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hairmetal666 · 9 months ago

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Eddie thought inviting Steve to the Grammys would be fine, cool, no big deal. And it should be, but Steve is walking out of the suite's bedroom wearing a burgundy tuxedo that fits him like a fucking glove. His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to let chest hair peak out, and Eddie thinks he might faint.

He's always been attracted to Steve, of course, but never let it go further than that. Like, sure, Steve was hot as fuck, and sure he was the best guy Eddie had ever met, and sometimes, yeah, he did have to force away thoughts of Steve when he jerked off, and in other circumstances he'd totally be head over heels. Just, Steve is straight, the straightest, a fucking arrow.

Eddie tears his eyes from Steve's body. "You look great, man." He slaps Steve's back. Keeping it cool; keeping it so cool.

"Psh," Steve says. "Have you looked in a mirror? Oh my god." His eyes are saucer wide as they travel down Eddie's body.

"Is it too much?" Eddie crosses his arms over his bare chest.

"Are you kidding? You're--fuck, man. You look good as hell."

He's wearing a silky burgundy shirt, open to show off the necklaces around his throat, his tattoos, the silver in his nipples. His pants are leather, tight, sitting low on his hips and putting the cut of his pelvic bone on full display. They have a lace-up closure that comes dangerously close to showing pube.

Heat rushes to his face at the compliment. "It's--you know. Hazard of the job."

"Yeah, hazard, sure. Guess it's a hard life having hot dudes literally throwing themselves at you."

Eddie barks out a laugh. "That's a vast exaggeration."

"Is it?"

He blushes harder. "You're my date tonight, Steve."

"My point exactly."

His manager and publicist usher them out the door before he can ask what the hell that meant.

---

The ride is giddy and playful, Steve popping champagne to celebrate Eddie's nomination for Song of the Year, even though there's no chance in hell he wins.

Steve is happy. His face is bright with joy, eyes shining, laugh loud and infectious. He's gorgeous, knows it, will be an absolute menace on the red carpet. He's been with Eddie to parties and stuff before, doesn't have any anxiety in front of the camera and isn't obsessed with musicians like Eddie is, unafraid to meet them.

Or so Eddie thought.

Because now they're standing at the edge of the red carpet, Steve very nearly trembling next to him.

"Harrington?"

"That's--That's Madonna." Steve points to her. "We're not even ten feet away from Madonna." He gulps. "Eddie. Madonna."

Steve has met famous people before with Eddie. Ozzy, briefly, Janet Jackson, Dave Grohl, James Hetfield, and he'd always been fine. Barely batted an eye. But get him within reaching distance of Madonna and he falls apart.

Eddie doesn't think about it, grabs Steve's hand, twines their fingers together. "Okay?"

The smile Steve throws him, grateful and a little embarrassed, stabs straight through his heart. He calms as they make it up the carpet, but he doesn't drop Eddie's hand, even when they pause for pictures. In fact, he leans into it, drapes his arm around Eddie's shoulders, or around his waist, seeming to thrive the closer they are. Eddie feels this dangerous pull to indulge in it, to let himself believe it means something, and he doesn't quite have it in him to turn it off.

By the time they reach their seats, Steve is relaxed back to his normal charming and handsome self, doesn't bat an eye as Eddie introduces him around.

The show passes quickly with all the performances and Steve whispering jokes in his ear. It's the best time he's ever had at an award show, like he should have been bringing Steve along this whole time. He's so distracted that he's not really ready when Paula Abdul comes out to announce Song of the Year.

His name is read off as a nominee and Steve grabs his hand, squeezes tight. Eddie's heart flips in his chest. He's not paying attention when Paula opens the envelope, too focused on Steve's strong hand holding his. He hears her say, "And the Grammy goes to--" and everything goes fuzzy.

Steve is saying, "oh my god, oh my god, Eddie. Get up, get up."

And his fucking song is playing and everyone is cheering, a couple people slap his back, and oh shit, oh shit, he fucking won. He stands, Steve with him. He thinks they're going to hug, that's what you do in these situations, but Steve is kissing him. Not on the cheek and not a quick peck, but lip-to-lip, soft and sweet.

Steve just kissed him and he has to get on stage and give a speech. He has no idea what he says because Steve just kissed him. On the lips. On purpose. His ears are ringing and words tumble out of his mouth, thinks he says, "couldn't have done it without you, Stevie," before tripping over his feet to get backstage.

