he slapped him, the skin still hot and tingling. Steve hopes it leaves marks where the metal of Eddie’s rings clashed his skin into his teeth. “Thought you were a fan of foreplay, Steve. That’s what all the other girls you hooked up with told me. Am I not special enough to have Steve Harrington’s tongue in my pussy? Is that it?”
“No,” Steve pleads, fighting the urge to grab Eddie’s hips and pull him up onto his face. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. “I mean, yes. Please. I will. I want to.”
And then Eddie is bracing against the wall and settling his knees on either side of Steve’s head until he’s up underneath Eddie’s skirt, the world going dark again as Eddie sits down on his face and he’s met with the musky, heady scent of the skin right behind Eddie’s balls, his tongue flicking out until he finds what he’s looking for.
They’ve also never done this. Steve was always too weirded out to try it, but in this headspace he wants to do whatever Eddie asks of him, and how different could it really be from eating out a girl?
“Fuck,” Eddie curses above him, the sound muffled by the leather around Steve’s head. It’s also easier to do this when he knows Eddie can’t see him, safe and covered by the skirt, free to let his emotions wash over him without guilt. Because it turns out that Steve actually fucking loves this, should have known he would because of his track record with women, but he let everything else get in the way of experiencing this and why the fuck did he do that?
Steve gives it all he’s got, trying to translate his experience into this, lapping and sucking at Eddie’s hole, prodding his tongue against it and letting out a muffled groan when Eddie flutters around him.
“Steve,” Eddie sighs, and is his voice breathier? A little higher pitched? Steve can’t tell from where the skirt falls around his head, but his cock leaks at the possibility anyway. He wants to reach up and grab Eddie’s thighs, pull them apart so he can dig his nose further into the hot skin behind Eddie’s balls, but Eddie has a track record of dealing him the worst punishments when he disobeys and Steve isn’t in the mood to get teased with feather-light touches tonight. “Yeah, just like that, Stevie—”
Steve’s nails bite into his palms at the pet name, sounding so much filthier in this fake voice he’s sure now that Eddie is putting on, his breath hitching with every wet smack of Steve’s lips over his hole. Spit is drooling out over Steve’s chin, drying and sticking to his neck, spreading out around his mouth from the way Eddie has started rocking his hips.
Eddie groans, low and masculine this time. “You like the way my cunt tastes?”
Steve nods furiously, moaning and sucking at Eddie’s hole, able now to dip more of his tongue in than before. His head tilts back and his nose bumps into fabric where he’s expecting warm skin, and he makes a confused noise and rubs the bridge of his nose against it, realizing almost immediately what it is from his years spent in men’s locker rooms. Jockstrap.
Eddie huffs, grinding down against Steve’s face one last time before kneeling up. “Pretty girls don’t have dicks, do they?”
And Steve knows from nights out at underground clubs with Eddie and Robin that that’s not entirely true, but it hits the way Eddie intends, shooting lightning down his spine. His dick is so hard that it hurts, straining against his jeans and begging to be touched, begging to be inside of Eddie.
They’ve also never done that.
In the few months that they’ve actually been official, Eddie always tops. Steve has exactly zero problem with this because it turns out he kind of loves being on the bottom, but it seems like it’s heading the other way tonight if Eddie sticks hard to this role-playing thing, and suddenly Steve needs to be inside of Eddie— inside of Eddie’s cunt—the way he needs air to breathe.
He hears the familiar click of their lube being opened, his ears no longer blocked by Eddie’s thighs, the bottom of Eddie’s skirt is swaying just above his skin. Steve is taking in as much of the view as he can in the darkened space, the sheen where Eddie’s dark, fine hair is matted to his skin with Steve’s spit, the black jockstrap hiding Eddie’s cock from view.
Light pours into the space as the back of the skirt is pulled up just enough for Eddie’s hand to slide underneath it, and Steve watches with wide eyes as Eddie easily sinks two fingers into himself, pumping them in and out not unlike how he always opens Steve up. Steve’s breath catches on every exhale, his lips parted as he does nothing but stare at the rhythmic movement, whining softly at every noise Eddie makes above him.
“Bet you wish these were your fingers, don’t you, pretty boy?”
“Yeah,” Steve breathes out, fingers flexing where they’re still splayed out on Eddie’s pillow. “Can I?”
“Can you what?”
Steve steels himself. Feels hot shame and guilt and arousal flood his whole body. “Can I put my fingers in your pussy?”
