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ghosttotheparty · 1 year ago

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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.

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