(wait for the season to come back to me tag)
It hurts. Of course it hurts. But it’s not as bad as all that; it kind of reminds Steve of getting a tattoo, trying to stay still and not squirm under the steady, hypnotic pain. When Eddie finally pulls back with a wet sound, Steve nearly collapses sideways. It takes him a second to realize that the only reason he’s still sitting up is because Eddie’s arms are around him, holding him close.
“Shit, I can’t believe you just fucking let me do that,” Eddie laughs. He sounds drunk. Steve’s blood must be painting the inside of his throat right now. The thought sends a full-body shiver through Steve, and Eddie pets his hair soothingly. “Took it so well. You’re really into this, aren’t you?”
“Huh?” Steve manages.
Eddie wriggles in Steve’s lap, pointedly. Steve hadn’t even noticed himself getting hard, but suddenly it’s all he can think about. His hands snag in Eddie’s shirt and he lets out an embarrassing groan, bucking up like nobody’s ever touched him before.
Which reminds him that nobody’s ever touched Eddie before, and holy shit, Steve had absolutely no idea that that would get him going the way it does. He’s never felt like this with anyone else, feral and possessive, but nobody else has ever been Eddie. He wants to make himself a permanent part of Eddie’s history, the way Eddie is for him. No matter what else happens, he’ll always have been something to Eddie, the kind of thing that can’t be erased.
He slides his hands down to Eddie’s hipbones, digging his thumbs a little into the crease of Eddie’s thighs. He has to swallow hard at the thought of how soft the skin must be right under his fingers, just a thin layer of denim away. His neck throbs.
Eddie lets out a gasp that sharpens into a snarl at the edges, hips jerking and rolling in Steve’s grip. Steve tips his head back and Eddie takes the wordless invitation, laving his tongue over the wounds in Steve’s throat and mouthing up to Steve’s jaw.
Through the heady ache, Steve can’t help noticing that Eddie seems a lot less sure of himself, now he’s neither running his mouth nor pouncing on Steve like a predator. The way he’s pushing his whole body desperately against Steve feels great, but it’s definitely not all that smooth or coordinated. It fills Steve with an amazed kind of tenderness; Eddie’s so smart and picks up physical skills so quickly, and there’s a pretty good chance he’ll never be this clumsy again, not at this. Steve wants very badly to be the body that Eddie learns on.
“Eddie,” he says. “Ed. What do you need? How do you wanna come? Let me get you there. Anything you want.”
“Fu-uck, Stevie,” Eddie groans. He stops grinding his hips so frantically against Steve’s, though he keeps rocking very slightly, just a little bit of friction to slowly drive Steve out of his mind, like he can’t help himself. “I mean. You wanna fuck me, right? That’s what this whole thing is about?”
“I—hang on.” Steve doesn’t—the way Eddie said it—
“What, you don’t want to fuck me now?” Eddie says it in a casual, teasing lilt, but there’s a tension in his jaw and he’s pulling back a little.
Steve slides his hands up to Eddie’s face, fingers tangling in his hair, and draws him in for a real kiss.
Eddie gasps like he wasn’t expecting it, even though Steve has been moving so deliberately. Steve takes the opportunity to slide his tongue alongside Eddie’s, slick and slow, and Eddie makes a noise almost like a sob. The tang of copper and salt coats Eddie’s mouth; a long luxurious shudder goes through Steve as he chases the taste. He pulls away and is deeply gratified to see Eddie swaying after him, lips parted and eyelids low.
“Eddie,” Steve murmurs. “You know I want you.” He presses another kiss to Eddie’s mouth, just a hint of teeth scraping and catching on Eddie’s bottom lip.
“I’ve always wanted you,” Steve says. He feels out of his head, floating, with Eddie finally under his hands for real. “Every damn day for the last ten years. You’re—you’re everything, Eddie, I love you, I—”
“No,” says Eddie. “Wait. Stop.”
It takes Steve a second to process the words. Eddie’s gone completely still and tense.
“Shit,” says Eddie, closing his eyes. “Wait. Fuck. I can’t—jesus christ. I’m…I cannot fucking believe I’m doing this, but. Steve, this is a bad idea. I don’t—I can’t. Not with you.”
He pushes away from Steve, whirling around, and paces to the other side of the room. The absence of him, the distance, is like granite.
“Eddie Munson’s dead,” he says into the wall. “You didn’t know him then. You don’t fucking know me now. I can’t be him, and it’ll fuck me up if I try, even—for you.”
“I know you,” says Steve. “What the fuck, Eddie. I know you. You’ve been living here for months, you think I don’t know who you are?”
“I think you’ve got a shoebox that might as well have my name and epitaph on it. Rest in fucking pieces.”
“I’ll burn the fucking shoebox.”
“It’s not about—”
“Do you even like me,” says Steve. “Or do you like that I’ll do anything for you, no matter what you say to me.” He’s angry again, he realizes in a distant way; heat shifting in him from one thing to another. His neck is still bleeding sluggishly, though not as much as he might’ve expected.
“Wow, fuck you,” Eddie spits. “You can’t offer to let me own you and then pull this shit like I’m the one who started it. You think I’ve been sticking around for my god damn health? I wanted a clean slate. You’re the one who literally dragged me back into all this past life bullshit. You’re the one who’s all like, oh Eddie, move in with me, let me feed you, let me—fuck you—”
“That’s not,” Steve starts. “It wasn’t like that. I don’t, I’m not expecting anything, I just want you to be—”
“You want me to be who I was,” says Eddie. “You want me to be yours. You talk a big game, Harrington. But I’m a dead man, and I can’t live like this.”
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For any Shakespeare nerds who are planning to see Macbeth and catch a play at the Globe Theatre while in London, the Globe only runs shows through the end of October (since it is outdoors and it gets cold). Standing section tickets are really reasonable (5-10 pounds)! Taming of the Shrew and Comedy of Errors are both running in October.
For those interested, Ben Whishaw’s Waiting for Godot is also running at the same time as Macbeth (October to Mid December).
Sharing my research with the peanut gallery in case it is useful!
THANK YOU! I’ll be seeing that Waiting for Godot but good reminder that there’s always fun stuff at the globe.
Other plays I have my eye on for those who are interested: Armando Iannucci dr Strangelove, mark strong oedipus, and john lithgow giant. I will also be desperately hoping there’s something good on at the bush theatre, @sohoplace and maybe donmar because believe it or not I am not happy that everything I just named is centered on a white male lead.
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