“Such a gentleman,” Eddie sneers, his fingers picking up their pace. “Maybe you do live up to your reputation.”
“Can I?” Steve asks again, his thighs squeezing together. “Please?”
“No.”
Steve lets out something close to a sob, his fingers twitching with the need to touch, to do something useful, to make Eddie feel so good that he forgets to be mad. He doesn’t know how to cope with just laying here, watching Eddie masturbate while Steve is right there, his cock hard and throbbing painfully. He tells himself that he needs it, but there’s also something darker underneath, something that finds it so sickeningly sweet to be denied. To be punished.
Eddie is indulging him now. He shouldn’t ask for anything more than that.
He finally relaxes against the bed, and Eddie croons. “There you go. Now you’re ready.”
Eddie finally moves off of Steve’s face and he has to blink to get used to the light again, Eddie’s form fuzzy and haloed as he shifts down over Steve’s hips, popping the button on his jeans and pulling them down with his boxers. Steve lets out an embarrassingly loud noise when his dick finally springs free, slapping wet against his stomach, the tip an angry shade of purple.
“Oh, sorry, was I neglecting you?” Eddie digs his nail into the slit and Steve yells, tears springing to his eyes at how much it hurts, at how much more precome leaks out of him because of it. His vision has adjusted now, and Eddie looks like something out of his most insane fantasies: sheer color smeared around his bitten-red lips, sweat shining at his temples where pieces of hair have started to fall out of the elastic, eyes dark and punishing as he digs his nail in again, Steve’s whole body writhing as fireworks explode across his vision. It hurts so fucking bad, and Eddie knows that it does, and that’s why he’s doing it.
“Color?” Eddie asks, petting the head of Steve’s cock with his thumb. Steve is floating along with the spots in his vision. There are so many colors, how is Steve supposed to pick one? There are blues and greens and reds and purples, slowly fizzling away as the pain subsides, Steve heaving in breaths like he just finished practice, his body drenched in sweat.
“Steve.” Eddie’s voice cuts through the sparkling haze settling around Steve, and he latches onto it long enough to stare up at his boyfriend, his girlfriend? His… his Eddie, and listen to what he’s saying. “Steve, I need you to tell me your color.”
Steve takes inventory of his body. He feels good. The haze is creeping back in around him, the one that only pain and Eddie combined can create, and there’s something in the back of his head nagging at him to slow down, to come back into himself, but he doesn’t want to and he can’t think of a reason why he ever would. Whatever Eddie wants to use him for, Steve can take.
Whatever Eddie wants to use him for, Steve deserves.
“Green,” Steve sighs, his head falling back against the pillow, cock starting to ache again. His mouth feels like it lags behind his words. “Hurts. So bad. Need it.”
He lays there waiting for Eddie to get on with it, but all Eddie does is stay where he is on Steve’s thighs with his cock in a loose grip, so Steve works hard to focus his eyes on Eddie’s expression. It’s carefully blank.
“Baby?” Steve mumbles, his mouth still feeling like it’s delayed, gracelessly forming around syllables like he’s learning them for the first time. “Green?”
Eddie’s eyes harden then, looking so much more lethal when framed in black, flitting up to stare directly into Steve’s. It feels like slipping on ice, like walking on your ankle wrong and catching yourself, like falling in a dream and waking up just before the impact. Eddie’s fist tightens around him.
“Green,” Eddie repeats back to him, and then he’s clambering forward and lining himself up with Steve’s cock and fuck, fuck, Steve hadn’t been ready for this, slick warmth clenching down around him and forcing unholy noises out of Steve’s throat. Eddie’s bracing against Steve’s chest and his fingers reach over to twist a nipple, hard and relentless and just enough to keep Steve from coming right then and there as some far away baser instincts scream at him to run.
Steve isn’t going to do that. He asked for this.
“I know it’s been a long time since you’ve had something to compare it to,” Eddie says once he bottoms out, leaning forward to hover over Steve’s face, dainty cross chain swaying off of his neck. He puts the voice on again, opening his doe eyes wide. “But how does my pussy feel, Steve?”
All Steve can do is whine in lieu of an answer, his body flushing red hot from his cheeks down to his belly button, hands clenched into fists so he doesn’t reach out and touch, arms shaking with restraint. He sees the moment Eddie’s lip curls up in annoyance, sees him lean up and reel back like he’s in slow motion, but still doesn’t expect the crack of the slap he gets across his face. Stinging, white-hot, addictive pain shoots through his body, his ears ringing and his skin throbbing where Eddie’s rings had collided with his teeth through his cheek, right in the same place as last time.