Interviews, photographs, congratulations all help him settle. He's still buzzing with the win, but aware enough now to think the kiss had to be an accident. They've been friends for nearly a decade and Steve never seemed interested in men generally or Eddie specifically.

It takes a while to finish up the backstage business, but when he makes it to his seat, Steve just beams at him. He doesn't mention the kiss, which makes Eddie think he's overreacting. It wasn't a big deal. Sure, he could still feel Steve's lips, warm and soft, against his own, but it didn't mean anything. He's just too in his big gay feelings to be objective.

They don't get a chance to really talk until they're back in the limo and on their way to the after-party.

"You won," Steve says.

"I won." Eddie smiles. "Crazy."

"You deserved it."

He shrugs. "I don't know about that."

"Doesn't matter. You did." Steve fidgets with the cuff of his jacket. "About earlier, um. The kiss. I--"

Eddie feels his face heating, heart kicking up. It was nothing, he knows, and Steve shouldn't have to-- "It was an accident. It's okay. I know you don't--it was the heat of the moment and--I know you're not--you don't--"

Steve blinks a lot, emotions flashing across his face faster than Eddie can categorize.

"What if I do?" Steve asks. His voice is too soft, eyes locked on the cuff link he's fiddling with.

"You--what?"

"What if I did mean it?"

"You're straight."

Steve goes pink. "I'm really not."

"Steve?" He shrieks. "Since when?"

"Um. Since you invited me to this?"

"What the fuck?" Eddie shoves him. "What the fuck, man?"

"I know, I know!" Steve pulls his hand through his hair. "You invited me and I freaked out and I didn't know why, and Robin made the saddest little face at me. Said, 'oh, dingus, you didn't know?' How the fuck was I supposed to know!"

"I think you wanting to fuck me should've been a pretty good indication!"

"I thought that happened to everyone!"

"It doesn't!"

"That's what Robin said!"

They're both yelling.

"Jesus christ. Jesus christ," Eddie keeps repeating.

"Look, I get it if you don't want me too, dude. I know that's not how it works, but I've been pretty crazy about you without realizing it for a while now, so--"

He doesn't mean to, he really doesn't, but he laughs. Like, super loud. Like a donkey bray.

"Okay, can the driver let me out? Like, can I go? I can't--"

"Wait, wait, sweetheart." Steve's gotten up, like he's about to knock on the partition, but Eddie grabs his wrist. "Of course I want you back, you idiot, oh my god."

"Oh." Steve's ears are pink. "Oh. Well. That's good."

Eddie huffs. "Just good? I won a Grammy and the guy I've been pining over for years wants me back. I'm having the night of my life."

"Shut-up." Steve's smile is so big, his eyes so bright.

He raises an eyebrow. "Make me," he says in his lowest register, but he's truly not prepared for it when Steve clambers over to him and lowers himself to straddle Eddie's hips.

"Holy shit," Eddie whispers. "Holy shit, Steve."

He give a wry little smile, eyes locked on Eddie's mouth. "Baby, can I kiss you?"

"Yes." Eddie clears his throat. "Yes, please, do that. Yeah."

Only, he doesn't. He's straddling Eddie, they're so close their breath mingles, and Steve's eyes flicker between Eddie's mouth and his eyes, lips so close to touching but not.

"C'mon, asshole," Eddie says.

"I knew you'd be a brat." He whispers. He wraps his hands into Eddie's hair. "Been dying to do this."

And then they're kissing. They're kissing and it steals all of Eddie's breath and his thoughts, and it's new but it's also like they've been kissing forever, like their lips and tongue know each other, like coming home.

He whines, high-pitched and breathy, and Steve laughs, kisses him deeper, moves closer, and Eddie feels how hard Steve is, the persistent pulse of him. And shit Eddie's close, on the brink just from this, from nothing, oh my god.

Steve's hands drift down Eddie's torso, mapping his chest and his stomach, coming to rest at the laces of his pants. "These have been driving me insane," Steve breaks the kiss to say. "Been thinking about undoing them all night."

"Fuck, sweetheart, you can't say shit like that," Eddie groans.

"Why not?"

"Because--because," Eddie sputters but then Steve's lips are on his neck and he's rolling his hips for friction.