Eddie roughly grabs Steve’s jaw, angling it up so Steve is gazing into Eddie’s eyes. Ruthless. “I asked you a question, baby,” he says, spitting the pet name back at Steve. “Do you have an answer?”
“I—I—”
Eddie’s hand collides again with his face again, this time on the other cheek, snapping Steve’s head to the side and causing his vision to white out for a second. His teeth had dug into the inside of his mouth and he thinks that he’s bleeding, or maybe he’s just drooling, crying out over all of it as Eddie starts grinding down on him.
“‘M fucked up,” Steve slurs, gulping in air as his cock twitches deep inside of Eddie, every aftershock of pain ending at the head of his dick. His vision comes back streaky, his eyes full of tears as Eddie rides him within an inch of his life, nails scratching down Steve’s torso and leaving trails of angry red lines in their wake.
Steve expects Eddie to agree, to call him a stupid slut and say he deserves it, but instead, Eddie huffs out a laugh.
“I’m the one who does it to you,” Eddie pants, his hips moving in rough circles, the image almost demure with the way they’re both covered by the skirt. “The one who wants to do it all to you, the one who fucking craves it.” Eddie leans back over him again, Steve’s hips following him up so he can stay buried inside. He catches a glimpse of a smile on Eddie’s face. “So what the fuck does that make me?”
Steve swallows. Searches for the perfect answer.
“Mine,” he finally says. His face is throbbing from Eddie’s hands, his stomach red and stinging from Eddie’s fingernails, and somewhere he knows that he’s never going to be the same after tonight, that something fundamental inside of him has shifted a beat to the left and stuck itself there. “It makes you mine.”
Eddie stares him down for a minute, not unlike a cat readying itself to pounce, and then his face breaks out into a crooked grin that doesn’t quite reach Eddie’s eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, sure it does.”
Eddie starts grinding down on him again and it’s like the gates have opened, both of them racing toward the finish line in some sort of mad dash that they can’t coordinate just right. But Eddie grabs Steve’s wrists and moves them to his waist and finally Steve can touch, frantically running his hands over every part of Eddie that he can reach, both of them ending up under the skirt to palm at Eddie’s leaking cock through the light fabric of the jockstrap.
“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, sweat dripping down the side of his face, his cheeks flushed red as his eyes flit all over Steve’s body, clearly unsure of which part he wants to look at. “You like playing with my clit?”
Steve nods eagerly, his mouth still dropped open so he can suck in lungfuls of air, his hips rocking up faster and faster, his eyes locked on the way Eddie’s black-rimmed eyes squeeze shut on a groan. Steve thinks that Eddie is beautiful on any given day, but right now he’s beautiful in a completely different way, all dolled up and pretending just for Steve.
“Gonna come,” Steve chokes out, his whole lower body burning with exertion and desire, desperate to finally build up to this singular moment, tensing further as Eddie licks his lips.
“Careful, Stevie,” he taunts, digging his nails in so he can throw his hips back even harder. “You might put a baby in me.”
And out of everything Eddie has said and done tonight, that’s what pushes Steve over the edge, everything else drowned out by the head rush of his orgasm. His hips hitch out of rhythm as he spills warmth into Eddie, his blood sparking and bursting into flame as it flows through his body, his sweat-soaked shirt getting stuck to his skin where it’s still rucked up underneath his armpits. He can’t see anything except static, not quite sure if his eyes are open or closed, only registering when Eddie tips over the edge by the sudden wetness underneath his hands as he starts to come down from the fucking stratosphere.
He’s out of it for a while, he thinks. That floaty, orgasm feeling doesn’t fade right away, still keeping Steve mostly disconnected from the real world, his only thoughts screaming Eddie over and over again on a loop. Sometimes the Eddie is good, reverent, and sometimes it’s accusatory, belittling, hurt. Steve can’t make sense of it all yet, a bystander to the voice in his own head, but when his eyes finally focus back on the off-white ceiling of Eddie’s bedroom, every attempt to move his body sends an ache through him.
“Eddie,” Steve vocalizes, not sure which version of the name has come out, only sure that his voice is rough and scratchy. His cheeks and jaw ache when he moves them, and his skin feels hot and sore when he focuses on it. This is usually the part where Eddie helps him drink a Gatorade, wraps him up and whispers things to him until he can understand the world again, but Eddie doesn’t answer.
Steve works up the strength to turn his head to the other side of the double bed. He finds Eddie back in his regular clothes, all traces of makeup wiped off of his face, his knees drawn up to his chest and a piece of his hair caught between his teeth. He’s staring off at nothing, and shit, this has never actually happened to them before. A drop. Steve knows what it is because Eddie made sure that he knew, went over in extensive detail how it would feel and what Eddie could do to make it better for him, but Steve has no idea what to do for Eddie.
He tries again. “Eddie. Hey.”
This time Eddie looks at him, his eyes dragging over Steve’s face, down down down until he jerks them away and stares at the wall again, his foot bouncing nervously. Steve’s stomach starts to twist itself into knots, that all-too-familiar feeling of rejection creeping in, but Steve refuses to lie down and accept it this time. He’s still a little out of it, still craves Eddie’s touch and his crass-but-kind words, but he can try to put that aside for now to fix whatever this is.
He risks scooting a little closer, and the look on Eddie’s face reminds him of the boathouse, flighty and apprehensive and traumatized. Reminds him of the way Eddie’s uncle gets sometimes when he remembers the war, shell-shocked and hollow.
Steve knocks a knuckle against his own temple, not daring to reach out and touch Eddie yet. “What’s going on up there?”
Eddie drops the chunk of hair he’s been chewing on. Still doesn’t look at Steve. “We shouldn’t do this again.”
There it is, the swoop of his gut, the feeling of falling but this time his body is hitting the pavement with a sickening thud. “What? Why?”
Eddie winces. He’s picking at his nails now. “I was mad, and I have these fucking depraved things that I want to do to you, Stevie. And you looked so perfect all laid out and sex drunk for me, and you said you were green even though I knew it was too much for you to really consent to with how far down you were… but I was so mad—I’m still mad, Steve—and I was imagining all of these things so I just… took what I wanted instead.”
Steve sits there for a second. “Oh.”
Eddie’s eyes are bordering on too-shiny now, his foot still bouncing and jostling the mattress underneath it. “And the worst part? The worst part is that I liked it.” Eddie stills with the admission, his whole body tense like he’s trying to hold something in. “Not the part where I knew it was wrong, but everything else. Hitting you. Hurting you. Knowing I could go as far as I wanted and you wouldn’t tell me to stop.”
“Okay,” Steve says after a beat, trying to work all of it out in his head. “But I liked it. I asked for it. It’s not a problem for me.”
“It will be once you’re out of subspace. Can’t you tell already that something feels wrong?” There are tears silently streaming down Eddie’s cheeks as he finally looks at Steve, and Steve realizes the fear he sees isn’t because of him. Eddie is scared of himself. “Steve, if all it takes is one fight for me to do something like that, then you shouldn’t want to do this with me.”
“But I gave you my consent,” Steve tries. “I wanted all of it. Eddie, please—”
“What if I had wanted to cut off your air supply?” Eddie asks quietly. “What if I had wanted to grab a knife from the kitchen and press it into your skin and lick the blood off of it?”
Steve stares at Eddie. “Did you?”
“No,” Eddie replies easily. “But my point is that I could have. And you would have let me. And I don’t want the opportunity to do something like that to you again.” Eddie lets out a shaky breath. “So, yeah. I don’t think we should do this anymore. Any of it.”
Steve doesn’t know how to tell Eddie that yeah, maybe it has something to do with his need to please, with the way he throws his whole self into loving others, with his willingness to forgive and forget in order to receive that love in return, but in this moment, he doesn’t care. There are alarm bells ringing in his head somewhere, all the little voices he shoved away getting just a little louder, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe if Eddie were a stranger he would care more, but he doesn’t. He knows Eddie. He might even love Eddie if he’s being honest with himself, but right now Eddie seems broken, and Steve has never been good at fixing broken things.
Steve’s voice comes out quiet as a mouse. “I thought this time would be different.”
And that’s when Eddie finally reaches out, brushes his fingers feather-light through Steve’s hair. It feels like a goodbye.
“Maybe it can be,” he says, dropping his fingers down to rest against the thin scar around Steve’s neck. “Just not right now.”
Steve’s whole fucking body aches. He feels like shit to put it plainly, his heart dropping like a rock through his stomach, his head throbbing and his limbs aching and his eyes too big for their sockets.
“Thank you,” Steve says. He doesn’t know how to articulate for what. For indulging him, for giving him everything he didn’t know he wanted, for giving him at least a little bit of hope to walk away with.
Eddie swallows. “I think you should leave.”
So Steve does.