Steve's fingers find the laces again, trace against them. Eddie's legs fall open, arching into the touch. "We're going to be so late," he murmurs as Steve's fingers get to work.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #fluff #friends to lovers #famous eddie munson #regular guy steve harrington #feelings confession #oblivious steve harrington #the grand tradition of steve harrington not realizing he's bi #eddie falls first steve falls harder #eddie's so cool about it #grammy award winning eddie munson #vaguely inspired by lupita and joseph at the oscars #driver roll up the partition please #a little bit spicy

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zorosdimples · 6 months ago

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꒰ OKKOTSU YUUTA X ITADORI YUUJI X READER ꒱

minors do not interact—i will block you! cw: threesome, anal, cunnilingus; reader has a vagina. note: brief okkoita fluff—but make it sexual (thank for rotting my mind @yutaleks❕)

None of you are going to last long.

It’s impossible, you think to yourself, as you ride Yuuji’s flushed face. Rolling your hips with fuzzy, heavy-lidded contentment, you watch Yuuta prep the younger man with three lithe fingers that glisten with lube and desire.

Bone-deep devotion licks its way up your spine and curls around your ribcage, prying open your chest and settling in your heart. Witnessing your partners love one another—and you, by extension—fills you with a giddy delirium more precious than gold. Ambling honey fills your lungs and makes each breath cloying.

Pleased with his work, Yuuta positions himself and teases Yuuji’s stretched hole with his cockhead. He eases inside with careful, measured strokes, cool digits rubbing soothing circles onto Yuuji’s freckled hips. Muffled whimpers and moans sound beneath you, resonating in your core to send quaking tremors through your limbs.

Just as you lose balance and begin to tip forward, Yuuta catches you in an embrace; your lips surge to meet his in a sloppy kiss with too much tongue. You share a breathless chuckle—forehead to forehead—when your teeth click together.

When your mouths finally part, Yuuta presses Yuuji’s knees to his shoulders, folding him in half. Yuuta fucks hard and deep, jet mane falling over his face. Caught up in his own euphoria, the man beneath you parts from your pussy to babble demandingly: “M-more, hard—harder, faste—”

“Yuuji.”

The endearment (reserved for only the tenderest moments) is clipped and authoritative; it holds little of Yuuta’s usual warmth and softness. His eyes are harsh, a rogue, unforgiving wave amidst a calm sea. It’s a pointed warning: finish what you started. And it’s effective. Yuuji swallows a whine and flushes mottled rose down to his collarbone, a picture of unfettered need.

You reach a hand back to tug at Yuuji’s dusty strands, grinding down on his face. You gasp his name as he suckles on your folds and plays with your entrance before returning to your clit. A pleased hum rumbles Yuuta’s pale chest.

“Good boy,” he praises while pushing his hair back. “Keep it up and I’ll fill your cute ass.”

(Yuuji’s hole flutters at the thought.)

Yuuta has always been the most composed of you three: polite, intelligent, kind, pragmatic. But there’s a vulnerability that you and Yuuji coax out of him; you encourage him to live in the moment, to abandon decorum and to lose himself in pleasure. And if his creased brow and ragged breath is anything to go by, he’s clinging to composure by a thread.

The air is stifling—heady and ripe with the heat of three intertwined bodies, each seeking their own end. Yuuta thrusts and Yuuji licks and you ride until it feels like your thighs are going to give out. When Yuuji finally slips a few fingers into your heat and suckles gently on your clit, you fall apart at the seams, arousal coating his hot, greedy tongue.

After wriggling free from Yuuji’s bruising hold, you climb off of his face and grasp his neglected cock. It’s heavy in your hand and mauve at the tip; when you tug his foreskin down, you’re rewarded with a fat pearl of pre. You lean down and hold his gaze through wet eyelashes as you press a wet kiss to his tip. Then, you settle beside him, whispering filth in his ear (loud enough for Yuuta to hear and nearly orgasm to).

Only moments after you begin stroking his shaft, Yuuji crests with a throaty cry. In the aftermath, he seeks the warmth of your lips. Yuuta enjoys the scene—his two lovers with tears shimmering on their cheeks, messily swapping spit—before spilling his seed. He fucks Yuuji through his high until his spend drips into a frothy pool on the sheets.

You relax into Yuuji’s side and smear kisses against his neck before resting your eyes. Movement on the bed causes you to stir; two men hover over your prone form, fisting their still-throbbing cocks.

“You didn’t think we were done—did you?”

#a little smut before i make my return to the dash…#i feel like i’ve been gone forever so i hope y’all are still interested in this #short but sweet ig????? or spicy. whatever #moresomes are not my forte so pls be kind!#yuuta <3 #yuuji <3 #yuuji x reader #yuuta x reader #jjk smut #okkoita #༄ kae writes

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